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Walking Along The Vine
So many walk along the skinny vines
scared to look down among the rolling seas of want
are the lives of so many that created their dreams
that was buried inside this body of mine..*

with trepidation on this tightwire act
no safety net lies below
and where the heart goes the body follows
trusting kindred souls to catch us when we fall

We have this shelter above our heads
from auto pilot to cruise control we speed along
being stuck in the rat race from nine to five
exchanging time for money of a life that is dead...


surrounded by a violently swirling
and turbulent , tempestuous world
trying to find peace and dignity
in a passionless and brutal place
we have only ourselves to run this race

In all moments of silence come the breaking news
I let you see the authentic me, the release of my destiny
lifting me to higher vibration, is my poetic contemplation
In this very moment ,We are free....


free to be, or not to be
but freedom is relative
as all at this event horizon can plainly see
waiting to be drawn into the singularity
where all is one and one is we

The sweetness of your smile, your look of love covers me
it makes me walk a mile, and the more time we spend talking
the more I start to feel your warmth, our intimate moments
last all night, as I sleepwalk through your dreams....


as Morpheus guides us along that ethereal plane
drawn toward what we do not fathom
a glittering paradise, resplendent with the dew of tomorrow
journey, do we, hand in hand to the edge of then
and open to possibility

Deborah and Wolf
Thank you again Wolf spirit aka quinfinn.. you are an awesome wonderful poet.... you honor me by writing with me
 May 2015
Epic Monkey
Like an electron
I spin around you
in every direction
Like a proton
you drag me towards you
in elliptical fashion

Like an electron
I can cross the world
in a blink of an eye
I'd be free like a bird
without you nearby
But lost and orbitless
Forlorn and worthless

You are the source of all I seek
My existence is limited to your proximity
I see infinity in your raging light
yet ALL you see is my negativity ...


Your love is my specific energy
Thunderstruck me
Shifted me to a higher level
Into resonance
Your hand in mine in synergy
Perfectionised me
Turning every flaw into a marvel
Into excellence

As i watch the time pass
as you slowly lose your positivity
I'll abuse myself to earn some mass
or try to reach some kind of neutrality
'cause I see divinity in your loving heart
but all you CAN see is my negativity ..

Yet I will keep rotating willingly
Until you free me from my stupidity

~Epic Monkey
 May 2015
Francie Lynch
In the title of your poem,
Use Poem, Poet, or Poetry,
Don't be quick to scorn;
I can almost guarantee
A Hit,
A Trendy.
Then we may ask,
Has this poet
Written poetry?

Then we may answer,
*Well, there's mention
Of the trinity,
Run it up the pole,
Let's see.
How's it moving so far?
Well, experiment had interesting results. The premise of the poem is faulty. The rest is okay.
 May 2015
IvyB Xx
"My heart is a pre-owned game,
with you being the current controller.

Having being reset over and over,
I am hoping that you will be the one to pass the level and clock me,
body and soul"
Ivy Botticelli
 May 2015
erin walts
Some
Bleed blue
a bitter cold
river that drifts along ever slowly
Ever peaceful
Filled with thousands of perfect downy pebbles
each the exact shape and size
as the last
it trickles down all of the hills and mountains
to lower ground

Iced and frigid
It comes from the heart
to the vein and artery
to the lung
around the stomach and intestines
up the spine
down the spine

to the wound.
 May 2015
Nat Lipstadt
for you


put my poems up on a shelf,
summer fruits transmogrified
into winter jelly and jam preserves,
not for now, not for know,
but to be come-backed to in
our latter days of forgotten maybe sainthood

two years.
two years here.
two years composing, decomposing.
many more, from before, lost in sands.

poems came from my mind's ******,
most water birthed right here, in this bed,
many water birthed right next to a sleeping her,
delivered in the middle of the night,
jes like this one,
this anthology of me.

these poems, my resting,
living will,
my only bequeath
of valorem value
to two children
the only global survivors left living
to bear their father's father,
and my father's
name.

barely old enough to read,
they are, will be,
my one true audience.

older aging dismisses and diminishes
the poetic urge, like eyesight, hearing
and ****** appetite, it's work and gone
the days of five poem days of
love making, dam/n bursting
flicker over, over.

saving my letters and pennies and
poems here, caught for now
by a porous net
that so far,
HP has not let any slip through

hopefully
it redefines the word
perpetual

for here they will lie buried,
my summer preserves,
with no use-by,
no expiration date,
long after the one my physic owns,
long time passed,
long time coming...

perhaps two children
will stumble upon
their bequest
and be pleasured
with their inheritance.

Two years ago I entered with
an ineffable amen,
silently marking the confluence of cries,
Oklahoma tornado taking of children,
Bangladeshi factory ****** collapse,
men killing men in the name of God,
and

the birth of the younger of
those two grandchildren.*


these poems are
my body
my flesh,
the wine-blood,
the ingredients of
all our prior ancestor's resurrection,
kept in the cloud of human cells

mine only by initializing authorship,
they are no longer mine,
the authorship transferred
free of gift and estate tax takings
to the next of kin and all future generations.

Nat Lipstadt
May 18th, 2015
May 18th, 2013
Ineffable (More Tornado Prayers and Such)
Ineffable: Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words; Too sacred to be uttered.
-------------------------–-------—-------------------------------------------------------------

The whimpered cries of the dying
in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice,
announcing we were worthy of life,
to which we think to ourselves,
agreed upon
with our,
a whispery, silent
amen.

The still alive cries of children,
tornado-tormented parents screaming unfair,
teachers body shielding their charges, whispering
save us Lord, from your inventive toys,

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

But here comes the Oklahoma tornadoes again,
now four more dead in Houston,
selecting the innocent, the brave,
logic in any of this, none,
nonsensical at its worst

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

~~~~~
The first I-am-alive cries
of new born lungs,
I have grandson, stain-less, perfect,
recovering in the stainless steel delivery room,
I hear the all babies in the neo-natal unit in unison
pronouncing a Hebrew blessing,
the Shecheyanu...

**(Blessed are You, Lord our God, Master of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to these special moments)**

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

These unspoken poem devotions of adoration
of the sleeping chamber, that cannot
be heard or answered for they're dreamt and
perchance in the morning thankfully recalled,
enough to be transcribed,

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

Ineffable.

A day, just another supplying an average day
to the mass of average.
Birth + Death = an average day.

I thank a God for the
birth of a newborn perfection

On this day the newspapers report
about silence of the God others pray to,
could be the same deity,
reporting that in his holy places,
Jew spits upon Jew,
Muslims usurp Christian lives,
all for none,
all forgetting in
whose image they were created.

to which we cannot say nor think
anything.

Ineffable.

too sacred to be uttered,
so instead of the paucity of these unuttered words,
know that each tear in
the reservoir of my eyes
is my unspoken poem prayer.,
my amen.

*Instead of answering
amen out loud,
wipe my eyes
with your fingertips,
silently.*

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/374302/ineffable-more-tornado-prayers-and-such/
she came
when seeds were not yet sown
the sky had not ****** the river
clouds were far away from rain.

she came
when heart was mere flesh
eyes had not known rainbow
and mind was just a wayward place.

she came
when door was only wooden frame
autumn was blooming shy veiled
romance was yet to wear a name.

she returned
there was darkness gathering

love is she forever searching.
 May 2015
Rapunzoll
You make the first move
and I rise to meet you
The destruction we agree
is mutually assured

If this love is war
we're going nuclear

I refuse to sign the peace
treaty, to surrender my
lands to a man who's  history
rides nations in his eyes

You cannot coax me
out of my shell only
to crush me when I am
most vulnerable

I will not be an
innocent bystander
to your horrors

I will not allow you
to make my pain beautiful
It is not your canvas
to experiment on.


(You'll only throw
red at it anyway)

I'm tired of tiptoeing
around the subject
like it is a minefield

Eventually I will
bleed your intentions dry
bandage them with a kiss
and revel in their cries

I will tear apart the lies
deftly with nimble fingers
and your tongue will always
defy you, spitting fire
and carefully lodged bullets

Once your secrets flare
there will be no rescue party
to salvage what we had

Only our ashes shall remain
*embers of a past unspoken.
© copyright
 May 2015
Jackie White
A smile has a pro and a con.
It gives others happiness, and then they smile.
But a smile can be deceiving
It may not show all that is there.
People can smile all they want,
But there are those who can see behind it.
See your pain.
They want to help, but you wont let them.
You wont let them in.
A smile has a pro and a con.
It can mask your pain and suffering
Make it seem like its not there.
It can also show those who step on you
Those who give you hell
That they cannot hurt you
And they could stop
Stop you from hiding your pain
because once they do
there will be no pain
A smile has a pro and a con
It can be either a mask
or true happiness
Never see a smile
and think
that they are happy
Because there may be a day
When you really realize
They are not
Just some thoughts
 May 2015
Mosaic
Sleeping on the edge of a cliff
  facing Northwest
I moved the sun
Now I can wake to its golden bloon
bathe me in the fresh air of daylight
           Caressing the nine minute old streamline
Pulling it closer
Like time does to me
              And I become ash
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