Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Quarantinistani Apr 2020
I raise the pick-axe high up above my head.
I bring it back down with all my might.
I hear an audible thud at it pierces into the ground.

I change my grip.

The soil turns over as I pry it out of the ground.
I smile to myself in satisfaction at the sight of the churning soil.
It is a calm, soothing sight, worth the magnitude of the effort required to produce it.

I change grips as I ready myself and raise the pick-axe high up above my head once more.

I am the artist,
the Earth my canvas.
The pick-axe is my brush,
the chaos my muse.

Seeds will be sown
and vegetation will be grown.
Spoils will be shared
and cheer will be spread.

But for all the good that is done,
I am the one having all the fun,
for this sight is for me,
this art is my own.
Digging the ground is surprisingly soothing. And extremely tiring. But worth the effort, all the same.
Ylzm Apr 2020
The familiar and well trodden
Walked over each and every day
Yet they still surprise and bewilder
Not so much that stones moved
Or grass grows blue or pigs fly
But the eyes of the soul renewed
Like a newborn child's first sight
Seeing the world fresh and anew
In every step you walked the walk.
jia Apr 2020
your eyes had always guided me.
unconsciously, I follow that beady sight.
they allow me to see,
the purest of the night.

your lips had always guide my move
unknowingly, I obey your delicate brim.
they allow me to prove
that this world is not so grim.

thus, I shall always seek
that face of yours so I'll be guided.
without you, I surely will be weak.
however, our world now is divided.
Ayodeji Oje Apr 2020
Having perfect eyes
With no insight
Is nothing but a blind sight

A complete set of eyes
Without perfect foresight
Is nothing but false sight
Poetic T Apr 2020
I like to blow bubbles In the rain,
           to see them play dodgeball

with the raindrops.


And as they  floats beyond my sight,
           I see the sunrays glisten off them,

Pocket rainbows floating above my head.


Its the little things that bring a smile to a day
You were the purest savoir from that forgotten night, the saddest sight, is that of fractured light.
Swaroop Shetty Mar 2020
One spring season, when it was a cold night and the full moon was all shinning bright.

With my friends, I was on the walk inside the Lincoln's park.

We were busy doing funny gossips of my old jacket's leather, beautiful weather and that tiny owl's feather.

Suddenly, I felt the winter glitch when I saw that beautiful witch.

All I could feel was the sensational breeze and the running time being stood freeze.

Her eyes were shining as it was doing black or white magic and I was hypnotized by the tragic.

All I could remember was her eyes were performing some art, which left the permanent tattoo in my heart.

When I came back to sense, she disappeared away, before I could find out what happened in a way.  

My feeling was like love at first sight as mentioned in a play Cinderella and in Book Alchemist, when santiago met fathima.

Now, I feel she was the one whom I was waiting so far, and I was all wasting time with doing nothing above par.
Love at first sight is my first written poem so far. The theme of the poem covers the scene when we fell in love for the first time. It was all started when I written a line ( jam) for the Topic "I Fell in Love" and I modified it to write a poem using the same subject and same theme. Later, on I modified with new Idea and I am happy at last I was able to complete it.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Last Curtain
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I know the day comes when my eyes close,
when my sight fails,
when life takes its leave in silence
and the last curtain veils my vision.
Yet the stars will still watch by night;
the sun will still rise like before;
the hours will still heave like sea waves
casting up pleasures and pains.
When I consider this end of my earth-life,
the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see by the illumination of death
this world with its careless treasures.
Rare is its lowliest seat,
rare its meanest of lives.
Things I longed for in vain and those I received, let them pass.
Let me but truly possess the things I rejected and overlooked.

Keywords/Tags: Tagore, translation, Hindi, last, curtain, death, eyes, close, sight, vision, night, stars, sun, sea, waves, illumination, treasures, mrburdu
Bhill Mar 2020
full moon with cloud shroud
you can see it gleaming through
oh to be worthy of a clear sky sighting
moons endure the pilgrimage thru space
the final fringe of existing sophistication

Brian Hill - 2020 # 70
Next page