Humidly poems on Hello Poetry

Tarringo T Vaughan Jul 2012

So… he looked on, watching from afar the imagery of family.
Now alone, sitting in place on an old cranky stubborn
porch, eighty-one years of tears laughter and memory/smiled;
his smiled gleamed through the haze and humidly
of another summer day:   a day that reminded him
of his younger years when the joy in many eyes gathered
                       for a day of barbecue and rejoice

in his voice, as his raspy cough briefly interrupted the moment,
was the song of an elderly man missing the days of innocence
but briefly in this time, in the sight of the young boy
he now studied from across the street
he saw a familiarity.  His vision saw support and togetherness;

his hearing heard the song of compassion
and in the charcoaled flavored heat, his heart felt
                 what he thought was forgotten;

the genius and destiny of hope.  In his life he has seen
once inspiring  brick-layered sidewalks become the mask
of crime that has kidnapped a neighborhood once
proud.  He has seen the dreams of children become temporarily
paralyzed by the heights of poverty and many visions
of fear.  He watched in silence over all these years

but the tears of his mind has always been vocal.

                                The shackles
of osteoarthritis that now held on to his bones and the slight
battle with old-aged deafness that now challenged
the vibration of harmony  and not even the parade
                 of high blood pressure marching through his veins
could keep him from feeling the pain and decay

of days passed.  But as he looked on at the sight
of burgers and hotdogs sizzling on the grill;  as he looked on
at the pleasantries of young and old joining in good times
and fun playing the games of life; as he looked on
and lived again through the body language of the young boy
                        who now looked back at him

he saw the glimpse of renewal in a community
holding on to the aspects of a neighborhood’s inheritance.
For the first time in many decades, he saw the enjoyment
in dancing trees that waltzed in the breezes of tomorrow;
                           he felt shades of sweat trickle down his bronzed almond skin
that was the welcomed condensation of happiness
and he smelled a renewed energy of genetic fortitude
that was family all in the aroma of summer cooking --

                                  and so…he dreamed on.

www.tarringovaughan.net

Ayeshah Jan 2014

QUICKSAND!

Feeling like quicksands surrounding me,
trapped here sinking into the unknown,

grasping at flimsy vines- like branches
from this willow tree near by.

The more I move to catch a hold
of it's long flowery vine- like branch,

the more I'm swallowed up
in this murky quicksand...

I need to get out & move on from here.

It's not so cold & a bit comforting to me,
scary as it is to be sinking to my death.

Like those strong arms
which once held me closely- so tightly,
I almost suffocated...   almost.

I had a dipsomania for those arms,
like those vine- like flowery branches.

A curiosity brooding over me
for a need I'd hardly allow,

like the longing to move out of this pitted hole
where slowly I'm being devoured...

Sadly for me, I seem to have a lack of
romantic-relationship acumen.

I've fell into your trap yet noticed you were
a master at excogitating reasons not to do

the assigned requirements for what would
of been a everlasting affair.

You've sinking me faster into the depths of loneliness
lies welling up and surrounding me in darkness.

Sandy banks seems with in reach,
yet I can't get a firm grip on this branch- like vines,
omnipresent swinging gently in the breeze.

Like those strong arms
which once held me closely- so tightly,
I almost suffocated...   almost.

I had this painful self-injected
craving for you like taken ******
for the first time,
only drug of choice though was you.

In my mind eyes, your succumbing
to my wicked desires where

I put you into un-rational thoughts,
guess you'd say it was
irrational

to think of you in such a poisonous,
concupiscent way.

Knowing as I do that you've
yet to quench me or fulfill this

wrongful,
painful  burden of need,
not of late and not for a long time now.

I'm stretching out my arms,
all the while the slightest movements causes me to
descend deeper into this murky slushy quicksand...

Seemingly it's rising up,to cover my chest
I'm finding it hard to concentrate,

I guess it's the same for you
with your  irascible disposition,
ever since you've found out,

I'm no longer willing to be your victim .

I'm not going to let you swallow me whole
leaving my bones to surface later

once you've dried up
from the magnitude of your collections,
with in your murky lugubrious quicksand.

I've fought this long & I'm winning,
I have the willow's finger-like viney flowery
branch,  firmly with in my hands.

I've grasped on so tight, because,
because- I know what it's like to be free,
to live and not be ****** in,

to forever & never able to reach
that bank which always seemed more like
a mirage,

I knew to be more real then the many sandy
"I love you's"
you've plead & fibbed out to me,

I felt what it's like to laugh & dance
as the sun beats humidly down on me,

I know what I want & it's not to be with you
or die in your*

QUICKSAND!

Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®

Pradip Chattopadhyay Aug 2016

That day at the harbor town

From the dusts of day
a day singles itself out
as forever remembrance.

On his calling
they met at the harbor town.

She had traveled all of twenty miles
from her seaward village
to pose with the city boy at a roadside studio
humidly dark from the blinding sun outside.

Time was captured eternally for the moment
the photographer drew them closer
freezing two awed eyes in frame.

They knew couldn't last
that unearthly day on the harbor town
made to stand closest
sparking a craving in their skin
and then passing into black and white postcard
of two sweating face
in absurdly ridiculous happiness.

The boy's copy was lost in the wind
but he loves to believe
the other is safe with her.

— The End —