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Her
Her lips softly beckons my name, like a beautiful musically composed orchastra of pure delight.
Her lips sensually meets mine, it sends my essence floating in a spiralling cyclone of surging electricity, felt deep within my soul.
. Our lips deeply embrace, with each nectared drink a voice in song can be heard, as Angels sings to the melody of our undying love.
With every lingered kiss, i fall deeper into you, increasing my lustful appetite.

as i look at the stars this night
Assurance i got from the moon our union shines just as bright.
she is the air that i breath
she is all that i see
she is the good in my life
without her i would not be.
an unrequited, unrequested poem title that nonetheless,
(a fav. word, so economical) it’s a burr, an *** splinter,
festering, pestering, and it’s just easier to write it, cause
triple antibacterial ointment never cured a finger gone poem-
infectious

had two beers for breakfast, not my usual,
don’t care if you’re a Baptist or a Hassidic Jew,
I’m an ecumenical sorta guy, be informed that,
one was a long necked Corona (light), the other
a Pabst Blue Ribbon, which means I’m a ******* anti-Trump
globalist.

ain’t yet nine o’click, already had two fights with
my woman, is toastier a word? I took the negativity
position, but my heart wasn’t in it, cause I know me
words, was feeling muy ornery combative, a morning existential
verbalist.

the other was too infuriating, she asked for ten cherries,
after checking the calories per, which I knew and told her,
but she’s gotta check hit herself, so I brought a bowl uncounted,
annoyed, she anti-overage, threw the extras rudely on bed, she’s a
precisionist.

that I listen to music pretty much nonstop, even in my sleep,
and my fav. lyric of the late John Prine is from Montgomery & goes:
”But how the hell can a person, Go on to work in the mornin'
To come home in the evenin', And have nothing to say”

Amenist.

The German^^ dishwasher maschine summoned me near round
2 AM, TO INFORM ME  (vich is how de Choiman appliances speak)
without apology, that it was done with its multiplicity of cycles,
needy for emptying bowels forthwith, because that’s the way it is,
and wasn’t I gonna get up anyway, there are poets in Manila and Mumbai, waiting to speak their minds, re burning issues of life and pentameter, ah, them wisdom and wonderful people, all answer
seekers!

cause I’m an economist by habit, drink cups of coffee in trinity clips,
cause it’s efficiently economical, one less trip to the kitchen, and
anyone  who doesn’t drink at least three simultaneously, cannot be
redeemed by the verifiable angels in charge of saving coffee-colored
souls-tices.

my tempo is ironic, write poems too long for you attention deficit
disaffected teenagers, but haven’t read a book in years, cause
reading a poem is all I can manage nowadays, cause I’m a ****
attention deficit diseased old man, justifiable, when you got few days
leftist.

yes, I could go on, and on and on, but I hear your skin crawling and
sighs and moaning, enough already, while I don’t really care cause
every word I ever writ is a South Sea Pearl of something excellent,
truth is God has his ******* foot on my neck, whining way too loudly, “Jeez, enough” echoing your guttural cultural groaning, youse
alreadyists.

so I’m quitting here and letting y’all know, that I authored
the lyrics to American Pie, the longest song ever to be No.1,
the Don stole them, but as you can plainly see, it’s my style,^ when
we were drinking whisky and rye and told him it was copyrighted,
he laughed & said, I’m gonna copy them right down, ain’t that the kind of truthful ******* that drunk writers say because they think they are
“artistes.”

that’s about it for now, gotta do the breakfast dishes, so
Auf Wiedersehen, meine guten Männer und Frauen!


(yeah, yeah, learning German from Herr Bosch, the dish washer-man)
down by the levee? nah, Levy!
whew.

Tue, 26 May 2020 = 3rd of Sivan, 5780

10:30am
In this season of life where you feel like you belong nowhere, know this:
It will not always be like this.
You will not always feel alone.
Someday, your season of transition will be over and you will feel settled somewhere
One day you will have friends and you will be happy.
One day you will have a place where you belong.
Life will never be perfectly easy for you but each mountain you climb will be smaller than the last,
Like dominoes falling down, things will fall into place for you and know this too:
You were not made to blend in, but nor were you made to feel alone.
The pain you feel now will one day help you tell your story
And in time you will see that resilience runs in your veins.
this is what i wish i could go back and tell my younger self.
Faizel Farzee May 16
I stare deeply into my truthful mirror.
The reflection of what you left me as leering back at me.
I don't realise who this is
This creature broken and unknown,
He's face I've never seen.

I remember your eyes,
The light I once saw in them,
Blown out by the wind of your lies.
Replaced by a cold abyss,
It looked straight through my pride,
From them I cannot hide.
This virus you left me with.

Your heart has been frozen...

In my soul it reside.
Speaking to my demons
Within them daily I confide.
You left all the good in me deceased.
Even the memory of happiness has died.
The only solace
Is for me to cry
Like Rivers of anesthesia
My hatred with dry.
My demons subside.
Once again I'll put my heart on loves merry go round.
Why do we remember things
Found from the finer places
that regulate moments in time
An inkling where we dream again
another day a month of years before

Some seek space as stillness binds

Through therapeutic methodologies
To think this is with love from art
in the beauty of our hearts
What qualities can a memory bring
A way to rise above that flow of life
(@PoeticTetra - Instagram/twitter)
Bhill May 8
I see it from my very soul
I see a love that has been there for years
your love for me has proven to be my greatest possession
a gift surpassing all things imagined

Brian Hill - 2020 # 128
For Leslie, my greatest inspiration and love 💕
What is your greatest possession?
If the Sun didn't shine
And the Grass didn't grow
I'd be filled with sorrow
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