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My surroundings

Flowing seemingly through my surroundings
Surroundings carved by my ways
Give me the strength to breath
To fill the vacuum I have surrounded me with

Solitude has silenced me
Never to speak as myself again
My words no longer requires air
No air
My actions requires no muscles
No Muscles
What I do is not real
Obscured by my surroundings.

Solitude have mercy and let some air in
Let me have enough to Exist
To wallow in your cold mist

// i know there is no ongoing rhythm in this poem, but i just had to post it anyway

poem by Mike West
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November Graveyard

The streets line up before me
Like a November graveyard
All cold, silent and grey
Yet still I feel warm inside
Still I hear a sweet sound
Some may think me mad
To walk through a winters rain
Smiling like I’m half possessed
Smiling like I’ve become detached
From the surroundings about me
They do not see my thoughts
Or hear what I think anyway
Why should I even care
About these inhabitants
Of a grey November graveyard
Winter is laying its cold hand
On every tree and garden
Stripping them bare
Still I smile regardless
Senseless to my surroundings

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poem by Matthew Holloway
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He wants to Retreat (Quatrain)

Ardent passion of going high,
Desire to touch the illusion of sky,
Tempted to earn fame and name,
Restless effort to reach the aim,

All led to a point of commitment
To earn wealth to uttermost extent,
Where, each success enhances thirst.
Thirst of advancement is the worst,

When one forgets to celebrate success,
Out of fear to miss the next chances,
Ignoring surroundings and overtaking all,
Though, he achieves his goal after all,

He is in discontentment and melancholy,
Despite his dreams fulfilled, he is wealthy.
He finds himself in a darkness of agitation,
The rivalry of growth and competition.

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poem by Jyoti Sunit Chaudhary
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Dream Or No-dream

stands she alone on the horizon
white her cloths blowing with mad rapture
long her airy hair playing to be off of the root
full moon strangles the surroundings to make it cry
cry not to get any another dawn

the sphinx as a look of behind chapters
the past never shows us the light
what lamped the imprisoned nymphs
night after night the whip the paws
the chiseling passion of the crown
marked their cracks their gallons of stallionic gallops
flooded the birth of enslaved curse
now glitter to revenge from ground to growth
moonlit night...

night scratches the certain rest
with the nails of horrible uncertain
flagging the smoke the dirt of dirty inhuman
possibly pissing their ancestors

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poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Making Memory A Blessing

MAKING MEMORY A BLESSING

Making memory a blessing,
is hard, since it more often is a curse,
the dissonance and dispossessing
of the past, which when put into verse
is seen in its full beauty and
reminds us painfully that paradise
is lost, which, we must understand,
we can't by means of poetry reprise.
Some find great pleasure being sad
in its surroundings, but I'd rather dwell
in a future not yet bad,
although I fear it may become a hell.

Inspired by a poem by Dana Gioia:

THE LOST GARDEN

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poem by Gershon Hepner
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Written on a Summer Evening

this melancholy dusk
as the rain falls into night
ever so softly
the breath of a dying woman
this bonechilling wind
trails the air
the darkened roofs
of the malay houses
add a solemnness to the place
filled with flowers
fruit trees, wild trees
a koranic verse is heard
and another cool breeze blows
the leaves rustle
the way a man shivers
big leaves, small leaves
twirl in succession
a twist dance
so cold the night
the old woman

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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This Time Around

(bolin/lord/hughes)
The world around us hangs in doubt
You face a crime that well hear about
To pay the cost would never be the same
Eternal lovers were not to blame
Theres no mistake theres no refrain
The same surroundings that stood
Are here again - this time...
As I look around you cant be found
To lose you Id rather see
The endless time of space go passing by
This time around...
This time around...
So look around we all will be found
In love...
The world around us hangs in doubt
You face a crime that well hear about
To pay the cost would never be the same
Eternal lover youre not to blame
Theres no mistake theres no refrain

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song performed by Deep Purple
Added by Lucian Velea
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Superlative Story

Superlative Story

I Syntaxical Sequence

II Strange Stanza Succession Starts

III Scenario Synopsis

IV Sensuality, sense, sensibility,

V Substitute Spousal Suggestions

VI Seesaw Simplicity: Seraglio Simularities Spurned

VII Solution

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I SYNTAXICAL SEQUENCE

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Swimming is normal for me. I'm relaxed. I'm comfortable, and I know my surroundings. It's my home.

quote by Michael Phelps
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I like making black and white films in natural surroundings, but I much prefer shooting a color film inside a studio where the colors are easier to control.

quote by Claude Chabrol
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