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Julie Grenness Oct 2019
I was asked to create a holiday,
What about a pyjama day?
We would not get dressed at all,
Stay in bed, hide and stall,
Sit around in flannelette,
Stay in PJ's, don't get dressed,
In fact, don't wash or cook,
Do mental slumming with ****** books!
Feedback welcome.
Maya Jo Apr 2019
He's a boy who knows his body
and loves his body
and shares his body
with all the raw insides.
Humanity folded in lightweight-
sturdy bones and supple joints
that bend under heated gazes.
He's prone to say yes.

Whatever it means.

For me, I would taste
and savor each bite of the body
that buckles under warmth
and cut into the bones.
Then, after his yes, I would open
the rest of him.
Unfolding humanity,
mistakes and bewilderment,
the bitter, sour sinew of him-
the boy entirely mine.
Late start to National Poetry Month. Poem #1
Maria Etre Apr 2019
The second I fell for you
gave me a glimpse
into a lifetime
National Poetry Month
Maria Etre Apr 2019
To every poet
that turned misery to beauty
reality to fantasy
life into poetry
love into mystery
words into sorcery

To every poet whose
word on paper
is an invitation
to play with fire
Clelia Albano Oct 2018
The will o' the wisp is
displayed on the screen of
conventions. There are those
who pretend to decipher it;
by borrowing philosophical speculations from the great
thinkers, they formulate a
critical reading, justifying the
poverty of the lexicon.
They dare to do so.
On the other hand there is
Poetry, sat on a bench
in a park somewhere, on a
rock nearby the ocean, on
an old chair in a remote room
without any other furniture,
on the pillow made with papers
of a clochard,
on the cover of an unabridged
book nobody wants.
On the trembling hand of a
young lover who picks flowers
for her, that remain forever
between the pages of a diary.
Poetry is in the multiplicity of life,
in the thousands layers, either
red or grey, that compound the
variety of the existence. It can't
escape feelings, love, roses,
tears, grief, graveyards and
gardens. And, even when it turns
to be redundant with naivety, it
keeps the greatness of its end
which is nothing else but itself.
A deep inspiration caught me as I learned that today, in the UK, is the National Poetry Day, something I would like to experience. I've written this poem dedicated to Poetry and to those who today celebrate it!
Brent Kincaid Jul 2018
Three thousand children
That have no home.
Three thousand children
Are suffering alone.
Three thousand children
Whose parents suffer
Three thousand children
Missing their mothers.

How many children
Do we now have to feed
When the president said
They’re all bad seeds?
How did these babies
And these adolescent kids
Get accused of what they
Nor their parents ever did?

How can a country that
Brags it’s the land of the free
Perpetuate such a craven
Too ****-like villainy?
It squanders public funds
On bogus personal causes
Then hides it's thievery
Inside twisted legal clauses.

Three thousand babies
Locked up like animals
Inside pens like Dobermans;
And they are the criminals?
Their parents broke laws
That are just misdemeanors
So, they are beaten and then
They’re taken to the cleaners?

Meanwhile their children
Are kidnapped and hidden
By a Justice department that
Does the evil they are bidden.
That this kind of sick behavior
Exists in our country’s name
Is more than just our personal,
It’s also our national shame.
Druzzayne Rika May 2018
The chances are never perfect
I am disappointed
because the world has never stood up to
what is ideal
what is right is hidden behind the veil
Innocents are tested each time
and the fight goes on.

Bending the rule,
using people as tool
dead and alive
making every fool
and the normalcy
spreading this sickness
over what is going on
so wrong.

Moving on
getting over it
forgetting every little bit,
we stick to our lives
protecting us
what possibly how
we can also be duped
and save ourselves
from becoming the national news.
During element’ry school
Lunchtime was a drag
For the bologna sandwich
In my little brown lunch bag.

My favorite? The spice ham
I loved on grilled cheese.
Made bologna mediocre…
A cold cut for the breeze.

Now, turkey’s my favorite
Amongst the cold cuts.
It is healthy and tasteful—
No ifs, ands or buts.

Cold cuts, an old sidekick
Are convenient—take your pick.
(Revised 2/2018.)
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