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Poems about Rhyme
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I fear not, those who condemn me. / For they condemn themselves, / simply by the act of condemning. / I fear not those who judge me. / For their judgment is merely their opinion, / and their opinion cannot condemn me. / I mistrust not, those w
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As I was lying in my bed, / I felt something moving by my head... / it was my pet lizard, I call him Ted. / As I was about to fall asleep,
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I ONCE SAT DOWN, / TO WRITE A POEM. / MY PENCIL WAS BROKEN. / THAT WAS AN OMEN. / I PICKED UP A PEN. / AND TRIED AGAIN. / THE PEN HAD GONE DRY, / SO I LET OUT A SIGH. / I PICKED UP A MARKER, / WHICH WOULD WRITE MUCH DARKER. / IT JUST M
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An enchanting young girl with tender sweet charms, / and beautiful hair that shimmers and shines. / In the light from above I see as a dream, / my angel of love, so tender she seems. / With sweet graceful love she came to me, / from acrosss the
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/ A legacy to leave behind. / / A poem to stand the test of time. / / I truly love this son of mine, / / yet he tests me time after time. / / I know that this can be the way, / / for a growing man to say, / / I'm getting b
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He stares at the curb, it's incredibly tall. / He has to be careful, or from his chair he will fall. / On the other side, it's tall and it's wide. / As he looks up and down, there's no curb cut in sight. / He sits and he wonders, how will he get u
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/ Almost / / I used to write / almost every night. / I used to write / almost every day. / At almost any given moment, / I had something I wanted to say. / Now I almost write every night. / Now I almost write every day. / Now I adm
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Still testing just to see, / if this forums right for me. / I have written many things, / that to this forum I could bring. / Still not sure how to feel about, / opening up and letting them out. / This is all so new to me... / oh well, I gue
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Start out simple, that's the thing, / let the poem itself bring. / Put it out there on the net, / hope that I have no regrets. / Told some poets what I thought, / don't understand the points I've got. / Just a test to feel this out, / and se
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There once was a boy born hollow and vacant, / With skin made of bark, but nothing within. / His folks named him Marcus, Marcus the Giant,
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can't charm a snake with temptation
listen to sounds of sensation
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/ She stirred with some uncertainty as if she didn’t know / How she came to be there in the cold and sodden snow. / Trapped but without borders, she will never express / How much that she is missing in her confused distress. / / She shambles
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/ / / My Dad told me to stay away / from the path / / Hell hath no fury / like a girl in red / but she'll lure you / with her basketfull / of goodies / / that's what my oul' fella said / / Of course, I had to look /
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As I looked out across the morning rain / A veil drew over that pale sky, / And that refreshing deluge made its claim / To all that had so far been far too dry. / The intoxicating showers watered / Wherever nature was desiccated. / And as that
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The gastric gents in the old folk’s home / Cope with life to a tolerable degree / And the widows with sagging mouths of foam / Always looking out, but they never see / The end of the long and much winding road. / They’ve never been closer to it
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You use that last bottle of wine to / Lubricate your social interactions: / Those long evenings of longer distractions / Spent in pubs wond
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I've been lost in the spaces between / love and your mystery to me. / The good times are not gone. / I've been in a limbo I can't explain / our happiness, our home. / / You take away my troubles, / you fight away my grief. / Stealing away
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You beat your brains on a Saturday night, / Pump it full of drugs and booze, / Do you do it to remember or just to fight? / Or do you do it
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/ / He doesn’t drink, smoke, joke, / He takes the healthy path. / He doesn’t drink away the gloom; / In his body there’s no room / For junk, funk or any fun. / No brown sugar, no white / As he has his morning run / And has his healthy
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Your squalid options aren’t enough, / Your hood and knife call no one’s bluff / As no one’s here to set you straight / And no one’s here now to berate / You for the loses you have made / And no one stops you until you’ve paid / For every singl
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Midnight is for poetry,
when undernourished imagination feasts.
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English professors want lyrical ballads.
Zines want bombastic bitching.
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Sometimes I wish I was dead.
No more worries to trouble my head.
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by marcusmoore
169 words, 28 comments,
on Jul 10 7:38 AM 2008. In Adult, Love, Free Verse, Rant, Life, Rhyme, Weird, Alliteration, Loss, Lost Love
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by marcusmoore
112 words, 51 comments,
on Jul 10 4:32 AM 2008. In Angst, Lost Love, Love, Personal, Rhyme, Sad, Lyrics, Life, Pain, Lost, Adult
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Stand by your brain
Give it lots of books to read
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My mind is a corroded cacophony - / a silly symphony of anxious ennui, / poundingly played by a fruity Sadducee / who put LSD in his caffine-free green tea, / and finished with a final finale / performing a guitar solo ala Tin Pan Alley.
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