A ship requires a captain, and a rudder
uncharted seas - courage, and a shudder
Picking up speed, egos unchecked
tempt fate, shipwreck
“Our time in this world is limited. We all have to die.
But man, who is fragile wishes- it is not now but later” ~ By Poet
Death’s thunderous call I hear.
See death’s messenger at my door.
With icy grip, he is coming to prey.
Am I nearing my journey’s end?
I don’t want to go with all my dreams snuffed.
I am a flower, still blooming.
Please don’t rip my roots,
While still searching for light.
Let me dwell with my loved ones.
Now, please don’t keep death’s door ajar!
“Quiver”--how soft it glides ‘tween lips and teeth,
It almost feels like breathing in a wreath;
I can’t find words that can sound as tender
Except, possibly, “flower” and “whisper.”
“Quiver”--how opposite the image it brings:
Both unpleasant and delightful feelings;
Like a sore bee sting that gives the shudder,
Or a lover’s touch that makes one shiver.
A pretty thing makes one quiver with joy,
Another quivers in anger at a ploy.
One quivers, too, on witnessing horror,
But others quiver at a good humor.
“Quiver”--what a contradictory term!
It may draw a smile or may make one squirm:
A gentle breeze that does shake the flowers,
Or raging winds that come with rain showers.
A harp’s, or guitar’s, or violin’s strings
Must quiver before music can take wings;
But when the earth quivers, how great the fright
As walls come falling no matter the height.
April 1, 2023
Among 2nd Place
Writing Challenge - ‘Q’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
A shudder, a tremble,
hearing a screech.
Was it that chalk again -
on that board or this wall?
We tend to hear things
at the strangest of times:
midnight, noon, three-seventeen.
But seven minutes to ten?
Hmm. That's an odd time.
It may come again tomorrow.
But what is weird is that
it will come yesterday.
Yet I knew nothing of that till today.
We have the strangest of brains.
(Aug 2022)
A soft thump
then a skull cracking reverberation.
A sticky smear
as a crushed form slides away.
A feather flutters fast on the windscreen,
stark between the bright fist
of glass and light.
For an instant death shudders
just as much as life.
Windscreen wipers will not
wipe away the memory.
I remember the time, I remember the place. I remember his eyes, I remember his face.
That’s what he said to me watching the leaves fall from the trees. In the peace of the freedom in this tranquil green place.
The leaves fall from the trees and swirl to the ground. The air or the gentle autumn breeze cushions their fall without a shudder or sound.
But the soul of a man leaves his body after the gun bangs. His body catches no cushion of air as it crashes to the ground.
He picks the leaf from the floor and feels a swell in his eyes. Fifty years ago, or more and still the memory makes him want to cry.
A full life he has lived, many memories he’s had. The dreams in the dark of the night have sometimes been good and sometimes bad.
He holds my arm as he stands and takes the leaf to the stream. He closes his eyes, frees the leaf to the flow and asks the soft winds to give the slain soul a place to dream.
The day my life went comotose..!!
I walked and walked and walked..
amidst the vehicles,
forgetting myself,lost in thoughts,
manipulating my mind,
immersing my whole body into heated dust
that was breezing around me..And,
suddenly my heart felt the pain, began
to shudder hopelessly and felt
as though "I am going to collapse"
due to extreme fatigue..
~DEEPA~
Placed as Honorable Mention
In BRIAN'S CHOICE 8,any form,any theme
Poetry contest.
everything is a division
lol is it my mission
to balance the scales
Leave the shudder,leave the agony.
Do not let love get hurt.
Leave the shudder, leave the agony.
True love you does not lie then.
Do you love then you open up.
Look,you are afraid not to leave us.
Leave the jitter,learn to fight.
Do love to tell us so I love you.
Leave the shudder, leave the agony.
Do not let love get hurt.
I am Monday on a Friday,
Who knew the stars aligned to sing us through the pangs of life and eternity?
A thing called life in a language in a dialect that is as probable and functional as the click of the tongue of the Kung Bushmen.
Who knew time could exist as un-linear as Einstein spryly suggested
There exist no up, no down
Space has no direction but we have a faith in chronicity.
You look like happiness over there at this juncture of time and space where we intersect.
I have weeks in me, days in me that plod along like Sisyphean years that blur into one another
Gifted years that paradoxically seemed to have whipped past me as does a freeze-frame stop motion film
You can see it now from a passenger train window whirring by a picket-fence
With such velocity with such proximity as to lend to the illusion of Time’s shudder.
A picket fence with boards punched out like the stars puncture the deep black “night” sky that give faux symbolism in the likes of what we call hope.
I am not what I used to be.
Becaise you changed something.
Something that makes me a different person.
Today.
Last night,I saw you again sitting on a tree.
Your eyes filled with fear and sadness.
Sadness that made me emphatic again.
You held my hand as those cold fingers lingered around my waist.
I shudder..
I asked what are you doing here.
But you didn't say a word.
You keep on looking at the shining moon glistening above us.
As tears started running down your cheeks.
I didn't expect that you would react like this.
Because these past nights,your heart is like a stone..
Too hard to break.
But now,I could hear the sniffs coming from your nose.
I don't wanna see you like this.
But I can't help to get closer every time I am with you.
I felt the warmth as your arms embrace mine.
You cupped my cheeks as I watch your eyes with pain.
"I'm scared"
You whispered into my ears.
"From?"
I asked as I stroked your hair.
"Losing you."
After that,I felt the sweet taste coating all over her mouth coming from your lips.
I feel safe..
I feel blessed..
I feel loved..
Scenes perform in mind
As an antique movie play
Stir dormant feelings
Shivering skin with intense
Earthquake and volcano scale
5-4-2016
Among the blooming jasmine
you have no shadow,
but breath,
which pulses.
The dusk is meek—
the dream of a child
fallen asleep by his dad
(after a long story)
the sound of arriving summer
in a winding seashell.
Hug your knees
and you will hear:
“The life given to us
we lived for different
reasons …”
And the sea stayed
in circles.
Sank in between
the matte stars
(in the marble).
We’re left with a long road
toward hope.
Shudder—
beyond.
the wheel is squealing, grinding, and peeling
rubber off the tire in a wheelie some real heat
some friction slipping losing your grip and
your sense of conviction censor conniptions
but you can't hold this down eternal
fit on the paper then center re-word those
free bird poems, odes, and flows
we birth woes, and broken bones
deter foes from our pleasure and treasure
paradoxes to measure its measure
whether this weather gets better or never
we can shut all the shutters and shudder together
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