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For through these moments
and all of this time

Was an instance of
releasing the control

Of looking for sincerity
in spontaneity to be real

To seek instead a way
of being that just flows

And in doing so giving
trust to the surroundings

With hands and heart held
open to whatever happens

So that there is no worry
no contemplation, no undoing

Instead what is found is
simply grace and easiness

Then the calm rushed in
so silently yet instantaneously

With sweet dreams of the
sunshine tomorrow brings
Allesha Eman Feb 2022
Seconds go by in tender bliss
We smell roses and stain our hands with
crushed petals.
Declarations of life long rumination
live between the distance in our
exchanged affirmations.
Happiness opens its undisguised embrace
As the silence between our spoken words
fills the gaps of our stuttered promises.
Man Mar 2021
in this moment
our coalescence
as we become
still separate
but joining together
all the time
Man Mar 2021
in endless pursuits
of things, only proposed
that lay in adornment of
destiny's stony brook

adjacent, to our hopes
these objects of desire
of longing
they languish, as we slave on
for naught much more than to live
to have enough

they are forgotten in our dark times
in our moments
where light leaves us,
and are brought back
with fresh life
Maria Mitea Oct 2020
If it’s so gratifying,
Can it get shorter than “the end”?
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2019
“rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem
and no matter the change in horizon,
there is always some thing to be found
that could remind me
of the worst ways I have ever been.”

from “Harlequin Days of Fecund Fervor” by Victoria


rereading these your words, upset forces me to break a recent vow,
my own writing banished, now faceless in the ranks
of just another poet, busted in rank, chose my own
decommissioning but then your momentary mayhem
plea, fecund you, your third harlequin, states construct!

stay the constriction, the recalling of our worst worsts,
for there is always something to be found, recalled,
that the horizon’s only constant is constant change,
especially the worst worsts

I am colored by your treats, your word plums ripe even
out of season, and the mayhem is mine only mine,
robbed you for it is I, rootless, given up my planting, then
the cobblestones of old new york, trip me up, saying
even old things such as you, have a prime yet to come,
stones fecund seeding, predicting I am not done, just undone,
and fetuses within this dying body, may yet be carried to term,
may yet, maybe, may be, but may be caesarean stillborn

rambling this, mostly musty unclear, so summarizations a
sensible thing, a pardon requested for clarity is a sometime thing.

rare are the days that the terracotta colored soil
darkens my fingernails,
it is dried blood from my scratching deep beneath the skin’s topsoil,
but nothing grows that’s whole, warped are the word fruits.
my soup is hot water with salt, a tasty dish apropos for one
whose growths are rootless in the shallow, infertile dirt of stones
that reside in the shallows of a garden of mine own
fecund may-hem of the grey fall sky autopsy turvy
Mancy Mar 2019
Like the rainbow
born out of rain,
My love
born out of your tears,
is just
A momentary beauty.
Yanamari Feb 2019
My journey towards content
Fluctuates endlessly
Above and below
The surface of my sanity.
With the tide
In and out
Of consciousness;
Where I belong
Is a foreign feeling,
Its happiness short lasted.
Is it better to be freezing
Or is it better to melt and trust
That I will rise.

And apparently
I give the illusion of successful equilibrity
Spheres of air escape me
Kewayne Wadley Mar 2018
And like broken glass
The secrets intensify.
The vulnerability of time.
Both beautiful and sad.
The sound of broken glass.
Despite how beautiful the shards sparkle.
Despite time.
You'll never know what's on it's mind.
Hand to glass.
The prints left behind to be washed away.
The memories no more.
How can something so precious be replaced for another.
Thrown away without second thought.
It's cruel, unjust.
No explanation other than physical appearance.
The unhealthiest to cope.
The necessity of momentary need.
Another glass set in it's place.
To feel needed in a moment of thirst.
How we feel about the things we have.
Until we realize the one thing we need.
Almost too late
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