Like a dandelion seed

you have flown from my reach

When you used to be so near.

The night calls out to you

With siren delights

Guiding you

with illusions of bright shining lights.

Like Michaelangelo's barefooted baby Jesus

I see you run toward a future

Headed for potential disaster

And like the angels

I want to shadow you

To steer you away.

Yesterday seems far away

With sadness I see

Time

Has made you step away

From me.

well, poetry begins by suspending reason,

unnaming and renaming everything ,

taking apart the small parts and making one big metaphor.

calling a flower your lover,

or pain as a roses thorn,

a smile as the sun,

a frown as a crescent moon,

and of course stars ,

they have to be included,

as sparkling,

butterflies are forbidden in modern poems,

as are roses, to which I alluded,

my bad , though,

I see poetry as anything

you feel deep enough to

try to write a poem about

and makes you feel

Savages ****** love.
As my eyes swell from the once dry wells began to fill.
Spilling pain down my cheeks.
I feel like an *** for loving someone who have little concerns about my well being.
I contemplate about words to say,but my brain is null.
I try to be strong and act as if nothing wrong.
That's the lie i tell my self. I'm fighting tooth and nail within my thoughts weighing the situation. I evaluate every avenue, side street or road that lead me here. Searching for any signs or familiar landmarks that would give me my  bearings to give direction.
Yet I'm still lost not knowing where to turn everything seems foreign.
I guess eye should have paid more attention to the signs while  looking for love.
They say love is blind. I guess that was the veil being pulled over my eyes. That lead to my Demise. The mistakes I made allowing me to be lead into the ambush that savagely slaughtered my heart.
Paraplegic coma mentally emotionally i'm dead.

My muse can be thought of as a curse
for it comes at the most inopportune times
but she also plays nice
and brings me peace of mind

My muse pounces on me to write
Hit by the force of nature in nature
The sound of crashing waves guide my hand
Releasing words from my body

My muse is like a lover
She comes to me in dreams
She teases, pleases then leaves

Calliope my lover comes often
She's never satisfied
This temptress of the tablet

Just think we could feel
the warmth from the same sun
Hear the same whispers in the breeze
Wish upon the same fallen star
and look up to the same majestic trees

She connects all
No matter the place
Her sirens song on the wind for all
Under the same night light constellations
Wreathed in the fog under veiled trees scribbling

She is a giver
When allowed to live within us
She gives a whole new view
Bringing two poets together
Even though there are miles in between
She gives her heart and soul
and the drive for us to dream

Her gift is poetic eloquence
Stirring within two
Beautifully scribes new words
New places to explore
Distance means nothing to a muse
She bestows everything she has to her
chosen oracles*

By Melissa S and Palmer

‘What a piece of work is a man!’
………           ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’

From Shakespeare, through Hamlet
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily on my ears too
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man
Both in the silence of my solitude
And in the learned circle of pundits

(Fool…..
Unable to find who you are
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)

Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know….A hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel

To the outer world I am someone
But in the well guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light
As every other man

At times, I feel so proud
Excessively in love with my own image
Like Narcissus, the poor hunter boy
Fated by gods to languish
On the bank of a pond,
Over his own floating image!

However with all my strength within
Do I not feel as helpless as Prometheus bound?
Waiting for a Hercules to come
And save me from my plight
If Prometheus’ ******* was God willed
Mine is self willed…! Is the difference so very crucial?

Sometimes I feel I am Janus
Looking backward and forward
Into my past and my future
Never living in the present
Or am I more a Sisyphus
Eternally rolling a rock over to the hill
From where it keeps falling down

Sometimes I wonder
Amid the splendor, do I not starve?
Like Tantalus of Greece in the pool
Beneath the tree, with the low lying branches of fruits
Constantly eluding his grasp
And the water, ever receding before
He could take a drink!

As a poet how I wish I could
Equate myself with Calliope
Carving my mind on the wax tablet
With stylus, my pen and coloring it with my fancy
Or Orpheus, so skilled in music
That with my sad musings
I can make even Hades weep
And the rocks fall in line

I shudder to be a Medusa
Turning everyone to a stone
With my sinister glance!
Instead, I want to be one of the Graces
And never one among the Gorgons

Pitched in this gallery
Of queer mythological entities
I wonder how I appear to others
And whom I resemble more!