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 1685° 
Kuro
I wish i could explain myself
Fully explain myself...
Stop delivering pain to myself
Be deliberate, and save myself
Instead of filling out the page by myself
Speak in full sentence to you by myself
I'm tired of being lame by myself
Not interested in fame by myself
So the emotions on the page are for myself
I wish i could give them to you myself
Explain why i need all of you to myself
I sorta need saving from myself
And you know what else...
I'm getting used to it being me and myself.
 874° 
Nat Lipstadt
one more critique, too slowly realized,
no poet him,
unamong those who see the world,
in metaphors and auroras,
in skeins and skins,
worthy word weavers of
tapestries, imaginary life forms extant,
green skies, bluing floral gifts,

+that jes that ain’t me

nah,
more a working wordsmith,
telling stories in a workmanlike fashion,
medieval scribing, copying downloads of
what might mine eyes seen, believed,
recorded for all for
your accompanied precision tooled pleasuring

no pretensions left, the doc reports,
I’m a technically a heart failure, and
laugh~reply, that’s no surprise to me,
in matters of the heart,
luck ain’t been
overly kind,
(till recently)
and you can flunk that
test just so many times, before you no
longer get~set sir-prised, just reprised,
and that’s when you get clarity,
you “don’t think twice, its alright,”
plug those words in a nice combo
ain’t exacting poetry, but I don’t mind,
you can only do,
for what you got an affinity,
that’s not sinning if light/life is dimming,
and that’s got to be satirical, ironically, both entirely dissing and satisfying

anyhoo, it’s just about 646am,
coffee is made but not yet served,
the kitchen needs some fussing and tending,
bring in the paper,
dishwasher and dryer overnight whining,
pleading for closure finale
from their *** night time
**** wet escapades
THEN
organize them riffraff,
those upending draft detritus that
constitutes a working man’s load, and

a wordsmith,
lights the forge,
forges words,
foraging
in the unlikeliest
everywhere
to turn a phrase from a
dark brazen haze taken,
into a semi-polished stone blade
sculpted by,
heat and hammer and

always tears

maybe a miracle,
into useful shapes, and hope some
tourists stop by, thinking that if framed,
it might look good in their kitchen,
and give me 5 bucks even tho that
don’t keep one in smokes no more

yup, that’s about it,
says the wordsmithy,
no mystery ‘cept them
that one can let mm
egotistical notions fool
ya for far too long…
and that’s
entire your own fault…

l
and yet, always,
always and yet,


gave the best of me,
met my own standard,
and that!
is all any poet can say
when employing
only
two prime cooling colors,
black in white,
with the oddity of a
clashing but dashing
modicum elicited,
but not solicited,
pride and modesty
early morn Dec 9-10
 664° 
K J McCarthy
Hesitation made me miss
Opportunities turned into a wish
That I made the effort to be in your midst
I took the present for granted
Now Im haunted by my inaction, when I reminisce
Plans pushed off and dismissed
Because I never considered a world in which you didn't exist
Denying delays processing, the news didn't stick
It took a few weeks before the reality hit
My numb stone face fortress diminished to piles of brick
Exposed and vulnerable
I've experienced death but none ever hurt like this
Life is fleeting, death is patient and waiting
Mortal shells fickle, their hold on our spirits strained with the days
The future perpetual in its becoming the past
Our lingering end appears random and quick
Indescriminate is the embrace of demise
Inevitable is its kiss
The debt of borrowed breath will one day seek repayment
Take time today, or spend tomorrow longing and aching
Don't waste life in fear, but never forget
You dont have forever, don't waste it wasting time
All we have is today, tomorrow never comes.
 635° 
onlylovepoetry
~a companion poem to
Marry Me! -(I am-in-love-with-you) (1)
~
wherein was writ:

“here I stop
lest I die of  bursting, and yet I weep
for us, for you,
no longer
read my poetry”

<>

another winter’s day cruelty,
for this wretched refuse of a
former man
who
once could,
who even deemed
owner of a loving teeming,
who adored kneeling,
before love’s altar,
sacrificially, heroically

once in possession of
amazing grace, (2)
but now no longer such
in his scriptures
deeded,

for our save-by-day ,
appears, before my eyes,
so informing my love permit
has now time~expired

I once was found,
but not
once more,
but
once again,
refamiliarized with
loss
wretched and wrenched,
so I punch up at the sky,
and the sky,
like you, my love,
doesn’t punch back,
and now we are in
aggrieved agree:

there is no returning
to where
we graced each other,
so one more poem I’ll
prepare
so let it be,
the “we”
will be momentarily -
but not ! ever lastingly

but for a well~timed
very finite infinity
be returned
to coexist
and let
grace be extended
even surreptitiously

for we
to separate,
sub divide our souls,
in a graceful manner:

why this last act,
a hallmark of
what once
stood for
us,
was,
and perhaps then,
you will read:


my only love poetry
once moreover,
with com-passion
and even tiny teeny seconds
of memorized affection,
and that would be an
amazing grace
(1)) https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4902749/marry-me-i-am-in-love-with-you/
(2)
Amazing grace,

how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I'm found
Was blind, but now I see
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed
Through many dangers, toils, and snares
We have already come
'Twas grace that brought us safe thus far
And grace will lead us home
When we've been there ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun
Than when we've first begun
 471° 
Em MacKenzie
Empty pocket and empty plates;
safely locked it away still it dissipates,
a climber of corpses climbs high to something great,
and the rest of us are buried standing within this fate.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

The people’s scale is forever weighing
basic human rights against complete anarchy.
The right choice seems obvious to me, obviously,
but the indecision’s crazy with the lack of priorities.
A climber of corpses climbs high to heights we’ll never see,
I’d rather be a stone than those doing the stoning.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
I think that I’ve had it with their vinegar disguised as honey.
I won’t make another stitch in their golden wool,
it’s time to eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

A bullet in the street shot from behind;
validated and woke up millions.
No retreat and not changing their minds;
vilified for targeting their billions.

If they really cared they’d ask if you could buy morality,
though typically they’d see if they could find it on sale.
The funniest part is that they could acquire it for free
but it’d be just like giving an atheist the Holy Grail.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
more bills; they stack it and the weather stays sunny.
Rock bottom in a ditch, dazed and in a lull
now it’s time eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.
I think we all know how it feels right now.
 428° 
Jake
Crescent moon, a scythe,
cutting through the darkest nights.
I exhale. Relief.
 395° 
Peter Garrett
I don't want
To be forgiven
I wanna walk to
That graveyard by
The black forest
Kiss Myrtha and
Dance with the
Willis until
I'm dead
Based on the ballet 'Giselle'... and in my current state of mind.
 354° 
Kian
the river breaks open (like ribs)
unmaking the earth in quiet tongues,
it flows unendingly:
she
does
not.

each stone hums her absence (or mine?)
while its waters slip soft knives
between the spaces where a heart
once folded neatly into hers.

the lake is still, an unfinished
sentence—its surface holds nothing
but sky, which has always been
indifferent. I do not reach
into its shallow silence;
I know it would not forgive me.

(oh
the sea).
each wave rises only to fall,
its breath (a sob, a scream, a sigh)
pulling the shoreline apart grain
by aching grain—
and i stand
where foam clings to my feet,
wanting
to
follow.

i write of the water because
it moves and I cannot.
because the tide swallows her name
and spits it back (broken,
empty,
wrong).

grief is not a thing
it is everything
it is the way my chest
folds in on itself like a ruined map.
it is the sharp edges of nothing
scraping against everything
until only this ache remains.

and when the river hums, when the lake stills,
when the sea pulls me open
just to leave me raw,
i know—
absence is the heaviest thing
i will ever hold.
 273° 
S R Mats
In the furnace of my mind
I burn to light up the world
With heat expanding a universe.
In pages unfolding I whisper to "Open,
Come in and see.  Inside you can find me
And so many fascinating things."
Expanding, expanding, and hurtling forward
Our world is there before us all.  If only
People would not think so small.
 264° 
Nat Lipstadt
“We could never see tomorrow
No one said a word about the sorrow
The Bee Gees

a simple rhyme, a plaint familiar,
for those who have never stared
down train tracks, which is a lesson
in recognizing
the uncertainties of
living,
even if linearly visualized,
t h e o r e t i c a l l y

can veer to destinations unknown,
worthy of being dreaded, thinking
what are the odds today is the last,
and maybe now and then, not just
dismissing,them so easily

but it always brings on pain old
and familiar, recollecting of the
way life never asks you first, the

swiftness of two life lines colliding
with the
s u d d e n e s s
unfathomable
of 2 locomotives crashing,
head on
and leaving behind
a desolation breathtaking

it is a well lit winter morning,
cold light, but the direct sun
leaves a general okayness,
and you trudge along,
head bent, respecting the chilling,
calculating the distance to
the warmth of a planned
destination,
but here I remind
all of us:

”No one said a word
about the sorrow

Dec ‘24
 206° 
Maddy
Love is selfish
Love is greedy
Love is conceited

Think about it.

We love to feel good
We love to feel wanted
We love to feel
We feel

I feel

Love makes you feel
Love is a feeling to be chased
Craved
Earned

Love is not selfless
Love is not boundless
Love is not for you or him or her or them

It is for the "I".
Love loves to feel loved.
 201° 
ConnectHook
"MOO" sings the diva,
Lowing, and hitting new lows
Out in her pasture.

The Goddess's voice!
Hearken to Her dulcet tones...
Is She a sick cow?
That weird new style
of bovine R&B
 200° 
Heixz
If You Were

If you were a star then I lay on the roof
and stargaze at you.
If you were the moon then I would like to
to be your sun.

If you were a song, I would listen to you
until my ears bled.
if you were the air then I would inhale all of you.
If you were a drug then I would like to get addicted to you.

And if you were a house then I would not leave you.
Lastly, if you were my love then you wouldn't have to worry
because I would not look at others since I already have you.
 164° 
vienna bombardieri
I am
so
grateful

For the
stunning beauty
that my eyes
can
            still
                      see...
I am so grateful
that
       LIFE
has been mostly good
and that I can
            still
                   give thanks,  
each   and  every   single    day

                WITH A GRATEFUL HEART.
 136° 
andy fardell
Drip drip drip bled my heart
Tick tick tick sounds the clock
Fear fear fear from those eyes
As time strikes it's chime

Do you scare what I scare
Does your end feel as I
The game we play is chaptered
Our history of all we made

I won't fly far
A Robins song we'll sing
As the sun rises
As the moon falls
Sing sing sing ...it's OK
 133° 
Irving MacPherson
She will smash
every wine glass.
They are all broken,
but not here heart.

She will walk barefoot
from room to room,
while her feet are bleeding,
but not her heart.

She will drink him up
until her heart aches
and her head hurts
but not her heart.
 133° 
Cassian
Sometimes I wonder if I'm out of my mind

So many different people seem to be inside

So many different preferences refuse to hide

Sometimes I wonder if I'm out of my mind

I only have one person in which I can confide

A disorder or a sickness? I couldn't guess if I tried

Sometimes I wonder if I'm out of my mind
 116° 
Michael McNaughton
The Colour of love is
The colour of your eyes

The sound of love is
The softness of your sighs

The feel of love is
Your hand on my face

The time of love is
With you in this place

My love for you is both timeless and immense
Given freely, with no need for recompense
Written in Scotland on the banks of Loch Earn with Cathy
 114° 
Stained Glass
'We are the daughters of men who warned us about the news, and the missing girls on milk cartons and the sharp edge of the world.
They begged us to be careful, to be safe, and then told our brothers to go out and play.'
 113° 
ivan
a child
mind so rich
but still
only wishes to be held

a father
father of a mind
a mind so rich
but still
he throws the mind away


little does he know he was never held.
UHMMMM INSPIRED BY MEPHONE4 AND STEVE COBS… FROM INANIMATE INSANITY HELP
 112° 
Mrs Timetable
I am
Scared
Of
Time
It marches on
 112° 
Jeju
it's hard to believe anyone can love me with how you've left me.
to be considered once as lovable by you,
then to be drained and pushed away by you too,
made me realize...
was loving me hard?
or were you just too weak to see me for me?
jeat
 100° 
MT Browder
it may have been forward of me to go swimming in your eyes but i will never regret it
 87° 
ymmiJ
change your mind
and
your *** will follow
 85° 
Peter Garrett
After years of
Constant self-abuse
I've finally reached
My breaking point
And I don't think
Superglue will
Do this time
Congrats Peter, you've done it...
 83° 
Mateuš Conrad
p;lay
all you
[play
but
play
with
[;s
pl.asyt
playthings
 79° 
pretzz
As I clasp my hands harder,
Craving the love that's stronger.
Seeking answers from above,
Realizing how nice it is to be loved.
 78° 
MuseumofMax
The scars that I bear so well

They still burn
This is a poem
About...
Nothing special honestly
I just wanna write
Or in this case type
Just letting my fingers move
All along my keyboard
Creating these lines
Mostly just letting them go
Do their thing before
Well before I have time
To change and alter them
I don't know
I guess this is a cool enough poem
I don't know I was just writing
 75° 
indi
the world is quiet whenever i cry
i could hear the birds, the leaves
falling softly to the ground
a sort of drunken lullaby
 67° 
Cesar Genao
I hate loud noises.
I really appreciate when it’s quiet.

Ever since the asylum,
I can’t stand loud noises,
especially if they’re sudden.

Gets me scared,
sad,
and then mad.

When it’s quiet,
I can think clearly.
I can do things better.
I can be more relaxed.

It’s ironic.
I feel like most people would say
I’m a loud person,
and I’ll give them that.
I can be loud sometimes,
when I’m excited.

But I still love the quiet.
I like being able to think.
When it’s too loud,
I feel like I’m losing it.

I’ve been listening to some quieter music.
Mitski is really good.

They say I have a rock voice,
but I’d rather whisper-sing instead.
Maybe that’s what I’ll do.

I love the quiet.
It’s never the perfect amount, though.
 66° 
Flea
I am sorry
So so sorry
For what I did
But I am
Fearing that you
Will be unforgiving
Yet again
I am sorry
So so sorry
So so sorry
That I am getting fed up
With our ‘ship’
Is tanking
I am sorry
So so sorry
So so sorry
Beyond comprehension
For what I have done
 64° 
Julie Grenness
Praying,
God's hopes come true,
For you!
 62° 
Cyndi Allens
I love you
                                                       please
                                                   never doubt
                                                      that you

                                                     are worth
                                                   every penny.
                                                       you are
                                                      ugh
   ­                                              eno
;
 62° 
Àŧùl
Her eyes are poetry and a blink of her eyes is a poem.
Her voice is poetry and each of her words is a poem.
Her thinking is poetry and each of her thoughts is a poem.

My love for her is poetry and each of my expressions for her is a poem.
My care for her is poetry and each of my suggestions for her is a poem.
My desire for her is poetry and each expression of my romance for her is a poem.

Our mutual attraction is poetry and each of our confessions to one another is a poem.
Our eternal relationship is poetry and each of our manifestations for one another is a poem.
Our way of talking to each other is poetry and each of our conversations with one another is a poem.
Redefining my poetry and poem.

My HP Poem #1812
©Atul Kaushal
 61° 
poetic mf
words
          flow
                out
                     of my mouth
                                           like droplets
             falling
out                          
                   of
                                         the
          air


falling
f a l l i n g
                                   further
                apart

never
together
again
 60° 
Darina Forgacova
My cry took me to closing certain feelings
And this process hurts a bit
Now I stay pride, reconciled and stronger
Seeing clearly my past
Prepared for new opportunities
Life cycle
 55° 
Yonah Jeong
I sent
one poetry manuscript to
two publishers

one was rejected
“we can't publish it
because our publisher's standards
are different from your personality.”

another was accepted
“we can publish it
because our publisher's standards
are different from your personality”.
 51° 
Morgan Howard
I used to fly
Free as a bird
With no fear of falling

But now I am bound by chains
I have plunged into eternal captivity
Held prisoner by my own mind
 51° 
Michael John
we only have two cats now
over the years
we must have had thirty!
now, we are too old..

they are a lot of work
it is a myth
their independence, i mean..
no doubt

she will conceal another
under her jumper
with an ominous smile-say,
look what i found..
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