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 Nov 2016
Erin Suurkoivu
Her novelty has faded.
The stars hang back, distant ladies-in-waiting.
The night sky, their palace, is eclipsed by cities
Exploding with neon lights and grotesque trees.
She is too romantic.
Inch by inch, the black sheath is drawn back,
Revealing her smiling crescent.
She keeps a faithful orbit, and stirs
Blue oceans with long white fingers.

In her full sphere
She is a perfect spotlight,
Turning quiet snowy fields into
Illuminated empty stages.
She plays peek-a-boo, uncovering lovers
Gleaming whitely in the mouths
Of beds.
The beauty of entwined limbs
Exposed in her milky radiance.

She is the sun’s soft reflection.
He is never dim, and the black
Silk bag, a sort of corset,
Is ready to devour her again.
The wine is drained from the glass.
Her smile has become a slit.
The single pearl
Gulped,
Cloaked in shadow again.
"The Moon" is a poem from my poetry book, "Blood for Honey", available at Lulu.com and Amazon.
 Oct 2016
Akira Chinen
I fell in love with a soul like yours somewhere in a past life and a life yet lived and in some lost fold in time in this life.  We were once forbidden lovers and once jealous husband and wife that ended in ****** or suicide and once boy and girl sharing a first kiss and a first this and a first that in the back seat of a stolen car.  I didn't know you at the time but I recognized that you had her smile and shy lust hiding in between the color of your eyes.  I remembered that first kiss before I discoverd your new name and couldn't make a sound with my voice, luckily in that story you carved me out of my shell with a glance and a drink after drink and took me home to your bed and you showed me the skin of your heart and the pulse of your magic and sheets.  And I got lost between you being her and her being you and found that we were just the same two souls going round and around in this life after life cruel to be kind cycle and I know I had nothing to fear from death becauseI knew I would find you wearing her smile and she would be born again and again in your soft white porcelain skin
 Oct 2016
r
Somewhere along the way
I picked up a heavy load
of dead wood, a couple of degrees
east of East Tennessee,
a few bottles uncorked,
problem women, and another
woman, a child, and a mortgage,
all while I wandered down the left fork
of the wrong road like the red silt
in a river that has forgotten
its source, but enjoying the scenery,
the journey, and, of course,
the paths I tended to leave
through the high weeds where I lost
myself and my footprints so loud
I could hear them before I left them
on the ground behind me
like hollow dreams trampled down
beneath the feet that I follow.
 Oct 2016
CharlesC
Shall we live all our days
in searches unending..
A journey we call it
in pleading our pursuits..

Rail tracks as a point
in the distance appear..
Yet arrival displays
as it has before
a split and a point..

Might we not consider
staying in the station..
Reversing our gaze to
our journey's beginning..
And finding there
the Peace which
I already am...
 Oct 2016
James M Vines
Eyes like mysterious pools that show your reflection yet hide a secret. A vision sits behind a flower who's petals cannot compare to her beauty. The Rose does not do justice to her complexion as she cause the flower to blush. What treasure lies with in the soul of this mystery of a person. Why is she hiding behind a Rose?
 Oct 2016
JP Mantler
A dozen blue orbs visible from my view
A phenomenon of fear and fascination
As I was just riding along, the glowing moons had put me to stop
The night sky shot streaks of blue light down at the earth
It is too early for me not to live, I must live
It is undeserving and unfair to be struck by this phenomenon
The other planets hate us, so we must come to an end
 Aug 2016
Rowan Deysel
Hello again, heartless friend.
So slyly in the backgrounds blend.
Your veering vanish, vaguely here.
Your gaze of increments - insincere. 
Healer of the hearted scars.
Swallower of the heavened stars.
The paths in which we dream and delve.
Allow the doubling ones to twelves.

Slices of the eternal elude.
Movements of monstrous magnitude. 
A hesitant dawdle. A lingered delay.
The mountainous sway is steered away. 
Hoarded heaps of hourglass bliss.
Outnumbered by wasted nothingness.
With interludes of want, of miss.
To slowly morphed indifference.

The pendulums that abruptly swing.
The burdens they still hope to bring.
The envied earn of Earth's endeavor.
The better late. The better never.
The eerily empty echoed need.
The blossomed tree from planted seed.
The curse of a continuous grief.
The ever stealthy, silent thief.

The cogs, gears, hours and hands.
The burn of beauty, bleak and bland.
The coziest, surrounding choke.
The whelm from the transparent cloak. 
The running out. The ever essence.
The grand keeper. The watchful presence.
The potential of the plainest plan.
The currency of the wisest man.

What horrors - hallowed by the tick.
Will sound for both healthy and sick?
Will compose secrets, never told?
Will fumble flame to frigid cold?
The end stays always promptly nigh.
For the intimate, infinite blink of eye.
I fear your wasting, more and more.
The constant count to twenty four. 

Unresurrectable and second to none.
Airborne, regardless of having fun.
As retrospective wisdom blinds.
Our youthful hopes and manic minds.
On and on. From time to time. 
Song to song and rhyme to rhyme.  
Betrayer of all mice and men. 
Less of if and more of when.
Of all phrases of mouth and pen.
The worst are "I've done nothing, again".
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