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angel Jan 2021
I've realized everyone tells me to
let go and never look back;
but it makes me hold on tighter to
what we ha(d)(ve).
[draft] 11/09/20
I still hold onto
what I no longer have
as the clock of life
ticks away its years advance
unto a dotage
George Krokos Jul 2020
Some things don’t necessarily happen just by chance
but come about with actions we do or not in advance.
_____
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Amanda Kay Burke Jan 2019
On a road, I don't know where it leads
I don't care that I am lost
Feet are burning but I continue on
Determined to escape at all costs

I will keep going until my knees buckle
Regret following with steady pace
Broken dreams viewed in my periphreals
Cannot be fixed, salvaged, or replaced

Mile by mile, distancing myself
Unable to fully outrun lurking past
Almost is as good as I get
Have the lead for a moment but always come in last

I travel at a safer pace
I'm already immersed in danger
Desperation grows as I lift legs
Lengthy journey stretches riling anger

There is no detour to avoid my confusing thoughts
Maps behind eyes I'm striving to chart
I stumble but I still advance
I'll always follow my heart
Follow your heart but don't forget to take your brain with you
K Balachandran Oct 2018
In arrow form storks,
Wing towards the mountain at dawn;
It’s one at the tip!
Do ,do ,do

The baby says "Do"

The cats do, they do

The dogs bark do

The wolves howl do

The lions roar do

The play means do

The all creatures do

The God advices "do"

You must also do

Don't ever stop it

Do not say "that is bad

Comes ever with my luck"

You may do your luck

You do your chance

Look to the baby look!

When he tries to walk

He fails times so that

One feel that he can't walk

He may cry from hurt

Or feeling of frustrate

He tries times and times

As seeing the hope in eyes

Of all around as he tries

Do you see the ants?

They may fail for times

Of transport foods to lands

But they try many times

They can't get frustrate

Or can't ever stop that

They do their hard

To get what they want

Do you see that bird?

When he is gotten from egg

And the feather covers him

He tries to fly over spray

He may fail downword

That he might be killed

The viewer said he can't

Till he could do it

Do you see the calf?

After born, he tries to stand

His mother helps with that

Pity appears over her face

He gets happy and a hand

To be power fear all world

By his scream all are dithered

Do your best

Work very hard

See all around

Read all about

New of science

News that causes

You will be in eyes

You may get hard

You may hear worst

You must not stop

When you do your dream

When you get your wants

All point to you

All want to you

To learn them the do

How to be as you

How to advance their know

All will make you

As the star over the all
to be good must do hurt
dina Jul 2018
i'm a hard worker
sensible
persistent
i've been a hard worker
almost all my life

i get good grades
and i get rewarded

but i feel as i advance
my hard work
will not pay off
and my hard work
will not be enough
Guss Jul 2016
To Whom It May Concern:

I have been an artist since birth
but clearly not genetically.
My mother was a dentist’s apprentice,
while I was in the womb.
My father was a quirky astrophysicist
and still amidst the devils,
he is yet to find himself.  
I on the other hand make sandwiches.
I make sandwiches,
I take photos,
and I write the things that I sense
or that I think I know.
Very simple.

I have never been one to understand the American dream, but I do respect my need for it.
I knew the idealistic trend of the Internet very well,
as I was raised in Silicon Valley,
but the phrase “From rags to riches”
never really penetrated my questioning soul.
--------------
Instead,
I found that the world was my oyster
and I gregariously lived my life in the pursuit
of one-dollar oysters.
I have watched the seasons change.
I have known the plight of love
and I’m even wise enough
to lead my heart by it.
Elisa would tell you.
--------------
I have gawked at knobby shadows
falling on a wall traced out by a winter tree
and then been entranced by the odds
that I might be the one
who sought out that beauty
having been there to see it too.
But more so,
I have seen births.

I have seen the vibrancy from which life unfolds.
And I have seen the clenches of deaths fingers
wrap around the neck
of my most honored and beloved people.
I’ve seen beautiful cities fall prey to oversaturation,
I’ve watched the crashing waves
of the Pacific Ocean **** in pollution,
I’ve seen fires blaze through
the mountain sides of Santa Barbara,
and I’ve watched the shoals bats that fly
at the twilight summons from underneath bowels
of South Congress Bridge,
which is never bad.

I’ve made friends,
and I have made enemies
both of which I love.
I have been sick
then been healthy
and respect the values of their lessons.
Some of the other things I’ve seen
I’ll admit are unimportant.
--------------
But I still watch the trickling patterns of rainfall
and ponder at their stories.
I still squint at the gleam of the ocean
and beg it to tell me its origins.
I will always gaze at the sky
and I ask for a gust that might make the hairs
of my arm tingle with delight,
or nostalgic sorrow,
or anything at all.

I’ve questioned everything but what my mother told me.
Not until I turned eighteen, did I start that.
I’ve built batteries out of vinegar, aspirin, pennies
and copper wire.
I charge the insight of my peers
by poking and prodding.
I can braid hair,
I can hop scotch,
I can play the juice harp.
I fight for the underdog.
I fight for the tormented.
I speak for the scolded,
the hated,
the sad,
the abused,
the forgotten,
the forsaken,
the foolish,
the sinning,
the begging,
the beaten,
the overworked,
the shy,
the lost,
the hungry,
the bilious,
the old,
the gruesome
and the dead.

I feast on alcohol
where there is no other sustenance.
The rhythm of chagrin bounces in my chest,
as a drum would beat
in a symphony of regret.  
But I strive on
as if it was a sacrifice to the holy aliens
that made the Maya sacrifice too.
This is my blood.
It gushes from my blue veins
as I apperceive the meaning of that throbbing pulse.

I know the consequence
of the truth behind our movement.

A world founded on humanity,
imperfect and failing at all.
Life in this universe must be special.
It’s the stardust in our physical,
human elements that makes this magic true.
We ooze with the likeness of nothing else.
Our ancestors welled up with stardust
and DNA from somewhere else.
Our sweat, made up of passing galaxies,
dripping tears of organic thought
into the trickling river of time.
That alone must be something
to capture an imagination.
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