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 Apr 2017
Gregory Dun Aer
You remind me what it is like to smile again,
to pick up a pen that sends a positive message,
you salvage the wreckage that is my life
my light seems to flicker on and off
but I scoff at those who say I'm living in darkness.
I fall apart often trying not to get lost in
the crosshairs of two shooters crossing pistols,
I fall apart often believing in false prophets
that gives me warning and false cautions.
But I have you to pick me up every time
every line I write is a appreciation of you
of how you made the blue in my life vanish
and banished the negative emotions
that drizzles into an ocean drowning everything.
You are the sun when there is darkness,
you are the mountains and the harness
that keeps me safe and happy.
You are everything beautiful in my life
remind me one more time that tonight-
you still love me.

My heart beats for you, the familiar door knock
it's not chained up or locked so enter at your will,
come live inside my heart for free, it is always open
for a golden sunshine like you.
 Apr 2017
Nishu Mathur
You and I -
Are like a flower
And a bee
Like a dancing leaf
On a rain fed tree
Like golden sands
And waves in the bay
Like a float of clouds
On a summer day

I am the icing
You are the cake
I am the spice
You're the marinade
I am the biscuit
You are the tea
I am the butter
You're the patty

I am the lace
You are the shoe
I am the prop
You are the cue
I am the move
You are the twist
I am the pout
You are the kiss


I am the grooves
Within your cheek
And the dimples
That hide and seek
You are the smile
I am the giggle
You are the laughter
I am the tickle.


You and I
Make a we
Some music,
Some laughter
And poetry
 Apr 2017
Gregory Dun Aer
This is a place I don't dare to visit
the room is enclosed by four walls,
there are misshaped windows
with metal bars that laced the brick
as stained as a lifetime smoker's teeth.
The grey wall bleed a terrible stench
that brings back memories of pig farms
in the morning after a dampened night,
the walls are coated with red sludge
that is enough to reduce a grown man
to his knees with pleas of destroying
the savage assault on his senses.
In the middle of the room sits a chair
that is positioned right under a bulb
of light that spreads a dimmed vision
to the entirety of the room, the chair
is locked inside a cage as large a space
as the cabinet of a common kitchen.
The bulb swings from its loose wires
that seems to exist as a tangled mess
with the red intersecting the yellow
and in various points the wire
seems to have been stripped of its
dignity with copper exposed in points
that have rusted against the times.
It seems that the swinging light
may never be fixed to a single space
in the vast expanse of the ceiling,
so it throws shadows against the walls
where the chair is mere distortions
between light and dark.
The chair is trapped in a cage
with a lock that seems impossible
to ever penetrate and the break
in the metal bars that has rusted away
is too small for any hand to fit through.
The mildew grows in the corners
where the ground meets the wall
and against one of the four the green
grimy mildew meets the red sludge
enough to give of a yellow colour.
I recognise something against one
of the four walls, it calls for my eyes
and screams for my ears. It reiterates
this is the inside of my mind and
so far I'm making colours of everything
I could ever find.
I've been running my whole life
and in every single light, I am
another shadow casted against walls-
forever imprisoned.
 Apr 2017
Gregory Dun Aer
My dreams
pass through me
each moment
flicker like a
rolling film,
the teal
seems to
contrast
with the other
colours.

In them I hear
tales of untold
success,
I hear
wedding bells
and a bride
giggling
along with the
sound of a rustling
dress
as it sweeps
the floor.

I see
the sun through
a crack
in the blinds,
I see
a cup of coffee
on a tabletop
that has been
washed and wiped
so many times
that the patterns
start to fade.

I feel
relentlessly motivated
yet
confused as to
which reality
I might want to live.
A world
I captured in
my mind,
where nothing
is patched together
properly,
the smells don't
correspond with the
sounds,
the sights don't
echo the
other senses,
so do I live
in a blinded mind's
fantasised fiction
pieced together
like stitches
in a dress
or in reality
where everything
is as it is
and
I can be certain
of what is
happening.
 Apr 2017
Terry Jordan
I sometimes search the Internet
Looking for my father’s Rickenbacker guitar
Though I rarely heard him play it
That sliding sound, with my bedroom door ajar

More often I can see it still
In our parlor in its dedicated space
It must be strum while sitting down
Its elevated strings silent in its case

I couldn’t comprehend it then
Though looking back now it seems a little cruel
That on the day my father died
Like any other day, I went on to school

That day began as usual
My father and I-an ordinary ride
Until he swerved right off the road
While I lurched to his side and watched while he died

His heart had stopped, and even now
I try to remember a look or a trace
Wondering why his lips turned blue
And a wave of pale, deep pain was on his face

His death was never talked about
I was clueless about what to do or say
No one ever spoke to me then
When I was driven to school on that same day

I can’t remember anything
About the details of our lives before then
I catch up watching family films
He left when I was only 9, almost 10

I know we have gifts that differ
I believe according to my Father’s Grace
That the gift my father left me
I sometimes see it written on my own face

And in strains of music heard
That sliding, soulful sound in Hawaiian songs
Or when Neil’s Harvest album plays
I stop-and like a prayer I sing along

I looked for his guitar again
It’s now worth so many thousand dollars more
All I have is faded memories
Haunting strains of music coming through my door

She might have needed 50 bucks
When I asked it was the story she would tell
About my dad’s Rickenbacker
That I fiercely begged my mother not to sell
a repost of a poem from Bill's point of view; a story he told me over many years about his father's death.  I was moved to write it after he told me how he was taken to school that day as if nothing had happened.
 Apr 2017
Nishu Mathur
Like a  thought
You stay in my mind
Appealing and welcome
Permanent
Sometimes,  you drift away but then come  right back in

You come to me in a dream too.
Not just when I sleep but when I am wide awake

Like blood,  you gush into my heart
And pump color into my face

Like a smile
You  play on my lips
Linger in the grooves
And become a happy whistle

You  dance in my eyes
And I find you in trees and the sky
In the poem I read
My muse

You have gate crashed my life

And I've got you under my skin
 Apr 2017
strawberry fields
I'm curious about you
want to touch
the places
you've been
and the places
your body's touched

but my mind screams
like a thunder spirit
all you do is
use her
rock her back and forth
all you do is
use ******
rock back and forth

South side
acting west side
and no direction
in my eyes
no future and I'm feeling
more and more
like a waste of time
nothing new
 Mar 2017
AaliyahGisele
I dreamed of my grave,
I woke up terrified and afraid,
Ready to be awoken.
 Mar 2017
Nishu Mathur
Not knowing - you and I,
Beyond the planes of physical realm,
An unsaid bond, a baffling tie,
Holds hearts close, overwhelms.

Magnetic pull, an iron hold,
Spanning several seasons,
A bond strong, love in it's folds
Defying logic and reason.
In your hands I place my hand,
Of yours but a reflection,
Writ beyond the laws of land,
The tug of Karmic connection.

Not knowing...you and I,
Beyond tangible reality,
Unanswered how, unanswered why,
Unfathomable affinity.
Spanning distance, spanning time,
Across the universe,
Like hearts, like minds,
That quietly converse.

In your thoughts I see my own,
Of my mind a reflection,
Knowing  I was never alone -
The pull of a Karmic connection.
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