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 Jul 2018 island poet
Sjr1000
He arises in the morning
with nothing to say
He arises in the evening
after being quiet all day

His thoughts they are a dancing  -
The future is dark
The past is bleak
with nothing to dream

The dawn it arises,
At night, the sun
it heads down
Time it stands still
when you have nothing to say  -
You've tried your best in
your own way
Nothing seems to come
but
despair and dismay.

A lover she comes
A lover she goes
Your creations,
they all grow trite
and old

Playing cat's cradle
with a line of string
at the tear line
not knowing
whether to cry
or go numb

Like our lives,
a spider web
on a tree
blowing and shimmering
in the sun light winds.

He arises and dresses
Heads out for his day
With nothing to say.
 Jul 2018 island poet
Mike Hauser
I'm not sure you've heard of
But there's a girl out there named Purpose
For whom I have been searching
I hear that she's well worth it

When I find her I won't tarry
I'll ask her to marry
And without a second thought
A child for me she'll carry

We'll name the child ambition
Something I have been missing
I'll rock her to sleep at night
In the day make her my mission

From this day forward
Knowing full well to be worth it
Striving in my finding
For that girl named Purpose
She looks into my eyes
as if searching for my feelings
for a hint of my disposition today
can’t she tell by the softness of my voice
the sweet things I say
can’t she sense my love  
in these moments together
or
are we both really alone
and this union a figment?

It is as if she is wondering
in her little mind behind her amber eyes
what it is like being human
as I wonder what is like being feline.
His head kept bumping on my shoulder
and he was not my father
or anyone I knew

he smelled as if a bath was overdue
and slept like wasn't a place better
than the ***** briefness of my shoulder.

Breaking down was my brittle patience
needled by his bristled cheek
brushed by his shabby dress,

was for rest the man hard pressed?

Wouldn't I have been nudged by pride
if the head on my shoulder was my father
happy to have him by my side?

as he gets older
does his blurry mind miss
a place where he is not alone

one or any shoulder
for an untimely nap in peace
a quiet stranger to rest upon?
A bus ride in the heat, Mar 15, 2018, 2pm
 Apr 2018 island poet
CA Smith
I never was one to swim
And now I am an Olympic diver
Ready to splash into your skin
And collide with you

I never was one to sing
But I find myself belting out tunes
Because they remind me of you
And your voice is the sexiest thing I've ever heard

I never was one to swallow my pride
Yet the embellishment of your words
Entangle me in humility

I never was one to stop to smell the roses
But the fragrance of you stops me in my tracks
Like a lion on the prowl

I never was one to feel good about myself
Yet you show me everything I am
And everything I could be

I never was one to love
Yet you make it so easy
You make it so effortless
That now I can say
I can't help but love you
Blank stare.
Jesus.
On the cross
Why is that so glamorised.
I'm glazing over
Just staring at his dead...
Wait
Not dead
Suffering body
Hanging from a chunk of would
Being devalued over and over
And we shouldnt keep idols
And statues of naked women
And goats are not for worship
Yet we worship the image
Of the most powerful human aspect
Hung out to dry.
What an ego driven world
It should be your ugly aspects
On that cross
Release your christ
From that tainted bond age
Why do we replay the horrid past
When jesus lived?
He was taken off that cross
Yet you make him wear it
Over and over and over again
how
Following the rhymes of the wind blows
But it seems to follow me
Like every time i call it forward
It moves to set me free
And all the trees seem to flow
In an interpretive dance
Yes all the time I'm holding still
Branches react to my glance.
And why does life never seem to work
For some but then theirs others
Who worship nature in their hearts
And are connected with the mother
Whose attitudes and shining smiles
Can make the weather change
And other miracles
Fast react
Happening more than strange.
Why it's almost as if
Needs are met

— The End —