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embrace the
infinite waves crashing
creating, destroying
melting into one
 Sep 2018 Wanderer
Poetoftheway
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)




<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
 Sep 2018 Wanderer
Elioinai
I take my pictures from an angle
to hide my crooked teeth
to make my face seem more symmetrical  
I never take a picture of my head’s profile
My chin disappears when viewed from left or right
And so the mole near my right ear is never visible
 Jul 2018 Wanderer
T
Sun to the moon
 Jul 2018 Wanderer
T
As the sun sets over the water on this hot summer night
If I was not all alone it would be alright
As the moon glisten off the ocean
I am quite sure it was a love potion
That's taken control of me
It might be over the horizon I can't see
All the beauty in just one night this has happened only one other time
It was one hot July night just like this
And it always ended with a goodnight kiss
But now my side is bare
Deep inside I know you care
Sleep well with the moon so bright
And may the Angels watch over you Every night.
#The sun will rise as it always sets
I would give all my worldly goods,

Just to spend one day, on the banks of my youth.

Swimming across the river Blackwater, the deepest hole,

The Bullworks, the river, was my second home.


I'd dive from the board to reach rock bottom,

That first drink was years away,

My young blood was pure and flowed like red wine,

My mind was as clean as the water I swam in.


But life intervened , and changed all that,

I reached rock bottom, miles and years from the swimming hole.

I sunk to the bottom.

Crimson   blood , that once flowed like red wine,

Clogged up and tainted, often made  me act like a swine.


I'll never forget that old swimming hole,

when life was as simple , as a Pencil and ruler,

and a Jig-Saw puzzle, was an Apple computer.


By Holly Barrett
 Jul 2018 Wanderer
Path Humble
left my phone unlocked
on the taxi’s back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"


to which I replied,

"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"


and with an equally, beaming smile I continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was


Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...
or my knowledge thereof and it’s
proper pronouncement,
nor
his amazement,
to disguise!

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving,
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
single
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim


^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

FYI,
NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sixth-new-york-city-cab-driver-dies-suicide-after-struggling-n883886

true story, poetry is there for the taking
 Jul 2018 Wanderer
Survived
She promised me that she would always be there with me
and she does what she promised

Her memories never let me feel her absence.
i don’t like myself
i don’t like that i just give myself up for a sliver of his attention
a sliver of affection
a second of his eyes on mine and then he’s gone again
“once he’s seen me this way he will only see me this way”
my inner voice pleads
but what my insecurity needs
my dignity cannot supply
so i lie in the bed i made
 Jul 2018 Wanderer
Farook Suyarov
day holds me in cage,
night sets me free
from the burden of identity,
the necessity to be me.
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