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Barking
By Marc Carver - Contributing Poet
I made someone cry today. Almost made myself cry too. We read poems in the park. I wanted to, Not leave The words there But I just wanted the forest to have them. For some reason. It seemed right. I did not Want to leave that place. The place, where my words were. Maybe I could chisel the words into the bark. My mark. That would stay with them Forever.
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The Wanderer in the Cold
By Ignacio J Fontan - Contributing Poet
Nothing to see beyond the glow of the street light which bathes me in its pale orange halo. The wind whistles a mournful tune as I try to quiet the thoughts vying for my attention. Every intake of air feels like fists of ice down my throat, coalescing into a pale cloud when I exhale.
The night gets colder, smelling like acrid steam.
A cat keeps watch from underneath a parked car, eyes shining like two emeralds-- a silent guardian scrutinizing every step before losing interest, and rightly so. All he sees is another wanderer seeking shelter from the cold.
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Sestina: Dream
By Darryn John Murphy - Contributing Poet
Twilight in front of the computer screen Moonlit in its ivory white Silent whispers echo dreams Thou have known thy gentleness And I have whispered in the mist Solemn thunder echo sky As stars glisten in the sky Moths are knocking at the screen As the moon surrenders to the mist Daylight dream the dream in white And thou have known thy gentleness Twilight whispers in my dreams As I'm sheltered in my dreams Towards the heaven haven sky There are times in gentleness Casting shadows from the screen Glimmering shadows cast in white As my breath surrenders into the mist Deem the day of ghostly mist As there are whispers in my dreams Bathed beneath the moon in white Twilight bliss beneath the haven sky And there are voices in the screen Gentle in thy gentleness Silent whispers call my gentleness Bathed beneath the moon in mist Silent passage in the screen A sense so wholesome in my dreams Twain thy hand, towards the sky Heavens knows my dreams are white Clouds appear in ghostly white Loving hand in gentleness Towards the heavenly haven sky There is silence in the mist And passiveness in silent dreams A silent movie picture screen Shadow cast among the screen, glistening in pleasant white and there are dreams, in gentleness Rolling plain in gentle mist, as echoes whisper in the sky
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Africa Resurrection
By Joseph Masanga - Contributing Poet
Supreme in style, Dignity underneath my smile, No wonder I am KING. Pride in my blood, Born to win, No wonder I'll never sleep on mud; I am KING. I live to love, I was born to rule; God gave birth to a winner, Swallow my blood and become a sinner. Still I remain, I am KING. Just like the sun, I rise. Without a doubt, I am the chosen one, No wonder I am KING.
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My Heaven Lies Here
By Priyanka Bhowmick - Contributing Poet
My Heaven lies here . . . Where the silhouette of darkness shelters me... Where the smiles came to an extinction... Beckoning angst as my master... Where the gloomy flowers bleed out their ache... Yielding themselves to my fate... Where the never ending darkness dwells... And the dawn has its no place... Where the pace of life curtails... Eventfully converging with hurdles... Where the sun dare not to shine... Where wine swivels to venom... Expressing their turbulent wrath... To my dark throat... Where love died and its ashes lingers... Where paradise never can occupy... Resentfully I think to myself... Certainly, this is where my Heaven lies.
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After Burying a Wife
By Donal Mahoney - Contributing Poet
Were she here with me now, by the waist I would raise her, a chalice of wonder. I'd bellow hosannas and whirl her around, tell her again that I love her, press my face moist in the pleats of her skirt, ask her to sprinkle phlox on the curls of our children if they are with her, ask her to stay a while longer while I do so much more were she here with me now.
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Poverty
By IB Rad - Contributing Poet
If poverty suddenly mutated to an infectious disease we'd frantically invent a vaccine to inoculate the affluent and the middle class; as for those common poor, we'd concoct a sanctimonious prayer to restore them in God's favor and keep them from that moral hazard, Christian charity.
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