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 Nov 2017
Poetic T
Feed my uprooted soul,
                            please,
I implore of you.
Don't let me wither and die;
water me generously
               and most graciously,
let me breathe
                        again;
else I die before I blossom.

For without petals to show
the allure
                   of my meaning,
I lived for less than
                                nothing.
but when you discovered my
enchantment lingering within
petals you unconditionally
                  fell within my scent..
 Nov 2017
DaSH the Hopeful
I etched patterns into a tree with a pocket knife that had a red plastic handle
            Indentions such as these never stay
            Yet eternally we press against the world

        Hoping to make a mark that will shine in the daylight and glow in the dark
                    
~

           I'm a shriveled slice of the Americana pie
      With my soul on a swivel and the devil in my eyes


       Life was a son of a ***** with fists that spat dirt when it spoke
                And it ONLY screamed.
        
        
~

   I'm somewhere between *David Duchovny
and Stephen King
      And I'm trying to rip up manuscripts that I didn't write and I don't know who did.

      
Goodnight America. My patterns will explain my existence more than I ever could.
Clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
furrowed brows faces grave, life is no fun
home to work work to home, time is so mean
to and fro on the track, heads in a spin.

Red for the pedestrian, green for the car
quicker may save the day, sights are a blur
conspires the digit light, ticks ever slow
holds up adds to fright, the cruel red glow.

Just on the other side, a few blocks more
you are late again, ears hear the roar
had they only known, the hurdles on the way
the daily mad struggle, to save the day's pay.

The road is clear now, on a quick glance
here's the time to move, grab the prized chance
clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
blood spreads on the tar, redder in the sun.
 Nov 2017
Nylee
My wings don't open
when it is time to fly

My hands shiver
before even I try

My mouth stutters
before I can explain why

My head shuts down
as I blink my eyes

I have aged
still I want to cry

nothing works fine
this piece is faulty

there is something seriously
wrong with me.
 Nov 2017
Cné
Moving past the shuttered mind
that shuns imagination
I seek a stimulating thought
a cause for exhultation.
It hovers there
like hummingbirds
whose entry I deny.
And yet
I see the imagery
and heave a heartfelt sigh.
It teases me
and mocks me
as it dodges
every grasp
Laughing at my efforts
to retrieve it
with each clasp.
Yet empty air is my reward.
My snares are all in vain.
I close my eyes and meditate
for inspiration's gain.
An empty net
a vacant trap
the target still eludes.
Perhaps tomorrow
try again
away from darker moods.
 Nov 2017
VS aka Jason Cole
The die is cast to die at last
Envision the vast everlasting
We live in the past too fast
Forward-fast future impasse
Intentions to pass and repass
Notwithstanding

Elusive are the ticks of tock
That take place in the mind
Marinating for meaning
And a design to define in art
Whether it be mind or it matter
At an epoch that unlocks where life starts

Present past, future tense
Beginnings and endings
Instantaneous events
The secret of the clock
Is that it can never count
The mystery of the sands
Remains on higher ground

Wait a second, forever and a day
Columns of sand pillars wasting away
With a time well spent in thought
Immortality and perpetuity
Illusion of continuity
Momentary lapses of universal ambiguity
A collaboration with Cné. Thanks so much, my friend!
 Nov 2017
guy scutellaro
dances me madly backwards
through the mirror of your eyes.
born to walk through fire,
your footprints linger
high on the mountain ledge,
the drop exhilarating 
and final.
dance me outside into van Gogh's "starry night"
lay my head gently
on the leaves of tomorrow.
memories slipping, fading into the hurricane
of what once was.
i feel your breathing
and your heart beating faster.
in a whisper
love is gone.
 Nov 2017
Cné
Contemplate a teardrop,
and this is what I see.
A drop of moisture
from an irritation?
Some agree.

What is a teardrop made of,
just some water from a gland?
But brush it off and contemplate
the moisture on your hand.

It's also made of sorrow
or from pain that you may feel
A treasure of emotion
on your cheek
that might congeal

"Tears of happiness" are made
of joy or great suprise
That fall like rain in summer
from a pair of smiling eyes.

They course down cheeks in rivers
or collect on lashes there.
They form in silent puddles
when emotions are laid bare.

Tears are gems as precious
as a diamond that is mined
So do not take them lightly
if their origins you can't find.

They're made of things like music
that can make the heart take wing
Or how the soul can elevate
to hear an angel sing.
Just thinking
Inspired
 Nov 2017
Cné
Shall we dance to melodies
that only we can hear?
Shall we kiss in arbors green
when no one else is near?

Shall we catch a rainbow
when the storm has passed us by?
Shall we share a dream of clouds
and sail upon the sky?

Shall we listen to the leaves
'neath melancholy trees
That watch us as we use their shade
to just enjoy the breeze?

Shall we look back on the years
and sigh with mild regret
Or look toward the laughter
in the years that we have yet?

Shall we try to count the stars
that wheel above our head?
Or shall we find our sweet repose
together in our bed?

Shall we discover all the things
we've never lost?
Shall we risk our everything
and never count the cost?

Shall we count the petals
in a game of "Love's me not"?
What a waste of time is that
for answers never sought.

For I will love you, rest assure  
and if you did not know
My love for you is in all things
and it can only grow.
I live in love
 Nov 2017
VS aka Jason Cole
Only you and the sun can turn the sky on
There are few things in this world
That a man can rely on

When this world grows cold, the sun's very fire gone
On the day that you must go
That's the day I will die on

Only you and the sun can fight the moonlight
Beat back the sadness
The madness of midnight

Sanctify the gladness, steadfastness of daylight
Bookend the badness
Upend the dark night

Only you and the sun can sing destiny's song
The darkest of your hours
Are brightest before dawn

If fate were unfaithful, or otherwise forlorn
Life itself would still be grateful
For the day that you were born

Only you and the sun are deserving of twilight
A state of solemn grace
And harbinger of starlight

Now face to face with you by the firelight
I pray that I wake
Beside you at first light

©Jason Cole
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