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 Jul 13 Lizzie Bevis
Liana
All they said was that they care
Something a lot of people hear a lot
But for me
Every time
I start to sob
Grateful tears
For once not ones of deep, unending pain
But ones as if to say
"Really? Wow, finally"

And they roll down my cheeks
In a different way
A way that seems peaceful
It reminds me of when
You're gazing up into the sky
Waiting for a cloud to move
To reveal something
Anything to make it better
Soothe the uncertainty and melancholy
The heartwrenching pain
And at last it does move
And the star behind it is more extraordinary than you'd imagined
And you can do nothing but watch it for a while
Marvel at it
Take a race around your mind
Trying to truly believe
That it really was indeed finally there after all this time
Beautiful

When they say they care
They care about ME
Of all people
Me
In all my brokenness
In all my strangeness
My intensity

They care
And that's just crazy to me
So I'll look at the text
Over and over
Making sure my mind didn't make it up

I'll replay the moment
Again and again
Confirming it actually happened
Remembering it is capable of happening to me
Happening to broken glass

And everytime I do
The tears start again
Grateful
And in absolute awe

It's crazy what words can do
There hangs,
In a portal spot,
Hydrangeas
In a rustic ***.
Breathless
To the chosen few
Who care
To take the chance
To view.

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Dear patty prompted this thought in her recent rather haunting work, "Portrayal".
 Jun 21 Lizzie Bevis
1DNA
Doctors see more blood
in sterile rooms
than soldiers do
on broken land.
Inspired from "Descendants of the sun".
We’ll hitchhike to mars
on a rocket not a car,
so say your au revoirs.

We’ll steer towards Polaris, the north star
right through the center of the milky-way-bar.
See, the universe is dark and chocolatey.

Stars that glitter like multi-faceted gems,
are just shiny, yellow, peanut M&Ms,
take a handful, if you’d like, they’re free.

We’ll dodge the silhouetted moon,
which is made of enough coconut macaroon,
to make a French confectioner swoon.

As we go streaking, like a comet’s tail,
drag a finger through Saturn’s rings as well,
those are made of marshmallow.

We’ll  pass nebulae made of cotton-kandi,
and here’s a fact Einstein would have found handy,
the speed of light doesn’t apply to candy.
.
.
Ramble on by Toni Jevicky
I ended up at the wrong time,
in the wrong place,
carrying a dead flashlight
that instead of shining,
offered me an elusive shape—
a spectacle of shadows.

What was a hand
became a dog barking on the wall,
or a ghost-rabbit
vanishing into nothingness.

My rational “I” still asks why,
and I have no answer.
I just smile with sadness:
that was the script,
that had to happen.

Bittersweet medicine,
already swallowed,
the side effects dissolved.
And I boarded another train.

Writing?
I only wanted an ordinary life,
with some humor
and a pinch of self-irony.

Saturn joined,
Saturn divided,
at 8:18 a.m.

Maybe we humans
don’t have the stillness
to break free from the pattern
of silver rings
made of dust and ice,
imposed by an ego.

Maybe we prefer
the safety of the shadow,
ice melts in daylight.

My story:
a new-old flat,
my imperfect poems…
Really?
For this, I was made?

I’m not a poet.
I’m a living voice,
taming incomprehension
convincing myself
that dawn is near,
and I’m strong enough to rise,
not looking anymore
for cold mirrors.
This poem is my way of catching a moment when something that once felt real and meaningful slowly turns into just a shadow, a projection, an illusion. I wanted to show how reality can sometimes feel surreal, and how easy it is to mistake a reflection for the real thing, like in Plato’s cave. We often fall for false impressions. The image of the hand’s shadow on the wall becoming a barking dog or a disappearing rabbit is my way of speaking about disappointment and coming to terms with what happened.
For me, every poem is also like a diary, a way of keeping things I do not want, or maybe cannot, forget. I try to leave space for different interpretations, but what matters most to me always stays hidden underneath. To me, the hand in the poem has already become a shadow. And somehow, even if it makes no sense, the shadow still casts another one. It feels like a game of broken telephone with consciousness. Scattered pieces only make sense to me as a whole.
 Jun 21 Lizzie Bevis
Cadmus
💍

She may walk like fire
and speak like wine,
but her lips
carry the ashes
of another man’s home.

Desire is not worth
the ruin you inherit.
No glory is found
in tasting
a betrayal
you didn’t earn.

🖤
Never sleep with another man’s wife. Some doors are locked for a reason. Kicking them open only brings ghosts.
Lawrence Hall
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Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                      The President’s Complaint


            “Speak, vermin!...What is the meaning of all this waste,
             this gluttony, this self-indulgence?”

      -The White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe


Juneteenth celebrates freedom from *******
But the president would have us all in Don-dage
Juneteenth
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