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 Apr 2016
RIVIS WRITES
I had
a knife to my neck for breakfast
a punch with a crunch for lunch
but I ate ***** looks for dinner
thats how I knew
I was the winner
and when I went up for dessert
never once did they see me hurt
thats how they knew I was a bruiser
and they were backing a loser
 Apr 2016
Stephan
'

Looking back
on pre-written lines,
folded paper in busy drawers,
laughing at the contents,
thinking of the past
when words came
from someplace else
and meanings felt deeper
than those in this
empty notebook of
spiral bound remnants
stuck in circular hell
staring at me from my desk,
pleading for a friendly pen
to decorate its remaining pages
in something other than
disappearing memories
 Apr 2016
Kathryn Heim
We knew not
what we did,
a convenient truth
that kept us hid.

But hide no more,
for when we die
we must look Him
in the eye.
 Apr 2016
Sally A Bayan
Remembering, when...
occasions, weekends were eagerly celebrated
even weekdays...any day was met with enthusiasm
but, how did all these special days become so ordinary?
how...why, did these red-marked dates become unimportant?

why are we here now, in this phase? at this point?
existing...standing on a plateau...where,
life offers no changes...no alternatives...
it's like...a storm decides to stop at midstream
chooses to stay...not just passing through
no swerving, no immediate changes in its direction.

the adventurous soul in us, hides...its spark, dies
sunlight looks dim...the moon is without a glow
clear sea water seems muddy...wading, becomes
so tiresome...legs and feet hurt so much,
from swimming...day by day
...away...from cacophony...

it gets to be weary,
to be reminded of a wrong choice,
or a wrong decision made,
to always rise...from a restless sea
most times, we taste impure water
contaminated...and adulterated
where acerbic, detrimental  words float,
further aggravating
existing emotional sores,
creating more lesions in the mind.
what's worse,
the ears that choose to be deaf, are further pierced
the already wounded heart and dashed ego, are further stabbed    
they all could one day, be numbed
.......by more of these ordinary days....

I wonder if it's better...to linger on a plateau
or to be on the cusp...of a fall...


Sally


Copyright April 17, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
O America you are so beautiful. I thank Christ for you USA.
For your Creation, Land of the brave and home of the Free.
For you were created to draw people whom wanted to worship.
The Savior whom gave his Life so that we may live with God.
The Savior whom risen up once again so that there would be a door.
To all whom seen the truth and would return Christ Love back.
For there would be others in other countries that would do the same.
But America would always welcome those that were persecuted  there.
To have a place to escape to so that they may be able to worship in peace.
 Apr 2016
phil roberts
When I was a younger man
Time moved so much quicker
There was always something happening
Always something changing
Somewhere to go
Something to catch up with
Or even to escape from
People came and went
Then came and went again
"Where's he living these days?"
"Who knows what's happening?"

Now things are quieter and calmer
In this age of ghosts
In the land of the lost and lonely
Where once there was speed
There's nowhere to go
And nothing much changes
Even my dreams remain the same
As, with an unaccustomed patience
I write poems
And wait

                              By Phil Roberts
 Apr 2016
K Balachandran
I talk to the water and the spring, it's deeper source,
without words, it heals me, I receive the benediction,
to clouds and seething sea waves too,I, my eyes speak
transcending mind, I reach out to the gentle forces of nature
send my thoughts to plants and animals, they are very kind.

"Would you keep quiet for a while?"
I hear my request to myself as if I am somebody
different, from what I wish to be.I am astonished
at myself, it's the ability to commune with silence.
I go back to the mind of nature wordless, in meditation
hope that I would be the one I wish, the elders
have told us all that is to be done.Needs to be just the link.

I want to stop my babbling that makes
words lose their, inherent potency
I get this nagging question, repeatedly
do I respect the word, utmost
and be in it's ring of friends and lovers?
the fewer you use words
I feel the word will desire you more
But how do I forge the emotional bond
with each word I woo and make my own?
I seek the answer in 'Aum"

I invoke a word to come out of the beehive
of my buzzing brain, a cosmos,where they
compete with each other to fly out to forests far
in search of flowers secreting honey, dense  with pollen.

I hear the drone of the word, on it's journey
to distant gardens.I acknowledge it's clarity of intentions
purity of singular thought which fills heart with sweetness
the bee, is a 'brahmachari' single minded 'yogi'
after the ultimate meaning;I, wish to  let the word be and with it
Brahmachari-one who takes the path of learning to realize supreme
reality, "brahman"
When blue turns to grey,
walk gently into the fog.
Let the dimness open
the
avenues
of
renewal.
We are all circling
the same decisions.
Bleeding with the blood
of our ancestors in our veins.
One connected road
that
is
populated
with
similar
beginnings.
The end for each
is the only
different journey.
Circle the wagons
and
draw the blinds.
Enter the secrets
of
a million years.
This cleansing is
quenching
the
breaking
wood.
Enclose the pictures
of other scenes
into the frames
of
grabbing
snares.
Trapped. Locked in.
Nothing can
drive
the
doubt
away.

I just want answers.
I just want answers.
 Apr 2016
Mike Adam
On dawn beach
collecting shells

The smell ridden
midden stretching
millenia

How we have lived
how we have moved
no dawn beach
untouched
no homely shell unmoved
 Apr 2016
Happynessa
She wondered what it would feel like
To escape the rigid boundaries of words
And speak in the fluid language of art

The chemical pull of the pen was exciting
But the blissful sensation of the brush
May give way to time losing its meaning

Her love of art came from her childhood
Story books when opened meant she
Could fall inside the wonderful illustrations

Years of life and years of passion spent inside
Black and white sketches and drawings
Magical incredible frightening and amazing

She feels the silence between poetry and art
She feels them expand and soften until it seems
Like a giant bubble that holds them both
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