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 1597° 
Peter Garrett
I'm afraid of failure
Of becoming a burden
But above all, I'm afraid
Of hurting the ones I love
And ending up alone...

Yet I'm here, I've shown
In the face of my demons
And screamed at them
That they'll never take
The very best of me

So I may not be fearless
I'm quite fine with that
For I'm brave
I never regarded myself as the courageous type... until the day I realized that being brave doesn't mean being fearless. Being brave means facing your fears in order to do what you must.
 902° 
Prince SJ Webber
I rather be:
a placid, clear lake
or a mountain
touching the earth & sky;

Fluid & deep
or Seeing far & wide
all around,
further
than the eye ...
For Cassandra's "star"
 636° 
jules
I woke up again today.
the way a dog might wake up
to a kick.
not because I wanted to,
but because the hours don’t wait
and neither does the rent,
and no one cares
if you spend the morning drowning
in yesterday’s whiskey
and last year’s regrets.

the sun drips through the blinds,
thin and pale,
like it knows it’s wasting its light on me.
I light a cigarette,
watch the smoke twist,
and I wonder
how something so fragile
can disappear so easily—
then realize,
I’m not that different.

there’s a woman I loved once.
she had hair like wildfire
and eyes like a question I didn’t know how to answer.
she told me I was a storm
she wanted to walk into,
but she didn’t know
the rain never ends.
she packed her things on a Tuesday.
I tried to stop her,
but my hands were too heavy with all the things
I should’ve said when it mattered.

the world keeps moving forward,
dragging me behind it
like some forgotten wreckage.
I smile at strangers,
say I’m fine when they ask,
but every mirror I pass
whispers the truth:
you’re breaking
and no one even notices the sound.

some nights, I sit in the dark,
just to feel it wrap around me
like the arms I lost.
I drink until I forget,
and I drink until I remember.
it’s a cruel, stupid game,
but it’s the only one I’ve got left.

the thing no one tells you
about being alive
is that sometimes you’re not.
sometimes you’re just walking,
talking, breathing proof
of everything that’s gone wrong.

and when they ask me what I want,
what I need,
what I’m looking for,
I don’t have the words.
because what I want
is to go back,
and what I need
is for the pain to mean something.

but what I’m looking for—
God, what I’m looking for—
is the door out of this room.

and maybe,
just maybe,
someone who notices
I was even there
to close it.
 614° 
Kai
What's visibly here is not my soul
My soul is not here as a whole
Feeling as if I was in the 2nd dimension
Or in the 6th dimension
Forever shouting
Forever panicking
Forever crying
Breathing becomes erratic
I'm not being dramatic
I can't find myself!

Burying my face in my hands
Peeling the skin off my face with my hands
Feeling my nerves stinging and tingling
Body is trying to make me stop but all I'm doing is self-punishing
Body is trying to refrain from the limits I'm pushing
Shouting at myself “Who am I?! Where am I?!"
Lights around me dimly lit
Seeing a light in the corner and rushing into it
I keep finding myself all over the place
I feel like a zombie out of place
I feel like a duck that can't keep afloat
Or a unsteady boat
When I get that feeling when everything is a lie
When nothing that makes sense meets my eye
As if I were in Alice in Wonderland
As if everyone were creations made of rubber bands
I don't even know if you're fake or real
I don't even know how to feel over this ordeal

I can't get my soul to fit in the role
I'm placing it on
As if it's trying to act as a permanent con
Endless suffering
Endless buffering
Endless switching
Endless glitching
If I were a cop
I would put the problem to a immediate stop
So I can meet the real you
And I can meet the real me too
no, the title was not inspired by a song title from asteria.
 574° 
Zazu
I wonder
What will cross your mind
When you see me
In person

It’s been so long
since we’ve seen face to face
I've only become a presence behind a screen
 546° 
South by Southwest
I was to catch her
in  the rye
Maybe maybe
say goodbye

Alex stood naked
cloaked in orange
singing shivers
in the rain

We all know
how the story goes
So it goes
So on it goes

El Bib the acronym
To be read
back and forth
from end to end

Huckleberries
the river flows
down wrong paths
Big Jim he knows

I was the phoney
in the rye
A clockwork orange
in disguise
I’m not fragile
I’ve just been broken
So many times before
That the glue is unable to hold.
I’m not fragile, am i?
 242° 
JAMIL HUSSAIN
Once a week, I touch your lips,  
A longing deep in tender sips.  
I stir your heart with quiet grace,  
A lover's breath, a soft embrace.  
  
In shadows where the dawn is born,  
I form in silence, calm and warm.  
Neither bitter, nor too sweet,  
But in my depths, our hearts shall meet.  
  
Like moonlit clouds, I rise, I fall,  
A fleeting dream that fills your soul.  
Each Saturday, I softly call,  
To wake the fire, to soothe it all.  
  
What am I, this fleeting bliss,  
A fragrant, frothy, whispered kiss?  
  
A love that lingers, never gone,  
In every cup, I carry on.
Whispers in the Foam 21/12/2024 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
 223° 
Lindsey Calvert
The lonely star
shines diamond bright
a jewel with no setting
lost in the cloak of velvet sky
Then an Angel came
and bore him aloft
to set him in the diadem
of the King of Kings
 221° 
dead poet
i look at you -
long and hard;
strike one off
the tally card -
of false promises,
and dubious words;
i peck your bud,
and fly like a bird.

i draw the line,
and watch it fade:
every second
you and i are away -
from each others grips,
coming down the trips -
i wonder if there was
another way.

smoke rings rising
up the clock -
show me the times
i forgot to lock:
my impulse for a high;
i’m not sure why -
i was expecting a key
at the bottom of the rock.
I love you in the morning,
I love you through the night,
I love you when I fight,
I love you when I tried and failed,
I love you in the light,
I love you in the dark,
I love you through the moon and back,
I love you through hard times,
I love you even if we break apart,
I love you when you’re here,
I love you when you’re there,
I love you even when you’re gone,
I love you everywhere.
I love you every moment--

I love you…
 188° 
Nat Lipstadt
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending

When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening

to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable

and yet

cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,

it has yet

to arrive

When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed

When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction

she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
rentery orbit,
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot

When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after

death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
is the God
I worship
The phrase "the consolation of physics" was taken from a novel,
City of Thieves by David Benioff. The other nonsense is all my fault.
11/23/14 8:30am

for my blonde Big Bang theorist
 177° 
Flea
The most brave thing
You must do in the day
Is to wake up and face it!
 168° 
David P Carroll
Lord Jesus Christ
Whose teachings were
Truly a treat and
He preached love and grace
Saved the human race and
In his love we find our peace
In Lord Jesus Christ our souls release.
Lord Jesus Christ 🙏 ❤️
 160° 
Christy
This is strange but I think you are my sister

I don’t want a anything from you except maybe if you’d like to chat sometime

Hi, I’ve always wondered about you too.
Billie
 136° 
matthew ronan
rainfall tangoes on my tongue
it tastes like metal tonight my
bullet teeth could say anything

two purple books sit tails between
their legs on my coffee table ran
-som notes to my temporal cortex

low speakerbuzz like a 1979 sci-fi film
i cast my mind like fishhooks;thewires
a two-stop tramline everything will be

ok?
think im gonna try and do exercises where i just write out what comes to my head without hesitation or editing + embrace random abstract thought?
 135° 
Prathiksha jain
"Are u drunk?"
"I'm a poet"
I answered beneath my breath⁠•
 123° 
Vitæ
when you feel
bitterness       l i n g e ring
at the back
                of the throat,
let it burn  s l o w l y

            like a dancing flame

rising from
                 beneath  
                               you

where the sharpest edge
meets a     r   g   n   s   a
                    a    i   g    e  

with the strength

           of a feather
balancing           lightly
upon an ostrich's back:

d
    i
      v
         e
    into
    black waters

for light
          is here
                too,

           so       come back
           to your home
       and sing your song

from
the damp
        dark
exquisite
roots

of your being.
"We derive our vitality from our store of madness".
Emil Cioran, The Temptation to Exist (1956)

Last piece for 2024, let's goooo
 119° 
Ayla Grey
That girl in the mirror is beautiful
Confidence worn like a crown on her head
But once I remember that girl is me
I think she's ugly again
 110° 
Lou
I don’t push people away.
I don’t forget people from yesterday.
I just wish I had more to say.
Not so interesting
I’m very mundane.
So don’t get angry and tell me
I pushed you away.
I’m just a human being.
Caught in the times.
It’s always too late.
And history won’t have me written in a page.
I’m not to blame.
I’m only human.
A victim of the insane.
I been trying to reach out for sometime and I don’t know how to anymore.
this light        this warmth
now resting                        now wrapped
between us                                          around us
will one day                       will one day
flare and fade       ember into ashes

(thebreathwegivethebreathwetake)

and so
runs the circle of the sun
and so
weaves the color of each season
and so
coins the full white of the moon

and we too shall
spin
and we too shall
wheel
and we too shall
vibrate alive

)inloveinloveinloveinlove(
 97° 
Nat Lipstadt
inspired  by“Blame It on Kristofferson” written by Byron Hill and John Wilken,
released 2010
(lyrics below)
<•>
A young teen listens to the
folk/rock of the Sixties,
all growed up a few five-years later
living on Bleecker Street, the very same,
where these songs were being sung live,
by the artists, songwriters & friends

And Judy sings a ballad, mysterious,
‘bout a Marianne and all the tea in China,
words written like it was a poem,
and the infection was then transferred,
still ‘fected, even when now, sooner be
reporting to heaven’s door, this blessed
curse will be coming along, blame it on
Leonard Cohen

Knew the words, learned the secret chords,
which was easy, a-direct line between us,
knew where he got them holy tunes,
words he stole stealthy from our prayerbook,
went to Montreal, visited his home,
it was no accident, just the hand of god,
but don't blame the divine mystery being,
nah~nope, half~century, later, this dope
still blames it on, yeah that’s right, on
Leonard Cohen

And here we are, the two of us, probably
smiling, gesticulating and gesturing, who
in fact is truly responsible for our crazy gene,
that pursues us, to create, to mate words with
music of the deep soul, and here me be, I am,
grateful grasping for each latter day to birth a new creation, going out smiley & feeling kindly and fulfilled, more than ever, and
zero doubts that the person at fault, fully blaming it all on my Canadian soul brother,
Leonard Cohen
https://genius.com/Byron-hill-blame-it-on-kristofferson-lyrics

<•>

Lyrics Listen
I WAS ONLY SIXTEEN|WHEN I HEARD THAT MELODY|AND THOSE WORDS ABOUT A YOUNG MAN|WHO WAS ALMOST JUST LIKE ME|ON A SUNDAY MORNING SIDEWALK|HE WAS FEELING ALL ALONE|I HAD NEVER BEEN THAT FAR FROM HOME|BUT NOT FOR LONG|BLAME IT ON KRISTOFFERSON||HE CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER|WITH EVERY WORD HE WROTE|HE SANG WITH RHYMES THAT RAMBLED|AND THEY HIT ME LIKE A ****|SO I HEADED OFF WITH MY GUITAR|TO NASHVILLE TENNESSEE|MADE A PROMISE TO MYSELF I'D ALWAYS BE|WHAT I'D BECOME|BLAME IT ON KRISTOFFERSON||CHORUS: I'VE BEEN BLESSED TO BRING A SMILE|TO A FEW FOLKS WITH MY SONGS|BRING A TEAR TO SOMEONE'S EYE|AND HEAR THEM SING ALONG|BUT SOMETIMES I START HATING|EVERY WORD I'VE EVER WRITTEN|THINKING I AIN'T EVER LIVIN' UP|TO SUNDAY MORNIN' COMIN' DOWN AT ALL|BLAME IT ON KRISTOFFERSON||SO HERE'S TO JOHNNY CASH|AND 1970|THAT TV SHOW WHERE FIRST HEARD|THOSE WORDS THAT SPOKE TO ME|OF A SUNDAY MORNING SIDEWALK|AND A YOUNG MAN ALL ALONE|I HAD NEVER BEEN THAT FAR FROM HOME|BUT NOT FOR LONG|BLAME IT ON KRISTOFFERSON||REPEAT CHORUS|
 93° 
Bekah Halle
Must we endure guilt’s futility;
To take stock of our soul’s condition and
To release all unnecessary spoil, to
Be comforted by our Maker’s redeeming love?
Or

Must we endure guilt’s futility;
To take stock of our soul’s condition and
To release all unnecessary spoil?
Or rather, be comforted by our Maker’s redeeming love,
And release guilt’s siren.
 93° 
Chameleon
He told me he feels
comfortable singing
around me,
and that he never
really has with anyone
else before
 92° 
Vinn
Humanity is blessed by the arts.
Drama, painting, drawing, music, writing—
all at our disposal to escape life,
to force
everything to the
back
of our minds
and only focus on what our
eyes
and
ears
receive, even if only for a few
minutes.
 88° 
Zywa
Our love is over,

however, never forget --


that it has been real.
Play "A Severed Head" (1964, Iris Murdoch and John B. Priestley), based on the novel "A Severed Head" (1961, Iris Murdoch), 3rd act, 3rd scene

Collection "Unspoken"
 82° 
Nat Lipstadt
when does the poem end?


creation is never ending,
the earth is endlessly morphing

but you lean back and say
enough
not because the poem
is finished,
for it is never finished,
because an exhalation feels
satisfying, releasing

but the poem never ends,
nor does the need to

exhale

not with the final .


the next poem is

but a

continuation

of the previous poem;

a continuation

of you~poem,

inhaling

and

exhaling

& morphing.

Sat Jan 7
7:57am
Go into the arts. I'm not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something. ~Kurt Vonnegut
Our benefactors have us in their protective fold. We feel their
love and it isn't conducive/conductive to the magnetic
forces that establish petroleum's wholesale pricing.
 77° 
Man
I cannot tell you
The remedy to your emptiness,
But I can share with you
That of a treatment of mine.
It can be hearing of progress
On any front
In the forms of beautiful ideas
And new expressions,
The world of us humans.
Of newfound love
In many kinds of companionship
Whether by person or by animal,
Or even by plant.
Of new discovery
Which betters our understanding
About the fundamentals of the universe,
Like walking in the wild;
Cherishing all that is natural.

Being a humble observer
In the courts of law
Under honorable nature.

Just by being an animal.
What better manger is not a freer forest?
 59° 
butterfly
Manipulation, there's no prevention,
you know I keep coming back.
Keep pretending, you are helpless,
while you play with my heart.
My obsession is my profession,
I can't forget you, but I can lie.
It's all illusion, my confusion,
you are never gonna stop coming back.
 55° 
firstdraftfolder
not quite the beginning
but not the conclusive ending
there is no dramatic sadness
nor joyful champions

this is the hedges of the story
not included in the final manuscript
left out and scratched off
for this is neither interesting nor satisfying
morning coffee thoughts
 54° 
Ken Pepiton
Sculpted faces,
aging drama queens,

all the world's stages, this
is after those, these depths
of despair, where no pieces fit,

Kintsugi, fractured flash bulb scene,

an instamatic moment, a Kodak memory.
Hollywood Blvd... just a photomatic meme function we can use... while imagining converting vhs to mp4, before it's more plastic in the sea.
 51° 
Hanney
A sunny disposition
Forgotten sadness
Swept under the rug
Exchanged for hatred
Towards myself, towards others
But don’t let it show
Life’s all sunny
When you don’t want to know
As they said “Ignorance is bliss”
 49° 
Sally A Bayan
Unspoken Narratives

<  >..........<  >..........<  >

A late glum afternoon takes place;
two stilled shadows occupy space,
seated on warmth-less corners,
sipping cold, stale coffee...it alters
not, a pricking, awkward quietness,
both alternate, share flitting glances.

Timid, uncertain thoughts
enslave, and sway to and fro,
none wants to be uttered
they block the throats,
trapped...nowhere to go.
into lumps, they've turned.

Two restless shadows inhale
and take time to exhale
unspoken narratives are set free,
all spewed in one long, deep sigh.
a love that's gone awry,
meanders...and takes flight,
suddenly, their verses they can't write
why can't they do things right?
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They're couplets, no longer spliced
::::::::::::::::::::
no cadence left, just estranged rhymes
hesitating...dangling on in their minds.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A soured silence lingers,
bearing a scene in faded watercolors
their spirits, so shaded with pallor.
:::::::::::::
:::::::::::

              

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 11, 2019
(^o^ a silly love poem ^o^)
 46° 
Liana
Let's just say
I opened my heart
I would smell the anxiety
Fear
Love
Pain

But I wonder
If anyone else would
But I think not
Because when it was closed
No one cared
Or wondered what's really going on in there

So now what now?
It just gets hurt more easily?
I don't need any more of that

I stitch it back up
Now the air smells of nothing important
Fake smiles
"I'm okay"'s
Covered up opinions
Feelings
Screams

I guess it's better that way
(this note was written by an old record player missing a record. It sobs sounds of nothingness all days.)
 45° 
Yonah Jeong
December
Heavy Boulder
Frozen Ground
Wandering the Barley Fields

Tearless and then
When Spring comes
New Barley
Rises powerfully.
 45° 
John Bartholomew
If I say some words, they're normally never remembered
I love you just loses tone, except the ones that always offend you
It's been years since that one night out, yet some things always trigger
If its the smallest of things, you'll always say, to make it so much bigger
Yet time rolls on, and we never bless, these times we have together
Spending money on the here and now, just put it on the never never
But who was to know I'd be gone for good, just living in ignorant bliss
As we said goodbye, not knowing such fate, with that one, last final kiss

JJB
 43° 
silent echo
If love makes the world goes round,
why does hate have the most hits online?
 43° 
Donall Dempsey
THE BERLIN RAIN

the past was busy
inventing the future
making it up as it went along

I was left out
in the rain
my mind rusting

my time
in the 20th century
was coming to an end

dawn saw
the 21st century
dragged in by the hair

and screaming
at the top of its voice
"I don't want to be here!"

"Ok ok!" I yelled
at the newest of centuries
"We better get on with it!"

"No time..."
like the present
it smirked

the Berlin rain
continued
to do its thing
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