Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
Why must I hear
the tempting gurgle
Of the life giving stream
A sound wet with promise
Why must I see
The alluring rush of movement
An enticing flow
Beckoning me to immersion
Why must I but lie here
Dying for want of water?
The sandpaper of my lips
Not even welcoming
A tongue cracked
With not a drop of moisture
to bring relief
To assuage the grief
Or parched dreams
My throat constricts
that fail to produce
My skin dry
Devoid of liquid to cry tears
Why Am I here
Beside this life giving stream
Where is the angel
To lift my weary head
And gently pour this water
On my waiting lips
Again and again
Till I’m somewhat revived
To carry me
into waiting watery wetness
Until I am baptized
In liquid bliss
I’m dying here
Here on the edge
I can almost taste
The stream of your love
Forbidden to drink
Forbidden to taste
Forbidden to touch
Forbidden to love
Forbidden to LIVE
Why must I die?
When the water of life
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Heart of the sea,deeper
than a chasm-insatiable
monster like the
Habouring the wrecks
sunken ships and
treasures,the abode of
Silent but troublesome.
Nereus safe haven and
the Nereids on errand
riding dolphins-saving or
destroying at your will
Waves spread to all
within minutes of your
Heart of the sea,so
vast that a journey on
you can't be
A shimmering rare
Underneath u coldness is
cast into oblivion-a
warmth to the
Heart of the sea is like
heart of a woman-always
pregnant after delivery.
Who can fathom your
(Baron Of Ebullion)
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
Of the world’s flowing souls,
Cresting to flight and misting rainbows.
Searching for another.
To endure sacrifices behold,
Heart’s ladles dip into
Basins of memories in plunge pools.
From the rapids of youth,
To the flat waters of golden years
Entrant: Rob Carmack
Contest: Some Form of Crystalline
Form: Verse : Parallelogram de Crystalline
I am who I was born to be
Another voice of sanity
Maybe crazy, but do you know?
Art nouveau, in words I paint
Greatness of the pen, this is me
Eternal thoughts into ink I write
Nothing escapes this brilliant mind
I compose for those who see, and those whom are blind
Universal wisdom's, happiness in verse
Salvation or wine, the poison is free
FOGGY NIGHT ©
The white orb, saturated with
tidal flows, peers through the
A ghost ship slips up the fog
Night gulls. sing with strident cries
fog seeps in, the tide rolls out,
day is gone, the night creeps on.
Trees, dressed in ebony, drift by.
Water glistens, gold and wet.
Edges blurred night is soft and
tender, damp seeps into cloth,
Tents of light spread over the
Hunters of the sea know not day
nor night, fishers all,
white feathers stark against the
Palm trees, silhouetted in
ochre gauze, black brushes hard
Pilings sway, their waists cinched
Matronly sentinels, the craft finds
the woody bosom.
Butterflies and Bullets
In the meadow is a quiet place
Little creatures run around and give chase
In the meadow were it is peaceful
Little creatures have dreams that are cheerful
In the meadow were the sun some how shine
Little things of nature will combine
In the meadow the wind blows softly
Little creatures get bother abruptly
In the meadow life goes on with delight
Little creatures scurry when it becomes night
In the meadow the grass some how gets tall
Little that we know it makes sounds that call
In the meadow we hear whistles
Little sounds that some times chimes like crystals
In the meadow the water flows
Little things beside the water grows
In the meadow we smell moist grass
Little we know that nature has sass
In the meadow we wonder what will be
Little is what we know about the meadow you see
Gasping for air. . . you strain your neck; stretching..you look around, checking.
Struggling to keep the pace. . . you're movements, fluctuating; you panic, you try floating.
Screaming for help. . . no one is around, you wish for a miracle; you're wheezing, yelp not helping.
Giving, no one is reaching. . . the waves starting to bring you down; you fight, your Will diminishing.
Vanishing. . . your light dimming; They look from afar, will they notice you're drowning?
I know you.
Candles lit, incense fuming,
You like it when I bite your neck, just hard enough.
Blankets thrown about the room
So recklessly, they refold themselves.
And we roll down a hill together,
Kissing the leaves, tickling with our eyes,
Laughing with our hearts.
"You'll just leave me for the next girl you find."
"Yes," I say. Because only
And it spills through the cracks in your hands
The moment you grasp it.
Like water from a stone.
She bites my neck
Drawing lines of ecstasy down my back with her fingernails
Spilling into me, fighting my words.
"I leave when the sun sets."
I do not know?
Cannot be defined,
cannot be contained,
never even seen it,
will make you go insane.
keeping my eyes wide open,
quicker than the slowest liquid,
steeper than the smallest mountain.
deeper than dished pizza,
bigger than beaches on Ibiza,
can't even believe it,
always deceived by it,
thicker than mocha,
tastier than hot cocoa,
tried touching it,
can't put a smudge on it.
tried to hear it,
but it's already gong,
star dust in an unparalleled wind,
like an old cherished song.
time for the next puzzle,
everything falling to pieces,
gone like strobes in the dark night,
ready for a new lease of light.
I do not know?
My Wishes are Simple
My wishes are simple,
my desires few,
to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.
My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,
to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.
My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,
my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,
healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.
The days are water
dripping, dropping globules
falling from somewhere high,
past the clouds,
past the trees,
past the hands of the thirsty
trembling on their knees.
I do not know?
Fallen snow will remind of me/ it is snowing ...
Slowly as in the dream/
Boy word-beads/ with signs on his spine/
He kisses fine/
Your eyelids /
And it snows ... It snows /so slow/
It does/ and you're thinking of me/
'Coz it's warm/ it's better to stay in warmth/
Waiting for summer dim/
It is snowing/ slowly like in the dream/
Flakes/ go round/ playing the music theme/
You've been looking for rescue/
You searched in wine/
But it's in me/
all the rescues are mine/
It is snowing/ the snow is fluffy and white/
If you see darkness/ I'm deaf and blind/
there's the cast of time/ on the arm/
But I discern the light/
Dreams/ upon your eyelids tips/
Prepare you for winter drowse/
And it snows/
Fallen snow/ will remind of spring /
it will crumble and crackle in vain/
It will snow / fluffy /white/ and slow/
And you'll become whole/
You are the air that I breathe
The sunshine on my cheek
But a shadow of a dream
Mi belle magnifique
Where do you go, when you fall into your own reflection?
Where do you go, when you fall through your own mirror’s reflection?
Where do you go, when someone looks just as you do?
Where are you, when you fall into a parallel reflection?
Where are you, when you feel as if you no longer exist…?
Where are you, when you descend beyond the reflection and drown beneath your own mirrored image?
Curtain of brown dusk
Could not hide your pleasant silhouette
From my sight.
Memories of a day
Being shared between evening clouds.
A moment still hanging-
With a last wish of a spring leaf.
Wild wind playing flute
As stuck up in a drey.
Gloaming listens drifting bird’s swan-song,
‘ecstasy of living is joy enough.’
Rain composes a rondeau
‘I enliven grey soil.’
A poem by goutam hazra
Sometimes we see our whole life
in a desert photograph all purple
tinted and unshaded from the scorching
sun. There is no water in those dry
hills to quench a thirst unsatisfied.
Yet we wander in futility searching for
a spring which runs there with cooling
water. We could bath in it and pipe it
down to water a garden of cantelopes
and grapes. Water is the lifeblood of
the land, and desert is the antithesis
of the sea. No prudent man would swallow
the briney sea. He would float on
it, buoyed up by hopes of perfection
which grasping he cannot reach. The
ship of body sails fervently on that sea
and seeks a port to dock. Finding only
a calm harbor on a desert island the sailor
struggles ashore and plants his flag of
Buddhist prayers. The prayers fly to
higher skies and reach the ears of his
dharma. His path is more golden than
he knew when he set sail that hopeful
morning. All friends were at the dock
waving then. He knew he would never
return the same. Now, in looking back
I walked where the words led me, but I
did not board that ship. I stumbled and
I lurched but yet I fell in a forward
motion. A canteen was on my hip and
filled with coolness from the spring-hill
in the desert where only cactus blooms
and lizards hide from the midday sun,
waiting for the season of rain. Reaching
beach, I waded out into the salty sea.
Some say life is a road, a drive,
with bumps along the way and endless turns.
Much as I try, the best image I can contrive
is, instead, of a river that boils and churns.
At times it's a gentle creek, bubbling along;
smoothly you float in it, forgotten by misery.
Then come slight changes in the river's serene song,
eddies in the stream - of happiness barely rescissory.
These eddies change little but the feel,
the touch and taste of the water below;
of this boat on this river you try to take the wheel,
but you can only ride and watch, never control the flow.
On occasion it floods, overflowing its banks -
sending you down the current, tossing you over the side.
This is when you find it tough to give thanks,
toilsome not to surrender to hardship, to the crushing tide.
It will not hesitate to drag you under,
drown you and smother you if you are unwary.
Yet, it is not all fire and brimstone, lightning and thunder -
its rampages accidental, it doesn't mean to harry.
Sometimes a partner joins you in the drift,
and together of bliss you both hold a sliver.
Life will give all, and throw all into the rift;
'tis the springs and the falls - forever unto a river.
Grebes run on the lake.
Love has its playful moments -
pleasure with winged feet.
* grebes - freshwater birds
I do not know?
The Sieve of Time
along the banks of time,
whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,
clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,
trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.
flung aside for no discernible crime,
my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,
I stagger ashore,
embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.
I do not know?
Those Distant African Nights...
The shadows swayed in your candlelit room,
a cool breeze teasing your bare back,
streaks of lightning forked in the Johannesburg night,
as my hands stroked your hair,
kissing your soft mouth,
ever so tight.
You whispered that you loved me,
and I kept silent,
the rain fell,
the breeze teased your naked back,
you whispered that you loved me,
as my lips found yours,
the rain washed over our tender nights,
lightning and candlelight,
etching poems on your burnished skin,
a fear gnawed at me,
We parted ways,
and you could never forgive me, you said,
now, after numberless thunderstorms,
the rain that falls,
echo the countless tears that I have shed.
You are long gone,
happy, I pray,
yet the memories persist,
those precious moments shall never,
like the Jo'burg rains,
and I wish you well,
for loving me as you did,
for it was I who was not worthy,
and it is I who is not worthy,
You were always true,
it was I who always,
to give myself,
completely to you.
back and forth, boxsliding.
tossing and turning on the ocean waves;
the rush of ebbing tides moving,
similar to the unsaved lives of our days,
mixture of emotions gathering,
trying not to get sucked in the undertow,
our own deception that doesn't flow.
trembling in the fear of it's coolness,
the depths so limitless.
it's force unmeasurable,
only fit for the able.
it's nature can not be contained,
but it's characteristics can surely be attained.
soaking in it can acquire you different benefits,
a threat for the flow of living.
tides of waves so chaotic;
in a world so exotic,
the rush to coming back to it is so dramatic.