Travelling to a foreign land,
engaging in a cause not rightfully yours to join,
illegally taking up arms
with a desperate desire to save baby orphans
(only to dig them into the ground anyway);
is a life-altering experience.
There is an old line which goes something like:
"A part of my soul died on that cold, November morn."
But, such an experience can have the opposite effect entirely.
Yes! An experience such as this
can re-kindle a passion within,
so that every single particle,
every minute of each passing hour,
feels like a sacred gift -
the most sacred gift imaginable.
Yet upon returning home from such an experience,
after being grilled by Internal Affairs,
threatened with charges of International Treason,
Subterfuge and Espionage(but in the end,
you were only trying to save baby orphans
that you had to dig into the ground anyway,
so Internal Affairs drops the charges, telling you to scram),
you are inevitably slapped across the face
with an inescapable new reality....
....everyone appears to be whining and complaining
about the most trivial things,
as if everyone simultaneously feels wronged.
And this is wot you feel compelled to do:
you want to take these whiners,
transport them one-by-one
back to the foreign land with you.
After they see living skeletons
drag themselves across the dirt,
moaning, groaning, pleading for a drop of clean water,
a miniscule morsel of food,
you hand the whiner a gun,
point toward an ominous dust-cloud on the horizon,
and this is wot you say:
"See the dust-cloud moving closer towards us.
It is filled with psychopathic horsemen.
These psychopathic butchers are wielding bayonets, machetes and Kalashnikovs.
If you and I do not successfully kill these mad horsemen,
they are going to chop apart all of the baby orphans
congregated in the courtyard over there.
Do you see the beautiful baby orphans in the courtyard?
Yes, those are the orphans.
And if we do not successfully defend this camp,
yet somehow survive with our lives,
we are going to spend the rest of the night
digging the baby orphans into the ground.
So, it best be high time you wipe the tears from your face,
stop worrying about how so-and-so called you a loser or wotever,
how your retirement funds appear to be shrinking
and so you won't be able to play as many games
of hitting the little white ball across a course
fed with enough water to run an entire city.
Forget about your little boo-boo.
Pull-up your chin, straighten that spine,
and start squeezing the trigger like there's no tomorrow."
September 25th, 2011
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
we strive to make sure
each day enlightens us
and brightens us
even as light fades to gray
may we keep fighting
with two swollen feet
beneath the body and soul
and intense life lessons
meshed with stresses
may we persevere
turn off fear's song
may we stand firm
as we glide along
through shifty winds of change
that may cause things to sway
but we hold true
inside the values and morality
we stand for
fall for nothing
may stumble along the trip
may swerve at the wheel yet
do not lose our grip
because no one
can eclipse the sun
before they're done
Just when situations arise
flooding us with pain we despise
and just when it seems like
our tear ducts are dry
from ongoing cries
we may think
things are on the brink of ending
then God shows us the ways of faith
by way of love that he's sending
we make sure
every day enlightens us
and brightens us
as each day takes its turn.
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012
Authored by Chuck Keys
It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.
There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically
It wasn't here or there and it was.
With no distinction,
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.
It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.
In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.
The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."
Differences exist for differences,
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.'
From the poem: "The Mask of Anarchy" written by Percy Bysshe Shelley
how frail you seem in certain angles of light and shadow,
with your cavities,
fractured attention deficiency,
and thickening skin of apathy.
You are a victim to the plague,
playing amongst flowers filled with poison,
staring at screens to fill in the boredom
of having your young mind brimming
with over-stimulation -
information seeps in without warning,
beamed into your skull
by 360 degrees
of high-def, infra-red, wireless mobility.
24/7 programming of insidious adverts
breaches your skull in a mind-rape,
proving how the Death of a Salesman
was only a sideshow distraction
for the Kleptocracy to successfully purchase
the dark side of the moon -
control the tides,
control the mind,
buying our hearts and souls
in order to auction off our future
to the highest bids of people already dead.
yet I believe in you,
there is still hope left upon your shoulders.
You are strong,
your mind cuts like a blade.
And if you care,
if you dare,
what a significant burden for you to bare.
The time has come,
the time is ripe,
this is it,
there are no more second chances.
I pray for your success,
for you are our very last hope.
Please learn from my mistakes and failures,
absorb the goodness I have left to offer.
I tried, I truly did,
but the Hydra spat me out as a broken man.
we left seeds inside the belly of the beast
for you to survive on within.
God speed, take heed,
do not attack the Kleptocracy from the outside,
its Dragon's heads will cut you down -
will cut you down without mercy.
You must advance peacefully
with a rogue's armour of false calm,
let the machine devour you whole.
Bide your time,
survive on the leftover seeds,
dismantle the Hydra from the inside,
rewrite the program from within.
shed the tired cloak of apathy,
don the mask of alternate endings,
de-rail this present destiny.
Everything rides on you now,
everything rides on you.
The Kleptocracy broke my back,
but my mind is still intact,
and I know you can do better than I did,
believe that you can do better than we did.
I pray for your success,
pray for your safety and protection,
everything rides on you,
everything rides on you now.
December 8th, 2011
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2011
lady of the night
performs tricks in an alley....
father taught her well
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2010
We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)
Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.
Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
The stones settle,
Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.
We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner, for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:
"Honey, are you alright?"
(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)
There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-
boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...
And then serenity.
The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.
"I'm here now... and you're ok."
We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.
No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,
but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006
There once was a man from Niagara
whose wiener's so long it would stab ya'
but when it got little
his pills became skittles
until he O.D.'d on Viagra
© ~JSLambert 2011*****A classic "stiff" competitor, standing "firm" amongst other "members" in the "thick" of the competition:) hope everyone gets "a rise" out of it!
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
strange it was there just the other day
hanging about as usual,
reminding me in my mirrored image
of my definite femininity
now gone, am I less of a woman?
will you look at me differently,
or strangely as I do myself?
I never really gave it much thought before
of how things come in pairs
how lonely one would be without the other
how misshaped one appears,
no longer jutting forward,
thrusting into the limelight,
now scars and a flattened ego,
fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing
men, look at me in horror,
women in shock and pity
and with gratitude, yes that it is not them
my left breast is missing
no not missing, taken, stolen...
it was just a lump a few weeks ago
a tiny pea shaped knob,
that hid its cancerous intentions
so very well, yet lay in silence waiting
to steal away that part of me
that defined who I was
what purpose I served in society
am I still a woman, a sexual being?
I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so
but yearns for its mate,
the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right
unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided
my left breast is gone, surgically removed
I can still hear its scream
Copyright © Bernadette Langer | Year Posted 2006
It’s a sad situation, the state of this nation
of murderers, molesters, and thieves
I can’t help but wonder as we continue to plunder
at how we create our own grief.
We bully and batter, look out for the splatter
as we rob our own children of pride,
It’s no wonder our sons take up their guns
while we all sit back and ask why.
In this generation, of vain masturbation,
which can create its own self in a tube,
Each woman is master and can now choose to blast her
fetus right out of the womb.
Gender reversal is no longer controversial
(in fact it’s barely thought of as odd).
As men become women I find my head spinning
at man’s struggle to be his own god.
When possibilities ignited we just got so excited
about the fact that we could,
that perhaps we forgot to think whether or not,
as a civil society we should.
Somewhere in the thicket chirps our Jimminy Cricket,
hoping that someone will hear,
While we in the piety of civilized society
stand stoic with fingers in ear.
Make no mistake ‘bout the risk that we take
by not heeding ol’ Jimminy’s call.
Consider the thought that God you are not
and pride always precedes the fall.
Copyright © Shelly Berkeley | Year Posted 2007
‘The Power Of A Poet’ 32nd Senryu
Look How Devoted
The Power of A Poet
See How Words Spoke It
This Poem is My Tribute to:
Carolyn Devonshire (The Dove)
and James (The Highlander) Fraser
for your Powerful collaboration on:
Mother Nature's Revenge
It Was Truly Awesome
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2006
Community, what does it mean
And how does it come into being
Well what does the dictionary have to say
“A group of people living together in one place”
I guess that means were all in community
Though if I were to speak in honesty
It feels like we try to live separately
Living by the culture of our country
Which tells us, do it yourself
If your strong, you don’t ask for help
Life is about personal advancement
About money and accomplishments
Hold onto your hardships and pain
Keep striving for personal gain
So many lies deeply engrained
How will we create change?
Well I start with myself
I ask for help
I start with me
I be the change I want to see
I become an infectious contagion
In all of my relations
That could spread across a population
Even across the nations
I model my life after the master of love
Who dwells in the heavens above
He has brought millions even billions together
Over decades, centuries, even millenniums
So what else could be better
Than to faithfully follow him
He who said, I was anointed
to proclaim good news to the poor
to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free”
and I say yeah that’s who I want to be
But unless I engage in community
Unless I get to know my fellow human beings
How can I help to set them free
So its time for me to put aside
Popular culture, foolish pride
Social codes, selfish ambitions
Old roads, and useless traditions
And blaze a brand new trail
With my life, write a new tale
Introduce a new theme
Add in a few more characters
And then dare to dream
About how my story could impact theirs
And their’s impact mine
Because maybe just, maybe
It might be better, might just be
Not to say, I did it on my own
All this, look I did it alone
No maybe it would be better
If we did it together
So that no matter what my lot
I can always know that I’ve got
Friends, right until the very end
Help, ready to be sent
Hands willing to be lent
So what need would I have for advancement
For money and accomplishment
I can find all that I need
Everything I seek from this life,
In relationship with fellow human beings
Community, Maybe this is what it means
Copyright © Roland Fleming | Year Posted 2013
God is always love
Forever seek the kingdom;
Praise the creator
Keep giving what you can give
Please endure until the end
Protecting the meek ones earth
Watching over us
Helping us to cope with life
Comforted with hope and trust
When you find rhythm
You find your hearts inner core
Celebrate the times
Make them better than before
Reminisce and dance all night
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2013
Well, now that I am registered officially,
into the ranks of those who search and dig,
for gold, and paper that's done and serialized,
or plastic that buys the pleasures on high,
I might as well sit down and think hard,
about all that I will buy with gold and paper,
serialized and plastic that shines,
First a bouquet for mama to say 'thank you'.
and wish her sunshine and rainbows too,
and not sun to scorch her chocolate skin,
but rainbows to herald goodwill and peace.
Then I might try to buy a voice, as loud as,
can be to join all the others that sound,
and call for what a child needs to grow and sing,
the time to play, learn and be loved, more time.
Most of all, I'll ask not to buy this one, it is priceless,
true friends to love now, forever and always, eternally
not perfect because I am far from the best,
but whose love, like mine, does not need justification.
So you see, what I want needs just a penny to buy,
and what I need wants no money to purchase,
so why the hassle to wear a veil and deceit,
to go down the vents, with spade and pans.
And now I will pay the price it will take
to be unregistered officially from the ranks,
of those who dig and search, for gold and paper,
maybe plastic that shines and buys,
and if you want and care, here I offer,
my friendship with no charge, no price tag.
Copyright © Juliet Maruru | Year Posted 2008
where the seagull dies
stringless origami cries
loneliness of soul
koi fish suffocate
colors fade in Bonsai trees
island in distress
words not understood
shadows grin tricks on rice walls
tsunamis in eyes
geisha of the world
love is lost in illusions
freedom is her dream
men with cold fingers
whither blossom of her spring
in the seagull's grave
origami secrets kept
chicks learn how to fly
Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010
All the little bunnies were lined up for a race. Why, you may ask?
Because the dear old Leader Bunny was stepping down with grace.
He had led the others for years without disgrace, in all pursuits.
He was their advisor, friend, and confidant... solver of disputes.
Such a lofty position was dearly sought by all…from all around.
But he could pick only one to wear that lofty, wonderful crown.
So a race was determined to quickly resolve, the question therein.
And a lovely little laurel crown was offered, to the one who did win.
Now many strategies to win emerged from within the race.
The most common was the notion to set the fastest pace…
A few would use tricks that might hurt, in order to slow others down.
A few were mean, for they wanted the power that comes with the crown.
Two were clever and would catapult each other at the very end.
A few just practiced running to gain the added stamina needed to win.
Only one little rabbit found shoes for the poor, for it was a rocky trail.
And when the race began he helped those hurt in the prevail.
Now the dear old leader had never actually worn a laurel crown.
His had been symbolic; his works had brought him his renown.
When the Leader Bunny gave the laurel crown to he who won the race…
Only a few were surprised, when the little helper won the Leader’s grace…
Though some would go on to complain because he had come in last…
It truly takes someone who knows how to serve, to lead and guide the rest.
But my moral to this story is that…. Regardless what some may think…
It takes compassion to correctly lead…and sometimes the last can be the best…
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
To see ourselves as others see us --
unmasked images, through others' eyes --
half-formed caricatures, perhaps --
or mere grotesqueries --
barely recognized, telling
what we thought to hide --
we'd label these as skewed
perceptions, not real truth...
But, no matter -- when once
I thought myself unfairly judged
and asked "How so?",
I was reminded of the obvious,
i.e.: all outcomes are determined
by perceived attitudes and actions.
Not truth, but clear perception,
pure appearance, guide others' thoughts
and so create the world we live in.
Thus, however harsh,
"Perception is reality."
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
For turning my eyes into shallow Pacific blues,
because nobody likes Chocolate.
For transforming the freckled clusterbomb on my face,
into baby skin smoothness!
Because freckles are humanity’s alleged worst enemy
and I refuse to allow my self-confidence to stay Pro-Activ.
Thank you, Photoshop
for giving me that liposuction I ALWAYS wanted
in less than 10 minutes!
Working out is BENEATH me!
And I’m too busy dating these "5 Guys".
Thank you for bathing me in your Black & White Fountain of Youth!
60 is the used 25!
I refuse attempts in removing this fallacy
crawling under my lifted eye sockets.
My wisdom wrinkles shall stay imploded under pretentious needle.
Otherwise, I can’t continue to be fed
flirtatious appetizers by horny sheeple
and bi-curious copycats
hocking hairballs at the sight
of my airbrushed collagen lips
while they dry hump my computer generated thighs.
Their retinas grope my artificially inflated Grand Canyons
which are really only peaked valleys.
Yet, they won’t look at my defaults…
So, I thank you Photoshop
for being unable
to crop my misery.
© Drake J. Eszes
"Dedicated to those who are unable to look within themselves." -D.J.E.
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011
“There is a time for each season…
To everything made…
There is a divine reason.
A time for purpose under
the heavens above…
A time for meaning from a God of love.
A time to be born. A time to die…
A time to farm the ground
under the beautiful sky.
A time to kill. A time to heal...
A time to tear down and
to build up with a passion and zeal
A time for weeping. A time for laughing…
A time to mourn. A time for dancing.
A time to keep...
A time to throw away.
A time to tear. A time to make amends today.
A time to get. A time for losing…
A time to keep. And to give
away at our choosing.
A time for silence. A time to speak…
A time for each hour
and day of the week.
A time for love. A time for hate…
A time for war. A time for peace at your gate.
How will you spend the time
God has given to you?
What is your choice? What will you do???
May this be a time living in
God’s purpose and design.
He created you and made
everything beautiful in his time!
By Jim Pemberton 05/22/10
Read Eccl. 3:1-11
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2011
In the gaiety of poverty
I’m happy as you please
paying my rent
with drunken smiles
celebrating my choice
of subsidized afflictions
Its not me you see
clothed in the sun
bleeding thoughts of glory
amongst the colorful dead
I sweat black earth
share scars with straw hats
whisper intimacies into
restless pools of light
as green bananas
fall from the heavens.
Copyright © F Vaz | Year Posted 2007
~2012 New Berlin Remix~
Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers
slaying the wicked Beast in the East,
seeds hidden in the cuff links
returning home for the victory parade.
The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage, as desert sand blows
through the desolate streets of Basra,
spray painted slogans of 'Aryan Nation'
scrawled across crumbling walls.
High level Terror-alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances
of commercial-class passengers
flying high above barbed-wire compounds:
camps of cells in solitary confinement,
centralized secret service agents
unload the next set of trains.
"Son, do you forget all that we sacrificed?!
Have you lost all of your respect?
Okay, so maybe the Feds
became brainwashed by the Reds,
but this is for our freedom and safety.
This isn't about racial impurity,
but our Nationalist Socialist security!"
"You are all mixed now anyway,
doesn't matter if you are female, black, jew or gay,
we must unite together as a nation,
proudly wave our flags, fight our common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the very fabric of our free society!"
"Son, why can't you just see?!"
"Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi
I wake-up from a horrible nightmare,
remnants of images floating through my head.
Something about flocks of carnivorous sheep,
and rabid wolves for shepherds?
Jumping out of bed,
I quickly look in the mirror
just to make sure.
Everything looks as it should.
Lawnmower growls in the background,
sunshine leaks into the room
adding a warm touch to reality.
Through my bedroom window,
I spy the neighbour's Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the east.
Everything appears normal,
here, on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
I like it
For my soul!
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2006
Since first I saw you, it was your eyes,
mesmerizing, your gaze transporting
me to a realm, not of fantasy, real,
where young men go when cupid’s
arrow takes root.
Since first I saw you, it was your lips,
captivating, holding me frozen
in anticipation of our lips brushing
for the first time.
Since first I saw you, it was your voice,
a crescendo, light, invigorating,
each word you speak intensifies
my hearing, enveloping each
note, time ceases as I hang motionless
Since first I saw you, it was your hair,
long, flowing, gently rising above
your shoulders as a slight breeze
passes through sending waves
of your essence my way.
The sun magnifying each strand,
highlighting the minute
variances of invigorating color,
creating a halo effect, a portrait of
your beauty forever imprinted.
Since first I saw you, It was you,
my love forever more for you,
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Yellowing larch -- these trees
Do not speak but seem to sleep,
Sheltering skinny sheep
Handily herded -- full-fleeced
In lanolin- laden wool.
Do not sleep much.
They speak their protest --
(Such ineffective baas) --
To cloning and to closeness.
All, doubles of the ovine others,
Crowded among brothers,
Cowering under silent wood:
Dissimilar dark fir;
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
A fool was crowned
And now we`re bound
To serve and please
On hands and knees,
To hate and smile
Each day and mile,
We feel defeat
And kiss his feet.
The foolish kings
Cut off our wings.
Their poisoned knife-
Our foolish life.
And faith`s refuse
Won`t save our muse,
When banned to fly,
She`ll fall and die.
Still time will flow-
Kings come and go.
But teams of mules,
That choose the fools
To be ahead
Alive and dead,
Won`t change a bit
The fate they meet.
They`ll choke on pride,
They`ll run and hide
And in their shells
That life was cruel
To have set the rule-
“Do as you`re told,
Silence is gold.”
We pay the price
To hide our vice:
The coward `s role-
To lie and crawl.
And hope someday
Things`ll come our way,
We`ll find the might
To rise and fight.
Copyright © Marina A | Year Posted 2008
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
The autumnal grace that bodes so well
For eager souls departs,
Upon a dove wore Gaelic prose
Devised by naïve hearts,
For afterthoughts as echoed dew
Sate the doleful needs,
Of naïve souls whose hearts dispose
Of decadence and greed,
For autumnal grace a phrase misplaced
In modern times bestowed,
With meaning laced with fervent haste
That once defined our souls.
Copyright © William Ward | Year Posted 2006
Black, storm cloud eyes sear, roil
smog-aged burnt skin-
Soul is old...torn
All by the age of six.
for David's twenty/twenty contest :)
Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2012