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 3140° 
Jeremy Stacy
How can you not see the **** on tv and photos from paparazzi, the nominee in front of me is a hyperbole of an unfree reality

How twitter fingers trigger exchanges between strangers, neighbors, and calm natures to waver in ranges that cause dangers

How healthcare and welfare get lost in Laissez-faire, that airfare, software, and warfare get arranged for billionaires over childcare

How a schism between racism and altruism is created by journalism to institute imperialism and break a rhythm of higher criticism
 455° 
Brett
Sometimes the dark of night
Gets the best of us
Faded promises
Glued on top of broken trust
Swimming in your addiction
Drowning on lust
Sailing on this stream of consciousness
Knowing the sun
May never come up
Following the stars
Not guided by much
Just wandering the universe
Reaching out for a feeling
That these hands never could touch
 372° 
youcantknow
you’re driving me insane,
thank you because you’re still the same
It was a lie when they said
that the power to change the world
lied within you

but the ability to transform
the small square of Earth
on which I stand

with a smile

lies within your heart and hands
I wrote this in my sleep, so sorry about the ****** quality!
 137° 
Mose
30 days of isolation
I didn’t know who I was when the world stopped turning.
When the objections that once defined fell flat like a heart line.
The death of the way that was.
  I was no longer written in the way I knew my self.
It scared me.
The way I could no longer sit with myself.
I couldn’t stop running.
The well turned into a drought.
& the rain came only once I cried.
I once lived in a rain forest.
Self-love as heavy as the water embedded on every oxygen molecule.
I asked her to stop.
Couldn’t seem to catch my breath...
But, I guess the point was to never grasp it?
 133° 
Diya
I will bury myself
Beneath the daisies
Unless I fix myself.
Thanks for reading.
 131° 
C
I am haunted:
Not by poltergeist,
but by my unlived lives.
Parallel universes
won't ever speak,
they took an oath
to keep from me.
I have words and voices
humming in my head
that will never be met
outside of my bed.
I have to accept
I cannot have it all,
I have to accept
knowing nothing at all.
 105° 
Claudius
Sometimes it’s like a dream in broad daylight
A realization of the blessing I’ve been given in my life
A magical feeling surrounds me- they call it love
Feels like an ecstasy I can never escape
A feeling I tried to escape until I realized I could not find peace with it.
Drowning in devotion, almost as though he has become my religion
A heaven sent energy
I’d let him take slice of my heart if it meant keeping him fed with love and support.
A piece of heaven brought into a living hell
He calls me an angel- little does he know that he’s the reason for my wings
He is everything I haves prayed for and more.
A love everlasting that brings peace to a chaotic mind, a man worthy of forgiveness, acceptance and so much more- a man I’ve been granted the opportunity to call mine.
 79° 
Mary Frances
I look at myself everyday
in the mirror and then realize
I've been given the most beautiful gift
I could ever ask for - my existence;
my chance of life;
my chance of love.
 68° 
Ariana Solo
I gambled my chances like in the Crystal Casino

Awaiting to become the new Marylin Monroe

Brimming with luxury, glamour and frills

A necropolis of slain dreams,
Beverly Hills

💎💎💎💎💎💎💎
 58° 
David P Carroll
Take my hands and dance
With me under the moonlight
And to tune of our heart's beating
Full of delight and the soft breeze blowing
And I’ll whisper I love you
And then you’re filled with bliss
Because sweetheart our dream has just come true.
Our Heart's ❤️ Forever ❤️
 50° 
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!

Yeah Incubus!
 48° 
Bek Blanchard
Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin  
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake  
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait
 47° 
Deadwood Jawn
-------------------------------------------------------



H́ͨ̆ͪ̉­̴̛̫̥̳̪̘̫͙̟ͪ̈̓ͨ͟ͅE̶̊͒̔̀͛̌͡͏̛͉̦͚͚͔͝ ̵͑̔͗ͥ̉̐͋̈ͥ͒͑̋ͨ̍͂̚͏͕̼̲̫̥̫̮̙͖̤̮͖͓̲͍͍̀̕W̢̹͕̫͇̙̞͇̪̌̋̆̔̃͛͛ͩ͐̊̃ͨ̅ͮ̍͊̈́́̚­͉͕͍̞̱̠ͅͅA̛͆̋ͩ̓͋̓҉̶͙̣̹̥̩̘̪S̡̃ͤ͗̒̐̊͛̍̕͞͏̰͍͖̥̦͎̻̱̪̪̙̭̫͔͚̘̣͉ͅ ̵̉̈́̌̾̿ͪͤ̃̈́͏̡̗̪̦̹̪̟̞̪̗͇̯ͅN̸̢̨̺̱͉͙̝̖̣̻̺̳͔̮̱̜̪͚̠̤̜ͬͮ͐ͤ̋ͪͩ̇̂̀͊̉̏ͦ̏̌ͧ̑­O̵̡̹͓̣͙̘͈̩̳̫̼̖͙͌̂̃̚͘͠Ṭ̢͓̭̦̣̗̩̭̪͉͓ͤͬ̋̎̓̾̔͛͛̔͂̾ͬ̄͊ͦͥ̅͡ ̧ͩͤ̑̿̿̇̚͘͏̢̛̯̬͍̹̳̘͇̥̩̣̩̟̤̺͉A̶̴̬̗͍̥̞̞̩̝̩̣̰̳ͯ̎ͥ̏̃ͮͤ̆̋̏͜͜Lͨ̀̄̏̓̉̋͆̋̇­̸̧͔̼̰̪̱͕̞̺̬̼̘̟̭ͥ͐͒̅͗͠͝͠W̧̖͙̞̪͙͙ͮ̑ͥ͆͛̌̽ͭ͐̌ͩͦ̓́̚̚͘ͅA̰̺̝͙͖̻̹̘̣͌ͨ̾̓͢͜­̬̣̺Y̢͎̹̩̺̦̬͚͉̲͎͓͉̅̄̽̅̎̏̎̌͂̃ͫͭ͞͞S̴̵̨̠̞̖̠̳̖͇̓̇ͧͮͥ͗͑̅̃̾͗͂ͨ͊́̆ͨ͢͢ ͦ͌̌̃̋̒̽͜͏̴̧̪̯̻͙͇̙͈͉̠̠͇̜͈͇͍̣͕̞͢L̵ͪ̊̏̃ͭ̒͊҉҉̞̰̣̥̺͙̣̥̳̠̹̭̘̜̜̙Iͨ̂ͬ̑̿͋͐­̲̗̹͓̠̜͕̞̞̻͙̞͚̼̫̲̞̣̟̃͑̓̃̂͊͛̅̓ͥ̕͜K̅͊ͤ̃̊͂ͮ͊͒̒̎̿҉́͡҉͏̖̯̜̜͔̪̖̟̙̞̺͎̦̖̠E­̶̶̵̪̱̺͍̫͎̣̾̽̂̾̒ͣ̀ͬ̏̐̿ͭ̿͟͡ ̸̧̡̞̠̻̟́̅ͮ̋̕͢T̡̢̼͕̝̠̼̩̜̜͓̠̱̘̜̲̦́͆ͩͨ̈͊ͮ̆̈͑͐̚͜͢͝ͅH̡ͫͧ͛̐ͦ̋ͣ̔̓̾͆͐ͥͯ̚͢­͕͉̤̫̹̟͇̭́I̷̧̨̒ͬ̇ͬ̾̆ͬ̂̌͌͏͍͍͔̖̮̪̖͓̰͎̪Ş̴̰̭̜͓͚̖̯̦͇͓̞̹̼̺͖̐ͪ̐̅͒̚̕͘



­--------------------------------------------------------
He wasn't. Thanks for understanding, Lydia.. Lydia is angry.. Someone's hurt him..
This is Lydia speaking.
 42° 
Reagan
I never truly believed in you
Maybe i did once
But now i know you
As the thing people hold on to
When there's nothing left

So here I am
With nothing left
This is written as my sister is in a coma
 40° 
Astral
When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.
 38° 
preservationman
Soar beyond the ridges
High above any bridges
Carefree
Reality
Rise
Energize
Realize
Creation
Purpose
O­bvious
Wide Open Skies
The wonders feeling like a Corporate Enterprise
Commitment to emphasize
Tomb stone grave
Rise to everlasting
Transcend
Soar into tomorrow
A Soul missed in sorrow
Skies delight
The shining light
Soar like never before
Galore
Released to soar
Free Spirit
Surrounded by Salvation for sure
 38° 
ju
Thunder rolled by this morning. Soon after, rain stopped pouring. The Sun rose slow and low and strong.

Gulls took leave of roof-tops and trees, returned to cliff-face and sea, picked through rock-pools and a washed-up tourist trade.

They spent the day picking and eating, picking and eating. Picking and eating, and dreaming of feasting. They tried to sing, but they cried.
 34° 
E
The face in the mirror
the look in the eye's
that reflection ain't me it's just a disguise
the fading of hair
the wrinkles that bend
it's just a life story that's told on my skin
this man in the mirror he ain't really me
their's a child inside that want's to be free
that woman of mine you could say she's the same
sometimes in the covers we laugh and play games
but as I get old and my life bears thin
I think of the fun
and think of the friends
so you could say i'm kind of bold
it's just a part of getting old
A poem my dad wrote on his 45th birthday
we all thought it was funny but truth is
I think it was the greatest one he ever wrote
 33° 
Dean
when you sleep it's like you never cried,

breathing soft and steady, wet cheeks dried.



when you sleep it's like you never lost,

boundaries weren't broken and lines weren't crossed.



when you sleep it's like you're still there,

and you still smile and you still care.



when you sleep you look young as I,

no crease in your brow and no old worn sigh.



and so if sleep is death just being shy,

is it still so wrong,

to wish

to die?
This was made by yamiyurei
Do you remember me?
I was the boy sitting at the back in history
When I tried to talk to you, I would stutter
Because you always made my heart flutter

You were the most popular girl in class
I was ordinary and our styles would clash
You always ignored me as if I wasn't there
It hurt me, knowing you didn't really care

That was so many years ago, now here you are
I'm so sorry to see you've fallen so far
Begging on the street, with nothing in your eyes
Your looks are gone, no one hears your cries

Do you remember me?
I was the boy sitting in the back of history
I'm trying to help you, but I can only stutter
Handing you some money, watching it flutter

Copyright © Chris Smith #darkpoetsoul 2020
She was stuck
in endless cycles
it seemed to her
more harm than good
to be a girl
in this world
 29° 
tainted black
..
she
closed her
eyes and took
a very deep breath,
crossed her fingers then
w  h     i     s    p   e    r     e   d,
"I long to see the   o n l  y
man who made me
shine in his
darkness
..
I finally moved on from the past.
I finally moved on with my Ex.
I finally moved on with the regrets.
I finally moved on with my Grudges.
I finally moved on with my demons inside me.
I finally moved on to a new boyfriend.
I finally moved on happily.
I did it with the help of my friends God and my family.
 27° 
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
 25° 
Jim Musics
The cusp of Spring/Summer is when I already think Autumnal thoughts. Even before a not-green stray Sassafras mitten or two falls, the Black gum lets go a few red-orange leaves.  I see them on the back path. They silently shout to me, “Here come the Fall!”. I'm saddened. It's not just because I used to lament having to go back to school in September, It's more than that. It's only just yet Summer. I didn't finish. 'Didn't go back the live the life that I could have had if I hadn't made those foolish moves. 'Didn't make most of those smart ones. 'Hadn't wasted all that money on beer. I sort of tried to do it right when I got a little older. 'Did some good, coulda done more though. 'Expected my good work to be more rewarded. I didn't, “sell out”, or climb up some ladder stepping on backs. I never gave up, but I just didn't do enough. 'Didn't make them listen. 'Afraid to speak up. That's what this is; the confession of a 70 year old. I'm not unburdened. I don't need forgiveness.
Not a poem. Just some old guy whining about his privilege.
 24° 
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.
I hope I do not fade away
like the stars at dawn.
A footprint
left on the desert sand;
a dream that is lost to memory.
 23° 
Lawrence Hall
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    I­ndochine - An Anniversary of Sorts

On the 26th of October 1970 I returned from 18th months in Viet-Nam and a brief side-trip into Cambodia. I was literally just a boy off the farm when I went, and was still quite young when I wrote the following artless lines, with their conventional allusions, forced rhymes, and usage errors, on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th anniversaries. Perhaps there is one from the 1st anniversary, but I can’t find it. Well, we are all are looking for something most days: a poem, truth, meaning, or some other trifle.


…the war – the frights…the smell of h.e., the horribly smashed men still moving like half-crushed beetles, the…corpses…all this shows rarely and faintly in memory…and often seems to have happened to someone else.

        -C. S. Lewis, “Guns and Good Company,” Surprised by Joy


                                        26 October 1972

The pecans are falling now
Onto the court-house lawn
Geese fly overhead, southbound
Misty dusk and chilly dawn

Two year from Viet-Nam
Two eternities from the Vam Co Tay
Elections now, and speeches
And I guess I’ll have my say

But the finality briefly denied me
Found many another man
And they’re not here for elections
And Autumn on the land

                                            26 October 1973

I sit and smoke my pipe and think
Of things that I have seen
Easter seals and steering wheels
And jungle hot and green

I sit and smoke my pipe and ponder
The imponderable of God and man
The evening star over a flare-lit war
And souls as grains of sand

I sit and smoke my pipe and mourn
For the murdered

Many miles, and three years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay

                                         26 October 1974

Many miles
And four years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay

All the death-hurt eases
And dreams are quieter now
But the hurting never ceases
And I can’t see when it will, or how

Four Octobers
Four Autumns today
From rain drizzling on the slimy banks
Of the Van Co Tay

“Go and make the world safe for democracy –
Like we did in 1917,” my aged ancestor said
Dear old man, he never lived to know
That sort of thing is dead

Grim memories
Of flare-lit nights and steaming days
Of men dying screaming
On the Vam Co Tay

The finality briefly denied me
Found many another man
And they’re not seeing the wild geese flying
Or Autumn on the land

Many miles
And four years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay
A poem is itself; memories are doubtful.
 23° 
JL Smith
It's been said,
If you love something
Let it go

So you did
And I'm free,

But I'll return
Knowing

You love me

© JL Smith
 23° 
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° 
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.
 23° 
Wanderer
Is it the words whispered
in secret corridors
i love you

are they proclaimed boldly
from roof tops
I LOVE YOU

Or maybe love
sounds like laughter
giggles shared only between two

what if love has no noise
its beauty is similar to a sunset
seen and felt
but never heard
 22° 
Gill S
Meet me in the middle of a blank page in our book. Meet me where our story is not yet written.
The previous pages are already colored by permanent pigment and etched in stone. They are not erasable. You cannot burn them or rid yourself of them without destroying me. They are forever imprinted in my memory. All we can do is remember and forgive the mistakes we have made.
So, please, meet me in the middle of this blank page where the words are not yet written, and we can write our own story's course.
 20° 
Nat Lipstadt
<for my friends>

you may
wright me as needed,
you may
write me as oft as you desire,
and
we may
right each other
as often as
often needs definition

and I measure and define

often

in milliseconds!

p.s. ink and paper surrender to time, fire and water

these tiny bytes will likely live forever often somewhere.
 20° 
Luiz
some                   I
     say                     call
           it's                   It        
                poetry.          oxygen.


I write, therefore I am.
 20° 
elijah
my hair is turning blue
shades of light gray

sweet november
are you close

I keep staring
hoping someone catches my eye

if you ever need a friend
don't come running

I'm in another world
lost in a memory

my past
present
and future are merging

into one
I can't find myself

I know I'm fading
waiting for all the leaves to fall
so I can pick them up
so I can crush them all

if I'm a color
I'm a sick blue
 19° 
emnabee
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.
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