If love flows smoothly like a river,
As if listening to the melody of a nightingale
And recognise the world and its beauty
Like seeing love and chaos blended.
I can't help but have a sight of a girl,
The important piece to my puzzle
Like she's the most beautiful creation
And as unforgettable as a photographic memory.
Yet I always feel unworthy of her love
And my heart is locked in a cage,
But I feel empty without her love
And how long can I love her dearly.
It might drive me crazy
That she gives me butterflies,
But I always try to run away from it
As if I knew it deep from my heart.
a and
an abm
anu always
astounding at
adaptative antic
accommodate again
addlepated aversive
alpine anchylosis
are as
am ?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 14–20, 2026)
Weaving shade, nuance, deft subtle plots,
Leaving wry joke, ink commas, dots
dreams on script unfold, imbued with life,
schemes and clued-in darting figures now rife.
Taunting twist and turn in tale, pivot point,
teasing lavish scene, a buttressed hinged-joint,
matters key, core, glib, lax in broad domain,
scatters glee, sound hint, deep echo’s gold chain
Time is a master piece
That requires patience
Time is the allocation given to
Everyone that is born and living
Time is like a pie consisting
Of all manner of ingredients
That includes all in a humans life
Sadness and joy, peace and war,
births and deaths
Riches and poverty
Every one must partake of this
pie of time.
Time is a master piece we must
Partake of it wisely
Before the time allocated to us is
spent.
Shadows wear no crown
Yet they stand tall
Like they know what
I’m trying to hide
That a man can smile
And shake your hand
While sending you to hell
Building a cage around your neck
Hiding the floor beneath your feet
A broken piece of mercy
Pleading,
Just give me one more night
To find myself.
It’s so nice under the carpet
In our cozy home of dust
I believe we couldn't get
Any better place for us
In our dust community
We are friendly, living free
Using ingenuity
The cleaners cannot see
Yes we heard the latest news
About other dust
They had nothing left to lose
And were tossed too fast
Right into the litter bin
Comrades, have a rest
Yes we’ve seen it all, we’ve been
In the East and in the West
What I found the most important
Doesn’t look so at first glance
Dust’s the only thing immortal
Tells about lives that passed.
Weaving shade, nuance, deft subtle plots,
Leaving wry joke, ink commas, dots
dreams on script unfold, imbued with life,
schemes and clued-in darting figures now rife.
Taunting twist and turn in tale, pivot point,
teasing lavish scene, a buttressed hinged-joint,
matters key, core, glib, lax in broad domain,
scatters glee, sound hint, deep echo’s gold chain
Display onstage rapt passion swept a coup,
convey snap gemstone verse devoid of cue,
author duty bound might accent focus,
daughter birthing play has heart light locus.
Rounds of earnest clapping greet bold set piece,
grounds for earthquake valour a bright life lease,
bowing to staunch flock who treasure art form,
wowing maestro coterie, vast novel norm
There is a workshop tucked away from the sun,
hidden somewhere between
dusk and dawn.
No one can see it—
unless invited.
Some find it during the darkest moments of their lives.
Some arrive after accidentally taking the wrong jeep home.
Others swear they simply followed a page torn from their diary,
carried by the wind.
Every guest is given three things:
a blank page,
a pen,
and one instruction.
Create for the soul your heart wishes to reach.
Every piece finds its way.
Beside the beaten track
The woodpecker went tapping on,
To the bird that's like a piece of wood.
The soldier bird got very cross -- it wasn't her;
The spurwing plover had to stab with a spur:
The jackass laughed,
I take to stripping bark.
Then all the birds for miles around came in to lend a hand;
They perched upon a broken limb as thick as they could stand,
And just as old man eaglehawk prepared to have his say
A portion of the broken limb got up and flew away.
The boobook owl -- he squats himself along a broken limb,
And pokes his beak up like a stick;
Can you tell which is boobook owl and which is broken bough.
his nest a bunch of sticks across a fork;
A cuckoo wouldn't use his nest, but what's the odds to him --
A bird that tries to imitate a piece of leaning limb!"
(Blackout of Camouflage by Andrew Barton Paterson)
.
depends on
how enterz
one
the environment
shhh
on
how leavez
one
the enviornment
(((hey y'all)))
')>
I'm really no better than in times past.
I just cloak my naked demons in three-piece rags.
A long time ago; perhaps it's passed
—I don't know if I've been there
along with days lost in thought
in limpness.
My age has been recorded
in a trace
for the sun
that seems to crush
mountains of hope
in a self-note
that sincerely blows
without wind.
I want to go home
to delve into the depths of the alpha verses of self
someday tomorrow—to meet a clump of light
as a trace of self.
Atambua, March 12, 2026
the bee had no idea he would become a piece of time
He was not a writer, a poet, he did not do rhyme
But he was encased in amber over time
And now he is a beautiful necklace of mine
Poetry, a Piece of Life
-----------------------------------
Words move around in the mind
That assembles them well to bind
To assimilate with emotions behind
From heart and head gives information grand
To create a sense,add rhythm in its blend.
All these making sentences tend
To be placed line by line to mend
stanzas expressing meaning at the end.
Thus a poetry is conceived of and
Meant to be enjoyed and a present.
Poetry is an invaluable piece of life
That makes life alive and happy to strive .
A Piece of You
Dearest Papa, she is looking at me
With the stillness you once had
Your reflection so profound
Clouds of happiness in the storm of sad
The way she crosses her feet
The way she rests on her arm
I see you in her, I feel you Dad
In the chaos of life, I can sense your calm
A little piece of you, God has given me in her
New hopes, deep courage, joys anew
For the life, the love and for Her
I Thank you
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