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 Nov 2015
Walter W Hoelbling
last night
I had a thought
that felt like it might turn
into pure poetry

I clung to it
and tried to make it stay
and grow

but it went on its way

and I to sleep

nothing but memories to keep
   of possibilities

when the loud beep of my alarm
woke me to other thoughts
and yet another day
 Nov 2015
GaryFairy
my aim is to put a face on the faceless
making statements for wasted cases
i take myself into forsaken spaces
all for the sake to escape those places

a fate to make shapes out of shapeless
creating grace on pages as my basis
a campaign to replace the fake embraces
leaving the traces that no eraser erases
you killed me
with your

invisible knife

©IGMS
you never meant to hurt me
but I swear you're a murderer of heart.
 Nov 2015
chris
i want to tell you that you cause butterflies in my
stomach, and take my breath away when you
look at me.

i want to play with your hair, and listen to your
2am thoughts.

i want to roll my eyes at your sarcasm, and giggle
at your jokes.

i want to kiss you, until my lips are numb.

i want to lie and watch the stars above us, and talk about the universe.

i want to love everything you have grown to hate
about yourself.

but mostly, i just want *you
 Nov 2015
Misty Meadows
Expected with lateness,
Destined for greatness.
My flavors are true,
So I hope you can taste this.

Live as a winner,
But roses do wither.
Was born in the winter,
I'll die with a shiver.
 Nov 2015
beth fwoah dream
i.

in the air
the sweet flow
of a bird.

ii.

drawn, perfect blossom,
the wind that refuses to settle.  

iii.

november’s fine golds
melt like clouds.

iv.

i burn for your kiss
like a bird that stays
with a boat
my lips seek your lips
forever.
 Nov 2015
Polar
Their metaphors and smilies
didn't strike no chord with me,
For the language lacked musicality.
The words written slowly drifted
Across the page and died silently.
I was about to give up
When notes began to appear
And flutter delicately
Across the page,
Rising, rising to create a symphony,
Filled with awe and meaning
Until they sang
brilliantly, resonating,
Haunting me beautifully.
There is an raging battle within every man and woman that ever lived.
For there is both Good and Evil , in every person alive and lived.
Some have more Good within them because they feed the Good side.
Through following Christ and thriving to help others instead of self.
While there are also those that choose to feed the evil side more than Good.
They feed the make me feel good part of self, the me self thingies.
While as for me I shall seek and always follow the Lord Christ.
For I seek the do Good and listen to the Holy Spirit within me.
So please seek God , do for others as you want them to do for you.
 Nov 2015
Laurent
I now think Love is rather deaf than blind,
    For else it could not be
               That she,
    Whom I adore so much, should so slight me
And cast my love behind.
I'm sure my language to her was as sweet,
       And every close did meet
       In sentence of as subtle feet,
       As hath the youngest He
That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree.

       O, but my conscious fears,
               That fly my thoughts between,
               Tell me that she hath seen
       My hundred of gray hairs,
       Told seven and forty years
    Read so much waste, as she cannot embrace
    My mountain belly and my rocky face;
And all these through her eyes have stopp'd her ears.
Benjamin Jonson (c. 11 June 1572 – 6 August 1637) was an English playwright, poet, actor, and literary critic of the seventeenth century, whose artistry exerted a lasting impact upon English poetry and stage comedy. He popularised the comedy of humours. He is best known for the satirical plays Every Man in His Humour (1598), Volpone, or The Foxe (1605), The Alchemist (1610), and Bartholomew Fayre: A Comedy (1614), and for his lyric poetry; he is generally regarded as the second most important English dramatist, after William Shakespeare, during the reign of James I.
 Nov 2015
ryn
In retrospect,
dredging up past events    
that led to the here and now.              
Pending course of actions in which to exact...    
Reaching as far back as the mind would allow.

In retrospect,
studying the reflection
in the rear view mirror,  
as the present freezes itself intact.
Sifting through past images...        
Second by second,
frame by frame.      
Identifying overlooked pitfalls          
and margin of errors.      

In retrospect,
straddling the realm...  
Where my current state of mind      
lapses into a minute-long sleep.  
Sights on the future... Folded blind,
discerning the treachery          
of impulsive thoughts and actions.        
Diving up from oceans deep,    
painting the backdrop beyond paths at
unmarked junctions.              

In retrospect*,
every detail deconstructed...
Deliberated against the yardstick  
of what's done and the supposed.    
Refracted memories snap back clean into place.      
Over and over...        
Layer upon layer...    
Time and again forming      
the looming weight      
that pulls me to a stumble              
into the stagnant puddle...  
Of long gone days.
 Nov 2015
Mel Little
You made a poet fall in love with you
And expected her not to write sonnets about your eyes
Haikus about the way you kissed her in the moonlight
Expected the fire in her heart not to inspire couplets
You made a poet fall in love with you, and when you left
Expected her not to write pages about the ache in her chest
Write a soliloquy dedicated to her tears
Expected her not to feel every gut wrenching moment of the pen hitting paper like your words hit her in the most vulnerable places of her mind.
You made a poet fall in love with you, and you expected her to be silent.
That is no fault of hers.
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