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Shin Nov 2020
Breath of a beast or cowl of a coward.
Alone I ponder, which is the true curse?
Father and son, guided by light's shadow.
Showing me that it can always be worse.

I raise my glass, press my lips to my wife.
I don my cloak and leap into the night.
I wonder, when perhaps shall I know peace?
I wonder, when will I give up this fight?

Academic at heart, I weep from within.
Teacher, lover, father, hiding what's worse.
I pray they see my sin and let me be.
I pray they leave me with this coward's curse.
Beckie Davies Nov 2020
You split my soul in seven
Like a real life horcrux
My soul is attached to objects
That we have both grown to love

You split my soul in seven
Like you are a real life Voldemort
Tragically forgetting
That death indeed can be a blessing
Ascending us to heaven

You split my soul in seven
Like a real life horcrux
Now I am bound for eternity
Pondering your sickening depravity
he split my soul in seven like a real life horcrux
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you don't like Harry Potter
Something is Sirius-ly
Ron with you
Only Potterheads will understand❤
Where Shelter Sep 2020
a tall masted sailboat plods its way
across the picture window, under power, moving slow, 5 minute mile,
seagulls trail behind, periodically dive bombing the roiled wake, thinking, surely, men’s finding machinery may better than their own,
we,
taking anything to make the new days poems & troubles easier

so it goes, the interplay between man and a natural world,
so it goes, finding fish, our sustenances, a dance perpetual,
so it goes, divining spirits sensing a vision, bring me music,
a spiritual so apropos that who can doubt God’s existence?

”With the water
Sweet water, wash me down
Come on, water
Sweet water, wash me down


Tried my hand at the Bible
Tried my hand at prayer
But now, nothing but the water
Is gonna bring my soul to bear”^


so the birth-day begins, sunrise poems & troubles sure to follow,
in serenity commences, perhaps a sunset bookend to match,
but in between, surely poems & troubles, all of life’s stuffing,
signs and guides, surely, at least, the day’s poem is completed...




—————————————-
^ Nothing But the Water (II)
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
first poem of the day


Fri Aug 21 2020
8:40am
S.I.
Betty Aug 2020
Potters hands are grey
Clay doesn't know your colour
Only your talent
I have been trying to find something that unifies us all-In the end we are all clay of some kind!
Mark Toney Oct 2019
wheel thrown pottery
coils of clay willingly yield-
master potter's touch
12/4/2018 - Poetry form:  Haiku - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Shin Aug 2019
Perhaps you think I groom them for my gain.
After all, I am just a Slytherin.
We are selfish beasts, some call us evil.
So clearly I'm just polishing my gems.

But I have to ask, do you know the pain?
The lonesome ache I find myself within?
A filthy balloon, just pass the needle!
If love won't find me, at least I'll have them.
Another thought of Harry Potter
Shin Aug 2019
My lips pursed by the power of Albus
as abuse lies dormant under my nose.
Oh how I wish I could be unbridled.
Oh how I wish I could just take a stand.

For now I'll sit in my matchstick palace,
I see the thorns, and I'll offer the rose.
Curse those soul-suckers while I sit idle.
Not Dementors, but family plagues this land.
A third thought of Harry Potter
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