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the myths of birth and rebirth
are as old as humankind

scratched onto cave walls,
tablets of stone or clay,
scrolls of papyrus or  parchment,
for hundreds of years on paper,
and nowadays typed onto backlit screens
   that are recycled faster
   than old hieroglyphs were understood

in our time
when refugees are tens of millions
on our globe

let us remember that these myths
have celebrated for millenia
    not battles, war, or death
but the survival of the human race    
the joy we feel when new life has arrived
   often against all odds
the hope that emanates from godesses
    or mother saints of yore
    who symbolize fertility,
    have brought forth saviors and new tribes

these are what has propelled us to our current state

and we do well to not forget that our fate
does not depend on people slain
but on how we can save the joy of life
and celebrate all humankind again
Trying hard to write a verse of joyful optimism in dire times.... Wishing y'all on hellopoetry a Merry Christmas and a Better New Year!
 Jan 2017 Ju Clear
b e mccomb
my legs itch

the fat little
kid who lives
upstairs wants
to borrow a knife
to cut apart boxes

i give him scissors

and scratch one calf
with the other foot.

my legs still itch

i think it's dead
skin until they
sting up where
i've scrubbed

or tried to scrub
away the past

my mom always
told me i was a
good artist but
she never knew

i'm picasso in
his blue period

and i paint in
one color alone

salt.

the kid hands the
scissors back and
i try not to scratch
try to smile through

cracked winter lips
and split skin
beads of december
sweat all over me

swallow the smell
of burning meat
swallow secrets with
my morning meds
and a glass of cold
heartless blood

and don't ever tell my
mom she was right

that it feels good to
be a ******* artist.
Copyright 12/28/16 by B. E. McComb
To witness the power of words
is to witness an exploding star
Dangerous and beautiful

Essential

Raining down elements
that collect like snow
to flow down streams
and to flow like time
build and destroy
barricades
That try to hold back waves
that we ride
The back and forth pace
behind the seal to individuality
a blurred plastic vision of a
mystery that could be joy
or utter sadness that maddens
or utter madness that saddens
the very soul of the soul and
the only spark that lives within
this state of mind, now may
remain or may not, on the
other side

- Kaya
 Jan 2017 Ju Clear
Sjr1000
He carries a black widow spider
in his pocket
it keeps him alert,
he's tattooed from here to there
he always liked the pain,  
an endorphin ******.
He wears a Mohawk too
His belt is a live rattlesnake
he doesn't like to be bothered

He's a dangerous man in a dangerous world

He met Ray
a princess from Bakersfield
She had a smile that
opened the heart
He looked at her
He looked at his life
He had looked at one death too many

He paused
Much to his surprise
He chose life
His heart it creaked on open

She saw something in him
I'm going to have to ask her
what it was.
She turned on her healing light
offered acceptance,
When violence calls
She taps his shoulder
and no one  knows why
but he feels the warmth of the sun
rotating in his chest
he walks away,
it's okay.

Will they make it into the everlasting sunset?
Your guess is as good as mine
But for now
their love is what
legends are made of.
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