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 Jul 2014 Joe
Tahirih Manoo
A Saint
 Jul 2014 Joe
Tahirih Manoo
What’s in a name?
His name is what he is
Rishi, a saint, no one better than this
His actions that of his name
Innocent, compassionate, loving
Words match his tender existence

All he wanted was for peace to be among his kin
All he needed was the affection of one swan
To fit his half and make him laugh
He never asks for much, or rather nothing at all
But he prays and prays for the good of everyone
Standing alone, yet he fights for them all

His eyes gentle, like those of a lamb
His voice charming, like a nightingale at hand
His hands that offer so much, is soft to the touch
His smile, oh that smile beckons so much
His laughter rare, a sound that should last forever
Someday soon he shall have just radiance for his cover


His mind that ticks like a well-functioning clock
Takes no time to pause or stop
Apprehensive that his will may be dropped
Yet he strides onward, pushing past fears
His courage brimming over the top
No one knows how many battles he fought

The Lord is with him
And he with the Lord
What he doesn't realize
Is that he an Angel of Love
One that is surrounded by the cold hearts of loss
There, there       -  Handsome Dove,
They will all melt, sorrow will be tossed.*

6th, July , 2014   12:01 pm.
Rishi- Hindi: meaning saint. Poem about rishis
 Jul 2014 Joe
Joe Cole
Serenity
 Jul 2014 Joe
Joe Cole
Would I want to be anywhere else right now?
No, probably not
The title says it all. Serenity
Sat here on a little wooden bench, just me
Oh, and ducks, geese, squirrels,  countless birds
The real beauty is that they don't curse, yell, hurl abuse
Yeah, I see the odd squabble over something as trivial as a piece of pond ****
But nothing malicious in it, it's just their way
It's not just the birds and animals here
It's the peace, the chance when for a few minutes, an hour maybe you can shut out the world and all its problems
This is how it should be
How it should always have been
Bird songs, the wind rustling in the leaves
What composer dead or alive could have written music so beautiful
As the afternoon sun filters through the canopy of green
The rustling moving leaves paint an ever changing picture
A picture that will never see a gallery nor grace the wall of a stately home
But still a picture with grace and flow in shades of gold and green
Yes truly this is
Serenity
 Sep 2012 Joe
Caitlin Drew
When he's trying to convey a message
about the mathematical equation of light
by drawing on my skin
with an invisible finger-pen,
the pictures of
electromagnetic quanta,
photons,
and particles
becomes disrupted
by a static-wave of goosebumps.
 Jul 2012 Joe
Amanda Small
I wade into tidal waves,
my hands full of dandelions

humbled by the sun
choked up over comets
I’ve given up on sunsets

you are a supernova clad only in my bed sheets
I make a wish every time your chest falls

****** lungs full of anxiety
My mouth tastes like an ashtray
filled with the buts of things i forgot to say
washed down by things i wish i hadn't

Still tripping over shoe laces,
I search for poetry in *** holes.
Forgiveness in pillowcases
my eyes have trouble resting these days

So, why aren't we dancing?

Following the rhythm of our mismatched heartbeats
I clumsily waltz through misleading conversations
 Jun 2012 Joe
Sarah Waters
I lie in bed gazing at my bumpy popcorn ceiling
I let my stare settle to follow my fan's revolution
Focusing on one plates trip around its axle
It is without fail and I find in my fan dependability
It deserves its place up there
It knows the right direction and spinning speed
It has no temptations to stop or slow
And rarely does it make a sound
It refuses to fall, to let the pressure win
It does not care its only painted to look like wood
Or that its never dusted clean
It does not complain about how the lights get more attention
Or how central air is more popular
It has purpose on the verge of personality
I lie in bed for my purpose is not so clear
And a personality not so worthy
Yet I am the one with the freedom to choose
Question: But what if my answers
Not to be
This fan seems to have proven a bitter point
It has made a mockery out of my passive glares
I fear its judgements, for it whispers disapproval
I tear myself away from its patronizing winds
And allow my eyes to float and find a mirror
Making sense of looks and location
And the human stare that beams back
Smiles and agrees
Decisively objective in its demeanor
I must admit that my reflection is convincing
But its light is late, and its fancy tricks deceive
Tis a fools mistake to reduce verbs to stale states
Question: To be alive or to live a life
Or choose to gamble with one's talent to lie
I lie; I lie in bed
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