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A poet dies not when he looses the will to live
But when he looses the will to write
 Mar 2015 Cíara McNamara
Chris
I painted a butterfly’s wings
because its colors
clashed with my garden

It died,
so did my garden
Don't try to change someone to be like what you want, love them for who they are or you could lose everything.
A real women can do it all by herself......
But a Real man won't let her.

The people who know the least about you
Have the most to say.

Telling a girl to "Calm down"  when
She's mad Is like trying to Baptize a cat.
Meh.
/
I was very immature
My Sixth sense until then
Could not understand his words
Listened to all the strange things
How to tune in to that!
It would be a void in my soul
Felt a strong gravity
Ever would leave the door open
Pull away the home would have been without

Consistently in the nature of
Deep darkness,
Off and on beside a Chime river
Ever in the green meadow under a tree
What to get a!

But I remember
The smell of the ancient world,
The taste of the salt water,
Think the creation of
The epoch learned
After Rain very earthy flavor,
I would think would be the essence
Of the air *******

But what a surprise!
How do I know thee fragrance,
Didn't see thee before
Didn't imagine thee face
Only I have to paint
The dark night sky color in,
Sometimes wings to fly
Like a free bird,
Ever saw the weaver birds scatter house,
To be surprised to see the purple color inside
The Black berry

Slowly I grew older then
My Fifth sense,
The more active
My Sixth sense,
Like the branches grew
I saw the the ground to make
I put the plants saw the,
Seen Counterpoint to the creation of,
Seen be created of the soul
You have caused me
When I have seen
I understand that
You do not someone else
Thy existence
Is hidden within me-
/
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Thy Existence
women say they want a sensitive man but they mock me when i sit at the piano crying for hours holding a lighthearted paper candle and a smile tucked in between my lips

they say they want a hard working man with ***** fingernails but
they claw at me if i turn a sun-browned shoulder against them in bed

they say they would love a cultured man but they cringe when i kiss them with lips tasting of whiskey & cigar smoke or touch them with fingers gentle as soft old paper

they say they dig the cold but they huddle in blankets when i stay up all night dancing naked across the lawn listening to joni mitchell in january

they say they want their own sugar space but turn sour when i linger and wake up dreaming of becoming an astronaut

they say they're comfortable with my past imperfections but it's my fault when i have a nightmare about being strung out on the perfume of another woman

they want a man who can write a song but they struggle when i anchor a poem to their delicate ankles and fill their empty rooms with shamefully broken pencils

they love my beautiful tattoos and piercings but shake me when i spend days wrapped inside a coral shell singing a lullaby

they want the idea of a man they've read about in books but won't tolerate me when i read them the atrocities in the sunday paper under the lampshade of an oak tree

women say they'll take me as i am but get lonely when i wander for a week and come home buried in the scent of a rock and roll bar

they say they make friends easily, like me, but can't stand to come home to talking & laughing cynical & drunk in a house full of strangers

they want a quiet man who loves them like the stars but scream when i learn to fly at the mercy of the weather & can't be captured

they want to live naughty with the thick musk of a man but act bewildered when they're caught soaking wet and weak in the knees

women say they love men with a tolerance but get jealous when i'm dizzy drunk at dawn on cheap tequila and the memory of my mother

they want a man who lives inside a corridor of words but hate me when they realize artful compliments are only cages of pretty lies

they're helpless for a man with grace but hate me when i'm pitiful and clumsy in the dark after blowing out candles and closing windows in the middle of june

they say they'll only fall in love with a lover of music but audibly cough when i hush them as Coltrane makes dazzling sodium fall across my face

they all wish for a man with careful eyes
but mine are blue and empty in the end
& it gets lonely
so i will no longer carry a song for them in my heart
like a trail-weary cowboy
no lust
no memory
no guilt
no cups
no whistles
or jewels in my vulnerable shadow
 Dec 2014 Cíara McNamara
Cortney
so often I start things and don't finish them
it's humiliating
i've learned to stop telling people I am doing things
but frequently i forget
and tell them I am doing something exciting
then I stop doing it,
when they ask me about it
I have to sheepishly tell them i'm not doing it,
or avoid the question entirely
finishing things
seems to be the main thing required
in getting things done,
yet so many of us, myself very much included,
start things and don't finish them:
books
paintings
education
diets
savings plans
marriages
we stop when it gets hard,
or when we doubt ourselves
and return to the place we were before,
the comfortable place
but doing this, this stopping, is what ***** up our lives,
all the stopping ruins our dreams
eventually we learn our lesson
we wake up and realise we don't have the things we wanted:
career success
too much money
a healthy body
somebody to love us
whatever you want,
and we realise we've done something wrong
that's when we change.
that's when we start things and stick to them:
when we're really ******* unhappy with our situation,
when we don't want to go back to where we were
when our only choice is to keep going.
that's when so we stop giving up on things
that's when we keep going,
when we are desperate to get away from our ****** situation
then we persevere
through all the pain, setbacks and difficulties
until one day, however many years away, we succeed.
Then the pattern starts all over again
we start something but quit
because we're too comfortable where we are.
 Oct 2014 Cíara McNamara
Ash
I tell myself
To forget you
Since you were never
Any good

The sweetest sin
You've always been
To indulge—
I insist I should

They all knew what
Was going on—
We were doomed and bound
For our hell

But you and I
Knew who you were—
Too good to be
All heaven-sent

Having been warned
To stay away
From the demon
That you are

They told me
Not to love again
But after you
I never can
Decided to go for free verse.
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