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 Jul 8 S Olson
rk
july
 Jul 8 S Olson
rk
it's july
and we're falling out of bars
incense clinging to our hair
chasing the last
of the saccharine sun
each strawberry stained kiss
introducing us to god

it's july
and we're hiding under satin sheets
moonlight dancing
upon naked flame
sticky fingers
trying to hold us together
your teeth find my skin
and i can never find the words
to tell you how you've marked me
like spoiled fruit
in the summer heat

it's july
and each amber scented day
leaves me longing
for the month we stole
your eyes met mine
and it felt like a wound mending
before slipping away
with the autumn breeze

it's july
and all i can see is you.
~~~
~~~~~
~~~~~~~

This summer's heat was worse,
problems are at their extremes,
burning, like undying embers.

Murmurs in government, in
public and private communities,
create chaos.

Repetition, initiates a desire
to walk away from what upsets
even for a while...some just

Laugh things off, too tired of
useless smiles and handshakes,
some get fed up, walk away, and

Go to the waters, to the shores
filled with voices crying for peace,
seeking justice.

Throughout our struggles...the
battles we fight, we always must
maintain a dignified silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We deserve some respect
no matter
what.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monsoon season has come,
soon...rain will pour and
shall inundate.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 8, 2024
 Jul 8 S Olson
Cné
In the shadows, a tale unfolds
Of inspiration, versus theft, so cold
A spark of ideas, like blood in the night
Can be drained away, without a fight

Inspiration whispers, "Take a bite"
Of my creativity, let it ignite
But theft creeps in, with a vampire's might
And steals away, the light of delight

Let us embrace, the inspiration's glow
And shun the theft, that would our souls know
For in the darkness, only one is true
Inspiration's kiss, versus theft's cold brew.
Inspired or stolen (I’ll let you decide) from Temporal Fugues Poem Artistic Vampir, https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4834378/artistic-vampire/
Vampires can be a great metaphor for creative ideas - they can inspire and energize, but also drain and exploit.
 Jul 8 S Olson
Mike Hauser
I’m just a clown
When it comes to the rhyme
Fooling around
Outside of the lines
The crunching of crayons
Flipping of dimes
In deep conversation
With dozens of mimes

Muddied in mayhem
Past the mundane
With the frequent du jour
Over easy, half baked
Shooting for early
I settle on late
Paying my dues
In crazy ways

Setting to rhyme
Whatever poops in my mind
Now there’s a freudian slip
At the perfect time
It’s no secret kept
Should have said pop instead
But I’ve run short on words
And that’s all I have left
Her offer of herbs
would soon wilt in the sun.

A few soiled notes
if she may gather at the end
can make her come back
every morn
with the garden fetch.

Sixteen rupees,
she raises her doe eyes,
our palms blush in the exchange.

She smiles, you are a rupee short.

Love is never short of script.
Suffused through the veiled abstract
Some ride the tail of Satan,
Some shelter in the shadow of God,
Many are diffused in the great indifference of humanity....

But some pluck the jewels of eternity
From the billowing cloud,
To voice substance
And musical inspiration
To the willing, attuned
And receptive ear.

These be the poets in our midst.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
An addenum to Alyssa Underwood's vibrant work, "The Poets Among Us".
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