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LLillis Aug 2020
The morning glory
Suffocates the cucumbers.
But we don’t trim them.
We tried some basic vegetables in our first ever backyard garden box. The cucumbers had promise until the morning glory quickly took over. The flowers are pretty so we let them, without much consideration towards the loss of potential food. Now, taking time to reflect on the loss I am thankful for the ability to make that choice. To prioritize esthetics over nutrition, frivolity over necessity is truly the mark of privilege and should be at very least noted; and at best worked at to equalize.
Mona Jul 2020

as soon as i flow freely
i remember
there's a gate
dragging me to the past
back on goes the cast
it happens so fast

it feels like fate
as if i am cemented into the gate
the gate to my past
any glimmer of hope dashed in a blast
it happens so fast

my life is juxtaposition
of attempts to succeed
and temptation to bleed
addicted to pain
as if by virtue of loss there's nothing to gain

life punctuated by pain
i lay in bed
to rest my head
but there is goes again
my inner critic awakens
i submit, forsaken

the space where my life begins and ends
the juxtaposition reinforced
success left at the door
and pain endorsed
Noura Abdelrazec Jun 2020
the essence of my being is residing
                                                        ­                       somewhere in between
in which i would simultaneously like to be left alone
and hugged tightly as though i were taking my last breath
i want to be held closely and told that i am special
and that i matter
whilst being afraid of ever loving again
                                                           ­                    somewhere in between
a friend and a stranger
dressed in confusion
black cloak
top hat
(you look quite ridiculous)
i am neither happy nor sad
does it even matter?
maybe deadened is the word
dead end
most of the time
i am merely in my perpetual state of
                                                              ­                 somewhere in between
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
A tendency or trait I have
to sense,
comprehend what others may not,
and then for it to go
the other way round,
put all the way
into the oblivion back.
A child in mature sage's eyes
and a sage in a ignorantly joyful, gullible child's eyes
I am.
Robert Watson Feb 2020
Giving someone a gift
Instills bliss between both beings.
For a disregarded gift, however, inflicts insidious injury.
Thoughts of disgust and doubt
Spread throughout, as venom infects a festering wound.
Reflecting on a gift thoughtfully given to someone close to me, but it was cast out of their sphere of value.
Don Bouchard Jan 2020
Kissed Faith good-bye,
Stepped into the night,
Met a man on his way
To the Forest.

Faith behind him,
Uncertainty before,
Wavering on his way,
Brown faltered on.

Such a cloud of witnesses
As to keep him from this path!
But then they met him,
One by one,
Catechist and Minister,
Deacon and Elder,
Murmuring and gibbering;
Wise fools wending their way
To meet him
In a clearing, deep.

Pink ribbons falling,
Snake-head pointing
Feet now stumbling,
Then running before
In a wind of curses.

Firelight red,
Congregants cowled, silent,
Save the voice of Faith,
The near-initiate.

"Faith, Faith!
Look to Heaven!"
Resist the wicked one."

Woods silent;
Devil, fiends, fire ... gone.
Only Goodman Brown
To stagger home.

Ironic morning sight:
Smiling faces of Salem town,
'Gainst downward gazing
Goodman Brown.
Nathaniel Hawthorne's classic allegory.... What a story!
Ksh Dec 2019
There is a name calling out
in the silence of the mind.

There is a space
where clutter occupies.

There is a creation
at the end of destruction.

There is pain,
and love,
and pain again.

A wheel of self-abuse,
the likes of which gets us high
in each and every revolution.
Logan Robertson Jan 2019
Every so often children throwing tantrums
Catch parent faces, bracing fallen sourness
Where outlines wrinkle rosy outlook sadly
Raisins having pits

Logan Robertson

Read CC's blog at Poetry Soup, describing  sapphic stanza with a jux. I found that form interesting, spent hours marveling and researching. I attempted my first one. Not sure if this is correct-11/11/11/5. In this poem I wrote of a parent coping with a child's misbehavior. The effect of such leaving a wrinkled image much like a raisen on the parents face with the juxtaposition at the end of the poem, which is a play on words, too, raisens/raising.
Autmn T Oct 2018
Cling tight, fear of falling, fear of flying, fear of being, and fear of leaving. I cant stay without wanting to leave and I cant leave without wanting to stay. You hold me and I push. You push and I cling. Always wanting what I cant have. Life calling for me and me clawing at it in response.
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