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rig Jun 4
it is about this time, this time right here, the now,
holy friday night y’all, can i get an amen! (amen!)
drink that beer (alwaysalways beer, yeah!) wooo!!
play that song – excuseme – that countrysong again!!!
raise them glasses, boys and ladies (yeah, one more,
one more) uh, right, somethingsomething my truck
yeeeeeehaaawww how are y’all feelin’ tonight!!!!

          (i’m heading home
          alone
          and for the first time
          in my life
          i forgot my keys)
.
Washed away the sweat of my day
and now I'm squeaky clean.

Out on the balcony and
the Sun playing games with me
if I squint I can see her halo.
There's a lot to be said for
saying nothing and keeping
the thoughts in your head
and
there is much to be said about
something but we sit back and
listen instead.
Winding down
Kassan Jahmal Apr 15
Dynamite!

At the touch of lips,
feelings do explode.
But we were still too young,
how'd we really know?
I guess for us, it only implodes.

Kissing in secret,
curious kids against each parents wishes.
Because of you,
I never forgot that Friday evening.

(Of my first taste at French kisses)
Seven Things Spoken

Seven things spoken,
three words for completion,
silence, then a cracking earth
and a temple veil torn in two.
James E. Roethlein ©2021
Jim is the author of two books of poetry "Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1/2" and "An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing" both available on Amazon
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

   Thoughts During that Famous Light Collation on Good Friday

This morning I mowed the lawn, the springtime lawn
Then messed about with flowerpots and bees
In this little safe space of happy green
A shadow of Heaven beneath wise Plato’s oak

This evening I will visit Jerusalem
And follow timidly the Stations of the Cross
Not wanting to be noticed by Romans or Greeks
(Setting aside the fact that I am a Roman)

Time stops - with faltering steps and a contrite heart
A journey into the dark, and then – waiting
A poem is itself.
Thursday Night

Body-blood
wafers-wine,
praises turned crucifixion,
a mother's milk gone sour
to boil its lamb son alive.
We lament, and remember
(upon this Thursday night)
the actual retail price paid,
the victory won from defeat.
James E. Roethlein ©2021
Jim is the author of two books of poetry "Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1\2" and "An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing" both available on Amazon
With mixed and barbed emotions
these thick and heavy days defy physics
individually grinding
yet weekly whipping by

But in this treacled maelstrom
Friday’s unique frisson
still brings a cheeky tickle
Shannon Soeganda Nov 2020
The scent of autumn

trespasses by the name

of our paths---

as our paths intertwine

with one another;

scraping its way out

to welcome the cold,

but warm, and familiar

wintertime.
Honey smells like a wintertime to me.
Goodbye Autumn, I guess?
hannah Nov 2020
It was Friday.

I did it again,
but just enough to numb the pain

to wake me up from a bad dream.

am doin' my best ever since..

bcs I fear
that one day

I might not scared of the most unknown.
I wish you'd tell me.
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