by L'nass Shango |
And God said let there be light
And butterflies appeared
Sensuous as a moon
On a fragranted night
With jasmines in her hair.
And God said in the beginning was the word
And the cataract thundered
In a kaleidoscope of white
Wings like water sundered
Dancing on the belly of a stream
Rolling on the breast of the sea.
And God said let there be love
And moon came naked through the curtain
And poet sighed
Willing but still uncertain
Where she will go when day has come
And passions are mute as a stickless drum.
by viviane leite |
My sundered heart
But in vain
by Mitch Green |
death, lost love, metaphor,
Was it my morale sense of transgression that warned me about the way her eyes batted murder. Sardonic, tongue slapping amusement pinching her tongue of poison spit. Tapered elbows and teeth, malicious monster of snarled locks, her hair taut with rope and lace. Artistic powder to smudge forth a veil of charm and allure, it was all the flavor of immoral nature. Dread drain lurker for besieged veins. Red velvet nectar defining her gloss lips, in sadistic law. Pale armor of a cold clammy casing, she sundered the glare of the moon. She sustained a garlic tolerance, whilst hushing a waxen flame. Might I neglect the fact of my pin spotted throat?
by David Smalling |
inspirational, world, longing, universe,
I would away fly, but why dream
All I would leave I keep to scream
The world is only me
And only I through the world stream
The farthest star is my extreme
Even more I'm lonely
It was so for God, then he spoke
Sundered now in three: no revoke
Adam imaged that pain
Could not utter what did provoke
The inner urge that longings stoke
Yet woke without complain
I too a longing bear in me
Something deep, fast like gravity
My weighted whole desires
Self trapped in its own sweet beauty
Through love to find infinity
When self from want retires
RUMI IN RIME COUEE
"Do not feel lonely the universe is inside of you"
by Kunda Chamatete |
break up, heartbreak, lost love,
These are the ashes of what's left of our fire...
What to expect when electricity meets water;
Though our love has sundered, bittersweet polaroids and toffee greeting cards endure.
... When a house is lost to flames, one surviving photo is worth a thousand carats
And so I go with these memories that come ripe again to soul and bone,
A bounteous pension for the things we lost in the fire...
A bed of roses and a chest of knives.
When a bough rustles a ballad but no one to sing to
She soon sheds like tears;
There is nothing anywhere but nakedness and wretch and sure days of barrenness...
No elastic smile, only guttering cheeks.
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by Andrew Fairchild |
death, endurance, loss, love, sad, wife, writing,
How Audacious, I, to think: “I’ll make a book…”
To think that some will love to read my rhymes.
Approval’s a path I long ago forsook…
But still, I love to share my words, sometimes…
Because I hope the anguish we all feel,
By being read in me, helps some feel heard…
Because Joy is a Leaven in the Meal,
Because I hurt, and cannot heal – absurd?
I lost my wife, and never brought her home,
And I am broken, sundered… my hope is shed,
And so, I write, and hope I’m not alone,
That I can make her Live, still, though she’s dead.
And so, I think I’ll make my book for HER,
And to God’s kind Judgment, I will defer…