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  Apr 2018 Shanath
Michael DeVoe
Sometimes when I’m playing Tetris I leave small gaps when I could complete lines
I do this to keep from winning

Sometimes when I am cooking dinner I leave out one ingredient
I do this to see if I notice

Sometimes when I clean my house I leave one room messy
I do this to see if I really need anything in that pile

Sometimes I try to do something all the way correct
I do this to remember I couldn’t even if I tried
Got to get some of that bad ones out of the way to find the fruit in 30/30s
Shanath Mar 2018
We used to wake with the rising sun,
Before the sky could heat up enough
To burn us with her flames.
We would stay up long after the sun died
Every night, long into the stars' play
But we were always busy looking at each other.
The moon was and has to be jealous
Of us,
We took the time we gave to her
To give to each.

Then there were the other dolls
That swung out the door.
You used to be captivated by the sea
And stars,
But I broke your trance
And with your eyes on the ground
You drifted like the smoke from cigarettes.

You were clean before,
Never had a drink,
Never smoked, never catcalled,
For the moon had you,
You were stuck in dreams
But I broke your chains
And had you freed.

Now you use me as a match
To light up your darkness,
To fulfil your hunger,
Your midnight smoking ache
On the terrace,
The filthy parking lots.
You don't care that you are burning me
And I like a fool
Crave your fingers on me
As you strike me against the sand.
Again and again
Then discard me.

I never feared being burnt,
The whole world used to hit me
On me
Like stones rubbed together
To spark fire.
I would light up and ignite
Wildfires,
But I never thought
You would bite.

I forgot that all birds in cages
Beg for the sky,
But once freed,
They all come down to litter the streets.
I freed you,
You carried me on your wings,
Made me forget the moon,
The stars.
The fact that I was a planet on my own,
And I tied myself to you
Like I was a lost moon
Surviving on gravity's pull.

You dropped me in a sky-less desert,
The horizon dancing in its own flames.
The sun and the moon collided
And the stars fell like moths
Burnt by desire.
You never did return.

But I was wrong
The world remained intact,
The clouds cried.
It was I
Blinded by the shine of your eyes.
You used to reflect the moon,
The fire of the stars years away.
I am ashes, black char,
On your wings I will be a stain.
So you shook me off
And never returned.

I only wish now
That when I lay well into the noon,
The sky will heat up enough
To evaporate me,
And I will dissolve.

You will feel me in your breath,
In the wind beneath your fake wings,
I will flow into your blood stream,
Block out your lungs,
And you will bleed through your nose,
Cough up black debris of the past.
I hope you will remember me
As the dolls you will collect
With their paper fingers
Falters to revive you.

But I will be deep in your mind,
Corroding your nerves,
Blocking veins and arteries.
And when you ask yourself
What is happening,
You will see my heart that you stole
To save yourself,
Will burst in your own cursed cage
And in your own blood
You will drown.
But God forbid I become caught in your dreams.
I always was a nightmare for men
So I will be no different for you.

Somewhere you did burn me,
I simply took it as a glow.
But you hate ashes
And I have regrets.

But this is the time
When your absence of mind
Lets the match burn your fingers,
And your clothes catch on fire.
But you, unlike the horizon,
Don't dance but wither in pain.

I will seep out through you then
And water the plants.
I will be a garden built
On your ashes.
So many thoughts
Unsaid, unwritten,
I share
And I am afraid
Of thieves,
How can I stay quiet
In this world?
  Mar 2018 Shanath
Mary-Eliz
sitting by a window
staring out the smudged pane
past the polychromatic crowds
bent, huddled, faceless in the rain

a smeared image swirling by
modern art painting not yet dry

wishing to nod off
tired to the bone
the rattle and rumble beneath
the stop and the start
keep my weary eyelids apart

the odors of crowded humanity
fill my nostrils,
make them burn
alcohol, sweat, stale cigarette smoke
on clothes that are old and worn

garlic, deep fryer grease
pastrami and cheese in a sack
blood dried on the apron
slung over a butcher's back

a cacophony of noises
surge inside the car
papers rattle, fingers tap
on electronics or on steel bar

~~~

nobody's talking
eyes are downcast
to newspaper, cell phone
or hangnail
fear and distrust
thick in the air
scattered about like
yesterday's mail

on this common commuter carrier
they're traveling the same route

home

just working folks
trying to make it all work out

they have much in common
in a way, aren't they all kin?
worn and weary at end of day,
fellows in the midst of this din?

14th Street station ahead
warns of various dangers
posted there on a column decreed

Please do not smile at strangers
I believe this is a real sign. It looks to be in the picture online.
  Mar 2018 Shanath
Bashar Abou Hawili
I hope you're finding yourself in my words because the whole world is waiting for you.
  Mar 2018 Shanath
Jeff Gaines
You …

My Love.
My Queen.
This Shining Light in my eyes.

My Laughs.
My Dreams.
My Soft, Contented Sighs.

My *****.
My Lavender.
My Dew Covered Rose.

My Smile.
My Cinnamon.
The Joy in my heart … ever inspiring my prose.

My Best Friend.
My Co-Star.
My Fearless Partner in Crime.

My Breath.
My Cohort.
My Side-kick throughout time.

My Snow-capped Mountain.
The Wind caressing my face.
My Vast Green Field.

The Ivy Covered Wall
that harbors my soul … ever refusing to yield.

You … are my Life.

You … are my World.

You … are my Everything

and I will always love you.

~Charlie Brown
If you don't know the story of Charlie Brown ... OR his "Little Red Haired Girl" you won't really get this. I was just trying to imagine that poor guy writing a poem to his ever elusive object of adoration.

Maybe this bit from Wikipedia will help explain his plight:

"The Little Red-Haired Girl is an unseen character in the Peanuts comic strip by Charles M. Schulz, who serves as the object of Charlie Brown's affection, and a symbol of unrequited love. While never seen in the strip, she appears onscreen in several television specials, in which her name has been revealed as Heather Wold."

"Charlie Brown most often notices her while eating lunch outdoors, always failing to muster the courage to speak to her. She figures prominently in Valentine's Day strips, several of which focus on Charlie Brown's hope of getting a valentine from her. Charlie Brown typically attempts to give her a valentine but then always panics at the last minute."
-Wikipedia

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All my life, I have, for many reasons, loved and related to, Charlie Brown. Lord knows my friends and family have ALL witnessed first-hand my being in situations where, like our hero, I somehow get *******, knocked down, beaten back or just plain defeated by circumstances beyond my control, all while in the midst of trying to do something heartfelt, valiant or with the very best of intentions.

I had a plastic toy of him that was, ironically, the only toy of mine that survived the house fire that took my Father, Christmas Eve 1969. I kept it until my 20's, when I was burglarized ... and the ONLY two things this person took were THAT precious, cherished toy and an object d'art piece of pottery that I had made in High School.

Oh, good grief!

(Long sigh)

I wrote this poem nearly blacked-out after an entire night of power drinking across lower Manhattan. The next morning, I woke up and found it still on my PC screen. After I read it, I almost dismissed and deleted it as too "silly" and "mushy" ... but, for some reason, I just couldn't. I eventually became so enamored with it, that I included a slightly rewritten version in my experimental short story. Find it here:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2396540/thee-longest-piece-ever-uploaded-on-hello-poetry-as-far-as-i-know-i-doubt-youll-read-it-through/
Shanath Mar 2018
When you can't find something to write of,
Find something in the written.
Reading and pondering
Still a lot to catch up on.
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