Jim Davis Apr 4

Could anyone, ever, ever, imagine
While struggling in moments of
Life, in this dark hardening world
Any greater tragedy to know of
In a life lived, yet always nearly lost
Than a soul's abandonment of love

Boyfriend, girlfriend, flirts, flings
Lovers, mistress, wife, husband, all
Can suffer (without seeing an end)
In the unwanted loss of a dear love
But such love, is always found love
Always a chance, of another to find

Really, such is such a little big thing
Laid alongside a meant destruction
With a loved one's hate of only kin
Care of same given blood, all gone
A sadly lost, gifted blessing, of love
Not unlike the gift of a God's love

Is it even possible, a mother loving
Not, a sweet daughter or brave son
Or a jealous sister's hatred of sister
Or a son's coming to rage, in
Twisted hate of a living father
Whose life's burden came crushing

Or like the very first two brothers
Cain, with Satan's new seed of hate
Sprouting a considered cause to kill
Or in Euripides' play, Medea's
Wrath filled hate of Jason leads to
Bloody felicide of her own spawn

Naturally, death comes for any one
Destiny's fate, followed a sin by two
But all loss of a blood born love
Of which there is only ever one
Arises from a most unnatural mind
Or possibly, unforgiven sin of one!  

©  2017 Jim Davis

Only a coincidence or vibes, hitting on Hello Poetry's theme "Unconventional Love" for the 4th day of National poetry month!  #npmlove

From Wikipedia
"On average, according to FBI statistics, 450 children are murdered by their parents each year in the United States .[4]"

"In the United States, homicide is in the top five causes of deaths of children, and in the top three causes of death in children aged between 1 and 4 years old.[7] A direct correlation has been identified between child abuse rates and child homicide rates. Research suggests children who are murdered by their parent(s) were physically abused  victims prior to death. This is often seen as an indicator of domestic violence.[8]"
Temporal Fugue Dec 2016

Sitting out 23 minutes
pondering heart and soul
glancing at the clock
22 minutes, to go

It never fails to amaze me
at each and every turn
glancing at the clock again
15 minutes more, to burn

Boredom at the apogee
as time slows to a crawl
can't keep myself from looking
8 minutes left, that's all

Seeking any distraction
with nothing left to do
it's really not that funny
3 more, and I'll be through

Dashing out the door
speeding in the parking lot
crawling down the highway
now time, is all I've got

It's like heading out to work, vs coming home from. :D
The Nada Oct 2016

A free verse sonnet
To someone I miss the most.
One of my favorite people in the world
I remember all your giggle and franticness
Your envy and affection
Your attention and appreciation
Your generosity and magnanimity
I am mesmerized by your feelings and prompts
Years of silence longing.
Miss the way how you mind
Still remember how you stare
First man who says I’m good in singing.
These instant words are the words
I doubt if I can ever tell to you, personally
I Love You Dad!
When you left I cried
Not because you’re not here anymore
But because there’s NO MAN,
Will treat me like you did.

The Nada
Temporal Fugue Oct 2016

She's been marred and scarred
streets making her hard
wearing her plastic tiara and crown
mind not quite there, always on guard
Just another homeless, a downtown beat down

He used to own his own bed
nowhere now, to lay his head
cloths all dirty, greasy, and brown
wielding a knife, so he won't end up dead
Just another veteran, a downtown beat down

The penthouse, defining of power
works 24/7, climbing the tower
alone in her thousand buck gown
moving at a million, miles an hour
Just another corporate, a  downtown beat down

A job and a place of their own
wife and two kids, never alone
in bills do they drown
fear not paying the loans
Just another suburban, an around town beat down

Out on the farm, he had to quit school
dad in the ground, he's nobodies fool
raising his kith and his own
doing his best, obeying the rules
Just another rural, a small town beat down

Jamadhi Verse Sep 2016

Sometimes melancholy is addictive.
It’s like Stockholm Syndrome.
I like the feeling of restriction.
I like the feeling of grey swells rumbling over me,
dimming the light as it longs to get close to me.
Sometimes I find an odd comfort
in the feeling of heaviness in my chest,
the struggle of taking a few deep breaths,
the idea that something has impressed upon me,
hinting that there is not much depth to me,
that there is so much more that I now need.
That aching feeling in the bones of me
that convinces me to draw inwards quietly,
to isolate myself and live deep within dreams.

At times I heed the words of this gloomy friend,
I let no one in so that it never ends.
I'll go on feeling I don’t want to spend another day
in a reality of disarray outside of this body.
I want to sit and romance with this despondency
that comes on strongly and completely becomes me,
that promises to fulfill and love me,
that whispers that in this static plane we are safe --
that we have come to the only dependable place
where you can lock the doors and no one will come in.
Where it’s just me and him and all of infinity
placed conveniently inside of my chest
and we watch that void of lulling, spinning rest
turning like a galaxy, shifting the beautiful stars of me
outwardly into my blackest of nights.
When suddenly I realize the possibility, the probability
held within those bright lights of a billion aspirations
that shine brilliantly inside of me, alive within the stagnation --
never frozen, broken, or unattainable.
I find myself suddenly sustainable in my own fragility.
I see the sad surrendering of myself as humble humility,
as a tool and a path to the same relentless discovery:
even in my detachment, I am rendered complete.

At times I choose melancholy to keep me company.
I hold his hand and we go deep into the heart of me
and we lament and dream about where I could stand
and then we awake to the totality of what I am.
And we laugh loudly. We laugh in unison
over the confusion that is being human.
As if there was ever any such thing as within,
as if there was ever a juncture too late to begin.
As if there were ever anything,
but the potential of this moment.
As if any being is simply a helpless component
within a grand, but unyielding rule.
We laugh in utter joy when we discover we’re fools.
But melancholy forever loses truth,
because he burns it like fuel.
Whenever that downcast jewel comes knocking,
pitifully moaning and sobbing
into the ivory bone of the home of my soul
I stoke what remains of the dying coals
and I warmly welcome him in.

J.M. 2016

I'm not constantly plagued with melancholy, but I try to embrace openly whatever feeling overcomes me, dark or light. And listen attentively and openly to what it is trying to reveal to me, whether it be a new realization or a difficult acceptance. In the firelight of my soul, all who come, are purposeful friends... some more enjoyable than others.
The Lonely Bard May 2016

Sometimes I had had to ignore her,
For I had to focus on my life,
So that I could make it shine,
And then on in future make her mine,
Unopposed from the society on the whole,
That included both our families & friends,
But she couldn't just wait for a little time.

The concepts of attention & neglect are relative. These can't always be meant as such. Sometimes to give proper attention to our love later on in life, we must ignore it and give preference to life and success.

My HP Poem #1082
©Atul Kaushal
The Lonely Bard May 2016

Your midnight hour is my midday,
The sun blazes red hot overhead,
Your hotrod is much more cool,
The people here're just expended,
Your calm moon is our blazing sun.

The midnight here is lost in cooling,
Your 125ºF will be our 52ºC,
We get that often.

But you never get that normally.

Well, this is our story from the other side of the globe in May-June.

My HP Poem #1077
©Atul Kaushal
Stanley Wilkin Mar 2016

In the middle of a storm, rain crumbling the air,
My father died
I did not cry, nor care,
I sighed.  
Walking the ground I hummed a jaunty popular song
Knowing now, at last, he I could tread upon.

Queen of Nothing Mar 2016

as a student I often imagine how it would be great if time could stop at certain point,
or at least if second lasted longer,
you know, when you have a lot of things to study but you’re short on time?
i bet you imagined that,
you had to.
of course, that is just our imagination playing with us, nothing else.

but what if it can be done?

sitting at class, listening teacher’s lecture can sure prolong the time,
we all know that,
but there is something more.

maybe some guy who sits in front of you
who runs his hands through his hair may prolong your seconds, even if you didn’t thought he could.
you see yourself stare for seconds, and stare for minutes at him and his hair.

your eyes put focus at him and blur everything else,
just like when we are taking a photo with our camera.
it focuses on things we want to be focused like it knows what we want
and it takes a photo and save it on memory forever.

and you ears cannot hear anything.
well, you hear everything but it all feels like you’re on concert and everyone else is yelling
but you are quiet because they are playing your favorite song
and you know it’s more beautiful if you feel it rather than jumping and yelling around.
it’s almost you could cry, but you’re too shy.
and all your other senses like smelling or pain except feeling starts to float in the room.
you start to feel his hands going through his softly, fluffy hair like it’s your own.
and he does it all over again.
and again,
and again.
and every time it’s like he does it
and you’re floating in the air of emotions and
it’s heaven.


he stops.

your eyes can see normally again and you hear professor lecturing again.
then you start to feel pain in your leg because it became numb.
you’re back, but you will always be able to feel that again, whenever you want
because you, just like camera, saved it in your little brain.
there will be days before you feel something like that again,
and there will be so many nights that you will dream about that again
and again.

do you believe me now?
do you believe that seconds can be prolonged?
I think you should.

Would that I,
a lowly grunt
could make more than
the average runt
just out of school,
degree in hand;
While I survive
on meager plans.
Equality is a grand concept
full of flaws
and many steps
that most among us
will never see-
for man is not known
for his humanity.
We strive to be better,
but what do we gain?
A fistful of debt,
and a mountain of pain?
And what do we learn,
except that life isn't fair?
Playing cards with a bad hand
and a dare?
That bleeding hearts and open minds
will make us quite impaired
and are considered bad qualities
that make us unprepared
for the lambast that life is,
for the spears of betrayal-
for the knowledge that everyone
as some point is a failure?
We enter these halls
as creatures of learning,
yet exit these doors
suspicious, discerning-
our youthful optimism
shattered and dashed
by ancient old teachers
with an impressive moustache.
So, what is the point
of institutional leeching?
Is this how we want
our teachers teaching?
Do we condone the lack of equippable smarts,
instead replaced with limited starts?
Or perhaps yet, there is another solution-
Quit hampering learning with political pollution?
Maybe thats an option-
maybe it's not;
but I'm a student;
that's all I've got.

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