Long poem by
Terry Trainor | Details |
Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.
Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,
As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.
If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.
An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.
The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.
Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.
Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.
These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,
As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.
These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,
Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,
Long poem by
Cyndi MacMillan | Details |
It’s early morning, Sunday, midsummer. I have the kitchen to myself, and I decide to make an omelet from the brown eggs and farmer's cheese that I bought at the market, yesterday. The house is still, save for the sound of the fans and the occasional squeak of a floor board. I consider turning on the radio, but change my mind. How often do I allow myself silence?
Tea is steeping, a blend called Nile Pearls, and the aroma of pineapple fails to overshadow the black currant. I’m still in my nightshirt. Day can wait. The view from my window makes me smile for my herb garden has gone quite riotous. I decide to make my simple dish more flavorful.
Pushing open the screen door, I pause, stretch and lift my face to the sun. The thermometer is sure to climb over 30 today but, right now, it is comfortable. Stepping off the deck, my toes are grateful for the coolness of the grass, the absence of tight shoes, those self-imposed feminine trappings.
my clean feet
wet with dew –
There is a feeling of sanctity, here. My garden is raised, built into a small hill that provides privacy, yet swallows yard space. I pause to sniff the lavender, let the week dissolve into soft, purple splendor. Pointless, really, to even try to ignore the rhubarb. It is a tyrant, defying borders, refusing to compromise its position. Enormous leaves rustle and I grin as a chipmunk streaks for the cedar hedge. I close in on the herbs, consider my options and snap off several long, verdant spikes.
Close to fields, we have had our share of visitors, small frogs, grass snakes, rabbits, red tailed hawks, the occasional raccoon. Nature is taking back the encroachment of suburbia. I rip off a mint leaf, finger its fur and a movement catches my eye.
a snail inches towards
There is no artifice in dawdling. Often, I think that my small plot of land is enough for me. No adventure to the far East, no sabbitical on a windswept isle off the coast of Wales. Pleasure, riches, surround me. Perhaps, I will never see the Louvre, but then, in small ways, the Louvre visits my plain home.
a spider's web
and my clothesline
The neighbours tolerate my brown thumb, our patchy lawn and my horrid bird calls. They have witnessed the earth under my fingernails, encrusted knees , those afternoons I spent coddling seedlings. One keeps gifting me surgical gloves, a nurse who fights weeds with an antiseptic resolve. The gloves pile in a drawer, unused. I gaze at my roses, notice the gnawed growth, wonder who thinks them delicious. Smart wee beastie. The street is stirring, and my sojourn will end, soon.
the widow next door
refills her new bird bath -
I search for a cloud, find one so far away that it appears otherworldly. Peat and black soil perfume the air. Inhaling, I accept a gentle invasion, a piercing that brings a deep sense of purpose and peace.
For just one moment, I feel that I am not walking the earth at all, but that somehow, as impossible as it seems, the Earth just began to move within me.
*written May 2013.
I miss my herb garden!
Long poem by
Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |
A Song If this is My Country..
This Song is dedicated to the brutal Rape victim of Delhi and it’s a message for My Countrymen. The Original song is in Hindi on You Tube with Song Lines Text in English. The Song contains many situations universal and of concern of many counties of the world. The Photos used in the Song too conveys some message and I hope my friends on Poetry Soup would let me have their opinion. The original Song can be viewed on my You Tube channel or through following URL
A Song If this is My Country.. Part 1
If this is my country
It is yours also
Then why you are making
Such a condition of this land. 01
The dreams which we had seen
To make this country
A land, dearest to everyone
Those dreams are weeping
Whenever they see
You or me. 03
Is this the way
To make a new world for us
By nipping and crushing
The dreams and expectations
Of each and everyone. 04
By making the poor innocent children
As street baggers
What an India of my dreams
You have made O’ makers. 05
If this is my country
It is yours also
Then why the woman’s respect
Is looted everyday on its soil. 06
Is the man of today is so helpless
That those who rob the respect of women
Are set free every day,
So that, they may rob again
What an India of my dreams
You have made O’ makers.
Then why you are making
Such a condition of this land. 07
You and Me both have born on this soil
And on its soil only
We would part our last breath. 08
After centuries of long struggles
We had received back
And After great difficulties
We had started seeing
Some blooming. 09
We could have made it again
A garden full of flowers
A garden on which
All the seasons
Would spread their splendors. 10
But what you have made
Of our montherland
A story on which
The world would only laugh.
Kanpur India 07th Jan. 2013
This Song is dedicated to that Bold Girl
Rape Victim of Delhi
Who has sacrificed her life
So that Other Rape Victims
May be saved.
My Channel on You Tube "RavindraKK1"
When Rapes are increasing like a viral disease it is time we should find out the reasons, which are creating an atmosphere of such crimes against women all over the world. It may be a serious problem right now for countries like India but the day is not far off when, when those who are creating such viral through internet would be the worst suffers. My Poem and Video on You Tube on this problem is a very small effort in that direction….Ravindra K Kapoor
Protected under the Copy Rights provisions of Poetry Soup.
Long poem by
Samir Georges | Details |
A child passes by
So full of joy
A friend by his side
Broad smiles smothered all over their faces, a veil over childhood ignorance
Together they play, tumbling in the grass of the gardens of youth
But before long, before every scent in this blooming garden is taken in, experienced
A thunder storm invades the scene
Shocking reality into their lives
Ravaging their ignorance, their innocence
Shattering their smiles
And with great earthquakes, the ground beneath their feet shatters
And the duo is separated into a quickly spreading mist
It enshrouds them, whisking away their screams, hiding away their tears
And with that sundering, friends of old are replaced by the mist, ever changing
Sharp blades of green dull under the weight of the dew as the mist rides on the back of time
Slowly, like the growth of wisdom, the mist withdraws
With every inch of that once promising garden that is returned to the sun
Another inch of realization is exposed to the world
And where once gleamed blades of green and welcoming rainbows of soft scented dandelions
Now sprouted weeds, thorns battling amongst one another for more room
They sacrifice the shrubs and bushes of sweet tasting raspberries that once covered the
broad smiling faces of two toddlers
And from within the unrolling mist
Strides a man in a suit
With every stride he takes, away yield the weeds, and dwindle away
Disintegrating, crumbling under his very air
And from the foot tracks of his military boots
Sprouts a structure breeding advances, great wonders to awe the world
And what few roses remained in this scarred haven
Are sacrificed, to make way for more boot marks, more wonders to awe the weeds
Now comes another being, out of the retreating fog
On his face is a contorted image
He drudged along a weed ridden path
Tripping and tumbling over boot marks
Each sprouting small, developing structures, non-nurtured offspring of unthinking parents
His tattered clothes, assaulted by time and thorny undergrowth
Hung on him like the shedding skin of a snake
But unlike that of the slithering reptile, this old coat shall not leave its master
Both wandered on, both blind to what was around them, what had changed
Till one day, they walked towards one another
And by some random act of choice, or the strict lines of fate, both blind men came full circle
And without a glance, they strode past each other as they had glided or tumbled past their
ever changing pathways
As if the faces of their past where forgot
© Samir Georges
Long poem by
Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |
Patradoot or The Messenger33 /Many
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
A little garden you will find, in front of my house,
Full of beautiful plants and fragrance spreading creepers,
Its enchanting smell would force you to stop for a while,
And its loveliness would keep fascinating you, dear letter.
This lovely garden is the creation of my father*, dear,
Who has put his labor and efforts to make it, so beautiful,
That it’s a joy to be among the green plants and creepers,
His garden speaks and enchants every one, dear letter.
The sad green plants of the garden without flowers,
Would narrate the state of sadness of the dwellers,
And it’s bending branches and tree twigs would convey,
The agonies and worries of my beloved’s heart, dear letter.
Here you would also meet, my lovely little daughter, dear letter,
When you see her playing among the plants and trees,
And you will get a chance to listen her broken melodies,
She would be mumbling, while playing with her friend trees.
My sweet little daughter Krishna, is a lovely delicate child,
She is the beloved of our hearts, hardly twenty four months old,
Krishna is charming, beautiful and alert like lightening,
To catch your attention, immediately, dear letter.
Ravindra to continue in 34…
Kanpur India ….. August 2010
*father. Father of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor or my grand father.
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on firstname.lastname@example.org
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
Long poem by
catherine Reinke | Details |
Stories are told
Of lost enchanted kingdoms treasures
Of jewels beyond all measure-
Diamonds, rubies, silver and gold
Yet blue pearl fairest
Wisdom story told.
A gentle love tale
For you to hold.
On the Island
In sea foam ocean
This tale of motion
Loves commotion, strong emotion.
From deep within Neptune’s caves
Songs they gave.
To spin their magic
A women’s eyes
In his sight.
For he alone wise warrior bold
Made they she
For he it’s told
Now long below the sea she rested
While search in vain he was tested.
Given to fatigue his journey
Settled he on land
His garden tended.
Years did pass
All seemed well but how his pearl
Sunk toward hell
If he knew
It’s sure he’d tell.
“search again I,
for where you fell.”
But know he not
Her plight now covered
Until that day
His love discovered.
For hidden right
Beneath his eye
When he heard her sigh.
And beyond his garden gate
Slept his princess fair
Under the sun
She’s the one
Like a feather
Up he picked
His pearl of grace,
Stoked her hair
To search no more
His soul did sigh
Her breath of life
And together their souls did fly.
A love that’s
Pure and white and round
A hunger- desire
Both they found.
Drink they did
And fulfill loves thirst
While to fate- to- destiny
Sang their first
For heavens songs
Were heard above
War to pearl
Yet to our tale
A sorry end
To brief indeed
A tear to send.
For warrior not
So wise believe
When dropped he did
His love to sea.
Now tears have filled
Her eyes of blue
With sleep ness nights
Pearl cries of you.
Cry to god above
“leave me not
so lost in love.”
“Again to sleep me
my warrior leaves
sinking deep beneath the seas.”
“Wait I will
if I must
100 years me-
find I trust.”
For he alone
Her love heart discover
In princess pearl
He find no other.
So next time
To sea you wade
Remember this tale
To you I gave
Of warrior wise
His search in vain
A princess blue pearl
His salvation Kingdoms gain
To find loves
And to drop]
And back to sleep.
It’s a folly best avoid.
For love is given to far and few
Watchful if it happens to you..
Long poem by
Chris Boskovski | Details |
My love intended for the girl of my dreams,
she walks from side to side,
not knowing that I walk alone.
She is beautiful than any other thing in this simple world,
everything around her shakes and trembles
as she walks on by without a spare of a passing glance.
The wine is drunk
the last cigarette smoked,
the pain of heartache gone away.
It feels good to see her go my way,
to take the pain with her away from me,
as I sit in the wayward cafe on the river of ashes.
A beautiful girl she is mine,
but that course of life shall no surpass mine,
and my heart beats and takes me away
in hope of falling in love.
Irony of love and hate,
it is similar in many ways,
as I sit and think of her.
She angers me,
but when the vail of anger falls over my eyes,
the passion of love enters my mind.
Come now, take me away,
hold me in your beauty,
and love me with your gentle body.
Go into the gardens,
where the nightingales sing,
and sit at the patio's crossway.
Watch the artists paint pictures of the garden,
watch the writers write about the garden,
and watch us go and pick flowers in the garden.
The air smooth and wind breeze calms the nerves,
the pain of my sorrowed heart is soothed,
by her sweet intellegence and beauty.
Her eyes, orbs of blazing sunlight,
blind me with the beauty of her beauteous face,
her lips and skin smooth and pure.
She is glorious,
My love she is the dream girl,
who comes and takes my nightmares away from me.
As I sit on the park benches,
I light my last cigarette,
and reminicse on the days with my love.
I close my tired eyes only for a moment,
and the moment is gone,
my beauty is gone.
The tears are all gone,
the pain has gone,
the feelings of everlasting love are all gone.
Where did it all go?
Where did my beauty go?
Where did my love go?
All gone now, all gone now,
as I grow old,
the feeling of death takes me by surprise.
The park bench is cold,
the cigarette is burnt out,
I am longing for a drink.
I lay in a wayward cafe
drink a coffee and talk to myself
discussing a book of poetry.
Looking over to the right
I am blinded by beauty once again
this time this is no dream.
Alas, my dream girl came
that appeared in my sunny pleasure dome,
who has walked barefoot in the gardens of my mind.
She sat with me,
I looked at her
and we smiled together.
We held hands together,
and dreamed together,
forever and ever.
cigarettes smoked together.
A cloud over our heads
in the shape of a heart
Long poem by
Chris Boskovski | Details |
the love that has no meaning,
the silver ports of the moon,
shine so bright,
that it blinds you in the twilight
she is beautiful and she is divine
she is the song sang by the sweet nightingales
in the gardens of worthy, overgrowning and blooming roses,
like wildfire grow tall and the thornes of the vines
tangle around her feet and drag her ever so slightly
throughout the garden of beauty.
As the roses lay along a table,
as she sits at the table
and she waits for me, the wordman
to come to the dinner table at the stroke of nine
and sit with her,
start a scene or two of romantic setting,
to pursue love in her name.
Love is around us,
the candlelight shines and reflects in her silk hair,
as her evening dress glitters and shines
and her bossom shows itself in the nightsky
as we lay together,
we pursue a dream together,
forever we live together forever,
as we stand upon the belcony of Romeo and Juliet's love scene
we swim in a pool of sweet divine care and love,
we swallow grapes and drink wine
hand and hand on Persian rugs and virgin white cloth sheets,
we dance to a simple, yet sweet Chopin's masterpiece
of his beautiful nocturnes,
which make such a sweet and romantic song in our heads.
We stomp out the flames
as we dance the night away,
and you lay in my arms,
and I kiss you upon your lovely head,
and you hold my hand,
and I hold you tight
never thinking of letting your love go away from me,
I would take my own life,
before I lose your love.
See us together,
it is a painting that lasts lifetimes,
that needs no touch-ups.
I care for you and love you!
Love me, I know you will.
My sweet and loving portrait lady,
who in reality is more beautiful than a fully bloomed rose
that sits on its green stem,
in the garden of beauty that sits outside my window.
Come up to my chambers
as I picked roses for you and pettles litter the atmosphere
as love's tension grows
and suspence brings us together,
let us make love tonight
seal the passion
and pursue love once and for all.
Then shall we wake with the first rays of the blazing of the morning sun,
I shall wake next to your beauty and glory,
and I shall point my attention to the heavens
and thank the Gods for sending you on the open road,
toward my chamber door, I call my heart.
Then we shall dress, and walk the pathways
in the garden of beauty
and I shall pick a bauquet of roses
and we shall sit by the lake and pursue our love
for one another
and nothing, not one earthquake shall shake us apart.
Long poem by
saket suman | Details |
A LITTLE LOVE SONG OF LITTLE THINGS.
There is nothing to say
no complaints no gratitude,
Your aptitude is right but
its hindering your attitude!
A glass was my page-
you were my water I thought,
Your love was a sorrowful battle
with tears I fought!!
Every drop of tear
that wet my eyes,
I hid with smiles
beneath my cries!
You were the amazing rolling
waves of the sea that help to sail,
I forgot the same waves turn
monstrous and the sailors do fail!!
There was a time when
you had nothing beside you,
A bucket of tears and
the company of devils in your crew,
There were tears in your eyes
and a passion of compassion,
The tears turned into laughter
and so changed your fashion!!
Let me recall today although
what is done for others must be forgotten,
When you were wet I soaked
your tears and did swell like the cotton,
When the burden of sorrow
overlapped your heart-I was the button,
But when prosperity knocks
men lock their rooms and draw the curtain!!
Who remembers the world beyond the window,
Who cares for the candles when the bulbs glow,
Who remembers the teardrops when they laugh,
Who cares for a muffler when they have the scarf??
Oh girl you forgot your tears
were not yours they were our,
Oh girl you forgot you were
not my weakness you’re my power,
Oh girl you forgot the drops of rain
is purer than the shower,
Oh girl you forgot a garden
is not garden without the flower!!
Just look outside your window
the love bees are sad to see us part,
The bulbs may glow your room
but the candle brightens your heart,
The laughter echoes in the air
but the teardrops paint your memory,
The scarf may be expensive
but the old muffler will serve you for free!!
Those drops of tears that’ve
evaporated are calling us back again,
The sky is gradually darkening
and reuniting the drops of rain,
The Garden of Eden is scentless
and the flowers are numb to bloom,
And the curtain is explosive
to open and brighten our room!!
I feel a strong sensation
in me to reunite,
And relive the days
that’ve gone out of sight,
But the garden will not rejoice
unless the bees hum and the flowers bloom,
And the flowers will bloom only
if you hold my hand and walk out of your room!!
Once we are together we’ll go
back into our lovely loving phase,
And once the grasses grow-
the cows will certainly come to graze,
And once the flowers bloom
there will soon be humming of the bees,
And again there will be joy in little things-
in candles, mufflers and trees!!
Long poem by
Wendy Meyer | Details |
I try to ignore the squirming Hyde within
And, with effort still,
I raise myself for the last traces
of sunshine and fun.
What was left of the day, I savor for me.
As the withering leaves of silence
have perfected the petals of stillness,
Such absence of sound
Never a serenity to the mind.
Disturbing solitude haunts.
Loneliness seems vivid as reality speaks
Even the poignant sadness never parts
Solitary confinement paints an art.
Like the spectator in a thousand theatre plays,
I achingly wait for the final curtains to part.
Then, as always expected -
Left were the
together with the late sunset wind.
Tiny golden flecks
imprinting on the soft white
laces and trims.
Catching shadow images
of the last rays of brilliance,
blending slowly in yellow embers,
forming orange coals,
turning into sunkissed glow
of a sad goodbye.
ever so softly fading
into dullness and cloudless cold.
And as the night falls,
its shadowy self dances
against the moonlit music of silence.
I listen and search still
for what is left.
No traces of the sun
whose magnificence and radiance
had touched the leaves of laughter
during my daytime slumbering; children frolicking,
early had the mind sensing.
And, gone astray were the seeds of kindness
the day had grown.
It seemed they were sown
by someone I wish I had known.
If only I could frolic
where little lads had been early today -
in the meadows,
by the pond,
along the shores,
around friendly trees and smiling flowers,
with the meadowlarks and chirpy games,
I’d give away anything.
Basking in the sun on such a lemony day,
someone sulks to find it's an emotional burn.
If only I could catch the loveliness of the sun,
I'd give away anything.
Just for something this grand.
The mind wills but the heart groans.
A moment of joy and laughter, so fleeting.
Forgot me, gave away the troubles.
Today could be A DAY,
If only, ever so softly, I could catch the sun.