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Wyatt May 19
Heard this revelation
repeat inside my head,
nothing really matters
and nothing ever stays.

Always been myself
and always by myself,
always left behind on the shelf
to collect dust while everything
and everybody else feels brand new.
Never was the type to choose,
I was always sitting idle,
procrastinating til' the
moment came and it went.
Parzival May 11
At this point it feels like I'm just phasing through time
Phase one, lesson one, experience obtained
Unto the next
I slow down once in a while, to appreciate the warmth of sun
The freshness of the air, the sound of silence
Growing up, I heard the saying "enjoy the little things"
I felt it was just that, a saying
Now everything feels distant and those "little things" are my only true connections with reality

I wish I could tell my grandfather that I understand
I understand why he loved walking and sitting among the trees
I understand why he'd stand and stare at a lake for hours at a time
For that is, that truly is, living
Life is too short and the "big things" don't come as often as we want

I go through each day as it comes and accept what it has to offer, good or bad
When night time comes, I lay and rest
Till the next, a reset
And it begins again
I am phasing through the Days
Sometimes it feels pointless
Sometimes it proves it worth
Take what you get
Appreciate what you have
For the days won't wait, they come, they go
Such is life.
Nat Lipstadt May 6
~for her, one more time~


she tosses this dagger that instant pierces,
non-stop, the stabbing commencing unceasingly,
the nerve, what am I, plastic, disinfected, the spring
has come to where I live, or so I am told, but the
murderous questioning extracts it, leaving a **** spot

oh god who doesn’t answer me anymore,
offer me comfort, not mere insouciance,
provide a clue, if not an answer, and tell her
to stop asking this poseur, who freely admits
that every day he is fast moving closer to over

cause that the odds the punters provide

and in the city, in my urban garden,
the pigeons, the crows, the sparrows and starlings,
only offer cooing, cawing, and
a  harsh, mocking, NYC accented cackling,
never a birdsong

we will out live you-man,  
with your batty viruses,
but they know better
than to ask,
what do you live by,
when all around me is
early blooming by decay masked,
that this spring brought too early quick,
while we were locked inside
our very own jails....

The mail train reached just before the dawn. The city was weeping for its old aborigines. Still, they keep out their invisible artworks across the walls, narrow streets and in the alleys. The smokes of the ancient cigars and weeds still boomerang even in this inexorable industrialization which only drags the civilization onto the hopeless realm. A realm that secretly mingled with west and east. An eyewash civilization of organized faith! Organized looting and organized banditry!
tried to depict what's exactly going on here.
It's better to die in a golden moment
While the heart gets lost into the open sky.
A few wordings will have lamented for me
along with your iced teardrops. Will you
puddle them all in a french makeup box
and preserve the memories for the next
Hello, everybody this is the first poem that I'm going to post here for all of you. Regards.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 15
“On Wednesday afternoon, Lynn Ungar — minister, dog trainer, little-known poet — sat down at the desk next to her kitchen table and began to type. A friend had posted something on Facebook about how much we need poetry in this anxious coronavirus age and she thought, “Yeah, you’re right.””


“Pandemic" by Lynn Ungar

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love--
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.
Cozyflowz Mar 10
Why am I scared to write,
My views are yet to be reviewed, my actions beats me off my words, I try to express my feelings but something holds me back,

My inner thoughts holds a lot to say,  am scared to write, perhaps I may write wrong about others,
I might review their secret,

this are those review am scared to write now everyone will know,
I guess I have nothing to say, let me keep my thoughts to myself, it may damage what people sees about me,

This Scriptophobia can't take my whole part away,
I know I can do this, I have to stay strong, yes I can, but I know I'm scared to write, but still I believe I can.
Afraid to share your thoughts.
A tear escaped
My eye
Shooked desire
To be alive
Found myself
On road
To justify
Why am I alive?
Still breathing
My believe
To smile
Horrendous play
Of life
Snatched away
My right
To be desired
And shine
Even in
Midst of
Fallen cry
A tear escaped
My tainted eye
Baazi-chan Jan 22
Has come...

Has gone...

Has stayed...



It all passes by...
For those people you can't keep
What can be said, about how we
conduct ourselves? Are we, now
leading by example? Do actions
reveal to others, that we can
educate, cultivate and inspire
people to be… more like Christ?

Based on experience, you’ll see
and perceive that you’re being
watched by those around you. If
you’re really enjoying yourself,
with His Presence, know that the
living dead desire signs of Life

that can… elevate them too.
Author notes

Inspired by:
1 Pet 2:1-25; Matt 5:16

Learn more about me and my poetry at the book section of Amazon (dot) com.

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2018, All rights reserved.
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