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joseph g schelling
Lord, help me love my neighbors:
Even when I don't want to.
Give me the strength that I need,
So holiness I'll pursue,

When hate arises in my life,    
It, dear Lord, help me then face:    
Give to me what I need most,
So hate with love I'll replace.                    

Help me give light to neighbors,        
So that they will come to see:   
It's when we love our neighbors,        
Earth will then have more beauty.

Help me love my neighbors, Lord,
Lack of love I can't afford.
written       Friday04-19-2024
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)
.Loving you
Is a sinking ship
And as I bail water out
You pour bucket after bucket
Right back in

.It won't be long now till we're treading water.
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.
Alex Teng
We fell in love by chance,
We stay in love by choice.
Goddess Rue
Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.
I have sinned,
So destroy me,
With your rain.
Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
That lie is just a crime
It’s meant to fixate
To inflate
The curious mind
The literate kind
Words in a verse
The gold in the purse
Of a creative person

Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
Your wrong this time
Its meant to uplift
To drift
Into a person thoughts
A charm of sorts
Letters in a line
All beautiful and fine
To read everyday
Not eye, but I In I —
spontaneous combustion
absent construction
fluid mechanics
spirit dynamics
just another electron dervish
seeking ways and means to nourish
from this existentialist dream
eased into Nirvana's stream

4/17- NaPoWriMo - a poem in which the speaker expresses the desire to be someone or something else, and explains why.
Salmabanu Hatim
Have a tendency
To touch your sore spot.
I think
the world
of us
than we
can offer
I should’ve
for someone
her to
into my

see through me
into the black night

cut out your heart
feed it to the light

no more shall it pain
without purpose

step into the dusk
spiral into the circle

fall with me into
this solemn dream

when we're asleep
and do not scream

preyed upon by their
words and schemes

in silence of a funeral
begging to be seen

bless'd upon by
the morbid pyre

you glow in dark
of your desires

weary mind of the
eyes that are tired

now buried in ruins
of a desolate empire

Saint kaya
The sky is
A graveyard of stars

And I remark
Something so tragically beautiful

Just like fireworks of art
From here to the nearest star

And I wish
I could lay awake
In the night

With you
And our lingering hearts

And tell you all about a tragedy
Called life
f e e l i n g s
my heart aches for you in ways that it shouldn't.
you were my breath of fresh air and all of a sudden i couldn't breathe.
tell my why you made so many promises you knew you could not keep.
have you already forgotten me?
my love, i'm drowning in your silence,
please tell me it was real.
You can’t compare yourself
With the unbroken girls
Surrounding you
You already shattered
A new form
Of beautiful

a somewhat older poem
No more lies
or games
no shame taken

I am
what I am
and will
with no fibre of me
just to make you feel
Nat Lipstadt
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
it is all I know.

Jan 6, 2013
your effusive and lengthy comments are each a poem in their own right.  

Tinkered with June 22, 2013
With a push from Bala,
A serial peeper, thank God!
We hug
We kiss
We cuddle
In bed

We were just friends
We made out
To him
We were having ***
To me
We were making love
I was his friends with benefits
But he was my lover
It may look like I'm silent
But don't let it fool you
I'm holding back the will
To say that I love you
Anais Vionet
Winter’s releasing us from its perpetually gray and gloomy grip.

Who can study in their room, on a beautiful spring afternoon?
Azaleas assail ya, with champagne petals of bubblegum fuchsias,
they blush in near neon reflection, with a mathematical, fractal perfection.

Courtyards that were once dark and uninviting, frosty scenes,
sport impromptu manicured carpets, of flawless, vibrant greens.

Dogwoods explode, abruptly overnight, with cherry blossom whites
they blush like brides on parade, they sachet, swaying flag-like bouquets.

Ordinary maples become emerald queens by unfurling avocado, hunter and chartreuse leaves,
accented with vibrant electric limes and honeydews, as if to say, ‘We too can please.’

New life stretches, almost yawning, in the seemingly reborn sun, insects hum as they cultivate,
birds flit excitedly, as if to say,  ‘Why’re you inside? Come out and play - why do you even hesitate?’

I know there’s something in spring that’s irresistible, pheromonal, hormonal, surfeit and emotional.
Is it the solar zenith angle or the sun’s declination that produces these delightful inclinations?

Songs for this:
Funky Galileo by Sure sure
You get what you give by New Radicals
New World Coming by Cass Elliot
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Surfeit: too much, excess, more than you need.
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.
Hey, text me when you get home safe.
Please dont drink and drive. And always let the people around you know that you love them. Who knows when they might be gone
Luna Pan
When the war is over, when the art saved the world; you and me, we will make love on Shakespeare's sonnets.
You took away parts of me that I will never get back
And I'm working ******* being okay with that.
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
Anonymous Freak
And everything
Had happened
The way they promised
It wouldn’t.
Your direction is a lie.
Ice cold but they think that I'm on fire.
Get ya price coins now we're living like messiahs.
Like a light storm they see It when I'm writing.

Technically you'll die broke.
Yeah, don't have nothing that I want.
Yeah, ..this is what I'd die for.
Rap, the feeling when It's my song.

Your confessions have arrived.
Reflections got you quiet.
The Da-vinci of my time.
Got me feeling like a god.
And I do not know why.
Is poetry dead
took its last breath
eating up all it's words
I'm feeling so hurt
poetry is dead
we mourned for days
sounds of sobs heard around the world

we slept in silence
lights on

poetry is dead
hello poetry welcome back to the internet
Bea Rae
With her upbringing

She could have been a villian

Instead she chose righteousness
words moved me, and
i wanted my fingers to blister and my
bones to ache
but my mind withers and my heart breaks
i swallowed ink and still i couldn’t
make the words flow like they used to as if
almost as if
they refuse to
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
I dance.

My toes dig into the soft mud
My dress is drenched from the rain

I dance.
My arms are outstretched
Cutting through the air as I spin

I dance.
I smile at the moon
My heart is full
I'm in love with this moment

I dance.
Here lies the dead wishes of men
once alive
the dense shrubs hide the pain
weeds thrive.

Here lies a grieving heart
once much joyous
the windows are broken and hurt
bricks break like glass.

Here lies the power of wealth
once pompous
now in ruined health
seems it wasn't all that precious.

Here lies the remains of heydays
once vibrant
with bones the jackal plays
reminds time is a tyrant.

Here lies moss on the wall
once finely painted
now dark and dull
the air is serpent scented.
Simultala, April 4, 2024 evening.
this world spins way too fast
my head turns a little too slow
im so lost
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­ l                  to is 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.
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.
When the sunshine gets lost,
and I'm all alone
Time is forever and still.
Remnants of the sane
remain discarded and gone.
It's cold here and souls divide,
only to remain vacant and up for sale...
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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