Feet on land
Heart in clouds
Head lost in memories
I play tunes of regrets on my saxophone
And the nectar of love remains a craving
Pleas sent to the skies for an immortal existence
Laden with the warm gaze of my muse
As he shall play for me, songs meant to wake me up
From the slumber that he imposed upon me
Feet on land
Heart in clouds
Head dancing between the two worlds
Imagination and reality play dangerously
Games meant for lovers solely
A white rose,
I seek to be tainted red
Coloured with hues of passion
So deep that their stories shall be recounted of in secret!
crystal
she held me captive with her fingers
nails rhythmically tapping on sand-colored stone
like a general marching to war
ready to go but wanting to stay
with my eyes i could taste her sumptuous lips
swallowing words was easy
snacking on syllables and punctuation
spilling juices onto her thirsty tongue before a kiss
i nearly drowned in her tears
weighted words pulled like an anchor
as she recounted her story
with talking hands and dejected eyes
i discovered the birth of tears
when the heart hurts and the mind knows
eyes can no longer endure the pain
and they cleanse the soul with wishes
i could have loved her
during days that allowed a gentle breeze
a quicker step, guilt-free innocence
and a season to nurture the blossoms of love
now we sit, fingers interlocked
the marching general no longer trudging to war
syllables and punctuation consumed
until tears mingle, wondering if love has escaped
why does life unleash prisoners of the heart,
forever trapped in yesterday
in places where seeds are planted
and in the parched heat of the noontime sun
they die?
© tolbert
I prayed for you,
A thousand times, in a thousand ways.
But every single moment,
I recounted the days.
Never have I ever forgot to pray.
For which I tried so hard.
If only my eyes could say.
I cried for you,
In an endless cycle of nights.
I was sleepless for you,
For at least a thousand nights.
My eyes were wet,
Wet with sorrow and pain.
The pain of losing you,
Was making me insane.
Wherever I go, I could see you.
Whenever I dream, I dream of you.
You are an unforgettable memory of mine,
If only I could see you one last time,
I could say I am on cloud nine.
If only my eyes could speak,
The phrases of my heart.
I would have felt,
As if I conquered the earth.
Eyes can tell the truth,
Hidden within the soul.
Because they have natural innocence,
One which makes us whole.
But I guess it’s too late,
Yet my heart can't seem to forget.
For me, it will always be you.
Never will I ever forget to pray for you.
Alas! My Lady in Green,
You will always be a part of me,
Even if I die or the world ends.
You will always remain special to me.
A high feVER
that ocCUR when
one NERves high too
AlcohoLICS
like their MIXed drinks
by KISSing floors
Three keep seCRET
Two is DEAD but
one SAID--not dead
On your mark, GET
ready SET go,
now. LET's go, now.
We never THOUGHT
he'll get CAUGHT says
he BOUGHT showed the
receipt was PAID
but deLAYED, the
clerk SAID that I
gave no moNEY
but laDY you
did SEE me lay
out the cash HERE
went out THERE, and
my DEAR yelled thief.
She recounTED
then she PLED her
bad SAID sorry.
From the valley of a lone Victor,
Hope bloomed on mornings dew,
Carrying promises of a brighter sun,
In echoes of joy and persistent smile.
Here he comes, draped In night’s shroud ,
Messenger of silent, gusty winds,
Challenging the ‘criers to a falsehood
as Gossips' tales, recounted long.
Beneath motherhood's heavy song,
Tears freeze in pain's tender gaze,
Bearing burdens, frail long lays,
In ceaseless lays, finding no solace.
The reaper's pact, at dawn's first light,
His price, a debt, oft collected,
In twilight's shade, no trace in sight,
For dawn alone, his scythe erected.
Hope, a melody hauntingly sweet,
Fading to shadows with each passing lay,
Echoes lingering , a symphony complete,
At thresholds, betraying their way.
Strength spent in fields of toil,
Make rue of Harvests reaped in thorns,
the farmer returns with his aging hoe,
In cycles old, he pursues another toil.
October's tender embrace was so real,
Autumnal colors create a striking scene.
Every leaf is a work of art with a vivid color,
Nature's glorious cue makes my heart sing.
Pumpkins exude a lovely orange glow,
Their delighted faces fill the atmosphere.
A comfortable, warm sweater and a close embrace,
Each moment, I discover where my heart belongs.
The sky is a huge blue color and the air is clean.
The beauty of fall persists, oh so steady.
While sipping from a glass of apple cider,
My heart is steadfast, and I am incredibly blessed.
A treasure to witness, October's tale,
A joyful month as the year progresses.
As a narrative is recounted with every golden leaf,
My soul finds solace in October's heart.
Donning a vintage coat, boots, hat and all,
the last organ grinder readies his smile,
outside the old age home, heeding love’s call,
to rekindle heart’s joy, for a short while,
triggering memory elders recall,
recounted to young ones, in life’s last mile.
His next stop is for the autistic child,
where he’ll sing songs by God’s angels compiled.
Daisy Daisy give me your answer do, said he
"I can't cuz I got de flu" she sniffled then blew
Daisy Daisy you know I love you
she plucked at the petals, then counted, recounted with rue
Daisy daisy won't you finally, say I do ?
" I'd like to, I want to but, Achew!
Daisy Daisy whats up with you ?
I got a cold and I don't know what to do !
Hot Toddy Hot lovin'.... he gave her, that night
then he loved her and kissed her, with all of his might !
The next day she knelt on one knee and did ask,
"oh Pippin oh Pippin won't you marry me"
I can't love I'm sickie, not now love, Tee Hee.
In the meantime, the ring was attached to a daisy,
of course he'd marry her, she drove him half crazy !!!
It's funny the simple pleasures recounted in life
all manner of wonders reminisced I'll miss most..
though list grows shorter with each passing day
thoughts align in proper time as desires sway
storm bent trees, sunsets, a child's laughter,
and chicken salad on toast.
To be true others may find want of finer things.
fancying first class flight or latest in 'lectric cars,
refined tastes in Nanterre brioche or imported caviars
yet never replace good company a heart brings.
As winter closes, and spring finds its way home,
eternally grateful for all new pleasures won
give thanks warm day's return in rising and setting sun
yet alone, to bygone days my thoughts may roam.
Yeah, there'll always be chicken salad and sunsets..
perhaps a slice of keylime pie or two.
When I look back to a wonderful past,
what I'll miss most
is you.
The night sky sways,
Like a cobra
And ensnares me in its web
Bidding me to dream of
The eyes of the one who waits for me
In a heavenly abode
Too magnificent for me to even dream of!
The night sky lays itself out
And recounts to me
Of endless poetic odes,
All written in love drenched ink and
Each one more melting than the other
Having me glide down in ecstatic lanes
Breathless,
At the mere thought of how deep
Must be the eyes of my own love poet!
In its silence,
I hear its songs being played,
Solely for me,
Songs so empowering that they push
Strength in my lonely heart
Bidding me to want to live, even if
Neither this world nor this life
Shall ever be mine!
The night sky hides from me
That which I yearn for,
My love, whose deep and dark eyes
Reflect the bottomless fathoms
Of the abyss in which I was thrown in,
And in its shades
Do I passionately wish to indulge
In uncontrolled acts of sin
So that the love that flows from me
And the one that gets thrust in me
Reaps the admiration of one and all
Merely by just being recounted of it!
in North of India, in month of December,
around the warth of fire, we would all gather,
a bonfire of sticks lit outside in the open,
dancing of embers, in the year’s coldest season.
many families come for a get together,
well wrapped in wool that had been saved for the weather,
simmering aroma of home made dal Roti*,
food prepared and shared for the whole community!
past tales recounted, marriage alliance made,
experience and wisdom shared, future plans laid,
in that chilly winter in month of December,
the warmth of all that love is what I remember!
Written 24/11/2021
November or December Quatrain poetry contest
Caren Krutsinger sponsored
12 syllables each line
AABB rhyme sequence
* dal Roti - warm spicy aromatic lentil soup with freash flat bread made by hand near the fire.
THE ROOKIE
He said there is no “GOD”
She said it might be true
They, “both-in-one”, recounted scen-a-rios
To explain the stand He-she took;
I was sooo hard on rocks:
And where was HE!
I sooo needed him when my loved one was sick:
And where was HE!
I fell, real hard, and needed an Anchor:
And where was HE!
I cried, so hard, because I thought I was just a Patsy:
And where was HE!
My mom and dad broke-up:
And where was HE!
I was going wayward, with no conscience to tickle or trigger:
And the same….
Where was HE!
Then it Dawns….
HE! Is and was there….
Always, in everything…
In the Good and Bad,
The beautiful and ugly,
The preferred and disgusted…
And,
He-She understands,
I “am” and “was” a
ROOKIE!
In life-experiences
In my suffering- Perhaps!
In my “ardent” search for HIM; and
For answers….. Thus,
HE’s there and truly EXISTS….
BY ASANGALISAH AKANTERE ISAIAH
found my guilty conscience resting on the water's edge
Conscience inquired my reasons for being tardy
told my shame, “I’m not yet available for change”
"I won't wait forever to forgive," It responded.
~*~
found my battered soul upon a mountain summit
Soul brought to my attention, “time's a ticking”
I listened to a litany of transgressions,
told my broken character, “this has to wait.”
~*~
found my angry faith in a field of goldenrod
Faith reveals, “I haven’t heard your prayers”
Told my lost religion, “haven’t spoken to heaven in a while”
Faith wept, “Your heart is drowning”
~*~
they found me in a forest, Conscience, Soul, and Faith
all three recounted, “you have obligations you’re ignoring”
told the abandoned trio, “I’m moving on without them”
my bruised spirit confessed, "we will never go away."
What does the poet write about
When all feelings fail,
When the ennui on which youth’s pretentions
embarked
Are the wallpaper of the frail mind
Unmentioned, unremarked,
When even thoughts of suicide
Would require some passion
(That has long ago since died)
And some energy to fashion?
What does the poet write about
When love and laughter
Hate and spite
Sit together playing mah jong
In the gloaming of approaching night,
Sharing memories recounted
But not caring either way
Till the final cong is counted
And the tiles are packed away
And the darkness has descended
And all feelings felt have ended?
(C) Barry Freeman - 13th March 2021
Farmer Fred lives down the road,
And one day as I was ambling by.
I heard him singing about a toad,
And how it had pooped in his cherry pie.
Now this serenade seemed odd to I.
So, shouting out to Fred I said,
“Where is this toad, who dumped a load, in your cherry pie?”
Fred retorted with this cryptic reply. “The toad is dead!”
The toad it seems had hopped away down the pathway.
When an old red tail hawk swept down from a pine.
Clutched him in his talons strong, then flew on up and away.
Landing on a maple limb, that hawk proceeded to dine.
Now these are the facts of the case or the crime.
Fred recounted the tale over a piece of key lime.
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