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Umi Feb 2018
By the earth and it's wonderful, wide and unique expanse
A mother to what is living on it and inside of it, may it be small
or great in their posture given to them.
Indeed this place inhabits many creatures, faces and races.
Each striving for their own path, of staying alive.
The soft soil of the Earth, a comfortable living and breathing
ground to walk on, proud and all connected, only to be divided
By the sea which covers most of this planet, comparable to a blanket
From which we gain food and drink, in a clear registered cycle.
Of course this place too holds it's dangers, such as a quake could
end it all in a brutal roughless manner and tear it from the ground
we build our houses on.
Or be it an eruption which casts a rain of ash and embers, suffocating
the sky above, the ceiling which was meant to protect is our very end.
A mighty wave, which sweeps over the cities, drowning them in
it's lethal, cold and brutal, moist and salty embrace.
It is not healthy to be in such a negative spectra of thinking however
For this place holds, more transient, living, artistic beauty than I
could simply express or convey in words.

~ Umi
Nonsense Poet Nov 2017
Awkward silence
Vanitas still-life
Remembering I must die
Thinking about afterlife

Still-life painting
Symbols of death or transience
The same old story
Unique true glory

Attention to one more fact
I know I'm into this
I'm a part of everything
Even without feeling it

Memento mori
Painted bended blind
A friendly reminder
Coming across my mind

The brevity of human life
A proper masterpiece
No one can escape
Let it rest in Peace
K Balachandran Jun 2017
A girl dressed in a diaphanous gown,

spun  from the ethereal combination of

dollops of moon shine and star light of the past,

visited me in secret, spent together one long night.

We had memorized each other's heady scent

smeared all over us in an earlier journey together.

like two trained sniffer dogs on a robber's trail.

We were overwhelmed by the wish fulfillment

seemed like we are in a life within a dream.

No way we won't meet as the hearts beat so close

and I was having visions of her all the time day and night.

On those encounters I wrote two poems with my blood.

As I was addicted to the  recounting of those moments,

I wanted to smelt it  in my imagination's golden crucible

thought that would make the alliance immortal

but forgot the fact that human follies never end!

"You are lucky,a rare flower she is" they'd tell me

and make  me feel elated calling me a poet,

on account of just two poems for which,all  I was worth.

Should I have known it's a dream,that takes a lot to go on.

On her strong wings she flew back to green hills above.

If I weren't a love fool, I'd have seen it coming from a distance.

after abandonment and the long night after,sun still reigns.

They still call me  poet, I am hesitant to respond to it,

a melancholy poet of grief's wonder land, in non stop dance

with the experiences that illuminate transient existence?

Still do not know what to make of this two poem life!
Rowan Darcy Jun 2017
Alone at a bus stop one night I stood,
And thoughts of my life soon turned to despair,
At all I had done, and all I still could,
I lit up a jack to lessen my care,

No sooner had I exhaled the first puff,
Than stood there a vision, a man entire,
He spoke in a voice both smokey and gruff,
And bade me to name my heart's true desire,

"Tell me young man, what do you wish for?"
"Release I wish from the boredom of life,
I want to be free of the struggle for more,
I'm restless in peace, but seek it in strife,"

I started to say, then paused for a drag,
Spilling the smoke I went on with a breath,
"These days at my job make me want to gag,
If that's all there is then I wish for death."

A moment of silence shared in the night,
The dark form beside me once again spake,
"I can't grant what you ask, try though I might,
But one day your life I will surely take."

The figure departed, gone in a flash,
Vanished in flesh though still his voice lingers,
Alone at a bus stop, clutching at ash,
I stood in the dark with burning fingers.
Hannah Payne Dec 2016
And then he stepped into my mind.
His ephemeral arrival
Flirting with the departure of our time.
I could feel the rising tide,
Pull me in toward,
Atlantic suicide,
Planted and watered.
Peripheral with its crystallized hand.
Seductive with its transient satin touch.
I dressed my face with a painful smile
Lacerated like a mutilated porcupine.
And watched a rancid trace of gooey paste
Bleed through sticky crumbs of debris
Like cascading turpentine.
It consumed me whole.
I was swallowed overseas.
And then he strolled inside my brittle soul,
Bloodshot in disguise.
Beginning to realign,
Within the stitching of this blanket.
I find it towering over me,
Saluting with protuberant glare.
My tugging devotion,
Had lead to a realization...
And then I stepped out of my mind.
Wide Eyes Dec 2016
Onto her creased palm, lime scented glue she poured
To mend the loose page on that book she'd borrowed.
As she spread the glue, a pleasant feeling of release.
For to piece broken things together brought her peace.

What of the glue that lingered on her palm, though?
Across the sides of her petite hand did overflow...
She beheld its yellow viscosity in an odd little trance.
From the faint aroma, a new line of thought did advance.

Maybe she could use it to stick a note in her dorm,
To remind her that in life, transience is the sole norm.
Or to fix a friendship once worthy of the bards,
That had silently shattered into a million shards.

Or perhaps even use it on the heart hiding within her,
So the poor old muscle could heal a little quicker...
She turned on the tap with a frustration so fierce,
And washed off the lime glue along with her tears.
Andy Hunter Oct 2016
That person who gets you, lifts you
As the stone that fits your hand does
Who loves you as the stone from your hand
Skims out across the sea, loves you so
Many times more
Than you can count

Whose love seems older than the stone
Smoother than its perfect roundness
Whose eyes seem deeper than the sea
During the endless time your eyes
Meet. And the feeling

In your heart
Of that stone
That oldest

Skimming light, skimming fast
Skimming away

As it fades
As it

K Balachandran Sep 2016
Time limits every single rainbow though
It's sweep binds the horizon end to end,
As the light slowly fads,this illusion dissolves,
And darkness stares the sky on it's starry eyes!

Each rainbow color is derived from the  sedate white!
If white can do this, what wouldn't be possible in colors!
But billowing darkness before long fulfills it's desire.
And the morning blush again will wash all darkness off.
Moving clouds pass  their messages to me aloud.
In cryptic script doodled  in light and rumbling sounds.
A wonderful display on the dark curtain of clouds!

Look at me, I am still here to make you see what
You have never seen before your curious eyes!
Clouds churn darkness and light to find what does emerge,
I do see specks of rainbows frothing in it's cauldron!

Life is a change continuous, like the days of torrential monsoon,
I am with the winds and water, in the chiaroscuro of clouds,
A rainbow with an illusory nearness, allowing you to touch,
As it happens it's gone, becomes one with light and darkness.
K Balachandran Apr 2016
Blasphemous black cloud, though robust in look, just vapor proud,

You borrow belligerence from swirling west wind's boldness,

Remorselessly you prevent the Sun's extent of rule by limitless light,

You are malevolent to the world to whom sun is the only visible God,

Benevolently ruling the earth, synchronizing the cycles with his moves,

You only have a life too short, not fully aware  of your  own limits

Or taking in to account, the effulgence of the sun sustaining all,

Why rebel, ever thought about the result of such an impulsive act?
Know thyself  well,  attain inner peace, by accepting the truth.
Alyaan Tariq Mar 2016
Loving a stranger I had been
Marked in permanence was
Not a phrase but her name
Penetrating deep into my skin of life
It's not a scar,it's never a scar
It's the ink holding meaning
They say it lasts forever
But it's only until I reach the grave
On my arm was Valentina ,carved
A result of countless pricking needles
I didn't see the inked name, I saw her
Whatever on my heart was  
Was beyond anything she could ever see
She should've known the feeling , but
Loving a stranger I had been
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