A Hot Patch
All the wayward words
mock me for inadequacy.
I remain detached from meaning,
emigrating to eloquence of wordless solitude.
The hymen breaks.
Dumb poems cry. I don’t want to be buried
in ruins of daydreams.
Sandstorms have a strange melancholy, holocaust.
A legitimate uprooting of faith.
Sometimes I feel a hot patch
of sun on my face.
One moon away was my cool,
abode in a green painting,
but the frost never melted.
This darkness is only companion,
I will talk to winds.
The comments on riddles will continue.
A selection of memories,
will make my meditation.
The friction in history was shame.
May be love will win.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Slashed Wound
In the silence of a nameless night, the moon invades
to bring out secret tears,
a perfect sky quivers.
The smell of human flesh flies,
and the spirit swirls down the history,
your hands seize little gods to get the answers.
How long this meditation on self destruction will continue?
Because of ending, decapitated faith loses eloquence.
The myth of eternal happiness slits the eyes.
Your blood drips from myriad capillaries -
And a new proverb commands the winds.
It opens to world like a slashed wound, your ruined life.
What was the mortal question of body to the soul?
Living for the day was very painful,
insistence on past was contradictory,
transparency had no consolation.
Absurdity of fog was there to stay.
poem by Satish Verma
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Gratis Et Amore (2)
helen cannot sleep,
and she keeps on sneering at the moon
and writing it
with poems as though the moon is a man
and as though the poems are her
letters pleading
to be loved by its glimmer
and shimmer imagining
them to be the rough hands
of a lover and
throughout many nights
she had been waiting
to be loved
there were many things that she did
all for the moon not even for the stars
until one morning she was found
dead inside her room
her face towards the moon
her eyes closed
her window open
and the people who buried her
that same day
told about the shame
that she was naked
i know how it is to be like her
and it was all done in the name of love
gratis et amore.
and they said, all of them, after all the prayers were said
Amen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The City, the Solitude, the Soul
Every time
I try to fall in love with this city
I fail miserably.
Somewhere, perhaps
In a dirty corner,
In a nasty crevice,
In a squalid lane,
In the slush of drain
In some smoky street,
In some noisy cafes,
In the madness of tavern,
Above a haughty sky-scraper,
Down the corridors of power,
Under some dense cluster,
Under some muddy feet,
Is hiding its soul……..
There she writes,
About the historic aura
The grave of Omar Khayam,
About monsoon rains
Episoding the excruciating heat,
About peacocks and dance,
About bangles and romance,
About ruins, history, chance,
Poetry evoked by city,
Poetry! From filth, dirty,
An aimless roaming
In its airless streets,
The solitude in the sole
The soul in solitude,
In college, in university,
I try to fall in love with this city
I fail miserably.
I look at the elusive vehicles,
I look for soul,
I drink coffee with you,
I wish to drink from soul,
I listen to the grunt of donkeys,
I hobnob with the landlord,
I pay, I lodge,
Try to gather my peace,
I try to take it home,
Heart aches, heart says
‘Console it ably…….
The sole in solitude,
Try to fall in love with this city’
Every time I fall………
I fail miserably.
Somewhere it’s hiding,
I no longer look for it,
There are no stars to guide me,
Ah! The strange city,
The unfamiliar faces,
And solemn-looking ill graces,
This place is not mine,
In it’s richness and diversity,
Its grandeur, its poverty,
How could be its melancholy!
The sole is solitude,
The solitude, my soul
These people, these restive people,
This elusive immensity,
I can’t share my sole, my pride, my melancholy,
I say this with honesty,
I remain at ‘home’,
Remember my home,
My soul, my pride, my melancholy,
My people, my roots, my history……
I hate this city,
I’m telling you honestly!
I am a failure, a
I fail miserably…………
(September,2007)
poem by Feroz Rather
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History!
Spoken words are history
Records of some remain a mystery
And when today and tomorrow
Row bitterly over yesterday
Today will become history
With just an empty space
Enlightened by a darkened face
History reminds me of a repetition of events
Dancing to the rhythm of the same kind of achievements
A battle is won or lost
Every love or hatred will eventually be buried in dust
I love you
You love me
Soon our love goes down in history
Someone else will find love a new discovery
So the theory behind is history
Is to have a story that commands all glory
For the inevitable past that will last!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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No One Knows Their Last Day
Tears continue
To fall
Running down her face
Frantically wiping them away
Still they come
She lets them fall
Going through all
Of the memories
All of the laughs and joy
Soon he will be gone
She won't be able to hear his voice
Feel love as she
Hugs him
All that will be gone
She won't be able to see him
To see him talk and walk and breath
No one will say it straight to
Her face
Everyone is denying the
Harsh cruel reality
That just hit her in the face
She cries herself to sleep
Exhausting herself utterly
And completely
No one ever knows when
Their last day on earth will be
poem by Autumn Winds
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Those 6 hours of solitude
No.104, Dated: 31-May-09
Those 6 hours of solitude
Those 3 words “See you later”
Goes right across my heart
Feels the world has come to an end
Still I wish we would never go apart
That one dreaded word “Bye”
I wish I could just make it disappear
Though it always follows with a “Hi”
Its appearance is so austere
This world would again be dry
With my destiny, I fought and argued
Why do I need to face this again
Those 6 hours of solitude
Staring the ceiling, while I lie on the bed
I paint you in my imagination
Yours eyes are closed, your lips are silent
But there’s a subtle revelation
I could hear you breathe; I could feel your warmth
You lie beside so motionless
I keep staring at your face for the next 6 hours
You just make me so obsess
All of a sudden my dream breaks again
And I wish I could get your gratitude
I wish you realized how much I love you
Just to avoid those 6 hours of solitude
poem by Sumeet Mukherjee
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Funny 1
hei, hei, hei, hei,
heih, heih, heih, heih,
who says one, is only one?
One only one and remain only one,
One and one not make eleven,
join to make it, only remain one,
one will always remain only one,
try, try and try, one will remain one
One mixing with one
make it within one,
one minus one will not remain one;
life is zero without only one,
Even God is one, add no more one,
Add more and more, may not look even,
Christ is one, Allah is one,
They represent one. Mighty only one,
Heaven is one, hell also one,
universe is one and earth also one,
Good is one and bad also one,
kind may be different but meaning only one
What is continent and what is region?
Who is African and who is Asian?
What is Chilean and what is Nigerian?
Someone may come and say I am Serbian,
Not all religions but only human one,
Love them all and hate no one,
reject no one and extend embrace,
No love and hate but smiling only face
I continue to bow,
Lye always low,
Love to man and woman,
Oh, God, show me only one
Love and hate can’t ever one,
sorrow and joy also not one,
poles remain apart and not called one,
Only HE may appear omni and look only one
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What About The Music
I don't mind talking, girl
But there's a time and place
Right now we're alone, yeah
But it's just gone to waste
Look up and see the moon
Slide down the clouds
The radio is playing softly now
So if you talk above a wisdom
It's too loud
What about the music, babe
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
You keep on talking, girl
We can talk on the phone
We should be kissing, babe
Now that we're alone
Though when they're singing
Love songs to the moon
You know it's love
That makes the flowers bloom
But you keep saying things you
Could tell me in a crowded room
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon, babe
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music
Sweet soul music
What about the moon
Hey, what about the moon, babe
We are loving and i can't lose it
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon
I said it's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I Am...Was.
No, I don't. I could never think that.
No, I won't. I could never become that.
No, I will never be...like her...Be her..
But..
I became her and now I
And I write these through her beautiful dead eyes
She..
I..
Am a bad girl who often does good
I am a dark heart which sometimes pores light
I'm alone in a sea of blank faces
In a world of hollow graces
Loneliness walks with me all my crooked mornings
He's dumb but his lonely eyes ask me how I feel
'Lonely', I replied
No one to talk to, or who really breathes love into my heart
My heart...
Once loving, once caring, trod broken
Now dead. I'm numb..dumb, and the Crumbs you crushed over to reach your true love...
...which is never me...
Dear life, why bore me? ...inexistence is perfection
My growth left me promises
My dreams made an eagle crawl
The accidents broke my bones
The solitude broke my mind
Their words broke my spirit
As I am...I fear bringing a child into...here
I've fought life for a good life
I walk heads bowed with shame
In fear that the world's mirror reveals my sins
Well I just heard the news today
It says my life is gonna change, yay!
Today it rains heavily as it pours in May
I've forgotten if rain is good or sunshine better
July or when September ends
They all leave with their leaves
Scattered on my shattered life
Sunshine or rain, the pain remains the way
Pin drops, heart breaks, blood splashes
On a cracking ground
My heart beats no more
Stone cold, thread hold
Love walks, eyes cry, life goes on
Bad lucks, rude shocks
Went deaf, blind and dumb...faith
The tunnel flickered a light
Yay! , the end of my tunnel
He told me there's a light at the end of every tunnel
This was her...my light faith, my end trail
Yea, the train, her date with fate
The light, hope at the end of the tunnel
Wasn't light, was...but speeding of a blind train
Breaking the body of a dead soul and broken spirit
Deaf, blind and dumb...faith
Darkness, darkness, train, dead, fate.
Goodbye loneliness, goodbye world.
No I don't. I could never think that.
No, I won't. I could never become that.
No, I will never be...like her...Be her.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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A Tree Tested For Its Roots
at first the wind blows
with cruelty
uprooting all the root of
your being
but this is only at first
you are but
a tree tested
for how long you can
continue
being attached to the
earth
the wind makes it sure
that you know
what attachment is
the meaning of being
rooted
after the uprooting
when all your leaves are taken away
when you are but all hands
with nothing to grip
then the wind begins to show
its true nature
it is lovely
fresh and pure
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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By The Name of Hope and Love
Messages of solitude overwhelms me from winter trees
Sometimes by dreams, sometimes by despair and uncertainty
I continue to travel the road of solitude and dream
As has been the turbulent history of mankind
Messages of happiness captures me from the dawning
Sometimes by expectation, sometimes by stark reality
I continue a long march of life by the name of solitude
As has been the life of a Saint
Messages of challenges awakens me from turbulent sea waves
Sometimes by courage, sometimes by fear
I continue the long journey of challenges by the name of hope
As has been the dream of an ambitious boy
Messages of hope comes from my deep heart
Sometimes by dream, sometimes by energy and spirit
I continue to walk in the darkness by the name of love
As has been the life of Jesus Christ
poem by Tae Woo Park
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In no poems I can find something
In no poems I can find something
to describe that which is between us,
to bring the wondrous experience
on paper to words
and when I look at you I am half blinded
in contemplation as if in the darkness
and have to come to the confession:
my thoughts are devoured
as if I myself cannot get words
to catch the light in your eyes,
the loveliness coming deep from the soul,
to let hang that which is between us
in a few words
and about it I feel wordless and mute.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sell Me A Coat
La la la la la la la la la la la la la
A winters day, a bitter snowflake on my face
My summer girl takes little backward steps away
Jack frost took her hand and left me, jack frost aint so cool
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
And when she smiles, the ice forgets to melt away
Not like before, her smile was warming yesterday
See the trees like silver candy, feel my icy hand
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
See my eyes, my window pane
See my tears like gentle rain
Thats the memory of a summer day
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
La la la la la la
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Cool Guy
Let the man in the mirror feel peace,
Feel the emotional problems as no other.
He fed on you to cast Himself adrift,
To ruin your Life, I say. To ruin it!
Yet the guys who win are ones cool,
They have won all hope and happiness if cool,
Remain cool, remain cool, remain cool.
It is all that needed in emotional history
As a worn fashion of height and respect and readiness.
Inside the choice of room within Rome,
I express the rules guarding the production of weight
And easier foundation, also clothes.
poem by Naveed Akram
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2x4
Yeah
Im gonna make you, shake you, take you
Im gonna be the one who breaks you
Put the screws into ya, my way
Yeah, cmon, cmon come and make my day
Make my day
Yeah
Got some hell to pay you, steal your thunder
The joy of violent movement, pulls you under
Ooh bite the bullet, well hard
Yea, but I bite harder, so go to far
To far
Friction, fusion, retribution
I cant hear ya... talk to me
I cant hear ya... so talk to me
I cant hear ya are you talking to me
I cant hear ya are you talking to me
I cant hear ya trying to be my lord
I cant hear ya talking 2 by 4
Yeah
Im gonna make you, shake you, take you
Im gonna be that one who breaks you
Put the screws into ya, my way
Hey cmon, cmon, come and make my day
Make my day
Friction, fusion, retribution
I cant hear ya... talk to me
I cant hear ya... talk to me
I cant hear ya are you talking to me
I cant hear ya while your talking to me
I cant hear ya trying to be my lord
I cant hear ya talking 2 by 4
Friction, fusion, retribution
Im going to make you... talk to me
Im going to trick you... so talk to me
I cant hear ya are you talking to me
I cant hear ya are you talking to me
I cant hear ya trying to be my lord
I cant hear ya talking 2 by 4
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aint Love Strange
Wel l, it can get you in the back boy
Or you can lie around in roses
Or maybe walk around wonderin
You know, goin through the motions
Hey aint love strange?
Hey aint love strange?
Boy talk about changes
Aint love strange?
cause it can make you string barb-wire
Around your little piece of ground
For emotional protection
Oh, but its too late now
Hey aint love strange?
Hey aint love strange?
Boy talk about changes
Aint love stra nge?
Some keep tryin it, giving and denying it
And I dont know why it is I guess you never quit
Tryin to make sense of it
cause it can feel like perfection,
But never all the time
And you dont wanna be alone again
Oh my, my
Hey aint love strange?
Hey aint love strange?
Boy talk about changes
Aint love strange?
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After All The Endless Longing To Be Who We Are
IN THE MANNER OF BORGES I WRITE POEMS IN MY OLD AGE
In the manner of Borges I write poems in my old age
And dream that they are not only imitations
Of poems written by others
When we all were young.
Instead I go on now in the darkness of the night
Because the fear of what will be
Is always so deep in me
It does not need Poetry or Happiness or any other Meaning
Outside itself.
We are small sands drifting on the edge of stars
Lesser beings of a time we will never know
All that we have done comes back to us over and over again
As if we never were
I don’t believe I will ever write Borges lines
He wrote them in his own imagined words
And I must in my own little life
Suffer to the end of time
All I have not been
And never will be.
God Who is Good
God of Love
You gave me so much
You did not have to give me Poetry also.
THE REAL POETS
The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard
The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again
We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.
God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.
Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.
THE WORLD IS FILLED WITH THE ENDLESS SILENCE OF THINGS
The world is filled with the endless silence of things
Dreams in old age are not the dreams of youth – and will never be
Old pain in old bodies stirs the imagination to anger at itself
The history of the universe begins somewhere long before we were born
And when Time ends more Time will not begin elsewhere
Parallel universes pose mathematical riddles to an evidence- hungry horde of physicists who live by supposition alone
And yet underneath it all we are biological beings – brains of our own misperceptions
Clamoring clamoring while on the other side of the moon
The cold goes deeper in us than all the distances we will never reach
Mites and Bites and Little Strings Digital waves and wiry wise things
We are all more than a cave painting with buffalo music beating in the fire
Under the darkness once
When we hunted with small eyes the body’s animal prey
Our spirit said mocking melodies of great and good sounds
Let the Maker of All be One in Love
And less than us may there never be new
The world we love and the people we trust
And the endless game of the transitions
This is a hell of a way to be who we are
And yet some say we are dust more than stars
And under the end of the forever we feel
Only our Names will remain not quite real.
AFTER ALL THE ENDLESS LONGING TO BE WHO WE ARE
After all the endless longing to be who we are
We come in old age to know what we dared never dream
That we as we are are less than we will forever be
And all that we have made is nothing beside
What God alone may make us should God have decided
That we are worth more than the interval here of our own small being
Dust is not enough
And will never be
For what we dream
For those we most love
Bones interred and epitaphs made righteous in stone
Cannot replace the vital thing of each breathing being
So so long ago
I knew when my grandmother died that she Bessie Zeibert- Peshie really- had so much love and goodness she should never be gone
Lost in her very last moments seeking a stolen sweater no one had ever taken
A sixteen year old girl in steerage with her first child who would never marry and live only to help his nephews and niece
God of Love
What are we
So many have died
So many good people
And I here officially an old man yet young enough to begin and thrive again in words
Questioning as I did then and knowing more and no more
We are the end and the beginning of the universe humanbeings kind or unkind
Light too is another name for death when it is forever too strong
I see I feel I know
We are what we are
And You will take us home
In a way we cannot dream now
Something so good as many of us have been
Must never die
And You Alone know how
We will survive
In the endless Infinite Eternity which no one who has ever lived can describe
Or truly understand.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Unveiling lines without a rose
The white moon gleams in the wood
From every bough there comes a voice
Beneath the bower with a meaning of one choice
The pond reflects a shimmering mirror of a hood
As dawn breaks the silhouette of thoughts
Projected by the dim willow shade
Where winds lament what dreams us taught
We crave these dreams to last and not to be dread
Yet I aught to content with the thought….
If a woman ever loved
In faithful truth
As you by me
If a love faith ever found
So true in faith
As mine in you
To draw the strength
To seek the faith
That comes of self control
The truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved
And in harmony we flow and lull soul to soul
Our livings will that shall endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock
We shall rise in the spiritual rock
Out of which the holy water of cure
Shall flow among our deeds and make them pure
Now I hold these lines in sin
To put in words the love’s anguish that I feel
For words like nature, half reveal
And half conceal the soul within
Oh, horrid heart how fares it with you now
That you have leaded me to failure by my own desire
And not once to stall, to repent at all or inquire
What makes me fall so low
copy rights 2010
She.
She was tall and proud and graceful,
long laughing red hair framed her face.
Her sea green eyes, calm and serene,
looked at the world with a level gaze.
Generous lips in a half smile
above a firmly rounded jaw.
Small ears nestled close to her head
in each a golden crescent moon.
Even white teeth showed when she smiled.
Clad in a plain green linen dress,
the swelling curves of her firm breasts
were balanced by her rounded hips.
She showed no fear nor yet surprise,
but looked at me with interest.
She spoke, her voice was soft and sweet
In a language I did not know.
I only know my heart was gone,
plucked from me by her mystery.
She smiled and took my hand
and took me whither I should go.
She led me to a small cabin
alone and hidden in the trees.
There without words or need of words,
we came together lovingly.
We loved and slept and slept and loved,
until the evening twilight fell.
In happiness with limbs entwined
we settled in the soft darkness.
I was woken by bright sunlight
In a bramble patch, stiff and sore.
My strange love was nowhere to be seen,
but in my hand a crescent moon.
For thirty years I have returned
faithfully each summer.
In forlorn hope she would appear.
She kept my heart. I kept my faith.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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