Category Archives: Poetry – Poems

Day of Dreams

Eagle and Child Inkling

157
Speckled spaces of sparse
clouds, covered captures of
shadows as shining sunset
peers in private perfection.
Lowering lights of last
twilights tempting timing
calls carefully a christened
day of dreams and doubts.
©   CMM   2012

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Building Dreams

Eagle and Child Inkling

If you sit around doing nothing,

no one cares,

if you build a castle

the whole world

slithers into the base

and calls upon the tide

to destroy it…

It is then,

you call upon the winds

to change the tides,

and build

your fortress of

passion

into the anchors…

©  CMM   2012

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She!

ishambhavirhyming.wordpress.blog

Do not Worship her as Goddess, She demands emancipation as human!

Referred to as gentle sex,
Shackled with constructed lex.
A rebel to stumble the sexist hierarchy,
A warrior waging war against Patriarchy.
I’m a Woman!

Suffered ages of subjugation,
Turned too submissive to counter oppression.
Rights, opportunities, dignity, identity brutally throttled;
My wings slashed and desires bottled.

To dismantle walls confining my world,
Kicked up on heels and swirled my sword.
Discrimination, suppression, exploitation, physical assault;
If suffer any longer it would be my fault.

Crumble the womb if it bears a girl child.
Defend the rapists, “red-blooded youngster might have gone wild”.
Captivate to the domestic sphere, deprive of public presence,
Block all ways to emancipation, snatching books and pens.

Abash if dares to dream and defy the norms,
While glorify her sacrificing forms.
Rebel to shatter the society’s “ideal woman” paradigm,
It…

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Abode of Light

Subliminal Landscapes

I set out to
explore the home
of light,
I wander
in the darkest of caves
and the densest of forests,
dark depths of the
relentless ocean
and the farthest end
of the pitch-black space.

Is it not where the
light dwells?
In bioluminescence
at the ocean floor,
fire of the stars
up above, shooting
in the night sky?

I am so small,
a speck,
barely visible in the
endless cosmos.
I am an assemble
of the fragments
of the same universe.
Fluid in my veins
keeps pulsating a
primeval song,
instinctively
bending
toward light.

The citadel of darkness
is invincible
and intimidating.
Some say to find light
one must
embrace darkness,
for it is the womb
which cracks open
to give birth
to light.

As I do that,
a torch
ignites
within me
to cut through
the dark bastion.

© Shalini Garg 2022

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Borderless

Subliminal Landscapes

We know
miles and oceans
separate us
but we live in each other’s
mind.
We keep
our priced possessions here
in the soft pink boxes,
multilayered,
fragile like petals,
shielding them from
the world,
a world,
unconcerned
about the deepest feelings
of longings,
the things
that are not tangible
or measurable
and certainly ineffable.

We maybe
shores apart,
but our thoughts bloom
in the orchards
beneath our eyelids
when we dream,
lifting themselves up as
majestic birds
spreading their wings wide
when they take flight
toward the uncharted fire
of the anguish of love.
They know no distance
or maps or boundaries,
they just know
their destination.

Traversing the undulating
ripples of the mackerel skies,
they dive in deep
then rise up,
trying to pursue the way
to each other.
In that milky terrain
their amorphous forms
entwine
to become mellifluous verses
that would design
an arbor
for the rendezvous…

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Designing Dreams

Subliminal Landscapes

From the
ribbed, vaporous vaults
he descends,
jumping out
of a Gothic window
at an immeasurable height
in the tremulous castle
of the night.
There is stealth
and secrecy
in the cradle of his
somnolent arms.

Morpheus!
What will you morph as
tonight?
Will you give me your wings
to fly over the flying buttresses,
or leave me
on the eaves?
Gargoyles are frightening
so take me somewhere
serene.

Away from the noise
we shall scale
the mysterious peaks.
I want to go farther up
and jump off the loftiest ledge
covered with ice.
Glide down the
icy air with my arms
open wide,
and swim
like a skydiver.

Shelter me in your arms
Morpheus!
for this world is a
ravenous beast.

© Shalini Garg 2022

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Dreaming.

I dream of city lights and busy streets

crowded rooms and beautiful music

a place that never sleeps

new adventures awaiting

new adventures with you

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The opened door♥️

Try to get it!

The opened door
Not like all opened doors
It welcomes a person with despair
And also those who need care
It is opened all day long
Its owner is Merciful though strong
Let’s pass together through his door
We will receive forgiveness and more
The eternal peace is also there
You can see Nothing But pure air
Cause his mercy is overwhelming
To each one who is Now coming
We will enjoy that harmless light
That can be seen by no eyes
But only needs a clear sight
Sohair
Allah says
وَقَالَ الَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا لِلَّذِينَ آمَنُوا لَوْ كَانَ خَيْرًا مَا سَبَقُونَا إِلَيْهِ ۚ وَإِذْ لَمْ يَهْتَدُوا بِهِ فَسَيَقُولُونَ هَٰذَا إِفْكٌ قَدِيمٌ
The Unbelievers say of those who believe: “If (this Message) were a good thing, (such men) would not have gone to it first, before us!” And seeing that they guide not themselves thereby, they will say, “this is an…

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Life is good💐

Try to get it!

The end May become an outset
The defect May be a signal of uniqueness
The dark May be a door to happiness
The failure could be a step to success
The disease can be an outlet to a better health
The fog May conceal bad vibes
The wind can sweep all microbes
Even rats can keep our balance,
In that wise circle of the universe!
Blessed be that creative One
Who made the moon and the sun!!!
Sohair
Allah says
قَدْ أَفْلَحَ مَنْ تَزَكَّىٰ 14He has certainly succeeded who purifies himself
And mentions the name of his Lord and prays.
وَذَكَرَ اسْمَ رَبِّهِ فَصَلَّىٰ

Al Aalaa chapter
Verse 14,15

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If I had grown up

Random Specific Thoughts

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
C.S. Lewis

Tortured hollows, twisted, coloured and soaked –
Of fragrant laughing reveries, they speak,
Watching as ancestors’ advice is mocked,
And radiant long paths ahead seem bleak.

If I had grown up, certainly of this
Pure, barefaced joy – I would have no inkling
Wandering in societal norms’ abyss
Predestined to watch hopeful souls wrinkling.

Remorseless time must I hold in hard ice
To linger behind captive in this world
Where hearts’ choices – deep and true have no price
And remain young in memories unfurled.

Truly, if I had grown up, and age gained
My young heart of feathers must I have chained.

“When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the…

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Seasonal Writing

Random Specific Thoughts

“Autumn…the year’s last, loveliest smile.”
― John Howard Bryant

I

Autumn breeze rustling brown leaves,
Littering the path home,
Veiled by an ochre gradient of life
Mortal, stunning and gorgeous –
Life is beautiful.


II

Large columns and broken tiles,
Newspaper scraps blanket the floor.
Abandoned sculptures and
Half-burnt manuscripts
Dwell in these hallways.


III

Gauzy clouds and a drizzle,
Deafening thunder; bursts of lightning
Shed light on these secrets of old
Unspoken whispers of pain
Drift through these carpeted halls.


IV

Midnight blue ink bleeds through
Struck out words, dry ideas
Wander lost and dreamily through these pages,
Twirling in the moonlight –
They sink into forgotten worlds.


V

The world outside cowers under nature’s wrath,
While words fail to appear,
These thoughts scream themselves sore;
Silenced by the downpour
But forever inspired by the falling leaf.

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall…

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That Tiny Eyes Girl

ishambhavirhyming.wordpress.blog

That tiny eyes girl
Shrinks it more and stretches lips fore,
When her huge heart blooms with happiness.
In solitude!
That tiny eyes girl
Shrinks it more and rolls down the pearl,
As the pursed pain unfurl.

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Ruins of Time 🪄

ishambhavirhyming.wordpress.blog

On Time Can One Trust?

Under the spell of wanderlust,
A traveller embarked, thereon commenced the quest… On time can one trust?

Swirled round the globe!
Glided through the howling gales,
Amidst melancholic silence and melodious wails.
Under the spell of wanderlust,
Probing, if on time one can trust.

Exhausted of the expedition landed at the New land,
There stood a mighty woman with a torch in her hand.
Her name “Mother of Exiles”,
They flaunt her as an icon of their virtuous profile.
This show has been going on since a long while.

She had promised to embrace the huddled masses longing to breath free and let them what they yearned to be.
The flame of the torch is imprisoned lighting yet gloomier than brightening.

They boast themselves as champions of liberty,
Maybe, they don’t know that ideals need to be cherished in the time’s race to infinity.

With…

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Impossible not to dream

Poetry from John Looker

From time to time, I have been posting a poem from my book The Human Hive. This one is taken from Part 5, ‘States of Mind’:

DANCER

She turns and takes a final look at the room:
the mirrors across the wall, the well-sprung floor.
If you ignore the lights, it’s like a womb
where music finds embodiment in dance.
Re-living the last half-hour, she shuts the door. 

What did they think of that?

This was the feared audition, the longed-for chance.
Those weeks, let’s say the years, of preparation
had worked their alchemy: as though entranced
her mind and the music fused, her body became
line and shape, gesture, and lightness of motion. 

Surely they will recognise, at last,
my true potential?           

She feels so alive! She wants, she needs, this same
exhilaration daily in her life,
to burst out from the chrysalis…

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Where The Lost Things Are

Poetry from John Looker

.
Where The Lost Things Are

.
At the back of the west wind,
where the evening sun wakens a bird-rich isle:
that’s where the lost things are.

Where the hummingbird
quivers at a trumpet dripping with nectar
and clouds of scent rise over a turquoise sea,
that’s where they are, the things that can’t be found.

The golden sovereign that slipped between
the boards in the Tudor Hall; the Hall itself lost at cards
in Venice on the long Grand Tour;
they’re here; this is the spot.

Even the daughter, forswearing carriages and
pianoforte, who was carried away in steam and smoke
for love; and the son gone surfing in foreign lands;
they too are here. They all come here.

And therefore you.
You’ve raced across the foot-burning sand
to float like a starfish in the clear lagoon,
your tequila-on-ice waiting you back in the shade.

If only mine…

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A cloudy morning

George Shetuni

A sagging sky,
It’s so ugly, it’s beautiful.

I was happy once
Ah, to be young and in love…

A dreary wet morning,
Tea alone on a lounge chair

A thunderstorm last night
An open window, a thunderstrike

So loud, so near, so terrible!
That it’s beautiful

The windows left open
Rainwater gushes in.

Ah, to be young and in love…
O what beautiful dark days of youth.

I was happy once,
I was sad at once

This? What is this?
A sagging sky, so dark, so ugly,

That it’s beautiful?
This is nothing!

Lonely. I must write!
The End

Nje Mengjes me Re (Albanian)

Një qiell i varur,
Është aq i shëmtuar, sa është i bukur.

Një herë isha i lumtur
Ah, të jesh i ri dhe ne dashuri

Një mëngjes i zymtë i lagësht,
Pi caj jashte, i vetëm në një karrike të varur

Një stuhi mbrëmë
Një…

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The fall of love

George Shetuni

I want to travel back in time
to the best time of my life
I want to travel back in time
to the time I was young and in love

winds clearing branches of their leaves
The yellow, the red, the brown leaves
Temperatures falling,
A sign that fall again is here

it has come around again,
Just as it did when I was young and naive
It caught me by surprise and off my guard
And before I knew it, I fell hard

Fall would be the season I would fall in love
It was a regular, ordinary day like any other
Made the most significant day of my entire life
I remember the time, the place, the earth-shattering revelation

I could tell you the time, the place, the girl
But then again, why?
It was so long ago, why should I even care?
It may as well be…

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I Have

George Shetuni

I have once lived.

I have once loved.

I have once felt.

But that was a long time ago…

But what a time it was!

I have once lived.

I have once loved.

I have once felt.

But that was when I was young…

But what an age it was!

I have once lived.

I have once loved.

I have once felt.

But that was not to be…

But what a dream it was.

I have lived once.

I have loved once.

I have felt once.

I have…

And that makes me happy.

this poem was excerpted from my book Poems for a Good Occasion

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Fragments of myself by Cindy Georgakas

MasticadoresUsa // Editor: Barbara Leonhard

Grace Madeline Unsplash

fragmentsof myself

by Cindy Georgakas, Monthly Contributor
site: https://uniquelyfitblog.com/

I collectfragmentsof myself
and place them in my heart,
Reclaiming lost parts.

Waiting, longing, hoping
for a shadow of myself
To come to life.

The past evades me,
the present scares me,
The future’s faith washes over me.

I bathe in the salt water,
an embryo forming into a new sense of self.

I return again and again and again in many formless forms,
And float off in free abandonment.

Copyright ©CindyGeorgakas
All Rights Reserved

Gabriela Marie Milton
#1 Amazon Bestseller Author
Books:
Woman: Splendor and Sorrow :I Love Poems and Poetic Prose
Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings
site: https://shortprose.blog/

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Dancing Through Life by Cindy Georgakas

MasticadoresUsa // Editor: Barbara Leonhard

Photo by Oswaldo Ibáñez on Unsplash

Dancing Through Life

by Cindy Georgakas, Monthly Contributor
site: www.uniquelyfit.net

Words dance on and off the page as I awake.

Every word flows like a ballerina doing perfect priorates in cadence with the music.

In my dream I wrestle with the beast of sleep and my unconscious, practicing sequences and sentences that collide into a rainbow mirage of reflection.

When tensions are high and I’m at the edge of my rhythmic step or poetic prose, I throw my body right to the edge of my threshold, dancing like dervishes, who turn as on a dime, graceful and creative as I rhythmically break through the next barrier.

And so it is with life as we dance through our day and face whatever obstacle is thrown at us, getting our toes stepped on more than once.

We must learn to go with the flow and practice…

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