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Vikki Sep 16
Your silences & mine blend seamlessly you arrive & I'm leaving how else does art find a perfect conduit to magnify this feeling I offer verses in hues of spring but you're content with faded ink maybe love can sit, wordless in a forest of autumn light & call it poetry.
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Vikki Sep 15
Your laughter spills like an accidental comedy on my tragic prose and I delight at the sudden alchemy of light & drama in this shadowland they say I'm blooming mad inspirited by nightshade but this art is just a poor excuse to court some abstract beauty in my head.
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Jared Mulhair Sep 16
i have quit the quest for a foreign euphoria ditched the DeLorean for the beautifully boring the mundane of a Monday park bench perfection the lushness of daily life the vibration of little blessings
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Jared Mulhair Sep 21
will you marrow me? i want you to slurp my bones be the buzzard in my desert leave me littered on the stones life is overrated anyway all of mine have been a bust but death gets better every time so hurry up and spill my guts
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Vikki 5h
There's more to me than words between pages my heart beats to the music of lost times & all that one holds sacred with bare hands beyond the rusty gate on the wild side a cemetery of violets sways I went looking for myself but found you this time, I hope we both stay...
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Larry Yoke 19m
Shut Out When a door closes Rest assured another one will open Opportunities present themselves In various ways, directions and methods Be alert Be diligent Always seeking that new path, Never give up Continue on your journey You will be thankful and amazed You had… ©LY*
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awaiting rain Sep 15
on night business the poet writes of silence opening a drawer that contains the sea she walks into the waves
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Melisa Quigley Sep 17
Write a or a about this picture. Laughter Screams of greeting Front door opens Relatives pour in Faces greeted with lipstick Planted on both cheeks Baby crying Cat meows Unused to many sounds Baritone voices Whispering ones too Smell of finger food
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Melisa Quigley 20h
Write a or a about this picture. Here are my attempts: She woke and couldn’t find him. What happened last night When the groom disappeared? The bride woke to find the house stripped bare
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Vikki Sep 21
The poem wears the spirit of a cemetery flower scent of silence in September in every umber blade of grass the wind hums a tune rendering the mood true as Spandau Ballet sang in 1983 your footfalls lighten turn pastures green cynicism winnows but is this love - or a dream?
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🅲🅷🆁🅸🆂 Sep 21
Our little lives like leaves on bustling clear streams race by twisting and turning while our sun is burning and the days quickly vanish.
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M. S. Reggiori Sep 19
Is it in rapt Of the cold night That the eyes Blinks & tiresome settles in Or is it in linger Of the last glimse Of Summer I thought the world of When you held me In the soft satin night Speaking Till the morn Came knocking on my door Yet I was rosy, as a Spring blush
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Vikki Sep 20
I place a break between the lines an interlude of music or a world of another artist it's a necessity as with life I cannot flow on like a ceaseless river with nowhere to go those who travel the same wilderness know we vagabonds break our own hearts ..never finding home.
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susan osborne Sep 17
its another dimension when not having makes you feel good. I know no perfection(close as possible) exceptions to rules. i even love travelling on roads with you curious furious mix of satellites & sun at the other ends of a universe
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🅲🅷🆁🅸🆂 Sep 21
In my garden , I hear them sing. To drive the hours in flight, In my garden, I hear their song, cornucopias of delight .
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Jared Mulhair Sep 19
over the busted lip of the land a depression the rubble around me tumbles a percussion i claw the cavernous cheeks a confession i want the moonlight on the creek an elision even a glimmer of serenity a completion
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Vikki Sep 19
I am all things unspoken the slight sound of windchimes in the night a misty haven where the moth & the moon softly collide in abstract ways we exist a ballet in an amphitheatre of indigo til day breaks we live in breaths of the same chest ~ you & I we become the poem.
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Melisa Quigley Sep 16
Write a or a about this picture. Her last journey had already started. Single beds like coffins are in every room A woman sits knitting relatives visit watching Not knowing what to say her mind is miles away Photos adorn her bench with names printed under each
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Jared Mulhair Sep 18
little minnow might as well be finless so infatuated with sand and the heavy way a day leans upon the dry land i am not the one to tell it my kiss to the gill is deadly minnow find your family just enjoy that cool blue eddy
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SubtleHoney® Sep 17
old bike beat up rusted unbroken who knew shiny beloved would lie dead in a corner of your minds garage abandon the eyesore some new sucker will right it wrong
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