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Greg Muller Feb 4
Forty tears were pooled in his eyes.

A reality of hardship sunk in
Capsizing a boat of fears.

his parents had left him a penniless bloke
his time would be spent trying to stay afloat

The daily news would house all the jahbs
the other families &  friends were pointing him away from trouble

He would meet a new boss.
A stomach never tiring of crisscrosses

When he sat -down inspection began
Was he trusted to be a stan
Finally accepted he began forging minerals

The door closed at the home.
The company issued tools.
Heavy iron forged together with mighty wood.

Clear yellow lights illuminated the mine’s dark

A new spot would be all to him.
He began picking and digging
The earth's rocks, and dirt.

Learning other names was to be his strong suit.
But ability and strength left him with cahoots.

Soon heart's pumped laughs
Sending echo’s down the earth mine's shaft

Curing the ailed eyes
Of a boy with no ties
sara Nov 2019
there's a world inside your mind
and it wants you to find
a place for others,
without changing
the bookshelves
the music
or the way that you walk through the door.
It might be the means of replacing
the fear which stops you from living
and giving
and laughing
as yourself.
don't be afraid to open up
Better to be encourager
Than to be critical
Jonathan Moya Mar 2019
I have something I must confess to you
I pick my nose, eat all my buggers too.
This causes distress and disgust I know    
still off the floor I’ve  eaten food that glows.

Science says that it’s all just for the best
for I immunize against just those pests,
my antibodies delight in the twirl
of not taking a break from this ill world.

Be too clean enough, watch your body die,
a clam unable to grow pearls inside.

The history of hay fever  attests
it started an aristocratic pest
until more begats trickled it to the rest.
Years later immunity herd resets
made your older ***** hand many bros
less the cause of your sneezing and your woes.
Now cleaner living, hygienic hands,
less man, swing it back to the wealthy clans.

The fate of humanity all well depends
on the fact antibodies never end.
Evolution favors the hardy bugs
making man one of its many doomed shrugs.
Disease, extinction, not in human plan,
he will fight, fight to be part of this land.

Vaccines have prevented much needless death
giving antibodies a daily test.
We have avoided all that still does ****
yet  allergies still make one run to hills,
allowing even worst auto-inflamed chills.
Giving all your antibodies a rest
is not the answer for ****** distress.

Time to adapt bodies to the new world.
Not **** both good and bad in the big furl.
Let it listen, learn and train friend from foe,
not pay attention to the ad man’s show.

Man has conquered this small space to survive,
he must evolve away to really thrive.
We are unsafer when we **** all risk,
to immunize, immunize is the trick.

So I will pick my nose, eat my buggers,
knowing I am creating new lovers
not afraid at all to hug each other.
Masha Yurkevich Jan 2019
Picking up the pieces;
slowly,
one by one.
This time,
it will take me quite
a while
before I am truly done.
My life
has been shattered
once again,
but I write my life in pen.
What happens,
just happens;
life doesn't go back.
You
just have to
keep on going,
even if you do crack.
Abigail Hobbs Jan 2019
A frost had already settled late that night
Into the tenth hour, when most would be sleeping
All was quiet and cold on the front
When the stars presented themselves, you presented yourself to the sky
I imagine as gracefully as sunrise
Quiet and unsuspecting,
it sprang on us like an early spring

When winter turns to spring
and daisies push their way through the dirt
when the transition is done
I'll think of your fight to push through life, yet open yourself up
just as flower petals open to this world
Even though you passed in winter, spring will remind us of you
After a harsh winter, spring will be there to guide us,
whether we've made peace with the season,
whether we're ready and however early
We'll pick daisies to take you with us on this spring's journey
01/23/19

For my dear Aunt, who passed away earlier this month. She was 39, but had a long fight with Cystic Fibrosis. Her favorite flowers were daisies :)
Anya Sep 2018
There’s something interesting to notice
When one shares their poems
Out there
For one and all to see

There are certain patterns
Certain people

That read certain poetry

When I write short, sweet, to the point
Two lines
Or three

Certain people flock

When I write long
With depth, almost like a story

Others stalk

Then when I let out my inner cynic,
Try something new
Rant out my views

I get a whole nother crowd all together
Comprising sometimes, those from the former two as well

Some go for depressing,
Trying to find someone who matches
Their own soulful nature

Others would rather settle
For some lighthearted fun

And still yet more
Would choose something else

And I wonder how do you choose
How do you pick amongst the multitudes?
Do you even care?
Or is it what’s right in front of your eyes?

Perhaps it’s based on what you like to write?
What you’d like to do?
What you’d like to be?
Who you’d like to be?

Is there even an answer key?
Is there ever?
Mary-Eliz Jul 2018
Aztec gold-brown soil between
rows and rows of summer green
invites berry-gatherers
shorts and sun hats
baskets in hand

techniques unique to each

stooping for close inspection
looking for perfection
color, form, ripeness
choosing one by one

bending just enough to grab
handfuls
in a hurry
sun beats down
wiping brow

others mosey
enjoying
the peace of this stretch
of land so well tended
so bounteous

best approach
little child plopped down
near the beginning
hand to mouth fast as she can
crimson juice coloring lips
drips down chin
beneath contented impish smile
A memory of my two-year-old niece's introduction to strawberry picking.
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