Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2015
Christian Bixler
The stars are fading, the moon is falling.
Above the midnight canopy lightens slowly;
shades of gray, spreading out, day is breaking.
Dawn comes with the rising sun. Light soars to fill
the sky, red and gold, nights shadows chased before
it, the Sun, resplendent in shining glory, bringer of the
new day. Birds cry and leap from the trees, notes shrill and
joyous, fair heralds of the day. The sun climbs slowly, beginning
it's journey across the heavens, the sky, glorious in azure splendour.
Clouds, wisps of shining air, frail in the light of day, change from the ruddy
red and the the glowing gold; colors of the new dawn. Pearly white they grace the
sky, celestial palaces and woodland creatures, the deer and the dragon, all in white within
the blue. And so the noontime passes, clouds obscuring then revealing, the sun eternal
rides the sky, and the clouds shine with light and the creatures of the air soar, crying
Praises of the sun in shrill voices. Eventide, the birds glide down to rest, in
the bowers of the trees. The light is green and gold, red and violet, white and
pink, colors of the sunset. The sun falls in the west, the moon rises in the
east, and at last the day is done, the Suns splendour vanished,
replaced by the shining light of a pale moon, and the far
away light of a thousand, thousand stars. And so is
day ended, and night begun, the darkness given sway.
The world lies in shadow, sleep takes the creatures
of the sun, the earth lies in shadow, to await the
new day.
The day is glorious, and the Suns splendour is without measure. The night is beautiful also,
frosted with stars and galaxies, and far away worlds. But this is a tribute to the day, and so
night, now, must be held at bay.
 May 2015
BB Tyler
In this is a poem,
flowing thru and over the stones of language,
a bed for a restless body.

Somewhere here is a poem,
behind and beneath the walls,
impounded as so much sound unspoken.

The glass before you
holds a poem,
both transparent,
one delicate when presented
the floor.

The poem is rushing,
brimming, tidal in its own surface tension,
held smooth and blue until the tipping point of pressure,
when it slips over the stones,
the walls,
the glass broken
and spills downhill
over the homes,
the fields
and farms,
white spray
finding shape in the valley
where you stand on the shore,
where you bend down to drink.

The river,
the dam,
the cup
is not
the water.
 May 2015
brandon nagley
I'm going where there ain't no fear
I'm going where the spirit is near
I'm going where the living is easy
And the people are kind
A new state of mind

I'm going where there ain't no police
I'm going where there ain't no disease
I'm going where there ain't no need
To escape from what is
Only spirits at ease!!!!!
 May 2015
Ignatius Hosiana
To kickstart the day with only the memories of the night in my head
To hold only two corners of the cover and lay the bed
To watch the ***** morning sun mount the sky
To savor the sweet orange rays and sigh
To kiss goodbye knowing it is just the start
To have total peace at heart
To phone her while still at work to find out how she is
To do the job with dedication and ease
To drive quite fast enough at the end of the day
To find her keeping her anger towards my delay
Dammed up and quite unsuccessfully at bay
To peck her forehead and kiss her lips and say
"Hey bush baby, ****** sorry I'm late
And even if I can't fathom how you feel I regret "
To see her eye lids twitch in passion and forgiveness
Juxtaposing her with the twilight uniqueness
To sow the seeds of humor and make her smile
In relief like the king Fishers from Victoria and River Nile
To hold her hand and walk her to our car
Ours because she healed every wound and scar
To take her to the awesome shopping malls
Buy her super Teddys and furry dolls
To then drive her home passing by the outskirts
To look her in the eyes bit by bit, as I slowly drive
To have my heart and mind alive
And a home filled with bloomed flower gardens
To have a shoulder that shares my burdens
To share all chores with her, right from laundry to cooking
To paint the world in letters while she's looking
And her glazing like smile on a laptop and paper
To save her warmth and care less about no hater
To watch the sun get consumed by the ravenous dusk unlike the dawn
To hold hands and watch the Milky way twinkle pawn
To consume every little moment of life and serenity
To have my first born take on my soccer club's name Chelsea
And watch it grow to a simple life by the Nile or by the sea
To bask down the boulevard holding hands toward eternity
To ask for the miracle of lasting forever
From God, to always live two together
To retire after two decades of success
In hardwork and start to tap the soul for access
To inspiration and do the best of the best
Of her paintings and I,my poetry while we rest
To have our little cottage and vegetables cast by the sea
To ride wheels of the rest of our life together, you see
That's what I feel my future lady and I deserve
To watch butterflies, evading fear of death by a warm fire
Telling myths and sweet stories to little ones till one by one we retire
According to me, that's a life lived, that's a dream, that's love
 May 2015
Nat Lipstadt
from the beckoning nookery
a firework sign comes,
a warning bow shot
of summer commencing,
the ever present
natural elemental companions
sun, sky, water, earth and wind
in unison,
their voices commanding,
calling out

write!

poet has painted this vista~poem
so so many times,
all is as before,
yet nature's sirening,
   a compulsed fierce fire catcall
poet once more,
endeavor,

write!

poet resists
for all seems a priori,
impossible to change his older visionaries,
defending himself to them

"all is before"
(except for the poet)

the Nookery is
the poet's corner,
self-proclaimed,
in soul warfare taken,
oasis of composition,
truthfully, a
confessional
seclusion salvation place,
within it heard only
the voices of
twinning earth and water,
sun and sky
striking poet's fomenting
heart~throat beating chest

other poets have been invited here,
for their solacing arrival
this poet attends,
perhaps only  together he thinks,
two poets with luck,
in contra-unison can devise
new ways of capture of  the
unceasing harmonies,
unnaturally eternal
ripened to perfection,
a constancy of hope,
in the unchanging, island setting

river and bay breeze,
sun-warmed waters
bring to him once again as in the past,
Shaker Melodies of West Side Stories,
Air adagio's of rock and roll anthems,
Pachelbel's Canon

this, nature's subtle way
of edging him on,
beseeching the poet

sit, rest,
one more time
upon the Adirondack wood worn throne,
pluck poems from us,
about us

write!

the environmentals,
so persistent -
refuseniks of the tyranny
of the past shout

lay us down to sleep
on coverlets of refreshed verse,
ours to keep,
when to the must of the city,
you
must

the poet,
contented
with the written word of
what has long ago
been removed from him,
fears plumbing yet again
the unoriginal error of repetition,
a sin of cardinals and small minds

the unrepentant wind whips
insistent,
seering sun shines
consistent,
water waves lap speak
one continuous shushing sound
persistent,
all together
demanding, non-stopping,
new homages and sacrifice
deny past connectivity

all is not as before
maintaining, complaining
(even the poet)

poet sees
the elements,
sees that all appear similar
in last year's' form,
and the year's before,
lacking the comprehension
of subtle modifications

eyes uncircumcised
see harder, look closer,
perceive
new combinations of
varicose veined blue shadings
in the waterways and the
fresh waving-hello colored whitecaps,
updated saluting salutations
quite like those of
friends past, rewelcoming him,
more real
than the error of self-delusion of
unchained unchanged
all, nothing
is as before

these waters molecules
have never been here before,
newly flowing nouvelles arrivées
from the South Seas and Antartica,
the Yangtze and the Amazon

today's temperate breeze
so adamant,
boasts of having come here first time
from cold Canada,
or balmy Bombay,
melting as immigrants to his sheltered island

all speak now in
new tongues, new accents,
all a collective
here,
come to me,
all the same quest

write!

the sun same,
yet newly born daily
burnished with a forever glory
send fresh light
to the poet's eyes,
each ray politely suggesting,
this summer's novice poet,
pay them
poetic obeisance dues,
and

write!

all is as surface as before,
but all have changed,
new summer, new elements,
decay wiped away,
man~poet must now speak too,
using uncovered new verbal molecules,,
recreating the ineffable solace
of a new summer
brought to him in the guise only of
familiar friends

all of us
have changed,
though seemingly minimally surficially,
Poet,
self-taught,
acknowledges, he too
evolves

it is this tale then,
the poet proffers
as his first serving of
summer-only fruits,
owning up now,
though man and nature
revolve in planetary unison,
all things change,
even the poet,
when in nature's nookery,
his compulsion
is sun blood heated,
and
skin breathes differently
in the nookery,
his natural old time, revival tent

happily now, he weeps
in tenderest of embraces,
when old, familiar
changelings
charge him

write!

Shelter Island
May 2015
 May 2015
Shadow Paradox
~
Floating in a nacre, cream pool
Splattered with ink, dreams, and azoic butterflies
A monolithic love dance begin
Shifting one personality into another

Creating
Defaulting

As three stone bodies

Swirl
and twirl
With a rocky rhythm

Their papery skin
Peel back in finery consumptions
As their minds become one
~
 May 2015
Amitav Radiance
The heart’s not homebound
Wanderlust soul seeks to travel
Through the enormous universe
Feel the harmony of cosmic energy
This heart wants to travel beyond
Like an unburdened soul, with valor
Veer away from the usual path
Prepare for the eternal travel
Multiple destinations and one purpose
To enter the wormhole of space
Traveler always and enjoy the cosmic circle
Whirlwind of a tour of the vast eternity
The heart’s not homebound
 May 2015
Poetic T
In the woods where light never penetrates
Where only the dark oak grows. Permeating
The air does the barks sap seep unto the
Surrounding never letting lights magnificence
Pierce its veil darkness in this place grows.

Black leaves as dark and rigid as coal, all
That land upon their veins where the light
Of life flourished was drank, Like an
Autumn leaf does this empty husk now
Cursed grey, gently slump greeting the floor.

In this darkened place of soulless sap,
Where leaves are black and veins feast
upon life. A glimmer of light floated
Above the canopy, a single breath of
Sunlight touching the core of a young
Sapling showing it the light banishing
The influence of darkness away.

As the little one grew where blades
Of raven tried to cut it down, shards
Now turned supple and green. Spreading
Life where only darkness loomed, The
Green leaves did reflect light unto the
Dark piercing into this  mournful place.

It was but one in a crowd of many, but
That ray of sunlight every morning widening
Its energies, as grass grew greener in glazed
Darkened place. it was a beacon of life growing
Stronger everyday, and when all the leaves of
Raven black had fed their last, and life was in
Its place then this would be a day when sunlight
Shone banishing the darkness  every single day.
Once in my Universe
All the things were
Missed

I was Created
By God's Will
Forth intact

Fulfiled with an innocent fleur
I Created Playful
Bountiful Place

All the joys and sorrows
Were Missed

There was The
Abundance

There was a light laughter
Of ignorance
Of hardly recognizible indifference
Of not knowing Poles are Axed
Of vague rememberance
Of  
Which is          Arctica
Which is          Antarctica
And how to go there                                  Magic W. . . .
Yet I had a technicue to reach a central core of Divinity
Yet I've heard about Shangrila and
Yeti
&
Yaks portruding with knited chimes
With wide reasonable heads watching
Extremly enchanting Dragons floating
Effortelessly alluring to the beholder's
Navigation
By The Cloud
By The Thunder
By Resonance
By Imagination
       Coming True
  The Child
Butterflies were landing on my arms
And I was a Mighty Director
Of my Dreamland  Dying
With every second
Not knowing
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetess Dreaming
 May 2015
Danzel
We are not ruins, mother, not yet –
Let us live, let us love,
Let us make history
Let us kiss ourselves into marble statues,
Kiss until we are mounted onto museum walls
And we will be a spectacle
Not the way you look at us, mother

Call us a tragedy
So we dance and make it a beautiful one
So we wake again when the earth is asleep
 May 2015
Paul Butters
Our scientists say that before The Big Bang
There was Nothing
And therefore
No God.

Through red-shifted space they “see”
Back to The Beginning.
Exploding Singularity.
A photon winks into existence
And BOOM.

Yes they are conceited enough to think
That all we see is all there is to know.
Like people pre-Pythagoras
Who thought the Earth was flat
They Lord it
With Confidence.

Yet Eternal Infinity
Beckons us on.

A light year is 5,878,499,810,000 miles.
An estimated 81,000 years Ion-Drive flight to the nearest star.
About 100 thousand million galaxies in the universe:
70 thousand million million million stars.
But we know it all.

Some say our universe is a bubble
Growing within another
Like a baby in a womb.

Some say it will grow forever,
Slowly petering out
‘Til all is cold.
Others that it will stop, shrink
Implode
Then be reborn
With another Big Bang.

Who knows what will happen?
Not me.

Paul Butters
On Existence.
Next page