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 Aug 2017
Emily B
I keep my inner poet
Put away.
She is dangerous.
Doesn't understand her own power.
She thinks she can fly
And she'll make you believe
That you can, too.
But her wings are paper thin.
Too fragile for flight.

Her eyes shine too much
When the poetry is flowing.
I've seen the devastation
That can follow in her wake.

Grown men don't believe
In poetry.
Get lured in by siren songs.
Feel cheated
when the music ends.

I keep her put away
And hold my gaze on my hands
In the dirt.

We are safer that way.
 Aug 2017
Seazy Inkwell
spare me a share
Of your despair

the waxes and wanes
Of your moans and aspirins

load down to me your Disease
Of past hardship and misuse

the virus and bacteria
Of lonesome hysteria

i will doctor your heart
Of a harsh weather and a loaded cart

till your clouded eyes reflect
Of your classic unyielding effect
by the bedside, wish I could carry on her pains instead of being a useless standby
 Aug 2017
L B
Tears have found the floodgates
and a way around
a day
of heavy rain
cleansing
the watershed
 Aug 2017
wordvango
in the awe of words how
one says holding a heart
like that is possible
and we suspend reality
for a while
 Jul 2017
Kelly Rose
Lavender perfumes the air
And chamomile clouds
Drift amid
The midnight sky
And sweet dreams
Grace her repose
So easy
It seems
To stay lost
In sweet dreams…
No matter how
Wondrous those
Dreams may be
It’s time to wake up
Sleeping Beauty
And make your
Dreams come true.

Kelly Rose
© November 12, 2016
 Jul 2017
Sally A Bayan
\|\||//|\\||////


I see young reeds on the marshy water
......with flexible stalks...softer...smaller
forcefully swayed by the ones taller...older
...squeezed in between
...no choice given
.....but to exist within

there are those that bravely stray
...even before the stiff ones get blown away,
.....out of the reedy confines, they peek
......curiosity and freedom...they seek

i watch these young reeds rise and totter
when the wind moves the shallow water
bravely peeping...finding their light,
...claiming their space....with traces of fright
.................learning to fight
...with every fiber of their might.
...they can't go farther
................than yonder
in restrictions, they'll find some wisdom
eventually, they'll discover  true freedom

one day...their blades would be more defined,
toughened, honed by rain, sun, wind and time,
in their minds, my words would have to rhyme...

but, until then...i got to be taller
......sharper.....tougher
...flexible, but dauntless
i have to sway 360 degrees,
.......when the need arises....


Sally

Copyright July 12, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
.(sorry, i easily fall into the rhyming trap...this is about
   my five granddaughters...changing, growing up so fast...)
Julys have come and gone
in the hills of Shillong
and from the browned ORWO
the skinny boy with an oversized cap
smiles as if there's no tomorrow
but this moment
wrapped in fog and drizzle
holds everything within
the now filling life to the brim
making growth a needless shape
absurdly redundant
and never more real
than the eyes
peering from that shot of time
ecstatic in happiness
rejecting a future
too intangible
to be valuable.
Shillong is a hill station in the state of Meghalaya (abode of the clouds) in India.
This work is inspired from a photo of mine taken there in July, 1978, I chanced upon from an old album. I feel I've moved too far from that boy to bear his identity any more.
 Jul 2017
Mike Adam
Mmm
I finite space

A scratch of toenail
Startles fever
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