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 May 2016
Mary Alexander
Are you insane like me?
Do you dream in vivid color, and walk on roads of ice?
Do you live in a mind,
Where nothing conventional would suffice?
Are you insane like me?
Can you hyper focus on a certain pair of eyes?
But only those eyes.
Are you chased by visions of legends and ghosts of loves that will never exist?
Are you insane like me?
With the heart of a lion, and a soul filled with fire,
But still somehow cold as stone with a mind hard as iron?
Unbending.
Are you insane like me?
Do you walk at a different speed than those around you?
Always aware of the chilling fact that your pace is too fast?
Yet aware that the speed isn't caused your physical body,
But more by your soul and the codes hidden in your strangely mystical DNA?
Are you insane like me?
Can you trace patterns in the air with your fingertips?
Can you zoom in and out with your senses?
Can you lose control of your daydreams
And forget of the one who is trying to reach your mind?
Are you insane like me?
And fully aware that a mind like yours is something that cannot be understood or reached?
If so, can I ask you something?

Do you feel alone like me?
 May 2016
wren cole
If I were dead
I wouldn't long to be alive
Until my chest aches and I feel sick
Obsessing over the time I've wasted
Over my broken glass childhood
Which should have been innocent and bright
But instead stained my rose-tinted glasses black
And I haven't the energy to seal the cracks
If I were dead,
I wouldn't be made of broken glass
 May 2016
Paul Gilhooley
Words are a gift we must beware how we use,
We can use them to love, or to hate and abuse,
To be uttered in hope, or to hurl them as curse,
We can place them together as a rhyme or a verse.

Words are a weapon we can use in discord,
As it’s claimed that the pen, is more mighty than sword,
Words can be empty, their meaning be hollow,
Or we can say them in strength, so that others may follow.

Words and their meanings, can so often confuse,
Or their meanings dramatic, with their use on the news,
Their meaning may change with the way we infer,
Do they mean we are hated?  Do they mean that we care?

To me there’s no doubt, that our words are a gift,
We must use them for good, to give others a lift,
If you use them to harm, or to give fear and dread,
Then I think that it’s far better left as unsaid.

We must use them to love, and for comfort in grief,
We must use them for those that are short on belief,
We must use them to settle any quarrel or rift,
And it’s why that I know that their use is a gift!*

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2013
 May 2016
South-by-Southwest
Poetry is life in motion , a Niagara Falls of words , a super nova of emotions , cradled on the infinitesimal lines of creation .
 May 2016
Paul Butters
In every “Poetry Place”
There is a Copycat Corner.
We know it’s a disgrace
So here’s another “Warner”.

Why they do it I’ll never know,
Those Copier and Pasters.
Their words they seem to glow,
But they’re a bunch of Wasters.

Taking all that praise,
For stuff they haven’t written,
It seems to be a craze,
And many do get bitten.

Just Google their “fine words” or use those plagiarism sites,
And you will find the original poems
Bedecked with copyrights.

I’m sure this place just isn’t free
Of people like this,
Just look and see!!!

The Admins must get their fingers out,
And give these villainous rogues a massive clout.
Me, I will show all due diligence,
But my job here,
Is to show My brilliance.
(NOT someone else’s!).

Paul Butters
 May 2016
wordvango
only to the one I really love do I ask
have you got smokes?
to her I share my darkest dreads, I don't have to act or put on airs.
Only am I me with her.
Only her , I act so casually.
In her presence I am me.
 May 2016
South-by-Southwest
In my calm
The ache arises from the ground
Where it remains buried during the day

A lone siren sings in chorus
to the choir of cold stars
Whose heat cannot be felt

Nor the heat of your warm breath
Upon the memories made
Still twinkling in my winter's night

Oh the hollow thud
Of a heartbeat devoured by love
For you were a soul eater

My black heart's hole opens
Swallowing all of the winter's
Cold forsaken images

And as the seas of demise
Flood my icicles of despair
I will no longer shed a tear
 May 2016
brooke
whenever I get to thinking
about what it is that you really
like, like if bourbon was your
vice then i'd be some simple
syrup, the kind my grandma
makes--with sugar and hot
water, and how you only
use a little, a little goes
a long way.

still got those words runnin'
through my head, you'd be better off
you'd be better off if you were
*you'd be better off if you were by yourself
(c) Brooke Otto 2016
 May 2016
Karina Norris-Veirs
You win universe
You did it
You finally destroyed her
Made her cry tears of blood
Let her lie upon the cold floor
Alone, abandoned
Let her realize her worthlessness
As her life seeped into the wood
You finally let her
not good enough's
not strong enough's
not worthy enough's
Not Smart enough's
NOT PRETTY ENOUGH'S
Rise to the surface
Drowning her into submission
Letting her succumb to the darkness
The darkness that was buried deep within
You let it rise
You let it engorge her
You let it pull her into the undertow
Knowing she wouldn't be able to swim
Not this time
her last air bubbles of light
Drifted upon the raging storm
The storm you brought her
The one you stirred so violently
the whirlpool it created
A masterpiece
One for the books
She is now gone
Forever into the darkness
*she will never see light again
Bad day, think nothing of it...I'll be just fine...
 May 2016
Little Bear
I am a lost soul... so very lost.
falling through the floor boards
slipping through the cracks
through the gap under the door
I silently pass and out into the world
where I float upon the breeze
like a thousand dandelions clocks
with no place to land
and I need you to hold me
to tie me to your hand
to tell me I am here
for I can't see where I am
silent me
invisible me
please paint me yellow
let me have colour in your world
let me have colour
cover me in gossamer
and I will become
and my outline be defined
let me be real to your eyes
let our fingers intertwine
take me home
colour me yellow
show me I am true
and I am yours
 May 2016
David Ehrgott
If you were gonna
Then you would have.
But, you didn't.
So, you weren't.
 May 2016
David Ehrgott
Can a blind man
Become a poet
How can one write
about the things
they have never seen

Could a deaf man
Write poetry
How could he express
the sounds of things
He has never heard

Would a dolt even think
About writing poetry
and if he COULD put down
on paper what he feels
Who on Earth would ever listen

There's a professor at Harvard
Who teaches poetry
left, write, upside down, and sideways
but, she was never
Write for me
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