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a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)

is my reciprocal

her waist is my happy place

her neck is my doorway

the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses

unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy

for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house

for ever mirror is pre-positioned
accidentally angled just so

she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m sinning,

eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity

she smiles and says  
“good morning bad boy”

maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing

she is 1/me
she is won over me
Nat Lipstadt
be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit

give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration

so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction

more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying

speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them
Oct. 6, 2015
Manhattan Island
Mara W Kayh
My life is a virtual battlefield
complete with hidden traps,
layered atop cowardly assaults

between highly guarded spans of peace,
Inside my house
chairs and walls
are coarsely blown to bits
by verbal bombs,
and stark fists of shrapnel.

Behind that simple smile,
semblance of solid love
so easily shaken,
lies a ripened mine field

I tread on tiptoes
yet it erupts under
calloused feet unprovoked,
blasting color to grey
as sacred sanctuary
falls to scarred terrain.

Spears lodged inside ribs
I peel myself from the ground,
shake off soot,
wait for dust to settle
before I march forward, again.

yes I lose the battles
But I will win this war.
Reminded me of the song by Pat Benatar, "love is a battlefield"
But again, hate seeps in as well.
Star BG
Broken heart,  I shall fix  -- kintsukuroi
Broken things, I will mend -- kintsukuroi
Broken dreams, I shall repair -- kintsukuroi
Broken life, I will fix -- kintsukuroi
Inspired by Edmund Black

There is nothing that can't be repaired with time and the right intention.

And even when death separates the pain can be repaired with the mortar of memories and knowing life is eternal.

kintsukuroi- is the Japanese art of mending broken pottery using resin laced with gold or silver. kintsukuroi has a deeper philosophical significance. An embracing of the flawed or imperfect. A rebirth.
You can feel it in your chest, how much more real does it need to get?
If you’re going through a bad time then take this as a sign. There is help. There is hope. ♡
Rowan Jupiter



to write.
to create.

but my mind's drier
than eyes after crying
writer's block.
Cody Reggio-Brown
Christmas alone?
I know what time of year it is, I just wanted to be here for you
Someone who could use it
A gift under their tree
Long rotting and wilted away
Sometimes a message needs to be ******* and left under the wrapping
Santa won't bring it
This gift can come every year if it needs to
Merry Christmas, blockhead
You can hate the spirit all you want
But others will bring the spirit with them wherever they go
Infamous one
Wishing on a star!
Praying out loud
Haven't given up
Keep working hard
Show up on time
Be all in
Turn a loss into a win
Write me, you'll see
angels won't flee

pains, they endure
that is the key

Cherish our love
darling, I plea

please, you can set
both of us free

Always you'll be
Zywa for me
This a very short ghazal, each line is a trochee with an iamb

The characteristics of a ghazal are: 5 or more verses, all lines have the same metre, the end rhyme scheme is aa xa xa xa xa, and the poet's name is mentioned in the last line

Zywa (Polish) = alive, vivid

Collection “More”
Kurt Philip Behm
You mortgage the future
  with the currency of time

To buy out your fate
  with more meter and rhyme

But one look through the darkness
  past devil and saint

Explodes your true oneness
  —the moment ordained

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
im alone
im lonely in a group setting
i strive to be at the top like a heading
but i am so alone

i want to be loved
i want to be your white dove
but i am alone,
i fall into your trap
like a sticky plate of cheese
but i am done.

i am alone
i get denied like i have bad credit.
short and sweet.
maybe if i didn't push us
to be something we weren't meant to be
you would still be around
and you'd still be here for me
it’s a beautiful thing
this day and age
with bubbling permafrost
with drug-resistance
with obesity treatments
with technological advancements
with scientific discoveries
with silent wars
with blue lava
with bleeding glaciers
with divorce
with sensitivity
with my generation
of people believing
this new generation
is completely and
utterly clueless as a
common occurrence

but let’s think about
what these kids are
into nowadays.

let’s think about who
invented these inane
things for the kids.

my generation of people.

so the kids of today are
the ones who are ******
for liking the things
that we’ve created?

I’m sorry but we have to
be the ones who are obtuse
for believing such things,
oblivious for not
realizing them and
showing the world
we have
little or no imagination

the generation before us
has lied to us and
thought us to lie
to the generation

whether it’s the gods
or holidays
or what not.

the youth of the today
are autonomous.
they can not take
responsibility for
their actions nor do
they understand and
just go along
with the trends,
much like,
all the generations
before them
but we need a scapegoat
to cover up our own
farce implementations.

the truth of the matter is..
we’re all a little vacuous
in our own way
especially the ones with
an answer for everything.
living in an imperfect world
where there’s always room
for improvement
nothing for us
or against us
wrapped up in our
and illogical theories
and as useless as
exploding appendix.

the lost generation
the interbellum generation
the silent generation
the baby boomers
generation x
the millennials

a strong admixture
of imbecility and
filled with belief
and unawareness
to a senseless world

like hate
like blame
like gossip
like jealousy
like being offended
like being impressive
like the punk rock dream
like hospital waiting rooms
like fundraisers and charity events
like your co-worker to the right and
the left of you
and their families
and their families before

our greatest creation
our strongest aide

to deconstruct
BJ Donovan
There's a poem in there if
   I can ***** away the debris
   and polish it like silver
   and read it at a posh affair.
   I'll use a singsong baritone
   to give it gravity. It matters.
   Madness is contagious. Make no
   eye contact and listen to no one.
Tete Rudo
You are not
Your roles in life
You are not
Your "labels"
You are not
Your accomplishments
Accolades or
You are not
What the world
Thinks of you.

Who are you?
Why do you matter?
All my problems fell away
When my hands were on her hips
Jme Love
I hate this place
Not this house not this town
Not this state
I hate this place
Not this job not this country
Not this world
I hate this place
Ive been here to many times before
I cant escape
I cant move away
I cant forget
Im stuck
In a place i hate
Some say the mind is a terrible thing to waste
But being stuck there
Well i hate this place
real money is real
fake money is fake
real paper is real
and fake paper is real
Kevarie O Leslie
Judge by skin, something so thin
A mere layer of what’s deep within.
Beyond skin, beyond bone
Lurking is the unknown
Seeing beyond
I'm scared of being forgotten,
that 100 years from now on,
no one will speak,
or know of my existence anymore,
I'm scared that people who read this,
will take a look,
then never remember it,
I'm scared I'll never exist,
later in the world,
that I don't have a story that people,
will know,
that my existence will not matter to anyone,
when I die and now,
that I will  have never existed,
and be forgotten
What if you’re running away
From the things that are meant for you?
What if you’re afraid
Of all the things that can make you happy?
Vladimir Sanon
Sitting across from each other not a thing to be said
Were both trying to figure out what’s in each other’s head
But my mind is blank and yours is too
I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything with you
No need for small talk when you are around
No need for a peep, not even a sound
No need for another, No need for a crowd
This “uncomfortable silence” feels really comfortable right now
Lil Lalo
It's just sad
That when I push people
They just go
And don't even try to
moon child
I don't want to spend my youth
In order to spend my future

I am willing to throw my tomorrow
Into the wind
As payment for a better

I will risk what lies ahead
To ensure peace where I am

The future is not guaranteed.
The future is not a given right.
The future is not fair.

Today is sure.
Today is a gift.
Today is what I wake up to every morning.

So I will not stop living
For the future.
I will live on
For today.
esther fraser
i wish she wouldn't think about you anymore.
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
Guns and money
bullets and power
running and hitting
chidren in the shower
Two four year olds died in the Crossfire
For nine months straight
You carried my weight

You’ve delt with my flaws
I’m forever in awe

I love you mom
Forever and on
Temporal Fugue
I know I won't get to all
but ******, I'm gonna try
thumb up to every comment
up until the day I die

I can't react to every line and word
but ****** I can try
thumbs up to ever poet/poetess
maybe no one has, to cry

I'm just a singularity
but ****** all too ****
we, as a community
stand up, and hear the yell

I'm not you, and you're not me
but when you see thumbs down
chime in with words and thumbs
chase the trolls, outta HP town
Thumbs down has no other purpose that to provide trolls with a mechanism to pester and put forth their hate. REMOVE it! You can't control how many accounts people have here (it's not realistic to assume you can) so remove their reason for creating them!
Nothing really left to say :(

Thank you my friends for the daily, I feel undeserving, but extremely, appreciative! :) (bow)
David Wakeling
Where does the camellia flower begin and end?
Of that I am uncertain.
What joy does the light of day, what fear does the night send?
Of that I cannot say.
What secret is there that cannot be told?
Of that I am not sure.
Where does my reflection go when I am away from the mirror?
Of that I am unsure.
The fox looks not for answers in the woods,
The rabbit digs and digs and reveals nothing.
But will the fox devour the rabbit.
Of that I am certain.
Sunshine's bright
Brighter than light
So sweet
I love to greet
Is not the way
It is not the path that I wish to take
Break away from the hate
And all the pain we create
I will not partake in this dangerous game
We all try to win but it all ends the same
We want to take control when it's hatred that fuels us
And after we've burned all our bridges it confuses us
Why we still feel so alone
And we have nowhere to go
But if we opened up our eyes
Then maybe we would know
That the pain we're inflicting
Makes our own minds the victim
we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections
I wasn't born
With this hole in my heart
But it developed gradually
When pain drilled my chest to cling it's art.
Oh! I was smiling radiating the usual rainbow colours!
But just then, I was grayed and torn
Just like  withered flowers!
The pain! Yes the pain
Is unbearable
My tears all are in vain
They are just emotional fool , being unstoppable!
I am fed up of emotional breakdown
My soul became mournful, being lost in the ghost town!
I know, sorrows are part of life
But how can I frequently bear the pain that cut deeper than the knife!
I try my best to just forget and move on
But what shall I do when I am trapped in the useless emotion?
Just in a process of getting relieve from the feeling of being hurt! It's really difficult...
Sorry,my poem sounded somewhat boring but I really meant what I said .
love potion | half price
cost to owner
just one sleepless night
(for the rest of your life)
Like a drug,
You seep out of my skin;
The withdrawal makes me feel dizzy,
Unable to stand or support myself.
My mind craves of nothing but you,
I hate being sober.
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