3 posts
  • themoonandthesun 8w

    By Mary Elizabeth Frye

    Do not stand at my grave and weep
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning's hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circled flight.
    I am the soft stars that shine at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.


    A lame try. I did butcher a gem. Pardon my arrogance.
    #somethingdifferent @writersnetwork

    For more stupid recreation visit #TheAlternatePoemofAmruta

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    (What do I do?) If Not Stand at Your Grave and Weep

    (What do I do?)
    If not stand at your grave and weep
    I know your there; deep in sleep.
    Each brush of winds remind me of you,
    Each snow freckle shines as if it's you,
    Each ray of sun hints at the Eden called you,
    Each drop of autumn rain cries along for you.
    When I'm asleep in the night's scream
    Each scream resonates my call for you.
    Of broken heart that awaits death.
    You are the cold moon that freeze at night
    (What do I do?)
    If not stand at your grave and gloom,
    I know you are there; long dead to revive.


  • themoonandthesun 9w

    WILD NIGHTS - WILD NIGHTS! By Emily Dickinson

    Wild nights - Wild nights!
    Were I with thee
    Wild nights should be
    Our luxury!

    Futile - the winds -
    To a Heart in port -
    Done with the Compass -
    Done with the Chart!

    Rowing in Eden -
    Ah - the Sea!
    Might I but moor - tonight -
    In thee!


    I don't know why but why not? I think it's allowed to be stupid in love. I'm high on poetry. Pardon my ignorant arrogance. #random @writersnetwork

    For more silly rewrite poems visit #TheAlternatePoemofAmruta

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    Calm Dawn

    Calm dawn - Calm dawn!
    Alone, without thee
    Tender mornings are
    Nothing but pain!

    Worthy -the internet-
    To a letter in mail -
    Done without a paper -
    Done without a pen!

    Swimming through the web
    Ah - the notification!
    Might I be offline - not today-
    (I'm busy)
    In thee!

  • themoonandthesun 9w


    The woman is perfected.
    Her dead
    Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
    The illusion of a Greek necessity
    Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
    Her bare
    Feet seem to be saying:
    We have come so far, it is over.

    Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
    One at each little
    Pitcher of milk, now empty.
    She has folded
    Them back into her body as petals
    Of a rose close when the garden
    Stiffens and odors bleed
    From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

    The moon has nothing to be sad about,
    Staring from her hood of bone.
    She is used to this sort of thing.
    Her blacks crackle and drag.


    I was just reading this poem and random thoughts bombarded my mind. Do let me know what you think.

    #once #random @writersnetwork
    @ivy___ @murryben @fromwitchpen @love_whispererr

    For more rewrites by Amruta vist #TheAlternatePoemofAmruta

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    A Soulless Moon Sings the Lullaby called TEARS

    Once you said,
    //The moon has nothing to be sad about,
    Staring from her hood of bone
    She is used to this sort of things
    Her back crackle and drag//

    But darling,
    The moon dried up all her tears
    Cried along with the deaths
    Crossing her infinite path.
    Accusation of objectivity—
    Is a nullified argument.
    Hood of fractured bones,
    Seize the unwelcoming view.
    A veil of protection,
    Charmed by her own soul.
    Deaths are never easy,
    To look at or to face.
    Moon is dead inside
    Rotting along with mother
    Who killed her child,
    With a demise that poisoned
    The rose, stinking up
    The fragrance that bleeds.
    On a front row seat,
    To view what's life
    To enjoy a parting soul,

    A soulless Moon sings the lullaby called "Tears"