Silentious gal
I’m setting for 19 hours with great fear,
the sudden pilot steer,
the wheels prepare for landing,
I rise up and searching,
I advance to the airport,
and experience the weather is cuckoo,
made me screech,
I look at the creek,
don’t want to swim in it.
I envision if i’ll lissome,
and sweating,
assign a meeting,
just because of invitation for me,
I drink coffee or tea,
First, I were analytical,
I drink a miranda,
It was familiar,
strawberry soda, America’s similiar,
late night show,
I listen to music flow.
It was alive and loud, I’m amuse,
and confuse.
so many decorations,
lights for entertainment.
Green,red,and flashing purple,
It make me feel fanciful.
Do I see what I suchlike?
Especially at night.
All is so romantic,
restaurant(s) and cafe(s) are fantastic.
I wake up early possibly 8:30 am,
to greet the new fam..
I went on a field trip,
made sure I don’t slip,
fell on a ground,
not make a sound.
Even, if I did,
the village people hid.
I’m a foreigner,
and a tight-mouth stranger.
I am a solitary female,
When I get back to the U.S I won’t feel unparallel.
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Engaged
And now you’re engaged?
Again.
I don’t forget.
That won’t happen.
I’m blank,
or maybe just wish for blankness;
anesthesia; blindness.
I don’t know what to feel.
I was certain you didn’t matter anymore;
certain that you were merely a relic
locked in the dusty museum of my past.
Now you will finally have a wedding,
but with her
and I’ll see you soon.
I’m going back
to where we met.
I’m going to where we started
and where we ended.
Soon I’ll see you again.
You- one person,
with an ever-changing definition.
You- the friend who stooped to search
for the true me that cowered inside;
the man who fought tenaciously
for my possession and promise of forever.
You- the typical macho male
who burned our future and history to dust
in the bed of lust and regret.
I cried alone for our beauty
destroyed by the strong hand
that held my soul.
And now you’re engaged.
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(2 votes, average poem rating: 5 out of 5)
The Touch of Love
The touch of love quickens the heart
And puts us back to together again;
It reaches deep within the abyss
Of the souls own self-worth
The touch of love can ease
The heart of the lonely,
The heart of the lost,
The heart of the broken-hearted
It is the driving motivation
Of those on their death bed
Who await the ones they hold dear
Before giving up the ghost
It is the touch of love
As felt by a child in pain
It is the healing factor that mends
It is the touch of love
That transcends and reaches past
Our own understanding;
It’s the small child cradling a pet;
Its purity of the spirit;
It’s the hand that reaches out
To an elderly generation, leading the way;
The nurse, the Doctor, the healers,
The caregivers, the clergy, the laity,
The hand that soothes the brow,
It’s the hand that lends
To share the burdens we bare,
The touch of love gives of itself,
It looks beyond the boundaries
Of race, color, or creed,
Jesus, the ultimate teacher of love
Laid down His life upon the tree
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(2 votes, average poem rating: 3.5 out of 5)
At Sea
One can see the fog rolling in;
Only God can lift it.
She sits in silence as if
She knows her fate.
I see fear in her eyes;
She’s unable to talk.
There was a time when
The skies were clear.
She heard the thunder of laughter
In the distance.
Now there is peace and quiet.
She smiles,
She is in her own world now.
We carry on conversations without words,
I see a tear in her eye.
I rub her forehead and hold her hand.
She examines my face
As she reaches out to me for answers;
On the morn she will drift out to sea;
When she awakens the fog will be lifted.
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 4 out of 5)
Introspective
I am the door leading
To the next generation.
It is an effigy to my spirit.
There is no key.
Once opened, I can not
Be locked.
The riffraff of the past knocks
But I will not yield.
The winds and javelins
Of lighting thrust
Against the barricade
Can not break me down.
I do not succumb!
I am life.
I am the energy of
Things to come
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(2 votes, average poem rating: 4 out of 5)
First Kiss
I’ve walked down this path a million times.
The ivy intertwines itself
Around the trees, and shrubs;
It’s spring.
In the distance I hear the town clock chime.
The brook has released the winter snow
That blanketed her.
She flows into a river not far from here.
The aroma of honeysuckle
Wafts through the air.
Its fragrance overpowers the senses.
It’s not by chance that we meet;
He holds my hand.
We stop.
He kisses me gently on the lips.
The only sound I hear is
The beating of my heart.
The war summons him.
He must fight for our country.
We pledge a vow;
I will wait for his return.
So many winters have come and gone;
It’s spring again.
The crocus and daffodils are peeking through
The warm soil;
They have awakened from their hibernation.
The ivy still climbs.
Streaks of gray run through my hair.
My gait is much slower now.
I can feel his presence.
The aroma of honeysuckle fills the room,
But all my tears will not bring him back.
I think I’ll walk by the brook today.
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 4 out of 5)
Hold Fast
It snowed in my head once, a wintery night
Blowing a blizzard from left ear to right
I clasped my hands over those flaps of pink skin
And breathed in the shivers of snowflakes within
Each one of the crystals touching my brain
Created an impulse, a newborn refrain
But night became dawn and dawn became day
And day saw the snow dimly dying away
Water sloshed freely through caverns of fears
Washed out my focus, diluted my tears
Drops of the liquid warmed up by your stare
Exhaled by a cough in a cloud of hot air
Down through my body, a torrent of doubts
Floated my instincts but started the drought
Still I hold fast that feeling and store it below
I’ll wrap my heart in it and never let go
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(3 votes, average poem rating: 4.67 out of 5)
Dali used crutches
Under amorphic figures
I account for your fingers
To forge my counterfeit checks
Spinal voids where my unbalanced fluids lie
In plaster cast signatures
To close fissures where fixtures need lie
And lies need closure to not linger.
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(2 votes, average poem rating: 3 out of 5)
Askew
Mother Infedelity
Gave her child to the storm
In all her so-called sanity
Lost herself in aerials
Ignoring “common” laws of gravity
A spectacle of self-loathing self-governing
Slowly straining
Through and through as sand
Her vanity through patchwork hands.
The girl she left
She never claimed
So never knew
She sacrificed
Her on a fool’s gold throne of righteous
Lead-loaded pistol printed
She still holds her head askew.
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makeshift.
Walls that shudder in the wind.
The stars aren’t hiding here.
If you lay down, all night the sky will own you.
This can all be taken down
and moved to anywhere.
Living on the edge of denial
swimming through old old news,
sticking to your feet and hands
like ancient shells to beach rocks.
Living on the edge of life
dipping in and out of that raw emotion.
I lay tender.
I lay bare.
I am makeshift.
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 5 out of 5)