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 Jul 2018
Valsa George
This cosmos, indisputably, a sheer wonder
We cannot but bow before its grandeur
To what strange terrains opens its doors
And what secrets, hidden beneath the stars

From the merciless emptiness sans light,
From the deep silence of the horrendous night,
Was heard the bang of hammers
On the anvils of eons like thundering fire crackers

Abruptly through a gas cloud burst of inexorable force
Life emerged from stardust, our energy source
This is what the exponents of Big Bang assert
Life, from cosmic egg was hatched, some others purport

No doubt, this universe is an infinite stretch of lattice
Woven in the loom through billions of years by gratis
Where myriad wonders exist in the intergalactic space
And man has been on relentless effort to trace their course

As the wheels turned and as the fires burned
Through cosmic vapor the first atom was churned
How, over the eons, life here has flourished
With man’s wisdom and efforts nourished!

Galaxies are scattered in infinite space
And our planet Earth is well balanced in place
After the day’s vigil, when the mighty sun sets
The stars invariably take over on their night shifts

Multitudinous stars glitter and twinkle, a wondrous sight
As branching chandeliers, shedding luminous light
They are gems donning the night sky with their splendor
Where meteors dash and star light dances in nebulous glare

Some extra terrestrial hand has set the Earth in tune
And everything needed to hold life is benevolently strewn
Through countless dawns and sunset
Endless generations did come and beget

 Just as this universe was born, it would one day die
With all the planets, stars and starlets of the sky
Who can predict how it is going to end
With a bang or whimper, or is the end impend?
 Jul 2018
Sally A Bayan
The pile is ever ready
whatever type of music we dig...a ditty,
old songs, contemporary...all in a jiffy,
instruments will be playing
words, vocalizing all feelings
maybe, a song of calm
coming before, or after the storm...
.....
Notes hover above the piled 45s
look closely...find your desired jive,
let's find our favorite tunes
and take turns in  dropping coins,
record is pulled out...shortly, our song will play
hold disruptive elements at bay
because..you and i, we're gonna sway
as a full moon....rises from the bay
.....
allow our feelings to speak
while we're cheek to cheek,
as much as we want, we may croon,
after we dance, maybe we'll swoon
the world is ours...we'll be alright
"there'll be...no more lonely nights!"
.....

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 4, 2017
(recapturing memories of the
jukebox...it's a feel good poem,
esp. when paired with Paul McCartney's
  No More Lonely Nights...)
 Jul 2018
grumpy thumb
a hook of a moon
hanging low
burying itself into the dark soil of night ploughing methodically
churning the folds of time unsympathetically
despondent
weary
oblivious to the passing seeds
of thought
laboured over.
Should I expect more
from the ruts it rolls,
perhaps growth of understanding
or a crop of acknowledgment
for my wonderment of it?
Or is it simply a tool
to capture imaginations
of a fool who secretly belives
I have an intimate bond
with its silent magnificence,
perhaps wishing it looks at me
like a brother who shares this moment.
 Jul 2018
Nat Lipstadt
Prologue

casual glance at my notifications while driving even though
I’m all ready a bad bad boy, cruising at a sedate,
cruise-controlled 70 mph  vs. the bureaucrat bifocals 55,
a remnant regulation of the Eighties,
all the while humming with Gilligan
“a 3 hour tour,
2 passengers set sail that day”

then execute a four lane 180,
gotta get highway sideway grassed ,
cause i’m gassed...
by a Poem Breach

of the poems promised by me,
to write of thee,
you, my best inspiration,
the list grows longer, faster
than the hours provided

pull over fast emergency for my composure breached,
my vision wetted, my eyes hit by an unplanned unexpected,
sudden summer thunderstorm

<•>

The Poem Breach

once more into the breach thy words breeze through my chest,
like on a flamed stick, night roasting, toasting beach summer marshmallows,
that cut direct to the ineffable sadness that resides resists within,
that sticky, white mess,
a human heart melting

a thank you message that I’ve read before,
many times more than once,
how my unasked poem, a sun unique,
arrived at the
precise time and place,
to lift and even save,
how could I’ve know?

I did not know

but these messages collect on my chest,
unsought words of purple ribbon metal that make a
less burdened cowardly lion,
grown man cry,
do crazy things for it is a possible solution to his
age old quest

Why do I exist, is this my purposed plan, don’t understand, all
but the answer peaked and peaceful accepted in the breach unreasoned,
my port of entry, a gateway to the scales, a bridge it is, over a time-life river styx and unstuck, yet certainly always confused...



“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”


thank you so insufficient
 Jul 2018
Edmund black
She bathed me
in a pool of
       her  sweet nectar
        Undeniably
             She’s
     the reason for
               the sweetness
of my heart ,
           It’s hers
                To  Keep
My heart is hers to keep......
 Jul 2018
ryn
There was no one...
So I spoke as if a secret
into the wind.

I told it,

“You may blow your skeptic tune.
Your quiet whistles of doubt.”

“Exhale if you must,
upon the countenance of her face.
Run your invisible fingers
through her hair...
Taste her lips like you would
the surface of the lake in the sun-shy morns.”

“Then you would dispel all disbelief.
You would take these words I say,
and know why confide in you.
You would know why I had fallen.
And you would know why
you would then be my messenger...”

“So that you could word the song
I could never sing.
You could caress her face
when my fingers could not.
You could kiss and fill her lungs
with all that she needs when I am gone.”


.
 Jul 2018
grumpy thumb
Beyond the passion of colour
the wind is crawling over trees
clawing at loose clothing
and things
not tethered or secure.
Beyond empathic words uttered
it sings hollow
and then a full
roar
settling its breath
to a sigh as it dies
beyond the texture it brings.
With nothing to mark
its existance except thee.
 Jul 2018
Nat Lipstadt
and

you think you are done with it.
but the notion potion returns
with your stolen free will
taunting and tearing, sealing
and then dissolving
the seals

no retirement in this world
from where human means pliable
and pliable means capable of being
twisted; nay, retwisted...

last we left you,
we were weeping on the
concrete sidewalk of
Third Avenue, the police,
giving you a move on command,
as Jean Valjean earworms one into
the incapacity of movement  
because of the audacity to request
to bring him home

such is the sorrow of the lost child;
it comes with irregularity
yet, never failing to return,
the child lost, the residual, resides
within like a violin adagio reaching
the punishing silence
after a crescendo that  pretense
promised momentary relief

we struggle to keep any and all keepsakes,
polished and fed; rust and time,
no polish in the five & time dime
that does a good enough job,
but you buy it anyway

well aware that fate will inevitably
rob you, it’s so purposed

twist you, retest you and re-will you, to never forget until
you have no need for forgetting but the peace of
constant remembering when all on that day
molecules and nucleotides
collide in the atmosphere,
dog licking, cat weeping purrs, meaning hallelujah home

the endless sadness of the lost lad-ness,
dimly grow the recollections of the first word,
the first delight, the confidence complete
that your babe is non pareil;
the violin sweeps you along and the
genteel tide still too string strong to resist

the woman comes into the room;
the reddened eyes no hide
the weeping outside and in the centerpiece of a soul;
why she asks, not surprised for she’s seen it
too many **** poem-times:

my Adam, I answer;
suffices and wisely
leaves me to
compose and decompose simultaneously
weeping weeping forever weeping
even when not

furious eddies rock smashing,
curious they splash me with taunts
"you want for naught!"

but naught is the only possess
that owing it makes one impoverished

perhaps he will email me, ewail me,
does he know I am at the
Wailing Wall, Jerusalem,
insert parchment prayers for his safety

oh my Absalom, oh my Adam, my favorite first born,
come sit next to me on the sidewalk
so close to where you live,
comfort me as in the days of your youth,
now that we are both
so very much older

sleep well all you lads and children,
never mind these unstoppable tearings,
never mind the heaviness,
for it has passed
as the tears ~shed,
enlighten and lessen
my embodiment

7/16/18 prone and alone
for my kinship
 Jul 2018
Sharon Talbot
I recalled the smell of junipers warming in the sun,
Or maybe mice nesting under the cupboard.
Or bleached linen hung out by Mum,
Reminds me of something about Dad from long ago,
You ask me…to say if it was gin;
There are things I can’t tell you, Son.
Some people think that it’s a sin;
So just use your imagination.

Another time I smelled crushed daisies of
The housemaids, I remember from Kleßheim.
Thunderstorms rolled down from the Alps at night,
Then turned at morning into clarified, buttered sun.
They remind me of someone’s blonde hair,
I just can’t tell you when or where,
So use your imagination.

Scent is the most potent mnemonic,
Triggering mystical cells inside,
Creating a stream of biophotonics,
Rapture returns in histrionics,
Tracking things from skin and hair,
To lips and eyes, to a groan, an intrigued stare.
Things we can never tell another, even if
He or she or they were there
What happened in those brilliant days?
Only imagination can say.

Crystal hanging in the window at nine o’clock,
Rays strike the glass, opening up the past.
Before me spreads a wide, green lawn,
Ladies and lords stroll with their finery on.
I sit and watch, while the procession advances,
Tricornes doffed and stays undone in dances.
Until the satin, silk and brocades lie on the ground,
Gavotte kisses become tender, sensual rounds
And naked, youth flees into woods.
And everything is happening;
Everything is good.
This is about memory, predominantly smell, how much we remember and what is only guessed at. The last part is about memories of a past life triggered by light in a prism.
 Jul 2018
Wk kortas
It’s a story of love at first sight, or at least by the third drink
You said You’re a true gentleman ‘fore you puked in the sink.
You promised you would love me true, that I was your white knight
But now you’re sleepin’ in a different castle every night.

You left me several subtle hints that you had finally gone
Like scatterin’ my boxers and my Trojans on the lawn.
It’s a quick trip from I love you to Goodbye, and that’s that.
It seems to me you’ve drowned your torch, so I’ll just drown your cat.

The first night we spent together, hell, it was like a dream
And seein’ you in dawn’s first light didn’t make me scream.
You allowed that you could learn to like me quite a bit
Next mornin’ in my driveway there’s two U-Hauls with your ****.

Once I’d put my arms around you and whisper Mornin', hon.
Now if I woke up next to you, I’d just reach for my gun.
It’s a quick trip from I love you to Goodbye, and that’s that.
It seems to me you’ve drowned your torch, so I’ll just drown your cat.

It took only a day or two for the cracks to appear
You made some unkind comments about my Ward Burton mirror.
And you told me to turn off Johnny Cash after a song or two
The Man in Black’s in Heaven, but there ain’t no room for you.

Well, you’ve heard tell of Mr. Krueger from Nightmare on Elm Street
Compared to a shrew like you ol’ Freddy’s kinda sweet.
It’s a quick trip from I love you to Goodbye, and that’s that.
It seems to me you’ve drowned your torch, so I’ll just drown your cat.

Now I see you at the Dew Drop Inn with this evening’s Mr. Right
Just one more stupid ******* screwin’ up his life tonight
‘Cause I’m sure the hell you put me through will be on tap for him
I hope that he’ll get over you, and I hope your cat can swim.

I ain’t doin’ no name callin, won’t call you ***** or hag
I’m just carryin ol’ **** In Boots inside this burlap bag
It’s a quick trip from I love you to Goodbye, and that’s that.
It seems to me you’ve drowned your torch, so I’ll just drown your cat.
Yes, I suspect this would be the worst country song ever recorded.
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