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Nat Lipstadt
§ the compulsing muse / the water canvas still life

she/her has no master, only a mastery;
she, comes compulsing, a physical pounding,
a throbbing impervious resistant to logic or medicine,
which is the so very ever, the peculiar throbbing
of a principled particular “present participle,”

write of compulsing is her mocking suggestion.

a presence, punishing urging, pas de choirs, obey,
submission; write freely but not free, compose or
decompose; is there a difference, no, not, and so ordered,
demand surrendered, how? how? this taking and giving,
can a single act dichotomy be so fulfilling and so emptying?


wake daily to water canvas, the waves, dabs of paint
protruding, irritating. provoking yet presented silenced,
repetitiously calming, motioned framed within the
white edged sand, the bound-surround of the living painting.

eyes alight, eyes delight, this daily emergence unto
a tapestry devoid of human interference suggests
a differentiating reality; now I understand the world’s
imperfections constituting, tooting its own perfectionism.

this is not lake water; no single flat stone skipping nor
a concentric rippling to a slow death; this is seaward-
bound, an oceans subservient tributary, contributory,
a river, a bay, a precursor to a vastness, horizontal infinity.

this is metaphor; this a still life of the perpetuation metamorphosis.


the muse exhales; as do I subsequently; what difference?
none, she replies to herself, tween painting artist and
verbalizing poet, the un-still life creation, always, always,
different, the essence of diversity in a singularity sameness§

7:13 AM Thu Jul 29
S. I. Sound
when you are given the choice of no choice,
you write again and again of the same vision,
the same view that presents upon awakening.
Michelle Lauren
How many poems about broken people will I write
Before I realize that I, too, am fragmented.
Equally, if not more liable for the war zones I have called love.
Soms missen we een halte,
soms mist er een wagon.
Soms missen we gestalte
en soms wat vroeger kon.

We tsjoeken bijna allemaal
ver voorbij fatsoen.
Voor stilvallen is geen taal,
daar is niets aan te doen.

Tsjoeken, tsjoeken, elke dag,
alsof nu en dan iets anders
geen optie is, niet mag.

Wat als ik wil rusten? Of
is die vraag voor jou te bruut?
Ik zal maar verder tsjoeken, tsjoeke, tsjoeke tuut.
Tony Anderson
If tomorrow never comes for me
If I shall not wake in the morning
Would you know I love you
Would you know I care
Walk away.
My eyes are dry,
but I feel the strain.
I want to stay.
I want to give one more chance.
So sure of change.
My heart leaks the grief.
Not as pretty as a broken heart.
Messy spill of feelings.
So many tries.
Takes more than me.
My eyes are dry.
My leaking heart
Will have to mend.
Ever went to sleep
But woke up tired
The mind was never
Quite the mind
Never received true
Risk but I’m not happy
But I am at peace
Right now I’m
Tell you my
Pure peace
I never been
The things that
I’m doing right now
Is amazing to me
With hearts on the line
weaved within stanza

a poem becomes present
love bleeding, love forever.

papa... I cry
I am only good for the evening
I am not a prayer I am a ******
I am not the banyan tree
you planted
- I am an eternal yawn
yawning before you
papa come back to me
to tell me I am god
my notebooks are covered
in decal stickers, hearts
hearts and teary eyed girls
hearts     you    sunk a pike through
Papa! Papa, come back to me
                                                     will you
will you


I was 13
I was


and ugly
she was ugly
I is ugly?
she is stupid
she is ugly
my teeth are straight now
and I am
I am pretty

was 13
was 13

why are you
you wake in the night crying
I am here
I am here don’t cry
don’t cry
papa don’t cry
papa don’t cry
i love you


the last summer I wanted to **** myself so bad
I tried it first with just some pills
than I thought i’d rent out a carbon monoxide tank
it costs 100$ and i think it’s funny
that it costs that much to

papa I would never leave you
you left me first though


somedays I am sleeping on land
and what is between my legs does not define me
time has never heard of me
I am beyond time
I am fire and earth
god crafted me on the pottery wheel
and he cursed me with a heart
and he told
he whispered
feel, feel, feel

I am a tree in my past life

I am weak again and I cry
it is the low wailing of my soul
my loving roots set fire by fiends
they’ve wandered my fields and
eaten my fruits
and killed me again for

but I do not mind them
it’s god shining in their faces too
i think

he asks me laughing
can you love me now?
when I am the one ripping and tearing
away at your soul
when I am setting aflame your peach trees
and raspberry meadows?

and through my acetic tears
I sob yes, yes

yes I can

I love you

I sob - I - I




my bedroom of grief
my kitchen of happiness
you barged in and tore down the wallpaper

I am not speaking my silence
i am living it
far off land
my roses are centuries old
they have ripped from the stems
they will grow

again and again.
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)
When I only get to taste
The feeling of you
In my dreams

But now, I can hardly sleep

I can't see you
In person
In dreamland
I miss sleeping beside you in dreamland
I miss sleeping...





M. 7/28/21 @ 11:02 p.m.
You matter.
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.
I think I found my soulmate
A long time ago
But I hurt her
And now we’re lost
Still connected by an invisible thread
Tangled and taunt
We walk away from
Each other
But really I still feel her
And I know
She feels me too
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.
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.
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.
Never feel afraid
to tell to the liar
a truth...

Safana - The Poet✍🏼
So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough
Mitch Prax
One day
you will forget me.
When your sun is
no longer in my orbit,
will there still be light
upon my world?
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
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.
Are you the one,
that other creation?

The only one misunderstood?

Trying to run,
from the isolation?

Trapped in an eternal solitude?
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.
B E Cults
you don't want
to see what being
in my orbit affords you.

Paris is still on fire.
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.
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

No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

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
has taken over my mind,
paralyzing me in a state of
never-ending purgatory.
and I love every minute
of it.
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about

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
Murad Husain
If poems could fly
They would have travelled across the globe,
Stepped into the unknown territories
transporting  our souls to the moon.
If poems could sing
They would have sounded like a bird,
Chirping around the heaven,
Creating godly melodies through the orchestra of nature.
If poems could dance
They would have moved the mountains
With all the  artistry in the world
Shaking us to our cores.
If poems could act
They would have got into our skin,
Representing people from all walks of life,
Mirroring the faces of  light and darkness.
i fear nothing,
not nothing as in: i am fearless.
but nothing, as in nothing.
i skip the end-credits of movies.
i love and trust way to easily.
i trauma dump.
i forgive people no matter what they do.
honestly - pt 1
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.
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.
tells me that I’m alive
Sunset reminds me
that I lived
He found the colours to paint her,
Where the world had left her gray,

She smoothed his wrinkles softly,
When the pain pushed him astray,

He wiped her raining diamonds,
That were packed  far, far  away,

And she slid them down slowly,
Lit, would they be always,

The darkness in his heart,
Was lit with her  lighting rays.
Nellie 55
Found it easier to visit the dark. It'll have a place in my heart. My responsibility will own my misery. Will refuse anyone one to conquer my heart. Doing it slowly like a puzzle part by part. If you need me, I'll be in my thoughts in corner slamming a bottle of whiskey. I brought my demons with me. They're just visiting. All I carry is all I can handle. I'll float and toss that paddle. Then light one candle. Allow the waves keep me gripping with a palm. Eventually things go silent and calm. I get nervous and scared but it's exciting. I find failure because success is hiding. But I believe that's worth finding.
My Dear Poet
the hand controls
the steering

and the steering
controls the wheel

and you my love
control everything

and everything I feel
just the way i said
down to the self deletion
you lost yourself
trying to please them
stuck in limbo
trying to decide
if being liked
is worth dying inside
do what you do
you'll have to live
with the decisions
can't resist the compulsions
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