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 152° 
WILLIAM WORTHLESS
when you lose a loved one.  time will be your friend
it will heal your sorrow bring it to an end
take away the pain that your going through
as the time goes by will heal the heart  in you

the memories you have will for ever stay
always there with you each and every day
your loved one will be there watching over you
from heaven up above in the sky so blue

it wll take a while for your heart to mend
time is there for you time will be your friend
take it day by day  till all the pain has gone
time is there for you.     help your sorrow to move on.
 133° 
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.
 41° 
Buried Words
I want to look as empty as I feel
 33° 
Nat Lipstadt
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath


Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013
your effusive and lengthy comments are each a poem in their own right.  

Tinkered with June 22, 2013
With a push from Bala,
A serial peeper, thank God!
 29° 
Paraluman
I’m scared as f*ck
to want you.

But here
I am,

Still wanting you
anyway.
 27° 
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)
 23° 
j a connor
Our world is in crisis.

I represent Kalashnikov.
Although we are currently doing very well in the world, we need your help.

Global conditions continue to be challenging but not enough innocent people are dying.
This causes all sort of problems, overpopulation and environmental impact being just two of the issues now facing our planet.

Please donate as much as you can afford to :
www.killthemall@nomercy.com

Help us to restructure the world into a far more dangerous place.

Thank you.
 22° 
Poetic Eagle
Once upon a time your words meant everything that held on to them,
Until l saw every promise pass by.
Now, l yearn to believe each word you speak.....
But it all sounds like a poem that caught the right muse.
In the hit of the moment we say so much but with no actions,words slowly lose their meaning
 20° 
Rona Librada
Through their eyes, i see one's true self.
The happiness that radiates.
The sorrow that whirls.
A past love that's veiled.
.
.
.
Having this is bliss but not like this.
.
.
.
My dear, it is me who you with.
Grab my hand when you find your true peace.
His love washes over me /
Pristinely /
Drenching me, deluging me /
In surging airborne streams /

A parcel of wind greets me /
& raises me to Him. /
In the Light of Dreams, of sweet reverie, /
There I find Him. /

Beside me he fulminates /
Making me adamantine, /
Diamonded /
Glistening resplendently. /

A place of concealment, a sanctuary, /
He drenches me in His Light, baptismal, /
Cascades me, /
In its torrential downpour. /

In stillness there is revelation, /
In stillness there is clarity, /
Though our hearts tremulous, may quake & tremble, /
He awakens us anew each morn. /
He unravels the hidden secrets with me, /
As though pristinely clear. /
He shows me that there, /
Exists no reason to quiver in darkness /

Rather, I must /
Grow, learn, flourish, effloresce, & burgeon /
In The Light of the Sun. /
He is my maker, He is my creator, He is my God, Jehovah. /
 13° 
kyss
I still remember the last time I saw you
and I remember the day I realized
it was really over

but life goes on, as things do
however, I still find myself
thinking about you

I’ve seen other people,
I’m sure you have too
but still, I really, truly do
myss you
 13° 
Mystic Ink Plus
You
Are
Trending




In
My
Mind
Genre: Micro verse
Theme: Privileged
Author's Note:
He/She might not say
Anything casual

Expect something
Different
Calm to ears
 12° 
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.
 11° 
Carlo C Gomez
~
She stands on the roof of the world, a ship in a bottle. She likes to wave at passing boats, inviting 120 volts to raise their sails.

Words unbosomed -- her attempt of blotting out the sun and those bloodletting habits.

Her eyelids say, "Only the disquieting muses have time for me." So she writes like an umbrella, shading reality, remembering pluck and luck stories about bumblebees, lovingly wrapped in Tiffany-blue ribbon and paper.

Father used to solve her every contemplation. Now indecisiveness in what she asks. Now indecisiveness in arbitrary tasks.

And she and her negative capability are the last two awake at a slumber party, giving commonplace words the allure of secrecy.

You see, she is only harmless when she sleeps.

~
 10° 
Joliver
I'm tired
You know?
And just so very
Very
Alone
 10° 
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
 9° 
lyka
I sold my soul to poetry
And never looked back
But now every relationship
Is a writing prompt
Every trauma, a metaphor
She changed
He noticed it in her eyes
The last time he acknowledged her was
before he left
When fresh tears came out her eyes
When she dedicated her love to him
But no matter what she did she couldn't stop him
from leaving
Her eyes held sadness and love
That he had never seen in anyone before
The kind of eyes when someone betrays you
This time
Her eyes had fire
And as he stood and looked at her
Her hair and the wind
Her eyes and the sun
This time
This time he saw her worth
Her love
Her strength
But this time she was strong enough to fight
Strong enough to say no.
folllow me on instagram @why.is.that.even.taken
 9° 
Alice
It's just that
i'd like someone to
write for me
just once
i'd like to be the object of affection
i'd like for someone to find
that beauty my mother keeps telling me
i have inside
i'm not complaining
but you see
i'd just like to be the
poem
and not the poet
for once
 8° 
Max
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
 8° 
Nat Lipstadt
some of us walk insistently,
instinctively, and instantly to
and upon the edged path,

this physical nexus & abstract mental locus,
a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail,
drawn of men, by men, for men

(yes, men are people too, still)

enthralling views,
down to the riverside,
where eyes intuit the
beauteous aroma of
precious precocious
precarious precipices
and the near-stench of
mortality

amidst
wafting scents of inane undesirable need,  
hints of destruction, or,
alternating eager relief,
like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness,
making weakness in the knees, all too real,
trembling with a delicious accented edge of
a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread,
an all enveloping consumption need now!

to
crave what we fear,
to fear what we crave
our cravings are craven,

this twisted sense, annuls
our common sensibility, yet,
titillates our pleasured imagined relief,
releases, our unsated, even better,
our insatiable curiosity to tremble,
an entire body enjoined by vibrato~
enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred,
this danger choice releases something primordial,
escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed,
it has its very own designation…death wish

multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses,
and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby,
I travel the esplanade près de the East River,
where even if calm is the sole visiblilty,
undercurrents and the unpredictable passage
of container wakes and the larger freighters
will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel
to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts

but even more tempting, the balcony,
a hop, skip and a jump unlocked,
mere ten steps, no need for a running start
why it’s the “height of convenience,”
he ruefully winces, and not even any
TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences”

Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable,
Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even
feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.

Do You Know Why Men Cry in the Bathroom?
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013
 8° 
brandychanning
so now, do I, I do,

he favors the the top of my breast ,
where the spaghetti strap leads
his eye lower, to the fulsome swelling,
curves he favors in a linear
world

these magnets of human flesh are
attributes of me, unsolicited, part
of my “collegial endowment” and
yet,
no denial, this egg of my accent,
a fullness employable, knows full
employment

ah, mon oeuf d'accent,
my accent of my accidental,

for lives are just linear lines
warped occasionally, nicely.
swelling in wonderful frailty,
the curvature of the human
eyes, that draw curves of
human spirit,

are drawn by sprites with wickedly humorous
insight
 8° 
hullzy
i would give you
all the stars,
all the planets,
just to see that smile
again.
 8° 
ketashia
I look back at my poetry
The ones about sunshine
Strawberrys
And fresh breezes
To remind myself
That at some point
I was truly happy
 8° 
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.
 8° 
Ann
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is 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.
 8° 
imparo
You and I
have a story
behind closed doors,
sneaking at night,
stealing kisses,
secretly holding hands.

But you and I
both know
this story
shall never be told
not even to a single soul.
 7° 
August
He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.
 7° 
queen of hearts
I don't miss people
I miss the parts of me I gave them
this one ******* HURTS
 7° 
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.
 7° 
Poetoftheway
(when first I learned my
intellect
paled by compare,

I,
did not weep,
for my eyes
with love keeps

reminding with
every glance,
my intuition
is where my
value lay…

<>

of course, it a genius creative choreographer,
Lar Lubovitch,
to remind of the obvious
I forget
 7° 
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
 7° 
The Nine Doubts
Tea
I guess I'll go make a cup of tea
Because sometimes it feels like
You have time for all of them, but not for me
I'll be here waiting for you to see my messages.
 6° 
x
i am a hopeless romantic
with suicidal antics
that cant seem to love herself

she cant seem to nudge herself
out of depressive episodes
but she has expressive goals
to fall in love

to call on love
for several favors
and she has several wagers
that "this one will be 'the one'"
that what ever is done
can be undone
and that she will be okay
because one day love will fix it all

she is a pathetic romantic
with an optimistic aesthetic
and a manic
personality
 6° 
stargazer
i am so tired
but
everything that
exhausts me
keeps me
awake
at night
having a hard time sleeping
 6° 
Jaslin Goh
I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love
The idea of company sounds great
Family, friends, soulmates
I love the silence
Now some chatter feels good
I’ve changed
I long for company
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