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Color 4d
i know it's cliche
and i know that it's strange

but if it's okay
if i could arrange

for them to make way
for them to exchange

on this may day
while we interchange

a small entree
for your post exchange

i'd just like to say
(and i know this won't rhyme)

you are my north star.
Dream is a bubble,
easily burst from a light touch.
At time, I forget I am a guest in my dream,
A host and a guest;
In control yet not,
bizarre yet naught,
unexpected yet forgot.
Life too, is a dream,
a very long dream indeed.
Em May 21
My wife is a unique person
Exhibiting new lovely traits
She goes quiet like a mouse
A new woman of few words

My wife is a strange woman
Getting stranger by the day
She looks warily all around
A careful mare!

My wife is an odd creature
Staying up all night
Whispering and crying
But I know she's alright

My wife is a complex puzzle
But such an endearing thing!
She screams and flails all around
As if she can't help but sing
im back hoes
JRF May 19
Let’s weather this storm.
Batten down the hatches and
live another day.
These are truly strange days. Let us be kind, be careful, and persevere!
Jay M May 15
With each passing day
There is more that I would like to say
Than a few simple words
To let them fly free as birds
Into the open air
Yearning for all to be fair

Another day
Do I ever wish to stay
At the side of an angel, alas,
Mother’s forbid such romantic tales

Indeed, all is strange

Listen to you heart
O the things it shall tell you
Very interesting things,
Emotions are

Yet always so very curious
O the curiosity of it indeed
Under the nose of those that disapprove

Communication, words flowing through the air
Alas, kept in hushed tone
Never before such a risk
To be presented

Yes, indeed all is well
O, but don’t tell
Under the stars, all is swell

Stretching across the grand expanse
Ever so wondrous
Even words are not great enough to describe its grandeur

This world is surely strange
How human emotions work is stranger still
At the end, does hope whisper in a cautious ear
Telling of possibility and chance?

- Jay M
May 15th, 2020
A strange one. Sometimes the things I write even surprise me.
Couplets
by Jaun Elia
translations by Michael R. Burch

I am strange—so strange
that I self-destructed and don't regret it.
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The wound is deep—companions, friends—embrace me!
What, did you not even bother to stay?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My nature is so strange
that today I felt relieved when you didn't arrive.
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Night and day I awaited myself;
now you return me to myself.
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Greeting me this cordially,
have you so easily erased my memory?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your lips have provided thousands of answers;
so what is the point of complaining now?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Perhaps I haven't fallen in love with anyone,
but at least I convinced them!
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The city of mystics has become bizarre:
everyone is wary of majesty, have you heard?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Jaun, Elia, couplets, Urdu, translation, nature, strange, strangeness, love, memory
Jay M Apr 28
They want to give you things
They want to waste time and effort all on you
And all for what?
Temporary enjoyment,
Lasting anywhere from a few minutes
To a few years
Even so -
It's so unnecessary, even wasteful
Of what they work for
What they could use to support themselves
Yet they waste it upon such things
For another
To see them smile
At least every once in a while.

- Jay M
April 28th, 2020
My mom asked me today what I wanted for my birthday. The problem is, I only want to see the people I care about and those that care about me, or maybe to go on a long walk. If not that then maybe camp out in the backyard, or board games with my siblings and parents for a couple of hours, or even just do some karaoke in the living room with my siblings and parents. Just not gifts - it feels like such a waste, because the person giving it to me could have used that money for food for themselves, or clothes, or house projects. But on me? It just seems like such a waste, and I just get this knot in my stomach when I think about it - it just seems wrong, because they had to use their time and effort to earn that money and they just use it on me.

Is it strange to feel this way about such a strange thing? Maybe I'll never know - but in the meantime, I'm hoping I'll just get nothing but kind words and wishes from people instead. ♡
The Owls are Watching

In memory of Helen Martins
'The Owl House'
Nieu Bethesda, South Africa

In sculpture and rock rested your art
Cement faces that speak volumes
Of emotions and tales untold
As mysterious as your life itself
Glittering walls of crushed glass
That shone by candlelight
Outside of art you were branded
Though remembered as unique and ahead of your time
With big glass eyes the owls watch the world
What was once your sanctuary
Now a showcase to the world
Recognized at last
Unspeakable loneliness of a soul misunderstood
Now your handwritten letters are framed and displayed for all to read
But you don't mind the curiosity of mankind
With cement hands raised to the heavens facing the east
You drank your chosen cup
Your Mecca now complete

Written by Sean Achilleos
28 March 2016©

How this poem came about:

I was a visitor to the Owl House Nieu-Bethesda South Africa in 2015. Approximately, one year later I was inspired to write a poem about the late great Helen Martins. I was intrigued by the eccentricity of this woman.

One evening while in my living room and enjoying a glass of wine, my eye caught the cement owl in my windowsill which I had purchased outside the Owl House from a vendor. I saw its big blue glass eyes glaring at me. At the time I was listening to a Jennifer Ferguson record, and decided to write while the music was playing. Once I had completed the poem I felt exhausted. Then a very strange phenomena occurred, the lights went off for a few seconds and came back on, unlike a power surge. It reoccurred a second time that same evening, and never since. It felt like a supernatural intervention. As far fetched as it may sound, it seemed like Mrs. Martins had personally given her approval of the poem. I then decided to email it to the official Owl House website. I didn't think much would come of it. However, they embraced the poem and were generous enough to display it on their official Website for a number of years under a section titled "A Visitor's Perspective".

https://g.co/kgs/BPyx1U
www.facebook.com/SeanAchilleosOfficial/
FRITZ Apr 25
perception sits on ever-precarious ledge

let the slip the moon

hug the static barges and wash up

       out to sea it won,t be as bad

as you,ve been lead to believe.



get off the fence

embrace what you don,t know instead of

            shelving it indifferently

watch the mass grow

and the flowers bloom and

                 wipe that sour look off your face



melt with me

warm with me

            open your jaws and embrace my flesh

in a gossamer drown of dotted beads

summon up from my flesh all the curious colo(u)rs

                    of our perverse delicacy.
the despair lays siege on my senses.
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