in the East
so long ago
A heavenly light
that guided wise men
to the place where He lie
In a manger on a blanket of hay
* * * * *Christ -Immanuel - a radiant child - a gift from God* * * * *
His only son who died on a cross
for teaching us to love and
help one another
for this is
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2009
Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak
Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept
Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity
Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!
Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010
Woke up to a new life in Egypt
I was young not more than seventeen years
Adorned with gold and precious stones
My body was in the shroud of silk and jewels in my hair
I sat on a throne as a Queen
My name was Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile
During the day I lay on the silk cushions
and dozed in the shade of palm trees
Beautiful men and women kept flitting
around me with all sorts of temptations
Fed me all sorts of fruit and cold drinks
When evening came, it was time for romance
As Queen I had many to choose
My choice was of course:
"The greatest men of Rome"
Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius
Why choose one when I can have two?
On a long journey down the Nile with
my love Julius Caesar, I was forced to
make a choice.
But a choice one must take...and the
choice was that I gave birth to a son
and Julius Caesar was the father
My love life was not popular
my husband was killed and I
was no longer popular
It was no longer a life of happiness and joy
No, it was war and national mouming
and I would not live anymore
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen | Year Posted 2012
The Bedouins, bequeathed with the sacred beauty of paradise harsh,
trusted guardians of jealous gorges and gifted groves
lead me from the Wadi Musa to the humble ingress of Petra,
saying with thrill, the Jin of your Jihad awaits you White Lion,
we embrace as Brothers of Light and ancient dust,
their camels wise in soft steps
impart wide eyed, gentle blessing to me,
a shrill whisper of teasing wonderment
whisks the sand of centuries strewn small
with a cobra's awakening whisp and hungry hiss,
evening enters the terrible terrain
glowing a cool blue dark and daring
along with it a blowing a zephyr unzips the zodiac of my ancestors,
stars of a billion years sympathize with this soul sojourn,
alone I journey inward like a brave wish wafting
into a heart wanting to disgorge a secret need,
the smell of salt, sandstone and myrrh infiltrate
my mind with a mineral magic animating millenia of sovereign economics,
lamp light revealing the blush and rue of the the Siq's colossal rock hue,
shadows of caravan traffic bespeak exotic trade from distant industry,
narcotics from Kush, Persian rugs, spices and incense of Arabia,
jewels and hides from India, the medicine and silk of China,
beasts and papyrus of Africa, wine, weapons and art of Rome,
slaves beautiful and strong carried from every known ethnic throng,
a river of precious merchandise replacing the might of carving waters,
at the egress of this artery's eternal enterprise
I behold with burgeoning awe the Nabataean Treasury,
it's gladsome geometry a harmony of will, wealth and worship,
warm red cream stone become bone of a peoples' politic,
architecture for their angels and sanctuary for culture,
depository for dreams indebted to desert Deities,
I blow a kiss to the niche of Tyche, Goddess of fantastic fortune,
as I tighten my checkered turbin I hear a soft song
of Hellenic, Semitic and Arabic recipe, stringed hums with chime
and it moves me into the open, bleak basin towards the Monastary facade,
in the black of it's errie entrance a spirit of evanescent education
escalates my enchantment as corners wake to pathways,
murals like waving reflections stream across the walls
I see Moses crack the water stone for salvation
as the Holy Arch spirals an avalanche of absolution from Earth to Heaven,
Solomon and Sheba secure a trade treaty with royal love,
I witness Jesus in the Jordan with John the Baptist
kindly laying him in the steady float of faith,
then the tragedy of John's demise
by the sour ambition of Herodias, the whore of defacto power,
I observe the affection of Joshua Ben Joseph
with his woman of street sense as they endure trial after trial,
scenes of the Pax Romana and Judaen revolts parade
by my eyes as terror, torture and triumph
wear masks of glory and glee,
the Essenes embarking for the Dead Sea defense,
Muslims and Crusaders found not the bounty of this land,
here remains the treasure of Pharaonic voyage,
exiting with renewed moral for love
I look to the top of Zibb Atuf
where I see the thunderbolt of Zeus Hadad and cornucopia of Atargatis
burn sweetly in the night, periwinkle smolder signals righteous passion,
I feel you, my Love, paramount in the depth of every sense I have,
turning entranced to the Roman Theater I proceed to the north east rendezvou,
you are lovely and glamorous on the stage of amplified ardor,
starbeams spotlight your coordinated curves and fertile instinct,
you begin to seduce with a dance, breathtaking, impulsive balance,
moving with the smooth heat and poise of a breath blown candle flame,
a crescent of torches beautifies your frame, crimson silk wings from you,
I stand for a moment on the outer upper rim
gazing, with great heat upsurging through every muscle,
knowing you are jubilant for me by the way you move
I descend the stairs undistracted from the language of your invitation,
your cinnamon skin skims my own as you go round and round
and the crave for your ravishing rub forces my pursuit,
I catch your tender waist as you spin into my hunting arms,
your fingertips feel so right in my hands,
we sway like romance on fire in the storm of desire,
your restive back nestled inbetween my shoulders
my obsessed lips move up your neck in search for innocent sensitivity
overtaking your naked earlobe with a hot mouth and firm pull,
your body, begging to be breeched brutely calms slowly
as I release spontaneous poetry into your ear saying...
When the moon was young
unbattered by stone and age
glowing bold upon Earth newly spun
the first man and sacred Woman
made love of flesh warmly woven
from they're erupting hearts came wild knowledge...
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014
Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely - red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.
She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be Queen;
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.
Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping, like a willow tree.
Then the sky begin to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that Irish rose,
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.
The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.
The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone
That still stands alone upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.
Written: June 18, 2010
Note: To late for the contest,
but I thought I would post it anyway.
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010
There are times we are left to cope
With situations that drain our hope
Leaving us full of despair
At how some people just don't care
About the evil that they do
To good people like all of you
We are left to somehow face
That in mankind there is disgrace
And those of us left alive
Must find away to survive
As you pick up the pieces of your life
Without your mother, father, husband or wife
And some of you God forbid
Without the love of your kids
We must band together with a brotherhood
Show that in this world there is some good
Because we are together in this deal
We try to help each other heal
We seek in each other good advice
And offer each other sacrifice
We hold each other in prayer and song
As we continue to re-build the wrong
Because what else in the world can we do
Except let the light of good shine through
The evil darkness and despair
Of a catastrophic lack of care
We want you to know you are not alone
Think of America as a giant cone
And all of us are funneling through
Our prayers and hopes to all of you
Posted for Nathan's 9-11 contest
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
Haze up in the heavens encircles this orb.
Half-dark, half-light, shines from above.
Twinkles of light appear to absorb.
Fractions of darkness within lighted glove,
Speaking to lovers held in each other’s arms.
Answering questions of science to some,
Floating around spreading blessed charms,
Listening close at times, hearing a hum.
Lovers for centuries, graciously, captured by,
Sweet serenity and magical mystery,
Others entranced with secrets, which fly.
From words written and spoken in history.
Satellite, orb, lady, they are all the same.
Mythical goddesses, gripped in flame.
These tales have spread so many games.
This object seen most nights has no shame.
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010
This disconnected intellect of society in retrospect
Is nothing but a retro spectrum of colors.
Gold chains and disco lights,
Black, white, and grey faces, red Adidas stripes with no laces
Cardboard boxes unfolded on concrete streets
Where the founding fathers of modern culture would meet
And write our Constitution by moving their feet.
With a spectacular repertoire of flashy moves
And a deep reservoir of verbs that mingled with words in the mind’s river
That flowed from the banks of lips as the first freestyle
When style was really free.
Not compromised, chopped up, glamorized, marketed, processed, pasteurized
and then subliminally delivered as a shrink-wrapped, shiny medium of bad ideas.
Back when people actually had ideas,
Not just the regurgitation of pre-chewed vomit music.
The DJs cooked up beats in their basements
Just crack for the bass-heads
Denied treble ‘cause trouble was all they were faced with.
There was music laced with dope, and dope was good.
Darwinism of hip-hop.
You know what I mean?
Of course not ‘cause these young bucks would rather spend fifteen dollars on 50
Then spend fifty cents on a education.
Flagrant, our testimonial to a religion that’s pagan
We pray to money, pray to greed, pray to fame, pray to succeed
And denounce life when we pray that our bullet hits its target.
The Boogie Oogie became the Boogaloo
And the Electric Slide met the electric chair.
Time is money.
Money is life.
Life is a game.
I invest Monopoly money in the New World Clock Exchange
To collect interest in fate and become disinterested in buying my life back.
My soul is currency, currently spent on reverting from the current state.
Back to when sex was more taboo than a smile
Back to when freedom didn’t equal censorship
Back to when love for family didn’t negate the fact that times change.
Back to when the Big Hand spun backwards two seconds too late.
And minutes were miniscule and minute, hip-hop was rediculed
Not because it was demeaning, but because it represented Revolution.
An occurrence that has come and gone with the wind.
My name is Hip-Hop O’Hara and I am in love with Civility Wilkes.
Reverend Run preached gospel, now he rolls in his grave
If musical revelation is impossible, than who will be saved?
The essence in lyrics is kept underground in a cage.
Struggling to survive like illiterate slaves.
Reaching for freedom, which lies on the next page.
Free the music.
Copyright © Justin Uscenski | Year Posted 2006
I do not know?
I never wanted it to be this way, I never wanted to feel the pain. Bruises all over me.
Invisible but I can see them.
You hurt me everywhere. My heart is shattered and the blood has frozen. But I won't be
Stare at me like this all you want. Try and hurt me with your words just as long as you
don't use fists.
I don't ever want to be your victim. I refuse to be one of those few girls who end up
losing their whole world.
Love isn't supposed to hurt, but maybe I was just naive because the moment I loved you my
heart never stopped bleeding.
I won't be your victim, I won't run away. If you have something to say I won't avoid it.
I'm not scared I can take whatever you try to throw.
Don't hold back I promise you I will not cry. The moon is shining just like all the
diamonds that you called pretend love I can't even imagine why I fell so hard.
It's never clear until the glass of water is gone. But now that you've gulped me to the
last I want you to know I won't be your victim.
I kissed vulnerability goodbye the very last time I cried over you and I won't be your
victim your not even worth it.
If you feel like you must shove a door in my butt but don't make me afraid because I
don't want to be I don't want to be your victim.
Let go of my hand so I can peacefully drive away if you want me to I can drive over you
as well. But don't make it seem like i'm causing you pain because it's obvious to see
that I've been a victim and it's a shame.
But I don't want to be it anymore then you so just let me go and I won't have to run. I
promised you forever I laugh at this now you were never eternity love in my mind.
I kept counting until the madness in ourselves would corrupt. Tears flash down my eyes
as I speed down the lanes. Two bottles of Gin and I think i'm going insane.
It wasn't until I crashed into a tree that I realized I was never your victim I was
merely your suicide mission.
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005
Knee deep in surf
The water clung to her
Changing silk gown
To wrinkled shiny skin
Never had I envied ocean water so
But then t'was I who'd let her go
Drowning in green eyes
With fear of clinging ties
Holding me back
Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2006
Come to my boudoir Cheri
I am here all for thee
In red and lace
I shall entangle you will love
Entice you with lust
Tease you till desires run dry
You shall be the knight who rides my thigh
In the bonny highlands we shall have our romp
Meadows and fields of summer scent and breeze
I shall wrap you in my honey warmth
Mine, all mine you will be
Wrapped, entwined around my wee finger
Enslaved with love
You belong all to me
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
These barren walls
Keep me chaste
Vows of silence
Diminish nothing of wanton passions of the past
Days in silence, looking upwards to God
Thoughts linger, to where true love lies
I toil in Gods works
Knees now as rocks
All of Gods floors, so clean
Daily rituals, in quiet do I share
Our virtues preserved, hidden from worldly sins
But I have loved, yes, and long I still do
Illusions of piety, they scare me not
Love stirs goodness, surely no sin
The days of eternal springs
Gardens so fresh, flowers in bloom
Hand in hand, with his intellect and charm
Beauty within, for we dared the philosophical
Arms and legs entwined, deep in thoughts
My professor of life, and thinker to all
He belonged to France
Nobility, and all
We parted in love,
Who sees my tears, behind these walls?
Our reasoning lost to passions turn
He admits not, the love he yearns
His Order condemns, his inquisitive thoughts
He burns what he writes
Heretic or not
A leader of philosophy, a greatness in his time
A fate, that brings upon me guilt
His torture of manhood, he suffered much pain
Questioning his intellect, is love, his very brain
Each to our separate, Abbeys’ of god
Vows of silence, yet the ink flowed
Reliving now, what surely, should have been
A love so great, why considered a sin?
Has not this society, any compassion at all?
Learned I was in Latin and Hebrew
And so with the pen, letters did flow
And from afar, in pain, our love re-lived
Passions in ink, became again exposed
Alas he is older by a fortnight or many
He longed for love, yet he fights from within
His values, his passions, his life’s dedications
His soul has been burned, wounded by time
Ending his years, thinking seduction undone
Redemption shall be waiting, from the heavens above
My love Abelard, my tears you never saw
I was strong, as you gave me the strength to be
And I, was happy, knowing our desires shared
The angels will tell you, your fame will endure
For the greatest of all philosophies
Our love will be
Abelard and Heloise are one of the most celebrated couples of all time, known for their love affair... and for the tragedy that separated them.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013
In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores
for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `
Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
The red album, The blue album , The White album
Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
Ringo's face , something hard to understand underneath~
I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears
For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence
Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died
I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it "
No .. this was not my hero in music and song .
he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes
bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss
One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
his world of secrets
He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
The very sad long and winding Road ~
Let us Bury our real Paul.
No more " Mystery tour "
No more fear
Let him be in peace ~
Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Venice, the daughter of the sea
Winding paths, waterways or cobblestones roads
Rulers of the renaissance, noblemen would be
Her navy full of conquests, her triumphs all would see
From nobility rose, a woman fair
Her life a whirlwind, with her share of despair
Banished from Venice, for daring to speak
Her desires and wit, did many a man seek
The golden rose the pope did give
As she fled to Florence, so young and deceived
Her strength in spirit and a mind so refined
Her friend Marco, the captain, with whom she dined
He parted his wisdom as best he could
He sailed victorious, for Bianca he should
His secret was safe out on the seas
Which is why he and Bianca, could never be
Her royal blood would keep her in stead
As nobility in Florence would turn their heads
Francesco indeed would commission a palazzo
For Bianca his mistress, in waiting, his queen
The Grand Duchy of Florence, all powers bestowed
A seeker of knowledge, of wisdom composed
His Austrian wife, alone, cold and barren
Could not compete, with his love yet to be
They danced, they confided, in each they held
A love of intellect, beauty and lust to be feld
And sadly, one day, the enemies of Venice
Plotted and schemed to bring about a demise
The poison was swift, and an era did end
In a villa in Florence, Francesco was dead
Bianca his love, her beauty unblemished
Fell by his side, and whispered to thee
My dear, my love, it was meant to be
Bianca Cappello (1548 – 17 October 1587)
Note: OK OK I invented 1 new word, that's what poets do
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013
I was as high as the eyes could see
A giant dark cloud of pure misery
I seemed to roll as one with the wind
A giant black wall that had no end
I stripped the land and left it bare
Of the lives I destroyed, I didn’t care
Those who stayed I covered in dust
As their children died I broke their trust
From my hell many families did flee
Left to wander homeless in misery
I changed the word these words are true
Black Sunday brought darkness on you
I didn't see any direct link but just goggle
pictures of the dust bowl and you will see
what i have written for Brian's Contest.
The Dust Bowl - Alexandre Hogue - 1937
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
Singing praise of past lives
with the dreams of swastikas and rose-tinted spectacles
floating through my head.
One moment, a Polish Jew,
the next, an Aryan German -
dual reflections held in the iron gaze
of a predatory raptor and the sharp-angled, six-pointed star
perpetually spinning, reopening wounds
which the weeping Roses of Sharon cannot heal.
I held you in my youthful arms,
serpents rising from the secret codes of my loins,
and I worshipped you as an old, universal lover
as I penetrated your dark womb;
a sanctified temple of Angels and Daemons.
Initially we prayed to the inverted graves
sliding through oil-slicked skies,
so young of heart and mind we were.
Our love was purified in the hellish Axis-kiln
paralleling the flames flickering against our skin.
The vessel of our love shone like glass,
cooling off to less dangerous levels
in the forgiving breeze of empathy
(aside from the fact that when I watched you move,
the world stood still for me).
And then we wiped away the green grins from the glass.
We became one pulse,
the Jew and a Nazi
teaching each other how one should not pray to 'him' alone,
for both phallic powers are needed
to light the spark of creation:
"Our Father AND Mother who art in Heaven(after),
hallowed be both thy names."
Male and female energies
breathing life into each other,
like slightly distorted transvestite, Siamese twins.
We wanted to stay in our fleshly pleasures,
but our minds spread wings.
ascending smoothly within turbulence,
we transformed into golden light,
moving invisible objects with our thoughts,
removing shackles, opening secret locks,
figuring out who was who --
who were the real Jews, and who were the true Nazis,
who were the Angels and who were the Daemons....
....who were Daemons and who were Angels.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
“Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed –
come to me when I too am on my death bed.”
“Allowed!' she said. “Heaven would have a job to hold me;
and as for Hell, I'd break it into bits.”
Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force
this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back
-- to be sucked back -- into it?
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
The division should be acute,
the before her, the with her,
the after her.
There is this constant
rattling of doors, though they remain
locked, in theory. I think of her
as gone until I turn a page,
read a passage of pompous
dialogue and she returns,
My Joie de Vivre,
entertaining me with that puckish
She smiles in the dusk with crusading
colours that bend dark horizons,
changing clouds, unexpectedly.
What was I before Joy?
Content, pleasant, productive.
But was I alive, aware of life,
its blissful rhythms?
the heart which awakened stone
no longer beats.
Finally, I understand.
Lessons are sharp things
which infect both fresh
and aging amputations.
What do I do with this knowledge?
It is like learning a language
that is no longer spoken,
a long monologue
unbearably forlorn, painful.
Faith dismisses hauntings,
yet she does so in daily degrees.
O, the sweet ghosts that peer
from those notes,
my name underscored in margins.
Why is there only one glove
in the sewing box?
Agony hunts me
in the garden. Perfume almost,
but not quite a match.
Some rooms have snares.
I dare not open a kitchen drawer.
Pain waits there.
The specter of my former self,
a staunch gent, so sure
of Heaven's role,
that cold bloke follows me
into the shadows,
land of man’s rage
and despair. There is no pretty
death, no words can comfort
the ravaged left behind,
There is no poetry
in our departing.
I only pray
there is Godspeed in mine.
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2012
Once again I tip the scale
And mutter, whoever invented it was a man from hell.
It was not a woman who created weights for size
For women can look past the outer shell
And search deep for what is inside.
Men must have their cake and eat it too…
From head to toe-perfection-from hat to shoe
I dress in all white for today I must teach Sunday school
If only a man’s heart would find my food
I can shake and bake
If only on my plate would a handsome man chance to take.
The preacher gets up on the pulpit and puts on his show
Talks about the place where adulterers must go
None of us admit he is a hypocrite as we all know
For he has slept with every woman in the front row.
But, even still my pig’s feet goes from hot to cold
No matter how many ties for him I’ve sewn.
Some women have all the luck
Others like me can’t even get a look-let alone a touch
Being me, ah yes, it is too much.
Sister “Gossip” waves her fan as I go past
“Speak out loud?” would be too much to ask.
I wonder if it is my skirt that is too tight
Or whether I will be at home alone again tonight
I wonder if whatever she says about me is worth a fight
Or is it even true and right.
I pray for her soul with all my might,
I can’t let the Devil move into my mind.
People tell me I sing like a bird
Its gospel time, time to praise the Lord with words
I walk on stage to take my turn
Hands sway from side to side and my throat burns…
But the men stare at the teenager in the short skirt
And the first lady with the red dress
My curves ripple my stomach
For I am not that blessed
I have what a man wants to hear
But to lye beside me is what they all fear.
The service offered nothing by way of encouragement.
But, I have worshiped God
Even if the day was not heaven sent
I know somehow it must be time well spent.
I kiss the little children good-bye
And pretend all is joyous on the inside.
Satin-Legs Smith walks pass the church and sighs
We all know what is on his mind
Therefore though I dream of marriage he doesn’t give me the time.
He looks at me winks and a little smile.
He would only laugh if I asked him to come eat with me
For a little while.
I hang my coat in the closet
Beside a dusty wedding dress
I was wishful thinking when I bought it.
It is four sizes to small
I had planned to shrink into it by last fall.
But, too much time passed and I can’t even return it to the mall.
I can’t bring myself to put it in the trash down the hall.
I may use it for curtains or to cover the dirt stains on my front wall.
I lay myself down to sleep
And pray to the Lord my soul to keep.
And that I do not die before love I see
It is enough to at least give me hopeful dreams.
Monday comes and I have to go off to clean
For rich white people who don’t need anything.
Except for J. Alfred Prufrock
He lives on top
Of the food chain
But he too is looking for love
We’re both the same.
He always looks at me like he has something to say
But he can’t get past his bald spot or the creases on his face.
Again I wonder should I do the flirting dance
Let him know I am available and that I can
And I will, so he will take a chance
I know he would be willing to love me still
I am not settling for second best!
He is a man!
I am a woman!
Shouldn’t we make love manifest?
I think I will give it a go
And see if I could be someone he would come to know
A fine meal some sweet potatoes and a roast
A pan of peach cobbler, such things men love the most.
I will make his house squeaky clean
Show him what he could expect if he married me.
I drive up and he is at his window
Watching his neighbors come and go
Eavesdropping on their conversations
And he is reading a book, Dante’s “Inferno”
“Is this for me?” when he sees the plate of food.
I nod yes and hope it gets him in the mood
He smiles, blushes and turns red.
All sorts of happy thoughts run through my head.
But still he only eats and does not speak
It seems the asking will be up to me.
But what do I say for I do not wish to be
Considered by him, a hussy.
I ask him if he likes the movies.
He tells me he prefers plays
“I have never been to one” I say.
“Maybe I shall take you to one someday.”
“And I will make you a German Chocolate cake.”
“I guess then it is a date.”
How should I wear my hair? Should I sport an afro?
Or get a perm? This is the time to use all those make up tips that I learned.
It seems I will feel the joy of being an Eve.
The birds are singing just for me.
The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming.
Will they be putting Prufrock on my tomb stone
If I do this right I won’t die alone…
Copyright © Tyshawn Knight | Year Posted 2015
In days of old,
ye knights were bold
And Dragons roamed the land
Sir Lancelot, he was a knight
And Fought with Sword in hand
White horse he rode
With his lance
A shiny suit of armour
Beware this knight, the story goes
He really is a charmer!
Now one fine day, he saw a lass
And whispered in her ear
A shock he got, when she revealed
I’m lady Guinevere
In love they fell
Before too long
Merlin cast a spell
While hunting out one afternoon
The king, black knight would tell
Black knight ‘s plan
When Lancelot was banished
Shed a tear, did Guinevere
When she learned he’d vanished.
Now this legend
Hath been told
A morale doth contain
Keep your lance, tucked in your pants
And save yourself the pain!
Copyright © Roger Page | Year Posted 2010
You do not love me
Love is more than just a word
Thorns have reached their depth
Copyright © Celene Crescent | Year Posted 2010
I turn to my girl highlighting Mayday is near
A day of spectacle that the whole village views
There's Jesters of folly and Knights without fear
Witnessing lances and jokes, always going askew
To view such we can venture along different ways
We can stroll by the river listening to many sounds
In awe as we walk amidst most wondrous displays
That on any given day beautiful vistas abound
Decisions, decisions, as we contemplate which way
It's such a special day wondering what to wear
Beauty personified will my Olive be on this day
Knights or Royal Princes, all they can do is stare
So tomorrow we've decided to be our chosen route
Two hearts in decision, declaring what's their suit
Mayday morn now greets as I turn next to me
She my guiding light as beautiful as the dawn
Excitement illuminates for into her eyes I see
Onto my back I lie, that feel she's now upon
Into this day we go heading along the river
Crystal clear translucent such serenity in it's flow
Under greened canopies cooled shaded deliver
Wafting leaved dress in delightful fanned throw
We sense the clearings near for scents we sense
Sporadic clusters in capture of welcoming eyes
Mayday games have started, distant heard suspense
Knights on horseback mounted, now in espy
Now we're in amidst encapsulated we now are
She's here to cheer, her Sir James, soon to spar
Balcony she now awaits, white steed he's now astride
Blinkered pairings gallop towards intended foe
To win this Mayday he, to fight for her his bride
Eliminate his enemy, witness his crimson flow
His lance in now connect, thrown metal disperses
Petals of beauty hurled of rainbows selected
Images of we, now thinking marital rehearses
To know on this day, her intended she's elected
Moments of their previous now in recent past
Knowing they're now free in kaleidoscopic stream
Spectrum of feelings now in view full cast
In colourful extremes, fight for your dreams
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011
The first thing that I recall knowing
As a sturdy and young olive tree
Extremely well rooted and growing
Was the sweltering sunlight on me
For two centuries I took deep root
To prepare for my ultimate fate
So when I could no longer bear fruit
There was then but a decade to wait
I was cut—left to dry for ten years
So that seasoned I’d perfectly be
For what the carpenter engineers
For admirers my beauty to see
Finally, the time came to carve me
Into the stout piece that would bear
The One who came down from His glory
I’d become a rough-hewn olive chair
Into the great city I traveled
The same city once fated for doom
Through alleys, then up a steep stairway
I was put in a small upper room
Beside the simple wooden table
I was placed in center position
Where the King who was born in a stable
Sat prepared to accomplish His mission
He prayed and broke bread with His brothers
As a symbol of what He would do
He blessed it then passed to the others
As His body; ’twas "broken for you"
Then to signify His precious blood
The red wine from the cup He did sip
So that it could cleanse as a flood
As from nail wounds it later would drip
To this day, I still can remember
How it felt when Christ Jesus did rest
I sensed that His love was so tender
Even when He was put to the test
He said, “Father, Father, forgive them”
As He faced His long prophesied death
The love for all things He had poured out
As He uttered His very last breath
Today, the risen Lord I remember
Whose story has long since been told
As I sit in the same dusty chamber
And recall that Last Supper of old
* Placed 1st in Deborah Guzzi's contest, "The Chairs Tale"
Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2009
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
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
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
Through shadowed forest glade she rode
'Midst grey and gloomy chill
No single thought of safety did
A moment stay her will
The mist clung to her nostrils as
She charged into the brush
The creatures of the forest paused
In terrifying hush
Foreboding seeped into her bones
Ghastly, from ages spent
Urging her mount to breakneck speed
Resolve would not relent
To slow would mean downfall into
A consequence of dread
She knew if she but lost an inch
He lover would be dead
This morn she was awakened by
His servant at her door
And with his last breath utterance
Fell bloodied to the floor
It seems a tartan wearing clan
Appeared in red and green
‘Tis true that a more fearful sight
Is rarely ever seen
Unwittingly, they’d crossed the line
Into the Fraser realm
It was then they were set upon
In stand of noble elm
So, now she raced to intercede
Upon her love’s behalf
To beg for mercy from the chief;
That he withhold his wrath
The secret she had hidden would
Surely offset slaughter
It was true she had been born the
Fraser Chieftain’s daughter
She’d fled her home ten years before
With young Lord Cameron
The rival clan’s incumbent heir
Her lover and champion
She’d not been sorry up to now
For following her heart
She knew the toll her love would take
Right from the very start
But this would be a sacrifice
She'd never wished to make
That for his life she would exchange
Hers for the clan to take
Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2009
Jesus is risen
untill the end
father spirit son
three in one
to our king
with thee amen
Copyright © diane christian | Year Posted 2012
Nippy air bites the skin, sunlight trails off in a sky so morose;
bare trees contemplate the yellow grass below mourning their lost splendor;
be that messenger of the Season's Greetings and avoid being sad and alone...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of the year!
Assist me in decorating the pine-scented and candle-lit rooms ,
of my lair; please, come in and accept my hospitality with ardor;
let's chat over dinner and sparkling wine until darkness looms...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of the year!
Anticipate the thrill of the Holidays with a big smile spreading cheer:
dream of snow, of Santa riding his sleigh from the cold North Pole;
he'll remember every good kid who has shown obedience and grace...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of the year!
I looked for a Christmas Tree crossing the snowy boardline,
searching the nearest forest for the tallest, prittiest one
with the help of neighbors who had a good will and no fear...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year!
So much I will share and learn this Holiday Season announcing a divine birth
to the Earth below brightened by candles, twinkling lights and mirth;
admire my decorations of garlands and golden bells to make you merrier...
welcome to my Holiday home at this very special time of year!
Family, friends and neighbors gather around this fireplace that will bewilder us,
let's remember the wonderful birth of our Savior Jesus, who came to visit us;
hear the song of the angels echoing through the chilly air...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
How deeply Ameinias loved you
The beauty that your face adorned.
The adoration you thought your due
The love of youth you lightly scorned.
As consolation a sword you gave
A paltry gift for such devotion.
You did not care for grief so grave
Derision stoked the devastation.
That sword robbed him of his life
In bitter despair he cried in tears,
"May you one day feel the knife
Of unrequited love that sears!"
In the pool you saw a boy so fair
Felt the fire kindled in your mind,
In awe at such beauty you did stare
Love that will so ensnare and bind.
To seduce this boy in tender kiss
you found reflection in the pool.
Ah Narcissus, how did you miss
Loves sweet embrace in waters cool.
You killed yourself in deep despair
Unrequited love that burn until,
The body that once was so fair
Transformed into a dancing daffodil.
So listen young lovers, hear my plea
Be careful when young love you scorn.
Remember Narcissus, when in spring you see
How daffodils the chilly earth adorn.
Copyright © Heidie Buys | Year Posted 2007
It Still Continues
Sorrow Pain Agony GUILT
Please forgive me LOVE
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2007