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The wind weaves this tapestry of texture and color
tall grasses that bend with the weight of their growth
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When old Malayans wrote pantoums
To try to charm a ladies heart
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The sun shines down so sweetly on the garden that we grew
Where the branches bob and bustle on the breeze
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I am a poet because I have seen
past future and present and over all being
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To my all time favourite poet John Cooper Clarke
The anti-establishment mouthpiece,
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I wonder what's the point of sonnet forms
They're just a set of silly little norms
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Thoughts inside this box are to contained
Emotions need room to spread vibrant wings
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This came to me complete in a dream, including the names of the protagonists.
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Poetry is homemade soup:
Cracked bone of the past
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you remind of me of the sun
because the moon must follow
when your on the run
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The author tries in vain for a rhythm,
anything to set these naked letters to;
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Yet it seems only others may cause my flames to grow
I am merely endowed with the power of smoke
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Flowing like butter on toast in the morning
Oil in an engine, or water downhill
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song-like and sweet as honey
not sugarcoated syrupy
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My mind is wide awake, my body tired.
So many thoughts and questions flood my mind;
by Frodofan
15 lines, 4 comments,
on Jul 17 3:55 PM. In sonnet, rhyme, death, poetry, writing, writer, life, heaven, thoughts, form
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When I was falling out i was reaching
for some help. but in this picture
by TheDarkJokerSeven
51 lines, 4 comments,
on Jul 16 8:20 PM. In Poetry, Thoughts, lyrics, society, nature, dark, angst, sad, thoughtfull
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I come to you in the evenings
of my heart and soul
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Ecstatic explosions of shimmering white
Descending and dashing in sounds out of Hell
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For my Role model, Pamela:
Circe sings,
foam-born force of mystery
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