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  Jan 2018 naǧí
Valsa George
Mind, like a deciduous forest
has lost all its foliage,
all leaves torn away
by the autumnal blasts

The brain where great schemes were concocted
is now an abyss where spiders sway
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,    
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable  
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.

Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his onetime self
plummeting into a black hole

The pulse of a heart beat
is all that keeps him alive,  
all else is dead…… !  
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow
Only others can throw a little light in the dark lives of its hapless victims!

(With a heart heavy with gratitude, let me acknowledge my poet friend -  Kim Johanna Baker who gave sunshine to my poem who has thus honored me several times !)
  Jan 2018 naǧí
Nat Lipstadt
the sun’s veins  

a unique thot, it's magi source:

naǧí  


my poem-joy instant-isthmus arises
and asks that I  
cross, connect,  
write of the sun’s veins that we will be forever unable
to see


but the veins will  heat yours - and it is not shared blood it warms,
it is poem joy
<•>


a warmth organism that leaves one gasping wrestling
for words  
so weakly I am grasping the connection
that snakes across
globes

and the poem joy that has no end, no boundaries  -
that full fills me

And I say,
thank you
6:25am
i love you with
all of my darkness
and all of my light
like a midnight flower
blossoming,

hinged like a door
i battle to reach you

i know only of our love,
i'm a blue mood and
a strange sea, weeping
in winter's silver frost,

your fiery legs
leave me longing
like a jealous cloud
longs to dream of
the night and hold
it as its own,

i'm crazy about your
legs, crazy, crazy,
crazy about your love,

and i melt as you kiss me
crazy jealous of your love.
my poem monet in winter has been published in a weekly newsletter for avocet magazine. you can get a copy by emailing the editor charlie on cportolano@hotmail.com it is also possible to subscribe to their quarterly magazine
  Jan 2018 naǧí
Nat Lipstadt
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'

nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man
,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the  
other bad good girls,
who got there first,

but we will write of
******-rings and
other crazy songs you sing

it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"

which line is a joke,
which around your neck is
your customized yoke,
which is why:
plaintive wail to no avail,
the regret that never can be sated,
the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just,
(and unjust)
just enough
to make a semi-satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear

whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy writing
and the return of
my no longer muzzy^

Ms. Minx A. Muse-me
<£>
2:13pm
a poem in reserve for you, the Canadian girl
^muzzy - groggy, blurred

always about you and you

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2046630/to-new-beginnings-and-******-rings/
  Jan 2018 naǧí
Thomas P Owens Sr
and there you are
walking into another lost dream
your whispers and gentle smile
touching the memories  
I hold dear

like the dream
our time was brief
you turn and walk away as you did
40 years ago
you wanted more from me
another day
another week
and perhaps I would have realized
that I truly loved you
but we know how cruel time can be
and I let you go

I awaken to your image
fading quickly
and I decide to find you
maybe to ask forgiveness
maybe to beg

but I am too late
and you have left me
only to be found
in my dreams
in my sorrow
We make decisions in our lives that may seem of little importance at the time, only to realize the immensity later. like the song...I let her go... I looked for her again recently, only to find she had passed away in 2009. A punch to the soul that I will never fully recover.
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