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 Sep 29
Nick Moore
As the years go by
I let myself cry,  
A secret,
Now not

The taboo still holds
How many?
Alone in a room,
Let the tears flow

In my lifetime
After the age of ten,
Only three
Have witnessed,
This
Phenomenon



Songs, Boys don't cry by the Cure. Samaritans  by The Idols
Man up, sit down
Chin up, pipe down
Socks up, don't cry
Drink up, just lie
"Grow some *****," he said
"Grow some *****"

Man up, sit down
Chin up, pipe down
Socks up, don't cry
Drink up, don't whine
"Grow some *****," he said
"Grow some *****"

The mask
Of masculinity
Is a mask
A mask that's wearing me
The mask, the mask, the mask

I'm a real boy
Boy, and I cry
I like myself
And I want to try
This is why you never see your father cry
This is why you never see your father cry
This is why you never see your father
 Sep 27
Maria Etre
I caught my breath
chasing after another

I put my hand on my chest
to tame a raging heart

"Calm down ******"
I said

"But I'm falling"
it replied
Friday, September 27, 2024.
A video call. - a silly heart and tears.
 Sep 20
Carlo C Gomez
calm seas, restless lungs

breathe it in
the mournful breath is out there

skin is numb

the words are too

holding still
hidden under the tongue

holding
hidden

one more dies before he gets there
(what did the letter say...?)

holding
hidden

what did it say...?
 Sep 8
Kalliope
It was all real
For a moment
And I was sad
When I woke
But happy to have
Spent an hour with you
Even in the shortest naps
I live lifetimes with you
 Aug 18
Hadrian Veska
A faint feeling of deja vu
A feeling, that I've been here before
But did something different
Something better than what I managed

I reel in the waves of my own mind
Crashing in on themselves
A never-ending circular sea
Hurdling through the depths of space

After minutes spanning hours
I come back to myself
Or at least the one present here
Observing with a skewed awareness

A last rolling wave washed over me
Something calming and refreshing
With just the right amount of power
To firmly hold me yet not threaten me

And it was just that, I thought
I was only observing life
Present, yet a mere passerby
Even in my own actions

I was watching someone else's life unfold
From the first-person view
And lately I didn't like
The direction they were taking

For a moment I felt the warmth of the sun
If only briefly in my mind
As if for the very first time I noticed
The boundless vitality it possessed  

And indeed, I did possess it too
In the approaching twilight
My bedroom is a golden citadel
I hear the children playing like a
Song of many birds varied, ,mottle
Repeated cries and answers tireless
Before the coming of darkness.  It is
A forever sound of busy happiness
Signifying nothing but eternal  time
That the children know will never end.
Soon the darkness will call them home.
But why do I stay in my golden room
Listening.  Why do I not go out and join
Them in their joy-because here I can hear
Their poetry; hear their joy; Be their poet
In the eternal present still I hear their cries
In the village of long ago I remember you

For my Sister Sue Remember me.
 Aug 13
The X-Rhymes
once a man had a thought
that he voiced in a crowd
and it made the air taut
thinking was not allowed

with the mind of a hive
they all turned on their friend
and that last thought alive
soon they brought to an end

then with knives and with forks
on his carcass they fed
just like ravenous hawks
only leaving his head

and the ones who came late
as they chewed on his brain
found the thoughts that they ate
made them feel less insane

now the thinker is gone
but the seed he'd sown grew
so his thought still lives on
in the minds of a few

so the ending now nears
with the fable complete
and a moral appears
-that you are what you eat.
 Jul 30
nivek
Star-child Sun-kissed
a Moon to swoon over
where lovers do meet

the rising of pulse
blood flushed
shaky legs...

a kiss from Moonbeams
dreamers dream
a heady mix
 Jul 25
Thomas W Case
My wife agreed to marriage counseling before the great divorce,
and of course, she picked the counselor.  This is it; one session, one shot at redemption.  I waited with bated breath for the day to arrive.
It did.  We met at his office, where hope was dashed to shreds like a ship
on a coral reef, like dreams of domestic bliss made of glass and shattered on the kitchen floor with no broom to sweep them up.
We shouldn't get lawyers and go to court.  We should have a funeral and sing, Rock of Ages, because divorce is the death of a family.

The room is nice and cold as ice, and he's friendly, boisterous, and bold, but here's the clincher, he wore an eye patch.  Maybe he had surgery or some type of injury, but everything he said was drowned out by the voice in my head that screamed, "He looks like a pirate, and no ******* pirate is going to tell me how I should have been a better husband."  I quickly scanned the room for a cage where he kept his parrot, which usually sat on his shoulder and sang old songs of the sea.  I glanced at his right hand, but conveniently it was hidden by the desk.  Now I was sure.  It wasn't a hand at all, but a hook, that he used to scratch his ***, or to spear the shreds of broken lives left over from a long day's work.  His hand was probably a casualty, lost on a voyage to a shark he tried to advise.

I leaned over and whispered in my wife's ear, "Where did you find this ******* nut. Long John Silvers?"  The humor eluded her like the sunken treasure did the old sea dog that sat across from me.  I swore if he said, "Aye aye matey."  I would smack him, and jack his ship, and maybe my wife and I would sail south to the Caribbean, not to the ride at Disneyland, Pirates of the Caribbean, but to the islands, where we would lie **** on the sandy beaches and drink Pina Coladas, or some other fruit-filled umbrella drink, until we were so drunk we couldn't see straight, and all our problems would sink like the setting sun into a brand new horizon.  But the old scalawag had no pirate lingo, so the hour came and went, our money was poorly spent, and it was lunchtime, and I was bent on seafood.
I wrote this many years ago.  Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3mjQqmUguo
Ironically, I do this from a boat. lol
 Jun 23
Stephen E Yocum
How many wonderful canine companions
have come through my life, I hesitate to count,
each one a dear friend that brightened my
daily existence, taught me lessons no human
could, faithfully loved me with committed
devotion and asked for so very little in return.
Yes, it is true, dogs are man's best friend.
As I near my own ending, reflection has become
a daily preoccupation. Of course, I miss and
lovingly remember my departed human family
members and work hard trying to recall their
human forms, all gone now for over fifty years,
I've mostly forgotten their voices, and their
features beyond old fading mostly black and
white photos. As I will forever honor their
memories, so do I cherish the memory of my
canine family members, there were seven in
all, I just counted them. Six Boxer dogs and
a big sweet giant Rottweiler, who looked
like he might eat your face, but instead
always preferred to lick it.
 Jun 22
Stephen E Yocum
As wee kittens she and her brother
were gifted to us from a neighboring
farm up the hill, a pair from a litter of
feral felines, welcomed on our place
as mousers and ratters.

Mostly they lived around the barn,
strolled and policed the property as
their domain. The male was always
by his disposition aloof, had no need
of close human contact, content to be
independent and on his own.

His sister was more inclined to draw
nearer, curious and at times amenable
to a pat on the head, or a small dish of
cat food. And the bearer of gifts in the
form of parts of the remains of her kills
deposited on my porch door threshold.
Proof I suppose of her doing her job,
or in gratitude for my feeding her.

One day her brother was predator taken,
though she stayed on her job, she became
a more frequent visitor to my porch, with
her litter mate gone perhaps she had become
lonely and needed companionship.

It has been a few years since the loss of
her brother and now she comes everyday
morning and evening, or whenever I call
her in. Running full speed to eagerly rub
against my legs, or flop down atop my feet,
wanting a belly rub, purring and ever so
glad to see me. For all her given affection,
she is not a fan of being picked up and held.
It offends, maybe threatens her half wild nature.

No where to be seen, yet when I go out to the
road to get the mail, to the barn or orchard
before I walk 30 feet, there she is running close
behind me, as if she had been waiting just for
that very occasion.

She is over ten now getting old like me,
she is around my inner yard or the porch
most of the time, I even let her inside the
house from time to time, she and my inside
cat, get along fine. Drink from the same
water bowl, eat side by side. They enjoy
playing together, I think he is smitten by
her as only a neutered male cat can be.

But always at some point, as if she hears
a distant calling, she goes to the door and
let's me know she is ready to return to her
life outside. Instincts are difficult to ignore.
She is no less my friend than my inside
house cat, companions both, one day
when I call her name, she will not come
running, like her brother she will just
disappear, and I shall sincerely miss her.
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