Quiet until that pen was found,
ink spilt words make you brave.
With one line a rebel was crowned,
regardless of the message.
Spoken with spirit they’re spellbound,
style hangs heavy in the air.
Turn of phrase with a posh sound,
ink spilt words make you brave.
She didn’t step up to mess around.
I spilt some milk on my chocolate
Milk on my Chocolate
I Spilt some milk on my chocolate
Milk on my chocolate
I spilt some milk on my chocolate
Milk on my Chocolate
You admired my sonnets, and slowly,
You began to feel something for me too.
With one soft,.tender, kiss, you offered
Your kind and tender heart too.
But who has broken the scarlet tulip flower pot?
And instead of blood, I see water spilled—
The flowers of love have withered,
Has sweetness met its end?
An old, forgotten book lies half-hidden,
Dust-covered on the lowest shelf.
You opened it once while sailing,
Yet you can’t recall even a moment of your life—
And still, you never throw it away. No!
With over forty
years apart
let’s pretend
it’s just a day
That time we’ve lost
and what it cost
to ignore
and look away
We can’t tunnel
through the heartache
but a bridge over
can be built
To put behind
those days unrhymed
with tomorrow
— yet unfelt
(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)
I raise a glass to you
My lips lingering along the glass
I pull away the stains along my wrists permanent
Your eyes roll to look at the mind you don't have
"To the happy couple." I smile over your bodies
I cannot tell if when you told me I was insane if you were right
I remember how cold your hands were, maybe you were already dead
I don't think you can be colder than this
The miss you dawn on me
The lies you spew like blood
No use crying over spilled milk- we need to stay positive and not be sour
Jams and jams gather all around
As I shatter glass jars on the ground.
just under his kilt
slightly hanging at a tilt
from the tip to hilt
once great weapon starts to wilt
highland dirk ~ covered in silt
By David Kavanagh
highland dirk = Scottish stabbing weapon
It may be a day of red
Which would make something that should be said
A Mother's love is un denying
Putting up with her child's whining
That turns into innocent sighing
So on this day of love
Let's reach a little above
While acting peacefully in the tradition of a white dove
Oh baby when the milk spills on the floor
Pours out its contents without warning
The carton bounce makes mommy scream
Daddy thinks it’s funny but daddy is wrong
Baby must die in his sleep tonight just because
Isn’t it a lovely day today with the birds chirping
Sun beaming on the perfectly calm afternoon
Mommies eyes fill up with real tears of diamonds
They become saucer size when worlds collide
And in her lily white mind thoughts turn south
As she screams and the guns come out
Daddy knows how to fix everything with a smile
Milk is serious business you know
Order must be kept in the perfect home
Mommy looks funny with her head spinning around
And what is that green stuff spewing from her mouth
She says, “Go to sleep my little one”
Sometimes mommies get tired too
No one will hurt the baby or leave evidence around
That would be stupid and dumb
Not a drop of blood or milk will be found
We keep a perfect house nice and clean
Isn’t that right my little honey pie thing?
Spilt Scenery
Moon bunts as a saffron sun advances o'er a horizon,
Spring's dabbled hues tender hearts a growthful bounty,
Love sprung amidst the fluttering of its emerald leaves,
High upon mounds beneath an affectionate bluish peak,
Cascading conduit spews of embracing inclined surrender,
Drench fondly nestling crystal waters of a chanting stream,
There search I this penchant lost in its cooling wetness,
Burbling budding blooms caressing banks of moving voyage,
Subtle surging touching midst rocks passionate swerving,
Till a mouth kisses a lake and surges sweet smacks ashore.
2020 March 24
*3rd Place*
STRAND CHOICE O,any form,any theme
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2020 March 24
a lemony Sun~~squirt its juice onto laid squinting eyes~~on a beach
2019 December 31
currently
the current of
my life's stream
is a day dream that
lasts all through the night
but as was
once said one
can't step in the
same stream twice
so older i float in flights
of fancy
fancying that
fantasy is a far
better thing to do
then thinking i know
what's
around
the
next
bend
She liked the way
he spilt his ink.
He had such a great pen
and though it was pink
it was big and round and made her think.
He was always ready to write
again and again.
He wrote the best when she was in his sight.
She was the inspiration for all he’d write.
She loved the things he said,
his words a sexy sound.
With his pen in hand he’d lay his words down.
Oh, how his ink would flow
when she laid her paper just below.
He wrote and wrote
‘til her paper was full
and all his ink was spilt.
His motto was:
"Write or bust
with love and lust
'til the paper is 'filt'."
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
Copyright: 3/21/2018
“All Rights Reserved”
I will let my problems freely expand never complain over things that cannot be answered to an compliant thats so ignorant to its availability when the reason is so irrelevant to my results of human nature but can be explain in admiration and evaporated and cleaned up by my postive analyst standpoint that I will overcome promissory to my vision thats half blurred in which I may not see nor people that may notice me to a complete way of there simply with a positive connection that relies in me all me in all variations in which version me only but try to conduct myself properly instead of clumsy balanced in how to withholding weight or leverage to keep me leveled and never fall too deep in a milk mishap and try to caution from slipping into an major accident until everything comes to clear to clear eyes viewed when everyone can see the accident b4 it happens and occur for them to see in a rush b4 everything comes clear from evaporated of spilt milk accident of problems that may affect me so seriously to an creed of a compliant of no clarity support just an non exist problem that well overcomed so lively.
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