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 Oct 2016 LS Martin
Lora Lee
Last night
as I sat in
the ancient temple
atop the mountain,
my people surrounding
           me, generations
upon generations,
  voices ascending
       in the wispy and
            earthbound solidarity
                 of ancient prayers,
I felt the words
               rise up
around me, protecting, loving
their intonations
           tingling inside
the doorways
         of my brain
expanding the limits
through glass
and sacred ceilings,
       up unto the stars
celestial understandings
pushing through
my crumbling
walls to break
through barriers
         from the thickness
of night
reaching out
      into purity, a beckoning
             of light
and the words, the singsong tones
passed down from the ancients    
like candlelit incantations
         grew soft, invisible wings    
             that touched my cheek
                   the silky presence of
               the grounded power            
             of my ancestors
welling up in the
         dark caverns within
and as we sang
of new beginnings
         and listened with one heart
to the call of the shofar,
        that ram's horn of blessings,
                            my knotted
loops of longing
resonated in musical notes
strands of the primordial
               in the deep forest
echoes
             of my being
linking my soul's cry
to all the people
           of my book
in a long swirling line
              down to the river,
the desert, the oceans
a tight braided chord
of solidarity, of lineage, of blood
the flesh and bones of heritage
pumping crimson freedom
Yes,
somewhere,
          in even the most
                broken chords
                   of heartstrings
                tiny wings
beat                    
        hope
I am not religious at all. But I found a beautiful light energy in an unexpected place (ironically..for most people very expected but for me not), during a holiday that celebrates renewal. Perhaps the concept of renewal is prticularly significant for me at this time; I think it is significant for all of us, at the right time..:)

* shofar- ram's horn, blown into on certain Jewish holidays to "remind us of the primordial scream, the eternal voiceless call of the soul expressing its desire to return to its Creator."
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
s
the saddest part
of being loved by someone is

if you try hard
to love him back
but can't

and it's frustrates you a lot
that you just can't love him
but he's still stuck

in you

(b.i)
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
Amethyst Fyre
You know that scene in the movie
Where they're all sitting in a circle, laughing, and even though they're outcasts
they all belong
They're singing in the hallway together
They cry a little under the lights of a football field

You know those scenes
They are a stereotype
And even as you watch, the little voice in your, the viewer's, head whispers
this isn't real
this isn't going to last

We're all living our own story
We should be characters in our own scenes, in our moments

So why have I become a viewer too?
Why does the film run alongside me in my mind,
and as I watch things unfold, line by line, the little voice keeps whispering
this isn't going to last
and I have to deal with that

And how do you deal with that?

I just want to press play on my life and be alive
Instead of analyzing each moment from the outside

I just want to *be alive
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
StuKerr
Theory
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
StuKerr
Why does my love life
Exist theoretically
Life is misery
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
taia
i'm a broken mess
this pile of flesh and bones
doesn't feel like home
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
taia
little ******
innocence stolen too young
a saddening sight
****** is such a classic yet tragic concept. i wanted to write a poem about her (or the idea of her) but this was difficult to come up with. not entirely thrilled.
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
taia
people were staring
the mark on my cheek speaking
words i dare not say
 Oct 2016 LS Martin
Keith Wilson
Everywhere I go
Everybody wants to know
"Where's the lady"
They all ask
I answer, hiding behind a mask
Of smiles and laughs,
And say to them:
"She's gone, she won't be back again;
I don't care"
And shrug my shoulders.
But now my life is so much colder
I walk alone, the crowded streets
And tell my tale to friends I meet
Then I turn, walk on with the truth
With tear-filled eyes
I think of you
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