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 Jan 2017 tranquil
Matt Holton
It’s the end of an eventful year;
The new beginning is finally here.
Good and bad times have come and gone
Yet through it all you carried on.

As you take a sip of tonight’s champagne
Think back on this year, both of the joy and pain.
Remember all of the friends you made
Both those who left and those who stayed.

Through it all you’ve grown into someone new;
A stronger and wiser you.

Happy New Year!
 Jan 2017 tranquil
HRTsOnFyR
I am no longer waiting for a special occasion; I burn the best candles on ordinary days.
I am no longer waiting for the house to be clean; I fill it with people who understand that even dust is Sacred.
I am no longer waiting for everyone to understand me; It’s just not their task
I am no longer waiting for the perfect children; my children have their own names that burn as brightly as any star.
I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop; It already did, and I survived.
I am no longer waiting for the time to be right; the time is always now.
I am no longer waiting for the mate who will complete me; I am grateful to be so warmly, tenderly held.
I am no longer waiting for a quiet moment; my heart can be stilled whenever it is called.
I am no longer waiting for the world to be at peace; I unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.
I am no longer waiting to do something great; being awake to carry my grain of sand is enough.
I am no longer waiting to be recognized; I know that I dance in a holy circle.
I am no longer waiting for Forgiveness. I believe, I Believe.

-Mary Anne Perrone

Photo: Ingmari Lamy
Via Sacred Dreams
As the solid gold reflection of the sun lies atop a still lake,
I stand at water's edge, in reach of life's shoreline.
If I were to search within would I find myself.
Seeing an image dense on the surface,
yet not through it.

I'm I as shallow of life,
or am I leaving a wake?
Am I extraordinary as I unleash my years of existence?
Outward I flow by my pumping blood.
As a rock thrown into the water,
ripples the body surrounding it.
Under the depths of the glimmer is blindness,
even on a summer's day.  c
this is from a short scene in the movie "RUDY"
 Dec 2016 tranquil
Aaron Combs
My beloved, tonight it is more than perfect, the zephyr winds sing so
sweetly your name and the crystal stars shine like your earrings.
As the White Mountains glint gracefully, and the wind speaks
over our fingers, upon our balcony, let’s dance, my beloved.

Now over the thousand streams and star crystals in the air,
You can see our prayers fill up the milky rivers in the sky.
Below the lights of Christmas, before the blue rivers of stars,
let’s dance like the shadows and the circles of the moonlight.

Now dreams rise over like the wind and shine so easily
But time falls quickly, and worries fall away so slowly.
So let the rage of your fears dance around and under your legs.
For the world is falling asleep, calling for the colors of their dreams.

So let the tresses of your hair fall freely,
And the wind of your perfume
Soak up the flames of your heart.
Spinning like the starlight, tasting every feeling,
Let the steel blue sky and its stars fall all around you.

Dance wildly, my beloved, let's dance like the songbird who sings,
let’s dance forever, until we wash into the skyline of our dreams.
A Daily Poem
 Dec 2016 tranquil
Onoma
How green, as ever...
a child lifted, to
place a star on a
willing tree.
Just by looking--
up they go...
they know.
***For Zoe and Angelina***
dream of a dark
sky, where the ocean
with its gentle pull
gathers the mosses
of the waves, unravels
and drifts in gold pools
full of moon and love.
love
 Oct 2016 tranquil
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
 Oct 2016 tranquil
Chameleon
On Saturday night I didn't go out to dinner with my family because I discovered a new, big bald patch.

Right in the front of my hair line, on the other side of where my bangs used to be.
Except with this one, I can't cover it up.

I kind of jokingly mentioned it to my boyfriend, and he told me I looked fine.
But then my fingers kept attacking the same spot, and my brain began to get mad, and then scared.

Why do I let it get this bad?!
Why can't I just stop?!

I'm going to have to shave my head.
For real this time.

So, I told my boyfriend I was gonna go lie down and take a nap.
I really just couldn't stand being inside my head any longer.

I really scared myself. That was one of the first times I actually lied to my family as to why I couldn't go out. I lied about wanting to take a nap because I was about to take the clippers to my hair.

It was one of the first times I felt this thing really taking over me.
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