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 Apr 2015 Star G
Reverie Dawson
Why does pain have to control so much of life?
The sickness, misery we all feel.
It captures us.
It sits in our brain, breaking us down seconds at a time.
It stings and rips me of my wings of freedom.
And leaves us left feeling alone and abandoned.
Pain strips me of my wings...my only delight.
The shadow of a arrow follows me.
Waiting for me to say when the pain is too much.
When the pleasures of this life are gone from me and I can't see the smiling gleeful faces of yesterday anymore.
Tomorrow sorrow itself will mourn with me.
Pain strips us all of ourselves.
Blinding us from the exhilarating, fascinating, contentment of this world.
But was there ever contentment in this world?
Or was it the sorrow that made us think like that?
Like this world can make us happy...
No.
The pain has stripped me of everything but has opened my eyes, to the cries of the lost.
 Apr 2015 Star G
Sally A Bayan
(haiku x 4)



Sun hides...dips lower
Moon and stars deck the dark sky
Dusk is upon us

Lights.....softly glowing
Drawn curtains are a pale screen
Casting drooping forms...

Voices fill the air
Night, patiently hears the moans
Shame fades at dusk...for,

Dark unites shadows
Cicadas join the whimpers
Wind...comforts the soul...


Sally

Copyright February 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
 Apr 2015 Star G
Marieta Maglas
In fall, the trees watch
The rise of some butterflies,
When the leaves fall down,
'Cause they have the same color,
But a distinct sense of flight.
Marieta Maglas
 Apr 2015 Star G
Donall Dempsey
Paris pines
for us:

...whines for us.

Lurks outside
our window

like a great big
urban puppy.

We're being held
prisoner

( inside our room )

by a vicious sadistic
flu bug

who refuses to
let us go.

We are missing
David Sirosis's

new spoken
word night.

Indeed, all we have seen
of Paris, is:

the inside of
ROOM 411.

ROOM 411
overlooks that famed necropolis

CIMETIÈRE DE MONTMARTRE.

The dead stand
outside

ROOM 411
...and stare.

And...stare.

Envious of even
our flu-ridden life.

They crowd together
in their stone telephone boxes

like fans
at a Dr. Who convention

who have all come
as the Tardis.

"Come...come!"
they cajole.

"Come...join us as
the glorious dead!"
they plead.

See the great
Nijinksy

leap over a moon.

Offenbach, Berlioz et Degas
act a a celebrated Greek Chorus.

The flu grows weary
let's its...grip...slip &

we escape to
a poetry stage &

suddenly it's
PARIS LIT UP &

I'm on
stage.

A bemused amused
Parisian audience

wondering why
the staggery hairy

Irish post stumbles &

wanders in search of
his words &

carrying all of CIMETIÈRE DE MONTMARTRE
about in his ahhhhh...ahhhhh...ahhhhhhhhhh

....shoooooo....head!
https://youtu.be/8t2K_AovpAI
 Apr 2015 Star G
Justin S Wampler
Two days is a long time to have you back in my
digital life, and I don't know if unblocking you
is even worth it.

Because I'll be too scared to look at who
you've become, but I know you'll see my
existence in it's entirety.

I'm afraid of you, love.
I'm afraid of your love.
I'm afraid of love.
I'm afraid.
 Apr 2015 Star G
Lorraine DeSousa
And when your world is feeling so low,



Think of a few things written below.



For each life lived, there is a yin and a yang,



And for each moon that’s cried, a sun has sang.



As storm clouds roll, natures fireworks show,



In muddy water, a lotus flower will grow,



After the hardest climb, you will see the best views,



And try to climb sometimes, in another ones shoes.



When darkness descends, the stars start to twinkle,



And for each new wisdom, maybe one more wrinkle.



Behind each grey cloud, the sun still shines



After a volcanic diatreme, come the diamond mines



In the depths of the ocean, a coral garden blooms,



Venus’s jealousy stained the lilys perfumes.



Inside a rust mound precious gold appears



And a deep freeze will bring snowflake tears.



It’s a yoyo life, with darkness and light,



Through each short day and each long night,
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