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 69° 
Jimmy silker
Before I met my wife
I was incomplete
Now I'm finished.
 68° 
Stardust
I now close this door,
like a chapter marked
by dead ends
and trial and error.

Now, stepping ahead,
I open a door unknown.
 63° 
star
icarus 6.29.25 (4:00 pm / 16:00)
i, too
want to fly so close to the sun
that i become ashes
and when i am dead
then i will smile and laugh

and i will be happy

as i drift
as dust
into s p a c e
lwk depressed like i'd throw myself into the sun not the worst way to die
 54° 
zestree
Do you still dream of things
you want but cannot have

But you think you could've gotten
if only you were good enough

These nights are awfully quiet
without the chatter of your old dreams

The crickets chirping
a moth banging on the window

No you can't get in
just like I can't touch the flame

Inside my memory
that lit up my room

In the sound of bedtime stories
The Battles of Life,
through sickness, and through health,
through blessings, and good wealth,
all the trials, tribulations, and
everything else,
the wants, and the needs, and
the envious, and the greed,
the feeling of success, and
wanting to succeed!!!
the feeling of hope, the feeling of fear,
the feeling of Challenges, and
the fact that they are near,
don't give in, and don't Cave in,
Stay on the road of
excellency, because
YES!!!
YOU CAN WIN!!!
Keep your eye on the prize,
Keep working for it, and
YOU WILL SEE,
YOU DO HAVE THE ABILITY,
YOU JUST GOT
TO BELIEVE!!!!
AVOID SELFISHNESS, and
CARELESSNESS, and
ALL OF THE ABOVE,
Do your VERY, VERY BEST,
I AM SAYING THIS TO
YOU WITH LOVE!!!!
THE THINGS that we ENDURE,
with AGILITY, and with STRIFE,
the CHALLENGES that we FACE,
THESE ARE THE BATTLES OF LIFE!!!


B.R.
Date: 6/29/2025
 49° 
Carlo C Gomez
A quiet
young woman
in a library
reading books
with diagrams
of bomb shelters
and *** positions

She's thinking
of her future
 49° 
Nat Lipstadt
Do not stand
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย By my grave, and weep.
ย ย ย ย  I am not there,
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย I do not sleepโ€”
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morningโ€™s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
ย ย ย ย  Do not stand
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย By my grave, and cryโ€”
ย ย ย ย  I am not there,
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย I did not die.
โ€”โ€ŠClare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_Not_Stand_at_My_Grave_and_Weep
 46° 
Jimmy silker
You can't outrun
The post office
They've got their tendrils
Everywhere
You see what they done
To them poor
Sub posters
The Stasi
Took more care
 44° 
Victor Hugo
I.

Bien ! pillards, intrigants, fourbes, crรฉtins, puissances !
Attablez-vous en hรขte autour des jouissances !
Accourez ! place ร  tous !
Maรฎtres, buvez, mangez, car la vie est rapide.
Tout ce peuple conquis, tout ce peuple stupide,
Tout ce peuple est ร  vous !

Vendez l'รฉtat ! coupez les bois ! coupez les bourses !
Videz les rรฉservoirs et tarissez les sources !
Les temps sont arrivรฉs.
Prenez le dernier sou ! prenez, gais et faciles,
Aux travailleurs des champs, aux travailleurs des villes !
Prenez, riez, vivez !

Bombance ! allez ! c'est bien ! vivez ! faites ripaille !
La famille du pauvre expire sur la paille,
Sans porte ni volet.
Le pรจre en frรฉmissant va mendier dans l'ombre ;
La mรจre n'ayant plus de pain, dรฉnรปment sombre,
L'enfant n'a plus de lait.

II.

Millions ! millions ! chรขteaux ! liste civile !
Un jour je descendis dans les caves de Lille
Je vis ce morne enfer.
Des fantรดmes sont lร  sous terre dans des chambres,
Blรชmes, courbรฉs, ployรฉs ; le rachis tord leurs membres
Dans son poignet de fer.

Sous ces voรปtes on souffre, et l'air semble un toxique
L'aveugle en tรขtonnant donne ร  boire au phtisique
L'eau coule ร  longs ruisseaux ;
Presque enfant ร  vingt ans, dรฉjร  vieillard ร  trente,
Le vivant chaque jour sent la mort pรฉnรฉtrante
S'infiltrer dans ses os.

Jamais de feu ; la pluie inonde la lucarne ;
L'ล“il en ces souterrains oรน le malheur s'acharne
Sur vous, รด travailleurs,
Prรจs du rouet qui tourne et du fil qu'on dรฉvide,
Voit des larves errer dans la lueur livide
Du soupirail en pleurs.

Misรจre ! l'homme songe en regardant la femme.
Le pรจre, autour de lui sentant l'angoisse infรขme
Etreindre la vertu,
Voit sa fille rentrer sinistre sous la porte,
Et n'ose, l'ล“il fixรฉ sur le pain qu'elle apporte,
Lui dire : D'oรน viens-tu ?

Lร  dort le dรฉsespoir sur son haillon sordide ;
Lร , l'avril de la vie, ailleurs tiรจde et splendide,
Ressemble au sombre hiver ;
La vierge, rose au jour, dans l'ombre est violette ;
Lร , rampent dans l'horreur la maigreur du squelette,
La nuditรฉ du ver ;

Lร  frissonnent, plus bas que les รฉgouts des rues,
Familles de la vie et du jour disparues,
Des groupes grelottants ;
Lร , quand j'entrai, farouche, aux mรฉduses pareille,
Une petite fille ร  figure vieille
Me dit : J'ai dix-huit ans !

Lร , n'ayant pas de lit, la mรจre malheureuse
Met ses petits enfants dans un trou qu'elle creuse,
Tremblants comme l'oiseau ;
Hรฉlas ! ces innocents aux regards de colombe
Trouvent en arrivant sur la terre une tombe
En place d'un berceau !

Caves de Lille ! on meurt sous vos plafonds de pierre !
J'ai vu, vu de ces yeux pleurant sous ma paupiรจre,
Rรขler l'aรฏeul flรฉtri,
La fille aux yeux hagards de ses cheveux vรชtue,
Et l'enfant spectre au sein de la mรจre statue !
ร” Dante Alighieri !

C'est de ces douleurs-lร  que sortent vos richesses,
Princes ! ces dรฉnรปments nourrissent vos largesses,
ร” vainqueurs ! conquรฉrants !
Votre budget ruisselle et suinte ร  larges gouttes
Des murs de ces caveaux, des pierres de ces voรปtes,
Du cล“ur de ces mourants.

Sous ce rouage affreux qu'on nomme tyrannie,
Sous cette vis que meut le fisc, hideux gรฉnie,
De l'aube jusqu'au soir,
Sans trรชve, nuit et jour, dans le siรจcle oรน nous sommes
Ainsi que des raisins on รฉcrase des hommes,
Et l'or sort du pressoir.

C'est de cette dรฉtresse et de ces agonies,
De cette ombre, oรน jamais, dans les รขmes ternies,
Espoir, tu ne vibras,
C'est de ces bouges noirs pleins d'angoisses amรจres,
C'est de ce sombre amas de pรจres et de mรจres
Qui se tordent les bras,

Oui, c'est de ce monceau d'indigences terribles
Que les lourds millions, รฉtincelants, horribles,
Semant l'or en chemin,
Rampant vers les palais et les apothรฉoses,
Sortent, monstres joyeux et couronnรฉs de roses,
Et teints de sang humain !

III.

ร” paradis ! splendeurs ! versez ร  boire aux maรฎtres !
L'orchestre rit, la fรชte empourpre les fenรชtres,
La table รฉclate et luit ;
L'ombre est lร  sous leurs pieds ! les portes sont fermรฉes
La prostitution des vierges affamรฉes
Pleure dans cette nuit !

Vous tous qui partagez ces hideuses dรฉlices,
Soldats payรฉs, tribuns vendus, juges complices,
ร‰vรชques effrontรฉs,
La misรจre frรฉmit sous ce Louvre oรน vous รชtes !
C'est de fiรจvre et de faim et de mort que sont faites
Toutes vos voluptรฉs !

ร€ Saint-Cloud, effeuillant jasmins et marguerites,
Quand s'รฉbat sous les fleurs l'essaim des favorites,
Bras nus et gorge au vent,
Dans le festin qu'รฉgaie un lustre ร  mille branches,
Chacune, en souriant, dans ses belles dents blanches
Mange un enfant vivant !

Mais qu'importe ! riez ! Se plaindra-t-on sans cesse ?
Serait-on empereur, prรฉlat, prince et princesse,
Pour ne pas s'amuser ?
Ce peuple en larmes, triste, et que la faim dรฉchire,
Doit รชtre satisfait puisqu'il vous entend rire
Et qu'il vous voit danser !

Qu'importe ! Allons, emplis ton coffre, emplis ta poche.
Chantez, le verre en main, Troplong, Sibour, Baroche !
Ce tableau nous manquait.
Regorgez, quand la faim tient le peuple en sa serre,
Et faites, au -dessus de l'immense misรจre,
Un immense banquet !

IV.

Ils marchent sur toi, peuple ! ร” barricade sombre,
Si haute hier, dressant dans les assauts sans nombre
Ton front de sang lavรฉ,
Sous la roue emportรฉe, รฉtincelante et folle,
De leur coupรฉ joyeux qui rayonne et qui vole,
Tu redeviens pavรฉ !

ร€ Cรฉsar ton argent, peuple ; ร  toi la famine.
N'es-tu pas le chien vil qu'on bat et qui chemine
Derriรจre son seigneur ?
ร€ lui la pourpre ; ร  toi la hotte et les guenilles.
Peuple, ร  lui la beautรฉ de ces femmes, tes filles,
ร€ toi leur dรฉshonneur !

V.

Ah ! quelqu'un parlera. La muse, c'est l'histoire.
Quelqu'un รฉlรจvera la voix dans la nuit noire.
Riez, bourreaux bouffons !
Quelqu'un te vengera, pauvre France abattue,
Ma mรจre ! et l'on verra la parole qui tue
Sortir des cieux profonds !

Ces gueux, pires brigands que ceux des vieilles races,
Rongeant le pauvre peuple avec leurs dents voraces,
Sans pitiรฉ, sans merci,
Vils, n'ayant pas de cล“ur, mais ayant deux visages,
Disent : - Bah ! le poรจte ! il est dans les nuages ! -
Soit. Le tonnerre aussi.

Le 19 janvier 1853.
 41° 
M
Te extraรฑo,
y me da coraje admitirlo.
Porque sรฉ que no lo mereces,
sรฉ que no hiciste nada para quedarte.

Pero igual,
me haces falta a veces.
No por lo que fuiste,
sino por lo que yo imaginรฉ contigo.

Me duelen tus silencios,
mรกs que tus palabras.
Porque yo te hablรฉ con el alma,
y tรบ solo mirabas la pantalla.

No deberรญa pensarte,
pero lo hago.
No deberรญa quererte,
pero hay dรญas que todavรญa lo siento.

Y aquรญ estoy,
luchando conmigo misma
para no buscarte,
aunque el corazรณn me pida que sรญ.
Te extraรฑo (aunque no deberรญa)
 39° 
Kathryn Heim
Compose the day
Suppose a ray
Propose the sun
Oppose no one.
๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘’ ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”๐‘  ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘š๐‘–๐‘›๐‘’, ๐‘”๐‘–๐‘“๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘๐‘ฆ ๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘Š๐‘–๐‘›๐‘‘, ๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ÿ๐‘ฆ ๐‘”๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ž๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘ข๐‘‘๐‘’.
๐ธ๐‘ฃ๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘ฆ ๐‘๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘Ÿ ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘Ž ๐‘ฃ๐‘œ๐‘ค ๐ผ โ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘ฃ๐‘’ ๐‘ ๐‘๐‘œ๐‘˜๐‘’๐‘›, ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘™๐‘Ž๐‘ ๐‘ก, ๐ผ ๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘› ๐‘“๐‘–๐‘›๐‘Ž๐‘™๐‘™๐‘ฆ ๐‘˜๐‘’๐‘’๐‘.
๐ด ๐‘ฃ๐‘œ๐‘ค ๐ผ ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘” ๐‘ก๐‘œ ๐‘š๐‘Ž๐‘˜๐‘’, ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘”โ„Ž ๐ผ ๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘™๐‘™ ๐‘™๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘˜ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘ค๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ๐‘‘๐‘ .

๐ด๐‘™๐‘๐‘ฆ๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘’, ๐‘ โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘–๐‘‘๐‘’ ๐‘š๐‘’.
๐‘๐‘œ๐‘ก ๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘œ๐‘ฃ๐‘’.
๐‘๐‘œ ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘”๐‘’๐‘Ÿ ๐‘Ž๐‘ค๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”.
๐‘๐‘œ๐‘ค, ๐‘ โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘›๐‘’๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘ก ๐‘ค๐‘’๐‘’๐‘.
๐‘๐‘œ๐‘ค, ๐‘ โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘™๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘‘๐‘ .
๐ด๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐ผ ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘™๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘ค, ๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘ก ๐‘Ž๐‘  ๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘๐‘ก, ๐‘๐‘ข๐‘ก ๐‘š๐‘ฆ ๐‘โ„Ž๐‘œ๐‘–๐‘๐‘’.

๐ผ ๐‘˜๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘ค ๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘ก ๐‘คโ„Ž๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘’ ๐‘ค๐‘’ ๐‘”๐‘œ.
๐ผ โ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘ฃ๐‘’ ๐‘›๐‘œ ๐‘›๐‘’๐‘’๐‘‘.
๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘›๐‘Ž๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘œ๐‘› ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”.
๐ป๐‘’๐‘Ÿ ๐‘๐‘œ๐‘š๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘ฆ, ๐‘’๐‘ฃ๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘ฆ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”.

๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘Š๐‘–๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘”๐‘Ž๐‘ฃ๐‘’ ๐‘š๐‘’ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘’ ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”๐‘ .
๐ด๐‘™๐‘๐‘ฆ๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘’ ๐‘”๐‘–๐‘ฃ๐‘’๐‘  ๐‘š๐‘’ ๐‘‘๐‘–๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘œ๐‘›.
๐น๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘ฃ๐‘’ ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘›๐‘œ ๐‘๐‘ข๐‘Ÿ๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘›, ๐‘›๐‘œ ๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘™๐‘’.
๐ผ๐‘ก ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘š๐‘ฆ ๐‘”๐‘ข๐‘–๐‘‘๐‘’.

๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘ก ๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘’.
๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘ก๐‘ข๐‘Ÿ๐‘›.
๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘โ„Ž๐‘œ๐‘œ๐‘ ๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”, ๐‘Ž๐‘”๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘›, ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘Ž๐‘”๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘›, ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘Ž๐‘”๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘›,
๐‘‡๐‘œ ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘™๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘ค ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘’ ๐‘คโ„Ž๐‘œ ๐‘›๐‘’๐‘ฃ๐‘’๐‘Ÿ ๐‘™๐‘’๐‘ก ๐‘”๐‘œ.

๐ด๐‘™๐‘๐‘ฆ๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘’, ๐‘ฆ๐‘œ๐‘ข ๐‘ค๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘‘. ๐‘Œ๐‘œ๐‘ข ๐‘ ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘โ„Ž๐‘’๐‘‘. ๐‘Œ๐‘œ๐‘ข ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘โ„Ž๐‘’๐‘‘. ๐‘Œ๐‘œ๐‘ข ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘๐‘ข๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘š๐‘’.
๐ผ ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘™๐‘™ ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘™๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘ค ๐‘ฆ๐‘œ๐‘ข, ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘”โ„Ž ๐‘’๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘›๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘ฆ.
๐ด๐‘  ๐‘ค๐‘’ ๐‘“๐‘™๐‘ฆ, ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘”๐‘’๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’๐‘Ÿ, ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘ค๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘‘ ๐‘คโ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘‡๐‘–๐‘‘๐‘’ ๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘ก ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘โ„Ž.
๐‘‡๐‘œ๐‘ค๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘‘ ๐‘™๐‘–๐‘๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ž๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘œ๐‘›,

๐‘‚๐‘› ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘’ ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”๐‘  ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘“๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘’๐‘‘๐‘œ๐‘š.



๐‡๐ž ๐Ÿ๐ฅ๐ข๐ž๐ฌ.
๐๐ž๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ž ๐ฆ๐ž. ๐๐จ๐ญ ๐›๐ž๐ก๐ข๐ง๐. ๐๐จ๐ญ ๐›๐ž๐œ๐š๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž ๐ก๐ž ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ญโ€” ๐›๐ฎ๐ญ ๐›๐ž๐œ๐š๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฐ๐ก๐š๐ญ ๐ก๐ž ๐ก๐š๐ฌ ๐š๐ฅ๐ฐ๐š๐ฒ๐ฌ ๐๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ฆ๐ž๐ ๐จ๐Ÿ. ๐–๐ก๐š๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ž ๐ก๐š๐ฏ๐ž ๐›๐จ๐ญ๐ก ๐›๐ž๐ž๐ง ๐ฐ๐š๐ข๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐  ๐Ÿ๐จ๐ซ. ๐–๐ก๐š๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ž ๐ก๐š๐ฏ๐ž ๐ž๐š๐ซ๐ง๐ž๐.

๐…๐š๐ญ๐žโ€” ๐จ๐ก ๐…๐š๐ญ๐ž. ๐˜๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฌ๐ญ.

๐๐ž๐œ๐š๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฏ๐ž ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐š ๐ฅ๐ž๐š๐ฌ๐ก. ๐๐ž๐œ๐š๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž ๐“๐ก๐ž ๐“๐ข๐๐ž ๐œ๐š๐ง๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐œ๐ฅ๐š๐ข๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ก๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐ฐ๐ก๐จ ๐ซ๐ž๐Ÿ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฒ๐ข๐ž๐ฅ๐.

๐ˆ ๐ฐ๐š๐ข๐ญ๐ž๐. ๐ˆ ๐ฐ๐ž๐ฉ๐ญ. ๐๐ฎ๐ญ ๐ˆ ๐ง๐ž๐ฏ๐ž๐ซ ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ซ๐ž๐ง๐๐ž๐ซ๐ž๐. ๐ˆ ๐ฌ๐ž๐š๐ซ๐œ๐ก๐ž๐โ€” ๐›๐ž๐œ๐š๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž ๐ˆ ๐ค๐ง๐ž๐ฐ. ๐ˆ ๐ค๐ง๐ž๐ฐ ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐ก๐ž๐š๐ซ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ž๐ง๐๐ฎ๐ซ๐ž. ๐ˆ ๐ค๐ง๐ž๐ฐ ๐ก๐ž ๐ฐ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ซ๐ž๐ญ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ง.
๐…๐จ๐ซ ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐œ๐ก ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐จ๐ง๐ ๐ž๐ซ ๐ญ๐ก๐š๐ง ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐ž ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐œ๐ž๐ซ๐ญ๐š๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐ฒ, ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐จ๐ง๐ ๐ž๐ซ ๐ญ๐ก๐š๐ง ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐œ๐ฒ๐œ๐ฅ๐ž๐ฌ, ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐จ๐ง๐ ๐ž๐ซ ๐ญ๐ก๐š๐ง ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎโ€”

๐ˆ๐ฌ ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐Ÿ๐š๐ข๐ญ๐ก.

๐“๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฐ๐ก๐š๐ญ ๐ฏ๐ข๐œ๐ญ๐จ๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ฅ๐จ๐จ๐ค๐ฌ ๐ฅ๐ข๐ค๐ž. ๐๐จ ๐ญ๐ก๐ซ๐จ๐ง๐ž. ๐๐จ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ข๐ฌ๐จ๐ง๐ž๐ซ๐ฌ. ๐๐จ ๐œ๐ฅ๐š๐ข๐ฆ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐จ๐ฅ๐ž๐ง ๐ญ๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ž๐ฌ. ๐Ž๐ง๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌโ€”

๐€ ๐ฌ๐ก๐š๐ซ๐ž๐ ๐ก๐จ๐ซ๐ข๐ณ๐จ๐ง.

๐“๐ฐ๐จ ๐ฌ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ฌ. ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ž๐โ€”๐ง๐ž๐ฏ๐ž๐ซ ๐›๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐.ย ๐ˆ๐ง ๐Ÿ๐ฅ๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ. ๐“๐จ๐ฐ๐š๐ซ๐ ๐Ÿ๐ซ๐ž๐ž๐๐จ๐ฆ. ๐“๐จ๐ฐ๐š๐ซ๐ ๐ž๐ญ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ.

๐Ž๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ž๐ฌ๐ž ๐ฐ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐ฎ๐ง๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ.



๐‘พ๐’† ๐’‚๐’“๐’† ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‡๐’๐’†๐’†๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ. ๐‘พ๐’† ๐’‚๐’“๐’† ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‘๐’“๐’†๐’š.

๐‘พ๐’† ๐’“๐’Š๐’”๐’†โ€” ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‹๐’–๐’”๐’• ๐’‡๐’“๐’๐’Ž ๐’…๐’‚๐’๐’ˆ๐’†๐’“, ๐’ƒ๐’–๐’• ๐’•๐’๐’˜๐’‚๐’“๐’… ๐’‘๐’“๐’๐’Ž๐’Š๐’”๐’†.

๐‘ป๐’‰๐’† ๐‘พ๐’Š๐’๐’… ๐’Š๐’” ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’”๐’Š๐’๐’†๐’๐’•. ๐‘ฏ๐’† ๐’”๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ๐’” ๐’๐’‡ ๐’”๐’†๐’„๐’๐’๐’… ๐’„๐’‰๐’‚๐’๐’„๐’†๐’”.

๐‘ฏ๐’Š๐’” ๐’”๐’Œ๐’š ๐’‰๐’๐’๐’…๐’” ๐’–๐’”, ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‚๐’” ๐’‡๐’–๐’ˆ๐’Š๐’•๐’Š๐’—๐’†๐’”, ๐’ƒ๐’–๐’• ๐’‚๐’” ๐’‰๐’Š๐’” ๐’‡๐’“๐’Š๐’†๐’๐’…๐’”.

๐‘พ๐’† ๐’…๐’ ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‚๐’”๐’Œ ๐’˜๐’‰๐’†๐’“๐’† ๐’•๐’‰๐’† ๐’”๐’Œ๐’š ๐’†๐’๐’…๐’”. ๐‘พ๐’† ๐’๐’†๐’†๐’… ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’Œ๐’๐’๐’˜.

๐‘พ๐’† ๐’…๐’ ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’๐’๐’๐’Œ ๐’ƒ๐’‚๐’„๐’Œ ๐’•๐’ ๐’˜๐’‰๐’†๐’“๐’† ๐‘ป๐’‰๐’† ๐‘บ๐’†๐’‚ ๐’”๐’„๐’“๐’†๐’‚๐’Ž๐’†๐’…. ๐‘พ๐’† ๐’‚๐’๐’“๐’†๐’‚๐’…๐’š ๐’Œ๐’๐’๐’˜.

๐‘ด๐’๐’“๐’† ๐’Š๐’Ž๐’‘๐’๐’“๐’•๐’‚๐’๐’• ๐’•๐’‰๐’‚๐’ ๐’•๐’‰๐’‚๐’•โ€” ๐’˜๐’† ๐’Œ๐’๐’๐’˜ ๐’˜๐’‰๐’ ๐’‡๐’๐’Š๐’†๐’” ๐’ƒ๐’†๐’”๐’Š๐’…๐’† ๐’–๐’”.

๐‘ป๐’‰๐’† ๐’”๐’๐’‡๐’• ๐’ˆ๐’“๐’‚๐’„๐’† ๐’๐’‡ ๐’…๐’†๐’‡๐’Š๐’‚๐’๐’„๐’†. ๐‘ป๐’‰๐’† ๐’‡๐’Š๐’†๐’“๐’„๐’† ๐’…๐’†๐’•๐’†๐’“๐’Ž๐’Š๐’๐’‚๐’•๐’Š๐’๐’ ๐’๐’‡ ๐’‘๐’‚๐’•๐’Š๐’†๐’๐’„๐’†.

๐‘พ๐’† ๐’‡๐’๐’š ๐’Š๐’ ๐’–๐’๐’Š๐’•๐’š. ๐‘ป๐’‰๐’† ๐‘ป๐’Š๐’…๐’† ๐’„๐’‚๐’๐’๐’๐’• ๐’“๐’†๐’‚๐’„๐’‰ ๐’–๐’” ๐’‰๐’†๐’“๐’†.

๐‘ป๐’‰๐’† ๐’‰๐’๐’“๐’Š๐’›๐’๐’ ๐’ƒ๐’†๐’๐’…๐’” ๐’ƒ๐’†๐’๐’†๐’‚๐’•๐’‰ ๐’๐’–๐’“ ๐’˜๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ๐’”โ€” ๐’‚ ๐’•๐’‰๐’“๐’†๐’”๐’‰๐’๐’๐’… ๐’ƒ๐’†๐’•๐’˜๐’†๐’†๐’ ๐’Ž๐’†๐’Ž๐’๐’“๐’š ๐’‚๐’๐’… ๐’Ž๐’†๐’‚๐’๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ.

๐‘จ๐’” ๐’˜๐’† ๐’‚๐’“๐’“๐’Š๐’—๐’†. ๐‘จ๐’• ๐’‚ ๐’‡๐’‚๐’Ž๐’Š๐’๐’Š๐’‚๐’“ ๐’‘๐’๐’‚๐’„๐’†.

๐‘ป๐’‰๐’† ๐’ƒ๐’“๐’Š๐’…๐’ˆ๐’†โ€” ๐’˜๐’๐’“๐’. ๐‘พ๐’†๐’‚๐’•๐’‰๐’†๐’“๐’†๐’…. ๐‘บ๐’•๐’Š๐’๐’ ๐’”๐’•๐’‚๐’๐’…๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ.

๐‘จ๐’๐’… ๐’–๐’‘๐’๐’ ๐’Š๐’•โ€” ๐’‚ ๐’‡๐’‚๐’Ž๐’Š๐’๐’Š๐’‚๐’“ ๐’‡๐’Š๐’ˆ๐’–๐’“๐’†. ๐‘ต๐’๐’• ๐’„๐’๐’๐’‚๐’Œ๐’†๐’… ๐’Š๐’ ๐’•๐’‰๐’“๐’†๐’‚๐’•, ๐’ƒ๐’–๐’• ๐’Š๐’ ๐’”๐’•๐’Š๐’๐’๐’๐’†๐’”๐’”.

๐‘ซ๐’†๐’‚๐’•๐’‰.

๐‘ต๐’ ๐’ƒ๐’๐’‚๐’…๐’† ๐’Š๐’ ๐’‰๐’‚๐’๐’…. ๐‘ต๐’ ๐’”๐’–๐’Ž๐’Ž๐’๐’๐’” ๐’๐’ ๐’‰๐’Š๐’” ๐’•๐’๐’๐’ˆ๐’–๐’†. ๐‘ถ๐’๐’๐’š ๐’”๐’Š๐’๐’†๐’๐’„๐’†. ๐‘จ๐’๐’… ๐’”๐’๐’Ž๐’†๐’•๐’‰๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ ๐’„๐’๐’๐’”๐’† ๐’•๐’ ๐’“๐’†๐’„๐’๐’ˆ๐’๐’Š๐’•๐’Š๐’๐’.

๐‘พ๐’† ๐’…๐’†๐’”๐’„๐’†๐’๐’…. ๐‘พ๐’† ๐’๐’‚๐’๐’… ๐’ƒ๐’†๐’”๐’Š๐’…๐’† ๐’‰๐’Š๐’Ž.

๐‘ต๐’ ๐’˜๐’‚๐’“๐’๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ. ๐‘ต๐’ ๐’„๐’‰๐’‚๐’๐’๐’†๐’๐’ˆ๐’†. ๐‘ถ๐’๐’๐’š ๐’‘๐’“๐’†๐’”๐’†๐’๐’„๐’†.

๐‘ฏ๐’† ๐’…๐’๐’†๐’” ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’”๐’‘๐’†๐’‚๐’Œ. ๐‘พ๐’† ๐’…๐’ ๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‡๐’†๐’‚๐’“.

๐‘ซ๐’†๐’‚๐’•๐’‰, ๐’˜๐’๐’โ€™๐’• ๐’š๐’๐’– ๐’๐’†๐’• ๐’–๐’” ๐’•๐’ ๐’Œ๐’†๐’†๐’‘ ๐’š๐’๐’– ๐’„๐’๐’Ž๐’‘๐’‚๐’๐’š, ๐’˜๐’‰๐’Š๐’๐’† ๐’š๐’๐’– ๐’˜๐’‚๐’Š๐’•?


๐‘ฐ๐’ ๐’‚๐’๐’ ๐’š๐’๐’–๐’“ ๐’„๐’๐’๐’‡๐’–๐’”๐’Š๐’๐’, ๐‘ฐ๐’ ๐’‚๐’๐’ ๐’š๐’๐’–๐’“ ๐’‘๐’‚๐’Š๐’โ€”

๐‘พ๐’† ๐’„๐’‚๐’โ€™๐’• ๐’ˆ๐’Š๐’—๐’† ๐’š๐’๐’– ๐’Ž๐’–๐’„๐’‰,

๐‘ฉ๐’–๐’• ๐’๐’‡ ๐’„๐’๐’–๐’“๐’”๐’†, ๐’˜๐’† ๐’„๐’‚๐’ ๐’”๐’‰๐’‚๐’“๐’†,

๐‘ช๐’๐’Ž๐’‘๐’‚๐’๐’Š๐’๐’๐’”๐’‰๐’Š๐’‘.
The twelfth bond shared, by ๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘Š๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”๐‘  ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘Š๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”.

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
 38° 
Arpitha
I listen to pink floyd when Iโ€™m happy
Trust me, you donโ€™t want to know what I listen to when Iโ€™m sad

I talk to all my friends when Iโ€™m happy
But itโ€™s only my demons that keep me company when Iโ€™m sad

I take pictures of my life when Iโ€™m happy
And I delete them all when Iโ€™m sad

My heart skips a beat when Iโ€™m happy
But It makes sure to catch up when Iโ€™m sad

My mind bursts with dreams when Iโ€™m happy
Replacing them all with nightmares when Iโ€™m sad

I feel all the love in the world when Iโ€™m happy
Oh why canโ€™t I see it when Iโ€™m sad

You see, I write poems only when Iโ€™m sad
Because Iโ€™m way too busy dancing when Iโ€™m not
 38° 
CJ Sutherland
Most go through the motions daily
without thinking Sunday 8:30 AM
Walking the park with my dog
I noticed something that seemed off
The kind of thing you canโ€™t put your finger on
Itโ€™s a feeling a thought something
that made me turn and look again

A White middle-aged man heavyset
Wearing a white ill fitted dress shirt,
a red tieย ย Solid black dress slacks
Itโ€™s Sunday OK I could believe that
He had the hand of a little girl five maybe six
She was dressed in really shortย Daisy Duke jeans
A white tank top with flowers
Her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail
Low at the base of her neck

Her head forward eyes fixed the ground
When somebody passes by I give the
Standard Greeting Hello good morning.
He replied good morning.

Itโ€™s what the child did behind her back.
That panicked me to the core
I needed to see it once more
She had left hand behind her back, her thumb in towards touching her palm
She was moving her little fingers in and out
Slow determination with urgency first,
I wasnโ€™t sure what I saw

She looked over her shoulder
Then quickly , looked down at her hand,
Returning it behind her back and then
Glancing at him afraid he might see
head forward eyes to the ground
****** features emotionless frown
Not a word spoke, but you saw
something in her eyesย ย Fear
Almost a tear
The movements of the hand quicker
Fingers wider thicker
each time she looked behind at me
Attempting to get my to see
There was no interaction between
the adult male and the child except
for his controlling grip on her right hand

Next to the swings
There was this makeshift square blue tarps
Fashioned into an enclosure
He extended his hand and the hand of the little girl towards the enclosure.. A hand emerged from the within without the rest of the person being seen.
Again, her hand quickly extending and closing wildly gesturing now frantically apparent
The little girl disappeared in the enclosure

The man maintained distance waiting in silence
There were two young adult white, male and female, tattoos up and down their arms with them
Three children all boys, different ages Iโ€™m guessing
7,9,10ย ย silent
They did not wiggle, or giggle .they did not do anything, but stand perfectly still.
Honestly I did not notice that at first.
My mind was fixated on the little girl

I approached them and said do you see that man and the little girl?ย ย something seems off.
I explained to them about the distress hand signal
Taught to the children in schools in case they were ever abducted weโ€™re in a situation they felt they could not speak and weโ€™re not safe.

The young adult female unfazed said well heโ€™s part of our church. Not They (the little girl) but Heโ€™s
I said somethingโ€™s off. I hope Iโ€™m wrong
but thereโ€™s something wrong with this picture.
The the young adult woman offered no explanation or seemed concerned for the little girlโ€™s safety .

The young adult man said nothing looked away avoiding eye contact
Theย three boys kept their heads
forward eyes downward
The park was empty
There was not a group of church people around
the park, it was this couple, the three boys and the man with a girl. All white.
I am not one who looks at color
however the police need
A full accurate description

I turned to the man standing there
waiting for the little girl and said
What church are you with?
He replied, LDS
I looked right in his eyes and said
that girl is in distress. Thereโ€™s something wrong.. He didnโ€™t say a word. He didnโ€™t express concern.
. His mannerism was rigid.
My heart already pounding.

I wasnโ€™t sure what to do.
I told him somethingโ€˜s feels wrong
I offered him an opening to ease my suspicion
If everything was fine,
A normal response wouldโ€™ve been
Him yelling, telling me off or
to mind my own business or
To reassure me, everything is fine Or
At least to ask me why I feel this way

Silence was not the correct response for the situation that I was escalating. I wasnโ€™t yelling.
My voice was excited and loud I was shaking
This is where I made a mistake that could have caused those children their lives
I told him Iโ€™m going to make the call still nothing
I walked away and I was on the phone with 911

Looking right at the man
describing his features To 911 dispatch
I should not have alerted them that I was calling the police that gave them ample time
to Leave To get away

My husband said they would not do anything in broad daylight too much exposure

When the police got there, of course they were gone. That little girlโ€˜s face etched in my memory
silent rage behind her fearful eyes.I failed her.
The police asked was the dad abusing the girl
He did not say he was the father. I told the police.
I didnโ€™t witnessed any physical abuse.
Then what made you think something was wrong?

The little girl was doing that hand gesture they teach the children in school if theyโ€™re abducted or somethingโ€™s not right oh, he said.
as if not fully impressed. I said Iโ€™ve been coming to this park for over 20 years. I have children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I know when somethingโ€˜s off and there was something off with that little girl.

We were finishing our walk as the Police Man investigated minutes only the whole situation plays over in my mind..ย ย had I been more inquisitive to see what car they drove.
LDS little girls donโ€™t dress like that
especially on Sunday.

I wonder
What was behind that Blue square tarp enclosures. Who was the person that pulled her in?

Thereโ€™s a group of people who said on the bench passing out flyers for their church the watchtower. I told them about what I observed, and one of the ladies was quick to say just because that man said he was LDS doesnโ€™t mean he really was and she started to tell me everything wrong with that picture. Another man at the market walking me to my car stated he saw a man dress like that. Itโ€™s one of the scams they use their dress like a business person saying theyโ€™re out of gas. They left their wallet at home whatever the story is very but theyโ€™re dressed like business men so they donโ€™t appear homeless and are more likely to get what they want or to be seen blending in. The store clerk said stay away from those guys theyโ€™re evil.

This is a cautionary tale. We need to be observant to our surroundings childrenโ€™s lives are at stake.
The children in the school district are taught survival should you get lost in the wilderness in May? They go for a week at West camp. Theyโ€™re taught how they could survive with a pine tree eating the bark drinking pine tea noodles where is north south east and west and what to look for when lost Basic survival. They are also taught in the event. They are abducted. You put your hand behind your back put your thumb towards your palm and you move your finger in and out when you canโ€™t use your words this movement behind your back can alert people walking by that youโ€™re not safe. Thereโ€™s actually a corridor that starts in Sacramento works its way up towards our area trafficโ€˜s the children in our small community and using our hotels and taking them up to Reno in Vegas never to be seen again. Itโ€™s called the look twice program. Only one time had I experienced this in our Market. Looked about 13 or 14 year-old Dressed in a **** Catholic school outfit thigh, high socks, really short skirt and a white button up blouse. But what really gave it away was the wig she was wearing it looked like the wig of a middle-aged woman. And having children and grandchildren, her attire would never be permitted in school. She was standing by the ice cream. I went up to her and asked her if she was OK and I was gonna get some ice cream for my grandchildren and what kind would be a good kind before she could say a word this man came and grabbed her and pulled her forcibly down the aisle. By the time I got up to the front desk, there were six other concerned parents, the police were called. The child was saved, and the man was put in jail the look twice program,
That was years ago. I certainly have never come across something with children so young I am one that minds my own business but when it comes to children, Iโ€™m a grandma the whole thing just gives a sick pit in my stomach, wondering where those children are tonight.
 36° 
rick
itโ€™s sad to say
that nowadays
a smile
is more often
used
to hide depression
rather than
express
happiness.
 35° 
Kalliope
You look so pretty when you're talking to me,
and just for a second, I want to see what you see.
'Cause if you saw yourself in the way that I do,
you'd realize your worth-
and maybe I'd realize mine too
If I let you borrow my eyes, would you return them unscathed?
 35° 
Lyle
I was okay for so long
I should've known it would go wrong
They call the ship 'Burden,'
An indestructible vessel,
Rival to the monsters of the sea.
It's exactly what the people needed,
For you see,
In the depths lurked a beast.
Eighty tentacles, four trade ships tall and wide,
A hundred-thirty teeth when it's smile lied.
They called it, "Kraken."
It was nothing of the likes you've seen,
Emperor of the dark sea.

The Burden could hold fifteen hundred men,
Arming harpoons, cannons, muskets, wit.
The king ordered them to turn the seas red with gore,
Call forth the Kraken,
Strike it dead.
Then to the king,
They would drag back it's head.

So come high-noon,
The ship was in place,
Above the deepest of sea caves.
Letting forth crates of bait,
Staining the waters of the sea,
Until the sailors heard a rumble,
Shake the Burden's iron shell.

Up from the waters came long river's hell,
Tentacles like spires towering well beyond the sails.
But the crew held steady,
"Tighten the ropes, arm our cannons,"
Cried the captain,
"Then fire!"
The seas filled with blood,
The sky filled with gunpowder, fractured shells,
A shriek rang out from the deeps.
The cry of death,
From the Kraken itself.
Tentacles sinking away,
"The head!" Cried the captian,
So Lutenent Lucus dived after the creature.

Tied by a rope,
Pike in hand,
The creature's head,
He began to drag.
Though, glancing over his shoulder,
Through the murk he could see,
The form of a woman swimming away.
Some curse broken, he decided,
A soul freed from grim reality.

Peace.
I love a good sea fairing story!
 30° 
Rastislav
power is not force. it is presence that doesnโ€™t leave.
(the one who stands and is drawn towards โ€” not by command, but by gravity.)


i do not command โ€”
i endure.
i do not move.
i remain โ€”
and so, draw.

not with force,
but with gravity โ€”
the name silence wears
when someone listens
long enough.

i am not flame.
i am the hand
that might one day
be lifted.

power is not possession.
it is presence
that does not flee
when you need
to be seen.

โ‹ฏ

you do not ask โ€”
but wish to be held.
you are not pleading,
you are forming โ€”
a shape unfinished,
already breathing.

you do not surrender.
you open โ€”
like a hand
where a name
wants to rest.

this is not weakness.
this is the dignity
of being known.
 29° 
dread
The last one
keeps being the hardest,
like if somehow this night
were the darkest

but I'm smiling,
I'm singing,
aren't we happy

I guess, it's just a mess,
and I must be wrong,
could you really let go

because I really couldn't
not for a lifetime and the next
and now
when I think, I dream

it's all just you and me.
 28° 
Left Foot Poet
โ€œIn some office sits a poet,
and he trembles as he sings,
and he asks some guy,
to circulate his soul aroundโ€
Joni Mitchell

<>

joni:
your both sides
then andย ย now,
was my guiding glasses
for a life of motley loving
and love, gained, pained,
lost and found
as a younger man,
andย now, as old soul
with rear view perspective,
the glasses tinted transition grey,
(matching his pallor, his hair.
his transient perspective,
trembling fingers as he writes,
with humility,
0
pleeze circulate these
decoded words
mate them out of clay
hopingย ย come new daylight
one or two, even a few
will lend a rosy thistle, blow softly
an encouraging breeze
upon this poem
the freedom to burn into
glowing embers
in our circulating worlds
of pass/fail
itโ€™s my mere soul
you pass judgement
with a hint of tasteful scents
on
and beyond
with an
honorable push
your mentioned
breath,
guiding them
to the currents
where poems go to
blossom
Nov โ€˜ 24
 28° 
onlylovepoetry
~Especially For our own poet, Immortality~

we all dream for a few seconds,
mostly when we are younger,
like, say, s e v e n t e e n, that
something, we might be~come,
known for, perhaps even believing
our names|our poems might be read,
a hundred and one years onโ€ฆ


periodic, episodic,doesnโ€™t last long,
though it
does get repeated every
now and then, andย ย then again,
each time, the notion disappears
faster, sure, better things to dream
about, better hopes more closely
held, tangible tasting, envisioning,
deserving for intensely scheming,
using that double edged

s~word,
realistic,
and even, in the
planning, scheminโ€™ dreaminโ€™
always a nagging fearinโ€™
can
they really
could come true


others fantasize,
that class of crazy dreamers,
standing at an airport gate,
hear a call out your name,
and someone will,
from behind, tap you on the
shoulder and asks, shyly


hey, you wouldnโ€™t be that person
who writes
poetry on HP?


unlikely of course, odds against,
whoa,
even worse
than winning a lottery jackpot prize

but then again, surprise always
favors biting you on,
well, them tender places,
and a day comes,
whenย ย a younger poet, amazes, takes the time,
makes the effort to look up your older
writs, languishing in bits of bytes on an
unknown server, agedย ย graying from
relentless time,
and the absence of eyes,
being read, thereby re~realized,
revitalized,
visualized, inhaling light+ air,
away wiping
the dust and webs ofย ย suffered mortality
and, that silly notion escapes it grave,
and you writer, run into an encounter
with an old fantasy, resurrected and
you too reread that old poem, issuing
voluble ****!, not half bad, and restoring
that momentary potent potentiality of
it
surviving past the beyond date of expiry,
and then, another is read, & another,
swallowing a pill stronger
than a a Doctorsโ€™s best guess forecast
of 20 more years youโ€™ll live,
for an actualized prophecy now
is tangent tangible,
like mouth to mouth-resuscitation
and you, unusually,
think once more about tomorrow,
exhaling the headyatmosphere
of a rainy forest,
well appreciating, laughing at the future,
for here, she has shared butย penned
but twenty four original poems,

me,
thousands open and disguised, and my newly formed grin is now for her,
forย now my breath and its baggage of a fantasy, may
be coming her
reality realized?


and I will surely still be an
avid cheerleader
for her, for you, a
devoted
follower-in-absentia
 27° 
Karen
Soft butterfly wings
Caught upon a spider's web -
Entangled the heart
 27° 
Rastislav
i do not touch. i breathe near enough for you to imagine it.
(somewhere between leash and language โ€” i unlearn hiding.)


i do not touch.
but breath comes close enough
to become memory.

you move,
but itโ€™s your chest
that confesses.

nothing happens,
but your bones shift
like something did.
thatโ€™s enough.
thatโ€™s control โ€”
the kind you want
to call yours.

my hands stay
where they are.
but the room doesnโ€™t.

you say my name
like an accident.
i answer
like a consequence.

they ask what i am.
i say:
not a man.
not a woman.
not a prayer.
a door that only opens
if you stop asking.

โ‹ฏ

this is not asking.
this is return.
your shadow pressed
against mine
without needing names

i am not waiting.
i am already yours โ€”
in the way silence owns
a scream
that never got out.

donโ€™t call it submission.
call it:
the warmth of being seen
& not corrected.
ฦƒuแด‰ส‡ษ”วษนษนoษ” ส‡ou &
uววs ฦƒuแด‰วq ษŸo ษฏษนษส วษฅส‡
:ส‡แด‰ llษษ”

somewhere between leash
and language โ€”
i unlearn hiding.
 27° 
Harry
still he wonders
if she remembers him too
yet not knowing
she wonders too
609 days
but i'll stop counting
i said 608 days ago
 26° 
Adaire Pointer
This is the hour, my dear ones

When it wishes to run, and has no ground to stand on

When its eyes widen in terror, and it still does not see

When it screams the loudest, and breathes the least

When it clutches the tightest, and weighs the most

Imaginary tether
Wishing for the lightness of a feather
As if it werenโ€™t escorted there
By its own two feet
 26° 
Nat Lipstadt
but not consecrated, nothing holy. 'bout me, excluding this bodies holies, by which I blatant blather re
my hole-ies,
the sane same places thru we ******,
intake
expiate
initiate
the most
intimate
intense
purely
human activities
breathing
excretion
speak
see
hear
make love
completely
hell
maybeย ย the
places
we get


consecrated

**** ain't that iron ironic

or is this just another con
centric to human existence
may 2035
advise typos
 23° 
Kyrie Hajashi
God bless the poets!
The pollinators they are!
The architects of the soul's garden,
The rain-bringer of sleeping seeds,
The ones who witness and testify
The pain of growth,
Applaud the blooming,
And invite the bees.
 23° 
Agnes de Lods
I flowed into the dark blue ocean of symbols.
Just yesterday,
I walked with heavy footsteps,
well-grounded.

But once again,
an irresistible force lifted me.
I wanted to see what was above.

Then I came back,
changed,
less happy,
a part of me scattered
in that an alternative universe.

Now, worlds overlapping appear,
The sun is shining with different light.
Words change their meaning.
The fog thickens so,
I can no longer see fissures
under my feet.

Step by step, carefully,
I try to pass through
a dimension of forgotten dreaming.

I donโ€™t want to be stuck
inside an illusion for too long.
Looking at my heart still glowing,
devoured by some voices,
bite by bite, crumb by crumb.

They come in need,
then dissolve like ghosts.

How can one love,
under the heavy weight of knowingโ€”
with Lapis Lazuli pressed
against my chest?

I donโ€™t want to vanish
into sticky spider webs
into formal language  
that is too cold,
too detached.

Two forces fight inside me
To see the truth, even if it hurts,
or to close my eyes,
and idealize brutal reality.

Looking in the distorted mirror,
observing love quivering on the verge.
And thus, the Earth becomes the theater.

The cynical facades ******
with pretended freedom,
taking every hour,
every month,
every year,

into

PROGRESSIVE
DEโ€ฆHUMANIZATION
 22° 
Sherri Woodman
You are emotionally vacantย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ­ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย  thereย ย is no life in your eyesย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ­ย ย  Evenย ย from a slight distanceย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ­ ย ย ย  it'sย ย something you can't disguiseย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย  ย  Likeย ย aย stone wall, so coldย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ­ย ย ย ย ย ย ย  ย you'reย ย not even warm to the touchย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย  ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย  It'sย ย like you're being controlledย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ­ย ย ย ย  andย ย it'sย ย become way too muchย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ­ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย  ย Noย ย tears, no smiles, no sighsย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ­ย  ย ย ย  ย Isย ย there anyone home inside?
 21° 
Rafail
ะ“ะพั€ะพะด ะฝะต ะฟะพะฝะธะผะฐะตั‚ ะฟะพั‡ะตะผัƒ ะฝะธ ะปะตั‚ะพ
ะ—ะดั€ะฐะฒัั‚ะฒัƒะน ะฝะต ั€ะพะผะฐะฝั‚ะธั‡ะฝั‹ะน ะฒะตั‡ะตั€
ะŸั€ะพ ั‚ะพ, ั‡ั‚ะพ ะดะตั€ะตะฒัŒั ะดะฐะถะต ะฝะต ะบะพะปั‹ัˆัƒั‚ัั
ะ˜ั… ะณะฝะตั‚ ะบ ะทะตะผะปะต ัะธะปัŒะฝั‹ะน ะฒะตั‚ะตั€

ะ ะฐะทั€ะพะทะฝะตะฝะฝะพะต ะฝะฐ ะผะธะฝัƒั‚ัƒ ะฟะตั€ะตะดะฐะฒ
ะฃะบั€ั‹ะฒะฐะตั‚ ัะพั‚ะบะฐะฝะฝะพะต ะพั‰ัƒั‰ะตะฝะธะต
ะŸั€ะพ ัะธัะฝะธะต, ัะฟัƒัะบะฐัŽั‰ะตะตัั ะฟะพัะตั€ะตะดะธะฝะต ะทะฐัั‚ะปะฐะฒ
ะ˜ ะฟะตะปะตะฝะฐ ะฝะต ัั…ะพะดะธั‚, ะฝะต ั‡ัƒะฒัั‚ะฒัƒั ะตั‘ ัะพะผะฝะตะฝะธะต

ะžััะทะฐะตะผั‹ะน ะพั‚ ั„ะพะฝะฐั€ั ะฒะตั‡ะตั€ะพะผ ัะฒะตั‚
ะ—ะฐะผะธั€ะฐะตั‚, ะดะฒะธะถะตะฝะธั ะณะปะฐะทโ€™ะฐ ะฝะต ะทะฐัั‚ะธะปะฐะตั‚
ะŸะพะฝะธะผะฐะตั‚ ะฒัะต ะฝะต ะฟะพ ัะฒะพะตะผัƒ
ะ˜ ะฝะต ะพั‚ะฟัƒัะบะฐะตั‚ ะฝะธ ะบะฐะฟะปะธ ะตั‰ั‘ ัะฒะตั‚ะปั‹ะน ะผะพะผะตะฝั‚

ะะต ะฒะพะทะฝะธะบะฐะตั‚ ัะธะปัŒะฝะพะณะพ ะฝะฐะฟั€ัะถะตะฝะธั
ะคั€ะพะฝั‚ ะฝะต ะฟะตั€ะตะผะตั‰ะฐะตั‚ัั, ะพะฝ ะฒัะต ัะผะตัˆะฐะป
ะšะพะณะดะฐ ะฒ ะปะธัั‚ะฒะต ะฒะพะทะฝะธะบะฐะตั‚ ั‚ะพะผะฝะพะต ะฝะฐัั‚ั€ะพะตะฝะธะต
ะ˜ ะบะฐะบ-ะฑัƒะดั‚ะพ ะบะพะณะพ-ั‚ะพ ะบั‚ะพ-ั‚ะพ ัƒะถะต ัƒะทะฝะฐะป

ะะตะฒะทั€ะฐั‡ะฝะพะต ั‡ะตั€ะฝะพะต ะพัั‚ะฐะฝะพะฒะธะปะพััŒ ั ะฝะตะฑะตั
ะ—ะฐะฒะธััˆะตะต ะพะฑะปะฐะบะพะฒ ะฟั€ะพัั‚ั€ะฐะฝัั‚ะฒะพ
ะžะดัƒั…ะพั‚ะฒะพั€ะตะฝะฝะฐั ั‡ะตั€ะฝะฐั ัะตั€ะฐั ะฒะปะฐัั‚ัŒ
ะ’ะทัะปะฐ ะฒ ัะตะฑั ะฒัั‘, ั‡ั‚ะพะฑั‹ ะฝะฐะณะฝะตั‚ะฐะปะพััŒ

ะะตั‚ ะดะฐะถะต ัะธะฝะตะณะพ ะบัƒัะพั‡ะบะพะฒ, ะบะฐะบ ะฝะฐ ะทะฐั€ะต
ะขะฐะบะพะต ะฑั‹ะฒะฐะตั‚ ั‚ะพะปัŒะบะพ ะฒ ะดะฝะตะฒะฝะพะผ ะบะพะฝั†ะต,
ะฅะพั€ะพัˆะพ ั‡ั‚ะพ ะณัƒัั‚ะฐั ะปะธัั‚ะฒะฐ
ะŸะพะบะฐ ะฒะฝะธะทัƒ ัƒะบั€ั‹ะฒะฐะตั‚ ะดั€ัƒะณะธั… ะฟะพะป ัˆะฐะณะฐ

ะ”ะฐะฒะธั‚, ะฝะธะถะต ะพะฟัƒัะบะฐัััŒ ัะฒะตั‚ ะฝะต ะฟั€ะพั…ะพะดะธั‚
ะšั€ะพะผะต ัะปัƒั…ะพะฒ ะฝะธั‡ะตะณะพ ะฝะต ะดะพั…ะพะดะธั‚
ะ’ะฝะธะทัƒ ะฟั€ะพะดะพะปะถะฐัŽั‚ ะฒะตั€ะธั‚ัŒ ั‚ะพะปัŒะบะพ ะฒ ัะตะฑั
ะ”ะฐะถะต ัƒะฝะธั‡ั‚ะพะถะฐั ะฝะต ัะฒะพะธ ะฝะฐะดะณั€ะพะฑะธั

ะ”ั€ะฐะผะฐั‚ะธั‡ะตัะบะฐั ะฝะฐะฒะตั€ั…ัƒ ัั‚ะตะฝะฐ
ะะฐะบะพะฒะฐะปัŒะฝั ัั„ะพั€ะผะธั€ะพะฒะฐะปะฐััŒ ั€ะฐะทั€ะฐะทะธั‚ัŒัั
ะ”ะพะดัƒะผะฐะตั‚ัั ะฒะตััŒ ัะฒะตั‚ ะฒะพะฑั€ะฐั‚ัŒ,
ะšะพั‚ะพั€ั‹ะน ะดะพะปะถะตะฝ ะฑั‹ะป ะฒะฝะธะทัƒ ะพัะฒะตั‰ะฐั‚ัŒ

ะŸั€ะธั€ะพะดะฝะฐั ะณั€ะฐะฝะดะธะพะทะฝะพัั‚ัŒ ะธ ะฒะตั‡ะฝะฐั ะธะฝั‚ะพะฝะฐั†ะธั
ะžะฝะฐ ะฝะธะบะพะณะดะฐ ะฝะต ัะบะพั€ะฑะธั‚
ะ”ะพะปะณะธะน ะดะพะถะดัŒ ะฒ ะบะพะฝั†ะต ั‡ั‚ะพะฑั‹ ะฟั€ะตั€ะฒะฐั‚ัŒ
ะŸั€ะพ ะฝะตะฟะพะฝัั‚ะฝะพะต ะฒ ะฝะตะทะฝะฐะบะพะผั†ะต ะฒ ะฟะพั†ะตะปัƒะต
 21° 
Luke85
You found me washed up,
Iโ€™d fallen at sea,
Searching for an island,
Iโ€™d dreamed into being-
I was sure it was safe from all harm.

Half alive, you dragged me up and into the dunes,
Began to resuscitate me,
with nothing else,
but the sureness in your eyes.
My heart danced,
Yet my head stood still.

We tangled our threads,
I held your throat,
with electric hands,
Wrapped up in our own special place,
You were my fire in the rain.

And as the fires roared,
Sureness soared,
I jumped from my own skin,
With fear In my hands,
Strangled my self to death.
Put myself out,ย ย 
trampling upon the embers of us,

ย ย ย ย ย ย With the same old boots i had worn beforeย ย  you saved my life x x
 20° 
cay
her hair was dark , like the night
Of cloudless skies and starry nights;
And all thatโ€™s best of dark and bright
Met her eyes and stared right through;
i saw what she wanted
so i let her go, to cry to the heavens above
to Which heaven day denies.
i havent slept but i just felt melodramatic so-
really badly written and ill like fix it someday
 20° 
Zahra Ali
The sky was
cloaked
in gray.
the clouds
were weeping.
As I walked today,
tears began to
fall on meโ€”
and they made
me fertile.
I saw golden leaves
lying crushed,
flattened
by footsteps
that never paused.
Nature often
held me,
gently even when
she grieves,
And I wonderedโ€”
If God had told us
That fallen things
were sacred,
Would we
have loved
them better?
Would we
have tread
more lightly?
Seen beauty in
their break?
Found grace
In letting go?
Would we
have stopped
Before the
bruised thingsโ€”
Not out of pity,
But reverence?
On sharp stones
Lay orange
flowers,
Their sleep
just endingโ€”
As if they were
still dreaming
Of the sun.
And in their quiet,
Something
inside me
softened, tooโ€”
A stillness,
A small bloom,
A reminder
That even
broken things
wake beautifully.

๐ŸŒธ๐Ÿ
 20° 
Nat Lipstadt
~for M.C.C. ~
who sang me to sleep,
whenย my soul begged me for
sweet release,
just was lucky, I guess

"Mornings here with a coffee cup
Stories in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway"


<>
Been there, done that,
ritualized & compartmentalized
the essences of the routinized,
to measure the days of my life,

as small keepsakes,
charms and tokens on a bracelet,
jingle bo jangle,
when another be repeated,
the telling belling of
a โœ… of satisfying satisfaction,
<>
and I!ve been bone
marrowed & narrowed hell~married,
imprisoned until decisioned,
that no life was no life at all,
(take note! y'all y'all),
and I miss my dog's greetings,
and snoring while I'm wide awake,
always loved to drive too fast onย ย 
back country narrow lanes,
in my suburban shrunk
small suv,
with radio blaring, no need for
trucking on the Truckee,
been there, done that..
<>
in the small ways,
in the
small places,
take my slow going days my way,
and not no need
to rent borrowed uninfluenc-ed content
cause I custom built it in,
easy like, five easy pieces,
learned to make daisy peaces,
of the bright nights melding
with life affirming hot sunlight
and there is no bad time,
with a cold blue~ribbon
in my left,
my right grasping two O'clock
on my heart and steering wheel,
driving freedom fine,
Chapin~ Carpenter
on the stereo dial,
no set time,
just anytime,
rain or shine
for me and my poems
to *** together,
like old time,
any fine rhyming time,

together we flashback
to the sweet Release
from jail in 2008
<>
and break out a new one and clapย ย it onto the clasp
my bracelet of charmed
keepsakes,
like memories of
my old dog,ย thinking
one more time,
just got lucky

6/27/25
Mary Chapin Carpenter Lyrics
"Girl And Her Dog"

Everyone asks when you're growing up
Who do you want to be
I never had an answer, couldn't figure out
Why I couldn't see
Myself as some future other
No one's partner no one's mother
No one's answer no one's lover
Nobody but me

But the older I get the more I see
That more by itself never worked for me
Keeping it simple as it can be
Walking along just him and me
Mornings here with a coffee cup
Songs in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway

A long time ago I got married once
Didn't take long to find
That the words I heard coming out of his mouth
Were not the truthful kind
I thought about moving to LA
Maybe upstate or the UK
Anywhere as long as it's far away
From what I left behind

And the older I get the more I'm sure
That more by itself never was a cure
Some days I've got nothing to show for except
Walking the dog and walking the floor
Mornings here with a coffee cup
Stories in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway

In summer neighbors leave tomatoes
In fall dust coats your tires
Spring greens up every shadow
In December we lay a fire
I figure I'm finally old enough
To know who I want to be when I grow up
A girl and her dog riding in the truck
Wave as we're going by

Now the older I get the less I need
Just a good old dog underneath the trees
Keeping it simple as it can be
Fitting together like a puzzle piece
Mornings here with a coffee cup
Whistling for him while I'm looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway
 18° 
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
It came late in life. Poor no more and Peace on Earth forever. I spoke with everyone on Earth. They all became my friends. The poor, the crippled, the forgotten, all of them. We had a party, a worldwide party made beautiful by all the colors of skin. We danced different dances. We ate different foods. We shared different customs. We all prayed, each in his and her own religion. It was a festival of togetherness. All eschewed all weapons from guns to bombs. The air we all breathed was fresh and clean, as was the water we drank. It is possible to awaken truth, that all are sacred and divine. Live your life with love.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 18° 
Limes Carma
I didnโ€™t want to fall apart mid-sentence,
So I said less and asked more questions.
Tuned out love songs, skipped our street โ€”
I made avoiding you look complete.

I smile and nod when your name is mentioned,
As if it doesn't pull me out of the conversation
They throw it around casually, like it's not cutting right through โ€”
I guess I never got to cry out about you.

ยฉ Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
 18° 
pretzz
Timeless memories to make,
Writing them with silent ache.
Each blue has shown the truth,
Reviving every word with soothe.
 18° 
FoxCarcass
Days melt into each other
Like wax figures under the sun
Monday was four days ago
I could swear it was Tuesday today
8:00AM was one hour ago,
Itโ€™s 8:00PM
What did I eat today?
The pain of tomorrow
 18° 
duck
I crave for attention.
Specifically yours.
I'm in love with someone,
someone that I'm not supposed to love.
You.
You gave me a few minutes,
a few minutes of your life.
That's enough for me to fall in love.
With you.
I'm delusional, you see.
Delusional that someone wants me.
That you want me.
I'm trying.
Trying hard to move on.
To move on from this crush.
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