Best Returning Poems

The Retuning Smiles

i see beneath pairs of almond-shaped, green leavess
On white fabric, flowers set with four heart-shaped petals,
The color of sun-kissed blueberries,
Decorating the smocked sundress  of the pig-tailed toddler
.Hanging over the crook of her mother’s arm, and
With her dazzling, black eyes looking all around...

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He followed the motion and before it left the hand, he was away.

His greatest thrill was fulfilling his purpose, to please.

On returning, he stood patient, waiting for that firm stroke 

That caressed his spine; and the feel of the palm on his ribcage;

Two pats coupled...

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His life now has permanently changed
Costing him more than aches and pain
As slowly he walks on prosthetic legs
Humility reigns, taxing venturous brain.

Propelling courage fiercely he fought, 
Defying death, meeting face to face.
Concealed within his unflinching image,
Torment open wounds of unholy place.

Unsteady mind roams haunted now,
No...

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Hidden reservation site,
Buried behind wardrobes of femininity.
Aged wooden metal chest,
Handed over by grandparents.
Containing matters,
Yester-innocent,
Tears weeping melodies on pink white ribbons of little girl's wearing.
Matching dress of lovely splendor,
Mr. Teddy tucked under,
Barbie slumber in all this,
Ken waiting for hope in joy kid.
Tea set with long passed...

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I walked to the backyard of my childhood home, and was surprised with a gorgeous garden.  No cinder pile, no tire swing, no cottonwood trees, no tree house, no dirty lumber, and no shed.  No proof we had ever been here.

A gloriously beautiful...

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A feathering song,
Played upon the quills
Of winging seagulls,
Releases my mind
From the daily grind.

Glorious birds
Are the seagulls;
Welcoming all
To Gaia’s womb.

Once we’ve birthed;
Spread our wings,
And touch life;

The womb
Restores

Peace.



4-23-2020
Enter the 'STRAND PICK D,any theme,any form' Poetry Contest
Brian Strand...

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Something sits unsaid
and never takes form
but seems lifelong, a shadow
that occupies a space 
and yet has no shape
nor gives a hint of where
it's from.

It falls across the mind
from up ahead
or reaches out of somewhere
behind, way back where 
memory hides or comes 
falling from above out...

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1.	The story started in sunshine on the sea shore
2.	in reminiscent ambience like the French Riviera
3.	where the colors of sunset were painting horizon.
4.	When twilight merged with descending darkness of dusk
5.	I saw your flashing figure, a fleeting deer, on the beach,
6.	hair on air making charming lace on...

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They march to songs
                                         ...

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"The Returning" 

Inside us all 
a strange forest

where light and dark 
are fed to us by 
curious creatures,
their unexpected gods 

in thoughts and deeds
joy and fear 
hate and love 
belief and disbelief

inwards
our dreams 
turn to
The Returning 

a place we think
we’ve never been 

we drift inwards
facing...

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After dispossession, 
collecting the dolls-
dusting them off.

Who was watching 
you, dousing yourself
to give a political statement ?

Cutting the leaves 
of grass, I open 
the book of Walt Whitman.

This was a targeted
killing. I will not join 
the funeral procession.

A mistaken lull.
One day I will-
shoot endlessly.


Satish Verma...

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Dedicated to a dear friend, who felt let down by a nation he helped to protect, and was honoured to serve



An Innocent young mind getting ripped apart,
like a Jack the Ripper victim on the streets when it’s dark,
the lights draining from his eyes he’s losing...

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As I passed through the doors I pledged
That I would try a different perspective.
I would not hold my usual contempt
for these demeaning walls—be less derisive
in my view of this shameless conviction. 
In spite of my own constitutions
I linger on thoughts of a forfeited salvation.
I know...

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Too see again Saint Elmos's fire
prance and dance on moonlit wings
See  clouds aboil in starry skies
as sleep oercomes my tired eyes
and Morpheus turns all to dreams
To waken now so many turns
Away and past what somehow seems
Unreal as Elmo's  fire burns
so cold in rushing...

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what we call stars are small openings in the cover of our universe

creative energy shines through, drawing us back to our origin  
...

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