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  Jan 2019 Anji
Robin Lemmen
There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
  Dec 2018 Anji
Mike Hauser
i had no idea what love was
until it disappeared
or the joyful sound it made
until silence was all that i could hear
or the beauty that it held
in a single tear
i had no idea what love was
until love disappeared

i had no idea what love would take
until it was gone
took apart this wanting heart
left behind this weary soul
would i have let it get this far
if only i had known
i had no idea what love would take
until love was gone
Anji Sep 2018
In my darkness, you are a shining beacon of light.
A lamp post, street side in the darkest night.
When all of the stars, and even the moon
Decide to depart from the sky -
I’m still drawn to your fire.
Seeking warmth and comfort like a moth
Against the soft-framed glass panes of your life.

Because - MY GOD!  -
In deep darkness, how brilliantly you shine! And
In the crucible of my life
When all things burnt out, blackened, and
All I loved had withered and died -
There in the ashes, among the wreckage
I saw a diamond sparkling, so these hesitant fingers pried it apart
And now...

Here you are. Standing by my side,
Singing back to me my very own pain.
Killing me, so softly
With the way that you sing.

Oh, my darling. For you,
I would burn down anything.
And only for You...
Beautiful Diamond Of Mine.
poetry, *******.
  May 2018 Anji
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
Anji May 2018
you and me, we are
backstrokes in the never-ending river
splashing and laughing as it carries us along.
We are on fire, we are sparkling diamonds in God's eyes
we are pleasure, rapture, pain and desire,
shining brighter than the stars overhead at night
here now in the raindrops' glisten, stop and listen
the soft sound of water paws leaping to the ground,
we are a flicker, we are a fancy, we are a fleeting
song carried along by shameless tongues and now
your mouth against mine
is the closest I've come to tasting the divine
so all I have to say is: lover, when we die
may it be just as poetic as this fraction of pulsating life.
for him.
Anji Mar 2018
Kool-aid, fried chicken, potatoes and gravy.
We’re all gonna die from the sugar inside those diabetic cookies
And rows of donuts, danishes, plastic plates, sweet tea & lemonade beverages,
So much of it that it makes me sick to see the trash bins
Full of half-eaten food, dropped by lazy hands,
Now everyone lifts their hands during worship and
I feel foolish, I don’t understand, because their smiles are fake and
I know the way they will talk about me when I go walking away,
Will hear them whispering later about each other, and oh my God,
There’s something so sinister here…
I know it because I don’t hear about demons, or evil, or hell, or pain, or fear
Anywhere else but inside of these walls with no windows, where
I am told I will burn for my questions, and she goes up to the altar again, and so does he
They do this, the same ones, every single week
Because deep down, they don’t believe anything they’re hearing -
Their soul keeps vomiting up these spoon-fed ideologies - so there must be
Something wrong, some sin in their *******, that beats them senseless and
Makes them ignorant, childish victims that need to be rescued
Over. And over. And over again.

The music is repetitive, reminding us we are helpless. Broken. Our own minds are not to be
Trusted. Here comes a fat white man, who opens his mouth and reads a line
From the equally fat little white book in his hand. Here comes that same twisted sort of rhetoric -
Sin, shame, death, isolation, separation, judgment, sin, sin, sin.
Who is this Jesus, who is always different in every sermon?
Sh. Just listen. You are loved - unconditionally.
So you better worship. Or be tortured for an eternity.
Now, no more questions -
The man is sweating under stage lights, asking, “do you know where you’re going? Well, do you?”
Repeat after me, sheep, and you will be free! Grazing forever in paradise
Where those infinite, rolling pastures are always green.

But for all that they’re selling, there’s a **** ton of food outside in that dumpster smelling
And pesticides in the river, and a homeless man shivering, his socks soaking,
And my youth pastor friend is ******* after church, he’s addicted to *******, ashamed
Of his totally natural and ****** needs, and my sister is crying, she
Tried to rush into a marriage to please the church family, who promised the joys of monogamy,
And my mother is trying to undo her years of religion-induced trauma in therapy,
And I am sitting alone in the bathroom after the service, crying
Because no matter how badly they want to save my soul,
Not a single **** one of these people ever actually cared about me.
I just have a lot of feelings.
  Mar 2018 Anji
We are the ones who are hard to understand
We'll be the last ones in the movie theatre
because the ending scene made us cry
We'll stop to smell the roses
because they deserve to be appreciated
We are the ones who will take the time
to learn what keeps you up at night
We are the ones who will imagine
an entire future of adventures
with the people who show us love

We are the ones who will love you more
than we love ourselves
We will give you our strongest parts
in hopes that we can make things better
We desire to see you become the best you
to make sure that you always feel our love
We crave affection and appreciation
We give a piece of ourselves away every day
sometimes to people who don't deserve it
Our love is easy to take advantage of
and sometimes we don't get back
the love that we give away

When we hurt, we crumble and fall apart
We constantly have to put ourselves back together
We are more fragile than we like to give off
We carry our emotions on our sleeves
Our flaws have the ability to consume us
We aren't afraid to give you the world
but we are afraid to feel unloved
We want you to see what we see
We want you to understand where we're coming from

We are good people with good intentions
We are stronger than we believe
Not everyone can feel the way we feel
We feel too much, too often
We are not hard to love
We are something not everyone knows how to love
But you need to remember that
your worth does not change just because
no one is there to appreciate you, to remind you

You are not any less lovable
You are the most lovable person in the world
You are a light that the world needs
Your kindness is not your weakness
You do not need to change for anyone's acceptance
You do not need to stop giving love
just because you don't get any back
Your heart is the best thing about you

And one day when you least expect it
someone will notice you from across the room
and know exactly how to love you
They will think all of these things are beautiful
They will deserve the love you can give
They will fill the empty space in your heart
But for now, don't stop feeling
We are the ones who feel everything so deeply
We are the ones who can't give up because
We are the ones who will teach the world
how to love
We are exactly who we are supposed to be
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