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required for new tenants. Blood work is common.
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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)
Sam Tate
Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.
You and I are either fated or doomed
Because we’ve faced so much struggle
Now this relationship opens a wound
And everything’s turning to rubble

We could have succeeded, you know
If only we were willing to fight
But now no one’s interested though
Neither you, nor I
How to become a poet:
Let someone rip your soul apart.
And in the need of mending ,
You will replace it with words.
Bogdan Dragos
you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse
Ben Palomino
I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread
I have a few drafts. Not sure if it needs more or if short is better
Jaime Sabines
Amanecí triste el día de tu muerte, tía Chofi,
pero esa tarde me fui al cine e hice el amor.
Yo no sabía que a cien leguas de aquí estabas muerta
con tus setenta años de virgen definitiva,
tendida sobre un catre, estúpidamente muerta.
Hiciste bien en morirte, tía Chofi,
porque no hacías nada, porque nadie te hacía caso,
porque desde que murió abuelita, a quien te consagraste,
ya no tenías qué hacer y a leguas se miraba
que querías morirte y te aguantabas.
¡Hiciste bien!
Yo no quiero elogiarte como acostumbran los arrepentidos,
porque te quise a tu hora, en el lugar preciso,
y harto sé lo que fuiste, tan corriente, tan simple,
pero me he puesto a llorar como una niña porque te moriste.
¡Te siento tan desamparada,
tan sola, sin nadie que te ayude a pasar la esquina,
sin quien te dé un pan!
Me aflige pensar que estás bajo la tierra
tan fría de Berriozábal,
sola, sola, terriblemente sola,
como para morirse llorando.
Ya sé que es tonto eso, que estás muerta,
que más vale callar,
¿pero qué quieres que haga
si me conmueves más que el presentimiento de tu muerte?
Ah, jorobada, tía Chofi,
me gustaría que cantaras
o que contaras el cuento de tus enamorados.
Los campesinos que te enterraron sólo tenían
tragos y cigarros,
y yo no tengo más.
Ha de haberse hecho el cielo ahora con tu muerte,
y un Dios justo y benigno ha de haberte escogido.
Nunca ha sido tan real eso en lo que tu creíste.
Tan miserable fuiste que te pasaste dando tu vida
a todos. Pedías para dar, desvalida.
Y no tenías el gesto agrio de las solteronas
porque tu virginidad fue como una preñez de muchos hijos.
En el medio justo de dos o tres ideas que llenaron tu vida
te repetías incansablemente
y eras la misma cosa siempre.
Fácil, como las flores del campo
con que las vecinas regaron tu ataúd,
nunca has estado tan bien como en ese abandono de la muerte.
Sofía, virgen, antigua, consagrada,
debieron enterrarte de blanco
en tus nupcias definitivas.
Tú que no conociste caricia de hombre
y que desjaste que llegaran a tu rostro arrugas antes que besos,
tú, casta, limpia, sellada,
debiste llevar azahares tu último día.
Exijo que los ángeles te tomen
y te conduzcan a la morada de los limpios.
Sofía virgen, vaso transparente, cáliz,
que la muerte recoja tu cabeza blandamente
y que cierre tus ojos con cuidados de madre
mientras entona cantos interminables.
Vas a ser olvidada de todos
como los lirios del campo,
como las estrellas solitarias;
pero en las mañanas, en la respiración del buey,
en el temblor de las plantas,
en la mansedumbre de los arroyos,
en la nostalgia de las ciudades,
serás como la niebla intocable, hálito de Dios que despierta.
Sofía virgen, desposada en un cementerio de provincia,
con una cruz pequeña sobre tu tierra,
estás bien allí, bajo los pájaros del monte,
y bajo la yerba, que te hace una cortina para mirar al mundo.
I’m buried in a cocoon of stories
From poetry,
To biographies,
To dystopia,
And romance
So many stories
Of so many people
Or just figments of the author’s
Sitting atop wooden bookshelves
Waiting for the right person,
To pick them up
And get lost in their story
For everyone has a story to tell,
Some are overly exaggerated,
And other’s are rarely heard
The important thing is
That we share our stories
Through word of mouth,
The internet,
Or in a notebook
To be found by future historians
Tell your story
Believe me, you won’t regret it
Nava Um
Take from me what you will
Until I am dry
Until I am hobbling and lame
Everything is fair game

So take until
All that remains
Is the salt

So then you can say
Everything was my fault
i never intended
to take apart
all the pieces
you glued back
Man makes the money
Money makes the man
Infamous one
Writing in the break room everyone decides to be social on this day. Trying to be social everyone is busy. The day could be so random surprising the out come. Liked his new location the people say hi and know his name. His other job feeling like an outsider looking in trying to relate.
Not always understood a worker someone giving his all. Even if they liked him or not. Plenty of years to work not waiting to retire.
Around bad leads leading by example working every cent nothing is given. Looking out for others being selfless learned to cope with the process what's going on taking situations. Do more than most not settling for less.
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.
It strikes, not with a gale,
but with a drizzle of cherry blossoms
and a flurry of gentle chords.
She loves me
He lusts for me
They need me
You long for me
But I am alone
Suresh Gupta


in death lies the seed of birth,

so as we are cradled in one form,

so shall we be cradled in another.

no reason for dismay,

no cause for anguish
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.
I ask myself " Is there room for me to respect, care for, believe in, trust or even love someone other than...Me, Myself and I?"
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
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
you take all of the
stars in the night sky with you
whenever you leave.
I see the lights through the window
Forming shapes in your ceiling
We lie in bed and you look at me
You don't say what you are thinking
But you smile and get closer.

I hear the traffic through my window
Keeping me awake till late at night
Too late to say what I was thinking
That time I wanted to stay
But left anyway.
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.
Özcan Sh
I wish
her scars were on my heart
and not on her arms.
I am but
one star
in the
that you
I am but
a rain's
it is
the ocean
that you
need to
swim in.
upon me.
and jump
within me.
I long
to be
for thee.

written by me... ..
a silent chaos
Is pain considered a drug when you keep coming back for it? For 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
Scott Tizzard
She carries the daylight within Her
2 eyes vision across each side of the river
the song She sings
stories told
are woven together
as lines written on Her skin
no matter the changes in Her life
the earth remembers Her  heart
and She  remembers Her Mother
the river continues to flow
wide above and much deeper below
and within Her course and currents
new life swims and grows
She was always here
She is here now
and for all tomorrows
sit on the land
listen to Her song within your heart
and you will know
When I look at you,
I don’t see darkness
I don’t see rain
I don’t see pain

When I speak to you,
I don’t feel sadness
I don’t feel neglect
You always show respect

When I think of you,
It gives me strength
Because you’re so bright
My brightest light

When I dream of you,
I find myself in your arms
Right where I belong
Right where I feel strong

When I fell in love with you,
I knew it was true
Because you drowned my sorrows
And now I can see tomorrow
Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­ l                  is to 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.
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.
the night my life changed
i was wearing
a white dress
with blue and red

and you were wearing
well, actually
it doesn't

the night my life changed
it was dark
and you were drunk
and somehow
it was my fault
this is not my story, but it needs to be heard.
I want to write something, but I have depression.
Inspired by my depression
Rama Krsna
the nectar of love
only comes with
the poison of pain,
two for the exorbitant price of one

at the chasm of life and death
destroyed by love
grief remains as life’s sole friend

the memories of love
now belong to time
and this aging body to the five elements.

© 2019
Emma P
When I say
that you are my Sun,
I don’t mean that you are
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting
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