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 95° 
Samantha Gould
Dark sky, faded light
Deathly cold and starless night.
Flash of lightning, racing heart
This storm could tear her life apart.

First she fights, then hides, then screams,
But the storm could offer bigger dreams
So she stands her ground, facing the rain
She’s brave and strong, despite the pain.

And revaluation, ray of light
Silver moon in starless night.
 91° 
Contraducción
"I'm not a poet. I don't feel like one.
I like writting. That's all."
Have a nice day
 65° 
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)
 39° 
justoneman
I’m sick of all these love songs
Written about another
Sonnets and odysseys
Desperate for a Lover

I want to enjoy the silence
Nihility subdue
Equally alone
As I am with you

I try to reflect Compassion
A metric of good health
Psuedo-neo Truism
Learn to “Love Thy Self”
 39° 
Lexie
Press me against you
Like flowers in a book
 38° 
Maria Diola
Giant-slaying faith
Has no respect for defeat
Ready for a great feat
(I Samuel 17:45‭-‬47) Then David said to the Philistine, “You come to me with a sword, with a spear, and with a javelin. But I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel.... This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you and take your head from you.  ...for the battle is the Lord’s, and He will give you into our hands.”
 26° 
The UnKnown
This one is different,
on the inside it’s a quiet forest reaching up toward a warm, pastel sky.
After a few moments I get this floaty feeling in my stomach and I feel like I’m being lifted into the sky.
Something inside me hesitates.
I squeeze my eyes shut to block the feeling out.
It hurts to look at this forest and this sky, because deep down, I know they’re not real. The tears come.
I try desperately to be quiet but, being incapable of it my voice is getting a nervous high pitch to it
 26° 
Andrew
There’s a tree down the road,
Often caught in the west
Blown east by the west winds.
Blown east by the west winds.
Blown free by the stressed winds

Surely not of anthropogenic
origin.

There was a child down the road.
Blown south by callous winds.
One must mourn one gone.
One must.
Mourn one gone.

Surely of anthropogenic
origin.

There was a wild north wind
Once upon a time.
It seems to have relinquished
It’s domain.
A pastured peace,

Surely of anthropogenic
origin.
 26° 
Luna
How to become a poet:
Let someone rip your soul apart.
And in the need of mending ,
You will replace it with words.
 25° 
Sam Tate
Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.
 20° 
Bogdan Dragos
you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse
No one reads the words
written across my smile anymore

'Cept the one looking down

And I wonder if that is a smile or a frown

The days taste of lost dreams

Such a ripple of breath upon the tongue of my dreams

Sometimes when I am standing numb

I have that endless breach

I just wanna be the same

Then you go home alone
 20° 
Félix Arvers
Hôtes de ce séjour d'angoisse et de souffrance,

Où Satan sur le seuil a mis : Plus d'espérance !

Qui vous brisez le front contre ses murs de fer,

Et vîntes échanger, dans cette fange immonde,

La perpétuité des peines de ce monde

Pour l'éternité de l'enfer !


Ô vous, bandits, larrons d'Italie ou d'Espagne,

Hôtes des grands chemins, qui courez la campagne

De Tarente à Venise, et de Rome au Simplon ;

Et vous, concitoyens, voleurs de ma patrie.

Qui, les cheveux rasés et l'épaule flétrie.

Ramiez dans Brest ou dans Toulon !


Et vous qui, franchissant les monts et les cascades,

Imploriez la madone, et braviez les alcades,

Castillans, Grenadins ! et vous qui, sourdement,

Sous le ciel de l'Écosse, alliez dans les ténèbres

Ressusciter les morts dans leurs linceuls funèbres

Avant le jour du jugement !


Filles de joie, ô vous qu'on voyait dans la rue.

Autour d'un mauvais lieu, faire le pied de grue.

Dont l'amour fut mortel, et le baiser fatal ;

Vous tous, morts dans le crime et dans l'impénitence,

Spectres, qu'ont ainsi faits la roue ou la potence,

La guillotine ou l'hôpital !


Vous tous, mes vieux damnés, races de Dieu maudites,

Approchez-vous ici, parlez-nous, et nous dites

Aux gouffres de Satan combien a rapporté

Chaque péché mortel qui damne l'autre vie ;

Combien l'Orgueil, combien l'Avarice ou l'Envie,

Combien surtout la Pauvreté ?


C'est Elle qui flétrit une âme encor novice,

L'enlace, et la conduit au crime par le vice.

Courbant les plus hauts fronts avec sa main de fer ;

Qui mêle le poison et qui tire l'épée :

Elle, la plus féconde et la mieux occupée

Des pourvoyeuses de l'enfer !


Pauvreté ! vaste mot. Puissances de la terre,

Qui portez de vos noms l'orgueil héréditaire,

Savez-vous ce que c'est qu'avoir soif, avoir faim :

L'hiver, dans un grabat juché sous la toiture,

Passer le jour sans feu, la nuit sans couverture ;

Ce que c'est que le pauvre, enfin ?


- C'est un homme qui va, sur les places publiques,

Colporter, tout perclus, une boîte à reliques ;

Un aveugle en haillons, qu'on voit par les chemins

Accompagné d'un chien qui porte une sébile,

Agenouillé par terre, et qui chante, immobile,

Un cantique, en joignant les mains :


C'est un homme qui veille au seuil la nuit entière,

Et vient, sortants du bal, vous ouvrir la portière,

Recommandant sa peine aux cœurs compatissants ;

C'est une femme en pleurs qui voile son visage

Et tient à ses côtés deux enfants en bas-âge

Dressés à suivre les passants.


C'est cela : rien de plus. D'ailleurs, c'est une classe,

Les pauvres : il faut bien que chacun ait sa place ;

Dieu seul sait comme tout ici doit s'ordonner :

Il a mis la santé près de la maladie,

Le riche près du pauvre : il faut que l'un mendie

Pour que l'autre puisse donner.


Et quand, lassés de voir qu'on vous suit à la trace,

Vous vous êtes saignés, à grand'peine, et par grâce,

Du denier qu'un laquais insolent a jeté :

Grands seigneurs, financiers, belles dames, duchesses.

Vous vous tenez contenus, et croyez vos richesses

Quittes envers la pauvreté !


Mais il en est une autre, une autre cent fois pire,

Qui n'a point de haillons, celle-là, qui n'inspire

Ni pitié, ni dégoût, qui se pare de fleurs :

Qui ne se montre point, mendiante et quêteuse,

Mais, sous de beaux habits, cache, toute honteuse.

Ses ulcères et ses douleurs.


Elle vient au concert, et chante : au bal, et danse :

Jamais, jamais un geste, un mot dont l'imprudence

Trahirait des tourments qui ne sont point compris ;

C'est un combat sans fin, une longue détresse,

Une fièvre qui mine, un cauchemar qui presse

Et tue en étouffant vos cris.


C'est ce mal qui travaille une âme bien placée,

Qui s'indigne du rang où le sort l'a laissée ;

Qui demeure toujours triste au sein des plaisirs,

Parce qu'elle en sait bien le terme, et s'importune

De n'égaler jamais ses vœux à sa fortune,

Ni son espoir à ses désirs.


C'est le fléau du siècle, et cette maladie

Gagne de proche en proche, ainsi qu'un incendie :

Le monde dans son sein porte un hôte inconnu :

C'est un ver dans le cœur, c'est le cheval de Troie,

D'où les Grecs tout armés tomberont sur leur proie

Quand le moment sera venu.


Or, quand cela se voit, c'est une marque sûre

Qu'il s'est fait au-dedans une grande blessure.

Enseignement certain, par où Dieu nous apprend

Qu'une société vieillie et décrépite

S'émeut au plus profond de sa base, et palpite

Du dernier râle d'un mourant.


Je vous en avertis, riches ; prenez-y garde !

L'édifice est usé : si quelqu'un par mégarde

Passe trop chargé d'or sur ses planchers pourris,

- Un grain de blé suffit pour combler la mesure :

Au choc le plus léger cette vieille masure

Vous étouffe sous ses débris.


Peu de jours sont passés depuis qu'en sa colère

Lyon a vu rugir le monstre populaire :

Vous aviez cru le voir arriver en trois bonds,

Le sang dans les regards, le feu dans les narines.

Et vous aviez serré votre or sur vos poitrines.

Pâles comme des moribonds.


S'il n'a pas cette fois encor, rompu sa chaîne,

Si la porte est de fer et la cage de chêne,

Pourtant n'approchez pas des barreaux trop souvent.

Car sa force s'accroît, et sa rage, en silence ;

Et gare qu'un beau jour il les brise, et s'élance

Libre enfin, et les crins au vent !
 19° 
Soloy
every day you sing a new song , a tune that makes you relax
on and on in your heart
 19° 
Ben Palomino
I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread
I have a few drafts. Not sure if it needs more or if short is better
 18° 
aye
the hardest part of watching you leave is that you never really left at all
i still feel your teeth nib my bottom lip
i still slow dance to our song
i smell you in the flowers from that summer in your dad's car
i see your sweet boyish smile on crescent moon  when i wish for your return upon a star.
the hardest part of watching you leave is not
looking for you in different people and pretending that that’s okay
the hardest part of watching you leave is not knowing why you never stayed.
(c) ayesha [2022]
 16° 
Alicia Moore
I do not know of halcyon days,
for the daily outlets of my extremes
are still too dominant in order
to appease the thirst and flames.
the world doesn’t change its harmful ways; my pessimistic tendencies therefore never falter. although the older I become, the more tiring the hatred feels.
 15° 
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.
 14° 
Lye
I’m buried in a cocoon of stories
From poetry,
To biographies,
To dystopia,
And romance
So many stories
Of so many people
Real,
Or just figments of the author’s
Imagination
Sitting atop wooden bookshelves
Waiting for the right person,
To pick them up
And get lost in their story
For everyone has a story to tell,
Some are overly exaggerated,
And other’s are rarely heard
The important thing is
That we share our stories
Through word of mouth,
The internet,
Or in a notebook
To be found by future historians
Tell your story
Believe me, you won’t regret it
 14° 
shatteredpoet
i never intended
to take apart
all the pieces
you glued back
together
 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° 
Kurt Philip Behm
Preying on the truth
politics sets the trap
Isolating fact from fiction
always on attack

Their circles non-concentric
each area zero-sum
To tempt your fate with poison bait
—never to become

(The New Room: July, 2022)
 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
 12° 
Molly
It strikes, not with a gale,
but with a drizzle of cherry blossoms
and a flurry of gentle chords.
 12° 
Max
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
 11° 
Heather
She loves me
He lusts for me
They need me
You long for me
But I am alone
 11° 
Suresh Gupta
BLISS

05/24/2019



in death lies the seed of birth,

so as we are cradled in one form,

so shall we be cradled in another.





no reason for dismay,

no cause for anguish
 11° 
Colin Makgill
Moving between the clouds our adventurers could drag their feet to the
edge of this boundless storm and watch the havoc thicken.
   'Soup.'
Soup is a good description of life.
Just that stuff between soup and now, is difficult to write.
I'd like to tell you about it sometime,
Just give me that sec
And I'll finish up with the rest
just..wait..The night had rolled over and pulled up it's covers, sweeping the wind further east.
 11° 
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.
 11° 
sancus
you take all of the
stars in the night sky with you
whenever you leave.
 10° 
Özcan Sh
I wish
her scars were on my heart
and not on her arms.
 10° 
cici
sleeping softly in knickered wood
watering bamboo running wild
in leaf paddies lost in the memory
yes, yesterhours gleam
the clock is broken, the shopkeeper
broke- it was yesteryears problem anyways.
loving of all, the curtains quietly draw close
the windows hold steady, not softly shaking with the wind
I am but
one star
in the
universe
that you
deserve.
I am but
a rain's
puddle
when
it is
the ocean
that you
need to
swim in.
Wish
upon me.
Dance
and jump
within me.
I long
to be
enough
for thee.



written by me... ..
 10° 
seethroughme
fyntjies fyntjies
dans op ‘n lem
hou die pyn
uit jou stem

liggies liggies
oor donker water
dobber vlak bo-op
sink saggies later

en dan

duik diep
deur die duister fluweel
van die sagte nagsee
gaan terug  na wat jy is
swem deur die seer

anderkant die doop
sal alles dieselfde wees
behalwe jy

blaas jou eie vlam  
smee  jouself vry
 10° 
zoe
say
I see the lights through the window
Forming shapes in your ceiling
We lie in bed and you look at me
You don't say what you are thinking
But you smile and get closer.

I hear the traffic through my window
Keeping me awake till late at night
Too late to say what I was thinking
That time I wanted to stay
But left anyway.
 10° 
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
 9° 
Ann
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.
"Keep your eyes closed, love. sometimes all you have to listen is to what the sound of the waves tells you to do."

When I was much younger, beaches were my second favorite places. I still love watching waves as they go by, crashing against each other and the whole process repeating all over again.
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