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 May 2013 Ann Beaver
JL
I'm the worm
On the sidewalk dying
Starving
I crave the *****
Like an apple core
In the trash can
Postmortem
I split my cocoon
Tasting with my tongue
Her Sweet smeared pollinated petal
Eyelashes like monster claws between the closet door crack
Skin pale perfect corpse
A form of higher evolution
Curves geometrically perfect
Dramatacized in black and white
I put up a good fight
Slice me apart with my own strengths
A slip of the tounge against my weakness
She told me
"Never."
She gives no satisfaction
Gone before the streetlights
Turn off
I don't want you
To leave again
Stay awhile
Stick your fingers in my bullet wounds
Whisper in my ear
Your fears
So I can play with them
Evacuate
Her particles slipping through the air vents
Dancing in the silllia of my lungs
The star in her belly
I warm my hands near the flame
Playing her game
Until I'm burnt
 May 2013 Ann Beaver
Chuck
For What?
 May 2013 Ann Beaver
Chuck
Lost in my mind
Found in a fog
Fighting a war
With no armies
Losing the battle
Winning the war
Forgotten what
I'm fighting for
For nothing
For something
For the right
To feel peace
Or the right to war
This is what
I'm writing for
 May 2013 Ann Beaver
Chris T
I read a report
Not so long ago
Called:
“Writers most
likely
to suffer
from depression”
Irregular pay
Isolation
Contributed to
The illness
I knew this to be
True
But it’s not the whole
Truth
Writers go mad for
Other reasons
We go mad because
We’re insane enough
To cut pieces of
Our souls
And
Trap them
In paper
And ink.
This is an old one I found in my notes. I found the report in some news site, it explained why it is so many of our fellow writers go mad because of depression. I've suffered with depression all my life, while I wrote, it sometimes got worse; this is my theory. To this day it's true. Writers are most likely to suffer from depression.
 May 2013 Ann Beaver
JL
Operator
 May 2013 Ann Beaver
JL
This is where we cross paths
Is it meant to be?
When you speak the hooks sink deeper
Echoings inside of me

Eyes of pure desire
Masked by double-meanings
I saw her say she loves me
But I was only dreaming

I will light your house on fire
If you do not give me your name
I trace the length of your fingers
The grace of hips leave me insane

I still do not dare touch you
Your coy smile slipping on and off
Your words hint at love and grandeur
The joy of simple life

As if the Norns have snipped a thread
Bony fingers knot us together
I feel the hands of fate
Upon the tapestry eternal
Vibrations I know you must feel
Vibrations I know you feel
 May 2013 Ann Beaver
Tim Knight
AND?
 May 2013 Ann Beaver
Tim Knight
And we rang along those river banks
against the light cast as shadows,
fleeting past mournful dark windows-
timid in the evening's morning.

And you whispered into my eyes
the words you wanted me to see,
and showed them to idle ears
who waited for something else appear.
coffeeshoppoems.com
timknightpoetry >> Facebook
 Apr 2013 Ann Beaver
Nick Durbin
Left alone on this makeshift raft,
Drifting further into the wake -
All I see is darkness...
Slowly collapsing upon my bones,

Waiting to be resolved -
To be encapsulated with meaning,
A filament of hope to define our love...
Show me my life is not *insignificant.
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