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 Jan 2020 Juneau
Poetic T
Could find it,
               looking deeper towards

the light, then I collapsed within
              the darkness...

It was so bright, so lovely onyx
                petals lacerating me


like i was opening the door to a better place.

My blood was the nurture to open wounds
            that needed to show the bone,


            before I could heal from the  fall.

You never knew me, till you glued every
                scar after opening it to realise


that.. beauty was beneath every scar.

The luminosity blinded, headed my growth,
          for to grow,
I needed to be blind to see



                                  my purpose..
 Jan 2020 Juneau
Poetic T
brisk nights hang low
baubles linger effortlessly

shimmering below streets.
 Jan 2020 Juneau
Poetic T
We can all be better,

        for that one moment.

We can touch a
               heartbeat
              and show that even though


were at our lowest.

we can raise someone

                 higher just when they need it.
You are not a poet
Till you can make words rhyme
It’s a crime
You commit every time..
Come on really, every single line !
Of a fine poet has to be divine ?
Of course, by its very design
A poem is not a mime
Didn’t you read the sign
It clearly says “Poems must be Sublime”
So don’t  let there be dust where there can be grime
It’s so simple, why use lemon when you can chose lime
It’s like calling someone when you can Facetime
But, but,.. I like calling and lemons and dust
Iron oxide can at times be better than rust
Doesn’t love sound better than lust
Do I really need to earn my crust
When I can earn a living or a livelihood
I’m not sure I’ve understood
I think I’ll sit and brood
Over my absolute lack of finesse, aesthetic ability and talent.
 Jan 2020 Juneau
sankavi
the universe created the most beautiful mystery when it created you
 May 2019 Juneau
vern
in my pocket you will find
a receipt, some gum
scraps of paper, some change
a wrapper or two
there is a dollar as well,
and finally a book
of unfinished poems.
open the book you will find
words that were written
but soon to be forgotten
by the author who misplaces her mind
she wants to accomplish
even a drabble or two but
sadly she will never finish
for she'll forget that too
along with her ambition
perhaps works are meant to be unfinished
I always try to write. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at finishing what I start. I'm trying to get better and finishing my works. This poem is basically about that. This is for the forgetful people who want to accomplish a lot but either forget to complete their works or lose the will to do so. This is basically my first poem on this website, I hope you like it.
 May 2019 Juneau
vern
we are tied to our fates with a thin red string
they are strung to our love, destiny, and death.
the young man who lost his lover
is fated to fall for another.
the new mother who holds her child
is fated for a beautiful destiny she cannot imagine.
the person sitting alone on the bench
is fated to lose his life to someone.
none of these people can see where their strings go
they live as if there are no red strings tied to their fingers
and attached to the sky.
only the watcher of our fate can see these red strings.
she grieves for the some of the strings
the saddest lives are the smallest
smiles for other strings
she sees those who will have full lives
and she sighs
the watcher cannot see her own strings
unlike the others, she is not ignorant of fate.
she is aware of fate, embraces fate,
but she does not know her own fate
was she destined for eminence, luster
was she destined for a lover, a heart
was she destined for death, sooner rather than later
she will never know
the burden of the knowledge of the red strings
weighs her down
she does not have a fate, a love, a destiny, a death.
For she is the watcher of the red strings of fate
and only the watcher of the red strings of fate.
I've loved the concept that there is some invisible red string that ties you to your soulmate. However, I wanted to reimagine it as something that ties you to any fate you have. Sometimes I feel like I am the watcher of the red strings. It's just a sense of hopelessness and emptiness that maybe I won't amount to anything or will be enough for anyone. That's a lot of emotion, but I hope you still enjoy this poem.
 Feb 2019 Juneau
Rockwood
a b c d e f g
This is not good poetry
I dont care
What you think
I don't need to
See a shrink.
* * *
Twinkle, twinkle
Little star,
Go throw yourself
Under a car.
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