A Mockingjay Jabbers Like Nobody's BusinessBlank horror like humiliationA Mockingjay Jabbers Like Nobody's Business by HalfNotePoet
She knew as much as what was expected of her as packing peanuts on Mars
It looked suspiciously like the taste of aspritame or Wasabi
As Jake sits comfortably in Fayetteville, Arkansas
No, it wasn't wasabi, merely ginger
But the point here is how hot cold it is
What does "fleek" even mean?
If you sleep, then you're sure to fly
I once overheard people discussing "first world problems"- do they realize their ignorance?
The growing wasp of superficiality emerges
These days mirrors are for hearing
Until the girl becomes a hummingbird and skits away
Chibi isn't so "chibi" anymore- she's 5'2" now, and not as skinny
We may yet climb the clouds
It is essential that the Valerie-dreams occur
Soy una poeta? Es verdad?
She sits dancing with Turing's computers
But it wasn't wasabi- merely ginger
And confusion sneers and walks away to bully someone else
The GrimLong have I been frightened of the sepulcher of nightThe Grim by HalfNotePoet
And sleep in sightless, dragging hours
The moon herself provides no light
Inside my well-lit wakeful bower.
But now the lights have gone away
And leaving me, thus, in the dark
My dog, alerted, starts to bay;
I do not know what made him bark.
Perhaps it was a dream in sleep-
Or perhaps he heard a deer.
Perhaps he saw a spider creep;
Perhaps 'twas everything I fear.
For there are those-
And this may be-
Who, based on what they know, suppose
That animals see more than we ...
Little RedShe smiled appreciatively at the new blindingly red sweatshirtLittle Red by HalfNotePoet
With the cell phone pocket
And the new gloves- red and black- red and black- that she could text in
Without the wind stinging her hands.
It may not have seemed like much
But a man with gloves tends to overlook such small kindness until he realizes how cold it is
And he has left them at home.
What Hold Hath Words?What hold hath words upon her mind?What Hold Hath Words? by HalfNotePoet
What is it she expects to find?
Why does she write like one gone mad?
On Poetry- happy, angry sad;
Why does she put such effort in?
Where does this winding road begin?
What makes her think this will get better?
What makes her think that it will matter?
Or that she could write for pay?
Why does she sit and write all day?
As she sits here, pen in hand
She hearkens to the words' command.