I do not know?
To Never Breathe Again
No breeze in the night-time
The winter weather goes
The heat runs out of sunshine
Spring is passing a different change
The last fresh air we use
The world's gone strange
The weather's confused
No autumn leaves to rearrange
No whispers in the wind
The air is dry
No pouring in the rain
The storm does not cry
No loudness in thunder
The lightning no longer strikes high
No one then wonders
The answer is why?
The water is not splashing
No clouds in the sky
The weather's not passing
Can the weather just die?
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Dedicated to the 2000 National College Football Champions, the Oklahoma Sooners
Over fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan
Watched and reveled in their glories, every one;
But there’s no more glorious “Sooner Magic”
Than the Red October Run.
The new millennium's first football season,
Excited Sooners fans’ hopes did soar.
They had tasted victory in Bob Stoops’ first year;
Now, they wanted - no, expected - even more.
There was a glint of promise in Bob’s eyes,
Strength and confidence in his every word.
“Our Team has shown improvement”, is what he said;
“We’ll win!” is what fans heard.
By September’s end, the Sooners were 4 and O,
A “cupcake schedule” some anxious fans would say;
Twenty-two days in October would rule their destiny.
Texas, K-State, Nebraska, the teams they’d have to play.
“OU’s October is a gauntlet”, said ESPN;
“Play #10 and #2 and #1…and win”?
So, on a rainy Saturday morning in Dallas,
The Red October Run would begin.
The Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl,
Fans were welcomed by Big Tex.
They screamed, “Go OU!” and “Hook’em Horns!”;
But none could imagine what happened next.
Heupel was a dominating General;
The Sooners Offense, his relentless troops.
Calmus and the Defense assured a total rout,
The Coach of the Day was Bob Stoops.
Sooners fans were wild, delirious with glee;
But Bob seemed focused and sedate.
“We’ll enjoy this victory Sunday;
Then Monday, we’ll prepare for Kansas State”.
No time to revel in the Glory, #2 was tough.
Better than the Huskers? The possibility was real.
The road to #1 went through Manhattan,
And the Sooners would have to win it on the field.
The sportscasters had a field day.
Last year’s “coaching coup” was news again.
Beasley versus Heupel was “The Match-up”.
Could Heupel evade K-State’s awesome defense
and find a way to win?
Again, Heupel and his troops met the challenge;
And as the Sooners “D” assured a hard fought win,
Every Sooners fan’s heart was stirred.
Could our Sooners be “Big Red” again?
Mighty Nebraska, #1, was coming to Owen Field.
“Biggest OU - Nebraska game in years!” Corso said.
It would be 1 versus 2, a heralded gridiron epic
For the coveted title of…”Big Red”.
It was OU’s biggest home game ever.
The campus was alive with vendors and would-be
Every Sooners Fan’s heart was pounding.
Could the smell of #1 stoke the Sooners' fires?
The Huskers struck so quickly.
At 14 to nothing, Sooners fans were stunned.
It was shaping up to be a long, long day;
And it wasn’t going to be fun.
Quickly tho’, Heupel rallied his Sooners troops.
They scored and scored and scored again.
The Sooners “D” built a Wall at the 50,
And would not let the Huskers in.
Winners, the Sooners ran and jumped with glee.
Fans flooded Owen Field, milling all around,
Praising and hugging their Sooners Heroes.
They even tore the goal post down.
Now #1, the Sooners had won it on the field.
Their preparation had been well taught.
Bob Stoops, all his great coaches and assistants,
Took pride in how the Sooners fought.
Someone once said, “Everyone loves a winner.”
Everywhere you looked confirmed it’s true.
OU flags fluttered. Decals, hats, and clothes abound.
Come November, the Sooners and their Fans
had been renewed,
There’s no slighting the importance of Red October.
The Sooners came together as a Team.
No doubt too, without “The Red October Run”
Their National Championship would still be just a dream.
For the next five games, it was simply unacceptable
For the Sooners to even think that they could fail;
And, tho’ Heupel played injured, they won the Big 12 Championship;
Great Sooners Defense had prevailed.
But no one gave these Big 12 Champs the slightest chance to win
Against the mighty Seminoles of Florida State.
The Heisman Trophy Winner was their quarterback
And their defense was touted to be great.
At the coin toss, Team Captain Torrance Marshall
Said to their quarterback in words most serious and sure,
“You took our boy’s trophy”. Then he smiled,
“Now we’re gonna take yours”.
The Sooners “D” was everywhere and completely shut them down;
And, when Quentin Griffin’s touchdown closed the door,
Their quarterback knew that Marshall’s words rang true;
The not-so-mighty ‘Noles had not been allowed to score.
Yes, Bob Stoops and his Sooners knew the challenge:
To win Each game ‘til Every game’s been won;
Win for Sooners and their Fans the unchallenged right
To revel in the Glory of being #1.
Yes, my Sooners Team goes on and on,
Different faces, different names;
But these Sooners Champions will be well remembered
For the Season they won Every game.
Undefeated National Champions!
Before October, who would have ever dreamed?
Why, just last year, we didn’t even know the players' names;
And now, they’re College Football’s Greatest Team.
To overcome all adversity and rise to every challenge,
The reward for such a feat is being #1;
Their path to Glory born of a Sooners Legend
Called The Red October Run.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
The Santa Ana's are here, and the moon is clear.
There is a mystic in the air that whispers in my ear.
Is this a peaceful feeling or does it carry fear ?
What is the passion and hot fragrence of orange blossom that is pulling me a different way , as if this power has been sent only by a Witch of the finest of White Magic, only to calm the Blue Soul I have known my whole life.
I feel a passion that is running through my Veins like the power of water itself .
As if the Moon itself were instructed to warm the air that is blowing . It is not a new moon , it is not a old moon , it is a moon that appears only in ones lifetime to gaze at .
By seeing and feeling the very power of this Moon you will dance your way to Heaven with happiness of what is yet to come.
The Stars around this Moon are unique as if they take the presence of every loved one you and I have lost .
The Witches winds with the warm glowing of the moon, as if I had never met you before , are blowing with the frangerence of Orange Blossom or Magnolia , from a distant past of The South.
As if I know we have been together once before , a Moon such as this . In a peaceful , lustful state of Bliss.
There is something coming .. is it something I have always known or wanted ?
What is yet to be known is as intoxicating as the Santa anas that are running through my body.
As if i have been struck by the power of light , as the powerful moon I gaze at in the Night.
It is piercing my soul with it's only Truth,
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Love Till Autumn of Life
Two souls amorous
Profoundly tender till time
Nears Autumn of Life
By: Eve Roper 2/26/2015
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015
“He fought often and once bled in the cause of freedom, but his habits of War did not lessen in him the peaceful virtues which adorn his private life.” Doctor Benjamin Rush, signer of the Declaration
“In placing Barry at the head of the Navy I have special trust and confidence in [Commodore Barry’s] patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities” President George Washington
Reflections by Commodore John Barry (1745-1803)
It’s been a long voyage, this life. Me, son of a poor tenement farmer, now Father of the American Navy. I feel as though I have not unpacked my trunk since I first walked aboard Uncle Nickolas’ fishing skiff back at Ballysampson, County Wexford in ‘55. Searching like a young lad does for adventure, understanding, and lust. Wanting to escape oppression and to feel worthy and alive, I left my mossy island it disappeared with the tide.
It has been a little over a year straight now back here at Strawberry Hill. I believe it’s the first time I’ve seen all the seasons change consecutively since my youth. Father, he loved the earth but for me it would be the sea. The British kicked him off his land; they planted a seed in me. Cromwell watered that seed when, “by Hook or by Crook”, he massacred me countrymen, thousands: three. My enmity towards the British and oppression took root, grew wings.
‘Boutez En Avant’ our family motto ‘strike forward’ seemed not to be ignored. So off to sea I went under my father’s brother’s oar. Cabin boy, Able Seaman then Mate, what better place to feed my soul, then blanketed in mother oceans’ wave. I made my way to the new land, up the Delaware to Phil-idel-ph-ia. Easy to be a Catholic there and many ships come in and out every day. It’s there I realized that females would carry me through day to day; ships and wives and love letters to keep me on my way.
My first Merchantman Command the schooner Barbados, for a time, the West Indies my second home, nine runs on her, she ran steady, steady as a stone. “Big John” Barry they started calling me. I stood a full foot over most. The Patty and Polly a grand one tripper, the Industry, she a good sloop. The Page was quite a plumb for a Captain as young as I. Better still the Black Prince, I set speed records on her: 237 miles dead reckoning in 24 hours, if not in the blink of an eye.
Alas, the Black Prince was an omen as well, for soon the fight would come. I’d been waiting for the time to seize freedom and avenge my people from back home. The woman that drove my heart, my dear Mary Cleary breathed no more; in ’67 I was at sea when she arrived on heaven’s shore. When brother Patrick was lost at sea on a French frigate the limey’s sunk, my rage only grew. Feeding the old roots buried but now in death this marrow renewed.
Saved from despair [by wife number two], Sarah Keen Austin, as Sally she was known. I had a home again and a dandy, steardy women to guide me, letters to see me through. Things happened quickly after the Prince it was war, and we needed a Continental Navy. “Get Big John Barry here, get him here immediately.” I oversaw the rigging and reinforced the bulwarks. I secured the powder and the canvas, the hard tack and the jerky.
They gave me the first Captain’s Commission, a fantastic brig. I took this cruiser Lexington, so strong was she, in one hour I captured the Edward, loyal to the Queen. Then the command of the Effington sprung new up from the keel. While I watched her grow, they tried to bribe me but I spurned the eye-dee of being a traitor. Instead, I did some soldiering to pass the time while she was being built. I was handpicked to work for General George Washington what a privilege and honor I had felt.
As the British descended on Phil-idel-ph-ia I would have to scuttle the Effington to save her from red hands, leaving nothing for the picking, only splinters in the sand. I fought many a valiant battle with skiff and small boats, too. Ah, the Raleigh, she was a 32-gun frigate what a beauty; I had to scuttle her too, put fire to her on the rocks but I saved two-thirds of my crew.
It was the 36 gun Alliance in ‘82 that was my favorite lass. I took metal in my body in one grand battle but persisted as my blood ran, and the colors flew through the smoke and the crunching, through the fog and the mist. After I sunk the Atlanta and the Tresspassy I gave the captain back his sword, because he was and honorable man and my lessons from the Lord. By ’83 we had beat the red coats pretty darn well but I sheared off the Sybil for good measure and had the cook ring the ships bell.
Back to a Merchantman for a while and the Asia took me to Oriental lands but my country came a calling and me, always willing to lend a hand. From President Washington in ’97 I received Commission Number One and the 42 gun Frigate the [USS United States]. Keen, thought I-this is the one. We did many a mission in her; changed many a man’s fate.
Father of the America Navy, my contemporaries call me. Now I sit on Strawberry Hill, looking down on the port. I rake leaves for my daughter, my grandson, he’s a sport. I have more time now for my association, “Charitable Captains of Ships Club”. So many sailors lost in the war, their widows and orphans need the clothes, need the grub. I get called to teach the young cadets. I guess I’m father to them all. Boutez En Avant; persist, strike up an onward, good motto for one and all.
Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015
Effulgent sun proffers love
Above the undergrowth…of
Thorns and weeds
The moon unravels wonders
Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
for bruce springsteen...
it was a rain-swept monsoon day
way back then, so many moons away
when i felt the music strumming in my veins
setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins
you sang of simple truths,
your verse spoke to people just like me
in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night
as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight
'bobby jean' spoke to me
of that girl down the street
glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet
and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart
led me down further roads of thunder
when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on
and never to surrender
to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run
while i danced in the dark
with memories vivid and stark
even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark
and then a 'human touch' came along
and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song
and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes
as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies
in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned
as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned
and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up
working on a highway of scattered ideals
and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup
well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road
with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad
but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night
just like the ghost of that old tom joad...
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
The smell of coffee: hot and bitter in the cold winter night
With the rhythm in the left hand and the rhyme in the right,
He wrote a poem in his secret pocket,
A wistful star like a speedy rocket
Ready to leave this planet intense blue
In search of other traces of life anew.
He remembered after mother had died,
In the cold touch ,stalagmites and stalactites cried.
Father and son felt a strong taste for sweets.
As in the sunset, the blind boatman meets
With an awkward touch the water`s ring
But generally they needn`t to eat anything
For a while they rested an extraordinary team:
Father insistently (sometimes boring) told him
All his recollections:childhood,war and the rest…
All muscles and teeth pressed hot, like ice on the crest.
The son learnt them by heart, and later
He would retell them to father, even better…
One was on duty to wash the dishes;
The other tried to follow his wishes…
Their only joy was to read and read and read…
One had to cook at home ,and to bake the bread
In a bread factory:He was happy even when he was sad.
He could recognize each bread: All his loafs were bad.
He was like Chaplin in “New Times”.
He was speaking in figures and rhymes.
He wore a monk beard and father was much more younger.
Looking through the window: grey hunger and anger …
At the weekend, he used to ask his father
About the favourite meal, but rather
He would find a surprise the next day.
Each day was windy winter and grey…
Father had the same touching answer:”Something good”.
In the strange interference ,water and fire ,one was rude.
Solitude was their common friend stealing in like a lizard,
But, in the afternoon they played sweeping their courtyard.
They had leaves in autumn and snow in the winter.
The sky was grey without sun, the clouds were bitter.
Father was counting the leaves, in the old horizon
The son was painting the days ,in the cold horizon.
The war with the falling down leaves fighting hard
With red faces like an inveterate drunkard .
And years after his father met his final hope,
The son would stop in front of the sweets shop ,
Ready to buy recollections as Christmas tree sweets.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2012
Oh, tragic feather what is thy tragedy
No longer freedom gay or certian loft
How is this thy new translation
From a majesty, unto a wing thou hath mighty dropped
Were thou thus, shunned, cast away
Or merely, cut out or off
As limb from downward spiral angel
Perhaps, a troubled finch or insanity in wayward hawk
Lie, if thou must, be it amidst a deafening silence, lonesome soft
But, I plead, please tell me fallen feather, what hath befallen thee
Thy tuft to ne’er evermore touch again
What life should be, warmth of the summer's breeze
Sleep, sleep now 'neath the alley's gutter greys
Catching Weeping Willows damning drops
Adrift as the drowning lily dying
In seas of the myriad scattered rots
An accomplice I shall say, within a winter's willing white
And alas, buried ordinary in this doth the corpse delight
Far beneath the crowds held at bay and forever lost
Now thou hath become the naked grove of wicker and then...
the more of naked souless crops
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013
time ticks, what does life do? people say go with the flow but look at their lives and make your decision. choose a path a fly it true, never settle for less and by less i mean the amount that is more than you have. sing it clean and sing it fly. nevertheless do i seek new paths. was that a question or was that a statement? ask yourself, you have been waiting patiently. dont look to things for answers because you will be fooled by imitations. things that not need be named are nameless or did someone who isnt me just make that up. i heard from a wise man that a flower bloomed in a dark room, did you believe him? Still unaware of the time and now im late for an appointment that jumped starts my career but im wasted with the fellas in the street. No money in my pocket, no paper in my stash, ok fellas i gotta make a dash.
Copyright © greg bell | Year Posted 2013
of sunlight weaves
A paisley pattern
through Autumn leaves
Points of light
splayed upon the ground
Play tag and caper
without a sound
Of Autumn play
of frost and light
In drama writ
by Nature’s hand
With season’s might
now tis Autumn’s time
While Winter waits watching
in the wings
in fen and glade
Falling leaves limned
By the golden sun
The curtain closes
The show is done
A spectacle of epic proportions
Starring the spectacular trees
with a supporting cast of millions
…Of artistic, autumn leaves…
Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic | Year Posted 2012
cry me a river
give me an indian giver,maybe i can fix him
think of the thought,the store you bought could feed a thousand towns
with the food you leave lying around. you could do art in the world,
marry a pretty girl to the turn of food she do marry,even carry in her eyes.
its the prize and the dice is thrown?this much we know,we can keep two,you and
the truth,when you marry it we do.i know of the earth turn and hunger
burning,sure i was fit for command to every man who had a plan.he would look in
my eyes and size me up,but he didnt think of the crux of the theft of dinner and
whats left.its hard in the middle class to be that picture in the mind,when i find
candy bars dancing in my thoughts when i rest.chest full of air and thats what you
get to eat. when we seen this girl on second street,of course i was too tired and
hungry to pursue her,to my hunger peanut butter and jelly will never do her,so i
just willed her to happen and despite the laughing in my mind,i find were still
friends,me and her,but there was no word of sex or even second best,it was
less,just friends.to the end i go,i worked and held a job,kept my room a slob,but it
was prop up and starvation,like the middle class across this nation.it takes em
no time to help,to release us from our hell.then,bask in the glow and let me know
how a ferrarri goes or my favorite group has a Cd on the loose.wait till im fed and
have my own bed then tell me you need me at your show or in iraq,then ill find the
facts do meet.give relief on summer street.
Copyright © chris bowen | Year Posted 2008
I stepped out into the autumn rain,
Took a deep breath,
Pulled my coat around my ears,
And started on my way home.
The street was full of people,
Trying to get home,
I made my way through the crowd.
I decided that what happened at the bar,
A waking dream,
In an instant I felt a hand brush against mine.
Her warm hands around my throat,
Small, yet oh so strong,
My arms trapped within my coat,
I wheeze my final song.
I turn to find the stranger’s face,
But she’d already gone,
Vanished into the ether,
Still looking, I was jolted forward.
It looks back,
Into my soul,
The iron eye blinks again.
I could still feel the pain,
“Sorry.” Came a voice,
From where I don’t know,
Cautiously I stepped into the gutter.
Water seeped into my shoes,
But here was safe,
My path clear,
Away from the horrors on the pavement.
Copyright © Sharon Smith | Year Posted 2012
The land is here
But the harvest is not
The trees are big
The leaves are gone
The generation is born
That cares no more
About the land nor the Harvest
Truth be told feminine is our enemy
Our witness is Army
The green is gone
The brown is known
The land is here
But the harvest is not
Copyright © Rahaba Mahomaile | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
Hey little horn, where are you born?
Hey little horn,
where are you born?
Hey, little unicorn,
do you eat corn?
I'm a narwhal and want a treat
do remember I can't stand too much heat
I am very sweet and clear
and I don't fear
BECAUSE I AM A NARWHAL the great
Copyright © Manasvini Kolavennu | Year Posted 2015
Lift up from the rotar weeds
Summer bleeds the last still born
As autumn greed fights decay
To save the date from phallic fortunes
Gather brand new gallop horse distortions
Where poles putrify at stockholm
Is this the way the world ends?
On battery pulse with no remorse
Sucking hospital cupid with no hope groan syndrome
To make alive the image
Of fly's circling round chopper wheels
My primal ordeal is to shake it thin
As carcass evaporates mermaids into wave maids
Concrete headaches will remember the bloodline spilled
Out the skin fold mouths of gyrating myth
From belly up suckers that just gotta bust the date
Wealth of the flagship sailing straight into paper fates
Copyright © Justin Debrosse | Year Posted 2012
A road to nowhere
A picturesque scene of trees turning bare
Fresh autumn scents filling the air
And a young woman on a journey traveling from here to there
With a slow, steady pace and tapping shoes
She creates an east rhythm to hum along to
Walking along, not a care in the world
Living her life, and living it well
The cool crisp air softly blowing at her knees
Coming throughout the autumn trees
For a moment it almost seems
Things aren't really ever as bad as they tend to seem
Soaking in the last bit of light with a peaceful flow
She passes along the last few trees with golden leaves shinning abode
The now setting sun begins to give off a warm orangey red glow
Setting off her long blonde hair as it moves to and fro
Then out of the gleaming sky
Fighting her rising fear from deep with inside
Her heartbeat quickens, as she tries keeping a steady stride
Hairs prickling up upon her neck, a raven screeches as it swoops by
The absence oh heat, so abrupt
Leaves her with chills, so corrupt
Touching her soul as if almost freezing up
Upon her face lay a perfect cut
A gush of wind cuts across her chest
And her forehead quickly covers with little beads of sweat
Just as she's starting to fear she can't go on
She twirls and turns then starts to run
She whirls around but falls to her knees
Blood slowly dripping down from her cheek
The raven appears with an open beak
Ans lets out a bloodcurdling screech
"Raven, Raven, oh please don't die!" She laughs
And looks upon the bird with a menacing smile
Then lets out a satisfying sigh
"Just please don't die"
She gracefully stands with blood-lust filled eyes
Her tapping shoes carrying her off into the night
Her Raven black hair rocking to and fro
And off down the road to nowhere she goes
Inspired by The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
Copyright © Daphne Danielle | Year Posted 2011
Starry knighted nightingale
Across Orion's eyes
I see the falling star a yonder bright
lit bright moon, before me' aye
Afar on earth with Cricky bound
mi Pooka guard before me'
I take a light of image snap
It dances hap, before me'
Ere it stood, eidolon par
Eerie don, ego, do atem me’
owe me a rose, amore rue,
es here etu, defend me'
Copyright © Richard Colon | Year Posted 2014
September 15, 2011
Such beautiful eyes
So full of mysterious disguise
They have the sheen
Of a light light green
And yellow as the autumn sky
As you gaze you wonder why
As I wait to meet
Surely my heart will greet
Of the feelings we share
Surely, Do we DARE
As we run through life amongst and with it
Through our devoted commitment
Follow the long forgotten past
In our hearts we know it will last
Our love is so fine
In our eyes you see it as we dine
To feel the warmth of her skin
The feelings I know she will let me in
From this day forward I know she is mine
Our love will last till the ends of all time
The feelings in my heart are a must
Truly, truly they are JUST!
Dedicated to a lady I know
Jacki Wahner McDowell
With Beautiful Hazel
Copyright © William Moore | Year Posted 2011
Your love, like amnesia
it made me forget
all the dark forces against me
they tortured me relentless
then you put me into amnesia
from the problems, hope came
in the foresight of your prowess
and the light emanating from your face
what seems calm on the surface
is often roaring within
screaming, hair crazy
like I'm the demon's descendant
only strong feelings
can push out the weak
and those skeletons
surface, hurt us and repeat
so no ones around
and I learn to hate me
and no Love to be found
because it gave me a profound
every other time I sleep
why cant I be at peace?
fill up a void
come into my world
exposed to be touched
pay no mind
I'm at home
when the pain seems
shut it off like a light
now i'm all into peace
a presence around me
a love like amnesia
I'm falling into fantasia
calm as can be
worries drift away
forget how hurt I am
for one meaningful day
no I'm not the devil
but I know who he is
he once came to visit
and make my soul his
as a dark ball inside me
consumes me at times
i keep inching forward
toward the many facets of mind
knowing not showing
much at all
down in the sunrise
revived by the fall
a natural course
of a star entering destruction
like lotus flowers in bloom
under a fog covered moon
in the cold autumn wind
healing old scars within
practice the old magik
into a new growing skill
will it be enough
the day which stands still
worth fighting for.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2011
A place where our sins bind
And was washed with blood shed
A place where with pains
He bore ur shames
A place where precious blood
Was spilled oon mother earth
An atonement for sins
Yet to be committed
The place where darkness ripped the earth
And heaven took back its glory
Where forgiveness was born
And engraved.......but yet
For only these times of grace
A place where our relationship was established
But yet a choice we have to make
A door way opened
Between God and man......!
Copyright © EMMANUEL DICKSON | Year Posted 2016
People and places faces and names,
the vicious cycle of endless mind games.
oh those who have lost their way
and found themselves on a playground where one pays
before one plays
working day and night on deeds that can never be won
earning the title of inevitably spun
Always wanting more and more
never knowing what they want it for ,
climbing and climbing roads that are rough
Always wanting more and more but the road is too tough
unaware of the riptides in the oceans they are sent
landing rock bottom in the jungles of cement
will they finally reach the ultimate high ?
when all they can do is lay down or die.
Copyright © Ialy Allen | Year Posted 2015
As your wish of Persephone’s homecoming
We prepare minimal harvests from upheaval
Lost cause is the aid from ill-advised panic,
This casts doubt on her uncertain retrieval.
Demeter! Eyes of own appreciate our harvest,
These distant fields furrow with guided fracture
Stippled under greenery from a veil’s blockade
Virtues the gauge in which patience decides,
Miniscule the remnants with featureless serenity.
When serenity further ventures availing hope?
Reminiscing confines a good past as undone!
Full quota the hearsay rumours have it false,
Alas, it is not! Had I reined her close, it might.
What patience has to honour, bereavement has none
Add Persephone’s quandary to the spectroscope,
Your purpose replies with a synopsis of course
Where underworlds design a stark reality to some.
(Views the harvest)
A penchant of well being in spite of mixed moods
Decides the mood, which in turn designs the season
Therefore, devise draining soils to your advantage-
Bale the thrusts of bittersweet as my tears became
Blocked in by sentinels’ the adornment of brilliance
Contrast with vivid twilight a beguiled revelation,
As wheat-sheafs’ bide an arc from golden chariots
Through displays, the haze of genial zephyrs brisk-
Mysteries surmise a whereabouts to quantum leaps
Exhibit confinement of spring to an autumn equinox,
And as therapeutics go, bereavement takes the risk.
(Mortals) Who are building nations.
Treasure the divinity of Demeter to all nations-
Answering to each nobility, her problem solving
Storing strength, our harvest elations;
Peace in our time, whilst mood swings evolving
Bond the religious bridge for neighbourly suffice
So we ourselves can understand those lands,
Whose barren terra firma distinguish the entice
Those future developments where trust expands,
More as an understanding, than self-sacrifice.
Copyright © Titus Llewellyn | Year Posted 2007
In time corpse shine twilight sun had tainted my inner vision
Shooting blanks at the rooster just supose another number feeling somber
Doesn't any wonder?
The inclusion within vile pathetic outrage
Shooting blanks as busy as Tyra Banks in bikini eating linguini
Torpedo, remember Frank Serpico?
Frantic in Autumn looking brightly colored orange
In pivotal choices sense of remoseful inclusion
In dirty laundry vile smell who could tell
A window opens air will blow to breath in the steam,
Shouts of glory to untold story morning glory;
Shooting blanks getting lost in the shark tank
Romantic interlude toward vanity
In tuned harmony to its hidden beasts menagerie
Shooting Blanks in the phone at the door
At the beach while Mrs. Polly eating a peach.
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2012
The painted black night and it's sliver stars
caused me to cry the saddest tears
In the remembrance of the joyful years
We cherished together ended their glorious play
A cool wind swept through the strongest trees
Carrying with it your final soft whisper goodbye
Which kissed my soft cheek....
The golden moon closed it's sad grey eyes as if to weep
And fall asleep in hope of your possible return
In another life....
In another time
In the world's beautiful arena of life
Where the countless stars once again would dance
with your free spirit
And the sun ablaze would enhance your beautiful smile
Which would enlighten the lives of all that capture it
Within their wanting hearts
Copyright Jamesa Love
Dedicated to Toby
Copyright © Jamesa Love | Year Posted 2016
A lonely grasshopper
Although the contemplative may disagree,
In late Autumn when leaves change
A scented shade of pine pale torn brown;
Within happiness shift change to sadness...
Amidst the gait of timely hue
A brash circumstance to fully cooperate
Having no given sense of forbidden solace to relate;
In full view of its silence;
A lonely grasshopper reacts
Within myraid currency for distant fervor in restoration,
Now tired from its journey rests & waits;
In full view of solace by which to delegate....
Although in time stregnth comes in numbers stealling thunder
Amidst a surprising fall in compromise thought;
A long line of twisted ambers falling asunder
The firm swift call in delegation mixed with thorns;
In a wooden chamber created within its waiting sphere,
An illusion filled wit silent heavy members drew near,
With pulsating madness running through my brain
A bridge of hope to guide then suddenly elapsed in fear;
I shed a single tear for want to draw near,
In swift desolation a rest on a sofa
Suddenly in full view the butterfly arise
Emerging in figures of candles with triumph from its cacoon;
In colors of lavender in mesh slight red with blue,
It radiates a slight quiver in my head;
At first frost the elimination of its timely plight,
The cue for silence as we follow its light,
To the natural man their is always a different way by which to understand,
That destination which always seems right;
With its elimination of truth,
One is completeley forced to live by sight!
In time, a lonely grasshopper is then eager,
A search for order amidst its fire;
The yearning quiver of its timely desire
With thorns fully grown in the place of fear
A soul twisted in vice can ultimately still draw near
The lonely grasshopper still embraced its life's journey after all!
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2012
Adages Pt. 1 (the cloud)
I am just baggage to the world
Cast away and forgotten
An entire life
Waiting for something
Every so often a random passerby
We exchange formal soliloquy
Just talking to ourselves
Wondering if anyone really hears
They always keep a lock on my eyes
To desperate to admit sad truths
Pretend they’re giving me sound advice
When just quoting old adages to themselves
“Follow the sun,
For in the light shining upon all
You will find the way”
The same response
Every time runs through my head
“What of the clouds
Stealing the light from my eyes
They always gather around me
Darkening my life
“And what of deep night
Where I sink into despair
Alone and sinking in a world
Where no one seems to care”
They don’t seem to hear my words
Just keep ranting their securities
All the while shaking like leaves
In the harshest of autumn winds
I wonder if anyone can hear me
Or if I even hear myself
Can anyone see me?
Hidden in this cloak of clouds
I begin to feel comfortable
As my worldly self
Begins to drift away
Comfortable with no sun
To burn my skin red
Or to guide my way
I’m locked into a perpetual night
As the oppression of my clouds
Absorbs the light
Sun and moon and stars
And I’m left with nothing
But four walls
And a roof
And a little stool to sit on
I don’t notice any more random passerby
Just as they never noticed me
Just quote my old adages
Some god created just for me
“Stay in the clouds
A safe haven from the pain
I have no need
Of ever finding the way
“The world has spoken its ignorance
And has finally cast me away
I’m tired of endless clinging
And the guilt it brings my way
“If the life in this world
Revolves around an endless rhyme
The sun and moon and stars
I have better places to spend my time
“A room of nothing
No windows or air to breathe
Just a feeling of numb contentment
As my soul starts to bleed”
My conscious mind had made its final pitch
And it is off to the races
But I’m moving so slow
Copyright © Adam Greene | Year Posted 2007
I ponder poetry passively, as the clock ticks
You can bolt your door when the reaper knocks
But what if he’s a lock-smith?
We’re a nearly always a nation in debt,
Visa’s put credit card
Goblins under your bed.
Blessed and cursed, by unlimited spending
Poor and regretful, is that a diligent ending?
When I dream, I ponder pillow fights,
Polyester wars waged on cool autumn nights
Consider the sacrifice, as you sip your burnt coffee
Of soldiers from home who fancied
Going out in a blaze of glory…
To find themselves dying quietly
Last breaths whispered softly,
On the Homeland we all pray
To a shopping-mall Gandhi.
I pass by store-windows, a distorted reflection
Looks rather pious, as it ponders who I am.
So let us go then, you and I
When the ozone has grown disillusioned with the sky
And opens up our lives to harsh Heavens.
Like a terminal patient
Who roams septic halls in a hospital gown
With the fresh innocence of a child
Because we’ll all be great friends,
On the other side, somehow
Till robotic voices wake us, and we drown.
Copyright © Hudson Mack | Year Posted 2012