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 Jun 2018 jissel
AMISHA
HERE I WRITE
 Jun 2018 jissel
AMISHA
The feels that rise within my mind
sometimes I keep them packed inside.
but now I sit and here I write
to vent them free, in this twilight.
Some call me rude and some say shy.
Yes, that's the truth, I hereby lie.
I am no hermit, don't be mistaken
for I am uncouth and slightly shaken.
The profused silence, it is divine
like dots to connect, in bedlam of mine.
Only in tranquility and peace of mind
is when I fathom world's great design.
The more I speak, the less I know
The less I speak, oh, there you go.
I am no different, just as different
as floating lava, amidst the snow.
These words, these thoughts.
They freeze, they burn.
It's like a grand storm
trapped inside an urn.
This quietude is my escape from life
this serene silence I have devised.
This solitude exposed me to the placid side,
that never had I known, until my demise.
But now I sit and here I write,
to vent these words under this moon.
I often lose myself in this
and seldom find myself here too.
A.S.
Be free to share your thoughts if you have ever felt anything similar.
 May 2018 jissel
Art Flores
Am I a poet?

Because I so happen
To write down
Terrible tragedies
So beautifully.

Am I a poet?

For simply writing
Every emotion
You could never
Put into words.

Am I a poet?

For my inspiration
Deriving from
What I see and
People I encounter.

Am I a poet?

When in actuality,
I'm just thinking
Outside of the box
I learned to treasure.*

- (A.F)
For the ones that
use poetry as a therapy.

Copyright © 2015 Art Flores.
All Rights Reserved.
 Apr 2018 jissel
Cameron Banowsky
Quit acting out
Stop running your mouth
This isn't the place
You don't have the crowd

So what to do now?
Deaf ears are, by nature, not tuned to hear.
Skip the line and do what you stepped out to find

Paint over me
Replace the image with something nice
Like a bowl of fruit or a cup of rice.
But make sure to fully apply
You can cover me up
But my voice doesn't die

Spread my name and sprinkle in lies.
Make me look like this bad guy.
It's all good now, and I honestly have given up on how.
So erase those memories.  
The ones you share with the one smashing these keys.
You gotta get out the paint,
roll up your jeans and start to paint over me

But like with any period of time
There is always some type of find
Discovery comes when you allow yourself to be kind

Paint over me
I don't wish to be
Another follower turned casuality
I'll walk away for free
Just make sure that when I leave
You paint over me
When the urge to reach out hits
Remember that wounds heal bit by bit
And if you could just please
Let me be
Paint over me
 Apr 2018 jissel
Sarah
Flowers.
 Apr 2018 jissel
Sarah
some of your words may unwilt my image,
but it is my mind that plants seeds in my core,
my heart sprouts buds,
and my soul creates blooming bouquets.
Written 4/12/2018
 Apr 2018 jissel
Cné

I wander throught the works of art
upon a gorgeous but cool day,
Bewildered by the beauty
(and the price they ask to pay).

Paintings hang in canvas booths
in styles of every kind.
Statues, crafts and metalwork
aesthetically designed

Food and drink and music too
a rousing, festive place.
But oh my friends, the greatest art
was smiles on every face.

So many strangers mingling
with a common goal to share
To wit: a friendly greeting
and goodwill enough to spare.

Indeed, the day was perfect
with weather cool and fine.
But nothing tops a friendly smile
in harmony with mine.

 Mar 2018 jissel
James M Vines
Baseball games have been replaced with a smart phone. Arguments are not settled with a dare but with a 9mm at school. The government is going to take care of it. So the father is not needed in the home. All we see on t.v. is the thing that is imitated in the streets and rebroadcast on the 6 pm news. Likes and hits have replaced true friends. The grownups have crawled into a pill bottle and let someone else deal with their problems. A child must be given everything but the one thing they need. Then when our baby goes off of the deep end, we try to blame society. The politicians say it is the objects that did this, the kid is not at fault. Let's give them a pill and it will solve everything. So the cycle repeats itself generation upon generation. Our children have lost their identity and are not sure who they are. Finally we sit down and look at a photo and do a hash tag for what we have lost. When the answer is simple enough, all we need is a mirror to answer the question where have are children gone?
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