Create a love
Create. Create something. Something good.
Something. Something constructive and uplifting
Some words, visions, something, what gives
Gives to live, to life, to live. To the hoped life
Want something, I know, the life. Lost a life
Dried world. Dried land. No rain. Dried eyes
Mine. I can’t see the view. I don’t want. Meet. Life
Don’t call me. Life. Don’t. I have no loving home
A home. The family. Illusion. Created from love
Daydreaming is the destroyer of life. That is not love
Hmm. My dreams are aggressive. I can’t drop them
My dreams are my enemies. Dreams from love
“Dropped you a love”, said Satan with compassion.
“Yes, this is the reality, my Master”, I answered.
“Then drop all, and follow my light,, said Satan.
Long this way. Where is the end? Where? Tell!
“There is no end to your way”, answered my Satan.
Hmm. Human life is immortal. Hmm. No way out.
Create something? A love? I needed. But why?
“You are in my cemetery. Love here”, said Satan
A mortal wants love. For happiness. Forget the life
I create an illusion
For family, for love
For the mind creation
For the honor
Of the past
And future
they told me
it had to rhyme
it had to mean something—
something big—
like death, or love,
or the smell of gasoline in a motel parking lot.
so I just sat there
with a busted lighter
and an ashtray full of good intentions,
and the words just
spilled out like a drunk
trying to find my shoes that I misplaced.
this isn’t a poem,
it’s just like life
with its pants down,
asking you to kiss it
before it collapses again,
waking up just to do it over
and over again.
‘Lone, my life decorate will I
And joy of life create will I.
A fast flowing flash-flood am I,
My way forward ferret will I.
As my wishes are all my own,
Hold on my head their weight will I.
What’s longing? Just a paper boat,
Like ere, on sail set off will I.
I was called once a road-side stone,
As milestone, navigate will I.
Pain has no power to punish me,
In heart as captivate will I.
In a crowd if alone I feel,
A world my own rotate will I.
_________________________
Ghazal |02.07.2025| life, loneliness, joy
A ghazal fashioned from the one in Urdu by Harsh Brahmabhatt -- apani viraniyañ saja lunga.
My story need not involve a person’s glory
though I hope it will be interestingly oratory
and preferably self-explanatory
rather than overly expository.
To titillate my readers, I could even make it just a wee bit gory.
The muse has no hushing.
My voice needs no shushing,
A baby boomer scribbling,
At my brain, muse nibbling,
Cool to create,
Thoughts i relate,
While world is yawning,
I write in the morning,
Verbose or terse,
My muse here in verse!
haiku : manifestation process
heart whispers symbols
mindful make intentions, plans ~
action complete, sleep
____________
hiku
he ART
w h i s p e
R
s
s M O S
y b L
MIND
ful
make
I. N. T. E. N. T. I. O. Ns
PLANS ~
ACTION
Complete
zzzzzz
________________________
Start with sentences.
Or happiness.
Or everyone.
Take words as if they have been hanging on the ceiling.
The waiting room can grow.
Long hallways with photos.
Sentences.
Or wheels.
Or wailing.
Easy stuff like pencils that break.
So rinse everything off again.
Waiting on thoughts to become thoughts.
They always say that sunlight is fake.
Start with empty hands.
And eat everything.
But let the words eat first.
The best way to create-
Is being a person who likes music.
Or sports, or being happy.
Tap away until there is nothing left of the radio.
That you haven’t eaten.
Create.
Everyone went home that day.
Leaving scraps.
Start with everyone and everything.
Create.
Or don’t.
Fingers so sore from learning the chords,
Getting the rhytme without knowing the words.
It all sounds so good here in my head,
Blood from my fingers turning the fret board red.
But I've got to keep trying, just carry on,
Or the thoughts that inspired me will be lost and all gone.
I've got to decide on the ideal key,
And think about where the verse and the middle eight will be.
The words that I write will probably change,
They all have to be within my own vocal range.
Some songs take ages and some not so long,
But eventually I will have another hit song?
Where everyone will create
their own jewelry,
paint a wonderful rose,
feel what she feels,
see what she sees,
for her resource and interior.
This restless, ever-cresting urge,
that pounds, incessant, in my breast,
much like the ocean's pulsing surge
that never seems to pause for rest,
will have its way.
I must obey.
So I go, in meek surrender,
find a quiet place to hide,
and placing pen to paper, render
poems from the swelling tide.
Though sweet release,
a transient peace.
The work complete, I pause, but find
no sooner is the pen replaced,
than flooding words wash through my mind,
my playful castles are erased,
and I, once more,
am as before.
If I, a child of God, would be
so strongly moved to write, create,
I wonder, is His poetry
the art my heart would imitate?
(His words, I hear,
made worlds appear!)
I realize earth may never know
these fleeting works my soul has given.
Still, from mystic depths they flow
and rise like morning mist, to heaven,
where His ear
at least, may hear.
artists create art
to express inner feelings
loving aesthetics
Written By: D. Collins 1/25/25
Create something beautiful while you're on this earth.
It will still be here when you're long, under the dirt.
Create a masterpiece molded from your own hands.
Inject the juice that extends your family Clan.
You take that seed and give it nothing but good.
Tell them the things you'd change, if you could.
Then, they go into life with some experience.
In knowing Daddy ain't taking no nonsense.
Create something good before you leave this earth.
Show the whole world your value and worth.
Give something back to show you were here.
Give them a Meika overdosed in high gear.
It always did seem On the Wings of a Dream
I’d Fly Away with you In My Heart -
through Singing Skies and Dancing Waters,
for Darling, The Music is You,
and The Gift You Are you have been from the start.
My Rhymes and Reasons, my divine Aspenglow,
Somethin’ About You, I can’t let go.
It seems I keep saying Goodbye Again,
watching you Leaving On a Jet Plane.
Then you’re Back Home Again and sweetest songs flow.
You can’t escape me, and I Can’t Escape you.
Poems, Prayers, and Promises prove this is true.
On Shanghai Breezes you Sail Away Home,
and I’ve Never a Doubt that for too long you’ll roam,
for you’ll Take Me to Tomorrow and more Songs Of . . . You.
Could it transpire? To set a nation on fire.? Could Lowe drop
The boom.? If it happens? It must be soon.' In the cauldron
Of insanity in this un-normal and dystopian governed inhumanity.' Can the damo-clean blade be turned upon who
Had it made in turn? Strike the iron thats been made hot.' Be bold
And decisive and tear out the rot.' Show your mettle and
The people will cheer.!! Banish any doubt or shadows or
Fear.' Draw your battle line and raise a standard.' Trust the
People to know how big is the gambit..Its halfway to freedom now
Get ready to push.' In true leadership burn retreats worn out
Bridge.' Forward they are waiting.! for an hour such as this
From dissillusion raise their spirits, offer integrity and then
Go with it.' Ask for support lay the truth out that is the all.' Unite and
Conquer as its been done before.'
Instead to wait
Such mere chances
Create yourself.
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