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 Mar 2017
Eudora
It is absolutely breath-taking..

how each of his exquisite poems sing..
a distinctive melody,
*how his mind works like magic...

sculpting the most incredible forms no one could.
Brilliance just shines through his woven pieces...
no words could really define how awe-inspiring his work is.
His meticulous sublime words...
uniquely create ingenious and flawless stanzas,

making each and every one of his craft...
out of this universe.


That is truly..
*
how gifted he is.
 Mar 2017
ryn
I tinker
I overthink
I mull over
I sink

I entertain
I disassemble
I ascertain
I gamble

I play
I rewind
I play again
And again
I find

I reassemble
Still I sink
I'm in battle
When I overthink
 Mar 2017
elizabeth
The fog in my mind
Thickens with each
Thought that runs through.
The darkness seems so
Endless; like the abyss
Of the ocean was shoved
Inside my head and remained
There for the rest of my days.
It is hard to see light
Ahead of me now.
It is hard to see through
The terribly dense fog.
It is even hard to see that
Anything matters.
**Especially me.
March 7, 2017.
 Mar 2017
Jim Davis
The spark of the soul
The shine of the eye
The twinkle known
The rainbow in the storm

Young and bold
Old and cold
Matters not
All infused
With the nectar
of vital force

Eventually,
at the last
and final end

Quickly
Snuffed as a candle

Or slowly
smoldering as a coal

The breath of life goes

With all gone
Only the spark left to rise

© 2016 Jim Davis
 Mar 2017
Mims
This song is car rides,
And bedrooms,
It's 4am,
It's tears,

This song is night,
This song is my childhood,
This song,
Played for so many,
Parts of my life,

Mostly the divorce,
Mostly the pain,
This song,
Brings me back,
To my,
'Scary'
Days,

This song is old friendship,
And old people,
Lost.

This song,
Is pumped up kicks.
 Mar 2017
Ma Cherie
Love is a fire,
finally caught,
an like a kite taking wind,
it's not something that's bought,

It's that most breathless feeling,
the kind that is sought,

An from the heart of the poet
that love
freely taught.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Wow idk...
 Mar 2017
wordvango
tell me where you go remember
my eyes as you do
make everyday better in words
call me sometimes
we grew together
that day I liked your poem
that sounded like Whitman reincarnated
the pond like Walden might peruse
you wrote about the reeds
fishes
the eastern side of the pond
and it touched me
like fire in a kiln
I got hardened
more shiny
more aware of life
and love and sacrifices
you have brought me here
to that pond the edge
I look down and now see
all that you have described more beautifully
a thousand miles letters seem to bring us closer together
than ever
and not anything
can ever
make me stop dreaming
 Mar 2017
Traveler
In an attempt
To form a confession
While lacking
Poetic expression
I put a tongue lashing
On my muse
Using words seldom abused
This and thats
With words that snap back
Now I'm really trapped
Not to mention confused
In this bottomless pit
Forcing words  
Without a muse
...
Traveler Tim
An exercise in creativity
 Mar 2017
Seán Mac Falls
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                                    
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
King Lear is a tragedy by William Shakespeare in which the titular character descends into madness after disposing of his estate between two of his three daughters based on their flattery, bringing tragic consequences for all. Based on the legend of Leir of Britain, a mythological pre-Roman Celtic king.
.
 Mar 2017
Nat Lipstadt
this is an excerpt from a very long, (shudder) private poem about a dinner party with visiting friends, up from Memphis to celebrate their birthday in NYC.
Unplanned,  I gave them all gifts without hesitation from an unusual collection of mine that they were admiring.  
When questioning my unexpected generosity, by way of explanation, I jokingly said
"there is no room in my casket."

~

sweetly thanked for the unexpected gift,
the poet replies comically,
"there is no more room in his casket",
for even these, small trifles

later in the quietude of
late night contemplation,
comes a greater realization,
the truth was unseen
in his offhanded remark,
now, gives him pause and cause
to capture a greater  revelation

there is insufficient room indeed,
for accompanying the poet on his finale,
an uncharted encore voyage akin to
Tennyson's poem of
the famed voyage of Ulysses -

thoughts yet unthought,
a few thousand poems,
that time forbade completion,
all must yet reside beside and inside his soul,
timed-released escapees
from the real yet artificial limits of
physical deterioration

these,
be his boon companions in arms,
his banded-brothered company,
purposed for inspiration,
his lasting re-actualization

so plentiful, indeed,
there be no room in the casket,
for the merely beloved,
beautiful physical objets d'art,

they  too must give way
to the natural law of
"unto dust returned"
but poetry

*never dies
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