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Sam Sep 2016
The dove left awhile ago.
The flamingo stared as it flew away.
The sparrow sat silently,
watching and observing,
Knowing that eventually one would break.
What the flamingo doesn't know, hurts it.
The dove, in fact,has had its wings broken before.
It was said that the wings were broken to no repair.
The dove was paralyzed, could feel no pain.
It was numb, it was in vain.
The sparrow sat patiently on the side.
It helped the dove get back in line,
Time was the true healer.
The sparrow watched as the dove failed,
The sparrow watched as the dove grew,
The most important part,
is that the dove overcame.
Even the sparrow thought there was no return,
though it never said it, it believed it.
Until one day, the sparrow looked out,
and saw the dove flying away.
The dove had healed, the dove was free.
The numbness went down and it began to see.
Now, this is a message for the flamingo to hear,
The sparrow has everything to fear.
The dove never wanted to fly away and not come back,
Yet the flamingo desires exactly that.
The dove was able to overcome their pain,
so I believe the flamingo can do the same.
It takes time, it takes patience,
but in the end, it is worth it.
The world will be clearer, and the flowers brighter.
The sparrow can not wait,
until the day the flamingo can fly away.
But to fly away with its own wings,
with its own strength,
to have overcome this obstacle,
and finally be free.
The sparrow will wait patiently for that day,
Helping all the way.
The flamingo will soar high,
not has high as the heavens,
because it will be low enough to where it can fly back,
Back to where the sparrow sits patiently,
for the help it can give once more.
Serpent King Dec 2012
I have been taken to someplace new, someplace with ample beauty,
Above me, pearly white clouds drift lazily on the clear blue sky,
Below me, luscious grass licks my ankles, blowing in the warm breeze,
Behind me, a clear river flows, its water clean enough to see the trees’ reflection,
In front of me, baby blue mountains pierce the sky in abundant numbers,
To my left, a thick forest of a seemingly endless assortment of trees flourishes,
To my right, a single snowy white dove sits perched on a very large evergreen tree.

The dove lives in harmony with me, alongside me, within me,
The tree on which it rests is the largest tree within my view,
As long as the tree exists, the dove exists; as long as the dove exists, I exist,
The dove and the tree tell a story of great friendship and harmony,
For without the dove, there is no tree; without the tree there is no dove,
I am its only audience, the only one who is listening, yet I listen with great attention,
Their story is that of life: what it was, what it is, what it will come to be.

The sun is rising, but something is different, something is not quite right,
The river exhibits a shade of ****** red; the forest reeks of damage,
The mountains sing a sorrowful tune; the clouds obliterate the sky,
The grass has hardened, now a gloomy gray; the breeze has turned frigid cold,
The dove has gone, its once green home reduced to a defeated ash,
The once great land has vanished, and with it, the feathered wing had vanished too,
For without the dove, there is no tree; without the tree there is no dove.
Jackie Mead Jul 2018
Hi D Raven here again
Remember me, I’m the Vampire people would love to slain.
But 500 years I’ve now had and 500 more I’m destined for.
I’m going to tell you a short tale but be warned it will make your face pale.
So before you turn the page, let me first check your worldly age?
You must of course be twenty one to be included in the fun.
Come children gather closely now, while I stand up and take a bow.
Let the story begin.......

One day whilst at home, cutting chicken off the bone.
In an effort to impress, a lady emporess.
It was getting rather late but after all this was considered a date.
The lady hearing of my good looks, made a phone call and the night was booked.

So here I am all alone, cutting chicken off the bone, when the lights begin to trigger and I hear a womanly voice snigger.
The woman’s voice then says all light and airy, "welcome to your bad fairy".
Thinking I had been set up and someone was playing a trick, again the lights began to flick.
I slowly crept about the room, searching for a weapon, I found a broom.
I waited for the lights to settle just then I heard the whistling of a kettle.
Distracted, I turned around then, I heard another sound, this time it came from the room above, from the Cote where I kept my Pet Dove.

I headed up the stairs steep, to where my Dove I did keep.
I found feathers on the ground, my Dove was nowhere to be found.
My heart was beating out of my chest, until I found my Dove I could not rest.

I ran a few ideas through my mind, trying to forge a plan to find, my Dove.

        MY DOVE, MY DOVE, MY PET  

I ran from room to room, searching high and low but still could not find the Dove that was on my mind.

Returning back to the Kitchen, I found the surfaces all covered in Lichen.
Someone had covered all the surfaces in bright green.
It was a mess like no other I had seen.

Then I heard a womanly giggle and ran towards the sound.
My feet began to slip and slide, I fell to the floor and slid right into the kitchen door.

The woman giggled once again and I wiggled on my belly towards the sound coming from the room with the tele.
What do you think I found?


Sitting on the remote control, turning channels nice and slow.
Hopping from foot to foot, laughing as he does, free from restraints of the Cote above.

What about the green slime, I hear you ask?

Well the Dove had tried a simple task of making some Jelly to eat before the tele.  
It ended up on the floor then I slipped and head butted the door.

I called the Lady Emporess and apologised to her but I had to break our date.
It simply was not within our fate to have this late night date.

Now I am running late for another date, I have a Kitchen to clean, a meal to make and an evening in front of the tele just me my Pet Dove, my best mate.

Well that's all folks for now, I bid you goodnight and take my bow.
Arvind Bhardwaj Mar 2016
One day after working for long I was taking a nap,
A pure white dove in the form of love, came & sitted in my lap.

I was shocked and also amaze,
I never thought about and never craze.

I was thinking what to do, keep with me or let her flew

Suddenly, my attention went on dove,
So sweet & So cute, I gone silent my feelings gone mute.
Heart was beating but mind was quite,
Is this a trap or everything alright?

Leave it and let it be, I thought..

With the passage of nights and days,
I was changing in many ways,
sometime I was dark, sometime I was grey,
I was behaving like an actor in Life's Play.

I was learning new things from dove,
How to Hate and How to Love.
How to accept and How to refuse.
How to have fun  and How to amuse.

I was so happy and so amused.
One day dove came and refused,
Dove said Its the time when I have to fly,
You learnt everything from me, Now learn How to CRY

That was the day when dove left my lap,
I remain silent for a long time gap.

Then I realized, sometime Life teach a lesson in the form of dove,
I learnt what I need, I will win yes indeed.
White dove
The hatred wall
That estranged cousins
Have begun to fall
When love
Incarnated in white dove
Started to fly high
Over Ethiopian- Eritrean sky.

White dove
You are an antidote
Border dispute to solve.

White dove
Ethiopia's  port problem
Eritrea's financial-return
You are sure to dissolve.

White dove
Tourism and trade
Must spur ahead.
So to wipe out
Dislike's filth
Let us put a glove.

White dove
To make up for
Lost resources and chances
Also the two cousins
From dislike to absolve.//
Ethiopia,Eritrea have resumed friend ship after 20 years no-war-no-peace situation
Riot Jan 2015
little dove
where's your love
where's the smile you're so proud of?
you know good and well you can't fly
without your daily dose of hugs
little dove
where's your laugh
where's your mouth thats fast
little dove
where's your love
where's the wings your so proud of?

do a little trick in the air
show everybody that you don't care
do a little trick in the air
little dove

see how high in the air you can go
see how low to the ocean you can flow
let your wings touch the experiances
little dove
let it go

don't let them win your eyes
there too beautiful to diguise
fix your eyes on the clouds flying by

to let your wings on the ground
is to say you never flew at all
little dove
little dove
you aren't that small

little dove
where's your love
where's the smile you're so proud of?
you know good and well you can't fly
without the love you're so proud of
RuiSJ Nov 2017
It pried against it all, the little dove.
Struggling versus the barred world it never chose.
Yet it believed,
It loved.
Risked; in spite what wounds that never part.

The little dove, it saved itself
Countless times;
No more, no less.
Eyes water, fall.
Bleeding chest.

Wired, one after another,
Little dove prayed for freedom,
Loud chirping, begging, crying,
These unheard sounds.
Dove is weary of its never-ending hound.

It once loved an owner
But the same feeling wasn’t shown.
Dove, tried to leave but LOVE outgrown.

An innocence of a man,
His eyes caught that beauty.
Now scarred of unwanted love,
Dying without liberty.
“Dove, be free.” he said,
While he unlocked the better gates for the dove to scurry.

Little dove is worn though,
Its wings can’t flex.
It had freed own over and over,
Until hopes are less.
But there will never be a nest;
For it to see beauty,
What true love meant.

The coop was fancy,
Yet it wasn’t home.
At every corner the coldness roars.

But man take him;
His hand of an arm,
An embrace.
It is his warmth that freed it.
Alas! Little dove finally sees,
The world it doesn’t know.
Leaving the broken cages down below.

For the dove, a painful memory.
But a million worth of loss.
From where it is,
The human frames.
It’ll once go back, it promised.
A grateful game.
michael gagain Apr 2013
it seem to me...that on this site
most of you..don't go for fright

you like it cushy....i surly see
the mushy the better...i'll try to be

well here it goes..
i'll do my best
i wan't all the rest

im gonna write a poem
not a rhyme i know em

my first shot at love
you soon will read
i hope you like it
i wanna see

if you like this attempt
at the words that i write
please leave a comment
in the box the night

here is the poem
i promised you all
it's coming right up
i'll no longer stall

to soar in the sky...on the wings of a dove
it's something fantastic
we all call it love

love takes us higher
than we ever been
the dove she will fly
to the great blue and then....
the woman of your dreams
will start her decent

you know love is true
the way she stares at you
you look in her eyes
the prettiest of blue

she tells you she loves you
and you say it back
if your both being honest
the love stays intact

keep the dove airborne..and don't let it land
love needs a chance
to make a firm stand

on the wings of a'll have forever
the love you both share
if you are cleaver

hold on to each other
as long as you can
cause the wings of a dove won't change your flight plan

the coo in the morning ...the dove always makes
will remind you each day
to not make mistakes

be true to your woman
and she'll give it back...
even more for certain
that is a fact

let the dove land gracefully
wings flapping gently
and let your love be...
ravyn Dec 2018
dead dove, do not eat

theres a
dead dove in the fridge
i implore you
please do not open the bag unless
you wish to see,
a dead dove

why now are you gagging
and raving
and ranting
about how the dead dove was so unpleasant when you
opened the bag?
did i not warn you?
please do not open the bag unless
you wish to see,
a dead dove

oh, now you complain of
taste and texture!
the dead dove was the
most disturbing of meals
and how could i
have fed you that
it was you
who opened the bag
despite warnings and pleading of
please do not open the bag unless
you wish to see,
a dead dove
i like the phrase dead dove
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
To the warmth of life
And passing through with grace
Of a woman in hand under veil,
Lavished in her unconquered beauty,
Enamored with her saving grace
Amid the elation of first kiss,
Under the spell of first eternity.

And through the veils of silence
When the swarm of sounds of
Making love have devoured the hours
And he stares into fertile eyes,
The truth of his belief in them,
And the prelude to forever's nest,
The dove returns upon white unifications.

But soon the dove will deny the embrace,
And the cold lonesome dove
Will be forgotten in the skies blue,
The touch of ****** prowess ,
The soft moist of lips that convened
A destiny of adornment with kisses
So deep and meaningful that it vibrates
Through times like a phantom flame
From forever's fire,
The bitter flight of the dove with passion
To ravage her body,
Upon the return open does the veil.

Before passion abandons,
Let them return home to nest
The kisses from that eternal night,
That journey for the taste your
Of your sanguinary fruit
Provoking the eternal flight.

Before her lips close at the dove's
Return, lift the veil of forever
On the romantical threshold,
The death and purity,
The light and the venom,
What white veils may hide.
jonni inferno Jul 2018
i met her    
in a waking dream    
as i walked beside    
the sylvar stream    
whose chattering laughter    
shifted suddenly    
into a sylvar pool    
of enchanted silence    
a mirrored glaze    
in muted    
dawning rays    
her cascading mane    
a crimson flare    
sea-green eyes    
alluring stare    
my heart stopped    
to see her there    
'pon a verdant garden lee 
the misting sylvar mere    
the weeping willow trees    
dahlia lips    
whispering desire    
vermilion plunder splayed    
by her charms    
heart pounding    
i stay    
an' wi' faire
lithesome beauty lay    
'pon a lush an' vibrant field    
the misting sylvar mere    
the weeping willow trees    
we lay there    
lost in time    
in the silence 
of kindred minds    
an' i knew her name    
tho she spoke it not    
sipped i then
the misty morning dew    
from precious lips
that from me drew    
all that i    
ever thought    
or felt    
or knew
'pon the grasses lush and green    
the softly glowing mere    
the weeping willow trees    
soft sings    
the whippoorwill    
the meadowlark    
an' mourning dove    
their voices weaving spells    
for lover's yearning hearts    
in the meadow    
by the way    
where my love an' i    
do lay    
'pon the gleaming sylvan shore    
the shining crystal lake    
the weeping willow trees    
the dawning days    
were passing
when came malevolence    
a thund'ring tempest    
lightnings flashed
in ragged gashes
'cross the heaven's    
stygian passes
an' from those
gnawing caverns
a raging
demon's brood
an' down flew they
by the sylvar stream
where my love
and i
did lay
the mystic sylvar lake
the weeping willow trees
then from my arms    
vile creatures tore    
my lifesong    
my heart's blood    
my one    
and only love
her scintillating form    
they ripped    
her silent
piercing cries    
thru my soul
an' took her they  
far from this    
desert shore    
as her soundless    
chorus fades    
an' leaves me
here alone    
to lay    
'pon these shifting lifeless sands    
this sylvar lake of tears    
the weeping willow trees    
the meadowlark    
her spellsong sings    
thru ebon winter's    
the silver stream    
her laughter froze    
this heart    
once fire    
a soulless stone    
so now this raven
doth fly
to scour the bruised    
an' shadowed skies    
to find my dove    
an' bring her home    
to lay
'pon these frozen brittle stones
the darkened sylvar tarn
the weeping willow trees    
thru timeless age    
an' dangerous realms    
i followed    
her silent    
as her grisly    
mewling pleas    
hollowed out my soul    
'til at last    
i found her    
chained an' bound    
deep within    
peculiar planes    
an' baneful realms    
far from    
the laughing sylvar stream    
far from    
the weeping willow trees    
her lament    
of bitter tears    
an' fear    
thru my defenses    
a doomed    
pernicious heart    
she was    
thru deepest depths    
where madness reigns    
all hope destroyed    
hell's minions    
my dove    
called i    
my love    
'tis i    
once more    
thrice more  
and time again    
till finally    
she hearkened    
to my voice    
true love    
recall us    
you and i    
thru ageless realms    
consider us    
under heaven's wings    
at my fingertips

an' i  
drew her then    
into my arms    
ambrosia lips    
her sweet alms    
from her dark pain    
i did drink    
of her    
malignant sorrow    
i did partake  
my questing    
thirsting hunger    
did i sate  
gathering all    
her shattered pieces    
from those altered    
now broken    
i carried her
'pon wings    
of true love's    
sylvar light    
far from    
these darksworn legions    
the dawning night's    
farthest regions    
an' there    
close by    
the laughing    
sylvar stream    
lay her gently    
'pon the verdant flowing shore    
our gleaming slyvar mere    
our weeping willow trees    
under glimmering    
starlit heavens    
the whippoorwill    
the meadowlark    
an' mourning dove    
whose soulful songs    
for yearning lovers    
charms of hope    
where pools    
the laughing    
sylvar stream    
whose mirrored gaze    
draws us deep within    
as the wind    
thru our hearts  
as we lay entwined    
'pon a verdant garden lee    
our misting sylvar mere    
our silent    
willow trees    
p j upchurch
My dove, my beautiful one,
Arise, arise!
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.

The odorous winds are weaving
A music of sighs:
Arise, arise,
My dove, my beautiful one!

I wait by the cedar tree,
My sister, my love,
White breast of the dove,
My breast shall be your bed.

The pale dew lies
Like a veil on my head.
My fair one, my fair dove,
Arise, arise!
Mysterious Aries Aug 2016
The dove is not ready to fly
Not ready yet for goodbye
Many dreams must to fulfill
Have shown not his best skill

The dove is not ready to fly
Oh please! Not today, not tonight
Must freed what his life embraced
The hellish art made must be erased

The dove is not ready to fly
At this time he will not reach the sky
Hadn't yet shared the delicious bread
The new wisdom fathom hasn't spread

The dove is not ready  to fly
Tears are flowing into his eyes
The dove is not ready to take wing
From his dying body and bruised skin

You always read about it:
the plumber with twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
From diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the big event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little gold slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
The don't just heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.
Andy Cave Jun 2012
You are my soulmate my one true love.
Your beauty is radiant like a morning dove.
You fill me with joy, you fill me with pride
together we go along for this ride.
This life that we cherish, that we hold so dear,
together we live with love not fear.
Pure achromatic, immaculate egg, sits in a nest.
Shaking and rustling, exploding at its best.
Once hatched it latched to its mother’s wit.
For the hatchling knew that she needed it.

The dove it flourished as a dove should,
And it grew so beautiful as beautiful as she could.
Now with integrity and innocence,
The dove knew to find love, it would finally make sense.

My Dove found love of the falsest facets,
Honeyed words of lust; they lack it.
Flattering gestures that quicken heart beats
Do often allow the dove to glide off her feet.

But Honeyed words don’t often last,
And soon that love became her past,
And now she wanders lonely in the clouds,
But this kind of love attracts only nimbus clouds
Of which to them she was avowed.

Now a dove,
Is indeed a symbol of love,
But love so pure and true,
The kind of love
That is common to a dove
Hunger for it, a yearning sensation within you.
Hunger, Thriving, Craving for this feeling of being complete,
But can’t you see that dependency leads to obsolete.
You will never be you,
You’ll be the both of you.
Is that what you want?
You want, you need to be someone’s gaunt
Old, decrepit partner?

Not I, I am alone,
But not lonely.
I am empty
Yet complete.
I am moist,
Yet dry as a desert.
I am me,
Yet no one at all.
My crystal-clear
ran dry,

so I dipped
my quill-pen tip
into the sky.

I said
a little prayer,

and blew it out
into the air.

I spent a tear,
I sighed a little sigh,

I tried so hard
not to breakdown
and cry.

I took a deep breath
and closed my eyes,

I hoped
that the heavens
would hear
my silent cries.

I sat down
with my back
against our big tree,

it still looked
exactly the same
as it used to be.

A white dove came
and greeted me,

I then remembered
those words
you once said to me...

"It's in your blood,
it runs through your veins...
Just let your inner voice
guide your hand,
its ink
will leave beautiful stains!"

I thanked
the Gracious,
Merciful Lord
up above,

for he,
sent those words to me,
through the beautiful
white dove.

The white dove flew
from the branch
of our big tree,

I knew
that the white dove
was sent
to watch over me.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Lalin Jun 2015
They say something is truly computerized
yes or no? yes or no ?
which one? which one?

BETTER throw a dice if you wanna know
but no
it is a BIG YES of course!
that’s what they should be saying - truly


WE -
however -

we don’t have a proof
that it truly is so
and we never may have
and actually we don’t even need to spend our time to find out
if they are right or wrong
It is more important to understand why we discuss this matter here now
and we can explain the reasons in two basic steps:

1- believe not  and do not become a blind believer  -
to whoever - to whatever- no matter who - no matter what -
there is no one who can tell you the truth
but you -
you may not need to like it all - but
that’s always for a good reason -
if you make it good

2- understand what is of essence now - thus  - the thing- maybe a poem- maybe a result of a competition - maybe this - maybe that -
why that specific thing comes to my/your attention now

it does not matter
if it is computerized or not -
what matters is
I see it and it communicates with me
and with my senses
and is at my attention

it manifests itself to me  here now where I truly am

does not matter how it manifests - but it matters that it manifests

and the answer to why
is by my experience creating an action -

Only what I can neutrally and  non-judgmentally witness I can purely experience  -

and purity
has surpassed frights
and purity
has no addictions
and purity
does not swing from moon to sun
but remains centralized-
and purity
needs no temporary replacement that serves to escape from one pain- discomfort to another
but purity is ultimate self - is itself by itself
therefore what is presented to me here now is not other than what my consciousness is manifesting as -

it is not a test -because  we have passed all the tests -
there is no teacher other than the self-
it is such that we are moving on -
on a path of knowing of our own true nature

And now
that ‘s why!
that’s why!

There is a dove
in love with me

comes to see me daily
and listens to my songs

it ain’t matter if it’s not the same dove
although I know it is
not because it looks alike
but because I know it is
and still it ain’t matter
if it’s not the same dove

because there is a dove
in love with me
comes to see me daily
and listens to my songs
Silence Screamz Feb 2016
Gray dove I see you
You fly most graciously
Floating in the clouds
with the slow wind

My toes over the edge
Curled up in my shoes
Fingers grip the rail
White knuckled and tense

I glance in your direction
Your wings sweep the sky
Back and forth
You glide with a purpose

Sweat drips from my brow
Frozen with a moment of time
I hear every sound of nature
Leaning forward, head tilted down

Purr gray dove, come my way
Alone and free
Flying circles around me
Rest when you can

I see the water below
Crashing against the shore
My heart beats rapidly
Knees are buckling from the strain

You are my friend
As I see why you fly
Coming my way
I start to smile

Can not catch my breathe
I close my eyes tight
Deep in sadness, I wonder
No looking back

Here you come
ending your flight
My shoulder is your resting spot
Balance completely lost

No more grip
I begin to fall
Quick descent rushes by
Eyes wide open

Gray dove flies again
I hit the water with a thud
One last scene as I see you
Pushed to my death by the little gray dove
ekelhaft Jun 2016
The wings of once majestic has been torn.
The dove falls to dormant hell.
Snow-white feathers are stained by blood.
The dove falls to dormant hell.
The voice of freedom, shattered.
The dove falls to dormant hell.
Savoring its last breaths, it closes its eyes.
The dove falls to dormant hell.

What once soared high,
Now is slumped to the ground.
What once was joyful, and warm,
Now is freezing.
What once saw colors of all,
Now sees black.
What once was a hopeful soul,
Now is wishing peace with death.

I have a party with my demons.
They all dance with me:
Dance with my sadness;
Dance with my madness.
What was not welcomed before,
Now is the one that welcomes.
What once was *******,
Turned to ******* even more.

Dark and cold, dark and cold,
Save me from my endless pit, please.
I beg of you to tend my wounds.
Believe this fool and be a fool yourself!
He leads you to a trap!
He wants you to rot with him!
He doesn't seek help;
He's looking for victims!

What am I supposed to do?
My demons come to settle scores;
Draining me as they go;
Hold my hand, please,
This is the truth.
Believe in my lies!
Rot with me!
Leave the Haven for naught!

The corpse was given wings again.
The dove is still in hell.
It was painted its snow-white feathers.
The dove is still in hell.
It was breathed life in its beaks.
The dove is still in hell.
It flies the skies once again;
**The dove never escapes hell.
Come and dance with me and my demons
CH Gorrie Aug 2012
The white dove has been
symbolic of abstract things.
I ask it to fly
far, put muscle on its wings.
Until recently the dove

atrophied inside
the skull. Now I’ve forced it out,
favoring strong emblems,
images too pure for doubt:
The Ark, the raven, the dove.

The raven flew the globe
but found no carrion worm.
Because of instinct
it was unable to confirm
any paradigm or thought.

Next the dove took flight
and, though it failed at first,
found a concrete
symbol to quench the parched Ark’s thirst:
one lonely olive leaf.

But even olive leaf
allows interpretation.
Each stronger symbol
creates its complication:
the skull, the Ark, leaf and bird.
This poem is about my stylistic movement away from abstract symbols into more definite ones, but then falls back on itself in the last stanza. I choose a concrete image from the Bible (i.e. Noah's raven and dove) that uses the abstract "dove" found in so many, many poems.
Hayley Schiete Apr 2015
The mourning doves sing their songs
about 3 miles away.
Chirping of despair, beauty, angst
and then of better days.

Mourning dove, thou is free!
The world is your cage,
and thy wings may take you beyond.
So why do you speak of sorrowful pleas?

Why sing at dusk, o mourning dove?
When the day is folding in,
and the sky drips pastels on its canvas;
perhaps falling from above.

I do not know why you sing, sad sad mourning doves.
Yet I still sing along, and rather leave questions unsaid.
Day 1 of National Poetry Month
I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.
In the glad springtime when leaves were green,
O merrily the throstle sings!
I sought, amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

Between the blossoms red and white,
O merrily the throstle sings!
My love first came into my sight,
O perfect vision of delight,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

The yellow apples glowed like fire,
O merrily the throstle sings!
O Love too great for lip or lyre,
Blown rose of love and of desire,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

But now with snow the tree is grey,
Ah, sadly now the throstle sings!
My love is dead:  ah! well-a-day,
See at her silent feet I lay
A dove with broken wings!
Ah, Love! ah, Love! that thou wert slain—
Fond Dove, fond Dove return again!
kms Jul 2014
Oh, my dear mourning dove,
a sweet voice sending ripples through the
morning air.

My dear mourning dove,
voice having been troubled and lost,
and then found again,
with sweet benevolence.

My dear mourning dove,
with a voice that beings
to hear sing their ‘Good morning,’s,

Oh my dear mourning dove,
tickling tympanum,
curving lips upward, and
singing reverse lullabies.
For Hannah
Tomoko Jul 2014
A turtle dove walks holding a twig in its beak,
Stops briefly.
Looks around.
Walks again.
One twig.
It is an important one
In order to make its nest.
It can easily find
The right twigs
In this time.
If I were a turtle dove
and made my nest,
I would be hectic
and run around
gathering many twigs
at the same time.
Even though the turtle dove
Was laughed by
Clouds and wind,
It doesn't hurry up.
Something fixes everything.
Everything will just fall into place
because it knows that.
Like hit or miss,
It will carry
Valuably and slowly
A twig that
It catches in its eyes.
How did it decide to make a nest?
The female that lays an egg?
Does it really wait for him?
Will its egg really hatch?
You just make a nest because spring comes?
I don't think so.
I recognize if I see its eyes.
The turtle dove has confidence
And begin to make its nest.
Its eyes
unshakably clear.
God's promise is
kept there.
Zach Hanlon May 2015
Grieving the death of yesterday,
and the fearful beginning of a new today,

Sits the mourning dove,
perched upon its pine tree palace.

The call of the sorrowful dove;
a soft, songful lament against the dawn's awakening.

Beneath the blue jay's ballad,
countered by the crow's cackle.

The mourning of the fallen, unknown to the world.
The mourning of the lost and forgotten.

Not singing, not chirping;
Just grieving.
Nico Julleza Nov 2017
In the cove where the forest and seas met.
Lies a hut abandoned, but twas never forget.
The vines and moss that crawls and slither—
and the rust of chimes and roses that wither.

Two alike creatures’ dwell within the crest—
and can be found, broken epitaphs lie at rest.
Wings with tail as their ebony feathers trail,
—beaks like gold, a bond that could prevail.

Fly up and below in anywhere they would go.
To unglass windows, scratches on tealish walls.
The hollows of trees that covered with snow,
melts away to crystal-dew as springtime grows.

Rain came pouring, filling the tires off the roof.
Two had a dream, only to raptured by enmity.
With webs that weave the age of their misery.
Both resided the ceiling for heaven once more.

With growls of the wind and cold swiftly blows.
It came strong as the hut is almost unknown.
Both hold on to believe, but one choose to leave.
thinking of nothing, but its own selfish greed.

As skies were cleared onto a rainbow sheer.
Lonesome, broken, one black dove weeping ill,
Breathe, a voice came to the lonely dove's ear.
"Come fly with me, I am God—don't be feared."
#Black #Dove #Spiritual #Nature #Love

Anyone can be this black dove. whom it cared so much for its friend, but sa time goes by. Some things just comes to an end. Some of us can't handle the tragedy. In my advice dear poets, God, for me, can heal in any ill. The comfort I'll always feel. Believe.

I chose the word breathe as a synonym for whisper

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Äŧül May 2015
You gave in to my courtship,
I cusped your face in my hands,
That was when we met in Amritsar,
I had clutched your cute fingers,
Nervous you seemed while smiling.

I can never forget that luckiest day,
Whatever anybody might bray,
Your eyes are truthful darling love,
I am very thankful to the dove,
Thankful to the **dove of love.
My HP Poem #872
©Atul Kaushal
I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy

I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would've died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I'm happy;
Happy that it's not true
Sonia Breuch Apr 2015
if a fox loves a dove
but the dove shows no love
what will become

for the dove flies away
with young fox left to say
what have i done

poor fox left forlorn
alone, bitter with scorn
longing for the love of a dove
SøułSurvivør Jun 2015

she comes for water
from the wild
dove of desert
nature's child

she of sweetness
plumage neat
buff and ecru
to my feet

she is pure
sleek of line
her's perfection
in design

she's so close
I see her eyes
she's not afraid
of my great size

she looks at me
a wild thing
completely free

what have her
done and seen?
Manchu Pichu
Inca kings?

born in Spain
come for gain

****** men
so brutal, bold
slaughter natives
for their gold

****** in "marriage"
Aztec queens
so now their
are rarely seen

i think on this
Oh! Poorest love!
so much like them

Inca dove

(C) 6/14/2015
I was so touched by
this beautiful creature

she was shy at first
then came right to my feet

We leave water out for the
desert animals
and she is familiar with me now
so she gets really close

Much as the trusting natives
of these continents
came to the Spanish
They were slaughtered.
And could not even keep their own

Fortunately for the little dove
I am gentle
But this is a lesson

Paul Rousseau May 2012
Away from the sun
Pale gets warmer
Never number one
Ashes get colder

And the Myans predicted
Only time will tell
Just swimming in my personal hell

We're all sitting ducks
Please hold me tight
Though the night

I’m a crow perched on
A telephone pole
Just waiting for the worms

Lightning comes
I am numb
On the road

The dove sought after
A change for good
A chance shot at her

Fly with the crow
I want to yell
Swimming in my personal hell

Studying the nest
Bulimic rests
In the throat

And the eagle
Iconic white
If only his mind was right

He’d know that his dove
Has fallen in love
With a crow

Time heals wounds
But it also kills slowly
The dove’s heart grew
Yet blood stopped pumping

Pain felt the crow
As the bells tolled
Swimming in his personal hell

All life aside
He dove through the lake
Drowned and died

Drifting away
No longer felt pain
Free to escape
See the dove again

And the clear water
Drew a surprise
As the tears swept softy from my eyes

There laid the dove
Sent from above
Waiting for me

Drifting away
Drifting away
Drifting away
Drifting away
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
The mourning dove--it casts its shadow long,
from windowsill, along my bedroom floor,
black sprawled across my bed until the door--
it fills my ears with morbid sighing song.

Throughout the day on paths I walk along,
it sits on bare tree branches up on high,
and sounds aloud its four-tone lonely sigh,
its presence ever-subtle, ever-strong.

And when I then return from where I've roamed,
in my so vain attempts to daily flee,
where I realize there's no escape from me,
the mourning dove, it greets me when I'm home.

Perched on my windowsill, within my sight,
it starts once more its melancholy song,
and casts again its shadow growing long,
that blends into the darkness of the night.

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos
Standard Quatrain Form
The dove perches.
She rests.
In the care of her Creator.
She has no cares.
She has no fears.
She just rests.
In peaceful trust.
In trusting rest.

Lord, help me to be like the dove.
O Holy Spirit Dove,
Put my mind at peace.
Put my heart at rest.
Just like.
The dove.
Arlo Disarray Apr 2015
I learned how to fly the day I fell in love
I sprouted white wings and turned into a dove
But my dark, wicked soul is tired and graven
So I crumble to black dust, and turn into ravens

Now dozens of black birds are filling the skies
With loud cawing sounds of mad crows and magpies
And quickly the black birds turn into dark clouds
Throwing out thunder and drowning the crowds

And those clouds pour water out of their blackness
As fresh, rigid spines grow out of a cactus
And a dove tries to land, as its foot bleeds a sea
As it withers away, it turns back into me
Turning this into song lyrics.

— The End —