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onlylovepoetry Jul 2024
75°F & Alive & Minding the Perfection

morning mindfulness,
surrounded by perfect,
once again, may it be
forever this-a-way

I have no idea what
I’ve done to be so
blessed; and I repay
with gratitude in this
psalm hymnal, poor
though it may be,
it is genuine, poured
from within the open
confines of all I have
learned, earned, & burned;

75°F & Alive  & Minding the Perfection,
the color contrast is  an overwhelming,
an all encompassed scheme
makes neighbors,
even,
total strangers greet each
other like beloved brothers & sisters,
this heaven is infecting,
an infectious breeze of the
stillness of early morn
born and carried in our cell’s walls,
strong are the nuclei, and this
memory, this poem devotion,
this ttributary of words
flows with slowed ease,
and the
troubles are banished to the
back of the pack,
tho the line be long,
the golden oldies music
banishes them to a temporary oblivion
and within a totality of solitude alone,Ā Ā 
momentarily,
my heart,
fulsome,
yes trite but true, is crazy
overflowing,
I’m in danger of loving everyone,
for to not,
would be
criminal
if it were even a
possibility

if i could snap my genie fingers,
beware, I’d summon y’all,
a global contraction perfect,
to convent/sit beside me, your presence
welcomed with a hot beverage,
a cooling drink, for every one
always get what they w a n t

*and
yea, yeah, yeah
this is a forever & always,
only  a
love poem…
10:53am
where perfection is  the ruler….
My Dear Poet Jun 2024
ā€œI feel so sadā€, she sad.

ā€œSomeone’s muzzled happiness and locked her in a basementā€, I replied.
ā€œYou just need to find herā€.

ā€œWhat if I found her dead?ā€, she asked.

ā€Then realise this one thing…
…it took you to be alive,
to distinguish that which is dead
ā€.
Frances Marie May 2024
My shadow was eating me alive,
I was becoming an outline,
Of the person I once could recognize.
My ambitions were fading,
Goals made for dreaming,
Left me feeling.

Aching for the life I could have led.Ā Ā 
With every day that passes,
my hands feel see-through.
My gaze is glazed with dull focus.
As if I am disappearing from who I once knew.
This was 2023, some time before finally coming back. I have changed in 4 years and feel more comfortable in my body.
RC May 2024
This fleeting moment with him was so sweet
looking back on this in ten years I could probably name so many
just know it was sweet
and you were understood
and right now you are happy and warm
and the sun looks like the guitar riffs floating through your bedroom
and the dog is sleeping
and your room is messy but it's okay
because we'll take care of it later
and you are alive
and you are alive
and you are still alive
Where Shelter May 2024
Inevitable, that the circle be completed,
celebrating our seasonal return to the
sheltering abode by river, bearing winded
surround sounds to our isle of near-perfection,
where slivered tongued foamy waves deposit
new & used poems on beach, emptied from
now repurposed sea shells and hardened
conchae's, evidence that the truest inhabitants
never leave, always return, with their markers

Inevitable, that I write this in premature
anticipation, amidst the towers of babble,
& honking taxis, imitating Canadian geese,
who await our presence to refute any paper,
that we fool human claimants, before Nature
pretense of ownership, are not mere renters, albeit
but for a few centuries, which by larger definition,
is an interim short term lease, writ in invisible ink, that tho it
yellowing disappears, the orange summer heat magic revives

Inevitable, that decades of worshiping this
place, now mindbound, as temple, shrine, to
a place extant in our minds, wherever we be,
as land that owns us; here, we have buried
super~hero figurines, sanded, polished memories
of loved ones, parents, friends, adventures, times,
confusing generations, for the children of earlier
children, whose children, now too scream with glee
& courageous abandon, familiar+identical to forbears

Inevitable, that we live here, though life demands
our presence elsewhere, in our minds,* for each
year burnishes our genes with sun rays, while sand
smoothes our roughened skin, and we are only refresher
modifications of our earlier selves, when we first were
lost, and stumbled upon this grail, with shovels and
red plastic pails, with which we commenced erecting
foundations, homes, gardens and vines, and images
that are always at home in our minds, living on,

in real time…
May 3 2034
Bekah Halle Apr 2024
She passes faster than we can grasp,
We try to capture her, firm in our clasp.
But she runs right through us,
Savouring, she becomes our mistress,
She rules indiscriminately,
Sometimes, not always, distressingly.

Oh,
Mistress Time, you're full of beauty,
Admired, best in the present, free and fruity.
If we don't, we'll mourn,
And if only despaired, she will scorn.
But now, she comes alive,
Invigorated, we thrive.

Yes,
Face to face, she tells tales,
Of the dreams, places we’ll sail.
Future fantasies, we indulge,
Temptress Time, let us divulge,
Our secrets,
Worn down, we slip; more regrets.
A line inspired this poem in the series "Wheel of Time," It is surprising where promptings arise. Imagine if all our poems had a backstory shared?!
Renae Jan 2024
breathe
in deep, out long
inhale, exhale
if i inhale this medication
will i feel again?
just begin, no, sleep in
long hours, looking
watching them
scrolling,
learning survival
is all i'm interested in

one day
i'll take action
til then
days drag on
skin wilting
strength fleeting
sleep, more sleep
help, no...
i give in

get up
you're still alive
open the blinds
it's nice outside
don't you want to
start, start something
somewhere
don't close your eyes
Spicy Digits Jan 2024
For gods' sake,
Life, meet Weird.
Weird is your breath
And Weird your legacy.
Alas, You can't be alive
If You don't let Weird free.
Nickolas J McKee Jan 2024
He opens the grave,
Not to see the light.
What not can he save.
So simmered despite.
Simmering high flames,
The beast not in chains.
It’s the contempt, court,
Replaced tennis, brains.
Blasted are the aims!
Come time hacked discord…
For who fall the Duke,
From toilets to ****.
At what belief shook,
Did he die for it?
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