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Zywa 7h
I don't wait for the bus
I'm already on my way
it's the Eve

a little busy in the street
everyone's wearing their best
shoes, polished for the feast

Open curtains, tables laid
chuckles and soft music
people will be at home tonight

The candles are dancing around us
the big loaves smell of peace
we have no questions now

The decorated bus
has clean seats
on which no one died

There are pigeons fluttering up
and three angels above the stores
are blowing their buisines
“Three angels” (1970, Bob Dylan)

Collection “The migration”
Louis Verata Feb 15
I have paid heed
His weening always makes me bleed
That Fiend with his spleen
Nor let anyone see
That he counsels me
While I dream.

He wants my inferior soul
The more I sleep
The more he succeeds
Paradise he does not want me to reach
Who could it be
Lucifer maybe.

The terrible weight of his deceit
He is from no creed
His steed next to the Tree Eve sought
Secrets he can keep
My wish, to drink
From Lethe for eternity.
Written on January 2, yet I hesitated to post for obvious reasons (Lucy is a sketchy subject). I utilized the name Lucifer instead of Satan because the latter is plain evil.
Maaz Jan 30
Upon the tree of eternity a man laid his gaze,
A sight that caused his thoughts to haze.
The words of the devil he could not trust,
yet gazing at this tree his heart filled with ****.
He stepped forward and took from the damnable tree,
A mistake, he soon realised, to doom him eternally.

Alas, the forbidden fruit had been consumed,
the dissolute nature of man finally exhumed.
As the consequences began to loom overhead,
"Oh, forgive me for my sin", he said,
"I have taken a bite from the forbidden fruit,
yet still I wish to confute,
The idea that I am inherently bad,
For I cannot bear to lose all that I've had"

To go from a world so green and lush
to one where the ground was covered with dust,
was the price this credulous man had to pay,
banished to earth,
to live out the rest of his days.
Our story of origin
n Jan 12
Embarrassed at her crude, superficial motivations she continues. This is a hidden therapy she’s toying with. She thinks she isn’t any good. She doesn’t know as many words as he does.
Comparison is her damnation.
Look at her, she’s plastered herself to the floor.
Immobile, she can’t even reach the glass ceiling threshold.
He slithers away, contented.
I explore the reasons I started writing poetry again. Realising, it was to impress a boy who is a poet himself it led me to this take on Adam & Eve and original sin.
LearnfromBOBD Dec 2018
I saw you in my dream
You came through indeed
What’s the **** is this
Is New Year Eve, 2019
that I can see
Coming down from the hills
Pete King Dec 2018
Smooth down the next clean page
As you bid this chapter farewell.
The story of life isn't easy to write,
But there's still so much left to tell.

So, take a breath for composure,
And spend every moment this year
Creating a tale to leave readers in awe
And your grandkids bored-to-tears.
Happy New Year! Huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read any of the stuff that I've made over the last year.
Zywa Dec 2018
Enough is enough
We tie a bow around the old
year and share wishes

"don't think too much
of days to come
because your feet always will stand in the present"

with our neighbours
we are happy to be at home
where we live

nothing special beyond that
everything as usual
just good

For Christel Huilmand and Benny Berson ( a year ago)

Collection "Summer birds"
Pete King Dec 2018
I stopped striving for the perfect year,
Because my concept of "perfection" was flawed.
I was chasing a scenario in which,
I could go a full rotation of the sun
without anything going astray,
All my dreams being fulfilled.

This search for perfection,
Was like looking at a window,
And being annoyed because
All I could see was a sheet of glass.

But, I decided to alter my desires;
Try to live single year in hopes of good autobiography.

To say yes more often.
And say no when needed.
To relish in successes.
And learn from mistakes.
To love without exception.
And to be kind without expectation.
To revel in every single wonderful moment as they come,
And not letting their fleeting nature feed the bitter parts of me.

Don't chase the perfect year.
Chase an amazing story.
Leave readers captivated.
And your grandkids bored-to-death.
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