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 2430° 
charles bateman
I have seen the most beautiful face , glowing with compassion ,
mercy and grace.
I could see he has power to forgive every sin ,I was just blown
away as I invited him in. The love unlike anything I have known ,
ever so humble with a spiritual tone
he took a beating because of men and their laws , willingly he did this , he believed in his cause
Someday we will see the whole , heavy , cost , the day he was nailed to that old rugged cross and I will remember his face for ever .
.
If poets don't write
They will rise
Ah!
They will rise
The seas, moon, sun and trees
They will rise
In revolt they will rage
 148° 
Traveler
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
Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!
 126° 
Jeanette
I.
My son does not understand fear,
he is 3,
he thinks in color,
he believes in magic,
he says that our dog Smokey
controls the weather.

Watch him as he goes!
Jumping over cracks on sidewalks,
pretending to fly,
attempting to get near electric outlets
because he saw them spark once,
and fire,
fire is cool!

"Watch me Mommy!

watch me."

II.
Some days I stay in bed all day,
I tell everyone I am catching a cold,
a sinus infection,
another migraine again.

It is easier to lie than to explain,
that it is too difficult to shower,
to find an outfit, to brush my hair,
to make food,
to chew it.

Friends jokingly call me a hypochondriac,
my Mother thinks I am mellow dramatic,
My son asks me if I need my temperature checked.

It is too honest to say,
"I am fighting monsters, and they won today."
Who would believe me if I did?

We are taught since childhood
to not believe in the things
we can not see.

III.
The day we buried my Grandfather,
I wore my favorite gray dress,
I was scared to taint it
with such a sad memory,
but I was 8 months pregnant
and nothing else fit.

We threw dirt in a hole
as three strangers watched us grieve.
They stood with shovels ready to do their jobs,
ready to get home to their loved ones.  

All I could think about was how much
it aches to love anyone,
even in the good times, it aches.
Loss dances outside our window
like flames, waiting to engulf.

I vowed to protect my child
from any unnecessary pain,
I vowed to make him feel safe.

Now I fear I am the one
tainting him in gray.

IV.
Not every day is bad,
most days are nice, in fact,
some days are so good
that the bad ones seem
like distant memories.

On the good days I feel brave,
brave like my son;

I tickle his tummy and show him
which lights are stars, which are planets,
and tell him I love him, always,
no matter what.
 98° 
Anthony Pierre
Boo,
        I don't write love letters
like you do

My words get blacklisted

'cause with love,
       things can get twisted, quickly

You see:
the sweet hips      
                   drips
            with kisses ...  can easily be
                            
the creep's lips
                      trips
             with hisses

Don't misconstrue, Boo
I see you
      like you see me
            and, I agree
our minds are connected
  
                   But
                             our
telepathy
           can certainly be
                                the lepathy

to confuse you
          and
        contuse you too

You don't see the pain I see
                I see the pane you don't see

It obscures my view
     I'm one of the pragmatic few
          I'm being true to you, Boo

These love letters must end
           In its place I'll just send

"Deeds" things we can both do
                          and claim ownership to

They can't be misunderstood at all
   The same ones used at a concert hall

If it's great ... then I'll just applaud
If it's bad ... then I'll just ...

                        Boo, I'm through
Lighten up my friends. It is all good with Poetry
 98° 
Julian C Jaynes
A readied pen
On empty pages
Writes the lives
Of countless faces

Of rich and poor
The small and great
The pen takes note
Of each one’s fate

Their peals of laughter
And tears they shed
All words spoken
And thoughts unsaid

It is sad that the lives
Of us and our neighbors
Will become nothing more
Than some ink on paper
We are all just obituaries in progress.
 84° 
keila skie
I know
You care about me
10 more people do
Yet I can't get rid
Of this feeling
Of doom

I know
I have you
10 more people too
Yet I can't find a person
To talk to
late at night
 83° 
Whit Howland
but before you go
can I ask you

was there a rhyme
reason purpose or

meaning of the thing

I ask this

because they're playing and
singing

your anthem your
lullaby

that'll slip you into dreamland

Whit Howland © 2020
He
Broke my wings
So I couldn’t

Fly

So I stole his soul
So he couldn’t

Die
 64° 
Poetic T
We spend to many fractions


taking away or adding up the
                              meaning.

Times are incomplete,
          but we must always
divide every moment so that

everything adds up to the equal
                         breath that we aren't

in control.


But we are but numbers,

                in an equation of now.
 53° 
icarus
~

in our words
we are made immortal
across an ocean of stars
through the window of time
the past is but a bridge
we cross in our mind
each night i walk silent
through darkness i tread
between this world
and another;
to find you in my head

~
on golden shores, where the ocean swallows the sun, wait for me my love; for i will return.
 44° 
Shadow
Art
Art is a statement about life's truths.
But what is art? It is music, it is poetry, it is song and paintings on the wall, it is the morning dew on the petals of flowers, it is the yellow autumn leaves, it is in the way you walk, it is in the way you talk, it everthing and nothing, it is what you make of it.

what is art to you?
 38° 
Abby
Not everything needs a poem
Sometimes
it’s already

good enough.
 36° 
Heinz Lunch
Yesterday was not yesterday,
but twenty years ago
when i met you
one month before
your seventeenth birthday.
Tomorrow is not tomorrow,
but twenty years later
when i left you
one month before
your seventeenth birthday.
A friend of mine told me
I write when I’m sad
She said it is as if I am in pain
And I said when I write it rains
When I put the pen on paper the clouds get dark
And when I stop
The birds of the sky sings
Coming out to play as the sun is out
 34° 
Scarlett
I saw a predator in the bathroom mirror
or perhaps it was just confident prey
 34° 
Monet Echo
There’s a lot we don’t understand
Our worlds are shrouded in mystery
But wisdom is close at hand
When we give credence to our periphery
 33° 
Jennifer Ale
All that really matters is You and I
Our hearts juxtaposed
flutter and fly high

I call once and you say
My beloved, on this day...

Our moons have crash-landed
amongst billions of burning stars
Can we leave this galaxy
to discover the truth of who we are?


Jennifer Alé
thoughts by a river
 31° 
Arek
Goodbye Poetry
 30° 
misha
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

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
 30° 
Ashley Jerome
Red were the roses, the ones I left on your casket,
Orange were the leaves, the ones in your tree,
Yellow were the bruises, the ones that covered you head-to-toe,
Green were the stains, the ones left on the hems of your jeans,
Blue were your lips, the day you were found in your noose,
Indigo was the night sky, that night that you died,
Violet was that bruise, the one you wore around your neck
by Alice Thyne, but i can relate so much
 30° 
Dave Robertson
This light,
amber edge of autumn,
kisses souls to forget
the once welcomed lethargic sweats of summer
and gently chides us to remember

woollen pullovers and happiness
in sharp cold breaths intaken,
exhaled as a fake sophisticate
puffing on a glamorous cigarette

As the year begins its sleep
our senses wake
to ask questions in the dark
 30° 
Steve Page
I lift my pen from the page
and smell the coming rain
I hear the rising wind
and sense the gathering pain

and as the scouting drizzle coats my face
I smile, because I have my compass
I have a North Star and the maps I made
when I came this way before

I know I can navigate these hills
and I can form a new stanza
to take me through to the meadows
that wait for me there
I navigate by poetry
 27° 
Marya123
If I were a poem
I'd be made of words
That only you'd understand.
 27° 
me gs
The smooth, strong lines of your body
Flow much like a river does,
Clean and soft on the edges

Oh, to be wrapped up in your current!

me.gs
 27° 
Natalie
Monsters
They’re scary
Some are in the closet
Some are under the bed
But you want to know a secret
The scariest monsters
Are in our heads
I am my own monster
 26° 
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.
 25° 
REY
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 like *******.
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.
 24° 
Megan H
Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?
I'm sorry I haven't written a while! Love you all
 24° 
MicMag
sometimes you just
gotta sit down and write
just grab the apple
and take a bite
just take a leap
into the dark night

if you want to be a poet
you gotta write poems
let the words go
wherever the wind blows em

sometimes your lines will ****
other times blow you away
but stay firm on that writing path
don't be led astray
by laziness and perfectionism
saying you can't do it
don't give in, knock em down
push yourself right through it

let the poem be what it is
let its rhymes ring true
knowing as much
as you're writing the poem
it's also writing you
success comes
through failure
improvement comes
through the grind
go ahead
write bad poems
they'll make you better
in due time
 24° 
Jessica Patrick
I watched the moon,
last night,
it danced through,
the tree limbs,
onto my,
bare skin.
I pondered,
if maybe,
you too held,
ballets,
across your chest.
 24° 
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.
 23° 
katalin
you don't have to hide it under long sleeves when you are with me
it hurts so much to see you go through the hell i just got out of
i know, you are a complicated person, you don't like to open up
i know, i saw it, i saw your scars, i feel you getting distant.
you're here and yet you're not
you are slowly dissolving, falling apart, dying
when i hug you it feels like i'm not hugging anyone
when we talk your mind does not come back
instead, it travels in the darkness,  drowning in loops and tunnel-visions.

is my worst nightmare coming true?
are you leaving?
please come back
we miss you.

don't leave me here.
im scared.
 23° 
John Destalo
I am a bug
caught in

a spider web
of beauty

I know where
it exists

I know why
it exists

I know
my future

if I go there

I land there
anyway

I give in to
my capture

knowing
resistance

is futile
 23° 
caroline
“Social media is taking over our lives,”
she tweeted angrily.
 23° 
leila
..
I never told a lie to you
that I love you
I told a lie to myself
that you love me..
 23° 
Kara Jean
The rivers knows me,
an aspiration with pain thrown in

She wants to exist
Feeding the wild, rapidly free

Man has his own fate
He takes her rights

She fights,
soaking up every drop from the sky

He needs to feed the envy

She has dry tears in her muddy puddle up fear

Mocked by the image of life,
she had once thrived
  
The world turns an eye in disgust

Her only objective was to nourish and love
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