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Timothy Brown Apr 2013
Usually people will say
happy birthday without
actually caring for the day
I am a lout


I had no idea the 26th was so important
Instead of perusing thoughts I laid dormant
Had I risen from fake wars in Afghanistan
I would have noticed it was the birthday of Lori Callahan!

I apologize for missing such a special date.
I hope it was one that no others can equate
For you deserve a day to yourself
and a special memory to put upon a shelf

Happy Birthday Lori! A friend so sweet.
Happy Birthday Lori! I hope someone massaged your feet.
Happy Birthday Lori! I hope you had a cake with candles.
Happy Birthday Lori! May this year be guided by angels.

Happy Birthday Lori Callahan!
I know this is late and I apologize profusely! This is a poem for you Lori!
© April 29th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Here's a thanks to my grade school teachers

thanking my first grade teacher
for getting me into writing

thanking my second grade teacher
for letting me write a longer book than anyone else
and teaching me it was alright to be different

thanking my third grade teacher
for being stern with me
and letting me know that not everyone is going speak to you with sugar coated words

thanking my fourth grade teacher
for showing me to share a little bit of yourself with everyone

thanking my fifth grade teachers
for helping me with the first year of middle school when no one else would

thanking my sixth grade teachers
for probably the greatest year of my life and teaching me life lessons I wouldn't have gotten until now

thanking my seventh grade teachers
for teaching me that being funny and creative is nothing to be afraid about and giving feels just as good as receiving

thanking my eighth grade teachers
for making me feel alright about the scary transition coming up and bonding with my classmates even more

thank you for helping me grow up
Just going down memory lane
Marian Jun 2013
Even though it isn't Mother's Day,
I hope this poem is perfect in everyway,
I always love you so;
As the days come then quickly go.
I wish I could do something grand for you,
To show you that my love for you is true,
And I am not ashamed to say;
Happy Belated Mother's Day!
Your delicious cooking fills the air,
Made by your gentle hands with love and care,
Those beautiful hands lovingly kneading bread;
Or pointing me to bed.
Or lovingly stroking those furry darlings,
But you are my brown-eyed starling,
Sweeter then them, lovelier than them all;
You succeed and do not fall!
Loving hands dancing across piano keys,
It's tinkling melody floating on the breeze,
Holding a journal on your lap;
Listening to the rain on the roof tap.
Pretty brown eyes and light brown hair,
A long face of gentle care,
O, mother dear you are better than them all;
You succeed and never fall!

Happy Belated Mother's Day, Mom!

*~Marian~
For you, brown-eyed starling!!! :) You're the best Mom EVER!!! :) <3 I LOVE you, Mom!! <3 :)
~<3
Earl Jane Jan 2016


Will introduce my letter with very nice verses from my favorite love passage in the bible..


1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (NIV) “4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, * it keeps no record of wrongs.* 6 *Love does not delight in evil but  rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes,  always perseveres.


Our love will prevail my king. We will be triumphant in all trials and tribulations for we hold on to each other and never let go. We ask God for guidance and for keeping this love forevermore. He blessed us with patience that no matter what we will always wait for each other alone. He blessed us with loyalty, a love so rare, a couple with loving , loyal heart. We do have troubles and worries for losing each other, but that just shows us how we really love each other. This is we, and we are not the same with others, we are  soulmates, WE ARE!!


*I really wanna say that I am really happy with you. Very much beyond happy!! We are already 5 months now, can't even believe it, before I only dreamed to have you and now we are 5 months already! What a veryyyy big blessing!!! Goodness I am really beyond blessed as you know lots of girls commenting on your poems saying I am so lucky, well the word they said are really wrong, totally wrong,, :D coz for me, there's nothing really like LUCk it's just similar with accidents, and there's no such thing as accidents for all things happen according to God's plan, for His perfect time to when things will happen, whether good or bad. As I truly believe we never met just because of accident. It's NEVER AN ACCIDENT! There's a purpose for it, veryyy big purpose, more than we ever imagined. And one of that purpose is to help each other in the best way. :)


I really do know and believe with my soul that you are the one I love. I don't doubt that I will always love you Brandon no matter what. I really do know that. Just the first time we chat here in hp, I already have a special feeling, it's like my soul rejoice, like a feeling of being lost then you've been found, like you've been picked out from hell to paradise, if that makes sense. I feel so comfortable with you, I found my happiness, my laughter, my clearer vision, my better me, my everything, my all. I found my home when I met you, my dear one home. And I dearly dwell in that home in your soul. I knew for a fact that though we just start chatting before, I already felt that total happiness and said to myself I could never lose you, like ever!!! Like though I dont know yet if you like me or not, but I already committed myself to you, did you understand my feeling?? Does that makes sense??? Indeed, when you're in love, words can never be enough to express your feelings. Like how i love you sooo much and words are just not enough to express it all,... all wonderful words being combined together can never be enough to express how amazing and how magnificent I felt when I have you,... ooohh kinnggg how happy I am !!!


I assure you my king, that I only love you! I assure you I am not leaving you, I assure you I am only overly attracted to you, oohhh goodness !!! I assure you I am only waiting for you, I assure you, you are my only love, and I know you are my soulmate, I knew you are the best for me, He preordained me and you!!!!


Really love you a lot,,, i will always remind you how I only love you alone!! I will daily show it to you my king.. I will... I want you to know that I am willing to carry your cross with you!! I won't let you carry your cross and see you suffering, I will carry it with you, to lighten your burden and if possible let me carry the burden alone to free you from all torment you are experiencing.


I knew I am helpless. I can never be there with you to help you in all ways, to take care of you, to be there by your side personally. I cannot do that for now. All I can just do is just stay silent, lock my fingers together and pray to God. That's all I can do.  For I knew though you don't know what I pray to God for you, but at least you feel it for God will be there for you always, and He carries my love with Him and let you feel it when you are down and depress. I know I am busy with school and with church, but I make time for you. For time is so hard to find, so hard to manage, we could not find time today these days, we have to MAKE TIME to do what we want. And I make time for you for my soul voluntarily do it. Love is voluntary, not force. And though lot of times I am so worn out from my life in school, church or in the house, I still try to be there for you, Skype you as much as I can. I cherish every single time I can talk to you, every single time I can skype you, every single time I can chat you. I praise God for that.


You are my greatest blessing. The greatest that I have ever received. I cherish you a lot. I keep you dearly in my heart and soul. I spread my wings and embrace you to keep you save from satan's darts. And when you're hit by him, I try hard to remove them all and make you happy again. I treasure your smiles and laughter. Your tears are beyond treasure to me, and when I see you cry for the heavy burden you are carrying, I bleed, I break. It hurts me seeing you like that. And in those times, I gather my strength, set aside my sadness and problems, and hold tight on to my positivity and talk to you. You are more important to me. I value you more than myself.


Just keep in mind, the word NO MATTER WHAT. For no matter what my king, I won't give up. No matter what, I will always try and try for you especially in showing my love for you daily,  no matter what I will always love you, no matter what, I WON'T LEAVE YOU. You are the only man I love, I assure you that. I never talk to anyone, and will never talk to anyone, You are my KING,why would I talk to anyone?!! That's stupidity !!! I already have you, the man of my dreams ( well in fact the man more than I have ever dreamed!!! ), the man who loves me a lot, the man who will patiently wait for me, the man who show me love daily, every single time, an angel, the man of God. And you are my soulmate.


I will meet you Brandon. I will. I keep God's promise daily and pray harder for you. Also I pray lots for this love to stay stronger daily. Every time I ponder about me and you, I am always amazed. I am really beyond blessed!! I can't thank God enough for you. You are all I ever needed and wanted, no other!!!  I always feel so blessed, I am always filled with elation. I am beyond happiest with you. I love you so much and will forever love you. Sooo soo much.!!!!!!!!!! My love is beyond words to say. I love you waayyyy too much,!!!!!!! Love you most!! <3 <3 *



with love <3


© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
For Brandon <3 <3
Marian Jun 2013
Happy Belated Birthday, my dear!
I hope it was happy and full of cheer,
God bless you, my friend;
And lots of happiness to you I do send.
I hope your birthday was happy,
With smiles and giggles sunny,
The best of wishes I wish for you;
For a friend loyal and true!

*~Marian~
Happy Belated Birthday, Somethingweknewwasours!!! :) I hope your day was bright and beautiful, my dear!! :) <3 God bless you!!! :) ~~<3
Ashwin Kumar May 23
Dear Sahana, belated birthday wishes
You are a very dear niece
Of you, am I greatly fond
We share a lovely little bond!

Dear Sahana, belated birthday wishes
With you, have I had fun always
Yes, sometimes can you be a tricky customer
But on the whole, you are such a dear!!

Dear Sahana, belated birthday wishes
I so love our games
Even if I end up losing all of them
Somehow, do you manage to make me beam!!

Dear Sahana, belated birthday wishes
Hope you had one of your best days
Your Dad is an amazing brother
And your Mom is a sweet sister!!

Dear Sahana, belated birthday wishes
Wish you loads of fun, love, happiness and peace
May all your deepest desires come true
And may the Lord bless you
So, hope to see you soon
And may you forever shine like the beautiful Moon!!
Dedicated to Sahana, the daughter of one of my dearest cousin brothers Gautham; for her birthday yesterday.
zebra Oct 2017
Here is a primer on the history of poetry

Features of Modernism

To varying extents, writing of the Modernist period exhibits these features:

1. experimentation

belief that previous writing was stereotyped and inadequate
ceaseless technical innovation, sometimes for its own sake
originality: deviation from the norm, or from usual reader expectations
ruthless rejection of the past, even iconoclasm

2. anti-realism

sacralisation of art, which must represent itself, not something beyond preference for allusion (often private) rather than description
world seen through the artist's inner feelings and mental states
themes and vantage points chosen to question the conventional view
use of myth and unconscious forces rather than motivations of conventional plot

3. individualism

promotion of the artist's viewpoint, at the expense of the communal
cultivation of an individual consciousness, which alone is the final arbiter
estrangement from religion, nature, science, economy or social mechanisms
maintenance of a wary intellectual independence
artists and not society should judge the arts: extreme self-consciousness
search for the primary image, devoid of comment: stream of consciousness
exclusiveness, an aristocracy of the avant-garde

4. intellectualism

writing more cerebral than emotional
work is tentative, analytical and fragmentary, more posing questions more than answering them
cool observation: viewpoints and characters detached and depersonalized
open-ended work, not finished, nor aiming at formal perfection
involuted: the subject is often act of writing itself and not the ostensible referent

............
Expressionism

Expressionism was a phase of twentieth-century writing that rejected naturalism and romanticism to express important inner truths. The style was generally declamatory or even apocalyptic, endeavoring to awaken the fears and aspirations that belong to all men, and which European civilization had rendered effete or inauthentic. The movement drew on Rimbaud and Nietzsche, and was best represented by German poetry of the 1910-20 period. Benn, Becher, Heym, Lasker-Schüler, Stadler, Stramm, Schnack and Werfel are its characteristic proponents, {1} though Trakl is the best known to English readers. {2} {3}

Like most movements, there was little of a manifesto, or consensus of beliefs and programmes. Many German poets were distrustful of contemporary society — particularly its commercial and capitalist attitudes — though others again saw technology as the escape from a perceived "crisis in the old order". Expressionism was very heterogeneous, touching base with Imagism, Vorticism, Futurism, Dadaism and early Surrealism, many of which crop up in English, French, Russian and Italian poetry of the period. Political attitudes tended to the revolutionary, and technique was overtly experimental. Nonetheless, for all the images of death and destruction, sometimes mixed with messianic utopianism, there was also a tone of resignation, a sadness of "the evening lands" as Spengler called them.

Expressionism also applies to painting, and here the characteristics are more illuminating. The label refers to painting that uses visual gestures to transmit emotions and emotionally charged messages. In the expressive work of Michelangelo and El Greco, for example, the content remains of first importance, but content is overshadowed by technique in such later artists as van Gogh, Ensor and Munch. By the mid twentieth-century even this attenuated content had been replaced by abstract painterly qualities — by the sheer scale and dimensions of the work, by colour and shape, by the verve of the brushwork and other effects.

Expressionism often coincided with rapid social change. Germany, after suffering the horrors of the First World War, and ineffectual governments afterwards, fragmented into violently opposed political movements, each with their antagonistic coteries and milieu. The painting of these groups was very variable, but often showed a mixture of aggression and naivety. Understandably unpopular with the establishment  — denounced as degenerate by the Nazis — the style also met with mixed reactions from the picture-buying public. It seemed to question what the middle classes stood for: convention, decency, professional expertise. A great sobbing child had been let loose in the artist's studio, and the results seemed elementally challenging. Perhaps German painting was returning to its Nordic roots, to small communities, apocalyptic visions, monotone starkness and anguished introspection.

What could poetry achieve in its turn? Could it use some equivalent to visual gestures, i.e. concentrate on aspects of the craft of poetry, and to the exclusion of content? Poetry can never be wholly abstract, a pure poetry bereft of content. But clearly there would be a rejection of naturalism. To represent anything faithfully requires considerable skill, and such skill was what the Expressionists were determined to avoid. That would call on traditions that were not Nordic, and that were not sufficiently opposed to bourgeois values for the writer's individuality to escape subversion. Raw power had to tap something deeper and more universal.

Hence the turn inward to private torments. Poets became the judges of poetry, since only they knew the value of originating emotions. Intensity was essential.  Artists had to believe passionately in their responses, and find ways of purifying and deepening those responses — through working practices, lifestyles, and philosophies. Freud was becoming popular, and his investigations into dreams, hallucinations and paranoia offered a rich field of exploration. Artists would have to glory in their isolation, moreover, and turn their anger and frustration at being overlooked into a belief in their own genius. Finally, there would be a need to pull down and start afresh, even though that contributed to a gradual breakdown in the social fabric and the apocalypse of the Second World War.

Expressionism is still with us. Commerce has invaded bohemia, and created an elaborate body of theory to justify, support and overtake what might otherwise appear infantile and irrational. And if traditional art cannot be pure emotional expression, then a new art would have to be forged. Such poetry would not be an intoxication of life (Nietzsche's phrase) and still less its sanctification.  Great strains on the creative process were inevitable, moreover, as they were in Georg Trakl's case, who committed suicide shortly after writing the haunting and beautiful piece given below

................
SYMBOLIST POETS
symbolism in poetry

Symbolism in literature was a complex movement that deliberately extended the evocative power of words to express the feelings, sensations and states of mind that lie beyond everyday awareness. The open-ended symbols created by Charles Baudelaire (1821-67) brought the invisible into being through the visible, and linked the invisible through other sensory perceptions, notably smell and sound. Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-98), the high priest of the French movement, theorized that symbols were of two types. One was created by the projection of inner feelings onto the world outside. The other existed as nascent words that slowly permeated the consciousness and expressed a state of mind initially unknown to their originator.

None of this came about without cultivation, and indeed dedication. Poets focused on the inner life. They explored strange cults and countries. They wrote in allusive, enigmatic, musical and ambiguous styles. Rimbaud deranged his senses and declared "Je est un autre". Von Hofmannstahl created his own language. Valéry retired from the world as a private secretary, before returning to a mastery of traditional French verse. Rilke renounced wife and human society to be attentive to the message when it came.

Not all were great theoreticians or technicians, but the two interests tended to go together, in Mallarmé most of all. He painstakingly developed his art of suggestion, what he called his "fictions". Rare words were introduced, syntactical intricacies, private associations and baffling images. Metonymy replaced metaphor as symbol, and was in turn replaced by single words which opened in imagination to multiple levels of signification. Time was suspended, and the usual supports of plot and narrative removed. Even the implied poet faded away, and there were then only objects, enigmatically introduced but somehow made right and necessary by verse skill. Music indeed was the condition to which poetry aspired, and Verlaine, Jimenez and Valéry were among many who concentrated efforts to that end.

So appeared a dichotomy between the inner and outer lives. In actuality, poets led humdrum existences, but what they described was rich and often illicit: the festering beauties of courtesans and dance-hall entertainers; far away countries and their native peoples; a world-weariness that came with drugs, isolation, alcohol and bought ***. Much was mixed up in this movement — decadence, aestheticism, romanticism, and the occult — but its isms had a rational purpose, which is still pertinent. In what way are these poets different from our own sixties generation? Or from the young today: clubbing, experimenting with relationships and drugs, backpacking to distant parts? And was the mixing of sensory perceptions so very novel or irrational? Synaesthesia was used by the Greek poets, and indeed has a properly documented basis in brain physiology.

What of the intellectual bases, which are not commonly presented as matters that should engage the contemporary mind, still less the writing poet? Symbolism was built on nebulous and somewhat dubious notions: it inspired beautiful and historically important work: it is now dead: that might be the blunt summary. But Symbolist poetry was not empty of content, indeed expressed matters of great interest to continental philosophers, then and now. The contents of consciousness were the concern of Edmund Husserl (1859-1938), and he developed a terminology later employed by Heidegger (1889-1976), the Existentialists and hermeneutics. Current theories on metaphor and brain functioning extend these concepts, and offer a rapprochement between impersonal science and irrational literary theory.

So why has the Symbolism legacy dwindled into its current narrow concepts? Denied influence in the everyday world, poets turned inward, to private thoughts, associations and the unconscious. Like good Marxist intellectuals they policed the area they arrogated to themselves, and sought to correct and purify the language that would evoke its powers. Syntax was rearranged by Mallarmé. Rhythm, rhyme and stanza patterning were loosened or rejected. Words were purged of past associations (Modernism), of non-visual associations (Imagism), of histories of usage (Futurism), of social restraint (Dadaism) and of practical purpose (Surrealism). By a sort of belated Romanticism, poetry was returned to the exploration of the inner lands of the irrational. Even Postmodernism, with its bric-a-brac of received media images and current vulgarisms, ensures that gaps are left for the emerging unconscious to engage our interest

......................

.
IMAGIST POETRY
imagist poetry

Even by twentieth-century standards, Imagism was soon over. In 1912 Ezra Pound published the Complete Poetical Works of its founder, T.E. Hulme (five short poems) and by 1917 the movement, then overseen by Amy Lowell, had run its course. {1} {2} {3} {4} {5} The output in all amounted to a few score poems, and none of these captured the public's heart. Why the importance?

First there are the personalities involved — notably Ezra Pound, James Joyce, William Carlos Williams {6} {7} {8} {9} — who became famous later. If ever the (continuing) importance to poets of networking, of being involved in movements from their inception, is attested, it is in these early days of post-Victorian revolt.

Then there are the manifestos of the movement, which became the cornerstones of Modernism, responsible for a much taught in universities until recently, and for the difficulties poets still find themselves in. The Imagists stressed clarity, exactness and concreteness of detail. Their aims, briefly set out, were that:

1. Content should be presented directly, through specific images where possible.
2. Every word should be functional, with nothing included that was not essential to the effect intended.
3. Rhythm should be composed by the musical phrase rather than the metronome.

Also understood — if not spelled out, or perhaps fully recognized at the time — was the hope that poems could intensify a sense of objective reality through the immediacy of images.

Imagism itself gave rise to fairly negligible lines like:

You crash over the trees,
You crack the live branch…  (Storm by H.D.)

Nonetheless, the reliance on images provided poets with these types of freedom:

1. Poems could dispense with classical rhetoric, emotion being generated much more directly through what Eliot called an objective correlate: "The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an 'objective correlative'; in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked." {10}

2. By being shorn of context or supporting argument, images could appear with fresh interest and power.

3. Thoughts could be treated as images, i.e. as non-discursive elements that added emotional colouring without issues of truth or relevance intruding too mu
...............
PROSE BASED POETRY
prose based poetry

When free verse lacks rhythmic patterning, appearing as a lineated prose stripped of unnecessary ornament and rhetoric, it becomes the staple of much contemporary work. The focus is on what the words are being used to say, and their authenticity. The language is not heightened, and the poem differs from prose only by being more self-aware, innovative and/or cogent in its exposition.

Nonetheless, what looks normal at first becomes challenging on closer reading — thwarting expectations, and turning back on itself to make us think more deeply about the seemingly innocuous words used. And from there we are compelled to look at the world with sharper eyes, unprotected by commonplace phrases or easy assumptions. Often an awkward and fighting poetry, therefore, not indulging in ceremony or outmoded traditions.
What is Prose?

If we say that contemporary free verse is often built from what was once regarded as mere prose, then we shall have to distinguish prose from poetry, which is not so easy now. Prose was once the lesser vehicle, the medium of everyday thought and conversation, what we used to express facts, opinions, humour, arguments, feelings and the like. And while the better writers developed individual styles, and styles varied according to their purpose and social occasion, prose of some sort could be written by anyone. Beauty was not a requirement, and prose articles could be rephrased without great loss in meaning or effectiveness.

Poetry, though, had grander aims. William Lyon Phelps on Thomas Hardy's work: {1}

"The greatest poetry always transports us, and although I read and reread the Wessex poet with never-lagging attention — I find even the drawings in "Wessex Poems" so fascinating that I wish he had illustrated all his books — I am always conscious of the time and the place. I never get the unmistakable spinal chill. He has too thorough a command of his thoughts; they never possess him, and they never soar away with him. Prose may be controlled, but poetry is a possession. Mr. Hardy is too keenly aware of what he is about. In spite of the fact that he has written verse all his life, he seldom writes unwrinkled song. He is, in the last analysis, a master of prose who has learned the technique of verse, and who now chooses to express his thoughts and his observations in rime and rhythm."

.............
OPEN FORMS IN POETRY
open forms in poetry

Poets who write in open forms usually insist on the form growing out of the writing process, i.e. the poems follow what the words and phrase suggest during the composition
Allen Smuckler Nov 2010
Anatomically sound, befitting a king
swaying alertly in the waves, I sing.
Hearts, at sea, floundering and pounding
against the cavity of my chest, astounding.

V-Day arriving, and leaving without me
swimming with shellfish and sharks at sea.
Satisfying love’s unique quality,
and breathlessly waiting for me to be we.

Tortuously lying in the keel’s utter mist
waves exploding above, below and amidst.
contemplating all that I ever wished,
remembering when, at first we last kissed.

V-Day, a special enchanting display,
lovingly speeding, though slightly astray.
Wishing you love in a happiness way,
throughout a belated Valentine’s Day.
February 15, 2009
Jesse stillwater Sep 2018
The belated summer sky is alive
with a  D r a g o n f l y ballet

Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal

A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering  airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath

Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
    just this side the  
softening sunset backdrop

A synthesis of fluid motion
  – darting kinesis –
    swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
   another summer's
 imminent curtain call;

reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
  of passing  seasons

Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
   coming to know
    we cannot stop
   how life unfolds

The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...

  — hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch

          and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
     in the treetops


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018                                                 .
Notes: Dragonflies can fly at 100 body-lengths per second, and three lengths per second backwards.[20] Wiki   Fossils of very large dragonfly ancestors in the Protodonata are found from 325 million years ago (Mya) in Upper Carboniferous rocks; these had wingspans up to about 750 mm (30 in). There are about 3000 extant species.

Unholdable moments touched out here adrift —

Thanks for reading !
Em MacKenzie Jul 2018
Happy belated birthday Mom,
I'm sorry it's two days late,
but I've been a bad daughter
and an even worse person.
You always told me not to go to your grave or put flowers on your headstone;
"I won't be under that ground," you'd say,
"and don't waste your money on flowers, I'll have no use for them where I'm going."
I still visit sometimes, and I do still bring flowers, but not nearly enough.
I know if I had been the one buried, you'd wear the grass down with your feet and then have the courtesy to plant some seeds.

Almost eight years later I still think about you everyday
and not a minute goes by where I don't miss you terribly.
What a cruel thing it is, to live a life where you're always missing someone.
To have so many things to say and receive no reply.

You would've been fifty seven this year.
I wonder how you would look as you got older, and sometimes, rarely, I forget what you looked and sounded like when you were here.
That's probably the worst part of it.

The first time I visited your grave was about a month or so after you had been buried,
the graveyard drowning in so much snow I actually visited the wrong headstone.
I'm sure Mr.Brown enjoyed the talk, though.
It was only after digging my bare hands through ten inches of snow and ice that I realized I was four spots down.
I then recognized your grave from the moonlight reflecting off the glass vases of yellow roses we had placed there during your funeral,
wedged in place with the snow hugging them tightly;
the roses frozen in time,
it was both beautiful and aggravating.
Good things funerals cost so much,
they should be able to have someone clean up the plot after the service.
I threw the roses out and gently tried to remove the vases:
the one with "wife" shattered in my hands and my frostbitten fingers picked each shard out from the snow.
I still carry a scar from that vase.
The one with "mother" on it remained in tact, I was just as gentle with it but it did not shatter.
You told me near the end that nothing in this world, nothing was powerful enough to ever have you taken away from me.
That vase sits on my dining room table to this day, nursing a reluctantly dying plant just as you'd want.
I don't think I'll ever have the green thumb like you did.

But I have everything else from you,
you always told me Kate was raised by your sister and that she was too much when you were so young,
"But you, Emily, you're MY daughter."
You said I was a godsend of a baby, never crying, content just to sleep,
and that I carried an old soul.
You laughed at how I always excelled at being alone as a child,
and you were so intrigued by my sense of imagination and creativity.
You always said you were the same when you were a kid.

So tell me, now that I'm older and I feel so alone all the time,
am I still you?
Were you this isolated and alien at my age now?
Did you carry the empathy to cry at little things you saw on the street or in a commercial,
so much so that you believe this world to be lost?
That you saw life as one big slap in the face?

I still try my best everyday to make you proud,
It breaks my heart constantly to think I didn't when you were here.
But life is cruel like that, and I was young and stupid and arrogant.
I know if you see my daily life,
you know I'm not 100% better,
and I know I probably never will be.
But I work hard, and I always say my "please" and "thank you"'s,
and I live by your example of always trying to help anyone in need.
It might not make up for the demons that I struggle with,
but atleast I still fight them, right?
I lost some years there where I should've died, and sometimes I wish I had,
but I didn't. I'm still here. I'm still trying.
And to be honest, it's not for me, or for my family, for love or sunsets, or dogs or any of the things that bring me up to a solid "content."

It's for you, because you taught me that's what you do in life.
You fight. You fight until your last breath.

I've thought this a million times in my head, but I'll say it now,
you were always right about everything.
As teenage girls, we challenge our mothers at every turn and decision,
convinced we are mature and capable of making decisions,
and then we say hurtful things when we don't get our way.
So you deserve to hear it, you were always right.

I wish I could tell you face to face.
I would tell you how much I miss you, more than either of us could've ever predicted.
I would tell you how blessed I feel to have had such an amazing mother.
I would apologize for judging you for the drinking,
I would tell you it took me forever to realize, but eventually I accepted my mother was human just like everyone else,
and just like everyone else, myself included, you made mistakes.
Above all else, I would tell you that I love you more than you'll ever know.

I'll be turning twenty-nine next month,
which means I have one year left of smoking.
I didn't forget my promise to you, I'll quit on my thirtieth birthday.
I'll continue looking out for my sister to the best of my abilities,
even though she can be impulsive and brash on occasion.
I'll continue to show empathy and kindness to as many people as possible, just like you would've wanted.
And finally, one day I hope to keep the promise I made to you so many years ago:
I promise to try and be happy.
Extremely personal write, but needed to get it out. If you're lucky enough to still have a mother, tell her you love her today and thank her for existing.
Allen Smuckler Feb 2011
Anatomically sound, befitting a king

swaying alertly in the waves, I sing.

Hearts, at sea, floundering and pounding

against the cavity of my chest, astounding.



V-Day arriving, and leaving without me

swimming with shellfish and sharks at sea.

Satisfying love’s unique quality,

and breathlessly waiting for me to be we.



Tortuously lying in the keel’s utter mist

waves exploding above, below and amidst.

contemplating all that I ever wished,

remembering when, at first we last kissed.



V-Day, a special enchanting display,

lovingly speeding, though slightly astray.

Wishing you love in a happiness way,

throughout a belated Valentine’s Day.
February 15, 2009
Raghu Menon Apr 2017
Belated Birthday
Dear Internet
April 7th?

It is also
the World Health Awareness Day,
with a focus on depression
So is there a connection ?

No, cant say...


You bring
knowledge
information
happiness
anything and everything
even though sometimes it is stupid

You also
sometimes unintentionally
make people addicted and lazy
But that is no excuse
to find fault with you..

You create virtual worlds
many worlds to say
virtual friends - or are they friends?
vitual entertainment ???

You are going to stay
to evolve
to grow
and to spoil many more lives
or help many to achieve what they want..

as is said,
You are just a tool
it is up to the world
how to use it..

Happy birthday to you...
Jack Aug 2014
~

A belated Happy Birthday wish
to someone far away
I hope you smiled every chance
on that, your special day

I know these words are overdue
the poem kind of late
But just know this my wondrous friend
we still can celebrate

— The End —