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 Apr 2017 Lot
Ashly Kocher
Tired
 Apr 2017 Lot
Ashly Kocher
I need a break
To get away
Somewhere warm
Maybe to stay
Even for a week
To relax and play
This body is tired
Of working my life away
 Apr 2017 Lot
Shivani Lalan
You are the silence
in an overflowing room,
overlooking the brim of
the glasses full of art that
are about to s p i l l forth
from you able hands. i am
the low murmur of voices,
ebbing through an empty
room - no shortage of
"excuse me"s or of
cleared throats.

You are love, when love
disguised itself as ink and
ran freely through pages
in lines that looked a lot
like poetry, only if
one looked. i am the short
staccato splutters of syllables
splattering and spoiling
fresh canvases of pure
imagination - rendering them
u n c l e a n,
        u n u s a b l e,
                u n d e s i r a b l e

you and i, we swirl through
pages and mics and minds
and crowds and rooms and blinds
like no shackles forged from doubt
could ever bind us.
This is for suri. ily_so many_, husband. prem max 5eva <3
 Apr 2017 Lot
Stephen Rutledge
Awoken I receive a sight of celestial beauty,
Awoken, I gracefully lie safe in your affable aurora,
Awoken, our fluent dance of both heart and mind appears only eternally foreseeable.

Awake, the mere construction of you dwindles,
It was just a dream, I should have known.
 Apr 2017 Lot
Jim Davis
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein,
   when,
... a drifting butterfly
alights upon one's
      opened hand
           again,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... life really cannot get weighed
although we always do at first
   when,
... a soul entering through an
      opened womb
alights upon a tiny life unborn
however even
            then,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein

... sometimes sweet love itself
is all a loss
and then we pine, cry and groan
wishing a time again,
   when,
... love adrift in the air returns to    
alight upon a shattered heart
      opened to hardly believing
          again,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... for the loss of a living loved which eventually
comes to almost all and one
we are oh so glad
   then,
... for any drifting love of friend or kin
to alight upon one's own
      opened yet broke
heart and soul to live, still
          again,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein

... of course before the end of life
upon these rough stumbly shores
If arrival not much too late
all have hope for
   when,
... salvation alights upon an
      opened poor soul
with at first only a wee bit of true
belief of him,  until eternity's
         then,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... eventually breath like all love except
God's love leaves everyone
In the known earthly end
   when,
... a searching death
alights upon as cause of one's  
      opened grave
         even then,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      how much beauty lies therein

... Remember too,
a butterfly, a life, a love, a soul
if caught
and grasped too
tight around, this
        then,
... shatters fragile wings,
taking away all and any hope of
soaring flight, of a
a life, a love or a soul,
as a rising butterfly
      opened to the winds,
        when,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein
... without all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

©  2017 Jim Davis
My first attempt at a villanelle poem, thus 22 lines instead of only 19!
 Apr 2017 Lot
Kurt Philip Behm

Be in awe of yourself,
  ever struck with delight

Gift wrapping your thoughts,
  in the goodness of life

Treasure the memories,
  letting go of the pain

Releasing the wonder,
—as Heaven proclaimed

(Highpoint North Carolina: April, 2017)
 Apr 2017 Lot
Keith Wilson
There is a truly magical valley
Up to the north part of the Lakes District
As you pass through
Each side seems to have individual mountains
As the sun filters and dazzles
With swirling mists
That move around in ghostly fashion
Perhaps we could call it
The  valley of a thousand Hills
Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK  2017.
 Apr 2017 Lot
Pagan Paul
The Room of Dancing Shadows,
undulating across the wall,
like ****** Persian ballerinas,
making no sound at all.
Reaching, retreating, a mosaic form,
eternally shifting the dark shade.
Pictures of no light in a flux,
remain fragmented, cold, unmade.
Hypnotising, random shapes in black,
swim serenely, start to slide.
The Room of Dancing Shadows
holds its fear deep, deep inside.


© Pagan Paul (03/10/16)
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