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 Aug 2020 L B
Joel M Frye
vision so vital
to all a poet is;
silent beauty whispers
its miracles only
to those listening.

the poet cursed
with eyes and ears
the clamor of
a living, dying world
inundates
their soul

finding refuge
from the deluge
in a quiet stream of stanzas

never realizing the blessing
of the eye of the poet

until all the words have dried
 Aug 2020 L B
1487
I’m still here.
 Aug 2020 L B
1487
The poetry isn’t in all these words —
It’s in knowing I survived them.
Holy smokes! Thank you everyone for all of the support! I don’t come here too often so I did not expect this; what a beautiful surprise ♥️
 Aug 2020 L B
poet-on-the-roof
no can do the turning of water, the greatest magician’s trick ever, but
turning words into wine, that I can do,
ready your life, go get a wine glass,
sit down, this is heady stuff, be prepared!

you’re thinking, shoot, I can do that too,
no, you just think you can, for if you could,
you would be drunk already, making typos
all over your shirt, thinking’ bout your next

verse, a great love affair, the one you never
should let get away, the wrong choices that
fed on each other, living with a hateful woman
for the better part of your whole life, the children
who don’t even call to wish you happy birthday

and you would be drunk already just like me,
writing poems like this, a poet sitting on the roof,
and you would have written this whiney poem,
not me, pretending wine can wash your conscience clean

<>

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream


Losing My Religion
Song by R.E.M.
 Aug 2020 L B
Victor Hugo
Le matin - En dormant.

J'entends des voix. Lueurs à travers ma paupière.
Une cloche est en branle à l'église Saint-Pierre.
Cris des baigneurs. Plus près ! plus **** ! non, par ici !
Non, par là ! Les oiseaux gazouillent, Jeanne aussi.
Georges l'appelle. Chant des coqs. Une truelle
Racle un toit. Des chevaux passent dans la ruelle.
Grincement d'une faux qui coupe le gazon.
Chocs. Rumeurs. Des couvreurs marchent sur la maison.
Bruits du port. Sifflement des machines chauffées.
Musique militaire arrivant par bouffées.
Brouhaha sur le quai. Voix françaises. Merci.
Bonjour. Adieu. Sans doute il est ****, car voici
Que vient tout près de moi chanter mon rouge-gorge.
Vacarme de marteaux lointains dans une forge.
L'eau clapote. On entend haleter un steamer.
Une mouche entre. Souffle immense de la mer.
 Aug 2020 L B
Dipper
Lost in.
 Aug 2020 L B
Dipper
I watched a film today
The film was about love
But it wasn’t a romance.

It had a bittersweet ending,
That left me wanting more
But also full of closure.

I understood the characters,
I lived and breathed their pain
And contemplated their melancholy.

I wish I could find love
But I have to bear the weight
Of a bittersweet ending.
 Aug 2020 L B
Adriana Barreiros
Lately my words are lazy
Like my two languorous
Felines whose sleep
Is simply a subtler
Form of movement.
My words lie dreaming
Of running. Their paws
And whiskers quiver
Perhaps in the midst
Of a chase. They’re
Warm from the sun
On their bellies, turned
Upwards, refusing
To stand in a line of
Neatly aligned metaphors.
Dirt-simple and soft.
My words turned quiet
And mellow, no longer
Hungry storms of ice.
They’ve shaken the
Rain off their coats
And smell of blooms.
Their nails are long
And unused.
Contraptions for a war
Drowned out by the
Overgrown grass.
If birds flock to branches
Twittering, they merely
Roll on their back, turning
A blind eye full of sleep.
An excess of love
Has spoiled them.
Gracefully obese, they feed
Off the platters laid down
At regular intervals
Recalling the hunt as
A bygone era of
Needless toil.
 Aug 2020 L B
Prevost
Haiku 5-2020
 Aug 2020 L B
Prevost
Sunlight reaches  
Empty rocking chair rocks
A cat stretches
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