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 Oct 2016
cgembry
When I remembered that writing
was meant to be fun
my joy was restored
and my doubts came undone
 Oct 2016
Michael Murphy
When I was eight
At the park

Playing football
Getting dark

Older kids
Stole our ball

I can't stand bullies
Not at all

Then out of the blue
Three more kids appear

Did I mention they're black
So now I felt fear

But to my surprise, they said
Give the ball back!

What's going on?
I thought they were black

This confused my young mind
From all I was told

Stay away from the blacks
Or you'll never grow old

That one little act
Fifty years ago now

Changed the way I see color
Changed my vision and how

Today I was out
With my eight year old son

God, how I love him
We're having such fun

Then I see someone starring
No, it's more like a glare

I can't be that ugly
It must be my hair

Then an old thought creeps in
From way, way, way, back

She's glaring at us cause
I'm white, and he's black

So my prayer for this world
And I hope you don't mind

Is the day we can say
We're all color blind!

Amen
All true!
 Oct 2016
NiTSUDD
Dolefully trudge to my chamber this night.
Carrying burden of this inimical plight.
Scrawling as a means to drop this weight light.
But alas, who will read these words that I write?

.........................................................­...........

Heaven in a dark place.
Jokers with no face.
Not a moment free yet not a thing to do.
The theif paints his cell wall.
With crushed plants and they fall.
Ivory clouds speckle the sky of blue.
Deep in the brain stem.
A bulb burning light dim.
Wallows the roots of everything once feared.
Blind marchers guiding.
Hunters found hiding.
Messy brigade leaves the ruins cleared.
Time will move on and on and on and on and on you too soon.
By the time eyes adjust to the sun you'll be seeing the moon.
 Oct 2016
Timothy Ward
fear not radicals
as we break bread together
we hunger as one
It is difficult to spill the blood of someone you have shared a meal
 Oct 2016
ryn
Images extracted from
the tapestry of my dreams.
Sewn intricate...
Into a patchwork.

A quilt,
embroidered with lavish sequins and ornate beads.
Bringing forth fantastical motifs...
A dazzling display
upon the backdrop of my dreamscape.

Yet...
This mosaic of dreams
does not warm me so.
It never lasts.

They fall away like autumn leaves
come the dawning sun.
They get washed out and pulled into the tide,
as the waves beat upon the shore of wakefulness.
They fade into fragmented memories
that make no sense...
Incoherent and disjointed.

Eventually, they disappear...
For they do not belong
in a world of worldly things
and ticking clocks.
Their intangible and mismatched nature
render them inconsequential...
Naturally...
They get misplaced.

But I am stubborn.

I will fashion such a blanket.
One that skirts the boundary
of this realm and the other.

I will tailor it so...

So that...
I will sleep tonight,
swaddled tight and cocooned within its
glorious seams.
Tucked within the safety and warmth of
this blanket...
Woven immaculate...
Out of
worldly things and breathtaking dreams.
 Sep 2016
Slur pee
This


Fragile


Shell


Has


Cracked.


Our world, that lies
On the turtle's back;

Roots planted,
By the Sky Mother's hands.

The moon hoarsely laughs,
Through its throat ****
As the fish swim,
In chaotic patterns;
Mocking the circumstance.

While the west wind
Swiftly sniffs,
Blood rains down
The daughter's left armpit.
Her corpse kisses dirt,
We smoke her heart that grows;
Asking questions to the sky,
In our heavy clouds of smoke.

On my right hand
Lies stains of grace,
Rolling hills,
Blossomed buds,
Serene still lakes.
The flesh of creation,
Fingers that have mastered life,
And flipping the coin to the side
Where death will suffice.

My left hand represents
All that is ugly,
Lying through the grime of death,
Hiding in the darkness,
Concealing its grotesque appearance;

Crooked fingers and choices
Digging nails in search of healing,
Some form of sorcery.

We wash our hands
In love
And aggression.
Pushing and pulling knuckles
In cooperation and competition,
Are we not mirrored,
Ourselves just reflections?

Who is glass

And

Who is skin?

We shatter each other
For a deeper look within.

One and the same,
In opposite of ways.
Blending into grey,
Necessary to remain.

This fragile shell has cracked,
The world on the turtle's back
These empty hands must find
Palms to grasp, to keep the balance
In life's weighty strands.

-SLuR
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