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Maria Apr 12
It’s stuffily. The heat’s compressing my temples.
There’s no place to go. Summer’s in power.
I can’t sleep at all. Insomnia’s hurting my eyes.
It’s like I won’t sleep until the early hours.

All windows are opened, but there’s no breeze.
Oh, how long this night is dragging on!
I remember you said “Bye” to me someday
And just went off somewhere, not cared on…

It’s stuffily. It’s sleepless. I want to drink.
My eyes are like two all-fired huge *****.
You thought I’d be crying and begging in tears.
And I’m so tired of you and your rancors…
This poem is autobiographical in many ways.
Thank you very much for reading this poem! 💖
Wayward fedora
Shimmies in the breeze
Treetops
If nothing else,
At least the spring is coming.
My soul may fade like winter,
But at least the snow melts.
I may disappear into the last breath of winter breeze,
Still spring is on its way.
It has to come already it has been winter for too long
Immortality Mar 10
Petals in the breeze,
swirling around trees,
cherry blossom dance.
:)
Room temp black tea,
Jingling house keys,
Little whispers of morning trees.

Quaint feeling of tranquility,
Walking among the preserved fall leaves,
A small nip of chill in the breeze.
There's something about a Monday morning.
Asher Nov 2024
Whispers in the breeze,
Leaves pirouette, gold and red,
Autumn sighs softly.
ivan Nov 2024
some scars never leave you.
just like the strong branches of a tree.
you carry them.
i will forever feel the branches

some memories never leave your mind.
just like the gentle breeze
they wander.
i will forever feel the breeze

its heavy, im tired
but you..
you make me wake up for a day
i remember a lot
ivan Nov 2024
a feather,
soft and light as the wind.
it is carried by the soft breeze, and it has seen everything. (are you SURE?)

dear feather, haven’t you seen?
the star that shines for me
‘no, it’s not for you. it’ll never be.’
and the feather wanders and wanders, seeking to see everything.

dear feather, haven’t you seen?
the art that i am opens its eyes for me
‘no, it didn’t. it never will.’
and the feather was once again, pushed by the soft breeze of the morning.

dear feather, haven’t you seen?
the chains that trapped my mouth were parted
i bite now
‘even if you did, it’ll just hurt more. the cycle continues and you earn nothing with it.’
but the feather didn’t wander, the breeze seemed to stop.
(better luck next time)
some say that the abused becomes the abuser
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2024
comes on shore, from heated airs,
over a far away ocean,
steals in with quiet hands,
no thunderous  clapping,
gently lifts, shakes, the
woman’s long tresses,
making them an
even bigger
tangled messes

the irises standing proud ‘n tall,
with their quiet applause, mm
at the unfolding playlet observing,
verdant spectacular every coloration,
the sky spinning clouds,
the lapping  waves keeping rhythm,
that everyone
hears differently,
and all the discordant
cacophonous agitations
blends harmoniously
and everybody smiles,
everyone grins,
all knowing that the
all~knowing just

sneezed
wrote this to remind myself that I
can still write a summer poem
even if it is November 2nd at
9:41 on a sunny, but chilling  morning
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