The Winter Sea Poem

The windmill sings to the sky,

She writes a poem...

Water to a shore’s imply,

Sands with footprints that roam...

Amazing is a pained line of shores,

The boat stipends an oar...

People smile as a kite roars,

Alas wept the rain as the cloud thus tore...

He runs for shade,

A road where cream was made...

The ice sinks to a fruited shade,

A tree dismembers her leafy fray...

The traffic is out fishing,

A coin looks up its wishing well...

His feet sings to the earth’s kissing,

A cat sings to her brittle bell...

The street is a walking road furnished,

A Stone bench reads itself a book...

Painted winds are not replenished,

A loaf of bread is the butter’s cook...

A Rosary sings to her bead,

His fingers give in to the shiver...

The sidewalk plants a seed,

A nightingale sings to an apple’s liver...

The rich play with greedy dice,

A poor woman begs for rice...

Her little child pays the price,

The street lamp speaks to her twice...

She sells no shells on a sliver shore,

The chicken smiles to the butter pour...

A purple dress to the moon she wore,

The fish attends to his allergy sour!  

The Mid-Winter Night’s Dream

A train of clouds subdue,
The pillow is biting bread...
Drops of rain speak to each in feud,
The walls speak to itself in a silent thread... 

Sleeping bread in a wooden jar,
The moon looks afar...
A knitting cloud weeps a par,
A lonely breath is a crying star...

He waits for her,
The moon still waits a grim...
Eyes pained in spur,
A pale candle sings to the rim...

The crying star spells the rain,
Her eye paints his brain...
The moon wept in her terrain,
None is lost when all's to gain...

Sleeping despair in a painting,
A curtain writes a book in lazing...
Crying are grey roses in wedded plating,
The weeping sky in a purple slating...

The mist thus stitched the winter rim,
A photograph nails a porcelain dart...
Empty is the leaf on a tree that’s grim,
A snail therefore crawl its art...

Asleep are doves in craving,
A tulip finds her root,
Swollen cobwebs in Satan’s painting,
Blessed Mary crushed his pupils with a boot.... 

The No Hand Peace Stroke

‘Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by Understanding.' 

-        Albert Einstein

Youtube Keyword - The No Hand Peace Stroke

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The Peace Poem – Part 1

"Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” - Mother Teresa.

The dawn spells a quiet November morning,
A Child breathes life’s precious earning...
The light shines to enrich the crowning,
A Mother satisfies her aching yearning...

The damped clouds weep as the rain falls,
His hand waves to God’s blessed call...
Heaven’s Violin rhymes on furnished walls,
The milking Mother looks past her labour small...

A sky is where the birds flew,
A Father’s forehead is the Child’s blessed rue...
The rain still weeps outside as the wind blew,
A White Dove sings for peace to come true...

With Bismillah and Jesus to redeem,
A *Diya smiles to God...
The moon sings to the night’s eye beam,
Outside is Satan’s mausoleum eating peace’s rhyming chord...

The clouds cry as the sky dies,
His Mother smiles as his Father tries...
A tree outside with honey flies,
The fire outside cook’s greed the wicked rice...

His eyes wait for hers,
He waits for her in return...
The Father sings to a bed’s rehearse,
Hunger gives his stomach a burn...

He looks outside the window,
The Church Bells thus rings...
A Mosque is God’s beautiful pillow,
Blessed Hanukkah is where his breath sings...

The Winter Poet’s Note – This poem is dedicated to World Peace. Religion never divides, it unites.
Ave Maria.

*Diya - A small cup-shaped oil lamp made of baked clay.

Thank You - http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/english/

The Sample Shoes

Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty. - Mother Teresa.

Pickles in a pickled jar,

A song sung to a star!

His eyes breathe to the sky’s par,

Birds thus sing afar...

The wind sings song a bell,

Dreams are his cloud’s waiting tell.

A coin talks to him from a wishing well,

On a road is where the rain thus fell...

Fingernails are agony’s weep,

He writes a poem in his sleep.

The street cries to a song that’s deep,

Freedom speaks to him indeed...

The moon and her treaty,

Asleep is the bed of a needy.

A tree lofts the root neatly,

The wind speaks to him all greedy...

His eyes leave behind a footprint,

The street lamp smiles a tint.

Silver’s where no gold’s a mint,

His hair in a lonely sprint...

His yarn sings to a pillow yearn,

His feet cried to a waking burn...

Heaven reads as his nails learn,

A toe smiles in return!

All that’s gold is not wheat,

Waves can make agony complete!

Birds thus find their fleet,

Hence sang the sky to the shoring greet...

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The Winter Stray Poem – Part 2

“This poem is dedicated to all who are in need and the ones who died waiting. For World Peace”

He waits for the smoke to clear,

His eyes brown as a Blessed pear...

Could the dusk cleanse his fear?

 His mother comes home raped with lust’s tainted spear...

The wind aches for freedom,

A tree weeps in her dying breath...

The children crave for wisdom,

Bullets relish peace’s empty death...

The crying sky aches for a cloud,

Rain thus comes down to wash a tear...

Eyes look for the moon’s *laud,

Birds hide from the war’s painful sear...

The poor is naked as the rich eats,

A new sky paints his precious feet...

Hungry as his craving heart beats,

The birds fly again their previous fleet...

His fingers cry to a blood clot,

The broken nail speaks to him...

A pencil to fill the waiting dot,

He finds beside him a precious grim...

Eyes wait for Heaven’s dream,

Her breath is pale in need...

His face scratched with the crying seam,

An ice-cream is theirs indeed...

She looks at his empty eyes,

An Iris waits and cries...

The cream speaks to the ice,

The birds now sing in anxious tries...

His eyebrows look at her,

Her eyes still look at them...

The sky’s now an exemplar,

A tree now grows her stem...

The Winter Poet’s Note – We do not fail when we don’t give; we fail when we can give yet we eat greedy.

Key from the Oxford Reference Dictionary:

*Laud - Praise highly.

*Exemplar – a person or thing serving a typical example or appropriate model.

The Poem

Plural is a verb to blind optimism,
Hope’s the candle in an empty prison.
The dusk sleeps with a lonely prism,
Alas, died the sky to a moon’s treason...

A palm pale with pained sickness,
The birds outside sing free...
Death is failure’s drowning weakness,
The window shut as the walls breathe...

Sleeping Madrigal thus sealed no lip,
A Garth cries a weeping bliss!
The empty moon in a sorrow dip,
Pale are my lips we hence kiss!

Sleeping silkworm thus breathes a knit,
How sad could be agony’s grey pencil?
My awaiting cobweb has your candle lit,
The empty sky is hope’s painted stencil...

The waiting dawn aches to breathe,
A night paints a portrait grey.
The amused streetlight sets life free,
Heaven’s *wreathe to his empty prey...

The wind’s a spelling on a chin,
Flowers died before the wedding...
The nightingale has a monopoly sing,
A Rosary to look up the blue bedding...

The Evening

His fingers run through the book slops,

A bookworm in between...

The place where the food shops,

A hungry stomach’s cream...        

He looks around the sea shore,

The lighthouse is a queen...

A sky is where the clouds pour,

His moon shines where its seen...

In the sand where the snail snores,

No cobwebs in a seam..

For kites the tragic wind roars,

How dead could be a dream?

A fountain’s where the lights glow,

He watched as it breathes...

The flight of her water flow,

A Smile less as he recedes...

In a garden where the fruits grow,

A place across the sea...

The sand in an eyebrow,

And thus the princess had a pea...