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Zywa Sep 2023
The empty chair may

not be my father's chair, but --


I do miss him now.
Song "Lege stoelen" ("Empty chairs", 2023, Wende Snijders)

Collection "VacantVoid"
voodoo Sep 2023
I never thought about love when I thought about home. never felt the pulse of it.

the sun kisses my side of the planet but never touches my skin. I try to twist the knife inside me,

write lines that gut and bleed

but not every lived moment draws pain and demands witness. not every morning

clothes itself in deep indigo and creeps in on lithe legs to sit on my chest. my breath

no longer entwines with yours — you with your feet on the ground,

rhymes and rhythms are all the same to you. you move like you know you belong,

like the very air around you

rushes to meet your limbs. and yours met mine with a reverberating heartbeat.

I tell you I never think about love when I think about home, but

to me there is no difference between going home and rushing across the state to you.

and when they start to pull apart, both moving in opposing orbits

your corner of the planet a stranger to my house,

I’ll call you, listen to your voice wax poetic about new love,

and in the silence that follows I’ll ask you,

“Is it cold there, too?”
Anais Vionet Jul 2023
If my days were fanned out in front of me,
like a magician's playing cards,
I couldn’t pick one, just one, any one
that was better for your absence.
jude rogers Mar 2023
A wanderer is here
he stays for a visit
his kindness is clear
he roams bringing good will.

But linger he shan't
his time here is quite scant
and remember you can't
what he's done for you now.

But, aye, he's yet gone
hear his troubles till dawn
take his word into notion
set new good things in motion.

Cherish these times
his presence is sure
a good indicator
of things in the future.

Wait for brand new beginnings
lest you forget these sweet things
these travelers say to make
memories, newly fleeting.

Said scant time is finished
so fast, like deep sleep
so filled, practically brimming
with concepts for morrow.

Let his wisdom surely guide you
put your old things behind you,
'tis an age of new beginnings,
and a wanderer is here.
This can serve as more than one metaphor to you, which was my intent. I don't write poetry a lot but it is nice to be able to express parts of the world in ways such as this.
Zywa Jan 2023
My darling is gone
the earth pushes tidal
tears up through the sand

sails in the east
round me, signs
upon them, I walk

for miles
to spartina and seepweed
and fro to the beacon

build a stone tower there
break stone for stone
read word for word, listen

and build writing and
singing sentence for sentence
our love again
Collection "Foghorn"
emily Sep 2022
I sometimes wonder why you were often too afraid to meet my eyes when we were in public.

Were my clothes too scruffy and did I look too unkempt to be associated with you?

Was it because I get too carried away when I talk and my emotions light up my face as if they cannot be contained.

Maybe because I tried to hold you tight and keep you safe.  

Even though I would love to sit down by your side and ask all the questions I have bottled up, I understand that I may never see you again.
i understand that I may not get any closure from them so the words that iwright are my goodbyes
Coleen Mzarriz Jul 2022
Of serene eyes that follow gently
the illicit pill she could not let go
it was heavy as the waters pulling her inside
serenading her with an estranged voice
coming from within —
her minimizing the desire to let it out
as the sun quiets down
and the gibbous moon exhibiting itself at night,

resisting the waves occurring —
as if it loathed her whole being
of her justness and the absence of these causes
her grieving and the sirens waltzing,
talking through an absentminded eye
eyeing her soul
finding love that seizes it
but hers were two feet and one mouth to breathe in
even in all shades of blue,
she can get a glimpse of the dark hue
illuminating the downside of the ocean
pulling her, wrecking her soul.

Redemption does not lie —
humoring her with plainly just truth
craving for the applause of the moon
only observing the depth of the ocean
eating the once alive soul
of her saving her last breath,
chiming in with the conversation, she
once had with him.

It could have been nice the resistance
he once had — to throw himself out
to the beauty of his light that shed
her whole body
he once was able to have
and he stayed there, eyed her the whole time
being eaten on the lonesome of the night
for he himself, shading all the blueness
like a requiem for the dreams
she kept on having
like a composition giving life
to new generations, he was still on
a token and a curse, and he let her be —
in all shades of blue.
Wrote something again. Thank you.
i cant stand another tear upon my face
derived from the absence of you

the drops from my eyes
burn holes into my heart
until i am nothing but a numb soul
They think Absence is a cruel mistress
A gorgon with brass talons who rends our bonds
And eats our hearts
Dousing flames
and snuffing out all the candles we lit together

But she is a gentle gardener
Sowing seeds of strength with calloused, work-toughened hands
Watering desire with the dew of distance
Counting day after day until the fruit of reunion is
Ripe and sweet and tender.
719/730
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