Even when the ink started to run
You helped me find the meaning in the verse
Your cologne smelled like September
And I knew even if we both got lost out there
The sun would still rise and set
I took a lesson from the darkness
And I never scorch my tongue on hot coffee
I no longer cross the street with blind eyes

In those Summer days
When the green grass scratched my legs,
The mud cooled my toes
And I ran through the cold stream,
Pulling off green leaves
From the bushes by the house
And twigs from young trees.

Somehow the fall came—
I liked to call it Autumn—
And I walked slowly,
Picking up acorns and nuts
Before squirrels came
And quickly hid them away.
As morning frosts came,
I began to feel the chill.
Somehow the world changed,
As an apple will grow ripe,
And the world changed me.

In Winter's strong grasp I woke.
I looked around me
And in every grey shadow,
I saw a regret,
A what-if of circumstance:
A sharp memory,
Hanging like an icicle
Just waiting to fall.
Summer would sweetly call me,
And Autumn smiled,
But Winter's embrace choked me.
I would leave the world,
Fly back to the land of dreams,
If I knew a way.
I would cry to the grey sky,
Ask all the questions,
If I thought it would answer.
And so I slept deep,
Knowing nothing could be done
Unless the world changed,
Giving me fresh hope inside;
But it never would.

Spring has crept up to my door
It has knocked loudly
And shaken me from slumber.
Its face is grinning,
Smiling so wide, and laughing.
I've opened my door,
Not fearing a winter wind
For the first time now.
Spring calls me from my bedroom,
Asking me to play
And hang up my coat of doubt
By the scarf of shame
And the hat of my worries.
Spring pulls on my arm,
And even though it hurts now,
Somehow growing pains
Are better than the bedsores.
So take the shoes off my feet
And teach me to run again.

Choka 5-7-5-7-5-7-5...77

On an autumn morning
Perched upon a small fig tree
A pair of love birds, that is what I see

Golden leaves were falling
And blasts of wind blew
A pair of love birds, a perfect view

My eyes were tearing
Watching their love unblurred
A pair of love birds, that was what we were

Try to write when you are happy.

How do you write windshields with blue skies on                              

long car rides, window rolled down, wind in hands;

your bedroom ceiling at golden hour,

light from your window bent into a striped                                        

rainbow of sea-green, yellow, and coral;

your niece cackling, lobbing a blue balloon                                          

to your sister, who holds baby Sawyer;

your cat purring, folding into your side                                                  

a thousand times like a origami crane;

the trees bursting with red-pink and white blooms                          

that quickly appeared in the last few weeks;

if that, like the peace you have now, you          

don’t notice them til the petals

have left the branches

piece by piece?

Posting my final edit again because the website seems to be working. Sorry!
Dawn May 15

you know,
you don't have to do so much.

you didn't have to let me wear your cardigan-
i told you i'd wear it every day, in every season.
but i don't think you believed me.
or maybe
you just didn't mind.
and now it's all stretched out and worn
to the point where you won't wear it anymore
because it doesn't quite fit the way it used to.

but it still keeps me warm.

you didn't have to let me take pictures of you
with that fancy camera of yours.
i know how uncomfortable it makes you feel
to see yourself in someone else's view.
but when i asked if i could take a few,
you didn't say no or shy away.
you gave me your camera,
sat in an antique-looking chair,
and let me capture one of the greatest moments
of my life with you.

still, those pictures bring me just as much joy.

you don't have to leave me voice-mails when i don't answer. i know you don't like to hear yourself in recordings or videos.
but i think you do it anyway because it makes me giddy inside.
you don't have to send me pictures of your messy hair or your beautiful face. i know you don't like being in pictures, either.
but i think you do it anyway because it make me blush.
you don't have to drive half an hour to come see me when you don't feel like driving. you can always come some other day.
but i think you do it anyway because you know with you is where i want to be most.

i will say that
there are so many times
when i don't believe i'm worth it.
days when i feel over-appreciated and selfish.

but there you are again to remind me
that you do all of those little things
because you want me to know
that you love me
that you see who i am
and not what i've done.

and sometimes,
it may seem like i don't notice
all the things you do for me-
but i promise you,
i notice everything

and i try my hardest to not take it for granted.

i appreciate it more than you'll ever know-
infinitely, my love.
Riz May 13

isn't spring always hidden?
dive off the bleakest boat
                     named winter
breaststroke to the hot season
spring stays a current
to swim against

wing nights with
the new machine  
is better to land
on the first half of
a london summer

lift off
the second half
sweet strokes on the face
avoiding the game
breathing their oxygen

preparing for october
egg whites and
a softness
wings resonate a calmness
blues are far
but loud and coming

remain in the dull yellows
and sink into the woodlands
wearing a barbour jacket
the kettle energy rises
scroll your evenings
through an autumnal filter


sudden switch
dim to sharp
to ice and blue and

to bleakness
       dark mourning

the cold
shudders the mind
sleep unproductively
blend into a long, black overcoat
and be buried

longing for the summer
where the stars are
dotted on the ceiling
blueberries lining every edge
of the bed

sleep five hours
then four hours
             maybe four and a half
sleep six and be thankful
forget the eight hours
you had in august

adjust to the lemsip schedule
walk newly
stiffer, restrictive
seemingly less energetic

begin your complaint
some other
        high spirit
complain of the comparison
on yourself
when you were
the best you were
british or not

pay for thick tights
begin diving practice
ready to swim to the hot
the current won't last long

Sha May 12

Maybe the first day of summer means courage.
Shedding inhibitions like shedding clothes
Or the day that you finally decide to forgive.

Forgive the words that promised love yet disappeared.
Forgive those unspoken apologies
And be free from the ghosts that tell you to stay in that
haunted mansion of lies.
Forgive yourself.

The first day of summer encourages you to take a step into the ocean.
Kiss the sun's grace and bid goodbye to winter's cold.
Summer welcomes you with open arms and healing saying,
"Take off that coat of insecurity.
Flowers have already bloomed
and the sun is here to make you beautiful."

Amanda May 5

I'm more than ready for Winter to end,
Ive never looked beautiful in white,
I feel change around the bend,
but right now I'm fighting the snows bite.

I shy away from bitter cold,
and tend to shiver in the breeze,
So as the days and nights are told,
I beg my older ways to freeze.

August called; she wants me back,
and im not hesitant to go,
The ice reminds me of what I lack,
and Spring is coming way too slow.

Yet something solid keeps me here,
Binds my limbs to the frozen ground.,
So that even if it takes all year,
I have no choice but to stay around.

Without this place I'm incomplete,
I need the frost to keep me sane,
So until Summers warmth i meet,
I wait for heat to melt my pain.

Amanda May 5

Look outside.
the snowbanks are looking quite droopy.
Maybe they sympathize?
And those trees...
By golly, they're downright depressed.
The sidewalks are crying with me,
But murky,
Water creeps to the highway,
Oh how dazzling it is,
the sunshine upon its glittering dress.

I know this isn't that good but i like it because its different than what i usually write.
EM MacKenzie May 10

The blizzards of snow, falling straight to the ground,
circle in the wind and block out the sound,
burning my skin and freezing my soul,
yes the winter has taken it's toll.

The dead trees that shed their leaves, I only see a reflection of me,
but no one thinks to dress me up with light.
While the nights are going strong, the drunkards belt out their yuletide songs,
the added up years have turned the phrases trite.

And all those lost souls were tracing angels of the snow,
Using chalk though the white blended in too well.
Seeing the indent and questioning how far it did go,
If this unknowing snow angel had made it's way to Hell.

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