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 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Madilynn
When the man on the corner gives you looks
While you're walking home from school
You will learn to shrink into yourself.

When the boys at school talk about your body
As if you're not sitting right there
You will act as if you've disappeared,
And when you come back
You will no longer know the difference between a compliment
And another degrading word.

When the person you trusted most,
The one who was supposed to save you,
Took the definition of respect
And replaced it with a sense of paranoia,
And a fear of human touch.
You will forget who you are.

Shrink.
Shrink.
Shrink.
The silence will taste bad on your tongue
As will the laughter in their mouths.
Shrink.
Shrink.
Shrink.
Until you no longer have a body made for love
Instead hate.
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Jay Lewis
Do you ever forget,
how lonely you are?
When the silence creeps in,
like the moon and the stars.
And all they see above so high,
is untold stories,
seen by those twinkling lights.

Everything that we once knew,
It was false, untrue.
We didn't know the truth,
Watching the stars burn as they die.

We're made of stardust too,
When I look at them,
I think of you.
They know our untold story
and how it'll never touch pen to page.
Why do you think it rains?
They're crying for us two,
Don't feel lonely,
when I'm always with you.
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
mk
the paper house is blowing away
with the winds of confrontation
the paper people tear and reform
their hands no longer connected
the wars are now in the form of words
and silences

we used to watch these lives on t.v.
never thought they would happen to me
but the hurricane approaches and paper houses fall down
i will have to build myself up from the ground
but i don't have the glue or the scissors
or even the paper people to fix
so i'll sit in this corner and watch the parade
nobody thought it would end up this way
please stop fighting
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Melissa S
Do you ever go outside and just sit in the sun, breathe in, and just be still?
Do you ever listen to the wind blow and just let Mother Nature seep in and heal?

Close your eyes and look up to the sky and let your body sway with the trees
Be thankful for where you have been and for the journey that will lead you now to be

I try to do this as much as I can and wanted to share a little piece of me with all of you
This love affair I have with nature helps me reconnect and gives me strength to push on through
Tis the season to be out in the woods hunting and thankful for life's many blessings :)
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
wordvango
crowds can call out derisions
to the ceilings echo the wages
of minnows shored
tales of your innocence
brightly sparkle
as diamonds culled
from oysters shelled
a vessel floated calls her name
it has set sail
along a closer destination
from thy port
speak as the devil might and
claim the rightly port to hull
survey the wind oh August wind
a September dawns
and memories can fade like women
waving from a shore
I wish for you to make
a wave of congratulations
but you sent missives
to my mate
I set sail  a while ago
I float now
above any waves
the sea might try to sink
me into
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Ma Cherie
the day bows down
willingly
to the darkness
an your love
well ties it up neatly,
now so naked here in our starkness
to love me so lovely and sweetly,

in a slow sweet soft kiss
now a lovely lit night time dance
seductive in such
gradated beauty
as rhythms quake quietly,
inside of the possible
new fresh idea
inside the sweet bud of romance,

bright blue and pure white clouds billow me yonder
in a wanting
an just longing you- trance,
oh to kiss me now jaunting
neath my starry night sky
in soft an
yummy warm tangerine pink too
as we talk here it's haunting,
in the rarest of possible lifetime
our chance
an we've but only one,

we are locked together
until the shining bright sun,
an eternally grateful
feasting on
the lovely sorbetto like skin
all from just the one
long lost an beguiling me-
glance
no an it just can't be a sin,
to taste life
as we wish to again,

because I knew in that moment
yes I knew of your magic
because I felt it down deep way inside
so I just let you then wield it
my heart you have healed it
an now I have no use for my pride

come find me an love me
there's no place I'd rather be
or anywhere I'd
wish to go to away an hide

but beneath the sweet weight
of your beautiful beautiful
anciently aging
 holy wisdom and grace
in the caressing of skin
an the retracing of face
we're returned to our to bliss
in a state of pure grace
so very lovely and perfect
an beyond all time an space,
I submit to the lovely
new us
now taking fine shape
an from the tip of my toe
to the top of my nape
all over right now
I will
allow you to drape,
your love on me baby,
in here
where we can always escape,
inside each other,

as I lay beneath
your **** an sacred
alabaster bones
where I now know
not
any fear
an I know for certain,
I've finally
come all the way home.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Idk... listening to tunes and wishing on love .. as usual;Love you all❤
Men were considered to excel in education,
But now women are taking up the tradition,
Excelling in arts, science and commerce,
Women have really made competition fierce.

For household chores,
Women were considered,
But now you see,
Sunita Williams flying high on earth.

So let us all bear in mind,
That women are never behind,
They can conquer any situation,
By showing sheer determination.

Educate your girl child,
So that she can fight her right,
Make her very strong,
So that she can distinguish right and wrong.

~Farheen zehra
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Traveler
Fascinating how we can live
Holding on tightly to the past
If our memories serve us well
Perhaps it profits us to make them last
Memories of love and laughter
Some of tragedies and fear
All collected by our senses
The things we see, feel and hear

Driven by a common motivation
We seek relationships unending
The love of parents for their children
Is far beyond comprehending
And so the joy we share today
Are memories I'll hold forevermore
Cause the memories I have of you
Are the ones I most adore
To all my children.
Traveler Tim
HP Apr 2016
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.

the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.  

recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:

do not self-chain,
let the words take you where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.

I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.


<•>

People stop rhyming...

When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a
Rooting tooting writing of a
**** good poem

If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine

And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A  
In your Teacher's pet grade book

My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me
And I hope
Someone kicks his or her ***

That Ain't No Poem Neither...

And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue
extremely indiscreetly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings
intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself

You think you can write?

Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout

Hallelujah *******.

Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?

Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)

G' nite!
Why is that parents plant ideas in your brain as you're falling aslee..............

Just a suggestion....what do I know,
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Pagan Paul
i.
The twilight moon peeps
from behind the brazen grey cloud.
Chill air coalesces into a light fog
creeping nonchalant along the street.
Orange lamp glow cascades around
dancing with the fog in osmosis swirls.
Ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence
trace a pathway through the dirge.
Zoning out and homing in,
a huntress stalking unknowing prey.
A black kitten dashes from the hedge,
across the street, up to a front door,
leaving tiny prints scattered on the lawn,
and the ice blue eyes of fire drip pleasure,
as a primal sound emerges, guttural,
but unmistakedly … a cackle.

ii.
Feint, feint sobbing punctuates the night.
As she lays curled foetal clutching her doll.
Her other hand between her thighs,
seeking in vain to reclaim her violated body.

“ Daddy made Mummy go to sleep
with sweeties from the little brown bottle
and the drink from the grown-ups cupboard,
and then he played horsey with her.
He told me Mummy had been a good girl,
and it was my turn to be nice to Daddy.
He always scares me at night
but its his way of saying he loves me.
Daddy Loves his little girl, he always says so”.

The sobbing slowly fades into … nothing,
And she knows. She doesn't Love Daddy.
Now he is watching tv and drinking beer.
Daddy hears the doorbell and swears.
He goes to answer, opening the portal.
Too late, far too late, to stop …
… the Judderwitch.

iii.
He woke. And tried to scream,
nailed spread-eagle to a wall.
Throat, dry, unable to make a sound.
And in his head he screams.
Pierced flesh with sanguin scabs
ripping agony through his very fibre.
Ice blue eyes of fire dance hooded
before him with torture and brutality.
His face erupts in pus filled cysts
to burst and seer pain on his flesh.
And in his head he screams.
As the face in the hood morphs into
the face of his little girl as he rapes her.
And he screams, in his head he screams,
and screams and screams,
as the blade slices slowly, so slowly,
and his manhood falls flaccid floor-ways.
Eyes bulge in horror,
and in his head he screams ...
And screams … and screams,
as his ribs crack, break, in his chest.
Pushing through and up and out,
like flint sharp spears of rancid bone,
and in his head he screams …
and screams … and screams ...

iv.
“Mummy. Mummy. There's kitten on the lawn.
Can we keep her Mummy. Can we? Please?”
She walks out the front door
and smiles at her daughter, the kitten meows.
She watches her little girl play,
the cat enraptured with little plaits.
“Mummy. Why can't I remember anything about Daddy?
He only went away last night”.
“I don't know sweetie. I can't remember anything either.
Not even his face. Its very strange indeed”.

A breeze chills their skin as they look
toward the Cherry Tree on the lawn.
Its leaves whispering their sylvan symphony.
But all they heard was …
… cackling.
And the feint, feint sound
of somebody
still
screaming.

© Pagan Paul (04/04/17)
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