I forget my ways
too easily
traditions of my skin
blown away
like pencil dust

In a place
where my soul
has no meaning
I mean not to die,
yet I cannot thrive
in a place
where my bones crumble
like fallen leaves

sweet flavors in my mouth
fade away with time
all is within or without
drained away in the night

all my lost customs,
those dances of my soul
return to me in dreams
as fresh as they are old

I let words slip past my
let them sink into my
wash them out with bitter
they disappear in

I forget my sight
too quickly
place my eyes
in a transparent box,
there they wait
by the light of an
open window
to be released
to find home

All those years ago. You were my life; you were my dream,
you were my love, my dear Queen Seondeok,
An impossibility I know.

I dream of visiting impossible places and times every night,
A miracle raised from the ashes of war,    
And one people of Korea,

A miracle that stands,
Only minutes away from eternity,
Every day.

My dear love, Queen Seondeok, please grant your wisdom,
To your people living in the North and the South,
And remind them, they are one family,

They are the family,
Of the Kingdom of Joseon.
The place my dreams come from.

Copyright © 2017 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

Queen Seon Deok OST - Come, People of God (with Lyrics)https://youtu.be/QUx4gtpCiEs
Antino Art Aug 24

On rainy days
I look up poems set in Seattle,
then look back at the rain set against the window

I imagine the water was carried here
from the shores of their bay
across Pike Place, through Belltown,
in buckets they use
to carry Pacific salmon off fishing boats,
or in lidded Styrofoam bowls used
to take out clam chowder

I practice walking from parking lot to book store
without the aid of an umbrella
like how their locals do, somehow cool
with getting wet,
unhurried as they sip their coffees black

I renounce sugar packets and follow suit:
bitter coffee, rain,
toasting to this combination forged on their puddled streets
that see more poets per square mile
than anywhere else in the country

Magicians can have Vegas, its illusions
Asians, San Francisco and its gold bridge

I think I should just have this coffee,
and this rainy day
as the poem it is.

Cynthia Jean Aug 18

Early will I seek You

I will awaken the dawn

to offer


in the beauties of holiness

in the womb

of the morning.

Cynthia Jean Poems 8.18.2017

the foundation of my life, and how I survive
Kyle Kulseth Aug 16

You were leaving
     with the first of the Springtime thaw.
I glued my feet and
     now I'm stuck and you know that's all
               we ever found
          we knew how to do--
was just say fake "goodbyes,"
practice "I'll miss you's!"

We can sleep through our dreams
or die standing up
on the paths of same footprints'
           same old sidewalks.
But the equinox came and you went nowhere
Sick of saying, "It's fine here..."
                    I'm just sick
'cuz the healthiest ones hated us
       and now they're all gone...

               ...I guess that's just luck.
                           Dumb luck.

I was leaving
     we both knew that I wouldn't get far
before retreating
     to you and to this asphalt
               I've always walked.
               We always knew how
to just fake fake "You're fine's."
Swallow fermented growls.

We'll just sleep through these dreams
of packing our stuff.
Write our hopes on punched tickets--
           can't afford the bus.
When the equinox comes and we're still here--No
We'll be convinced it's good here.
                  we're just sick.
'Cuz the healthiest ones hated us
        and now they're all gone...

               ...I guess that's just luck.
                           Dumb luck.

Stick together, squeeze the time in
with the snow falling down.
Do what we'd never get away with
when the Summer comes around,
       When the cops patrol the streets
              that the city won't plow

               ...I guess that's just luck.
                           Dumb luck.


Let breath slow dissolve
A tablet of ink
Colourful dreams
Deep -- flow skywards.

Zani Aug 1

What is a promise
When all we put into place
Will become undone?

Pondering upon the etymology of promise - where to my brain it rings as " putting into place ahead of time".
Ako Jul 30

Breaking my reality,
When I thought of a place in this plane
What is sane?
The scarcity of sanity,
Is a question to humility
A cosmic understanding of the Grand Land
When I am dimensionally an infinitesimal being
I shout at my face,
Where is my place?

anywhere you are
yeah I can do that


Julie C Smith Jul 14

Baby, you're under my skin
Your presence is my favorite place to be in
Your love is a rollercoaster and I won't have it otherwise
Because wherever you are is Paradise

The beginning of my realization.
The last poem of my Part III.
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