Mary Pear: Favorites

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

phil roberts

Beyond the rolling bones
Of memory's myths
And the ancient sounds of laughter and tears
Something mystical exists
Something deeper than marrow
The seeds of our ancestor's dreams and fears
And at a level beyond our knowing
It still rules our actions
And leads us to our fates

By Phil Roberts

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Galileo

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Mike Adam

Galileo

From your end of
Telescope

Thirty years scans
Infinity

From my end merest
Blink of eye.

When slightest wink
Of billion mile
Star

Outlasts every planet
In the sky

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Nostalgic Unity

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

J Robert Fallon III

Nostalgic Unity

I feel decompressed and lethargic,
as I continue scrolling through my online soul only to see a kind-hearted person now nostalgic.

Why can't we all feel the same?

Why does the world seem to be aflame?

It's because we all try to accomplish being perfect,
and when we spot "convicts" we don't even detect we inflict neglect.

The thought of unity is fading away as is the hippie way,
a late anniversary bouquet whittling away,
a smoking cigarette left around the ashtray, dying this midsummers day.

Why is this thought so crazy anyway?

The change starts internally,
and can only be finished by an honest community,
one where we can all live with our acquired mental immunity.

Finally, peace sets within our unity.

#love #poet #peace #life #living #pain #cry #mental #honest #unity

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Miscalculation

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Doug Potter

Miscalculation

Beth figured she’d marry a man with a full tool box
capable of building a house anvil strong,

a man who’d plug her good and help raise
children with squares jaws,

he’d praise her Christmas fruitcake,
provide every American good thing;

she added
wrong.

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Nectar of Night

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Nectar of Night

Heavy chested I breathe
as the moon whitewashes the night.

The season is changing
and in the wind is the vapor of hyacinth
in the thick of which
the glowworms drink the nectar of night.

They have no philosophy and I have many
like while they dance just for the sake of life
my mind enveloped in obscurity
has shackled my feet and clipped my wings.

I wonder if the glowworms have a mind
that knows when they dance
they have an audience.

Maybe the stars know the same way
when they twinkle.

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Untimely

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Untimely

He hasn't buried the baby within
but today he buried the ashes of his baby
crying like a baby
as the river devoured the bone dusts
and all the remnants
of the cuddles and kisses
hollowing him to remember
the guest of his blood
that would feed on his grief
for the rest of his life.

August afternoon, a father cremates his baby child on a ghat by the river Ganga.

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

When we were eighteen

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Pradip Chattopadhyay

When we were eighteen

When we were eighteen
sang the three women in chorus
and the bus burst into Spring.

When we were eighteen
they giggled and sang

the bus was a garden
the seats swings in the wind
the passengers angels and fairies

When we were eighteen
sang the three women
men beamed and the women blushed
as they broke into chorus
when we were eighteen

the ride was free
and they all stood up
their bones bellowing the chorus
their skin shining in the Spring

the child grew into eighteen
the old descended into that golden year
never knowing when their stoppage came
when one after the other they got down
and again it was a bus on the road
but with the whiff of Spring
eternal in the crimson blush
of the sun setting and rising
its engine and axle and tyres whirring in chorus
when we were eighteen

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Evening Light

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Evening Light

when i last met her
her ******* were bursting with seeds
her thighs plump as stems of plantain
and when in the December sun
she dried her hair behind the acacia
i dreamed of lying with her on the grass
drunk in the moaning song from her navel
till the evening drove us cold and old
and darkness stole her flesh from my eyes
and it's almost December again
as she walks with my hands in her
along the field after crop
just tugging my hand once to stop
delicately drawing from her breast
an Agfa snap of two unreal people
in the most unlikely place
looking awestruck into the lens
passing into the evening light
before leaving me halfway
of her cottage and a home.

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

The Performer

Dec 2016 Mary Pear

Pradip Chattopadhyay

The Performer

He was engrossed in his performance
in the enthralled silence of the audience
catching the subtlest notes from the instrument
as his supple fingers played with the strings
erupting into the finest blend of ragas
freeing the souls of all the stress
converging his heart into his music
eyes closed as in a transcendental state.

But I could not concentrate.

The face behind the beard and the unkempt hair
was familiar.

From a long distant day
I remember those fingers performed in a different way.

The afternoon I came back from school
and mom told me her monies were missing
and he was the only visitor to her room
waiting in the pretext of meeting me
but after a while leaving hurriedly.

He confessed and the money was recovered
but never again the breached trust.

The audience rose in ovation fingers clapping
my own frigid in remembrance
of another performance.