Best Elegaic Lyric Poems | Poetry

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Requiem for a Seahorse by Devonshire, Carolyn
The Wings Of An Angel by Behm, Kurt Philip
Celebrating with thunder by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
War by Garg , Sitabz
temporal incarnation of aphrodite act one by harris, matthew
Temporal incarnation of Aphrodite act two by harris, matthew
old man winter gives a one two punch by harris, matthew
hi yam ma min na muse sing papa by harris, matthew
Lover monster by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
Here here please define quantum mechanics for first dummy by harris, matthew

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The Best Elegaic Lyric Poems

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My Father, My Dad

My voice is weak, my hand falters
As I attempt to speak of my Father.
Each night sleep takes me, then truth awakes me –
My Dad is gone, now dead.
My heart hears this from my head.
Wrapped in numbness, walking in nothingness,
I search for his presence.

The chain’s now broken, its brightest link gone.
My Dad was security and so mentally strong.
His mind quick, his wit sharp,
He always inspired my young heart.
Pleasing my Father was to lasso the sun.
In him my pride was first begun.

I picture his hands, legs and arms –
My protector from harm;
Wisdom was his voice, comforting his every choice,
Willpower his motto, sureness his step.
He was a man of incredible depth.
Knowing I am my Father’s daughter is a thought to be tenderly kept.
His final, “I love you” words, the most emotion I’ve heard yet.

I will miss you, Daddy.
Now and forever, naught will I forget.
I’ll see you each sunrise,
Mourn you each sunset.
Images crash around me, I’d have it no other way
Than your memory with me each and every day.

... CayCay Jennings
January 1, 2016

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016

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In the world  of all comforts,
In the world of absolute care and affection,
In the world of motherhood.
Ten months I was basking, in my mother's womb.
Happiness running down my spine – I thanked God,
His blessing in disguise, rather he in disguise – My mother,
Who is she? How she will be? - I don't know,
Am I her replica? Am I her miniature?
I struggled day after day to open my eyes.
To look at her dazzling beauty and to admire her.
Her hands were made to carry me,
Her arms were made to hug me,
Her shoulders were made to bear me,
My mother, the only person on this whole earth to love me more than I do myself.
I longed to see her face,
Why this ten months vigil? Why not now? My heart bumped!
Days rolled and months passed.
I kicked my way.
A pat on my back,
I cried, it was tears of happiness.
Where is my mother?
Place me on her hands, let me sense her breath,
Let that be the first air I breathe.
With great joy oozing out I slowly opened my eyes.
To see her eyes which is longing to see my eyes.
Mom! With great excitement I gazed.
But it was the blue sky that welcomed me to this new world.
Where is my mother? Where is she? Is she not carrying me?
I searched for her.
Then where am I placed? I looked around.
The cradle squeaked.
Sudden fracas and turbulence hit my ears.
In a fraction of a second I was surrounded by people.
Nobody like me and nobody liked me.
I moved from one hand to another.
But I never smelt my mother.
My mom was missing.
Did she leave me?
I was in a fix.
Yes, she left me.
What made her to hate me even before I was born?
She left me alone in this callous world.
Abandoned me,
Branded me an orphan,
Made me languish in pain,
Agonize in vain,
My day turned dark and despondent,
My life turned bleak and impotent,  
But still my heart longed to see my mother.
I can never in my life hate her.
Because I was in her.   
My ire was directed only at God,
He wrote my fate,
He took my mom, what more can I ask,
Nothing can replace her in my life.
I said “My God my first and last wish,
Give every child the power to see even before they were born,
Children like me, who are so unfortunate
Can see their mother's face at least from their womb.


Copyright © MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM | Year Posted 2016

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Death - Not My Child

Inspired by and written for my heart, my smile, my son named Kyle
A kaleidoscope’s blossoms Are not as awesome As my child at every turn; Watching his silences – I burn, Watching his movements – I yearn. I learn love’s wonderment Watching him discern. Gentle, imaginative boy Loves me content With innocence and joy. I shout for time to slow Its capture of my boy. Give me endless days And countless ways To watch my miracle grow. Sunshine, moon glow, Build him a perfect rainbow So that he may know The wonder of the love I try so hard to show. Loyal, gentle pets Lived unconditional need And when they died, I did grieve. Friends are the prose Inspiring my rhymes. Each would be missed By this heart of mine. When parents and siblings Expel their final breath, I will mourn them Until my own day of death. If my husband Should before me die, My soul would cry Float adrift and dry. But should my babe at any age Pass first in death’s grasp, Defeat would set a fatal stage For my hearts final crash. ... CayCay Jennings September 21, 2015

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2015

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Leaving for a year
To nightmare and fear
He came to say goodbye
Or at least to try.

I did not speak,
Didn’t open my eyes,
An unknown fear
Had me paralyzed.

My Father full-blown,
A force in uniform
Is memory that haunts,
Fulfilling neither’s wants.

My pretend sleep
Him standing above.
We should have spoke,
Held and shown love.

I only peaked 
At my Father’s face.
This sadness won’t leave.
Still I crave embrace.

Did he know,
Did he realize,
I was alert 
Behind closed eyes?
Did Dad also regret
What I cannot forget?

... CayCay Jennings
August 16, 2015

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2015

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Pygmy Forest Song

I lost you out there.
You never came on home.
I called for you and I called to you,
but you never came on home.

I lost you out there,
in the bushes and the brush.
I called for you and I yelled for you,
but you never did come home.

Don't say you couldn't hear me.
I won't listen if you do.
I lost you, and I left you,
and you never came on home.

I lost you out there,
but it's what you seemed to want.
I yelled for you for nights and days,
but you never once yelled back.

I walked and walked between the trees,
squinting toward the sun.
I called for you and I screamed for you,
but no, you never did come home.

Copyright © Kendra Ruczak | Year Posted 2015

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Crocked Ribs

They have command on me
my posture has been so
since birth and even now
a grown up, no change
The back has followed
the legs are going there
why can’t a guinea fowl
produce  penguins, swans?
Why is choice in nature
so elusive, so limited?
Why can’t I become really
what I admire in nature?
I want to be free to be happy
but I’m condemned to be 
a bent bow  without arrows!

Copyright © Solomon Ochwo-Oburu | Year Posted 2017

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Didn't Mean To

It was a heartfelt indulge of an act
The night like knights we lighted
Like a king yah served my want
Like a deal we moved on and on
To the peak, the click of a nick
The  first time, like a key and lock
Felt like a gentle, acted like a man

So young,naive, live and one
What led me there blasts my mind
What clogged into me is a virus not got
Had no intention nor retention for it
Thought not that what could follow
Not a life, a son to come through

Left with a smiley Illy face down the line
Like a plane never turned to take time
Left like a soldier out of a war field
Left all aback, your calls for blocks
Thought not again of the beauty of you
For to me it was like a ball to score and go

My conscious coined erect when you first called
Your message, I father another, a son
Like a a shock it stroke my nerves awake
The senseless triggered act of infatuation 
The heartless deed and leave like a wind
Felt so silly and illy, but had nothing to counter

Figured and structured a reply but went dumb
Tried and cried but solved nothing 
Sorry to say so young for parenting 
Not ready to further father a kid.

Copyright © Amos Kagiri | Year Posted 2016

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The Statue of Liberty

(for my personal twist read the last stanza];)  

Stands tall and hovering this great green landmark lady
The world's most famous gift and token
Welcoming all into Uncle Sam's ethnic potpourri
In her vast melting pot sweet melee awoken.

Pointing as it seems to the star spangled sky
from the land of the stripes and star-spangled banner
Her torch to meet the tourist traveller's eye
while she tires not of standin' in that manner.

Ah this world famous sea-green statue
Her fans would love to have her tattoo
as she welcomes all and sundry
from her pedestal a man-made plateau.

If you ever go there
and have time to stare
View her from the colonnade
or view her from the promenade

With that well-known torch lamp
this mother of exiles champ
She does for welcome and freedom stand
A beacon beckoning upon Liberty Island.

On the Seine River stands her model return gift
just downstream from  Eiffel tower
Ah Lady Liberty's one American lady
weilding real worthy super power.

Eiffel designed the Eiffel tower 
and he Lady Liberty's designer as well
And Bartholdi her sculptor, 
sculpted her so swell.

Extol I may this famous monument
but mine praise can't compare to 'The New Colossus'
A tribute by her own American by Emma Lazarus
Her face too for Liberty's model quite famous.

And when asked personally what I admired most about Lady Liberty
I sighed and replied, 'atleast she wasn't dressed in mini or bikini
for liberty is not in libertine but rather in attires of modesty
Why, milady Liberty thank God you're almost dressed like me

I frown at super models whose role model in dress ain't you nor the Virgin Mary.

Copyright © S.zaynab Kamoonpuri | Year Posted 2015

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Another rain of bullets in the dead of winter.
A terrorist runs through like an Olympic sprinter.
Another candlelight vigil glows from the steeple. 
And America loves her guns more than her people. 

-Edlynn Nau 

December 4, 2015

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

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Requim for UN

United Nations, United Nations
What an oxymoron!
What an oxymoron!!

The platitude goes-
‘United we stand’
In the UN,
How erect we stand!
How erect we stand!!
We are homo erectus
Aren’t we?

This genocide-friendly unity of nations
With extra-care tending
The weeded garden of poison-trees.
When Hutus and Tutsies blood-bathe
The UN closely observes the situation,
When Israel unchilds, unhusbands and unfathers
The Palestinians, the UN
Appeals to both the parties to exercise restraint.
When the Theravada fanatics exterminate the Rohingyas
And the West-engineered Arab Spring
Tears the Middle East asunder, 
The UN condemns and condemns and condemns!

O UN what a paradox you enflesh,
Bringing to the forefront
The anti-thesis -
‘United we stand, divided we fall’
To what insurmountable height you have taken
The human(un)kind, we have seen
Now anti-thetically we would like to fall
As ‘fair is foul, foul is fair’.

In your acronymic form
When in lower case
How prophetically you become
An ominous prefix!

UN, UN you are non-existent
An ethereal entity, a papier mache;
Ailan’s death has finally declared 
You biologically dead.
Let this cenotaph be 
Placed on top of UN HQ:
Here once architecturally stood
The divided conglomeration of Nations – the UN,

A metonymic entity
Proudly pronouncing human unyokability.
RIP, dear UN.

Copyright © Sarwar Morshed | Year Posted 2015

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What would twice be without; the moon and the sun
The men and the women; that brought creation to the earth
The sun and the flowers; that will always blossoms to life
The clouds and the rains; pour draperies of life
The night and the day; will always fall on us for a new day
The full and the hunger; fed us most
The poor and the rich; builders up new mansion in front of them
The hopeless and the hopeful; for now
The ugly and the beautiful; bolded in this beauty and the beast
The ancient and the; modernism we all aging to it
The mother and the nature; to this greener pastures
The gold’s and the diamonds; will shine so pricelessly precious to us
The cold and the hot; in this weather
The failing and the passing; passes by for another yesterday
The pain and the happiness; they cry together
The matrimony and the divorce; vows lingering carelessly upheld not
The good and the evil; will drown us in hell
The guilty and the innocent; judged to all to this design of a beautiful life
CHAPTER 2 THEME: TRANSITION POETRY is a deep in true substantial obscurity of science in fiction, dreams in spatiality to bring sense to the world about the world in poetic form. Reality steps that it’s spiritually capturing glimpses of life in the most aspheric Dadaism, surrealism in its impression of metaphysical poetry. 

Copyright © Prince Nkgadima | Year Posted 2015

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Life is Knife

Life brings knife to our dreams
Injecting us with pains and dooms
For in it resides sorrows
Enclosing us in death rows.
In sadness we curse the day thou came our ways

O! Life! Why art thou so cruel?
In pains we announce the departure of our wards
O! Life why art thou so cruel?
In tears we bury innocent babies
Stinging death like venom of bees
O! Life why art thou so cruel?

How do we narrate the story of the wretched grey hair
Our old die out of a heavy heart
Thou knocked down the poor orphan
Now oppressed by the rich man
In tears he bemoans his existence
For life has stabbed him with knife

In depression we gnash our teeth
Consistently confronted, with a struggle, 
Oceans of tear, simultaneously juggle. 
Though it's short, some live it like no other. 
For some it's short but they never bother. 
Like everything else, it will end 
and we all shall one day say goodbye. 

Copyright © Adeniji Toluwalope Gideon | Year Posted 2016

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I Miss Them All

The laughter, cheerfulness and playfulness, I miss them all. The smiles, tenderness and that hot shapely body, I miss them all. The time spent, emotions shared and experiences created, I miss them all. The wildness, adventures and escapades well enjoyed, I miss them all. Even the angry, disappointing and ugly moments we faced, I still miss them all. My bones scream and my blood worry about this torturing absence. The hairs of my skin lose their comfort right from the moment your body spray took a leave. Everything beautiful is wasting under the snub of memory’s sadness and not even the gods can paint the skies of my world blue again until we are re-united, never to part anymore.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016

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January twelfth two thousand and ten
   witnessed near annihilation and destruction 
   of the Haitian nation
whereby countless/ nameless individuals 
   e’en the strongest Herculean type men
   crushed by humungous slabs of building facades 
   practically demolishing every creation
since this island settled, which indigenous tribes 
   sought safety in any geologic den
   seeking solace and salvation from wrath of nature 
   by paying obeisance via oblation
perhaps giving credence to clear water 
   in tandem with rooster and hen
   that laid a golden egg, 
   especially as encroaching savages affected violation
particularly when Europeans foisted 
   forfeiture of land with primitive implement like pen
   no matter that travesty, trickery, mockery, 
   et cetera wrought humiliation
pleading invaders to forsake such actions 
   that rent asunder culture beseeched god when
   these brutish, nasty and (shortish) simians to cease desecration
yet the peoples of this dominion rose 
   from the ashes like the phoenix like bird
   no mattered genetic pool 
   underwent white washing from scouring influx
from western thumping proselytizers, 
   which alien beliefs hard to swallow like curd
   and basically bribery (with lustrous trinkets) 
   and those coveted legal tender bucks
foisted/ forced the unpleasant alternative 
   (wanton slaughter) to be clearly heard
   yet within the very fiber of tropical man grove persons 
   patiently lined up their ducks
and declared as the first African American peoples 
   INDEPENDENCE to be the word
   whence adulation, elation, inspiration akin to the sound winged fowl clucks
until the advent of the major earthquake 
   composed by this aging hippy type nerd
whereat remote control san voodoo affect every bloody word!

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2016

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Ethan Frye

*Ethan T. Frye 
*Died at age 15.
*Place of death Grand junction,IA.
*Thurs. 3/19/2015.
*Place when died at NBA's Final.
*Cause of death when leaving got in car wreck from txting.
 Born- Feb 11, 1999
in Jefferson, IA.
Parents- Nikki, Jaz, stepdad, brother, sis.
childhood- greene-county HS, best friend Drake.
 Hobbies- Football, Basketball, Rap music, AutoCAD, drawing, and photography.
Ethan is survived by: Grandma Vickie, Grandpa Tom. Parents: Nikki mom. Siblings: Lyndsay, Briahnna, Garrett, Emily wilder Real sis. Niece:Brooklyn wilder. Best friend: Drake.

Copyright © Ethan Frye | Year Posted 2015

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(Every year in the lunar month of Muharram we Shia Muslims commemorate the brutal martyrdom of the grandson of our Holy prophet Muhammed (s.a.w) and his family and friends at the hands of fake hypocritical so-called Muslims, several centuries ago. That tragic day of atrocity is known as ashurah.) 

Our eyes weep in grief an ocean of tears
On this blackest day of tyranny
When evil hypocrites placed Quran atop spears
Martyring our prophet's progeny

Brutal and greedy for worldly power
Arrows rained down upon the Prophet's family
Inflicted by the cruel bastards
Who slaughtered that day all the holy

The plains of Karbala immersed in holy blood of piety
They savagely spared neither youth nor Imam's baby
Then mounted the holy heads like a war trophy
Burnt the tents of the holy ladies in great cruelty

They were denied access to water and food
Though they banked near the river Euphrates
Those hypocrites wore a savage hood
Tortured imam Husein's mates and soulmates

So we mourn in commemoration of this heartrending tragedy
Curse the perpetrators if you have any humanity

So every Ashura we will mourn and dress in black and dark
To commemorate this blasphemy upon prophets family, all hark
A real true Muslim can never kill babies and kids 
That's the main muslim's sign and hallmark.
(I know from observation that whoever hates Imam Husein
The grandson of the holy prophet Muhammed( 
Can never be kind and compassionate
And only such a person can kill innocent kids and babies
For such hate is an unholy killer virus.)

(Allah has commanded us to love the ahlulbayt (prophets family) in a clear well known verse which reads as follows, ' Shakir 42: 23 That is of which Allah gives the good news to His servants, (to) those who believe and do good deeds. Say (oh Mohamed) : I do not ask of you any reward for it but love for my near relatives; and whoever earns good, We give him more of good therein; surely Allah is Forgiving, Grateful.'
Those who disobey this verse by hating the prophets family are answerable to God and those who killed them will face the tortures of hellfire.) 

Dirge for the martyrs
By me

Can anyone imagine Imam Husein n Rubab's sorrow
when with parched lips their 6mnth babe begged for water
yet tyrants threw at his tender neck a three-pronged arrow
making him the youngest martyr in karbala's slaughter! 

Greatly outnumbered, the holy band of the prophet's progeny
brutally butchered in unfair battle indeed
Husain's 4yr daughter clung to horse Zuljana's legs
so he shouldn't be dragged into battle by the cruel yazeed.

In a shower of arrows yet Husain said his Asr prayers
as his supporters formed in front of him a human shield
But such tyrannical and worldly were the slayers
they didn't even respect prayer time in battlefield.

So we cry, we weep, we mourn and wail
as every year we remember Kerbala's true tale. 
S.zaynub Kamoonpuri

Poet's Notes about The Poem
(Foreigners and even some unbiased Sunnis and Hindus join and watch the commemorations and processions on Ashura, Muharram, here in Daressalam too.
The tragedy of Kerbala touches even the hardest of hearts for it was perpetrated by the powerhungry tyrannical worldly tyrants of the time.
Brutality and coldblooded tyranny was observed at its peak in this horrible historical event we can't ever erase from our minds for the blood of the Holy Prophet's progeny was spilled here.

So we begin our lunar calendar year with tears like a babe begins his life into this world crying too. But we weep for this saddest blot on the history of Muslims.
The killing of an innocent 6months babe of Imam Hussein the grandson of Holy prophet Muhammad(S.A.W) is an evil atrocity unparalleled indeed.
It's Islamically a must to give even chickens water before slaughter but the coldblooded perpetrators denied Imam Husein and his holy band and family access to the Euphrates river and all water for 3 days and then butchered them mercilessly in a highly unfair battle.
No Sunni or human has ever had a word of praise for Yazid or hurmala whose name has gone down in Islamic history as vicious sinning tyrants.

My heart therefore bleeds in deep grief for the grandson of the Holy prophet and his young children all martyred in one day at Kerbala.
I wonder at Muslims who love the Holy prophet(s.a.w) but don't feel anything for his flesh 'n' blood and family. It's surely coz they have been kept in the dark about the whole tragedy.
Mourning our beloved esteemed martyrs is therefore sacrosanct for us and indeed for any who have hearts n luv Islam and prophet Muhammed s.a.w)


Copyright © S.zaynab Kamoonpuri | Year Posted 2016

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Homage to Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night
of decay, blight, and disease;
rage, rage against the dying of the light—please! 
With all of your might
until I am at ease!?

Do not go gentle into that good night
of solemn, irrevocable sleep;
rage, rage against the calling of the Deep!
Come to me and to the light—
or else I will weep!?

Do not go gentle into that good night
of the ebb of your power;
rage, rage against the withering of the flower!
Deny eternal rest its right
to take you before the hour!

Do not go gentle into that good night
of the setting of your sun;
rage, rage against the death that's almost won!
Tho' the end's within sight,
fight, fight till your light's all done!

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2017

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I am not a moron

Now, When I turn back
I realize
The depth of my love for you.
It was easy to bid bye
But it’s difficult to endure with a sigh

Memories pile up old and crypt
The moments we shared
The giggles we made
The puerile fights we had
Then again, you came to console!

I was oblivious of my mistake
When I confessed my love
And the price I had to pay
Was nothing but our kinship!

I was a clown
With big red lips and white cheeks
And a big red nose
Masking the feelings
All went in vein at last
Alas! Am I a moron?!

Nothing but love knows
And love alone knows
Its pain and fain!
I am content
Not to lose you for
Not telling my love
I am glad, I am not a moron!

Now, When I turn back
I realize
The depth of my love for you.
It was easy to bid bye
But it’s difficult to endure with a sigh!!!

featured in PS on 25/10/2015

Copyright © Remnants of Some Silly Experiences | Year Posted 2015

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What if:

What if…
emotion was fake.
No smiles or frowns,
with nothing at stake.
Living worry free.
But to what degree?

What if…
we didn't feel pain.
A bite from a bee,
with no harm or gain.
Just living our lives,
free from mental cries.

What if…
we didn't feel fear.
Trembling all night,
the voices we hear.
Not stuck in a hole,
we are in control.

What if…
we didn't feel mad.
Yelling at our friend,
fighting with our dad.
Self hatred no more,
don’t call me a wh*re.

What if…
we didn't feel sad.
No recollection,
why we can’t be glad.
To forget those years,
an end to our tears.

What if…
we didn't feel life…
Now stop it right there,
please put down that knife.
That WON’T bring relief.
It WON’T stop the grief.

What if…
HAPPINESS, we felt.
Just take a deep breath,
don’t let yourself melt.
Just let yourself feel
I promise you'll heal.

Copyright © becca katz | Year Posted 2015

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The Shot...
They killed.
Their hate... 
They willed. 
The blood...
It spread.
From heart...
To head. 

The gun...
Was pressed.
A scream...
Was stressed.
Wild eyed...
Prayer said.
and Bang... 
You're dead.

The Shot...
Their hate....
The blood.....
From heart.....
The gun....................
A scream............................
Wild eyed...........
and Bang.

They killed. 
They willed.
It spread.
To head.
Was pressed. 
Was stressed.
Prayer said.
You're dead.

by Edlynn Nau 

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

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An Empty Vase

An empty vase on the counter, 
reminds you of the beautiful lilies that bloomed one summer... 
Time quickly passed and the petals began to wilt and fall.. 
They withered away but their beauty was the greatest gift of all. 
To have them and appreciate them through their precious moments alive, 
is a memory so special it cannot be defined. 
Hold on to the memories of brightened days and fragrant nights, 
of when the beautiful lilies surrounded you and made everything feel right. 
The empty vase is just a vase, 
but the memories are the beauty that once held its place. 
Fill it with beauty and precious memories once more, 
for you will always have the vase and the moments you adored.

Copyright © Elizabeth Duran | Year Posted 2016

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Theory Of Us

The theory of us, the collective
 Amid this climate as thus, suggestive

The passion, the fire, our intuitive desire
Becoming more, undoubtedly, known assure
Glimpses of your inner shared as your soul
The desired thirst for life as more
As was said, and thus is told
Know that, as yet to see, that all shall be...
The blossom of life that shines, as we, learn of the flowering  Amenti...
As all of the man's knowledge, in the un conscience engraved
Yet unknowingly followed, the conscience life enslaved

The importance, the sacrifice, life, and our strife
 the individual path within shared to be our sin
A lifetime not is shown, definitive certainty unknown.
And so, we must make our choices...
The duality, the mind, DNA embedded voices...
Answers to infinity's end, where does it begin?
The questions of truth, it's spark, born of divinity, and lying within.....

As a quest for material desire
For our fire, is tamed, controlled and enslaved. 
As above and so below, the embedded truth engraved.
True freedom is hidden as our vision is steered
As tempered our strife, yet held nebulous, our fear

In effect, whole portions, the intellect
A population, not developing, simple logic
Reasoning skills, those attributes needed
 Discernment and right choices left conceded

We never had to develop these skills 
Environments raised suppressed,
Our personal inquisitiveness favored authoritative, compliances suggest
The society, inhabitation, and complacency
Encouraged infancy and mental dependency
Our mundane life, Inertia of conformity 

Truth, vision and the abundance of our soul
Learned, tormented and negligence grow old
The fire, our feelings, and the winter, passion as cold
Forgotten as inhibited within conformity being told.

Mystery, and wisdom, knowledge, and power... our discernments, grown old...


 Amid this climate, ... us, you, our collective conformity...

Copyright © SUNIL seebalack | Year Posted 2017

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Mr Timekeeper

A dusky sky becomes night as I lay here in bed. The
thoughts are Endless, as they run through my head.
I dream of sweeter days, oh, where did time go?
I want to get it back and take it in slow.
Mr. Timekeeper, could you do me a favor? 
Turn back the clock, we’ll fix it later.
Back to a momma’s boy, with freckles on my nose. 
When I’d chase my brothers with the water hose.
Just a little bit shy and a lot too rough. 
Boy, I could cry. But man, was I tough.
I learned about life and did what was told. 
Everything’s different when your 8 years’ old.
Now, I’m all grown, but really not much. 
Don’t know what it means to be a grown-up.
Work keeps me busy, while I learn how to fly. 
By no means perfect, but I gotta try.
Until then, I think I’ll reminisce. 
On the childhood days’ that seemed better than this.
Mr. Timekeeper, could you do me a favor? 
Turn back the clock, we’ll fix it later.
Back to a green-eyed boy, with a two-foot smile. 
Making daddy proud when I read my bible.
Jesus held me tight; 'Til waves began crashing. 
The cancer took form, like dark clouds come storming.
A Brother lost the fight. Levi, I prayed for more time.
An Innocent soul gone, by natures foulest crime.
I learned about life and tried to be bold. 
But, It’s hard to understand, at 8-years-old.
Mr. Timekeeper, I need no more favors. 
Cause now I remember, how time passed me over.
The day Levi died, the joy was lost to me. 
A teary-eyed boy, dried his tears on times sleeve.
Buried but not forgotten, that pain is inside me. 
It looks like a brother, with his heart still in pieces.
I may be grown, but not all that much. 
I’m just a child, who’s body grew up.
I still fear tomorrow and what it will bring.
Yesterday pains me, with the sad song it sings.
Mr. Timekeeper, where can I look?
To find that old joy, the grave swallowed up?
I’ve learned about life and how it is cold. 
I thought it'd be different, at 8 years old.

Copyright © Jonah Guinn | Year Posted 2016

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O ENGLAND a lament

O England,what will become of thee
once the bastion of the free..
Now on all sides beset..betrayed
by a friend from across the sea

O  England, what will become of you
a once fair bereft of freedom
of truth to express ..views thereof
must in silence ..suppress

O England,where once was
 democracy's seat crushed
 'neath naked ambition and greed
of its  self styled .. enlightened elite

O England this aged poet,cries for you
subsumed as you are in the oligarchic EU !
Arise!  once more..stand tall
Leave and ..begin anew

you may hear me recite this poem and others from my 4000+ PS anthology on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro..

catch my short forms @strandpoet on twitter..

read my kindle guides on amazon

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2016

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I drift to you Written Chrismas 2014 By Joel Thornton polluted start run away our day to drain and you; this heart. spirit of the cold machine All your deceptive armor will rot parsimonious mouth spiting dirt. Brushed so cleanly. I wish I was pure grey Away from the sting of her pain AWAY from myself. AWAY from All this hurt. All my decay. All your running away. You gave this to me. But what cost? This worthless greed? And now take it away Yeah right. I guess we will see All my loss. All you need. If I cant move on, I will destroy myself I can’t become undone. I will save myself. If I will shine on My shine will blind the sun. I owe too much to where I am from. Owe more to the future, And all that has yet to come. Thanks for an eye-opener The sting that your gone. The stink of desperation All or some and some or none. Never anyone left out. There is never only one. But in isolation It sure feels as everyone is gone In isolation - In this life I am the only one. Truly only one. All but you have gone. I can finally breathe with you still around. But with all this distance Digging all this fertile ground Love will be buried Like bad health - Disintegrate to none. If I can’t love myself I won’t Can’t love no one else. But inferior to mend Submit to love, for I am less. Submit to something bigger than me Submit to the ideal of a kinder humanity But I still won’t hold my breath. Will wait. Won’t idle. Fear and time always winning For they are my true enemies
The end.

Copyright © Joel Thornton | Year Posted 2014