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Social Home Poems | Social Poems About Home

These Social Home poems are examples of Social poems about Home. These are the best examples of Social Home poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

The Evolution of Learning (Part One)

It amazes me how much man has evolved
Yet, How little he has learned
All around the globe
Millions die of disease and starvation
While the ever so intelligent creature known as man
Spends millions upon millions of dollars every single day
Killing each other
Instead of finding cures for the ill or feeding starving children
Oh sure, we dabble in those efforts
But we are committed to killing each other
Governments all around the globe
Spend most of their money
On their armies
Either to defend or attack
Their enemies
Supposedly, the most intelligent creature on earth
The intellectual creature known as man
If I may go so far
Mans commitment to war and killing
Goes far beyond any one mans term in office
It goes far beyond any one mans lifetime
It goes far beyond any century or any one era
From beginning to end, top to bottom
East to west, north to south
Red, yellow, brown, black or white 
Our commitment to killing each other
Is undeniable
How can a species that is smart enough to split atoms 
Creating weapons that will kill millions
Still be stupid enough to do it?
And now I see on the science channel
That man has now devised the Platonic beam
A beam of light that just disintegrates the target in an instant
At what price you ask?
Well I don’t know but I reckon if we diverted that money
To say solar energy projects
They could probably put a solar energy system
On every home in the world for free
Thus solving the energy crisis
Not to mention food in the icebox and medicine in the cabinet
Because of course when you create such an amazing new weapon
You need an entire new type of ship to deploy it from
Thus is born the next generation of war birds
They jettison into space 
Then go into super afterburner (A jet engine minus oxygen)
Which they said would reach like 20,000 miles an hour
So you could shoot halfway around the world
Disintegrate your enemy
And be home in time for supper
I believe when speaking of politics
It’s not a National Crisis
It’s a Global Epidemic


Details | Rhyme | |

More Than

He stood along his grave and tears began to flow
Why Dear God did You not take me, he was so young, You know
He had a future full of dreams, and now his life is done
He was more than just a casualty, he was my only son
A woman knelt down to pray and stared sadly at the floor
My husband won't be coming home from this never ending war
Oh God please help me carry on, now that he has died
He was more than a statistic, he was my life she cried
A child asks his mother, where did my daddy go
When will he be home again because I miss him so
The mother holding back her tears, says in time you'll understand
He was more than just another soldier killed in a foreign land
Thousands have died in this unjust war
As our politicians leave their mark
They are more than just a list of names 
On a monument in the park.


Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.


Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!


Details | Acrostic | |

Reflections: Midlife Crisis

P     aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A     cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N     othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I      nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C     hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
!!


Details | Light Poetry | |

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU

I was just trying to remember the past
 trying to remember the good people
 and the bad people,
 that i came across on my way,

i want you to know
that you are among the good people
 that left a good trace in my life,

once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.


Details | Verse | |

I Don't Hate America

I Don’t Hate America

I like the country I live in
That doesn’t mean I have to sing their songs
to prove that sh@!.
That doesn't mean that 
I can just can’t get over the fact that
they murdered the people who built it
 
America was dedicated to a proposition that
“all men are created equal, except
for women, indians and blacks

The white men were just fine is what we were told 
but what about those who were stolen that never made it over to NEW WORLD?
The ones that were thrown overboard and
those who died from sickness while in transport

Remember those who were born into slavery and never even knew what freedom was before their physical bodies left
and people like Thomas Jefferson
He understood that slavery was wrong but did not free his own until his death
What about those who beaten senseless and burned, and hanged,  
All while screaming “Nigger" What’s your new name?
Oh how soon do we forget…
That’s why I despise that word and
I don’t care who it is that uses it
#u$k that slavery sh@!
And #u$k that flag b@%ch!
#u$k you America because you’ve always made things hard .
So don’t look at me strange when I show those songs disregard and those fake ass patriotic undertones about how we are the land of the free
more like the land of the captured and the Home of the Slaves, see

I don’t’ hate America
I can be and do and go as I please
But, then I remember the poor people they injected with disease 
They thought they were getting free health care but the doctor is giving them syphilis 
Please! 

I remember the natives of this land
They slaughtered and labored them to work for freedom in their own land 

I remember the Civil War 
where we were a country divided by the Mason Dixon Line
The north and the south of the same country at war to save lives
 
I don’t hate America
This is my home 
But I refuse to let the things that 
my ancestors endured during the struggle of building SUCH A FINE COUNTRY be forgotten
It’s 2012 and the politicians still plottin to find a way to take away the black vote 
It’s the same shit, but now they just don’t use the noose to choke the life out of souls  
I’m so tired of the constitution and it’s loop holes, and amendments, and acts, and laws
This just proves that man can’t govern themselves because even with all these rules we constantly fall into the black hole deeper and deeper
I don’t hate America
I just choose to not take part in its little song and dance
I pledge my allegiance to God 
and continue to write and lose myself in my poetic trans 


Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Details | I do not know? | |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | I do not know? | |

The Nameless - for South Africans of all colours who fought for freedom


The Nameless


Slipping through the sieve of history,

the nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are roads renamed, nor monuments built.

Not for the nameless are songs sung, nor ink spilled.

The nameless rest.

Their silent sacrifice,

quiet ordeal,

muted trauma,

remain interred,

amongst their remains.

The nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are doctorates conferred, nor eulogies recited.

Not for the nameless are honours bestowed, nor homages directed.

The nameless rest.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

in every step that we tread.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

for their spirit is not dead.


“Your name is unknown, your deed is immortal”
- inscription at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier WWII in Moscow


Special thanks to my dearest elder sister Tasneem Nobandla Moolla, whose conversations with me about life as a non-white person growing up in pre and post-Apartheid South Africa prompted me to write this dedication to the countless, nameless South Africans of every colour, whose sacrifices and dedication in the struggle against Apartheid tyranny must never be forgotten.


My sister’s middle name ‘Nobandla’ which is an isiXhosa name and means “she who is of the people” was given by her godfather, Nelson Mandela, my father’s ‘best-man who could not be, as Nelson Mandela was unable to-make it to my parent’s wedding as he was in jail at the time in the old Johannesburg Fort. This was the 31st December 1961.


Details | Verse | |

Philosophical Poetry Week: Transient Tuesday

I am a misprint,
Ink blot on love,
I remain a maybe
Longing for fact,
No speck of lint,
A hand in glove.
Thunder; a baby
Will only react

When you etch
Parallel clouds,
Whistling on cue
To a dead town.
Dream a sketch
Of silent crowds
Becoming you,
This boiling crown

Chews thought
Into flagellation.
Holes in the walls
To spy through,
Seeking a sort
Of bricked-up sun.
A heaven of halls,
All leaving you.


Details | Concrete | |

Observer

A serpent underneath blue sky,
in shade of man, in twinkle of an eye,
above brick wall, in the structure, at the floor,
venom of white dove; contaminated food, undrinkable water,
misguided youth, pregnant daughter, unfaithful father and hateful son,
mothers do pray while we walk through Babylon;
on teli and in the press, on top shells,
price none the less, in bedroom and at your door..
dawn of a new day seemed to be dark,
after all.


Details | Haiku | |

This Land is My Land

Pastoral country
Where folks wave to passers by--
Farmers plowing

Exit 386
Wal-Mart, fast foods, and hotels-- 
Tourists stop

Modern businesses
Of every type one might need--
The short road to town

Refurbished storefronts
With arts antiques and barbers--
Downtown businesses

Houses big and small
Fill the local neighborhoods--
Quiet streets

State Parks, music fests
And neighborhood barbeques --
Entertainment

Outside of town
Beautiful farms and woodlands--
The rural folks

The river rises
Bringing water to my land --
Children in kayaks

The home of brave hearts
Who understand nature’s way --
King and rattlesnakes

The home of the free
Where people are seen smiling--
Live Oak, Florida

ã June 5, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member   MY LAND IS MY HOME 
Sponsored by: ~ SKAT ~


Details | Haiku | |

MUSIC - HAIKU

Play The Radio Get Up And Dance All Night Long Music Heals The Soul


Details | Rhyme | |

Ode to My neighbour The Woodpeckers

By Sashi. Prabhu(zeauoxian) 1/3/2012.

Often, I glimpse from my roof top garden, leftward, From the sedentary swing but I know the descent of woodpeckers have soared. From the vertical column sans a crown of leaves of rotted dead wood, Once, which was in its own right a magnificent coconut tree where it stood. Freshness, splendor, Vitality and flexibility of a live tree all depleted and gone, T’was a pertinent choice for the woodpecker mates to build a home foregone. Abundantly birdies flock, Pigeons, robins, mynahs, hornbills, cranes and parrots, On the evergreen nearby tamarind tree, but the woodpeckers my eyes ferrets. From that eventful day my eyes they set upon, Their wood pecking bills would on the bark sculpt and impinge on. A homely hole to drill, Their head moving rhythmically and looks like a cap with red frill. Twenty five days back they first arrived I lucidly recollect, Ten days, a pair of hatched altricial chicks, mates from adversaries’ have to protect. One morn had me glancing to the oval cavital hole on the bark, And feasted my eyes on feeding chicks being readied, their lives to embark. Blissful and content , I recollect now I sat a bit longer to observe and discern, Glorious hues, auger bill, cap with red frills, of the peckers as they take their unambiguous turns. To zip across like beige, buttery yellow plumaged darts across the lush foliage all green, Within, watchable bounds to fetch, insects, worms and saps as nutriment routine. The chicks I saw they peek out of the shielded barky holes with awe, Strength it seems to me have filled their wings bill and sharpened claw. Now I wonder if I can listen to the joyous feminine “chrr” and the shrill masculine “kwirr”. As the young chick in the hole frolicking, giving it a try to fly, Away in the wide world after saying a good bye onto the sky very high………… Now the mates without emotions, kerfuffle and ado, To each other, their home and their prying neighbour me have bid “adieu”. Often, I glimpse from my roof top garden, leftward, From the sedentary swing but I know the descent of woodpeckers have soared


Details | Rhyme | |

I Know of An Old Fashioned Family


There’s a family I know,  that may seem old fashioned.
But they serve others from a heart of compassion!

They don’t have much in the scope
 of entertainment.
But they have each other,
 and much contentment.

They have a love for God that comes from within!
And are thankful to the Lord
 for being their friend!

They don’t get too involved with that the world brings.
They have each others love.  
They have everything!

This family has been an inspiration to others too!
By their giving hearts, in much of what they do!

This family has a commitment to serve God above.
And have asked Jesus to fill them with his love!

This may seem old fashioned, 
not to have a lot of things…
But they know their Lord 
and the love that he brings!

I’m thankful to know them and their Godly inspiration…
I extend to them a heart of thanks  and appreciation!

Please dear Lord, bless and keep them in your arms!
Be with them Jesus, and protect them from harm!

May the blessings of God keep 
flowing through them!
And may the peace and joy of God continue to be with them!

By Jim Pemberton   05/29/13


Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








Details | Rhyme | |

I'm Not the Kind of Dad That I Need to Be


I’m Not the Kind of Dad That I Need to Be! I remember reading the Bible to my son. But what a mess, my life has become! My children told me, they were proud of their dad! Now they say they’re embarrassed and sad. I once lived a Godly life! I really did! Just look at me now! And how I live! Things in life I once called wrong and sin. Are now causing me to stumble again. God's word I had loved! Jesus was my treasure! I "traded my soul" for what gives me "pleasure." I’m not the kind of father that I need to be! What kind of example will my family find in me? Will I grow stubborn to God as I age? Replacing his peace, for anger and rage? I need Jesus to bring peace to my troubled soul! I ask YOU Lord to make me clean and whole. Restore unto me the joy of my salvation. By your blood, make me a new creation. Words alone cannot truly express… This family God's given to me. I am so blessed! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Verse | |

I like your love

I like your love
It's pure, it's innocent
and I don't think I've seen this before

You replenish my reserves before it's necessary 
you lift my wings up and 
make me superior to my adversary 
Creatively providing the exact amount of 
what I need to go another day
I like your love
and for as long as you'll have me I'll stay

You make me comfortable in my space
What she share cannot be replaced
with any other type of love
be it artificial or tainted or lustfully blatant 
Those illusions don't exist because
we found this love and we claimed it

I cherish those nights when I scratch your head
When you sit between my thighs and I twist your dreads
We become an us that is so pure
that the spring waters question the purity of it's source
I like your love - it's a divine force


Details | I do not know? | |

Poetry Soup

Dear Poetry Soup,
        I found a home 
        within a home 
        and it feels so good!:)

Signed,
Tania


Details | Rhyme | |

I Noticed the Words Jesus Loves You above Your Door

I Noticed; “Jesus Loves You,” Above Your Door!

I noticed a sign, “Jesus Loves You,”
 above your front door.
I want to know about him!
I want to know more!

Could you tell me without 
any hesitation...
About Jesus and his plan 
of salvation?

Could you tell me about
 being born again?
And share with me how
 much you love him?

What is it like to become
a Christian?
And to serve Christ,
 As a daily mission?

I want to know how God 
has changed you!
I don't really know whom else to turn to.

Are you one that I can
 really depend?
I assume that Jesus is 
your best friend?

Please listen to what 
I have to say...
And spend some of your time
 with me today!.

By Jim Pemberton    


Details | I do not know? | |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...


it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...


Details | I do not know? | |

The Dumb Mother Award Gos Too

the dumbest mother, award goes too... dumb
me 
and why you may ask
because i am not home schooling right now
because my child my student 
fell softy asleep! during his math lessen today

i wanted to personally belittle him
and poke home with a learning stick      
and with a witchy voice say 
get up and open your eyes 
you can't get a job that way 

but i didn't do that, 
i just say are you sleepy 
and to my supreme surprise
he said in a most tired voice
Yes!

I just took him to the doctors 2 or 3 times 
and they found not one thing wrong 
the other is talking in his sleep too
and making sound so loud that 
he stop breathing and wake and talks
with words that could be made out to be anything
like words that are not of this the plant!

I want to wave my flag 
but there is not one to tell 
and what could keep my 
kids wanting to learn 
when there health is small and weak 
and there understanding that 
these who are to do no wrong 
just do nothing 
          
 aka:lyricvixen


Details | Didactic | |

Blind By Mod

Modernisation is hopping her repercussion
 Modernisation is driving her civilisation
 This is the safari; that brain the colony
 The colossal obnoxious tenets of the West
 Calling her to the deluding evacuation.

 The edifice her architect had strictly structured
 Who can dare to alter it?
 Even on her own body and soul.

 Variety upon variety, she want to put on
 That is her whisper why, she mime the day.
 A Bimbo! Mimicking the mockery of the West.

 Who is barbaric in this case?
 Reason! She revolt the reasoning
 Focus! She resist the purpose
 Loyal! She refuse the modesty.

 Let her believe this one
 That in her friction state
 Her forward (will) never; her backward (will) ever.

 Perhaps, she should recall this one
 She need to behold
 If she must to recount, in her world.


Details | Free verse | |

The soldier, the war, and I

The soldier, the war, and I


Today I am home and thinking to my self..
What would I be doing if I had a soldier coming home to me and my family?
What would I be doing if I was the soldier looking to going home to my family?
And then, I look back at all the years passed since this last war..

Many children have grown to become men, Others have grown to become soldiers
Where would I be if I had gone to the war and fought for my country?
Where would I be if I had gone and came back safely?
Where would I be if I had not gone at all because I was not qualified to go?
Would I be with my family or in a hospital injured?
Would I be standing proud, and laughing with my friends and family?
Or would I be dead, as I never got to come back?

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
Thinking of all of those brave soldiers, children still
Who are out there, suffering.. And some ill

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
How many woman are crying because of their gone loved ones
How many men are crying for their loved and missed ones
How many children are fatherless or motherless, or both!

And at the end I stop. I think no more..
I am grateful for the things I have, 
I am grateful for the people who surround me...
And I am sure grateful to never have gone to a war; yet, 
I sure appreciate the thoughts, courage, life, and suffering
Of all of those who have been touched by it.


Details | Couplet | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Darts

Drops of sweat slip from my furrowed brow
Eyes squint, select a number and let fly now

Miss again, a millimetre is a mile once more
Aimed for triple twenty, only got double four

The walk of shame, my oh so familiar friend
Silence broken, on alcohol I forever depend

The steel point of eyes bore into my neck
My opponent leaves me a juddering wreck

I lose the match; the wife won’t give me a kiss 
I wish I could have been anything else than this... 


Details | Verse | |

Grattitude First lesson in Christian Living

Dear little pony, the children’s clown,
Rough mane stands tall, his thick tail tumbles down.
Jiggety, jog.  Yes, some riders have frowned.
Dad can ride him with two feet on the ground!
 
He’s a tough little, nuggety, wonderful chap
Who can live on the roughest of diet mishap.
We don’t feed him oats much, he’ll founder on those,
But if you can ride him you’re right home and hosed!
 
He’s full of the tricks that intelligence brings.
He’s always a challenge until mummy sings
Out loud, lets him know that he can’t get away
With presenting his backside to children today.
 
The children must learn how to command him too.
It isn’t the easiest thing they must do,
But they look for the pleasure of riding again,
So they learn how to handle tough diamond disdain.
 
They must learn how to stop him from racing away
Towards home when his head is turned facing that way.
His mind is on resting with food in his trough,
But his job is to teach, and he does it but tough!
 
Tough diamond’s a doorway to wonderful thrills
In the glorious world of the horseman’s spills
And great challenges.  Once you can master this rascal
Nothing can daunt you.  Introductory sample
 
Of every excitement that riding can offer,
He’s cute, pert, adorable, and he can proffer
Essential abilities.  Gratitude is
The gateway to mastery, sire of bliss!
 
Every offence becomes laughable when
You think back to this tough little customer. Then
Your mind turns to teaching, as Daddy once did.
No more can the mud of offence cause a skid.
 
You’ll go round it.  Or jump it. There’s no need to fall
 When Gratitude’s mastered.  Remembering all
Those scuffles you had that your dad helped you through,
You’ll mother, or father, or teach others too.
 


Details | I do not know? | |

A Simple Wish

a simple wish...

no fancy words
no more clever rhymes
no more slickly crafted verse

just a simple wish
to cherish the moments
in-between the hue and cry of this life

no more the dull-edged jab
no more the anger and the strife

a simple wish
beyond the wasted hours and the days and the blurry fears

a simple wish
of a simpler life

after all the bitterness of the passing years

and so

to retire from the hustle
to flee from the hollow wasted breaths that have been breathed

to bid the emptiness farewell

while

ushering in the new tomorrow

bathed in the soft glow of hope

and kissing adieu to all the hurt and all the doleful sorrow...


Details | I do not know? | |

I Stand, Alone



I stand, alone.

Scratching for my truths,
peeling away the veneer,

I stand, alone, before this
impregnable cliff so sheer.

Cocooned in my solitary shell,
wrenching a smile from a tear,

I stand, alone, a little odd,
and definitely quite queer.

I stand, alone.


Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | Light Poetry | |

White Lighting Moonshine

White Lighting Moonshine

drinking 160 proof white lighting moonshine
by the light of the silvery moon
the evening breeze moving through the oak trees
makes me happy
in the Shenandoah Valley 

the firelight flickering bright
as my friends and I 
tell stories some are true some are a lie
but by and by we enjoy
the way our lives unfolded 
in the Shenandoah Valley

we were born and raised here
and here we will die
never been very far away 
no good reason to we love it here
in the Shenandoah Valley

we play our guitars and fiddles 
singing songs of life and lost loves 
as we drink our 160 proof white lighting moonshine
by the light of the silvery moon
in the Shenandoah Valley

Dennis Davis


Details | I do not know? | |

MLK - 1929 - 1968

MLK...
(January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968)


they shot you down
all those years ago

but

your dream lives on
and always will

for though much has been
gained since you dreamed
your dream

there is much to fight for
and much more to struggle for

and much, much more
to fight for still

so
your dream resounds in
our hearts and we pledge 
this to you today
for though they shot you down
all those years ago on a memphis day
we shall overcome
this we do believe
deep in our hearts
that
we shall overcome
someday...


(for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)


Details | Rhyme | |

God's Plan for Marriage


There’s a truth that remains since 
the beginning of time.
God created man and woman, 
 with marriage in mind.

From the dust of the ground,
Adam was formed.
From his side came Eve.  A new life was “born!”

God’s design for marriage became 
very evident and clear…
If not for Adam and Eve,
 none of us would be here!

Marriage is a blessing from God.  
A gift from God above.
A man and a woman come together
 as an expression of their love.

Anything different than one man 
and woman is perverted.
This is a lie from our culture that
 is trying to be “inserted.”

God gave us all a natural love 
with a strong ambition.
To come as a husband and wife 
is a God given intention!

Read from the books of Genesis
 thru Revelation…
God’s idea of marriage is
 for any person or nation.

Many can try to change what God
 has already designed.
It’s no wonder why so many have 
“confused” minds.

Let’s come back to God and
 trust him with our life!
The one who set up marriage as; 
“one husband and one wife!”

By Jim Pemberton


Details | I do not know? | |

She



A sweetly-scented, earthy rain-storm,
she came to me,

thunderously raging with raw emotion,
she came to me,

drenched in the essence of truth,
she came to me,

she touched a chord deep inside,
she strummed away all emptiness,

she came to me,

once...

she comes to me,

still...


a gentle presence filling my life,


she comes to me,


still,

a healing spirit soothing all inner strife.





Details | I do not know? | |

Tomorrow

Little sister, please don’t fear,
It will only be one year.
You will go to school each day,
I just won’t be here to say “Hey”

My dear mama, please don’t cry,
I’ll be back soon, it’s ok.
Life at home will be the same,
Only I won’t be home late.

Daddy, daddy, lose the sorrow,
I will join the army tomorrow.
Today we’ll have to have some fun,
Celebrate the things we’ve done.

Honey, do not look so sad,
You’ll come to visit me with dad.
If you can, then do not cry,
Because all shall be alright.

Friends, don’t you sit there, hollow,
Come and laugh over tomorrow.
A little humor makes it better,
Makes it funny, like some beggar.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Crushed Skulls

The Crushed Skulls

the crushed skulls

and the 

torn-off legs

and the 

single shots piercing countless heads


women, men, children
young, old, everyone just a human being

when will we tire of the senseless killing which we keep on impotently seeing


the gaping wounds soaked in blood

dismembered corpses piled high in some humid make-shift shit-stenched mortuary

who will remain to someday write, war's final obituary


for the killing goes on in the name of tribe
faith
race
religion
caste
sect

and the vested interests above all

but who really hears the whimpering sobs of a 4 year olds call

for her mother, father, brother, sister

as she lies dying, bleeding out like a gutted animal, on the stinging gravel

while we deliberate and engage and while to Geneva we always travel

to sign some scraps of paper that merely postpone the killing for a while

while the putrefying carcasses of human beings lie side by side, mile after bloody mile


war is ugly, they tell us

but necessary too

and we go to war for peace 

while the generals and the money-men and the politicians drink and dance and screw


war is ugly

it is indeed

but so are we

if we fail to see the humanity stripped away 

and peeled off the skin of that 4 year old girl

and if her cries for help we do not heed


war and guns and bombs and the very latest smart nuke

sickens me as it should us all
making us retch and puke

but who gives a **** about the bombs falling far away

we've got chores to do, margarine to buy, and take the family out for the day


war is ugly

so they tell us

while loading the magazines without much of a fuss

war is ugly

and cold and brutal and evil as the hounds of some distant hell

but who gives a **** for we have sneakers to buy and stocks to sell

war is ugly

but so are you and I

for we remain silent

as the bombs fall incessantly on

out of the open sky

shame on me and shame on us all, that much I believe is true

for our silence in the face of misery is tacit acceptance

and try as we might to inure ourselves 

I am as complicit in it all

as are you...


Details | I do not know? | |

A Hollow Shell

a hollow shell
of tangled synapses
sparked into gradual madness
which drowns out the truths of the day
as the mind reeks of the rotten sad moments
that swirl in the rancid soup of forgotten dreams
dreams that once traced a gentle path of innocence
dreams that reached for pure love’s tender touch
dreams now paralysed but once vivaciously alive
what became of those fresh dreams and hopes
as they lie mustily on dusty bookshelves
torn into shreds by time’s fine scimitar
devoid of the touch of raw passion
when all that remains of love is
a hollow shell


Details | I do not know? | |

Old Sof'town

Old Sof'town*

1.

In old Sof'town,
the jazz struck chords,

the jazz lived, it exploded,
out of the cramped homes,
rolling along the streets,
of old Kofifi,

in tune to countless blazing heartbeats.

In old Sof'town,
Bra' Hugh breathed music, Sis' Dolly too,
and Bra' Wally penned poems that still ring true.

In old Sof'town,
Father Trevor preached
equality and justice,
for all, black and white and brown,

and all shades, every hue,
even as oppression battered the people,
black & blue.

In old Sof'town,
the fires of resistance raged,

'we will not move' was the refrain,

even as the fascists tore down Sof'town,
with volleys of leaden rain.

In old Sof'town,
the people were herded,
like cattle,
sent to Meadowlands,
far away and cold and bleak,
as the seeds of resistance,
sprouted and flourished,
for the coming battle.

In old Sof'town,
the bulldozers razed homes,
splitting the flesh of a community apart,
only to raise a monument of shame,
and 'Triomf' was its ghastly name.

2.

In Jozi today,
we remember those days,
and those nights of pain,
that stung our souls.
like bleak winter rain.

Yes, we remember old Sof'town,
as we struggle onward,
to reclaim our deepest heritage,
and build anew,
a country of all hues and shades,
of black and of white and of brown.

And yes, we will always remember,

and yes, we will never forget,

the price that was paid,
by the valiant sons and daughters,
of old Sof'town,

those vibrant African shades and hues,

of black,
of white,
of brown.


* Sophiatown in Johannesburg, South Africa, was also called Sof'town and Kofifi.



Details | Ballad | |

A walk in the Dawn

He called my name
I heard from my dream
Jumping up from the bed 
Misplaced my sleep

Five thirty am it was
I carried his travelling bag.
To the bus stop we aimed
Forgetting the gate key delayed a little

Within seconds we felt 
The blue dark dawn
We walked fast, but i was ahead
With our footsteps cripping behind us.

Doors were closed
The street was silent
And two to four beings we bypassed
It was a peaceful and jolly walk

At some metres before the bustop
I asked "Did the phone woke up?"
"Yes the alaram woke me tahnks to it"
I set the alarm

We waited for taxis
But they failed us
He was forced to enter 
A rickety Danfo

A bad way to start a twelve hours journey
We exchange  goodbyes
I stayed till the Danfo faded 
Going home was involuntary

My footsteps cripping behind me
The road having infected my slippers
And my feet and the road 
Had been linked with dust

Echoes of a strong bark was heard
It was repiled by a tried and exhaust one
Metres away from home 
The call to prayer was recited

And a lady was preaching prosperity
Both microphones were fighting for reign
They was later joined by a man preaching eternity
The voice of the mosque was conquered

As i entered my red gate
I found my sleep


Details | I do not know? | |

For Comrade Chris Hani 1942 - 1993

For Comrade Chris Hani
(1942 – 1993)

mowed down
by hot lead
your blood flowed
into our African soil
murdered you, yes, they did
silence you, they never will
for your voice
your spirit
speaks to us still


Details | I do not know? | |

The Vagabond Within

The Vagabond Within.

I slip through cracks,
my memories dimming,
as thoughts of yesterday swirl,
down dreary tunnels of decay,
into the chasm that is today.

Waiting, forever waiting,
to belong, yearning to fit in,
taking solace in transient cities,
wearing masked faces,
tailored for fleeting places.

 I stagger each night, lost,
wasting precious breaths,
drawn from a lifetime of sighs,
no consolation from the cruel,
while donning the skin of the fool.

Wrestling unseen demons,
dreading tomorrow as it nears,
ripping away my shallow smile,
withering into a hollow shell,
seeking comfort in everyday hell.

I stumble, I falter,
words slipping off pen onto paper,
fickle doleful murmurs of distaste,
at the gradual emptying of a soul,
needing to shed it all to be whole.

Stray dogs savage each other inside,
a body lathered in deep muck,
soiling my pants, wetting my being,
whistling promises that turn into lies,
the plaintive songs of a clown that cries.

I am momentary, 
a soap bubble on the breeze,
just smoke clearing into thin air,
wasting away in my cocooned lair,
too old to change, too young to care.


Details | I do not know? | |

Love, Mania, and Verse

Love, Mania, and Verse

The pendulum swings,
while the mania in my head,
strips me bare and yanks me,
into the cauldron of love.

Once again,
never divining the tea leaves,
knowing, always knowing,
the gnawing knots of unease,
that curl into a fist.

My isolation is a shield,
a suit of armour,
tightly clad around my self,
once worn,
then discarded,
taking its place,
on my barren shelf.

Love, mania and verse,
coalesce, beseeching me,
with timeous forewarning,
not to tread into the quicksand,
that slippery bog of promise.

Yet,
in times past,
in moments present,
tis' that very promise,
that I cling to.

At times I lose,
myself in the crowd,
rebelling in the solitude found there,

at times I claw,
my way back to the now,
aching for the pain that stings,

the buried voice that sings,
dirges to forgotten emotions,

scribbled verse that flings,
the toys out of my cot,

while I wait,
for the mania to stop,

knowing,
always knowing,
that it shall be,

merely a matter of time,
before the other shoe,
must, as always, 
drop.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Perennial Exile

The Perennial Exile.

Alone,
a foreign body,
eliciting condescending smiles,

the exile walks on.

Though gracious intentions are spoken,
well-meaning band-aids applied,

the exile walks on.

Alone,
never shaking off the fear,
the cold, damp trepidation,

the exile walks on.

A scab on the body,
ignored as benign,
tolerated by its host,

the exile walks on.

Alone,
knowing the danger,
imminent and grave,

the exile walks on.

Alone, outside,
malleable, acceptable,
truths rarely spoken.

Fit in, shut up, pipe down,
swallow the whispers,
chew on the smirks,

the exile knows its place.

Decades pass,
an accent is adopted,
papers are signed,

still,

the exile walks alone.

Weary now, beaten-down,
by careless kindness,
and stifling generosity,

the perennial exile,

remains.


Details | Bio | |

Its all in a Night

Her barstool has six legs,
two are hers,
it plants her to the bar
and she is blooming like spring flowers.
Drinking in the spirits
from the bottles I serve her.
The smile she wears is false,
its from the bravado she drinks.
She lives with me,
calls herself mine,
but its the bottle that is really her home.
I only visit her 
and hold her dear,
because those moments seem to disappear.
I'm laughing at her as she shakes her butt 
                     to Johnny Paycheck,
while my hands move with speed and grace,
I'm serving the rednecks, cowboys
and other dubious charactors.
The girls are trying to look like movie stars
as mine waves at me,
she is teasing her way to a free drink,
but she always comes home with me.
Its past midnight
and everyone is tight,
laughing and being fools.
I'm the bartender,
leader of fools,
mixing their delights,
I light their smokes,
laugh at the bad jokes,
listen to their problems,
fix marriages
and broken hearts.
I'm the law 
and sometimes a nurse.
The night is over,
everyone is gone.
They're satisfied,
some found love for the night,
while others will be sleeping lonely,
but medicated.
I count the money,
peel my wife out of her barstool
and go home thinking,
its all in a night here at Cleve's,
I'm really just an actor
and the bar is my stage,
because all this isn't really me.
I'm just faking it,
lingering in the shadows
waiting for something else !






Details | I do not know? | |

When Tonight Arrives

When Tonight Arrives.

When tonight arrives,
yet another whiskey-soaked, hazy search for absolution commences,
in nameless seedy dives,
where loneliness offers solace,
and self-pity thrives.

Staring at the bottle,
knowing it offers relief,
from the numbing pangs of grief,
while stripping down the edifices,
of trust and belief.

When tonight arrives,
with a million hearts exploding,
casting away loss,
and the comforting sense of foreboding,
I wait my turn at the guillotine,
bereft of peace,
moulting my skin,
as it strips away my clothing.

When tonight arrives,
without ceremony,
all innocence is lost,
my soul bearing the cost,
of tomorrow's pain,
cocooning my heart,
in a shroud of silence,
beneath mountains of frost.


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Dear Teacher,

If, I’ve not done my home works;
Please, just don’t let me be 
Punctuated, by your total silence.

If, I have done something wrong;
Please, just forgive me; 
Really, it’s not what I wanted.

If, you dislike my presence in your class;
Please, just don’t involve others;
They might hide, from you, in solitude.

If, you hate my absenteeism;
Please, just let me know; 
For who else will remind me?

If, I say, from now on I’ll do the home works
Please, just accept my words, for truly I’ll be
Dutiful, once again, to you…my loving wife.

‘Cos I’ve learned what I needed to learn 
About the not so good intention of those 
Video games in cyber cafés… for our life.    






Details | I do not know? | |

They Do Not See Me at All

They Do Not See Me at All

they do not see me at all...

as I walk through these desecrated avenues

of soul-deadening frenzy

I see them all rushing past me

and no matter how hard I try to holler and to call

they do not see me at all

it seems at times, that invisible am I

for when I reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees I crawl

they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I have tried to raise their ire, I have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground I fall

still they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl

and yet they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back

and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl

for they do not see me at all

and when at last I see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces

I wish to crawl back into my nothingness

where they cannot see me at all


Details | Rhyme | |

Trucking

Took my truck to Albany last week,
Lost my fan belts,had a flat on the street.
Went to New York,the big apple at last,
Crossed the toll bridge,they took my pass.
Went to Minnesota,clear to the end.
Can't find a load,you are laid over my friend.
Went to Louisiana,trying to get home you see,
Only to find out,I was bound for Milwakee.
I quit making plans now that I find,
When not making plans,I get great home time.


Details | I do not know? | |

Without a Home

Sticky matted hair, 
Sweat from weeks past
Sticks to his face. 
Like so many files he swats at them. 
Shifting through the piles
Human refuge...
Unknown horror and unseen disease
Forgotten for an apple core...
A few cans…
The currency of the street.
His home on wheels pushed,
His life
You scoff at making haste to the opposite side,
Lazy
He must be. 
Warm coat, home and car...
All await you...
Wet papers, boxes and carts...
His life. 
Like so many files he swats them away...
Moving on to his next treasure...


Details | I do not know? | |

Right Now (Part 2)

Right now, now a father is crying with his face in his hands,
He never expected his son to die, he had such better plans,
But some punk wasn't looking at the kid crossing the street,
He didn't care, just kept driving with his music sounding so sweet.

Right now, some bastard is upstairs beating his wife,
He promised that he'd love her for the rest of his life,
She plans to commit suicide wondering what she did wrong,
When it was this jerk who had the major issues all along.

Right now, a man is driving to his job where he'll get fired,
You see he never got it right, always had trouble getting inspired,
Now he is driving home and stops slowly at the ridge,
He can't break it to his wife so he jumps off the bridge.

Right now, a cute girl is kissing a guy she just met,
She realizes she doesn't even know the man's name yet,
He tells her he loves her as he ties her hands and feet,
Surely this wasn't her online date she was suppose to meet?

Right now a young soldier is bleeding on himself in a war,
This man is going to die and he doesn't even know what for,
He and his squad always performed so well, with such aplomb,
Now he won't make it home because of the maniac's suicide bomb.

Right now, there is someone who hasn't eaten all week,
The poor man is so famished he can barely even speak,
That man would give a fortune to have the food you throw away,
Yet so many people will just throw food in the trash night and day.

Right now, some dude is in prison serving his life,
Writing his final letter to his beautiful son and wife,
Wrongly accused by those sworn to serve and to protect,
The Judge said too bad when he said, your honor I object.

Right now, you're probably wondering how some people cope,
Maybe you've been lucky and time has given you reason for hope,
Right now, I'm asking you to just stop and think next time,
If you do nothing to help someone, this was a wasted rhyme,
Yes, if you turn away, you're guilty of humanity's worst crime.


Details | Free verse | |

The Cultivated Mind (Home Grown)

Father and Mother 
With golden determination 
Focused to open my thoughts 
in several ways of revelation -- 
My manner is... Homegrown 
The once green mind still looks back; 
at all that has been revealed to its now browned shell… 
and with that same determination of gold 
I pass down the revelations of old 
to my children, as I have been told 
The mind should always be 
Cultivated to the best of ones abilities.... 
Its focus should start within the home 
That is why I feel blessed 
When I tell you my children 
Most assuredly -- I am Home Grown.


Author’s Comments: 
As a farmer tills the earth and toils to harvest that which he has sown and the wife 
prepares the table before him, produced from within the bounty reaped thereof... 
 Thus, we should take the time to cultivate the minds of our children, to also 
acknowledge their surroundings and the people there in. 
To stay focused on the blessings at hand, that they not live stagnant lives but to be 
productively responsible for the gifts which they each so uniquely possess. 
 The mind is a terrible thing to waste.


Details | Verse | |

A Dripping Rose

A penalty pinned down my conscious,
When a high volt power injected me unsuspended shock,
Unawakened and unconscious,
I cried as a fish, out of water.
Imagination of discrimination terrified me,
My soul was jerking with dizziness,
The democratic system was trembling,
The bureaucracy was pinning the nibs into my dreams.
Not only once, terminology of deeds,
Curriculummed deliberation of considerations,
And ranked bribery and recommendations,
To reward innocence and honesty,
To secure human values,
A system was highjacked by think tanks.
As I experienced after applying a vacancy online,
Where home office advertised descriptions of a job,
And declined with direct approach in moments,
I experienced my capabilities,
Home office departments, on various occasions,
Rewarded me, a safe and tolerated direction,
And provoked me to enjoy the fire with my qualifications,
To protect my future from cold weather.
Not only Home office also local councils, 
Highjacked individual progress and prosperity,
Criminality always delivered justice of excuses,
Where democratic equal opportunity services policy,
That was lying dead on a log of ice.
My pain was streaming into flames,
My throat was drying with the taste of equal opportunism.
I was imprisoned into the democratic boundaries,
Where my performance was demarcated into various barriers,
My soul was delivering justice through my poetry,
But my unemployment forced me always,
To learn about high ranked poor and victimized positions, 
And my tolerances run down after touching a sore of sand.
The bubbling rust was claiming superiority,
Law is equal for all.


Details | I do not know? | |

TEEN BABY MAMA

       If I talked about boys it became a heated discussion, my parents said 
              I’m too young and I’m rushin.’
      My mom and dad were very protective, a little too much from 
            my perspective. 
      All I wanted was to have some fun, I felt like a prisoner that was on 
            the run.
      At sixteen years old I felt I was grown, I thought I was ready to be on 
           my own.
       I ran the streets and came home late; it wasn’t long before I started 
            to date.
       I met a guy who seemed really into me, I even let him have my 
            virginity.
       I didn’t force him to use protection, I was real naïve and afraid of 
            rejection.
       I got knocked up which was no surprise, he said it’s not his baby 
            and began telling lies.
       I told my parents I was keeping the baby, they said: “What‘s wrong 
           with you girl have you gone crazy?”
      They said: “why bring a child into this world? You’re not grown yet 
           you’re just a little girl.”
       I ran away from home for a while, with no supervision I basically went 
          wild. 
       I ended up in a home for teen mothers, I wasn’t alone there were plenty 
          of others.
       I ran away again and my baby was taken, I didn’t realize the mistake I 
         was making.
       I ended up getting into prostitution and drugs, I couldn’t seem to 
         stop meeting Thugs!
       I almost died of a drug overdose, It was like I saw a light that was ever 
         so close.
       It changed my life which was so filled with drama, just because I 
         became a “teen baby mama.”



Details | Couplet | |

The Reason We Are There


As I knelt down beside the dying man,
I took hold of his bloody and trembling hand.

So far from home this lad had come to suffer and die,
And I couldn’t help but ask the question why!

To give freedom and liberty to a people who just cannot comprehend,
The reason we are here is to protect and defend.

All of their lives, dictatorship is all these people have ever known,
A nation with no will, and jelly for a backbone.

I don’t mean that they are cowards it’s just that they have never tasted of the wonders of freedom,
Or know of the values from whence it comes from.

Freedom doesn’t mean that you can always do what you want or desire,
But working together in harmony to reach a solution that’s best for all to transpire.

Being able to make choices is why this young man came so far from home to suffer and die,
It was his choice, his belief, and he felt his obligation is why.

To let someone else have a taste of what he relished is what brought him this way,
It’s the American way to help others is all I’m trying to say.

When you have something you know is good, it makes you feel good to share,
I just wish others would realize we’re not there to hurt them, we’re there cause we care.


Details | ABC | |

MY HOME UGANDA

My home Uganda,
the land for me,
where my heart is at rest,
day and night.

The vegetation is green,
the climate is good,
sunshine and rain,
makes it great the pearl of Africa.


The fertility of the soil,
the beauty of the place,
unity and peace,
makes it nice the honey of Africa.

My home is the best,
the land for me
Here i am; alive and free,
the golden of Africa.


Details | Couplet | |

The War

This war has raged for many a year
Mothers & Fathers shed oceans of tears
It’s fought here at home and on foreign soil
I’m not talking about terrorist or oil
Fought from home to home and coast to coast
There are no boundaries when addiction is the host
I remember once a lifetime ago
I advocated this war with my soul
Then I devoted my mind and took a stand
Looked up at my Lord then kissed his hand
Up until that moment the day was dark as hell
For when the Lord saved me it was in my cell
There is a fact that I can’t hide
I became a traitor and traded sides
Now days I travel from jail to jail
Donate my books to the poor souls in hell
Telling them all “Please believe what I say”
“Our Lord can make this all go away”
I am a living example for the world to see
Just look at the changes the Lord made in me
Some kid said, “Boy this one got way to spun”
Homeboy pulled him aside and said, “That’s Jughead son”
Then they ask their questions and I answered my best
Told them “Take what you need and leave the rest”
I hugged my homeboy with eyes full of tears
He just caught an L with 37 years
At our age I reckon he’ll die in the pen
Someday I hope to see him again
Him and I were as close as any two brothers
I stopped by his house to consol his mother
To the mothers and fathers please never lose hope
Our Lords more powerful than all that dope
To the addicts I say, “Just look at me”
Living simple, honest, loving and free
At the end of the road my castle awaits
Provided I earn my way through the gate



   Authors note: I would like to dedicate this poem to all of the mothers, Fathers, Brothers and Sisters of addicts 
and or convicts in prison. To all the addicts I urge you to consider what your lifestyle is doing to the ones you 
love.
   A special dedication I wish to make to Mary Duhart. Mary my heart is with you always


Details | Ballad | |

People In Bars

One more for the good times, one for the bad
Another round for the happy, then for the sad
One more to clear my mind for that long drive home
Your nights are spent at the bar, so you are not alone
Reality hits hard when you are at home by yourself
You put your loneliness where no one can see it, it is placed on the very top shelf
If you buy them drinks, they will sit and listen
But they never will define what you are missing
When you socialize with a crowd who has had too many
Your thoughts ramble and your words are plenty
Once again you make it home quiet and afraid
Behind closed doors, you are misery\'s slave
The next day you are back where everyone knows your name
At one time or another, we all have done it, so bare no shame
Strange girls, a frequent one night stand
The Bluebird of happiness never seems to land
Sometimes it\'s better to live your life full of dreams
So some things become not as bad as they seem
Every hopeful in every bar wants their place in the sun
The bars will always be packed, some dreams may never come
I guess it\'s just another place that allows us to be who we are
Another group, another click, people in bars 


Details | Free verse | |

Life Lessons

Another day before the judge.
Nathaniel told the judge-he wanted to come home.
Judge asked the dad, “If he agreed”?
Stipulations were made and he was released.
He came home with a bracelet on.
Can’t go very far or he’ll set off an alarm.
Life lessons are hard but must be faced.
Even read his Bible from day to day.
Went to church and said his prayers.
For the next thirty days he must act like he care.


August 1-2007-My 15 year old came home today. He said, it was tough but he 
learned a lot while in juvenile hall. Even accepted the Lord. He has thirty days 
before he goes in to see the judge again. 


Details | Rhyme | |

Everyday Missions

In everyday life,
Do we notice what we are dreaming?
The dreams that we cannot hold onto.
These visions of symbolic meaning
Set us in our daily goal.
In everyday missions.

We fill the world with will
Our wild kinetic dreams
Breaking the world’s surface.
Will molds visions
 Into 
Everyday missions.

Has our expectations flown too high?
Seen so far away without the wings to carry.
We still try.
The twist of fate
Will always vary 
From the circumstance.

Please give us a chance
Or a guiding hand.
Find some faith in our freewill.
Give us strength to take a stand.

So much selfish acts without shame.
So little recognition of the real deeds
They come unnoticed to these heartless acts of blame.

And these closed minds with shattered hearts
Trapped in a captive society 
Some will try to escape
Or our drawn to the crowds of festivity
And come home to families 
In a home town.

Give us the right
Or a moment to understand 
Find some faith in the human will
That gives us strength to stand a fight.
The battles of everyday missions.
End…


Details | Free verse | |

MeloncollY BabY

Meloncolly Baby 
MeloncollY Baby 
Homesickness threatens me what with the World Wide Web at my fingertips 
Eye just smurfed a place that used to be my home before the SATAN came 
The place looks just the same as it ever was eye used to walk those streets 
Eye used to live those streets and almost eye was thrown away in that place. 
The bricks inside that building will all decay and fill a hole of great despair 
The entire city needs to burn to be destroyed to get the edges of the sword 
Eye cannot believe the sun is still ashining on the Stalingrad's hill. The place of 
vengeance of the scorpions the place of the passing of my shadow the sight of 
places eye remember has made me loose has made me useless. 
Eye remember far too much comeuppances hate has ruled their daytime lives. 
The city built of MAN will face the Judgment of its GOD and now the sins of this 
one man have been forgiven him. We only live until we die. 
No, eye am not proud to be American or proud to have no home eye am not 
proud of anything that eye have done just glad to be away from that Queer City of 
the sun. Homesick not. Homeless in America Homeless but eye won. 


Details | Free verse | |

The Creek

I remember a much simpler time,

when the world was round and so innocent.



There was a country store; a narrow creek,

an old cable hung from a metal bridge.



The launching point from which people would swing,

a semi flat rock on the muddy bank.



For an extra thrill, one could climb the bridge,

a dare and a step into the midair.



Rushing air, a great splash, and the bottom,

once to the surface, proving your courage.



Occasionally all would abandon,

when a lazy old snake would swim along.



This gave chance for sharing time and a joke,

a soda, potato chips, and moon pie.



Dripping wet cut-off shorts and the warm sun,

innocent minds, so far not corrupted.



No one thought of what the future would bring,

the poor lived from day to day happily



We earned our pay from driving a tractor,

hauling hay and digging fence posts all day.



Upon returning home to family,

we ate home cooking and slept untroubled.    



Yes, I remember a simpler time.

The creek, friends, family, and innocence