Book / Non-Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
Hi! Shweta, name is Shweta.
¶Better than a thousand
hollow words, is one word that brings peace.¶
Things you should ponder
♦♦Just a moment♦♦
A writer should not necessarily be related with or deciphered from his writings unless afore mentioned. A writer is one who can keep his persona aside and present a different world of possibilities, imaginations, woven with the intellect or expertise which he possesses and is able to incarnate beautifully into a masterpiece (not necessarily, if so, that would be killing!) which he can call his own.
Mist Upon the Placid
Bleed out your beauty, Autumn –
Give up a gentle wrist, and smear
Your bloody hues atop the green.
Cast a calming throw of heady peace
Upon the cooling land.
And as you grant the sun a final fling of warmth,
Charge the silent air
(Now lolling on a foliar deathbed)
With earthen whiff to intimate the fungal push.
Soon you’ll send a shiver down the watery spine of
Quivering ponds, punctual brooks, and
Listless lakes, to warn them of the freeze to come.
Behold! your mellow spirit
Hanging as a mist upon the placid morn –
A sight that draws a sneaking tear or two – forlorn
Observers are we all of colder climes to view!
Autumn Lady, must you be the summer waning –?
Our adieu to fairer-weather life?
Ah well, at least you hum a warming tone, ensuring
Nature’s rhythm still abounds.
But now you must prepare the mind for chilly times –
You know the drill –
Guiding us along a sloping path
To ease our psyche in to sleet and snow –
The blue-ice bite of winter.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Around the corner
Around the corner I have a friend
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friend’s face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well
As in the days when I rang his bell.
And he rang mine
If, we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men,
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
“Tomorrow” I say, “I will call on Jim
Just to show that I’m thinking of Him.”
And tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner-yet miles away,
“Here’s a telegram, Sir,
Jim died today.”
And that’s what we get and deserve in the end
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
(Courtesy: Hanson Towne)
I saw Tequila Sunrise as a
romantic picture with complex, bigger than life
CHEERS TO TEQUILA SUNRISE!!!
Far in the gold-embroidered west
The round and red sun lay,
Like a great wound upon the breast
Of the slow-dying day.
Night, and a murmur from the east;
I heard the wind's voice roll
Out of the dark, a solemn priest,
Speeding the day's white soul.
By Hanson Towne
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