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Scorching heat, sweat pours
Vicious winds, couldn't tame it
Sweat river. It's summer. Whoa!
My 100th poem
Jackeline Chacon Sep 2014
Innocent animals born to die
Brutally killed for human food

Cows and pigs suffering death
For a perfect banquet stewed

Many natural food that grow
Delicious right out of the dirt

Yet they still eat with gluttony
Oh this world makes me hurt

Chicks and goats all perished
To prepare for the finest dish

Imagine if you were an animal
You surely never want to wish

My outlook is a world of peace
Not lovely creatures to decay

Animals should not live tragic
A vegetarian I will always stay
Osvaldo Palomino Sep 2014
What is this strange feeling that has fallen over me?
I burn like a demon being touched by a rosary
Yet I dont move away, I continue to suffer
Enduring this pain acting as if it will make me tougher...
Kate Lion Jan 2013
I can’t stand that I can’t understand
Why my heart heaved its contents into your content hands,
Tearstains dripping through my fingers as we [danced].
I remember the days I’d [collapse] in crowded streets,
Because my heart would [skip] too many beats.
Then you’d [spin me], kiss my cheeks and whisper
Something sweet about my [feet’s] defeat.
But I knew then that I couldn’t [keep rhythm],
So I must’ve suffered from heart failure.

And once you left in October, and my soul was sober
Not drunk on my tears,
I would wonder what could’ve persuaded you to stay,
But once my heart attempted a [pirouette]
I no longer questioned my place.
.. I don’t know if you watched after that,
But I’m sure you saw the {snowprints} I’d leave in your yard,
My only way of telling you that I hated being my own {saving grace},
Because a {fallen angel} drops too hard.

But icicles hung from your eyelids that winter,
And splintered your vision.
Looking back, I believe you cried as much as I did,
And the tears froze across your eyes.
Because you never looked me in the eye as our minds ran to pieces
As we raced to find peace with ourselves.

You spun me for a loop,
My skull kissing paintball splattered remains of my left and right brain
As they bled all over themselves,
Knocking my sanity off of the shelves
In an attempt to explain whether love is history,
Or chemistry,
And I didn’t want to ponder the prospects
So paper was my band-aid fix all.
I wrapped my mind around it,
Concealed my soul beneath my words,
Until I was my own mummified form,
Too afraid to rip them off.
Because what if nothing had healed at all?
I rotted beneath my façade.
My smiley face band-aids the only hands of happiness that hugged me for
Months,
And I
Sunk
Into depression,
Not unlike this current recession,
Not knowing where my silver lining would be;
Wondering if it would come only when withered lines worked their way across my cheeks,
A gray hairline visible in the sun,
As proof my time had come,
To be happy.

But something better came sooner with the rains of May,
And a new boy painted smiles back onto my face.
Removing the bandages that had bruised my body,
And punctured the skin of my poetry.
So I was free to bleed again,
With fresh pieces to breathe in.

Was it happiness, or freedom that flushed my cheeks?
Or was it the uncomfortable spider that would weave my stomach in knots
As another part of me was lost
To the boy who painted my peace
For a price?

I didn’t mean to hand so much to him, love,
But a measure of pleasure came with a cost,
And at some point my beliefs were tossed to scatter in the wind,
And the spider of guilt in my stomach sunk its teeth right in,
Sadness seeping through my veins,
The venom of regret.

Because you were the only one who ever held all of me and none of me at the same time,
Who never asked for what I claimed to be mine.
All of me was yours,
Even the things you never asked for
Were stamped with your name for a future date.
But mail gets intercepted sometimes,
And my contents were spread
Before someone I hardly knew
And I-
Missed-
You…

Because you never asked for too much to touch or too much of my love
I loved you the only way I was able to.
And now…
I’m just a tainted tin can on the side of the street.
And I know you don’t have use for me,
But I’ll do my best to undo the dents of my past.
All I know is that yesterday you told me you hate it when I don’t say what’s on my mind.
But my tongue was a sponge that soaked up the ways that I’ve wanted to say
That I’m sorry.

And I’ve skipped my own beats for a year and a half,
Letting my turn to tell you I yearn for you pass
Right over
In an endless drum roll.
But-
I feel a –rhythmic- rattle-
In my –beaten-aluminum-body
As your footsteps
[Stop].
Please.
Don’t let me suffer for my heart failure.
Barbara-Paraprem Aug 2014
When we stop running away from ourselves,
by not trying to feel different,
by embracing our whole supposed poorness
and the feeling of not being loved and to suffer need,
with compassion for ourselves,
so if we stay in this way with every possible emotion,
without making the step into term, explain, judge
and finally also fight,
then we encounter ourselves for the first time.
Then we begin to make us familiar with ourselves,
as we would awaken slowly, slowly
from a sleep lasting since eternities,
as if we were only now, when we were not before.
Then a intimacy grows with ourselves,
then we see with our heart and not just with the mind:
God’s or Buddha’s love
is the same as the love for ourselves.
If we remain exactly by that, what we feel,
our heart will become so open, that no more separation exists,
because all separation happens only in the mind.
Then we see the perfect in the imperfect, the beauty in the ugliness,
because there is longer any place, where we would not be.
All we can see, is
always only we ourselves, always only we ourselves, always only we ourselves.
All we can love, we are always only we ourselves.
This not to see means to suffer.
What we see may seems to us like a curse.
Yet this gate to hell is a gate to heaven,
and opens up to us after long struggles far greater peace,
than any sweet threshold.



© Barbara-Paraprem, 2014
Luis Mdáhuar Aug 2014
The gloomy do not know
That one day they will cease to be
She'll arrive
as sure as a modern leak
neither pale
Or gray
It is not a scythe
scratching lice away like you
And I
eternally laughing
No matter if you're spiritual
               or courageous

But lovers will suffer her
pleasant
In their last hour

Sleep your whole life
There is no fault
Any way, she will come
At any time

                    SOMETIMES
If in a good mood
she will
fall from the sky
In the form of piano
just a girl Aug 2014
roses are red
violets are blue
sugar is sweet
and so are you

but the roses have wilted
and the violets are dead
the sugarbowl is empty
and my wrists are stained
RED

**(c.m.h)
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