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Old 08-06-2014, 02:59 PM   #361
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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Written by: Cyclones41

Before tonight, I’d never written a love letter.
Before tonight I tried to ink my love to you, but a
lover does not love make, so instead I wrote fear.
I wrote the fear of being alone
and the fear of not being enough
and the fear of being way too much.
I wrote the fear that I had never existed without.

Until tonight.
Tonight, I write a love letter to the lover I never expected
I would be able to rest my fingers on:

Dear Self,
Your hands, they rest on your chest,
that part of you you’d go months without looking at,
and here, now, your hands find a home.
What used to be the cause of tear, after tear, after tear,
those breasts,
now they are pecs,
and you can’t stop looking at them with the eyes of a lover.
I swear, if you could look in the eyes of the two most in-love men,
they’d look like the eyes of murderers compared to yours.

And honey, your voice is deep.
It’s not the smooth, sexy baritone you always thought it’d be,
but it’s the perfect amount of deep for me.
When you sing, I can hear your heart in a way
it never spoke before, and every time your lips
have the courage to speak your truth, I know you’re speaking to me.

There are still lines on your chest from where they cut
you open, or better yet, where they sewed you shut,
and there’s a band-aid on your leg where you prick yourself
with the needle that holds the juice that puts hair on your face.
And you, you’re still a mountain range,
with highs higher than the highest of heights
and lows that go so low you could swear they’ve never seen the sunshine
but the difference—the difference now is that
you don’t want or need a way out.

So tonight, I write a truth to you that sits deeper
in me than anything has before:

I love you.
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Old 08-22-2014, 05:41 AM   #362
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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one-hundred thousand
Written by: NGD1313

almost one hundred
thousand on
the odometer
and i still haven't
seen a thing;

i am sorry
for more than distance
can cover

and you -
with midnight at your back,
smiling sleepily
at something
that is far beyond me
somehow still on the run
as i am
eating apples from your eyes
and pushing 101.
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Old 09-06-2014, 09:29 AM   #363
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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as of now
Written by: freshtunes

sitting naked,
in a sturgis office chair,
with a single fan,
and a used Chinese take-out
terriyaki stick,
a one hitter into a five-gallon
utility bucket
on jefferson

he picks through
cases and cases
of music in case
he missed the
disc with the song
that would
back track
connect dots
to the first
act of the
never ending
theater show;
and fire smells;
flannel tops;
no mom and pop;

and he went flip, pull, insert,
play, listen, eject.
faster now.

this continued onward
until the year rewound
and opened new wounds,
yet no new sounds,
but retracing the distance
between him and
his first listen,
when nothing
ever seemed
so out of bounds;

as does everything;

as of now.
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Old 09-12-2014, 10:00 AM   #364
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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God's Country
Written by: bluesybilly

"The drive is lovely" she said,
as we rode from L.A to Cheyenne.
I smirked and thought to myself
Kerouac's got nothing on me,
except maybe a needle, or two, or three.
"Everything will be perfect,
it will be just like we dreamed.
Just you, and the mountains and me."

Truth be told,
it's been my dream all along.

She's young.
Still spending innocence like a credit card,
and burning up tomorrows before they begin.
I've seen my share turn in to yesterdays,
but at the rate she's going
she'll be pushing sixty-five at twenty-two.

The drive may be lovely but it's long.
We stopped to sleep in a hostel
with the bums and the tourists,
and us, somewhere in between.

I woke up to the scent of fresh coffee,
and went downstairs to fight the grogginess behind my eyes.
That's where I saw the most beautiful creature.
The kind of woman that makes you believe in God,
that makes you regret all those times you never changed.
I asked where she was going and she said LA,
"I'll save you the trip.
The whole damn town is a trap.
Whether you're coming to visit or coming to stay.
You can hangout on venice beach with the brokes and the bums,
or hollywood boulevard with the tourists and the trainwrecks.
Either way it's the same, you spend all your money,
go back home, and come to find that the golden shore is a lie.
That place takes a part of everyone that's ever been there,
How else do you explain the smog?"
I already said too much
"Where you coming from anyway?"
I needed to know.

"And Buddy,
if you've been romanticizing about cowboys, the west,
and mountains. You are in for a rude awakening."
So I guess everyone is full of shit then?

So I left the beauty at her table,
and my companion on her bed.
With some borrowed dreams,
a new map and a stolen car,
I headed for Austin.
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Old 09-24-2014, 09:41 AM   #365
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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Written by: SubwayToVenus

a persistent paleness from the light fixtures hanging
in the hallways, in the basement, in all of our faces -
you may never even see it, but you'll know it when you taste the
brown spots on the bananas you eat at the breakfast table.
a softness small enough to squeeze between two fingers -
i rub my eyelids together and feel it when the tears swell,
when i think of him wilting in his wheelchair,
each one of his muscles failing til they disappear into thin air.
it's a softness small enough to conceal under the clothes i wear
like a bruise beneath a scarf, a broken nail beneath a glove.
still it's big enough to be the barrier between us,
the reason i may never let you inside for you to touch me
where i'm weakest.
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Old 10-01-2014, 09:22 AM   #366
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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Written by: Mrrula

If only I could be a bird
I'd fly away across the waters,
and you could hold me very tight,
we wouldn't care about the problems.

So when the flood or a storm
comes here just to bring us down
I'll look around as you're so torn.
I'd realize that you're not mine.

And it is more like I am dreaming,
but I am sure it's not a dream,
cause in my head I am still screaming
and in my dreams I cannot scream.
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Old 10-17-2014, 01:01 PM   #367
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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Dawn on Pneumania
Written by: Philip Xander

Shyly, Solus peeks through tired trees
From her nest of morning clouds
Squints, then stares, as if in doubt
At some detail of last night's dreams

Waking trees now grown, and stretch, and yawn
Trace their fingers through the mist
Wait for sunlight to have kissed
The sleeping soil, and joined their dawn

Blackbirds, always first to sing their song
Leading nature's symphony;
Wind and leaves in harmony
While bumblebees buzzhum along

Now, at last, the light has reached my bed
Piercing fever's dusty gloom
Lifting from this sickly room
This dark and demon-haunted head

Grace of sunrise, could you not be swayed?
Words and songs in praise I'd write
Glorify you every night
If I might feel you twice a day
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