Eric W

Aug 2018

Ishika

Teach your child
to plant a tree
than pluck one
that was never
her own entity
but its own

Teach your child
to make a painting
of a flower
as a gift
than give a bouquet
that will die soon
or instead
teach her to
give a sapling
that will grow
into a memory
which will hold
much power

Teach your child
to question
than cower
to vain rules
and illogic
that steal her
playful affection
and her artless frolic

Teach your child
to climb trees
before the
ladders to
supreme echelon

Teach her
that when she collapses
she must stand up
with grace and poise
like the shining sun
for after
the night
is done
laying its darkness
it rises again
the sun

Teach your child
the colors of mankind
Yellow or Orange
Red or Brown
Black or White
to accept each one
everyone
without the division
of vanity
of power
or a crown

Teach your child
to create
her own meaning
of Love

Teach her to
listen to the story
of every tear
that bears grief
and to
speak aloud
to bespeak
wisdom and virtue
in brief

Teach your child
about the freedom
in and of the mind
before she rebels
to venture outside
with people
who care less
about her kind
but more about
filling the space
on a car seat

Teach your child
to believe
in possibilities
and have faith
in the certainties
of unlocking mysteries

Teach her
to fuel
her curiosities

Teach your child
values that were not
taught to
the crowd
then you will
stand a mother
full and proud.

#childhood #parenting #lessons #life #earlylife #initiation #emotions #knowledge

Aug 2018

Valsa George

In the Company of my Muse

On a walk companioned by my Muse along the sylvan meadows
We wandered away to delightful realms in unclouded ambience
Don’t know how long I rambled warming my fancies in sunset fires
Must be for long, all lights were out, the quiet hamlet lay bathed in sleep

Above me, stood the starry firmament and the half hidden moon
Could see the vast plains stretching before me in moonlight, bare
My heart was flooded with joy, my fancies took to wings
Got drowned in Nature’s serene calm, my spirit lost in drunken ecstasy

In the gentle blowing breeze, the leaves twittered and murmured
All else was quiet and nothing disturbed the serenity of the night
But soon I knew the East wind strengthening around into a gale
And across the moon I could see stragglers of clouds moving past

I sat on a rock, lost, so lost staring into the clear night sky
Wondering how the celestial joy, made manifest by the twinkling stars
My thoughts began floating like a ship over the briny waters
And my temporal settings faded away like a cloud in the horizon

From the nearby woods, I heard the song of a lone night bird
In rising cadence, alone and aloud it fell on my rapturous ears
Was it a nightingale that poured forth that dewy delight?
Was it the same song, Keats heard long ago cascading from the woods?

With my Muse in this unearthly hour let me sit awhile in this solitary bower
To my paper, let my fancies in unbroken crystal streams flow
Wonder if I can rightly recreate the image that my thoughts enfold
How I wish, I could like Coleridge, build a pleasure dome in mid air!

Aug 2018

Gabriel Bonney

t h e poet

I wish my hands would open like floodgates,
and pour fourth my heart held inside,
my fingers the hinges,
the pencil my flood
I want my words to beat loud like a boombox,
held high to give an introspective
thump to the pumps of
your heart

This leads me to ask myself,
What is the point of t h e poet?
What is its purpose?
Why is it that I want to convey
my heart through words?
Why do I feel it would help
to translate my soul
through poetry
when my only audience
can't even see my eyes?
What's the point?
Is it only for my own benefit,
A way for me to express myself,
To open up
To people whose eyes I can't see?
Or is a way for me to reach them,
The ones in which our eyes will never meet?
Maybe I'm thinking way to deeply
Perhaps I've had too much coffee
So tell me, poets, if I'm crazy
Of if you're just like me

the | English | 5. used to mark a noun as being used generically

#poetry #poet #purpose #crazy #unity

Eric W Aug 2018

Notebooks

One day, when I am very old, I hope to hand off my many poetry-filled notebooks to my grandchildren in hopes they are able to read and see and understand that, though life’s suffering often comes from within and at other times tragedy is to blame, there are enough good moments, blessings, and miracles between it all to live a full and long and good life.

Almost finished with another notebook

Aug 2018

The Noose

Grief

Blooms to break
Like wildflowers
Corroding spine, brittle
Wrapped in debris
Clouds dissipating
between fervent hands
Precious transiency
Soil in my fingers, still
This unforgiving flood
Drowning me at sea.

Eric W Aug 2018

Searching

I’m in search of a come-home-to type love,
a partnership of life,
a hopes and dreams type love,
a forgiving and honest love.
One that bends and shapes itself
for the times.
One that laughs and cries
and worries and doubts
but does not waver,
a committed, steadfast,
and dedicated love.
One that builds a home
and encourages in times of apprehension,
supports in times of strength,
and comforts in times of hardship.
The love I search for is neither static
nor simple,
but instead is dynamic
and fluid,
a real, true,
and honest
type love.