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I watch Greek men
With hunting dogs
Arrive on the island.
We say
What's the prey?
Then later
Over black sweet coffee
We pray for sun.

3 collie dogs
Follow a man who
Rides *******
Up valley side.
Like foot soldiers
Swordlike
They look for orders

We navigate the mist of
Dreaming
We dont know any more
We can only shepherd
New order in hope
While we Hunt for love
With guide dogs now.
 Nov 2020 verus
Spicy Digits
Arcadia
 Nov 2020 verus
Spicy Digits
Fading apricot sky
Paints the wet sand
The sharpest silver
and romantic mauve.

Angry incoming waves
Turn to lace agate
For a perfect moment
Only to return again.

A sooty oystercatcher
Warbles
Always keeping
one eye on me.
It is, after all,
his littoral arcadia.

Sea mist coats my skin
Speckled sand whips at my skin
Claggy dread claws at my skin
While I write
And write
And write.
 Nov 2020 verus
Ayesha
Cracks!
 Nov 2020 verus
Ayesha
Cracks! Cracks in the ground
cried an old maiden in the town
and everything went wild—
a wind blew inside, an eerie kind
and cracks slithered around
as angst bloomed in the crowd
Houses; pubs and shops screamed
the barren land with blood gleamed
and the grasslands split into two
—as all winged hid behind the blue

Kids! Kids in the ground!
came a wilting, wingless sound
and shrieks danced in the abyss
—till dark ****** in a silent hiss
and more fell and all ran
till all fell and none ran—
The earth closed her crusty lips
chewing them all to little bits
but there stood in all the blur
—a nightly curse that you were

and the old maiden sat scared
wondering why she’d been spared
the four moons, for a blink, kissed
—no leaves moved, no winds hissed
nothing shuddered until— did— all
You swayed away as the sky begin to fall

Cracks! Cracks all around!
In this short Life
That only lasts an hour
How much—how little—is
Within our power

--Emily dickinson
 Nov 2020 verus
FlipThePoet
the first time I saw him I noticed an oddness about him
like that of a villian marked for death
no matter how try he to redeem himself
his next act broaden his mark, deepening this spell

I know death comes for everyone
but for him, death seems to already be there
those who work with him knows this
and stay very clear

he also, is aware of his spell
and the reject from the others
so he cons them like a villain marked for death
but can he con death?
can he con the mark set on his face
when he stares at the mirror, to see an image of himself

sometimes he worries
other times he doesn't seem to care
and it's during those times
when he seems not to care that
we laugh and wonder
"how does he live with himself?"
 Nov 2020 verus
Vale Luna
(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Forward: from the victims perspective.
Backward: from the murderers perspective.

This TOOK ME FOREVER TO WRITE
Its wise to pretend than to show,
and if you do; better it only be your rage.
Like thunder rumbles and lightning strikes.
For the settling of the storm,
welcomes the appreciation of the calm.
 Oct 2020 verus
Sylvia Plath
A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!

And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?

Such pure leaps and spirals ----
Surely they travel

The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift

Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.

Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,

And the tiger, embellishing itself ----
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.

The comets
Have such a space to cross,

Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off ----

Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling

Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given

These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes

Six sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair

Touching and melting.
Nowhere.
 Oct 2020 verus
Shubhankar Mathur
Is it just another perspective?
Or is it a much broader lie?
Is it what makes you fly into the sky?
Or is it that something that helps you through the night?

Is it just an expression of thoughts?
Is it just some feelings that you bought?
For someone, from someone?
Or is it everything that you sought?

Is it like writing your life script?
Or yet another piece of paper that you ripped?
Is it just some words you could gather?
Or is it out there forever,
Once you pieced those words together?

Is it just a combination of phrases and words?
Or is it expounding on a fairy tale that you heard?
Is it just a mysterious experience?
Or is it something more serious?

Is it an escape from this cruel world?
Or is it a declaration of truth with a banner unfurled?
Is it like God speaking through you?
Or is it always within you?
Maybe in different forms and styles,
Something that makes you stop and stay awhile?

Is it a catharsis of a tragedy?
Or something to help you keep steady?
Is it ever hostile?
Or does it always makes you smile?
What is poetry for you?
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