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To serve Queen till death
a bee had stung my arm
and died

Tis nature, is it not?
 1d
Crow
in a room of unimaged beauty
with curtains woven
from threads of unused dreams
and carpets embroidered
by imaginings of crumpled poetry

songs of hope and fantasy
are left unsung
written on blank pages
carefully laid on the piano
whose keys are all black

here is served perfect tea
in exquisite porcelain cups
each place set with polished silver
giving no reflection

the Things That Might Have Been
are the only guests
they appear in their seats
translucent and shimmering
gaining solidity
staring at their perfect tea
in its exquisite porcelain cup

but they do not drink

if two materialize at the same table
they gaze at each other
with pleading eyes
needing with all their fragile existence
an answer

reasons may be exchanged
but not one of them ever
has an answer

they dissolve
hoping to return
for an answer

leaving behind their perfect tea
in its exquisite porcelain cup
but
to get to you
i need Maria
to take me
on the water
her legs
to touch the ground
for me to fly
her hands embrace the wind
for me to caress your cheeks
with the palm
to part your hair like a path
as lips touch your forehead
to taste the fire of today
i need Maria
to bring me to you
 Sep 18
Edmund black
Be tender to your woman
Guide her but do not yank her
Be kind , protect her
do not treat her harshly
Do not groom her into your Kind of her,
know that perfection Is just perception
Perceive her perfectly in all imperfection
Know that she’s not a scared mouse with no voice
She is growing, blossoming, learning , expressing , becoming who she intends to be
Let her be , feminine , fluid, free like the ocean
Be tender with your woman my man
Be her man she will nourish you
She will love you, honor you and give herself to you in complete loyalty, because you have not tried to straighten what was meant to curve,
please let your lady curve , let her curve , let her curve
She’ll appreciate you , she’ll adore you and
She’ll give you a life that a king could only dream of
Be tender with your woman my man ,
be tender be tender my man.
 Sep 18
Carlo C Gomez
~
Moving beyond the sun
to where our minds
are a fraction behind us,
believing they've found
the other-side.

I am glass shattered by redemption,
and I am now the shadow
of a mirrored divinity,
for somewhere out there
is a god resembling my face,
and its nakedness stares me down.

Raising eyebrows at the moon
as if this is love's culprit,
yet, opening arms and minds welcome
the thereupon lust as if
some devoted era:
bow and arrow shapes
of you and me,
falling out of love without travail,
but of constant ease.

I look better in black and white
than in vulnerability,
my exploitation of
private earth looms casual,
though I'm well aware
of the vibrations it sends.

Manipulators of love and war
were all we really wanted to be,
cheating destiny
by falling for the future.

And from this side of our mind
the sun was always cold,
just a vague old relic in a fresh grave:
a princess ruling among
the ruins of past decisions,
and happily she gives
a stagnant kiss of consequence.

Recommitted wind breaks
through, like turning, burning
pages desperate to speak.

But I'd rather that her white lies
take me now, than a waking grasp
or a skirmishing wave
terrorize me,
as this black [media] plagued sun's
desecrated heart bleeds
and recalls to mind
the coming blasphemy.

~
 Sep 18
brian odongo
Mrs Solomon taught us in science of the sun ,moon , stars and reflection.She said just as the moon shines by reflecting light from the sun we too don't t become dim by making others shine .Afterwards she gave each of us blank paper and as we were waiting for instructions what do with it she said “the sky is a clean slate write your dreams on it ."

Next was the arts class and she gave us woods and beams and told us to make toy houses .And when we were done as she passed by she said “children do not make people your homes.People are rivers ever changing ,ever flowing, they will run down with everything you put inside them."

In the English class Mrs Solomon taught that, No ,is a complete statement.That sometimes when somebody says no they don't need to explain ,add or reduct .

In the religious studies class Liz your crush asked Mrs Solomon “What is your religion ?" upon which she answered “love " and then She interjected “I mean where do you worship ? " And Mrs Solomon replied “the world" and we all gave a holy grin .

And lastly came the maths class and she made the maths looks easy,she taught us;A strange subject is maths but it should not give you pats .Maths is full of calculation and you will have to know multiplication .There are sums of tricks and you will get a zero if they don't stick.Have the formula right and with you maths will be popular.

And before the evening bell rang she also took questions on how to dance in the rain ,how to smile in the storm and how to find beauty in the ugly.
 Sep 18
Salmabanu Hatim
Teaches us to hope,
That every problem has a  solution.
15/9/2022
 Sep 18
SUDHANSHU KUMAR
We understood each other better...
When you're just a ‘White Light’
and I was just a mere ‘Glass (Slab).’
But the moment you found that ‘Prism,’
you dispersed and showed 7 colors...
That left me confused, to figure out,
which one's true..!
 Sep 14
SUDHANSHU KUMAR
I was trying hard to chase the HORIZON

just to get your little appreciation,

but you denied my efforts again and again...

And perhaps, that only forced me to pull out in the MIDWAY..!
How can I continue to serve
When u can't give me the recognition that I deserve?

Hello again, hope y'all are doing well.
 Sep 13
Carlo C Gomez
"Memory is more indelible than ink."
—Anita Loos

~
Europe, after the rain,
the sun lending warmth and comfort.
fringes come into focus.
shadow journal,
fiscal dreams,
becoming ****** lines on a page;
procession bells
for young brides,
veiled in lace.
a touch from her
outstretched hands,
this honeymoon phase
running up the thigh,
the holding quite still until
she smiles for pendulum.
at first light, breakfast in bed,
granting pastel wishes on
boxing night,
then a letting go of the kite string.

new fingers in the medicine bottle,
tiny geometries
inside a house of reciprocal numbers.
paradise in mnemonic children:
cartwheels and handstands,
coloring books of
neglected spaces,
future ruins.
one hundred violins
play to isles of ignorance,
stray embers settle
along the solemn Chemin De Fer (railway).
a catalogue of afternoons
on the bike path
thru propeller seeds and dragonflies.

arriving in the haloed flesh:
skin dive,
the place of couloir descent;
**** beach,
the place of odd glances;
gun chamber,
the room of secondary light;
all horizon variations.
an algebra of darkness,
this dense Roman twilight,
their exiles unreflected
in blind lanterns.
our brightness will become
refracting silhouettes,
a broken yolk in the incendiary sky.

~
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