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Zoe Ciulli
but I don't want you to take off your shoes in my home yet

but I'm still afraid of your touch

but while I'm healing, you're burning like a broken electric wire, and while you burn you bloom

so yes, I am healing
feeling numb
but healing
For our son we lost to brain cancer 2009:

a crowd
candles lit
songs sung
words read
memories shared
hugs and tears

Butterflies released

"Ah!" breathed
in unison

so rare
filling the air
for those few moments
with their delicate
flittering wave
wafting in a clear royal sky

one week
at home
family of four
intimate sharing
candles lit
words read
words spoken
memories shared
wineglass toast

eyes drift to the window

"Ah!" in unison
and amazement

rare and magnificent
out the window
on Butterfly Bush
posed at that very moment
for us to sense
his transformation
This was extremely hard to put into a poem and it needs work. It really happened. We rarely see Monarchs as they are becoming rare. Since our son was a hobbyist photographer who loved taking pictures of butterflies, bees, etc. on flowers in my garden, we thought it appropriate to find and order butterflies to release at his Memorial (which we held on his birthday). When we had our own private "memorial" the following week, we were astonished when this one appeared just as we were finishing. It was the only one we saw that year. The following summer I had an especially dark day...went out to the garden and there he was...again the only one I saw that year. The third year it happened again. The fourth year two appeared together and that was the last I've seen. (I may just not be out there at the right time, but the serendipity of these encounters was awesome and significant to me!) The title comes from the last line of "Advice From a Butterfly" with a picture of a Monarch.
Ignatius Hosiana
You're a warm current
and am a cold one
we make a beautiful
hurricane together
but am not getting
sucked back into
our disaster.
We were sadly beautiful
but I guess that was then.
Nat Lipstadt
flying over Harrisburg (Seat 8C)*

transcontinental traveller this day,
from a city island onwards to a city by the bay,
the mileage sum greater than a lifetime of M31 bus trips,
but the in-transit poem-notion-potion elixir in blood stirring,
when a seated poet greets the jet stream
motion turbulence
one more rightful writ to the
flying poem chapter,
additive motivated and self-commandeered

airborne in the selfsame real clouds
where the poems are plucked from,
their distance to my body’s poem functions,
vastly abbreviated so they arrive more wet, chilled and urgent,
we become heated tango paired

already approaching Indiana, crossing Ohio,
over whose living souls have I traversed,
over whose stored poems have I flown through,
ruffling their crinkled white wrapper covers, the decorative ribbons,
whose hand waves have I discerned,
and whose cheeks have I gently kissed?

this land is my land, this land is our land,
and from the soft cream of moisture white,
stumbled on my long lost and well forgotten poems, thereby
freshly creasing and dampening yellowings
with the renewable tears when greeting old friends
of the who and when poetry was a secret garden
where I hid and withdrew and transpired the essential oils
of my deconstructed constitution

see this poem is more me just checking in on you below,
you up ahead, and those in arreared reared view mirror,
and on me, composing at an altitude of 31,824 feet to
strings of violins, my one true plane

as compensator for this ramble unfocused I gift you this:

conscripted by the thin atmosphere,
constricted by my failings, my limited stock of words,
my extra clouded judgement, my heartbeats rapido speak,
telling me to tell you my brothers, my sisters,
mine own adapted children,
we have never been closer than we are today,
until that day I knock and grinningly embrace and erase
that tiny space between our breasts and in unison breathe*

8:50am EST entente
entering into Illinois
I love her
I desire her
More than anything
I can imagine
But I am unsure

I dreamt of her
I weep for her
I struggle with myself
But I never conquered
‘cos I am unsure

And at night
I hug my pillow
In my sleep
I held her tight
But I couldn’t keep her
For I was unsure

She kept coming
She kept smiling
But never opened her hands
To give me a warm embrace
Which is all I desire
And the more I am unsure

I never told her
I love you
I’ve never held her
In my hands
But I love her
Though I am unsure

The wound remained unhealed
The vacuum remained unfilled
The tears flow unstopped
And I’m losing her
Who is the remedy
‘Cos I’m unsure

And I’m losing her
Fast than I expected
Though she still smiles
The fear increased unmeasured
She loves me
I don’t know
For I am unsure.
Kanak Kashyup
Dreams escaped
from red-watery eyes
and rolled down
towards the plain
wheatish terrain
it kept rolling
and accumulating
piercing the heart
without touching it
controlling the conscious
of unconscious mind
rolling, rolling and
reached the jerk
and dripped towards
the floor
and fall
fall on the
insensitive floor
avoided and
invaluable for
those helpless
drained one
still glared
by red-watery eyes
and vanished
dreams are scattered
on the floor
& quashed.
Sometimes we brutally entangled between what we want and we can for pursuing our dreams.
Leave with no options and follow the fate.

And come up to the harshness of life.
they say if you
could go back in time
to meet a young
would you shoot him
right away
or let history
just sit there

would you try to
tell him what might be
if he becomes a

would you maybe wait
until you knew
if he could
really destroy
you too

would you kill
him with no qualms
saying it was evil
blood on
your palms

or would you,
like me, have
a change of heart
and try to teach
that little Hitler
Peter Balkus
Their shouting voice
telling you what to do -
don't be scared of this voice,
the courage is in you.

Money they offer
for keeping your mouth shut -
don't take them, for inside
you are rich enough.

The crimes you never committed
they accuse you of -
your innocence shines through you
and nothing can make you fall.

The flowers in your garden,
they trample with a cold blood
as a punishment for their beauty -
do water them with pride.

The gods they want you to worship,
promising the whole world at your feet -
ignore them. The true God,
deep in your heart He lives.
Maddi Keaton
I read your favorite poem today.
It sounded like the first time you read it to me.
The words on the page flew into my mind;
I watched us slow dance together.

We swayed and spun from line to line,
And as I reached the end, I saw your face.
I looked into your eyes and realized
I miss you more than I thought.

It’s a different feeling nowadays
Than when I stood still and watched you drive away,
But that empty feeling still taps me on the shoulder
As I read the first line again.
Keah Jones
When someone loves you
Hold onto it
Hold onto it so tight you are a white knuckle warrior
And do not let go
Toothless Nono
I miss the sound,
of being alone.

The crisp
rustling of leaves
as they fall from grace.

The rush of water
flowing in the river
down to the falls.

The choir of birds
sitting in a tree
humming melodies
echoing in the air.

The thoughts inside my head
whirling freely alone,
rapid and wild
without the voices
telling it where to go.

I miss the sound
of being
I'd like to be alone,
but I don't want to be lonely.

I'd like to be in hope,
but I don't want to be hopeless.

I'd like to be in love,
but I don't want to be broken.

I'd like to be sad,
but I don't want to be weak.
For when I'd like to be 'me', but I don't want to be 'her'.

Anthony Emmi
Under me the weight pushes upwards
Contesting all emotion inside my eyes
Looking outward I bare and grit
Loosing balance I tumble and spin

Unparalleled by any past trauma
I craft a future I do not own
Conceding to fate I hold my heart
A heavey burden smoldering slow

A constant thread pulling away
Piling up into a tattered mess
Shattered glass broken once again
Swept up and tossed aside

Sitting idle thoughts asunder
Grazing for a smile a feeling missed
Anxious waiting a hard task indulged
Forever knowing nothing at all

A. Emmi
If I breathe
In and out
If I trust
If I’m strong
In mind
In heart
Can I hold you?
Written after a pretty bad breakup way back in like 2009 or something, but it still packs quite an emotional hit.
Helene Marie
Mirror mirror
on the wall
why isn't the world
fair at all?

If everyone is
dying to be perfect
why can't you just
make them feel like they're worth it

Secure? Sure.
You know it's all a joke
People walk this world feeling hopeless
nobody can see through the smoke


Mirror mirror
on the wall
can you help us feel
less insignificant and small?
Deepali Agarwal
Like other girls,
Trying hard to get rid of the black scars.
Home remedies, costly cosmetics,  medicines,
Tried everything, but no results.
Why don't these ugly circles disappear?
I asked myself every time I stood in front of mirror.
Then, one day, I saw my face, carefully
And came to the conclusion, that dark circles don't make me look ugly.

Many people close to me,
Have left me,
But these circles never did.
When I thought that I was strong,
People made me feel weak.
But when I look at the dark circles,
They remind me of all those nights,
I was awake,
Working hard to make my dream true.
Then how can something, that makes me feel proud of myself be ugly?
Cynthia Henon
No chance to sit and write poems
the day soldiers on
a million little nothings
occupy my time
if it's not the bills it's the dishes
a prayer on my knees
to the dirty floor
what god is this who rests
in the ruins?

I juggle, no, not a metaphor
I juggle 3 rubber balls
red, blue, yellow, primary colors
focus my mind
one can't juggle with a head full of detritus
I'm a joke, a clown
the tear painted under my eye
a mockery of myself
drop the balls and start singing
I'm an angel
my voice a jewel
cutting through the emptiness
I'm scrambling trying to find the pieces
And I would like to say a few things
1)  I'm sorry
I start to see the fear of what made me
What made me will break me
I carry this familiarity like a knife to my skin
And I'm scrambling to fill the bleeding holes with the very things that caused them to bleed
i'm thoroughly convinced I could destroy an entire city with my hands
Which brings me to point two
2)Don't take it personally if I stay three steps away when you come close
I'm a ticking tomb in a building that starts to burn when I crumble
My mind is the building every story, every window is a part of the person I used to be
3) I don't want to die
I still can't figure out if the building is the people I love or if it's myself
But It  burns just the same
I don't want to die
I am so perfect
That's what you said
But one day I wake
You suddenly left

I want us to last long
Tell me what I did wrong
But you wanna be alone
So who am I to say No

Yes I did everything
To keep us working
Thought you did same thing
That's what I'm thinking

Now that you are gone
I guess now I am done
Done with one sided love
The love I always have
Peter Balkus
If love doesn't exist,
then what I'm doing here,
sitting in the park,
waiting for you to come
and to let your lips be kissed?

If love doesn't exist,
what's making me write those words?
Who's sitting on my shoulder
and whispering in my ear
the sweetest things?

If love doesn't exist,
why my heart is beating fast,
minutes away from seeing your face
and a hair stroke away from being
all over the place?

If love doesn't exist, why I always cry,
listening to the song reminding me
the very first time I met you -
it was the last time I ever felt alone.

(Love is not blind,
blind are those, who never loved.)
I can’t die on this hill of cynicism
Or I’ll simply be preventing myself from breathing
These days of accelerated fireworks
With so much to consume I can barely function
It’s hard for me to take it all

But I can
And I will.

I’m not asking for much of anything at all
A comfortable home and a family I can love
Because I was robbed of the second
By the harsh sentiments
Of so-called adults.

I can live on this hill of optimism
Because you can do whatever you want
Is what a man once told me
And well, it is, in fact, true
It may take some time
For the finances to come together
Or your dreams to culminate
But you can do nearly whatever you want
If you choose to live on this hill of optimism
And live a life of why not’s
Get rid of the why’s
That’ll guarantee death on the cynical hill.

And so I’m not asking for much of anything at all
A comfortable home and a family I can love
And I’m getting closer and closer to making this a reality.

This whirlwind will slow down
At the very least I can hope
On This Optimistic Hill.
Jasleen kalra
And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And it you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.
Francie Lynch
There's a Route 22 near you.
A licorice asphalt road,
Twisting as opposing currents of time,
With anticipation and apprehension,
From home, to unknowns,
From comfort to expectations.
A rural ribbon of signage,
And milestones.

I traveled mine yesterday,
In an overdue Spring day,
From Melrose to Bright's Grove.
I writhe and bend with its winding,
Former times arise like heat waves;
Mirage puddles flood my head,
Always just out of reach.

I recalled hitchhiking through Warwick,
As I backtrack,
And almost stop
For one todayy on the curve
Where they sell the garden gnomes.
I once looked wryly at them
When I stood across the road,
With thumb up.

Sprawling upright over the northern landscape,
Towards the Co-ops of Arkona,
And the beer store in Thedford,
Wind farms thrive like techno giants,
In someone's Utopian world.

Bloody Mary's red sign no longer hangs
Outside the white house in Lobo,
Where she could bring you into touch
With your dead.
Poplar Hill's trees no longer snow in the summer,
The water wheels are seized, barns are exposed.
The lofts and the lofty fallen.

I had to stop near a culvert, to listen to the sound of run-off,
The melt reflecting the transition under the sun,
Converging at Black Creek, Pulse Creek, or Cow Creek,
Carrying forward to the St. Clair River and Lake Huron,
Then on to foreign shores.

Weathered iron fences enclose pioneer graves;
Settlers who cleared the dense Lambton forests,
And made the first ruts along my route
With wagons and cabbages.
I know very well how you fared,
And I thank you for my journey.
Warwick: In Canada, we pronounce the second "w".
in this raw
and simple
i set forth
the notion
our children
need us
and upcoming
we will see
a parade
of some of our
smartest, most
and sweetest
youth marching
united, shoots of
grass roots
who know shots
from assault
i feel
called upon
to pause
at a moment
in time such as this,
challenge myself
to consider
simply the logistics
involved in safely
delivering home
to the nation's
Capitol our most
statistic: our babies
under 18
setting forth
across our aging
bridges and highways
and on airplanes
and charter
buses, away from
their studies, dates
and fun times.
i am ashamed
it has gotten
to this stage

in this raw
and simple
space, i wonder
why i write where
the majority
of us
wander off
from poems about
the most egregious
in our world.
i know politics
is a hot-button
issue and i fall prey
to self-absorption,
but not today.
not this time

this poem
is for the kids.
they're sick
of being shot at.
they're sick
of this shit.
within your soul,
can you feel
how frighteningly
creepy this


if all electricity was to pause
all machinery turned off

if nothing is distracting,
would we finally en masse

globally take responsibility-
feel them, hear them,

hold them, still them-
the world's crying children?
Saturday, March 24.
March For Our Lives,
a name picked
by our babies,
Planted as a seed
Separated from the weeds

To Nurture
From Mother Nature
She inherits her nature

Ever fragrant her flowers
For one and all , she showers

Weathering seasons all
Resplendent ,she stands tall

Painted on glass
She exudes class
The woman that we know
The woman of now
Wrote this for my artist friend, she shared her glass painting photo of a woman inspired by Mother Nature.
No, she isn't a poet
has never inked one
she takes off my weight
gets my things done

so I have enough time
to afford in a way
the luxury of rhyme
clever wordplay!

No, she isn't a poet
not written one line
clean is her slate
sees I'm fine

so I have enough space
and hour of my own
to indulge the grace
of thoughts mind grown!

No, she isn't a poet
no way she would be
she does her best
to see I'm happy

so my words run smooth
poems are easy born
truth and half truth
are spun night and morn!

No, she isn't a poet
cares not a bit
from her toil's sweat
my poems birth sweet

poems aren't her art
in the sun and showers
she grows from her heart
our garden's best flowers!
A tribute to the great gardener she is.
(5 years on hp this day, thanks to all my poet friends, you gifted me a rewarding journey)
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
daryll smith
Once apon a time in a land far beyond the hills far beyond the trees there a family a family of royalty

A queen called Eliza, A king called Harrold A princess called Ava and a young man called Edward, Edward is the kings jester

One late afternoon the king calls edward to the knights table and he says Edward i want you to marry ava.

Page 4
"me sir?? me? "i cant do that she is pure and i am only but  jester..

Page 6
The king tells ava of his plan and she is delighted to be almost wed.

The next day king Harrold saw ava and edward in the garden .are you ready to marry my daughter Edward .." no" no way!! so the king is angered by this.

Page 8
So the king goes to the wizard that lives on the other side of the rolling hill... help me!!!!! the king exhales.
Slow down your majesty  i need help for my daughter to marry the man i wish her too the wizard  strokes  his long grey beard and says I have just the thing .. he hands him a black  silk bag ...But your majesty there are  risk ..

Page 10
Yeah yeah yeah says the king hurrying off he goes back to the castle. He arrives at the castle and runs to the kitchen when eliza is cooking. He pours the potion in to the stew and waits .

Everybody joins the king and queen for dinner Edward ate his so fast you should see steam coming off his arms.

later that night the king walks in to a room with the princess and jester in ad he say ..are you ready to marry my daughter .....NO... then there was a loud crash and  cloud of  smoke Edward was now a pile of  sand the king runs to the wizard what have you done ....
I did and warn you sir ....if the person who drunk the serum fights the love then they will be banished as the sand man .... now what?

Page 14
every night when princesses called Ava cant sleep. The sand man will come and sprinkle sand in each eye to help them sleep.

Written by Daryll Smith
My children love this
If I die today,
Would tears flow,
like a rushing river?
Or the clouds weep,
screaming in thunder?
Would the earth break,
shaking in anger?
Will the world care?
And for a moment,
forget laughter?

If I'm down
to my final heartbeat.
Will anyone be there,
sitting beside me?
When I draw,
the very last breath.
Will you hold my hand,
and feel upset?

If I go,
without saying goodbye.
I want you to know,
that I really tried.
To live and love,
to endure and smile.
To find the truth,
in this realm of lies.

If I'm fated
of leaving soon
to talk with God,
in his glowing room.
I'll be rejoicing,
when I face my doom.
Even I end like a flower,
that withered,
before it blooms.

If inside the casket I lay,
Would there any heaven for me to stay?
Or will my sins, demand me to pay?
Don't even know, how much this life has weighed.

If it's my time, to step on the scale.
Done of my part, in this play.
A lot of regrets,
but nothing more to say.
Wish me luck.
If I die today.
JJsbdksndkkdmxmjshJustletmediemmmkbhbxjdnxnbdjxbdnxnnxnxnImsotire­dofthisnsjs nkksbdndnbdthese tears wontstopjdjdnn znjsnndudndkdknfkdmssnfnjdndnndbdbdbdnWhythepainstilllivesin myheartjjxnxjxjdn mykdjdvjsndjcjndndncnxkxnkxndkdkjdnskxhjshdjddndeImsofuckingtired­msnndksnxonshxidnkxndjsjdbjdkslmsndjjdbdisbdjjdksndjdhbsndnndjdjd­ndnd

Youllneverunderstand me
Tiana Marie
She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.
No one can know your pain
Not nearly as well as yourself
But the rope won't take it away
It just gives it to someone else
the moment a poet
falls in love with you

is the moment
you live

f o r e v e r
We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Please don't ever become a stranger,
whose laugh I can recognize anywhere.
Allan Mzyece
Before I jump into stating facts about my work,
I want you to know that all my poems have undergone many surgical implementations of implants,
So you should all note that my work is not perfect but remains extravagant,

Many say, I caress my pen in my pyjamas but I only write when the night whispers it's secrets to the morning,
I embrace all my problems because I know they make me wiser, stronger and a little bit better,

When young, I always admired using words too complex for any mere dictionary
But I be clear because I always cherish the idea that I was given to the wrong family,

Many say, my poetry is barbaric but I stay in silence and let it continue being rhetoric
i want to get high in foreign cities
travel to places i have yet to lay my eyes on
pack a bag and take off, my only motive to feel free
i want to kiss lovers on pavement my toes have never touched
beneath trees rooted with legends in their leaves
ensuring everlasting love
and i want to feel light, rather than weighed down
anchored to one small town
i want to drop everything and get away
to places where time is altered
and the stars are always present
whether it be in the night sky or people's eyes
i want to fall in love with strangers, cities, and scenes
i crave so deeply to feel free
to start anew

but at the same time
i want you to come too

This is not a love poem
this is an I love you do you love me like
I love you poem
do you know me like
you think you do poem
this is a would you be disappointed
if you did poem
an I have been feeling the chilling of the air
and I cant tell if it is just the fault of the season
or if you, too, are cooling
whatever heat you had for me
browning and falling and
crumbling between my fingers
like the leaves of these oak trees
in november poem
a what would I need to do to keep us warm poem
and this is also
an I may be completely mistaken poem
an it was seventy degrees today poem
this is a show me I am completely mistaken poem
Alicia Mortlock
On the other side of the mountain, I will find my nest of nurture
And it will lead me gently to the sea.
And who I'll meet, I know not.
And what I'll do, I know not.
But I know that it will bring me back to me.
I wait.
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