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John Van Dyke Dec 2021
He carved a headboard out of pine
And shaped it til’ a bird-shaped thing
Emerged. And then, he thought,
‘One could do worse
Than sleep beneath an angel’s wing’

‘Perhaps this wing will keep me safe
When darkness comes, when lights are dim
I’ll think of Psalms and sleep’, he said
But little did he know
What Heaven had in store for him

Until the day his daughter came
And with  her  daughter, rested there
And then he knew a miracle
Had waited patiently to come
In answer to his wooden prayer
Heaven sent my daughter, Elizabeth.
Path Humble Jul 2020
~for Dante Rocio, who shares visions~

-from where does inspiration come from?

intimacy with the inanimate,
the population of objects,
coarse, beauteous that provoke,
the museums, the gutter, the worn,
the just unrealized, imagined,
learning to speak hearts
to speak the heart language

from animated blood, eyes, taste buds,
when you pass thru the molecules of me,
by contact real or imagined,
desperation, satisfaction organic,

where do these questions arise,
the answers as well,
they are tangible, yet intangible,

a notion indistinct,
an untraceable path,
hidden routers,
deflecting reflecting,
even a current direct,
invisible to the naked

from where?

a fair question,
answers, unreliable,
for in the forming,
the froming
is always

June 2014
𝐣𝐢𝐚 Jun 2020
all my questions,
were all unanswered.
when will be the time,
i can finally go outside,
and be free,
knowing that i have
all the answers
to the questions i've
been looking for?

for so many years,
i tried to search.
for all the answers,
that my questions longed for.

maybe, i should've not tried
to find the answers,
but to just sit down,
and think,
that i,
am the only one,
who answers all the
questions i've asked.
this was so random, but hopefully someone will understand what i mean. I am not good at poetry, but i try to make it look clean. My choice of words are very boring, but please do understand that i am trying. (this rhymed, and no, i did not make that on purpose **** might post that ***)

-jia m
Ken Pepiton May 2020
Just in case

What if Eve, as an easy lable for YMRCA, were

the first wombed man with wit to make her will known,

What if she could sing, and smile, wink and
blink and look away,

coy, from the crib.

She steals, so'ld say the tales, her daddy's heart, but not so fast

this is, say 120 KYA, as current model mortals mark time
since most recent common mom... walked balanced, upright...
I bet she could dance and sing... but
some reason or another, now

no offspring of any mom alive when YMRCA walked, walks now.

Not upright, ya sher... maybe eve was the only wombed man.

What if, any of that, but this is a strue as we may know...

all construed facts point to life being
not as simple as a boom... though there are ways to end it,
as we say we well know,

we've seen the cancers... mental deranging during mind wandering,

we have heard the stories,
Hydes who remained,

but only Post-mortal Marvel has myths where Hyde is the happy side.

Silly, I would love to have friends.
But no stupid people, none un willing to use a word of the day
to escape a bout of ignorant rage

-- Brubeck, Sonny... yeah like the Sundance Kid's prison flick,
-- but Sonny was a first gen Jesus Freak,
with one of those, at will, eididic memory's.
He also owned the first digital watch I ever saw. I thought he was rich.

In a rage, Sonny once screamed in my hearing,


as orderly types were taking him, strapped to gurney,
to Camarillo State Hospital,
a truly beautiful place for solitary rememberence
of everything
you ever said or did. Like, the window of your soul

become the big screen, with no body projected there...

all around me everyone is not there...

then I see, I guess, this is a way that prayer was remembered as

Sonny slowly rose to re
ify a present with other people in it, but masked.
Toying with madness.
Poetic T Sep 2019
My hello's
           were never enough to
you coming to me...

But my goodbyes kept you
                      for that lingering
taste of what you didn't want.

But in the end I never answered
                                the door.

(knock, knock)
       my heart is with holding its number.

The lines dead, Ill never say hi, goodbye...

                 that moments...….

But I have peace of conscious,
                   peace of mind..
      now your not in my thoughts.
Diksha Prashar Aug 2019
My questions
are unanswered
doubling them in number
I tumble
uncertainty entered
confusing and fooling
My inner crasis
I fumble
questions rumbled
one after one
without a stumble
I laid them all
waiting them to be
answered that’s all
Meeting after long period
Meeting after long absent
She had asked
He had asked
"why did you late?"

She answered
To gather my thought
To feel how I demand
You when you are absent
Or even you are present

He said,'
To see myself
Equal to you to give
The happy you dream and want
As you are the most brilliant
I had ever acquitted
the love makes every word good and the time passes vryeasy
onlylovepoetry May 2019
have I? answered all your questions save one?


the known’s and the unknown multinational multitudes

do you comprehend within my means
to be
the man that can be moved

the when is up to you
the why yet, a wonderful mystery

the imagery of a plucked ****
man emits an ouch
but the spring bulbs tense fragrance,
a call sign for new missions
science need answers,
now, that I can no longer hide
in black holes

you can stall till the fall
more questions to pair the man against himself,
poetry by command
for the curious possibilities
of dear,

save one

7:12am 4-11-19
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