~Moon & Sea~
Hey boy won't you open that door?
Let's sing and walk by the shore
Come and spread out your eyes
Block looking for reasons, and whys?
The cosmos are more than a space to explore
Don't hide when I need.... Plus more.
Finish playing a master in disguise!
Lets find the perfect sunrise, sunset surprise.
Put your arms around me
Allow your moon to reflect off my sea
Too much time has passed you by
Come outside with and view the horizon up high
I've got my eyes set upon you
There's no need to feel blue
Hey boy comes, climb up this tree!
I'm going to show you all the things you can't touch, you can't see.
Lets fit the luxury and beauty of this world into our play.
Don't say them words that will set me free to walk away.
Take this kiss and see how it feel deep within your heart.
Close your eyes in my garden, and draw with the fragrance of art
I want to take you into that space, astronomy love.
Making it easy to float with the clouds way up above.
Glide away from the blame of gravity and self destruct.
Bounce of the dust of hurt when you fall and get cut.
Boy, let's hold in this perfect air together.
Leave the cold end of someone else's weather.
Follow me beyond the distance of chemistry.
I will expose your moon and explain the physics of my sea.
Give it another chance and you will see!
Your moon, is skin deep, needing water from me.
Turn on the tune in your heart, and listen to me.
In every sunrise, the moon entwines with the sea.
A soul of a dancer, a life in wheelchair
Fins of imagination kill my despair...
for Brian's "A Couple of Lines"
Some lives are like a stone quickly skipping over the ponds top, forever tossed.
My life is below the surface trying to reach upward with each breathe lost.
But there is still beauty, deep down here in the great depths below…
For the solitude holds me in its grip as I dwell with what I know.
My occasional trips to the surface leave me vastly wanting more…
Still, my life below the surface doesn’t scare me as it did, once before.
And the breaths will come when given, as my life continues to flow.
True it is dark but beauty lingers, everywhere the currents move below.
At times, the surface reflections seem surreal, as if it’s a place not to go.
Comfort comes more and more to my soul, as the deeper I glide below.
Here I dwell within myself, with words, and thoughts, that carry me along.
Perhaps I have found where I truly belong, as I sing my siren songs.
When words can't be seen and smiles aren't felt,
we fall onto paper and drip and melt...
We spread colors of blue and grey to highlight
an early morning sigh, and splash and orange tint
on a late afternoon high...
Late at night I will paint my sky a dark black, and
with just my fingertips sprinkle stars that stay intact...
When words finally return and a Poem is read, the background
is my painting of colors from a dreamer not dead....
There’s no comparison to Nature’s Art;
It’s seen with the eyes and felt with the heart;
I see it in the trees and the ground that I walk,
In the prance of the deer and flight of the hawk;
The unearthly quiet before a thunderstorm hits,
The sulfur and electricity that a storm emits;
The mighty mountains standing tall with pride,
An artwork that can be seen far and wide;
A blank canvas that nature made all it’s own,
From the air that I breathe to a moss covered stone.
Beguiling placidity of luring hiss
Upon the oblivion of a venomous kiss
Like the grasping toxin of a viper’s sting
Amidst a violet lullaby the night-sky would sing,
Sable sky, O reflection of debility
Clutching the soul into peaceful futility
With your visage so pallid, and O so white
Shining above clouds ashen as the night,
Brewing darkness, dwelling with might
Tearing the sun as your opaqueness ignites
Approaching you emerge with eternal power
All orbs fade as dreams devour…
SCENERY TO PAINT
Every day we reviewed them in parade attitude
Along the Snake River in the Tetons’ solitude,
Or at attention on the banks of the Volga
In the infinite taiga -
In neat ranks along river terraces
Warm dark firs mixed with yellow acer,
All with the wind slowly leaning,
Their branches across the river-ice signalling
To great endless squadrons of their fellows :
In spring with their full flowers - yellows :
An army in a gold and topaz uniform
Ready and waiting for orders to fall in and conform ;
And in fall with their rich golden foliage
Always polished and ready for duty with courage.
In poor soil, in tough climate, these were heroes
Prepared for all their tomorrows.
Each morning we watched “Reveille” parade
In the dawn’s early light; and the evening shade
Gave “taps” for that heroic multitude -
The taiga’s topaz army, in golden solitude.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver's Contest ...Paint the world...
Man is an excellent work of God---
His visual poetry or art, out of mud.
Being one of God’s many creations;
Man must not forget his obligations.
Thou, man know God’s everywhere;
And yet, he does not bother to care.
Either man lives by God’s command,
Or, he will not live in a promise land.
Man must take this into consideration,
If indeed his heart craves for salvation.
"It happened at dusk, on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head
Whistles and pattering, octaves outstretched
Violins wailing and tubas distressed
Starlight shone into my window in white
heaving my breath with this musical sight
leaving my features and shadows in grey
while the melody mastery started to play
First all the strings, then came the percussion
Brass building stamina, with no discussion
Drums most determined and then all at once
the notes of the piano, fortissimo jaunt
Lights popped and fizzled and wrinkled in time
Walls bending backwards a musical rhyme
Bass like a heart beat moving the air
all in the blink of an eye, I was there.
My skin soaked and battered, my eyes shining bright
all concentrating on motion, on flight
After they slowed I beamed with devotion
and stood on my tiptoes, a standing ovation
I've packed solidarity into my chest
to tell you this story, to truly impress
for it happened at dusk on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head"
Physics of the moon
I feel the lunar ecstasy in your heart
Connecting our vibes from over 1500 miles apart
With every swing of my mood ring, my sensational heart will sing
An out of this world phenomenon tune, "you are my everything!"
Absorbing every phase the moon goes threw
Sending energy between me and you
When our eyes meet on the darkest side of the moon
Your body mass rotates like a cyclone hitting my land like a typhoon
Like the gravity that bonds the earth and moon together
Our souls will collide with a massive force of forever
The image of you appears at all times like a moon cycle
Like a cascade running all around my mind, like a halo circle
Our love and vision orbits through every star
Giving us light no matter how near or far
The stars throb around the moon like a secret signal in the night
While you inhale my energy that exceeds into the morning light
Like a rainbow that enters and vanishes into the twilight of our sky
Our first kiss under the moon beam will twist our tongues into a tie
A sweet magnetic shadow will remain under the half moon
Sweeping our love above the clouds to float like a balloon
Holding a reflection with the moon's tide
Our journey continued, side by side
Emerging our love to find its way soon
Like a love mirage with the physics of the moon
A canvas washed with pastel hues
In palest pinks and liquid blues
Perfection seen through Monet’s eyes
Recounting where his genius lies
The lilies floating on the lake
The water, greenish blue opaque
A fluid mix of subtle tints
A flowing dream with fragile glints
This work of art from sable brush
Perception, depth, a hazy blush
This masterpiece both cool and warm
All bound up in poetic form
To gaze in awe, to stand and stare
To find oneself transported there
The tranquil view, unbroken, whole
Will heal the heart, rebuild the soul
The peace, the calm, the beauty rare
The artist’s gift for all to share
Margaret Foster- 21st September 2011
I was read to as a child,every night at bed
Fairy tales, short stories, prose, or poems is what was read
Beatrix Potter, Mother Goose, Childcraft books were chose
But my favorite things to listen to were poetry and prose
I learned these things all by heart knew,when to turn the page
Mom thought I could read quite young ,was advanced for my age
But I was a fooler to those around ,cause I would memorize
Each page that was read to me, my reading was just lies.
I was fortunate to have a Mom that was well versed in liberal arts
I was read all sorts of things and would recite different parts
I listened to many poems from Percy,Keats,Frost and Thoreau.
Wordsworth,Longfellow, Lord Byron sometimes we wouldn't know.
When a child is read to when very young they get well versed in rhyme.
Then writing them as they age is something that fills their time.
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
There is a lot to be said about the spoken word,
But sometimes it takes silence to be heard…
Music, music, it’s in the air,
Here is a list of what I hear:
A B C D E F G
(1 e & a) (1 2 3)
Rhythm, beat, timing, and tempo,
Fermata, rest, and accelerando,
Forte, piano, half, and whole,
Quarter, dotted, and staccato,
Sharp, flat, and natural, too,
4/4, 3/4, 6/8, and 2/2,
Measure, scale, and arpeggio,
Chord, seventh, and legato,
Major, minor, and decrescendo,
Crescendo, seventh, and ritardando,
Staff, spaces, lines, and strings,
Sixteenth, in-tune, and fingering,
Woodwind, brass, position, and trill,
Treble, bass, mellow, and shrill,
Percussion, composer, style, and key,
Quickly, lively, somber, and freely,
Triplet, tone, tied, and up-beat,
Pick-up, slur, eight, and down-beat.
You may hear music here and there,
But I hear music everywhere.
let's start with a line and see where it leads
People like blood so I will make mine bleed
a zombie a chainsaw perhaps some bats
For good measure I'll throw in some black cats
I'm running out of ideas I think
Something is bad, it's a terrible stink
Have you heard the one, about the sparrow
He let loose excrement, on the Pharaoh
Oh what a horror, the bird felt so bad
The Pharoah in anger, yelled out egad
Archers at the ready, shot the bird down
Pharoah bit of wings, wore them on his gown
He fed the birdie to his own black cat
The cat so happy it meowed where it sat
Mummys and bats they make me want to scream
Most of the horrors come from my own dreams
Dancing disjointed, what do I have to loss
Bones I crunched, I removed with dental floss
Let's finish with a flurry, a mad dash
A horrible fungus, a scabby rash
Worst poem Contest
Fred Astaire was king of tap
Biggie Smalls was huge in rap
Carson (Johnny)ruled TV
Dylan’s songs are poetry
Elvis made the girls all swoon
Frank Sinatra loved to croon
Greta Garbo hid from sight
Hitchcock gave us all a fright
Isaac Hayes’ voice dips low
Johnny Depp steals every show
Kenny G can blow that sax
Larry David can’t relax
Michael Jackson changed his face
Norah Jones embodies grace
Oscar Wilde wrote books and plays
Peter Falk had piercing gaze
Quincy Jones finds music stars
Raitt (That's Bonnie) rocks guitars
Sally Field lights up the screen
Tony Kushner nails each scene
Uma Thurman makes men drool
Viggo’s talented and cool
William Shatner’s still around
Xin Xin Xiong in films is found
Yoko Ono married John
Zach Braff’s big on Amazon
All this talent, A to Z
Keeps us entertained, agree?
for Cyndi MacMillan's ABC Couplet contest
A day comes with a
For the words, less
to cope all few,
The breezy wave and
Of rising sun, view
the Himalaya highs,
Held me there,
caught me freeze,
And the prevailing
dusky downy haze,
To falling cascade
of ivory rays,
Where I hied to let
I look & look, with
a glance and gaze,
With winking eyes
with hot cap,
I observed their
And whence the sun
rise and set,
Sparrow and humming
beak to get,
Food to survive and
And live on sharp
edgy curvy stemy
Above the grove and
in dense forest,
peace dwells in the
levitate and birds
And oscillate with
A bird in this
Jingle jangle and
Are not base
They rise through
Up to our believe
They are alive and
I ask my conscience
where to hike,
Stood here and there
or by riding bike,
To feel the scent of
this rainy December,
Over my worries and
silence to end
Made one statue,
stunned one bright,
And I put my towel
to have a shower,
This congeal water
pierces me by power,
Oh ablution is
enough for adequacy,
Count on, fend off
And when I walk on
The emerald tint
fell a shadow,
Upon my eyes to
Where the earth,
laid with several
The invigoration of
spirit rises up
On rambling off and
on, this grassy
Over this belt with
No alternate of this
land, O nays,
Where I felt about
Falling, right left,
up and down,
Then I move here and
there, up-to sun
To meet buoyantly
this sunny light,
The sun with
magnetic warm and
This morning with
Cause a man to wake
Sing a flute while
sitting under an
How this mean, a
life less of
Won’t you thrill
this grudgingly by
A world, an
And a life with
plenty of beach’s.
There was a Goldfish who thought he was a shark.
He kept biting the lily pad of a Monk Frog.
Behave said the frog, for you are no shark.
I can if I want, said the goldfish, if you are a Monk.
The goldfish kept attacking the lily pad with ardor and spunk.
He wouldn’t be gainsaid on being a shark.
As the Frog studied relentlessly to become what was wont.
Neither one believing the other… could become what he did want.
Now along came a snake to eat the monk frog on his ark.
But to him… this lily pad was sacred, and he didn’t want to disembark.
So the goldfish attached a leaf to stand straight up on his back…
And as he bit the snake’s tail the frog hollered SHARK!
Pandemonium ensued as the frightened snake did run off…
Thinking it’s better to be safe, than as some one else’s dinner doffed.
So some how, together they both became what they did want.
Living happily ever after, as friends in that great lily pond.
The moral my friend is you can be whatever you want.
Still, don’t stop as the path becomes hard, that you sought…
For if a gold fish can become a shark… and a Frog a Monk…
Then with work and friends made… you can become whatever you want.
Music, art of sound, pitch, rhythm
Meditation, art of disciplining mind, body in tandem
Music harmonises senses, eases tensed up muscles
Meditation calms mind freeing it from weed of entangles
Music, the way is from ears to senses through mind
Meditation, the way is from body to no-body, from mind to no-mind
Music is instrumental in mind and body harmonising
Meditation is dropping mind and body for soul searching
By Hitendra Mehta
For Members Contest - Music & Meditation by Dr Ram Mehta
A decade here,
I smell the the fragrance of the dwelt air.
I am going to miss this refuge
Crying became a task, huge.
I wish not to
Though I wanted to.
For the happiness I found
Had silenced my crying sound.
I wish to take this beauty
Which my eyes observed as a duty.
I wish to take the pure water
Which soothes and makes better.
I wish I take this soft sand
That greases hope on my hand.
My bid is to take a thing
That may read everything.
As I leave this hope full place
Just in case....just in case...
I need to remember
The land that took me a member.
The ship is now leaving with a loud clamor
I relished the comfort of humor.
In my hand... I took the sand
To rhyme my saving Island.
I needed a way to release from inside,
All of the tears that I never cried,
My head was exploding from all I kept in,
While onto my face I glued a fake grin;
I hid inside my suspicion and fears,
And locked them away for many years;
They built up a wall and trapped me within,
Until I didn’t even know where to begin;
I had every emotion locked in my heart,
So I started to write, I made it my art.
< Driving along in my automobile
Seen homeless man holding sign will work for his meals
Should I stop or should I just Go !
Should I give Or Should I just say hell No !
But what if that was me
Crying out with such pitty
Not knowing where to get next meal
Three kids crying at worn out heels
Cardboard boxes to call our home
Dumpster diving for pieces of foam
Think I'll give him a piece of my pot
Opened wallet and gave him alot
A nice twenty came on out
Wiped out was his sadden pout
Drove by an hour later
Homeless camp wiped off roadmarks slatter
Wonder where dirty Dan had now roamed
Just hope he finds a better suitable home
Many years ago, on canvas I was drawn.
He kept me black and white, until I was born.
He told my parents: ‘Handle this painting with care.’
Confused they replied: ‘But this painting is bare?’
He smiled, gave them the painting and went away.
My parents painted a splash of knowledge on me every day.
They stroked love and insight on me, until complete -
Finally, I was ready and respectable for the world to meet.
Hung up on a gallery wall, the painting was always under observation,
After time, the criticism of the world had ruined this creation.
No longer vibrant, my true colours started to fade.
No longer perfect, I am now what the world has made.
From a distance, they say I still look exactly the same -
No one sees the cracks and chips when they are to blame.
I slished and slashed, till the whole studio was crimson,
I beamed an eerie smile, so it can have the last reason.
I skipped around, all over the room,
Splished here, splashed there, the sound of the fumes.
I laughed and roared till the entire place echoed,
I was so happy that my sorrow has finally borrowed.
I heard no other noise beside my art,
No chirps, no barks, not even a beat of heart.
I could see the bad, vile looking bland,
All I need was just my lame pair of hands.
The idea was easy and not much time that spent,
But what was vital was the meaning and content.
The process was actually hard and grotesque,
As I had to do it very quickly, that is after dusk,
But finally all my pain, suffer and grief,
Has now put into this art, of enormous relief.
My mind was blank, the reception wasn't reality,
to complete this masterpiece I have to lose my precious sanity.
To rise above all and detached my sadness,
I have now became, what they called Madness.
To whom I show my depression and pain,
of course, to the human because its just a canvas, no profanity, no vain.
write all you want about your condition
but after that find someone who'll listen
to capture imagination and attention
all you'll need is their permission
a joke, a line, a rhyme that's fine
a little something to feed the mind
keep a rythem and a steady flow
touch a heart with words you know
a single line can reach the soul
when an eternal truth is told
and when you create a tear in your eye
then write the reasons men cry
or spread the joy of laughter around
with embarrassing stories about a clown
or raise men up to fight a war
inspire rebelion on far away shore
discribe the majesty of the worlds largest
and praise with accuracy what God created
use words to paint pictures and observe
colour emotions deliver the absurd
uncover the sad the ugly and the blue
release the monster inside of you
tell the tale given by the muse
to the letter nothing unused
please the god within yourself
with the best and nothing else
and maybe just maybe
you'll be a poet
(For melody winter)
Looking for time on roads causes wonder
Where will they lead, here, there or under
Possibly an object to hold in the hand
But seeming more nebulous flowing like sand
It's threads are woven to sunlight and gold
With power that moves stars in heavens untold
It is unseen with strength so great
Worlds it does crumble, worlds it does make
What is its virtue, from where has it come
Where will it go in a moment or none
Has as it's prisoners those small and great
Nothing escapes it, all must on it wait
It can't be captured and placed in a jar
Is it here, or there, can it be far
It spools unseen for all to have wonder
Without its dominion be all cast asunder
Traveling back is forever disavowed
Forward the only law that's allowed
Heavens are clockwork run by its measure
When it has ended all is lost, gone forever
Darkness would cover worlds such as this
Creation would perforce cease to exist
Such is called time but none see or hear it
It brings the workings of all who know it
If the unwary would seek where it goes
Find them it's fabric solely in black holes
This is the nature of that force called time
A word well known but not yet defined
Tomorrow never comes
It is always tomorrow
"The gates come down this night!"
Roared the man of light
Driven by fear and obsession
It was one sin never told through confession
Bellowing orders from atop his balcony
Blinded by delusions of glory
The priest led his herd
Countless dreams were crushed with the subtle power of one word
The mob lurched forward down the beaten trail
The wind howled as it began to hail
The wild pitch began to reach fervor
As the line between beast and man began to blur
The hopes for riches and plunder
Fueled the urge to tear the gates asunder
With a deafening crash the gates fell
As did the hopes that whatever lay beyond would release them from their hell
The priest waddled in holding the tails of his gown
Anxiously looking around
But there were no trophies or golden rings
Just rusted monuments to long forgotten kings
The priest fell to his knees
The people gathered to leave
As he began to shout
His eyes fell on the nail marks trying to get out
With a cup of raindrops I begin anew...
Lightly dropped on the floor, till my words grew...
Small petals peak out from under the light...
With only small sounds heard as we drift into night...
Morning arrives with a buffet of thoughts to write down...
They are all consumed slow as a daydream stays around...
The pages now covered in a poetic landscape outlined by the sea...
There I sit and gaze at a portrait of my inner me...