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' Live-Poets Society ' – A Corner For Poetry


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Charming Prince and his White Camarillo 

I stand under a tree 
on the edge of a hill 
looking over the green aura 
flashed by the setting sun 
into the deep blue sea. 

Like magic, there appears 
a winged Camarillo, 
pure diamond white and spotless, 
flew towards the tree 
and with a thud of thunder 
lands in front of me. 

Confused more than startled, 
I look at the man with golden armour 
mount off with a smile 
holding a heart shaped 
Sapphire ring and a Violet rose. 

He kneel down, holding 
my hand and my breath 
in his tender grasp, 
looks with those red Ruby eyes 
deep into my eyes and soul. 
I open my eyes wide, panting, 
with a heavy unsteady breath. 

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A Name of Me

Am I a nameless me? 
Would my name describe me! 
Or is it my replica— to divide
The real me from the me!

What is a name to what is a me? 
Is it all that a name of me! 
Or is it me of a name— I might be
Evolve me into the real me! 

Can a name be who is me?
Was it all I could be or I should be! 
Or is it unique of me— or versatile
Like me that can be barely me! 

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1 hour ago, Emi GS said:

A Name of Me

Am I a nameless me? 
Would my name describe me! 
Or is it my replica— to divide
The real me from the me!

What is a name to what is a me? 
Is it all that a name of me! 
Or is it me of a name— I might be
Evolve me into the real me! 

Can a name be who is me?
Was it all I could be or I should be! 
Or is it unique of me— or versatile
Like me that can be barely me! 

I really like this, Emi. You talk about identity in a compelling way. 

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My response to Zero to Hero, Chapter 6...

“Wet year!“ cries the cardinal to passersby and rivals; 

“Tom Peabody,“ the sparrow mourns to buttercups and daisies; 

“Cheer up, and go cheerily!” the robin sings from hawthorns;
 
 “Hey sweetie,” croons the chickadee, oblivious of black cats,
 
 “Hush, hush, for the cowbird comes,” the hermit thrush must whisper. 

 

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Writer's block

There comes a time, where
Words are nothing but mere words, 
Emotions turns out simply stoic, 
Efforts will result in complete futile. 
They would never line up together
Or work up with each other by any chance
To forge one's skills profoundly.
A writer's block can be, without doubt,
As smutty as it can ever be

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A River

A river of thoughts flood through my mind
Neither one was about a natural stream
Curiously nothing fell into a tale or
Anything that specifically narrative
At least not that I can consider as one

Not even a line about the course
Or of the verging the channel can take
None about the deepness or the size
Or the way it flow or glow in sunshine
Nothing matched for what I know

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1 hour ago, Emi GS said:

A River

A river of thoughts flood through my mind
Neither one was about a natural stream
Curiously nothing fell into a tale or
Anything that specifically narrative
At least not that I can consider as one

Not even a line about the course
Or of the verging the channel can take
None about the deepness or the size
Or the way it flow or glow in sunshine
Nothing matched for what I know

I think you express here the way a lot of us poets feel about our work. Seldom do we finish something and think, "Nailed it!" Our concept always seems to outpace our ability, and even Shakespeare admitted to writer's jealousy "...envying that man's art, and that one's scope..."  

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I don't know how much of a Haiku it is, but will hope you guys will enjoy it...

Paper boats

Paper boats are soaked
In the stream of rain water
on the cement road

Edited by Emi GS
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Magnified  Emptiness

He held my hand, standing there alone. Enjoying the cool waves of the salt water soaking our feet. He might be a figment of my imagination. Or I to him. But we stand there, unaffected, holding hands. There was a thin mirror-like line of fog between us; separating us from one another. A crystal-clear looking glass divided into, two different worlds at the same time. I can see him looking at the setting sun. He can feel my intense gaze pierce him. His heart skipped a beat and a tear rolled from his left eye. I can feel the moist on my own cheeks too. Suddenly the darkness consumed the world. Around me all is vast emptiness with twinkling stars. And he was still looking at the setting sun. Slowly he turned to his left and started walking. Walking along the seashore, leaving his foot prints behind. I sat there in the sand looking at the waves as the breeze lifted strands of my hair in the cool night. 

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4 minutes ago, Emi GS said:

Walking along the seashore, leaving his foot prints behind. I sat there in the sand looking at the waves as the breeze lifted strands of my hair in the cool night.

i like it...and i love the title

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A Broken Heart

I should have cut my wrist 
The moment I was sure I am different. 
Different from the very people around me
It would have spared the pain and
The misery that the life put me through
The hopeless relationships and heartbreaks
The nightly sorrow and the salty tear stains
Every miserable thing would not have happened
If only— if only I have had the courage
The courage to live and to die or to live to die

 

Edited by Emi GS
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On 4/13/2019 at 10:59 AM, Emi GS said:

 

A Broken Heart

I should have cut my wrist 
The moment I was sure I am different. 
Different from the very people around me
It would have spared the pain and
The misery that the life put me through
The hopeless relationships and heartbreaks
The nightly sorrow and the salty tear stains
Every miserable thing would not have happened
If only— if only I have had the courage
The courage to live and to die or to live to die

 

Hugs. This is a hard one to 'like,' especially as I rather have you live and love, as Nature always intended :)

 

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A Pussy Cat

That brazen little hussy
The cat, nonetheless, a hissy
Yet never ever a wussy
But her naught makes one pissy

With her, the house kinda fussy
The diet must be meat that saucy
Following the rule, not be mussy
Her posture always been bossy

 

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I don't know what to name this poem. But I'll take all the suggestions given and will fix a title from them... 

 

Stabbed mercilessly
Burned to the very core
Just Left to wither and die
My grim soul belongs to, The One, 
Satan, the Supreme Lord of the Hell 

 

Edited by Emi GS
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Vegetable Curry

With sizzling of peppers and tomatoes
In vegetable oil, a sweet aroma spreads
Added coconut milk brought an eye full
Juicy texture and comes the spices 
—To give us a fully desi tadka

Armed with a sharp chef's knife; 
The diamond shaped carrots
And perfect squarely cut potatoes
Along with beens and peas
—The way they all get into the pot

Leave it for the time as it brew
For the veggies to go tender and slender
Off the lid, let the stream reach neighbours
Now taste a spoon for the salt
—With Roti and Rice, serve a plate

 

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2 minutes ago, Emi GS said:

Vegetable Curry

With sizzling of peppers and tomatoes
In vegetable oil, a sweet aroma spreads
Added coconut milk brought an eye full
Juicy texture and comes the spices 
—To give us a fully desi tadka

Armed with a sharp chef's knife; 
The diamond shaped carrots
And perfect squarely cut potatoes
Along with beens and peas
—The way they all get into the pot

Leave it for the time as it brew
For the veggies to go tender and slender
Off the lid, let the stream reach neighbours
Now taste a spoon for the salt
—With Roti and Rice, serve a plate

 

and now i'm hungry again!

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Lost Soul 

A soul break-down 
Where pain became 
The only strength 
One hold on to 
Never to be known
For the definition;
Running along
With this selfish world
Lost the battle
—Only to left
The loved ones
An empty house

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2 hours ago, Emi GS said:

Lost Soul 

A soul break-down 
Where pain became 
The only strength 
One hold on to 
Never to be known
For the definition;
Running along
With this selfish world
Lost the battle
—Only to left
The loved ones
An empty house

This is so very sad. It’s beautiful in its sorrow. 

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From Boy to A Man

Lips might never remember
When a hearty laughter 
Turned into a knowing smirk

Crimson cheeks never recall 
How boyish they were before 
Blood started to fill with emotion

Healthy pecs never know 
What made them curvy and fit 
From the baby smooth muscles

Whole body never think of
The adventurous religious experience 
It went through to become 
A whole new creature with 
The comical tender packages

How innocent one was before 
They realise their life started 
A new page, new era, new emotions
Before they step forward 
To become whole again 

 

Fast Breath 

With a fast breath 
I went rigid and sweaty 
And stepped forward, in life, 
To become a man

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नफरत

प्यार से बढ़कर बेहद नशा 
नफरत में ही होती है ||
और
नफरत से बड़ी बर्बादी
दुनिया में होती ही नहीं ||

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