Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak
Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept
Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity
Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!
Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr
In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.
The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...
Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz
Laying here staring out across the ocean,
listening to the sound of waves roaring,
gazing up at all of the glimmering stars,
lighting up the sea like a dance floor.
Counting stars as blessings life has given me,
thanking God for each and everyone of them,
so relaxing just lying next to the shore lines,
trying to draw in the last bits of the night.
The full moon shining ever so brightly now,
and the waves calm down to a gentle splash,
a light breeze pushes softly against my skin,
I grab my sweater and drape it around me,
as I go to leave I stop and turn around,
just to admire the ocean one last time.
Copyright © Rachel Trine
“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and
“Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done.
It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.
It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space.
It was the only feeling that existed.
They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
This was her child –
And she was his mother.
(there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life;
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face;
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.”
She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at
your feet – they’re huge!”
And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you
The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.
*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother
who has graced this sacred room.
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds
We bound down the stairs, out into the light-of-day, and into the blue of the
misty breezes, heavily laden with the smell of wild sea salt roses that grow in
perfusion along the winding road, that bends and turns in gentle lifts and dips to
the other side of the bay, where it crosses the bridge and rises up and winds
away, over the hill.
Overhead the seagulls screech and glide over the ocean spray that washes on
the rocks on the lower banks behind our house along the Fundy Bay, where we
run like the wind through the fields of fresh cut hay and make our way to the
rocky mantle below .
There in the volcanic plateau, worn smooth as glass by the constant rolling
weight of the ocean, is our pool, known by all in our village, as ‘Lizza’s Bathtub’,
created by the eruption of the earth’s inner core, millennia’s ago.
We slip into the still, salty water that has been warmed beneath the blazing sun,
and float with the perry winkles and tiny crabs and listen to the sound of the
ocean, that roars beneath us as it leaves in the receding tide, while we drift
away, in our minds, my little brother the ‘King’ and I, the ‘Queen’ for a day on
the ‘Fundy Bay’.
Copyright © Elaine George
We live today in a world of great tumult
And of rising uncertainty and anxiety
Which pervade the world stage like a cancer
Despite soaring technological advances
Our environment and our home Earth
Are bearing an unimaginable burden
People are wondering what must be done
To right these wrongs and adjust our course
Before we turn the corner to “No Return”
Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, and War
Are still with us today since the beginning
Of time and are mankind’s greatest shame
God may be with us intellectually
But mankind must be self-reliant
To survive an inattentive, distant deity
People see answers to these enigmas
Sounds are made, echoes are heard
But nothing comes back in response
Frustration reigns supreme for many
Fear and anxiety multiple all concerns
There can never be easy answers
Tyranny still reigns alive in many countries
As the actions of tin-eared dictators abound
And are on ample display for all to see
Poverty is still a shameful, terrible curse
Which afflicts the most unfortunate
And is paid lip service by the wealthy
Disease is a scourge still in our world
And still felt by those most in need
And never enough is done to change this
War is the ultimate insult to mankind
And its wide-felt swath and affliction
Plagues yet our modern, enlightened world
What to make of all these challenges
Is not easy for any of us to digest
And let alone understand why
Yet understand, comprehend we must
If we want a better world for all to live in
A Sisyphean task at its very best
Man still holds the key to make change
Positive and real for our troubled Earth
But can it ever be really so in the end
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
Schoeningen, Germany (October 16, 2014)
(Tercet unrhymed poetic format)
Copyright © Gary Bateman
Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it
be salted? It is henceforth cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men. Matthew
In ancient history, salt was sought and bartered. In some places it was carried by
camels across scorching deserts such as in West Africa where eager merchants
traded it to waiting customers. Salt was used for money in some places, thus giving
us the word salary.
Today salt is used for many purposes, stocked in grocery stores, and is available on
virtually every table.
We use it medicinally, and blocks of salt satisfy cattle’s craving. Salt in water raises
the boiling point, yet salt melts ice. Put salt on meat and it preserves it. Leave salt
off the table and your appetite leaves with it. But too much salt is harmful. It makes
your feet and legs swell and too much is hard on the heart.
Examine one grain of salt under a microscope and note its cube shape. Its sides
are made of two elements, sodium and chlorine. These combine to form sodium
chloride – salt.
Imagine soldiers in a tug of war. An ion of chlorine glares from one corner at a
sodium ion guarding the opposite side. As crystallization occurs the chlorine wins in
the stare-down. Sodium surrenders its single valence electron to chlorine and
together they become sodium chloride. Consider it in verse:
Sodium ions stable,
assembled on the table,
salivating palates crave.
Chlorine ions tiny,
mustering soldiers briny,
guarding corners brave.
Sodium chlorine making,
crystal shakers shaking
cubes so salty white.
Ever fighting blandness;
vectors adding grandness,
enhance the appetite!
There is no wonder Jesus used salt as an example to the disciples in his Sermon on
the Mount. He exhorts Christians to have salt in themselves and have peace with
one another. See Mark 9:50
Copyright © James Tate
Morning breaks in cheerful warm brilliance,
pale sapphire sky pristine.
Grey-white gulls glide vociferously above
in search of firma bound fare.
Reflections of Sol’s arms vault from the sea,
smooth but for zephyr stroked folds;
pure, sugar white sand kissed softly
by persistent waves subtle roll.
Soft ghosts of tepid breeze course random,
sensually caressing what be;
long thin-bladed grasses sway lightly
in synchrony and shameless delight.
With bonnet in hand an aged woman strolls
beside the vast Gulf of blue;
damp, firm sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
Her large eyes of brown focus ahead,
bear no witness to her days and shine;
fine flowing hair of luminous white
draped over shoulders so slight.
A pause, though brief, in quiet reflection,
her gaze upon the distant view
and mind in stoic reminiscence
of past friends and loves and wonder.
His strong arms hold her close tightly,
warmth of body and soul unite,
while gaiety in unbound laughter
disclose love once again renewed.
A tender brush of hand upon cheek
raises fiery passion in both,
as excited young eyes meet in ardor
essence link in eternal embrace.
One warm briny tear born of these thoughts
streams slowly down her cheek,
she slowly walks on as sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
Copyright © Michael Santner
I watched the penguins woddle along,
On cold-hard ice; where they belong.
From water to land, they scurried around,
Flapping their feet on frozen ground.
Herds of them were standing still,
Settling down to a long cold chill.
Mother passes her egg to father carefully;
Knowing he'll care for it, so, naturally.
He'll protect it from the harsh-cold nights,
In a warm snug pouch away from sight.
For mother must find many fish to catch,
While father stays until it is hatched.
Long-dark days of Winter will change to Fall,
Returning mother, with, her familiar call.
Such a sweet sound for father's ear,
Ending another, long-cold Winter year.
Giving father penguin a much needed break,
For their chick is born and fully awake.
With such a huge urge to quickly eat,
Yes, many tasty meals of fresh, fish-meat.
Copyright © Carol B Tyre
My blue eyes welcomed the first day of a new year
As the sun rose into a sapphire sky
That graduated from Cambridge in the east
To Oxford in the west
With every cerulean hue in between
The winter light accented the glaucous leaves of the olive grove
Against the nudity of the forest beyond
And I was struck by the gamut of my favourite colour
Closing my eyes, I smiled as the projectionist hurled memories
Onto the backs of my eyelids…
Blue Norwegian glaciers
Gentians in an Alpine meadow
Irises in Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny
A bunch of forget-me-nots for a childhood sweetheart
The ultramarine of the ink with which I write
And the lapis lazuli in the cloisonné that adorns it
Swards of Meconopsis in the Himalaya
Carpets of bluebells in England’s ancient woodland
The Virgin Mary’s dress in a stained glass window
Stars set into an indigo backcloth
Images of the sea…
And the sea off the glorious west coast of Ireland
I open my eyes again to drink my tea
From a cobalt glazed mug
While wistfully acknowledging the haze of blue smoke
From the village hearths
That hangs in the cool calm air of the valley below
I am greeted by more shades of blue
As I login to post my words
It has always been my favourite colour
Except for the midnight blue that wells within my heart
When you and I are apart
Copyright © Nigel Fawcett
My feet are cold; my tiredness lingers;
My back aches from stooping so low.
Dampened by the frigid water below,
I breathed warmth into my numbing fingers.
Again, I dipped my shovel into the coarse gravel
Of the stream dredging up with a gurgle
A mixture of pebbles and sand;
Into a bucket I poured it, firsthand.
In this wilderness I'm not alone, there's bear.
Mindful I am of the sounds around me;
A churning stream, rustling leaves, an elk groan,
Snapping twigs, anything that would put a scare
Or raise my hair. I looked around for a tree,
Somewhere to flee before darkness set in.
Not far from here, I spied a log cabin.
Into this stronghold I placed my supplies;
Nature's calm was just a disguise.
I latched its massive door; and bolted each shutter.
In its stone hearth, I started a fire;
Basking in its warmth worries melted like butter.
Outside, darkness enveloped the cabin;
Strong claws raked its walls peeling away its skin;
Relentless growling resonated through the dusty din.
Suddenly, I awoke huddled next to a glowing flashlight.
Shivering against the muddy walls of a beaver's lodge,
I could hear the bear feverishly ripping
Through the muddy grass, and the disjointed timbers
Above me. Deep beneath the surface darkness arrived
Just, as my flashlight flickered, then died.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann
Summer scent is the smell of freedom
where we can escape the flavor of boredom
so we plan to have our vacation on the beach
where we can relax and fresh air is within our reach
The warm wind tenderly embraced my spirit
I felt excited on this first visit
on an island where refugees can find paradise
an island where spending time is wise
The dulcet breeze gently kisses lush green trees
and the mirthful sun smiles over the vast seas
Where surfers play with gigantic waves
and are not certain on what road it paves
The fluffy clouds are smoothly sailing
the birds are singing and harmoniously dancing
There are butterflies that are colorful in hue
like enchanted fairies changing colors from pink to blue
I need my sun block, it's time for swimming
the tables are full because later we're all eating
Ladies are smiling to many cool surfer dudes
Children are hungry seeing delicious exotic foods
I picked a shell that whispered peacefully in my ears
and we built castles that we fancied over the years
out of the small grains of white sands
and all you need is helping hands
God was really great in creating splendid wonders
that were loved by all especially the nature lovers
There are numerous oceans that are aquamarine
and abundant trees and grasses that are green
The brother sun was slowly hiding
because the sister moon was coming
I guess it was our time to pack
but there will come a time for us to go back
Go back to a place of leisure and freedom
where you'll not taste the flavor of boredom
It would be hard for us to say goodbye
because truly we will come back and say Hi!
Copyright © Nadine Fababier
The water rushed by pulling at me as I struggled to hold onto the moss covered
rocks, but they were slippery and my hands to not grasp them. I was getting
tired and the water was numbing cold, it seemed to want me. Was I to die today,
to be washed away in this fast moving stream and down the rapids. The sound
of the water was a roar. I could scream, but I would not be heard in this ravine.
It was a beautiful day for a walk in nature and looking down at the sparkling
water I had thought it seemed so lovely. I wanted to get some photographs so,
I made a decision to take what appeared to be a path down to the stream. I
stepped onto it and it seemed fine, so I began the descent. It was a bit steeper
than it had appeared and I found myself holding onto branches. I noticed the
ground was wet and soggy and suddenly I was falling, tumbling, crashing
through the lush foliage and coming to a stop in the water.
It was deep and the current was strong and I knew that I only had moments.
"Dear Lord, I don't want to die today, not today, not like this!" In my mind,
I saw myself floating with my beautiful hair flowing around me and my eyes
staring up, unseeing, at the Lord's painted sky. "Dear Lord, help me, help me!"
It was then, that I noticed a branch hanging out over the water and I grabbed
it, and pulled and pulled myself up onto the rocks. Why had I not noticed that
branch before? I climbed up the slope on my hands and knees to the top.
I was covered in mud and leaves as I staggered home, and still I had not seen
a single person in the park. At home I stripped off my muddy clothes and put
on my nightgown. I climbed into bed and pulled up the covers and I wept and
wept. I gave thanks to the Lord for being there for me in my terrible time of
need. He gave me back my life, that branch was his helping hand. The Lord
has a plan for me and it was not written that I was to die this day. I am so
thankful for this chance and for the important lesson learned.
Nature can be both beautiful and deadly, it must be respected, for it can
be cruel and unfeeling.
September 14, 2015
For the contest, Giving Thanks, sponsor, Edward Ebbs
Copyright © Broken Wings
Sunset like a cotton candy world full of color
fills the sky with mock representations
of the earth below.
Hills, valleys, rivers and fields in panoramic view
float above my head.
Clouds disapate and colors deepen
as the temptress of sunset takes flight
her time now spent.
Twilight whispers and seduces
as she brings on the blanket of night
with bed warm promises
till sunrise arrives with it's golden light.
Kash wrote a Thau-bauk called Twilight Her Name and through this poem he was my muse for this poem.
This is now part of a series of poems including Sunset Reverie, An Evening by The Lake,
Days End, A Night of Dreams and Tiny White Canoe
Copyright © Terry L. Allen
Trees still shade the road
where Gramps and I once rode
in his old green car -- I drove --
on dusky early evenings
in my fifteenth year.
We stopped, as he insisted, at every spot
where an armadillo scratched
among the tender greenery
I was dispatched,
with Gramps' strong wood cane,
to kill a pesky armored creature
by striking hard, once, upon its snout.
Gramps waited in the car,
called encouragement or condemnation:
"That's it! Hit him hard!" or
"Can't you do a damn thing right?"
He knew I didn't like to kill
but was determined to toughen up
That hard old man was not accustomed
to being crossed or contradicted.
But part of him was tender,
and he had a sense of what was right
in the bayou country of his day.
How could I tell him that I hated
killing just to please him?
Often, I killed, then killed again,
although, at times, I'd miss the snout
or be slow to follow up,
and permit an armadillo to escape.
Sometimes, I'd temper force with moderation --
I'd stun the creature, grab the tail,
fling it far into dense bushes
to revive and live another day.
My grandfather eyed me darkly then,
but often kept his peace.
He gave me the treatment
I gave those stunned armadillos.
Could he have felt the same
toward me as I toward them?
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
I welcome change
For I realize this life as a journey
Travelling insinuates progress
Progress means change
...of scenery, of events, of climate
Everyday I search
Treading one small step in front of yet another step
Travelling in a world of discovery and understanding
Today I see in me more than I did yesterday
The more I forge forward
The more I am enlightened
Hence the more I improve
I change and upgrade my goals out of newer acumen
I discard my old values like worn out tyres
Thankful to them for having brought me this far
For the journey to continue
I must swiftly replace the worn tyres of old values
With the newly retreaded ones
...of newer, higher, and better values
Yesterday, this day was only an imagination
Today it is a reality,
But since I have attained it, shall I stop travelling?
Nay, that is against Nature’s Law
This horizon has enabled me to perceive
... a far more beautiful end which I couldn’t yesterday perceive
Nor could I ever have perceived it any way had I not travelled this far
To it I feel drawn
To it I feel summoned with urgency
To it I must let my destiny flow
To it I must ensure my efforts guide me
For in it must be the clue for my next thrill
Such is the nature of travel
Such is the nature of humans
And I am only human
Copyright © Wiseton Prins
With what ease he shifts
With such carefree abandon
Harlequin garb at death’s door
And his whisperings
Oh, God, his whisperings!
Behemoth strides with iron fists
But, oh, at times so gentle
He calls the dance fiddles a macabre tune
A sadistic clown
Nor even forty winks
The great beating heart tapping throbbing drumming
Till all lay lifeless
Only then this sleepy sigh
A white shroud
Copyright © daver austin
I found myself shedding a tear at a train seat upon seeing the sights leaving the Wellington city train port to Woburn.
I don't mind being called a sentimental freak, if I could just have any describe more than I can the beauty that leaves
one more than enamored, bewildered and perplexed. How is it possible for nature to marry humanity and vice versa?
How does it happen when the city buildings lay backdrop to the turquoise waters of the pacific ocean and vice versa?
How does its waves recognize no rules to follow on where it comes and goes or the wind for that matter? How does the
birds play so freely as if happily almost touching the great body of water, back to air, then back again to the base
surface of the waters? How does the water vessels cruise peacefully with some other ships finding their places like
home amidst the many other small boats around? How does the sun give off its summer heat amidst the windy air?
How did I end up being in that rugged train witnessing all the massive spectacle of beauty in a country a million miles
away from my homeland? Tell me why I should help myself to a silent tear.
Copyright © Pam Torres
Alone on a crisp seashore
Bellowing storm clouds engage
Rolling above me as I walk the beach
A pleasantry lifting my rage
Bending my head back looking up
My arms stretched out to their sides
Cool rain drops lightly kiss me
Sensuous tempestuous skies
Taking in a deep breath
I let my repression fade
Peace penetrates my Heartmind
Removing the storm's I've made
Slowly with each rhythmic beat
From these tiny three foot waves...
My anger vanished with the storm
Into a gothic indigo haze~
Copyright © Jane Bowen
Tonight I found friends
Not in human form but;
In the land, sky and nature.
I strolled along a country road,
Taking in what the
Good Lord bestowed.
The sunshine, green grass,
Birds of the air.
One could almost hear
Our Father's voice in the
A deer ambled
Out on the road,
Not noticing I was there.
Thoughts of Him that put
Us both there.
The locust sang their
Songs in the trees.
The glorious afterglow
Of the evening, as the
Sun bids a farewell
Oh, thank you Lord
For friends like these.
Copyright © Debra Schademann
Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.
®Registered: Ann Rich 1998
Copyright © Ann Rich
Jasmines are flowers of paradise...
an absolute work of God...
sense of the splendid inheritance...
omniscience of God to his servants...
nutrient for the pure of heart.
Nobody can be absolutely...
album, which sets no time...
The love for resemblance does warm the soul...
harmonic songs echo in the life of love audible noise...
actors are like living shadows...
nugget, voice and feelings of those who want to hear...
igneous flame that all travel...
exercise for the imagination of those who observe...
living is not for everyone - only the strong survive.
Birthdays are acts that comprise only a single contemplation...
equivalent to the jasmine garden of the Lord...
host for the coming...
real, for those who know how to love.
Copyright © Max Diniz Cruzeiro
I am a Banyan tree,
More than hundred years old,
Near a beautiful lake I stand,
In the heart of Mother Nature.
During my life span I have seen,
Days both good and bad,
I have experienced the strong forces of nature,
Surviving them courageously.
I have grown tall and strong,
By drawing nutrients from the guardian soil,
Soaking in the moist rainwater,
Bathing in the holy sunlight.
I have made some good friends who have,
Explored my heart,
Cheered up my soul,
And brightened my days.
One of my good pals is the lake,
Who has added meaning to my life,
A kinship has developed between us,
From him I have learnt the value of stillness.
I remember you well the nightingale.
You lived in a hole made in my trunk,
Many a time you have sung your melodious lyrics to me,
Providing relief to my aching heart.
I love breezy nights the most,
With the moon shining brightly in the sky,
The divided clouds passing by the moon,
And every instrument of nature showing an aura of magic!
My branches begin to dance,
My spirit awakens,
My soul becomes alive,
On hearing the hymning influences of the wind.
The Earth is a heavenly place,
The Nature is its heart,
With its mystic charms and wonders,
Has shown me a world next to impossible!
Oh god! Thanks for granting me a blessed life,
This life I have enjoyed to the fullest,
I hope I have satisfied you,
By playing my role in this universe sincerely. :)
Copyright © Abhinav Guha
Draped in blooming green,
Colored with a rosy beak,
Blessed with wings free as air,
With crazy dreams of naughty playfulness,
A carefree young parrot I am,
Taking refuge in prospering wilderness.
The forest is my abode,
Never failing to amaze me with its overflowing abundance,
Where rich tress grow in ample,
Gifted with content flowers and melodious fruits
And where birds and animals turn on the mysterious charm,
Letting creative forces smile gently.
The sky is my best friend,
Who embraces me with tenderness.
Our souls have merged into one,
She treats me as her child,
I have slowly grown familiar with her,
Experiencing ecstatic aliveness in her presence.
Woven with the shine of the caring sun,
Along with my fellow parrots
I soar high in the sky,
Taking the form of a military group
We encircle the horizon
With deep sincerity.
I frequently visit vineyards,
Where vines are laden with overgrown grapes and strawberries.
They kiss the earth in gratitude,
Rejoicing at her homely delight.
I feast on these juicy fruits
Like a new born prince.
At Night time I stay still in my nest
And keep staring at the bright stars.
At that moment I am reminded of something,
Dreams of naughty playfulness come running to me
And start mingling with me making me jump out of sheer joy.
Yes I do feel like a carefree young parrot then.
With each passing day I am born again,
Providing me the strength to become more carefree.
Freedom is welcoming me with grace,
Encouraging me to be loving,
Helping me to be myself
And I have decided to dance through the tune of life.
Copyright © Abhinav Guha
Never once have I been enclosed in exhaustion
Until now - like a black woolen blanket, drenched.
I've looked and crawled and even found unceasingly
Before screaming from the riverbank: "This Is What It's For."
But now I can hardly whisper,
Sensing, maybe, a changing tide that sends the fish away
Or remembering past moons that moved them to more fertile feasts.
Yes - both it must be.
For now the water's meandering isn't hopeful wanderlust;
It only serves to annoy me.
And is it me or has its flow slowed?
Although now more than ever I note its swiftness
In comparison with the glassy new-born lake
Or the black curmudgeonly seas.
The gulls still call but no longer in triumph.
It seems it's morphed into a dirge
Though their wings still hang a crisp angel white in the sky.
Gliding, though again more slowly,
Before snatching a fish with ease;
Now it's mockery in their squawking.
Trudging through muddy waters,
I feel more akin to washed up wood
And the log floating on
Than to the swift fishermen
Across the river.
I sit and listen to their songs
Carried by the soft wind,
Encompassing the gull and my own fragile breath
(A song of a son lost at sea and I can't find where to put my hands).
I taste their hope in the sand and the sun
And it oozes from my eyes.
Copyright © Matt Fergoda
Some pretty brown birds nesting on a tree
Prank frequently at my other room balcony
Apparently, they were once the main culprits
Of messing it up, bringing a variety of leaves and twigs
They also build thin nests behind my air conditioner
When an egg drops, they may reckon I’m aborting their daughter
One day, I wondered what had sprouted on the floor
At a grimy nook, not quite far from my door
When I looked closely, I was so skeptical
It was a great masterpiece of these clever winged pals
I was so certain that it was not a moss or a grass
But a vine bearing flowers with pretty purple petals
After a week, it revealed exuberantly itself
A lush vine of string beans, I didn’t sow by myself
Was it dropped by those birds or sowed by an invisible elf?
Oh, if it has grown taller than my room, I must have cried for help!
As it crawled and climbed up to the balcony wall
In fascination, I deigned not to ask questions anymore
It climbed up freely to a wall’s faucet as its sturdy trellis
And feasts proudly, spreading its huge and verdant leaves
In tandem was the bearing of its long string bean fruits
Heavily laden, their numbers had no hints – that was a bird’s hoot
I harvested thrice while my smiles were all in glints
And had a delicious vegie salad twice from my lovely magic bean
My last harvest was meant for the next crops
I took all beans from the fruits just for drying up
The brilliant brown birds will no longer need to drop
New seedlings from their magic beans are now growing in pots
I thanked those kind creatures for the magic beans they’ve given
Growing them in my concrete room balcony was like a dream
It wasn’t a fairytale at all, I’ve already given myself a pinch
And my balcony even magically turned into a mini vegie garden
Jan. 31,2015 11.15pm
-This is a true story: an experience last July, 2014
Contest: Magic Beans
Sponsor: My all time favourite and loving poet sis, PD
Copyright © Leonora Galinta
A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...
The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Passed through burial grounds...
Seeking for another way around,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...
Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...
Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...
However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz
He was coming.
He was coming fast.
He was coming to pay us a visit.
A brooding, lethal monster 30 miles out.
He was coming straight at us
and nothing or no one could stop him
Our house was on the back bay of Biloxi,
a short distance from the beach
so we evacuated twenty miles inland
to a friend’s brick house in the woods
I was afraid, yet fascinated
Curious, an irresistible urge
drew me outside to watch
as he began his attack.
The first gusts were like a late summer breeze,
calm, stronger, calm, stronger, stronger
but the trees seemed familiar with that
bending, swaying and springing back upright
As the gusts blew in more powerful and threatening
they seemed a little unsettled and alarmed.
Their leaves were getting stripped and scattered
By five o’clock they were fighting for their lives
The older, stiffer trees were crackling and snapping
while the younger, more limber and flexible ones
were bending violently almost to the ground with each blow
then not back upright as before because the reflex action
and momentum sent them halfway back the other direction.
By nightfall there were no more gusts.
He came chugging in howling and screaming,
roaring and raging, shaking our foundations
with winds clocked at 135-140 MPH.
I timidly (and foolishly) slipped back out.
I could not have heard myself scream...
For the rest of the night we huddled together
in the kitchen with candles and a transistor radio.
Windows shattered and blew out.
Part of the roof was ripped off.
Next morning it took all day to cut our way back home
Roads clogged with timber; the whole forest broken and uprooted
We came upon what at first looked like a new-cut firebreak,
a swath maybe fifty yards wide and five hundred yards long
We stood there kind of gawking at each other then realized
it was where one of his mighty spawns had touched down…
The power was out for two weeks
There was a dip in the road where a stream flooded
This is where we took our baths
The whole neighborhood met there
armed with bar soap, washrags and towels
Actually, it was quite pleasant and enjoyable
sitting contentedly, letting the cool water
flow over us while we gossiped with our friends
Pascagoula, MS and the Alabama coast
bore the brunt of Mother Nature's fury.
One of the giant cranes at Ingalls Shipbuilders
toppled over and crashed in the water.
Biloxi was in the western quadrant and got only wind and rain
Later I heard some life-long residents say
this was a minor nuisance compared to ten years earlier
when Camille made landfall…
*Hurricane Fredrick - September 12, 1979
Copyright © Tim Ryerson
What was better than pumpkin
pie stuffed in my eye? Nothing
more than a burger and a fry..
That's why I wonder why?
If pancakes are great at
breakfest time? A sandwich
is great at lunchtime?
A spaghetti a great meal at
dinner time? But what was
better than just old fashion
ham on rye? Nothing more
than a burger and a fry..
Lunchtime Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2010,2014..All rights reserved.
Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards