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Gh0ski3 Mar 20
Unwritten words dancing in harmony
How do you do, my diary of diction?
Disappeared into a palace placed objectively
Oh the vocable, structured like an architect
Amuse me with juggling dactyl
Dearest, I'm amazed!
Articulated literature from your hands
Harbored lines of eye catching structure
Seek no other, than the poem.
Position yourself in punctuation, darling
Do not disappoint!
Damsel in distress is what I am without your ellipsis
****** teasing of sentence frames
Fervor a fire, like loving locutionary vows
***** author, put my skim to shame!
Read me beauty in writing
Won't you? My glorious poet
A love poem for poets, kinda funny.
Spurious correlation is when two random variables line up,
Such as shark attacks increasing with the amount of ice pops sold,
Unfortunately for health nuts, ice pops don't cause shark attacks.
But what is truly spuriously correlated is this bullet board,
That I am using to unravel the secrets of writing today.
Such as the number 122 lining up with severely different artists,
As well as well defined writers turning into many missing cases.
If I was ever offered a job as official poet detective,
Of course I would take it, but I would run circles each day.
Official Poets' Association Of Detectives
To those honored poets,
An opportunity has opened up,
I'd like to spread this gospel,
Of a chance to reach new horizons,
Well beyond this world,
Now gather if you dare,
Join and journey to a new place.
You most likely already saw it, but one of the great poets on this site, Ghost, is making an Instagram project to share poetry from this site into the wider world. Go check it out!
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5008427/hellopoetrys-best/
To those honored poets,
An opportunity has opened up,
I'd like to spread this gospel,
Of a chance to reach new horizons,
Well beyond this world,
Now gather if you dare,
Join and journey to a new place.
You most likely already saw it, but one of the great poets on this site, Ghost, is making an Instagram project to share poetry from this site into the wider world. Go check it out!
THE POET'S LOUNGE,


LET'S ALL
GATHER AROUND,
ALL......
POET'S, LYRICISTS,
ALL WRITERS, and SONNETEERS,
ALL STORYTELLERS, RHYMERS,
and
VERSIFIERS,
as we
BLEND IN HARMONY and
START to INSPIRE,
ALL ARE WELCOME,
LET'S BRING THE JUICE,
TO THE POETESS, SONGSTERS,
METRICIST AND MUSE,
COME AND JOIN THE GANG,
IF YOU SO CHOOSE,
AS WE
VERSE BY VERSE and
SOUND BY SOUND,
I WELCOME YOU ALL
TO:
THE POET'S LOUNGE!!!!!


B.R.
DATE: 3/14/2025
Wait? Is he still here,
Maybe he never disappeared.
He was here all along,
I failed to listen closely to the song.
When it echoes in my ear,
Silently I can hear those words reappear.
To think I thought he left,
Show yourself if I've found you yet.
I just noticed that a new author and Silent Echo's works are almost parallel. Almost as if we just found a paradox? Or better yet, he's in disguise.
---
---
That's the thing we sign on a poet's grave
That is the symbol of death we know in our language
Every dash etched with the weight of an iron cuff
Have they lived long enough?
No I'm afraid they never got their time to shine
Before their art's demise.
---
Everyday there's one more.
404
You want to know the poet?
You want to know the man?
You can call him Hardison,
He's going for the grand throne,
In that hall of fame.
There's nothing that will halt him,
Till his name's carved in the sky.
I just had a wild night, lot's of cheering from and for me. I'm well known it seems, and this is my moment of braggery. I'll be humble again tomorrow :)
Silent Echo was an inspiration,
A genius poet with a depth of thought I aspired to have.
Though while he was crude at times,
I never once found fault in his rhymes.
Best wishes to you friend,
And I hope soon I'll read your work once again.
Today I learned that Echo has left the platform, I don't know if that's for now or forever, but I hope it's not the later. He was truly an inspiration to me coming up as a writer and I loved every piece he wrote. He truly helped me improve and my work would not be the same without what I learned from his.
We
Some people aren't open to talks
others don't even entertain jokes,
because their daily moments are
a chaos, of sadness, pain, of anger,
of rising from varying rejections.

We.....are the heroes,
or the villains...or the sacrificed,
characters...in glorious times,
struggles, described in verses;
we know...for we are those writers,
our poems are colored with our lives.

We create our own rhythms, from
calm or tempestuous days and nights,
we hear ourselves
in gentle or loud voices
we hide...among our limited choices,
we turn numb
we become blind, due to despair,
yet, with a little love,
we get by, and...in time,
our poems become our lifetime hymns,
bringing us back to those days,
how we tried, and
learned our lessons.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 2, 2025
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