I knew you in the springtime,
when shoots were green
and blossoms a-bloom! Mornings
Rosy pink and Fresh! No tint of gloom.
Our summers hot, fiery--sultry!
Unlike the autumn, spotted, with
scent of the tomb – now winter,
nearer the final page – stupid youth
my preference not wise old sage!
His heart sinks to his boots
at the mountian of work that suits -
much are rejectable at first glance -
but some needs a second glance.
The majority is best described as 'fortnight tea'.
Getting to grips with diffent registers,
varied poetic voices and levels of growth,
make for a couldron of flavours
catering for differnent tastes -
editors are expected to wear many hats.
This is before rhyme can be checked -
mistakes are argued away as poetic licence -
and getting to grips with dialect
and varied stressed syllables ...
This is just scratching the surface.
AI can be helpful - up to a point:
It does not 'get' idiom and many metaphor
which the more seasoned poet employs.
Poetry is a living, breathing medium -
it can't be difined by an algorithm.
Shoe leather sidewalks
Shadow cast skywalks
Hosts a bevy of ghosts
The long summer heat
Torch blue collar feet
Soles roasting coast to coast
Gothic museums
Gold colosseums
Unsheathes the royal wreaths
Flotsam and Jetsam
Worn Skechers gets 'em
Souls bleeding in the weeds
I’m at the end of long trip, my daughter,
For, mine is a tired old ship, my daughter.
May God give you power to bear, my daughter,
And for that doom’s day equip, my daughter.
I’d dreamt, I’d play with my kid all the time,
But now my energies dip, my daughter.
It’s time, you get used to world without me
As I begin to lose grip, my daughter.
As I prepare to leave, remember this:
Let my thoughts sink with life’s ship, my daughter.
______________________________
Ghazal | 26.09.2026| daughter, father, life, missing you
Oh, how I’m longing to float to my death
Not e’er again heave sweet CO2 breaths
Each of us whirl with a dance all our own
Loosed by a mistral and heavenly-blown
All of our lives we’ve provisioned The One
Synthesized O2 with bright from the sun
Tasting the rainfall whene'er a cloud burst
Wetting our folds for the deep-rooted thirst
And now in the autumn endeavor the spring
Let loose our branches to dance and to sing
Trading our green for the shades of the sun
Zanzibar waits when our last waltz ... is done.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
Verse 1
My time passes by as the seconds
tick away
I page through the book of life
Pages of happiness
Pages of bitterness
Pages all through my life
Chorus 1
Hold me close
Hold me tight
Hold me through the lonely night
Give me peace
Give me harmony
Allow me to rest easily
Verse 2
The story of my life can be seen through the book
Hundreds of pages to be read
Stories of achievements
Stories of failures
Stories gained through my life
Chorus2
You’ve held me close
You’ve held me tight
You’ve held me through the lonely night
You gave me peace
You gave me harmony
You allowed me to rest easily
Verse 3
We all got to die its just a matter of time
How we will go no one knows
So be proud of what you’ve done in life
Be proud of who you are
Who you are
Chorus 3
Hold me close
You’ve held me closer
Held tightly through my loneliest night
Giver of peace
Bringer of harmony
Now please allow me to rest easily
Chorus
Hold me close
Hold me tight
Hold me through the lonely night
Give me peace
Give me harmony
Allow me to rest
To rest easily
Everyone, while alive, longs to be an actor,
To direct their own life and be its author too—
All of it modeled on unvoiced, hidden fantasies.
A touch, a hurried breath, a whispered kiss—
All unfolding behind the curtains,
Yet displayed like a fetish in a brightly lit shop window.
"Dreams come true if you wish for them," goes the slogan,
And the body quivers in anticipation, until the over-saturated mind
Admits defeat before the unforgiving onset of old age.
But meanwhile, oblivion—written into the laws of humanity—
Comes to wash away the searing mark left by the tempest,
And the blood grows calm, lost in the winding paths of solitude.
[Poet’s Note in Comments Section of Poem ]
two companeros sorting revolutionary literature
in spirit’s gap unwrapping gifts knowing fresh
labour ! sabre cops might have followed us hot
cops never come on Saturdays — they watch rugby* remarks she blithely
work births experience dissolving glib speak
stealthily arrived contingent of state security police stalking
books, pamphlets, writings, ephemera, poems
confiscated not lovingly touched again
never say never self-assured confident
The Road You Take
Happiness is not out here
grabbing us today,
saying stuff like,
“Today is going to be your day.”
Everything that’s happening now,
you might have to fight.
A lot more worries
while trying to sleep good at night.
Always take precautions—
no more personal defeat.
It’s a tough world to live
and work in these streets.
This end-of-life theory
is not for the weak,
so stop making bad choices
as we speak.
Consequences are going to respond
to everything you do.
There’s no multiple-choice answer—
you can’t pick or choose.
You have to be careful
about what road to take,
because at the end of the night,
it just might be too late.
By:MelvinJohnson2025
TRIUMPH OF FAITH
A testament
A canon
Righteous, austere
Orphic, profane, and pure
When night, a thief
Strips my morality
It Is morning lifts me free
This masquerade of madness
We subtitle life
Where we salt wounds
And bathe in sadness
Scented sweet
This poisoned chalice
Again, I must abstain
Dingy dusty neglected nic-nacs~
weary weather brings dreary downs once again,
but I must move to lighten up
those shadowed corners creeping in on life~
cleansing clean makes glass glisten
like dreaming dewdrops in sunrise sun,
or lovely lotus on peaceful ponds.
SHES A RIVER
Her life is like that of a river,
persistent and unpredictable.
She carved her life in the California mountain peeks
following the creeks,
creating her own current at just fifteen—
forge on
she dammed fears and tears that tore at her spirit
childish emotions raged inside
Forge on
once she would fall
many came to see the wonder of it all
but eventually a comfortable place called home.
was the place she felt most alone
forge on
All that trapped her today would eventually be torn away
resurfacing through the cracks of where she had been,
forge on
She smiled glistening to see the sun, her old friend
to be united with something so bright and warm again
then fog crept in to elude her
and the sun crept out to remind her
Forge on
And at the fork of her life’s journey,
a paradise awaits—
one worthy of envy.
Forge on
AS I LAY SLEEPING
As I lay sleeping
I feel your arms encircle me
As I stir in my sleep
Our bodies are skin on skin
My body is slowly starting to wake
As your fingertips gently
Caresses my face and arms
As I lay sleeping
I hear you whisper my name
While telling me how much
I meant to you
My body relaxes against yours
With the knowledge that
I am safe in your arms
As I lay sleeping
I softly turn towards you
As you gently kiss
my ear down to my neck
As I lay sleeping
You gently tell me to go back to sleep
As you will be there in the morning light.
Original Poem by
Linda Franklin
Last life is when werewolves
Lived long although heavy-hearted,
And so slow to trust
Whoever had thirsty thoughts—
While weak—bit by
Tiny tight bit through throats
To steal-suck their black blood.
Life a genesis, oh
A path toward vacancy
Trim down a modulation of lube apathy
Dirt arm's craving toward end! neither
The thorn was there , oh
Mesmerized by puppies tearing neck for the muddy popcorns
I myself giggle with lacrimal fallacy
Bone to bone, crate to crate
Waving with thermal fate
Rinsing heavily with northern gray, oh...
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