Over 16,529,082 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
Sure, you have? Let's, talk. Well, if your, good enough; anyway. Down to the point, you girl...;don't, let the guy win, he don't laugh the same, he don't smile the same as you girl.
Until; I Have, Never Been!
I mean, have you ever wondered, if just a spark; perhaps, the ash is what you own?
There is nothing, like knowing, nothing and its'; senses, looking up or looking down.
I mean, have you ever done as much as move, forward; after that, with prize or trash.
No, wonder, by one....then, two...three; but, for four and another story or by rhyme.
It hit as hard as all good plus, stress of caring; even, about that, just to exist, a time.
No, not another pleasure, by limb and perhaps; could, almost assure, all of eternal.
By Michael J. Pinger 5/22/09
<a href="http://www.smilenet3.net/" ><img height="420px" width="300px" src="http://off1.picsrc.net/images/allc/patrioticGraphicsMixed_megaE/patrioticGraphics46.gif" border=0></a><br><a href="http://www.smilenet3.net/" >Sexy Comments & Profile Graphics</a><br><br><FONT face='kristen itc' size=5 color=#1d1ffc>And I tell you, She means it!</FONT><a
"The Walk of Death I Walk!"
I have started just a spark, only vision as sound pounded did abound.
Not that I did not be before as I never noticed, I had, and even not bad.
As I wondered if at galactic war, I woke to fear and another face of front.
Still the stone of carve and marks that cause one scares, play they upon.
As years and marks have past a scare, now carves and maker starts me.
To see if all is all and what should be, be...then to death like life I maybe.
So to walk ant not to see, all that math and reason, such things mean to me.
I think that many as if a period could be are now lessoning, while lessoning.
This step it seem to me not of the walk that's long, I walk a walk but no you.
Come see me darkness, seeming not to be...if only vanquish, not back to thee.
If all of it seems squirming, lost to sense, see it so seamy; "walk of death I walk."
Logic and numbers and all the gains and yields it will all become you and death.
To beat the simple logic it is best to take what it offers, never refuse death, friend.
Even if you must and to the mountain joke, at least you see the ant hill, death is?
The walk of death I walk has perfect Logic step and if you don't agree then death!
By Michael J. Pinger 5/17/08
And It Still Don't Amaze Me!
So it looks all well and still it don't amaze me, nor the pipe and tree.
As if a breeze broke a thread and yet so much the needle has spoken.
It never could amaze me, how bare branches be, missing all their sees.
And if I ever walked it...a song and not much to do or view by three.
Is it seems, so far gone, pump, fire and the sort, wino, blanket falling.
And it still don't amaze me as the cup and bowl are thrown out a door.
It will make a few more pokes and better; know it never lash, fires fast.
So much it reflects so dimly met, hardly needing view a dummy crying.
It never could amaze me, the things they always missing, never needing.
There isn't even many, who could make the loop, much less make thread.
A little piece of cotton; let the birds make your bed, left to think about it.
And it still don't amaze me as the cup, bowl go down at the closing door.
By Michael J. Pinger 5/30/08
And the Ball Bounces Off the Wall!
Just so much and in a prison only few would understand.
Oh, the devils, all his cousins and for so few dollars too.
And the ball bounces off the walls, knowing no one calls.
So the cruel and incomplete come and if I even try to run,
Oh, they hang below and just about knowing less, see it so.
Even after offer, a man canned, no one knows their reason.
So it goes and time wells; the basement crawl, all offered.
Oh, they choose a victim so long ago, veggie won't let go.
And the ball bounces off the walls, knowing no one calls.
Yes, they get away as the balance for a side; pump, fool.
And now I will only sit, just knowing what was so given.
And the ball bounces off the walls, knowing no one calls.
By Michael J. Pinger 6/1/08
Make It Fly Then, Let Them Try!
( Much Less the Fork and Tong, Honor!)
( The Tumblers Gourd!)
And jail is set, all the bars beholding, breath and a lash.
The Crow soon crumbles as the crutch and crotch, crunch.
The spoon soon and now then be forced to fly buns an balls.
I hear it is nice there key, no one wonders even knots anymore.
By cold toy the "La La To" and no wet calling, but to draw again.
Lowered sack old cow, no wood would do and only arm pit sore.
But, done so nice, so never scorned bob and stab if a hero ever had,
Does come calling, there is still the crow and crush as vanish appear.
The key and lock but still must be the honor dear, her sweet memory.
By Michael J Pinger 6/1/08
My how they die!
Like simple embers on the fire bed, all looking in and dying.
Like they never heard the priest; much less, knew the dripping,
Nor the grease and for the veggie, all the roots they never see.
My how they die as I suffer and take on last breath, then rise.
And all the colors they steep in as the last word a final prize;
Soon so distant as I rise, standing naked to the sky and whole.
Still I as so transfixed remember ashes dying quick yet trying.
And now so home by setting bowl a tumbler set, work digest
Is left by quest as not a word of inner sphere, ash of rest dead.
My how they die and never rise, they hold no word, no real life.
My how they come and sit beside as breath of life, notice pride
And so do stare, Sphere me if you must; still I’m death, fire trust.
By Michael J. Pinger 6/06/08
© Copyright 2008 Mike (UN: mikeyaw at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Mike has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
And; Until, I really Don't Know!
The little Black bird flew on a day that reminded all of the Dam and what it mean.
I mean as it turn a yellow eye and why, the Pat and Oat so wide, upon apologize.
Then flight upon release to perch of pillow red, the setting of its heart as Hand demand.
And: until, I really don't know, the wisp of higher clasp and yarn, to brow and teeter on.
To a seat of red of blaze with pearl white eye, the pat and oat of it to bath in thoughts come.
And: until, I really don't know, the future opens doors of all higher fends of Heavens blends.
I think I knew the day, of which such a black bird did set his time.
And; until, I really don't know of life worthy set to shine on as star.
I think I knew the day, of which is age and day; some, still going on.
By Michael J. Pinger 4/25/09
