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 890° 
K J McCarthy
Still as a statue
Like a moss covered stone
A big waking stretch
Met with sighs and soft groans
Struggling eye lids reluctantly open
As the sun peaks over the horizon
Projecting on the ceiling of our room
Woken by the hectic morning commute
Time ticking and stuck in traffic
Suits late for business meetings
The relief of being free from productivity
While the rest of the population is busy
I could stay here for eternity
Rotting with you in this sheet covered sanctuary
Cold feet from stolen covers
Play fighting and morning breath kisses
Here in your natural habitat
Make shift pajamas consist of my over sized band tee
No bra just ******* and disheveled hair
Naturally beautiful in anything that you wear
Today is free of responsibilities
I wish every day could be like this
Only stepping outside for that post *** cigarette
In our own little Universe
Lost in those sparkling eyes and coffee flavored lips
Binge watching our favorite horror flicks
Amused by your every movement
How you talk with your hands
I don't want this day to end
I could live a life with you just rotting away
and I'd die a happy man
 857° 
onlylovepoetry
entombed to die together.,

prisoner utters these words to
their lover~companion,
who has joined him freely, and
that conceptual, hardly casual,
resonates, pinging my sonar
brain long after the famous
opera concludes, leading me
unforced to the writing table…

Saturday 2:1l:25 9:27AM

now, after having lived and
loved for well over 25,000 days,
there is much data to review
much of it corrupt & corrupted,
and of course, it must be done
man-u-ally (manually), and
will require filtering to edit
out the natural edits that the
fog of war, time, and the innate
human desire to improve one’s
recorded history, I conclude;

Not only have I loved others
desperately,

beyond reason and sensibility,
but more than once,
more than twice,
more than my
faltering courage dare confess…

remembering the physical manifestations, is almost eerily too easy,
to recall the angst, physicality
of loving too well,
heart chested pain worthy of a doctor visit,
desperate hunger feeding on/off
of depression costuming as dreary sadness,
but so overtaking that I am the
cliche of the human berefetted of
all energy, except for periodic moaning,
visitors refused, sleeplessness my
only steady companion

writing worse poetry
than this,
dialing, hanging up, repeatedly,
paths crossing in hallways,
and breaking me down to
aching breaking pieces

later,
when all grownup,
deserted wife and children
for the restoration of another
woman’s love,
but dragged down by
actions & inactions,
she wearied of my agoniste
and left me to
treble tremble when the weight
of the load, they/I
put right on me

now, sipping my morning 3-cuppa of
Caribbean brown beans,
my fresh eyes tearing,
my internal tearing
myself up/down,
half in mocking, half in sympathy
for the lost soul once was,
no longer desperate
but nonetheless joyous that
more than once I was mired
in a state so encompassing
and compressing,
was overruled overrun
overcome
with the gain and the pain
of loving desperately
and happy contented
that it shall not happily happen again,
for my poor heart already repaired
by a heart surgeon,
but with damage left from
life’s and loving’s accidents and accumulations, muscles weakened,
parts clogged with memories
beyond repair,
if loving desperately should come back
one last time,
winking, he’s thinking, ha,
for last licks,

*!it would be in a closing act sorta way,
a great fitting fitful accomplishment to die,
one last time, desperately in love!
 720° 
Rick
words that hang like shutters
from broken hinges.

words that hover like nurses
after surgery.

words that splatter like
thin remorse.

I heave with sickness
when they arrive.

I spring with ebullience
when they leave the ** dunk
parts of my mind.

these words
these ******* words
that show up in Pontiacs,
in Plymouths, in Pintos

these nonsensical,
satirical,
antiquated words.

they charge at you
like a dead bovine
swinging from a meat hook.

they crawl towards you
like a silverfish
out of the sink drain.

they creep up on you
like an old ***
rattling a change cup.

why? I ask myself.

why does this happen?

I don’t want this kind of ailment;
give me
bee stings
or bedsores
or steam burns
but not these words,

these words that linger like shingles
across the ribcage of burning torment.

I pray without ceasing
towards a signified God.

I pray for simple sacrifice;

I want suicide rather than poetry.
I want a cow without milk.
I want a statue without structure.
I want a woman without grace.

I can feel the floodgates opening soon
and I think I’m going to puke my guts
out all over this page again.
 652° 
Left Foot Poet
Sabbath 7:31am Jan 11, 2025
<•>
For later, forecast proclaims:

snow showers for much of the day,
but in our temperate clime, rarely
do we get inches or feats of accumulation,
but it will be chill enough to turn my
heavy duty “Icer” navy coat to its
whiteout version, where the flakes
individually attach themselves to
to fat fabric for self-preservation,
displaying their distinct DNA patterns of intricate crystallization artwork on a
gallery of me…

assuredly, some will attach to eyelashes
and extruded tongue, perhaps inhaled,
in nostril and open mouth, as I employ
all my senses to retain, retrain, my brain,
to walk alongside a saltwater estuary that
welcomes every flake as a long lost son and
daughter, who has returned from its prodigal global journey around the world, to melt back into a mother’s currents embrace, returning
home to my patch of briefly occupied spatial, white palatial existence

I anticipate the taste of snow to be a
multi~flavored cone, souvenirs, accrued
while globe trotting, with hints ofAsian
spices, on a riverbed of Italian red
peppery tomato sauce, the crusty
spicy fabric of the fried chickpeas of the Middle East, the cilantro stinging of Latin continents,and pretend that my nature
wetted cheeks  are so because I cry & walk alone, sadness flavored, wishing I could partake of this snowy journey repast, with you by my side, for how much better would this global travelled whirlpool repast  of white ice and scented airs, tastes if it could be joyfully shared

but I am by myself,
sensibly refused companionship
by others, and my
voyaged meditation now,
well ended,
well recall,
Whitman’s Song of Myself (1) conclusion:
                          
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self


join me?
(1).  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45477/song-of-myself-1892-version
 625° 
David R
dry as a beggar's over-parched throat
an over-burnt piece of blackened rye-toast
as the golden sand in the Sahara roast
was the air o' the day of the black death-note

as the air crackled with the laughter of death
and claimed the millions as it left bereft
daughters of the earth their heart a-cleft
from the breath of the devil with the head of Macbeth

Houses, untenable, ditched searing memories,
Turned sarcophagi from life and its treasuries
Scorched skeletons of sagas and histories,
Of family feuds, celebrations and victories,
Of open secrets and whispered mysteries,

Years of toil blest by sunbeams,
The laughter of babes and the giggle of teens,
Now fractured windows and ash blackened beams,
Skeletal remains of life and its dreams.
BLT Word of the Day Challenge #untenable
 502° 
Emma
Beneath the weight of infinite skies,

her eyes, two wells of drowning sighs.

A tear, like a wounded star, descends,

tracing the map where sorrow bends,

and love, unspoken, forever ends.
Been up all night and am in no mood for social interaction today.
 501° 
Hex
I reached for the moon to make it mine
But it stayed afar, content to shine
Just like your heart, so distant and divine.
 344° 
Maybetomorrow
I can’t quite place the feeling—
like I’ve known you forever
but still just met you.
Maybe this is what love feels like,
familiar and new at the same time,
too close and too far,
woven into everything that has ever come before,
and nothing at all.
i want you
to know who i am
i want you
to see my dripping colors
the melted rainbow inside me
i want you
to see my ugly red raw rage
my beautiful deep
blue love
my green forgiveness
and sympathy
my purple
rational thinking
my logic
feel my point of view
like a prism
and i want you
to hear my voice
when i sing
i want you to
listen to my songs
and i want
your real
opinion.

all i want is
to listen to music with you.
i made this really good song. i wish he was here so i could share it with him.
 295° 
silent echo
"Babe."

"Yes, Bertha?"

"I'm starving. Make us a cheese sarnie, will ya?"

"Okay, my precious. Will you be coming downstairs to eat it?"

"Nah, I'll have it here in bed. I'm having a lazy day."

"Right, okay."

"Oh, and babe..."

"Yeah?"

"Love you."

"I love you too."
 293° 
Ksenija Ostojić
One two,
one two,
deep breaths.

Shaking crying,
what am I feeling?
its bad and short but im busy writing a book on wattpad Courage. Check it out im Ksenija Ostojic on wattpad i uploaded few books.
 289° 
Darkeseed
Your dream is your dream
My dream is mine
When we held this truth
We fell in love

Your dream is my dream
My dream is yours
When we embraced this illusion
We became lovers

My dream is your dream
Your dream is mine
When we fell to this delusion
Our hearts broke

Your dream is my dream
My dream is mine
When we return to this truth
We will know the loving way
Reflections on the Toltec dream
 282° 
Khoisan
Look a head
Hell's kitchen
five stars it said.
A persons mind is a top demon hangout ?
 274° 
Emma
I did not come to this earth
to die for the shadow of a dream,
to impale my heart on the sharp thorns
of ambition’s endless rose.
No, I came to live inside the quiet rivers,
to carry the soft weight of the morning’s light
in my hands,
to bury my face in the soil of ordinary days
and rise, fragrant with their whispers.

I did not seek perfection;
perfection is a cruel wind
that bends no branch,
allows no blossom to fall.
Instead, I search for the cracks—
those holy fractures
where the light sings its way in,
where life spills like wine
across the trembling lips of the world.

We are fluent in pain,
each of us holding the dialect of loss
in our bones.
I have read the script of your tears,
seen my own reflection
in the glass of your breaking.
Your heart is a book I know by touch,
each page etched with sorrow
and the tender thumbprints of hope.

I do not long for glory—
glory is a fleeting bird
with a broken wing.
I long for the quiet threads
that sew the sacred to the common:
the bread shared at a wooden table,
the warmth of a hand that holds without asking,
the beauty of a scar kissed by time.

There is a beauty in suffering,
a beauty that does not demand mending.
It stands like a mountain at dusk,
silent and untouchable.
It does not cry for transcendence,
but for the gaze of another,
for the voice that says,
“I am here.
I will not turn away.”

Let us walk,
not as conquerors,
but as pilgrims,
our feet stained by the dust of this earth.
Let us stumble,
our burdens carried not in shame
but as offerings,
as gifts to one another.
We will not flee the ache of life—
no, we will drink it,
pour it into the chalice of the stars,
and watch it glow softly,
a lantern that whispers,
“We are here.
We are enough.”
 256° 
Chloe
I smell his shirt and the scent is a distant yet close memory, it's too familiar
I cry

It hurts it hurts it hurts

Why don't you feel the same
Do you miss me?
You don't

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts

I want to disappear
leave this all behind,
But I can't

I'm empty, more than lonely

It hurts it hurts, I hurt myself

I'm waiting, waiting and I don't know why
When you've moved on
I'm still here, waiting

I'm sorry, so sorry
 253° 
K J McCarthy
Calm seas have never produced
Skilled and able sailors
In the intensity of crashing waves
Is where you find your valor
Winds slashing, lightning flashing
No hurricane could make us cower
Calloused hands grip rope with strength
Moonlight guides our darkest hours
Treacherous times, character defining
Crow eyes survey, suspended in the tower
Battle tested facing death, ready for any challenge
Our sails stand true, unwavering in thrashing showers
Razor blade rain soaks salt stained skin
Quitting just isnt a viable option
We need to prove it to ourselves that we can make it through this
Dark clouds take the shape of haunting faces
Taunting us with their sneering glowers
Fear crys out but the voice of courage sings louder
Surviving is the proof of ability, for which we search and scour
Empowered by overcoming what means to devour us
Rain accumulates into oceans of wisdom
Experience blossoms, self confidence flowers
If we hide when life gets rough

We will never know our power
 250° 
s1mpl3po3t
Having an answer
Is half the way there,
Finding a question
Can make it a pair.

The answer however
Must be fitting and right,
So the question in question
Has an answer in sight.
 216° 
David P Carroll
Humanity has walked
Away from Lord Jesus Christ
That's why natural disasters
And unnatural disasters take place
Everything is about Lord Jesus Christ
The true king of kings.
Lord Jesus Christ Of Nazerath
King God and Lord
Jesus Christ.
Nazareth Palestine 1900

Jesus Christ is God.
 214° 
Chandy
Year to year
The hurdles increase
Height and length
Abundant as insects
Multiplying to give us purpose
I can only jump so high
Until I start to leverage myself
On top of the heads of others
Telling you to follow the rules
While the rule-makers rewrite the book
Inheriting fortunes
While the numbers keep losing meaning
Heresy and discrepancy
Why have more just to grease the gears?
When what we already have is being unused?
More is more, not less
But now your denial
Can become the crux of life
 210° 
Jess
Realisation always knocks late,
followed by regrets creeping in,
ought to be carried for a long time,
destroying us little by little each day.

The greatest one I bear now,
making me die a little each day,
is that I let you go, not knowing,
leaving was a decision you'd regret.
Sorry for letting you go.
 198° 
Anais Vionet
(a poem in Haiku and Senryu)

Draw a stick figure
future - sadly diminished
and chaos ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Add micro-plastic
and forever chemical
flavorings to taste.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open, some heavens can
be reached by mortals.
.
.
A song for this:
All Gone Away by The Style Council
Locks that require two keys are called ‘Dual Custody’ locks. They’re most common for bank deposit boxes.
 181° 
Geof Spavins
A zephyr whispers, bees awake,
But flowers hide for heaven’s sake.
Quick jabs of heat scorch dry land,
Yearn for lush, green fields, now bland.

Global warming brings such doom,
Vexes earth, steals nature’s bloom.
Fuzzy insects fight to find,
Their nectar kiss now left behind.

Polluted air and smoky skies,
Jails of human greed and lies.
Bold actions needed, none too late,
X-ray eyes to see our fate.
Global warming is a problem of our making and I don't see us having the will to fix it
 181° 
Xio
A villain is just a broken hero, whose story has never been heard,
A shadow cast by silence, lost in an unspoken word.
Their scars tell tales of battles, of love that slipped away,
Of dreams turned into ashes, and nights that stole the day.

In their eyes, a flicker lingers, of the light they used to know,
A hero wrapped in darkness, where pain and anger grow.
For even in their darkness, a longing heart remains,
A villain is just a hero, bound by unseen chains.
 160° 
Bree17
i need something to do
anything
to get my
mind
to stop
spiraling

but i dont have the
energy
to
do
anything
anymore
even writing is draining me
the only thing left to do it sleep
 157° 
dead poet
sticking to my guns,
i never realized that
they’re pointing at me.
 153° 
Vinnie
In Reality the only
value to life
is the fact you only have
one
and it’s so glorified by blind
‚saints‘
and
‚saviours‘
that you’re frowned upon for
not seeing the
non existent value
of what we would call
‚living‘.
 150° 
Heidi Franke
Where you stand now,
can be moved.
It's either you or
the ground.
Is it light you seek
or darkness?
If you remain immovable
Like that thing in the street,
Tripping, your face will meet
The ground, hard.

Lay ****** and bruised,
Defiant as the cement
That slapped your face.
It gets dark real fast
When all you hear is the mold
That lays you to rest.

Be alert and aware like
A library door.
Possibly your unnoticed
Life is awakened by
Words that wrap you with
History and comfort as if
Every minute is the opening
From a wrapper of your
Favourite candy. Live
In the trace of  light
Where you stand.
Listened to The New Yorker on YouTube. Public Defender” follows the work of Heather Shaner, a lawyer representing January 6th rioters, who works to confront America’s political divisions with empathy."
 147° 
Devo
Woke up scared, lost as if left behind
quickly understanding I was one set of 5 blank eyes.
Buried in the  jungle and left with random trust.
Where lifelong friends nightly encounters became a must.
I lost myself in a forgotten world’s green treasure,
With a connection of souls that can never be measured.
I went in cold, skeptical and alone.
But walked out proud, challenged to my core’s deepest tone
Wrote this after a 3 day jungle hike in Vietnam, saved my soul
 145° 
Ivai
Somewhere in a city as old as time
A bus pulls away into a winter night
I stay behind, to watch her move on in time
The falling snow becomes ice rain, cold and alive
Does she watch me disappear, or I her?
She smiles at me like the moon might wane
We know the night must end this way
For the sun needs to rise to mark a new day.
Feel the skin you’re in
Against the seat you’re sat
And the air around
With your hand you pat
Hear the sounds around
Or the silent hum
Be aware of your being
And your presence in!
 142° 
Lydia
sometimes I wish you could make someone take back something they said
because as soon as they did,
the image you had of them in your mind explodes in an instant,
they are just like Them after all,
there’s the hate and prejudice and refusal to have empathy for others that seems to flow so freely these days,
no where feels safe anymore in a world where the people you love are part of the problem
 132° 
Bijan Rabiee
Whenever I fell in love
With a receptive woman
She went away
Leaving me grieving
The death of chance
Till another woman came along
Making me hopeful for a while
And then she was no more
I kept up with the pull and push
Of this story till it was too late
To keep up with the intention
And I learned that falling in love
Was but a charming illusion
But a mirage of oasis
And the most beautiful lie.
 115° 
Sara Barrett
She is not the reflection they painted,
nor the role they assigned.
She is the breath of the earth,
the roots and the bloom,
both soft and unyielding.
She carries worlds within her—
and owes nothing to anyone.
This poem celebrates the untamed power and essence of womanhood. It defies external labels and expectations, embracing the strength in softness and the quiet force of being. It is a reminder that a woman is whole in herself, carrying limitless potential without needing approval or validation from others.
 108° 
Àŧùl
The night has ended,
And the dusk is stale.
A different dawn descended,
And the sun is shining pale.

There are some memories here,
Some more are hidden there.
I'm still lonely,
But I'd be lonelier
If not for my parents.

Now I work on my dream rate,
None was more appropriate.
My HP Poem #2039
©Atul Kaushal
 107° 
JoJo Nguyen
My precious
My precious

My ring
My worry

Dark black circle
Round mine
Eye

Single
Forever
Looker

Meek
Seek

Power
Never
Mingle

P­ie
*** fine
White lite tingle

I'm airy
I sing

My precious
My precious
 106° 
Lumin Guerrero
Unfinished poems
Wandering bits in my mind
Waiting to be
Are you waiting to be?
In the quiet dawn, where shadows fade,
Truth emerges, unafraid.
A beacon bright, it lights the way,
Guiding hearts through night to day.
In whispers soft, it calls the soul,
To seek the light, to find the whole.
Through veils of doubt, it pierces through,
Revealing paths both old and new.
With every step, the spirit soars,
Unbound by lies, it freely explores.
For in the truth, we find our wings,
And rise above the earthly things.
So let us cherish, let us strive,
To live in truth, to feel alive.
For truth inspires, it sets us free,
To be the best that we can be.
Truth truly sets us free.
 103° 
Joginder Singh
जीवन में
सब को लाभ उठाना आना चाहिए ,
सबका भला होना चाहिए।
यह सब स्वत:
कभी होगा नहीं।
इस के लिए
सभी को
सही दिशा में
खुद को आगे बढ़ाना चाहिए।
छोटी-छोटी उपलब्धियों से ही
संतुष्ट नहीं रह जाना चाहिए।
बल्कि सतत् मेहनत करने की आदत
अपने ज़िंदगी में  
अपनानी चाहिए।
लाभ सबका भला करता है ,
यह जीवन में सुख का अहसास भरता है ,
बस अनुचित लाभ कमाना
समाज और देश दुनिया को
निर्धन करता है,
यह जीवन में
असंतोष तक भर सकता है।
सब को  लाभ होना ही चाहिए
परन्तु इसका कुछ अंश भी
समय समय पर
लोक कल्याण के हेतु
निवेश किया जाना चाहिए
ताकि समरसता और समानता का आदर्श
व्यक्ति व समाज में
सहिष्णुता का संस्पर्श करा सके ,
और लाभ
लोक भलाई के आयाम निर्मित कर
उज्ज्वल, उजास , ऊर्जा भरपूर होकर
जीवन धारा को आगे ही आगे बढ़ाता रहे।
जीवन सुख समृद्धि और सम्पन्नता की प्रतीति करा सके।
१०/०१/२०२५.
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