free verse/poetry

Beyond the Sea


©Yucel Basoglu

Beyond the Sea 

Bear the whispers of a weeping hue,

To recall the moments of rapture.

Obliterate the cries of sorrow,

Words crippled by failure to thrive.

Misplaced memories of you;

Of all that you dream to be,

Plunge into the depths of your ocean,

Reclaim the path you pledged to engrave.

Do not forsake that endless need.

To be swallowed up by a timely dew,

Or tread the footsteps in that loose-leaf.

In the dawn of silence you always knew;

You turned the pages of that beautiful ride;

In the trembling of your voice,

The darkest story ever told.

“Stay with me tonight”

I wish it were true.

Pleasures of the heart can numb;

But, I plead with you tonight.

Do not disclaim your Ocean.

 

Photograph Credits: ©Yucel Basoglu

 

Underwater Waves [1]


paco peregrín photography 22                                      [Flash Fiction - Chapter One]

Underwater Waves 

How long can you stay under water before it is the end of you?

Can you get used to the pain to the point where you don’t feel it anymore?

As long as there is hope that you will breathe again, you struggle to survive under the waves.

You know that if you stay too long you will suffocate, but you fall into a trance.

You numb your lucid voice which tells you that you will never survive the waves.

If you wait too long, you will never swim back up to the surface.

 

To be continued . . .

 

 

Photographer Credits: Paco Peregrín

 

My Darling


Burning Man

My Darling 

And this child within;

Sometimes gets trapped in thoughts:

“Wish I knew what his heart was feeling.”

Love is a wilderness that cannot be tamed.

This child within,

 Sometimes dances to his subtle tunes; it seems.

She plays with fire, the same way he plays with words.

This child within,

lives in the present with great respect for the past;

Everybody knows how to walk through fire.

But to recall a burning heart without the flame;

It takes a gypsy’s soul  –

This child within,

Surrendered to her anger, but her rage disappeared,

Before the hour-glass was through.

This child within remembers,

The times she held his hand when he was lost.

She recalls,

The sound of his voice when he said hello.

The touch of his lips . . .  she forgot;

But not the way he held her close.

And, sometimes she recalls,

His promise to protect her.

She also remembers his distrust;

His fear that she might one day disappear.

But most of all, that thing she can’t forget;

How much she still cares.

So you see, with such a past –

There is nothing to forgive,

My Darling.

 

 

Hamartia


Earth Day

Hamartia 

An eternity of holding onto the edge of her thoughts –

She leads me into her sorrows beneath her celebrated joys.

We play in the waves of her mood with the changing of her seasons.

I lose myself in her cries, when old scars hinder her needs.

Those gestures that delay her sleep, I can never change.

“What burns inside your heart today?” she whispers in the morning bask.

And I am grateful for her generous touch;

In all the memories of my todays,

Knowing she will never miss me –

In the chaos of her tomorrows.

 

Dedicated to the Earth Day

PicMonkey Collage TREE and DAD

At the foot of my father's birth place stands a one thousand-year old Tree. 

© Maria Fokas Photograph/All Rights Reserved –

Love Curse


Christopher Straver 2

                                                                                 Illustration Editing M.F.

Love Curse

Racing through in slow motion, the ticking of time.

I cannot speak today;

A ruthless sharp haste to my beating heart.

Chaotic throbbing of a grand mistake.

The difference between love, and love

An ill confusion;

Misconceptions of a mystery.

In explanations, it disappears;

Time to say goodbye –

Oh why, am I lacking such a skill?

What keeps a heart wrapped around an evil hope?

Is it the way his words hold on, when he pushes me away?

Or his silent presence, lurking endlessly in my head?

Does he ever feel pain, when he hurts me?

In a faint whisper, I heard someone say;

“You always hurt, when you hurt the one you love.”

The difference between love, and love

 

© Credits: hair-drawing Christopher Straver

 

Window to the World


Photo © Vladimir Kutchinski

Window to the World

Love

majestic, mysterious

longing, hoping, cherishing

muse, redeemer – shadow, mask

deceiving, misgiving, agonizing

lonely, bleak

Fear

Credits: Photo © Vladimir Kutchinski

 

Everything and Nothing – Day Three


The Art of Losing

Thought of the Day by Maria Fokas

The Art of Losing

– Elizabeth Bishop wrote: “The art of losing isn’t hard to master.”

With so much losing every day, it seems that we should be accepting it as an inevitable end; but we rarely do. Every time we fall in love with a moment, a unique person, or that life long accomplishment, its fragile end is always near; it seems.

– But what exactly is it that we grieve; the moment, the person, the accomplishment; or is it ourselves within that loss? Everything we’ve ever loved, and lost, has shaped us into who we are. So there cannot be a complete loss in losing; I keep telling myself.

– I am grateful for War, and Love Poets; they take refuge in the pain of losing, knowing our lives depend on it. We plunge into those worlds and embrace the darkness. When it’s war, we mourn, and when it’s love, it’s a beautiful depiction of life. With their words, we realize that we are not alone in our losing; maybe, we even give meaning to our loss.

A Poet’s muse marks a moment by opposing every norm of its time; it elevates love as the essence of truth, rendering it more precious within the element of loss.

But, about this destined precious existence with an inevitable end; I don’t want to master this art of losing.

 

Anticipated Memories


 Anticipated memories IM

Anticipated Memories

The wickedness of collapse, is that it comes in idle whispers.

It takes you in its arms; numbing the yearning to dream.

In quiet steps, it alters the world you thought was real.

The present is misplaced, and in the depths of darkness you descend.

You see a glimpse of truth in your attempt to trust.

A faint spark of memory keeps coming back;

There it is; nearest to your heart, that little thing called love.

My muse had a charming way of bringing back the dead.

   – In all its imperfections, it was a perfect World.

Anticipated Memories; love remembered never goes astray.

Like notes of a forgotten melody; of a luring hidden moonlight –

In quiet steps, it takes back every moment you called love.

Within empty spaces of time, a struggle to recall.

The wickedness of collapse, is that it comes in idle whispers.

[Dedication to Robin M. Williams]

© Picture Credits: source/vmburkhardt.tumblr.com –

 

 

Featherless Wings


Mother Nature

Photograph by Maria Fokas

Featherless Wings 

The branches dare to disturb;
Moving in a motion that tangles their world.
Their whispers; in the winds of passing seasons –
The fear of triumph is absent,
They are alive, that is their quest –
Conversations of love do not break their delicate wings.

Trees have wings?
Wings without feathers; fly by the scent of their leaves.
They capture the day, and stir the night.
No words to torture their souls –
They reflect on prolonged possibilities;
And drink from the songs of passers-by.

 

© Maria Fokas/ Feb 17 2016/All Rights Reserved

Of Beauty


of Beauty

Of Beauty

Love; an echo . . . a thread of faith –

Into his eyes; tainted by a heritage of pain to embrace:
Through the pillars of your birthright, the chant –
Vibrating through the flesh of your skin:
That echo . . . that echo of hymns.

I wake up to the decades lost; the struggle of uncertainty –
A hum treading beneath my screams.
Such legacy of hope; forced upon me.
An echo of faith . . . of beauty . . . of a dream.

Love is nothing more than a spark;
– within a captivated heart.
And that my love, is everything.

© Maria Fokas/ February 7 2016 – All Rights Reserved

Photograph credits – Unknown (Please contact me if information is known)