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 Jan 2017 Angel
Apollo Hayden
I try
 Jan 2017 Angel
Apollo Hayden
Days go by

You'd think I'd be doing fine
but I'm missing you more and more

Still I try and carry on
yet wonder if you'll ever reopen your door
and let me return
 Jan 2017 Angel
Steven L Herring
Sharp words shouldn't be spoken
Nobody's perfect
When everything comes out broken
Choking on every syllable
Soaking up every last "I'm sorry"
like a sponge that's full already
Steady, aim, fire another round across his bow
Give her another volley of misunderstanding champ,
because your fowling out over fences topped with razor wire

Sometimes a simple smile seems better
Than a string of wrong words that leave your mouth bitter
Sometimes still tongues touch more hearts
and wagging ones turn burnt ears into quitters
Sometimes stepping out's better

Why stick around and frown?
Why let it all bring you down?
Needle and thread your squack box
Turn keys on locks
And give it up, will ya?!
Try it again tomorrow
There'd be a whole lot less sorrow....
 Jan 2017 Angel
Daan
Shift
 Jan 2017 Angel
Daan
Reeds de derde achter de rug
nog een vierde, doe maar vlug.
Alsof de tijd is opgeschoven,
teruggeschoven
en wederkeerde naar dezelfde momenten.

Waarom blijft een dier zich inprenten
als een beest, zuiders wild,
zelfs al heeft het nooit gemogen,
zelfs al is het nooit gewild,
radeloos maar opgetogen.

Doelen worden pas plezier
als ze bereikt worden.
Nadat we enkele maanden
heen en weer porden
en ons verliefd of verlangend waanden
keerden we terug naar de eigenlijke staat.

Elk van ons is en blijft niets meer,
keert weder, elke keer,
naar een staat in de natuur,
met meerdere deuren op een kier,
noem het zielig, noem het zuur,
we blijven niets meer dan een dier.
Zelfkennis is het begin
en er komt geen einde aan.
Dus wees eerlijk,
geliefd en verlangd.
spatio brevi spem longam reseces
 Jan 2017 Angel
Lady Bird
like paint through bristles
ink is spilling out
of my overfilled pen
bleeding onto the paper

scribbling notes
in a usual cliche
curling my words
hoping they stay

for a weaver of words
I am without any
I couldn't describe
snatches of my sanity

writing is an extension
of the mind and
I am out of mine
 Jan 2017 Angel
Onoma
If a soul must have its
night, which it must...
how dark it gather, how
thick it be...what's lived
will tell--to what end?
A directionless break of sound,
as if fled
from silence with a start--
the terrible nausea of having
been, and returning to what
now is, which will be...no
more apparent than the experience of itself, roundly met.
How might a personage bear
the scorn of what means to dissolve
what no longer serves it.
What of life that may be deemed
short, or long...as if never born--
or born to die to what's never been born.
Blind stead, whose dross drapes days in wait of gold.
*First of a series of poems.
 Jan 2017 Angel
Alyssa Underwood
"But who do you say that I am?"  ~ Jesus Christ
Luke 9:20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeKgfUGtcI0
 Jan 2017 Angel
Michael Blonski
****** into the city where chaos prevails
camouflaged beneath the innocence
of a white bridal veil

We breath its air
and eat its streets
our bones fuse with concrete
our blood flows through pipes
that lay hidden beneath

Slowly we morph into the places
we can no longer
escape
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