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 May 2014
Wolves and Lilies
You may have died young,
        but as long as
        my words live,

*You will never grow old.
 May 2014
C Davis
My mind
my poor mind
is swimming with thoughts
Swelling with oceans of heartaches forgot
Waves of regret rise and break on my shores
But in search of that bliss
I dive back in for more.
I rock
And I tumble
All alone in my head
Contemplate if I've known
what it's like to be dead
I've been numb as a ghost,
I've been colder than ice
yet my heart beats on still in its pale morning light
As dawn breaks on my waters,
what the waves whisper of
is whether or not
i have known how to love.
{written oct 3 2010}
 May 2014
Terry Collett
I sense the touch
of boy's eyes upon
me, said Jeanette,
the touch inches

beneath my skin,
moves along my
veins, ****** at my
heart. I sit and see

the other girls remote,
untouched as I, their
voices gathered like
hens at feed, pecking

their order of who
and must; I hear the
words giggled: kiss
and tell, and touch

and feel, and who did
what to whom, echoing
around the room in
whispers spoken, hid

by hands, eyes betraying
what their voices are saying.
A girl talks of ******
climes, of ***** deeds,

with him, but who is he
for no one tells, just a
lover of girls. I wash
each night to cleanse me

from their touch of words,
their deeds half buried
in my mind's hold; I bathe
and sit and scrub, sensing

the day's grime wash clear
away, hair,arms, hands,
neck and *******, where
they say(and laugh) their

*** boys play. I hear their
words as I sit in class,
whispering, whispering,
who did what to whom

and where and were you
there?  I wonder at their
lives, their way of walk
and do and deeds, the want

of love or need of keeping
something back, virginity
not saved not cared for such
as seems when they speak

and sprout it all comes out.
I bathe in water warm and
soapy, scrub my skin to
cleanse them off, the night

spread before me like a dark
gown, the stars blinking eyes,
the moon a ghostly ship on a
dreary sea. I don't think boys

will want of me. I dress as
neat and tight and show no
part that should not be be
seen, I am as yet untouched,

unfingered, unkissed, a
flower in a gloomy meadow,
a blossom in a city site, a
gem(says mother) in a heap

of *****. I sense the touch of
boy's eyes upon my skin, it
bites at me, ****** at nerves
and heart, I want to be undone,
not left alone and torn apart.
A GIRL WANTING TO BE LONG BUT AT WHAT COST.
 May 2014
B M Clark
Not knowing, ignorance, is a funny thing.
I use to see my past as either a treasure chest or a time bomb, I was never entirely sure which.
I use to see my past as a catalyst to some grand adventure, but I could only guess at how long it would last.
That's how it goes, everyone only guessing when their adventure ends. Some people know how, but no one knows exactly when.
For me though, there was more, A larger question mark, more X's in my equation. I knew less, and it always had me imagining.
You see I was adopted at birth, I never knew my life givers, my body makers, my me creators. I only knew they existed. That and the scraps of information gathered throughout years of questions like needles picked slowly and painfully while searching through the hay.
She played the flute, just like you.
He looked (to her at least) like Wayne Gretzky.
They were never married.
This was the story but it wasn't my treasure, it wasn't wasn't my bomb.
You see I have no idea what to expect at the end of the story, the place where I would meet them, my DNA combiners.
At the X on this treasure map would there be gold? Would I find a count-down on a bomb amidst my riches? Would there be, among the glittering joy, a hint at when this grand adventure would end?
Most importantly,
Did I want to know?
Curiosity has always burned in me like a forest fire raging far beyond my self control.
I wanted to know.
Would I find in the story of my life's creation more family to love, more people who matter?
Or not?
And if there was a bomb what would it be?
Cancer,
Heart-disease,
Osteoporosis,
Alzheimer's?

Do I want to know?
Do I want to see an expiry date on my young life?

This knowing is a gamble,
These dice cannot be loaded,
These cards cannot be cheated.

That is my choice, to live out an adventure short or long, and discover their story.

Discover my story.

Ignorance is a funny thing.
 May 2014
Joe Cole
Well I guess I can be both because I'm the one
who chose to send our boys girls out there
to fight that war

Some one had to go it wasn't me, I stay at home
and ponder over my next words and lies
to feed the gullible minds out there

So your destitute and broke, well for me thats just a joke,
its not my fault that your kids will starve
Ive more important things to than to worry over you
I have to go and by anothef expensive car

Oh sorry I forgot it was me who hatched the plot to starve you
and send the kids to war

Do you think that I lose sleep about their torn and shattered
flesh? Or of the shattered minds that come back home
Needs editing so will have to go to my laptop
 May 2014
nivek
the record player is stacked with 45s
and the listeners are 40 years older
still whenever heard we give a little
boogie with our memories intact
 May 2014
SG Holter
Define a full life.
I sleep four-five hours on
Weeknights.
In winter I work in darkness that
Only breaks during mid-day;

With snow blowing sideways,
Finding its stubborn way between
Garments to touch skin
With a thousand needles.
I have one deep scar for every

Week of work.
I've been more cold than warm,
More exhausted than rested,
I've been to death and back; have
Photos of my own heart from
Nearly unsuccessful surgery.

But staying dead was not for me.
With friends and interests like mine,
Heaven held no grounds to hurry.
There is too much music.
Too much wisdom in old eyes, too
Much beauty in brand new ones.  

I wake up in a warm bed
Beside a warm woman,
Eat warm food daily. Both my
Parents still live. My brother is
My best friend.
I meet challenge upon challenge
Upon challenge.
Some I win.

But more important than anything:
I laugh. I laugh and laugh
Until my stomach can't move,
And I smile to the skies
With my face still wet from tears
I wouldn't bother to hide
From anyone, saying
Well played, up there.
Love every scene; every joke; every
Set. The soundtrack is impeccable.  
Characters loveable.
Give my best to the scriptwriters.
They crack me up.

Can't wait to see how it ends.
Promise me a
Sequel.


I'd do it all again.
Define a full
Life.

Then live
It.
 May 2014
Einalem
Maybe,
You and I are just sick people,
laughing at a sick joke,
and we'll only ever have
each other to love
so we hollow out the ground
to lay our bodies side by side
and replace the dirt
so we can feel
the weight of our choices.
 May 2014
Andrew
The tender swells carry me 
But never disturbs.
Kept afloat with the meager thoughts of existence
A wave collides against the back of my head.
I fall victim to a surge.
I plunge down, submerged, by the wrathful hands of Poseidon. 
Shooting hard into my throat 
Sea salt scrapes for something.
Choking I reach out and struggle
One eye sees in red same as the eyes staring back.

No point of reference I simply sink. Deeper.
Deeper. Down the depths. 

With what light that does pierce down this far I gaze
At the glorious expanse of unknown cities.
Hovering above a void, a wild spectacle distracts me.
Pillars holding statues. Bridges spanning miles.
Prairies full of green and red. And massive graveyards in honour of those of whom are worthy of such a burial.

There the void becomes something more.
Air has pushed through my eye sockets I have drifted down so deep.
I want to shake but the freezing water weighs down on me so much.
I am not blind from near death but from complete extinction of light.
I realize I wasn't swimming at all. 
A clutching hand has dug its nails into my now broken ankle. Delivering me
To a place I have always wanted. A home.
Here no one can evict me from what is rightfully mine. 

I am free
I am dead
I am gone
I am home
 May 2014
Joe Cole
What can we tell of this eloquent man
Of the way the words flow from his magic pen
He writes of history, of legend and myth
Stories of family, of kin and of kith
Tales of the fields,  the forest, of sea
He pens the words  that we all love to read

Sverre never stop writing
 May 2014
SG Holter
Few can pronounce it
Unless Scandinavian.
The r's are all rolling,
And the letters all sound...
More or less not as
In English.
Just let it go, it's a 'twister,
I know.

My names are all old-norse,
Not modern Norwegian.
(Viking-speak sounded
More close to Icelandic).
Sverre means "spin like an arrow",
Expression for being untamed; un-
Controllable; wild-man.
G is for Guttorm: "Where Gods
Seek Shelter"; a fortress for those
One thought needed one least.
Holter means "edge of the woods";
The end of the forest (or where it
Begins).

The Wildman Where the
Gods Seek Shelter at the
Edge of the Woods.


My friends call me Sverre.
It is a name I've shared with
Swordbearing kings.
I am equally proud
When addressed.
 May 2014
Aaron Salzman
The cry
of the barrel screams
Screams resound across the earth's
Great Expanse
Expands from the lowlands of Vail to
the valleys of Los Angeles to
the depths of Oceania to
the oceans of death and,
after incessantly increasing,
incredulously stops.

Except not really.

Really, to most Valians,
he was just a name in passing,
fluttering past consciousness just long enough
to get a "poor thing" or a "shame."
Really, his body hit the cement a full
7 hours, 6 minutes before his parents came work
from home, not the other way round,
Saw the alien body of their offspring, then the corpse,
and threw themselves
at lawyers, counselors, and more lawyers
as each professional debated which lover
he wanted as his teammate in the opening of
The Blame Games.
Really, the cessation of Adam's heart
didn't open the gates in exuberant expectation of
The true savior.
His beats stopped when
the world began
The lost change in between his seat cushions
never had just one meaning.
Really, he never thought he would
ever amount to more than a dollar.
Really, the only question that matters,
the only entreatment with gravity,
is, Was he right?
 May 2014
Julia
How to:
focus on letters falling
out of your mouth like
a leaky spigot when
you have orchard eyes &
honeysuckle lashes that I
am positive would feel
like the down of the most
expensive pillow if
brushed against my
fingertips, & lilac breath
that dances around your
dripping syllables so gracefully
& dissipates like the sweetest
fog around me so that
I cannot see past you;
but why, why
on Earth would I
ever look away?
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