The hallways buzz, the clock ticks slow, There’s something real you ought to know. Forget the past, the family tree, This isn't about history.
Beyond the grades, the age, the noise, Above the usual crowd of boys, It’s you I notice, clear and true, I just needed you to know I like you.
Born in the same home: Earth.
Raised with different beliefs,
women of opposing polarities,
each equally necessary.
You hold strong beliefs,
I’m more open to different ones.
You don’t need to question things too much,
I question everything.
Both feel equally trapped
by our outward appearances.
One wears Prada,
the other, a simple black tunic.
These garments -
just a form of protection.
Do we really need to carry
these shields?
I want to imagine the day when
we can dance naked in sisterhood,
keeping a harmonious equilibrium,
discovering that, deep down,
we are the same.
Exquisite curvy sculptures.
Made to Perfection.
Givers of life,
Creating a better world.
Every time in Paltan Bazar,Guwahati
I see a mingled life :
From North Each hill states
And mainland’s far off strand.
Arunachal Pradesh,Manipur,Meghalaya
Mizoram,Nagaland-
All join the throng,
Along with Tripura and Assam
By train,bus and aeroplane.
People mainly from North East arrive there
Coming to Guwahati
Or to go to different parts of India.
They are of different castes,
tribes and creed,
With varied tongues and customs
Side by side
or one after another
Like different flowers
Each bringing a petal -
Fragrance,colour,grace.
And Paltan Bazar seems a living art
A market of hues
Mainly from North East
Beautiful and loving.
After mother passed I had to find peace,
with my sister and mend the fences;
it was import to me that we find release,
the will complete and all the expenses.
There was always some hurt between us,
since we were kids and it had grown more;
we needed for there were things to discuss,
our inner thoughts and feelings had to pour.
So, we met and we talked for hours and hours,
we laid to rest the hurt and burnt the bridge;
as we walked in a park among the flowers,
that day we also burnt down the drawbridge.
Silver and gold never get old for us two
lovely blue spruce is exactly the right hue
we are here to decorate the tree
showing Christmas our individuality
I am tying on a tiny red Santa’s sleigh, I want my way
my sister pins on a baby doll and a leaf from early fall
I toss silver tinsel all over the rest of it when we are done
my sister hangs a green oven mitt, we are having fun!
memories of Christmases past filter into our minds
we throw other stuff on, junk of all shapes and kinds
Now an argument; who gets to put on grandma’s star?
We chase each other around the town carrying this way too far
Just because we got wizened, wrinkled and old
does not mean we are not still sisters bold
Sisters swinging,
running,
catching.
We mean business,
as adults,
don’t erupt
like a jealous teen.
But,
she did;
I called her out.
She picked up
dirt, at home base,
and slung the particles
into contact-covered eyes.
To my surprise!
You know,
as a fully evolved adult,
you suck it up,
just like when the ball bounced -
smacked me on the chin.
Sisters swinging,
running,
catching;
they mean business
when they exact revenge
on the she-devil.
I didn’t see,
but I was told,
“We got her back!”
They had my back.
Be careful slinging dirt;
my sisters will call you
“O U T!”
the youngest sister has the dullest teeth.
she is full of youth,
yet walks about like a dead person.
she knows this.
if she feels nothing,
then why does she shake?
the middle sister has the loudest bark.
she stays up late by the back door,
howling for scraps of recognition.
she talks to herself and lies,
yet her reflection passes by
and she can’t spare a glimpse.
the oldest sister has the sharpest fangs.
she suffers from the violence
of her emotion.
she is beautiful, and full of love.
she is dying too,
and she does not seem to care.
when morning comes,
their flesh will rot away their anger
and leave soft bone in its place.
they will sink into the earth,
and grow back as flowers
that are gentler than their rage.
A mother figure is more than a friend, she’s there by your side to the very end.
* *
A mother figure never lets you down
Nor ever creases your brow with a frown
She'll declare she is proud of all that's you
Boosts your ego when you are down and blue.
A precious angel who gladly appears
Whenever one is sad and close to tears
Though she too may have problems of her own
To you she would never let it be known.
Caring, willing, ready to do her best
To break through and put your sorrow to rest
With ability to bestow sunshine
Lifting up one's mood to become sublime.
I've many mother figures, each one dear
Sisters, friends, ever faithful, ever near
I sing them praises to the Lord above
Thanking him for His precious gifts of love.
* * *
'Two Sisters on the Terrace' by Pierre Auguste Renoir is a famous painting exhibited at the Art Institute of Chicago.
two lovely sisters
on terrace with abandon
bathed in dewy glow~
elder dreaming in quiet
younger flashing naivety
From the early days of your inclusion
in the ranks,
marching in formation.
Some of you fighter pilots, clerical,
galley workers, medics, nurses,
doctors, mechanics.
When fear met courage,
some of you died with your
brothers,
a duty of sacrifice,
sisters in arms.
It takes such bravery to sign up-
women in uniform be proud,
labors of the soul and body,
sweat, determination, grit.
When your career peaks,
you’ll carry your legacy wherever
you are,
as you age in grace,
sisters in arms.
Someday buried with your brethren,
the taps will play for all of you,
in the revered resting place of
rolling lawns.
Sisters and brothers in arms.
“Seasons teach us that change can be beautiful.” - unknown
Fair is Spring.
Like a butterfly,
she glides in
with dew-drop
sparkle on her rosebud cheeks
and with breezy charm.
With ardor,
Summer comes dancing
a tango
sultrily,
slinking by night into a
shower of star-fall.
Fall arrives
spilling brilliance on
sunsets and
leaves. . . Winter
then whirls in. Her windswept gown
lifts and steals moon's glow
If you shrink to compactness, I’ll put you in my pocket
If you grow big and towering, I’ll climb into your sleeve
If you whisper gently, I’ll lean in close, intently
And close I will stay
A whisper away
Because you are me
and I am you
And whatever you name me
I will answer to
And if you can fly
I can too
If you’re a bird, I’m a bird
A fantastical year is wished the star
Sat on the festive tree, and in our hearts
You'll be remembered as long as we’re here
For the magic that to us would appear.
Our mother, our angel you'll always be
There is no other as lovely as thee
Your care and kindness was never undone
From the first moments our lives begun.
There's a wondrous light, that always beams bright
Gleaming in our hearts by day and by night
Not a day goes by without thoughts of you
Mother, our angel, your love sees us through.
May your time in heaven stay glorious
One day we'll be there to join the chorus
Of angels singing, songs of peace and love
Won't that be wonderful for each of us.
Us sisters wish love and peace evermore
In the room God saved for you on His shore.
My sister broke her C-2 which is part of your neck up high
She wore a brace for three months, then she had surgery
Surgery was to ensure that she might not have a wheelchair for life
There was no guarantee that it would be successful, but she has faith.
She put her neck into the hands of a highly skilled surgeon.
Dr. Kawasaki has an excellent reputation, and he fixed her up.
The C-2 is as high in the back as your nose is in the front.
As you can imagine, this was serious.
The physical therapist was worried when she saw sister’s file.
It was fifty-eight pages long. She wondered what she could do to help.
My sister walked in, and the P.T. kept a straight face for eight weeks.
Before she walked out the last time, the P.T. was honest with her.
When you walked in here, I was shocked, she told her.
I have been a P.T. for thirty-two years.
Anyone with a broken C-2 I have met was in a wheelchair or on a respirator.
The others ones are dead. You are a walking miracle.
My sister is completely healed now, and there is no pain.
I cannot say we believe in the power of God any more
But we certainly respect His decision to make her one of His miracles.
No more my mother is the only woman I love-
I say it with respect and truth.
No more my sisters first, my wife and kids last
No more kowtowing to my bloodline while you
must grovel for a pittance from me
That was childish,selfish,small minded.
I put you second too many times, I hurt you.
I treated you like you were temporary while
protecting habits that didn't protect me.
I am sorry. I was wrong. I mean every word.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.