All these people are walking into my heart.
Sidling up casually,
Loitering inconspicuously,
No wonder no-one notices.
All these people are falling into my heart.
Not watching where they are going,
Momentarily distracted,
No-one notices.
Tall ones, small ones.
Old ones, young ones.
It's a great big party going on,
Still no-one notices.
All these people arriving in my heart.
All these...

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Why do I feel like crying
When his arms would rush to comfort me?
When his heart beats alone for me,
Still, 
Despite his love,
Alone against myself.
If he surrounds me,
I am still caged within myself.
Then he catches my mind's gaze,
Says "Look, There is beauty."
And all is still again.
And all is peace again.
The lulled hush of the midnight heavens,
And the beauty of a star,
Takes me...

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I was better off feeling dead
Than feeling alive.
I was better off feeling low
Than on this false height.

I was better afraid of the dark
Than afraid to open my eyes.
I was better afraid of cutting myself
Than scared to survive.

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These bloodless wounds will never heal.
Pray,
         "Father Time, save me."

I grow so weak as the not-blood spills.
Pray,
         "Mother Nature, cure me."

Brother wind,
Sister rain,
Rock me. Wash me. Make me clean again.

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I don't suppose you'll cry to lose
A broken heart.
There's certainly no use in tears
On spilt milk.
But teddy bears are often loved
The more for being old and used,
And holes give special comfort to
Those shoes unfit to walk in.

Dream on,
Why not accept the truth?
Even apples are despised and scorned
Once bruised.

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You beckon to me.
Uncertain, and vaguely guilty.
And how you "know how I feel - but",
I can feel the urgency grip you.
And how we "don't have to if...",
I can feel the expectation.

You touch me,
Too gently,
I can feel the inexperience.

Do you expect me
Suddenly to tell you
If you can.
Or suddenly to let you
If you can't.

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We fight to first blood
But he has no weakness,
It will surely be me who loses.
One way, or another,
It will surely be me who bleeds or bruises.
There can be no lenience
Between me and my lover.

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I am a finger puppet.
He plays me in a mime.

Upon a sheeted stage we lie,
(about all kinds of things).

A marionette,
If words tug strings.

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A gap in the storm:

After the unrequited love, there were a couple of fledgling relationships in the summer before university. Whatever I may have felt during those relationships, there are no poems from them.
As much as I may have wanted to write 'a cheerful poem', cheerful poems were not my forte then.

The relationship I was in before heading off to university may have been sweet and deve...

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And are you he?
No shadow softened sun
Could ever cause this fire in my heart
Alone,
Nor too, the lingering ember in the grate.
Oh, it is not the culprit that I seek - 
That seeks me too.
Oh, tell me, is it you?

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We are both naive young fools.
You do not see
What is in front of your face,
And I do not hear
What is behind my own.
We are both amateur players,
In a game with no rules.
You missed your sights,
But you shot me through,
And now
I am blinded by you.

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It should not be a sad thing,
                            To be a friend.
But I cry at night, on an empty pillow.
And every day I dream about you,
And see your face, in shadows.

It should not be a bad thing,
                            To be a friend.
But every night I dream about you.
And in the day, I cry without you,
And give myself to sorrow.

        It should not be so maddening
...

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I want to write a cheerful poem.
I want to sing a song of joy.
And clap my hands,
And throw my caution to the wind,
Not this misery, I.
This drivel,
                  without end.

I'd wear a dress of red and gold.
All laced up,
All softly flowing.
I want to joke, and laugh, and talk,
And brave this storm.
Not go in black,
Not me, this wreck;
This back-wind
                        ...

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Can't get you out of my mind.
Can't halt your stay in my mind.
Can't halt my mind.
Can't hold my breath.
Can't hug death.

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Time to visit my 17 year old self, for the next sub-theme in Love's Tempest of 'Unrequited Love'.
With low self-esteem and low social confidence it was kind of inevitable.
But that's not the only way this particular storm can brew.

This first poem in the sub-theme, 'Reckless Abandon' is presented in two forms.
In its original version, and as a shaped poem.

The original version 

...

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To celebrate that I have completed posting the sequence of almost a hundred meditations (thanks to everyone for all likes and comments on those), and also in honour of it being World Poetry Day today (thanks to Dean Fraser for the reminder) - I thought I'd post this little something.... 

I've got a poem that gets stuck in your head
stuck in your head, stuck in your head
I've got a poem t...

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If where you are is terrible
Only think of where you want to be
If what surrounds you is awful
Only think of what you want to see

If emotions are painful
Only think of what you want to feel
It is OK to step into fantasy
And make it real.

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Alphabet soup was too expensive
Instead, I have spent my life
Making poetry
Out of ordinary spaghetti
 

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I once was as the limber branch
but now become the torpid trunk.
I sparkled under summer suns,
but now in dusky shadows hide.

Spring leaf has turned an autumn hue
The autumn scene borne frosted ice.
As winter grips in burning cold,
Comes next the springtime of the soul.

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Happiness is victory
Though I won't win every battle
I will win the war.

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Fear cannot hold where it is shrugged off
With my smile I am ready for life’s hardships
Other things may come and go
But my smile remains
 

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Whatever my body, my soul is beautiful
Whatever my wealth, my soul is rich
Whatever the chaos, my soul is tranquil

Whatever the burden, my soul supports me
Whatever I lose, my soul will stay
 

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The person that I want to be
dies every day.
I never know exactly when, or how.
Sometimes it is sudden,
Sometimes lingering,
I often struggle, I often cling,
Sometimes, fatalistically, I just give in
But the person I want to be dies every day
Sometimes many times.
 

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The roads where we walk, the houses and cars
Are hiding this planet
We forget who we are.

The shops and possessions, our jobs and our greed
Are hiding our purpose
We forget what we need

It all happens so quickly, there’s no time to think
But where are we rushing
At such a great speed?
 

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Still practicing life
Determined. Will get it right
Given enough time.
 

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Sometimes the safest questions to ask ourselves 
are about other times, other places, and other people. 
It is so much more pleasant to guess what might have been, 
how things might have felt, what people might have wished for,
and what might have lain ahead along unspotlighted
corridors of time.
Rather than dwell where we are, with ourselves,
Feeling far less happy to not know the answers.

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The winds of chance blow harsh
The sands of time run fast
Caress it whilst you can
While life is in your grasp.
 

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Now that all my dreams are gone
There's nothing to do 
but carry on?
Dreams are as necessary to the mind
as blood is to the heart.
And what do we do if we are short of blood?
Surely I need a transfusion of dreams!

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There is no winning or losing possible
Only what we let go of and what we keep,
Because we don't know the final outcome
Or the purpose of anything.

And positivity and negativity are as good as each other
When nothing much matters,
So it all comes down to not what we want to be or have
But what we want to feel.
 

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I am the real deal, and so are you.
But what is the real deal?

Is it all of the cards we're given
Or the purpose of absolutely everything?
Or is it the sum of both?

We are the real deal
And we are finding out what that is.
 

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Below these clouds I wonder when I'm going to see the sun again.
I heard a rumour it might not be there... anymore.
But come the rain, and come the wind...
Come storm, come thunder, come lightning...
Come every single shoddy thing the world can throw…
They'll find me no downtrodden sod,
No trembling leaf, no breaking clod,
For I, and the wandering sun, do not so quickly pass. 
 

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I am everything in my children's lives;
There is scarce little that they have
That doesn't come direct from me.
And sometimes this makes me proud
That I could be enough,
But more often not:
The first and usual thing I think
Is how I have let them down,
That I am all they have got.

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Somewhere in your mind are all the strengths you seek
But say not into your mind 'Do I have strength?'
For only the laughing strength will answer 'Yes'
And only the teasing strength will answer 'No'
And all others will be silent, or will stay asleep.

Somewhere in your mind are all the strengths you need
Not always in the moment you expect.
But in the moment that matters.

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If you don't like it how it is
Stop complaining.

Stop praying, start living
Stop hoarding, start giving
Stop wanting, start enjoying
Stop waiting, start playing
Stop asking, start finding
Start hoping, stop minding

Stop whatever you are doing
Start changing
 

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I stood beneath a whispering tree
Upon a windy day
Singing into the careless breeze
My cares they blew away.
Then finally I clearly heard
What nature did avow
And I could see the sun at last
Beyond the leafy boughs.

Yes, finally I clearly hear
What nature does avow
And I can see the sun at last
Beyond the leafy boughs.

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Don't we all see our speciality
as the central truth?
My sister, the mathematician, thinks the world
is ruled by numbers
and defined by them.
She would say that without maths
the world is nothing
then start to prove it.

The medic or the tailor
the banker or the lawyer
the chef or farmer
all
the centre of the universe,
but most of all
I think
the poet.

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Just for a moment think.
Just for a moment dream.
What if this world were different,
If it isn’t as it seems?

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I've been burned
And risen again
Proud of my new coat
Of feathers
I've been burned again
And risen
Proud of my new coat of feathers
And unafraid of fire.
 

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The trick of the phoenix
Is that he didn't burn.
He flew away while your eyes
Were blinded by the fire,
And back again while smoke
Obscured your vision,
Leaving you searching for explanation
Amongst the ashes.
 

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We live our lives together
Breathing the same air
Yet never help each other
It makes life hard to bear.

So much could be made better
In just a little time
And time could last forever
If we just use it right.

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To there,
And from there to there,
And there,
And finally to there.
 

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Shredded Dignity, Diced Words.
Chopped Emotions, Grated Nerves.

These are our salad days.
 

By: Aviva Rifka Bhandari

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I have another poem
which is better than this one.
It is shiny and goes much faster
It sounds better and means more.
My other poem is kept for special occasions
and protected 

This poem is my run-around poem
Don't judge me on it.
 

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