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#poem of the day
worksofnereum · an hour ago
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for all the
days we have
spent apart
you will always
be my childhood
best friend
-nereum // may.17.21
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worksofnereum · an hour ago
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there are some
days when all
I want is a
big hug
from the
person
I love
-nereum // may.16.21
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libraryofvenus · 5 hours ago
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The Sun Rising - John Donne
Busy old fool, unruly sun,               Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?               Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide               Late school boys and sour prentices,         Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,         Call country ants to harvest offices, Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.               Thy beams, so reverend and strong               Why shouldst thou think? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lose her sight so long;               If her eyes have not blinded thine,               Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,         Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine         Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me. Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.               She's all states, and all princes, I,               Nothing else is. Princes do but play us; compared to this, All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy.               Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,               In that the world's contracted thus.         Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be         To warm the world, that's done in warming us. Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.
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yesjojobirdflyhigh · 11 hours ago
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I'm raking leaves and singing in my off-key voice
a mangled version of Madonna's "Like a Virgin,"
a song I thought I hated;
 
that's how it goes when your head and heart
are in different time zones–
you often don't find out till tomorrow
what you felt today.
 
I know I do not understand the principles
of leaf removal; I pile them up
in glowing heaps of cadmium and orange,
 
but I identify so much more
with the entropic gusts of wind
that knock them all apart again.
Is it natural to be scattered?
 
When I look to the sky I am often dreaming
of a television program that I saw some months ago;
when I walk into a dinner party
 
I am thinking of the book I mean to read when I get home – you might say
my here is disconnected to my now,
so never am I entirely anywhere,
 
or anyone. But I won't speak cruelly
of myself: this dividedness is just what
makes our species great: possible for Darwin
 
to figure out his theory of selection
while playing five-card stud,
for surgeon Keats to find a perfect rhyme
wrist-deep in the disorder
of an open abdomen
 
For example, it is autumn here.
The defoliated trees look frightened
at the edge of town,
 
as if the train they missed
had taken all their clothes.
The whole world in unison is turning
toward a zone of nakedness and cold.
 
But me, I have this strange conviction
that I am going to be born.
Tony Hoagland | Totally
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yesjojobirdflyhigh · 14 hours ago
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Let me breathe only grace today, only
that which slows, steadies,
softens, sparks
only that which permits
and pardons and points
to the blossoms inside the broken,
the poetry inside the pain, the nourishing
newness inside the now
Let me breathe only grace
today, only that which invites
me to speak my very own
language for as long as I have breath,
only that which hums:
You can.
You will.
Let me breathe only grace today, only that which notices the tired
and says, lie back, Love—rest
for as long as you need to. It’s not
about how much you do
but how full you are.
And, my God, how beautiful you are when you are full.
- A Prayer For Every Day | Julia Fehrenbacher
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livinginellipsis · 15 hours ago
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Raindrops,
Are like gentle kisses,
From the sky to the earth.
Washing away the grit of everyday life,
Leaving room for the light to brush.
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bellarayel · 20 hours ago
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The Reason Why
What makes me unique? I’ve asked myself for quite so long. Overcoming, it’s all I’ve ever done.
But I’m not defined by simple words written on some paper. Or by the reminders of people who fade in time. I’m the impossibility of the world. I’m the improbability that color can exist before our eyes.
I’m the color of the flower strewn apart by the wind- how scattered around I am with no ties to a place.
I’m the color of ice and ache, the reason why it’s harder to love through the days. I’m broken, bruised, and used. Hurt, my heart worse, about to burst.
I am the story of a girl learning who she is. Unraveling, unfree, and slowly un-bounding.
I am glaucous and even worse, I am heartache. And I am the reason why even winter learns to fear itself. Because even a monster learns to hurt itself before it hurts others.
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misterpuzzles · 21 hours ago
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"Fail With Me"
Come on and fail with me!
I'm goin' swimmin' in the seven seas
to teach Atlantians their ABC's.
Then I'mma take first place
in ev'ry mermaid race
and I'll write us a song we can teach to the breeze.
Come on and fail with me.
I'm flying high without my wings, baby.
The brokest birds up here still sing for free.
I'll chase the clouds 'til they're all chasin' me.
Worst thing 'could happen is we win, baby.
Come on and fail with me!
I'm fallin' backwardly into a crowd.
They're gunna chant my name aloud, so loud.
They'll make a palanquin
so very large and clean
that everyone who bats an eye is wowed.
Come on and fail with me.
I'm flying high without my wings, baby.
The brokest birds up here still sing for free.
I'll chase the clouds 'til they're all chasin' me.
Worst thing 'could happen is we win, baby.
Come on and fail with me!
Worst thing 'could happen is we win, baby.
Come on and fail with me!
Worst thing 'could happen is we win, baby.
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poemoftheday · 21 hours ago
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Poem of the Day 17 May 2021
Hap BY THOMAS HARDY
If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: “Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!”
Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
—Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . . .
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
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for-the-stories · a day ago
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Sunshine
I burn for the sun. 
Tanned skin makes no difference at all when it comes to the harsh rays. 
I suppose it’s funny in a way, me burning myself on the radiance of an inanimate, life-giving ball of burning gases 93 million miles away. 
You'd think that it would be far enough away, far enough not to spill onto me. 
But I burn. 
Red shoulders intersected by white tank-top strap lines, blistered arms, a painful rash on my nose. 
I burn for the sun.
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Despierto solo
y quedo así; pensando, inventándo,
Otra historia, que es igual decir,
Seguir soñando, y quedo en el vacío,
imaginando. . .
Que llegas, y te entregas en mis brazos.
Quédate hoy, quédate siempre,
vuélvete luz de abril, al despertar,
o realidad, pero no me dejes solo,
O mejor ven y llévame ahora,
a un mundo feliz, donde no,
Hay soledad, llévame contigo.
— Juan Francisco Palencia.
Triste y solitario.
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godzilla-reads · a day ago
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100 Days of Poetry: Day 7
The Woods by Louise Erdrich (From Original Fire)
At one time your torches were clothing enough.
Within these trees now I am different.
Now I wear the woods.
I lower a headdress of bent sticks and secure it.
I strap to myself a breastplate of clawed, roped bark.
I fit the broad leaves of sugar maples
to my hands, like mittens of blood.
Now when I say come,
and you enter the woods,
hunting some creature like the woman I was,
I surround you.
Light bleeds from the clearing. Roots rise.
Fluted molds burn blue in the falling light,
and you also know
the loneliness that you taught me with your body.
When you lie down in the grave of a slashed tree,
I cover you, as I always did.
Only this time you do not leave.
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Being away from you at midnight. . .
Meditating on life, love, old age, death: these are ideas that often assail me, taking away sleep; I see you as a gale, which turns me into a sparkling landmark in the shadows, when I try to hug you.
— Juan Francisco Palencia
Sad and lonely.
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Leather against skin
Tears dripping slowly downwards
Tension is released
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thewokewordsmith · a day ago
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One hundred years of war couldn’t keep them apart Entwined on the crossroads Where Stars and Satellites start Baptized in Fire to walk through the Rain Burned in the cruel Summer then Wintered the pain
Flames in their heart melted the Ice in their veins Star-crossed and lost looking for someone to claim
He is the Sun and She is the Moon Opposite, equal, and always in tune An endless dance the world cannot sate Of two souls bound by red string of fate -the woke wordsmith
@zutaramonth
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luvalwayslanora · a day ago
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Hurt and pain gets buried, yet always creeps up from the dirt to live.
It can never die if you let it take air from your thoughts.
Feeding off the moments it can appear and get stronger.
We give it life when we enter situations that tingle down our bodies.
It gets nurtured and survives longer when we go there.
It just continues to grow, clinging and covering over all parts of you that’s suffering.
It dims the light and casts a shadow.
When that light is trying shine, it needs strength to glow.
That glow can face the moments that cause overwhelming feelings.
That shine can warm the cold shivers and give heat, giving purity to the fowl claws of muck eating at you.
Hurt and pain don’t have to take over your life.
Within your soul there’s greatness to be unlocked.
Behind all the reasons to fall apart there are many to stand up and stay grounded to the root of happiness.
Once found, the will be no more dark days
Only the brightness that was always around .
More than a sparkle, larger then a glimmer.
No more hurt, no more pain.
Now you’ll shine in your ray of light beaming overing you from head to toe .
Written by yours truly
La’Nora
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moonbeamsinmyeyes · a day ago
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Spring
She wore the scent of early spring on her delicate neck and every kiss I stole tasted of bright yellow flowers and buzzing bees
Michael Faudet
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