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 May 2016
jane taylor
skilled
beyond the
greatest artist
or scientist

you are
to have
composed
the pieces just so

i see
what you had in mind for me
all along
god

my life
an amalgamation
a mosaic
immaculate montage

©2016janetaylor
 May 2016
Sally A Bayan
Have You Ever-

felt the blazing sun too hot, it ****** your skin?
then, suddenly, falls a downpour of raindrops so thin.


Have you ever
seen steam rise from hot surfaces doused by the rain?
have your hands, ever
let go of a hot plate, or a hot pan due to burns and pain?

Have you ever
stopped to think and wonder
why...........why
when so inspired
your flow of rhymes
in midstream, suddenly dies?

Have you ever
reached that point, where
the minutes, hours,
days, weeks, months of each year,
where...every breath you take,
is wasted waiting? And for your sake,
every drop of patience...you manage to imbibe,
and then you fight, every struggling second in your life.

Have you ever felt.....a brokenness
a spreading...widening blackness?
numbed you in the heat; in the cold, you almost froze
your lips do bleed...but no one sees, til they're too close
because, you cover them with bright colors...for show
you bear no signs of belligerence      
your pained moans and screams of resistance,
............................fall,
and get lost in a dark abyss...a  huge hole
...you open your mouth...
and, like a wind that howls....you shout,
in that immeasurable depth, your voice glows, like embers,
yet, nobody knows...it's you, who always remembers.

You, are soaking wet...tap water continues to pour
bath tub overfills with stained, pained water all over the floor
the anesthetized edges of your brokenness, now cooled...softened,
go down the drain, and there, they get to be unfettered,
they flow out of your system, these bottled feelings;
even a brief moment of break...of freedom,
should be appreciated...

Have you ever thought of gratitude?


Sally


Copyright May 21, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Have You Ever Seen The Rain?
(by Creedence Clearwater)


Someone told me long ago
There's a calm before the storm,
I know; it's been coming for some time.

When it's over, so they say
It'll rain a sunny day,
I know; shining down like water.

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
Coming down on a sunny day?

Yesterday, and days before,
Sun is cold and rain is hard,
I know; been that way for all my time.

'Til forever, on it goes
Through the circle, fast and slow,
I know; it can't stop, I wonder.

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
Coming down on a sunny day?

Yeah!

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
Coming down on a sunny day?
He comes knocking your door
Buys things you need no more
Weighs and pays for discarded load
Then goes off to another road.

For your pound he pays pence
Makes it seem in perfect sense
The deal is only if you're willing
To barter the old for new shilling.

You feel he adds some happiness
Clears the dirt creates the space
Your home was long a messy lot
With no place for new things brought.

Not all old things are like that dirt
A few are ever new are your part
He never asks them to be sold
Knowing you wouldn't for price of gold.
 May 2016
Daniel Ospina
There is a day when dreams are
Exiled, left to waste away --
The dry sands of tomorrow.
Magnificent dreams,
Too daring, ambitious, demanding,
Cast aside, in hopes that they’ll
Flourish on their own.
We’ll dream once more…
Tomorrow

There is a day when opportunities
Are swallowed by the tides,
And sink to fathomless trenches
Never to be seen again,
For there might be another one…
Tomorrow.

There is a day when unspoken words
With the potential to change a life sit
In one’s tongue, embittering over time,
Since someone else will speak them…
Tomorrow.

There is a day when the Earth will perish
By exploitive and negligent hands.
We were all aware of what was to come,
So let us amend our ways...
Tomorrow.

Somethings simply just cannot wait.
Perhaps tomorrow is a day too late.
 May 2016
phil roberts
There is no reason or right
for the night
to own your insecurities
to marshal your killing nightmares.
The endless fall.
The leaden-legged chase.
The faceless, nameless monsters
But you know who they are.
Every restless twitch.
The over-heated bed.
Angels feathers
would not be comfortable.
Don't let it be!
Call the night into question.

                                 By Phil Roberts
 May 2016
Happynessa
Within the centre of your being
May you find peace
Every act of unconditional love
Echoes in eternity
Spread your wings and dance
Dreams into reality
If your situation  won't change
Then change yourself
The optimist is often as wrong
As the pessimist
But he is far far happier
Choose happiness
 May 2016
The Dedpoet
Liquid evening when the rains
Whisper to the lovers and soften
Their lips to comfort one another.

Drenched mornings when not even
Noah's dove can be spotted,
The solitudes as one makes the journey;
The thunder crackles tirelessly
On the windshield.

Liquid days when the earth is a fog,
When I admit I get lost at times,
Because the mist forms tears on
My face, and somewhere just above
The light shows how that it is half
There, such wet pessimism.

Rain like a sudden death
That invites grey days known as
Tears from Heaven,
A fitting farewell for the missing
Or gone.

Rain, liquid like old blood
That sits by a fire,
Cup in hand and reminiscing
On old storms as supplication
For the tired bones that once ran
To the lover, that once made love
In a slow drizzle,
Awaiting a final lightning.

Rain,
When my soul hits bottom
I take a walk,
I feel the wet earth at my feet,
The drops on my face,
The thunder that makes me
Know I am small,
The lightning that shines the way,
And in the distance,
A ray of sun that escapes,
And I know this too shall pass.
 May 2016
ryn
.

"Quieten down...
Release your anchor, and sink into bed."


"I can't...
The whims of the world are much to heavy...
For me not to bother."


"The weight of the world isn't yours to bear...
It'll sort itself out,
if only you'd give it time to spare..."


"But that's just it, isn't it?
If only there's enough time for all of it to fit.
The ******* truth is...
there's never enough.
There can never be for those built with edges so rough."


"Why are you so sure
about something that has yet to happen?
When future's sand has yet to be spilled,
and its ink has yet to be written."


"Because that's just me.
I am a being fraught with worry.
You know that.
It's the only way I can be ready.
It's the only way I can be steady."


"Then allow me to keep you company.
For I am you, as much as you are me.
Till such time you eventually feel,
that you're ready to retire and heal."


"Thank you...
Your words comfort me much.
I welcome you,
to see me through this chaos in my head.
I've severed the anchor...
Let us sail to tranquillity,
leave the turbidity in our wake.
And replace it with
peaceful dreams in its stead."




ryn
ryn

.
You know you've lost your marbles when you write pieces such as this.
.
 May 2016
David Adamson
for Richard, the boy who narrated life*

Today, leaves are falling.
“One day Aaron will watch the falling leaves.”
The first day of school arrives.  
“One day Champ’s mom will take him to school.”

Life is the story of life, says the narrator.

Life expands. The story lengthens.
The intertwined threads begin to pull apart.

Life is surface and sheen,
laughter, tears, opaque signs.
The story strains after fictive frames,
the hero’s epiphany, the villain’s inner pain,
and undreamt creatures beyond human sense.

And so myth and magic
give form to stories
that we no longer star in.  
New worlds take shape
where the story creates its own life,
an escape from "the shock of recognition."

In time the threads converge again.  
Life’s pattern breaks and needs a new plot.
The stories yield their human meaning—
maybe we were in them all along.

The story ends and life goes on.
Life ends and the story goes on.
"The shock of recognition" is a phrase that I have lifted from an essay by Herman Melville.
 May 2016
The Dedpoet
I pace myself in search of a moment:

I seek the day as a man,
The sun at 5p.m. with ripened
Sweat,
A cold beer with hard hat at my side,
A few words with a co worker
As though brothers in arms,
The sweet smell of dinner
In a place called home,
The run of my children toward
Me as though a hero, daily.
The kiss of my wife as she fought her
Own battle,
And the evening when I realise
The moments are not moments,
But a momentum;

I savor the journey.
 May 2016
Hadrian Veska
Nothing is born
Of its own fruition
No intelligence simply
Springs into existence

Everything is created

We search for our maker
Just as our creations
Will search for us
Long after we're gone


-Hadrian Veska
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