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Why in this particular time, is everyone reaching out to me from all over the globe? Do they feel the upcoming show? Do they feel, it's time to let go? To start a new beginning, exploring their options? Remembering the being they met. His energy very prosperous. Effecting them, to the point. Where they have implanted my image to their brain. Coming back to me, asking from the knowledge tree. Never thinking selfishly, only seeking information. Focusing on their hidden desire to have recognition. Seeing there world around them, about to crack and shatter to pieces. They feel this may be the last chance they get, to explore their creativity.
Emma Jun 2020
My friend who was, is not.
My friend who came and went
The love we felt has become
Entangled, confused and lost
But though, we once felt hate and anger
It is not all lost. We can repair and
Build again like Noah’s ark.
We will ride the waves together.
The black hole does not need to conceal
The confusion that we both felt.
Deep below the surface of blackness
Lies the wonder beneath of hope spring.
Desire and yellow daffodils bloom
It once was there, it will be alive again.
And so my friend who once was, is not.
You will be here with me forever.
And though our love may turn and change.
We will wether the storm.


Strips of clouds,

pink-grey like a snail snatched

from its shell. So many days I waited, waiting

like that snail for permanent protection, waiting

as an activity to delve fully into.

Nirvana was coming. I saw it traced

on the dated sidewalk, etched on the curvy luster

of a raccoon’s still spine and in the devotion

of the rock dove waiting for its one decided love.


Nothing was ever enough to saturate my yearning.

Even for a moment, to remember a time before birth,

before the furious fluttering engine ulcerated

my stomach lining, or before my sanity became a soft noise,

fading. I could hear it like a basic desire I was forced

to forgo - ***, unquenched - like that but even

more. Like a crinkled cloth left on the subway floor,

I waited - dry, malformed, avoided.


The basement air is grooming me for an alien awakening -

maybe fluorescent, possibly ordinary, but better than

this sitting, tipping sideways on a broken chair.

Salt lamp on, a little fireplace or miniscule sunshine shining,

crumbling between my fingers, waiting

no more, moving at last

to another corner.



Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

First published in "Dead Snakes" 2013
The Day Is Like


The day is like

the day before

the worm arrived

in a jar at my doorstep.

Before I took the worm in

and fed it lettuce leaves and fresh water.

Before I had something to care for,

when loneliness was the largest difficulty around

and isolation pounded beneath my lids like

a cancer.

The day is tick tock and as slow as waiting

for that needed call to arrive.

I collect the noises from outside

but have nowhere to put them. I open my mouth,

but my voice has gone underground.

The sun looks in on me, but evades my skin.

I don’t hold my breath. I let it in and out.

I let the day be a blank wall.

And sometimes a day like today is like

an empty room and this empty room

is a treasure.

Copyright © 2006 by Allison Grayhurst

First published in "The Buddhist Poetry Review" 2012
Tyra Hunter Oct 2019
I am something you all know well
Some of you can’t function with me
and some of you can’t focus without me

I am a small, timid thing
Easily spooked, should you make a sound
and always flitting from place to place

I am the moment when realization sinks in
When the doors stop slamming
and the heat fueling your anger no longer burns

I am the moment when fresh snow blankets the ground
When the sun shines, but never warms
and birdsong is lost to the early morning breeze

I am the moment when you’re alone in bed
When the world around you sleeps
and you’re too old for the shadows to be scary

I am something that’s never heard, never seen, and never felt
simply experienced
I am silence

- t.h.
My first published poem!

Life that we know, is not, as we think it is  

In the present we miss at times, both
what could have been and what will be

as from the drawers of our lives we
pull out and savour memories while
riding the illusion of replacing time

but sometimes forgetting  that the past
drawn to the present will not sustain
and eventually recede to allow for the
flow of time future to find it’s age, and

life will remain a short tenancy with
a changing lease that time witnesses
without interference at every birth
and in the process we learn a few true
things as time tells your mind’s despair ----  

why lament,  life’s canvas was empty
at birth and will return to it’s state
when you leave, as you brought nothing
and will take nothing, but will leave
behind your life’s colours on my being
to hold  for posterity, as divined in time.

Jack L Martin Sep 2018
I speak for those with prose
Not for the entertainment
of published trolls

We bare our thoughts
Our opinions
Our feelings
Our truths
Our ideas
Our souls

Because we choose to
Because we need to
Because we have to
Because we want to

We don't want to be famous
We don't want to be judged
We don't want to compete
We don't want to speel check

Our grammar is correct
Our diction is correct
Our styling are correct
Our poems are perfect!

Because that is how
we intended them
to be
We love them

Feel free to judge us
It is your god given right
But, keep your criticisms to yourself
Unless we ask for it

As you read these written words
You hear every single syllable
Echo in your head
You are now telling this to yourself

Thank you for listening
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