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  Apr 2016 Catharina
mark john junor
she set a polish to the brass pipes
with a careful hand she worried them
hours like a silent moving contemplation
she worked her way from one end of
the massive machine to the other
knowing every rivet
every dent and scratch
the hot steam leaving a sheen of sweat on her
the machines labored breathing filled her ears
alive to her she spoke to it
in a loving soft whisper
she felt the gauges and levers
with the familiarity of mother and child
knew its every creak and groan
with the heart of unconditional loving care
a steam engine is a living thing
a breathing feeling entity
a life of brass for bone
coal fire for a heart
it loved her as much as she loved it
  Sep 2015 Catharina
jeffrey robin

rusted tin can by the busted body

Of what was once a man


What have we done to ourselves ?

The hidden truths


Our plea to be seen as a human being

Who loves


Sad the song that lingers

The death that has arrived

The pain we invited in

And glorified


The pages of our poetry

Scattered in the wind

That end up

**** stained

In corpse strewn alleyways

( our lovers ! )


Write on Poets of Love !

Write on !

Till the last of you is gone

& in the Silence

We might find Peace
Catharina Sep 2015
When the lights cut out
and the air feels thin,
your lips are pressed to mine
I can barely breathe.

The clock ticks slowly,
your scent makes me dizzy.
"No one has to know," you whisper
I only moan in agreement.

Your hands travel down my spine;
calloused, rough --
there I know that, even in the dim light,
your eyes, dark and sharp, still look up to mine.

My lips move to your jaw,
palms wet, running down your chest with cold sweat;
a nervous glance to the door:
"Don't worry, no one will come."

You pull my hair lightly;
your touch is soft, yet careless.
I treat you as if you were the finest porcelain
when, to you, am I nothing but shattered glass --

--you just keep insisting to step on.

I moan aloud;
you desperately cover my mouth.
My voice hushes, "I'm sorry",
but my flesh screams for more.

Our clothes lay thrown across the floor
and I watch them, stoic, waiting
while you leave your last marks
upon my neck.

Now it's 3 in the morning, I'm laying by your side
With a sigh, I stand up and change my mind---
quietly shutting the door,
kissing you goodnight.

It's not right; I refuse to hide
upstairs, on your shelves,
just like the books
you have never finished to read.

Walking home, all alone
I tell myself to forgive,
and forbid.

Because I would rather
gather dust on the box of our past,
than on your shelf, waiting
on our future.
[that's why i forbid this love;
forgiving us for all we've done,
forgetting the pain we've once known,
and forbidding the love that never had the chance to happen.]
  Apr 2015 Catharina
R Saba
for you, i’d remain standing
long after the trees sat down to rest
and the sun had done its best to make you smile

i realize your presence was heavy upon me
for years, damning praise and sharp silence
like tags poking out from brand-new clothing, reminding me
to cover you up
and worn, fraying threads betraying the fact
that my feelings for you were long past their due date
and i should just throw them away

i never threw them away, i just recycled them
somehow knowing that one day
i would find a use for this feeling, a cause worth standing for
and a body that stood in the same crooked way
you are not the same, you are better
than any face i used to hate, or any voice
that used to grate upon my tired mind
love turned to hate
and now the cycle repeats itself again
hello there sunny day
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