Grateful

POETS & POETRY I LOVE

Grateful

https://thetravellothoner.wordpress.com/2019/05/20/grateful/
— Read on thetravellothoner.wordpress.com/2019/05/20/grateful/

The most beautiful poem to honor us women by : Thetravellothoner 🌻

To the girl who thinks she’s not good enough,

To the girl who thinks she’s not as strong,

To the girl who thinks this hurdle she cannot get past,

To the girl who cannot stand up to point out you’re wrong.

 

To you pretty ladies I’ve only got one thing to say,

You are wonderful the way you are, in your own beautiful way!

 

From the lady responsible for my existence today,

To the lady who held my hand when I went astray.

From the one who taught me to read and write,

To the one who loves to kiss me goodnight.

 

I am surrounded by y’all like a bee around a flower,

Walking around in ignorance, unaware of your power.

 

Its an open untalked secret this circle of life,

From the days I needed my mother to seeking refuge in my wife.

Y’all run this world and make it a better place,

I hope one day I can repay you for every sacrifice and tear behind that face.

 

Until then I say “Thank You” and admire the graceful,

For your mere existence I am forever grateful.

 

-The Travellothoner.

Times Of Desperation : REPOST

POETS & POETRY I LOVE

Times Of Desperation

https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/2019/06/18/times-of-desperation/
— Read on thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/2019/06/18/times-of-desperation/

BEAUTIFUL POETRY BY : SARAH DOUGHTY

“I need you more than anything.
But I’m too scared to admit
my desperation for you.”

I can feel you everywhere around me like a fog in the night. Creeping along the dew-kissed grass. I can hear you whispering through the trees. And it sounds as if they’re trying to whisper right back at you. I want to call out your name. Reach into the darkness for your hand. Because I need you more in this moment than I’ve ever needed anything in my life before. But I’m too scared to admit to myself that I’m desperate for you. Like I’m freezing and you’re the warmth that will soothe my aching bones. Maybe, if I’m brave enough to let your name escape my lips, that will break the spell and bring you back to me.

© Sarah Doughty

Because now, without you,
all I feel is lost.
And lost is a barren
wasteland of ice and snow.

The Aging Furnace

POETS & POETRY I LOVE

The Aging Furnace

The Aging Furnace
— Read on jpignopoetry.com/2019/06/18/the-aging-furnace/

ANOTHER AMAZING POET : jpignopoetry 🌻

What Dante
Didn’t realize
Is that hell falls
Where we stand
As a place
Which turns all children
Into men
Who burn their toys

And trade such games
For knives
At request
Of the aging furnace
With need
To fuel some meaning
Among what flames
Will rage

On smolders
Made from dolls
Like blazes
Eating trinkets
Inhaling dreams
Left swallowed
By tongues
Of fiery beasts

Called progress
Or due time
Beyond this day
We’ve wasted
Abiding heat
Through money
Amassing wealth
In death

While paints
And colored tales
Speak heavens
Out of waiting
When art remains
Insistent
Our faith
Keep cooler hopes

Expressing play
As God
Still innocent
Though abating
These sparks
Which stifle memories
With resistance
Held in prose –

This cross
I long to seek
Despite how tinder
Kindles
And ruins words
By torment
Of young virtue
Growing old,

My past
That’s nearly lost
Every moment
Reason suffers
Knowing hope
Is giving purpose
Through each final
Act of fun.

– J. Pigno

At Work I Stand Observing My Diminished Self by Robert OKAJI (Repost)

POETS & POETRY I LOVE

At Work I Stand Observing My Diminished Self

At Work I Stand Observing My Diminished Self
— Read on robertokaji.com/2019/04/01/at-work-i-stand-observing-my-diminished-self-2/

REPOST

AMAZING WORK BY ROBERT OKAJI

At Work I Stand Observing My Diminished Self

 

1 (reflection)

Six iterations, alike but lessened in sequence, and always in pairs:
front and back, oblique, the two mirrors becoming four, then six.

A perfect mirror reflects and neither transmits nor absorbs light.

Tilting my chin, I accept reflectance according to its distribution.

Retina as transducer, producing neural impulses.

The images consume no space but the effect is of distance.

Vision is not simply the retina’s translation
but counts inference and assumption among its influences.

The sum and product of its parts: 1 + 2 + 3, or, 1 x 2 x 3.

Angles achieve distinctions apparent at each adjustment.

Turning slightly, I detect movement in each replica.

A six-door cubic cage depicting the bondage of sense and elements.

It is possible to withdraw from this frame.

 

2 (answers)

Does the weaker eye perceive less.
Who conceals the shadow’s death.
Is a distal truth a lie or merely implication.
How do you rid the mirror of its ghosts.
What resonates in the echo’s decline.
Did the light switch subvert the blackened image.
Apparition, projection or visual representation.
When do waves not disturb.
At what point does belief transmute sight.
What fixes the mirror’s image.
Who closed his eyes and saw light.

 

3 (prosopagnosia)

I sip coffee and gaze out the second-floor window.

More light enters my neighbor’s office than mine.

Calculate the difference between illumination and glare.

Looking ahead, I claim no face and recognize no one.

The eye converts a signal from one form of energy to another.

Accepting light from external objects, I perceive reflection as the true arbiter.

The dissected path impairs transduction.

Face as identifier: to make, to do.

Translation: imperfection: diminishment.

Blink.

* * *

“At Work I Stand Observing My Diminished Self” was published in Posit in October 2017.