Lighthouse keeper by the shore, watching life pass he did the most
Eyeing ships, so bright and lively, that would sail near his post
'Til one fateful night one ship seemed to be set ablaze
Gravitating toward the sight that was a rarity in all his days
One door he swung open, leaving his beacon, bolting downstairs
Of peril and risk, he cared not; to him they seemed like minor fares
Fiery reflections undulated from afar as the keeper dashed to shore
Yanking his rowboat into the water, he paddled toward the source
Opening his eyes truly, he awoke to hands without a single oar
Under a guise he would man his post distractedly in the night
Realizing that the ship was a dream, he turned around to a fright
Precariously placed lanterns had fallen, shattering as he slept
And flames began to claim his home and post, as if collecting a debt
Sleep walking had moved him to the shore, by grace he was alive
The lighthouse keeper would rebuild, but this time he would thrive

7-11-17 (Oh look, a palindrome date! I should book it to 7-11 for a Slurpee when I leave campus...)
It's an acrostic poem, so I hope you get the message.
The theme of this poem, the abandoned lighthouse, has been on my mind for at least three months, but I had not put pen to paper until 7-10-17. While initially thinking of the idea, I had planned to have the lighthouse burn with no conclusion of rebuilding, but in recent weeks I realized that had come from my past state of depression. I'm now starting a renewed life through God's grace and I knew I had to fix that today when I finally wrote and typed the poem out, although it did take four drafts to make something so simple.

Mum she is in the beginning,
Armed with a lot of patience,
Rhyming it with an elegant silence,
Yarn of poetry she is threading.

With all her immense patience,
In this wicked world she is happy,
Not worrying about anything,
She keeps her patience unharmed,
Leveraging her happiness on herself,
Of beautiful words she is a lady,
Wish her I do a lot of happiness.

My HP Poem #1619
©Atul Kaushal
Tina Jul 5

Behold! My sorrow storms straight through daylight.
And not on the last stroke of midnight, when demons sleep.
To entangle me with its invisible ropes, ropes tugging me tight.
Twisted, Swooned, crushed, haemorrhaging deep.

Labyrinth of shame, heralding my doom, looming ever close.
Earning waste with each second more, till sudden salvation.
That scarce shall cast upon my dim verse hugely verbose.
Inside this too stagnant a mind flows nothing but indignation.

Malaise made manifest with the profusrness of a poet's pain,
Entitled as imbalanced brain, a fresh sign of insanity.
Idle hours thrown away like confetti and time spent in vain
Narrow words written by young hands but a spirit of mundanity.

Morbid fascinations of mine with this lack of hope.
End so soon as I leave this world, unable to cope.

S orry was all he said as he
C asually walked away from her
A pathy was his enemy and
R ebellion was her
S aving grace

Diego Morales Jun 20

Joy may be brought to all
Once far an old friend doth call
Sorrowful sweets the memories bring
‘Ever to be heard let joy ring
Pray a friend in thee shall live
How truest a Friend in heart always with!

To my good friend, Joseph

Immortal I Stand
Nascent and nebulous
Victorious indeed
Invincible I sit
Christian till the end
Trampling scorpions and serpents
Undiluted and unadulterated
Sanctified and Spirit filled

Electricity runs in my veins
Levitating me into a state of perpetual bliss
Fire is in my bones
Unquenchable it propels me as it burns
Renovated and elevated I'm innovative
Ignited and United I stand to motivate
Children and their parents that they may be activated...

Acrostic poetry is great.
James Court Jun 8

objects to

Lainey Jun 7

Can someone please tell me
On which plane we now reside?
Valuing the cheap laughs that the
Freakish Trump provides?
Existential crisis doesn't seem
Far off to me, when war and strife
Escapes our eye, in our frivolity.

Although not immune to the humour in Trumps tweets, one shakes the head a little too often these days when so many serious and grave things are happening globally.
Kalpana Jun 3

The pain in his words will kill me,
Heavenly is the way he romanced,
Exceptional is his unlucky destiny.

Lovely used to be all his words,
Only when he was not so lonely,
Needs he a genuine angel now,
Escaped from death once strongly,
Lonely he is so weak & scared,
Youth seems to drain away from him.

Beautiful poems scented his garden,
Alas, at a time not so very long past,
Robbed him of all the happiness,
Drawing he used to be dreams.

Someone please help me attain him.
A poem inspired by Atul sir's secondary acrostic poems.
I wish to fill colours in his life.
He has blocked all happiness as it turns out to be.
For humanity's sake, someone please help me attain him.
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