Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.
Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.
This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.
This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.
This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.
This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.
This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.
My sizzling flame has faded in the midst of Summer's embrace
and taken my virgin flower of delicately woven lace
In subtle shadows and fading light
silently in bewilderment I crumble without sight
For each year of happiness and silver dream abound
now a resonating memory silent without a sound
As I walk the cobble stone path where our days had found no end
I raise my arms above and pray for this love to mend
If only a God-sent chance should fall my weary way
this love I would cherish endless with each passing day
In subtle shadows and fading light
each memory of you held forever in soft moonlight
There's a bench at the high school where I graduated
The wood is cracked, chipped and all weather faded
But in its prime, there each morning faces smiled hello greetings
And was always the agreed upon place, for after school meetings
Many then, lovers initials are carved upon her wood
Though young love didn't last like we thought it could
Also, many peace signs and let's stop Vietnam
Even, one I love John Denver and a, I rule at pac man
Under her bottom is petrified gum of every flavor
Stuck there, because gum in class was considered bad behavior
Like some people need but one name to be known
The Bench, was like a city of its very own....
Originally posted 3-19-2013, On A Bench Contest
In moments when the twilight sparks
To gently flare as dark embarks,
Tender comes eve swinging a hum
While air-brushed clouds, on flight, succumb.
Yet, through the lull of sky, I hear
Their voices billow quite unclear
Whispering mildly, still I know
Those refrains from seasons ago.
Somehow, before the call of morn
When foggy mist glides on hawthorns,
And daybreak hails a new sunset
I trace past journeys now at rest.
Amidst the quiver of my dreams,
Beloved voices float midstream
On to pathways that bless each name;
Marked deeply in my soul, aflame.
Andrea Dietrich's Let's Get Technical Contest
At awe by my mothers beautiful mind,
when it came to writing I always felt so blind.
Literature class advised us to write,
for the first time I did not feel bright.
Sneak a poem of my mothers i did,
boy did I feel like a little kid.
Praise my teacher gave me for such a lovely write,
my mind here and there like a kite.
Lucky me open house was here,
the poem posted on the class wall had me at fear.
Suggesting my parents to skip that class,
trying to avoid the coming sass.
She read it and thought to herself that it was idolized,
her eyes got big as she realized.
Quiet she kept as she knew how embarrassed I was,
of course it gave her a buzz.
It was cause of that day we look back,
and my mom gave me some slack.
She later taught me it's as simple as rhyming,
and with the emotions I have priming.
I was fascinated by frogs, dinosaurs, and outer space.
Comic books, video games, and fast cars to race.
I got my clean clothes dirty and skinned my knees.
I spent my afternoons climbing high up in the trees.
Came home from the playground with shoes full of sand.
Went fishing, and held up my catch with my bare hand.
I would get on my rusty, blue bike and ride to the park.
Where we played games of tag or catch almost until dark.
After school, I would go play baseball with the boys.
Then, stay up late, listening to music and make noise.
My homework sat in my backpack and never got done.
I was too preoccupied with finding adventure and having fun.
I was the tomboy that liked building Lego block walls.
I was also a girl who played with pretty Barbie dolls.
Richard Lamoureux's Gender Bender Contest
Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,
except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy
Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.
We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.
From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.
Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.
To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.
The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.
Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.
When I closed my eyes and fell asleep in the premature hours of dawn
I never dreamed Your face would be
The next I’d look upon
My vehicle came to rest against the square concrete pylon
And those who found me declared to all
“It appears as though he’s gone”
They said I had the look of peace upon my face so fair
And in my lap my hands were laid
As if God placed them there
Just underneath those hands of mine my Gummy Bears were found
How is it that they rested there
And were not tossed around
You chose for me the greatest dad and mother one could have
And my sister; she’s so beautiful
Will you hold her for me Dad
For all of those that knew me knew how much I loved the game
But they also knew I loved you Lord
And someday you’d call my name
I’m grateful that I prayed the prayer to receive you in my heart
Now I know for sure that heaven is real
And we two shall never part
My final game was played that day as I heard you say “well done”
I ran into my dwelling place
Where I’m truly “safe at home”
Dedicated to RJ Ledesma jr who was called from this earth much to soon. May you rest in the Lord's care till we see you again. October 29, 1992 - September 24, 2011
It seems ages since we met over your long, golden hair
an hour glass on the table keeping the meter.
It seems like too many dress up doll days when we played
take me to the river but don’t get our feet wet.
It seems we lost our inner selves painting our faces
painting our nails, singing karaoke at the bars.
Oh, to regain those lost years of our youth, unwrinkled skin
turn back all the pages, like winding gold on a spindle.
Instead we have just leaves, grieves, and grandchildren
with their laser guns, plastic skin and smug attitudes.
They never challenged gamey little midgets with foul intent
they had us to pad them safely with money, love and scent.
Dear Rapunzel, do please let your hair down one more time
and play climb out of the cellar and up the apple tree with me.
Signed Your Dearest Play Mate.
Living day in
Living day out
Working as hard as I can
To get money to pay the bills
Searching for food for the family
Trying to get through the day
As best as I can
All it matters
Is to get some money
To be able to not to think
How am I supposed to support?
My kids, my husband, and I
It all hits me like rain pounding the roof
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Going down hills
Going up hills
Having great times
And some bad times
You think your life should be easy
It is not supposed to be
Life is difficult for a reason
*MAKE LIFE WHAT YOU WANT IT TO BE. LIVE EACH DAY, THE BEST WAY YOU CAN, LIFE GOES ON UNTIL YOUDIE. BE HAPPY BECAUSE YOU CAN DIE ANY MINUTE NOW. SO LIVE IT UP!!!
Copyright © 2013
Skittles and a soda
against a gun in its holster?
One day that scream
will be known as a teen
not a heinous lying Fein
What a sinister ploy and twist
with a loaded gun and no fist?
Had everyone sitting and waiting
doomed by a verdict just delaying
Was this just an optical illusion
or, a devious planned conclusion?
Now, this generation too afraid
wearing hoodies will get you dead
But, the Klan was still glad
hoodies they've always had
A verdict they too saw,
ushering in martial law
My sister wrote a poem for me
Of christmass's gone and past
The time that was so special
We thought would last and last
The time is always changing
And we all know this is true
And things are not the same for us
So what are we to do?
We take the precious moments
That we shared some years ago
And know we will always have them
And never let them go
For no one can take the memories
That we hold oh so dear
As long as we could remember
And so how much we care
My arms are empty my heart in such pain
For I know that I may never ever see you again
That mother’s love so strong, gentle and true
Has to be put aside, forgotten in favour of you
Who knows how long this sadness will last?
Will I ever recover and get over the past?
My prayer is fervent and is always the same
That you be cherished protected this is my aim
It was different up to the very day you were born
I had made up my mind and had always sworn
We would stay close together whatever the cost
But I looked into your face and was immediately lost
You deserved better than me and my rebellious boy
We prepared for you as if you were a living small toy
Reality changed the moment I held you so close
I knew then and there that I did not have a choice
And so we said our goodbyes that cold winter day
I cried so many tears that I struggled to find my way
Out of the refuge into the wide world once more
Your loss to remain with me an open weeping sore
But my awful sadness became someone else’s true gain
My sacrifice made sure two strangers would forever remain
In my debt grateful to me for the selfless gift I had made
This knowledge alone helped make my deep sorrow fade
What of the future who knows what life may bring?
Perhaps a connection that will make my heart sing
For whatever the heartache, the trauma and pain
It is as mother and daughter we will forever remain
©Copyright Dilys Brown 3rd September 2013
The lonely street stood still in the night,
Buildings grew tall all around with dim light.
Sound of my steps echoing in the alleys,
The air is moist like a mountain valley.
A bright neon light a few blocks away,
With a beer and an arrow pointing that way.
A few cars lined up beside the street,
I work my way through them not to discrete.
I walk up to the door with my collar pulled high,
The cold air chills me, as a taxi rides by.
Thumping of music can be heard from behind the door,
Some kind of music that I've never heard before.
A slight push on the door opens to a big room,
Louder now I heard sounds and the smell of perfume.
Smell of smoke and alcohol fills my lungs,
So thick is the smoke, my eyes burn and stung.
My eyesight dances across the room that's filled with so many,
I hear a man ask his waitress if she has change for a twenty.
I can see the bar all the way in the back.
With a lot of alcohol and a huge wine rack.
This was what I saw when I went out that night to the bar,
People gather and have fun in a place called The North Starr.
Enchanted magic beans,
They were always enchanted to me.
Worth their weight in gold,
They never ever got old.
Some people would complain,
Some would look at them with disdain,
But magic beans meant the world to me,
They brought me warmth and satiety.
When you were of little means,
Your mind had to spark with creativity.
You could not always expect the next best thing,
Avoiding magic beans like a bee sting.
My mom would bring home our magic beans,
She would then drop them into the swirling seas.
She stirred them in a cauldron boiling hot,
I then waited for my sustenance cooking in the pot.
Today I still gather magic beans,
Even though I am no longer of little means.
The happy memories come flooding back,
As I pour magic beans from their overflowing sack.
January 16, 2015
Wow!... words cannot express,
Such beauty, such finesse.
The shape and color of those eyes,
No description will suffice.
Just like wine, you're finer when older,
And beauty to the eye of every beholder.
©2013 Honestly JT
This summer morn I silently slip very close to shore,
With every paddle pull I'm drawn to many years before.
June, 11, 2013
My old home town, 12 years old and playing in the hay
preparing feed as I waited for sunrise, that fateful day
The suns warm rays broke the dark crispness of my world
Just as if windblown leafs, the rays of light began to whorl
It nudged life, to wake from sleep, on this November day
Then painted my world in colors, instead of moonlit gray
Thankful to see the sun, tend animals, I didn’t disobey
I cleaned up, caught the bus, to learn at school this day
A simple, wonderful life, in a world that's about to change
As we listened, we learned our ideas aren't so strange
My teacher's and classes are great but, I must confess
we'd see movies, even watch TV, but not to an excess
After lunch I had history, maybe he had a movie to see
But, in class he looked sad as I heard the intercom key
"Our President has been shot, teachers turn on your TV"
As we watched tears flowed, it wasn't a movie we'd see
Learning of fear, uncertainty, hope and prayer I bereave
That life is like a roller coaster, on this day, as we grieve
My world and life changed this day, seeing life so brutal
Was it pointless to live free, an effort seemingly so futile?
I struggled with this many years, then in 1969, I choose
It's better to die free, than live in fear of what you oppose
A fragment of my life.
Started writing this for Broken Wings contest
but, I lost track of time
I was thinking of buying a new house
So I’m here with my son and his spouse
Sitting outback looking up to the sky
Hoping to see something go bye
Wishing for a sign to see
Something from my wife to me
To move into an empty and cold house
I would leave behind memories of my spouse
I don’t want to leave those memories behind
More memories in the house then in my mind
When my kids were small
They would play and mark up a wall
I see memories on every wall
Where my wife painted over marks from a ball
A memory in every room
Some good some with a little gloom
It’s something that will always be
Even the gloom is a memory to me
It seems I wanted too much:
or may be just a touch.
May be a little bit more:
happiness with the one I adore.
May be a good morning kiss,
or sweet words: “My honey I miss”.
It seems I wanted too much:
to be happy as such,
to fly in the sky like a bird,
to be understood without a second word,
to listen to the songs of my Lord,
to give a smile and behave like a child.
It seems I wanted too much:
to live without any mistakes,
without any heart breaks.
I wanted my soul not to be cold,
to live without any storms,
to feel your heart warmth.
It seems I wanted too much:
to turn into a dove,
to swim on the waves of love,
to meet with you every dawn,
to have the wings of a swan
and never be alone.
It seems I wanted too much...
Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The city streets are littered with sodden remnants of fall,
a chilling wind moans low between brick walls;
my vacant arms enfold my shivering form
to shield a heart grown weary of the storm.
There is a melancholy feeling to damp leaves upon the way
as though some precious spirit has packed and moved away.
The sidewalk's sheeted puddles reflect the faces that I love
peering through the golden ramparts in God's city up above.
I bend beneath the streetlamp where my face with theirs' will blend
remembering us together the way it will be in the end.
November 12, 2014
Memories haven’t blurred
Of how we were once love birds
And sat here together
In good and foul weather.
And of how the ones more bold
In ultimate pleasure rolled
In this coarse garden bench
With some cheap paid-for wench.
And of how after they left
Someone slept after a theft
Or a beggar for a night
Lay here and forgot his plight.
21 Mar 13.
I keep you—you and all things you—behind this wooden locked door.
But still, your shadow: through the gap below, escapes; painted all over the floor.
That door stares and stares at me for days, weeks, months, years in vain;
For I truly dare not even touch that gilded, rust-eaten key again.
From there, I hear your screams as if you were declaring the next World War,
And truth be told—for no lies would suffice, it scares me to my deepest core.
From the gap below I see flickering lights, hear metallic sounds of rustling chains;
I see seeping from below unrestrained laughter, like puddles formed when it rains.
And often too, I find blood pooling underneath: rose syrup generously poured.
(Though I always stand there and stare—I don’t know what I’m waiting for.)
After a while, I noticed a curious thing: my hand, on the wood, it has left a stain;
Obscure, it was nonetheless there. I still see it with bare eyes, slightly strained.
Hey, you know, it has been coming to me lately; the monster that stomps and roars.
Trembling at first, I will be alright, for I remember: “Lock the door and count to four!”
And there it comes for its daily visit and find me it will. But fear not, dear; for I'd fain
Suffer this than to open the door and let you, too, be devoured again by Pain.
My heart stopped as you took my breath away
You are the brightest part of every day
Years do not matter you are still sublime
The best part off life is that you are mine
I possess you but not in a bad way
It is our dance a game that we both play
I live in a dream with you in my arms
I will never be immune to your charms
I feel the beat of your glorious heart
I continue to explore every part
You are the one who wipes away my tears
You kept your promise to always be here
I soak you up within my whole being
So satisfied with what I am feeling
So now when I laugh it shows in my eyes
The essence of me has been realized
The heart that you stopped is beating strong
I am so thankful that you came along
My mind calls attention to where I've been,
When I was alive in that lion's den.
Summer breeze on a winter's day,
That memory won't fade away.
Yeah, I know these skies are gray;
I pray, we don't press replay.
©2014 Honestly JT
Most days I go to the beach. I like to sit
in the warm sand and watch the waves.
Like a parking lot, the beach is heaving
with day trippers who have come to play.
Mostly I like to watch the body surfers,
as they maneuver and swim out brave.
I have known this rush of speed and foam
crashing over the tops of breaking waves.
But lately I prefer to sit and breathe,
and catch some whiffs of my long lost days.
I'm all alone as I sit here in my room
And think of all the special memories
And the times when it was just me and you
I laugh to myself when I think of the crazy things we used to do
Sometimes i laugh outloud and sometimes i shed a tear
Not a tear of sadness but of the memories that are so dear
I know some day the time will come
When we are all together again
So I'll just sit here quitely and say a prayer till then
If I feel your heavenly touch in the flutter of a swan
You will know that my passion for you has never been withdrawn
If I see your sweet face in the blue sea we traveled upon
Such magic will just come in the most colorful hues of dawn
If I feel the spray of waves when I climb out on the jetty
I’ll sense the passion of your kiss when all cares did seem petty
If I wade into the sea, I’ll remember our last Christmas
The wading boots I bought you to fish filled you with so much bliss
If I leave footprints in the sand, I’ll recall days at the beach
When the warm, bright rays of a summer sun caused our hair to bleach
If I hear your gentle voice in limbs rustling through the forest
I’ll remember hearing you say, “Nature’s the premier florist”
If my eyes fill with tears as I recall your great loyalty
I’ll remember your strong intelligence; you seemed like royalty
If I sense your presence accompanying me as I walk
I’ll miss the sound of your deep voice and recall each time we’d talk
If our song is played on the radio, I’ll miss you even more
“Without You” by Nilsson recalls the sad day life shut the door
And if I meet you again in the blessings of afterlife
I’ll see your sterling-blue eyes and hear words that made me your wife
Written Monday, 3/23/14
Sweet short round sadness in the mirror may grow;
He writes her name twice on the mind`s first snow;
It is the moment to find a joke and make her laugh;
If he holds his dreams and her hands ,that`s enough;
A smile of the kidness with each cup of tea, and soon
As brought by Fancy`s Fairy in the blond afternoon,
The taste of honey mealt in bitterness of broken glass;
The subtle drums in his ears violently might surpass
The horses`galoop at the purple banks of his veins ;
From the green empire, where eternal spring reigns
The romp`s steps of imagery in the Plato`s realm
Composing an ode of joy or a long lasting psalm:
Child dancing, playing with the joyous rain,
Like Narcissus at the sides of the fountain.
That parfume of violets :her hair and her eyes
Tactile, fragile china, cold glass solitude lies
In their unwritten novel: everybody may choose
The thrill of dancing among the Greek statues;
The rustling of the two doves following Love`s call
In the hand of Light,with overflown tumult in one soul.
The step towards his heart and quickly her stop;
Without the slightest hesitation, all muscles hope
Ready to caught a falling star still hoping
The crystalline tear prolonged dropping
Transformed in advancing recollections through:
Two masters of slaves and two slaves ,thus sum two.
~ Memory Or lack Of
Memories are so important, but I can’t remember mine,
I knew I had some once, once upon a time.
I go up the stairs and then I turn back,
Was I going up or down, now I’ve lost track.
Where did I put it, that thing, you know what,
Oh blast I’ve forgotten what it was, or was not.
I look in the fridge and find my teapot,
So where is the milk, oh I know I’ve forgot.
Do I know you stood there, knocking at my door,
Oh yes you’re my son, I knew I’d seen you before,
Why didn’t you walk in, why do you knock?
Oh I locked up son, I’m sorry I forgot.
What are you doing there six foot three tall,
This morning you left you were really quite small.
Is it you or is it me my memory is shot
Oh now I remember it’s me, I forgot.