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James G East Jul 2020
Here, yes yours to use.
Keep begin, even if once begun, again and many times.
As much as it takes, fight or don’t, find, strive, make do if you wish, survive, but don’t ask, not any more. You’re answered, always have been.
Blatant in the past with no malice meant, while being written not read.
That’s right there’s no one way, right and wrong not or.
It’s yours to use, choose or seek.
Raven Woodfort Jul 2020
Magic Flowers

There's a bug in the house
and a big one too;
has our tummies curl up
and us running to the loo.

I wish I had flowers -
magic ones of course -
then I'd brew us a tea
that'd shoot the bug out the door.

I read so much of herbs
that can heal anything;
flu, pox, diarrhoea,
broken spine, lost limb...

But they grow in deep woods
where sunrays don't touch the floor,
and the books don't speak of maps
or if they exist (anymore).

So till the enchanted woods are found
I'll stay safe at home,
and drink rooibos tea with plenty o' honey
and write another poem.
When a poet is sick...

Inktober 2019
Imran Islam Jul 2020
Let all my writes be poetry
If those are not the songs
Let all my poems be words
If they don't get any rhymes.

Find out the meaning of my pen
If you don't get the melody,
If you really wanna sing along
with me, then sing you, buddy.

If you don't see any imagery
in the dream of my black ink,
Then paint some dreams, dear
as you do in your own poetry.

The dream what I'm knitting
with my love and passion,
If that makes you smile
then I will be happy again.

If you feel better with my lyrics
then sing or else hate vulgarity
I could be your favorite poet
If you give me a place in your heart.
BE
angelique Jul 2020
breathing, just
memory corroded
please, please
remindlessness got me wrapped 'round its finger
again and again

this bed lies empty once more
insomnia wilts in this sangria sky
patchwork dreams corrode in thronging lies
eyelids flutter, drift outside

where crocodile-skinned zebras graze
and pygmalion crawls out the iris of lavender
outstretched hands offer wine and myrrh
statues rust into some orange-twine blur
this abstracted laugh breaks down
to a cough
and then a curse

and i'm floating again
stalking the earth
powder's all over the mezzanine
powder dusted on windowsill-and-tin
move on, forget

because i thought love was a subject
i could learn,
i thought there were rules and formulas
on how to love,
when to love,
why we love

i am interrupted by
the humming
of ground-teeth machinery, oh
heaven's turned upside down
and what am i going to do?
five A.M on angel street
another minute shifts,
another minute dies
as i wait here without you
perfect love? perhaps in a dream
sarah crouse Jul 2020
There once was a boy who feared himself.
So he went and hid in a big bookshelf.
He picked up a book and started to read
he saw the hero and followed his lead.
He read, he lived within these books
saw himself, the hero with the striking good looks.
He wanted to see it all he said
as the wonder and joy-filled up his head.
From world to world he travelled far
he sailed the seas and explored the stars.
He laughed, he cried and lived many lives
in his desperate quest to help him survive.
But everything has to come to an end
the books were done and all were read.
Just like that, he was alone again
alone with his thoughts, away from his men.
with no more books to save the knight,
he picked up a pen and started to write.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2020

Glass bottles hold the sun's heart
I write like no one reads
Iced tongues knots my thorned heart
I'll share beauty while I bleed...


I have a few things to get off my mind...
Be back soon,
Lyn x
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