She descends from a faraway fairyland
and rises from a radiance
the nature turns connoisseur of her beauty
and all minds are tranquilized of her presence
her actions are emotionless
and she hails justice on the basis of morality
She defeats the gales and the gravity
ceasing the evils of their insanity, yet never fatigued

She is pure like the sacred streams
and walks like an oblivion lost in dreams
she keeps the feelings of her heart untold
and holds no hunger for food, love or gold
her life has no compulsions
and she lives independent of clutches and rules
She lives in divergence of life’s best delights
dedicating her life to others beyond their demise, yet remains unheard

~~ If ever reality and fantasy coalesced,
‘devil’s angel’ would be the world’s princess ~~

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Devil’s Angel.

The emergence of desire

Springs

Throughout her being

Heart-felt obligation circulates

Her veins

She adores them all for

They are her own

Flesh and blood in its entirety

The delicate waves of an unending hymn

Dedication that is

The holder of our well-being

The bearer of our content

She loves us all

Unconditioned enchanted, devotion

There is no comparison of compassion and

Heart to another

All at the highest plateau those words

May reach

Say your goodbyes

Your meaningful sorrys

Let your love take the embrace

For you only get one mother

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Mothers.

By: Rana Rimsha Ramzan
16 YEARS OLD…..

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at THE MOON.

im a poet

when i was young and in my prime the world was new and so unkind in this world we all shall pass, working and working trying to by some cheap gas to travel the country side far and near, to  go visit relatives and people  we hold dear.
through the interstates and road’s we shall go twsiting and turning to where  we don;t know , life is about travel or  maybe staying at home, might be with someone else or could be alone.
how many days shall we toil  in the mess just to pay bill’s or buy a new dress maybe some slipper’s  or  just a new car. why do we do it ? why not just say no! and walk where we all need to go, why not just ride a bike or roller skates or just hitch a ride to go where we may.
if you stop to look, and listen a bit, you would see that your money is all spent buying and paying for things you never see and ending up broke  just like me.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at .

by james d. nall,jr

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Happy Mothers Day.

She walked in crispness of the morning
awakening with the humming birds
when the sun peered out from the sphere
always wearing her old sweater.

I turn and face the woman
who gave me an uplifting
wonderful life
unconditional love
like no other.

The other day I stood in mother’s garden
remembering her clipping
roses for the table
Down into the ground she go
to pull up a weed
I stared into the horizon
as I snuggled deeper into my mother’s sweater.

“What’s life all about?” I asked
standing there in mother’s garden
Life, Love, and then. Death.
She is now laid in the ground.

I feel honored
to have had such
a mother
who wore her old sweater
holes and all
each morning
as the sun came up

Now I feel comfort
standing in my mother’s garden
wearing her old sweater.

pattimari, 2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Mother’s Sweater~.

Youwere active in my being here, as who I am
and my thoughts for you are loving, spurring you ever higher wherever you are

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My brother on earth no more….

Oh my, oh me, how incredibly beautiful I will be
The belle of Christmas day, you must come and see
I couldn’t believe it when it came to the very final fitting
Normally no one notices me much, tucked away and sitting
But there was the dress all perfectly woven, all red and green
Enhanced with starched ruffles and tingling bells, I simply preen

Oh my, oh me, how incredibly beautiful I will be
The belle of Christmas day, you must come and see
She put it together with meticulous care, allowing me to watch
She added something shining, the lining, a crimson satin swatch
And there on the very top, puffed and billowed, a brilliant bow
I had heard of such dresses, but not of today, just long ago

Oh my, oh me, how incredibly beautiful I will be
The belle of Christmas day, you must come and see
It’s almost time, I just know it to be, she has come to squeeze
Just to make certain it will fit just right, I hope I don’t sneeze
I stiffen my core, backbone straight, put on my very best face
She just has a little more to do, I peer closely and find it is lace

Oh my, oh me, how incredibly beautiful I will be
The belle of Christmas day, you must come and see
The day has arrived, and there I wiggle as she tugs and toggles
The mirror shows my fine look, the stunning change boggles
Just outside the hall door, I find a matching knitted look on twin tapers
Pretty for sure, but not as beautiful as the dress on me, a roll of toilet paper

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at THE CHRISTMAS DRESS.

The smell of chocolate was distinct,
And then a sight caused me to blink,
As if in answer to my prayers,
I saw a million chocolate bears.

Some were dark and some were light,
And some were very, very white,
Some were standing six feet tall,
And some were very, very small.

Some were wide and some were thin,
Some wore frowns and some wore grins,
Some were round and some were flat,
Some wore shoes and some wore hats.

I was rather mystified,
I could not quite believe my eyes,
But when they all began to dance,
I walked right in and took a chance.

I danced with one and then with two,
Then three with hats and one with shoes,
I was the belle of Candyland,
My life was chocolaty and grand.

But visions faded into night,
When I awoke and saw my plight,
My chocolate vision was a dream,
So I got up and had ice-cream.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Candyland.

I caught a turtle and a frog,
And then I tried to catch a hog,
But it would fight and make a squeal,
I didn’t know how it would feel.

I thought that it would play with me,
But it just wanted to be free,
To roll around in sloppy mud,
I loved this pig; I called it Bud.

Though it was just a simple hog,
I tried to treat it like a dog,
I wanted it to chase a bone,
But it would rather rub a stone.

So I went out to catch a hen,
And keep it in a little pen,
So I could hold it close to me,
And keep this chicken on my knee.

But all it did was flap around,
(It was a chicken, not a hound),
And it would rather peck in dirt,
I loved this hen; I called it Gert.

So I went out and bought a dog,
Which was much better than a hog,
And softer than a big, white hen,
I love this dog; I call it Ben.

It loves to sit upon my knee,
Where it can feel content and free,
It doesn’t peck or roll in mud,
It’s better than old Gert or Bud.

And we are now the best of friends,
And will be when this story ends,
The hog and chicken were okay,
But Ben and I are here to stay.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Ben And I.