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 4984° 
Mrs Anybody
sometimes
I have to
get rid
of thoughts
that I can't even
tell my best friends

that's why
the moon
is one of my
most trusted ones
also check out my other poems!  :)
 659° 
Maria Mitea
when the arms
weave white nights,
only dreams know
how to come out dry from the
rain,
like butterflies
spreading their wings,
stopping the drops,

and the dew, humble servant
washes your feet with clover honey,
grows wings,
melts the wax on the altar,
on the altar, plants basil in your chest,

...and you will live
forever in a
dreamer’s heart,
you’ll live forever in a dreamer’s
tear,
when the arms weave white nights,
hugging your heart
           as if it's comforting lightning,

only dreams know
what it's like coming out dry from the
rain,
and butterflies
spreading their wings like
worshippers
 402° 
Olive Tree
even the old men
wail in Gaza, hunger cries
to the onlookers
This was written after watching a video of an elderly Gazan man weeping because of how hungry he was--it's beyond disgusting how we have abandoned our people, closed the crossing, and left them with food and aid just meters away from them. If you are able to donate, protest, mobilize, boycott, or raise awareness in any way--please do. We must not abandon our people.
 342° 
Lily Barrett
I’ve been told I have walls,
That aren’t too easy to break,
They’ve been up for so long,
That my smile is entirely fake.
They’re made of unshed tears and a broken soul,
Of emotions that have taken their costly toll.
Tear them down if you feel you must,
But it takes too much to gain my trust
Strip me down to every pebble and stone,
Shatter me like a mirror and break me to the bone,
But don’t you see you’ve already lost,
For even my walls have a cost.
LHB 2020
 299° 
indi
today, my sunny side yolk broke
as i cooked in the silver thrifted pan
i think i did everything right
i washed the pan, then medium heat
then oil fireworks, then dodging—
ok, so maybe there was water
when i put the oil in
but that doesn’t explain
why the egg stuck to the bottom
or why the edges only cooked
does it?
i so want to ask you how
and why and why and why
i asked google instead
and ate my egg with a broken center
 268° 
Ray
Hello, this is
Special Breaking News:

Because
we care so
deeply about you,
we just wanted to
calm your fears and
hysteria and
say that
we don’t know what’s
going to
happen.

Stay tuned for
further developments.

We hope this
makes you feel better.
 265° 
guy scutellaro
when the sky was young

and in a glass of rainwater
i sipped stardust
older than the moon.

the brief flicker of light
and I become a cloud
traveling wherever.

the whisper, a forgotten reverence
of when my sky was young.

the drop of grace
arrives gently,
time folds me inward
trying to understand my absence
from the sky.

mist lifts gently at dawn,
a stone warmed by the sun,

an imperceptible gift, dew on a flower,

the hesitant and graceful,
a leaf fluttering into view.

kneeling on a weeping star small,
intricate truths

adrift in a child caught dreaming.
 206° 
Nat Lipstadt
~for all of us, we wee
musicians of language~

and Moni Nichter

===========

neither linguist or musicologist.
not scholar, not student,
these are not my attributes,
characteristics or skills,
not a confess, just a blessing that wasn't mine to receive

perhaps,
if in my meager possess,
there were a skill, overlapping yours, intermingling,

(doĀ Ā you hear the music in that word,
the ding-a-lingo-ing of "intermingling"?)


could be, maybe, the heated flush one feels,
when cogently-new-knowing
a patterns of recognition
evolving from the daily oceans of sounds,
sound waves, waves upon waves upon waves touch~clashing,
that traverse, transverse, our collective tissues connective,
uponĀ Ā crossbeams that support our
consensualĀ commonality of senses,
in whatever language and culture
we primately, or even privately, inhabit,
this

overlapping, I love, I cherish, I take,
to this music with/of lovely words

(do you hear the waves
in my brain, the words I know, washing ashore,
leaving the wet sand,
that's are the building blocks that we all own?)


new words washed up yesterday,
"new scales of language"

language,
the great divisor,
surely, many of us have experienced the
helplessness of infancy,
when we travel to another country where
we are helplessly stranded, shocked by our inabilities,
when senses are shocked by the
scales of language that our brain cannot
iterate, not even once…

a new music, a new scale

I pulse with excited fear,
new music to learn,
how came we to be so blessedly challenged?
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ­Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  Ā Ā 

nml.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ­Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  10/15/25 a progression
Languages use musical elements like pitch, rhythm, and intonation to convey meaning, emotion, and structure. Pitch can distinguish words in tonal languages, while intonation and rhythm form prosody, which conveys emotion and emphasis. Both language and music share structural similarities and rely on similar brain networks for processing, creating a strong link between the two.
 191° 
vienna bombardieri
Music by: Sheldon King
Lyrics by: Mystic Rose  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VC8cV6QYvZQ&list=RDVC8cV6QYvZQ&start_radio=1

Open windows of my soul gliding in the knowledge
of my yesterdays
Here I am breaking down the gates, of all my defenses
it is now that my life commences
Refrain: As I move towards, ... move towards
my sane....
Down valleys and lakes and rivers I journey
no way to know which way to go
Walking through alleys of my tomorrows
I leave behind all my happiness and sorrows.  
Refrain: As I move towards, ... move towards
my flame...
Open windows of my soul, gliding in places
where I've never been before ...
Here I am, dismantling my failures, setting sail
Refrain: As I move towards, ... move towards
the pouring, rain !
 180° 
Carlo C Gomez
From love to exhaustion
This intangible thing between us

Geography is just a symptom

(Affliction...)
(Endocrine...)

Deux mesures de solitude

The downturn sun of your skin
Is my broken ally

We love as enemies
In the jagged darkness

If only we could live as easily as we die
Try
Always be positive in everything you do
Even when you’re not sure, open up that door
And even when you haven’t got a clue
Never ever say you can’t
Always try
Only do your best
Until the day you die
Put life to the test
Don’t let life pass you by
Don’t let things fest,
Give a little sigh
And try try try!
š˜ˆ š˜øš˜°š˜³š˜„ š˜Ŗš˜“ š˜¢ š˜¬š˜¦š˜ŗ
š˜ˆ š˜µš˜©š˜°š˜¶š˜Øš˜©š˜µ š˜Ŗš˜“ š˜¢ š˜Øš˜³š˜¢š˜·š˜¦
š˜ˆš˜Æ š˜Ŗš˜®š˜¢š˜Øš˜¦ š˜Ŗš˜“ š˜¢ š˜±š˜Ŗš˜¦š˜¤š˜¦ š˜°š˜§ š˜¢š˜³š˜µ
š˜ˆ š˜®š˜Ŗš˜Æš˜„ š˜Ŗš˜“ š˜¢ š˜¤š˜¢š˜Øš˜¦
i know it's short, but i really liked this poem i found in my old journal from seventh grade.
 169° 
Torri Pines
I don't want anyone to save me. I want people to understand that there is a sadness epidemic, and the reasons for it are all over

Money
Stress
Burn out
Abuse
Neglect
Poverty
Loneliness
Mental illness

I am mentally ill. But my words are not always about me, they are about the epidemic that makes many people, sad me, included.

This economy and the political climate
The way people treat other people
The things that just go on and on.
No time to appreciate how good life is when life feels bad and numb, it always must go on and on and on.

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it's just me.

I am sorry I disappointed you that this damsel is the type of insane no one would really want to talk to anyway.
Feelings thoughts words I wish feeling good felt good
 159° 
Dakota
I'm going to give you the world
The one I see
I'll give my perspective
My fears and anxiety
The things I dread most
Then remind you of the beauty
The calm of the water and stars
What a real smile can be
Let you into my head
Give you my world to see
Why in spite of my fears
Things work out for me
Written sitting near a lighthouse, reminded of the small pleasures that add up.
 156° 
Tim
You and me,
we are bound,
like the silence
to the sound,
like a heartbeat
to a breath,
like life is bound
to death.
to be continued...
 143° 
Alexander Simpson
W
   a
     t
      e
        r
ICE
            M i s t

Be what you are - be, I insist.
my pale skin,
un touched by
sun,
your dark eyes, coal,
your skin, caramel,

and
when they
coalesce,

make diamonds!
 131° 
Abbott J Hardison
The water was boiling,
The kettle was on,
When the world exploded.

I had you in my arms,
You had me in your heart,
When we were turned to a crater.

An astral monument,
To the good of love.
Inspired by the movie, "Don't Look Up." Its a science-fiction film with great commentary on world politics, capitalism, and humanity.
 108° 
Shane
Pain
Irrelevant
I do not hurt
Unless of course
You find my Achille’s heel
In which I hurt twice fold
Physical pain
Can be ignored
It doesn’t hurt
But emotions are different
They are wild
Uncontrolled
Destructive
Unable to be ignored
Emotions don’t just hurt you
They tear you apart
Until you are yourself no more
An old poem from middle school
They found me in the rain, Lord. On the edge of a dream, on the edge of the street. Two women. Sisters. Kindness in their eyes, and a quiet, total understanding in their touch. They offered shelter, a warm bed, a moment of grace without asking for a single word, let alone a prayer. They knew: the saints and the sinners, they’re not different at all. Both just looking for a little, cheap mercy in a world that gives so little. I slept like a man already dead, and woke to find the sun rising, cold and indifferent, but still rising. Some mercies don't save you. They only buy you the next day's struggle.
 95° 
Amethyste
He knocked on my virtual window
Knock knock
I just wanted to say hello
A smile on my face
A light in my eyes
Ugh ugh ummm
Hello back dear friend.
soft spring breeze  tickled
the daises pretty crimson faces
with much playfulness
 77° 
Keiko Kiyomi
Wishes I wish
Reality of wounds seeping through my un phased smile
You can’t help the un healed
Longing for energy that needs to be discovered within
Back in the ring blow after blow
Still I rise
Resilience overshadowed by masculinity that defeats the feminine creative
Trust never been this un recognizable
I am at my lowest emotional radar
 68° 
Jimmy silker
It feels
I'm wearing
A second suit of skin
And I'm trying to scratch it off
Despite knowing
I'm infecting
Constantly
I can't stop
The manic slough
The one below
The one that's me
With no resistance
To the air
Will meet microbes
Eventually
Then I'll see
If I'm still there.
 59° 
Jan Reest
faint breaths between coughs
the throat itches
and the sweetness of blood
trickles down
to satiate a hunger unknown
an apostate
finds himself nailed to the cross
he asks not for salvation
just understood
there is no one to know him
there, he's no one to crack this enigma
 57° 
brandychanning
is the one you earn...

which is why we usually say,
with a tiny trace of irony,

live and (l)earn
 55° 
Sunamin Tamang
God is deaf
and prayers are poems
and I, a fool.
 55° 
Pablo Neruda
Como continuación de lo leído y precedente de la pÔgina que sigue debo encaminar mi estrella al territorio amoroso.

Patria limitada por dos largos brazos cÔlidos, de larga pasión paralela, y un sitio de oros defendidos por sistema y matemÔtica ciencia guerrera. Sí, quiero casarme con la mÔs bella de Mandalay, quiero encomendar mi envoltura terrestre a ese ruido de la mujer cocinando, a ese aleteo de falda y pie desnudo que se mueven y mezclan como viento y hojas.

Amor de niƱa de pie pequeƱo y gran cigarro, flores de Ɣmbar en el puro y cilƭndrico peinado, y de andar en peligro, como un lirio de pesada cabeza, de gruesa consistencia.

Y mi esposa a mi orilla, al lado de mi rumor tan venido de lejos, mi esposa birmana, hija del rey.

Su enrollado cabello ***** entonces beso, y su pie dulce y perpetuo: y acercada ya la noche, desencadenado su molino, escucho a mi tigre y lloro a mi ausente.
 50° 
fish-sama
Yes, the dishes are good, expertly salted in
a smatter of greens and reds, but honestly
I don't care.
I want you, your heart, and your flank
cut out perfectly, expertly salted in
a smatter of red and reds.
 46° 
Agnes de Lods
when I read the myths
you were there
a voice behind the curtain of the unnamed

sometimes you were my Ariadne
and other times Demeter
I broke and was reborn in Persephone

they gave me many names
yet never truly saw me
closed syllables
are like metaphors born in pain

in the cry of endless words
one whisper touched me

you are ready
you will know yourself whole
you will look into the cold mirror
and not close your eyes
seeing the twisted lines

the pain of rejection, deep in the bones
is like the tide of a cold ocean
that’s why I write my thoughts in words
to draw from the solar plexus
the memory of tear drops
left in the mountains of Caucasus
when I met him

so you were and are the gate
like every soul
that descends to this earth

you are the meeting
with the Erinyes I once silenced
I cut off Medusa’s thoughts
just not to become
the one who turns to stone
the canvas woven by life

looking in the mirror
I did not turn away from you
to give strength to those
who lost faith in the power of symbol
in the power of your myth
 44° 
Poet
<3
What am I supposed to do now?
You’re in my head and IĀ Ā can’t get you out
 41° 
Nasus
Neither here nor there
Existence unknown,
Floating seamlessly
From one scene to another,
Watching and waiting
The world go by
Oblivious to all.
A fleeting glance perhaps
Out of the corner of one’s eye,
A trace of a poignant scent
Hanging in the air,
A hazy memory,
A long lost touch,
An ethereal sensation,
Here but not here,
Friend or foe?
 39° 
Rehana Shajar
O Desire,  
you keep me awake.  
Your excuses stole my sleep,  
left my bones tired.  

Was my loss written  
in some hidden script?  
Your roads were too steep
I fell, my breath expired.  

You called me to climb,  
but the stones slipped.  
Even the sky grew heavy,  
weary of your fire.  

O Desire,  
when does the fight end?  
Your song once burned bright—  
now it whispers  ash, not flame
 33° 
Kiki Dresden
I was born with wind locked in my tongue,
a song half-made, half-drowned.
Midwife said the cord
was coiled like a small river,
tight around my neck.
I came out blue,
gasping like a fish drug ashore.
They rubbed me with cedar ash,
cut the water’s leash,
and the first sound I made
wasn’t a cry,
but something lower—
like the hum of current under thaw.

I used to sing in the register of weather.
Pam laughed, said I was a castrati in another life.
No, Pam. I was a horsewoman
in the valley where the river
bends around the bones of our ancestors.
I carried **-Chunk children to school,
Dakota women to the trading post,
men drunk on corn mash and thunder.
I wove baskets from river reeds-
lightning stitched through darker bands
to mimic the storms over Spirit Lake.
At night we sang the Bird Songs,
those long traveling prayers
that teach the heart where home is.
When the soldiers came,
we hid in the limestone caves
and sang quieter.

Songs don’t die,
they just change their address.

When the city hums too loud,
I hear the buried river-
its pulse through pipes
asking if I remember.
I do.
I remember the small fires
inside my ribs,
how silence can be a kind of singing,
how grief is water looking for its mouth.
I walk to the lip of light’s forgetting,
half prayer, half river,
the river speaks through me-
blue, unbroken, home.
 30° 
Courtney Hawkins
I want to be the
main character for
a day, just a moment
ember to solar flare
forgotten pierrot, a
mask turned to dust
and I want you to
recognize me.
Wrote this a while back but only just found it in an old flash drive.
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