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Nightingale of Eyelashes and Dreams

Dulcet voiced chanteuse,
song birds burn and flutter from within you,
your voice soars and shines,
dispersing over the night
like a flock of phosphorescent plumes.

Sing me your melancholy melodies and
mellifluous carols of unbridled revelry,
drown me in those salty waves of your yours,
flood the void left in the stilly suburban night
with your misty eyed nocturne.

Cut my ears with your sweet accompaniment of
silver shard piano keys.
Haunt my every thought with the harp string's
wounded maudlin echoing.

I keep your torch song burning
in a tinder box beneath my pillow,
at times I suffer high fevers,

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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I Forgot How to Do It

There's a storm brewing,
And a moth in the ceiling
And there's a man blatantly rusting
Encrusting with cobwebs, chipped and jagged
By the corner siphoned of salvation
No God to talk to, kneading for redemption
Talk to the man with a lion for a head
Or the colossal mandrill, sagacious king
No orphan nor dream, nothing could redeem
The crevasse that cleaved
Now, asunder. Now, leave.
Forlorn child, where should a soul reside?
No body too scarce,
When you rest beneath these scars
And live without breathing
Or breathe without living
The phantom vanished from the masquerade
What haunts with the undertow?
Morsels of bereavement
Will lacerate the lungs in billows

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poem by Norman Santos
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Stalemate Exodus

In gradients of gray
I reckon of euphony
the savory verdigris
titillating my defunct compass
coaxing me to move
as the leaves fall to senescence
with a hapless acquiescence

This silence feigns resilience
mourning for the rotting sequence
and the stifling emptiness
alchemically transmutes to gold
but the rusting chains can't deny
the nursed grievance inside
the pangs of my vault

The chains of despondence
kept me incarcerated
in this haunted quagmire -
a cellar of wrongness

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poem by Norman Santos
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Downfall - 1053 - Current Version of Fallen is Star

Fallen is star which once brightly,
there clear in fair firmament shone,
no trace now remains as Time lightly
grieves sleeves, life's sheeved leaves ever gone.

Love's star which once seemed infinitely
to bloom beyond tomb meets doom, dumb,
as sentiments sent expeditely
to Lethe mock joyride's vain sum.

Dreams' themes lie unechoed, contritely
one wonders what might have become
if fate had dealt less reconditely
ere great expectations succumb.

Whosoever would compromise slightly
with principles life's staff has spun
must offer impression unsightly
some pity, some spurn, and most shun.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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I Will Follow You

oh gentle heart, why hath thou spin blood so hurriedly?
has she threathen thee to bark with and without her presence.
since you hold her memory, you have never slept.
why heart, why did you let her presence make a turn against
my direction.
please heart speak, do not be sceard i am your keeper,
thou you hold me.
i had saw a woman who had the light to brighten the world
and you lay quiet as if she mean nothing.
i have meet a woman who will control nature with her beauty,
and yet you pretend not to see her.
i have gaze at a woman with the world, you left us alone as
if she did not worth it.
why heart, why did you adore that woman in that isolated hamlet?
did she hold your replica captive? or is she my extracted bones?
you had only saw her for three days and yet you complicate my thought
with a thousand meetings.
heart has she buckled you to succumb for my return in her nest?
heart i have looked with a billion glampse and have found a trillion
description but her types her many.

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poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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Engage

It is hard to imagine
Starlight that fails
To fall into your eyes
Or moonlight that would hesitate
To caress your hair.

When I remember
Any afternoon we’ve spent
Walking through a garden of flowers,
I give thanks for those moments
So sacrosanct to my soul.

I cherish the Saturday evenings
Walking college streets
Looking for a sacred bar
Where we could drink
And slowly eat something simple
But with reverent hearts
For the palpable joy of existence.

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poem by Uriah Hamilton
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HIV/ AIDS Anecdotal Poems

She loved a man and he was young;
He loved her back and had some fun;
They married too and some years passed;
They both died young, left child orphan!

He was a trucker working hard;
He used to come home twice a month;
He was a wayward, smoker, drunk;
He died of AIDS, infecting wife!

A police husband’s wife was nurse;
The man gave HIV to her;
When he died, she took ART;
She died too when she stopped her drugs!

It was a jolly trip for boys;
They enjoyed well, sang, drank and danced;
Some strayed into the red-light zone;
All of them developed AIDS sometime!

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poem by John Celes
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With Trumpet and Drum

With big tin trumpet and little red drum,
Marching like soldiers, the children come!
It 's this way and that way they circle and file---
My! but that music of theirs is fine!
This way and that way, and after a while
They march straight into this heart of mine!
A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb
To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum!
Come on, little people, from cot and from hall---
This heart it hath welcome and room for you all!
It will sing you its songs and warm you with love,
As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine;
It will rock you away to the dreamland above---
Oh, a jolly old heart is this old heart of mine,
And jollier still is it bound to become
When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum!
So come; though I see not his dear little face
And hear not his voice in this jubilant place,
I know he were happy to bid me enshrine
His memory deep in my heart with your play---

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poem by Eugene Field
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Dane-Geld

A.D. 980-1016

It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation
To call upon a neighbour and to say:--
"We invaded you last night--we are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away."

And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
And the people who ask it explain
That you've only to pay 'em the Dane-geld
And then you'll get rid of the Dane!

It is always a temptation for a reach and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say:--
"Though we know we should defeat you, we have not the
time to meet you.
We will therefore pay you cash to go away."

And that is called paying the Dane-geld;

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Is an old age curse?

I sat motionless after visit to an old home,
Sultry place and no visits and stay lone,
With all the agony of pains remain alone,
Reminds us of journey for self and only one,

Their woes and tales tore me apart,
Life was not smooth but in part,
People travels in jet but some still in cart,
Project self as noble and try looking smart,

Life seemed to me so hollow,
Found examples life to follow,
No joy, no happiness but only sorrow,
What to think of bright tomorrow?

I may pray for their happy and fine end,
Wish them all happy life and flowers send,
Some old couples did not succumb and bend,
Living in hope children may make amend,

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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