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 Jan 2021 ju
Tiger Striped
lavender
 Jan 2021 ju
Tiger Striped
I was never much one for lavender
until you told me
it was your favorite
and suddenly
its sweet, sweet scent swept through
my room
my clothes
my hair
I held my breath
waiting for you to notice
(you never did say anything)
I kept it close to me
never asking myself
if I liked the way it smelled
it was your favorite.
 Jan 2021 ju
Tiger Striped
You skimmed my words and
smiled, almost
and you thanked me
as if I'd ever write for you.
I write for the ******* the phone every night
when she’s supposed to be sleeping,
so she knows she was never in love.
I write for the girl who lost sleep for
lovers who could not love,
so she remembers to love herself first
next time.
I write for the girl who thought
she knew it all,
so that she learns just how much she
doesn't know.
I write for the girl who’s learning that she can write,
the girl pouring her soul onto paper
in scribbles and corny metaphors.
I write for the girl who
wrote for the wrong people
so she can learn to write for herself.
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
The Map
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
"I'm in love,"
so I shrink the world
down to a fatality,
something you could
wring out with *******.
The atlas makes scrape sounds
as Europe folds in half;
North America offers
nothing but slippery pulp.
This green touches that green -
if only distance were like this,
reduced like a wine sauce,
Washington sidling to Dublin
like old friends at the bar,
while collapsed Atlantic
makes a blue U shape,
bent.
 Jan 2021 ju
phil roberts
There's a shower of rain
Yet the sun still shines
There must be a rainbow
Somewhere

An old man nods in his chair
He came from nowhere
And went nowhere else
Journeying all the way

Now he journeys through time
Down the aching years
Things that he's seen and done
Some good and wondrous
And some of them terrible

An old man nods in his chair
Travelling
Behind closed eyes
All the things he's seen and done
The people he's known
All the things he's said
Within his nodding head

Tears pour down his face
Down the canyons grooved by time
And yet he smiles
Gently and softly
There must be a rainbow
Somewhere

                       By Phil Roberts
I thought I'd give this another airing.
 Jan 2021 ju
Whit Howland
A short one filled
with three cubes
of ice

cracked from
a tray
metal not plastic

and what we
drink
is a mix of things

fruity
tarty
but mostly sweet

making us that
of many masks
and a thousand faces

whit howland © 2021
A word painting.
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
6:30
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
The white flowers
will not arrive
by stallion, nor
by lightning.

The stolid courier
will knock, a door
swinging; a suitable
place prepared.

In the cold district,
the exploded heads
of trees look back at me:
why didn't I save them?

Even the sun seems lopped.
But in the face of it
I will stand, have coffee,
& be reminded of you.

It's 6:30, and the sky
turns a spoiled milk shade
before tripping
in its hurry to arrive.
 Jan 2021 ju
kiran goswami
That’s all it takes to make a woman quiet,
to silence her.

A slap, a word, a scream, an eye
and perhaps a kiss too.

But there’s a different story for my mother.
For the three words, she spoke
while her heart was struggling to keep alive,
She was given a slap.

A slap whose loudness,
I still hear somedays
when I go to bed and when my mother wakes up.

I think she has been silent for too long
to even count now.
So, I pretend I never heard her speak in the first place.

But there is a different story for my sister.
For her Thumbelina sized request,
she was shouted on like Lady Tremaine did.

In a voice so loud that
It was all she could hear for years to come by.

So, while hearing that, she forgot to speak.
She did not know who to search for
when your ‘Prince Charming’ becomes your ‘Wicked Step-Mother’.

But there is a different story for her.
For tears in her eyes
and the words that were just a zygote in her mouth’s womb,
she got a stare.

A stare, that froze her down
and her words had to go through a miscarriage

So, she went through an unplanned abortion
that made her mouth infertile.

But there’s a different story for her.
However, somehow, they are all the same.

Because that’s all it takes to make a woman quiet,
to silence her.

A slap, a word, a scream, an eye
and perhaps a kiss too.
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
The broken symmetries
of the night...
You move,
I move.

You were in the green hill,
chatting with clouds;
I kept a bar open,
wrote you a ditty.

There are little rainings
everywhere tonight.
They slip down into the graves
across the street. It sets the mood.

But I need to get out,
walk the block,
shake this umbilical glass,
join a blind fog.

The moon threatens
to escape its sweater
of noctilucent cloud,
but we're not looking.
 Jan 2021 ju
John Destalo
some songs are
not electric

they are lonely
meant only for

your soul
meant to be

your secret
never shared

you can dance
to it if

you want to
just not with

a partner
it has to be

just your body
feeling itself

lost in its
own space
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