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Daily Archives: February 4, 2013

love the poem

Shashi Moore

This is my entry for picture it and write…

True Reflections


The music of my life, you!

the rhythm of my heartbeat, you!

The brook of my emotions, you!


Bosom warm, yet, your reflection so cold.

 Soothing snuggle closer, yet, apart.

I felt you quiver so I cuddle, but remoteness mirror


My love, be, lost in your dreams*

Tell me baby?

Shadowed beneath your long lashes

Am I warm and tender?*


I struggle nearer to astir your

Trust in the phony likenesses

I lie in your arms enclosed


you fail to grasp

as I surf the ebb of my emotions.

Resigned, I rest my head beseeching my freedom

from phantom of your passion

trust not that,

Your blossomed love consume my bosom

as my image denies

you see not the true reflections.

Cause my love is

So; so, so;

skin deep.


View original post 119 more words



“Mama’s little baby
Loves shortnin’, shortnin’,
Mama’s little baby
Loves shortnin’ bread”
Starting at the beginning,
Making and baking,
Life in a recipe.
Dropping half a cup of butter
Churned like a stomach.
Not a baby unless from a
Green mother.
But dark storm clouds
Circle tightly and the sun shining
Is only a legend.
Finding a second chance
To make a first depression
As ink-stained fingers
Search for blood-stained sheets
Streaking black and red
Lines like poetry of
Darkened cafes and
Deeper clichés.
Butter squeezing through fingers
Oozing infection as
Blue, green, brown, red eyes
Gaze without seeing
And the lies the mind tells
Are the most blinding.

But then the sugar – brown – quarter cup
And into every rain a little
Sweet must fall.
Crystallized and sliding in to
Fill the cracks where the
Gray holds sway.
Eye backs welded shut,
Self protection through
Double padlocked, home monitored
Insecurity with the
Alarm sounding and you’ve
Forgotten the deactivation key –
If you ever knew it –
Hidden like the Holy Grail.
But the sugar finds its way,
As a little light makes
The darkness darker
And the gray draws all
Colour in, sucking life
From the marrow of cracked
Earth bones – teeth marks
Scraping across your spine
Until even standing is pushing
And no sugar could taste as sweet.

“Mama’s little baby
Loves shortnin’ bread”
One cup of flour mixed in slowly,
Peeling back your skin
Revealing muscles and tendons,
Blood of gods and monsters
Streaming past teeth of stone.
Not human
Because human means
Electric probes under
Finger nails as nerve endings
Intentionally burned,
One at a time until charred
To a fine point
And slid into an oven,
450 degrees,
Turned right until facing left,
Muscles gone, organs
Rendered to coal and wet, sticky
Memories of feeling –
Except the heart,
Held safe under lock box
Knowing that one thing keeps
Us human.
Intellect is defined,
Physicality is transitory,
But love
Beats like a drum from the
Heart of the earth.
We stretch across the
World, torn open and bleeding
To the rhythm of bird song
And chalkboards
And plates shifting
And minds shifting
And hope that tomorrow
Will bring love.
“Mama’s little baby

By Rpriske


Poem French Swedish


Det finns inget som är

som en äkta kärlek


Fast förgät ej


Men var ej rädd

ty utan smärta

sà känner du ej…



Il n’y a rien qui est

qu’un vrai amour


Mais n’oublie pas

la douleur

Mais n’aies pas peur

car sans douleur

tu ne ressens pas…



Hello, here’s a translation of one thing I wrote…


It’s nothing as

a true love


But don’t forget

the pain


But don’t be afraid

because without pain

you’ll not feel…



Maria Thunholm

Paris, France, le 3 février 2013


I hope you like it… 


Maria de Suède


The flower of love


We have lost a precious flower

We both planted many years ago

We both worked very hard to protect it

We were very happy to see it grow


When it was tiny and very weak

We both protected it day after day

We watched our flower develop

Until Mother Nature took it away


It broke our hearts into pieces

We both thought it would last

But alas it was impossible

For the dye had already been cast


We both thought we would raise our flower

Until our precious flower fell ill

It was next morning we found it

Upon the ground the flower lay still


Although we had lost our precious flower

The flower seeds were left behind

Now all the seedlings we shall cherish

For our flower will always be on our mind


Malcolm G Bradshaw
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