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"uniquely" poems
We were born in different shapes, colors, and size Not a single embryo was able to decide their DNA or blood type But that shouldn't make us less humans than the others It's the diversity that makes us exquisite and beautiful Break down the stereotype that beauty is fair skin, that beauty is a skinny and blonde-haired lady that beauty is wearing clothes with branded labels that beauty is applying tons of foundation and mascara Who are we to determine the standard of beauty, anyway? While each of us is God's creativity, authentically made by His hands Who are we to judge God's taste in art, anyway? While each of us is uniquely magnificent, as His creations are never less than a masterpiece Keep in mind that the real beauty lies within ourselves, beneath our skin, between our thoughts, and inside our soul
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Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
Beauty in Diversity
You are a beautiful star. Like Sirius on a starry night, You gloriously shine so bright And can be seen from afar You are brave, you are strong You are wise, though sometimes wrong You are different, uniquely you For there is no other quite like you Your mind, your eyes, your stride; Even your flaws, are beautiful too I hope you see what I see in you For it means nothing if you cannot see it too
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Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
FOR YOU
When people ask if you're weird, or tell you, or want to believe themselves strange, eclectic, or odd. It's vaguely disgusting to me, cringeworthy in a mild degree. We think we're so different, but we are not. The individualism of people should be and is comparable to the individualism of ants. Who looks at the anthill and sees something in particular, something behaving specifically "uniquely" from every ant and every anthill? Why do you believe in yourself? I see this, as a conversation about depression, and your partner does not respect you but instead wants to tell you how they feel worse, or have it worse, or "understand" more about the affirmation or situation. A person looking for individuality through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness, is truly alone in their minds, and missing the reality that these depressions exist without them. The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack, or an offense to these people, because it says "you are not as unique as you think", it strips them of their identity and individuality. This is true of many ideologies and affirmations. I quit individuality, this constricting sense of holding everything of yourself in center, to be a drop in the whole, something fluid. If you split your affirmations from yourself, you'd see we're all the same; Affirmations are just currents in the ocean. I look at myself; and people see a man, a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician. As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions, [especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze] which hardly, if ever, are true, but as affirmations, when I consent to using them, these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me, but similarities that I realize I can embrace or shut out in others. Affirmations do not make me more unique, but similar to more people. If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center, my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning. This is why I quit Individuality.
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Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
"Why I Quit Individuality."
When people ask if you're weird, or tell you, or want to believe themselves strange, eclectic, or odd. It's vaguely disgusting to me, cringeworthy in a mild degree. We think we're so different, but we are not. The individualism of people should be and is comparable to the individualism of ants. Who looks at the anthill and sees something in particular, something behaving specifically "uniquely" from every ant and every anthill? Why do you believe in yourself? I see this, as a conversation about depression, and your partner does not respect you but instead wants to tell you how they feel worse, or have it worse, or "understand" more about the affirmation or situation. A person looking for individuality through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness, is truly alone in their minds, and missing the reality that these depressions exist without them. The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack, or an offense to these people, because it says "you are not as unique as you think", it strips them of their identity and individuality. This is true of many ideologies and affirmations. I quit individuality, this constricting sense of holding everything of yourself in center, to be a drop in the whole, something fluid. If you split your affirmations from yourself, you'd see we're all the same; Affirmations are just currents in the ocean. I look at myself; and people see a man, a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician. As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions, [especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze] which hardly, if ever, are true, but as affirmations, when I consent to using them, these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me, but similarities that I realize I can embrace or shut out in others. Affirmations do not make me more unique, but similar to more people. If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center, my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning. This is why I quit Individuality.
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52
The power I get from your personality. You're a lion, a natural born leader. King of the jungle, in this barren valley you give me hope. Hope in a savior, in a presence so uniquely rare and strong. I want to be like you, I want your charisma. You make everyone seem so simple. Far above average, your capable of emancipating glory. A righteous and kind soul. Your energy spreads through the beastly sinners and compels their spirit to change into something beautiful.
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Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Your Power
It is absolutely breath-taking.. how each of his exquisite poems sing.. a distinctive melody, how his mind works like magic... sculpting the most incredible forms no one could. Brilliance just shines through his woven pieces... no words could really define how awe-inspiring his work is. *His meticulous sublime words... uniquely create ingenious and flawless stanzas,* *making each and every one of his craft... out of this universe.* That is truly.. how gifted he is.
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Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 10:35 AM UTC
Gifted
I always wondered What it was like To be someone else Until I realised It's fine to be me Unique, singular, interesting Different, flowing and free All human All me
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Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
Uniquely Me
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle tones......gather words together in lines, uncertain in their ebbing and flowing... the results create surprise in many hues that could make one cry, grimace......frown......or smile readers are led to far, or near destinations...to the cool, sweet air and peaceful atmosphere of paradise, or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters, or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole, an unknown corner, where moribund souls are biding their time, maybe, they could now define by themselves, purgatory and hell, understand those sunken souls who have lost all...except their arms, and begging eyes... then, through appropriate words, a poet paints a laborious path, or a stairway...so an enlightened reader may climb back to safe, calm waters... a poet makes the mind see a human heart, beating in many rhythms...throbbing, .......aflame with longing and desire, bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments, then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts that cut deep....tormenting...crashing, ............gnashing the heart... a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine, later, to dip feet in celebrative pools. sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet, an inner force prevails, thereby paints a drooping soul...dying, in total surrender, ready to fall..............but, again, with a barrel of lively-colored words, a poet takes this despondent soul to berth, with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth... every human being is worth an effort ..............even those that have fallen .........................are worth savin' ..... a poet's palette is uniquely enriched with colorful experiences, a poet paints life in its truest colors, ..........could be dark...or bright .....nothing more......nothing less... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan January 29, 2017
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Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
Painter
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle tones......gather words together in lines, uncertain in their ebbing and flowing... the results create surprise in many hues that could make one cry, grimace......frown......or smile readers are led to far, or near destinations...to the cool, sweet air and peaceful atmosphere of paradise, or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters, or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole, an unknown corner, where moribund souls are biding their time, maybe, they could now define by themselves, purgatory and hell, understand those sunken souls who have lost all...except their arms, and begging eyes... then, through appropriate words, a poet paints a laborious path, or a stairway...so an enlightened reader may climb back to safe, calm waters... a poet makes the mind see a human heart, beating in many rhythms...throbbing, .......aflame with longing and desire, bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments, then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts that cut deep....tormenting...crashing, ............gnashing the heart... a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine, later, to dip feet in celebrative pools. sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet, an inner force prevails, thereby paints a drooping soul...dying, in total surrender, ready to fall..............but, again, with a barrel of lively-colored words, a poet takes this despondent soul to berth, with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth... every human being is worth an effort ..............even those that have fallen .........................are worth savin' ..... a poet's palette is uniquely enriched with colorful experiences, a poet paints life in its truest colors, ..........could be dark...or bright .....nothing more......nothing less... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan January 29, 2017
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48
A uniquely unique me, Is all I wanna be! When you can be so special, Why waste your own potential? When I can move my ears, And growl (although it's queer) And choose how loud to **** --consider it a type of art When I can hiccup-fart-sneeze, And appreciate blue cheese And laugh and chortle and guffaw --all my friends stare in awe. When I can recite so many words, (It doesn't mean I'm a nerd) And snack 20 times a day --don't judge okay... When you can do all that, Why feel the need to act? Please just accept the fact You are you and that's that!
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Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
I am me.
From beach to beach to beach, glimmering shimmers of sand laden waves lap lazily at your feet. The seaweed masquerade of the crab clumsily dancing amongst the foam is paradoxically poignant but apt. Sighs of relief as the soothing sensation of the sea on hot blistered feet capture the essence of the moment. The simple pleasures of the beach; sand ridden toes and remarkably veined geodes; the golden grains and barnacle encrusted rocks provide a unique treasure indeed. And then comes the gentle pitter-patter of a sunshower- putting a literal damper on things- but uniquely completing the picturesque scene.
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Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Day Two: The Beach
*Enchanting sunrises and sunsets capture my heart and soul Is one more breathtaking than the other? no, I don't think so truly, I feel both are uniquely beautiful and so breathtaking Come let's see peeping above the horizon a divine beauty to behold A sunrise so glorious with heavenly sunrays lighting, touching, and caressing the sky Sunrays vanquishing the darkness as only sunrays know how*
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Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC
An Enchanting Sunrise and Sunset
The key to finishing is beginning. The key to victory is uniquely found on the battle field forged through a warriors' cry of triumph. The key to any type of revelation; is activation. The key to liberty is wrought with the hammer of responsibility. The key to paradise is hidden; it can take a lifetime of searching and/or a single simple decision. The key to understanding; is found in the application of knowledge through wisdom. The key to any type of belief is often based on the intangible; a step of faith. The key to fruitfulness is in planting good seed. The key to overcoming; is found in the hands of the heart injected with the fuel of persistence. The key to life; is recognizing the breath of the living. The key to love; is G-d. The key to any beginning is only made visible at the ending. © Qwey.ku
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May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
TWELVE KEYS
~**My portrait was painted by Jackson ******* <|> “***there are no lines or lies in my writings there are no definitions and perception is only your truth. Therefore, my poems are splats and drips, you make them into paintings that hang in your own private museum, but signed by me as first passenger***” <|> when did I write these words? can’t recall, though undated, they seem all too familiar, and thinking that if I didn’t, I should have… for the title of this ‘poem painting’ has lain in quietude, a resident in my file of “someday writs, awaiting,” when the itch demands you will essay **the admixture of words and swords that will cut a newborn corded reciprocity of thee and me, an unbound bind that ties and frees us from and by our shared senses…** today, an  inadvertent blinding sunlight stumble is demanding a fulsome scratching <|> the portrait of each is the irrational intersectional of splats and drips, each viewer, reader, filters the image through a common uncommonality, which is as it should be, **for if we are each created in His image, how glorious is the diversity of our deities, each of us a tiny drop of paint on a tableau of a small planet, insignificant but uniquely beautiful intelligent species of godlike creatures,** human <|> the précis of this conundrum conversation bewilders, a single word drops, of plaint, paint, blood, a seconds blush blurred that is the building blocks of imagery I state is mine, but now realizations swiftly fertilize, **the portrait is not of me, but of me blended into thee, and this poem, is our composition** that hangs in each of our primary museum, newly re-titled, A Passenger, Realized
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Sep 14, 2023
Sep 14, 2023 at 7:10 AM UTC
My portrait was painted by Jackson *******
~**My portrait was painted by Jackson ******* <|> “***there are no lines or lies in my writings there are no definitions and perception is only your truth. Therefore, my poems are splats and drips, you make them into paintings that hang in your own private museum, but signed by me as first passenger***” <|> when did I write these words? can’t recall, though undated, they seem all too familiar, and thinking that if I didn’t, I should have… for the title of this ‘poem painting’ has lain in quietude, a resident in my file of “someday writs, awaiting,” when the itch demands you will essay **the admixture of words and swords that will cut a newborn corded reciprocity of thee and me, an unbound bind that ties and frees us from and by our shared senses…** today, an  inadvertent blinding sunlight stumble is demanding a fulsome scratching <|> the portrait of each is the irrational intersectional of splats and drips, each viewer, reader, filters the image through a common uncommonality, which is as it should be, **for if we are each created in His image, how glorious is the diversity of our deities, each of us a tiny drop of paint on a tableau of a small planet, insignificant but uniquely beautiful intelligent species of godlike creatures,** human <|> the précis of this conundrum conversation bewilders, a single word drops, of plaint, paint, blood, a seconds blush blurred that is the building blocks of imagery I state is mine, but now realizations swiftly fertilize, **the portrait is not of me, but of me blended into thee, and this poem, is our composition** that hangs in each of our primary museum, newly re-titled, A Passenger, Realized
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50
There are just so many snowflakes falling from the sky each year, That you and me, she and he, even your pets could lend their names to the snowflakes, And not worry about them being duplicates of each other, Because just like all human beings have different physical characteristics, Each snowflake is amazingly uniquely structured, You would run out of names of human beings in all languages, Numbering each snowflake is a better option, Mother nature has also made each person so unique, Why care about the names and origins, When everyone could have a unique snowflake!
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May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
A Snowflake For Everyone
2 weeks it's been Immersed in this world of open love Such a short time to spend But my heart feels so liberated No longer trapped by the confines of one A sole opportunity to share, give and express my love Now I can let my feelings come undone Within the safety and boundaries of mutual respect My lovers, almost three Each offer a unique chance To share this love and feel free This love is a beautiful thing I did not anticipate this formation I did not set out a number of partners to seek I entered this with no expectations And it happened to grow this way on its own I love each person uniquely No mutual exclusion, no impact Each love forms and runs deeply Individually, yet always connected through love
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Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
Polyamory
I've never met a person who could make me angry as quickly as you. But when I need someone to make me laugh unexpectedly- you do that too. Mom always told us, when we were certain we couldn't be related, That we'd never stop needing each other. A sibling couldn't be traded. We often joked that hospitals switch babies all the time. But deep down I knew, that even with your very worst parts, you were mine. It's been quite awhile since I heard you laugh. I find myself replaying conversations wishing they would last. Missing all the things so uniquely you Wishing I'd known sooner that what Mom said was true. You're more like me than either of us could have known. Now I see that losing you is like losing my only way home, Because I have a connection to you unlike any other. It was unavoidable. You're my Big brother.
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Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
Big Brother
I am a Traveller on a journey with no beginning or end I am a Traveller who seeks new experiences with Family and Friend I am a Traveller who likes to write about what she sees, how I view the world of course is uniquely me I am a Traveller and set my compass to my next destination, plan my trip from A to B leaving room for spontaneity I am a Traveller seeking out what I know, historic places, jewels in the Crown, maybe stumble across some old parts of town I am a Traveller who loves to meet locals, sitting at a bar or restaurant, friendly chit-chat reveals a hidden treasure I would surely have missed if not for the local gossip I am a Traveller I travel by plane, car, train and sea, there is no limit to the places I wish to visit and see I am a Traveller who records everything I do and see by Pen and Photography I am a Traveller with my husband by my side, we will travel until we can travel no more I am a Traveller until the day I die and one last trip to the cosmic sky
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Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
I am a Traveller
procrastinating is my hobby, ask someone if you don't believe me , baby i lay around as i please & work at my own leisure, incredibly you fail to understand i am me and i love more then like the way that i am- gorgeous courageous coco golden skin, painfully i know you feel the threat of my momentous appeal keeps you you & yeah you -- mystified. guaranteed your days are filled with shock and frustration, haa haa hee how very exciting to me seeing your not as experienced as I, unlicensed to tame what i'd never give freely, repetitiously you've played the game, failure must be a sweet pill sallowed whole huh? adequately i compel my strengths -- my naivety makes my appeal that more interesting, call me uniquely imperfections rarely made in to what many can never comprehend, my life is my dialogue to my very own daily soap opera la di da da-- it's more then my sultry walk as i pass you on bye. in this corrupted jungle you have to win or be inhibited by what others may call taboos, whew weee your so serious, chasing prey only to tease-- lingering doubts? catch me-- i bet you can't. innocently the line's been crossed yet speak not of what should be! only-- this-- is what you'll know ; procrastinating is my hobby! I Am The Lioness! (some may be lost on what i wrote&say; but ok lol) Always Me Ayeshah
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Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 8:38 PM UTC
I Am The Lioness (a true Leo)
Picked freshly from the garden of my newfangled burning infatuation for you, a fine blanket of lettuce, to suit my modest request This evening holds meaning, accented with wine of white over candlelight, delicious Italian dining tonight You do me well, you know you do Scorching days turn to chilly nights We are but two spoons, failing to convect heat to warm each other’s souls and hands, which I kept moisturized, for us; scented fingers of vanilla caress uniquely speckled skin Genuine fascination in everything that is you
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Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
Donuts (part two)
What is the best Gift? "YOU ARE IN MY PRAYERS", Means you are in my thoughts, I love you, I care for you. I prostate before God for you, I speak on your behalf, I pray for you with sincerity, I pray with trust in HIM. My prayers will do three things, My prayers will be answered, Will bring a blessing for you, Will ward off your difficulty or calamity. God loves each one of us uniquely, HE chooses what is best for us, HE sends an Angel in human form to answer your prayers, I may be the Angel who prays for you. Ameen.
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Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
The Best Gift
I went to Wal-Mart, the other day To buy you a shower curtain. Not just any shower curtain, if I do say so myself, But the perfect shower curtain. I wanted a shower curtain that would describe you, as a person. A shower curtain so wonderful And weird And uniquely you That everyone that saw it would say, "Damn! That's a fine shower curtain!" And what's more, they would know, Beyond a shadow of a doubt, That it was your shower curtain. No one else's. I didn't find it. I'm sorry. I am. I tried to get one that fit Your style, your class, your ******* beauty, But I'm not sure it exists. First, I tried to find one that smelled like fresh-cut flowers After a rainstorm In the Amazon. Then, I thought about trying to find Something that would match the color of your eyes, But I don't think they've invented a material That starts out sea green Then changes to iron gray when you're happy, Sky blue when you're sad, And a mix of all three when you're angry, Like a technicolor warning system. So I looked for one patterned with cartoon owls. Because I know you're scared of birds, And the best time to face any fear Is in the morning. And the best way Is as a cartoon. They didn't have one printed with your favorite song, Or one made entirely of white lillies, Or one cut into the shape of every snowflake From every snowball You've ever fired, With the accuracy of the captain of the softball team, Directly at my head. I tried to find one with your vicious brand of humor That I find so compelling, But they don't make a shower curtain That insults your mother, Then gives you a kiss on the chin Because it can't reach your nose. I went to Wal-Mart to buy you a shower curtain. So I bought the only one they had That I could justify Because nothing else would have fit. I bought one that is translucent, So that if I walk in on you one morning- By accident, of course- When you are busy washing your hair As you sing Elvis songs, I'll be able to see you, Without seeing everything.
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Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
The Shower Curtain
I went to Wal-Mart, the other day To buy you a shower curtain. Not just any shower curtain, if I do say so myself, But the perfect shower curtain. I wanted a shower curtain that would describe you, as a person. A shower curtain so wonderful And weird And uniquely you That everyone that saw it would say, "Damn! That's a fine shower curtain!" And what's more, they would know, Beyond a shadow of a doubt, That it was your shower curtain. No one else's. I didn't find it. I'm sorry. I am. I tried to get one that fit Your style, your class, your ******* beauty, But I'm not sure it exists. First, I tried to find one that smelled like fresh-cut flowers After a rainstorm In the Amazon. Then, I thought about trying to find Something that would match the color of your eyes, But I don't think they've invented a material That starts out sea green Then changes to iron gray when you're happy, Sky blue when you're sad, And a mix of all three when you're angry, Like a technicolor warning system. So I looked for one patterned with cartoon owls. Because I know you're scared of birds, And the best time to face any fear Is in the morning. And the best way Is as a cartoon. They didn't have one printed with your favorite song, Or one made entirely of white lillies, Or one cut into the shape of every snowflake From every snowball You've ever fired, With the accuracy of the captain of the softball team, Directly at my head. I tried to find one with your vicious brand of humor That I find so compelling, But they don't make a shower curtain That insults your mother, Then gives you a kiss on the chin Because it can't reach your nose. I went to Wal-Mart to buy you a shower curtain. So I bought the only one they had That I could justify Because nothing else would have fit. I bought one that is translucent, So that if I walk in on you one morning- By accident, of course- When you are busy washing your hair As you sing Elvis songs, I'll be able to see you, Without seeing everything.
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60
I recently had the great privilege of editing Mike Essig's latest poetry collection, THE BIOLOGY OF STRANGENESS, and I'm honoured to have been entrusted with such fantastic material. Putting together a book like this is every poetry geek's dream. It's a beautifully textured assortment of poems, earthy yet lyrical, narrated by a voice that's uniquely grained with experience. There are pieces that will make you smile, think, wince; there are pieces that hit you in the gut out of nowhere; there are pieces that welcome you into them like old, worn-in shoes; there are pieces you will remember late some night when you're by yourself, and remembering them will make you feel less alone. This collection of poetry makes you look at the banal and the everyday afresh; it finds magic and mystery in the mundane, and even Hawaiian shirts are poem-worthy when Mike Essig's writing about them. The Kindle version is already available through Amazon. A paperback edition is due out next month, and I can't wait to have a copy of this book on my shelf as well as on my e-reader. Mike's previous poetry books, Never Forgotten and Huck Finn Is Dead are also available through Amazon and are excellent.   From his author profile on B Star Kitty Press: "Mike Essig is a veteran of Vietnam and a retired English teacher. He’s also been recruited by the muse as a poet, like he hadn’t already been through enough." Sample poems, links to sales pages and more info can be found at the B Star Kitty Press website.  www(dot)bstarkittypress(dot)com. Please do support this very talented indie author.
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Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
Poets Supporting Poets
I recently had the great privilege of editing Mike Essig's latest poetry collection, THE BIOLOGY OF STRANGENESS, and I'm honoured to have been entrusted with such fantastic material. Putting together a book like this is every poetry geek's dream. It's a beautifully textured assortment of poems, earthy yet lyrical, narrated by a voice that's uniquely grained with experience. There are pieces that will make you smile, think, wince; there are pieces that hit you in the gut out of nowhere; there are pieces that welcome you into them like old, worn-in shoes; there are pieces you will remember late some night when you're by yourself, and remembering them will make you feel less alone. This collection of poetry makes you look at the banal and the everyday afresh; it finds magic and mystery in the mundane, and even Hawaiian shirts are poem-worthy when Mike Essig's writing about them. The Kindle version is already available through Amazon. A paperback edition is due out next month, and I can't wait to have a copy of this book on my shelf as well as on my e-reader. Mike's previous poetry books, Never Forgotten and Huck Finn Is Dead are also available through Amazon and are excellent.   From his author profile on B Star Kitty Press: "Mike Essig is a veteran of Vietnam and a retired English teacher. He’s also been recruited by the muse as a poet, like he hadn’t already been through enough." Sample poems, links to sales pages and more info can be found at the B Star Kitty Press website.  www(dot)bstarkittypress(dot)com. Please do support this very talented indie author.
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10
Beautifully I'll bloom Uniquely and splendid Providing my own Greenhouse Care Which I require to thrive. An orchid among the dandelions Bliss, form, and grace Lighting specifics Mindful humidity It's never too late to become what I might have been.
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Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
Orchid theory
NEW YEAR INTROSPECTION PART THREE *first read "Audition" by Lauren Rogers: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/audition/* far too often,  audition i,  my self i daily  place on parade, call it a model’s runway  or an actor’s stage,  all the while forgetting  already i’ve been given  the part of "me",  having already been deemed most uniquely and completely qualified to play and having already been voted most likely to succeed as an actor of me! and most of all having already been handed the writer’s script, a whole ream, all blank page for me to write and then perform for each of you on life’s beautiful stage; which, begs the question... who called the audition?
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Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
life’s stage
Pretend you are a book, Being opened from time to time; Your pages being flipped, They tell a comic, story, or rhyme. Satisfy your readers, and always get them hooked You can be anything, and today you are a book.
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Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 12:16 AM UTC
"Books are a Uniquely Portable Magic"
Began with an emotionless admittance of a fact of attraction I never imagined that even this would happen But then emotionless admittance because emotional satisfaction Desires I didnt remember could feel different in action Fact is hearts never had to have hope, to hope, to happen I already knew that affection runs in all directions but to realize that for it to be tinted ****** did not mean it was an infection, that essentially it was all aimed at knowing your perspective and introspection, and has become the spectacular insight that between two people so alike and different as you and i, this weird state of existence in ****** desire and friendship, is beginning to be the exceptional exception to my age old misdirection. I dont know if its just because you were there for the discovery but i think for sure it has to do with your desire to discover me so when i begin to remember how uncertainty and smiles slipped across your skin the same way blue silk did, How uniquely i get to discover the willingness to take leaps of faith in my seeking faithless friend How remarkably shocking it is to see you lay yourself bare before me and that you, to me are such much more than half naked. I get to see you. I get to know more of you than i ever have before I get to discover so much more of who you are when your plush pajamas hit the floor
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Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Plush pajamas