Wherever art appears, life disappears.
quote by Robert Motherwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunset and Sunrise
As the sun behind the horizon descends,
bestows an orange upon the sea
makes the water glitter like gold,
but suddenly this fades,
and the sun disappears
leaving a black upon the sea.
But wait! the moon appears,
a different light,
mellow upon the sea.
Now silver is the sea like spotless snows
in a pleasant delight.
A cloud then appears and the moon conceals
the light dim disappears and never returns.
Suddenly the golden sun appears
upon the sea its light once more shines.
copyright@ 1994 by Mark Anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.
poem by Mark Anthony St. Rose
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Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears there is no blissful peace until one passes beyond the agony of life and death.
Beautiful Leaves Of Autumn
Lovely memories of the Autumn
Appears once again in life
With yellow, brown, red and green
Leaves of life that scattered and survived
When bitter sweet nostalgic story of life
With shadow and shine appears
And spreads its beauty and its grace
Under which the long path of life disappears
Disappears under the joyful burden
And loads of the beautiful fallen leaves
That dance all around and sing with smiles
The lovely song of Autumn brief
For God has made this lovely season
A source of love, peace and cheer
In which we get another chance
To shed the burden of pain's layer
And this is the magical and pretty season
In which we can joyously gather sunshine
And enjoy lovely breeze that blows all around
And call it the gift and bliss of divine
For the lovely dry leaves of Autumn bring
Beautiful colors like the blooming Spring
Where red, yellow, brown and green is seen
With God's grace and love and beauty's ring.
**Inspired By the beautiful changing colors of the Autumn in Cape Breton, Canada.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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When your beard appears, childhood disappears.
The Allegory Of The Cycle Of Doors
and so there is this door that appears before you
and you open it
and then when you enter the room
another door appears
this is the cycle of doors that keep on appearing and you
keep on opening
but the room still appears from a distance
always distant
from your eager feet to enter
you say to enter the room i must please the door
but the room moves away just the same
and the door tells you
to keep the room
you have to burn it and when the room is burned
the door finally disappears
and then both the door and the room shall tell you
now be happy
for you now have a house of your own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On the other side of the blue curtain
Every day
the blue curtain appears,
unless white clouds
linen it off.
At dusk
the blue curtain,
disappears when it becomes transparent.
On the other side of the blue curtain
lies lights of ruby, sapphire and emerald
which appears in the heaven
and the black becomes full of dots
that twinkles and sparkles
and disappear
when the sun rises.
poem by Gert Strydom
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What lies on the other side of a dark moon
My darling says
look how bright is the moon
and the gold
appears on the other side,
of the window pane
where it hangs in a round ball
in the dark night.
It’s as if the stars
tonight are fading away
and every thing in the heaven,
disappears before the bright moon.
We lie on a three quarters bed
and I wonder how many kisses
are still destined for me
and her soft body,
are touching mine
while my hand
glide over her soft round curves.
Her breath tickles my neck
while the night folds around us
and when she disappears into sleep
I am still busy
watching the magical moon
and I wonder what lies on the other side
of a dark moon
and if the sky,
will then have more stars in it,
but the star
that shines the brightest to me
is still in my arms
when the moon disappears
in the early morning.
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Isn't...Is!
An isn't...
Is!
When that isn't...
Appears.
An isn't...
Is!
When that isn't...
Appears.
Cheating spouses,
Who run about...
To play a cat and mouse,
Out of the house.
Often lie,
When they can...
To hide unfaithfulness from eyes that scan.
But that isn't...
Is!
When that isn't appears.
Oh yes that isn't,
Is...
When that isn't appears!
Those downlow and attempting discreet...
Play it cheap,
While sneaking under sheets.
Be they lesbians or homos too,
Cruising darkened streets to do what they do...
To hide an isn't...
That is!
When they say what isn't,
Appears.
Oh yes that isn't,
Is...
When that isn't appears!
You can say that isn't,
Is!
When that isn't,
Appears!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lessons from the Sea
I was out one day to learn lessons from the sea.
The sea so deep and wide,
It is used to take you from place to place
It appears that nothing lies inside
My eyes can see what appears to be its end
The margin of the horizon,
But the closer I get, the end disappears
A mystery to everyone
The sea communicates with me, now and then
In a language of its own
I may never understand every word it speaks
Just like the seagulls, above it flown
The lessons learnt at sea, must be taught by the sea
For a substitute, there is One other
If there were no sea, where would the lessons be?
Only through that of my mother
A mother’s love, is like the wide open sea
That never stops to flow,
It matters not, the child you’ve been
Her love never ceases to glow
poem by Troy Brown
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In Dismal Gorge
The lost can stay lost down here,
in laurel slicks, false-pathed caves.
Too much too soon disappears.
On creek banks clearings appear,
once homesteads. Nothing remains.
The lost can stay lost down here,
like Tom Clark's child, our worst fears
confirmed as we searched in vain.
Too much too soon disappears.
How often this is made clear
where cliff-shadows pall our days.
The lost can stay lost down here,
stones scattered like a river
in drought, now twice-buried graves.
Too much too soon disappears,
lives slip away like water.
We fill our Bibles with names.
The lost can stay lost down here.
Too much too soon disappears.
Penitent for Friend Konstantin
A gentleman in every way.
A relic from a bygone day.
His clothes well cut but out of date,
in his own time a fashion plate.
He’s not as he appears to be.
He is a ghost apparently.
Always appears at half past three
then disappears mysteriously.
Though who he was nobody knows.
A gentleman judged by his clothes,
we only know he comes and goes.
Because he has to I suppose.
A visitor from long ago
Though why he comes we may not know.
Perhaps he comes to demonstrate
that once he was a fashion plate.
Maybe condemned for too much pride
a fatal flaw he could not hide.
He must display at half past three
until he learns humility
.18-Feb-09 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It Appears To Be That Way
Wait a minute.
Aren't they the same incompetent people,
Expressing with confidence...
Why they have a lack of competence?
'It appears to be that way.'
Is this the change being made,
We all can believe in?
'It appears to be that way.'
Is this the 'light',
Coming to poke holes through the darkness?
'It appears to be that way.'
Is this the rainbow that has come,
After relentless storms of anguish?
'It appears to be that way.'
Have you been affected by total disbelief,
And you are doing the best you can...
To stay on your own two feet.
And my voice you can hear,
But your consciousness has left...
To leave you unsure of your own footsteps?
'It appears to be that way.'
Hang in there.
But just don't stand planted,
To become more twisted by shifting winds.
'What are you saying?
I should be doing something else...
Other than just to hang in there?
With a going to somewhere with purpose? '
It appears to be that way.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I tour with a piano, actually. Luckily I am able to hire people that deal with it completely and magically a piano appears on stage and then magically disappears when I leave.
quote by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early In The Morning When The Sun Just Appears
Early in the morning
when the sun just appears over the hillocks,
when the guinea fowl call from the field,
then I see him
with his crooked walking stick chewing biltong
and the morning is dumb,
pure like an angel is his company;
before he disappears between the green maize stalks.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When the Light Appears
You'll bare your bones you'll grow you'll pray you'll only know
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You'll sing & you'll love you'll praise blue heavens above
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You'll whimper & you'll cry you'll get yourself sick and sigh
You'll sleep & you'll dream you'll only know what you mean
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You'll come & you'll go, you'll wander to and fro
You'll go home in despair you'll wonder why'd you care
You'll stammer & you'll lie you'll ask everybody why
You'll cough and you'll pout you'll kick your toe with gout
You'll jump you'll shout you'll knock you're friends about
You'll bawl and you'll deny & announce your eyes are dry
You'll roll and you'll rock you'll show your big hard cock
You'll love and you'll grieve & one day you'll come believe
As you whistle & you smile the lord made you worthwhile
You'll preach and you'll glide on the pulpit in your pride
Sneak & slide across the stage like a river in high tide
You'll come fast or come on slow just the same you'll never know
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Disappearing Generation
We’ve got used to the disappearance of some people,
we just worry a while and then forget, sometimes regret,
it’s merely a question of time.
But…it’s a pity when we don’t care a dime
when the whole generation disappears,
when nothing good to follow appears.
I would like to speak about the generation of women over fifty.
They are certainly not guilty, I mean, of their age,
which anyone shouldn’t accept with rage.
But today those women seldom appear on the screens, in the scenes,
they seldom visit theaters and cinema halls,
their places are occupied by young dolls.
They do not go abroad,
This trip some of them can’t afford.
But where are they?
Where do they stay?
They are in a hospital, in a market, in a flat,
little by little getting fat.
They are defenceless, often dreamless,
they do not go out, they do not shout,
they only whisper: which bread is crisper?
They are not needed by the rest
as they don’t do everything so fast.
This whole generation of women disappears
and nothing good to follow appears.
No one asks: Why? May be it’s a lie?
We shout today: Children are our future!
And what about our culture?
The generation of women over 50 disappears,
the career created on young bodies appears.
We’ve lost millions of grey haired heads
just because they are no more a lass.
China legs, drugs, habitual use of the word “f....”,
glass made eyes, no need to realize the situations,
interest in new glamour sensations.
Young bodies shout today:
Leave us alone, we do not betray.
Don’t we deserve all that?
Certainly you deserve all that
But… those women deserve more.
What do we live for?
The dreamland is full of one time women,
they can be changed like a one time syringe.
Is it normal? Isn’t it strange?
All that trivial-virtual sex
which helps, as they say, to relax.
Do you imagine a poem about such relations?
It gives me only a frustration.
We forgot about those women who gave style,
Who hated love which was just for a while.
We forgot those women who had taste
and their life was not a waste.
We forgot about those who wrote an elegant literature
forgetting to write their signature.
We forgot about those who created politicians
and they were not at all capricious.
We forgot about those who gave their lives to their husbands
because they lived on real life lands.
We are losing the sight of that generation of women
and together with them their men.
We lose those of the concrete results,
they were the first whose men went to consult.
And now I would like to ask you again: Who will remain?
Can a young body, certainly for big money, be your real honey?
Can a young body be a loving wife?
Will she fight for your life?
Of course, while watching those young bodies,
in the period of excitement,
you forget and forgive all:
their foolish heads, their foolish songs, their foolish speeches,
and at the moment it doesn’t really matter if they are bitches.
May be those young bodies are right?
Without any fight they would like to get all and at once,
They would not like to lose their chance.
They are in a hurry, they do not worry about tomorrow.
They would like to live without any sorrow.
But they forget that tomorrow will come
and together with it their age
they won’t remain on the stage
but with frustration will be added to the disappearing generation.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Pantun - bagai embun menjelma di pagi (translated into English)
bagai embun menjelma di pagi
segarkan udara terus hilang
bagai kasih tersimpan di hati
sinar menerangi kertas berlubang
like mist that appears at dawn
freshens the air and immediately disappears
like the love kept in the heart
light shining through a perforated sheet
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Poem of the Afternoon
THE POEM OF THE AFTERNOON
The poem of the afternoon
Long and drawn out
Does not know why it is written
And what its true name is.
It does not ask or answer
Remember or remain
It simply appears
And disappears
As if its writing
Were yet
One more way of
Just being in the world
And passing its light.
The poem of the afternoon
Does not know why it is
Or why it should be
But now that it is here
It looks out at the trees
Through the sun of its pages
And prepares itself to be read and reread
As if someone somewhere
Searches and sees it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Many Signs
There are many signs to be terms,
As we create the hearts and minds;
The list would be tremendous,
Suggesting the ins-and-outs of regiments.
Great seats of learning bark at terms
Of learning, as shooting appears
And the spirit of alacrity disappears
From the view of those who exist.
My opinion matters to repeaters
Who delve into other mattresses,
These quilts of comfort and joy,
That have offered service and relish.
poem by Naveed Akram
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