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They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
    Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
    We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
    Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
    Within a dream.


[The title translates, from the Latin, as
'The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long'
and is from a work by Horace]
 Aug 2013 Passion fire hope
Mia
He is frozen in time,
At a place where everything moves slowly,
Snow flakes falling round his heart.
He doesn't move to stop the pattern,
Stuck between past and future
There is a place where it all makes sense,
Somewhere he lost himself.
He borrowed my heart years ago then left, and then he came back and am not sure he will ever return it
Amassed an inventory of words, marvelous and concordant, reserved for the late at night, tremulous and tremor shaking, purposed to soothe with honey, milk and cookies, and coax them, the odd ones out,  to emerge slowly, oh so slowly, with a magnetic resonance, yank them from their granite tombs, and employ the force of Od to convert them over to their own side, and will not pause, be placated until they are my spring waters, my co-religionists, in grace and kindness, and I will levitate them above us, espousing our collectivity, each a designer, an artist of our gemeinschaft, free to come, free to stay, free to endeavor to clarify and excavate the roots so deep of the thin reeds of their solitary society, to stand up and count yourself linked but incapable of breaking the chain (see my photo) and even though there is nothing new under the sun, let us all remind them, a Seussian refrain, the sun nonetheless will come and clang, invitation engraved, naming you with calligraphic flourishes, a fine poem planted firm in our rooted hands saying:
                                  Welcome child
                                  >~~~~~~~~~<

*God Blesss the Child Whose Got His Own

Billie Holiday / Arthur Herzog Jr.

Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own

Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own

Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're gone, spending ends
They don't come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But don't take too much
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own

Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
He just worry 'bout nothin'
Cause he's got his own
Od - a hypothetical force formerly held to pervade all nature and to manifest itself in magnetism, mesmerism, chemical action, etc.


Answer me
Why are the children
if not hurting themselves,
so busy hurting others?

I know hurt in ways you cannot fathom,
And I rise up daily with a but a single quest:
Banish the hurt, expel the hurters,
And practice the one true faith:
Kindness and Grace.


Sometimes the madness I read, too much, too much,
And I walk away and store my poems in another place.

But I am reminded,
There is no such thing as too kind,
So I wander back,
Chagrined and Chastened,
Hoping one among you
Will help to raise up
Me.
● Your moon who'll shine
On the darkest hour of night
Brightening up your path
When anyone else can't.

● Your long eyelashes
On the golden orbs of yours
Covering the eyelids then
When it is a dusty noon..

● Your gorgeous red lips
On the cute babyface of yours
Transforming the shiny smile
As a pout whenever we kiss...

● Your slender smooth waist
On the toned body of yours
Wriggling with full grace
As my hand kisses it....

● Your pain-bearing friend
On those days of pain
Sharing tell-tale signs
When the pain ramps up.....

● Your gut-wrenching partner
On the sleepless moonlit nights
Writing our epic in love-ink
When the nights get naughty......

● Your dream-man poster-boy
On the crevices of your mind
Posing for you in all those poses
As you often fantasize about me.......

● Your courageous support
On courage-demanding days
Facing all these obstacles in life
As we go on the road to nirvana........

● Your skill of creativity
On the pages of our epic
Rhyming along together
When you start thinking.........

● Your permanent companion
On the beautiful road of our lives
Living with you at the same place
When you bring the good news..........
My HP Poem #403
©Atul Kaushal
Home on a Friday night reading a book
Ideas to write add light to my night
Being straight edge no crowd to call my own
Im not into drinking or smoking trying to better myself always
Id rather be constructive instead of self destructive
Bust my *** for **** pay hoping to move up at work
I'll never kiss *** but hope my efforts never go unnoticed
The changes I've made are for the better can't stay down forever
Doesn't happen right away working hard for that day to come
 Aug 2013 Passion fire hope
Sir B
It does. It does. It does.
You can't help it
You can only prolong it
I don't know why you would

WHY! Does it have to come to an end!
A pet fish which was supposed to be a present, died right before I could give her the gift.. I guess I am traumatized after the death of something so close to me..
I never saw you today
in the playground
through the playground fence
you said as you boarded

the school bus
I was at the other end
Jane said with other girls
playing skip rope

o I wondered
where you were
you said
she sat

by the window
and you sat
next to her
well they asked me

to play and I didn't
want to say no
she said
who were you with?

West mostly
he came back  
from lunch early
and we played cards

by the metalwork rooms
not betting were you?
she asked
no

you said
if we had been
I'd have lost
as it was

I only lost cards
not money
o I see
she said

there was a fine quality
to her voice
and her words
were like a kind of music

you noticed her hands
in her lap
one laying on top
of the other

the fingernails
cut neat and pink
you wanted to hold them
but didn't want

the other kids
in the bus
to see
so you just looked

at the hands and fingers
as she talked
of some butterfly
she'd seen

in her garden
and her father
had told her
what it was

and how beautiful
it was
the colours
and the way it flew

and how it was all
a part of God's plan
and creation
but you were only

half listening
you noticed
gazing at her profile
how fine her lips were

when she spoke
how they moved
how her tongue
moved like some dancer

how her eyes
opened wide
at certain words
as if some inner explosion

had brought them to life
and they blazed
like a new world
being born

and you lost
the meaning
of her words
they were as music playing

in another sphere
you sitting there
gazing like a soul
lost at sea

at a far off ship
going a different way
and any S.O.S
you may send

was lost
in the air of the day.
There's a pattern
With every letter comes a beat
With every sentence
It's like cardiac arrest

It goes to my stomach
My head
Drown it in alcohol
I don't know what will happen next

I'm ready but I'm not
Can I trust you
You know my darkest secrets
Some I which you shared, others forever untold

I don't know what to do
For the first time
Both my brain and my heart
Are clueless
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