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Maya Duran Sep 12
iii.
He reminds you that you may never be loved
In the way that you are supposed to
His heart opens as it should
A halved pomegranate
And the jewel flesh spills forward
In effortless bounty

Yours was wrapped in butcher paper
With care, long ago
It lives in the freezer
In the way, way back
Ice crystals form slowly
Until they resemble a silver blanket of moss
"Cavetown wrote a song about your ex and we played it all summer long" pt 3. This poem isn't about what you think it is, but I don't think that that matters so much. The feeling is the same at its core, even if the circumstances are not.
Bede Aug 31
I walk into the mossy wood,
The Sun above me shining.
Around me I can feel it warmth
And I see the ray's wide-winding.

As source, it gives me light and heat
And gives the moss it's green
Through grace, I shall be warm again
Even when I'm left dying.
My first attempt at a symbolist poem
Alice Wilde May 30
Honeydew nectar pulls me into her bussom.
Thick blankets of soil pregnant with rain
And rain boots.
Damp earth and
Silk moss beds cushion toes and rolling laughter
As I fall into spring.
there's three and bit weeks
left till election
day
whereupon we'll hold a
decision of much
sway

us displeased electors will
not be playing
about
when it comes to who we'll choose
for a throwing
out

none of the candidates are totally
safe in their
seats
as our ballot papers shall
mark them with
defeats

we're itching to cleanse parliament
house of the
dross
who've been doing little
but gathering useless
moss
Black moss and flower pots.
She cometh not, she cometh not.
Lonely and moated,
Rusted nails broken.

Dew with tears,
An hour before sunlight.
Cold winds wake,
A greyish mourn.
Clustered marish-mosses,
Silver green bark.

In a dreamy home.
Among wainscot,
Door hinges creak.
Like a mouse,
She shrieked-
She cometh not, she cometh not.
Daisy Vallely Feb 28
I press my ear against her soft bark,
Damp and darkened by the cloud’s tears.
I hear an echo that envelopes my mind-
A familiar voice, without a face or a name- she is a vibration, she is a feeling.
Looking up, i watch her branches split the sky like an earth quake shattering the heavens.
Spanish moss drips down like solidified rain drops, frozen in time.
I sit upon her roots and dig my barren feet into the cool dirt
Amongst the acorns and shedding of her hair.
My nose is met with an earthly scent- a reminder to breathe.
This old tree watches lifetimes pass as the sun descends below the Earth, the moon rises into the ether, the stars wink at sleeping flowers, and the planets watch us dream.
I stay beside her until twilight cloaks the sky.
This old tree wears wisdom like a silken robe,
So beautiful in every crack and crevice of her body.
I count the stars with her until numbers turn to the sounds of beetle’s banter.
We all laugh together,
And fall asleep in the embrace of our coexistence.
Allyssa Buenafe Oct 2018
I could tell you that I tip toe across the cold wet stones,
Careful with every movement,
But I’m not.
I’m unsteady,
Unsteady as the current rushing beneath me against the slippery rocks.
I could tell you that I’m dainty,
Soft spoken and polite,
But I’m not.
I’m brazen,
I’m honest,
I’m emotional.
I’m clumsy and I don’t have good balance on the moss beneath me in the water.
I crack under pressure,
I’m an anxiety filled vessel.
I hate to be the rain on your sunny day,
But baby I’m sorry,
I’m nothing but the girl who fell into the rushing waters below.
River
Payton Hayes Jun 2018
You’ve grown on me
like moss and ivy,
slowly at first but
before you know it, I’m
covered in you, and I
choose not to remember
what it was like to be naked.
Whether virtual or actual paths cross,
     aye great thee ahoy
no fear Mademoiselle or Monsieur,
     thy harried style haint cloy

rather, when embarking
     on introductory acquaintance
     ship, aye employ
swiftly tailored indistinguishable,
     asper this wordsmith mebbe goy

or Jew, yet genealogically
     thine Semitic lineage,
     unknown descendants begat,
one generation after
     stitched another thread,
     whence warp and woof, sans dat

     (moth eaten tattered wool worth
     coat of arms), twas slim and/or fat
chance biologic dice throw
     adumbrated me Matt,
a skinny, quirky,
     and nerdy kid, who sat

alone during lunchtime
     at school pained, plagued,
     and pronounced with extreme,
     where introversion didst agitate
chronic state of misery being alive
     immobilized, hogtied, and forfeited

     natural predilection
     to discover and create
heterosexual relationships,
     viz interpersonal experiences
     re: raison to date
initial intimate rapport

     (anxiety fraught) fate
full situation with a gal
    giving her good grief great
(yes, twas Maryann Sage),
     who understandably became irate
predicated on lack

     of mine demonstrative affection
     quickly becoming an unsuitable mate
though now in retrospect
     (hindsight always 20/20)
     a sudden resurgent spate

finds remembrance of things passed
     (with her) engendering
     cerebral tete a tete
rankling memories,
     hence for death aye cannot wait!
Jim Musics Apr 2018
0.9
I found a place
On higher ground
A big, flat boulder of Canadian granite on a gentle *****
A thick carpet of softest green moss covers it
It rained yesterday, but it will be nice and dry and warm by tomorrow
There are Pileated Woodpeckers building a nest nearby
I shall stretch out, on my back, looking all though the blue
If you're not busy
Come there too
27/30 0.9
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