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Our hearts weigh more
when they are broken,

Our minds expand
when they are awoken.

Our souls can be felt
when they are shattered,

Our hearts, minds
and souls are fragile
when they've been battered.

They can be mended
with love and care,

With strength and faith
and with some valuable prayer.

We can learn
from all of our pain,

With our lessons
we can stand tall again.

Showing ourselves
some needed compassion,
patience and love,

Seeking salvation
from God above.

By Lady R.F. (C)2017
 Aug 2016
david mungoshi
lead me to your lofty bower
like a pilgrim in penance
quieten my creaking doubts
and  to sleep lull my thoughts

touch me softly in that moment
of inner sorrow and torment
whisper to me of freshly-ground memories
and amaze me with wondrous lucid visions

walk me to the end of experience
and hear me as i wail no more
about broken dreams and sad joys
in lyrical moments of wild abandon

make my heart grind like one toiling
and dim my eyes with painful realization
the world belongs to the chosen few
who grasp eternal paradoxes on cue

and when the distant bugle is sounded
i shall be among the confused many
failing to read the signs of the times
emblazoned upon the dancing sky for all to see
Nearly two years from the day of writing in 2016, I pay my homage to this poem again, and ask its indulgence as I make smoother the rough edges. The date today is May 28 in the year 2018. I hope you guys still like it.
 Aug 2016
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☆☆♡♡♡ HELLO POETRY ♡♡♡☆☆

Thank you all so much for your support of my work! This was such a pleasant surprise!
I wish I could thank each and every one of you who is commenting and responding to this piece. Unfortunately things are happening at my home which are beyond my control. My dad wasn't feeling well. He's better now but he still has a lump in his right cheek. He had had cancer at the base of his tongue and this is in the same area. Thank you for your prayers and well wishes! They are greatly appreciated!

I'm just putting everything in God's hands.
 Jun 2016
david mungoshi
This is the most likely place
to hide a secret and be safe
And Grandpa needed to be safe
Gleefully they hung all rebels
So he vanished into the night
across rivers and mountains
and right here under this tree
he put everything to rest:
what his heart ached for,
friends, family and love
in exchange for freedom
My obsession now is to reconstruct him
So with my heart in my mouth
I dig and scrape 'neath this old tree
But all I see is a gaping hole staring up at me
Grandpa's primitive gun has eluded discovery,once again.
My paternal grandfather was a combatant against in-coming invaders of the British South Africa Company during the 1896  uprisings,so-called. This phase of the struggle is what in Zimbabwe is  called 'Chimurenga I'. After the war the colonial authorities began to systematically apprehend and execute anyone they identified as having fought against them.So my grandfather fled his place of birth and settled somewhere else. I had heard about how he buried his home-made rifle in the ground and became eager to find it. I never did.
 Jun 2016
david mungoshi
sometimes we are a burning splinter
fanned into life by a passing breeze
tickled by its tales of fabulous places
sometimes we glow red then flare
into a myriad sparks and hisses
like a fire agitated and soon to roar
but soon our zest is over and done with
and only that small burning point remains aglow
such is life,like a burning splinter crackling in the night
no one remembers us, come the break of day...
 Jun 2016
david mungoshi
the clouds hang very low
like my heart rather sore
the distance to the depths
makes your thoughts dizzy
this is the top of the world
made mystic by a waterfall
cascading down the cheeks
of a mythical bride in tears
wetting the earth endlessly
so walk softly here friend;it's
easy to  land on your teeth
tread easy and slow friend
your shoe is all wrong i say
but that's the beauty of it all
people fall all the time here
i too fell in the mist of night
with the sound of the waterfall
lulling my unease till indeed i fell
welcome o you lovelorn people
welcome to this jewel where people
are always falling,  falling in and out
of step with the  wily seasons
Chimanimani is a place high up the eastern highlands of Zimbabwe. The air here is rare and pure and you can almost smell the Indian Ocean far to the east in neighbouring Mozambique. It's generally always raining in Chimanimani and so the ground is always wet and rather slippery due to the clay soils.Most strangers tend to be wearing the wrong shoes and they keep falling. I am also punning on the word 'fall'. My first and only visit to Chimanimani was a falling one!
 Jun 2016
david mungoshi
roll into a ball
and be on call
time to time
until the dew
snap and growl
whimper and moan
soar like an eagle
strike like a shrike
hop like a frog
and croak your
anxious moments
with your adam's apple
bobbing in your groans
be sweet as a dream
even when you tense up
your eyes hooded
in those cobra moments
then relax and smile like an angel
you're so venturesome
in your 'bedhaviour'
 Jun 2016
david mungoshi
Wake up in the morning
Stop that moaning
Let your mourning dissipate
Live a little
You die a little
Each time you sleep
And let life slip
Final version
 May 2016
david mungoshi
the brooding night lay quiet
in the stillness of arid shadow
and wayward shapes amidst
the soft fluffy moonlit clouds
stripped down to wondrous
pieces of surrealistic attire
sired by nights of wild fancy
these nights were made for us
we the hopelessly captivated
suns of a witless universe
we whose  entrapped light
would not glow or glimmer
even as the dark screamed
its innocence; and in all this
was none so sorry and poor
as the hapless hopeful few
 May 2016
Melissa S
Let's get back to the lazy days of summer
Where time stands still
Where we sit in the shade with our popsicles
and ice cream until we get our fill
Sip on some sweet tea and have a little picnic
or lay in a hammock reading with my sidekick
Where we walk around barefoot on the freshly cut lawn
or turn on the sprinkler for the kids to get their jump on
Where we watch the bees and butterflies flit and fly around
and listen to the whippoorwill's calling sound
Once God turns off the light we catch lightning bugs in jars
then lay back with our lover and count the stars
Let's get back to the lazy days of summer
Where time stands still
 May 2016
jane taylor
the first drop of water
not ice
from the sky
signals the season’s

new england
so pretty
looking angelic
drew me in
a venus fly trap

locked in a prism
snow reflecting
back to me
eerie thoughts
shrouded in black

no place for a runner
where I can escape them
locked in by the fireplace
tattered ashes
mockingly laugh

i flee and i run
minus eight reads the meter
trapped with my thinking

blocked in on all sides
the icy walls
fold in on me
forced to see the reflection
looking back at me

go away brightness
banish your glow
i need the shadows
where hidden feelings
quietly cower

another storm coming
madness engulfs me
searching for pen
grasping at paper

words spilling out
parts of me
buried so skillfully
long ago
finally see light

just for a moment
the respite’s exquisite
then longing for springtime
oh god,
why can’t it rain?

 May 2016
david mungoshi
The morning breeze
Puts the freeze
On bygone grudges
And we start anew
Life rises with us each new day
Though our hearts are the grim graves
Of the hopes and dreams of others
The morning breeze
Tells us ever so gently in whispers sweet
That the world can go on without us
So, like the rivers and the lakes we must flow
Into the cupped hands of the destiny that awaits us
Doing what we must do as matter of course
My prayer to the morning breeze
The breath of life incarnate
Is that it broadcasts to us, news of the future
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