Don’t leave your home.
Don’t cross thresholds and borders.
The boats are bottomless.
Even if the sea does not swallow you
and you find dry land,
your heart will be broken.

You thought the softness
of your flesh would protect you.
You’ll be lost in the crowd of foreigners.
You’ll be no one, a number
in their eyes, cool with mistrust.
Your high cheekbones won’t remind
anyone of your grandmother’s
and your name stripped of its meaning,
pebbles on the tongues of strangers.

You’ll lose your ground.
Grammar of the new language will riddle
your bones, hipbones and spine
won’t align to sit on earth.
You’ll long for the scent of jasmine and bread.
You’ll miss the gold fish in the garden.
You’ll forget the names of trees and flowers.
You’ll lose the key to your house.

There is no refuge, no sanctuary.
The boats are bottomless, vessels
to extermination center of the sea.
Stay where you are,
where you know the color of the hills
in winter, spring, summer and fall.

Write some verse
and
call it poetry,

an opportunity
to see what your
poetry
can do.

each confession a mission
to rid me of pain,
every line follows on,
a reminder to remember
again.

So we write out the wrong
if we can and become
better men
then we remember
the pain once again
and we write out some more.

I flow only upstream
adept at
fighting each dream
and the ripples are
mountains to climb.

White sheets flutter
I melt like butter
Being held by you
In the morning light

I've got nothing to do
But be here with you
Come rain or sun
I'll sit by your side

Coffee with cream
My only dream
Is to spend everyday
Like this one with you

He said he would come back
But they don't believe him
It's been years since he left
Somewhere I couldn't follow

They call me a fool
Everyday for still believing
That he will come back
And things will be made right

And perhaps they are right
He has been gone years
Indeed long millennia
But I know he'll return

He's not known to break promises

I've seen something strange in my days
Whenever war rears its ugly head
It is never the rich or strong that turn the tide
No it is always the weak

It is the family man,
The scrawny farmboy,
The mother of three,
The quiet daughter,

It is these that rise up
These that stand when no one else will
And heed the distant call of certain doom
So that those left behind

Might one day know peace

Fights, terror, bomb blasts
The deafening sirens forever lasts
In the hearts and souls of many
Who confront such hurtful journey
Each day living and dying
Running to save lives, trying
But the inhumane are ******
Polished by government, well toned
How long will this war last?
How many more humans will fast?
With no food or water to feed
The women and children in need
News flash in on different channels
As media handsover the control panels
In the hands of those behind the curtains
Laying out the corrupt media patterns
I often get sad and wonder,
Why should we only "Rest In Peace"
Why can't we all live in Peace too!!

©sim

For if I told you that I love you
Anywhere but my poetry
It would give you the power
To walk away.
So for now I will write
'Til the pen falls from my hand.
Never not loving you
And never not denying it.

- p. winter