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You came back with rage again
You stupid, freaking, angry pen
I used to think that we were friends
But that seems to be coming to an end
You're an angry pen
A crazy pen
I don't like you one bit
You're a lazy pen
A stupid pen
A freaking baby nudist pen
And I Hate You
I want to write but you're too busy distracting me
With you're incorrect grammar and all your pointless babbling
I can't believe this is happening
How can a pen be mad at me?
I feel like a disciple and this pen is just a Sadducee
And I'm *******, again
But this time it's going to stay
All I wanted to do was play
But this pen led me astray
And I hate it
Every little click makes me cringe
Every little word I write makes me want more revenge
But lets face it...
What exactly would I do a pen?
Instead of taking it a part and putting it back together again
Well, it depends...
But honestly pens don't really make good friends
You rusty pen
You musty pen
You mother freaking ugly pen!
I hate you pen!
I breake you pen!
I can't wait to look down from Heaven and see your face in hell.
Pale white or maybe slightly gray, blue
looking through - little holes, grains of sand, blowing through
tossed about this stormy day, ocean spray
you can't hold, lapping waves.

One day whispers will caress
your ears, salt and tears
You may break or drift,  you can never tell
storms of love, pearls
and shells.
"I know everything," you say
looking me in the eyes,
testing me with an arrogant smirk.
Yet, you question
what's wrong with me.
Funny, how you think you're right
when you really don't seem
to know anything at all.
 Sep 2013 Laura Stridiron
mûre
If I use the right words
anything I say in these first three lines
will urge you to



Point made.
It's a bit of a shame, really. So many exquisite poems remain unread on this site because of "judging the book by the cover". Is our readability limited by our talent (or lack thereof) to craft punchy openers? Just a thought.
I went to a funeral

Of the father of a man,
I liked and respected.

It was a two hour drive,
Each way.
I missed a day of work.

People were impressed.

But the calculation was easy.

Thousands of hours yet to live.

Even if but twenty four, yet to tally,
How many men do I
Know and respect?

Born with two hands,
Would only need one,
To make this calculation.

One is greater than twenty four.
Note to Self: Composed Sept 17th, at Delacorte Theater, Central Park, New York City, Fall for Dance Festival.
 Sep 2013 Laura Stridiron
Powers
You said your words always came in threads
Stitch me up
patch up my insercutries with your sewing machine lips
let me use them to sew the memory of you into the fabric of my mind
I want to embroider our broken pieces and make a quilt out of us
I went looking for God
but I found you instead.
Bad luck or destiny,
you decide.

Buried in the muck,
the soot of the city,
sorrow for an appetite,
devil on your left shoulder,
angel on your right.

You, with your thorny rhythms
and tragic, midnight melodies.

My heart never tried
to commit suicide before.
Before you, my life was empty,
you became my good and plenty.
My life was filled with nothing,
my heart was constantly crushing.
Hair is brown, eyes are blue,
you love me and I love you.
You have that magic touch,
when I'm broken, you're my crutch.
What we have, we gladly share,
we make one hell of a pair.
You laugh at all my silly jokes,
you fulfilled my dreams and hopes.
You cheer my up, when I'm down,
you always treat me like a proper noun.
This once sad man is now happy,
I hope this doesn't sound to **** sappy.
You can't sleep unless we cuddle,
even if we fight and struggle.
You're the wind beneath my wings,
you put mud on all my bee stings.
Our love somehow found a way,
love is something, we never have to say.
You're the best woman I've ever seen,
no one will ever get in between.
You're the love of my life time,
I hope you liked this wedding vow rhyme.
Evil Santa

You better watch out, you better not pout,
evil Santa will descale you like a trout.
He's a crook, you've all been took,
don't you dare give him a ***** look.
Mow his grass, kiss his ***,
or he'll stab you with broken glass.
He's a liar, will never retire,
your life is about to expire.
Can't control his temper,
its best if you surrender,
you're going feet first in a blender.
He has no shame, you are the blame,
its you he's about to maim.
Evil Santa is coming to town,
you have no time to frown,
he's worse than It the clown.
You will sigh, then you'll cry,
then you will slowly die.
He lost his pride, gained a step in his stride,
sooner or later you will collide.
He's a cheat, life ain't complete,
until its you he will eat.
He's killed two, maybe a few,
next it will be you.
He sold his soul, paid the toll,
aren't you glad he's out on parole.
He kills a lot, his brain has a clot,
plus this is the stories plot.
Its you he will stalk,
followed you around the block,
then he gave your door a deadly knock.
He knows when you are sleeping,
its him you will see peeping,
your life just isn't worth keeping.
He knows when you're awake,
your death will not be a fake,
so be good for goodness sake.
You better watch out, you better not shout,
death to you, I have no doubt.
Your underwear will soon turn brown,
his reindeer will gladly run you down,
evil Santa is coming to your town.
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