Poetbay.com

Ramblings 722

F.i.in.e Moods — Sat, 14 Mar 2026 03:51:22 +0100

I wish you were still here

So that I could add to our

Last conversations -- I'd told

You that I was trying to figure

Things out, and now that I

Have, I'd have dearly loved

To let you know that I finally

Did after all this time trying.

I wish time had been on our side,

And I could've finally removed that

Long-standing worry that existed,

And tell you that I'm ok, my friend.

An effective solution was found,

There's some relief possible in this

Life, and I won't have to opt for the

Other option we were talking about.

I'm ok, wish I could've told you.

an afternoon at the beach 2016

one trick pony — Sat, 14 Mar 2026 01:24:17 +0100

my day off i head

for the beach spread my yellow

and white striped towel

face the ocean

take my book and sketchbook from my backpack

set them aside, a second towel

at the ready, then wade in, dive under the first big wave

coming up spitting salt

and cleansed, i need this, as do the hundred others

on the beach doing exactly the same thing

then, sitting still, a little chilled, letting the sun dry and warm me

taking something to eat from my bag

reading, sketching, lying down to sleep or not sleep

this towel is my island and my world

i think about two things, the bad thing that never goes away

though sometimes retreats

and the good thing, which is really a series of good things

each page in the sketchbook reflects one or the other

the first is conveyed in straight lines

hard edges, ruled, measured, exact

the second is drawn in swirls and pirouettes

my sketchbooks accumulate

a visual history of my psyche, my ups and downs

and unlike my words, are never shared

because—what would they mean to anyone but me

these traces of ink on paper

nothing is spelled out, nothing is captioned

there is no plot and no ending

i lie on my stomach, trying to direct my dream

a gull pecks at my leg

the surf sound is loud and mesmerizing

but the sounds of the others nearby

are dissonant

and their chatter and their music

gets in my head

but, no one goes to a crowded beach to be alone

just as no one goes to a crowded bar to read a good book

we go for the attraction

i plug in, listen to tunes, think of what i'll draw next

wonder what image will come to mind

when the pen hits the page, happy or sad, real or imagined

i can almost say the bad is gone, but i'm not there yet

how bad was the bad. about as bad as it gets

it leaves a scar, or, call it what you will

it wrecks you, it never goes away, you know it will never go away

you just learn to live with it and make do

you see it in shadowed, darting, haunted eyes

those who are living the same life of trying to put distance

between then and now, it helps, time helps

you think that by lying on the towel in the sun

it will go away for a few minutes

and, at the same time, you know it won't

but the sun does feel good, there is no denying that

and the gull's peck is real, and it really hurts

and the music coming from a boom box really is annoying

but accompanying laughter of a young family is nothing but heartening

later, walking on the pier, the end of route 66

among all the happy, tired people

i feel either happy to be one of them, or sad because of what happened

it's no different than being in a line of cars, lights on

headed to the cemetery from the funeral

while the world goes merrily, or unmerrily, on with its work-a-day business

and you wonder which world is real, if either

at four o'clock the sun is low enough, and the wind chilly enough

that people begin to pack up and migrate east

back to their cars, all but a few hearty souls leave. i am not hearty

but i stay awhile, don a sweatshirt

wrapping the extra towel around my shoulders

to watch the sunset; to the south, tankers at long beach

to the north, malibu, straight ahead, a vast pacific

back at my friend's apartment, a quick shower

water is scarce and precious

begin to make dinner, something nice for her

los angeles, city of flat colors, of traffic, of culture

of sixty-three dollar parking tickets

buskers and homeless, frank gehry and google

drum circles and rodeo drive, beverly hills and venice beach

a simple dinner, true, but nice, with wine

with the last light of day

with the cooling breeze, with love, with affection

the bad, it never goes away, but it recedes

like the tide, if you will

but it will be back, like the tide, if you will

for now, for tonight, simple fare and good company

The choice of nothing and everything

mickeko — Sat, 14 Mar 2026 00:39:08 +0100

I chose this, I chose that.
I chose every moment of every day.

I chose to seize the day,
so I seized my right to choose.

But today,
I choose to wear my bravest smile,
and catch that leaf in the wind.

Mirror Of The Fall

Chaucer Whethers — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 23:41:01 +0100

Mirror mirror of The Fall

What is found in your reflections

When will all these images disappear

And where is the One Truth to unite us all

In deed of proof what words are there to hear

Night is dark so no objections

Is just as well to recall

Mirror mirror of The Fall

Mother earth

Alan J Ripley — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 23:15:38 +0100

There wasn't many places left,
The soil was seeded with
Radioactive waste, From rain,
That was floating in the air.

Yet here was a green patch,
That used to cover mother earth.
Now all the land was bare,
Almost void of life. Dead but,
Their was a piece of greenery left,
If only mankind had learnt to share.

The giant redwoods with the mighty oaks,
Were soaking up rain from the blackest sky's.
If only Adam and eve didn't take a bite, From
the poisoned fruit from the apple trees.

Neatherless it would take millions of years,
Before this mother planet would recover.
To become the Eden it once was,
As the willow trees wept at Mankind's loss.

The poisoned fruit poisoned man's mind,
Allowing him to poison the very world.
He had been looking for all his life;

The one place that he had he didn't realise,
The world that he lives in was the one.
Once known by the grace of God, As paradise.

chaos or stability ?

Albert Vynckier — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 19:36:05 +0100

chaos or stability
what is your choice
do we have to pass through
chaos to find a new stability
in balance ?

2PAC In Abdi\'s Rd 356 Night

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 17:29:16 +0100

after the war

poet*salem — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 17:04:46 +0100

I will visit my brother in Iran ...

and maybe I stay Long...

because I need more power.

Y is more evolved than I

Albert Vynckier — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 17:00:02 +0100

the professor in Psychiatry John Nash said that comfort of thoughts comes with well-being, it's not a matter of words but a state of emotions and comprehensive relationships between each others..Wrongdoings lead to angry assaults and ruin the peace of mind

but the clerc says that comfort of thoughts comes with ownership, contracts of property, one can not feel at ease if you are not safe in your belongings, first you have to secure your own possessions then you might let your thoughts pace in imagination by doing your sessions of Yoga

forget the nonsense

poet*salem — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 16:55:08 +0100

try to forget the past

imagine you just born today

don't waste another twenty years

enough we can travel and do so much

instead of wasting our life

as for me during those twenty years

I have traveled more than 37 trpis

different destinations

five times were to Europe

forget the past and go forward.

when the devil shares the same name as the common people and not the triple 6

Albert Vynckier — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 16:23:50 +0100

when a racist defends his thesis
first it hurts our common senses
but secretly we wish we won't be
contaminated by a bigger spirit
than ourselves because it hurts
our past beliefs

Politicos

Clara Mae Gregory — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 16:13:57 +0100

Their Words

weld the wounds

into weapons used of

illegitimate hypocrites

postulating upon

deceitful diatribes

from an arsenal of egos

that fells the followers

believing insidious lies.

GAS-LIT\" ~~~~~~0

melanie sue — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 16:07:19 +0100

.
I told you to go
.
"Gas-Light" someone else.
.
And, when you LEFT,
.
I calmly savoured
.
And drank
.
The fresh coffee
.
I just poured for you.
.
Now, I'm ALONE,
.
Writing this poem.
.
Not wasting coffee or breath.
.

By Clara Mae Gregory

Friday 13th
March
2026

the base wants revolution, the top prefers stability

Albert Vynckier — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 16:01:56 +0100

people who want stability are the rich
the powerful minority, if they could freeze
the moment, they would ! and it goes down
like that, from top to bottom with always more
turmoils and chaotic conspiracy
they don't want to change position, because
they have the best ones one possibly could have
they want stability in society and so are the people
who work for them !

I do what I have been told

Albert Vynckier — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 15:57:09 +0100

I am like a civil soldier
I do what I've been told
if one says: "don't like the Jews"
I don't ask questions, I don't know
why I am not their allies, I know only
that I am in conflict with the Jews
I am of a lower rank than a caporal
like a placid soldier: I know my ennemies
but I don't why they are my ennemies
who know why are my superiors...
the reasons come from above

Broken Axle

Clara Mae Gregory — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 15:50:33 +0100

In fleshly occupation

Avarice avails itself

Plundering upon

The poor man's wealth

It's always a broken axle

Impeding a future progression

Chained to its past

That's never going to last

While shrouding memories

In clouds of stealth

But fears are softened

In our sorrows

For those who rejoice

In Shekinah's Glory and Son

Redeeming our lives

And defeating

Death's mission

\"GAS-LIT\" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~0

Clara Mae Gregory — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 14:54:52 +0100

I told you to go
.
"Gas-Light" someone else.
.
And, when you LEFT,
.
I calmly savoured
.
And drank
.
The fresh coffee
.
I just poured for you.
.
Now, I'm ALONE,
.
Writing this poem.
.
Not wasting coffee or breath.
.

By Clara Mae Gregory

Friday 13th
March
2026

I\'m back

JohnJohn — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 13:06:41 +0100

Savages

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 10:22:02 +0100

Wild pain:
an untamed & unregulated prowler

Wild action:
compelled & poisonous

Wild room:
a day without regulations

Wild relief:
the soft susurrus of aspens & a hovering thoughtlessness

Wild death:
upright & without marginal remarks

Wild calm:
a Thursday without walls

Wild time:
the terrible dominion of the present

\'Y FRONT UNDIS\' MANDERSON

ken d williams — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 00:13:15 +0100

Manderson, court with his trowsers down!
Algerly, hands in the preverbul cooky jar!
What ever next!
Watch this spase!

Kenny D. Williams

The Dyslexic Wordsmith Of Thanet

the ultimate knowledge before or after death ?

Albert Vynckier — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 00:08:35 +0100

you want to understand
but to understand for which purpose?
to know, to have a knowledge
and
to look like god
and to explain the miracles of god
to people by HIS understanding

TRAP DOORS OF MY MIND

Alan J Ripley — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 23:56:43 +0100

Sometimes I'v considered,
My mind is out of place,
An inspiring intelligence,
That doesn't match my face.

My chest is hurting,
My mind is shouting.
It's something I ignore,
There's a ringing in my ears,
Or is that someone at the door.

Either way I've heard that sound
before, Sometimes when I go to
bed. I hear the ticking off a clock,
Running around somewhere in my head.

Picking up the pieces hiding in
The cobwebs of my mind.
Sweeping all the corners,
To see just what I'd find.

There are many trapdoors,
Inside my broken head.
Leading different directions,
Where my poetry is fed.

I really don't know, What I once knew.
But I'm always thinking of things to do.
Whilst I'm walking this way and that,
If the wind blows anticlockwise.

Instead of the other way around
Would it slow the world down
Won't someone else answer that

TRUMP AND HIS VOTERS (Additions)

ken d williams — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 22:39:00 +0100

Trump his warmonging contiusing!
Deaths mount up!
Those who voted for the git!

Swollowd his crap, hook line and sinker!

Oh how they how they applordid and showted
Back in the ressant parst!
Mutch less now!
Now wingeing about of gas at the pumps!
Also the cost now of thir groseris!

Such is Trumps, 'kin war, it sucks!

Kenny D. Williams

The Dylexlic Wordsmith Ov Thanet

I Am From

Melinda K Zarate — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 19:05:22 +0100

Carry

zana — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 18:59:35 +0100

Your life circling my veins
Your lineage continues through me

My wishes, joys,
selfishness,
rest,
stop here.

And your chosen indifference
stings and stabs
my will to continue.

I am growing a mistake.

God,
let me be wrong.

looking down

Peter Humphreys — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 17:53:48 +0100

looking down
above the river
mountain and bog
we looked and shared
light of fifty years
when we first came
to explore
such then
so much has gone
and new life starting
like river
mountain bog
like body again
loving again

Friends

Sona — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 17:25:26 +0100

To be a free spirit
with a settled heart
is my philosopher friend.

To be calm to my chaos
and pay attention to me
guiding me back to myself
my guide friend.

To focus on what matters
and what is immaterial
in this mortal world
my comrade friend.

To hold me through
it all
the see-saw of life,
my Bestie.

To walk with me
as i talk and be there
whom i could mend and bend
as i face my fears
and dwell in my mind
to forge my way ahead
and chart my path.
My star gazer friend.

To read my work
and to sit with me
a wee bit more
my poet bay friends.

Notice : Supporter account (heart)

Editorial Team — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 16:05:09 +0100

Hi everyone,

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Hope you are all well... be back in a bit

Isabelle

A Shimmer Away

Melinda K Zarate — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 13:08:07 +0100

Anything that shines draws her eye,
beguiles her to hope
that all the good in the world
is but a shimmer away.

Flickers of mica
trapped in a rock,
the whole not nearly as enticing
as the shiny bits
sleeping in the bed
of a shallow stream,
urging her hands into the water,
risk falling headfirst
for the thrill
of a closer look.

Iridescent reflections on a beach
littered with fragments of shells,
broken and made smooth,
send her into delight.
Pearly opalescence captured-
fragile, yet once strong enough
to house a sea creature.
Risking tide and wet jeans,
she dances between waves,
rinsing the treasures
that land in her pocket.

She is not the first to kneel
at the edge of moving water,
to desire what glitters.
Countless others have
staked everything
on the belief that shiny things
mean something special.

She knows this
about rocks,
about shells,
about people.

And yet she fills her pockets anyway,
carries the broken and the smoothed,
the fragile and the strong,
home, happy,
the memory of moments
spent in wonder,
enough to sustain her hope,
a reminder to look for the good.

Ngoc Nguyen — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 13:00:18 +0100

Prelude To Release

Chaucer Whethers — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 11:57:45 +0100

If in place of Being

Instead of Knowing

Were only an overwhelming

Appetite of the senses

....................................

If Seeing is blinded by abandoning light to darkness

Every abstract object coveted above higher notion

Obscured and ignored in order to gain the Thing

Idolatrously coveted backward words of pagan ritual

........................................

To even exist in the face of a lying context implicit

In obverse reflections of innocence and guilt mirrored

The word torn down by flesh and blood the Sun

Rebuilt in dust and silicon circuits rewiring perception

.................................................

Is all this the end of promise

Or only a prelude to release . . .

The Devil Within

Elakkiya Chandran M — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 05:23:00 +0100

Dark Ode to Melancholy

Ngoc Nguyen — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 02:16:56 +0100

calibrations

one trick pony — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 21:31:03 +0100

marketa has never written a poem

but countless songs

i have never written a song

i wonder about this is it a rhythm thing

is not dancing a kind of making love

when we dance

we are a little awkward

is this a rhythm thing

i am impetuous marketa is deliberate

careful to consider all sides

i jump in and suffer the consequences

i wonder if our rhythms are calibrated differently

a sonnet is fourteen lines within those lines

there is room for variance each to their own rhythm n'est-ce pas

Discipline

Sona — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 20:47:07 +0100

Discipline
is the boundary we have
and we draw it around ourselves
by sticking to it
and being non chalant about it.

I was never a stickler for it
for the world was always
for a day dreamer like me
fluid and also airy vast.
And i was curious.

I was curious to know the secrets
of this world- the physics of it
and i found many more like me
in Philosophy and theosophy
Till Rumi and Tabrez came along
and i was a mystic, lost to the world.

This was till a while back
for Gravity has pulled me to the earth again
and i d like to stay grounded
in discipline.
And have good habits and not just
Good Manners.

No Permission...

Sona — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 20:32:31 +0100

My Job is to do Service
Thats what its known as
and its devoted to being competent
and useful to others.
We are trained to be detached from
the profile or the fate of all that
we do in public interest.
Thats all i know or understand
that all i do or must do
is in public interest.

And then there is life
and it is relentless.
And I am in the business of living
where my motto used to be
'Live and help Live'.

But its my life
My precious life
Given by God to me
through my parents
to be relayed to my son.

Life abides in me.
My beautiful, precious life
for me to live and live well
and i will.

Self Talk

Sona — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 20:12:51 +0100

It feels awesome
to come home to oneself
It does.
I tried hard to get
a few things done
in present
to redeem the wrongs of the past
but i was determined
to do all that needed to be done
with peace in my heart and possibly, love too.
Alas! it was not to be
for some do not understand the
words, i state
or the place they come from.

And i cannot forget the history
of an instrument, which for me
determines its trajectory.
Its fate is doomed and it is dead
with me wanting to bury the body
but the other sees me alive
and thinks i am the relationship.

No, I am not the instrument.
I was wholly a part of it once.
subsumed in it and its paraphernalia
and then i lay bereft of it, mid stream
but now i am swimming to the shore
the other side and walk on.

Kee Zealy — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 20:09:39 +0100

Shoreline Interruption

Melinda K Zarate — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 19:06:51 +0100

Watching the glimmer
of sunlight on water,
ripples approach-
rising, turning, rounding
into a wave,
surging, crisscrossing,
then flattening
into foamy half-circles.

A sandpiper scurries
away,
looking this way
and that.

For a moment
there is escape.
But the peace
does not endure.

Intrusive thoughts,
an old movie scene,
rise from the deep:
Lady Liberty
buried in the sand.

THE AURA OF HER

Griffonner — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 16:07:24 +0100

I see the sun stream through the window,
and cascade upon your hair -
like some Goddess lain before me,
but you...
you are not there.

I hold your hand each early morning,
whisper words meant just for you -
like a child you sleep before me -
a dream...
I must review.

I watch your face such gentle beauty -
feel your breath upon my ear
like some flame you burn before me -
so far...
yet oh so near.

I see your eyes which open widely,
hear you speak for me my names -
like some wife you wake before me -
my mind...
plays cruel games.

I know your love is freely given,
put before me, clean and bare -
like some Goddess waiting for me -
but you...
you are not there.

Lie Body

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 14:01:26 +0100

Why do we fall

BiancaF01 — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 11:15:30 +0100

Why do we fall?

We fall from our very first step as a toddler when we learn to walk.
We fall throughout life for so many storms in life arise every day.

And although life is hard we learn to rise above our storms in life.

Life has a silver lining.

We fall down, yes.

We fall so we can rise again.

I dare you to get up.

I dare you to stand tall.

Rise up beautiful kings and queens.

For you have the power to rise up, to soar into the wind.

Why do we fall?

We fall to rise again.

communism

Albert Vynckier — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 09:48:55 +0100

a man is knighted by the king
a soldier is ranked by his officers
a student is graduated by his professors
and what about if you lift up your social situation
does it depend only on you or
someone who's superior to you ?

I understood that by myself

Albert Vynckier — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 09:44:18 +0100

to own a beautiful house, you need a beautiful work
because you house is linked to what you do and not the contrary way
I understood that by myself

arquious — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 23:49:49 +0100

I see us there,

still tracing our lines,

A fractal caught

in the same design.

The shadows have stretched,

the layers have grown,

Since the days of secrets

we called our own.

You may see a fool

for the way I run,

But I am the shadow,

and you are the sun—

Two parts of a pattern

that won't untie,

No matter the distance

or how many years drift by.

Fractal.

John Ashleigh — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 22:55:02 +0100

My wayward looking fool,
If only you had it in you.
Amidst my time,
I am lower than the ground -
Some say I've never been met;
In the end I'll be taken
And in the dust I'll go.
My warward looking fool,
Just forget,
Just come and run -
In the end it will catch us anyway.

My wayward looking fool,
Such a fractal are you.
Such as me. Such as you, too.

My wayward looking fool,
I guess we are beautiful.
Fare thee well,
We always wonder until the day -
Anyway, I've never been met;
I've been taken
And in the dust I have gone.
My wayward looking fool,
Just remember,
Just come and run -
In the end we will all be caught.

Keats and His Nightingale

William Hughes — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 14:47:32 +0100

Keats. John. Your evasive songster, trilling

upon the leafy branch its perch,

holy, haunting, timeless, thrilling,

guards the peace for which we search,

but rarely find,

bereft of a nightingale mind.

John, your nightingale-ish dreams

would soon find their rest,

there near Piazza di Spagna, it seems;

there you would release your last breath, distressed,

to join the joyful choir, the avian kind,

maestro-led with a nightingale mind.

Yet, those among us sanctified by the sweet birdsong

will fly among the billowy clouds, high over the groans

of the weary, the feverish, the fretful who long

for softer rhythms, tempos, and tones--

windswept toward a nightingale mind,

there to be sheltered from the daily grind.

Sparse Solitudes (II)

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 10:00:04 +0100

DAWN

Griffonner — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 09:52:23 +0100

Slowly, as if it were unseen,

Darkness begins a change to green,

A Light comes from o'er the hill

Night is gone, had it's fill.

The leaves begin their gentle rustle

Blades of grass start day's tousle.

The bluebells slowly shake their heads

As they rise from sleeping beds.

All flowers slowly start the day,

Gold lights up the stacks of hay,

The daisies turn to face the East

Stretching petals. Night is Ceased.

A Robin wakes and starts his song

Calling to his sleeping throng

New life, slowly, being born

Silent darkness is lost to 'morn

The Sun it's face begins to show

As warmer breeze begins to blow

Awareness of being alone

Lost, as eyes full wide are grown

Transition. New world being born

Alone, awake, watching Dawn.

(Photo by Helena Lopes)Photo by Helena Lopes: https://www.pexels.com/photo/four-person-standing-on-cliff-in-front-of-sun-697243/Photo by Helena Lopes: https://www.pexels.com/photo/four-person-standing-on-cliff-in-front-of-sun-697243

Sparse Solitudes

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 09:22:11 +0100