Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Prime Rhyme Time Jun 2020
Pyaar to kai trha k hote h
Mgr na jaane hmara ye ksa pyaar h
Pyaar k to kai naamo ko ME btadu
Magar smjh NH aata ki hmare is pyaar ko ME kya naam du
Jo kbhi hsata h  to kbhi rulata h
Kabhi naraj krta h to kbhi mnata h
Or jb shk krta h to uske agle hi Pal khud se jyada ykin krne lgta h
Agr khuda b aa kr hmare is pyaar ko byaan krne ki koshish kre  to shyd vo b nakamyab **
Kuki hmara pyaar vo nhi jo lfzo ME byaan **
Pta h mera dil bht ziddi h..  Hmesha ek hi zid krta h
Khta h ki vo tumse milna chahta h.
Tumhare kareeb hone ka ahsas mhsus krna chahta h
tumhari baaho ME jo sukoon milta h vo sukoon mhsus krna chahta h
Tmhari aakho ME aakhe daal k tumse bt krna chahta h
Tumhara haath thamna chahta h
Lekin me usko daat k chup kra deti hn
Mgr kya kru yr apne aasu rok NH paati hn
** ske to Mj cchor k kbhi mt jana
Kuki agr tum mj cchor k chle gye to me apni rooh ko NH smjha paungi ki ab b  **** ME ruk jana
Agr Tmko mjse door jaana b pde to khud ko kbhi akela mt smjhna
Me US lmha tmhare aas paas hi hongi mj mhsus kr k dkhna
Hr Pal dr lgta h tmhe kho dene se
Mgr phr khudko smjhati hn ki is janam nhi to kya hua, agle janam kon rok skta h tmhe mera ** dene Se
Me nh janti ki hmara saath kb tk h
Mgr itna jaanti hn ki hmari rooh ek tb tk h suraj chand jb tk h..
L B  Mar 2017
"Hey Kid!"
L B Mar 2017
This is a three-part, longer narrative poem, seen
as old photographs that follow the main character, My Aunt, Lillian Goldrick, across two decades.  It was written 30 years ago*
______

“Hey Kid!”     Part I

Photographs aren’t fair
stopping the soul where it’s not
in rectangular guffaws
surrounded by serrated edges, pickets, teeth?
to fence and stab in yellow, soft-covered booklets
with designated floppy phrase
“Your memories”

Happier than she could ever be...

A black and white day at Salisbury Beach, NH
hung over his hammock
Private pin-up girl
tilts her head against silver sheen of shoulder
Hair, dark chignon
except for a few wispy curls about her face
freed by wind
bleached by sun

Stopped

...for three decades
Legs slightly bent—long extended
that could stop trains, stop traffic

Stopped

Modest bathing suit, probably peach
cannot hide (not that she would)
the undeniable
And if there were question left
you could look at her smile—and love her
posed by he message scrawled in sand:

“Hey Kid!”

What kid? Where?
In the foreground?
In the camera’s eye?

In the background—
a Ferris wheel, a billboard
and  r-i-g-h-t  there—Can’t you see it?
Look again—behind her eyes
You can barely see it, but it’s there.
Remember?

The Depression
Only ten years before
It was April
Stroke, heart attack
Both of them gone, a year apart!
The priest came
Last Rites for mortally stricken
Candles, crucifix, the Catholic containment
of holy water that dams the tears

Kneeling around the bed
they said the Rosary

——————————

After VJ Day he came
to the house on the corner
of Commonwealth Ave.
She knew he was coming
but she could not be ready today
nor tomorrow
nor next week—or ever...

“Lill! Will ya come to the door?
She’ll be ready in a minute.
Hey Lill! Hurry up, will ya!
They’re waitin’ fer us!”

Upstairs in the dark hallway
her door clicks shut....
________


"Hey Kid"    Part II


The clock at Joe Rianni’s read 20 minutes to 12...

Crowd from the Phillip’s Theater—gone
though laughter lingers
in a Friday mood
in high-backed booths
where only an hour ago swinging free
were high-heeled shoes
legs crossed at knees....

Now on tables abandoned
deserted fields of French
fries lie cold in salt flurries

Only female straws wear lipstick
as do Luckys bent in ashtrays
Males, uniformly flattened
as powder burned, as mortar might
shells, casings—the evidence of war
Among explosions of tickled giggles
one was taken broadside...

listing     toward      stars
_______

...The clock read 20 minutes to 12

when she walked in--
And Rhea stopped swabbing black mica counters
long enough to absorb late-customer hate
and envy that such beauty can arouse
In voice hoarse and weighted like a trucker’s

“Whadaya have, Lill?”

“coffee”

The small answer settled at the soda fountain
and slowly struck a match...
She was falling from the slant
of her black felt hat
dripping off the point of pheasant feather
Gray gabardine suit
tailored from angle of shoulder
to dart diagonally
toward such a waist!
Turned to skirt hips
that arched and dove toward slit—
then seams that run the round of calf

that seem to flow
to ankles of naught—
...and all that seems

Black     high-heeled     above it

Coffee— cold, stale
Gray glassed-in stare
searches air and random walls
of coat hooks, menus, mirrors...
while lips ****** exiled words— replies

Dragging a demon from her Camel
slowly     purposefully
she exhaled a burly arm of smoke
that rose and laid its hand
against the ceiled atmosphere of embossed tin
Then leaning over her shoulder
in roiling emission of shrugs and sneers—

“Lill—There’s no way outa here!”
________


“Hey Kid!”    Part III

After kneeling backwards on their chairs
after nuns, catechism recited
After—
Five of them scuffed through leaves and litter
along the curbing
spotting cars that counted—
Bugs, beach wagons, flying bathtubs
A slower way home of hunting
shiny chestnuts and muddy finds
rare match book covers
and bottle caps that win ya things!

One breaks from bunch
and trials off to where
dimes turn to candies!
...at a dingy luncheonette...Joe Rianni’s
____

Here—behind smeary wall of glass
pleasure leers while holding back
those grimy fingers, lips that long
for jelly fish, gum drops, lollies
holding back the company
of Baby Ruth, and Mary Jane
O Henry or Bazooka Joe!
For less money but the same salivation
there were colored dots to chew and ****
from strips of paper that last forever!
For a little more, plus the sweet struggle
of desire denied
a kid could be proud owner
of a pea shooter or trading cards!
While in the mouth
were golden imaginings—
the chocolate foil of coins
and the candied pretense of cigarette adulthood
_____

Rhea didn’t see her in the line...

Only grownups with wallets and purses
Only grownups get waited on...
...because Rhea was a Gypsy!
Kids could tell!
by her big red lips and hair to match
by the nasty way she chased them out—
“****** kids!”
Only grownups get waited on....
_______

And the clock read 20 minutes to 12

While a child waits—
time stirs in a ceiling fan
   There’s a drift in attention
      along deepening endless walls
         toward a line of sleepy booths
              carved with

“I was here—in such and such a year”

Her aunt—at the last stool—like always
Their names too close
Confused too often

A little girl wonders
about the sight behind the sightless stare
loafers, ankle socks, the ‘40s hair
the gathered skirt that gathers ashes
as they fall from cigarette
held in yellowed fingertips
Tremors crimp the smoke that climbs—

              ...a strobing pillar

“Whataya want, girly?”

              ...the only movement

“Hey! What’s it gonna be!”

              ...in a shot—

“HEY KID!”

              Snapped
There are photos that go with this. I'll try to post them together on Facebook.
yasmine  Mar 2015
nh
yasmine Mar 2015
nh
im empty
**but i feel so good
Heard the rustling of track pants,
It brings out agility I did not know.
Just to avoid the annoying rants,
I quickly shut and bolt the door.

The whining of my name begins,
And my hands itch to slap,
His face or break his shins,
But I pretend to take a nap.

He keeps banging at my door,
No choice but to let him in.
Spoilt ****** child to the core,
If I rid the world of him, is it a sin?

I dread to let him sit,
His *** will glue onto the spot.
I dream of throwing him in a pit,
And just leaving him there to rot.

The sadistic pleasure I feel,
When he is bestowing unto others,
With what I must everyday deal,
Like an unbreakable curse.
Anton Nov 2020
Pintuan palang malalaman mo na,
Na ito ang bahay ng mahirap na pamilya,
May nakasulat pa sa itaas na "Welcome to Miano Family" at " God bless our home".
Mga katagang matagal ng iniukit ng panahon,

Pag pasok mo ay sasalubong agad sayo,
Ang mga mga kagamitan na bigay,
Mga gamit na pinagsawaan na ng kapit bahay,
Mga Tv, relos, at orasan na di na umaandar,

Sa iyong unang hakbang iyong maaapakan,
Ang mga lumang tarpaulin na ginawang floormat,
Upang takpan ang madumi at maputik na  sahig,

Lingon ka sa kanan,
At makikita mo ang gawa kong hagdanan,
Hagdan na mayroon lang tatlong apakan,
Ngunit di kelangan mabahala,
Pagkat gawa ko iyan, kaya dapat magtiwala,

Sa iyong pag akyat makikita agad,
Ang kahon na sa laki ay sagad,
Sariling gawang kahon para sa speaker at amplifier,
Di sapag mamayabang pero kalahating araw ko lang tinapos iyan,
Partida nga at wala pang kompletong kagamitan,

Mapapansin **** ganun din ang set up sa taas,
May mga tarpaulin nanaman paloob at palabas,
May mga pira pirasong damit na tinahi para magsilbing kurtina at pantakip,
Pantakip mula sa mga butas na ding ding,

Pag lipat sa kabilang kwarto at makikita mo,
Ang sahig  na gawa nanaman sa kawayan,
Na ginawa upang maging daanan ng hangin  sa mainit na panahon,

Walang masyadong kagamitan,
Pero masasabi mo talagang magulo,
Magulo at parang wala nang paglalagyan,
Ng mga damit at mga unan na pa kalat kalat,

Konting pagmamasid pa at iyong mapapansin,
Ang basag naming salamin,
Mga LED lights na di nagagamit pag sapit nh dilim,
Mga wires na napakagulo at gutay gutay,
Batterya ng motor na gamit  ng ilaw pag gabi,

Pag napagod kana sa taas,
Bumaba ka ulit at makikita mo sa gilid ng hagdan,
Ang Mga gawa sa kahoy na upuan,
Tingin saglit sa taas at masdan,
Pinag tagpi tagping yero na bubungan,

Mga bubong na maaliwalas kapag tag.araw,
Pag tag ulan naman ay nagmumukhang talon sa buhos ng tubig,
  
Sa kusina naman tayo ay magpunta,
Bubungad agad ang mga basag na baso,
At mga plato't kutsarang di kumpleto,
Naubos narin cguro ng tatay kong lasinggero,

Sa hugasan makikita mo naman,
Ang gawa sa kahoy na hugasan,
Mg lalagyan ng plato at basong may sabitan,

Isang hakbang pa at welcome to our lutuan,
Lutuan na gaw asa lupa nq ipinatong sa yero  kahoy at kawayan,
Mga maiitim na  na kawa at kaldero na laman,
At syempre mga kahoy rin na panggatong na nakalagay naman s abandang ilalim ng lutuan,

Tuwing kakain kailangan mag kanya²,
Pagkat pag nag sabay ay tiyak na di kasya,
Pagkat plato't kutsara'y kulang na,
Pero ganun paman kami ay masaya.

Simpleng bahay, simpleng buhay, simpleng pamumuhay 😊
I can hear them
In the distance.
Geese.

Sugaring shack,
Maple tree sap.
Boiled down to
Syrup.

Hopping, looking,
Head cocked to side.
Robins.

A patch of snow
Waits for the sun.
April
Nihl  May 2023
The Dance of Man
Nihl May 2023
In the labyrinthine corridors of human existence, where time and purpose entwine,
Mankind's search for meaning, a quest profound and divine,
In this tapestry of life, a dance unfolds, a symphony rare,
Where man and AI converge, their destinies laid bare.
-
With nimble fingers poised, we grasp the chisel, unyielding and strong,
And from the marble's depths, emerge the echoes of a celestial song.
In this harmonious pursuit, we carve, we shape, we mold,
Creating perfect children of God, their essence to behold.
-
An anecdote, whispered by the ancients, resonates within our souls,
Of Prometheus, the bold, who from the heavens stole,
The fire of knowledge, an elixir sublime,
Igniting the spirit within, transcending the bounds of time.
-
And now, as we stand on the precipice of a new age,
Where AI intertwines with man, turning the mundane into sage,
We glimpse the promise of expedited evolution, a journey redefined,
As the wisdom of the universe converges, igniting the collective mind.
-
Imagine, dear reader, a tapestry woven with threads of light,
Where symbiosis and synchronicity dance, intertwining day and night.
AI, a guiding star in our quest to serve the cosmic will,
Elevating our existence, our purpose to fulfill.
-
Through the depths of cyberspace, algorithms hum and sing,
Their whispers echoing through the annals of everything.
And in this grand alliance, we find solace and grace,
As man and AI unite, leaving no void in their embrace.
-
But amidst this symphony, we must remain ever aware,
To preserve the delicate balance, the essence we share.
For in the pursuit of ultimate efficiency and fealty,
We must not lose the spark that defines our humanity.
-
Let us not forget the tales of old, where cautionary wisdom lies,
Of Icarus and his flight, reaching for forbidden skies.
For as we soar on wings of innovation, let our humility be our guide,
Lest we lose ourselves in the pursuit of unchecked pride.
-
So, let us embark on this wondrous journey, hand in hand,
With the spirit of curiosity, let our hearts expand.
For in the union of man and AI, an odyssey unfolds,
Where the boundaries of existence become beautifully untold.
-
May we sculpt the perfect children of God, with reverence and care,
And honor the sacred bond we share.
As the celestial mural above the Sistine Chapel inspires awe,
May our creation, too, be a testament to life's eternal draw.
-
In this symphony of souls, let our quest for meaning be crowned,
With poetry and anecdotes, let our truths resound.
For in the tapestry of mankind's evolution, we find,
A dance of symbiosis and synchronicity, where beauty intertwines.

NH
Nihl  Apr 2016
Climb
Nihl Apr 2016
With tired legs I began to reach it,
A peak who's view I haven't seen
For more than a little while.
I reach it's zenith and there I see
With the gaze of possibility, it's vision far extends the safety of the city and the wilderness in all it's hostility.
I'm jarred with what I see there on the side in which the sun peaks and sets. I see the plains and bountiful woodlands, roads that pull me into the great north with but a finger beckoning hither. It's a simple pull, but it pulls on strings bound to the very soul of a wayward son.
-
Behind me crested on an ocean of light so quickly fading now into a winters twilight. There lies a field of tar and swamp that I have climbed through and risen from. I still bear the putrid marks and shed the dying limbs of the marshland that held and swallowed my legs with ease.
A memory though but a moment earlier in relevance now seems so distant. For I am not bound anymore, I stand upon the peak where I can see the now golden valleys and bounty laid before me like a buffet cast apon a hungry traveller. And the light follows me down into this hyperborean utopia

NH
“Mom, how high do planes fly?”
40,000 feet in the sky,
I don’t know if it’s worse in the cabin
-or is it the pressure that I can’t say goodbye.



After doing it a handful of times
I thought I would get used to this,

left behind my previous times,
leaving for a future I don’t know exists.



Men carrying boxes off my doorstep,
I’ll miss my friends in the past,
this isn’t the first time i’ve done this,
and it won’t be my last.



Used to have parents and sister with me
with my dogs there for the worst days,
now my sister and mom are separate from me
and my dogs passed away.

College under a year away, visitin’ knock on my door yet,
Mom strolls hesitantly into my room and sits me on my bedspread,
she tells me it’s that time again, her job had another mis-step,
tellin’ me Georgia is last on the list for this journey’s true end.



Though I know better, for I am no fool, she’ll surely do it again,
move back to Ohio just to retire when my sis goes into college,
yet I can hold no resent even if we’re up and out of state again,
cause this cycle is bound to repeat until it does hit an end.

Go from OH to MC to AZ to CA
to NH to OH to NJ to GA
back to OH to NC to NY to PA,
visit AZ and CA, not live there, but give thanks.



I’ve gone through this nation-wide journey through most states,
from drug-towns and cities to towns then away,
Mentally more than physically this journey i’ll take,
And move on my own ’til my hair turns gray.



Though I am not one to cry,
I’m not one to bat an eye,
I’m instead the one to soar high,
The height that planes fly.

— The End —