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 Jan 2017
SassyJ
How can life begin when you fall on a cliff?
sat on a ledge for as long as the rain remains
waving for the meandering unforgivable miracles
of allowable hesitation and tensional destitution

When you look at a face do you see in the beyond?
areas and layers that regardless appease to angels
the marvels of the new coming unstormy parables
ushered at the lengthy table of debatable ideology

Whom do we pledge the crooked ways of the men?
aisles of mean and immeasurable consequential regrets
of when the summer unfolded and winter melted
beneath the flow of the lakes in the unseen caves

Where do we bow our untold perceived reconciliations?
kneel at the pebbled mast of an eventful aftermath
till the grounds little one, sift the fertile from gravel
start again, nurture the soils and bloom to fertility
It's never late to start again.
Armenian music: (Duduk): Lévon Minassian https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_58AnhnbIgI
 Jan 2017
Nishu Mathur
The world stops
In that intimate moment
When he calls me "his".
Distance melts
Times pauses -
And his words -
Feel like a kiss.
 Jan 2017
L B
If that night could remember
it would call him back
to our Chinese restaurant
to fried rice and steaming tea
to our winter refuge of tile and cushions
60s retro black and white
Chrome legs of lacquered tables
with its mural of
our Great Wall

...winding, distant, wonder

If the snow hadn't muffled all
but our voices
we would not be—

so alone

Only I
felt his arm take its chance
around my shoulder
Guiding warmth
as good excuse as any
to touch

Two miles on foot
An arc in time
In lace of white
to hide— what might....

Below my window
“Good Night”
not enough
for troubadour
singing, pleading, stumbling...

(I worry about his long way home)

...and hardly notice...

How gently Time joins Snow
as if they cannot bare
instead, conspire
Decide the crystals
Send the flakes to sift over him

This loss needs snow
to blur his face
to fade from view....

This— tender let-down from the sky
As only snow can do...

Cover with beauty

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6o6zMPLcXZ8
Lowell, Massachusetts, January, 1970... Love was lost in the storm of war politics, *****, drugs, and grief.  His brother was a priest and chaplain, killed in Vietnam.
 Jan 2017
Lora Lee
Please.
Avert thy gaze
lest you want me
to place my eyes
    upon your very soul
           ******* you down
                 to the sparks
             in your bones    
Stripped bare,
      your cells will unravel,
           the very tectonic plates
                              of your being
       shifting and tripping
under
           the ripe dew of my lashes
Please, do not spread your
silken milky way
of treasures,
all of your precious jewels
exposed to the light
of the darkest night
in mysterious pleasures
For they will reflect
in the blues of my retinas
You will be speechless
for the lack of need
                        for words
I will only handle them
               with utmost care
unless, of course
you want it rough
    and flung out into the ether
           dashed upon rocks of our
                                      liquid beings
                                           in the mewing
                                   writhing wild
                 of the dark hours
And I
will take the delicacy
of your petalsilk
and ****** it into
planes of healing
It might hurt,
just by pure release of pain
but I will rock you
after your skin has
sloughed off
to reveal earthen wombs
and ***** and scars
that are only made of the
           fibers of our stars
I will rock your
            tender vibrations
                          until your very soul
                               quakes and crumbles
                   trembling into the bright
      the exposure of darkness
mixed together with light
So let me
gather you up
into the fragile sinews
of my very layers
of flesh
          of heartstrings
                          of broken
                                  and holy
                       incantations
let me pull you to me
in a whirlwind
of sacred and
blushing
          spells
that roll, like
silent thunder
into the potency
     of night
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DG4lYxX5FQ4
 Dec 2016
Sally A Bayan
Mnemonic...

Over my mug of steaming coffee,
...i see cookies and a fruit...sliced,
to freshen my breath after my coffee break....

one glance...

one unexpected glance, took me back... to
when i decided to do something for myself,
to be happy.....and to be somebody....but,
finally....i fought the desire, to be defiant...
those awakenings, and newfound feelings,
still haunt my evenings...the hurting, somewhat
changed me, and my beliefs.......i realized that,

at some point in one's life, a chance moment
unfolds on a landing...clear to the eyes...on a mission,
to change attitudes...to erase wrong impressions,
triggered by unpleasant experiences....i have also
discovered....at the right time, somebody comes,
......like an angel with hidden wings...to soften
our hardened minds....to melt our frozen hearts,
ease our tensed opinions...offer us a healing balm.
sometimes, a place, or a face, becomes a kind of paper
that can't be crumpled, or destroyed...so hard to forget.
anyone...anything, that strikes the heart hard,
easily comes back, with the slightest reminder,
catches you..........unprepared....

this fruit on the table, in silence, it just sits there,
...unaware of its being mnemonic...doesn't matter,
if it's fresh, rotten, or candied...a plum, apple or pear
....................would prompt me, to remember,
over my mug of steaming coffee...


Sally


Copyright July 27, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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