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I was never born to be great;
I never believed it was my fate.
Not like the Beatles,
Who wrote the songs
That live with us all life long.
I wasn't here to invent
A vaccine to prevent laments,
Or destroy dementia,
Or unveil the answer
That cancels cancer.
I'm not up on investments
That provide the cash to crash hunger,
Or house the homeless and usurp anger.
No I'm not a man of wonder.
Yet, if you ask someone who knows me,
A child of mine, for one,
They'll correct my every regret,
And remind this man,
Lest we forget.
Children and grandkids think we adults have all the answers and all the power. We don't, but we must be mindful of their perspectives.
Reece May 7
Sometimes when the world feels too bilow,
I cover up my ears.
I fade into the shadows,
And wipe my dripping tears.
Nothing ever seems to be policanary,
Always moving further on,
With no destination…
Tune out the jabberwocky.
Ignore the noise.
Maybe I’m a crybaby,
Or am I poised?
Listening to all the shouting,
Drowning in all the loudness,
Shuddering at my plonious thoughts,
That fuel my fears.
What am I to do?
I must continue,
To push through,
This kilomuny, trepidary,
Oligarny, relinbary,
Foolish jabberwocky.
Jabberwocky just means nonsense.
Maryann I Apr 27
The sky spills liquid gold across the fields,
and every blade of grass hums a bright song,
ripples of honey laughter swim through the air,
as the trees burst into wild, kaleidoscopic blooms.

Clouds skip like stones across a sapphire lake,
the wind flutes silver melodies through the valley,
and the mountains wear crowns of glittering flame,
grinning, howling, singing at the top of their lungs.

The rivers are ribbons of melted stars,
the earth quivers with candy-colored sparks,
and hearts—oh, hearts!—
they pop like fireworks in a velvet sky,
sending ripples of giggling stardust everywhere.

Every breath tastes of spun sugar and sunlight,
every blink unwraps a prism of newborn wonder,
and my soul—my soul!—
is a thousand kites soaring, shrieking, bursting,
carried far beyond the hills of happiness.
Kanchan Apr 23
Who are you? I ask

every time you pass by,

as I try my best to deny

that there is a version of you

whom I can never identify.

I think it will always remain a mystery to me,

regardless of how much time passes by.

Does it matter? U ask

every time i try to know more about you

as if no one asked you this before

as if it was very out of the blue

it makes me feel stupid

but i cannot help but wonder

why are you so restricted?

what kind of situations were u put under?

it is none of my business

i know that very well

but are u never curious?

about what people don't tell?
Sit here on this rocky cliff precipice,
Listening to this American woman play with this French orchestra,
Directed by an Italian man,
Jamming out to scraps that were written by a Jewish man in '67,
Making such a beautiful sound wave that bowls me over in it's benediction,
Over and Over,
And Over again,
Carry me to sea and drown me again.
Rhiannon Giddens with the L'Orchestre Symphonique De Bretagne- Spanish Mary ( Check out how this song got made, it's quite a cool tale)
Maryann I Apr 19
Dawn stretches golden over Guanabara Bay,
sugarloaf rising like a dream in stone.
Waves kiss the shore in samba rhythms—
each tide a whisper from the heart of Brazil.

Birdsong rains from the canopy,
scarlet macaws slicing morning light like brushstrokes.
The rainforest exhales its perfume—
a living mural swaying in greens and golds.

Cobblestone streets hum beneath bare feet,
colors bursting from murals and music.
The air tastes of mango and maracujá,
joy lingers in every sun-soaked laugh.

Ipanema gleams like a string of pearls,
bodies bronzed and basking in euphoria.
Even the breeze dances—
flirting with palms, curling through café songs.

From Lapa’s arches to Christ’s open arms,
the city holds you—wide-eyed, blooming.
And oh, to see Rio not just with eyes
but with your whole soul alight.
Rio de Janeiro
Jay Lewis Apr 16
My family moved houses when I was young.
I was scared to start in the new school.
You were the first person to care about me
and I didn’t feel so lonely when I was with you.

You moved away when I was young.
You use to call and so did I.
We use to write and tell each other of our adventures all the time.

Then the phone stopped ringing.
And the letters stopped filling up the letterbox.

I never knew what happened to you…
I guess that’s what growing up does to kids like me and you.
To an old friend. I hope you’ve had a wonderful life.
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