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My Feathered Friend

You were my funny, little feathered friend;
To your every need, I would always tend.
You’d stand under a running tap, trying to catch the drips.
In your brightly coloured birdbath, you loved to take a dip.

In your mirror, you thought you’d found a new mate,
And your food, for him, you’d, very kindly, regurgitate!
For hours on end, you could roam freely out of your cage;
You’d happily spend ages, shredding a newspaper page.

Some of your acrobatics, used to scare me half to death;
Scared that you’d fall and hurt yourself, I’d hold my breath.
On the lace curtains, you’d sometimes catch your claws.
I had to be extremely careful, when I opened any doors.

Through the rungs of your ladder, you’d sometimes squeeze;
This often worried me, but you, it really seemed to please.
I’d often give you a freshly washed, lettuce leaf to eat,
But you bathed on it instead, and thought it was a treat.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Contemporary Road To Happiness

advertising streams
abounds swarms
in every media format
an indoctrination
informing all individuals
each generation target
how gadgets latest
technological purchases
are absolute necessities
required to ensure
sustained contemporary
future continued happiness

gone are days when monks
ritually devoted themselves
to journeys spiritual self
discovery in heightened
moments prayer meditation
cloistered society contemplated
discussed faith thought upon

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Limit On Intolerence

We have crossed the limit of intolerance
We are not in position to draw any reference
The terrorist have thrown open the challenge
Now it must be seen how do we come out and manage

They come at will and strike at the heart of center
There are number of people who act as their mentor
We have still not found out who is their real creator
It is proving difficult for us to control them as cruel actors

It is mad race and everybody is engulfed with its consequences
People are butchered in day light and still we come cross many instances
The earth has changed its color from green to red
We can judge and think but unable to understand and read

What is their primary goal in mind?
How can they be indifferent and unkind?
What do they achieve by killing innocents?
What is purpose behind their unholy movements?

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Free Floating Images Ignite Impassioned Fireworks

woodward life blood runs through the heart of me
branding my body with the city's improbable chemistry
penetrating deep into my personal territory
days rise and fall cycling successive storms
seasons blazing forth with flags of nacre and napalm
heat lightning fluid thunder
spells of electric shock and euphoria
desire carves deep craters
breast of night ripples in respite
gentle rivers whisper deep sleep suggestions
death blows delivered brief as a sneeze
the air conditioner grumbles and sweats
running all day in sticky summer heat
tirelessly lifting the pen
pissing into the wind
thoughts pit matching wits with paper
locked in the playful throws of poetry's labor
inside intimacy bathing in warm broth
trance inducing self elapsing smooth -
- fusion high vibrational frequencies

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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I Gently Took The Strawberry Heart

I gently took the strawberry heart
of the bird with the broken neck
and buried it in a shrine of leaves and grass.
And in a low voice, whispered a blessing.

Under the window of an illusion
like a song you can only hear once
and it's good for a lifetime of listening,
I buried you with your wings together in prayer.

And I prayed to know what to pray for.
I prayed to know what to ask that could ease
the burden of the earth on a nightbird's journey
flying solo deeper into the dark

than even the stars or these eyeless words can go.
And I know death returns even the worst of us
to our innocence again, though our bones
come crashing down like childhood kites around us.

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poem by Patrick White
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O ... The Girl With The ' Veenaı '!

O my darling!
Take in your hands this beautiful Veenai.
Upon the delicate strings of the divine Veenai
Ride soft your tender fingers!
O.. what a melodious strain it is!
My lids of themselves do slowly close..
My flesh and bones all slowly soften
In the divine waves your Veenai outspreads..
My mind in the sweet melody of music-
No, .no..in the cruel pain of that Supreme Joy-
Suffers much and wriggles like a snake..
Lo..! how short of words I am my feelings to express!
Alas! I know not of their kind too..
And your Veenai's voice chokes my heart...
My chest is full of pain..
My soul melts in music..
O my beloved!
What song do you play? .
Tell me dear..
To what tune have you set it?

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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Dancing With An Old Man Under The Moon

Dancing with an old man under the moon
with nothing but your tattoos on,
as it rose over the treeline like a mushroom
and as beauty is to wisdom,
the blossom of your fire
to the smoke of stacked firewood
waiting to be immolated in the Bonfire of the Vanities
like an library of fingerprints on paper
just to prove that we were here once
long before this autumn made a ghost of us
and we could feel more naked with our clothes on
than we ever have done with them off.

Junkies hitting up in a snakepit of desire,
the Burmese python a heroin addict in a swamp,
the high-wire act of the rose in the circus,
the aerial acrobatics of our noblest emotions
swinging through the unimpeachable air
on a one-handed trapeze that was the axis mundi
of the world in the aberrant orbit

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poem by Patrick White
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Checkin Levels

Hey bobby, dude, should i, uh, should I tighten up my snare or somethin?
No, no, no, no, nah, the drums is cool.
Aight.
No, they fine, they fine. you need more guitar in your headphones?
Yup.
Well I need yall to rock something so I can get those headphones together for me one time, alright?
(aww, yeah, cool man.)
Yeah, just one more time, just like that.
Yo, sonny. thats right. yeah. you gotta give me a little bit, to get the level together. yeah.
Oh yeah, thats tight, thats tight.
Yo, you need more effect?
Word, let-em check these levels.
Okay, it should be cool now.
Turn it up. um, check it out, check it out, here we go. wit this.
Okay, go ahead bust it.
Freestyle fantastic,
Flippin like acrobatics,
Microphone mathematics,
Add it, then subtract it,
And then you have it,

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song performed by P.O.D.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sexy

I took your picture
With one particular
Reason and it's to
Capture your character
I like to sit and stare at 'cha
Ain't nothin wrong with starin' at 'cha
Girl don't be scared at the fact that
I envison us getting married and, uh
I ain't tryin to rush nuttin'
Cuz I aint rushin'
It'll take a time like...
Whats them things that move slow
You know them... Damn..
I cant think cuz u on my mind...
And when you on my mind
I cant find anything to rhyme with rhyme
I gotta rhyme rhyme with mixture
And speakin' of mixtures
With you I wanna be mixed up
I'm a record and your like a record

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song performed by Black Eyed Peas
Added by Lucian Velea
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An Alliterative Amorous Answer

Alliterative Love Letter

Adored and angelic Amelia. Accept an ardent and artless amourist’s affections, alleviate an anguished admirer’s alarms, and answer an amorous applicant’s avowed ardour. Ah, Amelia! all appears an awful aspect! Ambition, avarice and arrogance, alas are attractive allurements, and abase an ardent attachement. Appease an aching and affectionate adorer’s alarms, and anon acknowledge affianced Albert’s alliance as agreeable and acceptable.

Anxiously awaiting an affectionate and affirmative answer, accept an ardent admirer’s aching adieu. Always angelic and admirable Amelia’s admiring and affectionate amourist, Albert
Wit and Wisdom 1826

An Alliterative Answer

Artless Amelia Acme’s answer adamantly admonishing artful Albert Acne’s announced amorous ambitions, and assertive advances, actively advocates appropriate alternatives. Also, attesting abhorrent Albert’s attempted abduction, Amelia asks an adequate aureate award. Advance “ amical ” arrangements are altogether abjured.

Adieu Albert!

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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