Eriata Oribhabor writes

Beaches and Breaches

On the jaws of beaches known,
waves wave and voices pour
from around the world, 
breezing fires of diversity
strengths of inclusiveness.

On this sandy plain of death,
horizons breathe colors
and showers of peace,
mending the abandon
of nature's hands.

On this rain of abundance,
wishes wash runs of weaknesses;
yesterday's painted sureness
and blight brightness of today
banging bragging tomorrow.

On this ground of plaited titles,
weather beaten creeks
and rivers collapse as ambiance
for meditative walks of peace, 

beaches and breaches.

Deserted Boat on a Beach -- Janus Andreas Bartholin La Cour

Eriata Oribhabor writes

The Fire Within

They found themselves in a poetic cave where words alone would save them from words threatening the health of the cave. All five held their words to their chests awaiting a savior.

Raging words needed to fire as a body to stay alive. One of them covered his words with a steel hat swelling like bloated bread headed for the bin.

Eyes of a second was sun colored. They pierced the overwhelming heat of the cave scoring for anyone belonging to his circle of friends. In vain, he huddled up to himself.

A third was known far and wide trading creative endeavors for societal good. He shook the cave's foundation saying; "do what I say, not what I do.''

The fourth grinned ear to ear boasting source of 21st century poetry. He brandished a certificate of award sent him by a foreign body for writing them a "good poem.''

The fifth didn't prove different...an icing on the cake of an ego bunch sailing rivers of blind selfishness. He said, "With words, I built this cave. I have no words to contribute.''

The fire raged uncontrollably. Steel heads of words burnt to ashes leaving creativity on the cave's floor. Everyone died. Not from the fire of words but from lack of sharing and spreading words loaded with fire of inspiration.

Inspired by " The Cold Within'' (Written by Nathan Perry, a black inmate serving time in Arkansas state prison)

  

Gandhi's Three Monkeys [detail] -- Subodh Gupta

Eriata Oribhabor writes

You Ring

What's silence golden?
Golden isn't here silent.

What's silence golden?
Not you chimes of gold.

What golden is silence?
Not you in my head standing.

What silence?
Not you daily ringing.

The Silence Held All the Despair-- Terri Higgins