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 Dec 2015 Sari Sups
Gabby O
11.18
 Dec 2015 Sari Sups
Gabby O
Create for me a castle
Of cold sunshine
And arid ocean
Create for me an impossibility
So I might live within you
now where did this come from?
Unusually
in a pub
a mid-July evening

clutching a Coke
the tangled strings
of conversation

peppered across the room
and loitering about
for faces

I haven’t seen
in perhaps four years
to breathe

through the door
to begin
that mawkish process

of reminiscing
over protracted days
in carpeted classrooms

naturally chat
about the lukewarm now
present partners

jobs if we have one
and upon arrival I speak little
letting the cool

surf of familiar voices
refresh me
as some mysterious

but quite delicious drink
and there is laughter
delicate chatter

before we disperse
like youthful bees
to our own slices

of existence
separate but always
aware of what was
Written: December 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, regarding a school reunion I attended in July 2015, at a pub named 'Oliver Twist.' All feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook home page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the near future.
 Dec 2015 Sari Sups
Calli Kirra
I don't believe you when you say you love me,
So I don't believe anything
 Dec 2015 Sari Sups
Mike Hauser
some days
i'd like to run away
from where i'm at
to another place
perhaps a wrinkle in
somebody else's face
or hide out
inside a crooked smile
anywhere
where i'd not be found out

jump into an eye
in the middle of a blink
slide around the back
and watch them while they think
after awhile
i would venture out
making my way north
find a bushy brow
change my accent and identity
to a cajon from the south

jump onto a tear
as it's wiped close to the ear
whisper subliminal messages
get me out of here...
 Dec 2015 Sari Sups
kaylene- mary
I drowned my will to live
in the bathtub across the hall
It didn't put up much of a fight
It didn't seem to mind much at all
 Dec 2015 Sari Sups
Oscar Mann
I guess I’ve been searching
For the meaning of life
In all the wrong ways
And in the wrong place

I delved into the deep secrets
Of lottery tickets
Hoping that a circle or three
Would reveal life’s mystery

Next up was a casino
Where I went straight for roulette
And found luck almost upon me
Yet the little  ball changed to forty-three

Then I soon discovered
That despite my hopes and prayers
That after my game of Blackjack
About life I still knew jack

So now I’ve come to realize
That life may be a lottery
But that doesn’t mean a gambling spree
Will reveal life’s meaning or mystery
 Dec 2015 Sari Sups
Bella
The terms and conditions of loving the unloveable:

Participate at your own risk. The problem with loving a dream is that it is a two player game and you are the only one with dice to roll. 

1 and 5. They will tell you they love you in black and white, with mottled colour on ivory skin.

3 and 2. They will tell you that you are beautiful and then let you go.

6 and 6. Your face met with the devil’s fist. You will give your love to a loveless being and they will say thank you with a few broken bones and muffled excuses in only an emergency. In case of an emergency please dial 4. Please dial 4, please dial 4. They will smoke cigarettes as your shaking hands reach up for their face and they will tell you to clean up the blood in the kitchen, in the kitchen, “get in the kitchen”.

You roll again.

6 and 6. Your face met with the devil’s fist. Your hands bound and blood running down your wrists. Please dial 4, please dial 4. He will change, of course he will.

Roll Again.

6 and 12. A third dice to make the game and he will hurt you again and again and again.

The unloveable.

They are not made for lovers hearts or lovers eyes or the morning kiss of a weary child. They are made to hurt and they are made to bleed through the look in their eyes and the names they call you, through the destruction of skin on skin and the idea that anything pure in life must be a ******* sin.
White hot Flash
Drums of Vibrato
Echo down the Spine
Cold and Sticky
In the Chest
Pulling an Aching
Mind down to
Recollections of Oleander
And Saltwater-
Bloodshot belladonna Eyes
Poppy seed Vision
A loose-lipped Smile
Blurred hands
Violet fingertips
Pale white Translucent
Blue veins dark Stained
Iced concrete and Jasmine
Be still my Soul
Long enough
To Comprehend
The Nymphet Tragedy
Of timid Thorns
And soft strums on Steel Strings
Written longways
Read sideways
Neglected underneath
Rocky steps
Buried deep
In the salted Soil
And mossy Tress
We rescue heartless wolves
Then fear the crime of saving them

And once upon a time we were both the sunrise and sunset
But the land that we believed was mythical ended up being real

I am made of playful creatures and constantly swirling sand
You are made of delicate glass and tangled hair that slips through my fingers

But together we do not belong
Because the flowers we grew are making a pathway

To carry our imminent death
Closer
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