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 Nov 2015 Kody dibble
Kate Millar
Living helpless, I lost my way. An endless pit, a hollow day. I saw a light, shining bright, to guide me back into your sight. I was broken, you fixed my soul, you began to make me feel whole. You took my pieces, scattered far, now whats left is just a scar. You found me, lost and alone, but you took me in, and gave me a home.
This is probably my least depressing poem.
 Nov 2015 Kody dibble
Day
watch out
 Nov 2015 Kody dibble
Day
don't look me in the eyes
it's pretty scary in there,
it's where i keep everything
that's not considered
''acceptable''
all the hate
and all the love

and everything
i'm too scared to say
out loud

so beware
you might find things
that you
don't wanna see
i'm scared of so many things
 Nov 2015 Kody dibble
Laurent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

In English :

Below the Mirabeau bridge there flows the Seine
As for our love
Must I recall how then
After each sorrow joy would come again

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay

Let us stay hand in hand and face to face
While down below
The bridge of our embrace
Roll the waves weary of our endless gaze

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay

Love goes away the way the waters flow
Love goes away
How life is long and slow
How hope of life can deal so strong a blow

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay

The days the weeks are passing from our ken
Neither time passed
Nor love can come again
Below the Mirabeau bridge there flows the Seine

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay
Guillaume Apollinaire (26 August 1880, Rome – 9 November 1918, Paris) was a French poet, playwright, short story writer, novelist, and art critic of Polish descent.

Apollinaire is considered one of the foremost poets of the early 20th century, as well as one of the most impassioned defenders of Cubism and a forefather of Surrealism. He is credited for coining the term Cubism (1911) to describe the new art movement, the term "Orphism" (1912), and the term "Surrealism" (1917) to describe the works of Erik Satie.

This poem functions as a touching record of the end of Apollinaire's long love affair with Marie Laurencin.
It is possible to live
at a remove so mesmerizing
so glacial blue
the narrow crevasse
opening beneath
your careless toes
swallows you
grinding past - present - future
until there is no you
only time
       a tumbled moraine
                               a shrinking river.
Be well, my brother.
 Nov 2015 Kody dibble
Adam Mott
A church is in ruins
A holy place defaced
You were alone, a lie
Among the living, walked
Like a statue made of gold

Lost in the former
Gone out with the tide
All that was worth fighting for
Gone now, died

Waves lap at the shore like angry thrusts
The lights of the city wave like a *****
The wind, a stranger
The kids all board the school bus
Lacking pity, empathy formless

They say you might find what you are looking for
A ballroom dance sang loudly to the ceiling boards
Nonsensical words that come streaming out
The taste in my mouth, the sound when I shout
I wonder what it is that you are looking for
Gold, wine, success, money, fame
All these prizes delivered at the end of this sick game

Run to the lights of the city
Pass the moments for which most pray will transpire
Hire a carrier, command the world from your throne of foresight
For, in hindsight, maybe this was not such a good idea after all
Perhaps, it is only human for us to trip
For us to fall
My fault, not yours
Erase it all
The struggle of an Arts Major
 Nov 2015 Kody dibble
Y Rada
It is difficult to be a man,
For I am not a typical one.
It is hard for me to go on,
There’s a secret that pulls me.

I loathe when my memories strike,
They hit emotionally with might.
I struggle so much to survive,
In a world so deaf towards my cries.

I look at a He and my heart convulses,
For I recall a He who gave me kisses.
I was young, forced and naïve,
I fought but He was much stronger.

Society might tell that I’m gay,
For I let a man violated me in a way.
But I’m not a ***** and I’m sure,
I play a role for which others envy.

When I was a teen I met her,
I admired her even if she’s older.
I was then shy and very timid,
With mental and emotional scars.

I thought of her as a dear friend,
Then she turned to be my worst fiend.
One instance she forced herself on me,
And used things that hurt me so.

A girl’s tactics differ from the stronger ***,
Tears she used first and blackmail next.
She was cunning, sly and very clever,
She stole my pride and my dignity.

My fears now mixed with anger,
My determinations got bolder.
I still cry and sometimes get lonely,
Like any other victim I want to fight.

I can not shout to the whole nations,
For societies will scorn at my declamation.
Both sexes forgot that I have feelings too,
I am also made of flesh, bones and spirit.

I am not proud of what I become,
Within me clouding reasons try to calm.
My desire is to win this battle to the end,
I am capable of vulnerability like any human.

But where does my right begin?
This universe has compassion for women.
The likes of me are expected to be steel made,
Yet I have feelings too for I am just a man.
Dedicated to all abused males by other men and to the men abused by females. A simple shout out to the world that I care…that I have heard your cries… and that you are still loved.
There's lightning outside, while on the inside I dream of the ways you can light me up.
My thoughts keep drifting to your silent smirk, the sure sign of a winner.
I seem to have stumbled my way into your headlights.
I had no intention of losing until you came into focus, until you owned the game.
My ego keeps slipping through my fingers, an indication of lost time.
My bare feet long to dance on cold ceramic tiles, to breathe in endless plastic roses.
You see my luck seems to always slip away from me.
One was the father of a child, forever bound to his little girl.
The second was bound to another, as if they were only meant for each other.
The third was my pitfal, he was all is fair in love and war until someone's heart was ripped apart.
Now I have nothing to lose, because he is a lone howler and his heart only loves the open road.
I realize that eventually none of it really matters as long as I can feel the pressure from your fingers.
All I need is to admit defeat, God had dealt me a losing hand.
Now I stay up late chain-smoking, and hoping for some solution.
My heart beats on a path my mind can't control and my feet have become tangled in these threads
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