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 5283° 
Anya
There is still time
To have breakfast in bed
after we woke up
There is time to talk
Slowly
Carefully
Picking words which don’t hurt
We can still hold hands
Gaze into each other’s eyes
Be kind
Be nice
We still have time to laugh
Watch each other smiles
And be amazed
Everyday

It is not too late
 1329° 
stefania rivoltini
dad
you're gone
all words
have turned to ash with you
 577° 
Jami Tennille
she stretches out before me
a feast of art and possibility
both wicked and wanting
elegant and evocative

I want to kiss her full on the mouth
my tongue eager for her exquisite
all of me aches to explore
leave nothing uncharted

she rewards my curiosity
begs me to roam
there is no denying
the knowing in my bones
it echoes from my soul
with her

I am home
 573° 
Nat Lipstadt
Why I Always Carry Tissues

To My Children:

I'm laughing at myself,
As I am prone to do because
Why I Always Carry Tissues
Is the title of a poem
I write for you.

There is a story here,
Of parenting, and responsibilties
That transcends yourself, defines me,
Vis-a-vis you,
then and there, and maybe now.

When you were small,
I took you by the hand,
The cement canyons, trails & rivers
of West Eighty Six Street,
Together, we would ford.

Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do,
Your hand, from my hand,
I would release
So you could fall down,
All on your own.

It bemused me that I could see
Three or four paces ahead of thee
Exactly which crack,
Upon which you would trip,
And come crying back to me.

Back-to-me.
That was then.
And now,
Yes, no more,
Back-to-me.

But I always had tissues
to dry your eyes
And no surprise,
I still do,
Always will.

These days, they,
more likely used to dry mine,
As I have forded that Styxy river,
When crossed, you spend more of the day,
Liking Back more,
Then looking ahead.

No matter, by right and tradition,
It is still my mission, that
when you need, when you bleed,
as I know you surely shall,
These pocket tissues will be there
Ready, willing and able, fully capable,
of snatching away your tears.

When you need,
When you bleed,
And you surely shall,
These pockets of mine,
Of tissue made,
Are waiting for your tears,
And you, to fill them,
For without them,
Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.


These used tissues are my history book,
Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life,
Of tears and hearts,
And concrete spills,
That need knees to be complete.

That is why you will find me, without fail,
Ready, willing and able, holding my
White Badge of Courage at the ready,
Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed,
Missions known as parenting schemes.

The scheme is clear, even if
my tissues you no longer request,
You will let your own babies
fall n' fail, then take their tears
Put them in your pocket,
keep them forever wet,
Like my memories of you
the ones I cherish best...

Perhaps a tradition
We will start,
Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear,
Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors
Removers of our dear one's fears.

If we are truly wise
Those tissued memories
We will keep,
Die among them contented,
Knee-scraped deep
When tears fall...



2008
1. Written in 2008, updated today 7/2013, adding a word here and there.
2. When I wrote this, there were no more babies in my life; now the next generation, a new set of boo-boos
3. Yes, I still, always have tissues on me someplace,
a habit started over thirty years ago,
when my children where toddlers.
4. The poem I love the best.
 449° 
Queen singer
I am standing at the precipice of a new beginning
the first step is encased in concrete
the landscape is green mountains and laughing streams
Behind me is cloudy and ablaze with rage
ahead it seems as if I would be happy here
Why is it so hard to make that first step
I am frightened
They appear, take my hands and my feet are free and  floating
"Come play with us " They cry
"Where were you?" I exclaim  "I needed you!"
"We were here all along,
holding your hands,
walking with you,
waiting for you to be ready " they respond.
"Why didn't I SEE you?." I respond.
"You just had to alter your course and remove your sight from the fires of rage"
 394° 
Nat Lipstadt
My Solace

when every aperture is a tunnel narrowing,
a light pin diminishing when nearing,

when the desk drawer yields up unused theater tickets,
for performances concluded yesterday,

when the denouement is nothing new but worse,
revealed in the coming attractions trailer,

when the rusted unborn poem notion is almost done,
but remains unpublished,
for no beginning, no title, can be found,

Then I recall the cornucopia days,
when poems spilled forth like
there would never be a when they wouldn't,

I revisit my old friends, couplets, twins and triplets,
seeded inside every tear, happy or sad,
sweetly and freely,

my old friends, reread,
words rearranged in new combinations,
old poems, plants bearing new fruits,
re-titled all of them, one name,
a collection entitled,
My Solace.
The wind whispered to the trees
Who sent messages in fallen leaves

The bluebell rang out the alarm
And the rabbits burrowed out of harm

The birds carried the message on a wing
Then the forest fell asleep until the spring
 301° 
stefania rivoltini
yellow turned into black
your blue eyes turned to dark
colors turned into fog

innocence, joy, hope
of a little girl
lost in a white room
a heart that beats wildly
in my ears
the only sound remained

a lonely tear in my eyes
locked inside
I can't get rid it
I hold it tight
like I hold you close
 272° 
Ashley Er
Smiling for the screen,
my disguise held tight.
Hiding cracks
beneath the light.
Inside, I break,
worn and bare.
A fragile truth
too hard to share.
Drowned in the tide
of distant stares,
A sea of strangers,
unaware.
The real me crumbles
beneath the weight,
A soul adrift,
Resigned to fate.
 248° 
Jimmy silker
As those angels gently laid you back
Speaking sweetly as you went
A rivulet o crimson
Was the sign that you were spent
I stood at your beds foot
Too overwhelmed to cry
A refusal to believe
A rejection of this lie

A fast three months that felt like six
A switchback through the gloamin
And all the time
We knew of course
The reaper was a roamin
Winding low
Checking his form
By the light of his terrible lamp
Waiting to bring down
His final ghastly stamp

So I'll think of you often
And I'll send love with this
On September the 19th
About a quarter past six.
 224° 
Marilina
~
Time doesn’t heal
Unless you disinfect the wound
 188° 
SE Reimer
(a tribute to young courage;
observations of a father)

~

cutting sharply through the water,
her bow approaches the surf;
the zone where ocean's bottom,
rises quickly from the depths;
where pounding waves,
meet churning sands,
blending pebbles, shells, and
grass into a darkened mud.

standing, squatting, silent,
behind her heavy wings of steel;
young boys, not yet men,
await a sign, whether
from heaven or command;
their lips muttering to no one
but the howling wind.

a brisk sea breeze whisks,
away the cigarette smoke,
that rises from their huddled
masses, scatt'ring heavenward,
with their whispered prayers,
for courage, safety, strength.

then the momentary lull,
all of heaven holds their breath
like a bird she slows,
still rocking in the surf,
a hundred feet from shore,
like a calm before the storm,
as her wings that held them tight
now lower to form the bridge
that to the fiery fury now awaits...
and then,

the surf is filled with boys,
alighting from her wings of safety,
those not ground to blood and bone
by knives of steel that ply the air
and waves, aging, with each
passing second of survival,
by the time their soles find sand,
becoming, at the shoreline men;
leaving behind, their mates-
in-arms, who aged far too young.
from boys to watery grave.

now young men, running,
searching on an open shore
seeking shelter, any means of cover
fron the steel that falls like rain
'neath hidden nests, birds of prey
as far below his courage grows
with every dancing inland step
this rite of passage that
no one's son should
ever need to walk, again.
~

post script.

Yesterday marked its 80th anniversary. On June 6, 1944, Allied casualties were documented for at least 10,000, with 4,414 confirmed dead, yet the Allies' forces failed to achieve a single one of their planned objectives on the first day. And still liberation had begun, as their foothold began to break an evil stronghold

https://www.liherald.com/wantagh/stories/boys-became-men-in-crucible-of-world-war-ii,55692?#:~:text=The%20single%2C%20most%20powerful%20realization,an%20average%20age%20of%2024.
"The single, most powerful realization for me is that the soldiers who fought and died at Normandy were an average age of 24. Of the 160,000 who came onshore, many were just 17 and 18 years old." 

Resder's Comment.   "My mom was a young French girl living a few miles inland from Normandy Beach during D-Day.  She said she felt and heard D-Day before she saw it.  A few days later American and Canadian liberated her and her family. Freedom from evil was restored.

That was the beginning of Huguette Chritien's dream of becoming an American.  Her dream was realized.  She passed away in '83 and was laid to rest on June 6 of that year.

Because of the sacrifices made by so many men on D-Day she lived a brilliant life.  I give thanks to God that such men lived."
 186° 
August
hope is the thing with feathers,

and reality the autumn leaf

that believes for just a moment

that it’s flying.
falling in love is still falling
 156° 
Tint
I do not think that people
will ever understand
the mind of poetry,
to leave these words behind
and hoping that someday
the steps I walked on by
will catch me by the hand
be my memory,
be my sanity,

We do not fight monsters
we fight illusions
that are much better
than this reality
where we are stronger,
wiser, richer, and full.
 154° 
Taru Marcellus
flip through
pages of old

lick words

and taste
the dust
that inspires
 147° 
RueSE
Dying petals adorn the sidewalk
They're varying pigments document life's varying stages of leaving,
Thwarts drafts of wind, their nature
to revel in my gaze
Not in act of personification,
They are not the object of attraction
No,
But a messenger to the careful stepper,
“Look up.”
What do you see?
Cold
Knee deep in icy waters
Shivering
But surrounded by fire
Screaming
No way to help
Running
But no way out
 125° 
Bekah
I am the fire they set,
The one they can’t contain
The whisper on the wind
That calls out your name

I will not break
Or bend, or crack
Paranoia will seep in
Waiting for my attack

I will not go gently
Into the night
I will lurk the dark corners
Deep in your mind

I am the water
That washes away
The sins that you buried
To hide all your shame
 116° 
Ash
and while I claim to be free
to soar over these fairytale castles
into bigger dreams, better things
some part of me still dwells here
and begs—would you still have me?
 114° 
King of Limericks
When judging the tree by its fruits
The bamboo proponent imputes
             That this grass’s great power
             Lies not with its flower
But deep in its rhizomes and roots
September 18 is World Bamboo Day. Take a moment to embrace beauty, strength, resilience, flexibility, adaptability, and sustainability.
 82° 
Sora
And just like how
wisteria bloom and flourish
in the unbeknownst shadows of spring,
your once befooled heart
shall also find it's way.
Only if it was possible to be as beautiful as flowers.
 80° 
hazem al jaber
Escape ....



I want endless distraction ...

want to leave my world ...

to wander like fog over the hills ...

like water to evaporate and disappear ...

Or, ...

to fade away like a mirage ...

Or ,..

I fade away from this world ...

forever ...

or ,...

to melt like snow ...

from the mountaintops ...

between the valleys ...

In an escape like absence ...

so I get lost with a life ...

that was wasted in vain ...

with wishes and unforgettable memories ...

because  ...

I'm bored of life ...

without the one I love ...



hazem al ...
 75° 
ultraviolet
If you're hurt, let it hurt today.
Cry over silly reasons.
Hold your breath for a while.
Then, only then, you'll be able to let go.
 69° 
Nat Lipstadt
awas amidst
the bits and bobs of my pseudo-sleep,
check my watch oft habitually,
understand
that the precisive time is not
what I seek,

no,
what I desire is reassurance of
some sort, that time is present,
that it is
a measurable actuality in,

my about,
a breathable actuality
woven into my
Body’s  Constructional
Constitutional Cconsciousness


that time is there, here,
for it is rhe

wondrous of all wonder,
it is a
present of, from,
and,
is love itself,

love is time…
(think on it)

it is all and only
butpossibility,
the future in
slow mo
is both
realizable & visible ,
even some part knowable;
its somes & sums,
as we daily
practice realizing it,
as if
time is a
smuggler of snuggles,
comforting but not
for too long
like
a new lover’s
exploratory
beginning beguiling explanations
reforming our ardor
into
viability

or

a glove
asking us each:
slow s l i d e
your hand inside,
then,
newly commence
waving yours,
airy all about

conducting a new self
into your
precious moment of precarious
existence,
that we dare not waste!

so:
write and right
are no accident,
but purposed
equals,
friends,
brothers and sisters,
one and both
coexisting
at
in
the same time…
writ in the dark hours
when the watch
watches over me
9/17/24
 66° 
Nylee
War
Ego is feeling that I and me,
and I am my enemy.
It is so surreal and clear,
the war is ahead of me.
 61° 
aviisevil

I cried
yesterday

and what little
was buried inside

got out—

spilled all over
the floor,

flooding the walls,
the windows,
and the doors,
dripping from tables,
chairs,
and pillows

at my feet.

And how I stood
there in silence,

hearing the clock
tick and talk,

waiting for
someone—
anyone—

to come and
save me.

It's only been
thirty years.


 58° 
Maria Etre
Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice
 57° 
Debra Lea Ryan
It is what it is
Residing in your mind
Sometimes off the planet
Working overtime

Watershed in your head
A flood of dreams you possess
Watershed in your head
A flood of dreams you possess

They are what they are
Buzzin' in your brain
Sometimes flyin' the rails
Like a bullet train

Watershed in your head
A flood of dreams you possess
Watershed in your head.

© Debra Lea Ryan
19.09.2024
☀♥ƸӜƷ✿♬
Interesting Week!  I started the Song on Sunday with a Flood of Ideas then had to navigate distractions to find traction in the writing process again.  Lesson Learned. Singalong >
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFmAIocJblA
 57° 
Talon Robinson
Look at you,
All happy.
The reason?
Easy,
Not me.

As much as I enjoy
Your smile
I see I can't make it
Nor be the reason
For it's appearance.

I'll stop forcing it,
Once all I saw was smiles.
Now I only see a blank stare,
As if I drain all happiness,
From you?
No let's not think that
But
It's what my mind says,
Could it be true.

The once look of
Happiness
Joy
Smiles
The warm feeling of
Spring and Summer

Now the feeling of
Uncomfortability
Discontent
Nothing
The cold feeling of
Winter

Well where is
Autumn
That's the feeling I want
The one I seek
The one that seems
It will never
Manifest
Random thoughts that come and go can sometimes lead to better things
 55° 
alit
You’ll miss me when I leave
I’ll save a seat for you
I let god know
 52° 
Drab
The day was cold.

It wasn’t “just right”.

Suddenly a flash.

We had been warned.
It’s a thermo-nuclear-coupler, that tripped.
They are all gone now…
NOTE – just put the TNC in there, to see if people even pay attention….

You Awake?
 52° 
B
Plump ripe fruit
taken from the vine with a bit of guilt
is it better to turn her into pie
or let it rot and wilt?
I am unnaturally and unnecessarily human
made of sugar and spice
surely this berry would be of more use
fallen on the floor with the bugs and the mice.
 52° 
Àŧùl
For you, I am an artist,
My art is music,
My art is love.

For you, I am a soldier,
My duty is guarding,
My duty is protecting.

You lost someone special,
I'm an addition new,
Do not worry, dear,
I'm here to stay here.
My HP Poem #1989
©Atul Kaushal
There was a time  
when putting voice to
silent declarations  
unspoken longing  
you would have uttered my name  

And it would have danced  
along your strings
 40° 
Ayaz
The night gags my mouth
seals my lips
blindfolds my eyes
ties my hands
and chains my legs۔
Then they come beating drums
And announce the advent of dawn!
And order me to dance
And order me to sing!
 35° 
Isaac Carden
Like water
We converge
Into oceans.

But first,
We diverge
Into rain.

And rain
Flows down.
It makes its way.

Don't fight
What can't
Be changed.

Don't give in
To the madness
Of contradiction.

An open mind,
Reflecting,
Isn't dazed.

Just go
And meet
The ocean

Where you
Unite with
Vastness.




.
 35° 
Shivvy
So darling
In the moments that exist
With you on the pavement
When night
I want to look in your eyes
And say the words
I love you
With a voice that holds the softest might
 34° 
Caryl Maluping
nalutaw an husay
han imo pag-sidlit,
pag-duaw hin madaliay
ha ka mataghom han gab-i.

🌕
 32° 
Micheal Lee
Enter my bloodstream with your affection
The desire you gave to me, made me infected
But not for anything I don't regret it
Our future is easy to change so make good decision's
Very delicate
Very elegant
Lets have our beautiful sick fantasies
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