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Coleen Mzarriz Aug 2022
My heart would fold so quickly, in a rush, falling off of ledges when I could remember all the things you said to me. It was the first time I learned to read your lips for gestures by the way they moved. A period, a comma, a mark, a scar, the why's and the suffering it weighs.

But it would fold so easily, the heart I longed for swishing in the wind, stealing kisses in the sky and letters of forbidden romance all over the city. The same scene, the same garden, the same promises and stars fading away in order to live through a thousand light-years. Yet in the meaning of something, I get to learn how to control the reading gestures you unconsciously make when I pass by.

Even though it is the same as my movement, I fled in order to live the few years I have here, because the earth evolves so quickly, in rush, in remembrance, in light. And I get to go back to the music of my own rhythm, while my eyes are closed and I sing two notes of sonata.

Even when you tell me a thing or so, I get to wipe the longing raindrops from both my eyes. As if a waterfall had been longing to go out. At the very least, I got to write even a single word, which I wish you could hear. Maybe the wind will deliver me to you.
it feels good to fall in love, sometimes.
Jacob A Frost Apr 2022
The bright green vale & blue skies fade
As she blinds my eyes with silvery light
Like fireflies drifting by the glade
Her presence kindles the weary night
When gazing full she steals my breath
With those light eyes & short blonde hair
If I'm a frosty breeze, an omen of death
She's like spring; serene, a breath of fresh air
Raven Feels Jun 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, when you know you know :>>>>

in the window pane
nature white brided its head through its bewildered veins

a sonata to the heart that breathes a blessing in a pile of much
a locking of a chain that believes in no such

of an ending that green around eyes of jealous presence
and a million miles tall table of a wooden necklace

                                                      ­                 ------ravenfeeels
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
Serving up poetry like ***** and ginger ale
(with a ***-soaked crook and a big fat laugh),
the anti slow-soul-erosion antidote to...normality

way up ‘high’ on a ledge, overlooking the mountain range,
got my Stetson on, canteen full of ***** and ginger ale,
matches in my pocket, Chris Stapleton in my ears, and
a *** soaked blunt between my lips to get even hi-higher

a big fat laugh crosses my lips, creases my face, it’s time
to lean up against that big tree, light myself up, strategize,
how to get even higher, how to get down, how to do both
simultaneously, at the same time, without dying too slowly

the sunrise cheats, clods of plain ugly clouds covered it up,
i know it’s on account of me accumulating, stuff, bad poems,
delayed gratification of not confronting the situational, at the
cellular level, though the intersection with macro-international
clusters of men destructing their corner of the world surely
ain’t helping, but the drip into veins cools the paining’s ardor

the woman is edgy, debating if it’s that time, to give up, to snap
that towel across her face like a forgotten hotel wake up call request,
should-she take the truck and go visit her sister in Ashtabula
for a week of *******’ and staying longer, a couple of years more,
and me muse what i recall from living alone, and how it was easier
and so much harder that the shakes begin but that don’t stop,
but adjust the *****/ginger ale ratio, and things seem fuzzier
and for that I am eternally grateful for the miracle of potato

could do much more additive, but you don’t got the patience
like I do, so, forgive in advance and here’s hoping that maybe

someday you’ll learn this craft and the  extreme patience it
requires, how to savor a word, its conjunction with the one that
comes before and after, the combinations that make a verse, a stanza
sobering beautiful that it robs your breathtaking sensors, a scar minder to, for god sakes, ****! **** that trip to trite, give us something to shout about,

exhale on the moraine morass, that’s the other side of, yup, over
the rainbow that landed on the peak, cause a peek, is just the start of a trip downwards sloping doggy on my hands and knees and yeah, i’m drunker than I care to deny so I’ll head back down, or roll down, to find out what my next adventure will take, maybe I’ll chase after her,

and fall on her neck with sorries, sorrows, and kisses, besides,
now that I’m done, the sun decides to show a couple of cracks
and that’s some kind of of sign to wrap this sonata up and try a
new fugue, letting its contrapuntal composition tune cleanse me
save the day, and a corner of the world, hell it could even spread
like somethings good, successful  counter terrorism, zero shootings in New York and Chicago, forget, yeah, what they call that?  oh yeah,
peace on earth.

just maybe.

always write about, of and to your peer poets..
faa Mar 2019
Whether it was the sun’s aurelian caress
Or the serene strokes of moonlight lulled
Across its keys carved with much finesse
Monochrome yet its beauty never dulled

A sonata lightly, it hummed, reverberating
Across gently, waves of sound, resonating
The tune seemed to hush the grounds
Effortlessly silencing the cry of hounds

Each tap across the tonal stairs had slashed
The breast of the wounded, whom had clashed
Echoes of nature’s enthrallment seems to linger
The music still bewitching the conducting finger

Corpses waltzing to the nightly sombre dirges
Pleading to allow their rest under the birches
How the sonata tortures all that it imprisons
How the sonata torments all those that listens
Nikos Kyriazis Jan 2019
A procession of pink lilies
upon a blackened road with
white dots on its surface
For what do they protest?
Dusk and twilight approaching
Everyone is holding a
black candle in its hands
The trees turned down
their blank stare and
lapsed into silence
Someone's playing Chopin's
funeral march on a piano
covered with ivy
It is a requiem mass about
the death of pure beauty
I've spilled a song
A tale in C-Flat
Minor of course
Not for the harp, a demand to struggle as piano
I am impractical
I am the tale of noise
Not a word dare question my poise
One player on piano dare not try my story
His struggle is impossible if left alone
Dual pianist may riddle my mystery
Of eleven minutes
The story of interpretation
Composition of heart and definition of blank
Determine my heart as the words you sought
It is my sonata, do with it what you want
I will breed with it a story of soul
Burn fire with coal and melt my thoughts into a whole
An instrument leak the tale
Of what I compose to speak ill of me in the lightest
AUGUST Nov 2018
Malamang siopao

Usok ay aking natatanaw
Mula sa malamang siopao
Ang sorbetes ko ay natunaw
Nawalan na ako ng uhaw

Dahil bigla akong nagutom
Sa tiyan may biglang umusbong
Sariling buhay nagkaron
Gustong pumasok paroon

May papel sa ibaba
Mapula ang gitna
Lumalaki ng kusa
Habang umuinit di nakakasawa

Nakakatakam kung pagmamasdan
Nakalapanglaway kung tinititigan
Pang sonata
ashley marie Jul 2018
a calm, celestial space of mind
where the piano key meets with
the still water
in its dark teal reflecting the silent heavens
and each droplet ripples smoothly
like lotion on skin
water beetles glide across the lake
as tiny dancers influenced by the piano
guiding the waves to the others
the mist dances too,
with the moonlight sonata
lead by the fingertips of the breeze
waltzing to the tranquility of the nightfall
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