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Äŧül Apr 2015
If one day in the imaginary ideal future,
We get stuck by the rocky Konkan beach,
And not even a decent sand bed is there,
To you for resting my body I shall offer.

Waiting for the tourist bus back we talk,
Tired we are from taking the sunny walk,
The evening the sun we wish will balk,
Our neo-natal plans together we chalk.

We shall sit on the bench by the beach,
You'll then rest your head on my side,
In comforting you I will bear much pride,
About being one forever we did decide.

Then you will soon sleep in the evening,
I will watch our hands and even the ring,
Angel on my shoulder you'll be sleeping,
And me??? Oh, I'll just be calmly smiling.

The baby bump is now visible so happily,
I'll think of unique names for the baby,
Basis of our relationship is really lovely,
The healthy baby will be so very chubby.
The most cherished dream of mine in which I visualize myself and my ultimate lover.

My HP Poem #829
©Atul Kaushal
Face after face after face,
they stare out at me.
I look into eyes
full of hope and pain,
fear and courage,
longing and loneliness,

and the faces,
the voices,
the yearning
are all my own.

How are we to find
the one who is looking
for us,
with that unique blend
of terror and anticipation
that makes us
their "perfect match?"

We each want to
change our subscription
to the romance channel.
No more docu-dramas,
please!

So much history,
so many angry
silent nights
The full moon mocking,
cold and distant.

Please care.
Talk to me.
Hold my hand--
Dance with me!
Be fun!
Make me laugh--
Don't hurt me.
Please,
don't hurt me!

We smile bravely for the camera,
affecting a nonchalance
that is gone forever,
and we show our friends that
we have recovered--
the surgery was completely successful!
See?

The scar is barely visible,
true.
But tell me honestly,
can you really feel life Now,
through the scar tissue of
Then?
Written 2005
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson.
athena  Oct 2016
mad woman
athena Oct 2016
she had seen an entity
emerge from the river at five
spoken to another being at thirteen
some things are visible
only to her eyes


she was adored and loved
standing beautifully
her cigarettes were lucky
to be held by her fingers

she crossed her legs while sitting
an invisible book
was on top of her head
she had a beautiful voice
and she dressed well

people fled to countries
but the mad woman
fled to different realms
-she was my grandmother
Kitt Jan 2018
Blue sky, smooth sailing
Balancing neon lights of my mind's eye
(as glassy waves lap against my feet)
And the innocent sands of a white-gold beach fantasy,
Soft, warm, and as sure as the day.

Graying sky, persevering
Forging ahead through tempestuous waves
(growing faster in speed and height than a father's son)
I cling to the sample of that white sand,
Bottled up in a tiny plastic pip.

Blackened sky, capsizing
Plummeting into jet-black sea
(stained in the lights of my fallen Titan)
The pip shattering, without my notice
Icebergs visible on the horizon of her heart
My sand lost into the radiant black seas
Never to be seen again.
LIKE MUSIC MADE VISIBLE

You forever always

like music
made visible

running through my thoughts

memory's shaky home movie

here a grinning granny
with half a head most of the time

or an uncle
with a cloud upon his head

there the camera elects
to look at only the grass

or an aunt always on the edge
of a frame

quiet but not quite
one of the  almost theres

an uncle represented by
his shiny new shoes

and a sudden falling
shot of skies

and a passing bird

these black and white people
in their black and white world

moving through silence
as if they were swimming

through time
flirting now

or shying from
the camera's gaze

as the footage comes
to an abrupt:

stop.

But you forever always
like music

made visible.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
A tightness in my lungs pulls me under in a spell of forced muteness.
I slide my view up out of the rattling car.
The starry sky lighting up my irises and dazzling my brain.
Meanwhile the glops of tears forming in my eye drag the streetlights across my visible world.
Light torn away from its source
for only me.
Me, a crying passenger.
Left Foot Poet Aug 2018
pale dead moon

them the words heard, cloud covered, make the few streaks visible
look like mocking smiles saying see we got your numbers,  
play pale and dead you’re sure to win and add an over/under
and a trifecta guaranteed

everyone is willing to take and give you thanks
with a nice tap on the head which buys them
a grimace smile of 2 seconds recognition and
further confirms the crumbling internals
and unless you walk away,
into solitude and recall from
high school language class

répète après moi "c'est la vie,” repeat after me, that’s life

no, now,
pale dead moon,
that’s life
kB 2  Oct 2018
Invisibly Visible
kB 2 Oct 2018
I’m almost invisible
like a blind hem stitch.
Like the world is deaf
but I sing in perfect pitch.
A girl without arms
yet I hold on to everything.
A lover for a lifetime
with no wedding ring.
An exquisite ballerina
without any toes.
A runway model
without any clothes.
I’m standing in front of you
but you move right through me.
A tormented ghost
with no haunting ability.
Undetectable, unseen,
like ultraviolet light.
In daytime I sleep
and appear in twilight.
The only person able
to create shadows at night.
Silently choking on black,
face a sickly pale white.
With the thinnest of instruments
I thicken the plot.
A partial lobotomy
and I’m full of free thought.
My darkened grey matter gone,
color returns to my face.
The invisible girl
has been visibly erased.

~kb
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