"loomed" poems
T'was the night before Christmas
And with everything done
The kids were all dreaming
Of Christmas Day fun
The tree was completed
We had wrapped all the toys
When from the basement below
We heard a faint noise
I sprung from the couch
Took off down the stairs
On my way through the kitchen
I tripped on two chairs
I slid down the staircase
To the base of my house
And there with my shortbreads
Was a ****** great mouse
My wife followed close
And then she let out a shriek
She saw me and the mouse
And she started to freak
He nibbled the cookie
and he ran past my nose
right down my torso
Then he stopped at my toes
My wife was still screaming
The mouse didn't care
He continued his running
On under the stairs
I crawled to my workshop
Grabbed the first thing I found
A mallet for pounding
That mouse in the ground
I limped to the staircase
And I swung at the wall
I again lost my balance
And again, I did fall
I put two holes in the riser
Two more in the tread
I was gonna keep swinging
Till that mouse was dead
I broke the one lightbulb
That lit up the room
Now I was worried
I couldn't see...found the broom
I stepped on one end
Squared my self in the sack
I then heard a noise
The mouse had come back
I heard his slight skitter
As he went past my feet
He was off to the larder
For more stuff to eat
I went back to the workshop
Tripping at least three more times
I would finish this mouse
He would pay for his crimes
I grabbed for a lighter
And my large propane torch
I would hunt down this mouse
And his **** I would scorch
I lit up the propane
And I aimed at the stairs
It caught light on the carpet
And I burnt both those chairs
The flames went on upward
The stairs were quite dry
I laughed in hysterics
That **** mouse would fry
My wife had recovered
And decided to run
but, after seeing the flames
She phoned up 9 1 1
The mouse left the building
In fact, he never was found
The house burned in seconds
It collapsed to the ground
And through the whole scene
I just stood there and laughed
At the wreckage before me
And I thought, **** I'm daft
I had ruined our Christmas
And I burned down our house
Over a **** shortbread cookie
And one little mouse
The kids, they got out
And were wrapped up and warm
While I was creating
My own perfect storm
The gifts were all ruined
The house ...all consumed
And over my head
One large question loomed
If I had gone for the shotgun
And shot at the mouse
Would I be still having Christmas
And would I still have a house
My wife came on over
And she gave me a swat
She said "look what you've done"
"you great stupid ****
I learned a great lesson
and folks ...it is that
Once I rebuild
I will then buy a cat!!!
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
howling black wavespounded the doomedwelshmen of steeltravesty loomed absorbing the onslaughtrelentless attackerwrong end of mountainrourkes drift, south africa brave boyo stood fastsolid in stancebattled the tideof barefoot advance singing in tunicvalley men bred fought black waves of heatin rivers of red respectful zulunot mindless marauderheld assegai highand saluted....the south wales borderer
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
Dark clouds loomed over the horizon
They broke loose in unprecedented force
Nature’s wrath, sudden violence acquired
It rained down as if unleashing all her fury
It was a downpour without one equal
The heavens let down dark misery for days on end,
Water bodies swelled and hollows filled,
Land mass slipped and trees fell,
Rivers were in spate and dams were full
Waves surfed and waters roared,
Like mountains they rose over the land,
Men in throngs were evicted from their homes,
Hundreds died and livestock perished
Such violence, never ever imagined
Helter-skelter, people fled for life.
Lands inundated and folks marooned,
Homes washed away with all belongings
Power failed and life has come to a halt
Rescue operations go on in full swing
Still many, stranded and crying for help
“Water, water everywhere, nor even a drop to drink”
As Nature thus plays her perfidious trick,
We shall stay united and pool all our might,
To regain for our land what we have lost
When the Deluge chants the dirge of dying souls!
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
A secret society founded as a dark, heavy rainstorm
loomed menacingly one night in November of 1888
over Boston University; Sarah Ida Shaw,
Eleanor Dorcas Pond, Isabel Morgan Breed
& Florence Isabelle Stewart sneaking in their
nightgowns into the dusty attic where Florence
swore she had seen three black cats sitting
in the rocking chairs talking; to humor their friend,
the others followed her up into the dark attic:
meaning only to frighten Florence, Eleanor
pulled a kitchen knife; the uncomprehending
Isabel & Sarah forcing the terrified [so they thought]
Florence to her knees; while there, eating the *****
of the knife-wielding Eleanor, who raising her stiff
nightgown told the others to do likewise until they all
were satisfied, shouting - meow meow meow meow -
old lady Murphy hollering up the attic steps: 'who's up there?'
the three girl giggling their little heads off running
past her down the stairs; Florence nearly tripping,
coming down a few moments later, also grinning
but silently to herself.
'what are u girls doing up there?' -
'playing w/ the cats,' said Flo, slipping past her;
'Cats! Cats!' shouted the old witch, rushing up the
stairs raising her broom [from that evening Delta Delta Delta (ΔΔΔ)
has met to lick talking black cats in secret college sorority rituals]
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
The inadequate bookshelf that sat near the door
that my sister used to call her own was
mostly made up of adolescent reads,
books better suited for preteen girls rather than
intellectually budding young ladies—
juvenile vocabularies and simple, non-complex
plot lines do little to craft and create
worldly, knowledgeable women.
I thought I must spring clean the
naiveté away and replace it with
the works of great authors like
Sylvia Plath
Simone de Beauvoir
Virginia Woolf
Margaret Atwood
Betty Friedan;
ingenious femme fatales that cut down
to the brittled bones of the misogynists
and burned their marrow along with the
ashes of bras and aprons and 350 degree oven heat.
Growing up, to me, seemed like a wonderful epiphany
chock-full of ideas and opinions and
clever, ironic remarks that chased satirical witticisms
like felines to rodents and wolves to deer—
being an adult would guarantee me a say,
a vote
prior 1920’s America
play dress up as a suffragette
women’s rights
femininity personified by dolls in plastic houses.
To be eighteen-years-old,
the goal, the legality, the bright light at the end of the tunnel;
the official womanhood it would bestow upon me
seemed like something almost tangible
with the way that it loomed over my head.
Get good marks
graduate high school
travel back in time sixty years
meet a nice boy
become a “good wife”
have dinner ready by five
bear two beautiful heirs
clean up the messes left in the kitchen
fast-forward to the twenty-first century
go to a good college
find a stable career
settle down if the fancy strikes you
live non-docile and full of passion—
the parallelism of times are severely
di
lap
i
dat
ed.
1950’s America would never be a home for me
because I am much too wild to be contained.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
I
Not once in all our days of poignant love,
Did I a single instant give to thee
My undivided being wholly free.
Not all thy potent passion could remove
The barrier that loomed between to prove
The full supreme surrendering of me.
Oh, I was beaten, helpless utterly
Against the shadow-fact with which I strove.
For when a cruel power forced me to face
The truth which poisoned our illicit wine,
That even I was faithless to my race
Bleeding beneath the iron hand of thine,
Our union seemed a monstrous thing and base!
I was an outcast from thy world and mine.
II
Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted,
I shun all signs of anchorage, because
The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws.
New gales of tropic fury round my head
Break lashing me through hours of soulful dread;
But when the terror thins and, spent, withdraws,
Leaving me wondering awhile, I pause--
But soon again the risky ways I tread!
No rigid road for me, no peace, no rest,
While molten elements run through my blood;
And beauty-burning bodies manifest
Their warm, heart-melting motions to be wooed;
And passion boldly rising in my breast,
Like rivers of the Spring, lets loose its flood.
4.6k
Like crystal sand pebbles
Washed away from seashore
Like shooting stars in space
Propelled out of the night sky
Our beautiful black pearls
Young and innocent and ambitious
Full of life, full of tomorrow
Were stolen away in daylight
Away from unnatural habitats
Away from unsafe clusters
Away from our sleepy watchful eyes
Loosing their buoyancy
To the same fearsome monsters
That have plagued the land much
Bursting balloons at parties
Bringing mayhem as they visit
Making our warriors look childish
Forcing help from the world over.
The sun has gone to sleep
The moon has loomed too long
But to hope, we will cling
Till we find our lost pebbles…
© Raphael Uzor
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
For years, they stole and robbed from our pockets.
For years, they murdered what faith we had,
Killed what hope we gained for ourselves.
Poverty loomed over us like death, the
Loss of materialistic payment. Currency controls;
We have none.
Beginning with a silly addition to parchment and paper.
A "stamp act," if you will. Oh, the rarity of a few extra
Coins to spend on a cake for the mistress!
Rebellion and violence against the act increased,
The Sons, the ones of Liberty left
Blood splattered on the ground we walk on.
Fear installed in the hearts of agents,
Collecting and shivering as coins ring in their satchels.
Soon, though, they left. Resigned and replaced themselves with
Another thief.
The Townshend- adding cents more to imported,
Provided, goods. The people starved for things
They need and can not afford.
Naive. They had materials. They had the skill,
But no need to use what they contained in their minds
And their bodies.
Begin the new world! Spin your own yarn and twine!
Build your own shoes! You don't need the goods
From old English factories and makers.
The disagreements and retaliation, the lack in
Morality in the brainwashed heads of soldiers.
A bothered redcoat drew his gun, leaving holes,
Horrible voids.
The dive from cliff to cliff, swing from tree to tree,
The ****** of blood and
The determination to be freed from the grasp of
A controlling monarchy.
The greed they exhibit and the cruelty.
Revenge for taking what is ours?
Sweet tea, English tea,
Soaked in the harbor. The tax will be no more!
The need for peace, rejected by one
Who wanted control and a steady reign.
The isolation, suffocation of the new land like an
Abused child.
It was only a matter of time before the child ran away.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Brought forth from a darkness so secure, baby boy relentless in the pursuit of education gazed upon the egg shell walls and sterile environment.
Breathing as if it were natural.
A construction of steel and concrete was the new cocoon , the window was an eye to a neoteric world. Bright white lights shone from within and a dull foreboding cloud loomed beyond the glass for the child to appreciate.
Mother exhausted collapsed sighing. She is the antidote to all that is evil, she is the mother to the world. A usually stick-thin figure now distended but leisurely relaxing.
Nursing her son as if it were natural.
Swooning nurses swaddle infants, the original factory workers. Substantial days grafting, workhorses prancing throughout aseptic halls.
The heroines of our world.
A tribe appears from dust clouds, over the dunes, panting, half-alive. Heavenly Ethiope arriving in time for the world to begin. Tumescent in her ecclesiastic luminescence bearing a King destined to travel great distances primed for expulsion from the cimmerian safety of the womb.
The seas of the earth accumulate before the small band of tall-standing creatures of exquisite anthropomorphism. Creatures from across the great unexplored continent at the centre of our world gathered in frenzied crowds. The Elephants marched in earth shattering herds, the lions of the Savannah put aside their differences and sat amongst the wild dogs of Ethiopia and the grévy's zebra, the dibatag stood and eagerly waited. Shrews, mice, gazelle, otters, cheetahs and giraffes all surrounded the tribe. Taking a silent vow and allowing stewardship to be passed along to a new generation.
Every mother is the mother of the earth. Her earth, the personal concept of earth that only she may understand.
Both children are connected by the planet they learn to walk upon. Connected by a thousand generations but connected nonetheless. They are one and the same. Each bought into a world in which they have no knowledge, each merely a slate eager to be scrawled upon by the elders of this fine rock.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
i held his hand as we sank into the shore.
glass shards, ripping
& stinging our feet. but
i could not ask for more.
i could not ask at all.
the ocean loomed - a heavy shadow,
too dark to be blue. it lapped at our
wounds, like a hungry tomb and
the wind was begging
for me to fall.
quicksand, almost. we were knee deep
into the wrecked atlantis of the creatures
who used to live on the beach.
they once held hands too.
they once had someone to call.
the biggest of waves it was his home it was his place i could not save him from grace it
swallowed him whole.
and i, a carcass along the shore.
i began to understand why hermit *****
said goodbye to their shells with a drawl.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
There is a dragon in my closet
He has dark brown eyes
Pale skin
A south Bronx accent
and an affinity for breathing fire
Some people have skeletons
I have a dragon who has lived off of my insecurities,
My pain
So he's nice and fat...
When I was alone
His shadow loomed underneath the closet door
I pretended to not see it
His footsteps made the whole house shake
But I pretended not to hear it
Now I lay in bed at night with the one I love
And can no longer ignore it
Time to be my own knight in shining armor
Open the closet door
and the slay the dragon
He may be a dragon
That burns up all that is in his path
But I am a phoenix
Who rises from his destruction to become even stronger than before.
I'm going to kick his ***
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
Through long nursery nights he stood
By my bed unwearying,
Loomed gigantic, formless, queer,
Purring in my haunted ear
That same hideous nightmare thing,
Talking, as he lapped my blood,
In a voice cruel and flat,
Saying for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."
That one word was all he said,
That one word through all my sleep,
In monotonous mock despair.
Nonsense may be light as air,
But there's Nonsense that can keep
Horror bristling round the head,
When a voice cruel and flat
Says for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."
He had faded, he was gone
Years ago with Nursery Land,
When he leapt on me again
From the clank of a night train,
Overpowered me foot and head,
Lapped my blood, while on and on
The old voice cruel and flat
Says for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."
Morphia drowsed, again I lay
In a crater by High Wood:
He was there with straddling legs,
Staring eyes as big as eggs,
Purring as he lapped my blood,
His black bulk darkening the day,
With a voice cruel and flat,
"Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..." he said, "Cat! ... Cat!..."
When I'm shot through heart and head,
And there's no choice but to die,
The last word I'll hear, no doubt,
Won't be "Charge!" or "Bomb them out!"
Nor the stretcher-bearer's cry,
"Let that body be, he's dead!"
But a voice cruel and flat
Saying for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!"
4k
Cold white layers pile over the grey concrete
I did not expect the storm but I
Needed to face the journey
Someday
We knew it could not last forever
And in that moment
An accident in my vision,
Maybe the music screaming into my ear
Distracted me from the obvious truth that lie
Just through the windowpane
Leading to a collision straight into reality
Your words, the concrete divider
That hit hard enough to take deep damage
Yet not hard enough to stop me from moving forward
The unexpected truth that came at the least expected moment
My ignorance overlooked the obvious signs
That i could not stay safe forever
Not at the speed we drove..
My skin hugged my knuckles tightly
Enough to match the descending snow
As I knew from the first swerve
Your first word
That inevitable fate
I surely faced
Death loomed close in my mind
But I drove on
Grabbed the wheel and forced my way through
The place where I felt nearest to the grave
Until I reached a safe enough space to see for myself
Just how much damage I endured
And, like my car,
I am totaled
Broken into pieces that cannot be reframed
Some lost at the point of collision
Others gradually passing over time
And some still holding on
In the eyes of an astonished mechanic
The car shouldn't even start
And according to everyone else
I should be dead
But I'm not
And though neither the car
Or my own life will ever fully
return to their original condition
We still drive on
Moving forward on the unpredictable
Icy
Deadly
Highway of life
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
Pale and swift the moorings lie:
Roosting on the masts were nye.
Peculiar was the indigo
in the water's moonlit glow.
The ship was ailing through the night
casting wayward, staggered light.
And oceanic tides were bound
to throw the ship into the sound.
But though the water pulled and fought
the Phantom ship could not be caught;
The cargo stayed and sat to mull
well within the sturdy hull.
It was a most peculiar eve,
though the average won't perceive.
The queer and devient, however,
noticed that the sky forever
loomed with great intensity
with clouds as far as eyes could see.
What secrets held this murky water?
Burning mysteries, growing hotter?
I was there, I hope you know
I have a ship, my own, and so:
remembering that eve's deception,
I take my boat in that direction.
Standing now to face the sea,
deciding where and whom to be.
For pale and swift the moorings lie;
Roosting on the masts are nye.
Distinctive be that indigo
in the water's moonlit glow.
Yet ** My schooner dipp and quaff
And with that, I must be off.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
Picture this,
It’s April, the world is moving forward as you are inside a coffee shop.
You went to be at peace, your home has felt like an enclosure.
Although it is most definitely your home there seems to be something always missing.
So you head to your second home, a coffee shop a few blocks away.
They all know you by name, and the inside jokes you all have fills the store with a warm laughter that can be felt even before anyone opens the door.
You have your bag, within it is two notebooks and a laptop. One notebook for any ideas you want to write down, and the other just in case. You have your laptop, because you said you will write on it, but you end up looking up random thoughts in your head.
You seem to not be able to focus, but that’s fine because you’re having better thoughts then when you were at home.
You spend a few hours there before you pack your bag, you get up, say your goodbyes, you look outside, the rain is pouring.
You remember you didn’t bring a coat, you couldn’t wait to leave the obstacle you call home that you never looked outside at the clouds that loomed overhead.
But in your defense you felt that same feeling for weeks now, the way those dark clouds in the sky look is how you’ve felt for most of your life now.
But as you’re walking out of this coffeeshop, someone stops you and asks why you didn’t bring a coat.
Without thinking nor without a hesitation you say, “I’m wearing one can’t you see.”, and before they can say anything else, “I wear my heart not on my sleeve, I wear it as a coat.”.
They look at you and say, “Hopefully next month I will grow from the concrete”.
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 6:22 PM UTC
She cringes at night, recalling the indelible days where she lie
curled in a ball, hiding from the scoundrel who
attacked her mind, her heart, and her soul, leaving her with nothing but
rancid memories of a living hell, but
even though she appeared live and well
dreary darkness loomed in the body of
Scared
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
The field overflowed with the blood of heroes
yet blood fell cheap on the battleground
still no freedom for those who dared
silence to the soul,who made little sound.
Onward they marched common man and soldiers alike
to stop the tyranny once in for all
their cry for freedom echoed in the winds
one by one,the enemies will fall.
Their pledge to the soil turned into action
sacrifices were made in the heart of motherland
patriot after patriot bathed in blood
as quit India movement began to expand.
Finally,at the stroke of midnight hour
freedom came out loud and strong
the people of India cherished their dreams
as a storm loomed with their hallowed song.
To this day,India remembers her heroes
whose blood has spoken the language of freedom
India stands proud,with her flag flying high
reclaiming her land and her beautiful kingdom.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldret, Kenya;[email protected])
Do you remember one era in Kenya?
During the dark days of dictatorship
When Daniel arap Moi
Was the tyrannical president of Kenya
And darkness of leadership
Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño
When forty district commissioners
Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins?
Whose main work was to spy and terrorize
As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy
Yoke of state terror of tribal torment
When the president claims that
He was not aware of such tyranny,
When we used to sing a lame poem
Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo!
On empty stomachs with no hope of food
No hope of jobs or even education
Street children swelling on the street
In total political nonchalance of arap Moi
As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths
In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was
Overfunded by the poor tax payers money,
Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are
With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience
As you are armed to teeth with modern education
**** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy
Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices
The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya
Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever
Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president
Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya,
Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser
Ignore him and embrace Kenyans
For common future happiness
Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different
He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli
His full badness is measured in absurdity
Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed
Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders
Of Kenya of yore and today,
Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became
A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension
Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap
Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial
Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing
He looks for them on daily circadian
But once he nears their political pigeonhole
Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga!
President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect
You won’t get a pretext to say that
I was not aware or not informed
Please dear darling of the people
The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes
Novate Moi with the people
And your legacy will smile.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
Is tamed wildness
And manufactured wilderness-
A plastic world
All my young son will know?
I have known gritty gravel roads
And sunburnt savanah veldt.
Swam and splashed
in muddy dams and reservoirs.
I have sat high above,
in mountain peaks studying clustered clouds
close enough to reach out and run my fingers through by day,
and I have counted the dancing stars above
in vast dark nights.
I have discovered treasures in the misty valleys on early mornings
And seen sun streak through
heavy storm clouds
to colour a grey sky with radiant rainbows.
I have seen surreal snow fall
And slowly erase the world around us.
I have seen majestic beasts truly free-
Wildebeests, various buck and cautious rhinos,
Zebras that danced and played
Around an elephant that loomed high above them,
And elegant wings that whispered
upon westerly winds.
And it has all left me marked,
these magical moments tattooed in
my south african soul-
And I am more for it - filled.
what will feed their sould now?
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Living with an alcoholic is like
Standing outside during an on-and-off thunderstorm.
You never know when they'll snap,
When they'll take on their meanest form.
We cooked, and laughed, late in the night,
And I walked her to her room
And put a movie on, turned off her light.
"I'm going to get a shower," I said,
Departing into the bathroom.
When I reemerged, hair still wet,
Tension - in the air - loomed.
"You need to treat him better!" she screamed at my brother,
Words echoing throughout the house;
It seems to me that once the lights are doused
And she's left alone with her thoughts,
Well,
That's when aggression is taught.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
It was raining. It was cold. The sleeve of my shirt sticking to my skin, my flats wet and ***** from the mud and rain.
Suddenly, the rain stopped pouring down on me and a shadow loomed over me. I looked up, I saw him.
He was the one who shield me, rather than shielding himself. Held me so close, just so I wouldn't get wet. We laughed at how ridiculous we look as people stare at us. Cramped together under the small pink umbrella; our shoulders touching, our hands touched slightly.
If I knew what he had thought at that moment,
I wouldn't know what I'd do.
{ E.I }
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
The assassins hit in 63
And Camelot was gone,
Inspiration vanished
And the darkness sang it’s song.
*Vietnam escalated
Brezhnev’s Russia loomed,
Africa was eviscerated
And Red China entombed.
*Floating on a long white cloud
The Kiwis were replete
With abundant British markets
For their butter, wool and meat.
*The Europeans went ****
And Britain lost it’s way
When the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
Monopolized their day.
*Man landed on the moon
And raised the Yankee flag
And they shot Mahatma Ghandi
For making good things out of bad.
*The Berlin Wall dividing,
The Cold War tense and spare,
ICBM’s threaten silently
In their silos of despair.
*Bob Menzies ruled Australia
As an amassing of his loot
And his White Australia Policy
Condemned him as a brute.
*Found naked on her tousled bed,
Blonde hair across her face,
Marylin Monroe is dead
The world’s a darker place.
*In the Age of Aquarius
Our children lost their youth,
LSD and smoking ***
And Afro’s were the proof.
*Lots of leg in miniskirts,
High bouffant’s in the hair,
Screaming teeny boppers
Rock with Elvis on “the Air”.
*Giant, Rawhide, Ponderosa,
Martin Luther King,
Kaftans and a cheese fondue,
Abortion is a sin!
It’s a sixties kaleidoscope,
A panoramic skim
Of an era of wonderment
Which you and I lived in.
Marshalg
@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
20th January 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:25 PM UTC
Don’t go.
I blurted out through my cries,
gripping her hand tighter.
Think of trees,
she whispered, wiping the tears from my cheek
like leaves catching raindrops,
They’ll help you sleep.
So I began to dream
with the help of the trees
and the breeze that brushed
ever so lightly through the leaves.
As she let go of my hand
and disappeared from my room,
I was no longer afraid
of the loneliness that loomed,
for the trees will always surround me.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
I may never know what exactly happened,
but I think I know the why of it
Tadhana…Fate…Destiny…Kismet…
Put it in so many words,
but it all boils down to that.
Tadhana…
shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
She was being stupid,
crashing into the waves that day
just for the thrill of it
He was being pensive,
reflecting on how those waves
just somehow seemed to soothe him
People slowly left the shores
as dark clouds loomed in the horizon
save for these two souls...
She wasn’t even supposed to be there,
just a spur of the moment thing,
forgetting her other worries
she loved storms, she loved the beach
combine them and for her it was bliss…
He went there for closure,
the 10th year of his brother’s death
trying to accept that he did all he could
he loved him, he loved the beach
but guilt drowned him…
The rains then came down in sheets,
winds whipping, storm waves crashing
she was almost at shore though,
when the undertow pulled her back
He thought he was imagining things,
his brother’s ghost perhaps?
When he saw her again,
and fear was tossed like jetsam
Was she the answer he was seeking for?
His redemption in another form?
Was this the reason why he was here now?
Her only hope for salvation?
Rushing out to sea,
adrenaline rushing through his veins
Faith and Fate working together,
he swam towards her
and as they reached the shore
the winds dropped to a whisper,
the waves went back tickling sand,
the raindrops trickled into drizzles
She was breathing, thank God
He lay beside her, exhausted
She could only thank him with a smile
well, a smile that could match the Sun
and she took his hand...
and put it over her heart
It was not so much that their hands fit perfectly,
but there was something else
mole on her right ring finger
perfectly aligning
mole on his left ring finger
Tadhana.
Shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
and of why I am here.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 1:20 PM UTC