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 May 2017
Debanjana Saha
I write no more
to feel what I feel
as I feel nothing
to write & feel!
Hit a roadblock
searching my
way back home,
A home
full of
words
overflowing
with muse
all around..
 May 2017
Star BG
I
I sculpt like clay, words into form.
Form into expressions.
Expressions into eyes.

I wander in a sea of words.
Words into magical waves.
Waves into sentences

I feel words inside heart.
Heart that explodes in grace
Grace that touches my poems.

I midwife my poems of light.
Light that hugs the many.
Many that sit as audience to read.
inspired by Mu a sage of words
 May 2017
Star BG
A word performer Yes I am,
as words I write sending no spam.
I bind with thee and do not tarry,
words I string as if to marry.

I stand on balcony of page,
and inside light I walk as sage.
To touch with words that dance in mind.
To make readers feel yes divine.

And if perchance my words give sight,
I will cheer gently with all night.
For then I’ll know my jobs complete.
Perhaps someday we all shall meet.

StarBG © 2017
inspired by name of page called Word Performer
 May 2017
Gaby Comprés
the magic of poetry.
is that it makes everything
beautiful.
it fills your lungs
like air.
it turns your soul
into a sky full of stars.
your heart
a field of wildflowers.
you.
into a poem.
 May 2017
Meggghanq1
When** you haven't written poetry in a while
try not to stress, you can do that anyway,
try to just express what you want to say.
Ditch the mask, the smile
if you're feeling distraught
don't ignore the thought.

Let it all out,
run and scream and shout.

Sometimes you're not okay,
but that really is okay.
I'm just hear to say
it's okay where you're at today.
Read the bold :)
 May 2017
Ma Cherie
You are everything to me-
right now,
don't you know?

Because you are -
my poetry.

Ma Cherie © 2017
That guy ; ) ugh
 May 2017
M Sanchez
You do not get to hurt my feelings and call it "art"
I will not gift you in that way
You own all the credit but I refuse to give you fame
This is not a poem
If it were it'd be titled with your name
Details about how the clouds couldn't compete with me but instead,
I am feeling that feeling with no name
And that's why
This is not a poem
As I'm lying on this bed
I will sign it and hide it within my drawer labeled 12 AMs
Because you are not an artist
They create beauty from their own pain
But you have used mine
You will never know what it said
I still love you
But I must remind you,

that this is not a poem.
 May 2017
ryn
Spin a web...
a little tale...
with the
unwavering voice that
tells of limitless grandeur.

Weave the
finest threads of imagination,
laced with infinite magic...
into a spectacle...
of spellbinding tapestry.

Cast your palette,
unto canvas...
brush with the strokes of
your heart's shackled candour.

String your words
into phrases,
into sentences
that turn into beguiling jewels
that we...
only we...

see as poetry.
 May 2017
Jim Davis
What does it take to poem
Is doing such, a real verb?

To make words clang or chime
To bring out what in time has always
Been there, but lived a quiet life
in our known world, waiting unseen

As any artist does to live on
Oft not for gold or silver
Which tarnishes with time
But for pure love, rewarded indeed

Very rare, for one's words to match
Another's words, close in space, time
Even rarer, for a ******* of minds
Like many inventions throughout time

Words for worlds, from a mind's time
Laid in neat or no order, posed this way
and all that, to last long in time
Give light to a world, waiting for next

©  2017 Jim Davis
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