Our thoughts, like the sea with its white pebbles,
painted by its foam.
The waves come little by little, to halt them.
There, I see Greece.
Beneath the clouds that hide the sun,
its furrows moving back and forth like visitors.
They were forgotten on a pale islet at the horizon, where the gaze can reach.
In a small glass of red wine and a slice of bread,
behind the cornfields.
There, I see Greece.
In my grandparents’ house I left my memories in the yard,
in the scent of Sunday lunch.
What is love?
It is the feeling, as light as a mountain.
It is as bright as a shadow.
It is the little thread that holds the world in position.
It is a feeling with joy and smile as its wheels.
Love is the tiny islet that lies in every man’s heart.
It is the heart’s weak strength.
It is the thing that folds hatred
And dissolves evil.
It is the dagger of good and evil.
It is the bridge between God and man
Love is what makes a man weak and strong
Love is the little sunshine in every man’s dark world
It is the fountain of hope
Let us stitch this tattered world with Love
Our digestive system is starting to hurt
We thoroughly deemed this void
As if we're crashing from a Pyramid in, revert
An urgent necessity that must be spoiled
The earth is shifting to sand in an islet desert
Land beheld through the lens of greed boiled.
Unless we dig ourselves out of dismal dirt
We are going to hurt the crashing avoid
Giving you a speck of buoyancy exerts
You should sow it since it's a seed poised
I request a grain and am granted a sight
I require a piece and am granted the right
When I ask for a roll, I get paper insight
When I seek exegesis, I am said of my gut delight
I will be attentive to the light
When I pray to the realm, the gates reveal the site.
Written: November 20, 2022
The vale of the rich
A strange place houses as big as castles tall forbidding walls
on top of broken glass in cement: gates that can withstand
armoured tanks.
Lush dale but no humming bees or bird song too much pesticide
for the sake of beauty, what’s left is graveyard peace.
I sat on my bike for an hour in the hope of seeing people, but no.
Each palace was like an islet cut off from the world outside,
here they need no one and no one needs them, splendid isolation
Like an asylum of the weary madness.
Just as I was to leave a hearse pulled up an iron gate, the gate
opened and let, well even rich people must die, prisoners of wealth.
I ought to take some of them outside, so they see a bit of real-life
before a hearse arrives.
Everything in this world is ever on change fast;
The come and go pattern forms the present and past.
Historic sites are preserved everywhere on landscape;
And now we can climb and visit them in intact shape.
Yuliang islet is exposed because of the falling water;
Yunmeng Lake looks deep and serene at cold weather.
The stele of Yang Hu still stands upright today;
Tears roll down as I read through the stele essay.
(Tran.)
Fifteen years old…I trekked the river-bend, dived
Around balmy ledges, held by a curiosity
Nourished in toddler years,
When Father would tenderly utter of lighting
My adolescence anchored on the salty
Yet fragrant curls of a bay’s fathomless wave
Now imbued within: Viewing the shift of clay,
The marvel of paper boats leaning on rocks--
This soul became fearless calm noble,
Until modernity drove an islet to the ground;
And as I take a long, last gaze at a crumbled site
A part of my innocence rushes out with it...I wail.
The Last Contest, for Silent One
12/1/2018
The artificial islet
There is an island in the sea
ten feet deep it has a mountain to
of baby diapers which fertilise
the layers of sand blown by the wind.
Some birds lay eggs there
the hatchlings have plastic wings
but cannot fly.
This island is man creation and has
no worth other than a warning for
for shipping in the vicinity.
~Fragrance of clear mist swathes the bouncing air,
Dizzy where jasmines and blossoms unfurl
That serenity ripples everywhere,
And gulls hover above a wavelet's curl:
Through morning sail into pastoral bliss
Orchards flaunt their Riviera attire,
While an islet lies warm as sunset's kiss
Till birdsong drools in rhythm of a choir.
Glow of evening sparks its luminous eyes--
When bathing of pasture ends, to rest
Afloat my dream island how this breath sighs
For her verdant trees, her water dance fest.
Lovely isle beneath a tropical moon
Enticing my roam like a ballad’s tune ~
``````````````
3/14/2017 Where I Want To Go
Contest of Nicola Byrne
Rhymes checked at ryhmezone.com
Syllables verified at howmanysyllables.com
To ride the sea is a pleasure and a curse
as huddle of gulls, starfish dart from nowhere
enchanting frolic on breakers, they traverse
into buoyant laps with crystal tides so rare.
My arms swivel a distance while I immerse
from deep lures of an islet, beyond compare;
yet once, twice... roughest torrents did choke my lungs
engulfed by coils of a dunk, into waves’ tongues.
I awake on swamps of moss , hurt like trapped cord
from a hillside , birds echo their fiercest drawl;
reviving my anxious glides with crests adored
for the terror -thrill of waters makes me stall.
As the bashing of rapids drills more pain on board
this dread, dread of drowning snuffs a night-breaths' pall...
though I cringe, hurt again from a sail, outright,
I’d rather face danger to unleash my fright.
If it hurts so bad, why do we do it?
Contest of Silent One
--------------------
[11 syl lines per requirement of the form;
10 syls likewise acceptable]
--------------------
6/19/2016
Rose fingered dawn appeared early today
at the island, East Brothers Light station.
From Benicia hills I caught the first ray.
Now, absorbing my share of sun's ration
on this islet in San Francisco bay.
I early watched the night, battle, and chased
by the minions of a bright new day.
On the East wind, a train's horn as it raced
to who knows where or what destination.
And I wondered, too, as to my endpoint.
Sitting here in mellow contemplation,
face filled with the solar afirmament
of a life not without worth and valued
at least in the number of good years totaled
Island Of Fantasy
They lost the compass and
Drifted towards a glittery islet at dusk
Twinkling with thousands of lamps
The glow worms enchanted
The young lovers to rest while
These buzzing stars sang them lullabies
Morning unfolded seascapes
Of clear shallow aquamarine ripples
Where they could look down at corals and shells
The parakeets and love birds
Illuminated the trees-capes with
Bright coloured hues and mellifluous tunes
The uninhabited isle was
Drooling with sweet smelling juicy fruits
Bees, butterflies, birds, gave them an open invite to stay
June 8, 2016
For Nayda Ivette Negron
yellow flower oaks
bloom synchronous in islet
displaying shimmer
5-11-2016
Jim, now rich, bought a wee li’l islet;
there he lived, with ten men and a starlet.
Changed his partner each day,
heaved and huffed till they say,
the islet is now, the town named Scarlet.
---------------------------------------------
The story's not over, he's not decadent.
Send away the men, he just simply can’t;
they built the town housing,
the roads and some building
for starlet Scarlet, whom the islet was meant.
21 April 2015
Humorous Poetry Contest - 4th Place
Sponsor : Thomas Martin
Islet is cold.
Iris is not.
The moon is frozen.
The sun is hot.
The morning has come
and it’s time to get up.
Rise and shine my people!
_____________________________________|
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
Contest Name The Great ITTY BITTY Poetry Contest
Date of Entry. 03/30/2014
It's full moon,
but the ebbing tide never comes,
the sea is fast rising,
it's getting hotter,
and becoming a monster.
The islet over the horizon,
its shore whiter than clouds,
where kingfishers and sea urchins
live in glory,
painted the sunset in silhouetted
prose mosaic,
but it's gone and devoured by the sea,
pulled deeper into her bosom,
till it disappeared,
disappear with the ebbing tide,
and both are not coming back.
What's going on with the sea?
It's hotter than ever,
she murdered the ebbing tide,
her rising water eats all the small islands,
and the storm she is sending,
are getting stronger and stronger,
not too soon,
the strongest,
no where we can run,
nothing to hide and keep,
but to wait for our death.
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