love

Tomorrow

I'm not in the mood for a today. I await a beautiful tomorrow, a new today but filled with her, with her beautiful aroma, with a bliss that can only be achieved through contact with you, your static touch, so rare it is. My muse, the inspiration of my dreams, what helps me conjure up a tide of thoughts and overwhelming probabilities where i inevitably drown and i dont fight it, no, you are a magnificent sea, and im great at drowning. No, I'm not in the mood for a today. I'm tired of today. What I want is the beautiful future ahead. I want more of that intoxicating drug that is her scent. I want her heavenly touch that is indelible to my sences. That image that haunts me and causes me to mistake her at every corner. I'm sick of today, all I want is tomorrow. Its plane and simple. Why tomorrow ? Because she's in that tomorrow. And I want nothing but her.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

comments and opinions please?

You will See Me Here

As the sunlight after the rain,


As the moon after the daylight my dear,


As the harvest after the long wait,


You will see me here.

 


As the silence after the tempest,


As the peace after the war,


As the hope after the failure,


  You will see me here.


 

As a friend after the disaster,

 

 You will see me here.

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Calan Mai Dydd (See English translation below Welsh language prose)

Folder: 
Seasonal Holidays:

 

 

Roedd gwl dathliadau Mai dydd;

Mae'r wyl uchod yn ddithlwyd, nghymru er mwyn arsyllwi. dyfodiad Haf. Nid yw Mai dydd yn coffau equinox neu hauldro'r.

 

Yn hyrach ei fod yn afeniad a ddefnyddir, Yn tan: tanua i droi buchesi gwatheg o chwater y Gaef; tanau i gynnau'r fordd er gyfer y gwatheg, tanau i lanhau ymaith clefyda a allai niweddio y fuches.

 

Tanau gyfer Baltan a elwir hefyd, yn Beltane: a fflam yn tan; ar ayfer defadau puro derwydden au Haf.

 

Gwyliau tan Mai dydd eu cynnal a rhwysg mawr a seremoni.

 

By Anita Griffiths (Welsh language translation)

 

 

Mayday Celebrations

The above festival was celebrated in Wales: in order to observe the arrival of Summer time.

 

Mayday in Wales is not to celebrate equinox or solstice.

 

The Mayday festival in Wales is a custom consumed in fire: fires to turn out the herds of cattle from Winter quarters; fires to light the way for the cattle; fires to cleanse away diseases that may harm the cattle.

 

Fires for Baltan also known as Beltane; fire and flame for the Druidic  purification rites of the arrival of Summer.

 

The fire festivals of Mayday celebrations were carried out with a lot of pomp and ceremony.

 

By Anita Griffiths

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

 

 

The Welsh language is making a return in the country of Wales. Great. Although I am still learning.

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For Alisso 7-9-11

Folder: 
Good

Words flow in

but stumble out

I whisper things

I’d rather shout

My heart thinks

before my head

Fingers cling

to words unsaid

Time stands still

while blurring past

Please tell me things

I haven’t asked

Too far to touch,

too close to speak

I’m bravest when

 

you make me weak

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written for my now-fiancee, when we'd just freshly confessed our feelings for each other. 

A Poet Afloat

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"Find out

exactly what it is about,

what words flirt around;

being inspired. 

 

Seeing, 

hearing 

a piece of art,

hardrock rhymes

 

that tell what has transpired,

what had rambled on by.

Hard times,

or that feel-good story

 

that is too cliche for news

nowadays,

no love to be found.

Between then and now,

 

after everything that has happened,

still trying to climb a side of a mountain.

Reach up above and find purchase,

pull yourself onto the ledge,

 

overcome that edge.

Inspirational,

overcoming what supposed story

has made times get harder.

 

Determination

denotes what is to be,

or what can be deemed

a possibility. 

 

So is it inspirational,

it being anything, 

just because it had been done

by one who downplays the feat?

 

Nay,

it feels good instead,

the rushing feeling

of creating, being

 

involved in something more than me,

kittens and puppies,

dogs too,

more than you,

 

inspired to make a difference

because I had made made one 

to your day, 

or so you say.

 

As long as what is being inspired

doesn't bring the end

of art,

of love and life,

 

I'll do it every day,

I'll inspire,

unintentionally,

that's the point.

 

I think.

 

Nothing in this world compares,

being lost at sea;

tidal waves won't let me be.

 

So poetry,

a release to me,

inpires others?

I can live with that,

 

be it the truth."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Having written poetry for a little more than a year now I see a lot of comments about how much people can relate to my work, mostly due to how some can read it and feel a sense of vulnerability, or truth. I never try to write a piece to just one person but time and again more people feel that some of my work is almost made out to just them. 

 

I'm okay with that, since I get that comment more than once. Ego on high, I suppose.

Can't show you my feelings

Folder: 
Love

You are everything I ever wanted
You got the most beautiful eyes
The most beautiful hair


Every day I think of you
When you write to me
I get a big smile on my face
And a warm feeling inside of me

 

I wrote our names a thousand times
Just to see yours next to mine
I'm always to shy to tell you my true feelings


Every night before I go to bed
I pray to god that everything will be fine with you
That you will be happy, no matter what


It's hurting me everyday
Not being able to tell you how I feel about you
My heart can't take the beating
Not having you close to me


I want to make you feel my love
I want to dance with you under the moonlight
I want to kiss you good night
And hold you through the night

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I tried...

 I tried

I tried to step out

I tried

I tried to love 

I tried

I tried to be brave 

I tried 

I tried not to hurt

I tried

I tried not to cry

I tried

I tried to forget

I tried

Although, you broke my heart I will remember

I tried

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is about stepping out and trying to be with someone that you love and they break your heart

Little Willy Green

Little Willy Green, a lone dandelion puff on the valley floor,

sat on a graying park bench, beneath a willow tree.

Though we’ve never met, I did consider him

as he sat no more than ten feet from me a few years ago.

There was something about him that tore my heart in two.

His eyes gave him away.

 

Looking at him, I knew

the boys taunted him and

the girls understood him. The dark circles under his red eyes told me he was

broken, a heart shattered, shrouded in shredded

clothing.

 

As I gazed at him, I imagined him sitting with a companion
at a place — not here.

He had peace there — his mind was still.

 

I knew peace was rare for him, considering the storm cloud his mother must be,

absentee father (who I’m sure is absentee) and that motley mob
flanked by his math teacher and campus counselor, who I am sure
must chide him about his not knowing how to throw a football. 

 

He did not remember their slurs
which stabbed him like a whip of bronze nails,
choked him like a noose,
and cut him like a razor blade.

 

He forgot it all

at that moment—in that place—as he sat on the edge of a gray sofa,
his large hands holding a stitch in his thin side. His bluish-green eyes were

barely visible through his

brimming tears. I don’t think he had ever felt such freedom.

 

Someone understood, and so did he,

wiping his tear-streaked face with the back of his soiled, canary yellow sleeve.

He regained his composure while

his companion recalled the punch line to his next joke.



Birth of Something Beautiful

I sat at my desk and rubbed my eyes,

Rocking back and forth in my grey

Office chair. The coffee I drank caused my loins to

Burn so I stood up to take a leak.

 

Passing my bedroom mirror, I saw

My profile and noticed that

My chest was round and peacockish.

The burning moved from my groin

 

To my right hand. I grabbed an

Unfinished volume of my thoughts from the

Shelf and peeled back the skin. I found

My place (as I often do) and navigated

 

My Pilot across the strict ruled page.

Black streams of thought formed like

A fetus in the womb, kicking my insides.

My breathing was fast, then slowed to the

 

Rhythm of my heartbeat. I pushed.

What was on the inside was coming

out. I looked down at my son. My hand was

Limp and my chest concaved.

 

I am overcome with sorrow.
I do it again tomorrow.

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