Details |
Rhyme
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The wind is softly drifting,
My soul tries to concentrate on only things that are uplifting.
My soul reaches out to hope,
So that I can cope.
When you are not with me,
I cry enough tears to make a sea.
I miss your smile,
I miss your style.
I miss,
Your kiss,
Which is my bliss.
I miss your sweet lips,
And the brush of your fingertips.
I miss your fingers running through my hair,
I miss you when you're not there.
I miss your beautiful face,
So full of grace.
I miss the feel of you,
Without you I don't know what to do.
I miss your scent,
I have missed you since you went.
Most of all I miss your love,
My angel from above.
I sit here missing you,
Staring at the mystic moon,
Hoping you will return soon.
I pray I can see,
The Sea of Tranquility,
Hoping to find peace until you return to me!
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Details |
Rhyme
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Men cannot be trusted
emotionless and hardened,
They tend to be aggressive
Then thoughtlessly are pardoned.
Promiscuously driven
With ego swelling large,
They're loud, endowed and over proud
And in your life they'll barge!
They see vastly different
They see a girl- a prize,
Their honesty is always great
Until they just tell lies.
They'll blame you for everything
They'll treat you as a game,
They're really not so interesting
Predictable and lame.
Hence before you run away
To whatever you have lusted,
Take heed of what I say...
For men should not be trusted.
Now, I could back this poem up
With proof of evidence,
As damages that most men do
Is astronomically immense.
Though I’m sure when they do read this
They’ll hate and much resent
The honesty and forthrightness
From a poetess unbent.
Yes we need to put them in their place
Before problems rise again
Wars and violence amongst our silence
All due to stupid men.
Though I wonder Joe and all that know
Andy and Big Randy
So I’ll admit just a bit
Men can be soooo handy !
And I’m fortunate to know
Good mans’ integrity
The ones who care a very rare
And voice this literally.
Though I’ve generalised and chastised
The ones not up to speed
I’ll be fair and I’ll share
Men…I know we need.
They’re great when they are good
Respectable and kind
They can be the bestest friends
And ease our worried mind.
Baby boys so wonderful
And innocence impart
Uplifting me, will always be
Forever in my heart.
The he whose not corrupted
It’s him I do commend
And loyal I will always be
To a good true friend.
How brothers I have missed you
Through the push and shove
And I am grateful never hateful
For platonic love…
Here here I’m not so sexist
Indifferent, a goner,
As I think of he who strengthens me
'tis he, I love and honour.
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Details |
Prose Poetry
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FOUNTAIN : LIQUOR BOTTLE SHRINES...
Intoxicated and driven,
Staggering to a higher purpose where they buy their souls
Meeting with their Maker as they peak and overflow
Seeing all these empty faces file in and out in dance to the tune
No need to protect the treasure if it stifles their zenith
In and out of bodies they seem to leave
No flow from the fountain from which they drink
Stagnant, waiting to satisfy their insatiable thirst
With unimaginable haste gulping from the core as if a first encounter with an
oasis
Dripping down the contours of the mouth from the aggression
‘Drop off the gratitude before leaving the shrine’
The unholy water whispers after it quenches
Dressed in robes of fine cotton another traveler enters
With such poise and dominance that leaves the ground shaken
Unwrapping the cloth from the perfect curves
Ready to take a sip and maybe indulge
Let loose and even contain some in the silver chalice
Slowly ...steady does it
Starting off with a lick then a slurp out of impulse
As if tasting the finest wine making sure not to miss a drop
For the water it is a forever ago once forgotten
The delicacy
Hand upon lips to wipe away the resistant drops
The evidence of true of the luxury that should have never been
The water forgets
Until he leaves a fine too hefty even for indulgence
Eyes blood shot and teary from the wind
With the force of a hurricane marching towards emancipation
There is a need to irrigate the death
Ripples can be seen in the water while the typhoon swallows
It is an impact so strong that everything else is rendered inert
There is a spilling and maybe even a leaking
A time out should be called for the forces that are to repair
It is not a damage alien
Maybe add some yeast and watch it ferment
Sprinkle perfume and delude the nostrils of the parched
A measure necessary for the uplifting of all spirits
Nickels and dimes left in the fountain as the swagger out with satisfaction
Maybe tomorrow will be a good day to experience the bliss
Yet again and then maybe again and again
An ephemeral source that should be exploited
Expiration is imminent and thirst is persistent
Until they stumble upon another gift of the rain
They will drink
Till drink is no more...
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