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Colm Sep 2019
Square me up with a new a vengeance
  Strike thunder of a different kind
    Pray not to see my gleaming face when you're ahead
      But hear me first
        Boom loud with anticipation
          When you're behind
I've seen thunder strike from the ground up. And it's ****** amazing!
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2019
Hosannah (Mombo from Missoura)


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Hosannah (Hebrew): an exclamation of joy, adoration

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who says Hosannah anymore, I think, recalling
a question reversed,^ one, long ago, that she sent to me,
the answer comes, a puddle splashing grandmother,
Mombo from Missoura

a what?

doesn’t matter

Periodic perusals of the small fine poems here, jewels lost in the kerfuffle,
At once, a signet ringing word jumps into my historical consciousness,
That little place, where the childhood was puzzled, but purified, remembering
That little boy, in synagogue, lost amid a congregation chanting
             Hosannah! to
Yahweh, ghost god, user of intermediaries-whisperers,

Mombo from Missoura (today’s guest voice)

selected by greater forces to make him recall the unity of many voices

his squeaking tone, found among that pure noise
that went to god’s heart direct

exclaiming in joy, adoration of
a majesty unfound on Earth,
sealed with a Selah,
crowned with Hallelujah

that god who never, incapable of forgetting,
still chats with him, that boy, now a boy~poppy,
from time to time,
recalling when together,
they too, puddle jumped,
looking for oil drop rainbow spots
so they could unison shout out loud


Hosannah! A rainbow on Earth

Sabbath Sept. 14, 2019
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^ ”who writes poems like this?”
did you think that a poem would not be forthcoming,
mombo-from-missoura?

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3323365/sudden-storm/
her Sep 2019
I wish I could
Package each and every single adjective that I have used to describe you thus far
And send them to you individually
So that you could have enough pieces
To make a portrait
Big enough to cover the entire night sky
Not missing an inch
So you could marvel at it the way I do
When you’re feeling down
And if it does nothing else
I hope it makes you smile
The way I do
When I’m down
I know I’m not a healer, and theres nothing I can fix
But I am a writer
So I’d like to give you this



I’ve dug deep inside myself and found pieces of you buried in the depths of my heart
Places I’ve never known
Places I want to discover



It’s funny cause
I’ve started and ended this poem about 34 times.
Today.
Alone.
I won’t address the other days.
This is a simple one...

I wonder if the lead in my pencil gets excited when I begin to write your name.

Sometimes, I’m jealous that it’s gotten to touch you before I have.
for you.
hazem al jaber Aug 2019
From no where...

as the sun ...
as the moon ...
as this earth ...
i'm from no where ...
from that sky ...
the son of stars ...
i born there ...
and will go back ...
again one day ...
there where all souls ...
starts from there ...
the first station ...
and the last ...
for an eternal life ...
where the real happiness ...
only there ...
there where no bodies ...
only spirits lives there ...
with blessing and peace ...
lives a happiness with no hates ...

i'm from no where ...
i belong to no where ...
even if my body ...
buried in the ground ...
my soul return to it's home ...
to all skies ...
there it must be ...
because ...
i'm a son of sky ...
i born with a soul there ...

hazem al ...
Ithaca Aug 2019
The more you share,
The more they care.
The louder you cry,
The greater they try.
The faster you run,
The quicker they follow.
And once you are done,
You’ll lose faith in tomorrow.
Aditya Roy Aug 2019
Flesh of a lonely man
Needs make up
Wreaths on this list coming

Crossing out and ticking the boxes
We’re still holding the dust of souls
And ashen glances look like desultory glances

****** on the nursed streets
The streetlit howling winds can fly out of educated lives
We are only left educated minds changing their ways and stealing cigarettes

Feigining for the father figure
I hope we have had a good time
The night’s brighter with the vivid growth of the undernelly

Knell bells tolling, killing the bleeding
Sojourn the dress, and adjourn th court
Red crimson tresses sense the mallet of sentences marking forever

Those worst worshipping travelers of trafficking
Altruist, my forefathers are looking at us like it’s now or never
The darkeness is inevitable, but, the tunnel runs out with indomitable spirit stealing glances from the Gods of religions so decrepit
I had my luck in my pocket from these corrupt politicians, and reiterated that I’d run and reign and then run
Like the apoplectic season of the monsoons, teaming up either way
I’m glad the worker is dead
I wanna govern it all to
Elative and error in my loveless ways
I can’t get anything out of my horse and wine
Mari Aug 2019
Poetry
does not come from learning.
It just comes
from your heart,
'cause its a part
of you.
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