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Poetic T Dec 2019
brisk nights hang low
baubles linger effortlessly

shimmering below streets.
Debbie Lydon Nov 2019
The hour for fervour seems faded,
Yet flickers appear like fireflies in our tenebrous sky,
The farce of our fickle society has invaded,
But minds knowing nature will know hope is nigh.

Injustice ever growing like a tangled ivy,
Weaving our complex prison of mind,
We awake to no passion, no boldness to see,
And we pass eachother on our streets, we who are willingly blind.

I didn't ask for this, did you?
Where is the thief of mirth and freedom and bliss?
Who decided to descend the haze and fog no eye can see through?
It wasn't me, it wasn't you, it was us and apathy's kiss.

There are still flashes of redemption in the dark,
And sometimes you will meet those who are themselves the flame,
And sometimes slightly will the fog ascend, just as did the Lark,
And we must no let those who brandish their power make the mind of the Lark tame.
emru Nov 2019
nowadays i keep the light on
my desk organized
my bed made
my floor clean
i see world through a different lens
summers have the sun up
even the fog see through
in the winter
i changed my way of living in
december
Colm Nov 2019
When I am ill
I’m not numb, I hum
With radiation everywhere

Far more aware of how tall I am
And filled with ache
With stale, dull, air

It’s like a flower wilted is
It’s like a moonlit night neath clouds
It’s like I cannot feel, yet all is feeling all around

When I am ill
And feeling
Inexplicably, down
Ill And Fog

Sickness With The Down

Open up your ache and let it flow unto... blahh
CLARYT Nov 2019
I'm sat here quietly, eating my tea,
My dog is here also, staring at me,
She's just had her meal, so why is she looking?,
She munched at it happily, while I was cooking,
Her eyebrows are raised, and she's sat bolt upright,
She'll raise her paw lovingly, poor little mite,
Or is she just greedy, and wanting it all?,
I should banish her from here, into the hall,
The both of us staring, with gazes so bold,
And while playing this stare off, my tea has gone cold........


(C)[email protected] 2019
A game of stare with my dog resulted in my dinner going cold.... Simple as that really
harlon rivers Nov 2019
The windowsill frames
each passing morning
It speaks in a language
only stillness hears its say
Anchored to the wooden studs
of fortress walls
that bind solitude,
enduring all that
autumn's curtain call unveils

Distant towering evergreens
look back with taller eyes  
than yesteryear
As these timeworn eyes
look beyond
and wonder why
   they've not grown of age —

Time passes away
so quickly
while waiting
for season's change —
and I, wistfully dreaming
how the trees bear
the weight of the sky

Fog lays below
the fir boughs,
blanketing the drowsy
near valley fields
Where deep roots repose
in the clay of truth
that swaddles all
abiding mother earth
   carves in stone —

A monument
to all forbearance,
just a mortal human
could never hold

Pensively envious
how long they hold
their eminence,
patiently suspended beneath
the nimbus rafters stay;
remaining transfixed
without a ray of sunlight
— searchingly leaning  
into each fleeting  moment
of unclouded sight


harlon rivers
Saudia R Oct 2019
Will the fog clear today

Like clockwork
11am
and my eyes open

the same blurry thought makes its way to the surface

will it be today

will the dull dissipate
the confusion clear

this edge of uncertainty
uncertain about possibilities
that might not be possible

this worry

I cannot explain it but my father says I
worry too much

Too much or too little

Too much
too much
too much

dense whispers
in the light of the shadow

but what exactly to see

11am
Will the fog clear today
Jo Barber Oct 2019
Exceedingly underwhelmed,
I found myself in awe
of my own vacant stupidity.
Oh, how we often
fail to grow wiser,
and instead lose
our clear vision
with time,
the way the rain blurs
the window
yet cleans the air.
Zywa Sep 2019
The sun hangs on
just above the water
With romantic feelings
the old people look

at us on the rocks
where we read to each other
They don't see the ants
only our young bodies
and in mind, they add the lizards

A foghorn sounds at sea
but there is nothing to see
until suddenly around us
the bathers on the concrete blocks
become who they seemed to be:

ghosts cherishing themselves
in the warmth on their skin
They turn around and wait
sleeping for the sun
Umag, Croatia, September 1988

Collection “WoofWoof”
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