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 775° 
Nick Moore
I recall a
A year given
To
Travelling,
It was a
"Get over a breakup thing"

The first thing I learned,
Wherever you go,
There you are

One time at
Nigeria falls,
All I could think
"If only she was here to experience this with
Me"

But hey, I don't do sad
Well, not for long,
She just wasn't for me,
Just took a while
To see

One day
That
Sadness
Just leaves,
Like snowflakes
On the
Breeze
 667° 
Lizzie Bevis
Some doors are meant to stay unopened,
Some questions left silent in the air,
Some chapters end without conclusion,
Some paths often lead to nowhere.

Not every story needs an ending,
Not every wound needs words to heal,
Not every heart requires mending,
Not every truth needs a big reveal.

There's wisdom in quietly leaving,
There’s grace in letting mysteries be,
There’s peace in simply believing
That what must flow will find the sea.

So loose your grip on expectations,
Release the need to understand,
Accept the silent explanations,
Because it is not a part of your plan.

©️Lizzie Bevis
 553° 
Geof Spavins
Silent dusk, spirit fades away,
Echoes of laughter lost in grey.
Who will remember, when shadows fall,
When the night whispers, and memories call?

Will the dawn recall the stories told,
Of dreams that shimmered, of hearts so bold?
Will the stars above mourn the light they shone,
When s/he is forever gone?

In the rustling leaves, will there be left a song?
A melody forgotten in time’s long throng.
Will the roses bloom where footsteps led,
Or wilt in silence, their petals spread?

Will the winds carry whispers of names,
Or will they drift, untouched by fame?
In the tears that fall, will there be any trace,
Or in the laughter, a fleeting embrace?

Who will remember the love often shared,
The warmth of a heart that always cared?
In the end, as the curtain is drawn,
Who will remember, when you are gone?
feeling melancholy today.
I have re-thought this one  and it "feels" better being impersonalised. also thinking about the title… it is too long -- maybe I will retitle this Who Will Remember -- let me know your thoughts
 473° 
Diya Misri
Let us leave
Our hearts behind,
Forget the days
And the sky - spread wide,
Let us rejoice
Among the stars,
Crowding the moon,
Chasing the sun - tonight,
Let us be
But just bones - tonight,
Armour - where our souls reside,
Let us be
But just a dance,
Eternal - tonight.
 468° 
Emma
A washing machine hymn,
spinning the sins of yesterday,
clean clothes bleeding in sunlight,
scratches etch secrets on the air.
A girl-child sprawled on asphalt,
cotton slip, a ghost’s armor,
a dagger gleams in Jesus' eye,
and somewhere, my shadow laughs.

I made it back,
red doors collecting whispers,
the absences of children echoing.
No pills for this madness,
no mercy for the lies my mother
folded into the corners of her soul.
Truth’s ghosts die like martyrs
while my third eye cracks wide open.

Acid drips from my lips,
prophecies scrawled on sidewalks,
and I’m not high,
but I see it—
the collapse, the rise,
the sharp edges of time,
splitting me from the center.

There was no pulse.
She’d overdosed, slack,
white foam on her lips,
a classic whodunit—
but the culprit was clear.
It was us.
We ****** each other
with quiet hands,
without shame.
Not everything’s a mystery.
Sometimes reality is what it is:
a cold slap, a silent room.

I’m not here for this.
I’m here to refocus,
to zoom in,
to get my apology.
Otherwise,
what was the point of all this suffering?
How did they get away with this—
the lies, the silence,
the slow burn of cruelty?

“This is best,” they said,
abandonment wrapped in soft words,
a mother’s back turned to the light.
I wait, patient as winter,
for her end,
honesty’s blade in my hand.

Sugar and salt rim the glass,
cocktails of loss swallowed whole.
Everything’s funny in the dark—
they left for unsung dreams,
forgot me in the shuffle.
I hit the ground again,
words spilling like blood,
cold turkey with my soul,
waiting for the rhythm of a door
that never opened.
This is a special one for me. Didn't sleep right my mind's a mess. Happy weekend though.
 351° 
Prettyboyfloyd
Searching the world for God
in a man,

as man in the sun
is

Like the gentle rain over your field

waking you up after
the long and lonely jorney,

where my roots
are, there was my tree
planted in the sun,

blooming and fruitful, dreaming

a life of a man in love
as lived for a woman so grew
as a branch that dream
a new, on the tree, into one.
 284° 
Mike Adam
Drunk as hummingbirds
We flirt around flowers
 235° 
Liana
Anxiety,
Leave me alone

Anxiety,
Let me be

Stop getting in the way
Allow me fun
And relax

Stop with the teary eye
Trouble catching my breathe

Anxiety,
Let me enjoy things
Let me genuinely smile

Leave me alone
Let me feel calm for a while

Stop taking over my life
And my mind

Anxiety,
Please be more kind
Releasing this from drafts

(This kite was written by an alarm clock named gobnaujqlnsk but was pronounced as "ken" because English makes things complicated. The alarm clock eats submarines for brunch.)
 180° 
IP
when the planes of your being
are yet disagreeing
It's hard to keep grip on what's actually real
 156° 
ibwib
Maybe it is still there.
The question you had
in your heart.
I wonder how it must have been
a pain,
to ask a child
oblivious to the wring of such

things.


Yet you did
and then you prayed.
 135° 
JAMIL HUSSAIN
In the end,  
It was Love—no greater thing,  
A silent force, yet all-embracing,  
That came like the moon’s soft beam,  
Lighting every heart, a boundless dream.  

Love whispered truths too deep to tell,  
A secret song, a sacred spell,  
And with its touch, we were made whole,  
Like earth and sky, a single soul.  

No longer lost, no longer torn,  
In Love’s embrace, we are reborn.  
It mends the heart, it frees the mind,  
In its warm glow, all grief resigned.  

For Love, like wine, will always pour  
Into the cracks, forever more,  
Binding the shattered, making bright,  
All that was dark, now bathed in light.  

And in its radiance, we shall see,  
That Love alone is all we need to be free.
The Triumph of Love 04/01/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
 133° 
LL
on my knees — in a
way praying
that you won't take
your hand off my nape
01/04/2025
 131° 
Frances Raeburn
he bought me
diamond rings
champagne
and other things
paid off my mortgage
it was quite an engage
for a moment
for a beat
I was there
until he said
you are amazing
what’s your name?
 128° 
Mark Bell
We all done
A term
As a little
*****
Some much
longer
Than others,
We were all
Born in our
mothers womb
And popped out
Sisters and brothers.
 123° 
Lehin3
It’s like I hear a clock ticking—
Will it stop if I stop breathing?
Endless scars, I keep on picking,
My lips taste blood; it’s seething.

I’m too young to feel this weight,
Too blessed to bear this fate.
So why does stress invade my state?
Why can’t I escape the ache?
Weird
 122° 
J
I never sought zoysia in the desert
In fact, I never looked at all
until I turned and saw myself
Now
No matter how long I close my eyes  
Violets bloom everywhere.
 116° 
DEVENDER Kumar
lily plants
filled with red flowers
eternal love
 113° 
Ksenija Ostojić
she was 12,
of course no one believed her.
she was 12,
of course she was blamed.
she was 12,
of course she thinks its her fault.
she was 12,
of course they laughed at her when she opened up about it.
she was 12,
of course she thought it was love.
she was 12,
of course it was the clothes.
she was 12,
of course she couldn't press charges.
she was 12,
of course it still haunts her.
she was 12,
of course she's disgusted by her self.
she was 12,
of course she wasn't taken seriously.
she was 12.
 111° 
Foogle
Love is an unsaid message
backspaced in a text box
an unsent email
an unexpressed emotion
unwritten on a piece of paper
love is a secret
a warming melody in the icy wind...
 91° 
violet skies
the limbs of my
character self
are shaking
just about dying
to drop
their socially acceptable moulds
litter the ground
with old habits
and in their places
grow
luscious healthy new sprigs
of enlightened perspective
a resurgence of ideas
death of the old
and outdated roles
a chance for
revitalised spirit selves
to dance upon the graves
of the old norms gone sour
now is the season
she screams
step up mulch away the debris
of your momentous miscalculation
of power
reclaim the roots
that the greedy shifting world
seeks to devour
 84° 
Yonah Jeong
Problems have solutions
If there is no solution
there is no problem
Problems do not make solutions,
but rather
the solution creates the problem
It created already and
the solution is given
Of course
you may not see the solution
for you alone.
 83° 
Andi Leigh
I would rather have rainfall
Instead of snow.

The presence of snow
Reminds me of hard work
In the early morning.

My spine cannot take
The weight of heavy snowfall

But then again,

The rain makes it hard
To drive in the dark while cars
And streetlights send me their
Eye-cutting prismatic shards.

I think

I'd still rather be led astray
By the rain.
 82° 
VinceV
On a day long past
Your art moved me more than any other
But what I have found
Are the plagiarized works of your idols
Themes and ideas
Countless words and images and thoughts
All of them stolen
I say
As if we all don't steal
I wait again
For Summer Days
 74° 
heidi
coffee tastes better,
instead of being bitter
when we share a cup
 65° 
owls at dawn
the man in me
forgives the man in you

the girl
still struggles
 65° 
Thirty Nine
436
I tell my friends I didn't study
Because I knew I wouldn't get in either way
I lied to them
I studied like never before
Flashcards
Notebooks filled with practice questions
Yet
I didn't make the cut
I wasn't good enough
shsat
 60° 
Phia
She was both the storm
And the sanctuary
At once.
A comforting chaos
The kind of storm you would run into
Not away from
For Chrystal
 57° 
Erenn
The new year arrives not with thunder, but with a whisper—soft, persistent, and unyielding.
It carries the weight of time gone by, the fragments of moments we let slip like sand between careless fingers.

Regret lingers like an unspoken truth, a shadow cast by the light of what could have been. We try to grasp it, to undo it, to reweave the threads of yesterday, but the loom has turned, and the past is a river that only flows forward.

Time was never ours to hold. It was a fleeting metaphor, a borrowed grace we misused with the arrogance of eternity. Hours became currency we spent too freely, years became chapters we didn’t bother to read.

But the clock does not pause.
It does not mourn. It ticks with indifference, a steady cadence reminding us of the gift we still possess: the present.

If the past is a lesson and the future a promise, then this moment is the altar on which we lay our resolve. To forgive ourselves. To treasure the seconds. To write poetry where there was silence.

For though time does not turn back, it offers something greater
a chance to begin again.
And in this beginning, perhaps,
we can finally learn to live.





                                            @Erennwrites
I guess I'm back
 52° 
wardsheart
I wake up in the morning in a split,
I can afford anything,
I’ll stand on my fists.

I feel free, and I want to live,
I feel irresistible,
clean, letting my hair grow.

I’m grown-up and yet still small,
I’m Pinocchio with a curtain of a nose.

I go viral, trembling as I stand,
I’m the one who won’t give up or bend.
 50° 
Erika Gibson
Love is not carrying a ****** in your wallet.
“Just in case.”
Love is not deceiving her to get your way.
“I promise”
Love is not convincing her to break a boundary.
“It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“We’re going to get married anyways.”
“Why not? Don’t you love me?”

Yes. I loved you,
but your “love” ruined me.
 48° 
Barton D Smock
Memory is the afterlife of existing. In the dream, my dream is a dog made of blood. I’m sorry that you cannot sleep. My mouth is a bone writing to a bitemark. Bees from your childhood are trapped in bees. There’s no god and no way for god to know.
 48° 
Moss
does u being monogamous
mean u will stop loving me
for someone new?
what happens to the polyamorous?
i can meet someone new
but still yearn for u
and love u
i wish u could change
¿Qué exaltaré en la tierra que no sea algo tuyo?
A mi lecho de ausente me echo como a una cruz
de solitarias lunas del deseo, y exalto
            la orilla de tu vientre.

Clavellina del valle que provocan tus piernas.
Granada que has rasgado de plenitud su boca.
Trémula zarzamora suavemente dentada
            donde vivo arrojado.

Arrojado y fugaz como el pez generoso,
ansioso de que el agua, la lenta acción del agua
lo devaste: sepulte su decisión eléctrica
            de fértiles relámpagos.

Aún me estremece el choque primero de los dos;
cuando hicimos pedazos la luna a dentelladas,
impulsamos las sábanas a un abril de amapolas,
            nos inspiraba el mar.

Soto que atrae, umbría de vello casi en llamas,
dentellada tenaz que siento en lo más hondo,
vertiginoso abismo que me recoge, loco
            de la lúcida muerte.

Túnel por el que a ciegas me aferro a tus entrañas.
Recóndito lucero tras una madreselva
hacia donde la espuma se agolpa, arrebatada
            del íntimo destino.

En ti tiene el oasis su más ansiado huerto:
el clavel y el jazmín se entrelazan, se ahogan.
De ti son tantos siglos de muerte, de locura
            como te han sucedido.

Corazón de la tierra, centro del universo,
todo se atorbellina, con afán de satélite
en torno a ti, pupila del sol que te entreabres
            en la flor del manzano.

Ventana que da al mar, a una diáfana muerte
cada vez más profunda, más azul y anchurosa.
Su hálito de infinito propaga los espacios
            entre tú y yo y el fuego.

Trágame, leve hoyo donde avanzo y me entierro.
La losa que me cubra sea tu vientre leve,
la madera tu carne, la bóveda tu ombligo,
            la eternidad la orilla.

En ti me precipito como en la inmensidad
de un mediodía claro de sangre submarina,
mientras el delirante hoyo se hunde en el mar,
            y el clamor se hace hombre.

Por ti logro en tu centro la libertad del astro.
En ti nos acoplamos como dos eslabones,
tú poseedora y yo. Y así somos cadena:
            mortalmente abrazados.
 47° 
h z
All I know is

The sound of a TV
I can't see.

The smell of burnt biscuits and
Days-old brisket.

A beer bottle pops
Ah, pops.
 46° 
Jimmy silker
When you mean
What you overstate
There comes
A gap that some o your friends
Won't rate
Cos they clearly
Don't care for
Where you
Head for
The gate
And dive
Through.
 46° 
Thomas W Case
Her lips are like
wet orchids, dressed in
the spring rain,
waiting to be
kissed and
caressed.
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucOOifTukWQ
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