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Johnny walker Aug 27
Today I'm people watching
In my local cafe and It's still early morning had very little sleep again last
night
And from last night to now I've had nothing In my head
but thoughts of Helen for she's forever on my
mind
And that how I need things to be I live because of memory my way of survival In order to live each day without
her
Helen Is constantly In my thoughts day and night never a second in a day passes that I'm not thinking of
her
When you've loved as I have
then there's no letting go doesn't matter If you can or can't even though
gone
You still won't them near they've been so much a part of your everyday life you don't won't to ever let
go
Nat Lipstadt Aug 7
for you, of you: you’ve been between my ears

close enough to being on my mind,
almost the same thing,
though that’s unfairly inequitable, we both agree,
for when in an ear one opines, too oft it escapes
out the other side, only a tree ring mark left,
someone was here, present

as for the Confucius confusion in

ok, who’s writing this poem to whom,

cause it’s never clear between us
who is
asking the questions,
since the answers come
demanded and undemanding,
fomenting newer questions and follow through,
before, as well as,
‘please sir, may I have some more?’

the mutualizing game tasking begin-began-begun,
for this, our lovely crazy teasing of our-thing, ago began,
don’t recall who or how intimated-initiated
this oil drilling exploration,
who is the annointer and who is the annointed,
who seeds the plants, picks the fruit, and who
gets paid with cloves of poems, by the bushel

you say I’ve been on your mind,
which we now have both pointed out
is somewhat extraordinary since,
the sight lines are drawn through
long distance cloudscapes that travel
through underground cables,
making everything said,
fallow and rich-ending, deeply frustrating,
impossible to see the outcome

clouds usually imaginary, (not like now),
making visibility normative poor,
unlike the real ones I’m flying at the moment through,
ensconced in front row seat 1F, heading northwest passage,
passing by so ridiculously close to where
you are minding the soil,
as I am
mining your soul’s soil, tilling it between the ears,
of you, by me, for us, and the excited sadness
makes me happy and yes, inequitably, again,
hopping-mad

because your breadcrumbs and dark Swiss chocolate bars are
scattered and defaced, bitten and chewed, lovingly licked melting,
we who cover our tracks too well;
but what I do have, makes me ravenous,
having read all your poems,
in random order and then one more time,
sequentially

I see your history, near escapes and resurrections,
in fine grained moody minutiae punctuated by huge gaps in between,
that we must cream fill with clouds of wondrous loving curiosity,
a torture so exquisite, only the gods could have invented it like
Sunday Night Football,
and crazy sayings,
like I love you too...

been on my mind and I imagine you
hot and sweaty,
bent over, aching tired, from
picking weeds (gotcha),
when sudden one of us stands up straight, back aching,
screaming out loud
this is crazy, and follows up with
a *** Darius type proclamation,
who’s writing this poem to whom
issued to the upwards-skywards,
but addressed to ourselves,
the poets

as we search clouds by the thousands,
is that you in that cloud, in that poem,
I look down thinking that, that must be,
the plot of green and dusted light brown ground
where she has gone into hidey-hole hiding,
disappearing for months at a time,
before arising for the sticking of me
in the sticking place,
wounding me fresh with brand new poems
scandalous and imaginous,
and our imaginations are both
too skilled

so here I close, overwritten, overridden, too long,
overshot my imaginary bounds, so one
pulls down the shade over the oval window
through which too many great stories have commenced,
and ended

the thick cumulus shouting
as we look up
as we look down,
saying “enough, you crazy people,
your poems tell too much,”

perhaps, find me in that
next bite of herbs buttered,
and then ask (of course)

who’s writing this poem to whom?

then breathe out, exhaling me a
breath-poem up above, to where I’m hiding
just as I, am sending one to you,
earth falling from thirty thousand feet,
coming to rest on your mind,
in between your ears,
friend

<>

8-6-19
somewhere in the sky, clueless, heading north by northwest
Oh how great was our love for each other Helen and I
sprites that cannot be
broken for we allowed our souls to
live
Never held back did what we wanted no matter what was said to us for we had a kind of freedom that still live on In
me
For true love never dies but only move on with the passing of time and true love Is what Helen and I had and love will never
die
When you are at a swimming pool, and you see a dog, you know that it will be pushed into the pool by a cat.
then it is frowning, like grumpy cat
and humans are laughing
and it goes on youtube
and you've been framed
here comes the dosh £$€
hahahahahahahahah
You've made me
speechless
and made my day.
YOU
are the reason
I'll be smiling
today!
I'm sorry.
I think you've
make my day so bright,
I going to have to
wear sunglasses
so I don't lose
my sight.
There really are some special and bright people our there!
I'm sorry,
I shouldn't
have judged you
without knowing what
you've been through.
sankavi Jul 2018
dear future self,
i hope you've finally learned to put yourself before other
that everyone isn't who they seem to be
and never to fall so hard for someone who'd never love you

i hope you learned that you don't need people who don't need you
to love yourself
and that you're important

i hope in the future you are the best you possible
SunFlower May 2017
It’s the sadness in your eyes that darkens your heart

you were like a piece of art

your white pale skin carried no marks nor wounds

your silky hair and royal navy eyes appeared to be so alluring your suspected you were undesirable

but you were terribly mistaken..

Sunflower
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