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M Solav Jan 2023
The poetry of thoughts shines despite the deceit
That lies beyond the kingdom of the forgotten
For it is otherwise shackled by the extraneous resolve
To bind it to mortal forms with the cross of the sheet

And the hammer of the pen.

From this mere p*rversion one can't help but marvel
At the speed upon which we surrender to defeat
And stand ready to relinquish newfound heavens
For the sloppy aesthetics of poetry and prose

And the fate it can't but meet.

For we walk alone on the quicksand of time
And it swallows us whole before we dare speak
So breathe the fresh air before it goes stale
And let every moment be a chance to exist

For it is swaying on the edge.
Written on January 7th, 2023.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact [email protected] for usage requests. Thank you.
louella Jul 2022
the countryside passing by gradually
from the windows in the car.
wind whistling.
he stops abruptly
parking the car at the side of the dirt road.
you both exit the vehicle.
he grabs you by your sweaty hands
and lifts you onto the roof of the car.
slowly, he pulls himself up as well.
you both stare at the cornfield
as the sun is setting
along the line of pine trees.
you just watch nature, calmly, quietly.
his hand touches yours and you lean
on his shoulder.
he kisses your forehead and you smile
brightly, seeing midnight stars in his
golden hour blue eyes.
he climbs down and lowers you
as the sun sinks
below the brush.
he walks over to the passenger side
where you sit for the drive.
he buckles you in and kisses your lips.
they taste like cherry chapstick.
he packs into the drivers seat and looks
over at you adoringly.
you return the same exact breathtaking look.
the car starts moving, just as
leisurely as before.
soon you both spot an open field
hidden in between millions of shrubs
and trees and freshly bloomed flowers.
his teeth glisten as he grins so widely.
your wild hair tamed by the halt of the engine
whispers “yes” to his childlike disposition.
you both book it out of the car
and bolt towards the field,
yelling and pretending to fly.
you get a head start and twirl like
a ballerina in the light of the early moon
with clouds forming circles around
her majestic beauty.
he comes up right behind you and scoops
you up and hugs you so tightly.
you break out of the hug and tackle
him to the dry grass.
you both roll around, laughing, giggling,
smelling pollen, acting crazy.
you both stop for a split second,
seeing fireworks explode and
specks of the new moon
in each other’s pupils.
clarity strikes you and you fall softly
onto his chest with a sigh of pure bliss.
he strokes your hair,
the motion of the movement of his fingers
soothes your heartbeat.
you could die happily at this moment.
but he hears the howl of a
coyote and perks up.
you both jump up with enough energy
to power a twelve ton truck.
you race to the red jeep parked on the side
of the dusty road.
breathing heavily, you pack
into the automobile.
frightened, you turn to him
and you both burst out laughing,
throwing your heads back cackling like crows.
perhaps, you were afraid in that moment
but nothing allays you
better than him and his confident mentality.
once more, the engine restarts
and the road behind you grows
smaller and smaller,
the moon above sparkling,
leaving spots on the car where she shines
down on you.
she knows, she knows, she knows,
he loves you
to the moon and all the way back to earth
a thousand billion times
the scenario i thought of last night. i wanted to make the reader more involved, so i made it second person. this is the type of stuff i imagine.

7/17/22
Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2022
I can't imagine what it's like
To wake up free of fear
And to be completely certain
I have a purpose here
Life would be so much easier
If the past would disappear
But I cant let go and the memories
Only seem to get more clear
Feel so stuck
Persephone Jan 2022
No two snowflakes are alike. Do you know what that means? Are you able to grasp just how much weight that statement carries? That means that even during a blizzard when the world is being consumed by snow and the flakes are falling faster than a torrential down pour and you can’t see your very own hand in front of you, still even then not one of those trillions of snowflakes will ever match another.
It’s practically unthinkable, a laughable old wive’s tale. But then I remember how I saw you that one day with your friends, laughing at something one of them said and I realize in that moment then how something like that is truly possible
Within the torn books,
As old as the time
Lies an unveiled spell,
Vexing the barren souls.

Amidst this lost world,
Does it whisper its golden words,
Shining through the hazy air,
Those, who listens always finds their way.

And just with a touch of shredded phrases,
The once despaired sky will smile,
Will they see the moon listening to them
The once despaired sky will smile,
Looking the flowers bloom in joy
And listening the winds sing in rhythm,
Will they let the curse vex.

And when devoured to the last essence
Is when the glass will break,
Crushed into little pieces,
Perished to never be welded again.
There arises the dark foam,
Returning to the golden lines,  
But now to be blotted with red inks.
As the wood wails dews on lands.
What is the spell?
Robert Ronnow Oct 2021
From marble and granite to steel and glass,
we were discussing Rhina Espaillat’s On the Avenue in class,
was it 1950s or 1980s NYC and were the fifties
the city’s halcyon days or is it now, the 2020s,
the boroughs teeming with immigrants
from the round earth’s imagined corners,
Hasidim and Muslim, Haitian and Russian, as we
Italians and Irish in an earlier era were. Everything will
be ok or not, the recombinations which make
prediction and intuition fortunately hopeless
and each individual an experiment gone well or wrong.
On the avenue God speaks by spewing
toy and clothing stores, breakdancers and ice skaters,
the Brooklyn Navy Yard seen from the Brooklyn Bridge,
the skyline admired when my car broke down on the Triborough Bridge.
The numbers of us overwhelm, there exist powers
overwhelming for the human body and mind.
I don’t mind but I can’t make sense of it.
Gandhi said What you do may not seem important
but it is very important that you do it. By that what is meant?
Linda complained Why does God always have to be a man?
I opined He could be a she but She’s probably really
a Tyrannosaurus rex. I like to be in America!
—Espaillat, Rhina, “On the Avenue”, Playing at Stillness, Truman State University Press, 2005.
—Donne, John, “At the round earth’s imagined corners”.
Oil and vinegar,
Sugar and spice;
everything looks nice.
Your wit and charm,
sends long walks of
harmony into a world
of a never ending
façade.
Put's on his best smile,
but he will always be
a broken man.
Stay's at home,
I try my best to
console him and he
Put's his head high,
and thinks no one will
notice.
On the way, he imagines
reactions, that someday
he will have a perfect world,
made the way he wants it.
Making plans for Mikey,
to make sure he's a happy man.
I always imagined
I'm on the beach,
watching the waves roll in from your long hair booth,
seagulls flying on a sailing ship,
o it flies between the two of us
who are running around
looking for *****
on the shore
which turns out
to be close to the beach.
My lips,
so salty sweat
and sea water add happiness there.
I saw the sun rising
and setting in our e y e s,
which turned out to be a s i g n,
I needed to learn
to love the lost dusk
and also the dawn that came.
I saw the fishermen
who came
                   and then left
and that was my
h e   art
that was anchored in the old wharf which turned out to be quiet and
l               one            ly,
and was your  h   e   art  there too?
I always imagined
we forget names,
forget places,
but don't forget to go home.
Or perhaps, this is another option.
I always imagined
we were in a house in a cool village, where the rice fields were green and wide,
so vast that our l  ove was never measured.
The chirping of birds will always be heard
and answered so s w e e t l y
from tree branches
whose leaves are thick and shady; every time you
                            and
                                    I wake up.
From the windows and ventilation aisles,
sunlight e n t e r s to warm our cold bodies shivering all night
because of the
r
               a
                                i
   n
and      
         s     t    o   r   m   s
that never subside,
even though we have spent the night with various kinds of hugs
that are not the same.
Even I always imagined
you are there
when I imagined good things,
maybe when you are not by my side and I feel it is not something that feels good.
I always imagined
that I really love you.
And you really love me too.

O, I always imagined it all
when I see you smile every time
I have a bad day, and you said, everything
      must
         be
           easy
             for
              you
               to
                 go
                   through.

I imagined that, while writing this poem.
Indonesia, 3rd May 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
Ken Pepiton Aug 2021
Stories older than kings,
these exist as stories told with old ones,
imaginings of messengers,
seers saying this is the vision, made as plain
as pi, point, plumb, line, and wall,

man, made in the imagination
man imagines, and affirms,
this I die to know, I am made
to be a doer of this,
listen
_  yes, in the wind, give it a year... listen, speak when spoken to... how strange we seem, men of few spoken words... who serve to hold winds in fists once used to hold clubs and swords and guns.
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