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 Dec 2013 Randy Vera
Diane
I hold your hand
but mine has no sensation
numb and heavy
it belongs to someone else
Horror stricken
at how this feels
I cannot touch you
I cannot want you
Any more
The elements of rope
that had bound our tails
as we swam to hide
from Typhon
have been torn
Forever
like the flesh of
my soul that had waited
for you
Only for you
even while I did not speak
secrets you should have known
my whereabouts clandestine
did you forget
that what happens
on the outside
is merely fog of a
disassociated self
I only become real
in the mirror of your eyes
and smooth awakening
of your caress
You were the one
to understand my world
but today,
after being apart for so long
I am still numb
even though you hold my hand
and I pull it away
as you cry and rage
Sometimes, when I look back on experiences in my life, I think, if I were to read about them happening to someone else, I would be incredulous, yet, when I sat in his car as he recoiled from me, it had become woefully, painfully, normal. (This is spoken through his eyes.)
 Dec 2013 Randy Vera
Diane
accidental
collisions in the dark
titillation held softly  
like warm tea
in a porcelain cup
the curve of my hip
ever arches towards you
cool skin and warm touch
are my delectation
 Dec 2013 Randy Vera
Emma Matson
You're standing in the rain
it's 4 am and the wine you drank
is still dancing in your blood,
the cigarette smoke still lingers in your hair,
and lipstick is smudged on your skin.

Where you are is unknown
the streets are thick with puddles
and all the people have wandered off to bed
but you didn't.

Because going home meant being alone
and you hate lying in a bed
with cold sheets
with  no one to hold.

You hate waking up without someones fingertips
tracing your lips
or combing your hair.

You hate standing in your kitchen
looking out your small ***** window
wondering where the person who was made to love you
disappeared to.

So you stay out
just to feel less lonely.
Even if the only company you have are a few scattered raindrops
and the faint glow of street lamps at 4 am.
don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.
 Dec 2013 Randy Vera
wandabitch
You kindle the skin and start to rot
Inside your desperate fumes.
You cut a path onto the wrist to
bleed out the noose.
It doesn't mend a broken frame
Like the artists hand.
Never making work the love
That heals the hurt within.
Indeed, release from apathy
Comes sweet the morning dew.
But the pain it brings torrents
A rain that drowns the heart of you.
Be strong and love who you are, your beautiful. Intelligent. And an individual surrounded in God's love.
Faster smoother communication
Texts flying freely in the air
But somewhere eerily dying the relation
Bred when you could just silently stare!
Gone are the years of shy look and snail mail
A distance of time-space that fanned it intense
The words though now are buzzing like gale
With the wind comes not the romance’s incense!
Flew away the time them now would never know
Of waiting in hushed noon for the mailman’s bell
Running the fingers in the warmth of a blue glow
With the lovelorn heart in pursuit of a fairytale!
A re-post, inspired by Kelly Rose's thought-provoking poem The lost art of writing letters.
A pill for my nerves in the morning
To stifle my broken hearts yearning
A pill to get me through my day
Allowing my mind to somewhat maintain
At night a pill to sleep
So into my soft pillow
I do not weep

A  little pill so I cannot feel
Then another
To wash away the pain
I cannot imagine
My life without a pill
To color the world rosy
As I stand in blue rain

So I reach in the bottle for another
Hiding the person I am
With reality
I no longer bother
As someone emerges I do not know
That lives my life in times ebb and flow
I coexist as one and the other

Its a pill for me in the morning
To stifle my broken hearts yearning
A pill to maintain my twisted sanity
And get me through the day
While I bathe in the enveloping deluge
Of the soothing blue rain


I think all poets have dual personalities. The one they keep hidden and the person they share with the world.

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby  Dec 28, 2013
Doctor, tell me, what's good or bad for me
give me guiding tips, health's recipe
what I should eat, and foods to be shunned
I find my years wasted, with most things unlearned!

Doctor, please tell me, do I eat more or less
show me the way, to a healthy happiness
chart for me, the most balanced diet
I find my years wasted, and little learned yet!

Doctor, tell me the secret, of staying healthy in strife
to remain in glowing health, for a rewarding marital life
prescribe me one potent pill, to make my groin burn
I find my potence wasted, with still many things to learn!

Doctor, now I seek your advice, in the matter of heart
tell me, how I keep it broad, before I depart
tell me if it's a broader heart, that's more easily burned
I find my years all wasted, with so many things unlearned!
 Dec 2013 Randy Vera
Nat Lipstadt
I wish for you
beautiful memories
in the coming year
and the poem-sight
to record them forever,
living moments internal,
transformed to eternal...

may the vapors
of this winter's breaths,
living, love and loss,
rise up, as smoke
to be returned
unto you,
inscribed within the

spring rains warmth,
summer's stunning,
breathtaking sunsets,
autumnal leave drops
anointing your humanity,
and yet,
one more time,
next December,
in a tear-shaped snowflake,


that upon your tongue will fall, and,
the taste thereof,
giving you pause,
to acknowledge
this singular sentiment:

the year is crowned,
let next  year's
joyful imaginings
exceed, add,
to the equity
of our lives.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Always
give cheer for
the simplest truth of all,
*life's crooked adventures, above all,*
(always, a word I like.
so many pleasures
brief, attenuated.
but not this one)

always, all ways,
let our exchange of words
never be less,
perhaps be more,
than our physical embrace
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