He reads voraciously
to his young children,
beguiled, somewhat bewildered
by sweet progeny's relentless
leaching of his words, his hungry baby
birds, how their peeps teach.
He reads sporadically
to his father, articles from the paper,
headlines and bylines for his dad
has cataracts, now, and velum
hands shake newsprint, make a rattling
sound, too like the quiver of cloistered
skeletons, all those remains,
all those remains.
There is wisdom in comics, he's found,
bucolic rings so like old church bells,
tutoring fields through fog.
He still tries to read
shared history in eyes,
the geography of long sighs, that topography
of belly, yes, yes, a theology
that spills from parted lips;
bless each rumpled sheet, that chemistry
which repeats poetry, spoken
in a dialect, so rare.
He remembers reading an encyclopedia
in the face of a beggar, once,
prophetical sparks from high brows —
crossed currents; a lifetime recorded,
an unbound edition, A through Z
but when he carefully turned to C,
he'd found a full entry
on compassion and charity.
Soon, he'll no longer read music notes
through a soft blur, playing guitar
for one a thousand times more educated
then he, this twelve year old girl,
this preteen, dying, her heart
an open lecture hall, her smile,
pure academia. May she ever be
opus angelorum, that reaches,
will ever reach, far past
mere hospice walls.
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014
Authored by Chuck Keys
It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.
There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically
It wasn't here or there and it was.
With no distinction,
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.
It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.
In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.
The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."
Differences exist for differences,
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
written 25th Oct 2013
I don't know if human's will ever see
every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
there has to be a place for the poorest
The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
I am to believe "all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story
The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
he learn's the treasures, of "everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of "richness
seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty "as an illness
Love start's from the soul, and from there, it is taught to grow
the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace, defining the difference in richest and wealth
t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth
He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
for his wealth, is humanly "uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...
Award winning this poem made it to the top 100 in 2015 enjoy and leave me a smile to know that you were here.
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
line count and word number are equal in this selection....
"Make It Count"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Come to play
But if you say
Oh no baby, not today
Do you think he would stay
Or would he go so far away
In search of another lover he could lay
Doing everything associated with rolling in that infamous hay
And if push came to shove, maybe he would pay
To relieve all the stress stemming from your hips' distant sway
Because something must give, there are more than fifty shades of gray
That's common knowledge to the freaks and all those upon which they prey
And once you learn them all, I promise your lover will never ever stray
But if you miss just a single one, then you may experience that dreadful day
Where you lose it all so try to find True Love and remember to always Pray
Copyright © eric boddie | Year Posted 2015
There once was Castle just over the hill
That belonged to a King with an iron will
Nestled safely behind his Castle wall
With an army to insure they wouldn’t fall
It was clear for the entire world to see
Destiny would record him in history
The richest King in all of the land
A beautiful Queen at his right hand
He ruled the land from shore to shore
Tell me, “Could any man ask for more”?
Turns out this King had just one vice
He was so great he forgot to be nice
Against any force he was bound to win
So the devil attacked him from with-in
Such a great King skilled with the sword
Much too great a King to turn to the Lord
Watched his entire Kingdom crumble away
Because he was to great to kneel and pray
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008
Resounding echoes awaken the child
demons in the attic beckon unto him
stark fear grips his Vick's laden chest
shivers vibrate rusty springs of down
footsteps creak closer upon loose floorboards
while steamed filled pipes play taps
a somber teddybear snarls
causing the world to be still
foolish nuns, God doesn't want to "get me"
the sting of a ruler splinters a left hand
blood spurts upon faces of laughter
evil little boy too wicked for a mother
affliction runs in the family
Florence became flop because she always fell
polio never whipped her ass
just abused her now and then
she healed with a smile
Even humility has its price
Jimmy Dean wore sunglasses
maybe his eyes were bloodshot
or maybe he was a child of an alcoholic
and they became part of his attire
degenerate eye disease, masturbation
spattering or battering
does it really matter when you can't see
or understand the difference between ADD and ADHD
Psych 101: Crack can be Prozac
Iron gates surround a new residence
protecting the innocent who peer from outside
rehabilitation means refining bad habits
like those on the outside who have mastered them
twelve years of bars and games people play
provide an education unto itself
seclusion can be the deciding factor
between murder or suicide
self righteous judges choose life
recidivism is a revolving door
of vicious cycles with no engines
only propellers called co-dependants
or co-defendants, take your pick
life repeats itself over and over
only the circumstances change
yet the merry-go-round stops
when the flowers are arranged
Why are most tombstones gray
scared, afraid to die
are you saved?
from what, ourselves
you can't hurt me
Bob Shank-Nov. 30th, 2006
Copyright © Bob shank | Year Posted 2006
Fear of Numbers
Fear of numbers is real
They carry adding machines on their backs
And loaded numbered guns
Divide and subtract from families and everyone
With two times the pleasure two times the fun
Double their trouble on the run
You cannot escape the digits on your hands and toes
They are counting on you to pull them through
Children fear math and numbers like the plague
Run from them at multiple fractions of a second
Poof!...Like zero, (Is that a real name and number?), they are gone
Figures hide behind accountants glasses
Hitting you with tons of taxes
Not to be divisive or derisive
Or taken down in dividends
I think they’re out to get you
In the end they have no =
Something’s don’t add up
You can count on that
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
All the little bunnies were lined up for a race. Why, you may ask?
Because the dear old Leader Bunny was stepping down with grace.
He had led the others for years without disgrace, in all pursuits.
He was their advisor, friend, and confidant... solver of disputes.
Such a lofty position was dearly sought by all…from all around.
But he could pick only one to wear that lofty, wonderful crown.
So a race was determined to quickly resolve, the question therein.
And a lovely little laurel crown was offered, to the one who did win.
Now many strategies to win emerged from within the race.
The most common was the notion to set the fastest pace…
A few would use tricks that might hurt, in order to slow others down.
A few were mean, for they wanted the power that comes with the crown.
Two were clever and would catapult each other at the very end.
A few just practiced running to gain the added stamina needed to win.
Only one little rabbit found shoes for the poor, for it was a rocky trail.
And when the race began he helped those hurt in the prevail.
Now the dear old leader had never actually worn a laurel crown.
His had been symbolic; his works had brought him his renown.
When the Leader Bunny gave the laurel crown to he who won the race…
Only a few were surprised, when the little helper won the Leader’s grace…
Though some would go on to complain because he had come in last…
It truly takes someone who knows how to serve, to lead and guide the rest.
But my moral to this story is that…. Regardless what some may think…
It takes compassion to correctly lead…and sometimes the last can be the best…
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
In the wet sand
Footprints of gulls, and man
Disappear in the tidal dance
In the red dust
Feet of man, and horses
Up in canyons, leave no trace of
In the garden
Of such delightful scents
In spring and summer by winter
Of human life
Throughout world's history
However, are reported upon its
Of wins and woes
Like hand prints upon walls
Can't be erased, for their foothold
Copyright © Caroline Cécile Delacroix | Year Posted 2011
A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2011
I just don't understand what is happening these days
Life has us turned around in so many ways
Was it like this when I was small?
Or does it happen when you grow tall?
Is it the phones and computers that run our life?
That lead us each day to this world of strife.
Wasn't it easier way back when
Do you remember writing with a pen?
Kids shooting kids at school
Isn't school a learning tool?
Bullying is also the trend
Whatever happened to being a friend?
Maybe if we went back to simpler times
There wouldn't be so much crime
Maybe if the drugs went away
More kids would come out to play.
I know I'm just as guilty as all the rest
Being without my phone would be a test
Is there a right answer, I think not
But maybe, just maybe food for thought.
Copyright © Barbara Poor | Year Posted 2013
this is true;
you and I
who was I,
and now this crutch
just past mine age,
for I have passed on knowledge;
"I will discover grace"
her soft kiss
letting me in
Copyright © James Peranteau | Year Posted 2010
Bilum is a type of woven bag in Papua New Guinea (PNG)
How grandfather’s bilum, which
Across my father’s bare chest,
In a loving embrace slung.
Like the Leleki baskets’ blest
How while so pregnant swung.
How dwelleth he my father in its rich
Splendour till handing-over of its rest,
Then over my clothed chest again sways.
O this old bilum! like all other blest
No longer is laden with in my days.
For its treasures I search in earnest,
That I may grandfather’s mind know.
O this bilum is no longer pregnant!
Along the way, maybe some time ago,
How many treasures fade; this instant
Till my sleep, I’ll summon eagerness
To my modern soul strengthened to seek.
Grandfather’s treasures may be hidden;
Yet through a new eye must I ever peek
For glimpses my days have forbidden.
By: Jeffrey Febi 25 Oct 2010
Copyright © Jeffrey Febi | Year Posted 2013
A strange sight upon a lonely road.
A dream ripped in half.
Looking closer, I wonder what was the travail.
An old price tag attached, making me wonder at what price it was sold.
Along the edges, tattered and torn, it gave forth an evil laugh.
As if some sly devil concocted a way to turn someone pale.
Onward I traveled, with pack upon my back.
To the left and right of the road were littered with more broken dreams.
So many that one could not keep track.
Some having been blown into the parallel stream.
So, I checked the pack upon my back.
And, yep all my dreams were there in a stack.
Cold winds howl, trying to rip my back pack to shreds.
Freezing were the winds, but forward I march.
Never losing sight of my dreams in spite of many dreads.
They all hold up strong even though many times I'm in a lurch.
Suddenly I see people returning to the road.
Going back and picking up their dreams.
Dusting them off and restoring them to their pack.
Each and every one said to me, you are quite bold.
To go forth and not let the cold winds of fate not destroy your knack.
To face life as it comes and not give up even if offered gold.
Good, bad fortune, are likewise of no importance.
Put a failed dream back in your pack and maybe a new day will appear.
Where you can unpack that dream and give it another go.
But, for today, march forward, today's failure might tomorrow's dance.
You gave it your best, and win or lose, that game has ended with a spear.
Win or lose, that game is done so pack it's knowledge away in your pack and grow.
Suddenly down the road a new vista appears and a brand new game.
Left high and dry or victorious are the two possible ends of any venture.
But in truth, knowledge is all you will have, win or lose.
For tomorrows game is just around the bend, all the same.
Win or lose, the game of life only ends for the moment within sight of the new adventure.
So, to quit and call it the end, only makes you look like a goose.
Copyright © James Ray Morris | Year Posted 2010
Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)
Metaphysical Moment …
… Nature’s Mysteries
This Haiku is for:
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
An English Life
It is midnight the Milk train pulls into darnall station
No ordinary passengers here
Steelworkers with their families
Loaded with fishing tackle, sandwiches and maggots
The Fossdyke in Lincolnshire, their destination
The fare Half a crown for happiness
The long walk in the dark,
A stairway to heaven in my memory
Dawn on the Foss and a cup of tea,
Fever in the blood, the first eel of the day
Our cane rods lovingly handed down from father to son.
I remember, Pheasants looking for mates
Shrieking their songs of love
Swans begging for scraps
Their majestic white necks, nodding,
A greeting into their kingdom
The mist off the water revealing families,
being together, laughing, enjoying what was free.
For tomorrow the grime returns.
A conversation with a stranger then out of a bag,
The rabbits, sometimes hare, sometimes pheasant.
Onions and carrots, shortly follow
The smell, forever linked with summer
The scent of my childhood
Summers were hotter then;
At times I drank the Foss, for I was nature’s child
Being clean was never a priority,
Catching fish was, never killed always returned,
Our Covenant with Nature.
For it is the sport that we honour.
And with age comes reflection,
Poor I may have been, my education neglected
But I have a Doctorate in nature, for I have seen the dawn
Away from the factories, where the pheasant runs free
And where the swan reins king, I was part of them.
It was here I learned what family was,
To share, my last drink of pop with my neighbour,
A simple life, maybe, but what a life
For I have seen what Constable painted
Lived every word that Wordsworth wrote
Understood the Fragrance of the Flowers
And revelled in the poets dream.
I loved every colour, every sound, every scent,
And every fish I ever caught.
Father and mother are gone now,
Never complained about their Station in life,
For they found paradise on the Foss.
They left me the seeds to their heaven
And the key to my happiness
A key forged in a mans worth
To open up my soul to the beauty
That surrounds us all.
Dawn on the Foss, was my church
My soul was cleansed here
And my heart was shaped here
My memories kept safe here
And the Foss fever still resides here
I will die on some bank side, one day
Rod in hand, and I will be content,
So Tight lines my fellow Anglers.
Copyright © steven cooke | Year Posted 2011
There was once a young girl,
Who wish upon the stars,
Looking so bright in the sky,
She dream and soar up high.
Opportunities knock in front of her,
She think, she decide, with a prayer,
Go on, walk alone and prove to everyone,
That no matter what, she will do her plan.
Roads are not as smooth as she goes,
But strong enough to dream and pursue,
Thinking of the wish she promise to herself,
And she asks God to give her more strength.
To be strong to face challenges in life,
And dedicate her wish to God above,
Now success is within her reach,
With her determination not to be rich,
But to help for those who are need.
A girl who once wish upon the stars,
Is now a woman of example and virtues ,
For she is the already the molders of the youth,
Wish granted and she is now contented,
For God is really good if you believe and have faith
9th Place Winner
Pd's "New Poem" Contest
That Young girl was.......me
9th Place Winner
For Nathan's "oOne of your Best" Contest
Copyright © Maria Paz Samelo | Year Posted 2012
This poem is a farewell piece of advice to a group of students I have taught over the last four years. I do
hope they find the metaphor meaningful and believe that they are the "architects of their own future."
Spread before you is a canvas of hope and opportunity
Waiting to be painted with strokes of what you are and can be
Waiting to be filled with colours that define you and the life you live
Waiting to be stamped with the personality that only you can give
To the portrait of your life, by itself a work of art
A work which, on this day, with vigour you will start
Spread before you is a canvas of vision and desire
Waiting to be sketched with shades of passion and fire
Waiting to be decorated with a story and theme
Waiting to be etched with ambition that is now just a dream
Of a picture whose tone, texture and style
Would have made this work worth all the while
Spread before you is a canvas, empty, yet full of space
Waiting to be stroked with your wit, charm and grace
Waiting to be brushed with strokes daring, vivid and bold
Waiting to be painted with a story that can be told
Of a life whose essence is one of sublime beauty
Of a person who lived his life and did his duty
Of a person who lived life the way it should be
Of a complete canvas that will reflect many a memory.
Copyright © Alister Renaux | Year Posted 2009
In a country of addictions,
where we are trapped,
trying to find daylight,
and a safe way out.
Many are forgotten,
they are sent away,
when a little compassion,
could pave a new way.
Some can be saved,
by an outstretched hand,
if someone believes,
Addictions can manifest,
in many ways,
drugs, alcohol, greed,
some bad choices made.
We can't play politics,
with peoples lives,
provide them the tools,
so they can fly.
The time is now,
to turn things around,
give them our voice,
provide a safe ground.
This is my prayer,
may God soften our hearts,
give us understanding,
this is where rehab starts.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2009
How did you feel when you woke? Were you frightened or lonely, or was your heart broke?
Do you feel alone or sometimes afraid? Is it clear that your life’s not meeting the grade?
Do you feel uncomfortable in your own skin? Do you feel that you’re losing, but just want
Are you having remorse about what could have been? If so, then it’s time to grab paper and
Jot some things down you’d like to achieve. Then read them each day and start to believe.
We cannot go back and change the past! Standing still today, just won’t last.
So get ready, prepare, and take care of your needs. It’s time to firmly plant His seeds.
Start with yourself and the rest will follow. I know right now it’s hard to swallow.
Be gentle and patient, for there is no doubt, you’ve been hurting so long, both inside and
If you know in your heart that something’s askew, you must be willing and ready to start anew!
There’s help for you along the way. You’ll receive it for sure, so start to pray.
Dear God, Please show me where to start. To You, I know I must open my heart.
So say each day, “Thy Will Be Done”, and you’ll see it, I’m sure, but just don’t run.
Be open and willing to hear and see, all that He is calling you to be.
Follow His signs and stay on the road, and when you ask He’ll help bear the load.
Don’t bring excess baggage for this trip. Keep it simple, you see or you just might slip.
You need to remember to stay on track. Once you start, hold nothing back.
For the new road you find is the only way. You’ll get there soon, if you just don’t stray.
Now is the time for discipline and prayer. You’ll start to believe you’re in His care.
As you practice and try to do the right things, you’ll be eager to see what the next day
Your life will be flooded with joy and gladness, and you’ll know he’s there in times of
Life is still life, but just stop and think. Nothing is solved by making a stink!
So put all your worries in God’s hands today! There’s no reason to keep them, let go and
I know that miracles do come true. Have faith and His promises will be given to you.
©October 17, 2006
Copyright © Michelle DeGironemo | Year Posted 2010
Together the Owl and the PusyCat were married
Then again sailed out over the deep blue seas
Searching forever for the great Land of Nod,
To the place where they could find true peace.
True peace, true peace… Where they could find true peace.
The love that twined forever within their hearts
They sought throughout all the wonderous lands
Going to the place where they would live in peace,
A place where true peace, rules and lives in the hearts of the land.
The land, the land… Where true peace lives in the heart of the land.
Alas, the love of the heart, though truly not easy to find…
Is easier to find than the love of peace, found throughout the land.
So it’s said they will continue to sail, until that day comes true,
And when they land for the final time, will be up to me and you.
Me and you, me and you… That day will be up to me and you.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
envision harmony and mental clarity
focus on a journey of possibility
Meditate on transformation and
awareness of inner state
peace and healing
instruct your mind
to redirect the lost and struggling inner voice
Where you can’t see the wood for the trees
under your nose is the path of freedom
Put aside perceived struggles
revitalize, relax, respond
to body, mind, heart and spirit
Intuition, introspection and spiritual renewal
bring about personal healing and
Stillness of mind – concentration
Thoughts of the subconcious and subliminal
beyond all negativity
away from all interuption
To allow time for self communication and
expression of inner self
Senses – awareness of scent, sight, sound, taste and touch
Healing hands of the medical profession or alternative therapy
ambiance, temperature, oils, music, sounds and
sights of nature or universe
realisation comes in various form and shape
causing us to feel life in fullest expression
Connecting – whispers of wind
radiating everpresent warmth of sun
a blanket of love and light comforts consoles over and through the cosmos
rippling infinately through infinity outwards, onwards
connecting right back into where we are at right now
unmoved unchanged and as we were
Wise – responsible courageous allowed to let go of need to be judgemental or
let go of controlling enable trust wisdom and humility
intelligence of knowing others
wisdom of knowing self
strength in mastering others
power to master oneself
Energy -breath, force, spirit, soul, God, universe –
whatever – doesn’t matter how you refer to it on personal level
energy, balance, light, sound, vibration, peace
centered self – stillness – silent – eternal –
to have enough is a richness in itself
accept appreciate and acknowledge oneself
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2011
People are commonly different
Symbol of diversity piece
Pure race doesn’t exists
Color and creed are just an identity
Believe only in human history
God sculptured them from clay
People are equally created
Having many opposites
But respecting others taste
When everyone is treated equal
Nothing appears but peace in hand
Discrimination, disunity and, suffering won’t be born anymore
Written to advocate to suppress racism
Bandar Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia
10:30-11:00 am, November 13. 07, Tuesday
Copyright © Neldy Jolo | Year Posted 2009
America, why did you stray from the old way.
A constitution put forth, the foundation of our land,
barely recognizable what was originally Jefferson's hand.
Tarnished and smudged by misinterpretation,
overindulgence and greed, to satisfy political,
judicial, and journalistic need.
Once majority rule, now bordering on ridicule,
the law of the land, ever changing, meeting demands,
of whoever takes a stand.
America, why did you stray, parents unable to discipline,
fear children undisciplined now rule, school in chaos,
students unruly, guaranteed to pass, unprepared for their future,
parents unsure, wish for the past, hope the next generation,
won't be like the last.
America, why did you stray, streets used to be a place to play,
neighbors knew one another, socialized every day,
doors left unlocked, nothing to fear, families stayed close,
helped one another, took care of mother.
Now drugs rule the day, hate and crime more common than play,
multiple locks symbolic of today, rarely talk to a stranger,
living in fear; life no longer precious, taken away,
day after day, the bloody count rises, a country in crisis,
victims pay, guilty appeal, courts give them the best deal.
Nobody protests for victims rights, put a murderer to death,
they scream all night.
America, why did you stray, hatred and bigotry alive
and well today, nationalities split, long for the old way,
when an American, was just an American, now hyphenation,
the accepted way.
America, why did you stray, once an industrial giant
you gave it away, too high a standard for industry to pay,
moved out of country, the new American way, unemployment,
poverty, homelessness rapidly increasing, ruined lives,
while billions are spent on so called allies.
America, why did you stray, what's written today,
barely address the wrongs building every day,
religion is accepted, God is not,
country divided, politically split,
presidential bashing provides journalistic wit,
hatred and bigotry, live for it.
America why did you stray, new chapters every day,
really a damn shame.
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
YOU’RE THE WEAK ONE
You’re the weak one, you’re a bully. The weak one is definitely
The bully is always the weak one, but your weakness you can’t
seem to see.
So, I’m going to try to shed a little light on your weak and inappropriate ways.
Your weakness began on your first bullying day.
Your false sense of power is not strength at all; it is a cry for help desperately trying to break through.
I actually feel a little sorry for you.
Weak kids like you always seek to find other kids they can dominate.
Bullies do this with vicious words, inappropriate actions, and misguided hate.
Is being a weak bully the banner you want to carry for the rest of your life?
Get rid of the bully banner forever; take up a banner that shows respect,
understanding, and tolerance for others, and always hold that one very high.
Copyright © Al Johnson | Year Posted 2012
I walk a mile to see the self in me that I believe to be,
I knew the road I choose to lay my head to sleep is called my home,
times in need I could barely see that in myself I will set free,
the act that held me down, something about me I could not see,
I lived a life when I decide that day I said that I don't care,
so young, so bright, I dim my light, traumatized for me to share,
love me please regardless of what you heard and what you have seen,
friends say that I'm only human, yes you're right, a human but who am I being?
My life will move in the direction I choose,
this I know I have always been taught
that I choose to be a winner or lose,
its entirely up to me its all in my thoughts.
Copyright © Ken Fepulea'i | Year Posted 2010
Just as we live and just as we die
We laugh, kill and crucify
We are no more our brothers than we are ourselves
We are the players
With the tools and talent of the efficient demise
Of war, famine and greed
We do rise
Of the ever constant ricochet of freedom in our ears
As we wrap our fallen dead in a shroud of rights, laws and bills
And continue to improve the technology, the precision
The assurance of absolute destruction
Buying death is easy
Dealing is easier
The career choice of many
A thriving business with prestige and power
Taking, wanting, hungry for the rush
So young, so fragile
Blood is running in the streets
A seemingly endless fountain of misguided youth
Falling, one after the other
So far from the truth
What good has ever come from a gun ?
Why kill ?
Why are we arming our children ?
Our future ?
Are you blind to the fact ?
Do you not hear the sound ?
Do you not see ?
Do you not care ?
We are killing ourselves
Stealing each others dreams
Each others families
Why pro-create ?
To produce, raise, and nurture more disposable targets ?
Is there another use for guns ?
1 + 1 = 0
One bullet + one individual = one less reason to care
We are waging war upon our brothers for money, love and survival
All to easy....................
Living In Fear Everywhere
Eric (and sometimes not)
Copyright © Eric Nolan | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
[beforehand i just want to let you know that i wrote this in honor of November 17th. which is
To Write Love On Her Arms Day. im hoping to come up with a better one before than. but i
still hope you enjoy this quickly-wrote one(: ]
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my struggle,
my fall downs,
&& all the breakdowns.
this is about every wound i placed upon my body.
over 60 self inflicted wounds,
that as my story went on they began to heal.
i stoped writing "give up"
i began to write love on my arms<3
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my past.
how it haunted me for years,
&& how im still running from some of it.
this is how i went from a hood rat,
to me actually caring about myself.
i began to write love on my arms<3
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about how i learned to keep the bottle off of my nightstand.
i dont need liquor running through my veins 24/7.
i started to look at life through sober eyes.
i began to write love on my arms<3
&& as i wrote this day after day, i saw that i was loved.
i found comfort in better things then pills, liquor, && razorblades.
&& even though i am still in healing,
my story is not over.
&& it will never be.
i still write love on my arms<3
Copyright © Saralynn SpaceCadet | Year Posted 2010
"THE whole truth and nothing but the truth"
I have never failed or cheated, on any test I took.
Though I have taken best guesses upon one look,
I know I was a nerd, I read everything in every book.
Maybe that is why now reading is not part of my nook.
Poetry is the only thing I can handle by hook or crook.
I would have to read a recipe if I was going to cook.
Maybe there was one test that I almost failed, I took.
It would have been English, which I passed in a rook.
Now the only thing mostly I read is a manual book.
Except for poetry, which I read out loud, upon my first look,
Not that I am very smart, I guess luck is what I took.
Truth is, if it were not for luck, I would be a closed book.
this was my quest:
Cecilia, how about a truthful question!!!! have you ever totally flunked out on a test, or cheated on a test... I want the whole truth and nothing but the truth, in a poetic way... p.s... make your answer fun as can be... I think limericks, or couplets would do your question perfct..always..pd
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2012
< amidst thy shell's core
healing of ones soul begins
with ......... wholesome cleansing
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2010