Mortality Poems
Leaves
by Ken Ripley
How handy are the leaves that fall from trees,
Maple, Elm, Dogwood, even needles of pine.
I enjoy these trees, yet can’t tell one from another,
Except to appreciate their colors and their shade
And be soothed as each leaf rustles in the breeze.
And I can’t help thinking their story is like mine.
Proud at their peak to driest piles that smother,
The humblest leaf enriches me with every blade.
Leaves, like seasons, grow differently with time.
......
Heading Home
by Ken Ripley
I miss the trees that lined the road,
Their massive trunks and leafy boughs
Changing colors as the seasons passed.
They formed a living wall of green or red
That greeted me when I entered town,
Familiar and comforting as I’d drive by,
A quiet tug of reassurance
Telling me I was almost home.
Year after year, those boughs were there,
......
bubbles in the afternoon
by Ryan Hoffschneider
Bubbles in the afternoon
Blown on the back porch.
A gentle breeze caressing its way through my hair.
Looking into the eyes of people I once knew
Glimpses of the past.
Not a care in the world, for everything was good
Laughing at ourselves all day long
Amid the popping of those childish domes of soap.
The thing with bubbles
......
An Undying Poet
by Ujjal Mandal
The heaven's eye becomes tired
With rage,
Water endless in the sea.
Winter deflowers the tree,
Spring fills the fissures-
The process constant all year round.
Clouds take off the canopy-
Vapours make a sail
......
"A thread that stitches shadows."
by Dylan Wu Rong
Through the thick mist,
I look down upon the grassy lands,
It is remorseful when I see-
the broken silver needle, on the stone slab.
Who left it behind, or did someone present it?
was it a gift or a memoir for the soul around it?
But maybe it was neither,
maybe- it was the stone that crafted it,
as a closer look sights me the rough cuts,
the many failed thin rods, stacked to the side.
......
Not a poem maybe
by Aditi Hayaran
Everything matters in this world until one day you wake up in a hospital room, hooked up to oxygen tubes and drips. Then, nothing really matters anymore.
The dreams you framed
The achievements you gained
The gossips and tea
Responsibilities and duty
All that matters is your heartbeat
The blood flowing inside and the way you breathe
It won't be permanent tho;
Your dreams will matter again
......
"A thread that stitches shadows."
by Dylan Wu Rong
Through the thick mist,
I look down upon the grassy lands,
It is remorseful when I see-
the broken silver needle, on the stone slab.
Who left it behind, or did someone present it?
was it a gift or a memoir for the soul around it?
But maybe it was neither,
maybe- it was the stone that crafted it,
as a closer look sights me the rough cuts,
the many failed thin rods, stacked to the side.
......
"The weight of borrowed time."
by Dylan Wu Rong
Childhood is defined by innocence,
since the little hearts only know of the beauty,
the beauty of the butterfly,
the beauty of falling leaves,
the beauty of mid-summer night,
the beauty of first winter snow.
It is when those hearts see the hurt,
the hurt in the aging wings,
the hurt in the cold bare tree,
the hurt in the harvested seeds,
......
Leaves
by Ken Ripley
How handy are the leaves that fall from trees,
Maple, Elm, Dogwood, even needles of pine.
I enjoy these trees, yet can’t tell one from another,
Except to appreciate their colors and their shade
And be soothed as each leaf rustles in the breeze.
And I can’t help thinking their story is like mine.
Proud at their peak to driest piles that smother,
The humblest leaf enriches me with every blade.
Leaves, like seasons, grow differently with time.
......
Heading Home
by Ken Ripley
I miss the trees that lined the road,
Their massive trunks and leafy boughs
Changing colors as the seasons passed.
They formed a living wall of green or red
That greeted me when I entered town,
Familiar and comforting as I’d drive by,
A quiet tug of reassurance
Telling me I was almost home.
Year after year, those boughs were there,
......
