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Bhill Oct 2
when life serves you lemons, you make lemonade
when life performs cycles of crazy patterns, you listen
you listen to the science of reality and truth
you stand up to the certainties that can be validated
you survive the onslaught of the cycle and wait for lemons
you make lemonade...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 271
nabila s Jun 5
for today I'll be giving you my half
so when the sun hits the road
i could feel the warmth of your grin
as it lights the whole town just the same
for tomorrow i'll be giving you half of my remaining half
so when the crescent converges over the roof
i could hug you 'till the morning comes
and sense your arms under my heavy head
for overmorrow it goes on and on
so there will always be half left
bumps and lumps might be on their way
but it's alright
we can always try again
because you belong
to my tiny heart
A plain featureless face lacking dimension.
Overwrought with a loud expression.

If I didn't have a mouth, people could still have whole conversations with me.

Clenched teeth turn into prison bars.
Incarcerated words mimic desperate inmates pleading guilty.

My tongue violently detaches itself and resorts to levitate.
Capable of only tasting a warm and overwhelming sense of irrelevance.

It curls itself up in corners It hadn't felt before until it dissolves in its own shame.
I'm still new at writing so I'm sorry if this seems incomplete or not well formed.
I'll try my best.
Jonathan Moya Mar 10
When he cried on the cross
he made me believe in Jesus.

When he blessed a devil child
he made me believe in His Word.

When he mated death
he made me believe in the light.

When he ate a wild strawberry
he made me know love.

When he held his son in a new land
he made me feel the wisdom of fathers.

When he showed the hidden Kroners
he made me feel total shame

When he held his dead child in his arms
he made me understand the resurrection of grief.

Max you made me forever hunger
for the million lights illuminating the dark
upon which I build my celluloid church.

The Max von Sydow films referenced in order of appearance:  
The Greatest Story Ever Told
The Exorcist
The Seventh Seal
Wild Strawberries
Pelle the Conqueror
The ****** Spring
Living on the Scandinavian streets have
humbled her.
No Christmas cards with
a 20 spot anymore.
No trust fund from
Mom and Dad.
All the money vanished like
the last spider of *****,
like a dropped bottle of beer.
She could go to a
shelter by herself,
but she chooses
life on the
streets in the
brutal winter to be
with her Swedish boyfriend.
Love is lunacy--sometimes frozen.
Two dead friends last year on
a mad moonlit night.
Human icicles on
the Iowa City streets.

One time while drunk,
her and I stole
the neighbors canoe.
We had her little
black dog with us.
I dubbed him,
Senator Ted Kennedy;
probably because we
were all drunks,
(not the dog) I don't think...
We wrestled the canoe into
the Iowa river, and
immediately proceeded to
tip it over.
The Canoe sank like
a bad bet by Hunter S. Thompson.
We could've easily drowned, but we
laughed our ***** off,
choking and splashing,
except Teddy, he swam
for Boston.
CallMeVenus Dec 2019
I've dug tunnels on my face

Carved them with the salt trails of tears I wept

I moarned the death of who I used to be and since I numbed the pain people call me Heartless.

Been wearing black more often than I wish to admit
 Even though sometimes I crave rainbow socks ; my nails painted red.
J J Aug 2019
Cresol dusk imbued to rustic hypnosis,
The civic stroll outside,zombified with
What must be glorious ataxia.

The masquerade hosted by dust,
An implicit surrender to the elements,
Basked in nocturnia-- lo,

The elements ceased having meaning
When I learnt I could not hold control
  over them.

See the sky ramp and shiver,shuffling stars
In a showcase to those loving,an augury to those
Self-appointed sinners--

And see me,disconnected and without a care,
I surrender my breath as limboid tangents
And the elements do not rebut.

I am homed in becoming alone,
I am possessed in converse and I am lost
  without the choice to be otherwise.

I watch the gimcrack mannerisms loop effably,
Understanding the road to omniscience is tipped
In ego alone--

One must not surrender,rather accept
And work a way round the system.
The cosmic map is eidetic,it's lanuage
  dares not pander to speech,
  it's sleep is one day needed
  and complimentary to our own--

I listen to the madrigal and no longer seek to compose it,
I choose to believe that nothing is chosen.
(LONG AFTERWARD) I began posting here under a different name years ago and decided to revisit the site only recently after a string of publishing rejections,despite an urge to abandon poetry all together. What's amazed me most is the growth of talent,particularly one S. Olsen,looking through much of my older work(few of which ive published here) I've found a lot of similarities,from similar phrasing's,vocabulary,format's,viewpoint's,etc. Despite not knowing of him until recently. Simply put,he is the poet i aspired to be when poetry was what my life revolved around,the best of his kind. I would rank him among my favourite contemporaries and if not for this site I'd never have discovered him, this poem shows more of my voice than his,I think,but that is a further example of his own unreplicable voice. Keep strong,brother, whatever helps helps and your writing has helped me greatly.
S Bharat Aug 2019
She Is Now Used To That

By day, she is happy
And able to spend the time
In her own imaginary world.
She manages it with her selfies
Which keep her away
From nervousness.
By the time it darkens,
The effect of her imaginary world deserts her, And she is down to earth,
Again engrossed with the harsh reality.
She becomes introvert,
Exposes herself to me
And sheds tears every night
Saying that in her showy life
There is nothing in lieu of sorrow.
But the next day, she does the same.
She is now used to that.

S. Bharat
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