Mute Gods
what do gods
generally talk
among themselves?
do they laugh
at the human foolishness?
amused at how they are
outsmarted by them?
i can never decipher
the language they express
in birth and death
the sound of sighs
that reach them from the earth
how do they absorb?
how do they?
my empty hands rise in muted sorrow
towards the invisible abodes
like those habitual waves in the sea
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Hand
First Love's Touch,
mutual gathering was only through them,
our Hands.
We poets celebrate
Hearts and Souls;
Love too wields magic,
but neglect too often
those stalwart two-
the human hands-
we're birth'd with.
Entwined most
in our Corporeal Destinies
yet hands occupy
in the Pantheon of Graces
a position lower than should be.
Consider birth's first
is a touching hand.
First our eyes open
then
we are lifted by them.
Is not reaching for love
first with these twins?
Was not my First Love
first touched by them?
Did we not, we two, hold hands
along the heart-way walkways?
Did not these two first wave
sweet hellos and partings?
What poet's mind could word
without them?
Alas, too, it was these two
which fluttered dismissively
signaling
First Love was leaving.
At death's bed
the last we reach
for nurse, loved ones
or darlings,
with be with these two hands,
when from this world departing.
Is not electricity
generated by them
in the touching of our bodies?
Are not hands reaching on the Grecian Urn
expressing love's startings,
it's yawlings and yearnings?
I will die
as we all will-
its hands that will pray for me.
Coffin bound
I will lay,
my two hands crossing.
I am touched by loving hands
from birth
to Death's Regarding.
All my life these two ambassadors
convey
sweet touches
to me and from me
to others.
The tear of child
is reached by these
and Child Worlds mended.
Lover, I
have only these
to express what
what my Heart says
Love Is.
In the end
cry for them too:
Fluttering Twins,
unsung,
ungraced,
each hand-
perforce
will reach out
one to each-
one floating flower to another.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The days went through far too many faces
the days went through far too many faces
and all the cards dealt in a game of prey
slipped through the hands
like leaves through the boughs
to reach the bottom pit
and a pendulum sound
the houses went through far too many doors
and closed their windowed eyes ushered stricken blue
a twin handful of earth ancestor I found
to reach the bottom pit
and a pendulum sound
the murders took place in the streets of devil
that spoke in a language foreign known to none
detected on a track of an evolution crown
to reach the bottom pit
and the pendulum sound
an we drank our wines not knowing their names
floated in the casks down the poisoned rivers
built ourselves in walls air lost in the ground
to reach the bottom pit
and the pendulum sound
Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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To R.E.K.
Dear, rash, warm-hearted friend.
So careless of the end,
So worldly-foolish, so divinely-wise,
Who, caring not one jot
For place, gave all you'd got
To help your lesser fellow-men to rise.
Swift-footed, fleeter yet
Of heart. Swift to forget
The petty spite that life or men could show you :
Your last long race is won.
But beyond the sound of gun
You laugh and help men onward — if I know you.
Oh still you laugh, and walk,
And sing and frankly talk
(To angels) of the matters that amused you
In this bitter-sweet of life,
And we who keep its strife,
Take comfort in the thought how God has used
you.
poem by Frederick William Harvey
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Birth And Death
Birth and death, twin-sister and twin-brother,
Night and day, on all things that draw breath,
Reign, while time keeps friends with one another
Birth and death.
Each brow-bound with flowers diverse of wreath,
Heaven they hail as father, earth as mother,
Faithful found above them and beneath.
Smiles may lighten tears, and tears may smother
Smiles, for all that joy or sorrow saith:
Joy nor sorrow knows not from each other
Birth and death.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Muted
I spend most waking day
with a muted voice
listening to others chatter.
My world is a silent refrain
ignored by all around me.
I watch and I listen
but no sound do I utter.
I walk as invisible
to all that surround me
and only the empty walls
know how my world feels
in my shell of silence.
poem by David Harris
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Conversations With Hune (Part Two)
does rain fall,
or does the earth rise?
is the moon the mistress of the sun?
do trees mourn when leaves fall?
do mountains dance when the earth is sleeping?
do wars express man's heart?
are they blood sacrifices to man's fears?
are the gods men worship
merely extensions of their selves...
be the self the disease,
or the cure?
does love always demand crucifixion?
and who is it that we crucify?
is the darkness of night
any different than the light of day?
who wrote the book
before there were words?
the more alike we are
the more we hate!
do we worship birth by killing?
are we then fools to define the wind?
much less try to hold it!
hands were made to be open,
yet we always grasp.
we are born to die,
yet we are afraid!
of what?
time itself much like sand...
always shifting,
and hiding footprints!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Encircled Triage
Life is an empty abode
Built on the verge of
An invisible road
Leading to perpetual death
Muted in an eternal mode
Deprived of an omen
Or a node
Red, yellow, green
Encircled in a triadic universal code.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Sound of the Waves
The sound of the waves
Is the sound of the Earth
As it talks with the Moon
In the waters of birth
poem by Egal Bohen
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See sum I know sure
his sound's sighs keys high waves rise
outside all insight
on Spring dreams' tidal surf swirl
yet he still fails to see me
tanka by Jonathan Robin (23 June 2012)
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To Helen
(After Valery)
O Sea! ... 'Tis I, risen from death once more
To hear the waves' harmonious roar
And see the galleys, sharp, in dawn's great awe
Raised from the dark by the rising and gold oar.
My fickle hands sufficed to summon kings
Their salt beards amused my fingers, deft and pure.
I wept. They sang of triumphs now obscure:
And the first abyss flooded the hull as if with falling wings.
I hear the profound horns and trumpets of war
Matching the rhythm, swinging of the flying oars:
The galleys' chant enchains the foam of sound;
And the gods, exalted at the heroic prow,
E'en though the spit of spray insults each smiling brow,
Beckon to me, with arms indulgent, frozen, sculptured,
and dead long long ago.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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An Elegy of Myself
As I was going
About the school in my
Habitual way I was almost
Rendered to dust by a van
Coming my way.
And had I left this earth?
Thus spake at my funeral the friend, Stuart:
'He was so bold and oh so proud
of his Norwegian links... and never
seemed to be satisfied with our
government inept. He was a
loving one, despite his dark heart,
and he was always prepared to
laugh, even if it was on his part.
But now he has been confided in
the soil which gave him birth,
interred now indefinitely into this sacred earth.
I'm sure he would get angry now,
I'm sure in fact he'd scream,
as we did not bury him in his hometown,
but just in the local cemetary'
I am glad I am living.
poem by Juergen Himmelstoff
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John of Forde, His Exculpation
What I say and what I write
may seem to you – may seem to me –
as foolishness and folly; for
I talk of boundless things, and of infinity;
which by their nature, are beyond
the human mind, the human pen;
should I then not and never speak of such?
Or are these boundless things
just what mankind should talk about –
seeking the laws of atoms, or of space, only
to find the boundlessness yet further off
than men of yesteryear believed?
and if I talk and write – beside those things
invisible as once the surface of the Moon –
then, of the boundlessness of love - which is yet bound
into Creation’s very substance – and
those other boundless things which seem to us
to be Creation's - even the Creator’s - very nature…
then my exculpation is but simply this:
the motive force for what I write,
the theme of what I write, which is
my boundless love for you, for all,
demands, must win, forgiveness
from Boundlessness itself…
there is no more, there is no less
than love, which is true boundlessness.
[adapted from Sermon 43 of John of Forde,1145-1214]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Our Thoughts Extend From Us To Reach
Our thoughts.
Actions.
And our deeds from us released...
Reflect,
Not only our expectations...
But express as an investment,
None of us should perceive...
Decreases in value.
Our thoughts,
Whether believed faithfully or not...
To be shared as spoken,
Instills...
Significant influence.
As if a seed implanted,
Within a mind open and listening.
Evaluating content.
What was said.
Who said what.
And how what was said to whom...
Has its effectiveness.
Like the Sun coming to rise upon the horizon.
That same Sun sets.
Like a leaf attached to the branch of a tree.
That tree provides all connected to it with nourishment.
And it is rooted...
Grounded,
To the Earth.
This Earth.
Our Earth.
Much like our thoughts...
Extend from us to reach!
Much like our thoughts...
Extend from us to reach!
Much like our thoughts...
Extend from us to reach!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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For The Wounded Womb
There he is like the ocean
Holding an empty shell
Empty shell filled with
God’s food
That every lovable things on earth would live
a day more to taste.
It’s not the food you eat has love
It’s not love you have is adored
Palate of life
We mix it with pain and pleasure.
Tears, sweat, blood…
all ooze out from the vein of Hard work…
How can things unseen and invisible
Can be so true
Can be so rooted
here I see this beautiful earth
everything merged through these invisible forces
like a blind man see the colours of life
and weave his own colour…
red through green, green through blue
burns the angst for not being able to see…
but creates these are the colours he creates…
and lay before us the senses to feel…
Blooming into every man’s beauty
Farer man sing evening songs
We wait for another morning…
I licked through the plate of food
Gulping down my thirst and hunger
Just like a hungry begging human on street
I lived for the food that comes from some distant land
And an unknown lover make it
And an unknown lover taste it
A fistful of food…
Opens her empty hands
She lives
She learns to live
She learns to eat
The passion of eating through
What I yearn to see one day
Your hands feeding a hungry mother
In the corner of a silenced street.
Cuddling the child of love
Heals a mother’s wounded womb…
Here he is like the ocean…
Holding the empty shell
Empty shell filled with
God’s food…
poem by Lovita J R Morang
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Fear Of Death
Wake up in fear all you who don't know
there's more behind the material glow
you know it's the sinners who we adore
and some of us die while they still do ignore
It seams we are slaves of the fear of death
foolishness directs us till morn
don't want to be defeated, no
but we are, but we are,
from the second we are born.
Don't you talk to the raven
in a frightful night he's sure to appear,
you might talk to the devil
in a frightful night the fear of death,
the fear of death is near.
What we can't see is what we have to believe
call the foreign dimension finally to earth
more than we know appears in a dream
disappears into space a taste of rebirth
don't, don't want to be defeated no
but we are, but we are,
in the second we are born.
song performed by by Zed Yago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I See You But You Don't See Me
i am invisbile
i have the powers handed to me by the gods
to be invisible
on this site to have many faces to have many
forms and colors and
dispositions
beyond gender
beyong boundaries
religion, beliefs, beyond what you ordinarily call
poetry
i am invisible to anybody's closed eyes
narrow alleys
i have wings i can always fly
i have horns i can always bully each
one of you here
you do not see me
but i always see you
when you fall
it will be my poetry
that will stop the falling
when you melt
it will be my poetry
that will solidify you
the gods the gods
they must have cursed me
i am always invisible
even to myself
i touch but i do not feel
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Language Of Love
Some spend their time in conversation
They just talk and talk all day
But theres a sweeter situation, and
Its just a touch away
One kiss can say all that we need to say
Dont have to tell me you care
The message gets through
With the things youre doing
When were alone in the dark, you speak
To my soul, talk to my heart
In the language of love, we say everything
Every time that we touch we say so much
In the language of love, nothing says it better
Than when were talking together
Touch by touch in the language of love
In the language of love
This love dont need no explanation
We understand just fine, oh baby
Got heart to heart communication
I tell ya thats the sweetest kind
I love the way your body talks to mine
You can just look in my eyes to know that its
Real cause we go by feeling
We dont need words to express whats in our hearts we say it best
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joys
There are some joys within this world,
which words can never express.
The miracle of witnessing the birth
of another human being.
The forever love of two in whom
no raging storms can ever part.
The holding in your hands
the carefully crafted book of your own.
These are just some of the joys
that there are no words to fully express.
They are feeling on you can feel
and joys only you know.
poem by David Harris
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Dead Poets... In The Night
dead poets visit me in the night....
we walk the darkened hollow streets.
talking softly, or not at all....
listening to the sounds of darkness.
doors closed, curtains pulled;
those who can, sleep....
and lovers wrapped inside each other
talk in a language known only by gods.
while the broken ones stumble by,
the sound of their weeping heavy,
and cold as the night....
clouds race across the moon
leaving scars on the homeless and hungry.
young women cry out giving birth
to the screech of the owl....
churches stand empty and sterile.
the suicides and the penitents
go about their business quickly.
we stand on the corner of doubt and hope,
brothers and sisters in arms.
raise the last bottle, light a smoke....
and wait, shivering, for the endless dawn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fogging Up The Windows
the sound of a small child crying
hungry in the night
of a young woman sleepless
waiting for daylight
the sound of church bells ringing
not too far away
the sound of an old man dying
remembering how to pray
the sound of two hearts breaking
a thousand miles apart
of the last tear a fallin'
unseen in the dark
the sound of lifetimes wasted
of a love that didnt last
the sound of memories forgotten
of a time already past
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
the sound of the nails driven
into His screaming hands
the sound of salvation
entrusted to a man
the sound of bodies falling
of buildings swept by flame
the sound of different voices
whose souls are the same
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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