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 May 2016
stéphane noir
i am
whoever you say that i am,
and that's all that i'll ever be,
(to you).
 May 2016
Don Bouchard
Wishing to dialogue
About the joy of our
Shared salvation,
I must interrupt
The joyous conversation
To warn you.

Dangerous men have invaded
Your circle of faith,
Men who purpose
To corrupt the truth
Of God's free gift,
To franchise immorality
For their own profit,
To pollute the Sovereignty,
To deny the supreme Lordship
Of Jesus Christ
To deviate
For profit and profligacy.

I write to warn you.

Jude
 May 2016
Torin
O! That you know me so well!
The story my shadows tell
A death knell
A dead one
In the light of the the your night-falling words
What manner corpend?
That you would portend
The growing clouds
The viscious wind
The vacuous void
The abysmal end

As you wish
         To draw my ire
My flames of burning desire
Engulfing as fire
I shall surely make you feel your bones as ash

Make me now an eater of soul!
My carefully concocted creations
Aiming squarely as arrow in bow
Being drawn as a portrait of your mechanations
Your confusion
Your naiveté
Your goals
All meaningless
             All your nothingness
                       All your dreams to be as I am
You have assaulted my art loving ears
With pure dribble
Tripe and dreck
Trite and dretch
A sketch by an amateur artist
Back-handed and drawing with the left

Make me now an eater of soul!
A hand touching darkness
Grabbing it neatly
And delivering it as it is
To you
On a silver platter
These jaws of a lover
Growing fangs
As you want
Becoming the jaws of hell
Eater of soul

O! That you know me so well!
Based on a series of private messages, from one who wishes to belittle my work. Claiming I write not from the soul. Just a glimpse of the vitriol

INDEED I CAN

Enough layers????  Or maybe too many???
 May 2016
Don Bouchard
The Author,
Having said
What is to Say,
Submits the Text
And Steps Away...

What's to be Read
Or Heard
Or Seen
Is Said and Done.

Then Comes the Fun.

The Reader
Ambles In shuffling,
Struggles In fighting,
Bumbles In stumbling,
Forges In determining,
Skates In gliding,
Rides In on a horse named Fluency.


The Reader wears the Text:
Tries it on for size,
Shrugs before Self's Mirror,
Stretches,
Shrinks,
Dyes,
Preens,
Thinks s/he sees the Whole,
But cannot even see the back
For lack of some connection,
Then ambles off to share
The Text with others.

Later, at the Readers' Circle,
Each wearer of the Text,
Each Poem Creator/Holder
Whose individual Poems differ
After putting on the Text,
Compare.
And though they twirl and dance,
Though they stretch and pose,
Though they must adjust,
No one wears the Text
The Same.
Reader Response Theory, anyone?
 May 2016
South-by-Southwest
*** is a four letter word
Flaunted by very bad vowels
Fevered to ecstacy
By tangled adjectives
And pounded
Into submission
By perverted nouns
That take their free liberty
Of the subjective
Once surrounded by
Iniquity of the parenthesis
You will only utter commas
In Benediction
 May 2016
john p green
Why does it matter the departure?
The first step ends in itself.
 May 2016
Ja
Oh Cyrano, dear Cyrano
Monsieur, de Bergerac
Your nose was big, yes really big
Immense, “la tabernac”

You stuck it in, a love affair
And wrote, Roxanne some prose
She fell for it, to the extent
That then, she Christian chose

All those years, you pined for her
And wrote Christian, some more
But in the end, it wasn’t him
But the letters, she’d adore

So you were left, without her love
As if, it was to be
And it’s your prose, which did you in
How stupid, could you be

Before Roxanne, realized you lied
A log, did hit your head
You sadly came, to your demise
And your love, remained unsaid

And so, the moral of your story
Now, comes sadly to its close
Remember to be careful
Where you stick, your big fat nose
BOEMS BY JA 74
 May 2016
eunsung aka Silas
shock turned to disbelief
anger to sadness
joy to grief
laughter to tears

when "I love you"
turned to
"I don't care anymore."
 May 2016
Violet
Once upon a time
A father loved his daughter
A mother fed her child
A writer recited his poetry
A musician wrote a song
A doctor saved a life
A singer healed broken hearts

Now those were no more
Than tales of a distant yesterday
Amidst smoke and ash
Buried under the sea of the dead
I've been feeling very sad about wartorn lands and families ravaged by war.
 May 2016
Torin
Hello poetry confirmed my belief
In cynacism
If a poet can't live for others
Death is better
Existential crisis
 May 2016
eunsung aka Silas
I wonder and wander
alone aimlessly
until I find you
 May 2016
Keith Wilson
How  do  the  tourist's
know  I'm  local.
They  are  always  stopping  me.
And  asking  the  way  to  the  lake.
Perhaps  It's  because
I'm  walking  on  my  own.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
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