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Jonathan Moya Jun 2020
This soul is not a drip-dry thing.
It’s needs constant washing and wringing
to function cleanly.
It needs to tumble on high heat
to wear just right.
Hand wash it and it will shrink in protest.
Line dry it and you might think
it will smell of heaven but
it is the rancid smell of tussle and
toil that will stink the neighborhood.
And, oh, by the way you should never
bleach a thing that is already bleached.
Don’t use stain remover for that’s its job.
No starch, please.  Stiffness is not needed.
The same goes for heavy or light ironing.
Follow these directions and
the soul will last your lifetime.
It will protect you from
all the stains of the world.
kevin wright Jun 2020
Civilisation the destroyer of homeostasis

visitors smile on the philistines
how poor
how cute
how primitive
unintelligible Gaels
no soldiers cross to bear

they wear no shoes
they have no ornaments
they eat the poor wildlife
Kildian pose with me

knowledge eras now ignore  
fashionable tweed needed out
no doctors
catch my cold
upgrade the crofts
build them chic

bait those of young age
away to lands a far
remove the labourers
taunt with silver purses
starve the islanders out

oversee the clearance
the navy are here
take only what you can carry
drown the island dogs
the sheep pay the Kildians fare

a good book deposited in each house
to bring peace
protect the souls of Hirte now marooned
secrets of a culture now destroyed
a church, a classroom, a post office now decried
grow now wrack and ruin

Hirte haunt those pleasure seekers
guard the islands for the future
simple ideology now derided
watch the islands fade on the horizon
don’t cry
a cutting-edge society lies ahead

now its time to saviour the gains
too much sugar
too much alcohol
too much smoking
too much crime
too much poverty
and much more in isolation
part three in the series of poems: St Kilda a winters tale and St Kilda a summer tale. St Kilda an isolated island whose culture was disrespected and wiped from the map by a better society. In 1930 for better or worse the population as moved, this represents how many poeples of the world are relocated for a good reason but for whos gain? Also known as Hirta which here represents an ancestral plane.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
by Michael R. Burch

Now darkness ponds upon the violet hills;
cicadas sing; the tall elms gently sway;
and night bends near, a deepening shade of gray;
the bass concerto of a bullfrog fills
what silence there once was; globed searchlights play.

Green hanging ferns adorn dark window sills,
all drooping fronds, awaiting morning’s flares;
mosquitoes whine; the lissome moth again
flits like a veiled oud-dancer, and endures
the fumblings of night’s enervate gray rain.

And now the pact of night is made complete;
the air is fresh and cool, washed of the grime
of the city’s ashen breath; and, for a time,
the fragrance of her clings, obscure and sweet.

Published by Poetry Magazine, Poetic Reflections, The New Formalist, Carnelian, Little Brown Poetry, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Romantics Quarterly, Sonnetto Poesia, Poetry Life & Times and Trinacria

Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, night, darkness, violet, hills, rain, fresh, cleansing, fragrance, perfume, clings, clinging, obscure, sweet, concerto, dance, dancer
pale Feb 2020
breathing out
what my lungs
have held for
far too long.
endless pressure
leaving my body,
creating space
for a fresh start.
XPY Sep 2019
The rain descends
like a velvet curtain.

I use that steady
pounding, thrumming

to cleanse my skin
of your touch.

It fills me up, and I spit you out;
wring you out of my hair.

Thunder crashes
lightning flashes
and I
© XPY 2019
Ben Meraki Aug 2019
"This evening I sat by the river
and watched the sun set on the hills.
Now daylight's long gone, I don't shiver.
Wrapped up in these boxes of pills.

Don't know if I took six or seven.
The wine's gone and it's getting late.
But I'll be on that first flight to Heaven
and honey you know I can't wait"


As she shines down on the world far below
she will smile, 'cause she knows
I'll be reading her letter.

But she couldn't tell me that she had to go.
Ask me why; I suppose
that I'd never have let her had I known.

- -

Well since then I've seen eighty-odd seasons.
Now I know how you learned to fly,
and I guess I agree with your reasons
why I couldn't have my goodbye.

It was never enough to adore you.
When I couldn't repel the attacks.
There was nothing my love could do for you.
It was cruel to keep pulling you back,


and so I sit here where you watched the light fade.
You've been gone for so long
but I finally get it,

and all I can hear is the promise I made
to stand tall and be strong.
But I'd never have said it had I known.

- -

Now I feel like I'm not far behind you.
I take one step closer each day.
But there's someone here who's just like you,
so I think, for the moment, I'll stay.

When I close my eyes I still see you.
Not forgotten, and never replaced.
But sometimes I swear she could be you
when she puts that same smile on my face.


Had I been blessed with your wisdom, I know
I'd have gone with you there.
It'd be for the better.

Can't wait to rest, need to let this pain go,
and I say I don't care
but I'd never have met her had I flown.

- -

She thinks she doesn't deserve me,
that she can't be what I say she is,
and I can't find a way to make her see
there's nothing I could want more than this.

But soon she'll be far in the distance
when I've said my goodbye one last time,
and I don't understand this resistance
to my plans, now I've made up my mind.


When I was lost, alone, battered and scared
there was nobody there
to show me it was worth it.

Now suddenly they're pretending to care.
But I've seen through their stares
and I'm leaving this place they call 'home'.
Clinging to positives was all for nothing.
Derrick Jones Jul 2019
The rain came swiftly
Cleansing me of past misdeeds
I dry in the sun
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