Tag: poetry

Because the Welkin Charmed Me Much

When I was young, I’d longed to float and fly
Because the welkin charmed, allured me much;
I’d hankered after gladness and pure bliss,
The airy, blue expanse I’d hoped to touch.

Angel of the Wolf

Such a cruel joke it would seem; as he is already
gone, but actually perfection with all things
considered. Only he can still hold her.

Thrown

When you were thrown right into darkened, foul pits,
Each of which snatched your chilled-out cheer, chastised charm,
I wept, wondered if ever you’d sense the harm
Caused by ones that laughed, staring at you like kits;

Eternal Misery

Sunsets on your pale ripped jean
drops of twilights in my skin
such unquenchable longing
for the insatiable thirsts
intruding arteries inside out,
spurious blood of silence has
measured off our infamous hearts

The Vitality of Life

Silence is a power
Endowed by gods
Empowered by
The human lineage
And ritualized by the
Self.

Spring Like a Deer

Spring like a deer, one scrounging for lush leaves!
Is that not something you adored to do
When your heart learnt what brought my charmed soul to
You was a force that never weeps or grieves?

When I Eyed Your Evil Eyes

What transpired next caused me great harm,
For I learnt I was conned, fooled
By you and those you had valued;
Places you’d been to were revealed,
So were lanes you’d trodden upon;
I smiled though my heart rang bruised bells.

‘Thoughtful’ Train

The snakes sometimes squirmed like worms you’d detest
While en route to work fields that gleamed on Earth,
And like raged, raging winds hoping not to rest,
They oft assailed and harmed and caused great dearth.

My Journey

My journey has not
been easy or short.
And I have no wish
to beat the hurts
like a dead horse.
Much of my life
has been laid out
in my page end
to end.

Winter Song

A cloudy winter morning after a prolonged freezing chill
All these months, not one but three
The burrows emptying their rations
Hearts gathering their paces
Young couple from their frictional warmth
Venturing into balconies hand in hand

Torrid Turbulence

A torrid turbulence beset the evening
As mists swirled and leaves blew amok one cold night
While fearsome frosts gathered at the edge of the kingdom
Their assault by stealth to commence
Slowly forth by degrees they did creep
Under the cloak of darkness when all were abed

Inner Child

It’s okay to be broken
And let it all out
All the words you’ve left unspoken
That you’re unable to shout
Cry little girl
You’re not out of place
Go right ahead child
Have the tears roll down your face

‘Loving’ Friend

There’s a world abiding in each where blooms love;
Nothing great can be gained if yon world dies!
I say rear the world now; never ask when.
Would that you could grasp what in yon world lies!

Rescued by Poetry

Author Robert Stubblefield started writing around the age of ten. As a matter of fact, he began composing poems at the time as a way to cope with the loss of his grandmother. Speaking exclusively to The Literary Juggernaut, the twenty-eight-year-old American author and poet, who is currently residing in Maryland, the US, says poetry has always helped him express his feelings towards the world around him. Emphasising that he usually writes when he has the urge to pen down his thoughts and whenever he feels low, Mr Stubblefield, who holds a bachelor’s degree besides two master’s degrees, says he composes poetry so he may articulate the deepest of his thoughts in ways he cannot do when he happens to be speaking.

Lady of the Lake

In the mountain where I grew up,
There is a lake that no man has ever seen freeze.
It is not the biggest, but it is the deepest.

Rebirth

I always looked round in your universe
I noticed that others had lives that were worse
So why years of drinking to blot out the pain
I have lame excuses but I just can’t explain

To Poverty

You are a dire necessity I know, O Poverty
Much have I had of you all my life
And long to have you all the more of yours.

Emotional Fireflies

Thousand of whirling stars speckle the inscrutable blue curtain
graciously displaying a jubilant dance before the eyes of curious night owls,
accompanied by soul filled, hidden noises,
enveloped by the warm numbing scents of the vegetal creation.