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 Sep 2018
L B
My friend and I talk about it
Neighborhood got decimated this year
One after another the corners of community are gone
We touch the elder memories
as one might touch a head in blessing
as loved ones pass

We linger longest over John

Found dead after ten hot days
by other-worldly hazmat crew
flanked by cruisers
with their special, yellow truck
and zipper bags

...found 'im
glasses folded neatly on the night stand
in his jammies
all tucked into bed

No one thought it strange
that strange young guy would die
already decomposing in his head
Lost
among his personal effects
his fleet of rusting cars
and half-assed projects
Deck tacked to garage
his herds of “pets”

Easy to pretend he wasn't really there
between jail stints or some imagined threat or theft
of crap
haunted by the shadows of his persecutors
caught in motion lights
and cameras' blinding evidence of
jungle-jumble and malfunctioning alarms
going off in the wind
Everyone's out to get his stuff
We could dismiss him--

mostly
sorta

...except for times
he mowed his grass at night
or hand-built “the lunatic tower”
just for mom
from scavenged scraps and
hammered hours
power-sawed
through the housing codes
and horror
of the neighbors...
...Such a special spectacle...

******* crazy-- John!

He was enough for one day at a time
like when

he flung that threatening bolder
on bilco doors
for percussive effect

"Get off my ******' property!”
(not using his “inside voice")
“Next time, that'll be your head!!

He announces his intent
to not get mad, behave himself
to call the cops on me instead
Fake-dialing
While his mother screams in dread
“John is off his meds!”

My phone is set to speed dial
911
__

“How did we miss this?
How did we not miss him those quiet days?”

How we miss him now
How quiet
Every neighborhood has one,  and I do miss him.  John provided endless daily entertainment and angst.  Sometimes he was a truly friendly neighbor; sometimes, truly scary.  We had many long conversations.  My beloved cat, Bailey adored him.  I took that as a good sign.  John cried when Bailey was found dead.  I have entrusted them to each other's care in heaven.

Jesus, forgive John his failures and his torments.  I take his place dutifully as the local crazy.  :)
 Sep 2018
Dr Peter Lim
Life is fickle
has a thousand
and one role
challenging
everyone to climb
its  wet and slippery pole
how would you do that?
you couldn't even hold

but life says:
I was born to test
whether you are
cowardly or bold
and I welcome only those
who are on my side
willing to play and roll
as I set myself in motion
in weather hot or cold
my wiles and secrets
could never be understood
or ever told

don't bribe me
I don't sell
or hand out
any gold

now
here's the waiting pole
if you have the guts
let them unfold!
 Aug 2018
L B
Bent
Near to breaking
by her burden
of fruit, swollen with seed
In that thrashing by wind
Bearing down on the sun
in her labor—
of  Need
to bear
the pain
to bring
her yield
to his hands—
her harvest
of warm juicy softness


Gone—
the upright
reach of untouchable spring
When stems, stern and smooth
wore a lace-beaded bodice of bloom
of coral chiffon
First leaves
a scarf
with a fringe of lime green
wrapping her gifted and lean
to the buzzing

She was lighter than dew
to the amateur insects
smeared with her

Her only accessory--
a robin
They had left
as evidence
they had ravaged
its song


Now broken and leaking
more damage endured  
Ripe fruit in rough hands
He leans against limbs
by his weight sternly pressed  
so suffused in the fragrance
of peach intoxicants
which he will have--

He is lost to his lust
He is forcing his need
into another year's beauty

asserting his claim over and over again
of that lost and ancient bounty
Many edits 8-16-18.
 Aug 2018
Kelly Weaver
I didn't think anything of the ringing in my ears until you told me that silence shouldn't be so loud
You had that same problem.
Too many concerts that were far too loud
Too many nights driving with the windows down
Blasting our favorite songs and screaming our hearts out
I wouldn't take a single second back given the chance
And I'd hope for the same of you.
I think of you whenever it rains because you loved it so much
As did I.
I think of sitting in your car while the raindrops on the window shone onto my thigh
That's when I learned to find beauty in the smallest of things
Like the way your laugh was rough and sweet
And how your eyes glimmered when they met mine.
The other day there was a firefly outside of my bedroom window
I had been crying over the empty feeling that tends to settle in my chest when I am alone
And when I saw its tiny flickering on my windowsill
I managed a smile.
Because I thought of the day we met
And how the cranberry bog hosted as many as I had ever seen in one place
You walked behind as I chased them in my bright yellow shoes
And you held me as I sobbed over their tiny significance.
When I can feel past unwelcome hands on my skin and in my bones
I think of the night you saw me scared shitless, sobbing next to you in bed
I covered my mouth to muffle the sound of my fear as hot tears fell onto my cheeks.
You held my shaking palm in your own
And then held me in your arms, which I have grown accustomed to call my home.
If I had one wish, it would be to posses the ability to evoke the feeling of your arms around me at will.
When you'd ask if I have ever been in love I'd find myself lost
Because in all of the past relationships I've taken part in
I have never felt nearly as happy and alive as I did when you were by my side.
So I guess, though current,
The answer to your question
Is yes.
i've slept a lot lately because my dreams are the only time i get to see you anymore
 Aug 2018
Sjr1000
My love,
is a blackberry bramble
A control freak
Taking over everywhere
Knocking down fences
to follow the sun
to get to their destination.

Thorns with hooks and barbs
Which will slice you cut you
pierce you and not let go
if you get too close

But, along the way
Will deliver to you
the sweetest berries you'll ever know.
 Aug 2018
Dr Peter Lim
I'll be the least upset
if the reader were to interject:
how bland your poems are
tasteless, colourless, abject!

Ah, where's my imagination fled?
are the flowers in my heart 's garden dead?
how would I fresh seeds cultivate?
would any poem of mine be worthy to celebrate?
 Aug 2018
wordvango
are we and the grass and trees
ennobled graced gifted are we
the thriving warrior's
worker ants enrichers feeding the
throng
as we strive daily along
sniffing a scent we get in
our minds a nirvana a heaven if we just
keep on
and we wax and wane in lyrical bliss
tired to the bone whipped
just to hear a song of hope or
love or perpetual peace,
and as we stay the course for
the eternity as it ticks
we are blessed to breathe to be
a part of the chorus
a melody we all make buzzing like bees
a song once did escape the numerous
that sung so rare it made a song
like a bee and an ant on a pine cone
in the forest.
For that,
I hum.
 Aug 2018
Sarita Aditya Verma

Midas touch of Sun
Sunny side up , yellow white blooms
Balmy morning in March

Bees and birds flap wings
Feasting on the sunny side up
Flowers of summer

The backyard is merry
Green grass and grasshoppers blend
A colour divine


A memory , from an old photograph
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