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 Mar 2016
Lora Lee
In this restless desert
things are not as
dry as they seem
for after the plentiful rains
the temporal grass has spread
as quick and alive as wildfire
Looking velvety to the touch,
it waves in synchronicity
as the wind sweeps through
its sharp blades
like a tender stroke of hair
from a lover
wildflowers peep
their heads of color
over the shoots
in vibrant frequencies:
       crimson, yellow, purple
I want to run through them
festoon them upon
my queenly being
not actually touching them
just reveling
in their existence
I want to become vested
in the accoutrements
of simplicity
wear them upon
my essence
in tiny points
of effervescent love
particles of colored joy
that mark me with pointillism
so that when I am sitting
in the cold lonely of the night
I can embrace them
in their royal glory
and be caressed by
the loyalty
      of their
           spark
 Mar 2016
JR Potts
She was wild like skinny dipping at midnight, stars watching overhead and falling in love with moonlight. The way it lay upon her skin made the ocean envious of her depths within and sometimes between us. She was my sister, not in blood but in orbit. A Venus to my Earth, forged from the same collapsing star and if the universe was in fact to be infinite then this moment would happen again, and again, and again an immeasurable number of times. I found comfort in this thought, knowing though our existence was meaningless, it was still full of feeling, and this feeling, right now, it insisted on existing forever.
 Mar 2016
Denel Kessler
To face the fear of being liquid, I go under, float the drift.  Leave the boat behind, no worries.  I am in no hurry     to school with the rest, colorful parrot fish, at home in the depths.  

I am not afraid of sharks materializing from the inked abyss. The nothing in their soulless eyes is just black-bottomed assessing - not one of us.

In a lazuli sea, the barracuda cartel tails me, their silver barrels rule the reef, leering grins glinting diamonds, hungry pirates seeking gold hidden in my tender lobes.  

Yellow-bellied sea snakes swarm, their sinuously wicked heads disappear and reappear on ebb and crest of every wave, see their split tongues read the chemistry of each exhaled breath.

A swollen catch unsought.  Forsworn.  What's lost will be reborn.  From within, yolk still tethered, resting on the bottom.  Net a dying heart, return it to the deep, watch it roll and flutter, remember how to beat.
*When metaphors intersect with true stories*
 Mar 2016
niamh
Im lashed to the tracks
Waiting
For the trains that come
With no warning whistle.
The air is crushed from my lungs
And my heart shatters.
Still I lie
Still I wait
Still I live.
Sometimes I laugh
Before I cry.
Mercy travels elsewhere.
My gorgeous nephew died just over 7 weeks ago. Whenever I think of him, I struggle to realize he's truly gone and it genuinely feels like I can't breathe
 Mar 2016
SG Holter
I put on socks knitted by a
Grandmother long gone
And open my windows to winter.

Fine snow like mist through a microscope
Enters and dies at the tempered hands of
Home.

I reach outside to stroke the crystal

Stream in the air,
Looking forward to sun, and the rain.
Always also the rain.
 Mar 2016
Sally A Bayan
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^  ^Diaspora ^  ^
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Tonight,
a jumble is taking place
in the small wilderness...outside my window
...cicadas...crickets...lizards...
all night creatures...even the trees
join in the dance.....to survive
they could never go against the swooshing rhythm
of the rushing kingly wind.

as i am tonight...lost in my own wilderness
i feel so limited...turning left to right...to and fro
as sparks of thoughts and images...come and go
scattered ***** bouncing here and there
from corners and walls of my room
now, they're here,
later, they'd disappear.

mind is a mess...bright ideas, scamper off
fleeing from their temple...their home
refusing to be captured...

simultaneously, some known sounds
the cries...the envisioned giggles and laughter
of familiar voices, are now hidden somewhere
have sought refuge some place else.
faces...names...smiles...words...good spirits,
one by one,
slowly, have gone...

...there is only the damp darkness
of a vacuum.....an emptiness...
created by an absence
of inspirations
of people who give inspirations....but, have left
some are about to leave
thank God for those who came back,
missing fellow poets...good friends...and their works
missing the placid waters
that once surrounded us

i miss reading...feeling the sweet music...the rhymes,
the free verse of good, wholesome friendships...
of kindred spirits in poetry
in poetry...where we all started...where, in one way
or another, we all have metamorphosed...
i believe, i know...our paths didn't cross for naught.

::: ours is a small world...existing within a bigger world :::
      ::::::::::::::::: there needn't be a diaspora ::::::::::::::::::
        ::::::::::::::::: i miss us ::::::::::::::::::
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥


Sa­lly

Copyright March 11, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
you fill me with lust
for your body and your soul
you are what i need
Senryu
 Mar 2016
Torin
I was sitting in my basement thinking about my attic as I awaited the first bombs to drop in the next world war

I guess I'm pretty lucky to understand that metaphysically nothing really is unless we perceive it is so even death by chemical nerve agents can be a pleasurable experience that we come back for again and again

And that time I died before when the only metaphor would have to be trying to guide a wooden canoe across an active volcano

I can't wait to try that again
 Mar 2016
codenameDust
Can you speak for silence
Can you live for the dead
Can you sell your time
To cry out what's in your heart

You'll know what must be done
To fix the broken
The day you stand alone
And all worth losing is lost

Can you speak for silence
Voice what's in your heart
They let you die once
Now I roar in vengeance

Broken and on my knees
Aching and hurt
Subdued by stabbing fears
The strength I lack
Violently arches my back
As I cry out what's in my heart

So I ask you
Can you speak
when all remains silent
Can you live
for those who died
Can you sell your time
As I did mine
To cry out what's in your heart
If you can, keep strong, for all the people who can't hold on.
Write a song, a poem, words to help them along.
 Mar 2016
Will Hegedus
she inspires masterpieces
and orchestrates symphonies.
how is it that she
is both oil and canvas?
torn sketchpads and
rough drafts spattered in red ink,
these run through her veins.
she is not imperfect—
only revising.

—w.b.h.
i am very much in love with the girl who inspired this and today marks the first day of our "official" relationship so woo hoo. here's a poem.
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