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 748° 
sara
the soft touch of my mother's hand
her warm embrace
the dreamland
it's slowly fading away
                               a little.....
                                      just a little longer
                       let me hold on to it
 340° 
Ylang Ylang
God of plains is not the same
As god of desert, or gods of jungle.
How is our god?
 261° 
Sru
The only bear missed out
In the sky,
For prolong prayers
near to the God.
till bear achieve out.
thou deal may alter,
yet,prayers commands
In the right path.
 250° 
Em
happiness will not find you
when you’ve made sadness your home
~e.m
 204° 
Mary Frances
I look at myself everyday
in the mirror and then realize
I've been given the most beautiful gift
I could ever ask for - my existence;
my chance of life;
my chance of love.
 179° 
sab ariana
i asked him do you believe in fate?
i always give more than i take
tell me what it is you hate
cant stand my friends they're all so fake

i know you want me dead
why don't you just take my head?

i know you want to **** me
but i  want you to feel me

up and down my mood swings
im so dumb when i do these things
im so numb after all these drinks

now tell me will you be my end?
i just need a friend
lets play pretend

im okay
my stream of thoughts
 132° 
Mikaela L
Eyes shuttered,
Red curtains,
A downfall,
Your eye bags,
They...don't hide,
That you're breaking,
Just a little bit,
But, dear, everyone is,
BREAKING, just a little bit.
I was crying today, but then I turned to grandma...she was also crying.
 83° 
Jenna
I love being in love
So when the man I loved slipped away
I fell back in love with the not eating
And how easy a lover it is to return to
Always ready with open arms as if to say:

I knew you would be back
I knew that he would leave
Don’t you worry
I will always stay.
 75° 
Betty
Thoughts are our feathers
They lift imagination
Then they blow away
 71° 
Diksha Dhiman
You acted in the best way you were capable of in that moment. Allow yourself to be at peace with this. Release doubt and welcome faith🥀.
                -diksha dhiman
 71° 
Paul Idiaghe
the soul likes
when I dress him up like this:
few vowels,
more consonants,

syllables, and all the rest
that float
on the white clouds
of dreaming

on the red waters
of the heart.
he could hide, of course,
but would rather

show off scars and slashes.
naked, colorless being,
he needs
the glitter of language,

rhyme and rhythm,
similar, succeeding sounds;
he needs poetry’s depth,
beauty

and immortality
and the lucid glare of eyes,
substance
and stimuli,

to exist
to be more than a song
that plays
in silent frequencies—

so he flows—
from the deep of feeling
washes out burdens
like a mighty stream;

and unto paper
blooms up the slick and scented
petals of pain
like rain.
Heavily inspired by Mary Oliver's poem: "POEM" from her collection 'Dream Work.'
 68° 
Bek Blanchard
Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin  
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake  
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait
 62° 
JDMaraccini
I promise you as we stand on the ledge
you will never enter heaven
I do not regret who I am
I only regret that I married you

I open my arms and hug the wind
the memories begin
I was there when she was born
you took everything from me

I say out loud as we fall
I wish I never met you
The teacher, the mother, the preacher
Deceptive, hypocrites, liars

The truth brings dignity
you have no integrity
My hatred for you grows
as we fall into oblivion
© JDMaraccini 2013
 60° 
Deadwood Jawn
-------------------------------------------------------



H́ͨ̆ͪ̉­̴̛̫̥̳̪̘̫͙̟ͪ̈̓ͨ͟ͅE̶̊͒̔̀͛̌͡͏̛͉̦͚͚͔͝ ̵͑̔͗ͥ̉̐͋̈ͥ͒͑̋ͨ̍͂̚͏͕̼̲̫̥̫̮̙͖̤̮͖͓̲͍͍̀̕W̢̹͕̫͇̙̞͇̪̌̋̆̔̃͛͛ͩ͐̊̃ͨ̅ͮ̍͊̈́́̚­͉͕͍̞̱̠ͅͅA̛͆̋ͩ̓͋̓҉̶͙̣̹̥̩̘̪S̡̃ͤ͗̒̐̊͛̍̕͞͏̰͍͖̥̦͎̻̱̪̪̙̭̫͔͚̘̣͉ͅ ̵̉̈́̌̾̿ͪͤ̃̈́͏̡̗̪̦̹̪̟̞̪̗͇̯ͅN̸̢̨̺̱͉͙̝̖̣̻̺̳͔̮̱̜̪͚̠̤̜ͬͮ͐ͤ̋ͪͩ̇̂̀͊̉̏ͦ̏̌ͧ̑­O̵̡̹͓̣͙̘͈̩̳̫̼̖͙͌̂̃̚͘͠Ṭ̢͓̭̦̣̗̩̭̪͉͓ͤͬ̋̎̓̾̔͛͛̔͂̾ͬ̄͊ͦͥ̅͡ ̧ͩͤ̑̿̿̇̚͘͏̢̛̯̬͍̹̳̘͇̥̩̣̩̟̤̺͉A̶̴̬̗͍̥̞̞̩̝̩̣̰̳ͯ̎ͥ̏̃ͮͤ̆̋̏͜͜Lͨ̀̄̏̓̉̋͆̋̇­̸̧͔̼̰̪̱͕̞̺̬̼̘̟̭ͥ͐͒̅͗͠͝͠W̧̖͙̞̪͙͙ͮ̑ͥ͆͛̌̽ͭ͐̌ͩͦ̓́̚̚͘ͅA̰̺̝͙͖̻̹̘̣͌ͨ̾̓͢͜­̬̣̺Y̢͎̹̩̺̦̬͚͉̲͎͓͉̅̄̽̅̎̏̎̌͂̃ͫͭ͞͞S̴̵̨̠̞̖̠̳̖͇̓̇ͧͮͥ͗͑̅̃̾͗͂ͨ͊́̆ͨ͢͢ ͦ͌̌̃̋̒̽͜͏̴̧̪̯̻͙͇̙͈͉̠̠͇̜͈͇͍̣͕̞͢L̵ͪ̊̏̃ͭ̒͊҉҉̞̰̣̥̺͙̣̥̳̠̹̭̘̜̜̙Iͨ̂ͬ̑̿͋͐­̲̗̹͓̠̜͕̞̞̻͙̞͚̼̫̲̞̣̟̃͑̓̃̂͊͛̅̓ͥ̕͜K̅͊ͤ̃̊͂ͮ͊͒̒̎̿҉́͡҉͏̖̯̜̜͔̪̖̟̙̞̺͎̦̖̠E­̶̶̵̪̱̺͍̫͎̣̾̽̂̾̒ͣ̀ͬ̏̐̿ͭ̿͟͡ ̸̧̡̞̠̻̟́̅ͮ̋̕͢T̡̢̼͕̝̠̼̩̜̜͓̠̱̘̜̲̦́͆ͩͨ̈͊ͮ̆̈͑͐̚͜͢͝ͅH̡ͫͧ͛̐ͦ̋ͣ̔̓̾͆͐ͥͯ̚͢­͕͉̤̫̹̟͇̭́I̷̧̨̒ͬ̇ͬ̾̆ͬ̂̌͌͏͍͍͔̖̮̪̖͓̰͎̪Ş̴̰̭̜͓͚̖̯̦͇͓̞̹̼̺͖̐ͪ̐̅͒̚̕͘



­--------------------------------------------------------
He wasn't. Thanks for understanding, Lydia.. Lydia is angry.. Someone's hurt him..
This is Lydia speaking.
 52° 
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!
 48° 
Hammad
Sometimes, Love is the pause
between holding on
and letting go
 45° 
Astral
When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.
 40° 
E
The face in the mirror
the look in the eye's
that reflection ain't me it's just a disguise
the fading of hair
the wrinkles that bend
it's just a life story that's told on my skin
this man in the mirror he ain't really me
their's a child inside that want's to be free
that woman of mine you could say she's the same
sometimes in the covers we laugh and play games
but as I get old and my life bears thin
I think of the fun
and think of the friends
so you could say i'm kind of bold
it's just a part of getting old
A poem my dad wrote on his 45th birthday
we all thought it was funny but truth is
I think it was the greatest one he ever wrote
 40° 
DEE
I am found of the night
  and its serene- Itkeeps my soul at bay  
for once I taste the scent of sooth. me and the calm of silence . its youth gives me life, its truce is superior.
 39° 
mark soltero
my skin is cold
but you’re hot within
so i don’t mind
when you’re with him
i might be lying
just please remember
the places we built
don’t take him
i can’t watch you go by tonight
 34° 
putiira
Some days you feel nothing
and those are the days
when your heart feels the heaviest
 32° 
tainted black
..
she
closed her
eyes and took
a very deep breath,
crossed her fingers then
w  h     i     s    p   e    r     e   d,
"I long to see the   o n l  y
man who made me
shine in his
darkness
..
 31° 
Frances Raeburn
Let us be quiet now
for a minute
Soften our minds
and our souls
Let us be blind now
for a minute
cherish our hearts
and our foes
 31° 
Constantine
tender as you are
you are a nuclear bomb ticking away
i can see it , kind of
you hide it well
but i think i need to turn around soon
i do not wanna be around to see that one pop
When I was just a child
I would often leave home
and wander barefoot through the woods
to the creek , but not alone

my companions always seemed to be
the four footed variety
as a girl I had not many friends
so I made them in the wilderness

I would often lay out in the fields
and chatter with field mice
sneak into the thicket
and watch the deer 'til night

on more than one occasion
you could find me perched in a cottonwood tree
sketching the birds
that would whistle back and forth with me

I knew each and every snake
that hid beside the water
The bobcat, coyote, gopher, and the river otter
to them all, I was just
the Motherless Daughter
A glimpse into my youth
 29° 
Traveler
The body measures more
When the mind is set at ease
Intensely I explore
Her entire Galaxy

Deep within her stars
The inclusive stellar view
In the gravity of her emotions
The universe knows no rules

Vague are the descriptions
Of worlds beyond our grasp
If ya get a chance to journey there
May that journey last!
Traveler Tim
 27° 
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
 25° 
JL Smith
It's been said,
If you love something
Let it go

So you did
And I'm free,

But I'll return
Knowing

You love me

© JL Smith
 25° 
Benita Dalby
I appear compassionate and speak with poetry.

My heart wants romance, but often needs empathy.

I feel things vividly, and when I share that, I can give and receive love.
15.09.2020
 24° 
potery thought
उन्हें भी वहीं आना था, जहाँ मुझे जाना था
यूँ रुक रुक के मुड़ना बार बार, एक बहाना था
वो न कह पाएँगे "पारस" साथ कभी आने को
तुम्हे खुद हाथ पकड़ के साथ लिए आना था
 24° 
Wanderer
Is it the words whispered
in secret corridors
i love you

are they proclaimed boldly
from roof tops
I LOVE YOU

Or maybe love
sounds like laughter
giggles shared only between two

what if love has no noise
its beauty is similar to a sunset
seen and felt
but never heard
 24° 
REY
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 like *******.
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.
 23° 
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.
 23° 
Jennifer Ale
She's a fragile rose... that can't be opened.
Jennifer Alé
 23° 
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.
 21° 
Luiz
some                   I
     say                     call
           it's                   It        
                poetry.          oxygen.


I write, therefore I am.
 21° 
Nat Lipstadt
<for my friends>

Poets, let us examine this friendship thing, again.

This is a poem of humans, regardless of our natural multi- flavored striations, that tend to over-define us, thus separating, instead of celebrating commonalities.

Like most things we enjoy, our five senses are the gateway to pleasure, even the pleasure of friendships.  They act in concert, a symphonic interplay that reenforces and heightens so that in combination they create a whole greater than a single sense could provide singly.

This is on my mind this week, as I wrestle to understand the meaningful possibilities, the limits of friendship.

Poets form bonds without hearing each other’s voices.

Poets connect despite geographic distances that makes grasping each others sinewed arms, caressing the softness of hard cheekbones, without ever having been granted the unique, all encompassing satisfaction of embrace, hugging.

Poets sometimes can hear but not see each other’s words.

Poets sometimes can see/read each other’s words, but never hear them voiced aloud in the authors own, true voice.

Poets sometimes cannot smell or taste each other’s words, though it can take a poem to another, higher sensory level of coloration.

And yet, a bond so strong forms that defies the conventional limitations of the physical. Should we share such a bond, them you know it, no need to ask for confirmation.

Words, can be gifted, without teleportation, even when and if the bridge of a shared spoken language is not extant.

This is nothing short of miraculous.

Just like friendship.

All my wrestling to true comprehend this state, for naught, for the miracle of words is like the color of water. Universal, invisible, but so varied, that it too bridges and is shared by every ! human body regardless of any human shape, color, form of the billions conceivable
.

But wrestle I do nonetheless, for the pleasure of this (non?)soluble problem that both creates queries & quenches simultaneously, so I break off this thinnest wafer to share with you, offering this notional:

All humans are poems.

All poems are human.

Solve this poem for human.

(And ignore the wet spots of my watery, clear tears staining this poem).
 21° 
Bhill
Fade Away - Haiku

it's nearly over
suspicions will fade away
we can dream can't we

Brian Hill - 2020 # 293
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