Immersion
Old Fingers Put
Sacred Water
Tiny Head
Hair Grows
Dived Hot Blood
poem by Vinod Kumar
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Sweet Baby
Baby, sweet baby, with tears in your eyes
Rest your head gently, there's no need to cry,
Come let me sing you a soft lullaby
The sandman is coming and dreamland is nigh;
Baby, sweet baby, with skin soft and fair
And little pink ribbons done up in your hair,
In your tiny world there should not be a care
May angels surround you and send you a prayer;
Baby, sweet baby, your cute button nose
Your soft tiny fingers and sweet baby toes
Have truly bewitched me and nobody knows
How the depth of my love for you just grows and grows;
So precious and tender your love is to me,
Until I first held you, I never could see
How wonderfully magical my life could be -
You've opened my heart and my spirit is free!
For my sweet little angel Shelby Lynn
Tiny Drop
Waste of Tiny, Tiny Water Drops.
Always Trigger my Conscious Thoughts.
A Tiny Water Drop can make a Sapling Laugh
Tiny, Tiny water Drops can get you sweet Pod.
Tiny, Tiny Water Drops can make a Plant to Stand
As a Tree, This can give Shelter to a Lot.
Because of Waste of Tiny, Tiny water Drops
Many lives have become short.
So try to save even tiny water Drop, Which will
Get you Heartily Laugh.
poem by Narendra Kuppan
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Polka Dot Bikini
Yonks ago,
On a beach in the land of sugar cane,
A girl
Wore a purple
Polka dot bikini
And eyed the sea
Like a matador might eye a bull.
Yonks ago,
On a beach in the land of sangomas,
A girl
Ran to the ocean's edge,
Long hair burning,
Blowing windward and wayward
In the pure blue sunshine.
Yonks ago,
On a beach in the land of ijuba beer,
A girl
Dived under,
The boys dived deeper,
Under the biggest waves
Never taking their eyes off her.
Yonks ago,
On a beach in Zululand,
A girl in a polka dot bikini
Walked by,
Wringing water from red hair,
The air around her aflame
With something I wanted.
poem by Consuelo Roland
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My Dad (The Gardener)
My Dad has got green fingers,
He's always been that way;
He grew veg' in his younger days,
He grows them now he's grey.
Tomatoes are his forte,
No finer can be found;
He eats them by the dozen,
And sells them by the pound.
He grows a vast amount, and now
Two greenhouses he owns;
Tomato juice is in his blood,
And marrow in his bones.
His spuds are so delicious,
Their praises I must sing;
So fresh and full of flavour,
And fit for any king.
His lettuce too, are lovely,
They're crispy and dark green;
Much better than the shop ones,
The best I've ever seen.
There's not much that can beat him,
He's skillful in his craft;
He isn't Percy Thrower
But he isn't flippin' daft.
The only thing I've ever known
My Dad to fail to grow,
Is melons, for my sisters,
Just a tiny one did show;
The whole procedure was for him
A problem just too great;
So now they're off the menu,
And for melon they must wait.
But still, it's just one failure,
And not like all the rest;
My Dad is still the greatest,
My Dad is still the best.
My Dad has got green fingers,
And this will always be;
Now mine are going green as well,
And that will do for me.
(Written Oct 1994)
poem by John Carter Brown
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Under The Water
Bees are buzzin in their honey catacomb
All the noise seems to call my head a home
Cant escape the scratchin
My blood makes a noise
Its hard not to play when there are so many toys
So many toys
Under the water
The total is more than the sum
Under the water
I hear who Ill become
Theres a hole inside my head where all the thoughts break out
Sometimes my flesh is filled with forgetfulnes and doubt
Its easy to feel separate, no control of the reigns
Innocence aint lost it just needs to be maintained
It needs to be maintained
Beside me are strange fish, moody and dark
A tapestry of intention that maintains the spark
And theres a tiny light
A flicker within
Forgiveness is the needle that knows how to mend
It knows how to mend
Under the water
The total is more than the sum
Under the water
I hear who Ill become
(spoken rap)
Ive decided to hear who we will become
Wanna lay down in the water, go back to where Im from
Outer space is just a puzzle of stars
Music the mechanics of the human heart
A post that stirs, a shadow that casts
An insatiable thirst drains a martini glass
Theres no place sacred, no honest reflection
Our senses made senseless by a lack o direction
Monks are great with their fists uncurled
But they live in a cave, they know nothin of the world
I wanna live brave, I wanna love without fear
But its hard to navigate when I cant even hear
(do do do do do do do,
Do do do do)
Bees are buzzin in their honey catacomb
All the noise seems to call my head a home
Cant escape the scratchin
My blood makes a noise
Its hard not to play when there are so many toys
Therere so many toys
Under the water
The total is more than the sum
Under the water
I hear who Ill become
Under the water
My flesh is filled with stars
Under the water
I hear who we really are
Under the water
I lay my burdens down, down, down
Under the water
All resistance drowns
(do do do do do do do, do do do do)
(do do do do do do do, do do do do)
(do do do do do do do, do do do do)
(do do do do do do do, do do do do)
(do do do do do do do, do do do do)
Come on, come down, down, down under go,
A-go down on and go down under
Go under the water
I hear who Ill become
Under the water
I lay my problems down
Under the water
All my resistance drowned
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shinning gem's
so special is your hair
without
a seconds and
a countless of gesture, your
fingers wish
to touch
your glooming
hair
in your head
looking back the comb
that splashes the
thinned
shinning hair, as it flashes
all the oily
smooth curly strands, where
between its
length
the little tiny lies wish
to reach
the bottom
views of the beautiful
hair
my bosom friend
love to settle
her magnificent glows of gems
I kept it a
blinks for a while, tempted
to smell
wondering what
would it be, yet!
so fulfilling
to
blow the wind
dazzling to reach the
alluring hair
of my beloved
friend, the only precious
gems she
possess until, the beautiful
angelic hair lost it’s
fragrance of
existence, a glimpse of
dust mesmerize
the memories of the YOU
poem by Antonio Liao
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
You scratch your head, I stretch my hair
The last sip of water...
I'm waiting for drinking another bottle of wine
I do not need answer but I keep asking why
My facial features are stirred up into a coma
Our god does allow me to continue
loving..
But my reality talks me into letting go.
You head is not that rational, but
why you insist that hardship is always hard?
I do not want to give up, the same as the fact
that I do not want to keep up.
You do not wash your hair, unclean
I wash my hair every so often, the result is the same
Stretch my hair.
my five fingers stretch the ends of strands...
Memories do not slip through...
but hair drops, adding more miseries
poem by Garland Jodie Jeen
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Entangled in Her Hair
Her hair
covers my face
she
kisses my mouth
kisses my kisses.
She chuckles.
I stroke her hair.
She sways &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my chest.
She
titillates a nipple
...it tickles.
I run my fingers
through her hair.
She sashays &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my navel
& there...&
there...abouts!
I…almost beside myself
neither...here...nor... there...
Lost in the anywhere
of an everywhere.
I clutch
her hair.
She shimmies &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my crotch.
She
licks it
into shape.
She
goes to say
something
it’s on
the tip of
her tongue.
But, she says nothing
only: “Mmmmm...! ”
& smiles
...smiles.
I close
my eyes.
My hands
entangled in
her hair.
*******
TREAD SOFTLY
We rest on the bed
your head rests against my head
sharing the same dream.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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There Once Was A Tiny Girl
there once
was a tiny girl
who grew up
in this world
there once
was a tiny girl
who cried herself to sleep
every night
there once
was a tiny girl
who wore the same dress
every day
there once
was a tiny girl
who wouldn't go out
and play
there once
was a tiny girl
who would bleed and have bruises
from head to toe
there once
was a tiny girl
who begged
daddy, please no more
there once
was a tiny girl
who the angels
heard her prayer
they came down
and took her
to a better place
where that tiny girl
found love
instead of hate
by: crystal sonier
age: 15
poem by Natalia Anna Joelie
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Us to God
Who does not love
the Lord?
Who does not love
the beautiful sadness of a
sunset in the
boulevard?
The luscious strawberries
that the tiny hands of the vines
offer to your
solitude
The coolness of the clear river
that soothes your naked body
wrapped by the water
facing the gentle sun with rays
as fingers to your
skin
Who does not see the Lord in all
these?
We are but the smiling children of God
who in awe and wonder
shall praise Him in all the days of our
lives
For who are we?
Ants crawling shamelessly under His feet
biting the soles, his Heels?
Parasites to the goodness of the Host
sucking every good blood and spitting the bile?
Flowers to crown His Hair
Birds above Him singing songs for his Divine Ear?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Saabierah
Just yesterday
I met a little lady
Well to be honest
She was a little baby
Tiny fingers and
Tiny toes
Lots of hair
And a button nose
A few days ago
She was brought about
A little princess
Without a doubt
Saabierah - Patient and Tolerant
She was named
Pretty as a picture
She should be framed
Not ylonget a week old
She already has a song
How will her life unfold?
Like something from a Sing-a-long
poem by scarlette Phoenix
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Peace Frog
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
She came
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, its following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets its up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, its up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of chicago
Blood on the rise, its following me
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tiny Deaths
you rip the clouds
from the sky itself....
head swaying side to side,
eyes lost in the museum
of feelings too long denied.
babbling odes to the gods,
breathing breath stolen
from a primeval forest....
naming the color
beneath shadows,
your fingers buried
in my hair!
tiny deaths....
postcards written in flesh!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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How Can I Tell The Yellow Daisy?
how can i tell the yellow daisy about the sad truth that her fingers
that long to touch the blue clouds high up in the sky cannot be hers?
how can i tell her that she is just wasting her fleeting time and feelings
trying to touch that which cannot be touched by her fingers because
their worlds are far apart because the sun will not allow it because
she is just this tiny little daisy that grows wildly in my little garden?
how can i ever tell her that love too has rules? that love too can be
too painful and most of the time addressed to indifference: unrequited?
how can i ever tell her that like her i am also in pain in longing and dying?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The River Flows
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers entwine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
The river with the soft scent of a calm day
With the smell of clean—hanging—still—in the grey
And sweetness carried on the breath of morning
It caresses the river—the waters flowing.
The river—crystalline from winter melt
And sweet with the summer soon felt
It tastes of springtime—the season between
And flows the river—so blue and clean.
The river—its lazy trickle of water
The musical rhythm—the ocean’s daughter
It whispers and murmurs—a song of its own
Playing over and over—in continuous drone.
The river—so clear and cool
The water flows—the color like a jewel
Its soft arms embrace the shore
The river surging from the days before.
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers in twine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
poem by Kailey Jennings
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Riverside Walk
The wildering flowers bloom beautiful and gay
Along the green banks of the water way
And joyful songbirds whistling merrily
With tiny hearts brimful of ecstasy.
And all seem perfect save for water flowing gray
But pollution is a common thing nowaday
And keeping rivers clean don't appeal to modern man
As it's not part of his progression plan.
From her nest midst water reeds dark moorhen fly
And she utter forth a shrill like chirping cry
A warning to her little moorhen chicks
To leave their nest and head for cover quick.
From reed built nest four young dark moorhens creep
With bright orange bills and as they swim they cheep
And head for cover towards the river bank
And hide themselves midst rushes green and rank.
I walked along in pensive solitude
And a quarter mile down stream from Moorhen brood
I came upon what I don't often times see
A mallard out swimming with family.
From mother duck a warning sound did ring
She beat the water with her flapping wings
And her seven ducklings her signal did obey
And dived under water and hid themselves away.
The mother duck was circling in the sky
Whilst all of the time on me she kept an eye
And her anxiety for her family did grow
And she quacked aloud warning them not to show.
And as I walked homeward in the gloam of day
The wildborn birds piped with the joys of May
And my thoughts were of wild duck and moorhen
And tainted water for man a shameful sin.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Gone but not forgotten.
My father's bald and wears a wig
My older brother shaves his head
I wonder is it infra dig
Agreeing with what mother said.
About masculine vanity.
Women prefer a man with hair
Though they accept that it might be.
Only temporarily there.
The hair you run your fingers through
By middle age may disappear
The only thing that you can do.
Is stroke his ego not his hair.
He's still the man you chose to wed.
Although his hair has departed.
Wednesday,18 April 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Banu’s son has had no water for days
Banu’s son has had no water for days
His pulse is weak and his mother prays
No hope in sight of getting water or milk
Helpless, she lingers by his cradle in a daze
“Pray tell me, what shall I do now Ya Husain?
The baby’s eyes now roll back in pain”
“Oh Ya Ali, Ya Ali where can I go?
I cannot watch my baby suffer so
How do I find a way to make him live?
Ya Ali he needs water, which I cannot give”
“Last night I saw him open his eyes
But today he lays still, doesn’t move, doesn’t cry”
Then everyone said, “Lets call the Imam
For God’s sake somebody, go get the Imam
The baby is dying, go tell the Imam
His face is blue, his body calm”
“Taking Akber’s body to lay it to rest
The Imam’s on his way, with grief beset “
Face stained with the blood of His eighteen year old
The Imam entered, his head bowed
And everyone led Him to the baby’s crib
And showed Him the baby’s still fingers and toes
“He barely breathes Oh Noble Prince” they cried
“Its seems as though he has already died”
At the head of the crib, the Prince knelt down
In the baby’s ear He whispered, head bowed
Hearing the Prince’s voice, the baby smiled
Toward Husain he extended his arms and glowed
“It is indeed a miracle” Sakina cried
“Oh mother, my brother has opened his eyes”
The baby in His arms, the Prince left the camp
And death followed, eyeing them askance
To shelter her baby from the midday sun
The mother draped a sheet over the Imam’s arms
Holding Asgher close, Husain walked, head bowed
In the arms of the heavens, a snow white cloud
As He neared the lowly enemy, Husain stood silent in pause
Couldn’t ask for water, couldn’t utter the words
With embarrassment He paled, He bowed His head
He uncovered the baby, to the army He showed
Head bowed, he said, “I’ve brought my son to you
Seeking water Asgher now has come to you”
Then He kissed the baby’s parched lips and mouth
And whispered “My son I’ve said what I could
There are no words to describe your pain my son
So maybe you can show them your dry, parched tongue”
In response the baby licked his lips parched and dry
And Husain shuddered and looked up to the skies
And as Husain looked to the heavens so
The cursed Hurmula strung an arrow in his bow
And aimed the arrow at Asgher’s throat
Pulling taut the bow, let the arrow go
As the tiny neck the arrow gashed
Asgher lurched and clung to his dad
A six month old baby and an arrow’s force
Blood poured from the tiny, thirsty throat
Once more he lurched and then went still
His cap fell to the ground and he breathed his last
Tiny fists curled over his chest, body numb
A minute ago he was sucking his thumbs
And the desolate Father, watched His son
Saw the devastation the arrow had done
And watched the baby in the throes of death
The tiny hands groping at the injured neck
The lifeless eyes rolling back in the head
Blood gushing forth from the battered neck
Gently pulling out the arrow from the baby’s neck
Husain lifted His son toward the heaven and said
“My God please accept my last sacrifice
For your cause, in your path, my son is now dead”
“Little in age but magnanimous in deeds
Thus are the children of Allah’s creed”
poem by Mir Babar Ali Anees
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Overflow
I don't need ritualistic liturgy
To know God lives inside of me
No holy water on my head
A rosary my fingers thread
He makes up every single ounce
Of my being
My heart overflows
And my voice wants to scream
Till I burst into tiny microscopic beams
Of light and fire and sparks
That gleam
Written by Sara Fielder © 2012
poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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