Lost Home

 

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The wind has broken down a couple of times
resting on my back
giving me solace
when in fact she needs it more than me
wind, a carrier of good times
doused with the fragrance of a lover's kiss
or soaked in the ecstasy of the first night
in the arms of the beloved
sometimes gets heavy-hearted
soaked by the mother’s tears
They fall incessantly
and dabs her unknowingly
she tells me,
she cares
as she perches from one heavy heart to another
laced with the message of love
a tone of melancholy
in the moments which seem to wither
I too have a heart which feels pain, she says
it breaks her heart to see the last leaf
leaving the arms of that mighty oak
Giggling through the trees
her ephemeral presence in the forest
she is there but she doesn't belong
a feeling of detachment.
she carries remorsefully in her heart
lost in her thoughts
Wind is apologetic at times
like a ghost
sifting through the dead leaves
trying to find her lost home.

 

Megha Sood lives in Jersey City, New Jersey. She is a contributing author at GoDogGO Cafe, Candles Online, Free Verse Revolution, Whisper and the Roar, Poets Corner and contributing editor at Ariel Chart.
Her 290+ works have been featured in 521 Magazine #Sideshow, Oddball, Pangolin review, Fourth and Sycamore, Paragon Press, Royal Rose, Visitant Lit, Quail Bell, Modern Literature, Visual Verse, Dime show review, Nightingale and Sparrow, Piker Press and many more. Her works have been anthologized in  “We will not be silenced” by Indie Blu(e) Publishing, (“All the Lonely people”, Blank Paper Press) and upcoming in 12 other anthologies by US, Australian and Canadian Press. Her poem “Survivor” was selected for the “Survival is Insufficient” series by the Jersey City Writers as part of the event sponsored by the National Endowment of Arts.

She recently won the 1st prize in NAMI NJ Dara Axelrod Mental Health Poetry contest. She blogs at https://meghasworldsite.wordpress.com

Hourglass

 

The Antelucan Hourglass

I keep time with an hourglass

because I prefer the shape.

 

It reminds me of the bottles

with the dark sweet fluidity

of caffeine and the feminine

bodies keeping my attention.

 

This addiction holds me tight,

so that when I lack,

the world is dull

as a vintage centerfold,

soft focused, air brushed

and distant.

 

But once the bubbles

touch my tongue,

I feel like a man

returning home

to a luxurious body

lounging in my bed.

 

Where is the next raven

beauty to touch my lips?

When is my next fix?

 

My world is shaped

by the hourglass.

 

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a
collection of poets and poetry readers in the Triangle region of North
Carolina. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes
and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017.
Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut
for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes
money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
www.bartbarkerpoet.com