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 Apr 2016
Francie Lynch
Whatever hand swirled
In the cosmic bucket,
Continues to stir the stars.
Keep swirling them
Across my sky.
In daylight I know
There's work afoot
Maintaining the equilibrium
Of the gyroscope;
But remove it,
And we're feeding oats
To the horsemen's rides.
The stars will fall in upon themselves;
And me,
And you.
Digits of chance, luck, chaos and coincidence,
And the thumb of phenomena
Move through the infinite waters,
Clockwise,
One second at a time,
Swirling, swirling, swirling,
Like the snail on a rock.
 Apr 2016
The Dedpoet
I cannot write this life,
In my mind we are a draft
Of footsteps with an infinite
Path of echoes that cannot
Be heard or remembered.
     Like rain on better days,
     We step in and out of emotions
     Toward places and moments
     That carve out the spirit.
People: they vanish in sorrowing,
The sun burns through the
Darkness of what I am writing,
And suddenly in this poem
I open eyes that see without
Seeing,
          The soul

Is an existence
                On many planes.

     I am not myself
As I walk on a path of gentle air,
       People become words
And I verse them into existing,
I sink my own pen in their soul
      And they speak in a forgotten tongue,
My eyes are open,
     The transparency of it all.

I assault the vertical experience
And shield myself from
The immobile life,
The prophet of nothing that sees
Through all the doubt and finds
Himself in another place,
I am an abandoned word.
     I see the fade,
The fade is an hourglass of lives
And images in the eyes of lost natures,
I burn, the sun burns, the words burn,
And the soul keeps its solitary
Path in a garden of feverish
Invention,
The mythology of the heart,
Infinitesimal phantoms
Walking in a mist of realised
Regrets, the soul is a martyr
To forever in a foliage of tiny
Deaths, between forever
And the moments,
A soul in solitude,
A conjunction of destinations,
The words are echoes,
The footsteps an evocation
Of the soul.
A laborer bagging paper in the courtyard ,
smoking mangled cigarettes kept in -
a sock
Flags crack like whips in the Fall breeze
Disoriented black birds fill town trees
Breath has become visible on hurried -
townsfolk
Cars in angled row line the pharmacy ,
barber shop and the only downtown restaurant
Idle chatter , ringing of silverware , the  -
drawer slamming against the cash register
Waitress calling orders to a fry cook ,
children working gum ball machines
Middle class Americans in flannel shirts -
and blue jeans
Paying Friday tabs , barely getting by ..
Copyright April 7 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Apr 2016
K Balachandran
Wind,the agent of change,
         you at first was far off and distant,
                    A constant drone of bees, not much!
                       they paid no heed to those rumblings,
                  Your power was counted
                      insignificant,they kept the curtain drawn,
Down, intact, trying to
             keep you out of the house of darkness.they kept.
                    But the suppressed put
                     their ears close to the ground, listened,
Aware of your intent, they
        patiently waited, watching your unhurried advance.

Giving  talkative leaves ample chance
        to speak their heart, first, tickling trees, caressing clouds,
You changed the speed,
          rustling sound soon became persistent.
                 Shouting slogans, hand raised,
                    all the plants and trees expressed their anguish,
Insisted, a change, justice for mother nature,
           stoppage of torture of , animals, birds and bees.

Wind, you act as an unswerving  friend,
                creating awareness , is  your intent.
  and fight the rot , naked profit motive, relentlessly,
                 by now every one knows the injustice,
festering fiercely  in the core.
                               You drive the clouds and spin them about,
                                        rain by and by  gains strength
                                   It pours now in torrents, all untruth
                                      comes out in the open, face the ire,
                             the true power of the protests, eye of the storm.
Wind, you boom, give a clarion call to clean,
          revenge all the injustices, perpetrated til now.
 Apr 2016
Amethyst Fyre
I’m sitting in the hallway with 3 friends,
4 hungry girls waiting for practice to start.

Another friend comes along with a brown paper bag.
In it, he has 2 donuts- 1 sugar coated and 1 frosted over.
The friend quirks a smile.
“Here, fight for them.”
He throws down the bag and turns away.

I’m closest.
Quick hands, I ****** the prize.
In seconds, the pack begins to howl,
1 begs, 1 reasons and 1 prepares to fight
they all move in to take me down i’m the enemy now they’re about to pounce i shout

“Wait!”

My voice echoes down the hall.
They freeze. They blink.

“2 donuts, right? 4 girls? Split 2 with 4 and we all get ½. That's reasonable, right?”

They sit back on their heels.
Slowly, no sudden movements, I reach into the bag.
We share our ½’s with sheepish smiles.

The friend turns back around and sees us all happily munching away.
“Wait, did you split those evenly?”
He says it with such disdain.

Is it so wrong to want the world to work in a way where everyone wins?
True story- Makes me a little worried for humanity, but it also reminds me that there only needs to be one voice of reason to make things better.
 Apr 2016
Amethyst Fyre
A shout out to my history teacher who makes the time to teach
for I’ve picked up on the subtext she can’t speak:

if you teach to the test no one’s really being taught
all we learn is to chase empty numbers
and you wonder
why we’re all burnt out
when the end goal isn’t our happiness now

when the very organizations meant to support education
profit off those who have no choice but to turn to them

when the ones who can pay to prep
the ones who work until they can't see straight,
the so called “high achievers”
are the only ones who matter
and we ourselves kick everyone else off the ladder

if standardization is supposed to make education equal
then at the very least it should teach
that we all have a spot,
that in society, we can all be contributing members,
but it’s not.

like my history teacher’s given me,
we need lessons to life rather than to test

it’s time we set a better example for our students
Teach us that even when the blocks have fallen down, we can rebuild the tower
 Apr 2016
Sjr1000
People come
People go
We get so close to people
we don't ever really know

We're all avatars
in this
the real world

Private self
Public self
Virtual self

We're all avatars
in this world

As real as the real world
As if it didn't have a delete
re-set re-post twelve more lives
power-off button

Real worlds converge

Real hurts
Real drama
Unfriend   Block

When the virtual world
replaces the real world
which is the "real" world?
Real money for virtual tools
People fall in real love with people
they don't even know
People come and go

The real world
The world that really matters
The real world is real to me.

Take your pick in the real world,
which is really real

Private self
Dream self
Public self
Virtual self

Real pain in the real world

Are we all really avatars
in the real world?

One day the AI robots
are coming with skin
3d printed
speaking your language,
real relationships
going the way of cigarettes
outside
better done in the garden.

The  AI's will be singing every night
"Happy trails to you "
When they know they are the
new real.

A virtual
real relationship
in the real world

Imagine that

Are we all avatars
in this world,
the real
real
world?

And which is that?

One day when we have dream machines,
is anyone gonna want to wake up?

We're all avatars in this world
the real world.
 Mar 2016
K Balachandran
The diamond studded dome resplendent
we know as thought, is the abode of God,
the throne he sits is the most powerful
of seats, here he is alert all day and night,
if one invites Him with an awareness what it means,
His presence lights every  nook and corner of
each  thought's origin, path and culmination.
See a mouse and it's nemesis a wild cat
play together in peace like long time mates.

Just the result of a thought changing
it's course, moving like the God of peace.
"Hail  the God seated in the diamond  studded abode of thought"
Kumaran Asan 20th century Malayalam language poet of Kerala, India.
 Mar 2016
CA Guilfoyle
Verily we are suspended
to one another invisibly threaded
gold spun, finely woven
we breathe the air of summer
silken petaled, softly subtle
through these woods treading sun dappled
we come to rest, in a rosy heaven
lose the world of whirling much too fast
to gain the moment, lose the future and the past.
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