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 Oct 2012 Ryan
Whiskurz
Free
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Whiskurz
A poem can be a heartbeat
Or just a simple smile
Meant to mend a broken soul
That's smothered with denial

It can be about forgiveness
Words your lips can't speak
"I'm sorry" written on paper
That solace that you seek

It can be about the sunshine
Or the tears that's in the rain
Maybe a long lost memory
That fills your heart with pain

It can be about relationships
Written with your pain
Built on broken promises
With the lies that now remain

A poem can tell us who we are
Or who we used to be
But most of all a poem is written
To set our emotions free
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Rickie Louis
Slave
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Rickie Louis
I've seen love in a million faces,
almost caught her in a million places,
but she's so illusive,
can't be subdued,
before you know it,
she'll have you fooled.
She'll feed your heart, and lift it up,
then seemingly she's had enough.
From heights you'll fall,
a downward spiral,
she'll pierce your soul,
and hold you liable.
she'll tear you open, inside out,
make you wish you had a doubt.
Force you to beg,
and plead for mercy,
and wish this quench was never thirsty.
When fairy tales are all but over,
and these dragons can't be slayed,
it's then you wake to face the nightmare,
of being loves hopeless slave.
 Oct 2012 Ryan
DM
Still is your heart,
Silent,
Between the beats,
Silent,
Feelings of love,
Silent,
Like your mind,
Silent,
As it retreats,
Silent,
Like the breath you hold,
Silent,
As you await my kiss,
Silent,
As your questions loom,
Silent,
As you press your fingers against my lips,
Silent.
Answers don't come,
Silence.
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Michael DeVoe
This morning I woke up intent on living morally
I had pizza for breakfast
I then took ten minutes to decide if my diet was part of my morality
I am clearly not ready for this conversation

In the family I come from God has only ever been the fastest way to count to twelve
In the family you come from God has been a source of peace, joy, love, purpose
My sense of purpose comes from Regina Spector’s voice
And my peace is in Amos Lee
My way is not better than your way

Let go and let God
Or as we call it Step Two
Is scrawled on so many scraps of paper
Half started journals
And carved so deeply under my fingernails
I’ve made letting go an art
I just haven’t got to letting God
When I was in pre-school my teachers told me how impressed they were with how quickly I learned to count to twelve
I told them I went to church a lot
They were confused

My dad likes to skip steps when he counts to twelve
My mom is really good at two through twelve but can’t really remember how it starts
My sister has counted to twelve so many times she forgets how important it is to go slow
The only reason I’d ever have to count to twelve is to feel apart of this family

It has been seventeen years since I have last said the name Jesus with ants in my pants sitting on uncomfortable church pews with my mom’s hand on my shoulder
And since then I have only ever thought to go to church three times
Twice in Memphis when I was trying to find Al Green
And the third was the first real conversation you and I ever had outside of Mrs. Kidwell’s class when I briefly thought if I found a way to go to church you might go out with me
However, I quickly came to the conclusion that if that worked I’d have to continue attending church to keep going on dates with you

When I was twenty two I tried to read the bible
I never made it past the begetting
That’s not a joke
So I tried to have someone explain it to me
That plan failed

Most days I can get by
I can be happy
I can turn the radio up and dance myself into peace
But on the days when I lock myself in my bedroom
Grey sweatshirt and basketball shorts
Tubs of Ben and Jerry’s all over the place
And The Spill Canvas at eleven over my stereo
I sometimes consider turning down the music
Getting on my knees
Putting my hands together and giving it a try
But I always get tongue tied just thinking about it
So I make a playlist full of songs that have the word God in them and hope that counts
Because some days you just need help and no one is answering their phones
But I don't think that's how God works
So I text you about your day
And you say something about a movie,
Book
Song
Something some little kid did to you
And I swear I might as well be in the front row of the First Baptist Church of Macon Georgia
Because I am filled with the Spirit.

Not every text message to you is a trip to church
And you’ll never know which ones are
So please don’t worry about it
I’m grateful to know that when I can’t figure out how to talk to God
I can find a way to talk to you
Because in the seventeen years I’ve been forgetting hymnals
I’ve come to one conclusion
Salvation, Heaven, Faith
They are where you look for them
They are what you want them to be
They are yours when you call

Sometimes I make myself imagine a world in which I was the kind of man, who could imagine, being a man, who could dream, of having the guts, to possibly, one day, be the kind of fella who would make the kinds of choices that would eventually catch your fancy
It is hard to do
I am not that kind of man
And that is okay
I will never be that kind of man
That is also okay
This is more than okay
I'm not here for that
I'm here for me

Tomorrow I will attempt to live morally
I bought Honey Bunches of Oats so hopefully I’ll make it out the front door
It seems I may never be ready for this conversation
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Christy Pavoncello
There is an eruption of silence
When we witness the miracle
Of a sunset
A thundering absence of anything
Except you, me and the glorious sky
Golden clouds passing us by
With our faces tilted together
Your protective arm always round my waist
The disappearance of the sun
Painting a portrait of pure divinity
Unbelievable how such a phenomenon takes place
When all is quiet
When there is no need to listen
To startling colors as the day darkens
To your sweet breath on my neck
Silence
Destiny
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Tyler Nicholas
A 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera
A mixtape
Valentines Day

A tuxedo
A seafoam green dress
Prom night

A starlit road
A taste of your lips
Spring

A weeping embrace
A slamming door
Summer

An empty bedroom
A bottle of gin
Autumn

A silent girl
A disturbed boy
Winter

"I don't love you like I did yesterday"
 Oct 2012 Ryan
JA Doetsch
I found you hiding in your painting

I distinctly remember saying
that you reminded me of Monet

Beautiful without trying
          Elegant Simplicity

You said I was like Seurat

Up close a jumble of emotions and thoughts
that seemed to contrast, but then all made
sense when you took me in as a whole

That night, we drank our fill
we danced under the fresco moonlight
   Our colors bled together as our lines,
boundaries, and vision blurred

Perfect Chaos.  Dali would have approved.

But..your lips. Those perfect lips
dripping
in crimson red oil
contrasting pastel skin
remained crisp and vivid in my memories
They left their mark on my canvas

A smile beckoning, drawing me

That night, so long ago...

We painted a masterpiece
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Montana
Lips
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Montana
Your lips
Were the first thing I noticed
Gently parted
Breathing in and out

Oh to be your words
Conceived within your mind
Born upon your lips

Poetry.

Your lips are ******* poetry.
5/25/12
 Oct 2012 Ryan
Montana
I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.
8/13/12
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