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 Mar 2018
Mary-Eliz
I saw a walkway
a walkway
to sunrise
first time
it appeared
I ignored it

If you pass it by once
you might miss the chance

I said to my stubborn
mind as we passed

But my mind would not listen

through the sands by the shore
we kept on
the sands that gather and drift
into mounded bulwarks  
that try to control
and contain
the sorrowful
crash
of life's waves

the sands that fall
in a steady stream
silently
cyphering
siphoning
days

inside
a figure eight
made of glass


continued through surf,
tides high and tides low
undercurrents
pulling us down
losing our step
then righting again
till steadied
upon solid ground

along concrete highways,
back roads and byways
grassways and passways
through brambles crossed
and twisted
hopelessly
tangled

lost
in utter despair

tired after all the rambling and roving
my mind stops

seeks the walkway again

finding it brings no relief
it leads the other way 'round
no longer to sunrise,
no longer to dawn
but to sunset,
evening
then
darkness instead
I have a picture of a well-worn, but solid pier with a gorgeous sunrise "at the end of it" - I had captioned it "walkway to sunrise' - it looked as if you could just walk right into the sunrise.
 Mar 2018
Mary-Eliz
Beloved new child
love incarnate
your spirit brings great bliss
with smile so endearing
eyes full of life
cheeks as soft as a kiss

May you always know
how much you are loved
and how much is within
your reach

Sweet be your dreams
few be your storms
with rainbows following each

May music and song
abide in your heart
a dance ever at your toes

May you know harmony
contentment and love
and may you stay
eternally young
 Mar 2018
TheUnseenPoet
It's my birthday today.
45 years old.
I reckon I've got about another thirty years left in the tank before I turn to my best friend in a convertible and go Thelma and Louise style over a cliff.
Whether she likes it or not.
 Mar 2018
Amanda
My cat can juggle
It’s something he learnt when young
Three ***** he can throw
Though he has tried and tried
He can’t quite manage four

He puts on shows at the old folks home
They cry and cheer and can’t believe
A ginger tom can be so adapt
At juggling three ***** on his back

A circus tried to buy him
But I couldn’t part, not for any amount
He doesn’t do it for money
But for the tin of tuna he is given each night.

My cat can juggle
But what he does best
Is something just for me
At the end of each day he can sing
A purring lullaby, sitting on my knee.
 Mar 2018
everly
i saw a different side to myself
every time we linked up
you were like electric-
my powerhouse in which i thrived off
simple hellos and winks here and there
small talks and strolls on your days off
lighting up my days
showing me all the ways in which i never saw
that i
truly was beautiful..
 Mar 2018
Nuha Fariha
To the man who taught me to
put cinnamon in my coffee, put
a little swing in my hips, leave
a little smile on your lips

in the middle of an empty room, in
the middle of winter, slowly exhale,
breath our hopes in frigid air, let
them linger in soft space between

dreams and reality, dreams and reality, dreams
dissipating like the cinnamon spots, sun spots
in the middle of an empty room still lingering
 Mar 2018
arowana
Your love like coltsfoot
is fraying at its edges
with golden intent.
 Mar 2018
liz
more than anything i seek
validity as who i will become
because i am still becoming.

in all fairness
i have need to seek further discovery
of this strangeness that is life

and must accept,
for now,
a sort of misunderstanding of my soul's caliber

from those who view me
but even as i accept
i do not assent to constancy in this

i still feel mercurial
maybe it's the coming-of-age they all lament
the loss of kiddish ignorance

but above all
when the waters of my life finally settle
i seek validity in who i am
 Mar 2018
a mcvicar
scatter biscuits now
all over my precious floor
and promise them smoke
30.3.18
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