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#wordplay poems
writelikefools2021 · 26 days ago
You Can’t Make an Omelet without Breaking Some Eggs - Uncle Scooter - Day 18
I heard through the grapevine it’s always darkest before the dawn, but every dog has its day throwing caution to the wind, going on a wild goose chase, pulling someone’s leg, biting off more than you can chew by the skin of your teeth straight from the horse’s mouth. Getting a taste of your own medicine, tit for tat (turnabout is fair play), a snowball effect letting the cat out of the bag and killing two birds with one stone (don’t count your chickens before they hatch), adding insult to injury by beating a dead horse (you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink the last straw). Speak of the devil! The elephant in the room,
 playing devil’s advocate, going down in flames, burning bridges,
 like two peas in a pod getting a second wind to run like the wind. Head in the clouds, 
clouds on the horizon, weather the storm but feeling under the weather, caught between a rock and a hard place through thick and thin (no pain, no gain), but don’t judge a book by its cover, it’s a blessing in disguise! Letting someone off the hook is the icing on the cake,                a peice of cake,                giving the befenit of the dubot                at the dorp of a hat                is the bset of btoh woldrs,                for as you sow so slahl you raep

                         na papel a ydapseektehcotdoryawa…
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dolores-hazy · 2 months ago
How prophetic and ironic
The pathetic polemic emitting
Fatalistic rhetoric questionable
Ethics oh so pedantic
Acidic politics mimicking
Archaic epistolic epics penned
With elegiac apocalyptic spin
The trick is to not trip
Nervous tic don't panic
The Titanic can't sink again
So swim outlandic [sic]
Mondays are manic, every other
Day too take your pic
Frenetic kinetic apoplectic energy
Tales from the cryptic
Drafting drastic measures
In styptic pencil
I.C.(can U?)
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terenceleclere · 3 months ago
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📞 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜’ 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜: 𝙸𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠, 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝟻 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠. 𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚘’𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚛𝚢, 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚡 𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚢. 𝚃𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛, 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖. 𝙰 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎, 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚞𝚡 𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 #JacquesUsed🥀 Come see Jacques 🎟: . #commecicommeca #poem #darlingsandlovelies #poetsofinstagram #poetrycommunity #poetry #poetryporn #wordplay #instapoem #poems #wordsofwisdom #writersofig #instapoet #igpoets #poetryisnotdead #homophones #poetryofig #spilledink #poetrybrothel #prosetitute
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haikkun · 3 months ago
I’m going to floor you,
My dear,
With this tale of a table
That doesn’t have legs
Maureen Armstrong @haikkun
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rokasai · 3 months ago
You're not in my dreams anymore.
I had good dreams once, I suppose; back when still in childhood, when I still had years of growing and years of learning ahead of me, when I thought I was so old. That's when I had dreams I tried to remember when I woke - dreams I smiled at but didn't share. You were in my dreams then.
But children grow older, and things change. Children grow and learn and make mistakes; that's when their dreams suffer. I dream of catastrophe and trauma, of disaster, of fear and anger, of cruelty and violence and death. I tried to forget when I woke - dreams I woke from with tears. You were in my dreams then.
But adults grow tired - so tired, but they can't sleep. They don't speak of their dreams; there is enough suffering in the waking world. What can their dreams hold that is any different from the real world, and yet so much worse. I wake up as tired as before I slept, before I dreamt. And yet, a small relief - You're not in my dreams anymore.
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urbanafricano · 5 months ago
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[Naked Truth]
It’s a shame I had to be naked, for you to love me
Undress, for you to feel me
Why you didn’t feel me?
Our souls never match
Guess you weren’t my mate
You wanted to stimulate
My body, not my mind
Forgive me for falling
I’m in love with you
Dig deeper into my skin
To break an aching heart.
Ensuring that the sizzle
Fizzles within
The naked truth
You were a forbidden fruit
Such a tasteless love
It begins to bait
Follow my poetry page on IG @iamurbanpoetry_ for my poems ty 💕
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haikkun · 5 months ago
I Should Name These Poems After The Bottles Of Wine Which Birthed Them
Rimbaud takes me to a church, pied pious
His rats the rapt attention of my gaze,
He fifes a nimble little tune, a widow’s dirge,
Due diligence
Little mice arise, aroused for this
There are many bloodbaths
At the plow this year
And I, in aye, a sorrowed sister
Staunched to eucharize my sides in turn
Take this body
Take this blood
This was only hip
When Christ did it
In my prime, it was a rib
I do not ask when I am given
Why do I ask when I’m to give?
Maureen Armstrong @haikkun
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sacredxhell · 5 months ago
I hear the sirens; my hands are tied.
I breathe the silence, every night.
I dream of nightmares, when I’m awake.
I dream of sweet dreams, that you can’t take.
I can’t escape.
You talk in circles, I run the crops.
You speak instructions, I grieve the loss.
I know the silence, echoes in my head.
I know violence, oh god I’m dead.
I’m too scared.
I feel the pain, you smell my fear.
Warm open arms, chill me from here.
I don’t mistake, what’s give and what’s take.
You give demands, and destroy all at stake.
You take my love,
You give me hate.
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haikkun · 6 months ago
Aren’t You A Little Too Old For Birthdays???
It’s funny
Because hyphens
Subtract numbers, yet add words
*Swings sword sing-songily*
*Shakes shoulders, haughtily*
A year later
And I’m still writing nerdy maths poems
Nothing’s changed
Except we’ve gone around the sun and come back again, alone
Try to dig my heels in
Prevent the deletions
Bring you back
Remove the spaces
To clip us at the hip
Unless I was just another number
Nothing hardly changes anything
When what you want
Is 9,246 miles away
Maureen Armstrong @haikkun
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rokasai · 6 months ago
Am I remembered?
Does my memory drift far away
Like dandelion seeds in the wind?
Am I missed?
Is my absence unnoticeable
Like a needle dropped from a pine tree?
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rokasai · 6 months ago
Time passes differently at two- three- four in the morning,
When ghosts of the past come out to play and time stands still...
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scenes-of-revolution · 7 months ago
dude fargo is just about how underneath the veneer of midwest nice is just shit-ton of violence
i don’t think i came up with that but i just said it lmao
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