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Eloisa Jun 18
State of enchantment
Moon dances in a ritual
Solitary me
Rosarlei May 31
Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to deavor or become

The gatekeepers are gone
No one left to man the doors

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to kneel or bestow

In the ritual lies the secret
For endearment to impel

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to flesh out and be burned.
Check out the original multimedia piece here:
Scott Apr 5
I may take a pause
Of indefinite length
But I'll never completely
Quit cigarettes
The rhythms,
And sounds
The sensuous, drifting
Curls and whorls of smoke,
These small rituals
Will always be a part of me
A confession. A symbiotic haunting.
I am beautiful
I am an angel
I am a devil
I am my own pitfall
I am checkered tile floors
     Tissues in a bin
I am a flower pushing through the dirt
     A gust of wind surrendering to sin
I am red bruised knees
I am sunlight leaking through holes in leaves
I am betwixt and between
     Honey sweet
     Yet terribly mean
Olivia Henkel Mar 31
Organic matter dissipates to ash

saliva shrubs sacred branches softly sear

before they collectively crash

Dense haze escapes into the atmosphere

Smog blankets the saturated earth below

Macro level clearing ritual

Extinguish dismal flow

Desire to rid, but crude tendency is habitual


Create space in the cloud banks

Burn that which must disintegrate

Rise & fall, cycles continue, give thanks

Awe invoking beauty, to make the eyes dilate
Chris Mar 30
The bait is set.
All I do is wait...
For someone to bite,
Waist deep in water, still not wet.
I will go hungry again...tonight.

Wonder what's wrong, the world's unfair.
So many fish in rivers and lakes...
Wonder, Why me? look down in despair,
The fish is all plastic, the scales are all fake.

The rod is tense.
All I do is pull....
All I want is flesh....
The pain is intense...
The fish is a fool.
I am a living proof that a sociopath can write poetry ( not self-diagnosed, so ******* with that) :)
All those moons ago
I plucked a stone from shore
and whispered my intention
with each waxing and waning.
I took it back to the sound today,
intending to sing a final goodbye
before casting it far into the waves.
It sparkled in the spring sun
then slipped from my fingers
into the sludgy low-tide pool
of barnacles and gooeyducks.
I simply walked away
and watched the gulls drop oysters,
fighting over what belongs to whom.

The waves will carry the stone to sea
the same way the green has returned
like the green in me.
A gentle and abrupt easing -
A slip out to sea with the tide.
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