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lucy-goosey Aug 31
same old black t shirt,
first day of school ID.

buzzed hair starting to grow in,
glimmering from lamination.

slinking slouching sliding,
stumbling betwixt the desks.

the man, the myth, the legend,
just nobody knows he exists
A cryptic poem for a cryptic man.
Anais Vionet Aug 2
Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer?

Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic..

As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows,
muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners,
gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging
simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch.

If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled,
while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons,
larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art.

Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks,
and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat,
rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home.

back to unpoetic realities..

When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school.

Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune.

Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”  
We’ve grown so much at Yale.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Assuage: “when the intensity of something unpleasant is lessened”

hemmed-up = trapped
preesh’d = appreciated
event-horizons = when the horizon is an artistic event
Tom Lefort Jul 2
The magic of summer twilight casts a spell
In ink blue incantations and honeysuckle dew.

Each shadow stretched out like the years,
That spread deeper and darker, stronger too.

As the mystery of day's last light is cast afresh,
Gentle glows, fearfully goes our sacred time.

Hidden there we lose and find ourselves,
In the murmur of the evening breeze, our lullaby.

It sends us, brings us to a mystic place
In which we all relive each memory's hew.

Tom Lefort July 2023
I S A A C May 26
twilight, dusk and dawn
unfollow, report, and block
my emotions inconsistent like waves
my memories blackened of our dates
riding around in your car, pounding heart
driving out too far, lost our spark
twilight, dusk and dawn
our connection was not for long
In the still of the night
I find myself alone
But I am not afraid
For I have overcome

Depression used to hold me down,
But I have found my way
Through the darkness and the pain
I have found a brighter day

So now I stay up late
With nothing but my thoughts
But I am not alone
For I have fought and I have wrought

A life that's worth living
A life that's full of joy
And though I may be by myself
I know I'm not a lonely boy

For I have learned to love myself
And to find solace in my mind
And now I am free
From the chains that held me confined
It's an all to familiar feeling to be awake late at night alone. It used to make me sad, but I've learned to love it. The peace, the silence, the solitude. My time to reflect, reminisce, and dream- yet not through sleep.
Savio Fonseca Nov 2022
Dancing with the Clouds,
is a Dream that I always carry.
But the Darkness of the Night,
is somewhat a bit scary.
I keep waiting for The Moon,
to show up in the sky.
But the cold November Wind,
keeps howling in My eye.
I feel like I’m slowly fading,
like smoke into thin air.
In constant search of Love,
but no one really cares.
I keep gathering the Moonbeams,
after Twilight steals My hours.
Her Memories sleep with Me,
in a Garden full of flowers.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2022
The wee hours late night
in a blink of an eye
blows her Niqab (veil) away.
Oh, that folds springs in style
in the chalice of rose flower
never gone with the rainbow
splash of the first light!

Stunned broad daylight
rather looses for words
punting in sleek brook of twilight
scurries back into the night.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2022
Fancy punting
  only on the waxing
     moon slice?

The sun eyes on
   picks the paintbrush
     on the dark side.

There is always
   one more star
      fancies a black mole
         in the low light!

No wonder the rushing sun
    for unseen heaven
        leaves the broad daylight
           always dips in the twilight!
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