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 Jan 2018 red
Randell Quitain
wala na ang ingay,
ngunit hindi ang ilaw,
tanaw pa rin ang banaag;
kahit layo'y nakabubulag.
 Jan 2018 red
Francie Lynch
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Finally. I'd been striving for a one word poem. After achieving it, I wanted a no word poem. Here it is. I guess this is no longer mine, but ours.

"The Invisible Poem" was selected as the Daily.
I'm humbled... to say nothing.
But I believe a response is necessary.
To all those who liked, loved and commented, I say thank you. I've read all you've written, and most of it is very creative and complimentary.
There are others, detractors, who claim "*******," etc.
Well of course, this only begs the question, "What is poetry?"
I can't answer that. I've written on it. But what I do know is what poetry should do. Its purpose.
If a poem should arouse emotions, bad or good, make people think, have people want to write, to express themselves (and I believe I'm on the mark here), then, anything can be a poem. Even a page with lines on it.
Thanks again to all the readers.
And if you're still *******, don't attack me... go after Elliot. :)
 Jan 2018 red
Da Dallas
As the sun still rise from the east
Sets in the palm trees of the west

As the waves still crashes
back and⚊
A cold breeze and pure white sand

As the bright rainbow still appear
After a rain with a sky so clear

As the storm always end
And a help is always send

As the north never experience summer
And deserted land will never face winter

As rooster still crows in the morning
While they are muted during evening

As long as the Earth maintains gravity
While there's a newborn star in the galaxy

As long as the battle always ceased
And inosent civilians were released

As long as broken always mend
While a hands is there to lend

As long as an orphan keeps a smile
Never loses hope, prays after awhile

As long as the ink never runs out
And my hands are able to write out

As long as my mind speak loud
While phrases are coming out

As long as you are staying right there
I will always be your poetess here
 Jan 2018 red
Amanda Powell
I’m afraid of ghosts...but not the kind you’re thinking of.
I’m afraid of the kind that haunts you.

The kind you left in past mistakes.
Mistakes that find reincarnation in my words.

I tread lightly or even back track when you hint that my words echo a past ghost I know nothing of.
I fear being part of your cemetery, where I’ve seen you tend the graves with regret and remorse.
I fear being one of your ghosts.

How do I change my words so they stop reminding you of someone else’s mouth?
Maybe we should make up a new language together because the language of love has hurt you.
It’s hurt you so many times that you’re afraid to speak it to me.  I only hear whispers of it, late at night after the sips take away the transparent ghosts and leave me with transparent you, I hold my breath, hoping the ghosts cannot hear us.

Let me be your exorcist.  Trust me with my words and feel them as if you’ve never heard them before.  Lean into me because, unlike these ghosts….

I am real
I am now and
I am steady.  

Amanda Powell
June 30th 2017
 Jan 2018 red
Angela Rose
I’ve wrote about you for years and years
And you still have yet to notice
My words are plastered all over the Internet
My heart is poured out for the world to see
I wish my heartbreak wasn’t on the Internet
Because it’s been seven years, it’s time to let it go
 Jan 2018 red
Rafhael Vieira
Change
 Jan 2018 red
Rafhael Vieira
People don't change,
You just get to know their other side.
 Sep 2017 red
Emily Dickinson
694

The Heaven vests for Each
In that small Deity
It craved the grace to worship
Some bashful Summer’s Day—

Half shrinking from the Glory
It importuned to see
Till these faint Tabernacles drop
In full Eternity—

How imminent the Venture—
As one should sue a Star—
For His mean sake to leave the Row
And entertain Despair—

A Clemency so common—
We almost cease to fear—
Enabling the minutest—
And furthest—to adore—
 Sep 2017 red
cder
Being a woman
 Sep 2017 red
cder
Do not approach me
for the use of my body;
I am more than that.
 Sep 2017 red
josh wilbanks
Suicidal
 Sep 2017 red
josh wilbanks
Being suicidal doesn't mean i'm going to **** myself

Being suicidal is having this unexplicable ache while you're living

It's waiting for your life to end, and wishing you didn't have to carry on

Having this ache, an incapability to feel happy living, doesn't mean that I am going to **** myself -

It just means I wouldn't mind dying.
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