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J Vital Mar 8
Am I to journey
Sacred hot desert
of the Sahara,
To find my flora?
Am I to decipher
Secret Golden Sands?
While Navigating
Open Oasis drylands,
To seek solace in
These Lush Highlands.
Would I need to travel
Kingdom of Safari?
Like a canary,
finding its mantra,
And crafting each stanza.
Would I need to go through
Tiger's and Lion's den?
Roaring courage, and
Bravery like mighty men.
Just so I can chase down
delicate flutters,
Of butterflies' glimmers.
In this adventure trip,
I will journey
Through wild terrains,
and the sun's safari,
Where there exists
Love and happiness.
Where hope blooms like flora,
In this Oasis arid area.

I will find my sanctuary.
In the rarest destiny.
Would love some feedback on this one.
TS Feb 23
My friends tell me it was only a couple of months.
I should feel better by now.
I should feel lighter and happier.
Some days I am and some days my heart hurts deeply.
I realized that even though it was only a couple of months, you were the reason I came back to this part of the world.
The part of the world when I felt comfortable in love.
The place where I realized that I could do this again.
The moment where I let love feel safe again.
After 7 years of self discovery and healing, I brought myself back to the world of falling in love....

and I picked you.

What a stupid thing to do.



- t.s.
Zywa Oct 2023
The poem opens

a window where I expect --


to go through a door.
Poem "ingenieur" ("engineer", 2022, Emilie Dewitte)

Collection "Specialities"
Andy Chunn Aug 2023
Sometimes I see the look of love
And wonder at the site
As warm as sunlight from above
Concealed like rain at night

Eyes that reveal a brightness quick
And shyly turn away
Just like the candle’s burning wick
Turns night into the day

The look of love is loneliness
When special ones are gone
The spirit hits a lowliness
Like words without a song

The look of love is bashful laughter
When two souls blend as one
The gentle glow and moments after
The look of having fun

The look of love is like the wind
That blows from clouds above
It lifts the lonely heart and mends...
I love the look of love
Andy Chunn Oct 2022
On most days when I sit to write
Perhaps a rhyme or just a quote
Some words flowing without a fight
Some are poems I never wrote

I write about the things I know
The images that rise and float
But haunting are the seeds I sow
Detailed in poems I never wrote

Compose the promise that one day
I’ll finish strong, I make a note
But hidden words I want to say
Are in the poems I never wrote

The chances that I dare to take
Protected by my writer’s vote
I hide behind the rhymes I make
In the poems I never wrote
Alicia Moore Aug 2022
dissipating into the dusk and ghostly dull,
may be the very place where your
luminescence can be ignited in full.
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
A summer experience, all the time while
the kisses were bright—in warm regards.
The careless fall; we'd spring up a conversation
on talking about love. And how you fell for my
charms.

Retracing scars of past loves, (so few actually)
still I've been gunned down by such a handful
of quests. You'd see those marks on my arms.

By far—I'm no perfect romantic. The type to
chance his chances of the first awkward advances.
My wit to say, only comes out of less pressuring
moments. To impress you only when we've known the
shape of each other's humour.

I was a late bloomer. The sort of nerdy kid, throughout
school. Constantly anxious to impress a design on; as
a daily tool. And as usual, too full of myself thinking
I was overly too cool. But really just full fled fool.

So when we met, it was my season of necessary
growth, in the journey of my life of a revelation's show.
Questioning self worth, the ways of the world, and
YouTube videos of how to kiss a girl. And the highest
being what is means to be a man. Soft with the emotions
compared to others, and finding it hard to fit in with their
clan.

Before you met me, I was teased for walking like a
duck. Yet you told me I walk with such confidence,—
but I was a chicken towards standing out, that you could
hear a cluck in my gulps. I'm still the type to start a
conversation with, "what's up"

As being up to no good with other people my age,
but none at the drinking age of the clubs we snuck in.
Still at an early stage, I learnt I wasn't that big on going
out clubbing. But a few drinks at home, good food for at
home and sometimes drinking alone was more my norm.

Before you met me, it was what you'd call my BC days.
Still I went to church from a young age, but the Lord
wasn't the first call to hard situations. Or even ending
my prayers with a, "in Jesus name"

I'm still learning more about myself present day,
and that's okay. Because the learning experience never
ends until we're dead. So there's more to my story by
every new turning page. I might seem strange, but all
in all—I'm glad of the person I became. And the After is
beautifully being discovered today.

             I'm glad I discovered you.
neth jones Apr 2022
His :

i make my travel
reseeding you
                my dear heart
                      into a compact unit of storage

i relieve from our nesting comfort
dismiss our established downey base of cooperation
                                   cleave from our snared compromise

instead to bed and thieve an unshared atmosphere
guilty joy followed by joyful normality
no stale thing

unravelling light
  lifted
(secure
  that I've a capsule world
  when i turn
  toward our lap again)

goodbye of you i am mended
made completely free
                    on the first turn of a corner


& Hers :

you leave me
      on your travels (you-were-my-travels)
you leave me susceptible
my heart alters to become
       a weak permeable tissue of easy tamper
       membership structure is dissolved
         returned to the vital spill
           welcome fluent contamination
               villainess and godless vibration
                  of the goddess confession

dress hooked up past my waist
i'll power-**** away my morality on day one
each day following shall be made easy
  ushered along in brutalities slip steam
                        and the prom of eddies

back in time i've been working on something..
       i'll call it The ****** List
criminal joys and tasks of double self daring
committed
     (not folded over
       or veloped in the knicker drawer)
           it operates as a basking lurk
                               tucked discreetly
                                 correct behind the eye
                      a charm feature of the unconscious
when released
   it's something melkish and larking with energy
   tacking harm to my activated mischief
      kinetic value and uncontrollable spur

in your absence
     i am permissionless
abyssless
i account for nothing

nooks of the apartment
the memory of us quickly forms a ***** coral
i've stopped washing to suit this mode
my body, a journal of stains and earned bruises
i holla and bay at mementoes of our brace
and then stop at the near point of the neighbours tolerance

time has crushed in on its own thesis
become gummy and tenseless
skipping about in haphazard spasms
  backstep, bow and reversal
     now
          observably organic in motion
           and proud of its many personalities

Oh, You're Back Again !
    no, it is your ghost
is it a spy ? ... i doubt you knew you even had it
it threads in and out of my company
seeming baffled and far from its comfort zone
did i put you there ?
i don't call you
the physical you
because you said 'no phones'
              and 'only in emergencies' (is-this-urgent ?)
Is This Urgent ?!
i restrict where i live in here
     keep the windows widowed and veiled
it makes for an unreal canvas
i'm weeding for a correction
sensual precarious highs
violate
in a spate
with this time alone
i'll make our home a vile space
a defication
and i can make no sense assessment of it any
i fight against digestion within these premises
i stay still long enough i am softened and palped
            by a dense atmosphere and salivations of contact
and outside..

the streets are exhausted
and i've quite the nasty reputation
violence, baiting and thievery
inebriation and toxic language
i shall soon be policed
no doubt i've lost my job
for now our place is a dare for vandals
             when i am an insensible heap
                 and perspiring over you in delirium
                    they devalue the exterior

unearthing
i'll find my creative sprite
that is good
i had missed it
now this is urgent (this-is-mine-was-always)
i take up a notebook and puke it full
i take sticks in my mitt and scrawl my charcoal visions
the blood visions
   the primal mud
  on all our walls

can i piece back our home by your return ?
can I sufficiently correct the blurring history I've smutted ?
do i care to ?
no more fading into 'partner'
lease is up
you'll not find me here destroyed
or waiting
    naked but an apron with my hands cupped and mouth open
i'll have ravelled myself up tight
- having stoked my inhuman malady -
     i'll mate my own travels

                                                        ­             - aborted
Chelsea Rae Feb 2022
Leaves shake in the wind

As the rain pours on the forest floor below.

Water droplets soak the ground for growth.

Giving birth to new life

After storms and strife.

A fresh beginning, made from recent revision.

Sun parts through the clouds.

There's no more division.

A warm light now glows, giving view to a divine vision.

My soul now in remission.

It is time to make a very important decision.

To hold on, or go forth on the Hero's expedition.

Don the armour, be brave and bold.

Or stay back, let not the story be told.

To deny my heart, may leave me cold.

False stories I shall not be sold.

Behold, the guiding light, fire of my soul;
And through my example
Change how destiny unfolds.
Collab poem with Jezra Mashego <3
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