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 Apr 2020
Logan Robertson
Such creaking of old
                            clutched hands,
  wrinkles expressed
                               mark transient veins of time.

Logan Robertson

4/03/2019
I think as one ages they go up the proverbial creek. The days at the rivers mouth, in it's
longevity, come winding down from the mountain. I see this analogy in nature. I see my hands. The verbage expressed holds two meanings here, regretfully.
 Apr 2020
TC
As the dust begins to settle;
And night,
Falls.

As your green becomes your gray;
Your rooms,
Halls.

As your flame begins to flicker;
Helpless,
You crawl..

As your beginning becomes your end;
You search,
Recall...
 Apr 2020
MoonlightVersifier
Your eyes tell a different story,
Like your mind in someone's memory,
But knowing that too I still like you,
Do you know why?
Because I want to.
Liking someone is a candle.
It can melt, burn out and you have no idea how long it can last...
-Awishfulfirefly
 Apr 2020
girlrinth
The pond decided
to go mountain
climbing one day.

So out of
no where it just
wiggled away.

The swan
was sleeping
during that time.

So there
was mystery
mating with horror
in her eyes.

When she
saw that the pond
was gone.

Her eyes a
deep shade
of kiwi fruit.

The wind
whispered
about how the
pond drowned.

She fought
back a dam
of cuss words.

She felt
like there was
nothing she
could do.

She shoved
her head in
her feathers like
as if it was
a curtain.

The people
walking by were
completely
unconcerned.

After they
left the trees
bowed to her.

They held a
counsel as to how
long she’d last.
 Apr 2020
Eric Martin
It may be love
But you will find
It's better to rise above
While you leave me behind
PICTURE THAT GOES WITH IT TO MAKE SENSE
https://www.instagram.com/p/B9xQf2lg1yW/
 Apr 2020
Sally A Bayan
.................
        .........    

Remembering,
how fast April, May and June ended,
gone.......yet, their breezes,
still whistle their songs into July
brazenly...heard by conscious, sharp ears,
by the bedroom door, i see how they
blow and push...how they move everything
...................
like these dancers on the window
moving with such grace,
always obsequious
to the call of the wind,
  ....................
soft silky bodies...dancing freely
moving with a gentle sway...flowing
flinging, waving up, down....in floral,
fruity and rustic prints....flimsy,
like summer scarves, in yellows,
reds, greens, blues, and browns
...................
baring......sometimes, hiding
a rich tapestry of an arcadian scene:
wide open areas of lush green
beside gold-colored fields,
eyes of passersby are stunned even more
by the long, wide, swaying leaves
of the proud  tobacco plants.
.....................
tireless hanging dancers, graceful and lithe,
organza curtains, pierced by rays of sunlight,
dancing with much fire, as wind becomes wild,
...but, shy at nights, when stilled by drawn blinds...
.........................

........Dancers........
....­.................
   ..............


      Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  July 1, 2018
 Apr 2020
Logan Robertson
Sally yearns for a stimulus check
In part to bring sails to her shipwreck
She could use a timely breeze
To soothe her from the deep freeze
Money's ace but her men mend her deck


Logan Robertson

4/1/2020
9/9/7/7/9

Poor Sally. On most nights she be seeing new faces, going to new places and parting her social graces. Now she's a head case. Being, ahem, laid off (and restricted from going out) has taken a toll on her.
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