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It's laced with temptation, Ebony highlights the ivory... It's just the best sensation, One that represents a nation... It can only be... Guinness..
Flare, so bright and burning like a solar star, Such beauty divine, so near yet so far, But danger lurks around every corner, Be you test. Or be you warner.
I remember this place. Glimpsed, Longed for as the train Leaves the station and Trundles past Sun-scorched fields. I knew it, once.
Inside my memory Is thoughts of you. The things you said And what you used to do. My favourite phrases That you always listed, 'I know what's wrong with that...
One's youth is inevitable. The journey will never be forgettable. With choices to make and chances to take. Words can pierce. Enemies are fierce. Relationships don't matter.
Why does no one understand. I don't always get what I want. Do I want to never be able to see my best friend. No. Do I want to hear my sister and my parents having screaming matches at night. No.
Beans beans good for your hart ,more you eat more you fart ,beans beans are the best ,and there are never to less.lol lol FART.
They are fury. They have four feet or paws. They like to eat chicken. They like to sleep in the day and hunt at night. They have long tales. What is it. It is a ....... CAT.
The night before the day In which you say "I shall revise!", Do you find it doesn't show Before your very eyes. You sort out books and Pens and space, And oh.
Walking is not like stalking ... Which is more like creeping ..... Which if stalking, is peeping.....
We know the battle's were over for now, The Raven kept circling around, searching for it's bit of meat to claw at. It was just after noon when the sun was at it's highest...
You say that I don't know you, And that you don't know me, But when we write, We bear our hearts And souls through poetry.
Tankards full of beer, Pewter stained and sodden. I miss pubs how they used to be... Now they've gone all modern. I long for that brewed beer.
It's an experiment gone wrong but it's a Glorious rush like a bridge from a Song from the lungs of a singer whose Tongue is a brush that paints pastel strong.
They told me I was foolish, For getting close to you, They said you were incapable Of loving someone too.
Things I love about her Her hair Her eyes Her nose Her ears Her face Her lips Her mouth Her tongue Her neck Her shoulders Her breasts Her nipples Her arms Her hands Her fingers Her stomach Her...
I'm not Steven Moffat, Although folk have told me otherwise. 'Folk' is not a word Steven Moffat would use. Not least in the context of a poem about himself.
I stand here waiting,. Waiting your soft touch. Waiting that smile that says too much,. Your breath, slowly blowing me away,. Re-thinking the words you say,. But I know,. Your still here,.
Darkness fell, As did my heart. For we shall never be apart. Together, in life, we were bound, Until we ended in the ground. We did not imagine that fateful day, When our lives were taken away.
O Opuss, you lick an oeillade but rarely are refined. You inject a ruse but only to the untrained mind. This is not poesy. Rather, a pose.
There are places where I wander, And they're made only for me. Those beautiful green fields, Those trees as high as can be. Yet something remains just missing. Even as I reach my lake.
What is your job. What do you do. I want to know everything about you. Who made those eyes. They're shining magical. I want to spend every minute with you!.
That pitter patter of tiny feet, running circles around my motionless body... Those footsteps in the sand that I always have to follow...
I want to continue, Please, let me endure, I want to go on, abide. I wish to outlive the ocean tide. I mean to persist, remain, Try to Survive and to sustain.