it comprehends that creating
that surfing to the moon,
that lover who comes along all to soon,
that flying in space
with no surface,
yes, my poetic zest
with rhyming end
is this a trend?
poetry can contain
omni-poetess
only not me
I cannot sing in the rain
but poetrycontains,
a song with epic refrains
disdained and yet
uplevelled
and fuelled
by tears
and mears
poetry….
I love thee!
yours, Sylvie
© Sylvia Frances Chan – All Rights Reserved
Friday 5 June 2020
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in fashion
or bit added notionpreachers preachin a church ceremony each?to pray to Godin our daily devotionon our own silent spotit’s holy, a meditation full of emotion© Sylvia Frances Chan – All Rights ReservedFriday 31 July 2020
In all solitude and silence
with own wish and evidenceon Poem Hunter Poem Placeat the start, it was no racein the year 2016, there came some traceand what the finest surpriseexcept I becoming more wisehave I become wiser and wisestthe words have become the loveliestas flowers in the Garden of loveroses all red and perpetually bloomingin these seven years of…
WHO IS GOD….? (2)
utmost loveand patienceAll I sayis my wayto saythese all to youmy dear friendscarpe diemwith great patiencei adoreadding some morewords, likesobrietyhonestyseriousandsensibleto come to knowtogether with youWHO GOD IS?Do you know?I don’t forceto know the sourceof WHO He isI can assure youit’s really a blissto know Him better….
Thankful Tribute For Poem Hunter and Team
I muast congratulate you it seemsnow celebrating thisI discovered again God’s greatest blisswe have now again To My PoemList!Thank YOU, thank YOU so much dear Poem Hunter and Teamso odd, my heart cannot stop thanking youMost loveliest arta darkblue background with white lettersSuch a sparkling sightI’ll be dreaming sweet dreams tonightThank YOU so much dear…
SHINE A LIGHT IN ROTTERDAM!
before the country has another winner!Now that the Netherlands has won,it cannot even celebrate its victory,because the aggressive corona pandemic is in the country,The Netherlands has to wait another yearbefore they can celebrate the victory,last night we saw on TV,Edsilia, Chantal and Jan (Smit)present it.The press collectively praises them.Perfect and optimal down to the last…
What I Have Seen This Eventide….
just above Arnhemwhat did I see?The moonagain, so full and so bigabove the meadows above Arnhem,the moon I saw wasso biggest whitelike full moon againit was about half past 8 eventidemy heart started to singIs that possible to see the full moon twice?too little knowledge about full moonshave Ithe full harvest moonthat was on the…
You fill our souls
With words of grace
A love no one
Can steal, efface,
Not even, Jupiter’s
Formidable Thunder!
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It comes or it doesn’t,
Poetry is,More often than not,The best,That our heart has got.
There is something inexplicable
All these years togetherAnd I still love you,Like a childLoves the dawn of life,With all its hopesAnd all its strife.I love you,Till the day I dieAnd maybe,Who knows?Maybe,Even after,Then….
Sometimes
Like the finest winesLike the finest things,The Most beautiful things,That man has createdAnd that to Life may bring,The best, yet anticipated.I like to be intoxicatedBy these many things,But above all, by BeautyKindness and Love,I like to be takenFar away by dreamsLike the cinema used to do,Where today, mostly bloodyStreams, lead the way.It’s about almost all…
Poetry makes you Free,
No matter how much, Tyrants will cloud,Poetic words will still think out loud.
Who are we, really?
Of idealistic rubble,Part of HistoryOr just memoriesMuddled,Whose very existence,Was more troubleThan worth,Because we seem committed,To toxicityInstead of creativity and mirthOr even,Just forgotten, how to actWith some specks of human worth.
Life is strange
Once upon a timeWe were taughtTo share and teachWhat’s good,Kind and usefulFor All,Yet today,In the USA,I am ashamed to sayMany are taughtHate and disrespect,By the very ones,We wrongly, ElectAnd other contributors,Of slime and slanderThat only corruptionAnd evil, ‘Respect’!Time to get prioritiesStraight,Democracy is NotA free for all,Nothing of value,Nothing that willReally last,Can be gottenWithout work and…
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Of talking to oneself
When no one’s around
To listen,
Pretending,
You are just,
Blending
Artistic sounds,
And nothing else,
While,
Keeping pride
And sanity
Intact…
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Heart thrilling poems
Trembling with joyJust as the first timeI read.The heart doesn’t forgetWhen touched by glory,It stays,Forever wed.
Change minds,
Do good!Love, fountains
Reading into Life,
Trying to bring some light,To the many Mysteries there.
Poetry
The more, I’m with youThe more, I love youWithout hesitation.Poesia,Consuelo, venido del cieloMas te escribo, mas te quiero.
I love the Words,
Like a caressing melody,For I can hear their symphony,A quick rhyme here,A sonic flare,And then there’s lightning,Everywhere.My beating heart,Begins to dance,I write as if,I’m in a trance,I see the World,Now, at one glance,And feel the joy,Of true Romance.Mysterious words,That talk to me,And make me feel,Such Ecstasy,You are my World,My fantasy,The promised land,Of Poetry.
What do we know?
Of nothing are we sure,That may not be invention,Of those that fake History,And take advantage,Of the few Innocents leftIn this valley of imperfection,As the light of truth gets dimmer,And our blood line to our History,So much thinner.
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Because it blends feelings
Because it dries tears
And sometimes provokes them,
Touches your heart,
Holds your hand
Invisibly,
And thru words can,
Even, take your Soul
To its promised land.
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We’re all players in a bad play,
Is not what some say,Fair, unfair, past, presentCenturies away,Nothing ever seems to be right,And everything’s always a fight.Lucky are those,Who true Love have found,And the voice of the beloved,Is their clearest sound.
Many poets,
Live by night,Like Dracula and bats,Am I saying somethingThat will shake upThe annals of PoetryOr a scientific fact?Those with answersPlease send statsTo the Count’s, habitatThank you,For your kind attentionAnd that’s that.
I am from everywhere and nowhere,
Man is a raving idiot,Always singing his destructive song,Knowing that all remains the same,Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow,All you get to change is the name,Of what you think is sorrow
Don’t expect Miracles,
Human ‘Vehicles’Aren’t much fun,Double forked tongueThat when put to use,Can conquer the UniverseBut can’t tell the Truth.
Love is
The best of ourselvesTo another,Not rationingUnselfishly and completely,No bother.Love is,A light that inwardlyShines so brightAnd vividly,That we cannot sayWe have lived at allIf we have not foundOur kindred Soul.
Currents,
They’re thereOr they’re Not,That’s what you’veGot,If your lucky,With certain peopleThat unexpected,Click,At first meetingThat can even,Sometimes,Lead to love.
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Catapult you to the stars
In long loving summer nights,
Have the moonlight softly
Kiss you,
In a rapture of delight,
Cross the oceans,
Make the sterile deserts flower
Capture love’s sweet, finest hour
Make you feel, so fancy free
Allowing, you to enjoy
All that you are and want to be
Indeed a veritable wonder
That can elevate the soul
To regions of unimagined thunder.
And yet,
Much to Poetry’s regret,
There is one miracle,
It cannot give,
The real, true love
All beings need,
To live.
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The strange World of Poetry
So much hurt and nothing changed,All clouds return as summer rainAll vital claims, disclaimed.
We try to realize,
The Why and How of Sentiment,But no man has of yet explained,How two souls can in Love remain,Forever, fused in love and pain.
Everything artistic
Profoundly,As does the painOf Injustice!Where can we findPeaceWhere can we reconstructAt least,The Artist’s Justice?
One, two, three
Four, five, sixNo flowery mixSeven, eight, nineAnd ten,Out of luck,The World will endBut, none knowsWhen!One to one hundred,Multiples of ten,The Ten CommandmentsWisest Number 10,Follow them,Life becomes,Shining gem.Horrible in Math?Maybe this willOpen,One tenthOf a path.
So personal, so deep,
What mirrors keep,A sigh, a tear, a secret love,Those things that poems are made of.
They’re few loyalties in Life
But tomorrow’s interests,Change their way,Only love can make us loyalTo each other,And obliterate the hate,That others gather.Bring about the peace,That None, should shatter.
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How can I help loving you?
When the things you say
Capture beauty’s eye
Send the heart spinning
In a journey full of Love
Way, way up into the sky
When I’m with you,
Wings I do not need to fly
See, what this love is
I think I’ve given you
Enough reasons, Why.
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Hands that touch,
Love being born,Always so sweet,And yet,Sometimes,The same can be achieved,In hearts that beat,But have never met.
The uncontested worth
Does not endReading it once,It lives on,ImmaculatelyInto the depthsOf immortalityAnd Time.
A poem must fly,
And take you to placesDeliriously, bannedExcitingly, highWhere words become feelings,And love is just greatAnd there is no healingBecause there’s no hate.
Knowing how to perfectly guide the Actors,
Creating for the public, Films,Video, Audio, pure delightMiracles in flight,That are a part of their creative spirit,And Artistically, so right.
Love what you do,
Hurt, no oneAnd you’ll go far.
As all light begins to dwindle
You realize, much too lateThe time you’ve lost,Will not returnAnd no longer can you pick,Because time wasted,Cannot be recoveredNor make,Anything positiveStick.
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Freedom of space,
Of mind, Of spirit,
Embracing, Grace,
Happiness, placed
All of Life in it.
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These are harsh times,
Difficult times,And all I’ve got to fight with,Are a couple of stupid Rhymes,It’s not fair!
When we’re young,
We can just conquer,Change troubling Oceans,Into positive streams.As we get older,We lose our thunder,And sadly realize,That all remains as it seems,There are no miracles whipped by words,That will fulfil the idealist’s dreams,We’re but Fools, trying to fix,The devil’s dirty bag of tricks.
Deeply, artistical
Living passionsAre the Arts,A fluidity not rationedInstantly,Sets them apart.Life’s adventureAlways differentAs an ever burning hearth,Love, the feeling that inspiresAs the Artist’s inner firesBecome mirrors of his art.
I get lost,
Don’t even know,What kind ofTerrible mess,Me, you, them,All of us, are in!So I try to put themTogether,Those letters,Into wordsAnd repair ourTransgressions,Sins,And lost hopesThat may help usCome thru,Face the FutureThat with uncertaintyIs coming in,And thus we realizeAnd see,The hidden benefitsOf Poetry,Its some timesCurative effect,Even, if it isFrom way within…
21st Century slaps,
The age of sex and stupidity,Of defense of criminal activity,Of mental walls and depravity,Corruption, vice and obscenity,And all other,‘Liberal’ charity.
I like to love you
Full of poetryFull of melodyFull of hope,Just for us, Two.Love is quite possessive tooAnd does lend to those in loveThe best memories, the best momentsThat our lives can ever haveFor beyond all other feelings,Love is Love.
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Or steep it in a cup
As if it were English tea,
It’s there or it isn’t,
There is no recipe.
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Poetry, my love,
Of all earthly pain,I love you so,And not in vain,I love your creative rain,Without you, lifeWould never be the same,Love would never feel the same.
Never thought I could be free
But that’s what writing’s done for me,When I write, I’m totally Free, I’m me.
We build so much,
When will we learn to balance?The gifts we have, second to none,Respect and love for others.It’s time for wars and hate to STOP!Thou shall not kill, blindly at will,When will we learn to honor?And make this sacred Law for Life,Our one and only banner.
Lies, Lies, Lies,
And dies,If Lies were money,We’d be the richest country,In the World, Honey.
You and only You,
My deepest pleasure,Without your caress, Poetry,I cease to be.Originally written in Spanish.Mi SerTu y solo tu,Eres mi mas grande alegria,Mi mas inmenso placerSin tus caricias, Poesia,Yo dejaria de ser.
The inexplicable
That some poems possesCan impress you for lifeAnd demand, heart’s caress,They are, the good love,The very best,Love put to the test,Poems that sear with emotionAnd are forever, blessed.
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It sooths me,
It keeps me sane
In an insane world,
It opens doors,
Never bores,
Communicates,
It’s with me always,
Poetic voyage,
That takes me,
To the brim of happiness,
Saving me from darkness,
Keeps me breathing,
Keeps me living,
Was my first love,
And will be my last,
Always with me,
Unending love,
Universally vast.
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‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever, ‘
To become favored in our mind,And stay in memory, for ever.
Your charm was
You filled heartsAnd rooms and playsYou became a star,Whose light went farJust because you wereThat way.
Concentrated thoughts and feeling,
Or reach the ceiling,Poetry is the door,That when opened,Always offers,More and more.
You fill my days,
And when I see you,All is right,There are no fears,There is no fright,There is just Love,With all it’s might,I feel my life return to me,A Love that is like Poetry.
Day Moon,
Spying on us,From a Sea of Blue,A cloudless Sky,Up there so highAnd lonely too.Has Love todayLost you on its wayBetrayed you, one more time?And Tonight,Will your yellow lightBe made of loneliness,And sighsAs you wait,For Ocean’s tidesTo reach the SkyIn an impossible,But so desired,Sweet caress.
They say what’s convenient,
They create illusions,Sandwiched in with lies,But it’s always the people,That pay and sacrifice,In bitter conclusion,They aren’t very nice!
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The one and only Queen
Of emotional expansion
Love,
As written passion,
In immortal fashion.
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Life is made of snow,
But not even this,Would really matter,It’s love foundThat makes LifeA Rose Sublime,That will notBe killed by Time.
Trying to keep calm,
Trying to figureThings out!That never getFigured out.I’m tired of notHaving answers,Not able to seeClearlyWith glasses,Nor without.As a childI loved long storiesBut, I’m really,Tired, nowSo pleaseNo more stories!There are too manySerious, things,Going around,To dependOn other’s LiesThat will notKeep us aliveBut au contraire,Keep us, all down.What I reallyNeed in my lifeIs some peaceAnd quiet,Calm,And to make itReally,…
To see with the same eyes,
To love the same things,To fill the other’s soul,With tender, soft caress,With Happiness, you blessMakes Love,If not Heaven, not much less.
No longer a star,
To do harm,Still,Spewed, poison,With much ‘charm’So his followers,SayWhen will we seeThe day?When politiciansNo longer can lieAnd the truth,Sway!Mountains of LiesThat could fillThe Oceans,Are they hereTo stay?
Things are not what they seem,
A Surrealistic Dream,Come true.These are wild Times,Not worth too many dimes,Riddles playing Fiddles,Sanity Screams,Irresponsibility Beams,Society,Comes loose at the Seams!‘Read All About It’Headline News,‘The Plate ran away with the Spoon’,Or was it the Fork?Did the Cow really jump over the Moon?If she did, then we know,The Moon is made of Swiss cheese,Bon Appetit!Things are not what…
Actually,
What can you changeWith a Rhyme?But since Time,Means nothing to me,I shall waste of itAs much as I want,Writing Poetry.
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When loneliness
Is at its height,
And Stars, converse
With mortals,
About Love.
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So much of the Beast,
As we become more violent machines,How come we still think,We can handle real Life,And everything that goes with it?
Come,
The essence of your mind,Where I will certainly find,A Spiritual Bond, forever.Love isn’t only eyes,The Mind, the Spirit,The union of the Souls,As hands intertwine,This electrifying Feeling is mine,All mine, when we’re together
I have seen the image of your grace,
Where Love lives without a face,An abstraction, a sensation,An ideal, a fascination.Long have tried to identify,This of All, strongest emotions,Difficult to quantify,To describe, abstract devotions.Love, is more than just affection,Secret life, all of its own,Thru love we attain perfection,Sometimes even lose our soul,Blending into one another,Heart to heart and soul to soul,In this world of…
We have so advanced medically
But the greatest mystery of all,Still remains being, Us!Our perplexing being,Neither good nor fully bad,Yet, always treacherously clad,In many shadows dressed,Always looking, thus,For someone to oppress,So, caution watch out,It’s US!
When we’re young,
We can just conquer,Change troubling Oceans,Into positive streams.As we get older,We lose our thunder,And sadly realize,That all remains as it seems,There are no miracles whipped by words,That will fulfil the idealist’s dreams,We’re but Fools, trying to fix,The devil’s dirty bag of tricks.
Time destroys so much!
So much that we love,All consumed by Time,But a Flowing Rhyme,You cannot touch,For true Poetry,Has no MasterHas no Time.
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To whom, you just can’t say
Go away, get lost
Come back another day,
It just doesn’t work that way,
Imperatively, they must be written
For the poet’s survival
And the poem’s, birth day
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As I sit alone and ponder,
What Life’s Play is all about,All I know is Love’s the Wonder,For our lives not to go under,And of that I have no doubt.
You and I,
And breath and hug the Sea,We hear Its sound,Its movement, found,Night after night,Hypnotic mystery.Oh, to be Free,And sail the night,In our ship,‘The Fantasy’,And there remain,Never return,To cruel reality
Once you have loved someone,
That love will be with you,Till the very day you die.
Sometimes,
Becomes a poem,Sometimes,The perfume of a rose,Can be sublime,Sometimes,A tear can silently,Produce a chime,Sometimes,A Love may fall apart,And no one know it,But so does Time.
Never too late,
If you’re really lucky,And fall in love,For love is the only thingThere never is enough of.
Make no bones about it,
Your poetry is youAnd you are your poetry.Neither can live without the other,And Glory is found,When the two co-existIn almost perfect harmony,Liberating the Soul,Thru this unstoppable call.
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Would be like being deaf,
For from you,
The sweetest, saddest,
Music from the soul
Was immortalized,
Verbally.
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You don’t ignore Affection,
It’s given with intentionFor Happiness to bring.It is a calming moment,A cloud filled with a smileCommunication opens,So happy for a while.A hug, a kiss, a hand press,Given at the right time.Can change a lifeless momentInto something so Sublime!
I have a Poet friend,
It is ‘Bold and Beautiful’.And Kind and Whole,And more than suitable.
I look for your spirit,
In the veins of the Planet,Which are rivers that go to the Sea,In the thorn of a dying Rose,Painfully.I look for your words,In the dying clouds of dusk,Before night falls,They are the last light of my dayThey mean so much to me,They give me life,They give me dreams,Opening a whole New World,Of total Ecstasy!
Change, Change, Change,
Saber tooth Tigers remain,Dripping with the blood of the Innocent,Men are disgraced by their Hate,The non-guilty seem to always pay,For no crimes committed,For the hate that won’t go away.
Those who adore,
Admire and loveThe Arts,The good drugsCan’t help,As poets, as artists,Creating, Writing,Throughout their days,Because they carryThis lifelong blessingIn their blood.Creation not destructionIs their souls’Beautiful, creativeAddiction,That enriches all livesWe have to beEternally grateful,For that.
Life,
If you let it be soIf it is you, yourselfYou only know,If you close the spigotAnd don’t let Love flow.
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A poet’s blood
The air he breaths
The love he seeks
A living must
And Words,
Words, from the soul,
Expressing all.
If one day
All this goes away,
The poet, dies
So strong are,
These living ties.
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The joy of you,
My life and all its stages,The light you give,From that I live,This wondrous Joy,That fills my life,And writes on all its pages.
A poem must fly,
And take you to placesDeliriously, bannedExcitingly, highWhere words become feelings,And love is just greatAnd there is no healingBecause there’s no hate.
Some poets live
Where Poetry,Is!Exists,Only to be lovedAnd shared,As a heart-throbbingMiracleOf It!Happy is the poetThat, becauseOf this fulfillingInextinguishable,Pure love,Is never reallyAlone,And only livesTo adore,The beauty of..Poetry’s living soul.
Let’s turn hate
Because love,Keeps us aliveAnd cures all,Making All,Possible.While hate,KillsAnd it’s,The worst feelingThere is!
Purple lilies sing no more,
Life brings clouds of come and goThen suddenly,One day, you turn around,And find you’re all alone.When, oh When did life begin?So fast it passed away,Long ago, it seemed so slowThen, only in one dayAll the roses died at once,Goodbyes were never said,All the roads just led to one,With loneliness ahead,Never more to be as one,Never…
Reality or Fiction?
Can’t believe,The continual squeal,Of Political Pigs,Wanting all the power,In their hands, to seal.The Devil works in strange ways,But it is, we, the PeopleThat always pay,Come what may!I listen to the news,And get furious,The Devil sits at my side,And Laughs,Provoking,Waiting,For all the tears in the World,To be cried.
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Thoughts
Feelings
From the heart,
Blaze
Life!
Created
In a sort of trance
With no formula,
To even give it
A head start,
A miracle,
A mystery,
In which the poet
Just plays,
Gratefully!
His humble part.
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If God is Love
How come there’sSo much hate!Hurry man,Time’s a skippin’,It’s getting very late!
Come on,
My love,Poetry,Don’t be shyYou know,I’ll be faithful,And you don’t evenHave to ask me why.
Some write poetry,
But the worst ones of allAre those that ask, Why?
Poets can be soldiers too,
Their guns are pens,With Truth’s sweet ink,Their mission,Making people think.
Can Love ever be, fully explained?
And yet, much the same,Intensity, passion,Varies at times,But we all feel excitement,As love in us climbs.Those dearly beloved,To have and to hold,In Truth, overwhelming,So precious, so bold,The touch of hands meetingAs if they were gold,And passion, real passion,As never been told.The excitement, the throbbing,When loved one appears,The flow, overwhelmingOf love as they near,A tempest, explosion,As…
Love,
So easily, lost,So painful to resign,But always special,And one of a Kind.
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That keeps on giving
So that the spirit
Love and feelings
And whatever else
Is human in us,
Doesn’t dry up.
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Lets see,
We question,Leading to discovery,To think is to Be,What?What are We?That’s also a Mystery!
Lonely hearts cry,
To look up to.Without Love, they say,You wither away,Dancing each day,The depressing Ballet,Of ‘I miss you’,While Autumn Leaves sway,In the loneliest way,Dying away without youNever again, ever to say,In the bright light of day,‘I Love You’.
What Poetry can say,
It is of human sentimentsThe deepest, ultimate scan.
Beyond love,
To describe the indescribable,Needs very special words,If I had ever met you,I would have loved you that way,With undying passion,Intensely, as saints prayAffectionately and tenderly,In admiration and dismay,Loving you, deliriously,In the most emotional way,That no poetic words,Could ever begin to say.
Lunacy loves Company,
We’ve achieved so much, in such short time,Are we now ready to graze?Me thinks, things have gone much too far,We’re Sinners without, Grace,Willfully provoking,Our demise and our disgrace!
Pierced by your departure,
How does one cope?When you can’t go home.
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On me,
Schizophrenic delight,
Withdrawal from reality
Into fantasy, delusion
Emotional profusion,
Flight!
That totally liberates me,
I travel thru time and space
At the velocity of Light
No waste, just faced
With being,
What I want to be
Just delighting in fantasy,
And, completely,
Totally and overwhelmingly,
FREE!
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Democracy, Poetry
With a lot to share,With, loving care.
You can really tell
Just written,With momentsPurposely lost,It just does not haveThat magic spellThat poets as magicianDo so well,You can’t fake a poem,And for the sakeOf all thoseWith Poetry, enamored,Just as well!
Creating mood,
Acts of literaryPhilanthropy,Written kind deeds,Wellbeing, breedsPoetry and Song,Paves the way,To a world unknown,Where there is so muchTo feel and sayWhen it is done,In poetry’s blessed,Artistic way,A bit of Heaven opens upOr at leastThat’s what poets say.
Between poetry, philosophy and tears,
So dear and all in life to him,A prayer, a song, a heartfelt hymn.
Only very deep Poetry
That the Spirit, Frees.
Poetry is
Sentiments, reelingFlying imaginationLoving temptation.Of the Soul, consolationOf the mind, liberation!
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That laid
The Golden Pen.
And We,
Don’t even know,
How or When.
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Poetry is the banner,
Maybe the greatest discovery,Since man invented the wheel.
The Devil is dancing,
Announcing the Shamedom,Of weirdoes and loons,Red is his color,The color of blood,Expect nothing good,From this cowardly flood.No standards are upheld,No values remain,‘Destruction of morals’Is the name of the game.The 21st century,I’m ashamed to be part,Of a social revolution,That has lost all its heart.I’m ashamed to be living,In a social, dark swamp,Where ‘Anything Goes’,And all ‘leaders’…
From the depths
ComesThe Poetry,The PainOf self-expression,That so oftenOpens doorsTo regretful,Slow, processions.
Love hurts,
And in outer Space,All over your body and your face,Daggers of disillusionment,Caused by a lost embrace.
This used to be our time,
Spring Time,When, we were happiest together,As Winter’s cold retreated,March sang its Spring Time Song,Slowly, then fury, excitementAll around us, new life was born,But this year, it’s sadly different,Gone for me all the excitement,You’re no longer by my side,And all love is gone without you,Life is but an empty ride.I remember days of rapture,When togetherness was…
They say,
With the Person,But with the Ideal,That Person represents,An abstract wonder,In your heart and in your head.Is it possible?Is it so?Please tell me,I so would Love,To know!
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When I read you
When I write you,
Feel your uncontrollable tide
Such emotion and devotion
Gathers deep and way inside,
Transfiguration happens,
Velvet voyage,
To a more spiritual state,
No longer do I feel deprived
Of all the love and emotion,
That no one ever really satisfied,
My sea of loneliness, demystified,
I travel, longingly, to your side,
My deepest Love,
Life of my life.
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What are great poems made of?
Belief in more than sorrow,Hope, seeds for a better tomorrow,More Love than hate,Inspiration that cannot wait,Dreams you cannot borrow,And the sweet, melodious chirping,Of a newborn, innocent sparrow.
As loneliness sighs,
Hope, alsoGenerally, dies,It’s hard to reach out,To go aboutKnowing that shadows,Cannot bring light,Nor fulfillmentTo an empty life.
For centuries
To live in PeaceWith one another,Complete failure!Ferociously destructiveForces,Within us, make usThe most dangerousAnd mentally unstableBeings, of the planet,Not fit to liveWith one anotherAnd always blamingOur faultsOn each other.Wake up!Grow up!Nobody is responsibleFor the pain you spreadNor the fooling of others,But yourselfIts time to knowThe difference,Between right and wrongAnd stop harming,Each another,By being, truthfulAnd strong.There is…
Autumn,
Crowd, the Eagle’s nest,How long will it takeTo get to Life’s crest?Flying higher and higherSome go thru lifeDesperately searchingWhat is way too high,Or too much.We must always be humbleAccepting defeatWhen it comesBut then get up,Brush yourself offAnd start up the hill,Again!In good faith and good will.We are the lucky onesFor in our Country,Liberty and opportunityStill…
Poetry plays with Time
Extraordinary,In its kindness,Embracing All,With poetic blindness,Loving All,Regardless,Of creed, race or religion,Poetry, always,Universal Vision.
Literature and especially Poetry,
Art, a glass of fine French wine,I need no other trophies.
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You feed the soul,
Accompany,
Who cries alone.
Of all you speak
And feel it All
Most lower instincts
In us, you stall,
How not to be in love with you?
When Love you write,
And are love, too.
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Not all is bad,
Lending others a hand,This is not charity but encouragement,For what made this country great,Was creativity, entrepreneurship, bravery,Believing in better days, working hard,Taking a chance, building dreams,Reaching mountains, sewing seams,Wanting to make lives better,Never let this dream grow old,Be controlled, by black hearted feudal lords,Do not let the handcuffed story of the Middle Ages,Ever in this…
Life is Strange,
It obeys no rules,Is afraid of no danger,Soothing the emptinessOf fears and loneliness.
Heal us,
Of Love’s wounds,The sentimental bandage.
Enamored by the Wind,
I dream in dreams of you,Much more than I can say.A Rose is not a rose,If love won’t come her way,And Love is just a song,The Wind decides to play.
Can words
Follow paths,Far, far awayFeel the sun-sea, paradiseMake you feel, all comfortableAnd nice,Like perfumed, summer roses,Beauty’s sheer delight.Some poets’ poetryHas that rare effect,That cannot be boughtThat cannot be taughtBut that canAwaken, deep passion,Be enjoyed,Over and over againLike a lover’s kiss,Or a deep caress,With a love attractionThat you totally possess.
Now,
Has lost its protective coverAnd no longer the TruthCan they, smother,We will finally see!All the Poisonous Crabs sayThey had nothing to do,With the ConspiracyThey helped staff,To gain power,‘Unwillingly.’For all people that live and breathTo be free, in Democracy.
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But not for everyone,
I cannot really tell you
What it takes to be a fan,
But a certain luminosity
And a dose of great sincerity
Wants to be passed on,
Friendliness and Blessings
That a poem leaves behind,
Are like divine, heavenly colors
That, so well, the spirit understands,
In conjunction with the mind,
And that speak to you and sooth you,
As no other form of language really can.
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Man,
Or toss him,Serpent, Apple, or notWe’re a terrible lot,In our bloody History,Past and Present,The best example,We’ve Got.
We want to believe were good,
Our History bears witness,To That!Some of us have good moments,That’s all,The rest of the time,We’re torments,Trouble,Destructive children,That fall.
Search and ye shall learn,
Knowledge serves as Consolation,When alone, you’re getting by,Dries a portion of your tears,When you begin to cry.
Poetry,
That keeps on givingSo that the spiritLove and feelingsAnd whatever elseIs human in us,Doesn’t dry up.
Give me a New World,
Where people are resistant,To hate, where Love exists.Give me a New world,Where Art Appreciation,Becomes part of a Nation,Instead of drugs and tricks.Give me a New World,Where Truth still has a chance,Where Tyrants don’t exist,Where Hands are to advance,A chance for Life, Not missed.Epilogue:The United States was once that World,Where now, Initiative is well deferred,Where Thoughts,…
No other Love have I,
This lonely feeling,Or send my heart reeling,Into the sky.No, I don’t have wings,But when heaven sings,And I feel your eyes,The very thought of you,Births Spring in my heart,And I’m satisfied.The world then turns radiant and gay,And I will love you more tomorrow,Than I do today.I promise,Come what may.
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Molds together
Truth and feelings,
Imagination,
Inspiration
Plus observation
And then,
Creates
Language miracles
That go
So much further,
Fantastic creations,
Heart incantations,
Hallucinations,
Worded beauty
And fascination
That sometimes
Can produce,
The most,
Unimaginable,
Sensations.
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Beyond desire
As vital fire,The one thingSensitive soulsCannot do without,Never put LoveIn doubt,It is the most wantedOf feelings,And what Life,Should really be about.
You just can’t fake it,
It has to speak,Universally,Of human Spirituality,And reach the heart,And reach the sky,And sail the sea,And never die.
Remembering
When Spring was youngAnd new,Is painful from the very start,No longer is it true.My days go by,In one big sigh,As empty as can be,Sometimes, I just sit down and cry,My heart, an escapee,For nothing of that love remains,Today, a memory.
Images,
Verses,Feelings, even morePut the two togetherWith some lovingAnd Life will beMuch better than before.
How do you explain?
Fathom the depths,Of feelings that come,Spontaneously.How do you explain Love?That no one can time,Springing, sometimes in a second,That you cannot see coming,Spontaneously.How do you search in your soul?For all the mysteries,That make you the person,You are or should be,Fulfillingly.
The only living creature,
That is totally yours,With a love and fidelityBeyond our understanding,Is your Dog,I Miss You So Much!Sandy……
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Regardless of
Ruthless times
And sadness had,
Please bring out,
The very best in us
The Love, the Goodness
The Beauty, the Truth
The Wisdom,
We are supposed to have,
The humanity we’ve lost,
Along the way
And never again found,
Bless us with your music
Heaven bound,
Give us the Peace,
That we were meant to have
Make us whole again
As we were meant to be,
Please,
Long Live Poetry!
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The Love that saves, the Love that kills
The Love that’s true, only to You,That is the one that must get through.
Love is my master,
To return to loveless moments,Of the past,Where I know not,What would come to pass,Ever searching for things,That would not last.True love is Forever,And no one can sever,The love you feel in your heart,Or ever tear two lovers apart.
Be brave,
Nothing has changedThe clouds are the same cloudsThe sea keeps calling me,Where drowning painsDo not alleviate, our brevity.The years don’t pass in vainAnd now it’s much too lateFor new dreams, to contemplate,My time has passed in vain,Now, only emptiness remains…
No dice!
Poetry,MechanicallyUnaware,Try writing a poemWithout inspiration,You won’t getAnywhere!
Do tears ease
That happinessWill know, no more?A heart that beatsBut asks,Please, tell meWhat for?Where to go,For I am tiredDreams, expired,Constant fallAs if there wereSome kind ofCurse,Behind it all.
All Morality,
A Country sadly carries on,The Salamanders up on top,Still living off,Cream of the Crop,With Law and Order,Mostly gone,Brink of disaster,Coming on,We fidget, falter,Try to save,A dying Nation,Once, Great, FreeNow on the road,To Catastrophe.
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Another place
Generally,
Full of Love,
Beauty and Grace.
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I write what I feel,
And do not heelTo any politician.The lies and intriguesAre such!That you often wonderWhy in the worldAre they elected?To ever occupy,Any responsible position.
At moments,
And then,Even without realizing it,Desperately, loved you.I suppose,There are differentKinds of desperate loves,Those you can’t leave behind,And forgetAnd those you can’t live without.In both cases, its hard not toCry and shout!
Beauty goes to Beauty,
Not all in Life is dutyHearts should often be,The better judge.
To each his art,
It’s time to start,Nothing in life compensates more,Than the creation of something beautiful,That is deeply felt and that is yours,That wasn’t there before,No matter how small it is,Or what it’s for.
If God is Love
How come there’sSo much hate!Hurry man,Time’s a skippin’,It’s getting very late!
It’s been a day
And unique, muse,Rose colored, sentimentsAnd dreams, diffused.Like in a trance,Your image seen,Engenders life,To lonely shore,Just, like before.It’s been so long,The time has flownBut could not killOur loving songI’ve always loved you,I love you nowCan feelings liveEternally,Not killed by time,And still remainAlive and free?Today you didCome back to me,Your presence,May have been,A fantasy,But what I feltI…
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And shared,
It gives,
Such pleasure
To communicate,
This way!
Have ideas,
Share ideas
Maybe even
Have some stay,
And change
A grain of salt,
For the better,
Maybe?
A little,
Day by Day.
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I suppose you can’t help,
Or force it either.Life as LoveIs a turning wheel,Of fluidity,Fire and desireSadness and laughterWhere if you miss the moment,You can’t recuperate it, after.
What’s in a poem?
So many good momentsThat pass you by,So many dreams,That reach the skySo many love stories,That laugh, that cryAnd so many questionsUnanswered,Why?Yet, we want to live,To love, to write,Discover secretsOf crying, dovesEven as Sunset comethTaking away life’s light,We must never stop,Loving Beauty, giving LoveRespecting Life,And alwaysUpholding what is right.
This used to be our time,
Spring Time,When, we were happiest together,As Winter’s cold retreated,March sang its Spring Time Song,Slowly, then fury, excitementAll around us, new life was born,But this year, it’s sadly different,Gone for me all the excitement,You’re no longer by my side,And all love is gone without you,Life is but an empty ride.I remember days of rapture,When togetherness was…
The things
Can in Poetry,Make, come about!The unfettered imagination,That with wild dreamsThey put together,The passions, the lovesThe emancipation,Liberty!Oh never closer to PoetryThan when writing,Now, present bowIn the inspired momentThat will never returnTo tell you, how.You are missingSo much!If you are fool enoughNot to drink in this,Fountain of pleasurableGlory,That only to LoveDoes bow, .And where feelingsLive free,To forever…
Communication,
How did we meet?In conversationTemptation,A friendshipTo keep?
Oh the Mystery of the Human Mind,
All that it hides behind,All that it wants to hide,All it must never say,All its vanity and all its pride,All is Mystery in the Human Mind.
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That ever was,
Pure feelings,
Inner healings,
That, And more,
Poetry does.
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Now my word is ‘Remember’,
I feel as sad as December,Memories, all by myself.
To express what you love best,
The inner heart, Emotion, real,Is to be, forever blessed.
How do you get ‘fifty vitamins’,
I can’t help but think,That as most everything,It’s a Fake!
Once upon a story tender,
Love appears and floods the heart,At that moment, no contender,Life in Love become our center,Our existence has its start.Where there’s Life there must be Love,For if not the radiant color,Of The Rose becomes the pallor,Of a Phantom in the dark.Where there’s Life there must be Love,We must truly there surrender,Grasp of Love each dying ember,For…
Dear Souls, dear Ones,
The Sacrificial Lambs of the world,Won’t the suffering Ever Stop?Is Peace for Thee,A forbidden Hope?A Never attainable Dream?In the Dark Night of Injustice,Just a deep and painful Scream?
Is there any balance,
In Poetry,Certainly Not!If there were,It wouldn’t be Poetry.
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Full of melodious leaves,
Sea, Sun, Sky,
Clouds dreaming by.
River waters,
Pregnant with words,
Feeding the Earth,
Flowing the mind.
Guidance, motherly touch,
Flowered Fields,
That we love so much,
Ancient vineyards, reddest wine,
Poetry,
Heart of hearts,
Where life starts,
Eternal love of mine.
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Listen to the wise rhythm of the poets,
And the like,How do they know so much?I think it’s because Feelings,Are with what,They are really in touch.Curious,How people will believe a politician’s lies,But won’t follow, a poet’s well intended advice.
Certain Poetry
Make me forgetThatRegardless of timeAnd now being,21st Century, setMan is notCivilizedYet!
My Mouse, runneth over,
All over the Internet,Searching for Light,I shun the, Sunlight,And work on a screen,Thinking true Answers,One day will be seen.
On Valentine’s Day,
Ever to be written,Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘Anabelle Lee’Love, as only love,Should be,For they ‘Loved with a loveThat was more than love, ‘He and his Anabelle Lee,The fusion, of souls,The ultimate goalCaptivating allThat life should be,Irreplaceable Ecstasy.
You thrill me,
Beyond any words,Who are you?The Artist,With talentthat burns.
As I breath,
Not losing sight,Of the Truth,Wishing that one dayMinds will have progressed enough,To know how to act,And what to chose,Remembering that Hope,Should always be,The last thing we lose.
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Of presenting and judging,
Itself!
Without the necessity
Of wearing a hood,
When it’s good
It’s unforgettable
When it’s bad,
It’s just horrid!
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Maybe, I write too much
Maybe,I waste my timeBut I don’t belittle,Or try to harmIn any way,With what I say,It’s just that PoetryIs my deep passion,In a very special say,I write to liveAnd I live to write,I suppose that LoveHas always been that way.
Change minds,
Do good!Love, fountains
Round and round and round we go,
What is right and what is wrong,Depends on Who’s singing The Song,That Power wrote for Sing Along.
Ah, the running pleasure,
The liveliness,The love that draws,You’re much more,Than just four paws to me,You’re my very best reality.
Communicate,
With appeal,Do what is good,What is real,Live for the Truth,Understood,Thank your sweet stars,And do good,Work for World peace,We all should.
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Wants to escape reality
Thru images, metaphors
And dreamlike incisions
That carry us away,
With marvelous visions,
While at the same
Time, facing and
Born from,
Reality, Itself,
And that is why
It creates that
Indescribable Feeling,
As deep and mysterious
As Life, itself.
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When with you,
GlowingAll over, the placeThis LoveHas no face,Just Grace,Its calledPoetry.
We sat there looking at the Sky,
I don’t know why?A Poem sad, then came to mind,Of all that we had left behind.We shared those words,Then sudden, Flare!As shocks of light were everywhere,We realized that we still did care,So very much for one another,That Poem had renewed the Spark,And Love that seemed way in the Dark,A whole New World to rediscover!
The essential,
Of a thought.
No one knew they loved each other,
Their two souls had intertwined,With a Love so deep and blindThat they only saw each otherOnly lived for one anotherIn a Love more than sublime,Out of space and out of time.
Two Hearts,
Eyes that meet,Two hands that touch,And so defeatLoneliness,As Life palpitatesTenderness,Love does give,So very much!
Believe me,
I know no other road,No other drive,As strong as you,Encircling all of Life,Pure as the morning dew.Yes, I need you to go on,Like our poor planet needs the dawning Sun,Like the night needs the moon,To project its only light,Like the bird needs,It’s liberating flight.May I name you now?Beloved, LoveLife revolves,Around your Light.
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Error,
Of the mind
That lifts us
Off the ground,
Flying high,
Never better
Than when,
Right poem
Found.
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I love you,
With all my heart,With Life’s living flowWith all the words, I knowWith the light of dayAnd such deep passion,More than I can ever say,I love you,With the soul that’s inA work of art,That no one can explainBut that never goes away,Living forever in your heart.You have become, of my soulThe deepest, inner part,My Soul, that…
It’s not what
As much asWhat you feel.Poetry,Expresses,FeelingsThat no longerThe heartCan conceal,Making us free,Never afraidTo feel or to beWho we really are,Who we really,Can be,The sky has no limit,I love you,Poetry!
I wonder if an Author of a play,
While writing what they say?Becomes all his Characters created,Come what may?What a beautiful, full Life!In every way.
There Is some strange string,
As long as we feel compassion,We can hear the human call.
Poets are strange,
But it really doesn’t matter,They can have Ups and Downs,Sometimes act like Clowns,But their Dreams you cannot shatter!
Turbulence,
With painful, ragged sails,Looking for a port to rest,To escape the Wind’s cold wails.Up and down and ocean bound,We’re thrown from here to there,Happiness sometimes exists,The problem is just Where?
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Sentimental beauty
That nothing else
Has,
When the divine sincerity
Of Purity,
Magically touches
Poetry’s loving branches,
Its unfolded arms
Can easily,
Reach and touch,
The Sky.
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Now,
Why I love you so!Only Poetry can speak,Directly to the soulAnd awaken images and feelings,That do not belongTo words alone.
Once Spring has sprung,
To take some shape and form,And I remember, oh so wellThat time when love is born.How strange it isWhen strangers meetAnd suddenly, it’s Dawn!And in their hearts,All springtime starts,The moment Love is born.
Everything artistic
Profoundly,As does the painOf Injustice!Where can we findPeaceWhere can we reconstructAt least,The Artist’s Justice?
Tell me,
I think so,It’s not difficult to know,How to open Heaven’s gate,Sometimes love just cannot wait,And we Communicate,In ways that only lovers know,With looks, and feelings all a glow,That illuminate our Souls,Without a word, magically, we knowWhen Love arrives, you don’t let go.
I want to read,
Learn, Find,EarnMy place in life,Communicate,Thru verse,With Love,All the feelings,We are made of.
After all this time
My confident,The one that understandsMy lonely painI never tire of you,Poetry, yesI think that is your name.
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Of new born Roses
Surrounds thee,
As you surround my soul
With new born visions
Of poetic benedictions
Beneath,
Love’s magic fertile tree
Of creativity
I live but
For your call,
Or not at all.
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Magic grapes that turn to wine
Love the red, like bloodThe wine,Not the favorite of thinkers.Yet, no matter where you beClimate and changes permittingWine, red blood, of Ancient drinkersForms part of our History.
We must eradicate,
Love saves,Hate KillsAnd we All doWant to stay alive.
What truly does exist?
What truly does persist?In Life’s perpetual distance.
Probably,
That got stuckSomeplaceIn some oldPickup truck,Cultural iconOf the U.S.Struggling,To get outStillAt the wrong timeAt the wrong place,Losing, all its,CredibilityAnd Poetic grace.
There is no truer love,
Nor as beautifulAnd grateful,As the love describedIn ‘Home Coming, ‘An unforgettable poemBy Louis Rams,I would call it,Perfection.
Some find that reading,
A perfect way,Of losing timeFor nothing of materialWealthCan Poetry provide.I find it rendersHappiness,One of a special kindThat warms youVery deep inside,And sometimesEven,Makes you cry.Poetry’sPlain of reality,And rewardsAre differentFrom everything else,Something, very deepTakes place,That goes far beyondMaterial wealthSomething,That you can’t explainBut that remains with youAll the same,A transfer of sentimentsPlays always a partIn the unforgettable,Poetic game.
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You love it madly
Or not at all.
It’s like being
Forever, enamored,
With Life’s Song,
That you carry
Forever.
In the innermost
Part of your Soul.
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Love for one another,
Although, so often spoken of.Love is constant sacrifice,Not just a mere mirageThat comes and goes,Remember,More love less hateLove is what our souls,Are supposed to be made of.So if in you there is no loveTo give,You have no soul.
Would there be
Left,If it were not,For Poets?The immense richnessOf sentimentIs in their heartsTheir words,You have toKnow it,AndCelebrate!The Human GloryOf All Poets!
I get lost,
Don’t even know,What kind ofTerrible mess,Me, you, them,All of us, are in!So I try to put themTogether,Those letters,Into wordsAnd repair ourTransgressions,Sins,And lost hopesThat may help usCome thru,Face the FutureThat with uncertaintyIs coming in,And thus we realizeAnd see,The hidden benefitsOf Poetry,Its some timesCurative effect,Even, if it isFrom way within…
My love for you is limitless,
As deep as the deepest abyss,As beautiful as a new born rose,That doesn’t even know why it grows,As selfishly mine as it is yours,So alive, It will never close…..
No one is really happy,
The One Eyed Cyclops,That nothing,ClearlyEver, sees.
Don’t tell me,
From Greece to our times,They have sung to LoveMillions of times,Never giving up,The Hope of finding it.
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In sometimes,
So very little space
But when good
Heaven,
Never goes to waste.
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The Age of Philosophers,
Dedication to thinking,A lost Caravan,Now Fraud and Fiction,Is the new Show in town,With Lies and Swindles,All over its crown.
It’s crazy what goes thru,
Even what is hidden brew,In human hieroglyphics,Or in solidified,Archeological fossils,From the Poet, cannot hide,Not even Love,World-Wide.
Poets think with their feelings
Not a very good thing,If you want to get ahead.But saying what you feel,Can be problematic too,So much depends on,Others thinking like you.In any case, my dears,All of life is problematic,You can’t win for losing,And you can’t remain static.
I’m tired of being lonely,
Of just drifting along,In this world of disgrace.I’m tired of being lonely,Of not seeing your face,Of walking alone,At a much slower pace.I’m tired of being lonely,In a World, I don’t know,A grain of sand in the ocean,A footprint in the snow.
Poetry creates mood,
Feelings speakTo the Soul,Poetry,Makes us human,Despite, allOur bad calls,Purifying, FireFrom One to All.
I have but myself,
Said the Nightingale,As the love of the MoonIt pretended to win,Disguised,As a singing Swan.
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A waste of Time,
Probably,
Won’t bring in a dime,
BUT!
The immense satisfaction
That some poems give,
Is worth so much!
That moment of ecstasy,
That with a certain poem
You, may live,
Has an unforgettable,
Magic touch!
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There is a Magic Potion,
That lives nearby the Ocean,Of Creativity.We really can’t explain it,No matter how we try,Maybe the answer lies in,The secret tears we cry.
Lucky those that see
At the end of Life’s tunnelThose that sacrifice,That truly fight, deep viceCriminality and abuse,But respect,The going forth of LifeItself.Those that interfereWith the normal sphereOf life,Should be rejectedFrom the start,Never followedNor should they,Become a partOf the social heartOf a proud Nation.Always strive for betterWorking togetherWe become invincible!But a house dividedNever standsThe decadence of EvilGoes against all…
We know so much,
The Tribal flux,Looks for no acquittal.Today we are no different,Than all the Others,The Country is living,Its saddest hours…
Poems are impressions,
Deeply felt and so expressedThat they, cannot be wrong.Poems are impressionsPainting inner sight,Deepest soul confessionsReaching for the Light.
Heal us,
Of Love’s wounds,The sentimental bandage.
We,
Try to analyze it all,We arrive at different roads,Different answersFor each one,But none conclusiveExcept, for the believer,For all others, all is theoryFalling Autumn leavesFull of color and windy furyYet, leading, nowhere.
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We cannot see
The loves just dreamt,
But fancy free
The World on fire,
Passionately,
Romantic-Symbolism,
Traversing Time
So endlessly
Emotional Earthquake,
To senses and soul
Like nothing else,
Can ever Be!
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A combination
Harmony and Heart,Can anyone doubtThat Poetry has it allAnd, therefore isThe perfect art.
Poets make up,
Imagination, ‘oblige’,Watch out!They are dreamersThat see beyond dreams,That love, beyond love,That want to make words,Fly without Wings,That want to LoveAll thingsAll defenseless, things,All innocence, All beauty,Till they die.So, please watch out,So much love,May be fatal!In a World that killsInnocence and Olive Branch,Carrying, Doves.And that sometimesEven murders, Truth,That Poets, love, so much!
Bad winds are blowing,
Excesses, accumulating,Truly out of hand,Those responsible,For them, no reprimand,Many things are crumbling!Very hard to understand,How those now who have power,Have been making wrong decisionsRoughly written in the sand.
Invisible links,
They can communicate,With one anotherWhat embers burnWhat corners turnTo know one another?The Journey’s longAnd often wrong,Thousands of years,Conquering fears,Yet, we can’t understandOr hear each otherAnd then we turnTo cold machinesIntricate schemes,None flowing streamsThat will possesWhat little’s leftOf human chatter.Silent night,Sleep tightIf you still can…..
Control, Control, Control,
Like cereal in my power bowl’Thinks the imminent candidate,To upcoming Tyranny,‘Vote for me, trust me,And you will see,How life becomes slow agony’
What is a poem
A hopeless shadowWithout a friendWith whom to shareSome happiness,Sometimes, a sorrowWhich in the end,Is simplyLife’s truest blend.
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You feel, you write it,
All, no parts
Nothing ever stays inside,
A poem is a one way ride,
With truth and beauty,
At its side.
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Ah, Let us submerge ourselves
The calming, beneficial effectsOf a drug,Of a Roman Bath,That make the soul,Momentarily, leave the body,And all painful memories,Disguise.We close our pain,We stream, we fantasize,We dream, we smile,At least, for a littleWhile…..
In the silence
I think of youAnd cry,Separation is foreverWhy be bornJust then, to die?We meander,Back and forthLike a lostAutumnal leafWaiting for the frost,Which is our finalResting reefHaving dreamt so longOf precious loveOr maybe never,Having, loved at all.
Sometimes in Us,
Of dormant talents and emotions,Hidden devotions,Let’s hope it’s never too late,To drink from this magic potion.
Great big Clocks,
Hanging in our faceA brand new styleOf chic decorationIn a very obvious placeOn our living room wallsThese enormous Time MonstersAre placed,Over the mantle, spyingAll the time we waste.Why should we,Have to be,Reminded so insistentlyOf Time’s inevitable march?It does not feel good,To have Time laughingIn our face,Since whether we want it or notIt’s always Time,That wins…
Those who spend their time,
Better be aware,that they won’t make a dime.But at least, the words are Free,And must always be used,Respectfully.
Here, there, everywhere
To camouflage,So not to hear,The inner, outer screamOf disappointment,That hurts so much!That reality placesWithout caringWhat it destroysOr who loses,Life’s one time,Single match.
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That is simply so unique,
The way it stresses, feelings, words
Not sold at any boutique.
Poetry, cradles feeling,
As if it were her child,
And makes us go into Beauty’s throw,
With the strokes of some words,
With a movement, not blurred,
Of a pen, a heart and of Life.
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You can’t teach inspiration,
There are certain Mysteries,Whose secrets, no one knows.
Not
In their bodies,All writhing snakeAnd double crossingRat, lying, flatInto empty, sacNow tell meFrankly!Would you,TranquillyVote,For MonstersLike that?
Putting into words
Making it haveA certain warmth,Love and appeal,Makes PoetryDeep, Soulful and real!
Poets are Magicians,
They can write deep inner feelings,With such love and understanding
And what is True Love?
‘True Love are We’,Replied, the Thorn,‘Red Blood mingled with Perfume’.
A feeling,
A thoughtA vision,A poemSlips outNo permission,Just,Deeply feltBecoming,Rhythm.
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That you have with yourself,
An intimate conversation,
A Love deliberation,
More than words,
Music, feeling, sensation.
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A Pessimist is
That things can only get worse,And if they don’t,He is Not,Pleasantly surprised!
Dreamer,
Romantically,Love opens flowers,Silently,Life is a toss up,But who are we?To stop dreamingWhen life is still bloomingAnd spirit and beautyAre naturally, free.are
Tears clean our eyes,
What good is it to cry?If all that hurts,Remains the same.
To forget oneself in another,
Real Love, cannot go farther.
A word, a touch, a flower,
That form a loving tower,Each time you’re close to me.
I love to see people do good,
What is Life worthIf we can neverTrust, one another.So much Hate,So little Love,So much blood spilled,Never enough!Running out of time,A Mountain of Destruction,Is History’s climb!
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Can also give a tear,
But best of all,
It makes you feel,
That human warmth is real.
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There once was a woman
That lived in a Computer.Come rain or come snow.Day or night,There she wasAnd wouldn’t let go.Almost 24hrsJoyfully,Taping those keys,And touching the screen,With finger-print ease.Until one day,The Computer said‘Enough already,I’ve had it up to hereWith your constantTappingAnd chewing my ear’Then dramaticallyCrashed and Died!The woman concernedDid not know what to doAnd very loudly,Screamed and cried,Then called 911Asking…
A thing,
Goodness, tooIs a love, forever!That is why,I love your SoulThe most beautifulGift,Of them all.
Is there any Beauty
Or only sordid Winds,Making us sad,Waltzing illusions,Way back in the past,In today’s neutrality,Beauty comes in last,And Romantic sentiments,A thing of the past.Good times, bad timesNot much we can do,Positive changesDon’t seem to come thruOnce the die is cast,Difficult to change,Its toxic brew.
Who is good and who is bad?
Secrets of our inner life,Where these doubts remain alive.
Follow the Lies
To the Truth,When they becomeSo uncouthSo on mud’s sideSo blatantly absurdThey can’t evenBe said, understoodOr heard.And then,Lies will fallBy their own weightAs they presentA most absurdState of affairs,Letting true democracyServe the people,Accions will speakLouder than wordsWith truth and factsThat nobody dare hide!
The Solitude,
Has taken hold, today,It grips my soul,To be alone,And think of yesterday.The Solitude,Is sad and rude,And hard to put away,To be alone,Just like a stone,And have Nothing, to say.Not even do,I have the Sea,To keep me company,I walk alone,So far from Home,Remembering, silently.
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That make you think.
Poets are not only,
Paper and Ink.
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There Is some strange string,
As long as we feel compassion,We can hear the human call.
It’s all about
The rest is justAltogether,Frills and flimsyLace,Poetry can’t helpBeing,The innermostWitness,Of the feelingsOf the human race.
No one can write,
The enlightened words,That Poetry, writes,To capture the essenceOf Life’s brightest lightTo express the presenceOf Love’s abstract might,Only a poemCan do it so right.
The joy of being with you,
No words or useless chatter,Are needed to feel this:A flight towards all Eternity,A breath of perfumed bliss,An amorous wind, embracing,The fulfillment of a kiss.All This you are to me and More,My life, my heart, my very soul,Before we were together,Did I exist at All?
I have come to the conclusion,
That in the World of Illusion,Is where you really grow.
You came to me
Far away,The kind, onceIn a lifetime,The heart, sway,AdorationWas too mild a word,To make you knowThe emptiness,You filledBy being near,The skies you’d openWhen your voice I’dHear!One day, I lookedYou were no longerThere,Perfect dreamsDon’t stay or careThey must returnTo their eternalHome,So far awayIn time and space,This world too smallTo hold, to captureAll their grace
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reflect love’s bright
refulgence
otherwise
it dries and dies
a personal
indulgence
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‘The Transcendent’…’The Metaphysical’…’The Higher Truth…’
spooky people withspooky minds who belong tospooky organisations forthose who’ve nothing better to do?These days words like thissure look weird in cold print…OK let’s be cool about thisit could be worth a chat.When you rush home from schooland at the doorthe puppy barks at you and skids on the floorcos he’s wagging his tail that…
Emoticon, emoticon…
nasty jumpy upandown thingiesI’ll like to hit you out of court with a boing…, like Martina Hinghisand as for Fart Button,what sort of a site is this to have that crudely put on?
Every few months, a shot rings out
another cliché (reading its local newssheet,chewed cigar in mouth, string tie,six-gun handy, sheriff’s badgeworn shamelessly..) .. thup..bites the studio dust…Last year ‘bout this time,we buried WMD.. or‘wepmastruc’ in Bushspeak…seems it had lived quite long enough,demented in the Sunset Home…This week, we’re invited to the wakeafter the private burial ofWar On Terror; RIP (for some) :Seems…
Come back, swim back… I need you…
waving through the tears as firstthe one and then the otherwas taken by the tide untilno longer visible in that dark seatoo vasty to be thought about…then turned, and ran back up the beachto meet and greet my life..that was, as it was; but nowI run back to the water’s edgeshouting come back… I never…
In the beginning was the Word…
a beginning, perhaps, not in time;a beginning, perhaps, with time itself;in our time, the recognition’s all;beginning known within our being;being that is beyond beginning;and so, always being; always beginning..so, in the beginning – is – the Word..the Word, a sound? yet heard before the ear;a speaking and a listening,waiting to be heard…the Word, finding for…
to enjoy the enjoyable. It seems a modest enough aim
that urge to set up the next scene, to move on – do you rememberthose old films where the heroes were always saying to their side-kicks‘let’s get outa here! …’ pioneers of the about-to-be – this moves us on;so ‘here’ doesn’t stand much chance of being enjoyed;and nor does ‘now’; and can we ever saywhether…
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Magic,
Not all poetry.
And we are all
In between the two.
And we merged
In one
That is life.
And life is
With us
To take a new turn.
True to say
No one is single
And fragment
Not possible.
Expression is important
And not the lesson.
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ଭଲ ପାଇବାରେ
ମତେ ଲାଗୁଛିଭଲପାଇବାରେ କିଛିକମି ଅଛିନ ହେଲେ ଏମିତିକରୋନା କିଆଁମାଡି ପଡୁଛି!ଆରେ ଯଦିଭଲ ପାଇବାରଅଛି ଦମକେବେ ବିପାରିବ ନି ଆସିଯମ।ନିଜ ଘରକୁଆଗ ସଫା ରଖ,ଭିଡ ବଜାରରଘୋ ଘାରେ ନ ମାତିରାସ୍ତାରପେଁ ପାଁରେ ନ ଯାଇ,ଘର ଭିତରେଧ୍ୟାନରେନିଃସଙ୍ଗ ରହଜାଣି ଯିବ ନିଜେକୋଉଠି କଣ!ତପୋବନ,ଟିଟିଲାଗଡ,ବଲାଙ୍ଗୀର22/03/2020
Go on, with the truth, dear poet,
All are ignorant here,All know nothing aboutThe world andAbout nature.The truth is notWhat appears.The truth is thereIn your own hearts.Go on with the truth,And stay enlightened.You are the only oneWith everything in you.
All pious all sacred,
But we are toStay cautiousWith beingTruth conscious.But remember truthIs not under us.
Detailed descriptions not needed,
No end of anything.I know I am nowhere,No place is my birthplace,No kinsmen can save me,And I consideredNo one knows everythingIn tit bits.But everyone is being attacked byTheir own cause and effectsAnd they suffer the consequences.But be not angryAnd observe everything patiently.
Go not to show off,
How many are you hereDear creatures?Number? No problem.But think you all one cream.Go not to show offBut stay with natural love.
Creatures themselves
It is nature,The criminal.Each one is to controlThe very nature.Images are fine andAll clearBut reliance is not soAnd each one is to testAnd come closerTo the self forThe days better.
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a magic, field–like the space
between a sleepwalker’s outheld arms!
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I don’t dare speak too loudly,
that string is not too strongI think: and at times I haveto breathe. Or maybe I fearmy paraphrastic exhalationswill spoil the oiled perfectionof its sleekness, will mistover that brightness whoseneedle sharp point compassesmy every stray. I am asedgy in my way as it–as little-rippled, as subtle.Prey to vapors, to suddenicecap thaws, seismicdicethrows, the world wires…
If a path to the Gingerbread House
off its edifice and sprinkling themso as to find what lies behind usacross the featureless fairytalevoid of childhood: yet how very quickthat trick wears out when the story’s tracktakes hold, takes toll, a far-older trailprevails, we’re forced to give up this lostcause; and the fact is that every lastmorsel was gone long before the youor…
His task to watch an hourglass wash itself,
Though no purification’s new enoughTo nullify the need for such labor–Prior soon to repeat, platonic clone,He should have practiced that horizonVocation, camouflage, opening hisArms wide the better to hide. But of courseIf the flesh is fire, bones are the kindling:Still there but aching to be unbeliedBy the lover, unbellied as breaths heldUntil all the minutes…
Why are all the survivors of the needle’s eye
rather than sewn them. Sans coat-fare,we proceed it seems only to precede;birth to burial, are not yet here.But when did we first start embracingthe wakes of ourselves in each other ratherthan each other? As the fruit fallsto hiatus us, its bloom spoiled by last year’s cores.Or the sun whose portrait rots in our pores,those sweatbeads…
I’m charmed yet chagrined by this misunderstanding–
Boarded up, billboarded over, with ads for wind-insurance.Similarly, swimmingly, I miss the point. You too?And my misunderstanding doesn’t stop there, it grows–soonI can’t see why that sudden influx of fugitives,All the world’s escapees, rubbing themselves lasciviously against theBerlin Wall.They stick like placards to it. Like napalm. Like ads for–And me, I haven’t even bought my…
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Poetry for what,
What the philosophy of it,
What it to give to man?
The philosophy of poetry,
What to say,
How to say it,
Poetry is philosophy,
Philosophy poetry?
The poet a philosopher
And the philosopher a poet,
Poetry as visions and dreams,
Thoughts and ideas,
Images and pictures.
The poet a philosopher
And the philosopher a poet,
Poetry is philosophy,
Philosophy poetry,
Everything has but a philosophy
Accept you or not.
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Golden Chariots as a poetry book
Refreshing the memoriesOf Emerson’s Brahma,Eliot’s references fromThe Brihadaranyaka Upanishad,Yeats’ of Meru and the sages of wisdom.Golden Chariots are the chariotsOf Krishna,The chariot wheels ofThe Konark Sun Temple,Of karma and dharma and time,Of KalpurushaKeeping a watch over, maintaining time.Golden Chariots is a collage ofHis ruminations and broodingsOver Ganesha, Kamakhya,Sati, Narada, Dadhichi,Brahma, Nachiketa,Mahakal Kaleshawara,Things mythical and mystical.
The Dark Goddess Kali,
Dark the Creation,Dark the ways of Man.Dark Goddess,Kali,The Mother Divine,The Creatrix.Mother Kali,The idol of Her,Kali in Kalrupa,Kali Kalyani.Kali,Mahakali,Maharatri,Moharatri.Kali in Her Anger DivineWith the swordAnd a man head,The conch and trisula.Into the four hands of HersShe a Goddess of the yoginis,Yoginis as divine agentsOn a mission.Kali wearing a garland of human headsWoven into a garlandAnd hanging…
What is wrong with the mask
In public placesTo avoid heat and dust,Thinking about health and hygieneKeeping the pandemic in view,Covid-19,Corona virus,Trying to void contactAnd infection?Wash your hands and legsAfter coming from busy places,Moving outside,Wash your face with clean waterFor few more times,This is but the example of a healthy living.
With America,
In yourMind,Mind,Your mind and heart,Yourmind,mind,Mind and soul,Soul, soul,Souland heart,Heart, heart,Your soul,Soul and heart,Heart,Heart, heart and soul,Soul,American, American girl,GirlSinging,SingingThe song,Song of Americas,Americas and Americana,Americana and Americanism,Americanism,American,American girl!
Haroun and the Sea of Stories
That too not with goatee beards,But with the French-cut beards,With a little bit of on the chin,Suited and bootedAnd in the coat and pants,Rushdie,Sir Salman Rushdie.A book for children, it is for Zafar,Whom he meets after tumultuous timeAnd tells about story-telling,The power of imaginationAs applied by Rashid in telling HarounAbout the gift of the gab,The…
The modern Somalian girl
Half-Muslim, half-African,Giving a voiceTo the heart, soulOf Mother Somalia.
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Tracts and domains
With topography
Of the wild and Nature
And population scattered over
And with global positioning system
Tracked and untracked
Telling about location
And the unlocated indescribable.
The fields and fallows full of solitude,
The wild with eerie silence,
Nature calm and in furies,
The hills, dales and vales,
The woodlands touching the canopies
Of the sky
And dense and deep.
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Is of
The gipsies,Nomadic peopleDiasporicOf races, ethnicity,Power and politics,Ghettos and taboosHereditary and patriarchal.Culture studiesOf cultural space,Get youAnd give it to others.
The protagonist of hers whispering
Moving into the corridors of thought and idea,Sometimes on the terraces,Doing the self talk at midnightHolding parleys with the soul of manAnd the wind swaying by,Rehearsing the drama of lifeInto the theatre of silence.A poetess of memories and reflections,She intermixes thought and idea,Derives from the residues of meaning,Sleepwalking, daydreaming, soliloquiesAnd monologues and hinges towardsPoetic justice…
A professor of physics,
Is this Jayanta MahapatraPhotographic and imagistic.
Wherever board you
When coming outOf the houseTry to seeYour familyFor the firstOr the last timeAs who knows,This may beThe last journeyOf yoursTaking you toNot your destination,But to swargapuri,The heavenly abode!
Ghanashyam,
Dark blue,Ghanashyam,Ghana Shyam,Dark BlueAn image conjures uponThe mind’s planeWith the taking ofThe nameGhanashyam,One which is blue-coloured,What,Blue-coloured imageOf KrishnaWith the Golden FlutePiping and standing beforeWith a peacock crown over the headAnd looking bluish-bluishAnd beautiful!
Burqawalli, you too in America,
Surprisingly yours,Wherever go you, shall I follow you,My love.You my shadow, my walking shadow,The star hidden under the clouds,The patches of it,I love you, I love you, Burqawalli,Frankly speaking.
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What is poetry to me,
Sir,
What to say about
If ask you,
How to say?
Poetry,
Poetry to me is
A spectacle of the bhaluwallah,
The bear showman,
The bandarwallah,
I mean the monkey showman,
The juggler,
The sleight of hand of the Indian juggler.
Of yogis, fakirs and sadhakas
And tantrics
Fake and real,
Astrologers, palmists and horoscope-makers
Astrological and astronomical,
Who is what,
I don’t,
Can’t say that,
It is better
To have a tryst with them?
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I saw foreigner tourists and travellers
Lost in Krishna dhuna,Rama dhuna,Hare Rama, hare Krishna recitation,Dancing, singing and enjoyingIn Krishna’s Vrindavan,ISKCON Mayanagari,Tourists and travellersFrom Russia, USA,Germany, France,Sweden, Spain, Denmark.
Which came I to see,
Feel itThat I saw, saw you,Knew, knew you,Came to feel, feel you,You, your presenceAll, all though the picturesAnd photographs of yoursReminiscing you,You, my love!Your album, your albumOf photographs, photographsI glimpsing through,Glancing at and gliding.
What is poetry? Poetry is kirtana,
Coming through the recitationAnd you continuing for twenty four hoursOr twelve hours,Day and night choruses,Definitely a team work is it.The harmonium is playedAnd the Ram-nam sung uponWith the striking cymbalsLyrically and rhythmically,Take you, the name of Rama,Sita-Ram, Sita-Ram,Hare Rama, Hare KrishnaOr the name of Radha and Krishna.
The Old Age Home
Where I shall have to go toOne day?Let me see it nowWith a passing eye-view,May have to one day.SorrowYour sorrow, I could notFeel it then,The nights heavy withYour weepingAnd you weighed underPain, grief and sorrow!The HouseWhen someone is with,When someone is notAnd you aloneSitting by the doorSeeing the pathways.Where Shall I?Where shall I goAs I…
Night, your sobs and sighs
On grass.A solitary maiden, where do you goStriding in the dark,A lonely lady but under the open skies,All alone?Under the milky white sky,With the moon shining up aboveAnd the stars twinkling,Where do you go striding?By the lonely roads, find I you sittingWith the jasmines stuck intoThe braid of yours,Who are you fragrant lady?Give us your…
The fates of the candidates
Sealed in the ballot boxesAs for who’ll winAnd who’ll lose the electionTo have the last laughAs the member of the ParliamentOr the minister?On whom Lady Luck will smile it,The lottery draw coming to the lot ofIn Kaun Banega CrorepatAnd who’ll be the ‘Khakhpati’,Dreams nurtured so farTurned into ashes,Burnt to ashes,The king of ashes and coals…
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What is poetry for you Dubey
If somebody questions me,
What shall I
Hearing him,
Keeping mum for a moment,
Pausing to respond
And thinking over,
Poetry,
Poetry,
What is poetry
And that to me,
Me?
Poetry to me
Is aesthetic beauty,
Beauty perceivable,
Truth to be realized
And goodness to be appreciated,
Satyam shivam sundaram
From the Indian point of view
As am an Indian
And my viewpoint Sanskritic and Brahminical
Re-voicing,
Shivoaham shivoaham shivoaham.
My discourse one of Atman and Parmatman,
The transmigration of the soul,
The Soul and the Over soul,
Death and maya,
Karma and dharma,
Yama and the dark night
And the flutter of the bird,
Satya, ahimsa and shantih.
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Ph.D. guides,
But I do not,Who’s who,Which is whose?
Human thought
Of a wider dimension and spectrum.The horizon of it vastFlapping unto the end.
Will letter-writing turn into a dead art someday
Won’t they write lettersWith the hands,In pen and paper,I think,Just think aboutWill they forget to writeAs man has dumped the ink-pot and the ink pen,Spilling ink over,The pen leaking and the pocketUnder trouble,Fill in the ink and writeBut accept not,The handwriting used to glitterBut now the ball point penWhich too has the utility of its…
Deewana dil,
Pyaar-muhabbat jo ho jaagtein hainEs tarahKi malum jo nahinEh bimari jo laelaz.Love-mad, lost heart,What to say about its talks,Love-affection is born as suchIn such a wayThat know notThe disease treatmentless.
A huge dark statue
Before,O, youGo notWithoutSeeing HerA huge dark black statueOf Kali,You come and goAfter seeingHer,The Mother,The Mother of the worldInto whose HandsIs life and death.
The whitely,
Long and old,Kaash grassy bloomsLike white and fluffy beardsOf Arvind Krishna MehrotraAre more prominent thanHis surreal verses,The long,Old and flowingWhite beards,Beards ofArvind Krishna Mehrotra,Longer andwhite,But not a sadhu,But a versifier,A poet of the bazaar,Indian bazaar.
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A treasured love
For whom the poet’s heart,
Forever longs.
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Do you hear
Always asking, Why?Wondering if their heartsAre made of Stone,As life’s rivers dry,Emptiness does chokeWith unheard, sighThe errant heart,The lonely heart,The broken heartThat softly cries,That softly diesNever, having found,A loving Home.
Much more than desire
And if it’s never burned youThen you haven’t lived,No, you haven’t lived at all.
Love Hurts,
Not always receiving,But without it,Living is not living,For loving is giving,The most precious gift,That you can give,And the most fulfilling.
Does Love
I wonder,Or is itJust a clap of thunderThat persists,A magic wonderThat can fraillyDisappear when loveNo longer exists,Or wants to be near.
Man’s eternal problem,
Or not thinking at all,Think about it.
Are poets happy?
An eternal melancholic flower,That takes away the power,To find happiness to share?Always thinking, always thinking,That better Worlds exist,In some fairyland, Somewhere…
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The oldest and less profitable
Of all Arts,
But who cares?
As long as it touches
The deepest fibers
Of loving hearts.
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I hear the music in verse,
With its notes, the music of language,Drills deep, knows no fences,Senses, the lingering mystery,Behind all creative lenses.Oh Language, Oh Language,Oh Poetry, Oh Music!I never tire of your consequences,Forever surprising and thrilling,Our most sensitive nerve endings.
Warmth and understanding,
Tenderness,A feeling,Of which thereNever, ever isEnough.
I’ve tried to but I can’t,
What I read, askance,Give out complements,Like false peppermint scent,Giving praise, I never meant.Sincerity is not temerity,It’s part of a poet’s heart,Poetry is much too sacred,To lie about it and tear it apart.Be as it may,A critic, I am not,Selfishly, what touches me,Is what, I’ll keep in heart.
Another day gone by,
So does the sky,Where love once floatedDebonair,And life was quiteA thing to share.Now,Into the multitudeOf voicesDo I blindly stare,Knowing that for me,No one is there.
To all I ask,
Who is true?Get the mirrorLook at you,Hold onMaybe just a few,Or maybe None,Now the question’s done.
As much as I have
Human natureNever pretendingTo have exhausted,The possibilitiesOf understandingOur dementia,I am ready to give up.Unjustified hate,Cruelty, murderIs something so, irrationalSo inhumanly insaneI can no longer,Try to understandNor this injustice,Pretend to silently take.Since man saw manCain saw Abel,In the promised landSince immemorial, timesWe’ve been killing,Slandering, each otherTo steal things fromOne anotherPossessions, lifeHow can we trust thoseThat speak hateThat…
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Melodiously uplifting,
With ever-beauty, crowned,
So close to the human soul,
That looks for You to console,
The emptiness of it All.
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I love your voice,
The words of love you say to me,Amazing velvet, lovingly.You’re voice, your words,So dearly heard,Remain inside my heart,A secret of love’s mystery,Where voice plays such a part.
True Art does not know old,
In living beauty,In poems told,In all that’s love,Not bought, not sold.
For those that want to hurt others,
Verbal Venom should be kept,In a special Vial,And not dispensed haphazardly.If not, after a while,It loses all efficacity.
From the depths
ComesThe Poetry,The PainOf self-expression,That so oftenOpens doorsTo regretful,Slow, processions.
Broken hearts are so very weak,
How can we create what we seek?How can we search in the scorching sands,For that, that we cannot speak?So abstract is the yearning for feeling,A love that will make life complete,That nothing becomes more appealing,Than to have and to hold what’s unique.
This week,
With Rachmaninoff,I have his piano concertos,Playing in my head,They push me forward,Help me get ahead,Help me stay alive,In an ugly world,Of Love, deprived,I go around humming,The great melodies,All those that are near,Think I have lost my mindAnd therefore they fear,My ‘contagious desease’:To Love Music, ArtAnd Live as I please.
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Trying to make,
Feelings rhyme.
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Loving,
And passion,A poet is no more,Than that.Each poet,Owns his fashionAnd reality,And really wantsNo moreThan that.Life could become so scary,If poet’s words, his passion goesFor Poetry is everything,A poet wants or even knows.
Good Morning,
You’re the cream on my cake,You’re the joy in my Dream World,You’re the moon on my lake,You’re my passport to heaven,You belong just to me,Hope we’re always together,That’s how Love has to be.
I’ll write up a storm for you,
For with you, the World is ours,And with your love, my dearest love,I know we cannot fail.
How we stupid humans,
To political ideals,When there are none,We expect heroes,Out of political men,When most don’t even have the feathers,Of an egg-laying hen!
A sickening odor
And false burnt offeringsInvades this Country now!Never worse candidatesMake the Show,Shabby, dishonest, and loud,Repetition of deja vuFailures,Dishonesty and malfeasanceIn disarray, partner,To gain and milk,The political Cow,Now!From the bowels of HellAnd its burning Domain,They came,God help usIf they get the powerTo reign and regainIn exclusivity, if so,All democratic tiesWill be lost,And all seekers ofLiberty’s good fortuneWill…
If life were only poetry,
We’d love and be in Harmony,With Peace, being our Symphony.
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To express, The Dream,
The Love of Life,
The Soul,
The Love of Nature,
The Human Song,
And Human Love
At it’s Peak.
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‘If the Law,
Won’t get them,Weasels, ‘He will!He’s the AmericanSheriff.The Courage and TruthOf a little known town,Called, ‘Veritas Hill’.Remember!A lot of bad ‘hombres’East and West,Did our countryBleed and twist,But good Sheriffs,So bravely,UnforgettablyHelped this Country,Decently,And with honorExist!
We sing, we love, we think, we dance,
We’re like no species in the world,What are we really? no one’s heard,Just little actors of the Absurd?
In the scary pallor of our everyday lives,
In which inexplicable sensations,Take over,With joy or with sorrow.It’s theses Moments,That make you wonder,What it’s all about?And make so indefinable,Our todays and our tomorrows.
Pain,
That does not start,When Love is gone,Happiness too,So hard to find,A Love all Yours,And when it’s gone,Closed are all doors.
The Artist looks up to the sky,
The Poet looks into the Rose,To see how passion from it grows,And I, I look into your eyes,To feel this Love that Never dies.
Prose and Poetry,
A Tree and a Red Rose,Pillars of society,Communication grows,Prose sustains our culture,Poetry our pose,As Dreamers and Abductors,Of word, seduction growsAs feelings rightly flow.Prose can tell long stories,Of human interaction,While Poetry finds Love,The superior satisfaction.There is no competition,For the tools are quite the same,Both are born from same affliction,To purge the soul in vain,And the writer’s…
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Flashes of luminosity
That come and go,
That won’t let go
Beautiful Tragedy!
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Poetry gives lessons for Life,
Maybe, rearrange it,But the real change must comeFrom society’s side,Pushed by individual thoughtWith equilibrium from inside.
I think I may start a clothes line,
Called ‘Lonely Fog’Do you think,London would mind?And sue me,For brand name stealing?What are you talking about?You, Super-Silly, poetGo tend to your versesAnd you’re extra-empty purses.
We need one another,
Killing each other,Or destroying ourselves,Strange Life, that reaches for the Stars,That so desires to be blessed,Yet has to be content with so much less.
Notice,
Painter, writerSo much can sayAnd hide,Thru Symbolism,That is why they say,You have to read‘In between the lines’Where signs and symbolsDo become,A guessing game,But those who get itFeel itHave the most magnificent,Intellectual, soul fulfillingAnd discerningly, illuminatingPrize!
I miss you,
To see if I can alleviate,Abbreviate this chain,That ties me to the past,When all I had was,Your sweet presence,And so little did it last.I miss you,The sun has lost its shine,Emptiness and silence now,So very mine,White flowers fold,On Life’s sad, silent vine,The Sea to sail,The Hope to hope,No longer mine.
You give me calm,
What do I need?You are the best,Amongst tall trees,The greenest one,That gives me shade,From burning sun,I wonder how,And why we met,Was I in love?Oh no, not yet,I had to feel,Deep in your heart,To know just then,We’d never part.
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With real signs of contentment,
And sacrifice,
As a Nun takes her Vows,
As a Mother cares for her child,
As the World turns around and changes,
We, Poets,
Have nothing to hide.
Our love for you,
Is pure and complete,
You are the love of our lives
What makes us human and keeps us alive.
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We know so much,
As many Mysteries,As Spheres,That turn aroundWithout colliding,While we wonder,Who conductsTheir silent gears?But the biggestMysteries of allAre,Love and Life,For we know notWhatThe Miracle of LoveIs all about,Nor what we’re,Doing here,As life,Goes in and outFrom this,Our blessed, Sphere.
We were like nail to flesh,
I spoke, he did not,But we understood each other,More than not,I loved him, and he loved me back,With a love without words,The one you can’t forget,The one, we can never regret.We were like nail to flesh,So when he was taken from me,The pain, the rupture, the tear,Was totally unbearable,And still is,My heart will never heal,Time…
The excellence of Poetry
In the secret cornersOf softly sensitiveInner eyes,That can feelAnd look furtherThan what wordsJust signify,And decipherThe spiritual magicCommunicated,By a Poem’s sigh.Poetry!Magnificent AllureThat the spirituallySensitive,Cannot escape,Your Winter sunYour Summer shade,Life’s, escapade!The adventurous callThe Rhyme and Redemption,Of All inner Sails.
Now I Know,
Because we can dream with words,And our imagination can fly,Without being disturbed.
The great Democracy,
Literary Art,One is free,To read or read not,To tie many times with another,An invisible-insoluble knot,That an author can freely establish,Democratically,With those he knows not.
Think if you can,
We think we have a brain,But when used,It resemble more a tiny grain,That when planted does not seem,To go too far,Man is the only animal,That hits himself against,The same obstacle, more than once,And doesn’t seem to see the stars,If you have a chance,Think about it,For we are more stupid,Than we think we are or look,Even…
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So many Poets!
So many claims!
To practice,
Magic
We hope
Not in vain.
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All hope lost,
Rome was lost, corruption most,And now it is our Time.
The pain, the joy, that true love brings,
When lovers eyes at last do meet,It is Life’s biggest, single feat.To understand what lies within,The lover’s heart, you surely win,A life of glorious happiness,Where two are one, with one caress.
My whole day is spent in Poetry
Rhymes that come and go,Mysteriously,Some might say that that’sA total waste of time!But for me,As vital as the air I breath,Since Poetry is,The life that’s left,In me,And joyfully existsExtemporaneouly.
We praise those
Good,After they’re goneBut while alive,So many fight themNever seeingThe generous light,That surroundsThem,With goodness and truth,Don’t be fooled by evil,Wake up, honor good!
Whether Poet or Artist,
Friend or foeOur capacity for Evil,Is out of control,You can really love someone,And end up in a hole,With Poetry that sucks,And is not good at all!Our capacity for Evil,Is sad but not strange,It’s been around,Since long before,The Biblical Age,Remember the brothersCain and Abel?The end of that story,Did not go so well!In Trust, we cannot trust,In…
Love so full, so sweet,
Installed by demoniacal beliefs,Leading only, to war and grief.Tell me, how do you instill,Love in the heart of your enemy?Who has promised to wipe you off,The surface of the Earth,And if he can, he will!Love saves,Hate kills,And most of the time,Life is a bitter pill.That twists and chills,Good Will.
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The more, I’m with you
The more, I love you
Without hesitation.
Poesia,
Consuelo, venido del cielo
Mas te escribo, mas te quiero.
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I’m sorry,
That Life is strange,And Poets even stranger,And that sanity around them,Is always in great danger
So many things we imagine,
If though of,Compassionately, with love,We never tire of.
‘Do you like poetry? ‘
‘I love you’, he responded,‘Poetry is, loving one another’.
The pleasure that Art gives,
If there is any part,Of man, that is really good,You can attribute it to Art,That deep felt creation,Less conceived in the mind,Born more from the heart,Inspiration, divinely blind,But humanly signed.
Tonight,
And day is no longer day,I will think of youAnd cry.Long ago,We were togetherIn one single breath and sighNot a cloud, no stormy weatherJust one deep and gentle smile.Yes,We only had each other,Like the sea its loving moon,We lived only for each otherHappiness,Was it too soon?Now the Night has only shadowsAnd the sea’s without its…
Gifted with good feelings
Evil feasts the devil,Hell, begets destructionAnd terrible unrest.Good is wisely chosen,Flowers that caress,Building, helping others,Is by far the best.
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In the shadows,
It bites life
Explores strife
Speaks of Love
As none before
Ever could
Or ever will!
How not to love her
As she should be loved
Venerated, understood,
And erect for her
A temple of beauty
Where poets could worship
Her fraternal feelings,
That go, way into the flow
Of eternity’s spiritual glow.
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Soul, Beauty and Song,
Poetry will sooth the Wrong,And inspire Hope with it’s Song,Bringing a feeling of Celestial Bliss,With the magical softness,Of its mysterious Kiss.
Great big Clocks,
Hanging in our faceA brand new styleOf chic decorationIn a very obvious placeOn our living room wallsThese enormous Time MonstersAre placed,Over the mantle, spyingAll the time we waste.Why should we,Have to be,Reminded so insistentlyOf Time’s inevitable march?It does not feel good,To have Time laughingIn our face,Since whether we want it or notIt’s always Time,That wins…
Life, Discovery
Travel thru our HistoryAnd whatever,Is good in usWas born mysteriouslyAs were the Stars,Luminosity desired,Luminosity, inspiredBy some kind ofMiracle,Translated into, poemsAnd works of art.You can’t create,Without sincerity or love,Inspiration isn’t enoughFor all things, truly humanWere discovered, recoveredSculpted into some great PoemOr some illustrious Work of Art,Creative Anatomy,Is the revelationPerhaps, the explanationOf what, in this tormented lifeSets…
Completely uninspired,
Could it be that I’ve acquired,The syndrome of ‘I don’t care’,And have nothing more to say?
The poet paints what he sees,
Are his leads.Of Life and Love,He constantly feels,The mutilations,A sensitive soulThat bleeds verses,Through observation.
The political scene,
Gone are mostKings and Queens,Monarchy, symbolic powerThat got substituted,By elected LiarsAnd Tyrannical Cowards,That produce nothingAnd only want perpetualPower,As they bleed peoplesAnd countries fromTheir protected towers.
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Of everything,
The essence
Of the essential
Love, Life
Torrentially
Flowing,
Always
Monumental!
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Poesia,
Mi pasado, mi presente,Mi futuro y mis alas,De todas las cosas de este mundo,La mas amada.
What is Life without Roses?
Life is not what one supposesBecause of Love and Roses,We never have enough.
So many fine Poets,
Hope everyone realizes,That as long as there is Poetry,Men of good will,Will continue Life’s Fight.
Poetry,
That keeps on givingSo that the spiritLove and feelingsAnd whatever elseIs human in us,Doesn’t dry up.
You don’t chose to be a poet,
A feeling,You can’t grow it,You just are.A grant of loving light,That lets words go on flight,You don’t chose to be a poet,It’s your star.
She was, Was She?
My favorite actress, B.D.,Played all parts with dignity,Was the voice of Humanity,Bette Davis, Immortality,The Queen of Cinematograpy
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With loneliness,
Maybe?
But just know
That I miss you
More than I can
Ever write,
For in my heart
I know
That never again
Will I
Be with you,
Beloved,
And that nothing
Again,
Will ever be right…
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Two Hearts,
Eyes that meet,Two hands that touch,And so defeatLoneliness,As Life palpitatesTenderness,Love does give,So very much!
This is how it is!
And it’s always a missAll the analysisMakes you sick!You look out the window,Picture thisSnakes,More than you can list!When, whereDid everything, go wrong?In Heaven or in Hell,No one was able to tell.
We did not have to speak,
As Love reached its highest peak,As we looked into each other’s eyes,As our hands interlaced,When Love did meet the Ecstasy,That no human power can defeat!
Reality or Fiction?
Can’t believe,The continual squeal,Of Political Pigs,Wanting all the power,In their hands, to seal.The Devil works in strange ways,But it is, we, the PeopleThat always pay,Come what may!I listen to the news,And get furious,The Devil sits at my side,And Laughs,Provoking,Waiting,For all the tears in the World,To be cried.
My heart has flown away,
An empty page glares in my face,Not made of hope or white fine lace,A loveless heart that hardly beats,There’s no return, no life to seek,Hello, goodbye what do I careInto just emptiness, I stare.
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Sometimes you can save
Renew and redeem us, All.
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Poetry is like cooking,
On too high a flame,The contents get burned,They lose their worth,And no one will come,A looking.
Hands that touch,
Love being born,Always so sweet,And yet,Sometimes,The same can be achieved,In hearts that beat,But have never met.
USA is falling down,
So corrupt it can’t stand up,Why so hazy?We have lost our honor, truth,Falling down, all mud is loose,Unfair, shady, things so crazyCrumble, crumble country down,All so lazy, waters brown,No fair lady.
Money is spent,
Lose theirGolden HoodsWith time,But kind wordsStay,And are rememberedEveryday.
Words can be used
In a most positive way,Spreading teachingsThat set us apart,From crueltyAnd all inhuman sway.It is our Duty,To convince and guide for good,Making sure we’re banning Evil,And that Good is fully understoodPoetry, a way so tenderTo spread the Conquering WordTo friends and to contenders,Creating human splendor,The way we really should.
Poetry has,
That nothing else has,It’s the music from the Poet’s soul,That gets to sing, is heard, he hopesIn verses that will ever last..
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Essentials
Some different,
Some haunting,
Some purely,
Tantalizing.
All,
Totally felt
Without regret,
So much,
Of our humanity
There, surviving
In such narrow
Spaces,
That amazingly,
Encompass
So much of Life’s
Complicated,
But complete,
Portrait.
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Alone,
Quite unpleasantMost of the time,Monotony, BoredomSets inAfter so many yearsDo I know myself,Or am I just,A walking sinOf a strangerKept sadly,Near byIn an inconspicuous,Bin!Alone,With yourself,Sometimes, inspires, fearsThat after so many yearsThere are thingsYou still don ‘t knowAbout, yourself,And that full ofMystery appear.But the mostPainful of all,Still isBeing alone,With yourselfAnd still askingWhat inthe worldAm I doing,Alone,…
I know I can’t change anything,
And whisper to the Wind,Let’s go together, you and I,As romantic dreamers do,So It complies,And, carries my words away,Into the deep dark night of oblivion,And as a player in a lost-cause-play,A tremor starts to tear me apart,In the darkness of a World without a heart,That We cannot change, the wind and I,So I cry,But, we…
For a poem to reach out,
For it to communicate,It can be happy also tragic,For it to remain with you,It must have deep love in it too.
To be a poet
Not be afraid to start,A peaceful RevolutionOf ideas and feelingsThat opens doors,Leaves prejudice apartTries to be a just judge,Of society, a partAnd above all, loveAll moving parts,Of our sometimesPositive,Human evolution.
Because it is,
A chance to screen,Against what is injustice,And view Life’s scheme,With hope, esteem,And always fight for Justice.
I feel,
And all the Stars.InoculatedBy a love,That comesFrom far.Beauty,Just touchesAll my senses,I want more,Never tireof its endlessCall.Yet crueltyAnd meanness,I deploreAnd see,So many, soullessOn that floor.
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An impact!
Something wonderful,
To say,
A benevolent guide
Like a dear friend,
That loves us,
And takes our hand
Everyday.
You have been,
My Friend,
Ever since I can remember,
In the most kind
And loving way,
Oh bird of deep splendor
A grateful tear,
Surrenders,
And rolls down
Memory Lane,
Today.
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Love searched and then fulfilled,
Be still, be still, oh Souls!Joy be praised!To know you’re no longer alone,United, together, Forever,As one Soul in an infinite verse,Love, the grandiose Poem of the Universe.
The essence of language is Poetry,
Makes not out of words a mere mockery,Opens Worlds that are heard in sonority.
Poetry,
A treasured loveFor whom the poet’s heart,Forever longs.
Do not sever,
Individual creationsThat better lives!Put them intoCreativity,Translate themInto UniversalInsights,And seed far reachingClouds,With love and passion,UnderstandingAdd True compassion,Host the LightOf what isBest in usAnd above allDo what’s rightIn a mostHumanly fashionNot abusing power,In any case,Or trampling onThe Peoples’ Rights!
From pain, the greatest poems born,
A storm,But Life goes on, it’s just that plain,And yet for some, there will no longer be,The Fantasy,Of singing in the rain.
Nothing puts a smile on my face,
Kelly Kurt does this with talent and grace,And for that, we all owe ‘im.
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A trip to be had,
Great Poetry is always a winner,
Whether happy, deep or sad,
For it flows like Life itself
And can become,
One of the best, emotional
And unforgettable experiences
You’ve ever had.
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Had we ever met,
With happiness,A serious debt,But I only knew youIn my dreams,Those silly romantic dreams,That Fantasy, projects,But that reality,So cruelly, rejects.
Why do birds sing?
Why does the Sea,Fascinate so?Why are we here?Where do we go?Once Love is gone,We do not know,Lost is the World,Lost is the Sea,Nothing is left,How can that be?
There seems to be,
Hysteria,A madness that surrounds,The 21st Century,With its Robotic Hounds.Machines that are born and prosper,Soon they’ll be all aroundWill they be our MastersAnd us, their Playground?
Our thinking matter moves in constant flux,
Our thoughts and deeds, sometimes human disgrace,Then all is gone, the end of every race.
I don’t know why?
I should be sad, like I am, Everyday,But I don’t know why?I’m just a little happy, today.Maybe it’s because I’ve written,More than other days,Maybe it’s because I didn’t listen,To the horrible news of the day,Maybe because I feel less lonely,Writing away,Maybe because it’s only Monday,And ‘I think’ I have something to say.
Truth, Family, Country,
To lead a happy, decent life,To live in Liberty.Truth, Family, Country,The great American Way,Don’t ever lose those treasures,Never let them go away!
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It is not rising on the top
Nor is it crushing down of me to the ground
I did not fell in love either
Nor is it a breaking up of any relation
Neither had I broken any rib
Nor I smashed my head
I was in smooth sailing in my life
No subtle or no magical words
No extra ordinary puncture of emotions
Poetry found me
In the most ordinary path
With very simple attire
In little aspiration and desire
In small things
In negligible events and circumstances
No poetry at all when I am a politician
Or a sale man
Suddenly I found poetry
Along with my son when I became a child
And looked at things in the eyes of him.
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Darkness hovered all around
Even neither you nor meBut you can as the light doesItself and allLove can not repulse loveAs the darknessRather it becomes lightIn the beginning and at the endLeft in the middleThe fragrance of attractionWithout any utterance of desiresThe image of dreams without canvasFloats in the whispers of dancing glanceWhen darkness does not findAny vehicle at…
My son cherubic cherry like
Suddenly he pointed out and saidHis mom took away and ate up my loaf, halfIn my heart I silently utteredLong ago she made a full loafTaking half of me and half from her
Right
Wrong,DefeatOrVictoryamongthousandwordsand deedsdo notbelievelook insidedeepwhat soultellslife does nothave any meaningsif your souldoes nottellthe storywith realityin different style.the burningof insidemirrorsin youreyesbetrayingthe forcefulsmileof yourfacethe consciencebit by bitis killingin side of youthe actorand the clown.Come outDouse the fireOf falsehoodWith iceCool truth.
They look bright
They seem statesmen tooAs they talk incessantLet them use pen and paperThey will uncover theirCleverness of hiding powerWriting is a fight betweenThe Powers of dark and lightThe Difference between an elephantAnd an ant.Writing is the impressive enormityAmong the works of tiny trivialitiesWriting is a question asked to realiseThe blunt indifferenceWriting is like putting the sunAt…
The sleep in a white coat
And tells me a story in whichI am not aware of that I am in a dreamFirst I laugh then I ask herWhere am I heading to end up?She saysThe starting and ending are never distinguishedThe points are always at the same sourceOnly the places are differentBut you will never knowBecause you are in a…
A man or woman when possessed with’’ Ibliss ‘’
Truth to them is poison but falsehood is foodBad are their heroes but villains to them what we call goodHere is a man or woman whom we call ‘’takfiri ‘’When he or she is possessed with a Saturn, NeriBooks to them are like smelly juice of rotten fruitsBut they never forget to claim ‘’what they…