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AS Nilsen Jul 2017
#66
soft kisses up his cheek

to say goodbye

leaving him in slumber

meeting at the bakery

soft kisses up his cheek

to say hello

meeting with my lover

coffee

coffee

him and me

coffee
Zelda Jun 2017
Snowflakes melt in the palm of my hand
No matter how hard I try to prevent it
Droplets slip through my fingers

This is New York in the Fall

Could I have a snow globe to store this feeling - awhile?
I’d like to hold on a moment longer
Could I have a flicker of warmth to duel this cold – awhile?
When dark days crash through

This is New York in the Fall

I stand at a crossroad
Fearful of being left behind
I don’t want to be stranded on the side of the road
Waiting for time to stop
Wishing snowflakes would Freeze!
As if I was 10 again playing a game of wax museum
I’m not ready to give up
When I’m certain I’ll win
In time

This is New York in the Fall

Walked in, showed up out of the blue
wait, waIT,WAIT!
Black feathers fall on marble floor
Elegant, the way he wants to end it all
get out, get OUT, GET OUT!
We fell to the floor
Held on tight as he sobbed
Wanting to forget it all
Held on tight to the enemy

This is New York in the Fall

Said he knew of unrequited love
But he knew nothing
Of impossible things
So, don’t bother with breakfast
If you can’t be bothered to return these feelings
Open-Close-Door

This is New York in the Fall

The shower was running
When he entered the room dripping wet
Caught by surprise and exposed
Well? Kisses on my lips left me startled
Why is it he can’t return this unrequited love?

He is New York in the Fall
Everytime I push my pen
I am moving mountains
Everytime I touch the keys
I will part the seas
Everytime you do the same
then we are creating
the liberal Science
of poetry
D May 2017
EDIT.

not only is mr bolt missing, there's a like button too.

hp is basically fb and im so p'd that this keeps happening.
THIS IS THE FURTHEST FROM OKAY
Ryan Holden May 2017
As the blossoms bloom,
On this starry filled night,
Oil lamps flicker through streets,
For shambles lay bare scenic,
Streets fill in euphoric chaos
as this used to be the capital
Of a much more wonderful time.

Frolicking in streets,
Silhouettes follow in sync,
Linking arms and spinning,
Strong ale, bitter sweet cocktails,
Not a singular frown in sight.

Drunken ghost hunting,
Finding only the bottom,
Of an empty glass,
Ambience of undescribable wonders.

Even now on starry nights,
As I walk through the streets,
I still see silhouettes,
Of what once was,
York,
Is a magical place to be.
Every time I visit York I love it! I'll be moving soon, right in the centre!
Erasure & Found Poem from
"On Photography By Teju Cole in april 16th new york times magazine

--

You were The fast moving disaster of a tsunami
added to the slow motion disaster
of a nuclear calamity

Towns flooded
Infrastructure wrecked
Forests splintered
more than 15,000 people dead.
earthquake cut off
my external power supply
Floodwaters damaged my backup generators
Disabled it's cooling system
Overheating ensued
Fuel in three reactor cores melted
Releasing radiation

Everyone saw The water coming in
The roads swept away
Towns and harbors destroyed

Extensive documentary work
was undertaken by photographers
Of the ruins,
Debris,
Cleanup and relief operations

The gut-wrentching scale of destruction
The professionalism of the emergency crews
The fortitude of the survivers

The extreme uncertainty I feel
in our current political moment
helps me understand for the first time
the curious twinship
of mourning and premonition.

Information
about the tragedy
Sorrow for the suffering it caused
Gratitude for the work
that makes sorrow visible
Foreboding about the future.

An alert flashes
your phone
Something terrible has happened
Far away, a flood, an airstrike,
Soon, there's footage of people picking through wreckage
what used to be their homes

It is easy to pity them
Difficult to imagine this will be you
Suddenly bereft of a solid place in the world.

Listening to anything
that touches on the sublime
makes me apprehensive.

Like The silence that greets us
waking in the middle of the night
Philip Lawrence Apr 2017
Amsterdam Avenue, Sunday morning
Stubs of moisture collect across the panes
Then rivulets, thin as capillaries
She lounges on the sofa
And edges her bare feet between cushions
She is wrapped in a thick towel
Bare to mid-thigh
Hair ebon and slick
Pale face aglow
Her freckled shoulders glisten
And she smiles
A beautiful view
is best when it is shared with
a beautiful you
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