Listen to poem:
I stand looking eastward, in the piccaninny dawn
I stand up straight, have a stretch, give out a hearty yawn
I am waiting for the sunrise, one of those times of day
When the beauty of this Place we live, comes with its own display
The horizon slowly brightens, as the Earth revolves
The sun appears to move around, as the dark dissolves
The rays start to stream vertical, the herald of the sun
Then the first part of the orb, a new day has begun
I watch enthralled as colours change, atmosphere in control
It is not long before the sun, is magnificently whole
The shadows they stretch out so far, hard to see the end
They blend into the distant shapes, Goosebumps they can send
As they are growing shorter, and daylight in command
Sunrise has gone for another day, Gods raucous, avian band
Plays all the different bird calls, is not sunrise grand?
All I can do is watch in wonder, was it really planned
As it makes its way across the sky, the Sun sees all the Earth
I think about the miracle, for what my thought is worth
The eons in the past gone by, no doubt the same to come
Just the passing of such time, it makes my brain quite numb
It moves toward its setting point, more beauty to behold
The colours they will vary, but with overwhelming gold
The reds they will be deeper, as the sun sinks in the west
Hard to say which one I think, sunrise or sunset best
As the orb sinks lower, shadows lengthen once again
But this time it's getting darker, daylight is on the wane
We'll have to wait till morning, once more to see it rise
Until dusk we can enjoy, the colour lows and highs
Copyright © Warren Mbaht | Year Posted 2022
There’s Nothing To It
I found a piece of nothing in my back yard yesterday.
I’d planned to mow the lawn so tried to move the piece away.
I thought to get behind it, backing off and sneaking round.
But it sensed my every movement and steadfastly held its ground.
Nothing made me angry. Nothing made me swear.
Nothing made me quite so mad as seeing nothing there.
Finally I called my wife. “I need your help.” I said.
There’s nothing on the lawn and Darl, it’s doing in my head.”
She said “I’m seeing nothing. You’ll have to show me where.”
Despairingly I turned and shouted “Look there’s ‘Nothing’ there.”
“Exactly!” spoke my wife “And so it seems we both agree.
and now if you don’t hurry you’ll get nothing for your tea.”
I put away the mower and locked the toolshed door.
“Aah well!” I thought, “At my age nothing matters any more.”
I went inside, switched on the box, still feeling all at sea.
My wife called out “Good luck darl, you’ll find nothing on TV.
Warren Cox
Copyright © Warren Cox | Year Posted 2024
IN LOVE WITH LOVING YOU
Out of the dark, you'll hear my whistling,
this night bird searching out the heart of you,
who knows the song is you, and meant to sing,
and I, who feel your words, forever do.
In love am I, with all you'll ever be,
though you don't even count me as a friend,
I come and go, throughout your life, 'tis me,
you'll only know as steady, to your end.
This night bird knows the deep inside your breast,
your secrets never shared with anyone,
each tiny pain, you've thought to be a test,
each answer from each question--Life goes on.
Out of the dark, you'll feel me spread my wings,
In love with loving you, and what it brings.
St Croix, USVI March 27,2011
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2011
I envy the poets
The ones who can disentangle the threads of their thoughts
And smoothen them out on paper
Each word, each letter, each curve of their quill laden with meaning, passion and emotion
These innocuous traces of ink
Do not mask the fervour in the minds of the poets
I balk at their audacity
And admire their ability
I wonder, do their words ever choke them, as mine do?
Has their voice ever been swallowed by fear?
Do their ink-stained hands ever shake and their eyes well up with ardour as they put pen to paper?
Meanwhile, I yearn for the identity of 'This Sublime Poet'
I ask myself: Am I a poet yet? Or simply a writer? Or am I just someone who uses words to emote?
Do my poems have an essence? A hidden interpretation derived by reading in between the lines? Or am I just one among countless others who hide behind the artificialities of language?
Do I possess any substance or do I lack it?
Am I the seed? Or the husk?
Or am I the fruit? Albeit the one that falls to the ground, wasted?
Copyright © Vedangee Kadam | Year Posted 2024
Darkness
There are a lot of ways to describe it but it always feels the same
This feeling of loneliness
That no one can escape
Darkness darkness darkness
Darkness in the world
Darkness in the way we live
Darkness in our soul
Sometimes you feel red
Sometimes you feel blue
If you change the way you see the world
It will change its way too
It may seem impossible
To win the black knight
But if you look deep inside him
You will see the light
Don’t cry little boy
Don’t let tears fill your eyes
Warm things can’t survive
In the thick ice
Don’t cry little girl
Don’t fill your heart holes
White sheeps can’t survive
In a world of wolves
Little boy became cold
Little girl a wolf
Words lost their brightness
They became dull
Mama don’t be sad
Don’t cry anymore
I was made for darkness
This is where I belong
Copyright © Vasiliki Tsergoula | Year Posted 2024
In this vast void of existence, we stand,
Hearts bleeding out, met with the back of a hand.
Alone we stagger in life's endless night,
Chasing shadows, devoid of respite.
We drift, lifeless shells, in an aimless march,
Haunted by silence, under heaven's starched arch.
Bound by ancestral chains, heavy and severe,
I ache for release, for the end to draw near.
We're tethered to a world that cares not for our strain,
Our essence cast into the void, our struggles in vain.
Directionless, we flounder between high and nether,
In life's cruel jest, peace is a tethered feather.
His crown, a distant whisper of hope’s demise,
In its absence, our worth under leaden skies.
I'd embrace the void for a sliver of right,
Than bask in the hollow glow of the commonplace light.
For in the pursuit of that elusive spark,
I find solace in the embrace of the dark.
A sinner's waltz, a hollow, echoing song,
In the dance of despair, is where we belong.
Copyright © Trent Vecchiarino | Year Posted 2024
“She is mine”
The words of the Duke spoke heavy over his dine
The shocked face of the girl was evident
The love in their hearts was non-resident
Did she have a choice?
How could she speak over her father’s voice?
Should she rejoice?
She watched her sister’s foot ebb away
Being bound, to make a man’s way
Would she also stray?
His gaze pinned on her
Her new dear.
Her world, now a blur.
Does her choice matter?
Or will her heart scatter?
She could not hear the chatter.
Will he love her?
Or will she just be, to satisfy his pants’ stir?
Why is her brain considered an amateur?
Is it not his fault that she could not grow?
It is his fault to think she cannot have a frown on her brow.
That she could not glow.
Was she his achilles’ heel?
Or was she just a measly meal?
Or a perfect steal?
She could not stand the man
Ever since their courtship began
She knew his plan.
She knew the life that awaited her presence
Its the hell’s entrance
Misery’s Sequence.
Her labour would be much
To provide his brunch
Or perhaps his lunch?
Either way, she needs to have endurance
Without one reassurance
To provide him assurance.
And all of this because she is a woman?
Because, every month, she bleeds crimson?
Because she needs to produce a son?
The unfairness is real-
without fail.
And this shall prevail.
For a long long trail.
Copyright © Tiyasha Kar | Year Posted 2024
Life as though a tumbleweed fragile and frail
Life as though a tumbleweed a terrible trek from A to B
Life as though a tumbleweed full of loneliness confounding
Life as though a tumbleweed two together but only till the wind shifts
Life as though a tumbleweed a strong exterior but really hollow nothingness.
Life as though a tumbleweed a lacking of purpose just moving forward.
Life as though a tumbleweed Spreads its seed to bring others into its torture.
Life as though a tumbleweed sudden is the end just when the wind stops.
Life as though a tumbleweed dieing so it can be forgotten.
Copyright © Tighe Nielsen | Year Posted 2024
Storms came with their own sounds.
Songs came with their own rhythm.
Those sounds raced the heart of the lost one,
But the rhythms calmed the heart of the lonely one.
Not experiencing the task of life,
May seem joyous .
But it's indeed a great relief ,
To learn a lesson from the life experienced.
Life approaches us,
With what we are not ready for.
Reminding us,
That karma is a great demeanour.
With regrets one might decide to give up.
But with great joy one is encouraged to live up .
The beauty of life, should not stop you ,
But the unbalanced feeling should encourage you .
Though giving up may be relieving ,
Living life is a beautiful feeling.
Copyright © Thelma Abraham | Year Posted 2024
What is this atrocity,
What is this uniquely unparalleled monstrosity,
What is this element with undefined velocity,
What is this singular, peerless challenger of viscosity!
What is this implement: almost an oddity,
What is this matter, a goofy comedy?
What is this contraption; is it a commodity?
What is this apparatus - is it for cosmology?
Why, this foolish widget is a philosophy,
Though it is nothing more than a frivolity.
Why this subject is a gossipy,
That is an answer... just in paucity!
Why this entity is... just a curiosity.
That this item exists; there should be a policy!
Copyright © Tariq Tayebi | Year Posted 2024
God,
I feel the water gather
And I pray not to fail
Copyright © Tabatha Adams | Year Posted 2024
In awe, I welcome Thor with utmost glee.
The powerful celestial force set free
amongst the hills and over the coarse scree.
The winds that whip and slink — the hailstones loudly clink.
Flashes segue to link — I quell the urge to blink.
My pulse quickens at the rank petrichor.
I ignore being drenched, making my soul soar,
I turn my face to the rain to taste more.
The storm will not abate — it’ll make me very late
for meeting that’ll seal fate — my destiny won't wait.
Our tempers complimenting to a T,
and search for impressive clichés in sync.
Remembering that which had gone before,
I’m quite blasé about the hot debate.
This poem was included in the 11-poem anthology dealing with hailstones, in the online publication Pick Me Up Poetry, March 2022:
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© SUZETTE SONNET—SUZNET for short (9 April 2021)
A 14-line sonnet of alternating triplets and couplets, concluding with a quatrain.
1. Rhyme scheme: aaa (b1–b2)(b3–b4) ccc (d1–d2)(d3–d4) abcd
2. The triplets are iambic pentameter [*/|*/|*/|*/|*/].
3. The rhyming couplets are iambic hexameter and include an internal rhyme, namely [*/|*/|*/—*/|*/|*/] (alexandrines).
4. Concluding with a quatrain in iambic pentameter that summarises the poem in a rhyme scheme set by the triplets and couplets.
5. The volta is at L9. OR the couplets may define pivots within the poem, ie a tilting or shifting in the mainline of thought. When the latter is employed, it needs to be uniform throughout the poem.
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LEXICON
ceraunophilia: (n) A fondness (loving) for thunder and lightning and finding them intensely beautiful.
The term is derived from the Greek ‘keraunós’, meaning lightning or thunderbolt. On the flip side, ceraunophobia may be defined as a fear of thunder and lightning.
scree: (n) a mass of small stones that form a slope on a mountain.
segue: (v) 1. (in music and film) move without interruption from one piece of music or scene to another. 2. Move or shift from one state or condition to another.
petrichor: (adj) it describes how rain makes the hot ground smell at the first rains.
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2021
The Closed Door
Shut the door
Locked it tight
Kept at bay
All that will ignite
The flame inside
Barely a flicker in sight
There is no silence
Behind the door
For the voices of my thoughts
Are loud and worn
Too many voices yell at me
Telling me what should or shouldn’t be
Is there wisdom behind these voices?
Or are they just critics of choice
My desire is to lock them out
Allow me to discover what I am about
Too much to ask at this date
However; it is dangerous to hesitate
Knock all you want
I will not answer your call
Leave me be
Until I decide to stand or fall
Copyright © Susan Rigo | Year Posted 2020
So you want to hear a story, first of all there is no morning glory. Your feet touch the floor its cold as ice as is the water, what a surprise.
With sleepy eyes you look for your clothes, best thing just follow your nose, they are the same ones you have had on all week.
Don't look for underpants, there are none there you never had any but you don't seem to care.
Of you go down the street, following the other kids with wrong sized shoes on my feet.
At least the classroom is nice and warm, Mr Brown is our teacher small man with glasses and a plywood suit (herring bone) he asks the same question he dose everyday, who as not had breakfast today. All the grubby hands go up in the air, we know he has biscuits to share.
At last the dinner bell rings, lets see what today's dinner brings. Cheese and onion pie with crumble to follow, wish we could have the same tomorrow. But when dinner is free, paid for by the state you eat whatever is put on your plate.
If your lucky you have a penny or two spend off to the corner shop with it's penny tray, I could buy the lot , if I had a quid to pay.
I was never good at school, especially maths, Mrs Banks said your as thick as a plank.
Leave school go down the pit, I would be lying if i said I wasn't scared a bit.
Life of a Lancashire lad tha knows, not sure it would have been the one I chose.
Copyright © Stuart Booth | Year Posted 2024
Impatiently I wait, can't you feel my ache?
Dragging on, this longing’s a heavy weight.
Do you mock me, think me a clown?
A jester's jest, just to keep you crowned?
Looking down from your throne so high,
Leading me on with a teasing sigh.
Knowing I'm here, a pawn in your game,
Yet still, foolishly, I remain the same,
Stuck in place, waiting for the King’s move.
Silly, hopeless, little me,
My play’s invisible to your eyes,
But my foolery is evident for everyone to see,
Waiting, hoping, yearning to be,
Noticed by you, my king, please let me be…
Copyright © Socky xxx | Year Posted 2024
You are my heart
you are my soul
you are my life
you are my beauty
because of you I am in this world
because of you I can see this world
you can make me a flower
who has good smell
you can make me a cactus
who has sharp spines
I am lucky to have parents like you
this was only enough that you brought me in this world
thanks for the love
which you both are giving me
you are ethereal
your love is eternity
but I am barmy
and still you call me a star
you love me, you cherish me, you protect me
thanks for everything you gave me
Copyright © Shiksha Upadhyay | Year Posted 2024
Dimmissed, defective, unimportant,
Discounted, unworthy,
Unnoticed, undervalued,
Guilt-ridden, under-employed,
Underpaid, misunderstanding,
Unempathetic, overwhelmed,
Under duress, under siege,
Over-whelmed,
Over-dose, undertaker, underground
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Copyright © Shane Dickie | Year Posted 2024
The day comes to an end and night draws near
Where the shadows are cast but vision is clear
The sun fights back with a vibrant show
With colors on the horizon that don't want to go
The beautiful death that is the light
In an ever ending circle there is a constant fight
Where light and shadow try to win
If only they would see they are truly kin
Light and dark like a canvas in the sky
Beautiful art without having to try
Together they spar creating elegance in their wake
I am forever grateful for the beauty my eyes take
Copyright © Seth Poorman | Year Posted 2024