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 Nov 2019 hj
 Nov 2019 hj
My inner self
wears a devilish smirk
mocking my healthy living.

It’s seen this cycle
many times before
life’s not that forgiving.

Smiling because
it knows my truth
whispering in my ear,

your pleasure lies
in pain my friend
this act is insincere.

Get up early
eat an apple
run a mile or two.

Unless you wipe
me off your heart
self-worth will not accrue.

You don’t believe
not yet I know
from here it’s plain to see.

Because I am you
not drugs or *****
you cannot hide from me.
 Jun 2019 hj
Lora Lee
poetry slammed
 Jun 2019 hj
Lora Lee

**** my soul
        with poetry
           scream out my gracious name
             slay me with words
               that peel my layers
                and simultaneously
                                   drive me

finger me slowly, hotly
with just the right rhythm and rhyme
    push me past my
                 tender limits
                       into tongues of syntax,

a­lliterate my senses
   (in swift stac
until my mind is but blank verse
    mess up my stressed
              and unstressed syllables
in unsung language, versed

I will speak to you in vowels
(the only sound
       I will be able to make)
as you stroke
   my iambic pentameter
             in the heat of frothed-up

we are this heroic couplet, you see
        even if the meaning seems veiled
           no need for simile or metaphor
               as I feel your chest rise
                              in deep inhale

we are a natural paradox
       so many ironies abound
         discordant harmony
is our synaesthesia
     in visible darkness found

and I love this delicious enjambment
as your aura invisibly slips
                               into mine
our lines have no beginning,
                                 no end
    as we undo
          the boundaries
                      of time
synaesthesia-The production of a sense impression relating to one sense or part of the body by stimulation of another sense or part of the body.

(in verse) the continuation of a sentence without a pause beyond the end of a line, couplet, or stanza.
 Jun 2019 hj
making love
 Jun 2019 hj
This pool is bottomless; stunningly blue,
I find that I’m tumbling towards it with you.

We’ve fallen, and now that the surface is breaking,
our dive, beyond words, will leave us both shaking.

I see now, a lifetime of love in the making.
 Jun 2019 hj
BR Dragos
"You might lose
your way one
but you'll never
lose me
I'm your desire
to get better
As long as you
have me
you'll keep

that's what he wrote on the
back of his daughter's photo
Today makes a full year since her death

he put the photo under the front cover
of his first published book
and went back to writing what would
soon be the second
 Jun 2019 hj
BR Dragos
I cannot recall the best advice
I got from my father
but the best
advice I got from
a man that's not
my father
is to
make friends with loneliness

If you and loneliness are enemies
you'll be lonely

but once you and loneliness are
friends you'll be solitary

The difference between loneliness
and solitude
is the difference
the naive kid who thinks one's
happiness depends upon others
and the wise sage who knows that
one's happiness depends
only on
one's self
and one's self alone.
 Jun 2019 hj
BR Dragos
you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse
 Jun 2019 hj
BR Dragos
he watches the rain like
it's alive
but he feels less alive himself
behind him
the house turns dark
its last light going off

don't turn back
don't look back
keep going ahead

and maybe another house
and another wife
will open up before you

or maybe there'll be another
war coming
and the nation will need
your service

this time the fear shall be
less intense
The first time
someone points
a gun at you
you're terrified
the second time's the same
and so on
but eventually there comes
a time when you
run out of people
to point guns at you




and none of them make you
feel like her eyes
watching from the window
behind the curtains
and no pulling of the trigger
and no bang
is like her voice screaming
at the kid to go away, to not look

"A stranger! That's what the
man outside is. And I'm calling
the police if he keeps staring like that.
you dare look at him. Go to
your room. Now."

What's a man when all
the wars are over?
A squirt gun against the sun.

His good hand, the one with
whole and working fingers
reached into an inner pocket
of his uniform, found

He walked on
And it rained on
And there were no more wars
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