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 Sep 2014 J Lobo
Isn't it so wonderful
that we have humour.
During difficult times or events,
it sees us through.

I attended my best friends,  mother's
funeral today.
Sue is her name.
It was harder than I expected
even though I've known her
for over 30 years.

As I arrived
my friend made me laugh
straight away.
(She has a weird humour,  
which is why I love her)

People joked about Sue's
stubbornness and
her opinionated ways.

I caught up with people
I hadn't seen in a while
and didn't realise they
knew her too.

And we laughed.

Thank god for humour.

God bless you Sue
 Aug 2014 J Lobo
Maybe if I step on
enough flowers
or break
I just might forget
I'm made of broken parts
my fave piece </3
 Jul 2014 J Lobo
Joshua Haines
I wanted to write a poem about flowers, so that's what I did.
It was short, expressed how I feel, and cut like glass.
I showed my father "Flowers" and he thought it was mediocre.
And I said, "No, "Mediocre" is the poem where I talk about dying,
and I'm trying to stay alive, so I wrote about flowers."

Flowers strangling soil plots with their roots, with their existence.
And to hurt something you love with your existence is a terrible feeling.
 Jul 2014 J Lobo
I'm still afraid sometimes
to even close my eyes
because I know
that right beside me
it is there that you stand.
At first I sense it
feeling tingles up my spine
then you softly but surely
take my fragile hand

I absorb the moment
it's just like old times
allowing myself to fully feel it
flowing emotions, like words that rhyme.
It was just so effortless
'me and you'
yet it wasn't meant to be
a love that ended way too soon

We know how and we know why
and I still lose a precious part of you
each time I breathe a sigh.
Perhaps when
each part of you has finally gone
I'll be more certain that the
'you and me' are done

I'll no longer be so afraid
to gently close my eyes
it'll be 'me' and 'myself'
and quiet empty sighs
You'll never again
be so close beside me
or softly take my hand,
I'll just be closing my eyes
to drift off and dream of
the treasured life we'd planned

An old piece written last year
 Jul 2014 J Lobo
Meenu Syriac
Has the darkness seeped into you
And set you alight like a wild fire?

Beneath all the smiles,
Past all the lies.

Does it ravage your soul
As the loneliness burns each part of you ?

Beneath this surface
A storm begins to brew.

*Have you dreamed so much

Only to find that life has lost its flavor?

A shadow grows within me
Whispers drive me mad.

Do you wish for second chances
Even if you know you'd do it wrong again?

As the wind begins to roll in
And the waters begin to flood.

Would you love someone with all your heart
And let yourself believe in it, despite the truth?

You'll find me in the corner,
A girl with a broken soul.
 Jun 2014 J Lobo
Gravity, Gravity, Gravity pulls me away,
Heading, Heading, Heading towards uncertain ways.
Answers are distance apart, too weary worry.

Leave me be, emotions sickness.
You are my pure weakness.

The hologram memories,
Bleeds haunting entries,
Triggered by many entities.

Sometimes it’s just too much
   with just one touch,
Cravings comes in a rush,
   fragile heart being crush.

Knowing you, I must arise
   in the dawn of sunrise.
I raise my hope to be able to cope,
to stop the lasting loop of this urging dope.

*© Pax
 Jun 2014 J Lobo
 Jun 2014 J Lobo
Caroline loves the ocean.  
Her soul sails on a Carolina breeze.
But her music's in the mountains,
and her heart's back home
where it needs to be.

I'm stuck here
in a Carolina wind,
wading in the ocean
with my heart in Tennessee,
and my mind on Caroline.

Carolina's got everything
a man could want.
Everything he needs.
It's got the mountains and the ocean.
It has a Carolina breeze.

He has everything but Caroline;
everything but Tennessee.

r ~ 6/22/14
  |     Carolina ocean breeze
/ \
 May 2014 J Lobo
beware when you fall in love
with an artist
be it a painter, a singer, or poet

for the artist will
paint you
with strokes and hues
in shapes of every kind

sing about you
with heartbreak lyrics
and feelings which rhyme

write about you
with the simplest words
and a secret message she wants to say

beware of the artist,
and her love
one wrong move
and you're an artwork in her display
 May 2014 J Lobo
William Crowe II
If you want to be a poet,
just pretend to be depressed.

Drink alcohol, cut yourself, &
pop pills.

Listen to angry music &
wear black every day.

If you dare to smile we will
cut you from the canon!

To be a poet is to be a disciple,
a saddened & sickened disciple.

If you aren't angsty & angry
you cannot be a poet.

Poetry is about sadness
& hate & anger.

Poetry is a way for teenagers
to hate their parents
& get away with it.

Alas, I cannot be a poet;
I believe in Heaven, you see,
or something like it
& enjoy life
Yes, this is completely scathing
 May 2014 J Lobo
William Crowe II
I tried to write
a novel

It was about a town
called Foxtrot,
in the hot Georgia summer
and three people
that lived there.

There was a symbolic
dogwood tree (it stood
for innocence)
and it rotted away
when the femme fatale
was *****.

Her lover ***** her; he was
apparently a violent man.

Her other lover mourned
but was not sad anymore
once he had shot
the ******.

Then in recompense
the lady opened herself to him.

"1+0=3" she said.

And that was when he realized
that the universe is
***, a battle
of creative impulses.

Someday I'll go back
and try to write about Foxtrot,
Kentucky again.

This time, the man will be *****
and we will see what
the universe is like for him
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