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Mark Toney May 7
spiritual gem
esteem others as better ...
humility’s boon

Mark Toney ©️ 2023
5/6/2023 - Poetry form: Senryu - Mark Toney ©️ 2023
In your pretty smiles I've found comfort. In your ravishing eyes I found happiness. In your softest heart I find peace. In loving you I found perfection. In your purest soul I found myself a refuge. My soul fortresses in your true feelings. You're beautiful like paradise, you're the jewelry ornamentary palace. You're a BLESSING TO ME AND THE UNIVERSE.. -C9fm -C9FM
Letter to a beloved boo
Ken Pepiton Mar 14
Finding clutter and cable chaos,
two forms
of proof
for the orderly mind
to insist my approach
to harvesting and preserving my take away, no use
in spirit and
in truth, if you follow my idea, abstracted
all the time there ever was here
when we arrived, empty
as far as we knew, with our acquisitive
child recollections, as
to how we come
to think we know, less and less
finer and finer interpretations
of harmony
among Same and Different minds,
allowing odds and evens and pi and e.
-and -i- the I defying form of little I
square root of one.
Left, right, clap.

Chirality, Front and back, top and bottom.
- clapping games of all the ways,
- one hand can clap another.
- Just so we learn,
- we make things take time to do
- just right.
But some times, one impression's all we get.
Think fast.

Six ways to rest upon, Cubism,
arrives first among those who see edges
of blocks in the solid limestone formation,

"O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are never anything
but children, and there is not an old man among you."
Swimming past that first horizon...
Zywa Oct 2022
There are no treasures:

all people are different --

in their own wishes.
#112 "Heer Bommel en de wisselschat" (#112 "Tom **** and the switcher treasure", 1965, Marten Toonder)

Collection "Bearer Toonder"

She's skinned in night portray. Only the light comprehend her. They said  she's
beauty, and
power, for the
treasures hidden
underneath her skin, of no measure, she kin with pleasure.
Her mind make
her whom she was.
Beauty beyond evil,
beauty in the beholder's
mind over ******
allurement  Naked-beauty abide in heart.

-Cloudnine Fairmane
This poem is a demand from a poetry site. It was said to write a poem about a Particular color without mentioning the color.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2022
Eye on the mirror.
See the heart,
the treasured treasure?

Can't spill the beans
is more than
science or art!
Savio Fonseca Jun 2022
U will never find a Sunrise,
that Sunsets Her Treasured Smile.
U will never find a Season,
that Offsets Her Romancing Style.
Her Mind that races Faster,
has Hands that are often Kind.
Her Heart is always Forgiving,
with Generosity U will never Find.
She's your Shade, in sultry Summer
and your Blanket, when it's Cold.
Her Nights are lit with Passions,
with Desires Hot and Bold.
There's much more to a Woman,
than what's written on Her Face.
With Feelings that are Full of Life.
She will win any given Race.
Omarcito Jun 2022
‘twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas,
Humidity can’t be seen
As the sun whirled
Its final twirl.

A flock of pigeons stand by Midnight’s Trolley Trail.

I am my own eye,
Staring at taught veils
'tween cotton gaits.

The clouds are no more,
Spirits remained encaged in rose sepultures,

A transformation so chaotic, they cackle at their false fear.

STEADY. ready,
For what to behold.

I have left Universe to relay ,
As the subtle sun one did in its day.

I am left
To react.

React to what?
React to wee?            React,
to relationships,        React,
to their degree of nobility,
So fruitful, so radical in concept indeed.

Of all these perspectives
I am one.
One paper, one tree cut for endless possibilities.

The treasure remains underneath,
Where I weep
In the deep,
In the deep.

There is nothing to find,
And that made all the difference.

'twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas.
Raven Feels Jan 2022
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I'm well aware that nothing makes sense, including this poem :>

content is not something we give consent
you hold your pen yet the ink spills as it pleads
you are a walker of blood yet it sheds out when cut & bent
you have a brain yet the tongue blurts out the feels

content is not something we color
just an acceptance of the past
just a canvas you get to paint with limit bother
good for a day then a memory till it lasts

the kiss of a palm forehead & cheek
drafts in my head just to render a sleep
some greed never fed or a satisfaction to meet
yellow till it goes mustard & a shade deep

the saving of a night that would save the day
it's like it's gold but you're swallowing the sand?
the desperation for a treasure at some bay
how would I even find content when out of the hand?

                                                         ­                         --------ravenfeeels
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