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 Oct 2016
Misty Meadows
Let me be the angel
That guides you into joy.
Let the pulsing of my heart
Be your only noise.

Let me be the harpist
That strums away your pain.
Let me be the poet
That bleeds stanzas in your name.

Let my hands be your only
Escape into release.
Let this love of mine
Bring you inner peace.

And if you are to weep,
Let me wipe away your tears.
And if you ever cower,
Let me eliminate your fears.
 Oct 2016
wordvango
your poem is
or the reasons
it came about
it is here so
shout it out
climb to the top
of the mountain
and scream hey world!!
and when you
did that
write again
and stay proud
 Oct 2016
Butch Decatoria
Poppers and pour homme

Video head crisp

And clean

Thirty three...

Boy's first whiff and whippets

In balloons

Inhale until it's banana peel

Flaccid...

Laughable word

Whole situation absurd.

...

Now that I'm cut

Body bait

In a glass house

Of men

Stuffed like a clown car

Their fat lip smiles

Artificial

Canine rictus

Taking whiffs for blood

In the humid beach air...

It smells like a boy's

First play date

First of everything

Daddy fox hole slings

Party N Play

With favors and favors old men

But I was thirty three

But I was the bait...

It smells like Dolce

And Gabana


Cabana boys and

Poppers.


*(It smells like lost spirit)
 Sep 2016
The Dedpoet
Between the horizons
The imprisoned night,
Fallen from the grace
Of the solitary star.

Over mountain tops
With a bridal cap,
All is transparent
In the Light.

The sun moves
The living Waters
Under glittering gushes
And a sparkle as it rests.

The naked light
In mother of pearl
Glazing the morning mist
In a feast of reflection.

Like a lovers reunion,
The eyes kiss all that
Is lit as sky falls
Under shade.

The living star
In a fugitive passion
Brightens the forms,
The sun sees no light.
 Sep 2016
wordvango
I had that epiphany moment where I realized I was
more than the ordinary
tightly dressed caped zero
capable of saving living things
like  kittens
stray dogs and I don't throw frogs against walls anymore
nor do I willingly hurt my nemesis
I try to tame them
with a song a dance trance them
you might call me
the reality show superhero
if I wanted to I could win
American Idol
but that would take precious time
away from my fighting crime
I sing to my dog and she sings  back
like she does when she hears sirens
and I could win a dance contest
I  dance with my kittens
or try to
they are still young enough to be skittish
I am truly a superhero to them
when I open a bag of chips or fry
pork chops
in olive oil and  spice them with garlic salt
which they think is catnip
and I write in a cape
and go sailing over clouds over
mountaintops
maintaining
superhero
type stuff
nightly
so
I know I am
a superhero
to them
to me
in
a
way
and Gotham
and Clayhatchee
and home for them
safe.
 Sep 2016
Nishu Mathur
I coloured my world today
my hands smeared in pastels
canary yellows
ripe peaches and cardinal ochres
pink from a flamingo sunrise
a passionate cerise

Splashed
an array of feisty blues
a flamboyant turquoise
a topaz tango
a twinkling periwinkle

Streaked it with
beams of gold
contoured lilac smudges
lavender tipped edges
in custard pineapple floats

Splattered emeralds, toned pistachio
fern greens with swift finger strokes.

Tempered it with
muddy crusty earthy browns
rock coloured sandy mounds
reined in royal purple
the sensual blaze of a flaming sunset
the dark indigo of a gloaming sky
agate drops a few
a silver sliver of a crescent new

I coloured my world
with my eyes
my fingers,hands
my hues
....the way I wanted to
 Sep 2016
Rebecca Gismondi
it takes 8 hours and 1 minute to get to Gansevoort Street

they say to truly love someone
you must know them through all four seasons

barricaded branches prevented you from coming February 6th

black leather interior seemed like the perfect place

to evaporate
like a cigarette outside Baby Huey
punch holes in your arm like a belt
so a finger can’t trace it

without being caught
hornets under Dixie cups
razored wings carve out this body
phantom knee, nerve extension
push your thumb into its stump

regret pushing the willow
walking the length of dead grass to a childhood hub
a reminder of which sits on your bedside
as an 8-year-old pilot
spearheading a UAV to TOR

Dundas Square sees you in an amber light.
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