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YYC Apr 27
To have momentary ideas,
such as these;
one must either be bored to an extreme,
or lacks wisdom
and lives in naivety.






                                              -YYC
i have no clue.
Stephen James Mar 24
a vapor rises.
in the breath of an instant;
gone. to be no more.
a haiku
Kayal Mar 14
Like the rainbow
born out of rain,
My love
born out of your tears,
It's just
A momentary beauty.
Yanamari Feb 27
My journey towards content
Fluctuates endlessly
Above and below
The surface of my sanity.
Rising
Sinking
Rising
With the tide
Melting
Freezing
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
Sigh
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
I'm a tool pondering skyscapes.
Fondling a memory
Left behind
On sunset marquees.
It raced into the horizon like
A toad on the road.
A neon dream waving farewell.

Exploring mindsets:
An act in caressing
Bloodbath tesseracts.
A roundhouse rollercoaster,
Spinning at velocity of perfume
Hitting nasal perforations.

Core memories surface along spine cutlets,
No longer intrinsic
Doubt.
I'm settling for more.
A bathed blue baby is a moment
Too long to endure.

Hindsight is
A parson's lake passage;
A mad monster yet to be tamed;
A grain of salt to a fresh wound made;
Moments of grace from a fake great ape.

Blue morons slide
Into Mormon jovial footsteps.
Derided ice forestry into
King's cloaked ancestry.
Which makes family the
Opposite of attraction.

And yet here I am
Talking to you,
Eyelight through obelisks
In hotbox barricades.
Hiding behind
A past of newspapers.
Headline reads 'ONLY DEVINE'
'TRADE REIGN WARNS JEWELS'
'PRINCE THREATENS ECONOMY
... AND CROWN.'

Wipe the frown,
Draw the sword.
Don't be ignored anymore.
Glenn Currier Jun 2017
There she stands
cup of coffee on the table
looking around at the flowers and foliage
enjoying this early summer morning in the shade
a wisp of a sad smile
and lines on her face speak a long life.

I wonder where she has been
what waters what deserts or valleys
she has traversed
whose lives she has touched
how many lips she has kissed
whose passing she has grieved.

Now she's gone
but I thank God
for this interlude
with her
as I sit here with my coffee
looking through the window
in the coolness of the condo
writing and listening to guitar
feeling the peace of this morning
and gratitude
for this momentary encounter.

"Momentary Encounter," Copyright 2017 by Glenn Currier
Maria Etre Mar 2017
I fought my inhibitions
but nature pulled through

Breaking barriers of what if's
unclothing all those hidden thoughts

Naked and free, I bashfully
bathed in my liberty
succumbing to all things "now"

For I have found beauty
in the "momentary"
and the naturally
inevitable
Yanamari Jan 2017
I found a carving made of wood
A carving I made and
Never really understood
The shape was awfully made
And yet at the time
Emitted an aura that felt good
The raw quality,
The way light fell on it,
At the time I could only think
The carving was perfect,
The way that it stood.

I found a wood carving that I hid
Away from my mind
So that I could bid
Farewell to the misplaced notches and indents
That surfaced on the carving.
Why did I leave pieces here
And cut off parts there?
What experience did I have in carving
Such an obscene piece?
Of myself, the carving, I would rid
But if only I could
Forget what I did
What I carved
What I was amid
But I cannot

The reason I didn't understand
The decisions I made
Was because
I understood the decisions I made.
There are parts to this poem drafted in my mind and yet I carved them. I consider reattaching them but what effect will that have to my misshapen poem?
K Balachandran Apr 2016
Every butterfly, knows this in it's inner being
and yet each forgets it, as soon as it starts flying,
the sweet warmth of each flower inviting him,
honey and  nectar abundant in the beginning,
the wind speed  that takes him to the bloom--
such happy things ,soon will become  a dream.
Never forget; the tides will turn.
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