Sekhar: Favorites

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Tom Atkins

Yours is the art of the broken.
Always patching. Always aware
that nothing and no one is perfect,
least of all you, that all things
are in a state of constant repair
and readjustment, never quite
and likely to never be quite, and so
you paint, you write, you stumble
in public, one of the broken masses
only louder than most,
less willing to hide the cracks,
or perhaps only, less able.

You have no plan.
An age of plans have blown up in your face
time and time again, mocking
your presumption, finally able
to simply be, simply do,
less a creature of inspiration
than a plugger, stuck with
your inability to surrender,
a construction worker building happiness
one mess at a time.

I have been in my art studio for just at a year now. The picture shows what I started with. It’s actually my favorite picture of the studio, mess and all, complete with the presumption, in the form of the sign on the table, that it would become more.

Now it is a working place, with tables and easels and a whole slew of half-finished work and paintings on the wall, always in a state of flux as my thoughts and work changes and grows, as I get things right and get things wrong.

It’s not a perfect studio. Not particularly photogenic. You’ll probably never see it in an issue of better homes and studios. But it’s mine. It’s me. Gloriously, loudly, imperfect.

This morning, I read an article about how the search for perfection kills the good. I’ve lived that one. Never again. Now, it’s just about progress. Growth. One step at a time. One day at a time. How did I grow today? What did I try? What did I risk? What can I learn from it all?

It’s a different life. At times harder and at times easier. But I am so much happier with it. At 64, I cannot recall being this close to happiness. And for a depressed guy, that’s a big statement.

A lot of that has to do with the woman I love. She is so honest, so real, so loving. Able to let me struggle and she shares her own, leaving me with no doubt, none at all, of the depth of her love.

And if we are mostly adult children (And I believe we are), that kind of total love is life-saving. Stumbling is never fatal. Grace lives.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom

#poetry #art #perfectionist

Dec 2019 Sekhar

After

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Alec Llaneta

After

High hopes, high dreams
that i will never get to see
A future, a life
that was never meant to be

It hurts, it *****
just to let it go
A wish upon a shooting star
that comes... Then it goes

I wish to remember,
but all i do is forget
To get rid of all this misery
to get rid of all this regret

My heart hunger for you
but my mind denies
So it eats other things
better things... Then your lies

My days are sad
damp and cold
Missing you and
the warmth you behold

Yet, i trudge forward
shivering and in plight
Searching, and wondering
where is the light?

#after #love #brokenheart #past #pain

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Gothic Muse

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Amanda Shelton

Gothic Muse

In perpetual darkness lives
the muse.

I am it's candle I lit up
the room and revealed
its beauty to the world.
To you...

I am the light that
brings poetry to life,
I am like a shadow
I redirect the light
bringing you my beautiful
write.

With gay delight my words
take flight, it sings for you
with love and life.

With a deluge of emotion
and ink this muse comes to life.

From, The Poet and Gothic Muse
I am weathered but still
standing strong.

© 2019 By Amanda Shelton

I use to be called Gothic Muse by my goth friends back in my youth. I am still known as the Gothic Muse as well as Ashen Rose Darkly Written. I have written about roses a lot as well as Gothic themed poetry so it makes sense. I have suffered and I have loved, my poetry reflects my experiences.

Dec 2019 Sekhar

I Wonder

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Sofia Chavez

I Wonder

Everytime I pass the street, my eyes linger on the pedestrian bridge.

It's fairly new.

And wouldn't be there if it wasn't for what happened at the corner.

A woman and her baby, or maybe she was looking after this baby, they were standing, waiting to cross, when a car took a turn too sharp, too fast, too whatever, and the baby was gone.

For months, maybe years after, the street lamp was covered in stuffed animals.

But now there's nothing but my memory of a baby I never met and a bridge I'm glad exists.

I wonder what her name was.

I wonder if anyone thinks about her when they cross the bridge.

Thoughts I have while driving through the town I grew up in

#nostalgia #death #sadness #baby #memorial #bridge #freeform #memories

Dec 2019 Sekhar

~ There ~

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Ilonka

~ There ~

I want to go there where the paths end
where I can touch the sky,
the shadow of a grown oak from old ages to be my home and its branches to be my roof,
silence to be my friend when loneliness becomes hostile
and the twilight wind to comfort my body when I feel this ridiculous longing for you...

I want to go where I can be alone with the sea the blue infinity to breathe in, to feel it even in my bones,
I want to cool down on black lava rocks grown from the sea
thirsty waves to kiss me in live rhythms that I receive with sweet smiles lost in infinity ...

I want to go there in empty deserts
where the brass light does not spare any thoughts
melting small, dark minds already darkened by our master
that leads our lives with ego and pride ...

I want to go where the face of the night smiles at me and darkness accepts me as a child of his own,
there in the moon's web to fall asleep undisturbed
caught in a dream to swim with dancing stars in the waltz of the infinite cosmos.

#there #sea #sky #desert #infinity #cosmos

Dec 2019 Sekhar

~ how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?~

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Ilonka

~ how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?~

how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?
we lived with artificial feelings for so many untouched mornings,
without knowing who we are,
we used the word "I" many times, describing ourselves in many ways
all deceptive, half-truths

we are like a wax spilled on a half-burned candle,
a candle that really wanted to burn, but died out before it was born,
muted white flames fluttering have confessed silent desires,

if we could start over and remove the wax, dig deep, maybe we could light the quenching soul to find out its secrets

there is no empty soul only emptiness in the soul
unseen things are hidden there in the dense depths, forgotten, breathing more and more rarely,
they are butterflies of powders of hope which want to fly only once

how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?

#soul #hope #candle #unseen #forgotten

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Irish Girl

Dec 2019 Sekhar

V C Vaughn

Irish Girl

Irish Girl
They say that good girls are made of sugar and spice.
And Irish girls are made of Jameson and Ice.
For the most part I believe that to be true.
I’m an Irish/ Scottish, Gypsy/ Welsh girl
yes, that’s an odd combo.
But it’s me.
I’m one of the 2% you know the redheads.
Unlike the other unicorns in my tribe.
My eyes are not blue or green.
I have Gypsy eyes the color of Milk chocolate
If a storm cloud of emotions overwhelms me,
and my eyes go from milk chocolate,
to dark Chocolate its time to run for the hills.
Because a ***** storm is a brewing.
So, to say that my eyes are much to expressive.
Might be an understatement
Try as I might they can’t keep a secret.
I’m one of those Irish girls.
The one that never leave you guessing.
My eyes speak for me.
What they don’t say may face will.
Many a time I’ve found myself in a fine Kettle of ***** without saying a word.
Yes, I’m also one of those.
No matter what I do, my eyes roll my eyebrow arches
My lips push out and a look of total malcontent crosses my face.
And that snarky hellish malevolent lass makes an appearance.
And may the Lord have mercy on your soul because this wild-eyed Irish Gypsy will not.
SO,
It’s a good thing for world.
That for the most part I’m good natured.

Dec 2019 Sekhar

This moment is a memory

Dec 2019 Sekhar

Commuter Poet

This moment is a memory

This moment is a memory
The burning red colours of winter leaves
Shining like torches in morning light

Bare branches
Luminous green with moss
Reaching out into space
Like spiders’ legs

Sun rising
Painting the pink of salmon
Across a turquoise sky
Clean white frost
Spread evenly over roof tiles

Everything has a winter feel to it

I walk the streets
With lines on my face
And shadows beneath my eyes

Each winter
That I am here
Part of me dies
Only for rebirth to come
With the spring

Sometimes I yearn for it all to end
This struggle, this journeying
To and fro
To and fro

A better part of me
Demands that I treasure each moment
For one day
It will all be over

And I won’t see the seagulls diving
I won’t gaze at the sunrise
I won’t witness the cycle of nature
I won’t breathe the crisp morning air
I won’t feel the warmth of my bed
I won’t hear the voices of my loved ones
I won’t share the balm of togetherness
Anymore

5th Dec 2019