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Laokos Jul 2019
born from a splitting
ache in the back-left of my head
like a drill bit whirring in an empty paint can.

i'd give you pearls for hands my love,
ever-winter washing over our foaming cerulean eyescapes.  

inside your drums I hear
a pulse that cries for
hips and thorns entangled
under your
navel.  

one more summer breath from lung to lung
exchanged
under moonlight for the promise of elevation.  
you are not
who you say you are
my dear - you are a
future memory
stalking sweetly today under the guise
of novel pleasure , but time will
reveal your skin to me
under the electric lavender
of my
eyelids.

you are wood grain
and strata -
born too, it seems, from a splitting.
be-no-one Jul 2019
I live in a series of perpetual moments
this is not a choice
I was born this way
So when I miss someone
every moment feels like eternity
on the other hand
I could not see someone for many years
and I can continue our last conversation
as if it were yesterday.❤️
everyday i ask myself what should i do
lose motivation in a wrong simulation
was i born this way
all the pain i have
finally make me alive

the more i grow
the more that i knew
i don't want to live with no problems
i want to live to solve the problems
that's what make me alive
this is how i grow
the pain wouldn't go away
someone will take my happiness
how painful must it have been?
this is a poem to myself. you don't have to suffer alone if you feel depressed.
onlylovepoetry Jun 2019
Natalie!
at present I am present on a small isle,
which is so green genteel
to the eyes and the ayes,
you might include it
among yet unmastered possibilities,
living here forever.

indeed, the crescent beach so welcoming that
francais et l'anglais des anglaise is spoken here,
but actuality
has a way of intruding,
like
Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Bleu,
saying I know you,
even if it doesn’t

this breeze bearing load suggests your name
as a candidate for future, honours, an MBE,
a practiced curtsy for a queen,
whatever is he babbling about?

why I am presenting an outline for a screenplay that
will make you a little rich and somewhat fameuse
so you buy a house on the water,
party all night,
write in the miracle wonder of the late afternoon
on a summery isle,
modestly hungover

say!

where is this isle so sheltered,
where nooks are set aside for poets and drunks
to pub crawl, to stand on tables and Irish sing of
those things that poets endlessly babble?

so add :

come here and let us listen to all your possibilities
and cross just this one,
your presence here,
off the list
N E Waters May 2019
And then I wrote this one about my grandmothers and not knowing one of them-

Born a ghost
Born of ghost
Born to know
The inheritance
Of holes
In borne shone there
Where the emptiness
Grows

You made me,
Borne in wanting
Waiting
For magic
So Ill defined it can’t be known
Magic
Made
In river dirt and rocks and
Loneliness
Me
Child of the void
In you

In
   finite
Trapped
               But ever expanding celestial
To what I can never know,
Never understand
But know
                  That I am missing

Lesser
Wanting
Unbroken but not whole just—
                                                     holey.

Here, I cling
To rafts made
Lashed together of rituals fragmented by time
And space
And here on the ocean,
Stormy seas
I’ll wash swept
Slung to symbolism crashing on the rocks,
Weathered

And is it my solid bits, buoyant with *******
That keeps me afloat
Or the hole
That is home in me.

But then again—ghosts don’t drown
I was born dead at sea.
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