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 Jan 2016
WendyStarry Eyes
Today is the first day
Of the rest of my life

Yesterday is a day I need not fret
Lest I forget

Tomorrow is a time that has not come
I need not strife

**For today is the day

That has just begun

Today is the first day
Of the rest of my life

I praise to rise
With the morning sun

For each new sunrise
My life has just begun
º·○●+++++++●○·º
 Jan 2016
Ignatius Hosiana
You take credit for my poem
You've stolen my emotions,
my heart,my hurt and my notions
But you deny yourself the opportunity
Of being you for with my poems
It's me,whether it's your name
Underneath or above
Write your own, write something you deserve
For plagiarism is climbing a mountain from above
Try the slopes, hold to your hopes
Listen to that voice inside
One day you might become a poet
I wasn't one either
But stealing someone else's didn't get me here.
 Jan 2016
Cat Fiske
When this nobleman was around,
He went town to town,
segregation, being his fight,
while brave men of black and white,
went hand in hand and were united, by one common goal,
to save america's face,
or the blacks and the whites would get the same terrible fate,
but at that same time, Martin Luther ironically had to fight,
for black kids to walk into the same schools as the whites,
ride and sit on the same bus,
and even get the same bathrooms, water, and bar counter brunch,
but we could have them be in a war together,
no if ands or butts,
because oh great america like we are now,
doesn't stay out of other countries or allow,
that country to do its thing,
has america let someone tell us how to run our land?
didn't we leave great britain for our independence?
so how come like then and now,
we get into war over problems other countries need to fix themselves,
when we havn't fixed ourselves yet either,
Martin Luther King Jr. Could've told you that,
anyone from a history book could predict the future,
because we have not learned from any mistake we have made
so america is at fault and the one to blame.
all truth
 Jan 2016
Graff1980
I am the outlier
Feather wearer
Tired child of
The trial of tears

The back lashed
For being black

Brother of the
Burning Japanese
At Nagasaki

Open minded
And empathetic
The broken hearted

Lesbian, bisexual
Trans, homosexual
Dejected, rejected
And denied
Basic human rights

I am the immigrant
Who went
Through hell
To get here
To be demonized

I am flesh of your flesh
Blood of your blood
Lonely and struggling
Begging for mercy
And a little human decency
 Jan 2016
Dany The Girl
The day you were born,
I couldn't be there to see you all wrapped up in blue.
Dad called me to say that
the doctors said you were perfectly healthy.

I wanted to come straight away,
but we have different mothers,
and mine would not take me.
I didn't think it was capable for me;
To love you more than I love anything.

I look through your blue-green eyes;
the same ones we share,
and see myself.
I was a happy little nuisance like you.

Your laughter, even when you know
you're being naughty,
Makes me laugh as hard as you do.
I can't help but smile when I think
of you, little brother.

When I lay you down for a nap,
it is relief, but do I get bored
when you're gone?
Yes I do.

Sometimes I sneak in your room
and watch you peacefully sleeping
just to make sure you're okay.

The day you were born,
I couldn't be there to see you all wrapped in blue,
but that matters not,
because nobody loves you more than I love you.
A poem to my baby brother. He's 18 months now.
 Jan 2016
brandon nagley
Politics:
Satan's favorite video game.







©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
I take the last boat on the Icchhamati River.

the huddled shadows in the gloam
talk of home
a waiting bed
before climbs the moon overhead.

In little comforts voices bask
amid oars sloshing the night
and  I brood in silence
neath the  northern star

how far is home
how far?
 Jan 2016
Ja
Why is it that
We don’t catch on
That we will miss them
Until they’re gone

WIZDUMBs BY JA 89                   27-08-2012
 Jan 2016
m i a
Girl
/gərl/
-a female child.*

Girl
means i am not allowed to have an opinion unless i am labled as a feminist.

Girl
means i am not allowed to run as fast as boys.

Girl
means that i can't become president.

Girl
means that i am not as strong as the other boys.

Girl
means that i will never be as sucessful as most men.

Girl
means that i have to wear dresses and bows.

Girl
means that i have to be a stay at home mom when i'm older.

Girl
means that i have to cook and clean daily.

Girl
means-

That maybe i don't have to listen to society,

maybe i can face reality and prove everyone wrong

And after that i'll teach everyone how to play mahjong, kidding.

but really, i hope this doesn't sound silly

but i feel that i can be more than just a house mom,

maybe i can make bombs
instead -

or i can work hard and go to college, and become sucessful just like other men

i will not let my heart be trapped in a den

because of what society says about my gender

i don't want to stay home, and make things with a blender

I want to be free, and become a love-ly graphic designer


or maybe i'll have a finer

job one day.

but believe me when i say, i will not let my gender define who i am and what i will become.

*Girl
\gərl/
-A strong and lovely human being, who will not listen to society; but instead prove to everybody the amazing person she can be.

GIRL
i hope this wasn't offensive to like anyone really. i just wanted to write about something like this. <3 c:
 Jan 2016
Sally A Bayan
A poet writes
about truths,
what is, and what is not...
a poet writes about nature,
people....the sun, moon and stars,
a poet dares to feel...to see the whole world...


A poet writes...
to vent his/her own shares of  joy
of agony...and aches...miseries...afflictions
as well as those of the others'
a poet reads...sees through someone else's eyes,
face...words...voice...and actions...

A poet writes,
to euphemize the sharp truths and facts in life
make them less painful to the ears
to at least, soften the pointed edges of every trial...to hurt less
to pad the impact of a fall...from frustration and despair
and, through words...encourage one...to rise...when fallen...

A poet writes
to cite reasons...so a hurting one would believe again
have faith in life...in love...again
to reach out...to those who have gone far, in the dark
and take them back to the fold ...of the bright side...

A poet writes...
to tell the woes of those oppressed
the world over
those tortured...violated...and killed
of children abused
their future stolen away from them...

A poet writes
of how nature has been exploited...and maltreated
how human beings
would one day disappear,
how nature...would be around.......no matter what...

A poet is sensitive
observant
and vigilant...
A poet is compelled to see and tell all truths...
truths of yesterday...those that are here now...happening
and those of tomorrow.....and beyond...
All these,
A poet must write...
...nothing more
...and nothing less...


Sally

Copyright January 3, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan



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***Guys, you may add your own ideas.....please do...the list is endless...***
 Jan 2016
Torin
Love and loss
The gods gave us hope
Knowing without it we won't survive
And the times we grieve
Are in between the times we smile
Love and loss
Joy and anguish
And without words
I speak the language
 Jan 2016
Cat Fiske
we drove by saint mary's all the time.
and this was no different today,
than the last,

but I saw mary,
in the window that night,
and it was all a flash as we drove by,

as I said we did all the time,
but this time,
I saw the ****** in the night,

each and everyday I wonder,
why did I see her,
why didn't I greet her,

I wonder why she was there,
or if she was as scared,
as me,

I question myself everyday,
like did you really see,
Mother Mary?

I cannot explain what I saw,
Mary had not spoken to me,
as she just appeared to me for a moment,

as I was shocked to see her disappear so quickly,
the view of the hospital window she was in was fading,
I clutched a set of my grandmother rosary beads she gave me to fix,

in my hands there all I felt the whole car ride back,
as I kept bringing back the image of Mary,
and her outstretched hands,

the silhouette won't fade from my memory,
I constantly try to find out why,
she decided to appear to me,

we drive by saint mary's all the time,
and I look for her in the window before it fades away,
as we drive by,

and I haven't seen the room light up,
since the time she appeared to me,
but I will still wait for her every time we drive by.
it's true. and I will look for her every time we drive by, until I die.
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