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Sheriff McGregor
January 21st, 2016, 01:23 AM
Here are three poems I've written that I would like to share.

Paris

I met her on a Saturday,
It was the first time I ever saw her and unfortunately the last as well.
She carried a distinct smell,
It was not of perfume and roses but of tobacco and weed.
She needed a ride to the gas station for a red bull,
And I needed cigarettes
Which I had not been old enough to purchase
For myself at the time.
And in exchange for some reds, I drove her.
We talked about life.
She worked hard, hoping to make up for the
life choices she made.
These are the same life choices that
I continue to make.
I chase adventure to account for the loneliness
In my life,
And any significant other that I met
Left at the sight of my self destruction.
Maybe I was meant to find this
Crazy Young Spirit.
Although, I do not believe in fate.
After each having a smoke, we ate lunch.
Never before have I seen a smoker so hungry.
That was the last time we spoke.
A month later, I went to find her.
She told me where she worked.
I drove up to that small town
But I got lost and couldn't find that pizza joint.
I will go back,
But next time with a map and a pack of
Cigarettes.

Colorado

It rained all night.
At 5:30 am, I was outside on the farm feeding
The animals.
We were on the highway not an hour later
In traffic.
Driving through the rainy city.
At 8:00, we had made it to the mountains.
The rain had turned to snow.
It was the light snow, that rests on the pines
And rests on the cold, hard Colorado ground.
And from looking at it,
I found peace.

The wild mare

Have you ever seen a horse in the wild?
It's not like the horse on your neighbor's or grandmother's farm, but this horse has a beauty.
I want to run my fingers through her hair, tame her and maybe even one day
I'll saddle her up as I ride her through the countryside.

What I really want is to call her mine.
No, but reality is one son of a b****.
Reality kicks you in the b*lls because the second I
move, the mareŚ frightened by my presenceŚ
Will run away and never will be seen again.
She is more gone now than when I first saw her.
Now I can only cling to that mental image
Of her beauty.
The pain of meeting a horse in the wild reminds
Me of my youth, when I couldn't get my way
Over whatever simple impulse I had at the time.

Judean Zealot
January 21st, 2016, 08:38 AM
I like the last one best. I'm personally more of a traditional metre and rhythm person (think Tennyson), but I liked the imagery in the last.