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 Dec 2015 Agrace
Mike Hauser
Just when your world collapses

To the point of fall apart

There still resides a tiny spark

Deep within your hungry heart

The tiniest of slivers

A slight glimmer of hope

A righteous nod from the voice of God

Letting you know you're not alone
Say my name
Say it gently
Use your words
To caress me
Speak your thoughts
Speak them out loud
Confess your love
Amidst the crowd
Scream your wishes
Scream your dreams
Make your reality
Better than it seems
Whisper your pain
Whisper your fears
Release the tension
Wipe away your tears
Open your mind
Open up wide
Let my love in
Let me inside
 Dec 2015 Agrace
Jeremy Bean
R.I.P
 Dec 2015 Agrace
Jeremy Bean
She's very much alive
But she is dead to me
The decision wasn't mine
She wanted to be
A tombstone in my mind
A grave inside my heart
A perpetual funeral
That has no end or start
There is no wreath to set
No flowers to lay
The only place that this exists
Is buried in my wake
 Dec 2015 Agrace
Nigel Finn
Words are harmless, so they say,
That's where the problem starts;
Sticks and stones
May break our bones
But words will break our hearts.



Words are harmless, so they say,
And point you to their charts;
It's harmless fun,
No damage done.
But... Who will mend our hearts?



The x-rays show no damage
Where words have scathed across,
But it still feels hard to manage,
And leaves you at a loss.



Words are harmless, don't complain,
That's where the problem starts.
It's quite absurd-
A single word-
Enough to break our hearts!



But words are harmless, they maintain;
The subject of their parts,
No less or more,
So let them pour
From all our broken hearts
“Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words will break our hearts” is a quote I have stolen directly from Robert Fulghum.
In my defence, he'd already stolen half of that quote himself.
 Dec 2015 Agrace
topacio
typewriter
 Dec 2015 Agrace
topacio
my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines
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