You want it to be organized,

Your prep lined up in rows.

Each dice and cut the perfect size,

And service time just flows.

But one little error can descend to anarchy.

That customer is celiac,

And this bread’s not gluten free!

You donkey! Start again!

You race to do another plate.

It’s criminal to make them wait.

Head down and hope they don’t complain.

And get your rhythm back again.

But then somebody burns the steak,

And you’re almost out of lava cake!

The bills are coming in like mad.

Noise. Chaos. Where’s my prep cook!

Damn it. I quit!!

She said

“Darling, I love you.

Yet I don’t know what for.”

I said

“Angel, I love you.

Yet I don’t know what for.”

She said

“Darling, you’re hurting me.

Yet I don't know... what for?

You’ve broken

My heart

In two.”

I said

“Angel, I have.

Yet don’t know what for.”

~Cotton Candy

they raised their pitchforks

the crowd gathered sticks

and picked up stones

ready to break Aeriy’s bones.

voices rang loud in the air

many folks gave a hearty cheer

ready to set Aeriy ablaze

they gathered piles of hay.

they lit the sticks ‘n’ hay

that they’d placed around Aiery’s feet,

a cry was heard from the crowd

— a lad had fallen to the ground!

some folks lost their sight,

others failed to hear a thing

not even the sound of Aiery sing

loudly for the creatures to hear

out of the woods a pack of wolves

appeared before the village

they failed to escape from Aiery’s

loyal, quick & hungry army.

Aiery snapped her fingers

the fire grew stronger

it hissed, & went flying

destroying everything in the village.

the wolves howled and waited

for their Master to head back

to their own resting place

in the dark, misty woods.

#Aeriy.

jeudi, 3 octobre, 2019. ©

Sometimes the rhythm just flows

A writer somehow, he just knows

(Well it might be a she, I suppose)

And the feeling of inspiration just steadily increases and grows.

Like a big flower.

The words of poetry are sweet

And verse can often seem neat

As sentences seem to complete

Themselves without much input from the writer

Like magicness.

A poet has licence, it seems

To say that it’s not what it seems

And the words hold together like seams

As the poet paints a new world composed of his dreams

(or hers, in some cases.)

But today, I decided to kill

And sabotage what I write, so I will

By destroying its rhyme

Whilst at the same time

Completely disrupting the flow of its rhythm and destroying its magic(ness).

Like this.

:)

Forgot to say, if you enter, please tag me. cheers!

I love your smile.

I love your style.

I go the mile.

Though you take me

for granted

sometimes,

asking for more than

you need.

Filling your heart up

with greed.

Don’t let it take over

your mind!

I think you’re cool.

I think you rule.

Although it’s cruel

when you

let anger

and rage

destroy our

forever friendship

Yelling with

quivering lip.

Fury belongs

in a cage!

I love you so.

I want you to know.

I want it to show.

So listen up

now!

Listen to ME.

Don’t let it

take over your

personality!

Be yourself!

I SAID

BE

YOURSELF

AND

SNAP

OUT

OF

IT!

I like who you are.

I think you’re a star.

You’re going to go far.

Just breathe.

You have issued me a task

and all of my you ask

is to write a rhyme

and I do this all the time

I could write about the moon

or the summer nights in June

But instead, let's play a game

and "Police" is its name

What's wrong with English prose

is amoung us there are those

who take a certain word

then redefine it, so obsurd

"Police" is one of these

to understand is a breeze

it's a verb, adjective, a noun

Heck, it could even be a town

How many times can you say

"Police" in a way

That sounds like a phrase

Here is one of the ways

"Police police police Police police policing Police police."

Mesmerised by nature

I walk and I see

A splendid picture,

How can she be...

"Hey! Look out, man!"

So pretty? Enduring

The malice of mankind,

An abuse, recurring,

But still, she shined...

"Are you blind or something?"

And now yet again,

A structure, being made,

She cries in pain

As green starts to fade...

"Sir, it's not safe to go out there!"

Does it seem so strange

To let ideas rearrange?

And try to make a change?

Oh, please! Make a chan-

.

.

.

"A person has been found dead in an unfortunate accident at a construction site today."

A gentle breeze does blow

A sacred bird flies low

To sweep through misty air

To find one who might be fair

Alas a dragon comes this way

Fire

Blast

Blast

Oh the sacred bird

A dark raven does crow

A mind so vast cannot know

To what lengths a bird can care

To find one who might be a bear

Grass singes on the night time's watch as to the time it has no clue.

A ballerina dances through the steamy forest and as for the time, she does not know.

The sacred bird did know

but was wiped out by a foe.

Lemonade,

Crunchy ice,

Beat it once,

Beat it twice.

Lemonade, crunchy ice,

Beat it once, beat -

"Shut up!" Yelled my dad. He hated it when we played. So we sat in silence instead

For mere droplets to create a river,

’tis no easy feat at all.

It’s difficult to find the teather

that winds it tight together,

thick as bound leather.

When we fall,

together,

there’s not a wall that could hold us forever.

Now we are the river.

Yet, I suppose it can’t hurt to divert the stream every once in a while,

to allow for freedom and intuition.

To contradict the constrictive rules and expectations.

Yes, they hold us together.

But we do still have strength,

even alone.

All on our own.