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Nigel Finn Apr 2022
"Do me a favour" you say, and so I do
But then one favour turns into two,
And two favours turns into three,
Until there isn't time for me.

"Do me a favour" I say, but you decline.
You say you simply have no time,
To return the favour that I gave,
"Do it yourself; I'm not your slave"

Doing a favour, with none returned
Should feel like nothing's being earned,
But only if you do not see,
I do them not for you, but me.

"Do me a favour" and, once again, I do,
And when one favour turns into two,
And you don't return a single one,
I'm laughing to myself; I've won!
Steve Page Mar 2022
You complete me and do so
in every sound you now mouth,
every movement of your tongue,
every muscle’s adjustment
to effect fresh shape to phrase,
in every quick, shallow breath
giving sudden pause and turn
to the next silence.

You complete me at this reading
and so I am deaf to the closing,
blind to the ending you gift me
and ignorant of the next stair
with no balustrade to steady
where you leave the first me
to rise to find, first-hand,
the landing that completes me
triggered by Walt Whitman's 'To You'.
" I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem..."
Daisy Hemlock Aug 2020
My mind is like a pawn shop.

Most people wouldn't care about all the odds and ends in there.

But if you do, and you can make a fair exchange, anything in there is yours.

So shop around any time,

You never know what you may find
Simon Aug 2020
Trust is not commercial, because trading or exchanging wears upon one's very truth isn't exactly well thought out. It only comes about, when one's very truth isn't (not) exactly commercial. But when trust isn't truth, when one's very wears aren't as thought out as it was to begin with. Scrambling many believes until one most tired (thought out) engagement, began to unscramble back into "trust is not commercial"!
One among us ALL comes across something that never was meant to pan out correctly. Because certainty is a believe meant to unscramble ALL believes back in onto itself! Forcing many priorities too become uncertain of itself....
Druzzayne Rika Jul 2020
I have looked through flowers
They are dying without the attention
So are other beings
Waiting for a notice
A text, a message
A phone ring.

It is surprising,
Not meeting
A sudden situation
missing out on exchange
the needs are simple
short greetings.

You know them
Don't you,
Met in the corridor
The canteen,
In the bus,
In a cafe,
the bakery
The number saved on phone.

You call out
They'll hide
You reach
Be in touch
Kindness needs to be shown
Or they'd be gone
Far far away
John McCafferty Jan 2020
Cryptic clues lead to the jewel
Free to exchange
Man will be paid
Arms stretch afar in this digital age

Informed design as heart crosses mind
Few and far between are inside of a dream
Where have we been
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
she whispered to him, softly,
and asked to be laid down.
down on soft ground.
on soft soil.

she remained calm, studiously
watching her breath,
slowly pouring out
the life found
within the compounds
of her barren soul.

as she slithered her
fingers through the lively
green that surrounded,
she shed one singular,
embracing tear.

as the heavy droplet
trailed down her face
and touched the dense
earth, something happened.

something so pure and beautiful.

that one drop gave life
to the land around her,
it bloomed the flowers
and the animals rejoiced.

it cleared the skies and
filled the rivers.
it made the world a little warmer
than yesterday, and gave her
spirit a home, amongst
the others who had
done the same.

it was time.
her sacrifice, although in
short scene seemed unfair,
served a greater purpose.
so he let go, and let her rest.
alone and at peace.

she went.
with a smile
at the surface.

he understood what took place,

the exchange, of life.

i'd like for readers to comment on what they think this poem might be about and repost if you enjoyed, thank you!
John H Dillinger Nov 2019
Time is all I have to spend,
though, I'm not sure on the exchange.
I'm negotiable on how I lend,
I'm sure there's something we can arrange.

You see, Time is all I have to spend,
I can't sell it for minimum wage;
but if I really had to,
I guess I'd spend some Time in Rage.

Time is all I have to spend,
So, I put my pen to page.
Time, to me, holds Everything,
It's worth thinking how I engage.
Time is true currency. How do you spend yours?
What Was Lost In False Exchange

Wait. Why was this minstrel running?
Helter-skelter, with no safe place to hide;
A race seemed beyond waters and sand,
The rose he gave thrown onto blazing fire.

Willing to walk 1000 miles and more in a blizzard.
And the wounds I got won’t be healed with a plaster.
Sad still there exist no cure for stupidity.

Love would make one ride on false hope,
Owing the heart and body eternal apology,
Sure, it holds the entire tradition of cruelty;
Town to all forms of joy, pain and despair.

I live on the bank of blissful ignorance  –
Not knowing what’s nor what’s once were.

Fear what you can’t create nor can you force.  
As the sun sets slowly it held the moon closer:
Love is only found in books and in poetry.
Stars perplexed, wind jumbled, oceans standstill;
Even when you gave all they can’t accept?

Ever since I heart the idea of you,
X out were all the senses in me.
Caged by sadness and petulant cry,
Happiness and love are now foreign to me.
And it digs deeper and deeper and deeper:
Now, neither me can change this nor God.
Gathered are these memories, locked up with a tear;
Except what was lost in false exchange.          

©2019 – m.a.
This is about a feeling I carried for someone for years i she never felt the same, or at least anything about me.
Your voice changed my mood like a chameleon. Flooding my mind in deep nostalgia, I am surrounded by reminders of what pleasures we partook, we indulged, we unapologetically did, we confidently said and we therapeutically wanted. We ravaged, we begged, we, were, human.

Your scent still leaves a trace that even a bloodhound could find. Roses vanilla and a hint of cinnamon; my tongue tingles from the pleasure of closing my eyes, reanimating the masterpiece that went down at your unguarded borders.

But, I kept it cool when you introduced your new boyfriend.

'Hello this is__'

I replied 'What's up, the names Kitarō'

But as I spoke, I could tell we were harmoniously in sync when he called out your name twice; no response escaped your lips.

The third time triggered your body to respond; when your crimson lips were finally free from it's white prison it was photographically known of what was unsaid on your beautiful luscious red painted canvas

I knew you wanted me.
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