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  Jun 2018 Maggie Morris
soliana
she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.
10:02 PM 5/1/2018
Maggie Morris Jun 2018
i was a chest of treasures
and you opened me up and unpacked all the drawers
you took out the stories
you admired the knick knacks with fervent curiosity
and unveiled long-forgotten images of times past.

you showed your friends
and you called your mother to tell her what you found inside
"marvelous things"
that's what you called them.
you told people on the street about your treasure chest.
some thought you were crazy, but you didn't care.

you kept that treasure chest close
you were fond of it and opened it often
and you believed with the strongest conviction that it would continue to surprise you.

you appreciated its exterior, with its warped wood and rusted metal,
and how even covered in scratches it functioned as a vessel for something good.

when others found treasure chests too,
you didn't bat an eye.
because your treasure chest was trusted, strong and always by your side.
about someone I haven't met  yet
  Jun 2018 Maggie Morris
Phillip Walter
the most beautiful thing
that god does
to people

is that he gifts them

to each other.
dedicated to all the people god has gifted me with.
especially those reading this, that know this.
I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **
Poem inspired by the Slam poets on BBC
  Jun 2018 Maggie Morris
CC
Not every poem
Will be a masterpiece.
Not everything I write
Will get others to
Be in awe and cease.

But I can try
To craft my words
In my own best way,
And continue to write
Every single day.

I can try to write
What others want,
Or I can just write
In my brain's
Special font.

It matters not how
Well-liked my words are,
Or how many people
Praise me from afar.

I just wish
To pour out my thoughts,
Before my body
Gives in and rots.
Abrupt ending? Perhaps.
Maggie Morris Jun 2018
the "adults" are talking.
they whisper.
do they whisper about me?

why do they feel they must talk in hushed tones,
like waves afraid to meet the shore.

don't they remember what it's like,
to be young,
to be fresh,
to be fun.

they act like another species,
but why are they afraid of their own?

we are not foreigners.

curiosity builds bridges.
fear burns them.
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