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Amber trees shed leaves
To make an earthy cradle
For new seeds to grow.
Saw a haiku. Felt like putting one together.
 6d
1DNA
-
Dandelion fingers
Brush bruised, barren land

Speckled snowflakes sewn
From follicles of frost

Dusty dreams drape
Over salted wounds

Mystic memories mark
Mirages in no man’s land

Subtle, silvery silence
Nestles through prolonged nights

A touch too tender —
Love and light,
Love and light.


~

Chaos creeps,
And silence speaks.

Love that’s light
Is no match for nature’s blight.

Seeds disperse
Under Satan’s curse

All that remains
Of seeds once sown —

Stark, spiked stems
Of dandelion fingers

Dandelion fingers of my own.

-
This poem was a tough one, battling poetry block n trying to express something that's generally a taboo topic!
I often find me soothing myself by self hugging and stuff like that. I do this sometimes to feel that special touch; to feel the love i never felt.
Ive tried my best for now, might rework it later on.
"what's the longest you stayed up?" jack asks.

"oooh, 5 days, a week. who knows?"

they take the shots, touch glasses,
throw down the bourbon.

"I wonder if animals have dreams?" jack says,
I wonder if dogs dream?"

"sure they do, dogs, cats, squirrels, birds," bob is nodding
his head up and down." it's all biochemical.

"not insects."

"why not? fleas, June bugs, moths. it's all biochemical, mix in electrical impulses, you got love and dreams. jack,

tell your dreams to me."
I think you still look at me,
like you did when I was a kid —
Forever seeing me
as my younger, wilder (freer) self,

When you look at me, still,
All my childish ways were for nothing,
But, I see them as my "red pill"
transforming me into something —

I think you also still see me
lying in that coma.
Your dreams dashed for the ideal daughter's glee
You wished to live out your long-lost desires...

So you dressed me, did my hair
made me up like a daisy doll
lying there without sound to share,
I couldn't protest, I wore that knoll.

But, now —
Here I am,
With a voice less shallow
Yelling:  "I am not that kid anymore!"

So, how do you like that pill —
to swallow?
 Jul 9
Anais Vionet
I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.

I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.

It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning, heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?

At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.

After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley
 Jul 7
Dency
It went quiet
Not because it gave up
Bt because it was saving me.

It felt too much
So it chose silence
Over shuttering.

It held the storm
Behind closed doors
So I could keep breathing.

It's not numb
Just protecting
What's still healing
 Jun 28
Dr Peter Lim
What I'm not
is more important
than what I am
therein
is truth
and authenticity
contained-
the intrinsic grain

for what I am
is but externally framed
by convention
and self-protection-
an iceberg
with the water-bottom
hidden and unknown

such is the limitation
of our human nature
we struggle
to be genuine

but too often-
in vain!
 Jun 22
Archita Chakma
We were stuck—frozen under the weight of a sun that burned like a punishment, a heavy force that dragged us in, making us feed on the very thing that was destroying us. The air felt wrong, suffocating, as if it were trying to choke the life out of us.
And then, once again, those empty horses came galloping through that violet door, their hooves thundering, following crooked paths that twisted in ways I couldn’t understand. They left shadows behind them, stretching across the moonlit floor like dark, twisted memories. The stars, those cold, distant things, gathered high above us—winged creatures, silent, watching, like the last remnants of humanity’s lost teachers. We had no choice but to bleed again, even as time shook us, spilling crystal blood like a dream that refused to end. A ripple in the wound, and then we woke up—alive but changed. You believe, and I believe, too—that you are the river of light, the one I hold on to, even as the night closes in, empty and endless, like a long, dark hallway with no end in sight.
i was listening to 'the headmaster ritual' by the smiths, and somehow, what i wrote just poured out. it’s like my mind just switches to autopilot, and i'm not really in control. writing feels almost like a mechanical reflex sometimes, just a skill that takes over!
 Jun 13
Thomas W Case
We talk about the
past like it's a
movie we
watched together.
You liked the
cinematography.
I didn't care for the
cruelty of the
protagonist.

We disagree on the
theme, and every
scene holds different
aspects of
symbolism for us.
I'm not sure I want
there to be a sequel,
despite the good
acting.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gn9IAYo0wZE
Here is a link to my YouTube channel, where I read poetry from my latest book, Sleep Always Calls.  It's available on Amazon.  My two other books are also available.  Seedy Town Blues and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse.
 Jun 1
Salmabanu Hatim
The candle,
Only for yourself,
And your success,
After all it only gives enough ligh5
to find your way.
31/6/2025
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