Kalligraphía - Hello Poetry

May 2016

Onoma

A river runs
upon the ground
to hear the
continual song...
of relation
and passage.
The ground is set,
the river is not.
The heart has
cupped this water,
in a fit of compassion.

May 2016

GaryFairy

canyon

living down here in this chasm
high hopes, no one has them
erosion has us sinking deeper
and these rock walls just get steeper

at the bottom of this rocky gulch
in dryest hopes, we endulge
living in this deep ravine
we are somewhere in between

#depression #bipolar #low

May 2016

ryn

Eddy

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor swimmer.

I get swirled around.
Like a little helpless fly
caught in a wineglass.
Unbeknownst to the drinker.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor thinker.

I allow my mind
to get swashed around...
Like a lone sock
in the washing machine.
Lost without its other.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor survivor.*

So I just submit
to the will of the currents.
Like an empty bottle.
Stuck head down at the neck,
in the bathroom floor trap.

Sink or float...
I can do neither.

#hellopoetry107 #eddy #currentstateofaffairs

May 2016

r

The hypothesis of sundown

Blue as the geography
of footprints across the dunes
quiet as the white music
of a silent moon
like the wind blowing
the soul off the water
the shadows go out
and are lost in the evening
I conclude the hypothesis
of sundown making no sound
while night climbs the vines
where lowing sadness abides
the ritual of tides pulls me under.

May 2016

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Fields of Paddy

Her feet rose and fell
between fields of paddy

the grass bowed
then looked up on her way.

If only she had wings
and the winds carried her to her sister
she could land right on the yard of her hut
and take her home by the return flight
but her mind soared no less
so before the sun favored the west
she was right by her
laughing and talking like the yore
with only a line of vermilion
that she felt had come between them.

Soon she looked around
and making sure no one was watching
brought out from her skirt a mango.

She gave it to her like
she was giving a piece of her heart
plump yellow green
with the most delicious nectar hidden within
and when she narrowed her lips
to drink from the gift
her tears poured like the summer rain
mingling with the cries of the parched earth.

May 2016

jane taylor

silenced ~ senryu

silenced by the world

i may never speak again

oh but i will sing

©2016janetaylor

a senryu poem

#world #speak #sing #senryu #silenced #poetfreak

May 2016

Pradip Chattopadhyay

May Day

on a day hanging in haze
the crow sits glum on a perch

do the flying pairs overhead
remind it of the lost mate
and in the midday lull
it feels a vacuous dullness
when even the search for food
seems purposeless?

i feel a stab of pain inside

whoever goes first is lucky
not so the one left behind

maybe the wings are now too heavy
for the bird to fly into the sky

Apr 2016

Randolph Llewellyn Wilson

The May prayer ...

Say a prayer for happiness each night by the light of the Maytime Moon and Mother Nature will answer you with the fireflies of June*...

Apr 2016

ryn

Popcorn

Right now, my mind...
Is the proverbial popcorn machine.

Every little thing that bothers me is
likened to a kernel.
And to make popcorn, you need lots...
Bucketloads of kernels.

Dump them all in the machine.
Let them whirl.
They sit layered on top of each other
undisturbed,
on the hot bed until...
The spindly metal arms begin to rotate...
Whose sole purpose is to agitate.

Buttered with debilitating insecurities.
Sprinkled with irrational fears.
Heated with erratic temperament.

And here come the arms again.
Rotating,
churning,
inciting.

No one knows when the kernels
are going to cave and rupture.

Then...
"Pop!" would go one.
Then another...
And another...
Soon they would all start to explode.
When that happens,
I do too.

••••••••••••••••••••••
Addendum
••••••••••••••••••••••

I love popcorn.
And I don't like to share.

#hellopoetry107 #anxietyattacks #notaboutpopcorn

Apr 2016

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Back to the Class

After fifty years
I slipped into the school.

Madame Bela was visibly pleased
The classroom was too empty
Now I've one to do maths with

No less happy was Auntie Aloka
My favorite student is back
She lifted me up and said with a kiss
So vacant felt my class of English
Without a boy from olden times
Sweetly singing nursery rhymes

My eyes searched her and before long
Miss Jaya spoke in her softest tongue
I'm so glad to see his face
Sans him Bengali class was all emptiness

And there he was the only Sir
Amiyo Baboo the sports teacher
Isn't this the boy never won my trust
For always being in every race last

Fifty years haven't changed a bit
Either their age or their spirit
And surely the fun was doubly more
When I stood before the school mirror.