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 52° 
AS
Be the diamond in the sand dust of

humanity.

Show clarity,

Not profanity.


© 2018

Abigail Sheard
 36° 
AS
Eruptions lay within us all, especially for who do not let their mind stretch or sprawl.

The diamonds within us, sharp and cutting.

Magma burning through our sense,
Creating a destructive mess.

Unleashing chaos,
To the other elements we know.

While we struggle to let go,
To go minor not large.

To not hold back the mounting beast,
To allow it daily moments of release.

As these actions,
The reactions must cease.

To give warnings with our smoke,
Giving others around you the warning not to poke.

Not to the extent where the land will choke.

Expand your horizons with oceans and skies,
To calm the overwhelming flow.

To dote on the elements that surround,
Not to get locked in your inner drown.

Open up the caverns that only the feeling knows,
To lighten the load,
Ensuring that you do not explode.

Destroying everything known,
Show the earthly elements how you've grown.

Moving your plates,
For better change.

Spurting out to create new lands,
With life moving plans.

Command a show,
With the fertilising soil your ashes create.


Remember only you urge change,
A volcano to incite waves.


© 2018
Abigail Sheard
 31° 
Jude
I despise myself for not being someone you could love.
 31° 
Druzzayne Rika
Is it too late for it not to be too late now?
 30° 
AS
Impetuous,
torrential,
rapidly moving through the rain.
A slave to the beauty of everyday.
Seeking centred days,
to answer,
to speak,
to a solitary muse.
Not to be bombarded,
to those who sing a different tune.
Happy to be surrounded by the few,
for the odd days.
Time alone pays,
not everything need to be displayed.
Working on raw,
cultivating the inner lands.
To ensure my future plans!
Thriving the only way I can,
independent with no demands.
Willing to share a time,
not willing to let it takeaway my whole life.
Only to live,
the moments mine to give.


© 2018

Abigail Sheard
 28° 
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
 27° 
AS
/\
/    \
/        \
Hours,

days,

weeks,

months,

years and decades.

All the minutes which slip away.

Before you've learned to montage,

soaking in each day.

Weeks of sleep,

which could of been spent on

times to leap.

Surrounded by the guided months,

to do something you really want.

Years to learn,

that to never waste your turn.

Decades to grow,

taking the time to move on and let go.
\                        /
\                    /
\                /
\             /
\           /
All this time,

covered in rhyme.

Flying by,

whilst you remained shy.

No longer the time to waste.

The moment has come,

to live life,

to no longer let it drip by.

No longer to hide by silently,

it is a time to try

As drip,

drop,

inside I am alive.

Time to make a splash,

to prance,

taking a chance,

taking control of your own plot.
\                             /
\                          /
\                        /
\                    /
\                /
\            /
\        /
\    /
\ /
Now I am ready to shine!!!

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
This poem is about learning who you are, not letting any more time pass by.
With all the craziness in the world, it is so easy to let time drip by.
 24° 
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
 21° 
She Writes
Tell me this!
How can you cage a bird
When you fell in love
Whilst watching it fly?
 19° 
patty m
The blind man too,
enjoys birdsong, sun on his face,
pungent scents of spice, the
perfume of flowers.
Even the flute pipes sweeter when
undistracted.

In solitary silence
taste the freshly peeled orange,
enjoy the citrus spray,
remember this spaceless,
pin-wheeling sensation.

Savor the memory of
of morning gold rush,
summer blues in lazy sky,
rose and amber dusk falling,
nights when the moon hung so low
light brushed your cheek with slumber
and you saw heaven through the eyes of a dream.
 18° 
LeV3e
Love = Lust + Respect
 17° 
Nylee
We created all the words
all the meanings
to increase the complexity
of every thing that exists
or it does not.
 16° 
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
 12° 
Edmund black
Some would have
You to believe that
     Love is blind

Love isn’t blind
       At all
Love sees every
        Color
Love does not require
Sameness to love
          
Love sees every shade
And every relishes
        In each one

Love seeks to understand
And give freedom of
    Expression to every
      Brilliant color

     Love has perfect
             Vision
That sees and celebrate
          Every color

           Like love
         I see color
       And it is indeed
             Beautiful
            
      Love in color
              It’ll
     Change your life
 11° 
Sagar
The bliss of ignorance
The pain of knowledge
The serenity of hopelessness
 11° 
Andrew Durst
My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.
Thank you to anyone that reads this.
 10° 
Woody
A whore standing
on a corner
blowing smoke
in the dark

The undertaker
waiting on the headlights
turning up the drive
a drink with ice
rattling in his hands

Someone turns a light on
in a house down the road
it must be a man
going over all the words
he ever spoke
all the fields he ever left
on his way to open a door

Away from our homes
and on roads
we thought we knew
holding a light for a stranger

A woman in the moonlight
wading a river
raising her dress
above her white thighs
but the gully is dry
it hasn't rained in forty nights.
 10° 
Nylee
Does desire make you happy
or do they take away
the existing happiness?
 9° 
yúyīn
JJsbdksndkkdmxmjshJustletmediemmmkbhbxjdnxnbdjxbdnxnnxnxnImsotire­dofthisnsjs nkksbdndnbdthese tears wontstopjdjdnn znjsnndudndkdknfkdmssnfnjdndnndbdbdbdnWhythepainstilllivesin myheartjjxnxjxjdn mykdjdvjsndjcjndndncnxkxnkxndkdkjdnskxhjshdjddndeImsofuckingtired­msnndksnxonshxidnkxndjsjdbjdkslmsndjjdbdisbdjjdksndjdhbsndnndjdjd­ndnd


Youllneverunderstand me
 9° 
Nylee
a half line
incomplete stanza
an unrhymed sentence
well defined trauma

the poet's thought
uncaptured on the paper
many drafts
and crushed papers
around the study

there is a lot
same thoughts
and some sought
no process
little sense
world of words
and many buds

more time needed
to bloom
and here comes
the start of coming doom.
 9° 
Nylee
The end of road
they are empty
without answers
but just a line
nothing further ahead


Turning back again
to where we came from
with a new question
the road looks stranger
than what it was before
.
 9° 
AS
Don’t condemn those different from your expectations and functioning in this world.
Passers-by,
isolators,
strict doers,
routine goers,
chaotic minds,
oblivious but kind,
paths and pains unknown.
Their differences not an attack,
survival in fact.
Disconnecting to explore and grow more.
Striving to find something to adore.
To find comfort in their selves,
acceptance to move on.
Everyone lives life at a difference rates.
Experiences and mourns past tragedies at a different pace.
Life is not a race,
not a place to pass judgement.
Do feel what they feel,
have you seen what they've seen and felt their desperation to feel serene.    
Felt their fight to end the endless night.
Have some grace that everyone has no yet found their place.
Wash off that mace upon your face!
Do they inflict pain or malice?
Don’t be a disgrace,
judging things you do not know.
Don’t be cruel to those who presence creates discomfort.
Smile,
be polite and then just be another passer-by.
As no one has the right to rain down on those fighting to survive.



© 2018
Abigail Sheard
 9° 
emnabee
We are the passionate people.
The people who feel.
It’s a blessing and a curse.
That’s what I believe.

If only we could reduce the emotional reaction.
But we just can’t seem to get that satisfaction.

So we lay low.
Until we're about to explode.

Give up.

And break out the poetry.
Mass exodus of expression.
 9° 
Danielle
Games played at train stations
As we all just slide by
Our weathered eyes
Begin to crack.
We’ve dried up.
Become husks
As we drown in lassitude
“To the End!” we cried!
This is just one of those weird poems where I build it around a single word. But I think it also captures the feeling of just giving up and not noticing things anymore.
I met a friend today
His name was Death
He smiled big with pure white teeth
And minty fresh breath
I asked him what he did for a living
Staring blankly at me, batting his eyelashes
He did the opposite of giving
What did that mean?
But the closer I got to Death
The better I understood his scheme
In his sharp black suit he won me over
I felt an irresistible draw
Like to a diamond in the rough, or a four leaf clover
He convinced me of the beauty in the night
That when the moon was hidden from view
There was nothing better than the lack of light
He led me from my lust for life
Sang to me in my sleep
Whispered sweet nothings and handed me the knife
I tried to pull away from my newly found friend
But his choke hold was so tight
On him I started to depend
The world could see me deteriorate into nothing
He held me harder and closer
With shortness of breath I stood huffing and puffing
Enclosed in the lackluster of our friendship I became numb
The emotions drifted with my vitality
I tried to retrieve them but could only attain 1/5th of my former sum
The more time you spend with a person
The more you become like them
I suppose I couldn't see the situation worsen
Collar around my neck he leashed me like a dog
I cared so deeply for him
My haze filled mind ignored the dense fog
I came to terms with my life long trap
Death circled like a satellite around my position
No matter where I went he found my place on the map
Eventually I succame to this fate
Despite his control
Death, I could not hate
I loved him too dearly to notice the signs
I couldn't think clearly
His presence was odious and it wasn't benign
 8° 
Nylee
Beneath the skin,
it is all so ugly
the bones and flesh
blood flowing around
all the organ
fragile,
tissue connection
delicately placed
hard to keep
healthy really.
Pills fill the stomach
chemical reaction
and there goes down.
The beauty is seen with eyes
mind constructs
its perceptions
Although
the Outer body is
much better than what
I hide inside.
Oh no you don't, website.

I want no part of this selection process.

Please remove this.
 7° 
Druzzayne Rika
Get me to be
a soul liberated
from every
attachment
it could be.

I want to want
nothing from anywhere
not want to get
tempted
by things unnecessary
get myself bound to
what will be my
downfall

The soul needs nothing
it is to be free
but my own flaws
have made it
not so
that it could go
as it pleases

What is that one really needs
with no one else be depleted
all the seed, sign of lives
but with greed
everything dies

Devoid of true knowledge
what is I seek
I see myself so very weak
my vision so blinded
my eyes itself closes
that I cannot see

the lies will bite
the anger will burn
my own journey
with karma
it will come back on me
I wait
as I expect them
coming to me

My sins who will wash for me?

my thoughts
why they never sided me
they followed the down path
got me to fuss on things
over all the nothings
never mattered to me

the body detoriates
every day, every second passes

My mind forget
what it remembers
I speak no tales, but riddles
what sense
I try to formulate

This time who will be
the one to get it to decode
the mysteries
the real truths
which could liberate
but to think deeper
what really is
the answer lies very deep within
much closer than
who you are actually really.
 7° 
DeAnn
I've looked bad but felt good
I've looked good but felt bad
I've looked bad and felt bad
I've looked good and felt good

I've failed so many times I can't count
I've learned so much I can't find individual moments

I have gradually increased

But I am finding myself

I am finding the confidence to strut out of my dorms like I'm walking on the runway
I have found myself so sad my body has become immobile

I am growing stronger

Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.

I am finding God in the most random moments, but when I do it is glorious

I find myself alone too often
I find myself feeling alone too often
I find myself hiding too often

I'm ready to let my potential loose
And become the lion I am meant to be
 7° 
CA Smith
Brick
        By
            Brick
A house is built
Hour
        By
            Hour
The house becomes a home
Day
        By
            Day
The home turns into memories
Year
        By
            Year
The memories turn into people
Century
        By
            Century
The people turn into stories
Story
        By
            Story
Stories turn into legends
Legend
        After
            Legend
History is changed
Piece
        By
            Piece
Lives are changed
Person
        By
            Person
Love is spread
One Love
        After
            Another
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.
Sometimes it's tough when you are just laying bricks to see the end picture, but it makes a difference in the end! It can be so easy at times to feel like we aren't doing enough to help others or to grow ourselves, but one ripple affects the entire pond.
 6° 
King
If
If I die today,
Would tears flow,
like a rushing river?
Or the clouds weep,
screaming in thunder?
Would the earth break,
shaking in anger?
Will the world care?
And for a moment,
forget laughter?

If I'm down
to my final heartbeat.
Will anyone be there,
sitting beside me?
When I draw,
the very last breath.
Will you hold my hand,
and feel upset?

If I go,
without saying goodbye.
I want you to know,
that I really tried.
To live and love,
to endure and smile.
To find the truth,
in this realm of lies.

If I'm fated
of leaving soon
to talk with God,
in his glowing room.
I'll be rejoicing,
when I face my doom.
Even I end like a flower,
that withered,
before it blooms.

If inside the casket I lay,
Would there any heaven for me to stay?
Or will my sins, demand me to pay?
Don't even know, how much this life has weighed.

If it's my time, to step on the scale.
Done of my part, in this play.
A lot of regrets,
but nothing more to say.
Wish me luck.
If I die today.
How does
It come to pass
That no one in Catholic church
Realizes it is traumatizing to a
Child
To tell them they're
Eating
"The body of Christ"
?

No cerecloth has pockets
No bag fits in coffin
No grave has cupboards


A thought..We leave empty handed from the world
 5° 
NuBlaccSoul
We are forgotten yesterdays of tomorrow,
note-booked mementos on thighs time travelled,
back from the future, few tsha-tsha with flashes,
blackouts and gray-matter gashes
The slurred dance of good memory,
crib-notes on collar-bones,
bare chest, a loose tie, knots, not around neck
formal education white-suits, tucked-in remembering.

A formal date chasing me indoors.
chasing me into doors of consistent
nurturing nature of the neuro
doors on the right, left doubt outside.
A manner of hindsight sighs.

Running back to tomorrow to save my 4 unborn children
from my present past. Amnesia.
The pendulum swings in reversed backwards.
Forward is just an antithesis, poor protest-art
An analogue, roman-concept coded in digital now.
Fraudulent, faux and pseudo. We look at the sun
to tell day from night. Progress practising stillness
Passage of pain frozen in time,
sun is amber lantern,
phantom of what & who has risen,
out of resin's
suspended-infinity-loop prison.
The bitterness of honey stings
sour-sweet on the taste buds of trauma.
Strolling up memory lane, compassion
for former faults. Less envy, only empathy
Fragments of a broken dream further smashed
can’t fill in the gas smothered cracks.

We died many deaths.
A mass burial, a mountain of bodies brewing
under the garden, the slumbering soil wakes.
3 is the number of perfect balance and god.
Ma’, Sister, and I.
Mother died the day Doctor
told her that the body she named
Home was evicting her, with a 10-year-notice.
She must have watched herself
watch herself
sitting on covered couches
thinking what a theft of life
this holy trinity is –
what is left
to see
here?

I saved all pain of breaking
bones for this,
I ran in opposites, dislocated my hip
tore tender tendons, I have a Belgian-Congolese tendency
never stood for much but numbness
an absence of nothing because
feelings kill.
I saved haunting ghosts of night for day
For this day
For today.
All these reservoirs of resilience won’t be enough,
ever.

I wept
winter sunsets –
to remind my new self on the coldest of nights
that once time was warm days
a slice of life’s beauty in Redemption.

Efforts tuck sweat under my arms,
gravity grounding my prideful chest down.

A bed of waves
afloat sober dreams
nightmares of wrinkled water
submarine my day dreams
and flowing peace.
Please be polite and let me be.

I now know, less hoarding.
A pair of paradox, or pandora's box: written by Phila Dyasi
Published by: NuBlaccSoul

To call it an existential crisis
would speak exclusively to a disturbance relating to the decaying case
that encapsulates my eternal hold of being.
NO!
This crisis is a crises extending to the infinite.
A philosophical and metaphysical troubled state.

NB: Please comment and critique and share :) Feedback is always welcomed.

(C) 2018. Copyrighted 19 February
2018 NuBlaccSoul™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
 5° 
Traveler
In poetic manipulation
In magic of our words
Beneath the breath
Above duress
Let your heavy
Hearts be heard
In power of rhyme
Upfront sublime
Equal syllable
Entwined
In each consecutive
Spellbinding high
Or
Emotionality low
Crafted on
The twist of tongue
Either way
Let poetry make us whole

We all have the power
Write it down
lock
And load!
.........
Traveler Tim
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