Tag Archives: poem

Where Deer Sleep by George Cassidy Payne

My three-year-old son
asked me where deer sleep.
So I took him there. Stepping
into a space that is not meant
for fathers and sons, we found
a ritual that has nothing to do
with us. An original grace. A serenity
that evokes the burden of redemption.
That place where deer sleep, under a
plumbeous sky, the pods of grass bent
toward the center of the earth. Otherworldy
crop circles and a feeling of trespassing.
For me if not for him. A child cannot connect
with the mystery without stepping on it.

deer01_400

 

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Coining Silence by Saloni Kaul

Sounds blaring loud as in pretence,
Sounds soft as muttered oath ,
Coaxed into a coil tense !
For us who’ve had enough of both
Breath lithe and bone dense ,
Someone coined Silence.

 silence01_400

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The message by Bohdan Yuri

The message I’m getting is far from here
it travels in a line of constant despair.

a hungry child stares at his unfilled hands
his mother cries at the emptiness in his soul.

a shattered dream walks in solemn grief
as the father mourns by his son’s plywood coffin.

a daughter tries so hard to learn the motion
of walking on crutches and a leg to support.

the other learns not to look into a mirror
and cry at the melted flesh from war’s revenge.

they will not forget the aimless shells and bombs
that carried their lives into a den of lost tears.

but the victors will remember only the swagger,
of those who are spoiled by the bounties of wars.

at some point in time the line of despair
will finally reach into everywhere.

messag01_400

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Cosmic Reverie by Nikos Laios

In silence I drank
The moon tonight,
And the universe
Illuminated my body
With a soft radiance.

eternal_light_400My soul billowed
Like the white sails
Of a caravel
Filled, flapping
Against the moonlight
Cutting the splashing stars.

I listened to
The whole world
In silence to the
Soothing sounds
Of the waves washing
Against the cosmic shore
Mingling with all the pain
And sorrow that the world
Has ever known,
Cleansing it all away.

The children slept,
And the world turned,
And I drank the moon
And cleansed my soul,
And communed with
The world in silence,
Floating in a
Cosmic reverie.

*******************************************************

With a digital drawing from Nikos Laios

*******************************************************

Check Nikos Laios’ EBOOK
Ida & Her Magic Camera
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!
life_41_400

 

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Spark by Jan Sand

What joins wit to weight is matter
In filigreed ionic fields
That seine sensation from the scatter,
Covet it in horny shields
To integrate, elucidate, eliminate and formulate
Through cross-looped pathways, pulsing nodules,
Granulating Time and Space,
Coursing through recursive modules
At a phased electric pace,
Distilling consciousness at last
Between the future and the past.

 spark01

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Thinking of the scientist John Nash thinking in code by Abigail George

for my mother and father)

nash01_400The world in which I live
is a kind of an autumn
world. It gives perplexity,
day, its shape back to me.
I love my family but they
test me all the time. Now
I know when to withdraw,
when to say nothing at all.
Quietly we move towards
the surf. Hands fasten on
silence. With the complex
movements of shopping with
a purpose, talking with a
positive meaning, thinking
of peace. My mind is vulnerable,
are you? I’m like a volcanic
hill. I glow, I expand, I function
beautifully for an eternity.
At the end of the day, I think
of you, make another doctor’s
appointment, worry, think.
There’s no music here, nor you.
My bare feet are dirty. I must
find socks to ward off this
cold. You’re inside my head
again. I’m left to count stars,
journal, to try to find the exit
out of the deed of this poem.
I think of rooftops, the Greek,
the tragedy of Antigone, the sea,
the refugees on the beaches,
warped souls every single
one redesigned for life. We’re
petals. Petals on a winter
branch knowing the struggles of
farm life, periods of near-desolation.
Remember when you chased
Cameroon, Uganda, Malawi.
Now he is gone. Now he is gone.
Life, life stole love from me.

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The hands on the clock by Bohdan Yuri

The hands on the clock are broken,
time has caught its first desperate chill.
my present is forced to survive guilt
inside the space of misdeeds and sins.

Discarding the impossible dreams
yet strengthening not the rush to regret
I carry the moment of its non existence
by extending  a thought beyond

the hands of time.

 clock_400

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