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Daily Archives: May 14, 2015

Hiatus -Promote Yourself

mole
Reached hiatus –
An hiatus?
Needed a break a holiday
Got one unexpectedly
Like a parenthesis
Parent thesis
Then back again to normal.
At least two time lines
Moved on at different paces
Characters and lives
Changed forever without me
Knowing that I am changed
Forever
Without them

Cheryl Bhagwandin
http://www.cheryl62blog.wordpress.com

The seedling


Plant a seed in your garden,

Plant a seed in your heart,

Plant that seed for a loved one,

For someone who is far apart.

Watch the seed grow in your garden,

And cherish the love that it gives,

With patience and understanding,

You have given beauty to a thing that lives.

They wish to give you notice,

For the way you have tended that seed,

The way that you have nourished it,

And water for it to feed.

Your heart can be a barren place,

When you have lost someone above,

You must tend to it very gently,

And water it with love.

So treat it just like your seedling,

And tend to it with care,

For your loved one is always with you,

And your love they will always share.

Malcolm Bradshaw

Water Clocks YOUR FAVOURITE POEM KATHERINE LARSON-

waterclock_full

The singing of the blind school
    children and the
Mediterranean’s flat expanse are metaphors

for every kind of solitude made
    forgivable by time.
The hillside museum with rows of empty

earthen vessels is full of it. A stillness
    so replete 
it resembles something like intimacy.

A fullness only partially fathomed. 
    Like water clocks
and sundials that allowed time to be

translated into elements: dropletsshadows.
    And the laughter
of bathers from the spiaggetta.

                        ~

The train stops just outside of Naples
    where I buy a glass
of cold juice squeezed from tangerines

and walk into Pompeii. I couldn’t have
    imagined the
magnitude of it. Brilliant pillars flush

with sky. Temples where sunlight
    streams white
and seems to radiate from inside

the stones. Certain histories require
    forgetfulness.
Others, strict belief. But I think

some histories live us. In the higher cities
    of the brain,
even the speechless ones are burning.  

KATHERINE LARSON 

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU  WHATS YOURS?

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