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Maria Etre Mar 2017
I fought my inhibitions
but nature pulled through

Breaking barriers of what if's
unclothing all those hidden thoughts

Naked and free, I bashfully
bathed in my liberty
succumbing to all things "now"

For I have found beauty
in the "momentary"
and the naturally
inevitable
Yanamari Jan 2017
I found a carving made of wood
A carving I made and
Never really understood
The shape was awfully made
And yet at the time
Emitted an aura that felt good
The raw quality,
The way light fell on it,
At the time I could only think
The carving was perfect,
The way that it stood.

I found a wood carving that I hid
Away from my mind
So that I could bid
Farewell to the misplaced notches and indents
That surfaced on the carving.
Why did I leave pieces here
And cut off parts there?
What experience did I have in carving
Such an obscene piece?
Of myself, the carving, I would rid
But if only I could
Forget what I did
What I carved
What I was amid
But I cannot

The reason I didn't understand
The decisions I made
Was because
I understood the decisions I made.
There are parts to this poem drafted in my mind and yet I carved them. I consider reattaching them but what effect will that have to my misshapen poem?
K Balachandran Apr 2016
Every butterfly, knows this in it's inner being
and yet each forgets it, as soon as it starts flying,
the sweet warmth of each flower inviting him,
honey and  nectar abundant in the beginning,
the wind speed  that takes him to the bloom--
such happy things ,soon will become  a dream.
Never forget; the tides will turn.
K Balachandran Feb 2016
Quite enticing, plush
she is a spectacle,
all the same lacking
substance and depth.
A coffee table book
everyone who is
someone, curiously grab,
turn the pages in a jiffy,
just to feel the gloss
eye the seductive shine
ogle the ostentation,
and caress the pictures
in opulent colors,
then, let go quick
without any qualms.

Throw it back on the table
with a resounding thud
in no time and leave
without even looking back once!
PJ Poesy Jan 2016
Knuckling under weatherworn predictions, the salt is down. There is a limit to preparedness and at some point, faith that the break shall come to a blizzard's infamy, must supersede. It's just fluff and slush after all. Barely, this white blanketing is made, before the brine trucks are revving, ready to tear up the sheets. Shall I slumber too long, I may miss the hush of placidity. Who will be the first to break silence? That inevitable metal scrape against cement, I dread its' brashness. Can the missies' ice morning not roll by without delusions that these snow damsels must be shoveled off? Let the winter lassies lie for briefness of their coolness brings me to a dream scene. Colleens of a cold front, you blew upon me so softly this way, how dare I snow blow you, away?
Who wishes for the weatherman's hype to dissipate? The sparkling ice faeries.
Asha Jun 2015
For a moment, let’s just…
Stand still
And look around
Watch the birds fly
Or hear the rustle of autumn leaves
Or let the deafening silence reign

For a moment, let’s just…
Stand by the sea
And enjoy the waves
Crash against the rocks
And let us do nothing
But watch the bubbles disperse
Never to be found again.

For a moment, let’s just…
Blink our eyes
Ever so quick
Repetitively
And what forms?
In front of our eyes
The image we see
Is a broken one
Or perhaps just dark is all we see
What can we make of it?

For a moment, let’s just…
Let  a moment pass
In solitude
Where you get
To know nothing, no one,
And yet you know
You are everything there is,
And will be.
Louana Abada May 2015
I realize we were like flame.
With a single spark,
suddenly it was warm and bright.
But just like fire,
a simple blow of the wind
made everything dark and cold.
There was never really something special,
but the fleeting and tepid moments ablaze. Now what remain are the burnt parts
and the things
that will never be the same again.
Matt Berkes Feb 2015
Speak in absolutes
Lest doubt should sway the mind
Speak soft and low
But with trembling resolve
Lest the world should hear you
Speak to me
Only to me
In a haunting melody
Of how you churn
Like the ocean
For it's freedom
And I'll speak in turn
Soft and low
In absolutes
Lest the moment should escape us
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
Light sparkles in the clover,
Yellow and blurr of bees
Are honeyed in the sun
And robins have come,
Yanking in the gasses,
So green is the moisten
Of the painting of the dew
And all is lolling in petrichor,
The soils running with slow
Time so shortly experienced,
Oils of wood permeate the air,
Lapping brooks bream into light,
The loft kestrel swirls in meadow
And chipmunks scuttle at base of tree,
Even the wind does freshly quiet, crisply,
There as a hug waiting for body and spirit,
Patches of white are disappearing, they know—
That one day we must all return, after winter snows.
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
Light sparkles in the clover,
Yellow and blurr of bees
Are honeyed in the sun
And robins have come,
Yanking in the gasses,
So green is the moisten
Of the painting of the dew
And all is lolling in petrichor,
The soils running with slow
Time so shortly experienced,
Oils of wood permeate the air,
Lapping brooks bream into light,
The loft kestrel swirls in meadow
And chipmunks scuttle at base of tree,
Even the wind does freshly quiet, crisply,
There as a hug waiting for body and spirit,
Patches of white are disappearing, they know—
That one day we must all return, after winter snows.
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