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 2418° 
sir humbug
wear gloves on your hands,
leaving your eyes free to speculate
and your mind to record
the life of the plant;
and the life of the one who nurtures and tends

follow-from the fallow soil
to my edible plated consumption,
from the baby bud nipping
to sharp crack shot at picking,
to my tongue licking
both your produce and you

you may feed me poems
when the real harvesting is done,
grown in your own private plot,
from you, my good fellow,
follow with love delivered to
my expecting fallow-soul,
awaiting your seeding me,
and I,  
you...
 1101° 
Moo
When the moon soars abloom,
The God rests the doom,
Like a hand that guides a spoon,
Moon that nests alone fresh and unborn,
Slithers its way,
The purest ache of yearning's sway,
As the cloud take heed and veil it away.
 814° 
Oceara Miedema
She’s ready for a new chapter.
But is the new chapter ready for her?
She’s punk again as expected.
The cuts are holes for light to shine, from the lightning and thunder inside.

The plasters are lovers covering the wounds.
The Avocado for comfort and health.
The only way in which she takes care.
The rest is filled with beer and pain au chocolat.

For the pain, the discomfort, uncertainties.
The chains.
The chains remain.
The brain and tying ends together, pressure.
She’s getting ready.
Always getting ready.
But is she ever?

At least for the new chapter, the moment, she tries.
But it doesn’t feel right.
A little better after getting it together, over and over.
She’s never done.
30-06-25
 695° 
Nat Lipstadt
"These days
I'll sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
Don't confront me with my failures
I had not forgotten them"
Jackson Browne

<>

these days,
you can come by tween
the mostly soft warming cracking of Dawn,
and the early born-ing of
the first peek of a full grown
but yet
sleepy sunrise,

you'll find me siting on a
asshard dock,
two seagulls staring at the
human interloper,
alone with the threads in my
hardened head,
beating time in casual rhyme,
because that's what poets do,
to warm up their
tongues & toes,
clear their eyes
and
sniffling nose,
their partly opened,
party closed,
throats, eyes and
give up, sacrifice
the longest list of little lies,
that makes (forces) us to get up  in the undimming earlies,
when it's just me, the gulls,
& the minnows poking around,

the fluke,
smarter but not wiser,
further out in deep water,
waiting to be caught

and
the cool blood barely flows,
until the rising orb warms
our fragility,
and we review the stories old,
that make us cold at night promising ourselves that
today you'll do that thing(s)
you've been putting off for years,

"Don't confront me with my failures"
Jackson pleads, but I concede,
thinking tell me them
one
mo' time,
make me unrighteous,
make me whole,
then take me,
holy displayed fully,

and the
first poem of the day,
will be my
confession total,
without reservation
and yet muse on
honor
something I thought I knew,
but needing a
closer examination
it might've been
dishonor
that was what
I was truly
knew
<>
Sunrise
July 5
'25
sitting on the dock
by the bay,
would I

lay down with a lie?
 596° 
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
As human beings, we experience illusion,
but our goal is to become infinite.
Enlightenment is the path to become one with God.
Life, as we live it, is a joke of sorts.
Love is, often unconsciously, our ultimate destination.
Each of us has a soul, and if it is saturated with love
when we die, we really do not die;  rather,
our souls meld with God. To call worldly things
is not meant to be a pejorative. It's just that the vast
majority of us live false lives. What most of us call Heaven
is actually when are our souls are filled with love.
If we are "marterialized," which is  to say, we hunger
for wealth, fame, or power--not to empower others,
but to oppress them--then we do die and our souls
return to Earth hopefully to realize what our real
goal is. Buddha and Christ, for example, came to know
this and lived their lives accordingly. When one realizes
her/his soul is swollen with love, she/he knows
intuitively, she/he will meld with the invisible,
never-ending, always present love of God, never
needing to be smothered with the stench or wars,
the paucity of kindness, the endless pain of iniquities.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 482° 
ADoolE
It’s no surprise
that kindness feels so sweet
when you’ve been starving ,
even crumbs are a treat.

It’s easy to miss,
but the truth is this:
a little kindness
can feel like bliss
 394° 
M Vogel

Sitting here in front of this screen
my Artist Peppino, across my thigh—
(the greater, for the time being,
giving way to the lesser)

One day, I will be able to breathe life
into your strings, my love…
the way I do words onto paper.

And on that fine, glorious day
I will no longer need these cheese-****,
stupid ******* online poetry sites
to bring forth the music of my soul.

Nor will I continually need to wade through
this never-ending barrage of classic hiders
and their bastardization-like misuse of poetry—
in order to hide behind the very words
that should be given the permission to make them become,
truly known.

There are those who thrive on this..
this currency of curated words,
seduction dressed as scripture,
all twisted into the soft ropes of poetry
to bind the vulnerable,
to rob the soul of its own infusion..

the self from the soul,
the soul from the self..

--until all that remains
is the quiet, starving shell
of a heart displaced,
an identity diluted,
left wandering inside
the sociopathic intent
to truly bastardize poetry’s
life-giving potentiality
into nothing more than self-indulgent gain--

always at the cost of the reader,
who, starving for something real,
somehow falls for their twisted game.


****.

eh..
There is no alone-ness within the magnificent resonations
of the perfectly plucked string
of the most perfect, of guitars.

Like this one, sitting right here
in my lap.


excuse me while I lose my lunch onto this bluescreen now.


"And the disciples came and said to Him, “Why do You speak to them in parables?” Jesus answered them, “To you it has been granted to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been granted.  
For whoever has, to him more shall be given, and he will have an abundance; but whoever does not have, even what he has shall be taken away from him.

Therefore I speak to them--
(they that twist the beautiful Potentiality of poetry into that of their own gain)
in parables;

Because while seeing they do not see, and while hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. In their case the prophecy of Isaiah is being fulfilled, which says,

‘You will keep on hearing, but will not understand;
You will keep on seeing, but will not perceive;
For the heart of this people has become dull,
With their ears they scarcely hear,
And they have closed their eyes,

Otherwise they would see with their eyes,
Hear with their ears,
And understand with their heart and return,
And I would heal them.’"

"In other words, *******."
~Jebs
 276° 
Kaitied
Blade
Skin
Slice

Warm
Flowing
Blood

Dark
Silent
Thud

Scream
Sirens
Rush

"It's
Too
Late"

Calm
Quiet
Rest
she is desperate
nothing she attempts
leads to success
she tries hard
to achieve her goals
but she always fails

I feel sorry for her
as she does not realise
that trying hard
but always failing
simply means
she should change direction
 231° 
Lostling
Measure every word,
Every use of punctuation,
Every emoticon and emoji
Down to the smallest gram

Think twice. No--
Thirteen times,
Before opening your mouth.
And dont talk too much or you're self centred

Check every message, comment.
Nothing too harsh
Nothing insensitive
Nothing that might scare them away
Or tarnish their view of you

Write
Delete
And rewrite
Then quickly send before you chicken out
I love chatting and interacting with you guys but sometimes I overthink
Let it go...
If it mattered to you at one time then it was important
But if it's holding you back it's a distraction.
 205° 
Namika Umata
Morning rain and mist
Red Cardinal sings among
Forsythia buds
 167° 
Dency
It went quiet
Not because it gave up
Bt because it was saving me.

It felt too much
So it chose silence
Over shuttering.

It held the storm
Behind closed doors
So I could keep breathing.

It's not numb
Just protecting
What's still healing
 162° 
Vass
Then the end credits play,
to the tune of mayonnaise.

He sees his high-scores,
his achievements,
his count of lays,
his count of eaten tangerins,
his time spent loving,
his time wasted.

His family and friends
his friends and family,
wave bye to him,
they all cry.

He sees their ending as well.
And all their off-springs too.
He sees himself remembered for the last time.        
He sees the end of the world.
And the end of everything.

And all his questions answered.
And ALL YOUR MYSTERIES SOLVED.
AND EVERY HELP YOU'VE GOTTEN FROM YOUR FRIENDS.
AND EVERY TIME YOU'VE HELPED BACK.
AND EVERY HUG GIVEN IN WELCOME.
AND EVERY DOG AND CAT AND ANIMAL LOVED!
AND EVERY GREAT MELODY EVER MADE.
 159° 
badwords
When your phone falls down
The screen is already cracked
There is no hurry
 139° 
Kaiden
I try to keep myself together,
Holding onto you like a lifeline,
Yet i feel my hands slip off when you're gone.

And it works,
For just a while,
But it's so unfamiliar..
I got used to the feeling of the other one too much,
And haven't fully let go yet.
i love him sm but holy **** i need to learn to get over stuff
 110° 
Amy Childers
A silent promise,
Whispered low,
My love to you began to grow.
And yet stolen glances
Turned into lost chances,
Where did all that love go?
Do the pleading eyes
And desperate tries
Just fade away?
No.
But slowly the ember dies,
Aching for a glimpse
From your eyes,
Lost in a sea of forlorn despair.
And yet it never comes.
Soon,
That love grows dull,
And the sharp words
Bang in my skull,
Telling me you can
Never love me.
And in the mirror,
A stranger stares
Weak, pitiful,
A lifeless glare.
And yet,
Love foregoes the empty...
It's all that's there.
My silent promise to you is this:
Your ghost,
I will always bear.
 106° 
Moo
It lives in Him breathes in his vitals,
Personifies him and nets out of his veins lethargy,
It dampens what his heart has in offer,
It lays in him waste,
a bewitched rower to this boat,
Who has yet to learn to stay afloat,
His obfuscations lead him sober,
His blind eye dictates his horror,
A pearl beyond imagination he has yet to attain,
To proclaim his name with no distain.
Your voice is like music
You’re ethereal; a gift
You move the earth
More than a tectonic shift
You’re a goddess like creature
Your beauties refined
I’ll whisper I love you
A billion more times
Just to help you remember
I’m consumed, I’m obsessed
From the tip of your head
To your feet under dress
I worship your shadow
Your voice fills the room
I perk up my ears
And I’m saved from my doom
My royal highness
My immaculate queen
My last thought when I lay down
As to meet you in my dreams
 96° 
Victor Hugo
Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate ;
And whatever sky's above me,
Here's a heart for every fate.
BYRON.


Amis ! c'est donc Rouen, la ville aux vieilles rues,
Aux vieilles tours, débris des races disparues,
La ville aux cent clochers carillonnant dans l'air,
Le Rouen des châteaux, des hôtels, des bastilles,
Dont le front hérissé de flèches et d'aiguilles
Déchire incessamment les brumes de la mer ;

C'est Rouen qui vous a ! Rouen qui vous enlève !
Je ne m'en plaindrai pas. J'ai souvent fait ce rêve
D'aller voir Saint-Ouen à moitié démoli,
Et tout m'a retenu, la famille, l'étude,
Mille soins, et surtout la vague inquiétude
Qui fait que l'homme craint son désir accompli.

J'ai différé. La vie à différer se passe.
De projets en projets et d'espace en espace
Le fol esprit de l'homme en tout temps s'envola.
Un jour enfin, lassés du songe qui nous leurre,
Nous disons : " Il est temps. Exécutons! c'est l'heure. "
Alors nous retournons les yeux : la mort est là !

Ainsi de mes projets. Quand vous verrai-je, Espagne,
Et Venise et son golfe, et Rome et sa campagne,
Toi, Sicile que ronge un volcan souterrain,
Grèce qu'on connaît trop, Sardaigne qu'on ignore,
Cités de l'aquilon, du couchant, de l'aurore,
Pyramides du Nil, cathédrales du Rhin !

Qui sait ? Jamais peut-être. Et quand m'abriterai-je
Près de la mer, ou bien sous un mont blanc de neige,
Dans quelque vieux donjon, tout plein d'un vieux héros,
Où le soleil, dorant les tourelles du faîte,
N'enverra sur mon front que des rayons de fête
Teints de pourpre et d'azur au prisme des vitraux ?

Jamais non plus, sans doute. En attendant, vaine ombre,
Oublié dans l'espace et perdu dans le nombre,
Je vis. J'ai trois enfants en cercle à mon foyer ;
Et lorsque la sagesse entr'ouvre un peu ma porte,
Elle me crie : Ami ! sois content. Que t'importe
Cette tente d'un jour qu'il faut sitôt ployer !

Et puis, dans mon esprit, des choses que j'espère
Je me fais cent récits, comme à son fils un père.
Ce que je voudrais voir je le rêve si beau !
Je vois en moi des tours, des Romes, des Cordoues,
Qui jettent mille feux, muse, quand tu secoues
Sous leurs sombres piliers ton magique flambeau !

Ce sont des Alhambras, de hautes cathédrales,
Des Babels, dans la nue enfonçant leurs spirales,
De noirs Escurials, mystérieux séjour,
Des villes d'autrefois, peintes et dentelées,
Où chantent jour et nuit mille cloches ailées,
Joyeuses d'habiter dans des clochers à jour !

Et je rêve ! Et jamais villes impériales  
N'éclipseront ce rêve aux splendeurs idéales.
Gardons l'illusion ; elle fuit assez tôt.
Chaque homme, dans son coeur, crée à sa fantaisie
Tout un monde enchanté d'art et de poésie.
C'est notre Chanaan que nous voyons d'en haut.

Restons où nous voyons. Pourquoi vouloir descendre,
Et toucher ce qu'on rêve, et marcher dans la cendre ?
Que ferons-nous après ? où descendre ? où courir ?
Plus de but à chercher ! plus d'espoir qui séduise !
De la terre donnée à la terre promise
Nul retour ; et Moïse a bien fait de mourir !

Restons **** des objets dont la vue est charmée.
L'arc-en-ciel est vapeur, le nuage est fumée.
L'idéal tombe en poudre au toucher du réel.
L'âme en songes de gloire ou d'amour se consume.
Comme un enfant qui souffle en un flocon d'écume,
Chaque homme enfle une bulle où se reflète un ciel !

Frêle bulle d'azur, au roseau suspendue,
Qui tremble au moindre choc et vacille éperdue !
Voilà tous nos projets, nos plaisirs, notre bruit !
Folle création qu'un zéphyr inquiète !
Sphère aux mille couleurs, d'une goutte d'eau faite !
Monde qu'un souffle crée et qu'un souffle détruit !

Le saurons-nous jamais ? Qui percera nos voiles,
Noirs firmaments, semés de nuages d'étoiles ?
Mer, qui peut dans ton lit descendre et regarder ?
Où donc est la science ? Où donc est l'origine ?
Cherchez au fond des mers cette perle divine,
Et, l'océan connu, l'âme reste à sonder !

Que faire et que penser ? Nier, douter, ou croire ?
Carrefour ténébreux ! triple route! nuit noire !
Le plus sage s'assied sous l'arbre du chemin,
Disant tout bas : J'irai, Seigneur, où tu m'envoies.
Il espère, et, de ****, dans les trois sombres voies,
Il écoute, pensif, marcher le genre humain !

Mai 1830.
 89° 
Chrys
People look to me to solve their problems
Fix their lives, make everything okay
But what if I myself am a puzzle
An unsolvable equation
Then who gets to fix me?
 86° 
Ash
no one loves you
as I do
no one cares for you
  as I do
no one sees you
as I do
no one serves you
as I do
no one hold you close
as I do
What do you do when you truly love someone,but they don't notice you....
 82° 
Dr Peter Lim
Life is hard, imperfect and fragile.
How we live makes us what we are--
no one can be perfectly happy
and that's a good thing--
if it were,  we would hardly grow
 77° 
OnLithium
This feeling
In the gut
The butterflies
Turn to termites
What made you
Stir inside
Is now eating
You alive
And now you are left
Rotting
 74° 
Agnes de Lods
Ego
Oh, my dearest Egooooo!
When you can’t squeeze through the door,
so immense and entitled,
I tell myself,
“That’s enough!”
No more confetti and fireworks!
Haunting me over a lost chance.

The Magnificence of Doubt—
what if I were…
Soundless compliments
only to be pinched and ignored later.

From now on,
I celebrate my mediocre greatness
with a crown of fool’s gold on my head…
yet throne-less.

Some falls, invisible success,
and unfulfilled hopes,
which, surprisingly,
made me stronger.

Oh, the Irony of fate!
All these sleepless nights
for this Wisdom?!
 72° 
Nosy
I see her
The way she stands
The way she smiles
It angers me.

Why won’t she listen
Why won’t she quit
She’s mine and should-
Always listen,

It makes her think I’m cruel
I’m cold and incapable of love
But I gave her all and everything I had
I install her with fear, for the world-
And all that’s around her
I truly love her, but wished she’d disappear.

She wants to make her own decisions
Fine go be your own grown up
And find out the world can’t take you
You’re too much until you’re too little
She’s the thread, and I keep pulling
Why does she want to leave…

They’ll eat you alive
I’m just trying to help
Even out of spite,
So when she breaks-
At least I warned her
She’ll never make it alone.
Growing up with a narcissistic parent. Believing this would be their point of view.
 68° 
Michael Marchese
Look at me
Look at me
Narcissistic
Tendency
Enemies
Nemeses
Everywhere
Dependency
Unfriending
Distant memories
Becoming
Penitentiaries  
To place the blame
In block chain cages
Gamify
The dread AI
Then manufacture
Your outrages
Cheap
From its
All-seeing eye
 65° 
Lynn Stillman
People won't tell you.
No words to express their hate.
Quietly you're shown.
Ell
 64° 
Chris S
The day I woke up, the sky was gray.
Clouds of black. A sprinkle of rain.
Thunder claps, yet it was midday.
Flowing orange fire like a tiger's mane.

Today, I woke up to a sky of gray.
Walked out to a sight quite often seen.
Fires burned bright, just to decay.
Sat still and watched, but not so keen.

Each day I wake up, the sky will be gray.
Water pours down, pools at my feet.
Flames clash with the sky-fallen bay.
Cool sensations burned up by the heat.
I BLEED,
YOU BLEED,
WE ALL BLEED!!!
we bleed
the color of
red,
they say!!,
we are all equal
in, and
every kind of way,
We are All United,
Yes,
we are one,
we bleed the
color red,
all countries,  
all nations,
on this earth,
Under God's
Bright Sun!!
We All have values,
qualifications and needs,
So, let's stand,
negotiate, and
deliberate,
minus all
of the greed,
So, come on,
WE COULD DO THIS,
why beg, and
why plead???
the road is
rugged now, but
through our veins,
is RED BLOOD,
and
Remember:
WE ALL BLEED!!!!!


B.R.
Date: 7/6/2025
 57° 
c a r o l i n e
My eyes study your motion
Let your hands free themselves of burden
Like fire he resonates with my inner being
In the stillness, I find myself clinging
To my vulnerability
Refusing the chase, the shadows of my heart awaken
Feelings of splendour,
Eyes meeting halfway
as to be thrown into this storm unprepared
Craving the nectar, my mind goes to places I've not known
It draws me closer to the flame
Earning each moment
 56° 
Kezexxe
Expressing emotions,
From unseen explosions,
And flinching at motions.
 55° 
Blake M Woods
They called it ruin, wreck, and waste – my life that was…
But I was walking into grace.  
The smoke they saw was burning lies,  
While I looked upward, I cleared my eyes

I walked through the smoke, the heat, and the ash – but not alone…
Christ met me where the flames had grown.  
He didn’t flinch, With outstretched hand He pulled me free,  
And rewrote all my history.  

So let them talk – I serve the King,  
Not bound by guilt or suffering.  
My life is His, made clean, made new,  
Flames of mercy burning through.
Quiero saber de quién es mi pasado.
¿De cuál de los que fui? ¿Del ginebrino
que trazó algún hexámetro latino
que los lustrales años han borrado?

¿Es de aquel niño que buscó en la entera
biblioteca del padre las puntuales
curvaturas del mapa y las ferales
formas que son el tigre y la pantera?

¿O de aquel otro que empujó una puerta
detrás de la que un hombre se moría
para siempre, y besó en el blanco día

la cara que se va y la cara muerta?
Soy los que ya no son. Inútilmente
soy en la tarde esa perdida gente.
Learn to let go of people,
for sometimes it gives you peace...
Ase.
Am dull, dark and peaceful,
I am death.
What a noisy breath I bear,
Like a patient in coma, who only machines are keeping alive,
Rejoicing.
Maybe, a true genius looks for
Eternal peace in death,
Last, stop looking for me, while I am simply hiding... 💀👅🩸
 47° 
Lance Remir
I still whisper
"Goodnight"
I still whisper
"Happy Birthday"
I still whisper
"I love you"
I still whisper
"I miss you"
Because a whisper
Is all I have left of us
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