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 Jan 2018 rose
Lydia
Breathing
 Jan 2018 rose
Lydia
That was the fastest I've ever moved in my life.
Uneven ground and crushed grass underfoot,
You, just in front of me, and then
Nothing
Oxygen
Life and breathing in and out and
Cold water
Plans to buy a new cellphone to replace the one in my pocket
Clothes melting off my skin like icing on a still-warm cake
I didn't even know you could swim
And I certainly didn't know where I was going until I almost landed on top of you
It was no Pacific ocean-
I couldn't feel the salt in the cracks on my dry hands
But I could feel my heavy and suddenly water logged boots dragging me towards some bottom I was unaware of
And then I could feel my own instinct steadily resisting
The dull pulse of a practiced motion
They call it muscle memory-
And after all that, I could feel your hand on my shoulder where the sleeve had slipped down, crawling towards my elbow
I could feel your eyes on my wet hair
Which, at least, wasn't messy anymore
I felt your spirit, if you believe in that, meshed together with river algae,
And a distinct numbing feeling
And all I remember after that was breathing,
In and out,
Both of us.
I'm on a bit of a creative streak. East Coast US got hit with quite some weather recently so I've had a long time off to write but mostly paint. I feel I'm putting much more of myself into the characters that I write into these poems and the response to that has been incredible. I'm so thrilled that new people are reading my work, so please feel free to reach out to me, and I'll try and keep it interesting. It really is exciting.
Please comment :)
 Jan 2018 rose
david mitchell
i think it's high time,
that we go,
back to the place,
that only we know.

i think that sometimes,
you don't know,
just where to go-
or how to grow.

i think it's high time,
that i know,
just how you feel,
it never shows.

i think it's about time,
that it snows.
so we can waste our lives
in the frozen grove.

i'll think of more rhymes,
just to cope.
i hope i die.
i hope you don't.

it's almost nine,
it's getting cold.
i called your phone,
but you declined,

so much for the grove.
i hope it never snows.

i think it's high time,
that i die.
all alone
in mid july.
the grove is metaphorical, i never actually went on cute dates in a snowed-in grove, but that'd be cool someday, maybe.
 Jan 2018 rose
Mike Virgl
Crutch
 Jan 2018 rose
Mike Virgl
.
.
.
What have you done?
Nothing at all
Sitting here, as the time
Passes; as a candle
Flickering
Out.

What will you do?
Well at four in the morning
There is not a lot.
Except the cold
And the enclosing
Dark.

Why did you do this?
Well can that be said?
Honestly, and bluntly,
Straight out would the
Answer stick?

It would become lodged.
Because words unravel mysterious
And mean nothing all at the same time.

Who am I?
What a pertentious question to ask.
You have no right to ask,
Nor mind to conceive it.

What am I meant for?
Well to live and to die.
Make an impact on someones life,
Good or bad, time has no universal code.

What am I doing?
Looking for an answer
To a question I have about people,
And also about me.

Should you lean upon a crutch?
What if you are a crutch yourself?
What if someone took you away?
What if you merely were a crutch to a table?
How awful really.

But what is the matter? You've found it!
A place for yourself.
You see, you do not matter.
A crutch, a dime a dozen so cheap.

That is what you get from lack of sleep I guess, and lack of meaning I guess, and lack of health I guess.
A crutch that wanders, looking for what it means to be independent or leaned on, and if it is truly a curse or a blessing.

How silly is this anaology?
I think it is downright clear.
But I am a rambling madman
With an end soon near.

As soon I will be gone, this consious shed.
I will wake up this morning, tired in bed.
I will reach my hands and feel a change.
I will no longer feel; it is quite strange.

And I wish I could say I did resist,
But I did not.
For the immoral base upon my kingdom,
Is founded upon my thoughts
And actions of sin.

I laugh and I laugh and I laugh.
How little will do I have?
I am just a piece of dust,
Moved by the slightest wind
Of dismay.
.
.
.
Thoughts at 4 am
 Jan 2018 rose
Mike Virgl
With pedal's red flush
A rose grew in the arctic
Survivng to blush
How can on interpret a poem when no one has a clue who, what or where it is about? What if even the author is unsure?
 Dec 2017 rose
Daisy Rae
scenarios
 Dec 2017 rose
Daisy Rae
i will no longer let
the worries of my mind
become real
the things people worry about most are the things they make up in their head
 Dec 2017 rose
PaperclipPoems
I see you everywhere.

In the cafe off ‪18th Street‬
Buried in your thoughts
Watching the world turn
As if it were a marble between your finger tips
As if we are all just an idea
Trapped within your spinning object…

Stopped at a light
In my car, paused in time
Looking dead ahead reciting the traffic signs
Remembering the tone in your voice as I read them
Forgetting each word after I say it
Repeating the same thing day after day

*Why can’t I let you go…
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