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Steve Page Sep 2018
it's not so much a social force
it's not out to coerce
it's an embrace
and in the end
that's what it's all about
it's a focus on people
it's a focal point on community
a common unity of those entwined
common folk connected and over-lapped
those over-wrapped by common loves
securely bound by common ties
occupying common ground
filling common space
with a wrap-around embrace
that lasts a tight hold longer
that ignores odd body odour
an embrace that lasts
a whole lot together
-  It's what we have
in common
Not sure about the structure of this one.  I compose on a phone screen a lot (rather than on paper or desktop), which leans me toward shorter lines and this has shorter lines than most of my wittering. Anyhow, I may try it again once I get to a desktop.  
#2 Now edited with slightly longer lines and a little reworking, but not much.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
<>
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“

<•>

both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there

GET THERE

get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace


the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest
successive

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
and
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better



for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been
bettered





8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
Whittney May 2018
Fighting on the front lines
With red pens
For creativity,
For independent thought,
For common sense
Not Common Core

This is a battle in a bureaucratic war we’re losing
Keep pushing and shoving against an impenetrable wall
But we’re only foot soldiers, not actually giving orders

Kids look down on us and they ask,
“Will this be on the test?”
And say,
“Get out of my face.”

Taught by parent(s) to resist.
These are Kids who fail to create
But recite, recall, and retaliate

“Mistake” has become a forbidden word.

School is no longer a safe haven
Testing, testing, 1-2-3 hundred murdered students, teachers

Hanging by a thread and losing the grip a little more every day

Following the curriculum map to X marks the standardized test.

We dig and
                  Dig and
                                 Dig
For the buried treasure trove of teaching magic. The legitimacy and respect our careers deserve. The money, the time, the love, the support.

But it’s buried under so much testing and red tape, and so    

We fail.
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Yes, it's seemingly a nonsensical rhetorical question, but, for that precise reason, it will illustrate a lesson, if you so desire to tag along for this short session.

Per Wikipedia, "The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. It is an odd-toed ungulate mammal belonging to the taxonomic family Equidae." Hmmm... I much prefer that the horse goes "Nay," eats hay, has a mane, and is ridden by cowboys, cowgirls, Indians, equestrians, knights, jockeys, conquistadors, Mongols, and all. Even better, just point a horse out or otherwise show a picture to a kid and they will never be mistaken again. Even the littlest ones will never be stumped when faced with a rhino, tiger, giraffe, camel, and such.

Admittedly, there is a worry that we could be fooled with that of a donkey or mule. How come no one has taken advantage of this?! What a scam to get us rich! "Duh doy," you say, cause we all know when we see a horse, so why would anyone try to trick us with an ***?! Well I ask you in turn, why does anyone try to trick us with good art versus bad, let alone art versus crap? How could anyone fall for that?!
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
The chime of common things
Keeps time with chords of wind
Calls me a soft note
In the music of the spheres
With due respect
Let's resonate
The sympathetic wave

We're not blind
We all are mirage
Somehow
We are different
Yet
We are the same
In response to
An exquisite pain
Genre: Observational
Theme: Sympathy || Air Craft Accident, Feb 27, 2019 Nepal. RIP to all departed souls
Call me wise
Because I say
Common sense
Is not common.

Is it not folly
To think common sense
Is common?

Ellipsis filling the void
In season of folly
Who can understand?

Tell the world
Common sense
Is not common!

Come on
Common sense
Is not common!
Everyone is thinking it
You are the only one who
Don't see
Nobody else will tell you
Nobody else, but me
Here you sit
So whiny
Insulted as you can be
All I can say is
You're welcome
For my obvious honesty
s Dec 2017
when you ask me if I'm bored
of listening to your story,
I ponder what boredom means to me
and why I'm grateful for mundanity.

you colour my life
in every tone of grey -
in a nourishing, poetic,
underrated way.
grey - the soul
of every colour in the world -
invisible and aligned
like all things well designed.

or maybe because grey
feels like routine,
and you’re the everyday
that's to come
and that has been.

you're where I set my bar for normal;
you're my Sunday night pyjama informal.

You’re my common sense,
my reality check,
my perspective lens,
my goodnight peck;
and even your grim phone voice
& plotless stories on sleepless nights
are part of the palette 
I've come to adore,
painting magic
in monochrome.
Wild morning glory
Ties the world in knots
Pigweed or Aramanth
Appears in late Spring.

A ****, simply
a plant,
A long term survivor
A carrier of germination.
Dandelion and Burdock.
Marshmallow and nettle,
Purslane, clover and Mellow.
Eating weeds,why not!

Love Mary ***
Dandelion, ground elder,
Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
Acknowledge that we are each our own common denominator!
The sum of all our parts, brought to account !




The book stops with us!
Blame & passing the book!
Sameer Denzi Nov 2018
Some bow down in prayer frequently
But all they get is tired
Some indulge in fasting punctually
But all they get is hungry
Some go on a pilgrimage repeatedly
But all they get are selfies
Some donate generously to charity
But all they get is vanity
Some read the scriptures literally
And all they get are 'dos' and 'don'ts'
Juhlhaus Jan 23
A sidewalk canvas
Half done slush
An oil slick
Twice frozen ice
And boots that slip
A train just missed
The red eyes glare
Rain that floats
In sour air
Brutalized concrete
Bleeding rust
Filthy floors
And alley walls
Spent cigarettes
In every nook
Steel that shrieks
In cold protest
Blue lights
And a defiant poet
On every corner
An inventory of materials.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Common rural folk,
the kind who fight for food and shelter and
when they have it
they keep it, store it in holes and barns.
Children dole the corn to fowl
and bovines who gladly eat and give

sustenance, enough to share or save for
when the worst that can haps

Uncles hire warriors to keep watch,
or the no-class at all trash take
all they have inherited and
eat it and burn the hides,

old men beat empty baskets, soft
beat them, soft around the fire,
old women shuffle, shhh see
the ash mixt wit' dust rise on dust devils,
swirl swish dance sing soft hear
hear us
shhh sing soft some rain come soon

Peace in the valley, come see,
soft dance.
Ah, you see, I was thinking about the order of things and found there was a category created for men of my sort. I sorta knew it, all along.
Charlie Black May 2018
Despite the screaming in my head,
The tears in my eyes
"I'm fine..."
Is what I said
"I'll be there in a few minutes..."
Then I put down the phone
And ran into the street
My suicide
"An accident" they'll say
The perfect plan.

The average person lies four times a day,
The most common lie is
"I'm fine"

I nvisible
'
M arred
F ucked
I nsecure
N uerotic
E mpty
Let’s dig deep into that topic no one wants to speak of.
At the end of this discussion let’s see who will show me love.
Here comes the blacks, the hoodlums, and the thugs.
The scums of this earth the rodents, and the bugs.
Always on the street corner selling them drugs.
They look at me like I’m a criminal lower than the minimum.
Keeping me stuck in my ways for days to years.
I go to work and come home look at my wage with tears.
There’s no way i’m getting out of here.
I’m not going to fall, I stand tall and never fear.
Even in my darkest days i’m never scared.
So, let them stare, I’ll shrug my shoulders like I don’t care.
I can face any battles I’m well prepared.
But why must I explain myself!
I am a citizen, with a good behavior, and well disciplined.
I went school and graduated, education is my insulin.
Things happen in life back when I had a mission then.
Now, I’m just one out of many men.
Who gets abused, misused, by my own American rules.
Where is this freedom? Let Me Be!
Like there’s no one else left but me.
We are the same, the skin is where you don’t agree.
My complexion is the only way you notice me.
So I don’t need a name, your target is aimed.
The feeling is mutual but it wasn’t always the same.
Mary Gay Kearns Jan 2018
WIMBLEDON COMMON

Wimbledon common
Was always the place to go,
Catching the train from Streatham
The family all aglow,
Sandwiches in a paper bag
Thermos in a sack,
Plastic sandels and tennis racket
Not forgetting the cricket bat.

Everyone was skippy
The sun high in the sky,
Dad had his umbrella
But the rain was shy,
Jumping from the platform
Down a row of steps,
Brother took a tumble
And that was that.

Plasters in a pocket
All was mended soon,
Finally recovered
Felt over the moon,
Reached the grassy stretches
Whoops mind the dogs,
Come away from the lovers
They're out for a jog.

Find a shiny tree trunk
Horizontal on the ground,
Four happy people
Tuck in to raspberry jam,
Now for the thermos
Plastic cups ahead,
Here come the wasps
To eat our jam and bread.

Later penguin biscuits
And a trip behind the bin,
Dad puts out the wickets
Let's see who wins,
After a quiet session
Brother looses his cool,
Slings the bat skyward
You should see it go,
Mother looked upwards
Covering her head,
Just managed to miss it
Landing on the hedge.

I went off walking
To gather pretty flowers,
Dad hid under the paper
We had a quiet hour,
Clouds gathering slowly
The sun going down,
What a lovely day in the country
We're now homeward bound.

In memory and gratitude to my lovely mum and dad
Grace and Eric Ayton- Robinson who always did their best.
Love Mary **
I came upon a dandelion  
An ordinary, common ****.
Most people don't look twice
Unless it infected their gardens.
Then it is uprooted, stem and head.
Thrown away and then forgotten.

But that **** meant something different to me

It was sunshine and laughter
Bouquets made of thistle and lavender
Bunched together and given to my mother
It was rolled up jeans
That perfect summer breeze
Cuts and bruises on my knees

It was my childhood

Memories that I can't quite grasp
But what I can remember is the bright yellow,
Stark against the grass
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