Is It Poetry

Gold Star - 16,308 Points (1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Is It Poetry Poems

761. Bipolar Hypersexuality 3/1/2010
762. Bi-Polar Learning Curves 5/7/2011
763. Bipolars Halfway 7/3/2009
764. Bird 6/21/2013
765. Bird Nest Soup~~yep~eh~eh 3/18/2009
766. Birds A (Haiku) 6/28/2014
767. Birds A (Haiku) 9/4/2014
768. Birds And Bees 1/20/2010
769. Birds Flying 12/22/2008
770. Birds In The Woods 7/30/2009
771. Birds That Sing 5/17/2010
772. Birth 9/3/2014
773. Birth Of A Butterfly 3/17/2010
774. Bitten 4/18/2015
775. Black A Rose Made From Wood 2/16/2010
776. Black And Pink* 12/9/2008
777. Black And White 12/22/2015
778. Black Berrys Charm The Snake 8/29/2009
779. Black Hearts Transparent 7/18/2011
780. Black Hole 5/6/2009
781. Black Mail Extortioner 6/17/2009
782. Black Mink 2/3/2010
783. Black Or White 5/8/2015
784. Black Perfumed Silk 4/24/2011
785. Black Sand And White Paper 8/24/2009
786. Black Sea 2/2/2010
787. Black Sea Horses 9/21/2011
788. Blackened Red Blood 4/16/2009
789. Blackmail And Extortion 6/15/2016
790. Blame 3/21/2014
791. Blank Faces 8/18/2015
792. Blank Page No Ink 12/13/2008
793. Bleeding Apart 3/16/2009
794. Bleeding Parts 4/11/2010
795. Bleet Me In Heaven 12/14/2008
796. Bleet Me Up Scotty 12/15/2008
797. Bleeting The Light 12/14/2008
798. Bleets Do Grow 12/14/2008
799. Bless A Fairy Kissed 3/19/2009
800. Blessed Are The Mothers* 12/9/2008
Best Poem of Is It Poetry

...................She Is Afraid, He Is Tired..

She is he,
and he is She.
The two,
now lost, loves heart.
And bright,
the yellow sun.

You once we're two,
as one,
and ran around the world.
Inside both heads.

He fell inside loves fire.
And she,
his red heart pumping burned

Both fires,
burned ice cold hot.
Within Her,
light did give U.S. form.

Over shadows love,
swept out black coals.

Your smile, twin lips.
He kissed, both miss.


His face, from that.
Bright coals, still hiss.

Now alone again,
he walks into.

Loves,
loving ...

Read the full of ...................She Is Afraid, He Is Tired..

C*taking Turns *

Short of wind your breath belies
the dragging of your heal in
dust we trust.

Sweat dried sand to face
scoured fresh blush the
wind has made
to know.

Wind lifts my arms to take
from you this gift is
precious so.

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