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Path Humble Jun 2018
left my phone unlocked
on the taxi’s back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"


to which I replied,

"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"


and with an equally, beaming smile continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was


Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...
or his amazement, disguise...

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
single
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim


^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

FYI,
NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sixth-new-york-city-cab-driver-dies-suicide-after-struggling-n883886

true story, poetry is there for the taking
L B Dec 2018
Before he returned from the fields
she must get there!
Harnessed Ole' Jerry to the buckboard
by herself
flung wildflowers mixed with iris, roses
tied with string
up on the rough-hewn seat

She was sweating, ill
and pregnant yet again
But some things always mattered more
than dinner at his hour, on the table
Sometimes in her frantic mind
she found the strength to curse him

Wiped her brow with sleeve
No bother for a hat
No time to tuck the loose hair to her bun

Hiked her skirt and hoisted sorrow
beside the wilted posies
Grabbing reins and slapping
Jerry's quarters with them soundly
she rumbled madly
out and up the hill

toward the cemetery
once a week
Her promises--
of always –  in his fear
she kept
An image from the homestead in Hatfield, Massachusetts, related by my Auntie Edna's telling of my father's mother,
Celina Arnel Rodier.  Never met her.
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
Was it love? or was it an arrow?
My heart, you took, left me in sorrow
Your heart, may I borrow?
Till death, I will keep, not returned by tomorrow
My fortune is narrow
That what left my heart hollow
And my face sallow
Your secret, I revealed, left me feeling shallow
Running in agony in the furrow
Towards the nearest tree, willow
With no one fellow
Sitting on the branch lonely with my shadow
What a blue life! Thought it would be yellow!
Memories of you are my softest pillow
Such emotions, I shall not allow
Your fingerprints, your footprints, your trail I will follow
With all of my might, we become the lovers of the morrow
The pill of hope, I will swallow

--Hisham Alshaikh
Was it Love? Or Was it an Arrow?
Emeka Mokeme Oct 2018
The return of
the prince once
lost in action is a
welcome notion.
His disappearance
and assumed demise
is very disturbing
and confusing to
the whole world.
Even the air ceased,
the winds angry
over the wickedness
of the ones
meant to protect
and to keep
everyone safe.
Once again the
world will hear
his story.
He is now
coming from a
position of strength
to conquer the
enemy like before.
Every time he
sees his loved
one down he
always tries hard
to be there for them.
They trusted him
because he defiantly
stands in the
gap for them.
He is coming
back again
stronger and better,
well equipped and
prepared to confront
any challenges
of the adversaries
than before.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Suffocating pain.
It seems to be a friend of mine.
Always there, comforting me when my heart is broken.

It sleeps with me in the black night.
Hugging my heart to let me know it’s there.
It’s frozen hands reaching into my throat.
Letting me feel, just how close it is.

But when it relaxes it’s grip.
I am able to fall asleep.
This peace is not allowed for long.
It gets jealous.
Wants me to only feel pain.

Pain.
Overtaking my heart.
Wanting to feel it stop beating.

Pain.
Clawing at my stomach.
Telling me there’s no reason to fill it.

Pain.
Intruding my thoughts.
Telling me there’s no point in feeling happy.

So I sit with pain.
In the long hours of night.
Replacing the warmth you once gave.
ryn Jan 2015
•    
i've
   witness-
   ed the others
   fall over several
sets•leaving you alone
shivering on a spindly twig
•the winds of autumn had whis-
pered their threats...•to sweep you
off your perch into the world so big
•the season had almost gone to make
way for another•answering the sum-
mons of winter's call•had anticipated
the coming of your departure•...i had  
sworn to myself to catch you as you'd  
fall•for a brief moment, i had turned  
away•to tend to commitments that  
came with dawn...•i returned to  
stay and wait another day...•  
but the wind had come  
while i was
g
o
n  
e•
    
.
Karijinbba Jul 2018
Eventually I did put a face
to  your loving cues your emails
It had been so long since your destiny had asked you my King
to marry her
that hunting jealous day that began much earlier under a 1975 degree celcious and did burn us to a crisp
Nothing would have given me more assurance more pleasure  such a gracious challenge to a  mysterious
proposition to dig my heart
for the final blow
one queen for his other
prior queen bee me
Karijinbba
and a winner I would have been
all night with my King
under the mirror!
to obliterate her wedding band
from his hand
how loving of you cupid of mine
always digging at my heart
for my heart of gold
then came cause and effect of karma blowing up our plans
another King Brad appeared with roses and diamond ring
in hand he had no mask just an hidden agenda
he took my children to his Mom
to make his other queenjealous and I took the bate
for just one hour both my King and Brad
had chosen he same photo E-mailed among several
to both
the picture was the same summer dress I wore with the king I loved someone something from beyond
mirrored the scene in this life to cause and effect
it showed my lovea simple approach to
a woman's heart
and me that the woman he married giving her a diamond ring taking her and son to his Mom was more to make
me jealous and fight for his love
an invisible revolving door had opened both to win
both to lose
had bid the greatest game
of love
beware of Karma
to catch a true king FOCUS
don't take bates don't settle for new when the heart is taken  by a true love.
my king was found by his wife
and I returned Brads diamond
lesson played leasson learned
then came the clock ticking
tax collector King Mr Time
he took my hand
paper INK and pen
to script a new
poem its Winter he said
HOW DO YOU
WANT ME TO KISS YOU?
and a new revolving door
appeared.
How do you think a and how do we feel about the one we truly love a nail can't take another out its the heart that will break and the loss is an unsurmountable abyss beware open your eyes FOCUS one single thought two hearts that beat as one cannot distract nor settle and never take a new lover if our heart loves another
Evan Stephens May 11
You are somewhere between
Istanbul's drum-lined streets
& the streaks of stars,
soft as poached yolk
from the window seat
of the plane that carries
you across half the world.

You are something between
the dreaming green women
of Yeats and the painted
women in long galleries
who patiently wait with me
for your intelligent eye.
Tammy M Darby Aug 2013
Royalty
She dwells in the sea- green palace of her father
The mermaid swam alone on blustery days
The seed of the water god Neptune and a river nymph
Her beauty blind the sun and his morning rays

On days of boredom
She swam with the white dolphins
Riding high on heaving rolling waves
Other times with Omura's whales dive deep
Or play in a red coral reef bay
Tickling blue ***** that walked on the sandy bottom
Exploring the dark octopus caves

Floating often with the deadly jellyfish
Keeping her scaled tail very still
Or wiggling through the raging currents of the ocean
With the graceful ribbon eels

The day passed passed
She became weary
Came time to rest her head
Returned to the flowing green kelp palace
And did sleep on a starfish bed



All Rights Reserved @Tammy M Darby August 2013.
All Material Stored in Author Base
Paul Hansford Nov 2016
(a brief love story)

1/
The morning sun warmed the dew
from the opening rosebud;
a bee visited the fragrant heart of the rose;
the breeze tumbled a petal to the water,
drifted the pale petal across the surface of the water.
You surprised me gently.

2/
I thought - hoped - the emotional baggage
was safely in the locker,
just for once,
just overnight,
but like a Houdini homing pigeon
it escaped,
it came back.
Like a smart missile locked in on thought patterns
it found the target,
penetrated the armour,
and suddenly
just after midnight
I knew how Cinderella felt,
her new world ****** back
through the vortex,
as the life we call real returned.
Suggested (not exactly inspired) by a visit to Cuba, where the local currency is the peso and the language is Spanish.  When I assocaiated "dos pesos" (two pesos) with "dos besos" (two kisses) the germ of the poem was set.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Even if love is never returned,
never even received,
it is never in vain
for love never fails

To love someone
though you mean nothing to them
may seem too cruel a burden
for the heart to bear

But the only thing worse
than not being loved
is to not love

And so the greatest tragedy
of love spurned or lost
would be to stop loving

For to cease loving
that which causes us pain
would be to let the pain win

But for as long as we love,
really love with Christ's own heart,
no matter what else happens
we win

Love without pain
remains unproven
and therefore is meaningless

But love through pain invokes
nothing less than the miraculous
and inspires even the incredulous

Only continued love
can redeem the pain of loving
and only a Perfect Love
can heal love's scalding wound
~~~
Sometimes the only way left to love someone is to forgive them and let them go while still hoping and praying for their very best.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."  1 Corinthians 13:1-8a

"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him."  - 1 John 4:16
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine
September  2013
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2018
Visiting a friend on his Quarter
Horse farm, the day sunny and warm.
We walked out to his brood mare
pasture, the ladies were running,
awaiting and sunning, anticipation
in the air and their nervous behavior.

Noble his name, consistency his game,
a reliable aging stallion, sire to many
fine sons and daughters, years of proven
pairings, came halter led and prancing.


He had their scent and his spirit awakened,
the three ladies believed to be in season began
to snigger and whinny, their excitement growing
as the stallion entered their grassy domain,
the dance was about to commence.

The handler led the big fella' forward,
both sides began their quizzical inspections.
one young felly more aggressively willing
than the others. Noble excitedly returned
her heightened interest.

Within a few minutes Noble began to rear up,
he knew his job, his august appendage extended,
trying several times to mount his mate intended,
adrenaline pumping his back legs began to shake,
on his fourth failed attempt the eager proven
suitor fell to the ground, rolled over, paused for
a moment and struggled to stand on unsteady legs.
Appearing somewhat embarrassed.

The mare moved aside, kicked her hind legs in
the stallion's direction, whinnied loudly and
ran away. Rejected the old stallion stood looking
perplexed, failure was something unknown to him.
His spirit was willing but his aging body was weak.
The old stud slowly returned to the barn, his head
hung low, no longer prancing.

For every time and being there is a season, aging
is part of the cycle, like this stallion, we all reach
this moment of understanding. Sometimes gracefully,
most times with stunned disbelief.

From Noble to nothing in one afternoon.
The allegorical parable here is impossible
to ignore. Unless your are twenty four.
jane taylor Sep 2016
awakened
in the silence of the night
unable to return to sleep
i sat listening
as the stars taught me
unheard messages
delivered on a shimmering moonbeam
tho' i did not intellectually understand
i intuitively knew
what the starlight was saying
then sleep returned
and upon awakening
my intellect seems to have forgotten
the message
my heart now knows

©2016janetaylor
Life Nov 2014
I am not really afraid of death
I am sure he is a nice fellow
I hope so,
since no one’s returned
I cannot bear the thought that death won't be 'nice'
Jeff Stier Apr 2016
Space is curved.
The straight line
a Euclidian fiction.
The very fabric of space,
the skin pulled in upon itself,
Light follows this curvature.
Nor is time the heartbeat of angels,
as we once thought,
but our own shaky construct.

The galaxies that we imagine
to be real prove to be
archaic images,
things that once were.
When we look into the heavens,
we look back in time.

When the light of our star
has traveled in one vast
cosmic arc
and returned to its source,
we shall know ourselves.

In that dawning
light will fail,
the stars dim and flicker.
Time itself will falter
and the voices of angels
will be heard.
Written in 1977.
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
The bright blue bottle hit me like a hint of death
      on the breath of Spring.
I imagined it being tossed out a truck window
by underage teens fancying themselves clever
      and mature and immortal

as if the earth had willed upon them
      that her stolen treasure, Aluminum,
be returned or she’d cause their truck keys
      disappear for all eternity.
      I picked up the blue bottle

tried to feel resurrection
      in a recycling sort of way
felt instead only the hollow emptiness
      of mindless eternal reincarnation.
Winter had been long this year and lately
I fantasized resurrection more than usual

at a field where I stopped to listen to meadowlark and field sparrow calling for mates or alerting everyone to the sin of the blue bottle.
Several deer grazed the unseen first greens of Spring near skunk cabbage and coltsfoot.

At a small stream, I cupped my hand into the icy fast water and raised it to my lips, then splashed my face, then splashed some more, more,
then knelt, both knees at the streambed and submersed my face and head,

in self-inflicted baptism
      for my own blue bottle sins,
opened my eyes, exhaled all my blue bubbles, for the longest of repentant moments,
      pulled out of the water
      gasping the holy Spring air
      for dear life

and thereafter walked each step
      in the garden of resurrection.
> As published in The Watershed Journal.
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> Winner Editor's Choice Award, North/South Literary Canon
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Ogun owed Oxun for the fee he paid
to divorce Yemayá in the watery deep.
Babalu Aye‘s messenger delayed
(no *** in the bargain – price too steep)
until San Martín, divine caballero
deceived the third wife of el Indio Guerrero.

(Obatala‘s beats got lost in transit
the rhythm robbed by macumba-bandit.)

Eleguá cleared paths for He Who Opens Pores.
Black roosters smoked puros at midnight. Outdoors,
Santa Muerte was asked to turn down the noise
so Nana Buluku could get some sleep.

As she gathered Ashé, reduced to a heap
of Yoruba fool’s gold anointed with blood
Oduduwa pretended he understood;
but his mother-in-law knew he never would
until Olódùmarè returned from the feast
having sacrificed roosters while facing east.

The santero drew me a pictogram
to protect me from forces my poem conjured
but the blood of a sacrificed perfect lamb
affords more protection, I knew. He wondered.
Johnny walker Feb 28
There were times I felt almost down and out beaten Into submission by world that  was determined not to let me
live
Bought me to my knees to the point of praying, something I'd never done before or even thought of
doing
Someone heard my prayer for I was sent Angel who
then became my wife to
be
For I had married an Angel
who answered my prayer
when my pride and self esteem had almost
gone
For twenty this Angel who had saved never left my
side till one day Heaven called
her
She had to leave for her time here on earth was over and she had to go there will not be another
But she came back one In a dream to say her good bye she  stood and smiled so
sweetly said she was
sorry
Then turned toward a light
shinning so bright turning one last time before disappearing into the
light
My Angel had returned back
to Heaven from where she had answered my prayer
Her time on Earth was over my Angel had flown back to
heaven
This poem a dedication to my wife Helen part truth part dreams
and part fantasies but all seemed
real to me
am i ee Oct 2015
\ih-SPAHY-uhl\
noun
1. the act of spying.
2. the act of keeping watch; observation.

Quotes

The landlord of the house had not withdrawn his eye from this place of espial for five minutes, and Barney had only just returned from making the communication above related, when Fagin, in the course of his evening's business, came into the bar to inquire after some of his young pupils.
-- Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, 1838
s
Origin
Espial is related to the word espy, which comes from the German word spähen meaning "to spy." The suffix -al forms nouns from verbs, as in the word refusal.
RK Apr 2016
My mind could never leave me to be.
It was always too busy making plans.
Plans to distract me from myself.
No matter where I went or how much money I spent,
the harsh questioning returned with me.

To the place of discontent...

Processing things with my mind, less,  I moved slowly, watching the progress. Desiring less, noticing a little more rest, a softening.  

A type of  mindfulness...

Leaving the mind alone, and I spoke to my soul softly.
My heart warmed to the gentle caress, liked the peace, 

and

filled me more,
with less..

It's called blessed.
Peace
laura Oct 2018
Lazy sundays with the sad glow
there’s nothing to be sad about
except that it is all over
of course, my one day off vanished

outside blowing meager paychecks
emerald hillsides topped with leaves
abutting, climbing the city
plunged into histories soon gone

like the cold, gold sun gleaming off
the ribbon of the tarmacked road
we returned to from our escape
peering back through the car’s windshields
okay that last one was too pretentious and came off way wrong, so i deleted it. it’s dead now
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