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 Nov 2022 Rea
 Nov 2022 Rea
beauty abounds
colors above dance below
heavenly reflection
 Feb 2022 Rea
Amy Childers
In my own little world fireflies stay in open jars
Flowers paint on their colors for the next day,
And the moon laughs while it walks away.
The trees speak of ancient scars,
The creek brings up lost trinkets from afar,
And the animals cry for freedom,
But freedom is not free.
I'm sitting here
on the darkest night
when a poem comes
and says, "stay there",
and silence will be your friend.
Let's pretend
to know each other
even though
we never remember
faces like the people
we once loved.
I'll say this
and everything you hate
shut up.
You are victorious
over all solitude.
Indonesia, 17th December 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
 Oct 2021 Rea
i do not sing the storm. i do not sing rage, wrath
the lightning bolt, the scream. Despair i do not sing
i do not sing struggle–revenge poisonous blast–
the hurricane, the quake that tears the city of peace

i do not sing no border. i do not sing no flag
i do not sing no warrior but she that fights all fear
Poverty & sickness-night, the blade, the club, the trap
blows, wounds, cries, lies, bursts & war-blood i do not sing

i do not sing despise for any thing or being
i do not praise no richness no governors, no kings
From all this flower-garden i pick one single rose:
creation is just dew upon the rose of love

i celebrate one flame. i only sing one blues:
the flame of endless loving with you & only you
 Aug 2021 Rea
 Aug 2021 Rea
we burn the skeletons
of creatures buried deeper than
the fallen stars that took them
pouring them into our automobiles
so they can take us to the places they roamed

skeletons can't talk
but we tell their stories amidst the quiet
they left us

i wonder if we got them right
my ode to the dinosaurs :))

 May 2021 Rea
Amanda Kay Burke
I continue waiting for the storm to end
Your raindrops to stop falling down
I think I must be fooling myself
Every time you let me drown
 May 2021 Rea
My Dear Poet
 May 2021 Rea
My Dear Poet
If it’s a penny for your thoughts
then it’s a bank in my head
where the automated teller
is swiping plastic cards instead
 May 2021 Rea
 May 2021 Rea
She sits on the bow and dangles her feet,
a rigid cloaked figure looms on the stern.
She runs her hands across the skeletal vessel,
thick mist twists and slivers past her cheek.
A coin-filled cage hangs off the Ferryman's arm
as he pulls an ore through the ominous glow.
A rusty lantern rocks and steadily creeks,
bright green flames lick the Ferryman's robe.
Into the void, into the churning ink
he gently rows across the river of woe
where no one hears her scream.
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