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sundial iris Aug 2020
Subtle

~for Sally~

there is no escaping it.

to write of subtle,

one must be blunt,

forthright,

direct,

write with no subtlety.

there is no way, impossible, to capture the fine single threads required
to weave a tapestry of bold and delicate intertwined, of depth and
surface, of a droplet of water shining outstanding in a sea of harsh
blather.

there is bold, there is pale. they can coexist, perhaps even
heighten each other.

but subtle is a delicacy, a single thread, a standard rarely achieved.

which is why this poem makes no pretense at subtlety.




Aug 21~22
2020
Sophia Oct 2019
What did we do
To deserve this punishment?
We children of the ******

A fate worse than death
Cheated our last breath
We children of the ******

Pain so surreal
Her body will feel
That child that is now dead
The man who killed
Will certainly fulfill
A fate worse than death

An innocent toy
For such a young boy
That child that is now dead
With lungs filled with water
The boy did not falter
A fate worse than death

What did we do
To deserve this punishment?
We children of the ******

A fate worse than death
Cheated our last breath
We children of the ******
Sally S Ali Aug 2019
When it rains,
hide me by
your arms.

When it's sunny,
take me in a picnic
With your eyes.

When it's windy,
let's talk
about love.

But
in a stormy day,
hold me hard
and ..
Can you sing for me?
Jim Davis May 2019
Look at that there!  
Wow!  a witticism!
Ouch... it bites!

©  2019 Jim Davis
Or coulda said a “sally”. But who knows what a sally really is?  ,
Sally S Ali Apr 2019
What is:

the time for a rose
the music for a tree
the sleep for a lover
the silence for a bee
the daylight for Kafka
the wine for a butterfly
the loneliness for a sailor
the white colour to the red

What is the world,
when i look into your eyes?
Sally S. Ali
Smoke Scribe Mar 2018
my sally my Sally

a wonderful double entendre
for it’s time,
my internal clock chiming

to sally forth and give the due
to where dew in her garden resides,
poetry becoming sweet tears
in all our eyes
when the philipina rain thirst quests our quenching

there is no reason no request for
this sally poem but a tickling thought suggests that a good friday. could be the trigger, or that
pandora bringing me Ave Maria as I compose
when
the due and the dew and the do are a
trinity

the best poems are the un-requested  but the most needed,
the most holy
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