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Thomas W Case Nov 20
When does the
champ know that  
he doesn’t have  
It anymore?
Is it after that
first loss to a
*** he should  
have knocked out in
the second round?
Is it when his body
doesn't do what
his mind tells it
to do?  

His punches are
slow.
His legs are
weak.
He once was one
of the greatest.
Iron Mike, they
called him.

He loses to an
overhyped cute
boy with little skills,  
and blonde curls.
It was brutal to watch.

He was king of
the jungle in those
early Brooklyn days.
Old lions don’t just
wander off and die
alone.  
They get killed and
eaten by  
younger lions.

After this charade,
I hope the champ
hangs up his
gloves for good.
Here's a link to my youtube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbj9bj58Txw
Aren Elvan Nov 20
Beneath the twilight’s tender glow,
A melody drifts where soft winds go.
Once vibrant notes, now whispers low,
Of times and dreams from long ago.

A fleeting strain, a lover’s sigh,
A waltz beneath a starry sky.
Its rhythm danced through hearts so near,
Now fades to shadows we barely hear.

The keys once struck with fervent grace,
Now linger, lost, in time’s embrace.
Yet in the stillness, faint and true,
The echoes hum their mournful cue.

Oh, song of yore, where do you lie?
In whispers soft, or the weeping sky?
Perhaps within a heart’s deep sea,
Still blooms your haunting melody.

Though time may dull and mem’ries wane,
Your tune forever will remain—
An echo laced with joy and pain,
A song that sings of love’s refrain.
This poem captures the bittersweet essence of a melody that lingers in the depths of memory. It speaks to the beauty of moments long past, the joy and sorrow intertwined in the echoes of love and time. Let it remind us that even as the years fade, the songs of our hearts endure, resonating softly in the quiet corners of our souls.
Ariannah Nov 20
Silence
Is what you did
Silence
Is what you said
Silence
Is all I get

Begging
For words
Begging
For something
Begging
You to say anything

Time passed
You haven't called
Time passed
I haven't stopped
Crying

"I need you" was all I said
Silence is what I get
"Say something" I begged
Silence is all I get

Did I say something way too honest?
Did I make you run and hide?
Did I really say something that bad?
Or I should've kept my mouth shut?

I wish I understood the silence
I wish I knew what to do
To ******* get to talk to you

And I'm sorry
For always crying
And I'm sorry
I talked about it
But please, I don't deserve silence
Valentin Eni Nov 19
(Literal Translation from Romanian)

This poem, actually,
it's not even a poem,
just some random text
that
will waste your time
and energy,
will try to hurt you
and rub salt in the wound,
it will mess with you a bit.
That's what happens when you don't read
what you're supposed to.
This text was born
to teach you a lesson:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Alternative translation I)

A Poem Not Meant to Be Read

This poem, in truth,
is no poem at all,
just a simple text,
meant to stall—
to steal your time,
your energy, too,
to wound your soul
and rub in the salt,
mocking you,
it’s your fault.

That’s what happens, don’t you see,
when you read what’s unworthy.

This text was born with a goal in mind:
to set you straight, to make you find
a better path, a wiser way—
be cautious in the books you stray!

(Alternative translation II)

not recommended for reading

this poem truthfully
isn't even poetry,
just some random text
that will steal your time
and drain your energy,
will try to wound you deep
and on that wound will heap
salt, in other words
it's making fun of you.
that's what you get, it's true,
when you don't read what's due.
this text was meant to be
a lesson, you will see:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Original poem)

poezie nerecomandată lecturii

această poezie, de fapt
nici nu e poezie,
ci doar un text oarecare
care
îţi va lua ceva timp
şi ceva energie,
va încerca să te rănească
şi pe rană să-ţi presoare
sare,
adică îsi va bate niţel joc de tine.
aşa-i, când nu citeşti
ceea ce se cuvine.
acestui text i-a fost dat să se nască
pentru a te pune la cale:
altădată
să fii mai precaut
în lecturile tale!
The poem playfully critiques the act of reading indiscriminately, mocking both itself and the reader for engaging with texts of questionable value. It examines the relationship between writer, text, and reader, exploring notions of expectation, disappointment, and self-reflection.

The tone is ironic, self-aware, and lightly admonishing. The poem is a "non-poem," undermining its significance while drawing readers into its trap. Its conversational style, fragmented structure, and casual rhythm reinforce the playful nature, making the critique feel lighthearted rather than harsh.

Mocking its lack of depth, the "poem" provokes the reader to reflect on their choices and consider the value of what they consume. At the same time, it critiques the culture of superficial engagement, urging a more thoughtful approach to literature.
Because even a long summer day
Isn’t long enough to harvest hay.
We modern folk must lose
A lovely hour to snooze
Or botch our Sunday reveillé.
Sara Brummer Nov 19
24 HOURS

Read in reverse --
cupped wingspan of a flying cloud
drinking the brightness of an evening sky ;
Blazing cascade of northern lights, shadow
spaces rare, unguessed meaning of all
that pours longing into empty places of the night.

There are nebula perhaps cradling new stars
in heaven’s secret constellations, radiance
tender and consumming --

then, a drop of sun, goss-layered gossamer
over a rippled veil of shade and light,
dawn shifting irridescense into milky
pink rose refreshes the fraility of soul.

Day’s ardent color makes promises
fading gradually into the curve
of softening dark-- the silver curve
of early moon or the pyrotechnics
of a falling star.

24 hours, a presence constantly moving on,
a marriage of day and night when earth,
moon, sun and we align.
Dawn Nov 19
As we grow and change, our priorities, values, and needs evolve what we seek in a partner at 20 might be different at 30, 40, or beyond.  So, the "right person" for us might also change with time we're always learning and growing, and our ideal partner might evolve alongside us.  Someone who might not have been a good fit earlier in life could become a perfect match later on. It's important to stay open to the possibility of meeting "the right person" at any stage of life.  Don't limit yourself to preconceived notions of timing.

In our early Adulthood this is often a time for exploring relationships, figuring out what we want, and finding a partner who aligns with our values and goals.  Many people find long-term partners during this stage. In midlife this can be a time of reflection and reassessment. People might be looking for a partner who shares their life experience, values, and maturity. Later Life  this stage can be a time for companionship, shared interests, and mutual support.  People might seek a partner who complements their lifestyle and interests.

It's not just about age, but about readiness being ready for a relationship isn't just about age it's about emotional maturity, self-awareness, and knowing what you want in a partner this can take time to develop, and it can happen at different ages, our life circumstances, such as our career, family, and social circles, can also influence our readiness for a relationship.  It's important to be in a place where we're open to a commitment.
Love isn't about timing, it's about growth.
Be open, stay true, and the right person
might appear when you least expect it.
My love for you fills the expanse of these mountains
Through the valleys to
The bottom of their rivers to
The highest peaks brushing the skies and
Splitting through clouds to
Flooding every stream and
Passing through the undergrowth to
Nurture the trees and
Creating forests and
Filling the air Intoxicatingly and powerful to
Carving paths that will always
Lead me back to you.
The king of what was stands in silence
and surveys his sunsetted realm.
His spine is straight in stiff defiance
of the twilight of the kingdom he’d helmed.

On a plastered pedestal high he stands
surrounded by the waste of his times.
Carved into it, once acclaimed in his lands,
was his name, now covered by vines.

The pale sheen of low sun as winter nears
casts shadows across his etched face.
Its grooves grow deeper year after year —
he’s the gnomon whose shade this sundial has traced.

He takes no note of the thorny brambles
that have entangled his fixed stony feet.
With flinty gaze and wrapped in a mantle
of granite, he keeps watch through storms and sleet.

Now stripped of his titles and even his name,
the proud king of the ruin’s still there.
For while the long night has broken his fame,
still he stands, marked by his unbroken stare.
A “gnomon” is the marker on a sundial whose shadow marks the passage of time. Inspired by a statue of a former king in the Orangerie of Sanssouci Palace.
Slugish Nov 17
Me and You
We fit like puzzle pieces
They try to put you with other Pieces
But my Piece is the only one that will fit with yours
Once you put our pieces together our puzzle is complete
All we needed was each other
All we need is to be put together
So our pieces connect
So our puzzle will be complete
And then
And only then
Will our puzzle be complete
You're the puzzle piece I was missing
I was the puzzle piece you were missing
We found each other
But you needed time
So I'll give you time
(´▽'ʃ♡ƪ)
Hoping one day we can find each other again
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