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  Mar 2018 B
Brenna Comer
i’m caught in a metaphor
a convoluted whirlwind
of words
and emotions
  Mar 2018 B
Valsa George
Arise! Oh Heart, from the catacombs of the dead
Shake off the dust, for Life beckons you like a buddy
Peel off the weariness that wraps you like a shroud
And walk to the open to perceive the light.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the dungeons of gloom
The dawn is at your door step, waiting to break
Sing with the koel, merrily warbling in the woods
Dance with the billows, wildly prancing on the deep.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the ghettoes of *******
Break loose the ropes that moor you to the past
Dart through the panorama of the cerulean blue
And fly high into regions, uncharted and new.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the citadels of hate
Listen not to the shrieking and howling behind
Drink from the goblet of conciliating love
And rejoice at the birth of a dawn with promises galore!
  Mar 2018 B
Donna
I said to a chair
Can you please stop
touching my ***
It said no no no
it's so much fun
:)) silly one
B Mar 2018
Anger antagonizes and attacks again
Bravery boldly bounds bout brilliance
Compassion casts careful, calculated calm
Disappointment detaches, disconnects, driving defiance
Enthusiasm's exuberance exhausts envy's edge
Fear fleetly fades fury's fated face
Guilt greedily goads gullible grief-stricken
Hope humbles hesitancy, heals heartbroken
Insecurity impatiently imparts invisible ignorance
Joyful jumps jaded jinxed jealousy
Keen kindness keeps kindred known
Loneliness lingers longer lately
Like a vocal warm-up, but more pretentious
  Mar 2018 B
Eric the Red
The truth about poets
Is
They’re not all alike
Some are derelicts
Scalawags
Lovers
Sisters
Some say they’re writers
Instead of Poet
For they know what that puts
Into the minds of others
Romantic
Lethargic
Gypsy
Some will never write novels
Poems are their Ulysses
Their ‘Love in the Time Of Cholera
Some are sad
Withdrawn
Choose to live there
While some poets
Use their words
To claw their way out
Some have fallen out of love
&
Want someone
ANYONE
to listen
While some have fallen in
the deepest ocean
&
Want to tell the world
What this man
This woman
Means to them

Most write their verses
Alone
Some at midnight
Some at sunrise
Some with coffee
Most with bottles

Most will never see the reaction
Of many
Will never hear
‘I like that...’

And most don’t want to be famous
Or sometimes heard
We
Just want to be
Ourselves
  Mar 2018 B
Tyler Lockwood
we wrote more poetry
in the wrinkles of your sheets
in one night than
I have written in the pages
of my journal all year
you don't know I have this account so I can vent here lol
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