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 Jan 2017 Mason
Àŧùl
I Love You
 Jan 2017 Mason
Àŧùl
Acrostic poem.
I tell you all 'bout yourself so deeply.

Loss of words I'll never get surely,
Over the cliff we will fall freely,
Victory will come so quickly,
Ever imagining it as purely.

Your question goes clearly,
Of course sharing openly,
Up & above all happily.
My HP Poem #1400
©Atul Kaushal
 Jan 2017 Mason
Brandon Fox
days go by
like drunk children in their
mothers womb.
I’m fishing in a pond
filled with nothing but alcohol.
It feels good
but I haven’t found any fishies yet.

I guess this is what
transitioning to your 20s feels like:
three weeks of settling into your new place,
thinking you have quite a few opportunities ahead of you
and then settling into your slightly bigger than before bed
only to stay there for hours upon hours a day
scrolling through nothing on the computer
hoping for more to come your way.

I’m trying to eat like a poor person
but I’m only poor in spirit,
financially i’m fat as a double sized donkey.
I’ve got a big ***
but it’s a nice ***
but i still wear
baggy jeans
and all black
to hide my
assets.

I wonder if i’ll look back on this transition period
with regrets.
The days fluctuate
some are
time so well spent.
Others are
just as dry as paint,
the stuff of art
but probably just as useless
as recoloring a picket fence.
 Jan 2017 Mason
Sombro
Precious
 Jan 2017 Mason
Sombro
I knew a woman
Trinket to little pieces
Puzzles making frowns and faces
She lay, lay down blankets and tablespoons
For a man who looked at her
With a quivering, ivory eye

She grew to him,
Shockingly a bud meeting rain
Thirsty for him
Leaving what she thought she was
Behind for a man like him
And she told me
She had no idea what he was
Behind closed garage doors

He bled a little every day, she said
Till there was nothing left
He burned away his wick
And hung, string-like from a beam
Swaying in a wind she never knew she blew
She left herself in his arms

Now she doesn't smile the same
I know, though I met her
Long after
Now she doesn't sleep, but sedates
Now she walks on blades of glass
But so kind
So good
She never fell like he did

I never think I knew her
Like she was
As what she was just cries
But what she built
Talks to me
Lets me know there are people who keep going
Through her smile
She lets me know
 Jan 2017 Mason
Daan
Listen
 Jan 2017 Mason
Daan
Take it all in.
Try to hold on
but let it go,
there's so much more to know,
nothing wrong with alleys,
backstreets or rallies.

Take it in
and let it go.
You might even become a pro.
Selfe awareness
And something about this fight,
Mais tout va bien en de rest komt goed,
all that we share, het komt goed.
 Jan 2017 Mason
Mateuš Conrad
lies don't stand on stilts;
truths do, indeed, proceed
from the caveman,
unto the miner.
 Jan 2017 Mason
thymos
flash, trace
 Jan 2017 Mason
thymos
there are signs out there.
almost nothing.
but if you follow them
they can lead you
to a world that will always
be more
than what you know.
 Jan 2017 Mason
traces of being
Wondering through
the complex mazes
of the wind,
trying to feel beyond
what I cannot see;

trying to see beyond
   what I can feel ―

The echoes of the breeze
invigorate the stillness

The weight
of a world heavy
expands like the traces
of life lived
packed deeply beneath
jagged fingernails

Lost in the wilderness
of my soul,
a feral wind
abides silently
as I wonder alone
from end to end

...  side   to   side
    
through a portal
shapeless as the wind

Blinded by a collective
bioluminescent light
rooted deeply within,
intimately touching
crystalline fountains
as the deepest pools
of innate blackness unfold
in the wake

I reverently touch
the inward rhythm
where a heart strong
     runs alone …

feeling its
pulsing cadence
    quake and thunder
    in reach …

Rivulets thrumming across
the burgeoning blossom
of soothing netherworld seas

Washing away
all the memories made
like the shapeless waves of wind
moving the stillness
beyond


wild is the wind ... 1. 27. 2017
the answer is blowin’ in the wind
.
 Jan 2017 Mason
Busbar Dancer
There’s a menacing chill
on the air
this evening.
“Had I the wherewithal
I’d leave this place,”
I think to myself
as the first warning is issued
by that unfriendly cloud
hanging low and dark
over the mountain.
While once I thought that
the rain would fall with purpose,
I’ve come to understand
that floodwater has no manifesto
except to place the scumline as high as it can.
We can stack these sandbags tall
around our hearts
without regard for what’s on either side of the dam.
They’re only transient monuments to ineffectiveness anyway.


An assassin stands at the corner
wondering if I’ll ever leave my house
and its warmth.
I have news for him, though…
There’s nowhere to go, and
the weatherman thinks we’ll have a storm.
Hoping your gutters are clean.
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