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 May 2018
Seema
I have been away for too long
In a solitude, burried with remorse
For I've lost a very close loved one
And the situation got worse

I prayed to be taken away
For my life to end
As soon as possible
Coz nothing much was left to mend

Tears rolled down my cheeks
To stop the negative thoughts
Got taken back many times
To untie the invisible knots

Voices got into my ears
That ached to explode my temple
Closing my eyes eveytime
A picture painted, to resemble

It's you, O'mum...that I can't get over with
Life seems, more like a lego
Feelings that can't be put into words
Every bit pierces through the core

Your smile, your beauty, your essence
Has all been captured by this heart
Now, in troubled weak times
Another scene peeps as an art

How will I ever, comfort myself
That now I am all alone
None that are left by my side
All have fallen and gone

May your soul rest in peace
Exactly, a month today
Missing you heaps in this crowded shell
Hope to meet you, someday...


©sim
Voices from my weak heart.
 May 2018
eleanor prince
what is a poet
but a stymied wind
stamping the same soil
seen through polished lens

firing the bugle sound
to reach across some
distant mountain pass
not echo the same

ignite fire
stand strong
find north
refresh

for old paths yield
grey packages
more stale
subterfuge

but honed
solidity is found
in structures
built sound

a new song of old notes
rearranged to yield
perspective
deep
at times we all need to see what is to be kept and what will be discarded, to reinvent ourselves, our lives, whilst retaining solid ground
 Apr 2018
L B
Stars
So many!
opened the sky above the ocean
A map
of night's heaven held
with the tailings of day

...and the pink moon
content  
with the toys
left by spring peepers
was playing in the dark woods
across the road

waiting for its mother
 Apr 2018
Traveler
Oh sea of madness
Oh ocean of fools
This water between us
Is but a drowning-pool

Tomorrows is out of focus
In the dimness of foresight
Sticks and stones in pockets
This involuntary fight

No shelter from the tempest
The storms that never end
Just a longing to return
To embrace your love again....
Traveler Tim
 Apr 2018
Francie Lynch
If
If you were a book,
I'd read you again.

If you were a ride,
I'd wait in line.

If you were my dream,
I'd never awaken.

If you were a star,
I'd never look down.

If you were a flower,
I'd never look up.

If you were mine,
I don't know what I'd do;
But I'd do it.
 Apr 2018
Cné

Many days without a muse.
Whatever shall I do?
Too long away from poetry
and sans a point of view

The moon has been so beautiful.
But words just would not come.
The sunrise has been glorious
the sunsets strike me numb.

Romance is in the air tonight.
Perhaps a muse will see...
And strike a chord that gives
a voice to verses now in me.

I close my eyes and see much more
than sight can ever see.
Colors swirl behind my lids
and rainbows, vividly.

Butterflies and hummingbirds
a ship of clouds glides by
Howling wolves in the wilderness
a pink and azure sky

And so, I find I need no sight
to find my inspiration.
The mind is far more "visual"
and gives its own sensation.

Just writing....
 Apr 2018
Walter W Hoelbling
for those whose mothers are no more
the annual business hype of what to give
    and where to take your mother
is but  a sad remembrance of loss
stirring up memories of happier times
when she was still a pillar in your universe
loved and revered, and sometimes feared,
who taught you, patiently or not,  
the basics of survival in your expanding world.

She knew, while you were as yet unaware  
that all her loving preparations
would over time mean separation.

When you struck out to shape your life
all by yourself and left her with her fears for you,
her wishes,  and the hopes that what she tried
to give you was enough and right,
your heart and mind were elsewhere,  far away,
focused upon the future of your independent life.

Your years run fast and busy, and suddenly one day
you stand before her coffin
and discover that it is too late
for all the questions never asked.

What you have left are memories
and a vague sense of having missed the chance
to see - and maybe even understand a little -
the woman she has also been
throughout her life, behind her loving face
of a dear mother’s care and grace.
The upcoming Mother’s Day triggered these lines and made me remember the time when my mother was alive.
 Apr 2018
Eric W
Watch carefully as the rain gathers
in the crux between a broken shoulder
and tender neck.
How the footsteps fall as if from the sky
in tandem with the falling rain.
But it’s not something one must be told to see,
for it is easy to crucify the self
amid the muddy steps
where faith must be found.

God hears you.

In the drops on the hair on
the head as in your head
in the clouds
as He is.
So must you be.

It’s time to kneel
in a way which has never been attempted.
It’s time to recognize the conception is whatever
you conceive of Him to be,
and that it matters not the form.

Eliminate your suffering as the Buddha has.

The water exists,
it soaks you through and
comes from within without.
But there is always warmth,
it only must be found.
As such the four noble truths
set to a path known for years.

The time of ingesting poison must
come to pass
or death must come sooner.

You can’t do this alone.
 Apr 2018
Cné

Through the withered branches
where the verdant leaves once grew,
I stared up at the old oak tree
against a sky of blue.

The branches stretched to heaven
as a supplicant might do.
It seemed to pray, as if to say,
"My time at last is through."

I wondered at the gnarly trunk
and limbs of twisted wood
And for a moment thought of life
and almost understood.

Life and death go hand in hand.  
Our time is our's to spend.
But like the tree against the gale,
‘tis better if we bend.

I'll pay it forward when I can.  
Thy brothers' keeper be.
I'll keep the roots well watered
and learn the lessons of the tree.

It shares the world with nestlings
and it's acorns oft abound,
To feed the hungry denizens
that glean them from the ground.

It's leaves give shade to those below.  
It's branches form a gym.
Children climb to see the world
and love this gift to them.

And as I watched, the farmer
came and laid the old husk low.
Firewood now, would be it's fate
and make the chimney glow.

Ashes unto ashes and to dust
we must return.
All of life in cycle goes
and from this I hope to learn:

This gift of life to all below,
all creatures great and small,
Is just a stop upon the trip
we travel, one and all.

Inspired by a photo shared by Melissa. Happy Earth Day!
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