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Sameer Denzi Nov 2014
I wished you could've met my beloved
Mary-jo-anna while she still lived among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways

Her eyes could see through any secretive soul
Her fragrance would soothe any pensive nerve
She'd make every meal a gastronomical delight
Her embrace would cradle me to a blissful sleep
Her mind could cure the most torturous disease
She'd make every tune a sensuous delight.

Life was wonderful for us indeed
When Mary-jo-anna was still among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways

But she fell foul foul eventually, of our Big Brother
For she showed the people his hypocritical ways
Exasperated! he conspired with the village elders
To drive her away, with lies about her “devious ways”

She's now an exile among the sages, hidden away
Imparting on them her wisdom and wondrous ways
While our village degrades to hatred and hypocrisy
Under the thumb of Big Brother's oppressive ways

The people are awakening to what they have done
And long to have Mary-jo-anna among us again
Free among her people and free from ridicule
To impart on us her wisdom and wondrous ways
Poem dedicated to Pradip Chattopadhyay for his many kind words.
Laying as a foetus
Insensate
Transform with rigor
Punctuate in loss
Ballad of fate
As a marionette
Automata
Permuting ones ego
Rote in distraction
Panacea we chase
Venerable
Peculiar transition
Scrupulous mind
Chromatically alive
Hannah Lois Jan 2012
I want to cut you up in little pieces
And scatter you amongst the sky
So you will be reflected in every pool of light
And shimmer like a halo around every face

I want to distill your very nature
Wear it like a perfume on my skin
Letting it permeate my every pore
Seeping
Inside
Me
To my very core

I want to reach inside your chest
To unfasten your heart
And swallow it whole
So it will beat forever in tandem next to mine
Each beat imparting
Every word
You could never say aloud
Love
Want
Need
Mine
Please
Please


Your eyes are by far my favorite
Two sparkling jewels
Hidden like a holy secret
Underneath your veil of lashes
One look and you
Undo me,
Unravel me,
Undress me
Again, again.

Behind my lips
I keep your kiss
My smile suggesting a clandestine wish
Only you possess the key
To unlock me
Turn it slowly
So I may relish the twist of my womb
And the fire that travels up my spine
To light my eyes
So that you will know
What you
Must
Do.

I want to cut you up in little pieces
And scatter you amongst the sky.
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2021
~
Lost inside a labyrinth

Tight-lipped tinkerer
open-mouthed cynosure

Pressing matters completing their circuit
all things said, but not spoken

Osculated locution, succinct phrasing
released, but not heard

The human element imparting
seminal spark
—together felt and touched

A tingling syntax
owing to its art
becoming its nucleus

~
Liam Aug 2014
stellar direction in undulating terrain
punctuated by meteoric columns of infinite light
imparting a clutching embrace to the face of now

lunar reflections form a fluid nocturnal path
to an osculated gateway of fertile encompassment
culminating in breathless pillows of untabled silence

stars without fault grace the expressive heavens
while muted words gaze out through rooftop eyes
cascading over living stone in waterfalls of emotional geodes
Megan Sherman Mar 2017
Upon this wizened, ancient lyre
I'll sing the ballad of the Roses, till I tire
Each one of them a blessing true
Working diligently for the life of every one of you
A true Rose is a beating heart
In which lust for justice bubbles, brews

In Parliament, they call them Labour
But a Rose is anybody whose heart harbours
A love of life and all it's creatures
Considering the workers to be teachers
Imparting the wisdom of their experience
Marx, the most exquisite of their preachers

His words shine bright and cast a light
Upon the path of destiny, he predicts workers delight
But not before the struggle, toil
The quest for righteousness embroils
All human hearts in earnest endeavour
Across the worlds sands and soils

O rustic Roses, I worship and adore you
If you have time, allow me to implore you
To see yourselves the way I see
Creatures of brilliance and majesty
Who devote themselves to the truest fight
For workers wage and workers right
Long may your light shine at me
Glenn Sentes Feb 2013
Who else in this inhumane edifice
can dance while the suspecting eyes stare
at his moistened armpit?
Pathetically unknowing music uplifts not just the soul but the intellect.

Who else got the fire in imparting?

or …

did theirs even start a single spark since then?

Who else brings out the best in these hopefuls?
It’s all the worse and worst that they see.

And you think San Pedro would be pleased
when you gloat you made all the priests, doctors, and engineers?


Woe to you who humiliate the chair by your indolent butts
while uttering kindergartenous blabbers you claim to be education!
Then you get all you want while tabula rasa remains tabula rasa.

And you
You  seated on the higher chairs!
Why don’t you trample down awhile
and put your cataracting sight to use
before it even brings you to the death of light.

Has anyone of you even heard what your god told to Pontius Pilate?
Ha! The you-have-no-power-over-me’s have always been impervious to you bigots!

And you say to your kin let me handle it.
When it is delayed and their impatience grows
you see they’ll leave.

Did you ever fret about deadlines
of bills, of matriculas, of debts?
What do you feed to your clan? Feeds?

Get Ripley’s here!

Oh how divine to utter all the Fs!




©Glenn L. Sentes
February 20, 2013
Ma Cherie Dec 2016
How do I love you?

I love you like the moon,
must be in love with the stars,

The light that brings me home,
& comforts my weary heart,
it stimulates my mind,
& gives me a needed start,

Energizes my tired spirit,
while illuminating my soul...
it's a hot & burning ember,
not..
just a lonely coal,
loving you my darling to me,
a noble goal,

It's like how a poet,
simply loves his empty page,
& how an out of control fire,
just loves to rage & rage,

It's like that lovely combination,
of rosemary,
thyme and sage,
it's like a well beaten bird,
freed from,
a long and binding cage,

It's every single memory,
handed down,
throughout the winding age,
imparting the needed knowledge,
from a wise imparting sage,
as I check again,
my trusty weather gauge,

I set a course directly home,
  to your,

               S
                 k
                    y
                        .
                       .
                     .
                      .
                    .
                     .
                         .

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sorry poets I've been away hope you're all well I have just been dealing with stuff hope to be back soon but at full capacity I'm not sure. Anyway hugs from Vermont ❤ from the vault
A big clock stood tall in the center of a park
With long hands and wood that was carved with much care
The carvings so detailed yet adding a spark
To the trees that surrounded it's great wood frame there

I noticed and awed at the effort at work
For it's hands seemed to reach out to the skies as they search
And i noticed that the hands were all lined in thick gold
The beauty mesmerizing although it was old

As i came up closer to view the great clock
I noticed a problem which came as a shock
The hands were not moving as they lay still and bear
What a shame as this clock was a beauty standing there

But when i looked down to the base of the clock
I could see a gold glimmer as if writing were there
So with curiosity springing in me i immediately flocked
To it's base were i then read aloud with much flair

"Time is but a moment in the span of a life
And a second only the beginning of a minutes ending strike
And forever only the equal to an eternity's one night
So with care every second use wisely for might
As a second is as precious as a minute of time"

As i read out the words more than once in my mind,
And still trying to grasp what intentions did write
A footstep so faint yet my ears could not lie
Approaching me softly ever slowly behind

And turning around an old man met my eye
A man full of years many a season he did mark
His hair white as snow and his face worn and dry
A worried and troubled reflection from his empty glassy eyes

He then said "The big clock's tick
Many a day i privileged saw
The chime of that bell thick
When a child i would awe
Those days were my young years
My body then strong
A lad who with honest fear
Was taught right and the wrong

My parents had raised me
As best as they could
Love, respect and show kindness
Were the things that were good

Back then i despised men who i'd see in our town
How they ruined their lives so freely
It made me shiver, made me frown

I would then tell myself
That i'd never drink or smoke
Vices would not be on my shelf
That my life was no joke

The years went by and i was eighteen
A boy fresh out of school
The excitement of college awaiting
Freedom from home seemed so cool

So i packed my bags and clothes
And bade my parents goodbye
I was now alone to roam the roads
So excited i felt i could fly

So i then got settled in the big city
And studied my wanted degree
First year passed yet oh so quickly
Time passed with the feeling "im free"

I headed straight home on vacation
My family i now longed to see
And spent those days in anticipation
What could next year have in store for me

Vacation ended even more quickly
I almost couldn't leave
But determined to push through this so sickly
My degree ever my goal to achieve

I then met one lad jason
A schoolmate of the same age
Although he from the city's inner mason
Was someone i readily engaged

He then became my room mate
And that is when it began
Jason was different a drinker
My sleep oft disturbed i did hate

Although he tried to lure me
To try even just one
Yet i so promptly rejected
As my conscience no evil had done

I was taught that evil be feared
But then doubtfull thoughts filled my small mind
Had my parents been too strict and weird?
Was there danger i curiously whined


So i thought and i thought and decided
It won't hurt it's just once i confided

So i drank my first beer
And i puffed my first smoke
Then i tried my first stronger drink
This is great though i thought
Not too bad i revoked
As my conscience now beginning to shrink

So i added another exemption
Saying just a little more's fine
Till the alcohol turned into drugs and addiction
I was now pushing it to the line

I would mock at the holy scriptures
And curse God when drunken or high
I would sometimes try and picture
How cruel my family's lies

A year passing by i still loved it
I free and now unrefined
But my vices eventually my health hit
I  was forced then to pause and recline

My body was racked with a fever
And i bound to the bed where i lay
I was sick and now not a believer
I'd forgotten how to pray

My life continued on this way
For years with no restraint
My friends all left but didn't say
Their reason or complaint

I went into depression
My pain and guilt remorse
I needed intervention
Twas time i changed my course

And as i in my darkest hour
Was sinking in despair
My heart's once fresh and lively flowers
Now crushed down burnt and bear

And as i lay in bed that night
For the first time in 3 years
I prayed dear lord please save my life
This pushed me into tears

And while i now was sleeping
I dreamt about that clock
And God as i was still there weeping
Approached me and we talked

He said that life is fragile
That time is not a joke
And day by day time's counting down
Convicted i awoke

And then God said to me what if he
For one day made time still
And on that day i would be free
To clean my life and will

Right then the clock stopped ticking
 Long hands eleven lay
I shocked jumped up heart beating
But i just didn't know what to say

Then HE said my child this is your chance now
To redo the wrongs you've done
And the chance now to change as you have vowed
Will soon be late my son

Live your life while imparting life giving
Love to all the poor one's who need love
With your hands now undo evil's giving
And remind of their Father's great love

Feed the poor and be eyes to the blind one
Give your strength to the crippled and the old
Bring the dying man good news of salvation, my son
For in heaven he shall walk streets of gold

As the time will soon end now forever
And your chance for redemption no more
It's the time now for sins to be severed
As heaven's gates soon open their door
Once the clock is at twelve you will know that,
Tis the end and we're now going home

As his words hit my heart i then waited
I would check how much time i had now
But as i fixed my eyes it all slowly faded
And my bed was what pressed on my brow

I awoke realising that i was sleeping
And the dream was my life counting down
And the more that my sins i'm committing
All the more my head won't wear that crown

See the clock was not there just to tell time
But to also guide ones on their way
Like the man who was lost and ran out of line
The clock was placed there as a sign

Today is the day that we must choose
If today is the day that we will start
To change our life and become true
And learn from our mistakes but move on and do our part

And you keep saying to yourself "ah yes tomorrow"
But again you commit the same wrong
We never know how many more days can be borrowed
As the clock keeps its ticking all along
This poem was inspired by my own life experience...
PJ Poesy May 2016
Hail to Thee, Immortal Three
Knowledge we sing on laud
Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates
Philosophy, to be human awed
Teach through time, consciously
Nod not, what others fraud

Socrates taught, Divine Being
God not of brutal Athens’ passions
Entity of Beauty, Truth Seeing
Goodness unseen in day’s fashions
Soul for unalloyed agreeing
Lessons humanities’ compassion

Talk eternal justice, everlasting life
Socrates’ Sovereign Right of Reason
Clearly mind deceived sense’s strife
Invincible perfection be God’s season
Thus, our key to knowledge ever rife
Priests who find this, absolute treason

No church or Socratic school
A barefoot man roamed to teach
Socrates mocked for looking a fool
His speech not one to simply preach
Plato witnesses a martyr’s drool
Cruel hemlock, words did so breach

Handsome aristocratic youth Plato
Followed Socrates’ Eternal Wisdom
But soon to find his own credo
In Medara to find Euclid and freedom
Egyptian geometry to provide dado
To Plato life, expression; not a system

Eternally an artist, Plato did develop
Philosophic circle in Academus groves
Bring Athens, world knowledge envelop
Discretions of sensations, be not oaths
What man may be, an animal jealous
Plato’s allegorical cave found in droves

As Plato once be Socrates’ disciple
So too, to Plato would Aristotle be
Passing comprehension archetypal
Successions of genius’ visions do see
Aristotle taking it step further, as vital
To science of hands-on discovery

And this is where we see a parting
Of two distinctly opposing philosophies
Plato being at odds, with science starting
Aristotle’s truth, finding no apologies
Things not happening by chance imparting
Frivolity of duopoly, dichotomy to Socrates

But a new era has surely now dawned
Science exploring an invisible atom
And the seen and unseen correspond
So to Aristotle’s, Plato’s, Socrates’ datum
Brilliant new philosophies have spawned
An abstract notion of conceived stratum
I have always felt, keeping in mind the masters' theories, but also pushing new limits, we find our own uncovering of discovery.
Muluuta Mugagga Sep 2019
Imparting knowledge and skills on
self-management in your children
should top all your priorities
open yourself to them
be deep in their hearts

In parental love and kindness
teach, guide and advise them
about the value of self-management
taking care of themselves
must be done on a daily basis

Washing eyes properly
brushing their teeth
brushing their hair
changing ***** clothes
looking into the mirror after dressing

Should you enable your children
in managing ther own lives
they shall grow into
responsible future citizens
in charge of their own destiny.
teaching children self-management
Egaeus Thompson Jan 2017
My darling little one I am tasked.
Tasked with the idea of imparting what I know.
It might not all help,
But it is what I wish I knew.

If you don’ t already;
Pretend you like yourself,
Because if people think you are untouchable
They won’t attempt to approach you and tell you the negative things that you already tell yourself.

Take the time to listen to classical music,
You will like Toccata and Fuge in Dmin,
Trust me.

Don’t regret anything;
You are who you are because of what you have done,
Even if you don’t like the person you are now,
Use the present as a catalyst to become who you picture yourself being.

Fall in love with weird people.
They are a different type of person
And you learn much about how the mind works from them.

Pick up the ukulele.
It is bright and happy.
But only do this after your long stint as a metalhead.
People can say what they want,
But you have to be talented for metal
And if anyone knows about community and looking out for their own it is metalheads.

It is okay to be unhappy-
Even now I don't have the hang of this one.
But maybe someday
Maybe someday.

My tiny shining star,
The world will be cruel to you,
But it will be kind if you let it.
Take in the little things that give you joy.

But your Mum and I cannot wait,
To see the joys you experience
And the mistakes you make,
Because I will be waiting with tea and gumboots
And your Mum will be waiting with blanket forts and chocolate
And probably a better solution.

You will be an unstoppable force in this world
And I couldn't be more excited to meet you
Homunculus Dec 2015
Writing always seems more urgent
When it's written in italics,
Even when the topic,
Is rather mundane.
Consider this example:
I like to eat sandwiches

Furthermore, everything
Seems much more urgent,
When written in bold font,
We revisit the example:
I like to eat sandwiches

...and a step even further,
Writing seems absolutely
Crucial when written in,
Bold font, with caps-lock,
Once again, we recapitulate:
I LIKE TO EAT SANDWICHES

At this point, it seems as though
I am imparting unto you matters
Of the utmost severity, that could
Be the difference between life and death,
...but really, I just like sandwiches.

This amuses me.
Erenn Jul 2014
Breaking through rows of hull grins
Taking the midnight train to the brain
But it seems impossible to the naked eye
'I can do this' he said
A storm of chuckles burst into the night
Leaving eminent traces of happiness

Grappling on dear life
She wonder if she’ll survive
If she can pull this through
Breaking amends and grazing on truth
The imminent outcome to foresee
What speaks and what lies beneath

He still remembered that day at the library
Where she fell and he yelled
His left foot swollen due to her pointed heel
But it was worth the pain
Millions of other fragments could never beat this

They started spending a little each day-
Bartering hilarity on lame anecdotes
Reading together without imparting words
They both felt it
This intense chemistry

Pretense running weary
Who would make the first move?
The fear of getting rejected
Injected to the head
He finally confessed
But it was too late
He will never be hers
She will never be his
She made him promise her relentlessly
That he’ll find someone again
Her life filched gradually
And finally came to an end


Fragments lingered till this very day
*The ones who came after will never be the same.
You know those tear jerking films you watched. It's really sad to watch if one of them dies at the end. In reality the one who's left alive has no more tears to cry. It's dry. And I don't know if I'll ever meet someone like her again. I might fulfill that promise, or I might break it. I don't know.
All I know, I'll never forget every fragment, It'll always linger. 28 July 2010
DSD Nov 2014
Sleep beckons.
I could close my eyes and call it a day.
Lie down and die – maybe dream
Of all that was unaccomplished.

But with dreams there comes no guarantee.
Compensation for dissatisfaction?
Rebuke for procrastination?
There might be none,
Or some that I might not even remember.

Life is meaningless.
We are but sparks: destined to fade away.
This isn't a game, there are no rules.
No prosecution for any infringement.

I choose to while away at a make believe game
With make believe rules.
But I play fair,
Lest I should be judged by me.

I granted myself the liberty
Imparting meaning to my existence.
Meticulously building a façade.
Filling the void that I was born into.

One reckless step and it might all collapse-
Life, rules, beliefs-
A heap of nothingness at square one.
This choice-
The liberator from the drudgery of existence-
Is the one that binds me.

So I force myself to stay awake
For a few more hours each night.
Trying to get the blocks in place.
Convincing myself that what lies ahead is all pleasure.

Will it be reward enough
For all that I have suffered and lost
At my own game?
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me to the ground
hammer me
hammer me
with your hard hitting pound
hammer me
hammer me
hammer till I cry
hammer me
hammer me
blacken both my eyes
hammer me
hammer me
break my jaw with your clenched fists
hammer me
hammer me
so my face contorts and twists
hammer me
hammer me
I so enjoy the bruising pain you dole out
hammer me
hammer me
with your forceful clout
hammer me
hammer me
so that I bleed most profuse
hammer me
hammer me
keep imparting your gross abuse
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me
Those who have experienced domestic violence by a partner/husband will identify with this piece.
GaryFairy Jul 2016
harvesting parts from my garden of carnage
farming the darkness of my own catharsis
revealing the marks regarding the tarnish
hitting the target, the heart of the artist

how many times have i died?
to show the "i" that i am inside
nothing to hide, i'm cut open wide
these lines of rhymes are my suicide

embarking on journeys to harness the farthest
charting the course that startles the smartest
imparting a sparkle with scars as a garnish
hitting the target, the heart of the artist
Ma Cherie Jan 2017
The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
stretching,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
can drift,

Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms,
alongside barren maples
and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
gracefully,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.

When,
in surging solar winds,
upward of,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an big bright ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant soft moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.

Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create
in messages it then sends,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,

Dancing into ever-changing,
multifaceted soft,
an inspiring hues,
an shifting in the breeze
they move above,
in a mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises
in between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
mysterious feeling power
in the magnificent,
Magnetic Midnight.

The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
as colors merge and ignite
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,

Awe-inspiring,
breathtakingly beautiful,
alien,
frightening,
imparting comforting wisdom,
it is everything an so exciting,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
of
music to your ears.

moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckon,
swirling magic colors
in a perfect moving storm
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,

playfully floating,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of pure refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
shimmering skyscape.

A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
now fading,
as colors are now blending,
from azure into darkest denim,
then turning periwinkle,
stretching out,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.

As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
using up each angel tear
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
is sublime,
just perfectly,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
becoming one

As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
holding torches,
colliding and becoming excited,
edging themselves,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.

Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never ever seen, since,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
spiritual journey,
to begin,
with an eager & beautiful,
dawn coming.

Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
completely memorizing,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
smudged into,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.

Where life seeds now
glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.

This place,
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
  where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in a glow,
metallic bits,
stars form,
restless,

Sighing, awaiting,
  a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
playfully transforming,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a wolf,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,

Again,
and again,
and again,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,

As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..

And Aurora Borealis is her name.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Listen to Time to turn the tide by Millpond Moon  global warming is affecting this gift....writing this made me cry ....for our sacred Earth.  This is a meaningful piece I had to dig deep in old studies and in my beliefs this was BREATHTAKINGLY beautiful Aurora Borealis a few years ago. This is about stars, this place- Vermont, Heaven, angels and death or coming omens. Peace - Vermont
(I watched my video again in astonishment.)
I hope you all are well n happy. I'm OK....
James Rives Apr 2019
We, at various points in life,
draw a line
in the sand.
Marking where we've been,
where we stopped
to never venture forward.
Winds bring change no lines
can withstand. And we draw
them again in defiance.
We eke meaning from this sand
that would otherwise
mean nothing to us. Imparting
our own ideologies
onto an unresponsive medium
as a testament
to ourselves. Our independence.
The sand is most susceptible to change,
shifted constantly
by the sea, our feet,
the wind.
Still, we draw our lines anyway.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. :)
Sitting alone, but in the company of culture
Smiling.
The throbbing crowds
The chatter and clatter of cutlery.
Here amongst his own kind
Eager tourists.
Content in their unspoken bond.
But once in a while,
A couple leans over, American.
They break the vow of blissful silence.
Navigating the tricky meander of
Polite but broken conversation.
They share stories of sites,
Experiences,
Imparting knowledge and tips.
The Kellner comes with his meal.
He whips out his tourist guide,
‘Is that beef?’
The Kellner trembles as he struggles
For the word and
He quickly tugs the arm of another
For an explanation.
The tourist points to his book
‘Is it that?’
The Kellner agrees.
This compromise satisfies all
We all continue on our merry way.
The Tourist with his meal and book
The clatter and chatter continue.
Kari Nov 2013
Prayers answered by
Echoes of themselves imparting
No advice, 
Repetitions of the question
Asked over again
Whispering softer
Each time it is refracted.
No thunderous voice from clouds agape
To shed light through stormy skies
Or seas parted to pave the path.
Spread the blood of the martyrs and
The Lamb across my door,
God does not live here, anymore.
It was a quick setup, couldn't have been a huge mess up
When I start to speak to you, an evolution of fusion is at bay
And when you talk back the right way, good feelings are given way
And then you begin to open up to me and I to you

I have a responsibility to reflect the best version of myself
I have an uncontrollable inclination to divulge the worst version of myself
When the script was changed so were the norms
The royals did not know what it meant to live in the shadows anymore
Too good to believe in divinity
Too proud and glamorous to believe in a Divine Source

Then man and woman soon forgets what it means to earn one's keep
Quickly there would be thieves as the gap widens
So position will determine what you get and don't get, away with ethics

Imagine we all have roles to portray in this big stage we call the world
Then you forget about your significance, just for the role
You forget about your social class, just for the role
You forget about your achievements or failures, all for the role

Then you develop synergy
Then a male lover will have a female lover because the feeling is reciprocated
Nothing is forced or rigidly implanted
The heart is free to dance and the mind is surrendering to rhyme and reason

Then I begin to weigh the value of each word in every sentence
I develop a composition, an attunement
I awaken the music of the soul
And how I associate will reflect in my dialogue
The moving picture is dying
There are more emoticons and stills because people are not grounded to the immortal strands of creation
So they struggle with locomotion
It stretches into the mind and you see this as brain cells oscillate slower and slower
And the race becomes more and more robotic - static
Bye bye to the angels in adamic bodies

What I am saying is how can I impart parts of myself if you do not compliment my make up
Not because I am superior but because you have been indoctrinated to yield to an inferiority complex that has channeled you to believe that you are good for nothing
And this has garnered a fortress hollow inviting false gods and a negative attitude,
A laziness to believe in yourself and honour your ambition

... And worst of all you are not compelled to go on a journey of self discovery because you are waiting for someone else  to tell you to do so
Rustically I would be a hunter and you a gatherer, but you cannot contain my collections if you have no pots and if you're not ready for me to shelter your soul
So how do we conversate
More than a postulate I conclude you just have to expand your emotional vocabulary
Or I just have to get used to being quiet
And that's fine with me... Food for my peace of mind
But humbly deary, don't say I wasn't kind to rewind
How and what I did impart at the start of the box.
Maman Screams Feb 2014
I got my ears plugged
Eyes tight
And
Lips shut
Reluctantly refusing
Self alluring truth
Profusely inviting
Petty captivating lies
Reinventing exits
To build refuges
Soothing fugitives
Before the hurricane rise
Are we daydreaming
When the sun's ray shines
Or are we relieving
Among the moon night sky
Promises burying hatchet
Imparting forgotten hatred
Cycling seems to be reversed
Rewinding lost tapes reserve
All this delusions inverse
Contrary motions now swerves
Hallucinating angles preserved
For I shall ink no further
The truth of this lies tethered
As this true blue love leaves
Incepting my stray mind free

©2014 Maman Screams
Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days? Thou lookest
    from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desart
    comes: it howls in thy empty court.—Ossian.

I

Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle:
  Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
  Have choak’d up the rose, which late bloom’d in the way.


II

Of the mail-cover’d Barons, who, proudly, to battle,
  Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev’ry blast rattle,
  Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.


III

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
  Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell’d wreath;
Near Askalon’s towers, John of Horistan slumbers,
  Unnerv’d is the hand of his minstrel, by death.


IV

Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy;
  For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye:
  How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.


V

On Marston, with Rupert, ‘gainst traitors contending,
  Four brothers enrich’d, with their blood, the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
  Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d.


VI

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
  From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
  New courage, he’ll think upon glory and you.


VII

Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
  ’Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
  The fame of his Fathers he ne’er can forget.


VIII

That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;
  He vows that he ne’er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
  When decay’d, may he mingle his dust with your own!
Àŧùl Mar 2013
Not many would better understand than me the meaning of first hand serving experience.

I volunteered and used to teach in a group called 'Swapan' (run by the social service group Nishqam of CITM Faridabad, now known as MRIU) which undertook imparting laborers' kids free education.

I don't believe in donating because I don't earn yet, but I volunteer whenever I am able to go out to their world. I just wait for the right time I get to be in contact with such people.

What I did in Swapan program was more than just teaching; we used to take care of their health by getting them periodic vaccination, by having them attend a regular school near our college, getting their fees deposited, organizing events for mustering funds for the same and many more.

But at the end of my 2nd year I met a serious accident, just prior to my 4th semester B.Tech-Biotech exams which pushed me into a 23 day coma; I was close to death. But I didn't lose my spirit even after I came back to my senses.

As the path of destiny had it, CITM became MRIU which didn't continue with the MDU degree I'm currently enrolled into. So I was made to shift colleges and go to Rohtak for college since then and there was no such opportunity anywhere in close proximity.
CITM & MRIU are the two names - former & current - of the same educational institution in India and the former of them, CITM was converted into a private deemed university by the name of MRIU and I was made to shift my college to continue my degree under MDU.
© Atul Kaushal
Elliot Nov 2013
Eternity
It turns me so gently

In a moment
I felt the crash of waves
breaking on shores of our past.
An ageless zephyr speaking silence,
imparting truths ever clearer than the last.

In a moment
I witnessed a presence of self
that was static and, yet, yielding to the motion.
Feelings flowed and I dared to experience,
wading through a river called emotion.

In a moment
I knew that I knew nothing
of certainty and its incarnations.
Though if in my doubt is fate assured,
let my anxious heart melt into patience.

In a moment
I found only this moment

And it turned me, again
Eternally
Marshal Gebbie Oct 2009
Sifting through throngs of ordinary people
Feeling the sweat run down your spine,
Knowing that somewhere, lost in the nowhere
Penniless thoughts are sweeping your mind.

Whispering breezes caress the deep valleys
Towering aspens reach for the sky
Loveliness stretches across the whole landscape
And ordinary people live life as they die.

The everyday actions of ordinary souls
Which gather like old leaves in piles at your feet,
They billow and flow like windblown confetti
And lay there like derelict snow in the street.

The passion and pain that flow through the lifeway
The highs and the lows that paint in your mind
Magnificent portraits of colour and texture
That render your eyesight effectively blind.

You scream at the hollowness, vacantly pulsing
Thrash at the emptiness shimmering there,
Long for the avalanche of substance returning
Long for the touch of her long golden hair.

Swim through the morass of ordinary people
Wade through the ordinary thoughts that live there
Making the most of the moments of lightness
Through quivering lips you discard despair.

Dancing in puddles and splashing through gutters
Cascading on through in a frivolous way,
Tossing your mane with a smile built on vapour
Dispelling your cares like windblown hay.

To gasp for air in the turquoise downtime
****** out your palms apon your knees,
Feel your chest convulse with effort
These flooding tensions gush to ease.

Whispering nothings are echoing softly
Silkily wafting from this side to there
Imparting the message that life is worth living
And crimson & scarlet diffuse in the air.

This ordinary day has done it’s thing now
Temperate airs have cooled to chill,
Vistas fade into the distance
Starlings flock upon the hill.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
18 January 2008
Life's a Beach Jun 2014
Tell me a story, or I won't even blink,
I want you to take me to worlds that I
think I could find beauty in, places
to hide deep within like an inside
joke, or a laugh, or a path
to take into Neverland,
a bridge to Wonderland,
any land
as long as I can have you in it.

Tell me a story, fill my sinuses with stink,
I want to feel the ship I want to smell
the brink of desperation, to feel
a strange, secure, separation to
myself, filled with a wealth of
nonsense knowledge, take me
through foliage and laugh as I
bask in a seething sun,
come on, let's go, I crave fun.

Tell me a story, help me taste a
waste of time, I want to laugh a
rhyme and commit the crime
of uselessness and happiness and
bonkerness and silliness and fun
watch me run into a field of fantasies
tongue sampled teas and
smile at simplicities'
sanctuary.

Tell me a story, and allow me to touch
a part of your mind you let
locked away, darling, parent, sibling,
quibbling cognitive miser
tell me a story and you'll end up
wiser for knowing it, for imparting
it, let's party it and part with the
sweetest words of goodness,
I could hear from you

To be **continued
Àŧùl Apr 2013
You stand in front of me seeking knowledge of the unknown.

What Door Is Locked, Which Door You Talk About, Atul.

Today I Talk About The Doorway To Heaven,

But Do You Possess The Credibility Even.

This Is A Question - Right?

Yeah, This Is A Question...

Didn't Sound Like One!

Okay, I'm Sorry But You Should Just Answer Me

Heaven is Not a Place Unfamiliar to Me,
The Door was Against the Common Notion
Black.
Heaven is a Place Where Bland Mixtures of Happy,
And Sad Emotions Fly Lightly Through Our Minds
Unfailingly.
Nobody Ever Clearly Remembers of What Heaven Was Like,
I Experienced Heaven in The Peace of My Long Comatose
State.


But Where Did We Miss Out on The Doorway Part??

Be Patient.

Okay, We Would Be...

Good, Now Listen Carefully Without Interrupting Me.
Even Though I Missed My Girlfriend,
More Did I Miss My College Than I Did Her.


You nod your head and say, It's Obvious, Many Guys Feel So.

I shake my head, Not Many Guys Would Feel Exactly The Same & Don't Interrupt Me Please.

Seeing you ready to listen more, I comfort my shoulders to continue,

I Missed The Underprivileged Kids More Than I Missed Her,
I Missed Imparting Them Elementary Education,
I Missed The Feeling of Being Close,
Close To The Door Of Heaven,
Their Houses In The Slum,
The One Close To The College,
Seemed Exactly - Actually Like It,
The Eternal Doorway To Heaven & I Found It,
So Peaceful, Calm And As Much Meaningful To Serve.


I end up my dialogue undisturbed, Yeah, That's The Doorway To Heaven Which I Had Found.

You are running a rapid thought process in your mind, Is That It?

I smile & Reply, Yes That's It, Thank You.

You further ask, But What If We Feel Heavenly Elsewhere, Does It Matter?

This time I nod my head and say, *It Could Be Anywhere You Feel Happy From Your Heart & Free From All Your Doubts About The Reason's Morality.
My HP Poem #148
© Atul Kaushal
Corey Kuropas Oct 2014
I dream a reoccurring dream
One that luckily frequents
I walk into a little dive bar
It smells of smoke and whiskey
I sit a table with three gentlemen
They happen to be outlaws
These aren't ordinary outlaws
They are the men that set the bar

There is the Man in Black
Next to him is good ol Waylon
Next to Waylon is No Show Jones
These men have seen it all
I sit down and order a glass of bourbon
They treat me like an old friend

They share their stories
Imparting wisdom I could never imagine
From the pain, the woe and the happiness
I take a lot with me
They tell me not to go soft
Stay the course, be who you are
As I finish the bourbon, I shake each of their hands
Giving them my honest thanks
I am an outlaw
And I hope to fill their boots one day
DM Nov 2012
I wish to embrace,
my children's faces,
with these eyes,
burning into memory,
their joyous smiles,
before the fading light,
is finally extinguished,
the dancing stars,
which are their own eyes,
remembered,
held closely,
envisioned,
but for the betrayal,
of time,
giving way to darkness,
and shrouds,
shadows they become,
but for the light of imagination,
and memories,
unforgettable images,
be still,
this disquieted soul,
allow the beautiful to extend,
words are as worlds,
a new place from which soulful expression,
is easily rendered,
imparting magnificence,
to beckoning followers,
and newly found friends.
For my mid-western friend, H.L.D. The heroic epic poet.
Ma Cherie Jan 2017
I've always used bright crayons,
and I've always picked,
  very interesting & bold options,
I try to use various alternative methods,
uniquely me and yet relatable,
I know I am different,
I'm OK with that,
I totally embrace my "weird"
and my "normal"
every part of me is beautiful somehow.

Though I didn't always I see it that way,
I've said it before "hindsight is insight "
so it all helps,
to paint in words more accurately.

I sometimes apply more technique,
to obtain a darker shade,
for example,
I use crosshatching,
or use more pressure to darken,
add light where needed,
there must be more than 50 shades of grey,
the way people describe things so differently yet the same,

Thoughtfully I'd enhance blood red,
gentle but deliberate strokes,
so many lovely colors in a telluric bed,

I especially love my old,
Vermont wildflower garden,

So I don't only use crayons,
I use sharpies, pencils and paint,
anything available,
whatever tools are required,
sights, sounds, tastes,
all play a role,
necessary ingredients,
some things to omit,

A very special thanks,
to the blossoms of that garden,
lovely lady slippers, snapdragons,
daises and lupines,
every season just so breathtaking,
always sharing and imparting sage wisdom,
those amazing forests and animals,
strangers friends and family,
teachers are everywhere & everything,
it's every song I'll ever sing,

I did not even mention,
the gift the waters,
give,
frozen beauty this time of year,
icicles and snowflakes,
black ice and cold dark dangerous depths,
No,
freezing temperatures won't deter a poet,

We must nurture poetry,
becuz poetry is everything,
in nature and music,
and life and love,
so even if you think your poetry *****,
keep writing,
that will change,
with honing skills,

If you're writing then you must see the world like a poet,
can you imagine a world without it?
I know I can't.

Did you know onions make a lovely imprint,
on Easter eggs?

Sometimes I just have to describe it,
remember into the past,
draw that vein up,
write it out,
word *****
****
( I have 22 poems in the "works" )
there I said it,
page after page after page,
purge for yourself and for others,
use your God given voice,
and if you got any talent?

It ain't like it's a choice,
look out world,
cuz maybe you're going to,
touch a lot of people,
and not even know you have the ability,
and when you do?

Well you just want to share,
not for the credit,
not for acclaim or false feigned affection,
not for any Earthly praise,
becuz,
you keep hearing that sound,
an so you gotta get it down,
when you want to sleep,
and you just can't think
cuz it keeps coming like a flood,
like no chance to blink,
I know you know poets,
you feel me?

And honestly,
I am only interested in coloring the truth,
so I will use a pencil if that's what I see,
or an eraser,
if necessary,

I use my truth,
your truth,
OUR truth,
to color all my poetic words.
What? Lol does this make sense? Idk...felt seriously inspired. ❤❤❤ you guys!
Lin Cava Feb 2013
Missing You

The teardrop gently slips down the cheek
leaving its salty trail upon my face.

Born of the chasm of missing you
it slipped out against my will,
so powerless to stop it.

In a ray of sunlight it hovers,
capturing my attention…
I grasp for the wisp as it floats
beyond my reach
and for one moment of crystal clarity
I remember, and hold still…

The wisp lands, softly bouncing,
upon my outstretched palm
dancing in the warmth of air above it,
and barely touches me and I travel back…

I remember youth, remember song
caution to the winds, trampling through life
carefree…

When the wisp settles
like a flash coursing through me
I feel your heart and wonder,
if, like me, you have cushioned it,
wrapped and restrained your heart -
safe from pain and salvaged for another day.

The future is never certain and we seldom know
the length of our timeline.
Regret is a lonely emotion,
apology often too little
and always too late.

Another teardrop falls…
I cry – for I have lost a gift
one so unique, so dear
that it can never be replaced.

We are foolish, we men
and women of this earth.
Knowing, fully, that life is short
that some things are more precious
than any others
we tread upon them in careless abandon
as if we were children
senseless to our surroundings
imparting damage
to those whom we most love

And cry the lonely tears
of missing what we hold so dear.

4th February, 2013
©Lin Cava
Jessica Golich Nov 2014
Rehabilitating through escalating rhetoric emanating; animating fascinating literary representations of the subtle decorations encircling this imagination
Magniloquent passages full of enigmatic contaminants; imparting the multiplex peculiarities of an introspective, retrospective detective  
Indulging in perplexing idiosyncrasies and infusing ethereal rhapsody into the universal tapestry.
geminicat Jan 2014
meandering paths, blind turns
unfathomable milestones, sand built inns
rarely comes across the shiny black tar
imparting hope, embracing dithering steps
yet, set aflame by desires we tread on,
hurting ourselves onto the
path vanishing into the oblivion
Riya Sep 2015
To her he shone,
Shone like the moon in the darkest night,
Like the sliver of light at the end of a tunnel,
Like the ray of hope in a pool of her own tears.

To him she was just another friend,
Just another toy for when he was bored,
Another text he had to answer,
Another face he had to put up with.

Black and white,
Light and dark,
She could never be apart
From the one who holds her still beating heart.
Unaware of the power he holds,
Every time he clenches his fist
Her pain persists.
But, to her,
None of it mattered.

She will wait,
Wait for his annoyed text
if it meant she could hear from him again.
Unaware of the agony he puts her through,
unaware of the forgiveness that she’s imparting.
Despite, the writhing pain.
She stays.
Because he’s the one who will forever have her beating heart.

— The End —