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 Sep 2017 Tony Luna
Daniel Zell
I wish my life was like a poem
then I would be beautiful.
I would have rhythm, cadence, imagery;
my rhymes they would be plentiful.

I would have stanzas of separation,
my life would be in order.
They would build upon each other
from beginning to end -- clear borders.

Someone would have infused emotion,
clear meaning to my words;
something mysteriously discernible
the lack of which does hurt.

Instead I'm just a jumble of
unnecessary words and phrases.
No clear anything at all,
No future meaning to the ages.
 Aug 2017 Tony Luna
Traveler
Could my words describe a familiar place
A feeling of love or a bitter taste
Or do they echo through time as an endless rhyme
Never stopping to unravel, leaving naught behind

Perhaps they’re merely spoken out of such demise
An incoherent babble of a madman sublime
Should they speak of rage as of life in a cage
I have written of hate, such a shocking page

Yet I would that my words could somehow describe
The part of me I tend to hide
And so you may know I am somebody else
Than the person you see when you look in yourself
........................................................­­................................
Traveler Tim
One of my first poems
1996
 Jul 2017 Tony Luna
Semihten5
HAIKU
 Jul 2017 Tony Luna
Semihten5
which road
difficult to choose
the heart or mind
She's
been
walking
down
the same never-ending,
winding corridors,

Dimmed lights,
***** white walls,
no windows,
no doors,
square-tiled floors.

Dragging
her
feet
for what seems like
an eternity,

Stupid girl!
Her mind in a whirl!
Holding hope for an exit,
dreaming about
what it would be like
on the other side of those walls--externally.

Accustomed to the restrictions - sadly!

Hurting, defeated, anxious - badly!

Imprisoned mentally!

Acknowledging it, finally!

No denial, there, nor here!

You'd think she'd be over the fear;

Well, she's not!

She still hurts alot!

All alone in her mind
with her messy thoughts
and her regrets,

She's given away so much
unconditional love,
her heart and soul
have many outstanding depts.

She's had way too much time
to think about
all of the ****
that she's been through!

She hasn't healed,
those ***** walls don't understand,
they listen,
but they haven't any clue!

She's
kept
moving
down
those same corridors,
never wanting to look back,

With only one direction,
you'd think it be impossible
that she would get so lost...
I mean, after all,
it's a one-way ****** track!

But she did,
and she always does, too!

Getting confused, and lost,
for her, is nothing new!

She found herself
in those deserted corridors
at a very young, tender age,

Don't know how or why
it happened to her,
I can't even begin
to try to explain it
on this page.

I wish i could,
it would probably help her alot
if i did,

But it's a very long story,
winding and never-ending,
just like those corridors,
so it's best that I don't lift the lid.

She doesn't want to look back,

I
guess
she'll
just
keep
going
down
the same
relentless,
hopeless
track!

By Lady R.F.(C)2017
Holding.
onto myself, tightly,
along with my arms which seem
to be too short, too… thick.
They've always seemed to be
too slow, lacking expression.
so I gather them inside myself,
as this poor self
would firstly accept them as they are…
then it would paint them,
sculpt them,
adding them a finger or two,
until
my poor arms
start looking
like wings.
but they are not like any other pair of wings,
they do not have any feathers or scales.
these are enclosed wings,
splinted to their marrow,
closed as some misplaced umbrella,
like a chisel with its hammer. 
or they might be… fine embroidery
ready to cover
the holes in my soul.
This is why, occasionally, I would hold
Onto myself.

Tightly.
This is the original poem, written in my home language a few years ago.

Frângere

Mă strâng.
Pe mine, în mine,
Cu tot cu braţele ce-mi par…
Prea scurte, prea… butucănoase.
Mereu mi-au părut
Lente, lipsite de expresie.
Așa că le strâng în mine,
Căci minele meu, sărmanul,
Le acceptă, mai întâi,  așa *** sunt.
Apoi le vopsește,
Le sculptează,
Le mai adaugă un deget sau două,
Până când reușesc,
Sărmanele mâini,
Să arate și ele
A aripi.
Nu sunt, însă, aripi ca toate aripile.
Nu au pene mari ori solzi.
Sunt niște aripi închise,
încleșate în măduva lor,
strânse precum vreo umbrelă pierdută,
o daltă cu ciocan.
Ori… fină broderie,
Gata să-mi acopere
Găurile sufletului.
De aceea mă strâng ocazional.
Pe mine.

În mine.
 Jun 2017 Tony Luna
Collins
Fire
 Jun 2017 Tony Luna
Collins
There was a sparkle in her eye that would set my heart on fire,

Even though it burned, the blisters were worth the softness of her lips against mine.

But blisters burst

Open wounds fester

Flames turn to wildfire

Then all I could taste was smoke

And I begged for it to rain.
Just live your life peacefully
Moments will come and go
Take matters one moment at a time
And go with the flow
Put yourself in a position
To get better each day
Enrich your world
Take flight in every way
 Jun 2017 Tony Luna
Idiot
If learning is a three dimensional thing,
then exams are two dimensional. Any beautiful things will be projected into ugly figures.

If studying is a two dimensional thing,
then midterms shall be one dimensional. Happiness will be projected into sadness.

If curiosity is an one dimensional thing,
then quizzes must be a dot, the one that breaks my heart. Knowledge will be projected into nonsense.

As a whole, practice makes perfect, and quizzes are useless.
Now in a bad mood!! Because I failed the midterm of Geometry, which ,I think,  is well-prepared!!!
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