I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b
It seems like everybody around me has forgotten,
they're stuck on a thought again,
saying alot and whining more.
Preying on their own self-doubts,
they have so much,
yet see so little.
Can't they see that 64 inch TV,
or feel the beating of the jets in their hot tub ?
They measure their lives too much,
they have fallen into the "Great American Dream Sham"
as my friend "Chad Williams Lowther" would say !
Its a ruse,
so they can make changes in their lives which they normally wouldn't do,
because they lack the strength and insight,
so they get stuck in their minds.
and the damn kids are really suffering,
cause they don't have the latest video gizmo box.
Thoughtless over-reactions of self- abuse,
much like an addict who is never satisfied.
"The Great American Dream Sham" sucked them in,
macroni and cheese,
saturday morning cartoons and matinees.
All replaced by todays goals and desires,
which are masquerading as tired souls trying to find solice,
stuck in "the Great American Dream Sham"
and now saying all there is to say,
Hail, Hail to me
and all who are free,
all who go their own way
and all who see though it !
Copyright © mark king
Here further down the hillside slope
Down close to the creek with hope
My husband bought a house, land
Fenced in and made many plans
Subdued the land to cow pasture
And planted a garden, fruit trees sure
Fathered another child to call him sir
The creek seemed to like the stir
Enjoyed the children for a little while___
Loved them so that it made her smile
Today she loves grandchildren the same
No girls there are in frills ___tame
The creek keeps on flowing to the sea
The land is mostly stripped of trees
(This is my adaptation of Robert Frost's poem "The Birthplace". I hope that it does not insult
Copyright © Sara Kendrick
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.
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?”
Copyright © Sam Toil
A coffee bar with orange paint --
Brown tables on a tiled, grey floor --
Soft light within blown glass above --
A neon sign hangs by the door.
I come here sometimes just to write.
A coffee bar with orange paint
To some would be apalling; but
I do not see it as a taint.
Tonight an artist's work is hung
Upon those walls in bold display;
A coffee bar with orange paint
Allows her dreams to have their say.
I like the color in these walls --
A brazen hue, not pale or quaint;
And in this place I weave my words --
A coffee bar with orange paint.
Copyright © M. Teresa Blaylock
There's a white line
Dead center of the empty road
The sky is clear, the sun is hot
I am sitting on the edge of this blacktop world
Waiting for a tow
Some shortcut huh? A back road error in judgement...
Sitting in this no-man's land of desolate boredom
A missed appointment, a disappointed friend waiting
Frustration billows up in the heat of Indian summer
Peafowl graze in the tall brown weeds behind me, hunting grasshoppers
Territorial hens and cocks at their banquet
The patriarch, with his vast train, reigns aloof
In the shade of a vagrant oak, that shadows the place where I sit
One lone hen, wanders onto the white line, and looks at me, with disdain
I am an intruder, in a world I don't belong....
I have been sitting here for nearly an hour
Mesmerized by the long white line that meanders into the distant horizon...
I'm wondering how long has it been
Since I've had such a moment
To contemplate such a trifle...as a white line in the center of an asphalt road
Who put it there? What sort of man? Who drives the machine, that paints this line?
Did he do this all day...draw these straight white painted stripes?
Does he give it much thought? This artist,...this Da'vinci of roadways?
Does he think of the life he might save?
The order this brings? His touch of white on a blacktop world?
Does he do this all day.....day after day?
This artwork to pay for his wife's medicine?
Or for a son's braces, or a daughter's tuition?
Trivial contemplation, perhaps, while one ponders by the side of a road.....
You say.....it is just a white line......so what??
To someone....even a trifle....a white line on asphalt....
might be important......
Copyright © Carrie Richards
Help me smother this irritation ~ with lines and punctuations ~
Feed me pronouns ~ to drown incompetent sounds ~
Nouns to block inevitable frowns ~ verbs to calm nerves ~
Synonyms to perpetuate and penetrate minds ~ antonyms to reiterate in rhyme~
Give me a vocabulary of words to express my perturb ~ why must people be so absurd
Copyright © Walayee Poet Lay Whitlock-Ishway
Another fresh year is here,
I would love to banish from my life, worry doubt & fear.
I would like to be joyous, true and live life each moment with zest,
and give the people around me nothing but the best.
I would love to talk, communicate and break mental barriers that are creations,
and work hard towards mending broken relations.
I would love to tell my wife to give me all her tears and fear,
and take from me all my love the loving words she likes from me to hear.
I would love to make an effort to be a good friend,
to my elder daughter and put all petty misunderstandings to an end.
I would love to stop to the people in contact ,the shoving,
and spend more time in loving.
I would love to stop being disadvantageous and outrageous,
and speak only the truth and for that be courageous.
I would love to fight my emotions all unfriendly,
and cover them all with feelings that are friendly.
I would love to learn to be sensitive,
and towards others be open and receptive.
I would love to practice not to crib about all the things life has not given me,
and be greatful for the great things around me I have an opportunity to feel and see.
I would love to learn to be content about all I have received,
and focus now on giving and helping those, whom life has deceived.
I would love to pray for world peace and plant more trees,
and work to help out for carbon emission decrease.
I would love to learn to be unforgiving,
and be more tolerant and caring.
I would love to right some of my wrongs,
and be true to myself and hum joyous songs.
Finally, I would love to learn to be humble and full of gratitude,
and to do so spend some precious moments of my day reflecting in solitude.
Copyright © sashi prabhu
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
Copyright © Betty Gail Wood-Rush
Man of words, strange creature of fiery intention,
Amplifying pictures with that restless imagination,
Great are the images spurting forth from your pen,
Nothing holds you down, working alone in the den;
Unto the night you toil, pushed by an alien power,
Mastering some inner demons, taming your fear.
Oh how you search for truths floating up in the air,
Producing tremors with the raging force they stir,
Until at last your labors come to a perfect ending,
Shaking humanity with the hard lessons they bring.
Copyright © Wilfredo Derequito
That was the day we played all day outside
And ride imaginary stick horses around
Shooting and shouting as if our lungs was rawhide
It was in imagination that the fun abound
That was the day the house seemed in disrepair
Furniture and boxes all out of place
Chaos reigned while mama cleaned everywhere
Leaving germ and dirt without a trace.
I thought of mama today as I watched you clean
Remembered how we would wipe our foot
On the little mat, but mostly could not dare go in
As if we were the grime or the cause of soot
Food would only come when mama took a break
But not before dark and howling belly turned
Play into night, and after the yard was swept and raked
Something about you in mama I'd discerned.
What was all that cleaning just to be clean, I ask
Or was it a search for something missing here
What deeper motive had the highly honored task
What coin, or sheep, or son hid behind the tear
What golden fleece or grail to you both have been lost
I know mama cleaning searched for meaning here
As if sin was something we could see like life's dross
As if to seek was the magic bullet for man's despair.
O something about you remind me of mama, my dear
And childhood comes rushing back in floods
Two sparse rooms and five pieces of furniture there
While we chased butterflies from dying buds
You are different though, for you have allowed us in
Watching our eyes to tell you of missing spots
But we just laugh and tell long tales while you clean
Life is too short to search or go connecting dots.
Copyright © David Smalling
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
I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of
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
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
I will not write poetry
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
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything
This poem is over
the work day begins
Copyright © Rhea Daniel Dear
I do not know?
Working double time
Feeling on my own
Now all I want
Is to go home
Where there is some one
There who cares
Yet I am so damn tired
Soul feels as if it has been impaired
Making next to nothing
In this full time job
Now I have to do school work
Oh my god
Have you ever felt
As if bitterness has overwhelmed the soul
Only wishing for it to be sweetened
Yet every day you wake up
As if your body has been brutally beaten
And nothing you can possibly do
Could bring joy to your life
All actions you make
Feel as if you’ve slit your wrist with a knife
I have been to hell and back
And understanding, I lack
So don’t skrew with me now
Cause I just may attack
And your bells I now
Intend to memorably rack
Copyright © Michael Harris
Dig Down Deep
Artifacts Will Speak
Words of Worth
With Pick and Shovel
If Block and Rubble,
Deep In Soul
Hold Hidden Scrolls
To Royal Edicts
Read and Call
On High Walls
Show Gold Emotions
In Glass Display
In Sealed Mystery
So The Poet Did …
To Preserve Words
So That You Heard
and Shared, Discovery …
Copyright © MoonBee Canady
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
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.
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
i love you
close the grip
cinched hematic grip
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
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
Copyright © T.R. Sevrens
This Load I Carry…
Along the road of life,
I carry a large load…
It feels quite heavy…
As I travel a “bumpy” road.
This load I carry is often
difficult to bear…
At times, I stumble…
And caught “unaware…”
The trials and hardships
of life… I shall endure…
I’ll try to stay on a path
that is “safe” and “secure.”
There are times, however,
when I get in a hurry...
As the storms of life often cause a “flurry.”
During my travel… As I look up
to the darkened skies…
I can almost look into
my heavenly father’s eyes…
As God reaches down
his arms so strong…
He’s there to lead me
when things go wrong.
The Lord is there to help
with my heavy burden…
He’s also my guiding light…
I am most certain!
The Lord is my shepherd
and is with me where I go…
He’s brought strength and
rest for my weary soul.
This load I carry may be full
of so many things…
But grows lighter because of the love
that God brings!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton
gray fabric offices,
cubicles divide us—
turn us into
with mock privacy,
as overheard conversations
drip from lips
it seems insanity
with no one there.
to coarse fabrics—
arms stretched out
from wall to wall,
as mouths open
Copyright © Glen Enloe
Your destiny is in your hand,
You're created for a purpose.
For you to be a man of mission,
You must be a person of vision.
A man of vision is a man of determination,
He'll never run away from life's challenges.
Although he might be a failure for a while,
But,at the end he'll surely overcome,
He'll surely cross over the obstacles of life.
A man born to be great must be ready
To fight life's battle
For him to become a CHAMPION!
Copyright © NWANDO OBIANYOR
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.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
Copyright © Green Trees
My nightmare is so tangible...so vividly I dream,
The dream, it feels so true to me...reality it seems.
Exhaust and smoke are all I breathe...the air is full of smog...
The job I do is thankless toil, but I work it like a dog.
There's mercury in the fish I eat...there're toxins in my food...
And drugs, they are a constant scourge...myriads for every mood.
Bipolar is my government...a house divided 'tis...
And corporations drive both sides...in the pockets of "Big Biz".
The icecaps, they are melting...the sea is rising, too.
Pandas, condors, polar bears -- empty cages at the zoo.
My money ne'er seems quite enough...I'm always out of cash...
My freedom fled when I wed my bride...(live I under the lash).
"Entertainment"? Reality TV...maybe some vampire shows...
Or idjits becoming household names for being beachfront "ho's".
People clamor "climate change" from the seats of S.U.V.'s,
And bitter news on the honey front...what's killing all the bees?
Politicians spending more...we go deeper in the red.
Opinions dressed as "news" abound...is journalism dead?
Cell phones are ubiquitous...conversation's endangered now...
And "Kardashians" are famous girls..but who knows why or how?
How strange my twisted psyche is t'make real what must be fake...
Now'f only I could find some way to get myself to wake.
Written on November 27th, 2012
By Daniel Beus (Rebel Sun)
Copyright © Daniel Beus
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:
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.
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt
P aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
Copyright © Dan Keir
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.
Copyright © Cathy Ncube
You’ll never guess whom the cat drug in; have a day where you just couldn’t win?
He came strutting in, smacking his gum loud, dressed to the nines Goth Punk style.
Tats trailed down his left arm, with my notice, he said, saving up for the other arm.
When ask about drugs, his answer to me was: “Yes, I’ll share” most invitingly…
Metal adornments on ears, nose, and lips, didn’t want to know, the all of it, at this.
As I noticed, he smiled most cattily, asking: ‘Want to see where else they might be?’
Hair a Mohawk with a trail down his back, colors of the rainbow, left nothing to lack.
Steel studs on a black leather butt, said, ‘Bite Me!’ with each and every staged strut.
What are you kidding?… Do my eyes me deceive, or did he just make a pass, at ME?
No Way! I’d rather drop kick him from my office fast, didn't he have any real class?
The application, a Sales Manager Job. Who would try to send me over the deep end?
Bet it had been a practical joke, beginning to end, so I simply held on, my friend.
He must've read my face, forhe smirked, I continued to ask for his list of experience.
His experience was none, but he said he managed his I-tune collection, very well.
Of course, he was the Leader of his ‘Chat Room’. I wondered, ‘Who could tell?’ GEE!
Also an impressive set up on his Facebook page, for his innumerable video games.
I ask how he was qualified for ANY job? Said, Dad ‘THE CEO’ wanted him employed.
I verified this with a call, was told not to be too Harsh, he had Potential, after all...
Ask what job he wanted to give his son? ‘Let him chose himself’, came the real clue!
Ask him, what job he really wanted to do, ‘VP in charge of Recreation’ was imbued.
Said he'd check out all the great places, in his Dad’s fancy Porche. Honestly True!
I kid you not! And he wanted his girlfriend, made into his secretary, Yah! No Doubt!
Believe it or not, he got all he thought he was due. All approved by the CEO’s! True!
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better… I began to really reconsider…
Really, who had been clueless… It hadn’t been him!… Which left me in a dither…
Knowing I just couldn’t win! I’d be glad when this day was finally, truly, done…
The kid had probably thought this a great joke on me from beginning to the end!
My perfect job, had just come undone! Apparently, being in HR isn’t always fun!
My college degree, that took so much sacrifice, no longer sparkled, so much to me.
Boy did I now WISH, I was a CEO’s SON! As I simply got all the paper work done.
Later, I saw the family portrait on the CEO’s desk. Lucky me! One down!…
Only eight more to go!
Carol Eastman and Hubby
Copyright © Carol Eastman
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.
(For translation, see "About This Poem")
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore
There once was a proud Aries like me,
whose impatience kept from being free.
But all my pride inside
never had the chance to hide
the goal of winning confidently!
Copyright © Brandee Augustus
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?
Copyright © Dan Keir
...or just thoughts
I just want to create
I guess that’s it, just create
Money does not move me
Fame? Why do people want fame?
Glory? I build in obscurity.
Legacy? How can the dead enjoy?
I just want to create
Just to see it grow
To see it go from nothing to something
Not because of sunlight
Not because of nature
Because of me
Is that wrong?
I guess it is a little vain
I know all things are vanity
But, these are my thoughts
Wrong thoughts, maybe
They are MY imperfect thoughts
I just want to create
Cause and effect
Action and reaction
Thought and fruition
It seems simple
Too simple, to some
They want more
Some verbose explanation
Some critical reason
It is not that complex
I just want to create
I guess that’s it, just create
Copyright © Mark Pringle
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)-
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.
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt