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Are not

ALL politicians

Tax collectors






All by the nature of their trade

Selected by their kind
 Mar 10 ymmiJ
Carlo C Gomez
In the days of Jupiter
during the age of
lovely intimate things

the abundant rain giving life
to a lactating mother


her magic ocean
and incipient seabright moon
together at the center of creation

 Jan 13 ymmiJ
Carlo C Gomez
I. Fog Glossaries
'Echoes don't tell lies,'
but inclement weather so often does.
between whales and feverish thought,
between their sparkle and debris,
what is brewing systematically,
right under the surface,
might be terrifying.
or it might not.

II. The Cruxifiers
Time and life are machines that manufacture doom,
their sparkle and debris calculatingly withheld,
like keyholes to dark rooms that they
—in their reserved attack—never let you into.

III. Oceano Dunes
Bedouin princess—Charis Wilson tumbling
with Edward in the sand
—a photo finish.
—a young woman's triumph.
—a naked gift wrapped in sparkle and debris.

IV. Jellyfish Are Murderers
Here's a hint,
needle mark refineries are back,
expanding and contracting
in Baltic Sea,
in sparkle and debris,
smack after smack,
umbrella bell stings send
another pearl necklace
of dreams to its grave.

V. Container Ships
Substance A covers the outside hull,
Substance B is leaking from everyone's ears,
still the captain smiles, sailing straight ahead, ignoring the crew
as they turn into sparkle and debris.

VI. Mouth Guards of the Apocalypse
No one on the submarine is listening,
scopes up, spirits down,
current position unknown,
longer commutes, shorter lives
recede the fear of sparkle and debris,
by hiding out in the guest rooms,
waiting for a messiah drink
or perhaps a palindrome:
'never odd or even
no lemon, no melon.'
It's all so sour to the teeth and gums
of Armageddon's kids...

VII. Womenfish
Lost girls drive rental cars, change identities at rest stops. They shuffle down an otherwise sunny street beneath their own personal raincloud, shivering in an oversized coat. They imagine they're a parable stretched over the sea and not just mere sparkle and debris.

VIII. A Mother’s Book of Hours
At home and in her head
the roots get tangled,
so she storyboards each morning.
the lathe of heaven
must be Morse code
for death of romance.
she hears silent music
as her children sleep,
as whales sing off the coast,
they share their blood,
they share sparkle and debris.
there's a sweet little lie
baking in the oven,
she doesn’t want to talk about it.
she wishes her dreams were longer
and catches an interested eye
at the dream window,
her hands surrendering
their attempt to conceal,
naked is her perfect disguise,
you can hear her repeatedly asking,
“Who have I lived for?”

IX. The Pavilion of Dreams
How often I dream water,
some are lakes and seas,
others Olympic-sized pools,
each a self-portrait,
holding fast to the resurrections unseen,
to the digitally etiolated detail of the comedown,
every chimera ending
with my mind floating
just beneath the surface with all
the other sparkle and debris.
'Echoes Don't Tell Lies' is a borrowed line from the title of Neville Pettitt's new book of poetry.
 Feb 2023 ymmiJ
Chuck Kean
Ya Get What Ya Give

    Okay people listen here
I’m gonna take it from the top
You can’t make a baby cry
Then expect it to stop

There’s no reason for you to
Stop and question why
If you break an Angel’s wings
You can’t expect it to fly

And I’ll never come to understand
Why a push always deserves a shove
You know you can’t break a heart
And then expect it to love

If you’re not the Devil, understand
You can’t destroy someone’s soul
Then expect them to be happy
Or even pretend and play the role

So please take my advice if
You wish for a wonderful life to live
Always try to remember this
Ya Get What Ya Give

Written By:Charles Kean
Copyright ©️ 02/09/2023
All rights reserved
 Jan 2023 ymmiJ
Carlo C Gomez
Mermaid in a manhole
suffering hibernation sickness
she drinks in every sob like wine
her oceanic call reverberates
whilst speaking dead languages
into the receiver
but slipping off melancholy
and blown a wish
by hide-and-seek lips
she chooses an unfamiliar light

****** with scissors
throbs of undamaged energy
from her vernal equinox
but in love with a bad idea
and beyond the minimum safe distance
she no longer plays at fragile volumes
and careful times
hands playing butterfly
pinch nippled skin
she chooses an unfamiliar light

 Dec 2022 ymmiJ
Carlo C Gomez
No more room for theory
Rest your head from invention
Talk to me like the sea
And I will surround you
 Nov 2022 ymmiJ
Carlo C Gomez
where dreams
and laundry
there are vast
wardrobes of imagination

 Oct 2022 ymmiJ
David P Carroll
Good Morning Lord Jesus Christ and may our day
Be beautiful and bright and
Peaceful in life and
May we feel the Lord's
Love touching our heart's in life.
Amen Lord Jesus Christ.
Lord Jesus Christ Amen 🤗😘
 Sep 2022 ymmiJ
Bobby Copeland
Cold silence makes the day run long,
The night as well.  She misses most
His chin, clean-shaven as a palm,
Her slanting fingers touch a ghost.
He never talked about the war,
Liked culture of the harvest land,
Sometimes an evening at the bar,
Cold mornings waiting in a stand
While  counting antlers,  powder dry,
Field dressing, hauling, freezing meat,
Indulging dogs with half the tripe,
Then sleeping in his favorite seat,
The old recliner, much repaired,
Now empty as the winter air.
Not much of a poem today I suppose...
Not all words can be poems...
I wish they were...
But I do think any words can become the sweetest poem, when your eyes read them...
For your eyes are magical and have the meaning of forever...
And any word would like to be reflected on those eyes for an eternity...
I know I would...
Let your eyes make all of us a poem...
When you look at me...
My heart melts and becomes a sonnet...
Such is the power of your eyes...
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