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 404° 
Chandler
Today is a new day
Yet it all feels the same
No one else to blame
For mediocrity
Comfort and stability
Stunts all abilities
The search for balance is a balancing act
 220° 
Seranaea Jones
-


there is decidedly too much space
between us and the spool

all this rope and not enough bone
within our fingers to get
a good grip

and

with too many moons having past
to notice any stars from the bottom
of this nightmare dream well—

do we just
drip ?...


s jones
2022



.
they say

they

do they not know the darkness,

how the light can fade into latin,

and all things reasonable

means more if you sit quietly
in the light
 82° 
Richard Smith
Feeling lonely, feeling blue
All because I’m missing you
Wishing to be by your side
In the flesh not in my mind
To touch you would be such sweet pleasure
Something that I’ll always treasure
 70° 
justoneman
I’m sick of all these love songs
Written about another
Sonnets and odysseys
Desperate for a Lover

I want to enjoy the silence
Nihility subdue
Equally alone
As I am with you

I try to reflect Compassion
A metric of good health
Psuedo-neo Truism
Learn to “Love Thy Self”
 67° 
Justin S Wampler
Best left behind,
that's what I've found.

Sometimes if you can't understand why,
then just maybe
it's best left behind.

Carry me yonder,
my stubborn stride.
For the past, and all it's burdensome belongings are
best left behind.
 65° 
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)
 54° 
Lexie
Press me against you
Like flowers in a book
A night fairy fantasy with a magic blue umbrella
levitating into a phantasmal world of silver dragon flies  
She is a Fairy Damsel with 24 gold petals  
Dancing to the spellbinding tune of a Pixie brigadoon
she is unaffected by time in this far remote little place,
where everything is left behind, even reality.  
Enter into the Sanctuary of  pure Make Believe ...
Just like Mary Poppins who was wind blown from the east
you too can be transported into a time and place
where magic is sprinkled with elective grace ;
A six inch Fairy with a whimsical pose
is calling out to  you o'er a flaming cauldron,  
Two dragonfly wings and a touch of fairy dust
here take a sip or two, if you find it too strong we can always adjust.
 43° 
She Writes
I am scared to let my mind wander
To get tangled and twisted
In daydreams

To paint pretty pictures
Of you and me and us
Happily ever after

I’ve been fooled
By empty promises
Too many times

But the way you say tomorrow
Makes me want let go
And trust that the future is nothing to fear
 32° 
Timothy
beautiful woman
sat opposite me
right now in the train
in another life
which strangely was this
very life,
I obsessed about you
because my mind
had nowhere
else to go

but I found teaching
or rather teaching found me
and my pupils make me feel
that things will turn out
fine

so I can forget you after all
 29° 
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.
 28° 
Luna
How to become a poet:
Let someone rip your soul apart.
And in the need of mending ,
You will replace it with words.
 24° 
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
 22° 
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
 16° 
Nat Lipstadt
Something’s changed.


6:00 AM Sun August 16 2022

The temperature today will baby step
up the kitchen ladder, careful, senior slow,
to hover at a pleasant 79 Fahrenheit.

But, I am unfooled.

‘tis the birthing of the
changeling of mid-Augustus,
June’s initiating summer solstice,
an intimate longing now a long
gone forgotten memory, now a
calendar X a valedictorian graduate.

But of late, the sun has lately been
heisted by late afternoon by a batter
thick grayish cloud cover, right here,
hovering upon this godly place on earth.

there is a underlying fragrance, familiar,
an unmistakable chilling odor of cool fall.

an urgency emerges, hurry up you,
pluck the blueberries, harvest the peaches,
because trace hints of crispin fall apples,
falling browning foliage, curling leaves,
pumpkin flavorings and yellow gourds
is unjustly barely there, a definitely discernible.  

Back-to-school ads replace banners proclaiming
bargain prices for summer necessities, vin rosé.

Even the squirrels are enjoying a Sunday rest,
after mornin’ worship, no feverish acorn collection,
a subtle hint, winter supplying must be nearly done.

dare not superstitious say out loud, the **** geese,
have made themselves scarce going on two weeks,
having learned a trick or two from the Ukrainians,
I chuckle to think that we may have regained territory.

But, I am unfooled.

Morning boats of all ilk and demeanor ply-plow the
bay waters, but all seem less hurried, savoring the pretense
of forever long summer days, beyond-belief sunsets, soft white
ice of creamy calming waters, no impasto^ seas wintry rough.

Return-to-bed, coffee mugged, I await the Dumps early call,
the sorting done, metal, plastic,compostable, so easy to bring
order to our daily detritus, thinking if only one could sort the seasons then I would be a forever summer man, here,
on this godly place.


But, I am unfooled.

7:06 AM Tue Aug 16 2020
Shelter Island, N.Y.

————————
^Impasto is a technique used in painting, where paint is laid on an area of the surface thickly, usually thick enough that the brush or painting-knife strokes are visible. Paint can also be mixed right on the canvas. When dry, impasto provides texture; the paint appears to be coming out of the canvas.
 15° 
Lye
I’m buried in a cocoon of stories
From poetry,
To biographies,
To dystopia,
And romance
So many stories
Of so many people
Real,
Or just figments of the author’s
Imagination
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
 15° 
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.
 15° 
shatteredpoet
i never intended
to take apart
all the pieces
you glued back
together
 14° 
emnabee
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.
 13° 
Dennis Willis
DOA
Nothing to be said
is so loud
after such a thing
 13° 
Molly
It strikes, not with a gale,
but with a drizzle of cherry blossoms
and a flurry of gentle chords.
 13° 
misha
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

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
 12° 
Heather
She loves me
He lusts for me
They need me
You long for me
But I am alone
 12° 
Suresh Gupta
BLISS

05/24/2019



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
 12° 
Max
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
 11° 
haysia
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.
 11° 
sancus
you take all of the
stars in the night sky with you
whenever you leave.
 10° 
Özcan Sh
I wish
her scars were on my heart
and not on her arms.
 10° 
zoe
say
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.
I am but
one star
in the
universe
that you
deserve.
I am but
a rain's
puddle
when
it is
the ocean
that you
need to
swim in.
Wish
upon me.
Dance
and jump
within me.
I long
to be
enough
for thee.



written by me... ..
 10° 
Traveler
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
.


Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

Vanity
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
 10° 
Infamous one
Q8
He had to write and post a podcast for his therapy session clear his mind and open his heart. Let all the good vibes energy flow out instead of keeping it in. Living his best life moving on going forward not waiting around just doing not saying mostly all action.
Keeps on writing his story from one level to the next. Encounters socially awkward but just as weird maybe weirder.
 9° 
Ann
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.
 9° 
a silent chaos
Is pain considered a drug when you keep coming back for it? For more?
 9° 
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.
 9° 
A
Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?
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