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Terry O'Leary Jul 2013
Fat midnight bats feast, gnawing gnats, and flit away serene
      while on the trails in distant dales the lonesome wolverine
            sate appetites as dawn alights and daytime's crystalline.

A migrant feeds on rotting seeds with fingers far from clean
      and thereby’s blessed with barren breast (the easier to wean) -
            her baby ***** an arid flux and fades away unseen.
laura Nov 2018
daytime
All these boys do is meet
behind the shed, 4:20 alert
dagger of the day climbing rocks
and making bets on their teams
pressing feet on gold coins
dropped from birch trees
and well trodden hills
Idiocy comes in many forms—

I join em and ignore the world
the cries replaying hundreds of time
during the daytime, night time,
onward.
island poet May 2018
“Moby ****,”  Herman Melville

<•>

~for the lost at sea~

after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining

the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls

sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality

I’m called to depart my beach shoreline  unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming

god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion,  nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties

my in-camera brain  eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles

walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?

puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others

perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered

Memorial Day 2018
Godawan Jan 23
Come in summer
Taste "Rabri"sweet n sour
Enjoy daytime sleeps for sure
Lunch with green sangri,
fofliya and rayata cups
with amazing bajra cakes
Dinner with dish of
" Moth-Bajra kheech"
with a lot of cheese
See how "Rohida" flowers rocks
amidst hot air strokes
Come in rain
Sketch on beautiful brown sand
by your fingers using as pen
engrave your foot prints for fun
and smell heart touching scent
of this warriors mother-land
Eat" gurrhvani churma" with
Ker-sangri, fofliya taste of
this  wonderland
And see camel ploughing fields
Walking in their full speeds
Come in shishir
Taste Matira, Kakar
And ber seasonal fruits
Chew roasted bajra grains
for checking teeth roots
Come in winter
Eat buffalo milk curd full of bowls
Taste "Kachar - Fali "veggies
Dal- Baati- Churma sweet dishes
Have  fair n festival funfares
and traditional marriages cheers
wearing colouful wears
singing folk songs
n lots of chances
of rocking in ghumar dances
Come in spring
Rock and roll in" Holi"fest airs
and visit  lovely" Gangour" fairs
Eat " kheer-dhokla "layers
Visit black buck sanctuary
to see animal cares.
Ray Ross Jun 2018
I'd love you in the nighttime,
But you stay too far away.
I'd love you in the daytime,
But it's all harder to say.
Come climb into bed with me,
We can dance the night away.
Through your window, morning at three,
I'll climb in and kiss you someday.
Bring to my sleeping prince, some way,
All the words I had meant to say.
Balkus May 2018
It's 3 a.m.
and I can't sleep.
Much louder than in a daytime
at night willows weep.
londin Feb 2014
I like your body in the daytime
silhouette at my door
I like your body at night time memorizing it's anatomy on my floor.
I like your body in the morning, holding my hips as I gaze down at your face.
I like your body
any hour
any day.
I'll fall in like with your body while you make more than my breath race.
I'll be in love with your body while mine lay sore.
You only like my body when asking for more.
Tori Dec 2017
"I am enough"
She said to the mirror,
Dull eyes gazing back
Her reflection recreating regal
expressions
That coming so naturally before, now were cracked

"I am beautiful"
She said, with silver tears
Brimming in her eyes
In the daytime she was Clepatra
Aching for affirmation, filled with ***** lies

Standing in her own presence
No lines so sweetly versed
No role to be rehearsed
Fists clenched, lips tightly pursed
Oh beautiful tragedy! you lost your identity...
the ache is stayed with the plunge of a blade
breaching  the chasm which once held your heart
CloudedVisions Jul 2018
There was a Panda in his room
Ready to fall asleep
He wrapped himself up
Hugged his bed
As he counted all his sheep

The sheep jumped by one by one
As he watched the setting sun
The moon would rise
Stars shine bright
As the nighttime had begun

He rests his head on his pillow
He lays there all alone
In the warmth of night he falls asleep
As he pays his daytime loan

His mind goes dim, as his dreams awake
And he's in a pitch black room
When in front of him a bubble forms
One the size of his head
Past him it begins to zoom

The Panda half walks half crawls to where the bubble lay
Afloat in the air
Suspended above
He raises his voice to speak for it to come
But when his mouth opens, he doesn't know what to say

The bubble sits there laying in wait
Waiting for him to reach
So the Panda puts up his outstreched arm
Reaching for what he thinks would give him great joy
But what he finds is alarm

As he reaches and touches the bubble
The bubble begins to shake
It waivers and pops and rains down debris
And yet he doesn't wake

The Panda looks down
With tear stained eye
He sees the puddle below
And to the bubble he waves good bye

In this puddle left by the bubble
He sees his reflection glow
He sees his face, his tear stained eye
He wants to be set free
But for this little Panda, waking up is slow
this poem is a reflection of me and how I feel.
King Panda Mar 2018
girl smudged with
full-zinc expression
and paper feathers—
I wonder what
you think about

your gaze
bathes hot in mind’s basin
as a pink rose skips
the wind across
your clothed table

the trees laurelled above—
so indistinct and stamped
with war-zone bleakness

so painful, your expression
as you take your cup and sip
the daytime-soothe

I look at you one last time—
squint my eyes
and put my thumb over your tiny face
to mark you as my own
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