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 Jan 2016 Eiliv Advena
Neha Rajan
Through this open window
I see hope
When pigeons soar high
As if to touch the sky
I see happiness
When the leaves of a tree
Dance under the sun

I see freedom
When feathers sway
In the lap
Of a gentle breeze
I see devotion
When the clouds
Kiss the feet of the sky

I look back inside
And I see myself
With a wish in my heart,
A prayer upon my lips
To transcend into nature
To let my soul find it's roots
Below the loose soils
of this fragile world
Please hold my chair while I tie my noose.
It won't be accidental, it is something I choose.
So im holding the rope, round my neck like a scarf
And im looking around, round myself 'sif on wharf.
Far away in the sea, lie my hopes, expectations
'cause I buried them with
My dear friends and my patience.
Kindness can be mistaken
For a weakness mistook
But im done with being perfect
sliced my friends with a hook.
They were nice when they needed
My assistance or warmth
Now they re lying, not breathing
They've awoken my storms.
I took rusty old metal hook
'fore it got covered in blood
It even shone in some places
Under sun's heavy light
Now I don't think it'll ever
See the daylight again
I threw betraying weapons
Into sea during rain
There lie lifeless their bodies
Mutilated, in parts
They lie, empty their minds.
Boy, they should have thought twice.
I won't stand the rejection
Im not good at ignoring
In a search for perfection
Act was beautifully gory.
Judge as much as you want
And be scared of my words
But If you stab my back
Please hold my chair while I tie my noose.
Dying is not my fate, it's something I choose.
So im holding the rope, round my neck like a scarf
And im looking around, round myself 'sif on wharf.
Far away in the sea, lie my hopes, expectations
'cause I buried them with
My dear friends and my patience.
Kindness can be mistaken
For a weakness mistook
But im done with being perfect
sliced my friends with a hook.
They were soft when they needed
My assistance or warmth
Now they re laying, not breathing
They've awoken my storms.
I took rusty old metal hook
'fore it got covered in blood
It even shone in some places
Under sun's heavy light
Now I don't think it'll ever
See the daylight again
I threw betraying weapons
Into sea during rain
There lie lifeless their bodies
Mutilated at parts
They lay empty their mind
Boy, they should have thought twice.
I won't stand the rejection
Im not good at ignoring
Always reach for perfection
Act was beautifully gory.
Judge as much as you want
And be scared of my words
But If you stab my back
I'll interrupt your pulse.
Oh! Enigmatic mother,
Capturing the unsuspecting we,
Trapped in thy surreal embrace,
Wondrous charms possess thee.
Ensnaring senses,
Thy promiscuous beauty,
Yet, the fools flee,
Beholding thy ******,
Earthy and bare,
Rustic and rare,
Thy charms lay unparalleled,
Polluted, slight, by repulse,
The ignominious souls,
From doors not crafted by thee,
Leave them ajar and welcome,
The mighty spirits of darkness,
Where evil makes thy heart numb,
And weaves it's sickly web,
Conjuring abominations and spells,
That the good man shall hope,
Never to hear, and terrible sights,
Never to see.

Cold azure skies transition,
To that which befits,
Our prosaic existence,
Shying away from thy brilliance,
Concealed within deep-seated layers,
Of well-practised pretence.

Thy pertilance, remains commendable,
Thou, the mother of all,
Now, perfunctorily cast aside,
Yet, it is thou, who shall mourn our fall.

Oh! Exuberant mother,
Let not the ship, be destined to doom,
Let the fresh buds bask, in eternal bloom,
And if the glorious fire of the sun,
Is ever to cease,
Let it be, for only, a new dawn,
For we, thy blood and thy flesh,
In all our greed and petulance,
Lay down and pay obeisance to thee,
And thee, alone.

Our fate awaits thy perusal,
Oh forgiving mother! Let humanity prevail.
 Jan 2016 Eiliv Advena
Tom McCone
once again, point on shore,
with lit-up eyes
and soaked, gold: fresh hope.
grove of oak trees left long behind.
free, out in the open.

the cloudline, roused on
the edge of the darkening blue;
riled up, all in my throat, & i'm
counting down days
like evaporating droplets of mist,

i, the forest,
and accompanying subduction.
 Jan 2016 Eiliv Advena
Kelly Rose
“I am not going to be the person
I am expected to be anymore”

I heard this thought and was
Kind of blown away
Making me question
All sorts of things
Like…

Who do I expect me to be?
Who do others expect me to be?
Am I
Daughter
Wife
Lover
Do I even care?
What do these labels even mean?
Why can’t I label me Friend?
Is there anything expected of
An acquaintance?
I am trying on new labels

Poet
Writer

Whatever the label
Poet, daughter, wife, maybe even friend
These masks sit a little uncomfortably upon me
And…

What of the unspoken and often unseen labels

Broken
Weird
Crazy

Do these fit me any better?

I don’t think I have ever been
The person others expected

Certainly not myself!

How extraordinary!
“I’m not going to be the person
I am expected to be anymore”

Kelly Rose
9/19/2014

Heard this in a commercial and it hit a nerve  
Someone asked me to post an old poem and I give others the option of posting an older poem that touched them - it is a lovely experience
searching through the heavens
for you my blue eyed beauty
above these darkling shadows
that shroud and ring my heart
come to me in innocence
come to me unbound and true
and take my broken heart
unto your silken palms
and heal me
For me, you are Sunday. Today is Sunday,
and tomorrow will be Sunday. Because I am stuck
in gingham yellow sheets, small white saucers
with matching ceramic cups, cigarette ashes
like a crop circle around them as I sip homemade
coffee. The ***** brown liquid sloshing
in the back of my throat, scorching my insides
as I swallow something not nearly as
painful as looking up for an answer to the crossword
and realizing you are not in fact actually there, and your hand
is not on my thigh, tracing the outline of my knee
with your thumb. I am stuck

like a kid on the monkey bars. Deciphering
between reaching my hand out to grab
the next rung or just allowing myself
to fall into the wood chips, welcome
that scraped skin and soil in the worry lines
of my palms. Because calling you,
reaching out to that line, could end with me
face up on my bed staring at the blades of my fan
trying to pinpoint just one to follow around and around
again. Or I could get your voicemail. Or you could
see my number and decide to hang up. How close
were we really anyway?

Or you could answer and we could talk through
how bad the weather is, how we've been doing,
and then get to the poignant silence, that hum
in the background that coils through the wires
into my ear, down the canal, and sinks into my heart
until the pressure becomes too much. Until
I tell you that its Sunday. That I need the 1994
Tony Award winning musical for 3 across, and hopefully,
you'll give me the right answer.
 Jan 2016 Eiliv Advena
Ava
my reason
 Jan 2016 Eiliv Advena
Ava
he is the reason to smile on a rainy day
the quickening of my heart when my phone vibrates
he is the doubt and uncertainty that vanish with a single "'love you"
he is the feeling of a fire on a cold night
he is the random smile
the wink
the drunk text at 2 am
the sober text at 2 pm
the call where we fall asleep together
1000 miles apart
**** i miss him.
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