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 Oct 2017 Lily Cruse
Terry Jordan
I want to write a poem
Like a yogi’s meditation
Every minute of the day

Through blackness of my sadness
Red is glory close to heart while
White arises pale and cold

I tried to write a poem
All about the triumph of love
That took me 10 years to write

Despite my fierce suppression
That passion in all its hunger
Realized like turtle doves

I wrote my heartfelt poem
In a trance of deep rem sleep
Feeling the ruthlessness of truth

I must complete this poem
Awake to writing its wonder
Instead remembered this one
Awakening from a dream of writing a poem, a marvelous poem about love-I dreamt I woke up to write it down, but only found scribbles in the morning...writer's block for a while since PTSD from an accident that totaled my car on the Turnpike.  I'm unharmed physically, but struggling mentally to even leave the house.
 Oct 2017 Lily Cruse
redruMAndTea
It started in the seventh grade.
You were young and I was young and I think
we can both completely agree that we were
pretty dumb and ignorant.
It was your voice I think,
that really brought me in.
Sweeping me up until
I was hopelessly and mindlessly
wrapped around your finger.

It wasn’t like honey.
and it most definitely wasn't like
“Sunshine on a cloudy day.”
It was dark.
Dark like midnight skies twinkling with starlight
and warm cinnamon that stings pale
Lips.
It was quiet like mysterious city alleys littered with
brazen homeless people,
sleeping in fetal positions on the streets.
Like hurt and joy and youth and indifference from the rest of our peers.
But that's the catch.
You were different.

You were beautiful in all your youthful glory and wildness.
Adrenaline spilling from your presence; sweeping everyone up along the way.
Taking them with you.
Smiling and laughing and dark eyes twinkling
Like that of the stars nestled deep in your voice.

And then there was I.
The shy, extremely indifferent, and mostly awkward
middle school girl with too many freckles
and too big glasses that filled her face full.

Your name passed the coven that was my lips
like a sacred secret
too many times to be sane yet,
did mine ever pass yours?

I aspired for you.
Only you.
Yet you never did for me.
Unrequited love, my Dear.
Unrequited love.
 Oct 2017 Lily Cruse
MARK RIORDAN
HOW MUCH FAKE NEWS IS ENOUGH
PRESIDENT TRUMP IS REALLY MAD
LETS TAKE AWAY THEIR LICENCES
FOR AMERICA THEY ARE BAD



NBC STOP YOUR FAKE NEWS
WHAT ARE YOU REPORTING ABOUT
YOUR PRESIDENT IS NOW FED UP
WATCH ME SCREAM AND SHOUT



TRUMP WILL POST HIS VOICE ON TWITTER
AND SHUT ALL THE FAKE NEWS DOWN
LETS MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN
FAKE NEWS NOT WELCOME IN TOWN

TRUMP CHRONICLES   amazon.com
PRESIDENT TRUMP IS VERY ANGRY ABOUT THE SPREAD OF FAKE NEWS BY NBC.
Sometimes nothing is as it seems.
It may appear like nothing but dreams.
Like a novel, a story, or mystery.
Might not always be happy, but misery.

Enchanting, captivating, thrilling or mesmerizing.
I can sure read, and always been good with memorizing.
reading, writing, spelling,
marketing, wording,  and selling.

Like a game of chess, one wins on one side,
like the ocean changes with tide.
As to the novel that reads out in due time.
As can poetry rhyme.

Can be a quip with few words--oh what the hell!
Perhaps  a story with witches and wizards casting a spell.
Some ring true to others and others do not.
from copy written lyrics through court battles some fought.

From poems, to letters, a story, or script,
to rhyming, signing, telling or reading lines--do not skip!
From astrology, psychology, genealogy too.
A history pattern developed and a story plays through.

As art to a painter, as student to teacher.
As buyer to seller, as in scripture to preacher.
like a role played by an actor, as a craft that they learn.
like fire is from matches on to paper that burn.

We take on different roles that we write, not just one.
Whatever the story or memory be, it can be fun!
Some are serious, some not and some just with humor.
'Poetry is like magic'- "Oh that's just a rumor!"

Sometimes like a fantasy, or a dream state illusion.
To decipher a code within words, to break up confusion.
Like a detective that finds clues, and puts pieces together,
as to the bride and the groom who stays married forever.

From seasons, to passion, from faith we write.
from heartbreak to storms and the ghost stories that fright.
As the pen  is to the paper, in language we know it.
As the rhyming or feeling soul of the poet.

— The End —