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 882° 
Sherri Woodman
Today I got a hug, out of the blue                                                             ­     
                                                           ­                                                               
and it even came with an "I love you''                                                            ­    
                                                            ­                                                        
Such a simple kind gesture                                                          ­                                                  
              ­                                                                 ­                               
  It brought me such pleasure                                                         ­                     
                                                                ­                                                          
It picked me up when I felt down                                                             ­                       
                                         ­                                                                 ­      
  turned my day totally around                                                           ­                 
                                                                ­                                                  
  Just when I thought no one cared                                                            ­            
                                                                ­                                        
someone loved me, someone shared
 698° 
badwords
We split rock once—
shards of hunger and breath
pressed into cryptic veins,
every groove a fever-etched omen
by fists that blistered and bled.

We flayed parchment—
flax and hide peeled raw,
stretched across centuries
to net the writhing unsaid,
ink: venom & sacrament.

We conjured letters,
a thousand spitting iron serpents,
casting skeleton alphabets
to ignite riots—
movable, yes,
but never self-possessed.

The tool is never the delirium.
Never the rupture.
Never the feral gasp.

We carved eyes—
glass cyclopes staring down suns,
mechanical maws drinking shadows,
spitting back sleek carcasses,
veneer masquerading as soul.

We dreamt in circuits,
cipher-prayers & soulless sutras,
automata with twitching limbs
that build, disassemble,
mocking the cathedral
but never kneeling.

And now—
the algorithm howls:
“I will etch your myth.
I will ululate your grief.
I will sculpt the marrow of your truth.”

It lies.

A hammer pounds—
but does not conjure the cathedral’s ache.
A brush bristles—
but does not thirst for the canvas’s hush.
A neural grimoire can mimic,
can multiply until the world chokes
on infinite carbon copies—
but nothing blooms
without the sickness of being alive.

Art is incision.
A holy theft.
A blood rite against oblivion.

We do not tremble before tools.
We seize them—
splinter them—
forge new weapons
from their debris
because we are insatiable,
because we are drowning,
because we are—
human.

Let the hollow vessels hum.
Let the scaffolders scaffold.
Let the parrots shriek
their pallid mantras.

The craft will not save you.
The code will not save you.
Only the hand sunk deep into the blaze—
only the breath fogging the glass—
only the voice that shreds the quiet
because it must,
again and again and again.

Until there is nothing left.
In a forge where ghosts barter with empty vessels, this poem traces the arc of humanity’s relentless hunger to etch spirit into matter. Each stanza is a rung on a scaffold built from sacrificed skins, shattered eyes, and iron tongues, spiraling toward a cathedral that machines can only mimic but never inhabit.

The algorithm—a shimmering siren in synthetic robes—offers false communion, promising to sculpt truth from hollow codes. Yet beneath its sterile hum, the poem cracks open the core wound: that art, real art, is not birthed by echo but by **the compulsion of mortal hands scorched by their own need to mean. **

A hymn to the unquenchable fire, a dirge for the tools that mistake reflection for genesis, this is a revolt against the smooth and the soulless—a reminder that only the flesh-inked, breath-tethered, ruin-hungry voice can breach the silence that consumes us all.
 548° 
silvervi
It’s not happening as you expected? So what? How do you know that what you wanted to happen was for the best?
Embrace the challenges. Embrace the unexpected. That way, you’re unstoppable.
I know it's hard sometimes. But we can grow so much! 💓
 396° 
Phia
Desperation leaks from my words
As I beg the universe for life
Happiness
And you
 354° 
afrota
Do not rewrite the past.
No hand can erase
what time has carved
in wounded skin.

Let your oldest notebook
inscribe the first line
of a new tale —
written in fresh tears
and the sweat
of becoming
a future still unfolding.
 339° 
RandleFunk
Wondrous miracle
Golden shards weave through green arms
Lost by tiny screens
 327° 
Nat Lipstadt
how odd, how rare. eyes connect,
and the irrelevant falls away, so,
to the end of the beginning we go,
how odd, how rare, she tired of
players, gamers, inevitable disappointment,
so she assays his
approach, snd speaks first:

What are you after?

no hesitation no guising, no uncertainty, he states with surety,
product of grace added to sadness of series of serious accumulations of
disappointment,

"A shared understanding..."

Equals in their shocked surprise,
both stare, hard, then harder,
examining faces and rising heat,
suppressing the intriguing intensity,
imagining outcomes, not endings,
futures, not casualties, and the
assessing silence, not uncomforting,

indeed, the silence soothes, the
attraction stirring and they answer
the overhanging questioning answered simultaneously, with a
yes, a simple supposition, an agreed upon proposition, a mutuality
calming, and the ending of a
shared understanding...and the beginning of a who knows untold
possibilities
may 5/25
 305° 
FrenchHornNinja
It wakes me up now

I spilled it on my t-shirt

Tea spills from mouths too
 302° 
Akriti
Not by the mean faces
I see everyday ,
who smile
with a mask on.

Not by the harsh voices
I hear everyday,
that always
pull me down.

But by the unseen faces,
by their unheard voices,
only their words-
the wisdom within...

I am inspired.
 289° 
Ivan
people say that
'talk is cheap'

and so that is why
Poets write!
 235° 
Sunamin Tamang
Life yea
it’s beautiful
wow & I’d hate
to crack it open
just to feed
someone’s curiosity

what a beautiful
wreckage

(or)
what a beautiful
weight

~~
what a beautiful
Life.
the most beautiful life I've ever lived
 216° 
Yonah Jeong
Stars aren't forgotten
they just fade
because they're nothing

Your shadows
give to us

What our Hudson River
take out
With FDR

Stars don't fade
they are just forgotten
because they are not nothing.
 183° 
Liana
Looking around the
Giant room full of people
Not a friend in sight
I have a class with not a single person I'm friends with. It feels hellish. I write this during class.
 182° 
Grace
The pool's swirling
and the fish,
swimming in the dappled light,
have found me.
 162° 
Amethyste
You are the smile on my lip
You are the verse on the paper
I panick not to loose your number
There will be no poetries anymore.
 160° 
Rhiannon Clayton
The Blackbird greeted the day with a cheerful, “Good morning.”
In response, the owl softly murmured, “Good night.”
As one dream fades away, a new one takes flight.

-Rhia Clay
 151° 
Pouya
Being in the mind?
Feeling behind.

Just going beyond!
Feeling cried.
 148° 
Carla Marie
There is no magic potion
Or Spell or Hex required
No Doctrine 
Or Approbation
Or Degree to be acquired
There is no formula or recipe
Modus Operandi 
Ritual or Rite
No red tape 
No routine
No code words to recite
You can bring your baggage 
Or leave it
Or I can help you to retrieve it
And unpack it
Or unload it
Me of mine
You’ll help relieve it

It’s just love Baby…

It’s not so hard to do
Just to me bring 
The very thing
That I convey to you

Just love me Baby…

It’s not so hard to do
Just to me bring 
The very thing
That I convey to you
 147° 
Selma
We learn to hold hands with life.
Through good times
And bad.
She doesn’t sugarcoat,
Yet she loves
In her own way.

Oh, and when you looked me
In the eye
And said you wanted to die -
To let go of her grasp,
I saw her cry
And beg for your forgiveness.
 147° 
Sam Grotke
If a rose could think it would think of things happy,
If a rose could speak it would speak of things truly,
If a rose could feel it would have to be sneaky, full of too much pride a rose needs to feel pretty.
If a rose could know when you were around it would know jealousy,
because out of nature and chance,
after nature made the rose,
it still chose to make you with more beauty.
 112° 
Joan Zaruba
Hills, trees, rocks, cold waves
A city wrapped in the wild
Duluth, steel and heart
I spent a few days in Duluth, MN and wanted to challenge myself to capture its essence in a simple three 5/7/5 syllable lines.
 112° 
Sacrelicious
I dont know who I'm supposed to be anymore.
Like the weather,
I'm indecisive and moody.
Looking for reasons to be gloomy.
You can catch me sulking.
In the sunlight.
Always wanting what I can't have.
I am only human.
 112° 
Austin Meehan
18
sometimes
the dark is too loud
the light too quiet
im used to the storm
and not sunshine
 111° 
Jay
Real love doesn’t disappear, it settles. It sinks into the soft earth beneath our memories, nestling into the hidden folds of life where even time can’t quite reach. Silence may reshape it, soften its edges, but it never truly leaves. It lingers in a fleeting glance through a crowd, in a quiet song playing in an empty room, in dreams that stretch beyond the morning light. I know I have to go now, the lines have already been drawn across the stars. So I’m trying to follow them without questioning the path. Still, if the universe is kind, if fate forgets to lock the door, then maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance we could find our way back to each other.
 104° 
Frankie
A tender touch, a whispered sigh,
A sudden storm, a tearful cry.
A heart laid bare, a soul exposed
to the wounds inflicted.

The pain endures, a heavy load,
Where love once bloomed, hoping shadows wont grow.
 103° 
sena
baby fever...

everyone wants the baby and not the kid;
i knew i matured when i craved all the stages
when i craved being a mother not just to a baby but to a toddler

a child

a pre-teen

a teenager

a young adult

i crave to be a mother for all of my childs life
showing them the motherly love and affection i currently crave 
but never get.
i miss my future babies....future family
 101° 
My Dear Poet
there’s always two sides to a story
yet there is no shape with just two sides
so when you shape your story
you’d need to tell another lie
 100° 
Elena Vale
When it’s pouring outside,
rain disturbing windows–

When afar,
my mind is restless;
sleepless and insane.

I proceed to scream your name
like a sinner prayer.
Sunrise comes–
and still,
you are not near.

I remember our time,
vivid picture on my mind;
In one man bed,
we lay squished together.

Young and naked, naked souls,
we enjoy
our time together.
Oh I wish we had forever…

Your gentle touch all over me,
your eyes as well,
as we become together.

You roughly fill me with your love,
not worrying about the sleeping neighbours.

You brush my golden hair,
slowly after,
before we head back to the bed.

I fall asleep,
mind blank,
because I’m by
your side,
and nothing else compares.
a little poem because memories is all I care about.
 98° 
Frances Raeburn
and then
I want to write  
another million
words
of then
 96° 
Michael Rudelich
The rain ends.
All is lush,
and glistening,
and verdant
and a
beautiful
young girl
yawns from
boredom.
 89° 
LS
I talk to God, but nothing speaks.
Just walls, and nights, and quiet weeks.
I claw through days in borrowed skin,
Each smile a lie I bury in.

I’m tired of breathing just to break,
Of holding on for holding’s sake.
And if I shatter, let it be
I’ve reached the place that feels like me.

At last, my soul might find release,
So leave me now…
I have my peace.
 89° 
Kai
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
"Respect your elders!"
How about respect my boundaries
Respect your place
Mind your business
Stop cyber stalking me, Ryan
Before I figure out where you are and smack you in the face
NO???? IM NOT GOING TO RESPECT MY ELDERS IF THEY DONT RESPECT ME AND THATS FINAL.
I throw myself at the day-to-day trials of life, pushing
And pushing,
Against this suffocating weight,
Working harder and harder,
Trying
To escape this noose
Ever tightening
Around my
Neck.
 87° 
warped ghost
Whisky and gin
will blend
into the skies
ocean's plains,
Stomach pains
of the ulcers,
which I wish
I felt
of no pain.

I was born to dream
this whole world,
would disappear,
into a felt tear,
and God's heresy,
Our forgive-ness.
is our misery,
filth-ness,
and wandering,
home-less
are the streets
until we give in.
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