My Paparazzi friend with his Nikon camera
He brings me a Photograph
Half cut Papaya fruit with its seeds
And he wants me to write something underneath
For his Photographic Exhibition.
I scribbled;
'Oh! This undernourished poor Mom!
How she bore such myriad infants
in her tiny Womb and who knows
Whether they become fair Citizen or strange Politicians?
*Humbly to a matured poetess Sri Devi in gratitude!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Fish Oil
'Darling!
This may reduce
Coronary
Heart
Disease
Risk! '
'But
When you're angry
You said that
I do not have a Heart.'
Like a fish
She slips into the Kitchen.
Oh! Life's an Aquarium.
* Humbly to the matured poetess Sri Devi!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Strange Tales, Strange Tails
Strange tales,
Scribbled on a uniform
Strange tails,
Scribbled down in cuneiform.
It had been written,
You had to get in.
You know a catll play,
You used to be a big mouse.
Strange tales, strange tails.
Strange tales,
Scribbled on the shelter walls.
Strange tails,
Scribbled as the idol falls.
It had been written,
You had to get in.
You know a catll play,
You used to be a big mouse.
Strange tales, strange tails
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strange Tales, Strange Tails
Strange tales,
Scribbled on a uniform
Strange tails,
Scribbled down in cuneiform.
It had been written,
You had to get in.
You know a catll play,
You used to be a big mouse.
Strange tales, strange tails.
Strange tales,
Scribbled on the shelter walls.
Strange tails,
Scribbled as the idol falls.
It had been written,
You had to get in.
You know a catll play,
You used to be a big mouse.
Strange tales, strange tails
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A street child writes in the book of life!
Nobody inquires
My beautiful name,
My bad age
And magical gender?
They realize that I am a female
When I become a small mother very soon.
I am not quite sure this zig zag road is a haven
For an Orphan?
As the massive Armoured cars pass here very often.
But my poor qualifications are not enough for Heaven
And nobody smuggles to a Palace this ugly ragged Queen?
To the poetess Angelina Pandian in gratitude!
*@10.00 A.M. today in a coin Laundry, Stanton.
O that Hispanic little girl's tiny jade talking eyes forced me to write something and I found a throw away packet of cigarettes in the trash bin and the pencil stub always stuck in my holey pocket!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The tiny Bar behind the junk yard
It's very sad to see
The cemetery of Automobiles
At the Twilight!
Like dead souls
Piled up to the sky.
A Guy comes out of the rickety gate
With an acoustic guitar
And he enters the bar.
It's full of smoke
With dim lights
And here & there
Women & Men dance.
Waiting for him to sing.
He sips a can of beer
And strums the guitar
Then started singing;
'Here's the tiny bar
Behind the junk yard
Once those beautiful cars
Ran like Jets; Yet seemed to be proud
And showed the prestige!
My life's a car
But I cannot go far
When it's not roadworthy
I have to come here
As they say I am not trustworthy!
My life is a car
Though it's roadworthy
Where can I go
If the paths were closed unanimously?
*Humbly to the poetess Vessy in gratitude!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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When I cried eagerly for the crescent Moon
I was a toddler
And still I remember
My deceased poor Mom
Gave me a big slice of Papaya.
Now I realized her unlimited love
When I count the black seeds of the fruit.
* To my dearest Mom! Sorry, I am a pauper and there is no way to publish my dream book of poetry, recently I tried few publishers in the Hell.They like to publish the anthology without a Red cent, but the only problem they say not a single head fond of reading poetry and still they struggle to fill their holey pockets with the dirty currency notes.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Devi
Sphere of a sphereless space
Shape of a shapeless grace
Metre of a metreless race
Rhythm of a rhythmless pace
Wherefrom does this soul evolve
Hey! Devi, in and around Thee revolve
Life and death in I resolve
Sin and fear, off Thee absolve
Black and dark Thee in glow
White and bright Thee in flow
Green and red Thee up grow
Pink and blossom aroma Thee sow
Timeless womb of myriad genesis
Timless tomb of final synthesis
Monotheism in polytheistic thesis
Devi, Devi of plentiful Devis
Power of powerful pervasion universal
Mother of finite multitude fertile
Why not, why not o' bountiful
I call Thee my karmic-goal
The filthy void wide within mine
Shackled devoid of pathos by grace Thine
A zing of bliss then strikes me fine
Mother! my ecstatic anthem in cosmic align!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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That Something Which Went Wrong
there is a ripe papaya
too ripe for my hold and i climb it
too weak for my body
the tree swings to the other side
and then the papaya fruit falls to the
ground
crushed
something goes wrong somewhere
something that you are about to hold
and yet crushes to the ground
looks like a vomit &
you don't want to eat it
back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Facial Expression Still A Puzzle For Me?
the green grass with dew
resembles my poor mom's smile
and still it's a dilemma
mom cries or smiles?
for the poetess Sara Fielder in gratitude!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Pickpocket
He found the King's wallet on a roadside
But it was empty and only the Queen's photograph remained.
He decided to return the wallet to the King without any failure.
What a pity?
He was sentenced to the life-imprisonment
As the King claimed all his money were there.
(I dedicate this poem to the poetess Tranquil.Ocean in gratitude.)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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That Way He had.
That way he had with words,
That tone he could produce to
Make you go weak at the knees.
You remember him; the photograph
Did it, brought him to mind. You turn
It over, see the scribbled writing on
The back. A poem he wrote, scribbled
Down. The blue has faded, the ink dried
To a death, yet the written words remain,
The message clear: he loved you, compared
You to some summer’s day, not original,
But moving in its way. Copied out of some
Book, no doubt, Shakespearean sonnet, word
For word, the meaning meant, the message
All set down. You kiss the photograph, cry,
Laugh. What a place to drown; what a place
To depart and break a heart: drunk in a bath.
poem by Terry Collett
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POET and POETESS
Poet and Poetess can write words oh so sweet.
They can make you throb inside,
make you feel the heat.
Poet and Poetess can write words oh so strong.
They can make you hurt inside,
make you feel what's wrong.
They take on love.
They take on hate.
They make your mind saturate
with tears of joy
and tears of woe
that just grab hold
and won't let go.
Poet and Poetess can write write words oh so true.
They can make you think inside,
make you think things through.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Plain Citizen Of The Republic
the government for sure
cannot survive without you plain citizen
you are taxed
that is the most certain thing that happens in your life
as plain citizen
of this republic
the property that you own
is subject to confiscation
from womb to tomb
you, plain citizen is bound with a lot of other
responsibilities
you make them rich
and give them power
you let them stay for more
than expected and they all laugh
like mad men
you do not make a stir
on the fold
the law chases you just in case
and the prison cell is crowded
so plain citizen of the republic
be good
lick them
as they suck you
pamper them
as they spare you
plain citizen you sell your right to be king
in this republic
now you sit there
and you will be next!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kiwi
Fruit without a stone, its shiny
pulp is clear green. Inside, tiny
black microdot seeds. Skin
the color of khakiImagine
a shaggy brown-green pelt
that feels like felt.
It's oval, full-rounded, kind
of egg-shaped. The rind
comes off in strips
when peeled with the lips.
If ripe, full of juice,
melon-sweet, yet tart as goose-
berry almost. A translucent ring
of seed dots looks something
like a coin-slice of banana. Grown
in the tropics, some stone
fruits, overlarge, are queerly
formed. A slablike pit nearly
fills the mango. I
scrape the fibrous pulp off with my
teeth. That slick round ball
in avocado (fruit without juice) we call
alligator pear:
Plant this seedpit with care
on three toothpicks over a glass
of water. It can come to pass
in time, that you'll see
an entire avocado tree.
Some fruits have stones, some seeds.
Papaya's loaded with slimy black beads.
Some seem seedlesslike quince
(that makes your tastebuds wince.)
Persimmon will
be sour, astringent 'until
dead ripe,' they say. Behind
pomegranate's leathery rind,
is a sackful of moist rubies. Pear,
cantaloupe, grapefruit, guava keep their
seeds hidden, as do raspberry, strawberry,
pineapple. Plum, peach and cherry
we know as fruits with big
seedstones. And fig?
Its graininess is seed. Hard to believe
is prickly durian. It's custard
sweetand smells nasty.
But there's no fruit as tasty,
as odd, or as funny
none
as fresh-off-the-vine New Zea-
land kiwi.
poem by May Swenson
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Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I watch the Snowy Mountains in Corona
Somehow you're lucky
Hugging the Snowflakes!
And I am drowning in the life's-soup boiler.
Darling Corona, We have to move again to Anaheim
That's an order from the invisible Hands
And the poor Gypsy and his beloved pack the things into cardboard boxes
Where this tiresome journey stops?
* Humbly to the poetess Fay Slimm!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Little Poem Story
A little poem telling a story about the poetess who were falling in love
A little poem smiled
She knew that the poetess was writting love words shyly
One..Two..Three.....Seven.....a lot of love words she wrote
They were beatiful, they were mysterious
A little poem felt the poetess’s emotion
The poetess was loving an awesome man deeply
A man who had filled in her absolute majority life
Like a candle in the dark., he lighted the poetess’s days
A little poem knew the poetess’s feeling
And the awesome man had to knew too
A little poem waited for that special day
One..Two..Three.....Seven...a lot of days passed
But a little poem never leafted from her place
The poetess never allowed a little poem to talked to the awesome man
The poetess leafted a little poem in her drawer
The poetess leafted her love words and nobody knew
A little poem had the blues
Love is about braveness
Love will become love when it expressed
“May be the poetess didn’t know about it”, she thought.
poem by Deasy Anggraeni
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The Austerity
My mobile phone rings twice!
I took and it's a familiar voice.
'Hey! I am close to your heart
And see I am behind you.'
I looked around but nobody's seen.
'May I know your good name please? '
'It's me your breath Catherine
And you're my poor Peter the Great.
I can see you wear a Red T shirt my poor Socialist
And a blue denim patches here & there my Capitalist Rasputin.
Not only that my Sweetheart
We missed our scanty breakfast
I can see you are without the underpant
And I saw it's on the washing basin
Darling we're poor lovers with borrowed smiles.'
I heard she laughed and she's kidding me
My beloved!
A humble dedication to the poetess Fay slimm in gratitude!
* 'True affluence is not needing anything.' -Gary Snyder
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I was so impressed with the work we were doing and I was very involved ideologically in photography - that I arranged an exhibition at the College Art Association. The first exhibition I picked the photographs and so on and we had an exhibition in New York.
Familiar voices echo from Massachusetts!
*Shani the young poetess from Massachusetts;
I dedicate this poem in gratitude to her courageous family who gave us tremendous help as same as hospitality in our hard times in the USA.
They are in-laws of my daughter.............and our friends too.
'Hello Grandma & Grandpa!
We're already here.(Grandson Siluna, Daughter Thilini & Son-in-law Chinthaka)
Our Grandson called us and he wants to know when we go there and see them?
Yes, that's our endless dream and not yet finished.
Our eldest daughter & Son-in-law, Tharindu & Kelum in Australia
When they join us and sing together?
Oh! What a great comfort?
Then one day the old couple could have rest in peace hand-in-hand quietly
With a big permanent smile for a Toothpaste advertisement!
P.S.
Sonny! America is a big ripen Orange and we're small ants.I have already quitted smoking and I want to check your poor old Grandma's piggy till that how much she has saved for the journey? Really I must have an iron wallet otherwise these tricky coloured notes would fly always.
I must mention the name of poetess from West Virginia/my life-school teacher Sandra Fowler(West Virginian Nightingale) for her devotional prayers and our utmost gratitude!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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