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 Apr 2017 TG
spysgrandson
with moonlight, he travels mostly
at night, past snoring hikers and embers
of fires that cooked their food, kept darkness
at bay, and heard what they had to say

if the coals could only speak, perhaps
he would find the right circle of stones,
a black heap of carbon that once glowed
red and gold, and her tale would be told

at least he would know the last words
she spoke in this wilderness--whether she
chose to vanish into the deep wood, fodder
for the scavengers

or was the prey of evil men,
who lurk at every turn--in bustling city
and quiet forest as well--vipers who strike
without warning, without curse or cause

when the moon's light wanes, he moves yet
in darkness, feeling his way, a nocturnal detective,
hoping to find what the others have given up
for lost and registered among the dead:

sign or scent of her--black coals or white bones,
a piece of tattered clothing, the canvas backpack
with her name, the hiking boots he laced for her
which left tracks he forever yearns to find...
"Inspired" by the brutal ****** of a couple on the Appalachian Trail in the mid '80s. In this case, the forlorn searcher has lost a lover, daughter or someone he wanders in the darkness to find.
 Apr 2017 TG
Delta Swingline
Staying up late again.

And you know I can feel your eyes reading these words, looking for something.

But these late hours don't leave much to be desired in poetry.

Sorry to disappoint.

But if you have a late night memoir, I'm not opposed to some reading of my own.

But you should sleep soon.

And so should I.
I know your reading this. What else do you want me to say?
 Apr 2017 TG
Gidgette
Skies are cloudless and
grey
Familiar with embers
Dogwoods bloom, in red sunlight
Filtered
Through glass
In shaken globes
Cracking in heat
Glass bubble
Kissed by
Fire
Blessed by
Flame
Shimmering darkness


Such contrast held
In the opposition of
black snowflakes,
Falling
On white flowers
~A
Sheer madness I'm sure. Would you like to dance?
 Apr 2017 TG
Gidgette
I'm burnt,
I've dwelt in the flames
These metaphors we choose to speak in
Well,
They're lies
I burn
No metaphor needed
Half moons consume my skin
As I crave
Heart beats
I lack one
And I know,
You dont believe
But they say
I'm pretty
In
Flames
I love you all. I'm a ******* a screen and I don't matter. But, you do. To me.
 Apr 2017 TG
Shivani Lalan
nothing.

not any thing.

no single thing.

you see? the dictionary can't tell you what nothing means, and I expect me to have the answer. the only travesty is that I indeed know what nothing is.

nothing is the first blade of grass
that withers away come summer.
you thought you could play on lush greens, but dead dry leaves are a ******.

nothing is also the bottom of a
once-full glass - you emptied its
contents thinking "this too, shall pass".

nothing is the first page of a diary
that you intended to keep. it is now
used as a paperweight, a place for
dust to sleep.

nothing is the first lie you ever
learned to tell - to bravely decorate
your face with a smile even if your pockets are filled with hell.

my personal favourite definition -
nothing is the space I occupy
on your overworked mind - I try
hard to look for traces of me but
they seem impossible to find.
Lol aaj kya kiya - "nothing" // close shave today late hua.
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