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the Nth culling
she gentled sleeps besides the imperfect poet,
who has wandered the hallways since four am,
retuning his returning to their temple bed,
to cull, pluck, her each precious breathing sound,
source material for his
love poem

smirking at his own
Nth foolishness,
weeping tears at the consequences
of human interactions,
he wonders,
why does he worry,
searching to distinguish
between the black and white of life,
hunting for meaningful words

when all the while
he has the vein
of her breathing to mine,
as if he were a Ruth,
following behind
the harvest reapers,
culling a bounty of
dropped grains,
fallen unto him to
garner, imbibe and memorize

those Nth breaths,
that last but seconds,
but here memorialized for
his own
all time
“when down dreaming ups” (Pradip)*/

a mysterious phrasing sent,
the meaning devolving, beyond the obvious,
but slow like, as the mind turns and tastes
these words in different places, ways

when I lay me down to keep,
the dreaming up-ramping, the poems,
don’t know of absent muses, inspiratory lacking,
tongue tied eyes, all banished from the dream world,
where the poems come more than regular,
uninhibited and restless,
begging to be easy birthed,
oh please, oh please!

when down we lay,
up tempo do the brain’s creation ports
turn fiery red, agitated, masses of
tired, poor poems, yearning to be free
disembark all seeking a touchstone statue
to set them free to liberty

my speaking eyelids rapid typing,
placing whole writings in cracks in
the wailing wall, on my own temple mount,
where Hindi letters become stick figures
dancing praises to the lord and stars and
crescendo crescents interlock their tips,
until one dream complete is downloaded
to moistened, ready lips, for I am up, up,

from my down dreaming

10/20/19  8:54am
But in the end, all you get
out of life
is a taste
Kafka Joint
Tomorrow I will wake up and look at this world, totally bewildered.
I just know that.
I am a list
             - notes on a page
             - paint with these colors
             - do what she says
             - reduced to letters on paper

                  ­                                My childish whimsy, my squiggles and stars
                                                           are reduced to straight lines
                                                           ­               and I feel little
                                                          ­                  once again
                                                           ­                                                                 ­             
              *you are no list, your eyes scream of freedom
                        and mine are mere lines on the page

              - a pristine poet
              - a golden list
              - I am wax
              - mouldable
              - weak
              - an idol
              - created from a weak poets' prose
I used to feel free,
but I am once again trapped..
Cold trails
Dark sparks
Wood chips drowning beneath waving path
No time
No chance
No opportunity left to embark

I've missed the stars
The skyward boat
It's filling mast has sailed away
And I am left standing
Beneath the reality
Of day

My reality
This day
As you sail away...

This one's about some kind words I once received. A mere word of thanks for me quietly giving up my seat. It was nothing special. But the memory of which has become quite precious to me. Very pretty.
Fighting the pull
in this valley of ashes.
The lure of escape
from the struggle it masks.
Learn from the eyes
of the gaunt and the flaccid.
The backlash is massive
and they're all out of cash.
Begging for breath
it gasps and collapses.

Maybe Roxanna
You don't love me like I do
But all I want is a kiss from you
And every kiss after that one too

I don't want you all to myself
Please, do kiss and tell!
You're my heaven and I'm your hell

I'm sorry if I get carried away
All I want is your touch and play
But I know you don't love me like like I do
Tell me why I'm angry.
Tell me why I'm sad.
Tell me why I'm hurting
when all I should be is glad.
Glad that I'm alive
that I'm healthy
that I'm free.
They all think I'm crazy
that I hate them all the same.
But they don't know it's me
that's causing myself pain.
kevin hamilton
the night fell
as one last revelation
this pale moon, a metronome
in the gulfs of my eyes
christ, i was so weak
for avoiding the spectacle
but i’m running out of reasons
left to say goodbye

my phantom at the doorway
all serpentine and sage
and your perfume takes to air
like the harvest pollen
exalted in the rain

you let me drink alone
beneath the silver aria
and icons of selene
until morning came
and sometime, too
will i finally sleep
by the candlelight of day
The window to your soul,

Eyes don't lie,

All your internal pain,

Through them you can't hide,

The sadness you've endured,

Times you have cried,

Feeling bound,

Yearning to be untied.
mal frost
i sinned
just like yesterday
and the day before that
and the day before that...
and the day before that......
i sin
In the Beginning was the Word,

And the Word was Life;

Life breathed into Dust,

And in Dust there was Blood.

Blood ran to and fro

The Organs; Ran to and fro

With the Falling of Sand Grains

And the Motion of Tides.

Sand Grain and Tides

Clamoring. Beckoning.

Begging. All to be drenched in the

Red of seductive, lingering Sunsets.

The “Before” the night Sky

And its Stars above a lifeless Void.

Blood heard- Was shed- and soaked

The Grains, soaked the Tides,

Evaporated, Poured down

Everlasting into blackness.

A perpetual Surge of red Petals

From the Red came Life.
Uttering praises upon your fair skin
Your dark hair hallowed as sacred
These half deserted dawns mean nothing underneath the weight of your alabaster palms and wrists
Looks of a foreign tragedy without translation
You are sacred transparency
An unknowable thing
Just as we are beneath ourselves
Selflessness is a curse but also a gift .If you exert all of your energy catering to others you will know them more than you know yourself.
I can read his mind like I wrote it.
If I seem broken on the inside,
It was him. Not you,

(C)[email protected] 23/10/2019
Scars left by another, seen by the one who loves us now
8 months   in a blink of an eye
8 months   of our life gone by

8 months   of love like no other
8 months   being here for one another

1 year         getting to know your heart
1 year         never wanting to be apart

8 months   me and you together
8 months   leading us to forever
you are my whole heart

zak of all trades
It's always easy
to put a smile on the face
when you aren't told
to be happy in the end.
It's easy to use
certain muscles
to create an illusion
---a facade for happiness:
I guess you can say
I smile like it's breathing for me,
but even in breathing,
I don't get to live.
It seems like
but for the sake
of hidden pessimism,
like a building
harboring restless souls
to keep the company
on the spectrum of
It's easy---
or so they say---
even if you're not meant
to be happy in the end
because they don't know
what it's like
to not know about knowing
what makes you happy.
i can't seem to find a stable source of happiness
sheila sharpe
I am the dark one
bearing a berry
soaked in dark
and deadly beauty
a Senorita sweet to behold
hanging her head
in defiant stance
fair in the hedgerows
bloodied with haws and hips
black with sloes
and the dog rose’s
rosy-budded lips
I will never understand:
this asphalt road that feeds on
precious time, interweaving footprints
headed nowhere, the broken stoplight  
at the end of the street, or
the next **** thing
I'd see.

I could chase the moon all night
and never get there. I can light
another cigarette if it's to prove
that everything is more than just hurt.

I'd search the universe for answers
if I could but sometimes
the very thing you're looking for
is the one thing you can't see.
sometimes I don't make sense.
T daniels
Going back home.
the terminal funneling me forward.

fleeting days,
flat land like a mosaic.

the unalterable effigy following,
together toward frozen new england lakes,

at days end where the sea
meets the river,
you shall find me
singing the december snow.
i get this feeling while waiting in that lonely bus station.
i want to delete all the memories
just like i did with all our pictures
i want to forget our history
and act like we're strangers
i don't want to miss you anymore
i want to get over you and close the door
i know you're not missing me
i know this is how it's meant to be
#forget #memories #relationship #missyou #strangers
You do nothing
But run around all day
Inside my brain

I can't shake you
But i don't want
You to escape

You keep me happy
Throughout the day

But your also the reason
I skipped math today.
She makes my day better when i think of her and not math work.
I just wanna leave
everything and everyone
Just to see who'll find me
In the crowd of thousands
Will ever someone actually
be bothered about my absence
I wanna sit back and watch

-   SASR
Because the earth’s round
Doesn’t mean it’s  having a ball.

Because waves crash
Doesn’t mean that they aren’t in control.

Because the sea is deep
Doesn’t mean that it’s thoughtful

Because land meets the sea
Doesn’t mean that they agree

Because you float my boat
Doesn’t make me the captain.
Five little ten worders to ponder.
He is fire
But that fire could be perfect fit for hell


don’t be tempted by the devil
Our kind of dance
would be forbidden whatsoever

Only if the devil agreed and took me to his chambers
loved me and cherished my existence

But he did not see, nor did he hear
He left me hanging to my tears
Italian love songs                              
Canzoni d'amore italiane

fires the need, touch touch caress.        
alla necessità, tocco tocco carezza

my hand engulfs her little finger,              
la mia mano avvolge il suo mignolo
sliding down from her knuckle,                
scivolando giù dalla sua nocca,
to the glassine hard smooth of                
alla glassina dura liscia di
a petite fingernail, contradicting,            
un'unghia minuta, contraddittoria,
confirming the sensational opposition    
confermando l'opposizione sensazionale

the forefinger performs a solo,                
l'indice esegue un assolo,
exciting the ear’s topography,                  
eccitante la topografia dell'orecchio,
the sexuality of hill, vale, spaces,            
la sessualità di collina, valle, spazi,
curvatures extending an invitation,          
curvature che estendono un invito,
the neck, plane of the neck, take            
prendere il collo, piano del collo

I’m no longer of surety possessing,        
Non ** più la garanzia di possedere,
is it my finger or my tongue, is it              
è il mio dito o la mia lingua, vero?
that my finger became my tongue,        
che il mio dito è diventato la mia lingu,
all senses at attention, blurred,              
tutti i sensi all'attenzione, sfocato,
the love song enactment, touch              
recitazione della canzone d'amore, tocco

the confusion of love is its clarity, the master and the slave
becoming one

la confusione dell'amore è la sua chiarezza, il padrone e lo schiavo diventano uno
For I

Am Afraid
To be afraid
In front of many different people

And I

Am afraid
That my vulnerability
Will only give them more

I have too many secrets
These words are for me,
For I'm the one who's hurting,
I'm just healing myself.
I often wonder why we can't understand other's poems sometimes, but deep down it is the one who writes it knows the value of it.
Star BG
Sometimes I sit at my desk
and think that MY poetry writes me.
That it bubbles up like rising dirigibles
tweaking my impulses to write.

Verses become effervesce tickles
to launch heartbeats.
Canopies of breath filled with words
get syphoned into heart.
Bristol waves of passions
gracefully float
from heart to hand with pen.
Dancing Pen to crystal page.
Golden text to readers eyes
and than perhaps a readers hand
who graciously gifts me with sun
and smile.
Michael A Duff
When good intentions and deeds are pulled like common weeds the dismissed, like forgotten flowers past their day, weap because they were beautiful once and someone was happy to see them daily
We camt be everyone to anyone sometimes barely who we need to be for ourselves
prevalence in the absence of light
I seek a remedy that may live without the sun
for the sun may never come
and I may never leave
if this journey I will to embark
moves in beams
and stalls for wake
the hidden self you protect
fools you more than anyone else

simply because we are easily fooled
by ourselves more than by anyone else.
Because sometimes,
paper is the only one
who listens.
They dance through my dreams
Golden circles, silvery rounds
Endlessly turning
Infinity untwisted
A memory, a potential
Promises unfinished
Ours did not match;
The first sign.
FJ Davis
She didn't feed me
heed me or need me--
so she, mercifully, freed me.
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!
Explanation 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
I love you all!!

Who said explanation marks were merely laughing at your own joke?!
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.
I wore it again
and people complimented me
they say red is my color
and it suits me.

it's too thick and dark
did I overapply
no, it's the right amount
just enough
to make them think
I'm fine.

I look at myself
in the mirror,
and they're right
red shines on me,
so I applied
another layer,
and another
until my lips felt too thick,
but my eyes still see
the scars beneath it.
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