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Iska Sep 2018
Scattered words
Broken frame
Was once a lovely picture
Now just faded paint.
Iska Aug 2018
City lights
Blot out starry nights
Burning so bright
We’ve lost our sight...
  Aug 2018 Iska
Robert
The rain trickles down the windowpane
An unsure sentiment from the atmosphere
Hanging heavily from rose petals as they dance
With each new drip, every fallen drop
The water static singing sweetly in the dark
(9/4/13)
Iska Aug 2018
Stars look like some one spilled a cluster of polished stones and it’s scattered all across the sky
And they’ve been there ever since stuck billowing fabric of time
Iska Aug 2018
Scattered memories float past my fingertips collecting like dust upon the stars.
  Aug 2018 Iska
Hannah Christina
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
  Aug 2018 Iska
Robert
Savor these ordinary moments
Little everyday treasures
Curved lips and playful fingertips
Simple guilty pleasures
Stolen in the passing minutes
That lead us through the endless
(8/1/18)
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