I have often turned within my grave to ponder of the reason why
Upon the date of my birth, you took me to your secret hide

Underneath an aspen tree within the deadest of nights
You took to me like a moth to a ball of flickering light

With the devils own smile plastered upon your face and the slightest of hand
You produced a sanguineous jar of hearts and an ominous jar of black sand

You grasped my hands in your work enured and  fairly calloused paws
Looked me in the eyes, and told me to forever leave my pale hands raw

"Never soil your untouched hands, your hands and eyes you shall avert'
"Never bruise, nor ever hurt, nor shall they be ever touched by dirt,

"Never touch a rose, nor touch a bee, as danger is an all you see,
"Close your eyes my little darling, and all of life shall be but a dream."

With the trust of a mothers child, I kept my eyes tightly squeezed
Wished upon the star within the midnight sky, wavering in the breeze

Held my hands up to my chest, hoping the fluttering and staggered slips
Not to be seen by your face within the light of moon as from the sun it dines and sips

Of a heart that had only once been given to me and should have forever stayed mine
But the greed inside all mens' hearts want, and reaches out to grasp a young new 'hind'

With another slight of those calloused hands, you took my life for your own pleasure
And stole what was rightfully derived as mine; a beating heart, you took your leisure

A working mind, once a clock, now fully had come to a skidding stop
You took my bones and my teeth and used them as a fertilizing crop

The very worst thing that you did, you took my pride when you took my skin
Shaved off clean with a diamond edged razor and worn as if you were mockeries twin

Burried underneath that beautiful aspen tree, I've been given the time to remold
But my life had been stolen, the soul forced out before the bells had tolled

In the time it had taken for my pieces to remold, I had realised something then and there;
There were always things that were meant to go untold, but the truth is ringing upon the open air

You wanted more than what was offered and had bitten off all you could chew
But if I'd known back then what I know now, I'd know real good men only come in few

In a white book, writing was done with tears,
And so we cannot figure out a single line;
Memorized and though about since early youth,
It eludes one’s wit even as one has aged and greyed.

When mind seeks it out, love turns up in the heart,
When heart pursues it, love is in the mind, escaping wit.
Regarded at close range, love dissipates,
Leave it aside and love turns sad and grieves.

When loving is intense, love resists the long wait,
Like a lightning bolt, it streaks across the dark.
The kiss that sears is a kiss given only once,
And when the river swell, only once will flooding rise.

Love that is timid is a river still and currentless,
No falls nor torrents, no tears nor unbearable loss!
But when love has dared, the heart is swept away,
Honor, wealth and wisdom, love will drown them out!

When love is yet a bud, it heeds an elder’s counsel,
Such is not yet love, for it still sees the light.
But when it bursts aflame, what matter the universe —
That’s real love, so lose yourself in it with all your heart.

When you balk at the threat of ill fortune and hazard,
Truly your wit is lit and your mind at dull alert;
Your love is cautious yet, you have not
learned to really love,
For once in love, the grave itself is heaven’s gate.

Love has eyes, love is never blind,
having learned to love, one’s wounds turn into blossoms,
Love is selfish and cannot bear to share,
It’s either you get it all, or get nothing at all.

“Mother has been watching me, so I cannot write..”
Friend, that’s a sign you have yet to win her love.
But when she dares write even at her very grave site,
She has come to love you more than her very life.

All you, young people. who are in quest of love,
Moths who are fluttering around the lamplight,
Once in the grip of love, danger you will seek out,
Ready to love your wings to the very flames of love.

I came across a drummer in an open glade
And sat before him to listen for a while;
The beats he played shimmered in the leaves
Causing my spirit to dance in the breeze,
While he closed his eyes to sing his song
And lifted his head to the clear blue sky.
Somehow I found myself doing the same
And in the space between us, my questions came -
Answered by the rhythms in the wind among the trees.

“Tell me, what do the drums speak of?” I whispered to the wind.

“They speak of the mountains, as solid as the earth,
Giving life to clouds and a course for rivers;
They have lasted longer than the oldest buildings,
Yet they must also one day perish -
Without the mountains, there can be no drums.”

“And tell me, what does the rhythm speak of?”

“It speaks of the river that has always flowed, is flowing still,
bringing water to crops and life to the breeze;
Sometimes a torrent and sometimes a brook,
It, too, must one day dissolve in the ocean -
Without the river, there can be no rhythm.”

“And tell me please, what is it that your song speaks of?”

“It speaks of the wind that gives flight to birds and breath to trees,
Heralding the transit of tides and relief from the heat;
Destruction and power dispensed in equal measure -
Unseen by all, yet when my song is gone,
Only the wind will remain.”

And at that moment the drumming stopped,
Like the sound of falling stones;
We lowered our heads, opened our eyes,
And the drummer flashed a dazzling smile,
As bright as the harvest moon.
We returned our gaze to the clear blue sky,
Bordered by mountains and trees,
And I could still hear the rhythm of the endless river
Flowing in the breeze.

I looked down once more only to find that the drummer had disappeared,
Leaving in his invisible wake the fluttering of soft Autumn leaves;
And I remained alone in that open glade, upon the mountain view,
Following the river in it’s course through the glistening trees -

And all the while the wind within me whispered to my soul:

“So it goes”

Would that I could break my body from my chest
crack and spread the bones between my breasts
release the fluttering muscle tied within
a bird bashing skull against my cage of sin.

Would that I could unzip my flesh, step outside
to finally inhale, exhale without such tightened hide
that keeps my anxious breaths bound among
the shrinking corded confines of my lungs.

Would that I could peel back my ribs and skin
at the sternum to set free the beast within
unfetter the spirit that cares so much it aches
from all the petty failures for which it breaks.

Would that I could scream and rip my hair
as though slicing to ribbons each worry, every care.
Would that I could - would I? I know not.
I would just as soon have all loves be forgot.

Opposite my chamber window,
What does it mean when my heart wants to sing ?
And laughter cross my mind .
On the sunny roof, at play, two doves on the ledge
Watching me why I play ,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day watching me sing away
My long day at play another day passing by ,
What does all of this mean for doves to watch over me ?
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet as they can be  ,
In this old world we live in , We we're not made to knowing
How to love a darken world ,
Squalling the first two years of our lives ,
In times if we see things like this , so beautiful like these doves
It is something you want to put in memory ,
Graceful games and friendly meetings, with so much singing ,
Do I daily watch and seeing the doves at play !
For these happy little neighbors that I call my own
Puts a smile on my face ,
These Doves  always seem at peace ,
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.
My faithful little friends I love the way you play.


Lilly Emery

I've learnt that..
you can miss the memories along with the butterflies fluttering in your stomach
but not the person responsible for them

you can love the idea of a certain someone
yet mistake it as loving him whole-heartedly

you can choose to refuse to give up on your loved one
but
even that determination is invalid when fate does not permit both of you to work out

I've learnt..yet it does not necessarily means that it
gets
any
better

Relationships are not easy-peasy,,
Some take work, some, self-sacrifice.

Some must overcome defects congenital,
Obstacles so great that the Roman Gods
Are asked to intervene,
Send down those hotties, the fiery Furies,
who punished crimes at the instigation
of the soon to be frozen victims

So to the chase,
let's cut,
My woman's has true blood,
H2O
In solid state.

Her body is icy, permanent frosty,
And requires regular de-icing
Before Take Off.
This condition being true of her
Every part except, her prima facie.

Even the bed complains,
Whining creeks and groans,
Sometimes it even screams,
When she get in sans pajamas.

I,
A bastion of extra human warmth,
As my poems bear witness,
Normal temp is 102,
I am the joy of her life,
For love, I make the
Ultimate sacrifice.

Her feet, medieval torture instruments,
Her bare hands, have
Killed lesser men and folkloric-ly,
Reputedly, she has flash froze and keeps
Some vampires in the basement fridge,
Suitable for reheating in the microwave.

You may think this charming,
This poem, an amuse-bouche,
But it ain't funny when I go to the
Emergency room for first degree burns.

Remember when Ralph's friend
Got his tongue stuck to the metal pole,
In "A Christmas Story"?
That was me, that was her!

But our together,
Approaching near five years,
Is a Survivor.
Two hurricanes, bitches named
Irene and Sandy,
A divorce from a mean spirited wbitch
That took so long
The Matrimonial Lawyers Ass-ociation
Had my portrait painted over their fireplace.

Even the icicles otherwise know correctly as
Her Extremities,
Have not come between us

When my lips kiss her neck,
Surgically remove heart with poetic scalpels,
Hold it, fluttering and with both hands, warm.

Her eyes close, and neuronic messages
Commence firing, telegraphed, messengered,
To the far corners of every Purim Persian province,
Let the wicked witch melting begin,
Commence the holiday of
Her Festivities.

If you think any man,
Could perform said feat of endurance,
You better checkout again the name of the
Man who authored this story,
For his name, with special powers, endowed.

I shutter in the nights moon.
I hide my self way before noon.
I fear, I fear, night will drift me away.
Moon! I gasp! Do you see me,
turn your judging face from me.
I shutter in the moons glow.
I fear! Which way should I go.
I see the morn only in my mind.
Its solemnly burrow within the trees
like a spy. Yet the cannot escape
my keen eye.
Day light!  Blasted day light!
Sneeks its glow upon me.
Yet,  comforts like a blanket!
But though I shutter in the moon light
And yet, I welcome a  
pleasantly new days sun,
Woot! Whoo! Comes my weak calls.
For by days sun I hunger no more.
I just peck lustfully blood from my
fluttering feathers, of nights telltale gore.
I am just a hungry owl,
Whoot!  Whoot! I cry.  
My beak shutters to softly croon
My calls fierce, again in nights moon,
Alass!  Shouts of fear from the mice.
from chipmunks from the baby racoons.
Hide! Hide! Hide!
For I will stalk you in the night.
You shall be my dinner before
day light.
Comes now too, my endless fear.
I float over fierce brown deer
Its mighty weight, yet, of me
it does not flinch,
Yes, even with my nightly, whoot!
Whoot! Over it  my eyes gauntlet glare
It just looks me over as if I am not there.
I flutter full, to appear stronger, but though
I am mighty to the new birthed young,
I am desolate to the ones more than I, so strong.
Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! I cry out.
I cry strong and brave,.
Yet, not a small beast does not fear as it
shows its self to me
They scamper, Ha! Ha! I laugh.  
Do they not realize their tiny legs will
not free them from my swooping outcome.
I swop, Ha! Ha! Silently I am upon them.
I since their heart beats like a drum.
Soon it is over. Their will is no more, but mine.
As I perch way up in this tree
Shutter I do of beasts, but so do they.
For in the woods all too is fair play
For that is nature's contract
guaranteed, to all forest prey.

I shutter in the nights moon.
I hide my self way before noon.
I fear, I fear, night will drift me away.
Moon! I gasp! Do you see me,
turn your judging face from me.
I shutter in the moons glow.
I fear! Which way should I go.
I see the morn only in my mind.
Its solemnly burrow within the trees
like a spy. Yet the cannot escape
my keen eye.
Day light!  Blasted day light!
Sneeks its glow upon me.
Yet,  comforts like a blanket!
But though I shutter in the moon light
And yet, I welcome a  
pleasantly new days sun,
Woot! Whoo! Comes my weak calls.
For by days sun I hunger no more.
I just peck lustfully blood from my
fluttering feathers, of nights telltale gore.
I am just a hungry owl,
Whoot!  Whoot! I cry.  
My beak shutters to softly croon
My calls fierce, again in nights moon,
Alass!  Shouts of fear from the mice.
from chipmunks from the baby racoons.
Hide! Hide! Hide!
For I will stalk you in the night.
You shall be my dinner before
day light.
Comes now too, my endless fear.
I float over fierce brown deer
Its mighty weight, yet, of me
it does not flinch,
Yes, even with my nightly, whoot!
Whoot! Over it  my eyes gauntlet glare
It just looks me over as if I am not there.
I flutter full, to appear stronger, but though
I am mighty to the new birthed young,
I am desolate to the ones more than I, so strong.
Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! I cry out.
I cry strong and brave,.
Yet, not a small beast does not fear as it
shows its self to me
They scamper, Ha! Ha! I laugh.  
Do they not realize their tiny legs will
not free them from my swooping outcome.
I swop, Ha! Ha! Silently I am upon them.
I since their heart beats like a drum.
Soon it is over. Their will is no more, but mine.
As I perch way up in this tree
Shutter I do of beasts, but so do they.
For in the woods all too is fair play
For that is nature's contract
guaranteed, to all forest prey.