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 Mar 2023 S G
Kj
smoking gun
 Mar 2023 S G
Kj
you looked at me
through half-closed lids
sleepy smile on your lips
my hand touched yours
swiftly exchanged the smoking gun
I watched your lips wrap around it
and wished it was me instead
if I could freeze time
it would be that moment
locked in the smoky room
and the prison of your mouth
 Mar 2023 S G
Rob Rutledge
Dead Air
 Mar 2023 S G
Rob Rutledge
We cling to dead air
Holding on to broken promises
And feelings that are not there.
We dwell on the scars
Carved with care across our heart.
Trying to place our finger on
The beginning of the end
Or the end of the start.

Our dearest departed
Left us used and disheartened.
While the sins of the father
Gave birth to disaster
Born in the shape of a man.
The harder we cling to shadows
The more we long for shade.
The more our grip shall weaken
As those we love slip far away.
 Feb 2023 S G
sandra wyllie
on him some day. She's tired of
holding on when he just strays. She's put up
with a lot over the years. It wears on you
after a while. It's hard to hide behind

a smile. She's going to reach a point of
no return. She's going to spurn
his advances. She's given him too many
chances. She's lost herself living

for him. She's lost her light. She's dim. She'll not
stand in his shadow no longer. Over the years
she's grown stronger. She's not the girl
he first met. He's not her world. She's not

his pet. She's not going to leave a note
on the kitchen table. She'll waltz out that door now
that she's able. And not look back. She's paving
a path up to the sky. Sprouting wings, she's going to fly.

My new poetry book is out:https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BW283N8Z?ref=astauthor_dp
 Jan 2023 S G
Left Foot Poet
Cold beer,
a long necked bottle held to my forehead
and in my throat,
to my lips,
so relief comes both ways,
glad for it,
the double of the cool,
helps the day of troubled nothingness,
and the long necked bottle makes it
worth the extra second of anticipated tasty wait

can't drink in the river park,
don't cotton to brown paper bags,
do it anyway cause the East River
tides me over on its way
thru the Verrazano Narrows,
bound for the Atlantic with me low rider spirit in tow,
a devil may care attitude en contrôle

this troubadour opened the store at 700am
but not a one came looking for a song,
but the mail came reliable,
with dues due,
promises that need keeping,
and other items,
what the grownups call responsibilities

June Monday early eve and the Moran tugboats
ply their trade like reliable ****** to the sailors,
and their larger than bathtub size toys,
turning containers, freighters, into docile boys
who do as they are told on their way to ports far

there are stick figures outlined on the hexagon
paving stones that are so nyc for me,
here pedestrian! follow your designated path
here pedestrian, you must walk to be safe arrived

but I take to the railing,
where  Isaac-bound and mesmerized,
I imagine surfing the churning wakes on the surface
of the riveting tides and wonderous wanderlust for
where we are bound...

no voice heard from the heavens,
saying Abraham put down that knife,
because I have not passed the test of true belief,
perhaps the river's invitation is my test,
if I should sing another song here,
perhaps it will tale the end of this tell...
 Nov 2022 S G
london
coffee boys
 Nov 2022 S G
london
what a stupid girl i am,
falling for coffee boys
who like cigarettes and
love their drugs
but hate themselves.
 Nov 2022 S G
Aishu
Write
 Nov 2022 S G
Aishu
Take the pen.
Spill the ink.
Write your heart out.
 Nov 2022 S G
emnabee
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
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