online today!socrates44 Poetry (156)

the ultimate sound
permeating all others
the sound of silence

Traditional poetry has rhyme and metre
Which determines the way it is composed
These features make it a simple matter
In distinguishing such poetry from prose

A lot of writing now is in free verse
Where the main focus is on the content
The thing that now really matters the most
Is true capture of the poet's intent

Some free verse strive for a sense of metre
By carefully managing line layout
Some focus on painting a word picture
For that's what their poetry is all about

Prose rich in sentiment and imagery
Can also be rewritten as free verse
Would it then be described as prose poetry
Or should it be labelled poetic prose

What new poetry forms will the future grow
It's time alone that will give the answer
For poets may come and poets may go
But poetry shall continue forever

The wear and tear of my past experience
has ravaged my spirit, body and soul
Now my life is a mere shallow existence
with a deep longing to be made whole

I was caught in the beauty of your charm
and savouring its full pleasure was my goal
Now I experience a deep sense of alarm
at the loss of my feeling of control

But with my own inner resolve and firmness
and the strength I can get from other avenues
I must overcome this sense of helplessness
and move on to live my life as I choose

The phoenix bird burns itself to ashes
whenever it becomes worn out with age
And from those ashes a new phoenix arises
and starts a fresh life cycle on a new page

Scorched and burned by my actions of the past
and having learned from the anguish and pain
I also will rise from those ashes at last
and move on afresh with my own life again

Grains of sand
trickling down
the narrow crystal neck
of the hourglass

Each grain a measure
of that mysterious entity
called Time
The grains above
hold the future
The grains below
store the past
The moving grains
capture the present

At the hour's sunrise
your flow begins
At the hour's sunset
it ends
- The Sands Of Time

Christmas should be a time of joy
For every little girl and boy
They gather 'round the Christmas tree
Little hearts beating eagerly

Their eyes closely scan each present
Wondering what Santa has sent
Some hope they have been good enough
And would get their requested stuff

Mum picks up each present gently
And reads to see whose it might be
A little heart leaps at its name
And then joyfully makes its claim

After presents are given out
Then it's time for another bout
It's time for presents' unwrapping
One can feel excitement growing

Tiny one still in diaper
Tries to peel off wrapping paper
Mum assists the eager beaver
Expectation growing stronger

Squeals of excitement fill the air
From the other kids gathered there
Their delight they cannot contain
Santa has delivered again

Once again thank you Dear Santa
Setting little hearts a-flutter
Making Christmas a time of joy
For every little girl and boy

bird raises its wings
insect in grass stirs to look
and is gobbled up


checking all around
bird steals remnants of dog food
then flies to the trees


tucking in its wings
pelican dives and misses
fish scatter laughing


soaring in the sky
vulture though hideous looking
gracefulness in flight

A mould-shaped symmetrical bowl
has no character of its own
It's just like the mould-shaped others
and it is merely a clone
If the bowl is shattered to pieces
and the pieces stuck together once more
It creates a beautiful mosaic
that one cannot help but adore

The bark on the trunk of a young sapling
is just like that of any young tree
It is like an unwritten page
which is plain and ordinary
With age the bark gets cracked and broken
and acquires its own uniqueness
It provides a home for many insects
and becomes a thing of loveliness

Dressed in my shaggy brown coat
I stand almost six feet
at my shoulders
and weigh almost a ton
I once roamed the prairies
in herds of millions
grazing on its grass
which fed and nourished
my brethren and I
for tens of thousands of years

Running at speeds of
over thirtyfive miles per hour
across the prairie
in herds that stretched
as far as the eye could see
our hooves created
a thunderous sound
that shook the earth
causing it to tremble
like an earthquake

We were slaughtered
in our millions
They left our dead bodies
to rot and decay
where we fell
Sometimes they took away our coats
other times they cut out
our tongues only
and left the rest
of our dead bodies
to putrefy and decay
on the prairie grasslands
that we had trod proudly on
for thousands of years

This is my epitaph
for I just saw the glint
of the sunlight
on the long mysterious stick
and heard its thunder
and felt something
go deep into my insides
as I fall to the ground
I shall go the way
of my proud ancestors
who once roamed
these lands in freedom as
Lords Of The Prairies

Love is not based on a feeling only
There must also be a clear decision
Passionate feelings may die off early
Showing it was just infatuation

One should not need another as a crutch
But be able to stand on one's feet
This will allow each other space as such
And enrichen the sharing when both meet

A love relationship has its demands
It does not ensure smooth sailing always
Be mindful of this in each circumstance
And it will help you survive the rough days

The one that you love should be your best friend
Someone with whom you can share everything
A person upon whom you can depend
In situations that can be trying

As time passes, both of you will change
For change is inevitable in life
Do not consider this as something strange
Learn to adjust and avoid any strife

True love is the most precious emotion
That a person can engage in sharing
It fills the heart with blissful elation
Giving one's life a rich sense of meaning

blades of green
rise from the brown
spreading all around
soon to be
sprinkled with yellow
all aglow
in the sunshine

wings of gossamer
flit as they hover
in the air
before landing
amid the splendour
of the brightly hued décor
painted below

spiral tubes uncoil
gently injecting
delicate centres
feasting on one's nectar
then moving on
to another
repeating the action

buzzing sounds
fill the air
striped bodies appear
treading gently on petals
sipping nectar
to convert to honey
later fed to many

blades of green
swaying gently
caressed by
a soothing breeze
invoking a refreshing
and peaceful
feeling of ease

They walked together side by side
the old man and the boy
on the bridge across the river.
They could have walked thus across
the river of life
with its eternal flow.
I watched them
and thoughts filled my mind
of the un-bridged gap
between their lives.

The old man
-with faltering step
he moves slowly on.
His life has been lived
and his house is in order
as he patiently awaits
the call of his maker.
What are his thoughts
at this moment
as he moves on?

Are they thoughts of pain and sorrow
over some incident in the past
so difficult to bear
that after all these years
the wound is not yet healed?

Are they of someone he loved as a youth
but lost through folly?
Was she beautiful?
Did her eyes sparkle
like the sunlight
on the water below?
He looks at the water
sighing deeply
and nods his head.

Or is he thinking of the young one at his side
so innocent
and so pure
soon to be plunged into a world
where life rushes madly on?
How shall he fare?
Who will warn him of the pitfalls?

These thoughts plague the old man's mind
and hurt his noble heart.
But then he smiles as he remembers
that in his younger days
his eager spirit wanted to taste and feel
the sting of life's joys and sorrows
by itself.

There is no substitute for experience.
For though we know we may be hurt
in love or life
yet we walk on toward the very thing
that may hurt us so.

They say
Love is Blind
Cupid's arrows hit
Whoever they Find
And put them
In a Bind