I will sit with the moon for awhile
as the porch swing sways, a tune it keeps
softly whining, a humming smile, *
in soothing rhythm, while nature sleeps
A lonely owl, and then a lark,
calls out to me, from shadows dark
and starlight glistens, this peaceful night,
while the moon and I, together, listen *
How softly evening whispers twirl, and stir the branches in the breeze
The falling leaves around me curl,
to fall asleep beneath the trees
I'll make a wish, and close my eyes
and drink the splendid starlit night
I will sit with the moon for awhile....
keeping me company, with it's pale gold light....
By Carrie Richards
16th & 28th may 2012.
By: SASHI PRABHU (ZEAUOXIS)
A fortnight back, an evening drove me to Sernabatim shores,
To calm my mind’s fury that was churning galore.
There, I listened silently to what the ocean waters were seeking to tell me,
Opened myself to the wisdom, which unfolds with each wave that melts, frothy but free.
Far away on the shores stood alone in soothing waters, I me and myself, alone,
Gawking and listening to the tepid simmering waters, melancholy strains unknown.
And then the churns in my mind began to gasp and soothingly ebb down,
Festooned happiness and joys began to ooze and erupt all around.
Ears now filled with sweet melodies of spent waves tirelessly repeat,
Each note calmed my mind and subtle positives vibes making my mood upbeat.
The warm saline breeze whispered as she blew around me,
A queer descant engulfed my bare body amidst mists of water sprays.
On the supple and soft shores made myself a pillow of wet sand,
And spread myself facing the black velvet sky that to me seems so grand.
The stars, planets and the moon up above,
Stood witness to my body and mind, of earthly pain freed now……
The sand was my warm bed at night,
The frothy spent wave came on to me like blankets of never ending delight.
Spirits look down on me from all round and up above,
Now, disappeared the abyss of remorse, as were abound the cataclysmic effects of joy and love.
I felt I was in paradise that night,
Under the moon shining bright,
And then opened, the flood gates of my mind,
Like magic, the sublime wisdom into me seeped in to be confined.
And then my mind’s canvas filled with tone tint and hues
With the wisdom that the waters to me impart without bemuse.
Stop leaving and you will arrive,
Or else joys of innocence you will deprive….
Stop searching and you will see,
Don’t hold on or withhold..let go and it will come back of its own will …free…
Stop running away and you will be found,
What goes around comes around..
I struggle no more,
I live my moments without hate and abhor.
I walk freely and can now attract,
That to me which was absolutely abstract.
For in me has now absolutely dissolved,
The fear of separation, failure and anxiety... To the next level evolved.
To the next level evolved
i wrote this one one a shack at sernabatim beach at south goa ,India... and left it in the menu card......4 days later i got it published in the newspaper using my pen name....the next week end i went to the shack and the owner had put it up for all to read
I had a horse named Suzie Haus when I was twenty-one.
I had wanted her since I was seven, the waiting was finally done.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, in the World up to that day.
And forever in my memory her beauty will continue to stay.
A painted mare with a black mane and tail, then brown over white.
She became the best friend I’d ever have, you might say we were tight.
I fed her every morning, as I talked to her as I cleaned out her stall.
Then every night I did the same, plus cleaned four hooves all.
I brushed her to a shine, I was so proud of her each day.
Then with a saddle, reins, and me…we were on our way.
The stable was near a river, on top a great big bluff.
A dirt road shadowed with trees allowed us to strut our stuff.
As we danced down the road, the lightening bugs rejoiced.
And gentle breezes touched us, giving the leaves their voice.
Then peace would settle round us, as off to trails we would sashay.
This was the stuff that dreams were made of, and I had it every day.
Birds could be heard throughout the woods, the serenade complete.
I saw the river far below, and the sky with clouds of fluff so sweet.
Sometimes we were with others, but most often we were alone.
But it didn’t really matter, for we always knew the way home.
As we turned to go down the bluff, the river urged us to come below.
Deer danced on the land beneath, in the fields a buck and does.
The gentle angle to the floor below, allowed us to mingle in.
They let us close within a few feet, they thought Suzie was a friend.
At the river the blue sky with a reddish sunset had lite everything aglow.
Soon river barges came floating by, and it was quite a show.
Fishermen sat there minding their peace, until the moon began to glow.
The moon twinkling on the river below, was always beautiful and clear.
We’d talk a while, and breathe so deep, the air had a different flavor here.
Once I met a young man looking for inspiration to write a song.
At that time it began to rain so I helped him quickly get where he belonged.
He thanked me profusely, as he made it to his car.
I had helped him save his love, a very beloved old guitar.
From inside his car he played a song he’d written, while he had been there.
I sat upon Suzie beneath a canopy of trees, that sheltered me, I swear.
Finally the rain and song were done, my serenade complete.
Then I rode off back to home, later achieving more memories and gentle treats.
Moonlight pervades, penetrates,
Recants the promise of dark,
Corrupts all the good of sleep.
I’ve been invaded, once again.
Odd oranges and tainted golds seep
Under my resistant lids, singe.
I can not rid myself of the crush
Of colour that pries me wide open.
The hue is soured marmalade
Like the bitter tinge of mistakes made,
Those best of intentions that went array,
What was spoken, but misunderstood,
And the words of love left unsaid.
The bed breaks its made-up vow,
Tosses me, turns me inside out.
Flannel cloys, annoys me with
Its toying, whispered sounds.
The feather pillow hammers my head,
Refuses to cushion me from regret.
The light, that damnable light,
Cascades through forbidden channels,
Gnaws at my steep but empty dreams,
Wrenches wide those slackened jaws of
Deep, unbearable longing.
There you are.
Riding night’s apathetic glow,
That white is cold, uncompromising,
Attacks any hope that you are happy,
You’re still too fragile, clouded, beautiful . . .
Like crystal that is cracked.
I see that you are not breathing,
But your eyes are as I remembered,
Beseeching me to make the
World a softer, kinder place where
All your high expectations are met
And there is no pain to forget.
I can barely meet your gaze.
Reaching for your hand, I hit the moon
And it collides with a falling star,
Black holes snare you, tear at you,
Pull you further and further away!
I dive, struggle to take you back,
Salve those bruises and patch
A million matchstick breaks.
But you disappear to a place
That is so very, very far
And all I do is hit hard ground.
I wake, but keep my eyes shut,
Knowing not a single, withheld breath,
Not the calming of my pulse,
Or the erosion of the hours,
All the power of eternity,
Will erase your silent plea.
Why didn’t I just buy blinds?
The night is watching, waiting…
Berating, accusing, confusing.
I hate the moon and
The moon, it seems, hates me.
Outside, the moon is alone in the sky
and floats bright white in the ocean
of the great black-blue on high.
It illuminates slightly my surroundings,
giving everything the soft pallid hue
that makes everything something familiar,
though some things I have never seen.
All things being equal,
under the bright white moon,
I see the waves of grass
in neighboring lawns that I’ve never trod,
and I see the soft waves of the moon
dancing off the rooftops of houses
that I’ve never been welcomed in,
that contain neighbors that I’ve never met.
It’s cold out…
if the sun gives off heat in the day,
does the moon radiate chills at night?
The moon sheds its cold, emotionally bankrupt light
on everything I see.
Is this how I should be?
If this is how all emotional attachment ends up,
should I even bother?
Or better yet, should I wait for the moon,
that reopens my wounds just by shining on me?
Every time it comes into sight,
I can’t help but think of all the times
it left me dark and cold.
Should I wait for it to change,
or should I move on?
I can’t see why I should waste my time,
when there are other things that
can radiate a brighter and warmer light than this.
If I see it shining its light on others;
what light does it have for me?
Lord, I feel so very happy
I want to dance, I want to sing
I want to glance up to the Heavens
And let the starlight, to me bring
The sound of angels laughing with me
Because this world is oh, so sweet
Sometimes I’m just filled with laughter
And every day I feel complete.
Whether sun is shining softly
Or the rain is pouring down
If the wind is howling at me
I’ll never, ever wear a frown
For I am living in a haven
It be this world so wonderful
All the birds are singing sweetly
Seems this world has got it all.
I see the moon up in the Heavens
And the stars so beautiful
As I walk on each new morning
Oh, yes indeed, I love it all
Here in in my world, I have no troubles
I am a king, a beggar too
I have everything, and nothing
I guess I’m of the chosen few.
12 February 2014 @ 1410hrs.
Why Poets Write
Why do poets write?,
Why does the moon shine at night?.
Why does water fall with such grace?,
Why is a rainbow such a beautiful sight?
So, why do poets write?
Do they write because the moon shines so bright?
Do they write because water falls with such grace?
Or is it because of the majesty of a hawk, in flight?
Poets write because that’s what we do,
Whether it be a Sonnet, Etheree or Haiku,
We see things through our own prism,
And write about it in our creative point of view.
This is why I write,
I write because I see beauty in the moonlight,
I appreciate the splendor of a waterfall,
And the majesty of a hawk, in flight.
I write because it feeds my soul,
Writing the perfect poem is my ultimate goal,
I write, I do my best,
The rest is out of my control.
The perfect words, in the perfect order,
Follow the rules, no pressure,
Slowly see your creation come alive,
When it works, there’s nothing better.
Poets, generally, don’t write for the glory,
We heal people by proxy,
We are emotion peddlers,
And we do it all for free.
I can’t speak for everyone, nor would I try,
My urge to write is something I’d best not deny,
Or things go drastically wrong,
Like ice, in the middle of July.
So, regardless of why you write,
Keep your vision in sight,
Take criticism with a grain of salt,
Never get discouraged, never get uptight.
We drift softly- -
hands glazing a window filled with stars
where row of flowers bends its twirling hips
and curtains lift the fabric of breath,
until we become keepers in springtime hours
blaming the grandeur of moon,
and in the stillness of dusk
when all blossoms turn to virtues
deepening the fragrance of the sky,
we will find each other on a cradle
of roses in the shade--
a breeze disrobes our pores
stirring the glow of fireflies blazed,
till darkness swallows our fog
amidst a prism of framed moments
undefined by any name, while we,
in April's bright pastel of a season,
drift softly- -
Blame It On The Moon Contest
Sponsor: Poetess Darkly
By nette onclaud
Delicate damsels danced
While we slept, scintillating white gowned ballerina's
Tumbled from the arms of the soft moon glow
Until roof and garden sommulent lay
Polar scapes' billowing clouds Harvesting winter's surprise Children's time, piled rolled white, carrot nose
Eyes black as coal, stretched, moving
Arms, legs busy windmills
Heavenly forms mimicked, Transformed to soft angels
Glistening in the crystalline air
And when evening visited
Bonfires blazed bright, hard crisp ice
Suspended skaters on frozen water
She stopped, turned. Moon light flooded
Her soft fair face, red hair matched
the fire's blaze and I was compelled
Kissing her lips, holding kissing
So many years ago, now only remembrances
Soft shapes and shadows in aurora's memory
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘’’’’’’’’’’ ‘ ‘
Those tender wrinkling leaves pour dizzily down
auburn dressed palms of shaven- tree solemnity,
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound,
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony.
Auburn dressed palms of shaven- tree solemnity
tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light,
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight.
Tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light,
brushing a wandering sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight
and whispers of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep.
Brushing a wandering sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final display,
and wafts of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep
as full season of fall sheds life’s leaves to pray.
Spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final display,
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound,
as full season of fall seems to shed life’s leaves to pray
those tender wrinkling leaves pour dizzily down. ~
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By: nette onclaud