The first damn bullet shot at me in anger
by some frigging commie with an itchy trigger finger.
I heard it zip by very close to my head.
I was glad I was still alive instead of dead.
All those months of training kicked in,
I hit the ground a shootin’ and a cussin’.
Then I was on my stomach and off my feet,
I was surprised that I could hear my own heart beat.
A few more scattered shots here and there,
a couple too close to my head and hair.
As quickly as it started it came to an end,
I was relieved I survived to fight again.
Fear is adrenaline gone wild.
In battle there is no meek or mild.
Copyright © Jerry Stevenson
Drops of sweat slip from my furrowed brow
Eyes squint, select a number and let fly now
Miss again, a millimetre is a mile once more
Aimed for triple twenty, only got double four
The walk of shame, my oh so familiar friend
Silence broken, on alcohol I forever depend
The steel point of eyes bore into my neck
My opponent leaves me a juddering wreck
I lose the match; the wife won’t give me a kiss
I wish I could have been anything else than this...
Copyright © Dan Keir
There was a girl that no-one knew her name
Everybody took for a silly little game
Every day she was crying
Every day she was lying
Until one day, she found a place to hide
And then she tried to commit suicide
But she was saved by someone very nice
But then tried to do it twice
But the second time she was afraid to do it again
So she started to get rid of her hate and pain
After a few days, she was strong and happy
That girl was I and my name is Julie
Now she doesn’t forget her powerful beauty Lives every day knowing that she’s lovely
Not worrying about what people say For great things were made from muddiest clay
Holds in her heart her power which is love For she was made from the Creator above
She doesn’t try to be somebody that you’re not She learned to be content and appreciate what you’ve got
She doesn’t forget whom she’s meant to be Never giving up she stays as bold as the sea
Copyright © Julie Alcin
This mighty school, this boiling stress,
Supposedly makes me the best of the best.
But how can I be as good as they say,
When I barely have the attention to pay?
From the dark of the morning, to the dark of the night,
I am constantly struggling to keep on the right.
I arrive their so early, and return home so late,
Only to find myself a fish caught on bait.
I feel like I’m breaking this one crucial rule;
And falling behind in this thing they call school.
Copyright © Josh Adams
I write poems quickly with not much patience
And need suggestions with recommendations
Regarding poems which were written by me
Designed for the average and not aristocracy.
The following comments are what I received
Was she by my poems really being deceived
And also many of my points may have missed
You could add to a awfully, really very long list.
Some fine themes and ideas are in your poetry.
Yet, I get tripped-up by some of your forced wording
(that really detract me from your intent)
And your basic grammar often can be confusing.
I do wish you would proof-read your work for spelling,
grammar, and understanding before throwing it out there!
Any and all serious writers ALWAYS revise their work.
You have such a sensitive heart and also so much to say!
However, my opinion is that you need to focus more on
"polishing" your poems up when you want others to value
the concepts that you want to and are trying to convey.
Above are comments I received my Poetry Group Coordinator.
In her earlier life, she was a thoughtful teacher and an educator.
The same also applies to most of the other members as well,
And I am different from them all of them, you can always tell.
There are almost 20 at times in the poetry group.
Of them all, two or three others and I are the only males.
To me, writing poems like therapy in the form of a release.
Each poem which I write just comes naturally flowing out.
Often thoughts and ideas are from what I heard on the news.
It may only be two words which I woke up with in my head.
If you see anything confusing in my poems that you don't
understand please be sure to let me know what they are.
James Thomas Horn
I now have entered over 300 poems in my Poetry Soup account.
Copyright © James Horn
Should Be Fading
Islam women, they are always degrading
Habit into past should be finally fading
And the be replace by total equality
A much better place our world will be.
Suppose Mother Mary never had been
Or Son Jesus to save us from all sin
Just who would we be here and now?
Either some sow or maybe a milk cow.
Noah's Ark had contained each animal;
Two by two until it was frantically full
Themselves had to learn how to please
And none of them had been Islamese.
All of us have become completely hysteric
By actions and atrocities that are barbaric
Which not even an animal would try to do
Like cutting off my head and also maybe you.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Copyright © James Horn
He comes in the garage and can't get out.
In an effort to help, we wave and shout.
He ignores the door, flies to the ceiling.
Attempts to guide just send him reeling.
A beautiful bird with deep ruby throat,
complimented by green iridescent coat.
Terror causes panic, he is in its clutch.
It is obvious we aren't helping him much.
All day he flies with nothing to eat,
inside the garage in sweltering heat.
We know, eventually, he will surely die.
At the end of day, he can no longer fly.
He finally gives up and falls to the floor
and lies there panting near the open door.
We are then able to end his grief.
Poor helpless bird, what a relief.
The children all bounce and clap with glee
as we return him to a nearby tree.
In our human frenzy, sometimes we
gaze at the solution but fail to see.
Often, our struggle with self will end,
with a little help from a sympathetic friend.
Copyright © Cona Adams