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 Oct 2020
Strying
Sky
Trees swaying side to side,
Blue's all I see.
If only it could stay,
Blue for eternity.
!We should stop polluting!
Anyway, I love looking at the sky and just laying down looking up. Stargazing is nice too :)
 Oct 2020
RCurtis
Tiny feet scamper across dewy seas
Firefly eyes dart amidst blades of dark green
Moonlight shines softly on faces that tease
Tiny feet scamper across dewy seas
Bobbing and hoping between limbs of trees
Teeny folk dancing that no one has seen
Tiny feet scamper across dewy seas
Leaving no footprints to tell where they've been.
My first Triolet
I used the .pentameter (English version) where each line only has 10 syllables
 Oct 2020
Aparna
rummaging through oceans
stirring storms
spiralling
wind
currents
spinning aequoreal
threads into cerulean fabric
hemmed with
alabaster
lace
crashing
in leaps n' bounds
washing over crystal grains
inexplicable surges of
swirling thoughts

。・゚・(ノ∀`)・゚・。。・゚・(ノ∀`)・゚・。
 Oct 2020
IrieSide
orange morning light
and snow-flake ash

the taste of burnt manzanita    

fire to the north,
fire to the south
a valley enclosed
in uncertainty

apocalyptic sun
blotted out by
smoke,
a color just as beautiful
as it is eery
California, 2020
 Oct 2020
Traveler
And there I was hanging
Eternity beneath my feet
One handed white knuckle
One tight grip on reality

And so I wonder where
My strength comes from
And who will catch me
When I lose my grip

I never knew I could fly.
Traveler Tim
 Oct 2020
Traveler
Beyond my scope but not beyond my imagination.
It isn’t an object yet but I do believe it will manifest.
The conclusion,
Who really knows?
Traveler Tim
 Sep 2020
Sasha Paulona
Love never dies
Love never falters
Once it has spoken
Love is yours
Love never fades
Love never alters
Hearts may get broken
Love endures
Hearts may get broken
Love endures
Love Never Dies the Musical
 Sep 2020
Prevost
I imagine poets sitting in bed
Crumpled blankets and flannel
Untidy hair and untidy thoughts
I imagine poets laying in bed
Knowing that foot to floor
Is the surrender, again
The rush of the world
That rips away the poet’s palette
I imagine poets refusing to surrender
Writing poems
On how the blankets lay in repose....
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