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zahra ly Feb 2020
hi, i know it's hard
but
can we please just
make it clear?
Colm Jan 2020
Honest buttons sewn instead
Cute, on quiet shirts in collared beds
In lime low light
Now settled and still
Neath smiling patient seen
And all I wanted was to keep
A screenshot, a memory of such
For a moment full of sleepy pixels to fill
Goodnight dear new
I say and I adored the scene
I like this. I'm excited. Goodnight.
maria Jan 2020
Haven't seen you for a while
                come and visit asap
         I'm cold
                I miss you
where have you been?

written on January 21, 2020
We Are Stories Jan 2020
Separation-

Exclamation.

Exasperation-

and then silence-

for all the years
when you were speaking to me
have found the words

silent-

and as the feet
slide side by side,

the heartbeat
is deafly quiet-



a treasure is lost

a foundation is cracked

the stone i leaned upon has swayed-


my only wish,
if i could have it,
would be that you could’ve stayed-


that maybe grace and understanding could keep you
instead of sending you away.
M Jan 2020
It’s different. When you have attached your soul to someone, it’s not their feature that gets you. It’s their essence. The words that come from their heart and the instant connection when you open up bare and truthful and they look at you like you were the most beautiful thing they ever witness.
I would like to start a series named "dear finch'  lets expose ourselves to the randomness of our minds and hearts. welcome!
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Jan 2020
FOR MY DEAR FRIEND, ****

I met **** when we both entered
Roosevelt Junior High School. In
9th grade, we both ran for Student
Council President. I beat him. We
both started on our city championship
basketball team, he playing one
forward, I the other. **** was smart
as hell. He sat right in front of me
in algebra class and got better grades
than I. I was told **** wrote a paper
about me in an English class some-
time while at Topeka High. I regret
that I never had a chance to read
it;  I left my junior year to attend An-
dover. One summer night before
college, **** and I doubled-dated.
His father had suffered for years with
manic depression and had spent a
number of years at Topeka State
Hospital. The night **** and I double-
dated, his father had gotten a pass
from the hospital to spend the night
at home. The next morning, I heared
that ****’s father had shot himself
in the head as he sat at the kitchen
table. **** attended KU where he
was elected president of Beta Theta Pi,
the most prominent fraternity on
campus. Years later in the fall of 1979,
I returned to Topeka from Phoenix.
I had heared that ****, too, had
fallen victim to manic depression.
His wife had divorced him. **** had
spent a long time at Topeka State
Hospital, shunned basically by vir-
ually all his former friends. I found
out where he was living and called
him. I was still his friend. In early
November, we drove through the
northeastern part of Kansas where
the leaves had turned beautiful
colors. Every Saturday morning,
I picked **** up to go have break-
fast together. Then we would re-
turn to his apartment where we
would spent the afternoon and
early evening playing cribbage,
watching old movies and sporting
events, and listening to Anne
Murray sing her many hits. ****,
over these years, used beer to
calm himself. He had a favorite
tavern he would go to. One
morning several years later, he
was found dead halfway home.
Nobody ever found out for sure
why he had died. He remains,
even in death, a dear friend of
mine.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and human-rights advocate his entire adult life. He recently finished his first novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.
Colm Jan 2020
For blue eyed want
   Look to the sky
For tall encouragement
   A Mountian range
For warmth of hand once felt alive
   The youth of dawn
And for next of kind
  The same old stars to arrive
Look up, look up, for all that is
   Without frame or screen to hold no more
Look down and inward for all that's been
   In the Psalm where our first love was born

Remember
   You need not eyes to see where we were
   Or even where we will be one day
Originally "1304" lol
Grey Dec 2019
For you, my dear poetry,
I will not stir up my emotions
I will create them.

For you, my dear poetry,
I will not lie,
I will create a fiction so delicate and complex
that it becomes my truth.

For you, my dear poetry,
I will not close myself off,
I will tear my body open
and let the demons take control.

For you, my dear poetry,
I will not become a better person,
I will bathe in my emotions
and revel in my despair.

For you, my dear poetry,
I will do anything.
Dec 2019
Colm Dec 2019
With keenest shine and subtle glance
Such chaos between depth and height
His sheen a reflective mirrors pass
Her shadows crashing with shallow bite
Like light splashed sparingly on a neck
Or an elegant hand outstretched in white
Within watery muse she finds each night
A bit of herself reflected in his Atlantic eyes
A love affair between water and air. Can't write enough about these two. See also, Moon Over Atlantic. And Good night.
Liz Carlson Dec 2019
dear, you have made me believe in love.
i thought i always had, but i believed in a conditional love that could never last.
you make me feel like this can last a lifetime, and i want it to.
its so early, but i love you.
and when you look at me like that
and when you laugh at me when i say something stupid,
i know you do too.
i couldn't have asked for a greater love than this one,
and i'm so grateful for that and for you, my dear.
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