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September Roses May 2018
We are tied together by our stories, our history
Tales woven through our ancestry, when our parents talk of their younger days,
When their life was ahead of them,
the future was anything and everything,
they speak of their old friends with ache in their soul,
Of times when their hearts were filled with fire and passion,
running through fields growing memories  planted by the world around them
When they could sprint the wind in their hair,
adventure ahead,
hope in their heart.
They speak of the days behind with woe
Because essentially just their ideas of the future as a young mind, were more enticing than reality.
As dreams failed and hope faded
As their minds wear
and their treasured stories that made them who they are fog over
As threads begin to wear
As tales they once yelled to the world with pride fray at the ends
Your whole world slipping away as the thread unwinds
But they get the joy of passing down the tapestry to their pride and joy,
to the life they made,
Every moment we live with ease of no appreciation for every experience every laugh
Moments we take for granted
Moments we will pine for when they run out
Moments the elderly urge us with fire to cherish
Moments we'll wish we listened about
There is a vast tapestry of memories behind you and infinite thread panning out in front of you, connecting to other tapestries,
visiting at friends,
at enemies,
joining with soul-mates future.
Some cut away,
some ripped from the tapestries too soon before they could weave their own.
A loose thread cannot be fixed once more are made,
and the patterns will never be what you want them to be, savour each stitch
Take time on every thread
You don't want to be sitting there 50 years old thinking about the life you wasted
About the memories faded,
About how every slipping memory's never like the moment you made it.
Don't be sitting 90 filled with regret
Filled with hatred for every opportunity you left
Screaming into the void about how much you hate what your life become.
because they say time flys when your having fun truth is time only flies when you're young.
Marina Kay Mar 2014
You left me stranded
in bleak oblivion,
Despite all the love
I planted in your core,
In faith for daffodils to bloom through your barren soul.

Your wielded words had crippled me time and time again
Paralysing my senses,
Until my sanity began to decay.

But now I've bled you out of my veins
And unto my paper for the last era,
Inking your name away
Untangling myself out of these chains.

The moment has come for me to let you go
After fifteen months, you’d think I already did so.
I'm finally letting you go after fifteen months of agony. I won't be writing about you any more.
Now just off Fordbridge road lies a wall where Curry plants line up all in a row ,
their scent wafts past the walls and to the Church where like sung melody of coral song can be heardwhere Christ is Lord .

Did you see the robin red ******* capture ?
Did you see how it fluttered it’s tiny wings ?
One moment captured by walls of brick ,
and only an open window found this dear Robins rest .

What Babylon’s we seek .
What red walls we creep ,
Our prisons we like birds fly in to open windows .

Saddam Hussain looked out on Babylon’s ruines from his Palace
of opulent wealth ,

where black angels stalking darkness creep ,
the arrogance of evil lies
the envy of gold .
The night the moons light hid the pagans covered their eyes .
The hand of Gods
writing on the wall .
Wine filled goblets of gold ,pleasure , wealth and power to bestow
a feast of flesh for all .
Cut down with trembling fear ,
cut down as God is near ,
Cut down his arsenal to unfold .

Oh gates of Babylon of who Dio did sing and who’s gates opened wide.
who Alexander the Great
and Babylonian blood  could not hide  ,
the might of the Persian army ,
now lies crumbling in the dust .

Then my dear let no Babylon awake and tremble not that God alone
should take you’re fear .
For our secret love no one may tell ,
when we meet with beating hearts in our curry planted gardens of love .
Elizabeth May 12
As she sat upon her windowsill she watched the cars roll by and the nervous man linger along the grass just beyond the sidewalks end. She had hoped that one day she would work up the courageous to be someone in a busy city with dreams and deadlines to be met. She hoped that she wouldn’t be who she was becoming for she returned to darkness at night with nothing but an unfinished book and withering flowers to welcome her home. She would sit upon the windowsill to make sense of the man who paced the streets at night and the cars who rushed by in a hurry to be somewhere. She wanted to be a newly planted flower in a field full of seeds. She wanted to have a purpose other than sitting upon that windowsill. She told herself she would but she wished someone would tell her that she could
Hope in perseverance
Antino Art Nov 2018
Raised
in this floating
world, forever
deep.
You can’t drain the ocean

Decidedly from down
south of here
You can’t un-trace the roots.

You can’t lie and say,
“This isn’t where I grew up”
You can’t deny the fruits
of what was planted two generations ago
when your grandpatents arrived from the Philippines, seeds in tow
soil for the taking
You can’t confiscate what they claimed
when they planted their flags
into the moon-white sand of a beach in Florida
on a far side of the planet
their forefarthers have never seen

You can’t say those flags weren’t there
when wind came
You can't ***** out that pride
of country,
cut off its native tongue and its acquired taste, or pass up the plate of fried lumpia and rice passed down from the kitchen of your Daddylol
feeding seven kids day in and out with tomatoes he planted,
chickens he raised, Malonggay leaves he grew
with thumbs so green they wrote in the papers about it
He was a farmer
Your grandmother, a nurse
And i was writer
And this is our story

You can’t erase the letters of your name,
your lineage written all over it
like a map
of everywhere we been
You can’t take back the words in Tagalog and Chavacano
your Lola Shirley must have sang your mother to sleep with
You can’t take their dreams

You can't just wake up one day and undo
the ripple effects their moves
created across waters 10,000 miles east of here,
the rolling waves they curled into
or the faraway shores they washed up upon
Bottled messages in hand
Our legends held within
You can’t say centuries from now that they won’t feel it
when their feet hit the sand of their own frontier
beside the waves we stayed making
a history written in deep water
for those who come after you
to sail above and beyond.
For Nali
ryn Dec 2014
You are the sky
While I'm of dirt and earth
Sharing the universe in separate realms
Conflicting factions, diverse births

I would forever look up
Rest my gaze on the tide of the air
And dream for our eyes to meet
Temporary eternity that we would share

I've cried many a teardrop
But you can never know
Because to you they never could reach
For into my core they'd only flow

But when you stare down sullenly
Your tears would fall, soaking my plane
I'd drink the drops voraciously
Those gifts of love from heaven's rain

Your tears would nurture the seeds I've planted
They'd take root and flourish in the sun
Resolve in my soil held firmly in place
Thinking our journey forth would've then begun

Roots would give birth to stem
Which in turn, would branch out into leaves
Plantling will eventually grow up high
To give back the love, it constantly receives

Such misfortune little sprout
You can only grow so tall
You can never reach that far
You and I can only kiss the drops that fall

So... My beautiful sky of azure
I am but dust on fate's heavy feet
We can only look to the faraway horizon
Only there could heaven and earth truly meet
Valsa George Jul 2018
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
      
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty

among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea

how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference

through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!

destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!

still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
When a divorce occurs, the threat of losing the home and losing the purpose of life confronts a child, especially in the younger age. Children of divorced parents experience a real trauma and they begin to doubt about their own identity!
Why is it so hard to breathe
with feet planted on dry land?
What chains itself tight in
our throats?
Can you flee until your limbs
snap?
Can you run from the raindrops
before they fall?
Maybe one day the sun will shine
on a candid smile
Maybe on day we won't feel as if we
are tossed about in dark waters
And maybe, one day, we will feel at home
on dry land.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
This earth is such a foreign yet familiar place.
Tom Spencer Oct 2018
pulling back the covers
dimming the lights

an owl calls
from the holly tree

just outside
of my window

the garden below
has grown beyond my control

weeds sprout vines tangle
in the summer squirrels gnaw

on the green holly berries
littering the courtyard

with half-eaten haws
in the spring mockingbirds

gorge on the bright red fruit
their florid songs

celebrating
light sky life sun leaf air

closing my eyes
I think back through the decades

to when I planted the tree
it was a time of hope

a time when we dared dream
of a world without

mortal enemies
when you could imagine

shaded islands of calm
hidden coves immune to rancor

now look at us
heads down lost hurtling

stumbling
under a trance

we have turned on one other
distracted by those

who grab wealth and power
under the cover of night

confused by the constant
trumpeting and alarms

blind to what we share
we retreat

into the darkness
of our fears

Tom Spencer © 2018
Grace Spellman Feb 2017
I found somebody who carries my soul gently.
He took the demons you left me with and cast them all out.;
He planted flowers where you left weeds.
Although I was nothing but a dimly lit star to you, he sees the opposite.
I am his sun, he is my moon.
And together we rule the galaxy.
He takes care of me like no one has ever before.

-Thank you for leaving, for if you hadn't I would never have found my diamond in the rough.
NA Nov 2018
The lighthouse was planted with its roots
Close enough to the faint smell of the salty water
Yet, keeping a safe distance from the ocean’s vicious waves.
And much like the lighthouse,
Not even my shadow dares to
Dance past the line
Between the calming shore
And the mysterious sea.
Elle Oct 2018
I miss the way I loved you
With every breath I loved you

I miss the silly girl in me
Who though we would love eternally

A song, a place I’m right back there
Young, naive without a care

Before I really grew into me
There was always us, you and me

Good times planted in my mind
Bad boxed up somewhere behind

Now I’m older now I see
You were never good for me

I had bad days, tears and sad days
Not knowing what I had done days

Try harder tomorrow days
Fail again and again days

I miss the person you could sometimes be
When you were not hurting me

So do I miss you, don’t you see
I miss the person I though you could be

I miss the way I loved you
With every breath I loved you
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