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 Jan 2019 Isla
Grace E
Black Widow
 Jan 2019 Isla
Grace E
She spun her web
Lured you in with her long legs
Injected you with her poison
And ate your heart out
 Jan 2019 Isla
Kim Denise
11:11
 Jan 2019 Isla
Kim Denise
It's 11:11
and for the first time
after a very long time
I'm wishing for myself
and not for you
 Jan 2019 Isla
eileen
crier
 Jan 2019 Isla
eileen
I hate when people cry
almost
for me
seems
a little
pathetic

you hear them breathe
with their mouth
their nose
is clogged up

cling onto the past
poor woman
poor heart

crying in the bed beside
me

poor nose
poor mouth

stop crying
I hate it

I hate when people cry in front of me
I've never done such thing
so vulnerable
sensitive
a sense of weakness
yet powerful presence
makes me uncomfortable

I can't help but wonder
ʷʰʸ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜʳʸⁱⁿᵍ
ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵈⁱᵈ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʸ?

ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ᶜᵒˡᵈ
ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ'ˢ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ʷᵉˡˡ
ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ ᵐʸ ᵒʷⁿ
 Dec 2018 Isla
del
hard denials and rough tears
ragged sobs and pouring pleas
refusals of callous confessions
create horrible impressions
the change that overcomes
is but the factors of time's sums
quiet submission to mankind
leads you to stay confined

denial of love
you feel you don't deserve
will lead you to be sick of
your own silent unnerve.

we accept the love we think we deserve.
 Nov 2018 Isla
Bus Poet Stop
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
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