On a mountain range

Being rich isn’t about money. Being rich is a state of mind.

Harvey Mackay
Image by Pettycon from Pixabay

high up on the top of a mountain range.
something happened that was very strange.
had you seen it, you might not want to speak.
of what transpired on the top of that peak.

on a day when the peaks were clad in snow.
and stars in the night sky had b'gun to glow.
two adventure seek'rs got trapped at the top.
for so long they began to lose all hope.

as the days went by, and no one came by.
the first seek'r, felt himself begin to die.
from the hunger, but mainly from the cold.
that seeped into bones, already old.

"when i die, don't think twice. Just eat my flesh"
coz i know, you'll need to maintain your strength."
said the old seek'r to the seek'r in his youth.
"i shall indeed eat your flesh, while its still fresh."

this, is what was said by the second seek'r.
that already felt himself grow weaker.
and so it goes, when the old man did die.
the young one lived, off the flesh of the old one.

© 2020 The Poets Peace

To my Father

If you have the guts to keep making mistakes, your wisdom and intelligence leap forward with huge momentum.

Holly Near
Image by BedexpStock from Pixabay

father forgive me, for i have sinned.
in thy eyes, as well as those of men.
that see wrong, even though they be blind.
to the deeds that take place in thy den.

i know for fact, i would'v seen the light.
had i not been blind to what was right.
and with my eyes, saw only the wrong.
that my mind, perceived would make me strong.

i will admit, my spirit is weak.
when before thee, i do come to speak.
and to beg, for thy forgiveness.
so i may return to thy fortress.

and again b'free from the temptation.
that hath brought about my suspension.

© 2020 The Poets Peace

The stuff on my table top

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.

Ralph Waldo Emerson
There it stands, my bottle of water.

To drink, whenever i feel thirsty.
To wash my hands when they feel dirty.

There it sits, my laptop's mouse.
To use whenever i want to browse-
And click on that picture of a house.

There they lay, my rude red earphones.
That only work well when i hold them a certain way.
That don't play at all when being used by others' phones.
Don't use them when you have something of import to say.

There they rest, these books that i own.
And are unable to put down.
Unless on my face i want a frown.
These books that help me raise my crown.
So that one day, my wit is known throughout the town.

And finally, there she is.
The laptop that brings me bliss.
As well as many a crisis
When her freezing persists.
I love her, b'cause when all seems amiss
All she really needs is a good kiss.

© 2020 The Poets Peace

My fall from Eden

Just when the caterpillar thought the world was ending, he turned into a butterfly.


It has been long since my fall  from Eden.
That beautiful place that gave me much to eat.
Because apple trees prospered in the summer heat.
And red grapes tasted like a meal made in heaven.
By the Gods themselves to please my stomach.
So that my feet have the strength to tread the path.

Walked upon by those that came before me.

It has been long since my fall from Eden.
Now i am here, in the Jungle of Urban.
This atrocious place; that has not much to eat.
Nor a place in nature for a man to sit.
And ponder in silence like a scientist.

How best to spread love with an iron fist.

In Urban; my feet have walked on the path.
Not tread upon by the fore-brethren.
Whom my feet have lost all hope and faith.
Since its been long since my fall from Eden.

I have taken the path that leads deeper into Urban.

Since its been so long since my fall from Eden.
One day, when i was alone and lonely.
I decided to walk to the ceremony.

Where gathered were my modern day brethren.

To tell them that true bliss is indeed a wish.
Unless one decides to demolish.

The last lush green Garden in Eden.

© 2020 The Poets Peace

Inspired by a list of 8 words:

Eden, scientist, heat, feet, ceremony, demolish, alone, urban

A Night Under The Stars

Where hope grows, miracles blossom.

Elna Rae
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
Last night i slept 
Beneath the stars.
Above the city i call home.

On a rock ledge
That gave me scars.
When i let my dreams start to roam.

It was cold out
But i didn't shout.

For i knew well
The world would tell
If something bad came about.

So i did slip
Into deep sleep.
Til the morn when i did awake.

Before the sun
Set rays on skin.

© 2020 The Poets Peace

The King of Fishermen

The heaviest thing you can carry is a grudge.

Image by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay

My eyes, have spied the King of fishermen.
On his throne, in his simple brown fishing boat.
Cast his net out in order to catch trout.
In as great a number as he well can.

"He is the best fishermen here" they say.
When he comes into the busy bay.
Carrying many buckets filled with fresh fish.
He brings home so his wife can make a dish.

I have seen him set out during high tide.
To return at low tide smelling of Pike.
That he caught using the long mighty spear.
He sometimes used to keep sharks clear.

There were times he caught Cod in the cold.
And gathered Salmon by the light of moon.
Just to make sure his household had food.
Enough to last till the end of monsoon.

The King of fishermen taught them all how to fish.
Even though learning to fish, was his only wish.

© 2020 The Poets Peace