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Waking up to the depth beyond such things every day
One day I choose to walk and become Queen of Mandalay
In the depth of my ocean mind
I Find my soul diving and trying to unwind
Peer pressure can not handle all the empty space
Avoiding the world's relativistic mass by the human race
Overusing the power giving to me
Sleeping at times disappointed by humanity
I walk in darkness to help you reach the light
I twist the darkness to give you a better sight
Walking at the edge of all things with the ability to precept
Using logic to compare and intercept the emotions we can not accept
With the emotional picture of a fast heart beat
Wiping out the brain waves with a mood in heat
Giving enough flow to the power of intuition
Exceeding the knowledge without the book of Revelation
Receiving the pointless pain in persons chest
A wreck who ignores the emotions to digest
A mood string of self-manipulation eating away at the mass of reality
Some viewers are so unperceptive, a low self-esteem of stupidity
A curse a gift with ability to know everything, illusions of feeling it
with an emphasis so useless you can not admit
Trusting one day came with a price, alerting my ego on strong
Using my energy to direct the purpose of the wrong
Walking like a tool throughout the world's philosophy
A weapon of thought not meant for the mindless or monstrosity
The hidden riddles of life are the ones before your eyes
Grasping the concept with the attention of ending lies in our lives
Proceeding the ethics of the center of one's endless layer
accepting the birth of all responsibility, over the edge of a mind player
I gave the thought with a natural twist of a moving spear
Expanding the horizon of the hemisphere
Edge walkers down and broken standing without
Walking straight forward with the same God and Devil in doubt
Simply looking through "rose colored glasses."
Chaos from the ugliness of avoiding the large body masses
Balancing out the change to allow the flow
follow logical emotions, that destroys a mind blow.
causing the opposite to any action
effect the law of any equal reaction
expect to accept the unexpected, a dull way of life
connect the keeper of the masters weapon knife
with religion comes the weakness of not standing tall
with the strong perception of life even one can fall
Standing without the generations of a crawler
living as a shadow he or she who believes the edge walker
by: P.D. June/6/10
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
Caves are dark, dank, sinister havens for rising damp
Mere cavities in the ground, veiled from light of day
Yet caves are heralded, admired and cherished
For a swarm of reasons, just mind the bats
Caves are drop inns
Hikers and natives welcome finding a cave
They provide shelter from wind and rain
A great place to stay the night, light a fire
To enjoy the cosy charm of safe seclusion
Caves are art galleries
The walls are dotted with new and ancient graffiti
Hand-prints, paintings, scribbles and scenes
Made by artists with no where else to hang their stuff
Revealed by flickering flames and dim filtered beams of light
Caves are museums and dumps
Visitors leave their junk in caves
Animals topple in and get trapped
Caves are a great place for animals to die
These dumps are bliss to archaeologists
Who drool over skeletons, artefacts and such old-time junk
Caves are cathedrals and awe-catches
Endless aeons of dirty drips yield fabulous
On floor and ceiling displays of
Glistening stalactites and stalagmites
The cavernous space, silence and eerie dankness
Makes visitors gasp with adoration and awe
Highlighted by the uniqueness, isolation and remoteness of caves
So duck-in to a cave when you pass one by
and you'll discover the ins and outs of caves
Caves are awesome and strangely welcoming
Despite their darkness, dampness and malevolence
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2016
bursting with unleashed pleasure
cold banana split
Copyright © Betty Bateson | Year Posted 2015
Night and stillness gird our realm.
Cool, suspended nature rests as
stars pierce a blue-black sky.
Silence is draped like a pall over street,
lawn, and shadowed walkway.
Each twilight breath hangs muted.
A luminous slice of first quarter moon
purposefully arcs toward its own
slumber past the western horizon.
Dawn gathers potential during the
tranquility, preparing to shine forth with
scintillating light, refreshing our eyes.
May, late at night
Copyright © Brian Baumgarn | Year Posted 2016
For all of the new writers who enjoy sharing their words,
Those special memories, wishes and fantasies only they have heard,
My honest advice to you is write about what you love,
Write with your heart, your soul and go beyond and above.
If it's sadness you need to share to rid yourself of that pain,
Or to confess a private moment to rid that embarrassing shame,
Poetry is exactly the place to set all of this free,
Believe me, I know, take it from me.
I never thought how amazing it will feel to write it all down,
Share it with the world and having my feeling spiral all around.
Just be true to yourself and write with your heart,
Everytime you write poetry, use that method from the start.
Enjoy what you write and share when you are done,
And most of all, make sure you are having fun.
Copyright © Debra Baviello | Year Posted 2015
He takes me on dates only he can afford
says I am his best girl forevermore
holding my hand and with the other a french fry war
he reminds me of myself sitting in front of me in that store
I have never had a better date than ever before
the law says he is a grown man but to me still a little boy
I hold his hand tightly knowing what evil is in this world
he is too kind, too gentle, too innocent for it for sure
he will always be momma's baby boy
no matter what, he defines my life's story
Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012
DEATH OF A GYPSY QUEEN
They gathered round the dying place
to bid their queen farewell
the glow of every gypsy fire
left little more to tell
for round about each glowing flame
a bondage few could know
and when the queen departed them,
each gypsy felt her go.
True story, in Baltimore Johns Hopkins Hospital Camput
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2011
There sits Mama old and gray,
Rocking, rocking night and day,
Her life was always full and gay,
Till that day, Pa went away.
Time was when she was so young,
Raven haired and full of fun,
Many a beau would come to call,
But her heart she gave to Pa.
She would flirt and tease them all,
Wear her shoes out at a ball,
Pa just stood there with a grin,
Some how he knew, she'd marry him.
Their life began on a bright sunny day,
In a little church in I-o-way,
They packed their things, joined a wagon train,
And headed west to the open plain.
They didn't have much, like most folks then,
A change of clothes and a couple ol' hens,
Some pots and pans and a hog or two,
And Pa's big stallion called Ol' Blue.
Ma road the wagon and helped Mrs. Green,
Pa helped Fred with the cattle and things,
When evening came and chores were through,
Ma'd help Pa brush down Ol' Blue.
They couldn't travel very fast,
But Pa and Ma made each day last,
Every minute of every day,
Seemed a treasure to store away.
They went through snow, rain and sand,
Until they reached, Dakota Land,
Some how in their hearts they knew,
Here at last, their journey was through.
They took the land the law allowed,
Built a sod house and small corral,
And as their family grew and grew,
More land, was added too.
It was a struggle, you can bet,
To raise a family on just plain sweat,
When evening came and supper et,
From the Bible Papa read.
Through Indian raids and summer drought,
When Prairie fires burned them out,
Buffalo stampedes and winter's freeze,
Pa and Ma'd be on their knees.
They taught us the laws of God and man,
No finer couple, in the land,
They were always there at beckon call,
To take our hand lest we should fall.
No matter what hardships or trails they knew,
Together, they did see them through,
And for 68 years this proved true,
As their home on the prairie, grew and grew.
It breaks my heart to see Mama there,
Sitting in her rocking chair,
She's just waiting till the angels call,
To take her home to be with Pa.
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2005
Life is a challenge, seems it's always a fight
Kept on our toes, fists balled up tight
But every so often there's an ease of its grip
it'll loosen just slightly to present a small dip
Uphill we must climb to notice, it's small but it's bright
To see it so clearly...This break! What a sight!
To just dive for the opening and coast for a mile
could really help out, even just for a while
But because we're all different, diverse, and unique
moments of clarity, each come when we seek
It's our own burden, to escape to good thoughts
Deciding that sometimes, we 'can' call the shots
Sometimes it's a treasure lost long ago
or maybe some good news, that lifts us up so
Sometimes it is music, that fills us with hope
It can make our heart dance and seemingly float
Sometimes it's a child or a puppy's big eyes
That, just for a moment...make good thoughts arise
Or maybe it's not...what we touch, hear, or see
It could be a feeling that yearns to be free
Just happy to be alive can stop gloom in our head
To realize all the beauty, around us instead
A life must be lived because time 'will' go by
Regardless of worries or stress that we cry
For 'You' are the star, this movie you're in
It's all up to you, embrace where you've been
Sometimes it's best, all the pain to endure
so the good that is 'in' you, can surface so pure
You've been there and made it, don't dwell on the bad
Go for that break, be the light you once had
Sometimes that opening is a sign of some peace
and it's yours to take hold of, for a mile at least
Sometimes, if you feel just a little bit stronger
You'll hold tight to that goodness, just a little bit longer
Copyright © Diane bell | Year Posted 2016
Eight (NEW) ways of looking at a blackbird
Inspired by the poem, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, by Wallace Stevens
The blackbird tilted its head
and lakes froze in anticipation
The blackbird is self aware
I know this
The blackbird knows I know
The blackbird shifted its wing
and the sky shivered
The blackbird can only dream if it fly’s
the blackbird can only fly if it dreams
The blackbird broke the silence
all things are now possible
The morning glories bloom
In late autumn
In my throat is the song of
Frost cracks pine cones,
falling in slow cold motion
into endless white
the blackbird watches, amused
A thin horizon halves the earth
one of woman, one of man
both dwell under a watchful eye
of the blackbird
Copyright © Patrick Boyle | Year Posted 2014
I'm thinking about you like grass think about being green,
and trees think about growing branches. I'm thinking about you like flowers think about blossoming and leaves think about falling...in Autumn. I'm thinking about you like rappers think about being heard and actors think about being seen.
I think about the sweetness your lips must hold,
I think about the story your eyes once told,
I'm thinking about you...
I'm thinking about you like birds think about singing and eagles think about soaring.
I'm thinking about you like the sun thinks about being bright and the moon think about coming out at night. I'm thinking about you like the stars think about shining and the universe think about being infinate...forever...I think about you...
I think about the beauty your face holds,
I think about us growing old,
I'm thinking about you like diseases think about cures and gays think about marriage.
I'm thinking about you like the poor think about being rich and the rich think about never being poor.
I'm thinking about you like poets think about writing and chefs think about cooking and scientists think about inventing and doctors think about treating and librarians think about books and teachers think about education and students think about graduating and pilots think about flying and mechanics think about fixing and policeman think about protecting and detectives think about solving and the world thinks about revolving...and damn, I think too much!
Copyright © Natalie Braddy | Year Posted 2012
Do I deserve thee.
For whom is meant.
Is but my own plea,
Is heaven sent.
For I have stolen,
And I have coveted,
Done things worse.
And I have lied
And hidden truths.
And done bad things
Since my own youth.
Yet you stand by.
Your support unwav'ring.
Prop me up.
Your love so savoring.
I stand amazed.
As most can see
Ne'er stand alone,
You stand with me.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
mellow yellow sky
glistens upon morning dew
Entry: Sunrise Haiku Contest
12th Place Winner
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2011
I can win your heart if my words ring true.
I can be your rock now and forever,
when you need to talk.
I can be a good counselor who listens well,
and only imparts wisdom for consideration.
I receive love from the Father,
and don't need it from another.
Copyright © Randolph Byrd | Year Posted 2016
Born out of wedlock
she gave up her baby girl
for quick adoption.
Twice married since, old and frail,
she laments her childless life.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
Chosen POTD-1st Oct 2016
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2016
It came to be that unknown visitors tarried at
my doorstep during my contagious sleep;
One in particular walked inside without just
permission. Indeed, the boldest lump I ever owned.
There was a slight whisper in its omnipresence,
And I sensed the culture of fatality spreading though
my innocent veins. The acceptance of a layered mistress
on my favored throat wrinkled my composure.
I could not fathom prosperity without the weakness of
exclamation accompanying the hour glass.
Still, passions had yet to divorce the sprit.
I pressed forward baring the imprint of ailments
Of these things altered from the temple was my
cranial topping. I paused and witnessed these
strands of coverings rain freely on my dark shoulders.
With one hand, I swept through the deserted peak,
and discarded the remaining follicles.
As the weeks made weaker of my shell, the weight
of excess flesh began to decrease, and I summoned
What became of these failed attempts to focus beyond
the crippled stance? A constant tremble that would not
lie still, and frail poetic fingers that could not resist speaking.
As I mold these unfortunate cards into platinum, I now teach
my offspring the majesty of life.
I stress that the fruit must be honored and made intimate.
Never deny its substance. Denial is what became my thoughtless
trigger of yesterday. But as I sat among the children dispersing jewels,
I noticed the skin of a now depleted apple, fall at my feet.
I smiled deeply in rapture, knowing that our anatomies would
meet in the imitation of devourment.
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2015