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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
June 23, 2005
Waiting for the rain by ~NikheilS manages to create such a strong ambience and manages to convey this feeling of endless waiting.
Featured by ndifference
Suggested by Sperpy
Literature Text
Here,
the earth cracks like unpolished leather.
A woman sits nursing,
(her life drying up like an ancient waterhole)
and dreams of verdant green.
Spring, she reads in an old school book,
is found in lands that have time to blossom,
while she waits for the rain.
the earth cracks like unpolished leather.
A woman sits nursing,
(her life drying up like an ancient waterhole)
and dreams of verdant green.
Spring, she reads in an old school book,
is found in lands that have time to blossom,
while she waits for the rain.
Literature
Your Poem
On the twentieth day of July 69,
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of t
Literature
umbrellas
I.
A boy putters in the hotel
corridor, leashed
by a single thread of duty--
it is wound
twice around the doorknob,
pulls taut at his wrist.
Recede through the keyhole,
and his keepers are weary,
sprawled like dead
leaves on bedspreads,
and fading
into sleep.
II.
A small girl wails, maybe three,
her teethy pitch escalating
by years.
In the rented night,
her last cry strangles,
undone by hands
on wrists.
III.
A forty-foot red curtain separates us
from the amphibious stage.
At the cirque du soleil
(i squint to see the sun),
clowns chase leaks
with patchy umbrellas.
This is a present, a moment
like a birthday. But
Literature
No Train For Yesterday
I spend two & a half smiles on strangers,
drink a bottle of casual words
& head down a silent street, accompanied
by muted endeavors of faceless clowns.
It's a tired, malnourished day, strained
over frail dusty bones of hours
& as I run my hand along a minute,
it feels like leather, worn from wear.
You still arise in idle thoughts:
the way you stopped to watch me at
an ambiguous train station up north.
You were the streetlight that blinked on
& off in futile attempt to murder wind
while snow raced horizontal lines
& hurried past large metal doors.
You seemed to revel in movement,
smoothed air with your skin
as I headed on. G
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In some parts of the world, summer is not a blessing
In memory of long hot South African summers, waiting for the drought to break
In memory of long hot South African summers, waiting for the drought to break
© 2005 - 2024 NikheilS
Comments95
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Oh this poem has wonderful imagery
Could almost envison it.....beautiful
I just posted one am kinda new here hope you drop by and see me too
Excellent poem
Susan~
Could almost envison it.....beautiful
I just posted one am kinda new here hope you drop by and see me too
Excellent poem
Susan~