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 Jan 2014 Bilal Kaci
Scott T
Just the dull sighing of cars
As they float by my window
Projecting trailing shadows across the wall
Just the pale gleam of the moon
As it barely lights up the earth
And just a small man
In his bed
Seeing this
Hearing this
In this
But incapable of grappling with this
And what this is
 Jan 2014 Bilal Kaci
Ottar
late, darkness falls not lightly
                                   but nightly,
moon gathers up the fog,
to let a new damp cloak go again,
in the morning when,
the sun drags up and out,
from the grasses,
from the brush,
from the tallest reaching
arms that trees have to
dance with,
the veil,
before it returns to where the
stars applaud,
as meteors weave,
warp and weft
that make the next
days misty
morning drape
to soften the
harsh glare
       and stare,
of the unkind,
of the concrete
blockheads,
who have rebar for brains,
of the makers of pain,
of the committed sharp cutters
who want
no softness, as that is where love
takes hold
while waiting late and lightly.


©DWE012014
On a beach-side shadowy angels crowd 'round
as bonfires burn and the moons call out.
Chanting to the stars,
The Anthem of Zedd on our mouth,
All off our face without a doubt.

Dance of The Empyrean,
Rave-shamans in transcendention.

Urban rituals are softly spoken
as the hallowed worlds burst open;

Epiphany incoming,
Collect Call;
Spellbound by sweet vocality
and held in it's melodic thrall.
Behold what is unspoken,
The practice of zero-summing:
CHIM; we fully intend to return.
She isn't writing poetry anymore.

*nay, maybe she's writing
but hiding
them from the world
pouring inks all over them
when she finishes
in her agonized realization
there's no finish
and only beginning
each time starting all over again

her unfinished story

with each poetry!
During dark hours,
Turning in sleep, restless,
Edging from a dream, so soft,
Cosseted, warm, gentle, loving,
Till the memory spike ravages, savages,
Piercing deep, deep down, grimacing,
It hurts; crushing tears, salty, warm, stillborn.

During dark hours,
Absolving her of blame,
Shedding the need to punish,
Unwilling to chastise my darling,
Far easier than forgiving oneself,
And yet; I struggle, so difficult,
Because of Love? Yes, yes of course.

During dark hours,
She sleeps; peaceful soft snores,
Unaware how, forgiving her,
Forces, unbidden, an angry sadness,
My word is true, honourable, my bond,
No regrets, revenge unthinkable;
Still; I’m good at fooling myself.

During dark hours,
She slashes my thoughts,
Undignified imagery, thousand fold torment,
I do forgive; I have; just punishing myself,
What is forgiveness anyway?
Death, springs readily to mind,
We all forgive then; at last.

© Paul Chafer 2014
The question remains unanswered, what is forgiveness, really?
We often think of flashbacks as being associated with tragic events
I have experienced some like mentioned above, but maybe they could be something more
In a flashback you can visualize something so intently and you feel like you are living it again
It can make such an emotional impact, it can be paralyzing and emotionally crippling
It can take years of therapy to try to move beyond it, you may feel like you may never be the same
The mind is a powerful thing, professionals say you can change dreams, maybe likewise you can try
to change flashbacks
It would be great to be able to so intensely remember a good memory that you feel as if you are living it again, perhaps remember a time with a friend or family member who has passed on
To remember the sound of their voice, what they said, what they were wearing, the smell of there cologne or perfume. how you felt when you were with them, perhaps having the positive emotions outweigh the negative if possible
It would be great to be able to be able to freeze frame like in the movies on a great moment
It would be great to remember something so intently that you read, such as a favorite poem or book that you remember it for years, or be able to recite it from memory      
I don't know all that our minds are capable of I don't know if you know either
I would love to flashback to your poems and how they made we feel, and recall them in a moments of stress, in a second of time, and melt my troubles away
 Jan 2014 Bilal Kaci
Olivia Kent
REST IN PEACE?
Long legged lady.
She smiled.
Subtle smile all of her own.
Glint in her mischievous eye.
She’s a wild beast.
Misrepresented in the world.
Slumbers dumb.
Until the instant nasal greeting.
Perfume of *****.
An instant alive.
A nose full of fire.
Sees a feline creeping.
Timidly perched on the fence
En route to somewhere else.
Timid beast becomes savage.
Ballarat, makes a small pooch freak.

By ladylivvi1

© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Ballarat is Aussie slang for cat!
She makes her dress with red petals
fastened with emerald twigs of ivy
happy is her wonderful heart
she never wants for nothing

For she is the kiss of autumn
the winds of change all will follow
all creatures great and small
will follow her knowing her call

Her wind swept hair flows majestically
as she calls nightfall to be her master
days get shorter with her wishes
she is magical, a beautiful spell caster

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
My love is kept, and I have nailed
Her face to mine in a box of sleep,
A chamber for lost chances, subtle
Visitations, concrete emanations,
Somnambulistic signs and mercies
Elation, we walk through meadows
Of the mending sun, sweetly chaste,
Ever deep into the wandering shift,
That tearing time and moon allows,
Real as dream, to the lands of night.
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