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.
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right
I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song
True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load
I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should
For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight
He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl
I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better.
The flying sent projections free to see,
from adjunct Astrals singing bold decree.
Perched on Pisces’s cusp, forsaking Plato’s cave,
Puppets casting shadows, chancing me a slave.
They hang from dreams of higher forms, allures
Contempt in self when loving carnal cores.
Haunted by women’s passions kept in Spirits,
Dawns my sleeping stages now inherits
Marionettes aloft eternal twists
of spinning truths with lies recalling trysts.
Killing prone volitions, changing essence.
Chosen starlight’s beings guiding presence.
Upon a love in purest form demands,
Forgotten suicides of ego strands.
Risking Pirsig’s fate in Zen and journey,
Waging sanity, a bounty worthy.
The stringing of my soul and bracing seeks,
A pulling truth beyond this death it speaks.
Alternating stanzas of iambic and trochaic pentameter
As the never world awaits me,
The lord darkness, his cloak now draped.
Haunting images that appear in dreams,
Invade the subconscious, till again I wake
Complative thoughts well before the dawn,
I walk the morning shore,
How many have stood on these same sands,
Reflecting the echoes of those no more.
And still the waves they pound the shore,
Relentless in their quest,
As they crash on the rocks with deafly roar,
White tipped and foaming zest.
Dawn breaks with gilded cotton clouds,
Waiting like courtiers to their king.
Gathering round the sovereign sun,
Bestowing his warmth on everything.
Would that life compare to the shore,
All worries get washed away.
Cares thrown to the four winds,
As on my knees I pray
© N A Windle 2009
You and I would make a terrific poetic pair
Yours all flow free with so much care
Some say an Artistic poet I have become
Jerk then smooth out and hum along.
You to me are like a Robert Frost
While I in my imagination am lost
Being daring yet avoiding a crash
And enjoy humor of Ogden Nash.
Will Rogers is last one I longingly like
Can you imagine if in front of a mike
How impressive he would have been
Through the thick with all of the thin.
So Andrea Dietrich what do you think?
In my poems, help me work out each kink
So mine also for long time each endures
And some day too will be just like yours.
Ream After Ream
What I have written was ream after ream
Of good poems which I rated as supreme
Of such great quality could hardly find
In any imagination of a normal mind.
When I wrote this it was at midnight
After sleeping tow hours with all my might
Suddenly I awoke and each poem was there
Appearing incredible and beyond compare.
Many can't make any sense of them at all
And to others are outrageous or may appall
While I wondered how much effort it took
To arrange poems so they could become a book.
Was struck by awe while my eyes opened wide
My new poems did come out from deep inside
Me, myself and as hard as I definitely did try
Wanted to complete poems before I would die.
For writing my poems, I have this great thirst
And even if it is for better or absolute worst
Every day I keep trying to pave the way
For nice things about my poems thou shalt say.
James Thomas Horn
(Only considered to be
a Viet Nam Era Vet.)
PS. Birth of new ideas.
Previous Poems Protruded
Two previous poems protruded from my mind
Then to many more facts I became resigned
What I had looked for often and found
Is much happiness in those all around.
Lack of love was leading cause of insanity
And it has always been known to all humanity
When it is only my poems which you prefer
This could be know to cause and create a stir.
Poems from God were granted with gratitude
On some parts of bodies have been tattooed
Like good weather which they are forecasting
My poems are appreciated and also everlasting.
With a great memory possessed by your mind
Would you my beloved friend be so kind
After killing and insanity is brought to a halt
Kindly with much pleasure, please pass the salt.
Does this remind you of one of those seagoing movies?
It was something about ten items in the Bible which I
often have a hard time mastering. Jim Horn
Let's bring into this world peace
So all these wars and violence can cease
Let's stop all this hatred
And give the poor and homeless a piece of bread
Let's start by changing us all and right from inside
And letting God be your guide
There's so much we need to change
Even if it looks and sounds strange
We can all start sometime and somewhere
By showing in everything that we do, that we care
Let's be careful in the manner that we speak
Let's be strong and not weak
Let's show this world, that we still stand strong and tall
Let's unite together with courage and tear down every single wall
Let's bring into this world of ours much more love and peace
So a lot of this vicious circle of strife and pain can one day cease
Let's start today and let's do it right from the place in which we live
Let's always be respectful of our neighbors and our fellow man
Let's give the best of ourselves everyday and all the time that we can.
Let's stop this madness and get rid of all these illegal drugs today
They can destroy everything that you have and will kill you too
Make a vow to bring God into your life every single day
And make Him part of everything that you do.
Believe that your life will be more productive and blessed
When you put Him first in every thing
That you set your mind to do when you bring
Him closer and right inside your heart
And from you He shall never depart
So start by doing this and much more
Let's answer the call and open the door
Let's be watchful of everything that we do and say
And let's be thankful and pray to God everyday!
Dorian Petersen Potter
The paper lay flat
on a low reading table,
yet thick in it's pages,
a days worth of fable.
Our library bright with it's
rays to it's sills
and the paper bleached white
with a grey side of gills.
It's HEADLINE in blue
relaxing your eyes.
Large print making stories
seem simpler than size.
Text in black letters;
dragged out into words.
Knowledge you crave for.
Ideas in herds.
News from a paper
pressed for attention.
Left on a table
as though for detention.
What is a dream
if not reality's conceit?
What is reality
if not a shadowy deceit?
The dream circle was unsealed
when we were born
and dream-time filled our lives
from night to early morn.
The circle grew ever wider
in our youthful days of yore
with unbounded dreams of glory
on some far distant shore.
But then the circle tightens
when our days near to a close.
Dreams replace ambitions
as one's mortal body slows.
So our dreams in poems we'll write
hence when we disappear,
we'll leave our mark in some small way
to show that we were here.
And in some far off time we hope
someone will read our verse
and a dream that was a part of us
will shake the universe.
All the little bunnies were lined up for a race. Why, you may ask?
Because the dear old Leader Bunny was stepping down with grace.
He had led the others for years without disgrace, in all pursuits.
He was their advisor, friend, and confidant... solver of disputes.
Such a lofty position was dearly sought by all…from all around.
But he could pick only one to wear that lofty, wonderful crown.
So a race was determined to quickly resolve, the question therein.
And a lovely little laurel crown was offered, to the one who did win.
Now many strategies to win emerged from within the race.
The most common was the notion to set the fastest pace…
A few would use tricks that might hurt, in order to slow others down.
A few were mean, for they wanted the power that comes with the crown.
Two were clever and would catapult each other at the very end.
A few just practiced running to gain the added stamina needed to win.
Only one little rabbit found shoes for the poor, for it was a rocky trail.
And when the race began he helped those hurt in the prevail.
Now the dear old leader had never actually worn a laurel crown.
His had been symbolic; his works had brought him his renown.
When the Leader Bunny gave the laurel crown to he who won the race…
Only a few were surprised, when the little helper won the Leader’s grace…
Though some would go on to complain because he had come in last…
It truly takes someone who knows how to serve, to lead and guide the rest.
But my moral to this story is that…. Regardless what some may think…
It takes compassion to correctly lead…and sometimes the last can be the best…
I shivered and watched him as the snow fell
Frail, tattered clothes, bearded, no shoes, but--smell!
I thought--what a contrast--comparing sights,
But love was a lesson I'd learn that night!
Not from plastic steeples or rhetoric,
Philanthropy or emotional trick...
I would learn to look in my own mirror
For compassion, mercy, empathy--clearer.
This complex multiple of nature lives
In dying daily to Ego-------Forgives!
Then I saw neither black, white, red nor green,
But only insolence and heard him scream:
"Get away from us! You Freak! Reprobate!"
Then with his cane, knocked him down--oh such hate!
Top hat and tails perched with pride by the door
Assisting the dilatant he adored.
Snow was a gossamer curtain all 'round.
Vision obscured even steps on the ground.
Lights came from nowhere as they crossed the street,
Aimed for the dilatant--innocent, sweet.
Watching I saw from the shadows immerge
Sprinting like 'Coldstream Guard'--out past the curb,
That same man, pushing the dilatant fair
Out of harms way as he flew in mid-air.
Emerging unscathed from the ice and snow:
"Who was that man? Tell me! I want to know!"
The crowd huddled 'round like a football team
Gawking with questions of what they had seen.
A donor card was his only ID.
No name--just a wish--was all they could see.
Donor card cashed in...Science and query...
A grave in an obscure cemetery,
With small unadorned head-marker amends:
"Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
*For Michael's "No Names on This Love Contest"
Some lives are like a stone quickly skipping over the ponds top, forever tossed.
My life is below the surface trying to reach upward with each breathe lost.
But there is still beauty, deep down here in the great depths below…
For the solitude holds me in its grip as I dwell with what I know.
My occasional trips to the surface leave me vastly wanting more…
Still, my life below the surface doesn’t scare me as it did, once before.
And the breaths will come when given, as my life continues to flow.
True it is dark but beauty lingers, everywhere the currents move below.
At times, the surface reflections seem surreal, as if it’s a place not to go.
Comfort comes more and more to my soul, as the deeper I glide below.
Here I dwell within myself, with words, and thoughts, that carry me along.
Perhaps I have found where I truly belong, as I sing my siren songs.
"THE whole truth and nothing but the truth"
I have never failed or cheated, on any test I took.
Though I have taken best guesses upon one look,
I know I was a nerd, I read everything in every book.
Maybe that is why now reading is not part of my nook.
Poetry is the only thing I can handle by hook or crook.
I would have to read a recipe if I was going to cook.
Maybe there was one test that I almost failed, I took.
It would have been English, which I passed in a rook.
Now the only thing mostly I read is a manual book.
Except for poetry, which I read out loud, upon my first look,
Not that I am very smart, I guess luck is what I took.
Truth is, if it were not for luck, I would be a closed book.
this was my quest:
Cecilia, how about a truthful question!!!! have you ever totally flunked out on a test, or cheated on a test... I want the whole truth and nothing but the truth, in a poetic way... p.s... make your answer fun as can be... I think limericks, or couplets would do your question perfct..always..pd
When you pluck a flower, the tree remains silent When you remove a leaf, it reposes to relent
When you climb over, it shields When you sever a branch, it yields
When you harvest the fruits, it doesn’t demur When you cut a portion, it doesn’t murmur
When you replant, it don’t quit When you cut the whole tree, it is quiet
For the tree treats you, as its’ master! So your needs, happily it does cater!!
By silence, it symbolizes surrender It silently shows a noble order
The tree, to its’ master, contently admit Like the tree, to your Master, learn to solemnly submit!
Above poem is adapted from the eBook “WHEN DESTINY DATES! AND OTHER POEMS ON LIFE ” by Mr.V.Muthu manickam. Copyright is held by V.Muthu manickam.
When the sun has set like a ball of fire
colors like a funeral pyre
crescent moon in deep blue sky
indigo blue that sears the eye
crickets start their monotonous beat
praying in the sultry heat
hand in hand and heart to heart
infants waken with a start
old man takes his dying breath
soul escapes his body's death
spiders cross doorways with their web
a work of art so filled with dread
the rapping on the midnight door
the ghost who's there was here before
a child cries out, a nightmare dreamed
realities blur and rip the seams
what may appear as solid fusion
is just an agreed upon illusion.
Do you ever think of tomorrow and wish you had a glance?
Tell me if you had a crystal ball would you take a chance?
Do you ever think of yesterday, a song you used to sing?
Embracing all the memories, joy and pain they would bring
In the space of your today, up underneath your skin
Do you find a certain comfort the one that’s born with-in?
There was a time in my life I really couldn’t stand myself
I was so confused as to what a man should hold as wealth
Every life has a turning point as it teeters to and fro
And sometimes it is very hard to know which way to go
There is no way to excuse the choices that I have made
And I’m the one who is to blame for prices I have paid
There is nobody else to blame for the things I’ve done
It was of my free will I chose, not to follow the chosen one
I rode with demons as they laughed and watched the angels cry
Never even once second-guessing or asking myself why
And I used to be a liar I would lie all the time
Was no end to the excuses come out of these lips of mine
But that was many years ago I’m not that man today
You see I found the Lord and got down on my knees to pray
I said, Lord as you know I’ve wasted every bit of my youth
Today what I’m asking of you Lord, please grant me the gift of truth
I figured truth and honesty would be a good place to start
To try and better understand how the bless the human heart
I quickly learned a lesson, a lesson of untold wealth
The trick to being honest is being honest with yourself
For if your honest with yourself to another you can’t lie
And if you just confess everything you have no reason why
My methods may not always appease but know these words are true
Honesty is the motivating factor behind everything I do
And everybody knows it they don’t even question why
They know I would have lied about myself if I were going to lie
And the reason that I know this I’m very proud to say
Is by the comments left to me just the other day
I just wanted thank everyone for their supportive
comments the other day. You have became such
an important part of my day I would be lost with
out you guys, God bless, MJ
It is not what I see but how I feel
It is through expression that bad times heal
Not true for all but certainly for me
We can not forge someone we were never meant to be
Moving a rock that will never budge
He did not put me in any position to ever judge
Our path is our own
In company or alone
There is or there isn’t that’s is your choice
Ignorance will never drown your voice
You will find your way just as it was meant to be
This is the Gospel according to me
The dead and all they own lie in their box alone
Covered by sod under the grass beneath their cold gray stones.
As they lie in the endless dark rotten of meat and bone,
Free of pain and hate and greed their spirit forever gone.
I ask if the dead are lonely? Do their ghostly spirits roam?
Do some dance in glory before the Master's throne?
Why do we rail our graveyards? Dead can neither walk or run.
While the living find no reason to never again see the sun.
There seem so many among us rotten of spirit and soul
I pray for them to find their way before their spirits go.
For when the box lid slams there is naught left to chance.
The sharpness of one's faith will punch a ticket for the dance.
Gazing on the meadow, glowing all a bright with flowers,
I fail to see a blossom wasn’t nurtured by spring showers.
Colors envelop this small world, and none the better be.
We all behold the beauty, as far as eyes can see.
But, for some ugly reason, as some glare upon this planet,
They try to conjure reasons why God placed some people on it.
Let me cut right to the chase, each and every human face
Has a right to their own place, as flowers of the human race.
Looking at the Milky Way, I know I am far,
far from the high way, I left and you are.
I, for once should have known, the ride and the drift,
cause by what you have shown, be no voyage so swift.
Now that I could touch the dazzling stars you gaze,
should I paint a nebular without the scars of your face?
With a stargazer shining through your hair,
that waves across the universe blown by air.
My senses frozen, my soul feather light,
I feel slow motion, swimming in aurora at night.
Gently thinking, how shall I do it right
to rise knowing, I am your white knight.
When all the black holes vanish or die,
should I unfreeze my senses and fly,
to earth you never said me goodbye,
and show you what I painted in the sky.
How often do you visit the Library? And what do you see?
I see oceans and seas of books plus a homeless man doing zzz’s..
He’d apparently been reading before, he fell deep asleep.
He can stay there, they say, as long as he doesn’t lie down to sleep.
Sitting up is OK and of course, as long as he doesn’t create a scene.
He’s kind and gracious and a little strange but can debate any role
When he walked over, we had a talk about the devil verses mind control.
Without asking, what he really wanted was someone to buy him lunch.
There’s a McDonalds two doors down from where we were bunched.
I don’t know what I expected when he woke up and looked around.
But when I asked if he was homeless he wasn’t fazed at all.
Yes, I have been for a while, he said, but my boat will soon come in.
And I realized the library is a warm, safe place to relax and to be.
And the librarians seem content to just let him be.
In the end, I was sorry I couldn’t buy him that lunch.
But recently, my abilities to do so had become a little stretched.
I used to buy the books I read… now the library is more my taste.
I just hope if it comes to that… he’ll graciously share this place.
The library even has computers from where you could write.
And the people there are varied and really rather kind.
I’m on the edge but whole family’s once prosperous are already there.
Cheap hotel rooms in even cheaper hotels, once skirted are full.
The jobs don’t pay for anything more. They are: Bitter, Disgruntled, Lost.
Needed are better and more jobs to re-establish the American Dream.
To give them some hope so they can go back there again…
And don’t just act toward them… like they’re your library man…
Give them back their American Dream as best you can.
Voice of Reason Contest
All we are is all we are meant to be.
The sooner you stop wanting more, the happier you will be.
Oh please don't use the never word
The thought of it is quite absurd
To never having loved at all
Into his arms you may not fall
Instead please say "you can", "you will"
Loves sweet journey is such a thrill
For if you say you never will
Your void in life will never fill...
Why should I care if sharing my truth causes offense?
In a world of shadow, is it not the one worthwhile defense?
For the Couplets Contest.
Always pulling rabbits
From the bottom of my hat,
Always looking forwards,
Never looking back.
Like to keep you laughing,
Laughing through the night,
Keeps our broken hearts at bay,
Hidden from the light.
more of my poems at: http://labyrinthoflies.com
No valentine on Valentine's.
I haven't met one yet.
Each year I wait another
for a person I've not met.
There's nothing I've done wrong:
yet waiting is in vain.
And all that's left is hope
that love's a ball and chain.
Separation makes your heart grow fonder,
whether it's hours apart or a need to wander.
contest entry for SUCCINCT
Intuition has a forceful voice
It speaks aloud, though makes no noise
No fear, no anger, not hot nor cold
A spiritual encounter within the soul.
Instinct walks a different plain
An experience related, alert refrain
Fear or joy might mark its course
Sharp hidden probes might give it force.
The mental is the strongest link
It controls and rules the way we think
Thought tries to oust out all the rest
It attempts to enforce, what it thinks best.
Emotion’s the spontaneous part
No grid, no goals, no weather charts
If in need to cry, to laugh, or scold
It frees itself from the mental mould.
The physical is oft the one deprived
For the mental takes it for a ride
Don’t drink nor eat, no time to sleep,
All bodily needs are trite and weak.
Life could be a kinder friend
If we’d but listen, and not pretend.
For our pieces should all synchronize
One can’t undermine, the other’s size.
True joy is to hold a newborn child
Their God's gift to make you smile
you'll never find more earthly worth
then two souls joining who give birth
Grandpa's pride and Grandma's idle
for these new parents it's their child
To hold, love, teach, nurture and guide
They do it all with a smile and pride
All of the fear, worry, happiness and joy
Unequaled by any store bought toy
The richest people, you'll see around
Are playing with children on the ground
Long life, for a child, to breath earths fresh air
Hear the echo, as all repeat the same prayer
Contest entry for "Children in rhtme"