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I’d make a lousy leaf.

I couldn’t happily leave my tree, my family, my home
I expect I’d be one of the last, holding on, looking down
and nervously watching my siblings.

Seeing them heaped and occasionally lifted
to fly, to dance in a whirl of excitement
– free of past commitments.

Maybe then I’d gather my brittle courage,
eyes clenched shut, ready at last to jump
and to let go, into the unknown.

Only to find myself kicked around by ignorant children
who have no appreciation
of the journey I’ve been on to get here.

Oh well, this is a new season.
There’s no going back now.
All I Am

I keep it sublimely real not  living in a rush. Cos future belongs to me. I live to make better thangs & make thangs better. Reality the only place I go. Nothang had my prudent pen, but to  poured out some naked truth. I live 4 all I am. All I am my personality. you see even my name chants my identity shine in limelight. I'm a star, I live aboveground I shine in the moonlight. Remember me  eternal realist poet. When _you_ walk in the light!

--- *Cloudnine Fairmane
Paul Butters Sep 11
How many times can I say
I don’t want to die
Or extol the bountifulness of Mother Nature.
And how many times can I gasp
At the wonder of our ever-expanding universe?
It is what it is
As I’ve said on many occasions before.

Yet that mysterious aura of spirituality still surrounds us.
Perhaps my Muse is having an early Autumn break.
We still are but tiny ants
Looking up and dreaming
About what lies beyond
Our star speckled night-skies.

It took us ages to find that we all come from Africa
That The Earth is not the centre of The Cosmos
And that really we know next to nothing
About anything.

We were so easily ravaged by a tiny virus called Covid
And still struggle against the excesses of Global Warming.
So much more still needs to be done.

It’s The Anniversary of Nine Eleven,
Queen Elizabeth II is dead.
King Charles III has taken the throne.
The kids are back at school now
And in the blink of an eye
It will be Christmas.

Paul Butters

© PB 11\9\2022.
snipes Sep 10
the swing hinges sing
after chalkboards screech
as if it’s
their maniacal symphonies
of me

these noises echo
forming my synopsis
but the author
might think as opposites
of me

i’m not in the guidelines
i’m not on the same timeline
the spectrum speaker
the balance seeker
seen as me

…but man ain’t none of this matters
we live, we die
yesterday is forgotten
tomorrow never happened
today yea that’s exactly what’s balancing
so what’s it to me arguing about what they think of me
as i am the being
noises of recollection

what they post might not be true

I’m not on that time I’m seeing things different

Carlo C Gomez Sep 10
Soft shoulders

shoreless summer

out of the sinking

and onto the floatation

hunting for mermaid

while taking islands

along the river's mutiny

blue coda dreamwater

but fire in the organism

the hour is thin

the ice is even thinner
Allesha Eman Aug 28
From the echoes of the future
What would you like to hear?
I hear sea breeze and glittering leaves
Rustling in a wind that has travelled from yesterday
Touched your palms and took you dancing on the moon
Then bid it's farewell to meet you once again someday

If this is all we've left behind
Of fractured conversations broken up by laughs and cries
I hope that somewhere under this broken starlight
You find the strength to dream and feel
And when you sleep, all your prayers reverberate through the atmosphere

We shall meet someday, in a moment of realization
Or in someone's loving daze
We shall watch the sunset and wave our last goodbyes

From: the past
To: the future
Cody Haag Aug 20
My future seems set in stone,
The path before me, known.
Spent in solace, all alone.
Hiding from what I can't atone,
She Writes Aug 20
She made a five year plan
With a 3 year man
Ken Pepiton Aug 17
Fading sorrow expressed as will, I will
make sense of the entire idea, my will to ride
this fading sorrow,
with no way,
giving lie to another old saying.

As if, I can pause, and think of half a dozen
things I wisht had never happened,
but always afterwards,
still had happened,
as I wisht, too late.
The ride of my life, fifty years and more, since I really read The Child Buyer, by John Hersey... a book I think that hooked me in to the Fifty Year Miracle Plan. You should read it. It's quaint and perspicacious.
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