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 Mar 2015
K Balachandran
An unknown artist's heart speaks on this subway wall
my mind drifts to the scene of creation, possibly this:
in amazement I look at that cat,at my face she looks up
and understands, this feline inaugurates the incidental show
of spontaneous art, at this street, just waking up shedding sleep
a ball collaborates with her,bouncing around with such verve,
spreading cheer,wholeheartedly, so strange for an object like it
which is not something even intended by anyone
                                                          ­                 Art has a right to happen,
like this, the morning sun, by nature, provides support,
from a long, long distance, the effect electrifies the scene
the cat, looking up by the magic of the moment,sees rays of sun
filtering through the foliage,can she imagine the distance
sun rays travel, to play with her, with such grace?

A lonely man, captures the scene,as a graffiti, within engraved,
one can imagine from the way he looks pleased,
don't you miss the mixed up pigments on his fingers,
unmistakable glee divine of an underground artist
decidedly flashes across his face, not for him,
but to express the pain  unmitigated, all through his life
he'll pack his things,stuff in a small bag and leave this place.
A moment of exhilaration for many, when they see
his essence, spread across the subway train, in colors of protest,
rooted in his mourning art,experience of the hour created,

yes there are consequences for the art,the cat, the illuminating sun,
the onlookers around, including me,are not to be concerned,
only he and his brothers in art, taking part in this attack
for him, this moment of enlightenment,is reward enough
for all the adventures, he had undertaken till now.
 Mar 2015
Joel M Frye
why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds
For my friends here and around the world on World Poetry Day.
 Mar 2015
Jayanta
Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!*

What we called as emptiness
Also having something
Full with energy and matter!

Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!


If it gets the model set it will accelerate
Bloom and illuminate!
Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!

In fact by mining the vacuum’s richness
A theory of everything may emerge!

Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!


Space around everything is virtual
When everyone convulse for existence
Invisible firework display
It is dark energy
Take over the dynamics of creation
and we are dreaming!

Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuity!


Explore your verve in emptiness
Gain oomph to illuminate everything!
 Mar 2015
Francie Lynch
Let's not be fooled
By a Romantic moon;
Our deception of
Reflected sun.
We deserve true light,
Not outlines
Or eclipsed truths
Casting doubt.
Let's wait for the enlightenment,
When skin glows,
Eyes have Aurora light
That shimmer in the cold.
Be direct
With piercing rays
And golden fingers
Along latitudes,
Parse us like
A poem,
Then re-unite
In the eternal theme
Lit by any light.
 Mar 2015
Sjr1000
My poems are
lost down a shady grove,
They've taken up residence,
In a rainbow room,
Reflections cast on four white walls,
Whispered from this closing tomb,
Singing songs no one knows,
Poems lost in airy ether,
No one knows where they go.

My poems ride the winds,
Cascading down,
Tumbling into oceans
to be buried within,
When no one is looking,
They rise again.
It has been said
in space, no one can hear you scream,
Silence known far to well.

My poems are silence
in a darkened room
banging on consciousness door
to be set free,
Thought bubbles floating
in the breeze,
Set free, finally.

Pop.
 Mar 2015
Seán Mac Falls
A flower opens
Dew rolls into soft petal
Drinking in the globe
 Mar 2015
Mike Hauser
Arghhh!!!

Why does poetry have such a hold on me
I'm so rhyme blind, that's all I can see
I spend most days down on my knees
Hoping against hope for some relief

Arghhh!!!

My sanity is quickly moving deep South
This taxi of poetry won't let me out
As the meter is turning like a crazed spinning wheel
I'm not sure anymore how I should feel

Arghhh!!!

Is there a doctor in the house
Or at least someone who could help me out
Put me to pasture where I can be free
Instead of inside shackled to this poetry
Well I made it 4 days before I broke!
Arghhh!!! Lol!
I'm going to try and not go crazy this time around...
 Mar 2015
K Balachandran
A weather rocket
vrooms through air
over the darkened balcony
noiselessly,
only the light speaks to us
of her urgency,
it resonates with
her and me.
Her full lips,seal mine
stops me from speaking
voicing ****** nonsense.
Mute witness now am I,
prompted to scale the peak,
she wishes, to take me.
I only can sigh to relay her moans
to register erupting pleasure
mounting to reach a brimming ecstasy.
A group of fruit bats,
(among them one, I imagine,myself)
dramatically fly  scattering
to all eight directions.
A pale moon , eagerly study
their diverse trajectories,
as if she wishes the company
of any one, that would darken her door way
though  by accident.
 Mar 2015
Amitav Radiance
Blazing stars across the sky
Night’s come alive with celebrations
Gorgeous display across the dark
So many things do fade away
But sheer brilliance gives hope
Many dark corridors will be lit up
The constellations know the secret
 Mar 2015
ryn
Hues of violet
As the azure meets the reddened sun
Sparse deflated clouds
Floated quiet as into each other, the colours run

Lavender streaks
Trail far into the horizon
Tracking the sunset
As the hour struck seven

Purple gladioluses
Bowed to the evening sea breeze
As if mourning the departure
Of the day's warmth with silent pleas

The orb finally sank
Beyond my sight could reach
Disappeared from here
But rising over someone else's beach

Last dregs of light
Slowly swallowed, giving birth to indigo
This night would last long
Before the first rays of tomorrow...
 Mar 2015
Francie Lynch
Mammy vacuumed
So the grandkids
Could play.
The kids have grown,
Mammy left,
Just the other day.
Mammy is an Irish term for Mother.
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