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 Dec 2015 MOTV
Melissa S
Have you ever noticed how moody we writers can be?
Notice I said we because I am including
myself in this observation
It is like our creative juices are at constant play
even when our body is at rest and this may cause some of it.
Other times, like right now I am trying to work on a poem
for my sisters as a surprise Christmas present.  
It is like the more important the subject of the poem
is to me the less I can get it ~ just right
I know that the words will come to me when they are ready
but the words never come to me when I am ready.
Another thing that gets me moody is when life takes me away
and I cannot seem to find the time to write.
I can feel my hand just a twitching and my mind just a racing.
I need to get the thoughts out of my head but cannot.
We Wizards of the Word get moody
When we cannot create our masterpiece.
Houston we have a problem and step one is admitting to it :)
 Dec 2015 MOTV
Mollie Rose Trail
Two inches of snow, untrodden
boots digging in, holding on
but when they hit traveled roads
slip

Paths dotted with the footprints
one set, two sets, three sets
four, with all the more to
slide

When the snow is so shallow,
the path less traveled is safer.
And so it reminds me too of
life
 Dec 2015 MOTV
Denel Kessler
Choice
 Dec 2015 MOTV
Denel Kessler
This brilliant morning
anything is possible

we are limited only
by rigid minds
whose fragile confines

can be vaporized
by choice alone.
 Dec 2015 MOTV
Mohd Arshad
A single line of rats,
Running and then hiding
Behind the pile up of bricks!
The children cry out ' snake';
The elders run for the sticks
And women peep through doors!
Notes (optional)
 Dec 2015 MOTV
The Dedpoet
Before the fog aligns itself
To clog the vision behind your mask,
Before the death of life clouded
Your trust in the Heavens,
Before the desolate wave of sadness
Clouded the very star that guided you,
Before the savage tears you shed
When the lie killed your truth,
Before the door closed in the night
And you drowned in the silence,

You left behind a fleeting light
That was created nust for you,
But as darkness falls the words
That were like children,
The days that were like
A thousand lakes under the sun,
The words that scattered like
Light through the crystal memory,
Came forth a boundless vacancy.

And the night is torn apart,
Deep into the hours where
Memory and names do not matter,
When it seems the hope has sailed forever,
The words will echo deep
Into the mind and eternal
Poetry will be born unto thee
The death of the present will
Be owed to the loss of who you once were....
 Dec 2015 MOTV
Monica Figueroa
Today the last seam ripped
From the veil of purity
I bound myself within
I’ve come to the realization
It was merely a handicap
Masquerading as a noble cause
So adamant not to play the game
My choices left me with no defense
No shelter
I’ve given too much credence to the interactions of chemicals
Falsifying chemistry
Turning a blind eye to deceits
In a way I was always aware
But I eagerly brushed those thoughts aside
Hungry for something else
Aching for some sort of natural connection
But when everything is coordinated and man-made
Manipulated
There is no such thing as innocence
Merely naïve souls unwilling to adapt.
2015 Copyright Monica Figueroa
 Dec 2015 MOTV
rootsbudsflowers
You.
 Dec 2015 MOTV
rootsbudsflowers
All else
Falls away
When I see your face.

Please stay with me
Always.
 Dec 2015 MOTV
Victoria Jennings
She covered herself
In white silk
It irritated her skin
But made her beautiful

Someone had to see
Everyone has to see
She danced in the wind
Silk flowing all around

She smiled and laughed
The people watched
Like she was a show
Little did they know
The silk that made her
So **** beautiful
Was slowly killing her.
No idea what this was
 Dec 2015 MOTV
Kelley A Vinal
Candlelight, that musty smell
A book - perhaps the one that fell
Like the tree outside, her name unknown
Crashed to the ground - on ice was strewn
The window is much different now
A view less filled with life
Though bats and birds are flying 'round
Her image plagues my mind
But anyway, that book that fell
Revealed mold
It was that smell!
I picked it up and blew the dust
Its color that of old, red rust
"Meditations" read the cover then
With markings of a fountain pen
I sat it down, my tea cup tall
And thought how trees
Are the most stoic of all
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