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Daniel 6d
Cat in the window, are you a kindred soul?
Are you dreaming of the trees and the life that they hold?

Can you hear the insects scream in the dark as it grows cold? If you could, would you break free and leave all that you know?

Cat in the window, are you a kindred soul?
I saw you dreaming of the breeze, and the grass stuck in your fur.

We're both just watching as the leaves turn orange and then disperse. Are we sharing the same dream of exploring this green earth?

Cat in the window, I think we're kindred souls.
We both look at the stars at night and dream of things untold.

I hope you find joy in this life and peace inside your soul. I pray that earth may hold you tight when you've passed beyond your mold.
A poem I wrote contemplating my neighbor's cat as it stared at the trees out the window at night.
Stella Sep 12
What on earth am I?
Not sure what I think or say
Am I in control?
Stephen James Jul 31
wrapped in arms of blue
nestled in the warmth of day
Fuji still slumbers
I'm trying to learn that it's alright for people to find me

So often I am met with remarks of:

"I wish I could be as confident as you."
"I can't believe you're not scared to wear that."
"You didn't really say that to him...right?"

I don't feel confident.
I am scared.
I did say it.

I've regretted it since.

Oddities are a novelty until they surpass an acceptable monthly quota.


I've found that habitual marijuana usage and
pretty white lines
can be a valid excuse for
strange behavior.

Each joint shared
Each liquor bottle opened
Increases the monthly quota by one.

You're allowed to be:


If you're a substance abuser.

It's actually
at times.

If I act too normal, I'll get
such as:

"Wow, I forgot you do drugs."
"Do you not need your meds anymore?"
"Have you thought your mania is just from all the ***?"

I didn't forget.
I do need them. I often don't take them.
And, sometimes.

But then I'll soberly proclaim to be the next Van Gogh and that my **** are nicer than
Mia Khalifa's.

(They're not.)

you can write off absurd behavior
if it occurs while

I learned that younger
than I

It's harder to refute the confused glances
whispered jokes
when your head is
but your
is foggy.

"Let us know if [  ] scares you in the group chat;
you'll get used to her eventually."

"I hope we don't have to have this conversation again."

"She's hot, but she's kind of

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.
DM me so I can get the powerful thrill of top-dog dominance from ignoring you.
Billie Marie Jul 21
I have been given
the burdensome gift
of this one
to allow me to see what it is

I know it
watch it move and twist
to what end?
only destruction

I see one cannot contend with it
for it is not real
as one is
it is a byproduct of one’s play

One tests oneself
to see how far one can go
in the human sense
destruction is how one is reborn

So this play is divinely necessary
yet something seems to have gotten out of control.
who is the one seeming to be out of control?
the one seeming to have lost its control?

It seems to get confusing
seems to get in the way
of the seeming reality
now you can see it is all this one

Taking different shapes
squeezing into various forms
only to have some fun
in the human sense

Ego will always serve only itself
and to the end of all it knows
thank God
that it knows only a little

You see this
when you see Self
and the world you knew
becomes small and distant

Like watching from a plane
in a cloudless sky
that annoying twitch in the right wrist
from decades of tiny insignificant movements

Do you take a sledgehammer to the arm?
that might do the trick, and more
ego loves a good bonfire
yet God’s grace burns better and brighter

Let that Self take over
let that heat rise
let your rotten fruit
burn to cinder.

It only hurts
as much as it wants to hurt
Feel me?
in the human sense
to be fully human you must embrace all of yourself
Billie Marie Jul 15
How do I begin to pick up a pen?
How does a thought take me to Neverwhere?
They never can ever tell us the reality
of the realest questions
and, for some, it’s just fine.
The rest need more.
Something? Not a thing.
Someone? Quite plausibly.

Won’t let go the tap tapping
or drumming or the pokey poke.
It’s there. But, you keep your head in the game.
Cuz, ya know, what else is there around here?
Spiritual desert with no substantive food.
Like biting into a juicy hamburger
and tasting sawdust only.
Only if those ones
could just keep their blinders
in proper position,
proper place to look and stay
and march along on
in single file lives
to mark one existence onto the next.
Who though?
All for who?
Or, what?
God needs no marching ants such as these?

They who can’t see
will surely deny the real world
you know is here
and call you a blind fool. Ha!
Jokes on jokes on yokes
of jellied stroke marks.
Get off my back and let me live
how I see. Not through your grimy,
filthy, streaked and yellowed seeing.
But with clear and pure eyes
you hadn’t touched yet.

What happens to those ones?
Where have they gone?
Looking, looking close and away
and all eyes sense
is dust mountains and cave dwellers
and absence of light.
Where are the true ones
filled with the light of the rising Sun?
Come home!
The place with the voice pointing out cracks
is singing a song so longing and sure
and cannot look away.
Not with COVID and all of this world
awakening to see what they -
the blind ones -
have done while the rest have been sleep.
Blinders melt in sunlight
and aren’t needed
by the light of the moon.
Here one finds the way by heart.
Here one sees for real
where we truly are. And then?
Ah! And then,
what else can one be except
James G East Jul 6
That stare so seen and felt, unfocused eyes upon a green belt or perhaps a dancing flame, first light of day, a cloud up high or a creature unto aim.
It speaks to the very soul, this line is known, no emotion of note from birth it’s owned as entangled carnation, its internal role, to hold fast in dorm, pure as bone.
Yet strongly serve and let it be heard, the notion of essence, traversed when alert, you are back, a spec, society bound, freely reminded, you are the world, lost and found.
MoDavid Jul 6
And yet again I stare blankly at the screen
as the cursor blinks, waiting for my fingers
to speak my mind's thoughts. Perhaps within
the night's sluggish hours I will find the words.

A phrase—but of meagre stature and stance,
of small voice and weak impression. Alas,
I revert the page, blank once again, empty
and without. Time drags on without pity.

The words have evaded me for far too long.
I have searched in vain for what to say,
all attempts futile thus far, with wrong
turns and countless detours along the way.

Maybe my mind wishes not to express itself
without my knowing, or maybe these
monotonous nights have reduced my
poetic capability close to none.

Either way, an hour past midnight is never
the perfect time to write a poem of any sort.
Written last 27th of October (2019), at a time when I felt inspiration had left me be.
MoDavid Jul 6
My mind lay adrift at sea
As hours of sleep have evaded it.
But coffee renders it swift and free
From the torments of this hellish week.

Perhaps I will find solace
once this endeavour is over;
That, next year, my joy willn’t perish,
I can but hope for.
This was written last Dec 11 2019, as a portion of our periodical exam required some poetry.
regretti Jun 7
Black robe, distant looming
A nod through senescence
Time is fleeting, passing
All, but of the essence

Thoughts made in retrospect
Of his dreams, velveteen
Maiden in his prospect,
Naïve, only nineteen

Callous thoughts in wiring
Pallid, his mind dare say,
"Future, what's in passing?"
Whispers, a foggy way

Creature, borne through figment
Like disease, latching free
Moments, striking, salient
Sordid thoughts, though dreary

Static, of radio noise
Moonlit drops of the dawn
Wavering, cracking voice
My mind, a soldier's pawn
I always feel the cynicism brought upon by the eventual grasp of death. Death, for me, is a looming thought that will eventually win me through a war it wages with everyone. Sometimes, I want to relive the time back then and correct the awful things that I have done, but I can only think in retrospect, and there is nothing I can do. I can only hope for the best and move on.
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