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 Nov 2016
Torin
With very few words
Too much is said
I watch like an eagle
Fly over your head
Disillusionment is a beginning

But not a very good one

Hope
Was such a meaningful device
 Nov 2016
phil roberts
Beyond the rolling bones
Of memory's myths
And the ancient sounds of laughter and tears
Something mystical exists
Something deeper than marrow
The seeds of our ancestor's dreams and fears
And at a level beyond our knowing
It still rules our actions
And leads us to our fates

                                             By Phil Roberts
Huddled in the lantern light
they sing of life and death
of love long lost but living
in the ashes of time
a yearning for home
walking the long roads sunburnt
in blistered feet
in the knowledge
healing of pain
is only a rain away
and life is too short
but never too short
to bathe in the power of god
that makes a pauper
be a king
under the canopy of stars.
Night with them under the stars, November 12, 8.30pm.
Bauls: Rural folk singers of Bengal, the mystic minstrels.
 Nov 2016
Ahmad Cox
Having a strong will
Is about sticking to what's right
Knowing the truth
And being able to be flexible enough
To change and grow as necessary
And as you become stronger in yourself
Others will see your strength too
And you can begin to share that strength with others
 Nov 2016
JRF
I write
from all the corners of my heart.
I write from every chamber,
from every ventricle that pumps the blood
that circulates throughout my soul.
I write
when I am succeeding as a human being
and I write
when I fail,
and sometimes,
I fail on a grand scale,
but at least I write.
I write.
...and don't we all, Poetry Friends?
 Nov 2016
grumpy thumb
Vision obscured by soft misty rain dampening harsh city lights
spilling slippery from storefronts and traffic train
shimmering upon pavements
between steps and stains.
soft misty rain
don't I know you?
 Nov 2016
Amethyst Fyre
Everyday on my way home from school
I slip down an untended shortcut where
By the sides of the walkway, the dandelions lie

It’s a fact that the cheeriest yellow will turn to a head of white with time
And so, each day I’m walking by

I snap a stem from it’s spot in the ground
And hold it’s soft flower to my lips
And wish for something I already have

I blow these wishes out into the world
To catch up with me years away from now
I drop the empty stem by a tree
Into a pile of other broken bodies
Each a flower’s memory

I call out to my best friend ahead of me
I run over, grab her hand and pull her along
Pull her along for all those years away from now

I'll pull her along until it’s our time to blow away too
That’s when I’ll know my wish has come true.
 Nov 2016
vinny
found a wildflower
all alone
on a plain barren and
desolate
drawn by it's brilliance
bent to caress it

reeled back in pain
as spikes pierced my skin
fingertips bleeding
warmth from within

beauty with fangs
designed for protection
perfectly adapted
natural selection

licking my wounds
pondering my next move
an antidote to her poison
must become immune
 Nov 2016
Valsa George
In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?

In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still

Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool

I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform

In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half

As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want

Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud

I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer

With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown

Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore

As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part

                               *                          *

While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!
The pain of a widowed mother left lonely by the death of her only child is  something beyond one can possibly imagine !
 Nov 2016
Mike Adam
Do not want
You in
Virtual reality

No breath on
My neck

Your flesh
Vibrates alive

Unrepresentable
 Nov 2016
Rainey Birthwright
listen -
hear no sound, feel
only wind on its way, ghostly
nothings, but hush to sharp wings
of ocean birds so fraying as they cut
the sky, shuttle to fairways, far aways,
in plaintive cries, i hear what they say,
sailing into the jeweled skylights, but i
am only weight of air, still on ground,
i mumble out, sidle the bone tides
that roll to land, grains of clarity,
i am mist and tear, a world
of hollow, i am that sound -
of ocean in a shell.
 Nov 2016
HRTsOnFyR
The words that go unspoken actually make the most noise.
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