Enjoy PURPLE MORNING, a poem by Phibby Venable .....

Purple Morning

In the eloquence of this purple morning,
I am watching the tree lines embroidered
across the mountain.
They are stark black in outlines as
the water color of dawn barely glances
above the hills.
When the sun comes, it is too harsh
for the morning glories....
Their damp eyes close slowly.
They seek a pink and purple sleep
and wait for evening.
I have been up for hours and know the way
that some flowers close against the
tough regimen of days.
I have watched others, like daffodils,
awaken, unworried by warmth,
opening with sunny charm.
I am torn between reluctance and chance,
the soft fold of vulnerability
or the strength of bold resolve.
Each, lying as they do,
in the personal awakenings
of the individual heart.

If We Don't Wake Up - A poem by Rima N. Jaber

If we don’t wake up,
If we don’t open our eyes,
If we continue with the flow of evil and ignorance,
If we continue ignoring tolerance and morals,
If we continue forgetting our values and humanity,...
If we continue our hate and discrimination,
If we don’t see each other as children of one God,
If we don’t treat the other same as we treat ourselves,
If we don’t look at the other as our brother or sister,
If we build walls of ego and hells of hatred,
It’s the death of humanity,
And surely it’s announcing soon the extinction of the human kind.

Rima
{{OneLove}}
~♥☼♥~

EACH ONE - a poem by Audrey Austin

EACH ONE 

Delving deep beneath the bottom of my yearning
Is a scared shred of startled fakedom
One that whispers
One that cries
One that shouts to reach a listening ear.

Rising high above the surface of my shining
Is a sliver sure of caring kingdom
One that answers
One that pleads
One that reassures and softens fear.

Staying level in the now of life’s assertion
Is a silent sense of battles waged
One that urges
One that purges
One between with choice to tempt the seer.

WINTER - a poem by Tschana Wade

SEASONS:  WINTER

                        by

              Tschana Wade 

                  

Winter white, Cold at night

Despite the frigid outlook,

The future looks bright.
 

I see victory in the near distance

Persistence through the snow storm, 

We mourn,

for spring and summer.
 

Hey you, driving that Hummer!!

Try not to splash with the dirty water

For I am someone’s daughter

Why I aught’ a

No, Tschana, keep cool,

Wasn’t it I who got you through school? 
 

Yes, Lord,

I know you will see me through,
Even the thickest of snow

Won’t stop me and you. 

I wait for your Word,

Than move forward

Shout Praise, raise my hands

And rejoice.

For the voice

of the Lord has spoken

No more joking.

 

God your love is omnipotent, real

I feel your presence,

Your essence consumes me.

Free, to fulfill

your will

I will obey

Pray

Never stray.

The day I see your face

Your grace, your mercy

never thirsty.

For you provide living water,

You thought of me always. 

My light, my love

You understand me, when

Others can’t stand me.

You are a real friend to me

Your love is endlessly 

Forever, Whenever, wherever 

I will praise your name

You love us all the same,

For that I am thankful.

 

Memories of Mom - two poems by Eleanor Lambert, Bermuda

MEMORIES

 

There was a woman, who was so gentle and kind,

Not a day goes by she does not come to mind.

A woman who sacrificed every day and night

She could stretch a dollar like a widow’s mite.

Although very little to make ends meet,

Yet her children always had plenty to eat.

There is no doubt in my mind she was a miraculous person.

For she was our Mom you see and we know for certain,

That through her sacrifices and unconditional love,

She has her reward in Heaven with her Saviour above.

 

       HAPPY 107th BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN MOM

Memories of Mom

 

                                           Many things have happened                              

                                           Since she was called away,                                                                   

                                           So many things to share with her

                                           If she was still here to stay.

 

                                           Every day in some small way,

                                           Memories of her come our way

                                          Though she is absent she is ever near

                                           Much loved, missed, and so very dear.

 

                                          She taught us so many things

                                          We should do each and every day

                                          To read and obey God’s Holy word

                                          And yes, always to pray.

                       

                                                  Happy Birthday

                                                     In Heaven

                                                         MOM

                                                   We love you  

"Swamp Flower" and "White Flowers" - two poems by Phibby Venable ....

swamp flower

There in the oily green of swamp

 drifts a lovely lily rose,

 unthorned on thickened pads of float

 The slippery frog a constant friend

 They call the water there unclean

 Still, it is true that lovely things

... can grow in molds of ugliness

 Hidden in the hard wood forest

 and glistening in the sun's warm touch

......Phibby Venable

Phibby Venable

white flowers

What could I show you

 in the commotion of our lives

 We had a love that grew to bondage

... A house that owned us

 and demanded sharp repairs

 We were too young for the black clouds

 that hung above our music

 and rained scarlet tantrums

 on the rusty tin roof

 We planted a packet

 of morning glory seeds

 to prove we could grow

 some other thing than struggles

 Still the dark rain lazed

 and many years later

 the roof gave way

 our keen eyes swayed

 far beyond each other's sigh

 though soft blooms grew

 on the vine we left behind

 unfolding white at dusk and dawn

 long after we had gone

 

 

Phibby Venable lives in Abingdon, Virginia. Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, she is author of the novel, Women of the Round Table, and 5 books of poetry, including; Blue Cold Morning, The Wind Is My Wine, My Life On Little River, Indian Wind Song, and Blue Water Poems.

Email: phibbyvenable@aol.com 

Author’s page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BLOY58
 

Poet, Marlon de Souza -- "Not by the shade of a pipal tree"

Not by the shade of a pipal tree        

Not by the shade of a pipal tree
Or by the waves of a stream,
But by the tears of a restless mind
My heart once had a dream.

There by an untouched rainbow line
Out on a ledge by the sky,
Wondering if twists and turns of love
Make me feel alive.

And by the waves of a moonless sky
Far, far away from the shore,
There by the curve of the seabed’s cry.
I’ll promise to love you more.

Soon on a night when Venus reigns
Away from the sun’s sweet glow,
There you will find me with a heart
Stilled by a mind wanting more.


© 2013 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved

Marlon de Souza writes. Among his teachers are water bodies, Robert Louis Stevenson, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, e.e. cummings, His Royal Highness Wolfgang the First, Leonard Cohen, and his friend and dog-child, Jules. 
 

More of his work can be found on   http://www.JustAnotherAveragePerson.com

 

A poem by Crystal Piche ........

SURROUNDED YET ALONE

 

To be surrounded yet alone raised me to my name
For I am who I am
I am that I am
To be "alone" yet never am
It is that way
Giving the greatest thanks for all this day
Beloved are you
I feel you course through
The cell
Having never left
... Such brilliance
Unspeakable
Let it be that
Purity rings through
Strong and true
Healing
Let it be that she blooms

Three Baja Poems by John Brooke ........

Hola Audrey,

Three of my Baja Poems that may be worthy for inclusion in your publication.

AFTER THE HURRICANE — A GHAZAL

by John Brooke

Yield to the hurricane, you must, Arroyo,

lie wanton with wet desert lust, Arroyo.

 

Parade your charismatic writhing snake dance,

uncoil earth passions, come combust, Arroyo.

 

Mountains of rain thunder into your being,

rocking and rolling with each thrust, Arroyo.

 

Brutally filling your scorched sandy bed,

dirty rocks rollick in disgust, Arroyo.

 

Weeping waters cascade rushing out to sea,

flooded with tears, a breach of trust, Arroyo.

 

Juiced with rain you're rapidly over the falls,

by us humans you are cussed, Arroyo.

 

Until next season I babble dry and parched,

Brooke now a dribble, once robust, Arroyo.

 

 

The Ghazal Form

SHER: An odd number of independent couplets (shers), five or more, each of which is complete by itself and autonomous. This is the most consistently (often the only) rule followed in modern English-language ghazals.

BEHER: Metric consistency, or counted syllabics. There are 19 beher in Urdu, but they can be classified as long, medium and short. The lines of each sher should be of equal beher or length.

RADIF: The second end word of each sher should repeat according to the scheme: aa, ba, ca, da, ea, etc.

KHAAFIYAA: Internal rhyme in each line of the first couplet, and in the last line of each couplet In Urdu, this is the most rigid rule, yet is usually ignored in English.

MAHKTA: An optional mahkta or signature final couplet, where the poet's name is used in the second or third person. This is often used rhetorically, as if the poet was talking to him/herself. Many traditional ghazaL poets (shayar) used pen names

Syllables per line: 11

Rhyme scheme: aa, ba, ca, da, ea, fa, ga

La Paz Carnaval

Pantoum by John Brooke, first published Everyday Poets 2010

 Unembarrassed affections fill curb-to-curb en La Paz del Malecón
Shuffling jostling swaying hip hipping in opposite musical flows
Tight bumping padres-madres-niños-gringos cheerfully dance on
Many have traveled from distant arroyo mountain rocky ranchos

Shuffling jostling swaying hip hipping in opposite musical flows
Flotillas awash in glittering jovens moving as one sexy dancer
Many have traveled from distant arroyo mountain rocky ranchos
To flow in this cacophonous flashing corridor on tropic-of-cancer

Floats each awash in glittering jovens moving as one sexy dancer
Ten individual sets volley out musical souls in hi-tech reverberations
To flow in this cacophonous flashy corridor on the tropic-of-cancer
Brass-oompah-pahs-strings-winds-accordions musical celebrations

Ten individual sets hurling out musical souls in hi-tech reverberations
Hundred meters between groups of eager, musicians in black tuxedos
Horns-strings-windy-oompah-pahs-rapping-out musical celebrations
Pumping volumes of brightly colorful Mex-rap-mariachi-romaticos

Hundred meters between groups of eager musicians in black tuxedos
Necklaces of concessions rugs-T-shirts-dolls-ring-tossing ¡oles!
Pumping volumes of brightly colorful Mex-rap-mariachi-romaticos
Mexican foods from pozoles-moles-tacos-sopes-ubiquitous frijoles

Necklaces of concessions corn-candy-cervesa-fresca-hotdog ¡oles!
Tightly bumping padres-madres-niños-gringos en la calla dance on
Mexican foods from pozoles-moles-tacos-sopes-ubiquitous frijoles
Unembarrassed Carnaval affections overflow La Paz del Malecón  

BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE PANTOUM
The “pantun” is a Malaysian poetic form that was introduced to the West by the French novelist, essayist, and poet, Victor Hugo (1802-1885), hence the French spelling, “pantoum.”
Written in quatrains (four-line stanzas) the pantoum repeats the second and forth lines of each stanza as the first and third lines of the following stanza, respectively. This pattern is continued for as many stanzas as wanted. At the end repeat the first and third lines of the first stanza as the fourth and second lines of the last stanza. The pantoum begins and ends with the same line. The pantoum does not require rhyming end words.

What is the meaning of life?

By John Brooke

 

The trees, plants and all the animals know.

Every creature of the seas, lakes, rivers and creeks knows.

Shit, even stinking cockroaches, insects, and basic bacteria know.

 

And while we're busy killing every living thing, we ask ourselves,

What is the meaning of life?

 

First published Poems Niederngasse, Switzerland 2005

 

12/11/04 © Brooke 19 Lines

Two poems by poet, Paula Readman ......

The Gun 

A life gone.
Blood on the street.
A cold stone, with words so incomplete.


We now parted:

The wind echoed around the old oak tree and lifted its forgotten leaves, as I hurried by to make my leave.
You, who had been so quick, so pleased to say your final goodbye, with no thought or care,
I made my way along the path. The one for so many summers before, we had made it our own.
The distant bells, that had once rang the joy of our union, now echoed a mournful tone.
What earthly reason was there for you to go?
I, who had nothing to give you, but me, myself, and I,
Sit alone and mourn the passing of the tide.
This one life, one love, can never be again.
I hear your voice, it echoes in the wind that lifts the leaves around the old oak tree.
Then it chases itself down the valley and is gone.
A distant reminder of some forgotten time; once held to be true.
You, who were so dearly loved, my perfect world.
Has left me now, so broken hearted.
Once we had said those words, I held to be so true.
Let no man put asunder, and you had said I do.
Where now are the long hot summer days?
Where now are our gentle walks under the green canopy, while all around us the birds do sing?
I must hurry now for soon you will be gone and all that will be left to mark this earthly life,
Will be a cold, cold stone…

A letter from poet, Dan Grubb ..........

Dan Grubb

16 May 04:39

Hi Audrey,

I'm messaging you about the Rhymes and Times Remembered poetry blog page.

Our charity poetry competition closes in a month (15th June) and I wondered if it would be possible to promote it to readers of the blog?

The topic is 'Homeland/Motherland' and we are asking for poems between 20 and 60 lines long.
10% of the paid entry is going to the WWO (WorldWide Orphans foundation - http://www.wwo.org   and 10% of the sales of the produced anthology will also go to the WWO.

We have many professional poets on board including Maureen Duffy.

There are cash prizes, publication alongside professional poets and a chance to build an ongoing charitable donation for the lifetime of the book.
http://www.facebook.com/l/QAQErKMD4AQEr-a3s7VlPNRbsNghIiVG9Uf26hH2L3DI5gQ/www.fantasticbookspublishing.com/currentcompetitions/upcomingcompetitions/

Any help spreading the word would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks,

Dan Grubb
CEO
Fantastic Books Publishing

"RED" .... a poem by T.L. Cooper

RED

Red
Three inch patent leather stilettos scream power
Polished fingernails command attention
... Matching toenails hint at playfulness
Lipstick invites your lips to touch mine
A splash of spice in the serious

Red
The dress that turned your head
And his before
And his before
The suit that exuded confidence when mine faltered
The tie between my breasts accentuating my femininity
The tie between your lapels proclaiming your masculinity
A splash of power in the professional

Red
The rose that survives the loss
The paper heart of young love with a tear in the cleavage
The silky lingerie long forgotten in the back of a drawer
The heart shaped balloon that slowly deflates as love ends
A splash of romance in the mundane

Red
Spicy
Strong
Romantic
Sexy
The color of power


~TLC (from my book, Reflections in Silhouette:Poems)


Visit T.L. Cooper's website:  http://www.tlcooper.com 

 

A Mother's Day Poem by Eleanor Lambert, Bermuda

TO MY SIBLINGS, KEN. AUDREY, RAY AND LINDA

            

OUR MOTHER WOULD BE 107 SHOULD SHE BE HERE TODAY

SHE WAS TAKEN 23 YEARS AGO TO HER HOME ACROSS THE WAY.

 

ALTHOUGH SHE IS NOT WITH US HER MEMORIES EVER LINGER

SHE WAS THE LIFE OF EVERY PARTY AND EVEN A GOOD SINGER.

 

YES, HER TALENTS THEY WERE MANY, JUST TO NAME A FEW,

MUSICIAN, RECITING, STORY TELLING AND WRITING POETRY T00.

 

SHE WAS THE KIND OF MOTHER YOU DON’T SEE MUCH NOW ADAY,

ALWAYS THERE FOR HER FAMILY TO HELP OUT IN ANY WAY.

 

SHE ALSO REACHED OUT TO OTHERS WHENEVER THERE WAS A NEED,

MAKING ROOM IN OUR SMALL ABODE FOR ONE MORE MOUTH TO FEED.

 

SHE WAS NOT PERFECT, BUT WHO IS, ONLY GOD ABOVE,

BUT SHE SURE SET GOOD EXAMPLES BY HER KINDNESS AND HER LOVE.

 

OUR MOTHER WILL ALWAYS BE WITH US EVEN THOUGH SHE’S FAR AWAY,

FOR THE GOOD MEMORIES WE HAVE OF HER WILL ALWAYS BE HERE TO STAY.

 

                     HAPPY MOTHERS DAY IN HEAVEN MOM..

 

 

 

From Teresa Wangui

What does love look like ?

What does love look like? It has the
hands to help others. It has the feet to
hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to
see misery and want. It has the ears to hear
the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what
love looks like

The Wordsmith - a poem by Patricia A. McGoldrick

The Wordsmith

 

By Patricia A. McGoldrick

 

 

She

makes books

so very small

 

She

colours words

with thread and yarn

 

She

tells poem stories

so worth a darn

Happy to say that, recently, one of my poems was posted in the League of Canadian Poets NPM2013 blog: Eco-Balance--Book It!

Patricia A. McGoldrick

http://www.patricia-anne-mcgoldrick.com

PM_Poet Writer

Twitter @PAMcGoldrick

2013 BIO CURRENT 

Patricia A. McGoldrick is a Kitchener, Ontario Canada writer. Poems published in anthologies, including: Animal Companions, Animal Doctors, Animal People; Beyond the Dark Room, an international collection of transformative poetry; Poetic Bloomings--the first year. Poetry and reviews have been published in the CSM, The WM Review Connection, and ChapterandVerse.ca. Recent titles include: Potato  and MLK in Dufferin County plus an acrostic fiction piece, Best in the Bruce!

Patricia is a member of The Ontario Poetry Society and the League of Canadian Poets.  

WEB: Patricia A. McGoldrick--Author Site BLOGS: PM_Poet Writer; PM27's blog

 

 

 

A poem by Rima N. Jaber

Please Listen to me, Then Forgive me

 Ok dear friends just have to say this,
If I keep it inside I can’t sleep tonight,

You know that no one can eat more than his hunger,
...

No one can wear a whole closet,

And all we do is collecting wealth,
All our life we run after money,

We know people are dying from hunger,
People are dying cause they can’t pay hospitals,

It hurts so much to wear diamonds,
And forget about our dying brothers and sisters,

It hurts so much to leave money in our bank accounts,
Useless, inert, dead depriving to save people lives,

Yes Jesus knew it well, he asked us
To Leave everything and follow him, to enter heaven,

He knew it’s asking too much,
Wealthy people can’t do it, it’s too hard,

Each one of us is a sinner to a certain extend,
Each one of us is refusing to feel, to understand,

May God help us to be strong and brave enough
To face the truth and act with goodness accordingly,

I know it’s a lost case, no one can be so free from greed,
No one can give his properties even to save people’s life,

These days they kill you to steal your money,
Even the wealthy people do it boldly,

We’re asking for a higher consciousness,
But we are still in the mud of the earthly world,

If we can feel the pain of the humanity,
If we can hear the cries of the hungry,

My heart is bleeding, there nothing to be done,
We live in a world where each one is living on his own,

I’m dreaming of a perfect world where we are all really One,
Helping each other, loving each other, saving each other lives,

Maybe it’s a prayer, a hope, that will be lost in few hearts,
God gave us earth, seas, skies, trees, fruits without asking for a price,

You may talk about finance and economy,
But I’m talking about Love and Humanity…

Happy Weekend everyone
I love you All
Always Love, Light, Joy,
Peace & Blessings to All of us
{{ONELOVE}}
Rima N. Jaber
© April 20, 2013

Poetry by Claudette Young

Three Poems by Claudette Young


Paradox

Cloudy vision, a devil’s tool,
Asking honesty for reprieve;
A convenience leading to
Wanton surrender’s loquacious
Passage through night-tme’s valiant
Bid to cleanse one’s thoughts of growing
Awareness in life’s mock subtlety.

 © Claudette J. Young




Down by the Seashore

Beaches washed with soft blue waters,
Skies screeching with sea birds;
Sunshine. 

Never a comber who falters,
Even at sea’s foam curds,
Surf line.

Toes separated by warm sand
Squirm, feeling Earth’s wet breast
Beneath,

Wondering if ever my hand
could make a green wave-pressed
sea wreath. 

© Claudette J. Young




Universal Law

Stars expand, release energies
Into voids, creating new potential
For greater stars than themselves,
Never moving beyond their orbits
Of the Universe’s center and its well
Of gravity strewn satellites.

For all of time that man relates,
The Universe has moved out,
Away from itself, leaving behind
Peeks at its working, its beginnings,
And its wonders to behold;
Defining for us eternity.

 © Claudette J. Young

MLK in DUFFERIN COUNTY, by Patricia A. McGoldrick

MLK IN DUFFERIN COUNTY

 

By Patricia A. McGoldrick

 

 

It was 1968

Dufferin County, Canada,

In Grade Nine, our first year of high school,

When we heard the news

About him--

The American man whose skin was black

Who spoke about

Peace and change and

Peace and practice

Sit-ins and marches and dreams

Dreams of a future where everyone could be equal

Regardless of colour or faith belief.

 

The powerful voice of this man of peace

Reached far and wide

Even to the edge of the snow-belt!

 

When he spoke about dreams,

Like a biblical voice in the wilderness

We heard his words too.

 

In rural Dufferin County, we knew it could happen.

After all, we had learned about Jesus and Gandhi in school.

Why, we had even celebrated Catholic Mass

In a Protestant Orange Hall and

The roof was still intact.

 

Peaceful change could happen

Just like he said.

 

We rode buses too

Just like MLK

 

We dreamed our dreams

Just like MLK

 

We learned about peace

Just like MLK

 

We had the fortune of longevity

Just like MLK—

 

Not!

2013 BIO CURRENT 

Patricia A. McGoldrick is a Kitchener, Ontario Canada writer. Poems published in anthologies, including: Animal Companions, Animal Doctors, Animal People; Beyond the Dark Room, an international collection of transformative poetry, proceeds from book sales given to Doctors Without Borders/MSF; Poetic Bloomings--the first year. Poetry and reviews have been published in the Christian Science Monitor, The WM Review Connection, and ChapterandVerse.ca. Recently posted titles include a poem entitled Potato plus an acrostic fiction piece, Best in the Bruce!

Patricia is a member of The Ontario Poetry Society and the League of Canadian Poets.  

WEB: Patricia A. McGoldrick--Author Site

BLOGS: PM_Poet Writer; PM27's blog TWITTER: @pamcgoldrick

 

 

The White Horse - a poem by Rima N, Jaber ...

Rima N. Jaber 1 April 16:07 The White Horse Drops of ruby crystal water, Falling in the ocean of the heart, A shy smile was born in the corner of a childhood garden, Drown in the stormy night, Rose a wild divine rose, Breaking all rules, Fighting millions of soldiers, An ancient temple destroyed, In a secluded mountain, Hidden by pine trees, The rose with a golden crown, Use to live there, Her imprints still everywhere, That was since three decades, Her prince left her, Went on his white horse, And became a ghost, Never left her, He knew later what she meant to him, The cries reaching the sky, Calling the one united to God, The rose lived between here and above, Showered with the anger of storms, God’s hope kept her going on, In her heart the love, Her love and her God. I love you Always Love, Light, Joy, Peace & Blessings to All of us {{ONELOVE}} Rima N. Jaber © April 1, 2013 ~♥☼♥~