THEME POETRY
NOVEMBER 2021 - HOPE
HIDDEN
Kassie Runyan
United States
https://www.kassiejrunyan.com/their-footsteps
did you know?
this place where we sit
taking a break
a breath
from walking up
a steep street
on this little bench
burrowed into a wall
put here by someone
knowing that we wouldn’t make it
up the steep street
without a break
a breath
did you know?
that this place has a dark past
a past filled with flame
and death
and when that happened
they built more on top
and buried the old history
trying to forget
did you know?
it couldn’t be forgotten
because the new build
the new grade
of the steep street
caused more pain
and stench
than what the fire left behind
as sewage ran
down the steep street
that we now struggle
to walk up
did you know?
to hide the pain
and the history
of people being dragged away
and sold on ships
as slaves
the city swept it all
under the steep streets
that now we walk up
and down
to get to the market
where fish are thrown
and people laugh
as they stick their gum to a wall
that is cleared away
every year
did you know?
that the resilience of this city
and the way they build
to hide the past
but embrace the present
with their visitors
and the beauty
that this city now brings
to all of those who see
the need to hide
and the need to forget
without that
the city we know
wouldn’t exist
with its steep streets
and hidden alleys
and hidden levels
and hidden secrets
didn’t you know?
__________
APATHY
Mel Haagman
United Kingdom
https://www.facebook.com/girlontheedge90
I’d rather feel too deeply
At all things great and small
Than lack any emotion
And feel nothing at all…
Hate isn’t the opposite of love
It’s apathy instead,
And I really hope this trait
Doesn’t multiply and spread.
Successful communication
Won’t be able to take place,
Barriers in relationships
Will be a constant case.
Apathy can be temporary
Though a dangerous path to tread,
You may feel such emptiness
Now your feelings have fled.
No sense of impending doom,
Or any elation to share,
A brain once on fire,
Is now silent and bare.
Acknowledgment is crucial,
The start to being freed,
And finding motivation
To get exactly what you need.
In a world with endless potential
There’s so much good to feel,
So get inside the car of life
And strongly steer the wheel.
__________
POEM OF HOPE
Dedicated to those lost in Manchester
John Albiston
United Kingdom
a light never goes out
it always shines bright
the candle flame glows
angels look after ones lost
as sad as it is
we must stand as one nation
stand united to fight
to fight against those who harm
let us stay together
stand bold and true
the fight must go on
__________
THE PROMISED VOYAGE
RC James
United States
On the mantelpiece, a single rose;
outside, a morning filled with mist
covering the field, oddly reassuring.
We’re leaving, with or without
your nightly phantoms, who,
spitefully, claim they’ve won.
We’ll reverse the confusion,
our fears welcoming a bird
from land beyond other land.
Knowledge gained can’t work out
what’s ahead, a handhold
on a cliff is all we have.
What we’ve lost remains inside,
silent seamsters embroider dreams;
in cool morning, prophets speak.
__________
THE BEES AND THE BEARS
CL Bledsoe
United States
Before bed, my daughter asks
about when we were bears,
serious face, big eyes. She knows
once she pulls the string, I’ll spin
all night. “That’s why you like salmon
so much,” I remind her. “We slapped
the waves into place as the river curtsied
past, which is how the Mississippi
was made. They won’t tell you that
at school, because they’re in it with
Big Erosion. We knew the secret song
that put the bees to sleep.” “But weren’t
we stealing their honey?” “We left
flowers like the tooth fairy leaves
silver dollars. They were glad to
have them. They wrote thank-you
notes. Your mother might still have
some, saved somewhere. Flowers
grew in our fur – a special kind
you can’t find at the farmer's market.
They changed color and scent
depending on our moods, what we had
to do that day. Too much homework
and they would go gray and smell
like old cheese. Everybody would know
we needed someone to make
funny faces at us.” “I don’t think that’s
true.” I shrug. “When we’d scratch
our backs on trees, it straightened
them so they grew into the sky, which
is where the best sunberries come from.
They’d drop them down for us, sometimes.
When we sharpened our claws on their
bark, we were returning the favor.”
I look into the distance, thinking about
how sweet those berries were, the feel
of loam beneath my claws. “Why did
we ever leave?” she asks. “We got laid
off and had to come here for work,” I say.
“Your mom’s cousin knew somebody
hiring humans, so we had to trade in our
fur and claws for hair and donuts. That’s
why you should always unionize.”
That bit always puts her right to sleep.
I tuck her in, stand over her,
growling at the darkness to keep
it back a little longer.
__________
Ivan de Monbrison
France
https://sites.google.com/view/ivan-de-monbrison/home
В другом месте, дальше, идите,
Не видеть,
Горизонт движется, как канат.
Падает, ниже, снова,
Но никогда не умирает.
Elsewhere, further, to go
not to see,
The horizon moving like a rope.
To fall down, again
But never to die.
__________
IF, TOMORROW
Genevieve Ray
United Kingdom
https://www.instagram.com/genevievefirepoet/
6 days from now;
I get a stamp,
or a label.
I can affix,
to every other tomorrow.
If it cannot come,
there will be another sun.
If,
tomorrow...
5 days from now;
I'll understand how,
I don't understand often.
Skipping from thought,
to forgotten notion.
If it cannot come,
there will be another sun.
If,
tomorrow...
4 days from now;
I wont question why,
I will question how.
Defining one more answer,
gaining yet another question.
If it cannot come,
there will be another sun.
If,
tomorrow...
3 days from now;
meaning will begin again.
Adding letters to selfdom,
taking away judgements.
Nearer conclusion.
If it cannot come,
there will be another sun.
If,
tomorrow...
2 days from now;
I draw lines,
between forgiveness’s.
Draw lines under,
forgetfulness.
If it cannot come,
there will be another sun.
If,
tomorrow...
1 day from now;
A life built up,
against one day,
and what was missing.
I sit silently hoping.
If it cannot come,
there will be another sun.
When,
I finally reach tomorrow.
__________
DON’T GIVE UP, THERE IS HOPE
Lolanda Leotta
Italy
https://www.facebook.com/Jole69
https://www.instagram.com/jole_leotta/
The disease knocked on your door,
you were always a strong woman,
now you’re weak and you cry,
the fever burns you out,
the convulsions make you tremble,
you feel you are out of breath,
heart beats slow down,
I know mother you feel exhausted,
but your son need you,
you taught me to have faith, to hope.
Don’t give up living!
God can perform miracles.
Mother! do you remember the day
I said to you: "I want to go abroad.
in search of fortune” and you told me:
"My beloved son, even if you’re afraid
of making a mistake, don’t give up living!
don't blame yourself for me,
I'm not here to give you a hard time,
you have to make your own life.
Why wouldn’t you fight!
You have to try so hard
until you find the right way,
I can’t bear to see you sad,
deprived of life energy.
I hope God hears my prayers someday.
Don’t give up your life!
You don't want to have the same fate
as your father,
you don’t want to be the victim
of his backward mentality.
If you stay in his shop to serve customers,
you’ll become cynical and contemptuous,
you’ll annihilate yourself.
Go! Dare to dream!
you’ll make me the proudest mother
in the world, don’t worry about me,
I can take care of myself
and when you come back don’t warn me,
I’ll be at the door waiting for you.
__________
HOPE FOR BLISS
Loti Uwatabaye
Rwanda
https://www.instagram.com/uwlot1/
Looking myself in the mirror,
My joy appears to have faded.
All the charms I had disappeared
Leaving me like an old billboard.
I can see nobody noticing me
Even make ups don't fit me,
I feel weak for me to move on
With anxiety that holds me back.
I am into a blackout of love
Depression defeats my expression,
Can't even get a friendly message
May be breath is my massage.
I try to spend my day as normal
And memories just make me wild,
I find myself walking alone all the way
Like I don't deserve accompany.
Loneliness brought me down
And fell to the ground staring to the mirror,
I saw my image in so clear
And hoped for bliss without doubts.
__________
SACRED PLAINS
Cathy Hollister
United States
It’s easy to love a mountain…But the prairie’s charms take more looking
Theodore Roosevelt National Park
Lone tree, distant, hazy
floating
like a waif
on an ocean of brown prairie grass,
the grasshoppers’ tenor drone surrounds
me in a maze of clamor,
clacking, clicking
over and over,
a companion as faithful as the wind,
starlings murmur,
inviting me to look up,
gaze at the artistic creations against
the blue canvas of the sky
scent of sage emerges,
speaking of purification and sacrifice
I know dwells within me,
though obscured by the mountain
of noise that separates me from myself
the emptiness of the land fills
the void of my loneliness,
my spirit welcomes the rhythm of the plains
as the golden rays of the sunset
anoint me.
__________
HOPE
Aleksandra Vujisić
Montenegro
The flowers are dead in the vase
but I have no wish to throw them away.
Their new, miraculous flourishing
is what I call hope,
or are they here to stay that way?
The love is lost in the nonsense
of everyday life, worn out as an old coat.
Its new, miraculous, reappearance is
what I call hate,
rocking with menace this old boat.
But there is the shore not so far away,
or even a lighthouse and I think
I can cope -
for all of the lost love or broken wings
I only have a ray of hope.
__________
SEARCHING
Judith N. Brooke
Canada
https://www.facebook.com/judith.brooke1
I search in my mind
To find you,
But instead, many doubts and anxieties
I reach out
you are not there.
I search for you
I don’t find you.
In my dreams I wonder why
I cannot find you.
The obstacles mount
why can’t I find you?
Why are you so hard to discover,
will I ever find you?
What is it that compels me to
keep searching?
Why can’t I be satisfied
with who I am?
Or do I know?
Perhaps I am crazy.
Or do I search because
inside I know that I am not.
I flounder like a baby
learning to swim
Thrashing, gasping, reaching
Reaching out,
But
you are not there - yet.
__________
CHILDREN’S EYES
Alan Bedworth
United Kingdom
I see the world today,
as a place I don't recognise.
Have we come so far,
that material things
makes us who we are ?
Governments and technology,
are isolating people,
the more advanced we become.
There's systems in place,
where we don't have to leave home.
Surely that's against human instinct.
Tolerance is something
that's becoming sadly lacking.
Patience and civility is eroding
thanks to social media.
What is the future for our offspring,
if this world is allowed to keep
ignoring the signs of foreboding.
Yet look into the children's eyes.
They're full of hope and living.
Now nearly at the end of my life.
Seeing those children's eyes,
fills me with hope and confirmation.
That all is not lost for the future,
and life will return to normality.
__________
HOPE BECOMES IN VAIN AGAINST THE YEARS
Maid Corbic
Bosnia and Herzegovina
https://www.facebook.com/xcelendge
https://www.instagram.com/zaglavlje.official/
All my hopes from life are woven
they become just dust and ashes regardless of age
i still live for the love that warms me
let it remain etched in my memory
I think that for all solutions there must be
because I live for my dreams woven of chocolate
and hope does not cease regardless of the environment
in which I must live forever
I hope in vain for some unfortunate happiness
and I'm just someone who loves ds be what you are
faith and hope for some better times still lives on
in the depths of my hidden and sincere soul
I am someone who really loves the world around me
but the people around me have become so pale
yes unfortunately as some day slowly fades away
the earth rotates all its slopes backwards
And I was left alone and within four walls
but I don’t want to remain a hunter of untwisted dreams
for birth is still alive to me as if it were the last
while hope in me lives on forever
I sneeze at the world, and I mustn’t be
hope must remain in every sphere of life
for I am a young man longing for an honest life
and every day I live as if it were my last
I enjoy looking at the smiling people around me
and we share equal colors regardless of all distances
but what is valid when everything has become just darkness and an endless tunnel
the dizziness inflicted on me by people with their boiling behavior?
All my hopes cease with some years of existence
I wish the world was still full of optimism
because every day is actually a new beginning since life decides for me what is best
Small things really know how to hurt my hopes
people are born to be all that they really are, selfish
while I want to show with kindness that there is still hope
for a whole world that wants some new and more beautiful times
My hope must be the same for all who live
because it’s easiest to walk away from someone without saying goodbye
that is why I always take hope with great reserve
because I learned that life is a big game of cat and mouse
Hopes become futile over the years
I am no longer the boy of my imaginative dreams
but I still hide a corner for my toys
which I skillfully hide, they do not see the ridicule I receive from the world!
__________
THE CAT’S CRADLE
Mark Andrew Heathcote
United Kingdom
Hold it as a child could
only the melting snow,
love is a living hope,
hope, a living hell.
Love, is a dew lit web
strung across our hearts
in love alone do we worship?
In death are we - then loved?
__________
NEAR WOODSTOCK (VT)
John Muro
United States
https://www.instagram.com/johntmuro/
Grateful for this day,
A slow-shuffling wind
And a sky of buttermilk
Fringed with blue. Hillsides
Ablaze in torchlight, blood-
Orange bronzed, and snow-
Dusted bales glistening in
A vacant field like wares
Displayed on the sleeves
Of a cut-purse. Frost fuels
The seepage into narrow
Arteries of brooks so it
Appears fragments of sun-
Light, like ingots, are stored
There in lavish sheen, flecks
Of gold disgorged down-
Stream over moss-softened
Stone. Birds seem transfixed
To boughs, like burls, while
Leaves explode in updrafts
Of air, muddling their ancient
Flyways as they inch, year by
Year, further up into these gold-
Hammered hills to divide the
Spoils of a season’s passing.
__________
NEVER FORGETTING
Christine M. Du Bois
United States
We remember the cute little girl
you were—
those big, trusting brown eyes—
a slow loris, cute and cuddly,
whose sweet, dreamy smile
sneaked up on people
and stole their thoughts away
into jungle treetops
stretching up
to clouds of innocence.
But that was long ago.
Since the time you were kidnapped,
it has been so, so many years.
We remember the quick, inquisitive little girl
you were—
sounding out words on the printed page,
tracing out curlicue cursive letters,
trying out science experiments
at Girl Scouts, in your crisp brown uniform,
and marching to celebrate, and to learn,
always quick to learn!— about liberty
at the Independence Day parade.
You asked so many questions—
were always asking good questions.
Now we ask the questions.
Since the time you were kidnapped
we have shed so, so many tears.
We remember the friendly little girl
you were—
greeting and hugging and chatting,
taking an interest in everyone
and in every living thing.
You liked parties and festivals
and you did just fine, both with other kids
and with the many loving adults in your world.
That love has been tested
since the time you were kidnapped:
we’re stalked by so many fears.
We remember you, little girl,
though she kidnapped you long ago.
She stole you, and now the person
in your body steals more than our thoughts.
She steals our money, and our jewelry
and our peace.
She kidnapped you, and now your liberty
is reduced to a prison cell—
though a slow loris should only live free.
She kidnapped you, and your strawberry-guava smile
denatured into a cursing, bare-toothed snarl
appearing anytime anything
stands between you
and your drugs.
You are not forgotten, little girl,
and we will wait and support
and insist and stay strict,
holding taut a fierce love-line
of expectation, until
you break the kidnapper’s bond,
and the woman you were born to become,
that wise and winsome woman, appears.
And until she never forgets
never to let her future
be kidnapped again.
__________
WHEN CERTAINTY WAVERS
Gurupreet K Kjalsa
United States
https://www.linkedin.com/in/gurupreet-k-khalsa-09257b11/
Soprano lights atop her rich-hued note,
an arc ascends aloft in crimson swell,
in summer morning sun uplifts to float
like hummingbird that sips from sweet red well.
My inner eye sees years and ages gone,
then tears of gratitude spring rich and fast;
awash in silky golden nectar tone,
I drift into the music thrumming past.
The dome of sound prolongs beyond my sphere,
my spirit answers colors into sail;
ten thousand chanting choristers I hear -
they glide inside such songs as must prevail.
Hold true to song, to hour, doorway, shore,
reflective voice may yet belief restore.
__________
PHYSIO
Rebecca Kenny
United Kingdom
https://www.instagram.com/rebeccakennywrites/
I gave it my whole heart
Felt every sinew strain itself, every joint creak
And every broken bone scream in protest -
My spine, like crumpled paper, forced to right itself
And each heel, lifted millimeters from the lino floor
Tempting me to give in. Lie down. Sleep.
But no - I won't. I refuse. I actively refute
The noises made by my tired form;
Instead, I throw my weight into elbows, wrists,
Fingers - carry myself along parallel bars
A dance of sorts, with my own damaged soul;
This is a cruel but necessary tango.
Nil points. A shit show. Sink into a black
Plastic chair, sweat-soaked skin and
Itching scalp arguing that it's easier to pack it in.
The voices grow loud. My heart grows quieter,
But still, it whispers, at the back of my throat
Calling to me
To keep going. Just
One
More
Step
__________
SHE FOUND HOPE ON PAGE 293
Thomas A. Thrun
United States
Half century ago, you would not
have had to tell me on what page the
hymn My Hope is Built was to be found
in our Lutheran hymnal. But now, being the
“Doubting Thomas” as I am, I check anyway.
1. My hope is built on nothing less
I checked the 1957 green-covered hymnal my
sister left me. The one she borrowed and used with
our old upright, farmhouse piano -- which turned out
to be the only good thing to come of Hope Church’s
burning in 1973. The bell calling its last in its falling.
than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. No merit
You may recognize that the tune itself also as
that used for The Navy Hymn, which also often
goes by its first line Eternal Father Strong to Save.
This hymn touches hearts of all those who’ve served
or brings tears to the eyes of those remembering
sons and daughters lost in hopes of ending more wars.
of my own I claim, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
I idolized my older sister, also my fifth grade
Sunday School teacher. She memorized not only
the page number 293, but also all of the words to
all the verses! Also, many more like Beautiful
Savior (518) and Faith of our Fathers (500).
On Christ the solid rock I stand,
She was Ruthie to me. I tried hard to be like her.
She was Miss Thrun to her high school students.
She made History relevant, changing young lives,
showing them how to look at things, how to
analyze and prioritize. Her own eyes were quick
all other ground is sinking sand…
not only put the Fear of God into young minds,
but also to show kindness and love. To empathize.
She hand-wrote and mailed random notes to friends.
She gave hugs and hope to all those having none.
And, I swear, she modestly hid her angle wings.
3. His oath, His covenant and His blood,
I see this again between all the lines of all
the cards given and notes left behind after her
November 2000 passing and then again more
recently in October 2016 after the special recognition
ceremony at a Colorado high school homecoming.
sustain me in the raging flood, when every earthly
At the University High School in Greeley,
I accepted humbly and posthumously for her an
Honored Faculty Award. The sky was hopeful blue.
My eyes welled from emotions long denied… Gone
before I could say good bye, that I loved her. Cancer.
prop gives way, He then is all my hope and stay.
My sister’s death was 20 years ago, as of
now in this COVID year of our 2020 pandemic.
I stopped on a November day -- one of those few
nice ones -- to catch a nap in the sun against a tree
when I’d gone back home again to hunt whitetails.
On Christ the solid rock I stand,
I stood quietly there near Ruthie’s grave. I felt
in a soft wind the Almighty’s breath from around
all the old stones and, then, a faint whisper-version
of my sister’s teaching voice… “Please turn in
your hymnals to page 293 for My Hope is Built.”
all other ground is sinking sand…
Footnote: I also have an even older copy of the
1930, black-covered American Lutheran Hymnal given
to my mother, Norman Gausmann Thrun (1920-2010),
the hand-written inscription reading: “Awarded for
attendance in Hope Lutheran Sunday School.”
My Hope is Built is on page 190. The hymn was
composed in 1836 by Edward Mote (1797-1874),
a London cabinet maker later turned minister. I
will give be giving my family hymnal to my son and
daughter, eventually one each to my two grandsons.
I have included two of the hymn’s four verses above.
Growing up, between church and Sunday School,
I probably sang this hymn at least once or twice a
month; So, times that by at least 12 or more of my
childhood and teenage years! Maybe 3,456 times
between the ages 6-18! Enough to commit it to memory.
If ever I have Alzheimer’s, I still should be singing it.
Ruthie and Ma probably sang it more years than me!
It was one of our church’s regular, go-to hymns,
Lutherans being big on hymns, three per service.
__________
MY DRESS BUT DIFFERENT
Emily Thomas / Not Much Rhymes With Cancer
United Kingdom
https://www.instagram.com/notmuchrhymeswithcancer/
Dress alterations are now in full swing,
snip, stich and zhoosh to get rid of the cling
Many a good times we had together,
now it bunches and pulls more than ever
Some parts to be kept, they’re too good to lose How
much to change? Should it still match the shoes?
What kind of dress would now suit my new life? Mirror
reflection, the joy and the strife
Maybe splashed florals that dance in the
light, floaty and free, lift me day into night
Wishing well buttons set it off a treat –
clasping me, holding me off my feet
All frills removed as well as the old lace
fierce structure and folds to sit in their place
A new zip snaps shut the previous frock
Coveting the new one, ready to rock
Talented tailors know how to succeed
Decisions are mine, I know what I need
The new dress needs work, it’s not yet quite done
Tweaking, adjusting, then time for some fun
__________
HOPE
Dimithri Wijerathna
Sri Lanka
Under the dark , gloomy clouds
He in rags hope to be free from rags
A woman searching for pinch of salt
Hope for plate of rice
A child hidden among books
Trying to step for social ladder
Hope for a better future in his life
Farmer who sows paddy seeds
Hope for more harvest
To smile and cherish and free from debts
As a world with evil pandemic
We hope for a wonderful spring
With multi - coloured rainbow
We hope to scroll down the streets
We hope to smile and laugh
Free from mask ; We hope for a beautiful world in 2022
__________
WAITING FOR RAIN
Betty Naegele
United States
a dry gulch snakes a narrow path
through ancient sandstone walls
thirsty for water
that once filled its belly
age-weary, it lies deserted
but for a few hangers-on
scrub species that have made
its crusty bed their home
a desert lily blooms alone
after an early morning drizzle
while rabbit-brush litters
the gully
its golden bloom
a peacock’s boast
why is it so prolific? I wonder
. . . . the unfairness of nature
how long will I have to wait
in my barren land
for new life to pulse within –
to feel the joy of fetal limbs
pressing against my womb
I fear the drought will linger
dry up my store of hope
one babe is all I ask
like the lily
I wait for rain . . .
__________
SMOTHERED DREAMS
Adrian David
I have a dream that I can make
the world a better place soon.
I can’t breathe as they mock,
“Go back to Africa, you coon.”
I have a dream to hold my head high
and demand my rightful respect.
I can’t breathe as no matter what’s the problem,
I’m always the first one they suspect.
I have a dream to set my life goals
bigger and bigger.
I can’t breathe since I’m ridiculed,
constantly being called a nigger.
I have a dream to land a good job,
based not on my race, but on my skills.
I can’t breathe, being left unemployed,
struggling to pay my everyday bills.
I have a dream to create a future
for my daughters and sons.
I can’t breathe as they’re suppressed,
forced to arm themselves with guns.
I have a dream to be treated the same
as my counterparts who are white.
I can’t breathe while most can’t
even stand my mere sight.
I have a dream that my oppressors
will be brought to justice someday.
I can’t breathe as, nevertheless,
they easily manage to get away.
I have a dream to rise
against all odds and resist.
I can’t breathe as it’s a challenge
for me to simply exist.
I have a dream to fight this battle,
it’s one I badly want to win.
I can’t breathe when I’m judged
by the color of my skin.
I have a dream to break
my shackles and be free.
I can’t breathe with all the racism,
it’s terribly suffocating me.
I’m dreaming many dreams,
for which I sincerely pray.
But I can’t breathe since they
are yet to see the light of day.
__________
BEAUTIFUL DREAMERS
Ken Gosse
United States
https://www.facebook.com/ken.gosse/
The dreams, it seems, of girls with hope
in pastel images elope
where love and tenderness abound
with peace and beauty all around.
Imaginations run their course
and ride upon a magic horse
with just one horn, but room for two,
to carry them to life anew;
to ever-afters in a Spring
where lovely-feathered birds will sing.
Then on a finger, find a ring
whose brilliance doesn’t match love’s bling
yet sparkles through the day and night
so bright that demons take their flight.
And although dreams might not come true
(a fate that all but few will rue),
may disappointment not take course,
replacing hope with dark remorse;
for although love will oft’ confound,
in hopeful hearts, it will rebound.
Though many never will elope,
may all their dreams be filled with hope.
__________
ALL THE WORDS I NEVER HEARD
Linda M. Crate
United States
https://www.facebook.com/Linda-M-Crate-129813357119547
i memorized schedules
and footsteps,
found hope in words and worlds
that were not my own;
devoured books
like i was starving for words
maybe i was—
all the words i never heard
i could find in books,
and it gave me hope that maybe
one day i could find someone
who loved me in the ways
i needed to be loved.
__________
TOGETHERNESS
Vidya Shankar
India
Instagram.com/vidya.shankar.author
Lonely but not invisible
They trudged rugged roads
That seemed to lead nowhere
They had a bridge to cross
There could be light on the other side
But for now
They walked in the dark
Street lamps, every few paces
Mile after mile of flickering dimness
Failing to seep through the thickness of night
But it suited them
The darkness, comforting
Kept them inconspicuous
Away from prying mouths
One day they would
To the bridge
And when across
There would be Light
They would be Light
But for now
They walked on, walked on
Grateful for the failed street lamps
Embracing the solitude
Darkness gave them
_________
OLD AGE
Nolo Segundo
United States
It comes not when it's wanted,
Because it's never wanted—
Who would choose hanging
Folds of skin, a face creased
With scores of age lines, feet
Speckled with spider veins, an
Aging heart that could yell
'Surprise!' at any time it chose?
An actress once said, 'Getting old
Is not for sissies' and she was right.
It takes guts to live with the gradual
Loosening of a once proud body,
And the slow softening of your brain.
There is no glory in getting old—you
Are just a survivor of life's myriad
Tricks and games, all its accidents,
Illnesses, petty defeats and failures.
And old age does not carry wisdom
With it as you might expect—there
Are many tart in youth who are bitter
In their slowing down decades, even
Hostile to the joys they might once
Have hoped to swim in, carefree….
So why must we get old? What use
Is it, other than nature making room
For other beings to replace us—still,
Why can't we live for centuries like
Old trees, or those big turtles found
On that island with the funny name?
Perhaps it's a way to teach us, to
Cure the young of their solipsism,
To shear them of the innate vanity
That comes of taut bodies and soft
Handsome faces—then to teach
Them the fears that come with
Aging: the vulnerability of unlived
Dreams, trashed hopes, and the
Persistent aches of lost loves…
Not to mention fear of falling!
So if you are a young reader
Of this old poet, you'll ask,
'What? Nothing comes good
Of a long life? No hope at all?'
Oh yes, something very good
Can come from a long decline,
At least for those who choose
To believe—anticipation!
__________
SIP OF HOPE
Mark Hudson
United States
http://www.illinoispoets.org/bio.htm#MarkHudson
(Source: Sun-Times: Friday May 4, 2018 page 10)
I’m not much of a follower of politics,
I tend to be pessimistic about all politicians.
But in today’s paper, a new café opened in
Logan square, Chicago, called Sip of Hope.
The premise is a certain amount of the
coffee sold goes to a non-profit
for suicide prevention.
I am basically anti-suicide. I believe
life is sacred, nobody should take their own
life.
But at times, my life got so bad, it seemed
like an option.
So in the photo with the article,
Senator Dick Durbin, and Cook County
Commissioner Luis Arroyo Jr. are seen
at the coffee shop in suit and tie, having
a cup of coffee, among “hipsters” people
with tattooed elbows, purple hair, and
in a way, it is a kind of a funny photo.
The politicians look kind out
of place with their suits on.
But I don’t know where their
hearts are, or if it’s just a photo op.
But the article and the photo gave me hope,
because I too, love coffee shops!
__________
QUEUING FOR PARADISE
Mike Ball
United States
https://www.facebook.com/harrumph
Down the cereal aisle, oldsters
Canoodle with their shopping carts,
Slow dancing, hunched over handle.
We also see humped torsos each pre-dawn
When, in the shadows at the dining table,
This or that dwindling great-grand reads
And even prays in penance and hope.
Fantasy becomes fear becomes faith.
When only pigeons coo and wee songbirds chatter,
When family and visitors do not violate the personal chapel,
When doubt softens with the balm of guided scripture
From leather covered KJV Bible and The Upper Room.
Gnawing, nibbling, nipping worries are natural. We live.
We sin, speak ill of others, blaspheme and come to know daily that
We fall short of the glory of the basest of angels.
Even the vaguely self-aware must doubt
Their acts, words, thoughts, as constant bystanders,
Audience to their personal theater.
Polybius wrote, “There is no witness so dreadful as the human conscience.”
Sheltered from friends, family and clergy, oldsters hunch and pray.
Head and shoulders arched over shadowed devotionals,
With hope for grace through osmosis and muttered incantations.
Hoping for heaven while not saying, “These are my last laps.”
Those who are in no hurry to finish their races queue for paradise.
There is no immediate entry to the unseen, unknowable house.
There is no proof of a pass to a heaven, and yet humans aspire
To salvation by deeds or contrition or grace and timing.
Are daily quickie self-services or lengthy study
Or profession of belief enough travel insurance?
Is the best hope for those hunched over their holies to arrive incognito?
If you are not as bad as the worst among us can you sneak in,
Snaking in a queue of OK souls to pass unnoticed?
__________
A FRESH DAWN
Lakshman Bulusu
United States
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/127227.Bulusu_Lakshman
Assorted joys
of seeing my kids play swing;
Sweet reminiscences
of first meeting my wife;
Slices of good fortune
of getting recognized at work;
A new determination
to climb Mt. Washington with my family;
Interlaced cloaks of delight
earning a certificate of appreciation as educator;
I hope all of these
serve as a beacon light.
Extending helping hands
volunteering at a football match;
Strings of birthday wishes
and a surprise party;
Vessels brimmed with cheer
to my daughter performing in marching band;
Excellent and rare opportunities
for a change in career,
rolling by now and then
with promising perks;
I hope all of these
open news doors of reality.
Beads of un-ceased endeavor
to qualify for a marathon,
encouraged by a firm resolution
to make it to the finish line the first time;
tend to accelerate ‘to-attain’ success—
A scorcher of a victory;
Shirk of responsibility not in the least,
be it while giving or doing;
my motto‘ try again, try again’,
topped by unshakeable faith in God;
I hope all of these
bring me into a fresh dawn.
__________
THE TREE OF HOPE
Pankhuri Sinha
India
https://www.facebook.com/pankhuri.sinha.56/
It was about the same time
That the tree, the sheesham
Tree, so mercilessly
Uprooted by the storm
Lying flat on its back
Dissecting the pavement
With a thread attached
In the soil, breathing
Perhaps, like on a ventilator
Began to sprout
Germinate, shoot up
In a green little twig
With silky stem, delicate
As love, opening into leaves
Dancing in the wind !
That the thin brown branch
In the pot, of that miracle plant,
Being sold as juice
Being sold as pulp, being
Sold as leaves, being sold
In saches, being sold in bottles
But best drunk from the garden
For it increased Platelets
Smiled in a green pimple
Growing in a bulb
And my heart bloomed
Like a precious flower
Like dance in rain
Began to sing
Like a jazz bar!
This tiny thing
This tough little plant
That I'd been watering
Since months and months
Through out the summer
In blazing heat
Had kept mum
Not saying a word
Not giving a sign
No shakes, no nods
But not drying
Was alive
Kept the hope
And finally spoke!
Autumn so blissful
I had rarely known!
Vindicated, in and out
The greens I had guarded
Had gifted a lot!
__________
Claudette Martinez
Canada
https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/claudettemartinezartist/
I wish I were solid, granite or stone.
Alone.
Cold, smooth nothing but bone.
Alone.
No beating of heart no skin no flesh,
nothing to see.
Alone.
Locked in rock,
that holds no key, suspended but free.
Alone,
just me.
_________
EVEN MY PERSONAL GHOST
Judy DeCroce
United States
https://www.linkedin.com/in/judydecroce/
crouches eyeless, harmless, perhaps
pretending ordinary,
with no will of her own.
So much remains to be done.
So much.
If lost, remember the rituals
pass into possibilities through
my silhouette.
Beyond this…
catch up!
Catch up when light falls
and my senses cross into night…
please, promise you’ll follow.
_________
PULLED THROUGH THE STORM
Lew Gentilella
Untied Kingdom
I step into the garden,
The skies harden,
Showers pour,
The clouds roar,
Lightning strikes,
The howling wind bites,
Raindrops drown the grass,
Time is running out on the hourglass.
Cold, I shiver,
My body quivers.
Struggling to stay warm,
My life reminds me of this storm,
Full of rain,
Nowhere for the water to drain,
Stuck in the boggy mud,
Now the garden begins to flood,
The birds have taken shelter
But in this storm, I welter
Until the clouds disappear
And so does my fear.
The sun arrives with his hat on,
Smiling now that the storm has gone,
The birds come out of hiding,
High in the sky gliding,
The garden has a new lease of life,
Bumblebees and butterflies are rife,
I feel happy and alive
Now that the garden thrives.
I see a rainbow with a kaleidoscope of colours,
One of nature's true wonders,
I have a content feeling
Now me and the garden are both healing,
We pulled through the storm together
And made it to the better weather.
__________
FAITHFUL MIGHT
Pratibha Savani
United Kingdom
https://www.instagram.com/pratibhapoetryart/
https://www.facebook.com/pratibhapoetryart
Healing begins with the courage to fight,
with a pure determination to prosper
and thrive
Only the ones that clearly believe,
can truly make their dreams come to life
Painting a picture, enriched in colour,
materializes, the enigmatic vision inside
Empowered by the faithful might,
bringing unimaginable strength to
our intricate mind
__________
A TOME FOR TWO
Sangita Kalarickal
United States
We slayed our demons,
And climbed boiling volcanoes.
We sailed into space,
And plucked off the moon.
Stories of reluctant heroes
and journeys through fires,
Of mentors and adventures
and taming wild dragons…
Of loud sobs through
heaving chests
and hyperventilating conflicts
We took the heavy quill
dipped in life
and wrote a book.
…
…
Raging snowstorms,
dark winters, and dark clouds.
and then a crocus.
__________
KALEIDOSCOPE
Carolyn Chilton Casas
United States
https://www.instagram.com/mindfulpoet_/
We all want this chaotic time
to ease up. So much division
and separation. The life
we have come to expect
quaking under our feet,
with many voicing
what we believe
to be absolute truths.
My honest hope—
this stretch of strife
might result in a softer
aftermath, where we live
in greater harmony
as tenants of our one world.
Through it all, my heart keens
for peace. And unity.
Integrity, a vital touchstone.
Day by day, I aspire to follow
my own inner whisper
reminding me that
no one set of beliefs fits all.
I think about this a lot—
how we are a kaleidoscope
of diverse histories,
races, religions, languages.
We come from distinct places,
but can we not be tolerant and kind?
That which makes us different
is what makes us wholly special.
Scientists say, if you go back far enough,
we all derive from the same tribe;
each of us retains a remnant
of the same DNA
from some six million years ago.
__________
NEW HOPE
Julie A. Dickson
United States
Nods to Dickinson, Frost, Yeats, Poe
When hope is undone, the world just seems wrong,
can’t allow hate a voice within this throng.
Turn your back as a sword covers the pen,
won’t take my will to write, not even then.
Advice from the wise, throw hope a life-line.
Feathered hope, Emily wrote in her time;
a way through is hope, according to Frost,
or Yeats’ daughter of hope when all seems lost.
Remain alive, your hope must rise supreme,
Poe described as “A Dream within a Dream”.
One path followed, even one less traveled,
hopelessness must fade, its cause unraveled.
Remember your voice, when choices are found,
Mem’ries of joy now, let new hope resound.
___________
HOPE SPRINGS ANEW!
Kathy Jo Bryant
United States
Hope lies deep in our psyche
And there's always a tiny seed
That someday we'll rise up on top
And realize success for our need
Sometimes life's trials outweigh us
It seems we cannot survive
And hope is something that settles
In the dust for much of our lives
Take courage, and keep hope's flame
Burning brightly for all to see
Your courage might be very strong
Others haven't an evergreen tree
Beware when hope just disappears
And sinks beneath the waves
Rise up, and raise your hand so high
So, someone can see and saves!
__________
ON THE BEACH
Asilomar: Refuge by the Sea*
Neal Whitman
United States
Under the Boardwalk
On Broadway
Two oldies-but-goodies
by The Drifters
A tune today conflated:
On the Boardwalk
Walk on By
Wooden slats protect
Sand dunes posted “Sensitive”
Strewn on the slats
Red rose petals
Though no bushes grow here
Perhaps dropped
From a bouquet
A bride had carried
From a joyous wedding
On the Beach
At least, that’s our Hope
* Overlooking Asilomar Beach in Pacific Grove, California, is the Asilomar Dune Preserve with a 1/4 mile boardwalk that meanders through a 25 acre protected sand dune ecosystem.
___________
WAITING FOR THE RIVER
Sarfraz Ahmed
United Kingdom
https://twitter.com/Sarfraz76194745
https://www.instagram.com/sarfrazahmedpoet/
I’m waiting for the river,
I’m waiting for the blue,
I want to dive into the holy water,
Let it cleanse me,
Come to my rescue,
Unburden the sorrow,
The torrents and the tides,
I want to see the water,
Now you are not by my side,
I need something to rely upon,
Something that will always be there,
So I go to the river,
Lose myself in the flow,
In memories of long ago,
Love flustered thoughts,
Hearts clustered and passions burnt,
Always yearning for more,
Almost touching the ocean,
Almost kissing the shore,
I’m waiting for the river,
I’m waiting for the blue,
I want to dive into the holy water,
Baptise myself,
Becoming something new.
___________
CANDLELIGHT VIGIL
Antoni Ooto
United States
https://www.linkedin.com/in/antoniooto/
We gather.
We speak within this flickering time,
while you from afar, wait by a place
filled with empty rooms.
Many things have changed.
Our moments together retired,
postponed for now.
We will go on for a while
not even noticing momentum,
stepping charily chasing tomorrow.
_________
WISHFUL
Martina Robles Gallegos
United States
https://www.martinagallegos.com/
With deep desire and a hopeful mind, I breathe in the early
fall air that presses against my sorrowful heart and dream of
sunnier days and brighter nights than I’ve been getting.
Morning walks with their misty marred beginnings cause me
to mourn people I’ve lost or feel like I’m losing, and that dark
and dim sensation shakes my whole being to the core.
This wishful feeling of not wanting to forget but still forgetting
against my will widens my will to keep fighting to stay away from
destructive thoughts and tough decisions I must make.
The depths of my despair don’t dwindle even though I listen to
words from friendly people whose words I appreciate because
they speak their words with sacred sincerity.
I look forward to seeing someone who says soothing words and
put my mind at ease, but those folks are not easy to find because
sometimes friends turn out to be the worst foes.
When a sunny day awakens me every morning, it’s like a
magical moment that I can marvel although momentarily,
and that’s the thought I keep in my mind throughout the day.
__________
PEACOCK FEATHERS
Jane Fitzgerald
United States
https://www.amazon.com/Jane-H.-Fitzgerald/e/B01MSW2FLO
https://www.facebook.com/JanesPoetry
You liked to give me peacock feathers
Whose iridescent greens and blues
Pleased my vision so
The plumes in fullness blazed
Like the fervor of your love
But when those feathers shut and fell
It took my breath away
And my heart was narrowed and colorless
Until another day
When once again the peacock feathers
Would shine in fullness fair
But never would their beauty
Be constantly there
And my soul
In anguish did wait and yearn
To feel the shining light
To see the glowing feathers
And embrace that precious sight
__________
MY BIRD HOUSE – A HOPE FOR BIRDS
Sonial Pal
United Kingdom
Seeds and Bread
Rice and Chapatis
That’s all I keep
with great hopes to peep
through my windows
when ants, magpies, pigeons,
robins, squirrels and crows
come down and eat
When frisky squirrels jump up &down
ants walk perfectly in line
birds bask in the bright sun light
Sit on the brown wooden fence
Perched with wide open claws
Peck with their beaks
Stroll with their little legs
To watch such scenes
,is a real feast
For the eyes of one and all
To soothe one’s soul
Cherry blossom and Maple trees
With an addition of plants underneath
make them feel safe and at ease
To breathe in the cool breeze!
My garden looks complete
with just a daily handful of seeds
it sustains their high hopes of life
and helps them to breed
How alluring and blissful it is to hear
When in the dawn hours,
These birds sing to my ear
Without any fear!
And
What inner peace and satisfaction they leave
When in extreme seasons they come down and eat!
How eagerly I wait for them to my sight !
As they are a constant, silent reminder
That everything on this Earth is perfect and right.'
