Tag Archives: meditational poetry

winter’s breath by Linda Crate

514px-Northern_Cardinal_Male-27527-2 by Ken Thomas (public domain)

I watched the world around me;

winter swallowed me in snow —

the skies were somber and grey.

Only a cardinal pierced the scene

of melancholy waves that washed

their newness upon the earth with

the promise of renewed hope.  As

the pains of yesterday were taken

from the land in ivory tears, I was

poured into chalices of reflection.

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Linda CrateLinda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh and raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has a Bachelors in English-Literature from Edinboro University. Her poetry has appeared in several magazines the latest of which include: Skive, The Scarlet Sound, Speech Therapy, Itasca Illinois & Willowtree Dreams, Dead Snakes, Carnage Conservatory, and The Camel Saloon.

I Wish by Sonnet Mondal

I wish you could infiltrate
My subliminal mind
But that will be like patting
A perfidious snake head—
Smooth, shiny but rough
For tender fingertips.
I have intoxicated many
And no more now.
Perhaps I’m tired
My tongue is hanging out
Without venom, motionless
Even in storms, out of power
Even to plead.
Now just a sense of knowing
Could cure me, rejuvenate
Me, purify me to be
A person again,
For I have failed it to be,
Never felt it in the atmosphere
Of the city of sins
Since childhood.

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To read Sonnet’s bio and more of his verse, click here and here.

Seeing is Pleasure by Sonnet Mondal

The 7 o’ clock was hot again, hotter than any 7 o’ clock.
A drop of sweat travelling down my cheek
In search of destination stopped suddenly
And I rubbed it off, removing its existence.
I went up for a glass of glucose to see
Ants caving in there;
The glass had one inch water with dead ants floating—
Perhaps they have committed suicide.
I went for a bath where water was in drops first,
Then there were none.
From the corridor, I saw people
Working with pumping lines.
They were so happy, the gushing water
That rode on them sometimes seemed
Like the child of a waterfall. Quite refreshing—
My inner being had its bath from the scene.

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To read Sonnet Mondal’s bio and more poetry, click here.

The Figure I Love by Sonnet Mondal

The shy eyes filled with metallic lustre ogle at me
in the moonlit night.
I try to fix my concentration
within the shining leaves of the tree.
The girl with a brown body,
green eyelids, a hundred arms is what I see.

She has a unique pose; bent back resting upon flat feet.
Dry hairs straight down to soil,
and the light song clothed
with cold air beckons me with a beat—
She is just beside my window,
shading my shadow and travelling kit.
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Sonnet Mondal is the author of six books of poetry including a poetry bestseller and is the pioneer of the 21-line fusion sonnet form of poetry. His works have been published in several International literary magazines and have been translated into Macedonian, Italian, Arabic, Hindi, Telugu and Bengali. He was awarded Poet Laureate from Bombadil Publishing in 2009, Doctor of Literature from United Writers’ Association in 2010, Azsacra International Poetry award in 2011 and was inducted in the prestigious Significant Achievements Plaque in the museum of Bengal Engineering an Science University, Shibpur. He has also been a featured poet at World Poetry Reading Series, Canada and Asian American Poetry project, U.S.A. At present he is the managing editor of The Enchanting Verses journal of poetry.

String Theory by Steven L. Peck

On the warm late Spring shore, late
in a lunar glow,
he stood looking at the waves
trooping slowly, relentlessly into the cove

He stood wondering about the strings
of which some say he was made

Of what tidal forces were they drawn?
What sort of other moon forced him
into existence by its orbit around . . . what?

He placed his foot in the sand
it felt cool, rough, and yielding

What are these qualia, ‘cool’, ‘rough’,
‘yeilding’, and why such pleasantness
bubbling up in the vibrations he has become?
How do vibrations, causing vibrations, ponder
those vibrations?

Becoming? Vibrations becoming?
Vibrations becoming him?

Before the deep waves had twisted into
just the right harmonies to
create this self, this himself,
what was there? Nothing? Abyss?
but then . . .
How? Why? How why now?

So there is the moon—a bolus of strings
bouncing light waves from an even larger
solar knot of strings, exciting waves
in neural bundles packed within her eye,
passing through intricate
webs of waves upon waves in intricate and
complex tangles and astonishing frequencies,
which finally erupted into

a pleasant night, on a beach, watching the
ocean move.

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Steve Peck is an ecologist at Brigham Young University. Creative works include a novel: The Gift of the King’s Jeweler (2003 Covenant Communications); a self-published novella A Short Stay in Hell (reviewed here and here), a short science fiction story: The Flaw in the Lord Harrington Scenario, published in HMS Beagle (online journal by Elsevier); poetry in Dialogue, Bellowing Ark, BYU Studies, Irreantum, Red Rock Review, Glyphs III, Tales of the Talisman (in press), and a chapbook of poetry published by the American Tolkien Society called Flyfishing in Middle Earth.  Steve blogs at bycommonconsent.com and has a faith/science blog called The Mormon Organon.  For other poems by Steve, go here and here.

*contest entry*