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 Dec 2015
Walter W Hoelbling
the poet is a fragile me
that longs to gain eternity
by power of the word

the greatest fear is that
no poet but a nerd
    who cuddles into words
    and there gets lost
is what is heard
    outside this world of letters
and at the most
can claim illusions
    that may better
    the understanding of a verse
    of all the meaning it conveys
    the sorrow pain concern and love

and then again
    as said above
what reaches out beyond
     the mind that spins these notions
     of love and other great emotions
may just appear
as nothing but a comma
    in the ocean
    of words around the globe

that’s what we poets fear
 Dec 2015
bones
Where are the words, the ones with sparks
to set a fire in wooden hearts
and set to work my wooden tongue
with all the wit that they impart ?

where do those words that all belong
in works of poetry come from ?
I know them only as the guests
that visit me by book and song;

my own words bear the awkwardness
of someone starting to undress
with clumsy thumbs and wooden hands
and should perhaps stay unexpressed..
 Dec 2015
Sjr1000
To
the poets
among us
I
do
bequeath for
us
the lines
that
bring
us
elegant
truth.
It has been said we can bequeath not only property but values as well.
Under the bleached bluff
sea shells shape the bay
the grey and white
like seagulls
shines in sun

each tuft of grass is hardy
rough
tousled by sudden wafts
of salty gusts
that ride the waves towards the land
where
free as air
the litter flies across the sands

swung in the sky
the birds are tossed
their cries
those far off saddened screams
that make the coast their theme

a contrast to the balmy days
when summer winds are warm
and breeze
a welcome sense of calm

the tide comes in
now challenging
its rattle of those shells
percussion in the out of doors

a band that takes repeats
encores
for granted
while it roars

until the change relieves its chores
receding back again
to join the great wide ocean main

Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th December 2015
I felt like feeling by the sea.
 Dec 2015
mike dm
and tomorrow is tomorrow and the marrow
of this bone's blood slips off
like a shoe worn
for too long
 Dec 2015
prompty
gonna hold my soul
to the devil untold;
just a cup of coffee
and you'll never know.

they wait and they wait.
If only they learned how to bend the winds,
their ships would go anywhere.
 Dec 2015
nivek
The passing of years become obsolete in the mind of the solitary
all becomes just a day and night
a detached soul free from all fear
where love is the standard and goal of all things
and the hermit knows only love can achieve what love wants.
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