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the world doth observe
this leader's brilliant prowess
in its eye sight's view
he'll be well remembered
for his leadership's greatness
 3° 
cmp
Take heed though sycophant society evil in labor good at work brews more than all talk no voice
Lore rest
 3° 
Dean
An angel

said

boo.

So i lied
and kissed him
on the mouth

He never came back.
 3° 
Shaun Copple
Detached from the old
once more, into the fold.
Embrace the Self—Human
Being—Where “I” is a Man.
Sporadic emotions burst
forth, with sensation and thirst.
In the cold light of day,
realise—This is all just play!
Themes from Vipassana
You could
be PRETTY
with the UGLIEST
PERSONALITY,
you could
live in a DREAM
WORLD or FACE
TRUE REALITY you
could have
a DECENT LIFE,
or A LIFE
FULL OF TRAGEDY,
CATASTROPHE,
CALAMITY,
and BIGOTRY
Oh,
CAN'T YOU SEE,
PRETTY/UGLY,
Just Believe,
you can be
PRETTY
on the
OUTSIDE,
with
NASTINESS
WITHIN,
NEGATIVE ISN'T
THE ANSWER,
MAKING IT CLEAR,
that
YOU WON'T
WIN!!!


B.R.
Date: 10/3/2025
Welcome to the squirrely cafe
I brought you cookies on a tray
Just a sip and you'll surely say,  
this is perfect, Oh happy day !

With a swing of tail looking spry
he sniffs sniffs & sniffs my oh my !
he slurps and then sigh after sigh,  
says,  " Its great! " do I need a tie ?
 3° 
Maniac4luv
I feel so stereotyped
I say I like one thing
And that’s all I’m known for
I said I liked
A game
That’s all she saw
A girl
They labeled me lesbian
A genre
They insisted I’m weird
Why is it
People only see
One side of me?
I’m so much more
Than a game
A crush
A book genre
Or some naive
Little kid.
I remembered!
 3° 
Heavy Hearted
and not for me but for my dad
the father which, for granted had
taken by his family,
both his sons and wife known lovingly

by the single candles light
the messages I've scribbled down
silent, they read, and so despite
the darkness of a moonless night

Who we are now, being the toll taken
on behalf and of each moment acquired
transformations take place, until we cease to be
in the positions symptomatic of what we desired.
Written to Anna Von Hausswolf's song of the same title.
 3° 
greatsloth
Why does the dark 10 o'clock
Makes my heart go wack,
And nerfs my intellect
Like a vehicle after years of neglect—
Is this its true voice,
Passionate and seeking,
A vast lovely fate.
She came to me with heavy eyes,
a story of love turned into lies.
A boy had broken what she had built,
left her standing in shadows of guilt.

But queens do not crumble,
they rise from the ground—
I took her hand,
and I fixed her crown.

I told her: *“You are fire,
you are gold,
you are the story
yet to be told.

No boy can dim
the light you bear,
your worth is endless,
beyond compare.”

So lift your head,
let sorrow fall—
you were never small,
you were always tall.

And when the world
tries to drag you down,
remember—queens
adjust each other’s crowns.
 3° 
zdebb
i stand in the window
watching blue waters,
aware that the weeks
have been few since
we swam there.

note the change
of morning air, the jacket
taken out and cleaned,
the snap on bare skin,

knowing that the woods
won't warm through day,
and that night, coming early,
will be brittle with star.

i think fire
is a simple answer.
clean the dead brush
stacked and waiting.
kindling for hard
wood fuel.
fire in the belly of our
wood stove
warming the rooms
that we live in.

it's easier
to plan for the winter
now that i've seen
seventy come and go.

i'm softer believing  
that i'm the warmest in
the dark hard hours before
dawn, laying here
listening to you breathe.
 3° 
lana
i cant bring myself to apologize for something
i’m not sorry for
i used to then
but not anymore
 3° 
Christopher
Tongue-polished boots stand firm
on broken, shattered crystalled-glass.
As smooth-bore Schmiessers
move on, en masse.

With swallowed humanity,
a heavy arm
lifts anticipatory, fear-borne mask.
The Marshal of Bigotry cries his command,
“Persecutors! To the task!”

In maliced march,
and in chilling rhythm,
They goose-step,
arched,
o’er blood split
from civil schism.

Blinds are closed
and windows are shut.
As eyes turn away,
from that rabid, ferine strut.

A camp for him,
A camp for her.
And to them sent,
without law conferred.

With gun to temple,
We are offered a choice,
“Fall fast in line,
and in hate rejoice.”
“Or bear stitched lips,
and suffer silenced voice.”

If truth is stone,
then sharpen your sword.
Put helm to crown,
And place faith
in just accord.
 3° 
Fullfreddo
“so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.” Ray Bradbury

read these words in another’s poem
and I am changed, words from a page,
touch me and I hope ole Ray approaches
from the great beyond where he surely
abodes, and states with great solemnity,

“**** son, good way to start the day,
now stroke the woman, the dog, feed
the chickens and the birds, and for sure,
water those shrubs and plants in this one
hundred degree weather, whether you
like it or not, cause changing is a 24 hr
occupation and the need for touching
never ceases!” Ray
We are creatures of constant awe, curious at beauty, at leaf and blossom, at grief and pleasure, sun and shadow," U.S. poet laureate Ada LimĂłn writes in her new poem that will fly to Jupiter's moon Europa aboard NASA's Europa Clipper mission.

"And it is not darkness that unites us, not the cold distance of space, but the offering of water, each drop of rain."
The poem, unveiled at an event tonight at the Library of Congress, is going to be engraved in LimĂłn's handwriting and affixed to the spacecraft, expected to launch in October 2024, Miriam writes.
The big picture: The Europa Clipper mission follows in the tradition of others — like NASA's Voyagers — that have sent pieces of art representing humanity into the cosmos.

The poem uses water as a thread that binds Earth — and all of its humans — to Europa, a moon with an ocean beneath its icy shell.
For LimĂłn, writing this poem was a very human endeavor.

"The thing I think that makes me the most beautifully overwhelmed is the idea of all the humans that are going to read it," she tells Axios.
The poem, called "In Praise of Mystery: A Poem for Europa," is featured on a NASA webpage where people can sign up to send their names to Europa with the spacecraft.
"I think to have it feel collective is really, really extraordinary to me, because it does feel like it's not my poem," LimĂłn says. "It does feel like a collective poem. And as soon as I wrote it, it felt like oh, this belongs to Earth. This is our poem for Earth."
Between the lines: Sending this poem to Europa is an "evolution" of NASA's Golden Record, which is flying through space aboard the Voyager spacecraft, Robert Pappalardo, Europa Clipper project scientist, tells Axios.

Those records contain sounds from Earth — including music, laughter and animal noises — as well as a map of where we are in the galaxy. They are now billions of miles away, flying through interstellar space.
"This is an outgrowth in that we're not going to the stars," Pappalardo says. "There's no message to aliens here. This is purely a message to ourselves and a symbolic message to Europa."
 2° 
Carlo C Gomez
Engineering to the Bridge:

"Time passed, but without us. A bit like Kepler's third, I suppose."

Express your "law" another way. Throw rocks at the moon. Stone the satellite because of your own despicable sins.

I see demise in your face. There's something strange about the through lines of your crew, the yellow journalism of their spacewalk.

Posters of the wild frontier, staggered and torn, said nothing will go wrong. That sometimes death is merely the devil changing colors.

"I think not, Captain. You laugh when you should cry. You tear to pieces the pictures of the overtaken. You run from the lie detectors. Otherwise, your narrative falls apart and all you're left with is your withered mind funneling down a ****** abyss..."
 2° 
Christopher
Round the wagons,
and call on the dogs.

For there is fury in that mist,
there is malice in that fog.

Arm yourselves wisely.
Shoulder steady, breath slow,
give in to eye’s end.

Shower sky with shot,
And do so
with fatal intent.

Line, volley and rising smoke
Un-surreptitious spending of saltpeter,
leaves quiet rise to billowing choke.

Loosen formation
Send scouts up ahead
“How many the count?”

“Report:
none dead.”

“How can this be
we took distance,
aimed well
And still count you no heads?”

“Sir,
machinations of the mind,
maybe it was instead”.
 2° 
Messier Plath
My heart betrayed me the moment our eyes met
He was standing on the altar with her
And my eyes started to melt

I noticed a strange look on his face
He looked worried when he looked at me
yet he kissed her and left me there
This is Scene 14 of The Altar I Was Denied, a short story in form of poetry.
 2° 
Flower
One moment you're alive
The next you're not
You never know
When you're reaching the end of your line

It could be moments away
Closer every second
Death reaching her cracked hand
To cut the string
That defines your very existence

We never know when we will die
 2° 
kortu valentine
i don't think about you anymore.
except when i become
my own lowest point.
you cross my mind then.
briefly,
grazing the edges
of my reality,
impersonating a friend.

but i don't need you anymore.
so, every time you knock,
trying to sell,
wearing your shiny labels
like a badge,
i'll shut the door in your face
and let the night take you back
to the abyss you crawled out from,
veiled in shame.
this one is about a low point in my sobriety journey.
 2° 
Jesus is Lord
Oh, my lord, I thank You.
You gave me a true faith
which have got only few
the price for it You paid.

Some may be sad; I have pleasure
where's god, there's no death.
Some may worry — I am sure
later He'll crown me with a wreath.

In harsh times of sin
he offered us a helping hand
and redeemed us through raisin'
Jesus Christ, our best friend.

And he will raise us too,
I can tell you for sure.
With Him there's nothing we can't do —
his love is impossible to measure.
 2° 
Liz Volker
My heart longs for the slow paced life,
found in the cadence of the porch swing.
Wrapped in a blanket, nestled into you
while my red panted toes gently press
into the dry and worn porch boards
that creek as we sway,
while we talk and watch the fireflies
at the end of each day.
 2° 
Salmabanu Hatim
Have been created as an ATM of men's desire.
Don't let hackers take advantage,
Treat with care and gently.
3/10/2025
 2° 
onlylovepoetry
study
your defined mounds and dipping hips,,
lips and heated soles, to ascertain that
your mine willingly, you're alive, still mine,
to have and hold,
not to be me, a left~behind


for
you in and ex,
hale~hail me not,
you chest. convex nor concave,
if it gives, lives, moves, my eyes,
    mine wetted eyes cannot discern,
and the precious stillness I do so adore
cherish,
contaminated by
notions of you having perished


+
it,
is wished hard away,
wished hard it may disappear,
a sigh. a groan, a puzzling moan, anything
even a sudden dreaming scream,
to confirm that our heat still can be all merged,
so that your light sleeper schema cannot be
touched and thus defeated,
so I write an only love poem,
and sign it with tears
of a cursed quiet streaming,
clouded, most unliterary, but
always
with a super silent adoration, of, for


she,
who cannot be disturbed
 2° 
VD
Innocent naked vision,
Cradled in my shadow's fold;
Sheltered from this burning world,
A fragile spark, a sacred soul

You are mine, sweet thing
Mine for now, in dream and prayer
But soon enough the day will come
When reality rips you from my care

And what waits for you, out there?
Salted earth and rivers of fire?
Gentle lips with teeth beneath?
Cruelty dressed in kind attire?

I am complicit, yet I swear:
I never meant to curse you so
Child unborn, it's just not fair,
I cry every night; I hope you know

See, God's mistake was birthing Adam,
Cursing him with endless fear;
Clothing him in skin and sorrow:
But never ever, not for you, my dear

No. You are mine forever, always
And not for this cruel world to find;
I won't let its evil hurt you
You are safer in my mind
I love you too much to force you to life.
We met where the lines blurred-
between want and wound,
between skin and sin.
28/9/25
 2° 
guy scutellaro
the moon lights a bed of frost.
the wind a storyteller.

are the stars and the sea
still there
when the sky weeps white?

the moon lights a bed of frost.
the wind is a storyteller

and the griffons know the failure
of flesh, flesh and bones

and feeling the bones
in my crooked nose,
I understand sunrise
is not a guarantee.

the sky weeps white.

but the nightingale sometimes
sings to me of you in my dreams.


...(if the nightingale sings of me
then know I hear her too.)
The stars were not to blame
Nor the ocean between us
Or even that dreadful place
We used to call home

It was only you and me
Always a little too wrong
And maybe just a little
Too late
 2° 
Lily
It’s almost been a year—
a year since I last saw you smile,
since I talked with you,
since I heard your voice,

A year of crying,
a year of trying to understand,
a year of sinking into silence and grief—
a year since you breathed.
For my family member who became suicidal
 2° 
So
years are funny aren't they?
sometimes they gallop away quickly
dancing and singing into the sunset
other times they dawdle
slowly fading, their bag weighing them down
too heavy with memories to run

this year or year and a half I should say
has never gone slower
a long list of pain
a heavy bag
does slow me down
trapping me in the past
when all I wish for is to run away
I would rather live in the shadow of us,
than live in the daylight without you.
Follow me on Instagram: @incurable_poet đŸ«¶đŸ»đŸŒ»
I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.

Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.

Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****.
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.

I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?

His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.

We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.

When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
A brilliant unofficial companion piece to this poem by Shay Caroline Simmons- https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5169091/skully/
 2° 
girlinflames
The soul says:
I don’t want to carry
this pain alone anymore.

I want to translate it.

And so poetry
becomes a bridge of healing—

what once was pain
becomes self-expression.
Daisies in a garden full of weeds
Have you ever seen such an ugly thing?
Daisies may look like flowers
But look how they steal our sunlight
Look how they steal our soil
They are not flowers
They are infiltrators


This is a garden full of weeds
This land belongs to us
Now look at those selfish Daisies
Showing off their ugliness beneath our sunlight
Wasting the nutrients in our soil
Look at how they taint our community
Look at how they defile our home

We are incompatible
Their crimes are intolerable
Are you with us or against us?
Hesitation is treason

This is a garden infested with Daisies
Take them all away
And set them ablaze
They can never steal our sun again



Classify

Symbolize


Dehumanize



Organize




Polariz­Â­e





And

Prepare



One to six
It can be fixed
Seven to eight
It is too late




Exterminate

And








Deny





Deny





Deny






­You could have stopped it if you tried
It was all advertised
For just a limited time
Before it was taken off the shelves

A limited-edition opportunity
To step in and intervene
But the event has already passed
Daisy? What the hell is that?


It was all advertised
For just a limited time
You could have intervened
A limited-edition opportunity

That never happened
It never happened
But it will happen again

And you'll see a product you recognize
In limited-edition
But no, you won't buy
Not until it's taken off the shelves
Then you'll finally miss what's gone
If you have the luxury of a memory
But even then

Will you be believed?



One to six
It can be fixed
Seven to eight
It is too late



Now all you can say

Is

Never Again























Until Next Time
 2° 
guy scutellaro
a ballet of light
weaves golden threads
across the canvas of night.

the fabric of soul and sky
elusive dancers

wonder    alive at the edge of eternity

unspoken poetry breathed in my sigh
words elusive, alive within

beauty poetry
poetry        breathed in my sigh???

words elusive

a tear that never fell
shimmering in twilight

left me searching
a shadow running from the sun
 2° 
Austin
Tossing in your sleep
Sleeping through the day

Swimming in your dreams
Tossing them out during the day

Feeling something when you weep
Numbing yourself all day

Praying for the path you don't see
Denying a god day after day
 2° 
Lucien
Every day
An overwhelming desire
Pushes me to
End it all right there
But every day
I’m dragged back
To the one reason I continue to live.
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