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 Oct 2020
Tom Salter
Summer spent her last breath today,
A breath that still lingers on across the hills,
Filling spaces in between the bushes
That run parallel to the rambler’s routes,
She paints a shallow layer of verdant, kissing
Her mark upon the cheeks of the land,
An annual goodbye before she disembarks.

Autumn speaks, his spit fires off and pushes out
The thin remnants of Summer’s song, the colour
Turns flat, greens become murky, and
The shimmering glare that filtered the leaves
Now turns dull, paving the way
For yellow and rust, and joyless lungs.

Winter drowns all in glitter and white flame,
Burning the remnants of Autumn’s change,
She brings comforting dreams
To the sleeping fauna and staples
The grey flora into the tundra-like soil,
She shrinks the trees, the hills
And the grass
But alas she never lasts.

Spring comes quietly, a drastic change
But she is never boastful of the life
She brings, the blessed births
And the reformed prisoners, she
Breaks the chains of Winter, defrosting
The world and allowing colour
To return; the world is now emerald
And shall remain this way
For ninety days or so.
 Oct 2020
Me
A soft
pale-skinned child playing-
always wanting to play
always did in the past-
with the grounded kid
the one with such euphoric
nature

The two of them
oddly
know each other better than
anyone else does

And yet they
hardly meet
 Oct 2020
William Robbins
A tired leaf
hanging above the grass,
enjoyed a final sway.
And falling down
onto the ground,
he softly whispered "Hey",

"So long my friends.
  I've loved you each.
This life was strange and kind"

And with the wind
his leafy friends
waved him solemnly,
Goodbye.
As the end of the scene, finished the play, I went up to the tree and quietly said
Me- "I'm sorry for your loss"
Tree-"Don't worry" "It's fine"
Sadness only takes place in a place called your mind.
 Oct 2020
Me
The old Villa creaks under your careful steps. You know each nook and cranny, each dark, friendly and not so friendly corner. The wood and marble staircase spirals up like a reminiscent Chinese dragon, half asleep but moving. The chandelier - once crystal-clear and almost arrogant in its sparkling shine - now hangs from the high ceiling, unsure and slightly insecure about its own value. The doorknob under your warm hand feels irritatingly cold but familiar. You walk into what you know will be the hardest room for you. The room that you have avoided all this time but that, now, moves itself into your presence and you know, because you feel it, you cannot avoid it any longer. You don’t have to, either.
You turn the ****, and with a soft push the door gives in. One step, and you are in the room. You smell it, dusty childhood smell;
you know this, oh you know this, immediately. Yellow paper before you, crumpled school books, old toys, all of it - you remember
all of this.
You stand still for a moment. Half inside the room, half ready to leap backwards and shut the door again. You take a breath,
gathering your courage, your stability.
Then you experience a surging feeling, a wave-like movement that both comes towards you and seems to be oozing out of you, seeps from right out of your body, your chest. For a moment you have to close your eyes; it is too much.
Then,
in a powerful second inhale, you drink it all up, all of it, surrender
to all of this
understand
suddenly
with a magnificent pain and hot compassion, a lighting strike, that
all of it
until here
was necessary
made sense
makes sense
That you are all of this and more
and more
So much more.
Your lungs hold this breath, hold it for a timeless moment
before you, with utmost decisiveness and finality, open your eyes again
in slow-motion
facing
one last time
all of it

Saluting every single cherished item

Before you let
this
breath


out


and let everything

explode before your eyes

every structure


You lower your eyes


take a mental bow and step

back


And another step

You see



everything being lifted, moved around


unbound


explode in the air, into a million particles that are free to dance now


The things

the staircase the door the


room



the house



open


~


Somewhere at the shore, in white sand, a figure wakes up, stretching and shifting, squinting at the sparkling rays of sunlight reflected from the soft ocean waves. A naked, peaceful figure. The beach is as good as any place, and from here it begins.

A vague memory is welling up to the surface - vague, and yet engraved with care and absolute clarity;
there were certain things waiting here for a while.

A few meters away in the shade of the pine trees, there -

The figure gets up, a smile growing to full radiance. Naked feet starting to walk towards those trees, towards

Towards
 Oct 2020
Nonah
In the densest fogs
Wander morning birds

Between the trees, evergreen
Yet ever unseen

You can hear the croak of frogs
Their own amphibian words

The day crests high
Light fills the leaves

Glowing green among the gold
As seen from below, but not above

Until then comes the night
And the world then goes to sleep

To wonder if the sun will rise
Once more for different eyes

Or if the same will see
The lovely forest green
Life, time
 Sep 2020
fiachra breac
i can piece together scraps
and tie up old ribbon
and weave a new story

out of old memories
and new friends
and tales of true emotion

heartache, heartbreak,
when there’s just a little more
at stake

echoes of laughter and music,
deep sea and vast distance

dip and weave
move and shake
from many pieces,
one does a quilt make
 Sep 2020
She Writes
I’d rather write than speak
My pen is always responsive
My ink doesn’t judge my mistakes
My paper doesn’t argue
My lines never cross me
My sentences never disappoint
And my words will never leave me
 Sep 2020
callie joseph
she
i couldn't tell you where
but she was surfing on her own
salty water in her hair
and a ribcage full of stone
the lit cigarette was smothered by the sand as the rains came in
 Sep 2020
Traveler
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
.


Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

Vanity
All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
 Sep 2020
Tom Salter
Wait for me there,
By the crescent tree
Oh, nature’s stair, built
From bark and root,
Grown from fallen fruit.

Wait for me there,
Where the ivy clothes
Swirl into white skin
And where the fawns
Go to moot and sing.

Wait for me there,
By the shallow pond,
Lie down at the bank,
Tangle in the lilies, and
Wait for the thirsty fillies.

Wait for me there,
Down by the thin ridge,
Where rabbits sit
And chew the earth,
Bit by bit.

Wait for me there,
Between the rock
And chiseled stump
Where moss never grows,
And dirt begins to lump.  

Wait for me there,
Where the promise is kept
And my time is unspent,
Wait for me there, darling
Show me how you care.
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