Star BG 2d

I’m moving with grand rhymes of life,  
with gratitude and dreams.
Dancing with steps so graceful,  
in day with special schemes.

I’m ready to drift in this day,  
to touch the breezes kiss.
Feeling blessed and oh gifted,
in day that I shan't miss.

I’m moving in this fine moment,
with trust and harmony.
Grounded for great inner peace,
in day as I feel bliss.

I’m moving, prancing with my truth,
inside of beating heart.
Ready to spread hidden wings,
in day to make new starts.

I’m moving, grove-in inside love,
with miracles so fine.
Focusing to release veil,
and know I am divine.

StarBG © 2017

first poem of day

A new beginning,
A comparable ending
It is the same poem
I keep writing.

The message differs
The titles adjust
One more figure of speech
For picking up a broken piece.

Elusive alterations
Editing the outcome
A plethora of versions
For my book of poems.

Another round,
Back to square one
Are there any words left
This heart has not said.

ALC 7d

I can feel it,
Filling me up,
Wheeling inside me,
Pushing at my fragile seams.

It’s growing in mass,
Starting in my core
And expanding outward to my fingers,
My mouth,
My legs,
My eyes,
My brain.

It’s shutting me down,
Trying to pour out of me
As I stare off blankly at the white board in front of me.

It threatens to stream through my eyes
In helpless, uncontrollable tears.
It threatens to shoot from my mouth
In hysterical laughter.

I stare wide-eyed at the professor lecturing in front of me,
Trying to control the inner volcano erupting inside of me.
I stare straight ahead with glazed eyes
On the verge of getting up and leaving,
So I can open the valve and release all the pressure.

Instead,
I force my eyes down,
And with a shaking hand,
Finish what I started.
-ALC May 16, 2017

The Lonely Bard Feb 2014

The leaky kitchen sink,
I hear it everywhere...
Dip - Dip - Dip - Dip - Dip


As if echoing in my heartbeat,
I feel it thumping in my ears...
Dab - Dab - Dab - Dab - Dab


I do hear it even when it's all silent,
I am thinking it's your name actually...
Amma-Appa! Amma-Appa!! Amma-Appa!!!

My HP Poem #531
©Atul Kaushal
Tasman Suitor May 14

I lay awake, taunted it seems,
By memories long dead.
Faces and places clear in ink,
Waiting to be read.

Why hold onto this now lost dream,
Filled with hurt and pain.
Instead I walk into reality bright
And maybe love again.

Goodbye and Hello. I like this reality a lot.
ALC May 12

“Deep breaths”
That’s what I tell myself
Every morning when yet another day has slipped from me.
The cacophony of the day slams into my body
The moment I open my eyes.
The bewilderment enters my heart the moment sleep leaves my body,
As I realize yet again that my clock is ticking
And nothing has been finished.
Tests have yet to be taken
Jobs have yet to be accepted
Homes have yet to acknowledge our existence.
I cant help but feel the shore line slip from under my feet,
Exposing such pretty distractions of shells and ocean life,
Only to have a wave building in mass and volume
To roar over me in a tsunami.
Covering me,
Swirling me in endless vortexes of deadlines
Pushing the air out of me.
Only releasing me every night feeling dizzy, tired,
And not prepared to do it all again tomorrow.
-ALC May 11, 2017

Elle est une Mancha.
Comme la manche, elle a l’entraînement,
La determination.
Une grande étendue d’eau
Qui va rapidement.
Elle est très forte, mais
Elle va dans une direction,
Sans cesse,
Sans s’arrêter,
Et quand elle retrouve l’océan
Elle cesse d’exister
Dans la grande étendue d’eau
Qui est plus forte qu’elle.

She is a Mancha.
Like the Channel, she has training,
Determination.
A large body of water
That moves quickly.
She is very strong, but
She goes in one direction
Without ceasing,
Without stopping,
And when she meets the ocean
She ceases to exist
In the large expanse of water
That is stronger than her.

(Apologies if the French is incorrect, it is not my first language!)

It was warm when I arrived in that big city- a suitcase and my purse are the only legacies I had left to my name.
I could start over here.
I could be someone new here.

My driver was a nice man from Delaware- he told me that the city was old and that I was brave for traveling so far alone.
He was a kind man.
He told me the weather was going to change soon.
He knew nothing about me... I don't think I knew anything about me.

We got to this broke down apartment over in West Philadelphia.
I remember thinking... this can't be the right address.
But it was and that was just the beginning to my endless self struggle.
I thought I could start over here.

The weather changed fast- overnight it was freezing and I was struggling to find warm enough clothes.
I remember thinking... how the fuck can anyone live here?
I remember thinking ... how the fuck am I going to make it here?

I learned a lot about myself that month I spent in the city.
I learned how to take a subway, how to take a bus, who to talk too and who to avoid.
I learned I can survive being alone.
I also learned.... you can't run from yourself.

You can't change as quickly as the weather.

When we are no longer in the short places
that occupy the empty spaces of our hearts,
do you start to miss my warmth
or are you torn and seek someone else?
In yourself, do you see my love
or (above it all) do you search for more?
What's in store for us, I couldn't know
until you show that it is just you and I
and that you do not roam from lover to lover.
But in the event that you do, I won't cry
as long as (more than you ever loved me) you love her.

written 5/9/17
Lori May 6

passed by your apartment
a compartment on the fifth floor
to the right was hewn down
a chunk out of ten strong
sandwiched buildings
where we used to sit
used to eat eggplants

saw your door on 460 street
shut and green foliage growing
on a dead tree where living
things lie with long noses
reaching towards the sunlight
the direction in which you can't
get it upright

you blew a shotgun and ate
a piece of my cheesecake heart
then you face palmed me to the
peephole hung my ears on its
hooks and the doorknob so i
bought claws and bulldozers
to become a burglar

i pried off your apartment
tile by tile off the hinges and
one by one took your fingers'
prints off my soul with a lush
unicorn bright bath bomb
then i placed a fresh flower
crown on the space

between us and on your
newly found grave in
my past.

started writing this on a tissue paper. i suppose it is fitting because every stroke would tear the paper easily which perfectly describes how fragile, how on-the-surface our friendship was. thank you for the life lessons and the good moments tho.
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