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 1052° 
Chris Saitta
Love has passed me by like a stream at a miller’s side
Who has store of grains and grinds and little else.
A bird is the mill wheel that spills out
Small buckets of splashing trills in these woods
~Whose heart is the great spiral tragedy of a tree
that lessens itself by load of leaves~
Love has passed me by like a road for the dusted hoof
Of a pack horse whose rider is a daze of coin-pursed eyes,
And a saddle of dry distance for fortune’s miles.

Love, how you pass me again and again,
In your madness for grain of coin and its too many roles.
Sometimes the giver is more gift than the rose.
For slide video:  https://www.instagram.com/p/Bzo5xWolj35/?igshid=bihqx2kllogc
 637° 
John Akins
I'm not broken, I'm tired
Of emptying myself into people
With hearts like broken jars
And arms riddled with holes.

So don't ask me to give
My cup is empty
And I have nothing to offer you
Living life
to please
others
is a
waste of
time.
 310° 
Shin Ha Mi
And
Just like that,
the sky,
changed.

Your smile,
Engraved

I knew,
I’ll never be,
The same

Again
 255° 
Umi
Go to sleep tonight,
Dear, then I shall visit you,
In your sweetest dreams.

~ Umi
 226° 
Left Foot Poet
swallow


I,
too,
swallow.

each groan
repressed
each longing
suppressed,
each nightmare
revisited.

the semantic fluid
stains
my teeth, my face,
no erasure endures,
tracks of my tears,
skin etched everlasting,
beyond camouflaging.

the weights owned,
that the scale
does not register,
stones of stones,
add to a total
that has no
agreeable total
but is a totalitarian oppression
of all day tongue depressions

oh god,
mercy from the weights
I have impressioned and digested
of own free will,
to misbalance my posture,
crook’d, my soul ever reciped,

stains collected,
each stain
swallowed,
see my markings internal,
you have never seen
until you have seen me
7/20/19
 218° 
Iz
You are like ice but I don’t have enough fire to melt you
 215° 
max
words pour out of my skull;
more story than poem,
as i scrape the essence of my soul,
and infuse the page with it
u mmmmm this is my first poem so dont bully me
 209° 
Monica
Murdered soul
Left behind evidence
Pled not guilty
Prosecuted by feelings
When defending the heart
Law of attraction
Judged by actions
Traumatic trial
Due to reasonable doubt
Emotional jury
Based on facts
Imprisoned by love
Served a life sentence
Another random write. Enjoy
 193° 
Ciara
Have you ever felt so small and insignificant
Consumed by isolation
Severed from the world encompassing you

That feeling is a constant for me
Deep seated in the darkness of my mind
 191° 
Shabnam
Don't know when I will be me again?
 164° 
Steve Sufian
From the highest point of the world, we can see everywhere;
From the Lowest Plane of our mind, we See and Are All that Is—
We Are Eternal Bliss,
All is Here,
All is Here.

There is no here or there,
There is no near or far,
All that is Is Here,
All that is Is Love,
All that is Is Joy;
We Are the Player and the Toy.
We Are the Player and the Toy.

We Are All There Is.
We Are All There Is.
We Are All There Is.
We Are All There Is.
There is more to a person than their weakness you happened to notice first.
Your label only pulls them apart from themselves and into the abyss of abandonment you directed them to believe they belonged in the first place. Stranded and alone.
 137° 
Keerthi
soaking in the sunlight
under the trellis of greenery,
shadows dancing on the face
and warmth lulling to a slumber,
faint music pouring into the ears,
and fleets of feelings unfolding
dancing with the memories,
untold stories peeking behind
the closed lit eyes,
pressing to let out.
 125° 
Nat Lipstadt
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.


~~~

faint knocking at the door to the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic, lyrical rapping,
sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner, a judgment resister,
flaunting an expired coupon, trumpeting demands for a recount,
waving it, claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a mercy discount and
an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly, beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering,  how both,
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides, the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared,  that my finality was spirit consumer?

one voice, answers,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning or
even drowning
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels, the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books and records of everyone,
are permitted this to query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are poorly constructed
in his image

he, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
he, who best answered
this judging, this calling out, callig in
incantation,

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution


                                                    ­| | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.

Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.

^^"A Kohens ancestors were priests in the Temple of Jerusalem. A single such priest was known as a Kohen, and the hereditary caste descending from these priests is collectively known as the Kohanim.[2] As multiple languages were acquired through the Jewish diaspora, the surname acquired many variations." Today, with no temple, the limited role of the Kohanim is to bless the Jewish people on the high holy days with a  special prayer with abeloved tune,  instantly evocative (see wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing) The Kohanim are still revered, honored, and always called up first to the Sabbath reading of the weekly portion of the Old Testament

A thank you to Bex for proofing and encouragement.
Part I of a trilogy
For a  more detailed analysis of the roots of the song, "Who By Fire," and its origins, see:
_____________________________________________
http://www.leonardcohen-prologues.com/who_by_fire.htm

He worked on the song Hallelujah, arguably his most famous composition, for ten years.
 108° 
Destiny Clemins
Why me?
I ask myself as I continue to deal with the abuse..
No, not physical abuse
But with physical abuse the scars and bruises can heal
With mental abuse it messes with your mind forever..
 101° 
ASLAM M
To converse ...
I Wrote.  
Now I am Broke
 97° 
Sarah
Scattered books and pens
A noose hanging from the roof
The ink running dry
First attempt in Haiku,
I wrote it a couple months ago during the final exams.
 96° 
Erica Girone
I was too fixated on finding you I lost myself in the process
 81° 
Invisible
The Sun is shining awfully bright tonight.
Things aren't always what they seem.
an evergreen tree
used as a rooting agent
kills ants, cinnamon
 72° 
Stu Harley
uplifted
through
your
love and mercy
uplifted
through
your
healing embrace
uplifted
through
your
bread of heaven
you
elevate me
through
your sweet glory
and
i
shall be uplifted
through
the
gray storm
with
the
greatest elevation
because
i
gonna make it
 72° 
Tess
You
I feel like I’m in a dark room
Without light or a sense of direction
I used to be scared by the infinite gloom
But now I know you’re somewhere in it
 69° 
Nathalie
Our meeting was a catalyst
that birthed a love so
deep and true that it
transformed our lives
in an instant

Even though our physical
reality brought seperation
our souls were never apart
as it knew of no other
dimension than being together

Life brings us these
beautiful gifts wrapped
up in all kinds of packages
but it is only when our
hearts are open that we
can recognize them.

~Nathalie
 65° 
Pratiksha Khanal
I can’t promise I won’t cry
But I swear until then I smiled

And that smile I will never forget
Even when you forget me
 65° 
Anne
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.
"keep your eyes closed love. sometimes all you have to listen is to what the sound of the waves tells you to do"

When I was much younger, beaches were my second favorite places. I still love watching waves as they go by, crashing against each other and the whole process repeating all over again.
 57° 
kainat rasheed
I’ve experienced seven hundred and seventy moulds

I died from minerality and become vegetable

And from vegetative-ness I died and become animal

I died from animality and became man

Then why fear disappearance through death?

For the next time I shall die

Bring forth wings and feathers like angels

After that soaring higher than angels

What you cannot imagine I shall be that.
your response ?
#me
 54° 
Johnnie Rae
Heat bears down on
seemingly sponge like pavement
and sings of scorching summer sun.

It is times like these
I am usually in my prime.
Usually so excited to go out
and live my best life.  

But lately, there is only
an overabundance of scared:
of everything and nothing, all at once.

Maybe we haven't gotten
the medications quite right,
or maybe I haven't
perfected my grounding mantra
but I don't quite see an end in sight.

The voices are deafening
it's starting to keep me up at night.

It's funny, because
in my youth, I had an infatuation
with swingsets, but yet
this back and forth of
upward swings and downward spirals
is getting tiresome:

it feels like I'm losing the fight.
 53° 
allanbrunmier
In the shallow of my sadness
At the outer edge of madness
I remember you

I see you laughing in the rain
You’re forever singing in my brain
I remember you

Can’t forget the warm texture of your skin
You invade whatever mood I’m in
I remember you

My world capsized when you died
I fled but could not hide
You’re so very deep inside
I remember you
 52° 
Blckstr
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.
 49° 
Astrid
Everything has lost its colour,
Even on the sunny days.
I'm almost certain that the lake used to be bluer,
that your eyes used to burn brighter.

Perhaps it's just a blurry lens,
But I fear my vision's changed
 47° 
Rammy
I know not of the stars
but I know your face
I can gift you the moon
But I know you want that cake
Your round face
Staring at me
Your full lips
Trembling as you kiss my knee  
From the window 
The moon looked on eagerly 
as we joyfully devoured our cake.
 43° 
Sam Clemens
Where do they all go
the unspoken words
Do they melt, into nothingness
burning in the backs of our throats
Or delve into the blue deepness of our thoughts
a sunken treasure
I think they hitch rides
with the hopeless
and the heartbroken
Sitting heavy on shoulders

And I'm walking with the weight of the world
and I'm walking with the weight of the world
 43° 
Dennis Willis
I am looking forward
to everything
anything
something
oh that thing
yeah yeah yeah
 43° 
Nat Lipstadt
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two

this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******,
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly

unfazed, unphased,
non-nonplussed,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:

next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:

You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present  your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant

she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,
replying

“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes

take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged
completely

I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”


and,
along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime
thing

I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,


even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
 41° 
sheila sharpe
Pavements suddenly
become continuous puddles
a spattering of drops
wind down a window pane
and  feet are suddenly wary
and pausing before walking

Here comes the rain!

A leaf fills, and then falls
an insect swims on a tumbled ear of grain
a grass blade bows and then breaks

Here comes the rain!

Inside my heart a beat misses
remembers, with tears
long ago kisses
before separation’s pain
comes pouring into my mind


Here comes the rain!
 40° 
Hg
wri
ting is
threading
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
secrets
you'll
get
po
ke
d
a
l
i
t
t
l
e
.
©Hg
 40° 
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.
The absinthe was poured
Soon thirst will be quenched
The water then added
The green fairy did change
So my brain could be drenched
And my mind would derange
What was peridot green
Is now most opaline
The fennel and anise
Are present indeed
But the taste of the wormwood
Is the flavor I need
Sometimes the questions
are already the answers.
 37° 
Theia
on your last day
the sun was shining
and big white clouds ran across the sky

someone held you tight
and told you, "i love you"
admired you
and cherished you

on your last day
all of your love poured out

you inspired
and you soared
you lived
and you died

your love remains
always
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