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Some people spark brighter as the days grow darker,
Beautiful torches lit as the world gets ugly.
My friend, you burn too fierce for your own health.
My spitfire comrade, you rant against the system,
You glow like a warm hearth in the rain.

Our doctor darts around lightening the burden.
One kind heart shines like a candle in a window.
The mourners on the hill stand rose-gold in the sunset.
The singers around the massive drum in Kitigan Zibi
Strike the ear as a bonfire strikes the eye.

It gives me hope. My friend, you give me hope.
I will feed it with the glee of a pyromaniac.
Wildfires rage in the dying forests; we rage back,
Sparking bright as the days grow dark.
Quick message of hope and resilience to brighten your day :)
José Vaca Oct 6
Can you believe that in some counties here in the Bay Area, a six-figure salary is considered ‘low income’? Hell, if Silicon Valley was it’s own country it would be the second richest country in the world, just behind Qatar.

So tell me why, being in such a rich part of the world surrounded by the latest technology that instantly connects you to people and resources there are kids that live on the street with no food to eat, or clean clothes to wear? Why are teachers reaching into their accounts to provide those same kids and others with tools, knowledge, wisdom, and hope to persevere and overcome these atrocious adversities? Why are communities and cultures that have been deeply rooted for generations disappearing in plain sight? Why do people live in tents and some in cardboard boxes? Why, with all the money, power, and resources at such close proximity, do “invisible communities” exist? Let’s face it, if six-figures is considered low, then the average person must be nothing.

Sustainable regenerative models have an underlying sense of belonging. If we, and willing we can, cultivate real relationships with our neighbors we can work together to create a community - a society - that is nurturing and beneficial to all.

A tree works best in a forest, not alone nor in a grove. Alone the tree can only do so much and a grove is much to similar and demanding. But a forest however is diverse and naturally connected by way of life, never taking more than than needed, but always giving more than expected. A natural ebb and flow inclusive of all in proximity and beyond.

But what do I know. I’m just a tree planting a seed among a forest that could be.
You're sitting in the room alone, comfortable in yourself.
That's when someone else walks in,
and now you're someone else.
Add on to it with a few lines of your own. Let's see where it goes.
Erin Riley Oct 4
When
will the fight end
with who
I was before
and who
I can become.
They’re like
two parents arguing,
forgetting
that their child
is right here
watching.
Blind Pathos Sep 8
Where are all the great patrons
Throw me a hook you fishers of men

That I might be caught and eaten
by the audience beyond the footlights

That my blood be spilled on pages
and canvas in prescribed portion

Afford me the flame of arrogance
to believe that my own hand
in the fire of creation touches wonder
and maybe God himself
Creativity is the currency of tomorrows. History shows that patrons have had a strong hand in who we become. Creative people are every where, however the ones with support advance while the rest work harder and arrive later. It is a communal act to support an idea or work of art.
Kitten Yvad Sep 1
smiling; well intentioned,
you startle me, beautiful.
I don't back away
and

once;

in the middle of my night
your  eyes, cle a r    a s    d a  y✹
the moon looks like an acai bowl
Madi Dinneen Aug 26
we are cracked and damaged  
hairline fractures make spiderwebs of our wrists and thighs.
our hearts are missing large pieces.
we are broken and battered.
beaten down and berated.
but we are a different breed.
we find unity
and loveliness
in our flaws
our bruises are beautiful when we are one
and what sets us apart pulls us together.
for in our dejectedness
our anger and hurt
tears and pain
together in suffering
we can be beautiful too.
a poem for jay
One
A candle spark

Let's meet in the high fields
at sundown

8 billion souls

One inferno
fueled by wax above our heads

See how grand
a blaze
of change
we can devise

Before retiring to bed.
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