You arrive at my door 
my blessed gift, with sweetest words
that lift me unto the skies
to soar within the sunbeams of your affection
I pray there never comes a day
that my eyes do not meet yours 
over morning coffee and tender words
Heads bowed, hearts touching
May we always linger here.

I hear her name
murmuring on the breeze.
A hushed whisper
filtering through my soul,
caressing my thoughts
awakening my mind.

Our spirits touched
as our lives entwined.
A brief connection
exposing our needs,
revealing destiny;
making promises.

Now she's gone
leaving a lifeless void.
A silent emptiness
so dark and cold
and fate smirks cruelly,
as I mourn her passing.

Sifting through this
self-induced chaos,
weaving within
disconnected thoughts,
in sibilant utterances:
I hear her name.

©Paul Chafer 2014

a natural work of art
   unnaturally rearranged
delicate sensibilities
   under patterns of shadow

self-portrait of inertia
   depicting withdrawal
pursuit of recognition
   motionless in futility

muted colors of being
   imbalance in the spectrum
intrinsic inquisition
   casting quality of light

fruits of perseverance
   nourishment for survival
openness and acceptance
   creating spatial composition

flowers in heart's vase
   healing from suffering
light from obscurity
   still life with darkness

As your brush
Gently, softly strokes
The white canvas on easel
The paint swirls delicately
Ingeniously you mix the rainbow
Of colors on your magical palette
Blending them all together to create your scene
You could create a whole new world of wonder
Just for me and you
And I often wonder what I would paint
If I were such an artist as you
And held all the magical illusions
Right at my fingertips
But since I am not an artist
I can still soak—drink in
The beauty only you can give birth to
The worlds of imagination
Only you can see
And paint upon canvas
For a poetess to see!

~Marian~

I am the her that is his muse
I am the her that makes him shine
I am the her that called to him
And caused the stars to realign

I am the her that is his breath
I am the her that is his smile
I am the her that made him see
Joy is not synonymous with guile

I am the her that fills his heart
I am the her that gives him life
I am the her that takes away
His suffering and strife

I am the her behind his words
I am the her that sees the man
I am the her that shows him how
The power of love is in our hands

There must be an eternal fountain
Where the creative ink flows
A secluded hamlet where all Muse resides
A museum where all seer poets are featured
The laureates from earlier centuries
Adorning the walls of ‘Hall of Fame’
Their legacy passed on to next centuries
Some through narratives or written manuscripts
Omnipresent, to provide the guiding light
To pen the narratives, metaphors, onomatopoeia
The rhyme schemes- Ballade, Chant royal, Cinquain, Ottavia
But most important of all is the rhythm of the heart
And when the heart and soul coalesce, it creates literature
The rhyming schemes of our mind, heart and soul
Is what the composition of a passionate writing is**






© Amitav (Radiance)

Let your heart drown in tears
To cleanse away the wound
From it shall spring eternal fountain
Of inspirations, to open your heart
To Love, Hope, and inspiration
Muses will come to drink from it
And poetry shall flow through you
Every particle of you enamored
By the sweet water, flows eternally
Replenish the soul and turn the tide
To delve deeper in to self-belief
And, embrace knowledge to fight a stormy world
Poetry is the panacea for a recuperating soul
For there is the eternal fountain to drink from*



















© Amitav (Radiance)