Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 19, 2018

ASHES ON WORKBENCH ~by Jyotirmaya Thakur


 

 

ASHES ON WORKBENCH

Image may contain: 1 person, tree and outdoor

While viewing our life in streams of gold,
Of wondrous adventures stemming bold,
Tingled excitement of climbing trees old,
Or hitting iron poles running on backroads.
Father smoking classic cigars in pensive moods,
Looking casually minding our interests outdoors.

There would be ashes on his table workbench,
We remember his surprised and startled bends,
As he often burnt his fingers by cigarette butt ends,
Always preoccupied carrying logs he fetched,
The saw dust heaps had a density to lend,
Spreading on muddy potholes to amend.

A tree house he made for us to play safe,
At our random calls he sternly gazed,
My mother carrying a tray of coffee cookies waved,
On hot days jugs of lemonade to rave,
Insulting the blue sky adults smoking till gray,
We came down laughing with excuses lame.

After dusk descended all washed bright as new,
Father in contended nature with respect due,
In a patio chair leaning forward for birds view,
Mother lifts with a jerk for no problems brew,
Putting all children to bed before we renew,
Our giggling surging in waves of true blue.

Jyotirmaya Thakur copyright 2018.

Advertisements
Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 19, 2018

PORTRAITS~by Jyotirmaya Thakur


 

 

PORTRAITS

Image may contain: 12 people, people smiling

A painter’s hand is tool of his heart ,
A brush of labour to image his art,
Revealing ramparts of creativity imparts,
Portraits like archives percept a craft.

Madame Tussauds wax museums renew,.
Statues surprise a replica double drew,
The reflections awe as faces so true,
The likeness express glares back at you.

The picture paints preserve acrylate,
The fate of explanations laminate,
Lives reshaped replicated contemplate,
Self introspection gaze beyond its fate.

The artist mirror of love dwells in his eyes,
Canvassed masterpiece all realms belie,
The expression perceived is but a deceit ,
Complexions of pale contours incomplete.

Timeless reserve of classic compete,
A museum of love is definitely replete,
Body and mind in harmony retreat,
Soul of existence in portraits defeat.

Jyotirmaya Thakur copyright 2018.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 19, 2018

Daily missive for Friday the 19th of January.~by Peter Forster


 

 

Daily missive for Friday the 19th of January.

It comes and goes
In silence
No words are needed
Barely a rustle
Not even a ruffle
Of wind to announce
Its entrance
Mark its departure
Its presence barely
Understood
Even in resistance
There is dismay
At the ease with which
It escapes
Without a scratch
To mar its progress
Sully the impact
Of its design
It skirts the edge
Of the common place
Skates over
The indifference
Of naysayer’s
Who lack belief
In its promise and
Corrupt innocence
Distrust the bloom
Of an ingénue
Defile its meaning.
Out of simplicity
Comes truth
Inspiration
Is artless
Without sweat
It is a paragon
Virtuous
Unspoiled
Every time it
Fills the space
Between the lines
We live within
I feel its breath
Upon my skin
And rejoice
In the presence of
The unknowable
It is a wonder
Of life
To revere
The passage of thought
As it carries itself
To the edge of reason
Smitten by the ghost
Of its own belief
It is without prejudice
Honest and beneficent
Richly rewarded
With nothing
More than it needs
It is all that is wanted
The true meaning of life
In a world filled
With strife
It is hope
It is beauty
It is love.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 19, 2018

TERRORISM.~by Prince Ibekwe


 

 

TERRORISM.

No automatic alt text available.

A cold blooded antagonist,
Beast driven by ideology and shrouded in mist.
Strolls into the corridor of our lives and murder humanity
Dagger and drowns the fabrics of modernity.

Bombs salute our day
Fear blanket our souls and swallow our rage.
Crowns us fugitives in our land,
Wailing and woes, our band.

Sweat and suffering Sweeps our feet,
Bathe in agony and misery, all races weep.
Save our soul becomes our song
Who will listen to this ding dong?

Slaughtered on the sheet of brotherhood,
Corpses splatter our neighborhood.
Blood and tears marry our ground.
Boom! Boom!! Boom!!! the usual sound.

Our leaders, not bothered,
Oath of office murdered.
The world under the precipice of destruction,
The human race sink in the ocean of marginalization.

Forsaken and manhandled as slaves,
Slit throats and dig graves.
World struggles for peace
All I see is pieces.

Ibekwe
5th April 2017.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 19, 2018

My Father~by Patrick Kevin O’Shea


 

 

My Father

Written by Patrick Kevin O’Shea 20/11/2016

Image may contain: fire and food

He raked the ashes 
From in to out
To feed with coal
To spread about
Ignite with match
To heat with might
Flames to dance
From dark to light
That big man cared
With hands so strong
That made us child
Feel so belonged
Close that door
Keep out the draft
Our fathers care
In days long back
The light was dim
The warmth enhanced
Across the wall
Those shadows danced
Inside our lives
So long ago
Those big man’s acts
We loved him so
He was our fire
He was our glow
That made us warm
He helped us grow
You now have passed
To pastures new
We still love you
For ever it’s true
Your mindset feed
Your caring show
Inside our hearts
Your fire still glows
Still feel that warmth
From up above
For ever our father
With care and love

Poetry by
Patrick


Friday! Time for an American Hero! Today is:

 

Knowing your American Heroes


CLARA BARTON (1821-1912)

Image result for CLARA BARTON (1821-1912)

Born in Oxford, Massachusetts
The youngest of five was Clara.
Father was Captain Stephen Barton
And her Mother’s name was Sarah.

As a child she was timid
Her siblings were ten years or older.
Clara’s sisters taught her certain things
Women’s issues they only showed her.

Older sisters being teachers
She was home educated.
Other things thought just for men
Her brothers had incorporated.

When Clara was eleven
Her brother David became ill.
She stayed by his side for two years
Learning all his medicine with skill.

When the Civil War began
She worked in the Patent Office.
She quit her job to care for soldiers
Wounded or in need of hospice.

Realizing the unpreparedness of
The Army Medical Departments.
The first battle at Bull Run
She had made her own adjustments.

She established an agency
To bring supplies to the wounded.
In eighteen-hundred-sixty-two
For treatments she was applauded.

Clara also had permission
The fighting she was right behind.
Often close to the battlefields
Cared for North and South combined.

At the end of the Civil War
She was assigned to trace the fate.
To identify and mark the graves
Her own plan she did create.

From sixty-five to sixty-nine
Clara searched for missing soldiers.
She was physically exhausted
Ordered to rest is what they told her.

Was sent to Europe for her rest
While she was there became involved.
With The International Red Cross
Her issues she thought would be solved.

Back home she started a movement
For the American Red Cross.
Granted from President Garfield
Clara naturally was the boss.

Money given by John D. Rockefeller
Helped build this organization.
The United States now known as
“Good Samaritan of Nations.”

AUTHOR NOTES*
Born- December 25, 1821~~Died- April 12, 1912
When her father was dying, he gave Clara advice that she would always recall:
“As a patriot, he had me serve my country with all I had, even with my life if need be; as the daughter of an accepted Mason, he had me seek and comfort the afflicted everywhere, and as a Christian he charged me to honor God and love mankind.”
In 1865, President Abraham Lincoln placed her in charge of the search for the missing men of the Union army, and while engaged in this work she traced the fate of 30,000 men. As the war ended, she was sent to Andersonville, Georgia, to identify and mark the graves of Union soldiers buried there. This experience launched her on a nationwide campaign to identify soldiers missing during the Civil War. She published lists of names in newspapers and exchanged letters with veterans and soldiers’ families. She also delivered lectures on her war experiences, which were well received. She met Susan B. Anthony and began a long association with the suffrage movement. She also became acquainted with Frederick Douglass and became an activist for black civil rights. While on vacation in Europe she became involved with the International Red Cross and its humanitarian work during the war between France and Prussia. Created in 1864, the International Red Cross had been chartered to provide humane services to all victims during wartime under a flag of neutrality. Clara Barton continued to do relief work on the battle field as an aid until well into her 70s. She went to Cuba with a cargo of supplies in 1898 and spent six weeks on the scene of the Galveston, Texas floods, at age 79. She resigned from the American Red Cross in 1904 at the age of 83 and spent her remaining years in Glen Echo, Maryland. She died in 1912 at age 91, and is buried less than a mile from her birthplace in a family plot in Oxford, Massachusetts.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 18, 2018

So truly beautiful~by Fred Tunks


 

 

So truly beautiful

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Thinking back now when
I was her man
So precious are the these
The things I recall
I just need three words
To capture it all

So truly beautiful

So beautiful she was as she stood there
Right by my side with braids in her hair
The music that drifted on the breeze in
the air

So truly beautiful

So beautiful it was to look in her eyes
The jealous faces of those passerbys
The feel her skin the touch her hand
When she was my woman and I was her man

So truly beautiful

So beautiful it was right from the start
In only a moment she captured my heart
Never had witnessed such truly fine art
She made my days and all of my nights

So truly beautiful

So beautiful her lips that tasted like wine
It kept getting better and better each time
When we let ourselves go and went for it all
Like mountain aspen leaves turning in fall

So truly beautiful

Our love was fleating like some falling star
Ending that night she was struck by a car
Still hers was the best love that I’ve had thus far
I’m thankful she gave me her time for awhile
I’ll always treasure her sweet little smile

So truly beautiful!

Written by
Fred Tunks
All rights reserved
01/09/18

Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 18, 2018

My Childhood Delight~by Sumana Bhattacharjee


 

 

My Childhood Delight
***********************

Image may contain: one or more people and text

Down the memoir lane
Whensoever I recall my childhood,
Everytime it seems it was
The best part of my womanhood!

A house full of glee
Amidst my lovely parents blessed me.

Full of happiness lots of laugh
Life never seems so tough .
For little reason I would loved to fight
My childhood was a real delight.

Everything around me was
So charming and fine
Perhaps my pen unable to define !

Suddenly mom left me all alone
I was only nine!

Everyone around me dear and known,
All at once I felt like unknown !

Years passed by decades gone
Still it seems, no it’s not too long.
To me my childhood is never forlorn !

Copyright@ Eternal Thoughts
Sumana Bhattacharjee

Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 18, 2018

Chitrangada speaks~by Lopamudra Mishra


 

 

Chitrangada speaks

Image may contain: one or more people

Chitrangada speaks…..
I, Chitrangada ,the princess of Manipur,
wanted to confess my truth in front you.

O thy mirror ,you reflect the fact,
I have covered my adolescence,
My beauty, my lustrous skin and hair,
Under the mask of a warrior ,
Pretending to become a man,
To please my father and to silent many rivals.

Arjun! The most promising Pandava,
You killed me,my ego of being superior like a hero,
Your fiery arrow ,your two sparkling eyes sparked the fire,
In my heaving bosom I see none other dancing ,
Except you and I am feeling intoxicated to your lyre.

Devi Kamakshya,the goddess will understand me,
I regretted for my disguise for the first time,
After meeting your sublime personality,
Your ability of a skilled soldier and noticed your capability,
Hey Lord Kamdev,the spiral waves is churning my mental stability,
I want to shed the cloths of my introvert individuality,
I want to acquire his attention towards me as an enchantress ,
A lady with abundance grace ,a lady whose one look will create storm in his chest.
{The story of Chitrangada comes from the epic MAHABHARAT.She was the wife of Arjun ,the great Pandava warrier,was abused of treachery by her husband.She was the princess of Manipur.Arjun left her and went away .The lady of courage and great archery skill brought her son Babruvahan single handedly. Babruvahan later defeated Arjun in a war.
Lopamudra Mishra
http://lopamudramishra.com/
https://www.amazon.in/gp/aw/d/9352075935/ref=mp_s_a1

Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 18, 2018

Paranoia…~by Joe Wilson


 

 

Paranoia…

I never heard a single thing
I just dropped to the ground
The bullet came from a thousand yards
And it never made a sound.

But the devil missed and didn’t know
I’d made it look so good
I’d fallen very carefully
And burst the bags of blood.

The killer left immediately
With presumption of a kill
And I’ll lie still as if I’m dead
I’ll wait patiently – until.

The warning came by text last night
As always from an unknown source
So very, very carefully
I’d slightly changed my course.

The bullet would have hit me
Of that I have no doubt
It’s only due to the warning
That I’m alive to sort it out.

Who would want to kill me?
Who would want me dead?
Who will find that they will die
By my gun-hand instead?

Well of course I know who did it
He does the same as me
But he works for a different master
Which makes him – the enemy.

Our covert life, the secrecy
Seemed to satisfy a goal
But after all the years of death
You realise the toll.

No longer can I trust the team
That sends me out to kill
Their desperate need to dominate
The arrests, the rumour mill.
———-

I’m down below the radar now
I’ll watch and wait, and then
When all the parts fall into place
I’ll remove at least two men.

The first has tried to kill me
Of course, I’m killing him
The second is my villainous boss
Who I found connived with him.

This sounds like paranoia
But just you try it for a while
When you kill people for a living
It rare you’ll want to smile.
———-

I’m moving on again now
Of me you’ll find no trace
You’ll come and look but never find
And you’ve never seen my face.

©JRW2014

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »

Categories