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 5722° 
M Vogel
(for the one who laughed when she came, and never stopped hearing me in her bones)


It wasn’t the wind that bent you—
not the plains, not the brittle hush of late dusk
cutting through the cottonwoods like questions.
It was voice.
It was mine.


Low and unhurried,
crawling up your spine like something ancient—
like the first time you were seen
and the world didn’t flinch.


You used to laugh when it overtook you—
that slick tumble of vowels,
how I could tilt you
without even touching your skin.

You said I lived in your throat,
that the syllables themselves
curved just right
to make you forget the weight of your own story.

“I’m going to Wichita..”
you whispered once,
grinning like prophecy in denim and dusk.
And I swear the beat behind your words
matched mine—
steady as a war drum
in a bone-dry motel room
that never got booked.

You drank me in like river water
stolen from ceremony,
not out of defiance—
but because thirst
was the only honest thing you ever said aloud.

You never had to be naked.
You were always open.
Even when you ran.

And I?
I never asked for healing you wouldn't give.
Only for your mouth to stay honest
when it called my name like a drumbeat
between the bones of your hips.

Now you write like it’s safe again—
soft edges and sparrows and fruit bowls.
But I remember the wildflower.
The one who moaned my name
before language learned to lie.

And somewhere in the shadow of your poems,
you still ache.
You still clench.
You still carry me like a smudge of midnight
on the inside of your thighs.

I won’t chase you.
But I will wait
at the edge of the circle.

If you come,
come barefoot.


Come ready
for the step–half step
of  the forbidden Ghost Dance.
Not to win me back—

but to find the girl
who could come from laughter
and rise from the dead.



Be careful how you touch her,
for she'll awaken

And sleep's the only freedom
that she knows

And when you walk into her eyes,
you won't believe

The way she's always paying
For a debt she never owes
And a silent wind still blows
That only she can hear

.. and so she goes

https://youtu.be/YQ8n_Esop5I?si=dRXBgEhdY-Gw4r8e

#Love
GhostDance
#Redemption
#Recovery
 2102° 
Damocles
Walk with me,
Tethered in interlocked fingers,
The gravel path, rain-stricken,
Petrichor mingling with pollen,
Tickling our olfactory senses,
Perfumed in her elegance.

Walk with me,
Through verdant wonderlands,
Where arboreal creatures dart in the rustling flora,
How their almond eyes spy,
Our synchronized steps as we tread the landscape,
Finding our great escape amidst the ancient giants.
Sit with me,
Under the umbrella of shade,
Where the canopies provide a light show,
As the sun’s beams dance in between the shadows,
Creaking through the cracks and holes within the curves of green,
We can be in silence, save for the avian symphonies,
And the fluttering of wings as falling tufts of feather puff,
Fall from their eager strides along the wind jet.

Fall into me,
As we watch the daylight die,
Tropicana citrus palette painted,
With the hints of pinkish Lilly and lilac purple,
Strike upon the dimming light,
We can watch the pearlescent dots flood the sky,
Under the careful watch of their mother,
As her waning half shyly hides behind the blanket of deep indigo.

Be with me,
In this dark cozy embrace,
Where the navy blue cascades through our forested restaurant,
A pyramid of dried logs, light to a flick and a flame,
The orange glow dances like a ballerina,
Interpretive in its many shapes and tendrils reaching skyward,
I’ll cook for you, a simple steak, buttered and brined,
Sautéed with picked mushrooms,
And asparagus,
Grilled marked and fire etched,
Medium rare, like these little moments.

Eat with me,
While fireflies strobe about us,
And moths surround the embers,
While diamonds sparkle above,
Winking eyes that encourage this,
A simple kiss on anxious lips.
Would you like to walk with me?
 780° 
rick
the
smell
of the
barbecue grill
taunts
my hunger pains
I walk on by
uninvited
with no place
to
go.
I figured out
what we could write down—
two labels
purple and orange—
stitched to different sleeves
but the same letters BFF.

Not just best friends—
but bookmarks
in each other’s stories
highlighted in bold
where the heart paused.

You wear your color
I wear mine—
but side by side
we make something brighter
than either alone.
 460° 
Nina
I’ll open the door before you knock
barefoot
heart lit
shaking
I’ll kiss your mouth before you speak
not to quiet you
but to show you
what language was always
reaching for
I’m wearing your pants tonight
for the first time
in a long time
& I kissed them
and kissed them
and kissed them
as if they were you
 311° 
bee careful
I love you
You are the sun
you are the rain
I love you
☀️
I am here—
with bedtime stories
lullabies
and a safe presence
to chase your nightmares away

I don't speak in grand gestures—
just turn pages with soft hands
sing tunes the stars might remember
and tuck your fear beneath warm sheets

When shadows creep up the wall
I stay—
not to fight them
but to show they can't stay long
and must go
as the night listens

You sleep—
and I remain
telling every dark thing
not tonight—
not ever.
 246° 
Michael John
you want to be paid
for your work
and i want to be paid
for mine

you will not be cheated
and i will not be cheated
simple is nt it..

and yet in these silly lines
there is so much..
war and hate
hate and war etc..
 213° 
Crow
a poet's heart
is a thing of ink

pigmented with equal parts
hubris and anxiety
rage and hope
passion
and tears

narcissists filled with self loathing

composed of shouts inarticulate
and whispers of intricate craft

our thoughts and words rushing
through us
barely legible

defining our days
with explosions of fathomless obscurity
or flashes of visceral clarity

our nights consumed
in communion with paradise
while teasing secrets from the abyss

couplets and quatrains
providing us the space
to live
or to die

running breathless in free verse
we grasp at perpetuity
yet find ourselves doomed
to ephemeron

like the sky
we are rewritten each day

yet as the sky remains the sky
so do we remain
what we are

pages
in a book we can barely read

remaking and trimming

editing ourselves

to fit within the margins
of our paper souls
 201° 
brooke
.

can you save him?

Can you save him?


A few short weeks before he’d
tattooed Isaiah 40:31 on the
back of his tricep

I  missed all the signs—
his little sister is getting married in a week.

It’s been five years and
It’s been five years and—

It’s been five years


And.
(C) Brooke Otto 2025
 177° 
Twisted Poet
What did I expect?
To leave a haemorrhage
of violets wherever I walked?
No. A lost son is called prodigal.
A lost daughter is just called lost.
 150° 
joaquin
i have never once
loved in moderation
that is my constant

to love any less
makes no difference
it will hurt all the same
you deserve nothing less
 147° 
kaya
you’re the calm in my chaos,
the steady in my storm.

words from you
feel earned

you don’t flood me with noise
but when you speak
each word carries weight
given carefully,
never lightly.
 137° 
Kurt Philip Behm
I heard
death call
before seeing
its face
Far in
the distance
it sent
its embrace

Each sound
an omen
betrothed
deep inside
Announcing
the groom
awaiting
— the bride

(The New Room: May, 2025)
Gently cross over the wooden bridge
You have places to go
The bridge has to be there for every passer-by
Dawn to dusk, weathered, not yet to dust
Into the forest deep,
where the rivers rumble and roar
and sing lullabies
Thank you so much 😊 Agnes, bless your heart for all the love kindness and sunshine ☀️  🔆 that you share and happiness that you spread :)
 122° 
Dancing Tree
Simple pleasures warm my heart
a cup of tea with a homemade biscuit and jam
a sunny day or a beautiful snowy one
a really good laugh
a comfortable bed ❤️
 117° 
Neville Johnson
Every time I hear that song
I want to leave the room
It brings back memories
Of sadness, such gloom
There I was trying to accept
To understand why she didn’t believe
In me, in us, in what could be
That song told the truth
About a girl confused
It hit me hard
I tried to hang on
No can do
I was stuck in a foreign land
Dumped, distressed
Dejected and mad
At her, at life, at myself
Stuck, out of luck
A man overboard
 112° 
bleedingink
I promised you forever,
and forever it will be.
Because even through the worst nights,
you were there for me.

Even though there are millions of miles,
pulling us apart.
I promised you forever,
and you still have my heart.
If you see this, I still mean it. And I always will <3
 111° 
Mike Adam
Trembling leaves stand out,
Yellow amongst the green-

First to expire in heat,
They tremble and fall
Decondensed,
Brittle dry harbingers

Of an early Autumn,
Chill borne on North
Sea breeze

This sunny Summer morn
 105° 
Pouya
Everything is just right.
Everything is as it should be.
Everything is fine—

Even when it hurts.
Even when it heals.
Even when it doesn’t feel that way.
 102° 
Bekah Halle
I wake,

To Heaven’s tears

Dripping down...

Their gentle potter-patter

Kiss the earth--

God’s promises:

To make,

All things new again;

Right.
Stop waiting on the stars
To open your dreams
Let light be
The source of
All your themes
Hide not behind
The moon
Letting lies
Be your doom
Open the letter
Life is just a
Postcard away
No postage due
Sunshine's still free
Oweeja (O-way-ah) Live in the day
Song : Trade it for the night by Haevn
 80° 
badwords
We are not survivors.
we are residue.

the soot that lingers
on collapse's last tongue.

entropy's loiterers—
spiteful, unfinished.
neurons in feedback.
systems with no gods.

the architects left
when the scaffolds imploded.
we cradle their blueprints
like scripture in ash.

rebuild?
with what breath?
with what myth?
our dreams are famine-shaped.

nirvana is a severance package.
emptiness sold
in velvet robes.
a silence that never asked
about wreckage.

so we sharpen our vowels.
scribe ruin in elegy.
chant hymns for dead logics.
leave witness marks
in the marrow of this glitch.

we were not chosen.
we remained.
“Failure Spiral // Witness Marks” is a blistered fragment from the edge of philosophical exhaustion — a poem that resists salvation with surgical precision. Cast in scorched economy, it unspools a mythic post-mortem of civilization, depicting a world not built but inherited — a residual loop of cascading failures mistaken for history.

The voice is not that of a prophet, but of an archivist trapped in recursion — mapping entropy with a cartographer’s detachment and a poet’s poison. In this world, survivors are no more than loiterers of meaning, spectral stewards of systems that have outlived their gods.

There is no crescendo, only a ritual of reckoning. Each line is a witness mark — the scorched etching of presence, absence, and the irreparable fracture in between.

The artist, known for rejecting ornate redemption and preferring the poetry of raw architecture, constructs this piece as both indictment and artifact. It is not a lament, nor a sermon. It is a sigil: burned into the consciousness of a species too late to evolve, too early to vanish.

Drawing on metaphysical absurdity, systems theory, and the brutal elegance of unfinished futures, the poem contorts language into a kind of relic — not to beautify collapse, but to encode it. It neither heals nor harms. It names.

Nirvana is recontextualized not as liberation, but as abandonment — a cruel exit strategy for those privileged enough to transcend. The poem resists this, choosing instead to stay behind, to write in the ash, to claw meaning from the wreckage not for salvation, but for testimony.

It is a monument to those who remained — not as heroes, but as interpreters of the glitch, unwilling to forget what broke, and too lucid to lie about what comes next.
Get Lost in the World,
of your own Imaginations,
Your minds is so full of,
Motivation and Creations!!

In your own World,
You can do what you want to do,
Your Aspirations and your Desires,
They All Begin within You!!

Create a World, that is
Far away from Reality,
Living within that moment, of pure Fantasy,
Let it be your goal, of pure Destiny!!

You are the mastermind, and
just let it flow out Naturally,
Once it is Accomplished,
it will turn out so Magically!!

Escape from the World,
of Hate and of Calamity,
Be one with your Utopia, of
Calmness and Tranquility!!

Just within your own Peace,
IN YOUR OWN WORLD,
OF PURE SERENITY!!!!


B.R.
Date: 5/24/2025
Sometimes, you just need to escape it all, and go to your Happy Place!!!
when a heart finds love is flutters there inside
such a lovely feeling from it you cant hide
makes you feel so happy makes you feel brand new
this is what will happen when love comes to you

getting even stronger each and everyday
stay forever true and never fade away
there inside your heart your love will always be
for now and evermore for eternity
 71° 
Falling Awake
Foam lines move outwards

From oars that pierce stillness

Spreading just to fade.
about impermanence
I don't know what to call it—
there's no labels on our jars
just the taste of feeling safe
when the world forgets
to be kind—
in silence
in tears
in the act of terrible singing
and to let each other be
without fixing—
like two cool cats
napping on opposite windowsills—
both catching light
without stealing it.

I don't ask
why you need to be quiet
whether happy or sad—
and you don't ask
why I stay up to see the sunrise
or why I stay up late
talking to the moon.

We don’t measure what this is—
we just make room
for each other's storms
place our phones on the counter
and mean it
when we take time
for each other.

You know
when I need a loud no.
I know when you need
a soft it's okay
and I never follow you
into storms
you choose to weather alone.

I never knock too loudly—
just wait
on the porch of your quiet
hands in my pockets
not asking you to hurry.

This—whatever it is—
feels like a home.
 69° 
The Wilted Witch
Quench your rage with cooking oil,
With powder, or with ***.
Whatever way you quench your rage,
Our world will soon be done.

Calm your nerves with nicotine.
Use narcissism, or use noise.
It will not matter what you’ve used,
When all the world’s destroyed.
Real eyes
Realize
Real lies
Tupac Shakur
 67° 
Kezexxe
The sound of lies fill me,
The noise of an im sorry,
The feeling of a last goodbye.
Pushing me away, 'go'

 67° 
hannah
wet dirt
adhere to me
sand of the earth
mold me into being
your perfect being

(an inexistent being)

mother
nature
embrace me
allow me into your center
i will burn at your core
to become nothing
once more
 65° 
JohnDuffyASY
(A lone voice whispers)

In the wind,  
In a gale, or at sea,  

Evoked by angels at daylight,  
Awoken by devils at midnight.  

And just broken  
In between.  

I once wandered like Dante,  
Experiencing heaven and hell  

Simultaneously,  
Like a shadow being,  
A Djinn.  

Unfolded like a rare, old-world map,  
Cold and lost as life's winds destroyed all my sanctuaries.  

I once used as cover while my broken heart recovered.  

But today,  

On December the fifth,  
The third day after you left,  

I feel resurrected and reincarnated like Mephibosheth.  

For, like in all relationships, holding Death's cold hands while you once wandered isn’t real death:
  
Only a tragic play.  

Yet one can feel burnt at the stake,  

Like the family and servants in a play

Written by someone known as Shakespeare,  
Called Macbeth.  

(C) Copyright John Duffy
 63° 
heidi
Gentle lips parted,
they form a soft '𝑜' of sleep.
I wish you sweet dreams.
he rests so peacefully, it warms my heart
 63° 
Charmour
I crave for their affection
I crave for their love
I crave for their appreciation
I crave for them to love me back
I crave for them to be there for me
I crave for there to notice me
I crave for them to listen to me
I crave for their time
I crave for them to stop comparing me with my brother
I crave for the things i know I'll never get
To atleast be happy with me
But it's not gonna happen
I know it won't
I want them to love me back....
 61° 
Melanie Jackson
I think I'm stuck
While every one around me
Is rushing
F
    O
        R
            W
                 A
                      R
                         D
And I sit stuck
Or perhaps the only way I've learned
To grow is
                                         B
                                   A
                          C
                   W
              A
        R
    D
S
 59° 
Moshiri Himeka
Watching over me,
Feel my soul flee,
Wanna trap inside a dream,
Insecurity in reality,
Reality is grave of dreams,
People staring,
Feels scary,
And here is me,
Fed up of reality,
Oh I plea,please,
Let me sleep peacefully,
My world is just...my dream and me,
Please,set me free.
My bestie(kangaroo) gave me the topic insecurity to write..so here it is...how fictional is peace when reality gives insecurity.
 59° 
Sovi
You called it love, then cut me open. Said it didn't hurt just a plastic knife.

But I loved you, so I didn't flinch. And that's why I still bleed.
 57° 
paul sheridan
some days my legs work better
than others look at me oddly
as I clutch onto the railings, the wall
and you, you most of all  ..
 57° 
nivek
each sit down
a new mine to dig

the map drawn
in everyday things

inexhaustible discoveries
waiting to be found

its a songsters world
a poetical dance.
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