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 Feb 2015
Amitav Radiance
She walks in beauty
Through the lonely corridors
Glowing hope in her heart
Her smile spreads the magic
A rainbow of colors in
The abandoned heart
Every step she takes
Paves the way with glitters
Her silhouette draped with love
Glistening off the smooth curves
Waiting to be with the lonely heart
Every caress will wipe away
The loneliness of the two hearts
Lonely corridors no more
Beauty has found her destination
Where love knows no bounds
 Feb 2015
martin
Once I lov'd a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I'll love my handsome Nell.

As bonie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw;
But, for a modest gracefu' mein,
The like I never saw.

A bonie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the e'e;
But, without some better qualities,
She's no a lass for me.

But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet,
And what is best of a',
Her reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.

She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;
And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul;
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.
for Burns night
 Feb 2015
ryn
When gentle breezes turn into gale,
     remember that you will prevail.

       You may tear at these pages daily,
in search of peace and tranquillity.
   Planting hope and scattering wishes,
    Spilling blood in smears and blemishes...
       Flying out of the dark on
     wings of birds.
       Bridging the rippling void through
           severed words.

                Seeking...
             Reaching...
               Imploring...
            Writing...


     Be not wary of eyes that speak.
  Be not afraid of mouths that leak.

Know that our scribbles are only
   sacred to us.
       Emotions and thoughts we
           bind and truss.

  What we put forth, we owe it to ourselves...
     Bits of us we've kept hidden in the
darkest rooms; atop the highest shelves.

You...
      are wielder of your mighty pen.
You...
      determine how far or long your
         words would span.

   Your words... They're precious gold.
Many or little; be them new or old.

So let drip your ink with little reservation...
  Let us grow from strength to strength
     as life teaches its lessons.

   Rise up and live on in these here pages,
     For here exist only
         freedom;
               not cages.
Dedicated to writers here who are always apprehensive about posting or think very little of their writes.

Know that your words are gold. And the rest of us as readers are lucky enough be granted access into your mind, heart and life.

Keep the faith. Keep writing. Keep posting...
.
 Feb 2015
Vanessa Gatley
Unlock
My  secrets
My mouth
My heart
A door
That many different
options
For happiness
Sweets
Love
Unlock the best
feature
You've never known
Unleash  my biggest fear
Have the sun shine
All time
In this special spot
 Feb 2015
BertJane Perez
Remember the first time that you told me hello?
It was an awkward moment that I will always know
I remember us laughing in that simple, little moment
A time when we lived solely for our own enjoyment

Remember the first time that you held my hand?
A moment filled with confusion that I didn't understand
I had felt warmth and a tingling in my heart
A memory in my mind that will never depart

Remember the first time you held me in your embrace?
An action filled with love and done with such grace
My own heart started beating like an endless melody
A song that never stopped in our own little fantasy

Remember the first time that our lips finally met?
A beautiful moment I will never forget
It was like an explosion of love that I cannot truly explain
A metallic wine or the sweetest tasting champagne

Remember the first time that you told me goodbye?
The only moment we had that I wanted to die
You were gonna leave me because you needed to be free
I let you go because I knew your lover was something I could never be

Do I regret my decision?
I regret it every second that passes by
Because you will always be my first love
And my love for you will never die...
 Feb 2015
TigerEyes
Conversations with strangers
have opened up my eyes
to all the interesting ways in which
people have lived their lives
like magical characters inside a book
I want to keep turning the pages
to find out the path they took
I have often wondered
as I travel from here to there
how we can connect with strangers
everywhere
Their story might not be yours
perhaps they're here from Singapore
they miss their children/they miss their wife
but still they look you in the eyes, and smile
It's the conversations with strangers
that have left me feeling *inspired
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Krisselle S. Cosgrove Feb. 26th, 2015
 Feb 2015
PrttyBrd
Silenced by the past
Ballet dancers lie in wait
Music unwritten
22615
 Feb 2015
Helen
Air
No one told me
I could not breathe
without you
No one told me
you could turn
so blue
Nobody told me
I could be robbed
is this the strangled whisper
so fondly spoken of

No one has ever uttered
about how you
could be held
Almost every living person
rejoiced daily
as you expelled
You can't be held
by the hand
only kisses on skin
is a ghostly touch
You can't be captured
except by an open mouth
sharing a passion
and loving rough
I almost had you once
I breathed you in
with Love
except
as elusive as you are
you ghosted in
and out of me
and left me breathless
to the last
 Feb 2015
SE Reimer
~

irreverent place
on a laundry room shelf,
his is a figure serene.
source of comfort?
source of peace?
perhaps...
but oh, so much
more than that...
this is a crossroads
where absolution meets  
the gritty mundane,
where he became
her source of familiarity.
"good morning, Sweet Jesus,
i'm just here to wash
my ***** laundry."

no sacrilege here,
no... nothing profane.
from the hand outstretched
held out for the taking
who is this really,
this chalk figurine?
in tranquility certain,
a doorway between
human fragility and
perfection divine.
in life’s messy journey
our ***** laundry aside
how could one not feel,
more rinsed of life's stains?
Sweet Jesus, of course
divine cleanser, unseen
now, here on my mantle
my house feels more clean!

~

post script.

when a fellow treasure-hunter shared not only the story of  "Sweet Jesus" (a hand painted, european, chalk sculpture of a early-last-century, bleeding-heart Christ who was the long-time occupant of her laundry room closet shelf), but also an offer to bring him out of the closet and sell him to me (yes, it's true... i bought him for a few pieces of silver), i jumped at the chance to bring him to my mantle and determined to construct a fitting poem as a way to say, "thank you, Elaine!”  and to say unabashedly to anyone else, “i love my Sweet Jesus!  you are out of the closet... forever!!”


no sacrilege whatsoever intended
i dearly hope you'll not be offended!

:-) Steve
 Feb 2015
madelyn grace
The more I stand here
     in this downpour,
The more I question if
    the water is still flowing, or

if it's just my tears

Dripping down my frail body,
Cascading over each prominent rib,
And coursing through each protruding hip bone,

highlighting each defect with His gleaming smile
     as if He knows something I don't.

And I wonder, just how many times
the Water will try to slip his slithering hand
around my wrist,
  Before my essence follows Him down the drain.

And I wonder, just how many times
  I have to hear how fragile
I must be
  Before my spirit melts entirely.

And I wonder, just how many times
  I'll be told how small
I am
  Before my soul fades into nothingness

and I forget I exist as a person,
         not just
a Skeleton
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