1: Dear Lover, Dear Daughter, Dear Old Woman in Line

Yes, press your bodydust to my door. But I can’t let you in. My sun was down, down below belly when I had visitors. I had a performance all ready, a play in three acts, complete with a score. But they decomposed the horn section, laughed at all the wrong parts. My walls are white, my couch in place again. No, I can’t let you in.

2: Pencil-Sketch of Fear’s House-Pet

He has placed your food bowl
out, he’s rubbing you down. He Says:
Sit, have a treat.
Stay, good, now lie
down, yes, you’re learning.
Therethere, eat up.

3: An Extra Skin

Fear, the hardest
substance of the body
smoothed and dried
on the skin, will wear
firm for years,
statuestiff lifetimes.

4: Custom Orders Upon Request

Durable daybag
for all but spinebones, available

in rose blushes, aggressive
green, defense mustard yellow,

and off-white yes.

5: The Smothering Hazard of a Pillow

Preciousness is rusegold, cradling a bomb. Preciousness is quenching a child’s dirtthirst with lacejuice and baths.

6: Scene III: The Pack-Rat Invites You to Tea

Yes, come in through the opening at the spine of my skull.

[You slip in, nearly knocking over an antique lamp]

Messy, I know, but please ignore him, I just couldn’t bear to throw him out.

[You step on a cluster of marbles and nearly lose balance]

Careful of that pile— words I have yet to exchange. They don’t fit right, and I don’t like that color. I have a closetfull of this one already. I just haven’t had the time to clean lately.

[You eye an empty seat, a stool across the room. A gerbil in a stinking cage exercises its wheel]

No, don’t sit there, that’s my mother’s space. I’ll make room for you, hold these chains and stand right here.

7: How Does a Worm Begin to Eat an Apple?

Like old shoes’ heelholes,
you begin to sugar
through the teeth of it all.

8: Now That You’re Ready

Plan a dinner with fatherfear,
motherworry. Don’t thank them

this time. No I don’t like the gifts.
The blanket is itchy

and the pen has worn away
a patch of palmskin.

They will tell you
they had your best interests

in hand. The slipeyed
glances, the box

labeled Best Interests,
clawtorn, empty.

Your eyes whywild, we’re sorry,
they’ll say, we do our best to keep you

safe. We do our best to keep you

9: Skinstrong Bonebag, Precious Sunken Sun

The enamel of fear
cracks too. Cracked tooth

and you are the sugar, glass
door, and you’re

the windpressure.

inexorable \i-NEK-suh-ruh-bul\
adjective
not to be persuaded, moved, or stopped : relentless

Did you know?

The Latin antecedent of “inexorable” is “inexorabilis,” which is itself a combination of the prefix “in-,” meaning “not,” plus “exorabilis,” meaning “pliant” or “capable of being moved by entreaty.” “Exorabilis” in turn derives ultimately from the Latin verb “orare,” meaning “to speak or plead.” It’s a fitting etymology for “inexorable.” You can beseech and implore until you’re blue in the face, but that won’t have any effect on something that’s inexorable. “Inexorable” has been a part of the English language since the 1500s. Originally, it was often applied to persons, or sometimes to personified things (”deaf and inexorable laws”). These days, it is usually applied to things, as in “inexorable monotony” or “an inexorable trend.” In such cases, it essentially means “unyielding” or “inflexible.” [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

inexorable

Somehow
I keep saying
Some way
This can be won
If I try enough
But sick at heart
Now
I am not so sure
And with my head bowed
Under the weight of it all
I keep pushing
This stone
Up the hill
Tomorrow and
Tomorrow and
Tomorrow
I don’t know
How much longer
I can hope.

Hold fast and don’t lose your nerve,

let the sounds of hope gently sway you to sleep.

When sitting alone in some unknown place,

Think of places you’ve seen

And people you’ve been

And those dreams that you’ve dreamt

Will come true one day

In a blink of an eye or an unusual way.

Don’t be alarmed if you find yourself hoarse,

Carrying out for redemption

Or a new path or course.

Because you’ll find yourself one day

In a car, on a train,

On a road or a truck.

On a boat or a  plane.

Heading truly to glory,

To love or to faith,

To the arms of another,

Comfortable, safe.

There are misconceptions of my country.
I am young, we can fix them. This is the
French Riviera and we are headed to

the station in Milan. When we arrive there,
in time for breakfast, I will skip it and instead
sleep until the afternoon. Later, this is waking up

thousands of miles from a body of land not
unlike the one you are on: same pastures,
same cows, same species, same look of

the elderly, same look of the young, same
tragedies & similar shapes of footprints.

Titles that mean nothing – the same imaginary lines.

This is the couple from France who spoke
about politics and the end of our  countries’ war;
this is their vacation to Italy, and, later, this is them

tanning next to each other on the sand,
their deli breaded skin all buttered with sweat
while I stand in the water surrounded

by infants and their mothers, listening to their
child-speak as if it were a language in
which I had once been fluent.

This is the country’s peace not taken
for granted. This is the window from which
I saw the sunrise in gaps when the

train passed in-between mountains.
This is the southeast coast of the New World,
where by chance my nativity took place.

This is perhaps where I will end, but only
if I have the chance to; only once I’ve transversed
my path of life and dwelled on this inducing mystery.

The moon, blurry though the window screen
is lentil-shaped, whiter than snow,
brightening the midnight hue to indigo.

The overhead fan swishes up a breeze
soft and warm as a cat’s flank
buzzing with contentment and patience.

Beside me, your sleep is so deep that I draw rest from it.
Breath ebbs and flows through parted lips
that came to rest on the the word Love.

(c) Sarah Morehouse 2009

You used to be able to
cheer me up
bring a smile to my sullen face
even in the hardest of times.
But now
you don’t work.
You can’t bring that once familiar
spark
to my heart.
And you don’t even try.
You’re broken
shattered spirit seeping from
this brused toy soldier of what was
once
a beautiful imagination.

Sat across from me,

you smile and move your hand, that way you do.

I look up to see your eyes

as they close slightly.

Everything around fades to pale

and someone turns the sound down.

I imagine an audience

watching us on some screen. A popcorn-filled hand pausing

on the way to its destination.

Then we both realise, and laugh

and the credits start to roll.

Hangover from childhood,

Roughly returned in a short stay,

in a hostile environment.

Too loud, too warm, too lonely.

And too many versions of myself,

holding up walls,

nodding along to music,

hoping not to be asked to dance,

and hoping that they will be.

I glanced at the rearview mirror,

(summer was just beginning and so were we)

and I saw the city limits sign.

It made me think about all the things we’d left behind ourselves

and where we soon would find ourselves

and when and how and why.

And the sun was bright ahead of us,

(the day was just beginning and so were we)

poking and peeking and peering over things green and blue.

It made me wonder how far you’d let drive this road

it has made me come alive, this road

behold, everything is new.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

if you get frozen by the weeds that arrange themselves
from a ray-lit shade of green to a pair of opposing variances,
blow your stored wheat and forgive allusions and yester’s grain;

harvest, starvest, narist’s creed -
whether you amount or leave not yourself a meaningful yield,
the sun will dip as it should;

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

what’s the chance
that a bunch of punks will
go to the old parking lot near the
bijou, collecting rocks

to force down the throat of a local governor
wailing about yavva

they might’ve read the
sign that rusted a decade
ago, with thumps from rocks
for generations

it says no overnight parking and no
weapons or alcohol

it’s dark and it’s night and
they’re walking and they wear
bandannas and read Fritzgard like its a
bible. They pause when

a car with lights shining goes by, and then read
another chapter

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Resurrection Of Humanity

|

The abundant sorrow that he doth posses,
His arid heart but must sincerely confess-
how deep into chasms of darkness he drove?
How lured he was into the dark wizard’s cove?

|

The sleeping penury, now , that must but erupt,
To save souls as his-cease Sin’s life abrupt.
To fan out gentle winds of joy and laughter.
Eroding away castles of chaos and disaster.

|

Scores of Mankind, turning now a blind eye;
to that flickering candle – Deceit, melting to die.
Ardent cries fondly bade that gangster adieu.
The sky no longer murky but a distinct mellow hue.

|

The phoenix rises, never again to return to dust.
Never again, to re-enter into dark realms of lust.
Peace rippling out through the waters of humanity.
Brothers striding in tandem- Human and Humanity

|

-Ritwik Sen (A good friend and a great writer)

誰かのSOS
気づいたのさ、それでも
手を差し伸べられないでいるだろう？

手のひらの上
救えた誰かの嘘

吐き出して
はみ出して
日常に飽き飽きして
昨日越しに映った自分に
溜息して。

そんな重い荷物持ったりして
幾らでも、降ろせば
楽だったのに。

君のSOS
自分では気づいていないだろう？

現実は嘘で固められていると。

She was an Evette…

and so now mister meets a special miss. 
and this one certainly not a priss.
and they talk and joke- at his mind she prys
miss makes triangles- and bats those pretty eyes…
ovals, cashews and they see paisley skies.
he knew her before he knew her- these are no lies.
and so they went for lovely stroll
and be himself- need not click “B” for bold
and he’s thirty, she is twenty-four years old.
and seems his heart is ready to be sold.
and they talk and talk- they match
he feels she’s the impossible catch.
and a “thing” that blocks- it starts to hatch.
she won’t allow herself to so attach.
and his flight feathers are shown and bright.
he wants, he wants cause what’s right is right.
for him, no need for color to enjoy the sense of sight
for now he has good reason to write and write.
must be what it’s like to be a flying kite.
or to find a light in the midst of night.
and they strut, get lost, and find lakeside.
and perfect place to admit; a place to confide.
but no words- seemed English language had died.
and body is talking so true feelings can’t hide.
and so soon he lay upon a perfect kiss.
and her body, his hands, they cross, they criss.
and curvy… soft. And that’s just all the gist.
and between her thighs the warmth, the heat.
and the scent was sweet, so sweet.
and upright again is how they find.
and their legs were intertwined.
and his hands on her behind.
and he thought, “explore, touch here, kiss there
go ahead I’m here. Let’s share. Let’s share.”
and then he held her by the wrists
and kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed. 
and so he shakes hands with full-blown bliss.
and knows just what to do with this.
but angry- wants to make a fist. 
and confused and feeling “dissed”. 
cause it all starts to seem a miss. 
and it fell away and made a hiss.
and now all gone like morning mist.
and He just called her back
“enough fun with him, and that’s that.”
and “you’ll fail, you’ll fail, fall flat, fall flat.”
“this law shan’t be defied, got that?”
and she as fast forward, was taken fast back.
and so his sun wore frown
and the strings made sound.
and then his head went down. 
and thinker’s thoughts less found. 
and now his life is off ground.
but gentlemanly gentile shall breath on.
and for beautiful believer, there will be another dawn.
but still he dreams he could touch; she’d calm
but life won’t let this picture be drawn.
and is it really over? Is it gone?
he can’t fib, he’s sad, he’s sad
feels used, feels used, feels bad and had.
his role was just to test her faith, he had to lose.
and now his heart, new bruise, new bruise.
Now what is he to learn?  Trust Him, trust God,
and He now is friend of his? That’d be odd, be odd.
from the idea he’s further, cause friends don’t rob.
Faith in Him seems not work umpteen wonders.
a hindrance on love and change, His children, they plunder.
over things that aren’t really there, they all blunder.
led to believe he could change this law,
that believer and non together makes raven “caw”.
But hey… he understands why cause he has safety zone
of people he is afraid often, that’s not so wrong.
special miss mistreated him as such, who would’ve guessed?
right when he thought he’d give confusion some rest.
faith in her he had and in the heart behind her breasts.
and for short time he made her free sea crest.
mister is brilliant and he could go on here forever,
but he has to get out there and find a new endeavor.
mister and special miss’s day is done and sun has set,
but now he knows for sure that she “was” an Evette.

for whatever it’s worth, Evette, I love you.  He almost had me… LOL !

by mackaydjames

Debt

Money spent

that’s not

earned yet.

Copyright Tilly Bud, 2009

बाहें पकड़ के रोक लेते तुझे,

अगर ज़ोर हमारा चलता.

ज़िंदगी तुम्हारे नाम क्यों करते,

अगर प्यार इतना ना होता…

There was once a charming princess who lived in a very beautiful city. Most curious was the city, for it lies above the cloud, flying, suspended amidst the air. Should one wish to visit the city, one should take a journey ride above a flying vessel, not a plane or an aircraft mind you, they would be too fast that you would miss the city along the way.

One day a very mean young warlock cast a very powerful spell unto the city. What’s more mean of it is that he did it merely based on his own whim, for he hated everything that is beautiful and joyous. The spell that he cast, brought the city down. Down, down over the mountain. Down, down over the forest. Down, down over the beach. Down, down unto the sea. Down, down in to the ocean.

Indeed, the mean young warlock made every single people who lived in the city drowned. You see, since they have been living above the cloud, they have never learned to swim. But the princess, who was taught well, and learned well, knew a thing or two about swimming, she even devised a very large bucket to practice swimming, and she made it quite well for someone who lived above the cloud.

So she swam and swam, until she reached the shore and passed out because she was very exhausted. The young warlock was very surprised to see that there was a survivor from the drowning flying city. He decided to capture her, put her on the back of a very filthy, giant bulldog. When they reached the young warlock’s castle, a very horrible, neglected castle I dare say, he put the princess in to a room which had only one iron door and one window that was so high that not even a the tallest man in the world could reach.

The young warlock kept the princess for one and two days without food and water. On the third day as the young warlock passed in front of the door, the princess spoke to him with a feeble voice. “Oh mean warlock, pray tell, why have you brought my city down from the sky, drowned my fellow people, and keep me here with scarcely any food or water?”

The young warlock paused for a moment, searching his thought, but could find no explanation in his dark mind other than this: “because I want it!”

“you can’t hurt people just because you want it.” said the princess.

“why not?” asked the warlock.

“because if you can hurt people just because you want it, then anybody else can hurt you just because they want to, and certainly, you don’t want to be hurt don’t you?” said the princess.

“but nobody could hurt me, I have power so great that I can pull down a city from the sky” said the warlock.

“but there will come the time when someone more powerful than you would come and defeat you” said the princess.

“but I will never loose, for I will practice harder and harder, so I can be more powerful than those who shall come and challenge me” said the warlock

“but how would you know that you are more powerful if you have never meet, or see, or hear of those who will challenge you?” asked the princess.

Again, the warlock paused for a moment. You see, he was so powerful that he could brought down a city from the sky, but he was quite dim-witted, for he had never thought of this kind of question before.

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll just see when the time come” said the warlock.

“And by that time you will loose” said the princess “you see, there are things more powerfull than swords and spells.”

“there are nothing more powerful than swords and spells” said the warlock sternly.

“Oh, but there are. I’ll show one if you’ll let the door open for me” said the princess sincerely.

“Just tell me of this thing, and I’ll decide whether you go or stay” said the warlock.

“But this thing that I mean can’t just be said, it is also must be shown” said the princess “you will fail to understand it in any other way”

“How powerful is this thing?” asked the warlock.

“Didn’t I tell you that it is more powerful than swords and spell?” asked the princess “because of this power that I am telling you, swords have been made and broken, spells have been made and broken, heroes have been made and broken, evil too have been made and broken.”

The warlock was so fascinated by what the princess had told him that he opened the door instantly, grabbed the princess shoulder and hastily asked “where, what is this power that you speak of? Tell me now!”

Instead of answering the warlock’s question, she kissed the warlock’s forehead and said to him in the sweetest sincere voice: “thank you.”

The warlock, surprised by the princess action loosened his grip on her shoulder. The princess then ran, ran away through the alleyway, through the forsaken garden, through the giant gate, leaving the warlock confounded and alone in the horrible castle.

Years later people found that the castle had become nothing more than piles of debris on the ground, and the warlock was nowhere to be found. Some said that a mighty spell had been cast upon him, and that it affected him miserably. He went away to the corners of the world to search for remedy. Had he ever found the remedy he seek? No one can tell.

But there were also others who said that the warlock missed the ranaway princess so much that he took the longest journey he had ever taken, found the princess in a far away land, confessed his love, abandoned his mean ways, and live happily ever after.

However, since most people knew him as a powerfull warlock, they decided that, indeed, there are things more powerful than swords and spells.

blackenedgreen

The Place I Want To Get Back To

by Mary Oliver

is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness

and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me

they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let’s see who she is
and why she is sitting

on the ground like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;

and so they came
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way

I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward

and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring to me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years

I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can’t be repeated.

If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.

“The Place I Want To Get Back To” by Mary Oliver, from Thirst. © Beacon Press, 2006.

 LISTEN

Kuikuti sosokmu dari belakang
Kau arahkan aku ke jalan yang benar
Kuharap suatu saat kau juga pimpin aku di jalanNya

Melihatmu teringat ayatNya
Tak sanggup aku tatap santunmu yang terjaga
Takkan ku elak bila bukan namaku yang tertoreh dijalanmu
Karena aku yakin itu yang terbaik

Aku percayakan kamu pada Dia yang tak lelah menjaga
Kuharap dia tak membolak balik hati ini

Baitku tak sepanjang baitmu
Tak seindah lantunmu
Ku harap kau mengerti apa maksudku

*sedikit disensor.. terinspirasi dari puisi-puisi itu.. pertama kali nih buat puisi

I am a camera
see through closed eyes
when my aperture opens
I make fools from the wise.
When my shutter clicks
I let the light in
turn the world upside down
then reverse it again.

I am a camera
I can distort the truth
I can make you all pretty
I can bring back youth.
I can freeze action
I can stop time
Record beauty and the beast
and the scene of the crime.

I am a camera
evolved over many years
I remember bringing
great painters fear.
Recording history
for all to see
but will technology
be the death of me?

D.Hinson

အိမ္အျပန္
လြမ္းတတ္လို႕ေစာေစာျပန္ခဲ့တာပါ
ေမ့လို႕မရတဲ့မင္းအေငြ့ အသက္ေတြကိုျမင္ေနတုန္းမို႕
ငါ့မ်က္လုံးကိုနင္ဖတ္တတ္ခဲ့ရင္ေတာ့
ငါေက်နပ္ေလာက္ပါတယ္ ……….

မင္းမရွိတဲ့အလြမ္းေတြနားမွာ
မင္းမသိတဲ့အနမ္းေတြနဲ႕
ငါအိပ္မက္ေတြဖ်ားေနခဲ့တာေလ………

မင္းကမထူးဆန္းသလိုေနခဲ့ေတာ့
ငါတစ္ေယာက္တည္း႐ူးႏွမ္း
အလြမ္းေတြနဲ႕အတူေစာေစာျပန္ခဲ့တာ
ေပ်ာ္သလိုေနခဲ့ေတာ့
နင္မလြမ္းေလာက္ပါဘူး ……….

It was the image hanging out the corner of your mouth
that sent me over the edge. The
fibrous mottled skin of
all things beautiful, flung across your cheek
like an overcoat, you wrapped up in it and your arms
going the wrong way through the sleeves. It was so big on you
it could have been your grandfather’s
and when you smiled, I saw the translucent
bits of sweetflesh stuck in your teeth like
black keys on a piano. Then you chuckled like an
out-of-tune baby grand, and your breath
smelled just like the fruit
you devoured in the shade of your mind,
not even thinking to wash it first.
You and your sugarcoated mouth and your uncontrollable hunger
and now all that’s left is a shred of skin
reduced to a sloppy triangle and fit for a graveyard, and all you can say is
It wasn’t a very good apple.

ေမွ်ာ္ေတာ္ေယာင္

@ခဏေလးရယ္တဲ႕….
နင္ထြက္သြားတာ
ငါ႕မ်က္၀န္းေတြေတာ႕ အသံတိတ္
အျမန္ျပန္လာခဲ႔ပါေနာ္။

@သတိတရပါပဲ
စကၠန္႕ေတြနဲ႕ အျပိဳင္
တာလီေတြ ခ်ဳိးရင္းေပါ႕
အိမ္ျပန္လမ္းေတြ ကိုေမွ်ာ္တယ္။

@အမွတ္တရပါပဲ
အတူရွိခဲ႔ဖူးတဲ႕ ပြဲေတာ္ညေတြေရာက္တိုင္း
အထီးက်န္စြာနဲ႕
ထပ္ေရာက္လာဦးမလား
အလြမ္းေတြက ကေမာက္ကမ။

@မျပံဳးနုိင္ေတာ႕ပါဘူး
ေန႕သစ္ေတြ ႏွဳတ္ဆက္ေနတာ
အမွတ္တရေတြ သာစားသံုးရင္း
ငါဆုေတာင္းတယ္…….
`ျပန္လာခဲ႔ပါေတာ႕´….
လြမ္းေနတုန္းေလး ငိုပါရေစ…။ ။