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Waiting for the sun among the flowers
Cold January. Heated furnace.

And you, my dear, refuse to sleep.

I think of you.

And lights across the window sweep,

And droplets freeze upon its surface.

My eyes meet yours. We dim the lights.

And suddenly, as one, we’re breathing

My hands, around you, interweaving,

I recollect the gone by nights.

My heart is burning, raging wild.

You place, your hand upon my chest.

Confess, softly whisper, “child...”

Only the silence when I can’t deny it.
Memories from Russia
Evan Stephens
Your name is scrawled
in the sun this morning,
& the lilies are bursting
from their green fists -
new shadows croon
from bedsheet tents,
& tiny kites of frost
play telephone lines
under teacup cloud:
the world is your empire,
even the white lawn
flaming with winter
under the death's head
evergreen is yours now.
My suitcase eyes
will make delivery
before coffee is served.
Tom Atkins
The snow is soft in the morning light,
soft in the morning fog.
A line of trees cuts the fields in front of you.
Steam rises off the creek.

You have built a still life,
simple. Peaceful, still moving,
like creek waters under the ice.
Unseen and relentless,

a strange combination
that has become natural to you,
comfortably invisible,
happy in the January light,

happy to wait for the change in seasons,
walking, seeing the signs,
the willows turning yellow, almost green,
new growth in the wood briars, sharp and red,

color in unexpected places.

Unexpected unless you have lived
through many winters,
growing stronger and wiser in each one,
learning finally that time is not king,

love and persistence rule
the secret life of winter.
About this poem

Regular readers know I have been very reflective the past week or two, looking back on life, both over the last year or two as well as many years back.

The last two years have been mostly lost years for me. Likely for many. Between the cancer, surgery, cancer again and treatments over the past few months, I have not had nearly the energy I am accustomed to. I do what I can, but it feels like nothing. Add to that Covid and the changes and restrictions it has put on all of us, and it has been a black time in many ways. I have survived. I have hopes as both wind down to normalcy, and real healing, of body and spirit, can begin.


I can remember another time, 15 years ago when I had lost years. When what had been a mild depression was shocked into the blackest of times. I got through that one two, part of that healing and journey bringing me here to Vermont.

Rough times, but not without their pleasures. Not without healing and work being done under the surface, before I got better, before I began to reclaim my life, myself, my strength, my spirit. Day to day you could not see the improvement. Sometimes I could not see it myself.

But it was there. Work was done most every day. At first just to keep my spiritual head above water, and later, slowly, making progress. Doing the work. God work. Spirit work. Physical work. Unseen on the outside, but like creekwater under ice, running fast towards healing.

Be kind to those who seem to be going no where. They may well be on the journey in a way you cannot see, and your kindness helps that journey along. I don’t know where I’d be today if not for the kindness and love of therapists (Bless you Bethany and Beth!), pastors (Thanks Carol and David!), friends (too many of them to mention), my two children who came back to me, and the woman I love.

I paint nails in a sin shade. nourish skin touched, touched, touched - cloud routine in amber and curve. leave smooth the fold where hid distrust. and I won’t stop, stop, stop - because the fold-promise made, the routine-perfume-sin - the nails, curves, skin - O Love - are not yours, yours, yours - they are mine.
It’s strange.
I’m a water sign
fascinated by fire.

Does this mean
that I’m seeking my own distraction
or simply curious of what warmth feels like?

- a.r. Camm
I know you.
Sometimes you say things, expecting that I won’t understand, and I think it’s strange because
I know you.
That’s what this is. I know you,
And I want you,
And I care about you
Don’t want no one else.
You might not know me,
The stanchions you use to prop yourself up eating all that I have fed you,
In the darkness,
In the night,
But I know you.
And I want you anyway.
Lerato rikky
The night is so cold and chill
I now remember your arms were what shaded me
Through the cold lying lonely on the bed feeling the nature of the air piercing through my lungs and kidney like I'm a reptile. I miss your warm hands. Sweet dreams BESTIE
Michael Hunter
What are you looking at?
Read my lips!
Keep your distance baby!
Don't let that mask slip!

Stay where you are!
Can't you smell my fear?
Shush, be still!
What can you hear?

Are you friend?
Or are you foe?
Don't utter a word!
Nod or shake; yes or no?

Look in my eyes!
What do you see?
Do you feel safe?
While you're looking at me?

Open your mind!
What would you ask?
Can you imagine what lies
Behind this mask?

One day we'll all die!
Don't believe it ain't so!
Make the most of your time
Till it's your turn to go!

Break down your barriers
Life's full of dangers
Love yourself
Be kind to strangers
This poem was inspired by a striking photo of a woman wearing a mask
Emily Wang
I am the deep, the sky in reverse
I have what you seek, for better or worse

I am the blue of infinite depth
I've swallowed the crews and cleared the decks

You are afraid or maybe intrigued
Of the place where you played and also was freed

Kiss me now like you did before
Give me your vow and the ocean is yours.
They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
Breathe deep, Little Embersoul…
Your passion has set my world ablaze,
And from its ashes…
Created a world where I can feel,
Without instruction.

Rest here, Little Embersoul…
These hands hold steady,
And will not let you fall.
No matter the paths we find ahead of us.

Believe, Little Embersoul…
For even on your darkest days, you are a light bulb.
A fresh blossom, beckoning a new spring to a world
That’s only ever seen, winter…

Be loved, Little Embersoul…
For everything you are and everything you are not...
Know that you will always be enough for me.
Crystal Freda
Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.
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

No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
They will laugh
But that won't stop you
They'll point out
Don't let that block you
Know your thing
And just keep going
Through the hard times
Slowly growing .

And restless be
See what others cannot see
Know what you want
Keep researching
No one knows for what you're searching
You define your own life-story
By your actions reach the glory
They will laugh But don't gain fear They'll point out Just fight, my dear
I poured myself
inside your cup
pretended to be tea
your lips pursed to the rim
burning kiss
bile churns
you forgot
I'm made of sins
Luna Maria
are the ink
for the pen
a poet uses
to write
- L.M.
Mitch Prax
To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
To raise
humble kid
is my priority.

I can
Make my CHILD learn
By preaching
By teaching
By giving
Knowledge of

She will not learn
by preaching!!
She will learn
By my ACTIONS..!!

If I don't
Share MY things
With My

She will learn NOTHING..!

I can make her
learn to share.
By making her give -
Clothes to needy
Toys in orphanage
Candies to the deprived.

she will
just learn to be PROUD

If she learns by
seeing me
She will become HUMBLE..!!

To raise a humble kid is my priority..!!

Sparkle In Wisdom
11 Jan 2019
Inspired by a incidence I heard at friends place.. after the whole episode the first thought that struck was
What actions will the kids remember and grow on??
Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.


No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.

Bad art is still art.
I think so.
For now.
Remember when the sun kissed you darling?
Look at your skin and the memories will come flooding
In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.
Though time has built
endless warp
suffering and pain
ancient dust of Africa
breaking down the chain
can you hear
winds of change
through the brain
ancient dust of Africa
a message of hope to all parents
Third world child
pretty girl,
the boys are out to get you
they'll take away your flower
they want what's only yours

pretty girl,
blossom slowly,
stay in your cocoon for now
for summer can only last so long
and soon it will be over
You've given me tons of reasons to leave,
But I still stay
Because those reasons weren't enough
To keep me away
SA Szumloz

His feet i kissed, his feet i washed
his mercy I miss; my soul is crushed
my Lord is dead; his bones are dust

his blood, my tears
all too much...

I have always been intrigued by Mary Magdalene's role in the Bible. She plays such an important character in the New Testament. But there is so much mystery behind her; so many questions left unanswered. I must investigate.
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
time will heal
and silently
collect the scars
that are
meant to be
left in the past

after all
simply isn't enough
to make us last.
to her, the one who got away
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.
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.
Naveen Malhotra
What it takes for a poem to trend
I fail to understand
When you expect the least
It trends and trends
When I am serious and deep
The poem flops like a fish on the deck
May be I "No Poet" category poet!
Late night texts
Sleepy eyes
Small smiles

Stolen moments
Held inside
Beating heart


Left alone
Tear filled eyes
Chapped lips
Scarred thighs

Empty promises
Cast aside
Broken heart

there's a reason why its called a crush
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.
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.
your eyes look like sunset today
don't close them just yet
and when you said
laughter is like a foreign language
i imagined that i was
teaching you how to
speak it
jcl. you said you don’t laugh much just in general, but i sat with you for two and a half hours and that’s all we did. i’ve missed this. i’ve missed you.
Xandra Lynch
the scent of a rose
the light of a sun
the glowing from a moon
the dust from a star
the tablecloth on your table
the tree's roots cutting into the earth
a world behind a window
the rain sounding from comfort
sea salt spraying coarse sand
an aesthetic
what a bore
Ciel Noir
I loved you


but it was wrong

and I learn now


to be strong
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
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