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 Aug 2017 john p green
Seema
A broken jar
I fixed when fell
From a far
No one can tell

A broken heart
I tried to fix
But part by part
It all got mixed

A birds feather
I tried to catch
It blew off further
In the thorn patch

A child's cry
Weakened my soul
I went close by
His leg stuck in a hole

A set of painful eyes
Watched me through
An angel in disguise
Yes, that's true

I am quite broken
But I am strong
I am not a token
Don't take me wrong

My love is in my smile
Like a tombstone on a grave
I think for a short while
Then just smile and wave...


©sim
Smile, even when you think your life is sinking.
 Aug 2017 john p green
wordvango
to paint you

it would be a finger painting abstract

colors touched and swirled
bright reds and yellows

cerulean blue little finger

leaving traces of your sight

mauve your lips on my

thumb

making love to the canvas
 Aug 2017 john p green
wordvango
may I sit once
here on the bank of the river
and just see
and not metaphor the flow
or analogy the limbs
with one finger sticking out of the water
just feel the sand under me and not count
every one and try to name them
it gets wearisome
being a poet
on a lonesome creek
sitting on my ***
on a bank
 Aug 2017 john p green
ryn
.
I'm slipping...

Winds from the past had blown hard.
Heavy clouds have returned.
Bearing gifts of broken shards,
memories discarded and mementos burnt.

I'm falling...

Footfalls fail as they sink in clay.
Fingers tremble as they grab at nothing.
The words are lost and the voice couldn't say.
The pills seem to have stopped working.

I'm regressing...

Into an all familiar territory.
A place I thought I had left far behind.
But I feel reconnected to a mirrored me.
The part I've missed since a new state of mind.

.
I am sewing a dress
with the thread of strength,
And knots of ambitions,
And when it’s ready,
Then will iron it
with the remission,
I am sewing my broken soul!

By: Nida Mahmoed.
It's unfortunate
how the sky
is getting uglier
by the day --

I look up
and only see
the roof of a
cage
I cannot be
free
from.
 May 2017 john p green
janelle
this is a love poem,
but i won't be gushing
about your enticing eyes
and perfect hair,
and to be fair,
i frankly won't care
if you lose them
because you are
so much more than
the strings on your scalp
and the stars in your sockets,
for your heart alone
punctured holes in my soul
and the way our fingers entwine
ties these bows
through the holes
in my soul
to keep me whole
and alive
= sorry, idk when to hit the enter key =
dedicated to him
 Mar 2017 john p green
Eric W
I'll send a nice message
straight through the wires
with the bird outside my window.
I'll wrap the paper up
with a nice little bow
and a short piece of twine
for him to carry onward
to speak into your mind.
He'll make it in the morning,
I know he surely will
to be there when you wake up
to tell you how I feel.
To yesterday morning, when we had both slept lightly, miles apart, and woke up to the birds chirping outside our windows.
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