A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes. I screamed aloud as it tore through them and now it's left me blind. Florence and the Machine, Cosmic Love
On silent summer nights There are melodies in the skies The birds chriped softly in the trees, as I sat down on the bench. Mosquitoes take bites of my soft silky skin But the night is irresistible still, and I look to the moon It's glow reflects off of the shimmering edge of the lake A single ripple spoils the reflection, but it soon becomes smooth and in the shapes of unicorns, And flying cows, and slithering snakes. Night turns to dawn, the sky is washed in the satin of sunrise cold chill blows in, and it's no longer perfect so I turn slowly away while I wait for Summer's blow.
I'm going to end that poem there! It's a good one. This time we'll try to keep the previous lines of the poem in every post (or in every fifth post or so), that way we'll know exactly where the poem is going. That said, I propose the next poem beginning:
Below a balcony that was not my own,
I like you as an enemy, but I love you as a friend.
Below a balcony that was not my own, I plucked a fine, taut lyre string
"The fact is, I don't know where my ideas come from. Nor does any writer. The only real answer is to drink way too much coffee and buy yourself a desk that doesn't collapse when you beat your head against it." --Douglas Adams
Below a balcony that was not my own, I plucked a fine, taut lyre string. And while the whippoorwill did cry, I continued to play my sorrowful song.
The blackened trees lent lyrics to my sorrow. Southern winds sluiced the notes upward, o'er the rotted railing of the balcony above and into love's ear.
I like you as an enemy, but I love you as a friend.
Below a balcony that was not my own, I plucked a fine, taut lyre string. And while the whippoorwill did cry, I continued to play my sorrowful song.
The blackened trees lent lyrics to my sorrow. Southern winds sluiced the notes upward, o'er the rotted railing of the balcony above and into love's ear.
And love cries out, ''Who's there?''
“A child of five could understand this. Fetch me a child of five.”- Groucho Marx
If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure."-J. Danforth Quayle
I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it- M. Twain
Below a balcony that was not my own, I plucked a fine, taut lyre string. And while the whippoorwill did cry, I continued to play my sorrowful song.
The blackened trees lent lyrics to my sorrow. Southern winds sluiced the notes upward, o'er the rotted railing of the balcony above and into love's ear.
And love cries out, ''Who's there? Who dare break my sleep with wailing?"
"The fact is, I don't know where my ideas come from. Nor does any writer. The only real answer is to drink way too much coffee and buy yourself a desk that doesn't collapse when you beat your head against it." --Douglas Adams
Below a balcony that was not my own, I plucked a fine, taut lyre string. And while the whippoorwill did cry, I continued to play my sorrowful song.
The blackened trees lent lyrics to my sorrow. Southern winds sluiced the notes upward, o'er the rotted railing of the balcony above and into love's ear.
And love cries out, ''Who's there? Who dare break my sleep with wailing?" I cowered quiet - for she was great
I like you as an enemy, but I love you as a friend.
This time we'll try to keep the previous lines of the poem in every post (or in every fifth post or so), that way we'll know exactly where the poem is going. That said, I propose the next poem beginning:
