Dawn of Life
The unveiling of a grey liquid dawn
Sleepily I welcomed with a cheerful yawn
The eyes slowly opened to forms unfolding
Hopes soaring once more on fluttered wing!
I’m alive, a day older though, with all my sense
Exist at this moment and emotively dense
A day stretching out its red carpet
Saying, ‘come running and don’t wait’!
It may not be shaped the way I want
With pitfalls enough to draw my grunt
Yet, like all birth, the most precious gift
It has held back death, giving souls a lift!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Death Revolution
Sun, the life Giver,
Is he a life Giver?
He should be, but how?
As I think, we were a part of him
The Earth, of course
The Planet of life
But at first it was ‘Death Revolution’
As she shaped the Sun,
With hot mind and fire.
Of course, the Sun is older,
Much older, than whom?
Is there an answer?
The Earth too is old
As old as the Death Revolution
I think the Sun,
Chose the Earth, the Third
To run aside.
Slowly, slowly she came to life,
With beautiful greenery all alive
Still the sun,
Not letting down,
Burning himself, he work for all
Not as a thing
But as a guard! !
2004
© Copyright Aiswarya T Anish
poem by Aiswarya T. Anish
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You draw beautifully with your pencil
You draw beautifully with your pencil,
sketches of almost any flower and plant,
things that are alive and some things that are dead
even a woman giving birth
on the beach.
You draw beautifully with your pencil
on a table are slices of bread
with a hungry dog on the other side;
things that are alive and some things that are dead,
there are children that are wasting away from starvation
and a woman’s hand with a wedding band.
You draw beautifully with your pencil,
a sounding level going down a well
being held by a strong male hand.
Things that are alive and some things that are dead,
you sketch and sometimes it’s any thing valuable;
even people in love on a tropical island
and you draw beautifully with your pencil
things that are alive and some things that are dead.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Death - The Gift of Life
There’s nothing certain but death
Nor beyond nor before
We are born and live to die
Death the only gift of life
We fret; make noise, shout and cry
We skid from hills to valley and back
Get torn among home, work and friends
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We fight, we scream, we spurn
We step on each others’ toe
All to achieve and amass
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Walk we straight with pride
Look we people in the eye
Seldom do we stop and stoop
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We make friends, yet sly
Break hearts and water eyes
Too proud to bend or mend
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Each death promise another
Our last breath gives forth life
To another birth to die again
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Never can we live past in life
In death we reach the very start
From grains we come, to grains we go
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
poem by Thomas PJ New Delhi
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My Heart is Lame
My heart is lame with running after yours so fast
Such a long way,
Shall we walk slowly home, looking at all the things we passed
Perhaps to-day?
Home down the quiet evening roads under the quiet skies,
Not saying much,
You for a moment giving me your eyes
When you could bear my touch.
But not to-morrow. This has taken all my breath;
Then, though you look the same,
There may be something lovelier in Love's face in death
As your heart sees it, running back the way we came;
My heart is lame.
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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New Horizons
Well Ive had dreams enough for one
And Ive got love enough for three
I have my hopes to comfort me
I got my new horizons out to sea
But Im never going to lose your precious gift
It will always be that way
Cos I know Im going to find my own peace of mind
Someday...
Where is this place that we have found
Nobody knows where we are bound
I long to hear, I need to see
Cos Ive shed tears too many for me
But Im never going to lose your precious gift
It will always be that way
Cos I know Im going to find my own peace of mind
Someday...
On the wind soaring free
Spread your wings
Im beginning to see
Out of mind far from view
Beyond the reach of a nightmare come true
Well Ive had dreams enough for one
And I got love enough for three
I have my hopes to comfort me
I got my new horizons out to sea
But Im never going to lose your precious gift
It will always be that way
Cos I know Im going to find my own peace of mind
Someday...
Someway...
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Cage & Aquarium
Somebody's reading your mind
Damned if you know who it is
They're digging through all of your files
Stealing back your best ideas
You cover your windows with lead
Even keeping the pets outside
Then you hear a moment too late this sound coming over the phone
This is the spawning of the cage and aquarium
Don't wait a moment too soon
Used to be different, now you're the same
Yawn as your plane goes down in flames
This is the spawning of the cage and aquarium
Don't wait a moment too soon
Used to be different, now you're the same
Yawn as your plane goes down in flames
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes Fastened With Pins
How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address somehow wrong,
Even death can't figure it out
Among all the locked doors...
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death's side of the bed.
poem by Charles Simic
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When a Consciousness Begins to Lift
When a consciousness begins to lift...
To leave behind foolishness that exists.
There seems to be an acceptance of it.
As if one realizes,
A birth has been committed.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
A release of limitations,
Easily takes a shift.
No longer is one concerned,
About winning conflicts with enemies burned.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
It becomes easier to observe,
Those disturbed and their afflictions addicted.
Enjoyed and unrestricted.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
It is best to rest.
And let it accept the truth,
That comes with it.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Expect a shock and some loneliness.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Those experiencing this,
Are left to feel estranged!
Alienated,
From that...
Which one had thought,
Was sane!
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Enjoy it as a gift.
Unveiling an abundance of understanding.
Connecting a peace that can be reached.
With a wish to share and treat.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
From those taught they should live,
With lives accepted in self defeat!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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55
I went out early this morning to take a walk and see the world
At its unfolding, Skies grey and moving slowly away from light,
The dim lights, Pushing away dark clouds vice versa tugging each other Perhaps not wanting to part (Whatever happened last night? Nobody wants to recall)
Towards an edge on the right corner of the gym, Everything is shadowy (Like a dawn tryst In a tight room so foul
Filled with cheap perfume Beating warmth like Pink baby rats)
A black outline of coconut trees, Some houses appearing as smoke
Rising to the skies Like men smoking, Letting go off The sighs inside
their hearts
They are huge and keeps a chest full of Frogs wanting to jump
Into the pond, their dreams croak and croak
Throughout this hot summer Pleading to the white heronFor rain and more rain Lest they die
What arrived instead is the plow, Their territories cut into small pieces
And some will have no place to live, I am referring to the frogs
like men And the children Of the little space This pond drying itself
To death. The air is thin and sharp to the feel Of guts
Gathering the early dusts of the south bound road, And few raindrops
Fell on the chalky pathways some two or Three farm children running for cover,
I walk fast, trying to outrun The children, the frogs, the men,
And the shadowy coconut trees, Fast and faster still Like my thoughts running and running In circles Oval to this gym
The first ray is coming out From the edge of a grey cloud Pushed towards a darker side To my eyes Lights stab and light
With more light Gushing forth from the stomach
Of dawn.
Someone just performed The ritual of morning The birth Of another day, I walk past time And must go home on time
I have my lover for breakfast Waiting And some thoughts
Running and running thoughts wanting To stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The ritual of morning
I went out early this morning to take a walk and see the world
At its unfolding, Skies grey and moving slowly away from light,
The dim lights, Pushing away dark clouds vice versa tugging each other Perhaps not wanting to part (Whatever happened last night? Nobody wants to recall)
Towards an edge on the right corner of the gym, Everything is shadowy (Like a dawn tryst In a tight room so foul
Filled with cheap perfume Beating warmth like Pink baby rats)
A black outline of coconut trees, Some houses appearing as smoke
Rising to the skies Like men smoking, Letting go off The sighs inside
their hearts
They are huge and keeps a chest full of Frogs wanting to jump
Into the pond, their dreams croak and croak
Throughout this hot summer Pleading to the white heronFor rain and more rain Lest they die
What arrived instead is the plow, Their territories cut into small pieces
And some will have no place to live, I am referring to the frogs
like men And the children Of the little space This pond drying itself
To death. The air is thin and sharp to the feel Of guts
Gathering the early dusts of the south bound road, And few raindrops
Fell on the chalky pathways some two or Three farm children running for cover,
I walk fast, trying to outrun The children, the frogs, the men,
And the shadowy coconut trees, Fast and faster still Like my thoughts running and running In circles Oval to this gym
The first ray is coming out From the edge of a grey cloud Pushed towards a darker side To my eyes Lights stab and light
With more light Gushing forth from the stomach
Of dawn.
Someone just performed The ritual of morning The birth Of another day, I walk past time And must go home on time
I have my lover for breakfast Waiting And some thoughts
Running and running thoughts wanting To stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cage Aquarium
Somebodys reading your mind
Damned if you know who it is
Theyre digging through all of your files
Stealing back your best ideas
You cover your windows with lead
Even keeping the pets outside
Then you hear a moment too late this sound coming over the phone
This is the spawning of the cage and aquarium
Dont wait a moment too soon
Used to be different, now youre the same
Yawn as your plane goes down in flames
This is the spawning of the cage and aquarium
Dont wait a moment too soon
Used to be different, now youre the same
Yawn as your plane goes down in flames
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lift thine eyes
Lift thine eyes towards that star
That shines so high above,
My hopes and dreams shall travel far
Towards the one I love.
Lift thine eyes towards the skies
The heavens are as one,
But whn the sun does slowly rise
My love shall not be gone.
Lift thine eyes in longing now
My wish shall then come true,
I have no room left in my heart
Such love I hold for you.
Lift thine eyes towards that star,
My hopes and dreams shall travel far.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
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Sonnet: What If Death Comes!
A lot of faces known to me are gone,
Including near and dear ones, friends and foes!
I wonder if I would exist till dawn!
Bereavements add to personal grief and woes.
The list grows bigger as I turn older!
Some faces new become acquainted too;
With time, our earthly life appears colder;
When Death souls steals, what earthlings poor can do?
None know when death takes off another soul;
Our state of grace is always important;
Preparing soul for heaven is our goal;
No earthly job is more significant.
Good Christians never fear their time of death,
With faith in God unshakeable since birth!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-19-2006
poem by John Celes
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Dawn Breaking
Dawn brought a ray of sunshine
and a light mist above the bay.
A ray of hope for everyone
for a bright new summer day.
Flowers slowly opened their petals,
spreading beautiful colours everywhere.
A patchwork quilt of wonder,
coming alive before our eyes,
with the dawn breaking
across the dark night skies.
poem by David Harris
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Esplumoir
Before birth we lay as nothing, alas sweet nothing at all,
We are as the one, dedicated to naught but our Love of unison.
How are our souls ever to learn if we are forever earning
Our dues through celestial favours?
How are our souls ever to grow if all we ever know are the
Tastes of terrestrial flavours?
Through the gift of mortal tenancy we are thrown
Into the chaos that surrounds us throughout the day realm.
How are we ever to remain steady at the helm
If we are never given a vessel within which we may sail?
How are we to succeed in our Endeavour if we are never given
The ability to fail?
How are we ever to learn if we are never given the chance
To earn the respect of fellow earthen dancers?
Do not wish away your time upon this earth but know
That your birth was a blessing, a dressing of the soul.
Know that we can never be anything more than a whole
Complete if we are given no separation from unity.
Within our hearts lay a throne for the queen of appreciation.
She knows her place, she knows her face and she is proud
She proclaims her love aloud for every cloud that graces
Her skyline. She’s doing fine without transcendence for she knows
That one day the soul of the world will embrace her once more.
Her awareness of herself she sees a gift with which she may lift spirit
For it is only when we are taken from our existence eternal and given
The gift of mortality that we realise it is the Gods who envy we,
Those adrift amongst a sea of souls. Some practice non thought
Denying there existence as an illusion, yet are they not confused towards
The fact that it is an appreciation of life that they are lacking.
For we hath been born without good warning of the world that tears
Itself apart outside, yet we are not to hide and wish away the clouds of
Grey, we are to love our existence and know that death is our only assurance.
Each will one day become one with the whole, each will loose sense of their
Soul, so embrace the day whist you may and know the search for truth is the
Most honourable of all, yet no truth is there to be found in hiding away
From the world outside your window blurring. Ground. Center. Earth yourself
And know that even though you may perceive all we hath received as nothing
More than an illusion, you will do naught but confuse yourself in trying to attain
A state of un-being before death, for we hath an eternity to enjoy the void.
poem by David Lacey
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Prosperous
My eyes slowly showing
What her heart was knowing
Thy elan soaring
I can unselfishly share
I can care
I am no longer rare
Returning love no more a dare
A gift now in my lair
Woman the gift...not spare
Finished living on the line
Which was consuming my time
Independently of the gift divine
Impartial, woman one of a kind
May help fortify one's mind
Mutually...one half.
Sympathetic is she
I advance not with lids closed
I wish not...turn up my nose
She is more, I suppose
I am becoming whole
Loving is bold
To this woman I promise my soul
Woman is real
Woman is alive
Now I live
As to protect that of my rib
My heart was...heavy
Before this woman I plea
Cultivate your warmth of me
I may have played the fool
How I have changed my attitude
That old theorem most not prove true
Let me give thanks and shout
And pull the red carpet out
Dear woman may God
Forever bless you
Dubbed...as a
human to human contact.
A union I shall eternally respect
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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My vanity
When you see the grey in my hair
will you remember the black that was there?
Or will you forget and just see grey
that forms at the roots on everyday?
I used to wear it long and flowing
and preen about how it was growing.
I used a hair brush and counted the strokes,
but that's a waste of time for older folks.
Vanity's been replaced by common sense
although I say in my defense
that if I could I'd still like to see
that shiny lustre of ebony.
Beauty is burdensome anyway
and eventually I'll accept being grey.
But not just yet, maybe next year.
Alas by then more grey will appear.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Ah! You Didn't Know?
In an evening of events,
He and I met together
In the City-Coffee House
And broke the silence of a millennium
Over a steaming-cup of coffee.
He spoke and I listened.
Slowly I discovered
The iron-gates of the castle-in-ruins
Opened up with a crackle before my eyes
And the rusty past shed its darkness
To a shining glory.
He identified the strange and precious gems
Stored in the womb of the ruins
And I, on my part, recognised them
In their antique glory.
Encouraged by his profound knowledge
And sense of beauty I thought;
I could at least show him
The mundane vapours
Flying from the hot cup of coffee.
He observed them,
And admonishing me for
My idiocy, said:
“You thought they’re ordinary vapours,
Nay, they are ephemeral curls of steam
Heading upwards
Like benign souls! ”
And further added
“These curls of steam are cycles
Of birth and death,
You didn’t know”?
I said, “No, I didn’t know,
Now that you said,
I know.”
My lost treasure
Life is so strange,
it gives and takes.
It makes you smile,
and makes you cry.
I earned a priceless GIFT from life,
celebrating my joy of success with might.
A GIFT i held dear and high,
its as priceless as the stars in the sky.
But now, life has betrayed my trust
took my GIFT, leaving me in hurts.
My heart became sick, for death i longed
i'll mourn always for my great cost.
But despite life's unhealthy blow,
my heart is filled with hopes
of bringing my precious GIFT home
a joyfull feeling i love utmost.
poem by Randy Micheal
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