Crawl to the Moon

 By:- Stephen Fuller (S Francis)
 
I
 
God,
What are you doing
to me?
 
Like Job in a storm,
You stripped my ship of ballast
Now I must learn to swim.
 
Learn to swim?
But, I knew the strokes
Needed to survive.
 
You changed the sea,
I am oil
slipping.
 
What is next?
Do I act
Or react?
 
II
 
God, if you please,
Give my smile
Laughter.
 
Tonight,
What else
Do I have?
 
I am shipless
As the tide
Crawls to the moon.
 
III
 
The night passes
And folds itself
Into day.
 
Today, I swim,
Guide me to the
Treasure of love.

The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. 

Ere We Die

By :- Kevin Morris

On seeing the stormy sky
The poet thinks “man must die”.
He sees the young girl bloom
And says “she is destined for the tomb”.
Oh let us gather wild flowers
And not waste our powers
Trapped in ivory towers.
Beware the scholar’s domed head
For we are soon dead.
May our spirit fly
Ere we die
And are lost in endless sky.


The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. Find more of his beautiful works at newauthoronline

The poem appears in his
collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind

Sad … But It’s Easier to be Icy

By: Monica Pana
 
“Spiritual diseases are no longer treated with hot teas, but with cold showers.”
 
I do not know exactly who said this, but he’s right. Often we are cold, we feel insecure and it’s hard for us to give a hug. Maybe age is to blame. A child is much warmer and more affectionate. He feels the need and he expresses that by simply offering.
 
We always want warmth, a good thought, a few words of encouragement. We need to hear and see. Although it is a paradox, despite the fact that we can hear, see and speak, we are largely deaf, blind and mute. We do not hear cries for help, we do not see the sadness that occurs behind a crafty smile, we do not console thru words the wounded hearts.
 
We do not want to treat a broken soul. We look with an icy and lost look to those around us without making them understand why. Angel eyes hide a demonic mind. A broken heart, bandaged in a stone of confusion. We produce in them doubts about their own existence. We forget them and then we need their warmth. But, eventually… human nature is cold. We live with disappointments, we disappoint others and, after that, we give up the need for warmth.
 
Sad… but it’s easier to be icy and to protect yourself than to risk and be fulfilled.

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. Please visit her site, look around! to read more of Monica’s fine work!

Hello Old Friend

By:- 


I made up a few lyrics for the New Year to document my relationship with my treadmill.  Sang to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel song, “The Sound of Silence.”  (If you don’t know this song click here for the YouTube version.)

Hello treadmill my old friend,

Its great to see you there again,

I know I broke up with you in 2016,

But now I see that this was the wrong thing,

And my body… that is soft, round and thick, 

Still remains,

I miss the sound…… of running…..

Okay, so I broke up with my treadmill in 2016.  We both saw it coming.  We grew apart.  I knew this would happen.  I have to blame myself.  I didn’t carve enough time out for you.  I know that’s all you really wanted from me, treadmill.  Then I know you heard about those times with the street – it was just about the running.  I had no feelings for the street.  You have to believe me.

But I want to call a truce.  Treadmill, please take me back.  We had such a good thing going.  You, me, Netflix.  It could be like that again.

I promise to dust you off and actually plug you back in.  I will come to see you at least 5 times a week.  Me and the street – we are over!  It’s cold outside,  and winter and I broke up a long time ago.

Today, my old friend treadmill is my favorite : )

Daily tally:

Avery 0/0, Brooke +1/0, Kate 0/0, treadmill +1/0


Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. 

Memories Are My Enemy

By: Monica Pana

I want to let a desire with minimal intensities to master me, thinking that I will not be led by my mind. I want to let the time follow its path without me in its way, but I let the past determine my future without knowing why.

I want to feel any feeling. Because when you feel something, it is more than an emotion, it’s a proof that you’re human.

I’m sick of everything I ever thought that can grieve me. I never thought that the greatest joy is the greatest sadness. That what I love will destroy me faster than people… I never thought that memories are the greatest enemy of mine.

Things are changing and everything goes away and you wait, but you don’t ever know what or when it will come. Why would everything you want come to you? How can you afford to have everything when you really don’t know what you want?

We are born with desires, we die with hopes. Hope dies the last, but we die hoping. Is there any reason to hope when you know you hope in vain? And when everything you do is against you? All you can do is to say “sad” and to go on with your gaze forward and your heart behind.


Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. Please visit her site, look around! to read more of Monica’s fine work!

CHAOS

By:- Greg Richards

She ran, hair coursing, wind-borne, wild-eyed, wicker wielding,
Through the bough broken, twig torn, leaf wrenched,
Storm struck, Forests core.
In the roiling cauldron of her heart,
A thunderous vortex brewed,
Magic mimed the spell the words would not weave,
A chant to free her heart.
This knight in shining armour held it tight,
Faerie bane, in painful grip of Iron.


The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.