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 Aug 2019 MicMag
Nadia
Home
 Aug 2019 MicMag
Nadia
Home sweet home
Where I can sit on my ***
With no need to roam
And no need to ask
Or research
What to do next
A good sesh of nothing
Sounds like the best
With no need to worry
About where to eat dinner
And when to meet friends
Order in trusty take out
Throw the kids in bed
Time to binge on light shows
Then sleep like the dead

NCL August 2019
Had a lovely vacay but it's always so nice to get home.
 Aug 2019 MicMag
Hadrian Veska
The warm orange glow of sunlight
Recedes on ivied stone
Giving way to dull shadows
Waiting to be freed

The day is over
Evening blankets the sky
In red and purple hues
Heralding the coming night

In the moment between
Where sun and moon meet
Betwixt the light and dark
Can a brief glimpse be seen

Of something quite familiar
At the height of creation
Where the vast heavens
Meet the slumbering earth

There does it sit
In paradise enshrined
Peering down below
Waiting ever so patiently

To carry on from where it left
So many ages ago
 Jul 2019 MicMag
Cameron Alix
the stars, quite literally,
aligned for the sweet & sour
meddling of the human race.
an artistic, feuding mortality now born,
thanks to the haphazard and
wildly unlikely mix of
tingling elements.
humans, we are in a
tiny sliver of time.
the stars, oh wow, they gave us
our legs and quickly enough
an unearthly load of growing pains.
a prophecy, a gift, a humble endowment
of neuroplasticity.
the tiniest sliver of time, where the stars
aligned, for the tiniest burst of
clumsy, hopeful light.
in these star-kissed structures we grow,
fail, fail more and fail again until
finally we decide which failure defines
our livelihood– a raw and honorable
pursuit which is not our ultimate
footprint. the starts, they know,
they die.
we must live our lives knowing
that we are in a sliver of time.
we're so lucky to be here
 Jul 2019 MicMag
grumpy thumb
A world away
bridged by a page
only as strong
as the weakest ink
 Mar 2019 MicMag
nish
.era
 Mar 2019 MicMag
nish
------------------------------------
 \ why is it that time slips /                              
   \she slides and slithers /
     \right through these  /
        \ infinite crevices  /
          \found all over /
             \my greedy /
                \ hands,  /
                   \ like /
                   /    •   \
                 /       s      \
              /            a       \
           /             n            \
        /                 d              \
      /                                      \
    / in the dainty hourglass \
  /sitting aloft my skew shelf.\
-----------------------------------------
I wanted to try shape poetry again, and I have to say this was MUCH harder than .leafing
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2633672/leafing/

It took forever to align the slashes to give this poem shape, without them it didn't look like an hourglass.
I hope you liked this poem and I'd love it if you commented some links to any shape poetry you've tried out.
Hope you enjoyed :)
 Mar 2019 MicMag
Ryan O'Leary
Ω
 Mar 2019 MicMag
Ryan O'Leary
Ω
I kant here my quay
bored write now bee
koz ov de eer fones
+ it iz darc and dare
iz no lite in de rhume
so dis haz too bee a
fonethic pome dat eye
ex specked u kan sea
whi I am dis leck sick.
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
The notorious they-ness in them

Indentured servant sails, serendipity servant serenades.

Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all.  Some of us are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness and all the rest of those similar states of analogous configuration and ancillary subordinateness.   Vicarious recalcitrance for all!!!  Eclectic synectics, avant-garde illuminism.
 Mar 2019 MicMag
K Balachandran
My beloved night was dense,dark, wavy, soft velvet,
fully naked, moving in rhythm with me,  frenzied, sweet,
we moved heaven and earth to reach the acme of delight,
then flew in to a sudden  culmination,words fail to express,
the day dawned, blazing molten gold,ages were  impatient steeds,
together we rode, gained wings, became transcendentals, sublime
reached that tranquil, trident  blue peak where silence for ever reigns,
we had a deep yearning to sit and peer deep in to each other's eyes,
and see what remains after the last wave returns to the ocean's heart.

Above the emerald mountain,ran a river that fell in to an abyss,
the white foam of it's smile told us, about all we sought thus far.

"Ÿou have reached here in your frenzied search for the elusive
chasing the essence of a conundrum unexplained , cyclic, cryptic"
looking at  us sang a little bird, from a low hanging branch
of the tree of diamonds, that shaded us with it's clear light.
We felt the thousand petaled lotus  bloom within us that moment.

"Day and night are the horses that draw the chariot you ride,
an oasis you'll reach, then  hear stories that would ease your pain
you are in a story that reflects on the periphery of a bubble,
that exists in innumerable worlds simultaneously and hence
none is real, your truth you create,every minute and live"

We are somnambulists, that sit and paint colors in our fanciful dreams,
when we smile the colors stick to our souls till the apparition dissolves.
Won't you long to find out what remains after returning
everything borrowed from the elements....
From where does the essence come and to what it returns..
is the consciousness that pervades the universe  is within me in being
and am I within it when everything visible once(being ) becomes nothing....
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