Submissions by Pishashee
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
"Sitting with the angels who have returned with my memories. " ― Alice Walker. It is a pleasure to be in such company.
Worth of Your Smile
I remember when I told you of all of my dreams
In the silliest forms, and all fashions of things,
I'll only be happy now with whatever life brings
In the warmth of your wonderful smile,
I remember I wanted a Sapphire in hue
Of a radiant mixture where the sunset peaks through,
In boughs of warm autumn, in pink facets of truth;
So new was your beautiful smile,
I remember I wanted it perfect in size, ...
In the silliest forms, and all fashions of things,
I'll only be happy now with whatever life brings
In the warmth of your wonderful smile,
I remember I wanted a Sapphire in hue
Of a radiant mixture where the sunset peaks through,
In boughs of warm autumn, in pink facets of truth;
So new was your beautiful smile,
I remember I wanted it perfect in size, ...
851 reads
8 Comments
Oh! “mono no aware”
Do you want to learn to write poetry,
or do you have a story to tell me,
I want to hear them all!
Are you a question to answer,
or are you an answer that finds,
The poet free from worry;
those days are the best of blithe.
The poet of dilatations,
who will look through words of beauty,
through a disguise.
A poet so based on
the nature of things;
they have no reason or rhyme.
Naturally!
The further from the original...
or do you have a story to tell me,
I want to hear them all!
Are you a question to answer,
or are you an answer that finds,
The poet free from worry;
those days are the best of blithe.
The poet of dilatations,
who will look through words of beauty,
through a disguise.
A poet so based on
the nature of things;
they have no reason or rhyme.
Naturally!
The further from the original...
659 reads
9 Comments
Opus of Encounter
A
Jack
&
Reita
Creation
...
Jack
&
Reita
Creation
...
895 reads
12 Comments
Tribute to Zoology
This is Jim and Jim's innards
― and I'll say no more.
Author's notes:
A tribute to the microscope poet. An Earthworm that I met in Zoology who I so lovingly named, Jim. Thanks, Jim.
― and I'll say no more.
Author's notes:
A tribute to the microscope poet. An Earthworm that I met in Zoology who I so lovingly named, Jim. Thanks, Jim.
648 reads
4 Comments
Rightly Stoned
the tea is good,
the outside sweet,
the canvas bleeds
with deadly bones,
the numbing pain,
the box a rain,
It feels good to be,
so rightly stoned.
the outside sweet,
the canvas bleeds
with deadly bones,
the numbing pain,
the box a rain,
It feels good to be,
so rightly stoned.
596 reads
2 Comments
Wedded Ivy
Sitting under
a legacy of silence,
the ivy ambles along,
betrothed to
visions of vengeance.
a legacy of silence,
the ivy ambles along,
betrothed to
visions of vengeance.
562 reads
4 Comments
The Landays
One
I dream I'm the nights
lost laureate; majestic,
when I wake,
I am abandoned with scars.
Two
Frigid canned margarita,
the clinging to death,
Doctor Who ’72,
redundant strawberry silence.
I dream I'm the nights
lost laureate; majestic,
when I wake,
I am abandoned with scars.
Two
Frigid canned margarita,
the clinging to death,
Doctor Who ’72,
redundant strawberry silence.
642 reads
2 Comments
Coming Back to Life
Carry me through the atmosphere,
sling me against your naked hip
with mind intent on digging through
transitions of leaves on the wind,
Send me through conscious reflection
of laconic happiness and distant dejection
in the beating drums of resistance,
Settle me comfortably, yet to know
the paradoxical extent of self-awareness,
Position me with control in my mind –
let me realize those holy drops of death,
and therefore, the coming back to life.
sling me against your naked hip
with mind intent on digging through
transitions of leaves on the wind,
Send me through conscious reflection
of laconic happiness and distant dejection
in the beating drums of resistance,
Settle me comfortably, yet to know
the paradoxical extent of self-awareness,
Position me with control in my mind –
let me realize those holy drops of death,
and therefore, the coming back to life.
609 reads
2 Comments
Ancient Heredity of Light
There are footsteps in ash at Laetoli,
made of clay with stripes of white, off center,
the center is the outer porches of life
as desires and dreams, deep within the tumbles of pain,
feigning death, where enters the light of heredity
when open to receive the energies of Pliocene,
in lasting thoughts of the distant and venerable truth.
There is a blindness of where we have been,
the blindness of screaming ghosts peering
through stained castles of gray indolence;
they...
made of clay with stripes of white, off center,
the center is the outer porches of life
as desires and dreams, deep within the tumbles of pain,
feigning death, where enters the light of heredity
when open to receive the energies of Pliocene,
in lasting thoughts of the distant and venerable truth.
There is a blindness of where we have been,
the blindness of screaming ghosts peering
through stained castles of gray indolence;
they...
702 reads
3 Comments
The Silence Inside
How I long for the silence inside,
to simply sooth around
and build on a thought of my own
while indulging in the peaceful poetry;
the inspiration while lost influences me to write.
Knowing the poet within my heart,
I grabbed an echo and slipped inside to find her.
Image Credit: Art, de photographie, et de la Science's photo.
to simply sooth around
and build on a thought of my own
while indulging in the peaceful poetry;
the inspiration while lost influences me to write.
Knowing the poet within my heart,
I grabbed an echo and slipped inside to find her.
Image Credit: Art, de photographie, et de la Science's photo.
593 reads
2 Comments
Quarkey Dream
My hands will know what to do,
struggling for realness;
something that's solid to touch.
Still hazy is my mind as I fondled
for the dial-tone to go through,
making sure this was what I had heard.
I couldn't believe it!
No more truer had I heard those words,
and how incumbent the need to write it down;
just get it to paper while I'm still alive.
It was that, One, brilliant thing,
with the importance of life.
Or maybe a quarkey little poem;
a perfect...
struggling for realness;
something that's solid to touch.
Still hazy is my mind as I fondled
for the dial-tone to go through,
making sure this was what I had heard.
I couldn't believe it!
No more truer had I heard those words,
and how incumbent the need to write it down;
just get it to paper while I'm still alive.
It was that, One, brilliant thing,
with the importance of life.
Or maybe a quarkey little poem;
a perfect...
771 reads
6 Comments
The White Tide
I saw far, far away, across a vast distance.
There was sweet grass and trees.
There was a shadowy entity;
I could not focus on what it was, so I looked away.
In a boxed room
there was a white tide undreamt;
it was there resting as a state of mind.
I studied the outside world in movement,
scanning the significance;
steadfast with courage and trembling,
unthinking in modals or dialect, ...
There was sweet grass and trees.
There was a shadowy entity;
I could not focus on what it was, so I looked away.
In a boxed room
there was a white tide undreamt;
it was there resting as a state of mind.
I studied the outside world in movement,
scanning the significance;
steadfast with courage and trembling,
unthinking in modals or dialect, ...
660 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Pishashee