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 May 2017 IDS
Dimitrios Sarris
Our command of feelings in this world is magnificent.
The ability to transform our darkness, our pain into
rear newfound beauty.
Pain is easy to express but to use our passion to express
the pain or joy of our little world is something which
surely exceeds the grey around.
We've seen a lot, stood between black and white and
maybe we are not able to tell if what we feel is
pleasure or pain.
Love, hate.
Bliss, abyss.
Heroes rise and legends are born to die...
No Job


My landlady is in the hall, cleaning stairs
I’m ten days late with the rent,
can’t go out before she goes into her own flat.
She’s near my door if she knocks I’ll pretend to be asleep,
if she persists I’ll tell I have a night job and will pay her as soon as I get paid.
She has gone into her flat, bet the door is ajar; creaking stairs is not helpful.
This place hasn’t got a fire escape,
I’ll report her, this is a fire trap.
Got no ***** or ****, only a cupboard full of empties, if I carry them out in a plastic bag she’ll hear clanking noises, come out, hands on hips.
Quiet; perhaps she has gone out, plays bingo every day,
spending my money gambling! The tight-****** woman, full of money, so
why should I give her my hard earned?
Just writing

My copy pen fell to the floor I bent down to pick it up
Now I was dizzy the rook swayed.
I came here decades ago, and many pens have fallen to the floor
Although I use a word-processor.
Words are my crutches I lean heavily on them to find a meaning
And not knowing what that meaning is.
Just a vague feeling I lost something on my way to the stars.
I write at night now a steady hum tells me I have to make up
For wasted time, but my time of waste was a fun one
Full of women and sensuality
 May 2017 IDS
ryn
Escape
 May 2017 IDS
ryn
I want to run
till there's no more road

I want to fly
till there's no more sky

I want to sail
till there's no more sea

I want to write
till my ink runs dry
 May 2017 IDS
ryn
For Naught
 May 2017 IDS
ryn
What's to become of us
when all that we've coveted
is emptied of all value

What's to become of us
when the words we traded
seem to have lost their meaning

What's to become of us
when common ideals
turn to conflict

What's to become of us
when all that has been invested
gets swallowed by doubt and mistrust

What's to become of us
when we stand so close
yet between our hearts lies a lie
 May 2017 IDS
Vanessa Gatley
My
Outstanding
Mom
Mother
Your my Mary of God
God bless you
 Jan 2017 IDS
Michelle Garcia
The day we fell in love, the world stood still for the first time.
No movement other than the midsummer air humming electric,
the warmth of our words rising up into dense clouds
and gray atmospheres of sticky potential.
I remember thinking, as our dewy skin melted into the grass,
how strange it was that the world kept turning constantly.
Cars speeding on hazy interstates, babies being born in porcelain bathtubs.
Screen doors slamming in distant houses, ivy crawling across
the windowpanes of writers who will never see their name sprawled
across musky paper spines. Houses torched, brakes cut, hair trimmed.
Somewhere, an arthritic old man sets his newspaper down. It is raining.
He dances, flood water cascading around his ankles. He only thinks of her.
City lights paint taxi exhaust bright green. It is nighttime in the city
and teenagers drive recklessly through underground tunnels,
hands raised through the sunroof of their father’s cars
as the yellow light bleeds into their corneas.
Everything is set in motion, the day’s suffocating inertia of color,
a spinning top cacophony of mindless rebirth.


It is different today. You kiss me softly, velvet-lipped and eager,
and the world stops turning. The streets of Mumbai are silent.
There are no babies screeching in the quiet rooms
of church services, no hearts in the midst of being shattered.
The old man stops dancing.
His eyes are closed, her face still sketched on the backs of his eyelids.


The sky sees nothing but us.
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