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Colm Jan 2019
Give me a quiet day
Where someone remembers
The tallness of trees
And the will to stop and speak to them
To wake them up and then
Sometimes it's the littlest things
Julian Delia Nov 2018
PART III: THE LOCKED DOOR

The straw that broke the camel’s back.
The lethal blow that made his resilience crack.
Think, analyse the commensurate reaction to his fate;
Paralysed and desperate, in his own words.

‘Asphyxiated’ seems like such a clean word;
‘He died of asphyxiation,’ that’s what the articles wrote.
What about dying of starvation? Let me elaborate on this note –
I meant, dying from being starved of hope.
I hardly think one ‘asphyxiating’ does this justice.
How about ‘a sense of debilitating hopelessness’, instead?
Or maybe ‘hopelessness that feels like all-encompassing dread?’

Because that’s what all of Gaza feels right now.
How? How the **** did we get here?
Year after year, Palestinians die and suffer.
Fear after fear, they come alive, one after the other.
‘We’re dead, already’ –
How does reading something like that not make you feel unsteady?

So, what do you do after suffering like that?
Nothing, except for lying down flat on your bed,
Crying, watching everybody around you dying.
And then, when you can’t cry anymore,
When you realise your entire country was treated like an eye sore,
When you can’t take it anymore,
That’s when you lock the ******* door.
That’s when Asma broke through that door,
To find her prodigal son dead, collapsed on the floor.
I finished it; Mohanad, I hope I have done your soul justice.
Colm Apr 2018
The moment you worry
About the days which are gone
You create the current warry
About what you couldn't control
Warry is a slick word
Colm Apr 2018
The height of the stars
The depths of the ocean
The colors of the flowers
And the warmth of a summers morn
No human heart nor hand to hold
Is responsible for making you
Feel with such feelings as these adorn
To love is to try. To forgive is to forget. And such choices go beyond mere human fleeting feelings.
Arnauld Jarvis Jun 2017
Observing the profane sky in yellow
And the utter mountains arising alike fountains below
Why I'm nothing but another fellow
 What the best of oneness' able to bestow
Beneath the heart of earth, upside down, wheresoever's low
Crysta Gingras Mar 2016
I wake up in the morning and see the sun saying hello
I go downstairs and am stopped by an odd fellow
He wore a green hat and carried a cello
He certainly was an odd little fellow
He stopped me and said “Do you want to follow your dreams?”
A little shy I squeaked “uh well, Sure please”
He led me down the hallway and right out the door
Looked back at me with a display and asked “what are you waiting for?”
I shrugged my shoulders with dismay and followed closely behind
He kept right on running I followed suit in kind
He led me to a castle that stood up straight and bold
He looked at me and pointed at it while demanding “Don’t you now fold;
The answers to all your dreams is up there waiting inside
The place is falling at the seams, no time to swallow pride”
So with a leap and a bound I found myself in the castle
Searching far and wide certainly was a hassle
I walked up to a fireplace and saw a burning stew
I turned around to look and who I saw, was you
You stared at me with a challenge, blue eyes boring holes
I stared right back unable to move from those striking blues
You asked what I had come for
I honestly said, “No clue,
Though if I’d take a guess, I’d say I came for you”
That quip made your eyes lose their stony glare
And if I had the confidence I’d swear I saw a sparkle there
You invited me to sit, and we talked for a long while
I impressed you with my wit and even got a smile
It came time for me to leave, so I made to bid adieu
You reached out and grabbed my arm, “life is far better with two”
I was a little taken aback, had I been too far forward?
This woman knew my inner thoughts, perhaps clear-sighted?
I wanted to agree with you, but I lived far from here
It seemed you knew again and said, “Will you take me there?”
My shock must have shown for you shrunk back like I hurt you
“Did I assume too much?” you asked with hesitation
“That all depends” I said with sly smile “do you like blue?”
You smiled again, glowing with confidence, as you leaned forward and said “of course I do”
This time I smiled back, and linked your arm with mine
We walked out of the castle and passed the fellow, now drinking wine
He looked up with a glance and then jumped back with a dance
Shouting for joy at the sight
He grabbed his cello
Before he could mellow
And sang with all of his might
“oh happy days you found your dream
It has all come true to be
For you found her and she found thee
So happy
So happy to be!”
We danced with the fellow
While playing his cello
And moved about all through the night
My hand in your hand
And your eyes on mine
Nothing has ever felt more right
Like the fellow had sung
So happy to be
Right then and there
Just you and me
A story for my Angel
Made strong,
and sturdy,
I am built for suffering;
Created to bear the burderns
of those who cannot lift the weight from thier own shoulders.
I cannot abandon a fellow man to the cold
hard
ground,
one that would swallow him up
and eat him for lunch;
Even though I have tried to forget,
to turn my head away
from the misery of the world I see around me
and selfishly focus on myself,
I remember their faces-
pale and pink
awash with tears
and pleading eyes
and broken dreams;
those faces that hide sorrow
like an empty dinner plate
in a cob-webbed kitchen.
I give up
and let go
forgive slights
and keep secrets;
I am no ones puppet,
and no ones master,
not a saint,
but not a healer,
not a sinner,
but not a believer.
I exist
to take the hit
feel the pain
work through pressure
and walk through fire-
to steal away frowns from sorry faces
that never deserved them.
I give pep talks
and poems,
I greet strangers
on grey days,
in new ways
on buses going nowhere fast.
I'm not perfect by any means,
and I won't laud accomplishments
that aren't achieveable by anyone ordinary
because I find it too terrible that
My opinion is not shared these days;
because
we are all so busy watching tvs and idiots,
quoting gods and people we don't emulate
or care about,
serving cold dishes of slander
while not tipping the waitress who just brought you your beer.
Courtesy and kindliness are things of the past;
like shaking hands,
opening doors,
saying nice things,
or pausing to help someone cross the **** street.
SO,
here I am
a product of an era I never lived in,
a mirage existing in a world I can't abandon,
but that would easily decide to abandon me,
trying to inspire callous people to open their eyes,
their ears,
and their hearts
to see that sonderous ephiphanies still await.
I'm still trying,
and I always will;
Because I was made to suffer for fools.
There was this fellow, who seemed very mellow,
Yet when one asked me to write a poem about one self;
He spoke very highly of himself;
Cockiness; not at all he was a charming fellow,
Who was always there when ones friend would fail;
Showing her she could prevail
Laughter filled his heart and thoughts filled his mind
Most people would say he’s undefined
I’d like to say he’s one of a kind
A friend, a brother, a charmer
Yet does he ever look deep within
Or does one just pretend?
Always there for someone in need
But what about one’s self needs
Shall I assume since you’re consider a charmer
That you have plastic armor
Pretend to be strong and bold
When there’s a deep secret you hold?
The charmer in one’s soul
Blocks the secret he holds
Never look too deep
Might cause you to lose sleep
Remember a charmer has a spell
And never yells
Goes on in life
Yet can cut you like a knife
Leaving a scar on your soul
One may be blind and flatter you
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