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Jaime Sabines
Me encanta Dios. Es un viejo magnífico que no se toma en serio.
A él le gusta jugar y juega, y a veces se le pasa la mano y nos
rompe una pierna o nos aplasta definitivamente. Pero esto sucede porque
es un poco cegatón y bastante torpe con las manos.
Nos ha enviado a algunos tipos excepcionales como Buda, o Cristo, o
Mahoma, o mi tía Chofi, para que nos digan que nos portemos bien.
Pero esto a él no le preocupa mucho: nos conoce. Sabe que el pez
grande se traga al chico, que la lagartija grande se traga a la pequeña,
que el hombre se traga al hombre. Y por eso inventó la muerte: para
que la vida -no tú ni yo- la vida, sea para siempre.
Ahora los científicos salen con su teoría del Big Bang...
Pero ¿qué importa si el universo se expande interminablemente
o se contrae? Esto es asunto sólo para agencias de viajes.
A mí me encanta Dios. Ha puesto orden en las galaxias y distribuye
bien el tránsito en el camino de las hormigas. Y es tan juguetón
y travieso que el otro día descubrí que ha hecho -frente
al ataque de los antibióticos- ¡bacterias mutantes!
Viejo sabio o niño explorador, cuando deja de jugar con sus soldaditos
de plomo y de carne y hueso, hace campos de flores o pinta el cielo de manera increíble.
Mueve una mano y hace el mar, y mueve la otra y hace el bosque. Y cuando
pasa por encima de nosotros, quedan las nubes, pedazos de su aliento.
Dicen que a veces se enfurece y hace terremotos, y manda tormentas,
caudales de fuego, vientos desatados, aguas alevosas, castigos y desastres.
Pero esto es mentira. Es la tierra que cambia -y se agita y crece- cuando Dios se aleja.
Dios siempre está de buen humor. Por eso es el preferido de mis
padres, el escogido de mis hijos, el más cercano de mis hermanos,
la mujer más amada, el perrito y la pulga, la piedra más
antigua, el pétalo más tierno, el aroma más dulce,
la noche insondable, el borboteo de luz, el manantial que soy.
A mí me gusta, a mí me encanta Dios. Que Dios bendiga a Dios.
John Destalo
I was falling
for you

the feeling of
being weightless

the sky and
the ocean are

like your eyes

your eyes and
Einstein’s brain

are the depths
I can never reach

but I will drown trying
to reach either or both
Keah Jones
You met my shadow
A monster that has been lying dormant for years
Just waiting to come out and take over

You met my shadow
The thing I tried so hard to hide and protect you from
Because I knew it would scare you away

You met my shadow
“She” appeared from the deepest hell inside of me
When I felt my world was crashing down
Taking advantage when I was weak

You met my shadow
For that I am sorry

And I don’t blame you because
When “she” comes out of the darkness
All I want is to run away too

I am not using her as an excuse
merely wanting you to understand that “she” is not me
If she left it aflame,
Would he stick by?

                                                   or sigh,
                                                       as he is tossed, cast away to the

With just the scent of her hair,
Memory of her eyes
                                                      With a backhand embrace
                                                             confronted with lies
There's subtle, eerie beauty in letting go,
allowing your creation to fly freely
to meet the audience, live its life just so—
it waited to escape your grasp so keenly.
What others feel about it you can't control.
Your inspiration, the readers will ignore
so to get scared, to react with their own feelings.
It's brought into existence—you played your role.
Don't be afraid, it's strong to break through ceilings.
about writing
u see the knife
you watch the glow
u see me smile
but can't hear me cry
u think i'm happy
but inside i'm breaking
u see the blood
then u realize
that i wasn't
when i said
i'm depressed!
u wish u gave me the
support i needed
but now it's too late.
I'm dying inside...
Silent letters to you,
empty messages,
hoping you'll get them,
with no clues,
cause if I tell you I love you,
as I've done every night before,
I'll realize I love you,
more than I have before,
so spare me the torture,
and acknowledge my games,
since we're not the same,
my writing must change
You trace the lines,
You pull the string,
Their pulled together,
Like a bond of love,
Like a bond of beads,
They go together.
They break easy,
that just means be careful.

He sees ME,
He Loves ME
He wants ME,
He needs ME,
I want HIM,
Men can love each other as much as a woman and another woman + a man and a woman. Love is love don't take it away.
I love him, he loves me. SO WHAT?! Were just humans like you. (Besides me no one knows what I am I wont say!)
The Sun beams down blessing the white curtains with a holy sort of light,
delicate undulant pristine waves of silk,
frame the green leaves that peak out,
gentle and humble,
commanding the eye to gaze upon them,
aware of their beauty,
manage to give vanity allurement.
The tragedy is
there's a prison in my mind
all the thoughts that lurk there
are ones I wish were never mine
they etch into my heart
the scars I wear so bright

They whisper wicked stories
of things that never happened
or maybe things that did
things that shouldn't create ripples
in the current in my life
but here I lay in bed
stuck awake at night
eyes cutting blankly
through the nothingness of my cold and dark bedroom
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 have grown flowers out of the marrow of my bones
i have harbored seeds from the blood that flows
i have created skies from the pain in my eyes
and i do it all for you,
my wildflower
He bebido del chorro cándido de la fuente.
Traigo los labios frescos y la cara mojada.
Mi boca hoy tiene toda la estupenda dulzura
de una rosa jugosa, nueva y recién cortada.

El cielo ostenta una limpidez de diamante.
Estoy ebria de tarde, de viento y primavera.
¿No sientes en mis trenzas olor a trigo ondeante?
¿No me hallas hoy flexible como una enredadera?

Elástica de gozo como un gamo he corrido
por todos los ceñudos senderos de la sierra.
Y el galgo cazador que es mi guía, rendido,
se ha acostado a mis pies, largo a largo, en la tierra.

¡Ah, qué inmensa fatiga me derriba en la grama
y abate en tus rodillas mi cabeza morena,
mientras que de una iglesia campesina y lejana
nos llega un lento y grave llamado de novena!
I don't feel special,
I'm not unique.
I want to cry
but I can't even speak.
My hands reach out,
but they cannot hold
a single thing
but the bitter cold.
Everything's frozen,
I feel lost.
Even my tears
have turned to frost.
When I cut my waist
it bleeds black.
I'm so deeply gone
there's no way back.
This is goodbye
Rose Cliff
𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝
𝚂𝚘 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘.
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝
𝚂𝚘 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜.
𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛.
Kole J McNeil
The silver glinting edge shines inches away
It's like un itchable scratch
An unquenchable thirst
An unsatisfyable hunger
It's so close
It beggs to consumed
It beggs be drowned in crimson pain
It beggs to eat away the perfect canvas
It's so close
Just one more
Just one more
Just one more
It's so close
A sighlent voice only I can hear
"You could do it you know"
"It wouldn't be that hard"
It's so close
It's begging makes me cave.
I'm ******* exausted
James R
Sitting. Thinking. Doing.
Trying. Failing. Faking.
Smiling. Consuming. Swallowing.
Absorbing. Accruing. Attacking.
But soon that
All will
A poem about things
Cydney Something
All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing
Tense laptop, delight lunch table,
they swings from time capsules.  

Of the depths, in the quiet, in the white of the winterland

When nothing made a sound,
 Not a mouse, nor an Elk

Not a deer, or a fox, or an owl
But a froster painting

Squeezed into my childhoods window.
They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love.
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
There used to be a key to my heart, that was before she tore it apart, now I'm just desperate for love
I think I’d rather be your friend
Than your wife
You speak to your friends all the time
You laugh on the phone
And share ideas
And secrets
As you wife
I clean
And cook
And take care of you
And miss out
On all the joys of being your friend
I think I’d rather
Be your friend
When I was little
I was scared
Scared of the monsters living under my bed
I used to hide, under my blanket
Under my blanket, I was safe
The monsters couldn’t reach me under my blanket

My parents used to say
The monsters would go away
I would grow up and that then they would leave

But I grew up
And the monsters didn’t leave
Turns out my monsters, grew with me
Now instead of under my bed
The monsters live inside my head

So I hide, under my blanket
Where I think I am safe
Wondering if after all this time
My blanket can still keep the monsters at bay
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
like a deer drinking from a stream
in the clearing
I am clearing
time away
I am the wolf
amongst women
I am a jar
half full
I am residue
on the sink edge
dusty, smudged
I watch people on trams
I watch people on buses
I don't smile
I watch the deer drinking
I play with my hair
I stare
I am the wolf
from afar
I am
I am waiting
for the clearing to wilt
and stream to dry up
I watch the deer
I am
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
I will see your name when looking at the stars
I will remember you by your smile
I will hear you in silence
and feel you alone
and miss you
but know that you will never be forgotten by me

because the things you've taught me
they have redirected me
you gave me a wisp of your being
and that is so ethereal to me
I’m really scared
Im loosing it
My fragile mind
Slowly bruising it
I think too much
Overusing it
it’s my fault
But I keep doing it
bottles and bottles of spiral boy
Drink until I’m Dead
drink until I see red Spirals
growing out my head
Eshwara Prasad
It burned my palm when I caught your randomly floating wretched thoughts.
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim

No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
Edmund black
All things forgotten
Not one thing forgotten
Everything is dear
The dearly beloved
A Precious time,
the journey of love
Make no mistake
Mistakes will be made
The end
Will never define us
A true bond
How special it is
For better or worse
Take my love anyway
For it was always yours.

You're more beautiful
And more outstanding and bright
Than you'll ever know.

You're worth more than you'll know. Just a reminder.
if you're reading this,
(which you might be or you might not be
how am I supposed to know)
this is your sign to
do not disturb.
these doors are lovingly closed to you.
to J.J. (you have nice initials btw)
also p.s. you give really nice hugs
Ciel Noir
making choices
           is not for the
                 faint of heart                
                               any step                ⍜
                           into the future        ☇≣⤷
                                             is a step 〳〵
                                                   into the
                                     ­                                    dark
I decided to write a poem
To put words together
In such a way
As to express
My innermost feelings

And I lost the words
And my thoughts drifted
And my computer keys stuck
And nothing came forward

Perhaps tomorrow
I will write a poem
To express my life
And for today
I’ll just go
To play
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.
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