On false pretences they flock to seek pastures new
Oblivious to the misery and nightmares that lie ahead
The path they travel upon, leads them to a life of perdition
Some walk for months with torn shoes and blistered feet
Some pay fortunes to illegal traffickers to escort them
Families are left behind to avoid the hardship of migration
Others who have seen their families die, travel alone
Once they reach the dreaded jungle, reality sets in
Welcome to the jungle, the camp of broken dreams
Say goodbye to your life, here there is not hope
Forget about those you left behind, you won't see them again
A diversity of cultures, faiths and nations live as one
All have one goal, to find a place to call home
Application after application is refused as they lose hope
Migrant, refugee or asylum seeker, it really doesn't matter
They are all viewed as rats, regardless of their past lives
Odours of rancid air plagues the atmosphere,
but nothing sickens them more than the reminder of broken dreams
The Silent One
27 September 2015
Copyright © Silent One
Toilet Bowl Committee (aka: Uptown Hood)
A lavatory confinement
If you want to moderate this place, pick up the pace
From the mouth down to the @$$
Your so called kind has no class,
Fed by these political rejects, never elected for what was!
They wipe their assets clean with our dreams
Forgetting to wipe their own toilet seats clean
Trying to make us feel dirtier than scat
Feeding off our paper when their toilet bowl water level is low
Toilet bowl PO-poes, wiping without dental floss
Missing everything in between reality
Trying to be kind, saying "One Day We'll Be Good Enough!"
Offering their Golden Plunger,
straight from the Home Depot shelves
No Thank You! My plunger a true gift from Mr. Wal-Mart himself
Next time you feel the need to offer a reference point
Please caption your name when you drop by,
Rinse thoroughly when speaking my name,
Then I will listen when you talk civilized
Correct my punctuations and spelling errors
The weakest trait you wear
You are no Prophet, just white tissue turning brown
Your Justification comes from old dry grapes falling from the vines
Ridicule will never give you the respect, for what you are!
We, the few poets from the hood,
overpower any change you offer Goodwill
Crumbling and flushing what does not meet your standards
Trying hard to force feed us soup, without giving us bibs
Toilet Bowl Committee
For clogging up my drain with your bull$h!T
By: Keeping it Real (The Downtown Hood)
Copyright © SKAT A
You ripped me
One word at a time
Shredded my smile
Pulled at my sensitivity
I was never strong enough
To pull back my paper heart
You took the pieces of me
Arranged them in your perfect order
I prayed for the wind to come
Hoping I would be carried away
Flutter to a new more loving home
Instead, I endured your paper cuts
I became your paper mâché
Shaped into the image of you
Glued with your inconsistancies
Coated in your endless smoke
Sarcasm and beer
I marinated in your endless tears
You painted me with a retarded label
Your stupid failure of a son
Forced to endure that brush
It was with your eyes I learned to see
Everyone else was better than me
I was a failure times three
My inside empty
I became light as air
As time went on I ceased to care
It happend slowly you weren't aware
Until one day I floated past your stare
No longer raw and bare
I clawed and ripped
Rewrote my page
coming of age
Not your puppet on a stage
Contorted by your rage
I have lost you to your death
The air much clearer, still I feel your breath
Within my doubts your lies still hide
Yet within me a new strength resides
Your image of me no longer applies
Doubt and fear reduced in size
No longer your "DUMMY"
On faith I rise
For Charlotte's contest, heart and soul confessional.
Written, September 1st 2014.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
My heart aches for
Your hearts that break.
I shed tears mingling with
Yours for the forgotten years;
The tortured monks and nuns…
For your people who suffer still
With no voice to teach
Your hopeless, hungry, young.
Only your elder's tears
Know of the deep sorrow
Of your lost lives, lost culture,
Your sacred Buddhist beliefs,
Your divine history that
Continues to be destroyed.
Even as your dead fall
You do not hate…
You only wish to liberate
Those loving souls who
Remain as strangers in their
Own beloved land.
Let me be your voice
To join with other voices that
Will help you attain freedom.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong
Please don't tell me how to feel
Allow me my sorrow
Let me cry for just a while
My heart needs to feel it's broken
I do not desire to be the strong one
Answers may never come
Still there is comfort in my silence
I reach into a place you cannot see
You are blinded by your knowing
Your strength can be a weakness
Blocking anothers compassion
I am not seeking answers to questions
Please allow me to be
Let me cry for a bit longer
Within my broken
I allow God to fill the spaces
I trust Him with the answers
He whispers within my solitude
There is a strange comfort in not knowing
I cry for my friend
I feel his loss
The devastation of not knowing
The fear of the approaching battle
I wish to listen
Act if required
Cheer for him
Celebrate his spirit
Hold his hand
Live in his moment
I will not
I promise not
To tell him how to feel
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore
The sting of shattered trust
fills his veins with toxic spite,
contaminating his heart.
He finds solace in a bottle,
quenching his resentment,
slurring forth caustic fumes;
nauseating his liver.
Until he spits her treachery up
with a sickening heave,
in the shallow, murky gutter
of a jaded man's reprieve.
Copyright © Thvia Stein
Tell me that this fear is just paranoia in my mind,
we're not straining, we're not struggling,
we're not sinking, we're just fine.
I'm not perfect my dearest, but damn have I tried,
and I'll try harder but I know I'll have the same results every time.
Do you want me all the ways that I am?
With all the struggles and the tears and the clinging to your hand.
I fear your getting further and Im left on the shore to stand,
watching you in the distance with a bullet in my hand.
Tell me all this worry, its just clutter in my mind,
tell me not to worry that we're doing just fine.
Cause Im scared to run you off and I feel Im falling deep.
And Im so frightened of these thoughts that its getting hard to sleep.
All I know is that the heart wants what it desires,
because of you the match inside has turned into a fire.
And I feel the broken glass thats sticking from my skin,
Wondering if you'll remove the pain or push it back in.
My hearts frantic wondering if you feel the same,
pleading and begging for more than just a saying,
but to feel and to see that im not alone,
with being in this love thats overwhelming.
Once I told you that we didnt have a spark,
but you were lighting up and I was sitting in the dark.
And this fire, this blaze its wrapped in desire.
Im terrified to lose you, I think I might die or,
maybe disappear from all the pieces falling out,
im going crazy but when i open my mouth, nothing comes out,
and I cant explain to you why I just need to hold you close,
why every time you leave Im scared to let you go,
why these tears are building up behind my eyes,
all I know is that the heart wants what it desires
and it desires to be your wife.
So tell me in my panic, that your words are true,
tell my my dearest what I mean to you,
tell me that this paranoia is all within my mind
we're not struggling, we're not sinking tell me we're just fine
Copyright © Jay Loveless
Lying silently on my bed, eyes open wide.
Watching as darkness moves in like a heavy fog.
My breathing seems to echo against the cold walls
And my heart beats rapidly as I’m plagued with thought.
Prayer like questions, if I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take, will he take me?
Instantly thoughts go to grandma, surely she’s there,
Surely her open arms will be there to greet me.
Harbouring such thoughts bring to me a peaceful smile.
I start counting all the loved ones I will soon see.
I count them as others count sheep in darkest night
They have become like soft comfort blankets to me
They make my nights less scary, should it be my time.
Soon my weary body gives way to pure darkness
I slip into a place of total nothingness
Time stands still and now I am neither here nor there
I am nowhere, floating helplessly forever
Then far off I see a light shining so brightly
Now I feel once more as my aching body hurts
I moan and roll toward the window lit with sun
Realization sinks in, I’ve made it……one more night.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Anthony Slausen’s Contest:
Near Death Experience
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans
heart beat expectancy
to heightened degree
it would come
It MUST come
for the message
"There must be a mistake!
How could he just vanish
disappear into thin air
and not care
No, there must be
Perhaps he was sick
perhaps he was dying
and he didn't want her to know
wanted to spare her the pain
all sorts of crazy thoughts
keep her awake at night
as she waited
for that message
The months passed
the pain grew and didn't subside
it didn't grow dull
nor did it recede
it did bleed...
though her eyes it tore
down her cheeks it bore
it could not be
where was the message???
a second chance
revival of romance
for that message
waited because her faith in him
refused to be shattered
by the calendar mockery
day and month debauchery
Yet...each new morning brought hope
steeped in the belief
of his chivalry
for the one whom she knew
could not be the one untrue
cruel and heartless enough
to have to taken her for a fool
she grew heart old
and soul weary
dead on her feet dreary
as she waited for a message
that never came
Copyright © Eileen Manassian
No flame within!
do I hold for you
no delightful delicacy
shall I put to rhyme.
No picturesque words
in italics of your
woeful wildlife, no
the ancient mariner, he
that crossed the margin
of our “Atlas of the world.”
(Still in use, [I believe] in the
old stone museum.)
One can easily live in fear
of your many mordant moods,
to see you capture the
embracing horizon, where warring
clouds fondle the sunlight,
and the departing QE 2 is
reduced to microcosm.
How can one live in awe of
you, when at the end of each
day you snatch at the light of
giving license to the veil
of damnation, soon to be cast
out of the east, driving impending
fears to languish upon the
unholy waters of the Styx?
(An extraction of the mind,
an evaporation of the memory
the spray dried brain
tossed into oblivion.)
Yet each morning an
interval to one’s ongoing
nightmare, when with renewed
levitation, the new light reprieved!
Begins avidly it’s universal
journey across Manukau’s
“Pack ‘n’ Save” Car park.
Oh yes! It is so easy to hate you;
you that brought the rest of
the world here, you that constitutes
a world within a world, that,
where the cycle of life creates it’s
own constitution, each player
judged on cue, to become an act of
fodder, mobile supermarkets
in ferocious competition with
nothing at all to give.
“Unless death itself is a gift!”
Upon the surface your
treachery still lingers, there,
tenacious tentacles lurk
within the sedulous surf,
groping blindly at sedated
rocks, those pinnacles of sanctuary
that harbour the weary,
support the rod.
Only when gravitation truly
intervenes, does the perpetual
invasion subside, leaving one in
no doubt about your promiscuity!
© Harry J Horsman
Copyright © harry horsman
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone.
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs
like dandelion seeds blown from
My wistful lips when I was
waiting for them to bring back my wish.
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from
your father’s funeral.
It was the only time I watched you cry.
There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through
their watery colored reflections.
for the way your skin repels from my
Touch, quivers as though my finger-
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss.
You left her waitng..always.
I have been special to you,
she replies to your
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.
My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.
We will divide our booty
Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.
for the morning
now knocking on my window.
I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
the tangle of these vacant sheets.
Copyright © Jennifer Brooks
I may not always write about you,
About the way your energy,
Caresses my spine,
And sends jolts of electrity,
Racing through my body,
Exploding each cell like fireworks.
I may not write about,
The way my dreams at night,
Fill with you and I dancing,
Heat bashing our skin,
Filling us with an unquencable need,
Touch beconing a new meaning.
I may not write about,
The way your eyes stare into mine,
Past the years I have seen,
And into the soul that I am,
Spirit colliding with spirt,
Melting together like Iron to form a sword.
I may not write about,
A love that we experience,
Through star strewed skies,
And blood soaked ground,
That causes even the fearful sight,
Of bombs exploding to look beautiful.
I may not write about you and I,
How I fill up your soul and your mind,
With thoughts and words and images,
That melt and form new words,
Your lovely muse who so beguiles you,
With a double bladed sword.
But Darling, don't let your heart,
Get away from itself,
Don't let your heart take the fall.
The wound I cause shall soon heal,
And you will read words,
Of another man, dancing with me,
Of another man, touching my soul,
His finger tips brushing the sides,
Of my breasts, his lips trailing down my neck,
Whispering with the heat of hells fires,
All that could be between, his and mine.
You will read lines that speak,
Of a sensual romance,
Pools and puddles of lust between thighs,
And an ancient sweetness,
That rivals Greek Ambrosia.
It is no fault of your own,
You have fallen and I have shown you,
The sharp dagger of my love.
Copyright © Jay Loveless
You are the smell before rain
You are the blood in my veins
I need to get you out of my system,
bleed it out by the blade
You are an incurable disease
You are the cancer consuming me
I need to get you out of my head,
but I can only lie on my death bed
You are the ghost of my reminiscing
You are the piece that is missing
I need to come to terms inside
Perhaps we'll cross paths in the next life
Copyright © Ranice Roo
I have been put in my place many times
Told how to talk
What to think
How I need to look a certain way
Be the way I'm suppose to be
Expectations to be met
I could never be me
That place that almost drove me insane
I kept being placed there
Over and over again
Yet I had no choice but to be true to myself
I couldn't be someone else's book
Placed on a shelf, in a perfect row, not standing out
No one knowing what I'm about
I ripped out the pages
Inserted my own
Scribbled on the cover
Added my own colors
My pages screamed to be read
Hoping others would hear what I said
As time went on
I often changed my design
Desperately trying to know myself
Unsure what I would find
Never really fitting in
Confused by what I found within
Hard to know where I belong
Listening to notes from others songs
Was my way of thinking right
In a distance I could see a glimmer of light
I dreamed my dreams
I craved the light
Then one day
All the pieces clicked
I fell into place
Joy accompanied by a certain grace
Comfortable with me
I live in the moment
I can just be
I am free
I know my place
Dedicated to my Friend Armand who knows
his place and helps others discover their place.
You my friend are a true original Happy Birthday!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
Can you hear me now? Good!
I can't seem to forget you
I love what you do for me
It must be love
between love and madness lies obsession
Like always. Like never before
At the sign of the cat
have a break, have a Kit-Kat
Tastes so good cats ask for it by name
Schhhh ... You-know-who
I'd rather die of thirst than drink from the cup of mediocrity
Perfect to you
There's a smile in every Bar
Obey your thirst
This Bud's for you
One a day helps you work, rest, and play
More fun than rum
Heineken open your world
... nobody can say no to the honey nut O
a bowl a day keeps the bullies away
Our plans are based on yours
You have my word on it
Be the first to know
Who we are
The "no problem" people
Only smarties have the answer
Making it all make sense
Because that's the kind of mom you are
Sometimes you've got to break the rules
Blow your own bubble
Catch our smile?
Everything we do is driven by you
Driven by what's inside
We'll take more care of you
You asked for it. You got it
We know what it means to serve
On your side
Allied on your side
You're in good hands
We make it happen
We'll be there
Get the feeling
Im lovin' it
You are the controller
Only on Playstation
You are now free to move
Unleash the beast
Is it in you?
Do you dare?
About this poem:
To "write" this poem, I used slogans, short and often memorable phrases
used in advertising campaigns. Below you can find the name of the product
(or the company) in order of appearance.
-Verizon Wireless; Wind Song; Toyota; Honda; Calvin Klein; Saturn
-Mercury; Kit Kat; Meow Mix; Schweppes
-Stella Artois; Wella; Dell; Hershey's; Sprite; Budweiser; Mars; Malibu;
Captain Morgan; Heineken; Rice Krispies; Cheerios; Applejacks Cereal
-Assurant; Isuzu; CNN; Guardian Life Ins; Auto-owners Ins;
-Captain Morgan; Rice Krispies; Buger King; Bubble Yum; Red Hills Inn;
Pacific Southwest Airlines; Ford; Subaru; British Airways; Toyota; USSA;
Nationwide Mutual Ins; Allied Ins
-Allstate; IBM; Chevrolet; Toyota; Mc Donalds; Microsoft Kinect; PS3;
Southwest Airlines; Monster Energy; Gatorade; Curious.
Copyright © Ruben O.
She swept the side effects of yesterday
Into an unknown place where
Longing transcends the ache
Of remembered years that cling
To wounds that never heal.
The haunting specter of childhood ghosts
Lost in some nostalgic fantasy
Sift sad shadows from the past;
Unwilling to release the pain
That surrounds her days and nights
With the relentless intensity
Of memories that will not fade.
Perhaps time is ready to embrace
The ceaseless repetition of all
The yesterdays, todays and tomorrows
Bringing reality to a new transition;
So the shutters of her mind closed
And in her darkness she found release.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley
I AM ALL YOURS
My Dear Father God,
My silent lover. My faithful friend.
My forever redeemer. My all in all.
Dear Father God,
How I want to see-
touch Your face.
I long to hear You
speaking to my heart, mind and soul.
I yearn my Father God for Your caress,
Your all consuming fiery love.
I have many faltering moves;
many times I know, I have failed to follow You;
many times I know, I have questioned You;
many times I know, I have made You frown;
many times I know, I have caused You misery.
I have forgotten You.
I have forgotten to seek You
to even thank You, nor worship nor praise You.
I have been so stubborn, so proud, so hard, so fooled or blind,
that sometimes, oh sometimes I didn't trust You enough.
Father God, I am so sorry for all of these..
I thank You for not ever ever ever leaving me;
Thank You for being so faithful to me;
Thank You for the strength and guidance You are raining unto me.
I can never be what I am now
unless You are not with me...
You are so sweet to be with me.
You treat me so so well:
Warming my cheeks whenever I wake up with sunshine's warmth.
Talking to me,
laughing and crying with me
Holding and hugging me
through all persons that surrounds me..
Testing and provoking my limits too.
Sheltering and guarding me every night and day
by providing - my every earthly needs..
Father God, more than these
You bestow me more with presents--
talents and skills that maybe I could have not known if not by Your blessing
potentials that again I didn't know if not by Your grace...
Thank You for making me realize
that I am here
You really want me to be here
that I am no mere accident.
who are my parents,
how I am born
and how my life has been,
You really want me to be here.
And I believe,
You have a prime purpose for my life;
You created me for a reason;
for a certain purpose--
And that is:
I believe to worship You
to use this life,
to declare and share all the love You have let me experience.
All the days of my life,
WALK WITH ME FATHER GOD
Make use of me to bring You glory..
Let it be, Father God, that my life be a testimony of You.
Allow me to be of full time service to You..
to bring You always a reason to smile.
I am humbly welcoming You Father God,
I am all Yours to use...
(c) Olive Eloisa
September 04, 2014
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo
On a bright sunlit morning, washed brilliant with clover,
the day was alive with complacency, as color.
The day had no reason to quiver off course.
A cat in a tree, was stalking a bird,
and people were rising, to go off to work.
No one was thinking of nuclear things.
Below, in the trenches, a watchman has wandered,
checking a gage, or turning a page, of a manual's cover.
He scratches his head, and ponders a problem,
wondering how numbers could be out of order?
His heart rate goes up, his blood pressure rises.
He is wise enough, adding up, and soon he's alarmed!
He sets off the buzzers, but knows much too late,
the tremor he felt, was not of his own.
But instead, is the syndrome, we've always ignored,
That something horrendous.........Oh, my God, what will come,
of the innocent families who live in the zone?
People arising, beginning their day
who scurry their children, in a rush off to school.
and husbands who carry a lunch in their pail,
punching a time clock, to work at the mill.
Just an ordinary day, in the lives of the men,
women, and children who live 'neath the hill.
"The Hill", that will bring them the end of the world.
Living their lives, on a tightrope so thin,
daylight begins, but how will it end?
A tremble so mild, invisible wave,
has seeped from the waste, with a radiant hand,
to swollow landscape, and burn with the sun.
As heart rates get higher, blood pressure rises,
the tremor we feel, is now that of our own.
Oh, my God, what becomes
of the innocent targets who dwell in the zone,
men, woman, children......who live 'neath the hill?
"The Hill" that will bring them the end of their world.
For Deb's Contest: Global Poetry (Nuclear Leak)
Copyright © Carrie Richards
Split apart your ribcage,
Open up the corridor, and let me come in
Uneasiness instantly strikes through me
Let me sway away...
Let me flutter away...
Like a butterfly out of its cocoon
I'm trapped!Let me depart
Split apart your ribcage,
Unwrap me, let me go!
Believe me...reflect on me
Let me sway away...flutter away
Let us both seek the sun,
So we can grow together once more
Copyright © J. W. M. Earnings
How far will you fly?
Cross continent? Moonward?
Across the room?
When will you depart?
Through which gate?
Let me fly with you.
You won't even notice me,
On the wing,
Clinging for life (and love).
Why do you flee me,
choosing a destination
from which it will be
to book a return?
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore
She searches through his remnants
Trying to find her broken pieces
Had she been important to him?
She finds a single piece of yellowed paper
Her name written in his elegant hand
Those hands that had held her once
She had felt safe in those hands
Unaware of his weakness,
Why had he left?
She kept looking though drawers and boxes
Feverishly searching for answers
Only one photo
Taken so very long ago
Proof that they had been part of his life
The proof felt like a knife
Those young faces smiling at her
Blissfully unaware of what was to come
Daddy was leaving
He wasn't coming home again
She hands the photo to her sister
There must be more
She keeps searching
Unaware of what was important to him
Wanting more clues
Another piece of paper
Her sisters name with her children listed underneath
The grandchildren he never got to know
She can't help wonder
Why were they not enough
And she realizes it was his lacking
It was never theirs
There was nothing they could have done
They could not be better girls
Good enough girls!
He was broken
Lonely long before them
His remnants scattered
She looks at her sisters
They cry together
Sad for the loss of what they did not have
Yet beneath the tears they smile
Holding each other's delicate hands
For they possess a strength he never had
They have stayed together
Loved each other
Carried each other's burdens
They have survived
If he had known them
He would have been so proud
Dedicated to and inspired by Bev Smith.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
Squadron leader to his Sergeant.
Another fatality Felicity,
another regimental letter of commiseration,
another space to type in with a name a rank
another space to enter our lives,
on this the darkest of days.
He was my friend Felicity,
an old school chum; we joined up together
for the cause; for dear old Blighty
naively for the thrill.
Here, the earring he wore around his neck
soon to be reunited with the one
his sweetheart holds most dear,
her tatty old airline ticket, also soon to be reunited
with his the one she holds, a memento
of their first meeting on a flight to Paris ‘38’.
Sergeant! Empty your ashtray it’s disgusting.
Harry J Horsman
Copyright © harry horsman
Another eve of another day
shrinks to wee hours;
the only light flashes dim
from a distant lamppost.
My mind’s contrarily still charged
with words, chores, lists, sacred places,
and then a thought that hasn't visited in awhile…of you.
You, a caricature of your best self,
a demon of strangled hearts,
a name chiseled into a monument of stone like expressions –
of numb feelings where tears no longer flow.
Love carried you through life…a family
bestowed a stave for your symphony,
undeserved yet wanted.
Have another drink…hide in your dank basement
drive aimlessly through town through lives through dreams
with your empty bottles sliding on the floorboard.
You became the monster of nightmares.
How did that happen? Why?
Did it lie dormant in hidden spaces?
Bottles shatter into a million pieces…they tear at souls.
Go ahead make a joke, tell a story of long ago,
sing a song with rich baritone notes…
I loved you once when pigtails brushed across my shoulders,
when you pushed me on a swing, when I was innocent…maybe
a part of me still loves who you were back then…the forgiving part of me.
Maybe if I knew all…the harrowing truth, the covered-up lies,
the sinister side, my forgiveness would be withheld.
No…some things are better left unknown.
Another eve of another day
shrinks to wee hours.
Years go by, and I think of you less…you, a man of good and evil,
you, who sang in the choir…every Sunday…
I close my eyes with a conscious attempt
to find peace in forgiveness –
then comes thick darkness
as the flickering lamppost dies.
*a work of fiction
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Torturing me with touches
I feel the sting of hardened and lasting lust
Touches not of mortal fingers,
But Halloween-haloed strings composed by musicians of mystery
Pressing upon my back--yes! A searing, yet melodi-errotic strike
All upon me, yet far from me...
Leave me not in the judgement of my own scrambling feelings
Rest not away as I hold my hands out in the dark
Deathly dances are visions heaven-bound for the duo--
Yet for the solo- a blank, useless measure...
The pulsing silence of amateur-stitched love rattles me
Making rhythms giggle in my mind
Intervals of idiocy tormenting all reason
Truly an agonizing, but for others--minor--prison
Is the smile that helped design those strings
Those strings that pluck upon my spine
Controlling me in a dark place stuck between tunes and time
Why are your hands so cold when you play those piano keys?
Why are your lungs so eroded with the pride that taints the songs you sing?
Why have the rhythms gone awry, and why does your apathetic dissonance thrive?
And tell me… through it all…
As you compose the rise and fall…
Why is all this destruction you created so vibrantly alive?
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
I balance on a tightrope. Surrounded by
lovers and dreamers, I teeter above a raging sea.
I admire their glossy smiles and envy
their bright-eyed confidence; envy is a sin, I know.
Please forgive me; a lie would carry more guilt.
The waves crash in dark shades of gray, still they smile.
Their laughter from all around pierces the thin air.
I teeter alone; I may or may not fall.
My fate is undetermined, in my own hands;
the tragedy today may be tomorrow's comedy.
Their laughter echoes...
On a day like today, the fresh tears sting.
If only I could wake from the nightmare,
pry open the windows of my tortured soul.
If only I could charm the feral...if only.
Oh, the skeletal monsters we are bequeathed!
Yes, I understand the meaning of loyalty.
A fool believes the wicked will fall.
A fool believes the merciless will change.
Can a hollow chest develop a beating heart?
I chisel stone walls, searching for a glimmer of hope,
a flicker of humanity behind steel beams.
Could you spare a token of remorse?
I dare to drop a coin in a fountain of wishes.
A pocketful of coins jingle as my wishes sink
to the bottom of the venomous waters.
I am patient as I teeter on the tightrope.
The audience cheers taking pleasure in my pain.
Blood pulsates through my veins, yet I feel cold winds
penetrate my soul. I refuse to cower or
live in contention...
Blood is thicker than ink.
I find my balance in the written word, a gift of life!
Words sometimes spill from a bleeding heart.
I beseech the ghosts of the past to end their haunting.
Their breath is the frigid wind. I find shelter...
Tempered is the skin of the wounded. Who knows
what may lie beneath the flesh. In the mirror,
you may find a frightened child in need of love.
Most find the strength to balance and stand.
Every step brings me closer to solid ground...
I am reaching for you. Please take my hand.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
she sits on roofs,
he on benches
fingers touch sky,
feet on ground
she savors fruits
straight from trees
he works hard
to get fruits of labor
leading separate lives
but bound by fate's thread
...feelings from childhood
could be the purest
dormant yet breathing...
she still touches skies,
he sits on benches still
as time moves on...
***just felt like posting something,
an old poem of mine written November of 2010
Copyright © binibining P.iNk
Maybe this can't be saved.
One more short year and I'll never see her again. I'll always be wondering about
her but it's better left that way. Never been able to face the truth. Even now.
We were all each other needed, some childish indestructable duo of sorts. All
Sometimes it's my fault. I've been a cliche since prom night when she came over
and apologised and suddenly she was perfection. After that I hardly spoke
around her in case I stuttered or worse, couldn't make her laugh. Was I in love? If
I was I still am. This intolerable inferiority complex, this petrified fear of not being
good enough feels all too familiar.
Don't think there was one moment when it all happened, but now I find myself
smiling arduously in black armour; all that she made me once again
undermined. I called her my mermaid; sunny skin, the beach in her hair and eyes
shining with all the colours and tempers of the ocean.
Now she's hacked away every detail of her. Barely recognisable, even to the one
who used to know her best.
There's a girl I still know, dancing through my memories, but already clinging to
herself, desperate to remain. She knows she can't stay forever.
We're not the people we were; this can never work.
Today I'm hiding behind a calm and carefree front; she can never know, nor
understand why. I'm blocking her out.
Out of sight, out of mind
No explanation. We were dying anyway.
But if she asks why I can't see her anymore
How can I even look her in the face?
If that's selfish then at last it's my turn.
I miss her even when we're locked in embrace. Affection is genuine. All else is
lost. She can't save us, can't put in the effort. I've tried but I'm weak. Another
excuse to take cover under.
I can't change her back. Why am I trying? I should just make the most of my
precious friend now.
A little more of her slips away every day.
Copyright © Sarah Jones
An unrelenting heat follows the sun,
as it sets behind rippling dunes of sand.
And cold gathers in the inky shadows,
pooling deep within the darker crevices.
Two lovers who wandered from the campsite,
got lost in this unfamiliar terrain.
And now they must endure the desert night,
suffering from an unbearable thirst.
She awakes to the stillness of silence,
staring at endless waves of shifting sands.
And she knows that they have little water,
for both their canteens are nearly empty.
She has no tears, yet they come anyway,
not so much for her as for her lover.
And while he sleeps she empties her canteen
into his and walks into the desert.
He woke to the searing kiss of the sun,
and looked around for her, but she was gone.
Yet his canteen told him what she had done,
and he soon followed her staggered footsteps.
He quickly found her exhausted and near death,
and they shared the last few drops that were left.
And succumbing to death's dusty embrace,
they died dreaming of oceans of water.
Copyright © Emile Pinet
I want to be honest, fruitfully honest
But now in pain, I waver
I would much rather live in the dark hallows of my mind
Where honesty is blurred in visions of imagination
Blurred in a world where lies are often welcomed
Lies often unfurl laces of truths
I guess I never tried to be honest with myself
When saying, I could have been wrong all along
That day, when I met you,
You were everything I ever dreamed of
I was doubtful, I was gloomy
I looked into your eyes, and everything that I had once felt dissipated
I was truly enlightened by everything you were saying
Your lips, they spoke of things I have already known and already feel
But the way you said those words,
It all seemed so new from your mouth
Perhaps your words were shuffled in such a way that I thought it was new
Or maybe I was just so mesmerized, so entranced by looking in your eyes
That I decided in my mind that I have never heard this before,
That I had never seen this before
That I have never been in love like this before
Sometimes I lie to myself and say I love you
When in reality, perhaps I do not love you at all
Perhaps I hate every moment that I think about you
Because it stings like fire now
It stings like fire…
Sometimes I enjoy the sting; other times I cannot stand it
I want to be away from it
I wanna live my life without the flames of love licking at every piece of my soul
I wanna be able to look into someone else’s eyes and see love there too
That there is a possibility that I can get out of this rut
This rut that not you, but I have created
It’s silly isn't it?
How one can lie to oneself for the sake of love
For the sake of loving
Sometimes I feel like a fool when I speak the truth
Perhaps that is why that I lie to myself sometimes
And say you are the only one..
When in reality, you’re the only one I cannot reach…
That hurts. It really does hurt
But it is the honest truth
There is hope though
There’s always hope and sometimes that is aggravating
Because hope provides some truth to the lies inside
Maybe love was meant to be explored in someone else’s shoes
I never pretend to be someone else
But at times I wish I was someone else
*Note, I actually recorded this composition, and wrote down the spoken words. I have never tried that before-it was rather interesting. Tell me poets, how do you write your compositions? Do you say them out loud first? Do you hear the words in your mind and write them down silently? I would love to know your ways and methods! ~Laura
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal