The Sunday Muse #173

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After the disaster

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Then the creepy crawler
took over our town
with sounds and tones
alien
as the high winds down below
and the mudfloods
that covered our lives
to extinction
except the heartbeat
rhythmless and lifeless
just beating a stubborn sequence
in our depressed minds

time went by
feelings buried
souls covered in grief
dreams lost
slowly cleared
like the lands
in sun and wind
plants and birds returned

The tones
turned to music
and while the dog
trusted the man
smiles
slowly
appeared
in a mellow sun

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Syl©2021
  Painting:
“Self-Portrait With Accordion.” 
Guido Vedovato

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Gone

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Gone

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Suddenly you were gone
no clothes left,
none of the ladybugs
we shared in love
even your music
gone

like you disappeared
from Mount Everest
and I couldn’t find
your home

I feel like
waving my hand
in the middle of the ocean
when almost drowning

Where are you?
I want to keep you
I want to say goodbye

Before the snow falls
on endless mountain slopes
I wait on the top
listening for your voice
I fall asleep
in a soundless cry

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Syl©2021

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Featured post

The Sunday Muse #171



Mother Earth

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I gave
my heart for you
my soul
my being

created the earth
the trees
and
all you need to live

I am the mother
the generating force

but somehow
generation after generation
the bond with me is lost

What did I do wrong?


Syl©2021
Painting:
“Roots” 1943
by Frida Kahlo

Written for a group
of children with special needs
as a poem to discuss.

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Featured post

The Sunday Muse #170

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Tears on doll

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tears on broken doll
estranged from childhood beings
perceived projections

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #169

Erase

When it’s time
to erase the world
to leave bare communications
and mountains of useless emotions
alone
like a movie
passing by

memories
touch your hairs
like the wind
and the sun

life
will be
at full speed

and slowly drifts
inside

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Syl©2021

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Featured post

I.R. John Nettleton

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I.R. John Nettleton


Upon request
Remembering:
RAF Wing Commander
John Dering Nettleton
VC

You walked away
Like you already knew

I remained
silent

You saw the clouds
from above
and I can’t see through

Your eyes
have seen
the whole world
when you came down

smelling after after shave
and old leather

stop grasping my mind
like I can save you

I’m just
an empty soul
drifting
through space

never touching you
again

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #168


Inhumanity

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playing
in the woods
the sun reflected on the hair
being bambi
hopping home
behind the sunflowers

Climbing the fences of life
searching the answer:
to hide or to hunt

growing firm skin
against violence and pain
the prison
of modern life
chemically preserved

climate changed
digitally enhanced

controled, fenced in,
right in the heart of the city
the city is my heart
cast out of nature
and nature cast out

inhumanity

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Syl©2021
Photography by Jasper James

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Sunday Muse #167

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Anchored

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It’s when the dream
stays hidden
engulved by daily cares
for others
the lack of money
and the days of life

It’s left
somewhere
on washed sand
even the sea
has pulled away

only dreams sail
anchored
on the lonely
shores of life.

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Syl©2021

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Featured post

Sunday Muse #167 – 2

Sail

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You forgot to sail with me
You cooked carrots and baked fish
played your guitar
and made me lean against your legs

even inspired me to
deal with your mom
who was infatuated
with the girl next street
her princess daughter-in-law
but I wasn’t your queen

I was just the girl
who was always there
to see the tears
enjoy the laughs
and listen

And when all was dead
revive

You looked for strong women
dominant ones
then found out
you were longing for your mom

I took a step back
for you to grow
and now
the water is gone
the anchor embedded in the earth
and the wood cracked

When the tsunami comes
you won’t be able
to sail with me
anymore

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #166 – 2

So you’ll kill me

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So you’ll kill me
with your plastic conscience
and your rain of airplane fuel

I lived thought eras
of cold and stains of blood
I killed as nature kills
you feared
and so destroyed

animals in cages
children too
fellow humans tortured
who are you?

You think space is waiting
and your feet
burn a hole in the earth
You want to leave for infinity
and you destroy eternity

My food
my shelter
my offspring
your own nature

so you’re left
due to your own actions
with your plastic conscience
and your rain of airplane fuel

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Syl©2021

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And a special link to Sherry Marr’s
A Prayer For Hard Times

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Featured post

Sunday Muse #166

Wolf – Spirit Guide

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speak to me
in words not sounded
in thoughts uncounted

when the waves ripple
in mystery
I sense you

guide me spirit
when I’m hunted
and trodden
by destiny

ease me
tease me
accept me
mirror me

speak to me
in words not sounded
in thoughts uncounted
lead me

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #165 – 2

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The car at 12

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I don’t remember time
as haunting
as the car parked on the untrodden drive

a frozen image
an open door
demanding decisions

Creativity dances on the waves
but it’s the waterlily that floats
and the beauty of sanddunes exists of grains of sand
in an instant blown away in the storm

The chimes!!!
12!!!

waves of chiffon rustle
the breath of speed
the home of the predator
the moose trample the ground
wild fowl shriek and flee

I run
run past the car
at bare feet
hardly touching the earth
I’ll find my own path
and maybe even fly.

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Syl©2021

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Featured post

Sunday Muse #165

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The uncles

More a story
than a poem

He was my uncle.
We had family, by name,
and uncles.
They were nice to me,
wanted me to play and have fun,
and they drank a lot of coffee.
Still drinking when I came back.
The coffepots those days
were a lot larger than now.

He was my uncle,
drove politicians
and always looked nice.

Then suddenly there was another uncle
driving huge trucks for the military,
The barracks were nearby
and he drank coffee too,
from the same pot.

I didn’t know my mom was pregnant
thought: too much coffee made moms fat.
I had to stay with gram,
and I loved it!
Then there was a baby sister.

She was different.
Didn’t have our family’s nose,
so ‘she must look more like her mother’,
people said.

And when the gossiping started
I had to go to a children’s home.
I saw others come and go,
like drivers of black cars
and huge trucks.

I knew my sister looked like one,
but I crept in the safety
of my own being

Later they did tests at school.
So my sister suddenly knew her bloodtype.
It didn’t combine with my dad’s.
I said nothing. She was so proud
to know something about herself!

She didn’t bond,
was a stranger,
married and moved away,
died.
Never said goodbye.
Just like the man
with the nice black car,
leaving one huge question:
he drank lots of coffee with my mom,
why?

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Syl©2021

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Featured post

Sunday Muse #164

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The Golden Cup (Haiku)

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the intentions turned
round by hidden fingers
hand the golden cup

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Syl©2021

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In some stories the golden cup contains poison….

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Featured post

Sunday Muse #163 – b

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The Chellist

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I hide behind the sound
of wind and music
I float
like feathers
on the muses thoughts
I touch
careful parts of life
and tremble

My eyes are closed
I see
the veins of movement
drifting
through the belly
of all that exists for me

You are just public
not me

You belong
to
the whistle
in the wind

you can’t disturb
the the movement of music
you can’t
touch the silence in me

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #163 – a

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He married

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He married the chello player
Her outer beauty
resonated
with the mellow honey chords
trembling his inner ear

She never toned
the first fiddle
He had the key
to their relationship
and she played

I was just
the whistle
in the wind

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #162

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Reflection

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To walk to the water
to sink into the deep
of the universe

and then
that single moment
of reflection

it’s a different you
you see
yet the same

then the cloud
drifts away
and water
is only to drink

the reflecting moon
is inspiration
guidance
to fly away

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Syl©2021

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It was red

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It was red

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It was red
this evening
the sunset
behind the houses
waiting for someone
just being
to be seen

then the bird
flew against me
when I bended the branch
of the tree
to see that one small cloud
drift in front of the red

it was like
taking more from nature
disturbing it

so the evening
slowly took hold
and coloured red purple
and darker
I stood there
watching
the bird watched me
until I said a goodnight
and went inside

It was an amazing red
this evening…

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #161 – b

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Twinness

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… and then
they almost drowned
in twinness
saved
by the inward pull of identity
shadows casted
through double transparency

later
they will wash the shadows
into the ground
to walk
with bare feet
adorned with
the almost hidden
sacred smile
of those who know
where butterflies go

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Syl©2021
Surreal Art by
Catrin Welz-Stein

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Sunday Muse #161 – a

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Zodiac

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They shared the house
the cradle and the mom
left the genes
to roam the zodiac
and find themselves again

the paradox
lived with an attitude
supplements
poles
but the dark
needs to be walked
with light
not to be imprisoned

convicts of vision
and character
relaxed sliding in mud
or just that one breath
taken in fear

There is no joy
in just staying
in just staying
alive

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #160

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Repeat

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She doesn’t belong to that world
does she?
the repetitions like poetry
the unseen danger
not even sensed

the sirens
a way to cleanse the mind
the ambulances
music of the time

repeat repeat repeat

She doesn’t want to experience
the shadows of life

Her alienation
bordered with iron lace

and then she breathes
before she opens the gate
and closes

repeat repeat repeat

no final closure

even in danger
repeat to breathe

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Syl©2021

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The Sunday Muse #159


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The Jungle

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I remember the days
when the woods
behind the university
were jungle

a jungle of life
with the blackbirds and the robins
enjoying their lives
with the marters and rabbits
life was nature and nice

Then the paths came
and human voices
a bicylce going to and fro
they called it the wood now
we were allowed to play there
no discoveries, we had those,
but huts, and just during the day

a jungle of life,
less blackbirds and robins,
but children, enjoying their lives,
with their huts and the rabbits
life was special and that was nice

Then the machines came
with their noises
building a hall and a road
used by students and teachers
no children allowed
lights during the night
for safety and exposing architecture
the area was even placed under prefecture
so even for animals the last bit of nature
was closed

a jungle of life.
The humans take over
machines and buildings are covering the earth
The place where once I was playing,
became the place of a memory’s birth

a jungle of life
with the blackbirds and the robins
enjoying their lives
with the marters and rabbits
life used to be nature and nice

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Syl©2021
Image: “Forest Traffic!”
Digital Art by Pulkit Kudiwal

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Remembrance Day 2021 (TN)

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Remembrance Day 2021 (In The Netherlands)

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I want to hide behind the wind
sink in the dark clouds
and hear the feet of the soldiers
marching in the past

They are buried now
under white-grey stones
with a bit of sand
some grass
and at times a candle
and a rose

The poppies move
not only in Flander’s Fields
but all over the earth
so many young lives
dedicated to war

They fought for freedom
for peace
for silence in the depth of night

In the morning they’re forgotten
in the moaning they’re forgotten
by many
not by all

And those who didn’t die
they lived with the memories
and conquered them
year and year again
standing before the names on the wall

I honor you
without roses or flags or trumpet sounds
I remember even though I’ve never known you
because you walked this earth
these holy grounds

I want to hide behind the wind
feel safe with you
embrace you with my soul
and feel the peace
Feel whole

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Syl©2021

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Sunday Muse #158

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Posh

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Posh makes blind
for what is below
it takes all sight
when you carefully go

head in the clouds
hands without support
it makes you dependent
on the mode of transport

finding balance in life
is not just an act
it’s a safety net
a kind of a pact

a pact with yourself
your feet and your head
so don’t look back
but always ahead

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Syl©2021

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The door

Day 30 – 2021 – number 1
Prompt:
write a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place.
It could be a real place, like your local park, or an imaginary or unreal place, like “the bottom of your heart,” or “where missing socks go.”
First a short one, for the person who thought the one of yesterday was too long.

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The Door

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And then the door…
always take the door
the one without window

close your eyes against the sun
and step outside
like when you’ve spun
in a merry go round

then 3 large steps
and face yourself

always face yourself
you are your own companion

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Syl©2021

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Go Home

Day 30 – 2021
Prompt:
Written by Jacqueline Saphra, and featured in this group of prompts published back in 2015 by The Poetry Society of the U.K.
Write a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place.
It could be a real place, like your local park, or an imaginary or unreal place, like “the bottom of your heart,” or “where missing socks go.”
Fill your poem with sensory details, and make them as wild or intimate as you like.

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Go Home

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No yelling of the neighbour’s kids.
No judging views from parents,
the purple muscari in green,
like gram had in her little secret garden,
some wind,
moving the tulips
yellow,
red,
yellow with orange stripes

clickety clack
my feet on the pavement
clickety clack
my shoes on the street

it’s like moving away
from the pull of the earth
lilacs
so dark
they can hardly be seen
in the night

go left now,
hear the buzz of the far away radio
see the boys on the skateboards
against the eye of memory
projections
it’s how you find your road through life

clickety clack
feet on the pavement
clickety clack
shoes on the street

then enter the park
they forgot the entrance
the yellow brick road
and the red shoes
projections,
I said so

go right
see the bench and the animals
behind fences
but during the night
they can’t be seen
the donkey will come to you
and the goat will talk to you

then go back
that smells better
and follow the path

clickety clack
beside the grass
clickety clack
on the path

to where the willow weeps
its silver and golden tears
in shadowy water
where the ducklings
move up and down
on the growing waves

You’ll feel calm now
with a soft breeze
brushing your cheeks

While your feet
clickety clack
follow the path
clickety clack
cross the street
clickety clack
see the tulips
the muscari
and a little rose
that has never be seen

home
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Syl©2021
Text & photo.

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Featured post

The window

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Day 29 – 2021
Prompt: “in the window.”
Imagine a window looking into a place or onto a particular scene.
It could be your childhood neighbor’s workshop, or a window looking into an alien spaceship.
Maybe a window looking into a witch’s gingerbread cottage, or Lord Nelson’s cabin aboard the H.M.S. Victory.
What do you see? What’s going on?

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The window

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They walk by
friends and lovers
of the past
carrying their load of life
on their backs
and in their eyes.

I would want
to hug them once again
make them shine
with kindness

Say sorry for hurting them
I’m sure I did

they pass
the window on their lives
I had
the time
of minor worries
eagerness to live and love
self confidence
growing
in the woods
the sun
the campfire
It was the time I danced

they walk by
the friends of now

I’m still not sure
they like me enough

I will walk by
the empty window
mutter a silent greeting
to the person I once was

will I dance again?
or walk like an old lady
with a pendant and a ring
I kept
my memories
lingering
on the square of life

I never could leave
and still I left

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Syl©2021

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Trees Climb

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Day 23 – 2021
Prompt:
Write a poem that responds, in some way, to another.

As a critic it’s my habit to respond
to what others write or say.
So I decided to write
to the 5th push on the zap button of the TV.
A beekeeper filling pots with honey.

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Trees Climb

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It’s when the trees climb
the mind of men grows small
the stairs to heaven
only accessible
to the light

then birds sing
and little men in planes
watch through curved windows
they only see trees

Wijobe walks
with bare feet
protected by the gods
he’s hungry
and asks his sisters
bees
for some food

When he tastes the honey
he hears
the women sing
pounding the maize
on the ground
some sweetness will be added today
less hunger
and more smiles
while the gods
protect his feet
the birds sing
and the bees follow him
for a while

When the trees climb
life goes on.

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Syl©2021

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Mango: vase

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Day 22 – 2021
Prompt:
Mangoes have become a sort of shorthand or symbol that writers use
to invoke an entire culture, country, or way of life. 
The mango is a literary device, especially in Asian literature,
to symbolise unspoken thoughts and feelings or
those which can’t be conveyed anymore.
So in this part of the world it’s a developing concept.
So I’ll take it my way.

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Mango: vase

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The vase it was
the vase on the table
the table in front of the window
with tulips
growing like she was feeding them far more
than love and attention.

First straight,
like a young child
reaching for the sun
then bending
like I’m bending now I’m growing old

and finally touching
the tablecloth
caressing the way they are
and almost like she pushed away her hair
when she was tired and sat down

The vase it was
smashed in the bin by my mother
who didn’t care
that a simple vase might be a treasure

In my mind now
it stands on my table
with weeping tulips
touching the wood
Telling me
there’s also a table cloth she touched
and you didn’t care for.

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Syl©2021

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Featured post

Shankha Ghosh

The Bengali poet and critic
Shankha Gosh
born Chittapriyo Ghosh
died from Covid today.
(5 February 1932 – 21 April 2021)

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Shankha Ghosh

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And then he walked no more
the soft whispered poetry
stopped creating the rhythm of his life

the intuitive mind
the heart and soul
the breath
flown into space
on a whift
of eternity

the poet
silence
lingers
his soul
drifts away

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Syl©2021

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They’re free

Day 21 – 2021
Prompt:
write a poem that
uses lines that have a repetitive set-up.

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They’re free

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They complain they can’t be free,
then protest on the streets. Strange according to me.
They complain they can’t go to school,
and refuse to learn online. Strange, or am I the fool?
They complain they can’t eat what they want,
but limit their choices, but that doesn’t make me rant.
They complain they can’t decide about the vaccination,
but they refuse. My smile is near elation.
They complain about the curfew
but they just walked by, in a group. I had a good view.

They complain about their freedom taken away.
They’re free to complain all day.

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Syl©2021

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Almost a dancing sijo

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Day 20 – 2021
Prompt:
Write a sijo.
This is a traditional Korean poetic form, has three lines. Typically, they are 14-16 syllables, and optimally each line will consist of two parts – like two sentences, or a sentence of two clauses divided by a comma. In terms of overall structure, a sijo functions like an abbreviated sonnet, in that the first line sets up an inquiry or discussion, the second line continues the discussion, and the third line resolves it with a “twist” or surprise.

When writing poems like these, for me, the rhythm should come from within.
But with so much disturbances as today, I left the poem as it was.
So nothinbg artificial to adjust to the prompt, but in a moment … from within…

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Almost a dancing sijo

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She dances in inward concentration. Twirling around the axis, the center of herself.
The lightness of the veils around her, seem to hide fairy or gracious elf.
When movement stops, the fading breeze is her farewell.

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Syl©2021

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Mouse and me

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Day 20 – 2021
prompt:
Write a sijo, a traditional Korean poetic form.
Has three lines.
Typically, they are 14-16 syllables, and optimally each line will consist of two parts – like two sentences, or a sentence of two clauses divided by a comma.
The first line is usually written in a 3-4-4-4 grouping pattern and states the theme of the poem, where a situation is generally introduced.
The second line is usually written in a 3-4-4-4 pattern (similar to the first) and is an elaboration of the first line’s theme or situation (development).
The third line is divided into two sections. The first section, the counter-theme, is grouped as 3-5, while the second part, considered the conclusion of the poem, is written as 4-3. The counter-theme is called the ‘twist,’ which is usually a surprise in meaning, sound, or other device.

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Mouse and me



I look close. ‘Where are you now? Tiny sweet mouse, little sweet mouse!’
I hear you, and you see me. Who will escape? Who will be free?
Without fuzz, a spider moved fast, jumped quick on us, friends now, aghast.

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Syl©2021

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Blabber Sign

Day 19 – 2021
prompt:
write a humorous rant.

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Blabber Sign

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Blabber blabber blabber blabber
Finally some silence
when I empty my bladder
it’s (a) relative

When I open my mouth
I won’t attract a crowd
not even one

You keep on showing
how intelligent you are
by flooding the earth,
but for what’s it worth:
you knowledge reaches nothing,
fits in a small jar.

I want to shake it,
and break it,
and show you how small
your contribution to humanity
is after all.

But kindly I seem to listen
while my thoughts drift away
Maybe I plant some
to grow large
in good places next May.

I give them some meaning,
even double maybe,
and place a small sign
with a few words, quite benign,
for for everyone to see:
‘Inspired by blabber
but not by me.’

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Syl©2021

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Can’t read it

Day 18 – 2021
Prompt:
Stephanie Malley, challenges to write a poem
based on the title of one of the chpaters from
Susan G. Wooldridge’s
 Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words.
I tried to read the titels, but couldn’t
due to bad eyesight.

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Can’t read it

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I am supposed to see the words
italic, small, like badly written
seeds that don’t know yet
what to become.

I have wandered in my mind
to find
creativity of another
but found my silence
and the utter sound
of wonder

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Syl©2021

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Featured post

Eulogy for a Prince

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Day 17 – 2021
Off prompt

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Eulogy for a Prince

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His feet
touching seas
and sands
and royal ground

walked through the lives of many

his hands
pointing out the trees
that had grown old
and wanted a much disputed
final rest

touched the lives of so many


and joking, talking, observing,
walking just two steps behind
but always there
a generous support
a loving companion,
the wrinkles, the smiles,
just like in the elderly
so close to us

Come dad, welcome him,
pat each other on the back,
and remember the old days,
that linger in the morning sun
and stare over the waves of time
and become always present
yet again.

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Syl©2021

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Mooncycle

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Day 17 – 2021
Prompt:
a poem about or involving
the moon

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Mooncycle

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The campfire
songs and tall trees
and a warm embracing moon
casting our shadow
like we had a future

Years later
the same wood
the moon trodden
and Max joking
I was the fairy
dancing on the rays
singing
in the silence
of the night
if I had known
I would still be singing

and then the nights came
of remembering
of reaching out
and never touching
the sad choice
of age and loneliness
the past
or dreaming in the glowing gold
of mystery and magic

the moon
drifting away
No shadows
a tree stretching out
whispering with empty hands
I love you

The golden circle
fading
in the misty day
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Syl©2021

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No habit

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Day 15 – 2021
Prompt:
from Juan Martinez.
Think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents,
write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit,
before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit.

Strange enough a quick read of the prompt made me think
I had to write about a mutual habit of them.
Couldn’t find any…

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No Habit

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‘Whipe your feet’ and ‘close the door’,
‘Don’t throw stuff on the floor.’
That’s what my mother had to tell,
Oh yes, I remember well.

Daddy listened, and so did I,
but now I ask myself: why oh why?

Dictatorship, unfriendliness,
She was unkind, and even less.
Towards others she smiled so nice,
but towards me she was pure vice.

So I decided to lead a different life,
be a proper mother and a far better wife,
To respect my children and treat them well,
so none of us walked through the same hell.

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Syl©2021

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Spooky Fib

Day 7 – 2021
Prompt:
Fibonacci poetry was founded by Gregory K. Pincus last year
1 syllable for first line
1 syllable for second line
2 syllables for third
3 syllables for fourth
5 syllables for fifth
8 syllables for sixth

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Spooky Fib

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I
dream
faultless
except for
nightmares that colour
the day into endless horror

as
ghosts
appear
in every
sound and sight to me
grasping hands never leave me be

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Syl©2021

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It’s the earth in me

Day 5 – 2021
Prompt:
find a poem, and then write a new poem that has the shape of the original,
and in which every line starts with the first letter of the corresponding line in the original poem.
You’ll find the poem ‘It’s The Africa In Me‘ of Diana van den Berg under mine.

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It’s the earth in me

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It’s the world in me
that loves the mountains and forests
the sun and the snow, up to the Himalayan tops

It’s the Everest in me,
that always whispers and hunts me
that I’ve never seen or heard, but in my dreams
orchestrates my longings and part of my being

It’s Alaska in me,
that makes me shiver when I cry in the middle of the night
and loneliness again runs through my veins, like it never left,
and I know it’s just me forgetting ‘me’ is enough.

It’s the Amazon in me
that honors creativity and inspiration
asking attention for every snake around the corner
arduously waiting for any insecurity and naked psyche
impeccably hitting a moment of fear and drawing me back

It’s the earth in me
that keeps me grounded and loved
for I am from human kind
and a kind human in me is left

I am a human of this world on this earth

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Syl©2021

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It’s The Africa In Me

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It’s the Africa in me
that loves the forest in which I wake,
that sees and hears its fauna and flora and revels in their names.

It’s the Africa in me
that you hear in my spirited conversation,
that shakes my shoulders as I sob my sorrows
or laugh my insides, inside-out.

It’s the Africa in me
that keeps me reading poetry deep into the night
and causes me to stroke the sinuous muscles of my striped, domestic cat
and kiss the muzzle of my gently nickering horse.

It’s the Africa in me
that has taught me how to love
and patches up the fragments of my soul after each disaster
and renews my zeal and increases my understanding
in preparation for the next onslaught.

It’s the Africa in me
that has carried me
from my first baby breath
and will support me to my very last.

I am truly a child born of Africa.

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(August 1999)
Diana van den Berg
https://www.poemhunter.com/poems/africa/page-1/15746722/

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A photo and a rhyme

Day 4
Prompt: photo

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A photo and a rhyme

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You left no footsteps
when you entered out of time and space

did we have a past
a place to go?

or are we just frozen in time?

do you greet me
or guide me

or are we just frozen in time?

when do you walk away
or disappear
to empty the photo
or end this rhyme?

Syl©2021

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Duality

Day 3 – 2021
Prompt:
Personal Universal Deck. One word per card.
Shuffle it a few times.
Select a card or two, and use them as the basis for a new poem.

Duality

his ego stood
as shining as a lighthouse

the fairy
guidinglight
blueberry dances
on waves to hide

it’s the sea
that embraces
duality

Syl©2021

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Passing by

prompt:
a poem about your own road not taken

Passing by

Lost in time
drifting
and losing my purpose

no arm
the empty chair
with stranger

I am my twin
lost in time

No road…
I didn’t see a road!!

and still my feet
don’t find a path

So there I stood
like frozen

at the horizon
black silhouettes
walking
playing
singing

my voice
a whisper
from time
passing by

leaves will fall
and flowers grow
and none
none will know
the twin in me
behind the smile

Syl©2021

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Day 2 – 2021

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Fly

daily prompt:
Sometimes, writing poetry is a matter of getting outside of your own head, and learning to see the world in a new way. To an extent, you have to “derange” yourself – make the world strange, and see it as a stranger might. To help you do that, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem inspired by this animated version of “Seductive Fantasy” by Sun Ra and his Arkestra.

Fly

Downtown
tingeling
turnaround
raven

never fly
the crawl-in tom

erupt
eyes
of trauma

to butterfly
ancient
afar

and then
after the pit of silence
loneliness perhaps
she awakes
curled up in the rain

a seed?
a seer?
or just the dream
to be

to be
existence.

Syl©2021

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Day 1 2021
https://www.napowrimo.net

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The Poppy Leaf

The Poppy Leaf

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The old book
almost fell from the shelf
just like I
feel all day
at remembrance day

it’s like holding on
to some support
and there is none
gravity always wins

the past always wins
after my mother
threw away
his medals
his photos
and his ashes
none is left

a tear
touching
a small dry leaf
on the floor

long ago
he put
a poppy leaf
in a book

I didn’t know

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Syl©2020

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Remembrance Day UK 2020

Remembrance Day 2020

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I will remember those
who have no grave
who died
under a bare sky
and were never found

and those
who walked the long road home
and lived
with memories
and were never honored

They survived
and never got a statue,
never a memorial
and never the last post

I will remember
my dad
who has no grave

I can’t find him
anymore

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Sylvi© 2020

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Feels in me

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Feels in me

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You were there
you never told me
nor the world
you were there

part of history
so far away
but it is
our present freedom
our future

You were there
you carried in your heart
the pain, the grief
the exhaustion
never told
never heard
but felt
and now it feels in me

You were my dad
but also one of the boys
who cleared this world
from evil and oppression
I didn’t inherit the stories
but the feelings are in my genes

You were there
you never told me
nor the world
you were there
but it feels in me

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Syl©2020

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VJ Day 2020

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VJ Day 2020

We shouldn’t only honor those
who died
but also those who survived

When your friends
are beaten to death
left in the sun to dry
days on end
without food or water

when your friends
gaze at you
without seeing
without remembering those
they deeply love
before dropping dead

When you have no friends anymore
and you have lost yourself
then there is no war
because power
kills human beings



I have seen them
dragging their mind
and soul
behind them
screaming in the night
when they converge

lost in history
lost in themselves
war is never over

Syl©2020

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Relax

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Relax

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The rope
two clouds
blinding sun

one feet
grasping
air

two toes
just to relax

re….lax

relax
rest
quietness

clouds closing
the rope
floating

eternity

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Syl©2020

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