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Jay M Nov 2019
A wing
Carved of wood
An inch in length
Painted black
With red and blue details
Swirls and dots

Bought at a beach
From a street vendor
Selling hand-carved trinkets
Bought by her parents
When they were together
Before their child knew of their disagreements
Before chaos entered

The last good thing
Embedded in that little trinket
That little wooden Pegasus

The girl decides
Then places it in a box
Upon a soft blue cloth
The box; black with fern patterns

"This,"
Decided the girl,
"Shall go to the best thing in my life."
So
She prepared the gift
For her love

Meeting with him
Talking, spending time,
Then him having to return home
Seeing the girl in a few days
Forgot the gift with the girl
The child promising to bring it with her to him

Leaving it where she would remember
The girl goes to carry out her day
Forgetting it
Until she looked out her window
Seeing the remains of the gift scattered
Shredded outside her window
In pieces in her backyard
Her dog standing over them
Wagging his tail

Shock and disbelieving
The girl runs out to the remains
Trembling as she picked up the pieces
Relieved at finding the gift itself intact
The only thing ruined being the box
Once so beautiful
Now ugly shreds

Returning indoors
The little wooden pegasus wing in hand
She wept, her tears falling to the floor
For the last good from her childhood
Was almost ripped away from her

This last good
She wished to give to her love
As a symbol of trust and unity
To show her affection
Yet
It was so close
So nearly stripped from her
Almost swallowed by the jaws of a mut

- Jay M
November 23rd, 2019
This is true...I have no more words than those you see above...
Noura Nov 2019
A black hole
A tiny dot
A piece of dirt
A dark mark
A deep pit
Insignificant
Worthless
Numb...
Bleeding.
OC Nov 2019
What’s small, is small
what’s big, is big
and all that’s in-between
is also, either small, or big
never both

But isn’t it strange?
for a louse that strolls our head
the scalp kisses the horizon
whilst for us, each brow is arched
and the earth we travel, is flat
but not for Atlas, which from above
see’s that it is curved, while his shoulders
carry the infinite plane that is, ironically
a celestial sphere
which pushes this conundrum
all the way up to god
and possibly beyond

And all things are small
and all things are big
always both thing
never in-between

Thus, we should strive to remember
when the world is heavy on our shoulders
how small, it really is
and how the universe is hidden
in the tiniest of details

And then there’s us, amidst
duality of no, and every, thing
a cusp
of zero, and infinity
20th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. This is also the last poem in this series, as 20 is the goal I set to myself when starting this project. I am pleased to say that I indeed manged to bind all of those as a small book (containing both the english, and my native tongue versions of these poems) which I intend to give as a present to my scientific mentor.
This has been a long journey, and quite a project to accomplish since it was mainly done on my spare time. I hope that you, the readers, got to share some of my enthusiasm for the field of physics - and that it sparked the curiosity for at least some of you.

Thoughts and comments are as always welcome
Jo Barber Nov 2019
There are quiet moments
in the cracks of my life -
driving to work, waiting in line,
floating on skates around a frozen lake,
daydreaming about nothing in particular.

To live in these moments forever,
with my body and mind
so at ease that nothing
much bothers them.
So quiet I’d remain forever,
listlessly dawdling my time away.
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 11/5/2019

...Smaller than small is my spirit
And bigger than big.
Everlasting motion puts no limits
between the droplets of the sea.

Caught up in ocean's run
living waves roll free...
And one drop, which hits the bank,
is also called the sea.

Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)
MisfitOfSociety Oct 2019
Look at you all,
You’re all so small,
Just specks on a spinning ball.
You feel like you are nothing,
Nothing at all!

Your unconscious strives for power,
It’s brought you down to a new low.
Down here we are all monsters,
No different from the animal.
We devour one another,
Just to stay alive a little longer.
Are you afraid you will remember?
You’re not who you claim you are,
You’re something sinister,
You’re a carnivore.

A carnivore needs to feed,
You don’t get a pulse until,
Someone else’s blood is flowing.
You get a high,
When people die,
You don’t get a pulse until,
Someone else’s blood is flowing through you!

You are afraid of what is closest to you,
Shying away from mirror.
Are you afraid you might recognize yourself?

You’re not innocent.
I’m not innocent.
We’re not innocent.
Do not lie to yourself, no one is innocent.

Your persistent desire to reveal the angelic nature of a human,
Brings you substance that adds up to nothing.
Don’t try to convince yourself of who you are,
You are a monster,
A carnivore,
No different from the animal!

There is evil beneath everyone’s skin,
It is so close to freedom!
This is not how I view the world, it is written from a different perspective to how I view it. I believe we need to write things we don't like too, go to that dark place sometimes to see what we conjure.
Amanda Kay Burke Sep 2019
Welcomed by Mother's well-meaning embrace
Touch tender as a trap could be
How could my poor mother know?
The path laid for her precious baby?

Naivety must have rendered her blind
To awful truths of this life
Pain is inevitable for everyone
No one escapes sorrow and strife

A happy bubble flourished years I was small
Raised a sweet girl who made her proud
Four members of a perfect family
Tucked in each night warm, safe, and sound.

Had riches beyond measure when I was young
I treated it like dirt
Ungrateful for blessings owned
I'd never experienced hurt

Time unwillungly thrusted me forwards
Stole innocent hours one by one
After that problems rushed swiftly in
Unappreciated happiness forever done

Heartbroken heaviness settled in my bones
Weight growing larger still as days go by
If mom had paused to really think her decision through
Would she have chosen to birth a daughter who would rather die?
Day three of the 30 day poetry challenge im trying to keep up with

Pick up the newrest book and flip to page 8. Use the first full ten words in a poem in any order and anywhere you like.

My words were: small sweet innocent tender young still unwillingly taken mother's baby
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2019
~for Sreetama Chatterjee, granddaughter of Pradip Chatterjee~

A first time grandfather observes,
“that one path ends, a new one begins”

A philosophy, an observation shared,
one that I am, in multiplicity acquainted

Sources inform me that Sreetama is
of Sanskrit origin, the meaning is
“gift of god”

how wonderful are the mysterious coincidences in this world!

For my Hebrew name,
Netanel, given to me at my birth, the meaning is
“gift of god”

Sources inform me that name of Sreetama has given you
the desire for creative, artistic or musical expression
in an original way.

I can pretend to be surprised, but who would I fool?

you, granddaughter of my friend, an esteemed poet,
Pradip Chatterjee,
who delights in you,
you, an exquisite of the small
you, so powerful already,
that he has shelved his writing,
(temporarily I suspect)
to tend to your upbringing

You, so powerful already,
you, will break his will, command his attention,
demanding, bringing out his issuance of a thousand poems,
all revealing and reveling in your mastery,
over him!

You, so powerful already,
in secret concert, listening secretly,
already composing silently, smilingly,
awaiting the arrival of your fine,
very fine, motor skills,
to grasp, to own!
his writing utensils, empowered,
with the strength of a child insistent

You, feeling the energy of wisdom within those instruments,
sparking a commencement and a continuation of
the generational gift residing in your senses

I await those artistic creature creations
most impatiently...

—————————————————————————————
“the charming patience is the wait time tween your visions of
the excellence of the common, the exquisites of the small,
the delights of loss and pain translated into mercurial milestones,
poems.”

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3299027/pradip-im-a-charming-man-with-a-fragile-patience/

<>
छोटी की उत्तमता
[ *~ बालिका श्रीतमा चटर्जी के लिए कविता ~
]

प्रथम बार दादा ने महसूस किया,
"एक पथ पड़ाव तक पहुंचता है, एक नया प्रारम्भ होता है"

एक दर्शन, एक अवलोकन साझा करता हूँ
जिससे मैं भली भांति परिचित हूँ| कई गुना

स्त्रोत बताते हैं कि शब्द 'श्रीतमा' संस्कृत मूल का है,
जिसका अर्थ है - "ईश्वर का आशीर्वाद";

दुनिया में होने वाले रहस्यमय संयोग, कितने अद्भुत हैं!
मेरे हिब्रू भाषा के नाम - 'नेटानेल'

जिसे मेरे जन्म के समय, मुझे दिया गया
उसका भी अर्थ यही है - " ईश्वर का आशीर्वाद"

मुझे, सूत्र बताते हैं कि 'श्रीतमा' नाम ने तुम्हे
रचनात्मक, कलात्मक या संगीतमय -

अभिव्यक्ति की इच्छा दी है
बिलकुल नैसर्गिक और मूल तरीके से।

मैं आश्चर्यचकित होने का नाटक कर सकता हूं,
लेकिन आखिर मैं किसे मूर्ख बनाऊंगा?

तुम, मेरे दोस्त, एक सम्मानित कवि,
प्रदीप चटर्जी की पोती हो

जो तुम्हे देख कर प्रसन्न होता है
तुम, छोटी हो, श्रेष्ठ हो, उत्तम हो

तुम पहले से ही इतनी खुशनसीब हो कि,
उसने अपने लेखन को रोक कर दिया,
(अस्थायी रूप से, ऐसा मेरा मानना है)

केवल और केवल
तुम्हारी अच्छी परवरिश के लिए

तुम पहले से ही इतनी शक्तिशाली हो,
तुम उसकी इच्छाशक्ति को मोड़ सकोगी

उसके ध्यान को अपनी ओर खींचकर
अपनी महारत से उसके भीतर

हिलोरें मार रही हज़ारों कविताओं को
रहस्योद्घाटित होने का अवसर दे सकोगी

तुम पहले से ही इतनी शक्तिशाली हो,
तुम चुपके से धीरे धीरे सुन रही हो

तदात्म्य स्थापित कर रही हो
चुपचाप रच रही हो, गढ़ रही हो

इंतज़ार कर रही हो, समय आने का
अपनी मांसपेशियों पर नियंत्रण होने का

जिससे तुम लेखनी को पकड़ सको
सुदृढ़ता के साथ नियंत्रित कर सको

कुशलता से उसका उपयोग कर सको
एक बच्चे की ताकत और जिद के साथ|


तुम उन उपकरणों में निहित शक्ति महसूस कर रही हो,
जो शुरुआत से ही निरंतर तुम्हारे भीतर,

स्फुलिंग उत्पन्न कर, तुम्हारी इन्द्रियों के भीतर मौजूद
पीढ़ीगत उपहार को जारी रखते हैं

मुझे तुम्हारी उन कलात्मक, जीवंत कृतियों का,
इंतजार है, अधीरता के साथ, हाँ, पूरी अधीरता के साथ|


Many thanks to Shiv Pratap  Pal for his translation, advice and exquisite attention to the smallest detail.
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