In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.
The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...
Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...
Dusk covered the land
Like a million blankets the sun blackened
The dawn of the fiends has come
The imps arise from black holes
Thick dark smokes engulf the land
Red rivers of marred blood run freely
Hyena’s laughs and cries so vivid
Flimsy hopeless screams fill the night
Police sirens nowhere heard
All victims of the diabolic demons
The flattery head men are quiet
The dreaded gloom has no march!
The denizens of slums asphyxiated
The fierce fires devour their huts
Mothers and babies murdered in cold blood
Justice slapped on face with no utterance
Remnants of the paranoia, brave cowards
Would sneak and live to tell
Their seeds in songs and narratives
Who will burn the blankets of terror.
The phone rings empty into the night.
Filling a void that brings strange comfort
to thoose around.
Rage eats away untill it bores a hole
straight through are hearts.
Whiskey cauterizes the wound.
Alone with fools we gather.
The bitter ones taking to there barstools.
the weak look to punish thoose happy
Who dare to feel anything in the place of
She left so many years befor.
At least her mortal soul did.
I rememeber when it was when I still
dared to dream.
Long befor reallity was a friend.
Motions keep us living.
She spoke but the words were empty as her heart.
So as strangers we parted just as we met.
With a bitter taste I never did reply.
The phone rang it's last time.
I herd it echo farewell down the hall.
I had to go so I never unlocked the door.
i just left my emotions hanging like some
forgotten coat pushed back in
Its been almost a year since that phone filled
the emptyness of my soul.
If only I had answered.
Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand,
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could –
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet;
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach,
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing
about our best years – our long ago days together?
If there is any part of that teenage girl
left within that beautiful head of yours…please;
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember?
My love, do you hear?
They’re playing our favorite song…
*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)
My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view
I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused
I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone
So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss
April 14, 2013
I met someone I know quite well, he gets about in cars, does buy and sell.
He spoke to me upon a theme, we were stirring coffee; I had just added my cream.
When (Fiat) money, he intoned..)
This word does it ring a bell?
Of it have you heard; or known, do tell.?
The cost of Fiat cars I then proclaimed?
No it’s of money I speak,he said if it’s all the same,
I had bought some autos and to me the word was told,
That it is money without collateral backing, that’s the truth stone cold!
So in this stressured contemporary rhyme, I think I must… It’s now high time
In fact a lack of sober views and action which did not ensue...
Control! ….. control!, "well they did not" now high (inflation) pop pop pops..!
Consume, consume they said and greed is good for all..!
Poor old Jim john and Doug..) Rachel, Joan and Queenie McCall..!
A dream was sold and lives were told, It’s Oh! so safe, more so than gold!
Now Fiat cash is on the scene, they run it off Oh! ream on ream
Just like my coffee encircling mug, so here’s to the truth lets give it a plug.
When I again pour in my cream,
as it begins to merge like inflations infusion, Maybe I’ll dream.
That financial fiasco’s and social screams are only rumours on a jittery theme,
However until "their problem" has been (sold), I’ll trade some paper cash for gold.
© Joe Maverick 13-11-2010
Pain is just another form of medication, feeding the demons that nest inside.
A temporary fix, a band aid per say, covering the secrets I am trying to hide.
I am like the right hand to the devil, with the ability to manipulate others thoughts and emotions. Exploiting there fears, insecurities and dreams, I can flip in a split second, merely to show my complete and utter devotion.
My eyes and ears are magnified by ten, a gift to some but a burden to me. I close my eyes to try and escape for a brief moment just to feel free.
Intrigued by the sharp edges of a blade, and the power that it contains. Just a simple brush across my skin, paints a beautiful portrait of red, dripping like falling drops of rain.
I hurt myself on the outside to kill the evil that lives within. I'ts relief flowing through my veins, with a rush of instant gratification to make me grin.
The truth to any story always has an open window, it will sneak it's way through. The eyes can be read like a paper back novel, every word, every image, a tragedy but true.
I'm always aware of my situation and my surroundings, even though it appears I am not paying attention. I see all, I hear all, studying anyone and everyone requires my full concentration.
Fantasying about death and the peace it brings, oddly is what makes me smile. To finally put an end to my journey in hell, only keeps me in denial.
Overwhelmed with exhaustion at the end of everyday, I lay my head to rest. I think to myself that maybe someday, I will finally pass life's test.
I am your champion, I fight for your cause,
my love and devotion give some people pause.
When I saw you I knew you, just like with your dad.
I guess our deep happiness makes some people mad.
I work hard at my job, so that we can live,
and hear me now, son, when it's time to give,
I am the one who ups the amount,
I've done this more often than I can recount.
I also work so your dad will be covered,
for doctors and dentists and allergists and others,
and who do you think pushed him to go
to the skin doctor some two years ago?
From the moment I met you, you felt like my son,
but this is a battle that cannot be won.
When your dad and I married, I didn't steal him away,
he's just as devoted to you to this day.
I heard someone had told you that I was "controlling,"
(I can't even write this without my eyes rolling).
Who insisted your dad fly to LA to see you?
Who worked overtime to pay for this venue?
I encourage his freedom, I've not clipped his wings,
his happiness, above all, is the important-est thing.
I will not be silenced, nor be vilified,
and it just breaks my heart when you take HER side.
I am LOVING and GIVING and ALL THAT IS GOOD,
and I'm tired of being so misunderstood.
So, pardon my migraine, it wasn't intended,
my strength just gave out as your judgement descended.
I lost a whole weekend, I slept like the dead,
I was just too defeated to face down my dread.
I kinda' felt reality shatter, unsure what was real,
like in "Jacob's Ladder."
We're getting no younger, your father and I,
the older we get, the faster time flies.
I love you as if you were my own child,
I'll not carry this burden unreconciled.
He composes talons as men walk into the fire
Twisted hatred inspired in fountains of meat
A self propelled corruption of delusion
Raining sheets of copper sparks
Blind knives open sand whipped architecture
Two breeds of darkness, light engulfed
Dystopian bred ignorance swallowing rage
Fluctuating temperaments shroud utopia
Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.
I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.
Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.
Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.
This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.
Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Feelings I always express,
But the outcome she suppress,
Lies I employed to impress,
Her clichés put me in distress,
Lamented for hours,tears raped my eyes,
In all da agony, I still want her to be my mistress.
Fasted but didn't pray, hoping she will comply.
Mouths mocked that she is a temptress,
Friends and foes, shouted and mumbled,
My feelings feeling stronger, now it crumbled,
A mistress, my misery, making me moody.
Her heart my aim, her love my crown,
But her rejection, makes me wanna drown.
If only she will tell me why,
She wished I changed my name...
It was on a Christmas Eve
early in the morn
into a world so often cold
a little girl was born.
Her parents, they did love her,
the way that it should be
but her father, who's a good man,
had been raised with cruelty.
When he doled out punishment
for all her childish ways
the lessons that he taught her
would stay with her all her days.
Growing up was never easy
and she grew up so confused.
Other kids did more than tease her
and at home she was abused.
But she grew up all the same
then came to that time of life
when she thought she was ready
became a mother and a wife.
They faced a lot of hardships
but tried to love anyway
and her husband, who does love her,
has been so mean along the way.
Yes, life is hard for everyone
this woman surely knows.
Hate and misunderstanding
seems to follow where she goes
with so many quick to tell her
that she is always wrong
so many times she has been shown
that she just don't belong.
She tries so hard to understand
the reasons for her tears
and is punished for her feelings
as she has been all her years.
She knows that there is more to life
than what always seems to be.
All she wants is to be loved
without the cruelty.
Note: My dear friends, this is not an easy write for me but a necessary one. I was at a very
low point in my life and I prayed for God for direction or to let it end. I wrote the poem I Am
then joined PoetrySoup. I know God led me to this wonderful site for a reason. I may still
have a long way to go but I am starting to move forward. I want to thank you all for your
encouragement and kindness. Being able to write again is helping me and as fellow writers,
I know you understand. Thank you for sharing with me and teaching to become a better
writer. God bless you all and Happy Holidays! Love, Robin.
it began so innocently
we exchanged ideas on poetry
his art, the suffering he endured
he preyed upon my compassion
as he meticulously bided his time...
i felt safe as we expressed
our mutual love of words
i was excited, i was learning,
unbeknowst to me, i was his prey..
many months and thousands of hours,
talking, reaffirmed my trust; faith in him
he shared his life, triumps & tragedies
i supported all he desired for himself..
i understood, i felt his pain,
his drive i admired, he overcame tremedous odds,
became a doctor so others would not suffer as he had;
he baited me; the innocent and naieve one.
living life with no regret,
i chose to take a leap of faith,
he guided me, alleviated my fears,
of promises to cherish and adore me..
as a tiger waits patiently to pounce on his prey
i was oblivious to his hatred inside,
he was a master of manipulation
his mission - to destroy me..
i felt he was worth giving
up all i knew to build a life
he so lovingly described to me,
little did i know, his words - poison..
america bound i left everything i knew; i loved.
the terror of his drunken rages, his icy silence,
the cruelty of his words stung like red hot coals.
what he admired most about me,intensified his hatred.
the vacancy in his eyes was terrifying,
i was alone in a strange country,
knowing no one, in a house, not a home,
full of tension, rage, abuse; numb and in shock;
this was my reality..
with each painstaking day of living in terror
dreading his arrival, my fear reached new heights;
i had enough; i was leaving.
his rage increased, his words pure venom..
i was numb, shaking, fear drove me to action
he became desperate, i did not sleep
for fear of never waking, his actions so terrifying
i felt a strength within, empowering me..
planning my escape, fear became my ally,
i reached the airport and did not stop shaking
until safely on the plane, doors shut,
moving down the runway to take-off;
i wept, i crumbled, i collapsed.
jubilantly at home, i felt peace, safe,
and soaked in the beauty of my freedom; my home.
it has been six weeks; i have flashbacks,
terror still haunts me; i am determined
to not let another change me.
i am healing and am grateful for every
moment i smile, smell a flower, witness
the marvel of each sunrise and sunset.
i am a blessed girl.
~this was me~
Yah! Let me tell you,
Let me tell you about the last struggle in our country
2000 political violence.
Those days thousands of people lay dead
The streets were full of blood.
I want to tell you about how people were suffering
Some they spend seven days without anything to eat
Some where forced to walk hundred miles
People where struggling,
People where crying
I want to tell you about how people were disappearing.
Brothers and fathers were forced to join the ruling party
Young stars were forced to join the green bomber youth militia
Mothers and sisters were raped,
Some were raped in front of their husbands,
In front of their children.
I was scared very scared
My tears were running down to my chick
When I saw a young 14 year girl raped in front of me
She was raped by 4 strong men.
I sweated! Shivering nothing to say
Only I was shaking my head my hands were holding my mouth,
Let me tell you about the blood shade.
I want to tell you about the white farmers
White people were forced to leave their farms
They left their properties they were not aloud to carry
Some they were beaten
Their farms were burned in ashes
Crops were slashed by the so called war veterans.
I want to tell you about how people were murdered
Some you find their body parts missing.
I was breathing heavily,
When my friend was hanged on a mango tree
Nqobani was innocent, he was a kindness man
But he died because he was an enemy to the ruling part.
He died whilst fighting for change
Her private parts were found missing.
Tears can dry but memories can't die
I will always remember you
And I will keep on fighting unless we set free.
I want to tell you about this government
This government of ours has totally destroyed,
Our beloved country
It has totally destroyed the whole situation
From his excellence president to his exultant dictator
Let me tell you I want.
Only the government they know is to maintain its solders
And policeman by buying them new boots, new stockiest, new
New underpants and the new button sticks
Yet the economy is going down.
Things are hard to get
No ballpoint, no sugar, no fuel, no water, even a toilet tissue
You can’t find it
Or cry beloved country or cry beloved country.
I want to tell you everything and I will tell you
From south, to north, east to west.
From kwaBulawayo to Harare via Gweru
All corners of the country
Let me tell you and I will tell you
In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away
Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished
Me, Myself, and I...
“There are things that concern us,”
Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”
“And after careful deliberation
It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”
“Fact is your intuition
Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”
“So you leave us no recourse
Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired
I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”
“And with much technique and time
And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”
“So to keep yourself from having a fit
Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”
“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul
You know, fact is I do feel off axis
As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen
And with my mind feeling numb
I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin
And then came questions in a flurry
Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give
They pushed and they prodded
With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve
And all this psycho-analysis
Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please
“Yes, oh yes indeed
I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”
A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way…
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.
The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways…
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…
Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...
The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Passed through burial grounds...
Seeking for another way around,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...
Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...
Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...
However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...
I wander through this house
As silent as a mouse
Though it is my own I feel I've been away
I'm rather speechless, having not much to say
I see my brother working in the shed
Just passing the time as if he's seen red
I see my other brother smoking a cigarette
With no enthusiasm... has he too seen red?
I do my daily routine
Pace, contemplate and clean
Though something is not quite right
This summer day bears no light
I come into the living room
Usually lively... filled with joy
Now it's naked and abandoned
Like a toddlers chest of old toys
But wait... I see Mother on the couch
She's sad with wet crimson face
She doesn't even say hello
Has my coming here been a waste?
"Why are you crying Mother
Have I done something wrong?"
She just sobs and sobs
... a rather disquieting song
My father looks down at her
With a smile
But something about him
Seems quite vile
"I miss him... I miss him so much"
She cries so helplessly
"Who do you miss Mother?
I don't understand what you mean..."
My dad buts in with no consideration
Revealing horrible secrets in such wicked display
"Alright, alright... I confess... I killed him!
But quite you're crying about it, it's better off this way!"
It all comes to me
In such a sudden burst
I feel the intense hatred
So much it hurts
I'm not here... I don't exist... (at least not anymore)
I'm the stranger in the house!
But soon I'll get my revenge
I'll make Father feel as tiny as a mouse!
I know what you've done
I should've known all along
I will tell everyone
And correct this home gone wrong
I'll come to life again! I'l---
Blanket wet... I feel cold...
Why am I laying down? Was all that just a---
"Morning son! I've made you breakfast;
Scrambled eggs and french toast, your favorite!"
Could he really? ... no...
Just a dream...
NOTE: This entire dream actually happened to me. The only thing that was fiction was the part about my dad making me breakfast in the morning.
For Russel Sivey's Dream Contest
03 - 19 - 2013
Its midnight again, TV on
The sofa becomes my bed
As the confusion of our lives
Fills my weary head
At times I drift off
And think of days gone by
How I yearn for yesterday
So bad it makes me cry
Other times I feel just like a kid
With something new to share
And you put your soul around me
And tell me how much you care
At times I think its working
Like I’ve finally met the mark
And all too quickly it ends
And I’m alone, on the couch, in the dark
Why can’t it all be the way it was
That day on top of the hill
Am I really as bad a person
As you can make me feel
Inside I try so hard
Outside it seems I don’t
I want to meet your needs
But I don’t know what you want
I try to be your husband
Your lover and your friend
Somehow I never am
And I find myself here again
I try to be a father
But those efforts just backfire
Somehow I manage to destroy
Everything that I desire
I ask myself, “Is it worth it?”
Why don’t I start anew
And after hours of contemplation
Just one answer, “I love you”
And resolved to that end
I lay my heart to sleep
And I pray the lord
Our souls together he will keep
A silent kiss to you and the kids
In hopes of a better day
As I close my eyes to dream
And let my troubles drift away
The concrete Brasilia're cracking.
two men in auto
which is now das auto
has foot pedestrian
and walking dead.
the statue in the street
filth of powers
arise in the mind doping
of people to talk too much
one fifth of the world's
people like us
to survive the madness
the time walks
and the distance
scroll through the Eye
eager to see what will give
For Juliet had Romeo
but Romeo had no Juliet
at the end
So was Drama
the candle flame
that does not fade
the crazy laugh
of the plot
to the moon
and the crazy howl
to the moon
So crazy are wolves?
Or wolves are crazy?
The dichotomy arises
Because the crazy laugh
are so happy
If you cry,
or ladies of the inconsistency.
now we are
between the plural the singular.
Or singular to the plurality.
Deutsche: Der Deutsche.
Am: Ich bin.
Pile up treasures; rise and fall.
And want the lake and not the land fall,
Hold the bizarre beast, I wish wife.
My life is abandoned to the Life.
Behold an ideal idol of a wife:
The down fall will soon be late,
Whilst the crescent lake will wait;
This day will emerge another life.
Now bread and butter set on the table,
But miss the compassionate ring of able,
And call for the lonely wandering widower,
This moment can’t afford losing her.
Should I accept the defeat of livelihood,
And immortalize the spirit of widowhood?
My life is given to the Light.
These episodes of testing I can’t face:
I plant prayer for its erase,
And wind for a save and safe alight.
I've counted the bars of my prison walls. 3 sides of 10 bars; 30. One solid wall,
cold, wet, molded concrete.
I've lost count of how long I have been here,
I hardly remember when I got here, but, it’s been winter
for a long time.
I've forgotten what it is to move in grass and amongst other bodies.
I am chained in here,
thick steel cuffs chain me to the wall.
I've counted the faces, whose names I can't remember,
and then lost count of them
as they flash and flicker, fast forwarded in my mind.
I've been motionless for a long time,
I’m not sure I even remember what movement is.
I’m not sure I can even remember to move.
I’ve forgotten who I am, my name, how old I am
how tall I am, my features, likes and dislikes;
there are no mirrors.
I’ve been nameless for a long time, and there is no one else
here in this vast blank expanse but me and these bars,
and one wall.
I’ve realized I don’t even know what I am
and that panics me, but I know not what this feeling is?
What Is feeling?
I’ve thrown myself at the bars, clawing at the nothing
that lies behind them.
What Is nothing?
I’ve discovered there is a name that echoes and echoes In the vastness,
how do I know that name?
Is it mine, yours, theirs, his, ours?
I’ve remembered, the memories crush into me,
a weight I had not known for unknown amounts of time.
No go away! Again, please...
I’ve tried to forget,
but the white walls are somewhere out there, waiting.
and I? Why, I do not even exist.
Sudden as thunder they crack in the night,
the boys in the lane leap over fences,
bottles crashing into stone walls,
and bullets whistle with echoing sound.
The boys fight with one another for the release of "the Don"
they rampage in the little town,
and round up all the informers.
Night comes alive,
doors open wide,
"Lord, someone shot Sammi Joe!"
and everyone rushes to look at the innocent one
lying peacefully in her pool of blood.
"Sammi Joe is dead!"
Her frightened mother yells.
Gunshots cracking in the night,
and chiseling walls,
the burning night heat,
people scatter in the street.
Mr. Crow pisses his pants when the boys spot him as the informer
Dragged in the streets,
Crow's face flushed with the wall,
bullets puncture his head.
Further down the road,
the innocents grip tightly to their beds,
wondering who will be next.
Bullets dances around the walls,
The massacre begins.
Blood washes the street,
dead bodies blocking the gate of the little town.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Waves of Change
Changes in life descriptionalized
In comparison to waves of the ocean
Our bodies are made mostly of water
A body of water with flowing emotions
Now an ocean will flow peacefully
Until there is a bit of turbulence
Disrupting from a smooth flow
With the up and down currents
As we walk onto a new path
A different kind of feeling steps in
New ventures can be scary in thought
Of what is left behind when we begin
An air of difference can bring on a spin
To a funnel effect as does a water spout
Sometimes when in the spin motion cycle
We are shaded by clouds and cannot see out
When actually caught within the spin
We do not see the change is there
Our sense of direction is lost
We become totally unaware
If you are the one caught
Within that fast paced spin
You will not be able to see
The shape you are really in
That’s the time we need someone
To give us a tap on the shoulder
It’s not a matter of who knows more
Or which one of the other is older
You’ll need a friend like Dory was
Saying to just keep swimming the sea
To never give up your hopes and dreams
As changes in life really just happen to be
Florence McMillian (Flo)
I can't imagine being alive without you
I can't imagine what it will be like when your gone
I don't know what I'll become without you
Maybe I'll just run
Run away from everything and leave everyone behind
Maybe I'll find a way to be close to you
Because I won't believe you died
My heart will ache so much more
Tears will always run
My eyes will hold the wisdom
That you bestowed upon me young
And my recklessness will be noticeable
People will wonder why
Why am I running when the person I needed most died
How can I face my life when I can't do anything right
I won't believe you have gone away
When God decides to take you
I'll still come by your house and always expect an answer
I Love You Gamma
You Taught Me About My Heritage
Please Remember Me When God Takes You
Please Guide Me In the Right Way
I'm on a dusty backroad journey, in the Pearl of Africa;
They don't invest in road repair in the country of Uganda.
It's a pot-holed highway, that seems to go on forever;
We're in a worn out SUV, and our group is crammed together.
Finally, we pull off this road, to a sight I've never seen;
They call it a "Highway Orphanage", truly nothing there is clean.
There's just two broken down huts, and a large field of clay;
And the sun is beating down on us, it's the middle of the day.
The Chief tells us a tragic story, that's repeated almost every week;
How children are abandoned here, to a future that's somewhat bleak.
Mothers of these little children, so very desperate to simply survive;
Travel the long road to Kampala, in hopes of work to keep them alive.
Its here they leave their precious child, and sometimes more than one;
I'm sure they're confused and brokenhearted, when the sad deed is done.
The clothes on these children are old and torn, and many have none at all;
And they aren't left with any toys, there's no games, stuffed pet, or balls.
There seems to be scarce food here, and there's no close running water;
But I'm sure the greatest lack, is these kids don't have a mother or father.
Some of the children sit in the shade, but most are sitting in the field;
For them it's just another mundane day, till I walk over and kneel..
They are just starring at me, I wonder what they could be thinking;
"Who is this large, sweating, white man, with eyes that keep blinking?"
But soon my friendly smiles are returned, and the kids are drawing near;
Within minutes I'm a human jungle gym, and the children have no fears.
What happens next I'll never forget, if I live a hundred years;
Just the very thought of it, brings this grown man to tears.
One of the little climbers, gets real close to me and speaks;
"Are you my Daddy", he whispers, my knees instantly go weak.
A great well of emotion erupts, words still can not describe;
Feelings so overpowering, it was impossible for me to hide.
And one by one the children whispered, those same sad words to me;
Their little mouths would hug my ear, and say "Are you my Daddy?
*On the crossroads out of Kampala, Uganda
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Heart And Soul
Early this morning, at around about four forty five, five o’clock;
I heard somebody knocking on my front door.
I reluctantly forced myself to get up, fussing and cussing
all the time and went to see who the darn fool was.
There stood one of my neighbors, Lonnie Ray Crawford.
So I said: “Lonnie Ray, what the hell are you knocking
on the hot dang door for at this time of the morning?”
He said to me: “Hey there Butterbean,”
(most all of my friends and neighbors call me Butterbean)
“there’s a big ass tree stump in your front yard.”
I stepped outside and looked and sure enough,
there it was, bigger than Dallas. So I asked old Lonnie Ray:
“Where in the dadgum doggone hell did the tree go?”
Neither one of us could figure that one out, so we drank some beer.
There hadn’t been a tornado or nothing like that last night,
that either one of us had read or heard about,
so we mulled the situation over and drank some more beer.
About seven thirty Lonnie Ray said he had to leave to go to work,
so he got up awkwardly and staggered out the front door.
The point being, if anyone finds a big old hickory nut tree in their yard
that doesn’t belong to them, it’s more than likely mine.
I surely would like for you to return it, if you please.
It was a dazzling day.
In the park where we gathered.
I watched the sprinkler spray.
Whilst Oleander got lathered.
A pierce of minty laughter.
Came from my mother.
The day, now full swelter.
Brought mephitic curses, from father.
A piece, of distinct edges, shapes, and color.
My Father’s piece,
Gossamer... A ghost in the Parlor.
My aunt buzzes ‘round,
Looking to peck.
Her greatest skill,
Tearing wealth from flesh.
She is an ugly thing,
Constantly tithing kin.
Her tabs busted,
Only darkness within.
My uncle walks water,
Crying divine inspired droll.
Then he sees foreign breasts,
And his eyes start to roll.
He is piously loathsome,
A delusional winner.
His piece, contrasting color,
A chronic Casanova of a sinner.
My grandmother sits,
By a row of briar’s.
From here smelling sweet,
Closer and the peril gets dire.
She is a dandy,
Addicting to be around.
But when her corner piece shows,
It can cut to the ground.
My grandfather rests,
In the middle, on a bench.
The tether that keeps,
We are bolts, He is wrench.
To us much renowned.
His piece is the core,
It holds me around.
There it is, my family puzzle.
And on the fringes I sit.
See, I’m an edge piece,
That doesn’t quite fit.
With my teeth on a muzzle.