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 Oct 2016
Jasmin A
The night looked at me.
The two brightest stars made it so.
The night touched me.
The hands of Autumn leaves I'll forever know.

The night held me.
With arms of Autumn trunks of trees.
The night kissed me.
The moon's peck slowly bringing me to my knees.

The night loved me.
Sharing the beauty of dark. Perfect and pure.
Then the night killed me.
To add another beautiful part, I'm sure.
 Oct 2016
Breeze-Mist
To the new poet who wishes to be wise:
Keep your work out of sight of unwelcome eyes

To the poet first trying to find rhymes:
Give it a moment, you'll think of them in time

To the poet whose night is their day:
Just write down what's harder to say

To the poets whom I know as my friends:
Let's write until the universe ends
 Oct 2016
GaryFairy
when no objective is best for our protection
protecting ourselves would be the best direction
directing ourselves toward a progressive connection
connecting our minds to make a collective correction

correcting the obsessions that infect our perception
perceiving ourselves as the essence of conception
conceiving a brand new perspective of reception
receiving the blessing that we call perfection
In a Quantum Loop poem, the last line of each stanza must be used as a different form of the word, as the first word in the following line. It also must rhyme, or nearly rhyme. Rhyme scheme can be any way you want it though. In a double quantum loop poem, the first word in lines 2, 3, and 4 must rhyme.
the moment on the top of Mount Shasta,
           peering over the vast green landscape,
walking beside the Yuba river,
           bubbling and overflowing in blue and green hues
underneath the willow tree in my back lawn,
          it is reaching down to envelope me.

It is silence.
         more than all the clatter of noiseless gongs trying to prove worth
It is goodness.
         more than the righteousness we believe we have
It is oneness.
         more united than the waters on the surface of this earth.
Thinking I would run
erasing, vaporizing
all the thoughts of self

my shoulder's dropping
defenses leaving
I feel your presence

tranquility and
serenity, you are life
and I am grateful
 Oct 2016
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
watched the debate right through

on catch up.



meanwhile you phoned & messaged

me nicely.



placed on pause a while, while i answered.



i noticed that one said

nothing in particular, while the other

spoke words some may understand.



as do you.

there were adverts, so i sent you photographs.



no one mentioned  aleppo



sbm.
stand back to spite the craving,

look on as from afar.



people, some write hymns & mantra

others watch tv, not the news.



oh no not the news, the truth is too

depressing, a bit near the mark.



good to live gentle, bites of  reality

to flavour your safeness



with gratitude. the bakers has

closed as has the dress shop.



a side table will be convenient.



while children are in hell , Aleppo.





sbm.
wrap the house around you,

then                            leave it.



out into the only world you

know.



anxiety comes with           the

unfamiliar.



they call down the chimney.



reminding us that some things



stay the same.



sbm.
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