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Em MacKenzie Jul 28
I’m not thrilled of open water
I always liked my feet on dry land.
But the days are getting hotter,
I’ll have to deal with my toes in sand.

Dreams got me thinking of a sun
so hot it could toast my skin.
Stick a fork in me and call me done,
and let the feast begin.

Sometimes I think and sometimes I wish
that I had the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
The water’s fine to take a dip,
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens,
hoping I can still find them.

I get pulled in with currents of my emotion,
I gave up swimming as soon as it started.
Because who in this world can fight the ocean,
when it wants you to be departed?

Dreams got me thinking of palm trees,
leafs so big they create a world of shade.
Feeling of a nice summer breeze
cutting me up like a razor blade.

Sometimes I hope the fabric of reality will rip,
and that I gain the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
Teeth are shaking just like my lip
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens
hoping I can still find them.

I want to live amongst the waves shining
like gold paint,
but I’ll only ever find my silver lining
if I become an angel or a saint.
Yet I’ll hope that the sirens
can take my demons and blind them.
Wrote this before the show came out. Unrelated but topical I guess.
Naina Jani Jul 21
The silvers of influence
spill from the moon’s palm,
soft over skin warmed
by a beach day’s hush.

Here, paradise breathes —
not loud, but in sighs,
where seafoam curls
around ankle and ache.

Your gaze, dark as onyx,
doesn’t just look —
it lingers.
A smooth promise,
ripe with unspoken tides.

And I —
I unravel,
seduced by salt air
and the weight
of being seen.

🎀  𝒩𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝒥𝒶𝓃𝒾  🎀
My precious velvet donkey,
my dreamt plush toy, pure poetry,
a  cotton skin, so soft.
As tender as a warm cloud,
that dreamlike Platero, pure jet black,
as sweet as an angel's sky.
Oh, to have a Platero in my life,
to walk beside me in green meadows,
to mingle among wildflowers,
to lie down with me, to be my friend.
Oh, to have such a sweet little donkey in paradise,
all beauty and tenderness, love in its purest form,
to caress you and feed you,
ambrosia for my friend.
Together through the world of perfumed earth,
trotting in nature's heaven.
How I wish I could have held you
in my lap,
my little donkey,
together
in that world.
A gentle world,
where all is good,
in the world of my dreams,
where we are all so happy,
where that other Platero and I reside.

---
Mi precioso burrito de terciopelo,
mi peluche soñado, pura poesía,
piel de algodón, tan suave.
Tan tierno como una nube cálida,
ese soñado Platero, puro azabache,
tan dulce como el cielo de ángeles.
Quién tuviera un Platero en mi vida,
que me acompañara en verdes prados,
que se confundiera con flores silvestres,
que se recostara conmigo, que fuera mi amigo.
Quién tuviera un burrito, tan dulce, en el paraíso,
todo bello y tierno, el amor en estado puro,
para acariciarte, y darte de comer,
ambrosía para mi amigo.
Juntos por el mundo de la tierra perfumada,
trotando en ese cielo de la naturaleza.
Ojalá te hubiera podido recostar
conmigo en mi regazo,
con mi burrito,
juntos
en ese mundo.
Un mundo amable,
donde todo es bueno,
en el mundo de mis sueños,
donde todos somos tan felices,
donde vive ese otro Platero y yo.
Zywa Jul 15
Come on, says Adam,

the apple has been eaten --


and now we'll move on.
Autobiography "In den vreemde - Kronieken" ("In foreign parts - Chronicles", 2024, Frida Vogels), chapter 'Kees en ik' ('Neil and I') - March 23rd, 1983, Bologna (about the polyptych "The adoration of the Mystic Lamb" by Jan and Hubert van Eyck in a chapel of the cathedral in Ghent - Frida takes example by Eva and compares her brother Kees with Adam)

Collection "Trench Walking"
Zywa Jul 15
It happened to her:

Eva is bitter, it is --


simply not her fault.
Autobiography "In den vreemde - Kronieken" ("In foreign parts - Chronicles", 2024, Frida Vogels), chapter 'Kees en ik' ('Neil and I') - March 23rd, 1983, Bologna (about the polyptych "The adoration of the Mystic Lamb" by Jan and Hubert van Eyck in a chapel of the cathedral in Ghent - Frida takes example by Eva and compares her brother Kees with Adam)

Collection "Trench Walking"
The last Poet Jun 16
I will forever drown in your love
As we rot away on our couch
In the home we built together
Surrounded by our treasures
Our slice of paradise
Shofi Ahmed Jun 6
There are roses.
A sniff of that—
turns the trees into sharp thorns.
Sit still.
Secured. Guarded.

Then there is a Tree,
meticulously crafted,
big-footing from the deepest deep—
not only skin deep
but the beauty is on—
deep-bone skeleton.
The pixels on the upper layer stay clear,
and perfect balance holds below, through every layer.

A day fades from the rose,
dimmed—even at soothing eve.
Not quite.
It walks in chiaroscuro,
through shades of tangerine,
slipping into the thick of night—
never growing thin—
until it catches the set sun hiding,
eyeing the new moon’s skin.

It stands,
ready for bold conversation,
as the stars emerge,
whispering
through the seven skies.

Wide-eyed death—
inevitable—
rushes in
on beauty’s stake.
But how long did it last?

Before the blink of an eye,
the tree was back in bloom.

In watching galaxies—top of mind—
it grows again,
quietly,
on the sublunary Earth.

Math of the matter
couldn’t be closer,
nor farther—yet it is,
as surely as cumulative math,
with countless truths under the skin,
unfound until the equation fits.
It can appear with precision,
or stay hidden from sight—
under the sun, or the moon, alike.

Sharpest sharp cuts: linear.
Deepest deep, yet curves—
smoothest golden spirals.

The solid full-stop dot
in Ma spaces
springs the sweetest—  
a panache showcase
that conquers height
and endures time.  

A sniff of it stirs the water—
boundless,
no sea, no ocean, no river,
just flow, forever.
It bumps into paradise above—  
roots stretching,
never ceasing.
Deep down, it rocks the pearls,
up high melts the clouds,
rains soft on the glass—
which breaks
into pieces of a star.

Breaks open wide—yet no angle.
Deep down, it never fractures.
Every line, on every lane,
curves inward
to its digital bedrock:
non-linear, vibrating numbers.

Day in, day out—
no ending at the end.  
A topological fold
opens and rewraps.

There is a tree:
overhead and on the ground.
Keep an open eye—  
it keeps up!
Artis May 27
Paradise,

A dream
With no screams,
No tears being shed.

No questions,
Only answers.

A world with no fight,
No bloodshed—
-
Only peace,
Harmony,
Companionship,
No Judgment
No killing,
-
A world where
We aren’t controlled
By our fears
Of the darkness
In the world
We live in.

A world
Where love
Wins
In the game of life—
-
Where kindness
Walks the streets freely,
Not bound by chains,
Not set free
Only when
There’s something to gain.
        
Paradise,
Every soul is seen,
Every voice is heard—
Where hearts reach out
Without fear,
And healing
Is no longer a dream.

Here,
We don’t expect paper,
Or wealth.
There is no greed.
Everyone opens
Their arms.
-
Everything is free—
Given,
Not taken.
Supported,
Not scolded.

A place,
To belong.
Where silence
Means peace—
Not loneliness,
-
Love isnt a option
Its a necessity.
Before you left,
I was a paradise,
A magical land of prosper and beauty.
When you left,
The rains stopped coming,
All the magic dried up to sandstone.
Then you came back,
With a river running wide,
Eroding the armored stone of my heart.
I prefer the sequel
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