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Zach Willett Nov 2012
spinning white lights on the cusp of the new millennium, daring kids spilled their guts.
breathing deeply, we’d all fall and swell with oxygen, drunk with life, in time.

words have flown to me, as spirits in a sweet wind, they’ve come.
love in all shapes form around me, within me, lately.
love as a glorious, gleaming smile, always and forever.
love as a final conquest.
love as a first, real, true love.
love as a new perspective on life, as a realization.
love as a tool to grow with.
love as a recollection of past loves.
love as fun.
love as friends, beautiful and glorious, shining always under night skies and blossoming in summer suns.
i live love, thoroughly, completely, endlessly.
Luis Garcia Mar 2015
Mirror, Mirror, Where is Delphi

i preferred it when you had your hair in a bun,
walking down Tweedy with ripped jeans and taylor gang chucks,
with your hair blazed bloodier and brighter than desolate Mars,
when you were just another girl i grew in war with,

i never dreamed, though i saw that one day you would leave,
and desert the dirt covered laces and kiss me goodbye,
tethered up in knots as you threw us in the sky,

i look down at you tangled on the line,
a saddened women posing in her in undergarments before the digital eye,
you are the baddest *****,
i can see it on my screen as i scroll past in thirst,
you are the baddest *****,
i acknowledge this to be true,

infantry ****** open fire, shooting explosive emojis that detonate your feed,
i know you wear bullet proof armored sweaters
but i also see the bruises on that solitary face,
leeches feeding lust into your neck,
you step into battle with black eyes on your chest,
swinging your “i don’t give a ****” sword, beheading lascivious foes,

i preferred when we sat on the terrace during the decline of the sun,
softly voicing how we’d get out of this cage,
walking north of south gate with worn out tokens,

i left you unguarded
pardon me, lustful,crimson Helen of Troy
Dan Lafferty Mar 2010
My side of the singled bed
is large and needy,
old and tweedy.
A mess of a mass
cast of colour.

Her side of the single bed
is neat and slim,
twisted and trim.
A cress by the crass
man of monsters.
Hawley Anne Jan 2023
Shall I count the days now,
It's 4 thousand 17.
Time is not doing its job,
It's not reduced the pain in me.
Shall I count my tears now,
it's far over 4 thousand 17.
Every day, your memory,
comes back to sit with me.
96 thousand,
four hundred twenty six.
That's the number of hours now,
that you have missed.
Oh, so much has happened,
in the hours you've been gone.
My little girls are growing fast,
they'll be all grow before too long.
Mike and his girlfriend Kendra,
have the cutest ever son.
So I'm auntie Ray-Ray now,
being an aunt is so much fun.
You would have loved baby Jeremy,
he really is quite smart.
And the giggle that kid has,
would have easily stole your heart.
But again, I count the days you're gone,
4 thousand 17.
And I think of all I would have said and done,
if your death had been foreseen.
I could count the minutes,
I could even count the seconds, too.
But all this pointless counting,
doesn't get me closer to you.
As I sit all by myself and talk to an empty room,
I wonder if you're listening and talking to me too.
I wish that I could hear you,
and ask for some advice.
I know you'd know just how I feel,
and how to make things right.
Gut-wrenching soul destroying,
even after eleven ******* years.
I've given up on wondering,
if I'll ever be free from tears.
I miss you uncle I hope you know it,
And I'll forget you NEVER.
Once again, your Tweedy Bird,
Will love you always,
and
forever.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2024
--------------
And in this we state, peaceable foremost,
recollecting puzzles uses, and disputing
the worth of imagining an others mind,
after my own was recognized as alienated,
by the nearest thing to an advizeer, we need,

the projected tweedy lisping image
of Judson McGeehee,
of blessed memory for his remark to me
about my use of the word ****** to modify
lost.

Truth at the authorial observers qwerty level
accomplished old man, letting this mind be
in him, thinking it no theft, your attention,
or mine, its all worth what we believe,
ultimately, we choose, win, or lose,

and live with knowing that's fine, in finest
grit, being coughed up from post shingle shot

reactions in our instants together as thought

Earth after any minute now is in its principal,
state of mind, tuning our minds through our time,

on Earth, whither many have long believed,
the perfect will is what won, witnessed done, indeed
peaceable, gentle, easily entreated,

settle down, warrior willing
to die for the truth
calling all you read, testing your hold on truth,
chains of pearls, anchor chains of pearls, truths
used
in your present reality to allow a fretless cough,
and sniff, in rememberance of Solzhenitsyn
and Don Beck, who read A day in the life…
in forty-five minutes, with his hearing aids off.

Ivan Denisov itch… but you knew it.
Hello Poets, there is a long, long  story that this is center from,
this is not a long form venue, do you know of any? Amazon is calling.

— The End —