Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Mar 2017 Rohan
Terry Jordan
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn

I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute

In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight

Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last

Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light

She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving

The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly

The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream

The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving

In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
I was working on this for a while, when I read the Pulitzer Prize winning poem, by C.K. Williams, entitled Invisible Mending.  Same subject, but his metaphor was of forgiveness & redemption, while mine is a little fuzzy, about my connection to my mother...and NOT the winner of a Pulitzer Prize.
 Mar 2017 Rohan
Mike Adam
Old Court
 Mar 2017 Rohan
Mike Adam
Longer now,
Thickened and
Harder to trim;

Toenails turning to
Horn

Re-turning to animal
With age.

Head surrounded by
Stars;
Containing their rocks
And revolutions,

But feet merging with
Mud,
Cracked skin in
Moist balm,
Rooting.

This, then,
Age advancing;
Goodbye to love,
To youth and
Longing.

Stars and clay,

Destination

And all around
The elderly,

Sleeping
I never got to love the girl
she spreads wide her rainbow net
where the sky plunges on crystal river
tides swell to hide her shame
ebb to fill her bag of catch

I never got to love the girl
her hairs in the wind
my dreams spawn
a flower rising from the riverbed
she grants a love in my head
spreads wide her rainbow net
thru the long night of blue moonshine
her frock fills up with sparkling life

I never got to love the girl
could no way be the right match.
Fishing girl, the River, Feb 10, 2017, 7 pm.
 Mar 2017 Rohan
Lina Lotus
Yield
 Mar 2017 Rohan
Lina Lotus
I yield to the chanting winds
The ones draining my strength
I try,
I pull,
But I  fall, and
My rivers run red

And sometimes I lose hope
Tormenting whirlwinds nesting in my head debilitate my mind and body...
as my soul hangs from tattered sheets

I can't weep...tears don't solve a thing
This life just stings and for a second I plead
If this is it...agony and pain...
Then please understand
I'm not strong enough
To carry on
3/14/17
"I hope the exit is joyful and i hope never to return."
Frida Kahlo
The birds have returned
And peace emerges
In the form of a dove.
Life on the rise again
Children living normal
Lives once more
Playing in fields
Like they did before.
The deadly dark cloud
Replaced by bright sunny skies
Erasing memories of the past
Painting the world with new colours
The rising tide of hope
Washes away the fear of war.
 Mar 2017 Rohan
Valsa George
Growing out from childish pranks,
With the storm and stress of turbulent teens,
I locked within my mind’s cupboard,
A portrait vaguely sketched, but never finished.

Rough it was, though fancifully done,
The silhouette of a masculine figure,
The Gallant who would reach one day,
To hold my hand and own me his.

I had no inkling who he would,
Yet had fallen in love with that phantasmal figure,
He had dazzling eyes and sturdy limbs,
With striking features, ravishing to view,

Elusive ever to sight and touch,
He remained an enigma, abstract to grasp.
At times his contours grew distinct,
But soon blanched out into hazy lines,

When at times a covert devouring look,
Or a pair of intent adoring eyes,
Sent a thrill down my fickle heart,
I forced open my chest nut draw,

And took out stealthily that half done sketch,
Hidden out from world’s staring glance,
To alter the features one by one,
And make it resemble the man I met,

Either within a moving train,
Or sometimes in an elite gang,
Who derailed my thoughts in pensive mood,
And tickled my fancy to heave and sigh.

He made me turn and toss in bed,
And left me, many a sleepless night,
He stroked my heart with gladdening ache,
And made me lose in sweet reverie.

In the nick of time, he solemnly came,
To hold my hand and tie the knot,
With pounding heart and quivering breath,
I found him differ from the man I dreamt.

The fabulous fabric in my loom,
Looked at variance from the one unfurled,
Transfixed between fact and fallacy,
I struggled to hide a falling tear.

Time marched on in silent haste,
And I learnt to outgrow my childish whims,
Sagacity dawned with passing age,
Making me discern the real from the sham.

It made me admire his sanguine self.
On fathomed deep beyond external mien,
I saw him unveiled in taint less worth,
That made my heart ever pine in love.

Piecing together our halved selves,
With the glue of love, our identities merged,
Now he is with me in my blues,
Consoling me with his balmy touch,

He is with me in my joy,
Making it resonant with a hearty laugh,
He is there when storms rage,
Whispering in my ear, not to fear,

He taught me how to savour life,
To meet the slings with radiant cheer,
Now the image is clearly etched deep,
Never to erase, nor to revise!

And the old portrait locked within,
Grew so musty, bereft of use,
In its place, I keep within,
His solid figure in indelible print.
Today 11th Feb. is our 38th wedding anniversary. This is a loving dedication to my husband. As I look back, I wonder how time has fled in sweeping haste! Thank God and thanks to him.... I am a happy wife and mother!
 Mar 2017 Rohan
Valsa George
I am a rain drop flopped down from the clouds
I could have landed in a river or the sea
Then merging with the rising and receding waves
I would have been washed down into oblivion

Or could have fallen from the heights
Into a desolate dreary desert
Amid the blistering granules of sand
To be absorbed into nothingness

Chances are there to have fallen on a rock
Lying scorched in the heat of the mid day sun
Then I would have vanished into thin air
Evaporating into non existence

I could have fallen into a muddy puddle
Or perhaps into a filthy drainage
To be contaminated with the sewage
Or be the breeding ground of worms and bugs

But fortunately for me
I happened to fall into fecund soil
Where there lay in wait a few seeds
Hankering for the cool touch of moisture

Arid souls desperately thirsting for water,
They ****** the molecules within me.
As their dry kernel got soaked and puffed,
Slowly they sprouted and grew into life.

Absorbing again the drops that came after me
They, into towering trees eventually grew
Some touching heaven’s azure heights
And giving shade and shelter to many

Now as I see them crested with flowers
And bearing clusters of luscious fruits
I feel I am there in each leaf and bud
And my essence flows through every vein!

As a teacher, what more is needed for me
To feel contented in life?
For the last several years, I have been teaching in a college. Now my students are scattered everywhere in the world! Some of them are so well placed and some adorning key positions in life. Seeing them, I feel so proud and happy! India is a land where teachers are greatly respected. ‘Mata, Pita, Guru, Daivom’ is a sacred credo of our ancient culture. It means next to God come mother, father and teacher!
Next page