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Indecision is the key

to destroy adversity.



And ignorance is justified

when fallen kings see eye to eye.



For I've not seen a greater sin

than being told you cannot win.



Oh, how's there more an awful act

than stabbing yourself in the back?



Take heed that freedom won't be known

'til fear of fear is overthrown.



And then your eyes will truly see

that nothing's better than being free.
Come with me
and you will see
when we are up Up UP a tree!
The branches strong,
so come along!
Up UP UP a tree!
We climb so high,
We touched the sky.
So lovely up Up UP a tree.
The wind will say
its time to sway
So far up Up UP A tree.
Then men below
Move to and fro
While we are up Up UP a tree.
They look so sad,
but they'd be so glad
when they're up Up UP a tree.
So if your blue,
Here's what to do.
Go outside
in joyful stride
and climb up Up UP a tree.
.32 resounding
on consecrated ground
where the bison roamed
disquiet memories transmorgify,
down on his knee's
the dusky truck he drove
is in desolation mode
define reality?
@X5 BMW vehicles are truculent
Where have the real blondes gone to?
Bring back Orion Pictures
to remake Doom Watch,
resurrect Analogue tv,
ban militant cyclists from the roads
and yes the Chartists were right annual suffrage too.
 Dec 2012 Meenakshi Iyer
Tom Orr
Mosséd trees stand in respect,
a moment of silence.
Still breathing
but stillness dwells.
In amongst the green
a catharsis of orangey-red shades.
The Japanese maple poised,
chest puffed,
arms elegant.
Sight unstirred.
squirming
in
his
seat,
searching
within
his
shirt
he
magically
pulls
out
a
butterfly!

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   21.12.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
true story
Maudlin       mOOn,
    sitting                      all alone,
                                                          in a brooding
                                                           ailien  sky
                                                    ­                   lost
                                                            ­                in  the thoughts  of,
                                                   ­                        t                              
                                 ­                   s                                  a          ­              
                                                  ­                                                r      
         ­                                                                 ­                                  s,





                       ­                             starless sky makes her feel let down,
                                                     not even a piece of white cotton cloud,
                                                    she can't  even wipe the drops of tear
                                                            ­                                                t
               ­                                                                 ­                             h
                                                                ­                                               a
                                                                ­                                             t
                                                               ­                                           
                     ­                                                                 ­                         f
                                                               ­                                                   a
            ­                                                                 ­                                           l
                    ­                                                                 ­                                       l
                        ­                                                                 ­                                 
                                                                ­                                                        
        ­                                                                 ­                                                a    
                                                           ­                                                                 ­    s

  
                                                                ­                                                         d
                                                               ­                                                             e
  ­                                                                 ­                                                               w
­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­   d
                                                               ­                                                                 ­        r
                                                       ­                                                                 ­                 o
                                                               ­                                                                 ­           p
                                                               ­                                                                 ­           s
                                                              
                                             Over hills, dales, woods and grasslands, incessantly throughout the night.
"A poem is never finished, it is abandoned" said Paul Valery
  this one, from it's look is closest to his idea, I suppose.
This late hour, when
I empty myself of all experience,
you shine alone
like a pillar at the center of my being.
You arrive like a shadow at night:
silent spring of love, you flood my being like
moonlight flooding the room in darkness;
Silent snow of the drowsy noon,
you cover all my wayward tracks
and I see only your benevolent
steps guiding me on
from the door of my solitary home.
You are the lighthouse to my soul
lost at the high seas of life;
I live by your banks and draw pitcher-fulls,
Señora, you animate every love
that nourishes me.
To the immortal love that nourishes us.
Me
I know how I see myself
but
I can't stop myself from wondering

who am I in the eyes of everyone else?

when someone asks me a question
during a discussion in CWP
and everyone hears me
as i stumble over my words
in the center of that quiet room,
trying to answer the simple question-
"how does that makes you feel?"
and i wonder,
how does my stumbling and stuttering
make them feel,
about me?
does it change anything?

Or when i go to bed
thinking about
the conversations i've had during the day
and wondering how those friends see me.

I've never asked,
never had the guts.

My self esteem has always been low
I've always hated myself,
Sometimes i just hope
the smiles are true,
the friendships, true.

I've never asked

Who am I?




©Brandon Webb
2012
It's rough, but i had to get that off my chest. It doesn't even express half of what it's supposed to, definitely gonna have to edit or re-write this.
is it you who sent your caress
through this wind-
was it your loneliness
that made me shiver
and reach out in despair?

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
  18.12.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
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