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;
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
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.
Magical was this Sunset
By the Sea
As the art unfolded
Of the masterpiece
Sunset by the Sea at Twilight Time
As many times
That as l have witnessed
Sunsets and Sunrises
Living by the Sea;
Have l seen such
The sky beams bright
In sparkled shine.
The room lights up in faith.
I breathe in hope.
I feel the strength
Of my invisible army
And embrace their presence.
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
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
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!
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.
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.
I suggest you now grasp that heart’s core
Is illumed by none but God; thought ain’t vain.
Same is force that guides the worlds galore,
One birthed by a chaste woman. Prized lore!
But I suppose there is no fun
In leading what you’re leading – gruesome life;
You think not of superb acts dropped
Before you say the thoughts that stay well popped
Until slain is the mental strife!
And goodness goes on to stand sadly done.
Lambasted love couldn’t even minds
That shall float now, forever,
Be born again to be dead, gone.
That is life’s nature; it quite binds,
Creating love in ways clever
In order that worlds may move on.
She comes in the night, sleek and evil.
Beware of the Night: this beautiful killer,
exquisite predator, demon.
Wolves roaming, blood thirsty.
She is waiting to devour your soul and your children.
Could you will to enquire where we are caught,
And why the ball of fire has not touched us?
Give it some time, give what’s been said a thought
Before you put your questions, making fuss.
Yet here we are, we fuss and fight;
We shout at dark and envy light;
We push we pull we play the game
Of right and wrong; the blame and shame.
Author T C Weber is a morning person, and he begins his day with what he loves doing most: writing. In an exclusive email interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Mr Weber, who is a member of Poets & Writers and the Maryland Writers Association, says when working on a novel, his goal is to write one scene each day, schedule permitting. ‘I ensure that I write something every morning, even if it’s just random thoughts or a few paragraphs. Long scenes may take several days,’ explains the author, who also knows to speak Spanish besides a bit of Russian and Japanese.
The stars greatly glowed when the night was young,
And the moonlight gleamed, glistened upon seas;
It looked as if the stars were lights well strung
By men who would prize nothing but calm, peace.