Poet's Corner

[Mindful]

 

[Ropey]

I remember when I could do no wrong,
My words heard as a valued song.
His eyes, they shone of cultured pearl,
His love waved akin to the tail of a squirrel.

Now he has grown and sees so clear,
Father can be wrong even if held dear.
His words show perception edgewise and tall,
From a boy who once was so very small.

My love is allowing him to make his stand,
Grow his wisdom from his very own hand.
To share my story and leave it at that,
For he is now the one who is "at bat".

Today I see glimmers of that childish view,
Tendered in thoughts of the adult so true.
Willingly knowing that he shall be so,
If only allowed to blossom and grow.

Who is now a 40 year old man, married with children.

 

[Mindful]

 

[Mindful]

 

[Mindful]

And, one day
I looked back for you
But you weren’t there anymore
A stranger did I see
Looking back at me
And, in that very moment
I did promise
That I would keep on looking back for you
As I know
One day
I will
See you again

Poem written by Athey Thompson
Taken from “A Little Book Of Poetry”
by Athey Thompson.

 

[Mindful]

How to stop time: kiss.
How to travel in time: read.
How to escape time: music.
How to feel time: write.
How to release time: breathe. ~Matt Haig

(Book: Reasons to Stay Alive https://amzn.to/3Xz8XkM)

(Art: Photograph by Édouard Boubat)

 

[Mindful]

LONELY WALKER
She is one who walks alone,
One that has to go alone.
That does not mean that they
Human shyness is; or wait....
in a way it does.
She does this every now and then
Experimenting and mixing it up
the people.
Only to realize again,
that she's better off alone.
She need the many other vibes ,
who are certainly not always inclined, not.
She is one that has to resonate alone.
She listens to the wind and the rain.
She feels in her soul and she whispers
silently: yes. It is. And that's how it is.
She's a loner who lets her inner
Taking care of the garden.
This is a lot of work
Because even though they don't often among people
goes, that's how she receives the diverse people very sensitively
Messages from the field.
Her old soul is see through, very see through.
No she's not lonely
She is content and connected to her feelings.
She believes in herself and the other loners.
Those who also walk alone and yet know,
that they are not alone... ♡..

[ milena river, thank you ♥︎

 

[Mindful]

There is a jolly traveling man
With a twinkling eye
That does what he can,
As far as possible, not to die.

And he travels many a mile,
Many a full and fulsome day,
With a great white smile
And eyes that are gray.

But he comes to a crossroad
And for a moment blinks
And his teeth are yellowed
And seeing nothing, he thinks.


Young Man on a Riverbank, Umberto Boccioni, 1902

 

[Mindful]

"Grandma, I'm tired. So tired of this life..."





“Take your tiredness, my child, and wrap it around yourself. Like a blanket in the cold winter months. Tiredness comes to make you a nest, to bring you to wear comfortable clothes, to make you sink into its warm embrace. I invite you to stay within yourself. Without strength, without thoughts, without actions. Like the snow that covers everything to soften the world, to make it muffled, to protect it from noise. Accept the flakes of your tiredness and let yourself be completely covered by them.”

“I could die buried under there…”

“You will be reborn instead. Like the seed in the ground. Do not resist your weariness, do not reject it with a thousand actions, a thousand intentions, a thousand feelings of guilt. It just wants to take you by the hand and lead you to sink into the void. Right there, where the source of every inner strength lies. They taught us to be strong by resisting. But it is in surrendering that the true heroes emerge.”

 

[lg325]

"Grandma, I'm tired. So tired of this life..."


View attachment 765659


“Take your tiredness, my child, and wrap it around yourself. Like a blanket in the cold winter months. Tiredness comes to make you a nest, to bring you to wear comfortable clothes, to make you sink into its warm embrace. I invite you to stay within yourself. Without strength, without thoughts, without actions. Like the snow that covers everything to soften the world, to make it muffled, to protect it from noise. Accept the flakes of your tiredness and let yourself be completely covered by them.”

“I could die buried under there…”

“You will be reborn instead. Like the seed in the ground. Do not resist your weariness, do not reject it with a thousand actions, a thousand intentions, a thousand feelings of guilt. It just wants to take you by the hand and lead you to sink into the void. Right there, where the source of every inner strength lies. They taught us to be strong by resisting. But it is in surrendering that the true heroes emerge.”

After reading the whole piece it causes me to stop and give the words deep thought. Thanks for posting.

 

[Mindful]

 

[Mindful]

"It is Spring again, the Earth is like a child that knows poems by Heart".

Photo Art By Levan Kiknavelidze.

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[Mindful]

 

[lg325]

View attachment 773666

Always been a favorite of mine since a young boy.

 

[Mindful]

"Come over the hills and far with me,
And be my love in the rain.

Come, be my love in the wet woods;
come, Where the boughs rain when it blows.

Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
And be my love in the rain."

~ Robert Frost.

 

[Mindful]

“All Kings, and all their favourites,
All glory of honours, beauties, wits,
The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass,
Is elder by a year now than it was
When thou and I first one another saw:
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay;
This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,
Running it never runs from us away,
But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.”

John Donne.

“The English like eccentrics. They just don’t like them living next door.”
~ Julian Clary

 

[lg325]

Jagged Edges​

Betsy Wokersien Stephens1958 (Idaho)​

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Jagged edges
Tearing my heart
Fragile soul
Ripping apart
Fractured thoughts
Locked down inside
Detonate
Like dynamite

Stop and breath
Cleanses deep
Exposing
What's underneath
Fallen down
Alone and lost
Carrying
A heavy cross

Jagged Edges
Smoothing with time
Shattered pieces
Realign
Hope shines in
Lighting the dawn
Inner demons
Have all withdrawn

Stop and breath
Cleanses deep
Exposing
What's underneath
Rising up
Seeking the truth
Redemption found
My faith renewed

About this poem​

Jagged Edges signifies the pain and torment suffered while facing insurmountable obstacles and lays the foundation for hope and survival.
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Written on May 07, 2017
Submitted by BetsyStephens on April 02, 2022
28 sec read 861 Views

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Quick analysis:​

Scheme
Closest metre	Iambic dimeter
Characters

 

[Mindful]

"We'll have beds full of light scents,
Sofas deep as tombs,
And strange flowers on the shelves,
Hatching for us under more beautiful skies.
Using up their last heat,
Our two hearts will be two vast flames,
Who will think their double lights
In both our minds, twin mirrors.
An evening made of mystic pink and blue,
We'll exchange a single lightning,
Like a long sobbing, all loaded with goodbyes;
And later an Angel, opening the doors,
Will come to revive, faithful and joyful,
Tarnished mirrors and dead flames. "

ud Charles Baudelaire, The Death of Lovers.
Marcin Maraskarzewski Photography

"Lovers"
Thanks to The Strange Penguin for the artwork choice.

 

[lg325]

The Unmusical Chair

Climax1996 (Tampa, FL)​

• Life
• Loss

RhymedPromoted

A poem a day keeps the doctor away,
But what if neither poetry nor medicine can heal this dismay?
The seat that I sit in is locked in its ways,
And no musical chair can get it to play.

The tides of the ocean may continue to sway,
And the transition be made between night and day,
But not even the changing of the seasons has a say,
In how stuck this seat will continue to stay.

I wish I could stand, and move for awhile,
I wish I could run, maybe even a mile.
Oh the things I'd do, I'd cross the Nile!
But the chair is me, and I'm stuck to the tile.

About this poem​

This poem was written in the throes of Obsessive-Compulsive, and otherwise undiagnosed, agony at the famous Silver Hill hospital, home to celebrities and creatives alike. The hospital failed me, but hopefully this poem won't. Enjoy its Seussical Sadness.
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Written on April 15, 2022
Submitted by Climax on April 15, 2022
39 sec read 9,281 Views

Climax
My name is Max. I have suffered from severe Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder for the better part of 10 years. Well, actually my whole life. I have an amazing story littered with trial and redemption, from being homeless in a park, starving in the wilderness, going through OCD rehab with a celebtrity, and following my dream to beat OCD and become worldwide-success DJ Climax and share my love for music and comedy through my own funny music videos and content. I wanted to make a movie of my success when I made it called Good Crazy, and I had it all laid out. I made progress, and a year ago, I fell in love. I had a mental breakthrough, and was a day away from beating my OCD and living in heaven forever, accomplishing my dreams, and beating my OCD for the girl I loved. Her name was Grace, and I would've remixed Amazing Grace, believed in God, and shared the most amazing love story the world has ever known. Good Crazy would've been a beautiful mind-esque story of healing, with all the comedy, charm, and thrill of a Martin Scorsese film like The Wolf of Wall Street. Then, a trigger broke my brain, I lost the love of my life, and I am currently incapacitated. Climax was a brand of unshakable self-belief, hope, and comedy, all in spite of the world's greatest known doubting disease. Currently, Climax is dead. All that's left is a collection of grief-stricken poems written by a man struggling to survive. Maybe it's somewhere. I don't think another beginning exists, but maybe this is it. Enjoy its Seussical Sadness. more…
All Climax poems | Climax Books
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[lg325]

God Help the Unheard Children​

Leslie Kay Lanham1960 (West Virginia)​

October 22

• Childhood
• Family
• Life

Ode

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Children should be seen, not heard
Who made up this rule?
If this is how you truly feel
Then you Sir, are a fool.

Many children go unheard
We look, but pass right by -
We’re much too busy with our own
To question them, but why?

A child should always have a voice
And someone needs to care -
They should not be hidden away
With bruises everywhere.

So look a little deeper
Than the depths of your own skin -
Hear the unheard children
See the world they’re living in.

Sticks and stones can break bones
And sometimes parents lie -
They teach their children what to say
And we’re afraid to pry.

While we are safe and tucked in warm
With family at home -
Outside on the streets at night
More unheard children roam.

They may be dressed up pretty,
But they don’t often smile -
They’re bought and sold in private
And enjoyed for a while.

Then they’re back out on the streets
Just to earn a dime -
Selling only what they have;
Their bodies and their time.

No - silence is not golden
When it comes at such a cost -
God help the unheard children
When their innocence is lost.

About this poem​

Every day we hear about children being sold, beaten, or found dead. We all need to pay closer attention to the children.
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Written on October 03, 2022
Submitted by lanhamleslie on October 04, 2022
1:08 min read 764 Views

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Quick analysis:​

Scheme	ABXB ACXC XDED XFGF XCEC XHXH XIXI XJXJ GXGX
Closest metre	Iambic trimeter
Characters	1,084