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 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
halsey
paint me
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
halsey
paint me into scenes of monet waters
kissed by water lily wishes
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Anthony
The devil is knocking
I hear him calling my name
Someone save me
Before it’s too late
He’s standing over me laughing
The people behind him are clapping
I can’t escape their taunts
Maybe they’ll go away if I’m gone
The laughing gets louder
The devil speaks with somber
I’m not ready to let go of this life
But I gave him all the power
I want to escape  these demons
But their grip is so tight
I can’t seem to find the light
If god hears my cry where is he
My faith has gone missing
I feel the end is near
I wish I could get over my fears
I wish I could forget my past
I wish I could forget all the years and not be so sad
I wish you were here
I wish I didn’t still love you
Maybe one day I can let go
For now I’m trapped in this perpetual hell
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Ally Ann
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Graff1980
He is a stark
shadow stag
that stands
with a regal glare,
wearing red shades
of wet matted hair.

Heart broken
beating ventricle
bleeding
from the pleading eyes
that soften
from the loss of
blood.

Looking back
at the last path
this tall stag
left
finds impermanent
imprints
that led
the hunters
to him.

Like those tracks
the memory of the stag
is only passing,
like this poem
only lasting
for a flickering moment
in space and time.
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Bus Poet Stop
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
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