"Pavlov shakes his head in sadness,"
auhsoJHaynes 

The form in which we live our lives

Breeds in the midst of demon hives.

For dogs do bark in senseless fright

At shadows lurking in the night,

And souls shiver at that unseen;

Cathartic reasons not to dream.

Voices whisper ideas, faux truths,

That knowledge has no valid use.

And when we hear, we do obey

The voice that blocks the light of day.

Lamplight dances against cave walls

And childlike wonder slowly falls.

Pavlov shakes his head in sadness,

For we, indeed, are his madness.

And Plato weeps within his cage

For all his truths leave him in rage.

Is all that we can ever see

Vague words that tell us not to be?

"I ever lifted my head,"
Angela Moreno 

This morning before
I ever lifted my head,
I turned to see
Your half of the bed.
And what a harsh reminder
Of how I'm growing old
With your side of the bed
Still unbearably cold.
Your sheets are not tossed,
Your pillow unpressed--
All lovely reminders
Of my current distress.
Was it not merely a month ago
That I was curled against your skin?
We were perfect puzzle pieces,
Your shoulder to my chin.
All day long
We would curl up and sleep
With nothing like time
And business to keep.
But what a terrible disease
Lurked inside my mind.
I never thought I could be
So selfish and unkind.
If only I had known
I was capable of such sin
I never would have let
Our cursed romance begin.
I could promise to never
Let it happen again.
I could take my pills
Like I refused to then.
I could be so much better,
My darling, please see.
If only, if only
You'd come back to me.

"a head laid perfect on his shoulder"
Katie Jacobs 

biting ears, breathing in secrets
right on this brown, slept on couch
kissing faces, wet, wet cheeks
a head laid perfect on his shoulder
her legs across him,
sweatpants and warm cozy socks
lounging across tattered, blue jeans
head on head
hair on hair
hand on hip
warmth and comfort
i can feel them exhaling
in synchronicity
i am envious

"I didn't turn my head one bit,"
Melody W 

August arrived too early this year,
eager eyes and straight pleats
tethered to the sleepy confusion
of a disrupted midday siesta

It was the end of cherry season
yet they kept bursting forth,
firm to the touch and cool,
unyielding - not unlike you

When distant bells were heard,
I didn't turn my head one bit,
tangled, so entranced was I
by the thickets of sweet fruit

A waning year upon us again,
the moon chided me softly
as I turned my face away,
ashamed at my reflection

©MW
"I wonder if it in my head is as good as it is written down."
April Watson 

I read so much poetry i've started to think in rhymes,
then I start to wonder if i'm good enough to write a few lines.

Always thinking in words that'll get me some kind of verse.
Something that sounds not too predictable and hopefully not rehearsed.

I wonder if it in my head is as good as it is written down.
And if out loud it doesn't sound too profound.

I want to create something that has a hook.
Something that makes you take a second look.

It'll be simple but deep from the heart.
Some one will read it and say "that's fine art".

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