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Hamas terrorists let rockets rain on Israel

Israeli soldiers shattered Palestinian dreams with shrapnel

I learned that cancer killed, again! Shyra this time. RIP

Gray, rain, pouring down depressing large tears, non-stop! Just weather, or is it?

Bleak reality, Ina got diagnosed. Hello cancer my old fiend!

Pandemic work from home blues, lonely stares at screens, empty flat, inward screams, ahuman void.

The world would’ve been less brutal without your malevolence. I hope, you do better, tomorrow. I really do hope so!

Just now! News: it’s a boy, Tomme! Lungs inflated, first screams, first breath. Hope a tad elated.

Death and life, a full circle
Bad days come and go. Take life one day at a time. Sometimes bad days end good! So today was still a good bad day!
Norman Crane Apr 26
every day is a second chance
as the first is already lost,
every love is a second dance
as the first still plays in your thoughts,
every life: a second glance
at a past at present not worth its cost.
B-J-M Feb 3
we are stuck
between Scylla
we know the path we must take
I fear
we will ignore
the warnings

we are still off course
Bobby Dodds Jan 21
A poem a day,
Keeps depressing thoughts away-

Too optimistic.
short and powerful is the way I like to love
although I fall way too hard.
that's what I get for wanting to be a poet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I love haikus-
B-J-M Dec 2020
it turns out
we were hasty;
though we gathered wood
it was not nearly enough

those fires we had
burned bright
and true
maintaining such heat
proved harder
than imagined

at the start
were too much
too generous
burnt through
too quickly
radiating heat
enveloping us
in a false sense
of comfort

settling into this warmth
this temporary state
of contentment
the need for stoking
                for fresh wood
goes forgotten
as flames die
as embers dull

all it needs
is for someone
to reach out
into the cold
and awaken the fire
but it seems
no one
is willing
It is our mad fate
That conciousness
Unlived and unexiled

Like a prophet
Whose songs
Cry out in the dark
We stand

Defeated in exile
In front of
An aged mirror

We press forward
In the presence
Of the absolute
B-J-M Nov 2020
at one point
ranks of flowers
lined the garden;
none of which
i could name
nor did i care
to learn

at full bloom
staring into that kaleidoscope
those colours
and the shapes;
there was

looking now
the garden is
a palette
a spectrum of brown;
         brownish yellow
   greeny brown
      brown on
        slightly darker brown

the dog maintains eye contact
while defecating
on the flower beds;
this is also
strangely cathartic
James Rives Nov 2020
you once lived deeply within some passion,
  and met it head on, ember-laden,
    and self-assured.

its completion priming a response to share,
  for some ephemeral happiness,
    snared closed to what you'd say was
      "honesty" or "openness."
a truth that even you don't know. but it wasn't that.

winter's edge has dulled those senses,
  mellowed it, twisting into irregular sleep,
    multitude bad habits,
      disdain for the art.

just shy of two turns at half-light--
  theatre has grown stale.

inspiration comes and goes, flickers inconstant,
    and with each passing flame,
      you grow more weary.
Under the same moon
Warm blood spills out of bodies
Into the dark ground.
Babes are taken from mothers.
Stray dogs **** the weak.
Under the sway of tyrants
Men fight fellow men
To escape the swamp of ****.
Children beg in streets
Where the sick lie naked and
The houses are burnt
For the pockets of the rich.
Under the same sun
Tide goes in and tide goes out
Inside this gift they call life
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