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Jo Barber Oct 6
Exceedingly underwhelmed,
I found myself in awe
of my own vacant stupidity.
Oh, how we often
fail to grow wiser,
and instead lose
our clear vision
with time,
the way the rain blurs
the window
yet cleans the air.
Zywa Sep 27
The sun hangs on
just above the water
with romantic feelings
the old people look

at us on the rocks
where we read to each other
they don't see the ants
only our young bodies
and in mind, they add the lizards

At sea, a foghorn sounds
but there is nothing to see
until suddenly, also around us
the bathers on the blocks of concrete
become who they seemed to be

shadows cherishing themselves
in the warmth on their skin
they turn around and wait
for the sun asleep
Umag, Croatia, September 1988

Collection “WoofWoof”
Keerthi Sep 25
Low hanging clouds diffused
smudging the flat peaks
in muddy weather
brawny trees glistened
at the dripping tips.
Pastel skies lay ahead
on the horizon,
blurred into the melancholy sea.

Find you too not
this supreme feeling?
what is its name I do not know
for I cannot hold it as I hold you

now,
rightly so,
in the present.

What gift has been bestowed upon me?
I am searching the depths of the wind,
but the droplets it carries onto my tongue
do little to quench my thirst
so I stay
a naive sailor
lost within deep waters

Are you the answer?
My treasure in the sea?
My fair-skinned maiden standing beside me
with hips of gold and spirit-filled eyes.
Drink you too from this lantern eve?

Maybe in the morning, we shall both know.
Dark wave pulling me under
Dark wave filling my lungs
Dark wave ceasing my breath
Dark wave holding me hostage

Battling them wicked demons
They puncture the fabric of my soul
Using their horns to injure and harm
Leaving my sanity in pieces and shreds

Opaqueness and void paints my everyday
Grey fog envelops my clarity
Storm clouds gather to drench me
And whisk me away in it's murky waters

I don't know who I am
I don't understand why I exist
If there is no purpose there is no point
Living is just a waste of time
Seanathon Sep 5
When the first summer rain stirs the peaceful veil
And the white fly casts shadows down tried and true
When the firelight sparks in the first dark of night
And the thunderous call reaches the mountains through

Within grandeur ends such glory
A quiet death for time as it stops

Crashing like passing waves ashore
Bursting into the creative mind

That is the caffeine rushing to a combustive heart
Trying to write with morning fog, mostly about morning fog, is like a descriptive eye chart. LOL. #wakeup
Should I just drift into the path of some oncoming lights?

Has that ever been known to make anything right?
Late night driving thoughts.
ALesiach Jul 27
Essence of the dragon's breath
into the harbor creeps.
Gray, silent, with the chill of death
blankets the meadow while sunbeams sleep.

Wandering, lost within its drifting folds,
isolated from the world.
Cries of fears untold,
echo through its depths unfurl.

Distorted visions of illusions cast
tremor through the air.
Soulless victims on retributions task
beckon to their hidden snare.

Close your eyes, feel its cold fingers caress,
howls of anguish, to late,
your body shudders in distress,
bemoaning your impending fate.

ALesiach © 02/26/2015
A vampire bloodgasm in the shower,
They hide the body in the mist.
As the fog begins to clear,
The water washes the blood away,
With “help” written on the bathroom mirror!
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