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With her high pale brow under her faded brown hair, she was like a rock washed clean by years of her husband's absences at conventions, dinners, committee meetings or simply at the office.

quote by Louis Auchincloss
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Every one knows, that the mind will not be kept from contemplating what it loves in the midst of crowds and business. Hence come those frequent absences, so observable in conversation; for whilst the body is confined to present company, the mind is flown to that which it delights in.

quote by Mary Astell
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I like the sound of violin

Sharp and probing
Pricking like needles
My heart is numb and painful
Acupuncture violin
Pricking my heart my soul

I become lost too unbecoming
My defined peace
It is here in settled absences
Nothing fills it

Now it must be something coming new
Filling pricking needles of violins
Make me live make me pain some more.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Somber Third

A minor chord can make me sad
and yet I crave its sound.
Why that is I can't explain
for it makes me come unwound.

So what is it about that sound
that changes how I feel?
Inside my musical memories
that somber 3rd does peal.

With it come the memories
of times that made me blue,
loneliness and emptiness
and absences from you.

I know I need to free myself
and make a major leap
away from that minor chord
and away from tears that weep.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Death In Exile

He had pulled in many springs
but failed to find a heaven.
Asked not to look away. In

absences he tried to enter
the wounds again. An aboriginal
pain flies over my shoulder.

A spiritual failure of mankind?
Counting unctuously the birds nesting
on an invisible tree.

This narration has no vocabulary.
Only oily sounds of original
lunacy. You want to cover

an empty canvas. A self-portrait
was abandoned after
the cloudburst of slogans.

poem by Satish Verma
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He Showed Me

He showed me heights I'd never seen
and the climb was ecstasy.
He showed me lows from absences
that took its toll on me.

He showed me the sun, the moon and stars
and the sight was heavenly.
He showed me clouds and starless nights
that closed heaven's doors to me.

Still I lived for the heights
and lived for the sights
and died from the clouds
and the starless nights.

Was he even aware of the dichotomies
that tore at the heart of my being?
Or was he oblivious to these changes incurred
just from what I was seeing?

poem by Edwina Reizer
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In Inevitable Absences...

sometimes confusion laces
the mind and sometimes
visible green dots
float across the puddles
like directionless paper boats
sometimes diffidence
sits on its haunches
weighing a ton on the
fringes of the heart
sometimes fear sets ripples
like the grandfather's clock
after striking into the wee hours
sometimes stars flicker
beyond my reach
sometimes full of confidence
i float in the weightless
spaces within...

a fountain of emotions
spring forth in your inevitable

[...] Read more

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Shopping Malls Over A Tomb

Don't you know the cars driving away
Sounding like raindrops
On the highway that isn't a dream but is getting louder
And louder as it too becomes a vortex,
Or something else provided for that doesn't
Pay it back—and the otters who are another
Species and who could care nothing at all for
Baseball or any other sports that are never their own,
Still sleeping headily in the manmade estuaries,
Catering to their own hearts in the noontimes
In which all of the housewives I bet are too busy
To come home and see the heavens that bloom there
In their absences like creation myths over the
Shopping malls of a tomb.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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From The Cherry Blossoms

Not asking, was most difficult, from
the magma, to send a hot spring. It was
a classical translation of the pain in winter
of human spell, in a temple festival.

The space widens between us, between
our thighs and absences, while studing
the red roof of the landscape, where blood
had dripped from the cherry blossoms.

I say to mother earth, where the border
begins between your breasts and foeticide.
Warriors were becoming monks or priests
were learning the art to kill.

This road is not going anywhere.
The interval between matter and time
links to movement of grief. The ahead
is tomorrow under siege. Sun is refusing
to melt the snow on mountains.

poem by Satish Verma
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I shall carry your icon

I shall carry your icon with me, I have said
because an icon is a burst of feel spread
a deity submits it's absences oblation
without caring for our life's destination

The waves come, go, return I have said
because we care to worship our lost, dead
an ornament to an impertinent Maenad advent
Or just because a Hydra barks to the world

My words have fled upon Boreas wind
to reach a form, a dream, your silken lint
as they whiff, a world's oblation of this hint
my soul flies, adorning a lingering feast

And I recall your inner thoughts, a smile of doll
your image of a cumulus to carry my extol
as if we engaged upon our worshiped fervor
as our pains became obtuse, Nymphs enthrall

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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