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Cross Boundry Sep 2020
is the impenatrable silence between days i see you
and the days i do are full of music
Paulette Mayoral Sep 2020
Soaking our feet and feeling the warm sand.
Sometimes a cold black one.
It's not only the shore making us what we are.
It's a big deep place.
All the monsters and stories stored there.
Waiting for the lonely times, for the sunset, when everybody packs their things up and moves on to their own seas.
A big deep place shaping our sharp sides, turning them out to softer and rounded pieces, but sometimes...sharper.
A space where we navigate by ourselves watching the navy blue water, this time hoping the water won't reach our necks again.
Taking our boat once again to the shore soaking our feet and feeling the sand sometimes warm, sometimes a cold black one
Crystal Fang Sep 2020
dear clouds
you seem lonely
amid  the divine embrace
so together we stand
in neither Heaven nor Earth

but in solitude
ilias Sep 2020
slowly sinking back
into the solitude
I used to forget
I have
Ace Black Sep 2020
words don't soothe
touch doesn't fix
sight doesn't satisfy
I'm numb.

Stranded in my own sea of solitude

and

I'm drowning.
Daniel Sep 2020
Here in the dusk while the light falls away,
comes the night in it's wake
I am wrapped in the nothings of a wintery gale

At my neck and my ear rush it's wintery song
I am coldly embraced, although never for long

Here where the roads harbour hardly a soul
Where the bramble and the briars are frozen and blown
Here where the rains move in curtains of silk-
curtains of light, beating and beating at the edges of night

Here where the pines in their thrashing and throes
In their fits and their starts and their sea-sounding odes..
..they are after my heart, they are leaning and thrown
beneath arctic white stars
Antino Art Sep 2020
I suspect that if I was taller,
I'd get laid more.

Think Basketball: I'd shoot my shot
over her friend zone defense and score.
Her weak knees would wobble at
my every move.

And there’s research to prove it:
the female psyche is hard
wired to conflate height with power.
Leadership. Responsibility.
Extra large shoes.
As if size mattered
more than say,
Endurance
as a true measure
of the lengths I'd go for the people I love.

Still, if I was taller,
I'd have an evolutionary edge.
I'd play the game
like a guitar.
Because guitar gets girl, right?

Picture this:
me strumming at heart strings
under the lights of a coffeehouse stage,
a tall post-modern Troubadour
with say, an east European or French accent.

A Filipino with a French accent:
how baller would that be!

I'd be unstoppable.
I’d have fans. Groupies.
Her phone number.
And the decency of a reply
to my text.

I’ll give the crowd what they came to see:
the tousled hair and rugged eyes,
the unshaven charm that makes her
want more by appearing to care less.

Hard to get: that’s what the crowd wants me to play
on that guitar
I barely know how to use.

(But I’m trying, right?)

yo who is it she's really after,
because that vertically privileged
guitar hero
sounds nothing like me.

I wish I was taller (high chord)
so she'd see me.
Because I am tired
of being turned
into a ghost
writing songs
for an empty room.

Guitar gets girl.

If thats true,
I suspect she won't get me
because maybe this isnt
the sound I'm supposed to make.
We'd just be pretending
to strike a chord on
strings attached
to a dissonant tune.
We'd play each other out:
a one hit wonder
on a radio station:

Guitar gets girl.

My nice guy cover falls flat.
My Asian appearance falls short
of the socio romantic standard she
is conditioned to fall for


Guitar gets girl
Same song. Play on.

And forget accompaniment (Ditch guitar)

All I need is a pen
to write lyrics
for my new single.

I’ll start a one-man indie band
and swoon in solitude
over who I sound like
on my own.
(Strum Flourish)
Leonardo Tonini Sep 2020
Sterne sonder Zahl aus der Nacht aller Zeiten
in einem klaren Ozean bewegt ihr euch
wenn ich euch mit menschlichem Zeitempfinden betrachte
seid ihr im Rhythmus der Jahreszeiten ewig
doch wenn ich in längeren zeitlichen Dimensionen an euch
denke so weiss ich euch sterblich.
Die entfernte Stadt löscht ihre Lichter
in der dichten Nacht erscheint ihr mal zögernd,
mal überzeugt über den Bergen wohlgesinnt.
In eurer Herrlichkeit findet mein Herz seine Ruh.

STELLE

Stelle, innumeri dalla notte dei tempi
in un liquido oceano vi muovete
se con il mio tempo umano vi guardo
al ritmo delle stagioni eterne siete
ma se con altri e più lunghi tempi a voi
penso come cose mortali vi so.
Spegne la città lontana le sue luci
nella densa notte incerte qui e là sicure
sopra i monti benevole apparite.
Nella vostra gloria riposa l’animo mio.
A poem of mine translated into German by Cornelia Masciadri and currently being published in Switzerland. I am looking for an English translator. I can translate into Italian and look for a space in a magazine in Italy for those interested.
Grace Sep 2020
You see these scars?
oh—go ahead sir, please
Go ahead and trace them with your lovely finger
Straight from my hips and right on down to my knees

Oh, I got stories, baby!
History’s written all over me
But I save all them stories, darling
I save them all just for me
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