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Colors that caress the eyes
With majestic hues grace our souls
In comfort and expression;
A devout offering of love
From those that came before us
To every generation since.
Zoe Mei May 7
I met a cat
a few weeks ago
black and white
on the city sidewalk
collarless in
the deserted evening.
I stopped
yards away,
no chasing
crouched down
stretched my hand out
she hesitated
I smiled
𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦
she stepped cautiously to me
I stroked her back
scratched between black
ears and then
she went her way
and I went mine
and only one of us looked back.
Poems flow in a stream
That winds through me
As I guide them,
Through meandering, uneven
Places in my life,
Or once in a while,
The smooth runs
Where fishing seems easy.
And I collect the pretty stones
That come to rest,
Water-washed, shining,
Along the river’s bank.
And often, there is a pool,
Green-blue, with clear water
And trout shadows, swift
And still, making a brief home,
Suspended above the sand.
Those are the ones I choose,
The surface touched only
By tree-filtered sunbeams
And beckoning on summer days.
It seems sometimes to me
That poets travel backward
Up to the source of beauty,
Where the water is still pure,
After struggling up through
Rapids and waterfalls,
Or wading through swamps
Down where the stream ends
And a wide river opens up.
Giant rivers can be majestic
But they often bury the gems
Brought down from the
From mountain caves and highlands
Swallowing them to swirl,
Mixed-up with the jewels
Of other poets’ streams.
And from remembrance
We gather our dreams.
Does sorrow fill the traveler
Who reaches the dark places
Where springs emerge
From some place we cannot see?
Allesha Eman Mar 30
The best of your days,
spent in vast fields of memorabilia.
Golden drops of sunset rain,
wash over your haste,
and you reach out for the hidden starlight,  
to rewrite the melodies of your broken heart.
Where the dead lie the flowers grow,
The trees shoot tall and the winds blow.
Resting in their eternal peace,
Memories live on and never cease.
Weathered stone and faded names,
At home, broken pictures in broken frames.
The woosh of an aeroplane flys overhead,
To honour their sacrifice and salute the dead.
For they have died so we might be free,
Lives lost inland and those at sea.
For we recall all that they gave,
As we whisper quiet prayers beside the grave.
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.
Inspired whilst reading tombstones of fallen soldiers at Irthlingborough cemetery next to the church. Reading and performing Wilfred Owens war poems at London College of Music first got me interested in the theme of war in poetry.
Nicole Mar 23
A river runs red
From my knuckles into the sink.
As I stand there,
Hands dripping.
Washing the evidence of loving you,
Scrubbing the remembrance of the flesh.
Draining into pipes are memories of bodies together,
And mouths full of lies.
Will I go out like the sun
Yellow, orange, red, and pink
Burning until the end?
Or will I be like the moon
And quietly let the coming light
erase me from the sky?
6 lines, 302 days left.
clmathew Feb 1
Precious gems
started January 14th, 2021

Sometimes I think of
poems and people
misplaced lost missing gone

they live on
as gems in
my heart

tumbled smooth
by the turbulence
of my frantic love

each a precious
polished stone
ruby labradorite jade peridot

nightly before I sleep
I kiss them each one
so they will have sweet dreams.
How do you write about someone who has passed? We have all experienced this losing. You would recognize the words. I could say his name. Charles. I could describe him and the shape of the world without him. Instead of that, I leave you with his last words to me, included in the poem above. May he, and you, find peace tonight.
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