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 Nov 2012 Sheeda
DieingEmbers
It's a toss up
coffee or kisses
to awaken me


have both...  you say
sharing with me
caffiene painted lips
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
wandabitch
Few
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
wandabitch
Few
you are a cool breeze outside my window seal,
a tree without leaves in a winter chill,
as logic begets reason so does love in season.
as does my blushing lips.
Down we go, dutifully down.
Our faces only wear a frown
Or emotionless they crash and fall,
Because real feelings are so small.
Who cares, right?
Who gives a ****?
We do, we care. Oh what bad luck.

A shadow of Doubt creeps up behind.
We don’t intend to be unkind,
But unaware of what it means
We blunder through and tear the seams.
We’re sorry, ok?
Are we to blame?
The truth, we fear, will bear our name.

Oh we, oh why, a blissful blunder
Has yet again turned into thunder.
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
Charles Bukowski
"--you know, I've either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way
but now
I've sold my house, I've found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I'm going to have a place and
the time to
create."
no baby, if you're going to create
you're going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you're going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you're on
welfare,
you're going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,
you're going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you're going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquakes, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don't create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
Merce Bri
Spaces
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
Merce Bri
What is between fingertips when they refuse to touch?
air? Electricity? Unspoken words and promises? Feelings better left denied or not felt at all?
All the things I want from you but that I will never get? And the reasons I wont ever have them?

I watch your fingers play with a ball of paper, kneading it between your digits like fresh baked bread.
Mine do the same with my key. I pretend not to notice your hands, you most likely really don't see mine.
I wonder if you imagine my skin, instead. I know I imagine yours.

This simultaneous obliviousness this awkward use of fingers meant to caress and touch and interact.
This silent agreement to ignore our desires. This goes against every instinct I've ever felt.

I want to reach out for your nimble fingertips, to feel the roughness of them. I don't. I look down at my lonely hands.
They will never be strong enough to break the unbreakable.
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
Whiskurz
I wanted to write you a love poem
But there's nothing I haven't said
The words of love have all been used
So I'll talk about us instead

I was nothing until you came along
And showed me what love was about
You planted the seeds of passion
Where loneliness used to sprout

I never noticed the lover's moon
Until I saw it in your eyes
You even stole the star's reflection
That lights the darkest skies

I used to dread the coming rain
'Til we danced to the beat of its drops
You'd hold me close, all night long
'Til nature's music stops

I wanted to write you a love poem
Before they lay you in the ground
I tried my best to say goodbye
But I couldn't make a sound
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
Whiskurz
The Gift
 Nov 2012 Sheeda
Whiskurz
It's not in the rhymes you make
That tells one who you are
It's not what you feel inside
No matter how bizzare

It's not in the story you tell
That makes the reader cry
It's not in all the mystery
That leaves them asking why

It's not in the joy you bring
That causes them to smile
Or all the fancy words you use
Or because they love your style

It's not the tales of forgotten love
That makes the reader weep
It's not the broken promises
That someone's pledged to keep

It's not in all the anger
That flows from the writer's pen
Or the feelings of betrayal
We sometimes feel within

It's not in our descriptions
That makes the reader soar
Or the feelings of bewilderment
As we leave them wanting more

It's not in all the broken hearts
That's written across the page
The hope of being famous
Or to make the world your stage

One definition cannot define
The gift that a poem brings
A poem is so much more than that
For it is all these things
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