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 Mar 2015
ryn
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•play me a
tune of sweet serenade
•sing me a song of wistful
melody•recite me the words
you would            have said•
now whisper me your sighs
tenderly•paint me the
colours of night and day•write
me the poem of your heart•send me
your love on which I lay•make me the
end to all your starts•strum me the chord
of hopeful bliss•compose me a ballad that
sets my innermost free•so play me your
tune, the one that I would always miss
•and keep singing of us in a song,
so we'd be immortalised in
eternity•
.
 Mar 2015
Sjr1000
since before I was born I can remember time picking me up and carrying me along in its embrace it held me close never letting me down never stopping along the way sometimes speeding up sometimes slowing down freezing in slow motion moments it has never let me down running on through these presents here Passing here past time's arrow only moving in one direction no instant replays no do overs leaving traces of memories some false some recovered some discovered left with the traces of remorse and guilt in pain to tend along our way
time my sweetest friend and enemy
of endings I have always thought a lot these days these ways these happy unhappy joyful passing passing moments with you I held on tight to your impartial embrace knowing full well one day on the ground you will lay me down
 Mar 2015
Hothan Kadar Gulled
They look

They whisper

"She's mad" they say

They giggle

She hears

She ignores, because she doesn't care

She loves being herself

She smiles alone

They ask her,  "why are you smiling alone?"

She looks at them

"No reason" she responds

To herself she wonders

"What's wrong with people!

Not one person

Not two

More than four

Can't I stay happy?" She asks herself

"Am I unique?" She smiles
                             This time with satisfaction

She's unique of course

Rumours reach her

She laughs it off

To their stupidity they expecting to see her frown face

But she smiles wider


They tell her be yourself,  
                Stop pretending

She looks at the mirror

To her reflection

"Whom am I if am not me?"

She laughs

They just can't see a good human

Kind,

Honest,

Trustworthy.

To their surprise she doesn't care what they say

To her they are INVISIBLE.
 Mar 2015
K Balachandran
Water lilies, libidinous lover boys, on the sly
circles her naked body, impertinently
while she unaware of this, swim and play
in her water-crazy, noisy country girl self
in this enclosure of ***** pines wildly in bloom,
She's happy for being shielded from prying looks
of rowdy village boys, adept in disrobing her with their eyes
  
Enamored, the lilies, white, blue and purple
inebriated all, by drinking the nubile beauty
limitless all along,under the  level of water
and above, breached all the reserves,
ahamelessly sevoured her saucy proximity
til she left when the dusk, shed saffron all over.
        Yet in her innocence she would think,
"Poor darlings,how much did they suffer, as I
splashed and broke the calm of the pond all evening"
 Mar 2015
beth fwoah dream
the sky's flowers are the
february stars that brood
like a crashing sea.

moon against moon,
the indigos of the night
wind and unwind.

who listens when the
bright beams tremble?

who listens to the grey night's
powerful song?

the sky's flowers are the
slow river of clouds that
flow away from me,

little paper islands
puffed out like chinese lanterns.

only the stars and the
clouds and the moon,

the boughs beneath, withered
and gaunt, start to dream...
 Mar 2015
Amitav Radiance
An artist’s ego
Casts a shadow
On the beauty
Of art
Artist’s growth
Happens within
Not from
False sense of pride
It’s a process
Where
One evolves everyday
Stay humble
To appreciate
All works of art
With an open mind
Try to read art
Not from
Borrowed perspectives
But delve deeper
Into the world of art
It’s an endless journey
Creativity is eternal
Moment you stop
And find yourself
Obstructed by ego
To learn and participate
You have foregone
The chance
To become a true artist
 Feb 2015
ShamusDeyo
There's nothing like the Feel
Of two wheels and the power
Between your Legs, The Pounding
Of two  Cylinders, as the engine Revs.

Wheeling through snaking roads
Surrounded by Sunlight and trees
The intense smell of fallen leaves
On a cool nights ride. Feeling free

Blasting down a two lane road.
Rolling into a small town,you
Hear the Bikes Rumble, as you
Shift down, and throttle off the gas

The roar of your bikes sound, as
It bounces off the passing buildings.
You're out of town past the Last street light
As the Stars unfold in the stark black night

The feel of the wind's a sweet taste of freedom
Content for the silence and the Bike motors hum.
As an old Biker the ride is Past, but the feel of
The wind Flowing past my face, and the pound
Of the Motors sound, still be mine, Till my Day is Done
 Feb 2015
Mike Hauser
She started out a social drinker
Socializing now all the time
At first her taste was all over the place
Then she settled for the flavor of wine

Wine is now her favorite go to
Whenever things get a little ruff
It gives her the feeling she's doing okay
Cause she never hits the harder stuff

And with one glass at lunch she wouldn't call it a crutch
Just a little something to help her on her way
Being high noon it always helps to smooth
The wrinkles in the rest of the day

Pretty soon though she'd bring the bottle home
To take the edge off what life has made
Just a glass or two to carry her through
Till the troubles magically melted away

She never considered herself a wino
As she doesn't live down on skid row
Does she need a sign painted in day glow
For the truth to really be known
 Feb 2015
Justin G
Listen to your heart
Don't hide from the art
Play to win
Be smart
Escape from fear
Be willing to steer
Speak your truth  
Be clear as the skies
Don't expect to be empathized
Be resilient
Reject being chastised
Don't accept their lies
Make an exception
To be free
Even if you aren't
Like a tree
Be brilliant
Be available
Listen to the wind
Become reliable within
Respect your mind
Love yourself
Don't rest until
You know it's true

This poem is for you
 Feb 2015
Abigail Shaw
A baseline that you feel in your chest,
Humming thick in your ears,
And your mouth,
You just want to live in their blur of impactful words,
That you don’t understand,
Because it’s just a baseline to you,
But have you ever felt so proud of someone?
That what they’re saying, or what they’re playing or who they’re being,
Becomes the only thing that’s keeping off the rain,
And you can see every tooth in the room,
Every heart that becomes unbroken and
        every heart that breaks,
Well it’s a shooting star,
Baby it’s gold dust,
Because his gaze is tattooed on your body,
Under your sweater,
Under your skirt,
Yours is a crime scene littered with his fingerprints,
But you’re no ****** victim,
Jackie,
       Jane,
             Joan,
Wife,
     Mother,
             Daughter,
Survivor,
          Protector,
                     Warrior,
Woman,
Know when it’s dark,
And subtle shadows are all that remains of your bodies,
Finding all the bones in your shoulder,
The piano strings that move your fingers,
And each indentation of your spine,
Is a bible,
But God won’t give him strength,
It’s your skeleton that is fortitude,
You’re the dragon protecting the castle,
You’re Rosie the Riveter,
You can hold up the world with perfectly manicured hands,
You will listen,
And you will care,
Let him breathe in the fractions of your soul that you exhale,
That way,
Every standing ovation and
     every wound that heals,
Is saturated with the influence of you,
Though you don’t understand,
That baseline you can feel in your chest,
It is your to be proud of too.
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