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sea, darkness and rose buds,
running to the shore,

i hear the sharp flutes of
the waves gathering the
widening summer

(see how she draws in her
breath before
the wind….)

the sky drinks deep,
makes lanes out of
the dark where we
run to stay free, the starlight
trembles, blinks and
nods with its
silver ghosts,

those silver ghosts
of a wandering sea,
of rose-wood and darkness,

as the sea melts....
 Aug 2017 Tia Imani Rose
Sadia
I hear the waves crash back and forth, synchronizing in perfect harmony. The winds whisper my name. My heart beats fast.
The sky hangs over me, and the waves come near;
I’m pensive, self-absorbed. I walk alone, my soul uneased, searching for all the answers.
What’s there waiting for me, at the end of the ocean shores?
 Aug 2017 Tia Imani Rose
Eleni
Shards of ice that teem
With a pearlescent glow.

Your minarets gleam
And pry over my turbulent waters.

You are not what you seem
If you polish your sharp edges-

Or cut through them with a tongue as sharp as your craters.

But I'll wait four weeks-
So that you will fall back into the shadows.

But, alas, I cannot run fast
For you are the winner;
The long distance winner that routinely comes and goes.
This started as a personification of the moon but then turned into a metaphor of a very tumultuous relationship. Superficially the person (or the moon) appears bright and beautiful, but slips back into the shadows (after 28 ish days) during a new moon. The juxtaposition of the new moon being unseen in the sky reveals that the other lover is constantly trying to keep up with the other person, yet the distance between them is keeping them separated. The places poetry can take you, eh. ;)
 Aug 2017 Tia Imani Rose
Ksjpari
My life is my wife who my anger jell
By her loving words; her actions yell
All her work which she did for swell
My life – which without her is a well.
She is the one who does always blare
Whenever I am wrong; and does snare
All my guilt and lies that may stare
At my back for my downfall and bare.
I am developed by my skills and flair
By her and her talents which she share
Always with me. She gave my life bare
A sweet loving daughter; with me dare
She to challenge the world’s despair.
With the advent of my sweet daughter
Whole my life changed into pleasure.
This was a gift from my wife for sure
Who promised me to live forever.
Anguish, Despair and Gloom me ensnare
Change them all directly into air.
Hence I always say: Without wife
There is no way to live a life.
I am developing a new style of writing poetry where ending words of a line rhyme with one another, at least in last sound. I named it Pari Style. Hope readers will like it. Thanks to those invisible hands and fingers which supported and inspired me to continue my efforts in my new, creative, artistic and innovative “Pari” style. Thanks for your inspiring, kind, soft fingers.
 Aug 2017 Tia Imani Rose
w
73
 Aug 2017 Tia Imani Rose
w
73
is it okay to miss him the second he looks away?
High on the mountain,
I’m all alone,
Sittin’ by the river,
Water splashin’ on the stones;
As mornin’ fills the valley
Where before, the night was hung,
I wake up from the wine
But the pines block-out the sun

And the rain ain’t pleasin’,
And the cold is on the ground,
And strung-out on the byways
All the highwaymen stand round;
And above the crooked timber,
All the whippoorwills fly blue,
And they sing a song so lonesome,
Can’t you hear it comin’ thru?

Or did you decide
That you’ve gone deaf and blind
And I’ve been on the job so long
Who knows if I’ll survive, you just sigh,
As I wonder why I keep on
Tryin’ to get to you;
it’s no use…

There at your window,
Leanin’ on the ledge,
Y’got ‘em tryin’ to beat the blade
With a nine-pound sledge;
Y’got ‘em workin’ on a building,
Ev’ry carpenter in town;
Well if I had it my way
I would tear that building down

But it won’t get done
All I could ever win’s been won;
And I’ve been on the job so long
Who knows if I’ll survive, you won’t cry,
But will you try, if I die
While tryin’ to get to you, to
Bury Me in Georgia
Next to you

After all that I’ve been had
You’d think that I’d go mad,
But my anticipation
Outweighs my lack of patience;
‘Cause I’ve been on the job so long
Who knows if I’ll survive, so
Bury Me in Georgia
Next to you
A song about peaches
I gazed into his eyes like beads of sweat
Blacker than the empty spacious depths
Around the little bridge-like tiny speck,
An ember on His hearth
We only think is worth
Its broken wharfs.

He said to me: "Son, don't fear empty bluffs.
They may be steep but they're not steep enough."
And judging by the ace tucked in his cuff,
I knew he would be true
And his tale would be true too
About the wharfs.

"Throughout the many vicious centuries
The motor of it always seems to freeze
Until the kindled flame does hit the breeze
And thaws its frostbit joints
And burns the hand that points
Out from the wharf."

He cleared his throat and then he said aloud:
"Is piety reaped from fertile ground?
Or by the planter's hand is it endowed?
The answer lies in strife
So mount the throne of life
Far from the wharf."
A song about an improver.
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