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Sep 1

Unpolished Ink

Faded linen
which smells of straw,
and a shift of corn
in the back of a drawer,
is all that is left
of the girl next door,
she stayed a while
from June to September,
and left fresh berries
to help us remember

#seasonal

Sep 1

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Light of Sound

The one umbrella I give her
and get drenched in the rain.

My eyes are not dry
as rain bathes my eyelashes
makes me cry in joy.

I'm happy she's not wet
as it pours on pitter patter
pitter patter.

In the rain I find the might of love
and in the music of the pour
I hear my heart burning
in the light of sound.

With her in the rain, morning Aug 2 2024 on way to school.
Indebted to Nat Lipstadt for his inspiration against my comments on his poem "What is a soundless Sound".

Sep 1

Pax

Breadcrumbs II

i leave behind tiny breadcrumbs
for you to not be lost along the way
but then as tiny and tasty they can be
some gone eaten away by insects
and some rotten away,
that goes unnoticed.

i wish i could have given
you the wisdom of life
taught you the ways to
be kind and loved
that cherish
your foundation, but then you
being streetsmart as you
already are
never cared
but yourself.

now, i am just glad
your doing fine
on your own.
still thankful,
that you've grown
well and good.

I don't mind that
you may forget me
along the life journey
you take.

i as alone as i am
walks like a passerby
that blends in the sidelines.
walks alone
and content
to what i have.

take care and live well
as do i...

#life #streetsmart #wisdom #pax #journey #passerb #breadcrumbs

Sep 1

Traveler

Broken Mothers

Broken mothers
trying to heal
Broken Hearts
Broken wheels
Trying to turn
Back the clock
Broken mothers
Doctor Spock

All their debris
Clusters of past
Greedy addictions
Family out cast
Broken parts
Trying to heal
Broken mothers
Silence kills

Traveler 🧳 Tim

#exwives

Sep 1

Thomas W Case

Look at Me, Mama

I'm an athlete.
I can throw and catch,
and run in the sun-
all shiny and bright.
And you just sleep, sleep, sleep.
Look at me, mama.
I'm a writer.
I do poetry and stories,
all pretty and pink,
and all you do is,
sleep, sleep, sleep.
Look at me, mama.
I can dance.
I'm lonely,
I'll move to France,
meet a woman, get married.
Look at the ants crawl through
the spilled red juice on
the grass; nature everywhere,
as you sleep, sleep, sleep.
Look mama,
look at me, mama!
I have children now,
all good and wise,
you're a grandma.
Why don't you wake up?
Please look at me, mama.
I'm lonely and afraid.
I'm old now, and cold,
and you still,
just
sleep, sleep, sleep...

Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry and go on boat adventures. Lol
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHB1Q13LID4

My recently published limited edition e-book, Rise Up Collected Poems and Short Stories is available on Booksie .com

#mom #death #memories #love

Aug 31

Traveler

Salutations

Your poetry is quite stunning, yes I do believe.
I love your quotes, your prompts, your personal histories.
I know you’re a creative and I know you have the keys.
That unlock the zone of all creation where our souls often meet…

Traveler 🧳 Tim

#creatives #poets

Aug 31

Sally A Bayan

Here On Earth

Most of us grew up believing
that after death is when one
gets to face heaven or hell;
but, as the earth gets older,
people's eyes and minds
change with the times, turning
deeper, coming up with various
analyses and conclusions.

Some fight for what they think,
that there already exists
heaven and hell here on earth.
to experience any of the two,
we......don't have to die.

While here on earth, we see
and live...we experience
the good and the bad, and
whatever is in between; we
breathe a mix of fresh and
stale air...survive countless
hardships, physical, mental
and emotional struggles,
are we already being
rewarded, maybe being
punished, for whatever
we deserve?

At this point, i remember
my folks words: reward
and punishment starts
here on earth, while we still
breathe and have lucid minds
to identify the colors of our
past actions and decisions,
were they right or wrong?

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 29, 2024

Aug 31

Sally A Bayan

Breaths

Roused by its touch,
a brush of cold air
on my whole being;
am now taking in
the cold 4am air, as
the eyes struggle to
a still dark horizon.

Yet, it's already brimming
with a series of breaths.

It is automatic,
this habit of taking in
each morning's freshness
by the window...by the door,
inhaling its serenity,
slowly extricating
the soreness,
the brokenness of days past,
lingering still, invading still
a most precious solitude.

The atmosphere, already
is filled with a variety
of breaths: of faith, of hope,
of silent prayers, and
of endless gratitude.

The fragrance of dawn
blends
with raw anticipation,
bits of uncertainty,
and not to forget
the most welcome aroma
of hot coffee,
as a new day kicks off.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 9, 2024/6:56 PM

#morning #4amair #serenity #gratitude #breathssallybayan

Aug 31

Aslam M

The Vase

Lonely on the shelf it stayed,
Old and dusty, cracks displayed.
Untouched until a hand did pry,
And in its grasp, it broke to die.

Aug 31

Ashly Kocher

Haunting Whispers

Listening to the silent whispers of the world around you, only to be drowning in the silence of your own whispering thoughts that haunt you…