Poetry savored, sipped and swirled

Apr 2016

Aeerdna

ghost

I cannot find the words to answer your lines,
it's been years since my skin touched yours at night
it's been a long night with no dreams
I am poor when it comes to writing about memories
and though our roads are separated now
you're still in some of the glasses I have
and in the cigarettes filling up my lungs.

I loved you the way I love
the sun touching me with its golden lights
the way I love waves crushing the shore at night
I had you with all my body
and with all the light
I was able to hold inside.

You had a way of digging in my heart
and make bluebirds fly in my evening sky
you were in my coldest nights
the blanket covering my heart.

time has passed and I know,
feelings get older everytime the moon shows her pale light
but believe me when I say
in my mind there are still memories
calling your name.

I'll keep you in the drawer of my mind
you've made me cry and you've made me smile
all in all we are just an ash blowing in the wildest wind
I loved you, I hope you know,
but it is time for us
to find another sun
another glass of poison
from which we'll drink and cheer
till in our dreams
we'll die under the layers of our skins

I am sorry, dear,
but we had to pack our things
before destroying our souls,
I am sorry the love we shared so painfully died

I still hope you know
that
I loved you

the ghost of your name still haunts me sometimes
I know you still love me
and I wish one night
you'll find some other dreams to live inside

https://youtu.be/ZfW4-nP2G1Q

Apr 2016

Happynessa

Fall inside

She wondered what it would feel like
To escape the rigid boundaries of words
And speak in the fluid language of art

The chemical pull of the pen was exciting
But the blissful sensation of the brush
May give way to time losing its meaning

Her love of art came from her childhood
Story books when opened meant she
Could fall inside the wonderful illustrations

Years of life and years of passion spent inside
Black and white sketches and drawings
Magical incredible frightening and amazing

She feels the silence between poetry and art
She feels them expand and soften until it seems
Like a giant bubble that holds them both

Apr 2016

Stephan

Remain

Beware the shadows that harbor the fear
Wearing a smile to entice
Bringing a storm to the lingering clear
More than enough to suffice

Coloring clouds in an off center shade
Planning apart the disguise
All that will glisten, the edge of their blade
Steel once embedded the skies

Preying the fool on your worries does rest
Hands over eyes now the view
Changing the truth into lies is the quest
Oh its so easy to do

Words made of candy to sweeten the pain
Sugar attracting your stare
Waving good bye to the few who remain
Brother and sister beware

Apr 2016

SE Reimer

relevance

~

(old beach fence)

pickets set,
once in symmetry,
straight and white...
young teeth;
now in weathered state,
discolored by
the salty spray;
rust-formed rivers
trickle down from nails,
barely tethered
to its frail frame.
in places, shifting sand,
overruns its posts,
like a winding score,
it's rhythm lagging,
holding yet its notes;
fulfilling purpose,
like an old musician,
though beaten down
by wind and storm
the music strong,
sometines pouring out
in gentle song,
oftimes belting.
out in haunting tune;
lyrics pointing,
shaking voice
still croons,
the heart still beats,
though the mind
is drifting on;
like an old,
weathered,
beach fence...
has not lost
it's relevance!

~

*post script.

in conversation with a beautiful mind, about her photo of an old beach fence. she says, “I love the loneliness in that picture, though I'm not sure why.” his answer just a hopeful guess, “i know why... it speaks of purpose and usefulness, despite age and state of repair; it speaks of direction, despite its apparent randomness... too oxymoron-ish to not be drawn in...” conversation ’tween two friends, conceiving thoughts, in particular her encouraging response with these words... “You should make that into a poem! And yes, that is exactly it!" yes indeed, she is a beautiful mind, this precious, poet friend of mine!!

Mar 2016

Kerry Ann Herrmann

The Violinist

At low of night she strokes
Familiar tastes exquisite,
And quietly invokes
The spirit of laureate --

An orphic instrument
Unfit to take for granted.
It’s profound atonement
Stirs in her heart despondent.

Her fragile shell’s embrace
Of wood and gut and metal
Point out her shallow race
And weakness fundamental.

Yet all the night she moils,
Mistrusting augmentation,
And secretly despoils
The overzealous beacon.

-- Kerry Herrmann

I am a violinist and wrote this poem to express the emotional connection I have with my violin and with my practice. I practice at night, usually until 2 or 3 am. It is a very intimate experience practicing when the rest of the world is quiet.

Mar 2016

Kerry Ann Herrmann

Stage Fright

Strangers acquaint, announcing particularities.
Thrills run across hungry nerves;
pleasure mounts in rising expectations:
First ruminating, next devouring,
then coalescing into one complete whole.

Gently the wintry chill advances
imperceptible to unschooled senses.
Mirages of fullness fade while realization grows.

Ah, the tender vulnerability of intense gratification.
Discovery of naivety’s betrayal is complete
in the consumption of perfected death.

(Cold as mirrored glass, rebounding time,
numbing fire.) An embodiment of suffocating pain,
The paroxysm climaxes... waiting for release.

(Stretched, drained, quietly entertaining sympathy.)
This sultry expansion - extended abeyance of joy -
turns knowledge of fulfillment into hope that
blends with the waters of insecurity.

(Moments of compression, burning sickness
intensifying with each presentation,
development of indeterminate expectations,
vacillation between stimulating passion and alarm.)

A formidable moment charges toward the funambulist.
Balance seems impossibly demanding.

Abruptly the event ends, time stops, breathing ceases …

        The babe is held in loving arms -
        forgotten pain, dissolving woe.
        Her tender grace, alluring charms
        beget a great, supernal flow.

Kerry Ann Herrmann

Mar 2016

katie

future

Ahead of
     this present
moment is a
void, no
        name, no
detail
beyond what
our
imaginations
    can impose, its
    bedrock not
made
of stone but
       sand, if it
were a
wood we would
           warn
children to
   avoid it, yet we
follow its fire, it's
        flames reaching
higher
     & higher,
        seducing us with
their power,
       all the things
that might be,
         glittering
then
  disappearing

Mar 2016

Sally A Bayan

A THOUSAND DEATHS

Every death
I have felt, or known,
In silence, i mourn,
Within my breath...

No words come upfront
Just thoughts, preponderant...

I'd feel the freezing cold of an empty space
Feel the absence...clearly imagine a lost face
No smiles, spanning from cheek to cheek
Eyes, seek answers...
suddenly, I'm there by the shallow water of the creek
While some nearby creatures quietly chirp...and squeak
While I......... I could not even speak...

Living,
Is realizing...and accepting
At the right time, they turn brown, the weeds...and reeds,
But, under the water...waiting, growing...are their seeds
Brown ferns...are almost detached from a mossy concrete wall
With a strong current, and wind, they'd be carried...ready to fall

The driftwood lying by the shore...is always wet, but petrified
Brown fallen leaves, on the green grass...no more hold...crisp and dried,
The dead bark of a tree...in pieces...are crumbling...
Merging with the wet earth...in a process of fertilizing
Deep down under ....a fresh spark of life is starting.
All these, remind,
Life and death stand side by side,
That in the midst of death-
Something new is birthed...
When faced with death,
there is always someone's living breath
And, as long as the heart wills to beat
Then, life.....will still exist.

Hundreds, or a thousand times,
We all have died
In the high and low of life's tides,
Physically,
Emotionally.

We remember
Those who have left
Those who have survived..are still around
We think of those who are next to leave,
Waiting for their chests' final heave

---And then, we think of ourselves---

Worry not of our own time
Make each of our remaining days
Be golden, beaming, and bright
With good deeds, and straight pathways

The earth is a moving circle
It makes a round.......as it spins
We try to live outwards....and then, within
Any way we live it...life is an endless cycle.

Sally

Copyright March 23, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

***A HAPPY EASTER TO EVERYONE!!! ***

#*** #cycle #circle #thousand #deaths

Mar 2016

The Dedpoet

You Are Not Alone

Because on the darkest nights
I see faint rays of the purest light,
And among the fatal deceptions
lost in exalted sorrows,
       I know that there is still poetry.
When the words are welled
Inside a throat like a fire
Waking from its slumber,
Rain the embers to paper,
      The words like a familiar pain,
      Speak as the darkness speaks,
      Take in the honest friend,
      Let them take you to tranquillity.
Because when I am at my blackest,
The poem understands me,
It speaks to me,
Cries with me,
I give my darkest to its white surface,
       A cave serrated by light,
      The words will speak in the night,
      They will light the way
      To new dawns,
And you are never alone
If you have read these words,
Because through them,
We become as one.

I'm always here if you just need to get something off your chest. I offer myself to you who might feel alone and in deep darkness.

#dedpoet