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The average person knows between 20,000 and 30,000 words.
~ and for Senor CG~
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infinite then the multiplicity of combinations,
and yet we use so few,
and the comforting ones,
we repeat unconsciously
for they apparently applicable
to the boo/hoo/who in Who Me?


messing about in poetry,
an excuse to betray ourselves
to a greater audience with
hints and provenances,
secret’s subtle
could mean
trouble


I have revealed more than
I could believe ~
not the drabfactoids
but the insights


that flesh my self~sketches,
you could ask me anything,
my answer simple and
insane~same!


if you explicitly explain
there is no fun in that,
but the clues writ large,
answering questions you
didn’t know to ask


plenty to hide, some too
well disguised

but the hints are clear enough,
to make sure you’re
asking the correct ones

so,
sorry apology
Senor Carlo
the doorknob to my spotlight clearly
visible
in the portrait of my preposterous
multi~nefarious words

no great reveal
no screaming squeal
for you to decrypt

still requires an
inning of
excavation digging,
for it’s in the over thousands of
psalms and prayers
and a few layabout
poems
who/hoo,
too*
(wink)
12/7/24
Nat Lipstadt Sep 1
this person, who reads somehow
almost every poem here deposited,
how he does it, a secret, well kept,
but hardly hidden, for he signals
his appreciation in so many ways,
and s p o t l i g h t s those who frequent
contribute, cheerleader and coach
with keen eye and sharpness of brain,
he affectively, affectionately, injects &
infects this little expanse,
this Kingdom of York,
where lovers meet,
speaking in their own
dialect of kindness…

writes himself with a uniqueness,
dare I say in his owned style?
there is never a doubt
who has authored his work,
so many superb scripts,
but his better good works,
present in his presence here,
bringing out the best of the
multiplicities of each of us

but of whom do I speak?

Why,

Carlo C. Gomez

of course!
repost his poems please
Caroline Shank Aug 2022
I am fickle.  Let's face it.
I dated a lot of guys. I was
the girl in the red sweater.
Me and my saddle shoes.
I only wore Buster Brown
socks.

Look at me now. I am awash
In pink and sometimes yellow.
I don't like red and I don't like you!

Yesterday when we got married.
No 50 years ago.  Was it really
that long?  We pledged to love
Forever.  Now Forever is a
painful scar.  You were never
remotely interesting.

"so how did you like the play
Mrs. Lincoln?"

You say I can move on but
there is no place to go behind
the purple curtain.

Is this poem finished?
It would seem

that it is.  I will take

my bows, shed the
years and put the
memories in the

cardboard shoebox with
the painted scenery,

(please forgive the
Feminine endings.)

close the door and
see

my next adventure
coming for me.

I get pills

in the night.

I am in
San Francisco

to see Ginsberg.

I dream of
poetry and sand,
swimming
naked in cold clear
water…

and I sing in
my
sleep.


Caroline Shank
This poem is not about my husband who died in May. It may be a way to escape from all the nightmare of watching Parkinsons demolish a fine man and by c
It made myself freak
For magic words of
love , read and lyric
Which brought
Me a handy hat-trick
Thanks to all including Fawn,perry, cj love, carlo c gomez, jahanti khare, poorvi, katelyn, jamdhi, ben etc. for sharing so much of their works. The read is the most powerful word  and appreciation is the biggest reward .
World Poetry Day
A Languages Promotion Way
As UNESCO Say

A Poet's Pride
Coz he never hide
Anything on his side

World's Guide
In knowing best
Imagination
Fiction &
Composition
Regards to all HP Fellow Poets on our this special day i.e. today.

— The End —