4 in a Row

Oct. 7th, 2014 03:54 am
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Deer

Awkward deer dancing in the forest,
Hobbling to and fro.
Weaving and twirling,
leaping and curling,
Why? I do not know.

Untitled

Now is time
to write inn rhyme.
Why is it so?
I still don't know.


Mr. Moss

Mr Moss, 
gave his green hair a toss.
He pondered the loss,
of his favorite dental floss,
And in all he felt rather cross.


He walks in light

She walks, 
in light.
He walks, 
in shadow.

She laughs,
in light.
He weeps, 
in shadow.

She sings,
in light.
He screams
in shadow.

She lives,
in light.
He's dying,
in shadow.

She stops,
in light.
He stops,
in  shadow.

He walks,
in light.
She walks,
in shadow.

He rejoices,
in light.
She smiles,
in shadow.

He lives,
in light.
She fades,
in shadow.

He walks,
He laughs,
He sings,
He LIVES,
in light.


arkandrs_box: bwahaha (Default)
It has just come to my attention that I randomly starting poetry with no real explanation on why. IT wasn't just some random whim, though it would definitely be like me to do it that way. But no. I am participating in something called OctPoWriMo.

Basically, it's NaNoWriMo with poetry. A poem a day each day in October. Neat, huh?






Salad.
Oh green, green salad.
A combination of vegetables thrown together seeming at random
But
oh
so
tasty.
Often called 'rabbit food'
you are mocked
regarded with disgust
hated
but oh worry not oh salad
for your people will arise
a whole gathering
just for you
Adoring
Admiration
Loved.
you will even have impersonators,
wanna-bes who attempt to reach your greatness...
only to fail.
there is only one salad.
One vegetable menagerie God.
and that is you.
arkandrs_box: bwahaha (pic#4801254)
Ode 2 a Smart Aleck

So today someone suggested
A poem regarding 'two'.
Which really got me thinking,
about what type to do.

There's of course the number two,
and the to that is a preposition
And after that you have
the word meaning also, too.

But there is one more than that.
Which makes it even funner.
Imagine a ballet dancer in a pair of runner
Sporting a colorful, tutu.

If you are reading this,
and are somewhat perplexed,
Imagine being Ceaser who spoke:
Et tu Brutus?



Penny


Poor forgotten penny,
left alone in the road,
down a drainpipe,
in the trash,
under a sofa cushion.

Unseen.
Unloved.
Undesired.
Thought Worthless.

A mix of copper,
and other metals,
a muttley combination.

Not pure.
No worth.
Tainted.

Poor strange penny,
melted into bits;
warped from your true purpose;
used not to spend,
but to INSPIRE.

No longer a poor penny,
your path went a different way.
Not poor in being,
but ALIVE
in every way.

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