The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
November 25th, 2013
Written by: Kelly Deschler
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
Like a herd of cattle, placed on a ship.
Upon my back, I felt their whip!
Ripping into my flesh, excruciating pain.
Forced across the big water on a trip.
Living in darkness with little to eat.
The feel of chains around my feet.
Amidst tortured cries, the ship did shake.
Waves pounded the hull with relentless beat.
Only once a day, would we see the sky.
Huge sails, caused the ship to fly.
Further and further away from my home.
Feeling confused not understanding why!
A white devil, steered the wooden ship.
All his mates evil with scabbed putrid lips.
Yet we, depended on them for our lives.
Without them, into the ocean we'd slip.
The journey long, felt like an eternity!
I longed to be anywhere but on the sea.
My mind occupied with thoughts of my home.
yet, I could not escape this horrible enemy!
Sick and dying were forced to walk the plank.
Then into the cold water they quickly sank.
The sailors laughed, as the last man was tossed!
Their spirits boistered with the rum they drank.
Many days later we finally made land.
A place of stone and wood, I could see no sand.
Crack of the whip, we rose to our feet.
"Off of my ship!"was the devil's final command!
For Verlena's "Writing in a black Perspective" Contest
Story continued for my own pleasure, not part of the entry.
Slave Part Two
Brought in chains, to a raised wooden stage.
Bids tallied carefully, sales written on a page.
That was when I witnessed, a most perfect girl.
Bought by a fat man, she was placed in a cage!
I was up next, I stood still as he bid on me.
"One dollar, gimme two, two dollars, sold for three!"
Then I was taken and locked up in the cage with her.
Together we both dreamt, of one day being free.
Brought to the plantation, in late September.
I worked in cotton fields, until November.
Then I would be purposed, to cutting fire wood.
For cold and snow came, by early December.
In the evening, we were left to be with our kind.
While in the big house, our master dined.
Later at dusk, my angel girl would come.
Her beauty so amazing, she made me blind!
The taste of her body, my rememberance of home.
We gave each other pleasure, when we were alone.
Even though the master, wanted her for only him.
I felt like a free man, when I would hear her moan!
Her pregnant, I wondered if the child was mine?
If I was the father, I would be bound in twine.
Still inside I prayed, that the child belonged to me.
In the end, that would be certainly be fine.
Nine months later, almost to the day.
The love of my life was taken away.
In death our child born, middle of September.
The master's anger, I could not sway.
I was awoken, ripped out of my bed!
He took out a musket loaded with lead.
Finally free, in spirit we both travel.
There are certainly worse things, than being dead!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
Arid wind roughens skin of day
breathing in the ash of Fall sky,
his blurred eyes fold to drop away
on piercing whiffs that slowly die;
like mirrors crashed unto the air
a splendor gliding down below,
where rainclouds grip…into nowhere
biting the night with sharpened jaw.
Drained fingers jot sweet memory
calling Pam’s name in every bloom,
as laced nights recall the glory
of fondness born from love’s heirloom...
Time pauses… her Glow swirls on trees
where romps christen fire tasting life..
And though wonder darts to appease
pale the ticks, yearning for dear wife.
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016
Eternal Life And The Total Self
Life is but a fleeing whisper
echoing through time,
never dying, always being
magnificent and sublime.
The body's a receptacle,
a superficial shell,
but in it dwells the gift of soul;
eternity knows it well.
The soul contains the truths of life,
to all that's ever been;
to all things now, and yet to come,
but guards them deep within.
The mind has hidden doors to soul;
we long to find the key...
unleash the vision waiting there
that lives eternally.
And so mind seeks to open wide,
grasp firm the light of soul.
and at that moment when it does,
we know we will be whole.
So when we penetrate the shield
that stands between these two,
we will perceive with inner sight
our soul, complete and new.
If in this life, we cannot grasp
this bond of soul and mind,
we'll be reborn to live again
till total self we find.
We've been before, so many times;
we've known many a past.
We'll be again, an echo in time...
till mind and soul are fast.
And when that final day does come,
at last to lift our soul,
for Him to gather in His arms...
a perfect self, now whole.
May 19, 2016
Contest: Soul Consciousness
Sponsor: Catie Lindsay
Read: By Author
Theme: After death, will you have to enter again in another Earth life, and Why?
Although not my religious belief, there are some religions, like Hinduism, that believe in reincarnation which refines the soul by it living many lifetimes, and after it is perfected, goes back to God. My poem is based on that belief. So many people, including myself, have inner feelings or momentary flashbacks like they have lived before in another life...so who knows...
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
Emerald etchings are given birth
to bask their lives in summer's sun,
until brushing brutal winters cheek,
They cower yellow; brown undone.
Swirling down onto concrete pyres,
They somersault to a random grave.
The earth lays claim to copper corpses
But the winter wind is a cunning knave.
It finds and flips the fallen fibers,
then flings them crisply to the street.
The failing sheaves of burnt magenta,
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat.
Now strewn about with playful malice,
and denied the resting place they crave,
for the golden sun is a glint of amber,
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.
Copyright © Gerard Keogh | Year Posted 2006
One windy night upon my breast
I felt the kiss of winter’s breath
A breath that blew me into flight
Upon my breast one windy night
A leaf once green now bathed in red
With coat of spring and summer shed
True color bursting at the seams
Now bathed in red a leaf once green
Upon your breath I learned to fly
A flame of glory in the sky
Not knowing that the price was death
I learned to fly upon your breath
But all too soon I came and went
The seasons of my life were spent
A bud in spring that came to bloom
I came and went - but all too soon
Author: Elaine George
Written: March 3rd, 2014
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014
Here under the cold winter sun,
Beneath the old, lifeless tree,
My winter mourning has begun,
When no one comes to visit me.
Left out here on the edge of town,
Underneath the gray and gloomy sky,
In a lonely cemetery, with not a soul around,
Where every lone wintertime, I cry.
As I lay here, frozen and numb,
Crystal snowflakes are falling down,
The dead of winter has finally come,
Like icy teardrops upon the ground.
The wind howls like a lonely, lost spirit,
Through grass overgrown this December,
And it still hurts me to hear it,
That nobody even came here to remember.
Icicles have formed on the iron gate,
And the days now become dark so soon,
Forever sealing in my forgotten fate,
My only friend is the bright, shining moon.
And so I'll just lie here all alone,
No one will come until the spring,
And while you are staying, warm at home,
No one has left me flowers or anything.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
I have found myself at the threshold of death on several occasions. Each time I managed to
look it in the eye, doff my hat and say, “I’ll catch you up the trail.” This is not to say that I
am some special breed of hombre that casually defies death, for there have been many who
have gone the way before me and managed the confrontation in heroic decorum.
Nevertheless, death is not some evil state of being that only the brilliant or daring may defy;
nor is it a release from the severity of life. If anything, death is the threshold of eternity. Life
provides all known qualities, conditions, trials and tribulations that we encounter throughout
the fruition of our purpose.
Oh, death is not the enemy, for life provides our foes,
The ills, disease and suffering… the countless other woes;
For this is as it was ordained since Earth was yet to be,
When life evolved on other planes, the eye will never see.
We all embrace our time and grow in body, mind and soul.
We foster wisdom, strength and faith, fulfilling every role.
Prepared or not, the time will come, our form will waste away,
While life goes on, as is ordained by He who plans the way.
No, death is not the enemy, an end that one should fear.
It’s but a threshold for the soul to doff its mortal gear,
While life transcends its bond with Man to dwell forevermore
With He, whose force conceived all life and is its very core.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
The warrior lays her weary head,
With heavy heart she cannot bear,
Burning tears stream down her face,
As whispered memories touch the ear.
Her armour tarnished by remorse,
Her battle-cry a wimpered row,
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude,
Will never know forgiveness now.
The song began two score ago,
When two came knocking at her door,
In need of refuge from the world,
Of that, and love, and little more.
Forced to fight for every smile,
Her only solace found in song,
She longed for love to rescue her,
And plant her where she could belong.
Jealous tongues are seldom kind,
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love,
The caged canary only sings,
When coaxed to praise from up above.
For the steely spine that now I own,
Forever shall I grateful be,
A gift from her, and from her own.
Courage mounted inwardly.
I'll not forget how I have loved thee,
And youthful memories I will prize,
Til on the shore of His forgiveness,
Whereto now, we both shall rise.
Copyright © Yvonne Evanoff | Year Posted 2011
What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
A plastic smile
He waves hello
To all his friends
He'll never know
Beneath his skin
There lives the sin
The hurt within
A silent wish
A crazy thought
How does one kill
A mind distraught?
An answer looms
As dead as leaves
It covers life
A matchstick lit
An open sore
A fire burns
Consumes the core
The pain is gone
When all that's left
Ash on the floor
Copyright © Yoni Dvorkis | Year Posted 2009
Pushed there for a thousand years
and will be for a thousand more,
pushed there by the gentle winds
the silver waves upon the shore.
Ancient trees who watched here daily
are now dark silhouettes 'round the rim,
as dusk settles in over the still lake
and a dragonfly takes a final skim.
As the sun dips below the surface
silver waters gain a hint of gold,
their riches flow around my feet
giving me memories to be told.
The sands of time sift down below
where life goes drifting by,
and laid there for a thousand years
and beneath them, so shall I.
And become like a silhouette
to watch all life drift by,
and reliving in every moment
never stopping to ask why.
Pushed there by flowing currents
and the wind's most gentle roar,
I fade away like the golden sun
glint silver waves upon the shore.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016
The Texans weren't supposed to be
Holding the old mission.
Sam Houston sent Jim Bowie there.
Said he had a vision.
Bowie wanted to save the fort.
So did Colonel Travis.
They say when Santa Anna came
Carnage there was massive.
Two hundred men would die that day.
One was Davey Crockett.
He couldn't save the Alamo.
Too few men to stop it.
Santa Anna won the battle,
Taking back the city.
He killed each and every soldier.
Showing them no pity.
Santa Anna was defeated
Outside San Jacento.
The Texans bore the battle cry,
Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2013
Once there was a soldier boy,
young and brave and smart.
He had some questions bugging him,
they tore his brain apart.
He went along to ask his friends-
''Why there can't be peace?''
They just laughed into his face,
''Let us tell you what peace means:
';Peace means love, peace means hope
peace means painless, fearless trust.
There's no love, there's no hope,
all the fearless lay in dust.''
He went along to ask the trees,
the plants and flowers too.
Then they all replied to him
''Answers we have few:
People kill themselves and us,
they cut us up for fire.
And with the fire that they cut
the tension becomes higher.''
Soldier boy then went to war,
questions still in mind.
He kept on searching in the field,
for answers he can't find.
He walked up to the enemy,
beat starts to increase.
''Tell me, good man, tell me please
why there can't be peace?''
The man pointed his gun to him,
aiming to his heart.
''I'm sorry, young man,'', then he said
''I really hate this part.''
Once there was a soldier boy,
young and smart and brave.
He had some questions bugging him,
they took him to his grave.
Copyright © spring goodman | Year Posted 2015
Through the open window
An unintended entry way
Pale the moonlight streaming
Careless, now the price to pay
It perched upon my bedpost
All reality to confound
A tilted head, a beady eye
As yet he made no sound
My secret now revealed
He knew my every thought
My visitor in a feathered cape
Harbinger of death he brought
At last a guttural caw I heard
And in terror begged" no more",
"Leave me be to my just fate
for yes, I killed the fair Lenore"….
With apology to Mr... Poe
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014
So words become; the order of the day
and order of the day becomes
the soldiered meaning of all work and play,
the ever present, beating drums.
Then words become; the lure of the lie
and liars lure every son
with shadows of gold 'til they all but die,
to retire, to be, to be done.
And then, once again; the words become
the order of every day
to sleep, to awake, to be dead and done,
'til all words fly, ever away.
Copyright © Tom Hitt | Year Posted 2015
filling the radio with words of availability
lot lizards selling their souls to diesel driving “Joe-s”
in and out of truck cabs under a weeping moon’s protection
Jane, works the night, wondering if her daddy knows
lipstick on and high heels strapped as the sun sets in May
call sign; “Wild Orchid” …. “Anyone looking for a good time?”
a traffic jam of radio chatter…… congested air waves
the August sun rises on a night of sexual crime
Orchid petals caressed with greased stained hands
her pale white color quickly wilts to brown
the young November night is holding her final bloom
evidence of violent pruning becomes talk of the town
a knock on the door……………….. a flower delivered
Wild Orchid’s father is asked, “Is she the one?”
he checks her stem, quickly recognizing his roots
inevitably, the withering of his blossom has begun……
Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2010
Gone are the days of childlike hope and dreams.
Our tender years were cast on life's broad streams.
Rich mem'ries float on waters still serene,
while thoughts drift past the seasons in-between.
That final bend of river not yet seen,
we set out seeking vistas new and clean,
where aging frame and psyche' still burn bright,
made strong and sharp as blades in morning's light.
We'd dream and see realities yet new.
Our aging forms, set free, would test as true
those aptitudes and skills not proved since youth.
The vision, quite sublime, has become truth.
We'd run the race as when young, full of drive,
to sense a new resolve, to feel alive.
The blood and air would surge deep in our chest,
hearts striving one more time to be the best.
Perhaps, we'd stand on mountain tops and view
our world and all its peoples kind and true.
If foes of that time bid earth-mates good will,
we'd aim from common fate all strife to still.
And, when the course of each life had been run,
we'd pray wise God affirms all was well done,
while setting each soul free from fated slings
he bids us soar on air that yields to wings.
Copyright © Brian Baumgarn | Year Posted 2015
The Way of The Cross
Our Jesus is condemned to die
Oh, Savior, now from Earth you part.
You do not sigh, nor do you weep,
Though our sins have pierced your heart.
Dear Jesus bears the Holy Cross,
Our Savior of all humankind,
For us you start this journey now,
Still endless love for us you find.
Our Jesus falls beneath the Cross;
So dreadful now to bear this pain.
Dear Jesus, when we fall in sin,
Please help us rise up once again.
Our Savior meets his Mother dear,
Mary, anguished and depressed,
Please help us face our sorrows too…
Live up to all our trying tests.
A man named Simon of Cyrene
Appears to help our Savior’s plight
To lift the weight of his great Cross…
Lord, burden us to spread your light.
Veronica wipes our Savior’s face.
Look now! His imprint there to stay!
Please on our souls your imprint make
And help us keep it there, we pray.
Dear Jesus falls down on the path,
Again now for the second time.
But soon he rises to go on,
Lord, help us up to stay in line.
Our Jesus meets some women now,
They kneel down to mourn and weep.
“Weep not for me,” He says to them,
“But for your children, the lost sheep.”
Our Jesus falls again, this time
His journey's nearly at an end.
Dear Jesus, when we fall in sin,
Please grant us wisdom to amend.
Our Lord now stripped of all his clothes—
This torture is so sad and cruel.
Please, Jesus strip our souls of sin,
Our hearts and souls you always rule.
Our Jesus, now nailed to His Cross—
Your death, dear Lord, is very near.
Sweet Savior nail our souls to you,
And grant us grace to have no fear.
Oh, the dreaded Crucifixion!
Our Jesus now so humbly dies,
While all the sins and sins to come…
Are placed before his tear-filled eyes.
Our Lord is gently taken down,
In his dear Mother’s arms is placed,
Oh Mary, Mother of our God,
Help ease our sorrows to be faced.
Now, Jesus placed within his tomb,
To rise again on Easter Day—
Redeemer of all humankind,
With us forever you will stay!
Oh, great day of Resurrection!
From tomb he rises up to sky,
With all God’s angels by his side
He joins his Father up on high.
Oh, great day of Resurrection!
He rose again on Easter Day!
Redeemer of all humankind,
With us forever you will stay!
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Death and Resurrection of Christ
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
Smoke comes off the chimney tops
Trails behind the breeze as the rain drops
Hurdles under the clouds to seek shelter
Disappears in the vapor of a darkest winter
Snapped under my coat I ran to shelter
My steps tracing the trail of glass
Sweat dripped down my palms elevated
I lift my knees and walk agitated
Took a second to notice, a scarf hanging
Neck loose, head bottled, scalp dangling
Cold breath sneaked up and down my neck
As the lady grasped sight of her final dread
My gaze slid under her skirt
Her undone hair and bloody shirt
All climbed to intertwine juxtaposed above
Merciless, spineless, slithering gloves
Ice-clawed eyes stared back in horror
Hands clenched in fists flagrant in color
Put a finger on his lips and whispered
A tone that struck my nerves unhindered
Speak a word and you're next
Don't put my patience to the test
Walk away, disappear, 'cause if I find you
You'll pray that god take you before I do
I couldn't hesitate twice abt walking
Suddenly, he cringed and started falling
Branches broke as his neck followed behind
Snapping backwards, dispersing his spine
I slowly walked over and found a note
To whom it may concern, sloppy hands wrote
I am but a victim, of this woman's throat
the day she stabbed me, the day she spoke
I'm but a lonely spirit roaming free
Why has this lady followed me
To murder all that I loved and once cared for
To sweep off the little things I'd die for
She was Lady Death, the one we all fear
Seductively laying us to eternal rest
Drove me to heaven, doors slid clear
Her arms wide open, her warm loving chest
Then to hell I went for my earthly deeds
The torture I've seen for all those years
And you're next in a line of slaves
A queue of misery, a farm of graves
Your eyes have seen a deadly charm
Life as you know it is far long gone
Prepare for a sinfully long run
Here she comes, load your gun
Copyright © Ziad Gadou | Year Posted 2014
The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed
This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace
With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base
These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews
One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar
The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die
In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail
Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction
Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died
The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind
Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
Smiling Spitting Deadly Sins
Son of the Devil evil and twisted when his mask falls away
Through the curtains of death he turns truth into dark lies
With horrible shadows haunting over Love's light so pure
As jealousy reveals shades of a Soul’s envy at this moment
Cunningly you crawl behind colors pride with selfish hurting
Innocence casting stones—the fruits of a hideous lurking evil
Filling you with stupid silly emotions crying crocodile tears
Hate is your playground game as the Dark One takes his souls
Weeping from the deep wounds inflicted on others at your wish
While fighting one lost battle as your words burn from the ugly
Fork of your tongue while spitting venom they become a vile
Poison in which every last drop makes one’s very skin crawl
When I see the light of truth awakening in your Soul’s eyes
I really see a Hell-Fire scorching red hot who is the real you
Your pretty tongue of thy father speaks the evil words of the
King of Lies to my heart as it is touched by the serpent’s rasp
Yet ever you can never always hide behind this perfidious mask
And such words of beauty will not always hide what lies within
The darkest outreaches of your Soul’s descent into damnation
For Love itself is a journey of the gentle divine and the innocent
But those who breathe the Hell-Fire can only fool us all so long
And when their mask falls away they speak with a serpent’s tongue
So vile and gruesome that they know not of Love as they strike and
Bring eternal pain holding the Devil’s sword with their blackened hand
Causing pain with greatest relish as they laugh heartily at the pain
Inflicted on others not really knowing what they hold in their hand
In hate and anger while striking out at all innocent souls as their
Double-edged sword waits for those from the depths of Hell itself
Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 9, 2015 (Unrhymed Quatrain)
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015
A toddlers Crayola masterpiece marks the box
Where the story of our days now tarry
Passages tilting the axis of a bittersweet equinox
As photographs eclipse yesterday and today unvaried
The plans we made for a life
After years of work and worry
Useless installments when your partner dies
The crumbling of everything you once held firmly
Riveted, uprooted with every slide
Scenes of "our time" bring you back to life
I step from earth, you from the sun, for yet another goodbye
And the dam finally collapses behind brave hazel eyes
But not the brokenness your death left behind
Still, though no more than ashes it resides
Like faded photographs etched in the mind
Fanning the embers... one picture at a time
Rage rises, for you left me alone
Without refuge for all life's trials
And our sons fatherless before they were grown
Every step feeling more like a mile
I've grieved so long
And tried to move on
Like river water never looking back
But it's motion sings the the words to our song
Leaving me afraid I'll never belong
Or live out the plan we devised
For all my days my efforts give way
Blundering, burdened and blind
How does one truly recover
When the mate of their soul is no more
Or pass from one realm to yet another
When the walls of your heart no longer have a door?
Frustration builds like Lego towers
toppling to the floor under the weight of the world
Is it grief or something disguised by cowards
When a heart gets stuck from the pain that it's learned?
This ode to a man
Who in covenant took my hand
The marriage equator engraved a permanent mark...
For his death left a total eclipse of my heart
Crazy as a loon
But my God... how I loved you
My eyes fixed upon our favored moon
And I wonder... Do you miss me too?
Anniversaries used to be a joyous accomplishment
Marking years of selfless love made
Now it serves only an acknowledgement
Of a life interrupted by a cruel twist of fate
Of ill trusted hopes
And a future unmade
For us left behind to cope
With memories and photographs fading away
On this the 2nd anniversary...
Of your passing away
In memory of my husband of 25 years
Copyright © Sarai Romani | Year Posted 2014
Many voices from the past,
Always echoing in my head,
How long can it last,
I thought you were dead.
You always tell me what to do,
So I don't make a mistake,
Somehow you always knew,
How many I could make.
Because once I hurt you,
And you'll never let me forget,
But what can I do,
You're not quite dead yet.
Why won't you leave me alone,
Will you never forgive me,
I wish I could atone,
Please, just let me be.
The hollow echo of your voice,
Will linger on forever,
You've given me no choice,
It'll never stop, ever.
The sound of you used to make me smile,
But now it tortures me,
I will always be in denial,
So an end I'll never see.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
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
I dreamt my father came to me
From beyond the grave words spoken
He held my hand and said to me
Your life cycle has broken
Mom sent me here to fetch you
And take you home to heaven
I rejoiced and hugged my Dad
Eager to see my late folks and husband
But before I could get dressed to leave
My father had departed
Does he still wait to take me home?
Answer, Dad, I'm broken hearted
To join all my loved ones in the afterlife
Brings great joy to me, no fear
So I will sleep lightly again tonight
In hopes Dad will reappear
*Entry for the "Dream Land" contest. (Based on a real dream.)
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
Sore to the bone
Running on a drop of energy
Just gotta push through
I'll rest eventually
My shoulder has gone numb
But my body feels her weight
As if she's gotten heavy
Since her unconscious state
If I could, I'd stop right now
But who knows how safe it is here
And if I could even start again
I may fall asleep I fear
Soon my body will give up
But I'll make it as far as I can
And hopefully haven isn't too far
And I can put her in helping hands
Walking all day and night
It's hard not to think on past
And any thought I come up with
Has me struggling to hold sobs back
I've kept my ears open
Trying to focus on only sounds
But all I keep on hearing
Is my shoes crunch on foreign grounds
Bang. I hear it softly.
So far but still so near.
Bang. Another gunshot sounds
And I've collapsed in fear.
I close my eyes but another goes off
This time in a memory
And now I'm filled with rage
At how repulsive humans can be
My thoughts turn to my baby
Slipping off of my shoulder
I set her down and examine her
Bloodstained gown and skin colder
My worst nightmare but it can't be true
I listen in for her sweet breath
No. No No. No No. No No.
What's this silence? This isn't death.
This time I don't close my eyes
I see a sight that makes me sob
Memory of the last I saw my wife
And now my baby's with her mom.
Each one of us left covered in crimson
By a monster, a gunshot, a blow
Their death is the death of me.
This is as far as I can go.
Inspired by Morris Gleitzman's novel "Once," a historical fiction about a boy in Poland
during the Holocaust.
Copyright © Destiny Budd | Year Posted 2010
She was a pretty muse
As far as muses go
He said she had about her
An incandescent glow
There was a certain mischief
He saw there in her eyes
And though he couldn’t touch her
He’d tasted paradise
She made his mind to wander
Down honeysuckled lanes
A few moments with her
And he’d forget all his pains
She had such rosy lips
Cascading raven hair
And though he could not touch her
He felt her presence there
She made him feel euphoric
She knew how to beguile
Was it the words she spoke?
Or the magic of her smile?
She was a pretty muse
As far as muses go
But it did seem of late
That she was losing her glow
The muse sat and wondered
At what had dimmed her light
In playing hide and seek
Was she lost of his sight?
She thought to seek him out
When to her great surprise
She found him much bewitched
By another Muse’s eyes
At once all of her sparkle
Her charm and beauty too
Blew away with the wind
She pondered what to do
The muse just simply smiled
Blew a kiss towards his face
She changed into a fairy
Flew away without a trace
At times when the dear poet
Sit downs to write a rhyme
He finds the words are lost
And he gets lost to time
He wonders about the muse
And in the flicker of candle light
He can’t see the little fairy
Just sparkles in the night
The heavy hearted poet
Is out of poetic tune
He killed his inspiration
He killed her off too soon
But then again the fairy
Smiles at him from afar
She knows her work is done
Now she’s just a guiding star.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
My mother starts moaning, with another one due.
She won't live to see, as she struggles to wheeze.
I never knew famine would produce skies so blue.
But no need for toilets, I forget how to squeeze.
Searing sun inflates skulls into baroque balloons.
One whining dog, dying , from a surfeit of fleas.
I squint as my sister beats a roach with a spoon.
She's holding out hope, with a morsel to tease.
My eyes can still water from the feces and trash,
tossed up by vultures to release fresh disease.
I dig up what moist dirt I can pound into mash.
An old man collapses, not a single one grieves.
What passes for corpses- baking black as they pop.
Now the flies feel the heat and retreat to the trees.
My brother keeps wailing and I wish he would stop.
My breathing grows shallow in the oven fed breeze.
If it helps each of you,
I am down on my knees.
I beg you.
Hand me one piece of bread.
Would you, please?
Copyright © Gerard Keogh Jr. | Year Posted 2009
In spring he complained
It was always way to wet
The sound of chirping birds
Would make him get upset
He thought summer is drier
But when summer came it was hot
It was a far far worse season
At least that's what he thought
Perhaps he'd prefer the autumn
Cooler air and shorter days
Still the problem with autumn
Is that autumn rarely stays
Soon winter was upon him
He could feel it within his bones
Buried deep beneath the ground
They covered his grave with stones
For him the seasons were a problem
He wasted away all his days
What was gifted was extraordinary
Yet it never met with any praise!
Written April 7th 2016
For Shadow's Seasons Contest.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016