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 Jun 2015 Janor
BF
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 Jun 2015 Janor
BF
-
Pity the fool who does
not believe words can
change lives
 May 2015 Janor
Lex
Broken
 May 2015 Janor
Lex
whenever I try to write poetry, I have a tendency to make things more minuscule than they really are.

I don't let my true colors show in fear that someone may notice how I really am feeling.

Because I like to convince myself that I'm fine. I convince myself that I'm better than I was two years ago.

And maybe I am. Maybe this is as happy as I'm going to get. That is, if happiness means having anxiety attacks at parties or crying over the small flaws of my day.


Happiness might also be letting people use me and reject me. If that's what happiness is, then I'm over the moon.

Face the facts. I'm talking to you. And me. And everyone in between.

Broken.

Notice I didn't say "I'm broken." Or "you're broken." Or "we're broken."

That's because it's for you to decide. You have to be true to yourself.

Broken.
 Apr 2015 Janor
Luna Craft
Eyes
 Apr 2015 Janor
Luna Craft
I use my eyes to see
As anyone else would
I see the colors all around me and the faces of those I love
I love my eyes for they let me see things some can't
Like the expression on your face when you make a mistake
Or the rare smile that you hide
But now my eyes are tired
Dark circles surround them
And my vision is slowly getting duller
The world seems to be turning into a monochrome mess
I couldn't even tell when the red under your eyes
Had turned to the same black as mine
 Mar 2015 Janor
Richard Riddle
I wish to share a story
of when I nearly met my fate-
A tale of an adventure,
and a quest I had to make

A story of an abandoned mine-
A search for silver and gold-
Of prospectors, and the miners-
And the secrets they must hold

My father used to pan for gold
in the mountains and their streams-
And found enough of the elusive stuff
to make my mother's wedding rings.

I thought that I would try my hand-
to see what I could find-
So I set out to seek the entrance
to an old, abandoned, mine

I left for Arizona,
     to Prescott, I wished to go -
    Crossed the Rio Grande,
   on thru New Mexico.

Finally got to Phoenix -
   800 miles and count'n,
     then north, up to Prescott,
        Thumb Butte, and Granite Mountain.

            I pitched my tent on Granite Creek,
          with great anticipation-
           Checked the notes from my father's quotes,
                and began the exploration

   With my father's tin pan packed in a bag-
and his pic-ax at my side-
I felt like a real "old timer",
with heaven as my guide.

           I found the one I was looking for-
                with a darkened cave as the entrance door-
           And a handmade sign on a rotting board, said
"Welcome Friend, 1894."

Well, I picked and I chipped! and I chipped and I picked!
til the sores on my hands ran red-
             When I felt some dirt, drifting down on my shirt-
and some pebbles hit my head.

It only took a second-
for the ground to start to quake-
The dirt was falling faster,
and the walls began to shake.

I ran as fast as I knew how,
toward that entrance door-
When the last crosstimber broke in half,
and came crashing to the floor!

Now, I don't know how much time had passed-
since all of that began-
But felt as if I had been in a trance-
when someone took my hand.

I grabbed my shirt-tail, wiped my eyes-
tilt my head to see-
And saw a sun-dried, weathered face,
looking down on me!

He wore a wrinkled old hat,
an old flannel shirt-
Raggedy old pants, and a mile's
worth of dirt-

He had a beard of silver threads,
with a tinge of ginger root-
His hands were thick, and calloused,
and their color matched his boots.

He gave me a jug of water
that came from the nearby creek
As I began to take a drink-
he began to speak-

"Strange thing about abandoned mines-
they wish to be left alone,
To keep the souls of all of those-
who often called them home."

His voice began to tremble-
as he spoke those woeful words,
He seemed to be recalling
many things he'd seen and heard.

"It isn't greed that brought you here,
I can see that, in your eyes,
it's not just ore, you're looking for-
But another kind of prize."

"You must go back to your domain,
and you'll find that treasure chest-
For it lies deep within your heart-
and in those folks you favor best."

I shut my eyes, said a prayer-
  and asked, if what I did was wrong?
When I finished, and said "amen",
that old man was gone.

I never asked him for his name-
    or the place from whence he came-
    Some things are better left in silence-
and not to be explained.

I went back to take another look,
and gather up my gear-
Tried to find that “Welcome” sign,
but, it too, had disappeared.

I stood in "awe,and wonder,"-
of the place that I had found-
And with my eyes, realized,
I had trod on hallowed ground.

Going home I pondered,
'o'er the words that old man said-
But, did all that really happen,
   or was it from the "bumps" upon my head?

I got back home, and cracked a smile,
As I strode up to the door-
And there, hung a handmade sign
on a rotting board, said-
 "Welcome Home, 1894!"
 Mar 2015 Janor
Richard Riddle
When I think of  places where I've been
and  things that I have done-
I recall many battles fought-
and those I've lost, and won.

I've met a lot of people-
on my stops along the way-
and remember a lot of faces-
But many names, have gone astray.

Friends have even asked me,
"why don't you retire?"
I answer very simply,
"I'm not ready to expire!
         
r. riddle: 10- 15- 2013
 Mar 2015 Janor
Heliza Rose
Untitled
 Mar 2015 Janor
Heliza Rose
Like the fire I wish to breathe
one which shall corrupt my lungs
and stale my eyes
burn away my lashes

Is the same way that I crave you
wanting despite all I know
a blaze that will take away my life in a river of flames
a blaze that will scorch everything of my physical body
yet leave my soul intact,untouched

I want that fire
even though it will kiss my finger tips until they burn.
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