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Empire Apr 2019
What is this?
It's not Heaven
It's not Hell
Sometimes it hurts
Sometimes it heals
It's this middle place
Where we feel everything
Some days it's Heaven
Some days it's Hell
I just wish
It could make up its mind
Because on Hell days
Weeks, months, years
The hope of just one Heaven day
Is too much to bear
“The love betweenness^ a mother and her son”
when it’s healthy strong and ancient,
like this, is for me, and it seems,
for you as well, almost a supernatural force in certain ways.
I know many other women who understand this.
It’s been probably the best surprise of my life.” Medusa

sometime, a poem commission needs a quiet time rumination,
a seventh inning time out to birth a perfect game,
a mental stretch mark,
did your know your commentation was a commandation,
write me up, punch my ticket and jump back into murky waters,
where a hu-man boy child only gifted me a tertiary imagination, comprehensive incomprehension

this look upon differing and different, parenting parts of me,
with the bright den mother’s sun gazing eyes of a new motherland,
promotion to an incessant guardianship,
an ordered mathematical centrality,^
a forever buck private’s uniform shoulder stripe pointing to mom

maternal rhymes with eternal

for children go off and go on about their lives,
occasionally glancing backwards,
but a mother’s eyes are an all encompassing, an all white canvass painting that the artist continue-ously slyly forward refreshes,
forever white repainted with each perpetual glancing thought added

this mother woke, sensing her make-male creation
is a gender separate separation,
a mystery needing learning, genes requiring a crisper adult education, a breast refilling is a sharing, eye to eye,  
****** to mouth, transferring a transformation,
between a new meaningful, an analogy of understanding that
swims in both directions, across a uniting natural division that unites,  better called an open boundary

daughters are different but the insanity~same,
a poem for another day

a supernatural surprise that occurs daily,
that you rightly appel it, as ancient  is correctly unsurprising
for the knowledge is in every cell recorded, time immemorial

apologies;
my insufficient words
can’t explain this
dotted line division,
only that, I too am a student driver mother,
my son, a teacher,  a natural scholar,
the understanding we shared is instantaneous and confusing,
as we go back and forth together,
travellers tween the dotted line spaces,
absorbing his milky ways,
informations that were not obviously ****** in me, or if they were,
awaited this suckling’s coronation and education, invitation


our differences are not a true division,
but a new manner of best embracing

which is why with good humor, our private joking, is that he
is my very own  nap-ster master,^^ we are an ordered centrality^
march 31 2019 9:37am
^Definition of betweenness
: the quality or state of being between two others in an ordered mathematical set

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2714533/texas-my-very-own-nap-ster-
master/
Amanda Francis Mar 2019
When the loneliness envelops me like cold dark water, and the waves come crashing over my head.
When between tired desperate gasps for air all I can do Is release water from my mouth.
To pretend for a few seconds longer that I am able to keep my lungs safe from this storm.
When all I can feel is pain and the self-made chaos swirls in menacing clouds above my head.

I think of letting you go, of a world where contentment and nice are worn as badges.
Until I remember that no world without you in is worth waking up in at all.
So I splutter up another lungful and pray for a few more seconds with you.
Johnson Mar 2019
What is and somehow is there again
For the arms that gripped tight at the waist
Now seem to give way
To embrace this a new cold a formless shape

If life is the sum whole of one’s fleet joy
Somehow the light of life has never shone upon me  
This toil upon which vanity stole
Never again do I find such feelings arise
The death of all hope
The dreams that snuffed out

For long past memories seem to fill with hope
A promise of a chance for joy to resound again
A way to break this hold
And yet again I find myself alone as I am
In the greater distant as I choke

For in way it was never just what lies in between
What separates the two from them and me  
An endless divide for that which can never be crossed
Wanting to reach out yet the connection is invariably lost

The pain is not of the coming silence it brings
But to watch the days role by falling to their waste
Pining for what one can assume will never be
In the greater distant brought again to my knees
Anna Grace Mar 2019
In the absence of love,
feeling heartily whole
in the cavernous loss
I make home of the hole
fill the space with the grace
and the feelings of feeling the loss.
Breathtaking the space between fingers,
enfolding in empty
artistic creation in jagged lungs
no longer breathing Them in.
How lovely to be loved,
but all the more in the lonely
to see both sides and survive
standing and shaking
and to love art all the more,
to grow in understanding
I'm understanding.
Left shaking,
still standing.
kiran goswami Feb 2019
And the leftover pieces of my heart,
fit perfectly in between his broken ones.
Tammy M Darby Nov 2018
It without reservation can be said
Light on their indistinct feet these apparitions
Having no physical form

Cavorting of course with analogous kinds
Ravenous
On human emotions, they dine
Waltzing with elegance and ease
Disappearing as they please
Showcasing their unearthly skills
Rattling their chains
And moaning with glee

Ah yes it can most assuredly be said
I enjoy
Dancing with ghosts of the dead
It is the event of a lifetime
And is a rare phenomenon amongst the living

But not be envious of their steps
For throughout their existence they may never rest
It is a clandestine situation at best
Though they frolic gaily

Imprisoned between two worlds
Ignoring their dilemma
Nebulous phantoms
Continuing to whirl

Still, in good conscience, I cannot deny
Even with their trickery and constant cries
And disregarding the fact they are dead
What a delightful experience it truly is
Dancing with ghosts of the dead

All Right Reserved @ Tammy M Darby Nov. 3,  2018.
Re-Write Feb. 11, 2019
All Material Stored in Author Base.
trhey may nevr eestSo if you seek ***
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