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Betty May 11
Lament the tall sweet meadow grass
where wind no longer blows
lament the lark that’s taken wing
and left us only crows
but you and I endure my love
through rain and wind and sun
for only time can part the ways
when two hearts beat as one
I have been inspired by a play to try old fashioned love poetry
Andrew Layman Jul 2020
Such angry hunger pains
how the world quivers and shakes,
while men and women
fresh from their work,
whisper the toll it takes;
as clay forms lay listening
glistening, and salted in their beds.

However, not an alarm is raised
not a single head turns
we are safe, comes the lie
we are secure, comes the swallowed pill.

As we close our eyes
and prepare for borrowed sleep
I think with great dismay:
oh, what a difference,
does indifference make for us sheep.
Last-ting Pleasures (Leonard Cohen)

“Morning coffee on the balcony of this old duplex, the cat at my feet, and a couple of biscuits. Notebook near by. No one coming over.“

Leonard Cohen

aging with graces saved from so many spectacular failures, I took droplets of wisdom where they were free to drink, yet  
the best, were the most costly, for which you never end paying

but here I sit, well traveled, in Los Angeles sunshine, do my calculations, my final preparations, memorizing the blessings
so they flow easy, no stumbling, unbefitting a poet-writer lover

obligations diminished, bills paid, goodbyes said and spent, so long Marianne, lines of jewish buddhists wisdom seekers not too long, a few women come, last looks, a reminiscence for themselves

lovers seeking preservation, a signatory on their diaries, proofs, of what I know no longer know to state, sated, the statuary
sentence almost served, and last scribbles, to notebook dispatched

It is His Will, and yet here I am, asking forgiveness, as tradition demands and more, understanding, for it was all transcribed into praise of You and your god-sparked creatures, ah, bon chance, until we meet again, bring your robe and tallit, let us recite psalms

for if there was ever a wilder king, finer poet, lusting for life and god, all of us just birds on the wire, gambling which course to fly, where to, so waiting patient, resolution of the only remaining unanswered question, who by fire?

anyone, each of us, who first asked ourselves why not! before we ever thought,

Carlo C Gomez Jun 2020


Hearts melted as candles

Congeal into isolated connections

Pressed upon the lips of urgent ice

And both of these shall ever be

Till the gods to destruction go
Thomas David Mar 2020
Fickle? Feelings formed by frenzied faults may be
Rickets, Rigid; read’ly rended, wanting wrake,
Kicked to curb by conscious care and called mistake,
Born by blunted brooding: base-turned briony.
Love is light-laid, legible, and lawfully
Lacking lies: all-lit with lofty, lettered hymn.
Swift selection, like stones skid by spark-scuffed whim
Smells of sleight; but lasting Love leans landward loyally.
Love’s selection lingers: lags to lacquer laureled lee;
Looks for latent linings; lasts when Lamb-like be.
1 Cor 13:4a
onlylovepoetry Jan 2020
for all the lost, everlasting lovers

~for mara~

why this morning does the emoting
cast me backwards to all my lost lovers,
imagined and real, yet lasting in crevices hidden,
that beckon, asking to be reclaimed,
recalling when our names combined, many meetings
of lips, kisses so old, decades, yet so well realized

that to see, taste them, is blink, easily accomplished

day beginning, with deep penetrating glances rearward,
unclear how this clarifies the muddled visions of what
the future dreams may contain, ah, love and pain,
love and pain, a tango tangled tandem, indeed,
one hopes the past is prologue, pro for lips sensitized logged,
those kisses past, kisses yet dreamt, those works-in-process

stir the body to rise from the couch, to stretch my arms

up/skyward, grab jeans, go the Persian immigrant on the corner,
for a bun and a black coffee, who wishes me a good new year,
stunned silent when embrace him with hands-full, for his wish for me
enables a gratitude overcoming that only strangers can give;
those lost lovers yet lasting, thank them too, wish them happy year,
winter warmth, comfort them in my crevices-kept, forever retained

Love you, miss you, never gone, never forgotten, ever first,


Colm Nov 2019
No paint speaks for me
My favorite words fall utterly short
And I, no song could ever be you
And yet I can see you here
Before you are known
Before you exist in this world of mine
I can see you as if you were in present time
Just as if you were already mine
Sometimes all of the venues you use, the methods of communications and expression, fall incredibly short. Which is life I guess.

From the Midnight Wood Series
Poetic T Sep 2019
Waking up isn't the

The struggle, is lasting
        the day.

To realise you have another
                  morning to feel alive.
loggi Jul 2019
You have a voice.
That I admire so much.
It carries well and sounds
So clear and humble.

So I decided I should speak
And maybe it was a noise
Or some pretense that drew me in
But I waited for the
Pluck and note
Of the casual up and downs
Your tongue rhythms.

But it’s always at a cost
To have you,
That you speak to me empty
Like the endless droll
Of a receiver left unanswered.
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