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Ana Oct 2020
I've always preferred finding out what time it was by looking at the watches of strangers,
Preferably on a morning carriage where the forgotten time difference from fading holidays meet the eternally shaken bracelets
Strangers, on their way to an oversized office smelling like old tea and leftover birthday cake.

My eyes, moving from one being to the next,
wondering if they woke up in their own bed.
Disparate attires or obedient consumerism, smells of cologne and *****, unironed shirts and loose ties,
Remains of a night too quickly ended or of a morning that started off wrong.
Strangers, burning the courage to face the dread of small talk talk and mindless tasks.

A half hour turnover of faces, smells and stories,
Strangers, unknowingly sharing their lives with me.
Astrea Oct 2020
numbers & figures are
nothing more than a flicker
of the winter chimney's smoky snicker;
fleeting as the sad beggar's liquor &
grandmother's empty wicker
chair, rocking with the gentle gale
breezing past rootless weeds
to settle on the frozen well —
Farewell, numbers & figures.
Sometimes I think I'm too fixated on numbers & figures, so this is a poem to remind myself not to be so caught up with them because 1. they do not define me and 2. they are as fickle as a breeze, might as well stop caring so much on fleeting things.
Jay M Mar 2019
I sing myself a quiet lullaby,
The melody haunting,
I stand wraith-like in the moonlight,
My flesh paler than my ashen soul,
"Just a little while longer..."
Comes my cry,
My hand extended to an unseen figure,
In their own so terrible,
Bringing me to life with a look in the eyes,
So beautiful, reflecting that gentle soul,
"Come back to me, dear one",
I call, but all is silent.

- Jay M
February 21st, 2019
Traveler Jul 2020
Challenge Thomas Case
from a historical figure's viewpoint.

(Pay no attention to the little man behind the curtains)

All my great inventions
An Emerald City of true paradise
An eye in the sky that watches all...
At the labor of the Munchkins
The city thrives on and on
  The four winds carry my famous name
The great and most powerful OZ!

There was ones a great disturbance
A march upon my precious city
The yellow brick road of evil
The Witches of all directions raised
Dorothy and her posy had arrived

Why can't they understand
I protect this kingdom
From the dangers of the outsiders
And the opinions of those unwelcome here in Oz!

But then it happened
Nothing would ever be the same
The Munchkins revolted
Red ruby glass slippers some witch made
Would over power my dictatorship

The Munchkins now ruling their selves
In league with some race of monkey elves
Left me no choice
So I returned to Kansas
Just behind Dorothy and her confounded little dog Toto

I joined the mighty Canaveral for a short spell
Still there and everywhere
Again and again evil dwelt among men
So beware
Until this day I still fight for the small people

                         W. Oz
Misty morning, clouds in the sky
Without warning, the wizard walks by
Casting his shadow, weaving his spell
Funny clothes, tinkling bell
Never talking
Just keeps walking
Spreading his magic
Evil power disappears
Demons worry when the wizard is near
He turns tears into joy
Everyone's happy when the wizard walks by
Never talking
Just keeps walking
Spreading his magic
Sun is shining, clouds have gone by
All the people give a happy sigh
He has passed by, giving his sign
Left all the people feeling so fine
Never talking
Just keeps walking
Spreading his magic.

Songwriters: John Osbourne / Terence Butler / Frank Iommi / W.t. Ward

Traveler Tim
Nis Jun 2018
"Manos crispadas me confinan al exilio.
Ayúdame a no pedir ayuda."

Cuervos negros me prohiben mi alegría.
Ayúdame a no pedir ayuda.
Armas siniestras, seres aciagos.
Ayúdame a no pedir ayuda.

Mi muerte se acerca, mi mano se acerca.
Ayúdame a no pedir ayuda.
Mi pálida reflexión me prohibe la vida.
Ayúdame a no pedir ayuda.

"Me quieren anochecer, me van a morir.
Ayúdame a no pedir ayuda."
-"Figuras y silencios" de Alejandra Pizarnik


"Contorted hands confine me to exile.
Help me not to ask for help."

Black ravens forbid me my happiness.
Help me not to ask for help.
Sinister weapons, fateful beings.
Help me not to ask for help.

My death gets closer, my hand gets closer.
Help me not to ask for help.
Mi pale reflection forbids me my life.
Help me not to ask for help.

"They want to night me, they are going to die me.
Help me not to ask for help."
-Extracting the stone of madness, by Alejandra Pizarnik
Segundo poema basado en un texto de  Pizarnik, esta vez de "Figuras y Silencios", espero que os guste!


Second poem based on a text by Pizarnik, this time "Figures and Silences" , hope you like it (and my translation of it).
Rezium Jun 2018
Honor your mother and Father
It's a hard constant thought
It's been taught
So many times yet I can never keep that locked

I honor her even though she's dead
I honor him yet he's gone too
Seeing him though is a pack of lies
All I see is a glutenous fool
So spare your "tries"
I'm not your misconcepted tool
It's not what a dad does

You can call him by a title yet his colors will show another .

Sugar coat it like I'm a naive child but after a while
I saw that smile become a...
Trust me you say
s t o p  i t

I've had 3 and believe me they have names...
But they are set by me.
And don't try buying tryer cause liar could never be the supplier like the grand who showed me I can go higher than all of...Cliars

But what does it matter when you're a brick wall who shuns me...
A holy Trinity but more earthly.
Grand if you can read this, thank you.
Liar, hope you're safe but buzz off
Tryer, test me and you'll be on the ground soon
Imelda Dickinson May 2018
I entered Grande parlour of elegance where is placed bronze statue unique

Beside wide patio glass-paneled doors. “Shipped from Italy,” her Owner’s critique

Stepping closer, my curious nature sees child’s form, perhaps five, plus one

Clad poor, feet bare, head downcast. Clasps round vessel empty of duties undone

Illusions of her Artist haunt me. Why brown metal a child colored so?

Her innocence tainted, darkened, bleak. Why not a face pearled, soft cameo?

I peer in her eyes hallowed, countenance sad. She stands across from me

Near smoothed, bronze dolphin cast in glass, ****** from frothed waves sea

I think merrily, “You live where sea creatures play, power driven, dive ocean deep

Squeal with delight, let’s ride aquatic prince of Atlantic who does not sleep!

Or, “Do you hope to soar to third heaven, where bronze eagle behind you can fly?

Moon shadows beckon us to jewel stars on veiled, velvet blackened sky”

Or, “ Could I offer you a melon-porcelain rose? Fragrance perfume fills room you’re in

Petals never fade. Would you wear garlands on small feet, frail hands, brown hair so thin?”

“Angelina, come, listen to night sounds! Leave tasks mundane for a time

Frogs creak, leap high, jump gleefully, come to soft sand dunes we’ll climb!

Will you ride wail winds of tempest, hurricane water crash smooth sand?

Just beneath your window safe most days, but hurls destruction on demand!

Does music of your Owner excite you? Tunes, ballads, songs, new and old?

Melodies you never knew where you grew, stories of love you untold

Instruments: string, ebony, ivory keys, soothe soul, lift spirits high

Loud drums beat march jubilant. Music to laugh with, music to cry”

My mind stills. Angelina becomes bronze again, dress of white linen gone homespun

My imaginations for her happiness for a moment quiets, our fantasies clearly undone

This is why your Artist formed you, so mankind could see in your face

Divine hands help mold bronze your form, your simplicity man must embrace

Ill leave grande parlour of elegance from Angelina, bronze statue unique

Not Italian, but universal child-alloy. Words unsaid, so loud does she speak!

Of an Artist inspired to fire her. Of a Buyer perceptive to see

A child in need of needs to fulfill throughout life of man’s history

Child’s image, thin hair, poorly clad, feet bare. Rich in lessons clearly taught

By Master-Artist is Angelina, little teacher. Forget her not

“Angelina, did you give water to the thirsty? Was bread given away all you had?

Coarse shawl you don’t wear, did it cover an old friend? Did you visit prison comforting Dad?

In small village, do you care-give Mother often sick, rush on your hurried little feet?

Do you invite another child like you to humble hut on Lonely Street?”

Reminds me, words of Scripture, Master Teacher, Jesus said

“I was thirsty and drink you provided. I was hungry you gave meat and bread

As stranger you took Me in your place, naked you clothed Me poor alone

Sheltered Me, tattered and torn, lonely, no place to call home”

“I was sick, Jesus said, “You visited. To My prison cell you came

Downcast, forsaken,” He says, “ Angelina do you know My name?”

Lord send me Your naked, Your hungry, Strangers many in thirst

Sick in pain, prisoners behind walls, lonely, unloved at worst

Teach us to live Your words, like You help us to be

“In as much as You do to these,” Jesus said, :My brethren you do unto Me.”
A poem about a little bronze statue girl by Imelda Dickinson
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