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 91 
 on: July 23, 2017, 03:54:24 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Some Hathaway shirts needed cufflinks
The cuffs folded over twice
The links I used were grandpa's vintage
Though not tarnished, they looked kind of nice.

The Hathaway shirt has three hole buttons
Took stainless collar stays
The cloth was as smooth as fine linen
With starch, it looked really great.

Now the steps to undress with a shirt with cufflinks
They add some mystery
In the art of love, itís a small thing
To ask where the links should be placed.

Itís been a long time since Hathaway shirts
The factory closed decades ago
And Christian Dior, well his shirts are chinese
So the cufflinks stay in the drawer.

 92 
 on: July 22, 2017, 12:09:34 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
His eyes are calm on the surface. A sunny beach. Breath controlled and rhythmic like a slow jam. Behind them is a hurricane, memories tarnished, swirling around. The taste of her soft lips, the feel of her warmth pressing him. Words, long conversations over fudge Sundays. Brain freeze and laughing at nothing his chest heaving and full of feelings.

He comes to reality, a cold wind slapping across flushed cheeks. Nostril flare of exhale and he forces the tension in his hands to relax. The storm will blow over. He tells himself that. His own therapist. Palm trees blow, wind whipped but less bent over. A half-smile spreads across his mouth. Dusty thoughts and wet weather bring--

 93 
 on: July 22, 2017, 03:47:25 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Little Don, the tropical, storm just died out with no oomph
A little thing that, without TV, no one would notice at all
Donís off the list for another year, next comes someone with E
But Don will not be a hurricane, heíll just creep along on his knees.

So many storms get names now a days, get names off of a list
Satellites keep us apprised of the storms in the great Atlantic
But only some grow to hurricane strength to raise a little surf
To ride up the beaches in New Jersey where the fat guy closed up the shore.

Not little Don, heís no hurricane, heís just a little breeze
Bad breath may be only damage little Don will ever breath
Don had a dream of roaming around, maybe grabbing girls cause heís famous
But poor little Don, heís all pooped out, his name not even retired.

 94 
 on: July 21, 2017, 11:19:28 AM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
I blast through the water's surface, breaking the tension like a missile cracking through the earth. Skin cold and prickly, shaved like a newborn I glide under turbulent water, all silent... the noise enters my conscious as I come up for a shallow breathe. I gumbo of sounds my mind can't interpret because it is too focused.  Beside me the bouy's float lazily in the lane, airplane runway strips or edges of a prison. I don't wander across for fear of being kicked or disqualified. I taste carbs. Pasta acid burp burning in my throat with chlorine, everything is tight. Every muscle suddenly weighted and rebelling, stiffening like a dead person's--
 

 95 
 on: July 21, 2017, 05:24:20 AM 
Started by tbones - Last post by tbones
Red Glow, smell of putrid smoke, loud rumble like the earth is shattering the missile climbs into the air.  Corn Fields and rocky mountains with hidden silos are underground. Radar blips, satellites, and state of the art computers controlling the pathway to destruction. Time wasted, resources forgotten, a pissing match that ends in annihilation. A show of strength, a necessary evil, a deterrent to the crazy, power hungry leaders in the world. Their words are a like a missiles, sharp, poignant, destructive. They always needs to launch a bigger more powerful attack, They never back down but only boast with her arsenal of weapons and words.

 96 
 on: July 21, 2017, 04:43:32 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Put a man on a missile, blast him in the sky
In a capsule smaller than a ford
The roar of the engine lifting from the Earth
Alan Shepardís space touching rebirth.

Missiles in their silos, they donít carry men
They carry bombs for the enemy
From launch to destruction halfway around the world
Forty minutes is about all they need.

Now down a Dahlgren, the new rail gun
Beats the old missiles for speed
More like a shepherd boy swing his sling
A stone sent swiftly through the air.

The rail gun picks up the pace of missile trajectory
No hesitation at the start of the flight
Carving through the atmosphere with a shriek left behind
The missiles in their silos wonít get their chance.

 97 
 on: July 20, 2017, 09:50:04 PM 
Started by Cheezus - Last post by Cheezus
The smell of rocket fuel burning
Whos the fool returning?
A slow walk back to the nuclear disaster
A magnetic love thats set to blow
Even if its a failure and you know

The taste of gasoline followed by feeling high
So numb, not caring if she'll make you feel dumb
She'll be done with you quick

That slow walk back in the empty street
Always dragging his feet
The sound of cars driving by never stopping
Until they need to get wherever they need to do
And it will never be you

Shuffle, drag my eye, stuck in the slow lane
I feel like Im going to die
Lets blow this place up

 98 
 on: July 20, 2017, 07:53:24 AM 
Started by only1kay - Last post by only1kay
Transported through the hot wax of your sleep
into this dimension that feels so real you can
touch the air
Premonition is a door you open.
Turn the key and crack the door.
The real you is showing events to come.
Peaking into the future you take a step back
You feel mostly sad
The trouble you had will come to pass
Someone dyeing
You leaving someone
someone hurt them
them hurting you

Neck stiff and short breath
you wake and shake it off,
pulling the comforter closer
to your throat,
cover up the body from the baddies,
what a lie as you laugh
The dark bedroom grows in size
you can believe your eye
what you just saw behind the door

 99 
 on: July 20, 2017, 06:10:55 AM 
Started by tbones - Last post by tbones
Goosebumps crawl up my arm reaching the hair on my neck, as it slowly perks up like dogs ears with a sudden sound. Stomach churning like a raging river and a sinking feeling like a boat spiraling down a whirlpool. He is a talker, putting out a lot of energy and most of it is bad. He say's he turned his life around, he's said he learned his lessons. Did his time, and changed the way he views life, but he's not fooling me. I can see the wolf inside his smile, I can see the way he talks her down, "it'll be alright, we take all this world in due time". He loves his money, power, and vanity, the stench of cologne burns your nose and the shining diamond studs in his ears scream arrogance. She's blinded by weakness, coming off a love that didn't fill her soul. She's a free spirit that can be controlled because she's ravenously hungry to taste any kind of love. She'll lose it all is what I pick up, From my heart, my chest, my toes.

 100 
 on: July 20, 2017, 04:23:29 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Catching of breath, the scenario unfolds
In a strange and crystal light
The shiver of shoulder like footsteps on your grave
Someone long unthought of is now the center of your mind.

Youíre sure that death is stalking, sure she will succumb
Though youíve not thought of this one in years
You donít even have a number in your telephone
Itís in a daybook from nineteen something.

But still you do some checking, google is your friend
Is there news searching on a name?
When that comes up empty you start to relax
Youíve calmed from that strong feeling.

Now you donít go searching for that pocket calendar
Itíd be too weird to call and say what?
I had a premonition, wonder if youíre dead
Too morbid, and sheíd probably hang up.

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