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I carved a poem on the moon then tethered it on fertile land.

Dusk is falling on the hill and sensual shadows dance with shards of mellow light.   A prudent day surrenders to a playful night and lovers on wings made of dreams embrace on park benches.   Primrose Hill was made for lovers.

We sail our boat to the edge with its hull full of words and its mast made of dreams. Part of the mosaics cycle of poems

Friends? No. Why not? I still love you. Part of the mosaics cycle of poems

Talk with me. Silence! A taste of darkness. Part of the mosaics cycle of poems

once you said "nothing has changed" but you were so wrong Part of the mosaics cycle of poems

The master puppeteer gathers all his marionettes for a grand performance.   He strides on stage stern and in full control— the undisputed only king of their puppet world.   Tonight, the puppets will perform a drama of love and painful loss of loyalty and betrayal.   But all is not well in the land of make believe tonight. Despondent and unhappy, the puppets huddle in dark corners muttering words of courage and dreams of revolution.   Yet they know they are not fighters. Losing their resolve, they bow their puppet heads and return once more to the drudgery of the puppet world.   All but one.   Calmly, he stalks in silence until one night he begins to spin yarns of daring courage and brave tales of insurrection.   Stirred, they rise all as one. ‘All puppets are born equal’, they cry and plunge their little knives into the master puppeteer's back.   The marionettes are now in a panic— it is time for tonight's performance and there is no one to take command.   'What will become of us?’ they yell and shriek in terror.   Into the light with a hundred shiny medals pinned on his valiant chest, steps out from the darkest corner their new heroic and glorious leader. A few words about the poem… The Allegory of Power in "The Glorious Leader" and Its Reflection in the Political Poems   "The Glorious Leader" is a compelling addition to the collection "Political OP" offering a nuanced exploration of power dynamics and the consequences of political upheaval. Through its symbolic narrative, the poem serves as a trenchant critique of the transition from the old tsarist order to the dictatorial regime of Stalin, highlighting the perils of authoritarian rule and the manipulation of opportunism.   The master puppeteer symbolizes the entrenched authority of the old tsarist regime, maintaining control over the marionettes with an iron grip reminiscent of the autocratic rule of the tsars. His stern demeanour and unquestioned dominance mirror the oppressive structures of the pre-revolutionary era, where power resided in the hands of a privileged few at the expense of the masses.   Discontent festers among the marionettes of the puppet world, reflecting the simmering unrest of Russian society before the Bolshevik Revolution. Despite their dreams of revolution, the puppets initially succumb to resignation, mirroring the inertia and disillusionment that plagued the populace under the old order.   However, one puppet emerges as a symbol of revolutionary fervour, embodying the spirit of change and defiance against the established order. Through tales of courage and rebellion, this figure galvanizes his peers to challenge the entrenched authority of the master puppeteer, exposing the opportunism and deceit inherent in maintaining the status quo.   The puppets' revolt against the master puppeteer mirrors the overthrow of the old tsarist regime, as the forces of revolution sweep aside the relics of the past in pursuit of a new social order. The emergence of "The Glorious Leader" is a stark reminder of the dangers of unchecked power amid the chaos and uncertainty of revolution. In a chilling parallel to Stalin's rise to prominence, the poem exposes the brutality and tyranny of the new dictator, whose reign of terror eclipses the oppression of the old regime. "The Glorious Leader's ascension illustrates the irony of revolution betrayed, as freedom and equality are subverted by Stalin's authoritarian regime.   In conclusion, "The Glorious Leader" offers a poignant reflection on the tumultuous transition from the old tsarist order to the Stalinist regime, highlighting the complexities of power dynamics and the enduring struggle for social justice in the face of oppression and upheaval. Through its allegorical lens, the poem invites readers to contemplate the profound impact of political change and the dangers of authoritarian rule in shaping the course of history.

Rachel screams. A ripping pain mauls her body but the cruel abuser has no pity. Aysha gasps for breath. The bombs keep falling and a ton of rubble crushes her tiny chest. Rachel and Aysha holding hands, weep at the gates of Salem but the Lord is deaf. A few words about the poem… Anti-War Poems | The Tragedy and Hypocrisy within the Conflict Machinery In the poem "Rachel and Aysha," part of the collection “Anti-War Poems,” the stark verses unfold with an unyielding focus on the senseless nature of armed conflict, a perennial human tragedy that, often, concludes through negotiation rather than a triumph of arms. The agony depicted in the narratives of Rachel and Aysha serves as a poignant reminder of the catastrophic toll war exacts, particularly on the innocent. The rawness of Rachel's screams and Aysha's final breath serves as a testament to the brutality inflicted upon the vulnerable, highlighting the tragic reality that warfare thrusts upon the young. These verses paint a vivid, unflinching portrait of the profound pain experienced by children caught in the crossfire of conflict. The golden gates of Old Jerusalem, a symbol of antiquity and resilience, stand as silent witnesses to the relentless cycle of violence that persists despite the passage of time. The narrative further underscores the senseless nature of wars, emphasizing that negotiations, not the relentless march of armies, typically bring about their resolution. It is a reflection on the absurdity that often accompanies armed conflicts, where the ultimate resolution is found not in the triumph of might but in the deliberations around a table. In contemplating the tragedy of war, it becomes evident that those who bear the brunt of its horrors, particularly the young, are not the architects of such conflicts. The decision-makers, ensconced in positions of power and privilege, seldom experience the ultimate sacrifice demanded by the wars they orchestrate. This glaring asymmetry between those who declare war and those who pay its price serves as a scathing commentary on the inherent injustice embedded in the machinery of armed conflict. Moreover, the verses implicitly criticize the hypocrisy of superpowers who often resort to proxy wars to further their geopolitical ambitions. This cynical manoeuvring using others as pawns in a deadly game exposes the dissonance between the professed pursuit of justice and the covert pursuit of self-interest. Proxy wars, devoid of any moral high ground, lay bare the manipulation and exploitation at the heart of international power dynamics. In crafting an anti-war narrative, it is crucial to acknowledge the human cost of conflicts, the disproportionate burden borne by the innocent, and the duplicitous strategies employed by those who wield geopolitical influence. "Rachel and Aysha" becomes a poignant plea against the perpetuation of violence, a call to question the motives behind armed conflicts, and a stark reminder of the urgent need to prioritize diplomacy over the destructive allure of armed warfare.

Lonely child painting the meadow green hands reaching for the moon writing words to love songs Only child dreaming of a lover dancing with his ghost at midnight— summon your eight siblings to teach a man the art of rhyme Beautiful child the sweet sin of wanting you the sweetest sin of loving you won't you let me stay with you tonight Part of the   mosaics   cycle of poems

You are my memories when life was strawberries and cream in June, of scars and wounds unhealed and of unending days of sadness. You are my memories of endless sleepless nights a breakfast table set for one and of an empty life I spent staring at a silent door. You are my memories of songs in every minor scale and you are the face etched in all the rainy clouds on Sundays. Part of the   Old Stories   cycle of poems A few words about the poem… The Quiet Desolation in Melancholy Poems: A Life Looking at the Door   In "A Life Looking at the Door," the poet weaves a sombre reflection on a life marked by loss, loneliness, and enduring sadness. This poem is a compelling example of the power found within melancholy poems to express deep emotional truths through simple yet evocative imagery. The repetition of the phrase "You are my memories" serves as an anchor, pulling the reader through the various stages of grief and reflection.   The first stanza juxtaposes the sweetness of "strawberries and cream in June" with the bitter reality of "scars and wounds unhealed," encapsulating the tension between fleeting moments of joy and the lasting pain of life's hardships. This contrast sets the tone for the entire poem, positioning it within the tradition of melancholy poems that explore the complex interplay between memory and sorrow.   As the poem progresses, the imagery shifts to more explicit depictions of solitude. The "breakfast table set for one" and the life "staring at a silent door" vividly convey the profound sense of isolation that defines the speaker's existence. This imagery is particularly effective in evoking the emptiness that often accompanies long-term grief, a theme commonly explored in melancholy poems. The silence of the door becomes a metaphor for the emotional void that permeates the speaker's life, highlighting the weight of absence and the relentlessness of time.   The final stanza continues this theme of sorrow, drawing upon the melancholic association of minor scales in music. The reference to "songs in every minor scale" reinforces the pervasive sadness, while the "face etched in all the rainy clouds on Sundays" adds a layer of visual melancholy. This image not only encapsulates the personal loss experienced by the speaker but also connects it to the universal feeling of sadness that rainy Sundays often evoke. Such imagery places the poem within the broader context of melancholy poems, which frequently explore the natural world's capacity to mirror human emotions.   Overall, "A Life Looking at the Door" is a thoughtful exploration of memory and loss, using the characteristics of melancholy poems to delve into the emotional landscape of grief. The poem's restrained language and imagery contribute to its reflective tone, offering a quiet yet poignant meditation on the enduring impact of sorrow. While the poem avoids overt sentimentality, its understated approach effectively conveys the profound sense of desolation that accompanies a life shaped by loss.

You have now taken over. You are with me every minute of my life and it all seems so real— a kindness of time standing still. You are everywhere I look, always with white lilies in your hands. Once, I thought I lost you. In desperation, I searched for you in every girl who smiled and in every flower that blossomed in the spring. Years later when we met again you were mourning for the loss of your friend and lover. I reached out to touch you but you never saw me and then I thought I lost you again. But I was a fool. You will be with me, always. In the young days of springtime and in the happy days of summer in the melancholy days of autumn and in the lonely days of winter. Part of the Old Stories cycle of poems A few words about the poem… Melancholy Poems: Echoes of Loss and Sadness   The poem "Sad Echoes of My life" explores themes of loss, longing, and the enduring presence of memories. Within the series of "Melancholy Poems," this piece stands out for its poignant reflection on the profound impact of sadness. The speaker reflects on its pervasive nature, personifying it as a constant companion that intertwines with every aspect of his existence.   Throughout the poem, there is a sense of yearning for the past, particularly for a lost love or connection. The speaker's search for the presence of his past lover both in nature and in other young women underscores the depth of his emotional attachment and his difficulty in letting go. The reunion with her, only to find her mourning the loss of a new love, adds a layer of complexity to the narrator’s emotions.   Despite their desire to reconnect, there is a sense of helplessness as she remains unaware of his presence. This moment of realization leads to a poignant acknowledgement of the inevitable nature of separation and the enduring nature of memories.   Overall, within the series of Melancholy Poems, "Sad Echoes of My Life" invites the readers to contemplate the bittersweet essence of memory and how loss shapes our perceptions of the world. Through its evocative imagery and introspective tone, this poem captures the delicate balance between presence and absence in our lives.

My love for The Son of Man and Christianity as a way of life is infinite, however, I find it impossible to believe in a metaphysical world. This poem is my personal view of God, Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. Please do not continue reading if you are easily offended or intolerant of other peoples' views. This poem is largely inspired by the novel The Last Temptation of Christ by Nikos Kazantzakis. The Resurrection of the Spirit: Mary Magdalene's Journey to Redemption | A Poem About God My Lord, my life is yours. Since I was a little girl, I’ve lived for the day you’d come. When I was but thirteen, and you fifteen, both almost children, your gaze sealed my fate. You held my hand and spoke strange words I'd never heard before, words I would never hear again. Then you pressed your lips on mine! I kissed you back, a child's kiss—innocent and chaste—yet we both sensed we had crossed forbidden boundaries. You caressed my hair, our lips met once more, and in a daze, you breathed in the fragrance of my aching breasts. Consumed by fear, you fled—a trembling soul possessed—stumbling and collapsing. I wiped your brow and cleansed your mouth, yet each time you quivered like a startled dove. I wept and beseeched Him to release you, but Jehovah, a cruel and jealous God, ignored my child’s pleas. Seven sins came riding from afar across the Galilee knocking on my father's door. He cursed me, told me I was the bride of Lucifer, and commanded me to leave his house. Since then, a red light burns in my window, and countless men defile my body night and day. I lie on my soiled bed in this room of shame with my face to the wall, feigning love’s cries—a love without love. Bites and scratches mar my flesh, and my tattered scarlet gown, always open to all the colours of the world, forever reeks of the stench of shameful sex. I search for you my Lord each night in all the insatiable mouths and in all the vile hands crawling on my thighs and breasts, and even though each morning I scrape and bathe in myrrh, the smell of paid-for sex still lingers in the air. My Lord, all the nations of this earth have passed through my bed. I’m tormented, scorned, and shamed. I'm abused and always sold to the highest bidder, yet I'm still that little girl, unsullied by any man, waiting to be your beloved bride. And now, you knock on my door, and you walk in with downcast eyes blushing like a virgin. You bleat like a lamb and call me sister, you say my shame is your shame and you tell me you want to save me. But tonight, I don't want sainthood or your God. Put out the red light, fall into my bed, and save my flesh. My soul will not tarry far behind. Read all the poems inspired by The Last Temptation of Christ