Best Strewed Poems

 WHO WAS SHE

I intuited the radiance before
I even laid eyes on her
Moving with a self-assured poise
that came from deep within
was a quintessence of a woman
of ageless assurance and beauty

What WAS it?

That layered her with a divinity,
incomparable sensuality redefined

Captivated by her timeless elegance
reading her essence...

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I may not always write about you,
About the way your energy,
Caresses my spine,
And sends jolts of electrity,
Racing through my body,
Exploding each cell like fireworks.
I may not write about,
The way my dreams at night,
Fill with you and I dancing,
Heat bashing our skin,
Filling us with an unquencable...

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Cold snow covered all tombs and lanes,
Still he strewed the coffin with sprays
of flowers, to lessen his pains.
He uttered a few words of praise.
But snow showers
Buried flowers.

He recited poetic strains
Could only look down in a daze.
Hot tears fell upon her remains
Yet snow veiled all in...

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Bells summoned as they tolled the sad departure
Of my poor mother’s sudden demise.
I led the short funeral procession
Towards her eternal resting sepulchre.

Before her black ebony casket was closed,
I looked intently down at her, still beautiful.
Her dress, her favourite, all lace in black.
That was her last...

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This is the story of my life,
So filled with joys and strife;
This is the story of my days--
Through countless doorways!

This is the story of my dream--
And of my shimmering moonbeam.
This is my brief tale of woe--
The tale of sunsets all aglow.

This is the narrative of...

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Blank pages strewed high on my desk in pain,
For now, I heard the squelch of death again,
It had echoed from my emptied inkwells,
As dying words crept from a mind that quells,

Pilfered hands scrawl at piles for hopeful hints,
A gleam, as much as a sign to...

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Hurricane


By Edmund Siejka


There were warnings of a hurricane
People had been through this before
They knew what to do 
Why some of the houses on the water were worth over a million dollars
They would ride it out.

The hurricane came ashore and slowly marched inland
South of Merrick Road...

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(for: them who are ever there!)

these branches and roots
that cord to the grave ancients
should be free from man’s swords!
both oracle and priest held for days …

I 
Your voice speaks in the silence of the night
To the deep still shady earth
That once held a great zest...

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Ama you are a father 
Father my father
Whose basket of fishes
Sweetened my mother’s dishes
Whose naked feet danced
The jungle drum you drummed.

I remember
Father I still remember
Those joyous days
When like brooding hens
You employed your hands
To shield the offsprings
Those several bodies
O! the little bodies
That clung to your bare...

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Outside of the city where the pomegranates grow,
With large citrus orchards perfuming the air,
I met my true love on a blossom strewed pathway.
My heart gave a leap when I saw him draw near.
He held me so tight underneath blooming tree
As he planted his kisses all...

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This August has gone away

like our childhood –

calmly and almost by chance.

The sky had too many stars

and strewed the earth with them.

I stretched my hands to them, 

I tried to catch them.

But they were burning

without any smoke or sound.

And August went away....

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she is so far
speaking without hearing
and he passes between the days
of life
in the tremolos semi shadows
dreams her
but she is leafing through
another book
strewed with hieroglyphs
she wants to find out
and divines 
on the entrails of sacrificial animals
the ancient priestess
but there is no future and time
he remains
like an...

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The Magic Almond Tree 

And now it is time 
For the ugly almond tree to blossom
And be a bride of spring
And how beautiful she is
Amongst dowdy olive trees that may
Have cornered the culinary market
The beauty belongs to my almond tree.
How did this come about?
A Nordic...

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A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket
Arabic Poem by: Salman Dawood Mohammed 
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================

(5)
Just like the wind 
I drive out loneliness of an empty bench for two... 
And, like a curfew, I mourn pedestrians’ noise;
And as a shirt...

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This poem was inspired by the interviews by Earl K. Pollon and S. S. Matheson conducted with native Sekanni peoples who were negatively effected by the flooding of their communal homelands by the building of the W.A.C. Bennett Dam. “This Was Our Valley” tells that...

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