Gusts of Separation by Samjoth Sashidharan

As I sat on the bridge,
and the water gushed under me,
peacefully they slept , the violet lilacs,
the leaves rustled in the breeze…
the owl’s hoot fainted in the distance,
and the full moon shined above,
sprinkling the forest with white light .

But in me…
the melody of separation ached my heart. .
I felt as though she was there,
my hands clasped in hers.
I stared at her eyes ,
her tears dazzling in the silvery light;
the eerie stillness of the night ,
did waver by her silent smile .

The mist hovered about ,
and the winds sang a lullaby ,
rocking the daisies to sleep.
We strolled down the bridge,
not knowing what to utter .
Walked into a clearing , did we …
as the trees gave way ,
to the glistening and striding light.
The light danced on her with joy,
but , I saw her tears
tearing my heart …

I felt as though ,
she was there with me .
Not an illusion or imagination.
And yes, I could feel her hands in mine,
I could see her tears .
She brisked away..leaving me alone ..
and she stood there, at a distance .
Her face glimmered with a smile..
like a thousand rainbows
shining overhead.
She smiled again,
this time her smile touching the
chords of my heart.

I ran to her , my mind craving for her….
but she …
She was not to been seen.. .
The moon hid behind the dark clouds ,
the winds howled loudly,
the hyena’s cry echoed all around ..
the leaves and twigs fought in the winds ….
And my eyes wandered about ,
searching the darkness,
for a ray of hope n love …
The bridge stood empty,
in the midst of everything..
as I stood snatched away,
from the world of my love n life..
feeling alone n lonesome..

The darkness stretched vast;
with her , nowhere to be seen …
Across a bare branch ,
in a tree far across …
hung a lonely, tender leaf ,
struggling with the winds …
As the battle grew fierce ,
the appalling winds …
growing vicious..
pulled the leaf off its branch…
The leaf writhed with agony and pain..
as the gusts of separation,
carried it away n away..
to where it would return ….
never again….


A randomly chosen Homo sapien. Never a pessimist, but not an inclined optimist too. A little of an introverted self-observer. Thoughts go buoyant. And these buoyancies wander with no destinations or haven; leaving no trials behind. Time does seem to be enough but the “enough” sometimes starts ceasing. Tendencies shift; perceptions change; clumsiness gathers; but the basic instinctive saturations surface from the depths when its time. You can find Samjoth’s blog, here.

Inner Space Odyssey by Martha Magenta

I wish to be free from the heavy weight
of guilt, and shadows of sin and hate.
Slave to desire, I see I’m weak.
Escape is not the flight I seek.

On the edge of the abyss I meditate,
and know I must begin a great
journey of the inner soul,
the only way to become whole.

My inner space odyssey begins,
as I am drawn deep within –
an inward journey where I’ll find
jewels in the monolith of the mind.

I feel a pull I can’t resist
to where time ceases to exist.
Everything becomes a void.
All I know has been destroyed.

I feel a sense of peace instill,
as the empty void begins to fill
with all the scattered parts of me,
and broken pieces of humanity.

I am the sentinel of my mind,
that only a dissident can find.
I am all parts of infinity,
stretching through eternity.

Deeper, I’m drawn into the depths,
creating energy with my breath.
I see Venus, Jupiter and Mars…
and…Oh… my God it’s full of stars!


Martha Magenta is a poet who resides in England. She has been writing poetry for over three years. Her poems focus on a wide variety of topics and issues including: love, loss, inner discovery, spirituality, Buddhism, and meditation, environment abuse and violence against women. She parleys political propaganda and sheds light on concepts such as freedom and patriotism. You can find Martha’s blog, here.

Ulysses by Gary Tribble

Artist: Joby Dorr

Artist: Joby Dorr

As no one tied me to the mast.
I dove in headlong, swiftly swimming
To the nearby stony shore;
And there was dashed against the rocks.

Tossed by churning waters
Back and forth, in frothy foam,
Drawn by voices indistinct,
Disjointed, stretched in violence.

Disoriented where the waves fell
Hard on boulders’ jagged edges.
Lost — my former goal, my purpose —
In this great new urgent need — survival.

Where are now my boon companions
Whom I should have charged to bind me?
How had I abandoned them,
And let my yearning overwhelm

All my training, all my wisdom,
What experience had shown
Must inevitably follow
Following my yearning heart?

Now I strive to make some sense of
Where I am, of what confronts me
How to exercise control of
All my strength, establish bearings

That will let me choose a handhold,
Hold a jagged edge of boulder
Flexibly, just long enough
To thrust myself up free of swirling,

Tossing forces that would dash me
To disjointed pieces if I
Let them overwhelm my strength,
My purpose, vision, goals — my future.

Now above the cliff, surveying
What my strength has won for me.
Calm, reflecting on my struggle,
Turn and set my foot ahead.


Dedicated to Michael S. Tribble, who wears Ulysses on his arm.

A Walk across the Sky

If I could walk across the sky
Be among the stars
On a night so clear and grey
I’d look at the moon
And, say –
Surrender your throne
For, stars too have a desire to be known
To be the night-sun
To sparkle alone

If I could walk across the sky
On a cloudless night as this
I’d pluck the stars
And, gather them in a wicker basket
I’d sprinkle them
On the earth surface
A twinkling delight
A blazing ball of fire
With golden arms, stretched out for an embrace
Like the people who walk the planet
With a glimmer in their eyes
With fire in their strides
Touching a million souls
With their tender heart
Their inner light

***

Swati is a creative writer and a blogger based in Bangalore, India. An aspiring fiction writer, and an art dabbler, she writes about the psychology of creativity and the craft of writing on her website Writer Diaries. She also writes poetry on her blog Epiphanies.

 

Children’s poem prompt

Children poetry's prompt

Children poetry's promptLast week’s prompt was kind of difficult. Let’s shake it off and try something totally different this week. Let’s go with a children’s poem this week!

Some of the elements of a children’s poem:

rhyming,

symplicity,

a possible message

Some poets for inspiratation–the beloved Dr. Seuss, Silverstein, and others. You probably have a children’s poet that you enjoyed from your childhood. Or read to your kids, grandkids, etc.

If you missed it, we had a conversation on Friday about children’s poetry here.

Make sure share it in the comments so we can all bask in your words.

Check out what each is doing and share! Let’s build this community. All links will be added to this year’s digest.

Have you considered submitting to our Write for Us segment? We’d love to feature your work here on The Reverie! Click here for more information

Have fun and share this post!

 

The Avalon Review | Publishing Opportunity

Part of what we do here at The Reverie Journal is to tell you about opportunities to share your work.

Of course, we certainly hope you’ll still consider submitting with us for our magazine, anthology, or Write for Us submissions.

Today, let us introduce you to The Avalon Review, a quarterly magazine. They accept poetry, short fiction, and personal essay. They seek submissions where, “the author’s voice and point of view would be unique and clear.” (web site)

Click here for submission guidelines

 Fyi: Electronic submissions only.

Email: submissions@avalonliteraryreview.com
Contact: Valerie Rubino, managing editor

Journaling | Let’s Talk About It

I make sure no matter what that I have a stenopad with me. Always. There’s one on the floor beside my bed. If I’m on my way, I stick one in my purse. I know if I don’t, I’ll need it. Need it for what? What other profession or habit does one take with her “just in case” other than maybe reading?

I think some people call this journaling. Writing observations about the world, writing down bits of a line, a flash of poetry in my pad. I’ve always thought of them as notes.I am a copious note taker. I’ve filled pads with them, one book (so far), and dozens of other ways that I’ve used these notes.

Do you have a place where you take notes? Is it more journaling for you? What kind of things do you write in there?

See you in the comment!