Silks (Quadrille)

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winter leans with content patience
in white silk – clandestine
matters cannot be hurried –
a buttery drawl drags the last
overflow of beauty until
blossoms imitate snowflakes in flight,
held captive by night –
adrift but not alone –
sumptuous satin wafts breezy

 

WE ARE PUBLISHED!!! – #PoetsForPeace

Huge News.

forgottenmeadows

image copyright neha 2016 image copyright neha 2016

Hello Everyone!

Michael, Marie and I are so excited to announce that #PoetsForPeace is now LIVE and PUBLISHED in Praxis Magazine Online! We are so grateful to  Laura M Kaminski and Tee Jay Dan, editors at Praxis, for giving us this wonderful opportunity and working tirelessly in helping us get published!

We would especially like to thank all our contributors who helped make this project successful! We could not have done this without you!

You can view and download the publication here: http://www.praxismagonline.com/peace-poem-2016-poetsforpeace-collaboration/

We are thrilled that this collaboration will also be archived in the ‘Stanford University Archive’ of the ‘100,000 Poets for Change’ collection!

We hope you can all join us next year as we aim to make #PoetsForPeace a growing annual event!

Share and Spread the word with your friends and family! Please use #PoetsForPeace!

Cheers to #PoetsForPeace!

Michael, Marie & Neha

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Bleak

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in death,
laughing skeletons
rattle, sobbing is scarce
among bleached white
sticks stuck in inches of
half climbing, half sitting;
memories in the ether
will not disturb such ruin
but mists wander
soullessly on the sun baked mud
where imprints of warring fists,
seized up with time,
lie on arid soil – mulch for spent
shells and ironclad machinery,
rusted, stuck, cold –
benumbed like the bare bones in shallow
graves still laughing, still unaware
in death.

Silken Threats

 

 

bayeux_tapestry_scene51_battle_of_hastings_norman_knights_and_archers
Bayeux Tapestry

A frayed charade is sewn into a bitter tapestry – woven
and spun by the spider that has won a trophy of tarnished silver
not gold, without triumph to hold in its stare – it is fully aware
of the tatters of human nature.

Errors taught to us get snagged and caught on rusted,
double edged swords adorned with faux pearls of wisdom that
are our tears, and which seep into wounds with each infliction
until infection charts its course.

We need only wield a thimble of armour against the monumental
travesties we sew; the deeds of mankind embroidered on life’s
fine fabrics cause dour, interlocking souls to mock our disdain,
misery and pain when we prick ourselves and bleed.