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Through voracious eyes devotees, peruse writings, clever literature all styled to thoughtful poetic ways
eloquently, exposing wounds of body and soul, discovered distrust, anger much regret, sadly even fear,
thereto shortcomings in life, of people, their actions, loves and lies promulgated in illuminating phrase.
Technology endows contributors with outlets for venting suchlike occasions using artistry is here.

Passionate poignant experiences most well written, some not are duly shared to attracted communal eyes.
declarations of 'I have cared so much I'm wounded mortally', some bask in lost or unrequited loves last kiss,
several employ inner strength 'whatever happened, I don't care, I'm resilient, I survive', shared with poetic pride
concise verses rework obvious reminders, may motivate suggestion that opportunity shouldn't be missed.

Modest words abundantly profound begin remarks that reassures, with the - I'm here for yous'- symbolic embrace,
in support it is written, 'I know what you mean' and from a great distance - empathise, but I have little to say.
Health issues aren't fixed by artistic pennings, only face to face professional advice forms the strongest base,
Writings from the poetic inner self  may become positive steps, for futures not, staring in depressions face.

Much is written with sensitivity oft-times is judged by content, overlooked is why and how it is composed.
For instance suicide  educes fear however. dubiety invites, is it fiction or truly despair?
Writing as an art observes, describes, creates imagery, of sadness and joy, escapism, fictional or no.
Poetic creators who web-wide commune through stories, thoughts, secrets, ideas, dreams, let the poetry be shared .




Poetry www    Michael C Crowder 12th  January 2019 @scorsby
my thoughts about poetry its content and writing skill
McDonald tsiie Jan 2019
when i saw you
i turned a blind eye
you were talking i listened
my ears anxious, craving sound

i think you have beautiful voice in accordance of your intriguing appearance the day had to be embraced with a hug

holding your hand became a sacred dialect that made sense
Tiana Marie Mar 2018
If tomorrow was my last
I'd do nothing.
I wouldn't skydive
I wouldn't travel
I wouldn't do everything
I've ever wanted to do.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd do as always.
I'd get up
I'd read my bible
I'd go to school
and have an average day.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd act as normal.
I'd smile to others
I'd say "hello"
I'd do my best
as I try every day.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd tell no one.
I wouldn't shout it
I wouldn't scream it
I wouldn't sing it
from every single rooftop.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd never know it.
That's why my usual
day to day consists
of all things I love
the very most.

If tomorrow were my very last
what I do today would be enough.
It would make me smile
It would make me laugh
It would make me happy
Because I have learned always
to be content in the ordinary.
George Krokos Oct 2017
The heart is the medium by which we communicate with love
and if it also becomes pure the Divine descends from above.
________
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
you say you were always a poet
but i don't know.
it seemed strange at first.

you say you are mental,
but i don't see it.
just another starving artist,
too shy for the world.
Rae May 2017
Watercolor was
a panic attack
modern art was
coming out of my mouth
flowing
spreading through the air
in finger-like tendrils
reaching out
to those who have never lived
what do you believe? what do i believe?
George Krokos Dec 2016
A poet is an artist who paints images with words cast on the canvas of our mind
and uses expressions to make a point or evoke feelings of some particular kind.
A poem then is the handiwork of a poet who is usually inspired or otherwise,
being the medium through which he or she reveal themselves to peoples’ eyes.
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Henry Brooke May 2016
I unwrapped the present
it was a you and a little me
the always chatty
the never sad or boring
duo, I loved you
like no-one
and yet I met you on the Internet.
Now I still do
but I feel you're getting bored
you're getting away
do you know there are others
tell me how you feel
next time I ask.
If I ever do.
All time spend my time on computer games
is a bullet in my foot
I want to talk to you
yet my lip is caught in a hook
even this poem ***** but
it's more I need to talk .
I feel like I'm making you suffer
**** ****
****
last time I made you mad
I wanted to die
I felt like a maggot.
because it was really my fault.
So now it's unraveling again I feel.
You sent me messages tonight
I only got them later on,
disappointment
you feel me drag away
I'm am no-one
the never gay
though I seemed to care
I sent the honest goodnight
but it wasn't the crazy
goodnight
it was the same old
same old
and tomorrow I want to love you
like I feel I do
when my mind is focused
when I believe in you.
****.
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