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Tea Oct 28
Art feels like the difference of living and surviving. Maybe that's why my hands are always making. Each pencil pressed against my skin a silent scream for something great. A dream I dare to animate, breath life into. They say to heal trauma is not to become ready  to cope with the pain but instead the ability to bear joy again. The life I dream with you feels rebellious. Feels far fetched and delightful. It lights small flames of hope inside me. I am either a fool or living on the edge of what I am capable of. I have breathed life into a co-created dreaming. Tenderly nested and spoke of my love for them. Kissed them until my lipstick wore off. Was drunk in their laughter. I know what it feels like to simply survive. It's a place much easier to rest in then to return to.
Create your own story with your
Glistening smiles
Kind words
Loving heart
Acts of kindness
Helping hands
Charitable deeds
Inspiring ideas
Unforgettable imprint
Make it a breath-taking story
A story that will inspire generations to come

Hussein Dekmak
Heidi Franke Dec 2023
After he died
Without warning,
I planted a tree
Announcing
Just as suddenly
The Serviceberry
To the others
In the garden
Each bud of a branch
  welcomed by the fresh earth
And dormant bulbs yet to burst
The Aspen as role model
Hastily, deeply
she was added
As quickly as he left
In pursuit of
Recouping buoyancy after starving for oxygen.
Consoling under her generous shade
Begging for silence of sufferings and
deep sorrows

Three years have passed
Has it been that long
There they are,
our memories,
in the control room
That cling, stab like a blade
Taking over the clock
A contagion of disorder
That eats away
like acid
Explicitly unwanted  
Clarity of that night
Frozen in time,
like the winter
  it happened.
Time ended without warning
Deaths metronome gave birth.

Uneven disbursement
Over one thousand days
Since
Asking why,
Why?
Why!
Prone and exhausted.
Drowned in tears that forged
A lake of salt
Why then
Do we not float?
What's holding us up?
And another thing,
Where does the wind
Go when its gone?
It dispatches
   without warning
Whirling in circles,
Catching conditions
Why am I
not so
shaken then?


The Serviceberry has yet
To bare fruit in its
Short life to fifty
Holding steady,
Enduring the rooting road
In the pragmatic ground
Surrounded by leaves from seasons
As messengers of compassion, companionship
At the foot of her trunk
An offering
Once again in winter, here we are
Sleeping until the sun
Bleeds more time
Why does three years
Feel so heavy and capricious
As if it were just yesterday


Will the depth of sorrow remain
After she blooms and feeds
The hungry birds,
Over 35 species,
Who love her nectar
Caring for the offspring
Obscure, neglected and hungry
Giving back, keeping the healed
From further storms of
Sudden causes
As he did for his flock
Harbored in what the doctor
Ordered.
Tender
Loving
Care

Will heartache be replaced
By forgiveness?
Like the passing bus
That descends the hill
Into a valley of green hearts
Picking up new passengers
Loving another
Forgetting the importance
Of yesterdays bus ticket that
Flew out the window
Arriving without intention
To its destination
Neutralizing the anger
That came without warning
Glancing out the window
Towards tomorrow
As the birds songs
Are sung
The unintentional death and road of recovery.
Zywa Dec 2023
They can be loving:

father talks to the dog and --


my son lures the cat.
Poem "Children Coming Home From School" - 2 (1990, Louise Glück)

Collection "Em Brace"
Jamesb Nov 2023
Once again here I am,
Lost in the silence occasioned
By you and your choosing,
Not mine,
But in part through me
And my inability to calm
Us when we row,

Here I am alone in
That most dreadful of ways,
Outside the light of your love,
Outside the warmth of
Our embrace - that hug which
Means so very much
To this tortured heart,

Here I am,
Alone with my thoughts,
Alone in the cold and the darkness
Bleakly aware of your absence,
The lack of you is a visceral aching pain
That tears and coils inside me
As I pen this verse,

And we are close now
To that joy we both desire,
Because we have both been
Heard at last my love,
And the hearing has made a difference
That dispelled the need for you
To fight or me fight back,

And that cease is vital
To both of us because
For my part at least,
And I hope yours too,
I love what we have when
It works,
Im not ready to say goodbye.
Feels like history repeated yet sondifferent a circumstance
Mark Wanless Oct 2023
this song will tell the count of bones sleeping

what call to arms does break the peace again

there is no cause but willfull mind unfolding

blades to human throats just us again


greed calls to all and is heard by many

loudly no place other than ego bliss

i speak amid the stars in my own meaning

no source of war but loving kiss
AmazingsanPoetry Sep 2023
Feeling the voluptuousness of the 3am seaside harmonious air, I pen down this, aroused from a brief night rest.
Quasi-her word its all Good.
Everything appears smooth, healthy, fun and apparently romantic in the heavenly format,
the loving, the caring,
the oneness, the rosy nature,
The caresses, the pleasure,
The longing, the soothing And every heavenly romantic embodiment one can ever imagine. But given birth to the statement.
The moth is to the lava, what the Gamin is to the ****, just as the lava gave birth to the moth, this heavenly embodiment begins the birth of things of terrifying nature, there horse riders accompanied each other faces covered like Taliban's in execution
Loving, caresses..
Josephine Wild Sep 2023
I feel like writing again.
I feel like riding again.

I'm scared to be loving again,
to have my heart broken again.

But a breakthrough requires
being broken again.

I've gone through the fire, my friend.
Red hot, I'll embed my brand again.

I'll stand on the start line again.
I'll run the race again.

Life is a race that never ends.
Once one is over, it begins again.

It feels good
to feel new again.

Life goes on, my friend.
It feels good to live good again.
First poem after a while.
Heidi Franke Sep 2023
One more before I go.
Into the wilderness of parts and dreams. A happy send off in the cool morning.

I will be back in a new form perhaps, a more rounded crown of a tree, after years of pruning.
A "wild and precious life" with untold horrors, spoken dreams, and wandering caravans of thought.

In yellow abodes loving kindness which is yours. Maybe it will seep in like a root gives to it's leaves. Traveling through twisted currents. It's fragile rose petals. Short lived. But remembered.
It's almost mid September and the Julia Child rose bush pushes out it's last rose for this year. A year of waiting, trauma, wandering untethered.
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