His explanation
is his metabolism
I suppose it's true
it simply isn't up to
burning off all that junk food
tracing the movements of a fly
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His explanation
is his metabolism
I suppose it's true
it simply isn't up to
burning off all that junk food
tracing the movements of a fly
Eyes crossed, lazily
slumped at the picnic table,
the fly on my nose
buzzes, licks clean its knees.
The breeze lifts, he drifts away.
fountain
Duchamp's urinal
turned on its head was also
conceptually
ergonomically reversed
when he called it a fountain
a rock group's secret passtimes
Marzipan puppies
Created by leather clad
Rockers in secret,
Occasionally tasted
By laughing virginal girls.
:worrying about siblings
Oh brother! My brother,
You won't believe what he's done.
And in public too!
Remember that cat in Prague?
It's worse; Two buckets this time!!
Finally overcoming your fears.
Redwoods incident,
Hallucinating crawling
Spiders all over.
No more panic, just squash them.
My children are not afraid.
Dawn view over a lake, river, or ocean.
Pink fades into blue
Fades into long black shadows
Sun burns off the mist
Water laps the creaking boats
Warming in the morning sun
New topic: Watching people on a busy street
Lovely post Emily.
As you passed me by,
I wondered how your voice sounds,
And whether you snored;
But now that you've disappeared,
I forget what you looked like.
Oops! Forgot to post a topic.
Next topic: Forgetting something important. :lol:
Thank you, Xamonas (do you prefer "Xamonas" or "Chegwe"?). Yours is beautiful.
Creeping sense of dread
The string fell off my finger
Was it ever there?
I'm scanning my memory
I'm gazing at a white wall
Next topic: Finding out you've done something wrong
As we haven't been formally introduced, perhaps it should really be Mr. Chegwé. But I'm not one to stand on ceremony. So Xamonas will serve. Do you prefer miss 655321 by the way? ;)Quote:
Originally Posted by emily655321
I entered my name,
To register and talk books;
well, most of my name.
The oversight is acute,
I have no accent, touché!
Climbing a rope ladder.
But Dad, can't you see
The support is unstable
My hands are burning
All the pulling in and down
Isn't worth the going up
mopping up the light
Leaves flicker in breeze
Their shadows like flakes falling
Upon your face. The softness
Of your skin, your voice against
The warm earth, the well-worn bark.
The photographs of Ansel Adams
Black and black and black
The shadow of a mountain
Impressing itself
So clean and sleek and sterile
Postcard from another world
Distruction of a museum
Holding on tightly
To my sense of quiet calm,
Observing beauty,
I step back, The walls breathe life.
Built so, by reverant hearts.
next topic:
a spirited elderly gentlemen
During the tea dance
He jumped around, squashed a cake
and pulled his pants down
Spirited? He was indeed
His blood was half Scottish malt
joypeg