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 Jan 2013 Sarah Writes
Chuck
Man needs little to endure life's hardships
Gold, silver, and jewels plunder a man's soul
Water, food, shelter, and companionship
Despite life's conquests, must remain the goal
Water quenches what possessions cannot
A custom carriage fails as a life source
Nor does it quench when August days grow hot
Nor nourish folks when seasons fall off course
Look for umbrage, safety from barren land
Shelter to the pains of nature denied
Yet, man's elemental resource reigns man
The shipwrecked, fed and quenched, unsatisfied
Possessions, wealth, and even basic need
Can't provide the nourishment humans bleed
This is the first English/Shakespearean Sonnet in a sequence to my children: lessons from life.
 Jan 2013 Sarah Writes
M Clement
Drive off the edge of a shallow cliff
Congrats, you've made it off the curb

Doing drastic things has never been my specialty
Let's live vicariously through someone else
I won't feel anything
But that cuts both ways

Melodramaticism spills forth onto a page that exists
Only because we want it to.
Philosophy in this place
Semantics in schools

School of thought
School of rot
School of wrought

Insides sink like they're covered in ink
Resting in my pelvis

Anatomy is for the birds
But people have it too

I'm still waiting,
Haven't you heard?
I'm still a ******.
Wrong wait,
As in: wait here just a little
I've got more to say

Feeding experiments to those most hungry
Let's secretly give syphilis.

Disgusting peoples live throughout our days
The devil and God are raging inside of me
Let's be brand new

Just nonsense,
drivel
Welcome to my poetry
There's meaning here, seriously
Just, please, don't let go of me.
 Jan 2013 Sarah Writes
eli
i crave the universe; it's expanses, outer reaches.
i want to drink from the big dipper, have my fill,
be merry.
escape with me, from the wicked pull of gravity,
leave this *****, scarred earth.
i want to inhale these scattered constellations;
exhale galaxies, nebulas.
i want to leave these silly material things behind,
we can leave ourselves in this beautifully infinite silence,
let the stars tell the stories of the great orion and cassiopeia.

leave your own footprints on the moon, on mars,
wherever you wish, starchild,
there's too much to see when you live in an
u n f a t h o m a b l e    e x p a n s e
staring into stardust,
staring into the roots of you,
of your creation,
of your nebula-blood.
your star-bones.
 Jan 2013 Sarah Writes
Kyra Adams
I hate these moments
of hours
of ours.
 Jan 2013 Sarah Writes
M Clement
A knife in the back of the collective man
Let's start with something drastic

Fire for fire
Dear fireman
Lit a match to find
the matchstick

I've been slowly
Draining my own
Life
What I do might surprise you

I know where you are
Dear prey
I know

I know where you are
Dear, pray
I know

Wordplay and associates
Let's make a collective
Trying hard to sound
Indulgent
Let's be protective

Plastic linings
and glad tidings
Keep away the kids

Pills from Docs
and bills from Crocs
We're living in the skids

******* away our youth in Jack
Let's pour another round

I want to be the man you run to
The man you're glad you found
I drank a little, and this bled onto hellopoetry. Enjoy!
Every piece I write
Is a piece of me…
Of the turmoil, the calm, the violence… or the peace in me
I wonder, when I am dead… how shall they remember me?
For I have a lot of content in my poetic diary
A lot…
Of content…
In my…
Diary
I have written my whole life down one would notice, if one paid attention
Every frustration, every smile, every frown… written down more out of self expression
Than to seek attention
Pieces and records of what I was feeling or thinking at particular times and dates... I could care less if they made a wrong impression
For I have a lot of content in my poetic diary
A lot…
Of content…
In my…
Diary
I’m past trying to get published
Pouring one’s soul into a piece, just for it to get rubbished?
That’s not for me… I have too much respect for my poetry
It may not be in print… but when I read something I wrote a year ago I see it right there, my personality… it’s right there, and I know it’s me
For I have a lot of content in my poetic diary
A lot…
Of content…
In my …
Diary
If you read through all my work
You read through me… I could even risk it being said that whoever has done so
Knows who I was, who I am… and maybe even who I will be
That person will know… does know… and that person knew me
For I have a lot of content in my poetic diary
A lot…
Of content…
In my…
Diary
And one thing that both the old and the new me
Agree on
Is that…
We are and probably always will be…
Content…
With all the content…
In our diary.
 Jan 2013 Sarah Writes
tread
Yielded to the toast on plate,
it's a quaint morning but it
began in boredom. I closed
my eyes and kept them tight
because I knew I had nothing
to do but keyboards and screens
with a side of cleaning. This is
freedom? I suppose freedom is
the choice to this multiplied
one million, but when you
wake up bored, now what?
Someone once told me that
motivation is like a bath-
recommended every day or 2. I
suppose they're right. I really do.
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