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Rated: E · Message Forum · Contest · #2242849
Calling all poets! You can get your poetry turned into a song!
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Feb 1, 2021 at 12:12pm
#3400490
Poems Submission for Song Contest-- Bud
by Bud
*Dollar* 150 GPs were sent to Cloud Zero is Rising Up with this post.
Empath


Salad days
upset,
tossed out.

Commiseration,
but not much else.

Meanwhile,
we drown.

Down here:
actions louder than words
speak, falling on deaf ears.

The one thing heard:
the crying,
the drying of tears
seen.

A vacuum of sad
in a light bulb of broke;
dark.
The jagged edges of hurt
bleed.

Attend to the need,
attend.

Just be here.

Just you.

Be.

Me.




Gift


We start now
with a clean slate--
a gift;
hoping to move forward
again, hoping
to make what
we couldn’t make
when we wasn’t,
but now have
as a result of,
the Love
fortifies

and sustains,
the plan rearranged. In
the hour of not,
the lot you’ve got
manifests
into abundance,
and fills you over
to flow. Negating
the no you’ve known
too well, no stop.
Again, you go--




Chelsea

(For C.L.)


God sent.

A light generated
In her eyes,
letting me know
no evil dwells therein;
real.

Healing my innermost being
in the days that try
with her smile.

Special,
not ordinary;
her aura shelters

her
and everyone
else around her,
within
her magic circle

and me,
as well.




Near Misses


I.

Contain, maintain;
receive, intercept;
I accept.

II.

Certain, uncertain,
ascertain;
a cretin.

III.

I accumulate,
I acclimate,
I acquire.

IV.

Respond
despondent;
I abscond,
I retire.




A Dream On Christmas Eve

(For Karma)


Your birthday
and me,
standing in your
driveway
outside your house
(or what passes
for your house),
contemplating
a knock on the door,
when I see you
up the street
walking with friends;
deja vu
of so long ago.

But different.
You do not go
out of your way
to greet me
as back then,
but to mock me.
Contemplation
complete, I
turn to go.

Only to return.
And to find sitting
on the side of a bed
in your front yard,
my mother
making you the
elaborate card
she would never make.
“It’s her birthday,"
she says.
“Don’t you want to--”
I shush her,
not wanting you to hear,
not wanting you to know
we’re just outside
your sphere
of existence.

Why?
Because I can’t escape a
past feeling,
or how all of this
is vaguely all too familiar somehow,
but painfully different;
inverted, an inverted
symbolism of perversion:
you,
the friends,
the card,
my mother’s now
acceptance of you and,
most perverted of all,
my now acceptance
of you not.

To my mother’s
now surprise
(that wouldn’t
in a million years
have been back then)
I finally contemplate “no”
and turn to go,
deciding that it just
wouldn’t be worth it,
after all.

And for that,
this is sad.
For that,
I’m truly sorry.










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Poems Submission for Song Contest-- Bud · 02-01-21 12:12pm
by Bud

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