Published: Thu, 27 Oct 2016 04:06:06 -0500
Wed, 05 Oct 2016 10:14:38 -0500The way that Poetry Changed the World. Mainly through symbols and particularity of each poet to offer his/her experiences throughout poetry. Give others a sample of his/he particularity and structure of his/her internal world.
Tue, 23 Aug 2016 07:52:22 -0500It was a radiant morning unfolding when An old man with a white mustache and short beard Was seen walking briskly down the long country road. For a moment, astonished, he sat speechless and still; The panorama below was one of absolute scenic beauty. A soft wind pushed a few wispy clouds across the blue sky.
Fri, 19 Aug 2016 10:42:57 -0500Here are 125 selected micropoems, including some haiku and senryu. The poems were composed during the last two years. Most of the poems are experiments in brevity and creativity.
Tue, 16 Aug 2016 09:11:32 -0500These are a bunch of haiku poems centered round Indian kigo words, images and experiences. Some haiku are free-form, while others follow 3-5-3, 4-6-4, and 5-7-5 syllabic patterns.
Mon, 08 Aug 2016 06:41:32 -0500The article presents an evaluation of the works of Indian English poet, Krishna Srinivas, who received Padmabhushan award from the Government of India. The poet has been known for his intuitive poetry with philosophical insight, seeking world unity through spiritual upliftment. His message has the all-embracing and all-transcending texture of the Indian soul and inner contemplation of Eternity which has been the Indian path throughout the centuries.
Thu, 04 Aug 2016 07:21:59 -0500With two-thousand years of Christianity behind us all the Democrats can say to their un-conforming rivals, or persons, is: "Watch your step!" Or to inform them to keep their mouths well shut. In fact if possible, and in spite of everything, to get into the service of the Democratic Party. These folks are a cunning line of crocodiles. Metallic sort of brutes. Obama is afraid should Mr. Trump, become president, day one he'd do what he did to President Bush, erase all his works. And he's right, Trump would. And that is the very reason he has stopped working his paid job as president to run a rigged election for Hillary. Rigged, meaning (but Trump can't say it) billionaires, the FBI, the CIA, all but the NSA, are in line to do whatever it takes, even invent, the unintended, to win. The NSA said it wasn't the Russians who leaked the information of her diabolical little tweets, but them.
Tue, 02 Aug 2016 15:46:22 -0500In the book of Revelation, John, the Evangelist, teaches by means of vivid visions and dreams the apocalyptic prophecy that expresses what the final days would be. John uses a figure of speech called simile to describe his vision. A simile is an indirect comparison of two unlike things using like or as to make the comparison explicit.
Mon, 01 Aug 2016 08:53:07 -0500Has it occurred to the reader, how many civilizations has been irretrievable lost-? Buried by social upheavals with subsequent relapses to savagery? Because of the loss of morals, law and order, violation of one's Godly values, or for not having any values! Rome, Babylon, Troy, Zimbabwe, Russia, China, North Korea, Venezuela, Cambodia, all of the Middle East, would we delve its ruins, they will come up short... Cities, and then countries. Soon to be Globalism, and the Antichrist running the show! We look for rusting mechanisms for dispute, add some doubtful data, dogma, such as no one can decipher, leaving our old friends like Israel, for the Bulls of Bashan- I assure you this is not probable but certain: the very history of America in the near future, will become more or less legendary- That is to say: no longer predominant, or widespread... If indeed it remains on its current course. Yes, I am a speculative thinker, along different lines of thought. We are now seeing the use of illimitable, illegitimate power through concentration, by our leaders!
Mon, 25 Jul 2016 11:41:02 -0500It is generally believed that this sonnet is dedicated to the Earl of Southampton. William Shakespeare's friend is immortalized in this sonnet. The sonnet compares the perfection of his friend with the imperfections of a summer's day.
Mon, 11 Jul 2016 08:26:04 -0500Brown Penny by WB Yeats is a short poem written in 1910 and deals in a lighthearted way with the serious business of a young man considering falling in love. The young man, perhaps Yeats himself, tosses a coin, the brown penny, to see if he is old enough to love.
Wed, 22 Jun 2016 15:17:29 -0500Our planet is our home, as our home in an extension of ourselves. How we choose to behave and engage our planet tells a lot about our ability to foresee bigger and greater things for our posterity. From the beginning of time, we have been given a temporary place to stay; as we are all merely mortal; each with our own ticking clock of time; complete with an expiration date; before we meet our fate. While on earth, we place ourselves and our families and friends first. Earth does the same for its inhabitants and asks for nothing in return other than for our complete recognition that our planet has a universal purpose to grow, nurture, protect and provide life for you and me and everybody else who's alive and thriving. The plants, trees, mountains, seas, lakes and streams, the bees, insects, the animals, sea life and the environment all wish to ask for your recognition and acceptance that they too live on earth and want to provide the best for us, and asks not to be forgotten in the process of our daily lives. Convenience sometimes comes at a high price, please recognize your planets concerns and needs too!
Mon, 20 Jun 2016 08:51:45 -0500He, the old tramp, had found a lost continent. He dreamed a new world. And he had stepped into it, -so long now had he drifted back and forth from it, he had forgotten who he had been. But he mumbled often-to whom might have been listening-"Too many people around, too indifferent, self-absorbed." And so I write of this old man, brief as it is, a tramp I met, and I shall fill in the gaps of his life, which was more his dream world than, what we consider reality. For the old tramp, his dream became reality for him. The more he dreamed, the more it took on an enraged realism. Outside of this dream world, the world to him was ugliness, and foul. "Where truth was, was what people wanted it to be at any given time, and never revealed fully," so he'd mumble.
Mon, 20 Jun 2016 08:51:14 -0500Should the corpse speak to the charnel heap, what would the corpse say? Perhaps, "All that man is, is of but dust and water, and he thinks he's a big deal?" Or perchance, "In the end, man is thus, evaporable! And that is that!" What would the catacombs say to all this? "Down here it is just cold, drafty with damp walls, with deposits that are rotting, decaying, giving off dead air, and foul smells?" Who's to say, so I speak for them? I think they might surmise, "All the wisdom of mankind can be put into one head, why so many? We need more room!"... Maybe a statement-question might arise: man is but a laden camel that snuck out of the deep dark Edenic vales long ago!
Thu, 09 Jun 2016 06:36:12 -0500Everywhere as God's eyes wandered throughout the heavens, his heart was quaked, sickened, within this nocturnal and un-vernal age and aftermath of The Great Conflict! Lucifer's Campaign, his owlish irony-his thinking! Earth's galaxy, likened to a desert of ebon suns, orbs disorientated, off their axis, out of their original orbits: asteroids, comets, meteorites, all bombarding all of interstellar space at random. An unpeople earth, an earth mown, all in disfigurement. All due to the plight of the hostile forces of Lucifer, his two-hundred million angelic renegades, all had fallen upon this cosmic kingdom like a desert locust, as Archangel Mich'el and his legions fought them, of one-hundred million, and lost, until the Commander and Chief, God's Son drove them off the cliffs of heaven.
Thu, 09 Jun 2016 06:30:03 -0500In all of Seventh Hell, a morbid hyper-natural habitat, human remnants live with sluggish plant life, sharing each other's parts in sub-animal thought and activity: with gull and boldness in one heap of an anomalous horticulture of turpitude, and iniquities. All parts being ennui: forked with ears, and tongues, Noses, thews, sways and boles; to an onlooker this world would be thaumaturgy, for its wondrous weirdness, beyond redemption. Inside this pocketed loamy uninterred furrow, in its oubliettes, devil like dwarfs do their grafting of plant and corpse and even live human organisms, assembling fetus parts-sanguine-found in graves, purchased at practicums, clinics; suture one to another, amid repugnant odors, and ordure.
Tue, 07 Jun 2016 15:18:02 -0500The article deals with the use of the musical element in poetry. It says that musical aspects turn collected meaningful words used to express something into poetry and that music has historically been associated with poetry. The article also suggests the new poets about how they can acquire the skill of fusing music in their poetry.
Tue, 24 May 2016 06:16:37 -0500In our egalitarian and democratic societies we very much hope and want all good things to be available to all people if they have a mind to have them. Indeed, in the world of personal development you can achieve whatever you believe (paraphrasing one of its leading prophets, Napoleon Hill); and we know that poetry is a good thing, so can everybody, if they are taught sufficiently well, be a poet? A large part of my early career was spent on the assumption that it could be done. I was a secondary school English teacher for 15 years, taught thousands of students, and wrote several successful texts on just how to do it. But to return to my central query: they ought to be able to be taught to write poetry, but can it be done? Can they be taught to be poets? Lord Chesterfield said, "I am very sure that any man of common understanding may, by culture, care, attention, and labor, make himself whatever he pleases, except a great poet," which quite unequivocally denies the possibility that a poet can be made, although this is not to say that a poet is born.
Mon, 02 May 2016 15:19:48 -0500A 101-line poem of love. Heartbreak, denial, blame, reminisce, struggle and realization. Dedicated to Christina Perri, my golden woman with a million tattoos.
Thu, 21 Apr 2016 12:39:14 -0500Poetry is such a fascinating and multifaceted aspect of creative writing; it is an expression of life coupled with the imagination. Writing poetry can be as simple as a few well placed words that rhyme or it can be a complex arrangement of lines, stanzas, and rhyming patterns. Once you have a good understanding of the wide range of techniques and styles available, you can craft your own unique expression of life.
Wed, 20 Apr 2016 13:45:14 -0500Ego clashes between spouses are omnipresent. We need to learn diplomacy for harmony in the family. It is easily said, but almost impossible to achieve. In Western societies, there is a simple solution - divorce. In Oriental societies, the spouses carry on with their unhappiness for decades, as divorce is still a taboo, in society. Here is a case study of a well settled couple with 4 decades of married life, and is still searching happiness.
Wed, 13 Apr 2016 10:43:59 -0500"For Mama Went Away" - No one understands betrayal & distrust from you better than I, When I roar, because I love you, my heart sinks in an empty heaven space. I trusted you not just as a friend but as a Lover, who I'd be much more comfortable with; more than the hard male counterparts I'll never understand, 'cos you're my ma Now you held me high, took me places I would not think of going to, led me to the paths of the stairs, to hitch for you, the pile of...
Wed, 23 Mar 2016 10:31:11 -0500We do not stand in taverns sharing epic news stories in the form of poetry. We go online and lay it out for the world to see and to do with as they please. Often with little or no recognition, praise or compensation. The brave will create blogs that put their hearts out on their sleeve and self-publish wonderful works of art.
Thu, 17 Mar 2016 12:00:27 -0500Ideas and inspiration for poetry can be found anywhere. Here are some tips to help you find the inspiration you need to write a poem and ways to make your poem stand out with your own unique viewpoint.
Thu, 17 Mar 2016 10:12:11 -0500If ever he were consoled by his own voice, even through loneliness of heart and failure of spirit, John Clare merits the attention of those who, not through pity, but of genuine desire, seek the inner motivations of man. His poetry, strange and wonderful, still remains intimate to those with a solitary moment to spare and his descriptions of the countryside offer a reason to escape.
Mon, 22 Feb 2016 07:52:20 -0600There he stood, 6 feet tall, All large and strong, In his head covered hood, The bully of Roanoke High, Pompous Bastard, Who does he think he is? His face like stone, Flexing his muscles, Rubbing his fist, Proud as an eagle, He was the King of his turf, Surrounded by his subjects, All following him, like his shadow. Ever in search of prey, Many trembled when they'd hear his name, Or pass him by in the hall, Not...
Wed, 17 Feb 2016 08:24:35 -0600Rhydyfelin Library Support Group's annual festival brings together local musicians and poets in a celebration of the arts that also raises funds for the local library.Guests this year included Aled Rheon and Matthew Frederick.
Mon, 15 Feb 2016 06:49:55 -0600Every so often writer's block visits, my uninvited guest, Hindering the writing process, that usually flows at its very best. Self-doubt creeps upon me, self-worth drags me down, The more I try to write, the larger the paper mound.
Wed, 03 Feb 2016 15:32:17 -0600In earlier times one would not be able to explain this adjustable journey with any credibility, and to be up front it has all been kept secret over a half century-plus, upon this reading. Yes, to this date, 2121, A.D., it has been kept in virtual silence, but it took place in the year, 2050 to 2053 A.D., we can call it an old Mystery, renewed: of the 10th Planet, to which it exists in its own personal solar system, with its Paleolithic inhabitants (Neanderthals and Denisovans type, with evolutionary genetic immune genes, perhaps cousins to earthlings). This story you are about to read, has been taken out of the nation's archives, where it was kept for posterity sake, for lost causes, until now. I am the Great, Great Grandson of Dr. D., whom worked at the once Louisiana Space Center, with Dr. McGee, and Dr. Hightower. And this is his story.
Tue, 02 Feb 2016 11:50:11 -0600Everyone goes through a phase, from an age of innocence to a stage of formal or informal learning and being in charge. It is in having a fertile mind and heart that we can allow the seeds of maturity to take hold. It is through both good and bad experiences as well as accepting people as they are that we gain new perspectives and real knowledge from every endeavor we choose to undertake. Every single day comes with new challenges and knowledge.
Mon, 01 Feb 2016 10:41:47 -0600Drama of the Insect (Out of the Peruvian Jungles) The singing of the mosquito is worse than its bite - Should you try and swat him he will taunt the ear throughout the night! The bedbug, is not so unlike the mosquito, or his mate the fly - He will bite you first, then sing his song, and should you try to stop him Beware, he will bring all his friends. They are all long-night intruders, sent from hell!...
Mon, 25 Jan 2016 07:09:36 -0600I was inspired to write this love & marriage poem about breast cancer within a marriage. This heart touching and emotionally filled poem shows the love, commitment, and dedication that the husband has for his wife who is now battling breast cancer. This poem details the husband's genuine love for his wife. Many times in relationships, bad news like this can cause division, but how beautiful it is to have someone to love you in spite of. This is a very deep, touching, and inspirational poem about REAL LOVE in the midst of horrible and life-changing news.
Wed, 20 Jan 2016 06:28:51 -0600It's been thirty-years, but I remember it as if it was yesterday, the year is 1986, we are at the Diamond T. Ranch, in Minnesota Zaneta is eleven years old, thereabouts. The value here resides in the premise, less important being the plot or progression of the account! It bends the laws of nature, and seemingly for me, orbits the paranormal; but it's worth telling. It was on summer weekends I took Zaneta places, and so as this story is about the Diamond T. Ranch, she was in fact familiar with riding horses, and we'd be bunched up with a group of people, and ride within the woods on old horse paths, and here and there the guide would allow us to gallop up a hill or two. About twelve folk to the group. Zaneta was given a larger horse than normal this day, and a more stubborn horse than expected. And as we trotted along the many paths within the woods, all was well, I and my horse were behind Zaneta and her horse, then suddenly, and abruptly, the lead horse galloped up an incline, Zaneta's horse kicked up and bucked, sprang into a gallop, and ploughed...
Wed, 20 Jan 2016 06:27:09 -0600You don't need to go to the Middle East anymore, Europe has more Arabs and Muslims than they do! I've been to Europe a dozen times, it's not like it used to be, Especially England! Soon someone one is going to strike a match and lit the stove that will roast Europe and America's-attachment! Like the cutting of a thigh and a chicken leg. All because someone in England wants a potential American president prohibited from coming into their country. America will not be force-feed tea, instead of coffee! You do know that happened once before, at the Boston Tea Party! Let me make this clear to the English, in England: Americans are not ready to wash and wipe the feet of the British Kingdom. That is why our football is not like your football. The Islamic world can do all the clapping of hands they want or rolling of eyes and hips with their hairy-chests, and call to their prophet! And the Mexican, can scream all they wish from rights without responsibility.
Wed, 20 Jan 2016 06:25:58 -0600America has been criticized for having back in 2005, some 700-military installations throughout the world, in 132-countries. Now, eleven years past, more or less the same! A Nobel Critic in the past decade has inferred America wants to control the world, and its resources (so does China and Russia). This is not laughable, but perhaps there is some truth to it. The standing acceptance of America being the most powerful country in the world is true: even Obama voiced this the other day, in his Union Address. Here is the difference: China overpowered Tibet, Russia will if it could overpower Eastern Europe as it once did and now is taking bites out of Georgia and the Ukraine.
Wed, 20 Jan 2016 06:24:58 -06001 Dung pile in D.C. (In Poetic Prose) Escaping the big wigs, And not seeing the humongous dung pile, Obama has built in Washington D.C., Is next to impossible (on a visit) Lest you are blind!
Fri, 15 Jan 2016 10:22:57 -06002015! Twenty-Fifteen was a memorable year. A year of immense anticipation, excitement and great pleasure. I worked with the Word.
Thu, 14 Jan 2016 06:31:17 -0600It is in the dead of night, they are talking in Barack's Obama's meeting room of what is being calling a riot! Emphases on the word 'Riot!' He is told he can save them... There are cold embraces: they tell Barack if they don't send in the Seals only forty miles away, its curtains for them, - that, Sevens will be part of the new dead! "It's only a riot," he says. "No," a voice exclaims. "It is a terrorist raid." The Innocent Muslims are crying and kissing, parading about, over the so called riot that is really a terrorist raid. For the last time, a voice cries "Send in the Navy Seals, they want to kidnap Ambassador Stevens-!" "It's not a terrorist attack," is the rebuff back. "The Naval Seals, have volunteered to go rescue the Americans!" yells another voice. "No, they are to stand down!" There is no more to be said. But more is said...
Mon, 11 Jan 2016 14:40:32 -0600Thomas Stearns Eliot, born to a successful entrepreneur Henry Ware Eliot in the year 1888, was a remarkable poet, literary critic and dramatist. He was born in St. Louis, Missouri, United States on September 26.
Fri, 08 Jan 2016 10:11:19 -0600A religious lady in a home lives her life, as per her religion. A religious terrorist lives his life for his religion, in a mistaken belief, and dies for it. Shouting religious slogans is not the core of a religion. Beliefs, rituals, and mythology of a religion don't represent a religion. The religion is known by the behavior or conduct of its devotees. A plain housewife is more often than not, a religious person; where as a Taleban or ISIS member may not be a religious devotee, in real sense, due to the violence.
Fri, 08 Jan 2016 09:31:18 -0600Siblings are natural friends. In childhood, they share secrets from parents. They do fight, but forget quickly, and are back with stronger bond of love. In old age, siblings share intimate relationship, with their decades-old sweet and sour memories. God-made relationships are permanent unlike man-made relationships, and invariably stronger.
Wed, 06 Jan 2016 15:45:24 -0600A man of old age-like me, fades like an old paint job on an old automobile if you rub it too hard; his bones are like old rusty bolts they break easily like iron hit with a hammer in the Arctic, and the engine of the heart putts and knocks like the engine of a 1927, Model T Fort, therefore before my memory gnaws and clogs, let me write this account out, it is actually recent, so I should get most of the facts right. This is a first time account of the first true origin of finding a new planet in a new constellation, #89, still unnamed, as is the exoplanet, unnamed, and referred to as such-according to Dr. Butch McGee, because "... the outer most region of the new planet's atmosphere comprised of artificially radioactive elements unknown to chemists and physics, the nucleus within the protons of the atoms do not constitute anything we fundamentally know to be part of the universe beyond this region of unknown space." But let me backtrack a bit, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Wed, 06 Jan 2016 06:44:54 -0600In a moment of emptiness she contemplated a burly wind. Not something others could imagine but it was still there, the concept is ethereal like worshiping a god, a figment, fancy, fabrication another grave mark around the corner, below the words. Yet there is pleasure in a stand still, open hearts, lacerated heads, above the image is superfluous and grand, sweet nectar, the smiles of children dancing in the rain.
Mon, 04 Jan 2016 08:03:11 -0600If looks could kill all of us would certainly already be dead. Yet this might not be the worse case scenario, just think of all the ugly sheep just standing there, asking for a piece of rotten moldy bread.
Thu, 31 Dec 2015 07:39:52 -0600You are always there to make me smile, irrespective of how my day went. Whether I walked more than a mile, or just bring you flowers with a good scent you still make my day beautiful. You are here to prove my fertility, with you motherhood is truly graceful. Your presence in my world brings me joy and great ability.
Mon, 28 Dec 2015 15:20:03 -0600The beings, to my understanding were no more than three-feet tall, with skin roughened similar to a toads, all naked reddish flesh, having little squinty pig eyes and albino hair, if any at all, for most were hairless. Beyond this description, they are for the most part nondescript, although plague-ridden in those latter days of their existence.
Mon, 28 Dec 2015 09:35:07 -0600Surely you have duties to your brother, sacred kinship, colleague, cockamamy comrade, blind chicken, compeer, untidy au contraire! But sometimes those dirty monks can leave it all hanging upward in the air.
Wed, 23 Dec 2015 10:15:27 -0600The Orb of the Moon. From the perennial percussion. Of the gurgling streams. Backing up to the waiting shores.
Wed, 23 Dec 2015 10:13:00 -0600On your marital bliss! The marriage of true minds. Celestial in its blissful intimacy. Is a married life. So it is time now being coochie-coochie. With your newly wedded wife!
Wed, 23 Dec 2015 09:13:25 -0600Drowsy, sluggish, torpid, inactive, hypnotic, soporific, narcotic. In the cave it grows, in the distance the lining will flow another demon tripped up. Untorn excitement neglected and detached, in due time it will find its opening as this has already been arranged no alternatives will be offered, predestined, inescapable, inexorable, oh how horrible the dragon, the dagger, the rogue, dope fiend, unsheathed weaponry, no piss, a smear, failed verbatim without recourse, trapped in a hole.
Mon, 21 Dec 2015 08:03:31 -0600Why does it bother you as you know it has never stopped him before. Personal preferences are relative, so why must we always explain it to you. If you are not first on his list, it is something a good boy must be willing to accept. Give him what he really wants, of course you have done it many times before.
Mon, 21 Dec 2015 07:39:27 -0600In this shrinking world of fear you have left me alone dear. I know you had to leave, but that is something I utterly grieve... and from that moment on happy moments of love disappeared and gone...
Mon, 21 Dec 2015 07:38:55 -0600Where ever those days have gone... When you were so close to everything That kept me going on. I wish so much That you were here with me, And I had not wanted more of anything From this pretentious enemy.
Mon, 21 Dec 2015 07:38:26 -0600The fantasy of Home... The fantasy of Away... The dream of roots... The mirage of the journey: soaked in one lethal Tsunami...
Mon, 21 Dec 2015 07:36:45 -0600From the farthest skies above To the deepest of my love There has been just one feeling: It's like coming home to you With that feeling of mine. A feeling of your love for me That never looses its shine, Until...
Mon, 21 Dec 2015 07:35:40 -0600Slowly slide away, Hours, days and years... But, the deep blue sea On a blue blue day Keeps its hideous sway. And I know When the morning comes Will have to move away.
Fri, 18 Dec 2015 08:10:05 -0600More than anything else I know what it means: The loss, the loneliness In my heart Bursting at the seams. No longer there..
Thu, 17 Dec 2015 11:43:16 -0600A poem describes a partner's love and passion that could not be understood. It describes "passion" as being "synonymized" as it's been expressed in another form that simply is befuddling.
Thu, 17 Dec 2015 06:28:36 -0600It happened anyway, and look at the consequence, fait accompli, fortune, destiny, pernicious lot, an old grey sock, something turning about, a divine decree. But to say there was no warning would be a falsehood that led to a sacrificial end. It could have come off or materialized in many different ways, but severing the head is often traditional, steadfast, a sure fire method as blood will spill and the people shall see, the payment, the payback, a vendetta, hurray.
Mon, 14 Dec 2015 09:21:22 -0600It was inevitable I guess, with two nations divided how could the good guy work his way out of the pen. This is what happens when there are vultures circling, looking for bodies, something to eat up, can't you see the problem there are bellmen, bondsmen, barmen doing it once again.
Fri, 11 Dec 2015 06:29:11 -0600With admiration they performed their salacious act, coitus before bedtime, coitus with a broom. This is how they like it, with so many animals sitting there, watching, taking up the room.
Thu, 10 Dec 2015 08:41:09 -0600This is a little web development poem of understanding dedicated to everybody working in the creative industry, in the hopes that we will make their day! Enjoy!
Wed, 09 Dec 2015 09:27:03 -0600In a body bag he buried them, without much care, no concern or worries bedtime for the fruit flies, bedlam for the worms. Because there will always be a prince within us, a duke, a princess, an earl for how much could we possibly think about those who have been granted an unfortunate fate.
Tue, 08 Dec 2015 07:53:34 -0600I know how to love you Patient and kind with passion so divine that you see stars in my milky way. With soft words and encouraging phrases I lift you up on these pages so all can see the example of how real love can be.
Mon, 07 Dec 2015 08:08:08 -0600There are many priceless jewels; we may desire day by day, And many worldly treasures that we gather by the way, But of all this life's possessions that human hearts defend, There is none I hold more dearly than a certain old, old friend. A friend I have always reached for as I have stumbled over the trails, And found a hand of welcome from a heart that never fails, For friendship that is rooted deep into the mellow past, Like a embracing sheltering tree, hold its virtue to the last.
Mon, 07 Dec 2015 07:53:52 -0600The directions were clear, take him out, light him up bring him to a coffin, smarten up do not break a single looking-glass. Yet this was no ordinary task, killing your first-born would always be quite rough, but there seemed to be something special about it. Let's call it a catharsis, discharge, distillation, a cool yearning, extrication, substance, release.
Fri, 04 Dec 2015 10:49:09 -0600Content - The content of African poetry, is made of themes that emanate from the African background. This background, as you will recall, consists essentially of experiences of colonial and post-colonial eras. The details of these experiences involve firstly a clash of cultures which featured in the initial colonial contact between Africa and the West.
Wed, 02 Dec 2015 06:14:15 -0600Strung up and hung, what a worthless piece of dung. With eyes bulging from the seemly cords standing upon a large stack of wood, but this had always been a part of the plan, adolescent flesh, pubescent, soft and warm.
Sat, 28 Nov 2015 15:58:36 -0600It was a sacred time, a ritual that will not be forgotten, acquainted with a herd they became pigs feet, branded, sodden, lovely bags of silk cotton. This is what happens young girls taken to a ranch left to the devices of whoever has agreed to take them for a ride, serious beef only pounding, young horny dudes have no remorse, only big beast cows on the prairie, look at them shake, caught in the middle forever hounding.
Mon, 23 Nov 2015 06:32:43 -0600When the moment was right, there they stood pole against pole hole against hole for a real delight. Forget about Sodom or any other man's fright, grind it in the morning light.
Thu, 19 Nov 2015 06:04:22 -0600Beneath a canopy they will sit, bright leaves, formidable trees singing the praises of a moment once lost in time. Now they have been restored under a fertile oak, a green pillow. Wash tubs for the meticulous and the brave but there is nothing there, just a rock in a hard place, empty waste, unfilled, arid, dry, no pace.
Wed, 18 Nov 2015 06:00:25 -0600Take out the cleaver, the tomahawk, the hatchet or the axe with days uncertain you can do it with a mask as there are just so many ways to sever the excess, the superfluous, the overdose, the unjust, the plethora, the extremely depraved, so take it all in but let it settle before it is parlayed. There is so much to talk about, on this you can be quite sure, sacred trips, random sticks shot down with a knife.
Mon, 16 Nov 2015 06:23:17 -0600Usually while discussing various eras of poetry we shift straight from middle ages to Renaissance without considering the names who paved the way for the new trends. One such name is Petrarch whose philosophy influenced the poets for centuries. Francesco Petrarch was born on July 20, 1304, in Arezzo, Tuscany (now Italy). In France; Petrarch studied law, as his father had wished. After his father's death in 1326, Petrarch left law to focus on the classics.
Mon, 16 Nov 2015 06:05:31 -0600You can strike him if you wish, or assault him with the back hand of your clothes. But whatever may come to your blue fish, you might only know that the wild man will be coming home soon. He is the jackass, the jerk-off, the full fledged genius that everyone has come to despise.
Thu, 12 Nov 2015 06:02:57 -0600What will be his personal, state of mind, When no longer he guards, the strong hold he's assigned? When upon return, he must relate, To the world he knew, before he walked through the gate, Climbed on a plane, flew far through the sky, No one seeing this serviceman cry!
Wed, 11 Nov 2015 09:51:29 -0600Jibananda Das is the romantic poet of Bengali literature and his 'Banalata Sen' is the most read one among his poems. In this poem creating Banalata Sen the poet shows the longing of weary human heart and its refuge.
Wed, 11 Nov 2015 06:28:49 -0600As you might have guessed with no other men around, resilient and resourceful, they decided to do what should have been done before. Their legs were laid bare, nothing on the mattress, not even a hair. But with the other animals already lying down they stripped off their clothes and began to enjoy the evening heat.
Mon, 09 Nov 2015 06:40:22 -0600On foreign soil it could happen, there is nothing that you can ever really do. Left to the kindness of strangers, it may be hard to alter fate or abrogate faith. Look for the goodwill, generosity and benevolence of a native son, someone always there, rooted like a tree. Because the life of a vagabond is never easy at all, see them strolling in the park at noon.
Wed, 04 Nov 2015 06:27:50 -0600With the absence of light there is no color, only a background, a foreground upon which it may be possible to create. On a blank slate there can be no form, yet any period of darkness is a temporary state replete with actual imagery in a nascent shape, absent, elsewhere, unconscious, forlorn. Still there may be something happening in a blackness unsettled, no way to define what has been set before our eyes, infinite, unparalleled, unending, vacant, sparse, warm.
Fri, 30 Oct 2015 05:59:10 -0500In moments that had brought the recollection of unconscious events, extraordinary objects, the cultivation of unseemly thoughts and words, swirling, churning, surging all about. In mountains of pleasure there had been sacrifices upon the altar, the beginning, the appearance, the arrival, the onset, the quest for absolute truth, a silent passage in the sacred chasm of a meaningless muse, still there is something to be said for a boisterous ruckus calling from within a blessed ground.
Thu, 29 Oct 2015 06:04:56 -0500At a cozy table there is never a reason to turn the breadth of their shoulders nor the perilous width of their god forsaken backs. Because a new day is upon them as they lift their lives to new memory, a moment of sadness, condemnation as they dance. Yet it is the hunger that greets them each and every day, in the palm of their hands there are roses in their heads a scurrilous joy.
Wed, 21 Oct 2015 06:16:51 -0500Small minded, cheap, spiteful and mean; this is the shabby world in which the insular and narrow people have chosen to reap what they sow. Look to the pasture, see them marking an acquiescent, inactive non-violent herd for these are the times when the cash crop always seems to flow.
Wed, 14 Oct 2015 06:11:10 -0500Nothing seems to matter when you are out on the street, lifting your head far, taking it for a spin. So count your little blessings, ponder the heavens consider darkness and everything as it shines. Moving in a whisper unspoken words may kindle, sharpen, foment, stir-up all that has been given. A new opportunity to block what has landed by a lake on the periphery it has force, a broken will, cutthroat, circular, deep and pure in raindrops it shall descend.
Mon, 12 Oct 2015 06:16:55 -0500In a tower they sailed the skies searching for a means to channel their energy break through the soil, escalate the tension find a way to be redeemed for there are only so many chances to touch a shining sun, inclement weather silent hearts, a pail of broken tears. So they gather their rocks and tally their fear as it may be the skipping stone that provides a vital spark.
Fri, 09 Oct 2015 06:13:05 -0500Oh Heavenly Father, teach me to see, Those paths I have walked, that make me to be, The one that I am, and am growing to see, Due to the experiences, life has served me. Why would I grumble, or fuss about pain, With all that You offer, for me to attain? Teach me to walk, by the paths that I choose, Knowing Your presence, "steps" in my shoes.
Tue, 06 Oct 2015 06:39:59 -0500Soft and deep wild winds blow upon the mantle it shall snow for it has come to be known as a body of hard skin with ruptures blood trickling, ventricles, unfastened, unsealed ajar. Frank conversations not meant to be heard monosyllabic grunts no groans but the meaning has memory in silent circles dreadful worries about an adjacent dream.
Mon, 05 Oct 2015 12:20:08 -0500When I was lost in the dark forest of agony, It had ways swindling, blind, and thorny. My bleeding emotions and wounded heart Wandered, but failed in finding the right path.
Fri, 25 Sep 2015 08:34:58 -0500In ignorance they stood no better than a cat or a mouse fortuitous tales still lacking as he made his way into her convoluted blouse for these are the days when emotion shall often come to pass. In the shade of a monkey's tree see it in her eyes, red lips flowing, pink ships knowing, just another way to worship and practise as there is nothing missing here only an olive branch left upon a hill.
Tue, 22 Sep 2015 12:44:37 -0500The Victorian Age started with the passing of the first Reform Act 1832. Reform act set at rest political disturbances, by satisfying impatient desires of middle classes and seemed to inaugurate an age of stability. It was the age of rapid industrial development and material expansion. For the sake of convenience, the long and complicated Victorian age is often divided into two periods: Early Victorian Period and Later Victorian Period.
Mon, 14 Sep 2015 06:59:47 -0500The eighteenth century in England is also called Classical Age or Augustan Age. As the writers of the eighteenth century in England tried to follow the simple and noble methods of ancient writers, they began to be called Classical writers. The reign of Augustus is called the Classical Age of Rome.
Mon, 14 Sep 2015 06:40:12 -0500So there you have it, a sad description, a viscous element wiggling like a worm but these are the days when the bride has decided to appear, broken legs in a battle, a commemoration of normal events, how simple it seems to be when the ogre did run into the valley with bated breath, searching for stars, reaching upward, spanning the gambit, looking for all to see. But it just may depend upon whoever has open ears, a rascals habit as there are only so many ways for you to come.
Fri, 11 Sep 2015 07:04:49 -0500THE RENAISSANCE PERIOD (1500-1600) - The Renaissance Period in English literature is also known as Elizabethan Period, or the Age of Shakespeare. Renaissance means the revival of learning, and in its broadest sense it is the gradual enlightenment of the human mind after the darkness of the middle Ages. This age advocated humanism, emphasizing man's concern with himself as an object of contemplation.
Fri, 11 Sep 2015 07:02:53 -0500Before analyzing any piece of poetry, it is necessary to trace out the age, or period to which the poet belongs, so the verse could be comprehended in its true spirit and intent. Literature is the reflection of its society. Various political and social changes in English society left their marks on English literature as well.
Tue, 08 Sep 2015 06:40:35 -0500Death has no chamber, behind the barrier, a seaport, a snatch. Still there is maple beyond the sugar, rampant corruption, a sea, a dance.
Thu, 03 Sep 2015 06:07:31 -0500In a figment it shall all glitter down, bold apparition coming in the light. Distant rays from different planets, microscopic panthers freezing near a kite. Straight from our heavenly father a great citadel was born, topaz, turquoise, onyx, rubies, diamonds on a hill, cut from fresh granite see them sparkling from a quill.
Tue, 01 Sep 2015 06:12:52 -0500There is wizardry in the word, divine magic is marvelously absurd, among the unspeaking and the vile who practice witchcraft meant to be so hard. But tell me who is the master of the mount, the dreadful demon who has sacrificed his own fortuitous fate. Because recollections of history are rarely good anyway, antiquity will fool you like a bee on a bonnet, a horse without wings, fly yourself to any place good, a pistol in the rain, in keeping with the weather there is hardly a spot unblemished exercises so vacant so hot because it is in the immaterial world that we begin to take what has been noticed, sorcery for the melancholy heart, madness in verdant alleys miraculous recovery in corpulence, prudence, heavenly misery, cherubic, seraphim, unknown, keep all of it a secret as there is water on the boil, tepid collections for those who seek to be kind to you as there are faulty flowers creeping ever so gently within the despicable dirt but do as you wish raise what has been lurking in the ground there are many cheerless sites that have done their best to stop themselves from always messing around.
Thu, 27 Aug 2015 09:54:24 -0500Oh how it flows in a moribund cycle of endless thoughts and words. It is not the end nor is it the beginning, but let us pray that it will always continue to evolve. In chaos there are concepts, ideas, speech, vocabulary, highly different tongues. Let them all dance together in a mountain of forgotten terms, this is how the incarnate will pronounce their utterances, it is how the people shall remember their wants and needs but somehow they continue to make their way walking gently upon the silent shores, the ground rocks and pebbles burning embers beneath the skin, rambling, strolling, wandering on an inexhaustible trace through time, destined for sorrow, eclipsing a shattered bird.
Mon, 24 Aug 2015 13:50:37 -0500How can you tell a high quality love poem from a mediocre one someone has just scrambled up and published on a personal blog? Find out here!
Mon, 24 Aug 2015 06:51:42 -0500In the absence of water we shall all perish in the dirt. But without heaven there will never be another earth. Because the glass reflections are embedded in the heart of a winsome cry, circling the altar at noon like a mad dog who has lost his memory, the bowels of a solvent cat set on fire, sizzling, motionless, sad thumping, discordant sound the melding of material existence that alters rhythm, the loosening of effect, modulation, psychedelic urge, assaults on an old grandfather clock, an uncurved metronome, coming home again.
Wed, 19 Aug 2015 06:36:53 -0500This article tries to address the helplessness of a modern poet. The society, which has become hostile in a way, offers less or the abundance to a poet! On many instances, the poet becomes the helpless witness!
Mon, 17 Aug 2015 12:55:20 -0500Do men like poetry? Are they as touched and moved by words as women are? This article explains some of the basic arguments in this matter!