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Daniel Ruiz Aug 9
I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes  eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word  uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to kill the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.

Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.

America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.

M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
feel the wind whistle
down the tenebrous sky
come to carry away
my silenced heart

hold dear the love
you see through
    my dried  tears —
before  the  glint
doth  fade

lay me down alone,
my dearest friend,
eyes  to  the  sky
   neath the lone oak tree —
atop the meadow hill

where a lonely child
climbed gnarled rungs
in hope to sail away
on fleeting cotton clouds;
dreaming of a place
in the distant sky
to  call  home


Jesse Stillwater ... September 21, 2018
Thanks for reading — Jesse
They say I am,

"Irish?"

Then they call me Dan.

Who called upon your shores and...
said 'such-a-thing' as boorish?


CALL ME DAN

infinity
infinity
infinity


rear your

       * ugly head... *
'Dan,' means 'Hero' in ancient tongue.
it was almost desperate,
how bad i wanted to hear from you tonight –
but one message was all it took,
for me to remember the good,
and how we used to be:

you called me beautiful again,
like you did in the beginning;
my heart is light,
my mind is clear,
and i am at peace.

l.a.c
Nassif Younes May 2016
I wear my knitwear
Because wearing my knitwear is peaceful.

Because when they see me over there
Wearing my knitwear
They don't feel scared
They only think I'm peaceful.

They notice my awkward stare
And think
"There's no need for me to be scared
Because he's wearing knitwear
And wearing knitwear is peaceful."

So they say hello
And start a conversation
Free of care
As I think about stripping their skin
And knitting it there -
With all the others -
Into my knitwear.
imai Jun 8
she tells me
she’s in love,
all the time.

all with different guys,
all with different lies,
all the while,
the same shine in her eyes.

she says she’s in love,
and her love is kind—
though it is anything but.
i’ve seen the havoc it leaves behind.

she calls it love,
because she would
lose herself
if he left—
she could care less
for her kids
that would weep,
no,

their tears,
they could keep.

they were mistakes
she shouldn’t have made.
those children aren’t love
but the price she has paid.

my mother tells me she’s in love
one too many times.

i’d love to see her eyes
shine the same way
when she tells me,
she loves me.
the kind of love
a mother
provides.
a challenge by YanF
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