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 May 2015 BB Tyler
Alice Morris
A rainbow ignites
result of a love affair
between sun and rain
only to be cast away
When thunder lightning play.
This is a Tanka poem
 May 2015 BB Tyler
Cristina Dean
she studies the history of colors
in a building that
lacks it
i study garbage tossed on
the side of the street
and worn out faces on the
city bus
i write simple words in
a coffee stained notebook
she writes long, complicated
sentences, elaborate
explanations, provides examples
on crisp white paper
Font size 12
Ariel Black

she asked me what
do i do?
and i said i am a hostess at a restaurant
but hopefully, one day,
i’ll get to sit around
and do nothing
when she left, i thought
our exchange went
smoothly
the next morning i heard
she said our conversation
was awkward
Why is the primal
question.

This was written one
week primary
to the real
encounter
:

Language difference
enables my poignant
ponderings to
hide among
pink puffy tonality
of your beloved
mother's tongue. To
dwelve smooth and
constructively
conducted within
your howlin'
domesticated
vowels. I so
become wonder
writer smitten
softly,
touched
by pleasant words
of other writers.
Not suffering.
As I do
in my
original
vaccinity
of no
distance.
Clouds and thunder
collapse into my
deepest core. Tearing
me there at non
acceptance. I tear my
poems. And throw them
into the abyss. Of no re
turnin'.
My position as a writer regarding the language difference in which my poems are created.

My poems are alive creatures, my 'virtual' little me~s, peculiar  flowerin' beings. I'm proud of them! Most of the time. Within the act of writing we (writers). . . discover magical worlds fulfiled with wonderment.

Insight, inspiration and creativity flow ceaselessly at that moments.

This poem ~"Thank you stranger" ~ is about being more accepted and appreciated by 'strangers' than in my
homeland by poets there.. It makes me sad that I  ~ "can write better" in foreign language than in my beloved mother's tongue... It's just their opinion! I know! I know!!! Yet

I deleted so many of my poems, being dissapointed by their ignorance, sometimes considering myself not to be enough..
Impulsive decisions are regretable! I have missed dearly some of my old poems. . . tearing them, deleting them for ever.

Thank you poets for all the support!
Love and blessings from me! IS:)<3
What is poetry
But an outlet for liars
To express their truth
there is no color for regret
this fist of hindsight clenched in my stomach
sitting heavy, firm and uneasy

i can't paint over this lingering, wholesome sorrow
splashed in my lamentable eyes

the agony is blind and cannot feel its way out of this dark corridor
the uneasiness is more real than the feeler

repentance is stuck in my teeth and gnaws at my tongue
discomfort catches its fingernails on the chalkboard recesses of the past

regret

regret

the neon open sign flickers and its fumes are toxic
10W

expression
lays
bare
the
soul

only
silence
reveals
its
myst­ery


Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc aka
soulsurvivor
(C) 5/30/2015
Truly, what we don't say
reveals more about us
than a million keystrokes

Much like the spaces between the words

---
---

a minute or so
to experience
birth

seventy years
(give or take ten)
to experience
life

and a
millisecond
to be

ushered into eternity


soulsurvivor
(c) 5/29/2015
Thanks to Gary L for the inspiration

-
This

Union you want

With the earth and sky,

This union we all need with love,

A golden wing from God's heart just

Touched the ground,

Now

Step upon it

With your brave sun-vows

And help our eyes

To  

Dance!
Hafis
Poet, the soul of poetry
Every stirring within
Comes alive with words
Feelings flows like rapids
Cascading to greater depths
Restlessness of the poet’s heart
Makes an emphatic splash
Over rocky beds of the fall
Time and again they hurt
Yet, feelings won’t stop flowing
Creating more rapids
Sometimes deluging the poet’s soul
Poet, the soul of poetry
Muse will always come to the rescue
Poetry will always flow
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