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Narrative Mystery Poems | Narrative Poems About Mystery

These Narrative Mystery poems are examples of Narrative poems about Mystery. These are the best examples of Narrative Mystery poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

Past-Life Nightmare

A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.

Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.

“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it?  You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.

“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”

The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;  
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.

Who was this man?  She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.

But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.

To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.

She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.

She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”



*Based on real events I experienced.


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Coiled Spring External

it is in this mural of splashing fuses 
that I am lit with a solemn torch……

I gaze with back deck musing 
but  front porch eyes….

I see the distance beyond this world
                   (my own cosmic existence)
a residence I squandered 
but my feet want to tread there

the green that surrounds me 
suffuses me with lakeside dew
melodies drifting only the quiet can hear
ripples that only valid observers see

the kentucky breeze carries a lonely wind
solitary….
               where has it been?
has it touched the sand I have?
                                (bare toes buried)

somewhere a child cries in the still
shattering  this serenity 
(though some don’t hear it)
along the bank of shoal like tranquility
the birds will wail for broken dreams 
(severed by thoughtless hands)

oh, its only a portrait
                     (an inspiring one though)
as open lashes stumble 
                        a horizons sinking sun
multi hues of reckless red and pink
a blue print  of what life should be
snap shot deftness in the perception
while beneath lay the sorrow

the last lingering tangerine shades
tease and taunt the tops of dogwood trees
oh beauty as far as eyes can see
a few silver shimmers of clouds 
                              in a blue grass sky

flowers bloom sweet pea and peonies
raw carmine kisses in the silence
pretty pansy faces 
                   and grass is verdant
green!! peacock sage and pine
 arrayed in darks and lights
a myriad of different shades 
brilliant in its lush velvet on my feet

to only live life this way (skimming surfaces)
just as the honey suckle does
how blissful that would be
(in all its exquisite ignorance)
branches sway in the song of a blue bird zephyr
as the fingers of it caress my skin

tonight
this expanse is my companion

but still I perceive it
what lies beneath
in stunning cognizance 
bearing a strenuous burden

it is in this mural of splashing fuses
that I am lit with a solemn torch

I gaze with back deck musing
but front porch eyes


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Ghost Ship Omen

Scientists say it’s just a mirage,
but sailors claim the ghost ship floats
in air, with stormy seas below.
Again he tries to round Cape Hope.

Captain van der Decken angered God
one savage 18th Century night.
Vowed he’d sail till “Judgment Day,”
to cross the Table Bay, he’d fight.

The Flying Dutchman disappeared
sank deep in foggy, wind-swept sea,
but the captain’s doomed to walk the deck
each night in perpetuity.

King George the Fifth, the Prince of Wales
are two who saw the Dutchman.
Although these royal heirs survived,
most meet death -- the captain’s omen.

His curse prevails in Wagner’s Opera
and Washington Irving’s story;
crews tremble, ghost ship emerges
Dutchman floats in frightening glory.

So many sailors and their ships
still meet demise on starless nights,
when demons steer the Dutchman
and a vengeful God reads last rites.

Till this day the Flying Dutchman
looms threatening on a ravaged sea.
For Judgment Day the captain waits,
luring crews to their destiny.


*Entry for the Story Poem contest.


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When Our Poetry Muse Beckons

Poetry is a highly personal endeavor for all who write
And answer the inspiration of Our Eternal Poetry Muse.

Why do we write poetry?
This a very important question for all of us who “spill ink.”

Poetry for me is a most wonderful magical medium and
An art and methodology which bespeaks the realm of the
Mysterious, Arcane, Uncanny, Mystical, Esoteric, and Divine. 

Poetry is my personal endeavor to master the complexity of
Relating my deepest thoughts and connecting with the reader;
Developing a memorable and intriguing theme or subject;
Choosing the right words and composing meaningful verse;
Finding the best metaphors and the proper tone and balance;
Exploring key theme attributes (to name a few):

	Feelings, passions, emotions, light, dark, happiness
	Sadness, humor, good, evil, intelligence, stupidity,
	Right, wrong, ethereal, ignorance, and indifference.

Our Poetry Muse touches each and every one of us at key times
When we least expect it:  morning, noon, evening, after midnight.

Our Muse, for me, captivates my thoughts and illuminates my soul
While compelling me onward to communicate and share with others
What I see and perceive, sense and feel, think and understand about 
A theme as it resonates in the depths of my innermost psyche.

I know that I have much to say now in my life . . .
Verse, meter, rhyme, tone, metaphors, metonymy, allegory, imagination—
All enliven my efforts and make easier my attempts to mirror my
Thoughts and views to the reading public.

I want my thoughts and doubts, as my passion abounds, to connect with
Those deepest elements of my human psyche and my emotions
In making my written message to be something that is: 
Meaningful and significant, resolute and spirited; 
Full of passion or compassion, humor or sadness, courage or fear,
Strength or weakness, Heaven or Hell, bliss or misery—or whatever
Motivates and inspires the Creative Process for me. 

Our Muse is there with all of us, in reality, to inspire us and help us
To bring passion, meaning, certitude, and direction to our thoughts
As we attempt to infuse these very attributes into our poetic narrative.

Our Muse, in the end, leaves it up to each and every one of us
To go one further step beyond Her ethereal influence and inspiration:
To invest and infuse at the end of this process our own “Free Will”
In making the final decision pertaining to what our final verse or
Narrative product will look like To Our Reading Public.

This is my take, my view on what happens when Our Eternal Poetry Muse
Tantalizes us and awakens within each of us that undeniable Spirit of  
Inspiration, and that giddy zest and irrepressible desire to “spill ink.”


Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (October 3, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)


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African Child

" From the debt of my heart"

The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.



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BROTHER - BILLY

It started growing in a field
Billy Stover watched it grow

Because the corn was tall
Because Billy Stover was small
No one knew
Now one saw

No one saw how the tiny boy watched by the hour    in summer's heat
Even from the top of high elm trees by the road
    who could have detected that small lad    stretched out
    on his stomach    leaning on his elbows    watching

On stormy days    Billy watched from the closest window
    elbows propped up on the sill
He knew it was growing    though he couldn't see it
He'd be down in the field now    in the mud    watching
    but    his mother forbade it
"What do you do out there    Billy    all by yourself?
What is it you do out there instead of playing?"

On certain days    when the wind swayed the green stalks
    and    nipped Billy's cheeks    his eyes would light up
He fought back a burning desire to run into the white kitchen
    to tug at his mother's apron    to bring her out
    and show her his one spot
He jumped up    once    when the flames leaped high
    started running for the house
"Mother!    Mother!"    he silently shouted
Every part of his small body shook with joy    but
The bleak    white walls of the kitchen
    his mother    her hands dipped in bread dough....................................

It started growing in the field    in the dirt    in the mind of Billy Stover
And    no one could have kept a secret better than Billy


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Sleepless Nights

Insomnia, familiar friend,
crawled into bed this summer night
so once again, inflamed with dread
I wander now in pitch of dark 
and touch the places, now by heart, that sprawl unstirred by weary minds

This lonely place, where I used to come
where armless grief, and headless doubt
and worry filled the rooms
I know you cold, my land of oz
So ruthless do you change your face
into a place I once refrained

But,  don't pretend to make me fear, toxic robber of my sleep
I've known you much too long
You masquerade in shades of gray
And now I know that dark of night, is not the blackest thing
And room by room, I'll play the game
until the light of day

The shadows magnify your art
and though they magnify my loss of sleep
and while I've tossed and turned in vain
I've lost the lonely albatross
that pulled against the grain

From hooded thresholds I embark
to find a language of the dark
A liquid language of a mystic night, 
that switches on the light

I've walked the halls of ghosts I knew, and those I hope to meet
I've felt the stares, and shared myself, no secrets left to keep
But not tonight, familiar friend
you bask in myth I understand
I'll fill the tasks that need my hands, until the light of day...
---------------


For Leonora Galinta's Contest


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HE KNOWS

As I think back to that dark time in our community I don’t know if I’d ever seen anyone quite 
like that (Cinder Girl). We girls thought she had (Lovely Bones). The last time I saw her alive, 
she was sitting on her porch blowing a (Dandelion Wishing) for a long life.I think she knew 
that (Before Night Falls) her (Worst Fear) would be realized. The beast from the nether 
world, who I think directed everything was that (Dog That Wears a Cone). He sat in her side 
yard staring at her. The locals called him Cujo, he was (By Any Other Name), (The Beast of 
Our Making). Cujo aside, (That Guy Paul) Cujos’ minion, was one (Bloody Bastard). He was 
going to involve Cinder in (A Rural Tragedy) of epic proportions.
 
It went down on a (Heavy Slush)y winters’ eve guaranteed not to be a pastoral (Scene On a 
Road in Winter). I had entered the old abandoned farmhouse on my way home from town. I 
was cold and my feet were wet from the slush. I sat down in a small room out of the draft. I 
heard voices outside. Paul endured (The Wait) for his accomplice in the cold. When she 
arrived he began talking to (The Girl Who Wears the Dragon Tattoo). Then I saw what he 
had done. 

(What was I Thinking) (What If) they found me hiding (Inside This Little Room). Paul and the 
dragon lady were sweaty (Toilers at the Trench), digging frozen dirt in winter is hard work. I 
heard Paul laugh as he said to “TATS,” this time we’re (Cleaning House)… Was I next?

Suddenly, the opportunity for escape from this nightmare arose. Jake the bumbling county 
snow plow driver unknowingly swung the truck onto the farmstead with its’ halogen lights 
probing deep (Into Night). He had (Thwarted) their hiding this heinous crime. The sight he 
illuminated gave me the [That Potent Urge(Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right Now)]. I ran from that 
house into the night. No one ever knew I was there and since Jake was the only witness the 
court needed, I never came forward.

Jake had never been (My Kind of Apple) because (Jake Sure Loved His Beans). Regardless, 
Jake unknowingly saved my life that night. I never thought it would happen but over time I’d 
grown accustomed to the gas. We were married late last fall and as we left the reception I 
saw Cujo on a nearby hill wearing that ominous cone. I thought to myself as he watched us 
leave, he knows…

            Oh God, he knows I was there!

            *This narrative derived from the titles of one poets work here on the Soup.


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A Blind Sunset

He glances out the window,
And watches the sunset,
But he doesn’t see the beauty,
Nor the warm rays which, 
Pierces through the glass,
Only the anticipation and, 
Anxiety of a long night,

Carefully, he watches, 
The colors change,
First the bright orange, 
"God I pray this never ends…"
Filling with a deep red,
"Just a little while longer…"
Slowly softening to the, 
Deceptive pinks and purples,
"Please, one more minute…"
Fading into the crimson black,
Which only night can bring,

Reluctantly, he gets ready for sleep,
Yet, knows it will never come,
He tossed and turns,
Half praying, half waiting,
Knowing what will happen,
In the way only a child can,

A light! It peeks through a crack,
In the door as a shadow floods the opening,
Quickly, the figure slips through the door,
And shuts it softly, but not without the,
Empty creak which has become so familiar,
The shadow climbs in beside him,
Touching his trembling leg, whispering,

“Hush little brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”

He struggles and writhes,
Sadly knowing he will never,
Break the grip and prays to faint,
To loss all consciousness and,
Memory of that horrible night,
Just for one night without the pain,
Just for one night without, 
The cold empty feeling, 

Several years pass, too many to count, 
A single call, one he had never expected,
He rushes to the hospital to find, 
His tormentor for so many years,
Lying on a cold, hard bed,
Able to move, but only by pushing a button,
Able to speak, but only with a whisper,

He stays by him for weeks, caring for him,
Reading to him, watching over him,
Still suffering, still unable to move, 
He takes his brother home, 

The day goes on, moving slow as all,
The evening comes and he,
Watches once more as the sun sets,
Carefully watching, Orange to red,
Red to purple, and as the purple turns to black,
He walks into the room where his brother lies,
Slowly, he sits next to him, holding a pillow,
Stroking his head whispering,

“Hush big brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”

The difference between right and wrong,
Can be hard to find,
But who’s there to see you,
When justice is blind?



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Dance with A Stranger

There I stood in this massive hall, decorated with sophisticated settings, 
White flowing drapes hung freely from an invisible ceiling
Twinkling stars, sparkled against the midnight blue sky
Though I could not see it, an orchestra played a lovely, unfamiliar tune 
Well-dressed, others sat leisurely at circular tables covered in white draping linen
Adorned with colorful centerpieces and white candles in delicate crystal holders

Quite puzzled, I made my way toward the center of the room
I searched for familiar faces in the crowd to no avail
My dress, simple, yet elegant was of the brightest blue 
Then out of nowhere this handsome, young man appeared and took my hand in his
As if on queue, the music stopped. Strangely the color of his suit matched mine 
Unafraid, I stared into the stranger’s face, as the most beautiful melody played

As we danced, we seemed to be floating before the crowd of smiling faces 
The music played on endlessly, as I danced in the stranger’s arms
His leading was perfect, not a word passed between us, but gentle smiles expressed the joy
Lost in wonder, feeling incredibly elated, I wished we would dance forever 
 In an instant I felt a light touch on my face, and I turned away to see
And to my surprise, there stood my little girl, saying, “Mommy, wake up, I’ll be late for 
school!


Note:  True story- A dream I had some years ago and which I will never forget!!   I have no 
idea what that meant,..but who cares. It was one of the best dreams I ever had! One of 
those dreams you hate to be awaken from.  .


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Quit That Tapping

like the raven 
who taps taps upon 
your chamber door
do not fret my Virginia
for it's my shadow
moving across the floor
this is what I'm telling you my darlin
and nothing more

beneath lattice
I still call your name
come to me virginia
come hear the tap tap 
upon your chamber door
for only you my love 
I surrender and never more

wind howls in blanket snows
here I stand so all alone
broken hearted and misconstrued
my Virginia who lies under stars and moon
just a tap tap upon your chambers door
tis I and nothing more

tales of hidas truth
blackbird sings harps cords
just like the tap tap upon your chambers door
my sweet Virgina whom I adore
for there'll be love waiting and nothing more

as I lay right next to you in this tomb
I counted only seven who have even knew
the times of this raven who 
tapped tapped upon your chambers door
twas only I and will be never more


Tribute To Edgar Allen Poe
And His Young Bride Virginia
Also To His Poem The Raven


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The Willows

Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998


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Projected Reality

Awakened from a startling dream
Remembering the scene that dazed
A projection it would someday seem
Would speculation raise 

Flying high above the ground
She soars above her home
Previously a rented space 
But now it was alone
A Frisbee on the neighbours roof
The chimney burned coal black
She sees this almost instantly
With Dead dogs in the back.

Returning to her rented home
Remembering the dream that waked
Dreading truth and on her own
Bad feelings she would shake

Passing by her neighbours’
She spots a flying disc
No car within her driveway
And occupancy missed
Once inside with shivers
She noticed the soot
They left the fire burning
From dinner they had put
In disbelief she took a stroll
And stepped into the yard
Dead puppies strewn to her surprise
In haunting disregard

Fables they do come and go
Remembering what seems to sway
But tales of truth like this I quote
Are taken to the grave.


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Alone

No one here. 
I am alone.
Totally,
Completely
And entirely
By myself.
Can you hear my loneliness?
The silence is disturbing…
It creates sound blasts in my eardrum
No spoken word
Laughter is distant
Thoughts of questioning 
Why this is so?
Can I cry a little?
Is that ok?
But then I see a shadow
In the corner of my left eye.
I turn and recognise the face
Through the glints of light
Shone onto their abstract expression.
They lift their arm slowly,
Obscured in the dark shadow, a
Bony finger extends.
They beckon me over
To sit with them.
To cradle them and relate with them.
So they can stroke my hair and tell
Me I’m all theirs.
I know them to be quite the jealous type
As I have sat with them before.
Their name tingles on my lips
In my mind I know
I should avoid them but I
Have been spotted.
I was visible to them.
They saw my need.
Because I was alone.
They saw.
I was open.
Like a deer by a brook. 
I don’t want self-pity 
To come over me.
But I would like company.
I would prefer a friend.
So I get up and leave
And walk away from the face I recognised,
Despite my loneliness.
I walk away, look back and see Depressions face.
He is angry. He wants me to sit and wallow.
But I got away.
I walk.


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And Then

And Then…

My work finished
     I glanced back at the clock
Ah… The Witching Hour
     Hung heavy on the next tock
My thoughts raced back
     To childhood days
          To scary stories
               Round campfires haze
                    To daunting dares
                         In dark woods maze
               And then… It caught my eye

A phantom shape
     That just moments before
Had been shadows tossed
     Twixt the walls and floor
And I admit
     Twas’ dimly lit
          Random shapes
               In chances knit
                    Poorly viewed
                         From where I sit
               And then… I saw it move

Just then I thought
     Tis’ time to trust and pray
And steady my hearts resolve
     Should this be the reckoning day
And then I swear
     The room grew cold
          Events purpose
               Moved to unfold
                    My chest I clutched
                         My soul to hold
               And then… I heard it speak

“Time is at hand”
     And those words comforted it seemed
And my God in a timeless moment
     I became one with all I’d dreamed
Tis’ certain this
     Event of page
          Will visit all
               Upon life’s stage
                    Fully quenching
                         Life’s burning rage
               And then…


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This Night

This night is a dancer
In a dark, velvet dress
This night is a singer
With a deep, rich voice
We are sitting, we are silent
And suddenly, we remember 
Something and start talking
The window is opened
We are watching a small cloud
Floating beside the Moon
We are watching the stars
And their light is reflected
In our eyes, the light made of
Many, many millions of years


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New Paths

A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
Getting piqued,
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.
Walking confound,
Silence profounded,
Sight astounded,
Passed through burial grounds...

Seeking for another way around,
Noises resound,
Spirits surround,
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.
Plans propounded,
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...


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In The Dark

Walking alone in the dark
All is silent
Until theres a snap of a twig
Hands come from behind
Holding my neck
I try to scream
Noone Hears
The hands grow tighter
I give up fighting
I take a final breath
He lays me in the bushes
My body cold and still
Noone knows who did it
They probly never will


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The Found Phone - A Short Story

I was running some errands and stopped into the little waterfront restaurant for a late lunch.  It was kind of that in-between lunch and dinner time hour, so the place was completely empty.

I ordered a bread bowl clam chowder at the counter and took a seat next to the large bay-window looking out over the water in the empty seating area.  As I was lost in a daydream staring out the window, I noticed a cell phone sitting on the window ledge.  I looked around the empty room to see if I might have missed who it belonged to before picking it up and turning it on.

I slid the “slide to unlock” bar and got to the main menu with no password required.  Thinking I was smart, I decided to see who the most recent phone calls were received from and thought I would “call back” that number to see if they might know who the phone belonged to so I could get it back to the rightful owner.

By far, the most phone calls were from “Sally”.  I touched the “Call back” button.

Ring sounds were followed by a quick, hurried and frantic, “I told you not to call me!  I can’t talk now, you need to stay way!”

Flabbergasted and embarrassed, I tried to stammer out that I was simply trying to discover who this phone might belong to, but I could not get the words out as I heard screaming in the nearby background.

“Who is that?  Is that him?”

“No.  No, it’s …”

“Give me that damn phone!”

I could hear sounds of rustling and crying; then, what sounded like a slap and …

“Hey you, << expletive >>, what the << expletive >> are you doing”, shouted a man’s voice into the phone.

This was immediately followed by more rustling and sounds of a struggle.  I could hear the original voice, Sally’s I assume, crying, “Give me my phone you << expletive >>!”

Another slap.  Rustling.  And then a loud: POP!  POP! POP!  And silence.

The phone was still on.  I could hear heavy breathing for what seemed like hours.

Then the man’s voice said, “And, now I am coming to get you”, and the phone went dead.

Sweat was pouring down my forehead.  Oh my God, what had I done?  And, now what do I do?

The waitress brought me my soup and I asked her if she knew who might have left that phone there.  She simply said, “No” and sauntered back to the kitchen area.

I called 9-1-1 and tried to explain what had happened.  They connected me to the police but I had no luck in convincing them that a crime had occurred.  For over 45 minutes I was transferred from department to department; put on hold; and, transferred again before someone finally took down Sally’s number, but I hung up convinced nothing was going to be done.

I looked for other numbers in the phone’s directory to see who I might call to try to identify the phone’s owner and tell them what had taken place.  The second most popular number belonged to a Tony so I pushed the “Call” button.

The phone was answered by a now familiar voice that yelled, “That’s right << expletive >> I am on my way to get you!”  And he hung up before I could explain.

Quickly, I went to the “Messages” icon on the phone, selected “Tony” and tried to type out an explanation of what was going on.  When I touched the “Send” button an error message came up indicating, “You have exceeded your text allotment for this month.  Please visit the App Store to purchase more options.”

Then I heard someone yelling from the kitchen, “Linda, have you seen my cell phone?  I can’t find the stupid thing.”

The waitress yelled back, “Oh hey, that guy out there found a phone on the window sill.  Is that yours?”

I saw the cook come out of the kitchen heading toward my table about the same time a large man burst into the front doors with a gun in his hand.

The cook turned; said, “Tony, what the hell”; and then took three shots into the face.

The waitress started screaming from the back of the restaurant.  Tony turned and stared at me; placed the pistol into his mouth; and, pulled the trigger one last time.

By now, the waitress had fainted.  The metallic smell of spent pistol cartridges hung in the air.

I called 9-1-1 one more time from the found phone and told them there was a shooting at the restaurant.  I wiped down the phone and dropped it by the cook’s lifeless body and walked out of the restaurant glad that I bought my lunch with cash and not my debit card.


Details | Narrative | |

A Naughty Little Girl

I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly; unfilled, purposeless, full of potential "What to do? What to do???" I mutter, tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole. My hands push down ballooning petticoats, careful not to show or touch anything. I twirl beneath the pile down comforters. The hours tick by crimson red and in the dream, the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!" An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face. It falls matted and to the ground leaving me, brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified. "What to do? What to do? What to do???" Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born? A painter's pallet appears before me. A brow is drawn… for me. Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on. "Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"


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The Good-bye Kiss

I lay, half asleep in the dark morning, listening to her get ready for work.
She opens the door to the dressing room, turns out the light,
and cautiously moves in the darkness to the side of our bed
where she feels her way with her hands up my body,
accidently caressing my erection,
to find my face and give me a good-bye kiss.
“Have a nice day”, she whispers; 
I groan in a sleepy reply.

I hear her go down the stairs and into the kitchen.
I semi-consciously listen to the sounds of a quick morning breakfast being prepared.
I hear her gather her work-day stuff;
open and close the front door;
and open and close the door to her car that I imagine is frost covered
in the still dark driveway, illuminated by a lone, fog incased street light.

I hear the sound of the car choking to a start and drift away down our lonely street.
I relapse into a deep, morning slumber.

Awakened by the sound of the front door opening again;
I wonder what it is she forgot this time.
I follow the sounds of steps coming up our stairs and
feel the slight smile being painted on my face
anticipating another good-bye kiss and, perhaps,
another accidental brush against my still erect member.

With eyes still shut by left-over sleep, I mumble, “Forget something?”

The quick, bright flash of light accompanying the loud bang from the loaded weapon
are the last sensations I experience in this life here on earth.

Whether it was her;
a paid assassin; or,
a random crime -
I will never know.


Details | Narrative | |

Love Fast , Run Far

	Search
Patrick Kail
Long ago I lost a precious thing that used to lift me up as it lifted burdens shouldered with it's way of 
tender holding .How barren now that what has left it's mark to shame us .Just in a role and this acheless 
rage so apt a trick it lies alone as so in many ways reaching each as it denied us. Tertiary paid in knowledge 
first an icon green so paramount.Strip ped barren now and left us naught but naked thoughts of whats 
spilled a path while denying everything but woe to us the wickedness to whats yet still left so easily still 
wanting.
Apr 17 at 3:25am ·  · Like · Share · Remove
Patrick Kail
Love Fast Run Far 

by James P Kail Wednesday April 17th 2013
Like · Edit · Apr 17 at 3:56am


Details | Narrative | |

Drop-Out Dream

I've done it again, I've overslept
I've failed to finish my homework
I've missed so many classes
that I can't recall which room
that I am supposed to go to 
and maybe I'm on the wrong floor
and oh god the wrong building?
and besides they all look the same
and besides the last time I found it
all the seats were taken...

The semester is almost over
My attendance is still required
or there will be some sort of penalty...

(Tuition is so expensive, son
Why waste it, why throw it away?
Now your brothers and sister...)

The hall is empty and endless now
I'm running and sweating now
The whole class is waiting now
The teacher is waiting now...

I've already flunked his course
but still have to take his exam...

The bell screams and the doors slam shut
Once again they have started without me
Once again I'll be marked absent
when they call the roll...

(Based on vivid, recurring dreams I used to have)


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An unfinished characterization of QUASIMODO

I AM QUASIMODO, THE BELLRINGER OF NOTRE DAME,
WHOSE FATED MYSTERY IS TO SUMMON THE MASSES
UPON THE APPOINTED HOURS OF THEIR FAITH.

A MISBEGOTTEN BIRTH HAS BROUGHT ME HERE,
ABANDONED, RECOVERED, (HIDDEN AWAY) IN MY AFFLICTION - 
A DENIZEN OF HIGH PLACES, MADE DEAF BY LABOR AT THE BELLS;
A SUBTERRANEAN CREATURE
SNIFFING MY SURE WAY THRU THE BACK WAYS
     AND FORGOTTEN STREETS OF A CITY AT NIGHT,




Notes (not mine) on the beginning of something, a narrative poem perhaps? 
Found in a box recovered from storage, along with scanned photos from that time; 
An interesting characterization worth preserving... 
and possibly completing...? ...as a PoetrySoup cooperative project?

Questions one could comment or expand upon: 
Are there aspects of Quasimodo in each of us?
I love the turn of phrase, "whose fated mystery is to summon the masses upon the appointed
hours of their faith." 
I ponder my own fated mystery. What is yours? 
How does it feel to be at the center (and the maker) of so much sound and not be able to
hear it? 
Do you 'hear' sound differently? 
What are you deaf to? a call to faith? love?
How does Quasimodo's sense of isolation mirror your own? 
The contrast of being a "denizen of high places", yet a "subterranean creature" roaming
forgotten 'streets' in the dark. What does that mean to you?


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A Soul Awakened

The warm light calls me
And all the people who cries for thee
I raise my hand in this abyss
Only to make one wish
To float among the others
With all my sisters and brothers
I call out for forgiveness with passion
I take their pain into myself for this occasion
The moment that I see the sky
I will not look back and cry
My body is laying still
People standing by it with a chill
The air gets dense with sadness
I would not think of it less
Some people look up and down
To see the light hit the ground
Some can vision the uplifting feeling they see
One soul that has been and always be
It is special to notice such aberration 
And that might be how souls are awaken


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My Hidden Fear

People are my weakness and hidden fear
I just feel that some words they say set me in tear
For example I gave a person a smile one day and they gave me a glare
I did not know that smiling in the world today cause people to stare
These types of stare gave me chills down my spine a feeling that made me blind
Why? why is my weakness the people who are very unkind
Hiding is all I can do when people give me a unkind view
I get to a point that my fear seems to wonder and stew
People are who they are and what should I even do
I don't understand that they are evil and some times nice too
My hidden fear are people just because they are always around
That is no argument and my feeling are perfectly sound
The hate builds up in my mind, but does not bother, how my heart feel
I learned to undergo a change that my feelings become like steel
Hard as it should be in situations needed I forget how to use it
So it becomes my weapon and it is to some people heartless just a bit
My hidden fear is what I see in people today
They harm others and they think it is okay
That is why I fear my feelings for others at times because it is so confusing
My hidden fear is some what bad and some what a blessing


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The Battle Lost and Won

As naturally and effortlessly as birds fly
Unannounced and quietly an Idea came by
Faster than the weightless wind it flew
Where it came from no one asked, no one knew

Longing for a cloak in which to be wrapped
It knocked on many doors asking to be dressed
It wished to be given a shape and form for all to see
It wanted an existence, and in this world a chance to be

The farmer was farming, the worker busy working
The judge was judging, the thief in the shadows lurking
The preacher was of the invisible kingdom preaching
The poet alone with his heart and soul for the Idea reaching

It seized him and became the fire in his veins
The beating in his heart, the throbbing in his brain
It became the movement of his arms and legs
He asked for the right words like a beggar for food begs

The Idea through the flesh was about to be born
The invisible by the visible longed to be worn
Like newlyweds neither knew too well the other
They had to unite: each’d be both father and mother

Now the idea took control and led the poet’s pen
Then It was overpowered by the brutish man
Now he’d try to bend It, to suit his words, to shape It 
Then It bent him so that into each other they’d fit

He wished to be a channel for the Idea he sensed
It had a burning desire, a purpose to be expressed
When possessing parts of both the work was done 
An idea of the Idea was born - a battle both lost and won


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Christmas Rebels

Christmas Rebels
It was about a weak
After that night walk
The unknown dangers, 
Made known, turned me weak,
I was managing myself,
After my heart was pulled,
From where it sank,
I was yet in the oven,
Of my haven,
To dry up the coldness,
And the wetness, 
Of that fearful night loneliness,

Today is Christmas,
The whole mass,
Was joyous,
Every home, glorious,
Meat was plenteous, 
Rice and beans.
Was every homes means,
Children bouncing in,
New goat skin jackets,
Mother’s dressed in costly
Beads and all the way,
Father leads.
For Christmas had taking over,
Taking over the African Shrine,
It supplied a joyous sunshine.
Our pockets were full of cowries,
Like a goldmine,
Happiness was mine,
For the usual war seemed 
To be hidden, and our teethes where like, 
“Forever opened”.

Oh! Joyful, blissful, plentiful Christmas.
Providing joy each time it surface, 
But joy has a slender waist that breaks so soon.
Christmas night came, so we visited 
Our beds as night rang it’s bell,

(To be continued in the next, same Poem).


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A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE hubris or BIRD BRAIN

                     A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE ( hubris)
                       

In the Arctic nights the jazz born North Lights sound
with a music of their own. Fair winds ferry fragile birds--
take to the skies in search of sympathetic warmth profound

while white breathless silence magnifies each sound as it is heard
and few venture forth, like bears they dash to find a haven
where they can hide until reluctantly the sun has stirred--

But, there is one jay bird who is not one of nature’s craven
creatures-- Waiting for a spring call from his mate, he hops into the hungry snow
to dance a dangerous dance in icy morning with the ravens.

There is a God flung magic that dashes high above the haughty human know
among the ancient secret kingdoms of the mystery sky--
And there it is that Wisdom’s Word is spread by wing and wayward winds that blow

their way in worldwide splendor and intricate magnificence that defies
the mind of man.  It is a truth that dalliance in vanity is inborn---
Man or bird, into the nature of some spirits-- it low lies

and becomes incited when grand fame or imagined glory has been shorn
by another .  And , so-- in Persia when the Prince of Peacocks heard
murmurs of the razzing ravens and the sassy sparrows high sky airborne

a proclamation that the World knew now there lived a peerless bird--
plucky-proud, surpassing the peacock -- Jay magnificent with a spirit daunting, a weight
of valiant blue in shades escaped of double rainbows, color-blurred

who bedazzled all nature’s eyes and winds of ear, that judiciously beheld each trait.
The peacock, no longer Highest Prince of Birds, screamed a terrible and cosmic sound
of jealousy.   Ignoring all the glory that still made him great--
the vain and foolish peacock fell-- stunned and breathless to the ground.




Victoria Anderson-Throop  2012 ©
Written in Juja, Kenya
Bird is Stellar Jay, common in Valdez, Alaska


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Scarlet Portmanteau

Duke Luke by his bateau
Arrived at his chateau,
Had he travelled through large eau!

His mysterious rendez-vous 
with Henry Thoreau
Yielded him a scarlet portmanteau.

Entering his bureau,
he took off his manteau
and opened the portmanteau:

The Snow Man was inside
And though not well could he sing,
Sang he a song of himself:




Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
He met Annabel Lee on a large shelf,
Frightened he was by the raven
And took the road not taken:

Crossed he the mending wall
And hearing the anecdote of the jar
To noble savage Billy Budd an honest fare he paid

Large and far
Travelled he
From spring to fall

Self-reliance: the idea he hath
The American Scholar guided his path;

He slept a long time
In a clean well-lighted place;

One winter he woke up
In a station of the metro:
He fastened his tender buttons
and found a red wheelbarrow;
'No ideas but in things' -
A lovely image this brings!

To his disappointment and sorrow,
He never saw the snows of Kilimanjaro.




Duke Luke in disbelief
Wiped his eyes
And pinched his ears;

The Snow Man disappeared.

Duke Luke
Took a look 
At his portmanteau
In hopes of seeing something


He found


Nothing.


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The Woman In White

It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car, 
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.

This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.


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My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess


Details | Narrative | |

Noises in the Night

One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care

Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland   
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand

Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground           

Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats   
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap

Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared

Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend 
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"



Details | Narrative | |

My Real Name Is Charles



All you Souper know me as Jack But in reality, my real name is Charles I will try to explain this seemingly strangel turn of events I was the last of ten children in our family The first nine offsprings were girls And then came a BOY... li'l ole me! Well the word quickly got around our small town The Ellison girls have a baby brother, WOO HOO! Word also got around that all nine sisters and my Mum Agreed “Jack Norman Ellison” was to be my name However, on the way to the church for my Christening My Grandmother changed my Dad's mind at the last minute And convinced him to christen me Charles Byard After my Dad's brother who died a hero in the First World War My sisters were livid with anger And decided from then on They'd call me Jack irregardless of what my birth certificate said! And they did... so now you know the rest of the story Strange or what??? © Jack Ellison 2014


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The Forest

The Forest

I walk through an ancient, gloomy forest.
Everything is shrouded in a dark fog,
flowing over the contours of the earth.
Uncertainty floods my mind, warping what I see and hear.
In the distance, an owl faintly asks his question.
I spin around, again and again. 
Faint padding. The cracking of a twig.
Wind howling, fear takes my head. 
A flash of grey, gone as if never there. 
I flit about, glancing this way and that…
A faint moon reveals my horrors.
A half dozen wolves, grey and black,
crouching before me, ready to snap. 
I stumble away, my back now against a tree.
They close in, readying themselves. 
I unveil my dagger, but to my dismay and distress,
the wolves are like no other.
Transforming on spot, into those whom I love, 
I think, “Am I strong enough for this?”
Before I conclude, they strike with speed.
And before I conclude, my horrors are gone.
Before I conclude, I’m hearing Death’s psalm.


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Spaced-Out by Space - A Humble Layman'sTheory

Our solar system is a single atom...
Atoms bind together to make up molecules
An infinite number of molecules make up our universe
Our universe combines with billions of other universes
and those combined universes are but a tiny piece of...
that pesky little flake of dandruff on my shoulder

2/27/2013


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Confessions Of A Ghost

underneath a canopy of stars
only known by the universe
(there are so many….you see)
she waits…..

black silence permeates her mind
dusk is way past brand new
and she is stumbling on a dark pitch
neon lights glow inside her
                          (though seldom seen)
the eyes of a mask
pushing through the empty
               of a thousand masquerades

buried ghost of white light
hurried sounds of footsteps
and wells of blue ink burrow
                       beneath skin to fragile
as she trembles from the recall
                (inching in with devils claws)
somewhere she remembers
                  yet always on the outside
she stumbles in the night time

oh how it taunts  her lips
                    for just one taste
of sweet spring water
the luscious strawberry linger
as she suffers dehydration
quick flashes flicker past
and the stars call up a whisper
                she runs 
but remains motionless
              (feet glued to solid ground)

she waits…..

willow….weep for her
with your weeping boughs
                   (do you remember?)
for no one else can hear her
in the shadows of a maple
in a country full of desert
(muted by judging mouths)
            she cannot speak out truth

spirit sounds frolic
like fairies in the night
dancing in the wasteland
of what she thought was home
and she….lost inside the twinkle
of a billion lights that shimmer
with the mockery of reminiscence

underneath a canopy of stars
only known by the universe
(just too many….you see)
she waits…..

always she waits….


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Mourning Over The Locust Plaque

Some sounds like the noise of bees
Hovering around the atmosphere
Or like rain drops on our roof tops,
I opened my round window
The window of my hut,
I wanted to know
Why my sleep won't mellow,
All i saw was sorrow
As the atmosphere turned green.
The cassava farm was over shadowed
Banana plantation feebled,
Apple orchard struggled
Yet their efforts stifled,
Lemon grass for mama's herb withered,
Rose flower shattered and our 
Groundnut farm tattered.
Suddenly,the green army fled,
Tears exuded from my eyes
As i sputtered in pain,
Mother filled with melancholy,
Father tore his heart in grief
Villagers hope captured and crippled,
So their travail displayed as
Everyone mourned over 
The locust plaque.....



BY: CHARLES MELODY (LIGHTNING INK).   


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My Story Telling Who is this Princes

The night air made her feel tired
As she looked out side all the fences were wired
In the distance she hears crowds yelling
As she was to young to know they were rebelling
Father she asked where are we going?
Mother said to keep quiet and keep walking

Mother yelled in the night air
Father gave out a blank stare
They yelled run my princess run as far as you can
As that moment past her little feet pushed off and she ran
She ran to the nearest bushes and crawled into it to hide
She never smelled the air before as if someone just had died

As she lay on the ground under a bush she heard 
A loud yell in the distance almost to absurd
My name is Angelica, I am just a young girl who does not know 
Angelica just wants to live her life with help to grow
Angelica did not know what just happened she notice a figure in the distance
A little person just like her, a strong but gentle presence

Angelica saw the people who were shouting run off toward the voice
She was scared and she knew that she had to make a choice
Angelica fragile state was so confused and lost
She knew it will take burden on her at a cost
But in that moment of quietness a young but strong voice called out
Can you trust me just because? will you come with me with no doubt

My Story Telling  Together In A Strange World


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The Witches of Lemgo

When the witches from Lemgo assemble,
At night when the cities asleep,
Many souls in their beds they do tremble,
As they hear the witches that weep.

Their rusty old chains on the cobblestones,
Are heard as they lie in their beds,
Loud screeches producing, unearthly tones
As witches all dance in their heads.

They are cursing the souls who have burnt them
They’ve gathered some hot flames from hell
Hate has adorned their thorn crowns like a gem
Now vengeance will serve them real well.

If ever in Lemgo you wander some day
And believe that witches are not;
You’ll hear them gather the mayor to pay
For his sins as they watch him rot.

Brenda Meier-Hans
08.27.2014


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Solitary Woman


This colourful extravaganza
passing through the sinewy lanes
I looked down at
from the ramparts of my house

This razzle dazzle
this jubiliant celebration
This noisy crowd
In all fancy clothes

Along the sides walked
This rickety woman
shoved to a corner
Everytime she tried to cover the ground

Dirty with grime, her tattered clothes
A wilted body, wasted away
of the festivities around, she was oblivious
Caught my fancy and I looked at her

The regalement around
I tried to tear my gaze away
But it would come back
Again to rest on her

I reckon where it was
she was headed..... 


``````
4th place in the contest
For ¥ Destroyer ¥ Poet's contest : " Second Poem on Soup" 
 


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Desperate Measures (Complete Version)

"No!!!"-- that was the first thought that popped to mind-
I was in complete denial. 
I honestly thought I would be safe!
I did everything that I possibly could,
I laughed bitterly. But here it was...
Funny how your life can turn around in just a day--
My own personal demon was now mocking me to my face
 and slowly killing me. 

Inexperience made me struggle. Should I go for the kill or not?
 Either option would ultimately result to death by mortification. 
The former to a lesser degree though. 
So I decided to go for it, stepping inside a place where
desolation would meet impending horror.

I was now in familiar territory but my fingers still trembled. 
Touching on porcelain smooth surface, 
goosebumps~ as I saw that red, angry, stranger, giving me the evil eye.
 I was still contemplating on what I was about to do. 
Pain was inevitable but I was willing to sacrifice my comfort.
 Desperate people did this all the time, 
all without a care--why was I so nervous? 
It was now or never...

It didn't belong in this world, and absolutely not in my personal space.
Slowly, I closed in on it and tried to put a hole through its heart--
I started to pump the life out of that repulsive alien.
It was surprising though how silent everything was,
I did meet with some resistance, and it just didn't want to give in to me easily.
It was still mocking me in its own, evil way. But I was determined--
I was mentally willing it to die and my heart raced in a fiery flutter.
I was clenching my teeth, my fingers were turning white,
 and I was silently screaming in pain.
I didn't know I would get hurt this bad. 
I kept the pressure on until finally, it exploded-

Its life juices just splattered everywhere. 

I felt something sticky and warm on my cheek-
so I touched it and looked at my fingers. 
There was blood on it. Oozing blood and pus.

When I was finally able to breathe freely, 
I cleaned myself up and checked the damage. 

There was hardly a nick on my face after all. 
That wasn't too bad...
nothing a little foundation and concealer couldn't fix.  
The important thing was, my pimple was Dead~
and the Drama Queen was going to survive Prom after all.


**1005/June 2009---posted an incomplete version of this for the 
"Leave me Hanging Contest" here's the entire write :)
though did some editing today ;) --submitting this for
Paula's Bedevil contest :)


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Dead Diary

DEAD DIARY

I was there, I was near,
watching her lying,
but still couldn’t help, 
and saw her dying.
I was there, I was near,
with the heavy air all around,
living with it,
but fear was all I found.
I met my hate there, 
and the lost humanity,
the hidden faith somewhere,
and the ugliest side of the society.
Everything going above my head,
there was nothing I understood at all,
in the dilemma of what to do,
and my heart started to fall.
I was still there, so near,
surrounded with guilt,
couldn’t forgive myself,
it was the worst thing I ever felt.
With eyes filled with tears,
I stabbed myself with a knife,
with the sorrow of losing her,
I gave up my life.
Now I’m here,
a pure soul,
resting with her in peace,
playing a clean role…
Now I’m here 
sharing my history,
and smiling down at you…
Now I’m here, 
revealing my mystery,
and writing down this story…
Now I’m here,
writing my “Dead diary…”


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the mandala with the nipple at the centre

Grogged, split into holographic shards:
Hypnogog reveleations reflect
One dreary dreamer. Divinity
staggers to recall Itself
in matter.

Is God like peppermint? I think him

more like meade caressing 
a breeze – just beyond 
the fresh whore.

Bands of succulence
orbit a soaked mind.

The mandala, stony gravel out-stations
brilliantly placed in the Logic, 
oddly so.

In the centre the most divine Creation.

The nipple more proud than unassuming
more mirage-producing
than drought.

And all around the nipple children skip
chasing fairies in the smoky glow.

All around the nipple dance children, go.
More ancient than childbirth. The cheek

of Isis swirls itself into a Promise. Food
was later, grown men (and women) don’t know.

The milk erodes its own palace. The screen
remains; like the silence in a scream.

Art only, ever in the making. The sacredness
of a breast more than Nature produces.

Some on the outer, independent scriptute.
Some more honest, after some lost inner elixir.

I say: the world would not last long without a breast.

Copyright. 2009. JLM.


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Spoiled by Carson Eelman- 7th grader

A tribute to Ray Bradbury's The Veldt


Spoiled
by Carson Eelman


The nursery is a curious place
a place where dreams came true
inside lied an African Veldt.
In there the leaves would sway,
as the grass danced in the wind,
the lions roar, the sun beats hot,
it seems so real but know it's not.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

The power of imagination,
can be a wonderful thing,
full of magic, fun, and wonder;
but it can turn to darkness as well.
The nursery became corrupted,
with thoughts of death,
becoming real to Mom and Dad.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

The called a man
to see what's wrong
but honestly he wasn't sure.
He said they should take a break,
and so the father said,
"Shut down the house,
     we are ready to go," 
         but the kids said "Please No!"

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

They couldn't let it happen,
so they locked both inside.
The parents screamed and banged,
but to no reply.
The lions came and they were gone.
Peter and Wendy flashed a wicked grin,
then settled down and ate a meal.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.


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CONNECTING LINES

We are living on top of the sphere.

Where questions of mind haven't yet revealed.

Some still stuck in pyramid's scheme/

Life has unforeseen purpose to prevail.

Questions are hanging up in the air,

Mind has been unleashed .

Setting one's soul to defeat the darkness/

Preacher and moron evocatively says;

A gift of salvation just like the other way,

Salvation granted for people who follow  their will/

As we seek for the answers,

our mind was built with faith.

To demand,to sustain  our starving flesh/

We all meet in a half-way where deliverance is dwelt,

Changing the world goes round on our feet.

In a mystical way we were molded by mud.

Our soul was given of a breath of life,

Sending us the spirit,the unknown force from up above/

And now,we as human creature--

Living the edge of life in a blast;

As the sun rest at dawn and the moon took its place,

As a newborn child sooner grow and life will be fade/

People had learnt to fall inlove,

Cries a river when someone has left/

From the peak of Everest to the core of the Earth,

Through the lands and the seas,

Blood is continuosly flows in our veins.

Life must come and go,but forever will be

Our hidden connection will remain mystery.


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Silence, Nested In The Sand

Coming apon, a large desert rock.
Along side, a smaller white rock, 
so I thought. A sun bleached skull, 
nested in the sand. Silence, with
a gentle desert breeze moving my 
many unanswerd thoughts; quickly
race threw my mind. This O'l skull,
once riddled before with dream's,
stolen memories, for ever gone!
A wide open jaw; Imagining, this
poor O'l soul screaming from the 
other side, but never heard. So
I walked away, and wisperd a few
words: Rest now, youv'e been found!

03/07/14   Written By, Larry Berdoo
                         WRITE ON!

                                     

           


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The Triangle Of Mystery

                         The Triangle Of Mystery
                      
Come with me on a journey to Bermuda, where there is an 
Area called the Devil's Triangle, in this ocean expanse many ships
Mysteriously vanished and never returned, with the 
Exception of one - a ghost ship known as the Mary Celeste.
Even aircraft were lost in this stretch of waters, where
Strange magnetic influences create major problems for 
Travellers passing through these regions, even UFO's 

Were sighted entering and leaving the triangle. There was an
Incident when a woman was flying her plane over one of 
The tropical islands. When she contacted the airport tower, 
She was told she could land there. The sky was clear, as she 
Kept circling the runway and her plane was slowly running out of 
Fuel, she was viewing the same island but in an earlier time period
When the runway was actually overgrown with palm trees, and it 

Seemed her plane was in a time zone different from that of the
Airport. The plane was never found. Another strange incident 
Happened when a barge was towing a large commercial raft,
And the ship was blanketed in fog, when the seamen looked 
Back they noticed that the rope was invisible and the metal hand 
Rails were white hot while their breath was chilled, what had
Caused this strange phenomenon? Was it due to the Triangle's  
Mysterious properties? The answer is unknown even to this day, 
The Bermuda Triangle will never disclose it's secrets to anyone.
 


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Coffee Shop v2

Prefece:
You're sitting alone at the bar of the coffee shop and you've got the usual.
black decaf latte, today's newspaper, and that pen that smears blue ink.
It’s the same every night, that's why you come back. Monotony is relief.
The only move you've made in what seems like hours was to refill your drink.



Coffee Shop:

You stare at the latte like you’re about to open a gift.
Lifting the cup high, your lips sip the heavy cream.
Tired eyes watch the frosted window and the drift
that carries the uninvited snow effortlessly past you.

The room behind you is burning loud with conversation;
The same arguments, theories, solutions
It's a sickness stuck in the same old rotation.
Like hopeless addicts, they fiend for absolution

There’s talk of Plato’s cave that shrouds enlightenment.
Others discuss Gandhi’s hidden path to the same effect.
They repeat wise men’s words in circles they invent,
leaving what’s more than a hint of ignorance to detect

The sun sets and you're blinded by a glare as you look to the skyline,
the light glows as it sits atop the trees; you look down with a sigh.
Through the window you catch the eyes of a battered man, the look of isolation and despair intertwined.
The man’s face, streaming with tears, tells a story of one too many goodbyes.

What difference does this man make, which he is or what he needs?
You’ve seen it all before; a different movie, the same old theme.
Plus, the tilt of his head and pain in his eyes speak for him of his own misdeeds
Your stare stays locked as you say out loud, “things are always what they seem.”

You have a heavy feeling bring a question that stays planted in your mind
You wonder now if you walk the very path that hollowed this man's eyes.
The thought turns into voices, the words they say are all entwined.
Getting louder now, the more you try to block them out, the more they intensify.


-Jackson Kilgrow
rantedtirades.blogspot.com


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Back in the Saddle Samurai part 2 response to Richard Pickett collab

After hearing from Brick over the phone saying he needed a lift, Bill cradled the phone, adjusted his shoulder holster, slipped on his jacket and carefully donned his beloved Stetson. He skipped down the stairs to the mini parking lot where he recently paid to park his car just for the convenience of it all. Should a done this a long time ago, he thought as he coaxed his car into gear and popped the clutch to angle it onto the busy street.
    Once he got into the traffic he ground the gears as well as that old three speed on the column would allow and headed for St Cecelia’s. He probably would have got there quicker on his police horse but they frowned on him parking his old horse buddy in the parking lot.
   It wasn’t the first time Brick decided to take a sabbatical in St Cecelia‘s. Hmm ..He musta been hell on his Mom’s nerves when he was a kid, Bill mused. 
     He pulled a u turn couldn't help but smile when he saw Brick was already standing there waiting for him while removing a sling from his arm that he probably was supposed to leave on for a few days.
     Bill braked along side the cigarette butt strewn curb reached across, opened the door and Brick clambered in a little more gently than he wanted to. “Need some help old man?” Bill quipped. 
    “No I just happen to like taking my time so I can savor every moment when I climb into a piece of junk.”
     “Now that ain’t no way to talk about ole Nellie here, Bill chuckled. Say how ya feeling Brick? “I feel great.” “Oh? You might feel great but you look like crap. You’d best pull an overhaul on your carcass real soon or that’ll be the shortest date you’ll ever be on.”
Brick rolled his eyes at his partner “Don’t you worry none cowboy, I clean up pretty good when I wanna. You just try and do your best to see that this hunk of junk makes it to my place cause if I was a gambling man ,I wouldn’t put any money on it.” They both laughed and Bill drove Brick to his home. 
 “Okay, well call me tomorrow and we’ll talk business about a certain Samurai
if your up to it by then Brick.” Brick groaned his way out of the car turned and said  “Oh don’t you worry ’bout that. I’ll be up to it all right .” 
Actually, I ain't really worried about you, Brick. I’m a little worried about the Samurai.”
“Huh? How’s that Bill?” 
“You know .. your ribs, Brick … they gave his foot a pretty good walloping!”
Brick slammed the car door shut, shook his head and chuckled as he limped away.
  See Richard Pickett


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The Man in the Trilby

On a cold winter night it's so good to stay
In the stark neon warmth of an all night cafe
For there is nothing to go home to tonight.

Alone with his thoughts he sips his tea,
Wipes condensation from the window in order to see
As he peers out into the night.

Under the street lamp a man in a trilby
Lights a cigarette and looks as though he will be
In for a long cold night.

Fighting the wind, his newspaper unfurls
And he pretends not to watch the girl with the curls
As she prepares for the night.

But catching his eye,she moves over to him
She is not very old and fairly slim
And together they go off in the night.

In the warmth of the diner, out of the cold
He watches this Hopperesque drama unfold.
And he feels so alone tonight


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The Wolfman love story

Nightfall was here,
The reward for his habitual labor was well on its way,
Storming through borders,
Invading backwards cities,
Collecting pieces and parts,
Digesting human heart.

Suddenly his hot lit eyes,
Spotted an unusual sight,
Her reflection off the quiet lake,
Stifled his appetite,

His nostrils flared exposing smoke,
For autumn’s chill consumed his cloak,
He swept across the trees,
Causing her to feel an abrupt breeze,

She looked around, but noone was there
She knew a presence had snuck a stare,
She continued on her way,
Then felt compelled to pray,

Asking God to bring to her,
A man that would love her so,
Vocalizing that she didn’t care,
If his looks were hard for others to bear,
As long as he could truly love,
And appreciate her like his dove.
She would be grateful,
For her heart wasn’t capable of being hateful,

She prayed the rest of her way,
While this man of the night
Listened intently to every word she did say,
And when she got to her humble little home
She went to bed all alone,

Now the time was half past two,
This beast did not know what to do,
For his night had now become defeated,
For her words had made his will depleted,

He began to weep,
His wounds were deep, 
Nevertheless, all that came out were howls,
He became an animal in love that could only let out growls,

The anguish of this tragic story,
He yearned to be held by all her glory,
He proceeded to watch her while she slept in peace,
She was an angel, he was a beast

Then around 6 am
This beauty woke to start again,
When she walked outside,
Her face went white and her eyes grew wide,

Her little house had foot prints all around,
Shaped like hearts but marks from a hound,
A message from a tormented slave,
Someone not even her love could save.

By:Sabina Nicole
Contest: wolfman in love
10-8-11


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Flash-Backs

I had a dream where nothing 
was what it seemed.
It was dark and then too bright 
and all my words left my mind.
I saw a bright beam where 
everything was what I’d 
deemed.
The darkness fell over the 
shadows and swallowed 
everything that was kind.
The light fled and tomorrow 
was a treasure I just knew I 
had to find.

Yesterday was lost and 
everyone stood with a great 
amount in cost.
It was sad and it was glad, but 
everyone threw it up for a toss.
Passing through time with 
glimmering bright lights,
Where were the dark lonely 
nights?

Flash-backs timing the tracks 
as most folks fell through tiny 
little cracks,
Each one flashed back on top 
of crumpling down broken old 
stacks.
Then it was cold and then it got 
hot.
Today was here and being 
blotted out like a tiny black 
dot.
Flash-backs and flash-backs 
sending millions tracks of light 
to never forget me not.

®Registered: 2003 Ann Rich


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Dead Diary

DEAD DIARY

I was there, I was near,
watching her lying,
but still couldn’t help, 
and saw her dying.
I was there, I was near,
with the heavy air all around,
living with it,
but fear was all I found.
I met my hate there, 
and the lost humanity,
the hidden faith somewhere,
and the ugliest side of the society.
Everything going above my head,
there was nothing I understood at all,
in the dilemma of what to do,
and my heart started to fall.
I was still there, so near,
surrounded with guilt,
couldn’t forgive myself,
it was the worst thing I ever felt.
With eyes filled with tears,
I stabbed myself with a knife,
with the sorrow of losing her,
I gave up my life.
Now I’m here,
a pure soul,
resting with her in peace,
playing a clean role…
Now I’m here 
sharing my history,
and smiling down at you…
Now I’m here, 
revealing my mystery,
and writing down this story…
Now I’m here,
writing my “Dead diary…”


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Untitled #351 / Sagittarius A

In the center of our galaxy
from 1992 through 2003
astronomers were able to observe
a star, orbiting compact radio source
Sagittarius A.
The star had an orbit with average radius
1.4x1014 m
and period 15 years.
From this information astronomers estimated
the mass of Sagittarius A.
v = 2π(1.4x1014)/(15x365x24x60x60) = 1.86x106 m/s
a = (1.86x106)2/(1.4x1014) = 0.0247 m/s2
0.0247 = (6.673x10-11)M/(1.4x1014)2
M = 7.24x1036 kg
7.24x1036/(1.989x1030) = 3.6 million suns!
Astronomers infer that Sag. A is a
supermassive black hole
(it cannot be seen)!
OH LITTLE STAR


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Introduction, The Painting

 
The Painting By Constance La France A perplexing plot, an enchanting romance, it quivers with passion, mystery, as lies unravel and family secrets are exposed at last! Can a garage sale painting reveal secrets . . . or hidden truths. And for striving artist Miranda, finding it is only the beginning into a labyrinth of lies, horror--and murder. It brings Tom Ashton into her lonely life and eventually makes her a suspect in his brutal and fatal shooting. She sets out to solve his death and clear her name--and uncover why Tom wanted the painting back so desperately... what was in the painting that he did not want her to know-- Miranda will go through the crumbling gates of Ashton Manor where Tom's hidden truths resided. Where family secrets lay concealed -- who had a reason to kill Tom and who has decided that Miranda is the next to die? What is hidden within that painting? SHE STANDS BACK LOOKING AT THE PAINTING STARING AND PONDERING, WHAT TRUTHS DO YOU HIDE? Hardcover, $39.95 June 5, 2013 For the contest, You've Written A Novel


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The Latin Dancers

Midnight was approaching and the dance floor was stark Colors of the spectrum were weaving and leaving their mark Lights spun in brilliant flashes of reds, greens and blues. Sparse bodies were gyrating as if music pulsated the hues. The music stopped. He stepped out of the shadows; on his arm was a dark beauty. They walked into the hushed room; the air thick and sultry. Dancing with my partner I watched them through the darkness He pulled her lithe body to him, how I envied their closeness. All eyes were upon them. Piercing rays of greens and yellows flashed up and apart A deep bass suddenly throbbed with the rhythm of a heart Black hair and dark skin, he danced in his tight, arrogant style She danced around him, shaking her body, nimble and nubile The music beat faster. The couple twirled around the dance floor as if it was theirs Pulsating music and scarlet colors flashed around like flares. His sweat became hers as their sensuous lips barely met He lifted her into the air, holding her high with the ascent. He lowered her to the ground. Watching the Latino lovers as they danced through the night I felt as if I were a voyeur who couldn’t turn from the sight. She raised her hand to him; his eyes quickly turned my way Suddenly, I turned to my partner and my hips began to sway My heart beat faster. I could feel him drawing closer the faster my body danced Strobes of red hues flew overhead, as backwards I glanced. He pulled me against him and I felt his strong masculinity Then spiraled me outwards, his hand gripping mine tightly. Our eyes locked. He held me firmly in his arms, we danced slowly then quickly Dancing to the rhythm the music began taking over my body. The Latin dancer’s eyes looked into mine with a hypnotic stare As breathlessly we danced and soon I became no longer aware Of anyone but us. Cerulean blues flashed over us as he flung my head back His lips bent down to mine, his eyes piercing and black Our hearts beat together as one and my eyes closed for the kiss But colors changed, music was subdued; something was amiss I opened my eyes. It was as if I’d awakened to find that their world didn’t exist And the Latin lover I’d danced with was no more than a mist. Circling couples danced around aimlessly and suddenly I froze Violet hues slid over the walls as he walked into the shadows. His eyes met mine and he vanished.


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'Tasting Droplets - of You'




the night approached with the moon setting the scene

the trees waving the day a gallant goodbye 
as you walk across the white sand
with so much promise 

droplets of a forgotten swim 
glistening - highlighting overt parts of your body

as you approach even a little slower
every step makes my heart skip a beat
involuntary movement as I edge a little closer

my nipples respond unquestioned 
as suddenly the fabric seems too tight 
longing to have your hands all over 
my body rubbing up against your partly wet body

everyone disappears as we finally stand in front of each other 
I can hardly move and all I want is to move closer

closer to the promise of our bodies becoming one
closer to your fluids mingling with mine
as our lips finally meet 
my tongue melts away and all I can taste is you


©230320120930


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If I Could Fly

If I could fly, where in the world would I possibly go?
Up and away my wings would carry me,
My destination not known!
If I could fly, I’d capture all of the Sun’s rays.
Up and away!
What a sight to see with such a grand milestone!
If I could fly, 
I would always look below.
Down and deep!
My eyes focused only on you.
My journey’s still unknown.
If I could fly, I’d stay on top with memories buried to keep.
Down and deep!
What an experience just to fly through!
Such a waste without you!

If I could fly, I would soar with my best perfection.
Soaring with pride!
My life achieved.
My destination excluding restrictions!
If I could fly, I’d forever remember this glide.
Soaring with pride!
What a thought to preconceive.
Such bright reflections!
If I could fly where in the world would I possibly go?
Up and away I would go only with you.
My destination remaining incognito!
If I could fly, I’d want to stay up and away!
What an incredible zone just to pass through!
Such a magnificent plateau!
If I could fly, I’d fly only for you!


®Registered: 1997 ANN RICH


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In love with a gangster


His life is reloaded with indomitable passion
Thirsty for power and lustful enterprises
His love bleeds on the filthy streets
In dreams he haunts his enemies
Committed for no commitments
he whispers into my ears
his dynamite lips explodes my nerves
I break down in his heavy arms
He believes in detached love;
Sex with no strings
Inwardness never ruled his heart
He seeks pleasure in breaking rib cages
For gangsters are born to kill
He has survived the darkest prison
Hell and heaven far from his reach
A brutal death awaits his arrival
Graveyard will smell the flesh
Of this giant monster
My life ends in love with a gangster…
 



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a flood of swollen words

I've seen a picture of a book
caught in a flood from the past
and marveled at what the view
revealed to me, the reader

The book, arced and curved to
its center, like a ship's bow
darkened with abandonment, and 
white crystals grown from pages' edge

Words crystalized from every
line written, touchable thoughts 
crystallization of the author's soul
the original, unreadable, unknown

The wish to witness at pad and pen
as soul pours ink to paper page
tonguing salty thoughts may be what 
imprinted from the writer to me

© Goode Guy 2012-03-03

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/multimedia/photos/139705383.html


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Willow's Bluff

An eerie little poem for your enjoyment. 

It's fiction but inspired by a little cave I found this weekend on my woodsy walk ;)
(minus the ghostly whispers!  "OooooOOOO!" heheh) Also a bit of a message in this one. 


Willow's Bluff  (Part 1)
    by Amy Swanson   2.9.2009


The other day I found myself
restless and ill at ease, 
so I thought I'd take a walk
forget my cares in spring's warm breeze.

The forest was so beautiful
and trees, once dead, were turning green
I couldn't help but marvel
at life's mysteries I had seen.

I started on the well worn path
and thought I heard a sound;
it made me jump, I turned to look,
but no one was around.

The sunlight streamed so gloriously
upon my tear stained face
my heart felt light, forgotten cares
just being in this place.

And then it happened once again
I know I heard a noise!
I stopped now, to investigate
This hidden, quiet voice.

I wandered off the walker's trail
into the woods much deeper
I chanced upon a darkened cave
... and the cave's gatekeeper.

A mystical sight to behold
unearthly glowing light
it rose a bit up from the ground
then faded from my sight.

I made my way into the cave
mysteriously dark
and there it was... that voice again...
slowly I embarked

My flashlight shining at full force
was still not bright enough
to counter with this deepening dark
I'd found near Willow's Bluff. 

I heard the eerie whispers now
quite clearly, in my ear
first one, then two, now several more
and though my pioneer

spirit got me into this,
I felt that it was time to flee!
I turned and ran the opposite way
the voices though, were still with me!

I thought I knew the way back out
I tripped my way along
my flashlight flickered one last light
... I found that I was wrong...

somehow my turns had led me
down a path I did not know;
I turned to walk the other way -
but there was no place left to go.



*continue to Part 2*


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A Mermaid and the New Jersey Devil

with cloven hooves and bat-like wings he waits for her as sunset paints the sky a much-feared societal outcast communes each night with his only love here on the Atlantic Ocean where waves sweep worries away she glides gently to the rock jetty hears a song that reaches only her ears how such a beautiful creature finds joy with a being so dreaded has been a mystery since 1870 she sees not his unsightly frame but lingers on every word he sings his song saddens her salty tears fall from her eyes the sea grows deeper with every drop only a mermaid can sense his pain his loneliness she shares
*”Sightings included one in 1870 by a Long Beach fisherman who said he saw the Jersey Devil serenading a mermaid.” – From the New Jersey Historical Society http://www.jerseyhistory.org/legend_jerseydevil.html


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6-11

6 a.m

It is time to wake- 
After being bludgeoned by sleep.
A quick brush 
And a quick wash
Off to the bus-stop in a quick rush.

It’s another day 
To work for a pay
Loose soap lather-
Sticking senselessly by the tip of the ear
And white Vaseline still to sink in the hair.

This life is a rush
Get late and get fired
No one cares if you are tired
Or couldn’t spare the time for a notch.

Brown suit,
Black trouser
Loosened zipper
Man! You are a walking sleeper.

We all filed-up
Looking like men heading for the concentration camp,
Yawning helplessly from an unfinished sleep.
This city life,
Is just a life of strife.

We hop on the bus,
So eager to seek solace in its confines.
Heads hanging loosely,
Snoring trumpets at its crescendo.


11 p.m

Free from the day’s toil
But held captive by Lagos traffic.
Sweating and panting from heat,
Squeezed like a crumpled note at the back seat.

Dinner on third-mainland Bridge,
A stick of gala and Asala*
With a bottle of water to quench the hunger.
 
It’s business time for the street urchins
From Iyana-oworo to the bridge that links Alapere,
They disguise as beggars-
Or hide in the shade of dark like scavengers
Watching out for victims to prey on.

The day weans itself away;
Broken down vehicles,
Long tankers stealing the lanes,
Pedestrians ignoring the bridge,
Hawkers shouting their wares,
Tanker horns blaring like hooting train.
 
Six to Eleven of our lives
Stolen by the struggle to survive.
Office pressure and less leisure,
Street madness and no cure.
Traffic Thieves,
Problematic Passengers,
Howling Hawkers,
And Lazy-ing LASMA**
All add to this insanity.




* A Yoruba dialect for Walnut 
** LASMA reference to Traffic Officials of Lagos State


© Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke


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Map of the Gods

He ceaselessly wandered across the vast desert,
with only a bottle of water. According to his archaeological
knowledge, it was claimed that gods, with fiery chariots,
roamed across the world, six thousand years ago; a period
that people read the stars, and knew where gods hailed.
Legend has it that a magical papyrus scroll, illustrating a map to gods' abode,
was hidden in an Obsidian Pyramid, that glowed in the day. As the Egyptian
Kingdom collapsed, an evil sorcerer threatened to steal it, but Isis hid it in a vault,
in the Obsidian Pyramid. "It's not the sorcerer who's a threat now, but the Nazis!", the
English archaeologist speaks in his heart.....  


Name: Teddy Kimathi

Contest title: IN THE WIND

Date: 15/09/2014


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Willow's Bluff, part 2

** continued from part 1, please read that one first **



Willow's Bluff  (Part 2)
   by Amy Swanson     2.9.2009


The whispers getting louder now,
my screams rose silently
trying to escape my lips,
my arms now  beating violently!

"Let me go! What do you want!?"
my mind's voice now demanded
of the whispering captors
who somehow held me, stranded.

The pressure of the moment
held me paralyzed with fear.
Oh how I wish I'd stayed away
and never come in here!

Tightening around my chest
and whispers growing still...
my mind was racing frantically,
my body felt a chill.


And then... a human voice... a light...
the sun gentle and warm...
my eyelids fluttered... I awoke,
completely safe from harm.

My husband leaned down close to me
and said "Are you all right?
You took a spill and konked your head,
you gave us all a fright."

Confused, I nodded slowly
and my eyes turned toward the river
the path I'd taken in my dream was there...!
I felt a shiver.

"Yes, yes, of course, I'm doing fine,
don't worry about me.
I'll be right there, you go ahead,
but first, there's something I must see."

I saw the path, still beckoning
it looked as in my dream...
a little further down the way
...the same unsettling theme.

The cave stood eerily in sight,
but I did not venture in.
A million questions to my mind,
this journey from within.

What did it mean? and how
could I explain what I had seen?
I chose to bury it down deep
and call it ... just a dream.

They say that only fools rush in
where angels fear to tread
walking down an unknown path
can lead straight to the dead.

One thing for certain, deep inside
I know this was not fluff -
so if you find an unknown path...
beware of Willow's Bluff.


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Your Angel

I am your angel, daddy's little girl.
I know I haven't been my best in cold, shallow world.
But I listen to you most of the time, your lessons and such; and when I don't listen, I suffer 
very much.
You don't give me signs when I'm going the right way.
So How can I make you proud of me?
I know I've done so wrong by not just following you; suffering pointlessly.
Either way I love you Father, with my everything.
I am your angel, will I ever earn my wings.

written in 2005


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Unfinished Business

UNFINISHED BUSINESS
©Alfreda Williamson
July 2, 2004




Outside town boundaries,
bustling, noisy din,
Deeply in the serenity of peace, calm,
the country County,
Around a curve, sharp, blind.

There it leaped out at me.
Suddenly, unexpectedly
Catching me off guard,
Not foresightedly, not scary
Just by way of wonderment
. . . why this unfinished business?
The house without its finishings.

. . .  It rose up in the trees,
reaching the tops, for two stories,
Sweat/precision/deliberation imputed,
Reaching towards the sun.

Or was it toward a full autumn moon,
Or could it be the direction,
from the ancient star compass.
Harnessing a cloud drifting by, for clearing?

It stood among the ivory,
Entangled, entwined but
Not overgrown, not overtaken.

The roof covered in tin,
The setting for magnificent, earthly,
	heavenly sounding of
drenching,/torrential/steady
rain drops.


The windowed eyes of this
Unfinished  dwelling,
Finished, painted, shadowed, framed
. . . in pink.
Its back bone wood no longer
yellow /white/beige with youth.
The grey/brown color of rotting age and elements;
. . . time, neglect, exposure
. . . nature scraping and shearing away,
year after year,
after month, after day,
after time.

The frame finished, nearly so,
Peaking spaces left, or now,
There, some frame filling
Having been ripped/rotted
Away for outsiders to look in.

This business unfinished,
And not overtaken,
In the gulf of time.

Nature working reclamation,
Of the space, crawling,
Groundward, upward,
Yet unfinished in recapturing.

This unfinished house, standing
Alone in the word,
Sharing a space with no one
In its place.
The windowed souls,
	. . . looking, peeking at
	passersby,
	driving,
	cycling,
	running pass,
	in a flurry.

This unfinished business,
Begs questioned consideration,
Sufficient structural invitation
	? who went there
	? what past passed
	? why this unfinished business
	? when
Where . . . 
	am I begged to inquire,
	invited to draw close?

But I can’t get there.
Though attention drawn,
And pondering invoked.

I can’t finish it,
This business.

By Alfreda Williamson
© July 2, 2004




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Nothingness and Strife

Standing in the passageway,
I restrain myself from moving on;
The panting and sweating have opened 
my eyes,
Even before the break of dawn.

Slowly the grayness pushes me
Into the purple haze;
I’ve left the moonlit night behind:
Mind’s all confused—in daze.

I did come to meet my peace here,
And I open a door;
Its creaking lurks into my ear—
I’m restless to the core.

Darkness in front of me,
Does shine on in a gleam;
Silence doesn’t let me cogitate—
Ruthless as it seems.

The slow patter of my feet
Doubles into four…
A struggle within; a struggle without—
A struggle to finish a chore:

My muffled mouth grunts and croaks,
As I try to set free;
Then as I’m made to starve for air,
There’s Light calling on me.

Whilst I’m brought down to the floor,
A rope’s tight round my neck;
The ground shall embrace my corpse 
unsure,
As I shall lie here decked…


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Holding Back

Nothing here is wrong because nothing ever could.
It has been so long,
A time that just never would!

Nothing here was ever lost because nothing was ever found.
It has been a toss,
A time that simply counted down!
Holding back the tears,
Puddles of many lost years!
Holding back my time,
I’m a prisoner with no crime.

There’s nothing here to hold because there never was.
It has been so cold,
A time for just because!
Holding back the pain,
My chronic death inside!
I have nothing to lose because there’s nothing to gain.
Holding back the strength of all my earned pride,
I’m just a moment gained with a will that eventually dies inside!


®Registered: 1997  Ann Rich 


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Iris of Poetry

Introduction: We don't really think deep enough about "What A Poetry Actually Is", the
obvious question which we all know but don't think how to really elaborate on. We mostly
see the story, depth and the purpose it delivers. Well, here's one a little bit different
this time...



Poetry is the reflection of our lives like in the mirror,
It is something we can relate to and share.
It's our memories written in jumbled words,
It's like a song, with a meaning it holds.

A mere idea of our mystical lives,
Expressed in a way from deep inside
A way which only the heart can see,
A place where the eyes get cold-feet

The earnest truth and the sweetest lies,
It's all the irony that makes poetry so alive.


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All About Her

I dont know much about her
but I heard she wasnt that talkative
She didnt like being alive
She was numb to all the pain she had to go through

I heard she didnt like anything that was green
She ate roman noodles everynight for supper
She always wore flannels and bellbottoms
Sometimes i seen her wear dresses and fancy tops
But lately shes been wearing band shirts

She wears converse shoes and uses an army bag for school
I know that she dosent like to communicate through talking... only through her peoms
or sometimes even her songs.

I see her drawing and painting all the time
She draws famous people
She would like to be famous and not so unknown
When she tries to speak to anyone they always walk away and leave her alone

When she gets home she goes upstairs to play her bass guitar
She hates chocolate cake but loves chocolate
Her family left her behind because she cant forget her past

Sometimes when shes alone she contemplates the meaning behind her life
Her favorite color is gray because her life is black and white
Everything she says is false according to the world

She is not so innocent
I understand that she dreams about the perfect life
When she opens her eyes they are pitch black

She is someone that is fake
She acts nothing like she should
She is very grungy and unclean

She knows of no safety
and of no time
Her life is smashed into pieces by the giant sun

She will always be a ghost
She knows of no god
She crawls around in the world of death
She remains forgotten


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Bill side 12 answer to Richard Pickett Watcher in the Dark

     The traffic light on the end of Brick’s street turned green and Bill headed for home after dropping off Brick at his place. He knew Brick would be okay after a bit because of the incentive of it all. For tonight, the incentive was in the form  of a pretty blond gal. After tonight though, Bill knew him enough to know that he would put his nose to the pavement and sniff out that Samurai like an ole Blue Tick hound after a scared rabbit. “Hmmm , he voiced aloud, only this ain’t no rabbit …and he for sure ain’t scared…. and he’s dangerous as hell … means business.”
      He got to thinking about it some more but stopped abruptly when some dude screeched out in front of him while giving him the finger and gunned it down the street turning the corner on the next block. Bill had to screech it to a halt for that little episode and as he went though the gears again, he marveled at the gracious manners of these New Yorkers compared to those in Texas where he had been a Ranger for 15 years. A little rough getting used to he thought.
     Getting back to his thoughts on the case he realized how close Brick could have come to getting popped. Apparently the Sam wasn’t interested in killing cops. He took Brick out only because he got in his way. He could very well have sliced him into a piece or two like his Vics in the same amount of time as it took him to disable him. Well at least we got that going for us ….this time. This guy was a vigilante from the word go. Obviously had a thing going for anybody messing with helpless females; probably had some score to settle and didn’t think the long arm of the law was quite long enough
to suit him.
      Bill parked his car, entered his apartment and saw the answering machine light blinking. He pulled some leftover Pizza out of the fridge and slapped a few pieces on a frying pan to heat them up on the old stove that came with the apt. He clicked on the answering machine to hear Tom down at the precinct remind him that he had a gig the next day doing a mounty beat in the park. Tom was always looking out for him. Great guy.
     Usually Bill liked doing the mounted police thing on his equine partner Red Neck, but this Shogun Sam thing was getting to him and he’d rather just keep on it with Brick. But orders were orders and Lt. Griggs was good about it so far so best not push it. He ate his pizza smiling as he wondered how his buddy Brick was turning all his rib pain to his advantage with his new blond medic date.  Time to turn in. 
See Richard Pickett site for next page.


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ThE cOrRiDoR pArT 1

She sat up
Cold sweat dripping from her forehead
She, but a small girl
Skin pale, 
Eyes blue, 
Hair blonde
Dress raggedy, 
appearance worn down 
Shoe’s falling apart
Build frail
Fingers trembling
Body cold and stiff
Frightened
Alone in this corridor
She awoke here
Soft lonely shadows danced along the walls
This place cold and lonely
Felt like an abandoned cellar
“Where am I?” 
She whispered so softly she wondered if she actually spoke it
Or if it was part of her mind playing tricks on her
She slowly crept down the corridor
Lost, confused, bewildered
She had the feeling that she was looking for something 
Desperately searching…
“But for what?” She wondered
She looked around cautiously
The walls seemed to make a humming sound
Or was that her mind?
She shivered
KEEP GOING 
She heard a voice
It sounded faint as if it was locked inside of a box
But it was strange
There was a distant echo
“Louise”
It called beckoning her
It felt so far away
She couldn’t make out the direction
It was like an itch that you can’t locate
You know it’s close
But you can’t seem pin it
She suddenly felt the urge to hide
She ducked down...
As she crawled she noticed her hands getting bigger
Or was she getting smaller?
She looked down at herself
Her body had shrunk
She gasped in terrified confusion
Her expression horrified, mouth gaping
“I have to get out of here” she whispered to herself 
All of the sudden she heard a blood curdling scream
Then a wicked cackle


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The Hidden Haven

What is held beneath the hidden haven is such a mystery.
Looking in and looking out never a dream and never a doubt.
Souls in need for mercy to plea a soul driven just to be set free!
The hidden haven remains such a mystery all throughout.
Obscuring what life is really all about and drenched in all of its diversity.
What is held beneath the hidden haven can never be known.
Many more tears are yet to come,
All hidden where we all begun,
A need to be loved with a place to belong with a chance to grow!
The hidden haven remains a dark mystery that’s all alone.
Concealing what life has really shown,
Omitting my every attempt to reach out and truly be done.
What is hidden beneath the hidden haven is between me with you.
A clear moment with your brightest light,
All given and laid before your eyes very own sight.
The force of strength will carry us through!
The hidden haven remains a mystery with the life we will choose.
Provoking the battle that is prepared to fight,
Crushing the life you always knew,
The hidden haven can never be known.
It is hidden!
For it is deep!
A soul that absorbs life alone,
A moment forbidden,
But held forever in my keeps!



®Registered: 1997  Ann Rich


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Honor of Friendship-Part One

08/20/2012
---------------------
In glowing light you saturate them in words of precious gold, honors adorned by you electing them to be your true friends. Telling me that you adore them, love them, so; that they listen quite often to what you say, that you can tell them anything without fear of them judging you and all the while I listen to such high praise. As you bestow upon them the highest honor one can receive from you-the gift of true friends- I listen, but I can’t help it as my mind wonders ‘where do I fit among those you praise’? Between the lines I remain, unsure as to where I truly belong.
Can I find myself; the monster, the witch, amongst these silver knights of yours, or shall I stay hidden, beside myself watching, loving, caring for you from afar?
I never really know just where I stand; I don’t know what or who I am to you.
But on you go about them, your true, amazing friends as I listen, secretly listening wish I too, could make you so happy. I hope that maybe someday, you will see just what you mean to me, that you’ll understand you are my one true friend-My best friend. The only one who has stayed by my side? And I’ll continue to listen to you. Continue to read all you write for the others, and I’ll continue to give you all I have until you hold the entirety of my heart in your hand until there’s nothing more of me but emptiness and all I have you shall receive, as it’s reserved for just you until the very last breath I have leaves me.
Never will you really know how your lack of words is so much louder than any words that could ever be spoken. But still I keep everything for you because you are everything to me-my best friend, the only one to have ever stuck around…I so wish I could do the same, but I am not like the others. I am the nothing that fills the empty space around you, the nothing that hovers and clings to you like a leech. I am a nobody, a nothing but a ‘someone’…
A someone unknown to most, a someone who cannot express a damned thing in a way that makes sense.
But still I sit by you, I stand by your side and hope you know I am here for you; always here forever. If ever you need someone to lean on, someone to carry you up the mountain of turmoil…I will.


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Untitled #305 / The Traffic Teacher's Tale

They locked eyes. Engines revved and roared.
When the light flashed green, tires screamed across the pavement,
other horns were honked, and a cup of Coke
flew across the lane divider into the lap of the second driver
even as the car of the first driver veered off
into a ditch, overturned, cabin
crunched into a tree
and three souls rode their last.
The traffic teacher says we must control our emotions, but I know
this is impossible. Emotion binds the heart of every human.
We can control our responses to these feelings, or else
ignore them entirely.
I wish I could choose the latter.


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Aphrodite-w

The goddess of love, beauty and sexual rapture,
Born out of the churning and foaming of
Severed genitals thrown into the ocean
Her beauty irresistible, joyous and glamorous
Was a concern of worry to her father Zeus,
Who married her off to sooty Hephaestus.
She loved and was loved by gods and mortals.
Adonis being the most famous of all.

With her charms Aphrodite still lives on,
Father Zeus no more worried about her.
Gods have retired from the earth as they
Are no longer interested in earthly beauty.
Adonis is available for the asking,
Sex - still the only method of worship.

                   +++++++
July 24, 2005. Never entered for any contest
Form: Narrative
Dr. Ram Mehta
5th place win
Contest: Any poem will do by Skat-A


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Spiritual Voyage

Had I been lying in my own bed
When I began whirling my world
Opened I my eyes and what did I see?
My body laid down and my soul fleed

She went through the window out
She wanted to travel all around
To see the ancient monument
To catch the eternal moments

Prior on her list the kindom of Egypt stood
The sight of pyramids took her voice
She was sitting and admiring their height
She did not want to leave them behind

Next which she saw was ancient Rome
Area where Caesar took place on his throne
She was standing and feeling his presence
In the darkness and the night’s absence

The essence of travel was Greece
The place where Socrates lived
And where he had his life finished
She wanted to ask him few things
She appointed with him few meetings

When the night started to become a day
The soul wanted to run from there away
She greeted her dear ancient friend
And gave the body the soul that was lent.

After the night soul came back
And told me in mind where it went
She spoke dearly of her whole travel
And described it as a real marvel

The soul spoke of the philosopher
“Socrates was his name
He was like a real father to me
He explained me his views competently’.

The experience was beyond cognition
And my soul still yells inside
 for repetition.


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Honor of Friendship-Part Three

Once again silence envelopes me, like a thick blanket choking me, thrashing and panicking I wish to escape and wonder why you have left me like this? Why you have left me with such emptiness, such silence, digging into me, ripping me apart… “Please, do not abandon me…” I wish to say, to plead…to beg, but no words escape me for I can no longer breathe.
All I did was listen, that’s all I’ve ever done, and then…you’re gone and I feel so alone…so alone. Lost in a never ending darkness, floating aimlessly and I cannot find my way. All I did was listen, all I’ve ever done was listen, I was only ever by your side. Was that not enough? Did you want more? What more can I give? Please, tell me why must you hide, why must the silence over take us-me? Why must I be left on the sidelines…why must I be forgotten…?
When you speak with others, can you not speak with me as you speak with them? Do you feel shamed when spending time with me? Must our friendship be hidden? I do not understand… I wish to, I wish so much to understand you but I cannot. I cannot see when my only light is gone.
They are the only ones for you, they are your friends…I am the forgotten one. Abandoned; left behind, in silence, darkness, and sorrow. They are the ones for you, they are the ones you love, they are the ones you praise and honour…What am I? what am I?
Why do I surround myself around you, why do I care so much, when you obviously care so little? Do you even care at all? Am I just someone to fill the space, am I just someone to pass the time with until you can be with your real friends, once again leaving me on my own…

In glowing light you saturate them in words of precious gold, honors adorned by you electing them to be your true friends. Telling me that you adore them, love them, so; that they listen quite often to what you say, that you can tell them anything without fear of them judging you and all the while I listen to such high praise. As you bestow upon them the highest honor one can receive from you-the gift of true friends- I listen as you continuously adorn them with riches of words…

What am I to you? WHO am I to you? Will you ever say, will I ever know? Is there anything to say, anything to know? Or shall I always be left in the dark silence?


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Juliet

She sits sullen
Quiet and isolated
Onto a sea-shell littered shore
Beaten by the wave
      Like a mute deafen by the midnight air

Child-like,
She stares at the moon with freckles of moonrock
Silhouetted against the sky streaked with white
As if tie-dyed in pale grey
As she reluctantly sniffs the salt-scented
Twilight mist cast by the sea breeze

Worn-out,
She strums the smooth silhouette of
Her companion —a suspicious-looking
      Bottle fogged-up by her breath.
Considering such of a
      Sister —not in blood but in heart.


In a single doubtful gulp,
She devours its rust colored liquor
      Which, too later, guarantees nothing but
      The rest her body aches for.

Seconds passed,
Sea birds have flown
Streams of sweat
creep south the sides of her face
      The pins and the needles kick-off
      Their catwalks on the runway pole of her spine.
      While, the spotlight of her mind clothes 
      Her thoughts with numbness.


She sits still
Now prostrate with unease
      Like a pigeon that had lost half of its feathers
Beads of tears trickle
Down the wingtips of her lips
Frozen with a smile half-baked.

Subconsciously
         Her eyes shut 
                     but gently
                                          For good.

Blues in the night.It speaks on her behalf.


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Incognito

Sneaking in, sneaking out
as clever as a mouse.

Running here, running there 
clearly gone without a care.

Sniffs up to the stars
shining light, shining bright.
Charming little creatures
till it comes to the night.

Savages, beasts, under their pearly white coats.
Black little buttons to match 
their black little totes.

Dimpled little grin
Swallowing--swallowing your breath.
Never trust these little killers,
they always lead to death.


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the crook

It’s half past midnight and there is again an existing creep

Visually obscured but couldn’t get a sleep

Frightfully terrified trying horribly to get a peep

Scared of looking even but have to breathe deep

The dogs all over began to woof

Jittered nervously could hardly even move

Suddenly cringed but have to have a proof

At last, of all people it was her all along, the crooked goof


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A PIRATE'S STORY

We used to rent a very old house
for our summer vacations, it was built
in the early fifteen hundred by criminals
who roamed the Atlantic Ocean for gold and diamonds:
roof, windows and doors reminded us
of a dark house that pirates frequented
in the Caribbeans...one could imagine 
how many treasure chests were there with one 
of them watching over them most of the day;
and had he gotten drunk, they'd have dumped him
into the Ocean! Those pirates were merciless:
life meant nothing to them as they pillaged and killed.
There was no air conditioner,
and we left the windows open,
so we could sleep comfortingly, but here and there
weird sounds were heard turning into a human voice,
" Child, wake up and come with me...
I'll tell you a pirate's story you haven't read yet,
the one that actually happened when I was your age."
His red face had marks that only swords could have carved;
his pointy nose as dirty as a kid playing with mud,
his teeth rotten and yellow with a horrible stench.
" No! " I screamed, but my scream no one could hear
as he pulled me off my bed and dragged me outside.
" Why are you afraid of me, child? I mean no harm!"
And as he said those words, I looked back and worried
about my family inside that unlit, haunted house...
with a subdued sob, I agreed to go with him and hear
the story he couldn't tell anyone, thinking he was mad.




Written by Andrew Crisci
for Gail Doyle's contest,
" Stranded Or A Ghost Story Of Your Choice
Any Horror Movie "


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"Love"

Love is someting on a daily basis that should always be displayed
A kind word,helping hands are ways it can be conveyed.
Hello there!How are you doing ?Or may I help you please.....
Are all but a few phrases that could be said with ease?

Instead.....its no thank you!I donk care or who are you anyway?
You're just trying to extend a little love and then they blow you away.
That's a nice dress,I like your hair or may I please see your hat?
All you can hear with a cold stare is what you think he looking at.

Our dear Father who lives up above,said to love everyone like your self;
I guess people these days got tired of that and put love back on the shelf.
We need to take it back down ,dust it off and give it another try,
Its not that hard to spread around even if its denied.

I still beleive that love has hope amidst the doom and gloom;
It may get better....I don't know?......before GOD comes,or when man
lives on the moon


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honor of Friendship-Part Two

I listen, and I’ll always listen because I will do anything for you, I would die to keep you safe and alive. I would do whatever to make you feel better. And so, I listen as you talk about them, these amazing friends of yours…Only some I have met. How lucky they are to have such devotion, how lucky they are to not feel the sting of betrayal and abandonment; thrust upon their spine crippling them to a state of fear, anger, and distrust.
How lucky they are to have you, how lucky I am to have you.
Do you understand, do you see just how much I love you?
 Soul such as yours deserves only the best; perhaps that is where I fault, I bring upon you sadness and pain, until all you do is go silent hiding behind solid doors. Composing words of sorrow, and they stab me like a sword in the gut…Closed off, shut away from you-I cannot function like this. I lose my way, I lose everything, I cannot be kept away, please open up to me… ‘DO NOT SHUT ME OUT’ I cry…I don’t want to lose you, yet I feel as though I already have; I feel as if I never really had you all along-not truly. That everything I believed, everything I have come to know is fake. An act, a show you put on until you can no longer pretend to care anymore so when the opportunity comes along you go silent and drop me. I am left forgotten, wondering what happened…Seconds, minutes, hours go by and nothing. I lose control, I panic and my bleeding heart reacts. Maybe you did not mean it though, but maybe you did…I don’t know and I’m not sure I ever really will know and my mind spins like a top…I don’t know what to do, or say…or think. Do you even care? Did you ever care, or did you just pretend so you did not have to face me? If you were given the opportunity would you forget who I am, would you abandon me in the unforgiving tide, left alone to fight against the waves, until all I have given you-all the memories flood me until I drown, going down to the pit of nothing…? The pit of lies that you made, would it be easy to turn you back on me, leave me to fight alone this losing battle until you are no longer burdened by me…? And when I am gone, will you finally feel free?


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The Mistake of the Unstable Mind

Way aback upon the fog of the swamp and the itch of the tree
 lay a beautiful lady that no one ever got to see.

 She was a runaway of sorts but not by her will.
 She ran to stay alive so that she would not be the next kill.

 Now she sits in her little house with her grandfather trying to do what she can do
 but she hasn't seen a soul since five years old and her grandfather had given up very
much to.

 Her grandfather said it was an army that came through her town that carried off everyone
      who spoke her tongue.
 Out of the bed she was pulled and they began to run.

 They had heard the stories that were put by her grandfather into her ear.
 Stories of unspeakable things, ones that brought panic and fear.

 Her grandfather lifted her in his arms and ran as fast as he could frantic to stay alive. 
 It wasn't until they were well into the woods he realized the others had been left behind.

 For the first time she'd seen a grown man cry.
 Then he hugged her closer and through the woods they began to fly.

 Now they sit in their home waiting for any news.
 The people in his town knew this house and she waited for any clues.

 That hope had gone along with her grandfather's mind.
 The house was so far back it seemed just to hard to find. 

 One day the beautiful lady saw something move and out of the house she ran.
 It was a man.

 He looked at her with an admiring face.
 His eyes began to gaze.

 The woman was beautiful but she never knew.
 She had nothing to compare herself to.

 The man was dressed in very unusual clothes.
 She heard something ring and was shocked to see a cellular phone.

 She wondered what had happen over the past fifteen years since she'd been here.
 A phone with no cords. How queer?

 He hung up the phone and she ran to him "What's going on with the Jews in Germany?"
 "What is going on with the war?"
 
 The man looked very concerned and knew not what to say for sure.
 "Ma'am, That war has been over for many years. It's 2004."


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Limitless Lust

Introduction: Limit itself has a limit of its own…


A walk, mile after mile
In quest for my lost soul,
I had forgotten how to smile
Everything felt out of control,
I fought too hard to be worthwhile
By that I got lost in my life’s hole

The regrets for mistakes I’ve made
It took me off the edge, way too far away;
Yet I tried again so hard to get off from that shade
But got caught up in my brutal fray,
The same song keeps playing with such a vicious rage,
I find myself down to my knees, nowhere to go - So I pray

A prayer to leave the worst and move onto more,
Come off this fantasy and onto reality, to be -
Closer to something I’ve been fighting for
The touch of the light cutting through the night, it rains down upon me
As I overcome the grief and believe, recovery lies ashore,
Only three steps remain, to be fixed and free.

A lesson of value I earned from my faults -
Never push yourself off the edge,
You’ll lose the only key to the vault
A life you never had to live – It too could forever be lost,
So stay confined within the limits of the limit
As it seems - Your control over lust, only can make you complete.


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Untitled #335 / Astronomy club

Astronomy club. After school.
Search for moon in vain. Play with telescope. 
Stare at clouds. Learn to juggle.
Admire Mr. Milligan (Clym Yeobright)
and the invisible stars.


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Dream Catcher

When the light of the sun begins to fall Echoes of thoughts begin to ball Drifting into a sleepless state Possibilities grow, at a relentless rate I open my mind, in a wonderland of no validity Emphasized by a walk, through a mirror of fluidity Children's laughter in a sadistic tone This dream is a nightmare, far from home The path I am walking........leads to a house Beyond the door, I wish for my friend, my lover and spouse As the door creaks open a figure is revealed I brace myself, my numbness is my shield A wrinkled hand reaches out from the black It grabs my wrist, leaving no time to fight back As I'm dragged into the darkness, the figure becomes clear The face of my victim, my deepest fear


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BEWITCHED LOVERS

She was haunting the wilderness of Night
With the darkness over her damned Essence.
Suddenly, she had caught a mortal’s sight,
She had dark grimace on her countenance.

She ambled towards the forlorn young man,
She stopped as if someone had grabbed her hand.
On the man’s head, there was a flashy crown,
He must be a Prince from some distant-land.

Once, she too was a Princess on this earth.
Until someone bewitched her with a curse
That She will live within the life-in-death.
Will God still bestow her the reimburse?

Bewitched, she never had the time to love.
Now this new Love has bewitched her again,
Her rotten heart was fluttering like Dove
But her misery gave her utmost pain.

She prayed to God for divine miracle
In a slight hope that she was still hanging
Between life and death, with a debacle
That befell on her without her longing.

God took pity on her ill provision
And bestowed her gifts of Love, Eternal
Her dead skins freshened with apparition
Of Existence, once bewitched, infernal.

The Princess then met her despondent Prince,
Who too fell in love at first sight of her.
Their two hearts were blessed with inner peace
Though they were bewitched in love, forever.

[WRITTEN BY Osman Gani]


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The Wizard Party

To the common folk the life of a merchant may seem to be a dull and boring one.
But I declare it is not, it is a life full of many wondrous adventures.
For a young elf like me quick and light on the feet and easy to hide it is the perfect life.
It is also a life that gives many stories to tell and today I will tell you one.
I was far outside of my realm, in a new dangerous place I had never been before.
A land full of monsters and many other mysterious dangers lurking around every corner.
Traveling through the forests running as fast as I could, trying to reach my destination and hoping not to be discovered.
I ran out of a world of trees to be greeted by wondrous and peaceful new road full of green fields as far as my eyes could see.
Built in the hillsides was a lovely quaint with a large oval stone door surrounded by bushes with low windows on both sides showing in.
On the door transcribed in a glowing green bright light, the etching stated.

"This is a wizard door
if you are not a wizard 
you cannot open it."

A great curiosity took over my body and I reached out to turn the knob of the large stone door.
I did not open, It was not as if this door was locked, my hand simply phased through the door as if it was a phantom.
I stepped into the bushes and peered through the window and what I saw before me I could not believe.
Five full grown wizards dressed in their mage outfits with large pointy hats, with large untidy monstrous beards and they appeared to be as tall as the tallest trees.
They sat around a large table enjoying tea and cake, playing board games, sharing tales of many grand adventures and using their wands to practice spells with one another.

One of the wizards came stomping up the stairs, I leaped quickly hiding in the bushes.
He came out of the door and stood raising his hands, stretching and yawing.
A real wizard stood near me an ordinary elf but, he did not stay long as soon as he came out he rushed back into the door to continue with his party affairs.
I rushed out of the bushes and continued running down the road in order to make my delivery, as I ran only one thing was on my mind.
The great stories I could tell my grandchildren, such as the time an ordinary young elf like me witnessed a great wizard party.


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Swallow Your Pride

You were born with some sort of gift
Just remember this, my child,
Swallow the pride that takes away
Humbleness 

You are a gifted human being 
You have grown a connection with God
He welcomes you to His understanding, loving family
He reminds you to never let go of humbleness 

Tell your foes, if you have some, swallow your pride
Don't be afraid of their actions
Be in tune with God...He'll get you through this living
and He'll send immediate help on the way
because you've been gentle, patient, and courteous towards people's 
emotional trials and dangerous tests
You have been healed by the Most High

Swallow your pride, woman full of spiritual life...
You are now a bride of humbleness

You are a gifted human being 
You have grown a connection with God
He welcomes you to His understanding, loving family
He reminds you to never let go of humbleness 

Remain humble 
Love your enemies...tell them to
Swallow their pride 

They'll never understand 
What the reward is for
Humbleness 

Don't lack humbleness
Lack pride and practice
Patience before 
Humbleness 

Men of dishonor, remain humble 
Love your enemies...tell them to
Swallow their pride 

Swallow your pride, you devious fools of shame!

Pleasure-seeking women, swallow your pride...
You are now a bride of humbleness


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Why oh Why May you Die

Days never seeming to end,
Your ways never seeming to bend.
As time strikes by,
On a more endless scene to die,
You just decide,
To abide; to more of your silly ways,
That only makes your life decay.
Oh why; Oh why?
May you die?
Is it your sickness of stupidity?
Or more of your humanity?
Sometimes things happen with nature,
Sometimes people just put off their future.
You run off,
Thinking their is nothing to loose,
Except the boos;
That seem to be devoured every minute that ticks away.
For why; Oh why?
May you die?
Is it the character that you have turned to,
Or is it your heart rate, that you seemed to virtu?


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Untitled #307 / It's mid-October

It’s mid-October, and the cool morning air
refreshes and replenishes the players as they march
across a muddy lacrosse field, the low sun
that manages to peek through the gray clouds
glistening off the beady surface of grass blades.
The stage is set for glory.


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Creature

Observing. 
Frozen in time,
captivated by this enormous being,
the size of a small car.

Pondering, 
his every move.
The way he used his hands;
so child-like.
With all the consciousness of the world, 
and graceless coordination.

Aware.
of the visitors,
as they briefly called out for his attention.
Only for a moment,
then they were gone.

Untamed,
in an orderly sham. 
He sat there,
in his dark cave.
As if he was waiting for the light to find him.

Perched,
on a boulder, 
squatting, and primitive.
Drawing in the dirt with one hand. 
Swatting a fly with the other.

Surreal,
His nature,
as he rushed to consume his food.
The females hovered behind him,
watching intently, 
like me.
His movement mechanic.
His presence powerful.
He was the king of his domain.

Studying, 
his magnificence, I watched.
How smart was he?
Could he feel my presence? 
Engulfed in the very essence of all that was him, 
I watched. 

Wondering, 
how he felt, I watched.
Did he think he was still in the womb of Mother Nature?
Or, did he know the iron bars which embrace him now?

Then 
it happened;
our eyes met.
He noticed my presence.
His gaze intimidated me, 
But I did not look away.
He approached me.
I felt his eyes inspecting my soul.
A chill ran down my back,
I turned behind me,
only to find no other presence there.
When I turned back, 
we were face to face.
Separated by the sham,
And a two inch piece of glass.
Just me and him,
the two of us,
and the females hovering behind him.

Wise,
His old eyes spoke to me,
They said 
“I am like you. 
I love, I feel, I hurt.
I am, like you.”

Sympathetic,
I put my hand on the glass
and with all the 
consciousness of the world,
he did the same.
With tears in my eyes,
I smiled.

Then, he pooped in his other hand
and wiped it on the glass.
This was a sign of endearment.
I laughed out loud.
And I swear,
He smiled back.


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Afternoon Spell

                         
Fleeting memories encounter vague enchanted pleasures at the bottom of the minds well. 

Their delicate everchanging existence intoxicates the huanted  headspace in which they dwell.

Images infiltrate an insatiable conscience where fools invent necessity and cry superficial tears.

Momentary merciless passion commands the heart to kiss fantastical desire with lips that never tell.


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A Night I Will Never Forget

It was the end of a long, hard day, made tolerable because the work was performed to benefit victims of the earthquake.

The other volunteers and I ate our bowl of soggy, undercooked rice and beans as if it was the finest meal ever prepared before we slowly dragged ourselves to the individual pup tents on the edge of the small, third-world village.

Having closed my tent flaps, I removed my mud soaked clothing, placed the sleep mask over my eyes and gloriously plopped down on top of my sleeping bag enjoying the barely perceptible breeze filtering through the netting of my tent.

Just as I was teetering on the brink of unconscious sleep, I heard the unzipping of my tent flaps and was aware of another presence in the tent.  The hands that began to massage my shoulders were obviously feminine.  It felt so good I could not make myself move in a modest attempt to cover my exposed back side.  I simply melted at her touch.  Muscles released the stresses of five days’ worth of heavy lifting, long hours and emotional gymnastics at seeing so much damage and loss.

In my mind, I conducted an inventory of the twenty or so female volunteers I had met that  week trying to imagine which one may have been so bold as to enter my tent.  Having massaged my neck, shoulders, back and legs, she was now enticing me to roll over.  Embarrassed by the impact her hands had on my libido, I cautiously rolled over aware that it was obvious how much I was enjoying the massage.

As I reached up to remove my sleep mask, her hands intercepted mine and without a word, lowered them back down to my side.

From the rustling sounds, I knew that she too, was now removing her clothing.  The massage had evolved into a higher level of physical pleasure.  Energy I thought I no longer possessed somehow inspired me to join her in the rhythmic motions that brought us together as one.

The climax was simultaneous.  Our sweat soaked bodies collapsed; entangled in an exhausted sleep in the deep, dark night.

When I woke in the morning, she was gone.

During breakfast, I looked into the eyes of all the women volunteers searching for some  acknowledgement of a shared, intimate secret … I found none.  Throughout the day, I talked with each woman, asking how she slept last night and saw no indication of a guilty soul.

My tour ended that night.  I was taken to the airport by one of the local Red Cross workers without ever knowing who to thank for a night that I will never forget.


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Patty Trahoon

When problems seem so far away
And worries appear under bay
And night draws its shadow on day
But listen I’ve something to say
It just might be death’s afternoon
This legend of Patty Trahoon

Some say he is all in our head
Some choose to stay quiet instead
While some run for safety of bed
He’ll be upon us really soon
Aware of the things which were said
This one they call Patty Trahoon

Brave people don’t often recall
Exactly how the mighty fall
Or what turns a mind to a loon
Is not what they dwell on at all
When they know there’s no way to stall
The terror of Patty Trahoon

Oh mothers kiss children goodnight
And stay with them under this moon
But don’t let your eyes close too tight
Stay weary of oncoming blight
That shadow that just stole that light
Might just be this Patty Trahoon

When dawn brings an end to this tune
And hope again welcomes the sun
They laugh at a tale that was spun
For all a new day has begun
For all that is except for one
Now taken by Patty Trahoon


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Haunted contest

At the corner of Ocean an Atlantic,
Late at night neighborhood kids would get frantic,
A run down building that had been condemned,
One night is where I took my friends.
The hospital house was known for the mentally insane,
In the 50’s experiments were done on peoples brains,
Many people died beyond those walls,
We were told if we went in we could still here their calls.
It was right around Halloween,
We were five bored kids that wanted to have a little scream,
The only way in was to crawl through the basement window,
I was scared but did not want it to show.
Once inside it was too dark for us to have any sight,
Someone brought a small flashlight,
The room was all dusty, cob webs draped around,
Cold chills ran through my body, I could not hear one sound.
The boys decided to explore, I couldn’t move,
I just sat by the window so I could still prove,
But the others went on in sheer fear,
I was afraid of what might appear.
The smell of death lingered in the air,
After five minutes I knew we shouldn’t be there,
With everyone gone on there own little tours,
In the silence I began to hear much more,
A little girl crying, faintly, I heard,
I thought it was in my head, a girl crying would be absurd,
Suddenly I heard the boys all screaming,
I jumped out that window so fast I thought my heart would stop beating,
They came running down,
Screaming" look what we found,"
A skull of a baby wrapped in one boy’s hand,
“Through it back” I said, with a violent demand,
We all went running down that dreary street,
To the old oak tree were we all swore to meet,
The boys heard a girl crying and thought it was me,
I told them I heard it too and was ready to flee,
That week the small hospital was torn down 
We never told anyone what we found
 A year later they built a bran new house,
I saw a young lady walking out one day in a white blouse,
Then two months later I saw a for sale sign,
I wonder if it was because that young lady heard a child’s wine.

BY: Sabina Nicole
Contest: Haunted
Written:9/13/11


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The Widows Hour

I.
A black widow hides
the hour’s count, in a painted
red glass, on the underside 
of her belly.

II.
Unlike a snow white kitten,
the hard shiny black widow
receives not one loving caress.

III.
In the pale moonlight the black widow spins a silver web.
It created a growing and binding spell-like enchantment.

IV.
A man and a woman
are dancing through time.
A man and a woman and a black widow
are dancing through time.

V.
I do not know which I prefer,
Us making love by a sizzling fire
Or us making love on the cold wet sand,
the black widow scurrying across the beach
Or the moment we met.

VI.
A web repaired a broken window
with finely spun silk.
The shadow of the black widow
remains hidden from view.
The silence
hanging in the web
spoke a thousand words.

VII.
Descendants of Adam,
Why do you fear this little spider so?
Do you not see how the black widow
splashes and plays in her bath
as naturally as the child within you?

VIII.
I know that I know nothing
and I remember everything all at once;
I know, as well,
that the black widow does not worry
about what I know.

IX.
Dark spaces harbor the black widow.
Shake out your shoes,
shirts, and jackets after they’ve been on the floor.

X.
The black widow’s shadow
encloses the stars like an eclipse,
even I cannot overlook a
cosmic event as rare as this.

XI.
She walked across the Nile
in crystal slippers.
Escaping, she never looked back
over her ivory shoulder,
the black widow’s shrill song flies
through the wind and echoes on the water.

XII.
Grains of sand are filling the glass slowly.
The black widow must be endlessly dreaming.

XIII.
The sun beat down while it rained.
I was not moving
and I was not going to move.
In the peak of the thirteenth hour
the black widow traced circles,
after kissing me lightly on the 
back of my hand.


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Balance Within

Introduction: Even if you're tied to barely holding on, your control over will power shall pull you up towards the truth and success. But only if you believe up to all, that it's stronger than what you could be - that's when you balance the fall...




You may get old
Your memories may drown,
But your soul won't get cold
And beliefs won't breakdown.

Just don't you let go
As you never know,
Things you seek for all your years
They could be in your back yard.

Find the truth within the lies,
Fight your pride to end this cry,
Trust your soul; open the door
Balance yourself and roll the stones.

The one's you heart will always stay
So don't throw life out your doorway,
Life's too short and it's too real
Sometimes it's hard to see and feel

That's how you live a life,
The risk that breaks you down to bits
Saves and brings you back alive,
That's what we call the gift of life.

No matter how rough things might get
We get rewards for the risks we take,
No matter how hard or sad
Learn and value what you have.

Though, too much pride will leave you dried
Don't let 'hopeless', be your life's stride,
None of this will you take to grave,
Your deeds will lay, only your pave.

As you breathe in and do breathe out,
Make each one profound
And stand your ground,
As lies are just the fantasy,
The truth - is your ecstasy
And this will forever be plain to see... 


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Untitled #340 / Colored pencils

Colored pencils in an artist’s even hand
sketch rolling fields of wavy grass
sprouting from the barren plain
of barren pages.
Now she reaches for Burnt Sienna.


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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part IV- (Most Awesome Paranormal Experience)

stammered, “Because, if Brian ran away, I saw him earlier today, downtown!  And  
he bought me an ice cream cone! And we talked and were even laughing at a joke 
I’d just told!  He was all dressed up and I asked him where he was going all 
dressed up on a Saturday. He just laughed and said that, he was on an errand and 
he was going back home. He said that he would see me later.  Then I said that I 
would come by to tell him about the trip. We said good bye and he walked away!

Papa’s face turned to stone as he starred in silence, and poor Thomas just stood in 
that spot like a statute.  My oldest sister or someone asked him what kind of 
clothing Brian was wearing.  He answered that Brian was wearing a grey suit, white 
shirt and a burgundy bow tie! He described the outfit down to the shoes Brian 
wore. With that said, Papa, wide-eyed called was rising out of his chair in slow 
motion as he called out to Mama to come and hear this.  Slowly, his tall frame stood 
in silence. Those were the exact clothes that Brian was buried in. There is no way 
Thomas could have known what kind of clothing Brian had been buried in because; 
his parents weren’t at home when he returned from camp.  He had returned much 
earlier than was expected. He didn’t unpack his bags, being in a hurry to get to the 
store downtown as they closed early on Saturdays. After, he would go and visit 
Brian to share about the trip.  Brian’s burial clothes were all new and made by the 
local tailor!  Thomas ran out of the house and my Father ran after him. The grieving 
had begun all over again. We never did see our dog, Blackie again.  The following 
year we moved away.  I am grateful for memories because even though my brother 
Brian died long ago, I still remember his handsome face, even his voice, the way he 
walked, his beautiful smile, and the many times he would carry me up on his 
shoulders to safety in escaping from an abusive uncle.

Next time I see my brother Brian, we will be together again, this time forever.


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Dead in winter contest

As I sit here waiting for the last bus run of the night
Memories of what just happened play in my brain filled with fright

I can barely feel my little toes
There was no time for socks I had to just go

The sirens still echo in my frostbitten ears
Frozen drops attempt to become my tragic tears

Last I recall we were doing just fine
A Pillow fight and a glass of red wine

His mother called us down for dessert
Suddenly my throat began to hurt

He squeezed until I could no longer scream
This night of joy became a horrible dream

His brown eyes transformed to a devilish deep red
I’ll never forget the words he quietly said

“I could kill you and no one would know”
In my mind I begged for him to let go

What possessed him I will always wonder
Thank God his mother came up and banged on the door like thunder

I had no idea he had moved his dresser in front of the exit of the room
I was convinced I had met my eternal doom

While he was yelling for his mother to go the hell away
I jumped up fast and she heard me say

"Help he’s mad get me out of here"
She broke down the door and I ran out in fear

Last I heard him throw her down the stairs
I was long gone and extremely unprepared

I heard him behind me screaming my name
I kept on running in utter shame

He ran so fast and knocked me down
I fell flat on the icy ground

“Your mine forever don’t you leave”
I slipped out of my jacket sleeve

Down the hill I went rolling
As if my body was being used for bowling

The cops went racing up the mound
I heard him scream, so I know he was found

I have no phone no car or coat
Just three dollars and a crumpled up note

In my jeans from earlier that day
I should have listened to what it had to say

“Stay away from my son; you have no idea what he has done”
“Charming you may think but just like all the others you too will sink”

Now it all makes sense
He told me his mother was mentally ill and dense

He is the one who is severely deranged
I must get home this night has been exceedingly strange

As I rehearse this the bus finally pulls up to me
My stomach is in knots and I can barely see

Blood is streaming down my face
I just want to get out of this crazy place

Why is the man driving wearing a big black hood
I am so cold and devastated; thinking is doing me absolutely no good

The doors slam shut as I quickly sit down
I am the only one that seems to be around

I look in the rear view mirror and what do I see
Those chilling red eyes once again devouring me.

BY: Sabina Nicole


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Untitled #304 / Juvenile Court

I was the only one to attend
the poetry write-in downtown at
Juvenile Court, though I thought I saw
the outlines of a couple dozen young souls,
already forgotten, bored as me
but blind as bats.


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The Mysterious Gift The Old Sailor Built

 or The Mysterious Lost Love Quest
 

The old man dusted himself off and quickly started on his merry way
 this his last port was where his desperate soul sought to forever stay
Decades of sailing ships from far flung distant foreign shore to shore
 now to settle down, live happily the wealthy large life he always swore
This London town was so very large and busy , seemed just  so right
 no more dueling spirits , common sense had won the mighty, bitter fight
A huge bag of gems he had hidden in his weathered and trusty old sea bag
 great massive and fabulous wealth of which he dare to never ever brag
Tomorrow he would soon seek out his trusted old London banking friend
 buy that great huge mansion , so very much money he had to now spend!

Years had flown buy and his name and fame had so very greatly grown
 so had the dark rumors, gossip of his wealth and all that he owned
He laughed heartedly as the overly outlandish , mysterious tall tales
 was he a mercenary, a murdering pirate or lost son of the Prince of Wales
Had he not just bought a fleet of the fastest ocean going merchant ships
 hustling back so very many costly wonders in dozens of daring trips
Now his very bold plan was just about to bear it's much sought after fruits
 a legend he would birth and forever establish his name , fame and roots!

In secret he alone would assemble this very massive, awe inspiring gift
 to better serve this great city, the nation, the world, and to so uplift
Much more time was all he was praying for and ever going to now need
 such fame was sure to come for accomplishing this truly fantastic deed
Months turned into years as he worked intensely, franticly night and day
 never allowing too much rest, sleep or pleasure to ever impede his way
So very close was the great journey coming to it's blessed, joyous end
 soon, so very soon, the world would welcome this magnificent Godsend!

At last, Eureka! the massive undertaking is finished, so very well done
 all sweat , pain , great costs aside he had now finally, finally won!
Never again would people look down or insultingly call out his name
 the nation , the world, all mankind would declare his great fame!
Life would finally mean something and his long lost love would now See!
 she had chosen the wrong man and now together they could finally be
Early next morn he flung open the massive double wide solid oak doors
 revealing genius, the gift that all the world would now so richly adore!

Just then the moment became far too much for him to ever withstand
 the success, the great crusade, the magnificence of his winning plan
First the dizziness and dull roar blasted deeply into his aching head
 calamity struck so quickly , he fell knocking over the lamp instead
Flames now raced around his body lying face down and so very small
 nobody saw the gift he had moved heaven and earth to secretly install
All burned to ashes, the success that his "lost love" was never to see!
 such love, force of will came to naught, that's how wicked Fate can be!

A tale that a grizzly old sailor drunk on whiskey once dared to tell me
 finished with the declaration that only He knew what that gift be!
For many hours I bought my new friend drink after drink to cleverly find
 the secret , the secret he guarded so well and held deep in his mind
As the tavern was about to close he leaned over to whisper softly to me
 mysteries abound, life is hard and devils hide in the deep blue sea
Hardly a day goes by that I don't remember his last words and smile
 life is a loud roar on a mighty wave , so ride it in good cheer and style!

Robert Lindley,  06-06-2014 




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Untitled #300 / Thermopylae and King Leonidas

Thermopylae, Thermopylae
King Leonidas at
Thermopylae


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Hurt and You Could Have it All

upstairs in my room
i put my ear to the floor
only to hear my parents screaming
the argument is about me
my mom yells "look at what your son has become!"
Heartless, unintelligent, fake...
my father replies back
"hes your son, hes your own pile of dirt!"
whenever my family is out together
we act happy like these fights never happen
but every night they do and i cant tell anyone
i have to act like someone else in order not to get introuble
What have i become?...hurt..dishonest..will this feeling dissapear?
I will drag you down and i will make you hurt..
I lift my head from the floor
still hearing the angry voices of my parents
i found an old needle, and i dug it into my skin
the next morning i go downstairs
with a cut off shirt on, and baseball shorts
My father grabs my arm
"what is this boy?"
i yank my hand away from him and i sit down on a chair
"its nothing sir"
my father repeats "are you cutting yourself?, why?"
i grab my bookbag and i disapear out the door
My father runs outside pulling me to the ground
"are you cutting yourself boy?!" he screams
i say "no sir i just scrapped my arm on my dresser"
My father grabs my face
"you better not cut yourself again" he replies
He hits my face, as i lay on the ground.
I didnt wake up until i felt something wet drip on my face
it was raining and dark outside
i run into the house and into the bathroom
looking into the mirror i see the bruise that was left on my face
My father wasnt home and my mother went to bed
"everything goes away in the end right, if i let him have it all, my moms pile of dirt?"
I sit upon my liars chair full of broken memories i cannot repair 
I become someone else, but the old me is still right there
if i could start again a million miles away i would keep myself
i will find my way



Details | Narrative | |

SALVATION STAIRS

“Let there be;” the prelude to creation
“Let us make man;” an imitation
“Let thou subdue the earth;” not an invasion
“Let thou not eat;” humanity in examination
Enticing oh! Sweet bitter fruit of Eden
Enhancing the knowledge of good and evil even
Explicated in the seductive words of the forsaken
Enticingly dreadful, namby-pamby humanity have fallen

Now, salvation plan still conceived
Nest, Israel a people adopted
New prophets on the stage performed
Natch! Salvation plan delivered

There in Bethlehem the baby in manger
Then in Canaan, water turned win in a jar
Through Galilee, the evangelization prosper
Thus, in Jerusalem the saviour’s sepulcher

Entering graves womb at death
Navigating hell to its depth
 Dawn wakes him on the third day from the earth
Salvation debt paid to procure new birth


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The Sea Blue Eyes I

Once in a while I meet a person whose eyes tell their story
The story is like the sky reflection on the seas of glory
The eyes are all the wonder of the world
It sees the future, past, and present
The eyes give us knowledge of the world and reflection
The reflection of sadness and weakness of each creature
The wonder of each individual being has a present
To the world who has lots of false images
To arise the moment of that one glance
To follow the heart in romance
Just the reflection that gather in your eyes of blue
What a man and a woman should view
Life is such a pain without stopping to see each eyes
Its like roses you have to enjoy each passion in side
When that moment collides with mind and heart
Nothing in your soul can keep your love apart
Join in the fun look in every eyes of a person beside
With passion and romance I bet you, you would cry
The luster of all the things to come
A bounty of life long needs to be given by just the wonders of the eyes
The blue seas reflects the different depths of our feelings
And it should become revealing
Come to your senses with ravaging hormones of lust
The sea can take you and even the reflection in the eyes of the person
The beauty is not held by one it is held by everyone
Such looks with fear for no relief
Is almost a dreadful part in our human nature
Beware of what can happen when emotions are held
Held to the core of an individual
No such thing is kindness when you find yourself in the Sea Blue Eyes
Calling in your soul by just looking
With ignorance you play around with such futile emotion
Gush away the fear and do not go insane with life so dear
The grasp of the titans comes to reveal
The evil within your heart is so obscenely noticed
You want the sea and you want those eyes to look at you with wishes
The rage in the heart are waves that cannot stop 
It pushes and pushes with no regret
The heart falters and there is only one thing in your mind
The idea of one soul to be with is the ocean 
The rifts that is trying to break to end the wants of desire
Cannot be trusted in a human lier
The beauty of man is destruction 
The beauty of women are commands
The eyes of each does not matter in the sea
Because all emotion and desire is given to those who are true
Command of a person is just one thing 
The desire to destroy is another
The Sea Blue Eyes will see no bother cause it bares it all
Even the utmost desire
To be continue.


Details | Narrative | |

Red Eyes and Sinister Looks

Chains, hay forks, knives, and a hollow whisper,
become more true and sinister.
Halt in the middle of the moon light, 
and a waver image soon is no delight.
Voices run a muck in the head, 
so not calming you wish you were dead.
Gushing blood through the eye
not an image that you would rely.
Nails stuck on your neck with such pain
so your paralyze just little life sustain.
Hoodlums terrorizing people running a muck
did not really know they are in luck.
More dangerous beings are out their
to commit such act and with sinister stare.
Laughing with haunting echo's through
is an aspect of fear can imbue.
The wind changes direction to smother
the echoing sound of laughter.
The panicking state that you are in
soon drives a knife within.
Blood rushing out of your vain
a crucial part of your life dropping like rain.
Running without a destination
you will never reach anyone of your relation.
Sliding your body on a wall
keeping your fall in a stall.
Red eyes you can see it at night
is soon devouring you with little bite.
Changing your belief with tonics of relief
and it is to late to turn a new leaf.
Ears start to deceive the animals sound
eating limbs are chewing around.
Slowly your red eyes steadily getting heavy
is starting to take your life with a levy.
Dropping down with no attitude
and your life force slowly loses altitude.
Breathing comes not so easy
smelling flesh seems so beastly.
The change comes a desire
with frightening red eyes of fire.
Comes more lethal than the hoodlums 
your heart beating like drums.
Your hand becomes all fury
claws come out and your howl with furry.
Trance your in with no one to blame
a rage thats hundreds of centuries of flame.
Rising from a slumber of long lust
a animal instinct that you can trust.
Tearing things apart with no meaning
is a trait that is so deceiving.
Red eyes at night you see in a window
like a poisonous black widow.
Keeps you in attack mode of insanity
that takes all your vanity.
Ferocious emotions eating away
the soul that you had once betray.
The echoing sounds of loud thunder
breaks away the armor with sunder.
You fall once again to torturous agony
the feeling of one self is so lonely.
Shaking in the corner you are found
with blood soaked skin you drowned.
The night becomes day cruel in some way
your memories go in disarray.
The hunters with torches and sinister look
had parted way their hands shook.


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Creepy Tales : The Lion

                           Creepy Tales

                             "The Lion"
 
On a dark stormy night a young lady took a stroll 
through the local park, it was a short cut to her home
in London, as she was progressing she observed a large
bolt of lightning she found a gazebo to take shelter in she
could wait there until the storm passed, a young 
man had a similar idea and also entered the gazebo, he
was a lecturer at the local university he introduced 
himself and sat down on the bench, the storm by now 
appeared settled, so he offered to accompany the young 
lady, they walked side by side until the man reached his
portal to his street, the storm intensified and the 
lightning was extreme, a huge bang was heard as the girl
noticed a lion's statue in the park, she walked on then 
the lightning worsened, she heard a lion's roar, she 
heard it again and it was getting closer to her, in panic 
she begins to run towards her home, moments
later she is confronted by a real lion, she panics then
runs away from it, there is a large scream and she 
collapses to the ground. On the following day a park
worker notices the girl's body lying next to the stone lion,
she was dead. The police arrived and notice she has died
of shock. What could have caused this strange event ?
Did the girl  really see the lion or was it an illusion of her
own mind, could she have been struck by lightning. It is a 
matter of conjecture, an unexplained mystery. What 
are your thoughts regarding this creepy tale, is truth 
stranger than fiction, I leave it for you to decide.

Author: John Ginesi   
9th February 2014


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Purgatory

Sitting in a room
Filled with darkness and gloom
Only I wish
To leave here soon

Yet locked are the doors
The sound touches the ear
A sound of devilish laughter, and terrifying roars
Is all i can hear
Where am I?
Where have I gone?

Is this place where
I truly belong?

Not sure of the path
My soul has chosen
Hazy and unclear
My thoughts seem frozen

Everything seems
Like one large test
Despratly i need
A good nights rest

Yet the sound of evil
Is knocking on the door
Can they do anything
Possibly more?

I'm at a crossroad
with two seperate paths 
Yet which shall bring
a reason to live once at last
Judged by everyone
Criticized by all

Still i am standing

Still walking tall


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Ellis Dee

Faces seem so familiar
Names slip the mind
Euphoric waves roll through the veins
Reality is left behind


So complicated
Sentences are to create
Yet so simplistic it seems
Contemplating fate

Ideas seem to differ
Shifting beliefs from before
Envisioning new perceptions
Now destined to explore

Pink Floyd plays Comfortably Numb
 With the colorful flashing lights
As the mental climax seems so near
My soul rises in flight

Nothing else can compare
To this powerful little sheet
Unknown to society
It is rare the two meet

Shadows cloak clarity of thought
Easing the ache of the spine
Ecstatic sensations of wellbeing
Exemplifies life in the refine

Explosions of pleasure
Roll in like the tide
Speechless from the magnitude
Of this exotic godly ride

Only understood
By an experienced mind
Yet even thee
Remains unable to define

 
Speaking has become difficult
Signs of peak drawing near
Gazing into the colorful lights
Exploring this cerebral frontier

The summit of this trip, has now finally arrived
Lasting seemingly for years
The most enjoyable feeling in life
By so many it is revered

Unable to move
Unable to speak
Now having found
That which I seek

Only comprehendible
By those who have been freed
Rides such as these
Considered personal creeds

Regaining mental capacity
As the brain slowly clears
Through the door a woman
Seductively appears

This day couldn’t possibly
Get any better than this
Beginning and ending
In absolute bliss

She widely written about
In literature, and various songs
So rarely ever considered
In society to belong

Held in total reverence
For the most outstanding memories
Only made available
By the lovely Ellis Dee


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The Stages of Life

I rise in the morning
like a bright new flower
crawling, staggering and falling
like the leaflets of a ripe flowers.
With my four wek limbs
and my toothless mouth
sucking and pulling the nipple of her breast
and feeling her warmth.
I rise in the day
like a healthy young bird
running, jumping and singing
like a matured bird.
I rise in the evening
going back to my early age,
with weak body, my grey hair
and the wrinkles that show the age.
My two limbs can no longer 
give the support without a staff
staggering, falling here and there
till i say "adieu" to the world.


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Bond And Find Yourself

Grasp the bonding freedom,
Captivate me in an everlasting wisdom,
Tickling our favorable endeavors 

Bond and find our way out of temptation 
Find yourself in this hovering world of lust 
Learn to trust this knowledge and find yourself 
In a bonding life

Grasp the bonding freedom,
Captivate me in an everlasting wisdom,
Tickling our favorable endeavors 

Find yourself
Without these favors in mind 
Bond the unseen knowledge
Plead that you'll not miss a single moment...make up a pledge: 
Flaws will try to prevail 
Don't give up...don't fail 

Bond yourself in this Wisdom 
And you'll know 
How to find yourself...you'll be seeking more and more truth
That's not all you'll know...there's more in the future! 

Learn to trust this knowledge and find yourself 
In a bonding life


Details | Narrative | |

The assasination of Margaret May

The wind was blowing,
as the car was going,
across the hills ; across the vales
the night seemed young , as each nightbird sung 
to the moon there long and timeless tales.
Then, at midnight hour
the chauffeur rested, his iron fists upon  the wheel.
There it was,
The mansion of Margaret May, 
whose life tonight I shall verily seal.
I approached the moors like a silent hound
I scaled the walls then climbed the mounds
And though the night was dark and still
I still saw the great house upon the grey hill.
I scanned each wing like a wolf would see,
a sheep as it feeds with humility,
and yet it was no prey, that I was to kill,
for the hounds, they now bayed upon each hill.
The moon gleamed its mischief upon the terrace;
And it shined, like an unearthly thing,
it gleamed its sorrow upon my face,
and wailed its scorn, against the human beings.
I entered the house 
the doors were not locked,
so I opened them slowly and its  walls they did talk.
They spoke of devils and demons and familiar kind;
But I did not see them for my soul was blind.
I took out the weapon and its barrel shined,
by the light of the moon thay was now declined.
And having climbed up the ladder,  to the rooms upstairs,
I found  May just finishing her prayers.
She turned around and I gazed at her eyes;
How could such beauty be 'bought' to demise?
I dropped the weapon,
no bullet could shred;
The flesh of the mortal,
that before me was spread.
And yet she would die for the world could not accept,
what in this masion was hidden and kept.
She was not lustful but lust itself 
and yet I could not stop myself.
For I had no soul,
I had no sin,
I went for her throat, and held tight her chin.
She did not struggle;
She did not plead.
Rather she smiled, till I had finished the deed.
And left her silent;
And still upon her bed,
and there she lies smiling,
but her heart is cold and dead


Details | Narrative | |

Dream

A Magic Kiss

A Lovely Smile

Sunsets Bliss

Sunrise Smile

Rose Scent Smell

Red Soft Cloud

Perfect Scene

Perfect Smile

Just Right World 

Wake Up Now


Details | Narrative | |

Southern Lie or Quest

To the west, or is it south they see.
Nay not, the west is the journey forward.
Southern views, latent with melody,
Journey now to the south and onward,
Eyes of red described in fright by day.
Eyes of red seen by one, at dawns break.
One that muses about disheartened display.
Disguised by mind tricks upon a wake,
She looked into the eyes of red, no form.
Not awakened by any sound or storm,
Shall this entity develop from only mind?
Dragged unto the sweltering still gaze,
What dimensions will continue to unbind.
Shall the horror take hold as it plays?
My tale may be real or just a lie.
You will decide what you believe.
Southward she still gazes as to comply,
Or is it in hopes of a tempered reprieve.

Upon the next eve, another rendition appeared.
Movement this time gazing softly to see,
Closely watching, feeling nothing - nothing feared.
Darkness has not complied, yet to any degree.
Misty light lies solemnly, playing these lies.
Performing a destiny of beyond our despair,
She sits soberly, gazing without any cries.
I stand waiting, guarding the way; I stare.
What illusion glares, or is it becoming real.
To her and me out of complexity or faith,
What shall be the answer of this time surreal?
Shall it be that a prophecy has begun its wrath?
They say the Moth man brings about casualties.
Would we be seeing sudden future fatalities?


Our eyes and mind play tricks upon what we see.
You decide if what we saw was evil or just a guest.
That our minds so overtaken by mere history.
Or are we all to be set upon, by a mysterious quest.


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Final Fantasy

Follow me and I will follow you only to sacrifice and pledge my soul.
Now known only as one!
Soaring in the winds with rapid inspirations exploding one by one,
It is your final fantasy to live again!
Victim of suicide revealed by fate and conquered by the depths of love,
Life of life has just begun!
The warmest touch begs respect for the quality found deep within.
It is your final fantasy to finally begin!
Encouraged by beliefs to uphold the strength of one’s destiny,
Yet, embraced with one final and endless thought!
A kiss of pleasure obscures the kiss goodbye,
Accompanied with its warmth to pleasure your need!
It is your final fantasy to bow down for these borrows and trade.
Subtle with perfection you are as pure as a white dove.
Your desire is to never ever get lost with what you’ve caught.
Insensitive delights begin to dwell from deep within,
You burn and ache for a place to finalize where it is that you belong.
It is your final fantasy to conquer these steps in which you alone have made.
Sacrifice those objectives captured and held in your time!
Acknowledge your very own self with the quality known only by the depths inside of you!
Fly away with me, but only for a moment.
Embrace only that which enlightens the moment seized!
It is your final fantasy to touch and feel everything that you never knew.
Life is our mystery, yet we uphold its true value with our righteous dignity.
Harvest your life moment by moment,
Make it your very own prey for the little ones who never knew.
Gather the sensations and absorb life as you breathe in your every breath of air.
It is your final fantasy to indulge with the intrigued and explore all of these parts inside of 
you!
Release yourself from the depths of love and find what it is that you truly seek.
Life of life has finally just begun!
Looking up and looking down but never looking all of the way around,
The loss of control is the loss that you will gain!
It is your final fantasy to whisper in the dark and to cry in plain sight.
Open minds with open hearts capture the true essence, for they completely belong!
Spirits fly and soar through life with so much energy powered with intensity’s strength.
They find the treasures you’ve always sought but have never found.
Your final fantasy is to escape your darkness and to find yourself inside of this beaming ray of 
light!
 
 


Details | Narrative | |

It is a whole

In time it stood
A silence of the wind
A second chance
A covering of the darkness
No time to lapse
Life came to be 

A cool breeze
A drop of rain
A time to cry
A time to sigh

A fear to live
A quest to know
The whole or a piece
No time to lapse
A second chance 
No time to cover

A walk 
A run
A now 
Life came to be
A mystical realm



Details | Narrative | |

I'm Just Me Sep 5 2011

There could never be another soul,
that would fully understand the enormous depths that I carry.
Everyday I live with chaos, with static, with a mess
and to have somebody go a day in my shoes could get a little scary. 

Day to day I am faced with and pressured by,
the many inner demons residing in my head.
Causing such a power surge, I'm enjoying this rush,
I'm so full of rage, I see many shades of red.

Then, there's me at the other end of the spectrum,
the wild one, the crazy and the free.
Yes, sometimes I can be a little off my rocker per-say,
But who cant? You know what I mean.

I'm not "normal," nor will I ever be,
I have accepted that fact and moved onto something knew.
I am easily side tracked and thrown off course,
but every word I speak my seem crazy but it is always honest and true.

My mind is an overflowing pot of scrambled wrong and insane thoughts,
it is literally exploding at the seams.
Knotted inside, tied so tight, 
I'm fighting to catch my breath, sometimes it can get that extreme.

Visions of red flash before my eyes & sometimes I can laugh it off,
in hopes that it will just disappear.
I promise it never does, it just consumes my body
and that's when the voices begin and then I hear.

I try to tune them out,
sometimes they are just to loud.
You will not get the best of me, I promise you,
I will shout it out to all of the biggest crowds.

Yes I have to take pills everyday
and I must conform to what society overseas as "acceptable behavior."
Sometimes I will play by the rules and other times I won't,
I've always wondered, Does my "Pass Go Card" ever expire?

I am who I am, I will always be true to myself,
honestly I'm not sure that I want to change.
I look at the world with my messed up views on life,
why would I want "normal," that idea just seems strange.


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Why me

Of  tall, handsome, rich one
Smart , brave who has it all,
Which every girl dreams of
Who will come on a horse galloping,
And take her along.
He & her both into their own little fairy tale,
Gone with the wind , happily with each other.
All beautiful, wonderful moments spent together.
Love conquers all.
But time being I had no such sweet dreams.
Then why me..??
Even though you were surrounded with all hot chicks ;
All fair and pretty.
Beauty, grace and of good race.
And of loads heavy bundles..
Telling you angel eyes,
You lucky man;have all.
All even those many choco-vanilla swirls,
But then why me?
Is it a game or something...?
Even a mistake.
May be even a bet,
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Want to or  you have to win.
Answer it.
Why all that pain,sorrow again?
Wasn't I happy with myself before?
I to never said no;
Love conquers..may be all....
even me.
But why me?
Why did you choose me?
Or is it a double take?
Like few others...I dont think so
then just going half way.. 
But  you had true feelings for me..
atleast this time for me which were true
Confess it !! will you?
Atleast once in front of me.
Was i attractive? polite?honest?bright?
Or do u have another  new story to tell?
Or is that I am filled with all values your mother needs. 
Then why did u go ? and now u want me to come back again..
No.. now m saying good bye to u now n forever
With my feelings for you  though being true.
But before going, answer 
Why me ?
Answer the truth,at least for once for me.



Details | Narrative | |

There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part II

missing dog, Blackie. Besides the sound of our voices, the hymns playing softly in the 
background, the noise made by the porcelain plates as Mama wiped and put them 
away, the humming of the refrigerator’s motor, the house was quiet.  No body knew 
what had happened to Blackie.  We were really concerned about the whereabouts 
of the dog, even though Papa had assured us that he would return at some point.  
Since the funeral, he had vanished.  Even the old man who lived across the street 
from us and who loved Blackie, had not seen him, nor had any of the other 
neighbors. We had searched in all the usual places.  He had never run away from 
home before.  As far as I remember, Blackie never did come back home.

As Papa sat in his usual chair, quietly playing with the food on his plate, the kitchen 
door opened, and in walked Thomas, Brian’s best friend. They were the same age, 
and were very close even though they did not attend the same school, or the same 
church. The two had become friends since they met at a Junior Boys Scouts meeting 
at the age of seven. Thomas lived some distance away but they maintained a 
special friendship.  Out of school, wherever Brian was, so Thomas would be. They’d 
both turned fourteen last September. Throughout those years they still were active 
members of the Boys Scout, and had risen together in rank. Thomas had been away 
on the recent Scouting trip. They had traveled to a neighboring country for a Scouts’ 
Jamboree. Brian should have gone too but something to do with school exams came 
up so he couldn’t go.  Thomas had just returned from the Jamboree that Saturday 
afternoon, the second week after Brian’s burial. Lena, Reggie and I got out of 
our chairs and ran to greet him. It was like welcoming him and Brian home as the 
two were always together. He picked Lena up as he greeted our parents.  Mama 
standing at the sink, turned around, took one look at him and walked briskly, almost 
running out of the kitchen, with my other sister in tow.

Papa greeted Thomas, his voice almost inaudible.  Thomas looked puzzled. I guess 
he thought he had walked in during a family argument. He was about to turn back 
and walk out because he felt a little intrusive, I guess.  It was extremely quiet in the 
room; very unusual when everyone was in Mama’s kitchen at the same time.  And 
Mama, walking


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Life's Contest

Life's Contest

A cold rain fell thrown by the wind,
A massive thrust of javalins,
That seemed to pierce each flake of skin...
As I was standing there.

What had I done? Where had I been?
Soaked to the bone from end to end...
No memory of foe or friend
As I was standing there.

The mass below my feet did grin,
Eyes fixed upon somewhere within
Beyond a place of waste and sin...
As I was standing there.

Unmoved the stare did watch me then,
In leaves and rain and blood, now thin
Half covered...light a diadem
As I was standing there.

Then lightening struck a nearby limb
It's sound a shallow requiem
For this lost soul to apprehend...
As I was standing there.

I heaved more leaves on top of him,
Concealing every trace of sin.
Now out of sight, I though again...
As I was standing there.

What had I done? Where had I been?
It's too late now to make amends
For life's contest I could not win...
As I was standing there.


--ByDebBurch--
 3/17/2012


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THE ORBIT

In the morning
when the sun flash its first coysmile
behind the parting curtains of a sleepy sky
it rouse the world from harried slumber 
to the roar of monstrous machines 
and crawling cabs on congested streets
honking,hooting,swearing and sweating

At midmorning
its a floating disc;a kaleidoscope 
of pressurized breath and hooded brows
of grumbling bowel and galling juice
of idle hand and furious fists
of infernal fingers perpetually planted in public till
of sodden spirirtin fearful breasts
and mumified citizens in merciless cities

In the evening
a dying yolk knocking feebly on western door
shorn of blistering breath and scorching strength
trudging relentlessly with burdensome dreams
quietly,golden head rests in western grave

At night
a monarch ressurects with 
a retinue of chandelier stars and energetic drummers 
on the throne of a sombre sky
seething with ghosts of decayed dreams 
waiting impatiently for the birth of 
 a promising dawn            
                                     dejon 5.45am
                                       may,2904


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In grey

As I stood in the doorway,
I thought my life a blissful grey.

All the feelings I possessed
dangling on display.

Gathered in one sentence
held tender in my hand.

I need a lover
a man.

Table was grey
waiter taking pay
Flowers were so pink
I could not think.

I just sood there
the music in my eyes,
No words to say
no lies.

To see if he would hold me
or flee.

To confess his love
or me mine
a time
in total grey.

R. Risley
08/94


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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part III

away like she did, made him ask what was going on. That yielded no response. The 
silence hung heavily in the kitchen. Finally, he asked, “Is Brian in his room?”  He 
looked at my oldest sister, Winnie who sat next to Papa. She didn’t respond. 
Instead, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.  Thomas was as tall as Brian.  
At 14years old, they were 6’ tall. Winnie bowed her head to hide her tears.  She 
looked down at her plate before her. Thomas turned halfway around and was about 
to head towards the door leading towards Brian’s room, when Papa let out a deep, 
long sigh and motioned to Thomas to come sit next to him. Winnie got up to give 
Thomas her chair and Papa, with his voice low and cracked, told Thomas that his 
best friend had passed away. The humming of the fridge seemed much louder 
then.   Looking back now, seeing Thomas’s face, I knew he wanted to laugh but he 
stopped just short of that, and his countenance changed in an instant! A painful 
grimace appeared on his face.  His voice became shaky as he tried to mumble 
something.  He looked at each of us as if checking each face to see if someone 
would soon break into laughter, at this absurd joke. After a while, he took a deep 
breath, convinced now, that he was reading everyone’s face correctly. Brian’s Dad 
wouldn’t joke about something like this. He thought to himself. Then all the reactions 
he had seen as he entered the kitchen, finally registered, confirming that this was 
not a joke.  He nearly fell out of the chair, as it toppled over to the floor.  He began 
retreating slowly towards the kitchen door; his whole body still visibly shaking, he 
said loudly, shaking his head in disagreement, that it wasn’t possible.  “It is just not 
possible!” He shouted. Yet, there was no response.  Winnie was sobbing, tears 
rolling down her face.  He then asked if Brian had run away or something. Still the 
room was as quiet as a tomb. Not a sound from anyone, only the constant humming 
and the hymns being played on the local Christian radio station softly wafted across 
the room. He then blurted out, “Because,” he


Details | Narrative | |

Lost In The Night

Seeing them in bed together after trying to surprise her by returning home a night early from my trip was more of a surprise for me.

I rushed out of the house with her cries and his bare ass pounding down the stairs after me.

I drove away as fast as I could.  The city trailed off in the rearview mirror.  The houses became fewer and farther between.  The night grew dark and misty.  I wasn’t even sure in which direction I travelled.

I was so angry; I saw red.  I was so hurt; I saw my own heart break.  I was so confused; I saw a bleak future.  What I did not see was the gas needle drop below “E” before the car drifted to a stop.

The words I screamed into the night are not fit for print.  I danced around the car in a tantrum; mixing the howls of a wounded animal with thunderous kicks into the side of my now gasless car. 

By the time I regained my senses, the circle of eyes reflecting the faint light in the dark night were nearly upon me.  As I violently tugged on the driver’s side door, I noticed the lock peg in the downward position and the keys dangling in the ignition.

The adrenalin of fear added to the adrenalin of anger, hurt and jealousy.  I turned to the pack of wolves; bared my own teeth; held up my hands and charged towards the largest beast of the pack, yelling like a deamon from hell.

My world soon turned as dark as the night.  I felt no pain.  I felt no fear.  I felt nothing.  I drifted into the fog.  I felt my soul being torn from my body – but no pain accompanied the sensation.

Slowly, I blinked my eyes open.  I tasted blood from fresh, raw meat in my mouth.  I had strands of hair in the fingers of my tightly clenched hands.  My clothes were ripped to shreds – but I lay naked on a soft, large bed.  The sheets, soaked in blood, felt fresh, none-the-less.

I sat up with my muscles aching as if I had just finished a workout in the gym.  I was covered in blood, but, after a quick inventory of all my parts – I bore no cuts, no bruises, no sores, no pain.

Suddenly, I sensed the two bodies that lay on the floor at the foot of the bed.  My wife and best friend laid in a bloody mess with limbs torn, teeth marks all over their bodies and the look of terror frozen on their faces.

Outside on my lawn, I saw the tail end of the pack of wolves slowly moving towards the woods.  In unison, they turned and looked at me.  They raised their noses towards the dawning sky and let out a piercing howl.

I joined in the refrain.


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The Diary Of Lord Kellington (13)

I awoke early this evening,
Just as I had planned.
I wanted to see a sunset.
I wanted....to feel.

As I sit and contemplate
the blisters upon my hand,
I realize the truth.
That bloody hurt!

What was I thinking?
What was I wanting?
What did I expect?
Why did I even seek the sun?

Am I wanting true death?
I don't think so.
Have I outlived my usefullness?
Perish the thought.

I must chalk it up to my love of beauty.
My love of all things mystery to me.
I know my tailor sews my clothes,
but how he comes up with the designs,
is a mystery.

I know my cat is hidding mice
within my lair.  I can smell them, hear them.
This is a mystery as to why she does so.

My latest cloak is mystery itself.
So dark an indigo, as to be night.
The lining so dark a red, as to be blood.
With pockets of every shape and size
sewn within.  Each pocket lined with
butter soft leather.  
There are even places to obscure the presence of a knife.

I have decided it will be my new Mourning cloak.
Worn when dining.  Perhaps a small souvenir tucked here and there within those lovely 
pockets.
No!  That I will never do.  There are rules and etiquette to be followed.

Ah, the moon shines now upon my desk.
The clock is ticking.  My night time
fun ends quickly.

A last stroke of the quill.  A last kiss upon a mangy, rat smelling head of crystal
and I am off.

~Lord Kellington


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Vignette-CHARLES DICKEN'S CLASSICS

There was a great English novelist I truly admired since my vibrant youth,
and his name was Charles Dickens; and his classics I read and revered.
He wrote many memorable novels, and one of them, filled with truth,  
was: "A CHRISTMAS CAROL", which he splendidly narrated...
as those London's bells tolled above a foggy, busy Avenue. 


Entered in Brian Strand's contest A Literary Love Affair                             

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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The Bestest Thing

The bestest thing I ever did was to give a girl a kiss 
I was just a little tyke and don't know what I'd missed 
She was only five years old and I a grown up six 
The bestest thing I ever did was to give a girl a kiss 
Her hair was blonde and curly and her cheeks a rosey red 
The wonder of something exciting and new danced inside my head 
I don't know why I did it I guess something inside me clicked 
The bestest thing I ever did was to give a girl a kiss 
When I kissed her, and on the lips, my temperature did rise 
I felt my stomach turn upside down and I wanted to take off and fly
What a tremendous, fun feeling, when I saw her wearing a smile
OHHHHHH yes! the bestest thing I ever did was to give a girl a kiss
 

David Gary Pennington 


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Incredible Tale

Halloween night 
A few years ago
As dusk fell
It was blowing with snow

Billy Burke a young boy aged eight
Stayed after school until it was late
Helping teacher clear the party debris
When they left school they could hardly see

Teacher wanted to give Billy a ride
But brave little Billy politely declined
I'm taking the short cut thru the woods
And as he set out he drew up his hood

The wind howled and the air cold
As Billy struggled up another knoll
The trees were bare glistening with frost
Then Billy realized he was hopelessly lost

He should have seen his home by now
But all he saw was a broken down plow
Left in a clearing by a farmer years ago
Rusty and useless now covered with snow

Billy trudged on with beginnings of fright
But as he topped a rise a welcoming sight
The old Colby mansion but what was that din
Music and laughter he heard from within

The mansion had been abandoned for years
But not empty now he could tell by his ears
Billy drew closer light spilled on the snow
Thru the open door he stepped out of the cold

A Halloween costume party he saw at a glance
And by a blazing fireplace took up a stance
Carved out pumpkins had candles inside
These lit the room and the hallway besides

Billy saw monsters and a witch on a broom
His eyes opened wide as she flew about the room
How did she do that he wanted to know
But the guests only laughed in the fire's glow

They played games and ate party food
Then Billy hid a yawn he didn't want to be rude
He was bundled in his coat and sent on his way
But Billy protested he wanted to stay

However in a flash he was on the outside
The witch guest acting as guide
She led him back through the trees
Took him up on her broom when he said please

Billy looked down on the houses below
As they flew around town high above the snow
The storm had passed and they saw the moon
He was set down by his home and she flew off in the gloom

Billy went back to the mansion the next day at dawn
Imagine his surprise everything was gone
Dust thickly covered the furniture in the room
But in a cobwebbed corner he found the witch's broom

He remembered the witch goblins and ghosts
And the Count Dracula who acted as host
The dust in the mansion lay undisturbed on the wood
Except by the fireplace where Billy had stood

No one believed the story he told
Of Halloween night being lost in the cold
He stuck by his story they didn't know why
But you and I both know Billy wouldn't lie



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Untitled #33 / Dark hard dark rubber shoe soles

Dark hard dark rubber shoe soles
jiggle up and down in boredom
classy, they’re the same he’ll wear
ten years from now, graduated,
at the office, still bored, wondering
where his youth went.


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The Wanderer Returns by Ron Porter

Across the vastness of the silver sea of pain,
in a cave in the land of "I don't know",
a moonclad maiden waits and weeps,
embroidering her comely countenence
with copious corpulet crystalline tears
and, fears his ship won't make return

On the marble temple porch of devotion,
betwixt obsidian statues of dolphins at play,
a duo of disciples lean close in lovers' embrace,
and watch the lone ship run ahead of the storm.
On the waves of the bay, a full moon reflected
unspoken hopes that, in two breasts does burn

On the slopes of the mountain of nameless fear;
alone in the apex chamber of an alabaster spire.
He watches the waves from his window dark;
the Prince of Intentions marks the single sail-
a patch in the dark and, tries hard to intuit:
just how much did the wanderer learn?

Hard drives the wind now, rowers bend their backs;
they outpace the tempest but just barely so.
Blood-dark seas slowly grow furious and feral;
a lone  lean figure stans stiff at the prow.
So close now and again, yet so far from the shore, of
the hallowed home for which his heavy heart doth yearn.
 
Ror he said when he left he would come again;
nor be stayed by dire deed, death or disaster.
Now his resolve races with the storm's coming fury.
Only five more leagues but which will prove faster?


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UNDERNEATH

The Sabbretooth grinds ice with its teeth
Not for dull enjoyment but sharp urgence.
Its eyes glitter as the teeth is sharpened
While the sun fades away in numb sense.

The smell of blood orchids haunt the air
And the dry trunks and bushes whisper.
The Sabbretooth approaches near herd
That is grazing branches without guard.

The merciless hunter grabs a wild stag
And pierces it with its two sharp teeth.
At once the swift stag is in deathly rag
But its eyes depict cruelty underneath.


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Apollo, I Am

APOLLO   
        

Apollo God of light, I Am
        a prophetic deity of the Delphic oracle of all men
        the power of healing flows from my hand 

The love of the sun I shall shower across the land
I shall destroy the rats and locust that plague our crops grand    
I reign as dominion over all colonists of simple man 
I shall guard your flocks and herds from the valleys to the desert sand 

Upon this sphere of man, my powers flow................  

Apollo God of Music, I Am
        I shall flood music across the Realm of a new seed
        a psalm of truth to scatter abound 


My attributes shown proud as I travel the crowds
a tripod of vision showing all my prophetic power proud
a bow, an arrow sweeping away drenching clouds
I am all power, I scream to the heavens aloud

Apollo God Of Knowledge, I Am                           
       The truth of all known, in me will be found
       The scrolls of wisdom, I Am


Upon this sphere of man, my powers flow................









           

           


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Suspension of Disbelief

He tasted the forbidden fruit,
          And accepted the tempest into the bows-
                      Of his soul ~
          Submission under the violet sky ~
Amidst the shadows;
          Secret desires satisfied,
Ardently drinking of the deep, red wine,
          Arousing her with his words in-
A garden where logic carries-
                      No weight ~
      Just...one...time...
          Submerged within the sweat beads of-
The hour;
          Malignant was her power ~
Lost in her seduction...higher...higher...
          Fearing the lines on her hand ~
He was reborn with her music ~
          Horse-drawn chariots of fire ~
Embraced by the fervor of the moment ~
          Willing to move Heaven and Earth-
Just...one...more...time...
                     Her absence offered no serenity,
For her fragrance lingered-
                       Until presence was regained,
Abiding inside her green woods ~
                                Thunder under passion's-
Sultry blanket...
                            Venomous ~
Just...one...more...time...

She stealthily slid her delicate hand...
                                              Under...the...bed...

          


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There is Life Beyond Death's Door

Mama stood at the kitchen sink, quietly drying the dishes and putting them away.  I 
knew 
she was crying because every now and then she would wipe her eyes with the hem 
of her 
apron.  She hadn’t been eating much, lately. She looked so tired and drained.  She 
was a 
tall, beautiful woman.  At 40 years old she looked as if she had just turned 30.  She 
was on a 
leave of absence and had been keeping busy around the house, constantly 
cleaning, 
scrubbing and washing.  In hindsight, now I know she was only trying to keep busy 
so she 
wouldn’t think about her first born son. Mama had slept so much the week before. I 
remember wondering, back then, asking myself, was she also sick?  I was too afraid 
to ask 
out loud.  I would lie next to her in her bed and watch her sleep.  Her stirring 
reinsured me 
that she was fine-only sleeping.  You see, my oldest sister, Winnie, after Brian died, 
had 
explained to me what dying was.  So then I knew that dying was like sleeping, only 
you 
never wake up. I was not going to let my Mama die also. I would bring into her bed, 
my 
coloring books and pencils and would sit on that bed until she woke up. Sometimes, 
I would 
fall asleep, then awake to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, saying her rosary 
and I 
would join her. In some ways I was like Mama.  We were both of quiet spirits but 
she was 
strong and also an extrovert.  She made friends easily.  I on the other hand, was 
shy, 
stubborn and introverted. Later on as I got older, our personality would clash on 
many 
occasions.

It was a Saturday afternoon in May.  We were all sitting at the kitchen table.  We, 
kids were 
eating all the sweets because Mama and Papa were distracted. There was still 
plenty of food 
left over from the week before. Mama’s many friends had really showered her with 
love.  
They had cooked and cleaned and comforted her as much as they could. Mama and 
Papa 
very seldom ate any food, which seemed to last forever. My older siblings were lost 
in their 
own thoughts and grief, my younger sister, Lena, my cousin Reggie and I ate 
heartily of 
anything we liked. Being the youngest of the group, we did not fully understand 
what was 
going on.  We were talking amongst ourselves about our


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2012

An ancient people in an ancient land;
Thousands gather in their band.,

Living in the rhythm of the universe;
They keep at bay the sun god’s curse,

Knowledge surpassed their primitive ways;
Ritual and sacrifice filled their days.

Spectacular pyramid, a stone temple built high;
From the alter, beating hearts held to the sky.

Lifeless bodies cast down blood-stained stairs;
Life and death occurred before a thousand prayers.

In hopes that drought and flood would pass them by;
The Mayans became masters of the knowledge of the sky,

The movement of heavenly bodies, they would track;
With the pagan gods they would make a pact.

To track the days, the weeks, the months and the years;
They chiseled a stone calender that moved like huge gears

With this they predicted many a celestial event;
Hundreds of years before they would present.

They predicted a total eclipse of the sun;
Generations before it would have begun.

The calender is accurate to just a few seconds;
But it holds a mystery of which the mind beckons,

Scientists baffled, for answers they delve;
The calender ends December 21, 2012.

Scientists know an alignment will take place
The sun, the earth, and the galaxy, all in deep space

Were the Mayans telling us that time would then end?
Or, is the mystery too intricate for us to comprehend?

If the end of times is near, what will we do?
The mystery continues, for we haven’t a clue.


















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Dream

A Magic Kiss

A Lovely Smile

Sunsets Bliss

Sunrise Smile

Rose Scent Smell

Red Soft Cloud

Perfect Scene

Perfect Smile

Just Right World 

Wake Up Now


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Love, Lust, Or Joke

I did not seek love.
But love somehow sought me
I was hidden in the closet
Safely tucked away and sealed.

But when love found me
It was very much here to stay
I found myself bound--
And there was no escape...

The binding had permanence.
I can never be free...
It will hold onto me-
Throughout all of eternity

But as I  sit here pondering,
Bound tighter in these ropes.
The question comes into conscience
Was it love, lust or just a poor joke?


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The Fantastic Voyage

Living on the edge was a suicide way before my time!
A soul spread wide open with a spirit that truly believes.
Walking on water and backwards with life that glares over the sunshine!
The fantastic voyage rides the high and almighty waves of the greatest seas.
A voyage to never-never land right where I know I will always want to be.
True uninhibited expression is my addiction all within myself.
A soul climaxing in the exhibition of capturing all of the free empty space!
Walking the planks with the thrill of excitement from what’s consumed as it’s felt,
The fantastic voyage is aimed straight for that perfect little happy place.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to stay.
Unpredictable with such balance is my mystery out there all on its own.
My soul opens and wills me to explore the depths of all that is real or such.
Walking the tight rope and looking down with my talent so proudly shown.
The fantastic voyage is never enough but is always over by too much.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to feel what I touch.
Deep within the depths of all the deepness is where my connection is found.
A vibrant soul with brilliance magnified by a common need that has just got to give!
Walking narrow ledges with confidence and truly the one that has got to be proud!
The fantastic voyage gained my moments in time that I can say were actually lived.
My voyage to never-never land is where I will surrender standing on top of my deadly ground!


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Dreams Or The Gates

Dreams Or The Gates


I'm going to fall i'm going to rise Then I'm going to see myself. 
wondering who is the person I'm looking at  someone who like me in every way.
Who are you as i touch the glass to the other world
The other me says i am you and you are me we are on int he same bound to the world of lies and evil
How can we be the same we are apart and yet we move like one this is something of a dream
If only dream weren't the gate to this world would I cease to exist in your mind and heart
I could only stare i couldn't speak I am lost beyond any form of knowledge Waiting for someone knight of grass plate to come and save me from this place.
My other self say you may leave but I watch i shall keep you forever and ever
I say that is no freedom I wish to have unless it is my own.So I run and jump to where i will meet my end my only wish is that i could have seen your smiling face once more and cry as i fall into a endless slumber


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The midnight plant-watering ritual

Long after the neighborhood sprinklers
had shushed the night into silence
the closing of a door interrupted
and a dark figure glided across
the lawn, behind a wall
and disappeared.

A moment later it reappeared
and the face of a man could be seen
flickering like a candle in the streetlights

Suddenly the man stopped
and the world
lurched
like a
train
beneath his feet.

It became unbearable to stand
and he sat on a porch step beside a stray cat

Sharp shadows crossed 
the man’s face and
an orange glint of
light was reflected
in his spectacles.

His cat purred as
he stroked it but
he looked straight forward
and did not smile.

His attention was focused
on a pinprick of light
in the vast dark canopy
called night.
He pondered his place
in the universe as 
tufts of hair fell
from his hand
and were
carried
away


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Intoxicating Eclipse

Let me know all your smells
I want to taste of them well.
Let me hold all your funk
and sweat with you.

An eclipse 
blending fire
melting ice
filling limbs heavy
with weight untold.
Hot flames flicker
flesh most ready
heaving writhing 
they meet
in a dark void.

And then,
as ashes smolder
they rest 
in awe
in sweat
in the intoxication
of an eclipse.


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THE SWEET RETURN OF A NEW YORKER

Two years ago I left New York,
to find my luck somewhere else,
and in Waterbury, Connecticut I settled in a ranch-house,
which overlooked middle-class homes
groping on verdant slopes;
the night stars may have shined 
a little brighter than in Manhattan,
without a trace of pollution or smog,
but  the harsh winters made me dream again
of living in the warm streets of wonderful New York!


As I step out of my car into Fifth Avenue, by the entrance,
old acquaintances welcome the sweet return of a New Yorker;
and unto Columbus Circle I run toward Central Park:
it used to be my park, and my dog loved it by barking lauder,
and over little bridges I jogged as he chased me fervently;
there was no day in which I felt lonely...to want to escape from this city! 
Here all neighbors met and chatted with a kind of stylish accent...
that all tourists love and find it extremely attractive!


When I look up...there the Empire State Building 
is one of the wonders of my glamorous city that never disappoints anyone;
even night can't put it to sleep with its gloom;
and holidays always decorate it with spectacular lights:
like the yellow-bright daffodils that begin to bloom...
as happy faces greet the sweet return of a New Yorker...
driving on the Brooklyn Bridge bound for the New Jersey shore!
O greatest city, let me begin to write an ode that your people will sing!  


Other cities are certainly beautiful and captivating as this one,
but none of them can spark inside that something so special...
the breath-taking view of the sky-scrapes in the August' moonlight,
the gracious waves of the East River and the ships that glide up and down the harbor;
and in this spot I met my sweet-heart with eyes like a Virginia sky, and hair
so soft and as red as the cheeks of a stuttering, drunken man!
Lady of a mysterious night, you vanished as the summer'
dawn erupted from the ocean's deep to forever preserve your delicate beauty! 


Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci


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The Power of Love

The power of love holds the battleground. 
Nuclear blasts from sea to sea. 
Wait and you will see!
Begging, kicking, and screaming:
Pleading, “Give it to me”!
Standing on God’s ground, defended by the armor and shield melting.

The power of love holds the mystery.
Things are never as they seem.
Do the means meet the extremes?
Where, how, when was I?
Wondering if it was only a dream? 
Standing on God’s ground, defeated by the lock that obtains that key.

The power of love carries the only prayer.
Time to come and be done.
Soon you will be the one.
Dead, black, despair:
Hoping, will someone hear?
Standing on God’s ground, lost in the dream in which you begun.


®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich


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I heard they say...

Blindly groping along in the pitch black night,
No moon light, just heavy clouds above.
Few sounds heard to help with orientation of directions.
When a soft crunching step is heard, nerves on edge
wondering, is it real or imaginary?
Another step closer and a scream, stuck in my throat is wanting escape;
Held back by horror, another step...
The reality of the steps are dawning in my thoughts, when...

to be continued...


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A Plea to Infinity

The Infinite Mind of all eternity
In all your wisdom you decided reality to have me
Of all I know about you, profit is supreme
Please help me succeed too in securing my dreams
For it falls within the functions you purposed in me
Moreover, me being a product of thee
Means embedded in me are the elements of supreme skills
Designed to succeed in the highest scale of reality

The infinite mind of all eternity
Everything about me reflects the virtues of thee
My bodily beings daily grow and my heart never stops
Most times I’m all alone but I always feel You around 
Perhaps it may be that if I call upon thee
The wisdom of how to carry my burdens with ease
	...will be revealed to me
Oh, how I wish this weight on my back would turn into wings
	...and fly me far and fast, to the lands of appreciation and rewards
Away from the dreadful past stuck right at my back


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I Died On The Operating Table At Yale

I died on the operating table at Yale.
My brain aneurysm explosion was off the scale.
My heart, my brain and my lungs all failed.
My life was shaken like a 10 on the Richter scale.
My life, like a train, was totally derailed.
I left my body and above it I sailed.
I looked at my body and it appeared very pail.
I heard my doctor say, "we’ve lost him!"
My chances of resuscitation were very slim
I heard the machine going beep, beep, and beep.
I looked at my body and it looked like I was sleep.
To the other side I sailed like express mail.
Upon returning, I saw my doctors assail. 
They worked at a heroic scale.
They continued their work to keep me on earth.
I heard my doctor say, “we’ve got him back!”
I re-entered my body and began my comeback.
The number of days hospitalized was one-eight-zero.
Because of my miraculous recovery, I shout bravo!



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I'm Just What Your Looking For

since the year of 1952 the city of st paul Minnesota holds
their annual treasure hunt the king and queen of snows
goes out to a city park and hides a medallion worth
10,000 dollars if you are the winner and your carnaville
button is register with the st paul pioneer press
which gives out 12 cryptic clues and this little medallion
could be wrapped in just about anything from diapers to cookies 
and the frigid weather here just may make you want to just
stay by the fireplace and sip on hot coco with family and friends
even lucky finder gets to ride along with the king and queen of snow
in the closing ceremony of it's torchlight parade
also watch out for the vulcans krewe for they like to dethrone the king
and leave you with a black smudges across your sweet cheeks





Tribute To The Winter Carnaville
BURRRRRRRRRRR LOL

Carnaville runs
Jan 21-31 

Also Entry For
Carolyn Devonshire's
Christmas In Your Town Contest


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Untitled #62 / St. Gregory

Dear old St. Gregory spent fifteen years
trapped at the bottom of a dungeon 
around 301 AD, bringing Christianity to Armenia.
What madness then drove him to save the king and his men?
What boundless love!


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Hands

To hold ones hand, takes
 many steps…

First you approach, and then reached 
out to shake ones hand…

To hold ones hand, in a romantic 
way you would grasp it, gently…

You can intertwine, your fingers
 with the others or simple 
grasp the hand softly…

Walking hand-in-hand, with one’s 
hand enclasped, in that of
another’s…

Hands are important, for many 
skills, use hand techniques to
assemble small to large objects…

Need them to eat with, comb your hair,
 bathe and brush your teeth…

Hands are an important, part of ones
upper limbs you use your hands to
hold, carry and write…

By Sandra L. Hoban
©2004


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Untitled #18 / A soldier-form

Shadowy, now constant
a soldier-form marched out of the void
before it arrives, it is gone.


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The Suspended Mountain

He who makes understands the scheme well,
The working riddles and amazing mysteries,
But the observers become stunned, tongue-tied,
On finding all rules of wisdom suspended.

Wanderlust led me to the ground of wonder,
Where placed I was a slight afar,
Out of the simple scattered houses,
Built on the uneven hard land of pebbles.
A huge mountain suspended in the air,
Above those silent serene swellings,
Perplexed me and my sense of logic.

The bulky phenomenon stood above,
Unpropped or without supporting pillars,
In the space not more than miles two;
Seemed all shining, dignified dark grey,
Composed of a single rising rock.
The ceiling plain, the front glimmering rough,
Glistened, reflected dim light to the west;
With no vegetation, trees and swaying tufts.
Elegant peaks rose higher than Himalayan’s,
Invincible, too precipitous to be climbed.

Strolled I and roved about the town,
Fearing lest the lurking object should fall.
On the way I found a few men in the street,
Declined I the offer unknowingly of the two,
Then turned aside and found an old sage,
Mild, gentle with bearings of a saint,
Distributing the passes to each passer-by,
Bestowed he me one on which, “Muhammad”, 
The most sacred name was inscribed.


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Satire-AN UNAMOROUS SENTIMENT

Hopper's painted a sober couple
with an unamorous sentiment;
two lovers with faces too distant,
with hands not touching, not feeling...
just being realistic and sensible,
reflecting on a tomorrow that was coming.
 


The exterior colors are of a depressing dark,
and the interior ones are mixed with bright
ones...with an ivory tone consuming their sober faces;
why are they staring into nothingness, sensing sadness?
We can't feel what they feel, or hear what they hear,
but their thoughtfulness is as intense as the evening' whisper. 



Theirs was an era when Elvis was the undisputed king,
and his music was played on an old-fashioned record player;
perhaps his blues were the ones they loved to sing,
but the pretty boy from Tennessee was much younger and happier than they ever were,
not wearing a blue t-shirt, brown slacks and a classic hairdo,
and he rode in his red Chrevolet with a style that was envied by everyone in Hollywood. 



Hopper's theme should have been much livelier than this,
not as morose as his summer's evening melancholic portrait;
and who could judge him for expressing himself in a such way?
Perhaps it was a realistic scene he had experienced with his fiancee,
observe the artist's rendition of the unpleasant mood he was in...
and shouldn't have he painted it with a more intimate and amorous sentiment?


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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' Monsters, Among Us ... '

‘ Monsters, Among Us … ’

 Scatter The Creeping Vapor-Stench, Away
  Expose The Wake of  Eerie, Fog and Shadows
And Nightshade and Fiends, and Vile-Beasts That Bay
 Begone, to Taboo, Grounds, Unhallowed …

… for there Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea, Also An Ancient Curse
We Don’t have To Make This Up …
… to Make It Any Worse …

Yea, There Are Blood Suckers, Self-Styled, Vampires            ( Vlad, The Impaler )
Who’ll Drink Your Blood by Starless, Night
Creatures, Who’ll Make You Suffer Their Desires
and Ghouls, Who’ll Dine On Your Flesh, in Daylight                 ( Jeffrey Dahmer )

Yea, There Are Creatures of The Dark
Who’ll Catch You, If You Do Not Know …                                ( Rapists )
They Want To Get Inside Of Your Heart
And Make You Do Acts, Foul, Fraught with Woes

Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Merciless, Malevolent, Maniacal Monstrosities …                       ( Hitler )
They Do, Indeed, Want To Own Your Soul, Because                 ( Jim Jones )
They Want To Make You Commit, Their Atrocities ! …               ( Charles Manson )

And If You Walk Around Unwary
Doesn’t Matter, If Its Not, Stroke Of Midnight
… Anytime, Is Their Time, To Do Scary
Spine-Chilling Screams of Your Unending, Pitch-Black Fright …

Rituals To Silver and Golden Idols                                          ( Slaving For Riches)
Making A Virgin Sacrifice -                                                     ( Child Molestation )
Hexes and Voodoo Dolls
and All Such Abominations To The Christ …

… Now, by a Long Shot, I’m Not Pious
(‘Cause I Too, Like A Good Thrill !)
Just, Don’t Make The Mistake-Serious
By Thinking Wickedness, Isn’t Real !

And Humans, Please Be Aware
Evil Incarnate, Isn’t Just A Movie Theme …
It’s More Than Just A Joking Scare
… There ‘ Is’ A Wicked Scheme

(and there ‘Is’ A Wicked Being)

So, If You Find, You’re Chased or Caught
By Some Monster In A Living-Nightmare
Remember, No Potion, Amulet, Nor Incantation Taught 
Brings Almighty Help, Better Than Holy Prayer

Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea … Also, An Ancient Curse
(and We Couldn’t Even Invent The Stuff
to Make It Any Worse ! ) …


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The Hurricane

The hurricane, so viscous, so violent!
Yes, it must rain.
This force is behind, 
This force beyond!
Yet, finally it came.
The winds, clever and dangerously rough,
Please measure this poll.
Dark clouds consume the heavenly skies, capturing ones soul.
With a love so hard, yet, a love much too cold!
Our world now spins, hopeless and out of control!
You are you and I am me,
Together, our climates capture and debate this Sea.
These winds are too strong, our sky so dark and dim.
Stricken with fear, too afraid to release what is deep within.
The storm is here, so grab onto your soul! 
Yet, beware! This one is fearless and this one we share.
Scream its name and it shall cry its love,
For it be you, far beyond the heavens above!
Hold your strength with a grip so tight,
That storm will surely break, so where’s your fight?
This hurricane can surely hold its own.
Our little world can and will be shown.
Our damage is as our damage does,
Surely this tiny world isn’t our just and only cause!
You hold that thought and forever we shall be,
True love bound and forbidden to set itself free,
Held within you and deep within me,
This love was meant forever, 
One day this you shall see!
This hurricane loves, yet, 
It wills to hate,
The forbidden fruit conquered by its very own fate.
Give your seeds, but stand your ground. 
Forever in this world!
For once we shall not be lost, but found.            

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997                                           


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God or Gods

God Made Man 
Man Made Gods 

Yes My Lord 

Thou Only Made 
Adam and Eve 

See, how many,
he has made of Thee 

Thou banished and 
Threw him out of Eden 

Roaming Aimlessly 
he became a Heathen, 

Angered further, 
Thou scattered him, 

Drove him in 
different directions 

Changing his colors, 
even his speech 

Making Thyself 
further out of reach 

So scared was he, 
that he made a God 

Every direction he went 
he made a God 

In Every Language 
he made a God

He made a God of  Gold
He made a God of Silver

He made a God of  wood
He made a God on Paper

He drew thee on the walls
He carved thee on the rocks

Made mountains of Gods
Made rivers into Gods 

No matter his 
color or creed , 

He made a God
He made a God
He made a God

So where is
He at fault, 

O My Lord, 

Thou Only Made
 Adam and Eve 

See, how many, he 
Has made of Thee 




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She was a Spaaacetripper

I took a trip out to the stars
one Astral leap, I landed on Mars
all those people living under glass jars
and driving clean biological cars.
Then Jupiter came a callin'
it did attempt fusion, but just kept stallin'
with an altered mass, I'm quickly fallin'.
Next I slungshot off to Titan
suspended when Jupiter's gravity did tighten
to pull away it tried a fightin'.
With another giant leap I arrived on Pluto
which as a planet is now a no go
it's been left out in the cold
with the solar systems debris of old
from Uranium to Ice and Gold
the Kuyper belt, with no trousers to hold.
Next up was Andromeda
lit up like Brighton Komedia
whizzing all about, near or far.
Epic jaunts through timeless space
meetin' and greetin' all kinds of race
from toes for tongues and hands for face
every feature had a different place
some were hideous, others truly shone grace
Velvet skin, with hair made of Lace
that really was a soft cushioned embrace.

The places I've been and the sights I've seen
like living a lifetime in one forever dream
the edge of infinity I touched it's seam
And saw the Universe cascade like a conscious stream!
©John-Ovan.P.Hull


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You Are My Curse

I had to let it all go,
The day and night,
Their hours ran too slow.
It was more than just a fight.
I trusted you and knew you,
My love succumbed to the worst,
Faith and loyalty just wouldn’t do.
You became my curse.
 
I was pulled down to Earth’s plane,
And judgment did set in.
Then new days begin.
I stood parallel as many went insane.
My heart drenched and my soul crunched,
I couldn’t let my heart take this very much.
I died and I died losing each endless breath,
I swallowed the victory and ate your death.
 
You reaped and I sowed,
But I saw no one grow,
Not even you.
What was I to do?
I let it go very slow,
Now I am all grown,
And I’m on my own.
I died watching you go.
 
I will always remember begging mercy,
I will always know this pain,
You are my curse you see,
And nothing did you gain.
I can never just be alright,
I can never love you the same again.
I died watching you go out of sight.
You are my curse and forever in my heart you made an end.


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A Flickering Flame

Ah, a flickering flame with shadows on the wall,
With glimmering lights rolling all around!
I will remember them all!
A flame so high,
But a flame so low,
A burn out in time!
A linger much too slow,
A flickering flame,
A moment that I claim!

Ah, a flickering flame where light covers dark and dark covers light.
With glimmering lights bouncing all over the walls!
A vision of true sight!
A flame so unpredictable,
But a flame so respectable!
A flame hard to know,
And one that can’t be controlled!
A flickering flame,
A moment that I gain!

Ah, a flickering flame showing dim light within its own domain.
With shimmering lights reflecting a glare of golden visions burning too bright!
How very well maintained!
A flame so harmless,
But a flame much too careless!
A flame too passive,
And one that’s way too captive!
Ah, a flickering flame,
A moment that I’m holding with no shame!


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Under Cover

Scurry To Their Side
And Try To Catch A Break
No One Has The Time
For Decisions That They Make
On The Road To Happiness
Hopes Fall On The Grim
Out Here, On The Horizon’s Edge
The Lights Are Getting Dim

In The End We’re Animals
Victims To Our Need
Giving Not Too Easy Now
Fallen, To Our Greed
All The Hopes In One Hand
And The Let Downs In The Other
Bringing Balance To A Life
Best Lived Under Cover

Falling Back Now
To A Place We Can Control
Acceptance Always Granted
With The Payment Of Your Soul 
Today Is Not The First
And We Are Far From Last
Just An Upended Recurrence
Footnoted In The Past

It All Seems So Long Ago Now
Gazing Through The Mirror 
Is There Any Truth Behind 
All The Stories That I Hear?
For What Once Was
Has Been Redone Ten Times Over
And I’ve Become A Memory
Best Lived Under Cover


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Watching the Moon Grow

Night after night I sit to see the Moon shining over me.
Watching its shield unveil a bright night I can just sit to be.
For each night gone by a star shines so bright,
The more and more I sit here this night.
Deeper and deeper I think tonight, 
“What if” I had no sight?
Watching its gleam covering more than a lot,
I just sit to see it shine its big light.
For each hour gone by the moments are sought.
So more and more I sit here deeper in my thought.
My mind farther than my further with what this glow has brought,
“What if” the man in the Moon was never sought?
Watching its shadows lurk in the glow,
I sit to see if he will finally be caught.
For each moment gone by clear nights I’ll now know.
So more and more I sit here watching the Moon grow.
There’s just so much to see because it covers over me.
I sit here night after night because it’s just such a true sight.
I give it quite a bit of thought because “what if” all of this was not?
For the more that it comes to glow the more and more I can watch it grow.
There’s just so much to know because it covers me with its tremendous glow.
I sit her with thought after thought because I have more than your lot.
I sit here night after night because “what if” there was no true sight?
For the more I can just come to see the more and more I can just sit to be.



®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich


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Not poem sorry, but it's part of a story I'm writing, Comments and Opinions please

Chapter 1 – The Field
There I was, looking at the field. It looked incredibly long but was one of the most gracious fields I’d ever seen. It was about six feet high up off the ground and everything looked green. The field itself was not only a field though. It was full of fruit, freshly grown fruit. From watermelons to peaches to apples to oranges, the field had everything. It looked so tempting to eat. But, I dared not to. One of the reasons I didn’t though; I was warned. Now, the angel, he was at my side and as I approached the never ending field he stopped me. With just one tap on the shoulder I let him move past. Floating to the front, he explained to me about this field. He explained this field was a temptation field and to eat the fruit was forbidden. Yet, to do so at your own will, may cost you your life. He never told me his name, but he explained that this field is a test. He said, “If you make it out of the field, two more tests you will bestow against you. For to return home; you must pass all three.” As soon as he explained that to me, he vanished. 
As I walked closer to the field, I had this weird feeling that someone was watching me and if not someone, something. Yet, no one was to be seen. The field itself looked to be about two football field lengths wide and from where I stood I was unable to see the end. I kept thinking two more tests until I go home? Was it some sick and twisted game? All I wanted to do was go home. To me, it felt like an Alice in Wonderland movie, but there was no rabbit hole. Yet, I kept thinking about the angel. He looked so pure; so untouched. He had this tall like figure, not because he was floating but because he seemed to be about maybe 5’11 or taller. I couldn’t tell the eye color from his gracious glow but if I had to guess, it’d be hazel. Now, from the looks of how he dressed, he’s apparel looked as if it was one of gods. Like the togas of a 6th grade project times one thousand. His long white and gold gown flowed so evenly against his perfect flawless skin. Now, people have the ideas of gods and supernatural people all wrong; he didn’t have a sparkle or super abnormal muscles. His skin looked the finest of a male model, but more towards the average of any human. But, I think I’m ranting now. 


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The Sun on the Horizon

Honeydew on the grass sparkles with life as the Sun comes up shining.
Way up yonder the Horizon’s preparing for its glorious arising.
Purple, blue and gray radiantly come together and all stand out alone,
Way up under this great big earthly dome.
Bird’s shadows fly at distances, yet each distinct by their flocks belted,
And each disappears away in colorful misty skies where all of them roam!
Beauty in foresight is clearly seen on this perfect unthought-of day, 
Even to my own likings of a surprising.
Too compelling just knowing that all days are counted by,
Each exact group already individualized by being numbered!
Foliage secretes from its many branches of trees per several hundreds.
All with there own story to make known to the unknown.
Consistently re-budding as season’s change to each one that is now arising.
All seeming to prepare for that God-awful battle called Armageddon.
Years pass on and still the Sun comes onto the horizon.
Life’s at a standstill, yet, steadily ticking with the hands of time to carry on.
Nothing can be done to stop the cycle of our Earth’s creation.
For every beginning there is and ending as it is to see 
Dawning is “The Sun on the Horizon”!
Be thankful that you have this very day,
For the Sun is rising upon the horizon,
What a wonderful liaison!



®Registered: Ann Rich  2001


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Fear

A fear driving my heart, 
Taking me nowhere 

No way to be a part, 
Of my will to dare

Things around me start,   
To make me scare 

My tenderness so much in thwart,  
Looks impossible to bear 

The strange force can tear me apart, 
My voice cloaked in fear 

Even unable to hide in thought, 
My nerves keep me in despair    


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I Took A Picture

I took a picture once as a thought of love and compassion
It showed me things that I couldn't  hold, touch or imagine
Such details such care that GOD put into this air we all share
And when I was there old friends I did see for they too would stare
At the glory of beauty we all can have as a dare, can we believe
The love and emotion I felt when I look at this picture was received
For you to enjoy you must let go and go the distance
Truly open the mind and feel your existence
For that picture captured you at your best and kept a second of your essence
For others to love, feel and see when they think of the past or the present
Remember my words they will ring true
The next time you look at a picture, you will see things anew


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Untitled #51 / "You guys are full of excercise"

“You guys are full of exercise” – nonsense
even after she has finished
scolding Kyle for laying down his head
“Not bored, just sleepy”
I don’t blame him,
Calculus sucks
and now CRAZY Mrs. Howe walks in,
crowing, breathless, sharing new information
buying me time to record the events
but alas! even now we check homework.


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Searching

I walk and walk the many miles for you.
I give and give until I have nothing more.
I go on and on until I drop or fall,
But I’m searching deep because I search for it all.
Everyday I die more inside. 
Eaten alive by myself inside of my core,
Because I’m left alive with life that only I can sort through!
I just want to see the Sun rising up so full and so high.
I want to see the Sun set so huge with shadowing bits that glow.
So I’ll just believe in this strength that comes through you to me.
I search for you but why should I be the one who has to be one that believes?
Everyday I’m alone and it’s nowhere that I go,
Even when it’s my thoughts that I clearly identify!
I just want to see the Moon so round and so high beaming me into the glow of light.
I want to see the Moon peering through the lighter of my brightest day.
I keep seeing all of these cushioned visions of just you and me.
Searching for you gives me the sight of all that I am to see.
Everyday I beg and beg until I hurt that you will stay.
But I’m left alone with reality in sight.
I just want so much for you and me.
I even want the same air that you breathe.
I keep holding onto this strength that I am I feel I believe.
Searching for you I’m with all that I can ever be!
Everyday I’m straightened by what my eyes can see,
But now I’m alone with what’s left alive and what didn’t flee.
So I’ll just keep searching for you while I search for what will be the all of me.
 


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catharsis dreamt a wake

Imagine you are looking down on the bed,
from the ceiling perhaps, high up
by the shadowed side of the planet

They lay there quietly...still,
on their backs...maybe hands folded, fingers woven
under the covers, cotton or quilted, no matter,
on either bed side, not touching each other

Now imagine you are the one...nearest the door
sleeping next to her...or him.
You've lain there for years, 
listening...sleeping, dreaming...listening

Now imagine you are the other,
dead asleep, oblivious to the planet
dreaming, next to the other
in the dream, eyes closed, but awake

You sense each other as if you
are both the same person, breathing
occupying the same quantum space
yet you can see the other as if part
of some out-of-body experience

You, dreaming, reach to touch
...other...or yourself, you are not sure
who they are, or, for that matter you,
slumbering and stumbling to understand,
rolling it over in your mind and bed

still in shadow, it is cool...and comforting,
vanishing point converges to bifurcate again,
in the wake, the dreaming returns
becoming the reality now

© Goode Guy 2011-10-06


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Masks of the Masquerade

The masquerade hides who we are,
covers our eyes with the mask
only left wondering about the lips you see
lips that beg to ask,
"Who are you, do I know your name,"
but experience holds them still
and the dance goes on as it should
some are marked for the kill.
Not everyone will go home tonight
tell me, will we make it out alive
with nerves jumbling senses and touches
each moment a new surprise.
The masks that we wear tonight
won't ever fully come off again
tonight we sew on new pieces of ourselves
tomorrow we'll beg to be forgiven the sin.
The purpose of the dance is to hide yourself
then try to find your way back 
as the dance takes another down
we must hold ourselves to the attack,
keep your lines perfect
try to remember everyone elses mask
keep away from the mirrors
and do not deny them who ask.
Don't let on you're afraid
let them make you bleed
just keep up the mask
and satisfy the gluttony and greed
so if your survive to midnight
when night turns toward day
maybe again we'll make it home,
but now let them think you hapless prey.
Don't look into the mirror,
never look back at the image there betrayed
the clock stroke twelves tolls into midnight
of this two person masquerade.


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Yellow Butterflies

In the corner of my eye,
Ah, ‘tis just a yellow butterfly!
A swarm of bees on its tail,
And whipping in the wind with a trail!
Gallantly afloat and drifting in the air,
A cardinal bird it did meet and then a bear.
Flying through the leaves of a tree,
And circling across the roaring sea!
The yellow butterfly zips on by,
Flying low and then flying high!
Through the winds it did sail,
Gallantly afloat a great big whale!
A swarm of yellow butterflies came to share,
The journey of flying from here to there!
Yellow butterflies were everywhere for my eyes to see,
And I was dancing in the winds when yellow butterflies started chasing me.
 
 
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006


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Knight of the Night


Pregnant for the day,
sleepy, silent and still.
cozy, cold and calm.
with vomits of harshness.

Terrific, too horrific…
with masquerades of marauders.
Hunters hunting to hurt.
Fishers fishing to finish.


As silent as the night of the night,
winds noisy wind.
As still as the night
stone strolls striking still.

As sleepy as the night,
stress of the strong day stops sleepy.
As the night crawls in cozy,
a wind of change blows in cold,
causing cross feelings of channels.

The sleepy night, silent night.
Sleeping in the dark dark of the night,
waking worries of winter,
making the night to lose sleep.

The night still pregnant,
Unable to bear the day,
Unable to bear the day.
But, the forces of the bright morning star,
shine in the day.


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Crack the Date

Guess what or guess who?

You shall sit old for I shall shape form and fashion your young.
Harkening heralds still laugh out loud bolstering it up with you.
You sound like a plummeting bee yet of all times now I’m stung.

Oh Really Now? 
Like I do not hear you?

If my truth is told then you are all that I can possibly do!
And poof! Your chord wraps only to get hung or strung.
You’ll still be silly but you’re just like a naughty old fool.

I know it,
And I know I know it!
I shall wait! 
While you knowingly remember to crack this once upon a time date?

Ah ha!

I scoff to my so be it with my most famous woe.
Obviously, you are late in my newfound state.
Now I am astonishingly confirmed as in lieu!

What does one do with the likes of one like you?
This is indeed my definite declarative stalemate?

I know you like I know myself,
I just know what I know I know!

So do check the date,
Or crack ye old mate.
 
 


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Ripples in the Sea

When I see this Moon and gaze deep into the stars,
My mind wanders as I search for where you are.
Looking up, looking down, this enormous Sea is where I can now be found.
Standing alone at the Ocean’s edge and hearing its roar,
My heart pounds and aches for so much more.
Gazing deeper and deeper out into this vast blue Sea,
I can gather myself with this soul that was given to me.
Ripples in the Sea are all that my eyes can see.
One by one they collide with force to touch what was given to me.
Infinity with the depths of this Sea, 
This is what the Moonlit Ocean conveys to the truth inside of me.
Standing alone and afar from the depths of this Sea,
Ripple by ripple captures the every breath that I have inside of me.
Oh how they carry every single thought away from the insides of me!
Reflections of our Moon spread across this glimmering Sea.
Endless and endless ripples!
This vision I know I will forever see!
I hold my breath and carry a true smile, 
Searching for that last ripple to reach its hundredth mile.
Alone I stand at the edge of this Sea, 
The depth of this Ocean covers over me.
I wonder and wonder can I truly hold what was given to me?
So if ever in search for that which you know you believe,
Please remember that I left me standing with the ripples in the Sea.
One by one they collide crashing directly into me.
I stand with a force that was given just for this person that lives inside of me.
Come to me! Please touch what is on the inside of me!
Feel what has been given just for the love of me!
So if ever in doubt for that which you truly know you believe,
Look deeper and deeper out into this incredible huge Sea.
The ripples one by one know you will believe.
They touch, they feel, they hear what is left standing out by the Sea,
And that my friend is the life that God had already chosen for the soul that lives inside of me.
 


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THIS MYSTERY ABOUT ME...

Whoever tries to interfere
with this mystery about me:
is in for a stunning surprise,
everything deeply concealed
can't possibly be  revealed!
Others will sell their soul to green,
to be in the glamorous spotlight; 
and the irony, beside the folly,
never demands an apology 
and be apparent in every delusional appeal,
which feeds on justification rather than sympathy:  
feeling so wretched and depleted and ashamed of being seen...


And will this mystery about me
die and not be denounced with demure...
without being in a deluge of dire regret,
devising another plan and detour;
desiring of breaking free 
without deviating from the main road:
to discern the importance of dignity,
and disconnect hope with dilemma and hate...


Dispirited, recurring to unpleasing choices 
and dispersing the inward beauty without dismal;
disembodying my aspect of gracefulness, 
to hide this mystery about me
by building a wall to ignore their call...
and will my dishonesty be rejected scornfully,
or will they understand my silence
by showing fondness and love?

 Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci


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carnal sin , elemental

    " The spirit is strong ; but the flesh is weak...."  matt 26:41.....


             Is there a way to define , carnal , and the elemental properties of sin ?

If you look at the greek word , " syn " , ( sin ) , meaning , ' together ' , and the greek 
word , ' apsis ' , meaning , ' a joining ' , you arrive at the word , ' synapes ' , which 
is a joining together the space between nerve cells through which nerve 
impulses are transmitted . A neurotransmitter is a biological substance that 
transmits , or inhibits , a nerve impulse at a synapse . A neural is of a nerve or 
the nervous system , a neuron is the nerve cell body and all it's processes . 
Matter , is what a thing is made of , material , whatever occupies space and is 
perceptible to the senses ; percieve is to understand , to become aware of 
through senses . Material , of matter , physical , of the body or bodily needs , not 
spiritual . Important essentials made of elements or parts needed to make or do 
something . Elements , is the natural or suitable environment for a person or 
thing ; first principals , or primal natural forces , being an essential part or parts . 
Elementary particles , are subatomic particles as a neutron , electron , photon , 
and so on etc...........We are a product of our environment , what we eat , the air we 
breathe , and the elemental attraction or repulsion , originating from attitude , it all 
begins within'...............
                                 SYN , or sin , is to join the outer physical body with outer 
physical elements which is the cause to effect carnal sin , through the influences 
of cosmic , universal , energy forces , which are elemental properties that 
manipulate our nervous system..............again as in the beginning.................

                    " THE SPIRIT IS STRONG , BUT THE FLESH IS WEAK "
                                                 matt 26:41


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The Birth of Excalibur

The fire’s intense serpentine flames
Reached high into the cold dark sky,
The hulking metal smith’s
Hammer swung true,
Sending sparks spraying far and wide.

Large beads of sweat
From his furrowed forehead
Sizzled on the anvil below,
His heart pounded wildly
Like someone beating a drum
As the fire cast an eerie glow.
   
The metal being shaped
And worked with great care,
Had now been folded
Exactly one thousand times,
The sound reverberating
From the metallurgic work
Was indeed a very good sign.

The metal smith paused
To admire his work
By the glow of the fervent flames,
He pondered for a moment
About the secrecy of this task
And from whence this metal came?

Such questions seemed odd
For a man who normally
Makes a living
Crafting simple tools,
“Ah, it matters not!”
The metal smith spoke aloud
As he dropped the item
Into a barrel of water to cool.

A great billowing cloud of steam
Erupted as the mysterious metal
Eventually cooled to the touch,
And to the metal smith’s surprise
He quickly realized,
The metal now, did not weigh as much.

And so the procedure continued
As one craftsman after another
Labored for days to come,
Then, at long last,
The complicated task
Was completed, it was finally done!

An exquisite work of art it was
Intricately designed,
With the finest precious metals
And gems,
The razor edge was unrivaled, 
Fully capable of piercing stone,
Its solemn royal purpose: was to defend.  

  
 
 

 
 

  
 

  


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Drama

There is just too much
drama everywhere I go
people talking behind each others back
too much fighting
what happened to the
respectful people
in this world
so much has changed
the drama is getting worse
why can't the drama stop
why does everyone have to fight.


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The Graveyard

The wind seemed colder that December day,
as I walked among the graves marked with
marble so gray.
Some had a story carved for all to see,
while others were just marked, Rest In 
Peace.
Pictures of the deceased, were on a few,
as I looked a little closer,
to see how many I knew.
Then in the distance, 
I saw a crowd,
another loved one to be buried,
then my head I bowed.
Old graves stood out,
their markers so tall,
darker than most,
like shadows at nightfall.
Sad to think, some had to die so young,
but way back then, not much could be done.
Strange it may seem,
to visit the dead,
but facinating to me,
on the life they led.


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The Great White Shield

Held prisoner under His Stars, 
I have fallen under the shadows of THE “Great White Shield”.
At a distance, those shimmering lights covered over me.
Built on THE highest plains, I stand parallel even when His rains come down.
My wall stands tall as my fate is promised and sealed.
I see my passage through time as I hold sturdy to my only God given ground.
I am all that I know I can ever be.
Confined by a little world where all that there is has been lost or found,
My bleeding wall holds my “ ALMIGHTY’S Great Armored White Shield“.
Balanced with time even when His rains are pouring down!
It stands to serve and to protect the best of the living me.
Layer by layer it builds with the strength it has lost or found.
For, I am all that is genuinely real.
Conditioned by my endurance, His Stars my eyes still can see.
Ruling the way that I move, His existence is wrapped tightly and I abound.
Parallel on His plains, a sturdy wall I did gradually help Him build.
My wall protects the only person inside of me.
I secure my only ground as I hold onto His “Great White Shield”.
I am all that I have ever truly found.
When the rains pour down on me, 
I stand atop of all His battled ground.
When I am all with my realest deal,
I am all that can or will be found.
When I am all that I know I can ever be,
I carry a strength that alone I can build.
I am the carrier of my Almighty’s Great White Shield”.


®Registered: 1998  Ann Rich


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This Journey We Call Life

Happiness begins in the depths of ones heart,
a place of complete joy,
where all good things start.
A smile is a rainbow,
delivered in peace,
worn on ones face,
showing a soul so sweet.
Sorrow is a part,
of this thing we call life,
it will fade into a memory,
making us appreciate,
when days are bright.
Darkness will deliver,
troubles of some kind,
always keep your eyes open,
all of the time.
Never allow,
temptation to enter your home,
don't answer your door,
until you are sure,
it is gone.
Time brings us wisdom,
if we are open to truth,
don't take life for granted,
you will be sorry,
if you do.


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Pass us by

If he made it so I can see you why no glance?
I see another and another, but there is no chance
You see us walking
But did you look up in the trees? 
How stupid can we be?
Our feet are harmonious 
Our stash inside
However we may be different 
You don’t even glance you just hide
Its all our problems 
Containing our will
To scream
Or lack there of and therefore will remain sight
For that lack there of we cannot take flight 
For these white walls will crumble
We will all stumble
Into the great depths of our thoughts
Trapped like a rat in a cage
Forever inflamed in this summer sky
Or this winter dirt
Do you see the sun reflect our growth
To grow up and see our differences 
But how will we know?
We all look the part
So I throw it back at you
The constraining will 
To scream


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The Picture Of The Past

Far in the distance, time screams out,
I'm all around you, that is what life is about.
I can make you weak, or I can make you strong,
give you a reason, or play a sad song.
I have the power to erase your mind,
any given moment, you may see my sign.
I can hold you captive, and show no remorse,
you my friend, will never know my course.
Many have tried to predict my path,
this one is a mystery, no one knows my wrath.
Enjoy each day, as if it were your last,
you only know for certain, the picture of the past.


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Thursday Afternoon

The sky was gray, the air was cool
I skipped home Thursday afternoon
Down the hill, below the trees
A broken hose, a sea of leaves
Unbeknownst to me I stood
Watching, waiting, in the wood
When Missus Curiosity
Whispering across the breeze
Somehow got the best of me

Orange clay beside my feet
Autumn gray consuming me
Curious, I took a step (splash)
My shoes became so wet

Suddenly, below the ground
I heard a rushing, rumbling sound
Missus Curiosity then spoke
The septic tank below has broke
You better run, you better hide
‘Cause here comes the crimson tide

I understood, but I could not
Move myself to leave that spot
As the wave crashed down on me
I asked myself 'am I asleep?'
And I woke up.


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our souls pathway to the heart

                    Innocence and peace are states of mind at the very beginning and 
towards the very end . Everything in between , the mid-cycle , of our lives are what 
create all the differences , through multiple emotional interaction . 
                     The dual mind , positive / negative , and how it effects our behaviors , 
which ultimately becomes who we project and how we eventually percieve 
ourselves , or decieve ourselves and others , by not knowing honestly who we 
truly are internally , our soul being , a spark of light which is that spark of love 
within' . Our physical being is a shadow of our spiritual self , our shadow 
becomes an expression , an accumulation of emotions learned through 
experience . From the moment of our birth into the physical world , our life 
experiences begin as pebbles . Through the course of time and space , our 
experiences , our spiritual growth , become larger stones , boulders , or better 
put , " weights of burden " . Once we begin to understand and recognize , at that 
moment of facing our heaviest obstacle , at that moment , we have to take an 
honest look internally and summon the strength and courage to properly remove 
it . Once we can unlearn to relearn , those boulders , obstacles , begin to get 
smaller , until they again appear as pebbles . A story in retrospect .
                            Imagine yourself as a fish in the river . One day the river floods 
over it's embankment , and you the fish , instead of staying in the river , you get 
caught in the wave of the flood into a pool outside the rivers edge . As the flood 
waters recede to normal , you now become stuck outside the natural flow of your 
existence , in an outer pool . In time as the water evaporates into the air from the 
heat of the sun , you begin to lose sense of your life force , the essence of your 
being , until the moment comes when you begin to die and as the ground around 
you begins to dry and crack , so do you , being reduced to dust to be blown in the 
wind . 
                              If the fish hadn't lost his way and had faced the challenge of the 
flood , and stayed true to itself and stayed the course of his natural existence , he 
may have avoided such a tragic fate . Like the fish , that monstrous boulder is our 
challenge to remove and stay on our pathway , our soul journey . The moment we 
look for the easy way around and head in a different direction , we could possibly 
be setting ourselves up with the same fate of the fish .


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Am I Really Sane

You ask me what I think,
and before I answer,
you walk away,
tell me something,
do you care anyway?
You tell me we need to talk,
and before I have a chance,
you get ready to go out,
asking me to iron your pants.
If someone else looks my way,
or stops to say hello,
you get all mad at me,
and a fit you begin to throw.
I'm trying hard to figure this out,
my brain is really numb,
you act like you care,
then say I'm rally dumb.
All I want is peace, and quiet,
a place of solitude,
not this circus life,
do you hear me dude?
I sit,and write my songs,
something I really enjoy,
then you get mad again,
as if I took your favorite toy.
My life is a cobweb,
so sticky, and a mess,
and everytime I try, and change it,
I fail another test.
On, and on,
an endless war,
nothing I stand to gain,
I ask myself, am I really sane.


This is something I made up, not serious...



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Mansions in the Sky

The Stars lit up the skies and nothing could I see,
Except these huge Mansions that fly in the sky.
Swirling winds picked me up and carried me high.
Making trails in the clouds it was just me.
It was breathtaking just to be,
Afloat the top of mansions that fly.
The Moon was bright and the Sun a bit dry.
They were huge and magnificent to oversea.
 Mansions in the sky that fly above it all.
Mesmerized I went in and found no end.
None were too small.
None occupied, not even by a friend!
Mansions that fly fill a brilliant sky,
All emptied but not by I!
 
 
© Copyright: Ann Rich  2006


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Emilé

The evening air blows twice as fair
when it is kissing her sweet strands of hair
to glimpse her rosy cheeks, perchance her eyes
any passerby would swoon.

Down the street the lamplights flicker on
a feeble gesture, half in vain
for any light forfeited by the sunset
is given to the moon.

And where it’s wanted shadow still creeps in
Observe! Behind a mule cart sits
bundled up in robes and motionless
the sweet girl prior mentioned.

Horses’ footfalls echo from the sides of shops
and disappear as masters drive
into some warmer corner
of the cold Parisian night

As well pedestrians shuffle by
at somewhat slower pace
and but the smallest turn their gaze upon
the pauper woman’s face

But none can see, but none can see
into this sweet girl’s reverie
the chillness in her breath
is the only sign she gives

Her eyes are closed, and now she flies
through darkest depths of mind to happier times
one summer evening on a porch
beside her lover true

When gaze is not transfixed upon the other
drinking from the depths of melancholy passion
it gorges itself upon the greenest grass
like heifers lowing on the hill

or bunnies bounding through the field
or crickets chirping in the reeded orchestra
all similes reveal themselves at twilight
to those in love, in elevated sight

and minds are read, so no surprise
can narrow further catlike eyes
when her lover true decides
to reveal to her the truth

“Upon this eve I have received
a letter from the Guard, with intent
to draft me into the army
as the gears of war are turned

you know how much I long to stay
within your arms until my dying day
but I’ve heard tales of those who tried to flee
many try, and none succeed

so in a week I’ll board the train
the line from Marseilles to Lorraine
and write you letters every night
until the morn that we shall hold each other tight”

And no words formed upon her lips
the falling leaves told all
but when they kissed tears did form inside their eyes,
rolled off, and mingled in their mouths.


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A Serving Of Justice

 

The scene kept playing over and over in my mind.
   With such detail, but there was still something missing I could not find.
This was a matter of life and death of that I knew.
    There was something I couldn’t put my finger on as tension grew.
The E-Mail bomber was about to strike again.
     And the clues he gave us this time were just too thin.
He has struck three times in succession.
     Just random violent acts of aggression.
The only link in common is they were targeted on the poor side of town.
     Mostly where you find the homeless and those that are really down.
Each time he’s struck he has wounded or killed no less than thirty in these 
savage attacks.
     Never does he leave a clue, and he so cleverly covers his tracks.
This time he boasts to double his count.
     He claims he won’t be stopped and what he does is paramount.
I’ve got a hunch he’ll strike down by the docks.
     Where they use migrant workers and they all hang around in flocks.
We set up surveillance and just waited to see, 
      When about three in the morning an old van was parked close to where the 
workers would be.
 As we sat and waited for someone to exit the van,
     I just happened to catch the appearance of a dark clothed man.
He was slumped down as if hiding and he wasn’t readily seen.
     I quietly radioed for backup and told them to try to approach him unseen.
With in a matter of minutes we had our man,
     And he was holding a remote control device he used to drive the van.
We called out the bomb squad and they quickly found the source.
     Two hundred pounds of dynamite strapped under a barrel of bolts and a timer 
of course.
As bad as he thought he was he never attempted to fight.
    To me he acted like a little crybaby that’s why he had to hide in the night.
If I wasn’t a cop I think I’d lock him in his van and let him taste his on revenge.
    Sit him on top of those bolts where he could see the timer and be the first to 
feel the twinge.    


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In These Eyes of Mine

In the glow of the day, rise the shadows of a dark night where I come free.
Walking slow yet running with hot flames drenched by my body soiled, I am here.
My walk, my life, I stand with this seed.
Taking me down, all the way because I am the only one who care’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Sun make glow of my hair!
In the depths of the Oceans may the Mountains peak, I am free.
Stroking slowly, yet rock climbing with the pain of broken rocks, I go there.
My depth and my height I stand with this need.
Rolling me around, all the way because I am the only one who share’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Mountain make depth of my care.
In the brightness of the Stars lingers a magical gleam, all scattered and free.
Breathing slowly, yet desperate for the air to give my last and final breath, I am there.
My deepest, my highest, I stand with this greed.
Pulling me down to the ground all of the way because I am here!
In these eyes of mine, let the Stars make bright of my fear.
These eyes of mine give to you this planted seed with all of my prayers.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1999


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The Burning Veil

My eyes were opened to a bright red burning veil.
Sun scorched and Moon dried,
It was fried!
But, I brought it some water in a crystal blue pale.
The more it burned higher went the scale,
God knows that I at least tried.
There was just nowhere to hide.
But, I wasn’t about to fail.
 
I put the veil in the water and made it wet.
I held it to the Sun and the Moon to air dry.
The veil melted and glowed where it was set.
It was sparkling and made me want to cry.
Perception had been weakened to what it really should be.
At least, that’s what the burning veil conveyed to the truth inside of me!
 


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The Bitter Truth

Skies so black, like, cold, cold, coal,
barren ground, exposing ones soul.
Mysteries of the universe, 
does anyone hold,
only decades of time, will show.

Masters of creation, all play a part,
made from deception, from the start.
Bringing much turmoil, where no one hides,
makers of misery, and lies.

Doom is the reaper, no conscious at all,
standing in a place, destined to fall.
Greed wins over, and cast goodness out,
as they lay down their weapons, and shout.

Long will be the journey, for the guilty of heart,
denying to them self, they were ever a part.
Sadness will follow these cold black hearts,
as they wallow in the blood, death has marked.

Sands of evil, infested with pain,
masters gather, plotting their gain.
Torment  of the innocent, no voice be heard,
waiting for victory, and graves be dug.

Temptation of power, so easily taken,
cover it up, someone is mistaken.
Cascades of smoke, swirling to the sky,
the bitter truth, our freedom died.





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My Dearly Departed

In this world, I can see many faces of you and me,
Boundlessly free with our new abilities to breathe!
I am a dime per every one dozen collecting my fee.

You see, it is just you and me rising upon this day.
Together we do be and forever on our merriest way.
It is just another day for you and me to pitch a say.

We are one word away you see my dearly departed,
We can all bail ship or get this whole thing restarted.
Or, we can confirm that which became our imparted.

Love me now and hate me later,
Or, love me later and hate me now.
Either or my dearly departed hater,
I impart onto you my Poof Bam Pow!

® Registered: Ann Rich 2009


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The Visitor

A visitor came to me,
in the middle of the night.
His presence filled my soul with dread,
t’was chilled three times with fright.

A visitor came to me,
from the other side.
I lay so still upon my bed,
wishing I could hide.

This visitor who comes to me,
doesn’t use the door.
Tonight he’ll take a little bit,
each night a little more.

I used to be a child,
each day went passing by.
The child that I used to be,
is gone without a cry.

I remember in my youth,
I was fast and strong.
Now my strength is waning,
reflexes almost gone.

This visitor who comes to me,
took my kids away.
Turned them all into adults,
to live good lives I pray.

Sometimes the visitor comes to me,
leaves grief that’s way too strong.
Sometimes he takes so much away,
I feel I can’t go on.

He’s taken family with him,
other loved ones too.
It hurts to lose a loved one,
cause they’re a part of you.

He took my marriage with him,
took it very slow.
Took the love she had for me,
left mine to wither so.

Sometimes he takes too much from me,
to the other side.
Right now so much is finally gone,
I wonder if I’ve died.

This visitor also comes to you,
from the other side. 
Each time he takes a little more,
from him you cannot hide.

copyright  Tom Welch


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Untitled #75 / No other viper

There’s no other viper in the world like her
and when she bit me she slithered off
now I know I’ll have to let the venom run its course,
for her fangs are the only remedy.


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Walking on Water

I turn my back and look the other way, 
My shadow is a bliss you hope and pray!
I’m walking on water at the stroke of midnight,
Searching for the hope of a breaking daylight!
Everything’s just so incredibly beyond bright!
Closing my eyes to a brand new day,
Shutting down inside and feeling everything just die.
My thoughts surely would make you an empty man inside!
I’m walking on water in the shadows of daybreak,
Searching for the hope of my lost and alone faith!
Everything’s just so outrageously beyond great!
I close my mind to the brand new light of day.
Closing my eyes and just walking away,
But my shadow you hope and pray will surely stay.
I’m walking on water at the peak of nightfall,
Looking for this huge magnificently clear waterfall!
Everything’s just so enormously beyond tall!
I close my eyes and I begin to pray.
My thoughts could surely give hope to all,
For I walk on water on each and every day!


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Five Glychostones

There’s five glychostones and they’re hid very well.

One is a link to the future of a God given Grace.
One is a key to all of the boxes stuffed with mail.
One is a code to an ancient mystery and is a case.
One is a seed that grows throughout all the lands.
Moreover, the last is a main element for survival!

So we go journeying for the glychostones in the kingdom halls up in hands,

What a redemptive Holy revival!
Hands in hands they shall all go.
Not one, but two knows their way.
Just hope and always, always pray!
And never simply say I don’t know!

Just search for the five glychostones enriched in its purest true value,
Moreover, each has essential life sustaining merits of valor or honor, 
Hands fill up in the sands when the farmer awakens inside all of you!

Just search for five glychostones and seek to explore all you can do,
Each glychostone reaps in merits and honors ordained pure and true.

You will find every single one of them decked out in crystallites’ blue!
You are splendid with many abundant blessing hands upon your lands!


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Late on Wednesday in the Winter

I carry a burden on my back into the game room
I leave to lay my head down for a brief rest –
and see out of my window a blanket of white
reflecting dully into the dark night
a mantle of a thousand icicle stars
a silent, yawning ocean for the sleeping ashen trees

Woods, will you remember me
When I’m long gone?
Will you mark my name
in your solid oak memory?
Whisper of me in rustles that never cease.
Murmur, let me rest easy. Do not
howl of a wolf in the doleful darkness.


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Untitled #3 / The hair on his arm

The hair on his arm was a tangled bush
not manly, but beastly
and when he smiled
they only saw the fangs of a predator.
So could the little girl have been surprised
when, under the light of a full moon,
he became one?


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Docked by Time

Celebrating the glare that glows,
A reflection of you creeps in.
The glory of high rank again!
Somebody you do not know,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time with a name!
Riding the high tides,
A fear of you sets in.
The smile of pride again,
Somebody you hide,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time playing the game!
Laughter with the fame you claim,
The sound of you drifts in,
The look of confidence seen again,
Somebody you remain.
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time is such a shame!


®Registered: Ann Rich 1998


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Just Because

Just because, 
I really thought I was!
I was coming and coming,
Holding nothing back!
I could go anywhere,
I could go running!
I came unlatched.
I just really can not compare!
Just because,
I just really knew it was!
I kept going and going,
Holding nothing back!
I went showing!
I was unlatched
I am just really glowing!
Just because,
It really was,
It was here and now!
Holding nothing back!
I go proud!
I am unlatched!
I am just really now!
Just because,
It really was!
But gone forever!
Holding nothing back!
I went clever!
I became unlatched!
I was prisoner, 
Just because 
I really was!


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Untitled #247 / Chad

“Chad deserves a round of applause!”
And more applause!
And more applause!
And a standing ovation!
And giggles get passed around!


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' We ' and ' They ' Saw ... '

                  ‘ We  and  They  Saw … ’ 
         (or) A Testament To A Holy-Helper


              My Beloved, God … Most High
         Creator Of  Celestial, Heavenly Skies
          And The Earth and Wind-Blown Seas
      And All That Lives and Moves and Breathes
               and Every Magnitude Thereof …

            Bless You and Your Son , Because:


That Day, I Saw Your Hand, God …     ------  Ps. 109: 27 , 28
That Night, I Saw Your Might
‘ You ’ Moved Everything In Motion
And Brought It To The Light

‘ You ‘ Wanted Them To Know
‘ You ‘ Made Sure They Saw
and when ‘Caught’, They Know … ‘ I Knew ’
when ‘ You ‘ Cracked Them, On Their Jaw …

… So Wide-Opened, Gasping Like A Fish
‘ I ‘ Heard Their Misery, Intense
They Fumed in Rage and Ignorance
‘Cause My God, Fought For Me !  “I'm Convinced” …

I Tried To Warn Them, Holy Father
Tried To Help Set Them Free
But, They ‘ Kept (and Keep) On ’ Acting Evil
… They Know What and Who They Be !

… Playing Name-Games … Should Be Ashamed !
 of Their Jealousy … and Trying To Mess With Me
Their Deceit, will be Their Defeat
in Their Lies and yeah,‘ I Heard ’ Their Cries !

… and Their Own Sick-Stupidity
May Set ‘em  666 Feet-Down-Rigidity …
And All … This Was Uncalled For !
 ‘ Lord ’ Knows, I Don’t Bring Harm … No More !

But, ‘ You ’ Are The Judge, Holy One
Yes … ‘ You ’ Are:  Final Say and The Law …
And ‘ You ’ Showed Me … ‘ You ’ Wanted Them To Know
What ‘ We ’  and ‘ They ’  All  Saw !


            (The Day I Wrote This … 
      I Mean, Right After I Wrote This
           I Opened Up The Bible … 
               And There It Was ...
      My Ok-Heavenly, Confirmation …
          Everything Is Alright Still
             ...  Psalms 109: 27, 28  )
       God, Save Us 'All' From Sin ... 
                       Amen

                     MoonBee


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The Visions Blend

Sitting all alone in deep thought, I am a world away.
No Sun, no Stars, and no wind!
My mouth can not speak the words there are to say.
The visions blend carries me to where it never ends.
My God I am here and I demand to stay!
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
Nights and days have come and gone and are now decades away.
No life, no air, and no death!
My God I am alive and dead on this very day.
I am gone, but here with my journey’s quest.
The gift of life is mine as I catch my last breath.
My heart can not hold the words there are to say.
Looking deep into this world where I have come to stay,
No love, no hate, and no sin!
The visions blend carries me to where it all ends.
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
My eyes can see the words there are to say.
My God I am gone and I demand to stay.
Time and time my thoughts have traveled my days,
No time, no light, and no pretend!
The gift of life is mine all over once again.
My God I am dead but alive on this very day.
My ears can not hear the words there are to say.
I am gone, but here absorbing the visions blend.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997


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The White House

broken down
withered chimney
hidden stories within
lost loves in this tragic place
a tragic fire took many lives
the white house
may not be alive today
but neither are the owners
for this a place in history
in my lonesome life
the white house in my memory will indeed be sacrificed


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The Part We Play

 

As the wind rustles through the sycamore trees,
      It brings such a peaceful spirit that hovers over me.
It’s like the words spoken from a million foreign tongues,
      Hypnotizing and luring is the rhythm as the song is sung.
Ten thousand leaves all move in perfect harmony,
     As the trunk sways gently so majestically.
And the little brook that flows by this little forest of trees,
    Babbles it’s own little song not affected by the breeze.
And standing on her banks is a young whitetail doe,
    Just looking around not caring which way to go.
It’s so peaceful out here it’s like life has slowed down.
     Things are so beautiful when mans not around.
It seems like what ever God creates we have an obligation to mess it up,
     We act more like an unruly and disobedient spoiled little pup.
We’re not in tune to nature we never were,
     We are like the Vikings we’ve ravaged and pillaged her.
As long as we are comfortable no matter the cost,
     It doesn’t matter about tomorrow or if it is completely lost.
So who do we blame if tomorrow doesn’t show.
    It really could happen but who really knows?


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Flame

I was blinded by her halo
So I never noticed her horns
Stabbing my sensibilities 
Like a rosebush of thorns
I was blinded by her eyes
So I never noticed her tail
Slithering under the sheets
Like a widow beneath a veil
I was blinded by her smile
So I never noticed her hate
Stalking the black of night
Like a succubus for a mate
I was blinded by her beauty
So I never asked her name
Gasping for my last breath 
Like the embers of a flame 


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Untitled #269 / On the day I saw evil

On the day I saw evil
I rode my bicycle down to the graveyard at the foot of Concord Hills, 
the very one that I had passed every morning going to school,
returning home in the afternoon, sometimes taking note
but never sparing a second thought
and I walked among the dead, even talked to some of them
as the sun fell below the horizon and their spirits rose again to the surface.
“Turn back,” said the older ones, “You’ve still got youth on your side.
Live your life until God calls you home”
But I couldn’t hear them. I only saw the pale and silent 
ghost of a young lady, my age when she died,
her bud of life trampled before it could ever bloom,
alone at the top of a hill under a willow tree
dressed in a moonlight gown pure as pallid skin.
I sprinted up the hill, screaming “Why? 
Why? Tell me why!”
afraid her spirit would quit this plane
as quickly as her life had left the earth.
Her thin lips formed not a word, but her ashen, unblinking eyes
staring straight to the bottom of my soul
told me all I needed to know.
I left the place and never returned,
for there will be time enough for us to get acquainted
when we are all sleeping together.


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Jealousy

I have seen jealousy rear it's ugly head,
so many situations, being constantly fed.
Lovers lose trust, and here it comes,
landing right in the middle, 
and from no where, it's born.
Dark is the heart,  where it dwells inside,
taking over the spaces, love lost this fight.
I have seen friends, eyes envy , and green,
forsaking a friendship, acting so mean.
I have seen wealthy, and I have seen poor,
the last one I mentioned, having so much more.
The torment of jealousy, eating ones soul,
nourishes that monster, keeping one so low.
Jealousy, oh jealousy, you miserable disease,
don't cross my path, for my heart, can now see.


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To the spigot, to the Spider

At sunset one summer evening I stepped outside to enjoy
the summer evening’s sunset and water the garden plants that were
dying in the draught. So I made my way towards the hose spigot at the
back of the house, and as I marveled at 
the purple sunset
a dark writhing Figure appeared before my eyes, eclipsing the sun
and stopping me dead in my tracks.
It was not a dragon. It was not a Ringwraith. It was a Spider, a huge Spider,
busily at work crafting an enormous web two yards across, spanning the forest to 
the bushes,
His labor diligent and instinctual like that of a master craftsman.
There I stood, marveling at Its pained yet natural movements, wondering when
some bird or wasp would descend upon the Thing
and rip out the Ugliness from the otherwise
perfect scene. But when I shifted my point of view
and the Spider no longer tarnished the backdrop of the sunset
I noticed It disappeared into the shadows around It
and would have been invisible to all but the
sharpest of eagle eyes. And as I blustered through an invisible strand of the 
webbing,
exciting the Demon even further, I knew
that the Thing must go. But how?
I knew how. I would give to It the same thing that I meant to give the garden 
plants,
for no terrestrial creature can long withstand the force of water.
So I unscrewed the spigot, marched around the other side of the house to grab 
the hose,
and walked back to the spot where I spotted the Spider.
But in my absence the Spider, too, had taken Its leave
and I wondered if Nature was not made for men 
to marvel at, or if in those moments
Nature does but laugh at us.


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A Thought Away

Courage under fire is what we are, 
Just thoughts away!
Tempting moments to just let it all go.
An empty world on a void day!
A pillar of strength with all that we know,
A thought away from a vision so far!
Strength under force is what we are, 
Just thoughts away! 
Incredible force with remarkable strength is what we see.
The chance to be with a chance to stay,
At a consistent level with the honor that only we can achieve. 
We’re a thought away from the flames of a shooting star!
One of the very same is what we are, 
Simply just thoughts away!
Mountains so high and oceans so deep with all that we deem.
So much unknown,
There’s just so much more,
It’s a given place where only we can lay!
Marks of pride are held in the eyes that stand glossed and gleamed.
We’re just a thought away from a world greater than our large.
We’re just one thought away from the world that we all disregard.
We’re just thoughts away from what it is that we really and truly are!

© Copyright: 1997  Ann Rich


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If Ever I Should Have to Wonder

If ever I had to wonder, 
I would simply wonder why our paths were even destined to cross.
Obviously, I have so many things I have to wonder, 
Because my love carries the strength of steel and an armor of cloth!
No doubt that I will think of the many things that could always make me sigh.
But I know that I’d forever wonder why so much pain comes with an inevitable loss?
“Tis a soul for a soul and one cast out with your solemn moment of pride”.

If ever I should have to wonder, 
Indeed I would have wondered where?

Where is the beginning and where is the end to this forsaken way of life?
Where does all this “hidden truth” lay and why is it that I’m still standing and I can survive?

No doubt that I will think of the many things that I could always compare,
But I know that I’d forever wonder how much warmth there really is out there to share.
Brought down from sorrows below my beliefs have become my sacrifice.

If ever I had to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder where?
Where do we go when we go away and why is it that we even have to leave?
Where is this truth and why should I be the only one that will produce my beliefs?

No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me instantly care.
But I know that I would forever wonder why there’s so much hope with all of this despair.
‘Tis a soul for a soul and each is in such a constant dire of eternal need”!

If ever I should have to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder why this was all even meant to be.

Why could you not see the power and the glory that God has invested in the life of me?
Obviously so many things to have to wonder because love carries so many will’s that fizzle 
and die.
No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me sad and cry.
But I know that I will forever wonder was it I, the one who has been received?
But most of all I will forever wonder what is it that you, as one, really believe?



© Copyright:  1998   Ann Rich


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Untitled #105 / Washington midnight

On a Washington midnight thirteen bug-eating bats
descend upon the Air Force Memorial spotlights
drawn to swarms of their favorite insect dinners.
What a spectacular sight! Wings of evil crowding ‘round the spires!
But they cannot compare with the other species of bloodsuckers!


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Untitled #270 / On the day I daw love

Would you believe that on the day I saw love
I knew I would come here?


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"THIS IS WHO I'LL BE!!!"

This is who I'll be
The one who wipe away all your tears
The one who understands everything about you
The one who's there for good times and bad times
This is who I'll Be
Your very best friend,never turning my back on you
The one who will always love you
The one who will never ever stop loving you
This is who I'll be
The one with no unbroken promises
The one who keeps you completely satisfied
The one who makes all your wishes and dreams come true
This is who I'll be
The one who's faithful and true
The one who makes you smile without saying a word
The one you're always thinking of
This is who I'll be
The one that give you NO doubt when it comes to real love
The one who show you that you can love again
The one who treats you like a lady
This is who I'll be
The one that knows how to make love a forever lasting experience
The one who makes you feel very special
The one who's not about lies,drama or playing games
AND THE ONE WHO YOU WILL VERY PROUDLY SAY YES THAT'S MY MAN
NOW THAT'S EXACTLY WHO I'LL BE!!!"


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Bus Window

Newsstand vendor
Side walk cleaner
Early morning commuter

Tired truck driver
Careful bus driver
Carpooling white-collar workers

Each day I witness this entourage of sorts,
the movement of the masses,
the migration of the worker.
We are all part of the same
system that guides us,
yet at times rejects us.
However, we do it again each day.
A day in the life.
But, what do we live for?


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Complex (2005)

Yes we are complex and have millions of layers up on layers 
No one knows us apart from us we are our life’s players
Everything has a reason and no one can see
None except me 
Misunderstood and never returned 
Life goes on and some never learned 
We are complex creates do not forget
Everyday is another layer, another layer that they won’t ever get


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Changes

Our weather is changing, from year to year,
questions of worry, what's going on here.

Summers so hot, you can't go outside,
reaching a 100, your feet will fry.

Hurricanes  brewing across the seas,
more, and more of these things we see.

Winters so cold, and no gas for heat,
wrapped up tight, still everything will freeze.

Our planet is changing, and this we know,
how do we adapt, where can we go?


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Crush

Through the door comes an alluring yet humble man
A subtle glimpse the chemistry 
was deniable but warranted. 
Coincidental interludes
Communication was brief 
Energy between the two grew
The time was near. Both curious of the taste
Hesitant as if it were an apple 
Chilled with a hint of Hennessey
He used my lips to melt the ice. 
Hips lips melted unto mine then down my body
A conscious shock. The feeling so over whelming
No control
"What will she think?"
"How will he feel?"
"What will she say?"
"What will he think?"
"Is this happening?"
I think I love you!!


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Surrender

Into the shadows,
where darkness dwells,
an affair of mystery,
she must never tell.
So quiet she waits,
her heart pounds so,
his touch still lingers,
her heart is aglow.
Into the stars,
he carries his love,
on a  beautiful night,
they can't share enough.
When daylight comes,
her heart still sings,
remembering the passion,
he always brings.


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Laundromat, 9:12 P.M.

Sixteen unique individuals
sit on sixteen washing machines.

As they make small-talk
they stare at sixteen dryers, all in a row
chugging and churning to the same hum.


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God Had A Plan

This is how it began,
about two years ago
I had the urge to write.
Never before, until that night.
Words were swooning in my mind,
picked up my pen, and began to rhyme.
Stories in verse were the first,
my head was pounding,
I thought it would burst.
Then the songs, I could hear each one,
playing all day, from sun to sun.
During this time, my mom got sicker,
I never left, I stayed right with her.
Writing, and crying, sometimes all night long,
poem after poem, song after song.
I believe in my heart, God had His hands on me,
guiding my pen, He was controlling my destiny.
Now mom has passed, but I see her every day,
closer than ever, her memory stays.
Her last gift to her only girl child,
soothing my mind, making me smile.
I had to get still, before God could lead,
He gave me a blessing, for all to read.


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One Cannot Buy

Once we believed,
why shouldn't we?

Once your word, was your bond,
now every breath is just a con.

Once right overpowered, the wrong,
the powerful now hiding what they have done.

Sinners so deep in the betrayal of truth,
the poor man, has always been used.

Speaking from a mouth, that has no heart,
stealing like a thief, the battle starts.

Controlled by favors, a puppet of pawn,
the days of honor, have long been gone.

Shameful, and shackled, the day will come,
explanations expected, for the damage done.

Lies will no longer be an option here,
the day is coming, and it's, Oh so near.

The poor mans vengeance, will surely rule,
pointing a finger when they learn the truth.

Don't sit in a pew, with your head held high,
a power is waiting, one cannot buy.



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Before I Die

Why do they turn gray, these hairs on my head,
maybe they are tattle telling, the life I have led.

Raising my children, was not easy at all,
sometimes I stumbled, and at times, I did fall.

All by myself, just trying to figure out,
 why some men run, and take the easy route.

Not much money, and he griped about that,
now my children don't even call their dad.

He never wanted me to work outside the home,
and always blamed me when things went wrong.

Our home was the target, of the foreclosure guys,
he stopped making payments, I wanted to cry.

He has remarried since way back then,
now he's the best step father, anyone has ever seen.

My children don't like him, they say he's not a dad,
and everytime they see him, they get so mad..

Maybe one day, I can look him in the eyes,
and make sense of all this, before I die.


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Rhinestones That Sparkle

Night time is their day,
as they hurry and find,
someone to comfort,
then leave them behind.

Motels, and hotels,
and sometimes a car,
trying to survive this day,
some wish on a star.

Rhinestones that sparkle,
they stand on the street,
some are just children,
wanting to be free.

Can they go home,
why did they leave
too old for their years,
but not for their tears..












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I Walked with the Reaper

One night I awoke to a dream
A figure of prominent terror hovered 
Over my bed and asked me
If I’d travel with him 
I joined him though my skin crawled
At every breath he heaved
Raspy and gurgling behind his dark tattered cloak.

I dared not look at him for fear he’d look back
Crippled over and cracking with every step.
I walked with him to a field
Laden with even laid stones
No names, just the stones.

He stood in a painful position I thought
And I wondered why he lingered at this spot
“Torment knows no names,” he said
And rose upright so high that it startled me
And my core felt penetrated as if frozen in ice

He was the Reaper I thought, 
He’s come for me.
He then lowered back down, and silence,
More hallowed then death itself,
Haunted my thoughts.

‘I’ve walked this road alone each night
For as long as I can remember,” he echoed
“You’re the first to come with me.”
I felt a sort of strange pity come over me
And I placed my hand on his shoulder
As we stood in the dark shadows.

Suddenly the sound of distant voices circled my head
Beautiful voices singing from a brilliant light.
“the dead don’t walk with the dead,” he said softly
“the Living do.”
As he finished his words, his cloak fell flat
And he was gone. A pile of rotting black cloth remained.

I awoke to a woman who was hollering out
“My child, I nearly hit you!”
I was standing in the night air
In the middle of a covered bridge.
The headlights so bright I couldn’t see past them.
She wrapped her coat around me and
Walked me to her car.
The coat she wrapped me in

Was a black cloak.


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It's All About What We Plant

From the depths of ones soul
lies a story to be told
A book of triumphs, failures,
and truth.
One that manifest daily,
for this life will carry us to the end.
Promises of a better tomorrow
are spoken from silent lips,
our own thoughts unheard,
whispered upon the wind.
All is gathered inside this being
called mortal man,
and devoured in captivity, 
where negativity prevails.
Cleansing thoughts accompanied by an 
attitude, thriving on behavior of positivity.
Once planted deep, wrapped in fruitful roots,
comes new life of beauty, and worth.
From the depths of ones soul, 
lies a story to be told.


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Greedy Green

The world is consumed by greed, 
if you doubt this, pick up a paper, and read.
Fighting over this, and fighting over that,
turning on friends, who needs a rat.
Everyday it is something worse,
even thieves stealing an old woman's purse.
Sometimes I am thankful, to be so poor,
although I like comfort, now that's for sure.
Millions I don't need, just a buck or two,
my power still on, and some food to chew.
So I say, let um have it, all that greedy green,
they provide entertainment, for you, and me.


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Them and They

Don't turn to look back
They will be right behind you

Don't try to imagine them
They don't like it that way

Don't dream of them
They will haunt you in your head

Don't keep thinking about them
They don't like it

Don't try to see them
They will try to see you

Don't ever forget them
They will not forget you

Don't talk about them
They don't like to be talk

Don't scream when you saw them
They don't like screaming noises

Don't be silent when you saw them
You will be silent for the rest of your life

Who are they
They are them


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Are We Alone

  

The night sky is set ablaze by such brilliant stars,
    It seems to beckon to me from afar.
Like a time traveler that is lost or misplaced,
   Or maybe a distant traveler who is here to investigate this new race.
Why couldn’t there be life beyond earth,
    Maybe a different species that God breathed life into and gave them worth.
We are reaching farther and farther with technology and skills.
   Seeking new boundaries excitement and thrills.
Remember at one time the world was presumed flat.
   All it took was someone with courage to discredit that.
I’ve always kept an open mind while holding to my faith.
    I feel nothing is just an open and shut case.
Right or wrong it’s just I’ve always had this hunch.
    That maybe God created more than us, you know a different bunch.
It’s just a thought and nothing more, 
   Nothing that can be proven right now and that’s for sure.
Till that time I’ll keep my eyes to the heavens watching with awe.
     And thank God for the beauty and the sights that I saw.
For it is His canvas that He so majestically paints.
    And with God all is possible and in His vocabulary there is no word can’t.


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Don't Say A Word

Softly against my cheek, your lips feel divine,
tell me you love me, one more time.
Hold me close, and feel my heart beating,
it's just you and I, so close, I can't hide my needs.
Nothing at this moment, is more important than you,
lets walk down that hallway, there's nothing I'd rather do.
No phone calls will I take, nothing will disturb,
the pleasure that is waiting, shhh...don't say a word.


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Back Flash

I think I must have lived before,
sometimes I walk through familiar doors,
recognizing faces, and  the unsual clothes they wore.

I know the exact words, some are going to say,
they wonder how I do it; I lived before, 
is all I know to say.

Some are amused, while others seem erie,
they look at me real weird,
I hope I don't make them uncomfortable, or filled with fear.

My family ask me questions, all about the past,
I tell them what I know,
and change the subject real fast.

I cannot tell the future, although,
I could if I tried,
this is an area of question, I don't want to pry.

I don't cast spells, or turn a frog into a Prince,
but what I do, 
is try and use my common sense.





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Untitled #63 / Commons

I suddenly remember! Here!
These very commons in which our physics class today
collects tiny manifestations of the laws that govern Nature
in the sunlight of the late morning 
smiles and laughs beaming from every face
Yes, here, not even one week ago
club music thumped through the empty midnight
bodies were packed tight, sweaty, bouncing to the beat
dreams were made and broken just as quickly
(mine was recycled)
a plastic punch cup, kicked, skid across the floor
rolling to a stop in a shadowy corner of the night
where even now, in the light of day, students’ works of art
are illuminated, set on display for passersby
But look! Now tennis balls bounce across all-color tables!
A blue metal chair set atop!
Will they collide?


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Untitled #77 / The land is old yet reborn

Oh! The land is old yet reborn
baptized in the fallen rain, innocent
in spite of the pain it has witnessed
over thousands of years the stage of
countless tragedies, tales of mortal strife, now they all
fall away, oh, save for mine! 
On the porch I swoon from the fear 
of that coming witch!
My soul wavers! I cannot remain!
Though my eyes would love to drink up these angel tears
I will walk back inside with Hannah!
I am lost!


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The Magic's Blend

When looking at me what is it that you know you can see?
What does your self have to say to you about the soul that lives inside of me?
Can he see what it is that’s deep inside the back of my eyes?
Or is he the ultimate from behind the promise of my only surprise?
Maybe it’s not what it seems in the beam of this ray of light,
Or maybe he sees his visions glaring in this blend much too bright.
Yourself or you which is fool and which is wise?

Up and away we go riding all of the waves that our eyes can possibly see.
Coiling loosely and simply falling free.
My breath captured with my body soiled from the scent of the bliss inside of you.
Magic blends heating the layers of gloss that keep shining me all of the way through.
With my body hot my blood trembles beneath the feel of my bared and wet skin.
I’m all up inside of this glare feeling magical as it completely blends all of my needs safely in.

When looking at me what is it that you think you know?
What does your self have to say to you about the feel beneath the touch of my skin?
Does he see this glare of light with his visions sunk or just anchored by a strange hook?
Or is he the ultimate from behind the beams when they will only burn shining on dim?
Maybe it’s not what it seems when you’ve really, truly and even squarely looked?
Or maybe he sees these beams blending when his visions are adapted too his all time low.
Yourself or you, which is friend and which is foe?

Up and away we go calming the almighty of the highest seas.
Completely loose simply aiming for free.
My breath taken and my body covered with the scent of the blissful buried treasures in you.
Complete subliminal excellence in the magic that keeps shining me all the way through!
My body glossed and gleaming as my blood quivers in the light of this heavenly vision’s blend.
I’m up inside of myself soothed as the magic warms what is deep beneath my bared wet skin.

Yourself or You! 
Which has vision and which is dim per glares in the currents of “The Magic’s Blend”?


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Fall Creek Falls

Fall Creek Falls and
ripples out and
gives birth to a
million mosses.

Mystical flora 
rises dozens of 
meters around us and
the trees’ whispering 
leaves bestow shade
even as blades of grass
shroud an ant army.

Boulder juts out
side of mountain
Father Time’s
furtive and wrinkled
and weathering
majestic face of granite
broad, turned boldly
against blue sky.

Sticks for hiking zigzag
across trail paths winding
to the cascades, and the falls
underfoot roots and pebbles
around Nature’s blooming 
Springliness. And crossing 
a jungle twine bridge over 
cascades gushing floodwaters.

Mind-numbingly soft
limpid, yet colder than ice
my goosebumps shake
to the pitter-patter water rhythm.

Memories are already desires
in the evergreen tree sea.


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My Lost Love

Invisible knife shimmering soft
Delicious brides shimmering soft
grooms chortle love on silky slips

Stealthy sultry skin
hot and waxen
Fevered positions
nocturnal passion

Vows of night
consummated by day
Shadow dressed light
love bled away

Invisible knife shimmering soft
Delicious brides shimmering soft


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Untitled #19 / A thousand skulls

A thousand skulls litter the battlefield
the stench rises, vultures fall
rivers run red,
“wasted wars and selfish pride”
How many of them knew the truth?


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Untitled #24 / Two weeks ago

Two weeks ago I could stroll
along the riverside happy smiling in peace
Where’d it go?
And can the Timbuktu of tomorrow really
be closer than my home of yesterday?


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Deaths Kiss

Last night I dreamed a wonderful fantasy,
We were together for all the world to see,
We were in a field of white roses and snapdragons,
You were dressed in black from head to toe with a white dragon,
On your back I too was in a black dress and black lace,
Then a slow smile spread across your face.
You kissed me with black lips,
Someone said it was deaths kiss,
The kiss broke and you began to laugh,
Then you took my hand and lead me down a darkened path,
I saw Alaucard and he smiled at me,
As though he knew and could see,
Right through me to my pounding heart,
You said from me you would never part.
We kissed again and this time was different,
It was if this kiss had sent,
A coldness right into my soul,
Then you whispered you would never let go.
Your hand was cold as was your touch,
No one had ever affected me this much,
Then I woke up with a fright,
It had been a horrible night,
I went to the bathroom and what did I see,
The black deaths kiss you had given me.


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That Big Old Moon

Over the trees, it smiles at me,
that big old moon,
is all we need.
Casting its halo,
all over the earth,
lighting everything below.
Many a lover has looked above,
reminiscing of old, 
and future loves.
Dreams have been dreamed,
lips have been kissed,
and love has been made unseen.
Over the trees,
that big old moon,
is all we need.


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A Radiating Heart

A radiating heart, full of warmth, and love,
is such a blessing from God above.
Sharing, and caring, maybe one we can help,
just by offering kindness, ones goodness is felt.
Hands of compassion, giving freely their food,
to another less fortunate, may be their heating fuel.
Seasons do change, as was God's plan,
just like a cold heart, made warmer by offering a hand.
Life is a mystery, we know not what it holds,
but we all together showing kindness, can make
it better, this we know.


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Enough Is Enough

Did they say toys from China contain lead,
I know that can't be what they said.

"Oh yes,"  I heard them right,
it was on the news again tonight.

"Well,"  what do they plan to do,
the toys are many, not few.

Another reason we better wake-up,
"people."  when do we say enough?"


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Life Has A Way

Thirty years of marital bliss,
then she found out this,
the horrible secret he had hid so long,
his heart was not pure, he had done her wrong.
Tears fell softly down her velvet cheeks,
she had known of his secret for many weeks.
How do you walk away from so many years,
can you forget, can you forgive?
What will the children say, do they have to know,
will it be obvious, will our secret show?
Temptation was greater, than the love of his wife,
he is old enough to know, wrong from right.
Lust is an evil, it has no shame,
it can ruin a marriage, it has many names.
She is the strong one, she has to be,
he is the weak one, now down on his knees.
Time can heal a heart, shattered into,
but can it erase the memory of one not true.
If he is forgiven, he better count his blessings,
life has a way to teach us all important lessons.

(Made up)


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Feeding Time

For every lie, a star lights up,
a universe so bright,
when do we say enough?
Some places are brighter,
it is never dark,
they open their mouth, 
and the lies start.
Wiser we are getting,
our vision seeing through,
don't tell us it is a picnic,
when it is feeding time, at
the zoo.


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Untitled #67 / A test

Untitled, their works of art (?), their minds
pried to the paper, full-out concentrate
only a few sigh and rub their eyes
and lean back, hands overhead, yawns,
relaxed, reclined, restrained, now!
Headfirst diving into the test once more!


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Spirits

Little is known about the spirits that come,
some people have a story, for they have witnessed one.
Odd you may feel, if you try to explain,
everyone is not a believer, and they think you are insane.
Things that move, and some speak in muffled tone,
as you look around, feeling something is wrong.
Why do they come, and reveal at certain times,
expressing their anger, or other signs.
Haunted is one word to describe what you feel,
and at times you wonder, is all this real.
Spirits take refuge, where they feel at ease,
no hostility present, and they do as they please.
Always looking for their way back home,
these spirits of the past, don't like being alone.


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Without Saying A Word

Such a cold, windy, day, 
watching the snowflakes gently lay.
He came from the park
just across the street,
I guess that's where 
he goes to sleep.
His coat was raggy,
no socks did he wear,
but he looked content, he
didn't seem to have a care.
I can't imagine, having to live like that,
somebody's baby, he used to be,
now he is alone, living wild, and free.
I know the world has so many homeless
on the streets,
We need more shelters, where they can sleep.
I'm thankful for my home, and my family inside,
who would claim him if he died?
Then a voice so sweet, was telling me,
"he is one of mine,  now let him be."
I knew it was Jesus, whose voice I just heard,
sometimes He speaks, without saying a word.


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One Or The Other

The power bill is so high, what are people going to do,
we gotta stay warm, and we gotta stay cool.
Open windows not a choice, the crime is so bad,
maybe we can crack them, just a tad.
Winter is approaching, and then the heat will stay on,
that meter is a running, humming that dollar song.
Something has to give, everything is too high,
freezing  from the cold or just about to fry.
I guess I'll take a loan out, and pay this bill,
how in the world will I ever climb this hill?
Straight up, or straight down, it is a one way street,
deciding between the two, comfort, or something to eat.


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Drive-Thru Blues

The drive-thru did it again,
messed my order up,
I don't understand.

All I ordered was a salad, and fries,
you tell me, do these people have eyes?

How hard could that be, simple as can be,
a salad ,and fries, nobody in the line but me.

So back I went to the fast food line,
and ask them please, get it right this time.

A gallon of gas is what it took,
to come back here, and get the right food.

No apology did I hear, not one little word,
Really, some folks sure have the nerve.

The next time I'll check, before I leave,
saving me a trip back, with food I can't eat.


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Street Life

The morning was cool, just a little nip in the air,
then I saw her in the alley. with a hungry stare.

Digging in a dumpster, she was looking for food,
I could not imagine, I didn't have a clue.

She is someones mother, " I thought to myself." but
do they look for her, or do they even care?

How in the world does she even survive, then she looked
straight at me, never blinking her eyes.

This is America, the land of plenty,
why do some have so much, and others, not any?

I knew the weather was about to get worse,
so I ask her ,can I help , while looking in my purse.

I can take you to a store for food, and while we are there,
maybe,  we will find, a coat or two.

"Where do you live, are you cold at night?"
"Do you have a family," then she got real quite.

"I'm all alone, I don't have anyone", but I do fine,
most of the time.

Don't worry child, this is the way I live,
and I can tell you the good ones, that always give.

I know everone that lives in this town,
and I can tell you their secrets, and who is running around.

Yes, street life is hard, but it's almost free,
it's not for everyone, but it is for me.






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Dreams

The difference in each of God's creatures
is what makes us unique, our journey may
be long, and sometimes our spirits face defeat.
Always stay on course of the dreams you have,
never give up, no matter if things get bad.
Shine like a star on a dark clear night,
a cloud may block the view, just hold on tight.
The circle of life will bring goodness around,
usually it comes shining, 
when you have been knocked down.
Strength can be gathered if you know your
course, this is the reason we have dreams for.


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Nightmare

These doors will not open at my command,
for now, I am at the mercy of another man.

Locked away with all my freedoms gone,
this cold hard place is now where I call home.

As one path fades, and another begins,
lifes journey is darkened once again.

Torment are the hours, as gloom sets in,
waiting for this nightmare to end.

Nightmares are very weird.


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Trouble In Paradise

Turn on the news,
oh, not again,
how depressing,
will we ever understand?
There's trouble in Paradise,
and it's right before our eyes,
inflation, devastation, and
gas getting so high.
The wars, the pain, the tears,
the neglect, the emptiness,
the loneliness, the confusion,
the menace, the greed, and the 
elderly not getting what they need.
Low pay, high rent, utilities gone crazy,
high taxes, perverts on the prowl,
whose fault, fingers pointing, tempers flying,
a good dose of depression, when we get up
in the morning, and before we go to bed.
Yes, we have trouble in Paradise.


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Untitled #7 / The child

As the child rolled through a field of flowers
he spotted a butterfly flittering towards the sky
and thought he might grab the thing, sprout wings
and let the beauty carry him to heaven
he jumped and stretched out his little arms
but the insect had floated out of reach
and with a thud he fell back to the soil,
sobbing to the sun. 
But he had to try.


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Old Moon

Mysterious, but so beautiful,
lighting up the sky,
just hanging so perfect,
same course every night.
Few have caressed you,
hidden secrets linger within,
but magic you give freely,
old moon, a pathway to friends.
These special ones,
so far away,
bring so much happiness,
just like the stars, moon, and sun,
locked forever, in your friendship kiss...


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To End What it Began

Once upon a time in a magical land
There was a girl and fairies danced in her hands. 
Her hair was deep black and her face was pale blue, 
And cast an abyss of sorrow no one once knew.
Eyes greener than the trees in the night, 
Shown vacantly in the store bought lights.
She watched her friends falter.
She felt her world collapse.
She let the blood run down her face, 
Staining her cheeks in a rapid pace.
Inception is where it ended.
Hate is where it started.
In the middle love struggled to end what it began


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The Arms That Once Held You

A long lost love has found you again,
will those feelings once felt, be the same.
Has too many seasons passed with the hands of time,
or has it mellowed in perfection, like the finest wine?
Does your heart flutter with his every word,
even though now, your not a young girl.
Shall you make the first move, or wait on his lead,
maybe a long cruise, is what you both need.
Dining, and dancing, holding hands of yesterday,
with a little invitation, you will be on your way.
Back in the arms that once held you so tight, 
to the arms of your first love,
a place of pure contentment, under the stars tonight.


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Picture perfect

Up the hill
Around the bend
Across from the old Wood house
Lies a small family grave yard
Fenced and untouched
In what used to be wood swamp
But is now acres of open ground
There are two stones
And two trees
Entwined
I painted it at sundown
In an attempt to recreate
A more permanent
Champagne sunset
It has hung over the kitchen fireplace
For at least a year
Last week I saw
An Indian
Leaping onto a horse
Rearing into the sunset’s glow
All in the leaves
Of two painted trees


Moved by "Superlative Senses" I wrote this as comments



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The Mystery Of Darkness

The mystery of darkness, each has a tale,
afraid to go out, I have been there as well.

Many a night, as I sat all alone,
my house so empty, outside muffled moans.

Who could it be, why have they come,
the doors all locked, I checked every one.

A scratching so near,  are my screens being cut,
maybe it's a dog, my neighbors silly mutt.

Flood lights beaming, looked like a football field,
telling myself, this can't be real.

I looked out the window, and out of a shadow,
waddled a little raccoon, such a cute little fellow.


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The Drive

         
As the fog thickens like soup,
    Driving down this old country highway in this old worn out old coupe.
Trying to make up lost time has got my old nerves tied up in a ball.
    When right in front of me stands this big old buck deer, I slam on my brakes, 
my tires start to squall.
The deer breaks and runs just barely in time,
    As I skid right on by just barely brush his behind.
Talk about luck he’s riding shotgun tonight and I just locked his door.
    Well I decide it’s time to push it just a little bit more.
The hour is quite late and I doubt any cops are about.
    So I decide to test this old engine to see if it is still stout.
The accelerator to the floor and I’m still wanting more.
    Well that’s all she’s got as I ease it off of the floor.
I don’t know what happened maybe an adrenaline rush as I regained control.
    Kind of a spooky night like something is after my soul.
Well I shake off that thought and then the fog starts to thicken again.
    When there in the road I swear it looks like the same old deer my friend.
Everything that happens is exactly as before. 
     I look at my clock, a quarter till four, what’s happening, I’m living this same 
nightmare once more.
What’s going on and I’m starting to freak.
     My heart is beating so fast I can’t seem to speak.
I decide to stop but this doesn’t look like a very good place.
    When there in the road a man is standing and he is missing his face.
 From out of the darkness more figures I see.
    When there right beside me I hear this noise it’s buzzing at me.
And something grabs hold of me and just won’t let go.
    It shakes and it shakes then I hear a voice you better get up time for the show.
I sure hate to admit it but I’m sure glad this was a dream.
    Cause I sure wouldn’t want that guy with no face on my team.


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The Two Faces Of Love

It can turn to rage in the blink of an eye,
this thing we call love, can make you cry.

It can be as soft, as the pillow you sleep, 
or a madness within one, and never defeat.

It can be insecurity, from a jealous heart,
or a candle so bright, lighting every part.

It can be like candy, with a taste so sweet,
or a bitter reminder, you'll never be free.

It can be an earthquake, that destroys the land,
or a gentleness of compassion, that holds your hand.

It can be an Evergreen, that grows stronger each year,
or it can be so alone, and defeated, no one ever hears.

It can be such heartache, when you hold its hand,
or the most precious gift of all, for a woman or man.

Love can be anything, if you're willing to see,
love can be so beautiful, just let it be free.


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Echo

My footsteps echo 
into the night. 
An unchained melody 
-no end in sight. 
You take my hand 
and place it in yours. 
I catch you smile 
and i want to know more. 
Together we talk 
of loves long ago. 
Wanting to fall again 
but still take it slow. 
A friend ship so new 
like that of morning dew. 
Lost in your words unspoken 
my smile lends a heartfelt token. 
A cool water droplet 
and I am here back with you 
A cool summer rain 
chills my sun kissed skin 
You shelter me with your sweat shirt 
is this a unconscious little flirt? 
The weather playing a curious game 
has me wrapped in your arms yet again. 
We run hand in hand 
to an oasis for two. 
One that i surly will share with you. 
the palm trees leaves 
shelter us from the rain 
at your touch i cannot help but shiver again. 
I look up in to your eyes so blue 
there was nothing to do but steel a kiss from you. 
My warm sultry breath caught up in a fog 
almost crackles like fire on a log 
A moment of weakness 
and i draw you near. 
I reassure you have nothing to fear 
i am all that i am 
and all that i give 
So take me now 
so that we can both begin to relive 
The built up passion 
between two friends 
Leaves nothing to imagine 
But everything to begin 
As we come together 
as our bodies combine 
and we make love so divine 
Look in to my eyes 
and my soul you shall see 
All i have to give 
Lays deep with in me.


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Merry-Go-Round

This world is a merry-go-round, 
full of beauty, changing as we go around.
Our ups, and downs, our smiles, our frowns,
sweet melodies, and sometimes not a sound.
Winds to caress, and give such relief,
or ice cold temperatures, that freeze our feet.
Rivers, and streams, for our pleasures we find,
one season ends, and another, not far behind.
Love may be found, to be lost again,
but sometimes it will always be around.
Hearts so complete, you feel so safe,
then again,  sometimes changes have to be made.
Friends will come, and some may leave,
this is the way, it has always been.
Loved ones pass, but their memories stay,
giving us comfort, in a sweet, precious way.
Enjoy your ride, for it may end so fast,
this merry-go-round ride, will be our last.


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Untitled #4 / When his wife died

When his wife died after three months of marriage
the widower tried to fill the hole in his heart
with food, TV, cards, booze, Buddhism
but none could take her place
so instead
he put a hole in his head.


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Corner Lounge

Hottfest 3, i.e. a
bass drum through the heart, snare drum splitting eardrums, guitar strings
resonating same as the fibers of my heart
sweat dripping down dancing bodies, each soul in the room animated with the 
spirit
of that demon called Music. There was no lounging to be had in that corner of the 
earth, 
however, and when I but stepped outside 
I was a world away, returned to my home of desolate buildings and solitude, of
pious reverence of the sun, moon, and stars,
the change heightened through contrast as though a leap from a cliff. How fitting, 
then,
that I should decide to stop by the used bookstore on the way home, and go
rummaging through bins of forgotten books, free for the taking,
until my hands should grasp one titled Desolation Angels.
To find a book whose very title matched the desolation I felt that night more 
strongly than ever
at first seemed a function of chance. Later, however, I imagined that an angel 
had indeed
delivered it into my arms. But now I wonder – 
is it not possible that
every birth, every death, every life intervening, every rising and setting of the sun, 
every story of conquest written in the blood of the innocent, every 
change in the seasons, every first frost, every new flag hoisted above the 
timeless earth, every 
blade of grass that peeks its head above the soil, every smile, every new face, 
every teardrop, every milestone marked by mankind in its relentless forward 
march,
buried in the dust of time, forgotten, at last returned to the void,
every old friendship, every new lover, every laugh, every kiss, every 
moment spent in the company of those we love, or silently alone,
happens by chance, and for a reason?


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Her Miracle

One small room over the bar, and grill,
is where she calls home, with hardly any frills.
Sleeping all day, her rest is a must,
working at night, a seducer of lust.
Skin tight pants, and those darling high heels,
her world begins at midnight, until.
Long blonde wig covering her radiant red hair,
always capturing the opposite stare.
Nineteen came a long time ago,
now the years are beginning to show.
A marriage back then that failed so fast,
thankful no children were conceived from her past.
Afraid to go home, an out cast by now,
looks of disapproval followed by frowns.
Then a strange man came to call,
slightly older, beginning to bald.
A familiar look, she saw in his eyes,
then the tears came falling, as she began to cry.
Where have you been, and why did you leave,
he wrapped his arms around her, and said, I'm free.
I didn't want to hurt you, any more than I had,
my life was so messed up, and you were so sad.
I joined the service, and have been far away,
but now I'm back, with the money I've saved.
Please forgive me, for doing you wrong,
I was so young, and now I have grown.
I put you through hell, I know I have,
it took me so long, to realize what life is about.
Discipline I learned, and how to say no,
twenty years of regret, I want you to know.
Come with me today, I still love you so,
our past is something, only we will know.
A new life somewhere, far from this place,
let me take care of you, for the rest of our days.

Made up poem...





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Sevens

How many wonders of the world have you seen,
they say, the number is seven, but I have never seen.

I know the seven deadly sins of the earth,
am I guilty of any, will they destroy , and hurt?

We know the days of the week number seven,
many things we have, are given in sevens.

I've heard if you are the seventh son, of the seventh son,
then your life will be filled with pleasure, and fun.

Our world has been given the seven seas,
I'm trying to understand this, will you help me?

I've heard of the seventh heaven, the higest by far,
a name given by astrologers, studying the stars.

These are the ones that I know of,
but  I know there's more.




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Untitled #64 / Out of a moldy cavern

Out of a moldy cavern I step into the afternoon sun’s radiant warmth
All around me pounds the pulse of life,
yet, among this crowd of my peers,
no other soul feels the Dharma nature. Still,
in their words, their movements, their expressions,
their sighs, their laughs, their struggles, the Dharma
preaches itself to me. Now I walk
straight forward through this cacophony,
slower than ever, no eye contact, deliberate through life,
knowing well I was on the point of epiphany.
There! A forest path reveals itself!
Upon it one lonely soul shoulders the
burden of his backpack as he plods his way home.
Oh, to forge every dull routine of life
into a miraculous, marvelous moment
is to put and end to your rebirths
and drink forever from the Fountain of Youth!


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Me?

I  am not superfulous
I am not high
I am just me 
agree or deny

Its in the look of my eye
in the swing of my hair
in the sheen of my lips 
in the boldness of my stare

Just cool as you need 
just warm as u need
I love being me 
its phenomenally

They say they know me
I say they don't 
They say they'll know me
I say they won't

As I walk by the place
as charming and free
Fellows either stand
or fall on their knees

I am not beautiful
or a supermodel type
but  for many a sad
the frown I can wipe

Its in the morning of my smile
in the grace of my wear
in the attitude of  style
in the need for my care

The mystery of myself
the shyness of me 
the wildness of my thoughts
its naturally!



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Undaunted

Destruction reared it's ugly head, accompanied by Doom;
lashing out at Liberty, to deliver a crippling wound.
A pace behind came Fire and Death, delivering their fateful blow;
with Fear and Terror riding close, flying on Horror all aglow.
Anarchy prepared the alter to serve the sacrificial rite.
Smoke and flame ascended unleashing Agony on sight.
Freedom stood amidst the pluming pillars of flame,
witnessing Destruction's craft at playing a favorite game.
Liberty is injured, raining teardrops of flesh and blood.
Heroes are required, let loose the power of Love.
Unity joined Resolve, the circle cannot be broke.
Charity dispatched Courage as Bravery released Hope.
The whole Earth represented, occupying one land,
cloistered in the flag of Glory, extending forth one hand.
The stars revealing Darkness, Destruction's closest friend.
The stripes that heal and save, when Freedom hails Amen.
Dismay was vanquished valiantly, replaced by Hope and Love.
Righteousness flew on eagle's wings when Peace released the dove.
Destruction knew through Liberty, Freedom could be taunted.
Freedom unveiled the colors of Strength, poised in a stand undaunted.