A Decade and twice a year and a half twiced

  A Decade and twice a year and a half twiced
No doubt, I will conquer my very own price
IF fate is true, Does he play dice?
Nopes, I guess we must play nice

I want to reach out all the stars
Buy cool things like brand new cars
Have some powers and magical Wands
Specto patronom with magical sands

speak in front of thousand man
climb through ladders unto the sun
like FLash the way i like to run
Home works I had will all be done

Frightening teachers will be nice
appreciate student's sacrifice
home work be lessen on 90 percent
party's no parent's consent

This day ends with my Anticipation
of tomorrows negotiation
To pick a bit of inspiration
to end my wide imagination..

Let Me Grow Lovely

Let me grow lovely, growing old--
So many fine things do:
Laces, and ivory, and gold,
And silks need not be new;
And there is healing in old trees
Old streets a glamour hold;
Why may not I, as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old?

Long Ago

  Long ago I seen this poem that had a story of a man that was too far gone it went some like he was so far out in the water that he was not waiving but drowning, first I didn’t understand what it meant but years later I wound come to understand just what it means.

The day I realize what it meant it was me that was not waiving but drowning in my sorrows of a hand that was dealt to me for reason that til today is unknown but they say that God only gives you what you can handle we must have two different points of view.

One night in the heat of rage I went out and I hung myself my husband pulled me down and brought me back to life “what a bold statement.”

I didn’t realize all that had happened to me and still today do not remember everything but what I do know is that not realizing just how far out I was not waiving but drowning in the yesterdays of my life not seeing the hopes that was right here today.

Now I view things just a little bit different yes I still wallow in my sorrow but I try to get it out sooner then later because hanging from that rope was no joke.

Violin

She cried for all the broken hearts,
Painted everlasting winters –
Floral patterns etched in ice;
A frozen tear to
Soften up the bastard bones.

Bow made love to needy string
In cooing fling – wanton whispers
Fondled under pianissimos,
Caressing callous hearts.

Melodrama swayed in satin sound
– Yet the player wasn’t there,
Only creamy song, soothing, yearning,
Teasing bitter minds.

I sensed her persevering loneliness
For beauty of an evening: Romance of a tune; laughing,
Sobbing at the fire.

Then a climax –
Writhing passion cutting deep –
Wounding macho flesh,

And all in a work of musical art:
Ephemeral stories, yarned of music
Honed impossibly through her tones.

The Encounter

  I seldom spent my time taking fragments from my past,
But, solely her face appears from a string of cast;
I met her in the most unusual trend,
This is somewhat, how it happened.There was an hour before dark,
I was prepared for my mother’s cocoa phonic bitter bark;
I wondered if that woman would shower a hint of mercy,
In a June evening, in a deserted alley;
I caught over ridden taxi,
In a great haste, I sat unnoticed who was behind me,
A demigoddess, gossiping and giggling gracefully;
Through the rear mirror,
I piously gazed at her;
She had the prettiest teary eyes,
Of what I would consider, ideal size.
She had a pair of the rosiest cheek,
Her hair was charcoal black and sleek,
Like a warriors blade under the moon;
Her voice the singing nightingales in June,
Her giggle, Beethoven’s melody in its finest tune.
I speculated if she noticed me,
I softened, why would she;
Did her teary eyes stare at me,
Nay! Anyone but me;
I halted the taxi,
For this mute had reached his destiny;
I saddened for I no longer could prolong my glance,
I took my last chance,
I took the meekest glance.

I walked home unknowingly, forgetting my mother,
The bitter shrewd barks of her;
My thoughts circled around when I would see her,
My angelic accomplice rider,
Would ‘FATE’ the mysterious rejoin me with her;
I was crest fallen until I saw her,
My saintly neighbor

Trying To Reflect Your Beauty

Stay for awhile: the angels are making
Peace over the canal,
And maybe it is Christmas- there is
A new lawnmower in the neighbor’s
Yard,
But their little girls have gone forever,
And your children are at home
These new words I say of you to noon
You will never know-
I will say them to the emptied yards
After all of the heavens have come out again,
Trying to reflect your beauty-
After you have forgotten all of this Romance 
I wake up I forgot
who I am, I look at...I can't see anything
or connection ever
plants are colorless
people walk in silence my feet swift to a fly, I sit alone by pond I throw stone but it
didn't ripple a bit I am thirsty, my throat is dry I feel pillow on my head.

Rainbow’s Birth

The morning light
in your eye
unfurls a sail
in the solar wind
of sun rays.

Your fingers move
like flower petals
in the breeze
of June.

In the palm
of your hand
the rainbow
is born.

Dream Or Fantasy

When I close my eyes I can trace
every line upon your face.
My fingers touching your soft gentle lips
Those lips that I yearn to kiss.

You are my dream lover - my fantasy come true
When I want you - I dream of you.
I close my eyes and there you are
Always near - never far.

Your love fills my nights and completes my days
And in my heart you will forever stay.
When ever I am feeling down
I close my eyes and you’re around.

You are my dream lover - for me there is no other
People say that you are a fantasy.
A figment of my imagination.
If this is so - why do I get these sensations.
I hold your face in my hands
Knowing you would understand

You have become my hearts desire
Taking me to levels so much higher
You have opened this loves door
And I want to be with you forever more.

How can this be a fantasy? when I have you next to me!

My Youthful Love

      In November, my heart been in bloom as the roses in spring I knew he felt the same way, I do No need to pretend we know it both As waves throw the pebbles of the shore Like our feelings we threw before How the sight of each other embraced me tight It's like a kite that been chased by the wind.  As the sunflower shone a hope in love in August night. I know fewer things about him so It’s just the flute of love the play is on A voice that says’ he’s a part of mine. His tone played an abandon key of my heart And this is music so gentle and kind Yet I can’t, I'm tied with straws Cupid hit me blindly And the god of time was not in placed So cupid knocks me with a stone He did not do it once but twice But time is the king of hearts, He will defy his foes.  As my heart is still in bud I must resist. My little angel told me so! I will wait for the roses to be fully bloomed Like each red petals burdened with passion and desire

What Is Life?

Life is like a color box; Different colors in it, 

Are the different stages of life; Some for happiness, Some for sorrows.  Life is like a rainbow; Where it ends, no one knows, Life starts like the colors darkens; And ends as the rainbow fades.  Life is like a canvas; And the paintings are our deeds, whether light or dark; we`ll paint whatever we do

Memories

It was when the night got darker, and the silent darkness started haunting me,
Way out somewhere I hear a dog barking, a man shouting.
A women screaming and a child crying, I lie with open eyes.
unable to sleep, just wondering what is life and what are these feelings.
when i missed you the most, it was when I felt very very very sad
When I was just wanting a mail from you, when my heart would miss a beat
with a thought, with the feel, I had from you, I got from you.
Thank you dear for those moments, I cherish in my life.
as the best days of the feelings I had the utmost emotional climax.
I enjoyed...............I felt........may be this is it........or is there something more to this......

Is this the beginning....dear or is the end of it......
I always ask myself.....and get no answer to my questions....
But I believe Life must and will go on..........
Man must live a Life worthy of himself until his last breath...
Is it what I am waiting for.....or is there something more to this..............

Enchanting Day

My eloquent enchanting day of speech
Finds a fortnight in discussion, with midnight;
Hollow and lovely life is a way of driving down,
Cordial thanks are offered now that you define.

Behold the sorrow of worlds and their gallantry,
The enduring sight is the best sight,
With trouble as the meaning of the day,
Felicity enters the mind afterward

Realms of the Butterflies

butterfly, are your
stripes and shades
a map to paradise?
if that is so, i am
already in one

so serene, so quiet
your gentle adventure
enchanting colors
entrance me, transport me
tranquilly into another realm

the angels, do they fly like you?
so effortlessly, forever carrying a paradise

is paradise filled with honey? sweet
success for your rendevouz with blooms

is your caterpillar a testimony that
one grows in and out of realms?

so softly, quietly, you fly off a rainbow
leaving that little monster
you once were fluttering on trees

I Wish I Knew Who I Am

I wish I knew who I was;

I would've never incurred such a loss,
Would've never relied on you,
Wouldn't have lost my ego too.

I wish I knew who I was;
I wouldn't have broken so many laws,
Would've never cried for you,
Wouldn't have lost my esteem too.

I think I know how I could be,
A person broken inside, you see.
Yes, it's what I think I am;
But it's all right, why should you give a damn?

Sunrise

The first beaming sentinels arrive

To clear shadowy alleys and make 'em more alive.

The sky, now a luring glorious expanse, birds fly even higher
And I also, wake with arms outstretched to heaven, to say hallelujah.

The Poem That Speaks Of Nothing

The poem that speaks of nothing
Tells of nothing convoluted at all.
It has no need of metering,
Or of emotions that rise and fall.

The poem that has no content
Lacks subject matter to cover.
So forget the flowers that you sent
To your faithful lover.

The poem devoid of plot
Has no far fetched tale to tell.
There’s no mention of battles fought
Against the very spawn of Hell.

The poem in absence of metaphors
Is not written by someone who will
Tell of reposing forevermore
Or of running naked through the hill.

The poem that speaks of nothing
Dares not mention the roaring sea.
And the poem that speaks of nothing
That is the poem for me.