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  Apr 2019 M
Meredith Ann
Ana
She's high fashion on a budget,
capturing the world from her own angles.
Watercolor stains on anything she touches,
but vibrancy is not for her.

Her voice is the texture of heavy-duty paper,
and something about her seems littered in floral,
But she is too industrial for that to make sense,
as the city breaths her in and out.
  Apr 2019 M
Antonyme
Together
in front of computer screens
Separated
Yet Emotions
still, course through
our keyboards
Just a strange thought
  Apr 2019 M
Pagan Paul
.
What is a poet to do
when his favourite muse
faints whilst making love,
a victim of passions fuse.

To carry on regardless?
Perhaps slap her lovely cheek?
Mouth 2 mouth no tongue?
Or maybe implore her to speak?

A lesser poet
shakes her anxiously
and writes a verse about prowess and spooning.

A True poet
carries on regardless
and writes a sonnet about his muse and swooning.



© Pagan Paul (23/05/18)
.
5th poem in my series Even Poets ***** Up ...
.
I only write these when in the silliest of moods!
.
.
  Apr 2019 M
Salmabanu Hatim
On our first date,
I took her to a romantic place,
We kissed and she smirked.
Every time she looked at me,
she giggled,
When she left I realized my zipper was open.
  Apr 2019 M
Cori MacNaughton
It was after we passed Moby’s Dock
that Ebony met her first thresher shark

He was five feet long or so
two feet shark, three feet tail,
and had just been pulled from the surf
to be proudly displayed
by the fisherman who had caught him

Ebony stood transfixed
her every muscle poised
her feathered tail twitched
as she leaned closer to inspect
and then recoiled from this cold-blooded beauty
still dressed in fleetingly iridescent
blues and greens and purples -

As the sun’s fading beams highlighted
the magnificence of this dying shark
I mourned his loss that night.

The noise and tourists
in the Pier’s arcades and bumper cars
did not detract from the peacefulness
of the Pacific in her chaos
for this was August
and they would soon go home

I watched a distant storm at sea
flashing fire against the deepening twilight
I stood, and Ebony,
gazing at the flashes of lightning

My hand felt her softness and warmth
as I stroked the waves of her black fur
relishing the cool wind on my face
listening to the rigging
of the boats resting at anchor off the Pier

Thinking about thresher sharks
Willing them away
from this place with its fishermen
and cold, baited hooks

Cori MacNaughton
13 Sept 2000
This is one of my very favorites among all the pieces I have ever written.  I have read it in public on many occasions, though this is the first time it appears in print.

Okay, so the initial incident described with the thresher shark actually took place on the Venice Pier, and my mom was with us.  ;-)  At the time we lived in Santa Monica in-between the two piers, and we spent a lot of afternoons and evenings walking on the beach and piers.  Everyone on the beaches knew and loved my dog, a lovely and beautifully mannered purebred Newfoundland, and even the cops knew her by name.  This was not long after a concerted effort by private citizens saved the historic 1909 wooden pier from destruction at the hands of historically myopic local government officials.  

It was a wonderful place and time.
  Apr 2019 M
Raindrop
I realized I liked you when
our eyes met then I immediately
looked away as if it was the first time
I laid my eyes on you.

I realized I liked you when
I made a list of things we could
talk about but ended up blanking out
when I started talking to you.

I realized I’ve fallen for you when
we were in a concert and you
accompanied me throughout the night.
I knew my heart was pounding not from
the loud speakers but from you
being so close to me.

I realized I’ve fallen for you when
I got nervous and you held my hand,
comforting me with no words said;
contented with how our fingers
interlaced with one another.

I realized I loved you when
I started writing about you and
our happy moments that now have
turned into memories.

I realized I loved you when
I turned you into poetry.
I do have feelings for this person but because I'm being careful not to conclude that "it's love" easily, I kept denying to myself that I 'might' do... until I started writing for and about her and had turned her my muse.
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