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Jon Sawyer Jan 2018
On my way to Anchorage for a New Years eve party soiree, I see the moon perched high behind a dark charcoal gray sea of sky smoke (there are no fires) and I wonder.

That when I asked my mother, "Mother, what is my talent? What can I do better than anyone else?"

She paused for a moment and said,

"Χρυσόστομος."
30 December 2017 - I am not sure if I believe her yet, but I press on.
do that
to
me
again
who
is
we
quit
running from me
we
won't
?










...
..
.
Henry Koskoff Jan 2018
light escapes upon
the little ridge of his lip
and bounces to me
Wren Myers Jan 2018
SAYING WORDS JUST FOR FUN

ISN’T VERY SMART

SAVE YOUR WORDS FOR GOOD

AND SPEAK FROM YOUR HEART


DON’T SPEAK WHATEVER YOU THINK

FOR YOU THINK FASTER THAN YOU TALK

AND FEELINGS ARE HURT IN A BLINK

BECAUSE YOU SAID WHAT YOU THOUGHT


SOMETIMES HONESTY IS A GOOD THING

DON’T THINK YOU SHOULD EVER LIE.

BUT NOT BEING SO OUTSPOKEN

IS SOMETIMES WHAT IS RIGHT.


BUT I’M DONE TALKING NOW

I NEED TO SAY NO MORE

I WILL TAKE MY FINAL BOW

AND WALK AWAY SAYING NO MORE
Im back!!!
ally maková Dec 2017
I strain to return to myself—
a peony dewy-eyed, unbeknownst to
the bittersweet taste of your chocolate eyes,
yet biting into it
while you watch.

I dared to do that.
I became your dream
with my pure red mouth,
arched back,
eyes singing.

You wanted to listen some more, didn’t you?
But then, that is all you ever did:
You wanted,
nothing more, nothing less,
and look what you’ve done;

My heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds—
I pick them up on my knees,
smear my mouth with them,
staining it red
as I eat them.

I pretend they are remnants of
the good girl I used to be,
white peony petals.
I don’t want you any longer;
I want her back.
rmh Dec 2017
and i know that sometimes lines of poetry
tumble from my mouth like a forgotten stream
and they get jumbled, the poets mixing together
the space between the words gets smaller
but i truly only want to share something
that even compares to the beauty of you
Matthew Rousseau Nov 2017
A man had a gun for a mouth,
and it was hard for him to see the safety,
his tongue only made things go south,
he could not reach,

He didn't have many friends,
those he did wore kevlar,
None would wait, in the end,
and he dug his own grave,

He worked alone for good reason,
his situation made teamwork unbearable,
he hunted when it was in season,
his mouth, the only thing needed,

He could score a date quite well,
women flocked to his sight,
"What a barrel!", his looks could sell,
conversation was never alright,

His wife was a shield, a maiden of honor,
they worked quite well, nail to hammer,
where she was his mouth, he was her bomber,
ready to strike at the first threat,

His child, the only love in his head,
at birth so strong,
his son had arms of lead,

What carries on is molded by the past,
the fruit grows and ripens,
Until it meets it's last
moment here and the gun gets dim,
God is the creator, but death always wins
your guess is as good as mine
Anomaly Nov 2017
Words are  
Nothing more
Than empty air
Flowing in the wind
From mouth to ear.
County seat, of Mason County, Washington,
United States Westernmost city on Puget Sound
above ground sans tectonic plates Population 9,834
per 2010 census end result from biological mates
maintains commission form of government
drafted by mandates.

Shelton served by small steamboats
comprising Puget Sound Mosquito Fleet
Old Settler, Irene, Willie, City of Shelton,
Marian, Clara Brown, & S.G. Simpson
logging, farming, dairying, ranching

& oyster cultivation for populace to eat
Simpson Timber Company mill on
Puget Sound's Oakland Bay over yon
dominates landscape of the downtown area
as essential heart beat Shelton identifies
the "Christmas Tree Capital" sold by the ton.

47°12′49″N 123°6′22″W (47.213702, -123.106088)
coordinate bench mark
total area of 5.9 square miles (15 km2),
of which 5.6 square miles (15 km2) land
0.3 square miles (0.78 km2) (5.60%)

water laps with an occasional errant shark
in a pinch captured, processed and canned
a delicacy that fin de siecle bony illegal
***** fined by the oceanic arc.

well nigh two decades in the past
this poet trekked across America
beginning in a place called Gap
Pennsylvania  - where stockpile
of Amish goodies barely did last

and vanished in a gingerly snap
of fingers, which necessitated
sustenance when van fueled i.e. gassed
up while myself or other driver stole short nap

seduced to sleep by syncopated tires
as highway miles passed inching closer
to youngest sister via this linear transcontinental lap
destination Seattle Washington indigenous
iconic statue cast.

Ronald Strickland a fine companion
Boone storyteller to boot about my age then
(five decades plus two), him trying to rake
in loot by writing about his travels, yet
unpretentious and no square at root

perhaps one day, I will surprise him
with a call and give him a toot
though on might deign to bellow
while atop the snow capped Mount Rainier

Taking in the august magic crystalline beauty
all year round:
 
whereat snowfall etches silhouette once dusk shed daylight
sketching in natural bas relief ascension from horizon
to heavenly height albedo effect from glistening snow light
luminescence transforming night into blinding sight
from pure flakes of incandescent white.
RiBa Nov 2017
Walked passed the Patisserie today
My mind deep in thought,
Lo! They came in wafting
Clearly my nose they sought

I inhaled the sweet intoxication
Of fresh baked bread & pie
My destination was different
But my senses were on high

I stole a look at the counter,
the flaky pastry and the chocolaty eclair
A flood rose in my mouth
It was only but fair!

The delicious lemon ****
and the warm meringue pie
Desires in my heart and soul
That i just couldn't deny

So i paid my dues to the Devil
Settled for hot chocolate and sugar drizzled cinnamon roll
Destination be ******
I had just achieved my goal!
A quick stroll into a patisserie brought this out. :)
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