No chance of rain tonight,
No bogeyman, when I turn off the lights.
A phrase I found and adore with the warmth of your security.
You are the reason I attain true maturity.
I love when you lay down next to me,
Like the high tide of the sea,
You move all the warm motions inside.
My arms are the comfort you use to seek and hide.
Your nestle holds a true rhythm that hums its own song~
Nothing comes close to breaking this precious bond~
A sweet cradle-song only I hear,
You play my grin, without the strings of a puppeteer.
My heartbeat needs its fix and drug,
Your sweet, charming smiles and hug,
Is all I need to succeed,
You are, my only creed!
A kiss, I give on your forehead,
Into a poet’s world where your blanket a dulcet lullaby,
my arms are your bed.
“Goodnight Sweet Child, Sweet Child of Mine!”
A telephone that seldom rings
So many songs I never sing
I open the door, but no ones there
Where are all the people who say they care
The world outside keeps going by
As I look out the window and try not to cry
Where did all the people go?
The ones I love, I miss them so
Long days turn into night
It's oh so lonely till early morning light
If I could only be what I used to be
I know how proud you'd be of me
But only then do I realize
The lord is very very close by
Then as I wipe away a tear from my eye
I hear him say, my child do not cry
And then I'm happy like I used to be
Because I know he's here for me
On sleepless nights I am led
To creep and kneel by your bed
To pray for your mother and me
But grief comes calling, you see
Gurgling from its endless base
It explodes out of my face
I shower your pillow with tears
Vomiting yesterday's fears
Barking and spitting his rage
The monster howls from its cage
Backing me out to the edge
Of insanity's slippery ledge
The cord is severed I think
That unseen biological link
Has ripped loose down at the loins
And the wound bleeds from my groin
Like frayed rope snapping on a boat
The mangled end quivers and floats
Out in an endless abyss
Where my demons cackle and hiss
I rant, I plead and I pray
Still you keep drifting away
Hold on, I am with you my son
So tired, let go, it is done
If you mess with me
You're messing with an anointed pedigree
I follow God
He knows that I am flawed
Who He loves
How He wants me to pray
Who he sends my way
I'll invite in my life with open arms
I won't forsake Him
Just as He won't forsake me
I know His Son died for me
Just knowing that alone has me in tears
Knowing that He loves me enough
To sacrifice His Son
God is my Lord
Jesus is my Savior
The Father of the Savior
Has given up his Son so that I may live free of Sin
Knowing that I can talk to Him anytime, any day, anywhere
Has me dropping to my knees
I pour my soul and heart into every prayer
I know He hears all I say
Most times He'll answer my prayer easily
Other times I have to work for the answer
In the end everything is going to be alright
Because I love Him and He love me
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
Yet still my heart beats for days now blurred
Two beats were counted, only one was heard
We are not even a drop of rain, just vapour
United to be once more, no clouds can conjure
All love all liking now lost… forever!
Dreams and memories, time tries to severe
Like dew-bespangled flowers alone I weep
The spray turns to rain, colours never keep
No longer will I drink your silvery voice
Destiny meant, I could not make a choice
A longing and thirst for you I cannot quench.
The cup floating in air, unable to reach.
©Holly P. Moore Lines 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12
©26/1/2013 Lines 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11
A collaboration with my great friend, David Willams, who has not judged me through my tragedy and encouraged me to continue to write.
Two minds thinking in sequence, I dedicate to my son.
From a beam he dangled as the rope choked out his breath
So very soon to end his life as he does the dance of death.
The grandma sees her grandson and has to take him down
She lays him on the carpet that is colored brown.
High up on a structure eyes are starring down
Will blackout over come him before he hits the ground;
The morbid and the curious have finally gone away
There’s only those who clean the mess, it's just another day.
Dinner on the table with plate and fork and knife
The only thing that's swallowed is a pill to end her life.
Who said that it is painless have they looked around the room
The pain does carry on and on far beyond the doom.
With a knife the cut was made now blood spills on the floor
Soon the shadows of the dark will come in through the door.
Who said there are no victims; reactions carry on;
This tragedy repeats it’s self; through days that take too long
With rocks put in her pockets in water not so high
She sucks the water to her lungs that's how she chose to die.
The husband of Virginia Wolf, now he knows too well
His days are filled with misery and his life's a living hell.
Desperate to escape he points the pistol to his head
The triggers pulled, a roar goes off; and just like that he's dead.
When she opened up the door she saw the pieces of his brain
The blood in puddles on the floor; was like water from the drain.
Blood is on her shirt; where she held him for too long
But it's simply far too late the life in him is gone.
Who says that it is painless have they looked around the room
I know the pain does carry on and on far beyond the doom.
God has a plan,
And it is out of my hands.
I can’t help but wonder, about the blunder, of building a one room log cabin,
Where man and wife, lived a private life, ‘til kids became real, not imagined
With no partitions, or new additions, you’d think their sex life would run ashore.
But they both knew, how to make it through, by inventing a thing called the chore.
As each kid did sprout, pa had to go out, and think up a new job for the tot.
He soon realized, that for his farm’s size, there were more tots then jobs to be got.
And the matriarch, made the remark, that inside we plum ran out of space.
So they tried to rid, their house of kids, as fast as were made in the first place.
At last the last lad, made a nice lass glad, got married and had a grand party,
But pa had ma’s hind, right on his mind; they arrived at the party, tardy.
Well all went ok, until the sad day, when the old man’s life ran out of time.
And then poor ma, lost her chutzpah, plus the cabin exceeded its prime.
So ma did call, her last son Paul, asked if he knew what she should do then,
He said oh dear, I just moved here, and that we don’t even have a den.
But son relents, and acts the gent, there is space in one nook of our room.
If you feed cows, and all the sows, cause heck ma, I’ve got a new bride groom.
My grandson asked if back when I was young
I had ever done anything naughty or wrong
I said shut the door put on listening ears
And Ill tell you a tale of rank shivering fear
One night at midnight I sneaked from my bed
To a neigr knocker fastened a thread
Old Mrs. Murphy, ninety and living all alone
That she was a witch was really well known
I pulled the string and the knocker did bang
Then over the garden wall lithely I sprang
When the old woman limped to the door
Finding nobody there she ranted and swore
Again and again I pulled that on the thread
As over and over tears of laughter I shed
Then the moon clouded and all turned dark
A cold hand of fear icily fingered my heart
A voice rasped lowly filling me with dread
‘I’ve got you now and soon you’ll be dead’
I was then dragged to Mrs. Murphy’s door
Feeling more terrified than ever before
The door was opened I was pushed inside
Nowhere I could run nowhere I could hide
There in the kitchen the old woman sat
Black cloak and hair, black teeth and hat
Our neighbour then sat me down on a chair
The witch held me still with malevolent stare
Pointing long sharp nailed finger I felt the spell
As she spoke of hot flames and rotting in hell
I promised to be good and meant it sincerely
I’ve been good ever since, well almost, nearly
(5th in contest,’Childhood memories’ by Crystal Wilkins)
That same raindrop catches me either in the sun or shade...
The clouds look all the same but for a few that won't fade...
The taste of a tear is always on my tongue...
A salty spice from a cry not sung...
I look up to Heaven to see who it is...
My unborn child , a tear that is his...
written by Michael J Falotico
Falling Raindrop contest
sponsored by Carol Brown
Heavens' rainbow shines on us, we know
We feel the warmth in its colorful glow
Streaks of light across the sky
The angels watch and gently sigh
A special little spirit from up above
To earth you have arrived, with the angels’ love
Our little grandson born to us this day
You have been waiting your turn to come and play
We’re privileged to have you with us, here on earth
On this wonderful day, the day of your birth.
This is a journey, a trip call it what you will
It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill
Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past
Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last
This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me
To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen
How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official
Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale
It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see
The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me
The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five
Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive
Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed
Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void
As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day
I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played
We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find
Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind
He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed
Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked
We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago
They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows
This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will
No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill
You'll never be forgotten, though you're no longer here.
It seems like only yesterday, but it's been over forty years!
Other children have been taken, yes, of course, we know!
But, to us, you are a treasure and we still love you so!
You were only with us, two plus years, they say that time will heal.
But, although it's been a long, long time, the pain is still so real!
God knew that you were suffering, He knew you were in pain!
So He decided to releave you, from the Tumor in your brain!
He took you up to Heaven, son, to give eternal rest!
He placed you in His garden, where He only keeps the best!
I'm wishing I could take a peek, in that garden, in some way,
to see just how you're doing, and make sure that you're O.K.
It broke our hearts the day you left, when the Good Lord called you home.
Bobby, part of us went with you, you did not go alone!
No, you'll never be forgotton son, what more is there to say!
You're always in our thoughts and prayers, we miss you more each day.
I am ten and crossing home.
Two players missed it, as it rolls on and on.
An error if you're scoring the play,
but I call it a home run on my first day.
I am ten, and I have found my first love
in a tattered ball, and a hand-me-down glove.
I am twenty, and I am throwing hard.
Beading sweat, please stay in the yard!
Each pitch thrown with a hope and a prayer.
Scholarship athletes can't be only fair.
Medical school looms larger than the Show.
A privilege for few, but I don't want to go.
I am thirty and I cannot put it down.
Sundays the old men come around.
Love of the game a common bond.
The bat is no longer a magic wand.
Reminiscing about those bygone days.
I can no longer beat out those close plays.
I am forty, and I watch with delight.
My own boys throwing with all their might.
A lump in my throat, a moist eye.
I contentedly look on and sigh.
I've passed down the love to the next generation,
and I wouldn't trade that for a standing ovation.
My bundle of endless joy
He's my sweet little baby boy
Just yesterday he was my new born son
Look, how quickly my little one has turned one.
He won't crawl neither would he walk
However, has his way through his babbling talk!
The whole day long he's just having fun
Moving around, jumping on his bum!!
He's a gritty explorer, sans any fear
He instructs us all: loud and clear.
Very much like other bratty boys
He bangs and shatters his sister's toys!
He pinches and pulls her hair, yet gets away
She kisses and cuddles him: loves him anyways.
To his favourite songs, he would shimmy-wiggle-jiggle,
It would make his sis uncontrollably giggle!
As much naughty as it gets
When he sways his silky ringlets
Shaking his head from left to right
With a dimpled smile, my,my what a sight!
I simply can't describe how it felt
When he said, "mamma" my heart just melt!
A racing car, Minnie doll, his phone and his ball:
He knows them well and says it all.
He hushes with a "shh" the whistle of a cooker
He can tell you from miles, the sound of a cracker!
Mimics the donkey and the crow, counts very well his one-two,
He calls out for the lift and can stop an "autooo"!
He daily prays to God, loves ringing the temple bell.
So, my charming handsome boy is devoted and smart as well!
My rock star baby, you have me bedazzled!
You hate your dad, I know
but I can't choose between you two...just no
You're right, I probably would never see
how bad I screwed up, but
without you, I've gone nuts.
Seriously, I will keep trying
to have you back, 'cause I'm crying.
I don't wanna lose you, o.m.g.
I'm really sorry...
I know I was a terrible girl
but I'm a clam and you're my pearl.
Without you, I have no value
without you, I'm no longer cool
I missed everything we've been through.
Your voice when you sing, I'm glued to you.
Hey, I'm still your number one fan
and you'll always be my sweet, young man.
you're the water, and he's the sun
without you both, I'd be done
I hope you can just understand
I'll always wanna hold your hand
no matter what happened, I'll love you still.
We used to hang and used to chill.
now I'm mad we can't do that
but again, it's my fault the balloon went splat.
I'm desperate to hear you say
'I love you mom, it'll always be this way'
I want your forgiveness, seriously
I'm really sorry.
Hey, this is nice floating around in here
No sweat and no strain, got nothing to fear
Whoa! What is this? (Don't mean to complain)
I think I got flushed down somebody's drain
Ouch! What's the deal? Must you be so damn rough?
I refuse to come out! Don't like it? That's tough
Crap, I'm exhausted; I'm too tired to fight
The lights! The lights! Turn off the freekin' lights!
Slap ME on the ass? That hurts you old cow!
Okay! I'm screaming! You satisfied now?
Hello...Pleased to meet'cha, and who might be you?
Daddy? Yeah, right, so what else is new?
Good lord, I'm burnt out, I could use a short rest
Where? Well okay, right here on your chest?
Wow, this is cool! It's really kinda neat
Like hearing the sound of your gentle heartbeat
Yes, rock me a little, I sure won't refuse
And hum me a tune while I take a quick snooze...
***Had the priviledge and pleasure of being the first to hold my son after he was born.
There was a picture but alas, it is long gone. Now the only picture that remains is the one imprinted in my memory...
Dad never knew his father. That soldier died in a war.
All Dad heard was brief stories of the man that went before.
Grandma had some pictures and some medals on a wall.
But Dad never knew his father which was what mattered most of all
I’ve done some family history, and seen the ship’s manifest.
I’ve heard again the story of the good ship Lafayette--
How Grandma and her children searched the waves for periscopes,
Knowing that one torpedo could blow away all of their hopes.
This could have been in any war. Soldiers die and families flee.
But this was the family story that was handed down to me.
It started in old England, then to an immigration line:
A 3-year-old at Ellis Island, in July 1939.
They fled their burning country, to be called “war refugees”.
With help from an old uncle and a kind community,
Grandma made a new start here in the land of liberty.
They learned that Grandpa was killed in ‘44 in Italy.
I found online the letter, that my Grandma didn’t see,
About how the Sergeant-Major’s infantry company
Was caught out in the open by Wehrmacht artillery.
The letter said he didn’t suffer. Was he really killed instantly?
I never knew my Grandpa, though I was named after him.
Though I served a different flag, I was a soldier like him.
I’ve seen my father’s scrapbook, and Grandpa’s medals on the wall.
But I never knew my Grandpa which was what mattered most of all.
I love guns and I have plenty.
When Daddy passed he had near twenty
He kept them locked in the safe I built,
Loaded and ready with no blood spilt.
For him a gun was a precision tool,
Not to be handled by just any fool.
He taught us all how to use a gun.
Took us to hunt and we sure had fun.
The day before my Daddy died,
He called us each to his bed side
And gave us guns from his collection.
He knew we needed no direction.
We keep them cleaned and polished each
Remembering his final speech.
"Care for this and when you die,
Give it to your son - please try -
Make sure he knows its proper use.
Take it now - and don't refuse."
Hear me, hear me, sound me out,
I don’t understand what you’re about.
Euphoric drugs to boost your brain?
Why they're dragging your senses down the drain.
They mask your mind and make you doubt,
at the slightest word, you’re prone shout.
Oh oh ohhhh, how they tear you apart.
A false embrace to numb your heart.
But why won't you see, that they can kill?
As they choke out your spirit and shatter your will.
They can turn a goal into the ultimate reason,
while your soul screams out at this unjust treason.
True ecstasy doesn’t come from a pill.
It’s an innate feeling, with a costless bill.
A weed is something that grows wild and free,
Not a joint that you roll up, upon your knee.
And crystal, a long mineral process, as in rock?
But now I’m hearing, it’s made around the clock.
Man oh man…...will you please wake up?
You’re drinking serenity from a broken cup.
The dealers will treat you as though you were swine,
for money always feeds, their greedy jowl minds.
And they don’t seek just money, but power as well,
as they man the controls of this highway to hell.
Oh yeah, I'm mean to tighten my grip,
to speak out my mind as I watch you trip.
You aren't the cog of a wheel at a county fair,
turning around aimlessly, but going nowhere.
I know you can kick this, and make out just fine,
but how about the others, the ones waiting in line?
I wish that things could be
The way they used to be
When you were so young and really needed me
But times have to change and you had to grow
To the wonderful man that we've all come to know
It's nice to look back at your wonder years
With so much love and pride and a few little tears
I'm so very grateful to have a son like you
And I'll always love you unconditionally
No matter where you go or what you do
We awakened, we argued, just like we had done before
It was mostly about football, the Celtic versus Rangers score
I would choose my team, as usual he would choose his
Pushing and shoving would then entail, growing brotherly bliss
But this was a day that was going to unite us, brothers, yes we
For we were getting our uniforms, the Boys Brigade's 4th Company
Football squabbles we left behind, to Bishop Edens we would go
It's our Primary School, did I tell you, our learning's in scholar show
As usual we met at playtime, in the same team we always played
We were like Pele, no doubt, well! it's what we tried to display
To the clock we always watched, as we told each other after school
Lets hurry home to have supper, for the 4th Company in us ruled
We left the caravan together, then brotherly competition arrived
Hey James! I'll race you to the canal, my little legs in strive
Into the distance he ran, blimey! he's much faster than I thought
I must continue to look up to him, he's my elder, I'm sure well taught
Just as I turned the corner, now knowing that I'm lagging behind
One minute he was there then gone, images now run through my mind
What I have witnessed, is now focused, a JU250 van has swept him away
It's impact I feel in my heart, I'm now in slow motion play
I now reach the junction, in my peripheral I hear my brother scream
Nothing like this I have heard, am I absorbed in a nightmare dream
The driver exits the van, his head he holds in his hands
I'm seven years old in tears, just trying to understand
When my son was young and so very, very wild…
I loved him dearly for he was my child.
But I feared the drugs, alcohol, and friends he did keep.
I knew they would destroy him, as I found my Eyes do weep.
We found a private High school with new peers to seek.
Miraculously, He found his own way back, and to college he did leap.
He chose a college and fraternity far away, as my eyes blurred again.
But the day he was on his own, became the best that’s ever been.
His fraternity became his brothers, and advice they dished out.
Study time became important, with gentlemanly behavior devout.
I’ll thank them each, in the leadership and help they all showed.
I’ll thank my son for growing up, and for becoming who we now know.
Community service brought blood drives, and teaching inner city kids.
They worked on their fraternity house, reclaiming it from the skids.
All parties had designated drivers to take every body home, all right.
They gathered clothes for the homeless to brighten up their life.
They built Homes For Humanity for to work he was never adverse.
Then, to add to the rest, he continued to work to become a nurse.
He put himself through college working in a hospital and ambulance.
He had learned a reverence for life, happiness, and yes, even patience.
My wild, wild son has found purpose in life and peace at long last.
And again my eyes do weep… This time with love so vast...
21st February 2012
By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Hey mum and dad please do not lowly hum or keep mum,
When by your little one asked “where do babies come from?”
Narrated over and over this metaphorical tale,
Many scoff to tell, be it female or adult male.
Birds are like men and fly as they please,
Bees are like women, dedicated to their queen, to her whims appease.
Bees sit on and pollinate the flowers,
By, buzzing around many and over few hovers.
The birds spread the “seed”,
These to the “gen next” they lead.
This is about birds and bees a short verse,
On a topic, proscribed and taboo which parents surely must never be averse
Uther, the High king of England
fell in love with the Lady Igraine
Knowing she was married to Gorlois
he decided to fight the walrus
For he was the Duke of Tintagel
that Uther wanted to mangle
‘Thus he defeated his enemy’
and took her, his wife to be
The High King delighted to tell
of Merlin’s magical spell
How he’d become Gorlious in disguise
and fooled the Lady Igraine to socialize
Tintagel castle was full of joy
celebrating the birth of a baby boy
‘Twas Arthur they had named him’
a bonnie baby small and slim
They lived in a dangerous time
where Saxons attacked without sign
So Uther gave his son for safety
to his immortal wizard thats greatly
In time Merlin fostered him away
to Sir Ectors where he would stay
Raised in the Cornwall countryside
where he grew strong and very wise
He grew up with his foster brother Kay
not knowing his real parents any way
He didn’t know he was heir to the throne
until later when it became known
King Uther died and no one knew
about His son that should over rule
So arguments broke out everywhere
who should be King, who would dare
But Merlin had a cunning plan
to make Arthur take a stand
For he was the true king and heir
a kingdom he would rule and fair
A mysterious stone magically appeared
in St.Paul’s cathedral, in the garden rear
Extending out, was a huge sword
a message inscribed to my Lord
Whoever pulls this sword from the stone
will be the rightful High King of England’s throne
© Copyright 22nd December 2010 K.C.Leake
I watch you there,
I sit and stare,
As curled inside this sacred womb
You are protected, sheltered, night and noon.
I place my hand so gently
And wonder if you yet know me,
My touch, my voice, are you aware?
Though never met such bonds we share.
Beneath my finger tips you move
And make me wonder, will I prove
To be the man I need to be
For you who hold such faith in me,
Who feel myself, so unprepared
Yet hope my father's steps I'll tread.
With this I contemplate you may,
On some such far off future day,
Find you yourself sat in my place,
These same concerns upon your face,
For as the Father raise the Son,
So from the Son, the Man become.
One day I discovered a love triangle going on in the yard, where I sit.
A boy loved his red ball, so did his dog, and the balls love was split.
Back and forth the ball went forever into play, never to quietly sit.
Nowhere could it find the right place in which to ever fit.
First to the boy, then the dog. It’s love kept it on track.
The ball traveled with them everywhere, nothing did it lack.
It’s life consisted of simple things, and following them around.
The beach, and grassy park became their beloved friends in town.
A few times it did escape, but was quickly caught and put back in play.
But all in all, every thing was fine as it was sent, to and fro each day.
Some times they would roll it.
Sometimes they would bounce it.
Sometimes it hit the roof.
But it never failed to sparkle, no matter how much punishment it took.
Once a storm came along, and they hugged it in the house that shook
It was the courage of the little ball, which kept them safe, no doubt.
When the rain went away, they went back to the sunshine to run about.
Then the little boy went away, now the dog and the ball patiently wait each day.
Someday, several little boys will come here again to play.
It’s just like children to come along, you know they definitely will.
But for now, I have a surprise, for I’ll be babysitting the boy down the hill.
(Saints & Sinners in the Church / God's Patience with Sinners / Final Judgment
MT 13:24-30, 36-43)
He proposed another parable to them
"The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a man who sowed good seed in his field
While everyone was asleep his enemy came
sowed weeds all through the wheat then went off.
When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well
The laves of the householder came to him and said,
'Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where have the weeds come from?'
He answered, 'An enemy has done this.' His slaves said to him, 'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'
He replied, 'No, if you pull up the weeds you might uproot the wheat along with them. Let them grow together until harvest;
Then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters
"First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning; but gather the wheat into my barn."
"He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom.
The weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sows them is the devil.
The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels.
Just as weeds are collected and burned (up) with fire, so will it be at the end of the age.
The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all who cause others to sin and all evildoers.
They will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.
Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father.
Whoever has ears ought to hear." (Taken from MT 13:24-30, 37-43)
The father's skill on how to meet his end,
that's what for sure his children will descend.
Let me metamorphose into my alter ego, so prepare yourself for a shock.
I'm the great great grandson of Edgar Allen Poe, So call me the Poetic Warlock!
Beware of my stare for I will hypnotize; This is a poetic warfare so get in your battle stance.
This slam to you is just for exercise, so don't you dare sh#t your pants!
This is just a poem to make a souper laugh; So boy I hope that's okay with you.
After I'm done, I'll send you my autograph, because I don't wanna get too close to doo-doo!
Don't you dare soup mail me again, looking to battle with me.
Boy you know you can't win, you just want a souper to tattle on me!
I've slammed you from here to Bangkok, and used several different poetic forms as well.
You still haven't got enough of the Poetic Warlock, so now I am taking you to hell!
I'm pulling a Charles Manson, so pick up a gun and put it to your head.
On your grave I'll be break dancin, you're now dealin with a poetic thoroughbred!
So to help you write a slam, you got help from your lil brother????!!!
I'm pulling out the pentagram and putting a hex on you like no other!!
You saw what I did to your teacher, and she took it beyond poetry.
It was a triple - x feature, and I was at the center of envy!
Why are you back for more embarrassment, are you a pain freak?
Soupmailing me so much is borderline harrassment; next you'll be following my technique!
No no you can't sniff my boxers dude, you need to step up off my jock!
You know I tend to be a lil' crude for I am the Poetic Warlock!
Boy I'm smoking you like a Cuban cigar, and the taste is bittersweet.
This Halloween will be poetically bizarre, so TRICK - OR - TREAT!!
*Response to my buddy and his lil' brother's slam;) SLAM?????? lol
my son was born with a disconnected mind
he catches on if you give him time
i love that he carries on a normal life
i hate that he will never have a wife
he loves animals and building things
i hate to tell him that he can not sing : )
his appetite so big and around the clock
you will find him from time to time with only the one sock
he gets so excited about just the little things
oh what joy he brings
he talks to everyone that passes through
why some people are mean i have no clue
i ask God to please keep him near if i am called home before him
he never liked just being called 'jim'
his sisters and brothers treat him well and give him no slack
...and his love for them does not lack
my dear son mommy loves you so
you are special in my heart i want you to know
and if I could tell the world to stop treating as if you have a disease
this would make mommy so very pleased
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Juice in the video, sick in the car.
Untidy bedroom, scattered toys,
girls playing nurses with little boys.
Dogs' tails being pulled, a cat's on fire,
interrupting the moments of love and desire.
Passing the blame for their little crimes,
playing with frogs all covered in slime.
Screaming their heads off in a plush restaurant,
having a tantrum when refused what they want.
Arriving home late covered in mud,
not going to bed when they know they should.
Non-stop talking while dad's watching telly,
splashing the walls with ice-cream and jelly.
Chocolate stains on their Sunday best,
painting funny pictures on granddad's vest.
Why do parents' voices echo from afar,
Oh, what a joy little children are !
I recall when my son went to grow his first mustache.
After the manly thrill, of shaving once a week had passed.
He'd spend an hour in the bath, gelling hair so straight up it would stick.
Then he'd come down to breakfast, strutting his upper lip.
I tried not to laugh, while biting the inside of my cheek.
It looked like a Porcupine on his head, but his stache was weak.
It looked like a cross between peach fuzz and a prickly pear.
As if they drew straws, to see who, on his lip, would stick out where.
He'd stroke his lip with thumb and forefinger, to draw attention to it.
He'd turn his head this way and that, so from the light, the few hairs were lit.
Well, time has passed and his stache manned up along with his beard.
Although it will never be of Mountain Man caliber, I fear.
But he does do "scruffy" well and the girls all seem to like it.
And you know, my girl charming son, works it to his benefit.
For my oldest son Jesse.
Just something to embarrass you with.
Hey, it's my job.
With crimson stain on her hands
Kneeling was her glorious stand
Holy Mother cried for her son
Wondering what they had done
Bellowing clouds changing color
Approaching the appointed hour
What stone could seal our faith?
His powers unlocked the gate
Glorious ascension and praise
His forgiveness shines with rays
With crimson stain on her hands
Kneeling was her glorious stand
© Joseph, 5/16/08
© All Rights Reserved
Third Place Winner
Poieta Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
June 6, 2008
On quiet rivers may you ride,
Knowing I'll be there at your side.
Dream your dreams oh so sweet,
For there my love were sure to meet
Wake with smiles for each new day,
Your morning prayers I'll help you say.
Lull-a-bye my little one.
Sleep now, this precious day is done.
For My Grandson and for Catie's contest
Mary, did you wonder when the angel Gabriel proclaimed the news,
That you, a virgin, were chosen by God to bear the King of Jews?
Mary, did you wonder why a special star shone o'er Bethlehem so bright,
And shepherds left their flocks to honor your Son on that Holy Night?
Mary, did you wonder as you tenderly kissed the very Face of God,
And cuddled the Messiah long foretold - did you not think that odd?
Mary, did you wonder that angels heralded your Son's birth singing hymn,
And that even three Kings from the East brought gifts to worship Him?
Mary, did you wonder at the miracles that your Son performed,
Turning water into wine, healing the blind, the lame and deformed?
Mary, did you wonder why your precious Son was so often scorned,
And was destined to die on The Cross with a crown of thorns adorned?
Mary, did you wonder that in His short life on earth as He suffered rejection,
That He would rise from an unblemished grave to a glorious resurrection?
Mary, did you wonder that you were to give birth to the King of Kings?
Mary, did you wonder at the wonder of it all, these mysterious things?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Eric Edward, what an inspiration
Fighting for a cause in a dangerous location
Browns, greens and dark colours match
Loading shells and weapons in a particular batch
The glint in his eye of that brave young soul
Heart beating pure, being home safe is his goal
Orders given to a job he may not understand
Passionate for his country on this foreign land
Heat blazing down on his fragile body
Brotherhood so strong, never shoddy
Maybe he is used as a pawn in a political battle
Unlike weak politicians, he’ll never throw in his rattle
Leading by example in a courageous way
In a world that looses patriotic views every day.
I remember the individuals who risk their lives
They also have Sons, mothers, brothers and wives
Lets not forget ‘Sweetheart’ who worries every night
Mother to her child who worries, hoping he’ll be alright
Never judge on what is right and what is wrong
The world is a long way from singing a harmonic song
Thank you for the efforts of the brave
Hopefully one day its your life I will be able to save
Come home safe to your worried mother
The day will be soon to embrace one another.
He looked at his orders and left out a long sigh
Raised his eyes to the clouds and asked, "Why, God, Why?"
The toughest assignment of a long career
A message to be taken to a family held dear.
He arrived at the station and began his walk down the street
There was a feeling of anguish he could not defeat
He found the home he was looking for
Took a deep breath and walked to the door
The man's face became filled with fear
He knew in his heart why the soldier was here.
As he delivered the message that their only son had died
"Oh no, not my baby, not my baby," the young mother cried.
There was a look of despair in the father's sad eyes
And undeniable grief in the young mother's cries
Their son had been butchered, not killed in the field
There would be no viewing, the casket was sealed.
We will not retaliate as the lone church bell tolls
Our leaders don't want to look bad in the polls
There is a feeling of anger that through my body runs
As politicians sharpen their image with the blood of our sons.
At night, alone, he feels the tears fill his eyes
The soldier is haunted by the young mother's cries
The war rages on and he answers the call
The battle continues and more soldiers fall.
We are in another Vietnam but this time it is not the war splitting the country. It
is the apathy of the American people. We need to care. We need to recapture our
patriotism and pride. We are watching our children die while the administration
bows down and worships the oil companies. We watch as people continually
violate our rights by abusing the first amendment. We are fighting a war for five
years that should have lasted five weeks. I'll fight to defend my country, but I'll be
damned if I'll fight so Shell and Exxon can get their hands on Iraqi oil.
A button nose and big brown eyes
turned to Grandma in surprise.
Now a giggle or maybe a sigh,
he's a big boy now, he won't cry.
Ten wonderful years have flown away
wish my grandson could always stay.
But then it might not be as much fun,
our time wouldn't be such a special one.
This year for the first time he took the train
for a visit too short, then he was gone again.
But in my heart he's always near
just like his Dad, right in here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ for Michael Jordan's
"Inside The Heart" contest ---------------
Your gentle spirit that lies within
Sneaks out occasionally and makes us grin…
The man we know that you are going to be
Is that little boy that we can see…
You’re smart, kind and special in so many ways
Know that we love you for all of your days…
Here lies the Poetic Warlock, a poetic rhyme slayer;
From the U.S. to Bangkok, he was an international game player!
He was born Jimmy M. Anderson, and he overcame all adversaries.
His slams were very contemporary, and his word-play was extraordinary!
He was the great, great grandson of the legendary Edgar Allen Poe.
His poetic guns had more ammo than the military and yet he was kinda a Romeo!
He chased the ladies, like Georgie Porgy Puddin Pie.
It is said, he was born in Hades, and that's why he was a demonic poetic samurai!!
Wrote strictly for Andrea Dietrich contest "Poetic Epitaph"
Born from my soul new to this earth
This marvel of life that we call birth
Dedication endurance, gestation of time
To hold him so close our son so fine
Tears from my eyes, fulfilment of joy
Proud parents we are of our little boy
We look to tomorrow to live our lives
As we remember his dad whom fate has deprived
He was a soldier, just nineteen years old
Too early to leave us for his young life to fold
At Southampton Docks, where I waved him farewell
My tears were so different our future looked swell
Frequent letters arrived declaring our love
To the birth of our son a gift from above
Then came the day your whole world falls apart
A knock at the door, where do they start
They sit you down, knowing the words you will hear
My eyes start to swell, with a different tear
They tell of my husband, father to our son
Heroic in war, lost to the enemy gun
They leave, the door closes, I'm in momentary empty
My life not that long ago was blissful of plenty
We said our farewells my son and I
With a lifetime of tears I will internally cry
Throughout the years of bars and fences, several things kept me from falling
My Faith in God, My Mom, My Writing...and, that Freedom Was Always Calling
The nightmare started in "93", shipped off to do a second bid
I knew my mother was hurting deeply from all of the pain her silence hid
Downstate was another dagger, the lonely days, the nights, the "Draft"
In times of peace the seagulls shrieking...and, I could have sworn at me they laughed
Then came Green Haven/the pain continued; those forty months in just a cell
Abundant vermin, to live determined...where most Co's were scarred as well
College courses would keep me focused, mixing with others who sought degrees
To be well rounded my reading varied from Og Mandino to Sophocles
All was good, then times grew darker, by "95" my health had waned
Some forsook me while others wondered how my Trust in God remained
On bended knees I prayed this daily..."Not my will be done, but thine"
Then I was showed One set of "Footprints" which I knew could not be mine
Deliverance came, yes things got better; I thought my sorrows were finally gone
Until I left to live in Fishkill, which in truth was Matteawan
Intellectually I was their equal, they had no choice, but to grin and bear it
For, I knew their books, their words, their history...and many things deemed esoteric
Bogus tickets, the box, harassment, they thought I'd fold from all the stress
Still, what would I be if I didn't suffer?...a spineless man who acquiesced
People have asked me how I survived it, a prison life sometimes appalling
I inhaled deeply, and finally told them...That Freedom Was Always Calling
Freedom Was Always Calling by Poetiq1der aka Don Simmons
Last Fall, my church's Scouts and I went hiking.
A few miles north of Big Sur’s coast,
There is a forested park much to our liking.
Point Lobos is the nature preserve that I love most.
The beauty there is supernal, beyond description.
We chose our trails with maps and compasses,
And practiced local plant identification.
I pointed out Monterey Pines and Cypresses.
For a time we climbed a steep inclination.
We looked down into a cove, home of sea otters,
From a viewpoint near the old whalers’ station.
We climbed through a cleft worn down by waters.
That Saturday outing wasn’t a total disaster.
The boys passed tasks to advance in ranks.
Life doesn’t get much better for an old Scoutmaster.
Lastly, to the Great Spirit we all gave thanks.
For Goethe Stanzas contest
This tulip picked by my son’s hand
From across the road on a neighbor’s land,
Looks like those from our garden plot
Or the others in the neighbor’s lot.
But this one is different, can’t you see?
This is the one he picked for me!
Written for my son Chris as he begins a new chapter in his life...
He left yesterday, the adventure now before him there...
Kids today, sometimes I just don't know...I swear.
He decided that a move from home would be just the thing
So now he's on his way to China...a jet on the wing.
What he'll do there is still uncertain
But, I know that he will do a lot of flirtin'.
He's thirty years old and a child no longer,
His mother and I wish we could be stronger.
For the coop is bare as is his room
We won't be hearing from him very soon.
The adventure has begun for him you see
I guess that this is the way it had to be.
Wanderlust in his imagination has taken hold
"Now", he said, "is the time for me to be bold".
He goes to seek his fortune and fame
Filled with the desire that beast to tame.
I'm sure he will tell us of his travels there
Shanghai, Wusii, and other places rare.
We now stare at each other and smile
Knowing that our son will be okay in awhile.
For he is grown and a man to be sure
Raised with good principles, integrity, and honor.
Yet, I as a father cannot explain
How I truly feel, the lingering pain.
Only a parent has to deal with this vice
With every child, you just roll the dice.
He will be in our thoughts and prayers
Though on the other side of the world I doubt that he cares.
He doesn't know the language, customs, or tradition
Yet off he's gone...to live in that condition.
Like the traveler of old that we read about in books
He will be searching for every new nuance in the crannies and nooks.
And when he returns from his sojourn there
Little will be the time he can spare.
For I know that he will turn around to return
More time to spend to sate the yearn.
And what do I call him now? ... if you ask me,
I think I'll refer to him as - "Marco Pulaski".
In Heaven Again
(Another sad poem about my son.)
Why has so much sadness overcome me?
When what I wanted was to always be
A proud father as well as faithful parent
Which is something they say is inherent.
My child passed away without one word
Now to heaven soul has been transferred
Can no longer enjoy his presence anymore
After last time I saw him go out the door.
For a while would sit around and often fret
His memory to heaven go, I had to let
Time slowly passed by and I knew then
I too will die and see him in heaven again.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Remains on My Mind
What now mostly remains on my mind
Is if God in His glory could help me find
My lost child who meant so much to me
So I could set my mind and his soul free.
Last time I say him was early yesterday
Went outside so he could fish and play
Left and never would he ever return
I am choked up as things inside do churn.
God, if he only was back for a minute or two
I would sweetly kiss him so and thank You
But now have to hold back the many tears
After he has been dead for all these years.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Another poem I had written back
in August 27th, 2005 on our 39th
wedding anniversary. He had been
reported missing that very same day.
He has spoken some words, He has broken my heart,
This is my son my oldest whom I've loved from the start.
Where have I gone wrong, what have I done,
To feel such hatred and anger from my first born son.
I've shown him love and never quit when things got tough,
I'm not sure where this is going but I know it will be rough.
I think I've done well, I always taught him right,
Is this just a phase will it get better over night?
I am afraid of what may come, Not sure what to do,
Should I step back a while , and let go for a few?
My mind is overwhelmed with worry and fear,
He'll be an adult in less than a year.
Where do I go to become what he needs?
I thought i worked hard and planted all the seeds,
He is angry , and lost I know he doesn't want to hurt me,
He's my little boy, I just want him to see,
I will never be his enemy, I will always be there,
What he is feeling I may not understand but I do care.
This is boy my heart and my soul,
Is this what happens as they grow older?
Lord give me the strength give me the wisdom to get thru this,
Let me be what he needs there's not a moment I want to miss.
I am broken right now and lost in my sadness at this time,
I hope we can make it, and soon get passed this and climb.
Further and further in life as we go,
we need these things to happen to help us grow.
Now as a Mother and lost ,hurt and confused,
I pray we will make it and soon know what to do.
Changing schools was the rule
Never stayed long and get in the groove
Making friends never ended
Fitting in was always mended
So a loner I became
I don't remember many names
But I learned to love to learn
Still have a heart that yearns
For knowledge on many subject
Even on aliens that abducted
Went to college after I wed
When all my children were in school instead
Finished a college degree
When I held a grandson on my knee
Then I continued my education
Master's Degree in Christian Station
Ten hours on a PhD got so tired
Oh! I was totally mired
Thinking about going again on a wager
Work on a psychology major
With a minor in poetry
Where I can write and just be me
(Poor excuse for a couplet but will have to do. This is for Education Game passed to me by
my lovely daughter Doris Culverhouse who received the torch from James Frazer. I pass the
thinking cap to James Marshall Goff to write a poem about education.)
Certainly, to share is to love, as for love is to share
If truly, you share out of love, then you really care
Easy to understand, and it is not my own command
If, you do not wish to listen, then stop your pretend
Always be there for you, a loyal friend, real and true
Not here to sue you, but, to share with you, my stew
Indeed, you have been told, O, People of this World
Be steadfast and be bold, but still, you are very cold
Ok, you hate without pretend, you suffer till the end
Remember, the One, being sent, he died, for all men
It is your choice, not mine, with me, you will rejoice
If you heeded my voice, you’ll live, without remorse
My mother’s been gone forty years or so.
My oldest son was born thirty years ago.
They’ll sight each other somewhere - not here -
And to one another they will draw near
And with just a glance it will appear clear
That both to me have been dear.
When I look at my son I see my mother :
And , yes, they would know one another,
Though she went before he came.
I picture their eyes - they are the same
T’was a book I read not long ago,
Told of foreign places and disasters and woes.
Much blood was spilled in those days of old,
It also spoke of riches of silver and gold.
Hardships were many but were a part of life,
And how they survived this life so full of strife.
It told of kings and slaves and ordinary men,
And the way things were a way back then.
It spoke of travel and the way they went,
Then it told of a fathers love and the son he sent.
It told of how the son a carpenter by trade,
Would give his own life for a debt that had to be paid.
A debt that separated man from his father above,
But blood built the bridge so we all now can share His precious sweet love.
The debt has been paid by God’s only Son,
So we all can receive salvation each and everyone.
So give thanks and praises each and everyday,
Hallelujah to the Lord, thank You my Father for guiding my day!
Send me an Angel for me to hold,
One with wings and a halo of gold.
Send me that precious gift I long for,
A smile so sweet and eyes to adore.
Send him here for me to cherish,
Make him kind, loyal and garish.
Send him here with love and grace,
A child whose unique style I'll embrace.
Send me the patience to be a mother,
Hoping he'll love us and his brother.
Not a typical family is what we are,
But we could be much worse by far.
Jordon is the answer to my prayers,
A big brother, for Chris, who truly cares.
Love is what we have to give,
Without my son I could not live.
Thank you God, you've done what I asked.
As a good mother, please tell me did I pass?
I’m not a man of my father’s class, stature, personified grace
I am but one, so wishing that, I one day find my place
My father fought in World War Two, with honor, pride and heart
I can’t express the thanks or love for all he did impart
He held within a silent strength, a voice so stern, yet gentle
I can’t truly explain this man without getting sentimental
I hope one day to be half the man that my father lived to be
And carry on his name with pride through all eternity
Now, i let you fly like a bird in the sky
To follow your dream, filled with cream;
But never hesitate to call, if, you fall;
For i'll be there, always, ready to care!
Love so free
Came and gave me liberty
Freed me to be all I can
When in Him I fully stand
For God is Love
And He holds my hand.
Love so gentle
Meek and mild
Felt through every cheerful smile
Though trials great or trials small
Love will bear them
Come out victorious
For God is Love
My all and all.
God is Love; no other One
God is Love; He gave His Son
God is Love; Son gave His Life
God is Love; Son paid the price
God is Love; Son became the sacrifice
God is Love; So I may remain
Forever free to praise His name.
I have a mind, a body, a sense that I am one
I am a husband and father, but first I was a son
I do have faith, but I question, the many times I’m tried
As, that just goes to prove that I have many sides
I am a worker for a dollar, with hopes to get much more
Truth be known, if I was richer, I’d know not what it’s for
I have a burning passion every morning, noon and night
To express my thoughts poetically, these ideas that I write
I also am a dreamer, allowing my mind to let me play
It helps to break monotony, to make a better day
I teach sixth grade religion, because kids today know not
They have no values, nor morals, truly they know squat
But, if I were to sum it up, this man of whom I speak
I would honestly have to say that I am quite unique
Though I may share some interests, commonalities you’d say
I am just me, with good and bad, I’d choose no other way