Smiled down upon are, here.
The one sunny place.
Meanwhile round about, everywhere
All what blurs for grief.
If so willed meant for whom
If not, friend, ourselves!
Self congratulations deplore.
Yet clap them! If brief.
Spinning around,
Jumping rope,
Something found,
Gave wonder and hope.
Homework to do,
Grades to earn,
Squabbles brew,
Moody concern.
Research to keep,
Always on the go,
Lack of sleep,
Prideful show.
Life still a mess,
Why am I fat?!
Work in progress,
More than one cat.
Rocking chair,
Sitting out front,
Knowing stare,
Memories confront.
Submitted for the humorous limerick contest by
Tania Kitchin
The boy brought his crush to the dance
And prance he could not worth a dang.
He tried but he flopped
His pride dropped away.
The dance was his chance but he failed.
Swept clear to the horizon
Summer day's hazy
Of tree and habitation
The one yearned for view.
Gives, as it does, free access
If but musefully
To whom, afar, regardless
Will be lost. Adieu!
a calming scent
attracts me to your side
faithful companion
THE ONE-TWO OF LIFE
One thing about life,
Two things all experience–
Living and dying:-
Two things about life;
We enter, and we exit–
Journeying here…once:-
Looking up at the sky,
Do not strive to become that high sky.
Looking down at yourself standing upon the earth,
Do not strive to become that earth.
Instead, at times, become a cloud in the heavens
To keep this world from growing too warm.
At times, become the green grass upon this soil
To offer peace and comfort to us all.
At times, become the falling rain
To gently wash over our aching hearts.
At times, become a steadfast pine tree that keeps the world from shaking,
Serving as a sanctuary for us to rest.
At times, become the pure white snow
To illuminate the darkness of this world.
And at times, become a bird soaring through the heavens
To gaze back upon yourself
Existing within this boundless universe.
In the end, the sky and the earth are one.
Therefore, upon this earth,
And beneath that high sky,
Just be the one—the beautiful you—standing there.
Behold the living and the dead.
The false name of your mask never dies,
And your distant, weeping confession
Is a pain that belongs to you alone.
Even if the love of sorrow drifts far away,
A dream that cannot laugh remains your only freedom.
The axe that strikes after blind faith
Is a wound of yours that can never be washed away.
The beauty within your singing voice
Is a silent dignity you can never confess.
Behold! Look at that light of reflection.
Are you still walking all online, all alone?
You, reading this,
you are the quiet miracle no one taught you to see.
You have walked through nights
that would have broken other people,
yet you kept your hands open
to whatever small light
was brave enough to stay.
You have been hurt
in ways you never named,
carrying storms
that no one else noticed,
and still you rise
with a softness the world
did not manage to take.
There is a strength in you
that does not shout.
It simply endures.
It simply continues.
It simply refuses
to let the dark decide
who you are.
And if you forget this tomorrow,
or the day after,
or any day after that,
remember this line:
you are the proof
that survival can be beautiful.
If this reached you, feel free to share it with someone who might need it.
His father’s brutality saw no limits
In skin burning days when Sun is blazing over head
He scolds and says “you’re the biggest failure of my life”
His father’s brutality saw no limits
In nights that are cold as the winter
He punished him for things he never did
His father’s brutality saw no limits
Made him believe he is the one in wrong
When it was father who stained the moon
That day, I saw myself twice in the mirror
and neither one resembled the other.
One was coming toward you, and the other was turning back.
The one who came was tired, colorless;
with fear and haste, she drew lipstick across her cracked lips
to keep her distance from that ghostly face of hers,
from the face of a lost spirit.
The one who returned was the corpse of that very lost soul.
I died in your embrace—
among a hundred people standing on the bridge,
above the storks in the river,
the very moment the kingfisher dove.
Just as you pulled me toward yourself,
into your arms, though only for a brief greeting,
the seconds vanished.
On the revolving wheel, the bridge and the street and the river were dancing,
and I was giving up my life.
A drop of lipstick-red blood fell onto the collar of your leather jacket.
I laughed…
The one who returned was not like the one who had gone.
Vietnam was as brutal as any war
we were up against an unwinnable situation
finding a place, we felt comfortable or safe was rare
one day my pal Gummy and I discovered a deserted cove
It was the one place we did not see jungle
did not feel enemies’ eyes on us
did not worry about the sound of a gun
I will never forget that hour
the one time in Vietnam I did not feel fear
or anticipate my imminent death
The glimmer in their eyes, they’re struck by your complexion.
What they would give to have that same reflection
to walk into a room and feel every head just turn
it’s a power, it’s a skill, but not one you can learn.
No matter what you say, no matter what you do
they’re all transfixed, glued to the screen that lights up on you.
You’re shining brighter at every look, with every breath that you took. In blue or red or sparkling black, all the colours have your back.
The leading character of every play,
everyone holds on to the words you say.
You’re a precious stone no one could pawn
you hold them all, heartstrings you’ve torn.
What I must know, before you go
how does it feel to erupt such magic?
I can’t imagine to invite such passion,
wearing all these shades of tragic.
All I want is just a fraction of their desire, their satisfaction.
If I’m close to you, will I feel brand new?
Will the shimmer reach across to me, too?
Or as I said not too long ago, is it something I’ll just never know?
For I can’t change what it is they see; the one they want, well it isn’t me.
Whoever were lucky enough to be the one who evokes in you the most sacred part of your being, the one whose purpose is the desire to explore your beautiful heart and take part in its beating, where in feeling that consanguineous desire he would emulate the loveliest expression upon seeing those eyes and, with resolve, make the most sublime decision in the measure of a love without restrictions, where verse will become prose and emulate that feeling, wrapping it in an emphatic nervousness that only with the magnetism of your love will free that heart from all evil, giving life to a new freedom of wanting, shared!!!!!
Lraularguellesm!!!!!
I was never going to be the one for you.” But what does that even mean—was it fate, timing, or something broken in me you saw too clearly? Did you know from the beginning, when our eyes first met, that I was only a chapter and not the story? Or did something change—something I couldn’t see, something I couldn’t fix? If I was never going to be the one, why did you look at me like I was? Why did you speak to me like I mattered, like I was the only person in the room? Maybe the cruelest part of that sentence isn’t the ending—it’s that I believed I could be.
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