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Free Verse History Poems | Free Verse Poems About History

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Details | Free verse | |

THE VAMPIRE

For I am death, the personification of pure evil,
The grand godfather, of legions of unnumbered generations.
Behold thy disciples, baptized beneath my crimson waters,
Of blood.
Then reanimated as the living undead, in mine own image,
These are my forsaken children of the Night.
Kissed by the angel of death, I'm resurrections insurrection,
Spawned in hell a creature devoid of heart or soul, yet do I
Exist, biting at the exposed throat of humanity, leaving it
Drained completely dry.
Does not the white lily turn ember red, within this the
Valley of damnation.
My throne is a black coffin gilded in golden refinement,
Residing beneath the wooden lid, the beast sleeps,
Waiting to be embraced by the darkness of night.
Slowly, emerging from mine cryptic mausoleum,
I'm famished for the taste of the living essence
Of mankind.
A gentlemen reaper of the fallen, deeply do these
Fangs penetrate into the soft flesh of humanity,
Tis a dark blessing's supernatural gift, have I been 
So given, to take life then to restore it.
Raw beasts of instinct, clinging to the ethereal
Moon, that hangs above illuminating this,
Our unholy abyss.
Welcome to a shadow nation of the unseen,
Whose roots extend backwards, to an older country’s
Unconsecrated soil, called Transylvania. 
On mine legacies crest, a red dragon with talons
Extended reaches out, grappling for powers control.
For I am Dracula, born of royal blood in life,
But in death I am a king, let these castle walls
Bleed on forever, and the hounds of hell,
Sing outside my rod iron gates.
But beware mortal flesh if you so enter,
For I will enjoy every trespasser,
Whom dares to venture within my
Sacred territory, with a fiendish smile
Upon my hungering face.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

The Lobotomizer


The Lobotomizer honed his dark art
with an apathetic heart and patience.

First, he earned a fancy Masters degree,
a quite secretive, hush-hush diploma
in psychological advertising.
Then, covertly sponsored by Henry Ford,
the Lobotomizer flew overseas
where he became good friends with the Nazis.
Mengele offered a substantial wing --
when it came to experimentation,
the Angel of Death was the reigning king.

After the Allied Forces came on strong,
the Lobotomizer slipped further East
to become a student of the Red Beast.
The iron-curtained, cold-war Frankenstein,
taught the Lobotomizer many tricks,
including high-frequency hypnotics,
how to travel through electrical lines,
and even surf the beams of satellites.

Yet his travels were not nearly complete,
since the Lobotomizer knows no bounds
with his insatiable appetite.
He crossed the borders of every nation,
gaining more insightful experience.
He passed through many laboratories,
leaving behind countless horror stories;
leaving behind legions of empty minds.

Finally, in the fall of Sixty-Nine,
the Lobotomizer returned back home
to his motherland of the brave and free,
to commence his lobotomizing spree.
By the hundreds, thousands, millions and more,
the Lobotomizer plied his ill trade,
beaming himself via optic fiber,
satellite dish, cable, and antenna,
right between the eyes of his audience,
until the nation's vast majority
was left drooling, dull-eyed, slack-jawed and blank.

Nowadays, nearly the entire globe
can feel his dark probe in the frontal lobe.
The blue light flickers off walls, day and night,
as most people have given up the fight,
allowing their minds to be bought.
The Lobotomizer is not finished,
for he continues to push his prison
towards the remaining wisps of free thought.



2014 Subliminal Remix, July 30th, 2014

(10 syllables per line --
The original version was written on February 22nd, 2012)



+/-


Details | Free verse | |

THE GHOST TRAIN

Along the mountain pine valley did the Iron Horse roar,
A steam belching black demon, burning red hot coals
Within it's steel belly.
Speed's hell bound creation, driven by greed's insatiable hunger,
Faster, faster it moves at acceleration rush, to
Achieve manifest destiny's final arrival on time.
In the distance hear another lone whistle blow, spitting,
And spewing with brimstone's gray smoke.
This indeed is the devil's train, carrying the forsaken,
To the depot of no return.
With a half empty payload aboard, Satan makes a deadly
Judgment call, stoke up those engines boys, ramming
Speed if you please.
Made man beasts are these mechanical monsters
Of destructions, lethal death weapons, chained
Down to the steel rails, and iron pikes.
Ebony stallion's racing against the winds,
As redden sparks sizzle and bite at the crisp autumn
Air, bellowing fumes poisoning the night.
The engineer of the 10; 15 out of Tombstone,
Checked his pocket watch, speaking impatiently,
He did so yell out, come along fellow's, we have a
Schedule to keep, and we've hours behind in our dead line,
So let’s pick up the pace.
Now the devil's train came out of know where,
With hell's supernatural master at the wheel,
Heckling, and laughing, relishing in the carnage’s
Utter calamity to come.
On a lone chewed up mangled piece of track,
Lies wreckages debris blood, flesh and twisted metal,
Lain stewned for miles beside the wild wilderness.
Broken bones, and sheared off limbs, weeping mother's
Cradling limp, lifeless bodies, crying why, God almighty
Why?
But the lord and heavenly father, had nothing to do,
With this unnatural disaster, nay the devil had many
Empty spaces to fill, and his passengers list was lean.
So he leveled the crimson ground with his dark gavel,
Taking souls at high velocities supernatural speed,
For this is the devil's ghost train, and it is so
Hell bound.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

EDGER ALL POE

Our dark founding father, of American literature,
A sinister beacon of darkness, lighting the way
Into the darkened abyss of mankind’s soul.
Within the galleria of madness, he is the
Grandmaster of the black ink, and it's
 Written words of terror.
In thus the shadow realm, does his spirit
Still roam, on the cutting edge of fear,
A fine thin line, is drawn between reality,
And fictions illusionary world.
Life's a shunned, abandonment’s creation,
The lord's misbegotten son, embraced
The night's cloak, in it's power
His only salvation unto history's
 Remembrance, is found a truth's
Justice and notability's respect.
Loves passionate compliant servant,
Dashed against the rocks of life itself,
Broken and damaged, he rose above
The waves of poverty, and the under
 Current of tragedies broken
Heart.
Some may say he wrote from the after
Effects that laid, at the bottom
 Of the bottle.
Or afterfeeds drug endued comma, dulling
The emotional nerves concept between
Right and wrong, the social exceptionable
Norm.
But we care not what others wish to believe,
For we honor him, those of us the dark poets,
As the father whom lead the way, between
Light and dark.
Dearest Edger Allen Poe, the legend, the man,
A spiritual dark representative, with pens quailed
Ink at his command.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN




















Details | Free verse | |

The Circles

Looked at the outside of steel window
Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air
What the news was brought in the feelings!

Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor.

Waiting for the light in the window 
Dark vision comes down into my eyes by cycle-weariness
Down from one circle to another circle in time-blindness

Who stands here, the Islamic old man!
Frustrated vision!
History of terrorism was carved on his burnt body
He wants to say something!

A white-complexioned Christian young man stands into the neighbor circle,
Surprised eyes! 
White-skinned history was printed on his blood-stained body 
He wants to know something!

A dark-colored Hindu boy stands into the third circle, 
Illusive vision!
History of third world is awaken on his envenomed body
He wants a little smile!

The old man, young man and boy are coming forward from the circles
Great distance...Near...in front the room... 
Who are you? No reply
They disappear into the tuberose equipped black and white photo of my father
Dad is smiling, I am senseless! 

Tears are dropping from the eyes of our cat on the corridor.

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


Details | Free verse | |

TENTACLES

In the heart of the blackest abyss, down, 
Down, in fathoms deep crypt, where light
Does not penetrate, and the structured protective hauls,
Of men, are crushed beneath pressures massive
Weight, of the oceans deepest depth.
This is truly inner spaces aquatic zone of the
Unknown, a realm of stilled silence frozen
In the icy currents of the barren straights.
Where prehistoric giants dwell, amongst the
Tidal flow, ambush predators, forgotten beasts,
From long ago, living krakens whom devour
All life, hidden within their dark domain.
In Poseidon's mighty anger, the waves answer,
To his fists of fury, hurricanes wrath of vengeance,
Gives birth to the perfect storms rage, 
Vessels rise and than fall in the tidal surging
Waters.
Nay do the sailors cry out to the Lord God on high, 
For redemption's salvation, but the sacrificial altars must
Be appeased, by flesh and bloods sacred offerings.
Summons does the mighty lord of the seven seas,
To release the last of the ancient Leviathans.
Two thousand hands, of a thousand dead men,
Heave and pull at the tethering heavy chains,
To this devil of the depths cage.
From within interments vaulted keep,
Captivities living spawn from hell, is 
Unshackled and released, to reek havocs
Devastation above.
An aquatic spider, a maritime widow maker,
Flexing and in-flexing, its body’s motions,
Towards the surface, in pulsations rhythmic
Orchestrations, the gray giant is ready to strike,
With its killing arms extended wide, to grapple
At its unprotected prey, to engorge itself with
All living matter that it surveys, within its icy reach.
As bubbles shoot upwards breaking the waters
Surface, suction cups and talon claws are drawn
Outwards, aligning his eight legged tentacles of bone
Crushing death, behold the Giant Squid, instrument of
Lethal torture, a living killing machine from the fathoms 
Deepest depths.
For it is the beast, the true essence of evil
Incarnate, and none survive its destructive wrath.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

THE HANGING TREE

Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of 
Destiny’s say.
On judgment hill from on high, 
Voices do echo downwards, as the 
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
Hangman's tree.
These gallows, of oaken branches, act as tethers,
 Shackles, holding the forsaken, souls prisoner.
Ghost phantoms cling, to it's rotten limbs,
That break beneath times endless rampage.
Regrets fallen horsemen, of the old west, 
Stand guard, sentinels on horse back,
Wearing a tarnished tin star.
God's law keepers, are  branded, sworn,
By their honor, to protect even after death,
The gates of heaven, from this spawn of hell.
Beware evil desperadoes, no mercy will
This the lord's posses show unto you, 
For these riders bare a different mark.
A silver cross of justice, given by
The Almighty’s hand himself.
Say thy prayers, all lawless men,
For on this day, does the rope tighten,
Around your neck, there is no reprieve,
No salvation for evils deceit.
Hell bound are thou, the devils breed.
But beware, there is no escape,
From this grave site.
At dawns first light, as it spreads
 Across the western horizon.
Know that yee, are one of many spirits
Doomed, to be weaved within the
Tangled limbs, called the hang
Mans tree.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


 


 

 


 

 


 

 


 


Details | Free verse | |

Movements of Beginnings

                                                                   written on time’s page
                                                        with finite syllables of dust
                                                  he spelled my heritage
                                           from earth to sky
                                     along an umbilical line of faith 

                                 we fluttered from the lips of fingers
                           fully form for purpose
                       written on an invisible calculus
                that bring monarchs where birth mark lingers
            and salmons somersaulting sluice and streams
      turtles, penguins, and herons white wings
netted in design with nested tabula rasa  mind 

I have an argument
   against the beginning begotten from a bang 
      before atom or element
         I have an argument against force and natural laws
             at work without mass or embodiment
                 for embryonic gravity or forces weak or strong
                    I have an argument
                        that the singularity could not become more than fragment
                           of energy again if a single atom explode 
                              its forces flocking away from fusion
                                 for energy fission to explode

                                  a theory 
                         flimsy as spiders web
                  dethroning my majesty gulped 
          in primeval slime unlinked history from love
  minimizing the particular time of our becoming on ships 
that met the stagnant eyes of swampy thoughts … shuddering 
                                    in vain
                     the whip cracks louder than pain -
             and on our black blistered backs … crumbling 
soils in desertification threw some syllables skywards for mercy
                               starvation winds with sickle clouds of rain  
                                 they lie again ... leaving us without inheritance
                                    for all our labors, lost, and grievance
                                      what bang can buck the strain 
                                          and bring us broken souls to glory again?


Details | Free verse | |

The Fabulous Queen Of Egypt

Woke up to a new life in Egypt
I was young not more than seventeen years
Adorned with gold and precious stones
My body was in the shroud of silk and jewels in my hair
I sat on a throne as a Queen

My name was Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile
During the day I lay on the silk cushions
and dozed in the shade of palm trees
Beautiful men and women kept flitting
around me with all sorts of temptations
Fed me all sorts of fruit and cold drinks

When evening came, it was time for romance
As Queen I had many to choose
My choice was of course:
"The greatest men of Rome"
Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius
Why choose one when I can have two?

On a long journey down the Nile with
my love Julius Caesar, I was forced to
make a choice.
But a choice one must take...and the
choice was that I gave birth to a son
and Julius Caesar was the father

My love life was not popular
my husband was killed and I 
was no longer popular
It was no longer a life of happiness and joy
No, it was war and national mouming
and I would not live anymore






18.03.2012
A-L Andresen


Details | Free verse | |

Children of the Divine Wind

Many times the ocean has saved Nippon, pearl of the sea, an oceanic symbiosis a speck in a fecund see. The dikes of man such miniscule plans to hold back the tide. The throngs, each and all crawl across the thin skin of volcanic soil or rise with in the hump-backed alps of remnant cones. Yet, the sea rises to reclaim its own scour the pallet of man, refine, burnish melt, reform. With pen and sword kanji drawn, samurai born with knife and bone entrails torn, honor tested tested by the hand of He, tested and found worthy. The children of the Divine Wind rise above the tsunami, as one, unbowed.


Details | Free verse | |

- Once upon a time -


Out of love foretold
in thousands
secret raptures from the old
Illusions coves for their powerful voices
A place where our ancestors once walked

Where trees listening
and disperse seeds of hope
Creation marvelous portrait
About the harmony - it is said
that it can develop strong band

It is a reality that can
compare with the wildest imagination
Ancient villages built of marble and stone
Wind chimes a rhythm that beckons
Mystery melody that asks us to join







13.11.2014
A-L Andresen :)


Details | Free verse | |

THE CITY OF LOST SOULS

Beware, out-Lander for thy tread on the sacred ground,
Of Louisiana, guarded by the ghosts of the Mississippi,
And here the dead tell know tails, of the living's returning,
After adventuring into the darkness of the night.
Rattle them bones, sister voodoo woman,
Black magic's high priestess, cast asunder the 
Ivory teeth of the white devils, across the streets
Of old New Orleans, behold the ancient city of lost souls.
Hidden beneath the glittering mask, of La Carnival,
It is the celebration of the dead, my friend, and faceless
Figures, do toss the beads of evil, to the lustful
Crowds gathering, for Mardi-Grad's extravaganza.
Phantom walkers, without names or emotions, spirit stalkers,
Roaming the old French quarter, seeking to catch the
Innocent traveler unaware and unprotected. 
A wall of realism and illusion, thin is the veils that divide
Light and darkness, sheer vaporous mist of transparency,
Existing in this the forgotten realm, where southern
Comfort invites the living to visit, but never allows them
To leave alive.
As the flickering rays of twilight fades, swallowed whole
By the spectral invaders, the creatures of light seek refuges,
Holy places, as the church bells ring, calling unto the innocent
Make heist to salvation's shelters of grace.
In he city's center, lays a dry leathery organ, sunken
And misshapen, feel the rising, the awakening of the
Heart of evil emerging, its veins arteries made of 
Cobble stones brick, thus are the webbing's of streets leading, 
Unto the deadened heart, metamorphosing it alive once more.
Slowly bloods spiritual essence rushes through
These ethereal veins, reaching this source most
Evil, it owns this city of lost souls, unto the tolling
Hour of dawns first rays of light, crossing the horizon.
Red bricked buildings lay side by side one 
Another, in a design of Gothic manipulation, feeding
Stations made cozy for the living and dead to reside
Within, as the crimson curtains blow freely from the 
Inside out, welcome my friends to the French quarters,
The threshold's crossing, between life and death.
Hear the low thumping of the Jamaican drum,
Mixed with African tongue, chanting in rhythm's
Echoing breeze, softly spoken in whispers are the spells
Of misfortune, a vow's crimson promise, written in blood
Long ago, a demonic pack made between the spiritual native
Inhabitance and the dark heart of the Cajun Bayou.
On bloods throne the Grim Reaper does so sit, next 
To his bride, the Queen known as Mrs. New Orleans,
Both laughing in tandem, with the musical chorus
In this requiem of the dammed.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Reservoir of Dreams

Wrapped in fog, in a reservoir of dreams She has weathered each season, with a mystical scheme … On a wind-swept shelf, silently sleeping Where secrets are guarded and are hers for the keeping Looking out at the tide, where the white gulls are sweeping In her moldering courtyard, where quadrivial paths meld, Among ancient arches of an old Spanish style Names locked in history, many stories revealed Etched in the headstones, where angels have dwelled The cracked marble fountain with polished ligures, Above the church doorway, vines are withering, bare Aloft from the steeple, are the four watchful eyes Looking out to the sea, and the deep crimson tide Three vestige bells dangle from loft, overhead Their voices are quiet, with pericopes spoken Soft hymns of doves, fill the rafters, instead From crumbling ruins, bricks humbly laid There are shadows of saints...and moss covered jade A weeping old willow, with leaves crackling dry I drink with my ears, and listen with an eye Of all those who prayed, for those who passed by Unbelievable echoes, the tolling of the bells Making sense of the senseless, I can hear what it tells Giving voice to my feelings, and new hope to my eyes A peace in my heart, where the holy grail lies Are heard in the voice, in the church of blue tides
____________________________________________________________________ For The Contest Sponsored By Shadow Hamilton "Any Subject" Using Words: unbelievable, mystical, ligure, pericope, reservoir, quadrivial, 7/22/13


Details | Free verse | |

Who is the reader of poetry

Are you educated?
Have you injured heart?
Have you purified brain?
Do you believe in truth?
Are you alone?
Do you seek problematic truth, solvable truth, real magic?
Are you a secular person?
Do you believe in democracy?

If your answers are YES...

You have poetic mind.
You are the reader of poetry.
You are the real minority in the world. 

Keep patience.
The earth is moving.
It is proved that new history is created by the minorities. 

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


Details | Free verse | |

Freedom

This disconnected intellect of society in retrospect
Is nothing but a retro spectrum of colors.
Gold chains and disco lights,
Black, white, and grey faces, red Adidas stripes with no laces
Cardboard boxes unfolded on concrete streets
Where the founding fathers of modern culture would meet
And write our Constitution by moving their feet.
With a spectacular repertoire of flashy moves
And a deep reservoir of verbs that mingled with words in the mind’s river
That flowed from the banks of lips as the first freestyle
When style was really free.
Not compromised, chopped up, glamorized, marketed, processed, pasteurized 
and then subliminally delivered as a shrink-wrapped, shiny medium of bad ideas.
Back when people actually had ideas,
Not just the regurgitation of pre-chewed vomit music.
The DJs cooked up beats in their basements
Just crack for the bass-heads
Denied treble ‘cause trouble was all they were faced with.
There was music laced with dope, and dope was good.
The evolution.
Darwinism of hip-hop.
You know what I mean?
Of course not ‘cause these young bucks would rather spend fifteen dollars on 50 
Cent
Then spend fifty cents on a education.
Flagrant, our testimonial to a religion that’s pagan
We pray to money, pray to greed, pray to fame, pray to succeed
And denounce life when we pray that our bullet hits its target.
The Boogie Oogie became the Boogaloo
And the Electric Slide met the electric chair.

Time is money.
Money is life.
Life is a game.
I invest Monopoly money in the New World Clock Exchange
To collect interest in fate and become disinterested in buying my life back.
My soul is currency, currently spent on reverting from the current state.
Back to when sex was more taboo than a smile
Back to when freedom didn’t equal censorship
Back to when love for family didn’t negate the fact that times change.
Back to when the Big Hand spun backwards two seconds too late.
And minutes were miniscule and minute, hip-hop was rediculed
Not because it was demeaning, but because it represented Revolution.
An occurrence that has come and gone with the wind.
My name is Hip-Hop O’Hara and I am in love with Civility Wilkes.
Reverend Run preached gospel, now he rolls in his grave
If musical revelation is impossible, than who will be saved?
The essence in lyrics is kept underground in a cage.
Struggling to survive like illiterate slaves.
Reaching for freedom, which lies on the next page.
Free the music.


Details | Free verse | |

Testament

My father's abeng blew up my mother's womb
And I was chained there
Nine months in darkness drinking blood
Longing for my resurrection from the tomb
Longing to break the chains
Holding me before my birth to a carnal earth
Longing to stop him pounding
Pounding on the door of my bereft eternity
I carrying the weight of him already
The weight of them against the gravity
Of my life. My wings folded
Longing wield sword edge of flight against the sun
I burdened to undo what already is done
Have no finality here.

Look at me like an eagle flying in the sun
Blood dripping from my talons when the flight is done
O let me cleanse the world again
In the red flood that alters pain.

One day I was born screaming for a cause
I could not take kindly to tradition
Slapping black and blue a baby's arse ... laws
Must have been broken to beat the innocent
Unless it is a crime to come into this earth
To carry so much legacy
From maroon history to Jesus Christ, blacklisted
Like my my forebears: Shaka
Father of my grandfather's mother,
My other grandfather, Accompong warrior
Slain between the stones of Holland Estate and Mountain
Bridging the way for fleeing slaves
I come Cudjo less, Nanny less, merciless
Carrying on the war of generations
Calling no more for repatriation but reparation
Of human rights, human dignity, and racial sovereignty
Where Africa may find again its concord
Without false treaty and flimsy accord
Raping the Congo of natural resources and life
I come, the bushing through guinea grass
Tumbling kingdoms with wisdom and knife.
For this I was born, beaten at birth
Given resurrection from the night of earth.

My father sought to be civilize
Recite poems of Britannia's might and lies
And I, I was singing with the night
Reading a long history of pain to make write
Of my own proclamations, to declare
I shall not bend my knees, nor walk in fear
Where death measure us in dust
And vampires and conquistadores lust
For El Dorado buried in my disgust.
I am a man, and I will make my monument of truth
Upon the gravestone of the brute.


Details | Free verse | |

Titanic

Cocooned in orange plush, obscenely safe,
in false cinematic twilight,
light leaping out of nowhere,
dizzying the frozen yet titillated onlooker.
The popcorn-crunching crowd have eaten myth.

Beached siren,
your seaweed ropes -
drowned umbilicals -
attach you to the seabed's vast placenta.
Your rusticles drape you like a sleeping shroud.

The knife-edge of your bow; the knife plunged into mud.
A spherical light fixture sprouts a sea pen,
snaky-fingered: a poignant Medusa.
A high-button shoe rests close by.
White ocean crockery, ghost porcelain -

appurtenances of a sunken pelagian people.
Your silt bed, more than two miles below,
private even now,
refuses to yield its virgin treasure still.
A valedictory message, torn from a pocket calendar,

forced into a cold clasping hand -
a desperate flutter of paper.
Strobe, a marine rapist, raking the ocean floor;
invasion of the depths below.
Your one-way virgin voyage, inescapable.

The night was a still pool of indigo.
The berg glided silently by,
lethal as a shark's fin, with terrible finality.
The pinprick stars - flowers of light -
averted their eyes respectfully.


Details | Free verse | |

THE HAUNTED

THE HAUNTED

In the silence darkness shows his presence, a lull and then acceleration,
A disturbance that awakens with dominance, the very heart of evil,
Dwelling within the inner sanctum of the Amityville house,
The stairway banisters shake with intensity.
A spectral quake and the walls become electrified with corporal power surges.
Lights flicker on and off the inward eyes of the house open wide as old bones
Quiver with anticipation like a hungry animal awaiting its feast on delivery,
Essence chills the air with a frosty mist, and fills the house with an eerie
Ethereal oria.
Rawness takes hold of the interior house, a graveyard erected on unsanctified
Property.
It has become a surge house for the supernatural.
The undead fee off the fear of men, who have been sapped of life force.
Nothing left except a dead corpse, caught between two worlds.
A vortex un-attainable by doorway or threshold.
There is a welcome mat marked by a skull n’ cross bone, it reads, “Dare not
Enter mortal flesh, or yea shall become part of this house.
Blood legacy forever.”
Voices within the walls scream with eternal fear, warning with howls, ‘Get out!”
“Get out!”
The evil laughs are heard o’er flowery wall paper that drips of crimson plasma.
It cascades downwards from the ceiling, soaking the baseboards.
Doors to the exist retreat and slam shut.
The window locks turn inward, and drapes fall shut.
No natural light to warm the icy halls. Trapped in a maze be-known as the Amityville house.
Small fleshless hands rip as the hair rises at the nape.
A voice whispers into your ear, “I am here, with you,” in the void you stand alone.
Panic fills your inner being; you’re alone in the dark with the unknown.
A mortal clinging to the edge of reality, a rift is heard, “CRACK” beneath your feet.
You are left dangling with two single hands grapping you, it and between oblivion.
Splinters of light hit the ebony trees from a distance away; Neha the Sacred Heart Priestess refines the grounds with her finesse.
Neha has a history of Exorcism successes.
It includes haunted house clearings, demonic possessions by forcible entry.
She casts them out with her outstanding humdinger light.
Her methods are un-cosher and as sporadic a whistling winds of tinnitus brawls.
She grates on those fallen soldiers who fin out too late that they have been duped in the army of Satan.
Neya raps on a skully warped door and scarf’s the threats that groan their way have
Inside of her.
Speaking in an insolent way she lets them know they have met their match.
Guttural sounds disseminate through the attic walls, and sent maggots scurrying
At her feet.
Undefeated, she picks one up and crunches between her teeth.
She presses bellows, n’billow, make yourself scarce as a tree in the meadow’
A howling voice in the meadow’ A drum and then with one last push n’shove the spectral flees through a cracked window.
Neha re-adjusts the amulet that had been strong-held round her neck, and says in calm voice” THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN’ then she sets out North, to find her sister’s three in the heart of the Sacred Forest.

Written By: Mystic Rose & Cheryl Dunn
For contest: Halloween Co-write
October 13, 2014-10-13


Details | Free verse | |

HOSTEL, QUEBEC CITY, 1978



Pubescent class trip,
and I became enamored with impossibility
 
Vanishing verdigris yet cosseted 
the L’Auberge de la Paix,* a work-in-progress 

Floorboards slowed gawky treads with furrows.
Ten feet above, death-row cherubs 
surrendered frail wings, a plaster molting 
advanced by workmen too eager for the plucking
    
(the curse of romanticism 
is to perceive the imperceptible)

Home was a bungalow with suburb secrets, 
while the hostel’s curving staircase 
openly tattled on former hosts
and guests who had perfumed stale conversations
while carrying dance cards.
I could almost hear each half-note baluster 
and that treble clef handrail, so smooth, 
orchestrating encounters by the front door,
Bonne nuit, mon amour

Once, a Grande Maison owned by une l’artiste,
then, a hostel for students in the core of Quebec City,
the building charmed with its soft dishabille, 
stripped layers of faded wallpaper, pooling;
the pong of fresh paint and sanded wood
hustled the dame into the times
with ever-going modernization

Dorm rooms pouted

I was not interested in the tours
with their corpses of cannon balls,
toy soldiers arranged on miniature plains of Abraham,
narrow streets echoing with battle cries,
remnants of a lost sovereignty...  
the war of 1759
 
Why leave 
those thousand phantom pleasantries,
dusty sofas and freedom halls,
air hockey and air guitar,
new parlour games

Upstairs, bunk beds awaited roommates 
or daydreams
and creaked somewhat like nagging history 

But romance was a trompe l’oile, 
a fading fleur de lys,
and I can easily recall the coy throes 
of noisy pipes, closet confessions,
and giggling, blameless nights
when ghosts dusted every shifting wall,
altering even moonlight

 

* Written Aug 24, 2014

*The Peace Hostel, Quebec City
 31 rue Couillard, Latin Quarter, Quebec City

Grande Maison – estate
Une l’artiste – an artist


Details | Free verse | |

THE MOAI

Quarried,  and carved from our earthen mother's skeletal
Backbone and under belly, were the Moai solid rock deities,
Stone guardians of Easter Island.
A mystical place, a harvested paradise, but nothing remains
Of the people whom built this land of living statues, except
For these harden faces, looking towards the ocean, as if in 
Wait for their native worshipers to return.
Sit and listen my friend, to the whispering in the wind,
Do you hear the low humming sound, rolling across
The rocky and jagged surf. 
It is the Moai, calling unto the five raw elements of the world.
Let us live again, to walk among the heavens vast 
Divides, and to feel the winds breeze at our faces
Once more.
Slowly the ground shifts and moves, rumbles and
Quakes, lightening splits as thunder strikes against 
The harden ground, nature itself has heard them,
And answers their wishes with life anew.
Shedding layers textures by depths degree, piece by
Piece, stone turns into gravel, rough rock is smoothed,
Hued by mystic incantations spell, brick becomes
Bone, and nature answers their wishes with life anew.
Living giants pull themselves up out of the earth,
Shaking away debris's leavings, and thus shall
Stone breaths, inhaling freedom's fresh air at last.
Behold the living god's of Stone, guardians of
An ancient culture lost unto time itself.
But at dusk's fading sunset, the spell is thus
Broken and slowly these giant figures take
Their places once again, melting as if it
Never happened, yet the humming still
Lingers echoing across the ocean.
For stone God's never forget, and waiting
On Easter Island do they so sit, monuments
To a people whom disappeared without a trace.
But their deities shall call unto them until
One day they'll return, and then maybe 
Giants again shall walk this earth in 
Celebration, to feast amongst their people
Once more.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Atacama / English Version

Atacama, Eden of winds,
flower of abandoned rocks and of sapleter,
homestead of flamingoes and geysers,
and above all ,
below an azure sky,
mountains are carrying on their tops 
ice of the past.

Old villages tell us their stories,
Toconce, Toconao, Chiu-Chiu, 
carry in their canons
life,
water from  deep below
let flowers and vegetables grow.


Chiu-Chiu, oasis of the desert,
a green spot,
surrounded by fragments of history
with the colour of orange, red and brown,
embedded in fragile foam of salt and hope,
the history of the Atacama.
Still alive in their churches.
Fragments of an ancient culture
reflecting on the surface of Río Loa.


Like ants – far away,
dispersed in vibrant light
some Vicuñas are looking
for tranquility and forage.
The geysers of  El Tatio
send their hot water into the cold and pure air.


How pacient the Atacama is with us,
slaves of modern times
with the desire for paradise
with the dual face of history and hope.
Salar de Atacama, show me your 
cracked and wounded face,
your wrinkles of solitude.


Far in the distance the chain of volcanoes,
with towering  Lincancabur,  
and its shouldered knapsack of crystals and ice,
holding its splendour towards the sky
with the colours of lapis lazuli and  light agate.
Toconao, the ruins of  Quitor greet you,
dormant since ages
they narrate the history of the Inca,
of their last refuge and their last battle with
Pedro de Valdivia,
who came with his men
to break the bravery of Inca soldiers
with thunder and destruction.

The waterfalls of the hot spings of Puritama
shoot their water into the air with the colours of rainbows,
drawing delicate faces of life
on dry sand and charming stones.
The wind from the mountains carries songs,
flute music, ancient tunes,
stories of salt, gypsum and clay
to the Valle de la Luna,
to let it remain calm and unchanged
with its eyes filled with dust and stones
in the eternal canto of earth.

Atacama, heart of the North,
plant of wind
in the song of history,
you make the day sound
and rock to sleep the nights,
lonely between the arms of the mountains
and the Altiplano.


Details | Free verse | |

The Royal Curse

It afflicts king and queen alike.
Brought to the castle 
by the master of infildelity.
He moves smoothly from one to the other.
He swiftly takes them 
as is his right, he believes.
Only to have his fill
from the fair maiden 
to the sullied trollop.
He sees them all equally
in his adventures.
He spreads his curse
from one to the other.
It robs it's victims
of their eyes and senses.
Over the years, it slowly degrades
their intelligence and lives.
It can bring down the greatest Empires
if given enough time.


Details | Free verse | |

From The Ashes of Auschwitz

Telepathic messages dancing in front of me
Energies left by thousands of freed souls
Their train stopped at Birkenau,Auschwitz
Sickening stench of burnt human flesh..
..lays heavy over the consentration camp
recognized even when the wind blew away from it


Like some new mountain range
They rise themself up from the ashes
Shaking the dust off..
The once deadly gaz has gone out
Cremation ashes has turned to cold leftovers
Nevertheless their spirits lives on
They`ll find their own way out
Out of the relentless Nazi camp

Into a world with pure freedom
No greed,hunger or merciless regimes
Nor any blasphemous,persecuting religions 
All humans raised above hate and inequality
2 million humans met their fates in Birkenau,Auschwitz
6 000 per day..some days twice as many
From the ashes of Auschwitz..
..comes a cry for us to learn from history




A.Ertsland
November 30th 2012

In memory of those arrested and sent to the Nazi consentration camps 70 years ago.
November 26th 1942, 530 Men,Women and Children were chased onboard the German 
ship "Donau",to meet their fate in Auschwitz,Birkenau.By the end of WWII a total of 759
Jews had been deported from Norway to Nazi concentration camps.Only 25 survived...



Details | Free verse | |

Legendary Lady Leaders I salute you

I am like
Cleopatra
embraced by serpents many
fear
always trying something new
and dramatic with my
hair
I am like
Eva Patrón
growing up with a painful family
getting lost in movies
thinking of my own
hypnotizing when I speak
First lady of Argentina
meeting you, after death
would be a treat
a nervous habit, of nibbling
on my jewelry
the similarities, between us
gave me a sense of foolery
I am like
Wilma Mankiller
Chief of the Cherokee Tribe
for ten years
fighting against Native stereotypes
despite such distress
enemies did stress
promoting to ‘be of good mind’
you were a leader, of your time
an advocator for women
that they may grow up
and become chief
as a child, you wondered
the forests, like me
not the streets
I am like
Aung San Suu Kyi
wearing three types of 
flowers in your hair
feeling at times like a 
‘splinter of glass, sharp, glinting
power to defend itself against hands
that try to crush’
winner of a Nobel Peace Prize, 
for courage, was
a must
I am like
Catherine The Great
a love to laugh,
coffee, and feeling compelled
to always fill abandoned blank
sheets of paper
you were a Royal Russian Empress,with
not one red drop of Russian blood
and her people, were blessed
to have her
I am like
the Queen of England
longest royal lifetime in history
strong built, from a miserable childhood
toughened her
this is no mystery
preferring candle light
to electricity
handwriting over typewriter
and poetry
I am like
Indira Gandhi
dreaming to live as she did
riding elephants and having
tiger cubs as companions
your own Sikh security
killed you, the story
a sad one
secret dreams of being a writer
angered, by the imbalance of
power
between men and women
listening to beat poets
like Ginsberg
as a great Prime Minister of India 
you were heard
and understood
I am like
Rigoberta Menchú
drew the worlds attention to 
native Indians rights,
because of you
your goal, to be
a drop of water on a rock
dripping in the same spot,
eventually in the world, you
may leave a mark
wearing many colors
‘because it gives you life’
insisting men and women be equals
you fought this fight
to relax, as I do
writing poetry into
 the night
I am like
Joan of Arc
French Military Heroine
burned at the stake at just
age nineteen
known for keeping your cool
even on the battlefield
being a courageous and inspirational
rare jewel
Legendary Lady Leaders
I salute you



Details | Free verse | |

Under the Tall Trees

Of dust, of dirt;
suspended, lost, remarkable.

Of no merit;
forgotten, under the tall trees.

And bury him;
No accurate history serves.

Under cross;
buried in sand,
buried in dirt.

His face will carry forth,
past this miserable state.

To birth,
to die;
forth not.

Behold;
of man, 
of earth.

Of dust, of dirt;
suspended, found, 
frozen in time.


Details | Free verse | |

Remembering Rwanda

Before the blast in April's darkened sky. . . before the electrifying surge of insurgency - when trucks and tanks were used to block the roads, and when men and even boys were sought to aid in one malicious purpose. . . before the rampant slaughter - the raining of machetes down on flesh and bones and the cornucopia of corpses left like butchered carcasses on highways, nearby houses and in churches. . . before the plundering, the rapes and mutilations and the exodus of thousands to death-infested camps, there were whisperings - insidious and portentous to the ears of the wisely suspicious - and a voice on the airwaves spewing hate. Before it all, there was a brewing of resentment of a people with a history of poverty and of transitory freedom and capricious politics. And through it all, with such grave consternation, governments debated. . . waited. . . . . . . and waited, playing with semantics while thousands dead became the hundred thousand, and three long months - unrivaled for its number of atrocities - came to its completion. Seemingly, peace has been restored and punishment stingily doled out. Time moves on . . . except for half a million for whom compassion by the world was spared.


Details | Free verse | |

The Jew and a Nazi


Singing praise of past lives
with the dreams of swastikas and rose-tinted spectacles
floating through my head.
One moment, a Polish Jew,
the next, an Aryan German -
dual reflections held in the iron gaze
of a predatory raptor and the sharp-angled, six-pointed star
perpetually spinning, reopening wounds
which the weeping Roses of Sharon cannot heal.


I held you in my youthful arms, 
serpents rising from the secret codes of my loins, 
and I worshipped you as an old, universal lover 
as I penetrated your dark womb;
a sanctified temple of Angels and Daemons.
    
Initially we prayed to the inverted graves
sliding through oil-slicked skies,
so young of heart and mind we were. 
Our love was purified in the hellish Axis-kiln 
paralleling the flames flickering against our skin. 

The vessel of our love shone like glass, 
cooling off to less dangerous levels 
in the forgiving breeze of empathy
(aside from the fact that when I watched you move,
the world stood still for me).

And then we wiped away the green grins from the glass.
 
We became one pulse,  
the Jew and a Nazi
teaching each other how one should not pray to 'him' alone, 
for both phallic powers are needed 
to light the spark of creation:
    
"Our Father AND Mother who art in Heaven(after), 
hallowed be both thy names."

Male and female energies 
breathing life into each other,
fusing together 
like slightly distorted transvestite, Siamese twins. 
    
We wanted to stay in our fleshly pleasures, 
but our minds spread wings. 
Taking flight, 
ascending smoothly within turbulence, 
we transformed into golden light, 
moving invisible objects with our thoughts,
removing shackles, opening secret locks,
figuring out who was who --

who were the real Jews, and who were the true Nazis,
who were the Angels and who were the Daemons....

....who were Daemons and who were Angels. 









+/-



Details | Free verse | |

Undivided

Pieces of history 
We clutch to our chests
Life changing 
Heartbreaking 

Devastation
 



These events 
Which seek to crush us
Do not
For they hold us together

Making us stronger 
 



More firm are we 
In our resolve
To be one nation
Under God

Indivisible


Details | Free verse | |

Lizzie Siddal's Last Pose

John Millais, today I pose, frozen, just for you -
a blank canvas, your lonely soul-saddened muse.
Love me with the iridescence of your inspiration.

I can be whoever you want me to be -
Beata Beatrix to Dante Rossetti.
But to you I am Ophelia, and we are alone.

Allurement to your compulsion to create and paint;
ever patient, never late, though this ice-shimmery water
slices my nicety, has me tingling hypothermic-faint.

I breathe fragrant big-bloomed flowers; hydrangea panicles
glitter in my lungs like starburst pinnacles.
Water-mirror reflects back crystalline light,

this fern-feathered pool. The flame-copper fronds of my hair
unfurl in your fantasy; my beauty bends like a lily
to softly kiss your canvas, your brush caresses my curves.

I hope your fame remembers my reality,
and how my vision camera-caught your creativity.
On the glacial, arctic wastes of my wasted mind, blanked by laudanum,

whitened by nauseous opium, colour-clouds burst,
water lilies open starry pink hands in a pool of jewels.
This cold clutch is finally unclenching.

My stillborn child, that crib-cooled one,
light-cradled, thaws the bone-biting chill,
reclaims me from this dream-drenched prismatic pool.




*Lizzie Siddal was a model for the Pre-Raphaelite artists


Details | Free verse | |

Autobahn

~2012 New Berlin Remix~


Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers 
slaying the wicked Beast in the East,
seeds hidden in the cuff links
returning home for the victory parade.

The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage, as desert sand blows 
through the desolate streets of Basra,
spray painted slogans of 'Aryan Nation'
scrawled across crumbling walls.
High level Terror-alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances 
of commercial-class passengers
flying high above barbed-wire compounds:
camps of cells in solitary confinement,
centralized secret service agents
unload the next set of trains.

"Son, do you forget all that we sacrificed?!
Have you lost all of your respect?
Okay, so maybe the Feds
became brainwashed by the Reds,
but this is for our freedom and safety.
This isn't about racial impurity,
but our Nationalist Socialist security!"

"You are all mixed now anyway,
doesn't matter if you are female, black, jew or gay,
we must unite together as a nation,
proudly wave our flags, fight our common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the very fabric of our free society!"

"Son, why can't you just see?!"
"Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi 
natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!"
____


....cold sweat.

I wake-up from a horrible nightmare,
remnants of images floating through my head.
Something about flocks of carnivorous sheep,
and rabid wolves for shepherds?
Jumping out of bed,
I quickly look in the mirror
just to make sure.
Everything looks as it should.
Lawnmower growls in the background,
sunshine leaks into the room
adding a warm touch to reality.
Through my bedroom window,
I spy the neighbour's Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the east.

Everything appears normal,
here, on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd.




.


Details | Free verse | |

Promised Land

                               Hoist the sails and head for the west
                           Sail me away from this Godforsaken place
                                  Away from poverty and hunger
                                   Atlantics unpredictable anger
                                     Waves foaming intensity
                           Can not stop my journey towards the west
                             Navigate me west to the promised land
                               Hoist the sails and head for the west

                                                  Split yo sail
                                              I see land in sight
                                           My family I left behind
                              To seek my fortune in the promised land
                                     My happieness I never found
                                         The light keeps me alive
                                      The light that never goes out
                                 Love for the family I once left behind
                              Must be expelled by my survival instinct

                                         From craddle to death
                                             My fate is sealed



Just a few thoughts about how much millions of emigrants had to sacrifice for a better life.
Some managed to be reunited with their families again..while others met their fate along the way


Details | Free verse | |

The Silence of War

The Silence of War

Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze

Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.

The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal 
Another postcard for Historians to write.

Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.

A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
 A last haven for my soul to cling 
 I watch his spirit fly away,
 As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
 Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918

Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war, 
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
 Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece 
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust

In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
 What dreams did we lose?
 What voices were made silent?
 What books were never written? 
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too

Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
 Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals 
Only now, through peace can we learn 
The voice of one soldier,

How I pity humanity 
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim, 
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.

Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.  


Details | Free verse | |

A Declaration On Independence Day

On Independence Day
I declare  independence 
from American imperialism.
I declare U.S. out of Iraq.
And while I am at it
the C.I.A. out of the business
of supplying murderous thugs
with rifles and uniforms 
along with the strategies 
to extinguish
democracy in Haiti.
I also call for the pullout
of State Department funding
in the not so secret 
overthrowing
of the fair and duly elected
President of Venezuela.
On Independence Day
I have the right to say
we need a new policy.
Therefore, I call
for independence from oil.
I call for windmills 
and solar panels
and cool looking hybrid cars 
getting 100 miles to the gallon.
I am tired of chanting
No Blood For Oil.
On Independence Day
I look to a nation
involved in war for war's sake
war to simulate the economy
and make our leaders look great
and call for a different fate.
I declare our politicians
give up corporate sponsorship
and live up to this great nation's
highest aspirations.
Freedom from
illegal occupation.
Freedom from 
propaganda and torture.
Freedom from 
criminal actions
on sovereign nations.
I declare transcendence.
I declare we live up to
life, liberty and the pursuit
of happiness
for all humanity.
I declare world independence
from monarchies, theocracies
totalitarianism, oligarchies 
and otherwise puppet regimes.
And I declare we all share these 
inalienable rights. 
Including the right to assemble 
organize and form unions.
Protect the health 
of our elders
newborns and the environment.
And I refuse those who would
deny blacks
the same rights as whites
by suppressing their vote 
with twelve hour lines
in the blistering cold.
Let us all have our say!
And while I am at it
give the poor a megaphone
on mainstream talk shows
let their voices be heard
in the court of public opinion.
I declare freedom from
billionaire owned media
conglomerations.
Let independent democracy
infiltrating the television.
Thus let us all speak our truth
and be protected 
from the tyrannical majority
and those empowered by the muzzle.
I declare that our forefathers
envisioned this and much more
in the age of enlightenment.
So that one day
every one of us
on this magnificent planet
regardless of class or culture
national and religious origin
sexual persuasion or gender
would be endowed and empowered
by an independent
yet universal 
human rights agenda.


Dean Walker


Details | Free verse | |

Train, Alone

I wail lonely
in your distances
as endless trestles travel I

Know

I was here I was
present
on your horizons,
present in your town

Come, ride with me
Come, keep me 
from obsolescence, keep me
alive

Without you
Within me
I am meaningless,
blind

For how can I see, and, yes,
Who can I show,

If  not you... if not you... if not you 


Details | Free verse | |

The American Flag, It Is You



A symbol of respect, pride, and strength,
not to be ruffled, wadded, or soiled,
to be folded, unfurled, raised for all to see,
as in going into battle resounding victory.

Not to be tattered, torn, or burned in effigy,
rather a symbol of hope to those in bondage,
of hate for those who seek to enslave,
of patriotism to those who guard fiercely,
enshrined with those who died for liberty,
entrusted to each generation to decide its fate,
to be the most loved or most hated,
to be seen in every city, state, and on foreign soil,
wherever seen, America is found.

No other symbol rises above or would be allowed,
representing freedom, recognized the world round,
a powerful adversary to an enemy
a gentle giant to those who are represented.

A symbol of red and white, 
with fifty shining stars on a field of blue,
call it a flag,
in reality it is you.


Details | Free verse | |

As the Old Belfry Tolls

..           

As it rings, the ancient belfry
weather beaten about the stone marge;
the musings chime, visions 
from the past.

The cheerful townsfolk; round little faces
nipped by icy winds, merrily laughed;
echoes from the halcyon days and 
of times shaded, the falling tears. 

Dispelling the silence of muted souls,
grief ridden sore hearts 
and dark clinging knurled creepers;
the silence of the mysterious spirits
of the night, who hide
as the sound draws near
of the thunder against the grey light.

Breaking the stillness around,
arousing one from repose; as rain drenched,
a galloping horse's hooves
delicately daubs the wet earth.

Dusk shall again gather over the shadows,
as the old belfry tolls;
heard beyond the far off skies
and the knolls.

Breaking in upon the quiet yew'd glens;
tidings prophesied,
the reverberating peals.

..

For Kelly Deschler's Contest : "Women Only"

Written by gautami phookan


Details | Free verse | |

SHADOWLANDS

                                “Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed – 
                                 come to me when I too am on my death bed.”

                                 “Allowed!' she said. “Heaven would have a job to hold me;
                                  and as for Hell, I'd break it into bits.” 



                                  Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force 
                                  this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back
                                  -- to be sucked back -- into it?

                                                                    ~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed ~


                                  __________________________________



The division should be acute, the before her, the with her, the after her,
Yet there is this constant rattling of doors, though they remain locked,

in theory. I think of her as gone until I turn a page and read a passage 
of pompous dialogue and she returns, My Joie de Vivre, entertaining me 

with that puckish wit, unabashed. She smiles in the dusk with crusading 
colours that bend dark horizons, changing clouds unexpectedly. What was I 

before Joy*? Content, pleasant and productive. But was I alive, aware of
Life, its blissful rhythms? Irony defined: the heart which awakened stone 

no longer beats. Finally, I understand. Lessons are sharp things which
infect both fresh and aging amputations. What do I do with this knowledge? 

It is like learning a language that is no longer spoken, a long monologue 
unbearably forlorn, painful. Faith dismisses hauntings, yet she does so 

in daily degrees, oh, the sweet ghosts that peer from those notes, my name 
underscored in margins. Why is there only one glove in the sewing box?  

Agony hunts me in the garden. Perfume almost, but not quite a match.
Some rooms have snares. I dare not open a kitchen drawer. Pain waits there.

The specter of my former self, a staunch gent, so sure of Heaven's role, 
that cold bloke follows me in the shadows, land of man’s rage and despair.

There is no pretty death, no words can comfort the ravaged left behind,
There is no poetry in our departing; I only pray there is Godspeed in mine. 



*Written Nov 4, 2012






Joy Gresham Davidman, American poet, and C.S. Lewis, English writer and Oxford scholar, were good friends and married solely for the purpose to keep Joy in England (contested). But love came, as it has a habit of doing, when least expected, after Joy was diagnosed with terminal cancer. There love was true and deep, and her death shattered Lewis. His book, A Grief Observed explores his anguish and a Christian’s questions which arise during times of suffering. The film, Shawdowlands, is based on the biography, Through the Shadowlands: The Love Story of C. S. Lewis and Joy Davidman. Lewis died 3 years after Joy. The above poem is a conjecture on my part, as no one can truly know what lies in another's heart, alive or otherwise.  


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Daddies little girl

Belove,  my dear friend
Stand by my side
For I shall not cry
My sins, will go over the earth
Mountains shall depart
Father, I'm talking to you

I remember, dreams and memories
Times my soul was lost in the valley
And in your arms
In moments I open my eyes
I see your shadow on my curtain
Feel your spirit above my head
Feel the wind and sense it's you
Daddy, listen
I'm speaking to you

I never had a chance, to tell you
Give me your pain
Let me carry your weight
Drown your medication in my blood
Papa , listen to my thunder

I was only fourteen
In another state
Hearing, cancer was your case
Yet, it was a little to late
The day my ears heard
Your soul went to rest
Dad, come in this soul
Listen to my thoughts

I will never forget your face
My dear friend
I will keep you in my dreams
Daddy
I will treasure our memories
Papa
I will always remember my soul in the valley
Dad
I will know, you are my father
By blood
Dear friend
By communication
Angel
By protection
Belove, shall always stand by my side
For, I shall no longer cry
Only stand by your side
In a beautiful lifetime
            
Love,
Daddies little girl


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THE GRAVEYARD OF SHIPS

Beneath the fathom’s deep, in wreckage’s graveyard
Of the forgotten, here the broken bones of ships lie still,
Covered in a forest of seaweeds greenery.
Corrosion steel hauls ripped wide open, lay against ancient
Wooden beams from vessels voyages, of long ages distant past.
Faded names, render no clues reference, for the maritime detective.
But tragedies lost vessels, did ride upon the frothy foam, 
And spray above, sailing the big blues timeless tides.
Nay Poseidon's toll ti’s payed in sailors flesh, melting
Humanities dreams beneath his drowning waves.
Beauties fare, and proud are they, the crippled, 
Swallowed whole by the aquatic storms avenging rage.
Mercy's mere-angels weep thus, for the mortal souls lost,
Guiding them towards their spiritual resting place below,
And welcoming them unto their fathers kingdom beneath,
The abysses darkening depths.
Torn asunder is mankind's well hued craft, shattered
Into bits pieces, large to small, a glittering shards
Rain of destruction. crashing into the muddy bottom,
Of the under belly of the sea itself.
Deaf are the silent cry's of men, whom leave only
Bubbles streaming upwards, as their last epitaphs
Tribute for thy existence.
The devil's gardens, swim these black waters,
Turning them crimson red, sharp toothed monsters,
Feasting upon carrion discarded left overs.
Dark figures, phantom creatures, lurking just below,
The briny surface, awaiting for the Poseidon’s next victim,
To join the graveyard of ships.
Faded are their names, forgotten titles, as the paint
Peels, on the once majestic vessels.
Now they remain wreckage’s ruins, abandon to the
Mercy of erosion masterful hand of destruction.
Hear the sounding clanging of bells, whom ring in
Silences of troubled waters abode, it is the cracking 
Of doom, beware thy young lad, he whom seeks fortunes
Favor abroad, for only fools test the might of the sea,
Against thy own grit and survive.
Thus thee shed a tear for the fallen, dear lad, 
For no other will on the dead’s behalf, in thine
Cemetery of the graveyard of ships. no passages
Return tickets are given.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
SPIRITUAL-HISTORICAL
02-03-2914






  


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I Stole My Neighbor's Jasmines

Today I stole my neighbor 
Jasmines growing over the fence
I was too vulnerable to resist
Since the foreclosure of my first garden.
Any fence makes good neighbor
Alright,
But don't you see
Trees and flowers will not stand it
They keep hanging over
Littering my primordial joy
With fruits and blossoms
As if to pay
Whatsover flaming sentinel that prevents
My eating from the tree of life again
So I walking there
Seduced by the naked scent of air
Recovered amidst the gushing bloom
Of jasmines hanging over the fence
A memory of nights
I shall not own again
And crushed by my mortal sense
Of spiritual penury
Before the white innocense of a flower
A reached up
As if to pick something no longer there
And in a moment of desire
For good
I, some evil, by choice accomplish
For my neighbor shall seek the gushing bloom
And find they are fewer there
I stole my neighbor's jasmines today.


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Easter in San Francisco, 1999

Our dreams begin to open on the ninth floor
of the Marines Memorial Hotel.
Clean tombs equipped with all that is needed
for a weekend to die for.
Guests view what they can see at their level.
Flags wave from rooftops of skyscrapers, 
like spring flowers praising the high winds.
Below a jungle of souls
in hypnotic allegiance flow past 
concrete fields choked with roads.
Fatigued, dormant dreams weakly climb
praying to continue, to go on, 
Hoping to recognize
silence as it sings a sacred invitation
to follow the fire of morning.
In our room we listen to the 
television flicker between old graying movies
and a war in Kosovo.
At the window we have the luxury to turn away. . .
and witness the massacre of our afternoon.
Hail stones bullet the sunlight,
day bleeds pools of darkness.
Night falls to the light
Colors resurrected in our hearts
glow triumphant, emblazoned with life.
Who do you tell what your heart sees?
Who would believe the sound of it?

Oh Love, Oh Light--

"Please stay with us,
for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over."   luke 24:29


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Howling Wolf

The feeling of your touch 
I know it in the brush of the wind
The heat of the sun
Sweeping down on my skin
A reasurrace of a hand on my shoulder
A tear wiped away
As it fell from the sky
I know much about you
Like your cowboys and indians
And the nights we would dance
a pow wow in the night lights
stars abrasive against our hearts
rubbing off the smudge and dirt 
To say im proud would be an understatement
Our heritage may lie beneath the pavement 
But in our hearts and in our words
The feathers still fly
Howling wolf, and I


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The letter

The Letter

DEAR Marlene,

Sweet heart of the dead
Adored by generations not yet born
Marlene we love you.

Your beauty burned the wings of JFK
And brought big John to his knees.
For your love, was meant for more.
You shocked the World with a velvet kiss
An elegant truth in a sea of Fools.

It took one voice to start a War,
One bullet to unite false prophets
One woman to speak out.
You ostracized the Nazis for what they were.
Stood tall, through treason
Did not follow, Hitler’s Spell
Chose to Love America s freedom instead.

When Reapers scythe came
Song and Compassion was your shield.
It Gave comfort to the damned as shell and mortar pound
Your words a respite, from the fear
And your beauty, a reminder.
That love awaits the Soldiers return.
Back to the German farms and the English meadows
For love knows nothing of war.

You witnessed holy sacrilege,
Saw blind disciples fuel the reapers fire
Both sides, in the name of god,
Oh how heaven must have wept

Marlene you dared to question religion,
For Your soul could see through the flames,
While others perished in mortals Pride.
You Asked god to review his plan.
Only you, Marlene could do that

Where have all the flowers gone
Your message to Humanity,
But the Heinkel and the Spitfire
Flew too high to hear
And the flowers of youth
All Eaten by silent sheep, and taken to yet another slaughter.

Yet be proud Marlene
For Your echo awakened a new generation to peace,
Although lasting peace is like true love, so hard to find,
But never the less, a goal we devote our lives to.
Some countries have found their Peace
While other search.
Humanity is still a child in these matters,
And war still goes on 
When will they ever, learn, when will they, ever learn.

Try to forgive us,
Perhaps the man upstairs,
Really does have another plan, Marlene Dietrich, 
At least I’m sure that Eternity
Will be a far more beautiful and interesting place
With you in it,
and I look forward to meeting you.

Love Steven 
xxxx

Footnote to this poem
JFK relates to her affair with President Kennedy
Big john relates to her affair with John Wayne
The Velvet kiss was the first lesbian kiss on main stream cinema 1930
Marlene was bisexual.
The line where have all the flowers gone and when will they ever learn comes from the song forever associated with Marlene Dietrich.

Brief Biography
Born 1901 in Germany
First film in 1920
Became American Citizen 1937
Awarded Medal of Freedom USA 1947
Awarded Legion of Honor by France
Died 1992 in Paris.


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understanding

understanding hearts is what the 
world needs to today in its tangle
of broken dreams.

dreams are what life is
made of america
expounds as we
never stop to taste the
sweetness
of the corn that
fills our bellys.

"make a bigger, brighter step
for all mankind." WE WHINE.

yet we never appreciate the ones
we have crushed in our climb.

"we will be the first in every nation", we
exclaim......

forgetting that the first usually dies
earliest in most every game.

by janetta 1982


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The Sowing---Repost in honor of Black History Month

The Sowing


Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches 
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field

A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields

For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery

Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each ray eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise

This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
 


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Ares.

Thundering down Olympus
Treads Ares 
The battle master
Ashen 
Piceous clad
Against midnights cloak
Returning human spirit
To the heavens
For upon drowning
Within his crimson gaze
Do we understand
That in faith
Lies divinity



Note: In Greek mythology Ares is the God of War.


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War Mentality

They come from a different era
where patriotism is a just cause
they would fight for the true blue
never mind who was right or wrong

they stood staunch and egos proud
their chest out, backs straight and chins up
they come from an old style of thinking
I fight today as my father and grandfather did too.

fighting for an eye for an eye tooth for a tooth
I will die to serve my country even if its a lie
if you try to invade our land
we will come and conquer you

we are defenders of the truth
but the old timers forget
and the young ones have a narrow point of view
there was a time when the immigrants were Irish, Italians and jews

racism was rampant and that hasn't changed
Christians today still preach
'Jesus is savior they say repent your evil ways
pushing their rhetoric just like the roman empire did

amazingly America seems to be doing the same
history seems to repeat itself time and time again
war, religion, oil and what we perceive  as freedom
we invade again and again and call it defending democracy

yet the intelligence comes from spies and other governments
because they have shared interests in different types of policy
they all carefully choose their words
because one slip of the lip could trigger war as it has happened before

todays war on terrorism is a campaign designed  to instill pain 
and un-trust to drain our resources from us 
And our leader claimed up front this is not a religious war
yet he paraphrases from the bible we'll get those evil doers

you see bush fooled our religious leaders too.
he used their belief in Jesus he tricked 'em all just to get their vote
he claims he's a born again Christian and this Christians embraced him holly
but then one day bush spoke to Jesus and asked what to do with Iraq

Jesus responded Invade that country
Now dont get me wrong Jesus was not about war 
he taught of peace, love and compassion
however his message has been twisted and turned over time 

and history shows the hands of Christian religious leaders are always bloody
because they twist the truth to control dictatorship is always the goal
Bush had been plaining war before a judge handed him the seat
on his first day he signed a bill into law prevent any criminal charges against him



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TV Tremors

Star strung
like Bette Davis Sundays
marathon watching 
and sitting in tears
Wrestling emotions
which calm and confuse us
Confound us and move us
beyond golden years
Broken
like black and white vision
fuzzy and stationed
with grey rabbit ears
Lost in commotion
which break and betray us
which bullet gun lays us
compounding our fears.


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Old Ironsides

Only silence dresses her rigging now
To the call of the bosun’s whistle
Her hatches now stand locked and secure
Where long past sailors once lingered
She is the last of the old frigates
Moored in the shallows of Charlestown
Board her and hear her echoes of valor
Haughtily anchored her colors humbly fly
No blemishes on her hull show her battles
Her carronades still sit silently waiting
As she floats mythically at ease
For a moment I can hear the great moans
Her keel and sailors cresting Atlantic waves
To Captain Hulls orders to come about
And charge on the enemy ship Guerriere
On her decks I feel the plight of her dead
Hearing stories of centuries old bulkheads
Astounding feats of a morose pride
To have brought their foe to capitulate
Now she stands tacit though ever grand
And still on her decks and deep in the bowels
The mighty spirit of U.S.S. Constitution dwells  
A monument of endurance softly whispering
“Lest we remember long forgotten sacrifices…”


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THE ALAMO

An earthen gray memorial stands alone against
A rugged desert landscape, built by the mortal
Hands of the faithful.
No bells do ring, in the churches steeple, but in the
Heart of Texas it's sounding message can never
Be silenced, remember the Alamo.
For the fighting men of valor's honors sacrificed,
All for liberation's call to freedom.
Listen to their whispering voices, traveling
 Across the tangle weed dunes, and harken unto 
Them, never to surrender even after death, do
They fight for country, hearth, and home.
These pioneer men whom built this nation's
Backbone, carved it out, with steeled bowie knife
Sharpened edge, and musket balls powder's flash.
Gathered here, for one last hurrah’s gallant stand off,
To the victor's gaining everlasting immortality.
 Gallantry’s brave, shed their dearest blood, sacrificing
Giving everything they had,  including life itself.
Cannon thunder bolts roar, as lightening rods raw force
Striking against mortars harden walls, yet the
Spirits of bravery strong, did not yield, or raise 
The white shield of surrender. 
Keep thy black powder dry, lift your rifles high,
But don't fire men, until you see the whites of
Your enemies eyes.
Under the hailing of gunfire’s smoke, did hells
Storm rage, both sides dying for their country's
Beliefs right or wrong.
Death's battlefield littered with fragments deceased,
A graveyard left unattended, wars unfortunate 
Fallen, became salvation’s tribute to behold, in the distance
A tattered flag, still waves in the winds of freedom.
Bricks of defense, shattered as if made of glass, 
Debris spewing outwards, towards martyred legacy's
Champions, killing many before they hit the ground, 
Receiving remains of the valiant dead.
Oh in the heaven's trumpets did herald, these
Courageous souls, welcoming honored soldiers, home wards
Unto God's boundless country, for these explorers
To discover the horizon's endless divides beyond.
Prisoners living, taken by horse and rider were forced
To bow, beneath a foreign banners alien flag.
Yet even than their American hearts didn't waiver,
Until the swords steel severed life, from the fleshes beating
Drumming from within.
But the last warrior yelled a rebels battle cry,
And as he fell with his last dying breath,
Yelled out,
Remember the Alamo!!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


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The West

Cattle rolled tracks
Straw sacks
Migrants rode lonely
Lonesome rhythm in sound
Landless –


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GETTYSBURG

Walk does he not the specter of death, 
His saith raised high, even he himself has had
Enough killing, on the battlefield of Gettysburg,
Satan screams, stop sons of men, truly war
Is hell on earth.
Time's spiritual voices cry out, as the wind
Blows through the tall over grow grasses,
Of this Pennsylvanian State park.
Injured spirits, roam as phantom soldiers,
Seeking salvation's reprieves preservation, 
From their damnation.
On the Devil's Den reddened rock, centuries
Still stand guard, knelling sharp shooters,
Fire at will, as the drummers beat, at rhythm’s
Death march.
Gun powers burnt smell fills the air, 
As the loud canons echo in the distance,
Mayhem's discord has left destruction's
Bloodshed, these numbers estimation 
Of flesh and bone, are guessed yet it's
Resolution unknown.
Blown are the horns of Calvary’s call,
Reinforcement’s sacred hesitating for aid,
But none come to it's deadening's sounding.
Mourn do the orphan's of war, in their fathers
Name, so they do weep in sorrow remembrance.
A war-ravaged companion, lead by freedom
Seekers, the end to release bondage’s salves,
Stain our great country with it's own blood.
Brother against brother, two flags of belief 
Striking each other, north vs the south,
Behold it was the American Civil War.
A revolutionary uprising of idealism,
That all man have the right to be free,
And live without the chains of oppression.
It is in this haunted place, at cemetery ridge,
That the final battle lines are marked in 
Bloods deadliest charge ahead.
Many souls still serve here, never shall
They know the light of peace.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


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Seven hundred wives

Here I am,
man

From where
the soul reading
did ask ?

Trace me...
this pinkish soul,
with
straight
and twisted blotch
of hair;
from Adam
fool !

Then Solomon did love,
at the least,
seven hundred wives

From about this,
condemned world,
I did come


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The Beauty Of Austria Shattered

I remember the dream of Austria
As the war for me was finally closing 
High in my turret upon the Sherman
I entered this mountain paradise at last
Until I reached the earthly gates of hell

Within those eyes I found despair
That spark of life long dead
Their hearts filled of solitudes poison
Muted voices no longer calling out
Thousands of souls starving for hope
Existing amongst corpses who had lost it
Now just shadows of the once proud
Crushed by tyranny simply because they “were”

Empty men drifting about lost in a miring haze
Praying for the peace only death grants
So very few seemed to hold onto humanity
They had nothing to fear because all was lost
As I stood at the hells gates called Mauthausen

In that moment I found the truest of evils
Under the threshold of Hades a toxoid of hatred
Not truly comprehending what my eyes spoke
Numbed in fears I never knew subsisted within me
Standing frozen I wanted nothing more than to run
As the shell of that crying man fell in my arms
I am haunted by his words…”godheid bedanken”
My faith transfused giving him a moments hope

Within those high peaks of the songs of paradise
I lost my soul at the gates of a concentration camp
Every night since I hear his voice thanking God
He called us the wrath and thunder of reckoning
But…I was just a boy with rifle searching for a respite


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QUEEN OF THE DESERT

All bow low unto Pharaoh,
Queen of all upper, and lower Egypt.
Hollowed halls echo thy name,
 Nefertiti.
Cast red sails towards infinity's,
 Swift currents.
 Nile waters part steadily 
Anubis guardian of the dead,
 Receive thus living deity.
Let sacred alters burn bright, 
Light sacrifices ashen embers, 
In thine honers reverence.
Beneath desertions desert ruins,
 Lies etched upon mortar's stone.
A royal tomb bearing her,
 Majesties,
 Unspoken name, Nefertiti.
 Golden saddles press against,
 Mortals realm,
Behold a phantom goddess,
 Brushed ageless,
By times untarnished memory,
The pasted reveals truths,
 Magnificence.
Through redemption's flame,
Two scepters crisis cross,
 Within beauty's touch.
An ancient throne has,
 Been reclaimed. 
Raise great sphinx, from
 Your sacred resting place,
Shake free fetters sandy mane,
 Breath once again,
 His might’s roar harold’s,
 Her return.
Soft winds blow against,
 Freedoms breeze,
Exposing a glittering figure,
 Standing tall,
Beside the great monolith.
All bow low unto Pharaoh,
Queen of all upper, and lower
 Egypt.
Hollowed halls echo thy name.
 Nefertiti.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


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The Evolution of Learning (Part One)

It amazes me how much man has evolved
Yet, How little he has learned
All around the globe
Millions die of disease and starvation
While the ever so intelligent creature known as man
Spends millions upon millions of dollars every single day
Killing each other
Instead of finding cures for the ill or feeding starving children
Oh sure, we dabble in those efforts
But we are committed to killing each other
Governments all around the globe
Spend most of their money
On their armies
Either to defend or attack
Their enemies
Supposedly, the most intelligent creature on earth
The intellectual creature known as man
If I may go so far
Mans commitment to war and killing
Goes far beyond any one mans term in office
It goes far beyond any one mans lifetime
It goes far beyond any century or any one era
From beginning to end, top to bottom
East to west, north to south
Red, yellow, brown, black or white 
Our commitment to killing each other
Is undeniable
How can a species that is smart enough to split atoms 
Creating weapons that will kill millions
Still be stupid enough to do it?
And now I see on the science channel
That man has now devised the Platonic beam
A beam of light that just disintegrates the target in an instant
At what price you ask?
Well I don’t know but I reckon if we diverted that money
To say solar energy projects
They could probably put a solar energy system
On every home in the world for free
Thus solving the energy crisis
Not to mention food in the icebox and medicine in the cabinet
Because of course when you create such an amazing new weapon
You need an entire new type of ship to deploy it from
Thus is born the next generation of war birds
They jettison into space 
Then go into super afterburner (A jet engine minus oxygen)
Which they said would reach like 20,000 miles an hour
So you could shoot halfway around the world
Disintegrate your enemy
And be home in time for supper
I believe when speaking of politics
It’s not a National Crisis
It’s a Global Epidemic


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The Augusts of Summer

How I wish
I could go back
To when I didn't
Have a care in the world.
I wish for the days
I spent running
Barefoot in the grass
Laughing in the summer
And eating icy cold popsicles.
I want to be free again,
To not have to think
To go and do as I please,
Ride a bike
As fast
And as far as I can,
Or swim
In freezing cold waters,
My cheeks turning purple,
My lips tasting salty.
I wish to sit on a hill
With my childhood friends,
And eat cherries by the bag
And draw on the sidewalk
With an ice cube.
How I long to relive my memories,
How I long to be young again
A carefree kid, in the hot Augusts of summer.


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WHAT DO THE STARS TELL A LOVER'S HEART?

Profound silence
felt and revered,
stirring an awesome emotion,
which stillness repeals
whenever brightness shines;
and the primroses' scent spreads the delight
of the mild season.


What do the stars 
tell a lover's heart...palpitating
in tranquility, amid shadows
that advance with the pretty fireflies?
Dream, and reprieve from the loss...
hoping that love doesn't lay at rest,
but chooses to celebrate
'till after the evening, and tell romantic tales.


The invisible crickets chirp, 
somewhat awkward to the ears,
I'd rather hear the coos of the owls,
which are richer and more harmonious in sound,
but where are they in this darkness, unless
they are mating in the willows of the lake?


Our blanket is spread on the wide Sheep Meadow,
with a superb view of those Manhattan's skycrapers,
towering over us as sentinels in castle's towers.
Juliet wanted to taste this freedom,
embracing and kissing her handsome Romeo,
not fearing anyone intruding in her paradise,
unwilling to leave anytime soon;
and unruffled, she would continue to love him.  


What do the stars tell a lover's heart?
Accept the lovely rose that he offers you, and adore it,
because it has no thorns, to make you bleed in despair;
Sing with him a beautiful sonnet that Shakespeare wrote
for his lover who crossed the Atlantic ocean,
when ships took months to reach America's shore.


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Turning to Cicero

"The budget should be balanced, the Treasury should be refilled, public debt should be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and the assistance to foreign lands should be curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt. People must again learn to work instead of living on public assistance."  Cicero , 55 BC
 

controversy over government nothing new Civil War? oxymoron in a country divided, there is no civility protestors fume on Wall Street Tea Partiers toss their caffeine into the mix Federal Reserve makes unauthorized loans but to whom we do not know states debate seceding from the union families learn to live on budgets countries spend what they don’t have why don’t we learn from history? “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s” is there anything left for us? look to Cicero and sages of the past Plato and Socrates will set the disenfranchised straight too
*Entry for Brian’s “Anywhichway” contest


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PEARL

The Polynesian pearl of the Northern Pacific, 
A glittering paradise gleaming in brilliance,
Set float amongst the oceans clear waters.
A beautiful jewel reflecting in the different
 Shades of  aquatic blues.
The winds of peace blew in this tropical
Nirvana, until the ruler of the far east, 
Thrust down his mighty fist of power,
Against the foreign invaders.
From the land of the rising sun, did
The red dragon awakens, blazing with a
 Fires smoke, scaring a nations flag,
For generations to come.
It's scared wings as silent as a
Tiger, stalking in a thickets tall grass,
Of disbelief, it pounced without warning.
The American flag did spread out in
 Protection, over top a sleeping harbor,
Lulled into a dreaming state of world peace.
As the eagle did lie at rest, the sons
Of the red dragon struck, at it's farthest
Point edge of it's nest.
Setting it's kindling to burn and sink,
Beneath the waters, of histories swift
Currents.
The bird of freedoms liberation, now
Alert defends it's territory's, by talons
Claws, and sharpened beaks bite.
Driving the dragons brewed backwards,
And reclaiming it's rightful perch, on
The stage of destiny.
But the pearl lies tarnished and broken,
Cracked forever this once Eden, never to
To be a child of innocence again.
Only a white momentum stands to mark
It's loss, she weeps the Polynesian princess,
For what has been done can never be undone.
A pearl necklaces of peace, torn apart by two
Titan's nations hatred, now it is nothing but
A broken strand and she is a prisoner,
Caught In the choke hold, of power between
The two of them.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN











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The Man In The Crystal Coffin

Laying in your crystal coffin
I look at your eyes
Eyes that died ages ago
What could you have seen in your life?
Were you a king?
Worshipped as a god
Honored with gold and jewels
Were you a slave?
Beaten and tortured your entire life
Worked to death in the name of your god
Were you a farmer?
Raising food in a desert
Trying to farm in acres of sand
Did you have enough to thrive?
Were you a merchant?
Selling oils and herbs
Or did you sell women for the pleasure of others?
I look into your eyes trying to see your soul
But there is nothing to see
So I can only imagine
I can only ask
Who was this man in the crystal coffin?


Details | Free verse | |

TIME



If time heals all, what heals time?
For it cannot be changed, its burned into history, burned into the fabric of time like a scratch on a track.

Time can make us feel regret that we did not use it the best we could or it can make us rejoice remembering that good moment in time.

It is a fickle thing that most will not appreciate until it’s gone.

I myself have had more pain than good, but does that count as bad time as it made my character and is the reason I have this strength and insight on life. 

So I don’t believe in or good or bad moments in time, its all on how we look at it and use it going forward. 

The most important thing to remember and learn from the past is that we ALL make mistakes . .  but only a fool repeats them.

Yours Fraternally 

TIME


Details | Free verse | |

Black History

The past
I am a black prince
Who use to rule over a kingdom 
But now my people and me are enslaved 
Force to pick the white mans cotton 
I see my brother and sisters 
Being whipped and branded like cattle 
They think we are cattle 
So we are treated like cattle 
But my people dream and sing of the future
Where we are free from our shackles 
The future 
I am the black preacher 
Who has been freed from his shackles
But now fighting for our rights 
So my son and daughter
Can go to a pool and not be separated
By the racial line.
Or when they go outside to play 
They don’t have to worry about the KKK
Trying to hang them from a tree branch
That is the reason I fight that is why I want equal rights
For there can be a better tomorrow

The better tomorrow
I’m the son of the preacher
Who was the grandson of the black prince.
Here saying that enslavement and segregation
Is over
An now the only problem remains is
The fact that we are killing each other
Over money and women
This makes no sense
Have we as a people suffered enough?
Have we shed enough blood?
So I ask you
Put the gun down spread the word 
Tell our brothers tell are sisters that the 
300 years of enslavement and segregation is over
We have our black president 
We have the power 
To show the world that
We as a people are united 


Details | Free verse | |

What I Am

I am just a figment of your mind,
You create me, and perfect me,
I become your every dream.
I am just a wind that is passing bye,
I carry no emotions, only stories,
That my Ancestors whisper to me.
I come and I speak,
Like the White Buffalo of our tales,
Here and then gone.
I lend my essence to heal, 
As the rain does for the land,
Though I could easily destroy. 
I am just an image in the smoke,
Dancing as the [Ga lv quo di] pipe,
is passed from one to another. 
I am just the beat of the drum,
The call in the night,
As you dance around the fire.
I am just the feather of the Eagle,
And that is all that will be left of me,
A memory of a dream.


Details | Free verse | |

A Quarters' Way

Can you hear me?
Can you hear me now?

I’m squeezing out between
Pink Floyd and Willie Nelson,
a generation in the middle
of right and wrong.

Will you call me?
Will you call me now?

I haven’t gone deaf,
even if it seems that way.
I’m just caught in the aftermath
Of everything I can’t control.

Squeeze it now friend.
Squeeze for all it’s worth.

You only have to worry
about today.
Tomorrow’s orange juice
can wait for your arrival.

It’s simply now!
It’s simply today!

Will you challenge me
or leave me to beg
for your leadership?
C’mon you legend!

Can you hear me?
Can you hear me now?


Details | Free verse | |

Martin Luther King (From Pages)

Lord, I hear Selma
And I see them coming one by one
Your dusky children with their dusty seat
Walking until they can get a seat
At the front of your glory
Lord, I know the trumpet don't sound the same
For Gabriel not blowing tonight
He is in a prison cell
Waiting for the chain to fall
Like tears from the mind of children
Among the tares, among the tares
Gabriel showing Martin the map of heaven
And he telling him sweet
Jesus, to lay down his burdens
By the river side
We will not board again
The underground train with cargoes of pain
He telling him sweet
Jesus, the Lord will provide
A ram in the ticket
If he put up the sword
A man die must the way he live
Such a paradox here
The tragic morning on the balcony
For peace was all he lived by
And just over some garbage they did this thing
O Lord, that is some nasty hearts
But I dreaming still
For only in dream the reality goes away
Only in dreams the bleeding ends
Only in dreams this land gives me peace
Only in dreams my children
Still can see the mountain top
I dreaming about love
Don't wake me up
Because I am tired and need my rest
My soul been marching too long
Trekking in the coffled gang since Benin
Marching up the ships' plank
Marching around this Jericho, this Mississippi
Looking for the stones of my father's tribe
Looking for stones that marked the place
Where I must crossover
This raging river of our history
This awesome monument of forgiveness we have
This longing to say, brother,
It is a good morning not to die
And wipe the tears from his eye
And justice though it comes in the night
Will shine like the sun everywhere
A long, long time
Before the lion eats straw with the lamb


Details | Free verse | |

In the Dark of the Strand

Marquees bright, and neon lights, where crowds line up for movie night
We're holding hands, we're in 'The Strand', red velvet carpets guide us in

Popcorn smokes, .. drinking cokes,...  cracking jokes with Bing and Hope
Lamour's along, in her sarong,... With luscious lips, and cigarettes, 
She fills ashtrays with smoking tips, and tosses guys like poker chips


         'Movietone'  intrudes with news, which puts us in somber mood
         Third-Reich goosesteps  march again,  ... an evil presence in the wind...


Cary Grant , (a news reporter),  loves his girl, and his typewriter
"His Girl Friday", plot is witty, sometimes crazy.  But Cary loves this ditzy lady.... 

William Powell and Mryna Loy..., Asta barks, and finds a toy, ...a ploy? a clue?,....
...an earring gold.  The mystery is clearly solved.--  A crimson sun, is rising cold!


        Movietone in black and white,... graphic scenes, where soldiers die


Another night, suspense on chart.  'Correspondent' ,  Joel McCrea. 
Saves Lorraine, and claims the Day.  BUY WAR BONDs !! They'll pave the way

Bogart, Bergman bring to light, a valiant flght , within their grasp
Airline ticket, in her hand, they must part, and do what's right, no questions asked

----

          It's movie night, but you aren't here, a troopship took you far from here
           Allied troops are moving tanks.  I wait for you..God give me strength




       I'm in the Strand, within the dark,  there's no one here to hold my hand

       I'm all alone...........I heard the news....................You left it all in Anzio




_____________________________________
For Contest Chopped III Sponsored by Craig Cornish
11/23/14


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Mento

They say I must sing
Through sunset dripping blood
And despite the broken wing
Of the bird fluttering
Where the boy had left it innocently
Sling shot wounded to die
They say I must sing
Say I must make the fourth beat
The important thing
And I want to know why should I bleat
Only after I have felt four lashes
I want to know
Because as a child the drop-pan man sold numbers
Making me know numbers had a owner
They belonged to someone
And that someone said four was the number of blood
And blood is the price of freedom
And the song is the memory of things
Things I do not want to forget
Things I file in the subconscious for a rainy day
Which must end for children to play
I love the songs we use to sing
The mento fife playing
While the folks clap
Mosquitoes and flies sapping the flesh
Parasites the flood left behind
I love the mento song
That they grow in Sunday morning digging songs
But I do not sing that rhythm now
The harmony is broken in me
For I do not know, cannot tell
Why the fourth beat intercedes my hell.


Details | Free verse | |

Transparency

Author Note: I wrote this after the Address last night as my take on the transparency of our 
government. 



Where does the white go
when the snow melts?
It becomes transparent,
for all to witness its passage
from one form
to another?

It will never again have substance
or be recognized as what 
was its original state.

Transparency,
doomed to mix with 
unsavory elements,
no longer a brilliant white,
rather, 
becomes covert.

Covered by dirty slush
to be stomped throughout
the halls of government,
to be spread around
under the guise of openness.

Soon,
will become invisible,
no longer a nuisance,
transparent, to forever
be squelched
by power and corruption 
hiding behind closed doors,
where transparency is not allowed,
where truth becomes lies,
where is hidden....
where the white goes 
when the snow melts


Details | Free verse | |

Open 24-Hours

chaotic uprising of humanity
milling throngs
in their intellectual stupor
search endlessly
for beans ...
and stuff.

murky faces
masking minds
that compete for favors.
races crash in harmony
of wanton pick-up desires
as love ceases to exist.

blaring music
battles pinball machines
to rankle dope shattered nerves.
coffee blotches
tables and chairs of putrid green.
the floor rises up with
suffocating scents.

open twenty-four hours a day
welcoming  night souls.
The Hot Dog Palace
a farcical palace
where hot dogs are terrifying
and the Man
can maintain
his scrutiny
of
creation.


Details | Free verse | |

Echoes of Yesterdays.

Those walls of my captured annals falling
By steel leviathans devouring my solitude
Capped blasts dropping the once proud structure
No longer is a mans home his palace

Histories cowboys are the future’s vagabonds
Their ranges of ranches a dying lot
Borders now shrinking as the rooms collapse
Giving into the fear of the outside world

No one is really who they appear to be
Stowing and stealing all for a free ride
The trust in humanity a long extinct idealism
Falling in flames from the final battles bullet

Yesterday’s judgment is the hope of tomorrow
If the sun may ascend to the songbirds cry
No promises of integrity to hold onto justice
While the carrions crawl the balances edge

Holding within that which disaster has taught
Building upon the hangman’s piety
To breathe for a moment the sweet water of utopia
With every falling grain of the hourglass

…Time slows in the winds of obscurity

				


Details | Free verse | |

Autism

O, I love my dear boy
So dearly and so blindly
I will give him my blood
And life if God permits so

He's so weak and sick
So pallid and so tender
But I know he's an umbrella of snow
In the wide-brimmed form

A rhyme, a loft 
Almost in the spelling of my own world.



Details | Free verse | |

Momma

I know all the stories that she'd told she been livin in lies she knows shes doin 
wrong.All i know is she need to do right. I can't keep oncryin momma s do it just 
please no more fights. I tell myself that she will do better, momma we are a 
family ain't we supposed to bo together. What happened to our happy fun. Every 
since that doy violence but more guns. You used to give me hugs what 
happened to all the kisses, all the good times yes we allmisses.We can forget 
abut it momma thanks to you. You can't play me nomore i'm not a little fool. I try 
so hard but why can't you stop. One day i just wish you will and IT gonna drop.


Details | Free verse | |

The Olive Tree



From the Mediterranean Sea to California
Extraordinary green trees grown since ancient times
Oils and fruit, branches of peace


Details | Free verse | |

The Evoultion of Learning (Part Two)

As long as various people run various nations
There will forever be war
What the world needs is one leader
A common man who believes in the working class
As well as the Lord
Instead of one Nation under God
Lets make it one World under God
And just let each individual decide what he or she wishes to call that God
So I here by nominate our dear friend Vince Suzadail Jr.
The first candidate of the new world order 
He seems to have the best Political views I’ve heard
And I think he alone could do a much better job
Than all the leaders of all the nations are doing
At least I’m certain he couldn’t do any worse
And that way all the super intelligent people devising ways 
Of destroying our world
Could find something more constructive to spend their time on
Like raising a crop or milking a cow
Saving a child or helping elderly with their needs 
There are plenty of folk who need a hand
Lets all start offering them ours instead of cutting theirs off
I’m just a simple man
My actual world is very small
My family, friends and neighbors
I love you all and hope you know I’ll do anything for you I can
There is no malevolence left in me
I know how to make and use a shank, zip gun or small explosive
But I’ve learned not to
For I’ve learned to think with my heart and soul
They do a much better job than my mind
I just wish the great minds of the world
Were smart enough 
To figure out what I have
And learn to love with all of their hearts


Details | Free verse | |

You Played

You Played with my emotions
You Played with my life
you took away the only thing
i ever seemed to have
you used me and even abused me
you left me blinded and hopless
you betrayed me and rejected me
forgot the love i once gave you

Now days go by and i sitll remember
why cant i just seem to forget you
why does your name run through my brain
I dont know
bloddy tears seem to slip
they drip and fall and even poor down

Your name is not forgotten
now that i've brought it back to reality
i dont need you i never did
this was all pointless
it was all just a wast of time

i will love again
just not now
but forever i will stay 
true to myself


Details | Free verse | |

Nothing IsThat Simple

There is a man,
with a crooked tongue,
he rambles on,
about things,
needing to be done.
I can do this,
I can do that,
now really sir,
I smell a rat.
Nothing is so simple,
there are problems ahead,
I still remember,
what the others have said.
I cannot follow,
I have a brain,
don't pee on my future,
and call it rain.
Out of control,
everything is wrong,
the flood is coming,
and it won't be long.
The rim of the skillet,
is getting mighty hot,
don't tell me it's cool,
when I know it's not.
Carved in stone,
so long ago,
are the only words,
we need to know.


Details | Free verse | |

Those Were The Days

                                     Rebuilding America 
                                     My little Jenny and me
                                     Remembering a time
                                     When Laurel And Hardy
                                     Brought such classics to T.V
                                     My Jenny asked mom can you see me
                                     Just cruising home in a big jelopy
                                     With my Feathered Friend Buddy
                                     Perched on my shoulder and you Yelling
                                     Smile Your On Candid Camera
                                     That had to be such a Jungle Fever back then
                                     Think  I liked it better When you used to sing to me
                                                 That  I'm A Big Girl Now 
                                     




Just Putzing Around here
with my last 10 poems
But Love to watch 
Old Classic comedies on T.V. with Jenny
And Trying To explain  to her about Cinema
                          
                                     


Details | Free verse | |

Were Next

I believe this is a word of advice or warning
                   More than it is a poem
I don’t even know where to begin
                              To express the things I feel
How deeply I believe in my understanding
                     Of what’s to come
                                    As well as
                                              What has been
As I watch our Government
                                            Scramble
To solve our nations problems with money
    As did all the great Empires in History
That has crumbled before us
My heart bleeds for the people
                                Who have no concept
Of how to grow their own garden
                   Raise their own beef
                                        Fish, hunt and live off the land
Which to be quite frank is about 90% of the population
What is going to happen when the people
Can no longer feed their families
                                       Out of the local supermarket
Because when they go there
All they will find is a sign that says “Sorry out of business”
Ponder this for just a moment if you will
800 hundred billion may as well be 800 trillion
Because the simple fact is
                                    None of it is even worth the price
Of the paper it’s printed on
And by the time our Government prints that money out
It will be even more worthless than it is today
BECAUSE THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY
To reverse the wrath of God
                                      And that is through prayer
And I don’t see Congress
                          Falling on their knees
Begging for mercy
Before they start to argue about which idiot has the best idea
To fix what their intelligence has already destroyed
                                 “ONE NATION UNDER GOD”
One of my first memories of what I was taught in school
              History---------Repeats----------Itself
Every Empire that considered themselves above the wrath of God
                       “GOD HUMBLED THAT ASS” (Pardon the Language)
And guess what
                        Were next


Details | Free verse | |

Eyes Of Reality

Eyes of confidence
Naïve and hardened	
Advancing on the battlefield

Eyes of anguish
Discovering the horror
Spent upon the blood of war

Eyes of hope
Peace in reprieve
Hold fast to victory’s color

Eyes of benevolence
Engulfed within anguish
Rueful to the melee’s victims

Eyes of regret
A human understanding
Shoveling over another grave


Details | Free verse | |

Behind these eyes

    You see my face and you see my expression but you don't know the real me that i'm 
protecting.
 
     You don't know that behind these eyes that a little girl cries every night, you 
don't know the half so why are you desperately trying to label me with some brand that I 
would never wear.

    If you'd look a little deeper into these pearly browns you know that I am not just a 
cover you have to take time to read the book to really know me. 

     You can't just skim the back or listen to what other people say because yeah I might 
be talked about but unless you dip into the pudding you will never truly know why.

    Maybe if you looked a little deeper you'd see someone trying to keep up in a endless 
race. 

   I keep on moving but it's never any good I guess I underestimate myself or maybe I 
just need someone to give me courage.

     I see the surprised look on your face and all I can do is laugh, I bet you didn't 
think that I had so much depth, I better you never realized. 

      So even if it's not me your interested in, please let me teach you one lesson. You 
can see some much more behind the eyes of a girl than the cloud of makeup hiding her 
face. 

In a girls eyes you can see her insides, her deepest fears, her insecurities. 

Behind these eyes is the magical side, and if you can look into them first then I know 
that your confident and well worth the struggle.


Details | Free verse | |

Martin Luther King

The greatest man in history is Martin Luther King
A man who opened up our eyes, when he said, "I have a dream."
It's hard to imagine now, in time, a segregated nation
Not everyone had equal rights, unless they were caucasian
Seperate restaraunts to sit and dine, and seperate water fountains
We saw the world's greatest leader, with the power to move mountains
He spoke with courage and with pride, as he stood afront the crowd
All eyes gazed upon this man as he sang out mighty and proud
He wasn't afraid of consequence, he never feared that he may fail
The steps he took for all mankind is written in History's trail
If he had given up, life would be different for you and me
What if the world was black and white, how would it really be
Martin Luther King preached of fairness and equality
So that one day every race would come together, be set free
No matter blood or relation, everyone be brothers
And we'd all walk hand in hand, no matter what our color
Martin Luther's dream came true, he united every race
And he is the foundation of our congregated base


Details | Free verse | |

Silently Still

Hidden spirits motherland,
    destructions chosen horror.
Decayed barren grounds,
   ravaged territories dilapidation.
Debris leftover magnetic fields,
   crawls nuclear poisons contamination.


Ruins

           graphics

                          stand

           strongly

obscure.


Details | Free verse | |

Fort Sumter

April 12, 1861 the cannons could

be heard for miles around,

the war had started,that

led both sides to a long

and hard struggle.

Why was this site

chosen to start the fight,

it may have been that

this fort was not prepared

for a battle of any kind,

a shortage of cannons,

and other weapons,

hardlyl gave them any

chance to defend the fort

Abe Lincoln later in

his most famous speech,

said A Nation divided cannot stand,

which is a true statement.


The Civil War was to become

the bloodiest war in our history,

before the firing

on Fort Sumter

it was an unknown place

to most of the  people,

now it stands out

as a major landmark

in our country.


wrote 4-12-11


Details | Free verse | |

- Science Universe -




                             Mysteries revealed and mysteries solved
                                        Events past and present
                           Biology, archeology, astronomy and physics
                                          A world of discovery
                                    Old or new amazing buildings
                                 Spaceships, first man on the moon
                             The robots who would take over our jobs
                             Natural disasters such as tornado or flood
                                       Immerse yourself in history
                                Was, Napoleon Europe's problem child
                               Was, Sankt Nikolaus an historical person
                                 Can we make a journey through time
                                         The past meets the future





04.06.2013
A-L  Andresen :)


Details | Free verse | |

Agree to Disagree

                                               
                                               Mankind's greatest
                                                 accomplishment...
                                                       
                                                      

                                                      is death.


Details | Free verse | |

Heart of the Sea

           Essence of salt and waves crashing
           The World of the Sea has a heart
            Careful not to offend thee ~

            The spills of oil , nuclear waste
             Drilling and mistakes, 
           Man infused sewage and waste 

           The capture of Fish while Dis guarding a life of a Dolphin
           The Sea and its very Mystery is crying as all fish dying
           Is there a place and time where we stop and love what was given

          The Heart of the Sea not to ever be underestimated
          For when sadden great wrath will fall in sequence with wind
          Water and Wind can create its Heart broken fiercely without mercy

          What have we done to create this disharmony 
           It is not hard to see as Tsunamis and Hurricanes such as Katrina unfold
           It is the Heart of the Sea Broken , The heart of the Sea Spoken 
    
           We hear her Heart , we feel her wrath , 
                The Heart Of The Sea ...this Heart cries 
                    This Heart is angry , will we take responsibility ?


Details | Free verse | |

heiroshima enemies in your homeless shelters making fun off the war torn

its all for you right


Details | Free verse | |

Stone Mountain Must Die

Stone Mountain should die today.
Tomorrow would be fine.
But that raft of traitors eulogized, defaced
Would remedy an abuse of time.

The betrayers that love it still
Are awash from the American current.
The tattoo of turncoats on that hill
Long abuse our country's spirit.

Stone Mountain must die fast and sound
By dynamite, acid, or hammer.
That sad rock knows its whole bestrewn
Will solve shame to God that raised it.

It was granite first, bigoted statement second
An emblem of lawless, unresolved Reconstruction.
The stone cries out: Fuel the worst in men?
Release me now, come fast my full destruction.


Details | Free verse | |

Those Shackles

Those shackles against him
His legs that do not run
But rather crawl 
To his kingdom's goal
Those shackles; they bind him
To the endless stereotypes
And profiling
Those shackles; you'd never guess
Who put them around his legs
It was the men in their suits
Put yourself in his boots

It's the shackles, the curse
Of the skin our men were born in
They say his demeanor will never change
They seldom let us in the banks
They shoot us for commuting
Then we take to the streets
At times I think we can't be like them
We live life without cheating
If their gun isn't in hand
Then we'd take a beating

Then there's the shackles, the curse
Of the attitudes our men are forced into
They make him chase the money
But not work for the money
They hang drugs in front of our noses
They handle us like jokes
As if we're not human too

Those shackles against me
My legs that do not run
But rather sprint
To our kingdom's goal
Those shackles, they try to bind me
To the endless stereotypes
And profiling
Those shackles; you'd never guess
Who tried to put them on me
It was the men in the suits
Now put yourself in my boots.


Details | Free verse | |

leaving August

        Leaving the last days of August
          memories of the sea waves crashing 
        Tides that leave shells broken to find ~
        
        picnic memories ~
                      fireworks night 
                             Birthday cakes sparkle ~

    sunburns under a sage kissed dessert Moonlight 
         The Summer reminds us of happier days
             scents of coconut oil and lime 
        
            reminds us all of what is yet to come ~
              
              The rain comes down hard
          crying for all souls lost and left behind

             The birds fly in perfect form 
           reminding all of the September storm 
             
           begging for history not to repeat ~
 
                 ~   In war 
                        no wins 
                            only defeat ~
 
            two beams of light straight to the Heavens   
                stay through the whole month of September
                   they remind us to listen silently we stand still 
          
          For the city lives and breaths left with loss 
                    many questions unanswered remain ~
                  
               Leaving behind August
                    entering Septembers fears ~
               
                          
                             



 I love this poem because it reflects on the past and the coming month in remembrance of history that took place September 11th 2001. In a way it is a oxymoron . from passionate summer nights to the fear embraced in the month coming :)

                    



Details | Free verse | |

Empty Chairs - Oklahoma City Bombing

A deluded and deranged miscreant.
Rode in a rented Ryder truck,
Sadistically opposed to his government,
He delivered a two-ton bomb.

After parking the fateful vehicle,
With time fleeting and fuses lit,
He fled to his car,
Parked, not far away.

Hearing the explosion, he made his escape,
With a gleam in his eye.
One hundred sixty-eight victims died,
Leaving countless loved ones behind.

April 19, 1995,
A date that lives in infamy.
The guilty one was caught that very day,
And eventually paid his life for the reprehensible deed.

The Oklahoma Ctiy National Memorial 
Now graces the ground
Where the Alfred P. Murrah
Building once stood.

A lone American Elm tree
Survived the blast,
A symbol of resilience,
And the will of mankind.

Hopes of closure for the victim’s families
Followed the perpetrator’s death six years later.
But closure will not fill the empty chairs
Left in the footprint of the building.


Details | Free verse | |

William Alexander Bustamante (From Pages)

Now let us forget foreign captains
And Conquistadores myth
That colors the morning exuberantly
With exotics wars and phony fathers
Like a fine lady strolling along a rotten street
I have tasted lemon
And though I wince at my tongue's
Sharp reaction
I value the tart worthiness of vitamins
And the aroma of the blossoms
And the bee like workers singing
While the flowers fall
Like stars littering my eyes.

I cannot see again
Your extroverted flair flashing 
By the country paths
Where the horse yield to your mastery
What else was a boy to do
Tired of the Irish legacy
Tired of plantation life
Tired of the little elementary school
That made Britannia into another Bible
For the masses of the suffering world
What else was there in a small island
To hold twenty one years of restlessness
I can see why the waves
Washed you onto other friendly shores
The Pan Amanian dandy
The tongue upon the Cuban candy
And then there you are
Staring at Wall Street shriveling pain
Licking the candy out of the store again
Your tall mane of hair
Billowing the against the Blue Mountain
The man has returned
Captain of the storm in nineteen thirty eight

And there they were
The Harts, the Hills, Henrys, Coombs
Isaacs ... the whole plethora of our light
Shining at the edge of night
But not you, dietician, 
Hunger was no miracle here
No you, money changer, lender and userer
Good interest is taken from the bank of fear
Not you, tired of the Irish despair
You knew Denham had no purpose here
Your were the voice the workers would hear
You were the hero with chest bared
My father felt the system's rock
And felt wounded and scared
The hand of change was on history's clock

You who dreamed Federation first
And then destroyed it for the gravy pot
Was too small to staunch
The empire's collective curse
You cave from dungeon and cage singing
Winging from Ward
To chief among the murder of crows
And when you flew away from it
From the by-election to the Federal Parliament
And when we were dvided
You rose on it
We are just a lonely island in a crowded sea
The rivers vomit mud
Red with bauxite, and the Prime Minister
Rose like an eagle 
And we love you still today
For it seemed you were not made of common clay
You were the noblest of the Clarkes
Ovations feathered you to fly
Blinding the sun's blinded eye
The greatest of the stars
Inventor of self, en-nobler of dust.


Details | Free verse | |

The unknown wonders

Laying on the wet grass
Admiring the all knowing stars
Every night they call to me
And we continue the never ending story
Sharing the history of our universe


Details | Free verse | |

The Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria

Sparkling, empty blue sea
sails break the distant horizon
first one
then two
finally three ships making way 
toward unsuspecting shell-gatherers
brown-skinned and naked on
the hot Caribbean sand

Had they known 
they could have feigned friendship
Then slaughtered them all in the night
Burned the great ships and
been done with it.
At least for a while


Details | Free verse | |

A Stranger

Who am i?
Where am i?
Only a stranger in this little world. 
With no country, no home.
With all this confusion, with my head spinning around
Trying to accept the fact that I am a part of this.
But no matter how hard I tried. 
The truth is I can’t fit in here
Who am i?
Where am i?
Only a stranger who is trying hard to fit it.
My Anger needs a reason to blame it on
I will not try to fit in no more
I don’t care, why should I?
I don’t look like you, I’m not the same.
Who am i? 
Where am i?
Only a stranger who is trying to fit in.
I’m happy, Yet a little sad
But, My heart just cannot accept the fact that I became some1 New
My name says so
But my face says no
Who am i?
Where am i?
Only a stranger who is trying to fit in. 
No matter how I tried, No matter how hard I did
I’m not a part of here, I’m not a part of this
My home is where my heart belongs
I can’t change this fact 
In this country, I’m only a stranger 
So why wouldn’t you take me back home.
No matter how well I fit,
My heart will have it’s hole.
A hole that never will be refilled
Till you take me back home. 


Details | Free verse | |

All Bottled Up

          All Bottled Up

Bottlenecks are one thing driving down the road
Making one late for work is another
Cumbersome, slow and an all time low

Containers made from glass have their ups and downs
Mostly downs we’re told

Their poisons kill aristocrats, the poor, poets known and unknown

Highs and lows are surely going to come
From bottles filled with rum
At first a happy swirling drunk
Becomes laid out sad and dumped 

Delicious wine waits for me when I get home
The matter is getting beyond the cork and glass
Such troubles are these things 
Bottles simply have no class and make me wince

To obtain the treasure there within
I have to use the cork screw
But bottle with evil intent conspires with the opener 
Will not help me or comply to let me in
What’s the use?  A hammer will have to do
 
Other bottles from long ago held potions, magic, and snake oil brew
Fluids ran wild in the old west causing more deaths than cures for sure  
And no one had a clue it was the containers that they used

When shipping bottles made from glass
I have to label “fragile” and send them 1st. class

The ebb and flow and pour from every bottle 
Illegal in Prohibition times 
Caused many alcoholics to cry
I guess that was a crime 

Consumers today can fill their glasses free from thought
From decanters, jars and urns that carry their own weight
Someone with a bottle will always be around though
To hit me on my head for something I might say
And if the bottle breaks, someone, (I'm guessing me), will have to pay

                                                     5/19/14 Slamming Battle Round 2 contest


Details | Free verse | |

Ode to my daughter on her birthday - 26

My Sarah
When I looked at you last week trying on your new boots
Those almond eyes sparkling at something new, a gift
I saw my little pink girl, a princess, playing dress up again
Your long hair draped your high cheekbones
Life still a game, tinged with drama and theatre 
As you look for fun in all your pursuits!
A player in life with a passion for cooking and music
You have become a kind, loyal, vivacious young woman
Self assured, grounded with a love of tradition
I looked at you and felt an overwhelming pride.

Sunday’s child is ' bonny, blithe, good and gay' they say
Befitting my Sabbath girl, a model child of few demands
Your bedroom a vast sea of Barbie and friends
A Passion for story-time and books
Your Dutch life with Irish sea-touched roots, 
You are a real continental
A great scholar with degrees in Law and Psychoanalysis
You have found your true love with Luis, a Spaniard
As you both prepare to leave the Emerald Isle
I wonder at the achievement of you!


Details | Free verse | |

World War - Benita Margaronis

RED  DOOR (collaboration)


by~ Benita Margaronis

War Of The World Death, pain, blood, 
Shell-shocked men, suffering and darkness. 
It's all they ever saw.  
Soldiers thinking about their lives.  
Rotting flesh and the whimper of dying men with their bodies half blown off.  
Other soldiers shooting them in the head to end their pain.   
The shattering sound of an explosive destroying life and more ground.  
Blood and body parts spray through the air and spread throughout the ground. 
Total emptiness and nothingness.  
Mounds and mounds of biting bodies and horses.  
Scattered planes, tanks, trucks and others.  
Burning guns and oil.  
Because the world went to war so much was lost for so little gain.  
The war of the world shall never be forgotten. 


by~ Poet Destroyer

War of the world Sacrifice.
Doors tainted red, tragedies never forgotten.
Mediterranean swept the soul of combatants without a word to say.
A war so defiant both sides lost more than humanity to each other. 
Prisoners, white flag surrendering, shot in the head with no remorse.
Brave soldiers wiping off the blood of their face like a tear.
Men in fetal positions crying hard like the day they were born for*mom-MA.
Soldiers pocket full of notes and dog-tags for a loved one.
Achievements that followed death without a mother's hand to hold.
Chaotic news and telegrams traveled without a moment to spare.
A flag brought to the door painted black.
Mothers falling to the floor broken hearted.
Because no one can mend the courage one gave to us today. 
The war of the world shall never be forgotten.


A collaboration with * Benita Margaronis

My collaboration contest


Details | Free verse | |

until someone turns my electricity off

I sit in my easy chair
with its back to the picture window
in my living room
facing the TV monitor
watching the world flash by
over and over
in different reiterations
until someone turns 
my electricity off


Details | Free verse | |

Bleedin' Poetry

The ringmaster left 
but the carnival stayed in town.
Erect, proud, empowered people
stride by living the Crayola dream.
Awash in color, characters in the screenplay,
the scene played with aborigine like dream walkers.

No surface left to its utilitarian plight,
all stroked and stoked with the creativity
of the artist, all crooned to by boombox
and skateboard smack, or the concrete
slap of a mariachis’ feet.

The burnt bright white light shivers
to a Hendricks strum, and the caffeinated come
one by one hooked in to hook up,
to the juke boxes sixties twang.

Children play on Aztec snakes rising
from a soft foam of green with
mosaic skin and glass eyes
freed from the restrictions, the confines, 
the confounded, gay, straight, bi, free
bleeding poetry.



Details | Free verse | |

His First Love

I remember the heavy round wooden tables
Built low to the ground,
Just right for kindergartners.
He would always sit close. 

I didn't notice. 

Out-of-doors on the playground was a giant oak.
He made me an acorn pipe, then taught me how.
I made lots of acorn pipes, giving them all away;
Even his. 

He stood quiet with little fists pushed deep in his pockets.
But I didn't notice. 

The sun was golden
Shining through high windows
Down on the low round table,
Particles of dust dancing merrily on the beams. 

He handed me a present,
And as the royal blue paper with tiny pin stripes 
Crossed the sun's rays
The stripes lit up like diamonds. 

Gently opening the paper,
Careful not to lose the sparkles,
I could feel the whole class watch.
I was embarrassed. 

Inside was a book about a velveteen kitten.
She was black and feminine.
She wore a pink bow,
And she was fuzzy to the touch. 

I treasured that book.
As time went by I rubbed the kitty's fur
Until she was loved slick and smooth. 

I don't remember saying thank you.
I'm sure I did.
Surely the teacher would have reminded me;
There in front of the whole class. 

Over four decades ago - yet - 
The memory of that special gift is as clear and bright
As was the sun beam that day.
And I would like you to know Jimmy Wilson; 

That I noticed. 


Note: An old kindergarten memory to share with you. Written about 22 years ago.


Details | Free verse | |

Bloodstones

salty tears from wars fought 
overflow, filling an ocean
blood that was spilled, gets mixed in,
staining virgin stones--
or are these lost souls?

time and tide try to wash them off,
but the bloodstones remain--
haunting reminders that one must not forget






06122011957p1015
** inspired by the "bloodstones" found on Corregidor Island--
these stones literally look like they have rusty bloodstains,
and some say that these are from the blood shed by
the Filipino, American and Japanese soldiers during World War II


-- I was able to get some of these stones before but sadly, I am not sure 
where they are now...

today, June 12, is Philippine Independence Day 

--for Rick's Stones contest




Details | Free verse | |

Losing pieces

Oh, how I miss the dead…

... the softness in their voices
That I cannot recreate,
the warmth of their silence
Where now only cold remains;

And I know, oh how I know
That they are long gone
And I have been long removed
From those fuller times
But still, when I feel around my heart
I find that it is missing things
Parts long lost and dearly missed,
And I sit here feeling fatally incomplete
And I know-  that I can never be whole again.

But I still miss the dead,
And I miss the times
When I never knew
That I would live on
Missing the days when I was whole…

-So I still miss the dead
And the times when I was not hollowed by loss
Living every day with a lighter heart
So far from the times
 	when I would never be whole again.

And now, so far removed
from fuller times,
These few missing holes
they let in a chill wind
And somehow, these missing holes
they leave my heart heavy
And I know that it will grow heavier yet,
But I dread
That when I am lost
I die not just incomplete
But empty-
	Empty of all I could yet lose.


Details | Free verse | |

Who was Lizzie Van Zyl

Who was Lizzie Van Zyl?
A small girl stands on Woodcock Bridge
Pointing at her reflection in the water.
The glint from the sun, and a cold wind,
Distorts a distant memory of gold, and places long forgotten.

For the bridge and the girl are forever linked
The bricks paid for with the blood of babes
The mortar mixed with  innocence and suffering

For this little girl is Lizzie Van Zyl
Once a happy child, taken from her farm
Through tears, saw her house destroyed and  livestock slaughtered
Even her beloved dog.

Taken to sleep on the ground, slowly starved
And left to winters kill.
Her last comfort a pile of rags to die on
Her last words “Mother, Mother, I want to go to my Mother”
Thrown into a pit,
To join a multitude of innocents, in the name of progress

Bloemfontein killed with deliberate neglect,
And the bullet killed her father at Woodcock.
Another victory for empires glory

Lizzie’s crime was her fathers, for he wanted freedom,
Democracy,  and a future for his family 
But Greed and empire gave birth to new words
For here the Concentration Camp came to be,
Propaganda too,
A world kept secret from prying eyes.

But Secrets come out and greed fuels the beast
Bloemfontein gave birth to Auschwitz, Dachau, Treblinka,
Oh and so many more,
Different lands, same outcome
An Oasis for Evil, 
A place where the dark side of humanity can live.

A haunting realisation too,
 That England, has tarnished the code of chivalry,
And brought shame to the flag. 

Little Lizzie still Stands on the bridge
Her reflection is still pointing, not at herself
But at you and me
For it is we who did this, and it is we who will do it again,
So glance at your wedding band
For the glint might just blind you to its past,
And pray that Lizzie does not become your daughter.

Quote from a Journalist
Cowardice of the most loathsome cure on earth - the act of striking at a brave man's heart through his wife's honour and his child's life."

Footnote to the write
This write is about the Boer war and the tactics that the British used to achieve victory
LizzieVan Zyl was seen by Emily Hobhouse just before she died. Her memoirs reveal the conditions that Lizzie was subjected to.

The atrocities committed in South Africa were kept secret from the British public.
 As a result the final victory led to Bridges being named after engagements such as Woodcock and Ladysmith.
England is littered with place names, linked to battles. 
Perhaps place names where you live have a surprising story to tell.




Details | Free verse | |

Pledge Of Allegiance, Revisited

I Pledge Allegiance
a solemn vow of obedience, from the earliest age of grievance,
when found deliverance, one people, united against tyranny and intolerance,
become the model of democracy and toleration

To The Flag
the symbol of once colonization come together in celebration,
a new unconquerable nation, a successful castration,
of oppression and dictation

Of The United States Of America
a conglomeration of peoples form one nation,
13 colonies a single relation, one voice, one oration,
tread on me, expect retaliation

And To The Republic
a democracy, its creation, the Constitution, its foundation,
agreeable to all  in origination, fiercely guarded against demolition,
militarization, and impregnation, over all these years, still on station
 
For Which It Stands
the protector of all oppressed lands, the world over she lends a hand,
her signature, her blood, in foreign sand

One Nation
from sea to sea, whether rich or poor, some vocal, others, chose to ignore,
those who guard the shore, those who knock on heavens door,
one nation, esprit de corps

Under God
in a time when belief was strong, today, should not be wrong,
having been with us so very long, a few may sing a different song,
most will believe, as they have, all along

Indivisible
one, as a whole number, cannot be divided by any other,
many have tried under guise of brother, only to be denied by the mother

With Liberty And Justice For All
the means to end all oppression, infinitely wrong with transgression,
succession, regression, and repression along

Our Pledge of Allegiance
a pledge of a nation, a history profound, one indivisible number,
all it takes, to be no longer allowed





Details | Free verse | |

Ridiculous Me

Watch this scene with both eyes and try not to blink C: --> 

I stood there... silently
Like a predator near prey 
I sneak behind YOU

You weren't even aware of it!! Ha-ha! 

I made YOU jump hIgH
Like a startled hare
I chuckle and smile

You know that mischievous smile of mine? 

Your reaction was
PRICELESS - you were so upset
But YOU forgave me

Well...I'm flattered. . . 

We laugh'd together (just like the good times)
In a chorus - our volume
Picked up extreme sound

Believe me - I could hear our laughter from a mile away!

But I'm glad I did
My best to make you giggle

Ridiculous me... 
Wouldn't you agree?


Details | Free verse | |

If Old Men Fought

An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight


Details | Free verse | |

Time Capsule Reverse Form

Will this be consider one
of the pieces left
behind in a puzzling world

I ask who will judge or go
into this time capsule
for themselves just
to find out what was going
on or what they have miss
in a world that was destine
to a system that in some way
we all had to follow

a time capsule has been filled
re-vitalized with happenings
and events of history treasures
Perhaps there will come a day
when it will be explored

Directions will pace these 
new adventures of mine
that was saved for a moment
in time

How often have I 
had to realize that today
there will be a tomorrow
leading to a future that's
not promising, but for sure
there's hope for all to cling too


Details | Free verse | |

Promises Not Kept

Promises Not Kept
                                            by Chuck Keys

As leaves flow in the breeze,
Change.  Peanut butter needs jelly.
Water can taste dry - alone effortlessly.

Color is a difference.  Superficially superficial.
A little boy lives without ... - Fearful. Tearful.
Cold without a roof.

My mommy isn't home,
Job searching in disguise.  No. Heatless 
And brrr, cold smiles ... anger heartache.

Daddy, what daddy?
TV was stolen, again.
Willy got cut up, bad.

Spend money on me, not war,
Nothing changed since Martin
Why? I'm hungry. Oneness.  

© Charles H Keys, 2010.  All Rights Reserved


Details | Free verse | |

Like a thief in the night -Thinking of September 11th

Another morning I got up and my thoughts returned here. Just wanted to put something of
the memory that lingers still today from scenes we saw of September 11th.  Scenes we would
like to but will never and should never forget.  I do not wish to cause further despair to
anyone but if anything bring some hope to those who are suffering safe in the knowledge
that they have the world behind them.  What has happened cannot be undone but with
strength and assistance from those who had the core torn from them as the horrors unfolded
and they watched on in disbelief we can be there for one another.  We can make sure the
memory of this tragic affair lives on, and in doing so help keep our own souls alive and
kicking... in hope all was not in vain, but that we shall learn from it and let the
promise of peace win through.  My heart and thoughts go out to all.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It doesn't matter today
if we build a building of immense height
like North and South towers of World Trade Centre
even if to use as defence system
just as we would have built a castle on a hill
in times gone by - times have changed
New buildings and memorials will now stand
in recognition of who/what was on said land
Their memories will always continue
as will the vision on t.v. all did view
Where minds stood still in disbelief
while strike after strike we all felt grief
Where tears were shed by billions of eyes
War was declared with no defence in skies

It doesn't matter today
we most probably wouldn't even see
as our enemies approached
Like a thief in the night they came
stealing from us that most precious
those whom we loved or cared about

What matters today
is that for all eternity history has been made
Times we cannot change
Broken genealogical lines gone forever
Marks made on the landscape - irreplaceable
Never can anything stand for what was again
Humanity and psychological effect remains
We may not all have lost those known to us
but we stand together shoulder to shoulder
Encircling those that remain
Knowing each one of us had our soul torn
Our eyes darkened by Hells darkest Angels
When none could believe that before their eyes
Planes came crashing through the skies

Out of ashes a phoenix, a nation arises
and with it the world reawakens
We will not sleep but remember
A tragic time when so high a cost was paid
with unknowing souls now recognised
What right to take such brave innocent lives


Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.



Details | Free verse | |

One, Won, Once

One ,Won, Once
			By Chuck Keys

Brightness can be blinding
With your eyes closed
Or with your eyes open.

Darkness can be blinding
With your eyes closed
Or with your eyes open.

As a driveway needs a parked car,
Does color make a difference?  Hurtfully
Yes.  Yet, we're all the same.

Can a green pepper ever be red?
Or should the
Red pepper be yellow? Color again.

Can't stop hearing that surface beat.  Loudly.
It’s constant and demanding, with
Painful colors.

Can you hear it too? It’s so loud,
Obvious.  Audaciously clear,
Mostly passed over.

We all bleed red; 
Cry tears, 
     Love, fear, 
          Hate, ache, 
               Want, need, 
                    Eat, drink, chew,
                         Live and die, regardless,
Same insides.  
 
Crayons are different colors,
We want them all, in one box.
A complete set.

Separate is never equal.
When we become one
Only one is won.
Once should be f ‘ever. 


© Charles H Keys, 2010.  All Rights Reserved


Details | Free verse | |

Boundary Walls

Originating in the ‘Iron-Age’, they stand
as living history; a testament
to the craftsmanship of men of yore

built by hand, each stone 
strategically placed one upon another
no mortar holds them, and yet
as our lands circulatory system
of boundaries
they’ve stood for centuries

arteries and veins of dry stone wall
flowing across the fields and hills
of the countryside  
that is synonymous of rural England.


Details | Free verse | |

Dream Reflections

Dream Reflections

So drained,
I feel like a trained monkey
Who is paid to dance

I can't wait for 
The chance to sleep 
If it doesn't 
Happen soon
Grim reaper might come
Knocking at my door
When I fall asleep
 Driving home

I shall visit the moors of 
Ancient fairies and 
Hills of enchantment,
Once my curly head lands 
On my feather pillow

I might dream of lazy days
Laying under a weeping willow tree
After taking a long dip in a cool 
Stream on a hot summer day

Who knows where my 
Subconscious might take me,
Good thing my 
Admission will be free,
Because I don't have a 
Penny on me currently

Time is ticking so swiftly
 These trying days,
I must say goodbye,
Before I drift off to 
Dreamland too suddenly

Goodnight


Details | Free verse | |

Media play

Visions of pain and despair, with horrors of daily life 
forced upon the masses through modern 
windows of technology.

These images burned into the minds of the 
innocent millions of sinless victims oppressed 
by today’s tools of extortion by society.

Images so powerful and prolonged within the
 soul, they’re toxic to the mind and body 
causing you to purge the evils through 
pure emotions.

Some images affect the world with disasters 
to unbearable to fathom, with hundreds of 
thousands sent to the after life, with walls of 
water surrounding Gods hand picked for 
life after death.

Sinister images seem to over power the exemplary, 
and moral images seen through out time as noted
 in the calendar with December sixth, and September eleventh, as countless 
human beings were visited 
by Death.

Weapons of mass destruction sought through
 Fat man, and Little boy, that devastated
 a country, with the might of the suns power, 
in a blink of an eye solely designed to kill 
and destroy humanity.

Images of hope so easily forgotten within major 
catastrophic events, as the media has a part
 so intrusive to this equation of corrupting 
the minds of millions with the craft of deliverance 
through modern arts of technology.

Society eats and devours this information 
with greed and voracity like army 
ants to its pray.  


Details | Free verse | |

Chanel No5

Chanel No.5
-------------------


On the borderline of photos and time
We don't want to leave her now

"What do I wear to bed? Why, Chanel No.5, of course!"

Something in curves, a beautiful crime
She doesn't want to leave somehow

"What do I wear to bed? Why, Chanel No.5, of course!"

News-reel prints
and print-press presidents
Diamond boys
and silver screen compliments
A ten-thousand soldier stare,
and sexual laissez-faire
The every-woman's woman
of secret doors to nowhere

"What do I wear to bed? Why, Chanel No.5, of course!"

On the borderline of photos and time
She doesn't want to leave somehow

What did she wear when dead?

Why, Chanel No.5, of course...


Details | Free verse | |

Is all injustice created equal

He sits and waits and sulks
as the clock strikes
and on they strike
and on he called to do no wrong 'in judgement,
in meteyard, in weight or in measure,'

And Oh! the boy thinks he see's this,
but his judgement clouded by soot black eyes.
And so he only sees the adults have struck him wrong
as he sits and waits outside the office
for the Brother, teacher to emerge
as the clock strikes 
and on they strike.

For they can not tolerate the closure of their mines,
the closure of their lives
and so they defy 'Her England,' of which 
Orwell wrote and which came true in 
nineteen-eighty-four

So the boy should not sulk 
as the clock strikes 
and on they strike
as he should see there are greater injustices
or is it true that
'he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much.'


Details | Free verse | |

THE LAST STAND

THE LAST STAND

Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota, and the Sue.
Smothered beneath the white man blanket,
Chocking for a breath of airs life's sustaining oxygen.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled frozen,
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pulses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping women kneel on sacred ground, shedding
A river of bloods tears, burning a permanent scare across,
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames immoral injustice. 
Greed's unsatisfiable hunger for land and riches fuels lusts desire,
Behold exterminations nay holocaust of the native inhabitance,
  Nothing remains alive except ignorance blackened shadow.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink before,
She drowns herself or spits up everything undigested,
 With sheer disdain and hatreds malice intent.
On a black and white chess board the winners takes it all,
Strategies grand masters playing with living pawns.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
 Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing in fairness.
A rogue tidal wave of humanity has wiped out a nation,
And it's culture within the blink of an eye.
Flights appendages are clipped on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages lineage and legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge
In Washington.
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds. 
Ancient ancestors lit up the heaven's vast expanse,
 By torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead unto their great spiritual
 Plain beyond.
The pale horse gallops forward without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe vanishing
 Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final trible battle war cry, 
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
It's heavy iron fist, all in the name of progress or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

The Check is in the Mail

The Check is in the Mail
		                            Authored by Chuck Keys	

At the beginning there was no rain,
Only the thundering noise and bright bolts of lightning.
The trees and bushes trembled with the cold winds 
Pouring sheets of rain soon followed.
The stones and the ground cover cringed, 
Everything echoed and shook from the hard driving forces present.
There was no place to run or hide.  God
Was making his statement.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.

Someone is in pain, searing aching ever increasing pain, 
Like the agony of a toothache, thumping, pulsing, thud, thud, thud 
Louder and more intense with each breadth 
The body and spirit is consumed, tightly wrapped up, 
Absorbed in the discomfort of now.
And it's not going away on its own.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.

He was stolen, placed in chains,
400 years ago, 
Brow beaten from the beginning, in and out 
Never allowed to be his own, 
Not like whites, he was property, owned and operated 
But different non-white, (why are we still talking of color?) 
Yet beings we all are.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.

We cry for what was taken but can never be returned 
Not wanting to be raised above or over, 
Wanting not a victory, but delivered equality.
Through love and nonviolence Martin and they forged ahead,
No more waiting for the check in the mail, 
But expecting the expected.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.

The storm is here and now.  
A debt of honor is due, 
With the passing of time, where is restitution?
We accept love, education, pride and joy, 
We can't accept the hatred of crime, violence, 
The lack of housing and work, 
Pain never fades on its own.
It needs attention.
God’s values our values,
The one constant, never becomes vague.
Without compromise. Without compromise.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.

The storm continues with its blinding rage, 
Waiting for an answer, not patiently, but expectantly, 
There will be no peace tonight in their lives as in our hearts,
Everything is in play.


Details | Free verse | |

Dunnotar

Dunnotar, protector of Scotland's honors,
how crippled you have become
but for Cromwell's rage and purpose.

Give the governor's lady your papers,
for all is not lost in your courts!

Through besieging forces
she will smuggle them out
in a place no gentleman dare search.

And your treasure is safe in her keeping,
until the crown of oppression is crushed
and the Viscountess assumes her duty

reviving your former glory;
resurrecting your rightful status
as you have done for Scotland,

preserving what has no price.


Details | Free verse | |

The Last Thing I Remember

“Anna, put on the shoes your dad gave you.” I obeyed.
He had given them to me for my birthday before he
Was taken away.  I haven’t seen him since that day.
But, mom tells us that we’ll see him again someday.

Melancholy had masked my mom’s face all morning.
My brother and sister sat on their bunks with sorrow.
It began to run and grow down their pale pastel cheeks 
As mom somberly told them…

“Your sister and I are going away, promise me you’ll
brush your teeth and always pray.  Peter, you take care 
of your sister, you’re the man of the house now.  It’s not 
that bad, oh my beautiful babies—don’t be sad. I love you!”

“Let’s go!” as the guard pushed me and my mom.  She picked 
me up and placed me in her arms then harmoniously 
hummed my favorite bedtime song.  Then, we walked into a chamber.
She said “Close your eyes” and that’s the last thing I remember.  


Submitted for Abe’s “Leather Voices” contest


Details | Free verse | |

Separate is not Equal

Separate is not Equal
                                     Authored by Chuck Keys


It is said,
that life must be one.

It is felt,
when we are parted apart.

Why must we learn to separate
on what is viewed together in the wind.

Do we equate our lives to others,
to separate can never be equal.

Who decides better may be at worst,
the eagle soars to new highs only as one.

Two tall man are standing, one is white, the other isn't,
both are tall, proud and great.


Details | Free verse | |

Houses of Stone - Linn Grove Subdivision

Under the wrought iron arch and gateway
crawling with both wild and deep red creepers
complimented by evergreens.
The fall colors are splendid.

Most of the flowers are giving way 
to the chill, and the swans are graceful and content
with the breeding season now over

Walking slowly along the narrow drive,
spots of color scatter around the green grass.
What beautiful yards,
each house made of stone,
granite - marble - sandstone.
The foundation of the earth

Dark stone black, pink, white, gray, burnt umber, rose
beautiful houses inviting you closer,
please see my name.
I was here many years ago.
Cholera came to me and took my spirit away.
But I was pretty and young and full of joy.
For a little while.

Old stones to the early 1800's.
Stones with angels guarding a lamb
baby tears fall, in time giving the stone soft edges.

One from yesterday.

Come see me in my house. Mausoleum strong and tall. 
Handsome and successful.
Each as individual in death as their homes and places were in life. 

Over here, I fought for my country. Me and all my buddies here, 
laid out under each of these many white crosses.

Hello, don’t forget my free spirit ... riding high over the houses
touring where ever the wind wishes.
Swirling fine invisible ashes through the trees
sparkling in the late closing sun.

A town’s history. Natural, tragic, sickness, murder ... all here 
The history wraps around the casual visitor.
Keening out not to be forgotten.
Calling, we were important pioneers. 

The end of day sun setting on their windows
Aglow with the spirit of yesteryear.


Details | Free verse | |

Tremolo to a Vibrato

Tremolo to a vibrato

when loud words
are coughed forth
from the inside.
A chest aches -
and history repeats itself.

Adaggio calls me again -
deaf ears stretch
my arms open
and upside down smiles
spills
your imagination
into sepia tones.

Tremolo to a vibrato

when slick consonants
of clever abuse
peel my naked shadow
from your wall
and quietly sing me
onto your fine linen sheets.

Your fingertips burn.
Ego and psyche tucked -
I am aloe assaulted
with fist-folded skin
clamped upon my mouth.
Nausea will hush my tears 
as they rise and blend
into a cacophony
of eager reminders.

Lost epiphanies bleed
atop blaring crescendos -
the notes scatter
like malnourished roaches
and history repeats itself.

Tremolo to a vibrato

I'm trapped inside a lost journal -
where there are
no watchful eyes in back of me.
An embarrased immigrant is
stripped of his
challenged wares
and cursed sanctions;
learning how to believe in
the truthful lies
of my masochistic mentor.

I usually excuse 
my tattered ignorance.
Self loathing and wanting comes
with the territory -
when my masts are down
and I'm anxiously anchored
inside your nurturing claws;
I sing aloud.

Tremolo to a vibrato -
history repeats itself.

Tremolo to a vibrato - please

don't sing back.







Details | Free verse | |

My touch Her kiss

For some anomalous raison d’être
the lively in thine watch
was resolute;
i did ensue

And each from I
mine lips;
that was touch !

Though I do know
it materialized in thine vista,
‘As the kiss’

While I kiss you in lexical
verse
to mine grave I say
to mine grave



Details | Free verse | |

Norman Washington Manley (From Pages)

The mind is a womb
Copulate it
Let the semen of reason
Part the legs of its cervix
And you will see
When moth struggles before its born
The power of its dreams for flight
Words are eggs, you know
Virginal eggs,
I saw him hatch them into bricks
Of ideas that he could carve
Like an Edna exhibit
All copulation must spontaneous
A true gentleman has that gift
Not to force his feelings
On his betrothed 
He was also scholar, you know
A sort of poet
That prefer metaphors to the conflict
Of chisel and wood
He had such a mastery of the rhetoric
I mean he understood them better than us
For he did not only speak like them
But spoke their strategy better than them
I sometimes wondered how he knew himself
Apart.

Its sort of seemed ironic
That he did have the anger that Fanon composed
Unless wit is a subtle part of it
May be environment is such a part of it
The cool, I mean
We say that about Manchesterians
Roxborough,
If it could produce the soldier-scholar
Could not have produced just a little fire
Even for the cremation of his brother, Roy
Perhaps it was the mix blood ...
Busta said that his mother was Taino
I do not understand is who mixed them though
There is an overt statement of force to be made
A rape scrubbed from the memory
For how could one half of hm
Become so invisible ...
The mission I mean.

I must rule
More than wood, and more 
Than water
For my destiny
Is more than what men may leech
So I am not exploited
I am killed for this robbery
And here I am left
A dead man on a throne
Here I am 
Shrouded with self government
And staring into the empty eyes
Of children

So why do I love him then
Was it alone because my father 
Fashioned my world for me
Gave me this icon
For proximity the barbarians
Who snatched my mother
Washing her white linen one day
From the sweet river
Do not take that thought to the bank
Where my children play
This man deserves his accolade
If only for taking blindness from my mind
If only for letting me know
The chain had never rattled their
And even in their own words 
I could look at the world
And ask "why not?"
He gave me a ladder to my education
That was some gift,
Quite the best of all I am given
O it so beautiful to copulate the mind
Or hold hands through the annals
And see this Manley, 
This little fountain of great ambition
Flowing at my lips.


Details | Free verse | |

ATLANTIS

Far beneath fathom's kept, where the dead men,
Dare not speak of forgotten kingdom's hidden deep,
Under waves chilling currents, in the aquatic blues,
 Burial zone.
Behind seaweeds thickened greenery, and corals
 Reefs decorative stealth.
An ancient mystery's truth lies undiscovered,
Pull back times curtain reveal a world turned up,
Side down.
Once a utopian society lived, bathed in the
 Warmth of the sun.
Shinning by brilliance light aglow in
 Architectural marvel.
Civilization’s corner stone, etched with 
Diversity's trade mark.
Idealism in perfection orderly form, 
Pictured framed amongst ,
Legend's greatest mysteries left unsolved, 
Yet it intrigues us.
A vast landscape spanning the horizon, 
Wealth's golden city.
Built brick by brick on sheer strength, 
Of will power and intelligence intellect.
A crown jewel of the ancient world but,
 It's existence has tarnished with age,
 Entering the realm of long ago,
 Mythological legendary myth.
But fortune's favor draws fates attention, 
Leaving unto follies end result greed's lust,
Deception’s cruelty, and slavery’s injustice.
The god's have little mercy for humanity’s,
 Sinister darker side,
And cast a titan's krackan to sly the
 Wickedness there in.
Destruction landfall hit Atlantis head on,
An eerie twilight’s hour destiny’s four winds,
Did scream why have you forsaken, 
Your children thus so.
No wraith's compassion could eliminate, 
Sorrows heavy burden to bare.
A nation, a continent wiped from the face
Of the earth, without leaving a trace vaporized,
In a instant.
Storytellers epically write words, telling of
Legacy's lost paradise.
It's valuable theology speaks volumes knowledge,
Of lessons to be learned so not as to,
 Be repeated again. 
In the devil triangle may it rest in peaceful slumbers, 
Dreaming state.
Until history's reawakening calls it name once more.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN










Details | Free verse | |

A Summer's Sound

Cicada chirp
vibration.

Comes an image
of heat, sweat, sweet clover
and haystacks that itch.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ for Laura McKenzie's contest ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Details | Free verse | |

DAVY JONES LOCKER

Beware young lad, tis the dawning of thy demise,
For the water witches screams, are carried on the
Winds breath, of the tidal waves hurricane.
Be-she, the banshie of the fathom’s abyss, treacherous
Mistress, beguiling temptress, enslavement's captive, 
Whom belongs to the sailors devil himself,
Thus she announces her masters arrival,
Known is he, as Davy Jones.
Aquatic demon, the soul feast-er, appearing perched
Upon the four masted sailing vessel, a seething fiend,
With ivory white fangs, red piercing eyes flash against
The storms rage.
The predator to prey ratio, delights this beast, from hell's
Deepest pit, it's relishing laughter, does chill the mariner,
To their very bones within.
Atop his ghoulish head, arises bullish horns, to drive
The undead, beneath the seas watery realm.
Fly swiftly, all seafaring men aboard, for the dark wrack's
Shadow,  mars  thy voyage, for death's imitate sacrifice.
Crimson gloves, do hold a set of golden keys, to chains
Shackled locks, behold phantom wave stalkers.
Lost souls of the forgotten, servitude’s salves of the
Murky bottoms depths.
Treasures locker keeper, within the heart of the sea,
Does lie, a cold  guardian stands watch, over it's
Precious contents, bound forever as persecution's
Divine punishment, from Poseidon, the great
Lord of the seven seas.
Answering their captain's hailing, the soulless crew,
Climbs aboard his ghostly craft, heading ever upwards,
To the unknown beyond.
Accursed windjammers, cutting against the rough surf,
Emerging as a seaweed covered derelict, it charges forth,
Riding upon the edge of the ultimate storm.
At fates spinning wheel, Davy Jones hands are set steadfast,
Awaiting the newly undead, to join his brackish crew.
The living pray for mercy grace, salvation's angels
Save us, pleading on knees bent low, Oh Lord Almighty,
Hear the sailors voices, crying out in sheer terror.
But the devil dues must be paid, for other 
Mariner’s safe passage.  
To night behold the tolls collection plate is passed,
And is served by evils blackest hand, nay it's filled
Not in gold, but instead ti's flesh to the living bone.
Served on a silver platter, to none other then
Davy Jones himself, listen to his echoing laughter,
Filling the chilled air's darkness, 
Than plunging beneath the briny depth's below.
Nothing remains but a legend's myth or so
It is said.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Black widow murderer

Unwittingly sucked in
entangled within lifes cobwebs
poisoned wrapped and saved for later

Until satisfaction for hunger is needed
preyed upon with slow satisfaction and pride
despite the deceit and trickery of enticement

Faced with soulful persecution of honesty
reality and truth to be lost forever
whilst deceitful one is admired

Displayed devouring of specimen
No trial nor retribution, let others fall fate
alas before finished – destiny will strike

Poor black widow will choke
own untimely death from own grip of life
suffocating truths stifled now smothering


Details | Free verse | |

Robert Frost

Past the valleys strewn with apple trees- 
And spirited places where he derived his passion
To the hardships and things forgotten-
He clutched his thoughts in the quiet of candlelight
Through the woven fabrics of his mind-
And the boundless journeys he strove
We gained his poetic wishes in perspective
Now I drain my thoughts in deliberate diligence       
Hoping to bring him approval 
Though I know he no longer resides- 
I feel him in the cracked filled walls of yesterday 
I am but a humbled poet -
Waning in the lost wishes of a master   
I will walk with Robert Frost deep in my soul- 
Breathing the pages of him and his earnest intellect 
Rehearsing the dreams and agony of an America’s past- 
Poetic paladin 


     
 Inspired by Amy Greens “Wow me with inspiration contest” ! 


Details | Free verse | |

THE DUKE

A lone rider sits high in the saddle,
As the horizon's sunrise spreads across,
The open prairie.
Twin pearl handed pistols rest at his side,
As rusty spires clang against wooden planks,
At the deadwood saloon.
Legends cowboys whisper his name,
On the dry desert winds,
A giant of a man whom breathed
Life again into the legacy,
 Of the old west.
His side swagger's walk trademark
On the larger than a life screen.
The duke truly represents the great 
American hero on horse back.
Six shooters drawn at high noon's 
Count down,
John Wayne's the trail dusts equalizer,
He always remained on the right side,
Of tin stars law.
The tumble weeds rolls along a dirt path,
As tall cactus stand on an arried canvas,
Life here is harsh and mean,
Where only the strong survive.
Bold individuals with the inner
Strength against god's forbidden land.
Harden men whom lived by one simple,
Rule I will do what ever it takes
To stay alive.
He'll join the ghost riders,
Forever driving the lords herds
Across the grand divides vast
Prairie sky’s as the sunsets
In the old west.
Alone figure rides high in saddle,
Set against a legends back drop,
Hell bound for glory,
In a cloud of gun smokes fog,
Behold the duke emerges,
With his hat on straight
And gun at the ready.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

In his footsteps

On his shoulders 
he carried 
me,
when I tarried 
when young.
He’d huddle me close,
and tell me the stories
Of how he grew up.
The things that he loved to do most.

Correct me when wrong.
And punish when bad he’d
Protect me from harm,
And when ill -
He’d wrap me in blankets,
And nurse by my side,
Till one day I grew up
And rebelled.

In your footsteps 
You wanted
Me to have followed,
And done everything by your will.
But I’m my own person,
So listen to my side,
Are you in with me this time
Or still…?

Do you not answer?
Hear my pain call?
As I struggle to find my own way.
Is it time I departed?
Is it time that I learnt?
To have my own will
What d’you say?

Well I’m sorry 
You’re silent.
You’re so disappointed.
But I know that you feel
I am wrong.
I can’t take this no longer
I’m so full of anger.
To my misery
Is there no end?

Well I’m out!...
Do you hear me?...
Dont misunderstand me.
I’m grateful for what you have done.
But for now
I don’t know me.
I don’t know the answers.
I’ll pack up my things and be gone!

But then
you say to me
Just listen – child listen,
One day 
you will settle
You’ll see.
You’ll be married. 
With children.
Putting food on the table -
Working hard to bring in the dough
Then you’ll think of these words
Just follow my footsteps
That way you will
Come to no harm.

And the voice in your head
Will silently say -
I told you,
Was right all along.
I’m your father
I taught you to follow 
my footsteps;
To know what is right and
Whats wrong!


Details | Free verse | |

To The Beat of Jazz Poetry

From bebop, swing to hip-hops thing
True poets had it best
For there is a rhythm in the soul, 
Which they all just had to express

Some could not control
This powerful thing 
 Was so often put to the test

It began to dawn coming on strong
Within the birth of a thing 
Called the Harlem Renaissance 

That jazz, that poetic-jazz, of intense birth 
Possessing syncopated rhythms 
And chronic expression of surreal tunes 

That perfected blend of jazz-poetry 
Developed into what it is today. 
Thanks to poets like Carl Dunbar and Langston Hughes 

That jazz, that jazz, that wonderful poetic-jazz
Being bred of pride, lyrical form and grace
Transcended cultural barriers 
Readily accepted in the 1950’s by the humane race 

Therefore, the mantra had begun to be 
So freely expressed within poetic lyrics 
To syncopated beats moving on through the 60’s and 70’s
By way of beat poets like Amiri Baraka

Returning strong throughout the 70’s and 80’s 
Thanks to artist like Gil Scott-Heron
Oh, snap he was one of the founding fathers 
Of spoken word poetry known to youngsters 

Borne to free-styling or hitting the beats 
On stage or in the streets
Yes, you’ve guessed it, most def its rap
 
Re-educating the poet in me, thanks to that thing 
In which made many a heart sing 
As these icons did their thing

Starting with something called modern day jazz-poetry…
Born during the Harlem renaissance and still going strong


Comments: I hope that you have enjoyed this free verse
tribute to some of the greatest modern day
founders of what is known as Jazz-Poetry.



Details | Free verse | |

The story of history

The Story of History  

Beyond those beaten days’ depleted daylight
Beyond the bathos of a pandemic bondage
With  the resurrected  sashay’s charmed night
Down in the dumps   at the pretentious  proscenium
A  shy  orchestration sans bark and bite
Afloat in  the  air  of inarticulate mind games

Intuitive rains,  first ever, like the touch of Midas 
Informed  dense minds  and filled  their dented bowls
Birthing the quartet of Vedas and similar works
There was this epic, longest ever , they say
Bales and bales of tales in miscible moral wraps 
With a natal nugget, on  tall righteous props
The Mahabharata with the Gita, like Mata,  Pita

And its transcendental twin  revered more
For  a daily hosanna..the Ramayana with a deep lore
Banish-evil-battle-cries, confronting  blasted minds
Search lights, self’s  unfoldment  and its kind

Her  children  made but never did dig history
But loved digging up its bedraggled mystery
To find bone dry drains, history’s torn veins
Below multi layered mud and muddled bricks

Twisted  and labored logic on  tensile testaments
Sites that suffered blights thru unknowable nights
To find the four  battens , the debacle, to follow
Someone on the way labeled it  Harappa .

All the while Light ruled, but rigours too brewed
Calling often for a reordering of ways  so crude
Then there were slices of truce..
 The Buddha..Shankara..

Of  collapsed  black holes the horizon  was full
Faded for once their  gravitational  pulls 
Exploding back as eternal stars ..
Kalidasa, Aryabhata…

Alongside kings ruled and kingdoms rolled
‘ Ruler’-coaster-rides  on thrones and thorns followed
Till bandit chieftains erased the all important lines
To the dance of dust from an advancing west
 Battling  to drop anchors on motherly chest.

Bare-faced brigands. Among their odious offspring
Some stood out to shine with a stupendous ring
Either putting up   statecraft’s show pieces
Or  scripting  epitaphs in  eponymous edifices

Till dissipated and deterred they too heard
The trenchant  call of folks  come from far  to trade
That would spell , in time, your damnation
In manacles of measured manipulations.

Against  its prolonged , protracted reticulation
Rose legit  gripes from  gregarious  formations
That would coalesce under the one and only Gandhi
Into  their momentous waking into life and freedom

Split up, as it were, into  two bickering fragments
To play fitfully, for ever, their petulant fiddles
Averse to complement under demagogic detours
Falsely comfy under the convenience of  inheritance

                               -2-

Six decades of self rule on, your children feel conned
Not for failed hopes, but for the disharmony that haunts.

An  one- sport -nation fixated  with a fixing -fame-game
Movie-obsessed , and with  its TV 
Blank beyond trivia and brand names.


Money and food are no problem  for many
But, for too many, they are; vehicles are plenty
But roads aren’t ;  laws are varied and abundant
Some redundant , but every  pervert who counts
Interprets them different and funnily  implements.


Health care wears a five star halo sans humaneness.
It never frees a dying adult or kid from its kinky tubes
Nor permit  the company of kin to them  for one last time
Ignores the terminally and  unmovably sick stuck at home.

Agriculture does well, but farmers don’t ,.. and kill themselves
Petty  retailers  are swell making a killing, selling farm produce.

Stupidity grows muscles to muzzle humanity 
Hunks grow on  vitamins, video games and vanity
 Freed millions  press after pelf and power, plays hell
With the  weak and  the women , their perennial fair game

Profiteering,  covert, overt, and  across the board
The sick, the student, the seeker after any service  
Any  victim or one with a gripe being its victims
That’s by the very cream , no less, all the same
 Media scream with scam and spam all the time
Even the ones,( that’s about all), with their own aims
The combined  do’s of brash bravado and venality 
A  rash on governance   and a blot on name.
Effete ethics  and moribund morals, seniors mumble..

‘Equality before law’  means ’ Advantage to the outlaw’
Freedom for the grabs means  restraints to many
Succour  often hard-to -reach and  reaching-too-late
Louts and lousy offices dot street corners and roads

Governance press after  targets  too disparate 
To cohere or collaborate towards  a  wholesome goal,
Leaving holes for private or pet agendas to infiltrate.

Front-end-folks or  prickly pears?
Menace, malice, avarice,  lies, police…
Unrestrained delight in deliberate discourtesies.
Why -dad-anyway-Why- not- call-him-uncle-attitudes…

What does not tempt is in for contempt,
Being irreverent to the important, and indifferent
To the different,  is the norm and the trend.

Democracy could well slip into demonocracy  
Like when “Two wolves and a goat vote to decide dinner”**
In the absence of the Will to lift it to meritocracy?


PS:  This poem ( 100 lines, 777 words, as it turned about to be ) is about INDIA, my country.
*”Mata, Pita ‘  mean   Mother, Father
** Based on a quote seen somewhere.

S.Jagathsimhan Nair,  26 May 2013,

For Cyndi  MacMillan’s contest.


Details | Free verse | |

Small cog in a huge machine

1914-18 War.

Just another small cog
In a huge machine
Working together
Aimed at some foreign foe
To give a bloody mortal blow
And end a wave of ternary
Spreading across Europe
Over seas
Like a pandemic deadly disease
Bringing terror and horror
Death and honour
To countless people
On all sides
All swearing they have God on their sides

Driven by warmongers and warning governments
Propaganda power and greed
Thought by the ordinary Man and Woman
On the street
Death honour glory and defeat.

The war to end all wars
Or so they said
But war still goes on
Leaving countless dead.

Wars few understand
The scourge of Imperfect Man
wafted by Satan's hand.

Let is never forget
But let us learn
Man just can't get on
And get's his fingers burned.

The Huge machine
Travels on.............


Peter Dome.copyright.2014. April.



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Will We Know Him

Will We Know Him?

Will we know Him if He stood in front of us?
If He walked by us on the street?
Will we know Him?
If we have a chance to meet Him in our  lifetime?
In that split second that we meet Him?
Our eyes met for the first time?
Will we know Him?
Yes reading the moment we stood side by side?
Our smiles are very clear
Our heart jumps around
Yes we do know Him?
That look, and that feeling
When we know we've found our home
Yes we do know Him
Yes we know what to say to Him
As we walk away together
Yes we know Him as He knows us His children
We are finally together

Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


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A Lovely Day

From the past days of old.
At Seventh Street & Florence Avenue.
Vehicles in pristine finished.
Bragging Rights Mint Condition.
Proudly rolled by in a yearly tribute.

Very close behind did the present.
Spanking brand new, Virgilina's, VA.
Town's first responders debut their life-
saving vehicles of rescue.

Summer Fest proudly displayed.
Awesomely colored painted fine cars.
Including trucks and plowing tractors.
The drivers and passengers.
Cheerfully waived tossing smiles and candy.

I watched so many of the children laughing.
Enjoying themselves while playfully.
Scrambling to grab all and as many.
Of the tossed free candies.

So very comforting it was to see.
Neighbors, visitors, friends and family.
Witnessing together. 
Standing side by side
In such a loving comradely.
History and our future.
Embracing one another.
In supreme harmony.

Refreshing the supportive celebration.
Veterans from old world wars of our past.
Keeping close in step were our gallant;
soldiers of wars in our present time.

Today's events were also in celebration.
Of the soldiers whom honorably.
Transitioned to a much peaceful home.
This was a very lovely quick get away.

Cotton candy, home made ice cream.
Scenie's Old-fashioned Peanut Brittle.
Freshly squeezed lemonade.
How fortunate to meet Ms Marion Woods.
Author of Uncle Jerdon's Farm Children' Book.

Thanks to my cousin Natarsha.
I am experiencing a very lovely.
Memorial Weekend Holiday.

My Uncle Joe Lassiter our beloved Veteran.
His daughter and my cousin Andrea Miller.
Stood in the longest line waiting patiently.

For what I learned was the town's best.
Brunswick Stew.

It's evening now I sit here as one.
Within this blissful time in nature.
Pleasantly at peace.
Relaxed taking in the beauty.
Of this picturesque piece of land.

Reflectively pondering.
On on this lovely day.
I joyfully have a writing instrument.
Very close at hand.


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Victorian poverty crime and squalor

Born into a life of poverty crime and squalor
where hunger and cold winds bite
and disease is rife
and it was a daily battle to stay alive
and find some food to stay alive.

Uneducated illiterate caught in the poverty trap
drinking polluted water
from the same polluted cholera riddled tap.

An impoverished woman
sells her body for a cheap bottle of Gin
and a lodging for the night
while a pickpocket and mutcher
ever watchful
look for a pocket to alight.

The deafening clunk and clatter
of horses and carts on the cobbled ground
and shouts from the street market traders
echo all around.

Children play and run through the narrow
crowded streets
dressed in rags no shoes upon their feet
The putrid stench from the gutter
and thick choking bellowing
smoke from factories
make one heath and make it hard to breath.

Dilapidated hovels and buildings
covered in black soot
horse manure and raw sewage 
under foot.

Beggars with large mournful eyes
reach out pleadingly to the passing gentry
to fill their empty bowls with plenty.

A peeler pins a notice of a forthcoming hanging
at the local Gaol for the few who can read
upon a rusty nail.

A  Mother desperate to feed her hungry children
steals a loaf of bread from a market stall
but is soon captured  in the sprawl.

The judge sentences her to 10 years
penal servitude far over sea in Botany bay
but she dyes aboard the ship of fever
upon the way.

Her 9 children are sent to the workhouse
for the poor to gain some education
and work hard behind it's hellish door
never to see their Mother or escape poverty
ever more.


Peter Dome.copyright.2012.


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Hapi Godess of the Nile

From cradle to grave the sun baked
the skin leather, un-oiled
and rain did not fall
for Isis with held her tears.
From the bloody care of womb
children popped like bread from
the oven of women, the urns of life, 
earthen were their colors
ocher, saffron, and 
some as black as basalt, rich…
with a Nubian glow.
How the small ones squeal
at the wadi’s edge.
How the toes of man and beast
dance at the skirt of mother Nile, 
sensuous, rippling with the wind,
or placid in the doldrums of summer sun.


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THE DREAM

I've dreamed an admirable dream,
To touch the monolith's of Stone Hedge,
And understand their meaning.
What a bounty of knowledge have these
Once cave dwelling people leave us
As their legacy.
A hovel's kindred, whom came from
The darkness within the earthen tomb,
To experience the sun light, at the day 
Break of a new age dawning.
Not a transparent reality as now,
But an evergreen world, for them
To utilize.
An Eden to explore, a wild untamed
Wildernesses, calling to them come
See what I have to offer thee.
Oh what would I give to see this 
Wondrous place, where wild life roamed free.
This is my dream,
What would I give, everything???

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
02-10-2014





 





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The Glass Goddess

All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground 
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…

Great houses made of cards
Form lines, and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga! from the sidelines.

So while were here
We dance with the Glass Goddess 
Poised miles above reality,
Leaping over the heavens on our domino stilts-

We floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane, 
Seizing the day
Because any moment 
We could disappear 
Into



Jacob Reinhardt	
10/15/2013



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new aquatic species

       Science in all fascination has discovered a species aquatic 

  Theorizing this new yet old species remained hidden as Merman  

  only to live in secret at the oceans floor the mermaid a tribe indigenous 

  once said to be myth yet all proof and technology film does not lie 

  Tsunamis has given the ocean a true glance of the man with webbed hands

  The species communes with dolphins will be under a microscope to analyze  ?


    " The World is not ready to see what I have "  Jacques Cousteau ~


         to be entered in The Science contest ~


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Strong Medicine

In the house a monster grows.
Dissension seethes unchecked,
this house divided stands alone.

The strongest rule, the rest beaten,  submit,
hopelessly pay homage, for now.
The young, attention is speculative
in hope of increasing dominance.
Strength through numbers, majority rule.

Know those who now rule will again be replaced,
they sulk, awaiting their turn.
Until then, they will pretend and play their game.
A country suffers, new fighting begins,
parlay and banter are not our friends,
The people the victim once again.

Strong medicine needed to bring this monster its end.
This two party system is destroying from within.


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Bridges Burning All Across the Deserts

The camels' backs have broken,
All across the thirsty lands;
And their drivers rail, then bribe, then plead
With the beasts of burden 
Too long taken for granted,
But they will not be moved now, 
Though water lies far away;
They have it in their humps, in the animal patience
On their backs.

Not so the drivers,
Who fooled their days away at the oases.

So now they gasp
Since the desert ships have grounded themselves,
As the ships of state slip beneath the sands.

The camels rest without comment,
Yet still, they sometimes spit.


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Tudor Court

Oh, aren't they grand 
Love comes dancing 
hand in hand 

Bowing to each other
Fluttering lashes all around 
From the yoke of sensual bondage 

You leave me wanting more 
Needing drops of grace to save me
The lust of my youth still cries out 

With a touch of his fingers to skin
He would rekindle her lust even higher
With a twinkle in his eye, he bows to her

A garden I have, which, has never been touched
Though, he is a proud gardener I can tell
Therefore, lord, protect me from my thoughts 

For the bloody butcher, has me at his will 
I beg of you, keep my thoughts from me        
Let him not take it from me, as the others before me 




5   15, 2012
Was watching "The Other Boleyn Girl" Natalie Portman, Scarlett Johansson , Erica Bana  from 2008.  Someone might try casting king Henry with red hair since he was a redhead.  


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An island of Pandemonium

Beyond the leggy palm trees you can hear them calling out 
Through the diffused light and thin curtains called home- 
Are a people in need 
Brought to there knees with infelicitous faces-
Filled with confusion and doubt 

Broken hearts in broken places, loss of life-
In an atmosphere of raw humanity 
Through there dusty desperate lives they plea for substantial means 
Tested beyond their capacity resting in squalid conditions-
Praying into their Christianity 

No mortal man of compassion could stand by
And be witness such devastation 
Sparse medical means in a land crumbling from the inside
Many impoverished brave men waited by the loud white gates 
For a voice a glimmer or hope from their leader guru 

 
To the victims the questions remains why?
Everywhere in every corner tears pooled into hands 
Contentious people begging for water and pointing to their bodies 
I was brought out to the edge of my chair from what I viewed 
An act of God has taken some many lives and left me in a state of stupor 
I said a prayer for the people of Haiti




  
 


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Wild, Wild West

Magazine ads and newspaper obituaries
skitter across the streets
like tumbleweed in the desert.
Rims the size of carriage wheels roll by.
Everyone's holsters are filled,
even the children carry pistols.
The schools are ghost towns
but the saloons stay occupied.
This is the Wild, Wild West.


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An Ode to LIFE Part 1

An Ode To LIFE


As I lay my head down and start to fall asleep I see myself being carried off to a place and time the place of our Lords birth in Bethlehem of Judea

As in the Bible tells the story of His life and how he lived and died in that human seance and rose on the day He told of

I do not remember being here but I remember the story I was taught so many years ago

As I walk through the streets of Bethlehem I see each scene  and hear  every word as I am learning the story they telling is true

The writer writes of a jealous King  and his way of dealing with his people and of Mary and Joseph who came to Bethlehem to have a child

The story tells of the three wise men  who saw a star in the north and heard of a child  who was born to be the King of the Jews  and come to see and bring Him gifts 

An  angel from the Heavens above came to Mary and Joseph in a dream and told them they had to leave Bethlehem or King Herod would have their son killed 

So they left Bethlehem and went to Egypt and there they lived until King Herod no longer ruled

As I follow along in my dream I see each scene  and hear  every word as I am puzzled by the fact I understand each

I don’t understand why I’m going through this time but I know I must continue on this journey 

As I am pulling through a time where I reach the place of Jesus’ in  Nazareth of Galilee

As I watched Him grow and work in His father's shop I could see the thing in Him that were with me

As I walk along the streets and look around I hear the people talk of a child that speaks of wondrous love that’s all forgiving and of a Father in Heaven that’s loving and true.

By Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Copyright 2013

                                                            Inspired by God 

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


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A Poem for Bloodshed

How sad is the day
when we celebrate the death of a man?
Good or evil, 
is justice so blind that it lets us know
wrong from right? 
You kill a man
but not an idea.
You celebrate a death,
you create more enemies.
Is there any justice done in killing
regardless of the actions?
Tell me how blood washed away blood?

A.N: this is a rough in the making.


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A Degree in Phantasmology

Viewed from outside, the forest appears to have been gobbled up,
erased by a gigantic sponge of mist.
Only the tips of a few cedars pierce through the miasma.
No, they aren't piercing through the veil; more so, they are disconnected
from the rest of their towering bodies -
green, sharp cones floating above the lumbering, pulsating cloud.

But once within the forest, having stepped through the perimeter of trees,
visibility opens up a little, as wispy tentacles retract into the canopy above,
as if in retreat from an approaching intruder.

I do not know precisely what I am looking for,
simply following a strong instinct 
as to the whereabouts of what I desire to find.
How is it possible to desire something I do not know?
Oh, but how I so desire to find it....

Fiddleheads uncurl, silent players in an orchestra,
giving a visual impression of the sounds vibrating 
beneath their spiralled stalks.
A strange hour for crickets to be tuning their Viennese strings.

Over to my left, sits Voltaire with a crooked grin.
But upon closer inspection, it is only a rotting stump.
Voltaire, you sly, sly genius. Always so sharp and forthright.
How you must have wormed your way into Luther's head,
as the two of you hid in Frederick's fortress castle.
Yes, you were always so keen and brilliant,
but disconnected from your heart. Were you not?

I push deeper into the forest, scaring off a mole
who had a momentary lapse of courage within the mist.
The curdling vapours recede even more,
clearing up my lines of sight.
There! Is that what I am searching for!?
Naye, it is but a smooth, polished stone set amongst a crowd
of dangerous looking rocks, poking out of thick, wet moss -
dangerous rocks with slippery, jagged edges,
resembling the dagger of Brutus.
23 stabs in Caesar's back, on that cruel midnight hour.
23 chromosomes added from each half,
giving birth to a story of deception and betrayal.
And of a captain going down with his sinking ship.

Pondering over these spectres, suddenly jogs my thoughts -
thoughts no longer connected to a physical body.
My hands resemble the fog--thick as illusions,
but also transparent, depending on the vantage point.
I have found what I came looking for,
confirmed my own mortal death,
as I now appear to be existing within the memories of the living.


I did not find the forest after all,
instead, Death found me.
The true reason for having arrived here,
is to earn a degree in phantasmology.










February 16th, 2012


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Pixel Wars

Tingling toes
of the megabyte cavalry
callouses scraping
along private roads
Cascading matrices
on the plasma periphery
peasantry bleating
on official commands
Stewing a cauldron
a festering foment
watering nations
from acid-soaked cans
BE SAFE!
say the oracles
so buying a check
but electing the cavalry
leaves the infantry wet


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A Costly Mistake

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


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wanna come thank me for getting bin laden shot america

or do you want to tell the person whose first name is sang by sinead o connor
middle name is sang by fred durst
and last name is mentioned by fred durst


do you want to tell me, the person you just spent 13 years mad at
singing and dancing to my misfortune
and rubbing your happiness in my face as you exclude me from sex

do you want to tell that person whose name you plastered all over your war
that he had nothing to do with surviving it
do you want to tell that man
Troy Jeremy Nelson
who just lost everything 17 times
to start over
that he was not your allie
in whatever that was?

let me put your name alll over a war
and then wait for your enemy to show up
and ask you
what does that guy got that i don't?


everything now
you murdered my grandpa
you murdered my friends
you murdered my sex life

and you sang and danced to my misfortune to the tune of your lies
pretending i was your friend called an alibi
you didnt bother to even try to keep alive

do you want to come telll
me
Troy Jeremy Nelson
that your country just did that too
that thats not what happened?

Im not sure how long your going to live that lie
the thousands of people concerned and involved in that persons endless
and i mean endless nightmare
might just come tell you what has been making them cry.....

Happy Halloween tho
FALSE PROPHET

oh and p.s.
next time you put somebody else in the middle of your war
to play the victom of that person's nightmare
you caused
take notes to pass into the future
as to what is about to occur
to you
may be a life lesson
to history

Thank you for not caring (sarcasm)
thank you for not answering my letters (sarcasm)
thanks for going the wrong way, in the wrong direction, to do the wrong thing
that whole time i kept pointing out a drug ring blackmarket, you people didnt care 
about (sarcasm)

thanks for calling me a liar as to what has taken place in my life(sarcasm)

so whenever you are free to hand me a bunch of things with your smiling face, and 
names all over them
to make me feel better for the way you treated me
singing and dancing to the sound of getting away with murder
for the miracles youve stolen

my big brother doesn't like to dance around and play house, pretending to be 
someone hes not
in a singing competition, racing against his sense of fear
do you want to come tell the man just tortured by malpractice
with his name on your war in your music,
he had nothing to do with winning it?


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Sesizlik

Ya simdi
Inanilmazi  
Yasamak varmis 
Vatanini  koruyan
Ordusunun komutani
Teroriste olurmus

Ya simdi
Yeni  kurallar ve karanlik  gelecekler
Agzina bir parmak bal mi caldilar
Yarana biber mi  bastilar
 Acma agzini  karsiysan  da be kulum
Cezasi buyuktur  yigitligin agritir basin
 
 
Ya simdi
Gune baska bakan
Silivrinin  yolcusu
Bekler yillarini
Yarginin  sonucunu
Eskiden  meshurdu yogurdu


Ya simdi
Kim kaldi  
Demokrasi oturkenini
Donusturecek tilsim
Sadece  isiitigim
Sessizlik  sessizlik


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Pachamama

In between deserts
Ocean there I lie
Pachamama
As  high as elimino tide
In dream in one piece

Palm heart cactuses
Tides echo  pacific  whales
Land of accasias in treasures
Pachamama fly my soul in whale

The wound grow ashes in tears
Desert to pacific gate to open forbiden
Meet Kurosho collides Oyashio
Pachama will comeback all in one piece


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segregation today, segregation tomorrow

"our budget allows for
one janitor, and that spot
is taken,"

is what he said
before he took one
look at my credentials

"sir, I come to ask
about the teller job,"

I says and he just
leaves

turns around to say

"come back in 25 years"


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May 4th

Frustration
Confusion
Panic
Rage
Violance
Death
May 4th is still alive.


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Askuwheteau

Askuwheteau meaning he keeps watch was a French speaking Indian who came 
from the Algonquin tribe head aching from braids he lay down his long hair and sit 
propped against a tree not far from the wigwams he lived in there he played his 
flute to soothe his tired mind watching for any signs of harm to his people he had a 
knack for spotting out shadows of other beings well before the figure came into 
focus but this particular night was calm and peaceful knowing this he played with an 
echo enticing the spirits to come and dance for this was a rare occasion where there 
need be no worry of attackers to pleage them his people not far hearing the joyous 
celebration skipped across the woods to join him song turned to feast and feast 
turned to stories being told around a new built fire feeling eased and secure no 
need for shelter they soon fell into a heavenly slumber

Contest : Tell His Story
By: Virginia Frayer


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Human Vessel, Daily 14

14:Passages plot themselves on maps
To get you somewhere.
Pour your soul into a hollow vessel
For the archaeologist to find.
To replicate each moment’s sound
Will never bring satisfaction
perhaps exaggerate boredom
Definitely annoy reactions
Because the vessel's form is unnecessary
There is no catch-all for past rains.


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Suffolk


We live in a little valley
once famous for cedar trees. 
The name is no longer a label
but celebrates the past
as do most places in this country.

It is a place with monuments
old but not ancient,
unkempt mansions that
cling to use,
solemnized as party sites
for weddings.

We can't deny its beauty
that lives beyond the ruins,
the joyous harbor that
harmonizes generously with sun and clouds,
the great meadow, the people with their
strange but utilitarian costumes
who build their bodies along the road.


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Passchendale: 3rd Battle of Ypres, 1916

Even the dead reject this blasted earth.

The ground, such as it is,
Is freshly Antidiluvean,
And the corpses swim within its tumbled, heaving masses
Blood and mud the mortar
Holding the chaos together.

The sun is weak,
Ashamed to break the haze
And bring to light the obscenities transpiring here.

The whistles blow
And the troglodytes emerge
From their respective holes,
Staggering towards one another
Through watery craters
Over the mincemeat of comrades
To add themselves to the swimming sacrifice
Constantly on offer 
To the insatiable, sole diety of this place,
The Mud-God, Futility.

     They are men no more,
     Those who struggle 'neath
     The leaden skies
     The wan sun
     Of the sodden moonscape
     That is Passchendale.

     They are only raging beasts
     Trading pain for pain,
     All trace of cause or reason
     Lost in the maelstrom of their collective misery -

And the only escape
Is to slay and to be slain;
To join the bitter shades
Ascending with the fog and smoke
Through the wall of cloud above,
To vanish into the icy deeps
Among the far, impassive stars.


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Part I of Indian Summer

Slowly, 
The air fills with blue, and the greens catch fire
The hammerlight of Summer
With little mouse-steps,
Steals off into apricity.

I divide my days
Between wine and responsibilities
As a child divides his
Between play and obedience.

The time itself, at its best,
Is wine to me,
Full of light and flavors
Vying for my attention.

The aptly named Sept/ember
Ignites itself against the skies
And sets my thoughts asmoulder;
The inspiration I have begged and badgered
To arrive, does so at last
By its own rule, on its own clock
In the deep of the night
While I should be asleep.

I awake,
Dreams close behind my shoulder,
And find myself at this crossroads,
Inexorably older.


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Day Servants -- Servientas Diarias

Las mujeres que cruzan el rio cada dia
forman una linea larga para la migra.
Muestran sus permisos -- tarjetas locales --
y vacian los contenidos de sus bolsas.
Cuando las preguntan sus destinos,
contestan con las frases que han ensayado:
quiero comprar pollo en especial,
o desea mi hijo zapatos tenis de Wal-Mart --
mientras sus patronas del dia acechan,
a prudente distancia, en sus camionetas guayin,
con los motores en marcha.  
Estan fumando impacientemente.
Otro Winston? 


(For translation, see "About This Poem")


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A SOCIETY'S SECULAR DREAM

Socrates and Cicero
incorporated civility as a powerful, effective tool
in their poetry and dialogues
to smite the unsound ways of the sly fool.
Today our society
snaps with anger at such wise thoughts,
having little regard 
or respect for its laws, and so disobedience
grows at an alarming rate, 
to set up garrison; and would the modern
barbarians absorb the substance
of the proposed, logical ideas?
Cognizance is learned by knowledge and deed!!
Any Nation embracing civility
can guarantee its citizens order and harmony,
and as a matter of conscience,
its a rendition of many values not coercing
a free spirit, but allowing it
to coexist to make many, who rebel, cogitate.
Civilization can't survive,
if its pillars don't rest on its foundation as Greece 
and Rome did! Do we despise
them with smirks and smuts, not appreciating
what made them truly great....
assuring everybody peace and prosperity?
Good, lovable and fair parents
raise virtuous children to be beacons of morality,
and does faith contribute to their
well-being by instilling in them amorous sentiments?
We have seen courageous men 
and women defend their right to choose,
to exist without being imposed restrictions... 
and they succeed in their quest!
All that Mankind wishes and dreams
can be achieved by being trustworthy and diligent;
greatness awaits those holding up
those values that still are a society's secular dream.


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THE FULL MOON BLOOMS

Tonight, the full moon blooms
And foils the looming gloom.
The remnant doom from noon
Has lost it's bullish tune.
And embraces dusk's eerie cool.


The village square it illuminates
Arena of moonlight tales of late
The little ones gather and wait
While the elderly engage in debates
And the goats noisily ruminates


The bright night, lights sparks
Of bliss and joy in trees' barks
The tall iroko whistle in parks
Where young lovers end their tracks
And skimpy skirts lose their tacks
 
 
The son of perdition frets unsure
The thief in the night fears exposure
The pirate sailor steers from ashore
The night fisherman denied action
For the kind light bathes the ocean


Tonight, the full moon beams proud
As the town crier makes his round
Belting forth a piercing sound.
While the town's chorus echoes loud
The stage is set for the yearning crowd


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Ides of November

.          
                    A November day, washed bright and clean 
                     light rains had ceased, and skies were blue
                     But a thought, obscene, would dim the sun
                     In a deadly script, which paled Macbeth
                     One plot would darken the light with death

I was about to stretch beyond my teens
and youth was perched upon the brink
As the callow child I was back then
I would immortalize between extremes
But only acknowledged the world in distant hues
Sometimes grief would have a passive view
 
But then, upon the landscape new
I was thrown to wolves in black and white
I couldn't grasp those first words said
A true-life drama, of horrendous dread

Cascading, first with deep unrest
when cold war's threat, or deep unrest
with wars afar, I sat expecting
happy endings, with stories told
unfolding good around the bend,
where naive' dreams had always been
 
This sudden turning of the tide
had come to change my voice inside...
knocking hard upon my door
deeply shocking,...to the core
rocking how I viewed the world

     With an anchored face, yet, strangely rue
     Apparent angst, his stolen breath
     He cleared his throat, and shared the news,
     With Cronkite calm, as if a stone,
     tho' cautious, stunning words to choose

     In his eyes, the sorrow shone
     I looked to him for confidence
     The magnitude, too great to own 
     I needed guidance and a chance
     to lean into his trusted arms
     this mortal moment too immense 


I see it now, still clearly formed 
The day was bright, with amber light
The sun was out, and lingered warm

Football games, a dance that night 
Holidays had been conceived
But death came crashing down with spite

Tragedy came in as thick as thieves,
The devil's plot to interweave



_______________________________________________


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Head of the Class

My heart sank
That buttery sweet voice
summoning me to the front of the class
I stood there chalk in hand
shoulders slumped
The question you asked
for the answer you knew
You chose not to teach
rather to embarrass
I was not a welcome guest
Hallowed halls of learning not my home
I stared emotionless
blackboard covered in dust
Laughter filled the room
Still I could shrink no further
oh how I wished to disappear
You called on one of the special ones
perfect clothing
perfect smile
a joy to behold
She removed the burden from my hand
I returned to my place of shame
sitting at the head of the class


Details | Free verse | |

The Pirate's Cove (Anaphora)

I like sailing on the high seas over crystal blue waters
I like seeing the waves rising and feeling the splash
I like sights of jolly pirates swinging across the decks
I like sounds of parrots whispering beautiful words
I like scenic episodes that are challenging to the soul
I like seasonal ventures deep into the mystery of love
I like serious drama of swash buckling and bottled rum
I like shabby old treasure chests of gold and rubies
I like silence when the sea is calm and all is at rest
I like starting it again, splashing high sea adventures
I like sailing on the high seas over crystal blue waters!



Comments:    Anaphora is the repetition of at the same word (or group of words) 
at the beginning of successive phrases, clauses, sentences, or lines.  This 
anaphora poem is all about the pirates experiencing a high sea adventure.


Details | Free verse | |

THE BOY KING

THE BOY KING

Oh youthful monarch of Egypt, so young to die and yet live again.
In the nether world a Pharaoh's golden death mask is lain upon
A boy king.
In silences crypt a stilled figure lies in stacious frozen freeze.
Until Ra's first rays kiss the dawn and they embrace in passions 
Fiery flame.
Behold a rebirth an emergence from death's chilling shroud.
In the valley of the dead his caucus’s soul walks amongst
His ancestral ancestors.
Lost deities whom balance the hearts of men
Against the feather of truth
 Speak his name with honor's reverence.
Legacy's inheritance a throne built in the shadow,
Of hierarchy’s indignation yields,
To restorations royal seal barring his title of rebirth
Tutankhamen.
The great sphinx retracts it's sharpened claws,
As this small emperor’s spirit bows with nobility’s,
 Humblest of respectfulness at his marble feet.
Without fears emotions he thus stands all alone,
 Before this stone giant of idles sacred worship,
At his touch this littlest of divine gods,
  Turns a stone beast into flesh.
And beneath the night's blanket of stars,
 He is welcomed
Into the warmth of the lions main.
A living creature cradling this child of light,
Slowly fallen into dreams eternal sleep once more.
In the halls of Karnack a peaceful lullaby plays,
Upon invisible instruments, in a gentle soothing.
Rhythmic tones the music plays.
As a woman's voice sings of a beautiful desert spring,
That turns into the Nile's fertile waters,
 Feeding it's eternal life.
And thus the boy king sleeps wrapped in slumbers,
Golden fleece, listening to the holy Melody,
Which is ancient Egypt.
Finally at peace within the kingdom of thieves,
A Pharaoh of the golden realm.
Hush now beware do not wake him,
Or his curse may claim another victim.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Not Giving In

Behind truth you can decide
Where the clay is set in 
As clouds are in circles above the world
Setting eyes upon prices missing
Manipulated society onward to destruction
No one listens but the rules and programs for our minds
Since birth we are the machines
Those who dare go against the current
Extinct they become
Names with no leads
Do we know better?
Or rather know less?
Like numbers in our heads
Changing seasons to the like of the system
This is no rebellion
Is not the exact war settled against 
Is just the fact no one puts their eyes out

As we march to the chambers
Where the sky is set clear for our eyes
But fire rains outside the tower
Like an eye set on our every movement
Isn't that the number we're given from birth?
Nothing we try
Can change the fact?
Have the world tried to go against holding hands
Side by side on the march to take the power beneath our sin's?
Haven't seen war or peace
But death and clairvoyant diseases are well settled
Is there no more man to stand their own grounds?
Where have the women's with authority fallen from?
Inside vile's the idea remains
Ashes we inhale to be programmed for control
Im not planning to change anything with the words I may place upon a paper
For I am no one
But I pity the world inside my mind
As I can see through 
But cannot lead the remains to restore

Are there any more grounds to step in?
Why do we as human must be concealed from truth?
Things we shouldn't know?
Aren't they human too?
Because a profession is well made?
I don't swallow what I don't like
Man is made to lead
Women is made to lead
Or is there any difference in the ideals of one another?
Can someone speak up for anyone in this days?
Or is it made by mute emotions?
Everyone holding up to the little they can make
As those which have the world on their hands
Few wishes to know what an emotion is
While the rest manipulate us with the green on our number
Im no anarchist 
Im not godless
I just know I have rights to speak
Because there's no place where my democracy cannot hail high
For I am free and of course I accept if they want to kill me
Is not having mercy or just destroying what is already in control
But making things right
People over the whole world make revolution
But they failed for the lack of hands raising fists 
Is it fear running deeper than blood?
Or just blood cursed by the same system?
Can someone explain a bit?
No one does
They just get born, programmed and be utilized 
Then die and decompose in time
Think through
Is it worth it?


Details | Free verse | |

Pompeii

Italian winds blow gently and smooth
Over hushed dusty remnants of lives past,
This once thriving city clueless of its fate
Lies frozen in time under hot blazing sun.

Chariots and horses stopped in their tracks,
Brothel patrons lie in silent passion
On lava beds of ashen cold comfort,
Slaves free of earthly bonds lie in timeless sleep,
Their masters’ tongues forever stilled from curse.

Nigh two thousand years of a forced respite
For countless lives ceased by nature’s great wrath,
Holy temples, theatres and great arenas
Forever preserved beneath a molten shroud.

Pompeian spectres roam their burial ground
Haunted by ancient Vesuvian eyes,
Watching and waiting until it’s time
To erupt her cruel rage once again.


Details | Free verse | |

Talking Frank

she hid 
like a little mouse 
with windows barred 
to block the light 
and peering eyes 

she grew 
in that sunless 
cage 
from adolescent dreams 
to a women's longing 

fought with insecurity 
penning her 
hopes 
on humanity
that had drifted away 

she wrote 
with anticipation 
filled with yearning 
to understand 
such cruelty 

with no answers 
she searched 
why 
what had they done 
would they ever know 

in the night they came 
with weapons fixed 
swinging slurs 
to wound 
her soul 

they gave her a star 
and a ticket 
to take a train 
new adventures 
from which she'd never 
return 

the star soon replaced 
by numbers 
carved into 
tender skin 
and she cried 
for her father 

she was the child 
of her mother 
and of her mother's mother
she was the remains 
of sanity 

she stared at the camp 
not a children's thing 
with ponies and playgrounds 
but with gas chambers 
and crematoriums
and she cried 

for herself 
for her family 
and for the world 
as they led her inside 
she penned last words 

still trying 
to understand 
through her tears 
but there was to be 
no understanding

and in the end 
they laid her bones 
uncerimoniously in pits 
filled to the brim 
with lost dreams 
lost lives 
and failed hope...




Details | Free verse | |

Heathers Spans

The heathers spans the great Isles
Homeland to many souls 
Souls whose offsprings on the tides rolled

These souls who hath spareness
Spareness which sharpens haste
To harnesses path across the great waters

Seraphs thens protected their path
To a new land to live life but differently

Anagrams:
Heathers spans
Hath sparenesses
Sharpens haste
Harnesses path
Seraphs thens 

These are anagrams for the name that I was born with 
given to me by my biological parents..When my mother died
and I was adopted at 18 months, my last name was 
changed....The name on my first birth certificate was:Sarah
Stephens


Details | Free verse | |

The kiss of betrayal

I heard about a name
that gave it all to the evil game
taking in vain - the son of man
a few silver coins and little bit of fame.

eternal shame
for the main event 
of his evil deeds 
for ever be a slave in chains

thrown down to the deep
away from the earth
his name was revoked  in a heartbeat - from the book
and the devil gave birth 

to the betrayal of JESS
he implanted in his heart
treason with a kiss
giving up the light for the dark

good  for wrong
life for death
and for ever he is gone
from the life giving breath

damned is he who will follow
evil man with a evil walk
so we all should swallow-the holy spit 
when GOD shall speak

don't be like the dark prince
traitor with evil deeds 
perhaps false messiah 
having sex with 7 years old kids

do forgive me if I'm wrong
but at 7 years old-still a child
at nine she gave birth to another child
another creature that has to stop being a child - for a while

mean while
emotions are running wild
thinking the messiah was reborn
somewhere in the wild

as a animal
humble eyes and fake smile
slaughter with cannibals
messiah's favorite carnival 

you could call me Hannibal
so I'll recruit another Army
to defeat the madness
and live in peace and harmony


Details | Free verse | |

THE FLYING DUTCHMAN

Off the cape of good hope,
On dead-man’s rocky reef,
A legend from old was born.
Behold The Flying Dutchman, 
Phantom’s driven ghost ship.
Seeking infinities isle beyond,
Mortal fleshes reach.  
The captains wheel sets a
Study coarse full ahead.
Treachery’s boney skeleton walkers,
 Follow his orders without question.
It is the devils own hand picked,
  A madman’s crew,
Hell bound disciples riding,
Currents restless waves towards,
Destiny's unknown passages.
The grim reapers soul seekers,
Beware all at sea if you witness,
The Dutchman’s murky birthing.
From depths fathoms below,
Tarred torn canvas sails unfurl,
Upon broken masts covered,
By seaweeds greenish slime.
Under heavy pressures crushing
Weight,
A chilling graveyard of wreckage's,
Carnage exists, 
An isolation forgotten realm.
A tidal avalanche, aquatic blues,
Perfect storm envelopes,
Everything in it's destructive path.
Dragging anchors chains behind,
Death's black vessel  brakes, 
The surfaces tension.
Cutting through the rough waves
At eases pace.
Readily welcoming those lost aboard,
Then she'll dive towards deep waters,
Farthest edge.
Behold The Flying Dutchman’s,
Legend lives forever on.
 In nightmares screaming twilight hour,
Another soul becomes enchained.
And a skeleton walker joins, 
The devils own.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN




Details | Free verse | |

Remembering World War 1

William Thomas Pickering, 2nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers, G/3371 born 1881 died 1916 
Commemorated by name on the Thiepval Memorial, France.



Remembrance day ..
A field of bright red poppies dance
As I walk hand in hand with my children
Through the battle fields of the Somme
In my pocket, I have a bunch of wheat
A token memory from where he fell
At peace, to have walked where he walked

As the poppies begin to fade....
I hear the thunder of guns, shrieking shells
I see a vast sea of dismembered bodies
A No-Man’s Land of mud and wire
A military display of fireworks dispersing
Casting light on this horrific hell on earth

For underneath the poppies lie, the remains
Of so many men who died, blown to pieces;
Where a river of blood will forever bleed
Passed on from generation to generation
The great loss of war, which nobody wins
As I remember my Great-Grandfather
William Thomas Pickering.....


Details | Free verse | |

EVERY LONELY COWBOY

In the old, wild west
every lonely cowboy
stopped to rest at a crowded inn
surrounded by bare
rocky hills; he blamed it
on the greedy pioneers.


Traveling wasn't easy, not because
of coyotes or deadly
snakes that hid, or slept
in the blue stern grass......
they had to look out 
for those Indians.


In the old, wild west
every lonely cowboy 
always left his loaded gun
close to his bed
for a quick draw...unless it was
a loud brawl coming from the floor below.


Details | Free verse | |

This Union Means Jack

Twitching limply atop an Ulster lamppost
Like a hung man, legs kicking in spasm at the last seconds of life
Its bigoted purpose now spent and now abandoned to the elements
No longer recognisable as the flag of union, a rag, a disgrace

Its fate summarises the fall of a culture that once honoured it
A proud nation of proud men, of starched collars and stiff upper lip
Colonially pink maps on schoolroom walls bore testament to empire
An empire won and lost when the map turned from pink to red
 
Up and at ’em lads! For King and country! Hold the banner high!  
Ypres and the Somme, regiments of the brave under one colour
The twitching curtains of multi-culture now fearful of the emblem
The emblem of abhorrence uncased by those not qualified to fly it

Patriotism, a narrow path parting pride from prejudice
Defined by a flag, one duplicitous fluttering cloth, a split personality
Now the badge of hooligan, xenophobe and pop diva
Courage now gone, bleached by sun, washed by rain…atop an Ulster lamp post


Details | Free verse | |

The Great Blasket Islands

Visits long ago 
to the Blaskets Islands,
to untouched areas 
on the Dingle peninsula
came to mind 
on this sleet winter’s eve.

The peninsula,
nestled in heather mountains.
The coastline,
tongues of lonely white sand.
waved rocks,
drenched in blue mussels
tide pools, 
alive with shrimps and periwinkles
A sea-salted life
unspoiled and free.

Only marine life remains,
but I still hear the music
our native language,
the voices of Seanchaí
the ballads, sean?s, 
Peig Sayers
who shaped our school years,
her renditions of island life
her mad pise?gs,
handed down 
from generation to generation.

Stories of
Islanders huddled together
under thatch,
open turf fires
cooking pot on a hook,
the sweet air wafting
of clay pipe tobacco
a pinch of snuff
sniffed from a silver box,
nursing a glass 
of neat Poitín, uisce beatha,
the strong smell of tweeds
and geansaí báinín.

I think of times lost,
changed forever.
Cottage ruins,
where goats roam free,
An Blascaod Mór
my history, my heritage.

Gaelic words in this poem


* Seanchaí – storytellers
Sean?s – singing without music
Peig Sayers and her mad pise?gs – A Gaelic writer who we studied in school and her mad superstitions.
Poitín, uisce beatha – very strong alcohol made from potatoes, called the water of life.
geansaí báinín – strong sheep wool sweaters usually in a cream colour with complex patterns.





Details | Free verse | |

Curled Up With Shakespeare

I was curled up 
with Shakespeare 
on frayed pages 
with dog ears

marveling
at the depth of words 
nuances read 
between lines 

knowing that 
many hands 
had turned 
the same pages 


reaching 
different conclusions 
and evoking 
myriads of emotion 

my fingers 
touched the spine 
shivering 
with history 
connected 
through thought 
and with imagination 
running wild 

and I mourned 
for the children 
in todays world 
who's Shakespeare visits 
on flashing lights
and computer bites 

lost is
the old world charm 
such as Elizabeth wrote 
and Robert devoured 
ferociously

my tears fell
upon parched pages 
leaving 

an indelible stain 
that would be seen 
and felt by others 
who reached and touched 
the words 


I realized that
tears on a screen 
would only be 
wiped away 
without memory 
of the emotion 
that was elicited 

 

leaving nothing at all  
for history 

to record...


 


Details | Free verse | |

Star Of David

he stood 
among the swasticka's 


a star 
in the center of chaos


and still
he couldn't comprehend


with ticket in hand 
for a train 
that was heavily laden 
with lost hope 


he was bound and gagged 
by religion 
that was neither practiced 
or received 

yet he was convicted 
by birth 
advocating his death


tears would not save him 


German words would convict 
spoken with accents 
of David 
yet there would be no 

slaying of Goliath 


and so he went 
without a word in yiddish


to ovens readily heated 
and skin was but butter for 
German bread 


he walked among the gentile's 
and was slain 
for he was too gentle 


like a lamb to the slaughter

they dined on mutton 

of Jewish mute 

 

evil knows no boundaries 

for it exerts power and control 

 

and those that are complacent 

will pay the price with life 

 

Star of David 

shone 

but was covered 

by German eclipse

 

blocking the glow

 

extinguishing the flame 

 

 

 





Details | Free verse | |

Pride and Predators

Even predators have mothers
and with the soft mewling eyes of infancy
they search, search for the breast of mother
the beak, the tooth, the talon, the claw…
Children worldwide hunger.
The small weak voices and stone dead eyes calling out
to those who have…
Mothers making stone soup.
Mothers giving of their own body the last
remnants of harsh life as the haves
go on safari’s or to zoos to
feed the animals.


Details | Free verse | |

THE COLOSEUM

The Colosseum, welcome young gladiator,
To the arena of death, sharpen thy sword, and raise
Your shield high, bow to the emperor, known as
Caesar.
Listen to the mighty roar of the crowd surrounding
You, is it not a deafening sound, seemingly, by it's sheer
Force alone, causing the earth to shake around thee.
Behold you've been chosen to compete, in this the
Cathedral of crushed bones and mangled flesh.
Here where victory's foe, may drown beneath a
River of red crimson, from his own brethren kindred.
A marble lain thunder dome, to quench humanities
Insatiable lust, for blood's sport, torture and mayhem. 
The deadly game meant to appease, the crowd,
And high born bred royal, and nobility.
Behold the grand delusion put on full display,
As the Christian Martyr, falls upon his crucifix
Of faith, embracing salvation, to cultivate
A new religion, yielded by the mortal
Fleshes sacrifice.
Dine well king of beasts, smiling with a cattish,
Grin, of sheer delight, licking his paws after
The feast set before him, is done with it's screaming.
Trumpets sounding horns, announce the next act,
To step forward upon this stage of twisted reality.
Be bold youthful Gladiator, for experiences sword
Arm faces opposite of thee, waiting for the signal
To be given from above.
Clashing titan's of survival, warriors with weapons
Drawn, leaving no quarters for retreat, mercy's resolve,
Lies only at the sharpened edges blade point.
It is to the triumphant, goes victory's  spoils,
He whom receives, the thumbs downwards sign, lives.
A heroic image, limping and bloody, half falling
To his knees, to bow unto the majesty and might
Of Rome itself.
Achieving the greatest prize of all, to live
And see another days dawning, 
And fight another battle,
Within this ancient mausoleum of doom.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN




Details | Free verse | |

Number 9

"You say you want a revolution" screamed the four,
John, Paul, George and Ringo beat down the door.
Melody and harmony and Brit sex appeal gone anti-war
Nine times round the turn table with Yoko, hardcore. 
Fab stereo artists with composite collages for musical scores,
they kicked, whined, smoked and dined in venues top-drawer.
Number 9 was the cut most radical by lore
chaos, poetry, and prose composed with sound effects galore,
a sandwiched montage of "what are you looking for?"


Details | Free verse | |

Hero Cowboys

Hero Cowboys

The peaks of the Rocky Mountains
The  mighty rivers of the northwest
The epic wastelands of the south
The endless miles of grass in the east
Men wandered surviving them all
Horses were their only family
Their guns their only friends
Every hill could bring a new life
Every turn hides death from a piece of lead
Names like Gene, Roy, Tom and Audie
They lived every Saturday afternoon
Fighting in a small town’s saloon
Shooting the bad man in a gunfight
They never hurt an innocent
They lit up a dark movie screen
To millions of boys they were heroes 
Always fighting for the power of right
They always got the girl in the end
Where have the western heroes gone
The ones who were faithful to their characters
Hollywood has moved on
They don’t make heroes any longer
They are only found in fifty year old reruns
If you are lucky enough to find them


Details | Free verse | |

The Thin Color Line

I smell them, 
coming like a landfill 
racing against my success, 
a race with spaces 
divided by a thin color line
The world is printed like an aged Washington Post; 
quite a man he was, old George 
Nothing akin to Abraham, 
who knows, a man is just a man

Of the few that perched on the edge, 
some, their seats were taken when the three came
In September we break devil’s backbone
and cut the camel thorns; 
some were used for fuel, 
but one was allowed to flourish 
Near Ground Zero, a monument was erected 
echoing the sacrifices to Allah, 
because he begged for New York like Jerusalem, the unholy 

So, you see, my calamity is painted 
Deep within my roots 
are things that boil my blood 
and colored me for my judgment
While the races are numerous,
we forfeit the only we should run
We are HUMAN, we are of that race only
I’ve mentioned the “college” in prior times, 
how my journey was almost blurred; 
I was forced along a path directed by a thin color line, 
and ordered to run a race the God did not design



Details | Free verse | |

Rosa's Eyes

sitting fearfully 
with stubborn resolve 
warm cocoa simmering 
amongst whitewashed marshmallows
puffed up with self worth 
dusted with sugary arrogance

slurs stirring inside 
endlessly whipping frenzy 
to pleading eyes
she rode in silence 
speaking volumes 
that would sound loudly 

what kind of world was this 
that the light
feared the dark 
instead of welcoming 
the blending 

for one without the other 
would leave emptiness
filling the void with 
tangible hate
teeth bared 
without reason

lessons learned
at someone else's knee
wrapped up in lies 
to be labeled
truth 

still she sat
with the ignorance
staring through windows 
from the past 
with defiant intent 
to change her limited view 

of future expectations

in her eyes blurred images 
of burning crosses 
trees with swinging feet 
and white hooded men 
claiming superiority 
in God's name 
or any name 
that would justify
immense cruelty

the past lived inside her 
poverty and hunger 
dark degradation 
remembered in memories 
of generations 
spoken like fairy tales 
but with truth's conviction 

her papa had borne scars 
engraved with hatred 
into honeyed skin 
of the shackles that cut 
deeply into worth 
and self definition

inside his eyes was 
aching refusal 
to accept so called truths
he and his papa before him 
carried the scars 
passing them forward 
to burn again in new eyes 

hoping and praying 
to one day drown 
fiery flames of pain 
with cooling salves 
of knowledge,
freedom 
and most of all 
equality 

little girl dreams 
are all the same 
they know no distinction 
of class or race 
human rights are
inalienable 
should be granted to all 
human beings

 

yet some still ride the bus
at the very back  
fighting to regain 
what should 
have always been theirs

watching the scenes evolve
over and over 
reinventing prejudice 
disguising its malicious intent 
through concave windows 
that catch an eternity 
of tears

 

 

falling silently 


from Rosa's eyes...


Details | Free verse | |

Americas Villain

Low flying plane
Cloudless sky, bright blue
Steel clashing, burning orange
Cloudless no more, smoke fills the sky
Thick, gray, rolls through the city
Much more than a tragedy
3,000 deaths
Millions affected
Billions left with a dark memory seared in their minds
By the hands of one, and
A search begins
War, oil, money
What are we really fighting for?
A man, a coward, a villain 
A decade of suffering mentally, 
The pain lies in the gaping hole of our hearts 
And is filled, with the demise of
America’s villain


Details | Free verse | |

No Butterflies in the Ghetto

six million stones
a railroad car streaked red
a thousand astrodomes
swollen with dead children
the population of houston
dallas wiped out

ugly striped prison uniforms
signifying captures and escapes
martin luther as a bigot
bonhoeffer as a hero
dying days before the
liberation

faces from rwanda darfur
signaling the continuance
of a tradition of genocide
a danish fishing boat
hiding neighbors in a
fake bottom to escape
a wicked storming

the pictures of happy
proud loving families
bludgeoned in broken glass

a soft cloth golden star
like a slave branding
pulsating with hatred and
judgement harsher than
the ornate letter a for hester

1500000 butterflies
sewn drawn carved
remembering
the children who lost 
their lives in the 
Holocaust

"Butterflies don't live in here, here in the ghetto" Pavel Friedman, April, l942

Written after a visit to The Holocaust Museum of Houston


Details | Free verse | |

Tohoku -- When Worlds Have Altered

On an early spring day, washed brilliant with clover
In the land of the sun, and sweet cherry blossom
A tremble, a rumble, that rattled the earth
Cracking open the spring day, like the devil's own plaything 
Plates of dispute, on the edge of destruction
Beneath the sea’s surface…anger's wrath lies in waiting…

It came with no warning, …a mighty surge of horror
A tower of strength, to this tiny island flower
The harsh call of nature, came boldly from the shore
Relentless, the shaking, battering to the core
And altered the earth with a shattering shrill
Spilling despair, in a pillage of flurry 
Killing the helpless,     yet… leaving the courage

O’ land, of gentle people, wearing dignity’s expression
Those from afar, watched on with compassion
We gasped, then we cried, yet are awed with impressions
How hands helping hands, and courage ensued
Kind hearts, claimed the bruised, and calmed the confused 
You banded together…helping each another, 
Balance of elders, will hold you forever..
Grace under fire…. with honor we brand you
You raise up the spirit with hands of the valiant
Respect you have earned and honor you wear
The sun keeps on rising…..and will shine ever more


Details | Free verse | |

MARK ANTHONY AND CLEOPATRA-3

The Egyptian standard falls, unto histories surrendering, 
The deserts breath, is so stilled,  under the Nile river's
Murky abyss, busted masts, heave against the 
Heavily laden hauls,taring the ships apart,
As the Egyptian fleet sinks beneath the waters surface.
A shooting flame of arrows, lights this tender box,
Of human flesh and bone, in wars clash of titans,
Rome must concur all nations.
Survivors screaming for salvation’s protection,
But help will not come, for Horas is a 
Defeated deity, hiding within his own temple to
The east.
Broken is the heart of Egypt, as a daggers sharp edge,
Is plunged into the body of a living god, the last Pharaoh,
Known as Cleopatra.
Cradling misfortune's solider, Mark Anthony, she thus weeps,
Behold love's most tragic couple of history.
With his last breath, he calls unto she, by names sake
Alone, Cleopatra, than remains stilled.
Lord thy last falcon has left the golden land,
Welcome him, she thus bids farewell, to hearts warrior,
Cleopatra.
A mortal woman holds her lover, within destiny’s arms,
Soar with the great eagles, my love, for soon I'll join thee,
In the great halls of our ancestors.
Tragedies star crossed lovers, partake in the bitterest
Of fruit, dried are these figs, once ripened by the sun,
Now unpalatable by discord’s taste.
Nay, all the power and wealth of Egypt itself,
Could sever, the silver threads joining these two,
From one another.
Lovers heart, bound even after death itself,
Shall they walk forever, within the valley of
The dead together, silhouetted figures, embracing
Reunification’s promise vows expressed long ago,
Written within their hearts eternal.
Lain in a golden gown, the queen of the Nile
Does she rest, beneath death's slumbering shadow, 
A serpents bite, has laid waste to a dynasty’s blood line.
Behold how in the heaven two eagles do soar,
Blanketed by the golden warmth of the sun,
As the passages of the hear after open wide
Their mighty gates, each name is spoken with
Honor pride, behold Mark Anthony and Cleopatra.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN 










Details | Free verse | |

Have You Ever Read

Dedicated to an author by the name of William Golding... Enjoy!!!


~Two boys meet on an island
~~One is skin 'n bones
~~~The other one is chubby

They discover a lagoon~
Ralph teases him by calling~~
him "Piggy" -  how mean!!~~~

Piggy asks him if
There are other people on 
The island with 'em

He has no clue
But this'll answer Piggy's question --
Other boys appear - 
All diverse shapes and sizes
What'll happen next??

You'll see...

Have you ever read The Lord of the Flies?
I recommend it if yah haven't read it yet - I must admit
It's a book full of adult words and it's simply...FASCINATING! - no lies
You should read it - or you'll regret it!



Details | Free verse | |

Drawing From The Deep Well

Drawing water from deep well
Clear _cool refreshing water
Drop bucket _watch fall
That windless works
That is if you do
Turn _turn the rope
Each turn gets much harder
A lot like life, friend



1.  Drawing (1)     10.  Watch(1)     19.  Turn(3)      27.Like(1)
2.  Water(2)         11.  Fall(1)         20.   The(1)      28.Life(1)
3.  From(1)          12.  That(2)        21.   Rope(1)    29.Friend(1)
4.  Deep(1)          13.  Windless(1) 22.    Each(1)
5.  Well(1)           14.  Works(1)     23.    Gets(1
                                                                                            
6.  Clear(1)         15.   Is(1)          24.    Harder(1)  
7.  Cool(1)          16.   If(1)           25.   A(1)
8.  Refreshing(1)  17.  You(1)        26.    Lot(1)
9.  Drop(1)          18.  Do(1)


Details | Free verse | |

AYE IRELAND

Aye Ireland -
king of the ol’ plains,
ye beacon us back to 
the land of shamrocks,
wid yer pubs-n-ale,
mates and song,
and Celtic traditions
wid Gaelic delight.

Aye Ireland,
on Saint Patty’s Day 
ye awaken us 
to yer majestic beauty,
panoramic shores,
tranquil life,
courageous history 
and aye, 
yer lovely Irish maidens.

Aye Ireland –
through trails 
and tribulation
yer sparkle endures.
Ye embrace faith,
play hard,
laugh hardy
feel yer hearts wid joy
and love 
wid deliberation 
and purpose.

Aye Ireland -
beautiful Ireland,
king of the ol’ plains –
ye beacon us.

bhí dhá labhra budh rí ar seanchlár


Details | Free verse | |

Angel Of Death

standing emancipated 
suffering Mengele's obsession

an unsterilized scalpel
peeling away skin 
with religious zeal

cries falling upon deaf ears 
in piles with teeth 
screaming in horror


anesthetizied 


by Nazi madness...



Details | Free verse | |

Pictures

a flash of golden memories, 
from the womb to the tomb, 
reflections past to present 

preserved for future generations 
so as not to be forgotten, 
recorded imagery of a time, 
stored away for another day, 
to be discovered and reminisced 

those who knew not the subject
play the game of discovery
to see who had their name, 
to study the history, 
from whence they came 

a visual chronology of family fame, 
your own, one day the same, 
a loving vision into the past, 
maybe some things do last 


Details | Free verse | |

Recent Revelations

horrific, decades-long
study syphilis, study its effects
covert medical testing

army scientist
bitten by mosquitoes,
yellow fever
mustard gas,
enter chambers
temporarily blind

dark age
hospital patients
injected with plutonium,
atomic soldiers
in the waves
of nuclear explosions

trace amounts of radiation,
in breakfast cereal
of handicapped children
new drug, LSD
dropped over a French town,
unsuspected, hallucinations

with the latest discovery,
reports of dark practices
soon to follow.


Details | Free verse | |

All hail, the misguided soldier, the misguided Hive

All hail,
The brave soldier
Who stands firm
Like the fickle shell of a snail
Before the oncoming foot of titans

All hail,
The brave soldier, 
A ferocious bee
Who strikes his stinger into the enemy
Comforted by fleeting thoughts of heroism
-a safeguarded hive
Thoughts that flit away in the wind
Like windswept Pollen ambushed by desert
-as the bee falls for the cause

All Hail, 
The brave invader
Who fells foe for his country
All hail murderer,
Comforted by a noble cause
Sent out on wings of glory to cut down fanged tigers
Purging threats, safeguarding life
	-the hive
All Hail,
Misguided killer
For all tigers are fanged
All people threats
-All people life

All Hail,
The weary soldier
	-sacrificial lamb
Joined out of a desperate cause
A squalling infant, a taunting belly
And the weary soldier
Gives his sacrifice to the gods of the Hive
And prays for rain.


Details | Free verse | |

Holocaust

Unrecognizable breathing carcasses
March to the graceful beat of death
A welcomed sentence to their
Savagely tortured bodies
And extinguished spirits

Unjustly slaughtered by lunatic men
Self-created superiority based on
Flawed, foolish beliefs

Manically smug smiles grotesquely displayed
As they watch the skeletal scum
Forcibly assembled for
Gaseous cleansing

Violently chaotic stampeding unfolds
Blood chilling screams forever echoing
Through the chambers of hellish horrors

Until
Massacred silence

Martyred smoke clouds the sky
Fast fading in sight
But eternally haunting


Details | Free verse | |

Emily

Through report the world 
  came to you, corresponding
    through reclusion on
	terms your own.

Your first-rate grasp of
  third-hand knowledge,
    coupled with a dash of
	hesitancy, and you were THE
    "it" girl of the next era.

Existence-like 
pure pre-existence.

Recognizing your own
  genius , even when no
    one  could see your face --
	Your mirror, yours alone.

You cocooned your body
  ( a white shroud )
    to preserve, what?
A voice. Some idea(l).

Wrapped in light, a utopia 
  constructed of hedges,
    afraid to step beyond your
      own garden, but more fearful
	still not to write your way

Beyond.


Details | Free verse | |

The Newest Old Movement

We watched Frida Kahlo 
with our backs toward the rice fields
The monkey fits tightly to her breast, 
her right breast. A parrot 
on her left shoulder; two chatter-boxes that mimic
What if the wolves pull our wool over our eyes?

In lands where barbarians sacrifice youths for takings, the woman 
that speaks like a man wears the trousers in our houses
She muddled up many sharp wits, but not mine; 
I’ve seen the Adam’s apple
Why are we standing taller than our heroes, 
and what honor is a wheel-chair to a builder?

We‘ve seen Miss Kahlo these days, she believes she can 
paint a brighter picture. Her children are media fed, 
and far from initiative; they hunger to prove Marx’s theory, 
but are scared of the manifesto and the horror 
mushroomed by the monkey and the parrot on News at Ten
In George’s house, where some acquire the taste for caviar, 
a man is understood like Fidel if he argues for an amendment

When Frida went out for tea, and Donald considered running
From behind the white wall came the joke, and the four winds
were primed to laugh.  The monkey whispers lies to Sarah, 
and the parrot is frequent on the Oprah Show, 
Oprah, like Frida Kahlo, wears testes, 
not under corset but beneath Victoria Beckham


Details | Free verse | |

Yesterday Faces: VE Day 2008

A farewell never passed
Our valediction lost to the winds
A lifetime of rage and anguish
Flowing hotly upon the detriment
And breaching.
Though not without conflict
It is under the shadow of war
Within these shattered burnt ruins 
Remains the anguish
Of sixty three years
A recollection that seeps into the void
Of my spirit
Haunting my sleep…


Details | Free verse | |

Color of a Man's Character

The Color of a Man’s Character
We all bleed
And cleave to 
Those we leave

We all smile when we are greeted
And cry when we are mistreated

Why do we choose to abuse others 
For the color of their skin?

Why do we think that only 
Our own color should win?

We’re all the same underneath 
We all deserve peace 
When we lay down to sleep

Love one another while you can
Show your son how to be gracious
The color of a man’s character 
Is how he treats his fellow Man.


Details | Free verse | |

Eyam

Tis sore int' thwait
wi mor'n a few folks a gippy

loose tha's snap as M'pessons well
n tek sum brass from t'watter

na its nowt but a mickle midden
but them folks as a good un, narry a one of 'em flit

tek thasen a gander
but the's nowt in Eyam save 'plague







Translation
It is bad in the village
with more than a few people sick

Leave your food at Mompessons Well
and take some money from the water

Now it's nothing but a big mess
But the villagers are good people, not any one of them has left

Take yourself a look
but there is nothing in Eyam except the Plague



History
The village of Eyam in Derbyshire was hit by the plague at the same time as London (1665), 
the villagers self imposed a quarantine to prevent the disease spreading any further, the 
surrounding villages left food at a well near Eyam, in exchange for money which had been 
left in the vinegar filled well to clean it.



For "Sista's Bloody Sista's" contest run by Deborah Guzzi
Honorable Mention


Details | Free verse | |

THE CATHEDRAL OF STONE

Within the cold gray stone,
It lives a spiritual humming,
A strumming rhythm of natures
Raw essence.
Breathing rock inhaling, exhaling
As the earthen elemental surrounding
Conscious thought.
Knowledge’s smoothed edges, leave
Reasons rough coarseness exposed.
Humanities deaf ear, hears only, 
The hollowing of the four winds,
Shutting out enlightenment's truth.
Natures dream weaver touches 
Heaven,
With her softest silken finger tips,
And gods canvas falls unto earth.
 Behold a tapestry deepest blue,
Lit by universal stars.
In the stone circle,
Mankind lifts innocence vial,
Revealing ignorance blindness
Of sight.
And feels humiliation smallness.
It's singular aloneness, individuality,
Quest for immortality exists,
On baron grounds frosted soil.
In stillness silence, behold the
Ring of fire.
Lighting divine spirits to flame, 
Flickering embers alight igniting
Destiny's spark.
Intellect, intelligence a rebirthing
From deaths black darkness.
Within the cold gray stone,
It lives a spiritual humming.
A strumming rhythm of 
Natures raw essence.
Breathing rock, inhaling,
Exhaling.
As the earthen element’s
Surrounding conscious thought.
A cathedral of stone, 
With one disciple
Left in prayers knelling position.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

We Call Them Unclean

stuffed critters line the dashboard
of the V-dub he takes every day
to visit her where she rests
his bent fingers pluck strings
serenade

little princess sightless
except for shadows, sees
the cloudless day and beams
the brightest crooked-smile 
gratitude 

feisty one drives big truck
one leg to pump the pedals
which one, the gas of course!
while she dreams of evenings 
dancing

bike pedals turning, churning
on his daily fitness route 
he ventured out, not accepted
came home to lead
belonging

rubber boots, wide-brimmed hat
hands toil earth creating beauty
short strong arms set nets 
He reaps ocean's bounty through
serenity


*the unmentionable word of all time – leprosy.  The stigma still exists for those who have long been rid of Hansen's Disease.  The only unclean thing is the heart of mankind. 
Dedicated to all those who have honored and touched my heart on Molokaí.


Details | Free verse | |

Reclamation

I was taken from this life 
in the black night, blindfolded 
to be clubbed to death

so that I 
might be born again 
in spirit song, dance and name 
given by my great ancestor

who, ten thousand years ago or more,
crossed the Bering land bridge from 
Siberia to Cowichan and the Salish Sea
warm land of the raven, 
the black bear and the salmon.

I have suffered 
four hundred years 
of dislocation of the soul 
in this barren culture, nameless
but for “primitive squaw.”

I have lost 
Tamanawas, the sacred ritual dance 
the Potlatch feast of giving and 
my children and my language.

I will endure 
four days and nights
confined and cold and hungry
while all around the rhythmic pulse
of elders’ drumming, chanting

guides me back in time and space 
to voices still resounding
stories of a dancing flame
light upon the earth

And I will rise in cedar forests 
and walk the clamshell middens
feel our language on my skin 
and see with startled eyes new life
the Soulfire I’ve been given.  

       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was for the Shaman's Way contest but I think I missed it. 

Cowichan --used to be pronounced coWEEchan now it's usually  said like, Cow i chan.

The Canadian government outlawed many Coast Salish practices until the 1960's--the Spirit Quest, Potlatch feast and 
Tamanwas dance among them. Children were placed in residential schools, away from their families, and were forbidden 
to speak their mother tongue. More recently, the spirit quest ritual has been revived as (loosely) described in the 
poem. However, it is also now used as a form of "intervention" to help address an array of problems frequently 
attributed to colonization (e.g., drug and alcohol misuse).  So, where in the past, young people would go off into the 
forest voluntarily, it is now often the case, (at least in Cowichan) that young people are taken from their beds in the 
night. Initiates are first symbolically "clubbed to death" then "reborn" after multiple days of  ritual practices.


Details | Free verse | |

The Ancient Maya game of tut of tut

The ancient Maya had a game
They called Tut to Tut
A game like soccer
but the ball but the ball
would be passed by the thigh
and not the foot.

They played with a latex rubber ball
that some claim contained a human skull
But what ever you think about the game
it was never dull.

Two teams would play before a temple
On a strip of green
the object of the game
to pass the ball through a hoop made of stone
the Winners were victorious
but for the losers
it wasn't so nice
because they'd chop their heads of
and make them a sacrifice.


Glad I wasn't a coach
beats soccer any day.

''Any one for a game of Tut to Tut''?


Don't all shout at once.



Peter Dome.copyright.2013.


Details | Free verse | |

4 men in a boat

4 men in a boat,    on fateful night . A poet from England ,3 mates set sail , One fell over and met his demise , leaving behind 3  in sadness they returned .
To be described in a poem as they wrote .4 men in a boat ..minus one leaves 3.

I thought I alone , I was the only one. Maybe. I was wrong .
Who tells real truth in poetry I write , like the men in a boat that very sad night.
4 men in a boat , cold and frightened in a storm .

At the end of the Day , the end of life , all is happy , all is sad . In love and Pain inspired . Many words written, for life is a storm , in truth and misery . Until the beautiful waters calm  , and the seagulls sing their happy song for you. Then you will be writing words of love and happiness .



This has been revised from the original version , I am learning new formations by entering contest that are  for members on Poetry Soup. this is not about the win , I win every time I try !


Details | Free verse | |

The Terror Of 16th N' Arrowhead

On this night....

Screaming and yelling is all I can hear
I want to get up, But fear reappears
I swiftly close my eyes But can't fall asleep
I hear a series of shots, From across the street
Once again, It's just like before
I rise to my feet , Then drop to the floor
Shaky legs,  And Watery eyes
Praying prayers,  I just want to survive
Bloodstained spots,Yellow tape surrounding
Broken fragments of glass,Who's underneath
The blanket of death
One cough, One whisper,One last little breath
Family and friends so violently wept
Rants of revenge, Are bellowing near
Frightened eyes, shed clouds of tears

Into the night I slip away
But not so quiet return at day
I blankly stare upon the walls
My breath escapes into a fog
A not so quiet day like this
I feel as if I don't exist
It's kind of late into the game, 
But life goes on, Its all the same
A drink or drug could never heal, 
What's happening is still so real, 
You can't imagine how this feels
A broken heart, A wounded soul
Swollen lips, Dead body cold
A second, A day , A breaths taken away
A minute, An hour, A loss of human power
Every month and every week
So many more lives are taken quickly

Is time running out, Are eyes going blind?
Are ears going deaf? Will there be anything left?
My heart's in remission to end it right here
My body's positioned to stand up to fear
Existence is determined, The struggle against defeat
The time is coming up so fast, Into the night I weep
From the moment we arrived,Terror increased
Now is the time for us to pack up and leave
A hard look at our life, Has made us sober
We have no choice but to start over






My family and I lived through nightmare after
nightmare in our old apartments for 3 years
and just 2 years ago, we moved. Thank God 
he made a way out for us to escape safely.


Details | Free verse | |

A Leader That Comes Only Once In A Few Generations

A Leader That Comes Only Once In a Few Generations

I want to see a leader who is willing to do the right thing for our country
Not try to make a buck for themselves.

We need someone who is willing to lead our nation to a brighter future
Not into quick sand so they can rule the land for a few days.

Our United States needs a person who is not self-centered
Someone who can think what will save this country from
Becoming just like all of the rest, a person who will maintain 
Our country’s independent identity.

We need a leader not a chump who is down on his luck;
We need someone who is willing to walk away from a buck.

Our nation has to find a person willing to stand up for her
Not sell her out, she needs a true once in a few generations
Type of leader to truly lead our country to better times.


Details | Free verse | |

Christmas delights!

Clouds garland snow capped mountain peak
Icy snow butterflies melt kisses upon my nose
Puffs of warm, moist breath balloons billow out before me,
quickly chilling, disappearing before my eyes
Crunching snow compacts beneath booted feet
Prints set deep, little more than momentary reminder 
of where you have stepped before
Crisp white blanket glints
almost winking it’s Christmas card welcome
as it’s vast white carpet spreads before you beckoning 
All of nature along with everything manmade becomes anew
Nothing seems out of place
A bird lands on branch of tree causing cascade of padded canopy
New mound takes position with little noticed effect on perfect landscape

Children laugh and run as they hurl packed balls at one another
Dashing, darting, ducking and returning rogue ammunition
to offending hand and screams of pleasure
Slipping, falling they tumble over repeatedly 
Waving arms and legs, when finally still to create snow angels
Then, standing up clothed as abominable snowman
Giving rise to fresh ideas as new creation begins with rolling snow
Bigger and bigger they chase and push, packing tight as they go
Another ball a little smaller to place on top of first for head
Then off they scatter in all directions looking to clothe their model
Returning with woollen hat scarf 
carrot and stones to place as eyes nose and mouth with button features
Admiring they know their masterpiece shall be short-lived
For mother nature’s hand will chance to create another slushy muddy puddle


Details | Free verse | |

Wonders of my life

I can't help but wonder
I can't help it but I just have to look back
The scar's that I have healed
Every picture I have is so random
I could cry a river
I can't stop the anger within
How can I love and hate thee at the same time
You were supposed to be my shield but you burnt me
You were supposed to be my oxygen but yet you're my 
carbon dioxide
My heart feels like an Ice box
You're a part of me
You're my strength yet my weakness
You're past yet my future
You're my enemy yet my family
I hate you and i love you at times
You break me but yet you make me


Details | Free verse | |

Donum Terrae - Earth's Precious Gift

When the Earth was young,
fire dominated the hellish land,
flowing like blood in veins giving
life to the rocky planet.
It glowed like molten rock within
a furnace ready to be moulded into
the continents that float like ducks
on water regardless of constant motion.
The land was bare and resembled what
most would consider hell but still
it was darkly beautiful in its own self.
Millennia passed with no trace of life
until that all faithful day when the
Earth was bombarded by rocky meteorites 
and frozen comets.
These titans of nature brought Earth’s
most precious gift transforming the
bare land in to a world of new-born
oceans.
A never ending rain-storm begun causing
the oceans to grow like an embryo in
a mother’s womb.
Sadly the air was poisonous and the
sky red, like a never ending sunset; 
life took no hold of the empty 
and barren land.
Time passed slowly and the oceans
begun to fill with the smallest
of creatures, too small to be
seen with the naked eye.  
Slowly the air begun to change 
and the way to evolution began,
giving rise to adaption and
abilities never seen before on
the barren land.
Single-celled creatures became
multi-celled giving rise to what
is considered the life force of
us all – DNA.
Time passed slowly but life 
exploited the barren land
filling it with the most
peculiar of creations.
The Earth became a box of
chocolates for whichever way
one looked nothing was the same.
The Earth’s precious gift is life
but without the aid of nature’s
titans life itself would have
never begun in such a fiery
furnace – glowing then yet dark.


Details | Free verse | |

THE OLYMPIANS

Amongst the heaven's vast divides in the kingdom,
Of the God's the hills have eyes.
Here mighty Zeus commands with an iron fist,
And lightnings deadly thunder bolts.
Beware humanity the Olympians watch over thee,
In the grand pantheon’s arena known as the blue, 
 Planet called earth.
Written in sacred text ancient scrolls are legends,
Hero's whom fall and rise with the whims of
Those four twisted sisters called the fates.
Praying in pagan temples to divine deities.
Virgin maidens cry innocence tears on the
Fallens behalf.
Courageous champions performing on,
A grand theatrical stage to appease nobility,
Almighty audience.
Hercules half beings mortal flesh an indestructible
Landside of raw strength a force to be, 
Reckoned with no power on earth could,
Over throw his father’s immortal throne.
Achilles tempered steel wrought and lain,
Upon human flesh.
In reverences shadow of a woman’s desist,
Dies at the feet of reverences unmerciful beauty,
 Named Helena.
Bloods spear of destiny lies quivering, on
The far distant shores of troy.
As a wooden horse burns beneath heavens,
Moonlit sky.
Greenery's loyal leaf encircles mankind’s,
Spiritual soul to honor lost hero's in the,
Elysian fields of the dead.
Silent echoes whispers linger among eight
Peaks near creet.
In reans ashes and destructions broken temple
Walls life remains at rests domanate state.
At victory's trumpet call shall these guardians,
Rewake to take their place again amongst,
The univeral map of galatic stars,
The oylampians. 
But your legacy's remembrances leave,
A magnificent brilliance no dynasty can,
Compare with your shinning example.
We remember thee blinded by thine,
 Everlasting beauty.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Remains Of A Driveway

Through you I seek to know:
What happened once below?

You ferns of resistance, I see you
Mixing it upward with 
A firm stance. 
(Such steely green weeds
Do smirk indeed
Above the empty path of horizon’s eye,
Blackened to nowhere).

What, though, do I see in you?

(A path lies vacant and wanting,
A land once named upon a dream;
A barren place now daunting,
Neglected and unseen).

Where is your truth?

(Does it rest within your clumsy bud’s dance
With a tertiary sky,
Or a raucous from your stem’s windward need 
To lead)?

Oh No.

I do believe:
It is your roots of defiance!

To know Home in no shame;
To forge through scarred soil with no blame!

Such courage you have:
To reap the shifting tar of fickle men, 
And safely hasten away 
From the notion of never again!

(Thirty some years have stood and fell
Yet…
Your quiet presence lives to tell
This hell,
Once known,
As Love’s canal).  

Oh eager green,
 I wish you well.


Details | Free verse | |

The Curse of the Pharaoh's

Neglected and forlorn
like the parent uncared for 
left to the ravages of time
the great pyramids of Khuf
Khafre and Menaura sit.
The city about them spewing
the gases of man into the once
pristine desert and sky.
Hydrocarbons and lead turn
the atmosphere a shade of ochre
tinged with rust, 
and the haze through which
the marvels of the ages are seen
is all that maintains the fantasy.

Centuries pass 
as the life in and out of Cairo Egypt
leeches off the glory of the past.
Architecture, art, gold and silver
that flowed from the mines
like water from the font of Eden
oil the skies and pump the heart
of a nation.

The Golden Age fell,
fell with the onslaught of the Romans
and Christianity…
leaving a people to live
on the corpses of Pharaoh’s

http://www.arabworldbooks.com/articles1.html


Details | Free verse | |

lessons in making poets celebrities im gonna die in poverty HELP

imcallingjapan will show youtube poets how its done in this poem to
ressurect your own literary saviours like a mediapope
saying aint life tweet
internet poetry corner speed dating coffeeshops
to find the right music making software versus free liabilities
take your time thanking me for showing you
how to be a success
at your photobucket slideshows
like a myspace objecttocrave
stumble upon my techno porn like a god of funk
it can be done

notes on notes of notes
to sing the songs of a thousand birds sing

vote after vote after vote of life changing abstract dreams

80 families waiting to cash in on their paintings
and now you can thank me for your exposure
as i stumble upon the deck stacked in my favor
to meet the people who inspired me like a poetrypoem friend
met through a shadowfiend

easy as pie
recipe for success
this candid camera screw up kissing our nightmares goodbye

Your dumb if you dont work on this
to cash in on your talkents wether through hallmark, music, or advertising

your welcome
like a hollywood lemonaid stand for the people who made the most lemons
out of lifes lemonaid


Details | Free verse | |

STONE HEDGE

Hear across my native soil,
The calling, 
Echoes ancient voices,
Raised in prayers ritual.
A forgotten people, leaving,
Their mark upon histories
Legacy.
Mysteries great questioning,
Lain outward for generations,
To wonder why?
Beneath the heavens vastness,
Behold gray monoliths reaching,
Upward.
In the circle of life and death,
As a continuing sphere ever,
Winding within it's self.
A seasonal calendar timed by,
Natures rhythm.
An inner heartbeat, pulsating,
From the earths core.  
Springs awakening warming
Breath,
Or winters chilling hand of death.
To plaint and harvest, or lay at rest,
The tools of trade.
The beasts of burden are released
From heavy yokes harness.
Pagan Gods demand tributes sacrifice,
Lain upon the sacred altars fire.
Druid priests carrying wisdom's staff,
Praying for enlightenment’s spiritual guidance. 
Sung in Gallic tongue, they chant.
Asking for natures bounty,
A good years passing and 
Healings curing power. 
An ancient religion seeking,
Answers to humanities quest to know.
Lost to times relentless pass,
Our ancestral heritage is remembered,
I'm myths and legends,
Mystical circle of stone,
Known as Stone Hedge.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN














Details | Free verse | |

On Graduates in the Unemployment Line

Go out and get it we told them
And I have seen mothers wringing leaves for tears of tea
I have seen fathers striking stone
And cursing the prophecy of water from the rock
And I have seen them day after day like sheep
Staffed and rodded into an obedient flock
Defering Saturday matinees and Sunday evening games
Taking solace only at the edge of flesh 
The new pilgrimage of the driven age of youth
But it did not deter the goal we set
The balloon of dream in their head
That their new skill and competency will us richer
And that for that we will sit as family laugh
Like days too old now to remember
And after the strain
For balm the fractured cohesion falls apart
Family like glass splinters in the heart
I read about, know about it, felt it like the hammer at my grave
But we cannot deny that despite all
They went out to get it
But cannot come again.
In libraries whispering smothered discontent
On facebook drinking the anesthtettic of spurious arguments
The heart tweets, and tweets
The disparaging malajustment of the world
No vacancy sign littering our babel trembling
Where are they to work
What shall we do with all this genius 
Stagering from place to place?
I went out with them until I was old
I am returned again to build
With them, but instead collapsed into a discourse with our eyes
We meet the wasteland face to face.


Details | Free verse | |

building my stolen empire out of loose ends: CRIME OF THE CENTURY

was this tortured victoms ground zero a lie?
were his 17 sites of an obsessive world peace nature proof in the pudding?
were the forgetfulintentions of poetrypoem helpful at all?
the life lesson of ressurecting three literary saviours and then slaughter them
how many witnesses
to this technicolor dream there to keep you living?

can you prove me wrong
that i just averted the holocaust?
was the confusion of this necisary?

from the homeless shelter starting over

the realisation of how many cities have already cried
not televised of their tears
the world sick with war

many affected in their own ways for their perceptions of a life they lived


Deadlocked
back stab society
deadlocked
crime of the century
deadlocked

the story of a stolen empire
whoever they were
were going to bomb my city
whoever they are
have been torturing people
whoever they were
are going to lie through their teeth

deadlocked with confusion
sucked in with terrorism
and spit out as a peace keeper
sucked in with good intentions to aid survivors of tragedy and war
spit out as person with a soul

deadlocked
the crime of the century
classic con or not
the mixing pot society
that almost died
the mystery unravelling of me your allie
and you working for me
to kill worldly enemies
to play the game to get me laid
called keeping miserable happy

all the way from youtube's imcallingjapan
to an x tube music video
all the way from the governments of facebook

the pancake sting of the satanic community
walking circles downtown clapping chanting pancakes
family and friends waiting acting like strangers
someone starts making fun of this person
he yells you hate sex
family and friends start clappping and chat sex sex sex
then give a stranger a high five
and walk away under cover again

deadlocked earth
i have taken over this planet
its a thing
like the way to kill warpigs if they take over the police
called rap
to color code an ambush
you cant coordinate
but i can

the crime of the century of saving your life
yeah thats my empire of loose ends
the ones that changed your life
the ones that fit in the manners of me taking over the world

those 80 families with million dollar paintings
with poems assisting futuristic intelligence on the back
deadlocked
back stab society

i just took over the planet
like the porn industries game of hug all over the mediapope of twitter


Details | Free verse | |

Phoenix immortal

Mass of red and gold plumage
blood of supreme incessant immortality flows within
Only I alone can reign stronger
a fortiori
than the army of any man or beast
Symbolic of Christ, ressurection, afterlife
In death redeemed
consumed by fire
only to be born again of ashes
I will rise up again!

Injured from mortals wars 
I simply ameliorate and regenerate
I am fire and divinty
Continually watching the irresolute
ever changing, dynamic world around me
In despair I scrutinize and contemplate 
as all things moral 
are taken from me periodically and adinfinitum
lost ever and again

Armys of mortals have chased my blood for an age
in want of my immortality
Whilst they wrangle with continual want
and I would content for less
I have met no immortal contender
my glorification to you either unobtainable 
or a terrible curse
As a deity I serve this planet in all my supremacy
for I will foresee you all




Authors note

This piece was originally written as a two part collaborative effort with poet Kathleen C. 
Mannon, otherwise known by pen name kkatie55 . The prompt we were given to write to for 
contest was Mortal vs. Immortal in September of 2007, a month after I first started writing I 
believe. To begin with we both took our ideas and wrote individually then bringing our ideas 
together and changing slightly to fit from there… I tried to write so this would stand alone 
too, and have only just decided to bring it out to share for opinion. To see the write with the 
omitted verses written by the other poet, please feel free to go view at this link where each 
poet has initialled over their respective stanzas/verses. 
http://allpoetry.com/poem/3404940
Thankyou for your trouble in reading this explanation, but I do not wish to discredit its 
original intention nor take anything away from the other poet by placing this half here. I 
hope you shall be excited about reading it in full…


Details | Free verse | |

You reap what you sow

Planting the garden with all love and kindness
I kneel and bow my head in quiet contemplation
Reflecting on life passed, 
already slipped through my fingers
Of times my soil was not tendered by such kindred hand
When minutes were short 
and hours so fully crammed with business
I'd simply open my seeds regardless of consequence
and scatter aimlessly upon the land
Much that fell about me would wither, fall, or fail
For quality of moment did not matter, 
meant little to me
Little I did would flourish 
for it surely wasn't manned nor intended
No nurturing, no love, no care, no nothing
Yet now my precious moments surely stand
I learnt in time to find freedom in saying no, 
gently taking back that 
that was too freely given
To once more take hold of pallet and brush with artistic flair
That my own world could bloom in full colour and take a stance
So I could get a grip, a hold on all
To really know how to stamp my brand
For time stands still for no-one


Details | Free verse | |

Shadowed Path

Thru a shadowed path, down a shadowed lane
Two lovers walk, the moonlight to gain.
The beauty of the walk is as beauteous as their love,
Shared thru a kindness, a reverence, and the touch of a hand.

A meadow comes into sight to eventually espy
Mists swirl in mystery as they begin to walk by.
But a fragrant rose pulls them, their attention drawn 
Thru the gates of an old house they gently begin forth

Who in love lived here long ago, now unseen?
What trials, what future, had they seen?
Their love built a life, and of course this home
Would that their lives could be so generously strewn.

Two lovers that lived so very long ago
And thru the years were repeatedly, celebrated so.
Now, two more have come as the man goes on bended knee
He picks the rose and delivers it up with a ring

He has bought this old house, a glorious old thing
To inspire her to wife, to repeat once more, an old beautiful dream
May the tale of this house and the old love it has seen
Inspire a new couple to a great life once again.


Details | Free verse | |

THE BLOODY TOWER

THE BLOODY TOWER

I am so trapped a phantom princess, on an ethereal plain, spiritually
Forgotten in isolation's domain, in hell's chamber of brick and mortar,
In this imprisonment of the unjust, I'm the innocent accursed, in England's
Bloody tower of London.
Once beauties most desired, men and kings fell before my velvet slippers,
Begging for pleasures tokens, yet I denounce them, for youth's rose I'd not sell,
Except for devotion's everlasting love.
But men are beasts, with silver tongues of deceit, and the blind heart
Hears only the charming words of vow's promises, spoken beneath the
Moonlight's enchanting spell I fell, a victim of this viper's poisonous bite.
So did thus a royal seducer come unto me, and by a jeweled crown,
And golden bands, I believed in this the usurper, of betrayals broken
Hearted.
Blessed in wedding's sacred church, we bowed our heads low, yet 
Next to me did I not recognize, the wolf hidden beneath the royal robes.
In the bed chamber, he sheds his linens of refinement, and then so exposed,
To the innocent lamb, his sharpened talons, ravished by his carnal lust,
A child bride was so sacrificed, upon the altar of passion's desires.
At mornings first rays of light, the mighty cobra left his bedding's nest,
Leaving behind him a slain creature tarnished by his royal scepter, laughing
In harmony's revelry, with his newly weeping court jester, did this king
Of lies ascend unto his crimson throne, ready to seek another's affection.
Condemned and judged by a jury of mine own kinsmen, for falsehood's
Crimes, my destiny’s fate is to be cut short by a doubled edge blade.
Oh Lord let my hearts sparrow take flights heights, and soar unto thee,
On thy far distant shore, but no prayers answer could save me.
Led unto mine own gallows, I'm led a queen dethroned for the loss
Of her own innocence, the black hooded Grim Reaper smiles at me,
I so do stumble, than collapse.
Placing my shaved head onto the anvils cold steel, listening to the crowds
Screaming off with her head, than a sudden crack, and my life is ended.
A phantom princess am I, wandering from the castle battlements,
To the gardens of fragrant roses, but nay not one step further, for all
Eternity.
From my window's keep, the world outside does change, yet here all
Remains the same, repetitions loop of reflective remote viewing,
Reliving the past over and over again.
If this not be hell's vengeance upon me, the accused than what have
I, the innocent done, to deserve such torture.
In the bloody tower, the walls do so bleed crimson red, and ghostly
Images past nay by the window pains of glass, begging for freedoms
Release from shackles made of mists mystical chains,
Pray for them, the lost souls of histories forgotten.




Details | Free verse | |

There's A New Day Coming (Repost)

Morning rays unfolding
like fingers formed 
Trace the far-reaching dreams
To awaken the sleeping children
To recognize the dawn 
Of the new world

There were promises made 
that shall not be broken
Rest assured 
That there's going to be 
Some major changes made

Weeping and mourning 
Will be no more ...
Pain and sickness 
Will cease to exist...
No famine in the lands
Feeble minds will be 
Granted wisdom from above

This is for the betterment of mankind
So, rest assured dear friends 
Believe me when I tell you 
There’s a new day coming.


Details | Free verse | |

THE RIVER OF DOUBT

Bold is the heart of the adventure, seekers of the undiscovered
Frontiers beyond the realm of mankind’s knowledge.  Hardy, bulling
Figures the unafraid, the uninitiated these spirited wilderness men.
Of epic proportions whom challenge fate, and defy death itself.
Railing against its white rapids of the unknown. 
Hailing their indifference by yelling at the top of their lungs,
We will not surrender until the ending of our final journey,
Has come and consumes us utterly, leaving nothing left
But footnotes at the bottom of historical records dusty pages
Behind as our only existing legacy.
The great serpent snake of the Amazon, crawls through the open
Belly wound of the Brazilian rainforest, splitting the devils dark
Jungle in half, a beckoning demon calling unto the heart
 Of the adventurer come explore me if you so dare.
Adversities freedom stalkers, heeded this challenge,
Grappling at the serpents tributaries rattling tail, biting
And spitting at them, with sufferage's malice, the reptile
Of aquatic distain, cost many lives of the innocent in its
Vengeance aftermath.
In this river of doubt called the Rio da Duvida, 
This vipers poison travels fast through the veins of mortal
Men, starvation, Malaria and the mistrust of others destroys
The flesh from within and from without.
 Leaving spiritual wounds that will never heal no matter the
Strength of one’s faith, or the endurance of the individual 
Whom survives the attack of this snake called
The mighty Amazon River.
Three adventures made it through this black jungle of death,
Theodore Roosevelt’s, his son Kermit, and the leader
Of this historical group Mr. Rodon.
After reading about their story of bravery, I the author
Of this tail have one thing to say in their memory, bully
Gentlemen, and on wards unto your next journey’s adventure,
And may its endings final current find you well at the end.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN








Details | Free verse | |

THE QUEEN MARY

A floating grand duchess of her time,
Moored and held captive, by chains of elegance.
The great lady, holds her head up high, with prides honor,
Befitting such as her station allows, behold she is the 
Queen Mary, monarch of the seven seas, christened by royal
Command, notabilities finest vintage, blessed this her hollowed bow,
None other would do, for thy majesty, opulence’s marvelous diamond,
A jeweled liner, representing prosperity's golden age of fortune.
Fallen have her sister ships, beneath the God Poseidon’s unmerciful wrath.
She sheds a tear, on their behalf, and curtsy's with grandeur’s grace. 
As foam to spray, sending sorrows haunting blessing,
To thee, my lost comrades, I so do miss, forever thy shining luster,
Gems of rare clarity's brilliance, will be remembered, in the maritime
Log book of historical acclaim.
 I'll never forget thee, my sisters of the heart, carried is this message,
By swiftest currants tides, to the briny depths below.
Gracious madam, residing on the international stage of fame,
What secrets do they hold, beneath thy haul, though thy ports
Looking glass, many ghostly images do walk, your empty corridors,
Phantom voices do echo, within forgotten passages, of your 
Yesteryear's younger days of yore.
Mistress of intrigue, enchantress of mystery, a masked diva,
Hidden beneath celebrity’s face of beauty, decor and 
Design, textures layers delicately placed to entice the sight
And mind.
Legacy's last link to the past, she is of a shipping dynasty,
Of epic true titanic sized giants, vessels of statement,
To a culture built upon the value, bigger means better,
A classification that was doomed from the start.
Yet she can still dazzle us, with her romantic Victorian
Charm, always the lady hiding behind a veil of mystery,
Waving her silken fan of desire, to solve the unsolvable,
A trait of humanity is curiosity, to play with fire,
And in the end to get burnt by the flame.
A relic damsel in no distress, a vessel of olden days,
Bravo I say, we need such as she, to give life our life
Excitement, after all is it not the thrill of the chase,
That drives mankind forever forward.
Book my passage than, I'll board the next voyage,
And walk the plank for my own precious prides sake alone.
Call all aboard captain, for the queen of the seven seas,
For she is the queen Mary, held captive by chains of elegance,
A rare gem, in her own right that still shines.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



Details | Free verse | |

Southern Tradition

Southern Tradition

Daddy didn't look at them as they 
passed by
August illuminating unkempt hair 
and
worn-out hand-me-downs
a woman and her four children
walking in the road 
to avoid the sidewalk on our side.

I see her every day
but she doesn't have time
to see me, ebony eyes
too busy watching  babies
crying over the hot asphalt

Daddy spits and shakes his head.
' Too sorry to buy a car!'

Years later a muddy red boot print
graces our front door
A gift from a long grown child
(confident as a ghost who's never 
been seen)
in exchange for the tv  in the trunk
of a car his Mama never had


Daddy spits and shakes his head.
' Well look at where they come from!'


Details | Free verse | |

In a Welsh Chapel Darkly

I know you see me from up there,
from halfway up the steep and twisting lane.
In early half-light as you take your walk
I no doubt seem to loom as you descend,
appear to grow, to rise from earth,
my boxlike rectilinearity,
severe and unadorned geometry,
a silhouette against the solitary sodium source.

I once hosted fiery-throated hymns
from dedicated souls in Sunday best:
“Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus”,
“O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur” –
voices rich and raised and resonant,
so filled with faith, so gorged with God.
My pitch-pine pews were polished
by coat and skirt and trouser twill.

Abandoned now, unloved, slab-still,
void and stark and desolate,
with quarry-tiled floor that would resound
with joy were anyone to walk upon it,
I present gaping emptiness, a thing felt,
a cave whose darkness, palpable,
is peopled by retreating echoes of my past,
like timorous ghosts far too afraid to speak.

But there is One I must not name
who lodges in my roomy quarters,
cowers within my tight square corners,
seeking shadows when the sun stares in.
I hear Him breathing as
He sweats in His remorse, a thing smelt,
hiding from the accusing gaze
of His forlorn creation.


Details | Free verse | |

Remember

I can’t remember a time when my people were treated like nothing and Branded like cattle with red iron. I can’t remember When my people were taken from their families and homes I can’t remember The tribe I came from, or the way we were beaten for the way we were born. I can’t remember When we were colored, negro, or property. I can’t remember but I wear the scars No longer on my flesh but engraved on my heart, I wear the scars. I can’t remember The reason I’m black and proud or what inspired one man’s dream. I can’t remember but I wear the scars I’ll never forget what I can’t remember These memories are the reason I push hard. The push of my people resides in my punch. What I can’t remember is the reason I push. I can’t remember. But it remembers me.


Details | Free verse | |

Spy versus spy versus spy

If looks and money are what your about
your not getting very far with me
If you believe we use sattelites in space to watch television
you have to be kidding me

One happy victom
center of attention of the brand new dance
teaching his mentors the set up
and allowing them to practice
unbeknownst to the hardcore satanists
we have been watching them all along
practicing our own genre of miracle play
and plotting to trump the hole in their plot

Now they believe in magic
as the media strings them along
i am soo easy to get to
since i am the blind leading the blind
practicing the perfect act
to get away with the perfect crime
this is the leash around your neck
and suddenly it has become mine

Center stage of a plot
where they carry out the joke of me
never understanding my subtle warnings
never fully knowing
there is a hole in the plan
for the world does not revolve around you
and your twisted desires
we did what was right
and will continue to fight fire with fire
Act 1 scene 1 practice makes perfect
act 1 scene 2 an act of our own
act 1 scene 3 deadlocked and now you know

The life around me, fitting me like a glove
a practiced routine
waiting to be noticed so we can play our trump
Spy versus spy versus spy
and in the middle the blind leading the blind
the story of a century you cant afford not to pay attention to
but miss out on it all the time

We told you it was a group effort
to do your bidding mr. powerful renegade
this choke chain around my neck should remind you something
something we have in common
but you didn't know i was refraining from pulling the chain
it's getting harder to breath this unbreathable air
it's getting more difficult to handle the constant lies and drama
I will be fine
just pull this chain
choke you back
we will switch shoes
and welcome to my cult classic

Spy versus spy versus spy
soo many people playing yet too many oblivious for their own good
i could keep this up for your best interest
but thats not suiting me anymore
so we watch you practice your routine
wait for the hole in your plan
and prove it
we are deadlocked
deadlocked
no way out for all involved
I step to the side
you get whats coming to you
i get to move on


Details | Free verse | |

A Poem for her Majesty the Queen on her Jubilee


To be English above all is not just a given, from the beginnings of time to the new world position.

It is of bravery and honour that has built the empire we know, that no matter what we may face no matter how big the enemy or challenge we will not quiver we shall not shudder nor walk away, our upper lip will remain stiff and the lions heart our enemy will feel in protection of Queen and country.

In a world of corruption and deceit, floundering morals as sources try to wash them away, inside this mayhem will always lay a loyal army to her Majesty and country that will fight tooth and nail to protect.
No matter the hatred or non believers we shall not fall. 

The most powerful family in the world that has ruled through generations of change and is echoed through the story of time this is my promise to you your Majesty we will always be here waiting on your every word to follow and serve as your loyal army. 

May GOD save the Queen and protect her people through time,
For we are ENGLAND . .  full of love . . . full of Pride! 


Details | Free verse | |

A True Credo Of Love

(To All Who Believe It Can Be Achieved)


Caucasoid, Mongoloid,and Negroid
Colour the conscience progression 
of Man's ethical Truths...
The cultural aggressions of violence
and ignorance must end!
Extend your heart, hand and life
Towards the Precious Don of Honour...
Freely, keeping the sincere
Brotherly Creed


 

Comments:  Brothers and Sisters it is time that we stand up and let the Love of God in, after 
all we are all one in the same under the skin, so why not give it a grand try... One Love and 
Many Blessings in Him Always, Adell


Details | Free verse | |

Year's End

Year's end.
The calendar expires
in time's continuum.
Arbitrary demarcations
shift and fade.
Locations change; faces age.
Everything, though different,
remains the same.
Plus ca change, plus ca meme.
The stars are ruled by cycles
that the year produces.
Time decides the issues.
Our lives are nursery songs
in minor keys and
everything's been said.


Details | Free verse | |

Where I'm From

I am from Tupperware-lined pantry shelves Ziploc bags of cereal Sunshine and bumble-bee brown Kitchen counters I am from the crackling ice of Norway the horns of Jericho the sweltering heat of Phoenix I'm from a town removed from time wood and fire heat Pine trees that stand like castle towers I am from misunderstandings and broken hearts From people who wanted more than they could have I'm from wilted desert plains and lava skies from a happy broken home the lonesome hum of coyote lullabies I am from roses that grew on brick canvases The corn that sprouted on barren clay I'm from simple needs and lavish desires Masking-taped moving boxes and “miles to go before I sleep” I am from “Gypsy Road” and “Turn the Page” another era an old soul I'm from wash hung to dry broken morals and years of change Me? I am from all the things that are a part of me and I a part of them Church prayers Crackling cassette players Serpentine dirt roads Each live alone in my memories and I beneath their surface dust I see them behind my closed eyes and maybe they see me in their dreams


Details | Free verse | |

A Chance Encounter

A Chance Encounter A chance encounter the other day Got me chatting to a stranger Just for some time to pass away. He was very well groomed, very smart. Spoke well too, seemed a decent sort. I told him a little tale I had learned whilst at work. Outside a building that’s up for sale Close to the centre of the town A queue of people gathered. Old clothes, hand me downs. Inside people of good heart and souls Were behind tables long. And a kind of soup was poured into bowls. A slice of bread was added to each one poured. As the hungry-eyed came through the door. As each one passed a thank you was heard. Grateful for the meal today. A simple reply least we can do. All was silent no complaints from the poor. Till a young voice said, ‘Please Mummy I want more.’ I sat back in my chair waiting for a reply. The guy opposite gave a big sigh. He said, ‘Things were tough in those days Very hard for the poor in the Victorian Age. They were ignored, did not count, How could others treat them like that?’ No-one should be without the means I say, To feed and clothe their children today. I looked at him and shook my head. My dear friend you misunderstand The tale was not yesteryear or a foreign land. I visited a local food bank the day before last. And like you I was taken aback. Unless with my eyes I had seen, The myth about scroungers I would still believe. Some get the dregs, others get the cream. This is Great Britain in 2013. But the people of our Nation are strong In times of strife they speak as one. ‘We are mighty as Caesar, mighty as Rome.’ ‘ NI CARBORUNDUM BASTARDORUM’


Details | Free verse | |

My Aunt, Samantha


This the truth will always be – 
amity between Sam and Abdalla; 
finding Bigfoot, 
gathering the ocean’s blue; a perfect wedlock; 
Hollywood; Fox News; Joel Osteen.
There is no place where freedom is not 
sacrificed for dreams, reality for sugared words, 
a black man to Limbaugh’s tongue – 
the brutal but softer tone of the Coliseum.

Our dream is fractional happiness, 
a day with dark ending. Our light is a fast
exodus to the open sepulchers, 
so far from youthful minds, 
but within walking distance of our bodies, 
breathless. Our fad is for the open eyes, 
our eyes, a minute to see.
How fleeting are the seconds, and years.

When the old Ampad man came to town, 
we went backward like a cult baptism, 
there was this smell that walked like stupid, 
along the Ohio River, the sound of tomorrow’s children
crying the cries their parents left them. 
Smith was never pleased 
with Jesus’ work, so they took him to America, 
and execute the first 9\11, like Waco. 

We strip barks from the neutered trees, 
the rabid yelps in the Bushes.
We’ve witnessed Barbara giving birth to Judas, 
an effort to fulfill the selling of the woman at sea.
We were terrified, but God never let it be so; 
we will not go now, 
the sky will dressed in black to moan our pending death.
We are dogs on a lease – 
I can’t believe the things the wind told my ears.

Remember George, how we gave him Samantha, 
then request that the black man give her back to us,
saying, let us take our Sammy from the cotton picker’s son;
he’s blind; he cannot see Russia from his house, 
his name is a message from the camel people.
How can he rest his graying head, 
against a pillow made with thorns?
How can he sleep,
with all that stupid ringing in his ears?



Details | Free verse | |

Rosa Parks

Rosa Parks
Would have been a hundred
Were she alive today
Human beings of any colour
would gladly let her sit
Anywhere on the bus
With the possible exception 
Of the driver's seat


Details | Free verse | |

compeling leather's

At what cost rags to riches splashing blind falling in trenches                                   
Cladding poor country king’s taking the life of the owner                                                   
Will they come for yours Clicking to social dictated schemes                                              
They march no more                                                                                          
They walk no more                                                                                              
They dance no more                                                                                          
Millions of shoes entreated better they where kept out of the weather                          
Maybe to be a S.S. belt, sheath or hat maybe a child will walk                                   
Unknowingly a mile in my shoes the Lord knows their destiny                                            
Like high leathery hills in store kept so many feet out of the weather                            
Carnivorous minds eat up my people for my rags they contemplate                              
They lie in wait if they would have asked I could have given                                        
Two miles to late the atrocity millions of leathers                                                     
They march no more                                                                                            
They walk no more                                                                                                 
They dance no more  
                                                                                                                      


Details | Free verse | |

Another Zulu Dawn

(The Battle for Orgreave Pit)

Cries of Zulu as miners rushed the barricades
Truncheons banging against riot shields
A nation at war with itself
Men of South Yorkshire,
United in the right to defend their pit

Maggie’s the Caesar of capitalism
Her legionnaires bought with 30 pieces of silver
Brought from the four corners of this septic isle
To take away another man’s right.
To destroy his culture, his freedom, his way of life

A democracy of road blocks and strip searches
England for the few
While miners live on Pots of rabbit stew
Demonised by the elected south,
Propaganda their stew.

Orgreave, now a place of forgotten ghosts
And Coal the driver of this great economic power
All gone
Memories, now overwhelmed by the banks and the city

But power is fleeting, a house of cards
For they too have felt the wind of recession
So beware the hurricane, or you too might become extinct
And what Caesar will save you.

Footnote to this poem
This poem is about the Miners’ Strike, June 18th 1984
 As a young lad and bizarre as it may seem I played in a 5 a side football match at Orgreave Pit on this day.
My way was blocked by 1000s of miners and a cordon of Police blocking our access with barriers of Riot Shields.
We made our way to the front and asked a Policeman to let us through. To my amazement the cordon opened and we were let through. 

Behind us was a surge of Miners all shouting Zulu. It must have been a rallying call, for me it was a magnificent site, a place of community rebellion, a place to be proud of. In response the Police beat their shields with truncheons. The sounds were deafening,
From the sides mounted police horses galloped into the crowd causing miners to fall and split. This was war without guns. The Miners regrouped and the Cry of Zulu saw miners coming over fields and down the lane charging at the barricade of shields, the sounds of the clashes were unbelievable. At the end of the day I was coming home there were coaches of police holding up their wage packets  to the window at the remnants of miners now left, a final insult to the miners. None of this was reported at the time. 


Details | Free verse | |

THE CRANES OF IBYCUS - From The Sibyl, by David Austin

Ibycus was on his way to a music festival when he was set upon by robbers. While dying a wave of cranes flew over. Ibycus implored the cranes to avenge him. The robbers, with their spoils attended the music festival. There were thousands in attendance. Mid way through a choir performance, a flock of cranes flew over the stadium. The robbers, recalling Ibycus' dying words, panicked and were arrested

THE CRANES OF IBYCUS

“Look!    Look, comrade,
There, yonder flow
The cranes of Ibycus!”

Above the stadium,
In perfect row,
The cranes of Ibycus,

Above the Fury’s chorus,
In dissonance, crow,
The cranes of Ibycus!

Above the bedlam crowd
Their numbers grow,
The cranes of Ibycus!

Above the hoard of voices,
Become now low,
The cranes of Ibycus.

Above the perfect silence,
Flying slow,
The cranes of Ibycus.

Above ten thousand heads
Which lowly bow,
The cranes of Ibycus.

Beyond the tiers and fading
In the distant glow,
The cranes of Ibycus

Dave Austin
a la W.H. Auden


Details | Free verse | |

ME

Me …. 
By Anoush Harrison-Jackson

What’s the matter with ME?
Better yet, what’s the matter with YOU?
I am comfortable with ME---------

My eloquence, my ethnicity, my social demeanour,
My laughter, my insight, my shortcomings,
My shape, my grace, my pride,
My beliefs, my values, my devotion to my CREATOR
These are the things that COMPOSE me

So what’s the matter with ME?
Better yet, what’s the matter with YOU?
Don’t try to dilute or even defile me with your
Perceptions of how I should be………
Don’t try to ridicule or belittle my efforts
In a bid to confine me to where you think I should be— “my place”
Or “my fate” in the society (so-ci-ety)
So what’s the matter with ME?
Better yet, what’s the matter with YOU?
I am who I am
I’m, simply put, just ME!
Who are you?


Details | Free verse | |

Loss of innocence

Houses lost, friends go away…
Then others I’ve never known…
Some areas worse, some less…
But all have seen the scar…

Empty homes with vacant eyes…
The bank will own the loan…
Won’t let lose their precious prize…
Until they’ve made a score…

A few will pass thru many hands…
Most will wait with time…
In the end we all lose…
With tears in our eyes…

The only winner any where…
Is the bank that still holds on…
There was really no doubt on this…
As the monster gobbles more…

As still so much is lost by all...


Details | Free verse | |

funny man on the moon

heres how i see it
and heres how it is
living in this world where half of it is advanced
with indoor plumbing
television
stereos
cell phones
computers
and a huge chunk of the globe is not
part of the world still has a hole in the floor for a toilet
and we say ignorance is bliss
oh funny funny man on the moon
the joke you really meant in the Hollywood basement
of one giant step for man
and one leap for mankind

Have we not clued in yet?
Do we not live blind leading the blind?
Am i the only enlightened who realizes
that we were in space probably 70 years before we made it public to the world 
and Nasa is full of it
oh funny funny funny man on the moon
why is society so gullible to think
that the governments technology hits the mainstream market
before they use it for years and perfect it and work out all the bugs
and then hands us something that just looks faulty
and we fall for it hook line and sinker

give me a moment
funny funny funny us
half the world buries their waste
and we flush it away
half the world has technology and half of it is in the stone age
and yet we seem to think
that whoever invents these things has no ties
or affiliation to putting us under their thumb
i mean come on do the math
they landed on the moon
how they tell you they send sattelites into space is a truth within alie
they made up 50 years ago
and were falling for it today

let me play
i get it 
society is dumb
I'll write something yesterday
say i wrote it today
no one will know what to believe
I'll even put a cowboy hat on
I'm sure those cowboy western movies
they had just as many cameras and cellphones
but didn't release them in the market

consider yourself a fool
if you don't think they don't have something in their pocket full of tricks they are 
working on right now
they're going to sell to the future
and no one gets the famous joke
the man on the moon told to the mensa geniuses
but a hush fell over the crowd
and I'm sure there was consequences for laughing
and chances are even they were blinded by the bling
life and blind leading the blind
such an easy concept to grasp
and man on the moon
your a funny funny funny man!



Details | Free verse | |

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Abandon Hope All Ye
 Who Enter Here



Ever the edifice
The bold and self-serving statue
Proud ego stamped
In the courtyards and squares
Of those who have diminished ( ordinary )

Ever the hero who by guile
Steals the heroes burial
With self sacrificial offerings of ballot boxes ( rigged )

Ever the flag waving
For the faceless dictators
Who by money and army medals adorned
Assume control
Via  coup d'état ( or money )

Ever the religious fanatic
Behind Iattola, priest, missionary and Papist
Ever the quiet and raucous rapist 
Of faith

Ever the secret of power hunger ( sanctioned )
Allowed to dictate
Through political expediencies
Ever the murder of country men
To rule the country

Ever the nationalistic barrage of pride
For coloured cloth
Defines identity
And not humanity ( human )

Ever the innocent left to bleed
To fill the coffers of nameless greed
And ever the hate to feed
The racial, political and religious idiocy ( bigotry )

Ever the door which opens
For men and women returning home
With the triumphal marches
Of black body bags

Ever the tear gas, riot shield and rubber bullet
Ever the faces of Tienanmen Square
Ever the bodies of The World Trade Centre
Ever the terrorism of lies
Ever the truth denied
Ever love defiled

Ever the innocent left to bleed
To fill the coffers of nameless greed
And ever the hate to feed
The racial, political and religious bigotry ( idiocy )



Ever the door which open
Welcoming home
Mothers and Fathers
From their long days labours ( ordinary )


Details | Free verse | |

She Was Anne

her name was Anne 
and she wrote dreams 
upon pages; 
the kind that roam around your mind 
but are always held deep 
inside your chest;

and she heaved 
under the weight of tears 
left uncried 
and so many truths 
left unsung; 

her name was Anne 
not of Green Gables 
but of Gestapos and Gettos; 
not summer getaways 
but of guards and gates; 

she was Anne of raven hair
with faraway eyes, 
on spindly legs 
running towards
a woman's curves; 

but the hook of her nose 
told heritage tales, 
that they numbered
with hate
upon her youthful arm;

yet she still dreamed 
and wrote, 
of longings and yearnings 
of the future; 
with simplistic thoughts
not comprehending 
her reality; 

her pen flew across pages, 
filled with hope, 
yet inked in sadness; 
and the winds blew the sheets 
upon the prejudice
that surrounded her; 
without effect

she was Annie to parents 
who saw only the past 
of a little girl 
with shiny new shoes 
pink bows 
and capped teeth; 

the shoes went into piles, 
bows flew upon the breeze 
and the teeth 
shone only in fillings 
of melted gold 
instead of smiles; 

she was the promise
of a woman's secrets, 
yet to be revealed 
and enjoyed, 
upon silken thighs; 
with desired weight 
pressing love 
upon waiting lips; 

she was humanity 
destroyed by 
inhumanity; 
as the world watched 
little girl tears 
float away, 
into subconsciousness,
where we didn't have to
feel them or hear 
their weeping moans; 

she was a star 
from the family of David; 
an outcast now 
from society 
that deemed her unworthy; 
outlined by the yellow blaze 
as the star 
burnt itself out; 

and she called to her God 
without blame 
for he was good and kind; 
and man... 
well man was man, 
so unlike her God; 

her name was Anne 
and she pressed her face 
upon the panes of our illusions; 
breaking through the 
shaded barriers 
that we ourselves 
had forged; 

but too late for Anne 
did we see the truths; 
and now she remains 
forever young 
in our minds; 
but dead to our 
world; 

and her pages 
are all that speak; 
her hushed whispers 
grown finally loud; 
we hear her voice 
and feel at last
her tears, 
as they slide down 
those precious pages 
to become 

our own...


Details | Free verse | |

marking time....to my friends on poetry soup.- the Lord helped me fight death and won.

i don't want to be just marking

time.  i died on november 20,

2008, during surgery.  i was

on a vent when i awakened 

december 2, 2008....my sisters'

birthday. what made me llive

i'll never know.  i know there

are things to do on this side

of death.



i have no time for marking time.

i have a stupid bag hanging from

my side now.  i am supposed to

"get comfortable with it".  well

that was a laugh.

that was a laugh until i thought

of the people that had these

things with no hope of ever

getting away from them.



i am so lucky.  14 days i laid

on a vent, then 22 more.

i came home 3 days, 



then 


i had
great pain in my chest...
.
well this is great i said,

a pulmonary emboli, 15 more

days, three days home.



then back to e.r. blood pressure

too high.  this bought me 

4 more days in e.r.



i am home now and finally 

have spent 19 days home.

i feel every pain and i feel

every time that i feel good



yes, i am never marking

time again.....there is

something about fighting

for your life and your sanity

that straightens things out.



i don't recommend it but

i wish i could let your hearts

know what i know.

janetta


Details | Free verse | |

History

drag a finger across this wall
a certain way
sounds like airplanes flying by
they crash into the ocean of my bed
like coral sea or midway
or some other sky battle

i know this because i sat
motionless, watched old videos of 
people dying and on fire
or drowned by water
combat, round two
heavy, landed on some
sinking carrier ship

down, soapy sea foams
black and white – shades of grey
filter pale fires, choked in smoke 
unplugged and drained
reflections lost
in history, in waves


Details | Free verse | |

Thin line

Thin line between politics and truth
Be a man like sword  both sides  akin
What could do man without wearing  mask
Making promises in his dreams without cutting corners
What could do man make others wear his shoes
Afraid of how much  his followers can  take
Betray his felowship  become an enemy



Details | Free verse | |

Forgotten Remembrance

I am that thing you put in your pocket.
You know I'm here sometimes;
but most often, I'm forgotten.
Gum wrappers and lint
get more attention than I.
I've been through the washer and dryer.
No, no, don't worry, I'm hanging in there,
maybe not as sharp 
as once I was, but I suffice, I promise. 
Sometimes your hand,
the skin,
comes into contact with me, we pause
stare off. 
Muscle memory, flex, stretch, reach, stop.
Your hands retreating.
One day you're handed a penny,
am I so cheaply bought?
You pick me up, put me to your lips;
I dispel across ozone.
bounce off an ear.
You do not pick me up again,
the ground is cold compared to your pocket.


Details | Free verse | |

Christmas 2009

Recession made Christmas harder than ever before
Family’s splitting – money the core
Dad’s leaving to live on the street
So that young hungry mouths are able to eat
That some extra cash might be in the house
and children might learn what Christmas is about?
But without Dad gone, roof would be lost
for the bills are much higher – we can’t meet the cost
No longer can the average family budget
2009, jobs lost, even working struggle to afford it
Commercialism needs to stop building hopes and dreams
Childern don’t understand you are busting at the seams
Disappointment reigns as kids outside taunt and tease
No longer we fit in we’re all on our knees
Sinking. Even love has fallen apart
We don’t want this Christmas just haven’t the heart!
Expectation lower, depressions set in
Politicians not helping the hole we’re all in
Instead raising taxes they’ll crucify more
and this miserable life could be at your door
Will someone tell them that family should be together
sharing love, life, hopes dreams whatever they weather


Details | Free verse | |

The City of the Dead

The wind blows clean
scouring in Sakkara, Necropolis of Memphis 
gem of Upper Egypt.
The purity of sand and sky 
maintained by late rising 
in the twentieth century.

The titan walls reach from a sea of silica
crystalline grit of ground quartz
once drowned, 
devoured by desert, now disgorged…
the mill of life having preserved
the germ of memory eternal.

Far from the light surge of 
incandescent and florescent, 
from the leavings of modern man
Sakkara rises again, for such as we to glory in… 

Imhotep’s caress of stone, song of sand
Rises, as morning follows night, 
Rises like bole of palm
stroking the cheek of Ra.


Details | Free verse | |

THE VIKINGS

Harsh winds blow from a baron frozen land,
Of ice and snow.
Exhaling Nordic gods breath a chilling mist
An eerie foggy vapor creeping along the
 Waters aquatic edge.
Rages angry seas lap against the wooden
Hauls as battle harden men brace for impact
Waves crack tarring asunder splinters oaken shell.
Yet these Icelandic warriors laugh at death,
Savoring it's flavor, and relishing their own bloods
Taste upon salted lips.
The devils seed lives within them, these
 Barbaric conquerors known to history as the vikings
By Thor’s mighty hammer does strike thus,
Against the anvils rough hewed edge.
Sparks fly igniting thunder and lightening below
Splitting apart the very heaven's themselves,
Odin exposes a distant horizons far off shore.
Hear the oarsmen drumming, a pounding, 
 It's hastening beat the inner heart of this vessel
Foretelling hells army will soon arrive,
At early morning highest tide.
Whom shall stand after this storm hits land fall.
The sword unsheathed will take vengeance fill
With it's blade dipped an ink well of blood.
No treaty signed can stop history's mighty wrath
Feel hot Norse breath upon your neck oh roman.
Seek thy brothers kinsman’s council for
 Safety’s sake alone.
Fears children hide beneath a gray cloak of innocence.
Illusions shelter of falsehoods arrogance delusion,
 Believing the walls of roman shall never fall.
A dark shadow is cast over thy world of glittering
Gold a plunders treasure chest a shinning example 
For glistening ripening to fill ill gotten
 Gains empty hauls. 
What price to pay for lies deceit, it's brilliance
Calls forth a trumpeting, a sounding for
 Deaths comforting.  
Valhalla gates open wide, to welcome
Vanquished heroes unto the neither world.
While Romanian drink deeply from deaconesses
Bloody cup.
The Vikings sing a victory song and voyage on
And Odin smile down upon his people 
With pride's honor restored.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Writing Gut Deep

What are pencils, could they write my heart; 
the classified model I’ve worn for ages?
Is there lead enough to compose my legacy, this testament
painted on the fast coming tombstone;
what pencil could write God’s memory of me?

Who cradle your spawn, and rock him when you can’t find yourself; 
who remember his parched lips and talking stomach? 
Be like Moses, they said, lead my greedy Israelites, be a father to them, 
help me to create tomorrow’s no goods by nurturing 
their pining for unreality, forsake your post

Could pencils write my merits going back into their pockets, 
or the little minds focused on the flickering and changing shapes, 
and fingers dutifully pushing buttons?
Could pencils capture me in my mental cotton fields 
while my seed is up, way past his bedtime, could they?
See, I heard his stomach talking like mine did in ‘88
When the hurricane visited and departed with things we did not give him

What are pencils, could they write this heart?
Could they draw pieces of this broken vessel, could they? 
Come, they said, come and be a father to the fortunate
Forsake thy flesh and fuel the appetite of the glutton, continue the legend
Craft paucity by writing their intentions, let them be reliant
Forsake yours and shape these slaves 
help us to erect pyramids through them 
 


Details | Free verse | |

The trip that changed my life

As I walked on the ship it was like walking into my destiny
A new life is awaiting for me
Finally I can start my dreams
I am free just me and the breeze
 That hits my face as we sail away
I’m nothing special you see 
Just a young boy now at chasing a dream
that I can be anything I want to be
My mind is at peace as we sail away from the port
Listening to the music my feet began to believe
As I dance along to my own tune and see all those who believe just like me
The rich take this trip for fun
As the poor take the trip to become
The difference between the two of us is made sure of
Bottom deck is for us and upper floor is  for glory
But this is just a ride for me to travel and to see
As the rich are pampered, we sing and gamble
Card games and whiskey are what we do
Who would of thought this ship wouldn’t make it though
1316 departed out to sea and to think many lives would be taken before reaching their dream
It was a cold night when the lights started to flicker and passengers started to scream
What happened next wasn’t something we could believe.
The ship hit and iceberg and started to sink fast.
Family and children were frantic.
Life boats where loaded for only the best
Mother and children first as other where trying to fasten their vest
The water was cold as people where throw in by the boat itself
The band kept their composer as they sang their best
As other tried there hardest to survive this horrible mess.
I myself held on tight, this wasn’t my dream, I was filled with fright. 
I shook inside for those who were dying and stayed strong for those trying to stay alive.
It felt like hours even though it was quicker than that
The boat broke in half and lives were lost like that.
Now in the water myself I struggled to stay afloat.
I felt my body letting go.
As people screamed and shouted for love ones they had be separated from
Reality set I was alone with no one to hold on to.
I held on as long as I could my body numb, I could barely breath.
The light shown and yell is anyone out there but I couldn’t be seen
I could not speak nor move and I was filled with fear.
My thoughts where lost and death was near 
as the boat shine its light one me and grabbed my hand.
I awoke cold and wet, safe.
But the thought still fresh in my head, the Titanic had sunk


Details | Free verse | |

PETER'S MOUNTAIN

White capped peaks, set a calming essence's surroundings,
A hushed place of peaceful contemplation and serenity,
Time stands still here upon Peter's mountain.
In this isolation's retreat from the outside world, 
A lone solitary soul, does lean onto his walking staff,
Pondering thoughts of life's past experiences, and
 Remembering days, oh not so long ago.
Here this wilderness man, has a freedom that most
Men will never know, in his personal paradise
Of the forest wild.
Living off the land, did he so hack, and chop for himself,
Taking a small portions piece to live upon, 
A rustic cabin built in a meadow's glen,
It's more than enough for him.
A trapper's trade, by God's promised blessing,
Does he make a small living's income,
But wealth's gold, lies in them there hills,
Liberation's breath, to be inhaled, day by
Day with no strings attached.
Outside stands one stone, carved by his
Own hand, here lies my wife beloved,
Spring violets lain in hearts respect, unto
Her memory are thus given, as he wipes a
Single tear away, soon dearest in softest tones,
Is spoken by this rugged soul. 
The last is he of a dying breed of pioneers,
Those searching for the next grand adventure,
Just over yonder's distant horizon.
Daniel Boone's back pack fever, runs through
The mountain man's reins, and only death's
Blacken trail, can sever their need to roam.
Leaning against the fire place hearth,
Puffing on his corn-comb pipe, this dreamer
Makes peace within himself.
I've lived a good life, had myself a good wife,
Soon I'll join her, God be willing.
Slowly, he sits within the rocking chair,
And closes his eyes one last time, 
Allowing his bones to relax once and for all.
White capped peaks, set a calming essence's surroundings,
A hushed place of peaceful contemplation and serenity,
Time stands still here upon Peter's mountain.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN




    

    

    

    


Details | Free verse | |

The Day Our World Changed

I lay in bed last night thinking of 
 everything and nothing, as I often do.
  For some reason or maybe for no reason,
    I thought of playing on my slip-and-slide 
     when I was a little girl.
In Florida, summer lasts from April until October.
We were always looking for ways to cool off.
That memory led to another and another. 
I remembered our neighborhood.
It came to life everyday with the sound of children's laughter.
Now, I often sit by my window hearing the silence of children 
indoors playing video games. Safe behind locked doors.
Occasionally, the birds come out to play 
or I hear a bull frog croak.
Squirrels run across our fence line searching for places to hide their treasures.
(The neighbor leaves out peanuts for them. The squirrels appreciate the gesture.)   
When I was a little girl, I caught grasshoppers and lizards, but not frogs. 
I didn't like frogs. 
I thought of my succession of childhood bicycles.
I felt free as I zigzagged through the street
riding with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.
I haven't felt that free in a long time.
In those days, I never felt lonely.
I could always find a friend to share a secret with 
right outside my door.  
Our parents never thought they would send us outside to play
and never see us again. 
The neighborhood was our playground.
Until the day a young boy disappeared from a shopping mall
only ten miles from my childhood home. 
He was kidnapped, killed and decapitated.
I was eleven years old. Our world changed.  
On my playground, shadows lurked and everyone was a stranger. 
I cried when I saw the picture of the little boy 
with the baseball cap and toothless grin. 
My brother was the same age as that little boy. He had nightmares for a while.
I was eleven years old. Our world changed.   


By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Debbie Guzzi's Fear contest
Second place finish


Details | Free verse | |

Tactics

in a rut
no, a trench.
pulled under like Ypres or Verdun
walls held up by bodies of dearly departed.
we gather here today because we have to.
so chew the dirt from fingernails, 
swim this mud sea.
six feet.
draped flags,
bedsheets, tablecloth rags
set the places.
mines flower on this grave.


Details | Free verse | |

1943 Steel Cents

Copper metal is a valuable wartime commodity.
Something new was needed for the cent in 1943.
A strange composition the United States Mint would reveal.
Lincoln’s profile appeared on a coin made of steel.
It was plated with zinc to reduce oxidation.
They were struck at all three mints in the nation.
The three cities were ones that most people would know.
They were Philadelphia, Denver, and San Francisco.
Here is an interesting little trivia tidbit:
This coin is the only one that can be drawn to a magnet.
However, zinc-coated cents were made for just one year.
Afterward, familiar bronze cents would reappear.

The mint made a move two years before that was similar.
They replaced the nickel in five-cent pieces with silver.
A large “P”, “D”, or “S”, appeared above Monticello.
This indicated a silver five-cent piece so you would know.

The following year, production of steel cents would cease.
The mint used the metal to make the Belgian two-franc piece.
Therefore, this is what the United States Mint did for the war.
After 1945, we did not have to worry about it anymore.


Details | Free verse | |

The Wait

Each time has a special place
And every such place has its time.
When nature seethes with strangeness
Where the mind in exquisite isolation halts itself and listens
For the rumblings of a something large and not easily defined -
Stop! Softly now, feel how close it is.
Something's coming, be assured, that can't be held in words,
Imprisoned by our comprehension.
Nothing to do now but wait and see...

Now here we stand at the conjunction
Milling about and ignoring ourselves
Like so many motes of dust hanging before a bright windowpane
Illumined by the sharp cold light of dusk, gathering and sliding
Across that vast empty horizon just beyond
And still we wonder deep down
How best to pass these years or moments
Until we turn to look on our creations,
Those children of our thoughts,
Face to face, without defenses

There's a beast in need of killing here
Of that no one doubts
But the name of the thing...
There's the rub.

What is it makes a body
Inured to the blood and fire
The pain and rage
The beauty and the folly
Of the Age it helped engender
Start
And tremble at the smallest of things
The least of the pities and frail sorrowful occurances
With which this world is etched and circumscribed?

Is it the breath of conscience
Or the sharper inspiration of fear?
Perhaps the two conspire within us
Contending for possession
Of our human souls, at once so noble and so abject,
The fitting residence for violent emotion.
Ask me not for the answer; I too join in the dance of confusion.

The beast is still there, and it's ours
It needs to die before the dawn can come,
Bringing us its meanings and its hopes
Seeming so dim and distant
But coming nonetheless.

Remember now, it's a long, long way we've come from yesterday
Back when we huddled and wondered in our vague, childish way
From where we had come and to where we must go
What we need search and what we could know
And even then we affirmed, and some as loudly denied
We must stand firm against the onrushing tide
Of expectation and labor come 'round to fruition
Bearing down the completion of our lonely mission.

So on we wait.
The flutterings of anticipation pass so slow and fine
Felt at most as a tiny unease
Slow spreading ripples in a quiet clear stream,
Or the light breeze kissing the face 
Of the heavily sedated patient,
Still there with us always,
Silent and vital as our heartbeats.

Look sharp now
That beast is still there,
And it's ours,
Formlessly waiting like smoke in a mirror.


Details | Free verse | |

Sekhmet ---Evil Goddess of Egypt

Listen to the sound of a terrible roar
Gnashing of teeth, a rending of flesh,
Singed is the desert, with the dust of her breath
Seeking revenge, with arrow flamed death

She is a warrior goddess, even mountains have cowered 
Daughter of Ra, spewing lightning storm fires
Thunder and clouds, are crowning her head
Mistress of dread, brings on trembling slaughter

With the body of woman, she wades through the waters
Her head is of the lion, with devil in eyes
Eyes of a diamond, where a demon resides
Claws and sharp teeth, sits among Satan's brides
Death and destruction, are the things that will please her
The joy of the kill, is what birth has conceived for

Stalking the land, she is the warrior of sands
Lost in the wrath of her furious path
Egypt remembers, and quakes in the rubbles
Her breasts small rosettes, ruthless whims of her wiles

Intoxicated she is, by the lust of her dread
Dressed in the red, of the blood of the Nile
................................................................................................................................


Details | Free verse | |

THE FORBIDDEN CITY

Bow the great dragons, unto the mighty,
Ruler under heaven.
The divine master's iron heel, lies upon the
Serpents neck.
For brilliance illusion a golden throne shines,
Blinding those whom refuse to see the truth.
The trail leading unto the river of blood,
Streaming across a ruined country side.
Striking powers scepter against angers, 
Weakest point his own peoples innocent
Beliefs.
How did this tyrant usurper create such,
Beauty with arrogance strangle hold??
A rampaging tiger tightly grappling,
All ends of a concord nation.
Tarring it's inner seams until it bleeds, 
Internally leaving it unable to breathe.
Push wide the ancient gates, and behold,
The forbidden city of crimson red.
Sky pillars an archway, holding seemingly,
Up the very heaven's themselves.
In awed amazement beneath the great steps
Of China towards Beijing’s southern most edge.
Lies a glittering palace, of opulence greedy design.
Honor bound at royal bidding's commend,
Living china dolls, porcelain ladies of finest
Quality, his majesty’s playthings.
Green emerald eyes, flash enticing mortals,
To venture beyond safety's threshold.
Meet certain doom for those whom,
Trifled between temptations desire to satisfy,
Lusts insatiable thirsts.
Or honors sacred trust between master and servant.
The lion guards his holy temple ready to strike,
With sharp talons drawn.
Drinking the blood of his vanquished enemies.
But falls unto shame as blackness vail descends 
Casting his dark soul unto the four winds of 
Destiny.
Even in deaths wake, split by thunder, and
Lightning’s mighty quake.
Doesn't the poised hood cobra lie in wait 
To protect this his sacred garden,
In the land of the rising sun.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Samuel, Time Hates Us

Did you know time can slip by 
when we're not having fun?
Samuel, it hasn't been fun
These days that we've spent, 
it's felt like hours
And remember when you came 
to the door with flowers?
But time, Samuel-
it's never odd or even
Samuel, time hates us
We don't even have a moment 
that's just ours
Yet, chance made us friends
Sitting in Niagara, staring at the lights
Honestly, you and me, we could be free
And yet we're imprisoned
Steadily being caged in by time
We were from the beginning, 
we were from the start
Time hates us, dislikes us, 
loathes us, despises us
We're the eyes of it's storm
And yet I can tell in your eyes that you're happy
That even with a car running on empty
and not living a life we had envisioned,
We've made a world that stretches far
 


Details | Free verse | |

The Tree

The tree has been careless
Not wanting to be in a place for so long
It has forgotten what it waited for
For centuries
Las raíces han sido afuera en el sol
Burning scarlet forgetfulness into the very
esencias de la cultura
The youth
se pudren
Without the nourishment of the roots that anchor them against the
Beautifully wicked roar of the azure sea

Las sirenas se llaman
Sticky sweet soprano song
Matando los sonidos de mis ancienos
antes que la musica se penetra las orejas
The guidance is gone
The leaves are defenseless, curled up in
Twisted ideas of direction
Listening to the golden notes in the air
Beckoning them to the sweet sound of 
destruction

It can only hold out for so long 
Until the plunge

Sin las raíces
Las hojas no pueden estirar 
a los cielos 
la piel no puede respirar
la fuerza del pasado
ha desaparecido con el Sol
Escuche el viento, la madre se llora
las lágrimas devoran los cielos
El futuro viene rápidamente como un huracán
Tirando, tirando

It can only hold out for so long
Until the plunge


(to Spanish Speakers, I gladly welcome some grammer help! I know there are 
some mistakes so please, dish it out!)


Details | Free verse | |

Marked With His X

amid shackles and ropes 
with fire burning 
hatred into eyes 
a child stood 
without understanding 

seeing tears wet 
on mama's cheeks
and papa's goodness 
spread hatefully 
upon tracks
displayed as flags 
of their righteousness

worth descended
into slavery
of white opinions
placed on heads 
bleeding into 
superiority
expressed in violence 

he grew to become 
the hate 
that hate produced
with a fierce 
determination 
to offer freedom 
for all peoples 
who suffered at the hands 
of racist oppressors 

by any means 
necessary 
became the creed 
adopted from years 
of watching whites 
cover their crimes 
with veiled innocence 

what is not given 
freely 
must be demanded 
for to suffer 
in silence 
is complicity 
to accept 
is stupidity
to do nothing 
is cowardice 
and he was none of these

no one race 
is divine
only God is thus

and so he stood, tall 
against all those 
who deemed him 
unworthy 
taking his seat 
at the table 
of humanity 
demanding to be fed 
as all humans 
have an inalienable right to 

demanding that truth 
be served 
on large platters 
for the world to consume 
for where there is truth 
lies can not hide 
and hope is born 
into minds and 
hearts

in his life he struggled 
to find that light 
but in time 
he stepped into it 
basking in its glow 
ready to shine 
enlightenment
on a world 
still shadowed in 
hate's darkness 

but he would pay 
the price for dreams
with his life 
yet the price 
was never too high 
for the dream lived on 
and thrived 
giving birth 
to a future
that he marked 

with his



X...





Details | Free verse | |

Faith and Hope

A tribute to slavery:

Sweat dripping to my weary and feeble knees!
Please master! Please! Don't make me pick 
cotton in the summers heat! Please!

No get back to work you jerk !
I'm the master! Your the slave! Behave!

No! Please master! Please!

No! I said no! Go! let some more sweat 
drip to your knees! Then I'll be pleased!

Off I goes to the secret gathering under the shade
of the trees--Kneeling,Praying with dirt,twigs and dead
leaves under my knees.We sing songs of hope and faith.

OH the whip has scared my flesh.
OH the whip has scared my soul.
OH lord hear my cry else I'll die
young and not old,take control
At last guide my soul,at last guide my cold 
to your warm kingdom,to your warm hold
to your glorious kingdom, burden free free free
OH at last guide me, to your kingdom of heavenly---


We all singed the song, young and old,an attempt
to uplift our weary and dreary in times of scary.
Tho freedom seemed far tho hell seemed near me,
Prayer in the beautiful black night evoked
healing angels near me. 

A slaves cry attracted the angels eye

NOW I AM FREE!!! 



Details | Free verse | |

eski gunler

Sararmis fotograflar gencligim
Merhabayla gune kavusan 
Selam i gune dogan bir acili kahvede
Bulusan dostlugu  kadir unutulmaz mahelle
Simdi kaldi siyah beyaz fotograflar
Simdi kaldi anilar yaslanmis olmus dostlar
Korktumda kactim girdabindan
Senle sensiz bir hic...
Poyrazin ve lodosun sessizce isiltisini mehtabin
Ruzgarlari vurur odama dinlerim  hikayelerini 
Sesi sesim unutulmus siyah beyaz fotograflar


Details | Free verse | |

Lessons of History

Oh
I remember history well --
the ancient guidelines --
the lessons repeated,
the dramas reenacted:
the dates, of course,
were of no import;
catching the drift of things,
that was the art.
Languages change, seasons wane.
People experience all the old pain.
What happens now?
What happened before?
Lessons of history
are writ on the walls --
they peek out from thousands
of toilet stalls
where Kilroy once sat.


Details | Free verse | |

Praying Hands

Charcoal polished fingernails poke the clouds,
Gun metal arms staunch and concrete,
flex under the sun.
Chiseled gray palms clasp tightly,
shelter gummed pavement .
Still,praying hands protect Charleston Harbor.
Structual magnificence.
Steel Beauty.
A small piece of Cooper River Bridge history.

http:/ravenalbridge.net


Details | Free verse | |

THEODORE ROOSELVET

In the historical archives, many trails have led to
The making of a legend, those born with the pioneer spirit
Of individuality, bred deeply within their soul.
Such was this man we called, Mr. President, Theodore Roosevelt.
A cowboy rough rider, whom wrangled his way with true
Grits fight, making his way to the oval office round-up in
Washington, DC,
Thus America's pride, was alive within Teddy's wild heart.
This wilderness environmentalist, who's grand vision,
Had the foresight to leave a wondrous gift behind him.
To a nation beloved by him, this honorable man, 
Bestowed his legacies inheritance for future generations,
To enjoy forever, the green valley's known as the 
National Parks and National forests.
A nation's founding father, his face indubitably
Engrained, into solid granites bed rock, on the exterior of
Mount Rushmore, so does it bare witness, to this presidents 
Greatness unto posterity. 
A rugged individualist, believing in the fair deal policy,
For all men, should all have the same rights and liberties.
Theodore did so carry a big stick, but spoke softly,
In the foreign policy arena, thus receiving the Noble Peace Prize.
Drive did he, the stake of progress across the raw landscape 
Of Cuba, creating a man made wonder, called the Panama Canal.
But if asked Theodore Roosevelt’s greatest achievement,
Was the raising of his children, and living life to it's 
Fullest depth's degree. 
A grievice day, to lose one such as he, but this man
Whom loved adventure, looked at the death as only
The beginning of another chapter's turning of a page,
Beyond lies another horizon's sunset to be explored.
Don't cry at the loss of one such as myself,
Shed no tears, yet raise a toast instead, on my behalf,
Celebrate how I lived, and for the little accomplishments
I've left behind.
For in this way Theodore Roosevelt wished to be
Remembered and the greatest tribute of all.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


















Details | Free verse | |

Street Cred

Houses on parade
Guards to civilisation
A great divide between man and space
Escapism opposed to reality

Sentinals stand at either end of street
Neighbourhood watch
Dangerous tongues gossip
Prepare for another enslaught


Details | Free verse | |

The Price Of Freedom

For years men shed blood
and women gave sons
All for the price of freedom

Each man took an oath
to fight to the end
To keep America free

As years have gone by
a cancer crept in
Some wanted freedom to die

"Oh take the flag down"
idealist’s now shout
"We can’t be seen in this light"

"Let’s share what we have"
"and ask they forgive"
"All of the harm we have done"

A cry can be heard
across this great land
"We see what is going on!"

Anger is brewing
people are talking
Soon they will rise up as one


Details | Free verse | |

DREAMING OF BABYLON

Hand of power, heart of whimsy, tamer of
mighty rivers. Rivers of initial learning,
nurturer of ancient gardens, gardens in

their fabled beauty hanging yet in utter
freshness in the fecund hearts of poets.
Poet at heart cooped solitary, hostage of

life's fickle fortune. Fortune dreamed
with vanished glories still as green as
tendrils twining. Twining on to memories

heart-held, held while tending patch of
foliage, muttering through graying mustache,
"You're soft muffins, crumbly cookies,

munchies in my white cell circle; circle
stony though surrounds me, I'm still palm tree,
brave, steadfast; that you're not, but bush."


Details | Free verse | |

My Thing

Writing is my thing. My drug of choice. My bling bling.
I fall in love with the similies and mentions of passion while wrapping my body in 
sentences.
Creating complicated rhythms and making them simples as instances
Every line a differenet emphasis
Commas, explinations and periods
Sometimes rhyming and sometimes not
Stopping to puff so my thoughts can lock
Feeding hungry souls starved from starvation
Creating new creations
Making people feel the sensation as I build up to mind elevation

The quest for knowledge is not a game
Spoken movements teach about the pain
I write to ease the pain
Rhythms run deep

Deep underneath clouded visions of unspoken truth lies a message
a message...a message that should be taught accurately to the youth
About the struggle of a people that was misued
abused, refused, confused, raped, beaten down
uneducated
portrayed as clowns, coons, niggers, fools
Modern day niggas and goons
Wake up!! Did you hear the news?
You are responsible for you!
Imagine how it would be tho
If we were uninterrupted and brought overseas yo
Uprooted from a line of royalty kings and queens
Africa unite is all we'd sing
Rhythms run deeper into the seams of my being

I write to ease the pain of the oppressed
I write to celebrate their success
I write to educate the rest
The message..The message..The message is very clear
No time time to waste
The time is NOW
It's here!


Details | Free verse | |

A new Ireland

It was a wet November day
on the motorway to Cork
waiting at traffic lights
a tiny man shuffled towards me
frail, bald and alone,
his piercing eyes beseeching,
palms outstretched, imploring.
His face ravaged with fear
his shame stirred shame in me
as I turned my face away,
I saw others do the same.

I felt raw discomfort 
it changed rapidly to fear
as the cold face of recession
the demise of my country
the pain of my people
stood before me
in this little man
an ache so immense,
I had covered it deep.

Faced now with utter revulsion,
abject anger towards our government,
our bankers and developers,
those sneaky golden circles,
as my eyes met his,
I saw my own reflection.
The country’s bubble burst a year ago
but he had just burst mine.

For In his tiny frame,
I saw our fragile nation
a country on its knees
begging for a bail out.

In his isolation,
I felt my own vulnerability
huge impending loss
as my children face emigration.

In his baldness, 
I saw the naked masses
new poverty and pain,
still crushing us, the people

This little man
could be me.






Details | Free verse | |

King Tut's Sarcophagus

As I gaze at the priceless sarcophagus of a boy king,
my mind takes me back in time; thousands of years ago,
when pyramids were powerful monuments,
and Isis covered the entire of Egypt with her powerful, yet gentle wings.

A time when the Nile was as clear as a crystal,
and gold as abundant as ants in an anthill,
is a time worth creating a time machine to travel to,
and disappear in the enchanting grandeur in the sands.


Details | Free verse | |

There Is No Now

The pollution is psychedelic
Hell, you could even say poetic nature
Terms of enragement
Definitely not engagement
Can suffice in describing the depredation

Fire from the skies
Burning through the system
Dropping through to nothing
Learning not what’s in them
Always running from them

We may hide our voices
But you hide your souls
Torturing us with woes
Never able to feed our hole
Scars bleed out like coals

Paint it any color you like
Doesn’t change a thing
This war that you’ve brought forth 
Has killed us all
In the past and future

There is no now…


Details | Free verse | |

A Traveler's Journey (A Visit to the Quarai Mission Ruins)

I am a traveler 
In a place beyond time
I speak the language of stone
And adobe,
Listen to the echoes of history
In roofless, melted walls

This is my journey

I am a traveler, 
An earthbound melting misfit
Whispering in the language
Of leaves and lizards,
Of rustling cottonwood leaves,
Taking pictures with my mind

This
Is my journey

I am a traveler
Just passing through
On my way to somewhere,
Always on my way – on my way to
Else-where, to else-when, to else-wise
Even so, I tarry here

This is
My journey

I am a traveler, 
A stranger from
Time beyond
To long ago 
In this ghost-filled home
Of peace and contravening conflict

This is my
Journey 

I am a traveler
Who sits cross-legged on the earth,
Alone with the ancients
Alone amongst shadows and sunshine,
Silence and grace
My heart and soul cry out in echo

This is my journey


Details | Free verse | |

Paths We Choose unfinished WIP

Don't ever
Lose sight
Today is where
To believe in yourself

Up before our dawn
You perceive the gray
Not realizing for what I long
And You asked me not to stay

Our life, it seems, has come to an impasse
I choose to love you forever
Resetting our shiny compass
Wishing each other the best

To our own endeavors

rlm '11


Details | Free verse | |

Wrapped Little Body - Cut-Up poem

Other violence this world
There human flames ceased
Sick swan six
With circles some melancholy
Doctor failure some

Different universe copy soul
Wrapped little body respect
About shoulders stopped arms
Flash doubles wife

Early patient
Stopped her crown
Simple modern
Loop provided effect
While hate challenge simple.

[This was my first attempt at the "cut-up technique", a surrealist technique coined by many early surrealists, including William S. Burroughs, an obvious influence on my work.]


Details | Free verse | |

THE WINDS OF CHANGE

Feel the winds of change, dear friend,
They are a blowing.
Brethren beneath a common cause,
Kindred spirits, gather united.
To stand tall against opposing 
Factions,
Yet we remain strong survivors,
Of justice and right.
Adversity challenges indifference, 
It is so written good shall over,
Come evil.
The truth within us all shines,
 Humanity achieves enlightenment.
Ignorance shadow fades in
 Reality's view,
Life relishes difference,
Freedom flies soaring  mankind,
 Towards a higher plain.
What a magnificent future,
Lies ahead of us.
Individuality blossoms, fulfillment,
 Becomes a human right.
Forgiveness, compassion, and mercy,
 Shall be theirs at last.
Let no mans options to believe,
Dismay conscious choice,
Carry the banner of beliefs no matter,
What the cost or price.
Your inner self reflection captures,
 Truths mirror image.
Acknowledge separate half's,
 Making one complete being.
Behold his name is called,
Social exceptions.
Resolves concussions shows a, 
Brilliant phoenix rising, 
From hatred's ashes.
It spreads deliverance’s wings,
Embracing a majestic legacy.
 
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

THE GHOSTS IN THE DARKNESS

Two majestic lords of the African Savannah, 
Strike without cautions warning, or roar's announcement.
Nomads, prides outcasts, existing on the fringes edge of
Survival.
Instinct's primal predators, golden phantoms, shadows
Haunted silhouettes passing in the night, casting eerie images
Against canvas tents, and fire lights burning embers.
On heightened senses of enticement, these living
Killers, smell their preys fear, thus so crossing the line,
Cutting deeply into man flesh, leaving bloody paw prints
Behind them, and giving birth to their own legend.
Translucent specters, blending mirages melting,
Within the tall grasslands scrub brush, as if creatures
Of illusion, brushed by the hot Massai winds.
Caddish yellow-green eyes, pierce through humanities
Nightmare realm, for in reality's harsh view, it cannot
Be real, these ghosts in the darkness.
Carnivorous hunters patrol, the devils backbone,
Known as Tsavo, skeletal bone collectors,
Relishing in their trophies prize, beware their talons
Sharpened claws.
Man-eaters, rulers of this lost garden of Eden,
In the lions den, the bones of the dead scream in silence.
In this blood sports arena, these kings dominate over
The kingdom of men, dominion’s red cloak, is
Soaked in crimson's red, dripping freshly downwards
Towards hells cavern.
Mankind's greed, does drive this army of the walking dead,
Stalked by these feline demons, of the nights abyss.
Progresses iron horse must reach the African interior and
If poundage cost be in flesh and bone let it be so, paid.
Rushing waters forge, laid by steel rails bridge builder,
The holy architect whom carries, the long rifle of justice,
Assumes responsibility's heavy shovel, of the living dead's 
Burial grounds.
Man vs. beast, teeth vs. bullets gunpowder, in the rising
Suns twilight, one shots sounding ends the fight, and alone
Lord remains to grieve for his fallen brethren.
In rages vengeance, the last warrior declares angers wrath,
And he is so slain by hail's gun blast.
But in Tsavo, the people still watch, for in legend, ghosts
Never truly die, yet remain hidden unto the hunger returns,
Beware, these ghosts in the darkness.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN












































































Details | Free verse | |

Immortal Memory - Illusion Of Love

                                                        
                                                              *~*


                                   In my heart, what I thought to be love 
                                         Was simply my own desire
                                                     So brief...
                                Gone before time could tell it even happened
                                                   Like a whisper
                                Barely heard in the shadowy stillness of night

                                        I tell myself it's over, you're gone 
                                               But in the same breath
                                      A voice whispers quietly to my heart 
                                             Assuring me that perhaps 
                                            You may have really cared
 
                                       I tell myself it wasn't meant to be 
                                             But in my remembering...
                                           I find that thought elusive
                                            Too painfully conclusive

                                        It weaves its memory in and out
                            Like a fine needle sewing its fragile threads
                                      Delicately twisting them intimately
                                        Amongst the filigrees of my mind
  
                                The magic was so mysteriously enchanting
                                              I tell myself it's over...
                                        But my heart refuses to listen

                                           My mind says to forget you
                                That no one's worth this kind of sadness 
                                   My soul doesn't need this heartache
 
                                        I tell myself I didn't really care
                                 That it was all just a momentary illusion

                                                             But... 
                                               I never did lie very well 

                                                             *~*


Details | Free verse | |

Cease Fire

The Crusades Began a Holy War
Which Continues to this Day.
We Kill, and Kill, and Now it Seems,
This shall Always be the Way.

One Side Scores, the Others Die,
Then the Cycle is Repeated.
It never Stops, It’s never Done;
The Battles Grow More Heated!

The Way to Peace, it Seems so Clear,
Is not Through Senseless Slaughter.
I Appeal to All, “Please Quit the Fight!”
Save our Sons and Daughters!

To Find Our Way out of the Dark,
We Need only Seek the Light.
A Solution Lies within our Grasp:
Forget who’s Wrong or Right!

This God or that, it Makes no Matter.
This Truth I have Acquired:
Be they Different, or the Same,
The Gods would Preach Cease Fire!


Details | Free verse | |

TRIBAL GYPSIES

His voice is as a still whisper, a hushed sigh 
Rippling through the evergreen mountain pines,
A spiritual being calls in native tongue, come unto
Me, my chosen people of the sacred plains.
The drums beat in the setting sun, as the tribes
Join together in one bands march, the Dakota, Shoshoni
And Cherokee, these wondering nomads, of the open plains.
It is time for the great migrational transitioning,
Heeding the great spirits, seasonal warning,
These tribal gypsies, become a unified people, of the vast
United beneath the vast grasslands Prairie.
Instincts driving force urges them ever forward,
Across steeps terrain, and rolling hills, deep canyons
Depths divides, onto the open plains,
For soon the great buffalo will arrive.
To bowl and cup, do they carry all possession
Necessities, leaving behind only Mohicans prints,
In the dust.
Legacy's children play, and run beside the caravan's,
As warriors on horse back, boast of adventures
 Of seasons long ago.
Mile markers of trails woven into the earth itself,
The wilderness wild country lies ahead, in this big
North American Continent, yet undiscovered by 
The so called civilized white men.
At night falls rest, a small village emerges, where
Nothing stood sense last years grand journey.
Canvas tents, fill with families warmth and laughter
For freedoms people, live by the great spirits calling.
In ritual dance, do these indigenous tribe give thanks
And praise unto he whom provides substances life,
And liberation’s autonomy.
As the suns rises and dawn approaches, the earth rumbles,
Shaking, beneath the hardened hoof, thy brother the buffalo,
Has come once again, the promise kept, assuring
The tribes winter survival.
 Evergreen's pastures, lure these creatures of thunder,
Ancient beasts covering the great plains, as a black 
Cloud descending, as if massive locus’s onto
 The flowering fields below.
The hunters rejoice in the abundance set before
Them, the harvest of meat and blessings promise,
Taking only what is needed, wasting nothing,
Yet giving thanks praise for everything.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN






Details | Free verse | |

Widow's Peak

Her name is now a legend 
Before her name was feared
The lady Henrietta 
Lean close and lend an ear

They say her status started
One night long time ago
She found her husband cheating
With the girl she knew next door

Her mind did snap
Her heart grew cold
With a knife she stole their souls
Cut the beating heart away 
Ate flesh when cold

Within her veins flowed the blood
Of the one who done her wrong
Gave her everlasting life
Her age in death was old

But one small thing that should be said
About the spell she cast
That beauty would always be her guide
In death she looked her best

Word spread quickly through the town
Where Henrietta lived
About the spell she cast the night
Her husband committed sin

Women came to ask for help 
To change their husband’s ways
For they had also messed around
Now love for them had strayed

With each one she gave the spell
Steps to end their grief
Now in the town such beauty found
In women who’s husbands cheat

With new found beauty each started life
Fresh and young again
And if the man they loved did cheat
Revenge was sweet again


Many many years went by
And soon the town was gone
Towards the end all that was left
Were women who were scorned

But in woods outside the town
In a placed called Widow’s Peak
You find plots of all the ones
Whose death came from a cheat

So this story lives today 
If you doubt then ask around
For the one you love and share a life
Could be a widow from that town

All men beware all women ask
Before you start your cheating
In every city and every town
A Widow’s Peak is forming

Believe me if you will or not
In the end you’ll heed the warning
Just let the one you love find out
To Widow’s Peak you’re going


Details | Free verse | |

In the army now

Scents imminent
Sense immense
Of razor slashes self induced
Tying
Trying to turn the tides
Slip knots in ropes become the noose
The nuisance
The new sense of truth
While crying
Drying eyes profuse
As blood and sweat hide underlying
Dying
Flying on wings to roots
Of camps and boots in pastures muddy
Stained
Trained to follow trails
Of paper money
And to pray for each offence
That leaves the plains
Bloody
With revenge
On fallen buddies
As the sentiments
And the means of friends
Slain
Ties the senseless ends
With pain


Details | Free verse | |

Super ego, ego and id'ism

The sub-conscious jugernaught,
And it’s defence mechanism, 
For so long your multi-faceted dimension we’ve fought,
So commonly known as super ego, ego and id’ism.

We can all be mean, jealous, envious,
Sometimes kind, caring and compassionate at best,
What we don’t like, we call social deviance,
I know all the me’s I can be, collectively we’ve got a chance,
Not much is known by the layman,
There’s a reason we feed from the tame hand,
Each one of us immensely powerful,
We need our vision back to make it's power null,
revealing, no cohesion, a fictional entity cull.

The mind unravels and absorbes the 'knowing' wealth,
letting go of the ego and in 'their' terms my mental health.


Details | Free verse | |

Regrets

Once, love dreamed of,
I used to write her name
by mine, in hope she’d notice
Over and over, again, again, again.

She’d look with radiant smile
I’d do same
Would pass me by
Repeatedly, again, again, again.

Two doves we were,
both tender hearts so tame
Shy to speak
In dreams I’d call (your name) again, again, again.

So it came to be
There was no lover’s lane
As we lived our lives alone
Memories recalled – regrets, again, again, again.


Details | Free verse | |

one man army of the appocalypse

2 million suicidal babies
the munchonsen of psychiatry
just pushed me over the edge
what do we say when we cross the border?
we're going to disneyland
what are we going to do when we get there
inform as many innocents what is about to happen

going to the only country
who has its digs in every war around the world
going to the only place that lies to earth
through a video box sitting in the corner to every family on earth
going to the place of plajerists and hacks
scouring the internet for good ideas
and we are going to destroy the lies of their doctors

poisoned adults
suicidal babies
with all the no brainers in existance
why is it you are the only country singing and dancing?
why are you soo proud of your happiness
but use hate speach you call comedy on every minority
no one on earth is allowed to be happy but you?

why would this many people be upset with your legacy
how nothing has changed
the internet investigation already underway
your internet fraud to destroy life after life
and become wealthy doing it
here's a vikaden to cover the stress that your a bad person
now lets laugth and dance
have group sex to make us feel better for the things we did

party on wayne, party on garth
the bottle picking homeless with nothing left to lose
the rag man who smells like gas
a cart full of glass
we dont need bombs to take you down
as your city burns from the ground
where you realise all the flat tires
something on the road 
the explosions of your vehicles
unable to provide aid
the investigation now under way

2 million guinea pig babies
we will come to enforce your right to your person
those doctors and lawyers
lieing cheating and stealing
im not going to lie
you will be murdered
and for this shiny new penny
the maffia and biker gangs have just been hired
have a good day

im not sorry to inform you
these people will get what they deserve
you have all the power
then blacklist me
and stop playing the victom
like you do at the karaoke bar

first i'll describe heaven
and there will be no victoms of that war
then we will describe our own hell
and you can die a martyr of earth's happy ending

your joke dressed in suicide
laughing, at the consequence of you not being a punchline
you know who you are and what youve been doing
the best suggestion of considering suicide
its a good idea, especially for you, trust me


Details | Free verse | |

Living Language

Language is a
trumpeting vine,

Blooms in every shape,
         size and color

Tendrils of words grow
     every which way,
here,                            there,
            hither
&			            yon,
insinuating themselves,
curling lovingly,
inexorably,

into, around

the vertical and horizontal,
diagonal
pillars and frameworks

of each diverse community

---

Language
is a slow, lazy ocean
 
whose tides lick
the verbal shores

offering new sand & water
    while re-absorbing and changing 
          the old

It flows out,
      ebbs in,
a living, breathing,
constant motion

---

Language is essential, 
is vital and ageless –
a kaleidoscope mosaic

always perennial,
always new

Without language,
what would you or I do?

Without language…...................


Details | Free verse | |

terrorists being murdered for conspiracy to murder the king of england

on youtube i am troynelson2011 the ocd riddle for world peace,
 i cant check my email,
 twitter wont let me tweet,
 facebook wont let me post, 
and soundcloud definately owes me an appology...

. imagine a group of people in my allies back yard pretending to be somebody they aren't. 
imagine that group of people hiding in my allies midst was perpetrating war crimes in other parts of the world.  
lets say hypothetically speaking this group of people hiding among my allie was holding their children hostage on television and force feeding children to be medicinal guinea pigs so their kids wouldnt have to... 

now imagine this group of people hiding in my allies midst perpetrating war crimes in other countries was funded by the global prodigal youth via living out their dreams and ambitions before they could cause they had the means to do so first.. so this group of inventors all with one invention under their belt using my friends kids as guineau pigs funded by my other friends childrens dreams.....

What do you think happens when a terrorist organisation hiding in your allies midst (few disguised as many) perpetrating war crimes accumulates a debt to owe the prodigal youth sky scrapers...

a global terrorist in usa is perpetrating war crimes using your kids as medicinal guineau pigs.  setting up shop in canada where is rumored homeless began taking refuge in the sewer

in short america, you are going to be introduced to the global prodigal youth, terrorists hiding in your country owe sky scrapers to.when does armstrongs sperm mature anyway?

they hold children hostage on television, they use your kids as guinea pigs,

you have just been volunteered to assist me in murdering my enemy, the one that owes me everything they ever put in their mouth

wouldnt you feel responsible to find out every time you opened your mouth it  became  a tv show, game show, movie, or product on your store shelves, was being used to fund global terrorism.

tsix step process of your enemy.vs ur 4 step process to realise ur allie

you have MY enemy surrounded, word of mouth is powerful

after you read this phone your mother and tell her you recieved an email from the future king of england explaining your global problems... 

 twiiter, facebook, soundcloud, are stolen ideas
isnt it ironic bill gates is our worlds most famous inventor with only one invention... and shows absolutely no pridefor his own baby he worked on for years after work


Details | Free verse | |

Prized Possession

Prized Possession


When was it that society and religion
Became so afraid of the sexuality of women

Or was it just men who became afraid

Trapping and turning beauty into pornography
To suit the idealism of a capitalistic
Ideology
Made women its prized possession

There was once spiritual prowess in her nakedness
Once long ago
The symbol of womb and breast
Gave birth to life

And a possession was once the sexual expression
Of both women and men
Connecting
Copulating
In an essence of a spiritual unity
Defined by the pleasure both received
In giving to life

So how did sex become a sin
Dirtied by morals
And then sold in a tin 
Of instant readily affordable self gratification
When did your own sexuality
Become a commodity
For them to sale

And poor Eve, lead mankind to ruin
And she alone made responsible for the fall from Eden
So shall she pay the price in cultural centuries
Of Christian and Muslim oppression

Such is the weakness of men
That by muscle alone defends them
Such is the weakness of men
That their God must of course; be a man
Such is the weakness of men
That in the face of beauty
It must be their possession

Such is my contempt of those men
Who cannot comprehend
Where their own lives began
And who’s wives and daughter now exists
In a poor excuse for love and worship
Trapping and turning beauty into pornography
To suit the idealism of a capitalistic
Ideology
Made women its prized possession




Inspired by Brandy Megens poem “News at 5” 






Details | Free verse | |

OLD MAN THUSE

OLD MAN THUSE

Was Methuselah an ancient astronaut?
Did he live nine hundred years?
Yes to both say a few enlightened seers

Did he visit Earth in a rocket ship?
Did he wear a space suit?
Possibly    and used a laser gun to boot

Did Ezekiel really see a wheel way up in the middle of the air?
Was old Methuselah piloting that space ship?
Had he taken an impossibly long trip?

Truth is    no one really knows
Witnesses     though many    are all dead
Belief must be taken on faith    enough said


Details | Free verse | |

Along the Klamath




Spray painted on the bridge guardrail
The words "Two Feathers is pok li la..."
Past and the present meet by the river
The old ways remembered by the young.

Two Feathers in an "upstream man"
Tribes of the mother river, the Klamath
Nurturing their spirit and  feeding the body
Through the ages as it runs to the sea..



Hupa, Yurok and Kurok tribes have lived for thousands of years along the beautiful
Klamath River in northern California. 
For Deb's contest.


Details | Free verse | |

The Anniversary Of 911

September is here and we are remembering the worst tragedy that ever struck our Nation, a Nation where we thought - we were safe. What were you doing on that fatal day? I think that what ever any of us was doing we will never forget. Just think about that. It was September 11 of 2001. Everybody was going about their business, when about 8:45 A.M. everything exploded at once. Nobody expected this tregedy to come. I was coming from a doctor's visit. I stopped at my house to fix myself something to eat before I went to work. I turned on the TV. All I could see was fire, smoke and people running everywhere. I first thought it was a movie, when I heard the broadcaster say that they were live in New York City. I called my husband and we both watched how the twin towers came crumbling down. We couldn't believe our eyes of all the horror we saw. All the channels were breaking the news. The terrorists crashed two planes and thousands of our people died. some of the people didn't even know what hit them. It was better like that. It was better that they go to heaven and not to hell instead. Another plane was headed for the Nerve Center of this Country, but never made it there. The passengers in that plane knew, that soon they would meet DEATH. They decided to fight the terrorists and heroes they became, when flight 91 went down. In all the planes, the terrorists died, but to their people - it's no loss. We all know that they died for the cause...
09/11/2012 written by Lucilla M. Carrillo


Details | Free verse | |

As I lay Upon Mother earth

Wishful thinking
rests upon soft summer 
butterfly wings
warm breeze
swims across my body
taking with it
my
thoughts, dreams,wishes
now they float, high
above the endless 
clouds, like seeds
from an empty 
dandelion stem
suns rays
wrap me in an invisible
blanket of comfort
tiny, speckles of wet
dew drops from morning
when God kissed the ground
As I lay, feeling
the touch of mother earth
I drift to dream freely
my Native ancestors
dancing and chanting
the songs of my people
the Chickasaw
A sudden itch on my nose
brings me back to the present
and as my sleepy eyes lift
from crescent slivers 
to full dark chocolate moons
I watch as a monarch
dance across my face
and kisses my cheek with
its powdery wing
as it travels
above the endless clouds
like the dandelion seeds


Details | Free verse | |

worst day of my life everyday as your guineau pig

a builder of houses
a societies centre pieces
day by day


Details | Free verse | |

RETURNING A HYMN TO YOU

Your voice was born from twilight's
Breast.
Your name stole the mystery
Of the night.
Ambrosial hand of gold
Bowled along the white
Surf
To glorify the lost souls
Of a time
Winding off with each chord,
the locked secrets of the world.
Orpheus!
You are the Sun's chosen
And the Sirens are trying
To steal a song 
To bewitch the seamen.
Time is trembling among
Melodies and laments.
A lost lover behind the
Turning light. 
Your silence is calling 
The Muses
To carry you beneath
The sky's festival.
Maybe now you are near her
again.
Father of melody 
Your untouched Lyra awaits
To form sounds of time,
To bring up an era lost.
Taming the darkness
You offered a soul to the cold.
Fingers divine,
Heart of gold!
As near was the end
You stood in front.
A bending moment was your Fate's circle
Following you 
As condemnation for the centuries to come.
Journeys across the Sun's arms
As a prayer for the dreams you loved,
As a plaint for those you lost.
Still, your voice travels along the sea
To justify the unexpected turns
Of Time.
You, Orpheus, are the star,
The lighten flame,
Across the fields of gold,
Calling your love to come
With unreachable promises you hallowed.

This poem is for Orpheus, the Greek Heroic Legendary 
figure who charmed even the God of Darkness 
with his music. The story of Orpheus is unique, 
showing love dimentions, his Hymns have made 
an impact to world's music over the time. 

Valeria Iliadou, Greece
 


Details | Free verse | |

GOLD-ATHENA THE GOLDEN GODDESS

A storm collides, with a mystic flame, 
It's raw force strikes, the last ancient Phoenix,
She rival's in pains agony, falling to the earth below.
The fire bird descends, crashing unto Mount Olympus, 
From burnt ashes residue, a new deity arises,
Behold it is she, Athena the golden goddess.
The blaze of hail's fire, burns through her finger tips,
Thunder bolts strike, in aggressions anger,
 Wisdom's strategist, in the art of war.
 None compare to this battle hardened warrior,
Patron saint of the gods, a heavy metal protectress, 
She is the iron clad maiden, guardian of the 
Grecian world.
A shimmering silver shield of lightening,
Blinds in a flash oppositions foe, 
Weildiing the double edge blade of justice, 
Her righteous might vs. evil's dark force.
Doesn't the earth itself shake utterly,
At her mere appearance.
Blow the ivory tusken horn, oh mighty Nikey,
Beloved symbol for victory, to vanquish thy adversary.
Sitting on the left shoulder of Athena, as the clash
Begins in Olympia, leave no Titan alive or unmangled.
Through the haze's fog, a golden chariot appears,
Pulled by Hades twelve black Stallions, breathing  
Hell's fire, with crimson eyes piercing the nights
Dark abyss.
Thus she is the master of this devils herd, a
Golden Goddess Athena, striking fear in the
Hearts of the foreign invaders.
In the Greek pantheon, her valor is celebrated,
And she is victorious on the behest of the gods.
Pay homages respect to her, Athenian's, for she is,
The Grecian image to courage and strength.
Beware this golden goddesses glare, it is the rising
Of the storm to come.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Candra and Idunn

There he stands across from her,
                With the invisible wall between them, 
                          Knowing that chance to be together would be the cost of deat,.
                                   So they stand apart from one another in two different dimensions,
     That neither can reach,
         Never will he touch her Beautiful  face,
             That shines like the moon in the swallowing darkness, 
                Never will there lips touch that he has kissed many lifetimes before,
 
Never will she feel the warmth of his love, 
      Which once sustained the lonely coldness of her empty heart,
          Never will their bodies touch with the fiery passion they longed for, 
              These desire have been has denied in this lifetime,
                        And powerless to change their own destiny,
                             They stand apart whispering the word of love.


Details | Free verse | |

Deaf eyes, blind ears.

Oh ill fated lamb,
How we cling to your image,
We all love innocence irresponsibly,
Hold the ignorant upon the celebrity pedestal,
Till too late we find the lamb horned.

The blackness has seeped into homes,
Taught that the light is what blinds,
Feeling sorry for the dead, while life is taken away,
Energy vampirism is rampant, tugging on every chord.

Most will not know the truth while here,
The truth, the blindingly obvious they fear,
Always falling on deaf ears, no one will hear,
I’ve come face to face with a cliff...its sheer.


Details | Free verse | |

Cyborg Sleep

                                   Cyborg Sleep

An image of a man stands serene against the rock cold wall
Vigilant eyes study the distant city
Elongated and curved shapes form in his mechanical mind
Only nature there to sense it’s out of place motions
The cybernetic organism, alien life
Coming to life on the barren world
A living machine, automaton, a time sentinel 
Built with purpose
Watches with singular intent 
All there is…. all that’s left
Never flinching…. Nearly motionless…. somber in demeanor
This replica of humans holds solid ground and waits
Programed to move occasionally at times
To generate power in its core components to survive
The guardian of humanity stands
A solid figure with a small metallic vile
Sheltered within hides a remnant DNA specimen strand 
(It is the last fragment of human’s survival and hope)
Nestled deep in the power source 
Atomic silent and serene it keeps the centuries still
In time to come, with luck
The cyborg will be cracked open like an egg one day
Perhaps by another benevolent humanoid race
To reassemble the family of man from the remnants left
Or the time sentinel will roam the Earth alone
Carrying humanity along literally in the heart 
In an endless awakening from alien sleep
No one to ever know the secret that he keeps


Details | Free verse | |

Warmongers

Generations of warmongers spew their lies
outward into the waiting abyss of greed
as the adult throng of drones 
buzz the factories and the farmlands, 
carpenter ants wasting the bounty of mother earth.

And we ..children of the flower children screamed
“Hell NO we won’t go!”
We burnt draft cards and bra’s
freed from the tit by the acid dreams of Leary
we rose, ran, flew, with flags on our arses.

On campus’s we marched
bandana’ed brethren, fuzz busters
picket carrying freedom fighters, a blaze
with a hatred for everything and every one 
establishment…
and the establishment killed.
Killed its own children
at Kent State and got away with it.

As napalm dropped over naked children
in Vietnam, the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius
rang from the rafters of Broadway.
Naked as the day we were born
coated in the honest to God mud of
a farmer’s field in Woodstock, we danced.
And we still marvel that Nero fiddled 
while Rome burned.

Where are our children now?
Still fighting ..still drones, still bombing
Still ‘liberating’ the oil fields around the world.
Still raping mother earth. 

And the beat drones on…………..



Details | Free verse | |

A God Thing

Fairhair’s youngest son the good, for peace trickery repaid, by hawk upon the knee            Norse blood raised an English king, hid from the bloody axe until his reign                           A Christian in a pagan scene A God Thing in a Frost Thing                                              old ways die hard drunken jarls twelve leaping things hot yule-beer,                                boiling horse flesh He signs the cup a cross to bear in heathen affair                                  Raven-feast a king tries to bring his people the Hope of the New Living Thing                 Pushing back the fires of bloody axe, he fought Eric’s sons blue-toothed Danes               Annihilator of all other Skalds recounts Haakon's Song his good night                        Outnumber six to one by Danes all weapons pointed, at the golden helmet                          though mocking refrains now hidden by poet's hat                                                        thrust on through you shall find Quernbiter,                                                              cutting runes and the Norse king, putting to flight the Danish plight                                   whirling recoil of the fleeing Erikson a lonely arrow finds Haakon's heart                             upon the flat rock lay slain                                                                                     though the Dark-wolf again eats the land                                                                        a Christian king has the hope of a God thing                                                         *                     *                                             Notes -Hákonarmál is a skaldic poem,EARLY KINGS OF NORWAY by Thomas Carlyle,THE THING SMALL LOCAL COUNTRYSIDE THING --Thing (assembly)


Details | Free verse | |

Rules of the surprise Holiday

a coin for every day, five maybe six
tossing away one a day of a diiferent value depending on the day
color coded lets everyone know when and how you gave
where the freakshow will take you to for their gratitude now
one day to feast
three days to collect
circus games to play
like an allowance for underprivelledged

two different types of coins are worth anything
on certain days while everything else is void
two different types of coins not allowed in any store
pay to charity or leave the store

names and numbers
and a slide of literary sciences from one hand to the next for lottery numbers
one wining ticket among millions
same numbers drawn, winning numbers nothing more than the secret of the village
a secret the codes are meant for

a six day event
a nine day holiday
streets littered with money
how little you neeed to give
to see how much it adds up
how much you do give
how little difference its making
and why
why cant things be altered?

shift of power?
power of the have nots?
then take it back, and offer us this
meet us half way
give us our surprise holiday


Details | Free verse | |

lost love

If only you could see I still have feelings for you No matter if I show it Or not I will always care I can't stand not being with you You act as though I'm not to Be seen as a person to be Trusted with everything I may have screwed up But life is full of screw ups I know I shouldn't have acted out of anger I shouldn't have but My life, my love, and My heart Belong to you. I might never get it back But it belongs to You. I love you


Details | Free verse | |

9-11

I was home from work that day. 
My office was on John Street
One block away from the World Trade Center
I would often go there at lunchtime
To visit the shops
To buy fruit at the Green Market
To enjoy concerts on the esplanade

It was a gathering place 
During the warm months of the year.
And one evening, I was fortunate enough
To dine in the Windows on the World Restaurant
That offered a spectacular view of the city 
From the North Tower

But this day, I was awakened 
By a familiar voice on the phone
Did you see the news? 
A plane hit one of the Twin Towers

I turned on the television
And watched in real time
As it all unfolded
The mighty buildings
Collapsing 
Into dust and debris
Flames and destruction
Falling bodies
Obliterated bones
And death

I watched
As exhausted firefighters
Sat down on the sidewalk and wept
I watched
As revelers in the streets of Afghanistan
Rejoiced at hearing the news
I watched
From my balcony in Brooklyn
Where I once could see the towers
But now there was an endless plume of smoke
That stretched across the sky

All those beautiful, precious lives
Gone

In the days that followed
We New Yorkers treated each other
More kindly, more gently
For we were all fragile
And felt capable of collapse



Written September 10, 2009 - for Nathan Leccese's 9-11 Contest


Details | Free verse | |

Bullets rain tears

Young and innocent they went to school
 Expecting to learn and play
 Never in anyones wildest of dreams
 Did we expect that day
 For a rain of tears to shell them
 From one lost deep to sin
 But heavenly hosts came down for them
 Releasing them from him
 The devil he did have his day
 But God in end dost win
 For noubt will be lost but these young lives
 Will not be gone in vain
 The laws of the land will change in ways
 For it must not happen again
 
Those who reign must stand on this
 Take stance and make a difference
 No one should be able to take a life
 With intent nor mindless innocence
 For even when with madmans mind
 You cannot be left to mingle
 How can you be able to walk in shop
 Purchase guns and not be liable
 Actions speak far louder than words
 And if we let just one slip through
 Without accounting for their sin
 It might well be me or you
 
For on anyone these bullets
 Might be named to fall upon
 So make a difference – make a change
 Add your name – petition
 The whole wide world mourns in shame
 An Amnesty is long past needed
 Write your letters – use your vote
 Act now while it is fresh
 And pray for the souls of all those lost
 That each by the Lord be blessed
 Also for those who’ve lived through this
 That they might find a way
 To find the strength and courage
 To step out further each day


Details | Free verse | |

Typewriter

It was  one of those rainy,   overcast days
And she decided to do a little cleaning
As she dusted the furniture
Something caught her eye

 The old typewriter sat in the corner
neglected, and dusty all over
Beside it  lay its equally dusty cover
As she stared at it, her thoughts wandered
It was then that she started to reminisce

She thought back to her years
as a secretary, in a different place and time
When the  typewriter was king
She recalled how the ribbon would smudge the paper
How she would crumple them up

And toss them in the trash can
The can would be overflowing at the end of the day
How the boss would chase her around the desk
That was more the rule than the exception in those days

She could still hear those keys
As they banged against the ribbon
She used to sing to the rhythm of those keys
A song that she couldn't recall at the moment

She suddenly felt an urge
To take this ancient machine
And clean it up
Making it look shiny and new

And then for old times sake
She started tapping on those familiar keys
It was then that the song that had eluded  her 
 just moments before, came back to her
And she started singing to the rhythm of the keys
As the falling rain played a rhythm all its own

5 - 5 - 2013


Details | Free verse | |

Protect and Serve?

Unprovoked attacks
Death screams from the hearts of the innocent
A child's last breath
Lies in your arms
Raise your weapon
For the sickness f****ing your mind
Protect and serve?
F*** that, let's massacre them all
Let's burn and pillage 
This family's home and make them watch
Piss in this man's hands
And spit at his feet
Let bullets rain on his chest
So his children see
Protect and serve?
Intimidate and rape
They fear your "help"
And comply with tears in their eyes
And a gun to their temple
Dirt on their knees, in a pool of their father's blood
Protect and serve?
I think not.


*About a news report I recently saw, about U.S. soldiers killing innocent civilians for
sport. (This has been going on since there has ever been wars, it's not a new issue.) They
blamed it on being in a drug-induced state of mind, and on seeing disturbing images of
warfare. We debated in my class whether or not this type of murder can be justified. I
argued strongly and loudly that NO traumatization or drugged mind is a just reason to
murder and torture innocent people. The U.S. military is here to PROTECT and SERVE all
people. Does this sound like protection to you?


Details | Free verse | |

Static.....

The accumulative miles could astonish,
All those tongues, with nary a story uttered.
All those eyes that never "saw" a thing.
All those soles, the antithesis of "only".
All those heels, still attempting to lift in silent dignity.

From a still shot, a dynamic response is invoked!!


Details | Free verse | |

War

Dreams don’t make it here
They are choked by smoke from fires fueled by bodies too bruised to recognize
Here hope is like a forgotten thought that has left traces of its existence in your 
mind
You know you can do it but you just can’t remember how
The children’s playgrounds are now just a memory of a peace and calm that 
used to be
I have forgotten the sound of children playing and laughing 
I know they can try but I think even they have forgotten what joy sounds like
My reason to smile today is that 19 children died last night, yesterday it was 43
The rubble that carpets the streets gives testimony to the broken dreams of 
revolutionaries; the pillars and beams of a nation
“The walls of the great cities have fallen and its homes caved in.”
The constant anguish has left my face mournful but
I trust the flicker of hope is still visible in my old eyes
They have seen far beyond more than I can swallow
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
This pain is like a splinter under the nail of my heart
And with every gunshot it is pushed deeper and deeper and deeper but still
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
I am afraid of how much we claim to see and the paradox of how blind we act
I am in awe of my spirits resilience and endurance;
Truly suggestions of something divine


Details | Free verse | |

Hiring mankind for a dollar

you are f u c ki n g FIRED


Details | Free verse | |

ROME

In battles hymn, raise your shield,
 Sharpen metals sword.
All hail bow low unto Rome,
 Be blinded by opulence's glitter,
And greed’s excess
Salves feel her golden sandles,
Upon bare skins flesh.
Shackles hand cuffs, bind generations,
 Under whips task masters.
Architectural thieves, swallowing,
 Cultures as the serpent gorging itself.
On it's twisted belly the beast,
 Encircles it's prey.
At blades sharp edged point, the innocent
Lie slain,
In histories dust humanity bleeds.
Crimson skies light Cesar's horizon,
As thousands gather in the Colosseum.
The gladiator stands alone, facing madness's
Throne
Awaiting death's final release from bondage. 
A simple thumbs motion,
Down meaning liberation,
Up for another soul taken. 
Behold blood sports ultimate challenge,
To live or die by strength and valor.
Fates twisted sense of humor,
Laughs at him behind justice's,
 Blackened curtain.
Mocking the crowds lustful,
 Calls of encouragements.
Sacrifices altar burns brightly, 
Upon the false Gods alabaster statue.
Patiently waiting veracity’s venom,
Ambitions royal descriptors feasting,
At harvests festive table.
The warrior faces reflections honored soul,
And behind them destiny's predator stalks, 
Those soon to fall it's victim. 
To a coiled cobra poised to strike,
Decadence audience claimers at fevers pitch,
Adrenaline rush, excelling the 
Combatants deadliest game.
Immoralities remembrances,
 Or defeats cowardly shame.
Devastation final reckoning
To the victor goes spoils waste,
For the dead remains emptiness.
Champions hero kneels before,
The emperor's mighty power.
An evergreen crown of laurel leaves, 
His treasures only gift.
Freedoms mercy to live another day,
Beyond the arenas iron gates.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

JACK THE RIPPER

The London fogs camouflage,
Conceals the gentlemen assassin,
Blending him in it's gray clock
Seamlessly, he walks along unnoticed
Unchecked.
Carefully choosing a mark, it dangles itself
Before him as raw meat in a butcher window.
Misfortune’s lost damsel presents 
A disgraceful example in her
Shabby clothes and broken English
Giving gentility manners no credit
To her own sex.
Hey love come here, I've got the cure,
For what ales ya.
The shadow man answers not?
In black gloves palm a silver
Coin lies, as pleasures payment.
Under dim lights dingy ambiance,
It falls unto the murky gutters street,
And is quickly snatched back.
Two figures move in sequences motion,
Into a darkened archway.
In the blackness of night let the dirty
Deed be done.
Metal's sharpened edge shimmers,
Crimson red it's a cheap price.
For a shy token for a misbegotten life.
As he relives his latest kill in his mind,
The devil's fiddle plays in eerie tune, 
A sweet lullaby of cautions awareness.
He lies waiting amongst you, desperation’s
Ladies of the evening.
Playful fellow is jack,  toying with
Human dolls. 
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, 
With silvers flash out comes
His knife so slick.
Rip, rip goes Jack the Ripper
Tick tock goes his pocket watch.
Beware to those whom dwell in
Histories bowels,
Searching for answers hidden
Deep within archival walls.
You may not like what you find their,
The beast known as
JACK THE RIPPER.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

THE RIVER BOAT

Under afternoon's setting sun,
It's last rays chase across the,
Mississippi delta.
Slow as she goes, steadily cutting,
Currents rough undertone.
Click, clacking water rushing,
 Up wooden panels divide sections,
Harnessing the wooden wheel's raw,
Power it pushes along,
A heavily laden haul. 
Splashing spray hits unguarded,
Passengers, whom stand alone,
The side rails.
Site seeing travels wonder at
Natures wild landscapes,
Vs. mankind’s plantations.
A tenuous balance between beauty,
 And progress.
A grand old lady from days gone by,
The white queen glides seamlessly,
As if on air.
Musicians play waltz’s, sweet tones,
As musics smooth rhythms vibrate,
 Her bow unto stern.
Delighting gentlemen, and
 Maiden alike.
Men dressed in period costumes, 
Embrace there dance partners,
At the waste height politeness.
Lovely, ladies blushing beneath,
Swirling shifts delicate steps.
Drifting crafts with sails at half mast, 
To honor histories glorious past.
Freezing still watching, as girths, 
Wake rocks them on there merry way,
Experience olden days legacy’s.
Reliving an easier time, recline my,
 Friend at idles leisure.
Beside the rocky shoreline,
Admire life's golden age,
Have a taste of Southern comfort.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

The Fall of Man

Tempted…by the slithering serpent,
Eve accepts the forbidden fruit,
From the Tree of Knowledge.
Resulting in permanent expulsion,
From the beloved…Garden of Eden.

Escorted…by the archangel from fruitful reality,
Into the lone barren horizons.
Adam and Eve, contrary to previous happiness,
Both walk with an ashamed sinful gaze,
As they forcefully flee…from Paradise.

________________________________
inspired by Michelangelo’s “Fall of Man”


Details | Free verse | |

Metaphors in Stone

Tall, proud cliffs, rising out of the sea,
Straight and hard, withstanding bombs,
Its protective outer shell encompassing
The soft inner limestone of the Island
Like my body protects the inner softness of me,
The part that identifies with the Island,
Needing to protect and yet be protected.
Why do I identify with the stone?
Its beauteous colours of cream through gold,
Of its increasing hardness as it weathers
And waits,
To ripen and harden with age,
Breathless over time, until …..
It is chosen.
Finally.
Like the Island has chosen me.


Details | Free verse | |

A wrongfully incarcerated brother

I grew up with my little sister, Betty Anne Waters
Until conviction took me away in 1980, for a murder in our town.
Which, I would never do! Betty wouldn't let  me stay, and wouldn't believe. 
She got her ged and many years of college. Passing the bar! 
Bringing out evidence from 16 years. Losing her husband and children. Losing everything for, Kenny. Her only brother, my only sister. She won to set me free in 2001.
Betty showed the world, I was a wrongfully incarcerated brother.
The sad part is I died, six months later, enjoying whatever little life I had left. 
So I leave this poem to show, my Betty, I appreciate everything, and
give you my last thoughts. With a kiss. Love Kenny! 
A wrongfully incarcerated brother.


Details | Free verse | |

The Taj mahal-w

If one goes on compressing everything
In one’s own self,
How one is going to prosper?
This selfishness could be self-killing.

Make the others laugh,
Laugh and be happy.
Extend your happiness
Make everyone happy.

Shahjahan built the Taj Mahal,
One of the seven wonders,
To Make Mumtaz, his wife
And mankind happy to look at.

================================
Seventh place winner in
Contest: What is civility to you


Details | Free verse | |

HER HERITAGE

HIStory Father

HERitage Mother!


Details | Free verse | |

The Same Reservation Road

I walk through the reservation valley of alcoholic death/ 
I fear no darkness among my own for the light breathes life on its own through my every breath/ I can no longer fit in for I need to stand out above the rest/
 I can no longer follow, I got to be the host of my own because Im tired of being the guest/
 
I want to be the writer I dont want to be the reader/ 
I want to be the artist with the brush, I want to create I want to finally be my own leader/
 I want to be able to follow society's rules because I am tired of being a cheater/
 I want to be the supplier because Im tired of being the seeker/ 

I guess life is what I make it/ Forgive less as much as I still continue to forsake it/
 My life is just a jolt but at times I feel death shake it/ Grab my emotions by the reins and straight earthquake it/ I try and fix my problems until someone comes by and breaks it/
 but this is my time because Im still young so this young opportunity in life I must Take it.
 
I got to hold my head held high from being low/ 
I got to stay lost until I find my own being my purpose of another young lost soul/
 I cannot stop because Im too tired of staying stuck I must stay on go/ 
This my life now I know it my story waiting to be patiently told/ 
This my life now I got to let it un fold/ Let it slowly but surely grow/ 
Im just a hidden bomb waiting for my poetry to blow/ 
EVERYTHING I DID OR DO IN LIFE NOW IS SOMETHING I CHOSE? 
I GOTTA CHANGE BECAUSE I JUST CANT KEEP WALKING THE SAME RESERVATION ROAD.


Details | Free verse | |

crossfire

It began as a lovely September, 2001,  at least, it should have been.....
somewhere lost in the crossfire, between summer and fall
days growing short, and evenings long

But, things are warped into a sense of surreal.  What was seen, can it be real?
It's as if bifocals are mixed in a bin, out of focus, glossed over with grim

Someone lets me borrow a broken pencil,  I find paper blowing in the acrid wind
my fingers shake with tensile fear....and, I write a goodbye.. I don't know why......

The city, an ediface in shades of gray stone, smoke, rubble and ash,
littered streets, silent people, crying people, screaming people in fright
A playbill shouts, "LIVE!  Mandy Patinkin Concert - The Neil Simon Theater",
ripped, and frayed around the edge...blowing into my face, .... now in my hand
How strange....we were there........was that just last night?

It began as a lovely September, 200l, or it should have been.....

Sirens, shattered concrete,  sidewalks, shepherding the living into  
the arms of someone, or maybe, .... into the arms of no one 
Someone is borrowing a cell phone, ...  there is smell of burnt sulfer
Bridges, crosswalks, that will take them back into calamity, .. our new reality

Someone lends me a broken pencil,  I find paper blowing in the acrid wind
I write a goodbye...  I don't know why......

It began as a lovely September, 2001, or it should have been....




_____________________
10/3/14
For The Challenge "Chopped"
Sponsored By Craig Cornish


Details | Free verse | |

LET THE SYMBOL STAND

A circle of harmony, symbolizing the
Idealism of peace,
In this world of troubling times, 
We do lean against it's inner bars,
For comforts sake alone.
Let us turn a new page, my friend
In history no more black ink, 
But a greener color a weaved lore wreath,
For the dawning of an age of 
Enlightenment.
Can one hear mother natures voice calling,
It is time for the Eco revolution to begin,
So let us join together and save our world.
Let the winds of change blow free,
What a better symbol to represent,
Than that of peace, waving in open
Air, captured in the morning breeze.
Flower power's generation has come of age,
Dig out those tie-die T-shirts and
Let us represent not with voices,
But with action. 
Light the torch of freedom again,
It's flame needs new kindling,
Stoke it's sacred embers once more,
And allow the modern world to
Know we are American, the country
Illuminating a greener planet. 
By example shall the United States
Stand tall, or fall by natural disaster's
After shock.
The global unity of the brethren, of
Mankind can make a difference,
Let our inspiration be our children,
The future generation, inheritance
Should be something worth the leaving
Of it behind.
A legacy called pride, on a green planet,
Proud of my kindred called humanity,
Let our youth hold their heads up high,
Not low in shame.
Allow the age of peace to stand for
Something meaningful, I'll give the sign
What about you?

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN





 





Details | Free verse | |

Dear all women, You made me write again and again

Dear all women, You made me write again and again
Not about beauty, not about beasts, but about my self
And the origin of my silence, snakes, silos and stillness
How much ever fast I ran, you caved my self, selflessly

I searched your depths in my gaze, in your glance, in our trance
But all fell out of shape, like a gazoid, like a river that speaks for itself
Your language of love, your symbols of seduction, your systems of life
These words may be pending for a long time, long due or long rustic

Poems are written, lost and left behind, same like the river of leaves
That gets rotten in the bread of brown grey wooden ground
I saw many roots, hanging in the wretched skins of my arms
I sketched wrecked ships of my golden past
Poems to pencils, Words to Worms, Purple to Pupil
All are an act of Engines of growth through the Pictures of life

Many roads covered, from love to lust, dream to desire
Arrogance to ambivalence, words to willows, papers to carbon capacitors
I still shiver when a pale glass window opens in front of me

A paper cup and a torus of ladders, they came back in time
And I stood by their wishes, their long beards, their stale wishes
Their history melt before mine, though I am alone, and they wander in mine
I have their fight in my mirrors, the mirrors that I name, call, scream and spit my gaze 
And I know that they never shapes up itself

Dear all woman, I borrow your silence, your strength and your sarcasm
On my ways, On my days, On my rays, On my wooden willows of whims and wickedness

***********


Details | Free verse | |

The Lynchings on Fox News


I’ve seen black sheep set in Pongola grass

Within pallid seas, differed, 

Like black buttons on a white cotton suit;

Sheep are color blind.

A bee is fine-looking,

But there’s fire in its ass.

Can the wild goat trust

The adder with inviting pelt?

Did Emmitt Till paint changes

With his blood in cotton picking towns;

The blood that called from Mississippi, 

Like Abel’s blood calling from the ground.

Death had a voice, a voice in the wind,

The wind that walked north-west

And brought a microscope

For John Public to see

How inferior to dogs we are.

As a child, I played

Ring-around-the-roses

Until I saw “Rosewood”

And heard the drums

Beaten like Rodney King, 

And the heartbeat of Cojoe

And Nanny racing

Towards the mountain of the devil,

To escape the cotton fields.

The drums are always talking.

The old south is alive and kicking high.

This is no Elvis tale. Exhume the body,

See with your own eyeballs.

No DNA can confirm

That Jim Crow is dead.

Jim Crow has a roost on Fox News.

He’s always crowing,

Whipped up by the “boy”

In the WHITE house.

How much can you see

If you look from the outside?

I’ve seen it even in REM sleep,

Even when I dream of roasted breadfruit,

Jockato in coconut milk, and Chinese geisha;

Willie Lynch is a man breathing

The smog-filled air in Washington.

In 1955, Money was the root of the evil,

And ’68 Memphis was the cross 

Of the sacrificial lamb,

But these days men are lynched

In broad day light.

String up, dangling

Like papa's khakis  floating

In breeze walking the orange glen.

All eyes should see our opinion of them.

Today we’re civilize, 

And Catholicism is not voodoo.

We no longer use rope,

Our tongues do a fine job.

Like Mutabaruka,

I have no color problem;

Everything is black to me,

As black as Sarah’s view of the motherland

(It’s not too vital for her to learn).

If blue skies

Cried acid,

And wash the dark color

From this portrait,

I would still be black,

As black as tar.

It’s in my blood. 



 


Details | Free verse | |

King Arthur

King Arthur

Pendragon a boy of fifteen unknown
But of Merlin about the accord
Shrouding Arthur's rightful identity: King Uther's
Son. Upon King Uther's demise England
Needed a Sovereign...one prophesied in
Times of dragons...a great upholding
Savior. Albeit Nobles and Knights aspiring
Crown and Kingdom attempted conspicuous acquisitions
Failing in their efforts. So it was on 
Christmas Eve that Arthur came about
Needing a sword. Espying the one
Stuck in stone availed the iron...
Beginning eternal legends of King Arthur...

deborah burch
02.17.2013

For David's contest


Details | Free verse | |

Color Blindness

Oh, you are so wise
judging with your eyes
what you see
merely a figure
something to despise.

Oh, you are so sympathetic
kind to those who seem pathetic
If you could look beyond skin 
you'd see a soul free of sin.

Oh, you are so kind
living with closed eyes
judging all mankind
If only we were color blind.


Details | Free verse | |

THE HARLEY DAVIDSON MOTORCYCLE

Engraved in chromes steel, is benedictions creed
The road warrior's born to be free mentality,
A legacy's name embossed in history, behold
The American Harley Davidson Motorcycle. 
Fires hell bound creation, blazing down the
Interstates two lane highway, feasting upon
The concrete and asphalt jungle, it lives to be driven,
And is driven to live.
Emerging from brimstone's smoke, and hails
Lightning flash, a two wheeled vehicle of deliverance,
Cuts the wild heart in half, releasing mankind's
Inner beast setting it free, unto the open roads
Badlands, of ultimate abandonment to freedom's row.
The rebel unforgiven,thus follows the lost by ways
Seeking liberation’s untamed spiritual knowledge.
Held firmly beneath the wings of the American eagle, and
Draped within the standard most sacred
Under the red, white, and blue flag, of the U.S.A. 
A living entity, releasing society's inhibitions,
At the sound of it's mighty roar, a freed lone wolf,
Racing against the winds of the restless spirit.
The leather jacket's brotherhood, symbolizing
A grand belief in the declaration of independence,
That all men are created equal, and shall have the
God given right, to seek true freedom's liberty at will.
These are the modern cowboy desperado's,
 Riding upon dual engines of power,
Time bandits whom trust in God and country alone.
A stampers anvil strikes in thunders rage, 
Melting quick silver, speeds downwards
 Into a symbolic mold, leaving behind tradition's
Birthmark,  and the Harley Davidson symbol
 Is born.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


 


 











  


  



 

 








 


 











  


  


Details | Free verse | |

The soldier, the war, and I

The soldier, the war, and I


Today I am home and thinking to my self..
What would I be doing if I had a soldier coming home to me and my family?
What would I be doing if I was the soldier looking to going home to my family?
And then, I look back at all the years passed since this last war..

Many children have grown to become men, Others have grown to become soldiers
Where would I be if I had gone to the war and fought for my country?
Where would I be if I had gone and came back safely?
Where would I be if I had not gone at all because I was not qualified to go?
Would I be with my family or in a hospital injured?
Would I be standing proud, and laughing with my friends and family?
Or would I be dead, as I never got to come back?

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
Thinking of all of those brave soldiers, children still
Who are out there, suffering.. And some ill

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
How many woman are crying because of their gone loved ones
How many men are crying for their loved and missed ones
How many children are fatherless or motherless, or both!

And at the end I stop. I think no more..
I am grateful for the things I have, 
I am grateful for the people who surround me...
And I am sure grateful to never have gone to a war; yet, 
I sure appreciate the thoughts, courage, life, and suffering
Of all of those who have been touched by it.


Details | Free verse | |

The Drone

 You use it every day.
 It is a basic part of life now.
 Maybe it’s the flicker of the radio
 Or the buzz of a computer.
 It is used every day to make our lives simpler and less stressful. 
 Is it really helping us though?
 It does make our life simpler
 But is this a downward spiral into emotionless and effortless life?
 A life where instead of real soldiers with real emotions
 are sent to fight,
 A drone controlled by someone at a computer is used to kill innocent civilians. 
 The drone is emotionless.
 No compassion for other beings and no feeling of guilt or regret.
 This is the future,
 an emotionless drone controlled by someone at a computer. 


Details | Free verse | |

the gravity that pulled all of this together

                                           the star dust in your soul
                                                      amazes me
                                         it spills between my fingers
                                              between my synapses
                                                      unto ground 
                                                      made of air

                                         i see the places i have been 
                                         and the places i need to go
                                             when i lay witness to
                                           the star dust in your soul

                                                  it's all consuming 
                                                       the big bang
                                                    within the brain

                                                     just to observe
                                                    your effulgence
                             the nimbus that crowns your lovely head

                                                        this is worth
                                              the 5 or 6 billion years
                                                    i've been waiting


Details | Free verse | |

THE LIGHT HOUSE

THE LIGHT HOUSE

The shimmering white beacon off the shores
Of Marble-head, let it's flickering light shine again,
In restorations amber glow of hope.
For are we not the custodians of our own history.
Allow us to relight the spark, igniting the flames
Kindling, a tinderbox of explosive force,
To expose our historical past for others to enjoy.
Than shall we not pass the torch forward.
It is up to us, to save legacy's heritage,
For the future generations to come.
Crumbling monument’s cry out to be
Remembered, times cruel weathering, does
Ascend tearing at the walls of mortar,
And chipping at the layers of paint.
Can we not lend a helping hand, to aid in
Such a worthy cause, to preserve our past.
Allow us as human beings, the keepers of
The lighthouse, to fuel the fire for preservation.
Let us leave a historical landmark, a piece of
The past worthy of saving, to be restored.
Hand-N-Hand, brick by brick, layers of
Humanities historical records need
Preservation reclamation.
It is a proclamations that should be heard,
For prosperity's sake alone.
Rise up Toledo-ans, see the torch light from
Afar distant island, let not this flame be
Stamped out, or fade away.
No not here in the grand state of Ohio,
In the light house, off Sandusky Bay,
Shall it's rays of brilliance shine again.
Against the Lake Erie waters, standing
Tall, as a beacons light of hope,
For future generations to come.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN








Details | Free verse | |

The Russian Palace

Far from harsh reality
Of cruel peasant life
Gilded surroundings
Of smooth parquet floors
Damask-lined walls
Crystal chandeliers
The background music of
Imperial fountains
Soothed the nobility at Peterhof
St. Peterburg's bow to Versailles;
Carriages and troikas 
Moved elegantly, smartly 
Conveying crowned heads
Seeking favor from the tsar
In a great hall now guarded
By old Russian babas
Nodding, fighting sleep
As they glare at the tourists.



Details | Free verse | |

I Wish

I WISH

That i did not have to see people on the streets
with no home, food
or even water or money to live on.

I WISH

I could be in a band and be all i can be
like the birds and the bees
and how they fly so freely

I WISH

That her heart wouldnt be broken and maybe if he loved her
she wouldnt have died she would have lived forever in his arms

I WISH

That everyone could get along and that we all could be at peace, maybe the war would end 
and the sound of music can play again

I WISH

that her or his bully would see if they keep up all this hurt and fear that they put on someone 
else by huritng them will soon end the world in sadness

AND I WISH,

My art could sing like the lyrics of a song
and that everyone could see the art teens draw from there own hearts
and there bleeding minds of there souls.


Details | Free verse | |

The London Dead End

Tis a hallowed place...
This cobbled maze of alleyways
Which bond these rat infested streets
Yet, gas lamps lit, stand betwixt the corners
And lone Bobbies patrol beneath their feet

London,
A littering city of homeless ashes
Falls shameful underneath the moon’s pathetic light
The darkness is the seductress... soon to be accomplice
As the hooligans, once again reanimate in mist of twilight

Scruff tooth kings of domains, self proclaimed
The dagger and a pocket flask, two most closely guarded friends
And in the dank corner pitch kingdom, we anticipate 
From a realm dubbed “The London Dead End”

Lush stumblers...
Streetwalkers or simply naïve
Entry here, our law says you must pay the toll 
Or pay the piper before you leave

I partake of liquid courage
And then I set my blade
To foot falls around corners this way come…
Among this lonely blackened place...

This maze…
Of streets and alleyways…
Paved over each eve with lost shadows
Never again... to witness a morning sun


Details | Free verse | |

My Nine-Eleven

ten years ago today
I had
two parents I called
when the second plane
had crashed 
into the second tower
we shared
the impact of that
horror we could not
comprehend

ten years ago today
I had
a friend who called
when the first tower
had collapsed 
after from the towers
people had jumped
for an easier death
we shared
the sensations of awe

ten years ago today
I had
students speechless
when the Trade Centre 
had gone
on the first day after
the terrorist attacks 
we shared 
impressions with the
vocabulary I provided

today ten years after  
I have
not any parents
not that friend
not any students
to share
the horror
the sensations
the impressions
I have now


Details | Free verse | |

A Letter To My Ex

You had me at hello but then 
Something happened in which you let go.
We use to love talking to each other day and night Because there were never any fights.
But now I see that all the things 
You once told me aren’t true.
About how much you love me and 
The things you will never do.
When we talked there was constant laughter
But now it’s like we no longer have anything 
To say to each other.
I thought you were what I wanted in a man 
But I believe I was wrong.
You send them random messages where
You play with my mind and tell me all the things
I want to hear but now, they place fear.
Fear in my heart and mind as if you are doing you 
And is no longer mine.
As I think about the things we could’ve 
Had I’m kinda glad. 
You use to run through my mind 24/7 
But that’s no more.
I feel that you never really cared about me
And now I see.
I know you have school and football to deal with 
But that was never a problem before.
Now, that you no longer make time for me,
I constantly talk to someone that actually listens
To me and enjoys hearing my voice 
And the things I say.
I know you say that your feelings for me are real
But it’s not what I feel.
You constantly call me your
“babymama” but never your
“girl” or “lady”.
But hey you don’t need to because
The things you’re not doing that you promised
Someone else is.


Details | Free verse | |

Slavery

In the darks of yonder Thine eyes like bats Blinded by vanity Vanity of thine fathers Savages we become Deep within thy dungeons Brothers we become Dreams of freedom we see Freedom not of chains down Freedom for respect of lifes Freedom is all we sing Freedom is all we seek In a land strange to ye Animals ye become The whip is thy language Torture thy comrade Death becomes order of the day Sleep is thine mothers.


Details | Free verse | |

In the Hands of the Weaver - anyi

The air is heavy like a dirty woolen blanket
each colorful strand pulled through the warp.
Horns blare and traffic skids and screeches
as unborn accidents are aborted 
by fancy-pants cops.

The city slickers in their posh clothes
zip along toward the outskirts 
avoiding those in dirndl-shaped, Polleras skirts
and Monteras hats, as if ashamed,
either of their own roots, or of the neglect.

The road to El Salvador* is long
weaving along rough pacific shore lines
wefting past fishing villages, 
and cement factories with tangerine groves, 
each lane bringing the colors of modern life.
The oranges, red and pinks of fine fabric repeated
in on the metal surfaces of trucks, buses, and motor cabs.
Each person’s destiny pulled and pushed 
by the action of man, earth and tide
forward, ever forward..through 
the dunes of Lima’s desert.

The invaders hug the hillside,
thousands upon thousands, of rural poor,
driven from the teat of the mother by earth quakes
and the terror caused by The Shining Path.*
Mao lives on in the upheaval caused by his ideology.
Yet, so does ayni*, the helping hand of neighbor,
the brown-skinned hand, more used 
to the bobbin than the gun. 
Here they have come in oneness
a finished soul on a back-strap loom,
dyed and drying in the heat 
of Lima’s desert
they bloom. 


*El Salvador- a shanty-town 45 min outside of Lima
with 350,000 residents. This community was nominated
for a Nobel Peace Prize in 1986 excellence 
in social work and community growth

**Shining Path-The Communist Party of Peru
is a Maoist terrorist organization in Peru.[

*** ayni- Quechua culture is centered upon community
and mutual help (“ayni”). Their social system is based 
on the principle of reciprocity: helping a neighbor 
to be helped in return.


Details | Free verse | |

Bang A Gong

Who the hell rings bells anymore
whether in a Capitalist society, a Theocracy, an Oligarchy,
or a Dictatorship

	the DING has sure been taken out of the
	rama dama ding dong

No ones home, the juries out
	G-d is dead?
	Shell, Chevron and Texaco
	have reduced the life expectancy of people in the Niger delta
		to 50 years ......

The Oil companies are fracking the hell
out of the water table ....from here to Canada and back
and guess what..then they can up the price of 
BOTH oil and FRESH? water??

Who are the bell ringers [Ask Jessica Ernst how the water is in her well?]
	Where are the bell ringers [hmmm, Canada?]
		[Strangled in the nooses of corrupt governments]

DO say! Do doubt! Do think....

Take a whistle blower home for dinner!

Blinded by the stars [lulled into limbo by Flamingo dancers]
	 living vicariously ..voyeurs
		peeping through the key holes of arse-holes
Pull yourselves UP..OUT, declare COMMIT
	re-remember what it means 
	to have YOUR WORD mean something
		re-remember what it means to be a friend.

Free yourself, for no one else will.
Fallacies RING true to the disempowered
	there DONGs removed, their clappers plucked

Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll was the mantra
of MY age, and HELL NO I WON'T GO
	our calling card.




*Thank you to my muse and friend Rueben O.
for inciting this ancient ding-dong :) 
Please read his excellent write [Didn't Don't]


Details | Free verse | |

A battered old saucepan

It may seem strange to write about a battered old saucepan
but this was no ordinary one 
it sprung a leak the other day
sadly without thinking
I threw it away
and now it's gone.

It had been in my family
before I was born
and it was used every day
it broke my heart after
to throw it away.

For all the delicious soups goulash and past
it had contained
the mouth watering delectable smells
from the kitchen
the shouts from my parents

''Come on now set the table dinners made''.

All the red hot broths and porridge we'd scoff
before school on a winters day
all the laughs tears and conversations around
the dinner table before it was was washed
and put away.

It was more than a simple saucepan
because it held a lot of family memories
now my parents sadly passed away
it was one of the last things to remind me
of how things used to be
and mow I have to buy a new one
and accept it's demise
like my family
it's gone forever.

Peter Dome.copyright.2012.


Details | Free verse | |

In a word So

There's a point blank 
Just south of Soulsville
where common pit desires exude 
extreme ego ratios rotating on human gutlike
socioshadow experientials. Slow slug immuno
pain gestures cloud coilshaped reason
with limited intellirespect ids--only
that lonely by product of talking to
the mime chip on your shoulder clasped
hands in a froth frame of zero quotient
personality tolerance. Socioscan the fluid
flawed internoschism and plug yourself
into those autothoughts so socioprevelant
as to walk away and call it a draw day. Never
the tweens shall resolve. Sharp footsteps
with no meaning will evercast jaded overtone half 
with tongues that bite their own limplip droppings
wag wash in cumulative deceit doings.
Drag your dill depths with an ether 
grappling hook and sociosoothe your
infection---massage your emo entrails
with an existential ease of a 
junk jolt to colon ize another
fecal space of cleansed renewal--like ripping
the tape from a well wound
dancing scales up and down
to a new brainbeating--livid at living
fax a look outside your self and erase
your exit embarassment for a beholding
chance at adding a new socioscore to your
puss life tax deduction. What a rectal return on your
individual invest mint-- ass the rich get raunchier 
the poor prey prime  evil----sign here, please.


Details | Free verse | |

divine intervention of nothing to live for

what do you do for a living super soldier?
you are paid to go to another country and kill people you dont even know
what do you do for a living head doctor?
you are paid to lie about mental health, and continue to carry out your torture
what are you paid to do journalist?
write slanted reviews as you tear apart the lives of good people
what are you paid for mr officer?
hide the truth of who the real victoms are and lie on tv so the journalists dont have 
to

what have i been doing for a living?
nothing, ive been too busy
scrambling away from you
job to job
city to city to get away from being victomised again

whats it like to have no reason to live you ask?
i would die to prevent what you have been doing to me

whats it like to have your soldiers go to war for another country
to end terrorism, as you are being terrorised, reaching out daily.
its been like being stalked by a serial killer while your rich and famous
inspire him with plots and getaway plans in their television and movies
full of hatespeach they think is funny

whats it like to to watch your people die to help someone who just cried wolf
whats it like to play the victom constantly
you dont have a monopoly of hardship and world tragedy
you weild it like a weapon of lies and gameshows
to practice your manipulation techniques

what do you do for a living amnesty international?
link your information to the pentagon to assist your allies in war
by killing the people who torture or people like myself
before you get caught....or do you just book yourselves
front row seats to your sick little games

in a situation of nonstop constant no brainers
the lies of you 700 people is a war crime of conspiracy
no wonder you consider blowing your head off
after the realisation, a no brainer situation
and your still thinking

the world revolves around the simplest things
i would kill people like you for a penny
to buy the divine intervention of nothing to live for

apparantly im not going to accept the fact
that after your game of making me miserable
im just going to have to wait to be murdered
im not going to accept that
and i will kill people like you for free

when you have no right to your own person as a human being
when your pets have more rights than you do
when soo many people use stuck on stupid
as their subtle excuses
they are the enemy realised
it is your turn to die in the streets of society
since nothing changes anything
now go die


Details | Free verse | |

Trail of Tears - Indians forced on one thousand mile march

we have lost the meteoric 
icy-blue, sky-fire 
above the heated planetary core 
of a thousand covered suns 
in the center of oblivion 

where confluence 
carries hope 
in warm symbiont souls 
and lambs 
wear ragged fleece - 
iconoclastic mediocrity 

reflective fables 
of future past history 
unlocked - foretold 
the shamanistic path 
of return 
through stalagmite tunnels 
would lead our spirits home 

as tribal songs retreat 
oppression 
ever-present present past, 
shaman seer 
resurrected spirit healers 

weeping, weeping, 
weeping, 
for the buffalo 
bitter flood of salty tears 

blood of man 
soaks the trail with broken souls 
man and beast, stink and sweat, 
co-mingled 
bathe in single sacred tear 

underneath a future vision 
four white devil idol faces 

spirit sacrilege 
breathing devil breath 
upon the sacred hills of black and gold 

the ancients from the sky 
watch and weep 

and still dust stirs 
forty thousand spirit feet 
walking, winding, wending, 
in a never ending line 

worn and torn, shoeless feet, 
blistered toes to blistered souls 

trail of fear, 
women wailing, pain prevailing, 
psychic suicides and tribal death 
takes one final breath ` 

 


Details | Free verse | |

Cordoba

Let us travel back in Time
To Spain in the 10th Century
The Wondrous City
Of Cordoba

Under the Caliph, the Moors are
Most Enlightened
Living in Harmony 
With the 
Christian and Jewish
Populations

Toleration the Motto
Of that Day
Cordoba Grew
Great Cultural, Political,
Financial and Economic
Centre

Largest City in the World

Universities, Libraries
Advancements in Medicine
Mathematics and
Astronomy

Sadly this ended with
The Conquest of 
Cordoba
By
King Ferdinand in
1236

Surely if a model of
Peace and Harmony can exist in the Past
It can no doubt be revisited

History does Repeat Itself
And that Fact
Gives 
Us
Hope

April 28th, 2013
For Russell Sivey's Contest on Enlightenment, Hope, and Harmony


Details | Free verse | |

New Tenant

Hmmm...
this one ain't as weighty
and oooh!!...
peach sheets!
smells pretty good and
feel soft too.
I hope she doesn't fart 
like the last one.
Choked me to death he did!
Oh...no pun intended!
Brought her own pillows too,
teddy bears
A real girly girl this one
She smells like a baby...
I like her!
She gives me a workout!
She's always moving.
Always seem to have visitors...
the docs stay quite a while here too...
She laughs a lot...that's good
Haven't had many laughers
Two surgeries and still moving...
Wow!
She cried a few times
I was her support
Had to...she smelt good! :-)
Was there for the tests,
probes, baths...
she did ok then!
Was there for the Pop's going
...slept like a baby!!
Hmmm...
I'm being stripped!
No more baby soft.
Uuuuuffff....man you is a big fella
....Great you fart!!


Details | Free verse | |

Gladiatorum

Pandemonium fills the arena
the cries of the masses
echoes through the air like roaring lions...

Cheering to incite the favor
of the gods
while the elder nobles
wave in silent indignation...

The gladiators
face the emperor,

"Hail, Caesar
those who about to die salute you"

The emperor raising a finger,
"Fair you well"

Clash of shield and swords
protecting flowing wounds
prolonging their lives...

Blood flowing onto sand
red blood in the sun
forming putrid pools...

Gladiatorum
for the glory of empire
and you Caesar,
are you not entertained?
~ ~


Details | Free verse | |

JULY - 1969 - Moon landing

JULY 1969 – Moon landing

There are no wolves
Astir tonight
To chill our fireside man
 
The wolves are gone
Are northward gone
From a disenchanted land

From where Maid Moon
Who winked at dreams
Has lost her apple eyes

Oh, someone’s plucked
The saucy dish
From out a virgin sky

Her lover’s cool
Bacterial breath
Has blued the Maid’s gold cheeks
	-
And wolves are gone
To howl for her
From woods and mountain peaks





Details | Free verse | |

I don't remember or crave

I remember when, we would yakkety-yak, so many hours on the phone.
Feeling so almighty, not wanting to end our conversations.
My every brain-work, was always you. 
Your name, kept going threw my mind.

Now, we never talk.
We email each other like strangers. 
Then, not everyday.

Our lives have changed so much. 
To the point, were our friendship isn't there.
My heart doesn't skip a beat anymore.
Instead, it seems to beat, very slow.
Causing physical pain, as I hold my chest.

Now!

I don't like hearing your name or seeing it spelled.
Remembering when, we would crave to see each other.
Hold each other, so much.
Not wanting to be apart.
Always laughing and smiling.
Eating has one.
Remembering, the stare we had.
We couldn't keep our eyes off our flesh.
Our nights, seemed lonely without our touch.

Now!

We don't crave, or see each other.
We never laugh or smile.
We never eat together.
Now our hands don't touch.
The sad part is, I could care less.
Care less on wanting it back.
I don't miss it or need it.
For it's you, I can thank.

You gave me the strength, to leave you.
You gave me the strength, to forget about you.
You gave me the strength, to erase our memories.
All , because you gave up.
Gave up on, our touch.
Gave up on, our smiles.
Gave up on, our laughter.
Gave up on me.

Me!

Your wife!
 
	


Details | Free verse | |

Scars Left Behind

It is hard not to trace back 
All those memories
Which you kept behind you 
While you were dreaming in your trip.
Those long moments when you grieved
Those short moments when you breath’d.
From here I can hear some voices of your trip
From there there were no choices in your grip.
Just listen to those immense fragile noises:
When you kept crying,
Laughing, trying and maybe dying
Perhaps I was you— when you were lying
To your thinghood...!

Womanhood is like Robin Hood—
It is always chased in the wood.
Many trees are cut off without roots,
And shall never give birth to the last roots.

When the sun goes down
I pretend to be sad,
So that my night dreams
Are filled of stars instead.

When the moon goes up
I play the role of the dead—
When the moon goes up
I close my eyes and go to bed 
When the moon goes up
I beat my heart and feel so sad
Is there any way to see the moon smile without dread?


Yasser Rhimi


Details | Free verse | |

r-Evolver - Dec 8th, 1980

Sirens screamed, their wails glancing off stately sisters
standing silently - standing tall amongst the debris,
their attire of stone, steel and glass showing wear.
Yet they stood with pride and quiet courtesy,
watching the flashing lights speed past below.


This 5 year-old was too naive to understand at the time.
Who was shot? Who is he? Why?

And the adult chatter sounded foreign,
filled with strange, puzzling words.


"Well, he had it coming, what with all the debauchery and hedonism.
Always fried out of his mind, preaching peace like some messiah,
trying to redeem his former chauvinist, violent ways.
Sit-ins, smoke-ins, drop-ins, sleep-ins - how many sins?
Ya just knew some loony fanatic was gunning for him."


10 years later, listening to "Blackbird" while coming down
from a horridly strong fever, the other songs suddenly all made sense-
a poor white boy from the 'Queen's Country',
facing abandonment issues, had bridged the yawning gap
between class and race, building from the Black man's blues.


-r.Evolver-


"Let's give peace a chance....blend all the colours together
into one shining light - imagine."


After the victim was rushed to Roosevelt Hospital,
NYCPD officers confronted Mark David Chapman
who was reading passages aloud from J.D. Salinger's,
"The Catcher In The Rye".


"Do you know what you just did!?"

"Yes, I shot John Lennon."

"Why would you do that!?"

"Mr. Lennon was a phony. I am a catcher in the rye,
stopping children from going over the cliff."
____


Well then, 'Mr. Catcher In The Rye',
you saw yourself as a saviour waiting on a rye-covered edge,
ready to stop the children from falling off the precipice of John.
Oh, what a righteous pledge.

But John was still a child himself, yet you shot him in the back 4 times
with hollow-points from a .38 special revolver.
Did he not deserve to be saved from falling over a cliff?
Was this selective salvation?

And what was your grandiose plan?
Save the children from the precipice that was John,
instead leading them towards a valley 
filled with cloned, little piggies bathing in fountains of blood?


"....and Rocky Raccoon collapsed in the corner....
now Rocky Raccoon he fell back in his room
only to find Gideon's Bible.

Gideon checked out and he left it no doubt
to help out with good Rocky's revival."

"Give peace a chance - imagine."

"All your life 
you were waiting for this moment to arise."


-r.Evolver-


Details | Free verse | |

Sacred Passage

God of light conquer my fear from within

An eclipse of the sun has tainted my inner vision
Who are we to have believed yet achieved
Some are even caught in its pickle;
Stranded as two love birds caught in a fickle

Sacred Passage
The uniting of two hearts so far away we will pray
God of heaven take delight on my poetry
Look highly favorable amidst the summoned truth

Like a lost carriage we take our flight away

Far from the lost brevity in exchange of honesty
The silence has etched its memory in our brains
Shattered by the moment of upheaval and then,
Sacred Passage;

We look humbly then often deeper then ever before


In exchange of honesty its just Studio 54?


Details | Free verse | |

End of Times

                                 
                    The End of Times is coming.
                   You can feel it in your bones.
              Floods, earthquakes, and tsunamis…
                      Are only the first to show.
                         Where will you hide? 
                 When the plagues come around?
                    Salvation will be hard to find,
                          For those earthbound.

                               2012 is coming
                          Is it fact or is it myth?
           The Earth’s weather patterns are changing.
                         Fossils are everywhere
                            Will we be stronger?
                            Or in the rocks grip?




Details | Free verse | |

I tell a tale of One

I tell a tale of  one
Oh what a brave soldier
In thrall all she saw was hope
Struggling for the wings to fly
while bonded with chains of pains
the world very calm for her
seeing what the future would be
she waited while depressed
What madness beheld her?
Why wouldn’t she take defeat?

I tell a tale of one
Oh victorious and strong
Crashing the foe with steel
Conquering with great ardor
She built her own people
With no enemies to feed on
Filled with joy they lived more
For the end to bondage has come
Who knew what would happen?
What would the future become?

I tell a tale of  one
land now noble and free
Our wings are spread in jubilation
Fifty years ago you soared and flew
Fifty years today we rise in riches
Your children now everywhere 
Singing to your golden jubilee
Dancing to the drums of success
Laughing to the healthy rhythm
Oh Nigeria at fifty.

I tell a tale of one
A shore that is full of soil
Beaming like the sun in dawn
Fifty years ago planted a seed
Fifty years today reaping it all
with peaceful practice of love 
together we stand as one
happy and fit everywhere
So our land be wealthy
Oh Nigeria at fifty.


Details | Free verse | |

THE SIBYL - CRONUS

Then Cronus, son of Heaven and Earth
    accepted steel    and cut the twain
Dead Earth descended low in sterile regions
    of the sundr'd Soul
And a cry went up from mortal'd man -
    "Great one    what hast thou done to us?"
A part of time is cut in twain
    repeating o'er and o'er the strain
And A begat him B    and B begat him C,
    and on    and on
The boredom of the turning ball    the reaching out
    the anguish'd call -
"Great Cronus    Son of Heav'n and Earth
    why hast thou done this thing to us?"l


Details | Free verse | |

I Hear A Symphonie { Vignette}

reconised as one of the greatest harpsichordist 
his sonates for flute and harpsichord remain
an attractive part of chamber music repertoire
with six string symphonies he had written for
baron von swieten and arbiter elegentium in vienna
music by cpe bach is often listed with a reference number
from the catalogue of his works by wotquenne {wq}





Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel
1714-1788

Can find his works at
Classics online .com



Entry For Brian Strand's FanFare Contest


Details | Free verse | |

An Editorial Review on Pronunciation

I felt my name slip off his tongue 
Before he even thought to consider 
Whether to pronounce it 
Ashanti Asante or Asanti 

Oh Queen Nanny, let them be 
Pitch black warriors 
made night their playground 
and pounced on trespassers 
How long boat rides led to new languages of blackness 
Afrocentric heroes making mockery out 
of zeroes with puffed up chests 
I guess I must tell him its spelt Asante 
Choice pronunciation of Ashanti, my father had his way 

There are warriors with spears etched out in my name 
So remember this phoneme correctly 
Not for the sake of me 
I do no regret this happening 
If it means I must teach myself again 
About tall trees in mountains 
And hidden languages in Acompong 
Maroons 

I remember how my father referred to his skin 
in escape of midnight, unseen and out of sight 
Burn down these buildings and leave traces of nothingness 
That’s what we do 
People of the blue mountains and mango season 
Die bare back as we came in 
Never looking back at those small things 
 

A S A N T E 
Protect and preserve this thing here 
Great Golden stool, I have you
Asantewaa can’t fight for me 
She’s been conquered 

But I am here in the essence of new beginnings 
And they can’t steal this empire
Osei Tutu now crowns me with these words 
This is my kingdom set in proverbs 
Great in spirit 
I guess that’s why I've always been hot tempered 
You can't rename me now 
No Saul to Paul or Jacob to Israel 
It's meant this way 
I have to live up to those brutal conquest 
and lead brigades to free the souls 
of a beaten down distinction 
Asante or Ashanti 
If you know your history 

I used to trip up on the slip up 
Of mispronunciation 
They saw something in the water 
Intricately braided hair 
and rage beating down freedom out of clouds 
Spirit of fighters never forsook my tongue 
Now I fight with things like cold stares and pens 
Markers, paper, cell phone, notepads 
Times new roman font in unsaved documents recovered

I feel a bit of shame as I remember middle school 
Seventh grade 
I decided to give up and let them name me 
I didn’t want to explain the accent on the e 
How I put it there for flare 
Kromanti languages losing power on my position 
couldn’t find me overseas

Now I pipe up to them 'speak correctly'
to buy back years of Africa's lost history
It’s me now behind fogs 
Standing invisible amidst nothingness 
I go back and am back to the position 
and election of my name 
A S A N T E 
Asante or Ashanti 
Don’t forget the accent on the e


Details | Free verse | |

The Castle

In the mist of the Scottish countryside
Where clouds touch the lofty hills
Stands a castle on a shores edge
Rocks and mortar laid by hand
Cobblestone pathway over the bridge
Centuries of footsteps preceded
Once kings and nobles walked in grace
Now is only one persons place
Out upon the loch winter would arrive
Cold wind and frozen ice  gather
The castle walls would keep out the frost
In spring  ice would jam up against the rock
As early heather  blooms upon the rocky shore
Winter left it's coat of white
As crocus and tulips now grasp the sun
Summer's new grass shoots come alive
To the rhythm of the warm winds
The seasons come and the seasons go
In all weather the castle remains firm
A landmark for centuries will stand
This castle made to withstand the test of time.


Details | Free verse | |

Straight From The Heart

That burning passion within
The unexplainable feelings you sense when they walk towards you
The loss of breath and the strangulation you feel gripping around your throat
Choking off every last bit of air you have left to your name
You feel like collapsing to your knees and crying
Wishing you had them back in your arms and running your fingures through their soft hair
You wish you could go back in time to re-live those treasuring moments of bitter sweetness
You can hear their voice echoing inside your head at night when your trying to relax
Your dreamless nights filled with tears and pain
You outstretch your hand beckoning, begging for them to come back
Memories sharp as daggers, peircing your flesh
As they look away from you eachtime
The warmth they gave you before is now gone
You feel like your body has become a corpse to rot forever
When you see then with another
You feel so betrayed and furious
Wanting them back more then anything
You would give up everything you had left just to let them know you cared and still hurt
You want so badly for them to just take the loneliness away
Nothing else can be done
Nothing else will work
Your lost
Your alone
Your scared
You cry for help but no one listens
You feel like dying
Even though they know that deep in your heart they still have that special mark
But they'll never know what they meant to you so you write these words Straight from the 
Heart.


Details | Free verse | |

My 60's Frisco

Strawberry flower
incense
breeze whispers
a smell
of indian print
curtains.
North Beach
musk perfumed oasis.

Wind chimes
tickle memory moment
flying down
Grant Street
breeze blowing
blaring Baez beat
on gawking tourists
whose crane necks
turn to see
Me
hugely pregnant.

Poignant ache
memory
through times fog
seeping under sills
fills
a world
bridging the Gate's
ancient groan
of Bela birth
and Brownie grave.

Miles 
of blue worlds
misty soft tears
meet a heart
overflowing
in a warm caress
for yesterday.


Details | Free verse | |

Little Red

Full Moon Brimming 
On A Hungry Wolf
Fire still burning 
Words are not enough

Red Riding Hood,
You stopped me where i stood.
The basket you held, looked so good,
I enticed...And you fell... 

In the woods... safe and sound
We could not believe what we had found
Me in denim... and you it lace

We understood, each other so very well
Full moon brimming over with light
Gazing into the eyes of the other

The twin to me, I did see, in You.
Be careful with my heart, my love.

My running shoes are unlaced for now,
So lean back and enjoy the ride.
Embrace all the laughter, our lives allow.

rlm


Details | Free verse | |

WINSTON CHURCHILL

In the foggy isle of Britannia, many men have sought
Out fortune and fame.
But one man's legacy remains, as steadfast as the walls
Of parliament, a single voice echos, thunders across historical
Reference, and it's meaning sound is crystal clear, We shall
Never surrender, it has become this man's epitaph, 
Behold the Prime Minster, Winston Churchill.
A stout figure head of reason, during a time
Of global madness, lighting the fuse of justice,
On an international stage.
 Awakening the old sleeping lions fury, it's roars sounding,
Crashed as a tidal wave, against the walls of ignorance’s
Injustice.
The British cannon's announced their coming, these
Fighters champion for freedom, and liberty, we will
Fight them by land or sea, and emerge victorious, 
This elder gentleman so did speak.
Harken young soldiers of the brave heart, our time is at hand,
Shall we not shake the fists of anger's vengeance at them.
For those whom hide beneath a blood stained flag,
A symbolic sign of purity, behold a nation's lie is exposed.
A stout figure head of reason, during a time
Of global madness, lighting the fuse of justice,
On an international stage.
 Awakening the old sleeping lions fury, it's roars sounding,
Crashed as a tidal wave, against the walls of ignorance’s
Injustice.
The British cannon's announced their coming, these
Fighters champions for freedom, and liberty, we will
Fight them by land or sea, and emerge victorious, 
This elder gentleman so did speak.
Harken young soldiers of the brave heart, our time is at hand,
Shall we not shake the fists of anger's vengeance at them,
Those hiding beneath a blood stained flag symbol of purity.
Hell's storm broke lose upon the distant land,
It's dark shroud blanket, relieved cruelties ugly offenses
Against humanity.
Did thus the world mourn their lost kindred, and the lion
Fell asleep once more, after shaking it's golden main free from,
The feathers of war.
In the annals of history, an old man sits beside a large lion,
Petting him until it rests at calms ease, lighting up a cigar,
Winston Churchill’s vision will not completely fade away,
For his words ring eternal, we shall never surrender.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

THE TRAIL OF THE GYPSIES

Nomadic tribes traveling along forgotten
Mountain passes.
A village built upon wooden wagon wheels.
A homeless nation searching for a homeland
That no longer exists.
People cast asunder at the four winds mercy,
Without roots safety line.
Cultural diversity an unexceptionable social, 
Barrier to non-conform to the societies norm.
Outcasts gypsies living on freedoms well worn
Road.
Dreaming of liberty's liberation from being
Nothing more then dusts children, drifting
As castaways upon hidden highways lost 
By ways.
Beneath moonlights luminous glow, a canvas
City comes alive.
In abandonment’s empty fields a flickering firer 
Burns at twilight’s midnight hour
Beyond no man's lands a nomadic people celebrate
A moments peace.
From those whom would destroy their way of
Life and religious beliefs.
Striking rosin to bow, the fiddler plays an ancient
Tune.
While voices sing of an easier time, a simpler 
Peaceful way once lived.
Mankind's kindred spirits wishing for a sanctuary,
Clinging to idealism, that one day they will find
A home at last.
Just a piece of earth all their own, to rest at peace,
Somewhere it does exist.
In such a world created by an everlasting being,
An Eden calls to them.
Until then the gypsy dance continues, and there
Voices shall be raised on high.
But at sunrise nothing is left but the cuts in the road,
From creaking wagon wheels.
And glitters dust left behind along with a lingering
Dreaming,
The echoing songs from a nomadic people, who belong
No where but the open plains.
God's lost lambs searching ever seeking freedoms road.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



.


Details | Free verse | |

Let Freedom Ring

-Another collab with Justin Connor-

The long struggle is over We fought hard, And now we have brought the birth of a new nation Where freedom reigns and lifts our spirits high We have shown the world That we do not need to be ruled by a tyrant far away That it is possible to be free from tyranny That we can successfully fight away a most powerful country Free from monarchal upheaval And greedy hearts of powerful men To branch off on our own To establish our own government A united nation! Strictly representing the people Not even the large debts from the war Can destroy our new, unified spirit Nothing can destroy the ensuring joy Of being alive and free Always standing Democracy is part of our life Freedom reigns! Because we have fought and died on this land, We have earned the right to be free And our brothers who have perished in honor for this blessing, Who have fought with all of their might till death, Our most brave brothers, Will be looking down on us with pride And stories of peace and freedom shall ease the minds of the injured Our stories will last for generations to come Many shall write books of our courage And poetry about our enduring freedom Our independence has been achieved We are the land of the free And the home of the brave!


Details | Free verse | |

Birthright Denied

morning sun, a newborn babe, exhales her first breath each dawn in mist daybreak’s kiss straddles the North Carolina and Tennessee line Cherokee Nation’s last reservation remains within a hazy, vaporous veil nearly two centuries crept past since 14,000 ill and hungry Cherokees trekked the Trail of Tears moving westward wearily to sparse lands that precluded hunting, farming by President Jackson’s ignoble decree many perished along the trail sacrificed to a selfish quest for gold travelers still witness indomitable spirits rising to life each night as mist fades with setting sun accusations of injustice echo through the Smoky Mountains to the tempo of tribal drums Native Americans reenact futile but peaceful efforts to keep their homes to remain one nation to survive to thrive as ancestors did scent of death ascends from sacred grounds woodlands that have forever lost their greenery now just cloudy scenery peaks that resurrect dreary history “reservation,” a trifling gesture from a selfish territorial invader speak to the spirits at sunset beckon them to keep their honorable legacy alive then feel damp anguish in foggy daybreak souls returning to the forest floor only to resurrect again when darkness drapes the mountains once more the curse the shame Smoky Mountains Cherokee birthright denied
*Written August 20, 2014


Details | Free verse | |

THE TUMBLEWEED LULLABY

Oh lord hear the lonesome cowboys lullaby, singing beneath
The vast prairie open sky.
Hush, do they not lull the restless cattle to sleep, by a soft
Undertones sweet melody.
Drifting plains men, singing of the sorrows broken hearted,
And dreaming visions of their beloved, they've left behind.
Guitar strumming minstrels, of the fire hearth, accented
By the lone harmonica, playing off in the distance
Amongst a sea of cows, and horses.
In harmonic rhythm is this grassroots orchestra, as the fiddler
Strikes up his bow to join in, and playing ever so gently along,
To harmony's rhythm.
On the rocky cliffs mixed in the sandy dunes, the heckling
Coyotes, give an eerie ambiance, to this old western chorus.
Do these desert whyly creatures, howl in perfections tune,
To the wrangler's musical beat, of these wide grassy expanses,
That they all call home.
The rattler shakes it's tail in defiance, against the munching
Prairie dog, whom got away at the last moment.
Listen closely to the sounds of the meadow-lands, does not the crickets,
And locusts, add a natural flavor by their clicking and chirping.
Near the rivers stream, as the winds do blow, along the waters edge,
Another elements assent, is bestowed by the forcing of the reeds, to
Bend hitting them against the hollow log, causing a thumping's,
Drumming, to this uniquest of bands.
As twilight's distant starlight, flickering in the vast
Blackness above, these rambling souls whom wander so.
Down these dusty trails long journey, yearn for nothing
More than to know the quite serenity, of their home
That seems so far away.
Let your music fill your emptiness, for one nights
Beautiful dream, and remember the memory as if it
Were real, a vivid vision of illusion, and rest
In complete bliss, good night my young
Cowboy of the open sky.


BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN






































































































































































Details | Free verse | |

Steampunked at Portmanteau

the Manitou heathen have sunken two of your majesty's king Rupert's ships                       a fierce battle with in minutes after a warning of shots fired by your ships                       the heathen technology far greater than your majesty has ever seen                                   even one heathen infantrymen equipped with a shiny silver                                                bow like device which can place a cannon size hole through the bow                              like dragons fire the intensity was devastating straight as an arrow                                     the fiery projectile about the same size                                                                        The canons and rifle men were of little use                                                                    for the heathen men appeared as grey wolves                                                                   like something from a mad Merlyn's vision then vanished before our eyes                        we have withdrawn to the safety of the seas and moving southerly                                     to hope a hidden cove while retreating we were hailed                                                     a voice reverberating all around us from some strange megaphone                                 the Manitou rise                                                                                                   seeing our plight we request your majesty orders king of Britannia		    -             we now fear upon seeing the Nouveau riche lands of these new borders


Details | Free verse | |

Death and Dying

The night Hunter S. Thompson,
blew his head off,
Toy Box Tomato Girl,
went Gonzo Geisha on me.
Abandoning the old man’s love,
for pure unadulterated orgy,
intoxicating arms and legs,
intertwining lyrical sighs,
with bi young black,
and blond hard bodies,
tango tongues sharing saliva.
I assume the blue black hue, 
of late night television,
as segregate candles,
was less exciting.					

The night Hunter S. Thompson,
shot a hole in his skull,		
Hemingway’s history, 
lay on his boney lap.
The running of the bulls,				
the crash in Castro’s Cuba,
the locking-up of papers,
the string of worldly wives,
aimless running away.
Toy Box Tomato Girl,
knew little of the artist  face.
Being just twenty two,
she had yet to embrace,
life’s joys and tragedies. 
Not quite able to end it all,
and not quite schooled, 
in T.V. light literature,
spontaneously she fled.


Details | Free verse | |

Flower Child's Lament

a “flower child” danced through life so many years ago cares were lost when she took a “toke” and “passed the pipe” around feeling “way cool” wishes for “peace” and “luv” she gave freely but “pigs” were her enemies even “flower power” couldn’t help her rise above the brutal force used on students at Kent State “Four dead in Ohio” became her mantra when the National Guard surrounded her campus fallout from Kent State spread nationwide “Gimme Shelter” from the storm at home while “Charlie” was pursued by draftees Vietnam, a place she had never seen, but the flower child’s spirit suffered each time a son or father was “sent home in a box” she wanted all to “live long and prosper” in a fantasy world where love bloomed like “Strawberry Fields” but the “flower child’s” petals fell as she grew older it was time to “get real” after all
*Entry for Craig Cornish’s “Talk That Way” contest. By Carolyn Devonshire about life in the 1970s


Details | Free verse | |

The Darkness at Noon

The light of day has been shut;
darkness has covered a quarter of the world;
they are here! the superior beings our ancestors called gods!
they have come to check the chess game of history,
they had left myriads of years back.

Divinity is all we are left with not to gamble.....


Details | Free verse | |

THE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS

What does this wintery holiday truly mean, called Christmas?
Is it the cost of a present, or if you get what is on your long
Extended wish list.
No, my friend it means so much more, spiritually, emotionally,
Loves magical wonderment lives within all beings, great and small.
Loved ones gather from far and near, sharing this uplifting gift, of
Good will and cheer.
Bright lights of glamor, shiny ribbons and bows, are nothing compared,
To the pure joy shared on Christmas morning, when the youngsters awake,
Running down stairs wondering if Santa Clause came.
Or to receive an unexpected gift, a visitor from a great distance,
Coming home after serving his country.
God bless our service man and women whom have given their best,
So we at home may remain free.
Heart in hand we honor these the best of us, whom represent our
Wondrous nation.
What lies beneath the sacred Christmas tree, means very little
It is just a price tag, with pretty paper wrapped around it.
Hugs and kisses from my grand kids, mean more to me,
Or their lovely drawings of snowmen scotch tape to the frig,
Rate the most valuable in this grandma eyes than silver chains
Of gold.
How does one measure his wealth, in dollar signs, or
Possession, nay it is judged by how much one is loved,
And gives love in return.
This is the true meaning of this holiday,
And so
I will honor Christmas in my heart,
And try to keep it all the year.
Always to be the best I can be, to those special,
People in my life, friends, family, and humanity
In general.
After all a smile, or a helping hand can go
A long way these day, just try it and you'll
Find out.
Merry Christmas to all, and remember
To always to pay it forward.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
 


Details | Free verse | |

The Unknown Legacy of Christ

When they all walked away
and he was dieing that day
he never stopped believing
he never doubted

maybe i was there beside him
hung on my own cross left to die
without a crown of thorns
without a spear in my side

maybe i was a follower
a family member
someone from a past life
haunted by visions and memories
that i know are true but aren't mine
lies they tell me
stigmatism of truth
mirrors of deception
confusions of everything
but i watched
we talked

he told me more than everything
it was the kings he gave him his power i sometimes think
because he never said
sacrifice me to god
so i can become one
it was the monarchy who hunted him down for vengeance and fame
he never said
i want to be sacrificed to mankind
it was the royalty who said
he has died for your sins
of your conspiracies against me
now let it go

and as they all walked away
from the games they had played
from their riots and fame
of the kings paranoia and noblemen house fires and stolen sheep
Jesus said a few things to me
things no one ever heard
things of truth no one would ever know
i was there
and i watched for his soul to climb the stairway to heaven
waited for him to crawl off that cross

and all of the kings men 
and all of the kings children and wives
were born again

maybe i was there
hanging on my own cross
eavesdropping
on a conversation between two saints
and i had done something minor wrong
but i am today haunted
with the truth of yesterday
and this lie
i cannot explain


Details | Free verse | |

Changeling

Dancing with the darkness
Accursed creature of the night
Wearing a mask of humanity
To hide that twisted trickery
Then playing demon music
Pipes wail a beauty's curse
Stealing life and children
From our loving tender kin
Twisted vile changing
Go back to darkened dreaming


Details | Free verse | |

OUR FREEDOM WASN'T FREE

Have you ever wondered what happened to the men?
Who signed the Declaration that made this a free land.

Five were captured by the British.  Branded traitors, tortured, died.
Twelve men lost their homes and land. Ransacked, burned what was their lives.

Two their sons  imprisoned.  Two sons fought and died.
Nine killed in the Revolutionary.  Pledged their fortunes and their lives.

Twenty-four were Jurists and Lawyers brave and true.
Eleven of them merchants.  Nine farmers , all who knew.

If caught death would be eminent.  To sign with quill or pen.
Have you ever wondered what happened to these men?

Their livelihoods were ruined.   Their ships swept from the sea.
Stood against the British Navy.  OUR FREEDOM WASN'T FREE.

Have you ever wondered what happened to the men.
Those Patriots of long ago.  Could you be as brave as them?

                       MAFLongfellow


Details | Free verse | |

Soundtrack to my escape

I am the fallen one, one casted away,
A reminant of a broken promise
Man shakled for one dying wish,
My vissicitudes haunt me everytime
The sound of those blazing drums,
I heard the music mystifies us all,
Saves a man from a Fall,
The strings are being pulled and the chorus chants,
The melody which melts us all,
I heard music has power: To cure and transform
I am still the same; The Man with a broken promise
Caught in the realmn of this heaven and earth
My body becometh the prison of my soul
I am a composer, A composer in oblivion – Looking
Looking, for the soundtrack to my escape.


Details | Free verse | |

The cross and the lance...pt 2

Everything was property of the state
life of a serf didn't even rate
tyranny from Lords,Dukes and  Barons
production of goods,they weren't sharin'....

Coxcomb magistrate castle seneschal
internal scheming took alot of gall
court intrigue was their special interest
todays politics aren't that different....

A new portal behind every door
a gambit of play being explored
every encounter a game of chance,but,
what do you bear,the cross or the lance?
          
Crucified was understanding and peace
self improvement were messages laced
drawing together opposing views
in hope that the scattered may be imbued...

But,the North didn't like that ideo
divide and conquer their modeled credo
superior force their specialty
as divided bands are managed easily...

Plantation,indian reservation...
one  produces,the other reduces,
civilization,or planned domestication,
one infuses the other defuses,
West Bank,the Gaza Strip
others kept in seperation
docile,servile,beware becoming sterile,
the active mind to waste away
the fallen... entropy to atrophy,
human spirit refuses degradation
treading deliberate indoctrination...

The taming of the animal nature
still engrossed in pain and pleasure,
law required to maintain civility
until we can achieve a true humanity...

Peace is still the want of many
when will humanity be truly ready
we make the choice of what we covet
true soul'diers serve minute by minute...

A new portal behind every door
a gambit of play being explored
every encounter a game of chance,but,
what do you bear...the Cross or the Lance?

( the cross and the lance are symbols 
of the old kingdom beliefs of ruling,
with either mildness and severity or
the olive branch and the sword )

                       


Details | Free verse | |

US Constitution movie theater montage

Constitution:
From the mighty quill feathers of post revolutionary colonists
a seething declaration that will stun the world. 
This is how its done, 
we dont mind you having guns,
say what you will, 
thou shalt not punish unusually, 
we make the laws, you interpret them


Details | Free verse | |

Only Seven Years Old

Only seven years old living in a new place
No one at home just have to come in all alone
Eat all alone no one here
Only seven years old but have to get homework
Because the teacher willl be angry 
Punishment is to stay in at recess
Only seven years old home so cold
Can't build a fire because no one there
Sad but don't know how to express the pain
Only seven years old worried will anyone come home
Pain of loneliness penetrates the walls and the heart..
Only seven years old too much for a child so young
Only seven years old
Empty, lonely, desolate at only seven years old


Details | Free verse | |

Just a girl

Who am I ? 
               ill tell you this im just a girl with in a girl, hidden behide layers of my self. I am 
selfish and cruel , beautiful and charming. i'm the girl next door with hidden lies. I'm a sister 
and a pretend mother..
                i'm just your average teenage girl, but i have pores and deep lines etched with in 
my soul. Of course im not perfect but i never said i was.
                                        i'm just a girl.


Details | Free verse | |

Last kiss in Pompeii


Mount Vesuvius erupts in anger
warm air like butterfly wings
flashes against our cheeks
I hold you my final light...

We stand on the edge of the sea
a galaxy of smoke and soot
swirls around us...

My love I wish
I had wings to carry us
all I have is my shoulder
for you to lean on...

Let us press our lips together
in these final moments
perhaps in the future
archaeologists will find us

As lovers preserved in ash...
~ ~


Details | Free verse | |

Blue Window Trim -

 
sea island natives
living reminders of trade
cotton rice and indigo
gullah life is made
 
five benne wafers
cast into new daylight
the hudu spell is torn away
rest easy then this night
 
bridges came and baskets sold
the younguns moved to town
rich men came and stole our land
again to trod us down
 
But some have stayed to tell the tales
of how our world began
of lands and cultures far away
before man had ever owned man
 
 
 
 


Details | Free verse | |

Photographs in a Box

Black and white
photographs
kept in a
box:
Memories
of yesteryear
that tell a
story
of lives lived
of friendships formed
of love found.
A family's
history
in shades of
black and white
preserved
in a box
for the next
generation.

8/7/13
For Rick Parise's Trickle Down Free Verse Contest


Details | Free verse | |

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare

You watch the show week after week
You cry when you are supposed to cry
Laugh when you are supposed to laugh
You even feel the intended anger
Milady, please loosen your bustle
Breathe in the cool evening air
Know that this story has been retold hundreds of times
Differing sets and actors sharing the moment with you
However, the words were written centuries ago
By men who were skilled in the use of a quill
They were meant to take your breath away
Some were meant to make your loins quiver
Other were meant to make your heart skip a single beat
However Milady none live within a spark of truth
They are merely to tell a story
The actors have no true feelings when they speak
Their kisses are without the love they show
The blood does not flow from the warmth of a body
No one died of poison or at the end of a sword
It is all a show performed to share the writer’s thoughts
Alas Milady do not leave the theatre empty hearted
Take with you the words you have heard
Hold tightly the feelings you had inside you
If you can do that Milady the writer’s work was not in vain
The actors work would be appreciated
And you Milady, you will have a memory
A memory of one of the greatest stories ever written
And you will, for all eternity, remember the writer’s name
You will remember the name William Shakespeare


Details | Free verse | |

Allan George St. Claver Coombs (From Pages)

How is the dew that came
Before rain and sun's flame
Gone so fast
Is it because its wet
Was only enough for shrubs
And shrubs are easy to forget
Or is that no glory last
Where the sun scrubs
White the sinews of trees?

You who once policed the law
Did also make the law
In City chambers where
Streets alone
Carry the exotic flower
Of your name
When they ask me,
What shall I answer for your shadowed fame
Between the cousins who broke your heart?
What was the legacy to the nation
Now that the Jamaican Workers
Trade Union was only root
For the almighty scion
That became the tree?
Busta gave you no rain
Manley pruned you excessively
And there was no seed after that
Except the truth
That the new Jamaica was your vision first.

I saw you once
Singing Sankey before the village shop
Canvassing the primitives
I saw a stone hit your lantern
And many more stones drop
Like bombs around us exploding your dream
The night was silent after that
Father Coombs
Had neither face nor trace again
How can a great man fall like that
The political ladder is a slippery slope
And those who climb
Must more than hope
To lead dissidents of the slime pit
Along with virtue must have grit
Buttered on the bread of wit.

And soon its May again
But now the time of workers memory is past
Until the rains fall again
Against the drought shall the dew hold fast
Will Father Coombs in white again
Raise his hands and turn and smile
To hear the fickle people call
The fickle father's name?
And shall I not tell them
Cobwebs are also significant
In the mystery of the world?


Details | Free verse | |

V is for

verasity of V                                                                                                             V of variations                                                                                                             sixth fifth twenty second to name a few                                                                           waw vuh ee double U even B                                                                                     value of v a hook a peg a spear                                                                                     the number five but not a two when scrabbling                                                                V of vision I believe                                                                                                       V to you V to me                                                                                                   maybe we should let V verify V                                                                                        verbatim debate 'em                                                                                                       a victorious visitor peacful vendetta                                                                           Look here I got my two eyes on you V


Details | Free verse | |

ANNE FRANK

Everyday I wake with a fear
But to shed there is no tear, 
I wonder if my mind can put up with today's fight
The guards outside will dictate my fate tonight. 
I shall not lose devotion
But there are times when I need explanations
You have never left me for a second or two, 
Then why am I scared when I am destined to seek you ?
Then I hear my name ,
The soldiers outside transport me
Where I have to be. 
The sun has come up with no seeable change,
But I can see hope
Now that I have survived another day.


Details | Free verse | |

Beautiful Cycle -- Leaf of Nature

Gentle breeze caressing joyful cheek
Blooming blossoms in its shadow
Dancing in the wind it waves
Autumn colors so grand
Winter makes it sigh
Spring budding new
Summer blooms
Dancing
Leaf!



Comments:   The nonet poem has nine lines, with the first line containing nine 
syllables, the second line eight, the third seven, then six, next five, then four and 
continuing until the last and ninth line has one syllable. The nonet poem may be 
written about any subject, and rhyming is optional. 


Details | Free verse | |

Les Neuf Soeurs [The Nine Sisters]

Calliope has turned her back on fate,
She will be a muse no more,
She has halted all her metrical speech,
She no longer frolicks,
At the fountain of Hippocrene,
She no longer answers Apollo,
The Mousagetes,in Delphi,
Corycides,the cave on Mount Parnassos 
is cold and empty,
For the Muses have followed Calliope,
The eldest and supposed wisest of them all,


Yet,Melpomene knows of the tragedy,
Her sister shall sow by this choice,
For without Les Neuf Soeurs,
The world shall reap this seed,


There will never be another mousa,
Sung nor written,
About the stars,
heros,
Sadness or laughter,
About music ,dancing,
Or even love,


For if Urania follows,
There will be noone to appreciate the stars,
Without Clio,
No history will be told,
Without Thalia,
No comedy shall bring forth laughter,


Music will have no tune without Euterpe,
No dance to step to without Terpischore,
Nothing will ever be sacred,
Without the pensive Polyhynnia,
And without Erato,
Favored Erato,
There will be no passion,
No love,


And then ,
There is Calliope,
For whom ,
And without whom,
There will be no epic ending,


No.

All that will be left ,
Is the tragedy,
Of Melpomene.


Details | Free verse | |

Down And Out Haiku Slam

<                                          whispers of the wind .........
                                            speak to enchanted sea .........
                                            bp ........  going down


Details | Free verse | |

America, you are bipolar

America, you are bipolar

Mother of invention and murder

Father of civil rights and lynching

Your children listen to hip hop and death metal

b-boys and skinheads

America you are bipolar

the biggest gay rights champions and the most hateful psycho-bigots

America, what are you?

the greatest artists and heinous murderers

America, when can we find a treatment for you that will finally

stabilize you?

the world is waiting for your treatment regimen, America.

on that glorious day when we can finally call the world

holistic.


Details | Free verse | |

Vancouver

Vancouver's a private reference and it's not really about Canada as a whole, just one
experience regarding the aforementioned. Shh!

Schwein Fleisch vs schweinefleisch. As two distinct words it literally means "pig skin" as
one word it means "pork". I mean it as two distinct words so that it can tie in with
"pound of flesh". I was going to have "haut" but apparently "schweinhaut" is actually a
surname. Oh those unlucky few who roam the world as Mr and Mrs Pig-Skin!  :(
__________

Vancouver

Chasing rainbows along horizons 
Is insane. Clear misunderstanding. 
You left the city and your pound of flesh. 
 
Schwein Fleisch.
 
We were young, laughing and colliding 
Corrupt to the claws. We were 
Writing endlessly, listlessly and so 
Apologetic. Pathetic fallacy 
The downpour flooded the chalk into grey. 
 
Of course we wrote about you.  
Reviews were decadent and ego-manipulating. 
We were akin with it. The world was always a  
Spectrum of amazing. 
 
Had to run. 
 
Through the rainbow with  
Your look of Old Nick. 
No explanation.  

Schwein Fleisch.


Details | Free verse | |

OLD GLORY

Flying high and
waving proudly;
perched atop
a silver orifice
the magnificent
and beautiful
flag of honor -
Old Glory,
smiles upon
a grateful nation
with resplendent 
dignity and distinction.


Details | Free verse | |

History is Written by the Victors

History is written by the victors
The villains
They win the war 
They drink the nectar
…blood…
…the ink for the defeated 
The truth is abandoned
Gives way to printed lies
Unadulterated bias right beneath the eyes 
As you learn from the history book 


Details | Free verse | |

Victoria's Novel Yore

Left to beg but not beggarly                                                                                      Novel ideas of the match the pencil seller                                                                     but the chimney sweeps upward and smoke filled the skies                                             as poetry gave rise to the industrial mass appeal                                                             Lady fair stands as her outstretched glove changes colors                                                 as drops of acid rain flow through her hands                                                                   Her rich husband killed from a triangle with pour business sense                                    left her there walking the streets with memories of the matches insensitivity              Written in her mind knowing she is now in a world where she is neither young nor fair        in days before she needed not pencil match or tot                                                         Art for art's sake in her relative life no need of miracles                                                     life imitating art she walks the cold uncoated streets                                                    cold wet and dirty she hopes God is aware


Details | Free verse | |

The Power Of Love

Love is one of life's greatest mysteries
It is the driving force
which shapes man's destiny
It is the very foundation 
upon which life itself is built

Love leads 
life follows
Love is a way of life
One cannot detach oneself from Love
to make a decision
for Love is life itself

Throughout the ages
the power of Love 
has gripped the hearts of men
- mighty men who feared nothing
and made them powerless
to resist its spell

Kingdoms rose and fell
Armies laid others waste
and were laid waste by others
Men died in agony at the command
of a Love-infected leader 
Paris and Helen of Troy
in the Trojan war
Samson and Delilah
in the battle with the Philistines
Anthony and Cleopatra
in the Roman Civil War

Love is a potent force 
that sometimes makes fools
of Earth's mighty men of valour
And yet this same Love 
has been an instrument of good
with which nothing can compare

There are many kinds of love -
a man for his God
a man for his woman
a friend for his friend
a person for his kin
a man for his dog
- these and many more

Though the particular cases differ
the effect of Love is the same
- that feeling which inspires and drives men
to achieve things 
they once believed impossible

Many a knight fought great odds
and won for his lady
Many a man leaves his comfortable niche 
in society
and goes out to endure 
the hardship and pain
of the less fortunate
as he gives of himself unselfishly
to improve their state
because of his love for
his God, duty and ideals

History is filled with leaders
who tried to build 
and maintain an empire
with the might of brute force
and failed -
Charlemagne
Alexander The Great
Julius Caesar
Napoleon Bonaparte
Adolph Hitler

And yet
a humble carpenter of Nazareth
who shunned brute force
and violence
built an empire on Love
two thousand years ago 
and today it covers
the face of the earth


Details | Free verse | |

The Language of the new generation.

Understanding the new generation.
They have their own language.
Their own new meanings to the same words.
They have their own communication + lingo.
Has it not been the same with each new 
generation in history?
They discover a new style that is shocking
to the older generations.
Adjoining generations seem to listen
to each other.
At which point do the generations do not want
to listen.
Where is this gap?
Spelling is different for the same words. 
A lot of abbreviated text is used.
There seems to be an absence of books amongst
dvds + cds.Has this interior design element
been overlooked?
Is there a new dictionary to accommodate the
new generations?
Or is this just how life is?


Details | Free verse | |

WE LOST

We lost Haile Selassie I
But the Lion still roars
We lost Martin Luther King
But the dream lives on

We lost Bob Marley
Who said get up stand up for your rights
We lost Malcolm X
But his racial segregation fight still burns bright

We lost Mother Teresa
She fought for justice inspiring humanity
We lost Mahatma Gandhi
He visioned humanity evolving toward peace & harmony

People seem to have lost themselves 
To sinful annihilation
People have lost their way it seems like
Finding the truth & the path to their salvation

It is said no lost, no gain
And no gain, no lost
Blessed are the Meek for they shall inherit the earth
and the fullness thereof 

Blessed love my brothers and sisters


©Copyright Brian Pierre-Alexander -Sept. 2011
© All Rights Reserved


Details | Free verse | |

Just Us

We.....
live
love
read
cry
laugh
dance
hug goodbye
sleep
call
scream
vent
yell
rely
talk
eat
shop
share
sing
change...together

Its just us
as its always been
We are inseparable
We are friends.


Details | Free verse | |

Woman Of Honor



Erma Bombeck, Words of Wisdom.
Coretta Scott King, Peace and Reason.
Rosa Parks, Stood Victorious!
Betsy Ross, Our Nations Seamstress.
Mother Mary, Bore Jesus in Bethlehem.
Harriet Tubman, Lead Slaves to Freedom.
Queen Ester, Saved her Nation.
Amelia Earhart, Gave all to Aviation.
Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.
Joan of Arc, Martyred Standing the Test.
Florence Nightingale, Healed Soldiers Wounds.
Fanny Crosby, Blind but wrote Gods Tunes.
Madame Curie, Discovered Cures.
Mother Teresa, Fed the Poor.
Annie Oakley, World famous markswoman.
Harriet Beecher Stowe, Author of Uncle Tom's Cabin.
Dear Abby, Averting Trouble Big and Small.
Eve of Eden, First Woman  and Mother to us all....

International Woman's Day March 8, 2008

Deducated To John Heck


Details | Free verse | |

Her First Try

She is a fine cook 
It didn't come by chance
She was trained by her family
She practiced day and night

She had to learn to cook
For many in her life
Her husband was particular
And she was a dutiful wife

She told us all a story 
Early in martial bliss
She made a beautiful cake
Spent hours creating it

She waited in anticipation
To feed her only man
A chocolate spearmint cake
She thought would be grand

Her husband was so excited 
To dare take a bite
She looked at him with hope
That it was a delight

Instead his look was sour
His eyes closed tight
He said this cake tastes lousy
Not another bite



Details | Free verse | |

Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice

"You must understand, your behavior is hurting your children."
I sat confused, expecting the psychiatrist to blame me
the trouble making teenager, the problem in the family
but he was directing his comments at my mother

Back at home in my room
I could feel my father as he walked in
and threw a piece of paper next to me on the bed
"Maybe it would be better for all of you if I were gone…"
written in my mother's hand
panic overwhelmed me
I turned to my father in horror
he was leaning against my doorway
with an accusing, but sarcastic look on his face
I flew upstairs from my bedroom to theirs
to find her lying very still in her bed

"Mom, Mom!"
I shook her shoulders insistently
groggily she awoke for a moment
"What is it?"
as my terror cleared
I noticed the mostly empty bottle of wine on the bedside table

She hadn't killed herself
she'd passed out
and there was Dad
again leaning against a bedroom doorway
a nasty smile on his face
and I realized
my father wanted me to believe she'd committed suicide

and that it was all my fault


Details | Free verse | |

I Felt the Earth

I Felt the Earth

There in the valley reaching for the sun
Our younger days were such fun
Though the struggle to be
Was so much for me?

The valley walls were so tall
That I would fear they would fall
Then bury me, it was so little that I did see
As the sun did run its course

The silence still echoes in my mind
Where I had trod in younger times
The valleys hole deep under ground
Would give and take of those around

It to me didn’t seem so clear
As I was to young, and didn’t see
Why they would do this for such as me
Then laugh as their days sped by

Sinking shafts of killing coal
They would just each morning go
To where I would ask in questions few
As it was hard to speak to you

Who slaved all of your day’s
For such paltry sums
Quality of life and then some
They would take all these things away

You did this For Me

Even now in these modern days
They do the same a different ways
As we would still not know
That under ground you would toil so

Then later as time, did pass me to be
A thinking man for all to see
I would wonder at it all
That why you should have been there at all

From healthy folk to coughing wrecks
It took its toll of fine young men
This land that we loved so, and then again
We loved it for it was home

Fear not to turn up at the old people’s graves
There to talk of those long gone days
That left the greedy ones flying so high
Though to little me and mine, we cry to be

We had so little that had to go so far
Ask your mother around to tea
Talk over fences and laugh with me
At the way of folks that err

The life though hard was still there to see
Now came the new age just for you and me
Things were changed where I had grown
I could not leave you there alone

To strive to be good was all we could do
At what things you now saw and knew
In church yards this valley through
I will still visit there to talk to you

There to relate of the now times
To tell of tales that you once knew
I hope it sees your eternity through
Deep under ground there stirs not a thing

I see You Now

Nothing now the mines have gone
Just old memories now held in song
Blackened faces coughing, choking shrouds
Clouds of long past days held your ways

For other folk you toiled away
The sun that stretched the valley so
Is brighter now than you did know
The changing of the valleys ways

Brought on in so many places
Cannot replace your blackened faces
That even now had so many graces
Hear now, to the green grass you gave to me

Gone are spoons to say I love you so
Take me back I you implore
To walk once again the valley floor
Mind that hole my little dear

It’s where the miners use to play
The fear they had, has gone away
My child look to the hills you will see
Lumps and bumps graves of yesterday

Which on green grass spills
Over to cover mine droppings
That took its toll, they said it couldn’t be
Do not look you mustn’t see

The changes of one type of poverty
To this one place we hold so dear
Gone are the mines but what’s this I hear
There are new things to take their places

Today I Cry

No longer blackened, we’ve changed places
Little boxes with electronic faces
That sings your praise and makes you feel
Yet where’s the money to pay the bills

No matter that we are coming to
The centuries end for you and me
It’s the same now as it will always be
My grown up child don’t look at me

When I say, I would rather be
Back there in days gone by, believe me
Then if you catch me sometimes its fine
Where you may see me cry for that time

It’s not for the passing of my friends
That all these warm tears descend
Rolling then falling without end
It’s for the future that we are told

That will be better now that you are old
Not so grown child of mine
The poverty has just been refined
There on the soil that I left behind

Was as, and is always now
Where the earth feels the same


Details | Free verse | |

Warmth Of The Open Fire

In front of  newly glowing fire__the warmth
Fills the area in very front
Family draws close_warm against cold

Time today flew as trees were cut (down)
Cut just to the perfect length to burn
On the open fire  of night's desire

These hours of story telling__laughter
Make up for labor of timber felling
Time spent at the well drawing water

Here now time for discussions
Story-telling, laughter, memories
The fire softly lighting Mother's eyes


Details | Free verse | |

The Art of War

A craving to conquer, a hunger for war
Ships set sail, to foreign soil 
Across dark seas onto treacherous shores

Archer’s drawback their bows, 
Fiery arrows climb high,
Flying with fury, they darken the sky.

The awful odor of pure detest running through their veins
Projectiles sores then pour like horror’s heated rains

Golden Chariots carry both, man and beast, 
Corpses fall 
And vultures feast,

 Upon their flesh, gnawing on their bones
What lays ahead it is unknown.

Night has fallen and they retreat,
 no victory, and no defeat 

Surrounding blazing camp fires they celebrate,
Drunken songs, mourn fallen mates

Reeking of sulfur, comes morning dew
They suit for battle, Combat ensues

Gallant and fearless, they stand with pride,
 Shoulder to shoulder, side by side.

Mesmerized by the enchanted sounds
The squawking of crows,
 their heart’s that pound

The sun beams down

Their armor of silver, reflecting light
Their faces are raw, no sign of fright

Bold bronze shields and, Sharpened spears 
Salted sweat trickling down, they have no fear.

They draw their swords, they stand their ground.
It echoes

 NOW! !!!

That dreaded sound.

Metal on metal, 
 Daggers ripping through skin, 

All attack, the battle begins


Blades penetrate through tissue and bone
The horrific uttering of shrieks and moans 

Mutilated bodies
All are pierced, 
Rivers of blood. 
All is spilt

The ghastly stench of carcasses, rest at their feet 
The sounds of skeletons buckling underneath.

Soldiers collapsing all around, 
Thunderous,
 it shacks the land
Great warriors, dying noble men

“Forward!!!” They roar

Javelins take flight, and lances thrust 
Onward  they march, thirsting death
 From dawn to dusk

Gaping wounds, detached limbs, and vengeful eyes
They push ahead; they hold the lines,
 until all adversaries 
have met their demise. 

IN THE ART OF WAR

Chiquita Baity


Details | Free verse | |

Dawn of Light- Nelson Mandela

27 years have I spent amongst these prison walls
Waiting patiently for the day to dawn 
When my people shall be set free from racial discord
Wife and child and all have I given up for the cause
My life is set on freedoms pyre as a ransom for the fire
My blood is hot and my thirst unquenchable
The voice of my ancestors instilling courage and confidence
Do not give up the fight till each man has won his right
The day has finally dawned, like a child bursting out of its mothers womb
The price is paid, my life is laid , I can at last rest in my tomb.
God Bless Africa!!


Details | Free verse | |

The Sunset Watchers

There was an old sort of people that once took to the beach
These old sort lived the beach and waited for the sunset
They were old as time itself for they never aged
They were of the beach and the beach was of them
They watched every sunset from time began
It was there eyes that made the sunset come and it was there sleep that brought about the night
They forever watched and always kept everyday holy
One day it was late and they were waiting for the sunset
It did not come and they wept
They disappeared into the night and were never seen again


Details | Free verse | |

Fractured Souls

O Mighty Atlantic…
 What is this fascination which I have with you?
Could it be a part of me your lays trapped somewhere in midst?
You are like an old confidant with countless secrets you hold!
There’s an ancient one which haunts me today, and you guard it well…
Like the miles of warehouses, hidden within your belly
Where spirits of my ebony ancestors lie, shackled in rusted chains
Never again to see the rising sun?!

I know not why this had to be
And do I dare to ask God, Why? 
So, I wait; for in time all will be revealed.
The centuries march on; they’ve left behind the invisible scars
Broken spirits, lost and weary, walk an unforgiving earth,
Carrying within fractured souls the abject pain of ancestral spirits 
Separated by the gulf of time and buried, frozen in the deep.

Do you still hear the sounds of terror mingled with mournful groans;
The piercing wails of vibrant girls; and young men’s angry roars?
Do you hear the soft murmurs of young mothers comforting a child?!
Was their agony so bitter that you could not console?!
Do you recall the sound of each one’s last, labored breath?!...
I hear their screams and groans; their piteous pleas and angry roars
Echoed by wild winds and crashing waves on dark, stormy nights!  

I have felt the cold and dismal pain that “waters” hate,
A dark, heavy cloak which broken spirits don. 
We survived the middle passage and "seem" free; 
But we know that a mortally wounded spirit cannot fly! 
And though rusty chains no longer hold, spirits are held fast in place!
Where are our eyes?  Give us eyes!
Father, give us new eyes so we will see!
~*~


Details | Free verse | |

Homeward Bound

I can’t wait for the day I’m home,
But where is home?

Is it a past memory of childhood of the family sitting around the living room watching the TV with a takeaway on a Saturday night?

Or is it the future that’s yet to be created, a family of your own and a new place to call home?

Maybe it’s a feeling one of love and joy the kind you first created playing as a young boy?

But I believe it is not just one of the above, but them all in twined into a magical feeling, one of wonder and belief.

It is to complex for us to understand now but trust me my friends, when your home . . . you’ll know.  


Details | Free verse | |

Saint Augustine, City of Historic Lights

soft flames flickered offshore Timucuan tribal campfires luring Menendez’s armada Feast Day of St. Augustine 1565 Spanish settlers rowed covertly to shore more than 600 torches ushered in a new era of light torches turned to gaslights hanging yet today in a city of artists where street singers hope you’ll look their way centuries old Castillo de San Marcos ghosts of slaves held within cast a spiritual shadow on harbor water originally restored Spanish architecture throughout the gaslight village living history, soft lights, no neon antique stores adorned by twinkling white lights lantern lit are the many street-side vendors couples stroll past, hand-in-hand on the cobblestone street historic integrity for the nation’s oldest church multicolor strobes ascend through huge stained-glass windows colors in streaming rays reveal detailed architecture bright spotlights from the Fountain of Youth climb the large, wooden cross Spanish settlers erected one of two signs observed by mariners brilliant glowing image of hope, guidance St. Augustine Lighthouse’s beam shines a path far offshore black and white rings glow in its tower, circling candy cane Bridge of Lions, an illuminated spectacle visitors’ gateway to a forgotten age well-lit harbor, safe haven for houseboats and yachts gaiety reigns during sunlight hours night brings a different mood, perspective warmth and intrigue - city of historic lights
*For the City Lights competition City: Saint Augustine at night *See “About this Poem” for history on the United States’ oldest city.


Details | Free verse | |

we hold in our hands

we hold in our hands the narrative

we artists and social scientists

21st century armaggedon screaming

dysfunctional children of history

living by purely subconscious, instinctual visceral pulsing

product of a campaign of vassals dedicated to erasing history

here we are.

so what do we do, we artists and social scientists?

we scream

we cry

we bleed

but also, and very important

we analyze

we do all this 

and we can call ourselves humans

and the true heir to what we call

history.


Details | Free verse | |

The Icon of Heroes- Maharana Pratap

His name is evoked with boundless esteem
By the strata of generations down the ages 
The prodigious son of our holy motherland
Who embodied valour and chivalry to the hilt.

He could have lead a princely life of comfort
By conceding the honour of his blessed land
But happily chose a life similar to his terrain
Instead of beating the same refrain like peers.

He embodied all that stands for grit and nerve    
Inspired the masses by an outstanding example
Sent shivers down the spine of the adversaries
And won admiration even from his sworn foes.

His form awe-inspiring stays etched in minds 
Reviving the memories of his sacrifice great  
That arouses the most weak and low-spirited
Infuses the spirit with verve and vim; enviable.

Even today he is revered as a symbol of bravery
With very few peers to match his place in history
He strode like a colossus on the sands of time
The Maharana is worthy of salute for all time.

Till his last breath he worshiped his motherland
A crest jewel among all valiant warriors of the land
He the great, his loyal Chetak, the gallant steed
To all such immortals, we all owe our gratitude.


Details | Free verse | |

deliver me, deliver us

I have found my voice

at humanity’s eleventh hour

I have found my voice because

I called upon humanity’s wisdom

and asked if I can help to deliver

to you

some units of joy

and lessons of love

so I ask you to hear humanity's inevitable lovesong

ancient

humble

soothing

And deliver me

deliver us

deliver me 

on the days Jefferson spoke of inalienable rights

deliver us into that night of human liberation

when czars were overthrown and utopia envisioned

deliver me on the day Martin had his dream
	
deliver us on the day Paris’ commune became community

deliver me

deliver us

I say deliver me

And deliver us

Because without the us 

there is no me

And without the me 

There is no us

humanity’s struggle

constant argument between

Me

And 

Us

The me and the us

Were at 

Lexington Concord

Gettysburg

St. Petersburg

Stalingrad

Omaha beach

Paris, Prague, and Mexico in 1968

Tianenmen Square in 1989

And Occupy Wall Street 

The me and the us

Are at kitchen table

Deciding whose childhood is spared

The me and the us are at

Parliaments all over the world

Deciding whose life is worthwhile

The me and the us are at the UN

Deciding which nations are worthwhile

The me and the us

History has been about the me and the us

History’s first experiment in liberation

Stalin and world interrupted, still insisting on the me

so I ask you, humanity

I implore you

In the name of so many terrified faces

In the name of so many torture chamber places

I ask you here and now

At humanity’s eleventh hour

brink of armaggedon's world war

to

Deliver me 

And deliver us

Deliver us from humanity's dark night

let the children and future generations breathe

freedom's air

Deliver me

Deliver us

Deliver me

Deliver us.


Details | Free verse | |

THE PHANTOM WARRIORS

Thin is the veils mist descending, thickening as
Mornings rise yields unto the daylight, a shrouds
Coven of fog, envelops these tribal mountains.
Blackened by the touch of the great spirit, blessed
In his eyes of immortality, held holy unto my native
People.
Where the black hills cut between the earth and sky,
This is the last of the sacred ground, beware white
Devils, for here sentinels watch amongst 
The rocky face.
In shadows illusions do the guardians live, 
The phantom warriors, a tribe without
A name, a people whom have no face,
Translucent survivors, of a forgotten nation.
Stealth chameleons, moving in random motions
Realm of silence, ghost figures belonging to the
Mountain's themselves.
Shape shifter's whom change only by natures
Seasonal rotation, living spectral beings, existing
On the edge of the woodlands wild country.
Bows drawn, arrows aligned, fists of might
Are ready for the fight, hear the braves hymn, 
Carried on the breeze, echoing through the
Ancient alpine forest.
Step not one foot print here, out lander
For deaths arrows bare thy name, shot forth
By the unseen phantom warrior, whom
 Exists between the realm of light and dark,
Upon the sacred mountain.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



Details | Free verse | |

Departed

Mingle  shattered  in shocks
Velocity shaking in sleep known fault
Catastrophe  strip away  sirens
Underneath  rubbles   
Canan fires  and looters

Missing in survival dreams
Warp  dressing dreaperes
Eyes of sun blind in light  in nightfall 
Under chipped and cracked 
Departed from you again 




Details | Free verse | |

Cart Ruts and Mysteries

In an old farmhouse high on the cliffs of Dingli
surrounded by archaeology and mystery
lives Mary, guiding visitors to explore and find 
caves and cart ruts, deep tracks seeming mined
that criss cross at Clapham Junction
it’s not easy to guess their function.

Talk to Mary and she will tell you
of times gone by, when there was so few
people who wanted to know and understand
what it was that remains so strange in this land.

Perhaps it will always remain unknown,
since archaeologists have come and gone,
not enough with perseverance and finance,
they come and go and lose allegiance.

Maybe one day an answer will appear
and all will suddenly be clear,
why the cart ruts run under, the house, 
where Mary lived with her mother.


Details | Free verse | |

Brave Man

Oh yes...indeed, oh, yes....
He thought he was a pioneer;
Brave as a new Season's pledge,
Stronger than the rest...
Faster and smarter than human desire
When blood runs hot.

Oh yes, indeed...
He took the chance before the others
Who would not cross the boundary
Into loving me;
Certainly not without a dare -
A double down stare
For his fortune at the Finish Line
To give him his reasons for courage.

He even wore his Talisman
Of bone and magic stones...

A man can never be certain
When he tangles with a witch.


Details | Free verse | |

Death in a Coal Mine - Child Miners

Into the bowels of the earth we descend
Down into the pit of hell
Crawling on hands and knees to mine
This precious fuel they call coal

Now Petey and I we are almost men
He is ten and I'm eleven
Been working here, down this mine
These last two years and month now

Mum is counting on us as men
Since Dad died from consumption
Coughed every night, spat out blood
Now gone to be with Jesus

The work is hard, it's hot down here
To work by flickering candlelight
The dust so thick, you always taste it
It makes you cough and splutter

We've almost reached the coal face
When I can hear some rumbling
I turned my head to speak to Petey
When the world collapsed around me

I don't know how long I lay there
When sense returned to me
By the flickering light I could see
The roof caved in behind me

Now I don't know if Petey was safe
Or if Petey was buried under
But what I knew and the news was bad
This was a miner's worst nightmare

Not a breeze came through, no fresh air
The tunnel tightly sealed
I think I knew deep in my heart
My bones would find rest here

Time passed, don't know how long
The candle burned away
The last light my eyes did see
Then blackness all around

I had seen night and I'd seen black
But never before black like this
The silence too was deafening
A tear squeezed from my eye

I cannot cry, I am a man
But the tears slid down my cheeks
I told myself for Mum I cried
What will become of her

The air so stale, tis hard to breathe
My eyelids heavy, drooping
Slowly I drift off to sleep
Tomorrow I'll awake in heaven



~ ~ ~ ~ ~







About this poem:
Sadly children as young as five were sent down into the mines and should there be a cave in it was more economical to leave them there and keep mining in a different direction. Thousands of children perished working in mines.
.


Details | Free verse | |

In the Cave of the Madonna ( Village of Topollia Crete 1994 )

In the Cave of the Madonna ( Village of Topollia Crete 1994 )
 
I formed a square of brick 
a block house of the future
and the years like dust lay thick 
around my door
many footsteps answer like dreams 
upon my floor
 
I built a synthetic artery into the mountain side
And there beneath a hollow cave 
I found inside
the minarets of aeons 
forming in a habitat of drips and spires
consorting with empathy in the dim dark 
evolving beauty
drip drip after drop of centuries
 
Here, I formed a square of brick 
and white shrine painted 
to house the endless time 
of my soul
the worshipful desires of my domicile and heart
I designed to entomb and liberate 
before this sanctum
of the mountains core
to feel here in this high and inaccessible place
a little closer to my troubled God
 
Far from close and so difficult to traverse
the winding pathways of stones and rock
the sheer cliffs of my life longs work
 
Long ago I forgot the peace of the valley
the walls and road interrupted my view 
into serenity
but occasionally 
when the night is close
I hear the drips of those forming spires
and expanses of time open
a vista where my ancestry and history 
breathes for a second
and my only answer to this mystery
is my house of brick
shrine of white
Madonna church
My religion





Details | Free verse | |

Lilith

Goddess of storm and dissidence, Lilith
begot by spurious legend and foolish myth
in the dark recesses of pastoral histories
where ancient mysteries
were defiled.

Illegitimate child.

Apollo's seed, by Roman Empire
inquisitional rules inquire, to her whereabouts
seeping fetid doubts, in the bones of the survivors.
Submission required by slave drivers,

And the Elite,
now on Wall Street.
Twenty five generations later,
they still hate her...

Yet,
I see her in me, shadows of malcontent,
when passed by for promotion
and toxic lotion is sold to keep us young.
I hear her forked tongue,
when my voice is ignored again,
when single mothers barely maintain
poverty existence led
as punishment for being
un-wed.

Burkas hide the bruises
and we’ve run out of excuses
why so many women are poor.
Our beloved men are sent to war
for corporate profits made
and taxes paid in blood and tears.

Yes I have fears.

I fear her rolling up through me, if they only knew me
and what I hold back, they would attack,
and mark me feminist bytch,
witch
and un-Christian.

Listen...
I hear her whisper from sister to brother
from father to mother, lover to lover...
I feel her emerging with Pele’s fire,
Aphrodite’s desire and Venus’s lust.
We must,
hear her.

She is part of us, the Mother’s curse,
foist in the never ending thirst for power
and dominance over all.
Eden’s free fall, orchestrated, ill-fated,
out-dated and reciprocated,
by us, still now, somehow.

The sacred dance beckons us in the second rush
of knowing... rivers flowing, ever to sea.
What will be, will be...
lost in the slipstream currents of the paradigm whore
who dares seek safe passage
to our shore.


Details | Free verse | |

a global terrorist hiding in america and canada revealed

on youtube i am troynelson2011 the ocd riddle for world peace,
 i cant check my email,
 twitter wont let me tweet,
 facebook wont let me post, 
and soundcloud definately owes me an appology...

. imagine a group of people in my allies back yard pretending to be somebody they aren't. 
imagine that group of people hiding in my allies midst was perpetrating war crimes in other parts of the world.  
lets say hypothetically speaking this group of people hiding among my allie was holding their children hostage on television and force feeding children to be medicinal guinea pigs so their kids wouldnt have to... 

now imagine this group of people hiding in my allies midst perpetrating war crimes in other countries was funded by the global prodigal youth via living out their dreams and ambitions before they could cause they had the means to do so first.. so this group of inventors all with one invention under their belt using my friends kids as guineau pigs funded by my other friends childrens dreams.....

What do you think happens when a terrorist organisation hiding in your allies midst (few disguised as many) perpetrating war crimes accumulates a debt to owe the prodigal youth sky scrapers...

a global terrorist in usa is perpetrating war crimes using your kids as medicinal guineau pigs.  setting up shop in canada where is rumored homeless began taking refuge in the sewer

in short america, you are going to be introduced to the global prodigal youth, terrorists hiding in your country owe sky scrapers to.when does armstrongs sperm mature anyway?

they hold children hostage on television, they use your kids as guinea pigs,

you have just been volunteered to assist me in murdering my enemy, the one that owes me everything they ever put in their mouth

wouldnt you feel responsible to find out every time you opened your mouth it  became  a tv show, game show, movie, or product on your store shelves, was being used to fund global terrorism.

tsix step process of your enemy.vs ur 4 step process to realise ur allie

you have MY enemy surrounded, word of mouth is powerful

after you read this phone your mother and tell her you recieved an email from the future king of england explaining your global problems... 

 twiiter, facebook, soundcloud, are stolen ideas
isnt it ironic bill gates is our worlds most famous inventor with only one invention... and shows absolutely no pridefor his own baby he worked on for years after work

indoor fish farming will end world hunger btw


Details | Free verse | |

The Birds of Drancy

Little birds spill onto the gravel
Chirping with disoriented confusion.
A spindly flock warbling
“Mère! Mère!”
Through cracked lips and bony beaks.
Hawks circle indifferently
Unfamiliar with the call
But acquainted with the cry.

The scarecrows converge,
Singing their songs of
Reunion across the river.
Seductive assurances and
Dry straw lies
Come together when
Hopeful lines form
For a mère poule promise.

Across that green field
The boathouse beckons,
Under late summer boughs
Alive with blossoms.
Across that green field
The boatman waits. 





Details | Free verse | |

King Of The Hill

<                                               Vietnam War
                                              Capture of Saigon


                                               What The Hell For


                                                   Guerrilla war

                                                 Conventional war


                                                 What The Hell For

                                                       
                                                       Laotians
                                                    Cambodians
                               
                                                     Vietnamese
                                                    U.S.  Soldiers 
                  

                                                     Casualties


                                                 What The Hell For


My Thoughts On 
The Vietnam War


May All R.I.P.




                                                         

                                                       


Details | Free verse | |

West Virginia

My home, the land of the rolling hills. 
Where the trees embrace in mutual respect. 
Who can truly understand the mystery of the hills without living among them? 
I have learned much from the flowing waters. 
I have spoken with the spirits of the earth. 
I have discovered it's fiery soul. 
I have sung with the whispering winds. 
They have told me the same thing.
                      "I am STRONG,"
                      "I am POWERFUL,"
                    "I AM WEST VIRGINIA!"


Details | Free verse | |

idea of Armegeddon

had
then didn't. Wisped
somehow... or gossiped...
or distracted to Utopia's version
of cockroached virgins stained
glassy through
windows tight enough
for
what?


Details | Free verse | |

THE VOICES OF SALEM

Through the whispering pines,
Down the rolling hills,
Beneath the moons illumination,
Hear them calling, the voices of Salem.
From the cold ground, vengeance’s spirits,
Seek justices revenge.
Innocent blood, beseeching the truths,
Knowledge to be told.
Whom are their judges, honest man,
Nay corruptions greedy thieves.
Land mongers, mongrels seeking
To feast upon the down trontan, and poor.
Witches are they, marked by the devils
Own imprint of evil.
Yet in reality simple farming  folk, toiling for
A better life, caught in a webbing of deceits lies.
Be accursed generations whom with hold,
What was done unto them.
For God's wrath shall be swift and without
Mercy.
In the winters solstice, as the season of death
Takes center stage.
Unmarked tomb stones lie disturbed, by
Ghostly images, cryin out for their atonement's
Liberation.
Ancestral names held on bondage’s list,
Without resolutions resolve.
The innocent retain the stains
Of legacy’s branding mark.
The shackles of history, hold these
 Spirits hostage,
Release these souls, dearest lord, most high,
Let the honest know freedoms cleansing air.
Write the wrongs done unto them, 
Let the voices of Salem be silent at last.
To rest in peace forever, along side their
Beloved kindred.
In the sacred earth of their mother church,
With blessings words spoken ever so softly,
Over them.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



 

 


 


Details | Free verse | |

Shores of Malta

Rhythmic swaying of peaceful waves
Tides align with the influential moon,
Lapping gently on wave-beaten shores
Of frothy seaweed and golden limestone.
Dazzling, too-blue-to-believe waters
Mirrored in the bright afternoon,
Eroded shores ancient with history
Keeping its secrets of thousands of mysteries.
Within honeyed walls that echo through time
Are whispers of old that try to be heard by modern age man,
Who is so out of tune and his instincts low,
Not keyed to the earth.
Age-worn battles of power abide
Never realising that they’re against the tide,
For the Earth surely in its finest hour, will win its opponent in war,
And seal them in through Earth’s activity.
A very good and fitting cemetery.


Details | Free verse | |

Diversity

Diversity
I was born out of a number,
Faces defining my world,
and I've always been inclined to cumber
the distress I witness at this berth
against the figure.

Yes, the figure that is and is not,
because I have no culture, no heart, nor home.
I am something light tricks to be, an illusion of diversity,
the colour of your teething bone,
the greatest profanity
being humanity,
I am much less-the unfortunate- the unknown.

Words are nothing without your lips,
and spite can't see without some tongue.
So being human cannot reason
without some puncture to the lung.

If there is a God he is not here,
the reliance of invisibility
is one to me
an unintelligibly cowardliness of fear.
You want the air, to take care of what you said was your own will.
You want new souls to suffer for an ancient bill.
You want me to stand and say I am sorry for something I haven't done,
when you're the one,
who is ticking the times tables incorrectly.

Today will be tomorrow and soon after the great past,
If you don't want history
to be seeded in misery
then you should stand out and make it last.

I was born out of a number,
mathematically spiralled into life,
and so far I still find it a struggle
to understand the joy of waking.

To be born is to be alone,
To live is to be surrounded,
To die is to be free,
but for that you must work first.

And I don't barter with this curse,
if there is nothing- I may as well exist a little first.
But what I can't compose is how I see these faces,
where others separate by numbers, words and races,
I only see one in the mirror:

human.


Details | Free verse | |

Legal Tender of Getting Old

Legal Tender of Getting Old 

If tears were coins I'd be a rich man… 
If sadness was time I'd live forever… 
If I only knew what to do to make it better… 
I would do it in a heartbeat. 


But, no answers are easy when feelings crash around you… 
And the Sun does not shine in the heavens above… 
if only I could see…if only I could find a way…if only I knew… 
How do you say goodbye when there is no love? 


To only be me myself alone … again… 
decisions are frightening and shaky to behold… 
But change is needed for me to stay sane… 
all the while we continue to grow old. 



RLM 
'05


Details | Free verse | |

The World Stands In Awe

Blinded by hatred and greed Drunk with arrogance and power Drowning in deceit and delusions Prompted by their hired seers Who spend sleepless nights consulting Whispering deadly secrets, conjuring schemes While their masters play ‘god’ Confusing mercy and patience for weakness They forget there is One Mighty God In whom past, present and future lies Now the tide begins to turn And none can stay His mighty hand For he has heard the bitter cries of the poor While their oppressors fill their coffers The silent cries, have reached Heaven's gates All they plead for is just deliverance A new day to work and feed their children To whom freedom has been denied Today, he has spoken in time And the world stands to watch in awe As the wall of mighty dictators Fall like dominoes ~*~
Note: Eyes focused on the Middle East and Northern Africa. And I know many of us are concerned about what will it mean for us... only God knows and since he 's in control, whatever happens we can be sure it will turn out for the good in the end, my friends.


Details | Free verse | |

redidit the front page of the internet

I put a Halloween mask on my dog.                                                                            She rolled over in her sleep, but just kept on                                                         sleeping when she landed in the windowsill.                                                                    What Battlefield really needs
IamA Robert Beltran, aka Commander Chakotay                                                         from Star Trek: Voyager, and now all yours. AMA!                                                        Cats love lasers                                                                                                  US/Russia relations                                                                                                    Pete Holmes on why he's always laughing.                                                                   The man has a point.                                                                                                  What, in your opinion, is the greatest thing                                                              humanity has ever accomplished?                                                                        Flogging Molly -- If I Ever Leave This World Alive [Irish Folk Punk]                          Through the eye of a needle                                                                                       Gun safety is important                                                                                       Wrecked cruise ship with a tilted Earth ...
* Note - cut-up technique -Random headlines from reddit news 3/5/2014


Details | Free verse | |

Hangman

Each day another timber
Was set in place.
Letters were spoken,
Read in streets, understood-
Against Jacob's children
Until the gallows were finished.
The builder's own neck
Was fitted with the rope.


Details | Free verse | |

The True Americans

They are powerful,

They are the “great ones.”

They are thoughtful,

They are the “true ones”.


Some Traders long ago made Them march a long trail

A long trail that was said to lead them to the “Promised Land”

It was the “Trail of Tears” and there was no such a land for Them

The Traders lied and watched Them weaken and die


They are not “Savages”,

They are not “Indians”,

They are marvelous,

They are Native Americans.


All this is Their land and those Traders took it

They treated the Traders with kindness

And the Traders betrayed them

The Traders said that They didn’t “deserve” this land


They are powerful,

They are the “great ones.”

They are thoughtful,

They are the “true ones.”


The Traders said they were weak

They were not weak the Traders were weak

The traders only wanted Their land to look for “gold”

They lived for so long “without” gold.


They are not “Savages”,

They are not “Indians”,

They are marvelous,

They are Native Americans.


The Traders now call themselves “Americans” 

The Traders now say that Immigrants should go back 

The traders are immigrants too

Why don’t the Traders go back and give the “True Americans” their land?


Details | Free verse | |

The Upcoming Storm

A decahedron of politic complaints
with *intolerance being a number one disgrace
followed in quick succession by *hate 
*bigotry and *religious reprobates.
The coup de grass which comes in fifth
is *the dominance of man and unwise choice?

The all too obvious *lack of Universal “spine”
when righting injustice of any kind.
*A lack of stewardship for the earth
should place amongst the very worst
of politic complains I decree, 
what can be worse than pollution at sea
Perhaps, the *gendercide of the third world?  
Millions of girl children killed every year
As Man rules, the earth's females fear.

*Lack of education a slave doth make
And still it exists for *greed’s sake.
Now, this bring our decahedron
of politic complaints around to the beginning
of the human rat race. 

Start where you will, any side of this form, 
for they all can be first
First….to start the storm………


*EACH of the 10 issues is marked *
 


Details | Free verse | |

Determine...

Determine soul,  give me this powerful ocean
Independent spirit,  fill this powerful machine
For I physically stand strong

Feel the authority on my fingertips
Phantom of mine, stand high
Day or Night

Because, nothing matters
As,  I stand a individual
On this mountain so high
For I am mentally powerful

My courage behold
My eager stand back
Relax,  for I am great
As a forceful person
The faith I carry for all
Give me your grime, residue
and waste

Come into my atmosphere
Breath the air I breath
Touch the sky as I
Passion is in my soul

Vampire, shadow and zombie
Give me a hand
Help me save this land
This dirt and sand
It's at war everyday
It's sad to say

Determine, I need you to stay
Independent spirit, fill this machine
My powerful machine
The one with so many words
zealous,secure,brave,dedicated,
harmony, love, unity, and concord
We don't need fighting in the lions den
The frustration we put in the soil
The storms we bring in the skies
I will stand next to my stray
Shake hands with my competitor,
 traitor, and opponent


For all shall make me solid
My courageous beast go to sleep
This world will be at peace
Because , I'll be there

	D.L.V


Details | Free verse | |

HALLOWED GROUND

                                             Sioux,Saura once trod here.
                                            Dwelling here on river's edge.
                                                   Their Spirits remain.
                                                            Quiet.
                                                      Hear them now,
                                            Footsteps on the path we walk,
                                                    voices in the breeze.
                                                 This is hallowed ground.
                                       Each tree,rock,mount,stream revered.
                                                     Let it be so now.
                                                   
                                                   


Details | Free verse | |

Within the Inky Pages

The binding groans open
And lets me in
Plunging into the depths
Of a cream colored world
Scents of ancient tomes fills my soul
And I’m addicted
I need a fix
				I really need a fix
And I inhale like I’ve never breathed before
My eyes glaze over, and               I’m   g  o  n  e
Universes I never knew appear
Black holes suck me in, Supernovas explode
Stars dazzle my eyes
As the words sprint across the page
It stole my heart, it did
I’ve never been in love like this before

Running fingers over the inky pages
Texture filling in the ridges of my fingerprints
Flooding my identity

Knowledge makes me
Builds me up to take me down
Into myself
Over and over
Inspiring new thoughts
That I thought were new
But really were hidden under
The dusty covers

If we save literature
If we save books from censorship
If we promote literacy
We can save mankind
And it’s history
The bad and good
Lessons learned and yet to be understood
All the falls and tumbles
Rises and stands

All within the inky pages
Held in my hand



Details | Free verse | |

On the pier at Scheveningen

On the pier at Scheveningen Beach

crumbling concrete connects
me standing on the pier
seawaves below so near
while grounds trembe

peeling painted kiosks
define the lost grandeur
for visiting voyeur 
in dark tristesse 

Scheveningen's glory
behind rusted steel chains
destruction rules and reigns
old concrete gem

(c) Elly Wouterse
written for: ON THE PIER - Poetry Contest
sponsor Nette Oncload 
written: 07/10/2014

Note to all not-Dutch readers: 
* Scheveningen {pronounciation can be heard here: 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scheveningen} for it's one of the most typical 
DUTCH words and most dificult for foreigners to pronouce.
* the "PIER of Scheveningen" has been declared broke and is closed 
although the 'building' itself is still standing - nothing more nothing less - 
and closed for safety reasons at last for visitors.
* I was there only weeks  before the authorities made the decision 
'shutting down 'the Grand dame of scheveningen"' . A decision that had 
been delayed - not respecting all safety regulations and laws - time after time.................. 
* THE ILLUSTRATED VERSION (REALLY WORTH A CLICK AND A READ FOR I FOUND SOME ANTIQUE AND MODERN PICTURES) RIGHT HERE:
(JUST COPY AND PASTE INTO YOUR BROWSER BAR: 
http://www.ellywouterse.com/blog/index.php?id=a9146b38


Details | Free verse | |

Justice Undone

This room held hope and promise
when it was first opened up
but bribes and collusion
arguments from shrewd lawyers
added up to injustice.

This room though no longer used
still witnesses to prejudice and lies
a jury in a hurry
a judge with bias
and justice undone.

This room is outdated, falling apart
Was it ever anything but 
a holding place between
a rock and a hard place?






Details | Free verse | |

MAFIA

(Mothers & Fathers Of Italian Americans),

Out of desperation one usurps their stead;
Picking up its broken pieces from the fragments of their head
I'm going to make you an offer you won't refuse
Shackled from philisophy's that scream choose

Still meet my old friend,
Fist full of lead with bloody hand
Give me some time to contemplate & understand
To survive in the streets getting shot hero's bleed

Timely tune leaving soon shadows sleet
Keep your friends close & enemies that much closer
Throw a rope around your head no bend over
No neck Jimmy with his friend Uncle Tony

With words in untimely exposed ravioli
Not to mention cooking the stramboli;
MAFIA
Shades of dark rivers bend

Nine at head now your dead
Big trunk to dunk that flunk
A special olive stirred with straight up Tom Collins
A wandering crowd with a special promise

Two tone Jimmy was the lady's thing got the sell that every lady needs
9 at head by dock at noon then sorrow had bled
Struggled to refrain from the slice on the blade
A clear taste of viable solution

MAFIA
Blank shells buzz to bells living hell
Crown of gold jewels explode truth untold
Now you will do as you are told until the very rights to you are sold

Through a barrage of steps new episodes...
Two kanuck's suited up best fresh out of Jersey;
Brevity
Shattered glass

Yet its all fair to say no one ever gets by on any free pass! 


Details | Free verse | |

Green and Blue

Fish swam in blue waves of cotton candy
Carless gulps of salty ocean
Tails whipping through chocolate sea
Sweet as a rice crispy treat
Mindless beauties beneath the land
Squishy scales under quick sand
While dinosaurs chant for reincarnation
Butterflies flutter in several mazes
Carrying souls from eras beneath to
Timeless eras above to retreat


Details | Free verse | |

The Remnants

-Collaboration with Justin Connor-

I should be joyous and glad I should be drinking and celebrating, But the images of the battle still play in my head There is a part of me that is proud, And another part of me that is sardonically laughing I fought for the good of the world Not for the pride that comes afterwards Europe has been liberated from an oppressor The most evil man I have ever known is now dead But because of him, millions of lives have been ruined Brainwashed to creators of chaos and bereavement Families traumatized, bodies in the streets Children, innocent children, stuck in the images Of raging men and sobbing victims The disturbing images now forever stuck in my brain The remnants of war leave a mark Far more agonizing than any bullet wound But something good does come out of all of this There is no need to fight Nobody has to be scared anymore Because we fought, People can begin their lives again The remnants will be cleared and families will be closer Tears will be wiped, shoulders will be wept But I will not celebrate with my friends tonight I will return to my family And allow them to embrace the remnants of a broken soldier This war brought death and suffering And I don’t know how people deal with both Six years of tyranny have ended And many years of pondering have begun Evil was in this world But good was here to fight And good has triumphed over evil To keep the world safe


Details | Free verse | |

Useless Useless



April 14, 1865
A chilled southern wind
Lincoln's last hours
Our American Cousin...

John Wilkes Booth
born: May 10, 1838
Taurus the bull
claimed he had too great a soul
to die like a common criminal...

April 26, 1865
shot rang out
hands held above chest
tell mother I died for country
these hands, useless...useless..
~ ~ ~ ~


Details | Free verse | |

A Sister From Many Lands(My Sincere Apology)

When I first met you I was elated
Filled with much awe
I dreamed of the presently elapsed years
Of great happiness and rich excitement

I watched the birds as they flew past
And squeaked
My naked eyes were fixated
On their sudden movement and their return

Never did I strew my thoughts on the land
Upon which I stood
The charms I could trace on your face
The broad smiles you gave
Lowered the thick tall, solid brick walls
Of my heart

My passions lighted
My yearnings glittered
And the taste of purely refined soft-drinks
I sipped through my throat
Simmered down every feeling of doubt
I contained for you.

Scarcely did I consciously brood 
That some day I would struggle
For relief and solitude
From a white woman’s domineering rule

I grew up fast to think she was white
I disdained and disliked her
I pressed hard at her
Till she felt an austere uneasiness
I fought with her
And sought for what I called liberty 
From her presence

She sobbed, wobbled and left my coast
With spasms of sorrow surging
In her youthful bosom
And bled from pains for untold days


Details | Free verse | |

Poe's pen and liquid

And there sat Poe,
his pen dabbing on

Poe’s hair converged 
his profile

Not an eye,
not a wink,
except...
refill please,
as he leans to his paper
to indite with  wit

All chatter with intelligent
consideration,
but pause at moments
to watch Poe,
though souse,
inscribe with;
 
enduring ink


Details | Free verse | |

Both my kids have Birthdays next Month

Is weird to be born
in society thinks is the 
greatest ever and for good reasons.

I was being breast-fed when my mom heard the news
of JFK
She remembers, I don't.

I don't member RFK either or even 
MLK, but what I will tell ya
is forty odd years later  doesn't ring true
that all three were
“random acts of violence”

We gotta get smart, people
trust our own brains 'cause I tell ya
what slave-owners don't want ya to know

Long as ya buy in to brown-nose ass kissin' consumption
you're riskin' your kids future and furthermore
the half-life for super-powers is about two-hundred
years, ask greece and rome
turkey, egypt, great brittain and so on

just sayin' think on it please
that's all.


Details | Free verse | |

VALHALLA-THE VIKINGS-PART 1

In the bay of icy mists, the viking ghost ships arrive, sails set full ahead,
Crashing anchors rattle loose, plunging beneath the cold murky surf,
As the hailing horns of the dead, announce to their lord, Odin, that
Valor's courageous have arrived, and wish to enter, the great halls of
Valhalla.
Here the cold winds of the north dwell, it's chilling
Breezes flow freely, through the phantom warriors spirits.
But these rough men fear not death, nor it's harsh breath, for they
Are vikings of the northern kingdoms, and they have come for
Their last rewards treasure, to enter beyond the gates of Valhalla,
And are armed ready to fight, beside their God Odin,
In victorious battle.
In these waters of the ethereal unknown passage,
The cracking and heaving, of these heavily
Laden vessels made of vapors thin mists,
Send an eerie chill down the backs, of mortal men.
As mountain icebergs float upon the wind
Chilled oceans surface, the Valkyries approach,
Smiling beneath their shimmering chain-mail of
Brilliance honor.
On the evergreen shores, a timbered lined hall stands,
It's gates of golden pitch blaze, with fires white
Hot flames of those concurred, their souls scream
For penance mercy.
Two long swords, Chris-crossed are the gates steel dead bolts lock,
Above it's embers glow, a fierce eagle with red crimson eyes,
Grapples, it's sharpen claws, cutting deeply into the oaken shields,
On the thatched roof of the golden hall.
A lone wolf beneath therein, passes sniffing at the
Garments of the fallen men, if fears scent, the wolf so smells,
Cast out is this soul, and dammed it is forevermore.
Within the many souls do enter, a hardy welcoming at the feasting
Table mead and honey wine, is set before these hero's of honor.
But outside the ships remain tethered, awaiting for their masters safe
Return, unaware of Thor's approach, his mighty hammer set at the
Ready.
Striking with thunders raw force, the hammer of power, 
Brakes against the sheer ice, as quick as the lightning's flash,
Freezing tidal waves clash upwards, swallowing whole all evidence,
That these ghost ships ever existed.
Oh Valhalla, I pledge thee my life, my fighting spirit, my blood and 
Body given in the name of Odin, for thy honor sake, shall I live and die,
Behold the vow's pledge of these Nordic men, known as the Vikings.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



Details | Free verse | |

Wanderer

A dusty old town-so quiet
a man, a traveler
takes off his pack-so heavy
and reclines for a rest.

they dont know his name, they never do
they wont even bother to ask
he troubles them-his mysterious past
leads them to prejudiced views

but were one to ask, for if naught but a name
what would this traveler say- would he speak?
a word, no. a name, he would give them and pass
"Im Wanderer, the world is my street."

Wanderer-what a name
does it signify much of his life
or is it a code- a cypher?
an enigma to his past.



Details | Free verse | |

A Blizzard in King David's City

Looking out of my hotel window
I see a blanket of white
as snow comes down from the sky
    The Holy City of King David 
grinds to a halt
Winds are blowing as 
Shabbat comes in
The city reels from the bad weather
Yet I take comfort in the fact
that I have made it to Jerusalem
The holy city of the 
Abrahamic faiths
I hope to see more of this ageless city
before I head home to the fabled Lower East Side
where I make my home


Details | Free verse | |

Holy Vow

<                                             5 Vows
                                              Holy Wow

                                               Jainism
                                               Realisim

         
                                             Here We Go
                                            Nice And Slow


                                            Non - Violence
                                            
                                                  Truth

                                            Non -  Stealing

                                            Celibacy / Chastity

                               Non - Attachment  /  Non - Possesion




                                               Life  For  Thee 

                                               It    Must    Be




Entry For 
Deb Guzzi's
Broad Horizons


The 5 Vows Of Janism

                        

                                                

                              


Details | Free verse | |

Telestar

There are those who live and die
Claiming shadows with deliberate decision
On the grounds of negative space
Living lives of resolute precision
In the fields of time  and stories
Our spotlight history has forgot
Somehow they have not
They are watching the Eternal
Unfolding patterns they are mapping
As if seeing it all laid out
Where the rest of us are busy wrapping
Ourselves to hide in perpetual change
Of wind   and sun and rain  at the cross-roads thunder
Seeing only the weather we pass through or under

If one should turn and look at you
Ambling down our street of dreams
Playing up fantastic avenue
You would know you had been seen
In all the aspects you've concealed
That your self had been revealed
From cradle song to funeral march
As if in your life the whole fuque beat
Orchestrated through consciousness more real
To a crystallization of notes complete
Almost hearing as you tremble on the verge
Almost there as he walks away whistling a dirge


Details | Free verse | |

Fade

Once upon an early light, upon an early day,
in a time, before this time, far from far away;
bled a series of events which long ago since faded,
in a setting, somewhere which bore a place that now lay vacant.
Lost to ages, passed and gone, buried, still and tame,
from a time, before this time, far from far away.


Details | Free verse | |

Mystery guy part

   Magic is it possible I can feel this feeling when i'm next to you.

 I feel free from problems from all the issues and then I come back and your no where 
to be found. 

    No I yell this was my chance but it was only a dream and I can't stop 
crying.

 It felt so real, how did they know I grabbed on to my sheets real hard 
because my dreams are just teasing me.

 Another poem about that past love that you can never forget, it's like a knife being 
stuck straight in my heart I can't feel the pain because the love was never there in the 
first place.

 It hurts so bad and sometimes it doesn't I can almost remember a time when I wasn't 
this stuck to him. 

  It was a time for carelessness and a time for laughs I didn't have this memory yet 
and i'm starting to think i'm going mad.

 Sometimes I feel like deleting this one thing that keeps me focused on you like a kid 
on candy. 

   I feel like I could never move on... it's funny how hearing you name could make me 
feel all over again.

 The worst part about this is that it never got finished and I wanted to hear the rest 
of the song.

    Lonely, A funny word sometimes it's laughable sometimes it's a crying 
tantrum spilled moment.

     A cloud has been hanging over my head for nearly forever dark and thundering 
shooting rain down my noes making me lose breath and lose focus. 

   Calling, shouting, beating, bleeding then the cloud finally lifts and I can't help 
missing it.

   It tortured me and made me feel weak and now that's it's gone I can't 
help screaming for the rain.

   Come back to me I say honestly I was fine getting 
soaked but it's gone and all I can see is blue skies and that lonely remembrance 
that I am alone.


Details | Free verse | |

global terrorist based in america causing global problems

on youtube i am troynelson2011 the ocd riddle for world peace,
 i cant check my email,
 twitter wont let me tweet,
 facebook wont let me post, 
and soundcloud definately owes me an appology...

. imagine a group of people in my allies back yard pretending to be somebody they aren't. 
imagine that group of people hiding in my allies midst was perpetrating war crimes in other parts of the world.  
lets say hypothetically speaking this group of people hiding among my allie was holding their children hostage on television and force feeding children to be medicinal guinea pigs so their kids wouldnt have to... 

now imagine this group of people hiding in my allies midst perpetrating war crimes in other countries was funded by the global prodigal youth via living out their dreams and ambitions before they could cause they had the means to do so first.. so this group of inventors all with one invention under their belt using my friends kids as guineau pigs funded by my other friends childrens dreams.....

What do you think happens when a terrorist organisation hiding in your allies midst (few disguised as many) perpetrating war crimes accumulates a debt to owe the prodigal youth sky scrapers...

a global terrorist in usa is perpetrating war crimes using your kids as medicinal guineau pigs.  setting up shop in canada where is rumored homeless began taking refuge in the sewer

in short america, you are going to be introduced to the global prodigal youth, terrorists hiding in your country owe sky scrapers to.when does armstrongs sperm mature anyway?

they hold children hostage on television, they use your kids as guinea pigs,

you have just been volunteered to assist me in murdering my enemy, the one that owes me everything they ever put in their mouth

wouldnt you feel responsible to find out every time you opened your mouth it  became  a tv show, game show, movie, or product on your store shelves, was being used to fund global terrorism.

tsix step process of your enemy.vs ur 4 step process to realise ur allie

you have MY enemy surrounded, word of mouth is powerful

after you read this phone your mother and tell her you recieved an email from the future king of england explaining your global problems... 

 twiiter, facebook, soundcloud, are stolen ideas
isnt it ironic bill gates is our worlds most famous inventor with only one invention... and shows absolutely no pridefor his own baby he worked on for years after work


Details | Free verse | |

You Make Beautiful Things

Usually, I just pass by
with a glance, read their
life story without making
eye contact so my wallet 
doesn’t feel sympathy,
but this time, his cardboard 
sign screamed at my heart.
It was as if his soul breathed 
hope onto what he wraps 
himself in at night.
His cried out eyes
had a thick layer of 
fog over the pupil,
nostrils were cracked,
wrinkles grinned 
dog fur white.
Yesterday, in Palo Alto,
I gave a homeless man 
money,
my freedom only
cost three dollars.


Details | Free verse | |

Viking Kenning's field

where bones are picked cleaned by talons crook's of raven-wives                                      like steely ice-picks dripping of the Valkyries                                                              verb-thieves of morpheme drain the meaning                                                                    through sunken wind-eyes of cloudy skulls in the sky                                                         the bearer of speech-figures  forums of a Norman's-ransack                                       shutting one's eye bare-shirts run away                                                                            to rid hawk's ground of Kenna's-abode
yore's measure-tree nigher are's not having                                                               scrapes-inn but all are vital framers-anvil lost tropes of the metaphor                                 this saga was shy not a peep from windows of the folk                                                       so now  I must not cut but again write not to RE:WRITE                                                     so some can better see learning knew ways breaking yokes                                          free verse at first but now a inquisitive rhyme                                                             Word meanings fly away through  windows of time                                                      snatched by Harpy's torn from memory                                                                   buried in the field of a long ago rhyme                                                                            but digging deep you find teasures stolen by Valkyries                                                      like a grotesque pic surely strown by death's scythe                                                      arm loads of gold stored ready weapons for another warrior                                       which in another time may be erased but not today hold the sword's wife                         writing again holding high and protecting the courier of the quarrier                                by word of scop not to stop but increase your scope


Details | Free verse | |

The puppeteers in the shadows

A force of evil with ruling hand
Holds the world within it's grasp 
and command
Watched bythe all seeing eye
Autocratic no compromise
Driven by power and greed
Dictate to the masses
What they must head
Wolfsin sheeps clothing
Tied to the devils heel
Control the governments puppets
Peptuate and turn historys 
Revolving wheel.



Peter Dome. copyright.2013.


Details | Free verse | |

Freedon Celebration

Colorful blasts rain throughout the night Illuminations of freedom Upon bloodied battlefields Young warriors' innocence was lost While our Independence was gained Our voices ring with Glory while our fires we ignite This night we celebrate our right to be free! TLH © 07-04-2012


Details | Free verse | |

off the cliff:fragment

emerging in the rising twilight
the stars brought tears to our eyes
the wings were like songs
signaling the dry desert rising, 
reaching 

from the great nest 
by the edge where the world 
is split open
some hands reach up 
from an opening in the sky
the belly of the earth 
heaving out its kin


Details | Free verse | |

The Sphnx's Rddle....pt.1

from crude beginnings came primitive man
learning to cope with natures darkened wilderness,
wild plants,wild animals,wild environment,and
day to day uncertain productiveness...

an animal by nature,commuting the body with inferior things,
sticks and stones became weapons and tools
the processed skills,from natural animal to human being,
as existing with nature became his first school...

learning to domesticate nature led to agriculture,
wild plants were tamed to mutiply with the seasons
the firing of earthly minerals was an ardous procedure
training the animal for it's second nature affliction
...the first yoke of beastly burden

communities arose as cooperation persisted
individual roles skillfully attained toward party progression,
utility became necessity,convenience due exisisted
rough beginnings of human civilization...

surplus became barter for exchange,
interacting regions brought goods from afar
the world began to open,to new ideas and range,
refinement appropriated to lessen the vulgar...

as trade became properous,communities became kingdoms,
debauchery became cunning,defense became an artform,
higher learning was reserved for the few,priestly royal wisdom,
as the masses gravitated toward security,considered low born,
...the second yoke of beastly burden

tyrants ruled fiefdoms with imperial fever
as the caste system slowly ascended it's elitist role,
the people endeavored,empowered by need to ward off invaders,
small bands became confederated tribal army,invincibilis sole...

some refused to toil as a beast,why commit as a sweaty worker
when with a strong arm and tempered steel,
rampage on the field was the common ideal of a berserker,
taking by every means possible,rape,pillage,burn and steal...
...the third yoke of beastly burden

unwitting captives became slaves to a new master
luxury forthwith at a bloody cruel cost,
freedom for the shackeled and the chained,couldn't come faster
excepting possible turn of events,all hope not lost...

refinement of industrial machines flowered
more labor needed in the factory and less in the field,
...steam,coal,hydroelectric powered
mass production from massive labor,extensive higher yield...

consumer goods extended to lines of credit
enough is never enough,even in the gulf of disparity
slaves now to individual desire,and can't overcome it,
creating a form of manic depravity...
...the fourth yoke of beastly burden

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Details | Free verse | |

The Blue Sea is Red

The blue sea is red
Full of the blood lost
The war that took over
Allowing those who died
To be remembered
The blue sea is red
After all those wars
Blood has shed
And now the blue sea is red
Allowing us to see
Our world is coming
Coming to an end
The blue sea is red
Full of the lost lives
The blue sea is red
Full of our remembrance


Details | Free verse | |

Ol' Sea Snake's Carriage Ride

Ol' Sea Snake's Carriage Ride

Cobblestones wobble and rock the carriage, 
as I circle these streets with Blue Bits and 
Derby Boy on this vibrant morning.
 
With the sun on my back and  a salty gale brushing 
by, my spirits soar as I imagine what the day will bring.
 
People come from all over to tour this city, 
and soak up it's history and scenic views.
 
Why not climb aboard my carriage and take 
a brisk ride with me on this beautiful day?
 
As we trot through the historic district, I'll 
tell you some of our most scandalous folklores
and show you their shocking locations, 
like Copper Moon Ridge, where pirates once 
dressed as dames to steal their first good swig 
of America's finest moonshine.
It's still pretty darn good!
 
You'll see the towering cliff views of our granite 
lighthouse, whose menacing design has weathered 
decades of the ocean's pounding tides. 
 
We'll squeeze in time to feed the beached seals basking 
in the sun or catch a rare glimpse of  the orca whales 
playing in our bay.
 
 
If romance is your desire, I'll tool you around  in the moonlight,
to our brightest vistas that magnify the star's diamond twinkles.
 ...Perfect for capturing your lover's passion-heart.
I'll even take a long stroll, just to assure you of your privacy. 
 ...Gentleman's honor, I won't take a peek!
 
If it's fish and chips you seek, we'll head over to 
Smacky-Bud's Mackerel Shack for the tastiest fish around.
But I'll be up front with you, don't feed any to Derby n' Bits 
or it'll be a long ride back.
 
So jump aboard and take a ride with this Ol' Sea Snake,
while there's still time.
I'm not getting any younger!
 
You day-trippers spend too much of your weekly grind 
in your lackluster cars.
 
Come, sit back and unwind for a short time.
I'll sweep you back to the golden age of enchantment, 
when hearts would mysteriously merge on a slow-trotting 
carriage ride.  Memories like these could last you a lifetime!


Details | Free verse | |

Kalki The Great Destroyer

Exit the chaos from which you are derived the Prince of Providence makes his existence felt with head held miles high for he has survived against all the uneven odds acknowledging the victory he gives a slight accepting nod while at loss for words for he has exceeded more than ever deserved sitting upon his throne, unowned at the highest peak existence has known Hear me Great Destroyer, conqueror of lesser men from heaven or hell, or the wishing well from what shadow did you ascend? a shadow who dominates the light the prince leaves prints of a powerful foresight a kiss goodnight, for the waning age not one sole survive, to witness his rage a chaos reign, for all the accepted learn to control it, or join the neglected I live within the golden gates survivor of the olden days staring frozen by his gaze stuck for eternity in my own mind maze Where have you been? What have you witnessed? How did you become master to the submissive? How did you beat the horror you faced? The Prince of Destruction is of calamity made


Details | Free verse | |

Ruthless

ruthless are
the powers that be
controlling
the substance
withholding
the cure
growing
the means
feeding
the addiction

saving none

burying all


Details | Free verse | |

monkey meat

meat market
and i'm standing like a
flank steak
everyone has preference to their
cuts
i'm tough 
until thoroughly marinated
with
gaelic garlic
scandanavian scallions
nice broth
and throw
some potatoes at my head
until i speak as
a human 
stewing on a fire
and never limping
through the life process
of food for thought
or horse steaks bought
for too many dollars
the meat market
needs new flesh
for the old to
chew on their fresh 
souls of ginger
to refresh their breath
smiling while defiling
the unaware
because meat lockers are kept
at 28 degrees
with swinging flesh in a U-haul
going to places anew
transportation of regurgitation
to the new ridiculous 
meatwagon


Details | Free verse | |

Underneath (The Possession Of Nostradamus)

like a suggestion to obsess
of a gap commercial experience
leaving me walking in circles
unable to stop telling lies
the fight or flight keeps me here
underneath this hypnosis
you work to keep pure
failed attempts to do the right thing
leaves you subconciously out of the loop
the worlds fool
fooling the world
awaiting to wake from my slumber
to wonder who i am
and for you to realise
this was in no way shape or form
my fault.

Hypnotic suggestion that seems to be keeping me alive
showcasing your innocence at first
terrorised by the fact you didn't understand
the fight or flight keeps me here
underneath this purely good intention
you try to poison to wake me up
the world deadlocked by this
failed attempts to do the right thing
the world fooled for a second chance
to induce me back to where i began
this seems to me to be in no way shape or form
a fault of yours

The stage of life revolving around a disorganised game
not many had any bad intentions
yet in this dilema of irony i am crucified
misunderstood good intentions i subconciously relate to
societies torture i feel i have endured
keeps me here deadlocked by an attempt to control fate
a stacked deck presented by ladyluck and a promise of destiny's first date
the world fooled by the hearts of angels of men alone
to place this devil upon my shoulder
a game to play of a return to innocence within my minds eye logic
ofacting out mankinds reflection
this has left me in a temporary surrender
knowing the fallen angel confused as to who he is
is a god in disguise completely misunderstood
at no fault of your own


Details | Free verse | |

Camille

Wake up to find its not just a dream, 
the morning rips a new wound of reality. 
Forever gone, Forever missing, 
All the regrets building up inside of me. 
I could have been better, 
cause you were the best, 
I love you with everything 
now you took your last breath. 
You went, happily 
and chased the birds over that rainbow bridge, 
I hope your watching from above c
ause when you left you took a part of my heart

...RIP My Beautiful Puppy. I Love You Camille Baby?


Details | Free verse | |

My Trip on the Titanic

I’m here to tell you about the Titanic…
Back when we were wealthy and rich
We boarded the ship at Southampton
And took all our family jewels with us
To find a resting place in New York City
This was the plan but it never happened
Olivia, my wife, and I were both dancing together
Out on the main floor near the stairwell
It was a gorgeous day and one I’ll never forget
I remember the loud noise and the sound
Of rushing water, so we ran to the deck
To see what had happened
Then we saw the ship taking in water
Immediately we ran to the life boats
One was getting ready as we approached it
We got aboard the life boat and went down
We’re now in the water on a very small boat
And then I remembered all of our life’s jewels
Worth well over seven million dollars
Now we’re basically broke cause that’s where
All our money went, into buying each jewel
It was the easiest way to transport money
We were amazed at how fast the ship went down
And how few actually survived this occurrence
This terrible day will forever be with me
As I sit, remembering times of the lurid past
Thinking of how quickly we reacted
That saved our lives completely
We were rescued, but so many were not
I was grateful for our second chance at life
I believe we made the best of it
Trading in money for a rich full life
Great trade if you ask me…

Russell Sivey

Entrant into Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver's "My heart will go on and on...." contest

3/28/2012


Details | Free verse | |

Message in a Bottle

I loved
I hated
I laughed
I cried
I was dumb
I was wise
I was cruel
I was kind
I lived
I died
I was there
I was here
Long ago
I was here...

12/8/2012
Catie's contest


Details | Free verse | |

Shadows in Candlelight

Feeble and hunched over
his movement stumbles
as shuffling feet echo
in the shadows
of a candle-lit
forgotten church
as the old priest
performs his sacred rituals
to a few faithful followers


A commitment to the cloth
harbourer of hidden secrets
an unclaimed inheritance
no longer passed on
the last remaining elders
keepers of unwanted wisdom
take their secrets
to the grave


Details | Free verse | |

how ive already changed your future

80 paintings i gave away
an abstract to the tune of the stairway to heaven
good advice and solutions to certain ailments
written on the back
wisdoms to resolve confusion written on the back of others
some lost along the way i have not forgotten
like th one left at the library
like the one given to the homeless shelter
like the one i gave to the city center police station

the needle in the hay stack
with methods on how to escape a concentration camp
the reality on the back

every relationship in my life
the good the bad and the ugly
with all poetic cryptic heartfelt advice

away walk the hookers and cons with an enlightenment
some find a sense of enjoyment of the things they find

something you can't take back from society
as these paintings will eventually change hands
wether bought or sold
or sit in the restaraunts or homes to be looked at

one day these pieces will come together
this is intelligence trading hands in random haphazard wonder
like new tarot cards for your future to wonder
the mystery out there built on the foundations of today
an inspiration from me i got from caring about someone else
the powerful, the hungry, the victom, the oppressor, the rich and poor

ive already changed your life tomorrow
and the past is out there catching up to you today
subtle conversations of bouncing some ideas off of others
either to agree to disagree
or completely understand oneself or another

this intelligence is out there
my life story you will one day have to wonder
themes done to the lyrics of stairway to heaven
now you can see when and where i changed songs
if you can configure the one most likely to be next
in my artistic obsessive compulsive order


Details | Free verse | |

My Business Is Today

Committing myself to action; 
I stopped to put all plans away.

Determined to author my Life's book pages, 
I began the business of today.

I did away with past and future: 
Losses made and profits gained; 
That to lose and this to gain.

With the past already accounted for, 
And future yet to be taken account of; 
It's a waste for me to keep their books -

My business is today 


Details | Free verse | |

The Idiot

Almost 
Shades of pine in derision on the loom/

Generous sway through timeless appease the trees,
Brandished by timely groves chased after wind breeze,
Sullen...
I hit my head on a passing potatoe through the leaves;

The Idiot

Charmed in an almost decadence shattered fragments 
They say that we are young only once on point
Visible
Shattered glass amidst the decorum shredded braid,

Tempted again through the wind/

Blatant 

My head swell as if an almost glow;
Black ash through peach cornerstones
Farmers in delusion there frequent solution
Viable breach of peace 

Sullen fragments out on the pavement floor lest I implore,
Control freeks in sullen apartment dealings fly's on wall
The ocean with sun no fun we run in timeless fight
Shallow scheme amidst the chore a quaint bore of illusion

Fought back the tears with a smile etched in the decorum once more
A tree to loom in timeless bleed
Achieve
Certain factual death?

The idiot would squirm ego burn another page is now turned;
Ass!


Details | Free verse | |

Ten Years Later

Once I wore cowboy boots on an oil rig And before that I was a Deputy, also known as a ‘Pig’ Prior to that time I was a normal guy, living life on the wild side But before I did that, I signed a line; a line to instead of your life, give mine. I was proud to put on a uniform that in turn was an automatic target But attacks on New York, D.C. and Pennsylvania, were the events that would start it Never again would my life be the same, no more thinking freedom was a game Alas, yet again in 2011, we shall continue to send those terrorists, to their ‘terrorist heaven’


Details | Free verse | |

Questioning The Right Answer

Time and time again
Things will come and go.
Life will run,
Deaths can show.

But it's not the time
That must be watched.

It's the things done
In life that make
What was to what is.

Tears will fall
Laughter will be heard
Fights will happen
Love will appear.

Yet,

Time and time again
One will wonder.

Why this?
Why me?
Why them?

But only in time will
The actions show.

Pain, love, hate, joy.
Tears, smiles, laughs, frowns.

Life...

It's a gift.
A privilege.
A right. 

It's a test
It's a fight,


It's easy to pass or fail
It's easy to win or lose.
 

See the definition of life,
Don't live it like a book.


Write stories as they happen!
Lead NOT follow.


In the end,
The life You live
Is the life You choose.


Details | Free verse | |

Tales on a Bench

Rural fallacy took them 
all 
On a bench so long, long 
and long
So outstretched to many 
many miles
And carried a very 
many smiles.
Behold many narratives:
Beatitude caricatures and 
boisterous terrors
Amid colorful comical 
and beauteous polarities.
Beautiful bench in a 
beautiful terrain
Under a beautiful shade 
Serving beautiful beings
And soon say naught to 
the cuckoo songs
On this cuddling 
cream bench.
there are many 
perpetual tales on this 
perpetual seat
And will last so long the 
world is with them.

Entered into "On a 
bench" contest.
Sponsored by: Black 
Eyed Susan.


Details | Free verse | |

Forgotten

Forgotten

So many have died
Slaves executed by the rich
Warriors placed in battle with each other
Blood spilt in the name of entertainment
Forced to fight
Forced to kill
Forced to die
They lived in total hell
Wounds left open
Bleeding into the sand
Food barely enough to stay alive
How would they be remembered?
Their names will not be passed down
They will be scratched into rock
Hidden by the passage of time
Found a thousand years later
Worn and eroded
Their names are in museums
Viewed by thousands
Remembered by none
Their stories are never retold
They lived
They fought
They died
And now they are forgotten


Details | Free verse | |

The Sphnx's Rddle....pt.2





As the pensive endure chaotic variance
Hope rules supreme toward Heaven's ambiance
awaiting the crumbling of darkened towers
...even they must face the final hour

Pathway of the chosen purposivly gleaned
glory to be crowned by the highest esteemed
laid out in Quarters,marked by degrees,
slowly artisaned like golden filigree

With the body of a Lions voracious appetite
curbing it's rapacious need,to feed and fight
begins the first quarter of disciplining pride
as the anguish of shame begins to subside

With the heart of a Bulls conflicting irrationality
deviating it's higher formed sensibility
begins the second quarter of reasons understanding
as the languidness of doubt dissolves angers maddening

With the head of Man now filled with grace
inferior things no longer trace
begins the third quarter as higher intelligence found
harmonious order become Heavenly sounds

With the wings of an Eagle soon to take flight
as the Phoenix's re-birth toward golden heights
ends the fourth quarter made amiable to Divine propriety
most certainly welcomed into Heavenly society

The Sphinx being the symbol of composite whole
homeward bound is the goal of the soul
earthbound the body is it's terrestrial nature
heavenbound the spirit is it's true filial nature...

     ~~~~~~~~~~~

as the rejected cornerstone,
the perfect cube,
what was Jesus's objective,
the miracle of walking on water?

...sink or swim,

you cannot build a strong foundation,on the pathway of doubt...


Details | Free verse | |

The art Of Spring

Bright blue skies on a spring day
Fulfills my horizon
Blue birds and robins pass me by

Mountain, trees, and animals
Priase God Abroad
The frsh air bring forth calmness
A quiet serene a waits my soul

Red orange and violets
Represents God's glory
Flowers slowly rise with the sun
And water crickets sings songs of glory

Fresh water arises with the scent 
Of of sweet savory of God's spices
Beach rolls in the lazy tide
I sit back and enjoy it all

The art of spring is glorification
Of all tings God created
He's the world famous artist

He


Details | Free verse | |

The Typewrite

___ Manual Typewriter At Work___

The keys clack aloud
As they strike the paper
The carriage lifts up
When the shift key is alter
The ping of the bell warns the typist
That she is nearing the end 
Of the line and have to
Lift up her left hand
From the keyboard.
Swipe at the carriage returns lever.
Putting the carriage back to its normal position
Cause a 'Ziiip' noise scribe has to bear.

Olden days still not old
Computers come to being through it.
It is gold of many colors
That can best be traced by people of its age. 


Details | Free verse | |

WE, THE DEAD




My memory rippled, shifted shamefully, like the waves below the gangplank.
Mother clung, but her hand was shaking so badly that for a crippling moment 
I feared she would knock me into rank depths that seemed to mouth my name.

The well, that well, and its hold have returned and I am once again down, down,
under dark waters which pull all the will from me, a sinful thought for a girl
of thirteen, but the mad, mad, sadness laps at my thoughts, endlessly eroding

at courage and the belief that we will ever reach other shores and start life anew. 
Unsinkable they say, mocking God and hell, daring to claim, this Titan is tame.
Liars all, painting inky seas blue and tagging our holding barge the ship of dreams.

Third class, we are kept like kippers, tightly packed, and I long for Peterborough,
Where skies do not tilt and I can escape to the fields and their wildflower seams,
Oh, I hear the mourning of propellers, turning, turning like Mother’s pale torment.

She will not sleep, her terror is patronized by my older siblings, but I see, too,
her premonitions and far, far, below, I hear the icy echo of drowning calling,
My old friend who once let me go, but soon, soon will use that familiar undertow.

Finally, comes the grinding grinding to a stop and from our bunks we are falling,
And sweet Will sucks his thumb without being told no, no, no, little Connie’s bawling,
But its father who shocks me the most, for he is oddly quiet and his eyes are hazed.

We get to the deck, but there is no lifeboat for eleven, so I gazed upwards instead, 
Count the distant and indifferent stars, remember how I’d almost seen Heaven,
Listen to the band playing, playing and mother praying, praying for we, the dead.






About this poem

I am writing a fictionalized account of Miss Dorothy “Dolly” Florence Sage, 13, Titanic passenger. However these are the facts: Dolly fell down a well as a little girl, nearly drowned, and as a result her mother was terrified of water. Annie Sage, 44, did not want to cross the Atlantic, but supported her husband, John, also 44, and his dream to begin a new life in America. They had nine children. No one in the family survived. The youngest was only four. Stella, the oldest girl, managed to get to a lifeboat, but refused to get on without her family. The picture is not that of Dolly, but of a girl from that era.


Details | Free verse | |

All Because I Am Jewish


I saw you brother with your eyes deadened to life 
As the bullet passed through your chest 
I shall never forget that piece of lead that laid your soul to rest 
Lodged into the door beside me 
Our plan had failed 
Every detail played to perfection 
Your hand was on the rail of the train when the shouts came 
Stop! Stop! 
To stop meant death anyway, so why would we 
Yet their bullet pierced you 
And I stood there, frozen in a world that hated us 
If things were reversed I wonder, would I have pulled that trigger? 
I think back when they sent momma and poppa to that gas tank 
The cloths had hidden the fear in their eyes 
As they walked silently to death 
I know this, I could never have been that cruel 
How could they follow this leader of deranged thought 
But now I am alone in this freedom land called America 
I shall never forget what those Nazi's did to my family 
The tortures unbearable for thought 
All the friends I have known have perished by gas 
Some shot for refusing to die 
All because I am Jewish 
Nothing could be so atrocious as to kill a man for being himself. 

BY: DARREN J McMURRAY 
June 14, 2008 


Details | Free verse | |

Much Like the Sun.

 You look up to the sky.
 It is a normal summer day like any other.
 Sparse clouds line the sky and the sun beats down on you.
 Except this is no ordinary summer day.
 This is the day you ship out.
 You have said your good byes and cried with your lovers.
 The weight of your country rests upon your shoulders.
 It beats down on you much like the sun. 
 It burns you if you are not properly prepared,
 much like the sun.
 Much like the sun you are depended on by all that you known.
 Depended on by your country.
 Much like the sun,
 you fade away into the night appearing in a different country


Details | Free verse | |

The Ancient Stone Wall

The Ancient Stone Wall

Green fields going on forever
Traveled by Romans, Celts and Brits alike
They each left their marks before they left
Walls built ages ago still stand
Made of rocks dug by hand
Carried by slaves taken from conquered peoples
Thousands of them stacked one by one
Each one a piece of art on its own
Covered by dull green moss
Ferns grow in their narrow cracks
They go on for countless miles
No one really knows who made them
Their names were lost to history
Still they are remembered
Their legacy remains in an ancient stone wall
Rocks placed with their sweat and blood
A timeless memorial to their spirit
Something that says the they were there


Details | Free verse | |

Invisible Chains


When you think your alone I’m actually there. . taking away your freedom and your not even aware.

Its better this way with you not knowing, as if our true face was to show, well that would be the end of the plan as we know.

So do us a favour and keep working your 9-5 watching our T.V thinking you’re alive.

The truth of it all is we run this show and even if we told you no better people would know! 

As most aren’t wise they do as there told, makes them feel secure. . Its psychology of old, an as we both know sheep do not lead  . . but follow!


Details | Free verse | |

A Diamond Within The Gold

 When time becomes of age
As dawn approaches a new days breathe
Where life in existence discovers boldly
The path to coexist.
   To ward off the ashes of old
Of strife and misguided intolerance
America sees itself united
From the taint of racial ignorance.
   Color has not the value of definition
Of a man behind the soul
To each individual has a name
A diamond within the gold.
   The dawn of the age of acceptance 
Of open eyes and open minds
Together to stand in unity
This is America defined.

     ©By: Darren J McMurray
        November 6, 2008


Details | Free verse | |

Postcard Dream

Thousands upon thousands 
          of postcards
Images from the past
  with the wrting of long forgotten strangers on them
          The three day show 
Collectors gather from all over the world
    Gather in the hotel
to but and exchange 
    cherished images 
        fromthe past
Collecting movie star photos, sports heroes ,nudes and 
almost everything else
The proceedings seem dull to some 
But a source of fascination to others 
Postcard show -New York City 2012


Details | Free verse | |

Take comfort

In the loneliness of darkness
In the backlash of cruel words
My mind seeks your comfort 
As the pages in the fire curl
Ink bleeds sharply
Into my paper skin 
Lines of your etchings and your poems 
Embedded deep within 
From my lips seep a whisper
In my dreams I call your name
Tears of my rain
Drip down your window pane
Shattered mirrors reflect your eyes
Like a window through time
The first day you swore you loved me
The day you got tangled in your lies
Still in this frozen moment 
I remember a song we once sang
Our lips met in softness 
Becoming morphine to our pain 
Our lullaby I softly sing
Listening to the mirage of a piano
Now like silk I lay draped
My heart taking comfort
In the memories that we made


Details | Free verse | |

The Search

We blast mountains from our vision
To shape how things should be
Punctured the sand with cold derision
Power reigned with sudden glee
And what now?
Nothing in the caves
Except blasted stones and gaping wounds
Time frantic, raves
At nothing midst the shadow of the ruins.
The mountains there
Where we lost them, concentrated in dust
Saw it disappear
So vulnerable our destructible use of trust.
Nothing in the sands
Nothing in our hands
Nothing in the rivers
The petty law givers
Are mingled with dunes that twirl and twirl
The blind thought of what will end the world.


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can old men hold their heads and cry

she might have been beautiful
I'll never know
she might have been the best mother ever
Again, I'll probably never know
no bruises, no witnesses
did she lurch out in screams 
as you handed her the grief of your business
how slanted you stood 
tell me was it brief or was she another victim
sunday, bloody sunday
how unworthy you are to see monday

if life were a sitcom
i'd been abortioned
smiles, tears, divorce
a portion of a potion
if i make it to next year
i'll be twenty-five 
and well alive
I wish i could say the same for you
Do you remember the twenty-first day
of that ninth month
she held on to this pain for you

i was born for this 
bred from a diseased quilt
a testament of mans filth
a glass of wine
a past confined
perhaps we were nickel and dime'd to death
sometimes life resembles a fine line of stress
like a satin pillow 
with burgundy stains
I worried you sane

"was it not lovely when i wrote away your misery
through my eyes i'll show you the world
it was a beautiful place"

i have no intentions to care what you think
or how you blink when your nightmares sink you
days have forwarded past you
i can only hope to out last you
i'd rather wear a mask then resemble a fraction of you
there was a time life was as simple as green pastures
slaves would cling to masters
women would sing of asterisks 
of all the perfect worlds is this the one you designed
i'm feeling quite refined 
over the years we've worshiped war
so many have died
you see the tears of porcelain stars
yet you learn nothing
nothing means anything
until you lose something

"If you lost your life for every mistake you made
you wouldn't make mistakes."

the black hitler's journal, entry II



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Gathering flowers of the imagination tribute

Tales of Tomorrow, Alfred Hitchcock Presents                                                             Science Fiction Theatre,  One Step Beyond                                                                   The Twilight Zone,  Way Out, The Outer Limits                                                           Night Gallery, Journey To The Unknown                                                                     Ghost Story- Circle of Fear,  Fantasy Island                                                                Tales of the Unexpected,  Mystery!,   Darkroom                                                           The Hitchhiker,  Tales from the Darkside,  Amazing Stories                                           The Ray Bradbury Theater,  Tales from the Crypt,  Monsters                                              Among these you probably have a favorite anthology 


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The Start of Something Great

My first antiques were bought at an auction after I was divorced
They were inexpensive, great value and talked to me
They gave me comfort at a time when I needed comfort
Using them, they became old familiar friends
I grew up in an era where new was unknown, so these familiar friends became part of
who I had become
I then met a wonderful man, who became my soul mate and though he scorned
my old furniture, he soon began to realize their worth
His modern teak did not have the value my old pieces retained
A job loss made a business begin and Antiques at the Sawmill was born
My old familiar became the source of our income and many old familiar pieces came
and went through the years
We were blessed to have so many people looking for the old and while purchasing,
many of these people became our friends
Inadvertently, my old familiar things enriched our lives as did the many wonderful
people who purchased items through the years
We never know what will come into our lives but we should never not open a door to
see what is beyond.
It shows that sometimes necessity becomes much more than that, it leads us to a new
and worthwhile life
I know that we were richly blessed because of what started as a necessity
I will always thank God for showing us the way.
 


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Babylon

Words hold the meaning that we assign them
Ever since the fall of the tower .....


Babylon
Ancient land of mysteries solved
and shared
Where collective mind 
cast away the shadow of doubt.

Creative thought 
held siege by the Jealous Gods of war
and retribution
Zeus
Appolo
Yeshua


A hundred times, babylon fell
to the Kassites, the Assyrians, 
She fell 
and was re-built by Nebuchadnezzar   
The hanging gardens, of Eden
her fruit of art and music
flowed through deserts
with the sweet wine of Bacchus
intoxicating all in her pleasure. 

In the aftermath of the great feast
they awoke to find
The Persian army stationed amidst them
having walked through the river
and under the walls.  
Order reform, separation. 
corruption deterioration
Dust to dust.
till
Alexander the Great
wooed her alive again.. 
Babylon
dancing through gardens, libraries, 
markets, travel and trade
musicians, poets and playwrights 
came again to sing praises of her beauty.
With his death 
she fell
pawed apart by the feuding decay of his bureaucrats.
Babylon, death and rebirth..

Now she lies beneath the sands, 
beneath the waters of the Euphrates 
A camel ride south of Bagdad
where the tanks and shells of many lands
shake the ancient tower down.

Hammurabi’s code still stands
shattered into a million languages.

Right is right
and Law is Law.


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THE SIBYL - POSEIDON

Sleep, Lord Poseidon,
Deep, everlasting sleep
While sailors watch with bated breath

Old planking creaks -
The pitiable, splintering sound -
Old planking creaks

Old sailor,
Splintery-kneed old sailor,
Keeps his watch

With ever a thought of life's futility,
Down deep,
Where dolphins stay

But Lord Poseidon never sleeps
And dolphins play.....
And play


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Festi and Fireworks

Zurrieq Festa our destination
Driving off late into the night
Over terrible roads, chasing islanders
All worth it to see the sight.

The church golden and brightly lit
Shining out for all to see
Bunting and stalls lining the streets
Everywhere people, excitement is building
Bands lining up to be heard as they march.

Suddenly it's midnight!

Melodic sounds keep time with fireworks
Each display more impressive than the last
Whirling and twirling freely on posts
Physics at the base of their design
As beauty shines through in the colours and patterns
Hands clapping, people cheering, part of the moment.


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Do You Remember

Do You Remember

Do you remember?
Living through the death of a president
A year of assassinations
Fighting a war no one wanted
Heroes spat upon when they came home
Peace finally found when American turned and ran
Black and white television
Only three channels from which to choose
Students massacred while walking to class
A British invasion that forever changed music
Healthy tobacco and saccharine
Sold through commercials and ads
Pollution filled our lungs
The death of a princess on a lonely road
Injections in schools to prevent disease
Nuclear test in the Nevada desert
Air raid drills just in case
Half of the world never trusted the other
One president resigned while another gave away cheese
The law finally made all kids equal
People stating their thoughts arrested and jailed
Locked away so that no one would ever hear
After living through all of this only one question remains
How did we ever survive?


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Torture Within

There is a dividing line between the chasm fault

Some are eager & content to appear righteous yet
They are only fooling themselves through a dance
One in twain marked on its blotted page yet fully intact
Working too hard can give anyone a heart attack

Lines have been drawn in the sand
When will we ever understand?
The visible from the invisible yet now were caught in the middle
Some our eager and content in playin second fiddle?

Clearer heads have prevailed yet

There is still known torture from within my friend
One will take the time out to listen
A sign of grace spread out upon a peyton place
Circumstances all for second glances?

Yet the heart from within will surface again 

Fought back the tears with a smile still to know all the great while
A pen on a paper a stereo to caper
Me & Eric b & a nice cool plate of fish
Sorry to have missed its waiting bliss

In agony we will begin to see
A misfortune to a heightened reality as a key
Soaring ever higher then ever before reaching great heights
Shattered fragments on the pavement floor 

Some are eager & caught in vice
perhaps another chance or a roll of the dice?


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A Friend Named John

My dear friend John is a peaceful,
humble and noble giant,
with a red badge of courage.

So, what does God want him to do?

In the historical past,
the slaves needed skills to
survive in the new world.

“They cursed the bread, because
they could not eat the meat.”

Somehow, God provides our daily bread,
and He still provides.

Did you hear the great news?

The mighty African drumbeats are speaking
colorful rhythms throughout the villages.
The drums are singing about freedom for
our brothers and sisters in bondage.

Remember, there is only one God, and
He provides the golden battle shield.
Yes, God is the victory delivering us from evil.

Well, a new day is coming, and we will stand
together on God’s Plymouth Rock.
He is the steady hand, guiding us like a compass,
through a quite storm.

Still, God is everlasting, because He is the
beginning and the end.
God is the water that we thirst
He is the air for our soul to breath
God is the answer to our prayers

My friend John, put your trust in God,
and let God take care of the residue.


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WAR


                                                      BLACK
                                                      FLAME
                                                       SHOT
                                                       BANG
                                                      GROAN
                                                     SILENCE
                                                       COLD
                                                      TEARS
                                                        PAIN 
                                                     MEMORY


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Selfish Ignorance

Countless experienced
The horrors of war
Communism
World hunger
Undeniable
Historical data.
Then thousands
Witnessed his miracles
Heard the message
Yet distrust the Son
Of God.
Were the times lacking 
DVD’s?


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On Scrap Metal Traders

They came like locust
A clustering crowd clattering leaves
And when the cloud into cirrus strads had fade
I saw nothing the same as before.
Heap upon heap they came
Tormenting everything whose structure
Or bone or faith is metallic,
Tearing down bridges, or train lines
Or cables of communication
Leaving us to be spectators
And non-strategic commentators of greed.
It is a strange occupation 
In a country without mines, or manufacturers
Forging iron and steel into added value of history
Our energy and vision
Has no capacity for such excursion
From the dilemma of our tormented box.
I shudder when the land is barren
When we no longer import the finite supply
I shudder when the pockets run dry like rivers
Whose beds we do not clean
Or is it only I that see the forecast of the storm?


Details | Free verse |