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take me sweetheart ...

take me darling ...
back again to you ...
take me from my loneliness...
i can't live anymore with out you ...
lonely i feel ...
lonely cold nights ...
boring and so deep ...
i can't bear at all...
take me sweetheart ...
please do ...
i can live without you ...
missed you ...
missed your smell...
your smile ...
your warm lap ...
and every part in you ...
yes i do ...
please take me again to you ...

sweetheart...
alone i am ...
only with my dark nights ...
feel cold...
feel lost ...
only counting stars ...
into my dark night ...
so long are my nights...
while you are so far from me...
get me back to you ...
give me the life again ...
through you breathes...
i need so much you ...
i can't live without you ...

please do ...
my sweetheart...
take me again to you ...


hazem al...
 Oct 2016 Fay Slimm
mk
there must be a place where broken words go
the ones without a limb
not fully formed
not spoken right
not heard

there must be a place where broken words go
the sentences left uncompleted
the trailing words that never left the lips
the "but" and the "and"
that were always left hanging

somewhere between silence and speech
there must be a place where broken words go
full of stutters and writers block sufferers
somewhere between the "i love"
and the "you" that never followed
or the "wait"
that was whispered into the air
the "please come back"
that made peace with dying
on the corners of a turning mouth

there must be a place where broken words go
the words spoken but never heard
the letters written but never posted
the train of thought that crashed into the clouds
the words in the bottle that traveled the sea
but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach

there must be a place where my broken words go
the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen
and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense
the things i could never say
and the things i said that came out all wrong
all the broken alphabets in my song
that cry for salvation
for one more chance

there must be a place where broken words go
there must be a place i can call home.
 Oct 2016 Fay Slimm
Traveler
If I could somehow confess
My heart is fine I guess
The more or less I care
The scars will always be there
There's no anger in my emotions
   Perhaps I lack devotion
I've no mind for revenge
To keep me stumbling within
...
Traveler Tim
morning bleeds in
then blazes
the sky pierced open by one hot star
night melts away, slinky black cat
 Oct 2016 Fay Slimm
Paul M Chafer
Within our conscious thoughts,
Beneath desires of wandering souls,
Dreams drift across a lake of truth,
Hopes swim in spiralling shoals,
Making it impossible not to smile,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

Opulent rooms with silken sheets,
Serviced twenty-four-hours a day,
Check in and out, whenever you like,
Nobody will ever be turned away,
Put up your feet, stay for a while,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

The waiters are all they should be,
Girls frolic freely around the pool,
Appetising hot food to spice you up,
Tall drinks that will keep you cool,
Magic fantasies are always in style,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

Enjoy pleasures with kindred spirits,
Relaxing, not caring, in the least,
Savouring hopes, dreams and desires,
Sharing love, indulging in the feast,
Devoid of guilt, regret, and denial,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

©Paul Chafer 2014
For every single poet reading this, even those who only read, relax, breathe easy, here is where we all belong: one day.
 Oct 2016 Fay Slimm
Valsa George
My eyes were hooked on to the West
Feasting on the riot of colors the sun had cast
I stood dazed at an experience blest
That any poet would treasure with zest

By chance I glanced at the river below
It moved like an overloaded carriage slow
With floating weeds and ***** *******
Reminding one of an ugly heap of trash

I saw partially submerged bottles bobbing on the surface
Gradually filling with ***** water perforce
And slowly sinking down to rest in peace
With their sunken brethren at the river base

Spill of oil glistened iridescent
On the face of the river florescent
Its water was far from clean
But had turned murky green

On the still surface was a layer of ****
Like rancid butter annoying anyone’s calm
Reeking smell of rotten fish and mulch
Entered my nostrils with an obnoxious stench

I closed my eyes and turned my head
And looked away from the river bed
I thought of man’s callous audacity
In assaulting Nature’s pristine vitality

I heard the river’s rising lament
And me it did acutely torment
Any sensitive soul would be left grieving
Seeing the river in such agony heaving

In the far horizon, the sky had grown into flames
I wondered if Nature was mad at man’s tall claims
Suddenly I saw with the eyes of a seer
That Dooms day is drawing near!
Kerala where I live is  small state in the Southern tip of India. It is supposed to be God's Own Country with its beautiful greenery, geographical diversity and high rate of literacy. But unfortunately, the people have yet to learn how to keep public places clean. As a genuine lover of Nature, I am grieved to see how our rivers which some years back ran like silver strips with crystalline waters shining in sunlight have been polluted with industrial waste and other ******* callously thrown and made dangerous with sand mining ! In matters of cleanliness, our people have to learn much from the Westerners and the people of the advanced countries !
 Oct 2016 Fay Slimm
Willard Wells
I feel the shadow
moving slowly across
the view of life
as the season's change.

The transition of light
limited by the shortness
of the day bringing
me to a yearly change.

Drawing me to a darker place
within the depths
of my mind.
I find comfort within.

Slowly withdrawing
from the world
I know,
finding comfort in solitude.
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