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We are children of stars, all of us each,
if you look way back far beyond memory's reach.
Past fire and lightning, spirit and beast,
our atoms return, and stars we complete.
This is a small section from one of my favourite poems I wrote, called Ozone. I'm posting this as an experiment, as I'm noticing the shortest poems get significantly more attention and engagement than ones over roughly 60 words or so.

It's interesting thinking about the parallels between social media and this website. I came here thinking engagement would be more evenly spread, however it seems there are very dominant trends; poems about love and sorrow seem more popular. Anything taking more than 15 seconds to digest seems to engage fewer people. Poems that people can comment on and share relatable experiences seem to do much better, while those sharing less common perspectives seem to more often go unnoticed.

Still, I shall press on! Lack of popularity is no more a sign of inadequacy than being willing to easily give up on something. I'm enjoying writing and sharing my poems for now.
In the darkest hours, when no light can be found
Thoughts twist and bite, writhe and fester
As sleep escapes and eludes all struggling grasps
Can't sleep, there are enemies nearby
lilly white lies           
patterned in the dirt
             hoof trodden
haiku inspired
everything has changed  and you ?    a stranger for it
                   rapid construction with matter   en vogue or on hand
         and you flirt thru   a portfolio of guest incarnations
                                                    ­      like a japery
we experiment with death   when we (breath-catches-breath)
       recreate this fast
                         and disregard  past experience
[notes   Version 4 08/03/25  // earliest version 28/02/25 - Everything has changed and you are stranger for it /Rapid construction and you flit thru personalities /We experiment with death when we think this fast and disregard past experience]
I'd rather
talk at you
of filth than
speak to you
like a man
neth jones Mar 25
...love is hunter sick nerves you enter dream love is puncture it is green with life lush and suffering and kitchen frot and menial wreck and the reburn of childhood excite a spell and sale of a mental thing and incompletely rheumy-tunes...
neth jones Mar 26
never could be a bedouin
all mucked in
forever oathing me of oblivion

ever the mental moss of bedlam
of miscarried emissions
and planetary visions

  all tucked in
and lucky dip dreaming
stationary
like a calcified grip
inward burning whelk
buckled
Your tenor can't quite
     land pitch right. Feckless warbles.
The songbirds' been choked.—
Ivan Mar 24
I reminisce and bring you life
you come alive
and bring me death!
I was left of left
                    &
            called up as typical

    widespread panic metered
            your forearm.

    I was left with my ebbs
                     &
              in admiration

    of your gentle smile; kind as
               you **** me.
So little has passed in so much time.
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