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Penetration

The mountain peak is penetrating the sky,
That lead sky, hidden behind the indigo clouds,
Tapping with its shade the rain shower,
Which beats the world of emaciated feelings,
Those feelings keeping the encroached souls
In a mesh of life without hope
And in a framework of themselves.

The sky is penetrating the mountain
In its valley's green depth
To the place, where
The life's last illusion flows
In the middle of the chasms,
Where the running water galvanizes
The gold silence,
Weary wandering seemingly to nowhere,
Trying to vanquish its metamorphosis
In the time sight
And on the time ear.

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poem by Marieta Maglas
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A Lost Angel

When first we met she seemed so white
I feared her;
As one might near a spirit bright
I neared her;
An angel pure from heaven above
I dreamed her,
And far too good for human love
I deemed her.
A spirit free from mortal taint
I thought her,
And incense as unto a saint
I brought her.

Well, incense burning did not seem
To please her,
And insolence I feared she’d deem
To squeeze her;
Nor did I dare for that same why
To kiss her,
Lest, shocked, she’d cause my eager eye

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poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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The Bayadere

Flaked, drifting clouds hide not the full moon's rays
More than her beautiful bright limbs were hid
By the light veils they burned and blushed amid,
Skilled to provoke in soft, lascivious ways,
And there was invitation in her voice
And laughing lips and wonderful dark eyes,
As though above the gates of Paradise
Fair verses bade, Be welcome and rejoice!

O'er rugs where mottled blue and green and red
Blent in the patterns of the Orient loom,
Like a bright butterfly from bloom to bloom,
She floated with delicious arms outspread.
There was no pose she took, no move she made,
But all the feverous, love-envenomed flesh
Wrapped round as in the gladiator's mesh
And smote as with his triple-forked blade.

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poem by Alan Seeger
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~ Mon Escorte ~

~ Mon Escorte ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
01 April,2010

When
I was in slumber
Was called upon
Afore timely nothing for.

Entire universe was
Still speechless
In the beams of stars
Dense darkness
Earth was shrouded with.

Family lamented
How in dark
Will recognize the path?

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poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Understand the Blood that He Shed

Before He left this unholy ground,
The Lord came to Him with angels with little sound.

While many of them were scared to believe and scorned,
Many were still there to show much they believed and mourned.

As those whips hit and tore His flesh,
None of them knew that the Lord was there to protect him with His loving mesh.

Only if they knew that while Christ dragged the Cross he fell to the ground,
That with the Lord in His Loving Heart, that He could handle anything that comes around.

And as those thorns were stuck in his head,
Hopefully one day they will finally understand the Blood that He Shed.

As that sun light hit the cross,
Maybe their understanding finally did come and it is to the rightful gain not a loss.

Even though they had there could have tried while they were there to live.
Hopefully, we can see it as the only truth and see everything that He is here to give.

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poem by Frank Pulver
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The Prolonged Noons of Loneliness

In the prolonged noons of loneliness,
And in the scorching sun,
Are the melting roads,
And two loathsome tired eyes.
Gaze into the vacancy.

A few moments ago,
There was hustle bustle,
The jostling crowed on the same spot,
Where now the amuser under the shady tree,
Is dozing, resting his head,
On the filthy bag of gadgets of his art.

Lives are deserted spots of amusement,
On the desolate roads lay,
The sold bodies that inhale the borrowed breaths,
The prayers of the heart-mender only reach,
The broken doors of the ruined city of dreams,
They knock but returned void of charity.

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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Love

Love is the sunlight of the soul,
That, shining on the silken-tressèd head
Of her we love, around it seems to shed
A golden angel-aureole.

And all her ways seem sweeter ways
Than those of other women in that light:
She has no portion with the pallid night,
But is a part of all fair days.

Joy goes where she goes, and good dreams—
Her smile is tender as an old romance
Of Love that dies not, and her soft eye’s glance
Like sunshine set to music seems.

Queen of our fate is she, but crowned
With purple hearts-ease for her womanhood.
There is no place so poor where she has stood
But evermore is holy ground.

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poem by Victor James Daley
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Tranquil green pastures

Tender green tufts of emerald green sponge,
riveted firmly to fertile landscapes of earth,
dancing to sedate tunes of swashbuckling breeze,
growing at rapid paces in a blend of manure and fresh
water,
feasting on nutritious rays of unadulterated sunlight,
greedily devouring tap water sprinkled at spaced
intervals of time,
glowing sedately in artificial lights of sodium bulb,
submerged in ponds of placid moonshine,
a bountiful warehouse of red ant and earth worm,
the green grass meadows were a breathtaking sight,
oblivious to the vagaries of jet paced life.

Cows grazed quietly trampling the grass cushions,
Long beaked cranes nibbled at pieces of left over
corn,
Wild pigs gulped loads of untreated sewage,
Petite fleshy ducks floated in tank water,
Thoroughbred horses galloped in enclosures of wire

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Cottage

Here in turn succeed and rule
Carter, smith, and village fool,
Then again the place is known
As tavern, shop, and Sunday-school;
Now somehow it’s come to me
To light the fire and hold the key,
Here in Heaven to reign alone.

All the walls are white with lime,
Big blue periwinkles climb
And kiss the crumbling window-sill;
Snug inside I sit and rhyme,
Planning, poem, book, or fable,
At my darling beech-wood table
Fresh with bluebells from the hill.

Through the window I can see
Rooks above the cherry-tree,
Sparrows in the violet bed,
Bramble-bush and bumble-bee,

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poem by Robert Graves
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Cinderella Bella

My outstretched arms surpass the point
Of normal, taxing every joint
By reaching, gasping, pulling in
The cloistered thoughts that lie within.

We meet in quiet, swathed in night,
Our bodies bathed in candlelight,
As words are whispered, sparsely spread
Between the bureau and the bed,

Where, skin-on-soul, our friction roars
While each of us, in turn, explores—
The vastness shuts—a shrink-wrapped world
Containing two, enclosed and curled

Together in contented bliss,
A rhythm set, no breath amiss
Within the syncopated shell
Of our imagined wishing well,

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poem by Bridgid Patrick
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