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 Apr 2015
Jonny Angel
When she sings,
I imagine
walking through
orchards of apple trees.
Do you know what that's like?
It's delicious,
how she moves her lips
in perfect harmony.
Oh, it takes my breath away.
 Apr 2015
SE Reimer
~

a sentencing phase?
not really!
it is instead
a punctuation
deliberation!
be it a period
or a comma
to his phrase,
a life gone…
so terribly wrong,
awry!
oats sewn in haste
becoming
tares of waste
for thrashing,
not for threshing!

his acts despicable,
his name
an alliteration
to us unspeakable;
the terrifying
seen as desperation,
now in need of
great deliberation.
his end undertaken
by those he counted
once as peers,
these twelve poor souls,
now gods
with feet of clay;
his determined fate
to destine and ordain.

is any among
these twelve a peer
to the one
so driven
to destruction?
undeserving of
an exclamation point
no peer am i
as i hypothesize,
at most i’d put
his name in
(parenthesis)
not above,
but underneath
that cold, hard stone;
and ‘neath his name
omit the dash
between his beginning
and his ending.

~

*post script.

(Dzhokhar Tsarnaev)

yes, it is a cold, hard subject,
yet one worth discussing
if only for the sake of
reminding ourselves that
some do not, will not ever
respond to the correction
and the instruction of
a civilized society.
the very basis for
the correction system
in a civilized society
should be one of hope...
hope of restoration,
hope of redemption,
hope of a soul's resurrection.
when hope is gone,
what action then?
and in what manner
are we then charged?
 Apr 2015
Poetic T
They were always up there, when
Moments of cognitive reflection started,
Gathering they went from white to grey.

They would start to think, rumbling
As Liquid thought meet with ice
Particles of deliberation.

Then thoughts would strike from their
Being to the solid below, it would be the
Beginning of words as gravity took hold.

Precipitation fell, first thoughtful drizzle,
Then as words spoken, each raindrop
Was voiced on the terrain below.

They uttered for what seemed like a
Deluge, their words flowed down
Streams and rivers to the waiting sea.

Words spent, that flowed no longer, not
Talked but evaporating skywards to the
Waiting white, to be spoken once more.
When clouds talk this is what is the result.
 Apr 2015
betterdays
imagine if you will
a piece of handmade paper
heavy but fine grained

and upon the piece
of ivory coloured paper
delicate hues of green,
and blue,
placed in an abstract way
using water colour paints

the paper having been wet
no longer lays flat on the table
but undulates, with small hills
and valleys

and upon that piece of paper
artfully decorated
imagine some words, written
in a round and beautiful cursive
formed by an old fountain pen
the ink used, a deep purple
that has been softened by years
the words, are those of young love,

yet to be tested by time
yet to be tested by seperation
yet to be tested by loss


the paper is old now, set with
four creases from where it had
been folded and left within a book
of wordsworth...


on the front fold, the following
To Mary with much love Jack. 1915

and upon that piece of paper
handmade, delicately decorated
inscribed with love and hope,
the beginnings of a family rested.
todays prompt was difficult in that
it asked you to create a piece of poetic art....
I did do one,a hiaku, on tea, but cannot show it here....
so i decided to described this....
a love letter my grandfather made/wrote for my grandmother....
I found it within an old leatherbound book of Wordsworths poetry...
and we now have it framed
on our wall...
it truly is beautiful.
 Apr 2015
Aeya Jean Johnson
Wisps
Of words
Drift down slowly as
She sits,
Invisible and forgotten.
Huddled,
As the world caves down on her.

Even though no one notices her,
They all point,
Stare,
And scorn.

An outcast,
Not knowing the reason why
They talk about how
"Dangerous"
She is.

Rumors and gossip spread like wildfire,
Burning her the worst,
Third degree burns to the soul.

They never realized how
Close to the edge
They pushed,
Until she jumped,
And put out the fire forever.
My official NaPoWriMo address: http://aeyanapowrimo2015.blogspot.com/
 Apr 2015
Musfiq us shaleheen
~~
My two sides in the overflew
With ashes of universe
I then went to wind
With the whorl of time

You do not see me
Anyone else have indulged
May be History tells the truth
Again, can not say

Where is my existence
Thousands million years
which was washed
On the air
In water
Blood
Marrow

Changes in the pages of history
Interest
The clash
Dialectics
Who is going to look for the truth
Lying on the wind
Rode the wrong emotion
I lost myself

The known river
Seems unknown
The vast forest
The little free bird beside my window
Her song
Her dance
Does not want to play flute anymore
In
The mind
Soul

Strong wind of Strangers
The moment comes to pass
Era
Epoch
Whatever floats through years
Of her songs
Abstract tune

I who seek
The truth of the time
That flows into
The bottom of my heart
Draws a cosmic gravity
Yet waiting for a new Sunflower's bloom

~~
 Apr 2015
Leo Cunio
I don't know how to show my feelings, I don't know how to show my love!
I'm sitting here screaming till I stop breathing  but everyones' looking mug.
My whole world is falling, it's breaking apart. I have no clue am I really this smart?
I found a way for me to go away, just take a few pills and drown at the bay.
Hopefully you read this, I'll already be in the abyss.
I don't know how to show my feelings, I don't know how to show my love!&&I; don't know how to show my feelings, I don't know how to show my love!
I don't know how to show my feelings, I don't know how to show my love!

*I wont make you a slave but break your back carrying me to my grave.
they say, and close the stores.

it is complicated, to do

with floor space and employees

rights. we had chocolate eggs,

worked hard, let our arms loose.

warmer now, the sun shone,

peple came, visited, smiled,

fondled the wool, spoke of age

and weaving. he said there

were many looms in his day.

he is eighty eight, he told me

many times.

sbm.
 Apr 2015
Chris
~

I slipped on your
rose petal whispers
and fell deeply
within the blossoms
of your sunflower beauty

Lifted by a fragrance
sweeter than lilac kisses
I gazed into
the magnolia tranquility
of your enchanting eyes

Felt the delicate touch
of morning glory fingers
caressing my skin
in periwinkle passion
neath an azure sky while

Breathing in the sunrise
as you took my heart
in gentle honeysuckle hands,
planting it in the flowering
*garden of your love
It is spring and I am in love
 Apr 2015
Poetic T
playground of feathers
upon heavens blue blanket
winds whisper to them
 Apr 2015
Poetic T
They float they soar bursting
Warmly on her nose, she giggles
At The sensation felt, at the
Feeling of happiness that now
Grows as they drift along.

They were her little wings,
Gliding through a flurry of
Rainbows, shimmering light
Glances of perfect bubbles.

Kaleidoscopes Bouncing
From one to another as little
Wings let bubbles Play with
The wind, a wonderful sight
To be hold.

She looked at this little wings,
Awe struck upon there creations
Upon the beauty of this dragons
Two. She wiggled her fingers
Playful towards them both
As one licked upon her digit
Then kissed her on her nose.

Flurries of laugher, innocent
And true, were followed by
A cloud of bubbles, shimmering
In the clear blue. She would
Always remember this day, as
She played with her little bubble
Dragons. Do you want to play in
The garden with me, bubbles,
Dragons and you.
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