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Jason Jan 2021
Words pour from my heart
Staining the page crimson
Shaking hand spatters ink
Pens azure life-blood leaking
Rhythmic refuge reverie
Beatboxed spittle
Tears accompany
Washing ink-blood
Into drumstick-pen dents
Petite purple puddles
Small seas of sadness
Storm-tossed soul
A sailor searching
Three-ring horizons
For spiral-bound cyclones
© 01/25/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

Writing, like music, is a refuge to me. Writing is the only means I posses of giving physical form to the constant storm inside me. The act of translation from soul/heart/mind to written word can heal and destroy. Indeed, one might think one must be destroyed in order to be created anew. Scars support this theory.
South City Lady Nov 2020
words flutter as fireflies
flicking the glass
anxious, incessant,
nagging my sleep
berating decisions,
lamenting shortcomings,
tapping upon every insecurity
until they are spoken, liberated
from the heart's sarcophagus
I watch them fumbling through air
spiraling madly, luminescent
in their liberty, twirling
upon night's velvet cape
then dissipating into the ether
of forgotten memory
as thoughts expire
and settle into the fragrant satin
of freshly stained dreams
An ode to the  sleepless nights of this week, of this pandemic, and the ways we acknowledge and wrestle with our restlessness through poetry
Zyxia Oct 2020
The set of the sun, and end of the day.
The fall into night, and into its fright.
When I hold you, everything is alright.
We’ll hug through the sun, through night and through day.
And, at the end of the day, I’d have it no other way
Poem about a friend's stories with self-harm that I wrote yesterday. Edit: early line break on this, too. "Day" isn't supposed to break.
Is it just another perspective?
Or is it a much broader lie?
Is it what makes you fly into the sky?
Or is it that something that helps you through the night?

Is it just an expression of thoughts?
Is it just some feelings that you bought?
For someone, from someone?
Or is it everything that you sought?

Is it like writing your life script?
Or yet another piece of paper that you ripped?
Is it just some words you could gather?
Or is it out there forever,
Once you pieced those words together?

Is it just a combination of phrases and words?
Or is it expounding on a fairy tale that you heard?
Is it just a mysterious experience?
Or is it something more serious?

Is it an escape from this cruel world?
Or is it a declaration of truth with a banner unfurled?
Is it like God speaking through you?
Or is it always within you?
Maybe in different forms and styles,
Something that makes you stop and stay awhile?

Is it a catharsis of a tragedy?
Or something to help you keep steady?
Is it ever hostile?
Or does it always makes you smile?
What is poetry for you?
Lingua Franca Aug 2020
Not only do our lives matter Black is more than a life that matters.
Black is beautiful in every way shape and form.
Why do you steal it and call it yours?
Why now do you tell me I look wrong?
Black is strong.
You love me in sport and when I play but when I am walking and moving I’m scary and and in your way.
Black is intelligent in every age
Why do you tell me that it’s strange for me to behold and engage.
To educate
Black is interesting yes
But do you go and **** precious diamonds pat artefacts?
Black is brilliant I know
But why do you dull my gleam with your fingerprints all on my fro

Black is enough
Black is enough
Black is
Dom Smith Jun 2020
The year has passed, and I’m okay.
Let’s keep on, keeping on.

I look back on a year gone by, as I’ve learned about myself,
why this ‘n’ that happened - introjected values and such.

Success isn’t the world,
You can’t be nice all the time,
it’s not good to hide feelings away…
Oh man, I’m glad as well,

I’ve always had that empathy (for others).

Things have changed quite a lot for me, and I’m dead proud
of that fact. I’ve started self-reflection and stopped lyin’ (to
myself, and everyone else), despite this, sometimes I still feel

like cryin’, because of who I used to be.

That’s okay, because now I’ve got that empathy (for myself),

I’ve learned to ME with more respect,
More of that Unconditional Positive Regard.
It’s a work in progress for sure,
But I mean, it’s a start?
The year has passed, and I’m okay.
Let’s keep on, keeping on.
A reflective poem about my first year training to be a counsellor.
Alek Mielnikow Jun 2020
if there is pain
there is hope
but if you are numb
you'll never know
if you can cry
please do
if you want to cry
please do

by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
The poem has nothing to do with Yemen, but to update you on that, the situation in Yemen is getting much worse, which is odd and unfortunate to say considering what the situation is already.

A ceasefire between various forces, which began because of the outbreak of Covid-19, has ended, and with its conclusion the country has erupted into violent clashes.

The Houthi rebels are reportedly hiding the severity of the Coronavirus outbreak among their territories, making it more difficult to aid.

And UNICEF is reporting that its $479 million appeal for Yemen is less than 40% funded, and unless it receives $30 million by the end of June, operations concerning WASH - Water, Sanitation, And Hygiene - will have to shut down. "This means UNICEF will not be able to provide fuel to operate water pumping stations, or de-sludge sewage, or maintain crumbling water and sanitation infrastructure", Marixie Mercado, spokesperson for the agency. "It means we will not be able to distribute basic family hygiene kits that include soap, which is so critical for preventing both cholera and COVID in a context where millions don't have access to hand-washing facilities."
How can you help? Assimilate, donate, and spread awareness, or ADaSA.

If you go to my Instagram account, @alekthepoet , in my bio there's a link to a Linktree, and the first two boxes will provide you with information on what is going on. The first link will take you to a report by Human Rights Watch, and it details the travesties that make up the crisis. The second link will take you to a report by the Council on Foreign Relations, which goes into detail on the political and military side of what is happening and why.

The other boxes provide multiple reputable organizations that you can donate to, or aid in other ways. As you can tell from the information above, those trying to provide aid need money and resources, and they need them soon, so if there is anything you can donate, or you can ask someone else to donate, please do.

Finally, letting others know lets them do the above. Whether that's just bringing it up in conversations, reposting on various social media sites, or sending the information in a large newsletter, it will all help if you direct them to learn and donate.
Am I doing anything else besides the above?

Yes. I will contact various people in the US Congress to get something going there, both in offering more aid and stopping the supplies of weaponry to the Saudi Arabia military. I know it sounds vague to say "get something going", but it's more complex than that and I promise there's more to it and that there's a reason for my vagueness.

I am also putting together a fundraiser, of which the proceeds will go to the organizations above and will include shirts, stickers, and a catchy slogan that can help us in raising awareness. I'm in the logistics phase, so bear with me, and in the meantime donate to the organizations directly because they desperately need it now.

But I hope to have it up and running soon.
Hopefully the above info helped. And I hope you enjoyed the poem, which is still what I do, though less these days.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
To Please The Poet
by Michael R. Burch

(for poets who still write musical verse)

To please the poet, words must dance—
staccato, brisk, a two-step:
Or waltz in elegance to time
of music—mild,

To please the poet, words must chance
emotion in catharsis—
Or splash into salt seas, descend
in sheets of silver-shining

To please the poet, words must prance
and gallop, gambol, revel,
Or muse upon a moment—mute,
obscure, unsure, imperfect,

To please the poet, words must sing,
or croak, wart-tongued, imagining.

Originally published by The Lyric. Keywords/Tags: musical, poetry, rhythm, rhyme, meter, sing, dance, waltz, emotion, catharsis, passion, music, adagio
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