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Eva Aloezos
all fell away
as I received the gauntlet,

summer closed his eyes,
as autumn in her dying beauty

held the mirror.
whispers of fate
drew me across the bloodstained tile
i found her there

i'd searched
and here she was


it was surprising
to not see her face

venus was across the room
getting torn
apart by cracked screens

but veritas,
she died long before

men had dipped their tongues
into her skin

they stole her
and sold it

we all bought
watered down bliss
as our enlightenment
I remember it was beautiful,
The day that you died.
The clouds were like vanilla candy floss
Strewn across the bubblegum blue sky
The sun bathed everything in gold like melted butterscotch
Such sweet conditions for such a bitter day
It smelled of sunshine and cinnamon sticks
Unlike the salty tears that made their way past my lips.

Then it popped like bubble gum,
And all the sugar melted away
Like a reverse heart beat pounding in my ears
as the sudden realization hit;
that you are no longer here.
Such a sweet pupper to the bitter end
You know that you were loved
As everyone’s very best friend.
For Luke
He was such a sweet pupper
What is a dogs life
Eating, pooping and barking
Waiting for you to arrive
Checking out the garbage cans
Hanging around on the couch
Sleeping, sleeping and sleeping
Asking you to please pet me
Can we go for a walk now
Answering the door with barks
A joyous FAMILY member
A beautiful soul

Dog backwards is God
Very appropriate name
Cherish your together time....!

Brian Hill - 2019 # 238
The memories that pets can give you are wonderful. Cherish them always!
Love is freedom to be and to let be.
You said you'd be there today
and you wouldn't miss it for the world.
And I guess I must have thought it was
real pretty coming out of your mouth.
But today was made for bad
decisions, twenty of them,
when you aren't here on time.
A bird released
Three ethereal notes.
Perhaps it's the briefness
That lets them float.
"Then he sent out a dove from him, to see if the water was abated from the face of the land;"
-Genesis 8:8
D Letwixt
Sail with me

As wind exhales

two ships drifting
Into that wan iridescence

Like the innocence of a child,

I just write.
There are tears bottled up

inside my heart for you

but i don’t want to cry

tonight or any other night.

- on keeping in and letting go.
mercy party
leaving here with nothing
but an empty notebook of ideas
i finally stopped thinking
about how it was

you could never get the news on me
because i'm just too northerly
forever staying off your grid
maybe it's your turn
to wonder what i did

understanding my anonymity
instinctually like a sparrow
that never dare enter the open window

because it just knows
I'm trying
to understand
why I still care
when I know that
I had to leave
we'd have drowned

-em vidar
Artemis Jeanne
I pick at my past with a scalpel
Clumsy, desperate
Leave no stone unturned
lest there be blood underneath

I pick and pick and leave myself raw
Spilling filth on the pristine floor
of your easy conscience
The life not examined

I pick off the shrapnel carefully
where it's meshed with flesh
I know I don't look like myself
but you'll get used to it
I always found that explanation weakens art, don't you think?
F A Pacelli
everything you do 
(and don't do) 
will be interpreted 
by your peers 
for better or worse 
whether true or false
M e l l o
there are nights
like this
when i kept on
staring the cracks
at the ceiling
and wonder how
on earth
we keep
all the bullets
fired at us
just because
we love the
the trigger
I dont know why. I guess I'm not that bulletproofed. Potd. Sept. 23
Her smile sits
on the curb of a road
between Summer
and Fall.
You strengthen me
Stretch me tall in fond pursuit
And call my waking trees to move with subtle hints

Familiar as the folding sound
Between quiet rustling parchment leaves
Becoming new our newest sounds as an inkwell drawn

Like a sunlit jewel your dulcet glow
Is stumbling down a sketched path of painted memory
Colored by every season anew with the hues of you

Don’t cry when I am no more seen, my felicity
It was always and with you in mind
That you made me want to try
Painted Words Between Distant Mailboxes is built around a song, a sketch, a classic story. Separated by time and space no more. These lovers turn now, to face a new fate, having not been left alone in an empty word. "Through the long and lonely night." We persevere until the dawning bright. Shines back at us with joy.

A M Ryder
We are all alone
In ways no one understands
We drown under
The waves of words
We aren't saying
Sometimes I can feel my bones
Straining under the weight
Of all the lives
Im not living
And I wanted to save you
But I needed saving too

All we've got is
The precious knowledge
Of our own
Self destruction
I smile
I laugh often
slowly letting go of the hurt
and pain
you have caused
I have forgiven you
but my poetry...  still
needs me to hurt

just a little longer
last rainy night
why is it that you are my calm and my storm at the same time?
I still remember the last time I saw you
and I remember the day I realized
it was really over

but life goes on, as things do
however, I still find myself
thinking about you

I’ve seen other people,
I’m sure you have too
but still, I really, truly do
myss you
The Awkward Bard
A secret buried
Blooms lies, and in time, they turn
Themselves, to secrets.
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.
Somebody's Me
What if I'm beautiful?
Like really, really beautiful?
Like drop-dead gorgeous kind of beautiful?

Will I be different? I mean the inner me?
Will I like the inner me?
My wings were clipped the day I was born
I was put under the pressure of a billion eyes
My dreams ripped my skies torn
My life was built on a faithful lie

The shadows of my imagination
feared the glare of their expectations
My broken bones, My shattered heart
Sang the stories of me being torn apart
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.
Rivers speak in short bursts of water,
hustle preciousness, scurrying
it fast lest its stolen.

Rivers speak in falling, tumbling,
ferocious roars, the real kings of the
jungle that lions and wild elephants,
panthers and serpents
bow to, as they serve themselves
a moutha.

Rivers are open books,
they don't gossip in hushed voices.
You can hear from far the
husky voice and gruff tones
that inspired the Godfather
and Scarface baritones.
Dons of the jungle inspiring
dons off it.

Rivers 'gush and splash',
not aware they are a music bash,
they have been rock consorts from aeons,
they were the first concertos and conductors,
they are nature's maestros playing
an earthly orchestra performed
through mountains and valleys
sans speakers or amplifiers,
reverberating and blending
through miles of quiet.
Like CDs and trees,
we can't cut rivers, thankfully.

Rivers have pride.
They don't weep at all
but flow on even as they fall
down thousands of feet.

We marvel at the majesty
but do they roar because they hurt,
tears hidden in gazillions of water
we consume ultimately?
Ain't a flowing and moving
being not one living?
I have proof because they gently
caress and whisper when I dip
my hand as they drift along.

Thats not all.
Rivers moan when they lose their way
and enter towns against their will and say,
at the *** end of their patience,
the beginnings of destruction.

We cut nature to size, they cut
us open out of turn,
the bloodletting vanishing into
a life force otherwise
rasping and roaring,
splashing and rocking,
now moaning and drowning
people as a last resort
when all hope is lost.

Rivers speak.
If only we listened.
Rizna M Rameez
It's your decision
whether to make your mind
A prison
A stepping stone
Natalie Pugmire
living is such a painful way to die.
When day will be in dark

And sun will go to sleep

When moon will have its shine

I will meet you in the stars...

If you are made for me

Dont care where you are

It's the ending that matters

I will meet you in the stars

Dont need to check you love

Its endless till my soul

When I know all of this

Than I know will meet you in the stars...
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.
Crystal vines creep
Along our bodies

These vines seem to know
Everything about you
And I must say I dream
Of knowing the same

If we end up pulling apart
I know their shards
Will pierce our minds
In unison

Uncertainty fills your mind
Mine too
But we both planted these seeds

Let's become new
Missing everything
Yes I am nothing
Hate this living
No hope for smiling
But still smiling
To make other's smiling
Missing my everything
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
I wanted to learn

so last night my fourth grade teacher
tore my eyelids off

and sat me near a television screen
that showed my mother dying
over and over
and over again.

I left as a cavity
of a boy,

collapsing at the sound of passing cars

as I searched for a payphone where
I could speak to the static about Gabriel.

(where is he?)

When I look at my brother and father

I beg for my eyes to be caressed until they’re scarred

with every daytime matinee
and curtsy on the train platform

that built me into this mosaic
of a “man”.
deeply personal. would appreciate kind words and condolences. my mother is alive but a part of me has died.
19 and still
hating myself
over the actions
of other people

feeling stupid
for failing
the person
i love the most
my hate for you
turns into hate for me
so when u ask me if I love myself
I want to scream no
but I smile, instead.
Monika Layke
My papa’s a bird
Weirdly wonderful and flighty
In odd flight patterns
He makes me laugh
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