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 May 2016 JM
Paul Hardwick
Images of upside down frogs
reminds me of you
where did I find it
in the bathroom window while taking a ****
image in the art novo glass
reminds me of that time
on Alfa Centure
where that giant mould hung down
looking like upside down frogs
and you said
stop right there
this is perfect moment in time
at that I fell down this black hole
and landed here on earth
I still miss you dear.
True story  Love P@ul ***.
funny what you can read into nothing.
 May 2016 JM
Paul Hardwick
You so ******* look at me
right now
I hate white paper
my pen is primed
but my mind is not
and you white page just sit there
glowing back at me
I so want to black on you
but black what
make a mark
all things in my head
are so clear
but looking at you
seams to give me nothing
I hate you now white page
do not mock me
I saw that
write that here
no I will not.
True Story  P@ul ***.
 Apr 2016 JM
Seán Mac Falls
Dear Pablo, as I look over
my soaking body, wet, with patches
of dirt, blotched and raw bleeding,
the clouds turn in my yellowed eyes
in order to love you, my Pablo.  
You, who made me feel radiant.  
As I am the sea,  I fish for you,
rolling in mud, and becoming
mountain, I topple for your toes
who'd dig in deep and itch my aching

breast to sleep.  My dreamful-drowsy
birds, rake the skies, rush-out like nets
wanting you on their wings, my poem.
Pablo, I loved you so when you said,
my flowers were little stars to pick,
and that loneliness was a train who waits
in a far-away station, and how, my most
minuscule attributes — a cat, a pear,
the atom, you praised, in odes, heaped
like showers hailed from heaven, as fresh-

water you reigned from the other side
of tears, and temper'd my salt, my green,
murky life.  Dearest Pablo, since you've gone,
my breath has the emptiness that hides under
stone.  And the blue-winds crossing, my life-
less age, they are nothing but long waves,
keening,   —  Nay   —  rood   —   ahhh!
Since you have left me.  And my trees,
they forget how to grow,
my song, my only,
 Apr 2016 JM
Stephanie Cynthia
I paint the night, the ******* gloss;
Colouring the grass and their floss;
Keeping watch o'er the careful storm;
The air of the night is clear and warm.

I sketch again, the reddened corpse;
To colour it black, on purpose;
Laid dead in a battered light;
The awful course of his smug fright.

I pat again the pouring rain;
Hiding the hideous battle scene;
And yellow for the beaming sands;
The soft canvas, the howling wind.

I touch the graying lithe flowers;
Pictured wet by unheard showers;
And so their drizzles hath softened;
Leaving the slaughtered stones fastened.

Who says I'll hide my greasy face;
The painter that hath done his best;
I hath not the tears of a beast--
I hath found my ill soul, at least;

Who says I eat flowing water;
For rivers can be disobedient;
For greenness can keep a hound
On the sunburnt higher grounds.

Who says turpentine is a rose;
For 'tis but shorter than a prose;
And whose leaves can be shaky;
To the wind that once set me free.

Who says that love shall cure, and mess
With my boisterous, dainty rest;
Who says they hath a soul, this beast
That unites souls on the rose's feast.

Who says the grass hath sought much growth
When it hath but fainted three times;
Under the hot sun, grown rainbows
More than they would be pleased to show.

And who says I shall paint with love;
Love be ease, but a curse to me;
A sordid spell I shan't welcome
The erased song I shan't become.

And who says I ought yet to freeze;
To be foolish, and to be told
To be free like a lazy breeze
I hath my own truth to behold;

And who says I shall cut my skin
To entrance them, and to be seen
For what a love may falsely mean;
What hath an insincere dream been?

And who says I shall paint lithe lies
To further stretch my long night skies;
That I paint with enhanced delight
In a demure beige, sweet daylight;

And who says I shall be with thee
That I can fake ponderous lights;
For the mornings are not in me;
Neither are their hours, nor green light.

And who says I shall not be free;
For freedom too is not idyll;
For normal is not what I see;
For common is not what I feel.
 Feb 2016 JM
Where has your rationale gone?

I look for her in his living room but she can't stand the smell of **** and ***** money.

I check his bed but she went home long before 2am

I look in his yard but she ran when his calm, cold hand stung your face.

I check her couch but only found a weary husband numb from spending another lonely night.

I look at the party but just saw concerned friends give warning to deaf ears.

I check my bed but found only an iPhone drowning in his messages and her pleas.

I find her in the stillness of 4am. I look in her eyes but they are empty and swollen from tears. She is exhausted from chasing her Aquarius.
 Feb 2016 JM
 Feb 2016 JM
Isolated in a cloud of friends
Starving at a buffet
screaming in silence

Bored by the excitement
 Feb 2016 JM
 Feb 2016 JM
This pain has surfaced with a loud entrance that I can silence no more.

The emptiness of your absence is the darkness that has been ignored lurking in the shadows.

Now I must claw myself out of this abyss of loss. Fill in the voids sprinkled throughout my soul and carve a new dwelling for us.
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