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Erian Rose Sep 4
I'm still me
And we're distant now
I've gotten stronger
And growing loud
Sometimes I wonder
If you hadn't gone
Extending hands
Vast beyond the sea
Collecting deep-colored shells
For a heart severed-to-be
Fallen stars on parched land...

Brought with them a piece of heaven...

The child in me ran to collect... in fragile hands...

To hang them in tender threads from the window...

So as to light up my heart upon a dark day!
Sometimes a sweet memory of the past is all you need to brighten up your dark day!
Amanda Hawk Jul 3
Vowels and consonants

Pool together into words

As my emotions rain down

The grim and grit

Of every memory clings

To each sentence

Until I step in

Then they collect on me

Dampening fingertips

And soaking my tongue

I jump in

Splashing out thoughts

Until I am coated in my imagination

I stomp through

The puddles of letters

Saturating me with words

And sentences are dripping

From my chin
Poetic T Oct 2019
Time is a construct of
       passing frailties,
We cling to them more so for comfort.

Not realising that we're already
                an echo just rebounding off
the moments that have conceded
to a  passing that is bigger than us.

But still we live for those mere seconds,
                                                 for meaning.

And to show that even though we were
                         just a flicker,

                     we burnt brighter than a star.
Neon Robinson Oct 2017
Is burrowing a web
weaving a collection,
accumulating an anthology

For a far gone day
Stash them away
set them aside with a
what, when, why

rather than right
now ambitious zeal


Its the nature of the undertaking.
My minds an unavoidable reciprocal
Gratified by wasting time,
It’s just there filling space

Tucked away for a rainy day
In every nook and cranny

Tickling the fancy.

Affording a kind of intellectual gusto
that's borderline deplorable
accumulatively downright trifling.

even if it's unnecessary
I'll never get my fill
paper to hand typing away
uncovering all of life's mysteries
Vera Anne Wolf Apr 2019
If I could collect every negative thought you ever had about me.
I would blow them away like a dandelion wish.
Sometimes I wish I could just start over with some people, the ones who judge me before they ever got to really know  me.
Deb Jones Jan 2019
I am mercurial writer
Whatever comes to mind

Gritty, dire, ******, dying, loving, funny
I am a wordsmith and a wordwhore

Other people collect shells and coins
I collect words

I always say the words
They may not be appropriately used

But I love the way they feel in my mouth
And on my tongue

I enjoy my unfettered mind
It seems I ***** out words

I love the long walks
I take in other’s minds

I walk around untended and welcomed
Enchanted by your beautiful thoughts

I hope you enjoy the traipse  
Through mine
I am trying to justify how I jump from topic to topic. And I can’t.
I am ok with that. :)
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
If only I could collect the rain,
Put it in a jar
And take it to God.

Then I would say,
Here, I found your tears,
They made the soil breath.

-- Eleanor
fabiana Sep 2018
Every night, six ten on the dot
came the weary woman, collecting fragments of thought.
She pulled her green dumpster,
always on time,
waiting for the dependable
same-old twelve chimes.
Only then would she leave,
take her uniform off,
then the next day again,
dancing with the clock.
But some days she'd pick up
litter from a genius's mind,
and astounded she'd be with
her new precious find.
She placed these in her lilac box,
saved for the best of the best,
then, preparing for the next shift.
she would take a much needed
caffeine is a drug
Lauren M Sep 2018
Fingers laced together, I am a basket.
Take parts to build a heart: you will need
wild things, beautiful things.

Mostly you will need
things that no one asked for,
that no one expected.
Things that have no reason to exist,
but do.

Netted spiderwebs and nettle fistfulls.
Fish scales and cotton cattails.
Dragonflies skimming across the water in the early morning
and fireflies imitating stars in the somber dusk.
The eddies behind rocks that jut brashly from the river
and the ribbons woven wreath-like through wrens’ nests.

Hauled up by handles, dump everything somewhere
you wouldn’t mind living.
Apply heat, settle in somewhere
you wouldn’t mind leaving.
Let sit two to twenty four hours, stirring occasionally.

it lives.
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