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 Jan 2017
Josephine Rodriguez
you kept me together
it was like you controlled the weather
not the weather outside,
the weather from within
you managed to clear the skies
and clear my mind
it didn't even matter if they were all lies
it didn't even matter that you're not here
to fix me now

if i close my eyes, it almost feels the same
if i close my eyes
and picture you here
i can almost mask the pain

i swear i can still see you in the corner of my eye
i swear i hear you in the darkest of the night
i feel you here
 Jan 2017
Josephine Rodriguez
Soft pinks
light blues
all this sorrow
all for you
you cloud my mind
leave nothing but rain
every breath is nothing but pain
i miss you
 Dec 2016
I head out at twilight
only to return each dawn,
wading the muddied waters
of my youth, and mysteries
of a history misremembered,
or wishfull, wistful memories,
wanting to revisit in dreams
those things that defy the laws
of physics, yet knowing I can't
go back, and each breath I take
reminds me forever of that fact.
 Nov 2016
i always fall for boys with broken trucks

who track sod into the living room
and smell like cattle and cologne
with knotches in their hips from
tying dollars 'round their waists
strung from welding rigs and pipelines
bad backs, torn hands and ripped
ligaments scarred over and healed
with whiskey--

those men that cause a raucous
but attend the song of every whippoorwill
who take peace with them down in the
holler and carry sunlight on their backs
they've got bones so cold you'd think they'd
crack but they've been bucked by bulls and
motorcycle seats, and are quieted by the sounds
of a woman breathing--

softly, slowly, in and out
softly, slowly, in and out.

how do you not fall for the broken?

softly, slowly, in and out.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016

I have writer's block.
 Nov 2016
Sally A Bayan
Past eight in the ev'ning....rainy sky
Was out at the verandah...twas time
To pull the second bar of the gate
Street was a bit dark..........despite my dimming sight
I could see shapes...sensed some presence...heard soft noises'
Permeating the cool night atmosphere...three voices
Four guests, as in past nights...waiting outside...

A rushing, and tingling of plates, ladles and pots
The opening and closing of the glass door
After a while, our guests were served late dinner their own familiar way

Three impatient stray cats, kept meow-ing,
The neighbor's usual...patiently waited...
The brown-striped cat ran to the vacant lot
And started licking her share of fishhead
While the younger two, shared a single plate.
They all contentedly, ate in silence...

After a by one,
Our regular guests disappeared
Lost, in the dark....among the tall banana plants
Sheltered themselves....somewhere safe,  
Their purrs, and hushed yelping, the black distance...
Twas time, to secure the bar of the gate,
.....................time, to close for the night...


Copyright October 24, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
...nights are rich with their sounds...something could be wrong, if we didn't hear their pesistent voices...
 Nov 2016
phil roberts
The wind shuffles the long grass
And the broad green reeds
Shifting and rattling
By the rippling black water
Chuckling water fowl splash
Swans and cygnets hurry past
And the weather is on the turn
It's time to be heading home

The last of the daylight creatures
And the very first of those of the night
Are sharing this half-way hour
The sky restlessly moves and changes
And bruised clouds rush over head
Like the rubbed eye-lids of a child
A weary teary child
Going home and ready for bed

The slack and glossy water
Laps at the stone beneath bridges
Echoing with the ghosts of barges
And spits of rain flick the air
Studs of cold hitting the face
Turning a collar to the cheek
And urging aching feet
Home-fire yearning me home

                               By Phil Roberts
 Oct 2016
Somewhere along the way
I picked up a heavy load
of dead wood, a couple of degrees
east of East Tennessee,
a few bottles uncorked,
problem women, and another
woman, a child, and a mortgage,
all while I wandered down the left fork
of the wrong road like the red silt
in a river that has forgotten
its source, but enjoying the scenery,
the journey, and, of course,
the paths I tended to leave
through the high weeds where I lost
myself and my footprints so loud
I could hear them before I left them
on the ground behind me
like hollow dreams trampled down
beneath the feet that I follow.
 Oct 2016
I want her to rise up again
like when she lifted her blue
skirt looking at how brown
I am taking off my shirt
and there are somethings
you learn if you were born
on a farm where I watched
her shadow in the middle
of the night overlooking mine
in the dark where we hid
from the light listening
to the wind, that sad poet
of the unknown pulling back
the dead eyes of those singing
sweet songs in the long night.
 Oct 2016
i've been out digging
in the Davis Creek
for clay deposits
so thick and grey

it coats the hands
and fingernails
and soothes the mind
with its softness

with my feet
in the cool water
and my *****
i pull out handfuls
and place them
into a sack
that later
i'll empty
onto a board

in a few days
it will harden and
i'll pulverize the clods
with a mallet
screen out the
roots and pebbles
and mix the powder
with water
into a slurry

i don't know
but it seems as if
i've been playing
in the dirt since
i was a boy and
this process
still calms me

makes me feel
that maybe i have
more time left
 Oct 2016
Josephine Rodriguez
I see the light
I hear them sing
The angels have finally come back for me

The grass is green
The water runs clear
I don't hear the voices
They must be miles from here

I can feel the warmth on my skin
I can feel the warmth from within
They've come back for me.
i was watching the sunrise after a tough night and it helped me realize a lot of things that i need to fix and a lot of things i need to let go of
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