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Mother said
that man is a creature of habit
we were in the kitchen

I asked her
even in love?

Tell me mother,
how long did it take you to stop loving him
how long until you stop loving him

Yes, she answered

Tell me mother
if will you ever stop loving him
when will it spot hurting

Tell me mother
if  man is a creature of habit
is woman condemned
to remember
or to have the last word
Hannah thomas Nov 11
This weight inside only grows
Each conversation adds another brick
I am so sorry
I never learned how to divide
Only take
And so I take the weight off your shoulders
And place it onto mine
I know this is not expected
But I have come to expect it of myself
I do not know any other way to be
I'm so sorry
I only ever learned how to take.
Ken Pepiton Oct 22
The sellers out weigh the buyers, thus the worth
of each  attention instance, is measured
in fractions of sense
possibly conveyed, through
eyeball focus points and linger length,
be measured twice, to insure proper cutting,
concise division of soul and spirit
compliance --
everybody knows, Leonard Cohen said so.

couldabin a bribe, a gift in secret.
Couldabin mo'habiting ways of winds,

comes aslidin' down the mountain,
as the sun shines into shadowed cañons
in the east,
forcing night's coldest winds to
hide here
with us until this vale
as well
is warmed and life returns
to cold reptilian things.

Are we so far from feng shui
Have we forgotten hot and cold,
both good,
but lukewarm, we can
bite into and chew
and swallow,
warming wind spewed in dawn
and dusk from the ******
mouth of beauty
singing al-
signal a
way wu wu wei,

Here comes the sun, its alright…
- the voice of Edward R. Murrow
- ahem ificator, clear soto voce

(in Chinese thought) feng shui is a matter
of fact, a way things work,
a system of laws
to govern spatial arrangement
and orientation in relation
to the flow of energy (qi),
and whose favorable
or unfavorable effects
are taken into account
when siting and designing buildings.
From <>

You knew.

So, you knew. So
what if you never thought it today?
What if I made you recall a Hong Kong sized hole,
in your morning ritual, some missing
rightness that banishes the fetish
of cold and dark being evil,
lifts the thought
of warm and light being perfect,
faces the fact
of hot and bright being tolerable, for a season,
each day

shift time and harvest, seeds are forgotten…

summer is the time we grow,
after all as before the
fall, when leaves and nuts,
fall, torn from limbs by winds running from
the coming cold,
as our world spirals into ever as if on course
captained by a commander,
steered by dead reckoning,
with Sirius our center,

we ain't dead, it's day again. Time to write
a reason war would not stand under,
weave a story,
form a shelter for the after noon, ah Succoth,
a tradition.
Do you recall the building of a booth,
with your daddy, in your youth?

Were there brush arbor revivals that ended
in the burning of all the branches
that bore the fruit we take to
make todays of all tomorrows.?

Such branches as bore fruit last season,
pruned and gathered to
burn in the fall, the
bonfires of humanity, given as thanks,
or taken as task.

Was that the idea?
Celebrate knowing how things work, when
we know and obey things like feng shui,

the idea that there are reasons for motions,
in winds and rains and sands…

shift, sands, change the signal ssssss in winds we hear
under the hummmm of
bees? no, amber, humming
amber rubbing matters
of considerate worth. Electric hmmmmm.

Measuring man, measure the worth of attention.
Ask if knowing is worth the effort to effect
a decision to cut
the pattern with no jig to hold the pattern true.

Eh, no iambic pentameter to distract
attention from words as agents
of effect, taste, feel, wish
come beginning to middle,
come to an end, a pointed time

smell imaginary strawberries, know, you know,
call the cause a terpene and use it in shampoo,
no sweetness but see, mind's eye, remember, see

tiny wild strawberries that don't look like
that smell, you might miss them,
if there were no old stories of
such things being found
by children wandering alone along rabbit trails,
grown ups have forgotten.

LA Central Market, seldom seen at dawn
or any time of day by any but the servant bots
embodied in contented men who know
fruits and veggies all serve tastes,

Tastes are tested, ripe or green, too ripe or
ready in three days, sitting in a paper bag,
on the kitchen window ledge above
the fountain of flowing water,
hot and cold, on demand.

Is this not my promised land, for today?
Hello Poets. What good may we do today?
Sarah Flynn Oct 19
he said, “stop apologizing.”

it’s a bad habit of mine.
I apologize even when
I know I’m not at fault.

he said, “stop apologizing.”

I didn’t even realize I was.
it’s an automatic response that
I’ve been programmed to use.

he said, “stop apologizing.”

I tried to notice when it happened,
but it’s not an easy habit
to unlearn after years of training.

he said, “seriously, stop apologizing.”
I said “I’m sorry.”
Ashley Kaye Aug 11
I have the worst habit:

swallowing life experiences
instead of savoring them

then afterward,
when my teeth are clean,
thinking, “That’s it.”

And wanting ever more.
Another life transition and I’m weary of glorifying the past. Wishing the good times were all my nostalgia makes them out to be.
min Aug 7
I let out a deafening sigh
as I bid you my final goodbye
I tried to stop the agonizing shivers
but it resulted to weakening whispers

I know our love was quite unpredictable
Too young, too bold, too vulnerable
I bet time had long known we’re impossible
but we cannot remain forever indestructible

My spine must have known the weight I carry
And my heart and tears seem to betray me
For I have sought for every answer to this
Whilst I’ve clearly known I would be remiss

Fate must be laughing at us now
We learned why yet we still chose how
And now all I think about is that crazy kiss,
How you saved me as we made memories

I looked at your sweet sad eyes
I’d never forgive myself if I tell you more lies
I’ve lied enough just to forget you
It’s clear now, no sin would make me do

Suddenly, it all arrived to my mind
How I need you, how I can’t leave you behind
While you taught me love, you taught me pain, too
But I’d rather lose myself than lose you

If you’re the wound I need to endure
Then I won’t waste time finding for a cure
If you’re the storm the world has to give
Then I’d take the casualty you shall leave

If you’re the suffering I’ve got to face
Then I won’t even try escaping the maze
If you’re the old habit that dies hard
Then I can attest that indeed, you are bad.
you’re my old bad habit.
Knut Kalmund Jul 21
burned me with a stick today,
smelled like smoky ribs
on a lovely sunday morning pan.

the pain on the pan
sizzled the other pain away.
well done,
as I fancy the most.
"You are late"
Said the so full of fact
Business Studies Teacher
Nicked, "Mrs Fatso".

It's like
    her account's green
    turns red
On the account of
    Leke's grin

I'm terrified
At why Leke is never

Cos as soon as
   that was said about
   Grand Pa
We saw him
    no more

And from what I saw
   in the poster
He changed his first name
   to the same

Why Joy in lateness?
Amanda May 25
It starts with only a sip
Turns to a chug
Shot is soon to follow

Next have a drink
What damage could one do?
First wasn't bad
Why not two?

A beer switches to six-packs
Twelve-pack to a keg
Before you know
You are on your last leg

A glass of wine daily is fine
Til glass grows into a bottle
Coasting gently one second
Next speeding wide-open

What begins as play and fun
Soon escalates to live-or-die
Stops being casual
You partake without knowing why

The line between both are fuzzy
Tipping point never clear
Problem is you cannot see it
After you approach near

Once you have crossed there's no going back
Life becomes a sinking ship
Pause a minute and ask yourself
"Is it worth the cost?"
Before choosing to take that "harmless" sip
I got a typewriter for my birthday and this is the first poem I wrote using it
Dez May 18
No matter what they ask
No matter how they pry
Don’t try
Don’t ware a mask

I learned that to lie to another
You must first lie to yourself
If indeed you want to put truth on the shelf
Yourself you mustn’t smother

To believe a lie is hard
You must be cool
That’s truly the only rule
But you will be marred

For then you make it a habit
For to lie
Is for truth to die
But I guess that’s the point of it
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