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 Jul 30
Blue Sapphire
A broken heart is–

a poet's greatest treasure.
 Jul 30
Bekah Halle
I was in there (the bath)
<AGAIN>
Minding my business
Wrangling words that waned
When slip...

A lapse of judgment (confusion) and
The phone dipped
Into the water —

Fast thinking,
Reactive reflexes retrieved
The potential bath bomb.

A few quick blows
And phew…
The phone is just as it came.
Just cleaner!
 Jul 30
Bree
You do not need to know what I do
It is a weird question
"What do you do?"
Followed by
"Hi, how are you?"
It is the bullshittery of it all
The nonsense like that of Aqua Net.
Keeping every strand in place girl
Don't you worry
Aqua Net has saved many a day
She is the superhero of the world
 Jul 30
Traveler
I can figure for the math that X controls.
I can see the quantum, I can read the code.
I will not scroll down any further like a wayward lost sheep.
Just so you can censor my every bleep!
I have no need to play the fearful angry games.
Love and laughter extinguishes all flames!
In my heart god remains..
Traveler Tim
 Jul 30
Lawrence Hall
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                          “Just One More Thing”

His shabby raincoat
His rumply old suit and tie
His “Just one more thing…”
Columbo
 Jul 30
Bekah Halle
I was a late bloomer
To coffee, introduced via
The slow progression
From hot chocolate,
Advancement to a latte with two;
Latte with one,
Then a flat white!

Each transition marked a significant life succession;
Graduation from High School,
The first time I kissed a girl,
Waking up from the coma,
My first house purchase —

(Not that I was aware of the deeper meaning at the time)

Coffee became my driving force; searching out new experiences, cafes around the country and overseas —

Each time I held a cup
In my hand,
I was holding myself —
And my dreams, grand
Some spoken, many not
Even dared.

The thirst became a daily ritual,
Transforming my inner reflective space
As I too matured,
Softened, shaped by life and grace.
 Jul 29
Tom
Last night I opened the door to a fear I do not know,
a stranger from the street.
Its overwhelming silhouette now casting over my feet.

It greeted me like a neighbour,
tightly gripping at my hand,
a warmth not becoming of the spectre I did not understand.

For my life I've carried this scar.
A symbol of my mother's mercy,
A blessing of a life for which others have been thirsty.

I quietly parade it in defiance,
that slender crescent moon,
rising from my skin so as not to be forgotten.

Now I stand at the doorway of my conscience
and warily make acquaintance,
with the helpless fear that long feasted on my mother's patience.
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