Pondering Upon A Nebula
Lost in the mirror of the sea
and its engulfing eddies
you rolled like a bucket of pearls
chasing a galloping stallion
bleak and white in the night
frothing for a remedial absolution
A stellar soused in yellow flame
skins and bones intertwined with
the frailty of the gods above
you whispered the undecipherable
at the cicatrix of the heart
Like a child in a labyrinth
you flounder in the back of the wind
winding through the streetlamps
rising in the fall of the sun
and all these stagnant trees
passing messages in secrecy
left us rooted in their irony
Your etude left me
with a hunger for your light
Have I failed you
with my sporadic meandering?
In this night where the hellhounds
slavers to a close direst
I reached for your waning coruscation
behind the distant clouds
like a pearl slowly sinking
in the bottomless ocean
poem by Norman Santos
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By The Seaside : Twilight
The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.
But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,
And a little face at the window
Peers out into the night.
Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes
Were looking into the darkness,
To see some form arise.
And a woman's waving shadow
Is passing to and fro,
Now rising to the ceiling,
Now bowing and bending low.
What tale do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, bleak and wild,
As they beat at the crazy casement,
Tell to that little child?
And why do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, wild and bleak,
As they beat at the heart of the mother,
Drive the color from her cheek?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Pawned Valiance
I apologize to the quantum leaps
That eloped in a bereavement
Lambasting from prejudice
And deluging the tolerance
But as I cussed the rain
Frothing white noises
In a fragile night
I left a cut open
To be dabbed
Hoping to recuperate
From the mendaciloquent fall
Of these sharp shrilling crystals
As I bend backwards
The slope of yesterday
Farther than the impasse
Shrouding the bleeding fear
I know I only wished
That the ancient stones break
Into the celestial pardon
Of the incommunicable things
Drowned from all the poison
And drained from all the blood
But I just cannot vie another foot
To your verdure for I am a holocaust
Festering all that I conquered
Good night, and do not go
Gentle into this good bye
And ripple with my pawned valiance
No more undertone
I only wished for your delight
I only wished for the absolution
Spangling in your goblet
Soused in light
Never mind
What was not
Brought unto the light
poem by Norman Santos
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The Making of a Prince III: A Star Knew My Name
In the taut sky for circumnavigation
Distracted by a harlequin moon
Her abode was ensconced and shivers
By the thorny lights it produce
A yellow coruscation,
A livid fornication
Of rapture and desolation
The nights owns her
And her lubricious light
But she didn't know how
To emancipate herself
From the strangulations
Of her tethering flaws
If only she knew, if only she knew
How bright she was
Because of her struggles
I spoke to her like a dozing child
When I left the King
As he built his grand kingdom,
When Sybella was assailed far
Aided by my winnows,
I spoke to her and heed
A chance for myself
Even though I knew that
She has her stellar deaths
Regardless, I spoke to her
With all my burdens
And her light didn't err
Never falter, never quake,
She was a strident fire
When she is given a place
Her stardust fell without riddance
With a prolix simplicity in her radiance
And she spoke to me, she spoke to me
Of my name:
A little prince
With a leonine heart
"Steadfast" she say
"For we understand"
And I caught her
Believing in her words
Shining past
The dark foliage of clouds
A stellar knew my name
And I have expanded my dominion
Into the delusive night sky.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Window
All night long, by a distant bell,
The passing hours were notched
On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell,
And the spark of life I watched
In her face was glowing or fading, -- who could tell? --
And the open window of the room,
With a flare of yellow light,
Was peering out into the gloom,
Like an eye that searched the night.
Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you fear?
"I see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear:
Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, that wave in the night-wind's breath,
And low in the leafy laurels the larking shadow of death."
Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird
Told of the passing away
Of the dark, -- and my darling may have heard;
For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray
Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word,
Till the splendor born in the east outburned
The yellow lamplight, pale and thin,
And the open window slowly turned
To the eye of the morning, looking in.
Oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so bright?
"I see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white,
With the rose of life on her tips, and the breath of life in her breast,
And the arms of God around her as she quietly takes her rest."
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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The Road Away The Night
The night perched on its favorite peak
To let down the pall of oblivion and
Murmur temptations into the wind
It's reedy voice swept and perforated
The euphonious singing of the stars
Like a dissonant violent string it shrilled
And shattered the taut smile hoisted
In the harlequinade that comforted
This pilfered parcel of direst and slosh
The aqueous blood of the saline sea
Where the memories drowned struggling
These convoluted meandering that lead
In a rendezvous with death's scythe
Is starting to outnumber the plethora
Of my night terrors and day dreams
And the shadow of my blinded fears
Is starting to blend into the thin walls
That rectifies my ebbing faults and sin -
I am lost in this aimless wandering.
Walking upon this slivers of rues and regrets
And slathered with the profound burning
Of these salty tears of absolution and bereft,
I conspired for my salvation, and still
The only wisp of light in the firmament
And the only peace roving in the air
Was the same treason in these veins -
The liberation to this labyrinth
Is another sweet immolation
Perhaps, the night will always fall
And her phantoms will always call
The vultures will fence my sleep hoping
That I may finally found the valiance
To face the black demise of the night
But with my complacent obduracy
Perhaps I will endure this walk with time
And the scars will fade, but not your face
And the sun would sink, but not my yearning
And the night will wan with all her demons
But not the trepidation in trampling
In the sweetest treacherous roads.
poem by Norman Santos
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The War Of Colors Is Here Again
in my seven thousand islands
and some more
rising islands
the war of the colors have just
began and soon will end
there is the green of the
raw mango,
there is an orange of the
the sunset
there is the yellow of the sun
there are purples
and reds and whites
pearls and emeralds and rubies
multifaceted diamonds
soon this will be over
but i have a nice dream about the yellow sun
emerging
dissolving corruption away
shine yellow sun shine
fade orange fade
fall green, fall like a premature leaf
i could have loved the pearl
but it is deep down the ocean floor
where it is destined to be
mustache go away
please come back another day!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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NO more SUNSHINE
A new morning arrives but I can't see the sun rise.
All I see is the darken clouds in my light-less skies.
Heavy rain pours down from the clouds on my worn surface
Lighten strike thunder roars another hard hit to embrace
Wind so bitter my skins feel like it's being slice with a razor blade
Everything is being up rooted by the wind that won't fade
I am hold on for life but I seen no end to this destructive force
It's not a known storm; no weather man could've seen the source
It's more like a predator/a carnivore and I'm the main course
Eating at my heart and soul nothing left no remorse
It's the darkness of storm on my most terrifying of days
I prefer my skin get slice repeated with Chicago wind's razor blade
No more tears can fall from these dark clouds of this rain storm
I must accept this faith/find my shelter, and move on
It's easy for me to say now but without you my divine
I feel the rest of my days I will have NO more SUNSHINE
poem by LoKis White
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They Say The Gods Are Here
on earth
they say the gods are here
and i look at
each on each face
and they do not
look at all
different than me
or you and i touch their skins
and feel that they too have
bones much like
our own brittleness
but they say they are gods
and i am but a very
insignificant flicker
dust
atom invisible to the
importance of themselves
i get lost
and they get lost &
at the end
i have no respect left
or sense of awe
or ardor
for adoration of whatever
sacred name
they put on their breasts
or name tags
on their foreheads
holy cow! i tell myself
what the hell! i curse the wind
what a mess! i type at the end
of the haggle
must i be wrong
correct me if you may
for i have mistaken them
as myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lost To Your Love
When we first met, I was lost
Lost in the deep moonlight ocean
That I found in his eyes
When we first met, I was lost
Lost in the pale pink rose
That I found resting upon his cheek
When we first met, I was lost
Lost in the light brown bark of a tree
That I found on his skin
When we first met, I was lost
Lost in the pearls
That I found just underneath those perfect lips
When he left, I was lost
Lost in a whole new way
No more deep blue eyes
No more pink roses
No more perfect pearls
And when he left, I was lost
Lost in the sorrow
That I found in my heart
poem by Chidiebere Franklin
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Morning Splendour
Sunrise like fire,
bleeding pink, orange, yellow
into the sky and
onto the buildings below.
Rapids of cloud run with colour,
chasing the anonymous dark emptiness of night,
engulfing it almost imperceptibly.
Trees become silhouettes against the light.
Soon the beauty will fade to ordinary,
dispersed across the vast expanse above. Yet
it will gather again on the other side,
collecting yellow, orange, pink as the sun sets.
poem by Jean Renwick
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The Day And Night Become Me
Dancing to appease the gods of my own creation
I find myself lost within the appreciation of the moment
What could I have to resent? To regret?
When here and now and rising still I am one with the
Melody cast adrift from strumming strings in harmony?
The butterfly flaps its wings?
I cast shadows upon lighter plains with the rhythm electric and fueled,
Fueled alike the new sap rising to Apollo's kiss.
Towards to horizon wavering.
We are as princes amongst men, Titans upon the shoulders of the world
Bearing the weight of expectation only from ourselves.
The night is a corridor winding
The promise of dawn an un sung song
I am born within the day
The day is an open field
The promise of twilight an unknown bliss
I am born within the night
The day and night become me
And I am one within them
Speak wind of what you know I ask of thee?
Do you remember the child’s voice beckoning you to turn away the clouds of Winters retinue?
poem by David Lacey
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Finding
From the candles and dumb shadows,
And the house where love had died,
I stole to the vast moonlight
And the whispering life outside.
But I found no lips of comfort,
No home in the moon's light
(I, little and lone and frightened
In the unfriendly night),
And no meaning in the voices. . . .
Far over the lands and through
The dark, beyond the ocean,
I willed to think of you!
For I knew, had you been with me
I'd have known the words of night,
Found peace of heart, gone gladly
In comfort of that light.
Oh! the wind with soft beguiling
Would have stolen my thought away;
And the night, subtly smiling,
Came by the silver way;
And the moon came down and danced to me,
And her robe was white and flying;
And trees bent their heads to me
Mysteriously crying;
And dead voices wept around me;
And dead soft fingers thrilled;
And the little gods whispered. . . .
But ever
Desperately I willed;
Till all grew soft and far
And silent . . .
And suddenly
I found you white and radiant,
Sleeping quietly,
Far out through the tides of darkness.
And I there in that great light
Was alone no more, nor fearful;
For there, in the homely night,
Was no thought else that mattered,
And nothing else was true,
But the white fire of moonlight,
And a white dream of you.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Peace Like A River
My peace is like a river
Winding slowly to the sea
My heart is deeper than the ocean
Filled with love He gave to me
Oh love that knows no ending
Rise up and set me free
I shall sail forever on this ocean
Forever, ever closer unto thee
Fill my sails oh precious Jesus
Wind of the Spirit propel me on
Over seas of tranquil beauty
To the horizon and beyond
I have sailed through stormy waters
When all my days had turned to night
I have sailed though windless days
Often tempted, tired, and no more fight
Sometimes the sun it seems to set
And we fight the rising tide
Of fear and darkness and regret
Yet thou art always by my side
So sail on my heart, to journey's end
Sail on into the night
And neither wind nor rain nor stormy seas
Shall diminish the morning light
poem by Frank McEleny
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The Glow In My Eyes Just The Same
It’s the light not to touch might bruise the heart
Glittering drops revealed in pearls
Grasshopper feast for an endless leap
Wind swept caressing beautiful morning
Of coming so close never to return
The beams soft rising rising from hands
It’s the light not to touch might bruise the heart
Might ruin the whole within a song
The final breathing of all the mists
In clouds raising thorns
In clouds growing flowers
Wind swept caressing beautiful morning
Of coming so close never to return.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Reflections On A Storm
There was a calm felt before the storm
and also some uneasiness in every form
a hushed anticipation of what was soon to be
perhaps a fateful outcome of each one’s destiny.
During this time it became very dark and foreboding
that everything around lost all its charm and standing.
Suddenly there were flashes of lightning and clashes of thunder,
which rolled from the clouds, seen and heard by all there under.
Then a strong wind blew and a heavy rain began to fall
lashing onto everything around as it turned into a squall.
As the tempest raged on in a crescendo and reached its peak;
turning day into night and night into day, all seemed so bleak.
There many creatures all scampered and sought the safety of shelter,
out of the maelstrom unleashed by nature, in a state of helter-skelter.
They all knew their places when it came to that threat of danger;
out of harms reach they tried to flee even if it was with a stranger.
After the storm had spent all its fury and slowly subsided
a calm settled in again which had lately just been divided.
And all appeared to have been molested and somewhat shaken
as light broke through the clouds to make that day re-awaken.
While the storm in its wake seemed to have wreaked much devastation
the forces which had come into play reminded one of the act of creation,
when those seeds of life were implanted ages ago at the very beginning,
causing all things to gradually spring into existence with some meaning.
poem by George Krokos
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On Some White Corpuscles
your teeth are yellow and you say these are healthy teeth
you must envy
these yellow teeth
your eyes are happy, they are smiling till the last day,
and you are proud saying
look, these are happy eyes why not take a picture
of them and copy them
to be your eyes,
your skins are tight and you are too very proud of them
these skins hold my bones and there are no rattlings
in the house of your body
then i ask what is your problem then, why you too
take the walks in the morning?
you said your hemoglobin count is low and you sometimes
faint and your lover is worried always taking you limp
in his arms when you kiss in the dark,
i see, this kind of thing to a man of your lifetstyle,
i need not ask if you have been taking large doses
from his white corpuscles,
from the cartilage between his legs,
something too personal you say
there is no envy somehow
you close your mouth hiding your yellow teeth
with some sauce still
about to dry on the gums,
last night, you say, was the best night you ever had,
something new
fresh and you are frank enought to admit
something that you always eat
and swallow
will not last you a life time
love to you, is always, a temporary, fleeting thing,
a fact too tight like your skin
holding all your dangling bones
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Morning
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing left to give
Nothing more in you
Nothing else to have or hold
Nothing left, but time to go
Time to go
Years go by
Didn't really say that much at all
And moments just fly
Didn't ever really touch at all
Weeks always run down
Didn't really get that close at all
And days, days fall out
Didn't ever really know at all
And then we're here in a room too clean and too bright
She stares at you for an hour
You stare into the light
For one last hour in the room
So mean and so white
I stare at her in this room as she stares into the night
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing left to ask
Nothing more of you
Nothing else to share or show
Nothing left but time to go
In his eyes as we turn no eternity of life
In his eyes as we turn no infinity of why
In his eyes as we turn no beautiful goodbye
In his eyes as we turn...nothing but tears
In his eyes as we turn...nothing but tears
(spoken:) I couldn't understand too much of what was being said
In a matter of minutes
Peacefully so slow
I had to think to breathe
My heart burst
We moved in silence really slowly away from the world
As we drove a strange silence
That moment
Nothing will ever be the same
Nothing will ever be the same
Nothing will ever be the same
Days fall out
Weeks always run down
Moments just fly
Weeks go by
And then we're here
And then we're here in a room too clean and too bright
I stare at you for an hour
You stare into the light
For one last hour in the room so mean and so white
You stare at me in this room as I stare into the night
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing more to take
Nothing more from you
Nothing else to need or know
There's nothing left at all...but time to go
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Single Sound I Listen To; Patience.
Asphyxiated with filthy airs and warmth.
Not knowing and unable to recognize freshness no longer.
Every single day and night..
Smothered by pungent consisting filth and warmth.
Every single day and night.
Engulfed by the filthy filth surrounding my space between anxiety and worries.
Every single day and night.
Adding up to hopeless believing.
Beliefs in oneself to stay strong to survive.
Every single day and night.
Irony, irony, irony.
Nothing comes nothing goes.
Everything comes, nothing left.
Every single day and night, it attacks.
With such might i didnt possess which i wish i did.
Trying to calm my tears rather than my nerves.
Calming my tears and holding back my nerves.
Holding back my tears and calming my nerves.
Calming those tears and holding back my nerves.
Holding back my tears and calming my nerves down.
Deprived.distort.discontinoushit.
Eve ry single day and night.
Patience rooted deep in my head.
Rooted deep in my brain; patience.
Patience in this brain for this filth i breathe.
Patience in this brain excites this filth and triggers the angst.
Every single day and night.
Wisdom to enrich intelligence.
Wisdom to empower failure of being cheated.
Cheated over the matter of time.
Patience once again present for the time.
Every single day and night.
Distracted by comfort of souls.
Closely souls in my heart and in my eyes.
Converse vivaciously.
Souls that lingers almost 20 hours of my time.
Every single day and night.
Every single day and night.
Every single day of nights' day.
Patience.
Pays off.
Every single time.
poem by NurWilmy Francis
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Death Of The Kapowsin Tavern
I can't ridge it back again from char.
Not one board left. Only ash a cat explores
and shattered glass smoked black and strung
about from the explosion I believe
in the reports. The white school up for sale
for years, most homes abandoned to the rocks
of passing boys--the fire, helped by wind
that blew the neon out six years before,
simply ended lots of ending.
A damn shame. Now, when the night chill
of the lake gets in a troller's bones
where can the troller go for bad wine
washed down frantically with beer?
And when wise men are in style again
will one recount the two-mile glide of cranes
from dead pines or the nameless yellow
flowers thriving in the useless logs,
or dots of light all night about the far end
of the lake, the dawn arrival of the idiot
with catfish--most of all, above the lake
the temple and our sanctuary there?
Nothing dies as slowly as a scene.
The dusty jukebox cracking through
the cackle of a beered-up crone--
wagered wine--sudden need to dance--
these remain in the black debris.
Although I know in time the lake will send
wind black enough to blow it all away.
poem by Richard Hugo
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A Flower In The Summer Sky
a pink flower
across the open sky
a beautiful sunrise
a night sky vanished
a beauty hazed by yellow rays
gone too soon
gone too soon..
the flower embrace
embraced me with warmth
it was there
though 'was faint
heard the wind
heard it said
'i did'
heard it said
'did you? '
i whispered
whispered softly
whispered to it
whispered..
'..with all my heart.'
inspired and for a flower in the clouds during a beautiful summer, when you had stolen my heart.