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 Nov 2014 pat
Francie Lynch
Before air became gas
And water waste;
Before light became lasers
And fireworks cannons;
Before cars got wings
And trucks got tracks;
Before rafts were raiding ships
And we breathed underwater;
Before sticks were arrows and spears
And we exalted ourselves;
Before Empires rose and fell
And rose and fell,
A femur crushed Cro magnon's skull.
It's a marvel
How any of us
Are here
At all.
White with daisies and red with sorrel
  And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
  Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies spring from ****** seeds,
  And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
  Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,
  The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a ******* flower,
  Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings
  The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things,
  The blood too bright, the brow accurst.
 Nov 2014 pat
Aditya Shankar
The people I meet
Seem like forgotten voices
In an old, long dream.
The sunlight on my skin
Seems like the faraway light
Of a ship disappearing at sea.

But the clouds, the clouds float by
Suspended chaos amidst the trees.
'Neath my torn feet, swirling grey and white
The mist has no form; shapeless, like me
If only, if only...
 Nov 2014 pat
g clair
Tapas
 Nov 2014 pat
g clair
Woven into every thought
a golden thread in deep blue sea
the waft on which her poems are caught
will form a living  tapestry

and into every single day,
this loom upon which wafts are wound,
in green she'll choose to make her way
on shuttles wrapped with seaweed found

the ordinary man, an ocean
barge which follows shipping lane
passing through without a notion
brilliant orange and not mundane

streams of light, not white nor yellow
radiant warmth throughout the room
through every season, this old fellow
present, steady, lights the loom.

Beauty makes a sudden turn
for what's to come, could never guess
when trouble takes the finest yarn
and twists it into tangled mess

with barren shuttle, words are lean
"and hardly can I say!", she'll moan
with eyes upon the battle scene
"this tapestry is not my own!"

and into blackness of the night
a the sunlit moon with silvery shroud
will ease across the sky tonight
illuminating every cloud

and even as the stars like lint
reveal their light in darkened hours
the quiet moments also glint
a single word, enormous powers.

as shuttles glide, a poem evolves
and words begin to take their place
in colors as the earth revolves
this tapestry is bathed in grace.
 Nov 2014 pat
John Ashton Upston
Oh he lost his dreams,
lost his being,
his will to seem,
to think, to be,
to feel, to see,
he went down to the bottom of every nug,
little boy, little child,
heating up that,
green ****,
dank skunk filling,
rooms and missing the gaps in his,
little heart,
but coming so close,
getting so numb,
intoxicatingly close to,
an actual feeling approximating,
someone close, someone caring.

Don't go to class. Don't go to school.
Stay in your room smoking.
Invite a few friends,
occasionally, not too often,
must keep appearances,
Must keep appeasing,
As he becomes disheveled,
As he looks for Molly,
Alice and Squiggy,
Hugs his grinder,
like his late mother...
Little boy, little fool,
how young you must be,
not to see the truth.
oh but to be sure,
he was his own little *****.
Till his blood pressure rose,
And the heart attacks came quickly,
He couldn't stop, couldn't stop,
He must have died that day,
Oh, he must still be dreaming,
Still in the clouds,
In a kingdom far away from here,
a Kingdom of one,
solemnly,
named addiction and persecution,
of Self.
 Nov 2014 pat
Mae Lahlee
If I only ever inspire
One person throughout my life,
Well that's one more inspired
Than there's ever been before.

And if in life I can only aspire
To do one great thing with my life,
It'd be to urge all the other people
To aspire to inspire one too.
 Nov 2014 pat
Lexi Dvorak
Bullying
 Nov 2014 pat
Lexi Dvorak
He looks down at his bruises,
The bullies they do this.

She looks down at her scars,
The bullying went way to far.

He smiles,
But the bullying has broken his heart.

The bruises, scars, and broken hearts,
Show nothing in comparison,
To the mental scars.

Why can't they like me,
Why do they hurt me.

These questions come to them,
Daily.

Have you heard these wretched names?
Ugly
Fake
Or even,
Clinically Insane

Have you ever stopped to think,
The pain has made them this way?

No they are not,
Ugly .

No they are not,
Fake .

Never have they been,
Clinically Insane .

But this pain,
Is more potent ,
Then red wine,
On white sheets.

Causing them not to,
Laugh,
Smile,
Or wish to breath.

Bullying,
Don't you see what you have done?

This pain,
Cannot be undone.
 Nov 2014 pat
Theara Steglaidias
My blank eyes stare
In bold frustration
At the white sheet
Sitting, calmly mocking me
On the plain brown table

The pen quivers in hand
My mussels shake with shame
But try as I might
My ideas are insanely sane

No bursting fits of passion
Or inspiring metaphors
Only a page covered in splatters
From my ink of internal wars

A block of metal in my mind
A chain of iron on my hand
Glossy mirrors on my eyes
Spiking needles in my thighs

Calling for me to get up
To leave this terrible attempt
But when a poets mind is blank
Like mine
About blankness will they find a rhyme
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