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ryn Oct 2014
Collab, collab! Oh thoughtful collabs!
Amalgamation of two unique minds,
Merging of dual thinking labs!
Cerebral workshop of life's diverse grinds!

Collab, collab! Reinforced true!
Melding of minds and honed crafts,
Mounted up with bolt and *****!
Assembled solid in monochromed poetic drafts.

Collab, collab! A trend that's trending!
A fad that now seems ever growing...
Each other's style we will be wearing.
Matching ensembles, yours for the liking.

Collab, collab! More of it please!
Ocean of creativity, pearls ripe for picking,
Journey for two across artistic seas.
Wonder who with next I'll be swimming...
Tribute to all collab attempts!
Keep it up people!!! :)
September Roses May 2018
We are tied together by our stories, our history
Tales woven through our ancestry, when our parents talk of their younger days,
When their life was ahead of them,
the future was anything and everything,
they speak of their old friends with ache in their soul,
Of times when their hearts were filled with fire and passion,
running through fields growing memories  planted by the world around them
When they could sprint the wind in their hair,
adventure ahead,
hope in their heart.
They speak of the days behind with woe
Because essentially just their ideas of the future as a young mind, were more enticing than reality.
As dreams failed and hope faded
As their minds wear
and their treasured stories that made them who they are fog over
As threads begin to wear
As tales they once yelled to the world with pride fray at the ends
Your whole world slipping away as the thread unwinds
But they get the joy of passing down the tapestry to their pride and joy,
to the life they made,
Every moment we live with ease of no appreciation for every experience every laugh
Moments we take for granted
Moments we will pine for when they run out
Moments the elderly urge us with fire to cherish
Moments we'll wish we listened about
There is a vast tapestry of memories behind you and infinite thread panning out in front of you, connecting to other tapestries,
visiting at friends,
at enemies,
joining with soul-mates future.
Some cut away,
some ripped from the tapestries too soon before they could weave their own.
A loose thread cannot be fixed once more are made,
and the patterns will never be what you want them to be, savour each stitch
Take time on every thread
You don't want to be sitting there 50 years old thinking about the life you wasted
About the memories faded,
About how every slipping memory's never like the moment you made it.
Don't be sitting 90 filled with regret
Filled with hatred for every opportunity you left
Screaming into the void about how much you hate what your life become.
because they say time flys when your having fun truth is time only flies when you're young.
Diana Jan 6
I crave to leave
Lingering kisses on
Every.
Single.
Birthmark.
On your body
On those that are
And aren't
Easily seen
King Panda May 2016
the river is
drinking it
sequins
blankets
the river runs past
hobos
unidentified
water fowl
two trolls
taking shelter under
the bridge
there’s conversation
in another language
fiendish brains connecting
fiendish yet
beautiful
thunder
tampons
a turtle
a naked boy
on the patio
rain
definitely
rain
unmatched
and the steam
coming from the
bridge
once there was a troll
on my face
and I swatted it
with a broom
but it came back
it came back
with you

laughter pounds
with the rain
laughter that wears
emotion like
skin
soft
elastic
still pink
bouncing
on the river’s surface
breaking
absorbed
sustenance for
the trolls
like fiends with faces
like minds with names
these two connect
with spark
and the rain
falls
the stillness under
nature’s
machinery
David Adamson Jul 2015
(Villanelle)


It takes patience to wait for the perfect light.
Glance away and the image can disappear.
And sometimes the background isn’t quite right.

The moment missed is like a face out of sight
That against all logic we hope will appear
From around a corner, bathed in perfect light.

Or a pause in the music on a moonlit night
When hesitating lips touch, and love leans near,
But voices whisper that something’s not right.

Technology offers consolation in its sleight
Of hand:  Digitally correct the analog here
And now
, counterfeit the perfect light.

Yet we want more than the mastered byte.
We want the flash between the waiting and the souvenir,
The instant when self and spectacle fuse, reality felt right.

And so we hold on to what’s passing out of sight,
The collision between soon and too late, the sheer
Thread connecting to the perfect light
In which the background is precisely right.
Emily S Jul 2016
I have a hard time
linking words to emotions
and emotions to actions
and all this to meaning.

I'll slowly build up
my library of feeling.
But I wonder exactly
what I was missing.

When I scrutinized us,
I did so without seeing.
I thought I knew all.
I saw my own meaning.

Life doesn't have meaning;
what it does have is people.
Now I say what I mean,
and I listen to feeling.

I've struggled with friends,
with parents, and with brothers.
I knew motivations
without knowing them.

Now I start to see people.
We're closer together.
Done connecting the dots,
we connect to each other.
Umi Jan 2018
Making love isn't just about having ***
Its also nice to see how it effects (the relationship)
Its connecting two peoples souls, through the depeest of touch
When there's no stronger way to express your love with ****** intimacy and such
Sharing everything without a speck of bother
Making each other happy and pleasing each other
It can be nice and slow, tender, romantic and surely sweet
To be as close as humanly possible is such a nice treat
When lust burns to love which deepens through this
The soul does experience undescribable bliss
Please do love me until the night is over, come here, give me a kiss
Lets make love my dear,
On this first day of the year
I love you

~ Umi
Robin Lemmen Oct 2018
I wonder if you ever reach out
Hoping to find the curve of my body
Connecting with yours at 4 in the morning
You are stronger than you know
But acting weaker than you should
I wonder if you ever get lost in reverie
Looking for my love at twilight when the rest of the world
Is soundly sleeping off the day left behind
You move through time without letting it latch on
I wonder if you ever miss my name, on the tip of your tongue
Think and long for those five letters to form a song
But you would not listen to it even if it were to be sung
I wonder if you ever miss my heavy thinking
And how I would share those mesmerizing nightmares
Those midnight tendrils with you
I wonder I wonder, I wonder
Oh how I wish to come home
Katie Apr 19
After all the things
He spent with me… I was
Never a note — a flower — only
A brief connecting flight.
I am not the type
Clinging to security — yet —
What once were fingers
On delicate hand, are
Crooked — Clawing.
Howbeit his snake coiled,
Relents its wring. And slow release…
Relieves my grief.
Michael A Dec 2014
Palms
Supple, calloused
Wandering, connecting, belonging
Two hearts, one pulse
Transmitting
Tim Mansour Jun 2018
Taking control, he looked at himself in the mirror,  
his eyes tracing the lines and hairs and circles.

He sat and gazed out the window for a time, noticed the street signs and the birds.

He listened to the noises coming past the open door
He stood and walked through the day until he sat, on a bus,  
or next to a tree, or beside a homeless woman.  
He chose not to act or speak but simply to be.

He found a quiet place to wonder  
how the tips of his fingers could move a pencil with such minute rhythm  
above a line of awareness, connecting him to everyone  
who ever read  
or died.

He travelled in and out of consciousness, to the stars and back,  
and all his journeys made experiences,  
but his awareness made wisdom.

He thought of love, and this thought became  
his breath, and the sky,  
and the day ahead was a clean sheet to write upon,  
to be continued,  
to start for the first time.
Smoke Scribe Sep 2017
Dear Mr. Carl Sandburg,

Once, you wrote:

"The lucid and endless wrinkles"
Draw in, lapse and withdraw.
Wavelets crumble and white spent bubbles
Wash on the floor of the beach."


Having observed often. the exact phenomenon you reference
in the words above, the undulating action upon a sand white beach, patient waiting the greetings of the all-day wavelets, which reminded you which reminded me of the lucid and endless wrinkles sea worn upon our faces, it is my happy duty incumbent to inform your spirit, that we have yet in this the 21st century, to invent, a machine that does it better than you man, hu-man, connecting our aged faces to the timeless stroking of the Earth by the water that sustains life.

Yours truly,

Mr. Smoke Scribe
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