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Cynthia Jean Feb 2018
Stop!

There is beauty here.

Our hurrying robs us.
We miss so much the loveliness
right here
before our eyes
......
stop here and rest awhile
right now
before this time has past.

Life is fleeting.

Cynthia Jean
copyright
February 2018
The older I get the more I realize this truth.
Grace E Wagner Feb 2018
Philosophers, poets, and parents alike
Will advise you
to stay focused on the future
To not stand rooted
with one foot in the past

But how can I walk forward
When I am anchored to the ground
Drowning in my anxieties and doubts?

Guarding my heart and head
Like a snake slithering around it’s nest
One wrong step or misplaced sound
And the vicious bite
will take my life

So I bury my head in old photo albums,
re-read books that once made me feel free,
And wash my sheets every Sunday
So that the smell of lavender and linen
never leaves my skin

Then I wonder to myself
Why Christmas doesn’t warm my heart anymore
Or why the water at our lakes edge
for once in my life Feels cold
why I don’t
laugh as much as I used to

I trouble my mind so much
That I have to distract myself
Just to stop worrying about wasted time
And to rid the recurring realization
That at this moment I am oldest I have ever been
And the youngest I will ever be

When did getting older become so complicated?
When did it start to feel  suffocating
Instead of liberating.
I never feel heard.
Rohan P Feb 2018
coalescing into the night time,
prancing about the dream time,
smiling through another time,
you love for a fleeting time.
blushing prince Jan 2018
the champagne tastes bitter
my head swims and I think
maybe I need a bathing suit

maybe i'll never see god but the
breeze keeps touching my face
and the insects **** my blood
disease my legs and that's okay
because there's a part in me that has difficulty taking my watch off and there's a part in him that has difficulty taking his shoes off
despite the harmony I feel there's a head in the back of my own
that tells me that solitude would not suffice for such a shy creature that only wants warmth from another
there, there
there
a poem I found in a stack of old paintings
I have such a disconnection with old feelings like it was written by a whole different person
Sam Jan 2018
Riddles fill the mind
Am I yours?
Or are you mine?
In the twilight, you drift away
Now I'm begging you to stay
As I cross the bridge
The distance between us grows
I can see you fading
Fleeting like my cries
Hoping you can hear
I know you're already gone
Now regret and turmoil fill my soul
Gnawing at my essence
I must find a way to cope
To navigate the darkness
Now that I'm alone
this me stir wordsmith sits alone
   playing knick knack paddy whack
   please give this dorky, goofy, loopy,
   nerdy, nippy nap noopy quirky
   and wordy proto simian dodging,

   erstwhile shadowy bogeyman
   more'n a herring or sun bleached wish bone
ambitious to experience
   auditory voice o'er telly phone.

the immediate reaction sans per
   using this reply might be to toss
   in circular file (perchance
   already bid good riddance
   with previous ******* o mine)

   such wordy response away
since mine hoop for reply per non-conformity
   chances = yar come me own nitty chest
   at least 69 oceans at bay

boot, the following bit of personal trivia
   merely meant to convey
an atypical manner from this older mwm
   with some follicles of gray,

who enjoys balmy spring time temperatures
   basking in the sun during warm
   (pine scented) months of ape purr rill
   and coveted dayz o may unless being chased
   by ferocious beast of prey,

   though, i readily admit not to be a marathon runner
hoping golem like creature will
   (upon stern request) stay,
   nor does this generic guy participate
   in competitive sports 'cept sea man of a gunner

knows life doth newt always hap pin his way
which wood prompt this tiger to go yea.
this self anointed bard of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
   lives a rolling stones away

   from u2 and moody blue who
felt avaricious, chivalrous,
   efficacious, impetuous, spontaneous
   to be earnest, frank and stine true
value bull ambitious to ply cognitive,

furtive, intuitive skills to ponder and rue
literary challenges
   might bring out bovine prompting moo
goo pan a ply per this guy

   maybe absorbing symbiotically genius abilities
   from imaginary asian figure named hu,
or his identical twin brother mister ma goo
who joost happens
   to be exemplary anime portrait
   stick figures ma phalanges drew.

unsure if this written metier reply will bomb
or fly from an older scrivener,
who resides in perkiomen valley
   nestled analogous to hand held palm
housing this fella

if (the operative word) drafted with winning
   moost definitely cause for fait accompli
   to acquire nothing short of an hock cult following
   from alf fred meta for like qualm,

   your ordinary run of the millet harry, **** chain e
   or thumbing my nose at pained tom.
this aging boomer anglophile tends to go overboard
   with english vocabulary word

aspiring to attain apex of plaudits and praise
   as being witty n creatively superb
n pardon if i submitted a similar facsimile thereof
   sans the following blurb
which moost likely will (o perhaps already)
   goot tagged as absurd.

   i call myself the muster shake e spear
   n sigh ah bard from Spring Mount hills
stumbles along boulevard of broken dreams
   with other jack hammer sons and jills

donning penchant to feign being troubadour
   with faith nor more
   where words akin to virtual skein of twirls and trills.
sorry if my impulsiveness drain ya bob bing out of sync
with mainstream formality to establish a link,

this generally sane, sensible sober older fellow
   no matter, you might presume me
   to take one to many **** kin r drink,
boot in truth, this teetotaler
   shies against various amber liquids of the dogs
   evoke king mental green day n chooses holistic methods
   to rejoice than evoking that clink.

i matthew scott alias [email protected] = knot a slob
   could moost certainly benefit from friendship
   with one or being part of a mob
hence this rather goofy atypical reply i lob

(while gently inhaling)
   imaginary ushered by hand carved corn cob.
anyway, this aspiring scribe/scrivener
   de jure shoe lee mastered his a, b, c's,

though during test time
   all learning seemed to freeze
oh and although the follow
   wing non-sequitur added comment

   moost likely irrelevant
   back in the day o me early boyhood,
   i passed initiation nail biting rite of passion
   tickling ivory black n white keys
while learning about human species.

Can I help you???
Briar Ren Dec 2017
She fades from your memory,
like weightless dandelion seeds
stolen
by a gust
of jealous wind.

And the next time you see her,
she is just another stranger
swimming
in a rough sea
of unfamiliar faces.
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