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DIPTI DHAKUL Jun 5
The night is long
no touch of wrong
soul and body at little ease
and the world notices stain

Upon my soul
calm content and ocean floods,
sweet in the tremulous tides
And they would not welcome

Blossoms all the land
where the play is fair
lingered and lingers
upon thy lips

Thought you may not know
I may not feel
spirits crave, waiting to be given
all that is pure and true

Upon we,  as we pass into the night!
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!
Give them no ribbons. My dear friend who was following orders in Vietnam
was blown to bits when he tripped a wire. Give him no ribbons. Ribbons and medals will not bring him back to his wife who is now in her mid-70s, whose two sons and one daughter each have families of their own, but have no Grandpa whose knee to sit on and play games with and just have fun and laugh with. Michael Dillinger went to Iraq to fight because W told him to. Unfortunately, his amored truck hit a road mine and killed Michael instantly.
Ribbons? They gave ribbons to Michael's mother before they buried Michael in Arlington? Ribbons, for God's sake! Did those ribbons and medals really help console Michael's mother? Did Cheney ever call her to see how she was doing? No, he was in charge of creating what he called "enhanced interrogation," a gross euphemism for unspeakable torture and terror that went on at countless, secret camps in the countries of our allies, and still goes on at Guantanamo even today. Give them no ribbons. Take all the ribbons and medals you can find that were given to those soldiers who gave their very lives for lies, for all those soldiers now lying in all the VA hospitals throughout our country, their bodies permanently disfigured, their minds completely lost, and dump that pile of ribbons and medals in the front yard of wherever W lives in the suburbs of Dallas.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
amber Oct 2019
are you a person,
or a cloud?
you seem to be,
physically solid.
you are warm,
under my touch,
but sometimes,
I feel you fading...
evaporating,
like water vapor,
into a cloud,
above me.
Willow shade Oct 2019
Though there is no physical reciprocity
and there are permanent, long distances,
you are becoming inside in an unfamiliar way,
even living myself completely down...

Not too anxious for such paranormal states
since I learned the influences of your stirring...
I know you are just growing inside again
leaving all emptiness silently away...

Leaning on the wet grass dreaming of you,
the sky is spread over before my eyes;
resembling you as receiving me with open arms,
reflecting your hair - as dark as night...

Something was born within, profound and new
as I made my sublime wish beneath shooting stars;
a couple of hearts beating inside in tandem
and I live everything twice upon a life...
Poetic T Aug 2019
I was swollen in
  the whirlpool of coffee
            
                           hangovers.

Tsunamis of headache
                                  neglects.

But when the waves of coffee beans
               collected on my shores



I trod upon them, crushed and slowly
                               roasted under repeated waves.

And then they washed over me,
                            caffeine drops falling
               like rain on my senses.

When I was drenched,
                      calmness fell upon my mind,
                     And I was myself once again.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Once upon a time,
I dressed in fluffy frocks
and wore tiaras
believing I was a princess.

Now that I am older,
I find myself dressing in others skin
believing mine wasn't worthy
of being worn.
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