Read Poetry by Eddiee Gomez

Genre: Dark, death, emotional, nature, interpretation

There she stood, fleeing from her fears

A big clear ocean stands before her

She can’t see life the same way she used to 

There’s a void in her, there’s loneliness

Pulsing, wanting to go back in time

To fix her gestures, under the moon she lays

One foot upon the shore, a single exhale

She let the sadness eat her up, inside deep

Floating between the waves, eyes closed

Giving her life to the most precious thing left

The only thing that ever made her feel alive

Time after time, her footseps were gone

Walking aimlessly, her love to life was lost

As the ocean hugs her, her inhales were at sea

One with her, no more running, she is free.

 

 

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Lament for Cill Àirne, Poetry by Tom Roche

Genre: Save Nature
—-

(this is a modern-day adaptation by a non-poet of the sixteenth century poem Cill Chais)

Now what will we do for trees, with the last of the oaks laid low? There’s no talk of Cill Airne or its households and it’s cathedral bell will be struck no more.

That dwelling where lived the generous couple most honoured but neglected by State. Overtaken by crippling species its woodlands and visitors will be seen no more. Duck’s voices nor geese do I hear there, nor the Eagle’s cry over the lakes, nor even the bees at their labour bringing honey and wax to us all. No birdsong there, sweet and delightful, as we watch the sun go down, nor cuckoo on top of the branches setting the world to rest.

A stain on the boughs of CillAirne is descending neither daylight nor sun can clear. No hazel nor holly nor berry no dances or bon-fires nor wood for the violin.

I call upon Hazel and Enda to send the army our way: that CillAirne, the townsland of our fathers; will rise handsome on high once more and till doom – or the deluge – returns – we’ll see our woodlands no more laid low.

 

 

 

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Surrounded By Land, Poetry by Bernadette Perez

Genre: Life, Nature

Surrounded By Land

Soft pillow’s do not soften the blow to thy head

Hard rocks below my feet are forced to bleed
My mind aches with thought
Pain fiercely repeats again and again
Time slowly eats away
Throbbing ached vessels relax
Blisters begin to form
I soon go mad
Numb to my surroundings
I lose interest
I walk pass the porch
Through the trees
In the distant a lake
A full body of water
Wading is effortless
Yearning to be free
Floating cascading upon the ripples
I travel past the reef
Exposed to all the elements
I drift to the edge
Quietly I disappear
Solemnly I rest

Bernadette Perez

A Poet possessing expression and creativity. In 1990 Bernadette received the Silver Poet Award from World of Poetry. Her work has appeared in The Wishing Well; Musings in 2010, Small Canyons Anthology in 2013, Poems 4 Peace in 2014. Fix and Free Anthology in 2015. She is the Vice President of the New Mexico State Poetry Society and member of Rio Grande Valencia Poets since 2005.
View additional creativity •
Safari – Poet Bernadette Perez

 

 

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Tucson The Ma Nonpareil, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

Betwixt a crimson west of sunset
Rainbow-crowned thunder cloud on the east
Swept by ferocious gales
Lay Tucson waiting
Her locks scattered
Her feet on the north
On the Catalina mounts
Head pillowed on Santa Rita
Voluptuous, for her mate, the sky to descend

Genre: Nature

Tucson The Ma Nonpareil
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

Betwixt a crimson west of sunset
Rainbow-crowned thunder cloud on the east
Swept by ferocious gales
Lay Tucson waiting
Her locks scattered
Her feet on the north
On the Catalina mounts
Head pillowed on Santa Rita
Voluptuous, for her mate, the sky to descend

As mesquites, palo verdes, oaks, figs, acacia
Waved their heads in demoniac dance
Lighted by an unearthly shine
As though possessed by the elements
An evening was about to gasp its last

And then it came in a clatter
The sky with fingers of rain
Stoked her insanity as she giggled
In puddles and streams
As the Rillito swelled in orgasmic passion
Oh, what a beautiful night it was to begin!

And what happened then
To the luminescent fig beetles
Delicate dragon flies
Arizona sister butterflies
That throng the sunny days
Of Tucson’s breeze and glitter?

Don’t ask stupid mind
She is a mother, she knows
She had them hidden safe
Under her locks
As the sky stoked and stoked
And as she giggled without end
That beautiful rainy night
Tucson, the ma nonpareil!

 

 

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Whistling Dunes, Poetry by Somali K Chakrabarti

Lustrous

Grains of sand

Lured away by gust

Form “whistling” dunes

Genre: Nature

Whistling Dunes by Somali K Chakrabarti

Lustrous

Grains of sand

Lured away by gust

Form “whistling” dunes

They bounce and roll,

They roar and boom,

Blasting the land

Ripples

shift and drift

form ridges and cribs;

Over vastness of desert

Under the cerulean sky

They cast curvy shadows

Beneath the gleaming

Moon; Inexorable,

Loony waves

Pirouette to the Gale’s Tunes !!

© Somali K Chakrabarti

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Magpies, Poetry by Richard Rensberry

Where bare branch
fingers sky
they congregate, gossips in tree tops
cackling birdbrained
as the moon sets
quarter drained.

Genre: Political, Nature, Society, Religion

Magpies by Richard Rensberry
Where bare branch
fingers sky
they congregate, gossips in tree tops
cackling birdbrained
as the moon sets
quarter drained.
Down at the church
autumn has come
frozen toed
in winter shoes.
It’s the first Tuesday
of November
as voters slip
into a booth to confess,
not to a priest or God,
but the Devil’s rule
for the next four years.
The magpies
shuffle uncomfortable in their seats, turn
their yellow eyes toward heaven
and explode into a storm.
Richard Rensberry, author at QuickTurtle Books®
Richard Rensberry, Author at QuickTurtle

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Morning’s Music Never Dark, Poetry by Dr. Todd Harris

Silken quiet awakes tungsten sleep
Morning creeping stealthily stirred
Mindful music filling empty’s creep
Early birds joining daylight’s chorus

Genre: Nature and Music Poetry

Morning’s Music Never Dark
by Dr. Todd Harris

Silken quiet awakes tungsten sleep
Morning creeping stealthily stirred
Mindful music filling empty’s creep
Early birds joining daylight’s chorus

Wondering flowery questions steep
Curiosity’s tendencies’ garden lorus
Waking’s unpredictable flying words
Dropping puzzling notion feats

Daylight’s opening Music beckons
Closed windows open daffodils
Sunup conducting finch wings largo
Grasshoppers duetting butterfly trills

Yesterday calls darkness piccolo
Answer-hosted soils deeply reckon
Confused vanities’ unwanted cargo
Draperies outstretch windowsills

Evening flutters land high limbs
Practiced breath lights unrehearsed
Clock ticks birth surprising seconds
Sunflower seeds grab birthday winds

Hummingbirds wing workaday’s trims
Breeze-music fills sky’s empty purse
Hope-clouds cover midday’s beckon
Tragedy re-sculpts life’s bearing grin

Cats purr quiet just-kidding notes
consciousness bears arriving-blooms
Eve-Idled petals vein wrinkled flowers
Darkness crumples creased art paper

Feet sketch carpet’s walking caper
Knees knock stepping’s empty room
Wonder irons confusion’s coat
Mystery freshens dreams’ open hour

Rising tides overfill lazing eyes
Sound intrudes Id’s empty hall
Climbing-ivy conquests wailing’s wall
Static dust-draws filamentary skies

Unstressed silence hinges cedar ties
Imagination’s rested rabble calls
Words’ sleepy chrysalis worms recall
Worlds’ anxiety weaves fresh surprise

Sunrise taps slumber-tarnished peaks
Calico sweeps sleep’s open door
Vanilla crafts weepy eyebrows’ furrow
Farmers tightly cold-swaddle palms

Pillows clear winter’s staging burrow
Gravity ties shadow’s unkempt floor
Atmosphere poses morning-speak
Novelty cradles crickets’ Psalms

 

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Fallen Knife, Poetry by Gokul Baby Alex

The journey of a knife

That fell upside down

Out of its tainted edges

On a melting pot of love and life

In a state of inverted coma

Genre: Nature, Observation

Fallen Knife
by Gokul Baby Alex

The journey of a knife

That fell upside down

Out of its tainted edges

On a melting pot of love and life

In a state of inverted coma

Ten seconds before it could groove

A meaningful mist over the grass

Piercing through the foams of lust

Reached the wicked wounds of a heart

Of a cloudy mind, of an ellipsis creature

Caused no ache to the veins and vessels

Wrapped up in a silence, outside its mystic

Carried it away, carved it nice and plotted large

A picture so poisonous that only the wound is left

To cry foul on the flesh of its appetite

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THE GREATEST GIFT, Poetry by Augustine Sam

Autumn in Florence
Is a mélange of the elements of charm
A yawn away from the steady shivers lying beyond
At dusk, a wistful stroll along eclectic memoried boulevards
With echoes of church bells in tow
Unveils a canny sense of things
A nostalgic glimpse of old things,
Old people, old places,
Bequeathing their secrets unreservedly,
At the end of a tacky, melancholic day

Genre: Nature, Weather, Italy, City

THE GREATEST GIFT
by Augustine Sam

Autumn in Florence
Is a mélange of the elements of charm
A yawn away from the steady shivers lying beyond
At dusk, a wistful stroll along eclectic memoried boulevards
With echoes of church bells in tow
Unveils a canny sense of things
A nostalgic glimpse of old things,
Old people, old places,
Bequeathing their secrets unreservedly,
At the end of a tacky, melancholic day

It is autumn in Florence …
Even the blind can tell
For a whiff of that dry Tuscan air,
Disguised as a romantic breath on the cheek
Now wafts soothingly, alluringly,
Like the caressing whisper of a lover at dawn
The gaiety, the gossip,
The veritable quality of the decline of the year
All of it a mishmash of this season of gloom
And caught in the midst of it, you and I,
‘Cause in our souls, a conscious dread had sprung

It is autumn in Florence …
Even a tot can tell
From the inexorable surge of parched foliage and withering flora
Now palpable like a beauty queen wilting with the passage of time
As an impotent sun looms
With a staggering degree of poetic frenzy, like a bad omen
Over that little piazza I call lair and you call refuge
Jaded, like the dream that steered us here
Nadir, like our possibilities, and poised to snap,
Like the fragile thread holding our sanity together

It is autumn in Florence …
Even the inebriated can tell
For the Tuscan sky is daubed with gray-hued awnings
A kaleidoscope of waning streaks, epitomizing
The artistic finesse of the heavens
A subtle connotation, a riveting verity that
Four times a year the seasons change without fail
That now leaves must turn sallow and plummet, and flowers must wither
And with them, everything except us,
Must leap beyond their prime

It is autumn in Florence …
Even a troll can tell
From that lingering mystery of vitality and lethargy,
So exquisite, so sophisticated,
That no longer obscures the daunting haze that strains the air
In the flush and bloom of early womanhood, you …
Radiant like a new moon on a starlit night
Cunningly oblivious of the secrets of my tears
Paying no heed to the disheartening dread that swathes me
For in this season, with every leaf that falls,
And every flower that withers, your days are numbered

It is autumn in Florence …
Even an obtuse can tell
From the stunning sight of Fiesole transformed into violet by the magic of twilight
And now, here we are—you and I—ensnared by a dream
Unraveled by a foe, invincible and vile
Like injured rebels ferried home to roost
Desolate hands too volatile to reach
Ardent eyes too doleful to watch
As your frailty eats you up with delicious cruelty
The way a vulture does a prey
Causing every fantasy within the limits of our amorous deeds
To evaporate, along with the last breath in your lungs

It is autumn in Florence …
Even dreamers can tell, for
The vestiges these bleak nights amass were once stacks of hope
On which now abide memories undimmed
A better friend than you life never gave
You were the bloom that autumn failed to erode
The warmth that winter couldn’t pinch from me
The wind that summer could not smother
The flare that’ll forever be my spring
But more than all this, my love,
You were life’s
Greatest gift
To
Me.

©Augustine Sam
http://augustinesam.wix.com/authorsuite

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Earthworm, Poetry by Reena Prasad

Between the beef eaters

and man haters, I wallow

swallowing all the shit

My entrails living up to their fame

Genre- HUMANITY, NATURE

Earthworm
by Reena Prasad

Between the beef eaters

and man haters, I wallow

swallowing all the shit

My entrails living up to their fame

not yet dragged out by rapists,

or blown into balloons by revelers

working overtime, adamant not to let

the poison go unfiltered

back into the soil

when I add my bit

(c) Reena Prasad.

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