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it is the cloth

that bears the stain.



sbm.
 Oct 2016
ryn
If this tree
should ever come to fall

Let its gnarly limbs
point up to heaven

If its heart
should ever come to a stall

Let it die
with errors pardoned
and sins forgiven
 Oct 2016
South-by-Southwest
Where once the rows of corn grew
Now grow rows of fast food joints
Minimum wage factories
were underprivileged kids line up in
rows with no other ability

I used to go to the river
to row my worries away
Now I get up on plane
and set down
before I can change my mind .

The county went bankrupt
They stole billions of the people's money
Now they line up at the
unemployment line
row after row

Section C , row 24
Right behind the concrete column
Waited for this concert
But hey
It's just the way it goes

Day after day
row upon row
Ara
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder I told her
As her knees trembled from the weight of the compliment I bestowed her
Often benevolent
Clearly Heavensent
If God truly has say in the matter
Awkwardly eloquent
She reflected pretentiousness
Yet never projected the latter
Her eyes luminescent
Her body quintessence
To a hedonist, a lover, or sculptor
She beared the essence of loathsome life lessons
So there lay apprehension
When I vowed to properly love her
 Oct 2016
Bianca Reyes
I no longer think hopes and dreams die
They float around this Earth waiting
Waiting until we give birth to our children
That's when they will reappear
Wrapping themselves around them
Creating an Impenetrable force field
Giving our children the strength we lacked
Helping them achieve the desires
That rumble in their bellies
They will allow the beam of light
The one we will pass down to them
To burst out of their chest
Not fearing the moon's envy
For their light will be the brightest
It will guide bodies
To their own hearts destinations
Stories will be written on staggering walls
About the children of failure who rose up
Who had so much passion
That they created their own light
Led love and happiness
To the doorsteps of many
Brought misery to its knees
With constant humble human nectar
That is what our children will be
Shared on Hello Poetry on October 18, 2016
Copyright © 2016 Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved
Blah blah blah
Enjoy
 Oct 2016
SE Reimer
~

prelude.

did you know that English stands alone as a written language requiring the capitalization of the word "I"... yet makes no similar provision for “we” or “us; a sad statement of self inflation.  it was after learning this that i abandoned the rule in my own poetry.


~

my i’s averted,
lowered, diverted,
reduced in size,
an exercise of
large proportions;
breaking down the me-isms,
finding room for we-isms,
to take the larger place;
create an i for seeing,
the case for simple,
smaller being;
no need to punctuate,
instead eliminate this
compulsion to inflate;
’tis my i-drop moment,
my i-reducing ointment,
these pupils are dilated,
deflating i and me,
enlarging we and thee;
finding that in i-reduction,
the eyes are widely opened,
thus to better see,
what i really need to be.
 Oct 2016
Jenaea Rae Lockett
bullying
carnage
detrimental
eventual
suicide
 Oct 2016
Sjr1000
Of all the places
she sought to hide
She only found one
safe place inside
in dancing images
where the poetry
resides.
 Oct 2016
deprivedkat
I sit on the rooftop looking down. I look at my feet that dangle before me, traffic lights, cars and other motorists buzzing by, a mom pushing a stroller, kids frolicking in the grass because a new season has begun. I ponder about life itself. How can something be so excruciatingly invested in its own beauty but yet so atrocious at the same time? The daily news covers so much corruption throughout mankind but yet the view on the rooftop displays what is at peace with the world.

I feel as though we are governed by society, a caricature of how things should be and in this way some of us have grown to be cruel. One violently attacks another because of their religious beliefs, ****** orientation, physical appearance and race for reasons that i can't wrap my brain around. In this life, being different has become the elephant in the room, a label where society rears its ugly head.

It's upsetting how quickly some are to point fingers and publicly ridicule another without trying to put themselves in the victim's shoes. And maybe that's why I strive to be honest and embrace my difference. I feel for those who believe they are neglected by society and need to change who they are in order to fit in.          
       On the rooftop, i look for signs of humanity.
© June 16 , 2016 deprivedkat
 Oct 2016
Lewis Bosworth
Do we simulate or
emulate?
Stimulate?
These similes
we toss out so
cleverly.

To rhyme or not isn’t
the real question.

Down deep in our
inner being
is empathy.
Capture or
don’t make a point.

What are the lines
and spaces?
Do they look at
or peer about
a soul, a brain?

The emphasis must
really be
******-fiction or
nothingness.

A vacuum or perhaps
a void,
the truth or hurtful
lies.

Are lines and syllables
written, etched
out for us or them?

We live by poetic
license, using
a photo ID or a
nom de plume.



But here is the final
secret: our
lines are emotion,
or just an
echo?  

© Lewis Bosworth, 10/2016
It was almost 10 oclock, their eyes heavy as rocks, Erik and Jamal headed home
The fork in the road that they've always known to mean they tread on all alone
They made their embrace and started their pace and Erik did not hasten much
Jamal however was quick to endeavor, because mama had told him to rush
They walked their separate ways, reflected on their days, and coveted what tomorrow would bring
At that very moment, their train of thought stolen, by the bellow of sirens they sing
A large police van rolled upon each young man, and flashed a light on each of their face
They told Erik hurry, his mom needn't worry, yet they questioned young Jamal's pace
They told him get down, he got on the ground and struggled in his discomfort
Erik heard a bang in the night, that had gave him a fright, and thought to himself where'd it come from?
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