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pea Aug 19
the clouds grow heavy
and now the rain falls softly
the animals dance
a haiku! the inspo was from another limerick i wrote when i was ten
J J Jul 28
Lift the crumb-sized bit to your lips,
Hesitate until it's too late for hesitation,

Fold to tongue and absorb those tasty, harlmess
Spider footprints and germatic warzones.
I thought I'd already posted this.
LL Hamilton Jul 25

"Can I do that for you?"

"Here, let me take care of it."

"Don't worry honey, I took out the trash already."

More than silence.
Space. Freedom. The radiant light crossing the distance between the worries pressing your spine and a task checked off by someone else when you weren't looking.

It is an air valve popping loose.
A throat suddenly choked up even as the tension melts away from your muscles. Sacrificial love replacing the items on your to-do list, one by one. Your mind free to think again, to live again.

An oasis in a blinding desert, planted by another person, fertilized with their perception, and watered with their care.

It's not just that a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. It's that you're now weightless.

They have shouldered your burdens with a tender smile.

They have helped you learn to fly again.
Love Languages Series: II - Acts of Service
MoonBunny Jul 17
Haven't replied in 4 days,
Wish you would've done an effort,
To understand me.

But you didn't.
Shrika May 3
I pieced it back together,
It took me forever,
It's still fragile,
I'm trusting you,
Please don't break it again,
I don't think I can fix it this time.

I can't afford another forever.
August Jun 10
some days are green
envy or fear

some days feel like
an attempt
a wish

and some days are nothing
no time spent,
or lost
just a void of thought
Poetoftheway May 5
The Cost

“5 minutes to write, 5 minutes to edit and 10 more to cease weeping,”
when the inquiry arrives, how long/where from it comes,
gave this answer

more or less the response accurate
more or less the weeping really never ceases

I will return to it again, **** poem
random when, unreasoned why, wherefore
a stumble, a message, months from now, tomorrow,
even decades and I’ll remember the precise circumstances

for each poem has a Cost, that excises a piece of you, a new cut,
freshly salted, an antibiotic of loving may remove the
redness, but not the white line, so what you call a scar, I,
I call it an etched memory preserved

the sum of all These Costs, all these memories,
cumulative, additive, addictive - someone says:

stop being so sensitive, leave the telling to others,
or keep them in plastic bags, dated, retrievable,
in case an antiretroviral antidote is ever needed,
a fresh injection when you think you could even
cease to care

The Cost is always capitalized, for the Cost is called human capital,
the invisible financing that permits our existence till all spent,
when we’ve run out of drawer space, zipper bags,
breaths to be taken away and glass jars to store them,
if the mind says no more! then it will be ok,
for you are all spent

The Cost so great! this a double entendre,
for they are the stuff of me, whatever greatnesses
I ever possessed within them kept and believed,
happily paid for past and present, for the future,
will happily pay for it right now, again and again,
for the Costs are who I am, till, such time that
Costless arrives, eyes closed, nothing left to post,
to recall, no coin to give, my purposed all paid,

as if all paid could ever cause my weeping to cease

Mon May 4
10:48 am
that you can surely shuffle your miserable untested
vocabulary into never been heard before combo’s,

your insights have never transversed in my blood stream,
a poem unheard, yours, a transfusion of not-my-blood type

you are special in life, in love, in pain, in sad madness,
only you can feel primarily and primitive, all of us, tertiary

does the optimist mock you?

most certainly not.

poems are allusions, born each time, first time, summary illustrations
of eyes, mouth, all your sensations together, make a messy birth canal

your first is our first as well, make the risk-taken a celebration,
newness is a gift unique, bond us to your children issue nouvelle

with insolence of the blind beggar, a teasing teaspoon of outrageous
good fortune, a fist hammering breakthroughs of pain and glory

my words have been tasted by thousands of thousands,
a fleeting glory that is instantly lost to the crumbling
dissatisfaction that all that your needs, your findings, solutions,
the breaking of the chains of your boundaries, drawn by imposition,
the fragility of the lines that contour your image, make you nothing, are nothing more than just another poet which is the most,

most glorious honor one can proudly bestow upon oneself
No. 5
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