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 Jan 2015 Shannon
bones
Post mortem
 Jan 2015 Shannon
bones
On the day
her body burned
she asked the
winds to be
her friends
and they
picked her
up and poured
her through
the fingers of
their hands
like a river
without ending
that won't
be tied or
bound, until
every trace of
dust embraced
the freedom it
had found.
 Jan 2015 Shannon
Àŧùl
A few more nights must pass by,
Some more torment I will endure,
Until when I ask looking up in the sky,
Until I die came the answer from within.

But till then, I'll help humanity,
I would help mother nature,
I will help my parents,
I must help myself.
My HP Poem #750
©Atul Kaushal
 Jan 2015 Shannon
Mike T Minehan
I can’t help thinking
that almost every girl I meet
could possibly, potentially be,
yes, a screamer in the sack,
or better, a soul mate in the sack,
or even a confidant in a coffee shop, or anywhere.
And then they could jointly rule my kingdom
imperiously, like the Queen of Babylon,
or maybe Bathsheba, who was having a bath
when David espied her and then jumped her in his boudoir.
I suppose an exhibitionist needs a ******.
Gee. But it wasn't kosher for David, the King of Judea,
to then have murdered Bathsheba's husband, Uriah,
so he could afterwards marry her.
What? Yeah, this is all in that whodunnit,
the first tabloid, the Old Testament.
But look, I'm getting away from the path here.
What I'm talking about is girls that I innocently meet
without trying to get them in closer.
I don't spy on girls in the bath or the shower
and I don't have anyone murdered for *** or for power.
Or for anything! I'm a writer, see?
I simply imagine, inside my head,
that we all fall fabulously in love,
and blow our minds instead.

Mike T Minehan
Diurnal rays dawned on my sleepy face,
Dancing far behind the leafy lace,
Divine muse woke me up from slippery sleep,
As though warming up my holy holiday flip.

My kindling kid began to scout n’ skid,
Up and down my shoulders around avid,
Flocking my head ahead aloud allowed,
Like chirping smiting fluttering bird

My sporting spouse was all-out for her day out,
Alone was I at home to bear the mounting brunt,
Lo, my tot twined me up beyond my pensive thought,
Like a planted creeper with its gripping knot.  

I was sized up in the race of cat and mouse,
Roundabout and in and around the house,
Up and down the stairs, no way to grouse,  
Hide-and-seek hit my day, hopeless to browse.

So cute, the little angel so called, acclaimed,
Rolled out dear dolls for games, proclaimed,
Lined up, pooled up and piled up, exclaimed,
Chuckled, moved and kicked a few unclaimed

I put him cool in bath tub more for fun n’ play,
And mustered respite and employed the ploy,
Lashed n’ splashed he, in bubbling boundless joy,
Unbothered to care color n’ carpet all the way.

I muttered and lured him out by bread n’ butter,
That towed the tired tot soon from the pitcher,  
I felt dressed down before I dressed his upper,
Impending melee is a funny guess, to feed a toddler.

The budding kid began hullabaloo in a big way,
Bolted my day and jolted my way by his sway,  
Fumbled and tumbled down in anger, all n’ sundry,  
In quest of his mom away and tossed me in quandary.
 Dec 2014 Shannon
KA
YOU just don't see them
look past
critical make believe

funny actually
all i can do is laugh
crying no more
reaching for the spire
no more

There were always words about you....

you just didn't hear them.
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