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 271° 
-
You are a piece of art
that doesn't belong to anyone

No museum can cage you
 200° 
Nolan Morris
i dreamt strong

about the beauty which

together we’d make

and held on long

until through pain i learned

you are not mine to take

and just like that

it’s gone

as the heart does sometimes ache

so now we have a song

and with tremors of love

earth eternal does quake
 182° 
Ashly Kocher
My words explode onto paper like an erupting volcano
Slowly bubbling until it detonates
Causing a colorful burst of emotions to splatter across the page
 108° 
Adriana Barreiros
You dreamed it once
The slow bend in the road
Past which the world delves
Into the realm of the unreal
Unrealised futures selves
That are as material as
Anything will ever be
In this stretch of land
Between here and infinity
Where a million bonded yous
Could be living in flawed
Synchrony, a dissonance of
Possible lives you will never see
Even now at the precipice
Of all that waits to come
The time it takes for a hum
To bloom into the vibration
Of a body growing wings
Is that step that lays down
The brick for the next
Two feet never together
On the same square inch of ground
There lies the sound of cracking shells
A chrysalis to which you are bound
By birth, where inside you lay the
Stones of the inverted pyramid
With each clean bone leading
Cleanly to the edge, the rising temple
Held up by the apex of the roof
Long before belief has penetrated
The invisible heart of the root
 96° 
Dada Olowo Eyo
For long they had waited,
Many years for the patter,
Of little feet and joyful screams,
The morning seemed long from dawning;

Grandma never stopped praying,
Grandpa, too, as much a could be offered,
Then Grandpa left for the heavens,
Soon after, Grandma joined the celestial train;

Not long the news broke,
Adorable bundles of sweetness,
Sounded their cheerful arrivals,
In what remains the wonderment of several decades.
A lady well beyond mid fifties just put to bed twins after several decades of waiting for fruit of the womb. The miracle was announced the day my mother was laid to rest on July 17 2021.
 96° 
Mova
upon the gold
that waked our way

rested sense
will pray remind us

that forever
is today

wept the nourish
of memory

love
is coming
 79° 
Cc
I know I’m a terrible person
Trust me, I have to live with myself.
 77° 
Stephen S
613 200 Hours
25 550 Days
13 Cars
11 Jobs
9 Dogs
6 Surgeries
5 Children
4 Grandchildren
3 Marriages
2 Siblings
1 Weary soul.
No regrets.
 76° 
j a connor
Sometimes words are not needed or appropriate for the feeling of appreciation to be gained in finding beauty and wonder in and from the simplest and non traditional aspects of life
 73° 
Archer
Like a crow,
bringing you shiny things,
for scraps of food.

I write love poems,
for tiny scraps of affection,
thrown in my general direction,
by my imagined lovers,
as they pass me by.
 62° 
Nai
Me
I don’t want to
Open my mouth
Because I’m still afraid
The truth might come out
And if it does
If it really breaks free
You’ll see what I am
You’ll see the true me
The one I hide
With jokes and lies
I’m a terrible person
All jokes aside
You don’t seem to know it
You don’t seem to see
Even a glimpse of that person
That I know to be me
I’m such a good actress
I hide it so well
Cover it with a laugh
And you’ll never tell
You see depth in my eyes
You see love and emotion
But what would you see
If I ever did open
I can’t bear to find out
I can’t bear to show
The me you don’t see
The me that I know
If I let it out
If I let it be
I know for a fact
That you would hate me.
 58° 
Skylar
The day I stop writing poetry about you
is the day I know that I've moved on.
 51° 
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)
 47° 
Warren
To finish your own life by hand,
May seem like the right thing to do.
But to free yourself from this land,
Is to imprison those that love you.
 43° 
Gulishta
Your eyes tell the lie
   You were trying to survive
One minute one moment
    One breath at a time.

You said some words
    You meant the another
You made few mistakes
    Then you looked for another.

We were all destroyed
    Death now lives inside us all
You played the long game
    Acted dumb but were smart after all.

The battle of emotions
   You won with the silence
The wait for something to signify
    You counted as the minutes went by.

The fracture of our soul
    The wait the guilt the regret
    And the life of us all.
 41° 
Xi
i adore cold weather.
But not for the fires,
Or the warmth of another person.
I find something beautiful about it,
And maybe even a bit lonely.
It reminds me of bittersweet loss,
And finding the strength to move on.
When our love
that we want to
doesn't have
another season,
I wish
I would not
leave this heart
with crying anymore.
Indonesia, 24th July 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
 36° 
Diljeev
An outlander gone astray,
a mile for each day
is now the distance
we're away,
in her mind,
on the map's line.
 34° 
Gavin Barnard
I'm locked away in my dreams.
I seem to have lost the key.
What you see is nothing more
Than a simple facade.
Don't worry I hired a locksmith
 31° 
Silver
I bet you're here to see the poem about you-
It doesn't exist.
 29° 
shana
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.
 29° 
Betthia Mae
I saw you
Through the screen
On that second
Why did I think
It was meant to be

Now read from bottom to top.
 28° 
Mykenzie
So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough
 28° 
Grimm
Tears be shed
,
Blood silently bled
And my yearnings and dream
Memories can't outline

Guess my wanting
By the seriousness of my eyes
Full filled the glove holding
My soul in disguise
With all i bet

A carving in regret
The shape taking
Years to perfect
But the weather is perfect enough
To outline your love in avalanche white
Love in rain, or rain on me in spite
 25° 
Kassan Jahmal
If I ever bought love,
I'm just going to break it.
  These feelings aren't concrete,
   but definitely belong to the
    pavement.
  
  I could love someone complex,
     but make it look so basic.

Even with my heart racing,
I haven't found one worth
  chasing.
  
My love has no form,
    all my feelings are shapeless.

And I won't go around falling in
love
  with pretty faces.
    So you'll just have to face it!
 24° 
B E Cults
it's the "what" in the meantime
between here in sleep
the fogs up the lens.
 24° 
Max
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
 23° 
My Dear Poet
Tonight
I will not be sleeping
till I write the words
that are keeping
me awake

Tonight
I’ll make the most
of a late night evening
and by the morning
waiting
for you to wake

Tonight
Who’d have thought
I’ll be weeping
while you’re dreaming
words too late

Tonight
while gone
I keep writing
alone and grieving
words I wish I wrote
and now reaping
your fate
don’t blame me, it’s not my fault.
you’re afraid of the decisions you have to make.
you’re obsessed with what isn’t yours to take.
you’re tired of the confidence you have to fake.
you’re ashamed of the way that you break.
stand in your place, and don’t blame.
and the coward points their rot finger at someone else, hoping that this will make them more brave. but blaming doesn’t purify, it keeps rotting them from inside
 21° 
david badgerow
My ex-girlfriend and I used to play this game, I guess we made it up, called Sing That For Real. So at any time, when one of us said "sing (a song) for real" the other person had to sing it. With sincerity. Whether it was playing or not. Had to put their best effort into it, without any humor or undue theatrics behind it. Any song. You had to just sing the portion of it that you knew to the best of your ability. In public, alone, didn't matter. Over the phone. We would tell each other thru text sometimes. Sure, you could get away with not doing it and the other person would never know. But I never did. I always sang.

Because it wasn't really a game. It was a trick. A ruse to get the other person to open themselves up. To be vulnerable in front of you. Honest with you. To break yourself open--if only slightly, if only for a moment--without fear of judgement or insecurity. Without hiding behind humor or parody, to sing directly into the face of the person you love. Or on their behalf. At their behest. Have a moment of tangible honesty between the two of you. Show that person that you aren't afraid of anything, at any time. Once, at a deli counter on A1A, I sang "Not Fade Away" directly into her eyes. She showed me a secret Beyonce taught her at a pet store in front of the fish tanks. We duetted on “You’re The One That I Want” on the trunk of my civic parked in a starlit cow field. It was a secret promise we made to each other. A private joke, almost.

She hung herself in her apartment 6 years ago today. She was high on *******. She was bi-polar. She was off her meds. She was scared of herself and everyone else. I picked her up. I cut the belt. I puked downstairs in her garden screaming. I loved her so much and I'll never stop singing for her.
Wherever there’s light,
There’s also a shadow like a lonely night,
Then I wonder how we forget to see the light,
Even when it shines so bright.
July 2021
 20° 
David Adamson
I met a woman
brutal in her mercy.

Her embrace was a clinch
to prevent hard blows.
She pulled me close to push me away.
Seeing my nakedness
she leant me a dream
of chainmail and shield.
Taking love from me she gave a reprieve
to a mind resigned to the slow death of feeling.

Ignoring my words she heard
my faint silent heartbeat and
understood that it was music
too quiet for the world to hear
and turned it up louder
than I could stand.
I wept in my deafness
as she danced.
I told him - it’s you not me;
You don’t love yourself enough to love me!
Sunrise
tells me that I’m alive
Sunset reminds me
that I lived
 18° 
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.
 18° 
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
 18° 
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
 17° 
Đaviđ67
I write poetry
because
I feel that;
not enough
of you
listen to me
when I speak
as a matter
of fact.

And even
then;
at times,
I feel
as if
I am back
to
square one
again.
 16° 
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.
 16° 
Yasin
Sometimes
poems
make
me
want
to
write
in
a
crowd
of
only
one
person.
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