Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to
And love leaves exactly when love must

When love arrives say,

“Welcome, make yourself comfortable”

If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her

Turn off the music, listen to the quiet


“Thank you for stopping by”


That  was a quote from one of my fave poem, “When Love Arrives” by Sarah Kay & Phil Kaye. It’s about what, when, who, why and how love grew. How we perceived love when we were in junior high school, while we were becoming, adulthood, marriage, even divorce, and when we grew old. Love comes and goes.

I might not remember my first crush face, but the feeling vaguely remain.

I surely remember my first broken heartache, how I cried for days, screaming how unfair life was

I remember my first love; at first sight in the afternoon I fall. Hard. And kept falling.

In my eyes he was a perfection.

The giddiness. The butterfly. The nervousness.

His smile. His laughter. Him

-mylunar 02.05.16-






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Spoken Word Poetry

Lately I’ve been listening poetry reading. And one of the poem struck me straight into my soul. It’s not only the powerful message the poem was written, but also the magnificent performance by the poet. Her voice was strong. Perfect pitch. Perfect tone. Simply perfect.

Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Crooked Teeth and Pink Hair
By Jeanann Verlee

When your mother hits you, do not strike back.
When the boys call asking your cup size, say A, hang up.
When he says you gave him blue balls, say you’re welcome.
When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you’re a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won’t have anything to grab when you head-butt her.
Then head-butt her.
When a guidance counselor teases you for handed-down jeans, do not turn red.
When you have sex for the second time and there is no condom, do not convince yourself that screwing between layers of underwear will soak up the semen.
When your geometry teacher posts a banner reading: “Learn math or go home and learn how to be a Momma,” do not take your first feminist stand by leaving the classroom.
When the boy you have a crush on is sent to detention, go home.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.
When the boy with the blue mohawk swallows your heart and opens his wrists, hide the knives, bleach the bathtub, pour out the vodka. Every time.
When the skinhead girls jump you in a bathroom stall, swing, curse, kick, do not turn red.
When a boy you think you love delivers the first black eye, use a screw driver, a beer bottle, your two good hands.
When your father locks the door, break the window.
When a college professor writes you poetry and whispers about your tight little ass, do not take it as a compliment, do not wait, call the Dean, call his wife.
When a boy with good manners and a thirst for Budweiser proposes, say no.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.
When the boys tell you how good you smell, do not doubt them, do not turn red.
When your brother tells you he is gay, pretend you already know.
When the girl on the subway curses you because your T-shirt reads: “I fucked your boyfriend,” assure her that it is not true.
When your dog pees the rug, kiss her, apologize for being late.
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Jersey City, do not move.
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Harlem, do not move.
When he refuses to stay the night because your air conditioner is broken, leave him.
When he refuses to keep a toothbrush at your apartment, leave him.
When you find the toothbrush you keep at his apartment hidden in the closet, leave him.
Do not regret this.
Do not turn red.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.


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Suicide’s Note

By : Langston Hughes

The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.

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Me and You

This is me

This is you

This is us

Not me

Not you

But us

Together as one

Forever, as long as we both shall live 



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It’s You, Always


I know you for

An acquainted  

only from


we growing to


in the end we are

(c) MyLunar.280512


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Is It?

When you woke up in the morning
And heard the bird singing
It might brighter your day

When you smelled a fresh toast from your mother’s kitchen
And she greet you with her smile
It might cheer you up

When you made a casserole
And your family said “it is delicious”
It might made you smile all day

Even when I just sat on the porch during the night
Listening the laughter of my family
Watching them
Loving them
It is happiness

Is it?


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Egypt Poetry

-Best picture gallery – Pyramids of Giza, Egypt, by Christopher Chan-

The Village Idiot
By : Fatima Naoot

I feel like weeping,
I really do,
A girl lost in the streets
Unable to calculate or count
Always laughing
She fills herself with the smiles of passers-by
Knows neither ridicule
Nor pity
Clasps a kitten to her bosom
And walks the streets untidy hair a tatty cloak
From her pocket
A bean pod drops
A dry crust of bread.
She swallowed
The teeth she lost laughing
As she had no mother to tell her the heat:
“The sun, sunshine”
And because an old woman at Bab al-Khalq
Told her a swallowed molar
Made another tooth grow
She did not get rid of dry crusts
And refrained from biting her nails
Until the season of teething.

She is all alone
Without family
Without friends
And people don’t love her
She sings
In spite of defects
Cannot pronounce ‘esses’
A man laid her on a waterwheel
Made her pregnant of a girl
Who died
Of dry bread
She has no family. Why people don’t love her?
Finally, she thinks of weeping
The village idiot feels like weeping
On your shoulder
You don’t scold her
When she can’t count her fingers
You don’t take a peep at her thigh
When her dress shrinks
In cold weather.

This poem written by Fatima Naoot in 2006 from collection My Name is not Difficult and translated in 2007 by Kees Nijland. I took this poem from Poetry International Web. A remarkable web about poetry.

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