Category: poetry

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: A fairy’s face, by Jeanette E. R. Cook

I listen to the fairy stories

Of my aunt’s and I envision

Their garden,

Enchanting with the pastels

Of growth and the swaying

Blooms spreading the fragrance

In the bright light of morning

After the dew is gone,

Where a perilous journey

Is hidden from human eyes,

The stars are uncounted

And a fairy can’t be caught

But they have their own

Net of words that they share,

They memorize me in the garden,

As I digest their world,

The view is beautiful and untouched.,

Where they love so much without

hate,

Opinions buried and not shared,

A fairytale world,

Joyous and with all happy endings

Celebrated inside their group,

Grace in their land with hardships

Overcome through teamwork,

Usually comforting all,

Witnesses always helping out,

They can

Not be unmasked or sequestered to a

Box by us,

It is blistering difficult to be patient

To steal a glance at them,

Unaware of my presence

And they let me see them.

–J. E. Cook © 2020

Read Poem: THE DARK WEB!, by Vijetha Shenoy

GENRE: Dark

She was young, naive and innocent! He was in his adolescence…
He was fond of her and she was fond of his presence…
She aged less than a decade but he was older to her by more than a decade…
She played with the dolls but he played with her, unafraid…
She was swayed by his candy treats unaware of his intention…
He had the little kid’s attention as he had created admirable impression..
He weaved his web in a pleasing way with a strong blockade…
Andthere she was, his fun prey to his worthless beak, dismayed…
The Child in her thought it was a fun game of tickles…
It was too late when she realized that it wasn’t just about laugh and giggles…
His sleazy trap was desperate for a toy to try-on…And she was a fresh and free coupon to tread on…He was like a camouflaged snake in the beautiful green grass…
As he tried but not succeeded to crush her courage like a broken glass…
She wished she was a bit older to act upon then…To break his nib and put a stop to his playpen…
She may try to forget as she grows older and stronger by the day…
Yetthis haunting memory make her nerves fray every single day…
Her heart says to forgive that deficient boy who is now a middle aged sad man…
But there is a desire deep inside of her to unfold this sad story to his clan…
For, he may have young daughters and she really hopes and prays…
That they don’t get caught into this desolately woven dark web of dirty play…
©VJ