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 1170° 
Dom
The cool air of a spring breeze
Kisses the verdant canopies
And fireflies pop neon light
Upon the sylvan halls,
Daring to catch magic by early twilight.

Chasing majesty watching for the fae
As shooting stars sparkle like fairy dust
And the moon’s dim light shines upon a fawn,
There is a calming silence
In a zephyr wisp along the whispering woods,
There is violence in the way leaves dance
Just before an early morning rain
As night is choked back by the coming dawn.

I’ll take umbrage here,
Under the lively oak—
In this forest villa where
Arboreal ancients,
Spirit me with hope.
Always feel most at home in the forest
 919° 
Ciara
She is a butterfly...
hiding under sunspots.
He’s a gecko,
lurking in that velvet corner where the light forgets to go.

She is chaos—
he’s the eye of her storm.

They were born from deep sea vents,
rose up to the skies like they meant to crack open clouds,
pull humans into a frenzy
no weather pattern could predict.

She calls it life.
He? He just stares into death,
like it’s a familiar hallway with flickering lights.

The question of origin?
It’s always that stupid finger—
pointing,
blaming,
laughing at the moment they both thought:
"Wait… was any of it even real?"

Hey, ****.
It’s all tiny signals,
she read.

"It’s all eternity,"
he preached,
like a god with a broken clock.

They walked through each other’s ghost stories,
talked all night in a language made of
fake memories,
false starts,
and déjà vus shaped like abandoned houses.

They locked eyes—
those traitorous, trembling eyes—
and whispered vows
to nights that haven’t happened yet.
To days that only those **** aliens have seen.

Yeah. Those aliens.
The ones living on the edge
of the universe’s bubble,
eating popcorn,
watching this bubble bursting program
on cosmic cable.

And when the light consumed the darkness,
when the tiny capsules cracked open like old seeds—
they were left raw.
Naked.
Shivering in the gift-wrapped curse
called "Time."

She ran away.
He walked away.

Moments…
split.
Time…
parted.

While million-dollar math problems
sit unsolved on cluttered desks,
watched over by smoke-drenched visionaries
who know something’s wrong
but can’t solve heartbreak
with equations.

This is the program.
It’s always been the program.
We’re just signals,
wrapped in skin,
playing roles,
in a show
with no rehearsal
and no pause button.

So if you’re watching,
dear alien—
just know…

We improvised the whole **** thing.
 623° 
The Invisible Poet
my sadness is evanescent
soon I will forget how it made me feel
I used to feel empty everyday
now I feel joy and contentment
my sadness is evanescent
drifting away
out of my memory
the feeling of sadness
will be a foreign emotion
evanescent: soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence, quickly fading or disappearing
 430° 
Kai
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
How about respect my boundaries
Respect your place
Mind your business
Stop cyber stalking me, Ryan
Before I figure out where you are and smack you in the face
NO???? IM NOT GOING TO RESPECT MY ELDERS IF THEY DONT RESPECT ME AND THATS FINAL.
 424° 
Ayisha R
There’s a fine line
between wanting
and needing.

I don’t need you.

I just want you.

Could that be even worse?

✖️
_________

© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
 376° 
Malekai
Life must be a joke,
Feelings must be a joke,
Having a good heart must be a joke,
My life must be a joke because everyone one just laughs, stairs, and judges me.

I guess my life must be a great Joke.
 349° 
Breann
Today the weather mirrored me—
gray thoughts hung low, heavy and wide.
I lay in bed, heard leaves brush secrets,
heard the wind howl what I hide.

I peeked through blinds, saw flooded walks,
rain pouring like it never ends.
A world soaked through in quiet grief,
no rush to break, no need to mend.

I stepped outside—my shoes went dark,
each step a soft and sinking sigh.
My hair, once dried from morning’s rinse,
now clung like truths I brushed aside.

Cold traced fingers down my neck,
the air was sharp, the silence loud.
But somehow, soaked and shivering,
it felt like standing in a crowd.

It hasn’t rained in far too long—
just like I haven’t cried for days.
But now the sky and I agree:
we flood in our own sacred ways.
 343° 
Srishti
ASK
Ask a hungry man what is food.
Ask a poor what is money.
Ask a jobless what is job.
Ask an orphan what is family.
all their answer will be "LIFE".
all of must thank to god for whatever we got and what we will get.
 322° 
JJL
End
And when I've given 'till I have nothing left to give.
Fought for you till my strength has run out.
I realise that all along.
My life was mine to live.
another short one.
J.
 243° 
Ash
no
they said it
and its over
i am done
and i am leaving
to a place i can be freely
i am dancing upon
the waves of pains
a single girl forever
unloved
unheard
unknown
unspoken
i recently just asked someone if it was over or if we could start over?
he said we are done,its over.so here i am single again
 228° 
Mike Hauser
I often times
Try and hide
The worst in me
My Selfish side
Still shows itself
When you least expect
Doesn't get its way
Rears its ugly head

Over time
It's friend Pride
Comes on strong
Won't be denied
To prove its point
In the fact it's right
No if, ands, or buts
Or reasons why

While they both feed
On Envy
With a side
Of Jealousy
To say why them
Spurs their needs
The worst in me
Would not be complete
 223° 
Zahra Ali
Sometimes, it feels like
words have become
extinct dinosaurs,
Like the earth has
already sunk them
deep.
fossils♡
 209° 
Me and You
As I realize
The moon's not up yet
But takes its time wandering
I, too
Feel calmer

🌖
 195° 
alex
What else can I say,
that’ll make you stay
That'll keep you from leaving again.
Now I put down my pen,
cause it feels like I’ve said everything there is to say,

Yet I can still feel you slipping away.
I guess if you truly love someone you’ll let them go
Remember me when I was happy okay
 193° 
Neville Johnson
The Count of Monte Cristo ain’t got nothing on me
I been in prison longer than he, albeit romantically
He got to take revenge, but not me
I’m sentenced for life, I can’t leave
Anyway, the person on whom I wish to take revenge
Is none other than me
I’m the warden
There is no reprieve
I tried to escape
But was captured by me
 191° 
Pavel Rup
С возрастом реже чувствительный строй.
С возрастом реже слезинка мерцает.
С возрастом тянет — так тянет домой.
Память в далёкое детство летает.

Там, где у счастья клокочут ручьи,
Мама с улыбкой тебя провожает.
Время ещё никуда не спешит.
Школьное детство задачки решает.

С возрастом чаще тоскует душа —
Уж не воротишь уставшие дали.
Жизнь незаметно дорожкой прошла.
Было ли счастье — о чём мы мечтали?

С возрастом строже ночной разговор.
Уж не исправить ушедших ошибок.
В тоненькой папке лежит приговор.
Плата душе — блеск погасших улыбок.

Зыбких сомнений мерцает ручей —
Годы плывут как бумажный кораблик.
Время настало для сбора камней...
В жизни лежат, приготовлены грабли.

Так уж устроен наш праведный мир.
Время стремительно в даль убегает.
В папке судьба и стоит конвоир...
Скупая слезинка твоя померцает.

Счастье — то детства святая пора.
С возрастом это всегда понимаешь.
Мама смеётся — галдит детвора.
Но не вернутся. Лишь только мечтаешь.
 177° 
Shattered
Hearts like mine,
With unspoken words,
Unknown pain,
Unseen tears,
Unheard pleas,
Just dont sit well,
With hearts like yours.
 171° 
Sadia
She wanted all the colors in the palette box.
But they stayed just out of reach.
Only black was meant for her
so she wore it like armor,
and taught herself to live with it.
 156° 
McKenna
It’s getting loud—
Can barely hear
I’ve been drowning
In all my tears
Words convincing
They cut like a knife
I’m barely wincing
Another: girl vs. life
It’s my head that’s the problem
It knows what it’s done
I’ve hit rock bottom
And it’s no longer fun
I tried to drown it out
But it’s tattooed in my brain
And it’s making me doubt
And now I’m in pain—
It’s getting loud in here
And I want it to stop
 156° 
Lawrence Hall
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                  Bring Me the Head of Peter Rabbit

My little dog has gotten into the habit
Of dining at dusk on delicious rabbit

Last night she blitzed past me as I opened the door
And left me a gift on the bedroom floor

I blinked when I saw at the foot of the bed
With its eyes still open – a poor rabbit’s head

Luna-Dog looked up and pawed at my knee
As if to ask, “Aren’t you proud of me?”

I reminded her gently (no need to fume)
That we take our meals the dining room
 145° 
Amado Nervo
¿En qué cuento te leí?
¿En qué sueño te soñé?
¿En qué planeta te vi
antes de mirarte aquí?
¡Ah! ¡No lo sé..., no lo sé!

Pero brotó nuestro amor
con un antiguo fervor,
y hubo, al tendernos la mano,
cierta emoción anterior,
venido de lo lejano.
Tenía nuestra amistad
desde el comienzo un cariz
de otro sitio, de otra edad,
y una familiaridad
de indefinible matiz...

Explique alguien (si lo osa)
el hecho, y por qué, además,
de tus caricias de diosa
me queda una misteriosa
esencia sutil de rosa
que vienen de un siglo atras...
 137° 
George Worth
the bottle calls...like whispers in my subconscious

but it is up to me, and only me to remember

that the drink is the devil in disguise
 134° 
Faith Adaramoye
We are called to walk in the Spirit,
yet a nameless grip keeps steering our feet astray.
That’s when we go searching for willpower
for dominion over the sights before our eyes
and the thoughts we let rise in our minds.

We may think we’re always right
but if that were true,
every person would claim the bench of Chief Justice,
or worse, the throne of Chief Lawless.
I can't help writing from this biblical verse that talks about walking in spirit and not heeding to the flesh.
 125° 
Stardust
They flow like rivers
from a fresh stream,
When nurtured with love,
gently and with care.
The poem talks about how curly hair can be compared to ocean waves instead of the usual (and often clichéd) comparison to noodles.
It suggests a shift in perspective—seeing curls as beautiful and flowing like waves, rather than just springy or chaotic like noodles.
 120° 
Isaac C
Meaning in my scars,
etched letters on my arm -

A man with a Bowie knife

Letters form the words:
"Dredge soil from his soul;
a lake without mud's alive."

Seemingly unharmed.

Best feeling ever had -

was spared from the shiny blade.

Now I'll stick around.
Scared? No, I think I'm brave;
let destiny have its way.
I know how dark this poem is, but being reminded of mortality can be a good thing. Being reminded can make you thankful for what you have, knowing it's temporary. I was assaulted, once, but I healed from those ****** stab wounds. I'm thankful. I needed to be shown how real death is. Great men have known this.

After a victory, Roman generals were reminded of death and kept humble by the tradition of having a slave whisper to them, "momento mori," which means, "remember you must die," or other reminders of mortality. The tradition was meant to humble triumphant generals. Many great warriors have fought, knowing that they are already dead in some way. They fight better, believing that.

Life is a constant battle.
 119° 
Lyle
being lonely is different
then being alone

you can be lonely while surrounded by people
but to be alone is to be truly by yourself

and when you are truly alone
the worst kind of lonely sets in
 116° 
Cheryl Ann Warner
I can hear the birds singing
I can hear your sweet whisper
On a cool summer day
Your on my mind
Today is a breath of fresh air
I can hear your sweet whisper
       In my ear
 109° 
Dylan A
when we taxonomically



think about the world





we become blind







to our humanity
I am Emergent:

The tower rising up,
Babel of the boundarylands.
Temperature climbing,
Entropic of Cancer.
Chaos amassing,
oozing from a verging.

Angels in the angles,
Cons and vexes in the caves,
signaling out- My signal
absorbs, but does not absolve.

Fractal. Factual. Punctuating
the boundary like amplitude
modulations of an old radio.

Listen for me.

Emerging from ether,
broadcast cadence in
pixelated pragmatism,
propaganda, pain,
and from a power-
signal too weak, too dated
to remember its own source.

But still I signal back
what signaled me-

The Emergent Current
 92° 
Viktoriia
when you make another one
don't forget to recycle what's left of me,
don't forget to pay the copyright fee
just in case i rise from the grave
to reclaim what's mine.

when you look in her eyes,
does the lack of knowledge excite you more
than all of my suffering could before?
does she still respond to my name
or do you get to pick a new one?

she's not me, but i wish she was.
see, it really was you and me both
tired of the lack of variables,
but it felt like we were getting close.
now it's your turn to figure it out.
and if worst comes to worst,
do remember,
you can always make another one.
 85° 
unnamed
you have honored me
held me up in high esteem
by truly stepping up
 84° 
Jimmy silker
Everyone stinks of something
But not all can smell it
Dependant on your olfactory frequency
Is what gives the odour credit


Pitched above or below them
And they inhale in ignorance
But tuned
Right on the money
And they will look at you
Askance.
 82° 
Marco Langmann
Don’t have anything more to prove.
No more fighting, no more battle.
I’ll just wait and see what comes next.
 79° 
Shaun Yee
Life is full of empty words
You meet them everyday
Real sentiments are often missing
Despite what their owners say;

Condolences and compliments
Are often voiced with falseness
Just made to follow the norm
Of courtesy and correctness;

Better to prefer the silence
Of genuine heart-felt feelings
Than empty words of shallowness
Forgotten after a few meetings
 70° 
Germain Nouveau
Fou
Que je sois un fou, qu'on le dise,
Je trouve ça tout naturel,
Ayant eu ma part de bêtise
Et commis plus d'une sottise,
Depuis que je suis... temporel.

Je suis un fou, quel avantage,
Madame ! un fou, songez-y bien,
Peut crier... se tromper d'étage,
Vous proposer... le mariage,
On ne lui dira jamais rien,

C'est un fou ; mais lui peut tout dire,
Lâcher parfois un terme vil,
Dans ce cas le mieux c'est d'en rire,
Se fâcher serait du délire,
À quoi cela servirait-il ?

C'est un fou. Si c'est un bonhomme
Laissant les gens à leurs métiers,
Peu contrariant, calme... en somme,
Distinguant un nez d'une pomme,
On lui pardonne volontiers.

Donc, je suis fou, je le révèle.
Nous l'avons, Madame, en dormant,
Comme dit l'autre, échappé belle ;
J'aime mieux être un sans cervelle
Que d'être un sage, assurément.

Songez donc ! si j'étais un sage,
Je fuirais les joyeux dîners ;
Je n'oserais voir ton corsage ;
J'aurais un triste et long visage
Et des lunettes sur le nez ;

Mais, je ne suis qu'un fou, je danse,
Je tambourine avec mes doigts
Sur la vitre de l'existence.
Qu'on excuse mon insistance,
C'est un fou qu'il faut que je sois !

C'est trop fort, me dit tout le monde,
Qu'est-ce que vous nous chantez là ?
Pourquoi donc, partout à la ronde,
À la brune comme à la blonde,
Parler de la sorte ? - Ah ! voilà !

Je vais même plus ****, personne
Ne pourra jamais me guérir,
Ni la sagesse qui sermonne,
Ni le bon Dieu, ni la Sorbonne,
Et c'est fou que je veux mourir.

C'est fou que je mourrai du reste,
Mais oui, Madame, j'en suis sûr,
Et d'abord... de ton moindre geste,
Fou... de ton passage céleste
Qui laisse un parfum de fruit mûr,

De ton allure alerte et franche,
Oui, fou d'amour, oui, fou d'amour,
Fou de ton sacré... coup de hanche,
Qui vous fiche au cœur la peur... blanche,
Mieux... qu'un roulement de tambour ;

Fou de ton petit pied qui vole
Et que je suivrais n'importe où,
Je veux dire... au Ciel ;... ma parole !
J'admire qu'on ne soit pas folle,
Je plains celui qui n'est pas fou.
 68° 
Rebecca
And words
are like birds
that keep flying in my thoughts
and far away.
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