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Nat Lipstadt May 18
~for better days for the poet betterdays~

mournful tunes play silently, but still too often,
eyes wet but in corners kept, recurring then the
memories, keepsakes, letters, books, small trinkets,
not dusty, but dusky, resting on in-between ledge of a
mountain-sized twilight of well lit shadowy haziness,
edgy dark brilliance, a comprehensible contrast non-comprehendible

tunes that bless with equal measures of grief,
comforting, by memorable card flashes of good relief,
a dividing line, hazy and frequented crossed, a sort of path,
with no destination signaled, as if the path itself was an end,
to a meaning, a solution, with no clarity divined, a division
of sight and insight, providing an ill fitting reconciliation

mourning is electric, morning is electric,
letters, words bottled up in evaporating perfume bottles,
seeking the comfort of dissipation unto a larger atmosphere,
the scent in everything tangible, stronger still yet, in intangibles
that can erode but never ever fail to return instantly when voked,
by vision, odor, a particular child’s smile, line in a poem volunteered

recovered, uncovered, a post first writ to be written, discovered,
when time and place coincidentally breathe together, at last,
beckoning you to places where memory serves only as a pleasuring,
upright mind marker, decorated in chains perpetual reforging,
absent pain, gleaming dreamings full-replacing longings for pasts,
new verses composed, passing, a grand addition to a child’s legacy
loss can only be tempered, reforged, and ultimately used for our  own betterment when the heart commands, now write!
TheRhymeRenegade Jul 2018
You're the thorn in my side
The smoke in my eye
You clipped both my wings
To be sure I won't fly
I hope it makes you happy
I truthfully do
To pick on those that are smaller than you

I'll be okay I'll be alright
I hope when you self reflect
You see that look in my eyes
When you kicked sand in my face
And pressed my head in the dirt
Alone in that sad empty place
How's it feel to hurt?

They say it comes back to you
They say its in 3's
If thats true
I'll be the queen
And you'll be begging on your knees
What's that? I can't hear you
Because you never heard me

The echo chamber of what we were supposed to be
So ******* physically
Now I'm the one who's cold cruel and callous
Because I rose from the ashes of what I once was
And I did it without using others. Not once.
Akira Chinen Sep 2018
A blood red sunset drips over
the black asphalt city skyline
somewhere in a lost part of America

where the dream has
long been dead and buried
and hate and fear rule
the rural streets that are protected
by peace keepers
that practice ******
more often than upholding the law

It has been declared open season
on any crow the color
of a starless night sky
and the dove has become
a symbol of
to protect and serve
their own kind
birds of a feather
that cover for one another

justice is blinded
by the snow covered truth
and the color of corruption
is coincidentally the same
as the color of money

the poor have little choice
but to trade their bones
and their hopes
to the corporations
of the new land
of the free
to be owned by
and controlled by
a minimum wage
that only guarantees
to keep the poor
poor enough
  to work another day
    and another day
      and another day

until there bones are
nothing but powder
and their beds
are nothing but coffins
for the barely living

and life somewhere
in a lost part of America
at the end of everyday
the sky turns red
and the color of blood
runs through the streets
as the doves go along
with their business
of the murdering of crows
Camilla Peeters Dec 2018
everything pink forever please
put your hat on it will make no
difference in me that is now
unsigned of long fingernails and
curly shawl driving through the axis
of your eyes in a sixties suburbia

in me that is now uncoloured curly
smile i twist my thoughts in
paraphernalia that they might fit a
life fathomable by authority i sit
knee deep between surfacing
sheets i want erasure posture
means darkness my spleen
disagrees each morning
body-thoughts and you-suit

i sat on the edge of a rectangular
ear my feet the teeth to bite white
nights to whisper how self-lies and
love hands me nothing but life and
a weak notion that nothing of more
than a bleak scarcity is coming
written on my skinny toes

how do i walk laterally
you raise your head and tail
coincidentally like a skunk is always
perhaps faded like you are always
howling for yourself pitiable
madman how the world is a tragedy
unlike thee how do i stop thinking i
am going to die
8/8 -a series loosely inspired by 'Tighten the Reins' by Puzzle (more parts to come)
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
A special lace-like card
        *        *        *
Three Star points
       *  *  *
Sword-like smile-Bored-Hike pile-
Western Union Man
Money flies like Superman

Spinning wheel fan too guard
Special words have no regard
He's the Adonis-like the
Lazarus lovely-like Venus
Those effects in motion
That special tip above her lips
Steady as they go but motionless
The stars walk across her
sky lifted dress

Heavenly Pillsbury flour
Her hair flower no water
Smile Lift even in debt
Messed her heart so red
White light disaster
Nothing on this earth
we got to lose no control
Here's the *Special Rose

Winter/Sunglow hair
The Flatiron

A spaceship cowardly lion
Your the "Wildcat"
Crazy Oats
Space waves of the neutron
The dream on
Your eyes are blind
A clear day special motif
setting inside your
Word heading leaf
He lifts up your
blinds all
righteous minds

Those special love hands
Nothing was ever
staged starlight and bright
  Never yellow

It blocked out
my *Godly
On the good earth leaf
Helen Keller had the
good remedy family
When you are deaf
A green touch of
brown leafs
What you smell and feel
What's truly there
special beliefs

Or at the most
Famous Cemetery,
You got blinded  so
gilded star
you don't
see them

One of a kind that's him
Or the encounters of the
third kind Winter/Sun
The darkness slim-man-run

The cactus desert of my heartlands

Jack of all Trader Joes investments
My E-book and I Phone
best T-bone steak
Spices of theVegetarian Kingdom
Curry in a hurry for Indian Food,
E-T Extra
Terrestrial Space high bill total

ABC Chemical love reaction
A special motif so personnel
"Divine District Attorney"

Taking spiritual love
what lies beneath us
Lotus Tea Panda Bears
Of Journeys
Pyramid or the myriad

A-Special Motif
comes to me
Two Gods surrender me
Something you feel but
it's unknown
Never left in the dark
like a treasure
Teeth chatter Gold caps
Almost happy coffee
almost dark

Too many famous labels
A special romance new leaf
Time change challenging
Winter sun/Wonder fun
Amarous open chorus
Special maid devious
A special Motif delicious
The honest lawyer
Special talent space
of braces
Subsequently or coincidentally

What was special
The board meetings like *Erasers
To erase all the special places
in my heart

Dark despair trail parted
Ending up with a trail
of mixed nuts
Cars such a pain with
Synthetic Oil ****** -like Oil

The conjuring or searing
Holding the leaf in spirit
special times remembering
Sapphire September October
Comfort foods November
The heartburn living
The Winter/Sun
Special motif holding onto
his one brilliant leaf in
Ancient Egyptian King of Tut

Yearning the solemn vows
The full moon is
turning a
new leaf
The painted picture leaf
special Motif

Love so committed
The time was omitted
Family poor or rich
Invitation *Winter Sun

Those who are in need
The beacon like a
poem of goodies mend

Heaven that feeling
called my own
Even things that
are special
became unknown
Not always about
being famous

Things that are simple
that's what remains
precious eat sleep Jeep
The fairy came sweet nectar deep
Was so kind humanly rare find
A special note with a motif
I will never forget what was our belief
A special God or Motif a spiritual beauty her leaf but even when you are deaf you can smell the beauty lingering everyone is  work of beauty just living
syncopation Jun 2018
My little guy is the best little guy
And I’ll tell you why

He gets things beyond his years
You wonder if he has an extra set of ears

Because he hears things I don’t even catch
And he can relay them to you
Yet he’s far from even being two

How does he do this you may ask
Without really language, it’s quite a task

But does it he does in subtle ways
A light hand gesture, a simple gaze
He uses words, one or two
If you’re still lost he’ll try to
Help you along the best ways he knows how
He can utter thoughts without having to say them all aloud

A few times we have tried to attest whether we
Are reading too far in, and whether it’s just me
Trying to decipher what cannot be
Whether everything is happening coincidentally

What we have found is that it is not
His conveyance is one with purpose with thought

I’ll give you an example when he was one and a half
He watched a movie about a dinosaur and a boy you’ll have quite a laugh

As did he,
Until it got to the point where the dinosaur brought the boy back to his family
The dinosaur couldn’t go with
Yet he urged the boy to
Nudged him close and drew a circle around who was who
The boy understood it was time to say goodbye
As did my boy as there were tears in his eyes
Which streamed down his face as he watched and he felt
And his daddy and I were so floored we knelt
Beside him not wanting to deter
The young paltable feelings that stirred
Deep within his young body and mind
A soul that seemed too ripe with time
Time that had not even elapsed
Somehow from somefar away transcended past

Love him love him love him I do
How does he know all this while not even two
I tried to get over you
But in a way, you wouldn't let me
I tried to avert those eyes I love
Yet you still had to look at me directly
I saw you as more than a friend
However, I still had to be friendly
I tried to let this friendship fade
Only life wouldn't allow it entirely
Those weird signs or connections
As if the universe likes to taunt me
How we coincidentally meet
In the oddest places unexpectedly
Now we are closer than before
You've seen the side
I desperately tried to hide
Now I can't hide it anymore
Today you comforted me
You hugged me out of consideration
I only felt your kindness through your touch
For once, without ill intentions
Maybe I'll get over you
Or you've settled in a special place in my heart
At least for now my heart is mending
And our friendship can finally restart
KSC Sep 11
I reached out to you because you came up in conversation,
Someone asked me, "Is there anyone from your past that you wish you could talk to?"
Coincidentally, I had wrote you a long letter earlier that week since you had been on my mind,
I planned to put in a glass bottle to throw out to sea as a desperate attempt to speak my peace,
I wanted to tell you what a **** I was,
About how much I wanted to see you,
About how I feel like I never stopped loving you,
I smiled and said your name,
It rolled off my tongue,
Out of my mouth,
Effortlessly without thought,
I reached out to my friends,
Wrote a craigslist missed connection,
Made a wish on every 11:11,
Then one day I got a text,
“Hey, This is   _ ,”
I was in a meeting,
In complete disbelief, I excused myself to do a victory lap to a soundproof room where I screamed,
“**** yes!”
I wanted to tell you so many things but I only told you the good things,
I didn’t tell you about the bad things that shaped me,
Those things that broke me, made me a sad pathetic shell of a human,
The truth is that with every tragedy I lost a piece of myself,
Parts of me drifted off into what seemed to be an abyss,
Until none of my spirit could cling on,
My feelings for you were so pure and since you were my first love,
I thought that maybe if I could just talk to you,
I could start the journey to find,
The damaged pieces of myself,
Put all those pieces back together to begin to make myself wholly again,
It worked,
You brought a lightning bolt of hope,
An excitement of something familiar but also new,
Without doing or saying anything,
It was like I knew I was on the right path,
I had to push you away though,
Not that you would ever want someone as broken as me,
But because I knew we were at different places in our lives,
I hope that you will always be an exciting mystery to me,
Like the Sierra Nevadas,
From its highest peaks,
To its base of igneous rocks,
In you, I see such depths,
I hope I always feel lost in your brown eyes,
You are my sip from the fountain of youth,
A drop of the purest feeling of bliss,
Pleasant nostalgia,
All embodied in a person,
The most handsome man in the world,
To me.
Jade Jan 11
Inspired by Judy Blume,  inside Jokes with Liz and the poetry of Alissa Grams (


it's me--

I must admit,
I've never read
Judy Blume
or the Bible,
for that matter
(I could never make it
past Genesis).

I am not well-versed
when it comes to scripture--
I am fluent in tragedy
and tragedy alone;
then again,
is there really any difference
between scripture and tragedy?

I was never one
to pay attention in church,
unless the hymns
were of a minor key,
the sermons imbued
with woe and melancholia.

as I write this,
it has only just occurred to me
that Lot's Wife
was never given a name
of her own--
it was destroyed with *****,
forgotten amongst the
flames and the ash.

you were wrong
to punish her
the way you did.

Have you never felt the
sting of salt
against an open wound?

Have you never watched
as all the familiar intimacies
you once knew
dissolved to cinder?

(I know you have).

Do you not see that,
if home is where the heart is,
then the heart
must surely perish with it?

has anyone ever broken your heart?

(I think you know heartbreak
as well as I do;
it is the very matter
of our existence).

So I guess my real question is
(and, no, this time, it is not rhetorical).

I'd like to know why
you would ever think
to hurt your people
the same way
the archangel hurt you.

You say I sin
against you,
but did you not
create me in your image?

(Like father,
like daughter,
I suppose).

I do not think
I believe in you.

At least,
I do not believe in you
like I believe in other things.

I do not
believe in you
the way I believe in
the beauty of
Van Gogh's sunflowers
(his starry nights, too);
or in dog-earing the pages
of my favourite books.

I do not believe in you
the way I believe in magic;
or in the integrity of
polaroids photographs
and listening to vinyl.

I do not believe in you
the way I believed in my love
during the final moments
before his betrayal;
or in the lingering sensation
of my past lives--
Mary Queen of Scots.
Frida Kahlo.
Sylvia Plath--
and now,
dare I feel it,
dare I say it--
Lot's Wife.

(With her,
I shall share a name).

I do not believe
you are my saviour
because I do not
believe in you
the way I believe
in Poetry.

it's me--
this poem is
my hallelujah,
but it does not
belong to you
(not anymore).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!


(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Micah Sep 2018
Puncturing hazel

One could argue that
a connection is made
when you look into the eyes
of strangers

Roiling blue

When you glance up
for your person
for the sake of thinking of something else
for the chance to see someone new

Shifting green

We find ourselves accidentally, coincidentally
looking into the eyes of someone unknown
like a child peaking between the curtains

Wavering brown

But somehow we go on
by the fact that we have taken
a fraction of time,
a second of our day,
a moment in space
and peered
into a person's eyes, of which have witnessed the life they live and the people they know, unknown to us
Only to avoid, never look into their eyes again

Stealing gray
Katie Miller May 14
Clumsy Love

It was clumsy the day they first met

A hot day in New York City, photography at a baseball game, purple hair, and overpriced lemonade. There was a 15 year-old girl and her friend, and there was a slight fangirl moment when meeting a 17 year old boy who was famous school-wide for his singing and acting. There was an exchange of names, a photograph, and a friendship.

It was clumsy the second day, too.

Persistently bought coffee from the little round shop with way too many sugar packets, a misguided museum employee, too much root beer, and pigeons that were startled by the boy yelling “44!”

The third day was no less clumsy.

There was a broadway show in Shubert Alley, an unknown desire, and a sleepless night for the boy, though the girl remained ignorant of his new-found crush. If only the girl knew that a year from now, a promposal would be reenacted, a first kiss would be given and taken, and “I love you” would be said. If only the boy knew that his “immature” desire would be replaced with love, and passion, and, well, her. If only they knew what would happen in the next 365 days.

It was clumsy that one night in the pool.

A sticky, humid heat in the air, string lights hung over head, four friends swimming in the girls pool, stars in the sky, and the boy, throwing the girl into the pool simply because he could. The girl loved him then, though she wouldn’t allow herself to think about it, so they remained as they were: friends.

It was clumsy that day in Hershey Park.

There were sharp turn on the Wild Mouse, a stranger met and then lost again, and the boy, who kept telling the girl of other boys who were staring at her. Maybe it was his secret way of telling her that he thinks she’s beautiful, but she never knew.

It was clumsy in the movie theater.

There was crab rangoon and smuggled sushi, an 11:00 movie about superheroes, and a returned wish to hold a girl’s hand, though the girl, somehow, remained oblivious still.

It was clumsy in September and November.

There was a girl with a broken heart, betrayal from the friends from New York, a different boy who was never meant to be, and the boy who was meant to be, listening to every word, watching every tear, and slowly, unknowingly, fixing her heart. Through three hourlong video calls, text messages, and abandoned lunch periods he loved her still, though he remained the friend that he knew she needed.

It was clumsy in December.

There was a realization of how much he meant to her, a lot of poems, a revelation of jealousy of the girl who was flirting with him, and a lot of tears. There was a still 15 year old girl and a now 18 year old boy, and she allowed herself to fall, in the clumsiest way possible, into him.

If was clumsy on Valentine's day.

There was a singing Valentine, as well as one with a bad pun, there was a comparison to a sister, there was a"Crazy Little Thing Called Love" and there was a hug. A question was asked that day "Does he like her?", But was disregarded with a shrug "He said she was like a sister, so I guess not". It stung her her heart just a little, but she accepted the hit that was unintentionally given. And clumsily, once again, she laughed and smiled, after all, he and to her.

If was clumsy at the cabaret Cafe.

There was some pie and ice cream, a song sung to her, though she only wished he meant it that way, a slippery cafeteria for and tights, a confession, and two questions. The confession being to him, that she was happy to know him, a question to her, does she like him, to which she lied "no", and when the question was returned, the boy avoided an answer when the girl returned a question.

It was clumsy the Monday afterwards.

It was clumsy when he wouldn't meet her eyes. She still can't explain how much that hurt her, it stabbed at her heart and caught in her throat. After all: her best friend didn't even want to look at her. Her heart was slippery and clumsy as it sunk towards her stomach. There were tears during first period, and a text after school from the girl who apologized for lying because she liked him after all, and was too afraid of rejection to tell him before, yet no confirmation came from him.

It was clumsy on March 3rd.

There were poems, missing heart beats, and grammar mistakes. There was relief and there was fear. There was nervousness for the next day, knees shaking, heart racing as she turned every corner, waiting to see his face.

It was clumsy on March 16th.

When she fell to the ground. There are six pink roses, a stuffed turtle named Cleopatra, and a PowerPoint slide with a pun. There was an expectation he had wished to live up to and there was success. She fell to the ground and feel into his arms and they both cried of happiness and shock.

It was clumsy on March 18th.

There were silent cellos, empty risers, a dark room and racing heartbeats. There were seven kisses before saying goodbye, they were her first. There were two definitions of perfect, coincidentally, there were also two names. There was a broken water bottle and a boy in a parking lot. There was a girl, now sixteen, and a boy, now eighteen, and they were talking in love in the dark.

It was clumsy on April 3rd.

There was a stairwell, a thought, a confession, and an "I love you" returned in the same breath of air held between them.

It was clumsy in the hammock.

There was an unbalanced swaying, a list of questions and answers, and a metaphor about falling.

It was clumsy at lunch.

There was an attempted hug, an accidental tackle, and a girl who tripped over her own feet.

It was clumsy yesterday, it is clumsy today, and it will be clumsy tomorrow.

There was New York City, coffee, Broadway in Shubert Alley, root beer, Hershey Park and movie theaters. There was a broken heart, video calls, realizations, poems, songs, and apple pie with ice cream. There were grammar mistakes, pink roses, turtles, teddy bears, silent cellos, risers, absent heartbeats, and stairwells. There was love unreturned from fear of rejection born from the roots of doubt. And then, there was love, and memories, and secrets. And they became them, and "us" was their new favorite word.
thrcy Jul 10
I still remember how I discovered you
It was a breezy & chilly day
It wasn’t too cold either
Just a perfect balance

There were things I was unsure of
The terrifying thought of the future
I’m scared of what the outcome would be

But when I was on the verge of a breakdown with all these thoughts
That was when I found your voice
It was one of those unexpected life changing moments

A voice that reminded me of hope.
A voice that spoke of new beginnings.
A voice that comforts me through the pain.
A voice that makes my heart flutter and giddy.
A voice that saved me.
A voice that said to keep going.

I remember a drunken night where my intoxicated mind kept bringing up someone from my past
All I heard from my head was “i hate him. i hate him so much.”
Funny how I don’t remember much of what happened that night except for when I was about to cry because of a ghost of my past was brought into my thoughts again

That’s when your song coincidentally played on shuffled
“Letting Go”
While listening to that song, my heart and mind for once finally agreed on something
It was one of those light bulb moments
A sudden realization
To let go.
To let it go for good.
To forgive them and forgive myself.

After the whole song played
My heart and mind were relief and at ease
For once in a long time I felt calm

Isn’t it ironic how I stumbled upon you during the autumn season where everything is dying
Yet finding your voice is what kept me going on that breezy and chilly autumn day.

— The End —