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 Aug 16
Dorothea Daisy
I made up two things,
People — or lovers’ rings.
One writes the lines,
The other paints the signs.

So let me share how they feel,
Let me present them as if they were real.

Dorothea or Niki — the dreamer in me.
Doesn’t know which she is anymore.
She’s the version I write in my poetry.
Me as someone to adore.

She speaks in stanzas, dreams in rhyme,
Wishes for a love to last past time.

And then there is Poppy Piume,
She’s a lot like my real world friend.
But in this poetic arc that isn’t her doom.
Here — we are the a story with no end.

She answers in dreams, if not in the day,
A voice I imagine when I drift away.

In my imagination there is no goodbye,
But in sad reality she doesn’t even reply.
So I write, as she paints, and I try not to cry,
And I pretend our silence is just a lullaby.
Inspired by reality, but not there anymore.
 Aug 16
Dani Just Dani
I’ve seen life take
a librarian,
a beautiful woman,
intuition like no other.
Cancer, they said.

My friend really loved her.
She was the first
to notice he was gay,
and she accepted him.

So we climbed into his
Toyota Tercel,
winding down curves,
up the mountain,
toward the funeral home.

People sat in rows of nine,
a special couch reserved
beside the casket.

The dead have always
bothered me,
like a one sided conversation,
like the air in my lungs
was a debt I owed.

So I sat in the back,
people watching as I do,
a wallflower,
star jasmine pressing
against the concrete.

Close to the exit,
in case discomfort
asked me to leave.

Then her husband walked in,
a man I’d never seen,
only heard in stories.

He went straight to her,
pressed his hands
against her face,
like he was
trying to hold on.

He cried.
His voice tore
the room apart.
Collapsed to his knees,
hands trembling with rage,
words ripping from his throat,
sharp, jagged, impossible
to take back.

Not a prayer.
Not a conversation.
It was a howl
that made the
walls bend,
love dressed in grief,
so fierce
it seemed to claw
at the air itself.

A good lover
she must have been.

And I understood:
maybe no one listens,
but the silence
always knows
what to say.
 Aug 16
Yashkrit Ray
So they are still fighting — the humans.
Still drawing borders, building walls, claiming lands as if the sky were theirs to divide.
They are not united. Not yet.
And until they are, we will not go to them.

(In a classroom on a distant alien world)

Student:
Ma’am, why haven’t we contacted Earth yet?
We have the technology. We could speak to them — today, even now. So why don’t we?

Teacher:
That’s a good question. One we ask often.
But before I answer, I want you to think. Really think.
Let’s look at their history — the humans.

Long ago, they hunted.
They killed to survive, to eat, to rule.
They were more violent then — wild and afraid.
But over time, they settled. Built homes. Grew crops.
And slowly... they harmed less. Just a little less.

Civilizations rose. Then empires.
And with them, came war — endless wars over territory, over pride.
Then came their modern age. What did that bring?
Serfdom. Slavery. Racism. Greed.
Some of those poisons still linger in their world even now.

Yes, they advanced — in tools, in science, in machines.
But tell me:
Did their souls keep pace with their inventions?

As they built satellites, they still built prisons.
As they mapped the stars, they still judged by skin.
So, in our terms, they are not yet developed.
Because true development is not measured in machines —
but in mercy.

Once the people of Earth learn to accept one another,
once they choose peace not as a treaty but as a truth,
then they will be ready.
Then we will speak to them.

Until then…
they are too busy surviving their own chaos.
We are beyond that now.
We gave up the things that destroy.
Hatred. War. Ego.

And the irony?
They think we would attack them.

(Far away, among alien officials)

High-ranking official:
Earth has been declared a no-contact zone.
No ships may enter. No probes. No whispers.
The planet is to be left untouched.
Observed, but never interfered with.

They are… an ecosystem.
Nothing more.
Just like the forests they fail to protect —
they, too, must be left to grow or wither on their own.

Let’s see how long it takes.
Let’s see when they finally look up, not in fear…
but in peace.

(Back on Earth…)

A television broadcast crackles:

“The Amazon Rainforest — home to countless species —
has been declared a protected zone.
All activities harming its balance are now banned.
No hunting. No poaching.
Left alone by humans, the forest may finally breathe.
The ecosystem may heal.”

If only they knew —
they, too, are a forest still learning to grow.
It was just raw idea that came to my mind so I just typed it down.
 Aug 16
Yashkrit Ray
Not gone,
You are just farther,
Far from me.
When it gets darker,
You are just farther.
Hanging in the expanse
Like a crystal.
Staring at your home,
You are not gone.

An extra in the collection.
A collection of infinite
Sea of stars,
And pages of memory.
Some packed in my skull,
Some hanging out
Like a treasury.
Staring at your home,
You are not gone.
In loving memory of my grandma....................
 Aug 16
Evan Stephens
Love's lost today
in teeth's glaciers;
& pallbearer feet,
tho pigeon-toed,
march me away
from erasure.
A heart escheats
to whom it's owed,
one must repay;
for love's nature
is grieving fleet,
& must erode -
an ache to rehearse,
repeated in verse.
Sonnet: ABCD ABCD ABCD EE

Starting a sonnet cycle for each month, beginning now with #8
 Aug 16
girlinflames
I am
deliberately
destroying our family.

They say a wise woman
builds her home—
I am removing every brick
we so carefully
stacked.

But do not blame
my wisdom,
or the lack of it.

If only I could show you
all the possible endings
of our story—
the ones I’ve built and rebuilt
in my mind and heart—
and still
it would not be enough
for you to forgive me,
for me to forgive myself,
for the shame
of becoming
a beggar
pleading for life.

Jesus, son of David—
have mercy on me.
 Aug 15
Nigdaw
I want to draw
what is in my heart
cathartic pictures
screaming the pain I feel
but I have neither the talent
nor the ink to express
all the skulls I see
dancing in the subset
Lost my dad, lots of poems about my sadness, sorry.
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