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 Aug 2017 jude rigor
sophia
fall in love
with the one who reminds you of your favorite candy
who paints your depressed
clouded mind all the colors of the sky

be immersed in the beauty
you can't seem to find on your own
laugh in melodies
that clog your ears of the voice inside
telling you to hide

fall in love
with the one who gives you a meaning
who covers your world in flowers
and helps you grow

the one who sews the wings of the most beautiful butterfly into your broken back
to let you see the universe
from up above

but alas,
the only person we can love enough  
the only person whom can give this all to us
is ourselves
 Aug 2017 jude rigor
Poetoftheway
You would love me more

if you knew
the things I don't say

love me more
for the tears repressed/unseen

the thoughts that rise
yet fast sequestered,
virus quarantined,
lest infection spread

occasional
moan groan
an Ebola moon June
escapes,
inquiring ears overhear
and ask...

but quick deflected
with a
** hum,
nothing luv,
pushed back into
the hidey hole of opprobrium
and acid reflux

why why
suppress
if loving you better
the net net of it?

this is not the candy coated,
but the coal glow strife
that cannot be
quenched nor
solved with
anti-pain
meds

so put away, aside,
push back inside

you would
love me better
for the sharing,
but love me enough
for the be I be,
let my roughened edged pains,
be buried with my remains

a love unfettered
will place no obstacle
before you
from within me

love me for the man I am,
just the average man iam,
knowing that not knowing all,
not a deceit,
but a reprieve,
what I share,
strained and sleeved,
tho unrelieved,
it is relief
that burdens but,
only me
11-1-14
 Aug 2017 jude rigor
wordvango
if I could figure out what simple was
when faced with a lifetime's complexities
or lounge like my cat's
knowing the bowl is going to be full
or have an albatross  
of original ideas
and a publisher fawning all  very professional
or at least my license
to at least be legal
for the first time in a quarter
century
I might have more respect for
the IRS
in the meantime I am
gonna play all
stooooopid
my ssn#  I ain't got one those
 Aug 2017 jude rigor
Lunar
I watched her tilt the cup
gently towards her lips
Sipping on her favorite tea—
one made of and for thought.
A late evening of craving kicks in once more.
Letting her eyes settle
on blank pages
of her renowned thick journal.
Yes, I whispered to myself,
Stay this way.
Keep thinking,
keep writing,
keep living.
She continuous in little furies
of the same drink order
and of colorful scribbles,
tearing little pieces of herself
(printed with her personality)
to stick onto the paper.
How much more ink will she bleed,
how much more tea leaves will she drink
to drown out her sorrows,
akin to those inhalers of burning leaves?
Among the words which sustain you,
overdose is the only one which doesn't exist.
You are addicted to tea,
to the world around you,
and to the words around you.
This is you, and this is how you live,
with an end waiting for you,
despite knowing it's only the beginning
whenever you hold your pen.
Your mind, tongue and hands will fade,
but your thoughts and words
will live on forever.
for Clara.
you're to the T for me,
you're my favorite cup of T,
and my favorite T!

(j.m.)
 Aug 2017 jude rigor
joe thorpe
.         window long and flat
       only just so wide sunlights
            coffin sunlight dies
                         
            but one sky for both
  moon and sun amongst the stars
             the war's little fun
            
            come on you lovely
     shun baby rising cloud clown
          do your fire, blind me
 Aug 2017 jude rigor
eileen
Zen
 Aug 2017 jude rigor
eileen
Zen
both
are merging like two galaxies

both
wear black like if
that's the only color
alive

both
post pictures of each other
smiling

i bet you didn't like my pink
heart

or that i loved playing in the
dark

that i wore bright colors
everyday

he acts dead

how could he ever love me

the sun
that shines so bright
he was bound to get blinded
 Jul 2017 jude rigor
Eriko
to belong
 Jul 2017 jude rigor
Eriko
the crackling string of voices
running, streaking through
the clamor of trees, creaking
through  the night's chilly breeze,
I see, I see that I don't know
where I am going,
only that trailing the stars
with set of blazing graze
crashes into the divine sky,
perhaps that is where the
the voices are spilling from,
those monstrously loud chorus
of staggering heart beats,
clambering with lunar-soaked fire
as I search for a home where I can burrow,
to pick the earth form my fingernails
on conclusion of a long, long day
to know that the small paradise
is a home which I belong
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