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 Jul 2016
David Adamson
“Up above my head
I hear music in the air
I really do believe
I really do believe
there's a Heaven somewhere”
--Rhiannon Giddens

“Is that all there is?”
--Peggy Lee*

An old philosopher told me this:

“About heaven.
Let’s say there’s more than one.
There’s the one where souls
are lurid with perfection,
piled into bliss,
dreaming of change.

“There’s the one people search for
to fit the story they tell themselves.
I looked for it.  I watched the sky.
I found only words.  Blue sky is
a blank page.  Clouds are garish metaphors.

“Then there’s one that follows you.
Don’t look for it. You can’t find it.
It’s not a place or a path.
It dances at the edge of things
like old photos or a young face
that lives remembered in its older one,
an eternal moment always at hand
trailing like a thought balloon,
a shadow cast by nothing,
forever unfolding, never now.”
 Jul 2016
beth fwoah dream
i.

shadows of a dark world
the stars are cut out of paper
their blues unwinding the skies.

ii.

night drifts and drifts
its luminous notes
driven against a burning
bridge.

iii.

clouds scurry and break
shiver along like silvery rivers
fold origami corners onto
the breeze.

iv.

tragic stage of a darkening world
i dream of flowers, i dream
of the sea.


v.

your love sings out
and i am happy once more
bathed in dark rapture.
 Jul 2016
katie
I remember
        the rain, the
way it
       fell in
waves I
             tried to
cling to, press my
           lips into
its deep blue
as if that
           might make
things new but it
went on
           undisturbed
in
its path
towards Earth,
           a mystery
concealed
inside
         every drop
that
I was powerless
       to stop.
I'd put on a pilgrim's mantel,
Journey along to the far wild;
Break through thorny thickets
And twigs across the wilderness,
To where humans dwell not,
To a world of savage animals;
Right through jaws of death,
Trudge through barren valleys,
Cimb soaring mountains before me,
Dash through mystique woods,
Woods darker than a lonely grave;
Whilst buffeted by wild branches,
Wend along wildest river banks,
Where early boughs grow wild and rank,
Stumble through murky waters,,
See beyond bounds of mortal men,
Trudge yonder a wide strange plain,
To fair lands of the emeralds,
Where dawn songbirds perpetually
Croon nature's symphonies,
Where trumpeters, taborers
Harpists and fiddlers
Play the loveliest melodies,
Soothing melodies trapped
In proverbial winds of time,
Where the meanest castle pillar
Is not of silver
But of fairest gold.
A realm of only beauty to behold,
A realm of everlasting youth,
A realm of opalescent skies,
A realm where the sun doth rise,
In the sheer corner of paradise
Just to catch a glimpse
At thy physiognomy
*Only if I could
#Love #Craving #Longing
Dead heads stare from the wall

one can't tell if their glassy eyes
hold the relics of past life
or the sadness of having lost it
to the fires of royal pastime

tiger eyes look pathetically pleading
for re-stitching the stripes on the bones
leopard head growls only in anguish
of his spots being soft spot for target
the open jaws of the croc
can't still swallow the stuck bullet
awed eyes of deer is yet to sense
the muzzle that ruptured its innocence
the jackals, birds, langurs, civets
all frozen in the suddenness of the ***** out.

The hunter's head peeps from a dusty frame
having got his place of pride
among his game.
 Jun 2016
Musfiq us shaleheen
...
That lonely tree Jarul(জারুল)
Standing as a witness of the century
In the crop less **** field
Near to his feet
New tidal waves come down
at the young Hari(হরি) River
Leaving the impression of simplicity
On her outskirts
Life mingled with the distant cemetery
Afar in the bend of dream
without boatman a lonely boat
Maybe waiting for someone
who is attracted by
the downstream song
.....
@Musfiq us shaleheen
....
Share your Comments...
....
 Jun 2016
Denel Kessler
May your passing be quiet
in the beckoning night
may the answers you sought
be divinely defined
let all grievance be shed
to lighten your pace
bless your soul
now released  
all my love
peace
 Jun 2016
Jeff Stier
They cling to the earth
like lichens
in deep meditation

Lophophora williamsii.
Fallen warriors sprinkled
throughout the blackbrush and mesquite
there in the valley of the Rio Grande.

They whisper to you
as you roam that arid slab of ground
and spin like Van Gogh
in the night sky
while you sleep.

They call you this way
and that
lead you in directions
you did not intend.

In the dry washes
beware
rattlesnakes wait in every thin patch
of shade

and at night
lightning switches the lights on
and off
and on again.

Once the spirit
of this unassuming succulent
enters into you
accepts you
uplifts you
the sky opens
and reveals the pulsing heart of
God's creation
speaking softly in tongues
heard only at the beginning.

It is glory then.
Just when you think
the road leads to nowhere
crops up the moss veiled house

its crumbling bricks make greyer
the sky with the hush of twilight
and you rue with melancholy
the night under its roof assigned for you

but the old man like a seasoned spider
lets you forget you're trapped for the night
to his web spun from timeworn earth
as you stare engrossed upon his face
outlined by glowworm sparks

he recounts it was all marshland
he grew into bowl of harvest
and how he was blessed with
the most beautiful woman on earth
then reaching the crescendo
his words thin into whispers
when he tells you his two poor eyes
were not enough to hold her beauty
so she putting a stone on her heart
spread wings on a night like this

the cornfield wilted
he wizened into an endless wait
with gracious death saving his bones
to lighten his heart to a stranger
who comes alone.
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