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It's Still There

It is what it is,
Until it isn't.
As sure as this planet we live upon,
Exists.
Although many refuse to see it,
For what it is.

Hoping...
That 'if' they should isolate themselves,
Long enough...
Away from it,
Whatever 'is' that 'is'...
Will succumb to the pain of not being noticed,
And from all eyes ignoring it...
Will overnight fade away.

'What's the matter.
Why do you appear out of breath and in fear? '

~I saw it.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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List of Deeds

Why should I slow my stride,
To identify for you...
Over and over,
From your point of view...
What has already been done.
I will not succumb to that activity.
Nor will I continue to bleed.
And that's what you wish to see from me.
But I've overcomed that need to feed...
What is now too available,
To be lived and not become dissected...
To appease your insecurities.
And that is not on my list of deeds,
I have just begun to touch.
As much as you feel I should ignore them!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Promise I Made Myself...

I have promised myself to keep my face
Towards the light, even if faint and pale
For it gives me, even if brief, a respite
From despair, grief—human plight…

Even when darkness and night descends
And I slowly crawl into my cold bed,
I try to think of now extinct fire flies
Alive and glowing in my mind’s eye…

Oh, pain give up, I refuse to succumb
Or hug you tight to my heaving bosom
Or wear you like a shroud or veil
I’ll rise like the Sun, for sure without fail…

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Sunsets

We don't look back nor forward
for anything or anyone but the sun
that stalks our obstinate confusion
reckoning the gilded mouth
of the slavering twilit horizon
that is ravenously swallowing us

I lift my sinewy hands and vied
to gather the yellow light
and succumb to its descend
until the warmth dissipate
and the darkness fecundates

And the nights would be nothing
but the shards you have left
in cold serrated pieces
and I will bleed lecherously
just so I can keep them.

poem by Norman Santos
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Outside

Outside a sky of blue is fading in and out of grey
Inside a crimson sky is dawning all throughout the day.

The senses numbed as defences succumb
To dread fear of revolution
Beneath the sun we’ll have our fun
Turning cycles in evolution.

Creation destroys the age old toys
Of wood nymphs, their forest homes
Relations coy fulfil no joy
When I’m chewing on the bone.

Alone! Alone and never grown
In seeking love so far from home.

And here I remain
A King without a throne.

poem by David Lacey
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The candle and the fly

A woman in love is a candle;
Her love and the candle’s flame are to burn.
Her pining is the candle’s burning.
They pine and burn and exhaust themselves.

A man in love is like a fly;
Both are in flight towards their targets
Of love and flame, to which they succumb
By one longing and the other by falling.

The candle is burnt; so is the beloved.
The fly is burnt; so is the lover.
No doubt, the end for them is mere ash
But their pursuits gave them enough push.
27.10.2008

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Poisoned Apples

Tenth grade teacher, a Mr. Suchandso
slashed a C minus across her very first poem

ashamed to be qualified as less than mediocre
it was many years before she dared compose another

and, indeed, may never have
(a loss the world might long regret)

but for an insistent voice within her that
refused to succumb to

the unwitting cruelty of a witless pedagogue
who should have known better.

(Previously published in Spilled Ink, July 2000; Stroll of Poets Society, July 2000)

poem by Laurence Overmire
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Nights Of Madness

After nights of madness
mornings become grim,
dissonant as sadness
lowered like a scrim.
Darkened by normality,
feelings that are numb
take away vitality,
as we all succumb.

Written about twelve hours after the cease-fire between Israel and the Hezbollah on August 14,2006. Also inspired by a line from Another Green World by Richard Grant, reviewed by Art Winslow in the LA Times Book Review, August 13,2006: “After Nights of Madness, mornings are grim.”

8/14/06

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Books

I have discipline with my book,
Absorbed in its content that judges
My bed from its room and space.

I absently wondered about bangs,
The attention has astounded,
Musical whims are again outlandish.

Inside this small country, I think
And I wince at thorough yawns
About the world I glimpse.

This, my body of thought,
Though I consider the mind an alacrity,
Is wondered by some as a feud.

Find me in music books,
Answer the problems for the pages
And I may succumb to you like paper.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Another Day

Another day, baby it's the same old shit
The beers are warm, we go nothing to do
So, we'll drink a few more til our bellies are full
Then we'll ride this dark ghost town through
Every road we ride down becomes a nightmare
We succumb to the spell of these streets
Cause everyone here knows everyone
But guess what? No one knows a single soul
Not their neighbors, not even themselves
These people lie, they cheat and they don't ask why
Isn't it a waste of life when people live to die?

poem by Paul H Nelson
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