Best Culture Poems
Dreams of India
Her music haunts me
in such a knowing way
it makes me weep
and causes my heart to ache.
I become homesick for her
scents, her sounds, her food,
her enchanting dance
which spawns dreams
of her romance.
I know in my heart
I have lived there,
I know, I have loved there.
Her poetry transcends
my spirit to encompass
a wholeness that is
so familiar to me.
I dream of the Ganges ,
and her gentle cleansing flow,
of reflections on its surface
when the moon is hanging low.
Of crickets singing nightly
to serenade me to sleep.
I dream of colors of the saris,
the beauty that they keep...
Of garlands placed with care,
a gajra in a maiden's hair
and the hues of floral leis.
I hold a reverence for Hindu
Devata and Devi.
I aspire to learn the sacredness
of varmala in the seeds of
past lifetimes I have shared.
A passion grows for those
whose love glows through their
auras to welcome strangers.
I'd love to share a cup of chai
to chat with friends in open air.
I long to return home, though
I have never been there.
1-2-19
*a gajra: flowers which females use as a decoration
for their hair.
*Varmala: is a tradition from ancient times where a beautiful garland of flowers symbolizes a proposal of marriage. In the tradition of Swayamvar. A female would choose her life partner from a group of suitors by placing a flower garland around the neck of her chosen man. Once the girl had made her choice, a marriage ceremony would be held gright away.
~Poem of the Day January 4, 2019~
~1st Place~
A BRIAN STRAND 1092
Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 20
~9th Place Premiere Contest~
Your Best Free Verse That You Wrote Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
'I Got a Darn NA Again' Contest
Sponsor Luloo
Free Verse Style Only Poetry Contest~N/A~
I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow,
You carried burdens then; you see them now.
You’ve heard the cries your people who in pain,
Have shed their tears two hundred years like rain.
Your sad brown eyes, reflecting now the sky
I see the wings of eagles flying by
Beside you stands an Appaloosa mare
Her spirit one with you now over there.
You hear the drums, they bid you to come near,
Your spirit drawn the beats they ring so clear.
Song like prayers are chanted through the night,
Calling you come, and help them end their plight.
You’ve heard sad cries and now stand at their side,
You join the prayers with both arms open wide,
United spirits sing until the dawn,
When in the fire’s flames a golden fawn.
Remembering a smile crosses your face,
When tribes were one with Mother Nature’s grace.
The lakes and streams flowing with waters clear,
Flow sadly now, the planet lives in fear.
The weightless feathers that adorn your head
Your tribes grey future weighed you down instead.
Now breathing deep you smell the winds of change
While here on earth your people rearrange.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.21.2014
Giorgio A.V. Contest
Iambic Pentameter
1st place
listen to the drum,
talking to the dance
listen to the elders,
whispering their chants
listen to the hooves, pounding on the plain
listen to the birds, prophesying rain
listen to the moon, time to plant the grain
listen to the tales, told around the fire
listen to the breeze, and the clouds conspire
listen for the buffalo, warn of dreadful days
listen, The Great Spirit speaks in many ways
listen for the eagle,
calling from the sky
listen
for the drum,
hear
a mournful sigh
Has the convenience of technology
inoculated us from reality?
Do androids dream of electric sheep?
I pray the code my soul to keep?
Does your universe live within 4G
Or megapixel infinity?
Which memory lies within
The one that was
Or the one that's been
Or how much gig how much ram?
Which reality is true?
Cyber me
Or cyber you?
Cyber bully
Cyber crime
Cyber hate
Cyber time?
Cyber boxer
Or cyber brief?
Who is the real identity thief?
Cyber pleasure
Cyber pain
Hours spent glaring into the screen
Choosing an alternate username.
Status updates and trending tweets
Fill your mind and rob your sleep.
Clever hashtags and Instagram
Will shape your image and gain more friends.
Is the you you've shaped in cyberspace
The same you I'd see face to face?
We hide behind our computer screens
And criticize with brutal ease.
Virtual reality
Is buying souls of men you see
And robbing the ability to dream real dreams.
I want to conquer something real
That I can grab that I can feel.
I want to touch life and hold on tight
I want to unblock true friends
And "like" real sights.
I want conversation face to face
In real world time
In a real world place.
You call me insensitive,
But I don't believe that's true;
Because, you see,
It's all about me.
It's not about you.
You say your opinion doesn’t matter,
That I’ve no respect for your point of view;
But I do if we agree,
Because it’s all about me.
It’s not about you.
You say I’ve no compassion,
No feelings for your troubles or your blues;
But none of us is issue free,
And mine are all about me;
But…not about you.
A time old adage,
“To thine own self be true.”,
Is all about choices you see.
My choices are all about me,
And, certainly, not about you.
So, when its time to make your choices
You’ll understand and know it’s true;
To decide what will or will not be,
Won’t be at all about me;
It will be all about you
But special moments confront most of us,
When what matters isn’t “Me”.
And while these moments are few,
They’re not about me, not about you.
For a time, it’s all about “We.”
Yes, “…no man is an island.”
Is a valid point of view;
But if it’s not about “We”,
Then it’s all about me.
Sorry. It’s not about you.
You were born in a specialist clinic
I was born at the front door of my house
we both came into this world and survived.
You’ve been eating foreign cuisines and expensive delicacies
I’ve been taking porridge and traditional soups
we both have grown and are a significant part of the society.
You go to school in Jeeps and exotic vehicles
I use public transport and finish it up with a walk
we both went to learning institutions and acquired knowledge.
You roll with the high and mighty and get a super model married
I’m surrounded by the middle class
and marries one never will be in Wikipedia
we both are active in the food chain and wonderfully living our lives.
You become a CEO or rather own a firm
I get employed by you to run your empire
we both sure need each other to function and drive.
Gold and Diamonds will decorate the casket of your funeral
mine may not even be worthy of a coffin, just a plain box
we’ll nevertheless be dead and our chapter closed without preference.
It is only a pathology when the eye gets larger than its socket,
comparison cuts the muscles of esteem and gives greed a new suit,
making simplicity a very complex attribute to attain
and a life full of complexities a better friend to existence.
Life is simple, we just make it complicated.
A civil servant wants to live at par with a tycoon
allowing his throat tie down the strength of his hands.
Every destination has different roads,
be it the highway or a rocky path.
Take the one within your speed limit,
the timing may show some reaching before or better than others
but the most important thing is, the destination reached
as achievement is decorated while life stay simple.
The sun cries for us, its heat fades away
snowflakes sprinkle round its orbit, yet go unmelted
it feels like evening, but its yet noon
time never changes its pace but now runs from a rifle
daylight sadly pretends, just to soften night's mockery.
Blood has substituted the rains
death has defined our borders
humanity is rendered homeless
and politics, given the borrowed authority of a landlord.
Life is cheaper than wine
tribal dominance exhibited in a show glass
for love to become an expired product.
Unity is deprived of its oxygen
from a gang of beasts, spare headed by religion.
Genocide celebrated, killers protected
understanding and cooperation, required from the affected
silence and denial, demanded from the afflicted
marginalization defended and grievances rejected.
The edge of the cutlass strikes harder than racism
Indigenes in their own homes hit worse than xenophobia
hope is lost, drowned in the sea of Impunity
faith is locked up in a cage underneath evil's valley
decades of cries to the heavens
the tears flow down to meet more affliction.
The sun rises, but presents in dark red
setting hours later to the notice of no one
a people bounded on falsehood
a large home of smaller fenced habitations
as everyone needs protection from everyone
and where space becomes too small for the stars;
but when distinguished into different galaxies,
it beams brighter to be a better decoration.
An unbearable course too small for the river to flow
makes nature justify its split into tributaries.
Enemies can no longer be in one home,
so live and let's leave, or leave and let's live
is the only policy left for us all
and the survival anthem for this beautiful garden
no more suitable for community germination.
Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags
Winos sip rot gut from brown paper bags
Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side
Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide
Cheap umbrella from a street corner pimp
Turns inside out before going limp
Putrid puddles, soggy doggy doo dollops
Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops
A rat scurries by with a piece of bread
Like the ant that totes a leaf on its head
You too once held big dreams in your grasp
But they got drowned with a gurgling gasp
You told me before, no you don't stutter
Your genius ideas got washed down the gutter
Now like a scavenger after a flood
You salvage what's left from out of the mud
Ashes to crashes, lust to rust
In the end it only goes bust
Caught in between the future and past
You start out just fine but finish dead last
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Jan 23, 2016
I live on an island in the Pacific region
The largest body of water is the OCEAN
Like, can we be more Pacific?
I think Christopher Columbus got lost
Because the directions were not pacific
Oh, excuse me, the Pacific Ocean
Where you will find the small islands (micronesia)
Where you will find the black islands (melanesia),
Where you will find the many islands (polynesia)
Generally, the islanders are like coconuts
So hard on the outside
But succulent on the inside
Yet they always end up wanting Samoa
Get this,
An assault by an Islander
is called a Hawaiian Punch
At times, these islands need a therapist when they are in a tropical depression
Some islands have sunk
Oh no do not laugh
That is not funny atoll
Sea yourself out
Therefore, I live on an island
A small island
I am a MICRO
I mean, how can I get more pacific than that?
"Made In China"
They can have my money
If it saves me money
The toys I played with when I was young,
Says I enjoyed their hands
The Labels read
"MADE IN CHINA"
The cheap material on my back, the shoes I wore.
How easily they faded and tore
However, I enjoyed their hands
The Tags on my rags;
"MADE IN CHINA"
The car I own saves money on gas
A tiny Honda Civic, takes me everywhere
I love my sweet silver car
"Manufactured in China"
The never been used--Made in the USA--cookware I own,
Says, I don't work hard at all:)
Yummy to Chinese all you can eat take Outs
Thank you China for being part of this world
Better Yet!
Thank you China, for making this world a part of yours.
MADE IN CHINA
Shipped easily in a box
~SKAT~
I love my broken English
Am in love with my broken English
Am honored to have two other languages
The ability to think from language to language is one that many don't experience
The ability to bring vibes from one language to another is one, that many envy
Sometimes it's like a train, English flows easily before it gets to a halt
Sometimes it's a bus with many stops, some harsh, some dash, some flash
And some mistakenly whether car or train, crash
Some like aeroplane, are up there in the air
Building their own castles
Creating unfamiliar words
Whether writing from kikuyu to English
Or kikuyu to Swahili and then to English
Or just writing from the little dash of English that I learnt from my English classes,
With poetry,I can still escape
Whether in the veiled grammatical errors
Or just like a volatile chameleon
How many souls live on the edge,
Between the gutter and the ledge?
A hopeless fear crawls in their gut,
Each day, another endless rut.
The moments pass profoundly slow
Sad, bitter winds are all that blow.
A man lay huddled near the bin
Hoping death will take him in.
Frozen tears, on wrinkled cheeks
Frostbitten ears, and shoes that leak.
His mind forgets the games of tag,
Old Crockett's hill, where down they'd slide.
A summer rain, the puddles deep
Out catchin' toads, to tame and keep.
His life began with dimpled cheeks,
Red tousled hair, and hide 'n seek.
A tough old Dad who tricked and teased
A pretty Mom who smiled with ease.
They had a farm with fields of hay
A few old hogs, and bills to pay.
One summer day, the sky turned black.
A howling wind brought down their shack.
Dad sold the hogs, and cut the hay.
The farm was lost, we drove away.
The next two years were grim and lean.
Dad broke his back, to feed us beans.
When winter came our food ran out.
We found old Dad hung by a rope.
Without poor Dad, no food or fire;
Mom took my hand, the day was dire.
The Sister's face looked mean and sour.
I thought of Mom most every hour.
They scrubbed my back until it bled.
cut off my hair, then I got fed.
'Twas many years before I left,
My Mom had died a tragic death.
Now all alone, I lived and slept.
I begged for food, and sometimes wept.
A life of days and endless woe,
Now time is dead, and death too slow.
As you walk by those 'homeless freaks'
Remember me, with dimpled cheeks.
I'm sure this hill is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,
A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.
The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.
The future sighs, with solemn face
The wrecking ball, the glittered waste
No plaque to read "Historic Sight".
The swirling dust, a dance goodnight.
Gene Bourne
08-01-14
.
The girl is an ultra-modern scholar,
Belongs with an upper-middle class family.
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly.
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University.
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare,
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket.
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....
The girl is very good.
The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...
The boy is very good.
They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his.
They are changing silently
Losing individuality.
Time flows.
Love goes to another address...
A angry sky, as cauld as Loch Lomon'
fair drew me out from cot o' peat, an' bed.
The wolves wus wailin', an' thund'r respond'd
Ah gather'd tam, me tartan, an' dug Red.
To 'orse ah took an' found the 'erd sam 'urt.
The 'ungry wolves 'ad already fed.
Inta the bi'er blaw, the rill ah skirt
thro braes a white, t'ward ham an' fire burnin'
the bleatin' sheep, the 'orse an' ah alert.
We wud mak it hame, stomaches churnin'
O smell the peat fire on the wild wind now,
'ear the cows faint distant ca', a lowin'
'erself wud know, we'r near ta the brow.
Noo, we 'ad beat the storm hame, an' kep' me vow.
Dedicated to Jimbo Goff & James Fraser
and the spirit of Robin Burns
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