My Princess

My princess!
My heart aches at your face
pale,
My heart strings- fragile, moulds bale.
                Droops,
lively blossom-mottled cheek,
                Drips, my sorrow – your Bridal
Veil in bleak.

My princess!
Upon the mirror of my love
sheen,
Twinkles, your glorious beauty preen.
                  Ah!
Entombed into me, your soul,
                  Now, bade me disfigured –
deserted doll.

My princess!
My arms- tender, longs for
you,
Seeks your vision to embrace you.
                  Hold me; I will
cede you my heart’s pulse,
                  I will resuscitate your sleeping
beats convulse.

©-SAMARENDRA PATRA-2011
  Author,
poet-(INDIA)

title-2-Drips, charismatic beads….

Bows, early
dawn’s opalescent sky,
Transient strokes, infinite grace.

        Drips, charismatic beads from on high,
Onto the caravan of veins, slumbering solace.

Rejoices, Splashes of green
tender,
Beads: crystal, reflecting light Prismatic: amber.

          Flakes of dulcet tone, camouflaged slender,
Spout-symphony woven out of air.

      Caressingly,
spreads on Sepal’s palm,
      Dew: beads, slithers, Voyage-sinuous.

            Gleams -At the apex of ladybug’s charm,
                Suspends-
spherical, ecstasy, pearly-gloss.

©-SAMARENDRA PATRA-2011

Author, poet-INDIA

Hands – villanelle – Promote Yourself

 

Holding hands with someone special
Such electricity flowing between both
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

We hold hands with many as we grow
There comes a time when we have more
Holding hands with someone special.

 

Thoughts return to bring us even closer
Remember a touch or a smell that excites
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

Feelings grow and we just seem to know
When fingers lace together without thought
Holding hands with someone special.

 

For some it is might last only a day

Occasionally we find someone special
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

A lifetime can seem to be summed up
Looking back at all those moments shared
Holding hands with someone special
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

by Gray Poet

Charles Townsend

A Rose

Thoughts rush through my mind
As I stare intently at the rose
Such quiet beauty contained
With thorns waiting so close.

Clipping the bud to hold it
Careful of the delicate shape
Knowing that once picked
It’s life begins to escape.

Slowly I peel back petals
Their scent fills my nose
Laying them out flat to dry
A smile starts and grows.

I place an array of color
Arranged on your pillow
Hopeful when I find you
My love will also show.

Charles Townsend 

When I Look Into The Mirror

When I look at myself in the mirror
I question who is standing there
I don’t recognize the reflection
Of an old person with grey in their hair

Within myself I don’t feel old and useless
My mind at the moment is as sharp as a pin
Although my body doesn’t function it used to do
And my face and hair are both thin

I can’t run as fast as I used to do
And I can’t jump a five-barred gate
I have to leave the house early
Making sure I am on time, never late

They say we should grow old gracefully
No matter what changes take place
I suppose I should be thankful for what I have
For being part of the human race

Malcolm G Bradshaw

Beauty – Promote Yourself

Beauty is not characterized

by the efforts of my appearance,

but was borne

upon two wooden beams and through three piercing nails.

 

With each drive of a nail

faces line up in the mind of the Savior, one after another,

each with a mask of his own:

deception, shame, pride.

 

With each tear being shed

and every cry screaming from the cross,

women fall into the arms of men,

hoping to find true love and longing to hear those words:

“You are beautiful.”

 

With each dig from the thorns

and tearing of flesh,

men seek fortune and fame,

believing that power can only be obtained

through ambitions and violence.

 

“It is finished.”

The world with its

tainted love and enticing roads to death

stands still.

 

Divine blood pours over

the lost and broken,

vain and deceptive,

young and aged.

 

It penetrates every evil,

wipes off each mask,

exposes truth

and defines true love.

 

This beauty can only be found

through such brokenness,

through such sacrifice,

with the invitation of accepting it for myself.

 

Beauty is the power of Your love

that flows through my veins

and enraptures all of who You are

in me.

 

Lauren Heiligenthal

aletheia_word

Song

  

 

It made me look and stop awhile

 

This song from bellowed breast

 

On high, on branch, a feathered one

 

Without a spring-time nest

 

 

 

Low winter sun escaped the clouds

 

And stroked the preening bird

 

Deep traffic flowed below the elm

 

But still the song was heard

 

 

 

The songbird sang for all things new

 

A voice of fledgling hope

 

Dancing from each ancient branch

 

In fine plumage of bespoke

 

 

 

I took my leave as day departed

 

A song took flight from where it started.

Stephen Hollaway

Walking by Landmarks

 

~
I took a walk outside the other day
And realized the world has remained the same
The fields are changing as the
Clouds build their quiet momentum
But the stroll is a similar cadence
One can never be moving too soon
While in life missing steps
Would be
A bit nerve wracking
~
I took a walk outside the other day
Skies with their hue of golden blues
Will always brighten my day
Even as the wind’s ice take form
I seek a quiet comfort internally
Only to recognize again
The sudden calm’s change
Might be
A tad unrelenting
~
I took a walk outside the other day
And questioned what occurs
When my mind begins to sway
Off course into a never-land
Of energy no less endearing
Yet driven by our world’s demands.
Could be
A new awakening
~
I took a walk outside the other day
And when I listened to the sweet melody
Of simple pleasure in nature’s Grace
I could imagine a peace
A love of beauty and delight
Shed all aspects of the past
Only to relish a newer day again
Will we
Ever make allowances
~
I took a stroll while on a new avenue today
Noted the people’s intent to thrive in the gray
~
Thom Amundsen
http://thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

LISTEN TO THE RAINBOW – Promote Yourself

 

    Red         

Hear the blood shed,

(Orange) Clementine

Unspoken words, blurred lines,

 

Yellow

Refusal to shout, to bellow,

Green

No words shared; between,

 

Blue

Inaction, injustice we rue,

Indigo

From despair, rises a human archipelago;

Violet

We must no longer be quiet.

Wendy Shreve

Rainbow Treasure

Rainbow Treasure
I have found the treasure
That lies at the Rainbow’s end;
Wealth beyond computing
Is mine to give or lend. 

Opals of an April dawn, 
Gold of a shimmering noon, 
Amethysts of the sunset, 
Pearls with the glow of the moon. 

Would you like to share it? 
There’s more than enough for all
In my Iris Garden 
Against a grey stone wall.

By

-AGNES HAYES POST

A Western Australian Piano Graveyard

The famer’s pressing oil, olives spread
on mashing mats. We talk of chooks
and foxes, irrigation and bush fires.

I’m here to see ruins in meadows,
on outcrops, brought from sheds
and yards, lashed to utes and trucks.

“All good things return to earth.”
She tells how a choral hum is raised
by strong wind, how possums nest in felt

and termites engineer collapse; how once
after rain, a derelict played like a pianola
as green tree frogs leapt in its heart.

I take her hand-drawn map, find
a Gold Rush era upright, laminate
blistered, keys jammed and gapped.

Despite its barroom look
a brass plaque by the keyboard
names an outback orphanage.

A Foley artist’s dream, felt-less hammers
conjure horror from bass notes, or tap
a level crossing where the hero speeds

to make the gate. Each instrument
decays uniquely; a baby grand is legless,
veneer turned peeled like cherry bark.

Under cracked coffin-gloss
a clutch of white eggs.

by Roy Marshall

A PLACE WHERE LOVE BEGINS – Promote Yourself

Not in the past where your tempests raged;
Or in the future, when unknown forces could shatter dreams;
Not in your soul, skewered by hatred and resentment;
Only in the present, as an open heart awaits.

Not by running from what is given;
Or hiding in bitterness and acrid thoughts;
Not in your head, where too many goals are left unfulfilled;
Only in hope, not beyond your reach.

Not in innocence lost or violence found;
Or misguided battles, conflicts unresolved;
Not in your body, ravaged with time and pain;
Only in forgiveness of yourself.

Not in others’ perceptions of who you are;
Or finding reasons to run from promise;
Not in your losses, though hard to bear;
Only in taking her hand; reaching for the sun.

Wendy Shreve

I still miss you – promote Yourself

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are days,
When I miss you
With a sudden intensity
Which surprises me.

It aches, in a way I didn’t deem possible,
In a heart, I didn’t know I possessed.
And I lie in this room feigning sleep.
Pining away, struggling with my existence.
While I choke from these strange arms enveloping me.

Should I strive, in vain, for you, most divine?
Or should I instead, be miserably content with what’s mine?

– Sreshtha Sen
sreshthasen.wordpress.com

Wrong – Promote Yourself

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything in this world is not color correspondent.
Like people.
Pink does not always mean female,
Blue does not always mean male.
Rainbows are not enslaved to queer folk.
This trinary only applies to things that are not complex enough for spectrums or intersectionalities.
Contrary to popular belief, gender is not pink or blue or vice versa.
Gender is a spectrum, mixed with complimentary colors.
Not a grey scale from light femininity to darkened masculinity.
New colors are made everyday by mixing, and extracting personal characteristics.
THE ARTIST IS THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN NAME THEIR COLOR.
Although too many people think they’ve discovered all of the colors, just because they’ve looked in their medicine cabinets.
Just because they’ve seen the outside world, they think they know the colors.

If I ever decided to have off-spring, their nursery will be painted in all custom colors:
To my queer child
Darling, do not allow your mind to dictate you.
Inside influences will tell you that you aren’t allow to exist.
Do not listen to them like I almost did.
Ignore the colors around you.
Instead of a gun, take a pen to your hand, and let your heart pour bullets to the page.
Write the synopia red-morbid things, write about the black olive world around you, write what goes through your minds.
Never conform to the point of dysphoria.
It only results in displaced self-loathing.
I feel that it’s only a matter of time before your Carolina-blue tears waterfall over your pillow.
Your rapids will sweep you away into a world of shades you’ve never seen before.
Don’t stop here, you will find your self stuck cycling somewhere that makes you feel like a stranger.
But just remember to find the colors that make you feel good.

______
Also, I have more poems at bucketsaurusrex.wordpress.com

ART OF HUMAN NATURE – Promote Yourself

Smooth surface;

Water-chiseled

Stone with curves of

Henry Moore,

In a stream.

 

Girl stricken,

Taking her legs

But not her heart;

Andrew Wyeth,

In the field.

 

Black & white figures;

Modern day

Rockwell;

Banksy.

On concrete canvases.

Chiseled names

In blackness;

Sunlight &shade

Reveal lives past;

Maya Lin,

On the grass.

Women of texture;

Ordinary scenes,

Superlative color;

Romare Bearden,

By a tree.

 

Mother, child; boat;

Strokes of light & shadow;

Mary Cassatt,

On the water.

Murals of

Bracing colors;

Struggles for dignity;

Diego Rivera

Beyond the breadth.

Palette stream

In cataclysmic ash;

Framing“Scream;”

Edvard Munch,

In the sky.

 Wendy Shreve

Mirror, Mirror – Promote Yourself

Mirror, mirror

Castle wall

Fairest maiden

Loved by all

Mirror, mirror

Glass so cold

For ageless beauty

Her soul is sold

Mirror, mirror

Mind plays tricks

A DEMONS game

The river Styx

Mirror, mirror

Sharpened blade

Flashing silver

Gashes made

Mirror, mirror

Struck the deal

Ageless beauty

But life to steal

Mirror, mirror

Cut so deep

Crimson lifeblood

Soul to reap

Mirror, mirror

DEVIL deceiver

Curse the BEAST

This foolish believer

Mirror, mirror

Castle wall

Soul collector

Comes to call

Another entry for promote yourself. Feel free to see what’s new anytime at JMC813.wordpress.com

Thanks again PC for this outlet.

JMC

hEARTS AND fLOWERS – Promote Yourself

It was never hearts and flowers.
We didn’t work that way
Our time was stolen
And half promises
Were made to each other.
I cannot speak for her
But I think we loved
Lust
Certainly played a part
I wanted us
To be real
I think it could have been
If she allowed
Herself
To let go
Ever so slightly.
Moments of beauty
Were accompanied
By soundtracks of her choosing
Those strings are now
Played for her
Whenever her scent returns from memory

Gabriel Denver

BLUE,ANYONE? – Promote Yourself

Blue is a funny color;
It’s not like any other.
Why defined as “sad: when
“The blues” often make us glad?
Boys born are wrapped in blue;
Why can’t girls have the color, too?
Azure, midnight, sapphire and true;
Yale, Cambridge, Oxford, who knew?
Persian, Maya(n), Prussian, Egyptian,
Indigo, teal, electric and cerulean,
Endless varieties, too many to list,
So, please don’t tell me what I’ve missed.
Topazes, diamonds, tourmalines; sapphires,
Cheese, my book cover and gas-fed fires,
Simple beauties: flowers, seas or skies,
Berries, birds and butterflies.
Naturally my favorite color is blue,
And now I’ll ask, “What about you?”

Wendy Shreve

Beauty is Pain – Promote Yourself

There is something comforting in loneliness and something beautiful in pain.
Because when the happiness (the sunsunsun and the lightlightlight and the hopehopehope),
Skips towards me, I can see
My shadow. It looms and pesters and wants after me,
But I say “maybe another day”.
Pricks of blood slip and slide and shimmy across my fingertip;
The glitter falling from the heavens pierces my skin;
Bright burning yellow glares at my eyes from the blue above.
Because today I will be with the happiness and I can look at pain’s beauty,
From a distance. Observe how it changes and morphs and tries to
OVERCOME.
But we all say “maybe another day”.
And I smile.

Dona Miller