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 Mar 2017
Sk Abdul Aziz
If you can't prevent something...it is imperative that you prepare for it.
 Mar 2017
Gidgette
I am but a courtesan,
Mistress
***** of the moon
As are you
Though you deny this
Your denial, makes it ever more true
Promiscuous beings,
We
Dwellers of The flesh
Wearing a tant amount,
of lies and morals
As babies blankets
While our flesh
prays pleasure
And our eyes
Hold lies
Living under black rainbows
and broken hearts
Loose tongues and
tight spots
Our lot

Courtesans
We

Me~A
 Mar 2017
Pax

From time to time
I feel blue
and cook my own stew.
Its bland and
taste good enough
for my stomach.

I knew from the start
that my cooking
isn't really that great
nor it's appetising.
Atleast
my milk is
sweet.
I'm not fond of sodas
dislike the fact that
it boils my
stomach.

Food, for now
they're within
reach, though
must someday
will come -
starvation is
inevitable



I cooked up a metaphor...
My life in dual meaning.
 Mar 2017
Traveler
We're Trapped
In this physical
Realm of existence
That's logically perceived

No cognitive conclusion
Nor magical delusion
Could ever break us free

So relax
Chances are
We're  just drifting
In eternal universes
On an endless sea
...
...
Traveler Tim
 Mar 2017
Traveler
In the moment
I embrace reality
The realization of breath
In harmony with
The world around me
I believe the sun
Shall continue to shine
And Gaia
Shall continue to revolve
On into the night
And beyond my beliefs...
Traveler Tim
I believe my truck is still out in the driveway
Where I parked it.
Don.t mean it's there.
Leaves' dancing shadows on the piece of sun
missing the keen eyes
rebound on the vacant space.

The man played with shadows
weaving them into whimsy shapes
before most of them were pulps of paper
gone into the bin of night.

If not for light
would be no shadows
he was always churning in his mind
probing dark holes of moon
going into shady nooks
seeking playfully alive shadows.

The dead casts no shadows
he brooded
on the space he would leave

but he wished
they had
when he wasn't around.
 Mar 2017
Nat Lipstadt
Forest inquires:

How do you decide, choose your design, find its guise,
give it a face, surrender to the poem's own
vanity,
        and choose the poem's alignment?


                                                  an­ answer forms:

this alignment idea,
you think it simple,
everybody understands
what your inquiry means

alignment -  the appropriate relative position

we live in relative position to each other, our poems too, for they are but written synapses of our close captioned interactions, seemingly random, but assuredly not, as we invest in ourselves, seeking the mysterious appropriate answer
                                                                ­                        from the Theory of Poetic Relativity

                                                   ­             i love your question;                              hold it to my nostrils,          
                                             ­             smell the coffee aroma wake up blast inherent;
                                                                ­      
 kiss its robust childlike cheeks for the simple   soulfulness essential arousal;
for you see sir you have found
the appropriate position that relates us, our mindful words;

                                 answer no good, wholly insufficient?
                                        perfect.
                          as i close this quick cooked to perfection laboratory solution, take note

                              
                            ­                        the earth has moved
                                our hearts have beaten a measly thousand times
                                    time and space have appropriated our prior
                                          
relativity

when you return years hence this poem's shape will perforce have moved. for words are weathered flux constant and yet inherently unchanged except for the part of us that changes with every re-reading  

and what was


**right before has left and the center has moved again
Nat,

This is probably just an insane thing of mine, but I cannot stand the center aligned formatted poetry. I want to read the poetry, but why center? I want to know why it is center aligned? If it is a metaphor for how poetry could/should serve as a balancing point, a countervailing force for a point, perhaps I could understand...but so many poems center aligned, I don't know, I am probably missing something.

A right aligned poem? Perhaps I could understand, if the content was asking me to revolt, to revolutionize, to counter the status quo. But a centered poem? What does the alignment mean?

anyway, it has been a long time since I've been around, keep writing, hope you are well.

-forest
 Mar 2017
Sjr1000
Where are you going
What are you doing
Where have you been
What are you trying to do?

Are you lost
Are you found
Have you forgotten what it is
to be around?

Are you
Alone in your room

or

Together with one roommate
too many

Are you trapped alone,
Trapped together?

Do you remember who
you're supposed to be
or
Don't you have a clue?

I know,
There is no magic sentence
to make it all okay

But
In the end
we'll all have the end
And I guess
that's
okay
with me,

We'll see.
 Mar 2017
Pax
I am not me like what you want me to be
        I am here like you always wanted me to be
How could I ever be me, the me I want to be

I’m tired of you, tired of crying in the dark.
pretending at the park
                - watching people talk with voices that barks
I feared it will spark an awful reaction stark
So I build an ark -
Sailed away into far,
                      far - dream land
where prejudice & judgment is not in our hands
but in the all caring higher being's commands.

Then again reality is never like that,
So I hide, I stumble, and I fall
     into the gray solace of my patience
The higher being cares, yet you need choices
to stay strong - fight and survived
                        until blessings comes along
                                and heal the dying soulful song.

© 2013
Old notes: "a positive poem I guess - i am not sure it's worth posting. Since the month of June, i became sickly... and i have lost my pen of expression and the courage to write a piece. I always lose confidence, lose my self-knowing that i can... lose everything all together to the overly sensitive soul, then fall into darkness, alone - then come back into the gray solace - never wanting to give up what i hope will come true, someday, somewhere in time."

now looking back at this note and re-reading this poem again, then posting it here, i realized that my driving force in writing is my emotional self, on which right now i feel dull, seems like im losing my will to write, and to cope up with realities barricades...

thanks for reading... hoping you and I can find something in this piece, something good, something nice, something positive to move forward to...
 Mar 2017
AK93
How can I ever hope to break through when I've already been broken by all the mounting proof that what I once believed was never even true?
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