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I have never thanked you,
for the conversations.

I have never thanked you,
for the smile.

I have never thanked you,
for asking me how i'm really doing.

I have never thanked you,
for staying alive.

Thank you,
thank you.
I caught a glimpse of you today. The humidity fastening your dress to your hips. That yellow, summer dress you used to wear for me. The one with exhausted straps that inevitably descend to your arms. Your noncommitted attempts to readjust them, seemingly resigned to your inescapable fate. I always liked that dress. The bend of your knee partially hidden but enough given to entice. The curves of your thighs painted by the wind.

I saw the rose highlights in your hair. I like them. If the sun hadn't washed you in light at that moment I would have never known. They remind me of the fiery passion of your love.

I saw you smile. That's new. I haven't seen that in what feels like an eternity. I saw you reach out. Your delicate hands and slender fingers that used to caress me. The chills throughout my body as you touched me. Then I saw him. But I don't care about him because I caught a glimpse of you today.
Erin Riley
to bring
my dreams
with me
when I
wake up.
what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists
I've been waking up feeling I cant speak
Like the tongue I own its ripped out
Ripped out
From my mouth
From my mouth my tongue is ripped out
So I form the words and send them off to you
In a letter
Megha Thakur
थोड़ी अलग सी हैं मेरी कहानी,
कुछ सुनाई हैं तुम्हें,
कुछ बाकी हैं सुनानी।
माना इसका कोई अन्त नहीं फिर भी मुकम्मल हैं मेरी कहानी,
जो जी रहीं हूँ वो मेरी हैं,
और जो भूला दी वो थीं अंजानी।
ना कोई मकसद हैं इसका ना कोई सीख हैं मेरी कहानी,
बस इतना जानती हूँ के कभी बेपरवाह,
तों कभी हैं ये रूहानी।
- मेघा ठाकुर
Nostalgia is a funny thing
I often think about;
It's whispers of the past slowly
Drown the present out
Nat Lipstadt
Late afternoon, tween twilight but before the dusk
in time for afternoon prayers, ******* followed by
the evening service, The Name reached out unto me
to touch my face, wake me from a lifelong slowing slumber.

My man! My good man, I’ve been numbering those days,
you will have no disagreement that you’re quite the closer,
close by, the chapter finale of our story, your living, a well
thumbed novella, enjoyed by many, and a favorite o’mine.

Do not restless rustle, no busing bustle, the Set Table^ cleared,
tabulations done, the sums and dividend distributed, in sync,
your words well distributed, remainders to be dearly shared, saved,
showings of great love, valleys of feeling, these your humble attire.

Look how easy the (our) words come, the fluids of a man for which
we have been long patient be awaiting, the company all in readiness,
for confession and days of permanent new creation, fast beginnings,
think on it, to be called child once more, how glorious this unknown!

Dimensions recorded, measurements tailor-taken, silk tuxedo deep bleu, luxe, a hint of violet, here-presented, patent, the leather for blue suede winged dancing shoes no airport dare ask you remove, before they beg you, say, save grace, just once, pronounce The Name, the one of Seventy!

To walk, talk, rhyme and theorize, to forget and memorize, always refreshing, knowing nothing lasts, except things that last forever, or last never, poems and decisions needing completion, choices, reordering songs loved best, repleting all sorrowed pains, uplifting prayers, hallelujah hymns, last rites...

You, a world to us, a microcosm of a triathlon life, juggling the many, last of a lineage who could^^ pray, making rain, reading poetry to angels, giving comforting absolution for making storms, plagues, tidal waves, volcanoes, concentration camps, death marches, stillborn children, incurable sadness.

Quick when the curtain calls, listen close for the cue, toe the mark,
take position, hands upward joined, eyes down, ahead are fearless words,
a soliloquy lasting hundreds of years, balances aligned, only now you  needed, to make mercy allocations, putting paid next to all my periods, all in place, properly positioned, now comes an  evening song.

then to commence the writing of only love poetry forevermore.

Sabbath May 23
woke from a half-nap, while listening to music heard a certain song, then wrote in a single sitting of thirty minutes

^ Shulchan Aruch
I do not want this sickness
Madness & pain.

The wind burn
The stomach churn
To no return

The fear
The waves
The craves
The maze

Looking up lost
To no cost
To no exhaust.
I feel at home within a shadow clouds gloom
The ambiance matches my inner mood
Overcast days challenge the worlds rapid pace
And slows it down
So I feel less out of place
Kelly Lin
my words are a gentle breeze
a light sensation
sometimes not even in the right direction

my words meet your skin
but they cannot reach your heart or your mind
for it can do nothing at all
Joshua Dawang
Bleed to infinity
They say they will

In action they fade away
Like a book without good structure

When they lay out the Three-ger words
Stuck in the air
Because they say they’d bleed
Right until I fall in dust
Maria Hernandez
My biggest fear is that


you will see me

the way that

I see myself
Detective Pikachu like right on cue cuhz like da shxt not funi...
I'm ready to switch lanes baby girl & I can't wait to work out with you 🙏
Your fingers clenched between mine
Us walking through the dusk till nine
In an alley where silence rang
You looked at me with a lovely gaze
Blushed at you, I closely clang
You held me tight so tight.
Watching us the moon above
Just couldn't get enough.
Delighted, it continued to relish this sight
Glowed so bright
Even the darkness caught a fright.
Gentle raindrops fall
A melody for my soul
Soothing me, like you
i am myself
i may not be the same me that i was before
but i am still me
and i am still myself
and i am still i

it gets harder
every time
to put myself back together
but isn't that all we are

just fragments

some of us are put together neatly
fitting perfectly like pieces of a puzzle

others are a little haphazard
strips of paper hastily taped

i tape other people together
and i am also the tape
and i tape myself

i am not perfect

but i am me
and i am myself
and i am i.
Anais Vionet
I want to be a writer -
and like a new poker player -
I'm starting to evaluate my cards.

I post on several poetry sites
I find syncing them kind of hard.

'Cause I'm the model of imperfection
heck, I'm the Edison of mistakes -
a teenager half-heartedly committed
to doing whatever it takes.

Does it help that I'm never happy?
That I constantly make updates?

At times I feel the proverbial cat
chasing its own tail -
but I think I'm making progress
- like a literary snail.
A poem about wanting to be a writer
Flower C
Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.
I have sinned,
So destroy me,
With your rain.
Han Drew
You we're my sunshine
But then I remembered that the sun doesn't just shine for one person.
Amanda Hawk
Fingertips linger upon skin
I trace my answers
As if my hands are mouths
Tongues lapping at the salt
The sunrise rests upon you
Layers of pink, orange and yellow
Glisten upon your face
And my gaze
Falls into your eyes
Your name
The horizon upon my tongue
And our love, I devour
Slowly eating with every touch
Flower C
You’re much like the rain,
You can be soft or heavy,
Or kind to my drought.
your presence
is all
i need.
I might seem a bit mystic but I’m good at heart

As a small garden rakes over my eyes and a head digging in and scrapping away

She says,

My heart is like a cleft pomegranate
Bleeding crimson red,
And dripping every seed on the ground
It’s ripe and over-full,

My dissatisfied heart,
My hearts it is more human than I,
More than life itself

My heart cries but my eyes are dry

And behold my friend,
This is what I call my brief tragedy of flesh

So set me free and away
So I can lay at peace
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that
Your wisdom avoids touch
But your heart misses presence.
eyes open and mouth shut
floor on your feet and seat on your ****
buckle your seatbelts up tight
leave now if you have an aversion to height
mind the flips, reversals, and drop
don’t panic if we stop
keep your arms and legs inside
and off you go- it’s a wild ride
Rupert Pip
Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.
Get to know me like I do you; inside and out.
Mrs Timetable
Its too deep
Right now

No diving
No laps
No splashing

For a while

Maybe the
Won't see me
Stay quiet pain
If my fate is to love you
From a distance
Then I'll burn for you
Like a star in your night sky
Bright, steady, reliable
Until the end of time.
Pondering existence itself:
mere deadweight for "success"
this narrative of the times
must be upheld as sacred

The religion of modernity is that
of willful blindness taken
as a virtue

or so we are led to believe:

that it is the mark of a healthy man
to never use his brain!
Words' Worth
A natural order was seen
Living in the forests of time
Where wild men run free
As mothers keep providing

The mother hides in the shadows
Unaware of the crime of her children
Letting the life cycle move as clouds do
As the race for time will never find an end

When we live in the city
The cars live on the roads
Now and then, is a lot like
A forest of the day, hiding in the darkness of night

Under a canopy
Where the bright places are absent
The snails will move as clouds
Letting the clouds run free

Under a canopy
Where the shadows hide
The brightness of a tiger
A quest for life leads us to our destiny
and they never knew
they were lost stars,
building their empires
after many lost wars.
Aneesh H
I desire a daily verse:
A dose of well-worded fun;
Be it verbose or terse
Wrap it in a witty pun!
Oh! look how beautifully she uses her smile
as a shroud,
to hide the gruesome scars her soul endows!
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
I can’t let society get to me
as I’m walking down the street
A white cat in the window of a white house
stares at me so sinisterly

He smugly licks himself
and tells me to stand straight
To pin my shoulders back
he tells me “walk THIS way”

To hold my head up high
cut my hair and shave
Give poetry a break
“do something with your life”

Society grins
and invites me to come in
Come and breathe their air
but breathe what they feel’s fair

I feel my chest tighten
my lungs gripped by anxiety
squeezing the life out of me
I can barely breathe

As society stares at me
I feel a growing need
To walk my way
Talk my way
Walk away from here

So as I leave the white cat behind
I smile with relief
I’ll choose the air I breathe
And it won’t be societies
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
you inhale tragedies
and exhale poetry
From where do you get your perseverance?
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.
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