You lay upon the warm wet earth
ripped from limb to limb.
Your present shape denies the girth
of your form in its prime.
Cut short in life denied your worth
about you ivy climbs,
my love for you evokes the hearth
a fire which knows no end time.
Now fallen, slain, cast for rebirth,
the core of you sublime,
an earthly stump, at forest skirt
reminds me of grand times.
Soon, I too will go beyond the earth
recalling passion's prime
through the veil of life unearthed
my heart returned to thine.
Well my friend, my conscience would not allow me the pleasure.
The pleasure not to report the news that I treasure. That as I
open the book, the book full of new's, a book full of true's.
All that I know, and them to be in doubt, one day they will all
shout, "He's coming back", "Before the nite is over". That's what
the Bible (the book) is all about. "Enter ye in at the straitgate: for
wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction.
Lord (now): "Show me the way Home", the poem is all about subduction.
"Before the night is Over, the attempt is to capture your mind". So may
you be aware, as he is lead, lead like a lamb to be slaughter. He is
beaten like as if they don't care, he look like news I cann't share but
the book (Bible) say's the reason he suffer for you and for me.
Because Love, Well yes my friend, [Love] is the reason to feel free!!..
My conscience want allow me the pleasure, that I too was less inform.
That, cause of my sin, I couldn't be reform, and many amonst many was
also in doubt. "Before the night is Over, hope all once blind, now see".
Before the nite is over, before the night is become dawn and just before
the dew hit's the ground.
"Give your life to what is living and not to a deadless Clover". Do this, feel
"Before the night is Over".
When I went to the Temple
It should have felt like home
So as I sat in the pew
Why did I feel all alone
Was my heart disconnected
Was there something wrong with me
Why did I feel like running
From a place that felt empty
Three thousand souls I counted
The church grew before my eyes
I went to look for answers
Yet I left with all my whys
Why was the music perfect
Why did others have no flaws
As I sought my redemption
I drowned within the applause
After the entertainment
As I walked out open doors
I drifted on life's ocean
In a boat that had no oars
Hands held out towards heaven
Within solitude God was kind
As I took time to ponder
I surrendered body and mind
Now Church is not about me
Or the way it makes me feel
Whenever I praise my Savior
The Temple becomes more real
Now I can take church with me
To the places that I go
Within a heart of thankfulness
He allows my love to grow
Shield Love - Quatrain - A Collaboration
Embrace me In your soft tender arms.
Holding close within meek tenderness.
In close embrace I feel your soft charms,
I await the touch of your caress.
Shield me from life's hate,
On my knees Love's dying.
Do not hesitate,
From soft eyes tears crying.
Love's fights to survive,
As Love bleeds passion of forever.
Love must ever thrive
Let us now share our Love together.
Really all one desires now,
Knowing Loving you.
An essence of Love allow,
My heart ever true.
Queen of endless pleasure,
Holding you to the end.
My ultimate treasure,
Stay Lover and stay Friend.
In a flash of light,
As long as this world keeps on spinning.
You light up my night,
When sights of Love to my eyes dimming.
All I ask of you we stay strong,
Always sleeps one dream of endless beauty.
Ever In your light I belong,
To be within your heart Is my Love's duty.
Sings In your heart Love,
The song of Love's divinity.
We dwell high above,
In Love ever entwining.
A Collaboration by Liam Mcdaid & Michael Clarke.
Have you ever listened to the silence?
Alone in the giant trees
Have you ever experienced your soul?
Being totally at ease
Have you ever stood atop a volcano?
Felt its trembling power
Ever smelled the sulfur boiling in the pits
Man that sure is sour
Have you ever loved with all that you are?
Holding nothing back
Have you ever completely lost who you are?
Trying to find your way back
Have you ever stood atop a mountain?
Cursed the Lord above
Have you ever sat alone in a Prison cell?
Accepting his forgiving love
You know I have been an evil man
Every sense of the word
In my memory I remember screams
Tormenting to be heard
So much I wish that I could forget
So much I have to tell
About the emptiness you feel inside
The pure solitude of hell
My life no longer belongs to me
I am on a quest
To show the world a man can be
Beyond any test
My pain is deep and my spirits are high
Eagle gliding in the sky
Brave enough to fight any man
Strong enough to cry
A rock to those who know me well
A leader in the night
A warrior that would never run
God I love the fight
A tender man of true compassion
My wife taught me well
That’s why everything that I can be
I offer to her spell
Angels come with big brown eyes
Strong enough at heart
They encourage you to rise above
Finish what you start
Sometimes when I start to write
I fall into a trance
And the poem becomes a partner
Gliding in a dance
Where the poem goes is with the flow
I just tag along
I try real hard to keep the beat
Swaying with the song
Some parts are good and others bad
Some are in between
But from the first word to the last
The soul in me is seen
I pray before that final curtain call
I will have left my mark
That people will think back and say
The light rose from the dark
Everyone must choose their own way
I am no one to lead
If you wish to make your life a garden
I have some real good seed
Always be totally honest with yourself
The person that you are
Space is a place full of dark matter
Grasp to your own star
Be strong enough to always open up
Let go of what you hide
Because in the overall scheme of things
They’re a nowhere ride
If you wish to hold the one you love
Always let it show
Remember that they must be free
We all need room to grow
Trust in them with all that you are
Never forget to show
That they are the one you will adore
To the ending of the show
Due to the length I joined the four line stanzas together
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as the clouds dip into the sea.
A kiss from that rose as the waves fall,
over the beach to a rose kissed me.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as we wrap in lovers embrace.
A kiss from a rose as homeward we go,
to a bed clothed in satin and lace.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
with passion and warmth do we grasp.
A kiss from that rose that blossoms and blooms,
my hand in her labour pain clasp.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
that wanton and curvy young bride.
A kiss from that rose that huddles our babe,
so loving, in motherly pride.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
without whom I'd not share my life.
A kiss from that rose who selflessly filled,
the place of my darling rose wife!
(c) anaisanais - A M Docherty - Wales, United Kingdom. (7/8/2013)
She was a lonely violin,
in a case all by herself,
looking forward to the evenings,
when he’d take her off the shelf-
After reaching his destination,
he would gently set her down,
and ever oh so tenderly,
remove her velvet gown-
With chin held high, he’d hold her close,
she made him feel so proud,
and then a song she would sing ,
which always drew a crowd-
Together they were magical,
making music quite refined,
he knew that she was special,
of an extraordinary kind-
Late one night the maestro sighed,
a tear rolled down his eye,
this cannot forever last, he said,
for soon I’m going to die-
The violin now knew,
that soon would be their end,
he had filled her life with loving care,
and been so true a friend-
Now on any given night,
walking down this unpaved street ,
some hear a violin’s lonely cry,
so sad , but yet so sweet-
I walk in darkness many times,
not knowing to turn left or right;
there is a light, a glowing ember,
toward the light I have greater sight...
I seek and I search for all its meaning,
why it follows, why it sometimes goes;
I seek it scarcely in times of strength
and cry for its presence in times of woes...
I am aware that it can always live,
inside of me, flowing ever bright;
all I need is an open heart
and a forgiving soul to power its might...
My walk in darkness need never be,
if I remember to always shine like He;
for loving and forgiving are above all else,
in the ever-present glow between Him and me.
i took the nails, and the cat too.
the hammer, the sink and the bed.
i burned them all. except the cat.
cos she loved me much more than the one i wed.
I know that you are seeing someone else,
I'm not there when you close your eyes,
I believe that you are kissing me,
Knowing I love the way you lie.
I hear those three words from your lips,
If love is even possible, it's impossible to cry,
Though I know your heart is not truly mine,
I will always love the way you lie.
Your arms hold me as if you care,
My wise heart still wonders why,
Pretending that everything is alright,
Because I love the way you lie.
When I kiss you I think about nothing,
Wishing it wasn't you when I open my eyes,
I wonder, if I told you the truth,
Would you love the way I lie?
Written for Just That Archaic Poet's contest - "Sing To Me"
Inspired by the song "Love The Way You Lie Pt. 2" by Rihanna ft. Eminem
The silent dark encroaches
with another hollow night.
Old poets whisper sonnets
of love and sacrifice.
Her lips move to each arduous verse;
the emptiness advances.
Crescendos find their soaring crests.
A taunting shadow dances.
The moment lingers at a peak
then brings a slow descent.
And as the final stanza bows
her yearning heart relents.
Her memory finds his gentle face.
His voice resounds a vow.
And a quiet faith moves through her
expelling any doubt.
Soon her love will cross the sea;
his promises to keep.
Until that time, the poets sing
and soothe her soul to sleep.
To be in love with a poet
Is not an easy thing
Try as you might, you’ll never
Live up to his dream
For the poet isn’t content
With love’s status quo
You please and you tease him
But it’s not enough you know
For living there in his mind
Is a picture of the divine
You know that he longs for her
For it's shown in every line
The woman of perfection
Who is not of this world
With raven tresses of hair
And slender arms unfurled
The poet “sees” this woman
And his senses just take leave
For her passion is intense
Her body rivals that of Eve
She is tender and she’s giving
Never asking in return
She waits for him night and day
And it’s for his love she burns
She nurtures his desire
Fulfills his every whim
For she is his possession
Remains faithful just to him
She sees in him embodied
Every single manly trait
Each and every need of his
She’s sure to satiate
Ah…mere mortal woman
Who must compete with this muse
You find that you fall short
And your love’s prone to abuse
For who can dare compare
With a poet’s romantic dream
The siren who sings to him
Who floats on clouds of cream
Poor lover of the poet
Sitting here alone at night
Waiting for him to see you
To turn on you passion’s light
Love him, my sweet, love him
For in the end he’s just a man
That silly muse of his dreams
Can’t caress him, but you can
So win him at this love game
Make the fires really burn
Try to captivate his mind
So that it's for YOU he yearns
Warn that charming seductress
That muse who tries hard to woo
That you have a jealous heart
And you've made him drink your brew
Your body, your soul, your desires
Bathe him in all of these
Not with words but your hands
Make him to do just what you please
For a poet is just a man
Just a simple man is he
Give him all he desires
Then watch his love set you free!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Ah, Divine influence, it has come to many, so they say,
as to their nameless or named God’s they do pray.
The light came to Carroll, he said he could see,
for raised by a Vicar at Christ church was he.
Dodgson was his surname an apt moniker
for he veers of from his father, made math his liqueur
Lewis was Charles tongue in cheek, he wore hats
and from his birth place, he transformed Cheshire cats.
Lewis Carroll wrote “Alice” sure, he was also Charles Dodgson
but who wrote the marrow, now that’s where the God comes!
Now, many men wrote the Bible or so we surmise
and the pages they garnered came in random sizes.
Yes they picked, they plucked, these men were right scary
and what do you know, left out the Book of Mary!
Now you modern readers just might take a note
the resemblance twixt Alice and Mary's no anecdote.
Dogdson, yes Carroll, knew Mary so it seems
yet, Alice sweet Alice is who came in his dreams.
Carroll clothed Alice and it's no surprise
that in Chapter 3:21, her dress he seeks dried!
For Alice, dear Alice, did not wish to die!
“She would catch a bad cold if she could not get dry.”
Carroll being the kind creator, he would
had the mouse read to Alice the driest of books.
Again and again, his benevolence is shown
when he sends Alice a rabbit to soon lead her home.
So, we are lead on in most delightful detail
to Chapter 4:15 where her flight is curtailed.
As Cain slew Abel, so the Queen beheaded prates.
Yet, she’d no power at all, over bodiless cats!
Now, Chapter 12 is truly my favorite, as you may surmise
Lewis Carroll has dreamed much of caterpillar size..
He dreamed a whole world full of goodness and villainy.
As anyone can see, men will see what they see,
and the Looking Glass has as much meaning to me
as the Bible may have to the Christians, let be.
My Precious Angel
My precious little angel
in Gods' loving care
how often I have grieved for you
wishing you were here.
I had a fleeting glimpse of you
before you went away.
I knew I had to say goodbye
you were too small to stay.
For though you grew inside of me
you were not mine to keep
God called you to his loving arms
now there you gently sleep.
Briefly were you with me
yet I loved you from the start
and now forever you will be
engraved within my heart
and in the shelter of Gods' love
I know you will remain
never to know suffering,
heartache, loss and pain.
I'll find my comfort in my faith
until my days here end.
Then through Gods' sweet salvation
we will unite again.
In the darkening room I stood:
tears welling in my eyes:
by the windowed-wall, looking out,
my small chest full of sighs.
Headlights bright white and tail lights red,
paired, meandered down the street,
yet the white headlights that I sought
seemed only to retreat.
Cold, calm, singular, tear drops fell,
soon reaching down turned lips;
as in the house across the street,
the living room was lit.
A Father held his baby high.
He hugged that toddler tight.
I wiped the corner of my eye,
and gazed into the night.
Above the darkened woodland near,
beneath a cobalt sky;
the highway brought their Fathers home.
alone again stood I.
Horns blared out in drives near by
sweet laughter filled the air,
and, in the drive across the street,
their Fathers did appear.
The children ran out slamming doors,
on small unshodden feet,
with tiny squeals, and upturned cheeks,
their Father they did greet.
Where was the father who I sought
our lives incomplete
a traveling man, my Father
did nothing but retreat.
*A memory from when I was 8.
Love is having, love is lost
Love believing that it is the key
This is what love is to me
Way back in ninety five
When I met a poet
A poet was he
He took me by the hand
Taught me about love
We were friends
We were lovers
To the bitter end
He would read poems in my ears
Would write my name like I was a goddess
Like no other
With a magic swirl
Held me like I was his dear
He kissed the light in my soul
Held me with an inspiration
We danced barefoot in the dark
Kissed in the grass in the park
Explored the avenues of our minds
Took me by surprise in never-never land
He listened to my songs
Helped me share my heart
Kissed my very soul
There were no tears
Then he was gone
The beauty of him
Took me by surprise
Our breath was ours
For the taken
And oh the lovemaking
My life have been filled
Lots of events
With lots of tragedy and laughter
But few regrets
Looking back over the past
So glad of memories
To make it last
As I experienced the pain
Of loss of my poet lover friend
In the end
I survived and live
With what is left
I will never forget
The friend I had
What I have seen
What was felt!
I do stand, laugh and love
Shed a tear
As well as fear
At the end of time
Before I die
I’ll never forget my poet
And a Poet was he!
Brooke Dyan 2014
I need you to be my earth angel
I need you to kiss away tears
I need you to comfort my soul
I need you to conquer my fears
I want you to be my hero
I want you to release my dream
I want you to be my victor
I want you to love to extreme
I need you to be my sunshine
I need you to drench me like rain
I need you to bathe me in light
I need you assuage my pain
I want you to be my lover
I want you to make me to feel
I want you to teach me pleasure
I want you to make it surreal
I need…I want…I must have you
I burn with unquenchable fire
Your prowess… the essence of life
The source of burning desire
If this is too much that I ask
To comply with beyond your will
Then, oh, just let me adore you
Of your charm, let me have my fill
I only want to be near you
To bask in your beauty so fine
Your words resurrect me to life
They transport me to the divine
Oh please, let your presence cover
In your glow let my poor heart bask
I long to lie in your shadow
Oh, my love, is this much to ask?
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I love the way you look at me
I see right into you eyes
You don’t see me like some others do
With their rumors and their lies
I find it hard to believe
That anyone could ever love me
The way you care proves me wrong
Your kiss makes it easy to see
Where would I be?
What would life be like
If you weren’t there to hold me?
I would like,ardently,to paint a meadow
standing on its center,an old weeping willow
engraving some letters, on its thick stem
I write your name,as a heart-shaped gem
I want to draw,the blue of your eyes
those tempting seas of,tearful lullabies
adrift in my thoughts,ready to admit
to gamble for love, to win or to quit
I picture...,the smiles in your lips
lick your kisses' nectar as it drips
stare at them,till they call my name
lingering to end up,the glory, I claim
I draw a heart,with compassion and love
gift-wrap it then, with, red petals my love
sending my devotion,for you alone to own
unless you turn it into,my love's tombstone
Peering at her as she sleeps,
nearing tiers of the devout,
smearing pleas on the glass as he peeps,
impotent, from the grass. He's about
to unfold the silk memoir he keeps,
and lovingly smooth it out.
Shadows in the dark
Are much better swept away
Leaving room for friendship
That never fades away
Bright, the light that dawns
From a heart of precious kind
Priceless to a writer
Someone to share their mind
I searched for adventure
A time or two
In my mind I forgot
I needed you
Now I see
That I was wrong
I truly loved you
With all we went through
And all we have done
I couldn't see
That you were the one
My soul was stored
Locked up until last night
You released it
When you held me tight
Now I remember
Our passion so true
My heart yours forever
My love is renewed
I think I’ll live forever
I think I’ll refuse to die
Plant my body in the ground
My spirit’s going to fly
Please come fly away with me
Once this journey is complete
Universe can be our home
Our own magical retreat
Two celestial bodies
Darling lets take to the sky
Forget the why, when or how
This dream is for you and I
Gliding upon golden wings
We can dance from star to star
I would travel anyplace
So I could be where you are
Angel’s dance like fireflies
Through trails of glittering dust
In heaven magical things
Exist for people like us
It seems we have come so far
Seems the limit is the sky
When I think of who you are
Tears of joy I need to cry
Everything is what you are
You are everything to me
Long as eternity last
My soul shall be one with thee
So let’s live on forever
We will each refuse to die
Plant our bodies in the ground
As our spirits take to the sky
I am free to choose where I plant my feet,
to ramble down the path and into the sun
In the orange columns cast by lamps on the street
crouch saddened people who have received none.
I am free to choose the order of the words,
whether they roll off my tongue or into my ears
From outside come spilling the songs of birds
They know nothing of chains; they have no fears.
I am free to choose the title of my poem
and embroider each letter with colors my own
Each man’s tale is not for men to condemn
Only One can reveal seeds the Devil has sown.
So I refuse to choose between silver and gold
I shun all the idols flesh and blood have made
The world passes, time paints masks of old
Slowly, slowly, the mist is beginning to fade.
I refuse to choose the gaping wide river
that asks for an ink heart, rebukes true faiths
The current is noisy, with a cold, secret shiver –
its lukewarm waters swarming with wraiths.
I refuse to choose between Father and Son
for one is the radiance of the other’s glory
There is only one path I am entitled to run
with joy, for I trust He who is writing my story.
My computer's flat on every side
and tapping it goes thump.
Inside the wires are fully charged,
their signals going jump.
A big bold button turns it on
while pushing in your thumb.
Then boots up slow in little chirps
going faster as they come.
The keyboard clicks with every key
I type to let me in,
to form a password I should know
much longer than my PIN.
But when inside I gasp to see
around the world wide net.
And thankful I can see the world
through others I have met.
I cherish my computer box;
who's insides hold the world.
And never been more satisfied
or had my toes as curled.
Bingo halls and liquor stores,
what's happened to this land?
They call it a reservation,
a word you cannot stand.
The deep gut ache that you feel
as native blood boils deep inside
comes from where spirits roam free
with a fiercely eternal pride.
Words are the quintessential mystical fabric and common medium of all poetry.
Words often portray what the poet sees, senses, feels, imagines, and even dreams.
The very magic of poetry comes to life from a deliberate woven process
Of words enveloped into thoughts, metaphors, beliefs, situations, and emotions.
There is a saying in the original Latin: “Verba sunt indices animi,”
Which when rendered in English is: “Words are the indices of the mind.”
Words, in the poetic sense, form the ethereal undergirding for these indices
And beckon all poets to think deeply and precisely—and to challenge their thoughts.
As poets develop and expand the precious word treasures of their minds,
They begin to see and sense over time a deeper understanding of the human psyche,
And a greater appreciation for the complex circumstances and interactions of people
Which drive the human endeavor—good, bad, happy, sad, glad or indifferent.
Words then form the very symbolic arrows in the poet’s quiver to be employed
With thoughtful care and meaning, enraptured intent, and an enchanted vision.
We as poets should strive for nothing less as we reflect on our poetic visions,
For these can be always visualized in: “Words are the indices of the ‘poetic’ mind."
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 23, 2014)
THEY USED SPOONED NOW SHE IS SPOON FED
He holds a seventy-two year old spoon to her mouth
seventy-two years wed
seventy-two years in the same bed
he holds the spoon in front of her gray framed head
after all, sick or not, frail or not
the lady must be fed
and if anyone was going to do the feeding
it would be the man who, for seventy-two years she'd been needing
gardening, growing, weeding
seeding the same garden for seventy-two years through sun and rain
seventy-two years easing each others pain
one's devotion is only exceeded by the other
father and mother
with men and women left behind
yet always on their collective mind
the years spent stifling arguments and cultivating love
the many years they had to fix the roof above
his hand shook as the spoon neared her mouth
they'd began in the north but ended up in the south
no cold north wind to battle against, only to lose the fight
no snow to begin in the morning and still be falling past midnight
no white to fight against with an aging back and a discontented wife
but this was their life
and slowly he slips the ground up mush upon her tongue because she could hardly swallow
with no rule book nor informative guide that left them sometimes feeling hollow
each not fearing but expecting death
and so each dawn one would feel for the others breath
so spoonful by spoonful that 72 year old utensil was used for sustenance
he so amorous for 72 years of her divine countenance
he had plagues of his own
but a 72 year old bond had been grown
alas they would swallow their pride
let their Lord be their guide
the God who had protected them and stifled their tepid tears
and had been doing so for seventy-two years
© 2012 © copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Time is resolutely in motion
In no captivity or subjugation
Let not the caravan of life halt
Love is a journey not a destination
Winner in Contest "Four, For, Fore" Light & Love
of Debbie Guzzi judged on 11/22/2012
‘Til heaven quakes and hell erupts
Judge not the souls of man
But be brave and do not disrupt
The nature of a plan
Put into place and made with hands
Much, much superior
From where I stand and far more grand,
I am inferior.
Without water thy soul does rust
Water thy own garden
Believe in thee, in thee—I trust.
And receive thy pardon
From thy fierce and fiery hell
Of thy unwanted greed.
If not, I am destined to dwell,
Lost, with nowhere to feed.