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in the
pit I'll
visit tonight
with her
said the
yellow *******
of cordial
and skylight
in Monserrat 
she ought
to treasure
my Abacab
with séance
with her
quilt of
resilience that
she'll muddle
a night in Barecelona
Fheyra May 22
An expedition from confined hoards,
That retreat pens— to get off the boards.
Retreat for a while, when everything seems tight..
Creator Sun Mar 6
I pick up a pen-
And set it down again.
This calling of writing has
Its own friction,
Pulling me back-

Into my own retreat.
I haven't written a poem for almost a year now. I keep trying to write but I seem to have lost it. So I keep opening and closing this tab.
Non stop time-space tango.
Five senses twist and turn stories!
Retreat to greater time.
Steve Page Dec 2019
Time here is treacle -

it's thick and syrupy, a rich golden glow that envelopes the spoon while flowing over the edges inevitably leaving a trail / a thread if you will, that will never be chased down or scooped up without leaving a sticky sweet trace that will last days before it fully fades to a savoured memory.

Time here is golden treacle.
Went on a poets retreat.  Golden.
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The Sun slips to sleep
on Ishigaki's retreat
under pastel sky
A Haiku's Sunset: On Ishigaki Island in Okinawa, Japan
Kenshō Nov 2019
Beyond trailing triggers
a faint sad sound delivers
bringing my mind back to town
and memory up river.

Satchel and cane,
I am so alone;
yet, I was given a bane
to climb pines attain.

Opposite of the Lord's campaign
the Cold Pine cranes.
I saw the path to town;
Yet, I felt something arcane.

Squeezing my bag's belt,
guided left and right,
  I followed the paths I felt
while the sound of distance melts.

The city of trees
greeted me with a breeze.
The solitude flew over me
bringing me to my knees.

I cast a secret promise,
among'st the forest, flawless,
that when I die
my body will become one with the lonely forest.
Britney Arthur Sep 2019
Take it.
Take the fingertip, spark-dipped touches,
and throw them in the fire.
Watch them blacken
like the rest.

Evidence yields memories I'd rather not remember.
Remember the eyes?
That's where the magic happened.
I'd will myself blind to forget.

Grab that effort-versus-retreat.
Let it burn
as I miss the days before our eyes did meet.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Why do you
keep going
back to the ones who've hurt you
wasn't the memory enough?

Why do you
keep going
back to the toxicity
wasn't one inhalation enough?
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