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Ken Pepiton Oct 2022
Lost lines, resisted in the night,
conscious resistance in the night,

not sleeping, so
not dreaming,
certain this
is real.

Now it is day, and I call the thieves,
again, all ye, all ye outs, inscape
the outer darkness, pitch me your plot,
show me what you got,

series of forties. Days and Nights,
rain and fasting, days and years,

forty steps and forty miles
forty winks and forty minutes,

ten fingers clapping four hands.

all nonsense compared
to the work of forty thieves.
We had something adding up,
before surrendering to sleep.

The universe was taking shape,
it made all the sense in the world,

for a while.

Time set, 9:17 and the first direct
sunlight pierces the oak and dapples my room,

as I have no complaints,
I have no room to boast
of tuffing my way past losing

anything, from where I sit this morning,
life on this pilgrimage, if we agree,
pilgrimage is
not religion, not new age of water
and fire working in tandem to make us

serve the dams and serve the fires,
drive the engines and prune the trees,
shear the sheep and **** the calves,
and milk the cows,
grind the grains and knead the dough,

think in tiny sticky sensory arrays pointing
soft from sharp and hard, feeling fit
loose or tight,
these bonds,

this time, … my frosty morning,
not cold enough for a fire,
I’ll use that consumption knack,
thus loosing
another half-dozen Keurig cups,
for the seals and whales who are

building an unsinkable plastic refuge
for the polar bears to use,
after the Northwest Passage is open year round.


Beyond the palisade,
out yonder,
over yonder, where the line is drawn
on the wall of our valley,
where each high water winter left a line,

bearing witness, to the saying,
" surely we live on the wreck of a world"

and surely it was no work of our own,
now, pinch a little thought, any point
that feels
just right, a child laughing - random that.
Stretch it out.
If this happens to be forty lines long,
abstracted, pulled into your time from mine,
that’s fine at 9:42, I have two minutes to make it so.
Or let it go. And go see what is so funny
at the breakfast table.
I am addicted to certain points proven to me, inside from out. May you have such a morning.
Nidhi Jaiswal Aug 2020
Ever since we meet
my laugh and his cry started.

This poetry is based on reality of my imagination in which when we meet together one cried and other laughs.
Laugh is due to the kindness of love...and cried is due to fear of lose.
Thank you for reading.
Azariah Jul 2020
Whether you are under your blankets
Or in the arms of another.

I hope you are warm wherever you are.
Nylee May 2020
It has started
and the end
is closely following
breathe in
and dive in
the finish line
is done
all that we become
it slowly dawns
the dust will settle
as it ceases.
colette alexia Mar 2020
You didn't know you didn't know what you wanted
Wish I could have known that we were over before we started
A M Ryder Oct 2019
We buried ours
And they buried theirs
Then it started all over again
Mary Frances Oct 2018
We started with sweet,
sensual exchange of words.
But instead of ending up
under the sheets,
we ended up with broken hearts.
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