a sip of shinto
sun wen lotus
sways below cobalt sky
a thought of sobo
pink cherry blossom's
swirl the porcelain plate
hands folded in prayer
Shinto- All Nature / Worship / Ancestors / Spirit / Belief / Sacred Power
Noritake Cobalt / Piled 3-high / A Sip Saki or Sake' then passed / Three Three Nine / A Geisha gets her name / Shinto
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
The Blue Rose
upon a Hill of Heathers
seldom do know
Songs speak of its
but few have lived to see
its rich blood blue petals
smells of sweet ginger and honey
The legend has it
the blue rose can cure
a thousand different ailments
although, I am not
My Grandmother told me
if you eat three petals
before you sleep
the disease which
infects, out of you
it will seep
Not many have heard
the powers of the
for it secretly grows
Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010
Amorous is the tingling touch they feel
Blooming kisses as flaming as red bells
Convey passion in their glowing eyes
Directing fantasy-filled thoughts outside
Enamored by the heavy snowfall on the elms
Farther they vanish into the hushed hills of night
Gorgeous and calm is the scenery of pure white
Dashing sleights plunge downhill as screams rise
Ensuing the feeling of glee in the northern sphere
Gorging on almond cookies is heavenly delight
Hot chestnuts steaming on logs are tempting
Increasing their aroma in rooms and nostrils
Jugs with hot chocolate take away all shivers
Kettle whistles for grandma's black tea
Leaner than anyone she'll be a centenarian
Mother prepares a lavish tray of appetizers
Neapolitan superb cuisine in every delicious bite
Overjoyed by the compliments she has received
Pours Asti Spumante* in thin and tall glasses
Quetzal in cage watches and chirps for some
Raging is the fluttering of wings being ignored
Sinking in somber mood he becomes somnolent
Time for a caffe macchiato with Panettone*
Ultimatum for those dozing off on the sofa
Vibrant is the response invigorating their thrill
While outside lampposts give off their gleam
Xenophobe of a massive storm seems insidious
Year is ending in a festive house that loves Christmas
Zealous faces look up and ask Jesus for His blessing
* Asti Spumante is an Italian white sparkling wine.
* Panettone is an Italian sweet bread
with candied fruit and raisins.
Entered in Shadow Hamilton's contest,
" Christmas Abecedarian "
Written on 12/ 30/ 2015
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2015
Now that I'm retired
And know I can't be fired
I'll do anything I damn well please
And I don't give a hoot
Who hears me when I toot
For I have grown acustomed to the cheese
Old women and old men
As they grow nearer their end
Really just don't care what people think
Say and do what's on their mind
For as they age they find
They kinda like to raise a little stink
Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2012
I write to you my self,
Sending you myself
With words that I long for you
Need you and care about you
Hope you, miss you, and want
To share my heart, my life
With you, all these written
On a piece of paper
Capsule in time, in a bottle
On the way to you
Somewhere some time
You shall get it.
The seven seas
In lost time…
Copyright © azim mohammed | Year Posted 2012
I have found the treasure
that lies at the Rainbow's end;
surrounded by Sweet William, for-get-me knots,
and crimson shades of velvet rose.
Near the cottage of old where I was young,
the quaint charm of the English garden.
Where time has not weathered with due harm,
swirls of hued asters still in the brisk fresh air.
Moments spent dancing with cupid in midst
of a sunny afternoon.
Seconds where dreams danced on the moon,
sweet perfume floats by to wisp away my breath.
Up ahead mine eyes view the grassy slopes
where a thousand of narcissus bloom.
I watch them sway the day away tossing
their sweet perfume to the winds.
Wicker seats and ivory benches upon I sit and muse.
The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden,
a rose plot, fringed pool and serenity.
Burn the sage, the leaves of rose and wintergreen
Light the candles in the middle of the afternoon.
From within my center core I breathe for more of this
paradise near heavens view.
Sweet surrender to growing things, cupids chimes in
melody rings, for here is a heavenly peace that mirrors
my thirsty soul.
My x4 Great Grandmother was from England a Duchess but she chose to marry my X4 Great
Grandfather and lost her inheritance and rights for neglecting the wishes of the family in
England. He was a Captain of the sea and brought many to the American shores of Mass. In
reading and studying, I found she loved to write of the sea and those things she cherished
from England and growing up, from memoires, she has touched my muse and from time to time,
I let her speak of such cherished beautiful things.
Copyright © Peggy Bertrand | Year Posted 2007
I watch in awe as falling leaves
of lovat green and pink cerise
twirl and tumble round and round,
then land atop an earthen mound
and meld with leaves of rich carmine,
maroon, claret, and deepest wine
to dress the rustic sylvan floor
with multicolored sights galore.
I marvel too at falling leaves
from stalwart oaks and maple trees
that lithely waft in naive flight.
then gently on the ground alight
bedecking country sights on grounds
of sylvan lands where trees abound.
How grand that such simplicity
spawns such great felicity—
such soothing respite to my soul
while standing on this sacred knoll
ensconced with golden memories of you—
from former days of just we two.
© Barbra Lambert, 2012
Copyright © Barbra Lambert | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Grandmother Grandmother can’t you see
That all of you is a part of me
Whether you were absent you were not
I have got everything you have got
Grandmother Grandmother you fed me strong
Even though you were gone all along
I love you and miss you so much
Copyright © R Kumari | Year Posted 2005
I see you in the flash of red on a robin,
In the orange of a blackbird’s beak,
A brilliant brightness in the dark
Guiding me to what I seek. What that is, I am not quite sure,
But I feel I ought to see this through
First by daring myself to at last let go,
Then by putting all of my trust in you.
Copyright © Abi Morgan | Year Posted 2013
The screams get louder, flashes, images, smells and scents become stronger, colours are vivid.
The rhythm sends me to another space. Space can bend. Time as well. The voices are real, I tell them to be quiet. Let me sleep.
The forests stretch greedily on the horizons. North.
The drum, with skin stretched tight, the figures are dancing. The hand that made the sound, the flesh soon burning on the pyre. Make way for a new God. The spirits are not real, all that is natural is sinful. The world is sin.
But the spirits are real. The trees and stones are alive.
Holiness is flesh, blood and bone. Heaven is down here.
Don’t burn the drum. WE need the messages. You can see, so see. You are not the master.
Don’t let the Father see what we can do.
Heed the messages.
Which get stronger every day, senses blur, they magnify. Discipline and order keep it at bay. Just about. They are calling me.
It is too strange, a sin, I musn’t give in.
Power from a different space. A bridge. Don’t burn it.
Nature is powerful, the worlds are all powerful.
There is nothing to understand, give in. Just give in
Copyright © Maya Broman | Year Posted 2016
There are moments in my life
when I think of my past.
Wish I could bring them back
I remember the time as a child,
when I used to play with my friends;
Our home was a place for fun,
with my siblings doing their share.
When school days come,
I would always have an extra hour,
for my homework and other plans
that comprise my studies at that time.
When summer whizzes by,
more excitement to be with friends;
to play with them and visit other places
make a deal for a wholesome year.
Whenever Christmas comes,
preparations are at hand,
like decorations, singing, and parties all over,
to make our celebrations happier and significant to all.
I still remember how we pray together
with our grandmother in her bedroom
a rosary or other memorized devotions
to lift up to God so many intentions.
With the passage of time,
changes have championed the best;
with Christian values to reflect
and thus incarnate throughout the rest.
Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012
pink cherry blossom's
swirling the porcelain plate-
her hands folded in prayer
sun wen lotus
sways below cobalt sky-
a thought of sobo
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2016
The Perfect Site
Emplaced in the shade of giant fruit trees:
Avocado, guava, orange and mango
Nature, harnessed for fresh cool breeze
From leaves and the wind in an endless tango
The canopy of leaves, thus formed above
By tree-to-tree branch intertwine;
A haven, e'en for the heart broken dove-
Clock-round shade, e'en in noon sunshine
Donning a rusty corrugated zinc hat
To the earth, inclined at forty five degrees
Our childhood holiday habitat
Her eaves, now hives for honey bees
Cloaked in red, sun-dried mud
Now beaten blue-black by the sun and rain
The heavily creviced walls, housing many a bud
This shadow of her former glory - my pain
The courtyard where to our greatest delight
Grandma told morally instructing moonlight tales
Barring the rotten chairs in direct sunlight
Had lost not much in other details
Twenty six years after her peaceful passing
Seeking seasonal escape to the country side
Grandma's house is once more a blessing
'Twill site the country home of my pride
Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2017
sipping green tea-
rattling gramma's china
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2017