In grand lehengas, women gather beneath the waiting sky,
Thaali in hand, their hearts filled with faith and love.
Their voices rise together in melodious bhajans,
A chorus of prayers carried softly into the night.
The day has passed in fasting, patience and devotion,
Now every eye searches for the moon behind the clouds.
For the moon is the long-awaited blessing of the night,
The silver signal that turns fasting into feasting.
Slowly, the clouds drift, hiding and revealing its glow,
Testing the patience of women dressed in festive splendour.
Then, little by little, a white ball of light appears,
A milky diamond glittering in the dark sky.
The thaalis shimmer, the prayers grow softer,
And love waits for the moment of breaking the fast.
A little water, lovingly offered by the husband's hands,
Becomes a sip of affection, faith and togetherness.
Gifts follow, smiles bloom, and prayers turn into gratitude,
For a husband's long life and a marriage filled with love.
Moon, come out soon—shower us with your pure light,
And bless our married lives with bliss, love and everlasting light.
Once had a cat Whose Name Was
By
J.A. Long
I once had a cat named Gingerbread
He never saw red
Until his final days
I once had a cat named Sue
I regrated my mistake
But he never said boo
I once had a cat whose name Buck
He used to think he was a watch dog
But never got mistaken for a duck
Until the day he was sadly lost
I once had a cat whose name was Meg
She never even tried to beg
Once had a cat named Alex
Someone might have thought
He created the phone
Once had a cat named Chico
He had a temper
But he was quick to repent
Even though we did not have a tent
I once had a cat named Vaness
She was so sweet that she
Could have been a Contessa
Once had a cat named Melissa
She was a little a playful
And she always wore a tux
Once had a cat named Carly
She did not like barley
But she did occasionally sing
Even on weekends
I once had a cat named Renee
She was sweet and vocal
Thank God she was not a Wren
She gave me some advice before passing away
Oh, I miss them all!
A little a bit on the edge
But still stunning.
Still lucky.
To be amidst all this.
I didn’t choose the role,?but it settled on me early.?Before I knew what I was doing,?I was already responsible?for more than myself.
I learned to carry things?that weren’t mine?small things at first:?a bottle, a backpack,?a sibling’s tears.?Then bigger things:?disappointment,?expectations,?the silence between questions?no one wanted to ask.
They said I was “mature,”?as if that were praise.?But all I wanted?was to be little?a little longer.
No one saw me?as someone who could fall apart.
someone who could break?Only as the one?who holds it together?for everyone else.
I was the first to know better,?the one who had to lead,?even when I didn’t know the way.?I became a blueprint?and a warning.
Sometimes I wonder?what I would have been?if I had been allowed to just be.
Not the example.?Not the helper.?Not the second parent?with the same last name.
Still, I love deeply.?I protect quietly.?I show up—always.
Even if no one remembers?who taught them how.
Unending Questions
All of this pain, the pain of all your memories. They keep running through my mind. It's a never ending loop that seems to be frozen in time.
You told me you loved me, you said you meant every word. But your words were just empty lies to fill my ears.
And here I am, just left with the biggest question. WHY? Why did you take and use my heart?
Like it was not worth anything? I'll forever have these scars.
The fear of loosing you, made me loose myself. Little by little a piece of me was fading. You said you LOVED me and that you would always care, but your actions showed different and it made me very aware!
Being so determined to make our LOVE LAST; I lost the most valuable piece of myself.
You are all to blame, for taking my heart for granted, you were never sincere.
In love nothing hurts worse than trying to UNLOVE someone who never loved you
I never realized what jail meant when I was young
prison’s unhappy stay is much longer, my hands are wrung
I was tired of these walls before I was placed, it’s been years now
have lost track of friends and family, my day’s excitement? Chow
from this window I see very little, a tree I think is oak
I have shouted at occasional people, most have not spoke
there is a robin that hops around a bit, of course she is free
Much better life she has than little old sad me.
Yesterday I saw a woman in a business suit walk by.
She did not glance my way, or even try.
She looks like the woman I wish I had met before I did wrong.
I lie in this bunk, singing a poor me song.
My days are dreary, there is no fresh air to talk about.
They say they’ll let me have a break, but I am rarely out.
Prison is a horrible experience I wish on no one, not even an enemy.
The sadness and loneliness make me wish to be set free.
Okay I now understood what they meant by the school
academy
the uniform is a brotherhood
of man,
tis the gun is yet unknown but only for a little a thing,
little a thing.
How often in our town we often might have thought
this is a kind of cinema or video or news
this is something powerful and fine.
Once it is said let find a school , let do it, and let it be
true for the uniform it admire
and for the uniform is something.
Okay, the world was once a small house that now
is growing, Okay twenty years now passed by- fresh
- and tender.
What does it mean is for-to- concerning this kind of
thinking of school academy?.
Duel
A soldier sits, sleeps, breaths.
She wonders why she fought.
When people go about their day
without so little a thought.
Why did I face Death, she thinks-
and the monsters and the war-
to join the princes who have lived
without so little a chore.
Death has many faces.
Ravens, foxes, sparrows too.
The blackness of the Thames rises up
swallows them beneath its dew.
Drowning, drowning, into your own head.
That's what Death is
a sleep of infinite dread.
Where do you go? When do you go?
No time, no space.
Nothing remains.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Death stopped for me, lifted his head-
left me to my refrains.
People searching, looking, thinking.
But never seeking, feeling, breathing.
Why? To them it's simply nature.
And nature has faces, and nature has places.
And those that prey among the beast
will soon be swallowed by the gale.
With nothing to think about
and nothing to feel.
When you have danced and dined with Death
your skin and veins bleed ink.
And in your life he leaves behind
his foul scent and stink.
PENNILESS AT THE TOLLGATE
Wish I had a cat,
or maybe just a friend.
Mother says it's not the end,
but it is.
Reflections in the mirror,
inspections of the interior.
She's gone, I'm wrong,
and the soul can be so empty.
The milk is sour in the sink.
To wish, to think,
over the horizon the sun peeks,
the Blackbird rumbles then it roars.
A morning breeze or maybe the flap of wings
rustles the curtains.
Yes, it's certain.
The sky is not mine, it never was.
Hubris atop the Big Fish, a mighty serpent,
leaping over the waves, and the mermaids too,
thinking I saddled Old Screw.
I'm in the dirt, and it should hurt.
But I am empty, planted none too deep,
feeling little, a carrot or radish,
ready to be reaped.
A man without a spirit I am, I fear it.
A friend would be fine.
A cat? Just divine.
It would help pass the time 'til the end,
'til the end of mine.
A maiden fair sang through a sunflower field
on a warm autumn day with the wind in her hair
A melody wafted aloft on the breeze
as a cloud frolicked by with so little a care
She smiled as she hummed with a skip in her step
for the song she was singing she knew from the heart
An old happy tune that she sang as a child
when the flowers would bloom and the springtime would start
Her voice it did carry to valleys below
in a magical form of a heavenly grace
The villagers heard it in echoes above
for the sound of her voice brought a smile to their face
They danced by a fountain the town did provide
in their favourite clothes made of cotton and wool
Drinking a brew that was local to them
with a tankard in hand and a comfortable stool
She walked down the hill in a white flowing gown
on a path often used by the children at play
To sing once again this old song from the past
as the others joined in on this wonderful day
She then spread her wings made of silver and gold
and ascended the sky to a place she did love
As the villagers waved saying someday return
for her wonderful voice was a gift from above
squirmy night crawler
how a little, dirt digging
digs the morning lawn
~
squirmy night crawler
little a dirt digging worm
burrows in morning
8/22/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Boxers
by M. Griswold
01032001
Me little wee be a little a wagg’n.
Swing’n over me little a bagg’n.
It’s a flipp’n round, to and fro.
Bounce’n off me legs, don’t ya know.
It be a jounce’n from left to right.
Cause me boxers are loose, they ain’t tight.
There be to much motion ago’n on down there.
For me wee be aroused and think’n its lighter than air.
All this commotion an rubb’n be an embarass’n thing.
Specially when me wee pops out of me boxers, flangity fling.
Me wonders if it's all worth the freedom me wee does feel.
For me wee has it’s own mind and reacts with a great zeal.
“Corrosion of feelings”, the accusation said. A seal, a signature. I was a bit confused, though, when the judge, a heavyset gentleman with a kind red face, rose from his seat and cuddled me.
- What's your last wish, son? - he asked me sweetly.
No wishes.
- Come on, - he insisted. - Ask the audience, fifty-fifty or call a friend?
The subconscious thirst for feeling things the way normal humans do tries to turn even nothingness into something resembling human, to give weight to weightlessness, to attach sense to nonsense, so it was not surprising that they caught me by surprise when I saw the prosecutor's face contort: he was crying. I can imagine how the executioner will be upset to align me a little – a local euphemism. Poor butcher!
you are so callous -
he'll tell me slightly later
feeling my thin neck
31.08.2019
Ten Word Challenge 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
at a farmhouse of West Hill, NY
drizzling or the flowing breeze
little a bit far
a butterfly and a moth
busy in gossiping on the lilac,
busy in gossiping on the hibiscus
on the ground a withered leaf
ants walk on it as if write something
robin flies and tweets for a souvenir
stranger comes and goes with pen, white paper
it's an ordinary palace
palace of writings for all
great to small, short to tall
it's a place, birthplace
where live world literature grace
-June 13, 2019 Chattogram
Truth is a mouthful of blood -spit upon a Persian rug.
A kick to the balls in the middle of the sweetest dream.
Karma doesn't stop gnawing until the soul's licked clean.
And what of our far-off God -that mysterious golden being.
Stirring devils into our kettle since we were mustard seeds.
Everyone thinks of offing themselves from time to time.
Usually when we're running low on honey and wine.
When mad horses trample over our parched lives.
Something brings most back from the frothy brink.
Maybe it's the bouncing star baby sleeping in the crib.
Or the dirty plunger when it finally frees up the sink.
You may as well dance because it's more painful to crawl.
Kiss a stranger on the mouth, have yourself a ball.
But don't bounce the ball off the devil's burning grass.
Or he just may kick over your little white picket fence.
And light up your fake happy little a$$.
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