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jia m 13h
to me, his smile was the best
it was the morning coffee;
i like to drink when i rest,

it was the sound of rain
that gave shivers down my spine.
and only his smile,
could tell me everything is fine.

his smile i used to think at night,
what should i do without you my love?
your smile is the inspiration i write,
a gift that was sent from the above
Seanathon Sep 18
Radiant dawn born
Like the morning dew dripping
Off of the treetops
And the planted hopes within
That he won't be lonely when

Radiant dusk dies
Like the aged life left alive
After grass clippings
Fall outside the window still
For one final time, he cries
I had absolutely no clue how these would turn out, but I'm quite content with how they currently are. Having started with the rather bare idea that these two verses should be relational, but not necessarily growing.

His & Her Tankas is a pair of poems about an aging couple who are in the process of saying goodbye. Her, to the hope that she would have outlived him in order to minimize suffering. Him to his situation, inability to cut the grass as before, his dependency on those around him, and also to the loss of his wife.

RIP

I didn't intend for the metaphor of Dusk and Dawn to be represented by an aging His and Her. It just kind of happened like a free cup of coffee.

It appears.

Thus is the nature of creation.

Have a nice Wednesday and enjoy.
Nathalie Aug 31
Crossing paths with him
was fate; a piece of
the puzzle in my life
that I had yet to find
Only I had not a clue
of what was incomplete
before that whimsical
day when his
eyes looked right
into mine
A familiar feeling rose
to light from which my
soul overflowed with
dormant memories
of love to share...

~Nathalie
Axel Aug 26
i see heaven in your eyes
and you see sincere in mine.
and we fall right into the night.
Axel Aug 26
Presenting my soul,
he will entertain you
while you feel like a waterfall, falling.
Say your favourite song and he will
sing it with passion though
he's not that good in singing.
Play your favourite movie
and he will be your obsessed hero
but just so you know, I'm the heroine
of the show.
Sweara Ahmed Jul 6
I am drawn to him
in the way
I don't understand.
I don't need to see him.
His voice only gives me
goosebumps.
And now I can handle the pain.
It's his voice in my head
Reminding me of how long
I've handled it,
that haunts me.
My heart hears nothing but
audible gold from his mouth.
So now I know
that I don't need much
from my life.
Just need to hear his voice;
sometimes.

A Fragment of happiness
in my life.
Not a very good poet, just tried to write something about his voice.
His favorite food:
Sushi.

His favorite place:
Beach.

His favorite band:
Queen.

His favorite person:
Me.

His favorite things to do:
Leaving.





Leaving me without a word and then he will comeback— pretending he never leave me, exactly.
The loss of your father,
no matter how old you are,
changes your life forever.
Your dad is your protector
who keeps you safe and secure.
You never really get over the loss.
You learn to live with the loss,
and he is never far from your thoughts.
There is an indescribable amount
of grief after losing a father.
Losing a father often means
losing a protector,
a guiding hand,
a best friend,
and a superhero.
But focusing on all
the incredible memories
you shared and the amazing man
he was can help bring light into your darker days.
No matter how old we are, we still need our dads, and wonder how we’ll get by without them.
making love with no love
(kissed her with his freedom)

<•>

a new person in an overnight stay in a strange,
aptly named,
bed and breakfast

and

you do all the same things that just feel good, careless loving
that comes from practiced renewable remembering,
kiss her neck for hours, drink in her crescendoing cooing

rename her Appalachia, bemused, wondering why,
she gasp-asks, when your tongue traces her odyssey body
from her Georgia to her Maine, then no need to explain

it all feels familiarly strange, imbalanced, shaky, loving the thrill
of your first solo bike ride, an invisible hand letting go,
the wow of walking the line of new freedom and
old responsibility that you have walked on both coasts

carry on, love is coming to us all lyric, enacted-recalled,
loving yet another
long cool woman in a black dress with unquestioning

how to explain to her, how to yourself, loving with no loving,
and the best you can stammer is it is like writing a poem
with too many commas or none at all

she laughs you up with one mouth lingering,
then one amazing kiss on your heart
and nose,
grabs a piece of toast and gone girl,
then you are returned to alone, to the dreams that
may or may not have occurred and two hands overflowing with
too many commas
and none to keep
<•>


11-18–17 2:54am, somewhere
“kissed her with his freedom”
Cactus Tree by J. Mitchell
11/18/17 2:54am
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