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 Jul 2016
Analise Quinn
"Why are the poet's eyes always sad?"
A little girl asked me once.
She saw me furrow my brow,
And continued with her question.
"You see,
No matter how big you smile,
Or how hard you laugh,
There's always something there.
It's like you've found
The Great Sadness,
And you have to bear it all alone."

I nodded my head,
Fingers on my chin.

Why is it that the poet's eyes are
Always sad?

I'll answer your question
Like I did hers.

To be a poet,
You have to feel every emotion.

You have to know what it's like
To swim with the sharks
And survive,
And you have to know what it's like
To swim with the sharks
And die.

Poets have to know what it's like
To hear a baby cry for the first time,
And what it's like
To hear a mother sob,
Because her baby came quiet
And left without a fight.

We feel every
Great Happiness
And we find every
Great Sadness.

Why are poet's eyes always sad?

It's because the poet
Is always sad.

Once you find
The Great Sadness,
You can never rid yourself of it.

But if you look closely
In a poet's eyes,
You can always see
Happiness
And you can always see
Joy.

Because a poet
Has to feel every emotion,
He feels them all at once
And they can't be hidden.

In every poets' eyes,
You see happiness,
And you see sadness.
You see joy,
And you see pain.
You see love,
And you see loss.

Why are the poet's eyes always sad?

I think it is better to ask,
Why are the poet's eyes always smiling?
 Jul 2016
Analise Quinn
The greatest artists
Are born in heartache; not in
Times of happiness.
 Jul 2016
John Hawkins
Editing my thoughts;
A spoonful of porridge in one hand,
a pen in the other

My two main forms of sustenance;
One for the body,
The other the mind

A bite turns into a meal,
A written word into an expression of 'soul'.
The primordial biological urge is constant

Without the food I would not have the strength to pick up the pen;
Without the pen I would have no desire to eat.
Their unison might be the only thing keeping me in motion

Long may it go on.
shadows deepening
snow topped indigo mountains
flamingo pink skies
camped by a glacial lake
watching the end of the day
a single ****** swims past
its wake a thin silver line
then a loon calls from far off
and my heart disentangles
as the universe floods in
and washes away my pain
in a deep ocean of stars
bliss incandescent
Choka
 Jun 2016
susan
i'm strangely uncommitted
my voice is heard
by selective ears
any embrace i seek
must go through extensive
tests and research
i cannot give my heart
for it's under lock and key
and the key has long disappeared
i'm saddened by loneliness
a loneliness i've initiated
and the deadened feelings i've felt
offer me no comfort
this dire existence
leaves me incapable of love
but the yearning i feel
will never leave me.
 Jun 2016
Ja
Dark is the night, by the light of day

Harsh are the words, which some people say

Grievous the malaise, which we often feel

Deep are the wounds, of a hurt that won’t heal

Lasting the wrong, to whom it is done

Fleeting the moment, when praises are won

Tragic the loss, of someone we love

Empty the feeling, when they are thought of
WIZDUMBs BY JA 619
 May 2016
cgembry
Waters pour
From clouds on high
Restoring life
To a world so dry

I long to be reborn
Like the grass and grain
So I kick off my shoes
To dance with the rain
 Apr 2016
Traveler
Worthless words
In wasted ink
Nowhere thoughts
Are all I think

Shall I map
This living mess
From death to birth
From cursed to blessed

As I write of love
Slipped through my hands
With every word
This heartbeat ******

To relive the past
In a flowery array
What worthless words
Would I convey ...
Traveler Tim
re to 04-17
 Apr 2016
Brittany Downer
Out upon a cold plain
From the view of my coach seat
I see a world coated in frost
The fields are white
The fog is dense
This world is dull, and yet its beauty is baffling
Facing backwards along the tracks
As the world moves in reverse
This must be a dream...
But I am awake.
I gaze upon silhouettes far beyond my reach
Is it a house? A tree? A person?
They are a mystery to me
I wish for them to stay that way.
This world is a stranger to me.
A stranger, yet a friend.
A slimmer of gold breaches through the thick white fog
Over time it grows and multiplies
The fog slowly dies
And in its dying breaths it gives birth to the dawn.
I'm blinded by the colors before me.
Rich browns and greens greet me.
The frost of an early morning still remains
The trees, though leaf-less, reach up towards a cerulean sky
And the sun radiates a gentle hue that castes dancing shadows along my coach.
This world is beyond my comprehension
A world that is a stranger and yet a friend to me.
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