Etiqueta: poetry
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IN PRAISE OF SHADOWS by Mike Steeden
This is a poem for all shadows Where the good and the bad both hide Safe haven for the lost souls Where no one takes up sides No danger in a shadow As constant as a heart An island in a sea of light A restless piece of art No…
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Walking Shadow by Gopal Lahiri
In midnight’s grip, the shadow claims its due, where cold city lights trap in midnight’s grip. The heart resists yet knows the words are true. Days bleed into night, casting shapes anew, while whispers carve their secrets cold and deep. In midnight’s grip, the shadow claims…
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ONCE UPON A TIME by Jeffrey Zable
I was on a train, moving through a country that was still called Yugoslavia, and the woman next to me pointed toward the top of a hill where some people were dancing around a fire. “Gypsies!” she exclaimed, to which I nodded, though the real meaning of gypsies wasn’t clear…
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Different Kinds of Art: Thursday Doors: The Owl House, Nieu Bethesda Part 1
Introduction to artist, Helen Martins, and the Owl House Helen Elizabeth Martins in a South African artist who worked with concrete and glass. She installed her elderly and ailing father, who was believed to have been emotionally abusive to his family during her younger years, in an outside room which…
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“Unfinished Winter” by Yongbo Ma
You shall grow mature once this winter passespure garments part the chilly airwater flows ceaselessly within your sleeves When winter wears awaysome things shine sharp and dazzling brighttoo piercing for the eye to hold in sightlike half an abandoned plowshare buried in snowmirrors lay bare every hill and hollow Sunlight…
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2 Love Poems by Andrew Cyr
After Nadia, Before Myself Darkness, sun-etched,evergreens swayed,pine scent waftedbehind the mountain.Nadia rode her high horse,tied me in knots. I was where I was,a puddle of myself,stepped on, forgotten,our photos—shards. A noose, appealing,a stale attic, unforgiving,a step stool—I took it back,a short drop,days alone sold me short,a long way back,I lost…
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“Terzetto: An Italian Suite” by John RC Potter
Camera ObscuraThis darkened chamber that is your heart,taking these mental picturesand making love a mere art. An image begins to take holdwhen this light is reflected.Shadows begin to take shape as another love is deflected. I am a camera: a blind, unblinking eye on you,gathering evidence from the printsin a…
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5 Pieces by Mykyta Ryzhykh
The name of the nameless Like the escaping sand time, the trap for the survivor slams shut. Fear is like a bird cornered in a room in tight dust that can never be drunk. This swan thirst for silence that can never be quenched and only death. And only death…
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«Don’t Go» by Lynn White
«Don’t Go» by Lynn White When I’m with youI feel I am whole.Captured and completed.Engulfed by you.When you kiss meall my fears disappearin the kiss.Where do they go?I don’t know.Do you wrap them round your tongueand swallow them whole?I don’t know.I only know the comfortI feel, such peace.So don’t go.Don’t…
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2 Poems About Being Different by Snigdha Agrawal
Keeper Of the Quiet Much after the shockof bearing a muted gene,she learned the powerof that tiny switchtucked behind the ears.A secret lever, others never see,Yet she can summon at will. When…the world roars, dogs bark in unison,traffic screeches, drills go off,and horns blare,bliss is hers with just one click.Serenaded…
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“Peaked” by Bill Tope
I open the refrigerator door and peekinside. My beer is there. Good. I feela sense of relief, as if a balance hasbeen achieved. I have to keep at leastthree 24-ounce Bud Lights on handfor each evening. But I cheated thistime, substituting a 32-ounce MillerLite for one of the Buds. More…
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«The Man in The Mirror Was Lying» A Poem by Francisco Bravo Cabrera
THE MAN IN THE MIRROR WAS LYING I learned to smile before I learned to tell the truth. I am very good at it: the small theatre of the mouth. I lift my hand in strategic farewells, while I hide my heart somewhere behind the black curtain. Even my shadow…
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«Claustrophobia» by Karlyn Miraflor
«Claustrophobia» by Karlyn Miraflor Dauntless summer sky,simmering anxiety at dawn.It greets me with courtesy in between midnight and endless fear.I continuously track the timeFixating over «how many minutes» left, before it drains me alive. Here within I suffocate in silence.Windows slam open as they wave «hello» at my anxious looking…
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5 Poems by Carl Bernard Schwartz
BITTER OLD MANNow 77, widower, empty nester, still have a few friendsI’ve known for almostmy whole lifelately been watching TVnews and views, also on Facebook, where inretrospect, I see that I have,in that venue, too many of the wrong friendsThey appear on TV shows and offer opinions that reflect my…
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Lookout Outlook By Ed Ahem
It occurred to me perceptibly, windows are no longer relevant. All I look out on is already seen. Novel glassed views in a life held to a closed loop are so rare that it’s not worth craning my neck. Windows are merely for light.
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