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 Apr 2015
Sia Jane
A moonlit dance beneathe constellations
      not Taurus or Gemini, Delphinus or Orion
                 but stars we named together
                   linking lines from star to star
       hands pointing in air so cold
a tear falls and
                           another
  leaving a roadmap on my cheeks
            that you
                            chase
                           ­            chase
                                                  chase
   ­         lifting the palm of your hand
                 so cold to the touch I shiver
            feeling the beauty of my tears
         that glisten like Venus in the midnight sky
             of this cold Parisian night
  you smile in jest and
     I misplace the space
  between you and I and that sky
  whispering "do you love me?"
    how could I resist the beauty of
                 our second to last kiss.

© Sia Jane
 Apr 2015
Sally A Bayan
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

At the threshold, or doorstep
Of a ship...a gallery,
A house...a library,
It could be a forest, or a museum,
A new school or shop, a church,
An office, a factory,
On entering a new city, or country,
Take a bucket, or two
It's all up to you
There are lots of new stuff to learn,
Leave eyes, ears wide open
Be free to explore...don't worry,
Mind is a sponge,
A lot it could absorb---it is eager, for
Discovery is an adventure,
It beckons,
Knowledge awaits,
Just remember---discernment is vital.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It could be a birthday bash
A wedding, a wake
A seminar,  or convention
First day of classes, new job
Or, a simple get-together
Where awakenings and enlightenment occur
Where you meet new faces, new friends
Old friends to reunite with
Maybe, someone to fall in love with
Could be somebody warm
Or cold...may be aloof
Brave...may be broken
Discernment is always vital.
When standing at the threshold of a heart,
Be more sensitive
Be more careful with your bucket
No one feels the air there, except you
No one knows what could happen
at the end of your visit
For, discovery is always an adventure
It beckons....knowledge awaits
It could build...or break a future.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::­::::::::::::::::

So put your hands in your pockets
But keep the fires burning
Be thirsty for knowledge
Of poison, better beware
Keep in mind: discernment is vital
It's all up to you...for,
At every doorstep
There await buckets.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sally
--------------

­Copyright December 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
 Apr 2015
Rob Rutledge
Find solace in solitude,
There is no shame in that.
We are unknown to ourselves
An ocean to which we delve.
Scarcely coming up for air,
Entangled in fathoms
Whirlpools of despair.
Waves of introspection
Spare us shallow reefs
Yet cast us into darkness
And the horrors of the deep.
 Apr 2015
Evynne
Is driving all the way
Back to your apartment
Because you forgot
Your work boots
Just so you can
Stay with her
Tonight
By: Evynne Doué
 Apr 2015
Kayden Fittini
Towards the surface remain my concerns.
The sun will shine on all my problems.
Entering my mind in a state of stillness.
As powerful as that might be.
Will it set my fidgeting free.
It's time to leave that all behind.
Searching to find the wondrous grape vine.
To eat with the acknowledgment of peace and happiness.
The water is in harmony to the song of the whales.
To sink deep naturally without any fails.
I wish I could hug it even though it flows around me.
From the cosmos I must shine through my enlightened chi.
Lifted from all the negativity.
I've found what rescues and saves.
The voices travel with the wind and aids the singing waves.
 Apr 2015
Dawn King
it was on a hill of a clever neighborhood
the errant flow well guised beneath the clay
upon reach of the summit
she is all that can be held
her pull far too magnetic
her skin, akin to milk poured by Luna
her hair is the black of midnight
on the eve of the new moon
she sits facing inquiry with her injured one facing her
on a rounded copper colored chair
placed curbside
Sophia speaks then
a monotone misgiving
that pours out
as a sly pompous
indifference
The greatest Art in Life is: the precission of capturing the exact moment for speaking or for remaining silent.
 Apr 2015
NameDoesntMatter
Artistic                                   Amazing
Beautiful   Bright                Capable   Caring
  Desirable   Delightful     Easy-going   Enough
      Funny   Generous   Helpful   honest   Important  
  Justified      Kind   I AM   Loveable   Mature
Needed   Original   Poetic   Quick-witted
Reliable   ****   Skilled   Truthful
Unstoppable   Valiant   Wise
X-elent    Youthful
Zealous
Italic words are words I need more of a reminder on.
I encourage all of you to choose a positive word (or multiple) from each letter of the alphabet and write it down. Remind yourself every day what a remarkable person you are.
Love yourself. <3


*Agh, didn't get on all day today, but came home to find that this was selected as poem of the day and am so flattered and honored. Thank you so much to everyone for the kind comments. I'm so glad you all liked it. <3
 Mar 2015
martin
Don't approach a dog unknown to you
Holding out your hand, making eye contact
You may frighten him
Let him come to you

Don't write a poem uninspired
It won't work out
In good time
Let it come to you

Don't go out there seeking love
Like a child with a butterfly net
Live your life
Let it come to you
 Mar 2015
elias
Anxiety is love's greatest killer.

It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you.

You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.
- anaïs Nin
 Mar 2015
Bruised Orange
You are not my children,
tender as you are.
You are not my lover,
though you cause my heart to yearn.
You are not my sun,
or my moon,
or my star.

I set you on this rock;
you will not make me burn.

You are simply sticks,
arranged upon the pyre.
You are clever tricks,
though you flaunt my clear desire.
You are not the match,
or the wick,
or the fire.

I set you on this rock;
To see what might transpire.

You will never be a pheasant's egg to be coddled.
You are only this: a calf led to the slaughter.
A poem addressed to my poems, in the midst of the dreaded poetry workshop, where my lovelies are torn to shreds.  An attempt to maintain distance, for the sake of learning.  It's hard.
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