Category: poet

Read Poem: Goodness Is A Curse, by Sheenam Eliza Kujur

If only i had, not even one bad habit,
I could have claimed my life as legit;
As i mention, keep its track,
In no way is it a personal attack.

Hurt me once, twice or thrice,
I will not transform into an ice;
I would rather offer you forgiveness,
Even after, you repeatedly create a mess.

I will love you more than you deserve,
Blissfully adoring your facial curve;
When you hurt me, tears well up in my eyes,
Then i feel like, it was a useless sacrifice.

There is this one thing, i just can’t do,
The act of pretending and ignoring too;
Initially i might dislike you for hurting me,
Disturbed by your act, i shall never be.

Everytime, being nice to others,
Is when goodness feels like a curse;
You will be taken for granted,
That is when, quite a few people are enchanted.

-Sheenam Eliza Kujur

Read Poem: Children Growing Here, by Elaine Marie

Chaos thrives within these walls, no quiet moments here.

Patience is a state of mind, there are children growing here.

From that first tiny flutter, of life inside of life…

A spark of the divine slowly growing toward the light

A tiny helpless cry becomes a word, and then a song.

A smile, a hop, a skip, a jump, they don’t stay little long.

The work is hard and thankless for a strong and guiding hand.

They need a gentle kindred heart to help them understand.

A thoughtless word can break a heart, too strong a hand, the spirit.

Too gentle and the yield is spoiled and all tomorrows with it.

The apple cannot fall too far from the Apple Tree.

A careless hand can pluck the fruit while it is still too green.

Kiss the hurts, mend the bikes, hand-me-down the jeans,

Hold the moments out of time and nurture every dream.

Laughter fills these walls at times and tears they sometimes flow.

I love you, we say every day. “Brush your teeth” … “Let’s go!”

We basketball, we cheerlead, we football, and we track…

Sometimes I think we meet ourselves, going… coming back.

Yes, chaos thrives within these walls, no quiet moments here.

Patience is a state of mind for there are children growing here.

Read Poem: The Old Cottage, by Smitha

A beautiful small cottage lay in the middle of a forest and was surrounded by
streams,
Smoke coming out of the chimney, and surrounded by tall trees,
When wind blew across, it would open the windows and bang the doors creating a
loud noise,
Inside the cottage was a cosy fire place where one could sit around,
An old couch with a centre table and some old books lying around,
The cottage had some paintings and the walls had some weathering,
A beautiful vase with fresh flowers gave an aroma away,
One could also smell a cauldron of fresh soup ready cooking away,
At one corner there was a wooden rocking chair and an old lady sat there,
She was knitting a sweater and humming a tune, she got up and left the room,
Took her walking stick and went to her store room,
She used a key to unlock a box, she opened it with excitement
Out came an old diary which had her thoughts,
With a bookmark in the middle, she lays her eyes on a picture of a young man
Tears fall across her cheek for its her son that she never meets,
She closes the diary and leaves, and resumes her normal day as it is….

Read Poem: Homeless, by Stayce DeRamus-Avery

We have too many homeless Americans
Roaming the streets eating out of garbage cans.
Stable people think THEY can be better than panhandlers.
Do you do ANYTHING to help them live by your standards?
As most comments made, “They can get a job!”
Only one to rob if there is no handout.
Don’t you have to have identification to be a part of our civilization?
To get that, do you not need an address of a residence?
How do you better yourself without having this?
Seems the teams of our Government should be smart enough to cover it.
Grasped me to believe this cycle they conceived to leave them hungry, homeless, naked and grieved.
So we can TITHE and pay others bills and dues
Or we can choose to be hands on, projecting these clues.
Breaking news… Good people come in homeless form too.
One thing that strikes me as funny is how people think God recognizes money.
Money is the root of all evil BUT… In God we trust.
For this is a must if you want to eat.
I was raised to believe we are all equal
If nothing changes soon, beware of the sequel.

Read Poem: IN PRAISE OF THE VULTURE, by John F Greene

Carrion stalker
Death watcher
No one else would take your place
The most debased of your winged brothers
As you pick at rotting meat that no others would approach
It is you who accompanies that most feared fate of all living beings
And for that you are ignored and shunned
By other birds, as well as man.

Birdwatchers seek nuthatch, swallow and martin
but not you.
They may acknowledge your existence
With an uneasy nod
But the stink of death surrounds you
And the fear of it holds sway.

Yet God has seen fit to recompense you for your ostracized existence
I gaze up in the sky and watch as you seem to float on the slipstream
The lightest breeze seems to be enough to support your broad wings
Which hardly beat as you circle and swoop and dip
A black kite that plumbs the vault of the heavens,
The most serene of all the winged spirits.

Although I have seen you gather at your carrion repasts
And once came upon one of your hidden roosts,
Most often I see you in your high reverie
And watch in admiration.
How magnificent it must feel to glide upon the winds
No engine, nor artificiality to compensate for the unnatural pursuit of flight
As men with great effort use to imitate the act.
What Nature has provided comes naturally to you
A flight of effortless tranquility
That in its grace surpasses all other feathered creatures.

A fitting reward my friend
For a life spent feasting upon the dead.

Read Poem: The Long Road, by Shobana Gomes

At first glance, it seemed easy,
I, the traveler on a weary road to perhaps fame,
I tamed my mind to think in ways one would want to impress,
But like a toddler taking baby steps,
I fall, struggling to get back on my feet.

The route I took seemed all too ready to steady that feet,
Through stumbling tears, I made my smiles just as effortless,
I cried first, then I laughed,
Isn’t laughter sometimes created from tears?

The road was long, the road was windy,
The road took me to eternity,
I wondered at some point if I would reach eternity, yes, eternity,
But stop I did not, I traveled through time, I traveled through eternity.

There were days when I thought “not a second to waste”
Until one day I realized that it took time to reach eternity,
It was the long road I had chosen,
Through much travail, none of which man can know or hear of.

I trudged with time on the long road to eternity once,
Right now, I face, I stare ahead,
I have not seen the end,
No, there is no end,
I have only been on the trail to the “beginning.”

THE END.

Read Poem: Darker than Death, by ~~Shree~~

Darker than Death
Is now a bonding,
Which was supposed to be
Sweet and simple,
Lucid and natural –
But not anymore, sadly.
It has become increasingly
A threat to my existence,
And intimidating to my respect.
There exists no more purity,
No more genuinity.
Alas I have to hide in disguise,
And wear a plastic smile.
Although my heart aches
Like a carbuncle
Filled with rotten pus and blood.
I am always pushed
To match the criteria
Of so-called “good human being”,
Where I find nothing but
Arrogance and hatred.
Where love is ignored.
What matters is performance
To meet the bottomless expectation.
Care and compassion is not valued.
What is valued is the sound of silver.
Sad, very sad I am….
I should not have to prove
What I am.
Love should flow automatically,
But unfortunately it doesn’t anymore.
All my tries are shunned,
My best feat
Is never enough.
I am brutally blamed
For anything and everything.
Strings are now gossamer
Like fragile feathers.
I am more scared now,
Because darkness looms over
My feelings and emotions,
Where there is no respect
But a bitter spin of my words.
Although I was compelled to
Express my sorrow,
But then they were trodden
Like unwanted pests.
Punishing the trust
With major upheavals.
Dead… darker than death
Are now my apprehensions.

© Shree 24th November 2018, Houston USA
Inspired by the famous quote of Paulo Coelho
“The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.”

Read Poem: Raging Ocean, by Ramone

I am like a ship sailing atop a raging ocean

The high waves are thrashing, hindering my motion

I have a destination in mind: to it I have great devotion.

No, not any port in a storm will satisfy

I am predestined for greatness by and by

Yet these waves are getting bigger and I miss the blue sky

The storm is surging as though I am the bad guy

Getting cursed for evil deeds or maybe that is just my conscience

Playing tricks on me.

Am I my generation’s new face of failure. Such thoughts take all my glee

Some may think I am just lost at sea

But I have a destination in mind that I will get to at any fee

And it shall be, I decree.

https://ppaspera.wordpress.com/2018/03/24/raging-ocean/

Read Poem: False Promises: A Tale of the Past Betrayal, by Jane Smith

(Genre: Painful, Betrayal, Love, Relationships)

(unpublished in Candidthoughtsofawriter.wordpress.com)

Where are you now?
Where are your promises?
Didn’t you remember I was your princess?
Why you didn’t fight for me even just a little?
I didn’t know we were two in the process
You just left me hanging with those false promises
Blind folded with your caress
I was not aware of your game to satisfy your ego
You left me no choice but to let go
Sweet lies you’ve given me
Are the same kisses from hell to break me
And the touch that seemed like forever
Was nothing but a faded embrace
As if I was a loser
Do you know that agony of losing you
Is like a screaming brain with no sound?
Like a deep wounded flesh drowned in alcohol
A darkness no one could ever describe
Could you tell me who your bride is?
If only I knew from the start
That hidden engagement you never said
To get your selfish needs
Oh, I forgot men are men
I shouldn’t have fallen
All I ever thought was your happiness
You’ve just thrown the heart that’s beating for you and it’s now at rest
But things were meant to happen the way they were
Maybe this is justice, a cycle that must end
You and I were not meant
Because you chose her
And you chose to leave me
Now I thank you
I’m choosing this pain to end.