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Sometimes poetry is like a war:
Even though you're so tired and small,
You put your strained muscles back to work,
Overcoming and jumping the walls.
And when you've literally run out of strength
In this wild and insane pursuit of truth
Either rise to the challenge – or quit,
But quitting is also death.
Graff1980 Dec 2020
It’s not rocket science,
and should be obvious.
Life is constantly changing,
bringing with it new forms of adversity.

So obviously we should meet
all of these new challenges
by embracing diversity,
learning how to see things differently
and growing into better
brighter human beings.
Kriti Gupta Nov 2020
I whisper in the wind
Searching for the sun to win
I’m a pretty sunflower
Won’t you pick me for your whims
Shakti Asana Oct 2020
air
you are a breath, fresh of it

blast
make me laugh

breeze
keep it easy

cyclone
hasty hurtful words
followed by
gales
of forgiveness

gust
oh!

blow
in my ear again

breath
taken away with a kiss

chinook
summer breeze
makes me feel fine

draft
make me shiver

flurry
my insides 

flutter
my heart

mistral
we're rarely that cool
toward each other
unless (see: cyclone)

puff
the magic dragon

tempest
stormy passion

typhoon
come into the eye my darling

wafting
scent of love

whiff
when we blow it

whirlwind
us.
by definition.

whisk
me away

zephyr 
gentle me again

This is, in so many words, 
The rarefied air 
we are privileged to breathe

Deep draughts of love.
Between you and me.

Breathe with me.
My beloved.

Breathe.
I challenged myself to write a poem based on synonyms for "draught" (pronounced "draft") and this was the result. Dedicated to my anam cara, my soulmate, my muse. Thank you for reading.
South City Lady Sep 2020
If we can restore vibrancy to color
stripping layers of time
to render art new
then can we lift sound particles
from memories
laid down decades before
dab a pen over words
slandering our hearts
eliminate critical noises
that chastise
til all we recognize
is a blank slate of static
where WE select
rhythm and pace     
            
compliments      feeding our lives' diorama  

                 beliefs              entangled    
                                    between      
                                              heartbeats

we become the artist
         the symphony playing remastered tunes

Stay Strong    
                                  You are Valuable
And, most importantly,

           You Deserve to be Loved
If we can challenge old thoughts that debilitate our efforts and rewind time's old cassette tape to the very beginning, what dreams might we record, what promises to ourselves might we keep?  BE KIND TO YOUR MIND
Norman Crane Sep 2020
black lives matter so
black lies matter so
dive in deep waters to
die in deep waters to
be seven as the samurai
be seen as the samurai
your mind curved
your mind cured
starve and
stare and
carving your name in history make
caring your name in history make
the world: invert
the world: inert
an ideology to believe
an ideology to belie
The challenge here was to start with a line, then make the next line the same but for the subtraction of one letter (in this case, v) and follow the same pattern for the duration of the poem.
When we met, I was Blue,
Shaking, trembling, sobbing
I was the Pacific Ocean;
Cold and withdrawn.

You said hello, and I was Yellow.
A happy, carefree, summergirl.
Yellow as buttercups, as the sun
Warm and caring and healthy.

As I fell, I turned Orange
A warm and comforting love
A cosy couple, a mug of apple cider couple
And a pile of fallen leaves couple.

I turned Gray when winter came
And chased you away from me
I was cold and lifeless once more
But without me, you were also Gray

We came together a second time
And I was Red as the setting sun
Red as roses, Red as the blood in our veins
Red as the hearts that beat for one another once more.
Day Two of the 30-Day Poetry challenge. Prompt: Colour Personified
Upon my beating heart
A little bird perches and trills
Of life’s many wonders
And its numerous thrills

Of love and war, I hear him sing
Of how war does hurt
And of how love does sting

Of loss, he chirps,
And of bloodshed, of death
But it’s my love he sings of
With a final shuddering breath
Doing a 30-day poetry challenge, and I figured I'd start now.
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