Make no haste,
your work is restless.
Aeon give me pause--
no more ticking
ever towards the
Live the now.
Even Death took
veering briefly from an
eternity of reaping
Take your time
on earth and
My desire is not for chocolates…
just for the taste of you
so sweet on my tongue
(it lingers there as Ghirardelli does)
Do not give me pink stuffed bears
if your arms will hold me
on these tossed sheets
(embrace me tight and bridge this space)
I send (eyes open)
crimson shed wishes
on passion tossed seas
and warm tender kisses
I plead on my knees
Blood red hearts ooze on this page
Every beat…(feel its rage)
My heart emits
a whisper on your wind
(catch it please)
Unearthed flowers are useless…
they wither away
into the dust….
(though, calla lilies...if you must)
you are eternal…..
I want no message
bought from hallmark
(much too sterile)
Spill on pages words from you
the breath of life to me
Your heart….it is my reason....
It reflects a sliver satin shatter
dusting in my own
A voice…it seems…
I have always known
Giggles on the pillow
Hushed morning voices
Precious tender moments
lost inside your eyes
Kiss me awake
with all your hunger
(lips of desire)
Catch this fire!
Tempt me hotly
with your touch
I’m still afraid
when I feel this much
Make me mindless
for suspended moments
your dazzling brilliance
Flames of burning
and rich ruby red
(much like the sunset sky)
“Good morning….my valentine…
and good night…too”
I will drink red wine
and dream of you…
In sweet rainbows colors
if your were mine....
Through telescope eyes...
Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of
On judgment hill from on high,
Voices do echo downwards, as the
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
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
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Beneath the old Hollywood sign,
Under October's full moon light,
At mid night’s stroke of twelve.
Grab your autograph book if you
On all Hallows Eve a celebrity,
Brake out occurs at Forest Lawns,
It's a regular ghoulish ghoul festival,
What an undead hullabaloo, a truly.
Freakish sight to behold of who’s whom,
A carnival of both old, and new well,
To do's list.
Roll out the crimson red carpet,
Let's travel down memory lanes
Main Street it leads towards
And the star's walk of fame.
Look out hear comes good old Trigger,
With Roy Rogers riding backwards,
Singing happy trails to you,
Until we meet again.
By the sharpened edge of
Who's that putting the bite on,
Lone Chaney but no other than,
Oh God get out of the way it's,
Grandpa Munster, driving the
Family hot rod with cousin it,
As his blind co pilot.
Until the all clear is given stay,
Who released that ghastly crew,
From their locked down creepy,
The three stooges Moe, Larry,
And Curly, zombies' poster boys.
Bashing and smashing to giggles laughs.
Poking each other in the eyes just
For sheer delight.
Meanwhile back at party central Michael,
Jackson, Is doing his moonwalk dance,
Across graveyard's dark path,
To an updated version of thriller.
Could not be reached for comment,
His last headstones address simply reads,
Marilyn Monroe, sings to JFK
Happy birthday to you
Posed ever so seductively,
Behind the presidential eternal
As Rock Hudson wows the golden girls,
Making them swoon.
But soon all must return to normal,
For the sunrise lies not far away.
The horizon dawn approaches,
Behind the ancient Hollywood sign.
And they'll all sleep once more.
But forever living on in reruns,
Ever lasting enchanting episodes.
They shall never be forgotten.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Run, run, run as fast as you can...
I'm still gonna get you, my little green man...
I grabbed on to the gold buckle on his waist...
I held him down, with no time to waste...
I tied The Leprechaun to a hollow tree,
Broke off a branch and poked him on the knees.
I kept on poking him with a stick.
I kept nagging him to reveal his magic trick.
This little shamrock kid would not break.
He kept insisting THE LEPRECHAUN legend was fake.
This little odd dwarf kept lying about his mythical pot of gold.
I kept repeating all the stories I've been told..
Nagging him and nagging him~ FOR HIS POT OF GOLD!
He lied, about the fables, telling me his gold does not exist...
The Leprechaun refused to hear the clover list...
It's been 7 days!
And, still he won't give up, what's at the end of the rainbow.
Tickling his little Eskimo toes,
Running feathers underneath his nose.
"Look you little green treasure troll, I've captured you, and demand the gold!"
"You won't get me with your tricks!"
"So don't even try to outwit me with your silly MAGIC!"
I suppose his silver-tongue, will have to do,
And the little gold buckles on his shoe.
I got tired of trying to make him see, my point of view.
I got a better deal and trade for a monkey at the zoo.
Now the lions are enjoying a Pot of Leprechaun Stew.
Nothing I did, made him unfold.
All I wanted was his pot of gold!
We`re on our way
Visiting good old friends from Norway
Now living in Turkey
Its the smiling country
We got everything we need..and more so
Romantic evenings with candlelights on the table
Eating out everyday,and watching the perfect sunset
The scenery is beyond spectacular
Not so nice sceneries comes sneaking into my thoughts
TV news shows an infant,shot to death..right through her chest
Another infant penetrated by grenade splints,now laying dead on a table
Her father screams in pure anger,anxiety and endless grief
More than 200 innocent civilians found,sliced to death by the army
Schools..hospitals are being used as canon targets
Civilians being forced to walk infront of tanks..defenceless kids most of them
Just in case resistance groups should make any attempt to stop these heavily armed forces
They are used as living targets
All within the hour from a holiday paradise in Turkey
Tears are shed for you..brothers and sisters
Your life is bleeding out of you..but your spirit will fight `til the bitter end
How cruel..How unfair it all is in this world
My thoughts and prayers are with you Syria
April 4th 2012
*Would you Could you, Be My Valentine*
A Simple yes or no would do!!
could you be mine?
To: ALL the poets on the soup
From: The Poet Destroyer
<3 <3 <3
There’s nothing all that scary
about a jack ‘o lantern.
It’s just a hollow pumpkin
with customary mouth, nose and eyes
carved to form the usual wry face. . .
Imagine that same pumpkin
on Halloween night - lit up on the porch
of some dark and eerie lonely worn out house.
And there’s no one there but you!
You approach the door but get a strange vibration
this is not a house for trick or treating!
No one seems to be there, and yet. . .
as you turn to go, you are sure that you can see
writhing worms and cockroaches
come crawling from the flashing eyes
and the grinning orifice of that pumpkin face.
And you can almost swear,
as your skin turns into goose flesh,
that you hear that bad Jack snigger,
his bright eyes trained on you as you rush off.
He’s laughing at the humanness in you.
What keeps me awake
When the cool breeze bears whispers of things to come
Promises to be fulfilled on the morrow?
Is it my joyless moment of cognizance
knowing that this stagnant night ripples from no real breeze
Only imagined promises birthed on the whims of a longing heart?
Yet, what keeps me awake
is not these dreams of flattering winds
but it is this night of lifeless branches and unrifled leaves
the lack of real whispering winds taunting my heart
What truly keeps me awake
Is the silence of tomorrow.
Across the land he strides this night,
Amide the living and the dead.
He goes confidently in search of a fight,
Harboring no amount of dread.
He seeks those going bump in the night,
Including the living dead.
Cross bow at ready with hidden knives,
He’ll clear this land he’s said.
Wow to the wicked on Hallows Eve,
Be careful as you run amuck, and hide wherever you will…
For Van Helsings aim is straight and true,
As is his beating heart, a rare few have ever imbued.
And of course those magnificent fighting skills…
No one can ever outdo.
Consider well your choice of path between evil and the good,
For Van Helsing’s waiting right ahead…
To take good care of you.
Contest: Halloween Night