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 Mar 2016 Jake muler
codenameDust
I do not evade
Nor shun
Visions crude
That come to aid
My drafting pen
And chaperone
To creativities den

Cause I know
Yes I know
My darkest thoughts
Will form a poem
Why is it that pain makes one creative, or does it just make you more expressive? I often wonder. Is poetry a coping-mechanism, or a sharing-mechanism?
(Greek translation \version)
i.

Ischyró, sígoura
tha aposvestoún
pétra.

ii.
Parelthóntos, en afthonía,
lefkí stefáni tou
xediplotheí.

iii.

paratiritís kípou
Pýli tou katóchou;
Chrónos ágnosto.

iv.

Ékti aísthisi, Pra shatrent,
Eyne tis astrapís;
theóstaltos.

v.

Ái tis pragmatikó, ái
tis símaine. Pántote
i feeleth; zontanós
kai to periechómeno.


(English translation)
i.

Puissant, certes
whittled on
stone.

ii.

Yore, galore,
white corolla's
unfold.

iii.

Garden watcher's
Gate keeper's;
Time unknown.

iv.

Sixth sense, Pra shatrent,
eyne of lightning;
heavensent.

v.

Aye tis real, Aye
tis meant. Aye
i feeleth; alive
and content.

©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)
Puissant- means powerful or almighty ..
Certes- means in truth or certainly .
Whittled means like carved ..
Yore- former times! Long time ago.
Galore- in abundance
Corollas are like petals same thing...
Sixth sense- a supposed intuitive faculty giving awareness not explicable in terms of normal perception.
Pra shatrent- is a word I made up meaning ( Aware of all spiritual things and non spiritual, aware of both ...
Eyne - archaic for eyes.
Aye- is yes in old form.
Tis- it is ....
Every death
I have felt, or known,
In silence, i mourn,
Within my breath...

No words come upfront
Just thoughts, preponderant...

I'd feel the freezing cold of an empty space
Feel the absence...clearly imagine a lost face
No smiles, spanning from cheek to cheek
Eyes, seek answers...
suddenly, I'm there by the shallow water of the creek
While some nearby creatures quietly chirp...and squeak
While I......... I could not even speak...

Living,
Is realizing...and accepting
At the right time, they turn brown, the weeds...and reeds,
But, under the water...waiting, growing...are their seeds
Brown ferns...are almost detached from a mossy concrete wall
With a strong current, and wind, they'd be carried...ready to fall

The driftwood lying by the shore...is always wet, but petrified
Brown fallen leaves, on the green grass...no more hold...crisp and dried,
The dead bark of a tree...in pieces...are crumbling...
Merging with the wet earth...in a process of fertilizing
Deep down under ....a fresh spark of life is starting.
All these, remind,
Life and death stand side by side,
That in the midst of death-
Something new is birthed...
When faced with death,
there is always someone's living breath
And, as long as the heart wills to beat
Then, life.....will still exist.

Hundreds, or a thousand times,  
We all have died
In the high and low of life's tides,
Physically,
Emotionally.

We remember
Those who have left
Those who have survived..are still around
We think of those who are next to leave,
Waiting for their chests' final heave

---And then, we think of ourselves---

Worry not of our own time
Make each of our remaining days
Be golden, beaming, and bright
With good deeds, and straight pathways

The earth is a moving circle
It makes a round.......as it spins
We try to live outwards....and then, within
Any way we live it...life is an endless cycle.


Sally



Copyright March 23, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***A  HAPPY  EASTER TO EVERYONE!!! ***
longing to be liquid
a restless wanderer
let loose the lines
unfurled the main
with severed heart
set solitary course
on an uncaring sea

adrift
the lonely sailor
preserved remains
from his lips
the final note
love's lost
refrain
Manfred Fritz Bajorat's mummified remains were recently discovered aboard his sailboat by fishermen off the coast of the Philippines.

Found on a internet sailor's forum were Manfred's final words, written to his deceased wife, Claudia:
"Thirty years we’re together on the same path. Then the power of the demons was stronger than the will to live. You’re gone. May your soul find its peace. Your Manfred."

Like the tiger shark he was nicknamed for, Manfred roamed the oceans alone for many years.  He hadn't been seen by anyone since 2009...
 Mar 2016 Jake muler
Star Gazer
She's a very honest soul,
A brave soul without care.
She will tell you of her day
so listen to the words
she speaks.
She will hide things,
But she will tell you
When you feel like
Listening.
She won't ever force
You to say anything
Or ever force you
To do anything
For her.
She's beautiful,
Smart, creative
and definitely
caring.
She's able to bring up
any topic to talk about
so awkward silences
are non existent with her.
When you look into her eyes
If you haven't fallen in love
You definitely will.
There's a shine that
is indescribable.
The moon light can't compare
To the shine that glimmers
in her eyes.
If you can make her look
at you with that shine,
consider yourself a lucky man.
You will never find an angel
Who will be able to care
While at the same time
Make you laugh without a care.
Cherish her every second
Cherish her every moment
Because you have won the lottery,
Love her with all your heart
and make her happy.
If I could pick someone to be
With right this moment,
I would pick her.
So you should realise
Just how lucky you are.
You definitely do not
want to lose her.
Watch as the sun rises and sets
And you'll realise,
Her beauty is way beyond
Any of that.
Make her happy for me,
I just want you to make
her smile.
                 Love her
Like I never had
                 The chance
to.
plucks            all                 her

He                                         privacy

She                              moans
merrily
At low of night she strokes
Familiar tastes exquisite,
And quietly invokes
The spirit of laureate --

An orphic instrument
Unfit to take for granted.
It’s profound atonement
Stirs in her heart despondent.

Her fragile shell’s embrace
Of wood and gut and metal
Point out her shallow race
And weakness fundamental.

Yet all the night she moils,
Mistrusting augmentation,
And secretly despoils
The overzealous beacon.

-- Kerry Herrmann
I am a violinist and wrote this poem to express the emotional connection I have with my violin and with my practice. I practice at night, usually until 2 or 3 am. It is a very intimate experience practicing when the rest of the world is quiet.
She sat there alone and cold and naked
I picked her up
Put her in a jar
I really didint think
The little sun flower
Would make it
 Mar 2016 Jake muler
A Lopez
I want to be better
Not mad or in anger.
Not giving pique to
Fellow strangers. Not
Giving self the world's
Own pleasures. Not being
Selfish in others letters.
Not being abundant in
Thoughts of me. Thinking
Not on tommorrow
But eternity.
God help me
Be the me
You created me
To be. I'm a
Human who
Has flaws
Mistakes
Have felt
Distrust
Done the
Heartbrakes.
I am ashamed
Of my past
Though want
To move ahead to the
Future and present.
I'm just a transgressor
Trying to overcome the
Darkened essence.
I am not a saint
I'm humbly a peasant.
Meaning poor in my actions.
But those shall change
No longer do I want
To be estranged from
Dios mío. I want to
Give him all
This is me
This is real.
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