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 May 2019
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I read some
I'm out of my league here
I vent with words so some can hear
Possible what I write
Is highschool writes
Compared to my reads here
Still I will Penn as clear
As I can
I will read and learn it
I will understand your work
This basic poet
 May 2019
Traveler
There existed no switch to turn it off
No such component in a Poet's thoughts
The deepest of meditation
Is but a Poet's contemplation

Words bleed from all we see
Beauty, laughter and sorrow
Forever set poetically free
My Friends!
This is what we were meant to be!
Traveler Tim
 May 2019
Traveler
Is it but a mere coincidence
That you recognize my character?
The language of our soul's
We carry forevermore everywhere....
Of course your voice is always there!
Poetry has always been our special affair....

Read you here, there and everywhere
Forevermore!!!!
Traveler Tim



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYCV8WiTQB8
 May 2019
Em MacKenzie
I’m being wished
a “happy world poetry day”
and I just wish to
correct the calendar.
As Poetry day is your birthday,
it’s Valentines Day,
it’s the day you came into my life.
Darling,
I’ve been a writer my whole life,
but you,
you made me a poet.
Happy World Poetry Day HP.
 May 2019
Gidgette
Yeah. Ive been away awhile.
I prefer the quiet shadows of the ungraced.
I also prefer decent poetry.
Of which, this site is apparently lacking as of late. This mockery,
This "teen angst"
hurts my head to read.
I once drew inspiration from the lovely poets that were once here.
Breathed every beautiful word as oxygen.
Now,
my very eyes hurt.
Fix, Pagan Paul, Ghost of Jupiter, Josh, Mary Magnolia, Sidd. Where are you? I didn't mean thus to trend. Matter of fact, I'd rather it not. Well ****.
 May 2019
South by Southwest
You know what they say about plagiarism ? It's the lowest form of flattery .
 May 2019
Pagan Paul
.
At the table of eternal sorrow
sits a fool with a crooked smile,
faking interest in a world obscene
and feigning the mood of yesterwhile.
Couched over bent with quill extended,
he writes his heart with a bitter beat,
floating in the mire of a memory stained,
poised with nib to command the sheet.
Capering words form across the weave
with capricious intent and shadow play,
smoke and mirrors intersect and disperse
whilst his mind carries the story away.




© Pagan Paul (04/03/19)
.
 May 2019
annh
Alas, for I am master of my pen;
But Calliope is mistress of me.
‘I kept reaching for my muses, my wandering muses, floating on clouds filled with their passions.’
- Chimnese Davids, Muses of Wandering Passions
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