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The Snowflake Which Is Now and Hence Forever

Will it last? he says.
Is it a masterpiece?
Will generation after generation
Turn with reverence to the page?

Birdseye scholar of the frozen fish,
What would he make of the sole, clean, clear
Leap of the salmon that has disappeared?

To be, yes!--whether they like it or not!
But not to last when leap and water are forgotten,
A plank of standard pinkness in the dish.

They also live
Who swerve and vanish in the river.

poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Whisper Ghostly Beauty Pageant Gripe Captain Cur

nice titled promotion of the cause you oppose
nice mixed metaphors poets who birth arose
long after your death in haunting list rows

nice imaginative whisper ghostly write
no need to walk plank moonlight tonight
or blast thee with flame shotin iron blight

for centuries dead sea Captain Cur
was but a seaweed drowned spirit blur
now his legend rising gains new spur

Inspired by the poem ‘Beauty Pageant Poetry' by Captain Cur.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Living Lives Without Adorning Masks

To portray that which is premeditated,
Does not complete to disguise in a full camouflage.

One's word means nothing...
If a repeated deceit becomes revealed,
To mask with sweetness...
What is really concealed.

However...
Those unexperienced,
To walk a plank blindfolded without faith...
But say with them faith is always kept?
Will always believe,
Their perceptions are acceptable...
To the ones living lives without adorning masks!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Seach For Beauty Begins Here...

I live in a concrete jungle but i do not crib
My search for beauty begins here
I find symmetry in the neatly twined wires
laid ready to take on the concrete
I find perfect synchronised harmony
in the working of the road layers
who can do their 'do' in a jiffy
I find empathy in the action of the worker
who places a plank over a pit
enabling us to cross
I find god's grace in the babies
that survive in the rubble
its here we live and i choose to love it!

poem by Ratnaprabha Raykar
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Reclaiming the Ship

Parrot!
Captain has stolen our ship again!

Find me another so that we can
Board and clean the all decks
Free from paper with words
'sadness', 'sorrow' and 'woe'-
All to be shown the plank, got that?

Then hide the ale from view,
Put some magnesium in his soup
(Not too much, you know what that would do) .
Kill some chickens in the coup,
Line the cupboards with the best food.

Then make sure he eats!
And when we hear that belly laugh again,
Set course for buried treasure.

poem by Harriet James
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Up To Date And Ready To Go

It may not be the bearded man
who smiles at you and explodes.
It may not be the errant tyre
that slides on the icy roads.
It may not be the scaffolding plank
that bounces on your head.
It may not be pneumonia
that smothers you in bed.
It may not be the fever
that creeps through blood and vein.
Or the quiet worm in the sole of your foot
that climbs up to your brain.

It may be that the breath leaks out
in a mist of expiring pain
and nothing can make it turn about
and slide back in again.

Ready?

poem by Brian Taylor
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A Plank of Wood

A plank of wood,
Afloat on the Pacific;
A solitary body,
Buoyant in the greatest of blues;
Basking in the scorching sun;
Tumultuous yet inexplicably tranquil;
Amidst the raging currents;
Swayed by the ocean streams;
To an isle which lies;
Far beyond the immediate horizon.
A-kin, buoyant dreams,
Are carried by currents of destiny;
To lavish upon you;
A sunken treasure, buried,
Deep inside the sands of your destined isle;
In your journey, from calamitous depths,
To the arms of serendipity.

poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Song Above The Sorrow

I missed the heartbeats for a vessel of stars,
while death was always near,
circling the house.

The network of sorrow,
beams to world.
Can symmetry of pain
provide a plank for the sinking mind?
I cannot hold the curling smoke of a tainted fact.
The fear, the anxiety,
empowers the animal look.

An uncovered seed sprouting into
tiny root on my hand
starts a conspiracy.
People talk about the meditation,
and senile body shrinks.
There is a song above the sorrow and
freedom from the assassination of ideologies.
Hold my arm!

poem by Satish Verma
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Repairman

He rose from the ruins,
Scarred though he was,
Of the house she destroyed.
Tentative this new construction
Rising out the ashes.
Each brick cemented in with care.
Built from blood, sweat, tears and joy;
Sweetly leavened with a touch of love.
A work in progress never complete
Yet not his house alone,
For we are all formed by committee.
Everyone who touches our life,
A parent, teacher, lover or friend.
For at intersections where we meet
A brick, window, door, plank or nail is added.
Some good, some bad.
Adding or subtracting to the whole.
We bear the scars and survive.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Opens Both Ways

walking into death...
hands that grasped for so long,
learning to let go!
we spend our lives
in front of the easel...
and now the paint begins to dry.

at best, our dying
is the culmination of,
the fulfillment of destiny,
perhaps...
it finalizes the giving,
leaving the perfume of identity
hanging in the air.

we make love on a bed of pine needles,
small impressions on the ground.
the earth turns, the tides return,
the fires gone dim with stillness.
nothing to fear that we can change,

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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