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.
One April day, that changed my life
You lived nearby, a drive not far
I picked you up, with nerves a rife
Blessed my dad, had loaned me his car.
I drove you slowly, together alone
Savoring each moment, you smelled divine
I loved your accent, the kind words you spoke
Upon Air Base now, while I on cloud nine.
Together on tarmac, we strolled and made small talk
Watching planes fly, fortunate in your presence
Inside one huge plane, upon stern gate we walked
Clasping hands and hearts, my first glimpse of Heaven.
It was our first date, the initial of many
Thirty-seven years ago, on this April tenth
Since then, our love remaining solid a plenty
Selflessly sharing each’s unlimited strength.
My lifetime a thank you, for giving me love
Being the one, my affectionate soul mate
Through mostly good times, quite many thereof
Defining the source, it was that very first date!
Welcome Michael,I am so glad that you have come to meet me,
so many things I want to share with you over this cup of coffee.
I know your poetic heart Michael,and that you're a dreamer like Lennon,
I too love his'Yoko Ono' and 'Imagine' is one of my favourite song.
So,you do landscaping?That is a wonderful job indeed,
I also love sketching,painting and can play guitar a little bit.
By the way,how are you going to celebrate your birthday on April 17th?
This year you must invite me and I will be there with a surprise gift.
Oh,you have finished your coffee!Don't want another cup?
OK,let us start singing'Imagine',I am tuning guitar in B-Major Sharp!
© kashinath karmakar
By:kashinath karmakar (6th April 2011)
Contest:First Words Over Coffee
Love was as hot as a red moon.
Passion was on fire and was soothed.
A total lunar eclipse occurred on April 15.
The moon was coopery red.
The warmth of her blood was astrologically aligned.
Mother Earth was with her Sun God.
She stood majestically in his eyes.
The core of his being was a deep arousal of desire.
Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Sought the Red Moon via telescope,
a ritualized ceremony.
Sponsor: Dave Wood
Contest Name: RED MOON
I do not write in April, because that’s the month that comes before May.
I do not write in April, because then June would arrive in total disarray!
I do not write in April, now, although I have before this day.
I do not write in April, actually, although with words I’m known to play.
I do not write in April, when there’s ANZAC’s, Easter and Palm Sunday.
I do not write in April, and from that delicate decree I’ll not go astray.
I do not write in April, but exactly why, I can’t quite say.
I do not write in April, and it’s for the best, that here, I don’t betray.
I do not write in April, although I do read papers from my in-tray.
I do not write in April, so you won’t find any papers in my out-tray.
I do not write in April, when I’m outside whiling my time away.
I do not write in April, for that fills my insides with strange dismay!
I do not write in April, for I’ll not wear a wreath like a gloomy lay!
I do not write in April, but I’ll cheerfully whistle down your way.
I do not write in April come whatever, come what may.
I do not write in April. I do not write in April I say!
I do not write in April, but I’d gladly sing a song for Spring to stay.
Being an adult on Planet Earth
At its center I've been since Birth
The one place I've known and called home
It's virtues I've come to adore and uphold
And in adversity, I gaze in the unknown
Finding help I can't call my own
For I know that friends can be stars
And you reading this, are one to me!!!
nectar gathered by buzzing bees
cherry blossoms like popcorn trees
busy eyes suntan bikini pose
love breeze flows Spring shows
lovers move fast moments stall
chasing breath country clocks crawl
Tuesday train ride to nowhere near;
April Fool pride to laugh with cheer.
Midday trip far on NorthEast rail;
To fling ajar thoughts that unveil.
Through fourteen stops till end of track;
Then reverse hops till choice set back.
Explore the sights with curious eyes;
In wonder's flight with casual sighs.
So many views and vantage points;
Feel happy cues reach ends that join.
A tour by train to check things out;
Watch day retain a sunny shout.
Loiter and chill by this new mall;
A simple meal by food court stalls.
A quick repast to prime refill;
Too soon alas, to feed appeal.
Then once again to journey home;
To abode plains from whence we roam.
Sunset and dark bring fading light;
In time to spark our sitcom sights.
Soon we will start brief getaway;
Let mind and heart adjust to play.
03 Apr 2014
Daisies flare in April bloom
Springtime glares the placid moon
Life in vibrant color shines
The rainbow as it intertwines.
Such is the beauty of life's display
Awaiting the solemn approach of May
On the blue Jay's trail of twisted trill
As the taciturn night proclaims, be still.
Farther through the meadow's brook
The salmon wrestle the upstream nook
Crooked into the day's delight
As twilight sprinkles the stars of night.
As the oceans become the portrait blue
For love the painting resembles two
And life can carry often blind
The dreams of April intertwined.
With the touch of daisies upon the bloom
The fragrant mistress besets the croon
Oftentimes in genteel caress
The poets eyes see nothing less.
By: Darren J McMurray
April 6, 2011