"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?
My child, it is I who will walk with you! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth. Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You ran to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles and tribulations. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak.
God, are you a dream of beauty? The holy book.
My preacher spoke of the afterlife, calling it paradise.
I remember now, I felt this company once before, this light.
Many times, I forsake the light and still you never left my door.
I felt it on the day I was born,
the day I became baptized in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it once more?
Lord pleases clarify the day I fell down to my knees, accepted Jesus as my savior?
On that day, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my failures’.
Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road. This light never left you.
My sweet child did you not listen,
Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible.
My child, you were not searching for the right answers.
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself,
I always answered even when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your soul's disguises.
Lord, I have other questions to ask.
What should I expect out of my personal sins?
My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence--
How is it that I am in your promise land?
Getting right with me has brought you here!
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A
Ozzie and Ben
sitting at the picnic table
as sunshine danced on the board
chess match underway
lasted all day, every day
till knights and pawns cast long shadows
elders’ eyes straining
they would bid farewell
violet sunsets escorted them home
many stories they shared
some repeated, but neither cared
one brisk fall morning
Ben waited for his friend
hours on end
until the orb began to sink
fading light from the spectral sunset
an usher of regret
Ben sauntered past Ozzie's home
black wreath on the door, a herald of loss
Ben cast chess pieces on the street
no longer wanted to compete
after that day
Ben’s zest for life faded away
sun made its daily journey across the sky
but Ben rarely rose from his bed
twilight hours found him there still
recounting the past
tales he and Ozzie had told
in his mind never grew old
Ben realized the sun would continue on
although he could not do the same
memories locked within his heart
shadowed recollections of a fallen chess king
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire
Too hard for me to say goodbye
For all apparent reasons why
Even though we all know it must be
Each heart will someday stop the beat
When the rhythm of life, and silence, finally meet
Yet I always seem so surprised
To find that death is part of life
Knowing that regret, will now haunt my every rhyme
The specter called "if only", will inhabit every line.
Wish I could arbitrate a deal to have gained a little time
Just one more talk with Sissy, to ease my guilty mind.
And the sun now sets on my regrets
I gamble on time and lose each bet
Thinking I'll move on and yet,
here I set . . .
Wishing for one more time
One more pun
One more smile
That will never come
If I could just recall the things you said that mattered to you most.
Memories un memorized
That now I'll never know
Years of conversation when I didn't pay attention
Times I should have said I love you
And somehow failed to mention
Then when you tried to tell me you felt your time was drawing near
Your selfish little brother pretended not to hear.
Even when you did your best, and tried to let me know
You'd made your peace and you were ready, and that for you . . .
It was simply time to go
Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw
Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....
Copyright © EMMANUEL SAMSON
Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is still sleeping
Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is off dreaming
Shh!! Mommy, before you wake her: “My baby sister!”
Now look what you have done, you gone and woke her!
Please, mommy do not tell her what you expect and will concur.
She is silently listening to the unique secret found in every waking minute.
Making movements, imposing that her dreams come with no limit.
Shh!! Mommy, she is dreaming again,
Waiting for another day to end,
Hasting the way you count every minute before she arrives.
Shh!! Mommy, she is not ready yet.
She told me a secret when I press my ear near your nest.
She is hesitating the moment for you to hear her newborn cries.
She is not ready for you to count her fingers and look into her eyes.
She likes it in your womb where it is nice and warm.
She is in a dream protected by a place where angels swarm.
Mommy I fell asleep when you sang that beautiful lullaby..
Mommy, mommy, I’m ready to see her: “My baby sister!”
I want to play with her- Is she everything we dreamed of.
I’m sorry mommy, I do not understand why you cry!
I was not there when the angels woke her without saying goodbye.
Mommy, why did God call and take her home?
Mommy, I am still here, please do not feel alone.
Shh!! Mommy, do not cry no more.
Mommy, please wipe those tears and show me how to be brave.
Mommy, stop, listen, and feel her smile and wave.
She will always listen, when you visit her grave.
Hi, mommy, why don't you stand by her grave anymore?
Mommy, I see you weep no more.
Mommy is she no longer asleep nor in dreams?
Is she in a better land with no trials and deems?
Mommy, now I see everyone’s heart is clear, and no longer stillborn.
Mommy, now life must go on, and in it, we will always have time to mourn.
One more thing, mommy thank you for holding my hand,
I am just a sibling, who needed time to understand.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A
Go now, rest your weary heart.
Against the soft moonlit night.
Walk into the valley of peace and tranquility.
Loosen those chains that bind your soul.
Let them fall to the ground, never look back.
Let the veil of time lift you up.
As the last breath of life seeps from your lips.
Float out of this world and into the light.
Through the veil of time, go now, no time to wait.
For now you are free, free to be who you really are.
Imagine you flying against the golden sun.
Fly with the spirits who light the nights.
Go now to the world beyond time.
Worn out with lost dreams are you.
Go now and let them come true.
Set yourself free from these bones.
Feb. 29th 2012 leap year
Copyright © Debbie Duncan
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg
A Past Life – The Mayan Warrior Princess
In eerie recurring dreams, like things seen dimly before dawn,
Blurred snapshots of memories at a temple pyramid resurface from a time long
My ancient soul trapped between two strikingly different worlds,
One new - the other centuries old,
Reminding me that I have been here before,
And of that I am absolutely sure.
Familiar faces, smells, sounds, and scenes from a past life I see,
Persistent recollections of my life at Piedras Negras continue to endlessly haunt
Conjuring up images of the Lady K’abel, Mayan warrior princess, I used to be.
I am time’s reluctant prisoner, and I sense it will never ever set me free.
In a foggy haze, like a sleepwalker in sluggish slow motion,
Body painted cobalt blue, I am made ready for my heavenly redeeming mission.
Midnight velvet hair flowing, I lie on an already red bloodstained stone altar,
As temple priests prepare me for the sacred sacrificial slaughter.
Piously chanting their practiced prayers in unison,
They adulate the gracious gods for a new divine king’s ascension.
The sharp knife swiftly pierces my sweating feverish virgin skin,
But reliving this scene countless times before, I no longer feel pain or anything.
And as the universe greedily grasps my restless soul, I float into welcomed
Knowing that the harvest will be renewed, and ultimately, I will be reborn.
Please Note: This poem is dedicated to my maternal great
grandmother who was Mayan. The Piedras Negras, mentioned above, was a
thriving Mayan city-state in Guatemala, Central America, from about mid-7th
century BC to about 850 AD. While this site is considered remote, during my
childhood, I visited frequently with family who still live in this fascinating region.
When I visit, I am completely at home and the experiences are amazingly
mystical. Piedras Negras means "black stones" in Spanish. The name in the
language of the Classic Maya has been read in Maya inscriptions as Yo'k'ib',
meaning "great gateway" or "entrance."
Entered in contest, "Past Lives" sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire (6-25-2014)
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez
Here in the final pages of her life
She stops to rest a spell on empty lines
Reflecting on the chapters left behind
In valleys of a mind deep in contrite
Where shadows battle with a blinding light
Conflicting egos fighting on through time
Their argument life’s reason and life’s rhyme
They battle for the end that she must write
Two equal pens held tightly in her hand
Tears mingle with the ink spots on the page
One pen telling truth one pen telling lies
Her bleeding words like footprints in the sand
On lines between a novice and a sage
One pen she puts to death before she dies
Author: Elaine George
Written: April 20th, 2014
For Miltonic Sonnet Contest sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Awarded: First Place
Copyright © Elaine George
What smug pseudomorph inhabits my reflection,
adroitly mimicking my every manner and expression,
mercilessly mocking me with flawless simulation?
She is the great pretender;
a master counterfeiter;
a furtive opportunist;
a thieving imitator.
She is a soul-sucking demon of the gravest degree;
a predatory parasite dining on youth and ingeny.
She pillages my health with brazen meretricity;
siphoning my precious hollow of vitality.
Time ticks across my aging face
while our eyes lock in defiance,
and in the end, my spurious friend
will demand my full compliance.
So, with a twinkling eye I wink at my mirrored facade,
acknowledging this fearsome foe with a playful nod.
Respectfully reciprocal, she gestures back to me in kind,
and we part as esteemed enemies, to my last breath resigned.
Copyright © Thvia Shetley
Like the sun awakened, from slumber grey
Blessing every tortured fray
embraced my soul, your glorious gaze
and set my lonely heart ablaze
like the sun amass a brand new morn
upon your whispered wind was born
our love, till endless ages sworn
like sun enveloped, rainy days
you devoured all my hopeless haze…
and since dost now my heart amaze
with joy and laughter, lifes’ rephrase
but like the sun,twas time to set,
now life dost seem just wretched fret
sunless days chase moonless night
drifting along alas lonely plight
A Godly gift you were to thee
rewarding every desperate plea
now I must sail amidst raging sea
blind to hithers destiny.
But I shall rise above the moon
Amidst the troubled waters swoon
For love like ours it strengthens mast
To ride relenting waters vast
Till time dost ask for my return
To the place my tethered soul doth yearn
And all my cares shall be set free
your womb my love this soul shall flee
where thine was always meant to be
in Heavens Grace… Eternally
Copyright © Bernard Colasurdo
Tell me why, but tell me True-
Spare me the heartbreak of a Lie
I would lay forever in these meadows...
Forever, until I die!
To rid myself of all the Pain,
And the Sorrows of what I feel
To ease my Mind, my worried Brain
(Lord! The Cuts! I need to heal)
*Referring to my problems with "Borderline Personality Disorder"; many of us are "cutters"
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet
I have found myself at the threshold of death on several occasions. Each time I managed to
look it in the eye, doff my hat and say, “I’ll catch you up the trail.” This is not to say that I
am some special breed of hombre that casually defies death, for there have been many who
have gone the way before me and managed the confrontation in heroic decorum.
Nevertheless, death is not some evil state of being that only the brilliant or daring may defy;
nor is it a release from the severity of life. If anything, death is the threshold of eternity. Life
provides all known qualities, conditions, trials and tribulations that we encounter throughout
the fruition of our purpose.
Oh, death is not the enemy, for life provides our foes,
The ills, disease and suffering… the countless other woes;
For this is as it was ordained since Earth was yet to be,
When life evolved on other planes, the eye will never see.
We all embrace our time and grow in body, mind and soul.
We foster wisdom, strength and faith, fulfilling every role.
Prepared or not, the time will come, our form will waste away,
While life goes on, as is ordained by He who plans the way.
No, death is not the enemy, an end that one should fear.
It’s but a threshold for the soul to doff its mortal gear,
While life transcends its bond with Man to dwell forevermore
With He, whose force conceived all life and is its very core.
Copyright © Jim Fish
Birth begins the tragedy in us. Life's
First sound is a blank scream
Against sorrow's hidden portends of strifes
All we know are mirages and dream.
Mother took the news staring at the sky
She must have cried inside
For I have no evidence else. There's no why
For it ... how my rage defied
Her callous front ... he was her first boy
The only hero she spoke well
Of, his name was the formula for joy
In our house: anecdotes tell
Of his escapades ... youth defying fate
He had a cat's tenacity for life
And from evil wills found a golden gate
Of scholarship and exotic wife.
I remember when the years pulled him back
All he came with was a bag
Of books, and a couple suits in novel sack
His eyes time warped, a lag
Of missing years and loneliness enfolding him
But he was handsome still
And my soul cartwheeled at joy's fresh brim
Those moments that he filled
When eyes first contact spelled pride to claim
This aristocrat like a medal
I could wear. So young he was, her true flame
The son of love's sweet recital!
And many days sitting in his shadow, I heard
Him dream big things like stars
Far away, warm things like a fluttering bird
Things made bright to cover scars
In the sore of memory. His mind was his cliff
A risky place in the high winds
And closer to the edge for the Grail he'd drift
O how the giddy world spins!
He died in Kingston: William came and went
And my mother looked at the sky
But until she died, about his memory was silent
And I forever wonder why.
I loved him, you know, he was the first best thing
A poor child had to claim or show
The world ... with him I was no more common. A king
He made me in his gold of glow
Something that I looked forward to meet in me. I,
Like mother, been silence since
But sometimes my heart just heave and would cry
For time this love cannot rinse
And I that moment cannot comprehend, that death
Gave no notice to his lauded day
And like common dust on a wild wind's balmy breath
My brother was swiftly swept away.
Copyright © L'nass Shango
To the peak we must climb
There to seek end of time.
*After life and death....eternity
** In eternity there is no time.
Author: Paul Callus ~ 12th October 2014
Contest: In its Essence
[The Essence form contains both internal and end rhymes.]
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Copyright © Paul Callus
I have hid my heart,
Within a prison cell,
Dark and cold,
Whose key, only you hold.
I have buried my memories,
Within the chasms of time,
None is bare,
Those secrets, only you and I
From thenceforth do we part,
From light and into darkness
do I tarry,
E'en to the close of my time.
The memory of you, doth
E'en as the flowers, sprout on
And as the sun, doth shine,
E'en on the viper,
So I, e'en through the curse of
E'en to the sunset of my life,
These memories, a constant
Copyright © Marugu Mo
High upon the highest heights
I see the most tremulous sight
A small girl, fair and tranquil
Smiling strangely, sitting still
Beneath a sobbing willow tree
She recites a verse upon her knee
She sings a rhythmic hymn
Not of death, nothing grim
But prays that life will return
Even for those who are doomed to burn
The girl is a woman now
Beneath the tree and upon the cloud
She whispers, “I am watching you”
Why then are you so blue?
A single tear of sadness and joy
Rejuvenate the quirky earthly boy
Who sits down beneath the blooming tree
Listening to her silent voice attentively
She reminds him she was once young too
That she also was a misty shade of blue
But when the boy grows into man
He has come to ignore the fair woman
Who watches him still from above
Burning and swelling with disdainful love
The ways of the world have sweltered his heart
And time has torn his soul apart
Thus he has lost all innocence and light
Battling his sinful lust—an endless plight!
I watch as he feeds on others’ pains and fears
Reducing the vigilant woman to tears
The prayer of the innocent has been ignored
Life has died and hellfire stored
Into the hearts of the impotent
In blue, fires of haze their heart is sent
Toiling in misery and lament
Savaged and severed by our regret
The heavenly woman grows old and frail
And the man still treads the sinful trail
As the rotting tree withers into dust
Can I revive it? –I must!
Low as low can possibly be
I watch myself condescendingly
A tombstone, gray and hell-bent
Frowning knowingly in bewilderment
Above the dust that once was a tree
She cries out a verse anxiously
Faintly she whispers the undying hymn
Not of happiness, nothing of whim
And prays that life will come to end
For those that break instead of bend
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
I do not know?
While walking through a hospital one day, a veteran I did see
He was in a wheelchair with both legs missing, and he did it for you and me.
I turned around a corner and down another hall
Only for my eyes to behold a family who has lost it all
A five year old cried out,"Why did daddy have to die?"
The mother held her son closer while she greived and began to cry
The mother of that young Marine, who had fought over in Iraqu
Wandered why her son so brave, didn't survive the enemie's attack
The father of that soldier, hung his head to cry
He was a retired soldier himself, why couldn't he have been the one to die?
His heart broken sister, sits in shock and tries to deny
The death of her older brother, he was killed and don't know why
A few days later, a family, everybody all dressed in black
Went to the funeral of a twenty-five year old who too our bullet in Iraq
The Bible says "thou shalt not kill." and "Love your neighbor" too
Maybe our soldiers aren't doing what's right, but they still take your bullet for you
They sleep in foxholes, and eat in trenches, and do all that they know to do
They rest in the sand with no comforts of home and they take your bullet for you
The restless nights turn into days, you wouldn't believe all they go through
THe rest of us sit at home and gripe, and still they take your bullet for you
The next time you hear a 21 gun salute, don't condemn as others do
The next time the taps are being played, remember, they took that bullet for you.
Thanks, Veterans for your sacrifice.
Copyright © Brandlynn Young
When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...
I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky
The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn
I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe
The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul
Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through
Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost
I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art
As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow
Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place
The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost
Day was Life,Night is Death
And the latter has given counsel on my final steps
Copyright © Winter Wallace
The rainbow of reason ends
With a pot of gold and jabberwocky.
When hippocampus dwells in solitary,
of the expatriated mind.
In planned visits
To familiar spaces,
When elapsed faces are still hailed with fervor,
As though they had never gone.
Deep in thought
In cavernous bowels tangled lost,
Remote repartees recurring restlessly.
and ever leery
of echoing footsteps anxiously nearing, as though someone might overhear.
As even eyes fail to mirror
The twilight of past vigor,
Speaking in feeble voices muddled beneath walls,
Walking politely in ancient, and empty, imaginary halls.
The stars stop still and unfleeting
Listening to last breaths, and the heart’s last beating,
To hearken timid last words from the past's last illusions,
Where celestial alae still go a-flutter with lost aspirations.
When the frail hand that once held and sheltered
Cannot even rattle dandelion clocks,
Or crush delicate imago wings into dust,
Save for Elysian veldts
Where the rainbow of reason ends.
Copyright © Ryan Caidic
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek
Pigeons flutter in the park
eating refuse from the grass.
Noon comes; the hours pass.
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Silence reigns throughout the park.
A crumpled headline, a forgotten toy,
lifeless, do not hear a far-off bark.
In the park, not a single little boy.
Midnight comes; the hours go --
soon, the sky begins to glow...
morning breaks, and with it, sound.
In the park begins the morning round.
White skeletons of benches -- slats --
in all the wintry parks of Age
fill up in morning. Deserted flats,
each with the aspect of a cage,
become an unused, waiting gauge
that measures dull and wasted years --
floods of loneliness -- rivers of fears...
The weak and battered, pallid crowd
which, daily, parks ingest
speak in muted tones; but loud
is the message all suggest.
The clangor of the beaten Belles,
trampled in the slime of years,
entreats the mind to plug its ears;
yet, if it will, it hears...
memories, perhaps, keep active still
the shriveled and the loosened flaps
that are the mouths of all the Bills --
reduced to gray and ugly gaps...
Down the graveled pathways come
children bent on carefree play.
Belles, though silent, are not dumb,
nor will the Bills forego their say.
But warnings fall on ears too deaf;
around are eyes too blind to see.
And so the tots, too young for Death,
play on and on till time for tea.
Day after day after day
children come and children play.
Pigeons flutter in the park;
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Once more, deep silence claims the park.
Midnight hours come and go.
The sky again assumes a glow.
Wind stirs dead leaves to rustle.
Starts again the aimless bustle
of the battered, weak, and infirm-eyed:
those whom living failed -- who died
but still must play their signal role
of unloved, friendless, unhailed Old;
who gather daily in the park
to envy tots their vital spark --
the hope, the promise in their eyes --
before it fades, before it dies.
But tots at play -- the young, the bold --
must laugh and sing -- cannot be told
that youth's not long and Time is cold.
Time devours -- a ravenous beast --
and men are the courses at his feast.
Some he swallows in their prime,
On some he waits too long a time:
these rancid morsels, Time's midnight snack,
explore their memories. They hie them back
to that old moment, deepest black,
when they first dared to know -- and first said --
that Time's the master all men dread.
(Please read The Park -- Part Two, which is a continuation of
this poem...due to space limitations)
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore
In silence and in prayer.................
For those who gave everything
and never failed to protect
for those who left loved ones
and tried hard not to look back
for those who made it home
and for those who's spirits flew on...
For you my hat is off in Gratitude
I thank God for people like you..
I remember with thanksgiving
in painful facets from within
each man and women
who fought for this country
until the bitter end..
Come home my proud soldiers
come home once again
come home my mighty soldiers
come home to mend...
In Gratitude I bow...
A Debbie Guzzi Contest
Copyright © Rick Parise
Sometimes I wonder.........
Where will I be when I get old
Who will love me for my soul
Thoughts of loneliness cross my mind
Am I running out of time?
It’s so scary in this desolate place
Staring out a window into space
What have I done during my time here on earth?
Who will be waiting on me? Did I earn my worth?
Life passes by really fast
Always thought my time would last
Thinking of my people that have gone on before me
Do they know…...Is that where they’ll be?
Remembering the last smile I saw on his face
Will I have to run his same race
Will they leave me alone to think of my time of the past
Or will they surround me to celebrate and have a blast
Pictures and memories is all that’s left
Tear after tear while I take deep breaths
Stones and lettered monument will be there for me
The sunshine and the storms pass while I sleep
In this narrow place I will lie
Unable to speak, unable to cry
Thy will is done and now time moves on
Who is next? Who will be gone?
Sometimes I wonder……………
By Johnnie Eaves
Copyright © Johnnie Eaves
Rust sleeps without the churchyard
on the blunt perimeter rails,
on the bloom of iron stabbing up
into the pelt of rain.
Rust sleeps upon the fence posts
where the wire is nailed to wood
and the metal burns an ochre tint
beneath the sodium arc.
Rust sleeps atop the hinges
of the pub door so to screech
a shrill alert to drunken ears
of some returning ghost.
Rust sleeps upon the riverbed,
suicide pushed into the deep,
trolleys severed by the silt,
dead baby prams beside.
Rust sleeps in feasts of coma night
and eats small mouthfuls of the moon,
spits corrosion at the stars
and dulls this razor life.
Copyright © Tony Bush
The time will come...Then, let me lie easy in a box of natural pine
And please, no bouquets of store bought flowers will I want
Give the money instead to a soup kitchen, they need it more
A flower from your garden or the fields will do just fine
I'd love music; if there is I will hang around a little longer
Just listen as the soft breeze blows, I'll be whispering good byes
Should it rain that day, I'll dance in the puddles as I did as a child
Filled with excitement as cool drops rivulet down my face
As music wafts upon the wind, perhaps I'll frolic bare feet in lush green grass
Perchance it'd be a sunny day, I'd twirl in fields of golden wheat
Then anxiously, run to the whitest of white, sugar- fine sands
Stand on blue green ocean's edge; be teasingly chased by crested waves
Suddenly, I'd realize that I have all eternity; that time no longer has claims on me
I'd stand upon an ageless boulder; feel the vibration of rolling waves
All the while laughing as the ocean sprays cool mists gently wash my face
As I await the awesome moment - the grand reunion of light to light
For Paula Swanson's "When" Contest
Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick
How to stop swift and stealthy time that brings death?
Must we think only of victories, not defeats
and deny that all we posses will be lost as wealth?
Disease and age are our enemies...doesn't health control heartbeats?
Spread those tables and enjoy your food and wine,
dance and sing when sadness knocks, indulge in a life simply divine!
Should we live in the moment as the ancient Romans did indeed:
constantly thinking of invincibility and immortality...
shrugging off days and years of dire uncertainty;
wouldn't it be absurd to embody the essence of their creed?
In South Africa Lekker is a portent of good as the word, " Omens " is;
try to include it in your daily speech and write yourself a funny phrase!
Some may say, " It's madness! " and laugh as a delirious Macbeth;
others will accept it and suddenly forget that they are going to die
by contemplating this motto," How to stop swift and stealthy time that brings death? "
God's curse on the human race can be undone, if we don't believe Satan's lie!
How to stop swift and stealthy time that brings death?
Isn't it an impossible wish for all the living who can't escape reality?
Although science offers much hope with their findings on longevity...
we are bound for our graves without a single breath!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
If it were my time to pass
that day....at last
...where I needed to pick and choose
the proper words to use
On that one last night, my eyes would see the stars that shine
or shadow of the moon
And the time we thought would be forever was over
And the paths we walked, must now be severed
Never would I want to see your tears
Never would I want to measure time, or loss, or what the years have cost
I would hope to walk my thoughts through clover
I would hope to find my voice rising like a silver sound
As a white moth drifting…from flower to white flower
Peaceful and sure
Person to person
With love, assurance, gratitude
However the words be said…
I pray that they will leave in their void…a peace, instead
For days have slid into years, years into decades
If death silences the words
Nothing will silence the truth of what we have shared
Nothing will silence how much we have loved
For goodbye is just a word, a simple word that does not matter…
I will be the white moth….forever, I’ll hover
When goodbyes must be said
Don't dwell on the sadness, we'll be here together…
I will still be here….I will be your wings
I will flutter my own, we will need no words
Watch for me….that moth will be me
and the voice you hear
Copyright © Carrie Richards
four different things i have to do
before i vanish, from the earth without a clue
they will murmur while taking me to my resting place
that i did what i promised to do or at least i did my best
hey you, just listen to my worries
i was a good boy who liked his mama,papa and school
there also was my all time sweetheart
they called her rose and she has angel eyes and lips like cherries
i loved her like a innocent lover
but could not tell her
someday after she moved to a new town
i stood there weeping and my head was down
i never heard or saw her again
as i am having little time left for me
my first thing to do is find and tell her my feelings soon.
i don't know what i am crying for
don't i believe there is never an end
in my past i always running for money
i never cared for others
and now i am suffering for that i am sure.
where are my near and dear ones as i am lying down here alone
where is my son and where is my sweet little girl tory
my second thing to do before i die is
call all of them and tell them sorry.
i loved my wife and she loved me too
she was like the most beautiful flower and i was the tree
we both climbed the success mountain
holding each others hand and promised we never would fall apart
but she died peacefully and set herself free
i was hurt like a wounded bird
and never went to see her resting place
now i quietly counting the number of years since she was gone
and it is a long time of seven
third thing is to tell her , we will soon meet in heaven
all of my life i never believed you
never prayed, i never went to your holy home
as i became a sad and lonely person
and as my bones became weak and my hairs grey
i understand true value of yours
and last thing i want to do is
for once i will go to church and pray.
Copyright © priyabrata nayak
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
Copyright © James Fraser