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 Dec 2015 K
Matthew Harlovic
On the paint chipped pavement we went over the rules:
NO cherry bombs, NO bobbling,
NO lower-ballers, spin-tops,
chalk walkers, twenty fingers,
and especially NO  skyscrapers.
So for a few minutes we played as raw as apple skin knees,
it was the roughest, toughest, hard-nosed game
of four square any fourth grader has ever seen.
But it was all over when someone crossed the line.
There was fussing, cussing, and an accusation of the mustnt’s.
Eyebrows adjacent, we argued and clawed like kilkenny cats,
we were breaking rules, we crossed the chalk.
We took sides and worst of all,
the one crucial act that we regret,
we slammed the ball down.
It towered overhead like window washers
and landed on the school’s roof.
We stopped arguing. Nobody won that day.  

© Matthew Harlovic
 Dec 2015 K
Allyson Walsh
Standing in forty-degree weather;
Water threatening to change to ice.

Perhaps, the rain will cleanse me,
And I will feel pure.

Maybe their blackened fingerprints
Will fade away from my skin.

The grease from their selfish palms
Leaving without a trace.

If I stand out in the cold showers,
The storm may sanitize my soul.

And maybe,
Just maybe...

I will forget their selfish appetites.
For myself

For a past (and present) I don't share of often.
 Dec 2015 K
Musfiq us shaleheen
~~
You are always beneath the sky
though you can think above all the heights
even behind the origin
and following just after

A bit ahead
just before the end of the evening
a distinct dark and a shadow
caught between two stools

I'm moving between the line,
blessing in disguise
stepping forward,
taking the best of both worlds

Shadows have a sound of mist
within the shadows
and the dark has a light
at the bottom on the line of dark

but I caught between two stools
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
 Dec 2015 K
Michael L
Lost In A Book
 Dec 2015 K
Michael L
Lying in my bed
--reading ...

It is November, I am in NYC
--25 pages later ...

I am standing on a street corner in Istanbul
Outside the Kybele Cafe, near Sultanahmet tram station
Two British men, Ethan and Dylan, are talking ...

Senses engaged.*
Drinking in sights, sounds, smells of Istanbul.
As I can feel the excitement of this city.
Anticipating the story that is unfolding before me.
I am immersed, no longer in NYC.

Just then, a door slams, I am jolted back from Istanbul.
Back to my bedroom in NYC ...

How long have I been lost in this book?
 Dec 2015 K
thea
-tide-
 Dec 2015 K
thea
“The sun died every night
just to let the moon breathe.”

I shivered, as whispered screams and silent pain of fragmented hearts
Pierced through the atmosphere of comfortable lies and prison bars
Looking down upon streets filled with hushed crying in locked cars
******* the words “I’ve been left” in my palm filled with glass shards
I am looking at the moon, and I am reminded that there is still someone
That touches my soul and feeds me emotions when I thought I had none
I am looking at the moon.

It is 2:58 am and I am writing this to expel your fingerprints from my body
Because your being has covered my skin with memories of love and beauty
The dead beating of my heart cannot forget how it felt when you came near
How the mere mention of your name caused my eyes to only see you clear
I am looking at the moon, with its silver skin, gleaming light and mesmerizing craters
And I am reminded of what we were, how we were beautifully imperfect chapters
I am looking at the moon, again.

It is 3:15 am and I am still trying to forget how a love so beautiful can crumble
My heart’s still pumping blood that seems to heat when your image tumbles
We were something real; *we were lost fingertips that found home in each other’s palms

But time was too weak to grasp a love so soft, a love that resembles seas that were calm
You were the moon and I was an ocean, and I willingly let you pull at my veins
Causing a tidal wave of memories and unspoken words that left me insane
I am looking at the moon, still.

It is 3:41 am and I am still thinking about your hands and how they held an atlas
How you memorized maps of my surface and how beautiful things don’t really last
We were something beautiful and true and something that was bound to break
Our love was a forest of mixed rose bushes and thorns that time wanted to take
But don’t worry about me, the moon still listens, its light still glistens on my scars
And I can close my eyes knowing that *you and I still cry under the same moon.

So I will look at the moon, for as long as needed,
until your hands
aren’t my home
**anymore.
i'm still trying to forget you and i'm sorry i still love you
- t.p.
 Dec 2015 K
Camellia-Japonica
Untied
 Dec 2015 K
Camellia-Japonica
To be free would be fine

But then we write a line

And we are tied to ink

As babies are by milk

Images dance behind eyelids

And words are formed, onto paper they slid

Slid through the ink to the nib of the pen

Not knowing when images and words are unbound again.
Copyright © JLB
11/12/2015
16:18 GMT
 Dec 2015 K
Poetic T
She stood at the gravestone a shard petal
Fell cutting upon the air. It littered the floor
With tears of wine, falling and spilled on the
Found staining the memory below. She gripped
Upon its stem in a hardened stance of tears.

Her cowl draped over her soft hair in the
Scattered winds it flowed and from her
Grief did vengeance flourish. shadows
Granted form trod upon the ground.
Beauty in darkness bled upon the land.

Hooves trebled on odours that were seeping
Scent bleeding a trail on the land below.
There onyx alicorn cut into the wind tasting
The vengeance that would bleed upon there
Moment of satisfaction as shadow feed cold.

Hooves were separated, as the hunted greeted
Foe, shadows were separated and in to mist
They seeped back to the cloak. Fibres torn
From the impact and bled darkness on all
It graced upon. She felt each of there pains.

One still galloped on, ever seething in connected
Grief of its fallen parts now concentrated in its
Raging torrent of remorse. Each that had fallen its
Location bleed into the sky showing each the
Position of vengeances handle well grasped.

Rapid breath did concentrate on a veil of
Misted wisps as in site that which felled the
Love of one in shadows trawl. Now as blade
Swung for a third strike hardened by fallen
Before it glided on concentrated form.

Majestic beauty seethed in onyx fought for
What was owed in blood. It  needed to be fed
Upon its quivering movement, not sullen as
Before, for each learned from the fallen before
Swifter and fluid motion formed and flowed forth.

Her main was cleaved into oblivion as wisps
Drifted off. Hooves took on to flesh and connected
In true form. blood urged to be released as lips
Gestured forth and expelled raindrops of pain
On self and the watching earth silent below.

It clipped with its etched alicorn flesh tight
And willing to be cut upon, as tears of life
Draped ever faster she was called to this
Calling to venture into the known finishing.
In elegance she edged slowly forth unto him.

I was in a beat of another draped in essence of
Loves grip. You stole the heart that held mine
And it fell shattered into dust. I claim the right
Of loves vengeance on that which was taken
Now entombed  in eternal stones grasp.

As the last steed faded into recollection and
Joined her cowl now whole. Its horn now
A knife of blood rose thorns ready to drink.
He went to venture words but her finger
Silenced anything seeping forth.

"Love was my light and you extinguished it,

"Now darkness collects it dues on that death,

She plummeted it into his chest and it drank, as
A husk knelt before her then dust graced the
Gentle wind and she stood alone once again.

"My love as yours was stilled,

"Now they do not breath breathe,

And she hilted her dagger and once again
Stood over the stone that held silent thoughts,
And a heart that still beat but not of life anymore.
inspired by this piece
http://ap-pics2.gotpoem.com/ap-pics/contest/2659/348.jpg?unicorns.jpg
 Dec 2015 K
Mike Essig
Sometimes
my heart
feels the kiss
of ecstasy.

Sometimes
my toes
brush the abyss
of madness.

Sometimes
I can't tell
the difference.

Mostly, I don't
think
there is one.
  - mce
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