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 Feb 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
The stillness
After the cat had gone
The house seemed empty,
Devoid of soft patter;
Downstairs,
The shaking of biscuits on tin- foil
And the long slow meow
Of a morning yawn.
The warm spot in the garden
Now an obvious space,
Plantless from years of basking.
Only the birds seemed grateful
Peace had returned to their world,
No more feathered grassways
To clear.
We buried you in front of the fir tree,
You were part of eighteen Christmases
Our very dear black and white cat.

Love the kearns family
 Feb 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
Delirious.

No one ever realises, knows,
Other than in retrospect,
The significance of their action,
How the years will mount up,
Spilling this moment,
Out across the foundation of their lives.

There I was delirious with happiness,
Seventeen and a bit and skipping,
Running in the dark,
To tell,
To tell someone my news.
Circumstance did not touch ground,
Merrily I was oblivious,
As the door opened to the crying of a child
I stepped in,
Announcing my news with a smile,
Trembling with fear of this,
Holding arms she gathered me in,
I joined the clan,
Fell into the limitation,
As she had before,
And thousands before we were even born.
Her mother smiled, another bit of guilt lifted;
I came from a good home.

As I left hearing my footsteps
On the wet streets and creeping into bed,
My innocence dissipated,
The next day, the beginning,
The reality took away that joy,
Leaving the news to be broken
To the grandparents of my
Unborn child.

Love  Mary

Thank you dear Roger for being the father of that child and giving me a good life.
 Jan 2018
Renae
In a dark twisted place
without direction
Emptiness overwhelms
Search for some light
Stumble through
Feel the way
Stretching out arms
Fingers
Reaching for something strong
Finding nothing
In front
Nor behind
Darkness fills every inch
Until all that's left is feeling
The thought of food alone
Sends a shiver through me
My inability to fathom
How such compost could be fuel
The sight of people eating
Makes my stomach grow weak
Filling me with nausea
A hollow sort of ache in my chest
My heart pounding in my ears
Cold sweat trickling down my back
Feeble bones aching for rest
 Jan 2018
Iska
They say true beauty is found within,
Regardless of the condition of our mortal skin.
What they don't realize is I completely agree,
We are more then a shallow magazine.
But...
You don't understand,
That I cannot help it.
You cannot hear the mocking of the mirror.
So how could you possibly know what I must endure,
Day after day,
"Darlin wipe those tears away.
They make you blochy and red.
But don't worry hunny,
I'm just in your head."
You don't see the food haunt me,
The food my stomach refused to consume.
"Your fat won't just go away,
Just starve yourself for ONE more day."
You can't know how hallow this makes me inside,
When I cover it up with pretty smiles and lies.
So how can beauty be found within,
If no one looks beyond our skin?
How can we eat and be fine when we are constantly compared to the standards
only Photoshop can comply?
How must we see beyond this shattered mirror
When we cover ourselves in makeup just to endure your scrutiny?
But yes, darling,
we shine inside..
A light that flickers and fades when I stand under societies shining ray.
It is a disorder that cannot always be helped.
It's toxic and deadly
But not a choice
Not a cry for attention.
 Jan 2018
Kelly Rose
Down,
Down,
Down,
The rabbit hole she goes.

Inner demons and sorrows
Lurk and fester
An open wound
On one’s soul
So deeply hidden
So dark in nature
They remain submerged
Invisible
But for the incessant taboo beat
That chokes the air she breathes
The only relief is
Down,
Down,
Down,
Deep in the rabbit hole.

Kelly Rose
© January 19, 2018
 Jan 2018
Ashly Kocher
The smell of your cigar and pipe in the air
A glass a wine setting next to your chair
For as long as I can remember I have called you Papa Bear
To this day even though your not there
Working on something special. What do you think so far?
 Jan 2018
Ashly Kocher
Hiding the pain I’m always feeling
My story is coming to an end
I’m trying to be brave and enjoy the rest of my life
The inevitable is going to happen in due time
I have fought so hard and tried my best
It wasn’t enough but I have been blessed
Been blessed for my family and friends who stood by my side
It’ll be soon that we all have to say goodbye
It’s more like “see you again”
When we will meet around the bend
Don’t be sad for when I’m gone
I’ll be with you when the sun rises at dawn
Thank you for all you have done for me
Everything happens for a reason and for me
My reason was to teach everyone to love and be happy....
I wrote this for a friend who just found out her liver cancer has become worse and she has two months max to live... Lee her in your prayers!
 Jan 2018
Pauvel Jétha
Never noticed Time fly
Beautiful springs and autumns passed me by,
Fooling and goofing around with naive eyes
I didn't know how to whistle at twenty-five.

Life greeted me in a suit and a tie
And introduced you with a hue and a cry.
As lightning struck my heart, I swear I died.
And you were me and I was you till thirty-five.

You used to be beautiful as the sky.
Your fount of allure has run dry.
Your nagging has sapped my strength to be nigh.
You smothered my song at forty-five.

To mourn your demise I did try.
To be happy, I learned to live and let die.
Not giving a **** about wives and wifis,
I started whistling at fifty-five.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first draft of this poem is a bit sad. I usually come up with a second one to make it's tone lighter. Here's the original :

Never noticed Time fly
Beautiful springs and autumns passed me by.
Longing for a hug with pleading eyes,
I didn't know how to whistle at twenty-five.

Promised life from up on High,
I saw dreams and people die.
I did nothing but cry and cry;
Forgot about whistling at thirty-five.

People I yearned for were distant as the sky.
Traded ideas of the ideal for company and lies.
Founts of Hope running dry,
Didn't want to whistle at forty-five.

To make peace with it all, I did try.
To live, I learned to let go with a sigh.
Understanding not the what and the why,
I learned to whistle at fifty-five.

{I wrote this when I was 25 - two years ago but haven't posted it. Feels good to be back here again}
 Jan 2018
Demonatachick
I was born a sailor made to fight Poseidon's worst but it's the land that calls to me while to the seas I'm cursed.

I feel my heart's desire for the warmth of a home lit fire, to step upon the sand and retrace a loved ones hand.

Instead I feel the sway and rock and hear my deaths clock tock for to it I am bound and the only land I'll ever feel is when I'm sunk and drowned.
Sail me away- just catching up with all the work I've written and not been able to post I hope you guys like it :D
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