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In a corner of a room lying is the table,

A vase placed on it
A chair besides it,
A cot placed near it,
And
Me sitting on it...
Each morning,
every evening
This is the look of
A room which has
White walls
And glass windows.
The room that's in the corner of the big full house ...

House is filled with voices,
And cooing of babies
And whispers
And laughter
With people that are mine,
With guests that are visiting...
But the white room in the corner
Have just me and my silence.

Its not happening
with me alone
It has happened with many
before me,
It will happen with many
after me
Some will call it fate
Some will call it compulsion..
Sitting here alone
I think,
I have learnt to live alone
I will manage my remaining
life alone
But my son and after him his son
Will they be able to live in
old age alone like me??

Some have all the living relations but house is lonely,
Some don't have any one around and house is silent
Those born in my time have long gone
Those death do us part had too gone away
And I am still alive!!

I write sometimes on the table lying beside
Sometimes a poem
Sometimes old memories
List of old friends
Those who are still alive
Those who are no more...

Here,
I am waiting to become a
photo frame
To be adorned on the wall...
Though in a photo frame,
but waiting to be part of colored walled that's main room of the house,

I am waiting to be once again in the center of whole voice filled house,
I think,
The day I am hanged on the wall of colored room
Knowingly-unknowningly I will become part of there talks too...

I have lived a long time in this white walled room,

Maybe then I will leave this room
Maybe now I will leave this room.

Sparkle In Wisdom
2017
#OLD AGE LONELINESS
Desmond the poet Jul 2018
I've been ignored and sidelined.
Denied freedom of expression.
Due to poverty, I was laughed at.
I was hurt, broken, and fought against.
Like a bicycle, I kept my balance to keep moving.
Then I won.

I’M THE STONE THE BUILDER REFUSED who’s………..

Passion didn’t come without suffering.
I strived not to be noticed.
I strived for my absence to be felt.
My intention wasn’t waiting for the storm to pass.
The intention was to dance in the rain.
Kneeling before God gave him ability to stand before anyone.

I’M THE STONE THE BUILDER REFUSED whom against all odds:

Forge without questioning.
Loved without condition.
Cared for people without expectations.
Gave without any sparing.
Shared without pretending.

I'm the same stone that turned to be the corner stone.
It's a personal poem about how I was treated by my family when I grew up and today I'm successful.
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
It's not the shadows themselves that are alive.
The darkened places are where you hide the thoughts you dare not face.

What did you expect?
sammy Jan 24
Treated, as if my heart's like yours
Talked to, as if I intruded your words
Looked on, and had brought my eyes nurture,
But my couple of words never went any further.
You're kind and you're caring,
But you'll never try hearing,
Just what my tongue ponders
And just what I am bearing.

It's true that I'm wrong,
But it's wrong what you've sung,
That I'm painted real pretty
And I'm made from some stone.
Don't feel lost or feel pity,
Just keep talking and loving me.

See it's simple my darling
There's no pain or torture
It's just weary and frailty,
And imperfections unblurred.

It takes time and good vision,
It takes feeling some words.
It takes more than you'll realize,
But it's not so unsure,
That I'll quickly find inside,
All the sweet and the pure.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It streams down eye to eye
from the unseen but the all seeing.

Far from the Mars far from the Neptune
skipping all the planets hanging in space
only on the cheek of earth, a drop of tear fell.

Every angel in the heavens' shore
has heard of this lore.
It’s timeless long mesmerising beautiful.
Far from the blue yonder sky
hunky dory is delighting to the eyes
the stunner is made to measure.

A tear in the corner of the eye
as if it's diagonally weighed down
with the 360-degree open looking sky.
As close as within a fingertip comes the Moon
still, a sea is ahead forever untouchable!
It doesn’t hurt that you chose her. She’s prettier than me, smarter than me, not broken like me. Her smile is bright like the sun, her eyes are as blue as the sea, and her laugh is like the melody of the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. She’s your favorite book, and I’m just a page of it. She’s really the obvious choice.  I’m happy for the two of you, honestly.  Sometimes I see you holding her, and it looks as if you’re scared to let go. I see her smile up at you, and I can just tell that she’s lost in your eyes. I’m glad that you found love.  It doesn’t hurt that you chose her, but you wanna know what does? The fact that I almost had you. You almost loved me. You held me like that, and I smiled at you the same way she does now. But something happened, and suddenly you’re all I can think about, when to you I’m just a distant memory.
Jerry Vital Aug 2018
Since after birth
My whole life feels casted by the devil spell
Ever since I started walking on this earth.
I walk on sidewalks to ****.

Living on a broken street,
My life has only been jagged.
And my soul looks so ragged
Until I can't stand anymore on my feet.

Wanting to start over,
with only broken bits and pieces,
with the chills of life running up to my neck
everytime I go around the corner.
Need a solution, I need to find some peace.

Telling my mom: Can we all leave, please?
So we can find some peace to feel at ease.
Hoping life would take a welcoming turn.
Until we reach the point of no return
A writing prompt I had to do with these words:
neck
spell
sidewalk
birth
street
welcome
please
return
jagged
peace
Prior to Early May Day,
Can’t help to driving into flavour of red and green.
Are all duties done?
Or never end with trio ensembles,
May sun stays and birds continue to sing.
It is a real chill out,
The genuine thing.
I am not deceived,
but I do think summer is hidden around the corner
With you and all
...
By Angel. XJ 30/04/2019
Lawrence Hall Dec 2018
“…and looking at a picture on the opposite wall.”

                          -C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Ikons are windows to another World
Of Theos and Theotokos, of our saints
Some as merry as yet are others stern
While forming from the prayerful writer’s 1 hand

And in the saints the Light of God shines through
True witnesses to that transcendental Truth
And so we pause and with a candle catch
The prayer-light of their eternity

(As does the bedes-spider 2 who lives there)
Ikons are windows to that truer World


1 In Orthodoxy an ikon is said to be written rather than drawn or painted, but y’r ‘umble scrivener is no authority; the reader might begin a study of ikons / icons with:

http://www.pravmir.com/how-to-sep-up-an-icon-corner-at-home/

2 An Orthodox friend discovered that a spider had made its home among his ikons, and so in peace and hierarchical obedience the little creature served God as a sort of canon, or perhaps a bedes-spider, until its death.
Prabhat Chhetri Oct 2017
not so long ago
they made you feel
not so alone

before
the social medias and  compulsive criterias

and the claustrophobia
that comes
when you will always understand where some people come from but never love them for it

these days it sits in a blind corner
like a forgotten foreigner
mentioned in sentences
that start with
"remember back when..."

The lesson of technology is to go with the flow

The lesson of time is in old and fading photographs
where you are holding
a landline phone
and pretending to talk into it
because your mother wanted to take a picture
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Once, the summer sun will rise in London
Like the half of the Ge meets the other half.
Like a magic by the Lamp of Aladdin
The love flame hidden in the chest lits out!

Like a blooming rose in a glowing beam of light,
Like a smiling face speaks a gentle word,
Like a beautiful sunrise colour in the first light!

The summer in London will pop and sizzle
We will see a threshold in our land.
The rose for a while is tucked away
Off the winter and is given to the sun
Winter is not forever spring is on the corner
Come back in the sun with the early bird
Before Cinderella takes on the primrose path.

Keeping an eye on a thriller is in the winter’s field
Oozy ozone misty land gets a gingerly seasoning
What on earth will it strike, will it dish out?
Ah, the sun will pop out like a river breeze.

Like a southern song singing on a dream scene.
a smooth fairy dance facing the Moon
a thrill of exposing Stonehenge once and for all
a melodious raindrop in the serene pond
a butterfly dance on the rose
a turned on tall tale of the blue peacock
Like a pure belief in heaven without a pinch of salt!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
CK Baker Apr 2017
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls

Army bands prepare for march
their trench members filling packs with canister and cane
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle

Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms

Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues

Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from a glorified perch
the elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly in a cold reflective stare

It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and pierced broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****)
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
is a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
CK Baker May 2017
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!


duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar ***** wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
Mya Sep 2018
You make me happy
I felt like I've been sitting in the cold
Dark corner
All alone
Until you came and said
"Hi"
To me
Wk kortas Jul 2018
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the *******-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
Silverflame Aug 2018
my old futile dreams
make the windows all misty
ripping up the seams
blood mixed with ancient whiskey

a smile around the corner
lures the naive mind
******* up the world order
another death wish signed

overhead, brick by brick
the november wind stands still
heart oozing of homesick
empty thoughts my glass refill

delusions cover my sight
faraway lights blink with eager
fixing the crooked night
dinner with the grim reaper
A poem I wrote last year, which I someone managed to delete with my clumsy fingers.
devine Jul 2018
i am me
you are you
let me be
you have no clue

stop talking like you understand
i'm tired of swimming toward your dreams
i can hear my heart stop beating
drowning in my own feelings
a shattered mind lost in sand
catastrophe appears on my screens

but i'm no God
no one in particular
the most ordinary thing
full of aspirations
imaginations
and colors

i'm not going back to the corner
i'm gonna run farther
i'm gonna make it better

the fire ignites
the ocean send its waves
raw emotion spilled into motion
it's not broken it's golden

why should i listen to others
when i own the colors
it's not only a caption
it's satisfaction

all the beautiful colors
took a long time to show
i do not fear it
i do not hate it

i'm proud
i'm shining colors
you can never see
Fredrick Njoroge Sep 2018
I woke up today a brief few
Seconds to thank the man
Upstairs another chance to
Better myself challenges get
The blood pumping opportunity
Uplifts lower spirits proven time
And time again never switching
My motives the truth comes to
Light while dishonesty lurks in
The dark cleansing my soul of
All evils by doing the walk of honor

Courageous steps as the day
Starts enjoying the depths this
Life has to offer temptation
Always just around the corner
But it's not enough to satisfy this
Grand journey of improvement
Afternoon turns into night but the
Focus never gets out of sight stars
In the sky to guide me home as my
Eyes dance the streaks of white light..
CK Baker Oct 2017
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in ****'s hole

Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus

Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss

Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand

Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared

Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down

Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand

Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
***** pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float

Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void

Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
King Panda Oct 2015
who knew you were filled
with gold!
when I stuffed the dynamite down
your throat and ran you
through the casino I wasn’t
expecting a jackpot
maybe a princess piñata or a
party popper
but a corner leather and a
fresh haircut?

no, we’re not
in the 50’s anymore
but your vault was guarded
like mob headquarters when you head
started sputtering
quarters

you the
light-skinned pin action
movie star
looking highly alien
you
my diamond studded
chain
Pyre Aug 2018
Just another metal bird
with a dictated flight path
I'm just another ****** up ray of sunshine
Too many people that come and pray at my shrine
L Ron Hubbard was just the start of an ideology that's too dangerous
Too many people following a leader instead of their ideals, it's so real
yet it's only as tangible as the wind
it's not what you think
it's really not what you think
wishing life could be darker
just so I could enjoy the brighter day that I've kept a bay, that I've slept away
starting another fray.
just so you can feel at home, raised on a battlefield of the sexes, getting off on your exes pain, one more kiss in the rain, one more kiss that will maime,
another made up character that we look up too, just to hope we can be true to oursleves, cause after all were different, like everyone else.
yet anywhere else is a better view, than your own eye sockets.
Hiding more than your ring finger in that pocket, destroying your mother and building rockets.
it's our adolescence, time to fly on our own, and leave those that raised us behind. in a neighborhood that watched us grow.
I've seen the terror churn inside too many good people...
maybe that's why people still believe in god, not because they think he's real, but because they hope he is.
because maybe.
just maybe.
He'll be at the end of this long and dark tunnel.
CK Baker Jan 2017
Under the old house
cast in conglomerate mix
the cataract window
and cracked sill
broken joists
and cross beams
wringer wash
and saddle set

A draw string light
brings life
to the corner bench
fowler toads
and fingerlings
jitter bugs
and dazzy vance
dirt planks filled
with mason
crown classics

Buggy whip
and whippletree
shelved on the
chopboard
tackle and mucks
stacked at the back
horseshoe and jack rod
bend the pike pole
a sawhorse placed
for the Martindale push

Gallon jars
and growlers
prepped
for the taking
ropes and reins
for transport
and fest
goggle eye
jumps the flyer
setting up nicely
for the
Haldimand town fair
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