Sunday, September 6, 2015

The Sunday Whirl / Sun Shiny Summer Morn -- Sunday's Whirligig/The Silence of Morning -- Poets United Poets Pantry #268

Sun Shiny Summer Morn

friends are the true treasure      above money      can't be bought

i wonder about my DNA        is it made up of sorrow   cells & organs

drip with tears               a terrible green                 or a sunny yellow

climb the tower           rotate the antenna           search for your signal

to know where you are             the pond calm             reflecting

receiving the messages            you are sending         you grew up

became a man           strong and straight            served your country

to your mom           the boy was still there           holding on to her skirt

I remain on the bridge       between life and death        i am waiting

waiting like the french lieutentant's woman              counting butterflies

sun shiny summer morn     honeysuckle in the air      all is bright yellow

time stands still                   as i stand                         ever so still

it happened there         had to let you go        something I'm not good at

if I could            i would have kept you               held you with my teeth

like the cat with her kitten       spring into summer    summers empty now

time passes             though i hardly notice                fall is in the air

the temperatures cooler           winter faithfully follows...

September 2015

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The Silence of Morning

what verses may be hiding       in the silence of this morning     demanding to be heard

yet reluctant...                           pretending to be shy                   softly playing

the sweet songs of the heart      show scars of days gone by        sorrow's loss spins her web

writing inscriptions on tears      as they fall to the ground            holding on for dear life

flying low below the clouds       navigating by well worn paths    pretending bravado

still there is the stench of death    under each scarlet layer            exposing the clown

the fool                                       the jester                                        ...and me

Sept 5, 2015











9 comments:

  1. Us ants crawling in mounds
    constructing we.. AStronauts
    travelinG far.. coming
    back.. an orb of eYe
    blue and green
    once beautiful
    and free..
    a cancer of
    human culture
    spreads upon the
    skEyE.. eating IT
    away carelessly
    selfishly greedily
    taking more
    than giving
    back..
    pieces of
    puzzle seem
    so small
    disconnecting
    close
    for tapestry
    whOle
    liVes in
    disGust
    from
    wInds
    aFar..
    eYes of stars
    lookinG below to eyeS
    of stars humans
    looKing above..
    spiRit deep within
    is saMe as stars aBove..
    oNly when we see
    wITh stars of
    ONE..
    WiLL we heal
    the earth
    before
    stars of
    us alone..
    destroy
    US dead
    alive..
    Stars above
    stars below
    Uni-Verse
    i's LivE
    ALLONe..:)

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  2. Loved both the poems.. such a delicate & endearing feel to them.
    Beautifully penned :)

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

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  3. Both poems are right on target...well thought out and executed.

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  4. Loved the first poem and its delicate exploration of relationship between child and mother, especially when the child doesn't outlive her. The second poem however, took my breath away with its gritty reality. Brava my friend,

    Elizabeth

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  5. The loneliness of sorrow, wishing that like Orpheus you could rescue your own Eurydice from Hades.

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  6. Two beautiful poems. The mother holding on to her son.......love the reference to waiting like the French Lieutenant's Woman.........the butterflies and the "sweet songs of the heart".

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  7. Oh that image of the cat with her kitten,, you have a way of describe loss.

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  8. "I remain on the bridge between life and death i am waiting"...loneliness becomes so poignant here...both poems are very well written...

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  9. Two beautiful and powerful poems...the loss is so very clear and yet the bravery of carrying on..being able to see the sun and take each day is it comes sings through..the last line of your second poem is so very astute...maybe 'me' is better than any stereotype?

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