Impeccable Poetry - Part II

Feb 2017

John F McCullagh

Condell, Hemmings, Burbage all
Have had their final curtain call
The boards they trod were burned in flames,
And not one single script remains.
The author, Shakespeare, now bones and dust
as is the fate of all of us.
Yet do not count all as defeat
As we playgoers take our seats
For Shakespeare still retains his fame.
Though all else be gone
His words remain

going to see an uncut production of Hamlet soon at Hofstra University

Feb 2017

wordvango

I could pretend

I am sleeping when i am dying
and nobody would know a difference
and the sun would come up as bright
the world would turn with
or without me
rain would fall
and my pretend grave
would be garnished
with weeds and neglected
yet,
I bought myself a rose today
came in a glass tube
it burnt
my obituary
I got high as a kite and passed out
and thought of
them, again

Feb 2017

Lady RF - Rosalie Fayad

Way Too Much!

I feel too much,
I care too much.

I see too much,
I hear too much,

Even a whisper,
is heard loud and clear,

Nothing goes unnoticed,
it feels like a curse - one that I fear.

I sense too much,
I hurt too much,

I cherish joy too much,
I remember too much.

Every word
that was ever said,

Tosses and turns
in my heart
and in my head.

I think too much,
I give too much,

I know too much,
I grow too much.

I evaluate my insecurities
everyday,

I punish myself
for turning out this way.

I never ask for much
I never take too much,

I never want too much,
my only real problem is ...
that I love--way, way too much.

~ I'm sorry.

By Lady R.F ©2017

Feb 2017

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Eventide

Around me is dying another day
silently falling in surge of emotion
in the mournful dirge of the dusk
dropping on the black drongo
flying home in dream of dawn
beneath the first star of twilight
blushing in the kiss of sky
heralding another earth evening
celebrating death in the dire need of
resuscitating life.

Feb 2017

Marshal Gebbie

Awakening to Clarity

Simple how the clouds collapse
When tangents merge with metaphors,
How tracks of reason tread the path
Then pass through open doors.
When threads of inspiration sing
As blackbirds in the dew of dawn,
Where crystal light of opulence
Then innocence and fun..…is borne.
A purity of purpose, suffused in simplicity,
Swaddled and encapsulated, worn with a smile.
Embracing the instant of beautiful freedom
To breathe this sweet air of loveliness, awhile.

M.
The hallowed green of a Taranaki dawn @ Foxglove
9th February 2017

Feb 2017

Francie Lynch

Deep To Our Waist in February

We're deep to our waists
In February;
Trees look like a geriatric pool-fitness class,
And the grass,
Sparse as the bobbing skulls.

      I heard a lone Canada goose overhead,
     The V has left the others for dead;
     And a gray pall covers all
     With winter's threadbare spread.

The alarm is set,
The time is right,
The season's snug,
But not sleeping yet.

     Soon, the beast will close its eyes,
     And Spring will march in,
     Fresh and vigorous,
     Like a new recruit,
     Green and anxious.

She'll fire-up roots, flowers and leafs.
In the pool they'll sway in the breeze,
Branches touching in Spring's reprieve.

#death #spring #february #oldage

Feb 2017

Amanda F

Rosalie

The angelic silhouette of her intentions on paper,
fair with the golden fingerprints of the depths of her soul
so pure.
Her smile with the potential to light up a thousand dead cities in the blink of an eye,
So allure.
Her eyes play so convincing,
The calm detailed glisten in the sunlight and the sorrowful muted tone they become when her mind is far from bright.
Her idiosyncratic and highly distinctive attitude towards things never fails to amaze me,
Her heart silences her mind when only it feels what her mind can't see.
Rosalie is art
From her knowledge full and constantly absorbing mind, to her utterly beautiful heart.*

Amanda. F (c) 2017

Words dedicated to my mum
I love her so much

Feb 2017

Rebel Heart

My True Colors

I'm slipping away again
Deep into the unknown
Into this dark void of nothingness
Where my true colors are shown

In this valley of dark shadows
Dark monsters reign from the past
Stuck within a world of my own demons
I don't know how long I'll be able to last.

I thought I finally had a home
Somewhere I belonged and cared
But I guess that was an illusion too
Along with the life I thought we shared

And I'm just wandering these empty alleys
Hiding from the monsters inside
They'll hunt me down and tear me apart
Till I have nothing left but pride

Pride that I didn't give in
Somehow I survived another day
I managed to watch another sunset
Wishing my problems would just go away

When you think everyday is your last
That these demons will finally **** you
Then what's left to live for in this world?
Besides the broken pieces of what we once knew...

But I can't show you what hides behind
my mirage of this rainbow of hopeful colors.
The color red bleeds on my skin
While black and grey everything covers

Because I breathe in nothing but ashes
And the shadows of what once used to be
I'm stuck between a valley of empty promises
Behind this illusion I put out for you to see

In truth, I'm just a broken girl
Simply too weak to survive
Yet there's nothing more I can possibly do
Then put on a plastic smile and hide.

Because though I seem to be just fine
My true colors are bleeding through
They pop up on my skin,
Colors red, black and blue.
And when I'm running from my demons
My only thought is of you
Seeing another day would've been easier
If only you just knew.

This one's long but I started writing it in class today and couldn't stop. Just emotions from everything going on this past week just flowed out into so many strings of random thoughts/poetry. This poem was one of the many I wrote today (the least depressing one) and I guess I just need some bit of hope to hold on to for a while. The 'you' in this story isn't one but multiple people, which goes to remind you all you need is just one person to come up and tell you everything is going to be alright. I'm just so tired of that one person always having to be myself

#depressing #truth #sad #dark #demons #strange #color #colors #monsters #nothingness

Feb 2017

JRF

Stitches

Stitches

How can I weep
for something I have not yet lost?
Perhaps it is because I can feel it slowly, surreptitiously
slipping away from me, and
I do not want to let it go.
I truly am endeavoring
to stitch this tear in my bedraggled heart,
but I am no seamstress.
I do not know how to mend or make amends with myself,
and I really don't know
if I want to.