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 Nov 2018
Brandon Conway
Happiness is but sand in a hourglass
all the memories sit at the bottom of the pit
ones left to look upon in remembrance

waiting
waitin
waiti
wait
wai
wa
w
wa
wai
wait
waiti
waitin
wai­ting
..............
...........
........
.....
..

to be turned over again
 Nov 2018
ryn
Read between the lines.






You’d find that the words
left unwritten
would scream
the loudest.
 Jun 2018
Edera
Into the arms of silence
the dusk is falling.

She wonders
how soft
may the night's skin be
where he is.

Empty corridors breathe cold blue moons.
Strangers speak in confessions unknown.
Certainty of solitude cuts through the dark.

And what color is the light?
 Jun 2018
madpre
I rejoiced when i discovered the blue sky,
for its little joys were serene and sedate.
The songbird sang, the bluebells swayed, and enraptured me;
I drank each moment with my breath abate.  

A different shade, though not so clear,
plundered me off my bliss!
A hue so dark, it gave me gloom
by its sinister kiss.

Such thoughts of melancholy and despair,
cloud every blue sky.
The bird’s song is hushed; no conquests to live by.

The only thought that haunts my reverie,
is the loss of a safer haven.
For people like us,
there is no open sky,
no open sea,
hence freedom hangs like heaven.
 Jun 2018
harlon rivers
a ****** of Crows
gather Carpe Diem;
fluffing their throat feathers,
commiserating
the dead-weight
each unshod foot
bending the world below

the horde of cleft feet align
      leaving no footprint behind ―
bowing the antique
frayed telephone wire
party-line swaying with the wind
over the washed out road;

at any moment
the land-line
might break
     from the overload ―  
downcast,
abandoned,
level with the ground ―
but no one
on  earth
    even cares ...

they've  got
the whole world
in their palm
      beneath the sky ―
and the crows
have wings
    to fly away ...


harlon rivers
June   2018
The intelligence of crows vs. humans starring into a "smart phone"
— HANG UP!!! LOOK UP!!!! Go build a garden —

Carpe Diem:    Used as an admonition to seize the pleasures of the moment without concern for the future.
 Jun 2018
Pagan Paul
.
Standing atop this lonely hill,
my heart slow, breath near still,
tall and straight, arms out wide,
I summon the Wind from the skies.

When she arrives nobody knows
how much of her passion blows,
whispering zephyr, soft cool breeze,
or gale to strip the leaves from trees.


© Pagan Paul (18/06/18)
.
 Jun 2018
betterdays
sometimes words spoken or written
are woefully inadequate
they clutter up and make
the emotional space claustrophobic

silence can give just as much comfort

sometimes even more
 Jun 2018
AnxiousOcean
You need to experience storm to appreciate the rainbow.
 Jun 2018
wordvango
starsinwindows
well one
sharing the frame with a crescent moon
and  
walls that separate my soul
from heat or cold or knowledge daily
air condition me
electrify my conscience with a box of
dot images
usually the view in the window I
never have paid attention to
until the large truck ran up the telephone pole down the street
I never noticed all those wires over me, also,
until they are down all over like spiderwebs
didn't pay attention to how many trucks go through here
but now there's like four hundred backed up all the way to the horizon
to the county line by the river
and the river is swelling threatening to crest her banks
I'm noticing now so many things now that
my internet and tv are off. How and why
have I not seen before?
And questioning
what I thought was important.
 Jun 2018
Nat Lipstadt
why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now naked and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say

Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...
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