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Don Moore Dec 2023
‘A tribute to my lost friend, the wonderful artist Alex Pointer, who chose to illustrate one of my poems, and who has sadly left this realm last year.’

Lost to the secret valley…

Time now is vast, all over for you, leaving so fast
   Drifting, twirling, to find a home on the grass
Ground soft beneath your feet, sky above blue
   Standing quietly, focus , take in all of the view
This place, this beauty, it’s where your Pan lives
   Then a tiny touch from behind, now you draw breath

Not turning, but you can feel his warmth on your nape
   Clops, as he moves off jingling, his big toes scrape
A horn blows quiet at first, then strident as he passes
   Here now, you’re left far behind, feet in cool grasses
Just staring over this place of which you’ve just read
   Wonderful land, where now you lie, with all you need

Before and below, an amazing valley with small stream
   Gazing down, seeing this languid water, seems a dream
First step tentative, but you have confidence in this gorge
   Over the edge, slipping slightly, yet downward you forge
In grass underfoot, rustles abound, there tiny creatures run
   Further down, birds lift to the sky, all gone, one by one

Turn to look back, your face saddens, torn by lost faces  
   Tears ***** your eyes, remembering husband, heart races
In your mind, children, pictures, paintings, now sadly bygone
   A scant breeze kisses, cleaning your cheeks of love forlorn
Here in this valley, a halfway place, memories of your reading
  An intense desire to paint pictures of another’s life bleeding

Foot follows foot as you slowly descend into this other’s story
   Gazing in wonder at this real scene, know that this is Lordly
Awareness of toes firm in ground, experiencing grass growth
   Then near tiny river before you, waiting something you hate
Dark, black, bad, and evil, something affecting your life’s fate
   But as you approach, there before you in glory, bright Pan

Brown face, shows both love and sadness, looks to your eyes
   Then standing proudly, lifts arm, killing it, watching as it dies
Turns to you, tears on his face, quietly tells of his affection
   For you, for your spouse, your family, your life, its perfection
With hands he reaches, your fingers he grips, you feel love
   Then you know his warmth, and you stare into the sky above

Pan leads you slowly to the flowing water, there swim fish
   Flashing many magical colours, waters stirring, tails swish
Rustles from behind, tell of much life abounding, if unseen
   Pan then points downstream towards the sea, land between
You let go his hand, walk then beneath the overhanging trees
   Scented flowers assault your nostrils, plants you squeeze

Turn to gaze back, in the distance, you now hear Pan’s trill
   That pain, the loss you felt, now lost, river running, ears fill
Clutching branches, feel their roughness, experience their life
   Happiness fills your heart, all sadness trimmed by Pan’s knife
No more pain, no sense of loss, for you know all will join you
   Husband, family, friends, not lost, just delayed, this be true

Here now, you remember a story you read, one of this very land
   How you’d loved, drawn and painted, led by his writing hand
You’d wished for his wisdom to be real, and here you finally are
   Free at last to live amongst flowers, existing as if a bright star
This chapter in his story written for you to read, gives solace
   Moving forward along the river, you seek your now final place

Bees buzzing, birds flit, over the clear blue water insects fly
   Bright yellow daffodils on the grass, iris by water flowing by
Red wild roses climb the trees, rapidly rapping their branches
   Vividly coloured damsels whirring, hunting things dancing
All this, and much more, the further you progress towards sea
   Slowly, one sight to another, you know sea will set you free

Always pushing forwards, closer, looking to that shining sea
   Buds, flowers, fruits, together now appear here, all three
You pluck a fruit you’ve never seen before, of various colours
   Tastes so sweet, flavour unknown, stopping by wild flowers
Here momentarily you feel the need to take a long, long rest
   Yet suddenly feel that moving would best, as just a guest

Fruit juice drips from your chin, on hitting ground, grows on
   Here everything seems so alive, constant death then birth
Seemingly this is the Goddesses halfway house to reality
   By the green sea, you somehow know she awaits with vitality
Onward you press, to see a young woman who awaits you
   Dressed in silvery blue, stands out, yet is a beautiful view

Saying nothing, she lets you pass, closer you feel a freeze
   Temperature continues to drop, made worse by breeze
And then she’s far behind, winter now long far away and gone
   Through the still waving branches, there appears another
This woman dressed as spring, has come, wears bright greens
   Approaching, she smiles, waves arm, sends warmer scenes

Onwards past, now ahead by the trees, appearing, another
   This one dazzling like summer, you pass, she’s like a mother
Smells of love, hope, and forever after, reminds of happy days
   Here now the trees branches thin, into sight, red, brown blaze
Closer, another woman, stunning beauty, she now awaits, you
   Her arms outstretched, you grasp her hands, leads to sea

Impending final ending, you are led to the one true Goddess
   Here her daughter Autumn stops before her beloved mistress
You feel warm, loved, as your life before you, suddenly flashes
   This higher power, touches you, behind her the sea crashes
Home you feel, all painful essences revealed, but gone forever
   Brightest of purest hope, as here, now you finally surrender

Lift, fly far away, safe from all man’s wrath and harm, now hope
   Behind those you love so much, but know be with you soon
And as the sun fades on another day, shining bright you alight
   Travel distant stars, ride upon different skies, live with delight
Behind husband mourns and cry’s with family and friends near
   But know this, only the bright stars die young, this sadly clear
‘A tribute to my lost friend, the wonderful artist Alex Pointer, who chose to illustrate one of my poems, and who has sadly left this realm last year.’
AmyKatrinaSmith Jun 2022
When I was a little girl my favourite film was Peter Pan.
I so desperately wanted to go to Neverland.
So much so that I often thought about becoming lost.
Just run out of my home one night and never look back. Peter would find me and fly me away to Never Neverland, where all the lost boys and lost girls were.

What if I did run away?
What if I'm still lost?
What if my body is still here but my soul, my being is gone?
Never to find its way back.
What if I found Neverland.
Only somewhere in the depths of my mind never to return.

Only my shadow remains.

Forever a Shadow.
Leeeena Mar 2023
She looks like she tastes like pure sunshine
I think if I kissed her, I'd burn from the inside
Her hand must feel like the petals on a flower
I'd know if I took it, but I'm too much of a coward

Their voice has the rhythm of a Shakespearean sonnet
I'd like to catch each word and safekeep it in my pocket
They have the deepest eyes in which I'd love to drown
I'd let the colors pull me close, those greens and greys and browns

His laugh reminds me of wind between the leaves
I hear in him the crashing of a thousand seas
He loves me as though I've never committed sin
I wonder, if he knew, would he love me then
To love all is to get the best of all worlds
Raven Feels Aug 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, happy day:}


a born man
is a free man
yet somehow
is living in slavery on a timed boiling pan
is a deaf slave to a throne of what can't do and what can
is a blind king on his throne to the people's command
is a mute reigning with silence to speak up to his land
is a ******* to stop chaos with one stand
is living in the darkest poles denying the sun's shake of hand
and with all that he is still a free man

                                                                ­     ------ravenfeels
SophiaAtlas May 2021
Straight Boys: Why are all the hot girls lesbian?
Lesbians: Why are all the hot girls straight?
Straight Girls: Why are all the hot guys gay?
Gay Guys: Why are all the hot guys straight?
Bisexuals: WHY ARE ALL THE HOT PEOPLE TAKEN?
Pansexuals: Everyone is hot. What do i do?
Asexuals: What.
I'm pansexual and this is honestly how I feel.
Melony Martinez Mar 2021
Pan dulce se sienta en un plato de pastelería en mi cocina
Rara vez tocado, pero siempre admirado
Fresco y colorido y lleno de variedad.
Los panes delicados quedan sin comer
Todavía los compro como recordatorio de
Mi familia en otra tierra a un mundo de distancia
Parece más cercano cuando estoy rodeado por el sabor, los olores y las texturas de la casa de mi padre biológico.
Mi Familia
Mi casa en Mexico
English version
Pan dulce sits on a pastry plate in my kitchen
Rarely touched, but always admired
Fresh and colorful and full of variety
The delicate loaves go uneaten
I still buy them as a reminder of
My family in another land a world away
It seems closer when I'm surrounded by the taste and smells and textures of my birth father's home
Mi Familia
Mi casa en Mexico
Riz Mack Oct 2020
after "The Walkers" by John Glenday


In those final moments,
I walked with them
unattached,
no longer one with what is,

a sudden finality ****** upon me,
like so many waves of fire
lapping at a paper boat;

I would never cross this river.

I stop at the bank,
to weigh my worth
and wait,

just downstream of a soldier
flicking his cigarette,
directionless,
one final hiss,
in surrender to the stream.

He couldn't see us
but knew his role,
and a shiver sent him packing
all the same.

I wait,
watching the walkers
gradual dissipation,
each ebbing more
slowly
than the last.

I see them fly
far above the tallest peaks,
lost to my vision
and the insatiable sky,
their light -
scarce as it is,
consumed by the silent stars.

I hear their final cries,
the longing hopeful,
the needy and desperate,
the triumphant and the downtrodden,

I listen to their pleas,
their anguish
and their resolve,
that we might yet heal the world.

Still, I wait
without grief,
and ask only of this humbling river,
how to mend something
that was never whole?
maybe some soap?
Alicia Aug 2020
There are days when my emotions
are a small gear being turned
in my brain by a small man
with quick ideas and a sole
purpose to manufacture
he goes away when
rage comes to stay,
the only true connection to
my nervous system
the most familiar face
I finally spoke to it out loud
I never learned love
without pain or sacrifice

I picture the small man
going on vacations
these days I feel
and feel and feel
I am convinced this is the
true nature of how
my brains favorite number is 2
always loving both extremes
boys who are mean and
girls that just do not need me
as much
as men need me
to be sweet and fill their shoes
all shoulder and still
nothing to cry on
Justin Lai Aug 2020
They said you have to
    be a man.
Tell me,
    did you ever feel small
    driving your motorcar
        to that bank?
                ~
We came from the clouds
    but not for you.
Still,
    we hope you saw
    your children
        fly
thinking of my parents and all their sacrifices
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