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 Apr 2015
Francie Lynch
The tour guide was usually a taxi-driver,
But for a few extra Euros, he was my guide.
Jobs are scarce.
For two hours we toured Yeats Country,
Me, sitting beside this man of letters, and for once,
Enjoying the drive and not the anxiety
On Irish roads.
They're narrow and winding to Ben Bulben,
With stops at neolithic stone circles, burial mounds,
Passageways and, A Fairy's Fort.
The culmination was  Drumcliff Churchyard
Where I was to prove his existence.
He has an unassuming stone,
One usually doesn't linger long,
But my Guide stood beside me,
And suddenly recited,
The Fiddler of Dooney.
I was sure it was Yeats' accent,
This unassuming poet.
I did as bid,
I
Cast a cold eye,
And stood glad that
I
Wasn't him,
As I stopped,
Before passing by.
Drumcliff Church is Yeats' burial place.
 Apr 2015
Carolin

Trapped in a bowl under
the sea. Where the gold
fish twist and twirl looking
at me. All i want is to be
free. All i want is to swim
out and be me. Maybe
we're trapped in a metaphor
instead of a glass bowl.
Maybe this is a way to
make us feel pretty and
beautiful. Should i sit on
my chair and start to
meditate ? Or should i
get up and find a way
to escape* ?

Frequencies so low
Heart on a string
A string that only plays solos
Rain made of echoes
Tidal wave rushing on and on
Shell made out of gold
Found on a beach, picked up
and you held so close. Rain washed
out it's glow, heart beat steady leads
me down below
~
Anthony in bold.
Carolin in italics.
Another collab with the
talented Anthony Mooney :)
Check his link below
http://hellopoetry.com/anthony-mooney/
 Apr 2015
Amitav Radiance
Life’s agendas
Its workings and
Different paths
A written scroll
Hidden from us
Meanderings
Challenges
Meanings
Incidents
Happiness
Sadness
Fa­ilures
And
Successes
Mixed feelings
Fleeting moments
Shackled by time
Cosmic trails
Lonesome travelers
Chance meetings
Many influences
And languages
Plethora of emotions
Insatiable minds
All included
In life’s agendas
Finally released
From time’s grasp
 Apr 2015
Phil Lindsey
The dark of night cannot compare
With the unlit cave into which I stare;
Once entered there is no way out.
Fighting still, I thrash about
Reaching for a solid wall
Terrified that I will fall
Farther down into the void
Into the great abyss, destroyed.

No sunlight reaches into Hell
To light the way for those who fell.
No candles burn to show the way
Up from the depths to light of day;
What would have redemption cost
Those wandering souls forever lost?
The fallen will not rise again
For the flames of Hell are black with sin.
PwL  4/18/15
 Apr 2015
Poetic T
"Where do I begin"
It was mostly normal, then it wasn't.
I'd say it was *quick
but it wasn't,
**** the pain, never felt anything
like this, my flesh as if it was pealing
One layer at a time.

"I felt clammy"
"I felt bleak numbness"
"Then I felt nothing"


DAY ONE (Death)

I was eyed open, I had pasted in
Fear, vision bleached as if
No one was longer here, but
I saw all the tears, hands upon
My cold ridged chest. I could
Make out voices as if spoken
Far, but all was unclear.


DAY TWO (morgue)

I felt each blade cut upon me,
Violating my flesh, had  I not
Suffered in life, pain, anguish.
Now they handle me as if I
Were nothing, but parts to be
Throw on scales, is life weighed
Out, no dignity even in death.
I hear the voices, footsteps pass
My eyes are still open, my vision
Of aluminium surrounds. They
Stitched me, but I am neither
Whole or one. They took from
Me, I have no heart it is gone,
They itch its maddening I need
To touch but they rub on cold
Flesh touching dead bone.


WEEK  ONE (Coffin)

I hear tears as my gaze is forward
Never closed, no coins for the
Man of the river to find peace,
I'm now travelling all alone.
My eyes wide open, they touch
Upon my artificially kept skin,
Make up to hide those spots
Where death has prematurely
Set in. They cry their tears on
Wood they fall, some are
Meaningful, sorrow sensed
In there voice. Others are just
Show boating their grief, only
To see if there was anything in
The cookie jar now I'm gone.  


MONTH ONE (Enclosed Isolation)

The darkness is never changing,
Time has no meaning underground.
I scream in silence, my lips, vocals
Do not move but inside it reverberates
Around. Nice interior, soft on dead
Flesh. I saw it land on me, that blue bottle
Buzzing around, It sat upon me, did
What it wanted, now I feel them within.
If I were alive would this be a sensation
Of being ticked or horror as they eat
What is now decaying within.

MONTH SIX (Alone)

"I miss them"
But time moved on they feasted
For what was an eternity, consuming
Me, then upon themselves. Till all
Was still, and only death was
Welcomed once again in this
Lonely place of wood and bone.  
I am pure of the mortal world,
No flesh, sight unseen that went
Long ago. I am so isolated down
Here, no longer do I sense footsteps
Above, the mumbling of voices
Silenced never returning to this
Casket of torment in the darkness
I am trapped within alone.


YEAR??

I can see why the dead hate you all,
Leaving us in these dark prisons,
Why leave us like this, why not
Cremation let us in the essence
Of ash be free. I am trapped in this
White cage of bone, waiting  for that
Time when to dust it falls. I am a
Dead man hear me moan, You hear
Those noises in the graveyards, when
All is still. it is the dead in there prisons
Never free, till bone is to dust. I give
One warning to those above, burn
Your dead lest yourself you find
Trapped within a prison forsaken in this *shell.
 Apr 2015
Amitav Radiance
Retrace the light’s path
Go back to the origin
Started with a flicker
Now, burns itself
Infinite and inexhaustible
From an unknown source
Only eternity
Keeps alive the core
Life’s caressed by light
Centuries of gratitude
Path of light
Is a revelation
 Apr 2015
Dawn King
It was dark in your house
It felt dark, and it was dark
You scuttled about everywhere
No one could hear
No one would wake
There is a common walkway
There is a light
It is dim yet lively like fireflies
You ease up to the light
Ever so wistfully
You stand with a confident posture
Once satisfied with the distance
A sedge of paper cranes
Fly out from the light
And dissolve into the night
dreams long lost
swirl around me

in the shade of Arjuna
winds sing a lullaby.

they never die
bide their time
in the cave of eye
neath layer of rhyme

don't the rustles fall silent
yet canopy of new leaves
grow above

crave the same firmament
and away from old griefs
seek new love?


in the winds' murmur
i would never touch them
the seemingly lost dreams

but quietly in the hopes' harbor
rekindle their flickering flame

and let flow in endless streams.
i'm struggling to come back, falling in love more with the drift.
Arjuna, a tree found in rural Bengal.
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