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 May 2014 Grez
Jack
Groundbreaking
 May 2014 Grez
Jack
I built it
Brick by brick
Slathering mortar
Rebar pierced
Lines off center
Foundation firm
Concrete faults
Cemented sadness
Tall as it is wide

I built it
Contracted of stupidity
Designed in self-absorption
Blue prints of folded sorrow
Erected by a fool
No cranes needed
Drawn in teardrops
Fallen from your eyes
Collected puddles of my deceit

I built it…this wall
That keeps you from me
****, where is an earthquake when you need one?
 May 2014 Grez
SG Holter
Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.

Some were warriors
Living by sword, others
Just unlucky.

No one safe from
Anything. I buy her
Pepperspray instead of

Flowers these days.
Keep leaving
Butterfly knives in the

Pockets of her coats.
I am a man of non-violence,
But one with worlds to lose.

I miss the days when the fight
Ended as ground was hit.
Knuckles and bones were

All we needed; men fencing
For themselves with nothing
But themselves,  

And women were there to be
Charmed and fought over. Not
Left torn and terrified

In a ditch, broken beyond repair,
Their men helplessly wielding
Lead and steel at the absence

Of the animal responsible.
I'll buy her flowers today.
Flowers, and walk her home.

Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.

The weight of their
Tragedies is about the
Same

As that of the crates of ammunition
It takes to keep the world
Safe from the threat of itself.
her face her face
i fall into her gaze: she pulls me in with the sombre gravity
of her eyes those soft brown eyes
that close and open
open
close
shut tight
the petals of a daisy flinching at the night
harsh bright light flinching delight
as she bites
pink tipped strawberry tongue surrounded
by the white gates of Heaven
or maybe my Hell
A Hell that could take a bite of my lip
Will bite tight
snap
Shut
lips closed eyes open
I am open
she opens me like a Daisy opens for the sun
I am searching searching searching
for something
for anything
I am a lost sailor drowning in the salty tears a mermaid cried
all the men she loves are lost
I search for her
My light house
But she closes
Bud-like
she is the End of summer
the eternal Summer of her gaze
I wilt
droop
die.
 May 2014 Grez
RILEY
Latin Simone
 May 2014 Grez
RILEY
Here’s to the poets;
Here’s to the lives
That started and ended
In short sentences,
Hiding behind the words and the commas,
In between the lines
There is a space;
There is a space for poets
To dream and dissect dreams,to
Examine the heights of their rationale
And the depth of their emotions,
Like teleporting from the tops of Adonis
To the bottom of dark alleys in Hamra.
Here’s to the artists,
Here’s to the works of art
Forgotten on sharp corners
Between the margins in a copybook
And light emerging from their classroom windows;
Here’s to the scribbles
That created life, when living
Seemed impossible.
Here’s to the outcasts,
Here’s to the girls
Who read comics
About super heroes
Hiding behind
Kashmir scarfs and ripped jeans,
Reading 6 words at a time
Because the area of a flashlight
Covers just enough to get her wondering,
To get her to forget how
Her tight jeans left scars on her untouched thighs,
And how her feet were painted red
Before and after
She had to wear twin towers to walk in.
Here’s to the jokers,
Here’s to the unappreciated laughter
To whatever happens after
Here’s to the grand stages you formed
Out of two desks put together
And a pencil/eraser microphone;
Here’s to us,
To our shattered talents and lost souls
Here’s to our oppressed minds
And distorted comprehension of ourselves
Here’s to us
And who ever falls in love with us.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PecHjYQPt5o
a hidden, sweet animosity
licks my brain into submission
whips and chains in position
tears my veins into visions
old scar incisions
with surgical precision
the mission is over now
how did I get left out?
conscience fades into haze
lost distances, emotions enslaved
I won't see her face again,
fall back into strangers
unless we pretend
we can exist or be friends
our love was pretense
expensive, and didn't make sense
but it slept in my heart
so soundly, so comfortably
we were never apart
so swiftly, so effortlessly
we fall all the way
back to the start
her lips were my paintbrush
our love was an art
the broken and the breaking
and the taking of trust
and the faking of lust
our hands fell apart, into dust
now buried in the soil
underneath the earths crust
planted here we will stay
out of reach, out of the way
to wither in denial
and collapse in decay
I can still see her, distant
and I can't look away
decimated I fall to my knees
and refuse to believe
I'm just one of the trees now
planted and broken
my limbs turn to stone
if I can't leave this place
then I might die alone.
turn back to me, see me
see the glint in my eyes
one final goodbye
one final first sight
in the middle of the night
I can't help but try
my eyes closed in stone
so I can't even cry
my heart has broke open
memories frozen in time
if you can't tell me why...
then please...
tell me goodbye.
 May 2014 Grez
Jenovah
I unleash this thing inside me;
So lively and empowering.
I cannot feel this way, through any other form.
It is as though, I am completely reborn.

But every time I write
I cannot help but, feel so melancholy.
The emotions I hold just overwhelming me.
It’s as if the sadness in me breathes air again.

But every time I write,
I understand myself a little more.
I love myself just a little bit.
I feel comfortable with myself.

And anytime I write,
it’s truly from the heart.
It's that bitter-sweet part of life.
It's my own personal slice of happiness...

EVERY TIME I WRITE.
 May 2014 Grez
Tryst
Maid of Orleans
 May 2014 Grez
Tryst
To strive to know the heart of one so pure,
To contemplate the fate of one so young;
With heavy hearts, uncertain and unsure,
We honor thee and praise thee with our song;
To stand alone, amongst the enemy,
To take a stand, and stare them in the face;
With courage in your heart, to let them see
That you alone can walk within God's grace;
To burn and burn and thrice to burn again,
To turn the skin, and flesh, and bone to ash;
Discarding all remains unto the Seine,
The stains upon their souls will never wash;
        Old men of cloth, long deaf to voices sainted;
        Her name condemns your black-hearts ever tainted.
In memory of Joan of Arc, murdered 30th May 1431.
 May 2014 Grez
Annabel Lee
untitled
 May 2014 Grez
Annabel Lee
Honesty is so freeing
but so terrifying

Like bungee jumping,
with the pure sweet adrenaline
pumping through your bones
telling you you'll be okay,
you'll be okay,

You're okay.

That's why
I'm still wavering
on the edge of the cliff
feeling the tight straps around my legs,
knowing I will be caught
when I fall
but still seeing the
thousand foot drop beneath me.
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