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Carlo C Gomez Jun 2020
I. The Boy With The Cuckoo Clock Heart

Born with a frozen heart,
abandoned in
Edinburgh.

One kind physician
laid her hands upon him,
in a bit of medicinal salvation,
by placing a cuckoo clock
inside his chest.

Now an orphan,
among peculiar friends:
tear-filled flasks,
eggs containing memories,
and a man with a musical spine.

There's but one catch
for this boy:
his heart is fragile,
he must never, ever
fall in love.

Existence is undoubted.
But without this one emotion,
can he really live?

Love is a bitter token.


II. The Girl With Glass Feet

"It was a humid night,
later to become a hated night."

Upon an island sound,
feet first, she is slowing turning
into glass.

By sheer happenstance,
she meets a shy boy
who lives there
with an extreme fear
of being touched.

As she slowly disappears,
she untethers herself
from self-pity,
by teaching the boy the value
of interaction.

Inchmeal, he begins to reach out
and feels everything
she has lost to the night.

Love is a bitter token.


III. The Snow Child

"November was here."

A married couple,
in Alaskan remote,
suffering from one great sadness:
no child of their own
and unable to talk of it.

He's buried by
the weight of the outer ice,
she's crumbling
from inner despair.

And so on a rare
friendly day trek,
they built a child out of snow,
outfitted with mittens and scarf.

A day later it is gone,
remembered only in absentia,
yet there appears
a beautifully arrayed
creature of winter,
a little, lissome girl in the woods,
hunting with the red fox.

In wishing to understand
these encounters,
the couple come to love the child
as their very own daughter.

Yet will she ever accept them
as they do her?

Or see them
merely as snowdrops?

Figurines frosted over by
the harsh landscape
they each wander?

Love is a bitter token.
BLT's continued challenge - to write a poem using the Merriam-Webster word of the day, lissome. It's in there somewhere.
A privilege of white
That I carry within,
Feels like burden to me
Of which I cannot get rid.

It is sorrowful
That I can’t understand,
What it feels to be judged
On the color of skin

Nor to walk on
With fear and concern,
When the ones that protect you
Are the ones that will ****.

They took power themselves,
Leaving unheard ones behind,
Ignoring the change, which
Nation’s people demand.

Damage will not be undone
When there’s hearts teared apart,
And there’s no one to hear them
Seems - humanity’s gone.
But the view's fine from here,
they say, all carbon copy cloying concern.

They don't know that the sun doesn't rise
and set quite so exquisitely
when your sky
is on fire.

But the view's from fine here,
they maintain, as unsaid words skulk in the throat.

They don't notice the skin that burns and crackles
and stretches at a breaking point
that's been broken
for years.

But the view's fine from here,
they confirm. And then turn away.

They don't see what shouldn't be seen,
what eyes can't afford to shut
even as glass splinters
edge closer.

And they are right, really,
because their view truly is fine from here.

#BlackLivesMatter i
It's been an indescribable week for the whole world. Watching all the scenes coming out of the US feels like watching a film you can't hit pause on. And I couldn't not write about it. .
First, I wanted to write from the perspective of someone in the riots, someone who's suffering from this appalling inequality. But it didn't feel right. I'm a white woman living in the UK, so this isn't my reality. The reality is that I benefit from my white privilege every day. And the reality is that many, many people in my position, with my privilege simply refuse to fully see what is going on, and don't attempt to empathise with those suffering.
.
I dream of a day we all understand our privilege and use it to help those whose voices are drowned out. #BlackLivesMatter
Michael R Burch Jun 2020
Survivors
by Michael R. Burch

(for the victims and survivors of 9/11 and their families)

In truth, we do not feel the horror
of the survivors,
but what passes for horror:

a shiver of “empathy.”

We too are “survivors,”
if to survive is to snap back
from the sight of death

like a turtle retracting its neck.

Published by The HyperTexts, Gostinaya (Russia), Ulita (Russia), Promosaik(Germany), The Night Genre Project and Muddy Chevy; also turned into a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong. Keywords: survivors, victims, families, 911, 9/11, terrorist, attack, terrorism, empathy, sympathy, truth, horror, death, survive, survival
Aus May 2020
my back aches
like my moms always did
from carrying the weight
of choice

i do not have ******* that pull at my muscles like she did
but I have empathy
and responsibility

and my back

it’s where I carry
the weight
Varsha K May 2020
The more I grow old,
My empathy grows bigger.

The more I understand,
My feelings become liberal.
The Dybbuk May 2020
A thousand times in a life,
we confess ourselves to an ear,
and in retelling all our strife,
we are redeemed of every fear.
A part of you hates listening,
within yourself you must destroy;
and now your soul is glistening,
with the sweat and blood of joy.
If happiness were easy,
we'd live inside a shadow.
I know it may sound cheesy,
but you simply must let go.
Joshua r Hopkins May 2020
Our world

Electronic desires and tectonic fires loosing responsibility
Our world has been here for many leapyear and now we keep it cleaner,
But only when the dying men are close beside the healer
I know it's vague but it took a plague for us to really see her!
Mansi May 2020
The more poems I write
The more I realize

They help me
Give a name to
The sea of emotions
brewing in my mind

Once they have a name
They can be understood
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