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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


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Read books online » Poetry » Unscrambled Eggs by Nadia Brown (most read books .TXT) 📖

Book online «Unscrambled Eggs by Nadia Brown (most read books .TXT) 📖». Author Nadia Brown



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>of extinguishing my voice.


Benevolent

There are rumors

amongst certain flowers

each proclaiming

to know you well

the roses insist

you are sublime

the dandelions

feel the same

yet the orchids

pose a different view

they believe

you are too good

to be true


Blue Night

Night stood lonely as

solitude bloomed

without you in the room.

A weak smile I conjure

upon my face

though my heart aches.

Diverting my attention

is what I do

to drift my thoughts from you.


Encumber Sands

Few set sail on this ship

sailing beyond the horizon

along a calm ocean it journeys

embraced by the morning sun

as zephyr grace the sky at night

it steadily travels onward

into boundless realms

leaving those who watch

on encumber sands in awe

with their empty pockets

hanging inside out

longing to abroad


Joy

Sorrow does not roam here

nor can misery tread

the passage in which

sanctity has laved its ground

In this place

across furrowed sands

beyond the riverbed

contentment makes its home

out there two constant remains

anger wages no wars

and loneliness will not dwell

in this vicinity


If You Knew

I can easily model a smile

laugh at some jokes

handily hold a conversation

though my bills have grown the size of Texas

and rent is overdue

yet if you knew how often

I’d mirrored the sun

but shouldered mountains

as my debt burden seem more

like the dark shadow that lurks behind


Lone Bird

Confined and malcontent,

the lone bird reflects on the heavens

eager she is to fly

along faint clouds

and under the ardor sun

longing to feel sunlight embracing her feathered coat

while fleeting through contented winds

that softly touches her wing tips

absorbing the mundane air

as she hovers across

countless of unending oceans

and remote pastures

yet, mere desire

is not enough in itself

to rouse a wilting spirit

nor to fill continual void

her emptiness will deepen

until at last

she is free to fly

uninterrupted and unhindered


Loss Civility

In a time when

civility is lost

corruption rides rampant

on these streets of reality

In a time when

integrity is no longer

common practice

deceit becomes the way

at which we succeed


Perfect

How long must you know average?

Being standard has never been profound.

Give me perfect or simply nothing,

for anything less is like pursuing

a goal part way. I have known ordinary’s

limitations, its mediocrity is something

too many do well. A life of satisfactory has never

been enough to make me content.

As I not only need but require perfect.


There Were No Bells

She said there were no bells,

only her clam hands

and fretful feet rattled in the eve.

The sirens would not go off

nor did her knees faint

from the tie‐dye of bliss.

She felt no quakes,

no bumble bees,

no panic sharks reeling

in the pint of her belly.

Not once did her shoelace hair

curl like ringlets.

Not once did she hear bells.


Unavoidable Truth

Forgetting you is not as simple

the years have been

benign to your memories

allowing them to invade my thoughts

without consent

how dare time

have held my feelings still

I am unable to let go

of your congenial scent

we may never meet again

and yet I reflect on the past

when my future with you

is uncertain


When

I need perfect hands

feet that won’t leave me

for someone else

cause me to lose

all that I have gained

in these slim hours

the moon in its bane attempts

shot apart my concerns

presuming my efforts would expire

since I preferred the sun to him

at what point does knowing you

raises my faith

motives me to take note of time

and not fold my arms too soon


A To-Do List

Things I must do

before night caves

on the thin azure mattress of sky:

write four stanzas to Paul,

brush off odors of loss

and the staleness of alone,

wash away memories of you

from these embellished walls,

and remember to say

I don’t love you anymore.


Dread

I have seen you

unsteady nerves

in the most poised hand

cause limbs to cower

underneath skin and bone

despite my powers

you hammer fear

with nail and fury

As each time

you challenge me

I am hindered

your plot

meticulous

your restrain

intended

I see you

rise above repression

peddling trepidation

like the tempest you are

you who flare hearts

un‐strengthen knees

strangle the soul of courage

Often I ponder

with a similar conclusion

how I dread

the day we ever met


Reluctant Pursuer

Don’t talk about love

when you offer only myths

I need more than adoring eyes

posed from a distance

If I didn’t know

I would think you were

a habitual teaser

that it was your duty

to taunt emotions

string along feelings

Is it that you

haven’t the words

the means to bring about

your heart’s desire

or are you that coy quite reserved kind

the one who merely flirts

but do not pursue

what he reveres


Fishing for Salmon

a laundry of birds gather

in a fold like sheep

like a fistful of jellybeans in a bottle

through sky’s torso they flounder

ensuing a course only they understand

I am wearing strapless shoes

consumed by smell of morning

using my eyes as fingers for counting robins

that are perched on the windows of my forehead

casually I notice the footprints of autumn

as sun reclines in the palm of my hand

there is some wind

flossing back and forth between homes

while rain is off somewhere

beside a river

fishing in the cold for salmon


Like You

I am one of you: a tautly thing

in search of dreams

that will not fold easily into our midst.

Like you, I endeavor to live off paperbacks—

peddling books of poetry for promises and crumbs.

It is this shared indignity

which brings me here:

devoid of sleep, inundated by exhaustion.


Ploys of Distraction

Mother was perturbed

that I did not water the plants

but my head was full of sleep

my memory was still laying softly

against the corners of pillows

I gave up for her in haste

to close a door she left behind

even still it is punishment enough

to misplace the hand of slumber

but when your mind floats

above clouds with thoughts of love swirling

in a promise on my ring finger

please understand I was not myself

it was force or nature

bringing me wind of my future

and distraction this day had the upper hand


Wings of Purpose

You should know a lifetime

indentured to squander

will not build evenings here

will not lift poverty

off the cuffs of your bed

irrespective of fear

be bold as sky

hold on to fledgling dreams

that iniquity attempts to steal

and moments inevitable curse

debts and wages are all you strive for

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