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 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
Olivia Kent
I met you making movies.
We made them on the sand.
Drama and artistry moulded wonderfully 'tween our hands.
We cast out ropes to catch sweethearts.
Making movies.
Raptures art.
Throw roses round the fireplace.
Dress the mantle with perfect lace.
Captured cherries.
Fed with grapes and wine.
Love may be mine.
I shall not whinge nor ever whine.
(c)LIVVI
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
ryn
Unconditional
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
ryn
Is there love for another?
Much like this?
One's that unconditional,
unrestricted.
One so free...
That skeptical eyes would miss.

The beauty in such a commitment,
can't be quantified in greens or gold.
Unbound by petty materialism...
That jingles and folds.

It's invaluable...
Only to the ones who would see
and acknowledge it.
It's coveted only by those
who fearlessly dare
to embrace it.

So...

Strive for unconditional love.
For it is the greatest gift,
anyone could receive
and bestow.
For it will be the sun
that fires
the beats in your heart.
For it is the abundant glow
cascading...
From the moon's
limitless flow.
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
Polar
Take me on a journey

Whisked away by your poetry

Let me exhale my mind

And be at one with your kind.

Lead me away like the fey

To poetry journalists

And HB specialists

Who like Toreinss Pinwinkle

Sprinkle fairy dust upon words and phrases

Until all who gazes are stunned.

Take me to where sk abdul

ski slopes

Where words formed

With ice cold precision

Fall soft as snowflakes

Forming landscapes in my mind.

My mind wanders with Luiz

Until with an elbow crack, I’m back

Tuned in a spin, by Ryn

Heeding Laurent’s call

Away from the dark places Mr Woods may take me

To be at one with the shadow in the dark,

Because as someone anonymous once said

“it’s sometimes light

but can be dark

as poetry is not

just a walk in the park”.
Just a small tribute to some of my favourite poets at HP.  To the many I have missed, I hope to catch you next time!
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
ryn
Forgiveness
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
ryn
Grant me forgiveness.
For my mouth had acted prematurely
and erred.
Acrid words my tongue can't retract.
My lips quiver,
pursed and scared.

Grant me relief.
For my ego had lunged.
Fueled emotions that strayed.
Sensible thoughts in mind
that my heart had betrayed.

Grant me strength and courage.
Let the next morn's sun,
illuminate the dark obstinacy of my heart.
Allow this bitter turbidity to pass.
So I could walk the hard road,
to a brand new start.
.
Sometimes words carry more venom than fangs.
And often, the path to absolution lies first, in forgiving oneself.
.
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
Julia Quizon
Today, I am beginning
Only to end.
This body has blossomed in a field of green;
Has bled shades of red;
Stared at a horizon ablaze with yellow;
And now, this body will face
The bluest of skies.

Whether my skies are clear or
Consumed with droplets of rain,
I will always end up seeing
Nothing but blue.

Nothing but 10 shades of blue,
Until I see another sun set
Until a palette of colours are
Painted on the horizon
Until stars are forced to form constellations
Until a beginning of
A new morning.

But one day, my new mornings
Will not consist of
The bluest of skies.
There may be a hint of pink,
a touch of purple,
or a sliver of orange.

And that's okay.

Because weather forecasts were not meant
To only be clear blue skies and
Colours were not meant to have
Only one shade.

Blue possesses a fading beauty
Now unappealing
But never forgotten
It is THE last set of my own primary colours -
green, red, and yellow.
Once I set down this
Familiar brush dipped in
blue paint,
I will start anew with a
Fresh set of colours.

A clean canvas once again.

Today, I am ending
Only to begin.
thank you to my two best friends for pushing me to write again.
#smole
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
Nat Lipstadt
the puzzle of me
is the puzzle of women,
for they are me.

even my children,
men both,
are the product of
me-women.

what a delightful miserable puzzle,
running in a circle like
a-dog-with-can-on-its-tail.

I run run.
I chase chase.
I am pursued / pursue / pursued.

and great joy
in that shiny tin can,
just can't quite be
caught.

cause if
I got it,
what then?
I'd just kick that old dented piece of
tin hearted-less man
down a *****, black topped, summer city street.

so does the puzzle's solution
want for solving,
in the not-knowing
is the knowing

women are me.
they hold my answers,
to what - to all - to I don't know.

there are so many women.
there is so much to know.
so many solutions
to the puzzle of me.

~~~

August 6, 1993
Mykonos, Greece
twenty three
years long,
the hands suggest,
the heart demands,
the chest heaves,
after a stumbled upon re-read,
asking and answering,
more precisely
once asked,
now answered?

the most satisfying solution proffered,
a humble and most humbling,
more yes than no.

imagine a jig saw puzzle,
of infinite views,
depending on a perspective,
maddening and mysterious,
tortuous and terrifying,
wondrously wonderful,
this no,
that yes,
as time demands
movement, modifications and
self-awareness revisionism.

you try on women,
as they try you too.
this, not a trumping misogony apology,
for women
are
still and always
the only solution,
for me.

then one day,
marveling miraculous,
a second skin,
so thin you wear it
as art of your own,
and the painter,
and the poet,
find themselves,
contented best,
with but one
subjective perspective.

the answer is subtle.
woman.
one woman.
e becomes o,
a subdivided man,
an e,
becomes an
o.
~~~

Mar. 25, 2016
NYC
 Mar 2016 Sia Jane
Nat Lipstadt
~~~

The Puzzle of My Tao


twenty three
years long,
the hands suggest,
the heart demands,
the chest heaves,
after a stumbled upon re-read,^
asking and answering,
more precisely
once asked,
now answered?

the most satisfying solution proffered,
a humble and most humbling,
more yes than no.

imagine a jig saw puzzle,
of infinite views,
depending on a perspective,
maddening and mysterious,
tortuous and terrifying,
wondrously wonderful,
this no,
that yes,
as time demands
movement, modifications and
self-awareness revisionism.

you try on women,
as they try you too.
this, not a trumping misogony apology,
for women
are
still and always
the only solution,
for me.

then one day,
marveling miraculous,
a second skin,
so thin you wear it
as art of your own,
and the painter,
and the poet,
find themselves,
contented best,
with but one
subjective perspective, contentedly repetitive,
a view for an ever,
a view forever changing.

the answer is subtle.
women woman.
one woman.
e becomes a,
the subdivided man,
an e,
cut at mid-curvature,
finds his perspective,
reveling in scene from a winnowed window,
never different, always different,

and the poet~painter,
arts the subtlety of  
unceasingly upheavaled satisfaction renewed,
and in doing so,
transform himself,
from a cut up, halved
e,
merges to its almost but differing reciprocal, an
a,
so that
ea,
joined and fused as one,
marks his woman~completion,
and all is both,
singular sharing, and now
the every changing view
better understood thru the prism of an

o.
~~~

Mar. 25, 2016
NYC
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