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Jack Groundhog Nov 2024
An old man climbs into a vintage car
to smell the sweet upholstery,
caresses the steering wheel’s steel bars
and grips the gearshift **** of ivory.

He pulls the heavy door to close
it and hear its deep, dull iron clunk
that fuel-injects him with a dose
of chrome-clad metal hunks.

The streamlined car doesn’t move.
Still, it takes him on a favored trip
down a grey road well grooved
that his whitewall mind-tires firmly grip.

Its tires spin in grooves and sing
a well-pitched tune of rolling on.
Seams of concrete slabs now bring
the bumping heartbeat of this song.

His greying hairs match the road
which stretches out into his past,
leading him back in freeway flow
to a love that he’d made last.

For in a leather rumble seat
in a sleek car just like this one,
he’d kissed her hand and lips to greet
his sweetheart hunnybun.

She smiled as bright as high beams
at her motorheaded beau,
with wide eyes that stole his dreams
and made his fuel more quickly flow.

With hair like raven asphalt
framing lips in brake-light red,
in her saw he no faults,
but thanks to him, she’d end up dead

in a shattering crash
as they slid into a tree,
his youthful driving brash
and far too wild and free.

He swore to never leave
her by that bleak perditious street.
Resolved, he chose to grieve
her and keep the rumble seat.

So once a year he sits in this car.
He never drove again.
But each time it takes him far,
right to where his hunnybun had been.
Frank Cavalo Nov 2024
Mistook your niceness, for kindness
Couldn’t draw a line between the two
For my pencil had become too blunt
And my paper - too thick - to tear through
My eraser too pliable and worn
Kneaded down to a waning pulp
I tried shaping into a kind of moon
But instead made a waxing fault
That grows wider between the sternum
Carves me down the middle - twofold
Fleshy mounds of ****** grief
Unable to bridge back the whole
Pictures now lie placid, dormant
Stacked neatly, one atop the last
Withering - light-fast - fading
From memory, it’ll pass.
Lumin Guerrero Nov 2024
Why can't I remember
what happened
in my childhood

Why can't I remember
those good days
before everything became so tiring and overwhelming
before everything turned to ****

Why can't I remember
much more than bits and pieces
I just want to relish in those happy moments
reminisce in my past and forget about my present

Why can't I remember
don't you know that I cry nightly,
wishing to not grow up
wishing for just a bit more time

Why can't I remember
please, just let me remember
please?
I'm so scared of growing up, its all going by so fast
Valentin Eni Nov 2024
We are strangers, strangers we remain,
From distant worlds, apart we came.
You call to me, I call to you,
But silence answers, cutting through.

You don’t know me, I don’t know you,
Our thoughts diverge like morning dew.
Alive we are, yet still we stare,
As if from graves, from shadows there.

I’m not your loss, nor you are mine,
Like clouds, we drift through endless time.
Wherever I go, wherever you’ll be,
We’re at the edges, lost at sea.

Yet yesterday felt near and bright—
You held my hand; your voice was light.
When love was endless, pure, and true,
And I was me, and you were you.

When whispers spoke of tender care,
And hearts embraced in love’s repair.
When vows were shared, no lies between,
And strangers we had never been.

I
(Alternative translation)
STRANGERS

We are strangers, strangers through,
From worlds apart, both old and new.
I call to you, you call to me,
Yet silence falls like waves at sea.

You do not know me, nor I know you,
Our thoughts like paths that never grew.
Alive we stand, yet lost we seem,
As if we lived within a dream.

I do not miss you, nor you miss me,
Two fleeting clouds the wind sets free.
Where you may go, where I may roam,
We’re at the edges, far from home.

But yesterday, it feels so near,
I held your hand, your voice sincere.
When love was boundless, bold, and true,
And I was me, and you were you.

When whispers shared what hearts could feel,
And hands embraced with love so real.
When we were one, no space between,
And strangers we had never been.

II
(Literal translation)
STRANGERS

We are strangers, strangers we remain,
From different worlds we come.
When you call me, when I call you,
We cannot hear, we cannot hear.

You do not know me, I do not know you,
I have one thought, and you another.
You are alive, and I am alive,
But we look at each other as if from graves.

I don’t miss you; you won’t miss me,
We are two clouds driven by the wind.
Wherever I am, wherever you are,
We are at the edges of the earth.

But, it seems, yesterday there was a day,
You remember it; I remember it, too,
When we could not stop loving each other,
Believing we would love forever.

When I whispered how dear you were,
And we held each other’s hands with love,
When you told me that you loved me,
And we were not strangers at all.

III
(Original poem, Romanian)
STRĂINI

Suntem străini, străini suntem,
Din diferite lumi venim.
Când tu mă chemi, când eu te chem
Nu ne-auzim, nu ne-auzim.

Tu nu mă ştii, eu nu te ştiu,
Un gând am eu şi tu alt gând.
Eşti vie tu şi eu sunt viu,
Dar ne privim ca din mormânt.

Eu nu-ţi lipsesc, tu nu-mi lipseşti,
Suntem doi nori mânaţi de vânt.
Oriunde-aş fi, oriunde eşti,
Suntem la margini de pământ.

Dar, parcă ieri, a fost o zi,
Ţii minte tu, ţin minte eu,
Când nu-ncetam a ne iubi,
Crezînd că ne-om iubi mereu.

Când îţi şopteam ce dragă-mi eşti
Şi ne strângeam cu drag de mâini,
Când îmi spuneai că mă iubeşti
Şi nu eram deloc străini.
The poem explores alienation, distance, and nostalgia for lost intimacy. It reflects on the transformation of a once-deep connection into estrangement, showing how love and familiarity can dissolve over time, leaving behind a haunting sense of separation.

The poem reflects on the fragility of human relationships and the pain of estrangement. It conveys how love, once profound and unbreakable, can fade into distance and disconnection. Yet, the poem also suggests that such painful memories hold a certain beauty, offering a glimpse into moments of genuine connection.

“Strangers” is a poignant meditation on love, loss, and the transformation of intimacy into alienation. Its images and rhythmic structure guide the reader through a journey of longing and reflection, making it deeply personal and universally relatable. The poem leaves an emotional impact, inviting readers to consider their experiences of connection and distance.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2024
Sculpted faces,
aging drama queens,

all the world's stages, this
is after those, these depths
of despair, where no pieces fit,

Kintsugi, fractured flash bulb scene,

an instamatic moment, a Kodak memory.
Hollywood Blvd... just a photomatic meme function we can use... while imagining converting vhs to mp4, before it's more plastic in the sea.
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