by Nancy Jones |
I DO have one.
Tried to avoid it early on.
Tried to deny it when it happened
the first five or six times.
Broken, healing, broken, healing
cycling up spirals.
Every wound scars over
with less rigidness than
what got scarred.
How else could life possibly grow?
by Juan Paolo Galua |
A butterfly passed in front of me
And I was enthralled by her mystery,
Like that flash of bulb within,
When I learn important things.
Hidden message lies within
The beauty of her wings,
Small wings but hold great things
And spilled it in her fluttering.
I basked in her presence for a brief moment
And my soul has been quenched,
I’m so lucky to have seen it
as for grasping this occurrence.
So this phenomenon I’ve versed
Like the cycling secret of the universe:
Life and things how much we love will pass
All will be well if we’re at peace with that
by David Smalling |
It rained into dawn
The flood today is old pain
The heart eroded
I wade waist deep in
I should swim better in words
The promise drowned there
Next time I will touch
And feel what the eyes will miss
Love in countless clouds
The rain will end soon
And feet make prints in the sand
Memories made new
by Autumn Ehrhardt |
introspection, girl, girl,
Sleep’s enemy is the racing mind.
The girl gets caught in judging
Viewing kaleidoscope unkind
She’s an idiot
They are malicious
Up throughout the night
The girl keeps pain cycling
Love suppressed by might.
Who’s tortured: not idiot or false friend.
The girl becomes a zealot
With no peace to make it end.
by NWANDO OBIANYOR |
death, love, on writing and words,
In the cycling molecules of my mind
Till fate's fingers got us bind
I filter whether you have crossed your kind
Woven with the airs I find
In the cycling molecules of your mind
Hoping you won't stab me behind
So our travel be indivisible as wind
Though the creator captures us from mankind
Let this journey like sun and sky be bind
From years to years
In the cycling molecules of our mind
Dead to tears.
by Jackie Lines |
The absence of your voice
Kind words, kinder deeds
The radio can continue playing the lovers tune.
The emotions yawn like a tiny stop gap
You reached me, dolphin kisses we shared, eyes locked in our own embrace, every inch of
Otters ottering about in the pod sharing a snog. Holding hands in the flat as we cooked the
tea, I know you never kissed another as many times as me, In the supermarket, in the car,
cycling, showering, kisses, kisses, kissing me.
I wait for when I;m lonely and it's just me.
by Alexandra Espeset |
dream, imagination, introspection, people,
Corridors with wall sized windows are always places of rummage
Where copper candlesticks glisten and
Wood is polished by dirt particles from strenuous journeys.
Everything emits faint smells of
Brandy and vermouth -
the sweat of great silver haired storytellers.
Glasses flood downwards
staining tabletops and armchair sides:
Musings of grey, wrinkled Gods pondering over
50 year vendettas and century long betrayals.
Hardwood floors creak and crack with the footsteps of ghosts:
Generals, grandmothers, and cousins in love.
Luminous forms of dust reveal nothing and everything,
Cycling unto itself over and over again.
by Mike Jones |
Bright coloured chalets, (very dear !)
Stand close in military line,
Along the prom, beyond the pier
“NO CYCLING”, please, observe the sign.
The waves roll in with thunderous roar
To dash the pebbles on the shore.
Incongruous lighthouse in the town
Looks out above Edwardian tiles,
Across Sole Bay and looking down
Shines out for more than twenty miles.
The pride of Suffolk, on the coast,
For many not an idle boast.
Victorian sleepy seaside town,
That’s Southwold, home of Adnam’s beer.
I stroll the prom, first up, then down,
Sip coffee on the antique pier.
I love its charms and golden sands,
by Rayshawn Fisher |
depression, lost love, sad,
I'm caught in a loop
Cycling around traces of you in my memory
I suffer the eternal entrapment that is you
I love you
And no matter my restraint
I can't seem to let you go
So I must go
Of to the edge of the earth
To the split in the horizon
The tip of happiness
Where I first fell in love
by Daljit Khankhana |
caregiving, education, faith, friendship, funny, inspirational, seasons, life, day, life,
A day is coming and passes away.
Memories are adding in a Life tray.
Few good or wrong and bad occasions,
Cycling in a cycle but all in seasons.
Fate is treating in a same defeating,
Unfortunate person is always waiting.
Working hard but admitting a mistake,
Wasting his time and fishing on a Lake.
One day will come I’ll be a fortunate,
I will tease my mate to reach at late.
Money will play a game to roll overcome,
When she‘ll love me I‘ll open a bear drum.
We’ll dance together to sing a song,
A day‘ll come brighter after a dark long.
Money has a life but life is nothing,
Opportunity is risk, achieving something.
by Daljit Khankhana |
confusion, devotion, education, forgiveness, imagination, inspirational, love, nature,
A person laughs,
When he feels astonishing,
And he realises himself,
How happy he is?
As a person weeps,
When he gets nervous.
And he realises himself,
How sad he is?
When he understands differences,
He plans for life,
The values and resources,
Draws a way for him.
Joy and happiness he aims,
Success and luxury he claims,
His motive is living for pleasure,
Target is only a rising measure.
He feels sick when he fell over,
He lost courage to gain grower,
He lives with his memories,
And blames others,
But never realises,
Life is turning,
In a wheel fortune,
Circumstances are cycling around him.
by vinoda bommakanti |
angel, appreciation, art,
Singing is my hobby
For it boosts me
When I am in distress
It gives me a great bliss
One can sing while at work
And cycling gives a kick
When one sings and pedals
Crosses all the hurdles
Kills my solitude
Builds up my attitude
I love singing
For it keeps bringing
Day becomes a sheen..!
by jay del fierro |
There are times, many times especially now,
When it's difficult to distinguish between, rain and tears.
Under the umbrella of my mind, walking in the rain,
I cry those silent tears, which are aware of sights unseen.
As Objects dance their little dance, portrayed to our senses,
What escapes most, is the cycling energy of Periodicity.