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Age History Poems | Age Poems About History

These Age History poems are examples of Age poems about History. These are the best examples of Age History poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet | |

The Maid of Orleans

Reflecting in her garden sits a winsome little maid;
She holds a purple flower like the circlet that she made
And wrapped about her braids to grace her forehead like a crown;
Her thick and shining braids that are the shade of chestnut brown.
A soft and dreamy smile lifts her lips of cherry rose
As she so elegantly lifts the flower to her nose
To smell the rich and heady fragrance rising from its soul-
Upon this day in early May, her heart with joy is full.
But look! The heavens open wide, and joy is changed to fear,
For Michael the Archangel in the garden does appear,
And with him stand Saint Margaret and Saint Catharine, sent to seek
This girl of twelve, and in her frightened youthful ears to speak
Words form the Lord, of how someday, somehow, she'll have to save
Her native land, her land of France, from lying in the grave.
When in their bright angelic garb these saints to heav'n returned,
She knew they had been sent from God, her heart within her burned
With strong desire, with heaven's fire, to do her Father's will;
Her heart beats hard, while all around is silent, calm and still.

The years pass by, now seventeen, her hour is fully come,
And what is now but distant fancy, dull and throbbing hum
Will be her life, her joy, her pain; her darkness or her light:
For God and country, king and freedom, must, she must needs fight.
The chains of England must be broken, young prince Charles crowned:
A source of hope, of inspiration must for France be found;
For civil war rakes raging claws through weary, hopeless men,
Who fight and die, and sacrifice, and lose their homes again;
Their gardens, flocks and herds, and treasures, all are swept away:
With nothing left but life itself, and naught to do but pray.

God heard their prayer and sent her there for their deliverance,
To lead them on to victory through every circumstance
Of treachery or deviltry that loomed on every side.
Urged on by all the saints above and martyrs who had died,
She bound her armor to her body, helmet to her head;
A troop of eager soldiers to the Orleans siege she led.
Without a fear she faced the battle, banner held up high;
It filled each fainting heart with spirit, waving in the sky:
Unfailing, never falling, always standing at the fore,
And filling every weary soul with courage to the core.
Though wounded by an arrow striking close beside her heart,
She still pressed on to victory, she played her vital part.
The Maid of Orleans did her best, she held back not at all,
But risked her life at every turn to heed her heav'nly call;
She fought and bled and braved the beast until her king was crowned,
And even then she carried on, she traveled all around:
Each city gained broke off the chains of power-hungry kings,
Who killed to gain another's land, his citizens and things.

Alas! She met her fate at hands that should have helped her cause;
The countrymen she battled sold her to be judged by laws
And men that all disfavored her, yet still she firmly stood,
Proud head held high, two gleaming eyes; she answered best she could
Each twisted question meant to trap her clear but simple mind:
With wit and art she answered each; they really could not find
A cause for death, but death must be for such an enemy
The fate; who sees such visions full of vile heresy,
Of saints and angels revelating mortals with God's plan.
They also charged her with the sin of dressing like a man,
But it was of necessity she donned a soldier's guise;
For all throughout the war-torn realm roamed pairs of hateful eyes
Who did not heed a woman's cries, but did what pleased them best:
They killed or maimed or stained for life from eastern France to west.

So thus it is, not twenty years, they chain her to a stake-
The final chain that no amount of bravery can break.
Within her dress, hugged to her chest, she tucks a wooden cross;
The symbol of the Son of God, who faced such early loss
Of life, and like her was betrayed and mocked and led to die
Without a cause, without a crime, without a reason why.
Ten thousand people press around; she feels the burning heat,
As flames grow hotter, ever hotter- licking at her feet:
But on one thing and one thing only both her eyes are fixed;
Upon the figure held before her- on the crucifix.
And she is thinking of a time that seems so long ago,
When as a girl she used to sit and watch her garden grow;
She'd pick the purple petaled flowers, braid them in her hair;
Her life was simple, pure, and sweet, she hadn't any care
Until Saint Michael gave her calling to her way back then.
But if she had another life, she'd do it all again,
For God and country, king and freedom she could die this death;
And so it was that thus she died, and with her final breath
Her soul and body parted ways, and while her body burned,
Her soul went on to realms unknown, her soul to heav'n returned
Into the hands of He who made her, to the arms of Christ the Lord;
Who made for her a better body, more than just restored.
Here ends the troubles of this maiden, gone are jail cells dark:
Forever live the Maid of Orleans, known as Joan of Arc.



{Written by Isaiah Zerbst. For the first time published on October the 13th, 2014.}


Details | Narrative | |

Where are you Fred Astaire

A man with impeccable charm, sophistication and grace,
Fred Astaire was at once both marvelous and enchanting
As the twentieth century’s greatest dancer and master artist.
He made his sublime dancing (“hoofing”) seem effortless.

Capturing the American spirit with both panache and verve
Fred Astaire glided across some quite wonderful movie sets:
Top Hat (1935), Swing Time (1936), Shall We Dance (1937)
Done magnificently—all harken back to a different America.

This America tho’ more old fashioned was one of “can-do”
And boasted a gutsy bravado even in times great hardship.
Fred Astaire with others was a sturdy star symbol of the then
Greatest Generation that helped bring peace to a war torn world.

Fred Astaire was part of this Greatest Generation entertaining
Packed audiences and dazzling them with steps of joy and perfection.
Tho’ now gone Astaire’s past accomplishments serve as a prologue
For new generations to come and to seize opportunities for greatness.

Where are you Fred Astaire?
		

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(September 2, 2014)


Details | Sonnet | |

Sequoyah

"Talking Leaves" fasinated Sequoyah
A Cherokee who accomplished great feats
In noble deed stands tall like a sequoia
Though lame fought beside Jackson no defeat  

Success in battle 'pon warrior's horse
Winner in defeating illiteracy
He had an alphabet to endorse
After ten years effort deliberate

When his enlightment brought light, joy flowed
Then the Cherokee printing press spread news
Knowledge spread and troubled brewed discord sowed
The beginning of the "Trail Of Tears" diffuse

Sequoyah intelligent lone warrior
Battled to make his tribe superior

Sponsor: Shanity Rain
Contest: Native American People
Written: November 12, 2013


Details | I do not know? | |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)



Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:



Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.


He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.


After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.


In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.


Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.


He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.


Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.


On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.


Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.


His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.


In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.


On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:


‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’



Mahlangu died for a cause!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)


Details | Epic | |

young American days


              
                   To be in a young America ~
           visions of a ship upcoming statue of Liberty
               the young lad holding tightly to his Mothers leg
             in all excitement of a new Land to call their own
      celebrations of apple pie and fireworks on the 4th of July 
          
             thoughts of the old Hollywood on screen 
                films without 3-D costing less then a dollar
        Greta , Monroe , Betty Davis eyes tantalizing blue glare
       The Wizard of Oz or books written by Steinbach, Capote, Mark Twain

             exciting new visions of creating new concepts 
                 before Capitalism bought all little ones to bigger
           songs came from the hills of Virginia to the black Mountains
               surfacing in Tennessee for all to hear and wish to see  

          The day when one travelled by car on the road travelled
             every town a story told , learning history we once shed blood 
         American Indian tears to the British man whom choose freedom of taxes
            Boston held a tea party , now wishing they threw out marmite instead
 
         The day when we knew our neighbors and bought homes with a paystub
             Everyone had a chance to make their own with pride , even through wars
        When Martin Luther King stood proudly as did President Lincoln for Freedom 
             How many streets have been named after the man whom had a dream ?

             When milk was delivered on doorsteps in Glass bottles 
                 Babies wanting the very first of the top being cream 
             leaving doors open , watching news with your family at 6pm
                cartoons were shut down and it was now grown up time 

                      Cereal being a cheap snack for after school 
                         school supplies costing twenty dollars 
                      Grandma school clothes shopping for fifty 
                   before the internet , cell phones , and text for hello ~

                         2 week Vacations not afraid to put up Camp 
                Christmas sold in December with the sentiment of Love not money
        a day when if one were sick , you could actually get penicillin without question 
         The Doctor treated everything calling it General Practice no fear of Malpractice 

               Never forgetting our Motor city  
                 Old Ford Trucks Chevrolets and Dodge
                  The city that brought Ottis Reding and Marvin Gaye 
               

                     What happened to us ?  Where did America Go ? 

                   

         
  


Details | Free verse | |

leaving August

        Leaving the last days of August
          memories of the sea waves crashing 
        Tides that leave shells broken to find ~
        
        picnic memories ~
                      fireworks night 
                             Birthday cakes sparkle ~

    sunburns under a sage kissed dessert Moonlight 
         The Summer reminds us of happier days
             scents of coconut oil and lime 
        
            reminds us all of what is yet to come ~
              
              The rain comes down hard
          crying for all souls lost and left behind

             The birds fly in perfect form 
           reminding all of the September storm 
             
           begging for history not to repeat ~
 
                 ~   In war 
                        no wins 
                            only defeat ~
 
            two beams of light straight to the Heavens   
                stay through the whole month of September
                   they remind us to listen silently we stand still 
          
          For the city lives and breaths left with loss 
                    many questions unanswered remain ~
                  
               Leaving behind August
                    entering Septembers fears ~
               
                          
                             



 I love this poem because it reflects on the past and the coming month in remembrance of history that took place September 11th 2001. In a way it is a oxymoron . from passionate summer nights to the fear embraced in the month coming :)

                    



Details | Rhyme | |

Lewis And Clark

They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.

Down the Missouri they traveled, 
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end. 



©2013 Honestly JT


Details | Bio | |

I AM A DREAMER, STILL A DREAMER

I am a dreamer
A dreamer to own a bicycle but never got one 
I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer
A dreamer who wanted to play a set of small pieces of plastic toy-soldier
But I can’t afford to buy one 
But I got the hand-amputated one
I picked it up in a canal of mud

I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer who loves to play “sigung” 
Because this is the only piece to play
And a toy that is easy for me to avail
I am still a dreamer

I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer who wanted to have a car
But I got tank in my ancestor’s homeland
I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer to finish a degree 
This is which everyone wanted to get a job
But I need to go abroad to be professional slave

I am still a dreamer
I am dreamer to own a shop for a bicycle 
For me to give gift to the one needs it
But cannot afford like to buy like me before
I am still a dreamer even without owning a bicycle before 
Until today I am still a dreamer

I only owned myself who was created by the mercy of God
That until today I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer, and still a dreamer until today 
I am still a dreamer, Tausug dreamer 
That one day, as a dreamer my dream would become true!
Bow…!


Details | Free verse | |

Ridiculous Me

Watch this scene with both eyes and try not to blink C: --> 

I stood there... silently
Like a predator near prey 
I sneak behind YOU

You weren't even aware of it!! Ha-ha! 

I made YOU jump hIgH
Like a startled hare
I chuckle and smile

You know that mischievous smile of mine? 

Your reaction was
PRICELESS - you were so upset
But YOU forgave me

Well...I'm flattered. . . 

We laugh'd together (just like the good times)
In a chorus - our volume
Picked up extreme sound

Believe me - I could hear our laughter from a mile away!

But I'm glad I did
My best to make you giggle

Ridiculous me... 
Wouldn't you agree?


Details | Rhyme | |

Eyes of Seminary

Eyes of Seminary – Zamreen Zarook

Every day in our lives has different fragrance,
God give us various things in abundance,
Day by day knowledge is gained in accordance,
Things depend according to the attendance.

Two years of studies,
Helped us to come out with various abilities,
Extremely joyful moments with buddies,
But life said every aspect has its boundaries.

Teachers become very friendly,
They approach us very kindly,
They speak on us exaggeratedly,
Because they know, if not we might behave badly.

Big shots in the school boundary,
These are years of foundry,
It helped us to find and go for laundry,
Marvelous days, fully packed with sundry.


Various angles the kith and kins are civilized,
It’s because our knowledge is enhanced,
Guys and girls turned well experienced,
That’s why we call it levels of advanced.


Details | Free verse | |

If Old Men Fought

An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight


Details | Ballad | |

NO MAN STANDS ALONE - The Ballad of Barney Ross

CHORUS
No man stands alone
in the street, the ring or the combat zone
some lay in the gutter
some sit on a throne
but no man stands alone

At the age of fourteen 
he had a dream
to become a rabbi 
Chicago 1924
then his dad was killed by men
who tried to rob the family store
his brothers and sisters were sent away
to an orphanage where they would stay
and though his faith was blown away
he vowed to bring them home someday

To God and man revenge he swore
he walked with gamblers, 
hoods and whores
he fit right in 
then on a whim
he walked into a boxing gym
he fought Canzoneri in ‘33
for the lightweight title victory
he made up with God 
and finally
he could reclaim his family

Those McLarnon fights 
were the stuff of lore
the only man 
to ever put him on the floor
he won two out of three, 
then in the Armstrong bout
he nearly died 
but was never knocked out
then in 1941
the Japanese pulled a sneaky one
so he joined the marines 
and he got a gun
and he sailed into the rising sun

On Guadalcanal, 
he fought so brave
overmatched like old King Dave
he put twenty attackers 
in an early grave
for the one marine 
whose life he saved
in a hospital bed 
for months and days
they kept him in a morphine haze
then sent him home 
strung out and beat
to the pushers on the mean, mean street

Hollywood was very keen
to put his story on the silver screen
but they focused on the drug abuse
he tried to sue 
but what’s the use?
Barney Ross was brave and strong
they couldn’t keep him down for long
his rabbi said that he must try
to be a model Jew in the public eye

but from the public eye he slipped
like a phantom radar blip
they say he hunted Nazi criminals
and he ran some guns to Israel

Barney Ross was brave and strong
I thought that he deserved a song
he did some bad
he did some good
and he saved the world
the best he could


Details | Rhyme | |

Queen Of The Rails

The engine: Long and black
And sleek as she could be
She shook the earth in her approach
As her heraldry.

An atmosphere of steam and smoke
Expanding in her wake
The Queen-of-the-Rails speeds on
An arrival soon to make.

Massive is her presence
Enormity her design
Power is her excess
This Queen is so refined

Once she ruled with majesty
When o’er the rails she flew
But … now, this one last time,
The railway bids: “Adieu”.

Slowly when she comes to stop
We see she’s thoroughbred
When water, steel and hard, black coal
Within her there are wed.

Her regal-ness resplendent
In fittings’ shining bright
Commanding our respect
O’er the rails of her last flight.

Now sitting at the siding
She’s puffing rhythmic breath
The museum’s destination
Of her life commits its’ theft.

Photographs will mimic
Her image of today
But missing from those photos:
Glories of Yesterday

When o’er the steel she thundered
Demanding from all who saw
Respect for Her grand power
Which held them all in awe.

But Glory, she found, was fleeting
When “progress” came to call
Her future then was set in stone
In the writing on the wall.

Now we hear the brake release …
Her throttle then is moved …
She inches down the shiny track
Where the land with steel is grooved

Then as she gains her speed
And whistles out her “yell”
An announcement for all to hear:
“I know I’ve served you well!”

She’s journeyed through the ages
And a boy – an old man now -
Watches as she fades away -
He waves, then shouts out: “Ciao!”

But in his mind is yesteryear
With his dog there by his side
Watching near the railroad tracks
Where the Queen-of-the-Rails did ride.

And long from now whenever
He says: “Remember when …”
In those times of reverie,
She’ll come alive … again.


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Freedom Uprise

We will not ride alone on this momentous journey. 
We will ride gathering our numbers, from the great mountains. 
We will travel to the valley of rivers, towards the great ocean.
For we have a great army.

Those who enslaved us with their power, stand on the top of the hill.
They stare down over the army below.
An army of vengeance we have gathered.
We will ride to the battle field at the great buildings.

Our intent is to wage war.
Fear will not take us.
You are weak supremacy, you will die by the sword. 
You will die by the hand of my fellow warriors.

This is war.
Blood will be spilt. 
Men will draw their last breaths as they fall back onto mother earth.
Mother Earth will soak up the spilled blood of our brothers and sisters.


We will be fierce and haste not.
We the suppressed will not retreat.
We the people will rise, with swords and fists. 
We are ready to die for what is equitably ours.

This is not an illusion. 
The fight against the money mongers, the powers that be.
Those that hold the power, will feel our angry wrath.
None will go unscathed.

We will watch the blood spill in and about the great buildings. 
Down the concrete stairs it will flow, rich, deep cherry red. 
Into the green of the grass, it flows.
Fear will choke your breath.

Reflections of your past, rushing before you. 
Thoughts of the dead, invade your mind.
Hollow is the cry of war, as we charge ahead to fight the battle.
To take the final stand, to give it our all.

Justice will reign by the sword and the all mighty hand.
Judgement day has arrived with this great army gathered beside us.
We will ride, steadfast into the fray.
Make no mistake this day will come upon the powers that be.


Details | Rhyme | |

LIFE GOES ON

The wood that built the place I see
Came from a forests far away
It's age is hard to guess
But every knot knows life's quest

By the looks of it I'd say
It is pine
Can it trace it's life
Back to creation time

Was it singed by the commet
That once came to land
And was responsible for the end
Of the dinosaur clan?

Did it survive the great flood
While Noah and the animals patiently bobbed along 
And Finally came to earth
With a Hallulia song

Or was it a seed that traveled along
As the ice age swept the land
And managed to plant itself
On a very distant plain

For centuries it did survive
It's young gathered round
Until that fatel day
A man with a saw, hapt to pass it's way

It's life as it had known it
Was never more
It'd been turned into a barn
For animals and chores

It's life finally met defeat
And for a century or so
Was once again subject to
The winds, the rain, the snow

When I finally found it
It was then I did know
This disheveled structure
Could heal my heart and soul

I bought it and with loving care
With every board I did share
The love and memories of my years
And blessed them all with precious tears

And now we sit and share the years
These boards of pine and me
And know that it was fate itself
That set our souls free


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "


Details | Rhyme | |

We All Bleed Red

Thoughts swirling in my head
Remembering we all bleed red
Life is a tapestry
True happiness a dream
Such a confusing world
Paradise yet to be seen
A country with a dark past 
Some hauntings still last
Unwilling to change, planted in lead
Feel it with your heart and head
No crystal ball
No room to fall
Deeper into our subconscious
Life is far too precious
A bitter pill
Such a large hill
Let freedom ring
Let children sing
Saying hell no
Not in our name
This is a political game
Most looking for fame
Dig a grave
Hell, it's a road you paved 
Here to make waves
 Those who are adverse
Stuck with the curse
Burden on the young
Who is truly free
It will never be you or me
We mourn over the dead
A nation so divided
We are tainted
From birth we are painted
Who are the real heros
We all have blood on our hands
Invisible to most
Only the true can see
Even on our homeland
We have a roll to play
History is witten in stone
Learn from it instead of beating it to the bone
Our futute is only written in clay
Still malleable
All life is valuable
Old school. . New school
It is what's in our hearts
Time to stop tearing one another apart
Just take a stand
Even if you walk alone
Hold your head up high
What is life if you are to afraid to fly?
We all bleed red
Time for a transformation
Get ready to shed 
Change doesn't come easy
Fear those with nothing to lose
We all deserve to live as we choose
Get ready because we all have a voice
Step up and make a choice
We condemn those we don't know
Some of us even for show
Confusion runs through me
Unsure of how things should be
My constant idealistic views
Desperately grasping not to become jaded
Dreaming of a utopia
Generations before us
Marching through the gas
Fighting for peace and love
Is the joke on me?
Is there something I can't see? 
Scared for our youth
Where are the leaders?
Put personal pride aside
Stand tall
Take risks
Look in the mirror
It's time to live without fear


Details | Concrete | |

The 13th amendment

Footsteps heard from afar 
Caught in the glimpse of 
Strange shadows on walls,
the unknowable visor of 	
approaching men in uniform, 
wedged in the unbroken frames 
of those shadows;
Carrying their guns and arms,
They throw a basket of broken
Legs lost in the war, a dump yard
Of human remains

And there through the window
Struck by the very first sight
Are those pair of peeping eyes
That seek answers for all that is
Left and is yet to come,
They speak of all the pain
Felt in the anguish of the bygones,
A struggle to fight for
All that is fair and just, 
To level the men of his ‘breed’
One amongst many born unequal
They see affected patterns of color,
The raunchy division of scattered
Privileges 

In moments of solitariness, they
Look ahead into the future with a
Vision so pure; 
a utopian ideal it seems
To many of his kind, unachievable yet
Worth fighting for, for years
Of unsolicited beatings, they
Only wish to see a world of 
Equals, the world as a homogeneity of
Dark and blank pieces, 
 
Men of ‘his breed’ 
Stand up to wrong all the
Blank pieces covered in shadows
By the ‘darkness’ of their own
Misdeeds, 
So a world without
Fear would be created for once,
The end of a gruesome chapter
And the beginning of a liberal one


Details | Free verse | |

ATLANTIS

Far beneath fathom's kept, where the dead men,
Dare not speak of forgotten kingdom's hidden deep,
Under waves chilling currents, in the aquatic blues,
 Burial zone.
Behind seaweeds thickened greenery, and corals
 Reefs decorative stealth.
An ancient mystery's truth lies undiscovered,
Pull back times curtain reveal a world turned up,
Side down.
Once a utopian society lived, bathed in the
 Warmth of the sun.
Shinning by brilliance light aglow in
 Architectural marvel.
Civilization’s corner stone, etched with 
Diversity's trade mark.
Idealism in perfection orderly form, 
Pictured framed amongst ,
Legend's greatest mysteries left unsolved, 
Yet it intrigues us.
A vast landscape spanning the horizon, 
Wealth's golden city.
Built brick by brick on sheer strength, 
Of will power and intelligence intellect.
A crown jewel of the ancient world but,
 It's existence has tarnished with age,
 Entering the realm of long ago,
 Mythological legendary myth.
But fortune's favor draws fates attention, 
Leaving unto follies end result greed's lust,
Deception’s cruelty, and slavery’s injustice.
The god's have little mercy for humanity’s,
 Sinister darker side,
And cast a titan's krackan to sly the
 Wickedness there in.
Destruction landfall hit Atlantis head on,
An eerie twilight’s hour destiny’s four winds,
Did scream why have you forsaken, 
Your children thus so.
No wraith's compassion could eliminate, 
Sorrows heavy burden to bare.
A nation, a continent wiped from the face
Of the earth, without leaving a trace vaporized,
In a instant.
Storytellers epically write words, telling of
Legacy's lost paradise.
It's valuable theology speaks volumes knowledge,
Of lessons to be learned so not as to,
 Be repeated again. 
In the devil triangle may it rest in peaceful slumbers, 
Dreaming state.
Until history's reawakening calls it name once more.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN










Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: V

Omniscient guy
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?


Details | Free verse | |

THE DUKE

A lone rider sits high in the saddle,
As the horizon's sunrise spreads across,
The open prairie.
Twin pearl handed pistols rest at his side,
As rusty spires clang against wooden planks,
At the deadwood saloon.
Legends cowboys whisper his name,
On the dry desert winds,
A giant of a man whom breathed
Life again into the legacy,
 Of the old west.
His side swagger's walk trademark
On the larger than a life screen.
The duke truly represents the great 
American hero on horse back.
Six shooters drawn at high noon's 
Count down,
John Wayne's the trail dusts equalizer,
He always remained on the right side,
Of tin stars law.
The tumble weeds rolls along a dirt path,
As tall cactus stand on an arried canvas,
Life here is harsh and mean,
Where only the strong survive.
Bold individuals with the inner
Strength against god's forbidden land.
Harden men whom lived by one simple,
Rule I will do what ever it takes
To stay alive.
He'll join the ghost riders,
Forever driving the lords herds
Across the grand divides vast
Prairie sky’s as the sunsets
In the old west.
Alone figure rides high in saddle,
Set against a legends back drop,
Hell bound for glory,
In a cloud of gun smokes fog,
Behold the duke emerges,
With his hat on straight
And gun at the ready.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Concrete | |

Her Trip within

She took a Long trip

in her mind to help all

those things come untwined.



The shadows that follow

need to go away,

so she took along trip

to release all the pain.



She went to the woods,

a cabin in time,



She noticed all the trees

and the wind beneath

her wings.



She went into a dream

she saw her master

within,

she fell on her knees and asked

when will it all begin?



He said you took along trip

to find me deep within,

let it all go now

at my feet below,

I will lead you and never,never let you go.



Written by:©Betty Bolden


Details | Narrative | |

Reminiscence

Prologue:
For whoever think story telling is that easy,
Would properly from this hilarious incident,
scene or whatever you might call it, would know is not.

                             *****************

Just some couple of months ago, I was invited
by a friend who knows me too well, back then in 
school as a funny guy and story teller and so he taught this
night, that his grand pa (who is a famous story teller 
of his village) had fall sick, I would be in a better position
to cover up for his father's so called responsibility
to his people. "For he (my friend's father, Williams) is a good story teller.
But what about me who has never faced 
the ample crowd with my 'cripple' tale unless sharing it with friends?" I mumbled.

In the middle of this enigma, my friend, John called me to the hot seat
to tell my tale to the unbearable crowd of adolescence. 

"God why am I here this day... But it shouldn't have been this day" I retorted.
The barbarian noise from the seats infront of me showed that truly I was 
in the middle of something and not lost...

"Uncle tell us a story!... Brother tell us a story!" the crowd shouted.

This day, I needed a free moment but they couldn't let me be.
"Once upon a time" they heard me said and they all resited.
" I am sorry, I am sorry let me restart it all over again".

Now in old man's voice, I told my tale before them:

"Once upon a time,
In our mothers' womb, when she
Ate, we ate. Goodnight!"

They all cannot but burst to laughter while I stood and walked to the room with my 
shame.
                                   
                                *****************

Anything after good night means nothing more till the next day.
Maybe I escaped the night by dissatisfying the emotions of those children,
in that scene, what about my friend? 
"Have I not brought shame to John's family? Did I do the 
right thing that full moon night?". My heart beats!

                               *****************

Epilogue:
Not even do the audience remember or care to ask me: (In kid's voice)
"What if my mother do not eat while in my pregnancy, what will happen to her?" or 
probably care to tell me: (Back to old man's voice) "What lesson they have derived from 
the tale before their departure... Oh! No sorry, my bashful departure from their sight." 

Note: The tale: "Once upon....Goodnight!" is a Haiku form of poetry.  
 














Details | Monoku | |

Alien-nation

One more alien... an extra terrestrial. Bloody foreigners.


Details | Free verse | |

The Glass Goddess

All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground 
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…

Great houses made of cards
Form lines, and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga! from the sidelines.

So while were here
We dance with the Glass Goddess 
Poised miles above reality,
Leaping over the heavens on our domino stilts-

We floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane, 
Seizing the day
Because any moment 
We could disappear 
Into



Jacob Reinhardt	
10/15/2013



Details | Elegy | |

BYRON'S BONFIRES

BYRON’S BONFIRES

Byron’s life was full of fire
Some from passion’s strong desires
Some from temper, child spoiled--
Too much paper--desk embroiled

But he suffered sacred fire
Shelley’s wretched funeral pyre
On strange shores his friend succumbed
Drowned so far away from home

Fighting valiant-- Greeks allied
Keeping paper by his side
Used a fire to keep warm--
Daunting rain that did him harm

After death friends burned B’s words
What a shock if people heard
Thoughts that Byron dared to write
Deeds he carried through by night

Thus his words sung to the flames
Protecting friends from nasty names--
Luck-charmed  chimney to embrace
Ash-thoughts of man so wrong defaced.

Victoria Anderson-Throop   12/03/12 ©
Juja, Kenya   Africa


Details | Free verse | |

new aquatic species

       Science in all fascination has discovered a species aquatic 

  Theorizing this new yet old species remained hidden as Merman  

  only to live in secret at the oceans floor the mermaid a tribe indigenous 

  once said to be myth yet all proof and technology film does not lie 

  Tsunamis has given the ocean a true glance of the man with webbed hands

  The species communes with dolphins will be under a microscope to analyze  ?


    " The World is not ready to see what I have "  Jacques Cousteau ~


         to be entered in The Science contest ~


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Distillery I rented from John Stienbachs ghost

                    It was a moment in time 
                  a fate of inspiration gifted 
            I believe I was lifted a destiny in writing 
                I would vibrantly pursue .
             Renting a cottage once in Monterey Bay
           this cottage special in some way
          
            The very minute moving.. I felt a presence 
                      giving me no serenity , no rest 
                            feeling I were a quest ~

                 After desiring this home so                            
                      telling the Realtor ~ I made a mistake     
                     She told me be calm ~
                        many have said this before you 
                               ~ this haunt was not a new 

                  For once lived a Writer ~well respected Gent
               His cottage a distillery during the time of prohibition.

                  Many Gents and Ladies came to this cottage 
                      unlawfully gamble & drink through the night
                    Who would think , Doc Ricketts in Cane & Hat
                               it was a party by moon light  ~
                      
                              In the back a distillery hidden in a old shed
                                    many Alcoholics were fed ~
 
                         The ghost popular quite the Ladies man ~
                                I was honored while feeling displaced  

                                 For those who have not read my poems 
                                    ~   and this may be new. 
                                          This really happened ~
                      The ghost of John Steinbach rented me his home True
                                   
 

                  Yvette & The ghost of John Steinbach's  , Teamwork  9/14/2013 
    


Details | Narrative | |

Mom's Malaise, part two

A couple of years later, at age 19, this farm girl married and, true to her Catholic
upbringing, began having children. She had four live births and four miscarriages over the course of less than seven years, long before the idea of “post-partum” depression was even a gleam of understanding in anyone’s mind.  After the birth of her fourth child, a girl who would grow up to study environmental sciences and eventually draw the correlation between that first atomic explosion and her mother’s first episode of mental, emotional and physical distress, that infant had to be taken by her aunt and uncle to care for lest she perish from failure to thrive because by this time, mom was so deeply depressed, she was unable to care for her newborn.  

In those days there was no such thing as mental health care, no understanding at all of how to nourish the brain or detox the body from the effects of poisons and radiation…for indeed these advances are only recently gaining traction and still only in the realm of “alternative health care”.  With no understanding of her condition, or of what would even constitute appropriate care, her state of mind and body continued to deteriorate. After more than one suicidal episode and losing her children to foster care while she entered a treatment and rehabilitation facility, she was eventually diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic and manic-depressive, giving her husband sufficient justification to divorce her and blame her parents for not telling him that she was mentally deficient before he married her. Even the Catholic Church agreed and granted an annulment of the marriage that produced his four live children and four miscarriages while he served in the Air Force and left her to care for his children while he was away for years at a time overseas on unaccompanied assignments. But nevertheless, the marriage was officially annulled so that he could marry again sanctioned by the Church and his Catholic bride could continue to take unholy communion in mass.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.


Details | Lyric | |

F Bomb

“F Bomb”
By Nate Spears

I got the heart of a man name Malcolm
The visions of Martin Luther
The tongue of Emmett Till
The brains of Medgar Evers

Can I get a window seat
Away from defeat
Can I get park for the kids to play
Next to the spot
Where Rosa refused her seat

Langston in my pen
Proud, young, and free
Handsome and intelligent
The government targets me
First,
In a second
My history is a blessing
The court system in racist
Society shows the traces.


Details | Carpe Diem | |

I

If its money I got its money ill keep. If its money I have its money ill weep. If its love that I give its love ill receive. For I am but no one who just see's beneath. Some say your only as strong as you feel, but how could we change..in a place that's so unreal. People are hearing but..not really hearing. Why is the world so blind. I keep on screaming and screaming and screaming for things to be revolutionized. I am just a small song in a world full of cries, laughter, tears and french-fries.


Details | Sapphic stanza | |

THE BECKONING OF OSSIAN'S CAVE


                            THE BECKONING OF OSSIAN’S CAVE

                                    

            Sense the ancient Celtic rocky entrance beckon onward--

            Heard the time-past warriors clink their ale-blown jests--

            Willed my dwindling courage plunge me, blood soaked,  to the doorway;

                                                                   Breath spent--I leapt....



A Celtic myth claims that Ossian welcome's slain warriors & soldiers into an afterlife where they join slain warriors of all clans and times. (to see Ossian's Cave, check Wikipedia)

Victoria Anderson-Throop
2013


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Snakes and Apples

Spiting poison with an apple heart/ 
The message stinks like biblical farts/ 
Inspired inspirations speed bump tearful ears/
Legless rhymes walking towards human like reptiles/ 
This is no apple from West Side/ 
Lyrical farm trees grow broken spirits, polite/
Snake eyebrows sees no pain in speech lines/ 
Without poverty rhymes would vomit dead-lines/
Declines/ 
A medium selling pain self taught healings/ 
Nobody listens to ssssssssssnake rhymes/ 
Dragon spits catches your attention, soldier!!/ 
Dream skills evaporated by government’s big dreams/ 
The sssssssssssnakes cook apples before spiting venomous hot steams/ 
This animals know ancestors puked sick flows/
This Rap, tiles and protects us from silence/
Stolen big dreams destroyed peace in pieces/
I speak dirty though i need no clean smiles/ 
Greedy venomous tongues come in plural painting starving rurals/ 
Life is a museum in murals/ 
Laboured stanzas healing shacks named after Diepsloot/ 
Blood and crips born poverty's own style/
Ballot papered menus serve snakes & apples/ 
Eat or be eaten that is the question/


Details | Ballade | |

1984 has gone

1984 Has Gone.

Nineteen eighty four has gone
But still it's not too late.
George Orwell got the date all wrong
But he recognized our fate.
His words are being acted out
You can see it everywhere.
George Orwell was a prophet man
His truth's at you they stare.

And so we sit, the TV on
As we stare into it's rays.
And the adverts roar so loud and clear
and with our minds they play.
"You must have this, you can't do that
They tell you how to live
And all they think you need to know
Though they haven't much to give.

And everyone be taught to think
Just like the one, the other.
As little bricks they each be formed
But the truth's kept undercover.
And not too many want the truth
Or even think at all.
So me, I turn that TV off
It drives me up the wall.




Details | Limerick | |

Hillary Billary

Hillary Billary!
Stop this Sillary!
Surely we can do better than this.
How about that Lizzie Warren miss?
Hell No! Go, Go Hillary!


Details | Free verse | |

Have You Ever Read

Dedicated to an author by the name of William Golding... Enjoy!!!


~Two boys meet on an island
~~One is skin 'n bones
~~~The other one is chubby

They discover a lagoon~
Ralph teases him by calling~~
him "Piggy" -  how mean!!~~~

Piggy asks him if
There are other people on 
The island with 'em

He has no clue
But this'll answer Piggy's question --
Other boys appear - 
All diverse shapes and sizes
What'll happen next??

You'll see...

Have you ever read The Lord of the Flies?
I recommend it if yah haven't read it yet - I must admit
It's a book full of adult words and it's simply...FASCINATING! - no lies
You should read it - or you'll regret it!



Details | Ballad | |

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN DETAILS

On Roman ruled British isles,
   On a sunny morn
Forth century on the day of Ides  
   Our Patrick was born
To the deacon and his wife fair; 
   A beautiful morn
And priest grandfather who care’
   Their Patrick was born

He, young and bright as a button 
   This could be clearly seen
Was Patrick the lad and glutton
   Tall for his age at sixteen 
 Taken as a slave to nearby Eire 
   At tender age sixteen
by knavish raiders – this not fair
    Long time not to be seen

God visited Patrick in a dream 
    On this Emerald Isle
 When revealed to him to stream
   Patrick broke rank and file
He boarded a ship and set sail 
    left this unwelcome isle
In Britain to tell all the tale
   Then Gaul - priesthood and file

In 432, back to Eire to convert them 
   A land green with shamrock
From their polytheism to stem
   Worshiping even a rock
To explain the Holy Trinity 
   He used the shamrock
Enlightened them till affinity
   They accepted *The Rock

To explain the Holy Trinity 
   He used the shamrock
Enlightened them till affinity
   They accepted The Rock
They are wearing the Green
They are wearing the Green...

*Rock of Ages

21 January 2013


BALLAD METER


Details | Elegy | |

SAPPHO'S FALLING STARS part 1

                                            SAPPHO’S FALLING STARS     (Part one)


I am descendent of Odysseus
	Hero of the past
Have I kin—I know not—I may be the last--
The Trojan War and Helen made my family's blazing fame
Thus magnified by Homer was made our honor and ancestral name

I stand this day the General of the fallen men that the Fates have tossed
across the Siren Sappho's way—
now foolishly slain-- my Fallen Stars    	 
                      		such a ragged few
                                       in this paltry breath of a moment
                                      			of mere delay--

Inconsequential time in history 
                                                                                          forever lost—


at their honor’s cost


for Mine, a Mighty Name
excuses easily such inconsequential blame
                                                                         
I cannot weep—I cannot pray

                      Such sacrifice of brave men
	              Lifeless , While I stand whole
	               Due to my folly 
                      Sucks the breath stark from my soul

Yarns and lore of Heroes—I know
Babe……. to youth……… in manhood……..
Each far-flung hour, day upon dew-kissed day
Nurtured ever cherished in the sweet talk of the female-breast-kissed way
      	Absorbed sensuous tactics laced with salty woman taste--so learned
	Intimately known as my manhood blossomed

Intimate Initiate—once
You, Sappho, sought my need –-
Intimate follower once—
                                I ate your passion delicious sauced with greed

(part two posted)............................................





Victoria Anderson-Throop  12/18/12 ©


Details | Rhyme | |

''Gangs Of WAR''

When Good Of "EVIL," Run You Down, Remember 
What Doesn't "KILL YOU," Only Makes You, 
STRONGER, *Yes* Faith Can Break, But Our 
Strength Of Heart Together, Shall CARRY, Beyond 
To It's Highest POWER, Let Go Of Your FEARS, You 
Are As Weak As Your Weakest Link, Don't 
Patronize The Ignorance Of Foolishness, Bring 
Back The LOVE, KINDNEsS, And CARING, We All 
Once Knew, The Community...

Make It SAFE AGAIN, Towards Children's PLAY, 
Not, "GANGS OF WAR," Bursting Into Plague, 
Give It A Fighting Chance, Regain Your Balls Son, 
Be Self- ConScience, Put Down That Gun, Don't 
Leave Murder-Scream, Blood On Blood, Color On 
Color, Doesn't Matter, Stop This Hatred, From 
Ringing Out,Once More, A Blistered, Master-Mind,
Of No Peace,Kneel, Pray,To Our LORD almighty, 
Rebuild His Gateway, And Reform The Community,
Back To It's Rightful Place...
 

Re: Richard Palmer Poem 
No PEACE


Details | Narrative | |

To Those Who Survived

To those who survived
war’s awful tide:
welcome back home.
Remember always that you are not alone.
We who served in earlier conflicts
include you in our daily prayers.
We know the pain you are in
about your buddies who gave their lives
so we can continue to live in freedom’s embrace.
Those who gave their all on foreign fields
are waiting in heaven for those of us
who survived hell on earth
to join them in paradise
where there is no war, no pain, no grief.
We will again some day see our friends
in a glorious place in which happiness and joy
will never ever end. Be proud of your service
to your country and your fellow countrymen.
Your service and sacrifice are appreciated
by those of us who served before you
on foreign fields in far distant lands.


Details | Ballad | |

From The Lament of The Lucretian

Bear-away, Charlie,
Back her up!
She's filled to the rim like a saltwater cup.
Heat up her engines
Into the lee—
Do you hear that sound?
All hands hoay!
Poor old Lucie's run a ground—
Too late, Charlie,
Let it be.
There goes another man plucked by the sea...


Details | Free verse | |

The Ancient Maya game of tut of tut

The ancient Maya had a game
They called Tut to Tut
A game like soccer
but the ball but the ball
would be passed by the thigh
and not the foot.

They played with a latex rubber ball
that some claim contained a human skull
But what ever you think about the game
it was never dull.

Two teams would play before a temple
On a strip of green
the object of the game
to pass the ball through a hoop made of stone
the Winners were victorious
but for the losers
it wasn't so nice
because they'd chop their heads of
and make them a sacrifice.


Glad I wasn't a coach
beats soccer any day.

''Any one for a game of Tut to Tut''?


Don't all shout at once.



Peter Dome.copyright.2013.


Details | Haiku | |

Efflorescence

Blossoming 
Effulgent sun proffers love 
Clambering… 

Ascending
Above the undergrowth…of
Thorns and weeds

Furtively
The moon unravels wonders
Glimmering  


Details | Tanka | |

awakening

Awakening 

The dragon eats land
Steps on other people´s right
And we say nothing 
Because once it was wronged
Can´t speak ill of the ogre
The dragon spews fire 
Over anyone who seeks redress 
To get what is theirs 
And slowly the world awakes 
The monster a perilous fiend   
 


Details | Free verse | |

4 men in a boat

4 men in a boat,    on fateful night . A poet from England ,3 mates set sail , One fell over and met his demise , leaving behind 3  in sadness they returned .
To be described in a poem as they wrote .4 men in a boat ..minus one leaves 3.

I thought I alone , I was the only one. Maybe. I was wrong .
Who tells real truth in poetry I write , like the men in a boat that very sad night.
4 men in a boat , cold and frightened in a storm .

At the end of the Day , the end of life , all is happy , all is sad . In love and Pain inspired . Many words written, for life is a storm , in truth and misery . Until the beautiful waters calm  , and the seagulls sing their happy song for you. Then you will be writing words of love and happiness .



This has been revised from the original version , I am learning new formations by entering contest that are  for members on Poetry Soup. this is not about the win , I win every time I try !


Details | Rhyme | |

The Meadow

I see a meadow,
Simple and plain,
But it speaks to me,
And it speaks of the fallen men, 
And all its seen slain.

Flowers bloom at its edge,
Seems  of a comforting place,
But it spoke to me,
It spoke of the war,
Man to man, race to race,
From its edges to beyond the ever far.

Only green, green grass,
But I can see it now,
Red blood upon the field,
And the courage the men must wield.

I can hear the shouts,
From the broken meadow,
From all it has seen,
It shall never forget,
What it must clean.

Blood soaked meadow,
Bodies beneath the earth,
Where war was once fought,
Is now a place of mirth.

No one knows,
Only the meadow and I,
Of the many horrid things,
That took place that day.

I look below me, 
And grieve,
For the fallen and dead,
As the tears beckon my sleeve.

The meadow,
As lonely as it may seem,
And the beauty it now holds,
We know the truth,
So I sit, and never move,
As the rest of its story unfolds.

I can see it all,
I shall never forget.

One day, 
Another shall pass,
To see a meadow,
Simple and plain,
And I will rise,
To tell them of those who had been slain.


Details | Lyric | |

Ancient History

I went to the VA Hospital and was surprised to see
that most of the patients were old gray haired fools like me.
I asked: “Where are all of the wild young boys who went to the ‘Nam?”
I was told that they were now a small footnote in the annals of ancient history.
I asked: “How can that possibly be?”
I was told that history books are written by stern professors in college backrooms
and not by the wild young boys who actually survived the events of ancient history.


Details | Lyric | |

Pretend

Pretend
By: IzaDonna

Do you realize the lonely girl
With the fake smile on her face?
No one would have ever thought
She ever felt out of place
Using jokes to deal with pain
Pushing feelings deep down below
No one ever realized she needed help
The realization was not at first known

Chrous
Somebody please help her
Make her open up at last
Her downward spiral is spinning fast
Make her finally see
That all her troubles can be set free
She doesn't have to pretend

They waited to long to help
As she slipped away from light
Trying to bring her back
Bring her back to this life
The light flooded back in
As she breathed life once again
A chance to start anew
A chance to make amends

Chrous

So you might think shes weak
But shes survived more than you know
So don't be so quick to judge
When she reaches her all time low
If you would have cared from the start
Then maybe she wouldn't have felt so alone
Cause then her smile would be sincere
And her happiness would be shown

Chorus X2

No more pretending


Details | Ballad | |

The sunyassin

As far as I know this is a true story about Alexandra the great...Peter



The Sannyasin.

Alexander said to Dandamis
"Old man you come with me
For I need me a sannyasin
To take across the seas.
Hey you be just a beggar man
I'll make you rich indeed
You'll live a life of luxury
With everything you need.

Dandamis standing naked there
With silence in his essence
He had no fear at all did he
In the mighty leaders presence.
He said "I'll give you nothing friend
And there's nothing that I need
So Alexandra drew his sword
Tried to make the beggar plead.

Dandamis laughed and said these words
With power in his voice
"You can put that sword right through my heart
My friend, that be your choice.
But I left this body long ago
I have no use for it
So pierce this heart my fine young friend
It won't harm me a bit.

Alexander he was beaten
By a fearless beggar man
Though he had won most of the world
Dandamis foiled his plans.
The beggar said "You say you're great
But that's not true at all
For any man that thinks he's great
He be merely a fool


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 | Epic | |

King Leonidas 300 And Counting

          King Leonidas 300 and Counting

It was 480 BC
King Leonidas with 300 Spartan warriors held Thermopylae Pass
Fought against the vast immortals horde of Persian forces
Lasted and endured the Xerxes army
3 days with 4,000 allied strong for Greece 
Resisting the first 2 days in mighty battle
With only 1500 strong 
The third and final day belonged to Xerxes
Leonidas lost 299 of his men to battle
His allies also perished 
In the Persian wave of death that day
                  The Gate Awaits
Derivatives of angled forces bent on destiny
Armored warriors spears and shields in hand
In V shape lined to face the demon foe
With swords extended confront a morbid horde
Certain death to follow
They stream upon their vile inhumanity
Through history and to this very mortal day
Nourished ground with noble blood
To spring our civilization forth  
That which flows through time forever in our veins
For freedom…. never sleeps…but pulses toward the light
That final perfect design which defines us
They are the souls of history
300 marched and died there in the sands
Xerxes in his promise to erase all memories of Greece’s fame 
To destroy all poetry and poets (for that alone he should die)
Now sleeps, the demon that he is, forever
In an unknown grave
And even I cannot pronounce or spell his name   




Details | Epic | |

Introduction

hello my friend, stranger walk by,
borrow a moment, spare me your lie,
through pen of the narrow and mist of an eye,
below absolute zero, someone will die;
sentence to rambler, apple hereby,
flute of the meadow, mandrake will cry,
in front of the riddler second might try,
get out of here mortal,
exit near by-e.

angry as he strike out his pen,
get out of here demon, get out of this den,
in thousands of years how long has it been,
when scriptures wear sandals;
on meadow you land, many bear seasons,
stakes shall bend, lantern still burning,
your letter is send.


Details | Alliteration | |

One Among Many part 2

I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better. 
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
 I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
 I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.


Details | Free verse | |

A Chance Encounter

A Chance Encounter A chance encounter the other day Got me chatting to a stranger Just for some time to pass away. He was very well groomed, very smart. Spoke well too, seemed a decent sort. I told him a little tale I had learned whilst at work. Outside a building that’s up for sale Close to the centre of the town A queue of people gathered. Old clothes, hand me downs. Inside people of good heart and souls Were behind tables long. And a kind of soup was poured into bowls. A slice of bread was added to each one poured. As the hungry-eyed came through the door. As each one passed a thank you was heard. Grateful for the meal today. A simple reply least we can do. All was silent no complaints from the poor. Till a young voice said, ‘Please Mummy I want more.’ I sat back in my chair waiting for a reply. The guy opposite gave a big sigh. He said, ‘Things were tough in those days Very hard for the poor in the Victorian Age. They were ignored, did not count, How could others treat them like that?’ No-one should be without the means I say, To feed and clothe their children today. I looked at him and shook my head. My dear friend you misunderstand The tale was not yesteryear or a foreign land. I visited a local food bank the day before last. And like you I was taken aback. Unless with my eyes I had seen, The myth about scroungers I would still believe. Some get the dregs, others get the cream. This is Great Britain in 2013. But the people of our Nation are strong In times of strife they speak as one. ‘We are mighty as Caesar, mighty as Rome.’ ‘ NI CARBORUNDUM BASTARDORUM’


Details | Free verse | |

THE VIKINGS

Harsh winds blow from a baron frozen land,
Of ice and snow.
Exhaling Nordic gods breath a chilling mist
An eerie foggy vapor creeping along the
 Waters aquatic edge.
Rages angry seas lap against the wooden
Hauls as battle harden men brace for impact
Waves crack tarring asunder splinters oaken shell.
Yet these Icelandic warriors laugh at death,
Savoring it's flavor, and relishing their own bloods
Taste upon salted lips.
The devils seed lives within them, these
 Barbaric conquerors known to history as the vikings
By Thor’s mighty hammer does strike thus,
Against the anvils rough hewed edge.
Sparks fly igniting thunder and lightening below
Splitting apart the very heaven's themselves,
Odin exposes a distant horizons far off shore.
Hear the oarsmen drumming, a pounding, 
 It's hastening beat the inner heart of this vessel
Foretelling hells army will soon arrive,
At early morning highest tide.
Whom shall stand after this storm hits land fall.
The sword unsheathed will take vengeance fill
With it's blade dipped an ink well of blood.
No treaty signed can stop history's mighty wrath
Feel hot Norse breath upon your neck oh roman.
Seek thy brothers kinsman’s council for
 Safety’s sake alone.
Fears children hide beneath a gray cloak of innocence.
Illusions shelter of falsehoods arrogance delusion,
 Believing the walls of roman shall never fall.
A dark shadow is cast over thy world of glittering
Gold a plunders treasure chest a shinning example 
For glistening ripening to fill ill gotten
 Gains empty hauls. 
What price to pay for lies deceit, it's brilliance
Calls forth a trumpeting, a sounding for
 Deaths comforting.  
Valhalla gates open wide, to welcome
Vanquished heroes unto the neither world.
While Romanian drink deeply from deaconesses
Bloody cup.
The Vikings sing a victory song and voyage on
And Odin smile down upon his people 
With pride's honor restored.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Quintain (English) | |

Common sense

the crumbled burnt remains of a close distant memory resound in brain fraternally idleness and pain a combination of the insane or going...touched by madness obtained in the faltering state of debaucheries and laborious fails  continual hardship continual pretense continual submission to a unjust pointless 
mission of greed and circumstance already bequeathed upon those who openly benefit from their ancestors vice their soul live on from the benefits of others sacrifice and sacrifices that in kept motion penetrate the foundations of betterment. Of real equality of real justice of real liberty the age old struggle from first chaotic unrest and anarchic uncertainty to the self-justified model which has now unleashed it’s full might upon the unaware descendants of the crushed opponent the age old struggle the age old riddle in time lived through and maintained by those who solicit the rules to us those who  solicit our falls our halls our calls and even our balls the air be next and with it the tax when their common purpose be right for that. The next part of the agenda the next evil tact manipulate  their way of life given by them and given by the gift of strife to stifled our potential to stifled our judgement  to make business hurried away from the natural goal given to us in time immemorial that pure magic truth where have you gone all we are left is hammers, sickles, to tongs replaced and subjugated by a deeper lower light the real glory of mankind faded and becoming more slight less fight less right and more tight a falcon a eagle a lion a bear their claws have strength and so do theirs. So tired so naked and bare hands tied mouth gagged hoodwinked and exposed to poisonous err. 


Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part III

An azure ocean
Displaced by mighty blackness
The horizon dies


Details | Ballad | |

The Sea-Farers And The Sea

Flow! Flow! Flow!
Thou sea of silence
Carrying friends and foes
Alike.
The gentle sounds of 
Waves lapping thru the
Evening like a moving
Mountain.
 Blow! Blow! Blow!
Thou east wind,thy 
Tender hands caress our 
Gliding bark as we break 
Into the warm waters.
Look! The sun gazes at 
These sea-farers whose 
Quest we know not.
Far beyound the horizon
Lies treasures of untold 
Measures.


Details | Free verse | |

THE WINDS OF CHANGE

Feel the winds of change, dear friend,
They are a blowing.
Brethren beneath a common cause,
Kindred spirits, gather united.
To stand tall against opposing 
Factions,
Yet we remain strong survivors,
Of justice and right.
Adversity challenges indifference, 
It is so written good shall over,
Come evil.
The truth within us all shines,
 Humanity achieves enlightenment.
Ignorance shadow fades in
 Reality's view,
Life relishes difference,
Freedom flies soaring  mankind,
 Towards a higher plain.
What a magnificent future,
Lies ahead of us.
Individuality blossoms, fulfillment,
 Becomes a human right.
Forgiveness, compassion, and mercy,
 Shall be theirs at last.
Let no mans options to believe,
Dismay conscious choice,
Carry the banner of beliefs no matter,
What the cost or price.
Your inner self reflection captures,
 Truths mirror image.
Acknowledge separate half's,
 Making one complete being.
Behold his name is called,
Social exceptions.
Resolves concussions shows a, 
Brilliant phoenix rising, 
From hatred's ashes.
It spreads deliverance’s wings,
Embracing a majestic legacy.
 
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Ballad | |

PROGRESS

Like the folded petals and bud, I'll bloom and flower..
Like the worm, I'll change and I on metamorphosis...
Like a seed, I'll grow and bear fruit..

Like a baby crawl, little by little I'll stand...

Life is a constant continuous progress..
Even our age passes the time..

Time a nonstop reminder of events..
Mirror a reflection of unstoppable changes..

Yet, deeds and actions leaves irreplaceable  imprints..
Through even decades sprint...

by: olive_eloi
9:36pm
12/11/2013


Details | Rhyme | |

Fight The Demons Diet

It was that time again to empty once more,
I was on my Knees on the bathroom floor.
Putting tissue down the Loo making sure nothing stayed afloat,
Then I slid my fingers down deep inside my sore throat.

Trying not to make a sound, Making sure no sick hit the ground,
And even though the taste was so vile I needed to empty till there was no more bile.
I had to be quick but the release felt great,
No-one understood me but I believed this was my fate.

Staring at my reflection, tears would roll down my cheek,
I'd hear the torments in my mind saying how I was such a freak.
The Demons they would say "Look at the state of you, 
You are disgusting ,You are a mess, No-one could ever love you".

When looking in a mirror at my body I would cringe,
Then turning desperately to the fridge I'd begin again to Binge.
I would eat so much till I was about to pop,
One more trip to the Loo then I promised myself I would stop.

I'd wish people would leave me be, They just didn't get that....
I had eaten too many calories and I was sick of being Fat!
So I had taken control of my diet, Obsessed with weight and measure,
Punishing myself after every treat, Desserts were no longer a Pleasure.

Over time people started talking about how I had become so thin,
So I pulled the curtains closed and I locked myself in.
Hiding myself away from neighbouring abuse,
I stopped all contact, I became a recluse.

Then a visit from my mother my Angel, who Id avoided for awhile,
Came knocking at my door, Arms open,
Oh I had missed her warming smile.  

I looked into my mothers eyes as she turned to me and sighed
"Oh sweetheart what has happened to you,
Your hair is falling out and your bones are showing through".
She placed her arms around me feeling my frail torso".
Then whispered to me gently " Please let your Demons go",
"Everything you are doing is damaging your health",
"You're deteriorating into of me, You're slowly killing yourself".

Turning away she began to cry,
Wiping away the tears falling from her eyes.
She told me how she lost her best friend to the very deadly disease.
I wrapped my arms around her, Comforting her as she grieves.

Seeing the hurt upon my mothers face,
The heartache I was causing her, The shame and the disgrace.
"Mum" I said "I will fight my Demons and make myself strong",
"I realise now what Ive been doing Is dangerous and wrong".
"Getting back to full health will take a long long time,
But with you and my family and friends I know Im gonna be just fine".

So Here I am Today at this Time and on this Date.
I am Making my Illness History and re-creating my fate.
Big Thankyou to my family and friends for all of your support.
I know now time is too precious to waste and our life on Earth is short.x


Details | Rhyme | |

THREE QUILLS

 
How winter blights Haworth’s thin panes, ice crusts the vane, but graves seem crowned in softest down. The sisters dip their weathered quills, but Anne gets chills as Emily tips Charlotte’s tea. They shut their eyes, they’ve seen enough, for one now coughs and lace reveals a scarlet seal.
By Cyndi MacMillan, Oct 24, 2012 For Nette's Wait a Minute Contest BACKGROUND The Bronte sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne lived at Haworth parsonage with their brother, Branwell, and their father, Patrick Bronte who was an Anglican curate. The sisters were very close and penned novels and poetry that are still enjoyed today. Emily died of tuberculosis on December 19th, 1848 at the age of 30. Anne followed her a year later. Charlotte died in 1855 at the age of 38. Haworth and its cemetery are now visited by thousands of Bronte fans each year. It is my dream to one day walk its halls, see the room where classics were born. For a photo of Charlotte’s goose quill click on the about this poem link.


Details | ABC | |

Treasures of your soul


Life is Harsh, Life is good
Only the few of the proud 
Those men that stand for a great nation
Their life at the stake
So rough and sharp
Every day is another challenge 
For them and for all
Freedom we all hope
But sometimes feel lost
Never give up that spark 
Hope don’t give it up for a price 
And when I see these great men and woman
Risk their life for a single child lost
With guns all around and wars of hate
I feel blessed as my country truly stands brave
A child is a gift of new life and hope
As I see the children in their arms saved at last
Only then will I ever know true courage
This is a path we should always cherish and follow
When the flame burns out nothing is left but stay strong
So please don’t shed a tear I am right here
By your side always and forever  
Our country stands not alone, but as one
Heart filled with love

08-05-13


Poem for Treasures of Your soul contest
for Gail 




Details | I do not know? | |

Good Morning, Apocalypse Now : A Tribute to a Vietnam Veteran

Untitled 5
(My Uncle: Good Morning, Apocalypse Now)

My uncle doesn't speak much
about Vietnam or the stuff
he witnessed when he 
was just a boy. See,
he likes to drive the back roads fast 
and honk at random cars that pass.
His friendly gestures always lead to how
he grew up compared to kids now. 

Jumping and racing trains on the tracks
became dodging bullets and carrying his buddy on his back.
The marshes and dirt valleys here
became the forests and trenches of the military frontier. 

Last year, my sister donned his jacket
a fatigued fatigue that hung in his closet. 
In color and memory darkened,
kept out of sight for fear it would harken
the PTSD he's stuggled to avoid. 

He saw his brothers, young like him
to Vietnam succumb
while on American soil
and he promised he would never speak,
for fear his stomach would coil, 
when remembering rice - a dish he no longer enjoys.
And there's no orange on his clothes to remind him of the agent that destroyed.

When he speaks a calm 
"Good morning", I wonder if he's thinking of Vietnam
or if he knows
that I admire his strength and 
bravery and how 
he continually fights against 
the "Apocalypse Now".


Details | Free verse | |

Cyborg Sleep

                                   Cyborg Sleep

An image of a man stands serene against the rock cold wall
Vigilant eyes study the distant city
Elongated and curved shapes form in his mechanical mind
Only nature there to sense it’s out of place motions
The cybernetic organism, alien life
Coming to life on the barren world
A living machine, automaton, a time sentinel 
Built with purpose
Watches with singular intent 
All there is…. all that’s left
Never flinching…. Nearly motionless…. somber in demeanor
This replica of humans holds solid ground and waits
Programed to move occasionally at times
To generate power in its core components to survive
The guardian of humanity stands
A solid figure with a small metallic vile
Sheltered within hides a remnant DNA specimen strand 
(It is the last fragment of human’s survival and hope)
Nestled deep in the power source 
Atomic silent and serene it keeps the centuries still
In time to come, with luck
The cyborg will be cracked open like an egg one day
Perhaps by another benevolent humanoid race
To reassemble the family of man from the remnants left
Or the time sentinel will roam the Earth alone
Carrying humanity along literally in the heart 
In an endless awakening from alien sleep
No one to ever know the secret that he keeps


Details | Rhyme | |

Tribute To Corporal Buckles

A hundred-ten year old soldier was interred in Arlington Cemetery today.
Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles now sleeps nigh his comrades in sacred clay,
Awaiting that glorious morn when Gabriel's bugle will sound that final call,
To fall in for the last calling of the roll!   Corporal Buckles will be standing tall!

"Taps" was played echoing far beyond the hills of Arlington into the misty past,
Reminding all of brave men who were destined to die or were horribly gassed!
Courageous men who willingly placed national destiny above their very own,
To ensure that our precious and hard-won freedoms would ne'er be overthrown!

Only sixteen, he lied about his age trying to join the navy and marines with no luck,
And was told, "Go home before your Mom knows you're gone, you young buck!"
He told a bigger whopper telling the army recruiter he was all of twenty-one!
The sergeant, looking for warm bodies signed him up, thence the deal was done!

He was promoted to corporal and served with distinction as an ambulance driver.
After serving in France, he was honorably discharged, returning a heroic survivor!
As a civilian he was a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines but was kept alive,
And was rescued after three years in Los Banos prison camp in nineteen forty-five.

He proudly represented the 'doughboys' of The Great War as last man standing.
So much, so very much to him we owe for his service was most outstanding!
That venerable symbol of America, the majestic Golden Eagle, cried,
On the day that the old veteran, Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles died!

(Corporal Buckles, the last American survivor of World War 1, died 27 February 2011, at the age of 110)

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved




Details | Rhyme | |

spirits that will outlast

  I'm the sentient of individuality,
the warrior of my path,
free from anything claiming power,
that laughs at social wrath,
that walks with firm ability,,
  I'm the control at present,
that nothing steers for me,
the navigator twards sole horizons,
free destinations I independently see,
honor of my life's intent,,
  Sole creators of this choice,
that others look to see,
that leads with independent indifference,
knowing that it's not free,
leading with the strongest voice,,
  This independence the hardest road,
but worth it above all,
knowledge of this gained wisdom,
you'll rise above the call,
power of one so bold,,
  The ancestors of ancient past,
knew this all too well,
always striving twards independent light,
staring down faces of hell,
true spirits that will outlast.


Details | Ballade | |

Of Ships and the Sea

 I have long loved sailing ships, and stories and movies about them. I have even spent a few months designing and making a couple of models to erect inside bottles. Fascinated with the subject, I empathize with the men who built them and the men who sailed in them. It was a tough life on the sea, but with great craft and skill ships that could ply the waves were built and our world discovered as a result.

Sing me a song of fine old ships,
Of fine old ships and the sea,
With hulls that ply the rolling waves
Like a claymore flying free;
And bulkheads that can bear the strain
All built of wood and steel,
That rise up like a cathedral
From a massive bolted keel.
 
Sing me a song of hardy men,
Who toil in the shipwright’s trade,
Who bend their backs from dawn ’till dusk
By whom these ships are made.
For months on end with saws and nails,
With red hot bolts and steel,
They build a ship from bilge to deck
On a massive bolted keel.
 
Sing me a song of men that sail
In ships on the seven seas,
Who ride the waves in storm and gale
And laugh with the ocean’s breeze;
Who man the decks in rain or shine
In ships of wood and steel,
With hulls that rise like a great church roof
From a massive bolted keel.
 
From massive bolted keels they rise,
These ships of wood and steel,
Built by men who toil all day,
With muscle, sweat and zeal.
Built with the shipwright’s craft and skill
For the lads who sail the seas,
Who ply the foam in a hull for home,
And laugh with the ocean’s breeze. 


Details | I do not know? | |

South Africa salutes Dr Martin Luther King Jr

South Africa salutes Dr. Martin Luther King Jr!




They gunned you down,
on this April day,
all those years ago,

yet you live, you breathe!





They gunned you down,
just as they did Chris Hani and M.K. Gandhi,

and they failed, as they always will,

for they can never kill,

your dream, your ideals.





Your dream, your ideals,

live, and breathe,


still!









Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part II

The Med between us
The gusts make me think of you
Storms... it’s just like home.


Details | Rhyme | |

Standing Alone

Raiding hoards assemble to make the attack;
Aerodromes on high alert, we’ll fight them back.

Brave souls scramble to cockpits everyone;
Awaiting the final vector to where the deed is done.

Away boys! Away! 
And off they take to meet their fate,
The dwindling few do not hesitate.

Some to return and some to not;
Together forward they meet the onslaught.

Sirens blare the target is sure,
To your guns lads! We’ll give’em a cure.

Barrage balloons aloft, we’ll keep’em up high,
The gunners are ready, waiting the spotter’s eye.

Run from your flat to the safe tube below,
Gas mask at the ready, you just never know.

The old man leads us in songs of good cheer,
Knowing all the while that our end could be near.

Bombs drop and the guns blaze,
Another neighborhood disappears with a haze.

The docks are burning a bright orange hue,
Damn you bloody bastards, our boys will take care of you!

Swirling trails against blue skies,
Belie the deadly dance taking place before our eyes.

Flaming wreckage, another early grave,
More mothers grieve, have we all gone insane?

Finally all clear, we creep from our boroughs,
Shattered buildings surround, but the Jack’s still unfurled.

Mr. Churchill walks the rubble to buck up our faith,
On the beaches, in the fields and in the streets he says,
We’re standing alone, but to persevere is our fate.

This one is for my dear friend Gladys. She was 11 and living in London during 
the blitz.


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 | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Baggage Claim

Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival, 
          I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches 
                                                Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
          Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
                                                He holds the key to this new world.

The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience 
          Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped 
                                                Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence 
          Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped 
                                                Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.

My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
          In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
			   Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
          On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
                                                Our intrepid journey commences...


Details | I do not know? | |

AFGHANASTAN WINTER

         AFGHANASTAN  WINTER
The freeze has brought them to a winters' night
they've made themselves, forgetting what is right,
and they can see their children cry
but not a one will reason why,
nor think upon enough to see the light.

There's no repent for killing as it's done
and no resistance to it going on,
just hate on hate that only grows,
the hint of peace that never shows,
with lots of blame, enough for everyone.

And to this chaos, we have paved the way
for men of opportunity to play
and build their fortunes from it all
while winter makes its frigid call,
and brings another dark and longest day.

The heros are not known, til dies are cast
til all has slipped away into the past,
and truth is what a baby hears
but laid to rest in later years,
and right is not defined until the last.
© ron wilson the Doylestown Poet


Details | Free verse | |

The Power Of Love

Love is one of life's greatest mysteries
It is the driving force
which shapes man's destiny
It is the very foundation 
upon which life itself is built

Love leads 
life follows
Love is a way of life
One cannot detach oneself from Love
to make a decision
for Love is life itself

Throughout the ages
the power of Love 
has gripped the hearts of men
- mighty men who feared nothing
and made them powerless
to resist its spell

Kingdoms rose and fell
Armies laid others waste
and were laid waste by others
Men died in agony at the command
of a Love-infected leader 
Paris and Helen of Troy
in the Trojan war
Samson and Delilah
in the battle with the Philistines
Anthony and Cleopatra
in the Roman Civil War

Love is a potent force 
that sometimes makes fools
of Earth's mighty men of valour
And yet this same Love 
has been an instrument of good
with which nothing can compare

There are many kinds of love -
a man for his God
a man for his woman
a friend for his friend
a person for his kin
a man for his dog
- these and many more

Though the particular cases differ
the effect of Love is the same
- that feeling which inspires and drives men
to achieve things 
they once believed impossible

Many a knight fought great odds
and won for his lady
Many a man leaves his comfortable niche 
in society
and goes out to endure 
the hardship and pain
of the less fortunate
as he gives of himself unselfishly
to improve their state
because of his love for
his God, duty and ideals

History is filled with leaders
who tried to build 
and maintain an empire
with the might of brute force
and failed -
Charlemagne
Alexander The Great
Julius Caesar
Napoleon Bonaparte
Adolph Hitler

And yet
a humble carpenter of Nazareth
who shunned brute force
and violence
built an empire on Love
two thousand years ago 
and today it covers
the face of the earth


Details | Haiku | |

9-11 Remembered

The wound       (Haiku)  2014

A deep gaping hole
newly covered with scar flesh
a cemetery

the reflective pond
the bright thirteen year old trees
the lost souls still there

the money-men charge
fees to visit our worst time
Ah, America!

check out my poetrysoup.com blog for more Haiku and 9.11


Details | Free verse | |

V is for

verasity of V                                                                                                             V of variations                                                                                                             sixth fifth twenty second to name a few                                                                           waw vuh ee double U even B                                                                                     value of v a hook a peg a spear                                                                                     the number five but not a two when scrabbling                                                                V of vision I believe                                                                                                       V to you V to me                                                                                                   maybe we should let V verify V                                                                                        verbatim debate 'em                                                                                                       a victorious visitor peacful vendetta                                                                           Look here I got my two eyes on you V


Details | Rhyme | |

Restore the Walls of Jericho

Blasphemy…cloud over their hearts of gold
Their value gradually diminishes…their weapons turn to mold
Serenity…deserted them and neglected them like orphans 
Their joy rapidly wears out…they mislaid their abundant portions

They yearn,
“RESTORE the walls of Jericho!”

Anguish…shadows over their dwelling, sacred place 
Their weaknesses manipulate them – they’re the definition of disgrace
Danger…defeats them and tarnished them as if they were worthless
Their prosperity shattered straightaway! REBUILD our merriness!

They plead and pray,
“Dona nobis pacem…”  

Hear our hesitation and supplication…we’re beneath the bricks and remains
We’re buried alive literally! We’re becoming one with the ground
Fear and despair erases our soothing dreams…we’re getting washed away in the drains
We’re searching for shelter…we’re getting hunted down – we’re barely surviving 

They churn…
They coil…
They drift away…
They spoil…
In their miseries…
Does He hear their pleas?

“SAVE ME!”
“Bestow blessings upon us!”
Are you ignoring us deliberately?
 “Give us a helping hand
And lead us to the promise land!”

Misfortune unravels in this city of bafflement
Their strengths repaired our souls…we’re the definition of bravery! 
Desolation and disbelief demolishes the walls of Jericho…
Does anyone sense their resentment?
Their charity transformed to greed suddenly – 
Their lack of optimism and gratitude  
Buried them down in captivity
 

How can you bear their poverty? 
How can He save them from destruction and pity?

They whisper on His Holy Hill,
“Dona…Nobis…Pacem…” 

Don’t let the battle overthrow ’em!


Details | Cowboy | |

The Naked Gun

       The Naked Gun

Sound asleep at the jail
A young lad lifts both guns
From the unsuspecting law man
Who is already undressed in his dreams
With abandoned holsters
The lad takes off down the street
Yelling at passersby to sell the fire arms
To anyone for 2 bits
Someone comes up from behind
Taps the lad on the shoulder
Snake eyes to snake eyes the old man pierces the day
Holds the youth in his sights as he says
“Is 25 cents worth losing your life over boy?”
He drops the law mans naked guns
Runs forever for what he’s done



Details | Rhyme | |

HOUND AND THE LAD for contest

                                        THE HOUND AND THE LAD

                             Small sturdy child begot of steely silvery men
                             Ancient songs rang out o’er glorious land
                             As bold they strode toward foe or friend
                             Sleek hounds beside them, close at hand.

                             The hound himself descends from glory
                             As warriors always prized the best
                             And in the battles-- says the story--
                             The beasts would lick the bloody chest
                             To keep alive their human charge
                             Until help came and the battle done.
                             No better mate -- be small or large--
                             Then hound raised with a warrior’s son.

                             We think the world has changed a lot
                             Tho' some dark things will never change
                             Danger waits for every tot
                             City streets--- or woodland strange

                             Thus when a rabbit dares the hound
                             This hound ignores the rabbit's run--
                             And as his child mate gawks around
                             The hound will keep him safe and sound.


June 10, 2013


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

A Holy Hope

Bags Of Rice
 In my Courtyard
 The One I Struggled Lost to the capriciousness
 The nest of the fuddle Nightingale-
 A Suspicious Saying of the sage.

 So sonorous is this Whistle
 That passes by
 IF not covetousness
 It will be inclined.

 Memory of the past
 Archimedes, Aristotle and many
 Memory drained superlative subservient.

 A Holy race
 So secured everywhere.


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 | Free verse | |

WINSTON CHURCHILL

In the foggy isle of Britannia, many men have sought
Out fortune and fame.
But one man's legacy remains, as steadfast as the walls
Of parliament, a single voice echos, thunders across historical
Reference, and it's meaning sound is crystal clear, We shall
Never surrender, it has become this man's epitaph, 
Behold the Prime Minster, Winston Churchill.
A stout figure head of reason, during a time
Of global madness, lighting the fuse of justice,
On an international stage.
 Awakening the old sleeping lions fury, it's roars sounding,
Crashed as a tidal wave, against the walls of ignorance’s
Injustice.
The British cannon's announced their coming, these
Fighters champion for freedom, and liberty, we will
Fight them by land or sea, and emerge victorious, 
This elder gentleman so did speak.
Harken young soldiers of the brave heart, our time is at hand,
Shall we not shake the fists of anger's vengeance at them.
For those whom hide beneath a blood stained flag,
A symbolic sign of purity, behold a nation's lie is exposed.
A stout figure head of reason, during a time
Of global madness, lighting the fuse of justice,
On an international stage.
 Awakening the old sleeping lions fury, it's roars sounding,
Crashed as a tidal wave, against the walls of ignorance’s
Injustice.
The British cannon's announced their coming, these
Fighters champions for freedom, and liberty, we will
Fight them by land or sea, and emerge victorious, 
This elder gentleman so did speak.
Harken young soldiers of the brave heart, our time is at hand,
Shall we not shake the fists of anger's vengeance at them,
Those hiding beneath a blood stained flag symbol of purity.
Hell's storm broke lose upon the distant land,
It's dark shroud blanket, relieved cruelties ugly offenses
Against humanity.
Did thus the world mourn their lost kindred, and the lion
Fell asleep once more, after shaking it's golden main free from,
The feathers of war.
In the annals of history, an old man sits beside a large lion,
Petting him until it rests at calms ease, lighting up a cigar,
Winston Churchill’s vision will not completely fade away,
For his words ring eternal, we shall never surrender.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Ode | |

Independence Rock

A soliloquy comes over me as a testament to this great rock.
The names and dates and markings from generations ago unlock, 
those that past this way on foot and ox and horse,
and those that never made it here; to chisel and endorse.

Silent now are the graves that sit beside this place,
and the thousands that pass by and give respect to unknown names.
A rot-iron fence sit's where some say they lay
the children that may have died here;  is also where they played.

Stone scratched history, tar and paint,   
the rolling Sweetwater accentuates,
this giant rock where thousands now have trod,
left with only the name, 
of Independence Rock.


Details | Ballade | |

Time VS Love

 
Lost and drifting in time,
The captain gives the hourglass a turn.
It’s been months that the ship has wandered the waves;
Each dip is followed by a swelling rise.
Each day becomes another journal’s page.
“Another day lost at sea” is how the book tends to flow.



The crew dreams at night; the distant memories flow.
They’re brought back to a better time.
A lover’s kiss or a gilded page
in a family bible fill their heads, each in turn.
But once the morning lights rise,
their joy is drowned beneath the waves.



Such was my life without you. But your love brought waves
of joy that sent my sorrows on to flow
out and away. I let my aspirations rise
and cherished each sweet second of the time
we had together. This was our turn
to be happy. Your love was the pen and my heart was the page.



And so the ink dripped and blotted the journal’s page.
The crewman cried, “Land ho!” and, beyond wind and waves,
the sight of golden shores made each sailor’s eyes turn
skyward. Upward, thankful prayers flow,
from salt-cracked lips, more used for cursing those in recent time.
Forgiveness seemed mutual as the crew heard the cry of seagulls rise.



Now home for years, each day he would rise
and look anew on his journal’s last, unfinished page.
The captain remembers not the dreary, hopeless time,
but rather the harbor’s colors in the breeze. “It waves
for me,” he thinks, and onward the years flow.
No one is so forsaken that their fortune cannot turn.



And so I bless the day we met, for it marks the turn
of my sadness to joy. My spirits rise
With passions that flow
From my heart onto this page.
You rescued me from being tossed about on misery’s waves.
May our love that saved me outlast even time.



In life’s great book, we turn together each golden page.
Side by side, we rise above the mountains; together we dive beneath the waves.
Our ship may flow where it will, but my heart will be yours for all of time.


Details | Rhyme | |

Respect Comes with Age

My father and my mother sat me down one day
     to tell me how wonderful that I was growing O.K.
The years passes by as I got to be a teenager
     with high hopes of becoming the first young manager
Life turns out a manager job is not for me
     so I kept things to a minimum working hard you see
My family had taught me with all do respect
     the life we lead is the image of our age in an aspect
Like queens and kings we bow our head
     to the people who is wiser in age even when dead
Life as our guide the time we have aged
     is what we leave behind that we are gaged
In prospective we are the stars and we are the earth
     because we age and leave behind a new birth
To those that seek such blessing of heart
     remember this age is respect for living from the start
Do you remember your father, mother, and teachers
     they are the ones cheering you on, sitting on those bleachers


Details | I do not know? | |

For Mother Teresa

For Mother Teresa

to see...

the clarity of beauty between the murky folds of life

to see...

the simple truths of living
between the horror and the endless strike

to see...

the innocent smiles of the children at play
while the elder preach hate and division and continue to slay

to see...

the endless yearning for that simpler better place
away from the hollow emptiness of this ostentatious space

to see...

the open vistas of this pale blue dot
the soft reds and fruity greens as this home is all we have got

to see...

the tears of the dispossessed who have been cruelly cast aside
and while we look the other way from their tears we may never hide

to see...

the endless hunger and despair and killing and greed
in the name of God or of ideology or of some or the other creed

to see...

and to see it all

and still stand tall

to hold on to the humanity

that resides deep within us all

may be our only saving grace

and though all of this sounds quaint and saccharine sweet

I need to remember all that I've said

the next time I look into a teary-eyed desolate face

to see...

that being human is simple if we only look beyond ourselves and see

that we are all one, him and her and them and us and you and me...



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 | Free verse | |

redidit the front page of the internet

I put a Halloween mask on my dog.                                                                            She rolled over in her sleep, but just kept on                                                         sleeping when she landed in the windowsill.                                                                    What Battlefield really needs
IamA Robert Beltran, aka Commander Chakotay                                                         from Star Trek: Voyager, and now all yours. AMA!                                                        Cats love lasers                                                                                                  US/Russia relations                                                                                                    Pete Holmes on why he's always laughing.                                                                   The man has a point.                                                                                                  What, in your opinion, is the greatest thing                                                              humanity has ever accomplished?                                                                        Flogging Molly -- If I Ever Leave This World Alive [Irish Folk Punk]                          Through the eye of a needle                                                                                       Gun safety is important                                                                                       Wrecked cruise ship with a tilted Earth ...
* Note - cut-up technique -Random headlines from reddit news 3/5/2014


Details | Senryu | |

Pulled the Trigger

Bullet wounds
The criminal shoots down his
First targets

How dare you
Shoot them uncontrollably
CHAOS grows .  .  .

Don’t shoot it!
The victims are running mad
And you pulled

The trigger
I’m terrified of your strength
DROP IT, man ! ! !


Details | Free verse | |

THE RIVER OF DOUBT

Bold is the heart of the adventure, seekers of the undiscovered
Frontiers beyond the realm of mankind’s knowledge.  Hardy, bulling
Figures the unafraid, the uninitiated these spirited wilderness men.
Of epic proportions whom challenge fate, and defy death itself.
Railing against its white rapids of the unknown. 
Hailing their indifference by yelling at the top of their lungs,
We will not surrender until the ending of our final journey,
Has come and consumes us utterly, leaving nothing left
But footnotes at the bottom of historical records dusty pages
Behind as our only existing legacy.
The great serpent snake of the Amazon, crawls through the open
Belly wound of the Brazilian rainforest, splitting the devils dark
Jungle in half, a beckoning demon calling unto the heart
 Of the adventurer come explore me if you so dare.
Adversities freedom stalkers, heeded this challenge,
Grappling at the serpents tributaries rattling tail, biting
And spitting at them, with sufferage's malice, the reptile
Of aquatic distain, cost many lives of the innocent in its
Vengeance aftermath.
In this river of doubt called the Rio da Duvida, 
This vipers poison travels fast through the veins of mortal
Men, starvation, Malaria and the mistrust of others destroys
The flesh from within and from without.
 Leaving spiritual wounds that will never heal no matter the
Strength of one’s faith, or the endurance of the individual 
Whom survives the attack of this snake called
The mighty Amazon River.
Three adventures made it through this black jungle of death,
Theodore Roosevelt’s, his son Kermit, and the leader
Of this historical group Mr. Rodon.
After reading about their story of bravery, I the author
Of this tail have one thing to say in their memory, bully
Gentlemen, and on wards unto your next journey’s adventure,
And may its endings final current find you well at the end.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN








Details | Free verse | |

Take comfort

In the loneliness of darkness
In the backlash of cruel words
My mind seeks your comfort 
As the pages in the fire curl
Ink bleeds sharply
Into my paper skin 
Lines of your etchings and your poems 
Embedded deep within 
From my lips seep a whisper
In my dreams I call your name
Tears of my rain
Drip down your window pane
Shattered mirrors reflect your eyes
Like a window through time
The first day you swore you loved me
The day you got tangled in your lies
Still in this frozen moment 
I remember a song we once sang
Our lips met in softness 
Becoming morphine to our pain 
Our lullaby I softly sing
Listening to the mirage of a piano
Now like silk I lay draped
My heart taking comfort
In the memories that we made


Details | Rhyme | |

David and Goliath

David and Goliath

Goliath challenged Israel,
 and brought disgrace.
He asked if any man would meet him... 
 Face to face!

The men of Israel were scared.  Not this brave!
If they lost…  They’d be the Philistine’s slave!

King Saul asked if anyone would challenge this man!
David accepted.  Knowing this was God’s land!

With a small stone, that he chose from a river bed
He faced Goliath.  
God put the stone into his head.

Down came the giant!  He took a big fall!
He wasn’t so great and mighty, 
 after all!

Is there a giant in you life?  
That’s causing you problems?
Why not come to Jesus!  And let him solve them!

 Whatever your “giant’ might be!
With God’s help…  
You can have the victory!

Whatever “giant” there is… 
 All must bow at Jesus’ name!
Won’t you stand up!
 God’s message, do proclaim!

The enemy’s already defeated!  
Victory is here!
As God is lifted up!  
Your enemies will disappear!

By Jim Pemberton


Details | Rhyme | |

Ideaological War of the Worlds

 The coming times can unfold,
far accross to all lands,
the casting shadow has fallen,
with it's far reaching hands,
accross our four cornered world,,
 Humanity progressed to progressive sufferage,
that comes with many names,
the ideaology won without a shot,
convinced populations into guilted shame,
lost are voices of courage,,
 Dependent we all become, parasitically,
even forced fed into submission,
by governmental state so enlarged,
numbered you are by institution,
nothing owned, only redistributed cynically,,
 The rise will come independent,
carrying courage and freedom proudly,
with wisdoms' weapon in hand,
knowledge in the other soundly,
honor reclaimed by the sentient,,
 Independent declarations germinating from seed,
feared by any despotive regime,
worriors in freedom stand tall,
progressives angered at the seams,
renewing freedoms that will breed,,
                   Cont...


Details | Free verse | |

Living the Dream

I am living the dream.
I stand here today,
Cannot believe what I am about to say,
But I am living the dream.
At times, it's tough
And it is not always easy.
I might be condemned
For choosing this path in life;
Some may think it's too bag of a risk.
When we give it our all,
Our passion and our might,
We can overcome and forget the fear
To become who we are meant to be.
I stand here today,
Another tear ready to wipe away:
You can do all you aspire to do!
Set your mind and never give up!
If I can do it,
You can too!
I can't believe I'm about to say this,
But I am living my dreams.
I am living the dream.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Quiet Hypocrisy

A Rant – The Quiet Hypocrisy


it seeps in through gradual osmosis

and soon is ingrained in pliant minds

it mutates and thrives in tunnels of vision

and then is fused into the fiber of unreason

the quiet hypocrisy that drips of the tongues

spouting broken words of unfathomable callousness

the mutilated reeking carcass of cynicism

obscured by the veneer of polished discourse

stinks of inaction and of insipid rationalization

the probing and prodding and splintering of each thought

curdles the shallow layer of feeling

interring the basic simple and only humanity

that is gleefully ripped into isolated fragments

the quiet hypocrisy of battles fought and of causes embraced

is plain to see in the faces of the earnest

as they cling onto their bitter loathsome prejudices

whilst buying redemption under a placard of well-meaning

the quiet hypocrisy of these selective battles waged under the flimsy pretense of caring

stinks to the highest heaven promised in mantras and duas and prayers and chants

as the spectacle of the apartheid within the mind is worn on each tailored sleeve

the choosing of these battles in the name of faith and clung onto simply because of a common creed

is a pathetic spectacle of segregated thought

buried under the folds of righteous bluster

so before you jump on that bandwagon of indignation because 'your' people are in pain

take a look at the hidden fascism that simmers just below your holier-than-thou sudden spurt of heartfelt rage

for the quiet hypocrisy that is unknowingly imbibed

is apparent for all to behold

for when the 'other' endure the injustice carried out in 'your' peoples' name

you stand mute and silently complicit for your indignation simply melts away

as the quiet hypocrisy that is firmly rooted in you 

exults in pious pretences while 'your' own continue to hate, rape, pillage and slay

it saddens me that so much vitriol drips off my pen in such effervescent times

but I cringe as each moment another quiet hypocrite rants about the despotism of the 'other'

while smiling complacently and smugly and soaking in the quiet hypocrisy of remaining mute about 'my' peoples' own crimes
 


Details | I do not know? | |

Vula Amehlo - Zulu for open your eyes

Vula Amehlo (open your eyes)

"Vula Amehlo"is Zulu for "open your eyes"

Vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
though eyes aren’t needed to behold
the flowing tears of those of us, left out in the cold

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
the time to turn your back is long gone
no time now to pander and no time now to fawn

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we the people are hungry, angry, and our skin is torn
though we say it loudly, unbowed we are, and not forlorn

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we may be invisible and tucked away far from you
but we are here, still, waiting for the promise of freedom to come true

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
you see us sometimes, though you avert your gaze
come on now, compatriots, awaken from your complacent daze

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we are the open wound that festers on your ostentatious display
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
as you roll down your windows and toss us some coins, look in our eyes
we are your slumbering consciences, we are the famished proof of your lies

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
forget us not as you tuck your pretty children in, and turn off the lights
we too are the children whose mothers, fathers fought for all our peoples’ rights

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
don’t think that we are bitter and livid for no reason or cause
we have been waiting and waiting, for days and a decade, without any pause

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
vula amehlo
mothers and fathers
vula amehlo
brown and white and all shades of this rainbow so bright
we repeat what we said, we are not going to melt away into the night
vula amehlo
one and all
our patience is being tested from day to day, year to year
we have listened to your promises and we now demand that you hear
vula amehlo
open your eyes
and see us, and hear us clearly, and hear us today
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay

vula amehlo
open your eyes



Details | Free verse | |

Wake Up and Die

I watch the peddles fall but my eyes are dry	
I just can’t remember a better time
Now the skies grow dim and birds won’t fly
Yah there’s nothing I see that’ll make it shine
I see rolling balls and empty hands
The world is shameless for those who can’t even stand
And the man in slacks who speaks on the podium
His lies preaching out how we’re not alone.

So wake up and die		
Dig out your graves		
Prepare for the laughter
Through the haze
Too much loss 
Prevented your gains
Rise up with your brothers
Cause we’re all the same

The bars are easy to fill and life’s been too hard
So quick to get into and not too far
Drinking wasted taxes and politician’s lies
Hiding back your distaste right behind your eyes
Singing about the railroad and the power of love
Shoulda brought them together before they sung
Now they’ve chased them back to a life of pain
Their lies preaching still how we’re all the same

Going backwards 
we can’t accept the past
Moving forwards 
we hope we’ll last
run by lords 
we see power from their hands
walk by love and
we’ll take a stand


Details | ABC | |

america today

do the questions we ask today 
become the answers of tomorrow
how do we go from sing and play
to overwhelming sorrow
when certainty is in question
and wisdom and knowledge depart
we live by our own suggestion
and forget our mind and hearts
we stagger through our walk
and blindly refuse to listen
to those who walked before 


Details | Verse | |

A Lady Unknown

A Lady Unknown 
 I have a photo of my grandmother, she looks so 
young and beautiful, her hair glossy, but there 
is a paleness about her and a sadness in her eyes,
It is a death has sought her out cast a net of illness 
around her, ready to haul its catch and devour her.
  
I know little about her, where she came from, was 
she an angel that found its way to my grandfather´s 
heart, one who became human out of love but knew 
she could not stay? When I look in the mirror and ask,” 
Have I got your eyes? She looks back at me in grief. 

I say I know who you are, the lost, daughter of Manus 
the one he expelled because he found kindness in 
your heart? Her eyes, deep as mystery lakes in May, 
look at me in silence, but I do see a flicker of an ironic 
smile… or was she the lady of the camellias?

I see tears swell in her eyes, depression grips me 
as heart ache of love betrayed, shall I ever know 
who she was… this woman who bore five children 
and died at 27. It can't be so there must be more,
not only this bleak silence of the untold.   


Details | Lyric | |

Celtic Marriage

      CELTIC MARRIAGE
The path we take under the eye of God
and universe, but some consider odd
Our mother of the Universe, in everything,
helps us to grow, into a birth of spring,
but know from where our lonely feet have trod.

In Celtic roots, from shores of Normandy
we came from long ago, a time called history,
made weary from the Roman and their wrath,
we found our way, along God's narrow path,
that led us to His gift of Sanctity.

Great Caeser laid to waste all we had known,
spared not one Mother, nor one child alone,
then forced us out to where we need to be
in Ireland, our emerald upon the sea,
and left behind the Roman heart of stone.

The Wicca way, so deep out of our past
then came of age, as if a spell were cast
to love all things, and have you at my side,
the only place where two in love can hide,
here in the only dream to ever last.

You'll be as much a part of me
as anything in life could ever be,
and we shall honor all and everything,
each to it's own, that destiny might bring,
and everything in life we'll ever see.

Forget my name, remember just my way
of loving you both every night and every day
you'll have it all, if you can realize,
all we may want is here deep in these eyes,
and all you need is here, and here to stay.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the doylestown poet


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Bad, Bad Boy My Dear, sweet China Flower

The Bad, Bad Boy 

My Dear, sweet China Flower :

   The Oriental fragrance of you lingers on, it has permeated the very fibers of my mind and my home.
   I am, oh so very sorry for over stepping boundaries, going beyond my place, in your life. I am sorry for letting my passions, my desires become the flames that defiled your beautiful innocence.
   I really feel bad for the BAD, BAD thing I did to you and for leaving you unsatisfied. I am also, so very sorry for pollinating - planting my seeds deep within - your beautiful flower,
and for doing so without your desire, your consent as I slipped between your stems and into your dreams .
   I do hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive this old fool for - in the heat of moments of desire to taste, to savour the flavour of your liquid honey, honey that felt so good I could not resist - defiling the innocent beauty of your womanhood, in desecrating a beautiful Flower, of China. All to satisfy my own lecherous appetites, appetites that violated the purity and innocence in you, broke the trust, that I believe you placed in the hands of this foolish old stranger.
   I am truly sorry for my acts of indiscretion, and even more so for my not
bringing to fruition, the blossoming of your beautiful flower, feeling it, seeing it explode in a brilliance of rainbow colours, that would have lit up the hours of our late night, early morning.
   Please do not think to badly of me, my Dear .

LOVE BILL .

   As I look into the above, I come to realize that I painted a picture of what must appear, to you the reader, an aggressive, forceful, selfish, inconsiderate,monster who is lurking among the shadows of my rhyme ?, / poetry ?, but let me assure you that that is as far from the truth as is the closest universe . 
   The above poem ?, / rhyme ?, came on the heels of my lack of understanding, an inability to read the signs and the over active imagination of this author as I was looking into the beauty of the first times I made love to this Beautiful China Flower, in a bright light at night's darkest hour and again in the soft glow of dawn's first sight of passion's delight . 
   The truth be told, taking poetic license, an active imagination, lack of verbal communication - for there is this language and cultural difference as well as only three months of Canadian culture and the English language under her belt, at the time - told me one story while I neglected to take into account all the none verbal expression that came, and came from this Chinese Flower, as she expressed in the silences of her physical participation a truth and that truth has blossomed many, many times since under the green thumb of this old gardener, so what is the true reality ?, the rhyme ?, / poem ?, this statement ? 
   In the light of this, the poem ?, /rhyme ?, does not a reality make . A monster ?, a fool ?, a blind man ?, an artist ?, does any of this tell what this author could be under all my words ?


Details | Free verse | |

VALHALLA-THE VIKINGS-PART 1

In the bay of icy mists, the viking ghost ships arrive, sails set full ahead,
Crashing anchors rattle loose, plunging beneath the cold murky surf,
As the hailing horns of the dead, announce to their lord, Odin, that
Valor's courageous have arrived, and wish to enter, the great halls of
Valhalla.
Here the cold winds of the north dwell, it's chilling
Breezes flow freely, through the phantom warriors spirits.
But these rough men fear not death, nor it's harsh breath, for they
Are vikings of the northern kingdoms, and they have come for
Their last rewards treasure, to enter beyond the gates of Valhalla,
And are armed ready to fight, beside their God Odin,
In victorious battle.
In these waters of the ethereal unknown passage,
The cracking and heaving, of these heavily
Laden vessels made of vapors thin mists,
Send an eerie chill down the backs, of mortal men.
As mountain icebergs float upon the wind
Chilled oceans surface, the Valkyries approach,
Smiling beneath their shimmering chain-mail of
Brilliance honor.
On the evergreen shores, a timbered lined hall stands,
It's gates of golden pitch blaze, with fires white
Hot flames of those concurred, their souls scream
For penance mercy.
Two long swords, Chris-crossed are the gates steel dead bolts lock,
Above it's embers glow, a fierce eagle with red crimson eyes,
Grapples, it's sharpen claws, cutting deeply into the oaken shields,
On the thatched roof of the golden hall.
A lone wolf beneath therein, passes sniffing at the
Garments of the fallen men, if fears scent, the wolf so smells,
Cast out is this soul, and dammed it is forevermore.
Within the many souls do enter, a hardy welcoming at the feasting
Table mead and honey wine, is set before these hero's of honor.
But outside the ships remain tethered, awaiting for their masters safe
Return, unaware of Thor's approach, his mighty hammer set at the
Ready.
Striking with thunders raw force, the hammer of power, 
Brakes against the sheer ice, as quick as the lightning's flash,
Freezing tidal waves clash upwards, swallowing whole all evidence,
That these ghost ships ever existed.
Oh Valhalla, I pledge thee my life, my fighting spirit, my blood and 
Body given in the name of Odin, for thy honor sake, shall I live and die,
Behold the vow's pledge of these Nordic men, known as the Vikings.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



Details | Narrative | |

THE LUSH HILL

The lush hill towered over the quite town mostly built with big rock;
it had three tall church towers
with different distinguished styles: Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque...
wondrous was every sunrise!


   
Oh, their loud bronze bells could be heard ringing
through the vast, sun-washed and peaceful valley
sorrounded by mountains that reached a sky so dazzling...
then the clock-tower stroke each hour so precisely!


The summer's aroma was kind of strong and irritated the eyes,
and it almost got me drunken as aged wine does;
and I ran to the lush hill thinking of finding a treasure
in a cave that the invading Normans might have hidden in there!


But to my surprise, only frescos of martyrs were discovered;
all the while, that treasure was in front of me:
Nature opening up with its magnificent beauty!
It took observation and reflection for the rare gifts it rendered.


Whenever I ran to the lush hill, either morning or afternoon,
I was astonished by the humble faces of saints showing no demise 
for their persecution and carnage by beast such as ferocious lions... 
as those pious faces looked to Christ for comfort in their doom!


Their image made me much stronger and believer in the Shepherd
whose sheep never was lost among grunting wolves waiting aside; 
and every mystery revealed, it grew to teach me not to be afraid...
when profound silence arrived bringing delights to an innocent child. 


Oh, lush hill...keep my image of young boy intact even after I die;
let it come alive when sheer curiousity arises and tantalizes...
to make me climb that lush hill again for the heart to fantasize,
and 'though my health may not be as vibrant as then, I must try!


Details | Rhyme | |

Among The Neanderthal Part 1

If time travel were possible, 
the period I would want to visit most of all 
would be that time long ago, 
when Europe was covered with snow. 
When we walked Among the Neanderthal. 
Two different species of human, 
but still very much the same. 
Our common ancestor evolved differently 
due to climate and terrain. 
Homo Heidelbergensis emerged out of Africa 
into Europe and Western Asia, 
but then the  ice age came and the species became segregated 
due to vast deserts, seas and glacier. 
The ice age gripped Northern Europe. 
Polar conditions were most of the continent. 
Homo Heidelbergensis then evolved into the cold adapted Neanderthal 
and became Europe's only human resident. 
The Neanderthals were territorial and they lived in small family clans. 
Limestone caves provided most with shelter, 
it was a limited resource upon this frozen land. 
The caves the Neanderthals lived in were the center of the Neanderthal’s universe. 
Within the cave walls, the Neanderthals would bury their dead and give birth. 
Within the cave walls they would eat, they would sleep. 
Within the cave walls they would butcher their meat. 
Within the cave walls they would groom, they would mate. 
Within the cave walls they would even defecate. 
Within the cave walls was the safest place to be. 
Outside was the harshest climate known to humanity, 
in an unforgiving terrain filled with wild animals stalking them, 
as well as Neanderthal males stalking other clan’s women. 
Neanderthal clans did not interact with each other at all 
and this was perhaps their biggest and greatest downfall. 
Limited contact meant limited viewpoints and limited exchanges of ideas, 
and so the Neanderthal's limited survival techniques 
remained the same throughout their years, 
But meanwhile, 
back in sub tropical Africa, somewhat simultaneously, 
Homo Heidelbergensis evolved into a warm adapted human. 
Homo sapiens, Us, You and Me, 
As the climate grew warmer we too migrated up north 
into the Neanderthal’s stronghold. 
Neanderthal extinction was about to come forth. 
Within a few thousand years, the Neanderthal ceased to exist. 
The small size of their clans made them vulnerable. 
They couldn't confront or protect or resist.

To continue click NEXT for Among The Neanderthal Part 2


Details | Free verse | |

Poverty grows

Poverty.
Hardship and suffering
all behind society's eyes
raised by the ghetto
slums cracked lights out
scavenges for life
its gone. 
The same face in all places
no father figures
can't support, gone
moms fiend for crack
the silent killer
hard to take, reality hurts
the youngest
nothing lives within him
unloved, felt like a colorless weed
wants to develop
a beautiful rose
society wont let
its a cruel world
only the streets
resist the temptations.
Death laid outside his doorstep
waiting to grab the innocent beneath 
Gang life sleeps in his thoughts
trying to fight the opposition
a deadly current war.
Getting older
need to make ends meat  
but how, never given a chance
selling drugs only option 
need to feed his children
and in his mind
nobody cares
people just stare.
Treated as the fungus of earth
and all this money
soldiers dying, the devils agreement
army of weeds, never stop regrowing
power making more poverty
not spent on the poor
only used for wars
its sad.
A war on drugs
to fight them off
but they made them
dirty tricks, crooked 
and deceived
and still we don't change this
mankind has the say
not the rich.
Children screaming, not heard
tears not felt
like a raindrop with no splat
it always keeps raining
in his eyes.
People so caught up in the power
like a wolf fighting for its food
wraps around the minds 
changing ambition to greed
Just share 
then i think things would be fair
for all the bad acts
its countless.
Going through his mind 
all the times he cried
number of life's he lost
early deceased
in the penitentiary
trapped left to die
a fly under a glass.
Certain peoples cause
an act with no redemption 
soon to burn in hell
tried to deceive us
saying they were against us
causing pains and misery.
A secret war
an epidemic
propaganda in its finest form 
defying the innocent
minds controlled 
eyes turned, no notice
no justice.
It goes on and keeps on growing.


Details | Narrative | |

Imagine

If all the things I have right now were taken away and I had nothing left I would fantasize about nature and how beautiful it is. I would imagine that I was swinging on an old tire swing in front of a river. In the river were little ducks and I would go feed them. In my life right now I don’t think of nature that way. I think if my freedom was taken away I wouldn’t take it for granted the way I do and I would know how much it actually means to me. I would also imagine my family getting together for my family reunion. We would usually have them in September. My aunt would make her fancy white cake topped with chocolate drizzle. My grandma always made her jello cake; I still don’t know exactly how she makes it. The others would bring KFC, at least three boxes full of chicken and fries. All the kids would sit together and play games and laugh as we threw food at one another. We would have a game where the kids lined up from age 1 to age 13 and you would get to pick a prize appropriate for your age. I would always get stuck with bath soap and tooth brushes.I take a lot of ordinary things for granted and I think a lot of people do but they won’t admit it. Sometimes I even take life and my freedom for granted. I think that if maybe we wouldn’t take things for granted like the trees or our freedom that maybe our lives would be a lot better and things wouldn’t happen the way they do. I have lived long enough to know that it won’t happen, nothing happens the way you want it to. Just a few months ago I lost my grandma and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I took all of the things she did for granted and now that she’s gone I miss her. She used to make this tuna casserole, it was just amazing but I never told her just how much she meant to me. I think if I would have told her that more then I wouldn’t feel so guilty or depressed that she is gone. I never told her what I needed to. If people could use the words of John Lennon “Imagine Peace” and actually think about it then maybe the world wouldn’t have to end because there wouldn’t be any enemies, murders, drugs, none of the bad things would have happened. If we could have just accepted everyone around us for who they are and known that one day we all have to die, we could have stepped back from it all and said I had a good life and I don’t regret any of it. I think it’s no good to step back from something and tell yourself that you could have done something to prevent it.


Details | I do not know? | |

To the Nameless Soldier

To the Nameless Soldier

Your orders may come now...

...or at 19h45 this evening.

'Shoot to kill'
'Engage the enemy'
'Hold the line'
'Break up the gathering'

'Ready, aim, fire'

but you have felt too

the stab of hunger
the bite of thirst
the bayonet of loss
the wound of despair

but you have seen too

the pain in a mother's eyes
the grief in a father's face
the incomprehension in a child's down-cast look

'Ready, aim, fire'

but you, the nameless soldier have heard

the cries of the grieving family
the wailing of the widowed wife
the quiet agonizing sound of the child's weeping

'Ready, aim, fire'

your orders may come now
or at 23h30 tonight
or tomorrow
or the day after that
or next week or month or year

but you have seen and felt and heard too

the agony of a peoples' simple desire
the hurt of a nation long bludgeoned
the wounds of your stolen generation

so when that order comes

now

or at 03h30 tomorrow morning
'Ready, aim, fire'

let your humanity muzzle your rifle
let your conscience dismiss the order
let your better side come to the fore 

and let your very own people, your mother and your father, your sister and your brother, your son and your daughter, your friend and your lover
let them live
let them be
let your rifle fall to the soil of your beloved motherland

o' nameless soldier.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Pete Seeger Huddie Leadbelly Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie

For Pete Seeger, Huddie ‘Leadbelly’ Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie


it was a long time ago
when you put your words into song

'this machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender' you scribbled on your old guitar

and you wielded that banjo & guitar as weapons, 

fiddling out a hail of truth

of solidarity

of angry, vehement calls for peace

you said of Leadbelly, that that Huddie Ledbetter was a helluva man

you sang and spoke through dust clouds and relief lines

you taught us all, to seek out hope wherever we can

and when they tried to call all of you goddamned reds

you sang on ever louder and louder, rattlin' their prejudices as they slept in their plush beds

you rode and you rambled and thumbed your way around

the land that is my land and your land too

for you believed all this earth was shared common ground

and when you sang of overcoming one day

the injustice and pain that you witnessed along the way

they further branded you a commie, a pinko or a nigger-lover or a jew-lover, or an enemy of the state

while your banjo and your guitars continued to surround their blind hate

'this machine kills fascists' you etched on that guitar as well

but they were all deaf, for they could not hear the tolling of the bell

'the bell of freedom

the hammer of justice

the song of love between your brothers and your sisters'

and they knew not that they were the ones who would sizzle in their own bigoted hell

and then came the marches and you were there too

with dr. king in Birmingham and Selma, and you faced their spit, their venomous rage, their clubs and sticks and knives, but you always knew

that your cause was just and that the truth must one day prevail

however long it may take, you never gave up, you sang and you marched and you strummed yourselves, victoriously, into their jail

and then they shot him, they shot Dr. King dead, as they burnt and lynched many more

yet you stood firm, you never wavered, your blood was red after all, and they could not tarnish the truth's core

and so it came to pass, that woody went on his way, to his pastures of plenty up in the sky

and Huddie too, said his last and final goodbye

and you were then one, and you may have felt alone and overwhelmed, by the battles and with all that was wrong

but then you saw that the people were with you 

as they had been, all along

and so you continued to fiddle with that old banjo

dragging it through Newport and Calcutta and Dar-es-Salaam

and through countless unknown halls in numberless unknown towns

across this earth, turning, slowly, putting smiles of togetherness, on faces that were once pock-marked with disillusioned frowns
so...
today as I jot down these poorly scribbled words for all of you
for Woody, Huddie, and Pete
I do so in gratitude, for after all the travails that you've been through
I know that you know that this world still has its fair share of hate, and of loss and of injustice and of gloom
but I also know that you know that though all the old flowers may have gone
there always will be, as there always must be,

a fresh flower somewhere, that will quietly bloom.


Details | Rhyme | |

September of Embers

A September of embers:


    Even though time in years has filtered and passed
    The tears and sadness of that day will last

    A friend...family members.. or just someone we knew
    Blood splattered faces constantly came into view

    Too many people running frightfully scared
    The frozen faces from windows... the unprepared

    Americas laughter and smiles silently went far away
    A deadly thought on a horrific day

    Innocent people....children.. dads and moms..sisters and brothers so kind
    It seemed like that day last forever...it was frozen in time

    The steel and concrete giants fell so mighty.. so fast
    The large deep shadows in the city....a thing of the past

    Once so mighty like tall mountain trees
    They fell so fast like wet straw in a breeze

    Never forget the sadness and fright we all felt inside
    Looking for safety and comfort..somewhere to cry

    Remember this day as you look towards the heavens
    We as a nation will never forget that day.. it was 9-11


Details | Free verse | |

THE FOURTH OF JULY-NEW

God bless the U.S.A., it's independence day,
Let the bells of liberation ring out,
Across this great nation's vast continental
Divide.
Lady Liberty, stoke up your flame of brilliance,
Light up our shores of freedom,
Allow it's message to spread global, we are
The United States of America holding strong in
Our resolve to remain united, against all obstacles
Placed before us.
Houst up the grand old flag, let it's bands
Strips never bleed, or stars lose their
Lustrous shine.
For one nation under God, does it so lay in trust,
Protected by faith and justice for all.
Oh so does the soldier bare his rifle proudly,
Willing to fight for the rights of his country.
We as a nation salute thy sacrifice,
For the brave, the fallen, past and present,
Whom have given so much on our
Behalf with prides enduring spirit.

God bless the U.S.A., it's independence day,
Let the bells of liberation ring out, across
This great nation's vast continental divide.
It's the fourth of july celebration, let us light
Up the nights sky on high, bursting forth with
A big kabooms color array, in a patriotic
Tribute, to our great nation known as America.
In a fireworks display to be seen internationally.
We are valors children, born with bravery's
Blood coursing through our veins, and the winds
Of freedom, blowing within us all, the American
Eagle's spirit does flow within us, and so we soar
On the breath of distinction.

In the distance hear the bugler's trumpet
Sounding, feel the drummers beat pounding,
Above a banners standard flying in the breeze,
This is our heritage legacy calling, to live free,
After all we are the people known as the Americans.
God bless the U.S.A., It's independence day,
Let the bells of liberation ring out across
This great nation's continental divide.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN




Details | Free verse | |

Men of Justice

Life is a gift, but death is seen as a curse,
Heroes are ordinarily born but give their lives for other to live,
Tell that man that fold his arm in the mist of injustice,
That one day, very soon, if he refuses to take up the challenge,
The life he protects will be snatched from him.

Wake up the slumbers to the duty calls,
Tell the idles that there are so much work to be done,
Look into the eyes of the wicked ones and dare him,
Now is the time to act for tomorrow may be too late,
Rise, oh rise, men of justice.

(c) 2014


Details | I do not know? | |

Past Thoughts

Many years ago two young people became a couple.
Puppy love is all it was for nothing lasts forever.
They dated a while till all fell apart and distance became so far.
Through their own separate ways they learned how to live but always a thought on the mind.
Through troubles and trials and many life lessons it led them to each other again.
Today it’s all new like the friendship had blossomed with each and every day.
No time was too long nor distance too far, the friendship remained the same.

A friend for life, I have a few but some can never replace.
The simple thought of hearing your jokes made everything so clear.
It’s the friendship I value, the friendship I need and the friendship I hold so dear.
Reminiscing the past brings many smiles and laughs but still a sadness lies beneath.
Beneath it all was a broken child still trying to find her way.
He went away for quite some time and waiting was no option.
For this was not the dream she had for all it did was break her

A sudden miracle, an instant change for she was about to become a mother.
From teen to mother there was still so much to learn.
Life was changing with the joys of her first child.
Still she gave her all with troubles along the way she made it through.
Sometime later along came baby number two.
She lived for her boys without the cares of the past.
Her life continues, her dreams are big and nothing will stand in the way.

(Feb. 6, 2014)


Details | Rhyme | |

The Towers of NYC The Day They Fell

Two standing structures standing up so high touching  tha clear blue sky.
Huge white walls on either side, 
Hundreds of windows reflecting the sky.
 Thousands of workers sit at their desks; unaware  of the fear that is growing near.
its 8:45 people still come to arive; but soon they'll be fighting to survive.
The north tower is struck by a plane and  the 1st tower is turned into a flame.
 
Smoke and ash flow throughout the buliding as people below are screaming.
Videos recording, photos been taken.
News choppers are flying while inside the tower people are dying.
Police try to control the streets as every ones heart beats.
 
People believe its just a plane crash but at 9:03 that rumour is smashed.
The second tower is hit as ash covers people in the street like a pit. 
firefighters suit up to enter the blaze but the smoke is so thick there put in a daze.
Panic and chaos is all around; as bodies jump from windows to fall a long way down .
 
fire is burning all around inside as news crews flim the outside .
People are burning and choking and know that time is getting short .
They ring their families to tell them they'll be fine; but in their hearts they know there out of time .
  
The towers come down with a tundering sound as a great symbol of the U.S is now nothing more than a mess.
Bodies are burnt and burried; sadness is in everyones face as New York City is left a dusty angry place . 
Great towers they used to be; but now these towers of NYC  are just ones memory.


Details | Free verse | |

KING KONG-2

A legend is told along the sea ports, of a lost island
Unknown to man, protected by a monstrous beast
In this uncharted prehistoric world, not shown on any
Schematic or map.
It is a forbidden place of death, accursed by the almighty
Himself, a dark garden of Eden, kept unspoiled by civilized man.
Guarded by a gigantic creature, whom dwells hidden behind
An ancient wall miles high, made of thatch and tar it rose upwards
To touch the sky above.
The natives screamed into the night, the name of their tormentor,
And God, Kong, Kong!!
Hear in the jungle the drums beat, these tribal people whom
Still live in a primeval world, respect this king of beast known as King Kong.
Within the realm of heightened terror, gray smoke rises as a mist,
But it is the breath of a beast, a forgotten giant, of long ago ages past. 
A lone ship crosses the equators fine thin line, between reality and
And mythical legend, to explore the unknown regions beyond our knowledge.
Pull back the curtain; reveal fact from fiction, as this uncharted destination
Bursts forth before the eyes of the brave, and foolish adventurers.
Beauty's first glimpse into a darker place left her breathless,
Exposing nature's raw power and wild magnificence.
Greed drives the men aboard, seeking fortunes favor, by dollars and
Cents profit.
But in bloods bottom line, what worth is human life?
In seduction's prime-evil arena, didn’t this mistress of temptation,
Slay the savage beast within desires eyes, most forbidden.
The damsel in hearts distress, climbs the tower of fates misled,
To save the concord foe, pleading with hands clapsed no Lord,
God Save him this creature of your creation, for he is innocent,
Reacting only by basic instincts drive to survive.
But the fallen king, crashes to a mightier kingdom below, called
Civilization.
She weeps beside his majesty’s broken body, as death over comes
The giant's will to live, but it is enough for him to see beauty's face, one
Last time before sucoming unto the blackened jungle of death beyond.
So a legend is given birth, and his name echoes through a lost world,
King Kong, the mighty king of all beasts.
 
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Narrative | |

The Fantastic Voyage

Living on the edge was a suicide way before my time!
A soul spread wide open with a spirit that truly believes.
Walking on water and backwards with life that glares over the sunshine!
The fantastic voyage rides the high and almighty waves of the greatest seas.
A voyage to never-never land right where I know I will always want to be.
True uninhibited expression is my addiction all within myself.
A soul climaxing in the exhibition of capturing all of the free empty space!
Walking the planks with the thrill of excitement from what’s consumed as it’s felt,
The fantastic voyage is aimed straight for that perfect little happy place.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to stay.
Unpredictable with such balance is my mystery out there all on its own.
My soul opens and wills me to explore the depths of all that is real or such.
Walking the tight rope and looking down with my talent so proudly shown.
The fantastic voyage is never enough but is always over by too much.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to feel what I touch.
Deep within the depths of all the deepness is where my connection is found.
A vibrant soul with brilliance magnified by a common need that has just got to give!
Walking narrow ledges with confidence and truly the one that has got to be proud!
The fantastic voyage gained my moments in time that I can say were actually lived.
My voyage to never-never land is where I will surrender standing on top of my deadly ground!


Details | Free verse | |

The Sunset Watchers

There was an old sort of people that once took to the beach
These old sort lived the beach and waited for the sunset
They were old as time itself for they never aged
They were of the beach and the beach was of them
They watched every sunset from time began
It was there eyes that made the sunset come and it was there sleep that brought about the night
They forever watched and always kept everyday holy
One day it was late and they were waiting for the sunset
It did not come and they wept
They disappeared into the night and were never seen again


Details | I do not know? | |

For Dr Martin Luther King Jr

For Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
 
You had a dream
of pastures of peace
where children of all hues mingled like rainbows
 
they silenced you, but your voice
resounds now in those pastures
not yet of peace
 
and your dream is still a dream
the dream you dreamt while others slept
 
you said that you’d been to the mountain-top
and they silenced your voice just then
before your eyes saw that promised land
of pastures of peace where children of all hues mingle like rainbows
 
now your vision is glimpsed in some pastures
not yet of peace
and yes, they silenced your voice
but your spirit their bullets could never tear apart
your spirit, like your dream
is mingled with the wind in all those pastures
not yet of peace
and until we give life to your dream
those pasture of peace
where children of all hues mingle like rainbows
shall remain simply your dream
so as we remember you today
and pledge that those pastures of peace
are nourished first in each of us
for only then will your dream will take root
and blossom into our shared dream
and the view from the mountain-top,
radiant and bright and full of hope shall seem
 
where children of all hues mingle like rainbows
 
 
 
 


Details | Verse | |

ENGLISH IN FIFTY

ENGLISH IN FIFTY!
  -Dharga Nagar Safa

O! I C A B.

***
I U N X.

***
Y A Q 4 T?

***
C,A J!

***
I N U V.

***
A 2 Z!




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? | |

For Maya Angelou

For Dr Maya Angelou


Vanquished by the day one may be,
Beaten down by the barren night.
 
Faltering at times,
at times upright.
 
Still one stands.
One still fights.
 
For though one falls,
One must rise.


Details | Didactic | |

Antiquity Born

                   Antiquity Born

Formed from chemical reactions on the tongues of infants
Tales with meanings, without letters were born
Hatched under desert rocks with bones in evolution
From grunting cave creatures
Human family members if memory serves 
Records from that time came by word of mouth alone
Tales to tell their stories without words emerged
Evident on stones in color and design
Etched bold enough to hold them throughout time
Old words are thicker than the past told
Through symbols, pictures, codes formed in antiquity 
Tools tell their story without the use of letters 
Ancestors return from history
Brought back to life
In images in form in ancient art


Details | Sonnet | |

cantata

Cantata 
He stood there on a plateau that only had a tree,
And since he had appeared from nowhere there
Was no a past to be lumbered with. 
He sat under the tree mainly because it was 
Getting hot and the tree had big thick leaves and
Beside the tree there was a barrel of cold water.
During the day the plateau became shimmering
He saw ponies trotting past like a knitted poncho.

Since he had no past only a fragment of a future 
Instinct told him they were going to the green vale
That had grass, shade and a lagoon that reflected 
The sky, or was it the other way around?
He sat there tried to visualise future where he didn´t
Exist, but he failed, which made him human.


Details | Didactic | |

Chronicler Of History

            Chronicler of History

History goes back as you might guess
Through vast tracks of time out there to be cataloged and measured
And a couple minutes more, before the universe was born
It discovered Hobo Jack at home within one millisecond
Put him to work to make a list of dark matter, plants and planets
(Planets are the smaller ones)
And all solid things that mattered and had form
Hobo Jack was given birth and raised on Earth
His first love was lamps and gold
Accounting became a knack in natural fashion
With a history of his own
And as a matter of fact he was good at keeping books
Lists of animals he encountered were quickly jotted down
From dinosaurs to platypus
Geiger counters became a fad
So ancient coins, doubloons
Spanish treasures made his day 
Hobo Jack and his long white beard
Led their way through history
Among archival masters Jack was the best
He chronicled everything in life then passed away


Details | Free verse | |

Eskimo Dream

            Eskimo Dream

Eskimos know 68 shades of snow
They count every flake
Green blue ones fill children with delight
Parents frozen like the dim light of day
Wait with edges of a knife for prey
They dare not move during the hunt for food
Faces etched like leather on fierce weather
In calmer times they sing
Pound igloos into shape before the pending storm
Mukluks on their children’s feet are old and worn
But keeps them warm on moonless nights  
Against all odds for life
They hold together chanting on the wind
Stretching across all time and land
Singing about their past and colder weather
And yes, about the color white
Sentry huskies sway left to right in fear
And think of caribou 
Soon the ice will cover everything
Settled in the deep
The people sleep
And dream of whale bones by the glacier sea


Details | Bio | |

Commander

I feel invisible. And Christmas feels like another terror crisis for families. I design 
every city, feel no pity for this except, and  can't travel and have romantic sex in the 
cities with my princess Jaclyn. I will make the Da Vinci Code book come to life as 
I read out loud at any (crowded place.) I will prove why the United States of 
America is invincible, how I make all people and products possible. Can display 
any where, we are in my supervision, which is a controlled environment.  I am a 
super power who created the best super power country, I have and continue to 
bless North America. We are one world divided by religion.  So we are still 
divisible. Anybody who knows the english language should be able to tell nobody 
chipped in to create the language and titles of companies. The rhymes, the 
articulate ways to play with sound. Only one person could do this for the reason 
of trying to reach you.  All I can do is play with tv and family. Only if I had allies 
there would be no defects. I hate marketing our life spans. You can believe or if 
not, you just sided with the devil when youdon't believe, and I hate to make 
people decide on their lives. Example is suicide.I hate to be evil. Need money to 
get out of my house.   Its lame to see people blame. This is not a game, I want 
change. I am royalty with not enough loyaltists. If this persists, people will keep 
on perishing. Allah is allowed to have a career in reality, since I am the most 
creative.. All I know is I is he, he is I. I even 
created the aloe plant. We can start to heal families, and I prove I gave all "Family 
Ties". I build on what I build. The world is mine. One day it will be ours. If read 
this I wouldn't  wait till my ressurection of making the future making cycle , 
beacsue I don't feel comfortable. I hate to create insurgents, I created the internet 
to reach the world.  I designed the internet. You bet its a playhouse,like Wynmoor 
on Cococnut Ceek Blvd. I get illusions from the word conk=cock or (count.) I get a 
scroll or dimensional pop up before me of the pearl of a girl.  Love handles really 
means for drawers on furniture. Don't pull love handles but put you weight on it, 
like railings at banks and Disney World. I made the design of slang for the 
reason to rap it up. People are using the wrong words which makes our lives 
miserable. I would like to progress, but still no progress of reply. All I need is one 
mic, and money to come out and play. My souls' sold on dvd's and cd's around 
the globe! Its a goddy god world."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Whiff of Canterbury Tails

85
 Feedback comes to those who apply and post and expect to receive the same 
when you place a silver dollar in your mouth you scratch it with your teeth to see if 
it is real a man bites down upon it and then looks and frowns or looks and 
smiles upon the quarter he has found not silver or even golden but just metal of 
some kind its zinc and copper mixes made in Betty Crocker's Kitchens. She has 
a tray of circles all lain out upon her divine divan the tails side up for luck she got 
this from the JESUS man who tossed his penny in an arc and tried to hit a mark 
a line drawn in the sand and made his feet go march to live a different plan a 
lifetime being mended his only love he found she makes the things he feels 
inside brand new. She stirs her better batter up with a long and spindly spatula 
she marks each coin with edges with the cheese garter greater. She takes the 
grater to the table and turns each coin by hand she makes four of them for every 
dollar in this land. They asked her who is on the image of the coin she laughed 
and dimpled smiling she said it must be Dollar Bill.  The George Washington 
Dollar is the image used for the quarter he gets to be on two. When yew become 
the President Of America you can be their two. She stamps the quartered dollars 
on the side that just says heads with the handy dandy stamper set she got from 
her Uncle Jed for Christmas Past. She turns the coins at last and makes the tails 
with her old eagle eye she uses her new leather set to scritch and scratch the 
bird the lines formed from habit of making millions in a set in just one day she 
filled the Island of Manhattan with 24 additional sets they said they needed them 
to buy Manhattan again the previous treaty had run out from the statue of 
limitations set back in Washington against the law must be obeyed by every 
man. When eye am making a bus ride and eye find a lot of pennies eye ignore 
them when eye find a quarter eye do a little more than dance in place eye jig eye 
jog eye trip on every log in my haste to find three more it costs one dollar just to 
Board the Tran. Betty declined to speak just to the press for she is very shy she 
said she knoes now who the image is on the flip side of her coin and eye did not 
keep a dry eye when she smiled at me and said without a tremor or a miss it is 
Washington, D. C. 


Details | Free verse | |

Into the eyes

When I look into the eyes of the young,
I saw futuristic vehicles gliding
past their old and withered bodies

When I looked into the eyes of the old,
I saw carriages, majestically hobbling the streets,
Horse-drawn and noisome,
fear in the eyes of the young

When I looked into the face of the clock,
I saw my own reflection,
ticking away its life
in shuttered motion

When I looked into my face I saw white eyes
in withered casing


Details | I do not know? | |

Awake at Midnight

Awake at Midnight

sleep retreats
into tunnels of dewy thoughts

teasing the worn mind

awake at midnight
dreams recede

into caverns of mist
to brew their hazy potions

awake at midnight
weariness seduces the being

seeking to slip away
thirsting for solace in
the numbness of slumber
awake at midnight

still.


Details | Free verse | |

Golden Glowing Biscuits

            Golden Glowing Biscuits

Eohippus at the dawn of history rides off the earth
His son the dawn horse rides out on the day
First through a lush field of heather up ahead
Guided by shifting westward winds
Then over the hills of clover running to the cliff
Down labyrinths of canyons crooked paths
Past the canna, columbine and hollyhock bursts of reds
There, just over long green grasses beyond the pastures
The animal takes a break
Relieves himself, releases golden biscuits to the earth
Which aid the fertile fields to grow and flourish


Details | Free verse | |

Roots Under Glass

My stare, 
?       like a statue's -?     
                     not a blink, 
        ?                           wink?
                                          or twitch -??
Deepened in the history.
??I lift generations to my chest, 
?But the frame jealously clamps itself 
?Around the black and white haze of years.??

Wet warmth washes the venerable glass ?
That nurtures the dulling gloss, ?
Keeping clean from the dust of contemplations.??

Duty interjects.
?I bare a smile, 
?Telling nod - ?
Tacit acknowledgment -

??Then unknowingly place the fading vision ?
Back down on the sideboard??
Until another year


Details | Free verse | |

Fossil Friend

          Fossil Friend

Why, just the other day, or so it seems
T-Rex and I were playing by the stream
And tar pits of La Brea
I remember that day like yesterday
I’m just another fossil reminiscing 
Where my old friend fell in 
And now I visit him 
At The Page Museum in Los Angeles 
Someday my aging bones will settle down as well
People will speak antiques and talk about my times
Old stomping grounds and ancient finds


Details | Verse | |

The Prestige of Portrait People Preserved in Paintings.

Pickled like gherkins in vinegar

Crystallised forever in sugar

Set and translucently Jellied ...

Hung like smoked, salted meat

Pigments crushed from earth
brushes from fine animal hair

Is it because they freeze
the sitter's image which

survived as the best image 
of the sitter for millineums?

Linseed oil Egg tempera hand
mixed by devoted apprentices

Were paintings used for 
communication to the viewer

Eyes moving behind the paintings..

before humans could read 
or write?

To capture the likeness prior
the invention of  photography?


Details | Free verse | |

Caucasian Jesus (Angel of Sadness)

On a mission to find and crucify this character
This savior, your white Jesus
Crusades tease my anger
Especially if the picture they paint
Is of someone it truly ain’t
Searching for my savior, your saint
Jealous that photo doesn’t please us
On a mission to find and crucify 
This image portrayed as white Jesus
Whether it’s good times or dark trials 
I bow my head and pray to this image of arched smiles
To this cross I was too, like you and you, dedicated
So many times I summoned your blessings yet you hesitated
The preacher always said
Only one hovers above my head
Snap shots of my flesh, never knew peace in this casket
Satan, my commonly know bastard
As an outcast, a lonely loser, I’m orientated
As a carefree orphan/foster child, I was educated
Forehead being massaged in olive oil
Faith suddenly falling after these morals 
In this church as one they pray
A sinner’s kiss, when it hurts, we fail to ask for another day
Entrepreneurs, now we outcast is crooked, but major
Writers imprint with real names of plagiary  
As government seeds we’re slayed together
As enemies and old friends
We schemed and played in weather
Scenes from my grave
Kissing toes, means goodbye, to them heavenly gates I wave
If I’mma make it to hell
No further questions, only tears stop me from being cremated
Fire and tropical storms, everything the sea hated 
Walk these oceans to calm these skies
He who looks from above teases my lies
Only as a mortal, matter seizes the eye


Details | Free verse | |

Australian Ancient Depths Of Time

            Australian Ancient Depths Of Time

Under deserts rusting tides of red
Mountains once collapsed themselves into the clay
Became flat lands stilted while sun hung ornate on the humble quiet
Beauty remained unobserved, unobstructed, ageless
At this point in time my team and I, consisting of two guides
Walked gently along soft earth near a simple gorge
Mules and archaeological tools fell through to darkness  
Deep in the hole one man tumbled, crippled, died
The mules too met an ugly fate as well
My other man and I survived
Crawled for hours through a narrow passage in the underworld
In the labyrinth of black, accompanied by barely breathable air
Fear and hunger took hold
Our mental faculties began to fail
With no way out, we struggled on
By quirk or chance we happened on an open chamber
To stand, to glance, to reconnoiter an unknown civilization
Covered by time, embraced by centuries safe keeping 
Thick vases found in sandy walls housed oils
I had matches and some rope to light our way at last
Other vases filled with beans and herbs unearthed by us
Treasures to save us from starvation!
Olive oils tasted nasty, black beans were worse
But Australia’s hidden depths were fascinating finds
We tied ropes around our new supplies, dragged them behind
The maze, the cave, gave us many bones and pottery for exploration
We hope the ancients will forgive us for eating all their food
I think they no longer need it in the tomb

     8/28/14 Contest - poem you have not entered in a past contest # 11 



 


Details | Free verse | |

Lost Souls And Fragrances

            Lost Souls and Fragrances

A saffron fragrance mixed with aromas from desert shores
Salt and seaweed lifts the distances of spirits drifting on tomorrow
Archeologists are touched and drawn
To the other side with all their senses
They search with empty bodies even now
Spirits lead the way
Reach through centuries, which took those souls so long ago
Through distances on countless years to Istanbul for study 
To copy, to replicate the human souls, of the lost and found
Archeologists have no clues
They dig through so much memory, buried  
But when they open up the very last tomb
The smell, the aroma, the human and the spirit
Open on the ancient to the here and now
Scent and soul comes through, holds on
Lingers with the find until tomorrow 

10/11/14 The Scent of Your Soul - Poetry Contest 


Details | I do not know? | |

The Gift of Song

We are all prisoners at one time or another in our lives-Imprisoned in our minds imprisoned 
by the dictates of our environment; by the expectations of our society, etc.
Yet, we survive. Through it all, hope and our deep, enduring faith in our God keeps us alive 
from generation to generation.

It’s the year 1835, and there she stands on a rickety wooden platform
Where countless before her had stood desolate and dejected
She looked disheveled in an old cotton dress
Two sizes too big for her tiny frame
Her tattered boots caked with mud from the stall
Where livestock was kept for the market 
A large crowd of men and women had gathered

A river of faces were in view yet not one was familiar 
None similar to hers in sight except for the lonely
Carriage driver sitting upright and seemingly unconcerned with 
The situation playing out less than ten feet away from him
At the age of twelve when girls her age were at play
Here she was stands on an auction block
Awaiting her fate, to be re-sold for a purse full of coins

These faces in the crowd leer at her and she feels like a freak
Hunger and pain gnaw at her belly and mind
Her body trembles in fear and she feels a chill though it’s summer
Hot tears stream down her smooth black cheeks
Wishing her Mama was here. “Where are you, Mama?” 
In silence she cries deep within, and her thoughts are interrupted 
By the crack of the whip that cuts body and soul!

Pt. II contn’d


Details | I do not know? | |

Hands that Held the Rein

Locked in the history through the doors of his mind
Are the remains of an unwritten contract he signed.
The rules he lived by with his own flesh and bone,
Wrote in his blood and signed alone.
An Indian father or a Spanish bride,
The white mans greed won’t alter his stride,
The black mans courage with endurance within,
Mixed with trials errors and mortal sin.
Through the hardship and horses through courage and pain
These are the hands that held the rein.

Annie Oakley, Kitty Wilkins and Bell Star,
Combined lace with leather and created a gender scar.
From Picket, Custer, and Crazy Horse,
These are only a few who would not alter their course.
And those less know on Oregon’s trail, 
Who sold all they had and to the west set sail.
Chisholm, Goodnight and French, some of the Cattle kings,
They all are the reason a cowboy sings.
And their blood still flows through our veins, 
These are the hands that held the rein.

Forgive them for they knew not what they done,
As they settled the west with hand and gun.
Fought for open space they went through,
Not knowing that greed and politics followed them too.
Restless by nature a curious kind,
Searching for answers they will never find.
An unwritten code he rides for the brand,
It pumps through the veins into the soul of this man.
He gathers those memories and tries to remain,
These are the hands that held the rein.

Writing no letter for he can’t but he would,
To who he’s not sure but it is understood,
There is no place to send it anyhow,
So he saddles his pony and rides for the cow,
Sings a song and says a poem in rhyme,
To cut the quiet and pass the time.
That helps keep the stories of his horse and life,
As he sings of a friend and dreams of a wife.
Through the doors of his mind those memories remain,
For these are the hands that held the rein.
Like shuffling a deck he’s held in his hand 
He has gambled his life and made a stand,
And made a vow he will try to fulfill,
With the luck of the draw his blood flows still.
To the next generation, with changes in time,
We still hear his stories in song and rhyme.
And if one more day could be spare 
For the songs sung and poems shared 
Let him live just one more day,
Let him ride for the brand and draw his pay.
In our future let our history not be in vein,
For our hands are now what hold the rein.  


Details | Free verse | |

My Thought's of Pearl Harbor

During the time of our sleep
When not even mice would make sounds
The planes they did creep
Hunting their targets like savage hounds
And when they struck
The ground it rumbled
There was no time to duck
As the ships crumbled
Men and women died that day
Which made many families blue
They had awaken the USA
Even though we started World War Two
That day in December 1941
A new strenght had been born


Details | Rhyme | |

Texas 60 years before my birth

If sixty years before in my place of birth
had I been living in that Texas town Fort Worth.
With long horn steers moving to and fro
what would I have done, where would I go?
Herding cattle or breaking broncs
or gambling cards in honky-tonks.
Getting drunk and in gunfights 
loving dance hall girls in tights.
I could been one of the town's shop resident.
A blacksmith's son or the only bank's president.
I could have been the town law, killing when called upon.
Or an undertaker burying those dead at dawn.
A wanted outlaw quick on the draw
disappointment to my ma and pa. 
A shouting preacher Sunday mornings
with hell fire damnation warnings.
I could have been any these people of Texas history
sixty years before my birth, in eighteen hundred eighty three.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Spook

All at once, 
An image does appear,
Of a time long past,
But faces that were once near.
The face had once been held dear
Casting a spell on the mind,
Now the face is gone, 
And the fear is all that’s left behind.

Now in the mind is left a hole,
An incredible weight to bind the soul,
The face takes on a more frightening form,
And to life a more sinister role.
In crowds with others, 
even in the mall,
And at every turning of the head,
It stares back at you from just down the hall.

The face consumes the heart,
Drawn long and pale,
Dark circles surround the eyes and mouth,
Blood drips from the nails,
Now an image which began as innocent,
Has become deified,
Life cannot go on as normal,
When the face tears life apart.


Details | Free verse | |

conundrum

an unknown language from a distant past
carved into stone , are symbols to outlast
an uncommon language that goes thru changes
mistranslations , which re-arranges
an aspect of truth , an aspect love
an aspect of time , an aspect of space
as if fitting a round peg in a square hole
a puzzle piece that just won't go .

symbols and markers ,
are the silent language of the ancients
we just don't hear the wind blowing .


Details | Blank verse | |

Believing is Seeing

All that endures lives in the heart,
Never to be grasped by the hand.
All things we build, we build upon sand;
What labor makes, Time pulls apart,
The toils of one Age end, and Another's start.
Yet from the first our beliefs still stand,
Our principles firm, our passions fanned
Age through Age and Art to Art.
Make what you will; to dust it will come;
The thought behind the deed is what endures.
Craft gives the figures, but Truth adds the sum,
And what cannot be handled keeps itself pure.
Truth, and Love, and Beauty all beat the heart's drum;
What's first believed in is what's seen evermore.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fabel Sixteen

 Fabel Sixteen 
PART ONE
Fabel Sixteen 
 
CharlaX Fables 
 
Famous Charles' 
 
Historic “Charles” 
 
WE now explore the the Charles of HIStory or HiSTORY LOLZX. 
The History of Charles County 
________________________________________ 
Where can you find great seafood, enough history to fill several books, top-flight 
golf, first-class fishing and acres and acres of some of the most beautiful forest 
land on the East Coast?? The answer can be found just eighteen miles south of 
Washington, DC, in Charles County, Maryland -- an area that has become a 
Mecca for heaters and anglers, and a magnet for history buffs and seafood-
lovers .ed.note. This is a love poem of some propulsion to see iff she is looking 
closely at the mee. 
Saint Charles Inn 
The Inn, formerly known as the St. Charles Hotel, was built in 1913 by Mr. and 
Mrs. Charles Barthle. It was widely known for its' hospitality to commuters on the 
Orange Belt Railroad, which came through San Antonio. Many visitors came and 
stayed for the winter season. Word soon spread about the family atmosphere 
and delicious meals prepared from their garden lover. She is so faithful and so 
blessed and gives my heart a rest she loves me best. 
          Charles Demuth (1883-1935) 

                     
"Deem" as some of his friends called him, was born in a Lancaster house on 
North Lime Street. At age 7, he and his family moved to the King Street home 
where he spent most of his lifetime. Demuth's health was frail; from an early age 
he suffered from lameness and as an adult from severe diabetes. He graduated 
from Franklin and Marshall Academy and studied at Drexel Institute and the 
Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelpia.P.A. Lover. She travels hard 
and she has to work too much she needs to rest. 
H 



Details | Free verse | |

Mental victoms part I

Arthur was 16 when he entered the system
i could never ask him why
he was too old when i met him
he was on soo many pills
and not very pleasant to talk to
he heard voices
he would sometimes get up and punch someone
but who knows if they deserved it 
or not
after being in a mental institute
from the age of 16 until the day you die
wouldn't you go crazy

the first real guinea pig
i met him
i never cried for him and his pain
but he always wanted to check my shave,
perhaps a victim from some sick war crime
I'll never know

Graham is not from our country
and I've written amnesty international concerning his welfare
they say its not any of their concern
as he wears shackles and chains on a daily basis
and goes to the bathroom in a diaper and eats cold food like sandwiches
because he hits people
mainly his doctor who lies to him
in my opinion
just like the doctor lied to my dad about me trying to bite him,
but i have no proof
just lucky I'm not in chains 
going to the bathroom in a diaper
I know he committed a crime but two years locked in one room
alone with a window curtain opening and closing to spy on you
is enough psychological insanity to inspire mania if you ask me

Andrew was a crack head
and held up some convenience stores for some money
so he could get drugs
now hes been in the funny farm for like twelve years
still trying to get a hold of his next hit
watching his youth disappear
watching his life fade away
jumping through the hoops of a system that holds your freedom above you
that may or may not ever grant it
Andrew ran away
gave it all he got
saw people chained to the wall
people dieing there from the age of 16 for ridiculous crud
and knew they were toying with him
so he ran away
now he on a unit where god only knows 
what mind hell they're putting him through
what rainbows hes swallowing down

Shelley was the meanest woman i had ever met
but it was always worth seeing her smile
don't know haven't figured out if the drugs really helped her
but she was in that place since she was seventeen
and died in a group home from some sickness 
they claim wasn't related to her meds
I'm no fool, the stuff they pump us full of is deadly and toxic
i never made it to Shelly's funeral to see her murderers 
there crying fake tears
for someone they would never really miss