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Maria Aug 5
It was a short and bright love-story.
I’d fit it easily in simple couple lines.
It was complete: the waterfall and whirlblast,
The soulful look, and sighs just days and nights.

But it’s all gone, or it was never happened,
Those love confessions, tremblingly for good.
The flowers wilted and rhetoric fully vanished
The very moment, when the dawn became selfhood.

I bear all in mind: that dawn and bench.
You stroked my hand and you were flatly silent.
I understood it whole. And bade you farewell.
And you went out without a word. You didn’t keep in mind.

The story ended on that sandy beach,
In that soft breeze and in those silken waves.
And now there’re only melancholic memories,
The hollow promises and sea taste on my lips.
Thank you for reading this sad love-story. 💔
There’s a mist on the water,
When I wake.
It gets thicker every morning,
Creeping a little farther into shore.
I spend my days now,
Moving my house,
Further up.
Trying not to drown,
In the inevitable gray.
It’s one of those things you don’t escape,
It’s one of those things that never goes away.

It rests,
Slumbers for a while.
But never stops,
Creeping up.
So close to me,
I fear that I’ll run out of energy,
To run,
To escape.
I’ll die in this foggy place,
Join the sirens with their frowns,
Dragging more people,
Down.

To the fog.
the grey against the blue sky,
      metal bars,
            power coursing,

it pokes high above the horizon,
      tall,
           mighty,
                     human,

nova scotia's hills don't rise up nearly as far,
     flat in all directions,
                  textureless, and
                                  so, so wide,

large trucks drive beside the tower,
      small,
            pathetic,

A bigger truck comes by, washed in red,
      loud,
            bright,
                    blaring,­
    
the smell of smoke upon the suits of the
     brave,
           the daring,

the big, blue, cloud-filled, wonderful sky,
       blue no longer,
                    their hope,
                             lost in minutes,

no death, yet so much smoke,
      smoke,
            like the swirl of sand in water,

the water sitting near the strong metal bars,
       the telephone tower,
                         still tall and mighty,

the water with the highest tides in the world,
       rippling hard,
                  against the rocks on shore,

orange buoys float roughly in the harbour,
     a line to never,
                     ever cross,

kids will boat out there with their paddles,
     the breeze knocking them,
             side,
                  to side,

and the world breathes in, for it holds all,
       good or bad,
                  and it is full,

full despite everything.
i was spending my lunch in a gazebo by the water when a fire started in a building in the next street over. such a beautiful day, too beautiful something had to be taken away.
Chris Pea Jul 27
Sunday is a day of rest
when you work at home to make it the best

Sunday is a day of peace
but in pointless wars killing does not cease

Sunday is a day to recover
from one too many drinks plus another

Sunday is laying late in bed
but the kids ned to be washed and fed

Sunday is a walk in the park
with thousands of others, it's best after dark

Sunday is family time
that you spend in the company of partners in crime

Sunday what more can I say
a day of rest before another working day
eliana Jul 27
A family is like a circle.
The connection never ends,
and even if at times it breaks,
in time it always mends.

A family is like the stars.
Somehow they're always there.
Families are those who help,
who support and always care.

A family is like a book.
The ending's never clear,
but through the pages of the book,
their love is always near.

A family is many things.
With endless words that show
who they are and what they do
and how they teach you so you know.

But don't be weary if it's broken
or if through time it's been so worn.
Families are like that -
they're split up and always torn.

But even if this happens,
your family will always be.
They help define just who you are
and will be a part of you eternally.
I went out for school shopping with my siblings and mom and i had a great day. we laughed and talked and it just felt good and i hadnt felt like such happiness like that in a while. theres a lot of stuff we go through and are going through but in the end i can always count on them and know there are brighter days ahead. :)
eliana Jul 20
Some feelings are shallow, some feelings are deep.
Some make us smile, some make us weep.

Some we love, some we don't.
Some we'll savor, some we won't.

Some grounding, some uplifting,
Some long-lasting, some constantly shifting.

No matter what feelings I'm feeling today,
I know tomorrow is only a day away.
A great tragedy occurs when the bad days numb us to the good ones. Try to enjoy the good days, because they don't last that long. Try not to fear the bad days, because they won't last that long. Whether time is currently your friend or foe, however it can help you today, remember today won't last that long.
Some sunny day,
Things will be better.
Less tears to cry,
Less reasons to cry them.
If we can't go on forever,
I'd prefer us to live a happy life.
Happy people are in short supply,
But in high demand.
Some day,
Happy people will be common,
It'll be the sad people who saved themselves,
That'll be respected.
Lance Remir Jul 7
I still whisper
"Goodnight"
I still whisper
"Happy Birthday"
I still whisper
"I love you"
I still whisper
"I miss you"
Because a whisper
Is all I have left of us
Nat Lipstadt Jul 6
"These days
I'll sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
Don't confront me with my failures
I had not forgotten them"
Jackson Browne

<>

these days,
you can come by tween
the mostly soft warming cracking of Dawn,
and the early born-ing of
the first peek of a full grown
but yet
sleepy sunrise,

you'll find me siting on a
asshard dock,
two seagulls staring at the
human interloper,
alone with the threads in my
hardened head,
beating time in casual rhyme,
because that's what poets do,
to warm up their
tongues & toes,
clear their eyes
and
sniffling nose,
their partly opened,
party closed,
throats, eyes and
give up, sacrifice
the longest list of little lies,
that makes (forces) us to get up  in the undimming earlies,
when it's just me, the gulls,
& the minnows poking around,

the fluke,
smarter but not wiser,
further out in deep water,
waiting to be caught

and
the cool blood barely flows,
until the rising orb warms
our fragility,
and we review the stories old,
that make us cold at night promising ourselves that
today you'll do that thing(s)
you've been putting off for years,

"Don't confront me with my failures"
Jackson pleads, but I concede,
thinking tell me them
one
mo' time,
make me unrighteous,
make me whole,
then take me,
holy displayed fully,

and the
first poem of the day,
will be my
confession total,
without reservation
and yet muse on
honor
something I thought I knew,
but needing a
closer examination
it might've been
dishonor
that was what
I was truly
knew
<>
Sunrise
July 5
'25
sitting on the dock
by the bay,
would I

lay down with a lie?
Anais Vionet Jun 29
Charles and my predawn jog was a sweat-athon and as the sun rose, a heat-dome brightness tattooed crisp shadows in every corner. Any lingering coolness was burned off - evaporated.

It was 94°f, 3 hours later, when I walked to campus - why don’t we use  parasols anymore? Drag on, radiant afternoon heat, please.
That was 100 proof sarcasm, in case you couldn’t tell.

Hot days seem to drag-on slowly, like waiting for a microwave or a droning, liturgy. It wasn’t in the forecast but I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear, “Today’s forecast is slow, really slow.”

Let’s start an Internet theory that the atmosphere is thinning or we’re just ants under a magnifying glass.

The finally setting sun left a blood red line under the falling blue dark, like a **** of wound in the skin of young-night.

Once my nightly obligations are done (classes, homework, reading), the silence can seem oppressive. I’m used to the never ending hustle, boiling drama and noise of seven suitemates - so there’s that.

On now empty nights, I’m tortured by the high-beating pulse of youth, and I pace my empty apartment, like someone restlessly waiting for their venti-mocha-latte at a Starbucks.

Can anyone suffer like a young woman left all alone?
Why, oh whomever, must I sip from this deep, bitter, undrinkably salty sea of solitude?

In this, my prime season, why do I only manage to exist?
My needs are in a shameful state of decay.
.
.
Cruel Summer by Bananarama
Habits (feat. Haley Reinhart) by Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox [E]
All That I Need by Ebony Loren, Matthew Ifield & Sebastian Kamae
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 06/27/25:
oblige (obligation, noun form) = something required or forced
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