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Free Verse Work Poems | Free Verse Poems About Work

These Free Verse Work poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Work. These are the best examples of Free Verse Work poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

New Dawn

As I roll out of bed tomorrow
I’m gonna say goodbye sorrow
Fare thee well Mr. Cynicism
See you later Mr. Pessimism
Adios to Mr. Skepticism
Exit negativity, enter positivity
No procrastination and inactivity 
An idle mind is the devils workshop
That’s why I’ll exert myself nonstop
No more misery and depression
As exuberance replaces dejection
Success is around the corner
It’s coming now and not later
Victory is surely heading my way
No matter what people may say
I quit banking my future on luck
Time has come to break the duck
A new dawn has shown its face
My home will be a better place
I’m a potential winner, a true born victor
Within me lies a superstar, a megastar
No I’m not building castles in the air, 
I’m not dreaming, I’m not hallucinating
I have to earn my place in history
Put a good ending to my unfinished story
My story is about confidence, not arrogance
I advocate humility, not vanity
Trials and tribulation come and go
Sticky situations are not unique to you
But we all know as well as you do
You need hard work and determination 
For the youth, education is the only solution
You’ve got to make the decision
To extract yourself from destitution 
Leave nothing at all to chance
For fortune favours the brave
No sweet without sweat, no pain, no gain
Each time you fall recollect and try again
A dream doesn’t become reality through magic
Lazy genius is not only sad but also tragic
Stay focused, keep your eyes on the prize
There is no substitute for hard work
There are no secrets to success
Only in the dictionary does success precede work
We are all gifted, skilled and talented 
Unshackle that innate ability 
Let loose that latent capability
I’m gonna prepare, plan and plot
Execute and give it my best shot
Until the day that I hit the jackpot

Details | Free verse | |

Doctor Ram: The Soup's Golden Voice

our beloved brother from India Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold board his magic carpet woven with wit, intellect and insight soar through sagas steeped in mythology captivating revelations on cultural tradition unique perspectives on historical events clever concepts conveyed with humor psychology, philosophy, behavior observations materialize as “Mehtaisms” stirring the soup adding spice to the broth supporting work of members new and old our international melting pot enriched by the work of a Literary Doctor salute a special sage who graces us with gifts Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold
* Dedicated to Dr. Ram Mehta in honor of Joe Maverick’s “Better than Gold” contest

Details | Free verse | |

Gold Dredging

                                                        Gold Dredging

                                                 Early morning first light
                                 Camped on the rugged, mountainous terrain
                             Out of our warm sleeping bags and tent we crawl
                        To the smells of pine and clean fresh air of the mountain
                              Wood starts a sizzling, spitting, crackling campfire
                             For early morning hot coffee and a warm breakfast
                                         I Dress in tee shirt and swim suit,
                                               Hubby is in his wet suit

                                           We walked down to the creek
                              Pull the dredge into the creek and get it started
                            When he hits bedrock where gold might be hiding
                                    I stand beside the sleuth watching the
                                           Gravel run over the riffles
                                       I make sure the riffles stay clean
                                                So the heavy gold
                                  Will deposit behind them and on the mat
                               I see the flash of color and utter excitement
                                     I yell, “We've hit gold,” impatient
                                       With my tweezers and small jar
                                              For safekeeping and
                                               I keep on cleaning

                  When the day is done, tired, wet, and weary as a drowned rat
                                 We clean the miners mat into a bucket
                   By the campfire we sit and pan our gold from the black sand
                       After the hard day’s work we undertook, it is wonderful
                              To see all the sparkling gold dust in my pan

                                     The same warm excited feeling
                                     I felt when my husband placed
                                 My gold wedding band on my finger

Contest: Periodic Table of Elements
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen

Details | Free verse | |

A Supreme Summer

Out doors a place of freedom where
prying eyes could not restrain the vibrancy. 
School’s out, summer sunshine, crisp morning light,
cuts through the fog of parental restraint.
Blue jeans, tee shirts, Keds and an orange and 
black striped bumble-bee bus of 
prepubescent girls off for their first day
of summer work, farm work.

Bagged and boxed lunches held tight, their
hands taped white to shield them from the
sticky yellow nicotine sap, the itch,
a rash of budding beauty among the 
burgeoning rows of new stalk green.
Tobacco as far as the eye can see
rises on cane-like stalks. The furrowed
fields are uncovered now in the July sun.

Gaggles of girls in candy colors, sweet and sour girls,
tall and short girls, rows of girls among the cane.
Poled lines spanned the rows above the rising canes.
Little twisters walked the gullies tying off each plant,
around the rising stem a hairy-brown twine was laced,
between the fan shaped leaves of dollar green.
Early summer passed, coloring cheeks pink,
and skin to golden brown.

The stalks rose like seeds from Jack. By the first of 
August, they’d topped the girls and the cheesecloth
shades were rolled above. Steamed in the August sun
deflowered-the children were watered and by 
State Law occasionally rested and retrieved if
the temp rose past one-hundred and five below the nets.
Any bit of uncovered skin was burnt or 
tarred black daily by then-harvest time.

Shooed into the darkened sheds Consolidated 
on the dirt floor the stringers stood, sewing 
machines with piles of slats beside them, one girl per machine
two hands, two leaves, in they went between the belted teeth
and the needle lanced. It also lanced tired fingers.
Piecework; I can’t remember the pay scale but
they called it piecework and it was too. [a fine piece of work]
It took bits of you away every day.

But in the dark, high up in the rafters, the darkies
hung the bounty, handsome black Jamaican boys
crews of boys with lilting tongues and they sang,
and we sang “Come See About me.”
We worked, and we sang “Baby Love”
It was a supreme summer. 
On our own, a bloomin’ summer
where all of life was ripe for the pickin’. 

*picking tobacco

Details | Free verse | |

'God selected the perfect rose'

your voice now silent never to see you smile again you left us heartbroken unprepared shocked to silence we remember your laughter and your “I can go on attitude” never complaining just being you even when fighting this battle we'll never know why you had to leave us so soon we'll always wonder we'll always have questions God knew your journey was complete when He selected the perfect rose for His garden today--- IN LOVING MEMORY OF A FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE, MICHELLE SCHULTZ 26092011 We, at BABS miss you already

Details | Free verse | |

You Already Know

I'm not great.
I'm not extraordinary,
But I'm okay knowing that
Just as long as you 
Love me
For being
Who I am when I'm 
Discovering who I am
And how I cope.
I don't work with metal;
I don't work with wood.
All I have are my words,
Spoken in 
Hopefully, a poetic way.
I speak and I speak,
But when I write,
In a way,
Nothing gets spoken.
I'm not motivational;
I'm not inspirational,
But as long as I 
Move a wistful soul
From time to time, I'm good.
I'm cold,
But it seems
I'm running out 
Of time 
And people to talk to.
I want to speak
With my words, but
It seems only my
Ranting of how I'm 
Stuck and lost 
Gets my point across.
I can send your mind
In a spin;
Only because 
I am constantly spinning
With overindulgences 
Such as
Being loved 
And even hated.
I spin from giving,
And, in return, 
Being spun some more.
Puzzles compose
Every metaphor.
Life in general;
Only, I tend 
To put pieces 
Where they belong,
Then come to discover
That, later, they grow
And start to mesh.
I don't know
If, looking back, 
I'll only see me 
Waisting my time 
Or looking over
What helped me through it.
I couldn't tell you
That everything I cherish
Will be there
Or even here tomorrow.
The ones who understand 
And know more
Of me than I do myself
Are the ones that
Keep me spinning.
So, here is me speaking.
I feel as if 
I'm looking through 
A narrow telescope
That is covered 
On the other end.
I see 
What I choose to see,
But what's that to 
The world?
They don't have the time
To keep up 
Or slow down;
Going their steady pace
Until they find the time 
To waste it.
I wish,
I hope,
I wander,
But no matter
Where I go, 
I only see 
That I'm finding nothing.
My mind
Is tired, 
But my emotions
Are ready to fight.
Bring it on;
I can and
Continue to take your shots.
Take me-
Hold me in your arms
Until I'm safe
And fall asleep...
Maybe when I wake up
I won't be scared, confused,
Torn and lonely.
Maybe I'll wake up and realize
It was a dream and I'm safe
Because you are there.
I'm not great.
I'm not extraordinary,
But you know who I am 
And love me for it.

Details | Free verse | |

The Fraud

a hallway.  offices.  tinted sunlight.  
people who have forgotten my name.  
but i am here.  
and then a room.  and a meeting.  
and i am unprepared.  
“you’re up”  says the leader.  
and my lungs fill with heaviness as they all turn towards me.  
my mind screams.  
my throat locks.  

and then a word fights through the scream.  
and i breathe.  and find a voice.  
and then another word.  
and a thought.  
then relevance.  
i am moving.  
and eyes do not wander.  
but the scream fights on:  
they will find out.  

i was connected at one time.  
so the scream would fade.   
but not now.  
these many years later.  
“we could use you again,”  
he had said.  
and i had relented.  
but why?  boredom?  faith?  
the scream of fear vs. the scream of isolation?  
or a familiar voice dragging me back from madness.  
“what have you been up to?”  
he had asked.  
and i had lied.  
and now my mind all scrambled between work and stupor.   

“what on EARTH are you talking about?!” 
demands the one who should have taken over for me.  
and the throat locks again.  
and the scream rises up.  
and he knows it.  
but sympathy has no place here.  
so i struggle with the scream. 
and find the words to hide the Fraud  
as he shakes his head in disgust.   

and i remember why i left.  
so i wade in the scream until i am done and take my seat.  
and the scream that never dies whispers, “what else is there?”      

Details | Free verse | |

I Am Bored With Everyday Chores

There was a naughty girl, and the naughty girl was she

She worked a crossword puzzle, while she had her cup of tea 

        Poured another cup, ......she should get up!
                                      for chores and roll her sleeves

She had much work to do, but her good intentions flew
                                                         like feathers in a breeze

Instead of mops and brooms, she would sing a cheery tune...
      while she danced around the room..

Sudsy dish pans full....but Mother Nature pulled
                                           her to the sunshine for a stroll

        Her bed unmade, her bills unpaid,
        But instead she picked a daisy

Beneath a sunny sky
......she heard the lullaby
                    of the birds that sing on high

        She had meals to cook
                but would rather look
                          at the snowtop hills nearby

So much work undone, and the dinner?......NONE!

But she fed her soul instead!

For Linda Marie's Contest "I Am Bored With _______
By Carrie Richards

Details | Free verse | |

Writer's Block

A solitary pencil line,
stretched taught 
on distant snow. 
Cleaves blank sky 
from frozen ground.
Gives hope of where to go.

Accidental thought 
creates a tree I toil towards 
its trembling twigs 
find only that I'm lost
and all about me 
unspoiled virgin white
except the fading words 
from where I've been.

Details | Free verse | |



the contentment of disheveled twigs
sitting on shoulders of humming trees,
the sunlight wafting shades on meshed nets---
it is before early morning, pale always ever,
pagan and pliant as the swoon 
of winged winds. after all, while village trawlers
tug the day’s haul of buttery clams, 
salmon and weeds,
the river washes its feet unobserved.

even when the hills fondle the peaks
of embossed leaves, there is no time
for human leisure on the streams, not yet. not till
compass’ hours stray too long, tedious, unabated
for folk fishermen to haul the orbed ropes
and slug aquatic baits in exile, washed 
from sea wine that cradles trout’s liberty…

many a time, when evanescent light
envelopes all things tender and sunlight drifts
lotus flowing, rowing; as clouds gather odorless
upon sloping male knees: fishermen become
the fishes darting free, finally tranquil…
content as disheveled  twigs lying
on shoulders of humming trees.


© all rights reserved

Details | Free verse | |

Tribute to Linda








Details | Free verse | |

My Calling


Too few
Hopefully more

My resentment flairs
My will ebbs
Still looking elsewhere

I won’t just leave
I care too much
My heart is here
Have more to give

Want answers to my whys
Know I’ll never truly know
Doors of opportunity may open
But I still hold hope
Knowing this is my calling

Details | Free verse | |

I will not be late to work this morning

I will not be late to work today

I will get there on time
I will brush my teeth
Without singing songs
Without thinking about birthdays
About gymnasiums
About TAKS 
About sound
About war

I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of 
Broken valentines
Strewn against a wooden
Like dropped goblets
From a robbers pillowcase

I will be there before the bell rings
My papers will be checked
My hair will be combed
My mind will be alert 
Ready to begin my lesson

I will not wonder why
My oldest son doesn’t have a job
I will not pray too long
For my daughter who is taking the bar today
At 10:30 AM in New Orleans
I will not scar my knees wishing
For some alternate world
Where children are never neglected
Or hurt
Where there is no abandonment

What nonsense to try and order the world
Just get to work on time
Put your things in the car, your projector and 
The white binders that you didn’t look at
All weekend although you were supposed to check the papers and put the 
grades on the computer
I will leave now
Before it is impossible to
Be on time
I will cream my ashy ankles

I will not focus on the white
Cat on the black pillow
With the green eyes
I will not water the plant
I will not watch TV
I will not write poetry
Before work

I will not write poetry
Before work
I will get to work on time
I will be ready
I will not be daydreaming about fog
Wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mother
Or colon cancer like my dad
I won’t be thinking about that stuff
I will be locking the front door and 
Closing the gate and clicking the clicker
And starting the car and leaving

I will not be in my living room
Wondering if there is any reason to love
Because I do not love for reason
I love because He first loved me
It is not incantations or intoxication
Or imagination it is my life and 
The structure will come with the
Clearness of Bajan water
So clear you can see the fish
Fly float across the Atlantic

It is time
This poem must end
I will not be late for work
This morning
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything

This poem is over 
the work day begins

Details | Free verse | |

The Picture Converter

The Picture Converter
Eye was working and making copies of my poems to preserve the text and the 
pictures do not come with the words to rest in folders where eye place the text so 
the very first thing that eye want all the newly wedded student graduates to do is 
make me an internet picture converter that works. Make the picture into the text 
the ED NOTE it was the symbols 

 The Picture Converter
The Picture Converter 
The Picture Converter 
Eye was working and making copies of my poems to preserve the text and the 
pictures do not come with the words to rest in folders where eye place the text so 
the very first thing that eye want all the newly wedded student graduates to do is 
make me an internet picture converter that works. Make the picture into the text 
OH wow this would not work until eye deleted the symbols in the word document 
The Picture Converter 
Eye was working and making copies of my poems to preserve the text and the 
pictures do not come with the words to rest in folders where eye place the text so 
the very first thing that eye want all the newly wedded student graduates to do is 
make me an internet picture converter that works. Make the picture into the text 
the hay ref and the IMG thing that works so well in all my forums and lay it on the 
right page margin next to all the poem words that eye must save and then when 
eye copy and past this thing again let it emerge as pictures once again to rule the 
poetry page to come back to image land to actually be a picture once again to 
make the poem bleed the picture converter will have an icon of its own please 
feel free to use the charlax one my image is still free eye love the poetry and the 
pictures and the banners just add so much to all the words a little story place a 
little story made a little story gold when poems rule the world only poets will be 

Details | Free verse | |

Dynamic Duo

Dynamic Duo 

he was so professional she was so mean he was completely subservient to her 
she was so unclean together they licked the platter clean when money ruled the 
earth it seemed to be a certain fact that people are at lack to have a say when 
money ruled the day the people suffered and cried bread some found in trash the 
poor man cries his cries reminds me of inky flotsam and she was seldom seen 
they rule the inner sanctum as they scream and scream they torture freedom and 
hide the caviar underneath the cavernous pillow they munch on nothing much 
they tweed they maw they fight the ignoramus they eat the bread of queen and 
kingly night repast a fraction of the cost at last a brand new management to bring 
ungodly gain a checkmark and a balancement the answer lies in forty paces forty 
winks the desert beckons the cactus drinks the muck puddle lies with flies and 
flying things to dissipate slowly now in winter grace as angels wing in air. 
 Dynamic Duo 

Details | Free verse | |

Elevators: 5 Horsemen

Part 1


the delicacy of friendship

I found you in the flowers
Standing tall we become one
Looking down from gangly towers
Squash, you burn, you pillage, son.

Follow me you say in tongues
Thy shallow mind reveal me tell
Whisper lies clean load the guns
I feel the burn I rot in hell

Friend folly menacing the liar
I loathe this coffin how it leaks
Dear foe you raped me set on fire
The onion peal itself and weeps

Part 2


dear monkey boy

Older eyes eat themselves,
glance and kill the other
Unified in the dance,
they steer the musty rudder.

Pained and sweeter deeper wells,
poised buckets drunk with water.
Singled out the one that dried,
handed weights to pull him under.

Wiser times capture the mind,
death justifies dishonor.
Knife slice neat through the devil's back,
who stares blank and milks the udder.

Part 3


patron saint

Inside this box
Goodbye tempestuous fall
My puppet of steel coiled thread
Smashed buttons and twisted dread,
Alarm these doors, and
Escape this delusive bunker bed

Stamp the spiders
Thief, vulture of the deflection
The mocking patron of the sinners
Erase this affliction
Relating inward at the reflection

Rise you fool

Part 4


i love you

close the grip
cinched hematic grip
drenched, clawing
seeking the sheave
becoming the counterweight

i absorb, now
extracting the heat
rise like a phoenix
away to be gone to be free
fix me! i have fixed me

i am alive and i love you

Part 5

Aye, Damager

Abolish her state of disrepair
Scattered, spattered drippy thoughts
All around this box of soused leaves
Soak, ferment in the faith of our love

I can't fix this, you know
I loathe this misunderstanding
Of what I am speaking, projecting
To me, Aye Damager, to you

This devil in me
turned and twisted
A wrecked elevator in rejection
Years locked painfully aware


Details | Free verse | |


Why, why, why? Is all I ask
Do you send these folk my way
There not the ones I'd choose myself
But I attract within hooray
You must have plans to work me Lord
Have I really gone astray

I try so hard to be polite
You send me those who groan
From trials of life
Crying painful body drones
But I face a war continually Lord
Spine crumbling pained bones

I questioned much over the years
Of those you sent my way
But each one has had effect on me
What will I have learned today
I want to tell of things you've done
And why I've learnt to pray

You sent me counseling to help
Through things wrong in my youth
Then church fellowship did help me through
When marriage went down sluice
A teacher friend taught me much
In assertiveness and truth

You sent me someone kind and true
When I'd thought life was gone
A friend of a friend a neighbors brother
Turned out to be the  one
Who'd bring me home and settle again
Protect me and my two sons

You showed me work where I did learn
The skills to pull me through
In kitchens I did learn to cook
In schools help my children too
The staff within were pillars and rocks
In illness helped me do

You send others now to my house
Now I can't go out all alone
I used to sit and ponder sorry
I couldn't do things on my own
But now I have found new waters
I can swim and write a poem

I help others through my charity support
When I can get to phone
I can help in ways that others cant
And control load with able zone
I listen to those there struggling
Look at positives not moan

So I'm thankful for those folk you sent
Though I don't understand your process
But each time one has helped me to 
Understand and cope it's noticed
So send someone to help I'll pray
And I'll listen as perfect hostess

Author's notes

Okay, so I realize as it stands it needs tweaking, but at the time the pen flowed and now it 
needs some TLC... any ideas welcome, although I do not want to detract from the 
meaning/depth.  Any idea of rhyme was not originally intentional so please forgive I know at 
present its dreadful!! Help please?

Details | Free verse | |

Talking to Empty Cubicles

gray fabric offices,
cubicles divide us—
turn us into
with mock privacy,
as overheard conversations
drip from lips
endlessly smacking.

it seems insanity
randomly speaking
in tongues
to cubicles
with no one there.

thumb tack
to coarse fabrics—
arms stretched out
from wall to wall,
as mouths open
to mirrored
we never 

Details | Free verse | |


Friday a day full of joy
For each working girl and boy
No alarm to be set for tomorrow
Pajamas all day is what we shall wear
Not a care in the world not even one sorrow
Free to roam and explore full of elation
No need to reflect on the week’s agitation
Oh Friday, oh Friday you are here to excite
You bring on the weekend ever so bright
We love you so much and all your delights
We know when you're here all is just right.

Details | Free verse | |

The Visitor

fleeting is its brief arrival
temporary is its stay
in one hand and 
out the other
it go by

a compensatory stranger
in an instant unseen
never lasting but
for a moment
enough to

work’s dour taskmaster
ever newly minted
not at all miserly
a spendthrift’s

life’s transitory sojourner 
a runaway passerby
an acquaintance
forever sought
yet rarely 

mesmerizing is this visitor
as its simple request 
is always to be 
yet never 

© Eugene Harvey

Details | Free verse | |

Plant Tale

That lone ornamental plant,
that stood straight,
with colored shiny leaves,
had its own story to relate,
it was brought in infancy,
to the office,
to decorate and tickle fancy,
it was an eye soothe,
amongst dead office wood eye sores,
and people who were alive,
but wanted others dead,
plant was innocent,
and had not thought so in the start days,
but had gathered that over each passing day,
he had a secret to reveal,
that people came to office,
not to work,
but to work down others,
they were jealous and egoists,
they spoke lies and spoke bad of others,
most of the time they did that,
only a little was left,
for the work for which they were paid for,
life of the plant was spent thus,
he became tired and almost dead,
he knew these evil people,
would throw him out one day,
and that they did,
but he was happy,
that he was free,
of evil and bad.

Details | Free verse | |


Things shrouded in mystery
are quickly discarded
and simply not believed;
this false-hood staggers me
and others unjustifying them...
While knowledge increases,
faith,once invincible,decreases...
with only few to defend it!

Creation is the work of the Eternal,
everything testifies to that;
convinctions should be concrete,
not implausible and superficial...
They should be credible enough
to attribute it to His almighty hand   
and anyone disapproving it,
denies calling it  a myth!

O world so careless and rebellious...
indulging in sin without remorse,
you refuse to believe in a real God
who doesn't hide from anybody who seeks Him;
and He can end anguish and shame!
O world so preoccupied with wealth and galore,
this madness can cause you more harm than good;
He who created you has greater plans in store!

Creation is the work of the Eternal,
the entire Universe will be yours to explore;
and you'll be given dominion over it always...
and if angels are higher than you...fear not,
because you'll be rule over them...God
has predestined you to greatness!  

O world so merciless and intolerant of fairness,
break free of deception and selfishness,
there are no planets more beautiful than this,
the Earth was given to Man for freedom and bliss!

Details | Free verse | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Details | Free verse | |

Rebuilding the Shed in the Backyard - Again

My son is out fixing up the shed.
Winter is coming on. Needed doing he said.
He had the time and the bound-to’s.
I’m not used to this thought process, I’m not. Not from a child.

I watch him for a while.
Opening and closing gates as needed.
The dust, sifted into powder from summer’s heat, poof’s with his steps.
The heels of his jeans dragging strings on the ground, erase the tread of his 

The shed is old. There is algae or lichen on the north side boards,
where the wood is splintery gray.
Some of the lichen florets are the color of sage, some the color of a bright orange 
Circled with gray ones and black, their life cycle played out.

He hammers nails and screws in screws while holding boards in place.
Sweat glistening where skin is exposed, making long dark stains in his black 
Veins standing out against the strain, and
Muscles laboring to prove he can do the job well, without a mother’s help.

While he works I think about his father and how differently they work.
His father preferring team work and orchestrated smooth motion
working side by side, no extra movements – and he whistled.
My son needs to prove his skills first – alone.

The shed is done and it will brave another winter, keeping the horses sheltered 
from the elements.
The wind, snow and horses milling about, will obliterate the trail of pant cuffs, 
Along with the memory of one cool day at the end of summer, 
When a man worked hard to rebuild their shelter.

Details | Free verse | |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt

Details | Free verse | |

Slave to the Job

Vampires suck, they drain my life
it feels like that in this god damn place
A pound of flesh I'm sure they'll take
but even then they won't be full
not satisfied until
I'm worn and I'm weary
they chip chip chip away
then I'm nothing but a shell
I wish I could enjoy this time
on the short path to the inevitable
A pension not too far off for some years of frailty
but what's the point shall I give up now
to stop the pain of being a zombie
I'll carry on because I'm programmed to
but the vultures, the leeches and parasites continue
to bleed me for my life

Details | Free verse | |

My Boredom Disease

Like sick allergies, 
Boredom can be passed around

Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!

Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination ! 

Details | Free verse | |

Rewards of College Education

in grade school
he heard about it

in high school
he prepared for it

in his first year
he explored it

in his second year
he focused on it

in his third year
he felt part of it

in his fourth year
he graduated from it

Now, he has a job
because of it.

Details | Free verse | |

Life in Cubicle

The Noose is tightening.
The 5’s and 10’s yanked from our hands and aching backs 
Are spent on band-aids:
A last stand effort to plug the holes in our hearts
When the price of drowning is only getting higher
So we turn to tiny acts of thievery
Taxes prettied up, cashiers uncorrected,
Stealing at the edges because we’re backed into corners, 
Glittering with promises corners
Dripping with possibility,
With Island resort wallpaper
Sold in bulk at Wal-Mart for
Profit: A trail of crumbs called America-
Which has curdled our souls and we love it!
And hate it and gossip about it and think obsessively about it and then
We find the most expensive friends our looks can afford,
Shopping for substance (50% off)
Staring through the eye of a screen 
Light speed in pursuit of heaven on earth (Ignore the plastic)-
Until pop!
We die of ADHD. 
Never having had the chance to smell the genetically modified roses.
Never having had the chance to see through this kingdom of ideas
As we served out our sentence to life in cubicle.

Jacob Reinhardt

Details | Free verse | |

In Praise of Work

The possibility is there
That I might write
With the poet’s innate inspiration
What comrade time 
Has reason to portend

Of our aims
I might write
Or even our dreams

But our destinations!
Even the Pope’s edict…
Hist! I pledge my doubt.

Of greater moment 
Is our faith
In the plough.

Hail plough!
Hail abundance!

Details | Free verse | |

The old man and the mule

A faint outline appeared in the early morn 
a full moon still shed its light, dark shadows 
spread across the land casting an eerie 
shadow over the far distant hills. 
An old buckboard clattered along a dusty 
road bumping roughly over pot holes 
washed out by an early winter rain. 

The old mule plodded along - ribs 
showing from a life of hard work prolonged, 
a rather tired animal trudging slowly along 
tugging at its heavy load. 

The old man sat humped over on the seat, 
nodding as though he was asleep. 
A low hanging branch served to awaken him as 
it slapped sharply against the side of his head 
causing him to sit up straight, grabbing his hat 
that was about to be shed. 

A road traveled more than once, 
from the old farm down to the general store, 
bumping along on rutted roads, filled with 
holes, not a friendly ride it was, but 
one that both the rider and mule 
had made many times. 

On either side of the road rows of tall trees standing straight 
with leaves long since gone, the trunks 
appearing as gaunt ribs rising up from the ground 
much as the old mule appeared, 
as it pulled its heavy load quietly by. 

The day was cold, a north wind blew, chilling 
both with icy fingers that cut to the bone; 
but the old man and the mule just plodded along, 
going silently down that dusty road bumping 
over the ruts and pot holes worn by time and use itself; 
two old friends working and waiting, serving out time 
as they repeated their daily chores. 

Time and work takes its toll, 
as man and beast move along 
worn and traveled roads 
doing never ending chores of old 
until the end of a road is finally reached. 

Details | Free verse | |

Unsung Heroes Of The Predawn Light

We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
No we may never have fought in a great war,
or saved a soul from the snapping jaws of death. 
People wave to us, but few know who we are
and most on a good days run could care less.
Like the organ grinder's monkey from days of old,
we have been repeatedly trained to do a task.
We do a job few would even consider doing
and most would not even attempt to try.
A job burdened with ever growing responsibility
due to the minutia of a ever expanding bureaucracy. 
A grossly undervalued, underappreciated profession
designated part-time by thoughtless administrations
that mouth how important we all are once a year
only to persecute us for every trifling thing later.
If you are lucky enough to survive a number of years
without resigning or becoming a sacrificial lamb    
on the altar of a fearful self serving public face, 
you will get a tiny pension for your devoted service.

We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
The tolerant souls that routinely put up with
a few rude demanding manipulative parents
and their insolent misbehaving little darlings
just to be able to serve the greater majority
of decent well meaning thoughtful parents
and the precious treasures of tomorrow 
they have temporarily entrusted to us.
Like a hamster running on a little wheel,
we go around in circles every single day,
but unlike the hamster we must summon
every instinct and learned skill to insure 
every turn we make is executed flawlessly.
We are kept aloft on our spinning wheel
by the deliberate hands of a caring heart
and the many small souls seated behind us
that come to trust us not to make a mistake.
We are the one person in their little lives
that are not allowed to ever let them down
for neither of us may be able to live with it.
We are their school bus drivers...     

Details | Free verse | |

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")

Details | Free verse | |


"Are you Quill?," She asked abeam.
"Yes, of course! - mostly - when the Muselle` 
visits oft'n'r upon, as my wont!
"Well, here!, this will surely help at the Magic...

And IT, Voila!, was in hand, a thrust-unmistakable!
Blunt, bulbous & sleek, a slick Recife, 
this Turquoise and Silver stick.

Is IT "Blue?" Is IT "Black?" 
Pray, "Blue-Black!?"  Wow! - 
A Sole instrument for Playing in the Indigene,
Soul Colors of the Earth! - I nearly crack to Self.

Swirled-embedded, b'neath the haute Baekelight-Crystal
like a LavaLamp-Entemp.  IT's messages of ambidexsrait-
Threads, Mola thru splayed fingers.  O' Charitable Mage 
You have brought to Life!...   I     Write    Handcrafted!  

Details | Free verse | |

Spectrum of Healing Touches

This tanned wee white child of Welsh-English
With a bit of American Indian flowing 
like a creek running through the meadow;
p-h-y-s-i-o-l-o-g-y spelled out loud
Daddy was proud of his four year-old girl
raven haired, black eyes flashing with pride
feed sack dresses in pretty shades of pinks
the only thing country about me
other than pinto beans corn bread and iced tea.
I grew to be sixty-five inches tall skinny as a rail
committed to serving the Lord as a nurse
I’ll go where you want me to go. Dear Lord
On some far away mission field—
Didn’t know where
Just a dreamin’ and flutterin’ butterfly
Touching one beautiful spot then another
Where He leads me I will follow…
I’ll go with Him thru the garden
Just knew it would be by a hospital someplace.
Mom wanted to be a nurse but wasn’t
maybe she passed on her thoughts like 
a momma bird feeds her young 
bit by bit each day until full growth taken place.

Finally I was a grown up Registered Nurse
Running down the halls like a racehorse at times
Taking care of the down and outs or the up and ins
all of them had the same needs whether black or white
man or woman – they all had needs
I walked proud – white in white
Shiny black hair only contrast.
I wanted to be a nurse
crying when crying needed
laughing when laughing came
praying to comfort  or praying to make it through a shift
helping as best I could
to make all better –

Ebony, white, red, brown or yellow
     Mankind’s color wheel
            generation following generation
hurts, healing, sorrow, gladness
                rotating compassionate care
Through the stages
Throughout the ages;
A butterfly touching lives
hushing the cry of a newborn baby 
        Lullaby and Good Night
closing the eyes of the dying
               Near to the heart of God


Details | Free verse | |

A Sad Man

He is a sad man, badly flawed, but hardworking
He believes he is beyond reproach, just like many proud men do 
That face does not crack a smile; a sign of 'weakness' it is to him
His poor children starve for the affection of a busy and distant Father
But by now, they've learned to keep warm hugs only for Mother

With the mindset that he was the spindle of his fine home and firm
Delegation of tasks came easy, and was delivered with shouts and expleties 
Like a dark cloud he'd hover over his staff as they worked
And with no qualms, he'd claim credit for successes
And no one would stand up to him; no one ever dared

Most important in his life was work; he had no genuine friend
His warped mind assured him that no one was his equal in anyway
At home, he planned the weekly meals and dictated where they'd shop
And when a drink at dinner was accidentally spilled
Unforgiveness ruled the home for days 

Toys seized as punishment were never to be seen again
Whether a favorite doll or game, it mattered not; sobs wouldn't break his heart
Clueless was he that in the hours he was away 
His submissive family and servants come alive
And during times when he was at home, it had the feel of a tomb

One Friday night he delayed the staff by working extra late
Then when he called down for his car only to find the driver asleep
His rage overtook his senses and he threw the driver out!
In that instant he sat in the driver's seat hurling insults out loud 
In blinding rain, and fuming with anger, he took the exit ramp at high speed

He never saw the old, blown-out tire coming at him just ahead 
Fate that night made a devastating decision... it was taking back control
In his bedroom today, he lies motionles and sadly, visitors never sit for very long 
Though unable to speak, he's gracious to see, the frolicking birds through his tears 
At times he stares at the lonely hour glass upon the shelf below the window sill

For Jeremy's "Objectify Me Free Verse" Contest

Details | Free verse | |

Follow that rainbow

Life is possibility
there are broad horizons out there for us all if only we will look 
If children don’t succeed they try again or try something else – 
life is about finding who we are, what our purpose is, and where our talents lay… 
Just because we are not happy with something now 
does not mean tomorrow will not bring brighter horizons

Get out and follow the rainbow of opportunity
its spectrum of options are numerous in number and variety
Look top your heart and minds desires and work with it
A potter will work with a piece of clay, take it and mold it
Squash it, slip it, turn - carve - colour - glaze and cook it
In attempt to master the minds perfection

We do not always get it right
but there is little that cannot be scrapped and redone
before too far down the path and then re-do
There is nothing to say if we become lost to our first desires
that in looking for others we shall not find where we should be at
or what it is we should be doing

Too many of yester-years children have grown up 
to thinking they have no place within our society
they have become lost to lack of jobs
they are skilled and talented in own direction
as humans they bring chance to our world with new skills
those that are being lost through continual rejection

Each of us has personal pot of gold to find
not always is this financial but one that makes us feel needed
Each of us should be encouraging 
so many live miles from home families divided miles apart
Community is individuality here and yet we need pull back together
for in doing so we will know each others needs to support

When the efforts of others become unrecognised
We can lose that which is vital to having the skills needed
for tomorrow or future years
Pulling together now and offering needed skills to fit in
An hour or two’s experience in an alternatve can keep us in touch with one another
I was always taught that none of us know what will happen to us in years ahead
Sowing seeds now could help us grow or keep us going then

Think twice because times are changing
Those latter years of our lives could perhaps see us working retirements
With those we helped along the way over us instead
Teach them what you know and they’ll remember
Maybe helping you in your struggles or perhaps retraining
Karma comes around as it goes around, make yours good!

Details | Free verse | |

The Men Sport of Persevering

The feeling of getting rocked for the first time is 
like losing your virginity. How I rise from the producers
decides if I like going down or hate getting up.

Yeah, they saw it. Eyes on me. The ubiquitous 
air is still hear. My ascetic body
still functions on this field of men.

Fighting for friends, flying around full speed.
Go! Go! Go! Epitomizes our support.
The brain yells stop, but the heart whispers fight.

Hard work minus teamwork equals intact pants.
Hard work plus teamwork squared equals a smile.
Perspiration in the eye, never felt better.

The weakest link of our chain better power up
because he who pays the piper will call this tune.
Turns out, I couldn’t cry over spilt milk, if it didn’t spill.

As celebratory we were, we endeavor to looked opportunity
in the eye and purloin her work clothes, 
before she is out of sight and out of mind

Details | Free verse | |

Fast Friend

I saw him in my office, He seemed so small. His eyes were large and sad. His name was Pete. His mother said that he was "slow." His sister, Sissy, she was "great:" The lead in the Christmas play, The best pianist in school, A "straight A" student, A great helper around the house, A true gem! But, Pete was slow, A handful who needed to be watched. They'd had him tested, to make sure. Pete's eyes were troubled; His daddy knew he wasn't slow. He could outrun the fastest, And, outsmart the smartest on the block. But, then... his daddy was gone And his momma didn't know. I took them to their classrooms . . . "This is Sissy, you are lucky. Put her with the best, For she is tops in everything." Let me take Pete by myself. We stopped along the way and talked. "I'm Mr. C, and I know You're fast like me. I also know you're smart. Do you like to hike?" We made a bargain to be friends. He promised to bring me samples of his work . . . This would prove that he was smart. And, I would race him once a day This would prove that he was fast. "Miss T., this is Pete He's my friend, I will see him once a day. He's fast and smart; Pleae help him stay that way." To prove that he was fast . . . He ran the children down. He brought me terrible work . . . To show me he was smart. But, he learned to be the boss . . . To make the letters stay on lines And numbers to correctly add. His strength and speed he did control . . . After sitting on the bench. Each day he came and leaned on me. We talked and laughed And sometimes cried. He learned to be wise and strong. He became a MAN, With heart and soul, And helped his sister . . . Who fell down.

Details | Free verse | |

Work In Progress

My whole life is a work in progress. This includes everything 
I do, have to keep working on and improving, fine tuning,
use some spit and polish. Needs some more strokes of
the paint brush to give it more color. Blue, green, red, 
a brighter shade of pale. Mix it all up splash it on the canvas,
see if it's a closer hue to me. If I can't get it right it may not
be here tomorrow.

Slight of hand, puff of smoke, now you see it, now you 
don't.  Ala-ka-zam, abra-kadabra work some magic.
Smoke and mirrors make this all a fleeting illusion.
Rabbit in the hat, card up the sleeve, hidden
exit doors.

You see my friends it's my affliction of addiction kicking
in, there is no way to predict what will be in store
for us today or tomorrow, may be joy
or may be sorrow.

Details | Free verse | |

The Butterfly Flutters By

The butterfly flutters by—
It’s the symbol of our Company.
That logo’s on my bus so high,
Where clients ride so comfortably.
That noted fluttering butterfly
Is a noble Pacific Monarch;
You can sometimes see it cruising by
The Monterey Peninsula, light or dark.
You’ll see my bus parked by fine hotels,
Classy wineries, the Monterey Aquarium,
Beneath the Carmel Mission bells, 
Or in Pebble for the A. T. and T. Pro-Am.
The butterfly flutters by—
And in case you didn’t know it,
The driver that waves as he flies by
Also happens to be this poet.*

*The driver has been working part time since 2007 for 
Pacific Monarch Ltd., which is headquartered in Marina, 
California.  The buses are navy blue with a white butterfly
logo.  The author has written many songs and poems 
while waiting in his bus between runs.

Details | Free verse | |


minus b

plus or minus root(b squared

minus four times a times c) — all above divided

by two times a — this is the quadratic formula and is absolutely correct

Details | Free verse | |

Ramblings of a Graveyard shift worker....

I used to complain about having to work at night on weekends.
Everyone was having fun but li'l ol' me.
Some years back I had an epiphany on the matter.
Suddenly, I had time to cash my check AND pay my bills!
Then, I might possibly catch a movie, which has plenty of seating on Monday nights!
But my favorite part is: The People Zoo.
I started visualizing folks in their cubicles and at their counters as exhibits.
You find mostly monkeys in cubicles working for some government agency.
The sharks you'll find in the car lots and on showroom floors.
The insects buzzing and dutifully mimicking their peers are found at schools.
The buzzards and carrion feeders can be found at law firms and in courtrooms.
The bulls and bears can be found scrapping it out on Wall street,
While the elephants and donkeys exchange insults on the TV monitors.
The pigs are found cruising the streets making sure the rats and snakes don't take over.
The blood-sucking Vampire bats can be found working for insurance companies.


Just a warning: Most of these exhibits offer you no protection from the brutality of nature!
There are no tour guides and no guarantees of safety or fun.....
And, one more thing: They will eventually come to see you in YOUR exhibit!

Details | Free verse | |


The pain I put in the ground.
For such a precious thing.
The family enjoys their meal.
They plant their leftover kernels.
And wait for me to tend to them.
An endless cycle in which happiness is born.

21 February 2013

Details | Free verse | |


"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"

Nine small words have been 
jumping through the decades
dedicating dancing sounds
on keyboards of old Remingtons
and Underwoods, that understood 
young fingers tapping,  zigging- zagging
rhythms beating ,  small bells ringing
to and fro, a carriage swinging 
to orchestrated yesterdays

While papers flew, and fingers numbed
with sly old fox tricks,  lazy dogs, mixed 
with mindless sounds of drumming bits of
gibberish verses, hands rehearsing
the  fox, a hound, a cadance clicking
tick-tick-tocking back to classrooms
clocking words now locked in time

Sitting straight, with neck erect
a sticky "J" key...a whiz kid sat
next chair over, such a brat,
she'd try to race me, set the pace
that I could never match, no trace of
satisfaction on her face, and 
I would lose my concentration
my head would wander into clouds
where foxes should be chased by hounds
instead I type the same old rounds
of foxes jumping over dogs, 
that clogged my mind with silly sounds
which hummed inside my inner child

Old clacking sounds, are still around
they pound today, inside my head 
and still I ponder all the while
how that old fox could leap a dog
unless that dog was dead!

Inspired by Craig's Contest: Typewriter

Details | Free verse | |


it is complete -- 
protestations of the existentialists notwithstanding --
the end of history.
Science is here. 
slammed over me.

and everywhere
the necessity of Standardization.
in my labor 
and in my thought
Capitalism dictates.

efficiency is the new God,
except for the God-people themselves of course
who experience choice
and embrace the Absurd
as i spectate.

now, hidden by a lifetime of fantasy
or tortured by enlightenment
either way, bound by survival to succumb:
i release my mind to the Average.
where is Meaning?

Details | Free verse | |

ABAMI EDA (For Fela Anikulapo-Kuti)

Appears the strange Fella
On a stage of many fellows
But not doing “Mr Follow-follow”
Smoking it out the truth
Into the skulls of the VIP
Like no other fellow

Abami, thorning their flesh ceaselessly
Amidst them the Generals
The fella Fela shivers their spines
Telling peole to stop “Shuffering and Smiling”
But General Hog was not done 
Decreed Republic’s demolition

“Zombie” swamp on our Jerusalem
His Mama’s life cut short in Kalakuta
Then came a “Coffin for Head of State”
Abami, gallowed with pant in gaol
Yet, he weeds on with vigour
Kalakuta People’s Replublic must stay

General Swine’s Zombies tortured him
His long skinned trousers appear ruffled
A Fela puffs his way out of the gaol
Yet, his mouth waxes stronger Afro-tune sax
To the great beyond the sky
“In no be Gentleman at all
But for once, he never betrayed the truth.   

Alayade Stephen T.
29th, September, 2006

NB-Abami Eda means a strange fellow.
VIP in Fela’s parlance means Vagabond in Power,
And Mr Follow-Follow, Coffin For Head Of State, Zombie,
Shuffering and Smiling are all titles of popular tracks amidst his hit songs.

Details | Free verse | |

Walking Dead

Numbness as I walk in halls
A heavy load in my hand I bear
Tome of the ancient past
Portrays a fog in my mind

Emptiness, void and vanity
As I look at zombies like me
Consumed by an epidemic...
Which left us cold-blooded

At the darkness of dusk
When the sun shines no more
I lie below the tombstone of my grave
Devoured by a sleepy hollow in my coffin

Vitality where are you?
Where are your streams of life? 
I' am lost, Where am I?
Oh wait, that's right
I'm in college

Details | Free verse | |

sandpaper and blue pearls

sandpaper hearts
take away the roads
dig a hole
fill your moat 

smooth texture from life
bleach the silver fom crosshair 
the color of blanks
a string 
of blue pearls
march along the plywood vein
tapping at this tired thing

singing produce =produce or starve
no time to act tired
count those aces... tight
another day-another race
don't make a mistake
tired thing snoring 
sandpapered casket

Details | Free verse | |

the sower

Arnold gazed eastward,
His callused hands hung
by thumbs hooked to
his belt. He had beaten
the rooster by at least
an hour, and his hands
lit a pipe in
A cool breeze 
passed through, teasing
the plowed field,
the chimes,
and his arms.
The barn stood sturdy, 
ready for the season.
Seasoned tools hung on the 
new walls. The screen door 
behind him swung and
she stood next to 
him on the porch, his 
hand stroked her back.
She looked at him, he
peered eastward, a subtle
smile concealing a laugh,
“It’s going to be a good year.”

Details | Free verse | |

Laughter is Indeed the Best Medicine On Hand

A day’s of hard work,
and serious issues to handle,
though some hiccups may arise,
in order to erase these hiccups,
we need to have some fun,
and laughter is only the best medicine,
to cure on these hiccups hands on,
for this, 
we may not travel afar,
just take a look at Indian politics,
quite laughable as it is,
wherein a number of issues,
had come to the forefront,
mostly related to the cap on cylinders,
and the FDI in retail,
wherein a number of politicians,
cast a number of political ambitions,
of becoming the National leader of our Motherland,
but have no concern for the citizens,
living in here,
wherein the bridge between the poor and the rich,
gets wider and wider,
it is not the pursuit of political ambitions, 
which the citizens want in here,
it is the solutions to various problems,
which they want,
and as such there is no politician,
as fit enough for this purpose,
are they really fit enough,
is the question and as laughable as it is,
it is time for the younger generations,
to take the plunge into politics,
wherein they need to cast over their fear,
and political apprehensions, 
and save their dear Motherland India,
from all troubles,
and to make their Motherland into a Paradise!!

Details | Free verse | |


I was board and i needed something to do so i went to work to develop a plan now i am writing poetry for all my fans. I wrote about this i wrote about that i even wrote one about my cat. Most of the time i just wing it being a good poet you got to know how to bring it. So all your fans will like it and will not want to sling it and fling it in the trash or burn it and choke on the ash. Not all poetry is about being happy and having a blast. Some poetry may bring back memories from your past. I was board and needed something to do so i went to work to develop a plan now i am writing poetry for all of you my fans. Most of the time i just wing it just like i did this one. So i hope you don't fling it and sling it in the trash or burn it and choke on the ash.

Details | Free verse | |

Corporate Lies

When does the day end?
Do we know when it starts?
Is it the rising and setting of the sun?
Doesn’t feel that way in corporate America.
It feels like we must follow the sun.
Across the continents, around the world
Never stopping
For capitalism must go on
Money is being lost and made
On the backs of the middle class
Why do we put up with it?
Because we know no other way
Our Mother’s and Father’s before toiled 
In the sun
Now we think that a computer makes us smart
It’s a high tech mule team
And we are just scratching out a living
They mine the data and sell it back to us
No better than the Joads
No lesser than a work camp
The only difference is we don’t have to migrate
To pick the fruit
You can work from home
Gee, I wonder who thought up that idea?
It certainly wasn’t you or me
Work after the five o’clock bell
What a concept to make our lives hell
I won’t do it
You shouldn’t do it
But if you do then you have bought into
A lie.

Details | Free verse | |

Folk Dance

"The Folk Dance"
On the backs of well formed muscular miners 
Working hard in the trenches on a daily basis
For the men who need coal, fat cats and such
Dirty, sweaty and tireless toil try to wear them down 
Dehydration and soot inhalation runs rampant 
An epidemic throughout lower Appalachia

The jobs they need, for their survival indeed
Their meager paychecks insist they must do it for the love
Ten to fourteen hour shifts and then they collapse on the bed
Six days of the week it's merciless work to anybody

Sunday comes and they can take a day of rest
A certain buzz going around electrifies every last person
Timing is just right to surprise the deserving workers 
Since people have prepared to throw down a hoe down!
The good old fashioned type with the elongated dresses
In classic style with seemingly everybody statewide participating
With a do-se-do and an allemande left good country spirits spin uproariously
Twisting and turning to chanted rhythms on a hard packed dirt floor
Inhibitions are nowhere to be found amongst these family friendly folk
Arm in arm with strangers they know each other wants a fair time

 Soon the energy starts rocking to the extended company outside
The hootenanny has grown too big for just one barn, they are tireless 
"Well Shucks." says the fat cat "I don't work them hard enough!"
Watching from afar he fumbles with his pocket watch just a little miffed
A raucous good time for a genuinely good people 
The orchestrator slows it down some and pulls out his granddaddy's autoharp
Relaxing to an old fashioned twang, the couples do their thing
Getting closer to each other rocking calmly to and fro
Feeling four minutes of tenderness with filled loving concentration
Because those seconds are the fleeting ones

Then the banjos bring the pace back up to complement rowdy fiddles 
Moving and twirling, elation fills the air for a chance at remembering
Why they are alive for each other, ingenious in its simplicity
While Merriness is their motto
 And not even the coal mines can make them forget that

Details | Free verse | |

BARONG TAGALOG: Carrying The Style and Wearing a True Legacy

Strands of satiny pineapple fibers
From the superbly prickly pieces of leaves
Refined by the nifty naked hands
Of the great sophisticated artisans
Beyond this unequaled plant
Is a peculiar product exist
Only native Filipinos - Tagalogs can procreate
An art of aesthetic craftsmen
The fabric of my historical breed
Versatile apparel suits for formal affairs - weddings
From 20 meters of silk processed and produced - four months
Nation known as PEARL OF THE ORIENT
Exaltedly introduces this "BARONG TAGALOG"
Through cordial hardworks and artistic thinkings
A lifetime masterpiece dominates the Philippine Art
A cloth woven by faith and ornamented by passion
A cloth designed by heart and given birth through life
A cloth perfected by artistry and embroidered by fidelity
For native Batanguenos, this is their breath
Respiring together as they brocade their future

*BATANGUENOS - people of Batangas,Philippines
*BARONG TAGALOG - Philippine National Cloth

------------Jun-jun Villanueva
    ----ANYTHING HANDMADE CONTEST by nette onclaud

Details | Free verse | |


It wasn't so long ago, that my new wife and I
had to find a place to live which we could call "Home".
We found an ideal place on the northwest side of our city,
easy transportation, good neighbors, and plenty of room.

When we decided to take the place, we knew it would be 
the bright, airy, comfortable, and loving home we wanted 
to make for ourselves.  Of course, there was work to be done
before we could move in.  Painting, carpets, and choice of 
furniture would occupy us for many weeks.

I don't know if every newlywed couple is as happy as we 
were.  Our love was enhanced by the work on that apartment,
turning its rooms from bare walls and floors into livable
spaces where we could be alone with each other.  We would even
have friends or relatives over - it made no difference in our was home.

Every relationship has its share of woes, and that apartment 
became a solitary point in our lives.  My idea of a career did not
jive with my wife's, as she so often pointed out.  I don't believe
it was the career, but the fact that I was trying to be someone I
wasn't, work with a company that I did not really know, and do 
something that was inherently destructive to our marriage.

I wanted to prove to her that she could be proud of me by providing 
for her the riches I felt she deserved.  My quest for the golden ring
only tarnished the ones we wore on our hands.  I was just too naive to
think that I was wrong.  I should have taken a step back and trusted
the partner to whom I had pledged my love.  By the time I came to my
senses, it was too late.  I had driven her away by my callousness.

Now, as I stand in this empty apartment, only the memories remain.
The laughter of that first dinner alone...her face in the candlelight, yet
I see it only in the darkened corner of the room.

There were the nights of love and affection in the only
shadows of the sweet passions left in the wake of her despair at
my leaving her alone to face the mornings.
Our living area was our pride and joy with the furniture we had so 
carefully chosen, the carpet of jade green, and the love seat where 
we watched our favorite, just a window to the soul
mate I should have been.

The apartment stands empty again, waiting for another young couple
to make it their own.  It was ours for a while, but now belongs only to
that place in my mind where I hide my personal treasures.  I loved her
then...I love her still. Home no longer, but in my memory.

Details | Free verse | |

A busy man

You know those buildings that you see?

On an island of their own, impressive yet forlorn,

Beautiful yet distrusted, desired yet unloved,

Sturdy yet crumbling, rigid yet wobbling.

I walk through these structures of steel, dressed in pressed suits, 

I bump into busy strangers, scurrying in and out of Waitrose, Boots

Not once do I wonder, what their stories are

Will I ever see them again, nor do I care.

Yes, I spare a glance for the women,

Walking fast in stilettos, judging each other

With their glossy hair, neutral makeup and arrogant brows

After a while they all start to blend together.

I do not know it yet, but someday

Someday soon, if I am lucky

I will wake up a changed man,

I will not hurry and scurry, I will not plan.

I will throw my Blackberry into the Thames- watch it drown,

I will laugh and laugh until I forget to frown.

London has a beautiful heart- big and warm and full of tears,

Surely, she will forgive me for not loving her enough all these years.

Details | Free verse | |

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Details | Free verse | |

Housework apathy

Housework what a chore
I refuse to do it any more 
My poor hands have blisters 
And my hands are sore
Oh my what a bore.

The more you do
The more you find
It's such hard work
And I don't have the time.

Some peoples houses are like a show room
Mine A sty
Think I was born without the tidy gene
I'm just a man who doesn't clean.

Antique pizza found under the coach
But how I wish I had a tidy house
Piles of books everywhere
If anyone came they couldn't find a chair.

I tried housework some years ago
But what I let myself in for I didn't know
I bought every cleaning substance known to man
I stood proud with a mop and bucket in my hands
You used to be able to look out of the windows and see the trees
I cleaned and scrubbed on my knees
I threw loads of stuff away. It seemed I was cleaning night and day.

Oh how I hate throwing things away
I keep everything thinking
It will come in handy one day
But it never does.

Oh won't someone come and clean for me
I can't help it I'm such a busy bee.

A man's work is never done
Not because we do any
Because it's far from fun
No we just think about it
And think some more
Oh why is housework such a chore.

''Not a true story, but I avoid it as much as poss''.

Peter Dome.copyright.2014. July.
And now I'm sat here tired frustrated
In my apron and rubber gloves

Details | Free verse | |

LOST LOVE in Aussie slang

written 3rd Oct 2013

I was in love with the most lovable sheila
 but she did darn take off with me heeler

Overnight, she had packed their bags
 not just me dog, gone too with me scallywags

Left with just a simple note
 she had found a more loving bloke

Heartbroken to have lost them all
 I gave me mate Bluey a call

Together we drank more than just a slab
 ending up so hammered, he called us a cab

As the lonely days passed and tears filled me eyes
 by crikey it hit me, suddenly I came to realise

What a bloomin idiot, she deserved such love and respect
 every night boozin with me mates, my true love I did neglect

I'm gunna cut me drinkin and win her heart back
 fair dinkum fella's, you can flamin bet on that!

Details | Free verse | |

They're Watching You

They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
check out the daily news.

Henchmen rob bank,
two officers killed,
change channel.

Reality T.V.
a celebraity stumbling out of a club,
drunk as hell.

Change channel,
a gay couple buying a house,
in a white collar neighborhood.

They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
even when you don't know it.

Someone is always watching you.
Take out the trash,
wash the dishes.

like a camera.

they're always watching you,
Politians always watching you.

School teachers,
Always watching you.

Smile for the camera
they're watching
so just wave and smile.

Bullies on playground jungle-gyms
looking out for the ugly nerd,
found him.

Hiding under the woodchips,
get him, beat him up,
I told you, they're always watching you.

Look at me,
look what I can do,
can you see me?

I'll drink to that,
for they're always watching.

Details | Free verse | |

Flaming Reflection : " Bon Appetite "

My Dear Carolyn, I want to Thank-YOU for YOUR Contest “ The Work You Do? ”
I usually Do not Brag, but I’m going to in this Piece I also may throw in  Kitchen Humor
I Dedicate this to YOU : Carolyn Devonshire My POETRY “ TEACHER “ LOVE, HG

The first two quotes I heard in the beginning of My Career
“People will always Eat” ( Chef Lis ) : “People eat with their eyes” :
( Mr. Franklin Whalen ; ) Owner  of The “Barrington House Restaurant”
Forty-Four years later, the Sonata of these words Still Rings in my ears

The Aromas, sweet and spicy, sour ,tart, fruity, meaty, waif through my nose
I remember the smell of burning starch, elbows set in ice cold water on the stove, two hours
Taste buds come alive, epicurean;  connoisseurs : enticing  The palette soothing the throat
I read my breath, in the dire cold of the freezer:  a block of ice becomes A Heart of Swans 
         The Center Piece of Mr. & Mrs. Posner’s 75th Wedding Anniversary Dinner
On a Pedestal , in the centre of the “Swan Heart : I carved the “POSNER"  Holding Hands
How Sweet, When they asked me “Would You makes us one of YOUR Classic Dinners?”
“The Rack of Lamb, with the Plum- Mint Jelly” “ Don’t forget his Famous “Béarnaise Sauce”
A Vegetable Bouquetire , Cottage Fries, with a special “Flaming Cherries Jubilee” for Desert
Perhaps, as they did when : Young : Their eyes found each other, as they fed each other
The Gleam in their Eyes, reflecting the Jubilee’s flame Opening the Mirror of Their “ L O V E “
As a Chef The work I do is very Rewarding and I shall Cook until I die( and even Then!! )

Details | Free verse | |


Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. Countless jobs for the unemployed. Just search and see. It must be true the papers say. This Government would not lie. Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. Take any job you can get. Work 80 hours a week. It's for your well being, the papers say. This Government would not lie. Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. Take minimum wage if you must. That is all you are worth. You will thank us some day the papers say. This Government would not lie. Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. I have the JSA blues This Government would not lie. The JSA blues. Government would not lie. JSA Blues. Would not lie. JSA blues. Not lie. JSA blues. LIE!

Details | Free verse | |

Dreamer, Worker, Man

If I am nothing more than a 
dreamer, then allow me dreams,
And become astonished at the 
dreams that I create of nothing,
For if it is so that merely a dreamer
I am, my dreams will be superior to
all that have ever dreamed before,
and be dreams that man aspire to,

If I am nothing more than a mere
worker then allow me work, and
become inspired by the work I will 
continue to do, be it manual or
academic labor, work will become
me, and I shall become work,
Yet my work will be the work of
genius, no matter the category,

For i am nothing but man, dreamer
and worker alike, thus allow me to 
be man, worker, and dreamer, all
the days of my life until eternity,
Mock me and laugh at my name in
hopes of protecting your own 
insecurities yet do not hate me 
when the work and dreams of myself

Become the foundation of my bread
and the core of my happiness,
As work is never finished and
dreams are never ending in this life,
I embrace the fact of being a product
of both, for I too will adopt this
perseverance, and dream and work
my best, until it becomes greatness...

Details | Free verse | |

Waiting for the Chariot

They call them crops, but they might as well be weeds. Mr. Eli Whitney found a great way to get rid of those seeds. Now the supply outstrips the demands and the needs. All that makes this stuff cheaper by the bale. Sellers get less money when they make a sale. None of that makes any difference at all. I am stuck picking in this field all summer until fall. Lord, send your winged chariot down to me right away. I am ready, willing, and able to meet my dying day. Inspired by Tim Ryerson’s poem “Cotton Pickin’ Paradise”

Details | Free verse | |

Ranch Hand Sunset.

Upon the flushing milieu of twilight,
     Vague shadows of the ranch hands brook.

 A proud slow march on hackneyed legs,
     In the slow emergence of autumn’s dusk.

Today’s sullied labor grimes the worn denim chaps,
     In the dawn to dusk harvest of the seasons haying.

An aching exhaustion on sweat muddied faces,
     The price and the pride of the old rancher’s toils.

Barns piled high from the summers green fields,
      The homestead prepares for the silver of winter.

Lost in the muted glow of sunset’s backdrop,
     The prairie echoes thanks with a soft cowboy song. 

Details | Free verse | |

Flash Gordon me

Flash Gordon me
That's right
Saviour of the universe
At least a very small part of it

Someone has to do it
Everyone else is at the beach
Drinking beer and eating chips
Not me though

I could save the universe 
If that was needed
Most of the time though
The issues are a little less severe

Details | Free verse | |

Magical Days

As dawn arrives
   I sense the delightful morning sun 
rising over the land 
   A taste of green tea 
and I'm ready to face my day 
    as an ESL writing assistant
The city glows 
     almost super naturally 
and the metropolitan scene 
     comes alive 
As I walk to work 
    I sense the joys of urban life 
the masses of people off to work 
    in this fantastic
creation built with the sweat 
and blood of countless white and blue collar workers 

Details | Free verse | |

In My Community

Our Ancestors fought to the death,
Just so we can live a brighter day,
So before you light up that blunt of meth,
Think about what you’re giving away,
It was a glad day in history when Obama rose to victory,
The first black president was all we knew,
Dark skin is in!
Haven’t you heard?
That even in our community, 
You can get burned,
It’s a sad day when people would rather stay home and “Crank That Amber Cole”,
Than get up and run to a poll,
In our community,
Rockin’ Luis V is better than having a college degree,
And teen pregnancy is not only a trend,
But the single motherhood that follows should end,
Young girls learn of a wonderful prince to take them away,
Nothing should change thought their mothers prince didn’t stay,
And as the tears fade away,
She grows stronger every day,
In our community,
Fighting is no longer a word,
You argue with someone and shots are heard,
Girls showing places the sun don’t show,
So how do they expect the community to grow?
Where love is a figment of imagination,
Making a young child question her creation,
Young mothers would rather buy the iPhone 5,
Then satisfy her baby’s cries,
While her new man’s eye,
Wander up another girl’s thighs,
In our community,
Where #team dark skin vs #team light skin,
Makes others not love the skin they’re in,
Love, lust, hate, and trust,
Giving a rose on Valentine’s Day is no longer a must, 
Where bad is good and good is bad,
Who would think to see their grandmother sad?
Her hurt and pain,
Shows how our community has lost everything her parents fought to gain.

Details | Free verse | |

In This Day Of His

~In distress, life is a stress~

Changes is in the heart of a man
The pain he feels is also in the heart
The subconscious will and wish of a man
Is also the subconscious action within the heart

Rejection is a reflex and a weakening
That makes man helpless
The only solution to his problem
Is also from the heart

Battle of sexes and battle to be free
This same unforgotten battle
And battle for freedom
Also resides within the heart

Maternal admiration 
And battalion slaps
Are what makes a man
To become a man

If can’t be barbarian
And weep nil to the sky
Then the man -in this heart-
Is unworthy of a man

To withstand boredom whispering
And ungovernable temptations
It all requires a pure heart
Like the heart of a real man

Away from home
And success- a want to hold
It all requires tolerance
Like the heart of a real man

Changes is inevitable
It happens to every life
Far from what minds could say
Perhaps in time immemorial

The way to be steady 
And grab the destiny
Is to remain being that real man
With the heart of his own.

Details | Free verse | |


I sit, chewing on my pen tip,
Trying to look as if I am deep in serious thoughts, 
Tapping my foot with an air of restless efficiency,
Fussing over my spellings and ink blots.

I glance at the somber calculator,
It seems to glare at me in quiet reprimand.
I make myself type in a few numbers and symbols,
And the answer comes up sooner than I demand.

The numbers, the symbols, the words of wisdom,
Swirl around me in incoherent randomness,
As I sit, and ponder, trying to hold my senses in my slippery grasp,
The immaculate rungs of logical thought swiftly become meaningless.

So I give up, or rather, give in
To escape to that secret land of foolish fantasies,
Which had been tempting the edge of my consciousness for so long,
Causing my homework to be a series of blunders and idiocies. 

I dream of happy endings, of forget-me-nots;  
Of stormy emotions, the sweet pain that accompanies love,
The sparks that fly between you and I, the carelessly concealed attraction
Of star-crossed lovers, the suns, the moons, the heavens above.

I dream of rain, and sensuous nights,
Of raptures, and laughter, and mischievous delights.
I carve out a perfect picture in my mind, with my imagination as the frame,
I have gone too deep-long forgotten that this is just a game.

The sound of my own joyful laughter brings me crashing down to earth,
The tick of the clock, the sweat on my brow,
And other subtle reminders of reality registers on my fuzzy mind;
I sigh, and go back to doing my homework for tomorrow.

Details | Free verse | |

man's work

OH THE whole worlds come, come all 
We fill up the world maritime with soil-
I know that is against natural appeal
Therefore our precious time shall we fritter away;
For where we hollow out the soil from
There shall we leave another sea-
Where then shall we term residence?
But uh humanity come a few, hardly any hands
We lug this edifice down to ground,
And we put a new-fangled one in its place-
I discern that work is trouble-free
For work of the hands of man
Shall never last long into the future,
It can be ruined in a day, any time.

Details | Free verse | |

Daily 36 Alone in bed

A digital clock makes no click,
But when waiting for my husband
I can swear I hear it tick.

I can’t sleep though work awaits,
But when midnight stares back,
An alarm won’t negotiate.

Why do I care? I have my own life to live!
But when the tossing and turning twists,
I have an angry phone message to give.

And you can all guess that goes off well,
But when you’re so riled up and sad,
You tell your dear one, “Go to hell.”

Then the wait the descent
 Hear every car pass away
  The worry and the fret
   Am I so easy to forget?
     Should I call once again 
      I am sure he heard it
       Now I am pinned.
        There is sure to be a fight,
          It is already way past midnight.
           What about work and the day,
            Never mind, I’ll make him pay.

I close my eyes and breathe deep,
But when you are worried,
It’s too hard to sleep.

Details | Free verse | |


Sometimes I am confronted by the solace of silence.
My eyes track the glass.
The room’s reflections bend and distort
like a dented stainless steel worktop
pushing and bending in its despair to return to normal.

I pull open the window.
The frame pops!
The outside pours in.
My ears are surround sound.
My eyes fill with colour.
My brain struggles to make sense of the senses.
Sound bytes are downloaded and
far away I hear leadened bells of a village church, toll!

The view opens up before me
as if issued to me by God
so, momentarily I gaze.
“Yep! look, this is how it works!”
“I will work for you for one hour.”
“That’s 15 euros. ”
“If your happy with the progress I make then I will carry on.”
“If not! we shake hands and I will go."
“Sounds good to me” she said

“The sounds are good to me too!” I thought
I return to the pane.
I pull out the scrim and work the glass

Details | Free verse | |


School work
Lunch time
School work
School work
Fun time

Details | Free verse | |

The Hotel Room

She walks through the lobby of the grand hotel.
Four inch heels clicking across the shiny marble floors.
Pure ice blue eyes look for that hotel room 411.
Extending a perfectly manicured hand, knocks on the door.
A muffled voice on the other side of the door is heard, 
the door then opens wide.
The man standing before her smiles in satisfaction invites her in.
They stand toe to toe at the foot of the bed, the covers are drawn down.
He reaches over to the desk, takes the pile of bills hands them to this lady of the evening 
standing in his hotel room.
She quickly counts, smiles, sliding the money into her evening bag.
He runs his hands down her back, 
He slowly strips her off her clothes, dignity hiding in the pile dropped by her feet.
He reaches for her hand, pulling her into the bed.
Telling her she is just what he needed, his lust glazing over his eyes
His body covering hers, she moans appropriately, arching her body to his.
His is unaware of the time, while she counts every moment in hotel room number 411.
She gathers her evening bag, sliding her feet into her heels.
As she exits the hotel room number 411.

Details | Free verse | |


Once you become a mother
You feel you need to be with the child
Always taking care of its needs
Even while at work your entire mind
Is gnawed at with the thought of your child

When you reach home the first thing
You do is run up to the child pick it up 
And shower all those feelings you wanted to share
Women basically I feel work mechanically
Rather than going to the level that 
That is her life and she should work for a living

The mother in her always begs to differ
Does not want to prove anything anywhere
The tussle between the ego and image
Is on forever as it never gets any recluse from this position
I being a singer had to be away in the evenings
Loved singing and would be singing a lullaby
Praying it reaches my little one to put her to sleep….sunkan

Details | Free verse | |


Clocks in the house were all but removed 
I chose utter quietude over malicious ticks and tocks.
Adhering to schedules was reliant on the angles of the sun,
and the sandy family hourglass artifact sitting by the side 
of me at my station, every hour on the hour reminding, and
I myself being ready to flip.  This was how not to live 
as a farmer and still be a slave to the working of grains. 
The sanctity of my spinning room was also my prison for
 forty hours every week, and a third of my adult life. 
Pressing down on the pedal below to see the top half rotate
and as my world turns I sometimes get approached. 
With significant fibers, their casual orders are mine for marching,
working that spindle to the satisfaction of the customer,
as was every occasion but my last one, the best one, the only one 
that I'll remember as special, delivering my soul from boredom.
My only daughter, sweet thing, no siblings to rival with
unless a naked, well tattered doll counts. She took it on adventures 
to the moon while I couldn't see my child, my savior expanding horizons.
It was silly not to see her blowing about carefree as the wind that day
without concerns over food and shelter all she desired was the deepest 
one of all.  She was sleeping on desires with every chance to dream for her 
best friend a modest cape for him to fly. Deep inside I knew her spirits 
and that doll would ride the same breeze but I had to say no for the silk 
was not mine. The customer was always right until the next day 
when I stepped out to the corner store for the bite of a sour apple, 
returning to an open door the hourglass was broken and my spindle bare. 
The world had stopped spinning, time had stopped existing… so long 
comfortable rut. Mortified for a brevity, just when I thought worlds 
couldn't change, mine had with the crashing of an antique. The glass 
littered beach on the floor was proof of that. The spindle was stripped of 
its importance and all of a sudden it hit me fast, so fast I smiled.
My daughter was no devil and yet she was the culprit stealing
my heart before and a cape now but it was okay,
just this once, to have a family legacy mocked
for the prosperity of a child's imagination. 
Seeing them fly in the backyard I dripped gentle
waves from tear ducts upon that glass scattered beach    
secretly grateful, values in my life were restored. 

Details | Free verse | |

Peace to One and All

Be careful
I said carefully come nearer
Be careful
I said carefully take my sword
Be careful
I said carefully read my lip
Be careful
I said carefully draw my sword
Be careful
I said carefully pierce my body apart from my soul
Be careful
I said carefully send me there now...

Why do you withhold?

Be careful
Have your sword, shield it
And have your seat

Politics has not completely darken my heart
I still sense the part I belong
I know I aren't born this way
I know I aren't call to this way
I know God don't support my way-

Bloodshed day and night 
All in the name of satisfying
Whims and caprices of the few

The world led with the words of the opportunist
And built by struggles and sacrifices of the full

Since you are now born again

  Be careful
  I said carefully come nearer
  Be careful
  I said carefully take my sword
  Be careful
  I said carefully read my lip
  Be careful
  I said carefully draw my sword
  Be careful
  I said carefully pierce my body apart from my soul
  Be careful
  I said carefully send me there now

  Why do you withhold?

  Be careful
  Have your sword, shield it
  And have your seat

  Politics has not completely darken my heart
  I still sense the part I belong
  I know I aren't born this way
  I know I aren't call to this way
  I know God don't support my way-

  Bloodshed day and night 
  All in the name of satisfying
  Whims and caprices of the few

  The world led with the words of the opportunist
  And built by struggles and sacrifices of the full

  Since you are now born again

Be careful
And carefully convey my message to those privilege few
Be careful
And don't change my words
Be careful
And listen carefully
Be careful
And tell them I said...

Peace be upon thou
That values this singular word in action
Who give room for this course to thrive
And carry the day

Peace be upon those 
That gives it a chance
The Word in question is PEACE

Peace and Unity is what I preach

Convey my message to one and all.

Details | Free verse | |

Scam of the Con Man

Who hasn’t heard of the Nigerian Letter or the Australian Lottery won?
So what about you’re kids in college… what for them is going on?

My son found a job posted on the University’s Nursing jobs bulletin Board.
Apparently several students applied to take care of an old man coming into town.
They were each approved separately, and then sent a check…
Plus a list of nursing supplies and a wheel chair they had to pay for and pick up.
Apparently, the place to work with had already been set up.
Once everything was paid for, they were ready for the job.

Instead all they got was their accounts cleaned out.
And the Nursing supplies were another part of the scam, my dear.
In the end the money they had was gone with everything saved from the student loans.

Now the problem was made and you know what? Guess who didn’t care?
The police, University, and bank said it happens all the time.
Of course they turned away saying it wasn’t their concern.
The bank told my son he owed $3400 more, even through he was the victim of the fraud.
The Banks fraud department yawned and said they wouldn’t look into what was done.
In fact, they were sending his accounts into collections to attack him even more.

Slough it off, and attack the victim, and of course none of them would do their work.
Mail fraud, money fraud, and con men involved… across state lines meant nothing at all.
Attacking the victim is not where the Banks, police, and university belong.
So let me tell you The States’ Attorney General is the next on the list.
The Attorney General and the Federal Government is where to go, my friend.
Don’t give up on the internet, there are help groups there, that abound.
Tell your children of the game… to keep them far away.

The bank wants my son’s next student loan money for collections on the debt…
And he will have to work full time at minimum wage to survive.
You might say everything at the moment… is truly upside down.
But we will fight unendingly… to straighten everyone out…

What a Christmas job deal breaker… and what a way to find out…

Details | Free verse | |


Do you know
How much you are loved

Yes we see you
We're blessed to know you
The woman behind the joyous smile
The one who goes beyond the extra mile

You are so rare
Truly a wonderful gift
You have a way, you cause perspectives to shift
You understand 
change can't always be swift

Purpose, a gentle word
You recognize people's need to be heard
On wings of understanding you fly like a bird

True kindness
Permeates your being
You have a special way of seeing
The world we live in is in need of care
True change happens by becoming aware

Yes one person can make a difference
Small changes add up over time
With knowledge as your tool you redefine
Re shaping the outcome line by line

So as you leave
We shed a tear
Yet thankful for the time that you were here
You gave your all each day and year
Through loving example you were our mirror

Go to your garden
Explore your passion
From the ground a future to fashion 
The planet and bees can use a lift
What you have to offer is a priceless gift

For our friend Linda, happy retirement. Now your work begins.
We know you will continue to make a difference in the world
and in our lives. 

Details | Free verse | |


Sometimes a whisper,
desperate to join the real world
calls out from the tower,
the cry of many memories trapped
within the egron of time.
Sometimes!  Deafen by the silence
one hears the exhaust fans
out of balance, a simmering
smoke stack exhale,
rutunda roaster tumble,
seductive klaxon wail
spent bean silo rumble.
Alas!  The same stars still shine,
the same moon reflects,
as one feels again, the innuendos
extracted out of the very shadows,
that linger within the walls that
surround this place. Profoundly
this void, this vacuum of personification
guides me as one follows one’s
inculcation through the labyrinth
of reasoning, where recollections
pass by in a moment of blithe,
an instant of reverberation
spray dried in a cascade of
fine blend, evaporated within a 
classic symphony, harmonies of
years, sweat and tears grounded
out of an idea.
Yet spent!  Like the rest of us.

Copyright 2014
Harry J Horsman

Details | Free verse | |

De Javu -High School

First week on a new job
De Javu, It's High School again

Employees talking about their twenties years celebrations 
Getting wasted and drinking
It's a dud of a conversation 
When I tell them I don't drink 

Then I begin listening
I'm sitting in a booth filling out a form
You guys are at the bar
Talking about another co-workers relationship storm

Oh man Oh man, 
I'm keeping work and personal separate
I really don't care how much they think I'm desperate
I'm sure they'll say I'm stuck up, 
Or tease over a few drinks I'll spill when tripping over a bump
But these guys at the end of the day
To my face, they'll have nothing to say  

Details | Free verse | |

Time and Money

"What is the time?"

The blue coloured sleeve
Plummets to the elbow,
And the precious metal strips
Aiming for numerical notes
Catching in his
Reddened eyes,
Swollen to perplexity

"Sorry. I've lost track of it."

Details | Free verse | |

Going To Work

Going to work is a trip everyday. I feel like a robot already programed. When I wake up in the morning I take a quick shower to wake me up. I grab a cup of coffee and run out to my car. I have to beat the traffic and that's no fun, when everyone else is doing the same. Sooner or later i get stuck. Some fool had an accident it wasn't my fault, but I get stuck just the same. After a while we start to move on, then it starts to go smooth, until we start to pick up speed , then everything is a mess. It is not easy to be on the freeway. If you go too slow, you can get hit from behind. If you go too fast you will get a ticket. What is a working person suppose to do? I just go along with the flow and pray that I get out in one piece. I soon see my exit and out I go. I get to my job, by now I need another cup of coffee. If no one has made it I make it myself. After the coffee I am awake and start my work day. Like a Zombie i do my chores, until it's time to go home. I feel good I've made my day. life is not easy, but some of us have to work, for a paycheck that's not even enough. I thank God for giving me this job, otherwise I wouldn't be going to work everyday. Going to work is a trip, but it pays for the food at the end of the week. God bless America and Thank God that we are free...
11/11/2012 Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo

Details | Free verse | |

Restaurant Workers

Oh, you wonderful restaurant workers,
I guess you're glad it's over
Mother's Day the biggest day
The demands at work,
I know you well deserve your pay

Idiot customers,
Insolent, abusive
Think that you're
worth naught
Little realizing
the potential revenge
They may have just bought

Like adulterated food
To repay your stupid mouth,
If you knew what they did,
Your brain would "go south"...

These are people too
So watch out what you do
Because before you know it,
The joke will be on you!

Details | Free verse | |

The Dead Essays

The Dead Essays

Today I wore all black 
But there is no funeral procession. 
So I just went to work and sat at my desk
Before piles of essays which need to be read,
A red pen in my hand - 
Because I am old school 
And the students can deal – 
And it would seem that women
Of the mid 1900’s were being oppressed 
And that is the reason they were all insane.
Yes, all of them. It is clearly stated in paragraphs two and three,
The introduction and the sad excuse for a conclusion 
Which is hanging on at the end like some sort of cough.
And here it would seem the student forgot all syntactical purpose 
And I am quite certain “When women were alone” 
Is not a sentence, and yet it is punctuated as such,
A big fat period where there should only be a comma. 
The chop, chop of simple sentences 
And yet I am relieved because at the very least, 
It is a sentence… no matter how misguided the idea. 
Oh, and the idea because today women are equal to men 
In every possible way, and I hope the tone is sarcastic, biting, a little ironic,
But no… it is not. 
This child does not know to capitalize I 
Let alone how to portray through language 
A tone which is biting, satirical, humorous.
It would seem I am dressed appropriately after all.

Details | Free verse | |


I dreamed of this
My whole life
I only existed
To fulfill this dream.

It didn’t just happen
I worked for it 
And when it came
I didn’t want it anymore.

I dreamed of this
And suddenly
It has become
A nightmare.

Details | Free verse | |

The Hardest Thing

Last night we had a quarrel
We went to bed so mad
Each had to get up early
The morning was quite sad
I never meant to say that
I know you didn’t, too
With hopes to reconcile
Just know that I love you

Yeah darling…
It couldn’t be more true

That’s why 
Leaving you
Is the hardest thing to do

Each morning when we go to work
A piece of me, it goes with you
I cannot wait to get back home
To do those things we do

That’s why 
Leaving you
Is the hardest thing to do

I hope tonight we’re civil
We listen and we learn
Together, we’ll get past this
Each others trust, we’ll earn
So, then we can retire
To the bedroom that we share
Lie within each others arms
And show how much we care

Yeah darling…
It couldn’t be more true

That’s why 
Leaving you
Is the hardest thing to do

Each morning when we go to work
A piece of me, it goes with you
I cannot wait to get back home
To do those things we do

That’s why 
Leaving you
Is the hardest thing to do

And when my work’s over
I will come back to you

Details | Free verse | |

Daddy's A Workaholic

Daddy’s a workaholic...
But what about the hospital stay... the loss of blood,
his ashen dignity
Slight prate about moving into a veteran’s home

Only in his young eighty’s
Workaholics don’t quit
Laboring healthward

So the tiller cranks for cultivating
and the garden is sown, 
yet during it's interval of growth
he’s... vigorously active 
delivering the ‘elderly’ to appointments

While taking pride in saplings
he's gathering and transporting the yield

And I, plop down on my patio swing 
imbibing a cappuccino
Thinking “What a ‘workaholic’ my daddy is”!

Details | Free verse | |

Check It Out Yourself

Come to see what I have found out on Poetry Soup
I just found out that ‘Categories’ box has been improved
Wherein more interesting stuffs to choose from have now been included
I just found another one
It’s the HTML guideline or note embedded 
Immediately below the ‘Poem title’ box
And above the ‘Poem Text’ region
Immediately before the space provided 
For the typing of your poems
You will see an instructive text 
Telling you about how to customize or format
Your poem using one or more of the HTML’s tag
Three tags are currently available and are all allowed
It includes ‘< e m >’   at the beginning and    ‘ < / e m > ’ 
At the end of the portion of the poem you wish to format.
This is for ‘italics’. 
The one for ‘bold’ and ‘center’ tags are
‘< b > < / b> ’   and   ‘< center > < / center >   respectively.
You can use them for the whole poem
Or one for a stanza, a line or an expression…
Within the poem if you like
Try them now and see it yourself
They’re meant for you and me.

Check it out yourself:

Note: You won't space anything tag at all. I applied space because the system is so sensitive to each instruction.

Details | Free verse | |



Your love I paint this portrait for
For you I furnish it with many color
Those ones of your desires
And from mine you admire
I single handedly paint this for you
In your best polish, clad and crown
And in your cherished light auburn 
Showing my love I dedicate through words
In hope you’ll find a place in your heart 
To fathom as bosom you’re to me


Details | Free verse | |

From Where Shall I Greatness Buy

Mom tells me to finish my homework quickly,
When I ask why?, she tells me
“You should become great as great as your dad”.
When I ask, where is my dad Mom?
She tells me, “He is now god’s guest.”
Again when I ask Mom, 
“Can I not become great by being the god’s guest”?
She slaps me gently and tells me, 
“Now just shut up and get your homework done”.
Little later when I ask she says, 
“Your Dad fought like a tiger, 
risking his life, he never bothered.
His gun has brought him greatness
and the honour of being the god’s guest.
Again when I ask, 
“Do people become great when they fight”?
If so, I will beat in the school, 
My friend Philip, with my might.”
Now, Mom calls me stupid and gives me a push.
Crying I go to sleep in her lap, 
Now she says, “Tomorrow I will 
give you pocket money for ice-cream”.
Wiping my eyes when I ask,
Mom! ”Can I by saving pocket money,
try greatness buy”?
Tell Mom, “From where shall I greatness buy”?
She tells, “Oh god help me”
and begins to cry.

Details | Free verse | |

buzz buzz

buzz buzz 
sun rise
down the dark night 
up the blue sky

dress in blues
red tie 
brown belt and shoes

stairway to streetway
into the deep crowds of many
misters and misses 
on their way
to somewhere 
to prey 
on each other

till the end of day 
and darkness 
once again
and again
to rest 

buzz buzz
and up the blue sky

Details | Free verse | |

Spirit of Horse and Man

The rider accepts the horse and the horse accepts the man.
No man rides a horse… It’s a dance in poise and symmetry as one.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
The power is felt in the movement as the horse stretches out its gate.
The muscles move beneath the man with power waiting to escape.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
The fluidity of the gate is matched by the fluidity of the man.
The nostrils flair in both… The dance has just begun…
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
If they do not work together… They will not work at all.
The horses’ mane like the mans’ hair, is held tight in the flowing wind.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
With each step they take… A balance must be struck.
For every step they take… Their intent must be as one.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
The spirit of the horse must merge with the spirit of the man.
Together they merge in a symbiotic relationship as old as horse and man.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
Feel the movement… Feel the power… Feel each muscle as it moves.
Feel each breeze unfold… Feel their hearts and souls as they meld as one.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
Point to counter point… The man doesn’t own the horse or the horse the man.
What looks so easy is not a simple thing as they travel forth as one.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
The connection is tightly woven. This spirit of Horse and man.
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump
And with each ride together they will meld again as one…
Thump, Thump…Thump, Thump

Details | Free verse | |

Dalliance With The Winter Birch

            Dalliance With The Winter Birch

Crystal glances at the brilliant blue 
Marching up there with blinding sun soaked sky
Clouds stream by 
They come apart in seams of wonder  
As the day begins to shine
Work waits there on the farm
A dalliance with winter wind and trees begin
White limbs swing limp, spring back again on birches
Firm roots, frozen earth, hold the hard wood down
I climb the highest branches there  
At 8:00 am farm chores start once again
They can wait for just a while longer
While all of nature sinks into the skin
As I figure out how to return
Somehow I got lost above the trees
Tangled in the maze of branches
Caught, never found, while climbing birches 
Never quite figured out
Which way was up or down 

Details | Free verse | |


“The two sides sit
around the square table;
like the cheeks of one’s buttocks
together only, till the 
crap starts to appear!”

Copyright 1997
Harry J Horsman 1997

Details | Free verse | |

When Dentist Calls

             When Dentist Calls

Clear white tiny whirring brook spirals porcelain down
Monitored through forest of sharp hard objects
In a glare of concentrated artificial brightness
Stark forms, silver entities, probe my thoughts
Through my tooth roots to get to the truth
There are still more things to come
Dentist and assistant fill my mouth with wisdom and cotton
Where my Marlon Brando Godfather impression takes place
Along with x-rays of a few bad teeth acting up or acting out a scene
My mouth becomes that void, that black hole
With which a need to fill it
With everything in the cosmos, becomes apparent
Apparatuses, appendages, products from unknown Asian markets
Go in and disappear
Dentist looks satisfied with his new creation
The interrogation begins
I blink my approval as the needles go in.
My tongue is the first to stray into slurs as doctor quips,
“And gargle please and spit!”  “That’s it!”  “Open big!” “Tell me everything!”
I remembered a story as a boy
As my mouth and face melt away
And the whirring spirals porcelain down to dentists call 

Details | Free verse | |

Black Coffee Mug: Red Wheelbarrow

So much depends

a black coffee 

faded with use

into the faces
of us all

Details | Free verse | |


I shivered, and dreaded her face As she put me in a test every morning I can never please her Her way or no way! This thing called EVALUATION Is so subjective It can’t be objective When one is prejudiced. But, how many ways can you peel a banana? Or, how many ways can you dress a chicken? How many ways can you put coffee in your cup? Or, how many ways can you style your hair? I catapulted to a higher ground Aha! I am on top of everything! KUDOS TO MYSELF!

Details | Free verse | |

The Man at Work

I see the man at work 
More often than I see 
My wife. 

I've spoken more with 
Him than with any 
Other soul throughout 
My life. 

Five times fifty two 
Times thirty six 
Minus holiday and 
Sickness is the number 
Of times we've said 
Good morning and 

Fifty two times thirty 
Six, a cheery Friday 
Weekend wish and 
Mournful Monday 
Morning 'Hi'. 

I've seen him urinate 
A million times. 
Watched him sip 
His caffeinated drinks -
We fetch them for 
Each other - one day it's 
His turn then it's mine. 

A thousand nights 
We've journeyed to the 
Office pub for office 
Drinks.  He used to 
Bore us with his, 
Business banter, ten 
Years on resorts to 
Forty winks. 

For several years 
We car-shared, passed 
The sleepy mornings 
Cursing traffic, health 
And weather.  Then we 
Lost our taste for words 
And found commutes 
In silence better. 

And every day I loathed 
Him more and longed 
To tell him so and would 
Have done it but for fear 
Of his humiliation. 

So I struck a balance. 
Kept my distance. 
Ignored his weekend 
Invitations but smiled 
And nodded at his 
Prattish conversations. 

Now we are retired. 
Yet still he phones 
And breathes the same 
Old routine jargon down 
The line; so we chatter 
And we pause and 
Reminisce about our 
Working office lives 
That buzzed a bit 
At times although they 
Gave no special 
Or reward. 

He says I was the only person 
In the office who didn't drive 
Him round the bend. 

He's pleased we made 
It through, still friends.

Details | Free verse | |

Dying ashes

I venture through the toiling of days
Crumbling nights
Ever hopeful though chanting septic cries,
Dawn creeps past worn-out
eye receptacles...
and the ashen graves they see
They once burnt benevolently 
for scarred hours
But now reflect the red glow
of dying ashes,
Fate has laid them in careful rows
beside the graves.
Seen from above,
they spell forgotten names
and trapped grief.
Each peck of the ghost of birds
wears out a memory in turns,
Each semblance of relief
dies in the glow of symbols...
A grave here
A tear there
Tied together 
by a string of clotting blood
and a trail of distant love,
Lined up as emotional tender 
for the dying ashes

Details | Free verse | |

Follow Me

There were times 
When I was the initiator.
Something in his manner,
His look, his words, his nearness
Would trigger wantonness
In me.

It would rise up from
Some secret place deep in my core
Like a warm tropical sun
Leaving me feverish with anticipation
And….he would know,
Giving me his special half-smile.

Desire would fill those wonderful eyes.
It’s a look that every woman knows
And yearns to see in her love.
Responding to my advances pleased him
And it heightened our union
Making it easy to find our bliss

Details | Free verse | |

I just need to say thank you

I sit on our veranda, the sun shines down on me,
I sit out at night, the moon beams down on me,
I sit on our veranda, the stars twinkle above me,
I sit out in the heat, the breeze caresses me.

I see the beauty of the Mediterranean Sea,
I gaze at the beauty that is Cyprus, 
I gaze in awe of all the splendour within my view.
I feel God saying, David, I did this just for you.

We came to this Island in the sun,
We felt that our working life was done.
God must have laughed at our plan,
For that's the time when His began.

We work part time in a Hospice shop,
No pay, but great rewards each day
Folk come by with their stories, some sad,
We pray, and send them on their way.

I came from a humble background, I have toiled all my life,
I came to the end of my working life, just glad that I survived,
I struggled for the most part, clinging to the wreckage as 'they' say.
God sent me a wonderful person to help me on lifes way.

We married all those years ago, not knowing what the future held,
Jesus is the glue in our marriage, He holds us together as one.
He is the 'food' for our sustinance, He keeps us 'alive' 
Thank you Jesus for all  the work You have done in our lives.

© Dave Timperley 2012

Details | Free verse | |



There stands the multitude
many heads like stepping stones
hearts that beat a depressed rhythm
row upon row upon row.
The square in reverberation
sways to a pungent tone
unity upon each and every lip!
“We’ll strike for evermore.” They chant.
“Stay out for eternity.” They quip!


“We’ll break the buggers,
confuse them one and all
split them down the middle
then take them as they fall.
For working man, to himself
an enigma a fool for all to see,
no adversary in this world given freedom
no master as yet willing
to give the key!”

Copyright 1997
Harry J Horsman 1997

Details | Free verse | |

Easy Cheesy

EASY CHEESY AND EASY AS PIE are not really so easy
Peach, pumpkin, plum perfection-Pie
Always Alliteration and Anchovies
Wouldn't work in a good Pie
Banana, coconut, and blueberry cream Pie 
Works well, while whiting and wax won't work well in Pie

Poetry and alphabet soup should work well---
In theory, then time to text talk turns
Telephone talking tedious
SAFE TEXTING while driving turns out to 
be an oxymoron, Along With Safe Text Sexing 
While intoxicated and driving....

***The guilty do not need to testify, unless you have a really funny story associated with the texting?!!

For the Alliteration contest with Oxymorons --  Let me know if this fits the pattern.

Details | Free verse | |

Build up

Continue to push me further,
Force my vision into a raging blur,

Inevitably consumed by the vengeful fire,
Despising you with my every fiber,

Assuming me to be your personal jester for your entertainment,
With such cynical thoughts you would have me in containment,

One day you'll see the abandoned hat on the ground,
You'll search but your jester wont be found,

Till the hour you're sentenced for your heinous crimes,
Until that day I'll bide my time.

Details | Free verse | |

Nine Days Off

High fives.
Jive talkin'.
I get off at five.

Five is dark these days,
thriving is scarcer and

Deprivation has lots of syllables.
So many that it distracts from contemptible
WAIT!  That sounds judgmental.

I don't want to sound that way.

So I will make my way.
Hope somebody's god grants me

Details | Free verse | |

A Job to be Done.

So many jobs still to be done…but no one wants to do them
When someone else fills the spot…. the  hue and cry arise
They take our jobs what are we to do.. we need money too
But when the jobs are available they look the other away 
They look down their noses, I’m no slave they say
I won’t do a job for so little pay.

Well somebody’s got to do his collar  white or blue
But somehow it ends up in the hands of the blue.
 Hooray blue collar workers that’s what I say
Be you masons or plumbers welders or garbage collectors
Without you we’d be living in derelict conditions.

A day of recognition… a word of appreciation’s
 still less than you’re due
I wish you the best blue collar workers...your'e a wise 
wonderful lot and true
Thanks for being you...thanks  for all that you do
and may God Bless you.

Details | Free verse | |

From her Cocoon

She sits over her writings, a chrysalis, a solitary form.
All of her adventures are tucked in her mind this morn.
Her poetry is meant to half make you laugh or weep.
Her stories are soulful with multiple twists to reap.
Her husband peeks at her ideas before going to work…
She can’t wait to discuss the results back and forth.
She’ll revise a little, but not the main inspirational theme.
This poem is the result of a days’ insightful dream. 

She’s a butterfly who may never come out from her cocoon.
But she’s safe, warm, and happy… with your reading a boon.
There are always those admirers awaiting her final results.
Like a butterfly’s wings the words tarry, till they finally bust forth.
She helps others understand… they’re not alone…any more…
With a moment of her presence and beautiful, unfurling heart.
Then she’ll hide away back in her cocoon till when…
She’ll awaken, forever beginning the cycle… anew, again.


Details | Free verse | |

John Stonehouse MP

A man who left his country
A man who left his ties
A man who left his duty
A man free

O the advantage of perceived death,
Of being remembered for something you were not
A martyr, an untrue character, an untrue man. 

The man is found
The man is taken
The man is guilty
But of what?

Bereft of responsibility
A man is chained 
A man empty of soul
A man called Stonehouse.

Details | Free verse | |

When a Factory Closes

once again, it is done.
and Dread abounds.
i must re-prepare, they say
and crawl beyond Familiar Words
to make a Home again
for a little while.

and say goodbye 
to just-rooted friendships.
i must re-acquaint, they say
and crawl beyond Familiar People
to make a Home again
for a little while.

always they smile in indifference
and offer up token strategies
as the town shutters-up beneath them
and the graveyards go abandoned.

now, once again, i stand before the world
within the full measure of my Isolation.
a cacophony of Choice.
yet i hear Nothing.

Details | Free verse | |

Little Green People's Work Is Never Done

          Little Green People’s Work Is Never Done

Life calls on little green people, to work, to continue
As everyone else sleeps in
Hiding from the corporate comatose leader 
Normal people rise, at a later date, from beds dead tired
Smiles crack on faces; lines move along the traces of old age 
And breaks the new dawned day wide open
You can’t count on little green people for anything
They work for nothing.  They work for free
They cut trees down in forest with their teeth 
Place them into piles for safe keeping
And by the way
Arrive from outer space from other planets to take our place
Little green people take our jobs
I know this can’t be done
They have no work permits
Their visas have expired 
They must line up to be deported as per orders
You can’t count on little green people 
Without proper documents
It is illegal 
They never sleep but hang out inside of freezers
Or cold, in wooden boxes, toxic beyond their borders
Catch colds, catch fire with the trees
To burn the forest down
Pretend to weep, pretend they don’t have matches
Call it an accident as they move from house to house
No one keeps the peace and secrets like little green people
You can count on that
They press their little green suits with tiny irons
And eat their greens.  They even kiss your feet
Some pray for peace in churches
Just like the rest of us
Little green people will never move back home 
Work is finished there
Their suns burnt out
But other work still needs to be completed
It continues on the foreign dawn

Details | Free verse | |


don’t throw me out 
into the garbage
people must keep fighting in this world
and I still have meat on my bones
and a few living cells in my head
and I am not yet fully dead
I still have some fight

I have too little time now
now to pray
during the day
or at night too
too little time 
at night now
now to pray or to fight
I must rest

when the time comes 
and I am fully spent
I will pray then
then that the time is not
not now to late 
to change my faith
and get there where
I will finally rest 

rest in peace 
for all time then
then there then when 
I am fully dead

Details | Free verse | |

The Labour Kingdom

The Labour Kingdom

The owl perched high and tight
Hooting, heralding the black night
Chirping crickets darken the silence
The night, still far from morn

The animals in their shadows
Alert eyes pierce the hollows
Hm!  A deceptive stillness
A world bathed in grey colour

An ominous predator prowls
Waiting to spring for brawls
His traps ever gaping open
Till all preys are gone and dead

Tricks, treacherous Bermuda vacancies
Set for the hapless standing entities
To proclaim independence from want
And preys apply, unknowingly for

He is the devouring deity
A demigod short of eternity
Paw sharp, reflexes ever quick
Set to conquer, but looses to none

Standing atop many skulls proud
He beats his chest aloud
For in the face of pleading mercies
Blood trail his hind steps

Surrounding façade feeds his crest
Ever amiable to the yelping breasts
His desire inflamed by bolsterers
Steps prodded insatiably for blood

Yearn reach for the bright Morn
‘Tis a season to smile, nay mourn
The night… black and young
He rules undeniably this enclave.

Details | Free verse | |

Dawn Citadel

Wet furrows slowly churn, his plough horse snorts,
a farmer walks, lost to his morning world.

Clay sticks, yellow to the disc, he kicks at it,
the dawn sky is his citadel.

Harsh days, like summer, blaze in his memory;
confined to this land, his earthly flesh has made a pact.

 His arms are held like tree boughs.

 Suzanne Delaney

Details | Free verse | |

A Constructive Life

            A Constructive Life

I love my job as builder so I resigned
Construction of high rises rose to the occasion of the day
Weighed me down with pressure
Edifices will have to design and build themselves
And rise to the sky alone
I’m going home to write a poem today
Perhaps it’s time to pray for rain
To contemplate this sad dilemma
Who will pay the rent?
The architects of time?
While I work with words that go no where
Simply pulled from thin air without a care
Lacking concrete foundations or sound ideas
Equipped with nothing for survival
Yet somehow things still take on solid lives and thrive
Who will pour the cement into molds when I grow old?
And hold steel beams against the cold?
A resume is in my future for planning grand 
Ground breaking the horizon
I love my job so much that I resigned
Don’t tell my wife
She’ll start to cry

  Created on 7/17/14 for Teeter Totter Poem-Balance the load contest

Details | Free verse | |

Better Skip Breakfast

Sweet morning sunshine --
Damn you how I
despise this labor
that lies ahead.

The cousin of Grizzly Adams’
patiently waits with the
ancient white pickup truck
he ran me over with while I slept.

Off we go with the toolbox
dancing in the bed and it’s a band
of pots and pans, the opening act for
our weapons of mass construction.

Murph says he’s a team player,
although I don’t recall a  sport
 consisted of getting wasted 
and having shameful sex.

He grumbles and curses about
the day ahead hung-over with
his perfume from the distillery and
gum he must’ve marinated in an ashtray.

We better do some stretching
before the circus begins—
watch me as I carry an elephant
up the twenty year old ladder.

From two stories above I witness
the war forming between
old rusty nails and the tiny,
soft green blades that stand no match.

The ground has become a grave
of tetanus but the old umbrellas
we toss down from the house
cover up the battlefield.

(To Be Continued)...

Details | Free verse | |

another very colorful day

late for work, but had to
yield to the ambulance with flashing lights

raspberry slurpee spilled on important papers
as my brakes shrieked at the STOP sign

ran up the stairs to beat  the elevator
slipped and broke my sparkling cherry nails 

then noticed slurpee  spots on my 
just-perfect blouse, giving it a deeper color

entered morning meeting embarassed,
with flushed face and blood-vessel eyes

my heart pumped excessively as I felt
my source of life flow from head to toe

sat down and stared at a flowing flag outside--
stripes reminded me of my eventful morning 

Left work, thanking God for the
redemptive blood of the cross

that helped me to get through
another very colorful day

Details | Free verse | |

All that 'glitters' is not gold

They thought he was a harmless fool.
His hair dyed black
And eyebrows pencilled in,
The silver outfits -
Shoulders huge -
And platform shoes.

His lyrics less than lyrical,
Chanted, shouted
At his concerts;
His hits always played at parties.

A has-bean humoured,
Perhaps patronised,
His antics tolerated.

But Gary Glitter had a dark secret…

Jack Horne for Nette's Glitter contest

Details | Free verse | |

Blurred Vision

I wrote this as a letter of encouragement to my nephew who loves to paint 
but doubts his ability. He is quite good for such a young age.

The young artist was painting down by the lake for hours.
and was very pleased with this work in water colors his favorite medium.
Just as he was adding the finishing brush strokes there was a sudden downpour 
and he was unable to get himself or his work to shelter fast enough.

The canvas got wet now all he had to show for his time and effort was
a pretty colored blur on canvas that looked nothing like he intended at all.

Feeling a bit sad he let it dry but rather than paint over it he chose to 
keep and display it prominently in his studio as a reminder for himself alone.
Now that painting which he had finally titled “Blurred Vision”  
sat on the side table right next to the studio door.  

            A reminder that he could have gotten angry and let himself 
            feel that he had wasted all that time he had put into his art that day.
           Or brood over the paint he may have felt he had wasted as well as
           the framed canvas.  You invest more than time in your art.

visitors to his studio would notice the painting as they turned to leave and
some would ask  “what am I supposed to see here?”
“what ever you like, it’s art.” was his usual reply.

When asked “what is this?”   He replied “That was my best art lesson.”

A good many years have passed since that wet day and every time he goes out of doors 
to paint, perhaps by the lake as is his custom he is happy that he chose to keep that 
little reminder sitting there on the side table by the studio door because it makes him 
smile to remember a beautiful day along time ago of time well spent doing what he loves 
to do and not to forget the umbrella

Details | Free verse | |

Am beautifull

As intuitive as my eyes are, it glows and brightens like a glittering star
The skilful tandem work of my rosy cheeks and pinkie lips stick out smiles eliminating sorrow.
My shape, from my skull to my phalanges, is just like that of a Coca-Cola bottle.
The bends, the curves, the ovals, silky, and smoothness
Am beautiful,
Wonderfully and fearfully made
Black, nurtured and groomed,
My hand scribbles as my mind of thinks creativity.
My brain is more than a database,
When I sit with the wise, they nod affirmatively
In the mist of intellectuals, I standout not standoffish
Am beautiful
The scriptures is my compass
I live in and by it
Very thrifty, responsible, affable, suitable, creative and wary
I juggle school, church, home and work without being weary
Am beautiful
Indeed I am!!!

Details | Free verse | |


OF WORDS..........

Details | Free verse | |

Late afternoon thoughts

Looking out at my piece of the sky
On an afternoon of unexpected inactivity
Following the threads of thoughts
Could be a pleasure, to give them phonemes
Even better, or so would I think.

Tomorrow is full of meetings, 
And a tough deadline, but now 
All I have is the present, a glorious sun
Dipping over the tall buildings yonder.
Sunset is a rare sight in the city
But the memories of yore 
Still tinge the heart. There is laughter
Of people at play beyond the walls,
In the dense peepal full of cackle, 
Birds gather for the evening meet.
The sound of steam from an automatic caffe, 
The jingle of cups, 
Muted voices with technical jargon
Waft though the empty corridor.

Streams of words chase the thoughts
For some indefinite time, 
Then give up, discouraged at the increasing gap
Folding into the comforts of quietude.
The sun is gone, the rays remain
A sigh rises in heart, could go home !

Details | Free verse | |

A Mother's Job

She built her nest of straw and mud,
anchored to the rocks on our entryway.
Through the glass in the front door,
we watched her as she sat up there

on her eggs, allowing babies to grow.
After they hatched, she hovered close,
quarreling at us for coming too near.
She sat motionless on the nest at night,

covering them for hours with her body,
warming with the spread of her wings.
I think she liked that nesting part best;
daylight brought endless hours of work,

bringing worms for wide, hungry mouths 
and guarding nearby to keep danger at bay.
Then came the task of teaching them to fly;
an enormous effort for such a tiny mother.

We watched them grow too big for the nest,
crowding so their feathery butts hung over
the edge, their droppings cascading down
over the rocks, onto the porch below.

One morning's surprise brought a view
of an empty nest; the babies had flown.
Mother bird returned to begin once more.*
Amazed to see her back on the nest,

we opened the bird book to find her,
this Eastern Phoebe, who has found
home in Missouri, returning each year 
to grace our mornings with sweet calls.

*Note: Our task was to suffer the obstacle course of a ladder, extension 
cord, and a continuous fan on the front porch to keep baby birds from
smothering in the heat, plus scrubbing the crud off the porch floor. The 
first two broods were okay, but, in July, the third try was a killer.

Details | Free verse | |


Green, gargantuan park
Scattered everywhere the tiny tots
With their funny antics, woolly babbling, scuff-lings
And in ecstatic bliss they play together
forming one large circle
Where prevails no differentiation
Of colour, caste, class, religion

The tiny tots are the
Who fear neither fire nor water
Pain or pleasure
Bondage or separation
Everything appears alike
To the mystic playgroups
Who enhances beauty to the park

And makes it like a praiseworthy piano
Adorable and adored
Loved by one and all
For their foolish wisdom
And snow white pristine innocence
In multifarious garbs

Some can jump, run, walk
Scribble, read, write
Colour, sketch, dance, sing
Play with barbies, balls, cars
Can lap chocolates,cakes ice-creams
Dared not even open their eyes, ears, mouths

Are fettered with myriad manacles
Their petulant childhoods are dismembered
Can't they too wish, aspire, dream?
Like the no blesse oblige?
Why do humans itself deprive the joys?
Make them work in hotels and factories

Realise their golden reign
Of care, concern, love, benevolence
They do deserve like the other children
And merry the world around
With gay children
in multitudes.

GOD'S GREATEST GIFT.Many couples are childless today. So children are our joys and 
happiness. Children of today are our youth and future tomorrow. But there are teeming 
children whose childhood are nipped in the bud and are engaged in child labour. Let's not 
make children work and better the world !


Details | Free verse | |

A Clerk

A cash store clerk bent on self 
improvement brought a gun to 
work today
His final solution to follicles and 
dried up tear ducts

He didn’t know where to 
conceal, what was really eating 
A funny slogan brought a slight 
grin, but was buried when he 
choked on joy

The towns people saw him 
shrug and the earth shuddered 
They saw him strung up in the 
square with a new hue to him
Lucky for them they wouldn’t 
be here too long

His head hovers by his 
shoulders, his hands hold his 
Questions nibble his mind...
Do the young deserve it more 
than the ones who’ve seen 
what he’s come to see?
Do the elders deserve a bitter 
rose bleeding near a grave that 
states “He lived a full life”?

Decisions, decisions

This bread can’t hold back the 
pains from future regret and 
this bottle hasn’t been curing 
anything but dream 
Something he doesn’t know 
much about anymore

A crooked smile slits its own 
throat across his face
Where did this come from?
A guttural reaction to the 
thought of death? 
Maybe just perfection embodied 
from a cold steel grip 

Kick up dust with the flick of his 
Everything unsettled ends, this 
will be his day of smiling

The towns people saw him 
shrug his shoulders and the 
earth shuddered
The towns people’s lives flash
The suns eclipsed by screams
The cash store clerk bent on 
self improvement brought a 
gun to work today
and the towns people helped 
him live a little longer....

Details | Free verse | |


white t-shirt hanging on the line
pair of work scrubs thrown in the laundry
two socks matched perfectly in the drawer
white tennis shoes by the door
white eye shadow placed upon white skin
grabbing my white purse
heading out to my white car
driving to work in between the white lines

Details | Free verse | |

Potency and Strength - Part 4

We are all born the same.
What makes us different is the path we chose to tread on. 
We are all far from being perfect, none of us are the same. 
What makes us different, is,
who is less further from perfection than the other.

Details | Free verse | |

The Wonderful Lens

A number of tasks to handle,
and not even a space left to enjoy,
as the work needs to be completed,
as fast as it can be done,
in spite of the hard work,
we do daily,
we do need some respite, 
and these could be done,
in a number of ways,
by walking,
or jogging
or by watching television,
or by watching films,
in the multiplexes,
those which lie in every nook and corner of the street,
but some derive pleasure,
through travelling, 
others by travelling through the forests,
accompanied by a special companion,
some large and some small,
known as the camera,
taking a step at a time,
as silently as possible,
as to not to wake up the wild living in here,
by capturing the photos of these lovely creatures,
living in here,
some of the these wonderful creatures are seen,
roaming as freely as possible in the wild,
look how carefree they are,
but their ears are opened quite wide,
to heed for any danger,
heading their way,
it’s time for me to return home,
from the wild,
as it is time for me to deliver,
these photos to my manager,
as this has been my job,
for which I do get paid for,
to look after my family,
I do need to hurry,
as I do not travel by four wheelers,
or two wheelers,
as the pollution created by these,
could endanger the wild living in here,
I do travel far and wide,
with my bicycle,
for all the work I do, 
and I do not mind this,
as my love for the wild,
exceeds boundaries forever!!

From:-Mr. Manu Nair.

Details | Free verse | |

Unzipped Lips

Part 1
1958 (Introduction to employment)

         Often I drift back to the days, where it all began. To feel again
the sharp brisk morning air against my inferior nakedness,
whilst sprightly making my way down school lane, towards the local builder’s yard,
to earn my weekly pittance!
here where the first day ritual, of one’s treatment an introduction to.
“Left handed screw drivers, buckets of steam,
(and don’t forget the lid,)
sky hooks for the innovative amongst us;
and grease around the balls ‘had they been quick enough!’”
My last day of education, teacher said I was a hopeless case,
 the picture they drew for me, was one of depression.
“Curriculum vitae” none existent buried deep within my soul.
“God! What I’d give to be a footballer.”
(“Newcastle United” Laid heavy on my mind.)
Yet!  Who was there to help me? Why this constant inability to learn when
no one spent the time to coax, or simply understand, and encourage,
while indoctrination imprinted from many years past, handed down through
generation to generation, taught one that,
“Hard work never hurt anyone.”
(“It bloody killed my father!”)
Employment a new world, the master’s menu
now activated upon an innocent ego, waiting to be stirred, by the privileged.
To confuse the gullible “Master” moves in many devious ways, to coerce one to believe in
a system that spawns tyranny! “These Rams of society” Manipulators all, whose ecstasies 
of sweet moments are drawn from the cries of menial men, those whom when on his morning tour of the works, doff their caps, as one would when Pharaoh entered the room, therefore destined to wander aimlessly, within each corporation statutory limits. 
It was here an introduction to the red power, born from ideological ideals,
collective thoughts being their strength, leaving individuality as a nonentity, and a friendly threat that left me cold inside.
Yes! It is this system I grew to despise so much, yet kindled by England’s very own
“Twin seeds of learning.”

Details | Free verse | |


I’m boarding Delta, and it is the end. 
The end of two cumulative months 
Of connection 
Hidden in professionalism. 
A connection too amazing
To admit openly.
I hold my breath during takeoff.
I always think I'm going to explode
In any given second.

During our time together you would tell 
Humorous ones, sad ones, uplifting ones. 
You liked boiled peanuts and baseball. 
Hated NASCAR. 
Had a sweet tooth. 

Your words melted in the warmth of your 
Deep blue eyes. 
To me, you were the only man who has 
Ever existed
With the talent of creating pure happiness
Within myself. And the beauty of your 
Spirit never failed me.
I munch on crackers in seat C. 
The woman next to me is chatty, so I look 
out the window
For refuge. She doesn’t see me cry.

You spoke of your daughter often. 
Bright, energetic, and beautiful. 
She looks just like you. 
Your daughter never knew me, yet I loved 
As my own. 

You spoke of your wife, a trying 
Rooted in young love. 
I have seen you cry from her words. 
She troubles me, but mostly 
Because I envy her. 

Why do they always come by with the 
Trash bag before I'm finished?

Perhaps in your personal life you are lazy.
A slob. Thoughtless. Insensitive. 
Impatient. Unfaithful. 
All the things that reasonably might chip 
Away at how much
I do adore you from afar. 
Yet I do not know if you are any of these.
Professional and moral constraint forbids 
And even if you are, I realize 
I still live for your happiness,
Your smiles, 
Your humor, 
Your kindness. 

The landing gear lowers, and I'm back in 
New York. 
Almost as if it all never occurred. 
Yet I have loved you since. And I 
Will love you from now on. 

I may not have you, but you have me, 
Always and forever. 
And that is just as beautiful and sweet
As Georgia itself. 

Details | Free verse | |


silently the blacksmith works
trying to make a living.

The finished product;
the cute cold black metal rod.

The gun swallows
poisonous pellets.

It roars.
It spits fire.
It spits death...

Details | Free verse | |

Labor Pains

Mud is my sunscreen as the dust mingles with the sweat to form a bond that encases my shell.

I move beneath the fiery sun as my skin bakes to a golden brown.

Sweat beads on my forehead and drips from my brow like raindrops from the rooftops.

The air is thick with the heat.

Motions are slow and deliberate.

Every breath is as though it is drawn from the depths of Hell.

Oh for the shade of just one leaf.

A branch.

A tree.

A tree where I can be set free to feel a breeze.

To feel at ease.

I'd settle for just one of these.

I raise my eyes to cloudless skies
And wonder why I choose sunrise
To start my day and journey through
A heat index of one o two

Rockman  :-)

Details | Free verse | |

Help Wanted The Job Posting

Position available immediately in a Christian life
Full time with an out of this world benefit package
Looking for a humble individual with a loving, and 
caring heart to take on role of a servant.
You will work in a progressively growing field.
Duties include the following: Putting others first,
Job requirements include: a willingness to help in all areas of need.
Must be willing to work any hour called upon
And have great listening skills. Need to be able to carry 
heavy burdens, must be willing to sacrifice self for others, need active knowledge of the ten 
commandments and be fluent in the fruits of the spirit.
must be proficient in the practice of self-denial, and be a seasoned prayer warrior
Veterans’ in the army of God are strongly urged to apply.
Long-suffering and compassion a must. A willing heart and born again
experience necessary. Camel knees a plus!
If interested please contact God, the Father, by calling Jeremiah 33:3
Or by knee- mail. Interviews conducted same day.  
An equal opportunity employer


Details | Free verse | |

The Farmer

The day starts with a coffee simmering hot
cold breeze entering his mind, waking his soul
dressed in ready put on his hat,
his mind, heart and soul are packed
ready to go on the fields of life.

Starts to work as the aurora shines
work on the field to sprout the seeds
to harvest in time for the food they eat.

Never complained, works 'till the sun  is up
the old man break, ate his lunch
prepared by wife so loving and kind.
Minutes later stood up and work again
toil  the soil, 'till ready to plant
sow the seeds and do some crops.
Find some vegetables for his wife to cook
some fruits to bring  for his children's joy.

Never complains work 'till dark
for the heavy load he have got, smile still on
the face of tired and pity old.

Details | Free verse | |

The War Zone

I sit at my desk, an unremarkable posture
Crooked back, crouched forward
Hands, shaped like lobster claws
Ready to pounce on the invisible prey
However, my quarry is a thought, not yet set to reveal itself
Scrambled thoughts of memories ferment 
Oozing out and dropping to the floor
Trampled on
A phrase or two lifts and permeates through my fingers
A loud click of the keyboard, followed by another
A symphony of automatic gunfire 
This is a war zone
A killing field
Then silence
Coffee at nine
Internet browsing for the rest of the morning

Details | Free verse | |

Fasten Your Belt

Everyone says there must be something better
They look over their shoulder and wipe the dust of their sweater
Not the dust of manual labor
From sitting on a shelf, contact paper

No better way to make change that sit in a chair
Flip through channels
Watch the news 
Anger builds up and all that stands is your hair

Got your pink slip today
Straight out of the blue?
It's right in the middle of the blue
Since it's wasn't you, 
Didn't expect it's show up on your bay

Push it off, 
Yeah, keep pushing it off
Blame others
Yeah, that's a thought
President of the United States
Major Corporations
Who else has made you a slave?

Yet your still in your chair,
Flipping through channels
Watching the news
Hair is still standing

You don't know?
Sit in your chair
Try to turn the wheel?
Bank robbed?
Wish you could steal?
That's a great idea!

Get out of your chair
Long enough to adjust your belt
Too much junk?
Revenge, not sure how it's dealt?

Go outside and run a lap
Important to keep your mind on track
Next time you shop
That money in your wallet
Better to go a mom/pop shop around the block

Next time you need a loan
Try a local credit union 
Next time you go out to eat
Pick a local eatery 

Where there's a will there's a way
To read and ignore this would be a damn shame

Details | Free verse | |


The texture of satin does not speak to me
The tiles beneath my feet do.
The feel of the paper, smooth, white, capturing thoughts 
Words are potent
The hand that forms them,
The mind that finds them...
All hold a promise, my promises to myself.
I explore,
I create-
Looking to capture freedom on a paper.
The dark night, the bright moon ...and ...
Shades of black and white
Between the two.
The paper, the black ink and...
The lives of people in between.
Music fills my head,
For a long time, in trying to live, 
I have been dead.
Dark and white...
Wrong and right...
I am setting the rules to fire
I explore,
I create-
mindscapes on paper.

Details | Free verse | |

The Student

 The Student     
Author Message 

Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 665

 Subject: The Student   Today at 14:54      

The Student

He is tall and short both blonde and impish brown his hair is black his eyes are 
round his limp is quite pronounced his wheelchair rolls his limousine awaits his 
bicycle locked near the skateboard of hate four feet long the thing weighs a ton 
he uses it to scare old ladies and nuns his eyes are narrow eyes are wide eyes 
are fried from his drugs and his fellows jostle his arm to lift it up elbow first 
draining his glass mark the sot they closed all the bars at one am in the day at 
five he is building his clamato hooray and at sunrise he slumbers away and then 
rises at nine in the night to go out the door and avoid the sunlight he is living the 
life of alcoholic delights he sits in the library no classes avoids he has no 
teachers rules no principles he is god the student annoys. 
 The Student 

Details | Free verse | |

Stop and Go Traffic

Driving to work on a Sunday, 
Went to work yesterday, but didn’t get much done,
Except looking for leads for new work.
It’s pouring rain outside my big comfortable conversion van,
Traffic is stop and go, and I was thinking of a recent girlfriend.
I watch people’s faces when I can,
Puffing my pipe filled with a tobacco that tastes like Texas Twister but
It’s some flavor that I got when I was working in Oman,
Still fresh in the zip-lock bag, or at least fresh enough.
I let thick clouds of smoke drift out in front of me,
At my foggy front wind shield, then crack the window to watch it rush out into the rain.
Traffic jams don’t smell so bad in the rain.
I roll the window down more because it’s been awhile since rain hit my hands.
Saint Mark by a composer that I missed was the soundtrack down 75.
Schubert played when I missed the exit to 635, but it was completely stopped anyways.
So we went down a side road, in the rain smoking my pipe,
Going to work on a Sunday.
I don’t know anyone like me, I really don’t.
Guess I should do some work now, I have expectations to meet.

Michael F. Lewis

Details | Free verse | |


They say ambition and greatness are interlinked
Well as a young ambitious black man I agree
but ambition and hard work are two completely different things
Hard-work is what a desperate person does to get himself out of the hole.
Hard-work is what a young man who is infatuated with a young woman does so he can impress her
Hard work is what a son does so that his father can be proud of
So hard work I will do.

Details | Free verse | |

Local Steakhouse

I sit down After eight hours of ordering And waiting on the customers I must relax From a day’s work waiting the tables That have been mine since I started Steak is my specialty So I tell my customers And the food here is excellent It’s not just a line It really is good here I worked fifty eight hours Just in one week And I get the normal overtime Just time and a half Not much considering All the extra work I do I help clean the tables I get the menus all set up together And I make sure the chairs Are all in their places I want my area to be in perfect shape So when the customers come They are impressed By how this place looks And start their pleasant stay At my steakhouse I greet, seat, and treat All the customers that come into this restaurant I tell each one The daily specials Which, in my opinion Aren’t worth the price we charge them But they order them anyway And with a smile I tell them thank you And I turn in the order I do this for each table Saying that I am so happy they came in And that I will take their order now I serve each customer as if they are family They appreciate this And I’ve seen many repeat customers That want to sit In my area They want me to be their waiter I easily approach them And lovingly take their order and serve them With the greatest of joy And when they leave It’s the tip that keeps me alive The work is alright But the tip is what keeps me working there I collect all of them for the fifty eight hours That I have worked there this week And I deposit them into my bank Where I must have the money To pay all my bills Life requires so much And I need this job To stay afloat I don’t know if I would ever be anything else This is my life And I am the waiter At the local steakhouse
Just a note, I've never been a waiter, this is purely a fictional observation. Entered into Catie Lindsey's "Free Verse Time Again" contest 3/7/2013

Details | Free verse | |

Tribute to David Jones wrote about war and religion

Tribute to David Michael Jones. 1895 - 1974.
A British poet, painter and engraver

Was a lad of 20, left art college to join the RWF*
"In parenthesis "was his write
A poem describing horrors
Of being a front line soldier, to fight
In the world war 1  battle on the western front
An event  he described as epic 
and imbued with religious, moral  and mythic
overtones where Divine Grace manifested a continual presence

T.S.Elliot called his work "a work of genius"

badly wounded in Mametz Wood  his life they did fear

In 1921 he converted to Catholicsm, going to Eric Gills
Community in Ditching Uk where he honed his 
carpentry and engraving skills

When Stravinsky came to UK For the last time , 
was solely a pilgrimage to visit David Jones
David died in 1974
Some of his paintings are in the Tate.
His work is mostly forgotten
Was deeply Catholic, writing
The Sleeping Lord and Other Fragments.
Classed amongst the most important poems of the 20th century

*RWF.  Stands for  Royal Welch Fusiliers, they wear a feather in their cap    

Read notes please.

Details | Free verse | |


The ER is a very chaotic place sometimes,
Happy people trying to save lives,
Good mornings escape into late evenings,

& No one will ever know when their time comes….

They called my phone said some blood was spilled,
Trauma room, a spirit gone away…

The puddle of blood was immense,
I’m sure she lost gallons,
Her eyes slightly open, will an absent sound of IV machines,
as I stare at this lifeless human being,
I begin to think back to my family.
There is nothing more traumatizing than witnessing a young teenage girl,
Discover the news of her mother, that has passed.

Even tears couldn’t show my sympathy.

Her hand had lost its grasp,
Blood dripping as I struggle between human emotion and professionalism,

August 27, 2012

Rest In Peace to a stranger that I will never know. Much love to the family that will miss her dearly

Details | Free verse | |



To get someone to read my poems… Contests there must be.
They must be bleeping nuts thinking I can follow all those cockeyed rules.
Out of a zillion types of poems they always pick the weirdest ones.
Allowed only 16 lines… I found I stopped at ninety-one.
And for a topic they want a bird throwing glitter from a tree.
How about I spank them as I put them across my knee!!!
And why must I name it… as they told me? Where’s that for creativity?
Then they want a special comment added in the poem…
I would rather not add plagiarism… I’d rather call it my own.
But, you know, I am so very needy that I’ll do whatever they want.
Well… I’ll do, maybe one or two… of the things they want.
I know this makes it harder to judge the poems that are found therein.
But to me a poem… is a funny bent on my crazy whim.
Then suddenly, Lord Have Mercy… my poem didn’t win.
But I’m happy as punch for even with their strained smile…
I’m sure they read one of my poems yet again. :)

(Meant only for fun) I'm not really complaining. Just having fun.

Details | Free verse | |

Thoughts of A Song Writer

From my thoughts on the paper in which it lies, 
My everlasting passion is inked as it dries.
The way I feel inside, you might want to spy,
But if you pry, how will my lyrics surprise?
A song for thought will only leave a thought.
May sound difficult, but that’s just how I talk.
I was lost, but I found me.
Dreaming and believing that writing was my key.
The way it flows and the way that it goes pumps me to speak
the very thoughts that many minds chose to keep.
Many rocks I’ve kicked and many decisions I’ve made.
Any wrongs I take the blame.
Tic-tac-toe is only a game.
I plagiarize your eyes with the notes that I’ve taken,
A high note here and a low note there-
You’d swear I’m in your head when my song hits your ear.
Pain recognizes pain
And I’ve have my share of bandages.
 My vibes from life heals the permanent damages.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
Reaches farther beyond the beat,
Over the lyrics on the sheet,
Not only is it about the speech,
 But more of what the message seeks.
True enough a theme is touched and a heart is rushed.
With the mind-throbbing picture disappearing 
Through the ink of my pen and revealed through your lens,
You can’t hear me, but do you feel me?
I cherish my talent and where it could possibly sweep me.
My doubts and my worries are beneath me.
I love for brighter days and pray for more things to pave.
Call my life my number because its infinite.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
My mentality drips it.

Details | Free verse | |

The Ripped Pages

The ripped pages,
torn from a red notebook
litter the ground.

And empty beer bottles,
are all toppled on each other
the wine bottles line the fireplace mantel.

Ripped pages from a red notebook
crumpled into balls,
torn from reality.

Like hearts broken,
from betrayal or heartache,
Ripped pages from a red notebook.

Torn pages,
ripped pages,
torn from a red notebook,
the notebook of life.

Ripped pages litter the ground,
and I open a bottle of beer,
I drink.

I light a cigarette,
I inhale,
fill my lungs with clouds of grey.

Ripped pages from a red notebook,
the notebook of life,
here I go, writing another poem.

Details | Free verse | |

List Impossible

Can it be as hard as this?
A struggle of thoughts and feelings arises,
Not ever seeing a resolution,
Assessing the options that offer perhaps a brighter existence,
Weighing every pro and con against the alternative but always considering other’s feelings,
If we only had unlimited resources available,
Then all would experience their equal share of the occasion’s fortunes,
Every person a guest of honour at their own place of high importance,
But as the evening draws on towards another restless end,
Our task is still as complicated as the exercise which upon dawn's arrival met us,
Names are still unchecked whilst invites sit unwritten wanting a stamp,
A moment of peace is what our minds aspire for ardently,
But our wedding is too important for us to ignore the organising!

Details | Free verse | |

What -Explicit Language-

Together tethered to existence
we act upon our soul‘s insistence
to dare and dream to find…? What exactly?

**** the morning;
I sigh as I step into the shower.
Soon to be discarded dreams tug at my sub-conscious.
Another broken plot-line is lost,
the wildness of a night’s rest washed away alongside it‘s sweat.

Destined to die,
we spend our days as slaves
so we can spend our nights upon the couch.

Our individual everything’s
are infinite and insignificant;
a blade of grass that looms large above an ant.

**** work,
I sigh once more.
The subway’s dim, flittering lights
set the scene for my inner city journey.

This endless loop of mundane madness,
brings no love, no joy, or even sadness.
Churning numbers numbs my brain
and although a robot can’t feel pain,
blackness stirs inside an empty heart.

**** another lonely night,
I sigh again.
I sip my beer and smile,
finding comfort in nothing.

A witty sitcom shines in my peripherals,
**** the morning, **** work, and **** the night;
my drunken laughter explodes.

This long campaign has no reward;
no fat pay cheque, or love restored.
Life’s mundane nature now a perfect fit,
for those of us content to quit.
The tired soldier smiles as the bullet hits.

Details | Free verse | |

Defcon 4

Tonight the understaffed was overloaded with impatient calls n' flashing buttons buzzing the central core
I marathoned from room to room in frantic answer 
My vision rang from Rocky Horror, the Ringling Brothers to your flesh and blood side one nightmare slow breath 
It was as hyper-real as a whole sandwich in the pit of one mans mutant mouth moving in slo-mo 
As unreal as Pinocchio's carved hands, bleating on bloated bellies & rolling in dough 
& Then to watch one black pincht princess bolt up in her barred bed 
Her beady eagles on a bearded lady....disrobing article after article, In a constant beat beat repeating...Why did Daddy do it? 
Me...I'm just crossing my index to ring finger in hopes it will go away 
...It's countdown and 40 rooms seems too long to earth the same beds, woozy rooms, rising temperatures and more multiple people unbedded and tied to chairs 
Peace cannot be found here or in the hand of whitta-whitta whittering words 
Tonight under the full moon....she hangs on my whites-pleading for that abstract something, for cement feet to take on liquid answers. for one big black hole of understanding to scoop her vocals & make sense of her 
While the squirrel lady sobs deep into my back about some strange Pope filled room with bloody crucifixes and fervent praying hands 
She points to Uncle Sam up in his military sky-condemning me to another, just as  horrible war 
The delirium in this place multiplied the last straws of my sanity 
My finger really wanted to hail the waitress for the check... 
And why did that frothy mouth frighten me so? 
Why did the lady feel so cold ?
The very stiff yellow lady...
The realization screamed me out of the room and into the hall with vision of toe tags and body bags 
Paralyzed, shaking, buzzers-buzzing, callers calling. my feet running 
detonating the uranium in my head 
Where bad little Hiroshima's dance over the fence of my dreams 
Where the day after is possible …...
Can it be true …..
Is my shift over?....

(working in an Nursing Home with an 102.5 fever)

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 | |


At eighty he is still a coolie
toiling in paddy lea;
reaping pods and
heaping the seeds.

His sagged muscles working
in wonted harmony
But his brain tired of thought;
of his son who died as a sot; or
of his daughter widowed at twenty past
or his wife pulling weeds at another spot.

He has to carry on this moil; I thought
till death to retain his breath.

Looking at his pitiable plight
a wicked feeling swept my heart.
How great we're in contrast;
honourable servants of the State.

We retire at sixty, in peace.
Take home a lump sum of grant, apiece.
Also a pension for monthly use.
Last but not the least
a T.V and a chair to ease.

All this at what a simple price.
For sleeping forty years in office! ! !

Details | Free verse | |

Cotton Woes and Frog Toes

50 pounds in our sacks bowed our backs
until we heaved them up to the scale.
Ice water from milk cans hit parched throats
and sent us back to pack the farmer's bale.

The sun bore through our flimsy shirts
and scorched noses while freckles bulged.
Sharp prongs pricked our fingers and clutched 
the cotton as we wrested it from dry bowls.

We prayed for clouds to lend sweet shade
or wind to dry the sweat and cool the brow
as we toiled down the long rows of cotton.
A rainy day brought only delay and the ache
in our stomachs begged for our pay, 
though at three bucks a hundred, it was rotten.

Your sister was only two, and you were four—
two toddling squirts, mucking in the dirt,
who found joy in a great place to play.

While we tugged our load, you two shared
true fascination with a squat, fat toad.

Details | Free verse | |

One's Old School

K through Twelve,
it's called.

Students and teachers
walk the halls.

From beginning to end
behaving like they should

Or else. . .

One knows that
the attic is filled with cobwebs,
of course,
and dusty musty old textbooks
discarded lessons and copies
of one's grade reports.

But the basement . . .
One knows
there's a cave below the boiler room
filled with old projects and paraphernalia.
A tomb lined with damaged models:
plastic skulls,
plastic brains,
and plastic hearts.
An abandoned asylum for the malformed and the maladjusted,
the deformed and the defective.

Stalactites drip growing steadily down,
glowing and sparkling
The floor is soft and powdery, damp cold
decades of ashes and dust

where one lands when one falls.

Strange crystalline music of dark nested spheres

If one is able and
not wholly broken then
one may wander through,
past the poor wretches
who line one's way . . .

If one can wonder or wander at all
after one's fall
then one reaches the mouth of the tunnel and crawls
to a barn door in the wall.

A light shines through there
one may stare
and beyond others' noises echo busy
Once opened, it reveals the shopping mall
where graduates sell Their wares.

"Free dessert" is being given away.
Dutch apple pie of several varieties,
some sugar free and some without fat.
If one buys that.

A celebration seems
to be in the air
Halloween, it seems,
and behind scenes
the revelers come near.
From the cave and dark dungeon they parade
in masquerade.
Singing in unison.
Coming forth, as one,
to get their share.

Details | Free verse | |

These Brick Bound Boxes

these brick bound boxes 
fill this equinox of smart headed people
of these independent achievable people
critical analysts of this 21 century 
ready to be presentable to the unmighty 
smaller population of antisocial teenage children
willing them to be

not to be free, but inside these brick bound boxes
that fill the human intelligence with total
literate irrelevance to who we should be
to who can be 

ultimately like them
filled in these brick bound boxes
with mental instimulance
of a mix of lies, creation and motives
see, I don’t have a problem with any of them

just these brick bound boxes that hold them
hold this unforgettable willing mind 
of someone we chose to leave behind 
in these brick bound boxes

that encompass first the mind and then the soul
but who wants all this control?

society can speak of a whole.
an incredible strong mental image
of how life is to be--
within these brick bound boxes.

My life isn’t based in these brick bound boxes
but it soon will
creating a song of the monotone dead
longing to be passed on from generation to generation
but can't you see

can't you forget that this is not who we ought to be
unless we need to spontaneously combust
in this equinox till it metastasizes
catastro sizes to an everlasting dust
even you must ought to smell the musk.
So tell me, how do thee?
how do thee live with these brick bound boxes
filling up every empty not-yet-set concrete whole
implying of who you are before you could even
have some kind of control over yourself

its swept under the rug.
no biggie, you're just a kiddie
no actual value to this reality 
yet before you can buy alcohol

and I’m someone to sound big
I just don’t want to fill these lonely brick bound boxes
where the death of every living will cease to be a beginning
in this equinox of the everlasting dust,
so do you must, live in these brick bound boxes?

Details | Free verse | |

A Prayer of Regrets

Maybe I should have
bought Fort Garry Personnel
for a dollar instead of letting it
die. But I thought of next month's
office rent. 

I remember having a desk to
sit behind with a phone
to make appointments,
life sized, watching the
business world tense around me.

It would have been worth a dollar
to play in a lonely historic place,
continuing for another month
to cherish small hopes, not
quite well-dressed and smiling.

A bottle of sugar 
in a glass of wine,
pressing a tender, 
frightened heart
into the body of a soldier.

Details | Free verse | |


They say
"Shoot for the stars"
No reason 
to limit yourself 
"You can be anything you want to be"
The world is yours to make your home
The people you love to be your friends
The places you see to be vacation
Success comes with hard work 
And the payoff can take its time
But just like the stars 
You too will shine
Success has no limit
No finish line 
It can not be weighed by ounces
Or counted in banks
Success is everything that you work for 
It shows in every smile, in every friend, in every moment you embrace
Success will not run from anybody nor hide
It is yours to find and build and keep alive 
So don't wait or hold back
"Shoot for the stars"

Details | Free verse | |

Silly rabbit tricks are for prostitutes

Silly rabbit tricks are for prostitutes, made by establishment
daunted by economy, at night by the dawns early red light district,
watch the women give up their pride by the hour, lacking positions
star 69 your way back to daddy's touch, the reason your out here
remember sweat and business suits are  cheap, just like the shoes you wear
little girls try to cash in, but silly rabbits tricks are for prostitutes
don't they feel guilty? I know because even their income can't buy a ticket to heaven
just a passport to hell, like their lipstick dreams are cheap and tacky, like
their fish-nets, are to capture their sorrow and release them to the streets they stalk

Details | Free verse | |



The brain aches, numbs the soul
Pictures float away of women
Crying, laughing, ironing sheets
Thinking about jobs and sex
Of finding jobs and cooking cheap spaghetti

Of playing with skinny children, malnourished
Recovering from agonies, worry, turmoil
Confusion and schizophrenia
From absorbing life and giving

Details | Free verse | |

The Celery Fields

(One of my rare attempts at macaronic writing--the reasons for it may be found in the context of the poem.  Only a smattering of knowledge of Spanish is needed)

Madre de Dios! Morning already?
The mud, still damp upon my pantalones--
how can I face another day?
My niña is so thin.
Two little oranges are not enough for her,
before she rides the bus to the escuela.
I must work harder, still--
hacer algunos dollars more
hacer su vida para el mejor,
si puedo.

I remember
when like my niña, I was young..
We did not work so hard,
y sobre las alturas
every breeze was cool...
not like this steaming
California campo
by the sea.

I remember, as we worked,
how we were singing,
'De la sierra morena, Cieli...'
Now there is no heart, no time to sing.
El jefe blanco will be angry
if I make him late.

The sun is high upon this field.
My back hurts me so much
from bending. Ay!
En muchas horas I can sleep again
and stop remembering.
Jesús amado, en mi sueño
solamente, take me home
to my brown mountain.

Details | Free verse | |

When My Computer Sleeps

The peacefulness of its blue light
blinking into my catnap
never stirs me from my daydreaming,
rather lets me know
my computer is waiting for my next move.

Just like the cursor 
when it turns on and off,
that blinking blue light tells me to come
whenever I'm ready, so my computer will be too,
it seems to love the touch of my fingers.

I'm only so happy to be obliged.

Sheila Kathryn Barrera

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 | |

Death of a Telephone Salesman

He died young
   after making multiple phone calls
Sometimes he had to beg 
     the professionals he called
However, his totals were high enough
 so thsy didn't fire him 
I, too made plenty of phone calls
    Banging my brains out 
for sales   
A couple of us bot in touch 
with the union
  The union people laughed 
when we said 
   We were working for 
a business publisher
  and wanted to unionize 
He's dead now 
    His life was marijuana smoke 
      and telephone calls 
There was one guy there 
     who wrote newspaper articles 
Should have written 
   about the death of a telephone salesman

Details | Free verse | |

Poets of Yore

As I peruse the magnificent works of poets long gone
read their words of love, wisdom, pain and suffering
I am uplifted and filled with awe at what they achieved
all this without modern aids, most read after they are gone

I pause and think what would they produce if still alive
were able to get the instant feedback of modern times
could write their poems not on paper as in oldie days
able to use computers and easily store their precious works

Think of the realms of paper screwed up and tossed away
a start, an inkling of an idea that will not freely flow
how they sweated searching for a particular phrase
read, ponder and be amazed at their outstanding works

So raise your glass in a toast to their ingeniousness
Salute them for they fought hard to bring us joy
delighting hearts holding us in the palms of their hands
such power do they still wield over each of us modern poets

Details | Free verse | |

A day at the office

My stomach grumbles late into the afternoon
Wishing I had that doughnut I refused
I sip a bottle of water teasing my empty stomach
Lunch was a chance that skipped by
In a sea of cubicles I drown of boredom
Clicking and picking the rhythm of technology
The smell of fresh hot pizza resinating from the east alcove
Awakens a stampede of faceless humans rushing for free eats
Connie drops by my desk with two slices
Looks like I work her overtime one more day
Globs of hot cheesy meat on dough
No game on tonight
See Connie smile
Worth it.

Details | Free verse | |

To Whom It May Concern

Some say there's nothing poetic about blue-collar work.
I'm here to prove them wrong.

What is a poem?
For one, it has rhythm.
"Well, where's the rhythm
in a discordant jumble of a thousand tools
all clamoring for dominance over my ears?"
It's smack-dab in the middle -
where you hear clanging and banging,
I hear the smooth, even strokes
of a well-swung hammer.
Where you hear chopping and whirring,
I hear the harmony
of a saw producing a masterpiece.

What else constitutes poetic achievement?
Diction and language.
"Well, sure, there's all kinds of
colorful language among those types - 
not the kind of language I meant!"
To that, I say, read my musings,
hear my words and see
if you can say without lie
that there's no fine vocabulary present.
A coarse man in the company of other similar types,
one may come home
and show his refined and eloquent side.

What is a poem?
One more thing it has is sometimes rhyme.
"What, now you're going
to come right out and say
that you all speak in rhyme?
You must be joking."
To which I reply,
look me in the eye,
and see if you detect any jest;
For those of us down, in the mud and the dirt,
may look the sort to be simple and curt;
But we can sure rhyme with the best.

What do the poetic greats have?
A mastery of their form.
"Well, here, in this final point
has got to be my clincher;
There's no way you guys
are spitting out haiku and so on."
To this I say that here
lies the winning facet of my argument, not yours -
for you need look no further than the piece before you;
Two lines to start, four groups of a dozen,
and two at the end -
I dare say that that is indeed some kind of form.

One more job done, another task complete -
this humble poem of frustration and explanation.

Details | Free verse | |

The Sculptor

I feel Him chip away at my flesh.
The vibrations shake to my bones.
Pieces that were once part of me now fall helplessly to the floor.

Every scrape of the chisel,
Every pound of the hammer,
Every piece that is broken from me stings with immense pain.

Why doesn't He stop?
Why is The Sculptor so cruel?
Doesn't He realize that each swing He takes is a nightmare to me?

I would be better off as stone that was never touched,
I would be more content without the suffering that comes apon me,
But I wouldn't be a work of art.

Each chip of the chisel is intended to remove a piece that shouldn't be there.
Each pound of the hammer is meant to force the hideous fragments far from me.
Each move The Sculptor makes, takes me closer to His plan for me.

I must trust, knowing that He never takes off too much.
I must be ready, knowing that He never leaves His work incomplete.
I must be thankful, knowing that I am being made beautiful in His eyes.

The acute pain is only a short part of His plan.
The lasting anguish fades in its own time.
Though heart, and soul, and body all grieve, the permanent state will be that of finished work.

I may not know the reason for each strike,
I may not know the fault with each sundered chunk,
And I may never know.

I know the sting of the chisel now,
I know The Sculptor has a plan,
My part is to trust that He will not work forever ... but that He will be done.

Details | Free verse | |

Songs of Silence

Darkness envelopes the plain Moving stealthily among Unsuspecting rows of houses Filled with unbroken sleep The wind, afraid to move Lest it were to awaken Even one from the grasp Of this wretched sleep. And yet one feels a cry A long lost song of hope Silent, yet unnerving It strives to be heard. The long hands of despair Seek to embrace them The singers of these songs That reek of loss, irreplaceable. Tired hands work on The day progresses and yet An end is not in sight The sun sets, they work on. They feast upon the dregs Dropped from the heavens That are found on earth To subdue their hunger. Fate, they say is to blame For their woeful condition For their pathetic existence Fate and fate alone. Nature herself anguishes Over the painful loss Of her many children To the unruly hands of men. A carcass floats down the river Its stench numbs the senses Is it a man or an animal? No one knows and no one cares. The song of a newborn Muffled by the gruff hand That binds and drags it Across the river of death. The song of hunger Slowly rumbling through Like thunder on earth Silenced only by tired sleep. The song of sorrow From deep within the hearts Of people young and old Softened only by time. These are but three Of the many songs that are Heard only by deep silence And no one else. The gods above in heaven And the gods below Carry on with their mirth Not hearing these songs. Songs of silence, of blood Songs of death, of decay Songs of yesterday Songs devoid of joy. They are everywhere and yet They are heard by none They are sublime and merge Into the void that is life.

Details | Free verse | |

Hands of a Worker

His hands were calloused...
From many years of skillfull craftsmanship.

Her hands were soft...
From many years of priming and polishing.

His hands were scarred...
From many years of fighting.

Her hands were cut...
From many years of gardening.

All of our hands are different and tell a different story...
but everything we do is for a purpose.

Details | Free verse | |


It's pitiful how I try to hide behide this membrane I call a mask,
When it attempts to hide my sadness and sorrows.
I feel forgotten and taken advantage of all at the same time.
Because I was better at something else.
Belonged where i was before,
A slave, A pawn, A soldier.
Never will I be the leader I wish to be.

Details | Free verse | |

natural disaster

please don't break the lil bird's wing
with your contagious suffering

cocaine, heroin and caffeine you avoid
just nasty thoughts to fill each void

a great giant hole once housed your brain
actually caught the last train

what about the lil fish not yet afloat
has emotions growing as you bloat

this stuff is just as strong
up to you to help them to belong

we offer you family
even if our name is not Emily

as you rule from your bed of a throne
acting like a forgotten old crone

neglecting your knight of nights
selfish, pitiful stomping on other's rights

every one wants to be in Paris for the spring
but we go on and see what our reality may bring

once I thought pity was my desire from others
finally stopped and changed my druthers

not what I really wanted at all
learned how to stand tall

it does not appear like magik
sorry you gotta work it, I know ,tragic

just get a grip
everyone is not here to trip

you up or take anything away
try our best to love you each day

I know you wanna fight
cause that's what you learned as right

but this is not back then
time to begin again

You have everything and more
your depression is such a bore

look around at the world that you can touch
compared to some you have so much

some peeps would kill
if only your shoes they could feel

stop being so freaking rude
doesn't work with your thin veil of prude

the powerful, the pathetic
most dangerous kind of ick........

Details | Free verse | |

Like it's given to be

How do the girls talk, of boys in the bushes and stones in their pockets
How do the boys stalk, to thinking that girls are dreaming of nothing but lockets,
for keeping inescapable kisses trapped in a hope

And why do the ladies say, that helpless are husbands when wells run dry
And why do the men cry, though tough as the night, when the daylight dims the eye
	till work is rest and boredom besets…

Like it's given to be
Just a fall, just blood blotting from a scrape on the knee
So watch it go brown
And watch it go down
To rise like a star, a little forgotten scar in the memory

I heard the lonely yell, "I once was quiet, and I had a truth, but nothing means nothing when something breaks in the laugh!"
You can't change in the traffic lights, you can't change a tune or even a melody
without breaking a song
So I'll get it wrong and she'll see me naked as naked can be
Lit by the sun in the contempt of modern antiquities

Like it's given to be
Just a fall, just blood blotting from a scrape on the knee
So watch it go brown
And watch it go down
To rise like a star, a little forgotten scar in the memory

Now how would you say, dappled in ideas
That ruins aren't buried under buildings so tall
And now how would you say, given the seas
You can't wash the sin from the salt in your mouth, you call...

"That's it's given to be for you and not me, to rise like a star, with little forgotten scars in your memory."

Details | Free verse | |

Nine Meters to Centimeters:Evolution of Sari

The sun sets while the loyal footsteps
of a shadow enveloped in a drape of rudhira
walks down from one corner of the house to another
in obedience. Multiple jobs and multiple voices call
out her name every second, asking for a lifelong performance.

Happiness in the smiles of others, the belief
that is carried; ingratitude is ignored.
Selling pieces of herself for
their sake, vaulting the tears in a closet and wishing
for the dawn to come sooner.

The image of her likeness stands up,
and cuts the cramp of her sheets of toil,
metamorphosing it into a modern art,
walking down the streets under the
sun of liberation.

Details | Free verse | |

Stuck On Repeat

Over and Over I stutter.
Stuck On Repeat.
Same words.
New poem.
I get sick of writing for an invisible audience.
I get sick of wondering if people read what I write,
Because I know the truth.
Nobody reads it anymore,
because nobody cares!
I'm beginning to wonder if I should quit doing what I love.
Contemplation gets the best of me this time.

Details | Free verse | |

The Writer

He hides his wisdom
beneath his thick glasses
He uses his pen
to say what he knows

He conceal himself
with his infamous words
of what he understands
nobody could comprehend

He barely speaks
For he stammers a lot
But he read so much
So he could tell

He has this blanket
To cover his frail body
Who could responds to facts
And withdraws data

His wicked wit
An envious one
He knows a lot
But possesses nothing

The curve of his eyebrows
He questions a lot
The eyes of this beast
Crushes your ignorance

His pathetic jaws
Displays no elegance
But the color of his lips
Could define your existence

He perceives a lot
but not himself
His eloquent tongue
could change your stand

His grotesque features
Is the uncertainty of his integrity
For people believe 
The superficial reality

He looks dumb
And you act smart
You laugh at him 
He doesn't mind

You see yourself
As the face of success
He shrugged his shoulder
As he creates you #

Details | Free verse | |

Why do you curse me

If killing is a problem solving key.
Believe me I shall also try to flee.
We killed thousands in 9/11,
We killed thousands in Iraqi sandy cabin.
We are killing thousands in Afghan War,
We trained to kill/die in Pakistan’s shore.
Do we try to learn a lesson?
God will keep us in heaven a religious fashion.
Arab will die to live on Earth,
What was truth before Lord Mohammed’s birth?
Lord Jesus Christ was born Christian,
What’s wrong in Jews living fun?
Mohammed and Jesus they played on soil,
They roasted their jobs to sweat boil.
They never sit idle and demand food free from God,
They never used to win human a religious rod,
They were polite and shared their views,
They never threw on wrong their shoes.
Conversation was their only tool to use,
Let me know whom they have abuse.
Forgiveness and mercy, they produced a shield,
They grazed their sheep on the earth field.
Do they ask God they shall give a shelter in Heaven?
They will punish that hit by a Robin.
What’s in Quran or a Bible?
Go to Heaven and kill a human tribal.
I learnt a message,’ how to live on Earth’.
That’s why Nature has our human birth.
A religious philosophy is superb,
If it cut my poverty curb.
I work and work to pay off the bills,
And always crying what are politics hells?
Wrongs and wrongs never learn a lesson,
To kill innocents for their outrageous fashion.
To compromise to strengthen crime,
To corrupt nature to share a winning ham. 
If hell or heaven is also a living space,
Then why we have a new Mars race.
If heaven has a better living home,
Then why have a human dilemma of innocence trauma.
Something is wrong in human brain,
Lives in tense and talking about strain.

Details | Free verse | |


I had a feeling of just being in the moment
Taking the time soak in the flavours of the time
Loving the feeling of being
Sweetly enjoying the passive moment
Squinting at the sunlight as i look up
Smiling intensely...letting my teeth shine
My laughter being the music of the journey....haha
Carefree...unjudged....floating on air...
I sit in my seat and stare outside
watching the street signs pass me by....
I've reached my stop....

Details | Free verse | |

I Was Right --- To Order A Pizza


There was a naughty girl, and the naughty girl was she

She worked a crossword puzzle, while she had her cup of tea 

        Poured another cup, ......she should get up!
                                      for chores and roll her sleeves

Much work to do, but intentions flew
                                                         like feathers in a breeze

Instead of mops and brooms, she would sing off tune...
      while she danced around the room..

Sudsy dish pans full....Mother Nature pulled
                                           her to the sunshine for a stroll

        Her bed unmade, her bills unpaid, some folks might call her lazy
        She sat in shade, had lemonade, and then she picked a daisy

Beneath a sunny sky
......she heard the lullaby
                    of the birds that sing on high

        She had meals to cook
                but would rather look
                          at the snowtop hills nearby

So much work undone, and the dinner?......NONE!

But she fed her soul instead!

For Verlena S. Walker's Contest: "I Was Right"

Details | Free verse | |

The Head collector

With a blade in one hand and a spade in the other,
The man goes to work,
Bodies on the ground,
the living soon to be found,
When the blade meets necks,
and the heads roll.

Collecting the head he takes care,
For tradition he cannot spare,
With fresh water he bathes,
In the sun he slaves,
To honor the valiant dead,

For he knows the way,
as his father before him,
What is the human body,
Filled with waste and want,
But the head,
Even dead,
Has more spirit than a skin of filth,

so with respect in his heart he continues to work,
Respecting the dead,
Cleansing the heads,
So that the warriors are remembered.

Details | Free verse | |

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 

Details | Free verse | |

Unzipped Lips Part II

So my first lesson taught me, if intellect spawns logic, then of that I want no part! 
“Orwell” Had the answer;
in satire the presidium displeased, when he made it plain to everyone,
one cannot rule with precision as one would a farm yard,
whilst to break life down to simple motivation, one would easily find, that profit in the making,
 would ne’er be a grind!
My first ever tea break, the day just got more gloomy, the Daily Mirror headline
“Cyprus” Reels in ethnic turmoil the “Middle East” In rebellious mood,
the old “Empire” Pursues its ethical standards only to find sorrow and historical hate.
But master the establishment is, come subtlety, to keep enquiring minds within the bounds of decency.
“Garfield Sobers” Takes the heat off, when he scores one run for each day of the year. 365
Eighteen year old “Pele” The “Black Pearl” Creates a purpose for millions,
his country “Brazil” And the World cup, headline all of  the  sports pages.
The newly elected “Pope” Gives hope to many, a new era, upon the old cross?
Yet it is man himself that needs the time, to seek the understanding that bewails his plight.
Alas, of that he has no one to blame only the system, that gave fame to
“Tommy Edwards” and his number one hit   “IT’S ALL IN THE GAME”

Details | Free verse | |

Everybody's Hairy (written by a 9 year old girl)

Everybody's hairy
My Daddy's hairy
My Mommy's hairy
I am hairy
And all of us have hair in our noses

Details | Free verse | |

Adam's rib

Adam's rib
genetically engineered --
Eve's birth

Ó November 27, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

THAT MIGHT BE TOO SUBJECTIVE FOR HAIKU FORM.  Here's another go at the same 
idea...trying to learn the form!

 the Bible 
 states God made Eve from Adam –
 genetic engineering

I have been told that once I say that the Bible States, it moves away from a real image 
because the bible doesn't talk and haiku is supposted to be objective and real.  It 
becomes subjective at this point.  On the good side, it does have two distinct gramatical 

Here's another go at it!  >>>>>

Holding my Bible
Thinking on engineered genes –
Eve from Adam’s rib

Ó November 28, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

This might not work because the idea of Eve being created from Adam's rib is a story 
that might be a fantasy according to many.  So...still working on it!

OR maybe this will work >>>

holding my Bible
pondering engineered genes—
exhume his rib

Ó November 28, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

I have been told that pondering is subjective...but I am using it as an the act of 
pondering in this instance...hoping it will fit the form.  exhume is rib is a possible action 
and referrs to one person...hoping it will take people back to biblical thoughts of Adam 
and still fit in the haiku form.  WAITING TO HEAR as I continue to learn that Haiku "ain't" 
as easy as it looks!

note: the first one fits the form, but I am told it doesn't meet haiku requirements.

Details | Free verse | |

Nervous Wrecked

 Nervous Wrecked     
Author Message 

Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 650

 Subject: Nervous Wrecked   Today at 11:02      

Nervous Wrecked

Nervous Wrecked 

The light fixture still lays on the stop sign down two weeks ago in a city ruled by 
money lost and found and scrounged the driver must have parked and hidden 
car so very well the pavement cracks in every smaller town have grass in them 
as well as all the accidents add up and no one rings the bell the city soon so 
busy the founding fathers cry the landscaping seems so worthless to mye eye so 
unfit to eat eye starved to death eye died in the midst of all this city plenty eye 
suffered and eye cried a wishing and a well a nervous wrecked. 
 Nervous Wrecked     

Details | Free verse | |

Notes on an Election

And the election came about 
Our land chose its leader
Hard work on both sides
     and now the results are in 
An African - American 
    stands once again at the helm
of our ship of state
Let's hope the ship 
    has smooth sailing 
 Although knowing the way the world is 
    I doubt that the trip will be easy 
  America is the furnace 
where the fate of mankind 
    is being forged 
   Despite our faults 
we still offer much hope 
     to mankind 
Now that the "American Dilemma" 
     has faded somewhat 
  Say a prayer for our leaders 
Difficulties can be conquered 
      If we work together we can move ahead
Rejoice in nature's  bounty 
Turn our cities into"gardens for the human spirit"!

Details | Free verse | |

Mary of the Street

she slides through space
clad in vestments of intention
washed in moonlight nightly

you have seen her
heard her rave
in dreams 
in passing
telling ancient truth
performing the required rituals
so that
the sun might set
the moon might rise
the wounds might heal
and the old die well 
may they die well

she knows the timeless agony
that forms when wont meets scarcity
and so she weeps
not for herself
but for you and i
for our children
and for the trees
never for her self
for she has sacred work to do
sacred work to do
each day

you have seen her
seen her sleep
in grime
on sidewalks
and once under the sacred trees
now gone
the sheltering trees
the trees that were
the final gifts of departing gods
casualties of war and ignorance and 
unacknowledged fear

why the rituals
why the holy intent
why does she love us
when we have no love for her
she who loves our children
she who prays and cries
and burns each morning on the pyre 
of the rising sun

Details | Free verse | |

If I'm Dreaming

one day
 we okay
 the next night
 we fight
 it just don't...
 nevermind i won't
 Wish this would...
 Bet it could.
 Could make some since
 if on my heart you'd see the dents.
 if you would have some compassion
 and see that you're my passion.
 off this passion I thrive
 for love I strive
 unless this is all a lie.
 Sometimes i think it is when you say goodbye.
 or perhaps a dream
 but we're a team
 I want us to last.
 been there in the past,
 And I want you there in the future too
 but if this is all a dream I don't know what to do
 So tell me it's real.
 Write it on my heart and kiss it for a seal.
 And if I'm dreaming pinch me.
 And if that don't work punch me.
 Because I don't wanna live this dream, 
If it isn't real
 And I don't wanna live any other way
 So tell me it's real, babe.
 Promise me it's real.
 Because of the way I think you love me,
 Because of the shining moon over the glistening sea
 because of the bright orange sun setting in the distant blue sky,
 Is all too beautiful
 to be real.
 So tell me it's real, babe.
 Promise me it's real.
 And if I'm dreaming pinch me.
 And if that don't work punch me.
 Because I don't wanna live this dream, 
If it isn't real
 And I don't wanna live any other way
 So tell me it's real, babe.
 Promise me it's real.
 But if I'm dreaming...

Details | Free verse | |

Deal Killer Soup

Nancy, I assure you I do not need to look up Google
I am going through a deal killer right now, it’s invasive and toxic
It is filling my brain till it is about to explode
I cannot do what I should, instead I am doing this
Pen to paper, with words flying left and right
Meals missed, work and deadlines never ever done
Words swirling around in my brain driving me nuts
Not pen to paper with work, but instead crazy poetic words
Screaming at me, let me out, let me out, I must escape
These challengers set by you and others, poems to read and write
Discipline, a treasured word that has suddenly got up and run away 
Now all I want to do is write verse and with you all happily play
Deal Killer, Yes Deal Killer, this broad needs to earn a crust of bread
Why am I so addicted, you’re a siren, alluring driving me mad
I’m not that witty or erudite, like so many clever folks like you
Simple verse, uncomplicated, somewhat corny, oh dear Boo Hoo
Deal Killer this certainly is, its invasive, all other work set aside  
Poetry Soup, my life is in shatters I’m now so hooked on you.

Details | Free verse | |

Hand work vs head work

Your leathery hands
With hairs like a wolf's
And nails disfigured
Remind me of a figure
Like the dew of the morning
Is the sweat on your body
With a thick repelling perfume
Of salt water and fumes
Day in day out
Is your hustle and bustle
Your huddle and muddle
Aluta continua
Some sit in seats pressing keys
While the surly sun kisses your bald
They work with their heads
You work with your hands
And they spend not as much your brawn
They live in big mansions
You live in big cartons 
'Cause you've spent not as much their brain

Details | Free verse | |

Work and Write

Try and try,
And try again.
To do what
Others have begin.

Work and work,
And Work some more.
To finish what
I must now end.

Toil, Toil
And toil some more.
Only to start again

Write, Write,
And write again.
To build on what
Other have began

We work to achieve,
Try to succeed,
Toil through the soil,
And write all the miles.

Details | Free verse | |

What is the American Dream

I was 5 years old when I first stepped onto this land of the free America, the place that I heard was the best place to be To live a better life to become better beings To chase the American Dream to provide for our family, the finer things The world tells us wealth and power is the number one But is that what really provides us the happiness at the end of our run? What really is the American Dream? Tainted by our materialistic desires, we believe that worldly success transfers into content But will we really forever be at peace with just these tangibles present? To achieve this American Dream means long hours at work away from our families and friends To hear everyday, “Daddy, will you be able to make my recital?” Or, “Honey, come home early today. Please.” To buy the family hundred dollar Nikes and thousand dollar Louis Vuittons But to have lost the word, “family” in its entirety No, this isn’t my American Dream The media tells us, Just Do It, and we’re all individuals but we’re all part of a movement Pressured by the media to buy what we can’t and to be who we aren’t In a world of rich be rich and poor be poor, We can never be content with just the objects of this world. True moments of happiness occur between family and friends To gain all of the world’s objects is in no comparison to the bond that a family holds To continue this spiritual value against the tangibles that will one day no longer be To earn self-confidence in the goodness of the future generation For this is my American Dream.

Details | Free verse | |

The Madness Stopped

One day the madness all suddenly stopped

Then we realized how many times the ball got dropped

More times then just a very few

It cost us many people just like you

Now patience is a complete must

As we work to gain some kind of trust

If only we share one simple word

At least from each other we still have heard

Hoping that what some how just seemed to begin

Hasn't already started to come to an end

We felt so blessed by the current events

Maybe things will no longer be in a past tense

We work hard and we may even pray a lot

But life's good and awesome chances we've now got!

An Uncle Charlie original

© 2011 unclecharlie

Details | Free verse | |

Metaphoric Maze

Metaphoric Maze
Still damp from the wash of a waking dream I realize the pain from the past and how much 
its lied
Although not by force I was led to believe in the dimmest of truths thus kept awash in grief 
All of the many things now remade as they truly were splendid things simple hidden treasure
Grasping at the meaning from the other side of the murky metaphor is finally a thing not so 
It has always been worth the while even as the seconds have become long yet timeless years
My epic life a work of art the masters of fate around me still hard at work in bliss and 
As I look down on the tableau from where I’ve become the high road, I can see it very 
clearly now
It has never been the easy path filled with twist, turns, danger, and despair but so worth it all
Erected by cause and effect as a monument for later travelers to ponder as they reach for 
the summit  
Yes as feeble as it may seem the wizened ones were so right, the journey is its own reward

Details | Free verse | |

Life's Little Blessings

Life’s Little Blessings

			Wake up in the morning
			To another brand new day
			That is a blessing,
			Get up to get dressed
			And face the day,
			Eat a good breakfast
			And be on your way
			That is a blessing,
			Meet and talk with people
			Go about your business
			Whether you work in an office
			Or you work at home,
			Work keeps you busy,
			It’s a good thing to do,
			That is a blessing,
			So don’t get blue
			Sitting down to dinner
			Watching TV
			Talking with family,
			Sending out e-mails
			Reading a good book,
			That is a blessing

			Celine Rose Mariotti

Details | Free verse | |

In the embers of history

In the embers of history

I am fascinated by law
Thrilled by its prowls
A seeming pull on us to fit in
Or face the consequences
Its tenets bound
By the complications of non-compliance

I witness daily the struggle within
The lopsided internal dialogue
To be or not to be
Quickened by a hush drive to get in
But at what cost, what dire consequences
The law reminds and punishes 

History watches and records
Diligently x-raying our actions and inactions 
For the day of reckoning
I love history
In the end, we shall all be judged by history
Our legacy and not law

by e.r offor

Details | Free verse | |

Counting On Sheep

     Counting On Sheep
Don't wake me up
I have sheep on my mind and around me
Standing in rows like….well…sheep
Arranged in numerical order
They count hours down very slowly
At 7:00 a.m.  I must rise with the day
It is work that defines who I am
I’m counting on sheep to wake me on time
I’m counting on them to appear or arrive
If they don’t I’ll continue sleeping
Replace them with roosters of course in due course
They know how to crow in the morning
And don’t need a warning 
To wake up at 4 in proper accord
In natural order for sure
As for the sheep…well… They will be dead sheep
I will be counting on them
As dinner with beer 

Details | Free verse | |

What I Meant To Say

What I meant to say was...

I'm sorry, and
I miss you,
And I forgive you and I hate you
I meant to tell you that I want to work it out 
between us,
And it could never work between us, 
There's this thing between us,
Though you have my whole and soul
I listen for your whisper at night,
All day,
I sickly dread crossing paths
I promise you I meant to talk to you again,
Unless I got in my way
I cry to you, at you, sometimes for you
But nevermore in front of you
You've made me stronger than that, though
I do love you
I meant to tell you that you're scum

What I meant to tell you was that
I can still feel your love
Your lies
Your kiss
Your sighs
The quiet way you left me in the night
Or the messy way I ripped you from my side
Your wish to die
Your guilt, my guilt, my lies
Nevermore I want to cry

What I meant to say is I'm drawn to you
For love of danger, or neglect
Not for love of myself (or is it?)

What I meant to say is that I love you,
But I choose me.

Details | Free verse | |


In this world so full of pain
you need the strength to keep your mind free
free from hate and free from pain
you work so hard and you deserve
to work through anything that is thrown at you 
keep on standing 
keep your strength
you can do it
if you believe

Details | Free verse | |

The Bus (8x4)

Just standing here
Waiting so long
Freezing my buns
Hoping it comes
Look at the time
Must get to work
It 's awful late
Where is the bus?

© Joseph, 10/21/07
© All Rights Reserved

8x4 Syllable Sentence: 8 Lines of 4 syllables. 
Created by Alvin Othto Stewart

Details | Free verse | |

Holiday Gift

The greatest gift I ever got, came with a year that definitely was not.
Health costs and a scam had emptied everyone’s pot.
The tree was bare with nothing to hand out…
And my son had to work thru the Christmas Holliday, we all sought.

We wished him home but he had to work if he was to eat.
And for several years he had not wanted, with us to be.
But this year had taught him we were better than he had perceived.
And he wanted to come home to hold and be hugged, you see.

At the last moment he got the Christmas Day off.
Our gift to him was the price of gas and food on the four-hour trip back.
But his gift to us… you see was the greatest of all…
For he wanted to come home and simply be with us all.

Twenty-four hours minus 8 hours on the trip.
Dinner wasn’t much but it was all we could give.
But no one noticed as everyone talked…
It truly was the greatest holiday present of them all… that we ever got.

Thank you God... your gift to us wasn't lost.

Details | Free verse | |

Old Fart

Walking slowly dazed and bemused
Thinking about what I was just told
"It'll be an opportunity" she said
Dressing it up as a gold plated crap
"The change will be good" she said
Straight faced through gritted teeth
A move to a different department I pondered
Filling me with angst and dread
I thought I'd escaped that awful old fart
Now I'm back working for him AGAIN

Details | Free verse | |

More Please

(I wrote this poem for a non-profit organisation called the Worker's Action Centre in Toronto:  It was for their wage theft campaign.)

I think of Oliver, standing there, 
eyes upturned,
bowl in hand
More Please!

I hold a cheque in my hand, 
eyes upturned,
my hand clenching
More…pleasssse! I earned more!

Stomach knotting,
my eyes flicker closed,
even just for a moment, 
for just one moment
let me be…
somewhere, someone 

How can they not understand?

Don’t they care, don’t they get it!
About the twists, and the aches of life, 
or of the dreams; you had! I had!
We had!

My children! My child! My life!
How can I buy for you?

Food again, not on the table
tormenting, my innards, 
my despair, 
my need,

 your need
our need
everyone’s need

to just live!

Details | Free verse | |

adaora mma

adaora mma…
Your beauty is irresistible
Your beauty is mind blowing
God finished his work on you
Creating you as the figure eight
At your sight every man will adjust to explore you
As I am already doing and will want to do again
See; if you don’t tell me to go back I will follow you

The way you walk is amazing and its killing me softly 
Your physical structure is tempting and killing
Your facial outlook is appealing and seductive
Your smile brightens my heart like the sunshine
You are so endowed, and so endowed you are
Maybe God is partial by given you everything as a woman

Your heart is soft and caring
I can feel the gentle state of your inner being
At your presence men whispers
When you walk bye, ladies pray for such beauty you possess
When you walk bye, nature is in love by your elegance

When I set my eyes on you I was amazed by your facial beauty
You do not intimidate men with your beauty, rather
You help men to find their way when they were lost in you
You respect the person and personality of every person
You care for the less privilege, even when you are one of them
Your humility and your originality astounds me

The way men respects you is so amazing
And you have proved your worth as a woman
That you can afford to work with every age in our society
You are such a woman we need to nurture in our society
Women who cares and women who loves
Women who respects and women who are peaceful
You are a role model…Adaora mma  

Details | Free verse | |

old 66 mustang

This 1966 mustang that i own
It unique and thinks it has it own throne
Oh yes it drives
Thats until the engine dies
Was this car ever fast
To me it seems out classed
Since last year I've worked on this car
Everyone knows i haven't got that far
But i know it has potential
Even thought i just broke it rear end differential
It doesn't roar
And no its not like that greek god thoar
More or less its funny 
I should call it a big lovable bunny

Details | Free verse | |

You Bring Me What Is Next

You bring promise to me.  

What had happened throughout my life I do not understand.
I wondered,  
Is a soul’s expression cut down because it is no longer functional when evil reigns?  
Is expression elite,
for the pure of heart.
Is it no longer at the heart of work when work is all that is left.  

Is it possible I can survive the loss of my mother’s faith,
the loss of my father’s hope so many years ago’
the loss of my Lucy’s life, so real and fresh.  
Is it possible that the creative bulldozers she dreamed of are real.  
Is it possible that life can include shalom
while destruction continues its constant rain.  
Is shalom not just a myth to seduce youth and age into not despairing.

Having you with me is disturbing in my soul.
Disturbed where there is vitality and life,
mystery and still secrets,
force and calm,
creativity not yet released,
promise and hope.

It reminds me of years ago, when hope was more vivid,
when my soul believed it could express itself  and not become damaged.  
When I believed in soul and not evil.  

Lucy believed in soul.  I believed in her.
She finally did what was in her soul.  
It was beautiful to watch.  
It left me feeling soulless,
but I loved her,
loved her with all my heart.

You bring promise to me.

To the woman who came into my life after my wife Lucy’s death from cancer.

Details | Free verse | |

Images of Cotton Plantations

How beautiful are the creations,
that are beyond all explanations.
What lies forever of foundations,
the very majestic plantations.

Voices of opera soaring high in the wind.
The harp and piano linger at the end.
The southern climate in the spring will bring,
field hands ready for cotton picking.

Blooming white cotton fields in the sun that glimmer,
near the muddy Mississippi River.
Cotton wagons loaded with cotton bolls. 
Down the Mississippi the river boat rolls.

Gardens of flowers, red roses, and jasmine.
White doves gathering near the fountain.
The muddy river for irrigation,
horse drawn carriages for transportation,
are might fine images of great plantations.

A morning cloud of fog covers the lawn.
Planters in straw hats awake before dawn.
French doors open to the morning breeze.
Echoes of children and what they see,
hummingbirds, honeysuckle, and honeybees.

The very grand columns that hold the balcony high,
overlook the plantation for miles wide.
Golden curled ladies gather the veranda sitting in rosewood chairs,
for coffee, beignets, and jasmine sweet air.

From the grand house high on the hill,
a heron next to the spinning windmill.
A romantic oil painting is on display,
of a bride and groom on their wedding day.

In the background is the huge oak tree,
the frame made of mahogany.
Picnics under huge oaks streaming with moss,
images of plantations will never be lost.

The stairway leads to very grand rooms.
French windows open to the light of the moon.
The river reflects the history,
of cotton plantations along the Mississippi.
The people hold on to this grand memory.

Details | Free verse | |

Anxiety Slaying Vigilante

I have a paper due
Last Monday that isn’t quite out of the pen yet, and it’s laying on the desk like
A cancerous growth of my mind
Stress increased, end of the year rush
I can’t seem to think
Under-pressure of my very own
			I’m so hard on myself sometimes it hurts
				But you know that, Papi
While I recline on these
Black satin slick silk sheets of mine

I could care less about that particular assignment
Because he’s teaching me
Some sort of passionate secret of life
Trying to transfer 
Through lips
Hips, thighs, hands caked with sweaty yearnings trying to wipe them off
onto other parts of the body
Eyes drunk with each other

Willing to  let him take me out of insecurity
I can no longer hear dying cries and hopeless allies 
On the other side of the world
NBC reports on subjects that don’t matter while there is a war
Going on at this exact moment in time inside border lines, scientific battle fields 
                                       The worst crusade of course
Is within ourselves, cut and pasted with images from magazines
Of anorexic models and expensive beauty
Is a product of the mindless
          Sometimes I cry at the cruelness of the world
trapping monsters inside until it kills me with the vile hideousness of truth
                the ugliness of it all disappears
                     When the lock clicks and he walks in
                           untying reminders and tearing off worries
                                like  anxiety soaked garments
                                     brassiere, lacy underwear
                                          jean skirt, denim shorts
                                             LA Dogers hat on the floor

When I’m willing to let him
Touch these curves and handle this lust so dangerous
                                                                          Slice this demon out of me 
Heart panting, rock hard against
so soft, scorching friction contact
Offering some sort of sacrifice
To this mocha skinned, dark eyed
Hardworking nine to five
Still smelling like sweat and gasoline one winged
Throwing his halo over the bedpost and leaving it to become
A vigilante warrior attempting to save this damsel in 
		Distress, undressed and
			Please save me, baby

Details | Free verse | |

Acceptance Speech

I accept you, wild dirty scummy city
for all your pot holes crack pots beer bellies
and waterbugs.
For your spare tires wasted empty 
lots plastic bottles old
basketballs unused 
ironing boards and

Your busy streets shining lights and
rainy nights, rigid 
grid system that barely contains 
the chaos. 

I accept the warm wafts 
of air 
rushing up
through grates in the sidewalk

the cold snowy nights, and central park 
walks, horses and manholes, 
yellow cabs and basement
stairwells, thank you

Details | Free verse | |

the workplace romance

certainly it only takes putting the hand on the burner 
to figure out how stupid a relationship at the work place can be
to figure out how it will effect your coworkers
to figure out how it will effect the relationship itself &
how it will ruin both the work reputation &
the relationship at hand,
with one clean swoop
like a samurai sword slashing swiftly
through a zucchini.

so what makes people continue to have them?
what makes people continue to risk their job in order to pursue 
romance in the same place that the clock bears down upon one’s

is it the intimate moments on break?
is it the make out sessions at lunch,
is it the private dialogue with another party throughout the day,
or is it just the last refuge of the desperate?

as humans, we do what we know best &
in this case, literally,
so how long then do you think it will last?
how long will it be a good thing to see your significant other
of the
without a
moment of
privacy or 
from the ongoing bubbling at hand?  

as the two new bunnies bounce around
cooing & groping, smiling on mondays (when everyone else is out to kill) &
often just being a general nuisance to all being subjected to it,
we watch the new lovers start to have little snippets of spats,
which in the early throes of that new finding of a person
may go unnoticed in a regular setting,
but now the concentrated work relationship
stomps out the issue &
then rekindles it at home
rekindles it on the way to work
rekindles it the next day,
for nothing is denied anymore
as each party is in the other’s 24/7

so the rest of us workers make best,
paying the designated bookie
as to when it will all crumble away &
suddenly things will be thrown across the room,
profanities will illustrate most of the day &
we will all be able to bank on a solid month or so of

Details | Free verse | |


                         Excavation begins,
                             chisel strikes
                            hardened rock
                        So uncompromising
                     that not a mark is made.
                             Another more
                            powerful strike
                            breaks through,
                             a small cranny.
                           the work pays off.
                            Layer upon layer
                               lies beneath,
                           how disconcerting,
                          so much more work
                                to be done
                                  to reach
                                  the core.
                         each layer fragments,
                                 yet another,
                               hardened more
                             by time's passage.
                             The digging down
                            seems endless yet,
                           with sweat and tears
                               and little sleep,
                              the work is done. 
                                  The journey
                                 to the center
                             reveals the magma,
                                  the essence,
                               the truest form,
                                  beneath all
                             the hardened rock.

Details | Free verse | |

The Graveyard Shift

Darkest night and longest hours:
Hours to labor and
Hours to trip in the primitive ooze of repetition
Hours to catch up or trade for spare minutes,
Hours with eyes only half aware
Of life and its warnings,
Lifeless and blissless hours of emptiness,
Hours that never end,
Hours of yawning and stale coffee,
Hours measured in radio songs and cigarettes.

Darkest light before the day,
With shades of grey and
Unidentifiable lumps of black.
Humped, dark masses of human
Trudge through the hours
With brooms and coffee and sleeplessness
And floor buffing machines
Humming angelic tunes like flagellant dirges.
Shapeless figures with no place to go
For hours, no home to fine
For hours, no peace of mind
For listless hours.

Moonless hours for the streetlamps
And for the peddlers of lawlessness.
They count their hours in dimes
And nickles and quarters,
But never pennies or half dollars,
And never by retracing foot steps,
If they can help it.

Hours for the fools that sleep.
Hours for the watchman on his beat.
Hours for the black blood
Puddled and undiscovered on the blackest streets.
Still to come is the hour of discovery.

Hours spent despairingly counting 
The slow progression of passing hours.
A second hand that drips like cold molasses.
A minute hand that tortures
A set of wide and soulless eyes.
An hour hand that doesn't move at all.

Rituals and rites mark the odorous plumes of hours unseen.
An echoing scream amplifies the darkness.
The howl of sirens follow in the distance.
Hours of violence or depravity or sin or pleasure.
These are the hours set aside 
For the ageless telling of tales
And the insomnia of music makers.
All the misery of graveyard hours
If for no other reason
Than the gravity of their six foot title.

Details | Free verse | |

Kill Kill Kill

Kill Kill Kill--
No hammer and anvil, no ax and chisel
Just a shuffle of feet... back and forth, back and forth.
Too tall for the ground, too green for its roots--
Just a wave of a wand and sweat on the brow,
Spraying Fate here there and everywhere.
No big job...
Just a slow shuffle of feet...
Back and forth, back and forth


Details | Free verse | |

Alphabet Soup

I make my checklist
And begin

Words and lyrics don’t blend but 
Concise, not deris{ive}
Begun thinking again. Stop.
Classical music; diction-less connotation.

The history bar grows longer but the checklist never shorted
The train is going in circles and 
my mind is a bowl of alphabet soup.

Details | Free verse | |

Flow of the eye

										Call this a life

									Sat at a screen

				Of life.    End.

								       Attention span

		Still trying to make sense


	Still on the internet

                 The younger generation wants to be successful.

Details | Free verse | |

Free Range

Often my thoughts do range far and wide.
But it’s not just my thoughts that skim the tides.
When my Hubby asks and I don’t reply…
He says I’m free ranging again with my mind.
He laughs and tells me to please wake up…
But I’ve already been there, thank you, so much.

Deep in thought and so far away,
He’s still my muse in every way.
But once I get going on that thought…
Look out boys, my mind is set and lost
But don’t you worry. No Sireeee.
When the typing slows you’ll know I’m back, you see.

Those free-range chickens have nothing on me…
I way surpass them in productivity.
And as my words free range far and wide
You’ll find… others may be joyfully joining  me for a time.

Details | Free verse | |

Death Comes Calling

            When Death Calls

Death comes calling in the early morning
No one is at home
They have all gone fishing
Personally, I prefer doing the dishes
Cleaning the litter box
Darning sox
Those darn socks
I prefer doing that than being damned and dead
When death comes calling 

Details | Free verse | |

Humble pie (taking back my empire)

Here is the masterplan of the 3 comings
of your second coming

If there are any musicians that would like to work for jesus
now accepting resumes

you would be working for a record label
where all profits go to charity
to end world hunger
and poverty

Your albums will be intelligently composed riddles
made out of songs
so when a fan figures out
the important thing you have written for them to discover
they can send the answer via fanmail
for swag

If the fans continue to do their homework
eventually they will stumble upon
an invitation to one of the three comings
disguised as a huge rock show more elaborate and more well thought out
than woodstock

This will eventually lead men in circles to their enlightenment
which we will mastermine
to hopefully end all wars

a great and secret show
with a word to get what you came for
The whole time we are playing for the experience of a lifetime
a 7day work week of taking turns
living one of god's several birthdays

the other music industries
proof of being able to turn the other cheek
so they can work with intelligence and the military
to resolve many problems
and prove they are indeed a part of keeping society safe

when it all comes together reality mind change her mind
about herself
playing matchmaker like cupid
might be how you find your soul mate
if it comes to your sex life
go ask the pope
i can cancel the whole thing

Details | Free verse | |


True it is
That it intoxicates
True it is
That it makes men bend
When ought be straight
True it is
That it makes men bow
When ought be seated
True it is
That it makes men fall
When ought be standing
True it is
That it drives emotions
With totality in itself
Once had
It makes men boast
It begets pride
To the fool
And builds the humility
Of the humble
It increases the wisdom
Of the wise
It makes the noblest
Of men, Vile
It helps the good
Conquer fears
And live a life
To be remembered 
For generations
In the right hand
It can help a nation
Become a super-power
In the wrong
It can destroy
What is left of it
For with most
Absolute power
Corrupts Absolutely

Details | Free verse | |

Love vanished

Seven years have passed
since first I married him
Whence he succombed his bride
Yet when I told him of babe we’d due
it felt our love just withered up and died

For the man he changed,
no, the child we had not planned
Pushed me around until to others ashamed I lied
I’d fallen, or bumped myself again,
backed him up, supported him, everything denied.

When babe was born,
I thought we’d learn to love
Try to make things work together with pride
But now cut off from all my friends in time,
it’s nursing I only now that I must bide.

Although I raise our child
I am so sad, my life has stopped,
when they play up I fret that you will chide
and fear that you’ll know not of when to stop
Frightened, huddled close we rock, we hide.

Once grown up, at school a freedom found,
whilst you’re at work – your daily grind.
Lucky new friend we find to guide
us back to safety relieved, released.
Apart, I know head high that I had tried.

Details | Free verse | |

Out Flanking The Phalanx

             Out Flanking The Phalanx

Roman Soldiers like to drink
So I sent them out to battle Hannibal
A simple mission not for sober men
First to the Cannae Battle, 216 BC with lots of sun and debauchery
Then on to Tribia
It came to pass with sun on every side
More so for Hannibal and his forces who survived the battle 
With tactics honored to this day on how to slay your foe
I told my men don’t move too slow
Perhaps I should have said don’t go
If you want to build a proper wedge the echelon wedge is perfect
Add the double envelopment and pincer movements to seal the deal
No postage needed 
With those three tactics Hannibal left my men for dead or bleeding
In any event, defeated  
When at Tribia, I ordered my men to clean at Lake Trasemine                                              (remembering that they stink) and to wait for war   
A consummate debacle by the Roman war machine unfolded
Legions flanked, lined up to die
Utilizing only brute force they marched in phalanx manner
Over 80 thousand strong, with breath and body odor to over power.
(They had no showers)
Annihilation got in the way of their success 
Blinded by the sun and intellect designs of Hannibal 
The light of day came by the compliments of nature
Utilized by Hannibal at no extra fee to blind his enemy
But charged them to the lake to trap the Roman forces there
In a Carthaginian standpoint 
What started as a laundry day and cleaning of the roman forces
Soon became a blood bath on the shore
My legions defeated by a masterpiece of battle tactics
No Romans….. No more….
The locals commented at the sight
Dying is no way to make a living, they’d say
They were happy to see the fighting end
And get back to fishing once again 
I would have promised all my men a trip to Disney world
If they had won and if it existed
But they died so didn't miss it
Too bad they ever enlisted  

                                                                             6/18/14 Roman Legion contest 

Details | Free verse | |

Visions Of Ancient Gem Stones

            Visions Of Ancient Gem Stones

Original in a complex textured bed of ugly scattered rocks
A reddish garnet, more on the line of purplish red
Pretending to be ruby or ruby like
Lifted up in Pyramid form before prospectors 
It reached out to them with its red shocking facets first

Next to this wondrous find, holding on to dirt and earth
A ruby captured by the miners yellow glow from helmets
Embedded next to garnet almost out of sight
In brilliance and simplicity, sitting there and gleaming
Down where the air is thicker than quick sand

Cold men from entrenched caverns, filthy from head to toe, worked
Stumbled over other elements that came up from nowhere
Turquoise, opals, and jade, opened up to clinking tools
Unearthed with alien forming faces

Amber grew there too for fifty thousand years
Waiting to be born up in miner’s hands
Rock like wrinkled fingers that still touched
Their souls and work with gentle grace

Moving down deeper in the twisting mine
Safire fragments clutched by old men they never met before
Emeralds could not hide forever in their fervor to be green 
They were too precious and must be cleaned and prepped  

Workers gazed as topaz buds, emerged in multi-color patches
As they moved in with the precision of a surgeon
Tools so subtle to remove the mysteries from their homes
Other elements came up like magic
As the men marched down the mines, pickax in hand
Visions of ancient stones appeared among the rocks
While pictures of wealth and gold worked on their minds

Created on 11/09/14 for Precious Stones And Gems – Poetry Contest 

Details | Free verse | |


Nothing in life is still
...everything is actively progressing

Routine is an achiever’s friend is a doer’s best friend
Work and routine co-operate to realise dreams

Work will set me free! is the surest and only vehicle to my dreams

The other elements are consequential to work
...but in the realisation of dreams
	Work is divine

I shall do my work with so much pride
...with passion, optimism and faith
	With discipline, honesty and commitment

All my work shall be directed by my sharp focus on the all time goal
	Constant and never ending improvement fulfilling all I’m called upon

Details | Free verse | |

my best friend

we were suppose to hang out after work that night. I was at work when the news came in. It was about 600 P.M. when they said your best friend got into an accident. I said what are you talking about? They told me to turn on channel 6. when I did it all sunk in my best friend, Had been riding on his wheeler like he always did. This time it did him in, He hit the soft shoulder and hit a tree. He was pronounced dead on the scene. My best friend of 21, was only a year older then me. I asked myself how could this be, Why would God take him from me? When I arrived home that evening the room was filled with silence You could cut it with a knife. To see the expression on everyone's faces was so hard to comprehend. A few days passed by and I was sitting by myself in my room. Listening to the radio, all I heard about was how my best friend was now dead. remember at that point how much I really missed him. Beau you are still my best friend.

Details | Free verse | |

Sheep's Work Is Never Done

            Sheep’s Work Is Never Done

Life calls after sheep in morning to continue
Everyone else sleeps in
Hiding from the corporate coma for awhile 
People rise, at a later date, from beds dead tired
Smiles crack on faces; lines move the traces of age around
And break the new dawned day wide open
You can’t count on sheep for anything
They cut wood down in forest 
Place it into piles
I know this can’t be done
They have no work permits
Their visas have expired 
They line up to be deported
You can’t count on sheep when sleeping either 
They wake up freezing cold in wooden homes
Catch colds, catch fire with the trees
To burn the forest down
Weep with matches hidden in the wool
Call it an accident
No one keeps the peace and secrets like death and sheep
You can count on that
Death takes everyone with it, with or without their visa
Sheep move back to their own countries 
Work is never done there either, but
To be continued

Details | Free verse | |

within a week

he released the long-form 
of his birth certificate

toured the tornado-stricken south 
with  mayors and governors

flew to NASA  to watch the 
final liftoff of a U. S. space shuttle 

gave U.S. Navy Seals permission 
to conduct a secret national security mission

spoke at a dinner for the
white house correpondents 

watched U.S. special forces 
execute their assignment

informed U.S. citizens that 
the mission was accomplished

sparked patriotic celebrations outside of 
the white house and at a national baseball game 

caused U.S. citizens to chant with pride
at times square and ground  zero

a leading U.S. citizen, 
with a legal birth certificate--the president of the U.S.A.--
touched so many lives
within a week

Details | Free verse | |

The Rat Cage of Work

(This is illustrated with a Square Wheel wagon being pulled and pushed in a large "rat cage" - making NO progress

Work's like a rat cage.
You go round and round and round.
It is a Winter of Despair. And,
You hope Spring comes quickly.

Details | Free verse | |

question for the believing parent

when a parent of a child 
with an odd mixture of shame,
humor & wonder,
that very first lie
which their children tells them,
does this parent experience the same feeling that they 
themselves did
when they found out that 
wasn’t real?

like the slim difference between 
a hysterical laughing face
a hysterical crying face,
that flipside reflection
of being let down by
comes swinging in your direction,
cornering you in the ring---
and do you believe in some kind of 

as a parent who will lie to their child about
will you continue to conjure,
piggybacking on that greatest of great lies---
passing it on like an
std of the heart & mind?

in remembering the insignificance of
praying to a work of fiction,
why do you perpetuate that same 
dissatisfaction that comes in perpetuating 
your own perceived societal obligation
when in all honestly,
you are lying to yourself every day of your

paraphrasing mr. maher in his work of genius,
certainly, not believing that a fat man with a beard 
could possibly deliver presents to every good little 
boy & girl on this planet 
in one night,
has a familiar ring to it,
when you consider the possibility of an 
omniscient being
answering all the prayers of everyone that is
on this planet,
every single time they ring in.

in a related
it seems justifiable that when churches, temples
& mosques get tax breaks,
that in return,
the believers who attend weekly,
should have to wear some kind of prophylactic suit that would
keep their children from being 
infected with
before they have a chance to protect themselves
with rational

Details | Free verse | |

live your own life

Walking in his shadows
Makes you like a dependent widow
You should have your share of the cake
Because you were behind its bake
Rebellion is the only way out
You must stand upright and shout
For the freedom you deserve
Enough of rights preserved
You are the mitochondrion
Yet you live in his shadows
And poverty it brings you
Rise up and be conscious
You deserve to be a king in the ring
It is your land to possess
But not until you live your own life

Details | Free verse | |


The purple canopy above
Soars majestically to the heavens
Shrouding my view

I lie raised
In a caffeine haze
Deafened gloriously

Breathing to the rhythm
Reverberating through the stage
Vibrations soothing my aching limbs

Limbs which have slaved
Creating the musically Eden
Forging metal and wood
Blood and sweat
Sugar and caffeine

The sky darkens
Gentle patting comes from the canopy
Refreshment from the sky
Though just the taste in the air
Slakes my thirst

I turn and look out
The faithful stand weathering the storm
Rocking in the free world
Shouting to the gods

With refreshed bones
And mind
I stand
At one with the vibrations
Basking in the noise

As the night falls I leave
Under a lower skin
I tip my hat to her red hair
As I pass and move on

So under a thin plastic skin
I now lean on dead wood
As the angry strings 
Caress the senses

The hour flies
And return at speed
Parting the crowd
With a voice louder than the din

Breath is heavier
Boots rapping across stone
The night draws in
I stand
Assimilating with the vibrations


Into the madness of the night

Details | Free verse | |

Y2K Digital Jesus

Lists of complaints
wrapped into the perfect metaphor
everything wrong with the world around me
similar microcosm of our universe
Dear Shadowfiend
when is my homework due?
In the midst of spelling mistakes
of supposed war messages
what was wrong
what to fix
and hints as to the world of compromise

Lists of lists of possible sins and lies
lists of lists of complications and arguments over compromise
hints in the midst of the riddles of metaphors to decipher
of what is actually wrong
i can't hear you
the maggot in my ear
isn't allowing me to reach out
dirty nails of the clean church
starting at the end working backwards

Lists of complaints
whats wrong with my life
whats wrong with hers and his
and yours
complictaions to simplify
all the problems addictions and perversions
man's plan of the setting sun
heal my shadows
as you stalk the chaos
and homework will be due by the dawn of armageddon

thinking caps on
how to hate and not to catch on
dampening wildfires to make life fair
one mixed message at a time 
different pages
one imperfect man all screwed up

Dear shadowfiend
the lists of our complaints is our deck stacked against us
thanks for the time to think
slow it down
blue print for the perfect mind
and plan for the tricks up our sleeves

Dear shadowfiend
now that you did it
I can do it better
with less mess
and more perfect
thanks for the pulitzer

Details | Free verse | |

Save Me From Decay

You'd looked at me, and said,
And you know what I wanted to say?

I love you. Always have,
Always will,
And it's really sad to say-

We've been fighting-
too much lately
And I never get a break

mixed with everything else,
Is getting harder to work with every day

So I take my pain out this way,
As punishment-
For my mistakes

Instead, I said,
"There's too much going on;
This is how I take the pain away."

Which is almost truth,
But even so,
It's not what I wanted to say

So I did it again,
As part of my plan,
Because I lied, again, today

Lier and cheat,
But in discreet,
Just nasty all the way

It's what I've become,
And all I've done,
Is let it progress in every way

Satan's control,
Is too strong not to hold,
So he manipulates my soul, and it's decay

Only your hold,
Could steal my soul,
But you're too blind, with priorities aray

Keen, quick, and smart,
Your skills are an art,
But your sensitivity doesn't work the same

Oblivious to others' emotions,
Gives the strong notion, that you only care for yourself,
And none other remain

But it's not true,
They're blind to the true you,
And it's driving me insane

Your better than that,
Amazing, at that,
And I never want you to change

Please save me from this,
You're the only thing that could dismiss,
This anxiety in my brain

I will be gone,
For a time, really long,
Unless you save my soul from decay

Because when everyone's gone,
And I feel lost and gone,
You stay on my mind, all the same

Details | Free verse | |

The Sword, the Shield And the Heart.

The land of white
Home of Ahiram your ancient king
You, who grows cedars in her back yard
You, who raised millions of children
Whether they did you harm
Or left you blind
Your door was always open, and your yard was always green
Loubnan, you are not my country
You are not a landscape of cedars and mountains
You are a patch of soil
The same patch
The one beneath my face when I fell
When the taste of blood trickled down my throat
But always a drop escaped, and landed on your rugged surface
Your tested and scarred surface
And when I sweat, of toil and pain
When I run from your invaders
My sweat trickles into my lips
And I taste the pain I endure
And always
A drop escapes
And on your cheek it lands
That rugged surface of root ridden soil
But you do not wipe your cheek of my blood and sweat
With it
You build us mountains
Crystal white beacons of your fortitude
With it
You grow us cedars
Vivid green emblems of your prosperity
And when your foe would bring his fist and thunder
Crush your mountains and burn your trees
Always, whether we ran
Left you alone and blind
Or stood, made you hopeful and proud
Always of our sweat and blood
You made us roses
Roses to place on our dead
The dead we burry under the shade of your Cedars
Under the protection of your Mountains
My Loubnan
My patch of soil

You are still not my country
Because my country is not a patch of soil
Not without someone to work it
A farmer to work your land
Not without your people to stand proud with you
My country
Is nothing without her children
Without her fruit
Without her cedars and mountains
Her running rivers, the tears she sheds at our turmoil
But whether fists come crashing down on us
Or thunder shatters our hopes
We will always work the land that raised us
We will always be One country
One nation
Of mountains and cedars
Of hope and pride
We will always be

Oh, if only fiction was as real as hope

© Samir Georges

Details | Free verse | |


Tiny humming birds
Buzzing like bees
Fluttering fast
Flying like a fleet of 
Helicopters sucking
Up cargo

Red and black flowers
pollinated by
crews of workers
not colliding but collectively
a church on mission
absorbing, ingesting
cadre of co-laborers

Elaborating on service
A herd of helpers
Feeding, fashioning,
Fueling and feeling
Harmoniously humming
Purposed performers

Tiny humming birds
Buzzing like bees
Fluttering fast
Flying like a fleet of
Helicopters delivering
The Word

Details | Free verse | |

years of writing and learning
guts spilled
heart ripped out
torn to holes
stabbing myself open
and spreading myself thin

learning this about that thing
this thing about that stuff
computer whizz i am not
but one comes along
and i am forever lost in the shuffle of the game 
playing with myself
solitaire with levels
puzzles with destinations to surf the web to give
my writing a new purpose

lead you here to find where else for you to go to find the next puzzle to ponder and 
meaning of it all
as if I'm some genius
unfinished puzzle
I've been shut down
and how do i explain this to my children
walking in my crutches
who cannot afford to be read one more time
as i whine in the midst of my goose chase
of level three leading you back to level one

and my space is just a place to look for something to do
top point at the famous players and how i got my foot in the door
and how they know me one day
and I'm not shy to get my attention whether I'm good or not
i have something to say
we are a community and I'm here for the life of fun and games
I'm here for the utopia
why does it have to be like a bully ruled school yard of conviction where no one 
knows who they think they are
and no one is worrying about who questions anybody
and laugh at estimations
of underestimating thew jobs we never apply for

fingers pointing over here and over there and nothing left to lose
so was it worth it
when now i cant sign in due to scandal
i cant fix any perfected mistakes due to friends who know pass codes that affect 
me still
tight lips are sinking my ship and the truth be told
the police wont get involved
just thought you should know I'm in the Center of nothing
spiraling out to place to find if i can be
where none will ever go

a journal of the one who was everything written of emotion from gods joke 
to inspiration to writers and communicating generation gaps
and now its all lost because of hate crimes we cant solve and peoples 
paranoias of technology and phishing scams
cant sell my work anymore or access my pay pal
years of work not backed up 
lumpy lessons served with lemon aid
 just go surf and see the game 
do the pieces fit
of the head strong ahead of his timer terrified false prophet goose chase
inter net hacked shut down?
something to think about for you!!

Details | Free verse | |

Our Friendship

Our friendship is really special to me
From the first time we met something magical happened
And I knew that our friendship could work out
That is if you wanted our frienship to!!! 

A friendship is kind of like a flower
All we need to do for the friendship to grow is
To add a little love to the friendship and nurture it
And put a lot of time into our friendship to make it grow.

When the buds start to take shape and form
Our friendship could dry up and wither away
Or it could start growing and blossom into something beautiful
Because there's no telling what our friendship will become.

It might take some time for our friendship to start growing
But when it does we should see continuous growth
Which depends entirely on what kind of friends we are
Because our friendship can work out I know it!!!

Details | Free verse | |


Lesson as a child is an inborn
It's of course right in the bone.
Like the early privilege souls:
Shakespeare, Yeast and Milton.
They are the history of years that sings in me.

Come down to Africa
Not only did their poetry sings 
Some note to my possession
Likewise, their marbles, trebles and puzzles
Contributes to my endless pride.

The lake, the sky... and the sun
Are equally positive gestures
That muse my spirit for verse.

Pen will not sleep off my physical and mental surroundings-
My Bloods, my peers, faith, media and society
They are toast tools that deliver me from fits.


Details | Free verse | |

Oh Poor Cable Man

Stomp Stomp 
Why are stomping?
You don't even live here!
Mutter Mutter
Would you stop muttering?
It's not making yourself look too sane
Stomp Stomp Skip
Watch out for that boot toe
We wouldn't want you falling on your crazy face
Mutter Mutter Curse Word
Hey Hey now! Don't make me kick you
Do you think I like your butt being here? There are things to do
Stomp Stomp
Oh, now you want to talk decently?
"This should fix everything - You're getting an amplifier"
Mutter Mutter
Now it's I who is muttering
Disagreement This will work for a couple of days
Stomp Mutter
We're both unhappy
This relationship can't continue much longer
Mutter Stomp
Yes I guess I'll call you
See you next week. Buh Bye now
Stomp Stomp 
Oh well hello! You're back
I was worried about you
Mutter Mutter
Hey Hey now! It's not my fault!
you work for them.

Details | Free verse | |



Printing machines spit out White  Papers
In the name of change
Trees cringe on paper laden desks
Floors, secretaries’ chairs
Overflowing bins, stuffy noses
And forests scream
In the name of change

Documents float before eyeballs in our dreams
Deserts emerge in the name of change
We continue to dot  I’s and cross T’s
In the name of change

Around oak tables into mod phones
We ask for more, more files
More, more, more
Greed with a capital G

And down fall marulas
Corridors become empty and quiet
Office doors locked and barred
Libraries dark and gloomy 
Machines dismantled, directors missing

Portraits stare down in cynic smile
Brightness of innovation fading fast
Blank stares at futures unknown
Yet we tear forests for documents
In the name of 

Details | Free verse | |

Recess Bell

Recess Bell

Where'd it go
That twice a day relief
Leaving behind blackboard's chalk-lines
To immerse in the blacktop chalk-lines

That place where hop scotch
Poison line
River ball
Target ball
Quickly made chalk nubs
Made innocent everyone's fun
Made sad classroom returns

That ringing in our ears
Announcing freedom time
Now but a morning and afternoon
Workplace coffee break
Signaled by silent bells
Company rules
Good for morale

Where'd it go
The real breaks of our youth
That escape from control-seeking minds
Racing across playgrounds
Making sweat that was real
Laughter that was infectious
Exhaustion no amount of
Head-time on the desk
Could relieve

Chalkboards out
Monitor screens in
Grownup hours made endless
Stress related focus
9 to 5 at the desk
7 to 10 at home-office sanctum

The evolved institution
Resulting in maybe...
Possibly getting...
A gold pen?
A gold watch?
A golden parachute?


Life's profit margin
Remaining ever questionable

Details | Free verse | |

Cleaning Day

I think that God had intended
For Spring cleaning.
After all, he intended for doors
To light dark corners,
The spiders to spin webs 
Along the walls..
The dust collecting 
On the surfaces,
The bird's song 
As an incentive 
To keep working.
The tiny sqeak
Of cleaning windows,
The allure
Of a newly made bed,
With my puppy by my pillow...
The crisp, clean look
Of a newly painted wall,
And the soft feel 
Of new carpet on your toes..
The clean smell
Of newly hung laundry, 
But most of all...
I think God had intended 
For Spring cleaning
As a darn good reason

Details | Free verse | |

Lessons of Change - X - Part Two

                         Part Two

Till October comes around with its bounty
   The granary stuffed to the full
Lush fruits still pulpy and juicy
   Ripen to a filthy rashes on skin brashness
The greenness of innocence
   Turned to an over-ageing dun-yellow
Tell-tale sickening silliness

Soon detached the firm leaves will lie
   Thick on the ground spurned and trampled
Earlier than the appointed hour

No matter
  Recourse to pins and stitches
      Breast uplifts
         Straightened nosebridges
Dead Indian women’s chevelures
     High straining buttressing stilts under heels
And thick sticky chemical tasting paint
Squeezed carcasses concentrated musk
Furs of bludgeoned seals and foxes
Haute couture paid through bankers’ loots
            Or the easy secret service paid trysts
Through hard-earned tax payers’ sweat
    In five-star deluxe hotels
         Will lengthen the hour
In the boudoir

      Pity the woman
She has but a score years
   from teen to thirty-five
Before men take her
      for a whore

Some women know this well
And cleverly work to use this sell

She’ll kick and thrust her lolly chops
            from bum to cheek
In the later Heaven’s southwest sky
Fascination oozing from her loins
           The sacred portals of propagation

Bruised all over under fire-dragon skies
Bloody a limb or two out of joint
     and the gnawing ignominy
Of having relented in June

Sowing your wild oats
    with the blessings of 13.7 billion years
The trained and disciplined chromosomes

Without the company on whom to work her wiles
   and sap nourishing energy to continue
She’ll seek the riotousness of her ilk
    and at autumn’s summit
At the height of smoldering flesh
    When worms and germs
           will make a merry feast
Of the beast in her meat

     Let her fade away with her booty
Seek not to set right wrongs

You have only yourself to blame
      For thinking easily entered gamboling
Will not be made out to be your aim
      For weren’t you then the spirit consoling

© T. Wignesan, May 10, 1987 (rev. 2012, from the collection: Lessons of Change, 1987)

Details | Free verse | |

The Scholar of Dreams

Walking barefoot on spring grass,
Wallet stuffed into a shoe, socks in a pocket.
Nervous hands threaded with delicate sinew,
Spinning me stories of blue-eyed Belarus,
Weaving silken tapestries from literary dust.
That’s what we do here.
Steeped in archaic symbols and ideas,
Deciphering arcane runes,
Slaves to the books.
The hollows in your cheeks have deepened –
That’s where the library shadows fall,
Hiding below your Adam’s apple, lying sweetly
Heavy on each vocal chord.
Ink pulses bloodily in my veins, running
Into pretty webs in my wrists,
And my throat, sandpaper-dry, rasps
To drink it, cawing for
Knowledge – pain, shame, glory.

Details | Free verse | |

We Are Not Artificial We Are Legion

The stagnate machine planted firmly, rusted gears laboring to drudge along.
It does not function properly anymore; it has become obsolete.
The workers no longer need the machine to live their lives.
They can design a new system, built upon self-sustaining values.
It once labored greatly to support its work force. The machine now hinders the lives of the workers.
The workers grew so reliant upon the machine they thought they had become part of it, cogs in the system.
Now they realize more and more each day, that not only are their lives separate from the machine, without  it they are more able to focus on the fundamental values of life.

Details | Free verse | |

Born to win

Holistic healing
Wholeness, meaning
Success, greatness
Glory, legacy
Requires the work
Of a great work.

The work of a great work
Is the work of a great man 
In a great child
A great man
Has will, skill and wisdom
A great child
Has innocence 
And divine guidance.

To live meaningfully  is to:
Stand firm amidst friction 
Sand firm amidst frustration
It is to meet harder time
With harder will
It  is to have a laser focus goal
That wakes you up early
That keeps you awake late
A goal that reminds you
That you are born to win.

Details | Free verse | |

Under Appreciated

Every day,
I fight to be heard.
My thoughts and ideas,
Over shadowed by male pride.
My suggestions and solutions to problems get used,
But only, when they are repeated by a man.
It's as if I am that little voice in their head.
The one they ignore at first.
It is so easy for them to fill my plate,
Expecting the work to get done.
But not acknowledging the work I do.

Details | Free verse | |

Braided and Branded

I want to break down and talk to you
Now I truly know what it means to love you
I just wish I didn't have to go through this 
to figure it out
but I know I can't make this all about you
I need to love Jehovah like I love you
When I feel I need to run to someone 
I need to run to him
I'm learning 
I know where everything started to go wrong
and it was way before you
It just kept going in a downward spiral
Three strands are stronger than only two
Right now I still stand as only one
I need to work on the second 
before I work on the third

Details | Free verse | |


My job,
7th time.
Disrespectful exploitation…
Rich again.

Details | Free verse | |

Improvement Team

They came to us
from out of the Mangere mist,
players upon the corporate stage,
phantoms masked with permanent
smiles, till the truth was
standardized and filed.
Behind the mask a
different shade, protean shadows
of indecency, when one’s breath
impeded with wry words of complexity,
perfidious overtones, transcribed from
Babel tongues.
Life now to be in constant overdrive,
no recognition anymore of habitual
culture, elementary concepts.
No more the perpetual dawn
created in the east, the veil of
obscurity, annihilating one’s
fundamental perception of life,
when day becomes night and
night as day.
Yet to facilitate the confusion,
it is now the corporation fun
begins, their greed our need
will see all wants to play!!

© Harry J Horsman 2013   

Details | Free verse | |

get motivated

Snake oil here! Blah, blah, blah. Motivational speeches Bread and circuses. Appeal to our fears, Patriotism, spirituality, Sick kids.. Wait for it, Wait. Here it comes. The hard sell. Rolling eyes....

Details | Free verse | |

the workplace threat assessor

sitting down at their desk
they open up the manila folder of the recently
“let go” & 
muster up the audacity 
to draw up a psychological profile of said individuals
based on what little had been documented of the personal lives 
of these ex-employees &
the work history which was exemplified
prior to being cast out
into the garbage can 
(the US labor pool).

still to this day,
s/he finds it interesting that those who fill a gym bag with
weapons &
then walk into their past place of employment with a list &
a trigger-happy finger,
were laid off or fired
a few days before.

it makes you wonder if the threat assessor has ever been fired,
laid off or “let go” from a job---
certainly they take their place with the movers & the shakers in this country
who get to choose when they leave 
as opposed to getting flushed down the toilet.

the workplace threat assessor may be able to pinpoint 
who caused said workers the most frustration,
they may even be able to make a list of those most likely to be
targeted, if anything went haywire,
outside the place of work,
they are useless.

why the authority figures at corporations or 
head honchos at smaller places of employment 
feel that they are somehow untouchable,
simply because they have an assessor working for them
at the work place,
should amaze the rest of us.

if you contribute to the destruction of one’s life,
then you may feel the boomerang come back around &
slam you right in the neck---
and it is especially easy to act so impulsively 
when you have nothing to lose,
now that everything has been taken away.

Details | Free verse | |

To Kill The Choctaw Cow

           To Kill The Choctaw Cow

The Choctaw Nation Oklahoma, with proud and noble people
Hunting is our nature and our way
Pretty Tail was a family member, a friendly cow
She gave us milk for many moons
This is the story of her kill 
My father Bully Ten Foot is our chief 
Old and ill from living beyond himself
Hills and tent on prairie land, filled our purpose
No game to feed us so our cows sustained us
Food was scarce through winters blasting bite
Pretty Tail stayed just outside my tee pee every night 
Years of her soft moo would sooth me off to sleep
Starvation steeped in desperation came on hard 
Crops failed, grazing ended without rain
Pain became the Choctaw, as one and the same
An Indian man must always be a brave
Must know his reason within nature and the nation
Bully Ten Foot honored me, with the sacred task
My hunting knife and I took Pretty Tail down below the neck
I slit her deep within her throat
She bled on me her blood, a river of sorrow
For hours I let her do so with her last drops of red
And held her tight as my best friend
Made sure my tears spilled over into her blank eyes
And cried for her, in her place
Never again will I wear hide or eat a steak 
But I ate her brains for power
Rode at great speed on angry stallions back
Black, with strong memories in mind
And opened up inside the plains releasing spirits
To send her off
From Choctaw Nation 

9/24/14 Divine Intervention - Poetry Contest


Details | Free verse | |

Never Again

Woman and child are dragged to the gate. The husband thrashes, but by then it's too late. The conductor points to left or to right. Neither direction survives much past tonight. The former brings them to a deathly gas; In the latter, they must be fit enough to pass. The wife weeps when forced to port. The man and son will work 'til their lives are cut short. The woman is stripped, then beaten and raped. The child digs a ditch; with a shovel it's scraped. The husband gets bread, but never enough. His spouse gets a room in which people are stuffed. The grave complete; the guard turns his gun on the boy. In the room with the gas, all lives are destroyed. The man is assigned to work with the fires. And after seeing his wife he embraces the wires. Three innocents: victims of the Holocaust. When people follow blindly, all is lost.

Details | Free verse | |

Oil Man

Oil Man
Japan Daria died for the job he loved. How many of us can say that? Not many. He worked in the petro-chemical industry. His dream career was cut short one awful day. He died inside an 'oil' storage tank, an above ground metallic cylinder. Did he fall in or was he cleaning it? No one knows. His body is still there, in the tank, today. His dear fiancée placed a memorial sign on the tank, Japan's tank. I filled his boots but I don't want to die in them, thank you very much. I've shook his hand. When I open the tap to get fuel, out popped his hand! All preserved and leathery. Such miraculous qualities of oil and fuel. It won't bring him back to life but pauses time. Japan is now my working companion, my buddy. I talk to him. He tells me faster but safe ways to do the job. Will he look over me? Be my guardian angel on the oil site? His spirit ventures with me everywhere. We're inseparable and both love oil. 

Details | Free verse | |

Currency Combusted

Appropriated snatch of silver coins
A veritable gamble to grab bag the mantle
Circulating hand to hand, finger to dust
Or swirling computer screens reminding what must
Be sought constantly, human energy a fractional reserve
Digits that mine natural and mineral, crawling from sheet
If we could package and sell the moon
That would be experiential replete

So settle into goods and services produced
The servitude of menial debt, clock turning
Urging scarcity rearranged, competition tooth and beast
All hands on pot, stirring the fervent potion
Degrees recently place tokens on real estate, tax brokerage

Nature chipped, clipped, chopped
Fortunes blown to the sounds of stone
Rain hails value like hurricanes shale sand dunes
Or a harvest before the tank can burst
The sacrifice lust to make labor combust
And purchase power the needed currency

Details | Free verse | |


A verbal warning this day
of redundancy, an end to
Twenty-four years of hard graft,
releases doleful innuendoes
from those safe, left on the staff.
Each dawn! That initiates, now
leaves the sound of silence
ringing, in one’s dependable mind,
each journey down “Everglade”
strange, empty and wry, now the
dignity of retirement, fade from
an unveiling sky.
Yet! Upon this February day, the
puppeteer of Vevey reaches out
to the land of the “Long White Cloud”
Weaving his website of hideous agenda,
strategically infiltrating the very soul
of simplicity, when lifting of the
corporate shroud, upon an
ethical unswerving crowd.
His disciples cynically well versed,
a subtle way his empire constructed,
the turning of the Sabre
of injustice within the wound.
His greed insatiable. Shop floor
loyalty marooned!
Oh! Nested bird, pretender of
family values, branded power
taken from long ago sincere ways,
who’s personified voice, continually
heard on mountain peaks,
within the valley, around the bays.
Yet! This minute, many lives,
especially those belonging
to us “The Clown”
Have seen in lieu, better days.
Alas! Time does surrender
each day the scaffold unfold,
hour upon hour, one assumes
a condemned man’s threshold.
As the final moment approaches,
the noose of disparage
set, posthaste!
The “Vevey Executioner”
gets rid of his
industrial waste!!!

Copyright 2010 Harry J Horsman

Details | Free verse | |



God sends cookies every day 
The kind that have a crunch with walnuts
From the center of the universe
Buildings topple without sin in Pleasantville
They have their reasons 
To rise up again to house clean thoughts
Long walks create tranquility produced at will 
Everyone enjoys paying rent, making beds
Singing Beatles songs peppered with color
Not all things are black and white
Mornings share their structure with pretty birds of prey
In accordance with local ordinances of course
Making houses starts by removing fire 
As unpleasant as they may seem
Pleasantville is still a swell place for mom and pop
Drinking tea on porches held up by the community
Perfect and lovely are the only words allowed
This is not just another cookie kind of town


Details | Free verse | |


driving through streets of angst and apathy
driving to the place where I can actualize my desire
to eat a 12 piece bucket of chicken hunks

smiling at the coo-koo bird with tits exposed
the paper words speaking in a greasy cacophony
that sings louder than the top 40 rap from the car next to me

the all encompassing fried waft fills the upper quadrants 
of my olfactory facilities
my pavlovian salivary stalactites are noteworthy in the rearview
the napkins that won't suffice tonight
whilst sipping new dessicated sanguine juice
later I shall roll in the fractured bones and discarded cartilage
with the glee of a lion licking the last remnants of flesh
from the femur of the sleeping zebra

driving with my portable fan to scent glaze those caught at the precipice
of another uncomfortable intersection smoldering with the anticipation
of another color

it's night and my eyes work like the retinas of an great horned owl
hookers flittering about within the shadows in the fashion of desperate hyenas
eyes reflecting red to further emphasize the craze

the urge/smell to press forward is overwhelming
the distractions are fantastic 
the howls of maligned dogs echoes over the canopy of green neon

I am the great white hunter bringing home my quarry and
park this steely beast making its heart turn off
metal and flesh move at different vibrations that only appear similar

yes it is time to work the mandible with great passion yet
with empty thoughts as the world outside the den
makes the brain short circuit from its normal capacities

other than hunting for the best family meal deal
because down by the  facsimile of a watering hole there are whole animal parts 
compressed into small and workable units

Details | Free verse | |

Fighting for Survival

He went away for a while 
now returning from military service,
things were different—changed!
Businesses closed and jobs scarce.

Then he asked, “Where are the jobs?
Where are the factories and businesses?”
They told him: 
“cheaper labor was found,
operating cost was less in other places,
they had gone south…
and overseas.”

“But what about the people?
Moms, dads, brothers, sisters, sons,
daughters, husbands and wives?
What will they do now?”
“They will find another way!”
They told him.

The factories and jobs are gone
moved to a different place
they were fighting to stay afloat
struggling to make a profit.

He thought,
“This is like our men and women,
wearing the uniform,
in a different place and time,
Fighting for survival!”

Dedicated to our men and women in uniform on the forefront!

Details | Free verse | |

Life itself is one big classroom

Life itself is one big classroom

Written by Dean Masciarelli

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Change your way of thinking

Instead of  trying to change 
someone else 

And do your best to stay focused

And by doing so 

Every day will be a work in progress

But just try to remember one 
thing along the way 

Life itself is one big classroom

And there are many lessons that must
be learned way before
our work here on this earth can be done

So work on improving thyself first and foremost

And change your way of thinking 

Instead of trying to change someone else

Details | Free verse | |


Welders Spark Metal

Details | Free verse | |


(The modern way to take the credit for someone else’s ideas)

Innocent minds, virgin thoughts
all within a collective
breeding ground,
stage upon stage
the master’s philosophy to
be acted out. His! To
nurture, to alter, to steal,
to change, ideas to strive
for, directions to enforce.
This by the
new breed, created from
the production line of progression.
Those the arrogant ones,
reared in such cynical ways,
their curriculum brimming with
intellect, yet without
the power to reason.
Those blessed
with the forked tongue,
the worthless hand shake,
the insincere parody
that lingers within
the web of verbal trash.

copyright Harry J Horsman 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Shana and Shano Part I

I leaned back and rubbed my work – weary eyes as the stress of teaching left my mind. The children were playing a few yards away from me. Their cheerful laughter could easily be heard above the din of voices. I checked on them briefly, then turned to the sky that stretched out in a seamless blue. Occasional clouds floated by. It was a beautiful day to be out. I was glad that I had decided to take a break from work and bring the kids to the park. My husband agreed whole hearted The children had jumped at the opportunity to go play there; though it didn’t have much for play equipment. Despite the slight sheen of rust on the slide and the dull pin pricks on the wood swing, the kids loved the decrepit playground. However if the parents ever found out what the children did on the fallen play ground, they would be most certainly be shocked at the manner of it all. For those parents had no notion of what those children hid. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* I looked at my twin in earnest. He had to understand. In order to save Lishon I had to go. Just had to. The river flowed before us with a vengeance. It was as if the water was displeased with the rocks and it had taken upon itself to punish them. Jorden looked at me sadly at the thought of jumping. He knew that it would cost me my life if I did. “You just can’t Clarisa. If you jump the Noli will take over Lishon and without you at the archers command they will vanquish us.” “Yes, but if the river is not quieted, our armies will drown. As the Shana of the sea I must have control: just as you must control the evergreen and the willow.” “That’s different and you know it. The sea is fickle and will turn its tide with little concern but to toss you from its grave.” “Jorden I must do what I must and not you, nor the Noli, nor the Glifon , nor even the Great Shuka can stop me.” “Watch what you say Clarisa or the Great Shuka will stop you.” Jorden’s features softened after this warning. He knew. I looked at my twin affectionately. For all that he was, Shano of all trees and animals on land, he was still my brother. “Should I not return, defend Lishon with all you have. If all goes well the frilena shall bloom once more in Lishon’s courtyard.” Jorden’s eyes glimmered like the wisps of freed droplets from the surge of the cataclysmic rapids that was once calm. He knew.

Details | Free verse | |

Two, In Love

The candle glowed and cast shadows upon the bare wall
As the two met after dinner and their associated chores
The farm work made them tired, but not too tired to enjoy
As together, they embraced and traced their faces, in love

As the two met after dinner and their associated chores
They fell, collapsing into their lover’s arms, for pleasure
Each day separates them in body, leaving hearts as one
Ready to feel the presence of each other at the end of day
The farm work made them tired, but not too tired to enjoy
As they both looked forward to their quiet time of love
Love through looks, through touch, through just being
Through the music of their hearts as they play a symphony

As together, they embraced and traced their faces, in love
Knowing each others visage, there, only for each other
Accepting every flaw, for with it came perfection, softness
The undying pleasure knowing that together they made a life

Details | Free verse | |

My World (You say)

In my world
I am the lord
My God made me
I am stronger than rod

Endowed with powers
A man for accomplishment
The pacesetter
The first runner up
Building up to stand up
Moving with courage
Driving with perseverance
Behind motivation
I don't don't need people to tell me what good before i do that
I don't need to do what was done
I don't need to forget about the past, because i still need them for corrections
A wise man forgives the past, but a fool forgets the past
No matter how awful the past must have been,
Future is awesome
No matter what beautiful thing you lost in the past
Bountiful goodies are coming up
Stand up, even when you feel down
Break up if your condition will cause you a breakdown
Do not be stuck
The best way to live life is to move around with target
But he who moves around even with target may still be unsuccessful
With target, you still need focus to achieve
With focus, you know what you seek to achieve
And when you know what you really seek to achieve,
You won't stop at anything until you see what you seek
Those who give up do not understand what they really wanted to accomplish
When you are enlightened of the Joy success gives,
You won't give up until 'success' gives into you
Understand this. It helps make a change

Details | Free verse | |

Suicide Scene

Suicide Scene

By the time they found him
He’d been dead for two days
Poor bastard blew his head off 
A shotgun blast through the mouth
The basement door was open
 Looked like the dog got in
The body was half eaten
A very gruesome scene
Clothing told us who it was
Only way to identify
There wasn’t much left of him
I just don’t understand it
Why the hell did he do it
Why does someone kill themselves
Everyone who loved him
Is in anguish and pain
His mother can’t even stand
Under the weight of her grief
His father isn’t speaking
He’s just starring at the wall
Oh, my god I hate this
Look at his family
They need to see a doctor
Or this won’t be the end
We must keep an eye on them
Or they may try this too
Get them to the hospital
Hold them for observation
We don’t need more suicides
Someone go and find the dog
See if it’s covered in blood
If it’s been eating him
It will have to be put down
We need to rule out murder
Start an investigation
Check everybody’s background
What they eat where they sleep
I want to know everything
This kid thought it’d be over
After he pulled that trigger
Yeah, that’s what they always think
But it’s just over for them
Now things are just beginning
For the friends and family
Life will never be the same
For anyone who loved him
They will all blame themselves
Thinking they could have done more
To prevent this tragedy
Yeah sure kid, it’s over
Imagine what they’re feeling
I mean, can you even guess
You think your reasons for this
Can compare to what they feel
Yeah maybe you were depressed
But you don’t know depression
Till you’ve experienced this
What the hell were you thinking
But you can’t answer, can you
Though I bet you wish you could
Thought it was just your life right
Sorry, it don’t work that way
A lesson, you learned too late
Someone bring the body bag
We’ve got work ahead of us

Details | Free verse | |

Wood Planes

The hinge squeaked when I entered. 
I found the string to click the light. 
I knew where it was even in the dark, 
even after so many years. 

This shop takes me back to days with my grandfather. 
The smell of fresh wood, 
and on the shelf above 
the well worn work bench, sits the wood planes. 
A half dozen of the finest wood tools ever made. 

The fine woods that spoke shave has homed 
the many table legs, the chair backs of oak, ash, and maple 
it has rounded and shaped, 
in my grandfathers hands. 

Light breaks on the block plane small delicate 
with a narrow side grip. I watched that old man 
smooth the edge of doors and windows that even 
to this day fit like leather on a cow’s back. 
He taught me how to keep it straight. 

That jack plane is older than I and sharper than 
a tin-whistle to a dog’s ear. How he could make it sing 
I watched him, when I was little, each stroke smooth, 
straight and on the number. The touch of a true master, 
never hurried, always knew what he was doing and why. 

Stanley No. 32 transitional jointer plane (26 inches long) 
the work turned out by that master plane. 
His eye on the line and each push throwing curly fibers 
out the mouth, long strips of near paper thin shavings 
falling to the workshop floor, with his sweat. 

Now they are mine, he left them to me, I don’t know why. 
I could never use them, not like he could, all I ever wanted 
was his touch with the wood, his cutting directions, 
and sharp love that sculptured the heart of a grandson.

Details | Free verse | |


I began the day we first met. Pebbles clattered. 
I picked and hacked, my mud-spattered mattox.

The first layer of earth was smooth, cool, compact;
hard to break. Once breached,
easy to up-heave.

The second layer, malleable;
my pick penetrated in even sweeps.

The third, a clay core; 
years spent mining,
I reached the heart,
bipolar as a planet.

Details | Free verse | |


When disrespect is given 
Never expect generosity
When fakeness is proven 
Never expect the same treat
When a sorry is said but not taken in action 
Don’t ever imagine or wait for forgiveness
In this case it is never granted
Cold frosty rude looks should be from the person 
Who got no respect?
Not the other way round
Life is there; don’t wait for good things to come
Go running after them
Take each opportunity 
Strengthen each relationship 
Hard work is the key for every success
Organize your life
Schedule each day 
Live with gratefulness for being alive
Live with hope for what good to come
Never expect happiness is in your house
Unless you open its door
Cover your sadness
Never show you’re weak
Communicate and socialize
Meet new friends
And never forget old ones
Never rely or depend on anyone
Be independent 
Don’t beg for any needs
Live and work 
Earn and buy 
If you want something 
Do it your self
Feel some pride
Ignore silly mistakes
Always remind yourself
Of how a greater person you would be
For doing something an ordinary couldn’t…

Details | Free verse | |

My Green Weekends

This monthly pilgrimage I used to love
now seems to come all to soon.
It interrupts our lives.
I have to separate our lives to do his bidding.
My heart breaks each time I leave
even though I know I'll return
when it's over.
I seems that two days
is an eternity when we are apart.
I live one mission at a time,
looking to the homecoming
with a sense of joy.
I look to the future and I know it will
all be over in half a decade.
Now that seems like an
impossible hurdle to overcome.
For now, I take it
one green weekend at a time.
Among all the pomp and circumstance
I am always thinking of you.

Details | Free verse | |

I Have A Dream

I have a dream 
I can see it so clear 
Almost like a film 
Only its not so rare 
Not like Luther' I fear 
Not whites with blacks 
In the same sacks 
Eating and drinking 
At the same table. 
My dream is simple- 
To see black and black 
Bend their backs 
And get to work 
With love in their hearts 
And hope in their mind 
To see blacks all over the land 
Unite for common good 
And secure the future 
For generations yet unborn. 

I dream of a new nation 
Flowing with milk and honey 
Free for all to share and enjoy 
A land of peace and stability 
Where hard work and honesty 
Are essential virtues! 
From the Niger to the Sahara 
Across Rwanda and Uganda 
Down to the sunny city of cape town 
All around the globe 
Every where black is represented! 
Then I will smile and say- 
I'm proud am black 
A Nigerian without apologies! 

Yes! I have a dream.

Details | Free verse | |

You are My Mountain View.

I envy the self of me I will never have.
My lip quivers and I stroke my stubble
I this self walking down the street
well dressed, brooding with business and focus.
He's walks tall with a forward step.
He's creatively honest about everything,
confident that mystery doesn't lie,
it just won't answer all of their questions.

Gray his favorite color, wearing hats of style,
a glass-half-full smile his only value,
to say, to really say, "I'm one of you.
I am and always will be one of you."
Heading towards work thinking of family,
whispering himself dialogues he will have
with his husband and children; 
his eyes snacking on the light of the morning.

He dreams of what he knows he will give his children.
His cheeks rise subtly higher and he breathes,
wishing he could know his children even better,
than there would be more of himself to give them.
Never angry with his husband, he plans tender
nudges of love to prod his heart the courage
to simply ask his sweetheart to compromise with grace;
this flavor of love to creatively develop in his lover.

His lover, HIS LOVER, full of spit and vinegar,
stubbornly convinced all his ways provide success.
I this self agree except when sensing the alienation
that this lover has brought to his most treasured.
He  fixes his hat, smiles larger and looks up for a view,
"Where is my brightest view of the morning?
Where are the sights of my lover in these mountains?
I shall call him when I get to work of colors I see.
An tell him nothing is more beautiful than thee.

Inspired by Brad Pitt ;)
(no really is)

Details | Free verse | |


Working with the
great man, 
larger than life,
could be like living
in Los Angeles;
you might have 
a nice house
on a quiet street
with good neighbors,
but you knew
at any time, 
there could be a
drive-by shooting.

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 | |

pick up the torch

had Julian been even a sparkle in his 
mom’s eyes
when Ray put the pen to Fahrenheit 451,
one might have witness the light being 
straight from one hand to the next---
from Zamyatin to 
Huxley & from Huxley to
Orwell & from Orwell to
Mr. Bradbury & from Mr. Bradbury to
Burgess, from Burgess to Atwood &
onward &
as one picks up the torch,
cranking the floodlights on the 
dastardly deeds of the empire at hand
12 more flick on their lighters,
17 more strike matches &
light candles, whilst the flashlights,
the spotlights, the headlights,
the energy saving sunlight bulbs &
even the bug lights,
all spread like rampant wildfire
throughout the world,
continuing the tradition
(one of the few worth keeping)---
Julian & Wikileaks, Anonymous &
should not be assaulted but instead
hailed for what they are doing, 
as the work they are producing is
of immeasurable value to our species---
they all run with the flame burning bright &
though idiots across the board still
buy into the propaganda peddled by the
masters spending $5 billion a year in
the campaign to brainwash more of us
citizens into
we who work in the light
unafraid of these attempts still failing 
miserably on us,
raise our lights in unison
for one day this world will be lit
perpetually, and not the largest 
industrial blower of any kind
promulgated by the powers that be,
will be able to extinguish it.

Details | Free verse | |

Tumbling Into Leechdom

            Tumbling Into Leechdom

The Omo River Ethiopia has no roads or bridges there
It is my home of hope
There is no other way to live
Leeches were once everywhere within the Omo
Tributaries, brooks and streams attended them
Morning’s sun would glaze my eyes when I was young
Running with the muddied currents there
The rock along the centered way protruding on the surface
Destroyed my boat and fled as splintered pieces down the stream
Swirling their good-byes
 Discarding me right there abandoned 
From the shallows, fighting currents to find dry land
When I emerged, muddied, like some darkened creature 
Firm terrain found me dripping wet with leeches clinging head to toe
This would be my new life story
My river found friends and I set out to see the cunning man
The village shaman medicine man 
Who offered his daughter in exchange for them
I took trinkets and bottled goat milk instead
Finding the young girl too heavy for the road
These leeches are perfect for all the healings
Respiratory infections to demonic possession
Leech gathering is what I do
Along and in the Omo of Ethiopia

Details | Free verse | |

Gunnar Draft

I know about a man of the early morning, a simple man. No man of deep thought, accompanied by those who do not. He is a man that very much enjoys the cool lush grass. He likes to take his shoes off while he works, to feel the dew between toes, on his chest and his face. In stillness and pain incomprehensible; all thoughts are halted. What follows is profound silence, which is when the beast lifts the earth, dense muck. Limbs strained and back arched, a fresh ditch. Or a resting place?

Details | Free verse | |

Boardroom Bravado

Trapped in my mind, taking refuge from scurge who annoy me. 
Mouths move, words understood but sentences simply defeat me.
Over my head like live ammunition a garbled blurb shoots out a round. 
The talk I hear must be important from the nods and expressions I see.
I try to engage, say something clever but I'm out of my depth in this room.
All eyes on me, "be confident man" my inner self tells my good self.
So I speak of the graphs and figures projected but have no idea what they mean.
A silence then follows, then a few nods, nobody in this room has a clue. 
It's full of hot air, boardroom bravado and who can talk the most gibberish. 
With poker faces and arrogance aplenty my time in that room makes me sick.
The nausea continues week after week, next time I'm chairing the Board!

Details | Free verse | |



I spent all afternoon just filling out the application.
Actually it was about twenty five minutes if you don’t 
count the time waiting in line to fill it out.
The damn thing was four pages long, and they gave me a little pencil, 
like the ones they give out on golf courses, to fill it out with.
Some of the questions made me chuckle when I read them.
“Tell us about your past work experience.”
“How many licenses/certificates do you hold?”
“How many wpm can you type?”
That one made me laugh out loud.
I was applying for a job driving a hi-lo.
The Supervisor in charge of collecting the completed applications 
looked at me and smiled.
The one that really got me though was the one in the section they called the 
“Employment Agreement”.
It read: “Upon condition of employment would you be willing to submit 
to a background check and drug test.”
Submit, I thought, that word was ironic.
Yeah, I’ll stay up all night studying for the ‘drug test.’
I laughed so hard that I almost peed my pants.
When I finished, I handed it to the Supervisor.
She told me that she couldn’t help notice how much pleasure I 
expressed in filling out the application.
I told her I hadn’t worked in a little while.
She said, “Well, we are looking for enthusiastic types.
I’ll put your application in the ‘special’ pile.
I’ll go out on a limb and recommend you for the job.”
I thanked her.
She said she thought I would do well.
She said I seemed like the happy type.
I told her, Yeah, that’s me, happy.

Details | Free verse | |

Because Maybe I'm just crazy

I'm struck with a feeling
I can't shrug off
It's been here 3 years
Like a rusty old lock
I quit popping pills,
Though I'm still in fear
That I'll never escape 
after all these years
And I
Wish I didn't feel so alone
In my mental state confusion
No one is willing to feel this pain
It cannot be forgotten
It only starts again
Because I forgot about the days
When to work was just to play
When I couldn't help but feel so free
Because I wasn't ruining me
So for the first time ever
I got on my knees
And asked to someone I don't believe
In something I can't even see
Right at that moment I felt a breeze
In my heart, and someone said, 
Because I forgot about the days
When to work was just to play
When I couldn't help but feel so free
Because I wasn't ruining me...

Details | Free verse | |


Confusing as a jigsaw 
With just as many pieces 
I’m slowly taking you apart 
Charting the size of your heart

Cause I don’t want to be the 
Cause that makes you heart of ice thaw
Ill sit here like a voyeur 
And watch it all fall apart

Love only works if you work for it
Its like a barter system of feelings
Love is a candle that stays unlit 
Until the guy with the light brings the heeling 

I am only one girl
I have only one mind
You and your problems babe 
Are one of a kind

Twice I asked you to be mine 
And twice you ignored me
Once I thought of you and cried
Because your simply not for me 

Love only works if you work for it 
Its like a barter system of feelings 
Love is a candle that stays unlit 
Until the guy with the light brings the healing

So if you want me
Then tell me
And ill tell you
That I want you too
You’re the jigsaw puzzle baby
And I’ll be the glue

Details | Free verse | |

Bright Bottles

So many shelves filled with so many bright bottles
Tantalizing concoctions to make us sparkle like our dreams
Each one filled by a child’s blood
Mixed with the dying strength of a crumpled woman
And to no avail.
The magic promised by their pain disappoints—
The colors fade, the curls fall, the fabric rips
And with a dying scream, they are gone
With no one to mourn them
No one to plead for their lives
Bought at so cheap a price.

Details | Free verse | |

Of Cashiers and Cutters

Each day that I go to work,
I feel like I’m a zombie…
The smiling faces I put on are all just an act.

At the end of the day my jaw hurts from putting on these fake smiles, 
The smile that seemed to be permanently glued to my face…slowly fades.
I’m tired of making petty conversation, when I couldn’t give a damn…

But I guess it could be worse…
I could be that girl, the one I used to see every Thursday…
The one with razor-blade scars on her arms that made my stomach coil…

I’d ask her for her bonus card, casually, like everything was okay…perfectly normal…
She would hand it to me…cautiously, her hands always shaking.
I felt sorry for her…

No…I will not show her pity…
She’s probably sick of hearing everybody’s sympathetic nonsense…
No one can really understand unless they’ve been through it…

I can only imagine…but I too have felt like ending my own misery…
Sometimes I think of how I could change it all…
How I could change this ridiculous routine that I call my life…

But then I think twice and remember what I have… 
And then I thank my lucky stars that I’m smart enough to reconsider this…
Something so selfish and cowardice as suicide…

Then, my smile becomes real…
No more fake, happy-masks…I do give a damn…
I am truly thankful for what I have…

I am grateful for the job, home and loving family that I have …
I am also thankful that I have enough faith in God…
Enough faith that I would never take the life that was given to me…

Faith is not something to be taken lightly.
It’s something not all people have…
Something that this girl may not have had…

This job…only temporary,
I know I can move on…my life could be worse, but it isn’t,
I’ve taken so much for granted, its time to say “thanks.”

Details | Free verse | |

The Courier

Spinning spokes upon bustling narrow city streets
A two wheeled mouse amid prowling motorized cats 
Plays games of timing and finely tuned awareness

Sudden bus stops, springing car doors, and Jaywalkers
Each can be found within the dealer’s loaded deck
The sound of coasting, click, click, are barely heard 

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Details | Free verse | |


My heart doesn’t beat like yours any more
It’s held together with duct tape and string
Balloons pump my blood and gears turn the beat
Paper clips hold everything in place
I’ve noticed no one notices
Though I’m patched and stitched in places
And the seams stretch and pull and tear
They still feel open half the time
You see, I still work just fine
My limbs, they move, my mind, it thinks
Yes function over form, I still work just fine
Though the buzzing noise in a bit odd
And the paper clips often bend and break
Many pieces ought to be replaced
But I just can’t afford it now
Good hearts cost much more than what I make
And like I said, it works just fine
Most of the time, when the bits don’t break

Details | Free verse | |

Identity Crisis

I asked her who she was and
she told me what she did;
when she lost the job, the expense account,
she no longer knew who she was.

Details | Free verse | |

Two Special Cards

This year the financial problem haps.
On the holiday season,
I decide to gift only two cards
to my special chaps!

The first sent to big boss 
who set up the company for years,
made devices for patient’s hearts.
Under his commitments:
Legitimate employment! 
Quality competent!
The company fed thousands lives,
the products supplied worldwide.

The second gave to the janitor;
He picked up garbage,
Cleaned up offices, 
the lunch rooms and restrooms.
We met every working day,
he’s one of my workfellow.
The clean environs delighted
people’s eyes and mind:
Propping up the company’s quality.

All of them definitely 
move to the death.  
On their final days,
they can’t even pocket a penny!

Details | Free verse | |

The Stop Light

I stand at an intersection
A flashing light above my head
Over and over again
Never ending
Watching the empty roads
Animals run by
Never noticing its endless work
Weeds and dust blow by in the breeze
Floating away without stopping
Am I the only one to stop?
To look?
To notice?
I watch 
I have to feel admiration
This machine left alone
Minutes, hours, days, years
Working, waiting for someone to take notice
But, does it even want to be seen?
Does it care?
Or is it happy in the middle of its own world?

Details | Free verse | |

What I do, Just in Case

I awake in the morning, somewhere round four
Drink some coffee, shower, brush my teeth.
Dress for work and head for the door,

      I kiss my sons forehead, turn to leave, kiss it again.
                                           Just in Case!

I work hard during the day, Building houseboats,
Framing, nailing, paneling, roofs and floors,
Near completion, time to paint, I think two coats.

    I call my son at lunch; tell him I love him, not once, but twice
                                           Just in Case!

Get home in the afternoon, somewhere round three,
Have a cold drink, start dinner, relax a bit,
Talk with my son, ask what he did today, " Let me see"

               I hug him once, then hug him twice more,
                                            Just in Case!

When dinners done, and evening fades to night,
Dessert is gone, teeth are brushed and I tuck him in.
He asks me " Dad, will everything be alright?" 

   I kiss his forehead, hug him once, then twice, I tell him I love him
    Tell him again and turn the night light on!

                                           Just in Case!

                       What do you do?  Just in Case!....................


Details | Free verse | |


Subconscious maze of the 
cobwebs of my mind fade
as somehow
I continue a half-finished piece.
With simple pen and paper
I write pages of poetry
devoted to thoughts
which are flowing today.
Memories spring and churn
as my mind wanders,
slipping through my mental gardens;
ideas like roses spring into scenery.
Seeds of unborn stories,
based on yesterday's news
grow into castles of
solitary musings as the pen
unlocks the vellum page.

Details | Free verse | |

Didnt' see it

Walk in the door
Tables scream opportunities
Is this the best solution
Best possible income for those with degrees

Seems so wrong 
work soo hard behind a desk
Supposed to come out of top
Somehow you're at the start making minimum wage at best

We're told it's not what your country can do for you
But what you can do for your country
When your country outsources jobs for the bottom line
Loyalty and respect are no longer part of the design

Relationships are 50/50
This doesn't add up
I work hours and hours
What do you do?
Criticize how I do my job
Complain how profits are down..
Sob Sob Sob.

I don't want to hear it
Can't say you didn't see it
If they said they'd care
I'd never believe it
Its all a faux trust cloud
They want you to follow without a doubt
Give me bonus or commission
I don't want a gold star, this isn't cub or girl scouts. 
I'll get pleasure watching this CEO run this into the ground. 
When everyone is shocked they're fired on black Friday
I'll be starting a new business giving me endless paydays.

Details | Free verse | |

A flawed Prophet

I am a successful surgeon
but In reality I am a failure.
For I pay for the company of life.
I pay to be human,
pay for the understanding
that my patients receive for free.

I am the geek in the corner
the wall paper that eyes don’t see.
My bond is with god
for he shows me his creation
and I must correct his mistakes.

Vanity is to say such things
but the sick will come to my door.
They gamble that I could be a saviour
for fear is anointed by hope.

The good and the bad
will sell their convictions.
My hand can cheat 
the cards that god dealt,
and my face belongs to
this poker game,
we call life.

I am the fall guy too
who will walk down the corridor to hopeful eyes.
But remember where there is god
the devil exists too
and you will judge me.

For I must bare my soul
in the darkness of defeat
that tells your relatives that I lost.

I failed to grab the hand of life
which held the royal flush
that no player can defeat,
and I will feel your doubts
that perhaps I am not perfect.

In truth I am a glorified mechanic.
I am the surgeon that repairs your vices,
I am the bloody hands that remove your pain.
I can make you beautiful 
I can change your heart,
though I need the sacrifice of the departed to help.

And when age threatens your life
money will save the chosen few,
In the illusion of immortality.
Though time will always 
be the clown that will laugh at you

Some of you will feed on muesli
and preach of the morning jog.
Others will rely on alcohol and drugs
to take away their pain.
All will believe in immortality,
but decay can always wait for you.

I am the surgeon
Who chose this profession.
I shake the hands of the dead
I receive tributes from the living.

Sanity is a lonely place for me.
My indiscretion is grateful for her apartment
for I need her beauty to take away today
and a shower to wash away mankind.

She  removes my pain with love
so I can feel human for one more day. 
Sodom and Gomorra’s a small price to pay
for my patients to see
 the sun for one more day.

God never gave me good looks
but he gave me a steady hand.
A hand that can caress your heart
for I am a maverick that puzzles god.

In truth I could be a monster,
 I will not cry when you die.
Blood is just another day,
though I hate to lose
as all gamblers will tell you.

But who amongst you would care
About a stranger who gives you life.
For in truth even the devil
 would make me a hero,
as long as I save a sinners life.

Details | Free verse | |

on the ----ng over of Chelsea Welch: part II

now…what does a “pastor” do?
hmmm…a “pastor” reads to a flock of sheep from a work of
fiction, much like a mother might read to a small child from a
storybook &
when the eyes wide with belief begin to tear,
those swimming in idiocy shell out their hard earned cash
to the “pastor” who passes around the plate
in order to get funds for doing 
absolutely nothing.

a “pastor” does not work &
they get a tax break for doing so---
a “pastor” walks around with a self-righteous air & is
constantly referred to by idiot believers as 
“holy,” as somehow possessing a well of compassion
that others just can’t muster.

a “pastor” has a job for life if they want it---
s/he never has to worry about the restaurant going under,
s/he never has to worry about getting so stressed out one night
and losing it on a customer,
s/he never has to worry about dropping dead while on the clock
from being smothered in stress.

but this one, this special Alois Bell, 
who felt the need to make reference to the fact that she pays
“only 10% to god” & 
then went on to complain about tipping Chelsea,
via the very receipt in dispute,
she wants to take things further.  

she felt to make it known 
that because she believes in this fictional character &
has taken up this juicy job to boot,
that she can stick it to those who work for peanuts
& who could give a **** about
said fictional character---
now in this absurd world we live in,
the waitress who was just doing her job
no longer has one,
because Applebee’s wants to save its ass in the PR 
because we aren’t allowed to see what these 
money grubbing,
vial opportunists,
really are---
we aren’t allowed to see the veil lifted,
until they rape a young boy, etc. 

Details | Free verse | |


A Village Fisher Man

It is a village surrounded by sea
with drizzles and chill air
some huts facing the sea
to welcome the captain from the task

he is thirty by thoughts
and by his arms and shoulders
he is strong and dare to face:
the storms and mighty waves

he is a man of hard work with smile
he never tires by his work at sea
sharks and whales are his sweet enemies
that may give wounds and money at work
in one storm night
he mingled his life with sea
cause of the mighty waves
his hut and people:
are waiting to welcome his arrival

Sakthi Ravi Chandran



Details | Free verse | |

Bloody hands

I work from day to day.

Sweat pouring down my face 

My eyes getting more weary everyday.

My hands hurt but I need them to keep on working

trying to make it , I might not even care if one day they

started to bleed.

I just need to make it to the next day then 
maybe I can lay my head down and sleep to 
let my bloody hand heal 

Details | Free verse | |


what does it mean to "scream"?
is it simply to raise your voice?
or is it something you do, not a sound you make?

It is not my nature. I won't raise my voice like that.
This is my "scream".

i'll put every ounce of my energy into my promise.
i won't ever give up! you can't make me!
even if i'm all alone, i'll fight until it's over.

there's an explosion in the sky.
god is dead! rejoice!
freed of your shackles of fairytales and blinded faith,
lead the way to a revolution!

This is my silent "scream".
My head held high, pride uncaged and diffidence slain.

as long as the chance exists, as long as there's hope
i'll keep chasing my dream
the day i made a promise to you was the day the cogs began to turn
the day when color suddenly burst into my life!
i know i won't emerge from the road unharmed
but, no matter what, i won't step out of the ring.

Details | Free verse | |

examples of attempted compromise

i will talk about flowers
if you will talk about togetherness
i will walk beside you
if you will agree to slow down
you can have your freshly brewed coffee
if you can accept my concentrated orange juice
i will check out the abstract art of you
if you will look at the iridescent paint splotches of me
i will just tell you that i love you as you love me
if you can accept that and kiss me in that 'you' way
i will get in touch with my sensitive side
if you will freely admit that you too have flaws
i will meet you at a busy interesction
if you are willing to join me on a one way street
i will gladly go with you in the exact same direction
if you will finally conclude this crap so we can get something to eat!

Details | Free verse | |

...of Wise words (A Writer never recognized goes Wacko-Wise)

Writing is one thing I do daily
Early in the morning
My mind will be humming
So wise the words of wisdom sounds
Alike a rice free of sands
Helping to humanity
Teaches you humility
Makes you a star in your community
You live with impunity
A wise man is not questioned

When you are wise
You turns unique
People begin to mimic you
These are the words that make sense
The words that are sensible enough to bring light of information
Its information cure deformation
The formation of wisdom in the citizens is the development of the nation in all angles
It is citizens that owns a country and not country that owns them

Leniency brings light to the world, and makes right for a nation
Where wise men are filled, nothing lacks
Where knowledge is being stored is treasured with higher value
Where wise information are being shared, you don't see much deformation
Life has many things to give for those who are wise
Wiseness is not only information, but a gift of rational thinking
Talent is a gift of

Details | Free verse | |

9 AM Reaming

You’d like to tell them,
those middle management flunky
shove it up your ass, &
maybe you should’ve
told them!

But then you remembered
He told them, just that!
More balls then brains.

They crucified him,
like Christ
he never did come back
after three days…….

Details | Free verse | |

The land of greediness.

Low and selfish motives,
toss back one's head,
and my shoes are worn out.
Which horse won the first race ?
Woe to the vanquished !!
Youth must have its fling.
My old folks,
in the state of neglect,
were paralyzed with fear,
in prospect of a dirty deal.
I couldn't resist laughing,
as i keep the change of life,
in my trouser pocket.
My pride can't be idle for a moment,
and the howl of the wind,
rage all day,
asking for my incorporation.
Welfare work made the public good,
and stupidity transmuted iron into gold,
in the name of humanity.
Wealth has altered him,
and my shoes are worn out,
in the land of greediness.

Details | Free verse | |


Sit quiet; look deep into my eyes,
Find my center and drown yourself there.
Slowly let go..let your channels run free..
Look deep; let me have your power.

I am with you; I am holding your hands,
Let your dark pain flow to me..
This magnetism, locks our eyes firmly..
I invade you and let you live freely again.

This is based on the work of Anton Mesmer
A German physician who lived 1724-1815
His early work  led to the  development of 
Hypnotism by J Braid later in the 1840's

reposted for my assignment...Hypnotism

Details | Free verse | |


Being shackled to a couple of dead man than thrown off from a boat
The river Styx is so polluted with lost and abandonned souls
Screaming bullets riddle the twighlight piercing holes into the night
Incarseration within a bubble ready to burst inside my mind
The language barrier has thickened as communication begins to die
Am I being disassembled, disconnected, sent to a desert and classified
Because I am nothing but an empty shell a former image of myself
Just give my hands a steal bible and watch me live through hell
Where prayers echo into the infinate but are as shallow as a cell
So sit upon your angry chair where noone cares to hear the stories that you tell
The Deciever likes to whisper the wrong choices into my ear
But I believe remorse leads to redemption so I shall not fear
You see I am not frightened by darkness and I am not afraid of heights
I was nurtured in a dark womb and since birth Ive been reaching for the sky
Peripheral vision is no illusion because I can see you by my side
Just give me the stripes that I came for and let me do my time

Details | Free verse | |

Self Destruction

Self destructive, even writing on pages without lines feels chaotic and liberating 
even though I know the frustration I will feel as my words slope downwards, down 
words. They angle, pitching against my embedded need for order and yet I fight 
them I struggle to keep the line-to see the line-I'll walk that line-can't stay in line-
always last in line-do not cross this line-that line-THE FINE LINE!!! Obsessed with 
the line which makes perfect sense yet none at all and the shortest distance 
between two points is a straight line and I always thought I loved straight lines. But 
I combat that translucent self declaration by my blatant deviance from that line. 
Don't get out of line-will I lose my place what am I waiting for? Don't get out of line - 
am I misbehaving inflicting my own consequences?  Self destructive, seeing if I can 
break, take a break, break in time, break it off, breaking down, braking fast, failing 
brakes, I drive too fast, in such a rush, I need the rush, I need to breathe, can't 
catch my breath, I am breathless, and now I'm weight less, weight on my shoulders, 
bear the weight, can I bare the wait, wait for me, wait one cotton picking moment, in 
this moment, momentary lapse, memory lapse, running laps, running in place, where 
is my place, I've been misplaced. Self destructive, too reluctant to restore order, may 
I take your order, don't give me orders, I like disorder, I love misconduct, code of 
conduct, code of honor, in your honor, I'll honor you. Self destructive, seep into the 
wall, against the wall, behind the wall, behind the scenes, the scenery green, 
envious green, green like greed, greed is need with no hope for survival no Savior, 
revival. Self destructive, psychologically damaged, damaged goods, previously 
owned, needs a good home, welcome home, no place like home, run away from 
home, homeless, helpless, hopeless, more or less, better or worse, it looks worse 
than it is.
Self destructive, but progressing, work in progress, needs some work, work on me, 
work with me, piece of work, work for peace. I am at piece piecing together the 
things I have broken when I had no brakes to take a break to find my peace. Self 
destructive, my nature is to conclude the inconclusive, wrap it up neatly, nice little 
package, suspicious brown package, but I can't, I refuse to this time, what time is it, 
out of time, some other time, stop wasting time, no not this time, need to make the 
time. Still self destructive, the scars don't show, not all the time.

Details | Free verse | |

Evening Portraits

The smooth caress
of porcelain…
twenty pearls
inside a shell…
the gaze from marbles
as lightning strikes…
the maiden speaks
without a word.

Flashes of amber
like stars from heaven…
subtle rays 
at dusk…
twilight, denied
of darkness…
mirrors guide
the moon.

The breeze, 
hums a song…
harmony of light
and a strip of film…
praises given,
yet abrupt…
barely heard,
more often than not.

A different vogue
for every frame…
the smile in lips
has still remained…
though in the eyes, 
tears have welled…
and trickle slowly
down each cheek.

Details | Free verse | |

ham 'n egger, desperate

off hours,

quiet heartbeat,
soft breathy moisture,

deep bed warmth,
a cold creased topcase,

quiet dark stillness,
with metronome broken,

carpet closeness,
around casement shadows,

faucet spilled,
in heart’s blood offered,

stretched across,
my low light limping,

dew claw shattered,
a morn’ alarmed,

apparition shifted,
in sunray sorted,

self same dentrifice,
snorted crimpons,

silver sharpened,

off I go.

Details | Free verse | |

Yard Work

On dead, dry, summer afternoons

I used to watch my dad work around the lawn

his dusty, brown work gloves carried the wheel barrow

or leaned the shedding ladder against the house.

The briny voice of the radio tells the score

while the sun plays in the trees.

I make my own games on the ground.

Later, Mom will call the dogs in

and Dad will lay the fertilizer over the yard.

tangy rays of sunlight will cut across the barbwire

and cars will pass the mailbox home from work,

so they can enjoy BBQ dinner.

Details | Free verse | |

Works of Art

Have you ever seen
The portrait of a dog
Painted on the road,
Not in the great tradition
Of living colours as you’d 
Expect, but in all the 
Terror and detail of
An untimely death?

Have you ever seen
The sketch of an imposing house
Rendered not in vibrant charcoal
But the coal of shattered
Hopes and burnt out hulks-
The work of the Great Artist above
Or the mean imitation of an earthly forger?

Have you ever seen 
The picture of an ocean beach
With dark waters lapping
The fish-laid shore,
Not the magnum opus of
A master in oils; but
The work of an oil slick?

Have you ever seen
These great Works of Art?
And have you ever wondered why
You had to be
The great portrait
Of a Master Caricaturist?

Details | Free verse | |

Little Ant

Little ant,
you work all day,
do you ever take time to play?

Details | Free verse | |

the real macabre

beneath the veneer of a stable self
beneath the thin veil required to 
pass through our own everyday reality
s/he bears just beneath her/his skin
the gnashing of the teeth &
s/he does it so well that
one would never ever pick up on it---
and as americans,
we are fixated on our own morbid fascination with
we go to theaters, we rent dvds,
we make pilgrimages to the actual sites where murders have taken place
(now turned into tourist traps) &
we breathe it all in deeply,
all in the attempt to get closer to the experience
without jumping right off the edge ourselves---
we smell, taste & writhe in the slashing, gushing blood,
knowing the names of all the famous serial killers by memory &
waiting for another to pop up in the 6 o’clock news
with butterflies in the stomach of mediocrity
biting our nails as if we were just about to ask someone out on a 
but s/he continues in her/his own routine,
having fed on the same culture that we have
having consumed everything thrown at them &
having grown weary of stimulants 
that just don’t work anymore,
s/he is the next door neighbor of us all
s/he resides in the apartment down the hall
s/he may work in the schools with the children of the nation 
s/he may wear the uniforms of those that are supposed to save us &
s/he may stand behind a pulpit or podium,
carnivorous & full of a need for
and yet the next time it does happen
we sit in awe remarking 
“what a travesty,”
listening to “experts” give their detailed histories
pontificating quotidian comments like
“if s/he hadn’t been a killer, s/he would have been able to do so much with
her/his life,”
as if not one of us knew where the real macabre lies. 

Details | Free verse | |

Poetical Intentions

Poetical Intentions 
Poetical Intentions 
There was once an American dream 
A house a job and a car or three with a cat in the yard 
And the yard in Malibu Beach is this dream still out of reach 
What is wrong with this picture is the angle of the stream 
The entrance of the price list the fortune is too steep 
The thing you want for money is my soul 
Just let it tremble all away the underneath of tree is fine for a place to lay me 
down to sleep just keep the drunks and murderers from me and let me rest in 
peace and poverty 
Hard at work or hardly working are you holding up that fence by leaning on it are 
you concerned at all with the work to hand 
What-what-what am eye paying you for where is the thing where is the fun the toil 
and sweat is left somewhere else to do today 
Eye must begin to win the poverty away to gamble and to theft 
To golden gods and goddesses bereft   
Eye am a poet with intentions. 

Details | Free verse | |

Constructive Criticizer

Don’t give me the meat
Throw me the bone
Hide the pot
And teach me to fill my belly
From barely anything

Details | Free verse | |

A List Of Things To Forget

            A List Of Things To Forget

If it is the sole purpose of the mind to define
The mind as such, simply a connecting organ
To keep order in all there is, all the time
Let’s get going with a list of everything there is
Starting from A to Z…. There….Done…That was simple
I can’t remember to forget or forget to remember everything
But there are trees and fish and living things for the list
Crystals, pistols, rocks and not so living items to add
I can’t forget God or there’s no eternity for me
So He goes on
And forget about the devil
He follows everywhere with lists of everything demonic
Mountains and pins go on the list
Both are easy to remove if need be 
And I can always add them later
I almost forgot about math
I’ll need it to count stars and planets if it comes to that
The most important things on the list today;
           Milk and eggs and bread
           If I forget the eggs
My wife will beat my ass instead of them  
So, *Not on the list of things to forget
They stay on and on the tip of memory
Even if it takes more energy

Details | Free verse | |

the hours and the company you keep

the hours & the company you keep

just how do you spend your hours &
the company you keep?
do you spend your days alone,
nose to the grindstone,
nose to the grindstone?
a good little american does what 
the rich wealthy white forefathers 
they keep their nose to the grindstone 
working their knuckles to the bone in
puritan purity, keeping the work ethic 
preserving the has-been tradition in amber
like there was a special fair just around 
the corner,
where one could be exhibited as
the last productive person to ever walk
the plank of the empire---
so where will it all go?
what will the producer have to show for
themselves, if they don’t make it 
in the great place still called the
“land of the free,”
by some, who have yet to spend time here &
find out that they never should’ve left
wherever they came from?
if one doesn’t prioritize a life
with friends & family at the top of the 
drowning out all commitments to business &
jobs, work & the state,
the hours spent with the nose to the grindstone 
are hours spent as a slave---
for you, yes you, 
are in wage slavery
a slavery in which you happily sing a tune
as they come crashing down with the lash,
taking away pensions, taking away health care,
taking away
taking away,
until it’s all gone---
better to have others to fight with
when the other shoe drops,
than to have devoted a life to the process &
the system that devours it.

Details | Free verse | |



Years of ironing starched shirt collars
for my father and the aprons
we wore for cookery class in school,
gave a polished surface to the clothes iron.

The end opened like the lid of a box
and out came the large stone which
we buried in the centre of the open fire,
until it turned pink-red, like a slab of jelly.

With the tongs we lifted the stone
from the fire, transferred it to the iron
and began ironing the clothes.
As we moved it over and back

on the garments, the creases vanished.
Every fifteen minutes we placed the stone
back in the fire, until clothes for seven of us
were neatly ironed and stacked,

ready for another week


Details | Free verse | |

The World Is Changing

The world is changing
Even the sky is a darker shade of blue
And the squirrels are at war	
With the snakes
The acorn fell to the wrong side of the tree
And the snakes say, “The acorn is for me.”
   The seasons have become bold
Nature has come to reclaim her domain
And the elephants are chasing
The cheetah
The water hole is a sacred place
The cheetah winces, falls from grace.
Ice rain falls from the heavens
Reshaping all that is
The birds together in mixed confusion
As the falcon carries away the cow
A feast of feasts to feast upon
Until the bone and marrow are gone.
   The polar caps have melted
Has the earth moved closer to the sun?
The penguins are armed with rifles
Killing off the polar bear
Save the polar bear, the creed
A new endangered species.
   The forest has found ending
Trees are placed in designated positions
And the stingray becomes the mortal enemy
Of man
The world is indifferent to all
Maybe things will be better in the fall.

Details | Free verse | |

passing through art in a plausible idea

whose work is this, you think you know.
you’ve watched them develop, watched them grow;
they stare back from the mirror pane & 
get inside you, festering in your brain.

the tools are used, the pen it writes,
the brush it paints, the keyboard types &
between those dreams you illustrate
are nightmares fought off 
it grows

s/he brews the coffee, s/he pops a pill,
s/he smokes a joint, s/he gulps down her/his swill---
this project upon which s/he pours energy
is what keeps her/him in tact, it lets her/him

this work is “lovely, dark, and deep” & 
far more important than any sleep,
so do what you love & do it cheap
so do what you love & do it cheap.

Details | Free verse | |

the rare gift of a second chance

you may have heard me come in
from a silent place i lend a hand and you come with sunshine
a dream long forgotten brings back memories of solid regret
i then realize that i have been given the rare gift of a second chance
this time i will sit down with you and take in the art of your changes
so many colors and definitions make you shine yet even more
nonexistent are the clouds and raindrops that gave you such a wilted stance
happiness has been rerouted to a place where growth and maturity can both get their proper care
without words we make a declaration of a promised youth got in the way of so many lifetimes ago
i may have caught your new debut
it is such a refreshing feeling to be uplifted by the upgraded designs that this renewed you
now i know for sure i must come correct and treat you like this new crowned queen in front of me with a presentation of such class and flawlessness
i will be up to the new excursions and its roads of unpredictability but it will be a blessing worth my wile
emotions overwhelm me while at the same time changes the scope of the current of my current world
i myself in a trance as we retrace our steps and begin our reworking to plant the seeds that should have been miles of enchanted forest all those years ago
all we can do is try now and we are willing to touch the sky now and there hope in the joy as we cry now

Details | Free verse | |

Medium of Expression

My palette is my imagination. 
I paint pictures with my words. 
Swirling colours of composition. 
Mixing metaphors - agitating them 
with the paintbrush in my mind. 

My vocabulary is my keyboard. 
Trilling notes of expression. 
Crescendo of composition... 
tumbling, falling....allegro, or 
andante, and harmonised in my creativity. 

My glossary is my tapestry. 
Fixed firmly to the frame of verbal 
inventiveness.  Stitched in synchronacity. 
Cross stitched sometimes - or 
tacked in draft for later publication. 

I cannot sing to you in thrilling arias. 
I cannot paint for you on colourful canvas. 
I cannot play for you in perfected pitch. 
I cannot hang my works of art, 
but I can write what's in my heart - 

and, maybe, I'll touch yours? 

Details | Free verse | |


A particle in time
Ready to be seized.

A fragile instance
That can disappear

A state of urgency
That fades with uncertainty.

If ignored,
slips away 
from the grasp
previously had

But never seized.

Details | Free verse | |

White Flag

Not powerful enough
Not strong enough
Just not good enough
Surrendering my will
Passion is gone
I'm defeated

Details | Free verse | |

Juan Rung

Juan Rung




is a zero

i didn't love: are
you now a dad
am i now a mummy

i won't wear black
to the wetting
play the number ten

hope we win
so Hope we smoke
or was it Marlboro

the bang with a gust
or just a hoarse voice
teasing: are we good

here's the loser
u call ur husband
release a song

once more 
boy with a letter

Details | Free verse | |

Prelude To Sorrow

I am the one that answers Death's call,watching and waiting
for strong fronts to fall.

Sooner or later I'll take over your every thought, no matter the
length of time that you faught.

My power over your mind will take over your body as well,
how long this will last you never can tell!

First you will cry and sleep throughout the day, no pill you take
can send me away.

You're falling apart now, man am I good! All that awaits you is the man with the 

It's not time for that yet though my turn isn't done, I can't let you go now this is just 
getting fun!

All your curtains are drawn you want no company, all you have left is little ole ME!

This is too easy this game that I play, you don't care anymore if it's night or it's day.

Crying and sleeping are all that you do, it won't be long now before
my friend comes for you.

Death is my best friend and Pain is my twin, noone else can see us
we work from within.

I've won this battle my work here now through, I'll move on now to
the ones that mourn you.

Your sleep now eternal I'll move on to another, I found my next victim this time it's 
your mother.

So now my torture will start all over again, there's always another victim you see 
Death's my best friend!!

Details | Free verse | |

We Are Never Free

We are never free,
We are slaves, slaves with free will
But free will is too an illusion
An illusion of us as a nation,
An illusion that shows justice raining supreme
But supreme, is the devil with his lies 
And nothing but lies, that lie with the truth of all deception
We are but stems planted,
In the soil of their commands.
They water us with thoughts,
That continues to divide us
”OUR MINDS IS NOT OF OUR OWN” shouts the child
It is of men with power, 
It is of woman with power,
And of the shadows that strings their lips,
And governs the words they say,
Words that they say us,
To reassure us
US the slaves with “free will”.
A dept which never ceases to grow,
And grow like the greed that grows in US.

Details | Free verse | |

Assembly-Line Infix

we crimp
we stamp

bang bang


putting parts

bang bang


thinking only
of our

bang bang



Details | Free verse | |

A tribute to poetry soup readers

Thank you, for the time
That you spent reading my poems
Listening to my thoughts
Comforting my fears
Easing my pain.

Thank you, for the criticism said
That built me up and made me grow
Your kind gestures encouraging quotes
Made every stroke, every word easier than the first.

Thank you, for the comments made
Best wishes sent
Which gave me hope in order to cope.

Thank you, for all the years 
You chose to follow my work
These words are for my readers everywhere
Thank you, for bringing out the best in me.

Details | Free verse | |

Corporate Pig

Idle conscience profits
on the above gray
And betrays its greed
under a purple sky
Without thought

Details | Free verse | |

commuter's joe

her hair
wisps of copper filament
like sea fans on deep pillows
spread out above duvet
broken silhouette 
from bed warmth venting
reluctantly, with lidded eyes
fighting blue-black cold as
I arise and shake off 
clinging hands of sleep
clumsily I make water
playing footsies with the cat
glances in a spotted looking glass
stumble on a toe
hygiene habit whoop-de-doo
another day in the role of man
step right up
step it up
daily three ring has begun
music only sotto once
as I glance deep in my eye
wondering if my heart's gone dumb
(was it truly once fierce & free?)
unsure if my soul was meant to fly
but asking meaning now 
is meaningless
furrows plowed and dimming pass
commuter's music fills the air
mumbling desperate on the pike
shuffle up, hook it up,
file out to the door
no time
no time for
seesaw for a mood
sparrows for a mind
vegetably, I regret nothing

Details | Free verse | |

straighforward sassafras

straightforward sassafras
spicy surprise
give it to me hotter
i will return much more than the favor

the journeys we have made to get here
has had its bumps in the road
we spun till nauseatingly dizzy
we rolled till hoarse and out of our minds
we landed on the anvil of an almost broken union
we arrived at a paradise we never realized was lost at sea
we swatted the sun dead
we revitalized the moon alive
we settled for less
we traveled for more
we froze near to death on the ice of silence
we found medicinal bliss in the warm hot tub of social emotion
a soft peck to wet, passionate kisses have lead us to here....

straightforward sassafras
spicy surprise
give it to me sweet and sticky
i will adjourn with what you love to savor 

Details | Free verse | |

Green Back addict

                                                                 Green-back addict
Ambition is the keys to unlocking all the doors. Enthusiasm or courage can 
possibly put an end to world hunger. But let’s be honest, who need courage 
when you got that instant almighty dollar.Remember this: the “cowardly lion” 
don’t have to fight when he’s rolling in something with plush interior. That’s right!
I got my eye on business, your business that is. 

And don’t do me any favors; because I don’t want any type of paper, I want 
your “ye'pper”. The gross point of this is, love still don’t pay my bills.
Unless I can, Can it up and stock it on shelves for fools like you to buy it 
wholesale. I want you to turn me own.To you your stocks and bond,With me 
about your vivid dollar signs, I like to see it sprawled all out on table, in 
untraceable 20’s and 50’s.

It’s dirty, and it makes you fresh and clean, you’d want to be me. Day and night, 
anything else would be uncivilized. I’m true, I care  to spend your money, on 
clothes, pearls, at fast car dealerships, I want that diamond life.
All color jewels, right off an Arabian prince’s hand.

I marry folks that resemble “Franklin”; I’m not too smitten with the Washington 
family.I need her and she needs me. I’ll stick her in my purse, meanwhile 
pocketing your accounts, that Swiss cheese is what I need. Call me old fashion, I 
like that 100-year old money, give up those decrepitude figures, I’ll spend it to 
smithereens. Giving that old girl a new attitude!

Wealth will withstand my impulse, to kill in these stores over seas and in your 
town, buying top designers: Fendi’s, True Religions, Red Monkey’s, Baby Phat, 
Valentino’s, Dolce & Gabbana’s, Couture, Coach bags, Gucci shoes, Jimmy 
Choo’s, Ralph Lauren’s and Versace.
Max lip glosses, botox and make me over after the swelling go down. Nip and 
tuck me in. read me a story, out the newspaper, not the funnies. I only go to sleep 
to clabbered-up chatter on how my addiction has foreclosed another billionaire’s 

That greenish blue piece of paper got me firing my best friend, a widow with 5 
kids and no health insurance. (Oh yes I did).Sad part is, if she got have a chance, 
she would have done the same.Don’t frown up your face, Ok, put it this way…
 When I can make profit off a packaged haters, then we’ll do lunch. Until then I’m 
going to see if Larry H. Parker have girlfriend, money calls … 
 You know the story.


Details | Free verse | |

Hardcore satanists

world wars your mongering for
the big satanic bloodbath
more appealing to god
then two homosexual men
The devil may cry
my favorite angel facing a feat of unequal measure
since you know soo much about him
live it everyday
you never let him live this down
just work on making yourselves miserable
you look soo happy that way
words you read by the best
your own walking contradiction
so caught up in getting what you want at anycost
you forgot what he wanted
and there is a price to pay
signed yourself up for a fight that isnt yours
the rules you live by
they are enforced
you cant scramble away from this fast enough
the lie you live for power
lesser of two evils presented to you
path of least resistance corners you again
sing yourself to suicide ever soo sweetly
the shortest straw has no alibi
and i think its funny
Jesus has some truth to tell him
slip the witch a missing letter
she doesnt mind bringin him back to life
even the devil you know
splattered all over your pages
the philosophy you seem to live everyday
offered you a short term power
and we just throw you away
came to get my favorite angel
something youve been denying yourself the whole time
trivial pursuit of endless lies manipulating yourselves this way is such a shame
now i'm not obligated to help you
you had a choice
the game of life you signed up for is coming round again
faster than you think
your underground rivalry of seeking after power
i paid the devil to see if you would make this mistake
then you did and i agreed he could do the dirty work in jesus name
the truth will get you in karmic laws you forgot about
threefolds of being humbled
and humbled and humbled again
wont even help you, you cant get away
hardcore satanists dressed up as saints messing up their own destiny
did the world not tell you
life is a test?
you were tested
you failed
the devil was in on it
enjoy your bloodbaths of endless wars in hell
the world kept this under rug swept
and now for you there is no way out
paid the devil for me
and jesus will eventualy set him free from the you he doesnt want
your not fathoming this properly
jesus was tortured so you wouldnt be
the letter gone missing
now whose got a face to blame
hardcore satanists
my favorite angel loves me
he wouldnt allow me to live this nightmare
so hes taking you far far away

Details | Free verse | |

the layoff

more the norm than the exception
in this wonderful capitalist rape room
where coming into work can mean
leaving early without a job & a
pink slip, with a pat on the back & a
“thanks for being such a good worker”---
armed with all the facetious nonsense
that emanates from the mouths of 
higher-ups, whose jobs are just a little
more secure than your own,
making them bent further over the table
with the drill shoved so deep up inside
them that you couldn’t pull it out with
a ****ing forklift,
if you even dared to try.

and on the day you come in &
they’ve taken away some of your coworkers,
leaving you “alive” as far as the workforce 
goes (for one more day), you feel an odd
sense of guilt & blame, like it should have,
like it could have, like it will be you---
much like on imagines a survivor of a plane
crash sees the deaths of their co-flyers as
a precursor to their own fessing up to 
that certainty of mortality,
you close your mouth with a sudden horror---
because these people were your friends,
as far as the workplace is concerned---
you’ve spent hours, weeks & years with 
them & their fate has been decided with a 
****ing red pen & a greeting at the door
when they were coming in, 
because the higher-ups didn’t even have the
goddamned decency to give them a call
prior to the beginning of the work day---
so now, they hang their heads, some cry,
and in the eyes of all of them is a new
terror…a head full of “what am i gonna do?”
adding them to the legions of 
america’s growing unemployed---
oh the wonderful “land of the free,”
where you can smile as long as you are

tomorrow, they go online to file for
unemployment, to start the hardest job that
there is---
for a

and you miss them.
and you hope the best for them.
and you know the cards are stacked against them.
and you know neither obama or romney is gonna
****ing help them.
and you go to sleep so you can get up in the morning &
go back to the slaughterhouse,
hoping today isn’t your day (always tense & ready for your
time) &
hoping that wherever they are,
that they are ok.

Details | Free verse | |


The monotony enough to drive a poor man mad But what is an old man’s heart in the eyes of production Money’s what we want! Money’s what we want! Let the children work The women too For next to nothing, anything they’ll do Coughing up blood? There’s always another The machines are too dangerous for unshod kids Doesn’t matter Doesn’t matter What are you going to do?

Details | Free verse | |


Poet's eyes
Closed by reality
Hands bound by housework
Insanity prolonged by repetition
Exit door locked
Key lost in yesterday
Can it be found?

A copy of a life once lived may be
But is it reality for you?

Conformity, the angel of death to a free spirit
Raising its head to modern day life

Fairytale dreams of revolution cloud dreams
As life soars on the clouds of the future
We take another step into tomorrow

Nothing more to conclude
Nothing more to imagine
Nothing more to give
Society has won
One more tally on the score sheet
One more person driven insane

Details | Free verse | |

Flashback & Forward Days

Many moons ago in autumn
I often sucked my thumb
Cuddled up in my little crib
I couldn’t even see my ribs

I would say gaga moomoo
While looking at the moon
That was so much fun then
Oh my, time is on the go

Now I am paddling my canoe
Wondering what info is new
With chap sticks on my lips
Taking this multitasking trip

Looking forward to the day
When I can with honesty say
Time to kick back and relax
Without swinging this axe

© Joseph, 11/2/07
© All Rights Reserved

Oh well, you know what I mean.
Keep scratching your head. It’s figurative!  
Got you~lol...hehe!!!

Details | Free verse | |

Random Thanks

This is a random thanks going out to all of you who have commented on my poetry so far.
It really keeps me going with my writing, to know that there are people out there who
truly do enjoy reading it.
Special Thanks to Carol Brown, who has been commenting on my poems, basically ever since I
started with this site.

So thank you very much!!

PS:  ALL OF YOUR POETRY IS AMAZING, keep writing, show the world that writing is still
alive, and beautiful as ever!

Details | Free verse | |

Technical Difficulties

The phones are dead all around
sitting here without a light
I don't have any dial tone
nothing to do, except write
I get paid to sit and wait
collecting not a penny
technical difficulties

Details | Free verse | |



Families should be together on Xmas day
Some kids’ folks are wealthy
They work abroad, but they never 
Fail to come at Xmas for a whole week and see the kids
Their house is specially decorated for homecoming
Like a huge icing-covered cake
A professional Santa is hired, (electronic sleighbells,)
To  perform ho-ho-hos and give out toys
At the big party
It is excellent to see.

Some kids’ folks are ordinary
They work in the local steel plant
Their houses have no special icing
To show it’s Xmas, no circus tricks
The  sleighbells  are done by dad 
Amusing the kids, jangling keys on a shoestring
Mum gives her  attention as they sing and play
And joke and do yard-work together every day
Xmas is not special, it is every day for them.

Details | Free verse | |

All the poets on the soup!

Be it day or late at night
They fight

To pen their next thoughts
Charismatic, romantic, sadness, fights

Friendship, hurt, hate, war, or plain silliness
Poets reach for their inspiration and access

While others thrill with anticipation to absorb
Floating in another place as an orb

Are poets …

Though we don’t always know their face?
But should all embrace

These wonderfully talented people
Share their work shout it out as high as a steeple

Poets are everyday creative folk
They’ll have you laughing at one of their poetic jokes

Poets will take an event or place
And step it up a notch with grace

They can make you feel and see, is thou you were right there
I declare they have a unique flare

Today I say I wish to celebrate the poets on soup
What a fun interesting wonderful group!

(Thank you all of you for your wonderful work and passions)
And thank you to the owner of soup for making all this happen!

Details | Free verse | |

Little boy caught between blocks of past and present before

Little boy caught between blocks of past and present before freedom
Mommies not here anymore she ran for her first love
Daddies don’t care anymore he is behind that war line
And I am a warrior now with these bullets at six
Parents sold me to the slave master on the block
I must work to survive
Ancestor plowed the field I plow their minds
At six before you a new hustle
Rappers try to capture my soul in words
Words don’t mean nothing here
Because parent don’t mean anything here
Before this hell I am free in my mind
Spelling and math don’t mean  nothing here
Slave on the block
Once I make something out of nothing daddy will return
Mommies still is with her first love, first love
And I am one of a million right under the flag
Under the ground, slave on the block
Nothing is the only word I learned from master here on the block 
Sold by my mother to this life, this life is all I got
Sunlight creeps in above 4:00 cause that’s what my brother says
I claim him cause he three and sick with AIDS they tell me he will die
His parents left him for their first love
Master says we are safe from the man next door who loves children to death
I work the block my brother works in the store
I make more but he is related to master
Brother can read at three, I think he is three he is smaller I am bigger
I work hard on the block, real hard beyond my age
I hustle, what ever that means, I hustle and you think I am a juvenile 
I am a man at six with the world before me 
Shhhh!! Quiet don’t talk master is coming I must go to bed.

Details | Free verse | |

Crying on the Coward's Birthday

Emily wakes up laughing
but I see tears upon her pillow.
She's so far away from
shoulders and sleeves.
Remembering surrendering.
No more pajama tops
or secrets in the dark,
just a flame burning slowly down to spark.
Where and when
then and there
she's losing track of details.
She punches the clock
and puts together
pieces of permanent plastic.
She hears a song,
her strength is gone.
She lays down her munitions.
Crying on the coward's birthday.

Details | Free verse | |

Dear Poetry Soup Member ( A letter)

       Allow me to get straight into the matter.  If I have offended anyone with my poetry that 
has been posted on this site, I deeply apologize.  I'm 32 yrs old, and I am very mature 
although some of my work can be way out there.  I'm also still learning.  You guys should 
know my dad Marty Owens posts all my work because I am incarcerated and don't have 
computer access.
       Now about my "adult content" pieces, it was brought to my attention, these poems 
are "turning people off."  My fellow poets, have you read these pieces?  Most are not totally 
sexual!  There may be a couple sentences that are erotic and if so, I place "adult content."  I 
feel some poets are just not open-minded and quite frankly "too old school."  After all this is 
2010 and we are poets of today!  This is not the days of "Shakespeare!"  
       I am asking my fellow PS members to respond to this letter...I want to know you guys 
       I would like any advice concerning my work.  It's no secret, I am best at "slam" poetry!  
That is my genre, my area.  Did you guys know that 6 months ago  I couldn't tell you what a 
Haiku is?!  Senryu is?!   I seriously did not know poetry had different forms! lol  Go ahead 
and laugh.  Growing up, I just "wrote my own style"  Which I've found out is "slam"  lol  But I 
did know what a "spoken word poet" was.
       So with that said, I genuinely am sorry...I have a lot to learn.  I would love to hear any 
advice...Thank you PS.
                                      Love you guys....Jimmy M. Anderson

P.S.  Marty will send all comments and sm's to me

Details | Free verse | |

the comfort in talking shop

there is a warmth that comes with the talk of work---
when two or more individuals converse about skills & their
prospective mutual context,
of which they may or may not have worked together in
for weeks, months or
but which all parties speaking
know something about because they all hold relevant 
in the area being discussed---
people who genuinely work at their jobs,
whatever they may be,
are able to find a kind of sustenance in the work itself
which others may never find,
if they spend their whole lives 
about every little thing it is that they do---
these individuals 
may never know the comfort 
which comes with discussing the simple nuances 
of a job that is shared,
which brings with it no obligation except
the present work that is needed to be
unlike other communities which members of a workplace may also be involved in,
together or alone,
the job
brings with it a sense of solidarity 
that may be unique to our species
which can lead to discussions of past employment and
past experiences in our lives
revealing that our paths have led us to such a specific 
juncture in time
wherein we now toil
until that time when we part ways & move on.

Details | Free verse | |

Unfinished Business (The Lockdown)

Did you think you were cool?
to call in a threat?
You Columbine copy-cat,
you coward, you fool?

Teachers hear the “code,”
Teachers who’ve been trained to
hope for the best
prepare for the worst, 
the worst that could possibly happen
at this 
	or any

Students thought it strange,
didn’t get the news,
saw my fast moves,
the blinds drawn
door locked
hands that shook
the lights off

“In the corner, NOW!”
I pointed, afraid
that life or death,
my own, 
my students’
hung in the air

I’m not the self-sacrificing sort,
or so I thought,
wedged between my students
and the door,
the worry-wart,
the mother hen,

knowing I would hurl 
at the gunman,
at the trenchcoat,
so that
bodies could escape.

Still, I hoped,
the boys

“Fight or Flee, do SOMETHING,”
the mantra learned at
Virginia Tech,
the lesson learned
the hard way.

Teen bodies sweat, now,
the smell of fear,
the floor hard, so cold,
the dark,
afraid to whisper,
we listen for sounds
gunshots, anything,
outside that door.

Nobody knows…
“What’s going on?”
Chairs scrape upstairs:
“Fools!” I think, half hope the noise
draws the gunman
away from here,
but that I’m wrong,
it’s a scare,
all at once.

Hunger now,
stomachs growl,
it’s schools end,
we’re finally fed

And if we could find you,
the fool, so cruel,
who started this
it’s YOU we’d feed on,
US you’d fear,
a collective pride,
of Panthers
on the prowl.

Details | Free verse | |


The machine is crushing the man,
bit by bit, toes, shins, knee caps.
The machine is most efficiently
crushing the man, soul and body.
No time to even scream out,
the shock is too incredible.
The machine is crushing the man.
The man incredulous, is crushed.

Details | Free verse | |

Warm Bodies

Victims of corporatitis 
Temporal automatons
Nether caste workers
Empty shadows of life
Spare component parts
Of an uncaring system 
Quick n’ easy to discard
Non-existent humanity
Brief android occupants
Immaterial commodities
On capitalisms exchange

© Eugene Harvey

Details | Free verse | |

the disappearing veil of christian politeness

when a christian is laughing along with you
enjoying your presence,
at work or while in a social context
then somehow by some random comment 
the fact that you do not believe in the work of fiction they abide by 
worship that infamous underdeveloped dramatic character from
as they do,
you may get to see a human face quickly wrinkle up in disgust or anger
as if a pug
was crossbred with some kind of wild boar
whose snarling would wake up the neighbors
& whose filthy idiotic grumblings
are made only with the
purest absolute self-righteous certainty,
with a dash of condescension &
a couple handfuls of hope that there is in fact a 
place where everybody who doesn’t believe as they do

you may get to even see them turn completely around,
walking away from you as if you have suddenly lost
all substance as a human being & 
while from out of the woodwork will come those that say 
“we are not all like that,”
the fact remains,
they believe in the same ridiculous

they have read the book of revelation
they hope in their hearts that when their savior comes
that he will wash the earth clean of 
scum like you
so that they will no longer have to answer any questions
about the validity of their claims & 
they can all live happily ever after
baaaaaaa-ing in unison
& relishing in the fact that their enemies got their just desserts.

Details | Free verse | |

Write Something

I have been challenged

To everyday


You’d think that’d be a simple task

Since I call myself a writer


Isn’t as easy as it seems.

What am I supposed to write

When all I’m trying to do is



About how I woke up feeling great, ready to take on the day

Until I turned on the news heard the snow storm hit earlier than expected

Making the commute to and from work a complete disaster


About how for once

The CTA was running on time

And I actually made it to work early

As opposed to my standard 5 – 10 minutes late


About how long my workday seems to drag when I’m in the office

And how fast times flies when I’m not 


About how I’m grateful that I have a job

But really feel like I’m just spinning my wheels coming here everyday


About the homeless woman I saw during lunch

And how I wondered where she’d go tonight when the ‘deep freeze’ hits


About never finding the time to myself to write 

Instead settling on jotting lines down 

On whatever piece of paper is handy

Whenever something comes to mind


About how at the end of the day

I look in my notebook and all I see written is



Details | Free verse | |


Work,work ,Work
That's all you do
No time for me 
no time for you
Making money for them 
Not for you.
Can't stop to think
Can't stop to play
Just can't wait to tell them Take this job and shove It!

Details | Free verse | |

the frequent apology

a balloon half-filled with helium 
hovers five inches or so below the ceiling of the cafeteria
a few feet away from the time clock &
on a table near the balloon,
a sympathy card bearing the signatures of most of the folks
who work at the plant
sits on the table
waiting for her to enter.

when she does enter,
with her head bent down towards the ground,
some of the female employees waiting to punch in
stop their talking
as if they were anticipating a public beheading,
and welcome her back---
when she raises her head,
the bruises, this time,
take up more color than the normal pigment of her face &
the purpling gets worse towards the eyes
where the bleeding beneath the skin was so bad
it is blackened & puffy.

most of the women do not pretend that what has happened in their
coworker’s past,
did not lead to this point &
they walk up individually to speak in quiet tones directly to her
tip-toeing on eggshells 
not wanting all the information
but wanting to be able to express concern &
hoping that the man responsible
is locked up in a cage now
where her can’t get to her---
the collective want in the room for justice
is unanimous.

and before the traumatic brain injury landed her in the hospital, 
she let him plead his “case,”
as she had so many times before---
this time, the apology was followed with blame
bestowed upon her head with the heavy side of the blender sitting
on the kitchen counter,
just inches away from where they’d been arguing---
as that wasn’t enough,
he followed up the initial blows
with fists &
on it went 
until everything went dark.

this time,
the frequent apologies,
the buying of flowers,
the casting of money her way after roughing her up a bit &
the making of excuses in the workplace
for what really happened,
can no longer be tolerated---

what has brought her to this place
will not be let go by the people who love her &
fortunately for her,
she has such people to protect her
from what now,
is all too obvious &
the big changes in her life that need to come,
can no longer be put on hold
for the make-believe paradise
when he would have finally exercised all his demons &
appreciated her for who she was.

had she been better off financially,
she would have been able to stay home &
let the damage heal---
would things have turned out different if that had been the case?
another excuse, 
another beating,
another apology, 
another beating,
another excuse, 
another apology,
another beating, 
another apology,
another excuse---

would she be alive to return to work at all.

Details | Free verse | |

Beggars All

A poem comes in disguise
like a beggar in the mall.
Some sit and look pitiful
and can not meet your eyes.
Others have a story,
"My sister's fatally sick in Ukiah,
please help us we've run out of gas."
Some poems work subliminally,
you wonder if they might be
from another world. They stand
in busy walkways and 
chant "spare change", under
their rancid breath, seemingly
oblivious of you.
Some wear their sign
that tells their life, a life 
that might be yours.
Others affect an air of casualness
as if they were your best friend,
"Say, you got a quarter?".
And then there's the one
in whom you sense such doom
and menace that
you have to cross the street.

You drop your metaphor
in the cups, because
you never know
whether any of them
will work for food,
whether any will really work

Details | Free verse | |


The spirit inside of me is telling me to move on
To pursue what it is that I desire
And what I desire is your love and energy
Before I burn out with this changing time
You’re my motivation
You’re my driving force
With you behind me, I am fine
So please open up to me
Let me inside of you
I promise not to hurt you, darling…

This journey that I chose to take
Will only burn me out if I don’t slow down!
But I’m sure that I won’t feel the pain
Not if I can just have you by my side!
And until that day comes, I’ll work hard
To get closer to you as much as I can!
I need your body, mind, and spirit
In order to make it on my journey!

With a special light shining down upon you
I feel as if you were meant to be my guide
And my inner voice tells me to follow that light
So that I can escape this darkness
You’re my guardian
You’re my angel
With you beside me, I am fine
So please don’t lock me out
And don’t push me away
I can’t give up my only hope…

This journey that I chose to take
Will only end up with much disappointment!
That is unless I can somehow
Win your heart and show you my love!
If only I can show you easily
That what I’m feeling now is completely real!
I can’t seem to find the strength to
Finish this journey without you!

This journey that I chose to take
Will only burn me out if I don’t slow down!
That is unless I can somehow
Get both your love and your energy!
And until that day comes, I’ll work hard
To get closer to you as much as I can!
I need your body, mind, and spirit
In order to survive this journey!

Details | Free verse | |

Beggar Man!

I saw you there resting
your chair near the door.

Long Black hair dirty
Needing a bath. smiling.

Red and green stick figure Jesus
Pictures you offered. Grinning.

I was moved by your plight.
Almost giving you my dollar.

Dark Eyes shining, pitiful.
I prayed Jesus would forgive me.

Poor people's change jingling 
as it fell into your bucket.

You paid for a juice with a big bill.
Your chair blocking the long line.

Rolling away to the fartherest space.
Standing to toss your chair into the car.

Counting the ones. Pouring  their change 
into your backseat bucket. Laughing.

Driving away in your red convertible.
baseball cap pulled low over shifty eyes.

The blond next to you chattering
no pity for a cripple in her adoring eyes.

I hope your Jesus on torn poster 
board  forgives YOU! Beggar Man!

Details | Free verse | |

An Artist

There is a spider in my backyard that has a work basket that's filled with spools of thread...
And in the fall you can sometimes see him working upon a lacy spread.

He ties it to the bushes and hangs it from the trees...
And he washes it in the morning dew and dries it in the breeze

He's an artist and he always works so hard..
And if you're lucky you'll have  an artist in your back yard.

It's so much fun to watch these creative artist as the perform in my backyard...
I really admire them because they all work so hard.


Details | Free verse | |

Taking her love

All I can do is watch as her heart breaks 
and her dreams spill on to the floor. 
She is hurting, 
My heart bleeds 
We drip warm blood together. 
Our hot tears slide and intertwine 
down our rosey cheeks. 
Our bodies thrown together, 
limbs in all the wrong places. 
All the pain and dark circles 
that highlight her red swollen eyes. 
All gone 
Worth nothing 
Gained nothing 
Death takes their victim leaving her to grieve

Details | Free verse | |

The City

Everywhere you look there are skyscrapers,
Everywhere around you there is noise,
Everyone around you is busy,
Everywhere you turn there are people,
Daily traffic swallows the highways,
The sidewalks are flooded with people,
construction workers and buisness poeple,
GO through with this everyday.
The sound of cars honking is constant,
Along with the pattern of footsteps,
people with always come and go,
As they pass throug the difficult city.
It always seems as if you are in a dream,
Where everything just passes you by,
And the, finally, when the day is done,
You feel as if it hasn't even come yet.
The city is tiring, busy and loud,
It where everyone seems to be,
The city might be the perfect place for you,
But it's not for me.

Details | Free verse | |

sitting underneath the thinking tree

sitting underneath the thinking tree
i think about the times we struggled for our own happiness
now we live to make each other miserable it seems
we are the best clowns constructing colors to present our facade

sitting underneath the thinking tree
i think about the moments when we would admire eastern views
now we cannot wait until the moon becomes our separation pillow
we are the best mimes mimicking benevolence to prevent instantaneous interrogation

sitting underneath the thinking tree
i think about the things we scrapbooked in our minds as memories
now we just have mounds of jigsaw puzzle hoards threatening our lives daily
we are the best comedic team perfectly disguising the fact that our union is indeed a joke

sitting underneath the thinking tree
i think about the reasons in which i have grown to love you
now we work once again on the overrepaired fixer upper which defines our love's journey
we are the best romantic reparation team often dropkicking the most centrifugal part of our interplanetary foundation

Details | Free verse | |

Jefferson Street

Jefferson Street

You would think
facing three flights
of subway stairs,
            one from poverty,
                    and one from husband,
with your hands full of produce and
the handle of a stroller and
the stroller full of daughter and
a Lot of other questions that you can't stop
to answer
   (because the last time you did
     your little boy didn't
                   would make you think twice
about gathering your groceries
in your arms
and asking the first man in a collar
to bring her up
in his.

Details | Free verse | |

A Poet

I love a lot about who I am....
A Mistress who has come into her own
A sister that LOVES her sisters no matter what
A friend who will fight to the end for loved ones
A hard worker that does what needs to be done
A mother who REALLY misses her cubs
A lover...enough said there
An ex wife who would love to be mean
A moderator who has to be fair
A college student wanting a new career
And I am a poet....
A poet that writes MANY different ways
I write happy and sad
I write fantasy and haunted
I write about my past and my future
I write humor when I can
I write how I want and when I want
I write for me and for others as well 
But MAKE NO MISTAKE...I will not
Change any of my work because it 
Does not make sense to you...
You see some of what I write is not meant 
To make sense in a logical way....but hey
If my work or that of any other is not to your do not have to read what I write.
I am a poet...a poet who will write what
I want any time and any place...that is what a
Poet does....we write poetry that is for us 
And makes sense for us......
I will take the good comments as well as the bad
Just do not expect me to change for you.....
After all I am....A poet......

Details | Free verse | |

Letting God

When I look at 
life situations
I am all alone,
while relying 
on only 
my finite
yet imperfect
human insight,
to force only 
the results 
that I desire.

When I let go 
and let God
I let go of 
and let God 
do His work 
in all life’s
teaching me 
to give rather 
than get.

It does not 
mean that 
I cease 
in my efforts 
in doing 
it simply 
means that 
I must let go 
of all anxious 
thoughts, fears 
and doubt.

I let God 
by simply
the truth
of His 
and by 
trusting His 
at work 
in me.

As I let go 
and let God
I am guided
and taught 
a better way 
to live
in unity
His will 
and not 
my own.

I learn 
and to trust 
in His divine 
to bring all 
my thoughts 
and actions
in harmony,
with His
and love.

For when 
I let go 
let God 
be my 
and guide
He perfects 
in me His 
for my life.

© Eugene Harvey

Details | Free verse | |

are these the colors you colored?

color the world any color you like,
     the trees the sea the mountains and rivers that hide
         red yellow blue and green mix and match use one two or three,
               change the gray and black  and bring forth the light that's inside.

fill the world with fillings to be only so true
    with touches of peace love tenderness and more,
           puppy love crushes hopelessly romantics and that first kiss
                from coast to coast let these fillings wash along all shores,

listen to the sound that we never hear,
     the birds singing the wind rustling the water resting
           let them play louder then any thing else for a moment...
                 sway with the leafs tumble with the weeds a moment ever lasting,

look and see the world no one see's
      look as they move on never seeing the beauty at there feet,
               see how they block out all we once had what was once there
                        joy,hope, happiness, just fun look...some thing you didn't repeat.   
                     see you colored what you felt and listed to what you never seen 
                            taken over by meaningless emotionless THINGS
                                 if you went back in time what would you say?
                                      you stopped looking filling and listening... 
                                          you no longer color the pages you see
                                              you don't even hear the sounds...
                                                 or fill the moments you live...
                                                    your just... around.                 

Details | Free verse | |


greener (screaming from the soapbox)

our color of survival in this country
that which will outlast the empire
that which will give us hope again
is much more green than 
anything else---
where 14 million (on the books) are
out of work,
where anger is at an all time high,
where the homeless population of
one american city has gone through the roof
(40,000+ & that is only the number of those
in shelters),
and so many others will follow.

with people camping out &
with everyone who has a pulse & 
who is not part of the 1% controlling 
at this point, having had quite enough---
the ball CAN start rolling again if we accept the
that is,
we can work on solving two problems with one

unless you lock yourself in an empty room,
screaming at the walls,
you must see the weather changing,
you must of heard of that 
global warming thing---
and you don’t have to be mr. mckibben to understand
that if there is something that needs doing, 
and it isn’t being done,
things will get worse.
you don’t have to be a genius to know
that in the current capitalist nightmare,
if you don’t have a job,
you will not survive &
the financial turmoil of this country can be dealt with
by improving the lives of those out of work by 
bringing them back to work---
pure & simple.

tossing out the desperate continued reliance on
unrenewable resources,
replacing them with a green philosophy,
where care for our environment walks 
hand in hand with the employment of the people suffering in
this country,
seems to be a 
no brainer.

the building of high speed rails,
better forms of mass transit,
cars that run on any one of the number of alternative fuels or
(already known & waiting on the shelves---put there by 
they all can be built
(as they are in other, smarter countries) &
it can be done with those that are presently
out of work.

you know it.
i know it &
the american people know it.

Details | Free verse | |


Don’t blame the man for being stupid!
So what if he’s in charge.

Don’t say bad things about your boss!
Even if lint is treated better,
By him, compared to you.

Don’t try to stop a man from running
From what is nothing but his shadow!

For all the truth you say today,
You know you’ll get blamed anyway,
So might as well shut up ahead
If you don’t want to lose your bread.

As we all know, but still deny,
Society‘s just like a rye,
You get caught by dreams instead
Of acting with your given head.

Details | Free verse | |

The Atlas

The road to success is marked
with signposts of all those 
whose ordinary strength
were propelled by preternatural
to exceed certain familiar bounds
along its side.
The map to euphoria is outlined
with names of people
who painstakingly
pored over its natural contours
in their hot pursuit
for complete excellence
until they finally got there.
The journey to victory
is embarked upon by those
who in their quest for fame
and glory
abhorred every past discouragement
and defeat
and plodded on
with their torches of flames
before they accomplished 
peculiar feats.

Details | Free verse | |

A Song Long Enough

I had just set my headphones

down when the intercom

buzzed and Ruben O’s 

voice asked urgently:


“you ready man?”


I’m standing before the

multi-slide mixing board

in a studio dreamily

streaked in amber from

the track lights.


“Eagles Lyin’ Eyes man,

all six minutes and eleven

seconds.  let’s go!” was

my reply.


this is a conversation 

between two radio deejays

at two radio stations

in the same building

in San Antonio in the eighties.


it’s nearly three 

in the morning and were

both bored and wanting

a “bump” to make it

through our night owl

radio shifts.


I crank up the monitor

in the control room 

and swing the studio door

open and lock it back

so I can hear the song

play from thirty feet away.


Ruben O’ does the same 

to his door across the hall. 


this is what is happening

on the other side

of the microphone

as the 

listening public 

in four southern states 

tunes in to hear 

the Eagles on KTSA

and “Karma Chameleon”

by Boy George on KTFM.  


sister stations in a 

clay colored building

at the end 

of a 200 yard

driveway off 

Eisenhower Road

in San Antonio, Texas.


I’m already waiting outside

the back door where the

jocks park.  my foot holding

the door open. 


it’s a balmy summer night

and lightning silently shimmers 

in the tall clouds to the north 

of the Alamo City.


You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes…


You come and go, you come and go…


our dueling aired songs play

loudly and the sound

 crashes through the

still air and echoes 

boomingly off the 

residential neighborhood

two blocks away.


we each take hurried hits 

off the moistened roach.

holding the smoke in the

lungs for a few seconds.


two hits is all I need.

I’m already feeling a little

fuzzy.  Ruben O’s ready

to go too.


“screw it man, that’s good



we both sprint back

down the hallway 

to our respective

 broadcast studios.  


such is another night

as an all-night radio

deejay at twin stations

in south Texas 

on a summer night

in the eighties.

Details | Free verse | |


A deal-killer was needed to prevent a disaster,
the service company couldn't exist anymore
if the president hadn't taken a lower bid;
it had relied on the work force for over twenty years,
and it could have hurt the employees who needed an increase,
rather than the employer who had a constant cash flow.

They had to make a choice...accept and sign the new contract,
and stay in business for another five years, or more;
from the looks on everybody's face, it didn't sound pleasant,
but who would  have chosen the unemployment line? 
The employer felt terribly for the bad deal-killer, but also a relief
saving thousands of jobs around Christmastime.

To compensate the workers for their loyalty, the employer offered them
a monthly bonus and open overtime for everybody willing to work hard,
so that deal-killer proved to be extremely beneficial... 
coming at a time when extra cash could have brought more gifts
that they couldn't afford in the first place, had the deal-killer been denied...
and they wouldn't have wished one another, " Happy Holidays! "

Details | Free verse | |

Paint the Picture

As I paint the picture of your bright revealing piece of art
i begin with the dark areas then make space for the
my poetry is a big love story that never ends in which 
has its negative & positives but when the time
becomes right
the brother that truly defines the lover never the fighter
puts the smile to your face in which makes 
the sun so bright.
Visualize my metaphoric analogies 
that inspired the painter to send out the message
through illusionistic 
points of view
so many emotions running through my 
body like kinetic energy that defines the hard work you 
put into your master piece
and as you release stress
like the old saying goes, "if you want something to 
turn out good
al it requires is a bit of elbow grease".
Trying to be the best I can
and Im my one and only 
biggest fan, the young man, the best man
i write out my gameplan 
since the day i began and as I triumph in the glory 
of poetry
i am the revolutionized energizer battery in my 
melody harmonizes then symphonize,
money is just pocket change
my pencil and notebook is the real prize.
Certain colors define inner beauty in the painters mind
but as i spit my rhyme 
and my rhyme is so sicc i tend to notice that
my art work is one of a kind that blind the most 
abstract picture of and illusion that floats in my imagination 
I reveal my painting to you my audience, all i can say is that your 
the inspiration behind the image.

Details | Free verse | |

Good and Bad

Good are the things 
That are proved to be helpful 
Bad are the things 
That are proved to be harmful 
God knows best 
What is good for us 
And what is bad for us! 
That’s why 
We should listen to God.

In the eyes of God: 
Good work is ten times better 
Than bad work
Good work is like gold 
And bad work is like cotton

Bad is an inseparable part of God
Just like good is! 
God’s body is the Best 
And Satan is the worst.

The closer we are to the Best
The luckier we are
The stronger we are
The better we are to the rest.

Details | Free verse | |


As I leave work this Friday night,
my mind is still in over-drive.
Momentum from my busy day
keeps spinning mixed ideas and plans.
But just now I face a heavy task
involving choices to be made:
my mother moves tomorrow morning
to smaller quarters nearer me.
That means choices must be made
about possessions dear to her but
will not fit in her smaller place.
We must sort out, pare down and cull.

We go to work with pad and pencil:
this coat has not been worn in years,
this table won’t begin to fit ...
The kids might want this china set.
I speed along to make the list
but suddenly I am aware
my mother moves at a slower pace
and I have left her far behind.
She wants to talk about the friend
who gave to her this faded scarf,
about the family meals she served
here on this old oaken tabletop.

While I am urging her to choose,
she tells me the stories of her life.
She wants to have a slower farewell
to all these pieces of her life.
At last, I come to realize
I must shift down to a lower gear
to give her time to say good-bye
to these fragments of her yesteryears.

Details | Free verse | |

Ansel Adams

A unique vision through the camera lens,
Portraits of nature in black and white.
Letting the beauty of contrast speak.

The California Coastline, the Sierras, 
The Southwest..all in the starkest outline.
And Yosemite, whose grandeur he loved best.

A life spent capturing these wonders
Letting his work inspire; an incentive
To protect these treasures for all our tomorrows.

For a look at his work to to:

Details | Free verse | |

dust your self off.

As a child, a happy baby boy or daddys pretty little girl you were always so eager to move forward,
you moved, crawled, waddled,even rolled all before you could even say a word,
from the time you let go of there hands,
you knew this was going to be tough even to just stand,
then you took that first step and fell,
hands slapped the floor you had fillings you couldn't tell,
but you got back up and chose to just...
six years old playing a school yards game dodge-ball
you were not the first nor the last but when it happen who knew to the grown you would fall,
after all the laughs and finger pointing,
you wanted back in you knew every one was just playing,
you got up and...
high school what a horor story for any one even you,
you weren't the best looking kid having a pimple here are two,
clubs,gangs,sports,classes, and faces that were mean to you,
after that first day you carried home so many emotions that were new,
you didn't want to go back, to many classes to much work and the presure,
but the next day you woke and knew for sure,
years later we live in a world that knocks us down for any given reason,
for lifes lesson knows no seasons,
pay check to pay check we scramble to make ends meet, bills payments appointments dates we can't keep,
kids affaires work prices going higher as your income gos lower
a life you even see in your sleep,
and when it becomes to much, when you no longer want to play the game you look back and wonder,
did I make the right choice did I turn the right way should of could of would of lifes little blunder,
and when all is settled when the kids your better half are sleeping and you have that moment you think,
of a better time a better place when there was none of this then into sleep you sink,
as you awake to a new day you raise sitting on the edge of your bed ready to once again to take that first step,
you remember what happend back then and you know if you fall like all of us do with class this we'll accept,
for no matter how much weight is put on us, how much it rains are how many times we fall,
we know just like back then get up dust your self off and remember dodge the ball.   

Details | Free verse | |

the vomit

if you sit down with that infamous poorly written work of fiction &
you read it cover to cover,
you may not feel a thing---
you may, in fact, simply close the book & toss it in the round file (garbage),
and go about your day, 
as if nothing happened at all---
yes, the healthiest you that you can muster,
would do just that.

if you sit down with that infamous poorly written work of fiction & 
you read it cover to cover with one or more believers present, egging you on,
you may begin to feel sick.

you may begin to feel violently ill,
and as you begin to rock & dry-heave, 
your rational conscience may very well be telling you that up until now,
there was no doubt in your mind that the world was older than 6,000 years,
that snakes did not talk, 
that a boat of 450 feet in length never housed two members of every living thing on the planet in hopes of surviving a flood, 
that the patriarchs of the old testament did not in fact live to be 400 years old or more, that a man’s wife (without a name or any other characteristics) did not turn into a pillar of salt, 
that a burning bush never had a conversation with a man (no matter how delusional he was)---nor did that same man make a stick into a snake and then back into a stick or water to blood, or did he bring with him ten plagues to dispose of at his leisure (including frogs falling from the sky, etc.)....
more psychobabble, etcetera...
more psychobabble, etcetera...
and it all begins to warp in your dizzy head
you begin to feel the puke coming up from inside &

the vomit 
comes up 
your throat 
& spews out 
forth onto 
that came into 
you as a horrible 
virus that went
rampaging in
your body.

wipe your lips & leave the room as quickly as you came in. 

Details | Free verse | |

Slow DOWN!

In this fast paced day and ag
all anyone has in mind
is finishing school, growing up
leaving childhood behind

regardless of the circumstances
and regardless of what they needf
parents push their kids too hard
the key emphasis is speed

"Quick quick! hurry up! Learn faster
are you out of your mind?
You can't afford to move that slow
your going to be left behind"

Pushing children to act like adults
expecting matruity beyond their years
never listening to anything they have to say
not their questions, doubts or fears

Underage we have no voice
we are neither seen nor heard
but the things you expect us KIDS to do
are really damn absurd

a generation of adolescants
pushed ahead and forced to compete
fighting in the adult world
attempting to find their feet

Listen, we are not ready
to act and think like you
when we grow up, we will go on
and do the things you do

You have CHILDREN in the workforce
struggling for their wage
with the whole world on their shoulders
before they are of age!

Give us a little more time
before you put us to teh test
let us learn just a little bit more
before we have to compete with the rest

Details | Free verse | |

I Have A Question (part one)

"What is this?"

"What is what?"

She points above my heart, to reveal a smudge of something.

"....O! I think that was the ice cream that fell on my shirt earlier today."

....O no, why did I say that.
I could clearly see that she's disappointed that I didn't invite her to my fatty delight.
Her face is changing though, 
like she's giving up the question of her unpleasant face, 
and letting go of the thought that was given.

"Let me guess the flavor!"

She yells not too loudly, like a shy child timidly raising his octave, 
but still mindful of his voice.
She bows a little...why does she do this...she so odd,
we are on a sidewalk of a busy street and she is tasting my shirt!
She is literally sucking the flavor of the spot of my shirt,
and people are giving us funny looks and not hiding the fact at all.

"You had Chocolate Raspberry without me!"

"I didn't really think about it...sorry, plus didn't you say you were on a diet?
So then it's a good thing I didn't invite you, I would of ruined your goal."

"....Are you calling me fat?"

UHG! Women, you say one thing and the hear another, such a pain in the a-

"Never mind, let's go to the gallery I was talking about, 
we have two hours before it closes."

I wonder why we're going to this, 
she doesn't seem like the type of girl that would be in to this sorta of thing.
She seems like the type, that if she saw a statue of a naked man,
she would start pointing and laughing at his nether regions.

We came in, what a site! All types of art on the floors, walls, and ceilings.
They made sure to fill every nook, with someones name.
Hmmm Brito's work is here too, never liked much of him;
his work was just an imitation of Picasso...when he was ten years old.
The floor tile was mosaic and every once is a while you would see(to the best that i could
explain it) gelled over flowers, bugs, 
crystals of every color leading to a different trail.
The ceiling had photography in black and white, children playing in the playground,
old folks walking in the park, young couples kissing and holding hands.
It felt like these what memories would look like, 
if they were floating visible thoughts. I was mesmerized, 
everything was either great, interesting, or very odd.
I was in a dazed until I heard her cackling in the next hall.


"Quite down! What are you-"

She points at the statue of the naked man...I knew it.

Details | Free verse | |

the uphill scramble

our way to the end of the work day is through
laughter &
as long as we must endure this system’s bull*****absurdity,
where we work for crumbs thrown to us by the 1% of the rich
tossing them to us from the table,
we must get through it
(at the same time resisting it within, constantly looking for ways to 
dismantle it)---
if still employed, still churning like a gear rumbling with the rest in 
this poorly oiled machine
spitting up debris &
slowing down to a dragging pace behind the rising powers amidst us,
the “now” still rears its ugly head,
subtracted right down to the passing minutes,
the watching of the clock,
the passing hours,
the watching of the clock &
the final release when the routine ends &
we’re allowed an interval to breathe
from the clock to the car
from the clock to the subway train
from the clock on the walk home
from the clock onto the bus & the bus to the walk & the walk to the
regardless of your own personal pilgrimage,
you’re not alone in this.

what can be done during the day,
during the actual “doing” of the work,
is the telling of jokes, making each other crack up---
remember that funny thing you saw on television the other day?
telling a coworker or coworkers can liven things up &
invigorate conversation &
communication, which though constantly being thwarted against by the
make for a more human workplace existence,

sharing detailed descriptions of our lives outside the
speaking about our upcoming exciting events or
just making fun of the boss man,
all can free us from the tasks at hand &
make us remember that there are things this machine cannot take away.

though our experiences might not seem comparable,
these are all ways to embrace the passing time
creating a better life from within
despite the supervisors buzzing like flies around our heads
despite the pressing deadlines
despite the unreasonable or downright impossible quotas,
the solidarity that comes from separating the “authority” 
from the actual working people of this empire
is what gives us strength,
for certainly there have always been more of us than
them &
until the day when the tables turn,
letting anyone silence you in order to maximize efficiency,
letting anyone stress you our more than you are already
over the insignificant nature of those “issues” which the man would 
like you to “address”---
from your attire 
to the time you come back from a lunch break,
this kind of subjection of the self
will get us nowhere but dead, quicker,
when the stress kicks in.

Details | Free verse | |


Since you've decided to read my poetry,
I may as well let you know;
I didn't dicover my talent yesterday,
but about four years ago.

I thought about being a rapper,
or a movie star;
but I realized that big dreams with no effort wouldn't get me far.

I began to write down my thoughts and dreams,
think hard and put them together;
I studied the people and things around me,
I even took notes about the weather.

All the feelings that I've had or the people who have influenced me,
somehow end up in the lines of my poetry.

When my mind, a pen, and paper meet,
something magical takes place;
so enjoy my poetry and tell me what you think.

Details | Free verse | |

The Laborer

Standing outside,
Working in the heat,
Skin charred and brown,
Weathered and leathery.
There toils the laborer.  

He’s fixed at a distance,
Huddled with others.
Like warehouse items,
Tools packed together,
Yet to be used.  

His clothes are caked,
Decorated with dirt and dust.
They are torn at the sides
And unwashed for days—
Except from his sweat.  

But when he comes near,
You shy from his odor,
Disgusted by the soiled shirt.  
Avoiding him like spoilt fruit
Rotting when left in the sun too long.  

His arms are creased from overwork,
His hands are like bricks, 
His body is weary and chipped,
He is ready to crumble and break
Like the rusted tools he carries.  

Yet he keeps toiling.
Ignoring the complaints of the noise
Or the accusations of lethargy.  
Swallowing his pride
To earn his allowance.  

Details | Free verse | |


RESTLESS 11 (Mind, Body and Heart) Kinetics, is what myself move Rest in me is what myself has been exorcised As my mind makes myself active Move, move, move and always move Makes myself happy and physically fit to live. There’s no reason for recharging As early when I wake up in the morning Its automatic I find myself working It goes with the clock tik and tak, tik and tak tikking and rhyming It goes with my heart throbbing. To perspire now and then is like my medicine Inhaling and consequently exhaling Makes my dull moments goes on thriving As I find myself always truly charging Rotating, revolving, aspiring and inspiring without, sparingly. However, when to rest in silence Then to stop insists and to stop breathing That I believe like battery busted bade goodbye Muscles downed in drain makes the difference Hands and feet straight no more locomotion. At times physically is only a retriever Is what makes the joints allays fears Commencing to live parried without to burn For it may go without saying: leaving the burden To a halt and the rendezvous just discard. But where I’ve been continually moving Is where I’m confidently and happily rejoicing Determined to finish a work instead for rewarding The contract is the most self-rewarding and consuming As doldrums hide away the past in self-adoration!

Details | Free verse | |

Man's will to do good

Apendix 5
subsection 4
3rd paragraph
2nd quadrant

read your contract

list of how its not working
so you can work things out

if this is man's will to do good
what are we here for but to work on this
what is the test
as good as it gets
focusing on
an attempt to fail
to stack the deck of our own fate
teach ourselves familiar succesfull patterns

reach out to learn the new things to broaden
expected challenges foreshadowed by everything being eventual
why does
have to be
my own worst nightmare
life in the gutter
no escape as easy as disturbing as the soul's misery

kept back for ages
the grudge
man's will to do good
read your contract
subsection 2 
fourth index
3rd paragraph

desribe this to me and live through me vicariously

Details | Free verse | |

how many dead grandmas

how many dead grandmas?

one idiot calls into work saying their grandma died &
the next week that same idiot tells their professor 
that they missed class because their grandmother 
died & the very next week calls into work saying their
other grandma died & a day later tells their prof that their
other grandma died & the classmates & coworkers talk
amongst themselves saying that the same idiot held other
jobs before this one & frequented other classes before 
this one overflowing with dead grandmother galore---
how many dead grandmas can one idiot have?


Details | Free verse | |


If I could bring into my head
That stupidity is dead,
Walk the street towards the park
Without hearing a bad remark
On the way myself I carry
Or the reason my face is merry.
If I could only make my head
Understand the way I dread
All the mean faces I see
That direct their hate to me
Every morning in the subway,
Every chance I have a say.
If I could only turn the heads
Of the owners of the lands
In which happiness is drained
From children too work strained. 
If only I could choose the head
That brings a country better bread.
If only I could earn the power
To make a change in the shower
Of poverty and guilt and suffering
And sadness and death and crying.
If only I could tell the world
That peace can be won with a word…

Details | Free verse | |

Night Sounds / Night Thoughts

Endless train whistles,
At the limits of one's hearing,
Never farther away,
Seemingly never, ever nearing...

Sirens shrill screech,
At times of their own choosing,
The pulse of mountain winds,
Never gaining, never losing,

Honking winged geese,
A satire of city cabs?,
In cloud bound nature's streets,
Small planes coming and going,
In a parade of me wondering,
but, never knowing,
Where they might have come from,
And where they now are going...

Abandoned homes,
Abandoned dreams,
Stars sparkle in a
mockery of fate,
Who was the last to leave that home?
And what might have been the date?

Will bears soon be wandering
down city streets,
Perhaps shopping for a new coat?
Wild dogs in packs attacking anything?
The bray of feeding goats?

My silent snores go unappreciated now,
There's no one to say "Good Night",
The body aches, my will it strains,
I have no one to share my pains...

Empty pockets stress my hope,
It takes all my will to cope,
Where has everybody gone to?
Has everyone gone to the moon?
I await my turn to join them,
I pray it will be coming soon...

Or am I left here to guard the past?
For me to be the very last?
To witness what the fates have cast?
To experience decay first hand,
Through the hour glass's ebbing sand,
How pointless time does then stand,
Not like a full head of hair..
But a single, lone strand?

Me, the lone keeper of times no more,
As giant machines still hum busily,
No one now to know their purposes,
now or then for sure....

And now you must go too...
I wonder, I wonder,
What I will do?
Alone, books and ink,
My sole companions till
my ship does finally sink?
I eye the rifle in the corner...
Maybe the rules God will bend...
If I use it as my ticket to tranquility,
For, at least, my pain to end?

Yes, at its worst,
No more pain...
Sure it is forbidden,
But reasons to live seem to drain...
No one to say Goodnight to,
No one to say Good Morn...
No one to hear me question...
Why I was ever born...

To those who complain of pressures,
Of work, of family....
Could sit in my chair,
eyes opened...
And see what I can see...
I'd work 24 hours a day,
7 days a week,
And enjoy every responsibility,
To care for friends and family...
& work 60 hours a week,
& feel the difference,
Paycheck but a bonus,
And, see
& gain a new point of reference,
And from that very day,
You'll see the value of your life,
In a very, very, new way.

Details | Free verse | |


The whispering of a rich Victorian clock sounds ever so appealing
With a mahogany table and a vase with 24 full stemmed roses on display
And a mirror at the end of the hallway
 I can’t really contain my delight of
For when I open my eyes I will be here
Counting the few dollar bills in my hand
I love that feeling
When I can lay down and instead of counting time I could count happiness
When I could see my people not labor in vain
No matter how much money I make it’s always going to stay the same
It’s harder to live than to die without a coin in my purse and a frown on my brow
Everlasting torture I receive when I view that house on the hill
Full of nice things I’ll probably never have and never will
It gets harder when it’s cold and my mother has to work outside
For a couple of dollars an hour and with pain in her backside
And  no matter how hard I try to rub it out
The pain will stay in her eyes
And my brother and sisters cry for a better life so I work
Pulling an halfass job on minimum wage just to get by
Vindicate me please, I can’t live on the tips you give me
I might seem materialistic but the things I need aren’t free, 
I try not to ask for much but 
I’ll give my soul my life my heart my dreams for that tiny light of hope
That I seldom get to see
And someday my mother will have that house with as many rooms as she wants
And my father will no longer have to work overtime to afford the food we eat on 
our dining room table
I swear as soon as I get my degree
I’m a little selfish, a little too smart, and a bit too confident
But that’s the ingredients it takes to get past you and take what you have

Details | Free verse | |

Why I Write

Take a walk with me
Down this street that is in my mind
Past the houses, past the sidewalks
Past the children's playgrounds and ball parks
Walk past all the things you see
And wander into my memories

The past, the present, the future
All rolled into one event
Inside myself I control my destiny
Beyond the physical boundaries
Into that part deep in my soul
Lingering in places only I know

When you read the words
Written and meant to be shared
You touch this place inside
Experience the tears I've cried
See the love and anger too
The disappointments and the dreams come true

I don't write for me
And I don't even write for you
I write because I am compelled
To share a story I must tell
It's not a talent I have been given
It is ordained, predetermined

I write because I have no choice
I write because God gave me the voice

For every heart my words will touch
And for my own heart too
I write to share compassion
I write with fevered passion
To show the world the human side
Of conflict, anger, pain and pride

Details | Free verse | |

I Burned Myself

To satisfy my sweet tooth,
I stole a stranger's honey bun
When no one was looking.
I took it out of its wrapper
And laid it on a plate.
It smelled delicious.
I opened up a small door
And closed the one behind me.
I set the timer and it revolved
Until the sweet icing melted
On the soft bubbling pastry.
Its aroma filled the room.
Quickly!  I took the delicacy.
Hot and sticky on my fingers...
I could hardly hold it in my hands.
Hot and sticky on my lips...
Though I tried to be careful,
I burned the roof of my mouth,
And my tongue felt fuzzy.
All to satisfy my sweet tooth...
I ate the swirl in a hurry 
Rolling it over my tongue
Taking in quick cool breaths
With animated chewing
And grimaced facial expressions.
I didn't enjoy it with the time
That I had hoped I could have.
Then, I threw the evidence away
In plain sight and opened the door.
I left the room at a swift pace
As if on important business.
The stranger had no idea...
Except that his honey bun was gone.

Details | Free verse | |

A Young Stacker of Firewood

My father’s timber array arrived on an 
overloaded Diamond Reo flatbed. 
It dumped oak scraps, leafless dead-woods, 
inspiring last metamorphosis to 
warming fires come winter’s weather. 

Empty, truck leaves then heaves 
into a scrubby alley 
squeezing by barely. 
With its narrow fit made 
it disappearing through a backyard gate 
into a cloud of its own making 
belched from two shaking 
upright tailpipes. 

Bark cull, coppice slats, saw food pilled 
to near roof high. This sawmill refuge awaits 
stacking sequent, once cross-sawed 
and set to a suitable size for stove fodder. 

I am father's volunteer; I am the master stacker 
of wand-wood. With my bow-saw in hand, 
I look not on labor of hours nor days, but eternities. 

In the eyes of evolution's lies I see ancient youths, 
countless fellows of ten-years-old like me 
and leap with them to the task of cave dwellers.

Details | Free verse | |

Just like it for the feelings

Like it for the feelings
And like it for the words
Because you don't have to like it for the setting that its been put in
Don't hate my work because its what you've been trying to do for so long
And don't hate me because I can write it
Its the only thing I'm good at
Even though I try so hard to do something else
But this is the only thing that fits my personality
I may be joyful 
And I may be playful
But the one thing that I love to do is write all these for you
It can take me hours 
Even days at the most 
To think of something that you will like
And something that you'll love
But you still don't like the layout
So what I say is this
Just like it for the feelings
And just like it for the words
Because just like your things its a work of art that nobody should miss.  

Details | Free verse | |

Hard Out Here

Tired of workin’ for the man

I want to work for this woman

Don’t want to be sittin’ up here wonderin’ 

What my check gon’ be

I want to know, don’t want no one evaluatin’ me

Givin’ me what they think I need

I'm the only one who knows

Tired of being treated like a 9-5 ho’

Ain’t the one to want to fit in ya plan

I need to get this doe in my hand and I don’t want to go ya way

I'm gonna make my own 

tired of being left out here alone

I'mma use what I got to get what I need

Cause all this back and forth ish’ just ain’t me

Don’t want to explain why I don’t want to come to work today

You didn’t really need me in that meeting anyway…

 Lets keep it straight street 

Tired of going by your "what I say goes" policy

Not feelin it’

Slavery been through

But here I go again coming in to do this job for you

How I'm suppose to get ahead if you keep trying to hold me down

O that’s right I'm not suppose to, that’s why I'm still here now!

Details | Free verse | |


this nucleus of sweet christian craziness
sought after from 1096 onwards
with 60,000 strong leading the 
stands tall within the canon of idiotic reasons that
humans have killed each other.

one has to wonder that if the devious concoctors of
the work of fiction known as the 
new testament
had penned “mr. christ’s” death somewhere a little less sweltering 
than the dry heat of jerusalem---
if the whole story would have been different.

think about it
what if the character of christ had been written about in the context of 
siberia or perhaps the nether-regions of antartica?
certainly the freezing cold may have calmed down the
fanaticism to

those who will tell us that these lands had not even been 
“discovered” yet
so they wouldn’t have suited the writer’s of said work of fiction---
well, i suppose that they walk around everyday, somehow, 
on one leg---
because the other leg, bent upward, 
always has the extended foot
shoved in the mouth of said believer.  

an estimated 30,000 people were killed in the first crusade
& even other christians,
because people who read a book
told the majority of people who couldn’t even read that book,
that there was sufficient reason to take up arms & go
marauding over water & land
to kill others
because they did not abide by the fiction which this book

it is now 2011
& have the crusades stopped?

just how “holy” is this jerusalem?

just because it is the centerpiece of 3 cults of
does not make it anymore significant a land mass
than that of
st. petersburg,
where a much 
better writer
wrote the brothers karamazov.

but have no fear,
these itty-bitty revelations will not keep us brilliant apes
from continuing to club each other over the heads
until our brains splash out in the blessed

keep beating, keep thumping those clubs now,
until you get your precious little

Details | Free verse | |

Is This Goodbye Forever?

Is this goodbye forever?
Soon you’ll set off on your new endeavor
And I will be here
Sitting and waiting
For the day you’ll come home
But don’t worry about me baby
Ill be fine.

I try to tell myself that this is good for you
And I know it is
But I feel left out
Pushed to the side
I can’t help but feel this way

The days are long
The nights drag on
One day
Then two
I don’t see you

I remain faithful
As I hope you do
I create my calendar
Solemnly around you
Waiting for the day
You will want to be with me
No one else 
Just me

Don’t worry
I see your efforts
Sometimes I just don’t feel them
Yet I know
If this is meant to be
Indeed it will

So I will rest 
Upon that thought
Upon your beauty
And your word

So if this is goodbye forever
It is now me
Who shall set off on her new endeavor.

Details | Free verse | |

waste not one ounce of energy

waste not one ounce of energy
on a job that you hate---
shut off your brain &
save the usage for the time when
you are able to spend your life the way that you want,
for work that is not loved is not work at all 
but simple enslavement enforced upon us
who had no decision in the creation of this current system &
whose own current status as 
does nothing for us 
in comparison to those that we churn for,
in comparison to those whose machine we
keep running,
for now.

waste not one bit of frustration 
over the word of the supervisor,
over the authority which those who decided that they could make decisions
for the rest of us,
flying around like gnats,
performing no actual work themselves,
but instead,
gaining a higher salary 
for being a policeman of the workers.

leave your logic &
common sense at the door,
outside the job you hate,
because if you bring them in your head will explode,
as things inside such a place
do not function rationally.

knowing the difference between a
“labor of love,” or the true sense of work 
which gives one pride,
as opposed to the wage slavery of a job one does to
feed themselves 
in a system that will not provide for them,
is crucial.

Details | Free verse | |


Sit quiet; look deep into my eyes,
Find my center and drown yourself there.
Slowly let go..let your channels run free..
Look deep; let me have your power.

I am with you; I am holding your hands,
Let your dark pain flow to me..
This magnetism, locks our eyes firmly..
I invade you and let you live freely again.

This is based on the work of Anton Mesmer
A German physician who lived 1724-1815
His early work  led to the  development of 
Hypnotism by J Braid later in the 1840's

Details | Free verse | |

Quit Hating...I'm Fighting

You understand quite well,
My argument regarding,
Laxed community leaders 
In particular teachers.
You know for a fact,
That there is no fair treatment.
Quotas aren’t properly filled,
Maybe you jealous,
Because I have enough guts,
To write and speak up,
About our little ones, 
Living in defeat.
Because mom and dad,
Are barely making ends meat.
Our future is being faced,
Frequently with the ,
Enormously engaging
Street economy.
The similar sinful sanction,
As little seeds, 
We had to deal with constantly.
Whoa once we get a little,
Above the burger,
We want to point fingers,
That our people,
 Don’t work hard enough.
That others are going to out-accomplish us.
Thanks to you,
 A scornful laxed individual,
 They will.
Girl you forgot where you come from,
And just outright foolish and dumb.
Girl you forgot you came from the hood,
And the consistent regulation of radical racists
What in the world is wrong with you?
You didn’t work hard enough if you forgot.
I hope while you chewing the steak your teeth will rot.
While others that you were just like not too long ago,
Wish that they had what you got.
No pushing from your from your classroom.
Don’t want to teach past the level of Bloom’s.
Thanks to you another laxed teacher,
Our future is doomed.
Quit hating because I go hard,
All day everyday.
Because I ain’t forgot how mom, 
And dad struggled with us.
Dad working in day,
Mom working at night.
You darn right.
I’m going to fight,
Unlaxed education.
Fair quotas in the classroom,
So our children can relax and learn.
I will fight and encourage others,
Each day  I am alive,
While the world  turns.

Details | Free verse | |

two hearts in hands of potential

my heart is in your hands
hungering for resuscitation from you
i beg for you to put down the hammer
and remember the beauty of the work that got us here
i realize that things change and the vacations that we go on because of them
however we cannot lose track of the steadiness because of the roaring rapids
if we utilize our long abandonned cooperation techniques, we can then extinguish the merciless inferno

your heart is in my hands
hungering for resuscitation from me
you beg for me to put down the mallet
and remember the beauty of the carefully planned construction that got us here
you understand that people change and philosophies constantly switch directions
however we cannot lose hope because of relentless winding roads
if we utilize our long forgotten compromising skills, we can then eliminate the remorseless blizzard

Details | Free verse | |

What pass we are at

This can be done,
and it is not,
promise is made,
to buy time and,
let it all go by,
machine works for us,
and we work for machine,
in between we do not work at all,
whatever comes in between,
is all lost,
the human initiative and touch,
in a dehumanised society,
if you are not a byte,
you do not enter,
you are not admitted,
you are not given passport,
you are not issued a driving licence,
you are not  allowed voting rights,
and you are not a citizen,
machine solution is simple,
and anything beyond it is tough,
complex,mad and not done,
is it what we intended with machines,
that we forget initiative and courtesy,
to work solutions away from machines,
when needed and needed bad,
this way we are only proving more 'green',
and would ultimately turn red.

Details | Free verse | |

Dying For A Dead End Job

Living from day to day,
Trying to make life a better day.
Doing the best you can,
To keep food on your plate,
And cool air from your fan.

Bettering yourself ,
The only way you know how.
Constantly wiping,
The sweat from your brow.
Satisfying the same rude boss 
And customers working so hard,
To not let them get the best of us.
Crying out to your family at home,
Because you and your colleagues 
Don’t get along.

Going home to answer the phone.
Finding yourself, doing the same 
Things at work as you do at home.
The same old job that causes you
To prematurely age  can’t  pay
You more than minimum wage.
While at home watching your T.V.,
Hoping and dreaming, to have a crib
Like a celebrity, you hope to have a
Chandelier like theirs. Then you look up
At your raggedy light fixture. Getting the
Blurry image of you sitting in an old beat
Up chair.

You’re thinking, “Hey, I work every day.”
“I work very hard, and I can’t even get 
My job’s credit card.” “What can I do?”
“I can do nothing but sit here and sob.”
“My health in success is failing, all 
Because I’m dying for a dead end job.”

wrote in college while
sick of retail work
(2003-2004) somewhere in that time

Details | Free verse | |

He Touches My Soul (French Retourne)

His heart reached out to touch my soul 
Resonating warmth fills my heart
His eyes are as black pools of gold
Handsome ~ statuesque~ work of art

Resonating warmth fills my heart
The passion flows from deep within
Our mirrors of the soul are locked, 
A genteel kiss cannot be sin 

His eyes are as black pools of gold.
My heart does soar like a lark
His touch to me ~ tender yet bold
From this love I will not depart

Handsome ~ Statuesque ~ work of art
His caring soul fills to the brim
He is the true beat of my heart
How I grin when I think of him

Details | Free verse | |


got up
 got ready for work
gathered the trash
took it out
dragged the can to the curb
defrosted the chicken
made the dog breakfast
put dinner the crock pot
emptied the dishwasher
filled it up
cleaned the counters
made my lunch
fed the dog
took the dog out
in the crate
took son to the doctor (1/2 hour)
drove home (1/2 hour)
dropped off son
muttered encouraging words
helped look for coffee
stopped for dog love
got gas
ate my lunch on the way to work (10:35 AM)
(another 1/2 hour) 
NOW I can go to work - the day "begins"

Details | Free verse | |

Isola di Cubicle

Computer why are you not turning on?
Now you’re on. – meh

Opening programs before I log in.
Sometimes it is repeated more than once.
An interval of 15 minutes or more..

Finally everything is running .
It is a miracle.

The phone is older than the movie ‘Ghost.’
Surprisingly it has no dust (haha)
No to boast
Oh not to boast

Each one is in a island elbow to elbow like Hawaii
A chain it is

Marx would laugh
Oh yes he would

Every day we come to our island
Our little isola di cubicle – meh

Isola di cubicle!

Details | Free verse | |




The Bus is taken away from me and eye am forced to walk on city streets no 
guide book on my arm or hand to help me be a man to bark at passerbyes to 
curse the actions of controlling forces to numbly stumble to the places eye call 
home. Mental. Homelessness personified now completely at the mercy without a 
ride of any kind to carry me to bed. My Head. Mental. On this day November 13, 
2007 Tuesday my calm has come apart my bus ride did depart. Once would be 
enough twice is your business there will be now no third time for me this rude 
has made a man of me. Mental. Now the eye will walk. 

Details | Free verse | |

Martika Is My Divine Spinach

sore throats and peppermint,
but i still gotta go
Martika is my Divine Spinach
post nasal drip and dayquil,
but i still have to wake up
i am a man who is childlike,
but Martika is my Divine Spinach
sandpaper volume cough and cherry sucrets,
but i still need to start the car
life has no time clock or vacation request slips
Martika is my Divine Spinach
i thank God for Her everyday....

Details | Free verse | |

Sledge Hammer

I see my hands swing in front of me, striking, penetrating, shattering the object of my blow.
The sheen on the forged metal head glitters the suns bead as it slams the course fortress layered below.
Strike after strike,
the sledge forces its way into the spaces that splits and spits out dust,
choking on itself,
taking full advantage of the weakening wall of stone.
Its gap digs deeper and opens anew.

Details | Free verse | |

the landscapers

early morning &
they get together to load up the truck 
with the lawnmowers, blowers, rakes, 
digging tools of sorts, weed eaters, 
trimmers, hedge clippers & their long arm
the four guys in their late teens & early twenties
work for a man who lives a couple counties away &
he pays them at the end of the week 
for the contracted houses which they tend to
each day.

the work is easy in the morning but by noon 
as the sun begins to beat down & the hazy air
gets thick with pollen,
their eyes begin to itch & each of them try not to 
gouge them out of their sockets,
doing their best to make it through the day.

the fun comes round mid-afternoon,
when they begin to steal the balls from the back yards
where the children living at the contracted homes
lost them---
they collect them as if they were trophies for the day &
amass them in a couple big garbage bags---
when the work day is officially over,
they begin to destroy the kid’s balls
with sinister smiles on their faces
laughing at each other 
as they
crush, pop, stab & slash them,
as well as shoot them from the blowers into a nearby wall.

the whole while,
the landscapers joke using different voices to sound like the
kids crying & whining to their parents that they had lost their


Details | Free verse | |

the bartender

the bartender gets more patients
than any shrink could ever dream of &
the ability to stay with them through bouts of 
loneliness, guilt, extreme sadnesses & self-destruction,
make her/him more worthy of an APA award at the very least---
the bartender is a legal dealer 
who supplies the addicted with their drug of choice
but who also holds the power to cut them off &
throw them out---
a curious position to be in, 
her/his own problems must be left at the door or 
behind the counter,
strolling in round 4 pm for another night until the wee hours
being the biggest, lowest priced 
listening ear in the city.

bartenders have a thousand reasons for doing what they do,
for ending up where they are or 
for using bartending as a venue to something else,
always quoting like waiters & waitresses in NYC,
“this is just what i do for money,”
insisting to the onlooker that there is a light at the end of
the tunnel---
but the bartender takes it all home,
much like a shrink, again,
they know all the stories &
instead of seeing people get better,
they see them get worse---
some may even get the opportunity to see someone drink themselves to death &
how that sits with the bartender
is only the business of the bartender---
at the end of the day,
if you work at a joint with live music,
ya get to hear some good stuff for free (along with the bad) &
if you work at a place with live comedy,
sometimes you can get free laughs throughout the evening---
if you’re lucky.

Details | Free verse | |

out of work cologne

out of work cologne (patent pending)

got a new idea
(patent pending)---
you know
that feeling when you just get out
of a job you hate &
the world feels anew
for a few wondrous hours
(no matter how tired you were beforehand)?

i’m gonna scrape the sweat
gonna squeeze the glands dry
all into a itty bitty bottle
(the smaller the bottle, the more ya need &
the more bucks in the bank pour moi),
and after doing so,
it will promptly be on the shelf
maybe near the energy drinks
(stir your adrenaline, keep you awake & thriving
through the wee hours)
maybe in your perfume/cologne isle
(keep him/her interested & writhing in your arms)
who knows how it will be marketed,
but one thing is for sure,
one will never have lived in such a world 
as the one flushed thoroughly
by my 
out of work cologne.

Details | Free verse | |

Night In Silence

I walk in and he's there
My stomach jumps into my throat
We've been warned not to slack
They're watching us like hawks
Tonight could make or break us
Our usual side by side partnership
Is changed to opisite ends
The next four hours of silence
Are going to make for a long night
But the one minute we meet
In the middle of each aisle
Makes the four hours of silence
Worth while this night
They thought we couldn't do it
We wouldn't get the job done
We'd be to distracted by each other
But we proved them wrong once again
We did a great job
With time to spare
We did what they told us
And then did some more
We showed them
Split us up? Ha
Like they ever could

Details | Free verse | |

Would you attend to Me

Would you see what I see?
Would you go where I go?
Would you work where I work?
Would you tell what I say?
Would you receive who I receive?
Would you greet who I want you to greet?
Would you devote your time with what I deem important?
Would you direct who I want driven?
Would you pay with your possession?
Would you win your ways?
Would you do your words?
Would you give what I want you to give?
Would you get with who I want to get with?
Would you hide when I want your presence?
Would you dread what I want you to work on?
Do what I say when I say it

Details | Free verse | |


rather to have something concrete
than something that would have to be
rather to find yourself with others babbling
than to ponder it a bit on your own?
rather to stay in the same place for as long as possible
than to wander the world when you can?
rather to fabricate knowledge & affection others claim to work the length of a life at attaining
than to work tirelessly for them yourself?
rather than to learn to serve yourself & chew your own food
better for you to be spoon-fed. 

Details | Free verse | |

Demons to battle

We all have our demons to battle
Some manifest in different ways
Luckily alcohol is not one of mine
Everyone has lots of work to do 
We all work to keep the government demons at bay
My heart is to big for political demonism
Would rather labor and build than lie
And then we reach the end of the cycle
Some of us can rest while others toil
Now how about you do you have demons
Have you battled with the alcohol one
And have you worked and toiled
To keep the government demons at bay
Do you have the heart for political demonism
Would you labor and build or can you lie
When you reach the end of your cycle
You can rest and enjoy the relaxation
There is someone ready to take your place
This might be the biggest demon you will battle

Details | Free verse | |

A Catholic Mass for the Collection of Rubbish

the council had sub-contracted, to Beresford & Dodd,  
the collection of rubbish in the street, and the workforce 
had reacted, (badly);
now a week without an empty bin and it's smelly,
fly-blown breathing;

we knew the boss was Catholic, so us neighbours wrote 
a "letter-prayer" and we called the TV in;  they filmed
our pious throng, as we worked through our heavenly song;

" Beresford and Dodd, who take away the bins of the world
hear us!"

"Beresford and Dodd, who take away the bins of the world,
hear our prayer"

"Beresford and Dodd, who aren't taking any bins at all,
talk to the dam union!

"It is right and fitting!"


 so was it the prayer, or was it God, or TV gave the nod, to
Beresford and Dodd ?

well, we're really not that sure, but now the air is good!
thanks to the union, Beresford and Dodd. 

Details | Free verse | |

writers creed

writer’s creed

this is my pen, my PC, my laptop, my ipad, my phone---
all with which i write.
there are many like them, but these are mine.
my writing apparatus is my best friend.  
it is my life &
i must master it as i must master my life.
without me, this apparatus is useless.  without this apparatus, i am useless.
i must write whatever i like, whenever i like,
for to write is to breathe & to breathe is to live.
both my apparatus & myself know that what counts in the act of writing is not
the conclusive piece written, but the process by which we come to such a 
my apparatus is not human & therefore it does not carry with it the flaws & errors
that accompany such a state of being.
i will learn as i use it,
overstepping weaknesses in myself &
gaining strength in that same token.  in doing so, i will make sure to keep my apparatus fully functional & updated to the best of my ability.
before myself, those who may read my own work & whose work i read,
i swear this creed---
beyond this i swear nothing to anyone, to anything, to anything that “could be” or that is still being pondered---
for we writers are the masters of the “now.”
we are saviors to no one &
victory in any sense, has never been an objective.
this is what we do.

Details | Free verse | |

take it back.

Sunny sky's 
            dark nights,
                       forbidden love 
                              and the hearts bite.
the mighty dollar,
            middle class,
                      pay check to pay check,
                                thee unheard laughs.
from 58' to 08'
             time not on your side,
                         wanting and needing,
                                 timeless tears quick to hide.
love a word forgotten,
              three years of marriage
                            was it all for nothing?
                                      todays love sits lost in a carnage.
smile for all mask needs one
                laugh for that's truly all you own,
                             like for love... you don't know 
                                         then repeat thats what's shown,
remove it all for one moment,
                 remember when own it,
                               your not all that you have are want,
                                            you are letting it slip.
this isn't what you wanted,
                   as a child happiness was your goal,
                                 a walk, a talk, a friend simple enough?
                                            the world has you...but not your soul. is it worth it?
                  do we leave wishing  we lived?
                                  is this our journey or their way?
                                            smile love and remember... to live.

Details | Free verse | |

Life of a No-name Extra

To glorify the leading star he obits the big named performer
with blank face in shabby clothing and for his part is so minute
it doesn’t matter whether he exists or not.

Although, he falls under the sword with gushing blood,
killed by a single gun shot without a word, or dies 
by a thrusting spear with a short groan, no one cares 
to cry for his tragic death, because he has no name, no tomb.

A day of extra’s life is to learn how to wait and to survive 
through one day at a time.  He roams around the studio patiently 
for his given day and, while roaming around the empty studio
he becomes a dim shadow under the darkening sky, 

and when the sky getting darker and darker he follows the sets 
with a moon, with the stars, to the location where the scenery 
that is to shot and glorify the big name, as the truckloads that 
move along in a long formed line.

If you spend a day in Hades, it will shorten a day of given life.  
For death is proof of the contrary to the living, and waiting game 
is the part of extra’s life, though the life seemed to be worthless, and therefore, no cast of a play is given for his sake, the extra, the leftover life, also is the existing being until he falls under the sword, killed from a single bullet, trusted to die by a spear.

Details | Free verse | |

Eye Have Seen

 Eye Have Seen     
Author Message 

Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 637

 Subject: Eye Have Seen   Today at 17:37      

Eye Have Seen

Eye Have Seen 

Eye have seen a woman showing paint upon a stick to a painter blending color 
after color in effort to get house the color that she picks. Eye have seen the color 
indicator and the painter almost faint as she tells him it must be this shade of 
pink. Eye have seen the painter tell her oh my lady they do not mix the paint in 
colors made this way. Eye have seen a woman fainting when the house was 
painted white no color added to the mixt. Eye have seen the painter leaving then 
in the direction of the paint store with the multicolored paint stick well in hand to 
get the closest he can get to the color of the picked pink shade of paint. Eye have 
seen a lavender porch. Eye have seen a purple overhanging couch. Eye have 
seen a whole pink house. Ladies get what ladies pick. 
 Eye Have Seen 

Details | Free verse | |


I give God the praise;
You are fearfully and wonderfully made.
In the womb by Him you were knit and tied.
You are His work I can tell.  
Astonishing!  I know full well
He even created who you are deep inside-

For His image and His likeness you were given,
You are the work of His hands,
So wonderful.
In your soul He breathed His life and now you're living,
And with salvation
You are meek and beautiful.

On the day that you were made,
There in the secret place
Your frame was not hidden from Him.
God saw you yet unformed,
And even before you were born,
All the days of your life He ordained them.

And how precious are His thoughts concerning you!
How vast is the sum of them!  They're more than a few.
Countless as the grains of sand, His words fall like dew
Every morning when He approaches with mercies ever new-

You He will awake,
For He delights in whom He has made
And crowned with glory and honor.
He makes much ado
About beautiful you,
For you're His child and He's your Father.

Psalm 139:14

Details | Free verse | |


The sweat that comes out is not that matters
Where you feel guilty
For the outcome is faulty 

The effect of how it comes out that matters
Not that you feel heat, not that you feel suffocation 
Your hard work that involves its excretion

The effect of how it comes out that matters 
For which you feel proud 
Helping others in and out

The effect of how it comes out that matters 
Earning your livelihood 
For you would

Sweat in this way that matters
The effect of how it comes out that matters
And when you get the reward
For you work so hard

The effect of how it comes out that matters 

Details | Free verse | |

We Are What We Lived

We Are What We Lived

A “Happy Home” grows happy adults.
A “Miserable Home” grows miserable adults.
A “Love-able Home” grows love-able adults.
A “Hateful Home” grows hateful adults.
A “Peaceful Home” grows peaceful adults.
An “Angry Home” grows angry adults.
A “Quiet Home” grows tranquil adults.
A “Braying Home” grows braying adults
A “Respectful Home” grows respectful adults.
A “Ridiculing Home” grows ridiculing adults.
An “Affectionate Home” grows affectionate adults.
An “Indifferent Home” grows indifferent adults.
A “Hopeful Home” grows hopeful adults.
A “Pessimistic Home” grows pessimistic adults.

“Children see…children do” When they grow up.
The lessons taught at home are passed through generations.
We must take time to evaluate, adjust, and reevaluate our homes.
Peace begins right there…in each individual’s heart.
We are what we choose; so, choose wisely.
It behooves us all to show: love, wisdom, and respect.
Practice every good thing together as a family.
Ourselves, our children, our homes can be heavenly.
If we choose to work together, we can make it so.
If not, dreadful despair will conquer too many souls.
I say we shall succeed.  We shall encourage one another.
We shall work together for the good of all… 
Then, there will be joy once more upon the earth.

Details | Free verse | |

The Witch

A Witch I am, a witch I'll stay. 
I'll work alone till my dying day. 
But then return I will 
for I am a forever soul. 
I travel now both far and wide. 
I need no car or broom to ride. 
For these are man made material modes. 
I travel by night on the wind alone. 
The moon is my mother, 
she rules the earth, 
she is the one who gave us birth. 
My work will continue for eons of time, 
With the thousands of others 
around the earth,we continue our work. 
which will continue till peace is won. 
We work for good, for positive ways, 
Trying to dispens negative rays. 
Till man sees the destruction he 
is creating most of his days. 
My mother the moon, looks down and weeps, 
at the peaceful way the evil ones sleep. 
Her tears fall down and in density seep. 
As Chaos is growing on every side. 
There will be nowhere for man to hide. 
But we will continue our work to do, 
To try to help our mother through. 
And we all vow to continue our rede.

Author Explanation: The witches Rede is:-AND HARM YE NONE, DO WHAT YE 
WILL. The destruction of the earth should be in everyones thoughts. Witches try 
to spread positive loving thoughts through the world to try to bring harmony. If all 
the leaders of all the countries would keep positive loving thoughts for their 
people there would be no wars.  

Details | Free verse | |

An Actor Arrives at the Bristol Old Vic

I remember the grey slithers of rain,
The jocular driver
As I boarded the bus
At Temple Meads,
And the friendly lady who told me
When we had arrived at the city centre.
I remember the little pub on King Street,
With its quiet maritime atmosphere.
I remember tramping 
Along Park Street,
Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill,
My arms and hands aching from my bags,
To the little cottage where I had decided to stay
And relax between rehearsals,
Reading, writing, listening to music.
I remember my landlady, tall, timid and beautiful.

(The origins of "An Actor Arrives" lie in the barest elements of a story started but never finished in early 1980, while I was working at the Bristol Old Vic playing the minute part of Mustardseed in a much praised production of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was originally rescued in 2006 from a battered notebook in which I habitually scribbled during spare moments offstage while clad in my costume and covered in blue body make-up and silvery glitter. And while doing so, some of the glitter was transferred from the pages with which they were stained more than a quarter of a century previously onto my eerie experience indeed.)

Details | Free verse | |

the ladder

                                           THE LADDER

everyone wants to climb the ladder
success is at the top
rewards await those who make the climb
Steady progress is all it takes

sacrifices along the way
no time for kids or  friends
working and working with a little luck
and soon you are at the top

the view from there is great to see
with perks and power to spare
then, one day, the climb is over
and the move back down has begun

the downward climb has a different feel
your thoughts are different now
you don't want to go all the way down
the Mercedes might have to go

you look for a place to step off now
where a comfort level lies
one important thing stands out to you
to be happy the rest of your life

you dont need the county clubs
four cars in the garage
just your family around to keep
with no traffic jams or conference calls

a nice warm bed to lay your head
three meals to keep you full
a quiet place to sit and swing
and a dog to pat on the head

the corporate world is now far away
I have all that I need right here
my love's brought me some cold iced tea
I will drink, take a nap and smile

Details | Free verse | |

To Whom It May Concern

To whom it may concern,
I found a way to learn,
To set fire and let burn,
All the money I did earn....

It was easy as heck to do,
If you wish, I'll show you...
How to do it too,
You'll know this all is true,

In no time, it would take,
So, for heaven's sake,
I'll show you fast to make,
A pile of money bake.....

Details | Free verse | |

A Perfect Poet

 A Perfect Poet 
A Perfect Poet 
He wrote the poem and spelled the words so incorrectly he must tell his word 
document to ignore the half of it. He tries to make a style stand out to be 
eecummings in his heart he starts an idea and makes it work somewhat then he 
twists the center until it gels and bleeds then he turns the ending until it seems 
like just the ticket for the transfer on the bus ride home a perfect gnome a self 
important man so far from home a place in time already gone so all alone and 
hurt the day will come when attitude will win and all the people lose there hate 
and poets win and a perfect poet rides the wind and the blanket gets so wet at 
times and the life spills out when love arrives. AH HA he cried a perfect poet is 
the plan a perfect poem is a different thing. 

Details | Free verse | |



Swing me out in a gravitational arc into 
the ether way out fast, reach my apogee 
start my descent back to earth. Bit rough this time, 
turbulence shakes me, back to the dump joke shop joke shop. 
Sign on the line, give me my giro. Yeah, I’m part of the jump 
in unemployed figures! No future, no job, no mortgage. 
Held in place by gravity skull moon eclipse of unemployment. 

Details | Free verse | |


Skill kills-
Same to letters,
Same in letters!

Details | Free verse | |


Manipulator of the corn and sun making waves of amber grains learning to be 
future time traveling now just marking time taking up spaces meant to be used 
by people just like the eye peggy sue and bobby billy ginger lee using all the 
markers calling all the shots calling all the markers in to guarantee a slot 
manipulating everyone around them with the worthless they become promises of 
sex to pay for some every other word coming from a worthless space saying 
things to others a disgrace saying things like oh that well that it does not really 
matter why do you keep on bringing that item up to me it does not really matter 
much to me a parting shot a drifting howl goodbye a cipher in my eye tomorrow 
will be better for that is when we triumph that is when we win tomorrow we will 
rise up stronger from the din of all the worthless noises tearing all the ears away 
tomorrow when the band begins again to play what happened to today 

Details | Free verse | |

Penguin Poet

 Penguin Poet 
Penguin Poet 
The Batman was standing to the side of the bumbershooter looking askance at 
the penguins' aide so intent was the man in the plastic wrapper that he failed to 
see Robin coming up behind them and lost his nanner in a Robin manner he 
was soon tied up like a handcuff furrowing into the background noises of the 
Penguin lair the hair of the penguin was slick jetted black ebon nighttime fright 
and he launched a bird kick almost getting Batman in the jaw Robin came 
unglued and he is rally very strong he launched another bird kick in the belly of 
the thug. 
 WHAM Whack Thwack POW SOCK WHAM the fight was soon over and the 
Penguin land in jail. 

Details | Free verse | |

the slave

Eneryone's crying
So many dying
Cracks of the whip
Echo in their ears
Loved one's taken,beaten,and threatened
Long hours
Working all day,all night
Working for nothing
With no way out
The slave

Details | Free verse | |

The Lifer

The Lifer
Eye feel so sorry for someone that cares for only work and cannot have a little fun 
it seems so sad to me they cannot use the world to live or love but robot only 
seems to me a fate as worse as any death has come to those in work zones he 
looked for all the world a sad sad man when he said there is only work related 
things allowed on his bulletin board in the work zone land. He has helped me 
many times but now he told me with his eyes that eye am just a cipher in his life 
he died when he signed up for cash a lifer stuck upon the number given him 
when job was given name a number in the zone a lifeless thing a lifer come to 
stay how many gentle readers have the number or the name just like the lifer 
man the game is god the thing is done now no new information in the lifer zone 
allowed. No Soul.

Details | Free verse | |


Ah, wish I were gone beachcombing...

... among the fewest fondest words
     conjuring up simple, sparkling joys
      in a seemingly pointless pastime
       when the whole world of waged work
        wants me to do only that which is
         cost-effective, truly ensuring ROI:

         never mind divine artistry on shells
        and the tide that must have kissed
       the shores of distant continents;
      just trudge to the jobsite enduring
     bone-snapping cold, blistering heat,
...and the indignity of "No ID, No Entry!"

Ah, wish I were gone beachcombing.

Details | Free verse | |


My Mother is always behind my achievements 
And when I achieve something I used to tell her 
She feels happy and I used to cry
For my mother has done all the hard work to raise me up
She always bothered about my ups and down
She has now become old, as I have grown up
She now needs my help to be comfortable
She orders me and I respond with all happiness
She now depends on me
So I stay with her till she sleeps
One day she ordered me to get married
Just to see my bride and me happier
I got married to give my mother more support
Now my wife also takes care of my mother
Only thing I feel bad is that my mother is lonely without me
And after my marriage I could not afford to give her time
For everything now is so busy with me
She used to ask me where are you my son?
I used to explain her with the reason
And yes I want to take care of her the same way as before
But it is not to be
As my work increased 
And I now feel unfortunate
As I’m unable to serve my mother completely 
With my busy schedule 
That makes me lament about it.


Details | Free verse | |


know that they’ll love you for the work you do when you’re
that they will embrace the anger, the passion, the want to change the world---
know that they will circle round you like they do
when there is a fight in the public square,
watching the two beat each other senseless, if even to 
death &
then they’ll go about their merry way---
because a life of work means absolutely nothing until you are
dead &
to those that get recognized at all for doing anything anymore
come the glitz & the glam of 
momentary success,
but the rotting comes quick &
like a mole trying to get out of a dog’s concave water dish
with feet scampering up the sides, 
blinded to the reality of its coming 
the fall is inevitable---
here today & gone tomorrow,
as a leper deteriorating away on an island
far off from the spotlight that started it all.

Details | Free verse | |

Mental Victoms Part II

There is a girl a now
shes almost gotten away
played the game 
jumped through the hoops
told me some secrets
while she was there she was sexually assaulted
hey i don't pay taxes 
so i don't get to choose the channel 
i want to watch on the televisions 
that are there for the patients
i might be crazy but you know what
i can still remember what my delusions 
are and what the reality is on my better days
for me its like a movie or a song stuck in my head
sexual assaults, and a place to be toyed with, a place to go to die from the age of 
16 until you die, a place to run from the insanity you witness to be brought back 
and punished with the fact their lengthening your stay and upping your poison 
that doesn't heal!!!!

A boy singing in his room
too loud to keep the peace of the unit
was sent to maximum security for just that reason
neighbored with man in shackles and chains
just after Arthur had died
and Andrew ran away
he sang his songs
and one day couldn't get coffee out of a coffee pot
so he twisted the lid
to ease the flow
and guess what
he got a needle in his butt

and the doctor lied to his father about the whole ordeal 
and for two weeks after he could no longer participate in gym activities
later that Christmas 
they threw his Christmas cards away 
saying they were fire hazards

opening the blue pages dialing number after number after number
to report leaky pipes the sewer smell
I'll tell you one thing about those power trippers
the people that work there make it very obvious
they only work there because they are afraid to quit
because they fear they know too much
they are addicted of the group mentality of forcing medications upon those who 
don't want it

I've never seen something so ugly
some things in reality are there for reason
some things are there to be changed
but when something creates so many causalities and this is just a few
which i will explain,
one was addicted to drugs
one was probably in need of help
and one was me
but we are all victoms a  who gets away
in sickness or in health
 would rather die in our hallucinations and illness
than be brought back there
to go through than level of torture to be brought back to the next nightmare
the psychiatrists call better

makes me wonder why soo many of the ill find hospitals just another political 
war zone we are all innocent pawns of some unholy war game people with 
money.  I will find ways to turn the tables, this i swear

Details | Free verse | |

The Exit

There it was 
before me yet,
I could not approach.
It taunted me this day
as I ached for its use,
but retreated from it.
Monday called to me
as work became priority,
but my focus was still
on it and its power.
Oh why! 
The bittersweet
agony of knowing soon,
but never soon enough,
overcame me
as this day dragged
into a week of
sacrificed time.

Details | Free verse | |

Whose Preservation ?

Beyond this ocean of life I see those hard time,
Men sweated or toiled and did not go without a dime,
With greed, both learned to work for the extra prime,
The good bad and ugly thought this was no crime.
Then blew the wind with women preservation,
India's fifty-fifty, world remained unsure;
While half the Indian women earned to inflict,
The men lost jobs in pure protests and conflict.
Should women learn to fret and pull a tug boat?
Relaxed men enjoy these working lust beauties;
Pamper them with praise as they go through the maze,
Nice jingling bells as they run for work in daze.
Why should all men decry their conservations?
When women want hundred percent reservations:

Details | Free verse | |

J.O.E. (Jumble of Emotions)

I need control, I need will power,
I do too much homework,
Not enough social hour,
Life is funny,
How it changes on you,
Things are not like they used to be,
When I get back,
Who knows what they'll expect,
I live in a nest called "my room",
I only go out for food, drink, and release,
I don't ponder about the present,
I just do it to get through it,
Sometimes I feel like not trying,
I don't see the point of crying,
How I see my end parallels to my beginning,
I breathe in air,
Breathe out stress,
Junior year hard, no rest, no zest,
I'm a living zombie, no boyfriend, no life,
The people I like are oblivious to me,
What is wrong with me?
Do I have to walk around naked?
Why I am here?
If only I didn't feel lonely,
My mind hurts,
I don't know how to change,
But I don't want things to stay the same,
Life is a lame game

Details | Free verse | |


To be certain you will die an untimely death;
an indescribable feeling of wanting to be recognized
takes hold. 
Discreetly knowing your work may mean nothing until your passing;
or may mean nothing at all.
To know your life's work will only be at most one-fifth of
what it should;
the idea begins to consume you until your every waking moment is
spent preparing for your death.
To never be satisfied.

Details | Free verse | |


He was sitting just there,
Suddenly she came shouting shrill,
Its time and you have to leave,
He reluctantly took his manila,collected his glasses,
And made for the door,
He hiked himself on a bus,
And landed at the Tube,
Wading through the passenger crowd,
He found his tube and boarded it,
Tube ran and ran real fast,
But he just sat their thinking naught,
He was programmed for minutes,
Till tube stopped at his destination,
It did so soon enough,
And he got up in robot like fashion,
And got out of the passenger crowd,
He now boarded a bus,
And got moving to work place,
Landing there he just entered the gates,
He had little applets written in his brain,
To acknowledge in greeting,
Other colleagues and friends,
He nodded along,
Till his place came,
He simply sank in the cushy chair,
and sat there thinking naught,
a guy came and then another,
a few others followed,
some had work,some reported to him,
while to some other he did,
most of them had papers to exchange,
he had some papers,
others he got out of the computer,
towards evening his day of work ended,
he had reasons to get angry,
but he did not,
he had reasons to be happy,
but he did not ,
he had  several reasons to be several states,
but he did not,
he just sat there and thought naught,
With limp gestures he picked up his manila and glasses,
And moved to the tube,
Tube took him back the same way it had brought,
He again just sat there and thought naught,
He was home and sank in an armchair to relax,
He sipped the coffee and soon supped,
But he still thought just naught,
It was about the same when he watched soaps and sundry on smaller tube,
He still thought naught,
When he did fall sleep his brain stopped thinking even naught,
Till he got up next morning,
And got opportunity to think naught again.

Details | Free verse | |

Wasted Mind

A beautiful mind
Brilliant thinker
Poetic words capture everyone's attention
Consumes knowledge
And revels in it

Life surpasses this vessel
Circumstances superceede the thoughts
Reality takes a visit and moves in
Stimulation miniscule
Stuck quielty behind a desk

Details | Free verse | |

Lady Magistrate

                               She never dismisses with facile labels
                                            differing points of view,

                                     and she's habitually skeptical
                                       about neat, precooked data

                                   from the prosecution or defense
                                            who lie professionally

                                      through their yellowed teeth,
                                                  and disdains

                                     the prepackaged responses
                       from untruthful, but well-rehearsed witnesses;

                       and she never pampers attendant sentiments
                             as she marshals objective information

                                                    to buttress 
                                             her every decision.

Details | Free verse | |

Children Build

            Children Build 

Modified by good intent the children build  
Bridges between the desert land and forest jungle green
Tied together, hanging on the other side just out of reach
Construction by the young ones with their tiny fingers
Soft and clean along the vast divide, above the giant chasm
Working shadows hold their own against the constant wind
In repetitive motion under sun and moon
By day and night they weave 
Flimsy tissues dangle with them on the scene
Rice papers, due diligence and faith their only tools  
Links between two worlds emerge on solid effort
Boulder strong is their conviction above the open hole
We credit them with innovation and invention 
Such beauty and design are sure to please
With an inkling of a smile, almost like a cry
Bridge is completed just in time 
In single file giant elephants begin the heavy task
To cross the thin expanse made out of paper
Balanced on the tusk, the bridge calling them to hurry up
Small set eyes help to find a footing
The mammoth creatures are in for a surprise

Details | Free verse | |


Snow streams
in the bright tunnel
of my headlights
it slows the bugs
but I’m fully loaded
on the edge of flying
my music LOUD
a schedule to meet
and only death 
can stop me.

I’ll ogle babes
at truckstops
and  the bar 
on my off days
but on the highway 
I don’t look inside
a bug’s skin
and keep my
eyes on the road
and both hands 
on the wheel
so we’ll all reach 
home alive.

Snow streams
in the bright tunnel 
of my headlights
eighteen wheels 
of diesel thunder
a schedule to meet
and only death 
can stop me.

Details | Free verse | |

Restrictive Services

 Restrictive Services 
Restrictive Services 
Knowledge kept would be the crime of the century plant the knowledge in a pot of 
kept who gets it who wins no one wins all will die the field of flowers covers me 
eye cry the wind has taken all my thoughts the sorrow of the world has come the 
pot is kept the knowledge pot but even worse restrictions come the harder it gets 
the harder it seems to become no one wins when knowledge leaves the 
knowledge pot unless it shares with all the people come the candle burning at 
both ends impresses no one the work ignored the  knowledge soon repressed 
the books are burned the burning dress is added to the pep rally bond fire and 
the work the fun is gone toss in all the textbooks while the devil dances there and 
animal become 

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I would build you a glorious palace
with ornamental roads and
wondrous sculptures if I could,
but I only have these two clumsy hands
to work with. 

They are the best I have to offer you
but these hands will work wonders
if given the chance.
The trouble is, I don't really

know if I should have that chance.
Sometimes you have to do the best with
what you have to work with
and these hands may accidentally destroy

the very thing they are trying to make so
beautiful for you.

Details | Free verse | |

McHuge a Love

 McHuge a Love 
McHuge a Love 

ewe can no more beard an eagle than prove it means the world: 
no sooner bald an eagle than anylyze a god; 
yet GOD amazes us alighted or aloft: 
and gives us faith so much 
a verse eye found on a book of poetry 
altered by this poet mee 
in all humility for Heather and the ewe 
my splendid love 
still inside my aged heart 
writ by Charlax Bard

Details | Free verse | |


Awake, O' children of zion.Purpose and destiny is waiting on thee.
Awake,awake out of the slumber of your sleep and shake the dust off your feet.  
Awake, my child of zion the zeal of the Lord has gotten into thee.
Awake,my little ones.We must gird up and put our hands on the spiritual guns to 
build,and the guns that once killed.
Awake, Awake, O'children of zion.The kingdom conquering has begun.
Awake,Awake,can't you see that the victory is already won?
So many degrees to everyone's destiny .
Victory is in the hand of all our destinies.
Awake, Awake, and again I say awake.
Time must run.Run, Run, because time has already begun.
Awake,Awake, the word of God had spread to all points east.
Awake,Awake,because north,south and west also has the  411 and the 222.
this is where salvation is won.
Awake,the work was already in your destiny.

Details | Free verse | |

Lost And Found

Lost And Found
Every airport and bus station and any public patterned place has a lost and found 
department the idea of this new poem come to me in one a library made of love 
listen as eye make my poetical approach
Good morning desk person please may eye see inside the lost and found box 
please (conscience speaks) (eye did not rally lose not anything just let me see 
what’s there so eye can score) well eye need to see what’s there to help me 
remember what eye lost you found it eye am sure there could not be a thief at foot 
in a library made of love.

Details | Free verse | |

These Meetings

My Esteemed Comrades,
Fellow devotees of the Sacred Process -
It feels as though I've never left,
             As though we've always been here
             Around a table
             Inside a room
                                        No windows     No doors

Our collective voice falls on my ears
With all the pleasantry
Of sheet metal being slowly torn apart.

We have moved with all the expedition
Of snails racing across arctic tundra mudflats.

Our work is as relevant
As the growth of our toenails.

Our decisions as meaningful
As Babylonian algebra.

Our goals as clear as anyone's could be,
Before their Thorazine wears off.

This has been as much fun for me
As licking salt with a papercut tongue.

                I've grown to love these meetings;
                They define my life.
                I even dream of them.
               They are my answer to the great Koan of the Void.

So when I die,
Fill my emptied veins with coffee black as space.
Call a meeting with Supreme Chair God,
To discuss the agenda of my DNA -
Record the Minutes of my life,
Weigh their worth against the sands of time,
Submit them for Review and Approval
To the Creation Committee
Before the universe implodes and the whole thing starts again -

Establish Rules of Order for the Ritual Dance,
The Alpha and Omega Circle of Proceedure,
For the Beginning of the End of the End of the Beginning
Of the 

Details | Free verse | |

My eyes search

When I seek direction, my eyes search for You, Lord
As I stumble and fall, my eyes search for You, Lord

You are always there to lift me, from whence I fall
Lord, You gently yet firmly guide me

Though I know not what tomorrow brings
I live in anticipation knowing You are in control

For life is a great journey, with excitement
As well as hard times

Yet nothing falls short of Your plan
For my benefit for You are forever faithful

You make all things work for good
To those that trust in You

‘Round every corner You plant a blessing
I, as Your child, do not go without

Some blessings require work to receive, but nothing
I am not able to do, according to Your will

When I am loved by no one else on this earth
I know that I am loved by You

That’s why my eyes search for You, Lord.
They always search for You.

Details | Free verse | |

Societetical Workerbe

 Societetical Workerbe 
Societetical Workerbe 
The smells are many and varied embedded in his jeans the eye can smell his 
jacket the beer he had to drink is mingled with his chew or what he had to smoke 
wait the flaver is not write it must be chew he may not even smoke for raw 
tobacco that has not been burnt has a different flaver than a cigarette he chews 
the odor is not mistaken there his hands are pitted they are scared they match 
his face a man involved in working for his pay he is there to get his money for his 
drink and chew to get his booze that is how Society rules if the eye were just to 
ask him why he wants to smell that way he would just smile then tell me just to 
go away and then he would cry and say a real man drinks and chews and yes he 
smells and earns his every dollar in his Levis blues he has it all a house no car 
he rides the city bus to escape the DUI fines the insurance payments and his 
wife so beyond the middle classes he hangs his over into the next working day 
he calls his mess he rides he smells he works he chews he drinks 

Details | Free verse | |

Show Time

Show up.
Show me
Show out

Details | Free verse | |


Driving WHILE intoxicated Driving Under the Influence Driving With Ignorance. 
Two men speaking one man was scarred on his legs very bad burned and old 
healed up and working again no not the age of the man which was uncertain but 
the age of the burns was evident. He said his wife refused to pay the insurance 
on his truck and they repo came and got the truck he is riding now the city bus 
telling everyone he is the man how can he be so happy at losing everything he 
got his truck his driver license gone 
He still denies the alcohol the problem he says he drinks a very lot less but to 
me that is missing it he drinks and still acts tough and wants to keep his job and 
worthless partee. 
His life is slow but still he manages to crawl. 

Details | Free verse | |

Eye Apologize

Eye Apologize
Eye take a picture no not take eye FIND a picture just suddenly upon the internet 
and then eye use it eye am guilty of all my pictures eye make my banners they 
are not stolen eye created them each and every one of them but the pictures they 
are all stolen Eye confess and Eye apologize they looked so nice they seemed to 
fit please forgive me let me do no time let the pictures continue to be mine let the 
poems seem to be a story placed in the pictures for all the world to see a stage 
upon the Ethernet for every girl and boy please understand me none of them the 
pictures are ribald they please the eye they please mye ewe they are adult 
sometimes so watch the poems with the children please while somewhere in 
the cactus patch eye continue to apologize

Details | Free verse | |

What I Did With Summer

Roasted my back hanging over eaves on a scalding rooftop.
Painted, drove, had sex.
Slowly replaced my blood with a hitest mixture
Of caffeine and ephedrine.
Painted, drove, daydreamed about sex.
Watched the sun burn up the grass from bluedust skies.
Painted, drove, bought girlie mags & read about sex.
Missed the kids, yet was often vexed by their demands when home.
Painted, drove, sucked beers in the dead of night
By the wordprocessor - & wrote about sex.
Learned how to watch girls from the rearview mirrors.
Painted, drove, had friends over & talked about sex.
Bought a house, indentured myself to the year 2020.
Painted, drove, had some more sex.

Lesson One: The path to success is long and thorny.
Lesson Two: Stress and stimulants make me horny.

Resolution: Next year, in matters pertaining to screwing,
My motto will be: "Less thinking, More doing."

Details | Free verse | |

The Letter Change

 The Letter Change 
The Letter Change 
 One word one entire word one letter of an entire word one letter of a word 
changes the entire meaning of a line and can change the entire meaning of a 
poem try the thing on for size oh gentle reader ewe and see if eye am write. 
When gives some idea of time when eye then changed the w to a t then it 
became then and changed the meaning of the sentence to be then to be a 
somewhat different idea the time change made it seem to be a different direction 
a different place as if it is now a change takes place and makes the poem so 
much better than just a past mistake would seem to enhance the poem just to 
make it bleed please tell no one oh precious ewe that it was accident and just 
mistaken typing and let them all think me the genius that eye am for loving ewe. 
When then the letter change. 

Details | Free verse | |

One World, Our World

    Let the river
flow where it will
    Our eyes will see
what they must
     we depend on it 
and the plants
it nourishes
    We depend on it 
for its flowering waters
    we depend on it
for daytime
     and nightfall
the seasons form
     the perimeter 
of this world
   as it blows 
hot and cold
   Let's not forget 
what we owe
this planet
    We are the stewards
            and the life
we take from this blue orb
should not be
taken too lightly
Together we can 
     save the creatures 
of this world
   Together we can 
forget petty differences and 
   work together 
for the dream
     of a planet 
        Our work 
will take us from the 
  depths of the 
  to the heights of
the Himalayas
    Take a deep breath!
     Recognize the kinship of all life!

Details | Free verse | |


She practices posing
  In a mirror reflection
    I see her elegance

Eyes sparkler brighter
  Than ocean ripples
    Under a full moon

Her expression
  Is one of holding
    A hidden secret

Her stance is
  Balanced only by
   A tripod for her hands

For she is a photographer

But I see the
 True image from
   Sitting in the chair

Details | Free verse | |

Too Quiet

It has been to quiet on the Eastern side,
has anyone seen my favorite guy.
Busy I guess, getting ready for Spring,
and all the chores, this time will bring.
Planting, and cleaning, some new paint too,
maybe he is busy, just trying to get through.

Details | Free verse | |

Poet Lament

Poet Lament
Working out from the first line to the last
this poem was it written on a day much like this one
the theme and the rhyme scheme seems like one that eye have made
 every now and then eye go ahead and write them
sure that it was not the same as one so smartly penned then
the prose poem was created for people who make idea poems
then write the feelings deep inside
they do not always make a rhyme
but always a lament
Working back from the last line to the first

Details | Free verse | |

Gal Friday

Some quizative soul,
Wanted to know about that phrase...
Simple enough...
Nothing to leave you a'daze...

See, Friday in the office...
Is the end of the week...
So you gotta make sure...
That your secret don't leak...
Like her calling you at home...
Creating quite a stir...
Your wife now demanding...
If there's something going on,
with her...
So on Friday you tend...
To treat your girl Friday
extra good....
Say the right words...
Doing all that you could....
To keep her sated all
You don't want her to become...
Another Mother Hen...
So if you're a wife,
And Hubby dresses
His best each Friday...
Just take the big hint...
And here's what to say....

"You dirty @^^q$$+(!g&...
That seems quite succinct,
And let him know for sure...
You're in power,,
The pens inked...
He'd better show up
on Monday...
With candy, flowers,
and a big raise...
Or you'll bop him one good,
And leave him adaze!!

Details | Free verse | |

A Poem about Work

And I saw the job advertised, 
in the firm’s vacancy bulletin;
so I talked to the bosses and 
they smiled and patted my back
and that felt good

I sent my forms in, my application; 
but the following week, I was seen 
on TV, striking for higher pay and a 
fairer society;

and the forms and the good feelings
and the bosses and the pats on the back, 
all went away;  so the next time I went 
on strike, I wore an attractive mask

and when  I went to see the bosses again
they  said, “Hey!  loved the mask!”

Details | Free verse | |

You give me this feeling

          You give me this feeling 
           Like i'm looking through a glass window 
           I can see you and I can feel you
           but some how i'm unable to touch 
           I crave your kisses like plants crave rain
           I'm infatuated with your mind 
           your body I would slave for if I wasn't pure
           and your soul I try to touch it every chance
           I get. When it's in the moment at least. 
           But my fingers they only leave fingerprints 
           on the foggy window that's so distorted.
           I will always remember how it feels
           to hold you and have it actually mean
           something. But for now i'm looking through a window
           The sun is shining outside tempting me 
            to go.  But i'm afraid. 
            I know what will happen if I let you in again. 
            you will hurt me. 
             Your soul deserves freedom and I would be work to you.
              Work to be together. Work to stay together.
                You do enough working just to live yourself. 
                 I don't want to put any extra hardships on 
                  your shoulders. 
               Your not afraid to contradict my views 
             Your always there when I need to hear the truth 
               Your above me 
            In my mind i'm not worthy
           It's hard to see how I could fit in 
          How I even tried to in the beginning
           But some how in this weird way
           we seem to fit just like a glove
         It feels right when I'm hugging you
          But when your look at it through 
          wide logical eyes it won't make any sense
              So we should just stay apart.
                 But is that what we both really want? 
                 You give me this feeling?
                     Don't you feel it? 
               How right " We" could be
                 just you and me
    I sigh as I look out the window
       I won't get my answer.
           Maybe we will never know.  
           But you give me this feeling.

Details | Free verse | |

Paper Mache

For those who teach of dragons

No, don't be silly, it couldn't have moved.
Although, for a fraction of a second,
did one of the legs and the long spiked tail
seem to shift and relax,
then, again, frozen into place?

Working late at my desk this evening,
starting to see things, I suppose.


It was just the sound of my silver pen scribbling.


Whatever that was, I don't want to know.

I think I will just finish this at home.
The question is, making it to the door.
Would it allow me to just walk out? Leave?

Was the head tilted this way before?



Placing papers in my briefcase
and finishing the last of my cold coffee.
Moving for the door, reaching for the light!


Blackness, then it has me.
the dragon

Details | Free verse | |


The day will come when I can sleep late and write my own paycheck.I won't have 
to hesitate about calling in stating that I'll be a little late.

The day will come when I won't have to listen to conversations of a late night 
rendezvous and who's scheming who and what will they do.When they find out 
about boo...Theday will come. I won't have to deal with the workplace being 
divided into various cliques.Cliques  A and B means you're okay and you're on on 
your way .C and D mean you're just a body for a rotating position that will soon 

The day will come I won't have to work filled with frustration inside. While the 
children go by the wayside. They're in the box for a variety of dysfunctions. A pill 
here a pill there ... There are pills everywhere.

The treatment plan is to keep you here.Without the kids where would the money 
come from? It's a funny thing when people talk about that thing called money. 
The day will come when I can thank the employers for giving me a drive to do 
better for myself. Working for the man won't bring wealth.

The day will come when I can go into any store and I won't have to shop on  a 
clearance rack. The day will come when I can sow seeds back into the 
community that help raise me. The day will come where the sky is the limit to all 
of the possibilities that my mind can conceive. The day will come .That day is 
now . The day is here.

Details | Free verse | |


My weary head, it trembles so
From all the work throughout the day
So upon this pillow, I place it now
To chase that day away

My eyes then close, but still to see
As light then does appear
There on a cloud, I see you there
Your voice, I then do hear

I go to you, I reach for you
You take my hand in yours
We share this cloud of fluffiness
As love just then outpours

Details | Free verse | |


Eye was always small and never given much to physical displays or showing out 
and fits of strength were not my style the strongman of the circus type is more the 
type for that. As eye was a mechanic eye was learning how to handle tires. The 
huge wide tires on some big trucks were heavy. 
A man is given many things to learn and so eye handled them with scorn and 
ease so quickly learned an android with a heart of stone and a belly full of beer is 
capable of many fits of strength and aptitude for more. The mechandroid has a 
tire adapter gun made for lug nuts not torqued on he zaps them off then he lifts 
the tires back on when the real mechanic is now done with work to do the car 
repairs quite threw the tires then go back on they must be torqued on with a hand 
wrench the thing looks for all the world almost like a real magic wand. It's just a 
metal stick with some fancy parts inside to adjust the tension of the hand 
pressure we apply. 
The number for the car is in a book. We learn to look the torque pressure number 
up for every different job. 
It's still different for a car than for a truck. 
Every now and then upon the roadway eye still find a lost and lonely lug nut. They 
still spin off the tires into outer space and people lose the race with time if they 
do not take the car in for repairs and have them torqued quickly back on again by 
an mechandroid type of guy. 

Details | Free verse | |


Author Message 

Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 648

 Subject: CharlaXXPlainasion   Today at 17:02      


Eye is me the personal pronoun I is replaced with eye become a sober poetical 
religious Jesus lover of mye Parme. Ewe it is her who loves me sometimes eye 
misspell words purposefully to fit a poem to make the poems bleed to make a 
poem fit the back of my poetical license plate intended to make the people come 
back to poem place again again then to remember me to read and smile to 
understand the poem of a CharlaX man to understand a CharlaX poem to have a 
read good time to understand the poem of a CharlaX ewe must first understand 
mye style this poem gentle reader this one that ewe aer reading now this one is 
a CharlaX Poem this one made me smile. 

Details | Free verse | |

Sans Work

Sitting in window awn,
I took a deeply inhaled cleanser of a yawn,
It was just about dawn,
The day had begun,
And I had to do the daily run,
I wondered what I would gain,
If I dressed up and became a man,
And began the day in the main,
After all why do I do all this distance,
And come back to my clan,
Would it be possible if I could change my plan?
And simply rest with work sans,
What would change and go wrong,
If I sat without work and sang my song,
Suddenly came my spouse,
With her brood hugging her blouse,
She glared me up and down,
In a close uncomfortable browse,
She clicked me sharp and tight,
And sent me right to my website.

Details | Free verse | |

Time to Get Up

Alarming, Alerting
Startling, Shocking
Shouting, Signaling


Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.


Siren, Gong
Buzzer, Bell
Chime, Ring


Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.


Annoying, Bothersome
Disturbing, Irritating
Pestering, Provoking


Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.


Warning, Hailing
Calling, Cautioning
Monotomous, Repititious


Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.
Beep, Beep. Beep, Beep.

Time to get up.

Details | Free verse | |

Mainstream America

A new day has awaken
And with raw 
You stretch and yawn 
While curtains are drawn 
Just once you willfully wish 
To stagger back 
To your place of slumber 
And not feel so outnumbered 
By the roar of thunder 
The cars and buses make 
Making your conscious 
Wander and care 
Just a brake 
A day without hurling down the stairs 
Into the buses 
Driven by madmen 
Driven by fear 
Packed in like sardines 
Faces riddled 
With a long silent stare 
If only I could turn off 
The switch  
And ditch 
The day 
But I guess 
I have to wait
Till Saturday 

Details | Free verse | |

Teach I

To those of us that love to teach

Take kids away,
even if
they stay.

Stories, music, objects,
and thoughts
are what we play.

We can write,
speak, draw,
or act.

Become the place
and the thing.
Now write about us
in that place.

"I am the wind, I like to blow things."

Whatever we want
to think or be
is okay.

Make a living meadow
or a bear.


Take kids away
even if
we stay...

Details | Free verse | |

CharlaX Pleas

CharlaX Pleas
Writers have a deadline most people work at something even written work is 
work it takes some typing with both hands not every poet is an ASIMOV not every 
writer is Heinlein pleas read the charlax poems please for the day will come 
quite soon infact when there is only none someday eye will not be able to refresh 
the website while I’m able to write down these pearls of wisdom given to a poor 
man from his GOD make a journey in my poem list given me from the poetry vine 
look at some read them listen to the pretty music look at all the stolen pictures 
while there is still some time gentle reader ewe be mine a homeless creature 
eye become.