Living Poets Society - Hello Poetry

Jan 2021

Sk Abdul Aziz

When you've lived life a fair bit you realize two important things...you yourself are your best friend and you yourself are your greatest enemy.

Jan 2021

Owen

Circumstances

My circumstance destroys everything.
I build,
and I build knowing
that all will be left
unfinished, deserted, ruined,
a ghost, a photograph.
And all that is assured is the anguish
of what could have been,
what was,
and what cant be.
Each time Im reminded
of all my faults, my mistakes,
the choice that I made,
to be here,
and not there,
not with her,
and it hurts.
Leaves me empty
and questioning
why I even try
to build happiness
anymore.

What do I do anything for anymore.

#military #love #romance #happiness #sadness #lonely

Jan 2021

Third Eye Candy

PRESIDING OVER A MOMENT OF PAUSE

Focus on the signal, for the noise is no pilot.
Adroit convivial despots plot your every demise
but you can’t be withered as
the withering decries.
You must attune where meager suns
do violence
to impose a peace
only conflagration
ignites-
without setting fire
to a womb.

You must Love the striven grasp of your ashen Heart
Milking the honeyed vein of surety
that swarms of you-
is Unnecessary

but the Whole is a Be
in an Onyx.

Semi-precious to
The Lost.

Jan 2021

Third Eye Candy

Just A Lemon Drop From An Average Height Of Your Life

Suppose you have your wings
and all wholesome things
palaverous
As undone gravities
Heavy your suspension
Your downward dog, magnanimous…
As all things; UnThing in Twos-
Where arks at bay,
Nest in wet fumaroles-
Of deep Undoing.

Just
A lemon drop
From an average height
Of your Life
With yellow ravens
Random and Implausible
In inaudible Cause.
Black wings forgotten-
Because Atmosphere
Be nowhere near
The Breath
You Lost…

Just to inhale
Where you-

Thought.

Jan 2021

Third Eye Candy

YOU CORONA

the chemicals in a sunbeam
beach the whale of my moonshine
your clutch like a happy thorn
and my demise, a misbegotten
agenda.

you corona.

switchgrass in a dead calm waste
singing authoritative psalms
to my anguish… squishing stigmata
into the plane of flat nails
summoning gargantuan plumes
of happiness, spawn of some witchcraft forgotten
like a pin in a Butterfly
fat on a *****
of hook

that reels the real
to the surface
by your bottom
lip.

the crown of our preternatural plumage
is the rake of your windswept karma.
i plunge with you
as we dive
and completely surface
when I sink

to the zenith of your Love.

Jan 2021

Third Eye Candy

DISPLACED

Displaced
like the chewy center-
of a hard candy
in low orbit
of a toothache
of a toothless
crone.

Phantom
like an obvious mentor
from a hidden college
in stark secret
like mums the word
that sums the word
alone.

Speechless and ringing
in the ear-
we loan to Van Gogh
to hear our
troubles
Best...

and all the timpani of Hope
doing cartwheels
in displeasure domes
that span the width
of our undreamt
and coil-
like a tune in
an afterbirth
of music

Too You to
be Un-
Done.

Dec 2020

Francie Lynch

Echo

We deserve sounding boards of truth,
Not sponges of deception.

My head is full of lies, equivocations and beguiling stories.
Who can I trust?
The poor?
The limb-lost warrior?
Residents in Cell Block A through Z?
Patients found out but can't breathe.

We must be sound,
And let the voices of truth echo.

#civility #truth #lies #trust

Dec 2020

Third Eye Candy

I Love You, But it's Stupid

I love you but it’s stupid.

you with your bifocal narrow Mind
and me with my Un-neglected Imagination.

we are not a pair.

but we pair well with peach schnapps
and mistletoe.
well slay beautiful gods
with parasites
and adorn the fulcrum
of our arch
with a silent
epiphany
too dormant to be
sleep as we know it
and too tranquil
to be anything
than a false start
in an actual
Now.

I Love you and it’s tragic.

tragic like how a terrapin is not
a writing desk in a moist raven
spooling thunder where the lightning
forgets to thunder

About You.

Dec 2020

Third Eye Candy

GINGER MITTENS

Lost you in the confluence. In the maze wind.
In the heat of prattle and the garments of Self.
Struck a chord without Notes, and called it Politics
Like a rebel Banshee on a rogue tundra of beach
Thwarting the shenanigans of a polished God.
Lost you in the plethora of Seeming things.
More akin to motes of dust,
Than any Us as constant
As a breeze in Hell-
To cool the troubled brow
of a sinking
ship.

but there were ginger mittens, back in the day
and clumps of outsized joy that I recall
like a brisk kismet upon Avon
and unsour shores of shameless Love
bathing in sunlight; the spawn of wet jewels
in an abandoned well of too much Spring.
there was the constant snore
of our sleeping fear… and all the antlers
for a horse you dreamt
and none of the gods-
to oppose our swollen honey,
when storms
eat bees

As personal
as an optional
sting.

Love was a gift then.
But now…

It’s a poem.