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 160° 
Cheryl Ann Warner
Warm heart long days
Makes for southern ways
Cotton growing along the road
Fields seen for miles
Warm hot air
Summer is here
The weather is singing
          A song
Cotton growing along
Sitting on the front porch
Sipping ice cold tea
Warm heart, warm heart
Waiting to be with
        You and me
Warm heart
 137° 
Jon G M
Not understood she dreamed the impossible
Seeked the unknown

She wanted to be loved
Like art she was not perfect
But she touched you deeply
Being herself

Times could be difficult
Could make you scream
But she matured

She could touch you deeply
Parts of your soul that had not been explored

She loved desperately
All she wanted was to be wanted
To be no doubt who she belong to
 117° 
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)
 43° 
Emilie
In you,
I've found an appreciation for the ones I've hurt
I've found a new reason to scorn the stars
For all their bright, unwavering light
For all their fragile grace they scatter upon us
I've found no way to leave my winter bones behind
To make peace with the new, and growing
I've found no reason to move on
And too many to stop
 42° 
Anissa
summer odours inspire me
yasmin and hope filling up the air
me in the middle of it all
a calm breeze flowing through the summer sky
melodic birds promising better times
me in the middle of it all
i’m already missing summer
because summer odours inspire me
the sun as my number one supporter
me in the middle of it all
 41° 
Elliot
We don’t see the carrots to be cut,
We see the sharp knife that could cut us.

We don’t see the bridge,
We see the other side of the railings.

We don’t see painkillers,
We see medication we could drown ourselves in.

We don’t see the train,
We see the tracks we could lay on.

We don’t see the nice view,
We see the cliff's edge we could jump off.
 39° 
Shaylie
You say
You’re so much sometimes

And I say to that
Well sometimes,
You are not enough
 36° 
Lucía
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
 30° 
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Chapter 9


Bian and Jon began preparations with gusto.

First, they needed a list of logistics to give Mr. Ly when they met with him in November.  Mr. Ly and his friends, and friends’ friends worldwide, would  pay all expenses;  they would handle all details, such as reservations for air travel and hotels and rental cars;  they would contact the best interpreters in each country and pay them; they would contact leading newspapers and other news organizations in the world, including, but not limited to, the New York Times,the Washington Post, Le Monde, Times of India, China Daily, Russian Today, BBC, CNN, and MSNBC;  and they would contact the leading media–newspapers and TV and radio stations–in the largest city of each country prior to Bian and Jon’s visit there.  Moreover, they would contact and procure legal permission from each family in the chosen small town in each country, a family who would be indigenous, poor, and speak a dialect, not the dominant language of the nation.

Next, Bian and Jon would begin researching each country beginning with Mexico, then all countries in Central and South America. Each visit would last four days.  The first day (Day 1), they would meet the interpreter at the airport who then would drive them by rental car to the chosen small town to meet with the selected family. Bian and Jon were so excited as they looked forward to talking with all members of the family, then eating dinner with them, then spending the night with the family (each would bring a sleeping bag). In the morning (Day 2), the interpreter would drive Bian and Jon to the largest city in the country where they would stay in a hotel to rest. The following day (Day 3), Bian and Jon would leisurely enjoy touring the city to visit its most interesting sites. After a good night’s sleep, they would take a cab (Day 4) to the airport and fly to their next destination.

Mexico was the first of over 200 nations Bian and Jon would visit during 2024 and 2025. After much investigation on their computer, they chose the very small town of Aldama (pop:  1,270). The dialect: Tzotzil, a Mayan language. In Belize, where surprisingly English, not Spanish, was the dominant language, they found the town of Dangriga (pop:  9,593). The dialect:  Carib.  In Guatemala, they selected San Jose Calderias (pop:  3,000). The dialect: K’iche’. They chose Krausirpi in Honduras (pop:  930). The dialect: Twanka. In El Savador, they selected Suchitoto (pop:  24,786). The dialect:  Nanuati.  In Nicaragua, they decided on Niquinohomo (pop:  8,350). The dialect:  English Creole, a mix of Spanish, English, and African dialects. And in Panama, Bian and Jon chose Yaviva (pop:  4,441). The dialect:  Wounnan.

Now South America. In Venezuela, they decided on Maroa (pop:  890). The dialect:  Wayuu. They chose Pijao (pop:  5,700) in Colombia.  The dialect: Paisa. They decided on Mahdia (pop:  2,563) in Guyana. The dialect:  Secchia.  They chose in French Guiana the town of Awala-Yalimapo (pop:  1,344). The dialect: Creole patois. In Suriname, they decided on Kwakoegron (pop:  263). The dialect:  Sranan Tongo. In Ecuador, they selected Sigchos (pop:  7,933). The dialect:  Quichua. They chose Ollantaytambo (pop:  1,000) in Peru. The dialect: Quechua. They decided on Sorata (pop:  2,217) in Bolivia. The dialect:  Aymara. Jon was excited to go to Isla Negra in Chile, because Pablo Neruda made his home there for 40 years. They were not able to ascertain both the town’s population and and dialect, if any, in Isla Negra, but Jon was easily willing to be unconcerned about these omissions. Neruda ******* both.They decided on Bahia Negra (pop:  800) in Paraguay. The dialect: Pai Tavytera. Another deviation, this one in Argentina. Bian and Jon both wanted to go to Rosario, birthplace of Che Guevara, so they put aside again the need for data. They decided on the coastal town of Pirapolos (pop:  8.830), Uruguay. The dialect:  Portunol.  Another coastal town, Moro de Sao Paulo (population unable to ascertain), is one of the smaller towns of Brazil, where Portuguese supplants Spanish as the dominant language. Interestingly, the Hebrew language is the de facto dialect spoken in Moro, which is why Bian and Jon chose it to visit.


After three long, but incredibly stimulating, days of research and discovery, Bian and Jon had completed the list of towns they would begin visiting on 2 January 2024 in Mexico, and the smaller towns of Central and South America, a list they would give to Mr. Ly when they traveled to Lima, Peru 20 November. Somewhat tired, but extremely gratified, they sat on the sofa in early evening to listen to Jon’s favorite Beethoven Symphony, #7. The Sympony’s second movement “was a jewel,” Jon said. Of course, he leaned back and closed his eyes as he listened.

When the recording was over, and after a silent pause, Jon slowly stood up, and without ever saying a word, reached down and picked up Bian, and holding her in his arms, carried her carefully into the bedroom where he stood her up beside the bed, then, slowly and softly, undressed her, and after he had pulled back the bed sheets, picked Bian up again and lay her on the bed. Then he undressed and got into bed beside her.

The room was dark and full of silence. Then Jon turned toward the woman who had brought limitless joy into his life and said to her, “Bian, who in the Heavens made you?” And then he kept leaning until he gently lay upon his wife, and these two lovers made love deep into the dark of night.
 29° 
Yenson
It was in the age of wonders unseen
a moment in time years gone
free radicals in plasma vision
high definitions in pixels hues

A quantum leap far from my diaspora
frequencies blare in statics
sights seen not deciphered
icons flicker in transmission

It was in the age of sight and unsounds
graphic audios  stricken tones
inputs and outputs in staccato
remote controlled hit replays

A million light years from my Antenna
and I see zigzag lines in frame
saw buzzing from mast to mast
and a broken conduit plugged in

It was plain from the get-go not my scene
alien signals defo incompatible
pathways divergence defaults
end of the drama of disengaged

And gladly fade to black and switched off
it is their age of delusions
and their world of illusion
their escapism n distractions
a million repeats of a non-experience is nada
My words became
knives.
A paragraph,
a sword.
And when I
made
my first speech,
the room
                was
                        hit
                             with
                                            a
                                                    grenade.
 19° 
False Poets
when you understand my poems perfectly then,

their utility is inutile,
their usefulness is, will. always be, in the

nth  

reinterpretation, a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth inner wired construct,
be pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
two lives (yours, mine), a paired wine tasting, we together,
believing in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, as I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our at last armed embrace,

when at last we understand our mutuality of need and salve...
 19° 
Melanie Jackson
i suppose
i love my scars
because
they have
stayed with me
longer
than most people
have
 17° 
Zywa
The forget-me-not

on your grave sows on your grave --


more forget-me-nots.
Collection "BloodTrunk"
 17° 
Thomas Wan
Love is like taxis
They're everywhere when you don't need it
But nowhere to be found when you do
 17° 
Luna Wrenn
you’ve stolen so much of my soul,
i’m still trying to remember who i was
 16° 
Jayantee Khare

your pride tries to optimize
my persona, to suit your needs,
and if it doesn't, you criticize...
Yet, you're good enough...

your prejudice makes you
suspect even my good deeds,
and you demean me for them too....
Yet, you're good enough...

your control freakiness
makes you restrict me
even if i act right...
Yet, you're good enough...

your self centeredness
wants me to fit in the standards,
you define and ever-changing ...
Yet, you're good enough...

the veil of your hatred
doesn't let you see
my love and concern for you...
Yet, you're good enough...


Sometimes people have personality traits, difficult to deal with, but still they are good enough. Better to be grateful for their positive side
 16° 
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° 
Candlewood
I don’t know how to love you.
He broke me down like
the longest math equation.
But, in the process of solving he found
no solution. Only lost numbers
memories stuck on the chalkboard.

You say you’re too broken too.
But now you’re here.
Confused and softened possibly
afraid.
Definitely afraid.

And in this moment my mind
flushed with all of the feelings I kept in
my little locked box.
The cherishment I have for you and the
care and want that come along with
you. I wanted you. I want you.
But my brain tells me I don’t.

So my words are broken but my mind
is made up.

I want to be with you but you
don’t want to be with a
f—- up.
I liked this boy for a long time. We dated for a bit but he didint like me so we ended things, we are still vERY close friends. I still like him to this day and I have since our relationship. He’s been really intimate lately and I set some boundaries because “he doesn’t like me.” I also don’t know how to have any sort of contact with anyone because my ex boyfriend was so possessive of me so now any physical contact makes me think that people are being romantic—which is obviously not the case. The guy I like is really touchy that’s why I put those boundaries. And today, he texted me and told me he now wants to go out, he didint ant to the first time because he had just gotten out of a breakup. But the way he said it was very vague. So, I didint want to asume anything, so I said “okay?” And he got very upset. Now I’m hoping things work out because I’m lonely and really like him. Let’s jsut hope my awkwardness doesn’t **** me.
 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° 
charlieboy
I dont know what to do now that you aren't here
Every night I cry for healing and what you hold dear
All the time the child in me weeps from pain
Every hurt inside me leaves a cold dark stain
Papa wont you come and take the pain away
It's lying deep inside me is it here to stay
God please come and spend a little time with me
We can sit and talk and have a cup of tea
I've come to believe that my vision is blurred
Let the scales just fall away so I can see your word
You know what we need before we even ask
I dont completely know your love but it's a love that lasts
I dont know what to do when I am all alone
How can you love a heart when it's as hard as stone
One more thing to say before I'm done and through
Papa I forgive you please forgive me too
 13° 
rgz
Be like the rain
unafraid to fall

Be like the sun
shining light upon all

Be like the wind
helping others take flight

Be the brave new dawn
after the dark stormy night
Be all you can be
See all you can see
D all you can D ;)
 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
 13° 
Max
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
 13° 
Mark Parker
A tree falls in the forest,
and it doesn't make a sound.

A man yells in the forest,
and local wild life forms a mob.

A man falls in the forest,
and he doesn't make a sound.

A tree yells in the forest,
and we all run like hell.
Because I feel like the tree that falls in the forest.
 13° 
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.
 12° 
Morrie W S
keep me in the
pocket of your jacket

love me in the
corner of your heart

dream of me in mantis shrimp
colouration.
think of me when doth
shatter thine heart.

if i could be
what i would need
myself I lose;
myself I dream
 12° 
Emma P
Sun
When I say
that you are my Sun,
I don’t mean that you are
Luminous,
Brilliant,
Gilded,
Beautiful,
Bold,
Warm,
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting
 12° 
Sameera Krishna
I'm a white rose,
with a black shadow.
I'm the moon,
with a black mark.
I'm the poetry,
with all painful words.
I'm the sky full of scars,
My heart is filled with love,
While my mind is haunting me,
My soul is Galaxy which feels empty in space.
This poem has published in a book, "Bloom"
On Nov.5th,2018 ❤️
 12° 
charlieboy
Some days I just sit and wonder what it must
be like to be the author of all things both
big and small. At times I feel bereaved
at the thought that he has abandoned me
all together that the thought I must be a
disappointment to the great creator A God
of high intelligence and moral fiber. Shoot, I
invented moral fiber to cast a shadow over
my imperfections and short comings. At the
time he calls me home to glory I shall be given
a brand new station in life as my preference
would be either a new heaven or a new earth.
Where the rubber meets the road I will leave
the particulars to the great I am as I will gladly
take the crumbs that fall off the table. I'm not
smart enough nor good looking enough to catch
a gaze from a spectator in want of a man
not interested in being hitched with a gal
and young ones to boot. As those children
rarely grow up to respect a man who takes the
place of a dead beat dad not giving financial
support not respecting the new suiter. No sir,
my desire is to make it from here to eternity
a solo act as I dont yearn to play God to *******
children that will never honor the step dad or
his maker.
 11° 
DElizabeth
.

"just like the clouds
my eyes will do the same...
if you walk away...
every day it'll rain..."


.
lyrics from "it will rain" by bruno mars.
 11° 
thoughts well
To write words over and over
To explain what it feels to love you
To express what you mean to me

No words can be enough for that
And so I always end up erasing them
 11° 
Johnnyqu33r
I feel...

Overwhelmed
It grows
The pit
Deep
In my stomach

Sad and
Nostalgic
Nauseous

I feel...

Like a fool
That I had not
Shined alongside
More often before  
You went dark

I'm so sorry

I feel...

I'm just so sorry

I feel...

Sick
 11° 
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° 
Erin Nicole
I’m just tired. Tired of being broken. Tired of being forgotten. Tired of being used. Tired of feeling lost. TIred of being nothing. Tired of fighting myself to eat. Tired of feeling empty. Tired of feeling alone. Tired of Tired of doing everything for everyone; But getting nothing in return. Tired of being pulled back into this dark place. I’m just tired. Tired of crying.. Tired of breathing.. I’m just so tired..
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