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 1     

I wrote a poem about my mule
Emma is her name
The fact that this is not the one
My iPhone is to blame

One night while tired and somewhat bored
I looked in settings all functions stored
Many hidden most quite curious
I touched something quite injurious

When to Notes Emma’s poem to dwell on
There it was and then was gone!
Just for a moment all notes appeared
Then suddenly disappeared

iPhone what the hell did you do
Did I ever do anything to you
Why discard all my notes and thoughts 
Leaving me with such a loss

Emma’s poem was filled with love
Now all I want is to get rid of
This evil machine that’s caused me such grief
And taken my work like a blasted thief

So Emma’s poem is gone forever
And  I would so finally like to sever
My connection to this evil machine
That doesn’t really do anything 

Dante failed to create a place
Where Steve Jobs could face his fate
A virtual place where you and I 
Could digitally torment and make him cry
Then  maybe we could find some peace
From iPhone blues and Apple’s Fleece

Copyright © Howard Tunick | Year Posted 2015



Poetic License

Pure Frustration
If I could not
Kiss you with my sonnets
Explain you symbolically
Or say  “I love you”
In metaphorical ambiguities

Like Braille, I’ve felt tipped over you
With my flair
For words

My paper is kodachrome canvas
And in a split second thought
I’ve blown up a verbose
Enlargement of your essence

Blessed am I
Above all lonely women in love
I can illuminate with alliteration 
And say
Marvelous, money hungry, miserly, macho man
You’re missing

I can, at anytime
Anyplace
Make out in meters
And when it comes to it
Write down, whatever
Fast, faster, fastest, forever
And sleep.

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2016


Searing eyes piercing into your soul,
His howl ignites the air. 
Wind whistles through the trees,
His green eyes watching my every step.

His lifetime mate by his side,
Pups playfully deciding who reigns.
He stalks his prey in the night,
bathed by the moonlight of a full moon. 

His fur ruffles in the wind his, 
breath billowing smoke in the cold air.
He howls and his pack echoes 
in response.  

I wonder am I their next meal.

But I see up ahead a shadow of 
a dear I wait to see what happens. 

With grace and ease the pack descends
I'm thankful I wasn't the dear. 
Their cunning teeth tear at the meal the females and pups wait for what is left. 

They lick their lips satisfied. 
Their Hunger tamed.  

I sneak through the woods again feeling amazed at brother wolf. 
Who once again allowed me to walk to the safety of my own walls. 

Teaching me once again the depth of patience, strength, and their sense of family. 

Petals of a New Moon ©February 20,2016 
By Heather Stewart Brearley

illistration: By Heather Brearley

Copyright © Heather and Chantelle The Aritistic Poetry Sisters | Year Posted 2016

If gratefulness could be measured with smiles,
you would know without a doubt 

just how grateful I am to you. 

If beauty could be seen in acts of kindness, 
then everyone should have seen

just how beautiful you are.

If compassion could be poured like rain every day,
souls would be nourished, 

love would flourish;

and righteous anger would erode the hate 
that builds slowly, layer by layer, 

upon these piles of

insanity.


Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016

Habits
Ingrained die hard,
We need a helping hand
To disrobe,transmute our inner
Nature
with
Beauty
free from above,
Embedded in our heart
With loving kindness,ready to
Impart.

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007



     rhythmic summertide
          yielding affectionate chant
               in warm contentment

     Summer Lovin' Contest
     Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich 05/16/2016

Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2016

Give me your hand
Let’s dance away sorrow
Of the pain that never ends
Let’s hit the dance floor
With determination
To forget the past
Let’s dance like 
There is no tomorrow
And believe things will change
They will never repeat
In the same pattern
Lets’ get lost in the 
Sounds of cosmic staccato
For a moment of relief
Let’s get drunk with the passion
Hoping the time will heal 
The wounds of deeds
We never accomplished
Lets’ get carried away with the
Winds of change
Believing the next 
Morning will never come again

Copyright © ruta skendeliene | Year Posted 2016

I never told my mother the truth
about the autumn night my sister died
The sad secret that churns in my soul
struggling to escape    holding my breath hostage

Wakened by a sound puncturing the silence of our sleeping room
Our bedside clock with numbers that flipped every minute 
bore a dim glow illuminating the time    12:16
Gentle moonlight drifting through the window 
fell on my sister    sitting on the side of her matching bed 
Her auburn curls tangled and frizzy     sea blue eyes glazed with sleep  

She coughed into cupped hands
A hard cough    racking lungs    clenching her chest
I threw back covers    dropped bare feet onto a cool wooden floor
headed for our mother’s room
She waved a hand as coughing eased     shook her head
Said she was all right    didn’t need Mom
Slid back into bed on her side    facing me
Snuggled her head into the pillow with one arm curled under 
The other arm lying on top of the covers    hand curled under her chin
Closed her eyes

Clock numbers flipped to 6:00 am    time to get up for school    
She still lay in the same position    skin now drained of color     
Once rosy cheeks paled as if buried in a sudden snowfall
Her hand    cold where I grabbed it to shake her awake
Stiff joints locked in place

My screams locked in place 
banging against clenched teeth    drawn lips
At thirteen I couldn’t imagine what to do with guilt 
that descended on me like a sodden wool blanket 
It was too heavy to fold and lay aside

Knew I couldn’t survive if Mom knew my secret
That I slept peacefully while my sister    her first born child
slipped away beyond our reach
Images flooded my mind of Mom’s soft loving eyes
hardening with hate    her comforting touch withdrawn 
Some actions cannot beg forgiveness

Mom has gone now to be with my sister
But I am not worried     
My big sister always kept our secrets


Copyright © Monterey Sirak | Year Posted 2013

When the blackest nightmares were realized
and bitter truth pierced cracked, brittle armor;
When candles of last hope flickered and faded
and darkness closed on the edge of vision;
When despair careened towards insanity
and aching fists and fingers began to slip;
When the abyss called, a mighty hand reached
and lifted me silent to higher ground

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012

THERE IS NOTHING LIKE A DAME –
and there is no dame like a building society or a bank!

There may be nothing like me, but I assure you
the world would have gone to hell but for organised sex -
if boys and girls were left to nature’s provenance,
a person like me would be nowhere at all.

Oh, I know how to milk attraction
and stabilise what is essentially of short duration:
if boys and girls were left to innocence
there’d be no delighting old men.

If that sounds unfair, I didn’t make the rules -
all this spontaneity leaves everyone very poor,
the Church, the magistrates and the building societies
are all depending on the regulation of love.

It’s the people who won’t smile who bother me,
hard fitted, easy suited, do they think it’s all for free?

(C) Rosemarie Rowley


From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)

Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2014

                                                    The Roosevelt Elk
The Roosevelt Elk 

A beautiful,  majestic creature, that walks with head up high with pride  that stands as tall as a horse, with a rack of antlers with many points that looks like a crown on top of his head depending on how old he is, that he uses as a weapon against his foe , which are shed each year

Even though he has a heavy scent of musk he can pick up a scent carried hundreds of yards away if the wind is blowing his direction

His coat is thick and soft, with longer hair on the chest and shoulders of sable color, with a light brown body, and a cream-colored rump and no tail, their coat make it a habitat for fleas, because his coat is thick and soft it enables him to sneak through a thicket when he hears your nylon or denim clothes rake against a bush

Feeding on grasses, plants, leaves, bark, and including highbush cranberry, elderberry, devil's club blueberries, mushrooms, lichens, and salmonberries

   He engages in ritualized mating behaviors during the rutting season to have his own Harem, that involves in  posturing, urinating, tossing turf and fighting with his antlers, and bugling, a loud series of vocalizations which establishes dominance over other males and attracts females

A beautiful, majestic creature, that walks with head up high with pride  that lives in the wide-open land with tall grass, under the canopy of Douglas –fir, cedar, and old growth stands and beautiful wild flowering azaleas 

By Eve Roper 10/9/2014

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014


Love is in the air,
Spring can bring on the fever.
Love can be a bitch!

©2015

"Sam I Am"

Copyright © Samual Ronthorpe | Year Posted 2015

In the intermediate zone between heaven and hell
opinions and complaints, after much moaning, may
come to be held in common.

The way a flock of chickadees
moves through the woods, cheerfully, 
each bird taking a turn on point.

All meaning must be found, here, in the middle zone, 
notwithstanding fears that rend and own us, 
of dying unknown.

A Spring day
the flycatcher broke its neck against our bay window
nothing changed.

I buried it, somewhat reverently, in a shallow grave.
No differently, really, than I would a man
who'd died suddenly.

Who'd left footprints in the snow
which became wild lily-of-the-valley, running pine
then snow again in time.

After long enmity
Sally hugs me, asks if I've been happy.
A moment in a year.

February, the light is long, more direct.
It's meaningless, repetitious
but held dear.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Washing spinning suds
Watching. Thinking on spring things
Carnations in strict 
Formation and blue roses
Poses on balconies.

With BLINDING beauty 
All are blooming and smell of
Fruity confessions
With their beauty fragrant
Fruity concessions they are

Doing their duty making
Life a lovelier WORLD

Copyright © VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Year Posted 2015

I heard about God
In a church full of strangers
Who dutifully regurgitated words
Before enthusiastically adjourning to the bar.

I whispered to God
"Can you hear? Are you real?"
I opened my ears, expecting His reply
But my ears failed, like my memorized prayers.

I reached up to God
Desperate for the touch of His hand.
But it came back empty . . .
As empty, I thought, as my destiny, my future, my purpose.

I shouted at God
"Where is the Father I long for?
The One who doesn't hurt His children;
Who knows what it's like to be in pain, persecuted, alone?"

I surrendered to God.
I was silent, still, open.
He spoke to my heart, saying:
"At last, my child. Distraction is the enemy of relationship. Now we begin."

I walked with God.
Baby steps, falls, bruises.
Some ahead on the road laughed.
"Judgment is the enemy of growth," my Father said.

I shied from God.
"I don't belong here!
"I am not good enough to walk with you."
"And now, you are mine," and He took my place. "Arrogance is the enemy of love."

I trusted in God.
I walked on, striving to improve my gait.
Sometimes I fell behind, caught up . . .
Not seeking to advance beyond the 
reach of those who were lost or fallen.

I thanked my God.
For a drop of forgiveness
In a life parched with guilt and shame.
I drank in His goodness, and hoped to overflow to a dehydrated world.

10/25/2015

Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2015

I feel like I live in a dark and dreary cave because drugs are my master and I am it's slave. I use all my day trying to calm that crave, or it wont let me behave because drugs are my master and I am it's slave. It make me work my fingers to the bone, my master is very hard on me and wont leave me alone, I have no will of my own. I need my master day and night because my master want to keep me high as a kite, when I don't get my master I get uptight, then I don't feel right.

So I have to get my master as quick as I can, I am the slave and my master is the man. I spend all my money cause nothing I can have or nothing I can save because drugs are my master and I am It's slave. When I first started It was a big thrill, now I know my master is out to kill, still, you do what your master tell you to do or your master will put a real hurt on you and your master will make you very ill, so obey your master even if you have to rob and steal.

My master will make me put myself on the line then my master will leave me in a real bind. My master will take me very high and bring me very low, have me really confused, wondering which way to go because there's no good in my master and this it has let me know. It said, I am your master I am not your friend, you are a fish on my line and I am about to reel you in, then , put your life to an end.

If you mess with me you will not come well, I am the master that's straight from Hell. I didn't come to joke, I didn't come to play, I'm the Devil's brew and I come to slay, to put you in the grave and say, there he lay. And for the ones who think you are so smart, you get the same thing, although you say I don't use I sell I love the money it bring. But with that thought there's one big flaw, what you don't know is, I'm also sticking hooks in your jaw.

You see when you deal with me I become just like your wife, if you try to leave me I'll take that lavish life. That keeps you tied to me and I am doing everything I can not to set you free. You're also my prisoner and my slave, plus I have something much better for you than just the grave. Because you know I am poison, yet you continue to sell, so there's a special place for you in Hell. It's such a terrible thing when you forfeit your soul because in Hell here's no parole. 

I love the one's who think they got it going on, I am here to tell you that you are totally wrong. I have more ways to get you than you can comprehend because I was here before the world begin and have a million ways to make you sin. If it were up to me I would exterminate you all, but It's GOD'S call. He's in complete control and has a special plan to redeem man. When He weed the garden only the righteous will stand and the rest of you will be in my hand.

Now listen my sisters and brothers, there are two masters in this world and you will serve one or the other. Now you can serve the Master of Light who will make you Excel, or you can serve the Dark One, who is the Master from Hell. There's a Beautiful life, that you do deserve. So which Master will you serve.

Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2015

I heard the word no woman wants to hear,
at the time a shock, a moment filled with fear,
fear of the unknown, the first thought of mortality,
after many years a change in my normality,
news to be absorbed with unnatural equanimity,
a treatment that would challenge my own femininity,
by now the reader should have grasped the situation,
me and the Oncologist at trhe point of preparation.

In but a few weeks since my life turned upsidr down,
one minute all smiles, and then more hours all frown,
the results of the test I had taken before
were this time reversed, the Oncologist was sure,
the word not one person ever wishes to hear,
a word of six letters to fill you with fear,
a crisis, an ignorance of what it foretells,
brought about by the presence of abnormal cells,
th Doctor speaks quietly, explains there's an answer
to the problem before us, for I have breast cancer.

Now all these years later I'm again the old me,
and for more than a decade, I'm counting you see,
I do my own housework and with new energy
go shopping for others when I have the time free.
It seems like a miracle when I think where I've been
at the time it was Hell and back if you know what I mean,
the physical changes wreaked havoc in the mind,
but the Doctors and Nurses were nothing but kind,
and I am still here with a good tale to tell
now an Octogenerian and I'm doing quite well.
The dark days are long past and I do more than cope,
for from that time of prognosis I've nevr lost hope.

Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2015

The boat rocked gently in the breeze
the willow trees overhead are swaying,
making them purr like a babies lullaby.
Putting smiles on the faces on board

Slurp, slap, the noise made by the boat
as it glides through the calm water.
Making the people feel so relaxed,
eyes closing slowly to the rivers sound.

Drifting quietly to shore the boat halts
just a tiny shudder awakens a few,
to look  at the splendour of the scenery
paddling their feet in the cooling water.

A picture ready to be painted
where is the artist at such a time
she is dozing with her head on a cushion
counting the sheep as they jump by.

Penned 28 January 2014

Copyright © SEREN ROBERTS | Year Posted 2014

Love songs and empty words curled
Around ideas of what love
Should be, like horns that ram the unsuspecting,
Shaking and shattering bones
And all expectation of the
Normalcy in past, weak coals that don’t smolder.
Life as it should be intrigued
My mind, kindled my spirit, and
Sizzled my heart as he seeped into my pores.
Head-strong and stubborn, he carved
The strict laws into his essence.
He obeyed these principles as religion,
And like a lamb he followed 
The world’s ideology of
Perfection deeper into the demise he
Designed himself every time
He bleated for a white ewe,
Not out of his love of crisp snow, but the world’s.

Copyright © Savanna Roberts | Year Posted 2016

  Dancing 'neath the moon

  Under the starry night sky

  Morning comes too soon

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2010



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