Dear me

Dear Me
I am writing to you so
You would know
You are not alone
When everybody is gone
Probably I am not many
But I am indeed
The one you rely on
When you are in need
You know people enough
Not all of them are kind
But most of them are tough
Still, life is not hard as they say
It is just a game you have to play
You don’t like it!
I know, but we can do
You are not a God, and will never be
But you are the best person you can ever be
Yours
Your Self

By Menna.M

LIFE - R.W.E.

The lords of life, the lords of life,
I saw them pass,
In their own guise,
Like and unlike,
Portly and grim,
Use and Surprise,
Surface and Dream,
Succession swift and spectral Wrong,
Temperament without a tongue,
And the inventor of the game
Omnipresent without name;
Some to see, some to be guessed,
They marched from east to west:
Little man, least of all,
Among the legs of his guardians tall,
Walked about with puzzled look.
Him by the hand dear Nature took,
Dearest Nature, strong and kind,
Whispered, 'Darling, never mind!
To-morrow they will wear another face,
The founder thou; these are thy race!'

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Key - A.Dumas

"There is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of one state with another. Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of feeling ultimate bliss. It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live.....the sum of all human wisdom will be contained in these two words: Wait and Hope."

— Alexandre Dumas (The Count of Monte Cristo)

06/22/2011 - Nabokov

"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible"
— Vladimir Nabokov

Haikus - Taneda Santoka

Journey

The book is empty
No poems, no story

Thoughts might be transferred
from the written to the blank

Fascinated words of others

Trying to write my own.
Mystery is my mind,

The past is hectic
heaps of data misplaced
soon to be sorted
levels of happiness, levels of wisdom

The journey, new adventure
Remembering and applying

Going back to solve the future

My present diary will tell

-Claudia Luna

We Sleep Beneath Birds - Amanda Joy

I didn’t catch your name.
Still,
here I am,
wondering what the point is;

In this perfection
we grow like fingernails
Will we ever stop?
No.
We might be cut or nibble-bitten
or ground down by work.
Yet we become and become
Until we die
and then maybe
we become something else,
then, some more.
I’d buy that book.
Has it been written?
The one that tells us what happens
when we stop becoming.
Some of us think we have
already.
Yes, like death
Truth.
If you find it I will lay with you
and let you scratch my back
with your fingernails,
while I search for it.
Yes
it is an invisible word,
there, not here.
So tonight, without names
We will sleep beneath birds.
Unlike umbrellas, our heads
above our bodies
swallowing glittering tears
before pride’s useless withered hand.
In the face of this
pinnacle of pleasing angles
obscuring our view
of details not meaningless.
As none we are.
As we are.
Hand-tinted as stars met
by ladders that end
twenty feet above the ground.
Your name is a script, illiterate.
On a delta of my hand’s palms
let me gift you
my resistance,
yes,
so we meet


*Amanda Joy