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Loser Apr 2019
The sun was out.
The grass was green.
there was a sprinkle of rain.
And a sky full of blue.

You wore a calming yellow.
and a smile that showed in your eyes.
and when I wasn't thinking of your freckles,
I was thinking of how nice these little moments are.
thanks
ALEX Nov 2018
— written on jul. 17, 2018


Green— you walked kinda fast to reach the other side.
A lot of people beside you were doing the same, but it was only you whom I can see.

Red— I stopped. I stopped because I remembered the way my muscle felt when I saw your face from a distance. It was a short pause followed by the racing of my heart.

Yellow— no, it’s not that Coldplay song. Ready. Just by seeing your face, I could tell I was ready for it. Ready for your touch, your kiss, and your love.

It was a swift turn. The times of trips on the road as you held my hand and stir the wheel on the other. The moments we sang one song and felt like this would never end.

And those are memories to be cherished.

Gone are the days we felt no distance in between. But remember this darling, we may be far apart but our hearts lie within short distances.
ok this poem is bad im sorry :(
Rue Apr 2019
April is full of beauty
when water arrives from evening storms;
They bring life to us truly,
with that, our planet transforms.
Seeing Spring arrive is so beautiful.
All those moons ago
I plucked a stone from shore
and whispered my intention
with each waxing and waning.
I took it back to the sound today,
intending to sing a final goodbye
before casting it far into the waves.
It sparkled in the spring sun
then slipped from my fingers
into the sludgy low-tide pool
of barnacles and gooeyducks.
I simply walked away
and watched the gulls drop oysters,
fighting over what belongs to whom.

The waves will carry the stone to sea
the same way the green has returned
like the green in me.
A gentle and abrupt easing -
A slip out to sea with the tide.
Zane Safrit Mar 2019
The CAFO trucks roll past
Smelling of hog **** and ***
Their passengers squeal maga,
We are not afraid, they cry
Our **** is in your water
You breathe our **** all day long
Who’s crying now?
Maga, they cry. Hahaha

Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
Gabby Mar 2019
Green was the soft lush floor that cushions the feet.
Green was leaves that rustled in the warm breeze.
Green was the waves of the roaring ocean.
All of which were beckoning me home.
Athira Nair Mar 2019
The trees still green, I wonder how ?
The plants and bushes that grow on the ground
The green fresh look they still seem to have
After all these humans, don’t give a d*mn

The dust in the air, taking away the charm
The fresh green leaves,
I still wonder how
But I see them grey-
In a few years from now
With all pollution
That will take over the world
Grey will  be the color
Of the leaves

Children will  learn the color grey as
The color of the leaves
The color of the sky
The color of the air we breathe
Nothing seems to be fresh
Nothing seems to be a beautiful sight

We now as individuals, must do our part
To help these plants stay fresh and green
For the years to come they should
Be a wonderful sight to see—
The color of these leaves
Must be Beauty Green

                                                     ~Athira Nair
starstrike Mar 2019
Peace and prosperity paint the walls of this establishment
Walls, which are garnished by explicitly, intricately ornate designs
That flow from the doors to the bannisters
And frame the inner workings of its soul.

But more to the picture there is than the pretty images within the framing
Hidden beneath the green meant to be so calming
If you listen carefully-
SILENCE!
I mean very carefully
You will hear the quiet screaming.

The darkness that envelopes the world entirely
Has crept into the crevices of those ornate designs
All hell rages vehemently
while the workers paint it over religiously
that calming shade of green that whispers the illusion
"everything's fine".
Zywa Mar 2019
My second year, lamb's gruel
which I liked to eat for years
my dear mom and her will
in the green of her eyes

The garden, unlimited
my world, away from mom
crawling as far as I could
in the green of the grass

Through the Forest Park
rides in the stroller
the endless sky
in the green of the trees

the play of swaying
light and dark spots
the beckoning heaven
in the green of my consciousness
Lamb's gruel: flour, milk and fine brown sugar

Collection "Greeting from before"
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