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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 16:42:33 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 156742
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => people watch
[time] => 2010-01-17 01:21:01
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The bar is filled as characters take the stage The young, the old, and those who hide their age I stand like a doctor diagnosing their thoughts Gestures, clothing, and faces I connect the dots Names unknown to me I can only speculate My vision is the canvas upon which I create Drawing conclusions without all the facts Their stories are true with a touch of abstract Business man dressed for success from head to toe His outside says money; his inside screams hollow Polished hair combed fresh, freshly cut His smile tells you he knows what’s up Is his wealth and taste compensation? Making up for a personal limitation Is there more to him than a dollar sign? A compelling story behind the headline Wearing all black she appears to be Goth The night attracts her like the light does a moth Are her piercings just holes carved in her skin? Opening the pain of places she’s been Her make-up is dark and her hair is Mohawk The mascara runs down her face like seconds on a clock So easy to judge without even guessing Something about her being different is a blessing The 1940s called and wanted their hipster back Imitating cool he is a needle in a haystack He’s got the moves to ride with the clothes He wears the style to hide the size of his nose He appears above but comes from below Posing as a mountain that is really plateau Am I wrong to judge him this way? Maybe he’s just a cat gone astray She’s got legs that walk away my eyes A short skirt hiked way past her thighs I don’t have to know her to know what she’s not Two twin sisters exposed shows me what she’s got With every stare I can’t help but undress As her clothes become obstacles that block the rest If she could be painted then Mona Lisa would be jealous The cover of her book is the only story she can tell us Spiked hair, collar popped, frat boy without a doubt His favorite band is probably Nickelback; oh what a sellout He gets the girls with looks and charms He has as much brains as a snake does arms Perhaps there is a winning personality behind the act But I got a feeling deep conversations are something he lacks If steroids were a drink he’d call it juice In his mind he’s always Maverick, but never Goose She is dressed very nice and casual, definitely not a slut Or maybe she’s disguising it like a band aid on a cut She appears to be a girl worth dating Or is it just a fantasy my mind is creating Maybe I should take action and talk to her See if my gambling mind has drawn a winner Play out the game and see what the cards are showing But I like her so much better not knowing The show is over and I stand alone While everyone leaves; taking their lives home I have learned much and nothing at all Tales tied tight with strings of truth and tall Everyone I’ve met and everyone I’ve seen Are but parts of an elaborate machine They hum, combust, move, and break And from them this is what I take…. All of us have something in life we can easily fake [comments] => 0 [counter] => 247 [topic] => 43 [informant] => zedwards [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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