Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

Per Sempre nel Mio Cuore~by Paul F. Lenzi



Per Sempre nel Mio Cuore


“Old Hands” by Nelede Saeger

(Forever in My Heart)

my mother’s two hands
their name was Aida
for ninety-three years
till they died within mine

Neapolitan amber
kissed by the warmth
of ancestral gold suns
took on in their time
a tawny translucence
too-prominent veined

their rosaried
pianist fingers
two nicotined pads
in one comfortable
cigarette cleft

their butcher-strong grip
ably tended her
twice-her-size husband
for sixty-three years
not to mention
their nursing
of parents and siblings
while raising three
urbanized children

they made magic
of wooden-spooned sauces
and rolling-pinned pasta
some seventy-thousand
made-from-scratch meals
her affectionate gifts
from the recipes
cherished as prayers
in her heart

they used hair-nested
ear-rested pencils
to cipher their sales
to grocery customers
drawn upon
brown paper bags
so much faster and neater
than any old new-fangled
black and bronze
adding machine

they were peasant hands
born to bear
uncomplained pain
so toughened by toil
roughened by rustic
to get the job
any job
every job

yet tender as tulips
when drawn across
trouble-knit brows
of illness or grief
when stroking teared cheeks
of sadness or woe
I loved those two hands
even more than I know
how with every touch
they so dearly loved me

(originally posted April 2013)

Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

James Brindley~by Jeremy J Croucher



James Brindley

James Brindley was an engineer
born seventeen seventy-two
Who later, when he’d qualified
canals and water knew
He designed many aqueducts
and tunnels through the rocks
along with single traffic gates
in narrow water locks

Fitting then the Canal House
on Bridge Street, Birmingham
should bear his name upon the wall
with fitting epigram
For out there at the water’s edge
his gift to us remains
Where waterways and watercraft
pay homage to his name


Photo – The Canal House pub (formerly ‘The James Brindley’) (and before that, a canal storehouse and boat works), Bridge Street, Birmingham – Jempics


Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

WINTER WHISPERS ~by Jyotirmaya Thakur




Image may contain: one or more people and indoor

On a cold serene winter night,
In silence stars shining light,
Clear dreams of sky so bright,
Warmth of sun out of sight.

Privileged rich cosy in bed,
Wrapped in satin or velvet,
Abandoned senile heavy load,
Lying in corners of the roads.

Whispers of dry twigs unfold,
Playing havoc on naked toes,
Frostbite fingers of poor and old,
Peep out trembling in biting cold.

Magical music in metro sounds,
Unemployed heartstrings proud,
Commuters of train homebound,
On wistful looks throw a frown.

Life is hard and dark in corners,
Winter adds pale encounters,
Old clothes gather dust in closets,
Untimely twirls of coal dust burners.

Mystic world of winter whispers,
Angel wings cover poverty fingers,
Softly enter soulful harbingers,
Gently dawn on carol singers.
Jyotirmaya Thakur copyright 16/11/17.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

I saw and heard, as life passed me by~by Shashi Gupta



I saw and heard, as life passed me by

Image may contain: plant, flower, nature and outdoor

I saw and heard, as life passed me by
I felt the pain as you broke my heart.
I thought of ways to turn things around
But all I got was an aching heart.

I tried so hard to slip past the gloom
Turn on the light for all was grey.
I tried to smile though my heart cried out
Give me release from these chains of pain.

And then one day it was all so clear
Nothing was going to take the pain away
I lost all strength that Id hoped was there
And sought out the easy but inevitable way.

A chair was all I needed to be tall
A rope to adorn my choking throat.
Just one step off and there I hang
Like a pendulum on the grandfather’s clock.


Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

Words are rich to play on a string ~by Devesh Chandra Mishra



Words are rich to play on a string

Words are rich to play on a string
With a rhythm ab,bb,cc,
Words are sweet to hear
In a rhythm for singing
Words are encouraging 
To get success in life
And words are harsh
To defeat….
But words in a meter..
On a rhythmic scale…
Turn into poetry…
So sweet to hear, to sing
To read it again and again
Is my poetry…
And simple poetry I love….

Copyright @Devesh Chandra Mishra

Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

Girl on a Quatrain~by Ahmad Abd Alrahim



Girl on a Quatrain

No automatic alt text available.

Girl, I need Resurrection
All the days look the same, sound the same
And among all the possible directions
I don’t want to lose my aim

Girl, I need a light of Hope
And a ray of Happiness
An Answer for a call
I don’t want to lose my soul

Girl, I need your Love
It’s not beautiful down on earth
Let us fly up above
I don’t want to lose my dove

Girl, I just need a Moment
I wish to fly forever
And don’t you leave me to a Raven
I don’t want to lose Thee forever.

Girl on a Quatrain
A.AA The Poet
Artwork: Artist Unknown

Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

Cardinal~by Nina Grace‎




Image may contain: bird

Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

“YOUR GLORY”~by Emmanuel Douglas Mulomole



_____________”YOUR GLORY”_____________

When you are evincing us your glory
Everything in us narrating your story
Helping us to beam our spirit of life
Without making a friends with strife

Your glory is a truly pillar of kindness
Always baking a lofty heart with bliss
Planting a seedful soul of pristine truth
Baking our words be great fro our mouth

Your glory brings a heavenly blessings
Helping us to sing all your name’s songs
As beckoning a truly grace from your glory
Retaining our blessings in righteous history

Your glory builds an edifice of harmoniousness
Enrapturing an everlastingly pristine peace
Helping us to feel the life of splendid happiness
Caring our living at rapturousness of pace


Emmanuel Douglas Mulomole

Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 16, 2017

UNTIMELY RAIN~by Saroj K Padhi




Image may contain: one or more people, people standing, outdoor and nature

Baffled by the untimely mid-winter torrents
the farmers of my land helplessly look on
as rain lashes acres of golden paddy grains
adding more gloom to their old desperation-
like voyeurs stripping innocent girls on street
who are forced to swallow bitter humiliation;
mongrels shift home to half-built houses
languishing under some overgrown wild plants
after a legal suit, smacking of stale semen
damp soil, fake medicine and unfulfilled wants;
bulls hurt by reckless bikers limp on road
in search of shelter and food for the night,
a chill wind blows past swaying the boughs
to relax the trees and set the leaves right;
crows loiter in lower sky ere going to snooze
as workers wade thro’ clogged waters for booze;
the woman of my dreams arranges her chunni
ruffled by rain as she plucks jasmines for me
thoughts swim reverse the river of memory
as idle hours love to drink in fountain of honey.

COPY RIGHT : @ SAROJ K. PADHI / 15.11.17



Daily missive for Wednesday the 15th of November.

Tremulous trills
Barely uttered
Words caught in the throat
The emotion
Of the song apposite
Even the mechanics
Of breathing are affected
Lungs flutter when
Air is in short supply
A Pneumothorax
A total collapse
Voices break
So easily
As tears fall
Reality is a gift
But all of the sad songs
The heart breakers
Sung by torch singers
Old favourites
Lovers dance to
Cheek to cheek
Bring lonely people
To their knees
In the hollow
Of an empty room
When the music plays
It takes them back
To the golden days
Before the chord
Was broken
When every note
Touched the heart
Left it
Pure and tender
As to render it
Too fragile to withstand
The strain
Of listening again
Without breaking
Along the seam
And releasing
The memory of
A long lost dream
Enough to conjure
A moment
To allow for
The fleeting presence
Of an old feeling
So longed for
Will it withstand
The hearing
And the singing
One more time
Just one more time.

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