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 Jun 2015
Amitav Radiance
The night’s ramblings
Whispered incoherently
Hearts synced forever
Can comprehend them
It’s a winding labyrinth
Hand in hand
So as not to lose each other
By the moonlit path
Incoherent whispers
But meaningful conversations
Laying supine under starry sky
It’s a dream together
Preparing to fly to destinations
Night’s ramblings
Have given a new meaning
To the adventure of life
 Jun 2015
Kim
I wonder...
If I climb up a hill
When the morning is still
(dark)
If I lift up my eyes
To watch the sun rise
(gracefully)
If I fall into the sky
It'll take me up high
(carry me)
And I'll soar with the winds
And I'll float on the clouds
And I'll reach for the stars
As they come crashing down
(around me)
 Jun 2015
niamh
My pen is untrained
Uncultured
And uncouth.
If you came to read ballet
You'll be sorely disappointed.
It's more the dance
Of a young colt
Still trying to find her feet
Moving to a staccato rhythm.
No mellifluous flow
But a drum
With a dodgy beat
 Jun 2015
K Balachandran
A long forgotten art,  needed to reinvent it from the days past,
making a clay ***, the size of my heart, where everything started,
with my bare hands; I felt like a man in the primeval times.
The act but brought a sense of satisfaction, it seemed like a ritual
with therapeutic effects,but couldn't delineate what it was.
Was the red clay *** in my hand, a yearning, in symbolic form?

Was I trying to capture the elusive meaning of  life, in a way wrong?
life throws questions after questions at one, not wanting any answers!
And then one stumbles upon symbols, morphed in the depth of emotions,
with these forms, answering to the enigmas of life is done with ease.

A vessel perfect, it seemed to collect one's tears,wasting not even a drop
on the pool of tears, reflects my face, than any of the surfaces  before,
why then, her face too floats along with mine,  out of nowhere?
a nowhere called past,which never goes anywhere, even if charms are tried.
example prose poem:

The world looks lovely in the setting darkness of time and as I gaze into the mysterious depths of my soul, I ask, Oh Lord let me linger a little time more. Whatever may be, will be, whatever I search for will be, with God's help, even with broken hearts, lots of soul searching, and heavenly intervention what will be, will be. There will be much distance to grow, sometimes we have to be prune to bloom, to grow in life. Yes I am ready to be better, a better person in the eyes of the Lord, I know I have my faults and I know I am a work in progress, for the Light shines brightly and holds our hearts in His hands... In the meantime the hurricanes of our lifes will fly on by, swirl us around and land us in a marvelous wonderful place that holds our very happiness. You see there is no easy walk to freedom, no matter which way we turn, we must work for it and many of us will have to pass through the valley shadow of death, and might not come out alive. But we still hope and pray and work to strive to be a better person. In fact, when God's light shines let it shine on us... and then we will reach the mountain tops of our desires....
The prose poem is a type of poetry characterized by its lack of line breaks. Although the prose poem resembles a short piece of prose, its allegiance to poetry can be seen in the use of rhythms, figures of speech, rhyme, internal rhyme, assonance (repetition of similar vowel sounds), consonance (repetition of similar consonant sounds), and images. Early poetry (such as the Iliad and the Odyssey, both written by Homer approximately 2,800 years ago) lacked conventional line breaks for the simple fact that these works were not written down for hundreds of years, instead being passed along (and presumably embellished) in the oral tradition. However, once poetry began to be written down, poets began to consider line breaks as another important element to the art. With the exception of slight pauses and inherent rhyme schemes, it is very hard for a listener of poetry to tell where a line actually breaks.

The length of prose poems vary, but usually range from half of a page to three or four pages (those much longer are often considered experimental prose or poetic prose). Aloysius Bertrand, who first published Gaspard de la nuit in 1842, is considered by many scholars as the father of the prose poem as a deliberate form. Despite the recognition given to Bertrand, as well as Maurice de Guerin, who wrote around 1835, the first deliberate prose poems appeared in France during the 18th Century as writers turned to prose in reaction to the strict rules of versification by the Academy.

Although dozens of French writers experimented with the prose poem in the 1700s, it was not until Baudelaire's work appeared in 1855 that the prose poem gained wide recognition. However, it was Rimbaud's book of prose poetry Illuminations, published in 1886, that would stand as his greatest work, and among the best examples of the prose poem. Additional practitioners of the prose poem (or a close relative) include Edgar Allen Poe, Max Jacob, James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, Amy Lowell, Gertrude Stein, and T.S. Eliot. Among contemporary practitioners of the prose poem are: Russell Edson, Robert Bly, Charles Simic, and Rosmarie Waldrop.
 Jun 2015
K Balachandran
Her breath contained a signature scent, wild orchids secretly send,
a fleeting dab it was, but a swift lightening sketching the sky line
she need not speak, her mere nearness makes his heart spin like a top,
a lance dipped in honey smelling lilacs, hits there with poetic force.

Bleeding love, he is a tree bloomed before season, raining flowers,
why this, her presence or absence, an excruciating ordeal?
no green horn , his love has seen seasons, many a spring and fall.
anything physical has it's limits, this is beyond all comparisons!

The moon beams scorch him, blazing sun loses his power at noon,
poetry makes him wistful, when metaphors speak of hidden yearnings,
stop that haunting song, in a pitch high, difficult to bear it's taunt,
reminding her ,singing about her love, an ambiguous fantasy.
 Jun 2015
Joe Cole
Do you believe in fayries and the world of make believe
Of dragons who spout gold dust instead of fire when they sneeze
Of little folk wearing soft green hats with long white beards and such
Well you should believe in all those things because by magic you are touched
That tinkling noise in dead of night that has no earthly cause
That is the magic in the air and that magic is all yours
Believe in witches, black cats, cauldrons on fires bright
Believe in knights of ancient times in armour gleaming white
Think about the moon dust making diamonds in the sky
Think about the magic surrounding you and I
This is a re write bug I got to thinking about how sometimes it's good to escape from harsh reality and to lose yourself in the depths of your own imagination
 Jun 2015
Pax
Lie
Every time I lie,
I break a piece of myself.
10w

I dunno the real reason
why I haven't post this,
perhaps it spoke too much
in such few words.
 Jun 2015
Amitav Radiance
Words once birthed
From the labored thoughts
To express the once unspoken
Adopted by so many
To give a meaning of their own
Words see so many facets
Of our inner feelings
Into the realm of eternity
Before silence takes over
We shall rely on our words
Weighing every word carefully
They become our extension
We shall fall silent one day
But the words shall remain after us
Trying to give a glimpse
Of the life that we had lived once
 Jun 2015
Jason Cole
tempting trappings glow
ghostly garments flow
hair winds bright like sunshine ropes
in my velvet dreams

sequel skin as I grin
stops only if I wait
gentle limbs with no end
churn a heart of clay

within, without
beneath, about
outside in, inside doubt

behind the breach
roundabout route
beyond my reach, right way out

seasoned strangers
inner part dark
destined dangers
apart from spark

flurried passions molt
storied bastions bolt
fire blinds light like fog eats smoke
in my velvet dreams

© Jason Cole
 Jun 2015
Musfiq us shaleheen
...
.
This is not a value of all the guests
who come for two days
At the end of all their hair grew gray
day after tomorrow nobody remember their words

Yellow, red rose of day
Even when it has become fade,
However, when the bursting of the land after rains
Still to stand a dry old tree as the witness of time

Then any other reason If ever come back the spring
The forgotten days song if ever robin reminds you
And all meaningless, the faces skin has felt fold
In front of eye tall wall has touched the sky

Yet  there is a gray afternoon
if you see a red glow in the sky black clouds
Silly, the frivolous legs once try to
Then after all events, remains only a long dark endless night-
..
.
@Musfiq us shaleheen
 Jun 2015
raine cooper
i came back to run my hands all over your catastrophes.
©rainecooper
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