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My coffee sings a morning lie
I greet the room and get no reply
Still, I talk to myself—at least I try
The walls never say hello or goodbye
Maybe the silence is just being shy...
but we usually see eye to eye
Now it’s time for ham and egg pie

The bookshelf waits. Dust comes to stay.
Unread for weeks. This is the way.
My pile of clothes begins to sway—
A soft rebellion, mild decay.
Necklaces lounge in proud display,
Bright lollipop earrings steal the day,
I dress like I’ve outrun dismay.

Otonoke in my ears, pocketed hands
I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a plan
The clouds clap with a flash and a BANG
I walk like I'm lit by streetlamp spite—
just me and the echo of maybe-I-might

One step, two step, three step, four
I giggle in the face of thunderstorms
Rain, rain, please don't abate
Let me linger in this state
Wet socks squish, but they carry their weight
Wish I had nowhere to be, that'd be great
The clouds and I are late for our date
My umbrella dozes – dry, ignored
Drip-dry dreams on the hallway floor
I hang up my coat and set my plea:
Oh woe is not me

I refuse to droop, to wither, to mope
Not all the time, at least, I hope
Let joy arrive on tiptoe
A spark that only I bestow
A tiny smile for what I miss the most

Because what is the opposite of woe?
If not a blink that dares to glow

Wrapped in fleece, the evening mine
Slow sips of golden honey wine
Just me, and this quiet offering
Where everything small becomes everything
A slightly ridiculous, slightly profound poem about rainy socks, rebellious outfits, and refusing to mope (at least not all the time).
For anyone who’s ever asked “what if I’m okay anyway?”—and meant it.
Steve Souza Jun 11
stamps today.
One for you,
one for me—
and I crossed
my fingers
for clear skies.
Carlo C Gomez May 26
Slice where you live like pie
--this piece of heaven,
you and your cream-filled sky.

Cappuccino sweet-talk,
every dream includes a bit of sleep-walk,
the taste of last summer
floats belly-up in your cup.
Damocles May 9
Vestigial fragrances spill into the taste of her fruit
I’m wandering like Alice through your wonderland
Tickling wisps of her hair brushing through my skin like gossamer
I’m swimming in pools of ethereal waters
Wading the waves to crash upon her needy shore.

Halcyon hours spent in serendipity
Her voice rang like seraphic honey
Sweet like candy, I’ve grown a sweet tooth
Iridescent colors slick her opening and I can taste a rainbow.

Evanescent moments caught entwined
Our bodies converse like old friends,
Talking with a reverence for past times
Post tide, in landslides
Where we collide and collapse
Mouth dried, lungs spent
Chasing breath in the wilderness of our love.

She speaks to me in crepuscular displays
Diamonds in the black of her eyes.
As the rain poured down,
I kissed away the saline,
And breathed in her petrichor delight.

Don’t wake me —
I’m down in the rabbit hole
Further down I go,
Lost in her like a lingering madness.
Curiouser and curiouser.
i don't know what inspired this, but i am personally happy with how it turned out.
anonymous Apr 28
the girl
gauzy dress
tattered and torn
burning
breathless through brambles
reaching a river
pursued
panting
she must cross it
take a step into
freezing water
numbing bones
shaking shivering
pale skin and blue lips
trip
and
fall
hands fall forwards
trying to catch
whatever is left of yourself
but pieces crumble and scatter
on mossy rocks
sharper than they
look
howling dogs and
snarling men
filthy
hunting
they will be here soon
so get up
because there is no more time
to lie here
and wish you are not
the girl
who was maybe once loved
face down
in frigid murky water
the only company in death
those who persecute her
as her pale body
begins to rot
even god
starts to
forget
about her
first
her hands
then
her face
then
her hair
until there is
nothing
left
so that when the dogs
frothing lips
raised fur
and the men
roaring voices
savage thoughts
arrive
the girl is gone
nothing left of her but a
whisper of wind
and the scent of sandalwood
and strawberries
and summer days
long forgotten
but now remembered by those
who never knew them
maybe god didnt forget her
maybe he saved her
jewel Mar 17
the drive was
one hour
& ten minutes
not including traffic
& accidents along the way

the drive
went through a giant hill,
larger than
a hundred houses
stacked on top of one another

the freeway
lined the jungle
like a strip of lace
on a trim of velvet
only it wasn’t as lacy,
just as pretty as that

& the jungle
looked beautiful
and really took
my breath away:

all the green
and all the trees
lazily looping
about the
whole thing

emerging and then
we were creeping
toward the shore
which was a straight
jagged cut
to the ocean
like where the hairline
& my mother’s forehead
meet

and we cruised
right along the water
just a little
slow at first,
because my mom
is horrible with driving
anything not an suv

and i watched
the great blue
turn to green
against the
great brown
of the rocks
and the terracotta houses

sat right on
the shore
like children
too scared to
go in but like
dipping their
toes

“they’re all
in risk of
a tsunami hazard”,
my mom said
and i simply thought
that maybe they
chose it
for that reason
because the risk
offers a reward
so let them exist

that being said
— i’ve only ever known
land
but i was on the edge
& i wanted
nothing more
than to
leap in.
copyrighted, poemsbyjewel (2025).
Lee Mar 17
Through the fence, we slipped,
scratched and torn,
but the world behind us
was nothing—
this was ours.

Rubber giants piled high,
a kingdom built from wreckage,
the smell of earth and metal
mixing with the air we claimed.
We whispered our plans,
wild as the grasshoppers we caught—
sting and laughter tangled together
as we spun tales of escape.

The owner’s anger didn’t faze us,
her shouts just wind
against the roar of our hearts.
We built our thrones
in crooked trees,
a couch our crown,
leaning like a dream too big to stand.
The go kart didn’t run,
but we rode it anyway,
down the hill that should’ve swallowed us whole,
laughing at danger,
at the world that couldn’t keep up.

Bruised and broken,
we held each other,
fighting wars we couldn’t win
except here,
in the tire club.
In this space,
we were never less than fierce,
our bond woven
with the secrets we kept
and the mischief we shared.
A sacred place—
where the world outside couldn’t touch us,
where we were fireproof,
surviving everything
but the burn of our own laughter.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 22
(whimsy - playfully quaint or fanciful behavior or humor)


——
recent events, minor tumults, additive,
the summing up of wearing,
a slip and fall, financial reverses,
communiques misunderstood,
clanking pipes resounding against
a sonorous soundless soulful sleep, and
the
unrest of disinterest in essaying
thoughts into words into creativity

a far far cry from singing of the whimsy
in life that teases and delights, replaced
by a weariness from the whiners,
who craftily abuse, with deft badly
prosed propaganda propositions,
seeking solace in solitude + add-an-all-inability to forsee the goodness in people,
delimiting desire to inspire, why then
compose when so decidedly decomposing?

lay the ownership of pen-man-ship down
until dealt an inside straight, eyedrops
that open wide, dilate into a wider perspective, a kinder me, and the
patience of a patient awaiting a
healing vaccine against the flu
of whining. so awfully communicable,

will read Whitman, Frost, and those
revolutionary Persians who ken the
revivification of spirit, return from a
there as a refugee
to a refreshed refuge
of here
                            nml

Addendum
———
the chill in the body that’s so
invasive, resisting two sweaters,
a coat named “The De~icer,”
over heavy sweats,
the interior is

frostbitten
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