Love For What It Was

IT WAS LOVE FOR WHAT IT WAS
Like meadow flowers
sitting still by the sidewalk
on a night when the moon
is in full bloom
sometimes love blossoms
when nothing is groomed
in the vacant mind,
to seize upon and brood.
You just notice something passing by,
absently,
much later when gone too far on the way
you know
it was love for what it was.

Ron Silvia originally shared the image

Goodnight everyone  

MEADOW FLOWERS

Aug 31, 2016

Like hope they wait
the meadow flowers,
listening to the murmur of the brook,
like throngs of souls who have neared the bridge
to cross the gateway, and reach to the land of dreams.

Image credit: Beau Beauregard

Beau Beauregard originally shared to Langiappe:

The Moon-child

THE MOON_CHILD

THE MOON CHILD FALLEN IN THE POND

One moon was sailing across the sky
while I was looking at the pond.
Ripples swished and the wind whistled
and the island of bamboo sang.
I looked closely at the moon
rolling and swerving from end to end
in the babbling ripples of the pond.
I stooped dangerously close to the edge
of the pond to pick up the fallen moon.
I brushed apart the willows and reached for the darling moon.
It suddenly jumped up and splashed over
all the wonders of the waters at me.
Just as I felt I had caught
the moon by its wet water-soaked robe
it gave me a smile and danced.
I am no moon my dear; the one you are looking for
is sailing across the sky
far from the world where you and I
are wading through waters and the sand filled land, a far cry
from the world where you and I belong.
Let it sail across the cloud, across the sky.
Tonight it is full, and tonight will not last long.
Small the hours, long the journey, let that moon sail away.,
Far away till the break of the day.

Darlene Walsh  shared: the image

Beautiful moon!

Lost Treasures

Nov 8, 2015

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THE WEAKEST STRAND

A black shell lying in the sand
when the sand was moist and cool
and the sea was dark between
the two breakers forming a screen,
and the mist was all about
me and my memories
of the sea and the shells and a few sand-castles in between.
Gathered shells have this black one,
now glistening,
stored with some purpose then,
but now when all the knick-knacks are lost
and this black one is what has remained behind
I simply cannot recall why
I stored this mighty little jewel
for another day.
Inanities now, and then some  awesome finds;
the weakest strands make the strongest ties.
I shall still store this mighty little jewel for yet another day

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Sushama Karnik

Seasons

Nov 3, 2017

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DOWN THE ALLEYS AND LANES

Shadows around the house,
pensive, moving, ephemeral, soft.
The backyards humming with the presence of birds.
My heart still moves there and rests in the shadows.
What I gather and store in the folds of garment
is going to be washed away in the river
and then to the waiting arms of the sea.

The yearning, ceaseless, for the things that have been.
The whole day long I lived with the sea.
The alleys and the backways lined with the trees,
all led to the final sea at noon.
I watched it glimmering white.
From the hill on the shore,
from the ramparts of the ancient fort,
then from the seaside cafe
I watched the tranquil backwaters
tossing in the breeze the sunkist waves.

Time rolled over the quiet shore.
The wings of the swarms of dragonflies
and the waves that gently touched the rocks
was all the music that happened there.
The road back home was long.
The moon which sailed along in the sky
stopped for awhile in the track.
The moon smiled a cryptic smile.
A stopover for the night.
A lifetime washed away.

Thanks Souheil Ghammachi for the image

Originally shared by Souheil Ghammachi

There’s an ocean
inside of me.
Put your ear against
my chest and listen,
it rages for you 💕
~ Johnny Nguyen

Photo via WhatsApp by J.S.
Mediterranean shore at Tyre
Lebanon

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• 
  Hector Merced

  Happy Friday dear +Sushama Karnik​

  REPLY

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  Nov 3, 2017

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• 
  Sushama Karnik

  Thank you, dear +Hector Merced Good morning :-))

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  Nov 3, 2017

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• 
  tony langmach+1

  +Sushama Karnik
  Amazing...
  Nice weekend wished Indian potress & maybe you see the Full-moon..`)

  REPLY

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  Nov 3, 2017

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• 
  Souheil Ghammachi

  Beautiful poem!
  It’s a photo of a friend of mine in Lebanon...
  But she’s not on G+... so she didn’t mind when
  I posted it... she was pleased... of course I asked
  for her approval... she said “Ok but you write something
  beautiful “ ... and now you reshared it and you wrote your
  poem... she’s more than satisfied 😊👍

  REPLY

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  Nov 4, 2017

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• 
  Sushama Karnik+1

  Convey my love to your beautiful friend. I am happy that she liked it. +Souheil Ghammachi

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The Woof And The Warp

Between day and night,
between remembrance and forgetting,
between waking and sleeping,
we weave this tapestry of life remembered.
Between the intertwined strands of forgetting and recall
we hold the woof and the warp,
the flowing lines of the arabesque scroll.
The day unravels what the night has woven.
We hold in our hands, loosely and weakly
a few fringes of the lived life.
We turn our days into nights
and at night we work in darkened rooms
under artificial light of the lamp.

Out of the morning mist
a road will emerge.
Around the bend,
a hoarding will shine.
That is the bend where roadsters stop
confused after the passage through the night.
A sudden turn and the traveler halts.
The bends around the corner always hold
the traveler, and the path plunges in a renewed dark.
I love these bends on the sudden mornings on the roads,
the markers, the signs, the clearing of the mist;
they fill me with wonder. They are the reason why we travel
on and on, wakeful through the sleepless nights.

Thanks for the image +pasajul de noapte
Probably my last post on G+

Originally shared by pasajul de noapte (noapte) - 1 comment