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low poetry Feb 2021
we ridiculously young
as species
what do we now about human youngsters?
they seems to be stupid and selfish
the worst of their parents

so do we are
as species
living on this mysterious planet we called Earth
but it is as Earth as also Air, Water, Fire, Ether
we should call It - Elements
It looks gorgeous and we call it Earth

we use it
like we call it
we **** and litter everywhere we can see
digging inside It in the search of the gold
or building trenches
or getting rid of the dead ones

the planet is our god
not the guy in the sky
It need your energies to be vibrant with hers
if you will connect she will gave you everything you might need  

other planets has an impact on you too
they also can be your gods
but god you can be connect to
so closed as to Elements
is the most important one

everybody have own gods
it is in the one of their invisible bodies
along with physical one
the edited piece of the original #lowpoetry idea in 2018
inspired by Bukowski
Look at me
How beautiful I am
lushes and so green
roots big and shiny
Now I am sad
I’m standing all alone
There were many more
I’m all that’s left over
Don’t hurt me  
you are hurting yourself
and this whole wide world.

Shell ✨🐚
Only a green life can save us
Tea Jan 2021
46:
Lifting a hand in the air...
Is it different there?
I feel no change...
What's the sky's range?
Just a bit higher up in the atmosphere...
Is it colder there?
Maybe I should dig downward...
But it's hard...
What is there to find under our feet anyway?
If up is cold, is down warm maybe?
Nothing blocks my view from the sky...
But the earth makes me ask why...
It is too dense to see...
In the sky we are free...
But when we fall...
We risk losing it all...
Hanging on...
Even when things go wrong...
The sky never hurts us...
Instead, e fear gravity's crush...
We cheated and used the wind...
And found the sky's end...
Untouchable and dark it is beyond...
What more is there to be found?
Just look around...
We know what's beneath the ground...
But beyond heaven's curtain...
Are we really certain?
It won't be as easy as the moon...
Finding things beyond, it ain't gonna be soon...
But looking doesn't mean searching...
Looking at how the stars sing...
You're not supposed to hear them with your ears...
They've been singing all these years...
In the melody of light and pace...
Movement and place...
Colour and brightness...
Everyone can trace...
A trail behind or a path in front...
A stroll or a hunt...
Trace the dust or stars...
Birds or cars...
Words or letters...
Every flower withers...
Roots in the earth and petals in the air...
It is only fair...
Bullet Jan 2021
Love
The energy it produces
Aisles for looking for a pair
Of eyes to feel the heal
But
The bandages over the heart
Decorate the office with a ray
The device tells me that sunflowers I should pay for
Save those roses, the pedals will grow in gray

Every eye gives me a side for inside
Each piece divided by parts your senses speak
for now my soul is pulled apart
Different car can drift it apart
Cassette deck just to reverse the tape back
Hood locks just to perpetuate
This steering wheel might roll off at this rate

I stumbled home
Living in gray
Hearts open
A lot of shots to take
But I grab everyone
Of those fragments that break
the soul that pays the drift toll
Told of the stories of a wasted saved soul
But the heart rays can’t bandage the sunflowers that will lay

The air that bounds love is very limited
But the feelings all have no boundaries
Daisy Ashcroft Jan 2021
There was a girl,
She’s gone now,
Who lived and breathed
Imagination and life,
(Aren’t they the same thing?).

She saw the house down the street
And thought it a monster
Never that it was replete
With the emptiness  
An innocent bungalow will foster.

Air was to her
As glass water that sings
About its giggling spring
And she would awaken
At its dance upon her skin
As she breathed it all in.

The air is now
As water, grey like mercury,
That dampens what the eye can see
And it is chagrin
That is awoken
At a world so forsaken.

Nietzsche was mistaken
When he proclaimed
Our God as dead.
It’s the vision and
Stories for which we used to aim
That expires instead.
when there's post
who is it you hope
has written you?

when there's rain
do you feel it's in vain
if i asked to picnic with you?

i'd have to say
i'd like to stay
if only it's with you

open your window
i'm speaking to you now
if for anything, to let in some air

sure, it's chilly
but the birds sound so silly
when in the dead of winter
they sing
Mark Wanless Jan 2021
i shot a question
into the air   i landed
in my human mind
Absence is to love as wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small and kindles the great
— Roger de Bussy-Rabutin, Memoir of Roger de Rabutin


Four thousand meters above the sea, I breathe without air
I feel the same when beside me you are no more
The black, the void chokes me in the moment’s despair
And The Scarlet Fear runs inside me with a thunderous roar

My aching marooned heart bleeds from behind
Of the darkened soul that consumes me at each stride
But love is the golden aether of my troubled mind
An oxygen supply brought to this confusion tide

Without your presence, they were icy nights
Though knowing your fire ignited with my fuel
Is a mild treat, a promise of a beautiful sight

Kindless trouble, is it all in my imagination?
And is the love I feel a mere foolish incantation?

I will never know until she answers my soundless voice
This poem follows a modification of a sonnet structure and follows the story of the previous poem, showing a layer of dissonant emotions engulfing the speaker.
John McCafferty Jan 2021
Wood burns from blue flames
Air drawn in does change
Prepared for events to unfold
Stationary held for take off
Past the count of numbers out
Breathing easier now
A transient being announced
Green lady elevates state
Orange eyes merge, lights diverge
Lifted into what seems to be
A tunnel of colourful multiple Vs
Pleasant fate when identity dissipates
No pain, no pressures, no claims
Just white space
Until pulled back into this place
To live a life again
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Shannon Soeganda Jan 2021
Beseeching words
genuinely rooted from
the wounded, rotten heart

whispering
to the cold, thin air of
"I have nothing left to say---"
Thank you for putting up with me, dear self. For teaching me to make peace with my demon; not to get rid of it.
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