How often do you visit the Library? And what do you see?
I see oceans and seas of books plus a homeless man doing zzz’s..
He’d apparently been reading before, he fell deep asleep.
He can stay there, they say, as long as he doesn’t lie down to sleep.
Sitting up is OK and of course, as long as he doesn’t create a scene.
He’s kind and gracious and a little strange but can debate any role
When he walked over, we had a talk about the devil verses mind control.
Without asking, what he really wanted was someone to buy him lunch.
There’s a McDonalds two doors down from where we were bunched.
I don’t know what I expected when he woke up and looked around.
But when I asked if he was homeless he wasn’t fazed at all.
Yes, I have been for a while, he said, but my boat will soon come in.
And I realized the library is a warm, safe place to relax and to be.
And the librarians seem content to just let him be.
In the end, I was sorry I couldn’t buy him that lunch.
But recently, my abilities to do so had become a little stretched.
I used to buy the books I read… now the library is more my taste.
I just hope if it comes to that… he’ll graciously share this place.
The library even has computers from where you could write.
And the people there are varied and really rather kind.
I’m on the edge but whole family’s once prosperous are already there.
Cheap hotel rooms in even cheaper hotels, once skirted are full.
The jobs don’t pay for anything more. They are: Bitter, Disgruntled, Lost.
Needed are better and more jobs to re-establish the American Dream.
To give them some hope so they can go back there again…
And don’t just act toward them… like they’re your library man…
Give them back their American Dream as best you can.
Voice of Reason Contest
For sale a bunch of fine unused words, many misspelled
Poet can’t uses them; mind is on strike, the pen has been stilled
These words never used for they never quite seemed to fit
Got them online; advertisement said they were a complete poetry kit
Can’t send them back because I did use a few; the remainder unused
Selling at half price; many are funny words which will leave you amused
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
BIRTH OF NEW IDEAS IS INVENTIONS MADE.
YOUR INQUIRIES INSINUATE.
AMBITIONS GET YOU UP AND ON THE GO.
THEREFORE, SET YOUR GOALS.
OPTIMIZATION MAXIMIZES FUNCTIONALITY.
WONDERFUL IS THE WORLD YOU LIVE IN.
KNOW THAT LIFE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT!
UTOPIA IS THE IDEAL PLACE.
Sponsor: Dave Wood
Contest Name: Life is what YOU make it!
Entry Date: Thu, March 06, 2014
Motif: Life is what YOU make it!
< Horses and snowflakes
Illuminating to it's tongue's pallet's plate
Open carriage rides
Falling flakes in the eyes
City strewn lights
Hoof's echoing through out the night
Cider drank it
New York's Central Park
An home for many after dark
Four miles of bridal paths
Drawn coaches to bring you back
So horses and snowflakes
Fills this ones poet's pallet's plate
Written By Katherine Stella
My Theme Was Both
Horses And Snowflakes
This Is An Entry
For Constance ~A Rambling Poet 's ~ Contest
Still angry from revolutions long past
Greed wondered how long it would last
The occupy people have been asleep
Their eyes closed not making a peep
Now awaken they look at privation
Asking what's happen to their nation
Progress was not suppose to add more
For all of those who are money's whore
The plan was suppose to provide enough
For those struggling in life finding it tough
Wondering if it's too late to escape their fate
Revolution or Armageddon may be on the plate
Now for occupy to really develop and grow
They will need to find new ways not to owe
Edward J Ebbs - 11/06/11
Madam Chair, could we please get to the point
Let’s decide today which group we will appoint
Too much effort and time has already been spent
Already deep in our budget there is a major dent
Last year unanimously, Browns’ were appointed
This year we would like another company instead
The stench of poorly made products is burning our nose
Are we prepared to suffer more lost with another dose
All our company’s resources, time and energy is sapped
While Browns’ continue to splurge and margaritas sipped
Are we going to be content and in our easy chairs sit
While our time, finances and energy go down to the pit
Written by: Joy Wellington
For Catie's contest "Word Games"
< sphinx ~ head
who ~ said
roman ~ God
without ~ bod
shadow ~ illusion
causing ~ confussion
butte ~ mesa
I ~ guess ~ a
transition ~ zone
with-out ~ phone
oh ~ my ~ cydonia
don't ~ all ~ just ~ wanna ~ ya
Sphinx Head On Mars Contest
Idiosyncratic to the human condition
Tried and varied, so goes my volition
I can't help but think what's out there for us all?
Yet we stumble over issues that are so trivial, so small
The long term goals of our race seem obsolete
Compared to the wants and needs of our so called "elite"
Sure one man makes billions and creates an empire
What does that mean to the rest of us? Why doesn't it ignite a fire?
Well they done took away ma pension
whilst I waren’t payin no tention.
Never thought thet thar could happen,
Seems ma face they keep a slappin'.
Ah trusted all them folk thet said ah could,
ah took their word like they sed ah should,
but now ah see they jest a bunch a thieves,
Take all ya got and knock ya to yer knees.
Use ta was be you could tell a liar,
plain’s ya could the town crier,
Now they got sneakier ways,
from lots a practice these days.
Them banks and the government’s in cahoots.
Reckon they standin’ in each others boots.
Whisht ah’d a knowed they wuz gonna play those games
Ah’d a set much lower aims.. maybe like …Jesse James.
Done asked a lawyer onced bout business and ethics.
He laughed and said “Bob, business and ethics don’t mix!”
Never heered anybody say that right out loud…
Still laughin’ at me,.. he walked away proud.
Yep, maybe I’d a set much lower aims…
Reckon I’d a understood… Jesse James.
I PURSUE MY BLESSINGS
On this voyage that I travel, I seek.
Treasure is to be found by me.
Many miles away I must go
to fulfill my soul.
This journey I have chosen will end soon.
I will treasure the memory the knowledge found.
Many miles away I must go
to fulfill souls.
I am not tripping because I am expeditious.
The crossing I chance is for riches.
Many miles away I must go
I have trek in South Africa.
I roamed in the West Indies, etc...
Many miles away I must go
I wandered far and wide.
I found a life fortified.
To flaunt the blessings I have found.
Equipped to conquer more, I am satisfied, thus far.
Many miles away I ponder.
My rewards are humongous.
The world knows.
Wealth is shown.
Many miles away I treasure hunt.
A job well done!
Sponsor: Roger Horsch
Contest Name: Many Miles Away
Entry Date: March 29, 2014
Date Written: March 29. 2014
Motif: Many miles away
A paper road and car of clay,
A garden made from pencil shaves;
With fields of crayon flowers drawn,
Beyond the shoebox house and lawn;
Old wax paper forms the boat,
That sails under a cardboard moat;
A fence made out of new toothpicks,
Erasers used as driveway brick.
A crafty home in taped décor,
Now sat atop my basement floor;
A dynasty of paper trails,
Completed with a sign, “For Sale”,
Was printed in the Classifieds,
To see who’d purchase such a buy;
One hundred callers did implore --
The only place they could afford.
Could feel the smiling and risen sun all gleeful and gay,
It had ushered in me a beam of energy earlier today.
Could sense now at twilight it chuckle at the rising milky white moon,
And softly in me restore its light to make me excite and swoon.
The virgin cold watery sprays of the falling drops of rains,
Slowly washes my worries off my face and down the drain.
The fragrance of wet mud and lush sweet garden breeze,
Blows into me, pure strength and happiness in me gradually increase.
As I walk bare feet, wet grassy paths of my garden gently,
My subdued muffed up feelings erupt over my heart’s brim intently…..
I let go of all feelings and experience inside me a sensation so very light,
my vision clears and thoughts to me for my life's path ahead seem so very bright...
feeds a creed.
Beneath the Power
Hard work, no play brings a business to the top
Rules and regulations stick to them alot
Success a priority, many mouths to feed
Firmness and strength is needed indeed
At times it is easy, at times it is hard
Knowing your the boss, the one in charge
Everyday is a challenge
Lord help me to manage
Tears of stress sometimes gets the best
Sleepless nights, get no rest
The goal is to grow, no room for mistakes
Give it your all and appreciate
Another morning comes, have to stand tall
We are only human after all
Written by: Debra M. Falgout
Use not only a stool
as a bargaining tool.
It is Life’s mundane must
To have someone to trust,
Someone we surely know
Trust or loyalty to bestow.
Should in this I have a say:
Best thing to trust is a key!
A key remains so true
Till burgled or broken through.
It will not allow in its store
A “thing” it does not “know.”
It will safeguard that trust
To the finis of “biting” dust!
13th March 2014
Dearest Sally; your foods gone dry; it's reached the end of day.
You think about your garbage pail and waste you'll leave today.
But I am near, you see me come and pity my thin build.
You give to me your dried out food; the samples till I am filled.
So thanks I say for all you give, each sample from the oil
and peace and joy within your kitchen, forever may you toil.
05 Apr 2014
Sally's stuffing eggrolls in the back room.
Filling them with beansprouts
in case they have a boom.
Hundreds of these eggrolls
piled high for later.
Boiled in an oil
for each and every crater.
Some will go behind the glass
warming in a pan;
shining in their dipping oil,
tempting for a span.
Placed upon a plate and shimmied
to the side;
up against some rice
that's deep and dark and fried.
Dipped into a plum sauce
sweeter than a sneer,
and spread out on your plate
as far as you can smear
Flavour by the mouthful
damp and moist and wet
Sally's making eggrolls
the best that I can get.
I am an invisible man.
Try and see me if you can.
Shy and quiet I remain alone.
Silent is my voice’s tone
No one can feel my pain and sorrow
As I hide inside of my burrow.
Shadows consume my body and soul
As I embrace the misty cold.
The reason for my unseen being
Lies in the fact I hate being seen.
This life and existence’s of my own choice
And I choose not to have a voice.
I am silent. Invisible. Inexistent.
Yet I am invincible, an immortal being
If I am to be, I must become.
This is because I am strong.
If my life is meaningless, why do I strive for more?
The highs and lows of life keep me focus.
If I am discontent, I must define eradication.
The fight against social injustice removes this procrastination.
If when it rain it pours, I must assure I am secure.
The way to riches, I must discover.
If frustration is visible, femininity forms.
The world tries to suppress a real woman.
If a beautiful person is said to be, why is this negative?
The quality or nature of me brings a green-eyed monster looming.
If it is time for my swan song, I am not singing.
You old in mind before you are in body.
If is a big word,
I will gamble.
This little wristwatch is worth a look see.
On the face is a picture of Hopalong Cassidy.
Here is a Topps rookie card of Mike Schmidt.
Over five hundred home runs he hit.
This is John and Yoko on a vinyl forty-five.
Unfortunately, the man is no longer alive.
Here is a little something of antiquity.
It is an 1895 Indian Head penny.
This is a German Luger pistol from World War II.
It has authenticity that is true.
You have to admit all these items are nice.
If you are interested, just name your price.
Sally strolls outside her cubicle collecting dinner trays
wiping some while stacking all she carries them to the back.
She's back at cash with ready eyes knowing that people will come;
sometimes soon; more-often late; some of them just to snack.
But while she waits she sips a brew; green tea that's been dipped before.
Then nodding her head she bows and swallows relaxing her vocal chords.
Approached by a customer she rushes her food firm to the spoon she scoops
while piling the plate for six seventy-nine and giving the customer hoards.
With pushy hands she slides their meal across the stainless steel
while raising her hand to take their bills and clipping them in the till.
Then up with change she raises her head and smiles to the customer's face.
And thanks them well with will and grace and hopes they'll get their fill.
Where there is a petty imitation
There'll be pests, posters of sensation
Grouping of hesitations
Complaints to order, servings of hallucinations
There'll be soap-box amatory slander
About walking coat-hangers slender
It ain't working girl, it's a waling green guile
By his friend in business uptown a mile
By his wife who paints her mirror image
Shades against her daughter's non-marriage
Her tea drained in company of photo albums
Of good old days of bottomless bums
And motherly mums and wives' tales true
But the fashionable unreasonable is turning blue
All the codified glory of yesterday's innocent shame
Now he's not got a gamut of trust in a game
He calls out to his dog, his faith, his fellow
"Round up the gambits and youths in yellow,
'cause I can't move from my comfortable stump."
But his companion is old, stands to wearily slump
Back to the ground to emphasize to his master
That's four legs or two there'll be no muster
Just a dusty breeze of his wooden-coat happening
As diamonds were coal, the rough is hardening
Like a baby can't talk, but it knows what it wants
No you can't understand it, you guess as it taunts
Your patience and moral, your air of knowledge
That you've blown so big you need no tutelage
So you sit and you moan, you grumble and point
You don't dance no more as it'll gnaw each joint
Like you grind your teeth as the heartily speak
As the laughing weak working each day of the week
It's hard but they know it won't last forever
'cause cursing your bread will put you in the gutter
Now that's something you could never understand
Just as your father's father both bit and fed the hand
Now you sit pious in a dynasty out of your control
You had to spread it thin to bank each and every toll
So rest you ill and tainted soul, the blind see more
The deaf hear more, as the mute speak ancient lore
Rewritten as it were to be - a changing people's democracy
An evolution from your pollution and non-decency
A smile for a smile not an eye for an eye
And you'll cry and you'll cry when death strolls in to buy
Your soul at less then half you thought it worth
And bury you down inside the cold, cold earth.
Freedom is when there's nothing to gain
But blessed relief from the constant pain
Of outward show and hidden plot
Freedom is when concern is not
02 Apr 2014
Of all the broken fortune cookies Sally's saved for me
the one that meant the most was the one I'd not foresee.
Your faith's a law my cookie said
and soon I realized; I was lead.
Words so wise; I nibbled twice.
So few words; for one low price.
What to do with new found knowledge
armed with words I could acknowledge.
Who would guess a cookie taught.
Who had had this simple thought.
A Chinese man; perhaps a child.
Surely not; my Sally smiled.
I was going on a vacation with my family one day,
We thought we would head down Louisiana way.
It was great being with my wife and daughter,
Until I saw a black bird coming out of the water.
It struggled to get to the beach we were on,
When we looked again, it seemed to be gone.
But it was there, floundering on the beach,
Along with the fish, shrimp, and other birds just out of reach.
All of them were strewn on the beach so far,
Each was deathly sick, and blackened like tar.
The sand which I knew should have been pristine,
But the vision we saw was a totally different thing.
The waves that approached were black with goo,
Carrying more dead and dying creatures too.
"Can't we help them, Daddy?", my little girl said,
"Not now, dear, as most of them will be dead"!
"But why are they dying?", she said to me,
How could I explain about the oil from BP?
"There was an accident from an oil company's rig", said I,
My little girl looked at the animals and began to cry.
I tried to explain that man uses so much oil,
He has to drill in the earth, sometimes in underwater soil.
"Well then we need to stop it if the animals die!"
"I know", I said, "We just haven't tried".
"I will try harder to not use oil", she said,
"Especially if so many pretty creatures will end up dead!"
I held her close and wiped her tears,
Knowing full well that she was wise beyond her years.
"I'll try too", I said to her,
Not wanting to see this again occur.
So I've made a pact with myself to be,
Less OIL dependent so that others may see.
If I have to walk a little more than so be it,
It's better than having to watch the death of an Egret.
Pehaps we could all take a stance,
And with Big Oil, not take the chance.
For anytime man's greedy hand gets into the mix,
Then the environment is always in for a fix.
But we can change, adapt, and try to help out,
By being less dependent of Big Oil's clout.
We had to come home early because of the spill,
Like most people, we tasted that bitter pill.
So now on a crusade with my daughter I will go,
Trying hard to advise others and put them in the know.
Especially of what I have seen thru my little girl's eyes,
Those sickening deaths under clear blue skies.
I will do my best to get others to stop in their oily run,
Not only from BP, but Shell, Citgo, Marathon, and Exxon!
Your own successful biz,
that's what your best job is!
If you are riding in the last car of PATCO's train,
absolute silence is what you must maintain.
Dearest Sally; your food's gone dry; dehydrated in it's oil.
You think of how you'll throw it out, before it starts to soil.
...but then you see that I am near, and offer it to me
and thank your sample fryers that I'm getting them for free.
Sally's Sample Fryers bring special thanks from me.
The monitors above her head
would flicker light around.
The registers with type print on
would say 'no price was found'.
And Kathy stood behind the cash-
a beakon crowned with cap
to wish the people WELCOME.
A smile with-out crap.
A leopard bearing blue eyes,
Kathy stood to serve.
Her manners more expicit.
Her bravery without nerve.
An auburn light upon her.
It bronzing her blond hair.
Her torso come to teeter
with patience and with flair.
Surrounding her were donuts
encased in white-lit glass.
Where Kathy learned to gesture
and glance at them with class.
With prices all around her
on menu's black and white.
It's said that Kathy juggles
a combo for a knight.
But if you see her waiting,
it's not for Mr. Right.
It's under 20 minutes
and her coffee's a delight.
Faith and hope
Now sculpt scope
Love and truth
Show grand proof
Joy and peace
Trust and sense
Soul's wise tense
Mind and heart
Live love's art
Life and light
Touch wise sight
Mind each lot
Fill each thought
Know and be
Play and see
Mind your plans
Feed your trends
Love fine theme
Touch grand dream
God now signs
Soul holds wealth
Love bears health
26 Feb 2014
Pedestal tables: above a bright light.
Pedestal tables: a glow of soft white.
Scattered though even gracefuly bloom.
Elegant tables around a great room.
Chairs on their precipice
tucked to their tables.
Pensive and inclined
like horses in their stables.
Plants Hanging poignant;
green and cut back.
Filling a ballroom
with quaint and with smack.
Off to one side
an encasement of donuts.
and ads for us grownups.
Muffins and cookies
that brown to a gloss.
Baked at three-fifty
and checked by the boss.
Pots of black cofffee
served fresh by the minutes.
Enough for us all.
Right up to the kibitz.
Brown peaked hats
adorn those who beam.
The men and the women.
of The Tim Horton's Team.
What are your meeting expectations? She said
In a businesslike tone that to me suggested
She’d just learned the two-word term from a seminar
For post-grads in a conference centre downtown, not far.
What do you want to see coming out of the meeting?
You want maybe less around-the-bush beating?
Clear focus on important points? More hands-on experience, my lad?
I wanted none of those business items. What I wanted she had.
She - was who I wanted to see...... coming out of the meeting.
She was not too tall, not too slim, well-worth greeting,
Not too old, not too young, not too shy or fresh.
It’s what I had always wanted, to mesh and thresh with her flesh.
I said my meeting expectations have little to do with business, its true
Although I’d definitely like to do the business with you.
What I want to see coming out of the meeting is us birds-of-a-feather:
Maybe a drink or some dinner, but then I want us to flock together.
Yes I like having a clear focus on one or two of your important points,
And I badly want more hands-on experience with you, but not in this joint.
Instead of meeting here we’ll be meat-ing in a café Chinese or Indian
Instead of expectation, for dinner we will expect Asian.
Written for Paula Swanson's competition MEETING EXPECTATIONS
Excitement is running through my mind at this point,
It is hard to control so much
When something so honorable,
Happens to come across
For me personally,
It was the proposition
From a contest by,
World Poetry Movement
In which I entered in,
And received a letter back
Stating that my poem,
Had made it to the next level
But that is not all,
What's more is that they informed me,
That they were publishing that very poem
In a book titled "Stars In Our Hearts"
Which is to be published in August this year
I hope each and every one who happens to read this,
May read my poem "The Beat of the Heart"
In the book.
A scrub fast comes the heavy swell
over a man who just does well.
If you have nothing good to say
Speak naught at all, so saith they
And so my poem must end here
I've nothing good to say, I fear
Tainted Oilman Hayward, geologist-in-chief
Oddly opined amidst deep misery and grief
He said the oil spill would have a modest impact
Did not want the “small people” to over-react
Yachtsman saw a “tiny” leak in the “big ocean”
Wanted to stop the oil spill, without commotion
Did not grasp the urgency of the Gulf Coast plight
Until the president said you will “make it right”
Then, he agreed the spill caused “massive disruption”
Touched his own life, with a massive interruption
Frustrated Hayward said he wanted his life back
While oil spill victims tried to keep their lives on track
His self-serving words invoked disbelief and wrath
Spread swiftly and portended his demotion path
After facing lawmakers on Capitol Hill
Hayward flew to London for a yacht racing thrill
Gulf Coast residents became extremely upset
They could not relax while the oil was still a threat!
Rebuked and scorned in each befuddled Gulf Coast town
The embattled yachtsman was ordered to stand down
Hayward got his life back, in a timely fashion--
More free days to pursue his yacht racing passion
T's & A's shown in the sun...
Stock & Hotrods...
Everybody having fun...
Racing till the day is done !
By Perri Voge
He thinks he is bright with his comments of wit.
I am a cute little actress he's picked for his skit.
Key on one of those words in the sentence above.
Is she the one playing this game he calls love?
He chooses his prey when it's just the right time.
Using strength above weakness; an unthinkable crime.
Yes, I know him too well for he's been here before.
I've changed many a lock on my chamber door.
Though, I can't prove it now, I know time will reveal,
and I can't help but wonder how this man will feel.
When he oozes his charm with the ladies, I mean.
To finally wake up and see how selfish he's been.
Now, for the clincher my rhyme's almost done.
I will dangle my key in my lingerie of crimson.
For you've met your match in the art that you own.
For I am really the player; The actress of stone.
I received a golden hello
But nothing of banking I know
On commodities, the future I bet
For large bonuses each year,to net
Too soon the 'bubble' has burst
Of course,everyone else,has come off worse
But I do not reap what I sow
They gave me parachute payout & pension to go
Global finances,crash into debt
Yet still I have no regrets ...(yet !)
Clinks... clanks... a crash... a clatter
Pots... pans... and plates... a platter
Smells... sounds... people... and voices
Stools... chairs... tables... and choices
Ching... ding... a door... and a breeze
"Mornin'!"..."Take your order, please?"
Shadows move across the floor
Sun-beams trace patterns on the door
Quiet echos in the hall
Neighbours no longer call
Space fills the empty chair
Children's voices no more sing
Telephone bells no longer ring
A place no human now takes their ease
The'For Sale' board rattles in the breeze
The mystic lips of the moon
Propelled man to races
In the silence of darkness
In a bygone age
Symbols then,were all the rage
Hanging outside,to catch the eye
A very visual...come & buy
Pestle & mortar,poles red&white
Or just three brass balls there might be
In days long past,
Few could read...but all could see.
A potter and a seamstress have set the date, you see
To tie the not in wedlock and live in harmony
Together they will thrive in town, as business will then boom
As he will sell some vases and she will work the loom
The butcher and the baker, they heard then of their scheme
And decided to confront them, which really was extreme
They said it wasn’t good that they combine their business so
For they too wanted riches and that their business then to grow
But, the potter and the seamstress explained of their love, true
That the business was just extra, for marriage they must do
The butcher and the baker, both men, then turned to say
That they couldn’t do the same because they weren’t gay
They laughed among themselves, as quite funny don’t you see?
That jealousy was that strong to come against what’s meant to be
The butcher and the baker then went their separate ways
Until they came again to them to cater on their day
The moral of this story is to not get blinded by your greed
For you may do to others and justify it by a need
But truth be known it may backfire and hurt you in a way
That may change your orientation by making a straight man gay