by Tariq Al |
Once upon a time,
When love knew –
No bounds and shackles
We dwelt in Eden
Then, the genesis of the ego
Spewed wide open Pandora’s Box
And its burdens and horrors
All, adventurously, flew forth
Now all humanity is in wake
Of a teardrop they await
Straight from heaven’s gates
Pondering over the Lord’s grace
But lead and sulphur,
Stirred in a lake – do burn
Where all hell is unleashed
Upon the earth from beneath.
by Mark Banham |
childhood, happiness, hope, imagination, life, love, autumn,
I write this bouncy little tune
With a flouncy ickle fume
My poems are the best
In the world
I rock the planet more than
Mountains and hills
Indeed, I am orf me rock
Except for sulphur dioxide
Volcanoes erupted in Washington
So did a drug culture
I nearly forgot what an excellent poem
Writer that I am
The bells won't stop ringing
In the church
Flow chart, box chart
Insane brain chart
Money, by golly
Lottery money, the dough just rises and rises
Lovely summer, autumn and winter
Ahhhhh memories of home
by Natsai Mutandaguta |
Red sky, grey stars
Hand in hand
Burning sulphur, heated flames
Kisses of death
Love purified, trust tested
The price to pay
Ashes of life, sparks of dreams
Her EROS his APHRODITE
Forgotten lovers, ignored curses
Love of flames; blazing love!
by Satish Verma |
life, love, passion, philosophy, social,
There was the hunger
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious equation
with power, provoking my anger.
The days were full of abandoned kilns.
No more shaping of containers
in which one can put the moon,
and honey and roses.
Everything was turning brown
with infinite, sulphur smelling teeth
ready to bite into golden flesh.
Convicts behind the walls were playing
with mirrors to throw the light on slick
towers. Death was laughing, waiting on the trees,
eating black berries.
And I was forced to taste the blood of sky
with sodium –
in sanctum sanctorum.
by Synonym Thesaurus |
The day that you won me,
I recall how you spoke of lotteries and luck,
And sang in blue and white,
From virtual rooftops with borrowed words,
About fields and fish and feeling good,
I still cherish that grotty piece of paper,
Alive like the tree it was sliced from,
With secrets spelt out with my name,
Copied them with a crumbling pencil scrawl,
Onto the secret space beneath my window,
Bathed in sulphur light,
Between dreams I would read them,
Filled with frustration that you couldn’t seem to see,
Chance was never the game,
Harbinger broke into delicate run,
And delivered the inevitable,
Led down the only path left to follow,
I could only ever fall for you.
by Ibohal Kshetrimayum |
poems, poetry, poets, poverty, power, prayer, pride,
( after Yehuda Amichai measured the diameter of a bomb)
At times I have this curious feeling that
I am married to a bomb.
But then, I often ponder, I am not even distantly
Related to any explosive tribe.
How come, then, I am spousing an IED?
I am not even a bullet, for heaven's sake.
My bomb is pregnant.
But I am afraid of fathering baby bombs.
But I am cornered by bomb makers.
I shouldn't have voted for you.
I should have known, better than sulphur,
That in the chemistry of explosions
Beating of hearts, of love and its inhabitants,
Could, at least, pacify or divert
Projectiles of missiles from harming hearths,
If bombs have families.
by Francis Osho |
deep strata of yellow rocks
spreading the fumes of sulphur
hiding in the basement
of my tranquillised memory
for an investment of return
i am a culprit
culprit of love
sentenced to a life term
of labour in your
frigid tentacles of
by Raven Tones |
Taste the sulphur in the air
Always such a burning affair
Killing us all blinding everyday
Every soul here is internally
More and more shop up each day
Enjoying the fell of the morning heatwaves
There is no way out from this wondrous place
Oh how I love the feel of my melting face
Hear is where I will remain
Enjoing what's left before I go insane
Life is pointless without an arrow to point to a path
Leaving this would be sweet but I love the feel of walking through the ash
by Bozhidar Pangelov |
The years pass – wings –
the valleys grow
and the picks lose the silhouette clear.
Who’s hitting furiously the horses young,
the sky who has there lit?
Not me! Not me!
Me and you, sat on a short shore
along the path, sunk in myrtles
and we’re looking at the love,
in that endless mirror.
And somewhere young girls
are singing a refrain in low voice
and giant woods are losing root.
Horses are tearing in sulphur and volcanoes.
Inside of me – the sea is murmuring.
by Jo Bien |
introspection, lost love
it stayed in the chamber cause the safety was on
never ripping through the barrel, the target left unharmed
couldn't smell the sulphur or see the muzzle flash
you should have aimed more carefully if you wanted it to last
you got to feel the excitement of the live round in the chamber
standing in the little booth surrounded by the danger
you got to hear the click and the noise from those up close
but your aim was never good at what was next to you
the switch pulls in your target, without a single hit
nothing dead on center or even a near miss
you won't win a trophy or ever enjoy the prize
cause you were in a hurry and let it all speed by
by Matt Caliri |
I am of the angles
But am stuck in the earth
Where corruption grows
So I live without truly living,
I love with complete truth of loving
And I die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die...
Without ever truly knowing death
As any of us wouldn't...
Since we are all, at birth, in the wandering sulphur:
Cooing in the ethereal living of the loving haze.
Dying in the distant horizon of dizzying days.
Sighing in the silence of sounds.
At point of break it breaks,
Shake your head...
And live your life.
In the beginning are days.
And more days.
And more life.