With A Keeping Of A Sweetness

Only when it has been made to them available,
Are people made aware of what they can access.
And those with a thought process,
That is familiar with research...
Are never surprised,
By what is hidden in the archives.
Left to go unaddressed,
To only feed that which sweetens.
Enabling the natives to peacefully rest,
With a keeping of a sweetness in full supply.
Ready to feast upon as when needed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Kinsmen of Existance

The sun of reason
breaking into a night of passion
guiding the dreaming hunter
into the archives of reality
to hit at the flesh of existence
and spill the blood of achievement
Real success, the sun of reason... shine on!

The son of purpose
reigning in the kingdom of darkness
healing the crippled humanity
into the safety of grace
and the assurance of faith
Real life, real purpose
The son of purpose, reign on!

poem by Timothy muggaga
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From the Banks of Ganga XII

I've seen
The line erasing
Between the sea and the sky
By the banks of Gangsa
I now see
The deceptive lines
Between the hills and the sky
Diluting…
In my hearts archives
The imaginary lines too
Faded…
The hills looked clouds
And the flickering lights atop
Twinkling stars
I look up in perplexity
The skyline disappeared

The lines you drew around my feet
And yours as well
Have also been washed away

[...] Read more

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Snapshot of Rimbaud

You are ofcourse on the go somehow
but with the strangeness of stilled life,
white, dressed as in orderlies cloth.

Imagine this faded album-leaf,
mildewed, sunk in chrome light as some
collected piece heaped in archives

and after the many elopements
of yourself, as unfazed as a
pilfered day, there are no left-offs;

fingers and imprints.Run train,
sweat the blazing steel and steam
the inexorable formalities.

2009 revised

poem by Lelio S Shirra
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Sir Christopher Wren 1632-1723

In the archives may be seen
a well-known name, an evergreen.
Professor of Astronomy at Oxford,
the great and famous Architect
.... Sir Christopher Wren....

After the Great Fire of London
in sixteen sixty-six, Sir Christopher
designed St. Paul's Cathedral
and many other London churches
and buildings; there was no ending
to his achievements.

Born in England,
he died in England,
and today we honour such
a great name from history.

poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Rememory

Naught ever hath thoughts of these to occur
Whilst in bureau of yours I was brought
to read and spoke of alien core
of script, symbols I merely sought

Know Naught what reason why things were done
with alien core scripts in oratorical
in flow gone with, I, for gears to keep in run
Anoints with adducted piece in musical

More than three yet less than five
enumerate the one as my foe
the other gloomy as in archive
numerical representation's low

still the other who yell in upset
reason by real essence was in point
when written expressionism, none she get
disgrace and regret all was joint

[...] Read more

poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Where Were You When That Happened?

It has already been tried.
Whatever it is you think you do.
Or believed done.
To yourself or someone,
Else
Involved involuntarily.

It has already been tried.
To cast vacant innocent eyes,
To hide behind another masquerade.

'We can't both be in the same Milky Way?
Why would I not be aware of the obvious?
You must be filming this for your archive collection.
Labelled, 'Repeated Scenes In Unconvincing Color''

It has already been tried.
Whatever it is you think you do.
Or believed done.
To yourself or someone,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bullets and Poppies

Bullets were flying
and soldiers were dying
as crimson poppies
swayed in the breeze,
beyond the trenches
beyond the green leas
in the fourteen-eighteen war
'the war to end all wars'
but these words sadly
failed to please.

The poppy's the emblem
and sorrowful hearts in sympathy
wander back to Flanders Fields
where thousands of comrades
were shamefully killed.
Golden the archives,
with names of the heroes...
and the poppy still sways
in the breeze, because

[...] Read more

poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Claridges

The same discrete blue paper and the old quill pen still play
upon the mind to summon summer’s memories as day
melts darkling sky from dusty pink to inky undertones, -
extrapolating time’s ebb tide, when flesh fades from the bones.

How short will be the stay this time, so few have means to pay
a monthly wage within the compass of a weekend, - drones
disguised as business men of size who bore in monotones,
beneath ambitions buried deep to mask their hearts’ dismay.

The tasteful paper blue recalls those images of scones
and endless teas on sunny lawns - now concrete covers - hay
last harvested so long ago that only archived loans
remember that prosperity’s elastic silicone
pressed out upon b[l]uff surface, soon may wear, and tear or fray.

The phantom of King Credit past, now overdrawn and grey,
still stays in suite identical – though fax and telephone
add a touch of innovation to that décor so well known.
Yet despite the surface changes both cuisine and service stay

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Throes Of Life

I will rather keep my faith on my works to move on,
For i am what i am today for you to see;
But yesterday is already gone too soon.

From the archives to the slippery lips and the throes of life,
Money cannot make a Doctor out of a playboy!
But allegorically noted is to toll the lines of a psyche.

I will rather keep my faith towards my success,
For the struggle is not yet over;
And there is nothing worse in life than being ignored!
But i will live always to share my love with others.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Leftovers

LEFTOVERS

We know that we were meant to be -
we know we feel we feel we know.
Once free, at sea now, few find key
decoding life’s vibrating flow
‘until no more of me and thee’
is sought within united glow
of what forgotten history
omitted from Man’s archives - so
little left to memory.

Today here, see tomorrow flee,
earth's limbo, over, only crow
enjoys leftover pickings – tree
of life’s vain strife. No merry-go-
round but mirror fragility.
For fleeting hour before we go
who tunes into the mystery
of life’s timed rondo fast and s[l]ow

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Fragile Flame

Fat boy goes to the pool
Sees his reflection, doesnt know what to do
He feels little inside
Filled with pride
Oh fragile flame
No one sees the same
Fat boy goes about his day
Trying to think of funny things to say
Like this is just a game I play
And I like me this way
Oh fragile flame
No one feels the same
Hush, sleep
Dont think, just guess
Yuore mommas little boy
Youre daddys pride and joy
You know they love
But not because they hold you
Fat boy says wouldnt it be nice, if I could mealt myself like ice or
Outrun my skin just to be pure

[...] Read more

song performed by Jewel
Added by Lucian Velea
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Chemistry Anytime

In the city of avatars
uncharitable names were cropping up
for wet and wild awards
scripted on lips of unreliable nights.

I wanted to quit archives
of headless soldiers and standing back
wanted to watch a river
of corpses flowing to morgue.

Another blast has killed a dozen
bystanders, who were shopping
for a white chador of peace
from blood-streaked owners.

Become a homosexual to catch up
the wave. Don’t tell, don’t give up.
The birthing of blue moon amidst white stars
will take place shortly

poem by Satish Verma
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Archives

Fear of a mound,
tumbling down
on the half-buried, half dead
archives of desires, comes
like a stampede of hoops on my chest.
I lie alone in a desert of insanity.

From the sea of agony
one dropp of salted tear,
the title of a wasted life, brings
the blood stained truth.
I want to wash my eyes again.

To watch the autumn leaves falling
on impeccable stones
for forgiveness.
We were not the fruits.

A song of blind water
enters the earth

[...] Read more

poem by Satish Verma
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Sounding

sounding
deep, deeper
into a myriad of memories;
into the archives of the minds tomes;
into the rootof my flowing and altenatively
stagnant consciousness;
into the labyrinths
of emotional conflicts
and behaviour;
into why there is hate, contempt, bitterness
and anger
having a feast
in eating my heart empty -
on the otherhand
there is love, sympathy, compassion
and even laughter.

sometimes with daunting deduction
there is a showing forth,
a precious revelation

[...] Read more

poem by John O'connell
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The creator's struggle

The uneven shadows
of a ghastly nightmare
cast their indescretions
upon my silently closed eyes.

The poignant pointlessnesses
of the unexpressed emotions
surface in my eye-pupils
and their glistening encore
gets lost,
in the tremendousness
of the mist of irony.

I grope in despair,
at the hidden archives
of my being,
and come up with a painful pang
of abstract unexpression
which might be the birth-root
of all this enormous creation.

[...] Read more

poem by Sarvesh Kulkarni
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The Lady Who Leaned on The Pillar of The Court

the one who took the shot
must be an artist
he knew how to portray
the state of justice in this country
a sad lady
abandoned by a lover
who murders a maid
and goes into hiding
helped by a powerful dad
and the case is simply left
in the archives
forgotten

i have written a poem for
that sadness
a forced smile
coerced beauty
a leaning that is accompanied
by trembling
that something might fall and

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sorrow clouded in happiness

Sorrow Clouded in Happiness

The little sweet girl of eight,
With her pony tail straight;
And a face luminously bright,
Was such a lovely sight!

With sparkling eyes full of glee,
She smugly sat on my knee,
'Uncle', 'Uncle', queried she,
'What do you think of me? '

My thoughts ran wild-and wild,
O'er the leaves that were filed
In the archives of the mind, now mild
With the years that have piled.

How can I tell my mind to her,
That I thought better of her,

[...] Read more

poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Trading Desires

Wrapped in explosives he was unready
for a bruise. A dive at a mound of torso
to unearth the archives of areolae.

Apnoea will come for arbitration
in clenched insinuation:
pull nipples to open the window of mind.

On the forehead a smear of vermilion
brings glare like a third eye.
Real fish in the green pond of envy.

Desiccation of spine excites the rhetoric
blurs the sea of swans. A lone tree
explodes into a spring, not just leaves of old flame.

Silver moon recognizes the battered hill.
A white wolf was cruising on the road
for appleblossoms.

poem by Satish Verma
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Numb

That trip to the dentist left me uncomfortably numb

There was blood in my mouth on my gum

A tooth missing

The wind blowing against me

Senseless to trauma

Drowsy limbs stumbled

Across roads

Over fallen branches and streets

With unfamiliar names

Like 'uncomfortably numb'

[...] Read more

poem by Yvette Smith
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