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 Sep 2016
Thomas P Owens Sr
the days seem shorter
as I draw near the end of those scheduled for me
these 9 to 5's
few surprises await as the routine becomes routine
fewer goodbyes
fewer laughs
fewer cries
and fewer smiles
funny how you notice what the children do not
that they are drifting into their lives
further from yours
but this is the pattern
the destiny of the aging soul

to bed early
comedies aren't as funny
baseball seems less relevant
the aches are more and the heart is growing cold
wrapped in the pain of indifference
I will miss the sound of that alarm
and the need to move
but I shall always have the Sun
and the Sea
to harvest a few words now and again
 Sep 2016
Amethyst Fyre
There's nothing that makes me quite so insecure as
a photo
immortalizing a moment's imperfection-
the one curl bumping out of place, a shirt that emphasizes all the wrong places,
under-dressed, over-done-
posed smiles with dead eyes
and none of the character charms I rely on to make me
pretty

That girl in the picture isn't me
All that's left in a photo is a memory of the truth
If i told you i needed help
would you listen?
Or would your silence
Echo off the walls.
See my life is like a car,
Sometimes moving fast
And other times so **** slow.
If i told you i feel hurt inside
would you not just hear
but listen
to what i said
I need someone to care.
Im tired of trying to fight alone.
Im tired of trying to survive at a table for one.
If i told you
I cry all over my body
And each tear is a knife
And they are leaving scars on my flesh,
Would you cut me a bandage,
Sop up my blood,
Or leave me to bleed out.
If i told you
I was alone and my demons are taunting me
would you get me out
Or would you keep walking
or keep scrolling...
Im not begging for attention,
But one cannot be expected to be alone and silent like a life long detention.
If i told you
I was ready to confess everything
Come clean from my secrets,
Strip myself naked so you could see my imperfections
would you care even the slightest bit
Or are you so selfish
And so ignorant
To walk on
And leave this person to die.
If i told you i was ready to die
would you blame it in cliche,
Or believe it and save me from damnation

Its time to think.
It could be up to you
This isnt just my world,
Its yours, too
and dont you want to be
somebody
To someone?
I need you.
Because all of these "if i told you's
Are becoming
**im telling you
Help people. Dont leave them alone. Provide help. Depression is very real, and it is all around us. Repost if this means something to YOU
 Sep 2016
Sally A Bayan
.....dark and bitter.......it delights me
.........to watch...as rich cream
......invades the dark brown stream
......while rises....a shy, white steam

they fight in beautiful swirls,
the dark, against lighter twirls
teaspoon dips...as tiny drops hurl
....teaspoon moves clockwise,
......others do it counter clockwise...
....the swirls persevere, they stick it  out,
eventually, they merge, and.......even out...

...lovely autumn colors they create
...a sweet, calming scent permeates
...my nostrils....my mind...my soul,
...i close my eyes, when i want to stall
  .... its smell wakes me...keeps me from a fall...

i'm always captured by their bubbly tawny color
so, i drink both black and creamed....yes...i'm a lover
still, i prefer my coffee.........dark and bitter....


Sally


Copyright September 28, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Good morning, Hello Poetry!
I met the man by chance on that riverside town.

The only one around at the deserted strand
I asked him the shortest way out
after I had my fill of the river.

He told me about the fish market
where the fresh catches arrive every morn
and the place ten minutes farther north
where if I slowed down
could catch the magnificent spectacle
of the orange orb thirstily dipping in the river
and if I stayed back for the night
would surely go insane
when the moon sets the river on silver fire
but if I was really intent on leaving
a half hour's drive would get me the highway.

I was thinking of the amazing mathematical probability
of my traveling over three hours to see the river
and his traveling ten minutes on a bicycle
to fetch his son from school on that riverside town
for our once-a-lifetime meeting on the life's highway
and then having him a permanent visitor in my memory
at sunsets and moonrises over the river.
Should a primitive tribe be civilized?
Are we civilized or savage?


Leave them the aborigines to their home
in peace
their abode in the depth of forest.

But where's their abode?
we cut the jungle and made road
where would their babies be born?
in the smoke of engines blaring of horns
so hard for them to birth
on the dwindling patch of their earth
our Paleolithic ancestors' living fossils
who with iron will
fought bullets with bows and arrows
now falling by the bullies of progress
begging for last living space.

Leave them the way they lived so long
unspoiled with their own education and culture
let them retain their own way of life
and not make them civilized the way we are.
Jarawas, an indigenous tribe of the Andaman Islands, India.
Their population restricted to Middle Andaman is estimated to be around 400.
Encroachment in the name of progress in their core area has made them vulnerable and endangered.
This write is based on my experience while working in the Middle Andaman.
 Sep 2016
Thomas Newlove
Happiness is like a chocolate cake -
When it's in front of you, there is no
Greater feeling or thrill.
When it's gone, there's just nothing.
 Sep 2016
ryn
There lived a man, a crooked man
Whose journey was indeed sheer folly
He had hoped to meet someone, just anyone
To share his plight and story

Many had seen him walk his crooked walk
But thought him unpleasing and crazy
We had watched from afar, afraid to go near
And we had avoided him completely

We could've looked past his decrepit state
But we invested much in seeing with naked eyes
So quickly we turned the other way
We cared not if he lives or dies

We could've helped this man
To close the journey that he had then begun
The earth would now claim his body where it laid
As his soul disappears into the sun

Know this man, the crooked man
Whose looks weighed on us a tonne
We've lost the chance to see this man
The man we conveniently chose to shun
Part 6 of 6

How many times have we seen this man,
woman or child...
Then judged and looked the other way?

I, too, am guilty.
.
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