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Zywa Jul 4
Please help him, holy

woman we don't see, help us --

You are one of us.
Novel "The Enchantress of Florence" (2008, Salman Rushdie), part 3, chapter 19

Collection "Low gear"
Jeremy Betts Jun 21
My past haunts tirelessly
There's a lot of it at 40
Also less time for recovery
I wish it was "get some therapy"
Type of easy
I wish they'd stop blaming me

AE May 23
To witness the subtlety of change
in all things that breathe

To grow in this new delicate rain
and spring's easy breeze

To be the colour of water
when it's finally set free
Thomas Harvey May 12
Why, why am I so obsessed?
Obsessed with the sea and sky
Is it because I feel blessed
Or do I wish I could fly

Fly away from all my troubles
The little that there is
Could I ever be that humble
I guess it’s better living in ignorance bliss

Is it delusional to dream as such
Wishing for something to happen
Even I can see myself blush
If only I were a ship’s captain

Sailing the seas; living free
Certainly, I should grow tired
Yet I would sail until her eyes were in front of me
And she’ll know that love does not expire

It sounds so easy in my head
Maybe it’s time I played the cards I was dealt
The sun going away, doesn’t meant there’s anything to dread
The sunset is pleasant, but there’s nothing more resplendent than herself
Jeremy Betts May 8
I can't do what you need me to do
Not naturally capable
Unable to be who you want me to be
Impossibly impossible
I might fight the fight you wish me to fight
Adrenaline is incredible
Shouldn't have to bow or bend to your will
Especially if we're equal
I refuse to kiss the ring like you're expecting
Laughably satirical
This polished **** won't gleem like you'd like it too
Completely unreasonable

Shofi Ahmed Apr 25
Red, red rose—  
not for sure  
from this ancient Earth.  
Yet it seems so close  
to the eyes, to the heart;  
then there's the thorn—  
you can't touch!

Not sure what  
the nightingale sang,  
yet a heady fragrance  
seems to whisper:  
"Heart, eyes, hands—  
whatever you feel, say freely;  
mine are yours,  
I wish you could see!"
J-J Johnson Apr 18
Oh my friends and foes of yonder realms
Tell me,
How strong the irony of the wish we hold
That the now may be the later peace
And the later may feel the feels of now
To lay with the beating of a heart that hurts
To run with the void of one that rests
To find reprieve in a soul that feels the void
To sing of the joys of a song that warms the soul
Say oh say, let the truths that binds be known
That nothing but the vast embrace of time
Ties and binds both souls as one
Frank DeRose Apr 3
I toss my coin into the wishing well,
Watch it while it flutters down, away
Out of sight but not mind.

I sit beside the wishing well,
Wishing well on those who could use it most--
Wishing well on those still lingering near to my heart.

I watch as my wish wanders high,
Even while the coin sinks low.

Where wish and coin will land is anyone's guess,
Which I suppose must be the point of a wish, yes?

The hope of promises which you seek but are not promised,
The dream of the coin and the wish alike
Landing softly on the ears of a friend,
Bringing you both, thus,
Home again.

"Wish well,"
Echoes then.

Which well, I wonder,
Is best suited for wishing well?
Here, there, or anywhere...


I suppose it matters not--
It's the thought of a wish that does the work.
        And does it well.
Robert Ronnow Mar 19
Books to the library
photos to family.
Paint cans and lumber
from renovations years ago.
Most of the furniture
including the piano.
Fastest way to do this
is rent a dumpster.

On the internet
nothing’s permanent.
I like that.
Photosynthesis, evaporation
as if your spirit disappears
when the sun appears.
It’s a burden lifted
not to have to persevere.

for clarity
and brevity.
One owes the reader
a respite from
the tonnage of
fructifying English.
To drown one’s book is devoutly to be wished.

Coupla trumpets,
big comfy couch,
four beds and dressers
and the contents of closets.
Tools we don’t use,
surge protectors and chargers,
lawn and patio accoutrements,
table settings for ten.

Lamplit underground,
the stray branch,
synchronized chaos,
a red fez.
One canary,
map of Antarctica,
three deaf little otoliths,
six or seven sybils.

Extra salt and pepper shakers,
sharpies and crayons,
a printer and a scanner,
the Bible and Koran.
Kaput calculators and computers,
subscriptions and prescriptions,
a host of vitamins
and the ghosts of ancestors.

Time itself
but not nature.
and most of culture
but not my health.
That I’ll keep,
and sleep—practice
for perfect rest.
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