New York poet Joe Tessitore challenges poets to begin a poem with these words:
Post your poem in the comments section below. (Poems should be metered.)
Gallipoli, 1915 There are none left on earth can ever tell At first hand of this mortal waste of war...
. Happy St. Patrick's Day! Share your St. Patrick's Day Poetry in the comments section below. While writing and posting,...
Nobody is as clear and terse As C.B.s aphoristic verse. Like Shakespeare’s poor Polonius Such pithiness inspires us. So borrow…
Making corrections in my second entry, Fly Away Hard sticks, soft feathers Busy robin feeding all Wings spread - fly…
This dog eats a bone With ease and full surrender What else could matter. Lake Victoria Bride and groom taking…
Thank you Margaret for sharing this piece of history with us. I very much identify with the tone of your…
Johnathan, I find this a stirring poem so fitting for our 250th anniversary with great depictions of the past and…
freedom for all
written in pen
signed by the blood
of millions of men
skirts long
modesty longer
any accusations
under the water
a level field
but tilted to play
to pick up the dice
sign your rights away
fairness for all
no less or no more
but everything’s equal
if no one’s keeping score
My country used to be a quiet song,
a flute in neem shade, a thread of rain,
a grain of salt held on the tongue,
a name whispered and carried across time.
It lived in the dust of the Thar,
in scrolls opened with care,
in camel bells swinging
beneath a saffron dusk.
It asked for little—
a corner for prayer,
a sentence that meant what it said,
a hand not clenched but open.
Now the noise thickens the air.
The loudest word wins.
The softest truths are forgotten.
Still I walk beneath her brightened skies,
and breathe the dust—
Satyam eva jayate.