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Music played
on the factory radio
as I sat at the machine
that used to press
the two different parts
of scecuters together
one after the other
in boring mode
and my hands
would place the two parts
into the machine
and pull the lever
and the press
would come down
and press them together
and a mind numbing job it was
hour after hour
day after day
week after week
and thinking of the evening
after work to unwind
and listen to jazz
or practise on my saxophone
in that Coltrane style
or musing on the Saturday
and up to London
to Dobell's Jazz Record shop
on Charing Cross Road
and listen to the latest
music playing
on the shop's hi-fi
while selecting the record to buy
a Miles Davis or John Coltrane
or some other jazz record
that caught my eye
to play over and over
during the week
inside my head
as the press came down
to perform its boring task
day after day
throughout the week.
 Nov 24 Jack R Fehlmann
You were
My sigh of relief
And now
You’re gone
And I’m sitting here
Gasping for air
For now-
Go to sleep
And wake up a better person.
Lives inside your story!

Let go of distancing yourself from the parts of yourself that you believe they don’t fit in.

Let go of pushing yourself outside your own story.

The sense of worthiness lives inside you!
The hurting you feel is the pride of your love,
If this is what you want
I’ll love in silence
When drunken pain burns the flame
I’ll find my tears, and keep it pure,
You be the love sicker 
Writing will be my best companion,
Like a wolf howling at the moon,
I’m condemned to poetry,
My love will culminate and live forever
In the light of separation!
The days get longer,
It seems,
With less and less excitement
Life becomes boring.

And the late nights cease,
To wake up for the early sun,
For another long day.
It never really seems to end.

Here I am-
Trapped in a cycle
Of my own unhappiness.
Where I torture myself.
You leave,  -  leave
and close the door,
it’s about time  -  you go -
and don’t call,
the heart is not forgiving
and the heart is not wise,
who cares for love
when the heart is hurting,
and the heart won’t forgive
and the heart won’t say a word,

Happiness doesn’t have now a name,
every memory is crying inside,
the heart doesn’t want to try,
and the heart doesn’t want to forgive,
one word would be enough
but the heart is not on my side,
how to ask, how to hope
how to ask when the heart feels like a stone,

One word would be enough,
but the heart is not forgiving
and the heart is not wise,
It wants to win.
Inspired from a Russian movie #Moscow does’ n believe in tears”
Of patience, I know only
what sea turtles have taught me:
how they are born on lightless
beaches so the moon can serve
as a beacon to lure them
into the water; how they spend
their whole lives trying to swim
towards it, enamored, obsessed;
how they flap their forelimbs,
a vague recollection of flying -
the right movement in the wrong
medium, as if they knew how
to reach the moon in a former life
but now only remember the useless
persistent motions; how if you cut
one's heart out it would keep
beating in the pit of your palm,
recognizing the cold night air.

by Ariel Francisco from Best New Poets 2016 50 Poems from Emerging Writers
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