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Wheels but partition, A PALS secrets, Foreseen at distance, No team so clean, A fallacy hideous. She spins the wheel, deals, A vowel to vie, consonant, She speaks volumes, columns, A fool to buy love constant, For I is one you cannot buy, She screams from the distance.
Lately, I write universal, Rody Walker disapproves: "I see through you, Ethereal, feigning too close, To touch a virtue. Oh, feeling, careening mostly, Posts passing, tongue lashings, More dashing, floor, gas pedal, More dashing, more dashing, One says, like a clause." Platinum ring, yet, Heart diamond, set. What's happening, please, Forget my misdeeds, luck, A hat in a ring, belts, One generation fights back, Another fights against. Poetry succinct, mispelled, Written on cocktail napkins, Waitress dismayed and going, Thrown to a well indistinct, Dreams worth more than coins, More than love or poinsettias, Less two roses that grow together. At least, If I throw my feelings, Into the well they drink, One day they will think of me. Although, If I know I'm leaving, Into the well I go, no warning, or unthinking. Tomorrow, If I am untoward, Bloated upon our meeting, Give me shelter from the storm. Or at least a greeting.
Let's get lit Have you ever felt a time so lit, Like this. Blessed, dressed, Comfy sweaters, It's Christmas. Have you ever felt a time so lit. I guess, I'm dressed in it, I'll spend the whole day with my friends, Chilling. Mingling, God Willing, Song Singing, Painting pictures of my brothers swinging, I guess, I'm blessed because, I can feel it's Christmas. We get presents (ooh) We get Phillips Hues. Everything you wanted all year, I've got just for you. Let's get lit Have you ever felt a time so lit, Like this. Blessed, dressed, Comfy sweaters, It's Christmas. Have you ever felt a time so lit.
Wisdom, do anything for love, One cannot administer feeling, Smoking trees and tending buds; Ashore a flood, Amore my love, Shores complain not of fumbles, Nor bees of bumbles. Horse contained not by hurdles, Nor flees or humbled. No fleas or bugs, or jungles. A girl, reserved forever, supple, Personal, plain, non functional, Is she a butt joke, or punchline? Regret, or spend time a spindle, Two too many, to twine a stick, Rope simply frayed on four ends. Portend of trouble, Poor tend to nothings, Their lovers forever troubling, Who casts shadow twice a valley, Humble?
Railing, mirth like nail files, Failure at the last mile, paling, Valencia mailing, orange letters: "Hello, my love endearing, Are you not hearing my words, Cello, or Othello reading." Orator deceiving, apportioned more, For boys, they are but fleeting, Foreign peering at another girl. Teenage to be, card or palm reading, Do my feelings mean nothing more? A chore on your list of meetings, Suit, Tie and your railing grasped tightly. I might be a fool for lies and deceit, Ununique like an onion, carrot or leek: "Choose me please, you need to eat. Color me pink or beat me anew, kneed, Until I am bread, so says the meat." Your railing a crutch, always needed, Like carrot bread has disgusting features, You have disingenuous dealings with realism.
My heart filled with love, Only my paintbrush coveted. Simply a coward with canvas, To give forms anew, forever, Formula new, for you toward, Perhaps to give in retort. To highlight, grey, Brush dusty and disdain, My desires of microphones, Speakers though, just saying.
Fruitful sword lily ablush Nestled in gardens lush Pigments triumph aplenty Resilient verdant sentry Colossal erectile shoots Ingrain deep abyssal roots Precious tis platinum spun Abreast a rising sun Glorious tis a supple reign Aubade a beauteous refrain Vibrant a gladiolus plant Borne on Gaia’s decant Traverse archaic path Helios waning wrath Shadows await dusk Absconding obligant musk
Reading of lives I enjoy deceit, My letter bold, italic and neat: "Please hear me, Greek, leek, I sometimes write nonsense, Lest hope you would hear it." Leading my lines, Foreseeing poetically, Receiving a liar guilty. He says: "For stanzas today, teacher, I stand like bread features, My brother filet beside me." For once he doesn't lie, Looks for the sky, sees ceiling. Nothing aground marks his feeling, Seeing the concrete, He remarks of life: "To tryst so wildly, again, Would Vivaldi paint so vividly? Probably, and with champagne, because his name has dignity." So seeing his window, He thinks of rain.
Bartlett pears, dare i say, or shout, Without is life austere, my world grey. Some juicy poetry I heard today: "With my hands so sticky, A world become so tricky, So quickly the armoire useless, Of rickety fences, my house is." I spoke it, To save face, Bartlett pears are on their way.
Aspoet
