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Erenn Apr 18
She entered like light, shimmering;
not the soft kind—
the kind that breaks through storm clouds,
uninvited, undeniable,
with a gaze that does not yield
There was fire in the way she stood still
As if silence bowed to her illumination
As if the world paused, just long enough
to take a breath around her bright presence

You’d think she's all thorns and torn—
but the truth is,
she holds more softness than most can carry
A kindness that doesn’t perform
It just exists
Like roots
Like rain on aching skin

She laughs like the sun forgotten it was tired
Unexpected. Wild. Unscripted.
A sound that stumbles into your chest
and stays there longer than it should
She doesn’t speak of what she’s survived
But you can see it in her eyes
In the way she doesn’t flinch anymore
In the way she still opens her heart
even when the world forgot to knock

When she loves—
there is no question
She loves in ways that re-write the meaning
No halves. No hesitations
Only the full ache of it
Only the surrender

And still, she stands—
not because it was easy,
but because she refused to disappear
She carved herself into something
unshakable
and beautiful
and entirely her own.
To know her
is to be reminded of life
Of how much light a soul can hold,
even after everything

And once you’ve seen her
truly seen her--
You never forget
You never want to



Erennwrites
OdotLondon Apr 25
Some things shatter
Some things bloom
These words illustrate that perfectly.
Broken pieces
Now seeds.
Buried deep
Growing peace.

Something shattered
Something bloomed
A crash
A boom
In an empty room
I once was a poet
Today I’m a poem
Fragmented
Retracing my steps
Finding myself in the empty.
Galaxies between words
Worlds from previous dropped pins.
I dropped pens
Knowing I’d search again.
(From prompt: somethings shatter, somethings bloom)
Ken Pepiton Apr 16
Ai say, receiving via bluetooth,
oh, say, this must be our sign, soon...

On some curve of life function rectifiers,
we have believers who make reasons
for all individual inflamed,
proud local flesh
or agreement clusters
of our kind.

Should you have decided
this is the day,
I heard,
at your I level you hear
this is the day.

Your part, your role, react in part

We have been called.
Out from the shadows mellow,
no dramatics, satisfaction granted,
taken, rest and recuperate, hate later…

listen, this, in its word flow,
is part of time words exist in,
after being read once, right made,

this dabar is said
to use the pen
of a ready writer, eh what better effort,
effectually adapting
to our instant constant

in prayer, believe is a verb,
on your side.

We believe
we know how faith must
function using our faculties
for sensing needs, which are keyed
to homeostasis, relative balance
of the chemistry and mechanics
of life
in motion.

We can do this with no hate at all, wisdom
fruits entreated with in bubbles of war,
for some certainly ****** reasons,
we can infect your wished real,
reasons to beg for bread, real,
humility costs that gnosis,
and so do many religious
ties to late spring around here.
Amen, an intro on a 137 page conversation, a monk I know compiled/
Dexter Apr 15
hidden within a seed still unseen,
sleeping underneath safe and sound.
awakened and cloaked with verdant green,
fierce and strong pierce through the ground.

ethereal thunder in waves bring doubts,
a human essence, within unravels.
silent cry echoing in seven bouts,
alas she rose, awakened, truth prevails.

Blooming under moonlight, sun rays alike,
True form reflects inner, shining bright.
Joss Lennox Apr 13
Balance & harmony dance side by side, under the blushing pink moon tonight.
Across the cosmic divide, petals falling, eyes glancing, as they're gracefully gliding around the illuminated divine.
A love written in scales & stars, floating under opal, moonlit skies.
We'll meet the veil in silken waves during the pink moon's rise.  
Venus whispers sweet truths, from eyes in shades of greens & blues.
Within a galaxy of ethereal embrace, where flowers of blushing rose awaken in full bloom.
💕🌕
a romantic poem about my love (my husband) and April's pink moon in Libra
Damocles Apr 3
Bathing in the divine light,
Drinking Gaia’s tears,
Blanketed in the rich, nourishing soil,
Ephemeral ancient souls,
Last remnants of husk and bone,
Nutrient.

Budding with purpose,
Cocooned in elegance,
Destined deliverance,
Feel the swell of life like a rising tide,
Every secret knowledge gathered,
Pressed upon vibrant limbs.

Now bloom.
Joss Lennox Apr 1
April unveils proof,
within the course of fate,
during the days of downpour & rain,
frightening showers forge new ways,
for vibrant May flowers
to bloom in place.
I wrote this to help calm my nerves regarding sharing my poetry. I'm my own worst critic and want everything I do to be perfect and that just isn't possible. It was me, getting the confidence to just do it, regardless of what anyone thinks or says. It was me finding the courage to believe in myself, because of my own insecurities. I thought the title was catchy, aside from the typical "April fools"
Ivan Mar 23
I miss the orange dawn roses that bloom
and carry the scent of your sweet perfume
like a child that sends his love with a smile
I’m beguiled when I recall their wild pile

ochre arrays spray about Corner’s Bay
but just in headplay as they’ve died away
because you took all the beauties that bloom
but left the gloom I see bringing my doom

yet, I have a wish when I reminisce
for the bliss we shared that I can’t dismiss
my smile never wider than in the hours
we spent with the red roses and flowers

the silk petals soft to touch as your skin
and thy sweet kiss akin the finest gin
greatsloth Mar 22
A flower does not seek why it bloomed
Nor does it ask why its petals are blue;
Time under the clear sky is alive,
Weathering storms can mean something
Though they're all likely nothing
To the aster who doesn't have a midlife.
Maryann I Mar 19
I loved you like spring loves the thaw,
like lungs crave air,
like art bleeds from the soul of the artist.
And I thought love was enough
to keep the thorns from drawing blood.
I thought devotion would bloom into safety—
but I was only watering a graveyard.

The sickness started slow.
First, a cough—
a whisper of rose dust on my tongue.
Then came the petals,
delicate at first,
pink and trembling with hope.
I cradled them like confessions,
believed they were proof of love.

But they kept coming—
petal after petal,
each one heavy with what you wouldn’t give back.
You kissed me with a smile,
while my lungs filled with flowers
planted by hands that never loved me,
only held me for convenience,
for control,
for conquest.

You were a storm beneath soft skin,
a poison wrapped in perfume.
And I loved you—
God, I loved you,
even while you killed parts of me
with your indifference,
even before I knew the rot ran deeper
than abandonment.

Now I know.
Now I know what you are.
A ****** draped in sunlight,
a predator with a paintbrush smile.
You painted me pretty,
then picked me apart.
And I mistook the pain for passion,
your silence for mystery,
your selfishness for sadness.

My body remembers every time
you touched without love,
every moment I mistook trauma for intimacy.
The petals grew darker—
maroon now,
coated in blood,
choking me from within.

I coughed them into my hands,
and still whispered your name
as if you’d come back with kindness,
as if you were ever kind.

I don’t want to mourn you.
I want to mourn me—
the version of me who still believed in you,
who still thought love was supposed to hurt
but not like this.
Never like this.

Hanahaki, they call it—
the disease of unreturned love.
But this isn’t love anymore.
This is grief.
This is rage.
This is survival.

And someday,
someday I’ll breathe again,
clear-chested, flowerless,
free.
This is an older poem written during a difficult time in my life. I’ve since found healing and am now in a healthy, loving relationship. It took time to recover, but things are getting better, and I’m learning to grow from the pain.
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