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Just because you dont see any effort,
Doesnt mean its not there.
Im trying, I really am. And they always seem to ignore that part, but never the mistakes.
I want to write to you
In every language there may be
I want you to know the depth of my words
I want you to know that your effort did more than it should
I want you to know even in dark days, these words will reminisce and bring light your way
I want you to know it’s great when you fail
I want you to know it all
And be okay with what you know
I was buried
A shallow grave

So deeply embedded in dirt no one could see me

Yet right below surface
Fell out of love and directly into the hole

The other option was hang on to the limb I inhabited in a state of vulnerable agility

So I ended effort and surrendered to the freshly dug soil waiting beneath our chance at love
RIP our love
high above the river, from the edge of the cliff, one can
see the rafters in their inflated crafts, in the blue and
red and yellow ovals, bright and iridescent and suspended
atop the furious strip of gray as they wend below, lifting,

twisting, careening as their vessels sprout sodden arms that
grip scarred paddles, paddles that swing quick and deep  
into the foam only to then be held still and wide to the water,
a thousand rudders to navigate the rocks and avoid the

hard realities that rise in the shallows and are revealed  
without warning, some only to scream haplessly like
funhouse monsters, while the others lie dangerously quiet,  
unseen under the surface, until at river's tail the rafters

lift their oars in triumph amid the mirror-like calm, life’s
vagaries conquered for the moment
Left To Rot May 18
I know I've come a long way
so if at least once you'd say
"I'm proud of you" instead of "try harder"
I'd at least once ask you to stay.
Gorba May 8
Allongé sur le sol, la tête dans les étoiles
Des mouvements de va-et-vient et mon cœur qui s’emballe
Ma fréquence respiratoire, graduellement, accélère
Des gémissements m’échappent, j’ai besoin d’air

Plus long que bon
Suis-je parfois amené à penser
Quand proche de l’abandon
Je sens mes bras tressaillir, prêts à lâcher

Un assortiment, lentement, se diversifie et se développe
Tant qu’il pourrait en remplir une échoppe
Attraction, passion, bouffée de neurotransmetteurs
Si je le pouvais, je le ferais durer des heures

L’environnement disparaît inéluctablement
Derrière un voile de sueur et de concentration
Un événement moins futile qu’il ne paraît initialement
Amenant la réalité a largement dépassé la fiction
Puisque rien ne vaut le fait d’être dans l’action
Et d’en ressentir directement tous les frissons

Mes pensées lentement s’évaporent puis se condensent
Formant un épais nuage qui obstrue toute forme d’illumination
Et projette un voile sombre et dense
Recouvrant délicatement ma raison
Faisant ainsi que tout importe, sauf la compréhension
De ce qui excite ma tendre dévotion
George Krokos Apr 19
A wasted effort can be seen to be like a trial run
and the objective would be to learn and have fun.
______
From 'Simple Observations' ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Michael Ryan Apr 3
I'm a brick layer
by incarnation
by aspiration
by luminosity.

I find unfinished buildings-
toppled skyscrapers-
imaging their foundations
their structural intelligence.

With a brick here
and some love there;
once demolished
can be reassembled.

I'll reconstruct
your finest details,
the youthful aspirations
of an idyllic generation.

Too naïve to
understand that unforgiving
weather can happen
to even the kindest of buildings.
It's a passion project
Luisa Mar 4
Maybe I grasped the wrong notion
A site meant for poetry in motion
Random musings are easy to find
One sentence isn’t a poem in my mind!

Not all poems have to rhyme
But some of your writings are a crime
A felony against art and words that wield power
These low effort attempts, hundreds each hour

I bet Sylvia Plath turns in her grave
At these pathetic bids some of you gave
Where is the rhapsody, where is the verse?
Your words should be in the back of a hearse

Where is the structure or composition?
Posting your crap was a poor decision
You might hate my words, though they are true
In my opinion, you have some work to do!
Who else is fed up of a single sentence being coined as a poem? Or something akin to a motivational quote being passed off as one?
Get rid of the low grade efforts! Post your **** on a blog instead!
Carlo C Gomez Feb 10
Living on the toilsome trail
A mere speck
Without flight
Or even the aid
From a friendly leaf blower
I make my way
Upon my belly
Born to struggle
But shaped to endure
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