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 Apr 2016
chimaera
pots and pans.
the radio is on.
the curry
fills the air.
vivid red
and dark
orange silk
float around
a porch,
you'd gift me
mangoes,
ripe mangoes,
this sweetness,
this yearning.

pots and pans.
the radio's mute.
time to stir.
22.04.2016
 Apr 2016
Tom Blake
Feeling
Every move inside herself
Movements that were so strange
A life, a body, was being made
She had fears of this creative change,
Not knowing
Which way to turn or sit
So many body changes
Making her feel so weak and sick
It's to be her last, never again!
No more days or nights
Of feeling alsorts of pains.

But
At the end, end of your travail
When
Life's escaped and into your arms
It lies with its cheek against your breast
You look down
You smile
You love
You're elated to see
Your own flesh and blood you fought
And sweated to let free.

Holding close
Your offspring, your eyes
Begin to rain
Then
A sudden whisper comes from your
Mouth...
' My baby, you were well Worth the pain!'
 Apr 2016
GaryFairy
the company you keep
can make you strong or make you weak
make you laugh or make you weep
the company you keep
 Apr 2016
DaRk IcE
Lighting strikes back at
The thunders angry
Tantrum
The great battle of
All that lives in
The
Sky
Clashing of many
Personality traits proves
Hell on earth now and
Then
Chaos runs with the
North winds
That blow in monstrous
Fronts mother earth
Herself can't contain
Something kronos conjured
From a blackened
Heart
Where love was never left
And hatred is your best
Friend
An unlikely force unleashed
In the great sea
Parts
Ways onto dry land
Staring with weary
Eyes
Yielding for
Battle
On the front lines
With nothing left to
Give
And short of a
Reason
Why
You surrender
To the unknown
Which possess
You
To act with such
Haste
And bitterness
 Apr 2016
Àŧùl
Birds and squirrels chirping,
People on a morning walk,
The wife trying to keep up.

Cool air keeps me calm now,
Now my daddy is out too,
We'll go fetch some milk.
My HP Poem #1054
©Atul Kaushal
 Apr 2016
Polar
In a time of deep uncertainty

with my NuBlaccsoUl in ruins.

The kingfisher Ja bade me follow Creepstar

To the mystical place

In search of grace,

beyond sheer Pradip mountains

Where the clear crisp ink of fountain flows.

Here the saints of Ignatius

stop to quench their thirst.

The journey held danger

when I came upon a stranger

I became enchanted by the spells

of a mischievic Pixievic.

Spell bound I watched entranced

  the sheer dexterity of the Busbar dancer

Whereupon My poor dark soul

fell deep in a hole.

I was taken through the worst by Steven Langhorst

To arrive safely at the hallowed grounds of Newvango

Where now I see

the Paradise in me.
There are 11 excellent HP poets within this verse I hope you and they like it.
 Apr 2016
ThePoet
Who are we to say
that a love is not to be?
That a love does not belong
and can never be set free?

Who are we to think
that a kind is not our people?
That a kind is far beneath us
and will never be as equal?

Who are we to feel
that a face can look unusual?
That a face must be a canvas
and be painted to be beautiful?

Who are we to judge?
To say love is prohibited?
To think below of others?  
To feel minds can be limited?

©
There was a void in my perception ,
an opening where the Sun appeared
I thought it was a crack in my fragile world
but it proved to be a doorway instead .. I smiled once again ..

I pondered the gravity of worldly existence along
the mountain bottom .. Reaching for the summit in vain ,
only to turn with a view of the valley below ..
I rejoiced at my unaware , improving condition ..

Disce te in hoc mundo ,  ( Learn thy place in this world )
Copyright March 28 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Mar 2016
Kerry Ann Herrmann
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
Ja
The snow is gone
The sun’s come out
The grass is green
The flowers sprout

The birds all sing
The air turns fresh
The wraps come off
We show some flesh

So crack a smile
Or scream and shout
That’s what spring
Is all about
BOEMS BY JA 265
O Holy God if ever a time that your healing is needed it is now.
Let your Spirit send your Healing raining down upon the world.
Let it overwhelm, your people that are still here on the earth.
As well as others whom eyes shall become open through it.
O I plead and pray that this shall be the season for eyes to be opened.
Let your Healing pour down from the Heaven that is way above us.
Restrengthen your people, while healing us of our pain and struggles.
While opening the eyes of those that shall believe, repent and follow.
Because every day this planet dies even more so heal heal everyone.
For no one but you know the ones that belong to you Lord God.
I want to thank my Sister Catherine, brother and sister Brandon and Lady Jane, my other sister Jane and both my sisters Elsie, and Alyssa all the other Mighty MOG and *** I love you all in Christ.
I love you that do not even know yet that you belong to God plus everyone else I want all of you to be healed
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