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Knit Personality Mar 2016
I pay respects to Mrs. Claus,
    Samaritan extraordinaire,
The modest queen of Christmastide
    And the north wind and arctic air.

Her role she never boasts, and yet,
    The muse and glory of her spouse,
The great goodwill that Santa shares
    Begins in her and in her house.

She never boasts the good she does,
    And very few have known truth
That children all across the world
    Prepare for her each new lost tooth.

For Mrs. Claus, she wears two hats;
    And when those kids with little paws
Count up their coins, they know she came—
    The "Tooth Fairy", or Mrs. Claus.

* .
How Sweetingly Rare to see this Advise,
The Westfold Bard who shares this Ancient Art
But Performed it Better to his Concise
And took Definition for his Good Part
I just knew you now. So what of belate
As Mentored Dolphins with Water's Tie befriend
I found this Artist; This Cornerstone Great
And Hope your Elder's Tongue will never end
You, Sir, confirmed my Efforts; This I Bow
And hand you the Medal I sought to seek
I am no Patron; Neither plan so now
Only the Purest Abe in Honest meek.
Now please Sing on, and Live to Peak Content
I write my Sighs; But these Praises I meant.
#hellopoetry
Marília Galvão Mar 2015
Now I ask you to join me
Now you celebrate
Not being me. Not being you
Only Us for the great

UN
load!
DIS
arm!

EN
large!
OUT
side!

Some steps I will take
Be my guest
Pull your anchor
Out of the lake



We're
In the room
In the building
In the crowded city
In the country with thousands of cities
The country shares the continent with an enemy nation
The two rivals are carried round and round by the Earth's endless rotation
The Earth obeys the master’s magnetic line, burning since uncountable clock time
The sun is blind to his insignificance too, ignoring billions of other star mates, it can’t see through
Immeasurable it seems, magnifying! All of them such tiny little parts in one of Miss Milky’s arms
Some light years away there they are: Pinwheel, Cartwheel, Black Eye, Andromeda and Cigar
Unmeasurable it seems, humongous! All of them such a fading little part of the cosmos

There you are
Floating from a distance
Feel the empty ground
Drink from the fountain of existence

Still blind to insignificance?
Still convinced about the rightness of imposed beliefs?
Still judging others’ defects according to our pretentious and vain mind?
Still punching away the different, protecting the mold?
Still reinforcing illusory antagonism and insignia?
Still seeing only two sides?
Still holding to the pride?

Still
In the ******* room

Am I? Are you?
Let's try it again
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness." Mark Twain
Jeff Stier Oct 2016
A most pious man
whose well-tempered music
brushed the cobwebs
from the throne of God

Evolution was made manifest
across deep time
these lyrical figures
achieve the same purpose
in the space between the morning star
and the dawn

A fallow field
is sewn with pearls
a moonlit beach
illuminated by shadow
every scrape of the fiddler's bow
merges mind with the present
harvests the meaning
in the moment

The composer
that good man
was
for a time
church organist at St. John's
its notable steeple leaning
all askew
as a rebuke against God
or perhaps the drunken architect

A finger of candlelight
plays across the manuscript
a fugue echoes
through the still church

And though no living person
on that still winter's night
shares the organist's solemn delight
the stirring mass of possibility
that is posterity
awaits
patty m Jan 2018
Through the Looking glass
Alice stands in all her splendor.
Her hair a curtain of silver rain,
her soft skin aglow in subliminal light.

A compelling fever rises
as Thomas tries different ways to pull
her up in memory
while writing himself into the tale.  
Poor Thomas delirious in his dilemma, he knows
this will be no easy seduction.  
How fiercely urgent his desire rises
as he longs to end our heroine's self-imposed abstinence.  

Hot April morning ambush,
and our intruder has beguiled our sweet Alice
with heated kisses sweeter than ripened fruit.  
A wildness stirs in the bloodstream.  
Now he slowly and lovingly explores her pristine body
as she shivers beneath his delicate strokes
until high trills rise to fevered pitch.

Pleated line of sky
muted corners softly come into focus.

Loathe to let her go,
passion stirs in his depths
slowly now he tastes her secrets,  shares her pleasure.

Tight buds of anticipation tenderly plucked,
his fingers find the stem, a measure of moisture;
Nimble fingered harmonies play pleasure symphonies
accompanied by soft echoes of youthful delight  
Warm and breathless, crystal rainbows paint the inside of her eyelids as she grows sleepy in afterglow.

Soon he's torn away, his pale poet's face conveying pain
received from this  now cool disconcerting beauty;
Though he touched folds and frills of every petal,
his chapter is immediately erased and the
original story reappears.  

She may have slipped down the rabbit hole,
but forever ladylike and pure is our sweet Alice.
The streets are clear, we're hydrophobic
Hoods propped by hats and socks pulled high;
The rain brings peace to the agoraphobic
Puddles form moats and clouds fill the sky.

Splash, droplets hit the window,
chauffeured by the gail outside.
Squint your eyes and flash back
boats tilt starboard, with the tide.

The captain shouts to the decks, paranoid
'Clear the decks and brace for impact'
Without turbulence we are disenfranchised
Boredom becomes us when we're boring.

Shake it off and stare at the dot to dot
the residual carving of water as it slides
Another droplet falls beside it, parallel
it aligns, growling thunder overhead.

Without stirring we are robotic workforces
Without awaking we are left inside
The constructs created for us, by corporate-
conglomerate elitist-psychopaths.

Two drops of water on the window
simmer red with burning anger.
Crash lightening sears the sky
Rage becomes you, girders melt.

The starry night undercurrent, flings
us backwards, never up, as democracies
which seek to serve sink into a sea of
stocks and shares, the wall street journal

sits atop the captains lobby, economies
were meant to tumble as the working classes
fumble for bread, men in suits gaggle
and toast to the millions they left for dead.

Resistance is futile, when eighty-five
of the richest suit owners sit on currency
that was meant for the three point five
billion who aren’t driven by gluttony.
L B Oct 2016
I let you go
to Philadelphia
I let you go
thirteen goin' on “life”
to your momma-- (God rest her-- and keep you
--from wherever she is)
to your father in Philly
outa the picture

Sheepish in the doorway of my classroom
back again
one last time--

Say good-bye, kid, to your short stay in Scranton
a town that can't rhyme
whose name falls over its own misery
No use for outsiders

“Where's your book?
Found your binder in the rain
Soggy protest to school's demands?
Of course it's yours
I checked, ya know”

"No way!"

Desk's been empty, three weeks now
Still, gotta ask
“Whacha doin?
Where ya been?”

“Khmir,
I'm sorry for your loss....”
Thirty seconds shares our grief
Thirty seconds for your future's-- all I got

“Listen to your teachers!
Do your work!
Please-- be okay?”

Khmir
in your wooly black coat-- like a bear
like a dare
shruggin and dancin in the doorway
of the “show”

Homework? Aint happenin'
But one paper, though
on why--
YOU-- should be president

and I almost vote for you
"Life" refers to a long prison sentence.

This poem is meant to be an indictment of the American
"prisons for profit" system that disproportionately targets African-American males.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
A sprinkle of blue sparkle
off the lapis lazuli sky.
A throw of stars
from the full moon night.
We will take in abundance
while rowing the waves
once in the River Nile.

Hear! The crave of oars
breaching the shore.
Reaching out and close
to the pyramid foundation.
That’s scientia is pure rigid
yet so open loose.
One dozen milky ways
can hover in rhythm
over this stony knot!

That doesn’t mean
the Mintaka stars will give
up their shares at all
They will sit on the top.
Without the pyramid moving
a step from the true north.

Between this relative sublunary
and over the moon mural
if and when one spaces up.
The silent Moon takes a pause
humming the prehistoric lullabies.
With a patch of the blue sky
and a starry sprinkle from the night.  
Maybe then we will take a break in
behind the closed doors of the great pyramid!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Above Reason
Sebastian Macias Dec 2016
I never know what to do
Or even what to say
When we talk death;
Somebody shares
With someone else
That the life of another
Has been taken away
They bow their head
They give their hand

I see them,
Those in mourning
Their eyes are filled
With memories they once
Shared with the departed
Trying to hold onto it
Trying to remember more
And more and more and more
The pain builds up
But the tear must drop
And it will splash forever
sofie Jan 20
I still hear your voice, crying through the night
It echos in my head, saying 'I won't let go'
And the walls in my room creak with every tear
that falls from my cheek to my lips, tasting salty
Like the final kiss you placed so indifferently on me
while my heart was screaming 'please don't go',
words that my mouth was never able to tell
And now the night shares the story of us again,
so I listen foolishly to keep you a little closer,
for the promise you could never keep
was the one that made you stay
MJL Feb 10
That laugh
Child of the universe
She’s like a fairy flower
Butter petals dripping with goo
Gushing with sweetness she shares with me
Nauseating all around us, we know La
Good
We have it
We found it
Others want it
OK. She found it
But I had the sense to know it was right
It is so right
She’s like a rock
Paul Simon kneels
Egyptian Goddess
ollie Feb 5
No one shares seats on the bus
Not since fourth grade
And I’m still trying to figure out if it’s because we want the room to ourselves
Or because too many of us still flinch when someone slides in next to us
It happened in the summer between fourth and fifth grade
And whatever it is, we don’t know
But no one shares seats on the bus
when i was in the fifth grade, it came out that a girl two grades below mine had been ***** by a boy in sixth grade. no one has shared seats on the bus since, even though this boy has long since been arrested since i reported him after i overheard him saying he had more planned for her the next year. that’s just the way it’s come to be
"Poet Boy"
I met this kid... that kept his writings hid. Since a small boy, he kept his artwork hid. No one ever knew all the writings he did.
That night we met, That night I'll never forget. I was under the moonlight feeling sad... He must of sensed that I was feeling insanely mad. Him a kid; me an adult, Before I could
question as to why
a boy his age was out that late, without a word he raised his shirt revealing the artwork he always kept hid,
His blue eyes matched mine tear after tear,
He must of knew the secret I did bear,
So without hesitation,
I raised my sleeve's
to reveal my scarred skin of poetry.
I know this may sound strange but that night both of our live's suddenly began to change,
We haven't crossed paths since,
But we share something of a 6th sense,
He's happy now
and
shares his artwork
in museums of famous names,
As for me, I'm old at the age of ninety-three
and
my poetry resides in books of famous names.

  #[email protected]042018. # https://www.yourquote.in/jenciearnold
https://www.yourquote.in/jenciearnold
Adrian Joseph Dec 2018
Fire inhabits those atoms which animate our being
Character shines brightest in the crucible
No true faith has ever been spared the extremities of the fireplace  
Gold mainly reveals its glory in the furnace

That holy baptism which flames out all meaning
Primeval essence of any great passion

Fire colors the sun
Shares its light with the firefly’s lamp
It is not our place to call Hell’s fire from below
Or summon Heaven’s thunderbolt from above

Kindness is that celestial match which burns pride to ash
Brightened hope of all continents
Spark in bonfire hearts

Fire is useful because it gives men their purpose
Harness the heat of ire
Channel flint into nobler desire

While words cannot wield flames of their own
Paper kindles torches for the unknown

If man wishes to calm the raging fire within
He must become its opposite element
Chris Neilson Aug 2018
if humans only make do and mend
there will not be a world without end

many different places we worship
while letting this planet's resources slip

trusting our faith will flower
professing a love to a higher power

a designation to keep us all in line
if we pray to our God we'll be fine

buying shares in a guaranteed afterlife
with our planet‘s climate in trouble and strife

disregarding our future generations 
unless we build them space stations

no one sets out for hell on a hand cart
highways for rock stars playing a part

not everyone believes in life after death
they say nothing's beyond the last breath

spiritual belief is a personal choice
we all speak with a unique voice

we've only got this Earth on loan
from a universe of life as yet unknown

we all share this third rock from the sun
so we must respect our world as one
Religion, atheism, climate change and AC/DC all covered here
Rise up high, or sink below
What you need, to succeed
Is what everyone should know
In the scorching heat around us
Or in the ice and snow
A master and his passion
Still leaves room to grow

In the eyes of an owl
In the lions heart and soul
The lion roars
The eagle soars
And the raven finds its crow

From the setting sun in the distance
The orange, yellow, and golds
Captured here in a moments time
Though it has no place to go

Nothing really matters
Anyone one of us can see
I came so close to drowning
That’s how angels earn their wings

Few out there shares my interests
I’m lonely and estranged
Everyone is different
Yet somehow all the same

When one of us is hurting
When it’s just too much to bare
Ask for help, and you will see  
Just how many of us care.
Therese Jul 2017
This bracelet that shares our initials is a ******* beyond what others can see. Apeirophobia swells and bubbles as you whisper "forever" into my wrists tenderly- it burns like a brand above my veins. Pale fingers twitch, reaching for nothing. Nothing seems better than the something within grasp.
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