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What is this sense
between my eyes
Do we aim to do our best
Imperfect form
Intentions less
Creative flows
Mixed in with work and rest
See the signs laid out ahead
Connecting lines in time
Progress starts from the chest
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Dr zik Apr 21
Lines on hands
to show the direction
Van to give the ride
to unknown passenger
Eyes to see the path
That is undiscussed
Ears to listen
Words unsaid
to smell flower untouched
to show purity
to chain the feet
to talk
to have your company
to have You
Hands to solute You
Dr Zik's Poetry
Is nothing

At least
One needs
To have
Common sense
To understand
Theme: Everyday Wisdom || In the backgeound of COVID-19
Note: Why to lockdown?
A Apr 4
Do my words even manage to make sense of what my heart is saying? I'm just too drunk and emotional to fully understand the meaning of my aching, all I know is that I want more.
For God was so furious
          from my sins
He sent an angel
           To knock some sense into me
And that angel
            Has my last name
     and her wrath
                Matches the almighty
The day you will understand who is praying for you and who is playing with you, Everything would make sense.
Rafał Mar 29
I got friends
Whom I adore
For keeping me sane.

When I'm on a fence
Like many times before
They help me with pain.

When life makes no sense
And my body feels sore
They come to entertain

There is no chance
For me not to be bored
But they alleviate

My friends are not humans
They are sensations and things

A console with games
Books that make me think
A cup of hot tea
Before I go to sleep
And  last but not least
That gives me feelings to feel
He said he's never danced without music before
He tells me that he'll miss me when he'll see me tomorrow
He said in all his life he's never been more sure
That I have an ease about me that makes him comfortable
He said, "The city lights can dim the moon,
But there exist no lights that could outshine you."
I'm still learning his emotions
What it is that sets him off
He said he's been waiting for a while
But for me this happened all at once
Trying to make sense of all the feelings that I've felt
No lights ignite the path to a heart's recovery of health
An Obscenity Trial
by Michael R. Burch

The defendant was a poet held in many iron restraints
against whom several critics cited numerous complaints.
They accused him of trying to reach the "common crowd,"
and they said his poems incited recitals far too loud.

The prosecutor alleged himself most artful (and best-dressed);
it seems he’d never lost a case, nor really once been pressed.
He was known far and wide for intensely hating clarity;
twelve dilettantes at once declared the defendant another fatality.

The judge was an intellectual well-known for his great mind,
though not for being merciful, honest, sane or kind.
Clerics called him the "Hanging Judge" and the critics were his kin.
Bystanders said, "They'll crucify him!" The public was not let in.

The prosecutor began his case by spitting in the poet's face,
knowing the trial would be a farce.
"It is obscene," he screamed, "to expose the naked heart!"
The recorder (bewildered Society), well aware of his notoriety,
greeted this statement with applause.
"This man is no poet. Just look—his Hallmark shows it.
Why, see, he utilizes rhyme, symmetry and grammar! He speaks without a stammer!
His sense of rhythm is too fine!
He does not use recondite words or conjure ancient Latin verbs.
This man is an imposter!
I ask that his sentence be . . . the almost perceptible indignity
of removal from the Post-Modernistic roster!"
The jury left, in tears of joy, literally sequestered.
The defendant sighed in mild despair, "Might I not answer to my peers?"
But how His Honor giggled then,
seeing no poets were let in.

Later, the clashing symbols of their pronouncements drove him mad
and he admitted both rhyme and reason were bad.

Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea and Poetry Life & Times
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