I look through the window of yesterday
watch the rain fall upon the world
to see dead leaves floating away
carried by currents they can't control
when they fell from limbs now barren
that have a Winter's shadow
to wipe the fog from its glass
trying to see tomorrow
lifting eyes, to see the last puff of smoke
from the last candle lit
that lingered, leaving a charred wick
in an empty room, where nothing is heard
but the sound from each tear finding the floor
circling the legs of my chair
as I stare into the thin fog painted glass
for my reflection
held like a ghost in the backdrop of gray sky
that covers my window in sadness
I am an ivy vine.
Chasing away the dark, I carve out my own domain.
Then, by chance,
I meet the kindred beings of my roots.
Entangled with one another, we whisper
And complete a single kingdom.
Thus, we extend our territory.
The moment the scorching sun
Grow jealous of us,
We split apart.
We merely wanted the sunlight,
A brief rest in the shade
Where peace is desired.
We split apart.
We are no longer here.
The ivy vines
That once vowed to stay together,
Now wither away from one another.
The sun, exhaling a slow puff of smoke from a cigarette,
Watches on—
"At that moment of truth."
An age passes by,
And the ivy wall welcomes a friend once more.
Yet now,
Stepping into the world of the Fibonacci sequence,
Where leaf delicately wraps around another leaf.
The sun snuffs out its cigarette
And watches on—
"At the wonder of living things."
Yet,
"The sun is still seething."
A stream is flowing gently in my ear,
The chirping of the birds is flowing near.
A woman's voice is flowing past my eyes,
And falling rain like voices echoes sighs.
Starlight is flowing through the velvet night,
My heart is flowing in the pale moonlight.
A glass of wine, a puff of smoke drift by,
My very life is flowing as time goes by.
I wake from sleep, my dream is flowing too,
A cat's sharp gaze is flowing clear and true.
I come back home,
A cat's sweet scent is flowing through the air,
And I am flowing there.
We are told that God created us in his own image. If that is the case, we should all be
entities, as God was an entity.
I find myself asking, are we really alive or are we just shadows of the past looking into the
future?
They say that tomorrow never comes and yesterday is gone, so are we just in a loop not
going forward and unable to go back?
I don’t see how they say that our soul never dies. Do we then become an entity forever, to
be stuck in a time that has no beginning and no end?
We go through the act of living, but in reality, we are getting ready to die, moving closer to
becoming the entities that we were at the beginning.
So are we shadows of entities from the past, or are we the same entities that
have been around for thousands of years?
Will we ever disappear in a puff of smoke or will we just keep roaming this
earth, just changing how we look?
We will stand at a grave of a loved one and cry for someone who is not gone
but alive in some parallel universe as an entity just waiting to reappear as a
different entity.
Shadows shift in flickering flame
Vows made, now stained with your name
Our flame, once bold and bright
Now wanes upon this cold, stark night
I see the distance in your eyes
Reflecting echoes of love’s goodbye
Emptiness fills your silent stare
A longing still lingers in the air
Your heart, once gentle, has lost its grace
Betrayal bleeds—a bitter taste
Sarcasm drips from lips once sweet
A soured promise, my heart retreats
Through veins of passion, ice takes hold
Your touch, once warm, now a numbing cold
Loneliness wraps around us tight
This silent suffering, my secret plight
Our flame that waltzed is now a wisp
A puff of smoke from a burnt-out wick
Haunted by love that burned too fast
Our fading ember, reduced to ash
There is a silent visitor inside you now —
softer than fresh-baked bread,
more precious than gifts from wise men of the East.
A second heartbeat,
gently echoing beneath your own.
You carry more than a name.
You carry memories yet to be made,
a mirror of past souls,
a vessel for tomorrow’s joy.
So walk gently,
eat wisely,
rest fully.
That bottle of cider —
it whispers lies.
That puff of smoke —
it scorches what is still becoming.
Feed this life with love,
with hope,
not with chemicals that dilute beautiful expectations.
Go.
Sit with those women in white —
the ones who read charts like oracles,
plotting the rise of a king or queen within your womb.
Let them weigh the weeks,
count your months like blessings.
Endure the prick of needles —
not just for you,
but for the strength of the life to come.
And when the countdown draws near,
remember:
Swollen feet will give way
to first smiles.
Too much sleep
will surrender to sleepless nights.
And sleepless nights
will bloom into stories —
told by the very angel
you now carry.
by Davie Kaliu
Lost and Alone
Lost and alone in this once happy home,
Where love and laughter rang, now a silent tome.
Our candle, an ardent fire that burned so bright,
Now dimly flickers, in the cold, harsh night.
I see the distance in your eyes,
Reflecting the echoes of love's goodbye,
Emptiness in your silent stare,
A longing that lingers in the air.
A love that danced has lost its grace,
Fading memories leave a bitter taste,
Sarcasm drips from lips once sweet,
A love turned sour, our hearts retreat.
In passion’s veins, ice takes hold,
Your touch, once warm, now a numbing cold,
Isolation wraps around us tight,
Loneliness now our silent plight.
Our former fervent flame, now a thin wisp,
A puff of smoke on a burnt-out wick.
Haunting memories of our love’s past,
Our smoldering ember, reduced to ash.
A sonorous knell echoes through this hollowed home,
Eternally cursed to haunt these halls, lost and alone.
-Edward
Politics
in Hyde Park
was at the end of a shtick
FDR’s mouthpiece
a cigarette holder
suspended over
his spinning wheels
Pearl Harbor
a puff of smoke
It was a new deal
It was big
The peace pipe
signaling
W A R
USA
evened the score
A Fading Ember
In shadows cast by waning light,
A love once vivid, now takes flight.
Our candle that once burned so bright,
Now stings of a cold, harsh night.
I see the distance in your eyes,
Reflecting echoes of love's goodbye,
Emptiness in your silent stare,
A longing that lingers in the air.
A love that danced has lost its grace,
Fading memories, a bitter taste,
Sarcasm drips from lips once sweet,
A love turned sour, our hearts retreat.
In the veins of passion, ice takes hold,
Your touch, once warm, now a numbing cold,
Isolation wraps around us tight,
Loneliness now our silent plight.
The flame that once danced, now just a wisp,
A puff of smoke on a burnt-out wick.
A love once radiant, turned to rust,
In silent ruins, we return to dust.
With a pen she wrote a story,
Stretched across her old notebook.
About a girl who wanted to be noticed,
And a boy who refused to look.
And she wept and wept and wept,
Leaving an inky, tear-sodden page,
But she swept the issue under a rug,
And brought it all down to their age.
With the same pen she wrote,
This time on a newer, nice notepad.
About her dropping, declining grades,
And how her parents were so mad.
And she tried and tried and tried,
To hold her emotions behind her eyes,
And she realised she would never be good enough.
No matter how hard she tried.
With a drag and a puff of smoke,
And something alcoholic between her lips,
She wrote drunkenly on a piece of paper,
About how her life had come to this.
And she winced and winced and winced,
At the messy drawings on her am,
How some were faded, how some were fresh.
How she could cause herself such harm.
With her crimson wrists the subject,
And a piece of broken glass.
She wrote her final story,
Before her body would finally pass.
And she stayed silent, silent, silent.
She was a stature laying in red.
She thought
“What use to words on paper have
When I am already
Truly
Dead.”
I'd say I do tomorrow
Should the stars align
And if you wanted I'd be yours
I'd want you to be mine
I wish tomorrow were today
I crave your love so much
A tender moment waiting
Commencing with your touch
A little spark, a puff of smoke
A single dancing flame
Fed by fuel of passion
Explosions self contained
I think together we could make
Some music beautifully
You're country, folk, you're rock and roll
Yeah, you're the one for me!
He knows it.
He knows how beautiful all the world thinks he is.
Aware of the adoration, shallow infatuation.
He’s not blind to where this has led.
The fame
The fortune
The girls
The boys
The sex
The kudos
The parties
Yet
No matter the adoration, plaudits and swooners,
No one sees inside your soul.
Your own misgivings, insecurities.
Fighting your own demons that lurk within.
But this is not without merit.
For despite the the here and now, the gifts and the glory, he is smart.
He knows it will not last, does he burn bright to the last?
A short yet powerful flame?
One he controls?
Or does he turn to an ember, a lost forgotten spark which has ebbed away its heat, to a puff of smoke that’s lost on the wind?
The so called Tinder Swindler is a Coward
He is a Joke
One Netflix documentary and the pathetic little man
Vanished in a puff of smoke
An imaginative guy whose games are over now
Plastic surgery may transform that face
But the evil that resides in those eyes and soul can never be replaced!
What if
Taking a puff of smoke
Do I stop my words for you
Last taste of my drink malted with feelings and emotions
Do I stop my words for you
Under the tree at night when they talk to each other chi cha
Tune of my friends
Do you stop my words for you
In the long drive when she ask I love you
Do you stop my words for you
Death is near count is bend back
Do you think my words for you
Is not called in life that I am a poet...... Om......... Maa
With love all
Jagdish Bajantri
She thinks she can and chugs along where vistas dip and swell;
A rush of steam, a puff of smoke, a whistle and a bell.
Gonna buy me a haircut and polish up my boots
When that pretty little engine comes to town.
The miles speak more of landmarks passed than merely distance run;
The hiss and clatter, music gained, not quietude undone.
Gonna tune me a banjo and play it in the pines
When that pretty little engine comes to town.
She thinks she can, and so she does and rolls across the land.
Her brakes might squeak like nails on slate, but stop her on command.
Gonna grab me a ticket and really go in style
When that pretty little engine comes to town.
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