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Best August Poems

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New August Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best August poems are below this new poems list.

10th August by Shahab, Muqudus
August Alliteration by Barter, Denis
Unquotable quotes: Paris the last week of the August reprieve- XXXV Part Two by Wignesan, T
Unquotable quotes: Paris the last week of the August reprieve - XXXV Part One by Wignesan, T
A VERY WINDY DAY IN AUGUST by ALLISON, JAN
In The Late August Sun by Richards, Carrie
Independence day-15 August by sinha, subroto
Hot August Day by Crisci, Andrew
august and snowflakes by hansen, jan oskar
August Rain by Babbit, DM

View all new August Poems

The Best August Poems

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August rains

The steadily falling cold August rains
Continue to pour upon Cheshires lanes;
Over flattening fields of soddened wheat,
Soaking the grass, splashing the feet.

Stands the Combine in the shed;
The unripened apples hanging rosy red.
Stands the caped heron all alone -
His glinting eye as cold as stone.

And in amongst the many puddles
We step around like our troubles:
So lurch ahead with our retreat
Like drunken fools in the street.

And through this months darkly frowns
The cleansing downpours wash the towns;
Scrubs the spire from ingrained time -
Absolves the guilt from the crime!


Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2014

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Never Out of Season - A Short Story

     I was wiping the dust off an old snow globe in the upstairs attic, when a mop of honey-blonde hair suddenly appeared through the wooden flooring.
     "I thought I'd find you here," said the voice, warm and feminine. It was a lovely contrast to the thoughts that bloomed inside my head. The little red Santa smiling gaily, his gloved hand forever frozen in a wave. Truth be told it was over a hundred degrees outside, and up here in this cobweb-ridden place (by God) was practically unbearable.
     But as I lightly shook the fragile keepsake I found myself dashing through the snow like I once did so many years ago. I heard the sound of high pitched laughter from afar, out in the sultry day (most likely the neighbor kids playing tag through a sprinkler-soaked lawn). But there, at that precise moment, I was taking the road before me, and singing a chorus or two.
     "You miss him don't ya?" the voice broke me out of my thoughts, and for a moment I just stared at her as if she had a left over piece of spinach in her teeth. I nodded quietly in the silence and rubbed the smooth curvature of the glass with my thumb. It somehow felt cold, as if winter wonderland was still trapped inside.
     I knew I hadn't stayed too long, though I knew my wife would be patient throughout this ordeal, however long it took. She didn't need to recite any famous sayings to pick me up, just her being there was enough. It was the unspoken truth between us, and it was always enough.
     "Cody and Angie will be downstairs when you're ready to head out."
     "I'm ready now. I was just doing a little cleaning up." It wasn't quite a lie. It was one of those statements we use to say one thing and mean the other. The attic was "okay", but I knew of more dire things in need of some organization.
     Beth went down the ladder first, naturally. Then it was me, a bit awkwardly, still holding the snow globe. We both came into the living room, where our children sat waiting. Cody was playing some handheld video-game in his Hawaiian swimming trunks. Angie was quietly giggling at something her friend said, via text. Her blue bathing suit was barely more than a strap, and I knew I was this close from losing it. But this was a happy day, so I let it slide, just this once.
     "Are you still not ready?" asked Angie.
     I looked down at my blue work jeans and buttoned-up t-shirt. My wife gave her a fierce look, as if willing her to take back what she said. It didn't really matter though ... my emotions were spent.
     "I was gonna change when we got there," I said, a bit defeated.
     "Whatever." She rolled her eyes and plopped her phone right there on the couch. I just stood there like a lifeless statue, while my family got everything ready to head to the local pool. My wife was as patient as a snail, but the kids bustled about as if they've been down here a lifetime. Cody was mad when Beth took the game-boy from his hand, just before some big important checkpoint. Angie was calling Beth completely unfair for not letting her invite Tom over to come swim as well. My wife told her, "This is a family event, no exceptions, and for Pete's sake, listen to me for just this once!"
     I just stood there, in quiet grief. Their voices were mere sounds, plastic and surreal, and I went along with it as if everything was alright. But it wasn't alright. The world was falling apart all around me, miraculously still turning, and I just stood there! Finally I reached for the doorknob, when I realized I still had the snow globe in my hand.
     I looked at it longingly, with affection, and it came to me. A slightly crazy idea. Not the kind where it's life or death, but the fact that it was a spur of the moment decision, it felt totally crazy. I placed the snow globe on the mantel above the fireplace, where the glass caught the sun just right and the jolly Santa shone a brilliant red.
     Allow me this simple pleasure, I asked God in silence. Let the neighbors gawk and smirk all they want. Let the kids think their father's going senile, thinking it's December and not August. I didn't care. I just watched the little flakes twinkle through out the water-filled dome.
     I displayed it proudly, knowing that good will, kindness and love were never out of season. So I picked myself up out of my gloomy state, got inside the car, and slid into the driver's seat. "Alright, let's go!" I said cheerfully, and everyone looked surprised.
     "Dad, is everything … okay?" asked Cody, from behind. But no answer was necessary. I just smiled, and looked across at Beth without a care in the world.
     And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.



First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue #3

NOTE: I've written a few short stories, but this one is special to me. It was well received by my family, and I was so excited to discover it was accepted by a magazine. It was my first non-poem to be published.


Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

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I dreamed a dream of You

Yesterday I dreamed a dream,
that had no end.
You in your white gown, and long, black hair flowing.
You were calling my name.
I heard you, but I couldn't reach you!

And when I say your soul was tainted.
You went out in the night life.
You dressed in your black, evening ball gown.
You danced till the Red Sun came out, over the horizon.

You smiled at me.
A flame in my heart burned red hot!
My knees and hands shook with nerves;
Nerves of love and joy.
I blew you a kiss,
but you turned away!
Oh, please don't turn away from me,
for I would die, if it happened again!

Your beautiful and golden heart showed me the truth.
The truth that every gentleman wants to hear.
I've seen you walk the streets,
in the blue dawn of August.
As I followed you, you stopped and looked at me.
You smiled so beautifully, and my heart fluttered into oblivion!

You walked with your friends and I went my way.
I couldn't find a single trace of you that day.
I cried out "Why did I leave her like this?!"
I looked for you, all over the courtyards and town squares!
Yet no sight of your beauty.
... No sight of your golden heart, that I hold so dear to mine.
Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
Why did I leave... that is the question!

I should have stayed by your side,
till the ends of time.

Yet I had left.
Why...?

One gloomy and parish midnight.
I came along a road,
and soon found myself in front of a wayward cafe.
Smiling faces all around me.
I spotted a beautiful face that outstood all the other faces around me.
It was yours.

Your face brought me to sanity and I went over too you!
You spotted me and tried to run!
I caught you in the dirty hallway and pulled you in.

Our eyes met and I fell in love once again.
Sanity re-entered my mind, body and soul.
I kissed you and you kissed back.
You held my hand, and we left the cafe and walked down the street.

The street was gloomy, yet we together brightened the dark street.
We went back to the lit up city streets, of the lands filled with smiling faces,
and we fell in love and slept together.

You lay there in my restless arms and I gave you a sweet kiss,
upon your sweet and soft head.
Your dark hair was sweet smelling and felt of silk.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep with you,
there in my arms and we dreamed together
till the morning came and woke me up,
and took you away from my weak and weary arms.

I dreamed a dream of you.


Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

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Far beyond your absence,my sombre heart seeks



For publishing


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2013

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Summer Nights in the South

Summer Nights in the South Green fireflies blink in the quiet of night and our sleeping old dog heaves a sigh. Dreaming, she sprints through a youthful blue sky chasing delicate clouds, cotton-white. A red-sunset tanager* colors the warm air from a perch in the majestic oak limbs above professing by lullaby, sincerely devoted love, like some sublimely recited evening prayer. I lay back and smile, through the leaves, at the moon to the sound of crops rippling in the breeze thinking how precious are nights such as these when alone, with the Earth I commune.
*Summer Tanagers (Piranga rubra) are native to the southern U.S. but are not true tanagers. They are actually members of the cardinal family. 08/01/15 Submission for Contest: Nature Poems Only Hosted by: Shadow Hamilton


Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015

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While You Sleep

While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly 
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.

Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel, 
And so before it I choose to kneel.

I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.

I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.

I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.

My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.


Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2012

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Beautiful people

People make me smile the way 
their eyes shine when they talk 
about something they love 
when they feed me food. Or tell 
me how much they love me 
when I look into someone's 
eyes and see it I see that look 
in their eyes I see love in them 
When I see someone laugh and 
have fun in what they do 
The way they cry for there lost 
ones
When they give me a smile and 
tell me how beautiful I am 
People are beautiful well some 
are and I wish someday I can 
find someone who will look at 
me and say "you have that look 
in your eye"    what look?
"Happiness" 
I want to find someone so 
beautiful in the inside I can't 
stay away they amaze me with 
what they say an do how they 
will dance in the rain and know 
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a 
rainy day and just talk about 
the stars 
I want someone beautiful


Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013

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My Lady

"I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it is my gift to you . . ."

                                                            A Rambling Poet


My lady is the wind’s soft sigh Through fields of marigolds in June, A beach night stroll beneath the moon, A cloudless sky, a butterfly. She waltzes to a rhapsody And lifts her voice soulfully. My lady is. . . A splendid sunset in July As two soared high in a balloon. The bliss we tasted, you and I, Against a bright sky streaked maroon, Is almost like a fantasy Which lingers in my memory. My lady is. . . A tranquil August lullaby, The ocean’s sound along a dune, A dragonfly, a blue jay’s cry, A lazy daisy afternoon Till Autumn brings new poetry; Then long warm nights soon cease to be, And months of Winter’s chill ensue. My lady is the wind’s soft sigh Through fields of marigolds in June, A splendid sunset in July, A tranquil August lullaby. She waltzes to a rhapsody Which lingers in my memory. When months of Winter’s chill ensue, I’ve bid my Lady Love adieu.
Andrea Dietrich For the Contest of Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~ "Writing in the Sublime"


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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Scent of Talcum

    A humid afternoon , in the middle of August,  has nothing much to commend about it.  I can hear the humming of air conditioning coming from both sides of a familiar old street.   It's too hot for even the ardent gardener to be out and about, and sidewalks are deserted, while children are herded into backyard wading pools. Clouds are softly framed in bands of charcoal grey.  
I stand on the corner, waiting for the light to change, and waiting for cars to allow me to cross the street.

rush hour traffic...
bees circle the elm trees with
no notice of me

     I approach the old Victorian, and can't help but notice how painted shutters need repair, and the garden needs weeding, with devil-grass taking over the wind-whipped faces of dreary, old zinnias. Seeing it so unkempt, makes me a little sad  
   Drooping over the sidewalk, thirsty roses lean over to greet me, as I ring the bell.  A dear old woman opens the door, and suddenly, with unbridled joy, sparkling eyes, leathery old face, that crinkles into delight, my gloomy mood evaporates, like a freshly-washed springtime day,....and I'm quickly ushered into the talcum-scented foyer of friendship. 

a wilted blossom
still beautiful in my palm....
new lines in her face


________________________________________________
7/19/15  For Contest Sponsored by Scott Thirtyseven 


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

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Fading from life

it’s always august’s end
september’s beginning
that bothers me the most

i feel that brush of cool air
press against me
like a kiss on dead lips

the trees are now painted 
a sunset’s reflection
but all i see is red
in summer’s end

the leaves dance gracefully
beneath the winds
one last time
before they fall

the trees will soon stand 
blank of life
like you and you and you
and my mind
as i remember
each ending
as i watched them 
fall from life
amongst summer’s end



09/07/13


Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013

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TOMORROW DIED YESTERDAY

Procrastination hurled its clubs
And retrieved all the master plans
In the thought of tomorrow which 
Is still young and fresh to emerge.
So you succumbed to its fire blazing fist 
And quit to begin the next day.
The day died in tears, rejected and frustrated
Then comes tomorrow in a glorious smiles 
Filled with hopes and grace.
It was neglected just like the other tomorrow.

tomorrow died yesterday in tears.
tomorrow died yesterday in pains.
Men labour not but procrastinate.
Fear the unknown and stay day dreaming 
Wish the wish which never wish to come in vain
Can a thief steal from a thief?
Procrastination is a thief of time.

What ever you desire to do
Do it now and never wait for tomorrow .
Yesterday and today were just like tomorrow 
Which would still die in sorrow if the 
Soul is not watered bravely.

so climb the mountains for the treasures.
Go to the river and hook up the fishes and dry them.
Visit the ants for wisdom and understanding.
Sound the drums of bravery
Let the blinds men walk and dance with no one by their side.
Chase away procrastination and welcome effective act,
There is always a smile of faces on the birth of a new day.


Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2014

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DOLLAR SIGN OF THE TIMES

I aint got no money and I'm goin' down fast

My heads in the toilet and my life's in the trash

I wish I had a penny for every bad thought

I wish I could steal without gettin' caught

 

Wanna be able to buy my own smokes

I'm tired of "shorts" and two hit tokes

Don't wanna be a rich man don't wanna be a star

Don't need my own plane just wanna have a car

 

 

The beat goes on but the beat don't pay

I'm cryin' all night I'm tryin' all day

I dream and I wish I kneel and I pray

I know I gotta reason

Just gotta find a way




Copyright © steve fecser | Year Posted 2016

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Onoff the cuff

I believe that poetry is and of is was were have has been of as one pretenses a 
poetic practical pompous, pro  (p) ransomedramatical  pretense
pretending to prose promise a 
predictive premise primotory practicum politicallty
polishing practcoriam process of primary  
preliminary postures pragmatic promulgates
telling the ta ta tumulutious tillo tales of taudry 
banal blog lists calling me to qualoquantify the reso-resolutes
resounding in resilient quo quotients that bear a 
breach bridgeborn badgebilled
barometrer bearing broad billboard
catanonic catashrospies creating caustic crill 
coffinistic coffiures cantonizing
socio unsetteling  leo linguistic lies in a somewhat
lovevoid  livid liquiditoria regal
ransome based regalia resonnating
rawbone residual retinal real time 
tombosoties transitioning with
toying transient trio tide tooth
crass cavity craino creep mandibulo master mildew 
mold molelicular mamsypamsy sillopsuedo master of 
ever me present I , me , mine, miestro 
sitting back and looking at the world as a place to be
not to be, hope to be, wish to be, be to be, in the 
proper primer of humino yesnomenclatureculture of that which is u 
me us our belief shistem radical of our primal sociodiscontentselfevident
irrelevant meanfulness, to countercure our quick/quack quotient
umbrella upbringing to say do write feel text tank athink
all that is emo exit verpresent to keep the fecal faces free of 
founding father status inquo man although time is time in place. 
Mindfulness is a mute place ill unattended by sociocrap everlasting. 
Treasure travel inviting innate needs netherly knodding to the primo postive
practitudes of acoustic anciliary annotated awareness,  allowing all annuities
ancient archaic to willifully wind wind waveringly wish away intrinsic id-ideas.
It it is what u want it it to be, say, scroll, live, plural, self to self. Use it, lose it, 
share it,  beware it, conquer it, it. Know it  it's criminal capitol is wary for before
u know it it, life it before it its u, and  will its it and
ale all eek out the precious profit of its itdom idiocracy illusionary in its 
illogical inness so as not to gravely gravitate ungracious griefs
upon your its it.  
scary huh. Karma it, Big Daddy.
 


Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013

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Designed For More

Hope resurrects dying dreams,
in towers of steel and glass.
Yet, technology breeds greed,
and no one gets a free pass.

Hunger stocks reality,
armed with the pain that it brings.
And edging insanity,
puppets dance in tangled strings.

Amidst high society,
beggars simply don’t exist.
Yet, kept out of sight they get
barely enough to subsist.

The homeless frighten the rich,
trained in the art of deceit.
For they just can’t understand,
why people live on the street.

Rich families nestled safe,
don't worry about the poor.
And yet, the tragedy is
that Man was designed for more.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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August 23rd

" I remember that day
As clear as the crystal springs in June"
only it wasn't June, It was August
the morning air was thick like smoke
it choked me awake

the first blush of day
flushed across the sky
blood red clouds 
colored her path

I lay still
like the air
without a hint
of summer's wind

the clock on the wall
tormented me 
with the tick, tock,
tick, tock,
its bony hands
seemed to skip along
until I arose from bed

I sipped on coffee
as I took in the news
unsure what my day would bring

...and then I could hear a buzz
as if a fly was making circles
beside the bed, then a ring, ring, 
ring echoed within my purse

I stared at the clock
my heart began to beat
faster then time

was it my father
did something happen
I worried as I listened

the voice
was indistinct
as if being choked

I struggled
with my ears
to make sense
of the words
that fell

...and then silence
fell all around
as if deaf
and mute
unable to process
and conceive
the message

my brother,
who turned 49
just the day before
was breathless
like the august wind

no more jokes
or laughter
or candles atop cake

his wick had burned out
within that last breath of air
and it burns, slow
as the years pass
still to this day
yet I'll remember that day
forever more....



pick a line contest
Mustapha Mohammed
"Reflections when the summer breathes"

Sandy Adams  8-22-2013


Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013

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Hope

Don't rush to wash off the sea salt 
drying on your skin;
the hopes it carries from other oceans,
those remain yet to be seen.


Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016

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Lost To Dementia

Night of the dark soul 
demons infiltrate 
the gap between self
and oblivion. 

Your mind’s a fragile  
dysfunctional place
that is under siege
and cannot be saved.

As reality 
morphs into a dream
sanity slowly
starts to slip away.

And part of you is
lost to dementia
confusion lurking
behind every thought.

Hope is depleted
time’s all that exists
and your lonely heart
cries out for a friend.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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Shards Of Insanity

Self-harming’s a cry for help,
from a pit of depression.
For like a ghost happiness  
is scary and elusive.

Those who are cutting reject
trite platitudes of pity.
For their pain’s real and has been
festering inside for years.

Shards of insanity cut
into insignificance.
And reality adapts
to constant agitation.

Sparked by emotional needs,
a itch attacks twitching nerves.
And then only cutting dulls
anxiety’s sharpened edge.

The beat of your aching heart
increases, as steel cuts flesh. 
Yet, for a chance to feel real,
you fall into submission.

Relief accompanies the
flow of fire fleeing your vein. 
And you feel alive inside,
as endorphins numb your pain.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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HANDMAID OF LUSH , AUGUST

Bold August…
 handmaid of lush
   kindling night flames
     with embellished prance…
   I touch  her 
     resplendence
        through charades
          of abandon
             heating  in warm
                desire when
                 stars rosy burst.
      And dusk floats
   on lanes, cafes
 where her beauty
  ignites a thrill,
    a jazzy roam...
      this afterglow
      takes raw flights;
          my heart blushes
           moonbeam-kissed
      by escapades
     through summer's
       young moments;
         each fragrant wisp
           imbuing new romps
        and oh I taste
      freedom again...
   pulsed, enticed!


Anacreontic Verse 4
For Edward Ebbs
7.27.2017  POTD award








Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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Hate Provokes Hate

Children run as jets rip the sky,
for death pilots every flight tonight.
And fearing that their loved ones may die,
panicky people scatter in fright.

Faith harboring hate levies steep tolls,
in the struggle of east versus west.
For martyrs possess revengeful souls,
to which human bombs can attest.
 
When the sting of a bullet takes life,
killing's not a personal affair.
Yet severing off heads with a knife,
unleashes reality’s nightmare.

Standing on arrogance we feel tall,
till a mine strikes with its shrapnel bite.
And sold on right we think we can’t fall,
yet a boy lays dead lost in this fight.

Innocent blood spills upon the sands,
when kids are casualties of war.
And God fearing souls wash crimson hands,
never knowing what their child died for.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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HAPPILY BORN

Through the screams of pain,
I heard a cry,
A cry that indicated a birth of a new life.
Sitting in the hospital corridor,
I could hear the cry of happiness from tiny lungs,
I could experience the same happiness,
The family was going through.
Yes a girl child!
I thought to myself,
She might be lucky,
She has a modern family who cared for her
Thank god! she did not go through the pain of being killed.
This world has learnt to accept a girl child!
I am happy.............


Copyright © AHALYA NAIR | Year Posted 2016

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You Need Only Believe

When passion's flame met its demise,
its death gave rise to empty smoke.
And although it held little weight,
it crushed your heart until it broke.

Love was weaned on uncertainty,
for emotions carry a cost.
And within your fantasy realm,
the reality of now's lost.

The hours slowly morph into days,
drifting into forevermore.
And struggling with anxiety,
you seek memories to explore.

A face from the past, sparks a smile,
remembering a time of love.
And you revisit yesterdays,
to recall what dreams were made of.

Love’s magic is spontaneous,
sparks simply ignite in the heart.
Yet, they’re quickly extinguished, 
when feelings of rejection start.

Time takes you past the piercing pain,
letting your dreams and hopes renew.
For you will fall in love once more,
you need only believe, in you.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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Loneliness Smothers

Devastated by betrayal,
I am reeling from its sting.
And left in abject solitude,
I struggle alone with my pain.

I hear the thumping of my heart,
dismantling dreams with each beat. 
And my pulse is garishly loud,
racing to accommodate fear.

My teary eyes scan the skies,
to wish upon a shooting star.
And yet tears reduce their magic,
to sparkling specks of dying light.

Sadness saturates my being,
much deeper than ever before.
And loneliness smothers my soul,
entombed in the sound of silence.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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Freedom Struggle: India

What do you know,
About the rule of British?
It is not a rule
For Indian`s to cherish!

It started decades ago,
They began with trade
And then slowly,
They began to invade.

It started at the borders
That were close to the coasts
It was a rule,
About which Britain boasts.

What then became of the Indians 
And their peaceful life?
The British turned it ,
Into more of a bitter strife.

The horrors of British rule
Steadily began to bloom.
Across our country far and wide
Began the days of gloom.

The Indians didn`t back out,
They fought for their rights.
Across the country could be seen
The start of horrendous fights.

Battles were in plenty,
Loss of lives were too.
Those who were caught were jailed
It was like a human zoo!

It didn`t stop the Indians
They wanted to be free.
They were a support to the country
Like strong roots to a tree.

Images of the horrors
Were seen at different posts.
What about  innocent people?
The images haunted them like ghosts!

Few hundred years of struggle
Had come to an end.
It was decided that the British
Back to England they would send.

The country we live in today
Is thanks to those,
The brave freedom fighters
Who destroyed our woes.


Copyright © Trisha Prasad | Year Posted 2016

Details | August Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sailing On Dry Land

Searching through the memories lost deep within my heart.
Of someone I no longer know that long ago did part.
The mornings gathered years of dust.
As the future I no longer trust.

Embracing tides that washed away.
That dust that gathered in the day.
Left empty slates to start anew.
But emptiness is all that grew.

Another page of lost horizons on an empty sea.
Where faded hues of daily blues continue inside me.
Weathered and forgotten in a voyage all alone.
The search for love inside a heart of someone that's unknown.

The curtains made of paper lace.
Uncertain shades we try to trace.
So quick to change in daily light.
As we try to win this losing fight.

A long goodbye as time moves on.
To catch up with a renewed dawn.
As Angels guide us to our moors.
To help us through these unknown doors.



Copyright © robert johnson | Year Posted 2015