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  Aug 2020 Richard Frank
ok okay
Draw me the stars
And I'll write us to the moon
Draw me some tears
I might write you some blues
Colour the roses
From which I write about
Our dreams can be remembered
With pictures and a plot
I'll write what you couldn't
If you draw what I can not
  Aug 2020 Richard Frank
LS Martin
I had a fondness for star gazing until our eyes met
In her hair, she wears
The beauty of Polaris;
Luminous orbs adorn
Her celestial body.
A veil of nebulae on her face,
Fails to conceal her eyes;
Alive with catastrophic bursts;
Reminiscent of supernovae.
Alnilam, a glorious embellishment
Graces her neck;
Sun-like Centauri on her arm,
And Elysian complement
To her dress of quintessence and energy.

R. A. Tyndall
Luna’s glow kisses gravestones,
In a field of eternal repose;
A lowered soul bemoans
In sibilant, unending prose.

The night fashioned in fantasy,
And the wind rends a mournful tune;
Bitter suites of ecstasy
On an impious night in June.

R. A. Tyndall
Children on the corner,
Standing in streetlight beams,
With fierce smiles, soulful eyes;
And fistfuls of broken dreams.

Children of the street,
Battered by circumstances’ blows;
With dry mouths, and burning bellies
Crouching in dumpster shadows.

R. A. Tyndall
She was Saturn,
The epitome of unique;
He was Jupiter,
The beast to her ethereal beauty.

She was Saturn,
Clothed in mystique;
He was Jupiter,
Clothed in shock and cruelty.

R. A. Tyndall
  May 2020 Richard Frank
Amna Khan
Brittle, broken, beaten
I carry in my chest
a moldy stone.
It used to flutter once
and beat harmoniously.
Medusa's hair,
coiling around this planet
finally found it.
And now my heart is only a moldy stone, all thanks to this cruel world.
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