There is a place you can go that is full of only love and Warmth .
you will be surrounded by a light that shines from the Heavens ,
Sprinkles of Silver and Gold.
This place is filled with brilliant colors of Purple , vibrant Gold, all colors.
not one Color is less significant then another ,
for every color is equal here .
This place is surrounded by the beauty of different Flowers.
All flowers have significance here . No one Flower is better then another .
All Flowers are equal here .
It is important you know , you can cry here , and should cry as often as needed .
For the tears will cleanse your Soul and give the Flowers water to grow.
No one Tear is insignificant here , every tear has value and not one is better then another .
money holds no value , Where you live , what you own, has no significance here .
You will be surrounded by a beautiful light that shines from the Heavens .
A shining warm light will encircle you and allow nothing to hurt you .
Hate will be shed at the door like an old jacket of no use.
There is a place of beauty and Worth.
This place will not be found on Earth .
It is a place where no one person is better then another .
In this world of Uncertainties
I’m the man that you can trust
And in my words of sincerity
That my love would never last.
And if you could only feel, what i feel for you
You can ask me “why?” so you can see the truth
Like our love that tightens the rope,
Like a light that would give us hope.
As you watch the dark skies
Let me grab the moon for you,
And as I catch the bright stars
That’s the way you can see me through
As this planet turns as it always will
And things go wrong and you don’t know what to feel
Hold my hand for it will make us strong
Like a wind, we will carry on
The wind blow that sings a hymn for you
For they know what does love means for the two
Love is blind, and not deaf
So how’s success if you’re not ready to bet?
In this poem with full of rhymes,
A full of love, Babe can you be mine?
I don’t expect too much from you
Why should I? If you complete my whole.
“Till death do us part” that’s what they have said
But why do struggles crash them ahead?
Don’t ask me when my love will last,
To count all of our quarrels, is that a must?
Now and Forever is all that I promise
No day dreaming and without reminiscence
As the matter of time, as the time passes by
Together we stand, together you and I
A poem for my Girlfriend for our anniversary :)
pls comment and rate... you are free to judge and criticize my work :) God Bless
The days seem to go by so fast. there is a void in the air, the birds have lost their vibrant beat, the ocean has lost its luster, the soil feels solid and dry.
My soul feels as if it has left my body before my death, my dreams haunt my day, the tears stain my steps, my doctor says that it is depression, I say that it is reality, I am intoxicated by society,I am numb by perscriptions.
Why do I feel so isolated within myself? is there no one in my painfully tight shoes? can anyone understand my pain? can anyone melt in my sorrows? why am I this way? why is the world so cruel? why can't I be normal?
Wait! I am normal, what am I saying, I know now, the veil has been lifted, humanity is my enemy, the sins that drip from their sweat, the dread that follows their shadows, their souls of black, their intentions of greed pull a shade across their eyes.
They are destined for doom, they will not be saved, they will not find salvation, they belittle me, they curse me, they shame me, but they are right about one thing, I am different, unlike them, I will be saved in the last days.
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~
How can one express the baffling depths of obscurity?
How can one behold to open the shafts of the mind?
I have never been able to solve the mystery—
Of myself. . .
I wish at times that my life was no more
That I could live as another and finally see things right
But I am always stuck in this darkness
And I cannot see this mind in light
There are beasts. . .demons prowling through the wasteland
Searching for any remaining life
And if they are ever found—
They are doomed and consumed
Fear is their downfall and they never fail to smell it
Their ashes remain, dancing with the imaginary breeze
It is silent here—there are no answers
I wish there were answers. . .
But maybe there was never a reason
No answers. . .
Talons extend and clench around my heart
They will never seek me out—they left me here
It is like they knew…I had no reason—that was the answer
I feel the pulse of my dangling life
Alone in the dark, whimpering like a child
I have scared myself, becoming this dragon-daggered youth
No balm in Gilead!
No eyes to see
All I know will never be free
I don’t need anyone!
You are a disgrace—scum of the waste!
You have everything, you ungrateful little nothing
You are a joke. . .
So swallow it all up like the pushover you are
Stand your lowest and trudge right through
No questions. No answers. Just . You.
Or just lie back down into the mush of disease
It has already infected you to the core
Accept who you are, you ugly pestilence!
I hate you
Who are you to be glorified?
Dream snatcher. . .murderer of all things bright
Saturated in what you call light
I see right through—even as the reflections shatter
All of the dead kept you alive—they all matter…
But alive you are the worst there is
False savior—edited attention whore
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Desperation. . .desperation. . .
I sob and cry kneeling in defeat
For once I am right. . .I am right
Far beyond mans intrusions,
A vast hidden world lives on.
An ancient fortress lost amidst,
Historical reference, a faded shade,
Amongst remembrances memory.
Imagination limitless vision,
Separating conscious truth,
And make believers legendary
Conjuring mystical thoughts,
Simply, Drifting aloft,
Revealing a forgotten golden age.
Let castaways adventurers fly away
Into magics paradise,
As sunshine's rays, flicker amidst
Mid summers softening light.
Illuminating forgotten stone gardens,
Secret courtyards in splendors array.
Rose covered vines, weaving down
Walled trellises evergreen.
Ruined towers jetting upward,
Blanketed by thickened mosses
Crystal clear water streams, forth
Through cupid fountains.
Nesting song birds, sing loves,
Wooing hearts at winged flight.
Glide without tethers strings,
Within natures solitude.
Reclining, beside a shaded,
Willow tree I'm resting,
Completely to mine ease.
Watching clouds placing,
By as dusken stars.
Pass beneath nights,
Knowing at last the beauty,
That is Avalon.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
As I pull weeds from cracks in sidewalks
Yout sit on top of thrones made of solid gold
And I pay no mind to the women around me,
Only to your beauty do I hold an Ode.
I see my fair Spanish lady
my daring, sweet rose with thorns,
That run up and down her spine.
As she stops in the daily parade
Waving at the peasants,
She looks at me and summons her guards
Too take me away.
Her beauty is unbearable.
I cannot take not being with her
For a single moment in my life.
Black like coal,
Her smile is bright, as the first rays of the Red Sun
In the dawn.
Her lips painted with ruby lipstick,
her silk laced dress and shawl wrap around her,
Like a beautiful butterfly in her cocoon.
Her skin of olive, dark color and her green eyes.
My God, those sweet and piercing green eyes
Oh, how they hit my soul and make me shiver with excitment.
She is intoxicating and I am intoxicated in her beauty.
She is like an angel, a Latina beauty who walks the streets paved gold,
As I walk the cracked, cobblestone walkways.
She shines in the Spanish sun, like a dimoand in the ruff
As you blow the dust off her sweet brow,
she glows and sparkles with extordinary excellence.
She is beautiful and sweet and kind.
She loves me, but her father minds.
I am only a peasant, and she royalty.
Can our love ever be together in one holy matrimony?
I pray to the Lord, of all that is good,
Please give me a sign that she loves me.
Soon a storm came over,
blowing me down to the ground
And a cloud of dust swallowed me whole.
A great Conquistador on a great white stallion
pulled me up and told me that she wanted to see me.
I shacked with nervous of joy as I followed the warrior.
She was there, under a palm tree
Near a beautiful beach in Barcelona.
She smiled and a glow covered me with passion.
I hugged her and kissed her upon her sweet lips.
I tasted virginity and she tasted loyalty.
We both tasted beauty and harmony.
As the warrior left us,
We made love upon a vigin white sheet,
Soon covered with a flowing river of red.
She moaned with exticy and love was in the air.
The Ode to my sweet Spaniad, Mi Corazon!
We lay there in each others arms
Looking up at a clear night sky
The twilight glimmered ever so softly
And a shooting star blazed across the sky
I kissed her and she kissed me.
I whispered in her, "My love forever"
And she pushed me back upon the sheets
and we made sweet and ever lasting love again.
As we looked in each other's almond colored eyes.
I said to her, in a soft voice, Mi Corazon.
Brown eyes that matched her hair
Sad and unhappy as she stood there
Waiting for her love to return, maybe yes
maybe never, only time will tell
Such sad brown eyes that matched her hair
Tied from behind in the most romantic way
Head slightly tilted gazing down in despair
Looking, but not looking staring into space
Memories, dancing inside her head
As she spoke silently “He promised to return”
Talking to herself said… “I had to believe
What am I to do this is just my grief”
Time is just a lie man invented it to be wise
When two lovers are together
It doesn’t need Einstein.
He gave such a wonderful love
Love only known to a lonely heart
For what is life if not with him, I prefer to die.
Fool I am to think he will return
He’s been gone so long maybe minutes
They say the sun shines on the skin of a goddess her hair dark filled with flowers and her skin of silk,
When you see her don't let her go she will treat u like a god and run her silk hands against the ruffness of your skin she will show u the right way to enlightenment her eyes golden brown so deep you can get lost she can see right through you and know the depth of your soul she will speak words so smooth softer then the wind
Skin so smooth the sun follows her every move.
DIAMOND DUST DEVIL
A dark world lives beyond Orion.
This world is within an alien moon.
On its stable ground, stands a murder of mentality and childhood.
As babies are born, the mammoth scions brain from the dead.
The child life has been prepared.
The countryside is where he reclines.
He sits in his study analyzing his crimes.
He states to himself, deep in thought, “I am creating a world of great power.
My ancestors did not do this way. They only developed a twisted mentality.
Today, I cultivate identities.”
He is a tall and handsome man.
He is well spoken.
As a barrister, he is at the top of his game.
He walks with the same
who do not know they are creations of his sentiment.
His name is Emartra Van Doyle.
He is the “descendant of Dubhghall.”
Anglicization of the Irish
His disambiguation was superlative.
He is the origin of the Vikings.
His days in the world are yet to end.
There has been much darkness to manifest from him.
His balls were costume dramatic.
He lived in phantasm.
Hiberno-Normans balled with him.
The dark and epicaricacy history of Ireland is where Emartra Van Doyle thrives.
Well written via the imagination and deep in the mind, is a sphere of influence,
which cultivates perilous times.
A reverie aspirated.
Cross my heart and hope to die, if I am telling a lie.
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest Name: Diamond Dust Devil
I do not know?
The glass walls caved in with a roar
a yellow storm that broke the faulty veins that had been
up till now
And I, clutching a rag of paper in guilty hands
curled up at the end of a dilapidated wooden bench
at last doing what I should have my whole life –
Late, once again, on the one day lateness is not excused.
I have always imagined the world ending
with a shattering of stained glass
we had painted to portray the thing we called beauty, and
that had shined vulgar colors on us for millions of lives;
a jolt of awakening from some nightmare into
something that cannot be as easily defined,
for in all minds it is a different message;
a violent wrenching open of the hidden crack of light
in an atlas that had seemed impenetrable, endless –
but the entire time had merely been an idiot’s doodle.
In that moment
whether it be in a dream like this or in some
mad state of visioning
the feeling cannot be snipped and trimmed
and stuffed into a four-letter word,
for it defies all language and
pulls the strings hanging from mind and soul and stomach
pulls them and plays a cat's cradle game with them
and leaves the limbs wild and dancing
with the silliness of a drunk man’s misery.
And yet all fell back into order when I opened my eyes
from a dream that had the power to awake,
and glanced at the rotting walls.
There seemed to be tremendous joy written in them, for
I saw at last their stains were of glass.
Probably not real
We will not ride alone on this momentous journey.
We will ride gathering our numbers, from the great mountains.
We will travel to the valley of rivers, towards the great ocean.
For we have a great army.
Those who enslaved us with their power, stand on the top of the hill.
They stare down over the army below.
An army of vengeance we have gathered.
We will ride to the battle field at the great buildings.
Our intent is to wage war.
Fear will not take us.
You are weak supremacy, you will die by the sword.
You will die by the hand of my fellow warriors.
This is war.
Blood will be spilt.
Men will draw their last breaths as they fall back onto mother earth.
Mother Earth will soak up the spilled blood of our brothers and sisters.
We will be fierce and haste not.
We the suppressed will not retreat.
We the people will rise, with swords and fists.
We are ready to die for what is equitably ours.
This is not an illusion.
The fight against the money mongers, the powers that be.
Those that hold the power, will feel our angry wrath.
None will go unscathed.
We will watch the blood spill in and about the great buildings.
Down the concrete stairs it will flow, rich, deep cherry red.
Into the green of the grass, it flows.
Fear will choke your breath.
Reflections of your past, rushing before you.
Thoughts of the dead, invade your mind.
Hollow is the cry of war, as we charge ahead to fight the battle.
To take the final stand, to give it our all.
Justice will reign by the sword and the all mighty hand.
Judgement day has arrived with this great army gathered beside us.
We will ride, steadfast into the fray.
Make no mistake this day will come upon the powers that be.
im livin in a world, where all eyes on me.
trying to curve my own route.
but route 66 keeps finding its way to me.
ive been plenty sick, in all the events layed before me.
even when i reflect to my lowest points
i dont regret any of the choices
That I’ve deployed in my era
A lot of it by error, but hey
We live in hell conditions and there ain’t no air condition
Or any guidelines when life throws you in the sidelines
But when hindsight twenty twenty hits
You’ll begin to understand life’s a bunch of equations and you in the mix of it
An you’ll have to think twice, before running into a situation and becoming the best of it
it’s what got me here, it’s what got us here
Ran with my thoughts blazing up to her place and
Guess what happened next
She opened up heaven’s gate
And just before late I slipped out
I’m a Grown ass man
Doin his thing, waitin to blow up like an old land mine
In doin what he drools over
But time after time
Something decides to creep up and cover the light
Lost my way
Then I revoked to ever know, I ever thought that way
But in the in between time, that in the mean time
Spent a lot of time
Gettin pissed off just to medicate and lift off
Don’t need Don Perion to sip off
Already had my way with the bottle
Even thought to get back with the trouble and rejoin the hustle
That’s just what happens to a man who really knows his old ways
Whos tired of making ends meet and ponders getting back to the streets.
Memory sets in and he remembers an O.G. saying
No matter how tall your pockets stand when you ball
Eventually times gonna make you fall
And I as I pull myself together
I don’t wanna end up like the twin towers rubble
I mean no offence to nine eleven but at that time I probably could have used a reverend
But all that’s irrelevant now
because i live with a different perspective now
there you go you made it to the end :-) comment if you like, constructive criticism wanted as well.
More than enough for me, a small country
There is no bloodshed, the winning is free
So the government rules are not our foes
Life even at bet, at least on our own bit
Than a country of big, but a war it will take
Ours not the country, not even our territory
Let the owners govern they and have their say
They won’t accept us to lead their heads
They don’t like the islanders, to captain the ship
They have their own chief in the land wide field
Like them is us will never accept their lead
Never had we recognize, their captain in the trip
They will do theirs among their kind
For the cause’s sake, there must be a divide
And then we are to unite, to hold our rights
The winning is completed to get back to basic!
Sunday, 10 November 2013
7:17am, Kota Kinabalu
A gun to my head about to pull,
I start to wonder if my funeral will be full,
Clap! Clap! No I am not dead,
That is just something falling off the bed.
I can hear the ringing of a bell,
Not even dead as yet, but it is time to go to hell.
I start to wonder a lot of crop,
Hell is far I think I am going to need a map.
I might have to pay a toll,
Don't know really that was what i was told.
It happen now there is a hole in my brain,
Surprised! Because I didn't feel a second of pain.
This gun for a moment didn't even stick,
I have to say it was so quick.
I will be missed,
But of course I knew why I did this,
Now all of this pain will go away,
It's over now not another day.
Also I guess doing this thing just amazed me,
Killing myself was crazy. Maybe!
What the hell it's time to wake up!
Now I think I want to live,
Won't forget but at least forgive.
Oh, in inspirations winter dreaming, I’ve dream't
Of a mystic valley of the Aurora Borealis,
A chambered realm of frozen colors,
Exploding within reflected light aglow,
In the hushed silence of ice and snow.
Here the pondering thoughts are set from beyond
Limitations of realities boundaries.
I'm a poet on a free fall dive, into the human imagination,
Behold my polarized world of enchantment.
Tender are the delicate wildflower petals,
Gleaming beneath the frozen sun, ice blossoms adornments,
Brilliantly shining in the fields of glitter, amongst
The snow dust's razzle-dazzle, beguiling the eyes of this poetic
A Floral tapestry of permafrost, drips with a frothy moisture
Mist of sleet, creating a dappling effect upon the white
Dandelions and ivory daisies.
Taste the frozen honeysuckle upon your lips of warmth,
As the swarming frost bees pollinate this arctic garden,
Stinging with their chilling venom of flash freezing.
Palest crystallized roses, with thorny prongs sharpened edges,
Embraces the colds icy light, but reject the soft touch of
The mortal hands of loves devotion.
The haunting sounds of the Arctic owl echoes, against the
Walls of these alpine fiord's, as waterfalls of avalanches,
Crashes downwards, cascading into the deep valley basin below.
Swirling arctic foam blasts across this translucent terrain,
Shattering the magical splendor of stillness,
And splintering the tender reed unto nothingness,
Except for the spreading of germination's life giving
Seeds of renewal.
Yet it leaves refineries thin fluffy powder, scattered for
The crystal humming birds, it is their sweet nectar’s
Refreshment to feast upon, as the swift wings sparkle,
In the dusk's afternoons setting sun last rays.
Welcome to my symphony of Tiffany, gems stones sacred
Meadow of frozen jewels, radiating luster's regalia
Of glitz and glamour, leaving behind a twinkling celestial display,
That comes from a rich imagination of a poetic heart.
Such a nose had Ol’ Blue.
Best in south Missouri... everybody knew.
Could smell a pheasant across the plain.
Could point a covey in a hurricane.
That’s the way the legend goes.
Ol’ Blue had a “magic nose.”
As Blue got older, his master’s mind would drift away
To a place where he and young Blue used to play.
In the mornings, sitting over his coffee cup
He found it sad there were no pups.
He thought it would be such a shame
If the only memory was Ol’ Blue’s name.
So, Jim was compelled and full of pride;
He made a search, far and wide,
To find Ol’ Blue a suitable mate.
No doubt, his offspring would be great.
It seemed likely, he supposed,
At least one pup would have his “magic nose.”
She was a Champion Miss from New Orleans,
A beautiful “red” named Cajun Queen.
But Blue suddenly passed away, before the pups were born.
Jim was broken hearted. He and “Queenie” mourned.
Then came the litter, but there was only one.
Jim struggled for hope; after all, he was Ol’ Blue’s son.
Dappled and lanky, a handsome little cuss,
He looked just like Blue. Jim made such a fuss.
Naming this pup would require no ado.
It was obvious. Officially, he would be “Blue Two.”
Oh yes, these were mighty large tracks to fill.
“Can he?”, folks asked. Jim would say, “Heck yes he will!”
So his nickname became “Two” and he seemed to be smart.
Soon it was time for his training to start.
The basics went well, but Jim’s outlook grew very dim
When, instead of pointing, Two would wag and jump and bark at him.
Oh, Two seemed to be trying; but try as he might,
He just could not seem to ever get it right.
“Blue’s son or not, he’s got to go!”
Jim found Two a “pet home” far away, in Tupelo.
On his way back, he stopped in Texarkana.
Been too long a time since he’d seen his sister Hannah.
Six days and six pounds later, he was back on his way.
Work at the farm was callin’ and he’d be drivin’ all day.
He thought about Ol’ Blue and wondered if and when
He’d ever have a birddog as good as Blue again.
Oh, he knew another “magic nose” was just a far off dream;
After all, it wasn’t something any man could scheme.
A “magic nose” was a gift from God, only given to a few;
And he was proud and very lucky just to have known Ol’ Blue.
As he turned into his drive, he broke into a smile.
“Why… I can’t believe it! It…It must be 300 miles!”
Two was on the porch, thin and dirty; but he struck a handsome pose.
Jim ran and hugged Two hard. “How’d you get back? Lord only knows!”
Suddenly Jim realized; and struck with awe, he slowly rose.
A tear trickled to his smile. “Why Two… you have a “magic nose!”
Two and Jim are best of friends, together everywhere.
From milkin’ cows to bedtime, Two is always there.
Jim doesn’t hunt much anymore, now Two’s a rescue dog.
Just last month, he saved a little girl lost in Cooley’s Bog.
Jim struts and tells proud, heroic stories;
While Two wags and jumps and barks, and shares his glory.
Jim boasts, “Like father, like son!”, then speaks fondly of Blue;
But all know the largest tracks to fill are those of Two.
His deeds are known far and wide,
And fill Jim’s heart with love and pride.
For with every rescue, the legend grows;
About a dog named Two, and his “magic nose.”
sand burns on the skin but you
find relief nearby
The dream weaver of passion’s illusions paints magical visions
Within the soul of desires lost, the token King shifts wildly upon
The chess board of life, until he captures the Queen of hearts,
Melting her beneath his words of enchanting poetic charms.
But the black knight yields not the field of battle, for the flash
And glamor of a delusionary joust, can never win this maiden’s
Devotion, for her inner shield bars the mark of vows promised.
Oh in the bard’s eloquent lyrical tones, his sacred words sing
As sweetly as the nightingales soft lullaby, sweeping the dreaming
Damsel off her feet into passions imaginations world of pleasures
Fantasies, but a darker flame flickers in the night, guiding, calling
This wayward mistress homeward, for she belongs to the black
Knight heart and soul.
Bold is the white knight of clarity, trying to vanquish the
Dark arts beguiling spell, but no demons nor God, can part
These atomoshereic creatures drawn together by forces elemental,
For she is the light that balances his darkness,
And their binding love begets the balance of each other’s
Welding his golden wand, the dream weaver builds
Crystal castles in the air, shinning illusions of Camelot,
Tripping the light rays of magic, tossing diamonds as
Confetti shards that sparkle beneath the moons elliptical
Brilliance, yet the queen’s devotion does not waver,
For she loves another, with the whole heart of salvation
In the cold chill of the night, the Queen of hearts
Awakens, stepping lightly as If made of air itself
She steps behind the dark battle horse of fate,
Then placing her fragile hands made of porcine glass,
Into her mighty lord grasp, she mounts behind
The King of black, riding into the distant horizon
Abyss of darkness.
Screaming in protest the wizard of illusion falls
Into madness’s sorrow, for his lost love betrayal,
But she smiles in the night, embracing this
Lord of passions flame.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
she'd never balk
a stroll with her dog can't bother
since it daily empowers
she use to walk
with her mother
for hour and hours
they'd use to talk
with each other
about theirs and ours
now they ALL chalk
a dreamlike white cloud cover
with earthly and heavenly powers
(c) Elly Wouterse
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?
I was born with an empty packet
filling it with enticing products as I grow
I’m yet to be forty and kids at ten
are already wearing stained jackets
What is this gene inherited from generation to generation?
haven’t we learn how it manifests,
as it gradually closes the gap between humans and other creatures?
A sweating conscience is still covered
with the blanket of misdeeds
empathy and pity more alive in the dictionaries
human kindness, practical only in poetry
as love is squashed by the strong rackets of our minds
The world has now become a public square
pack full with moderators of rights movements
but the ball of human responsibilities
completely plucked out of its socket
Perversion has drastically shortened its skirt
now getting almost bare as it attracts more lustful admirers
good deeds, treated like a worm
dropped into a Bucket of swimming Tilapias
The Alarm is ringing in emergency
triggering a staggering wonder
about the generation my kids become grandparents.
What has become of the mind which is now the chalk board
to daring adventures and extreme experiments,
with all ideas focused on romancing the other side of human nature?
Morality, now a tile to which curiosity walks upon
and sense of humanity greatly subdued by greed
we’ve been eaten up by this decadence
and our bodies supported by biscuit bones
the society will be completely consumed
unless we stop this cycle
which has reached its end-stage terminal process.
I am a heart full of love
that shook the pilars that held her colussium up
her heart filled with sorrow,
I swing such fury toward her heart and soul
she cowards away from me,
in fear of falling in love and not knowing what is in black
and not searching what is in the light of pure white.
I am a heart full of love,
she runs and takes the long dirt road,
through the raging mountains of the quiet countryside,
as the meadows of lilacs slowly die when Spring comes,
the blooming of the rose,
like the blooming of my heart,
a blossom on a cherry tree fall and harbour in the wintertime.
I swing toward her, she falls in fear of wanting attention and love.
Lost in the midnight twilight,
the flaming torch guides her through the dark holes of meaningless souls.
and like a frightened hummingbird,
she flees away from the secrets of falling in love.
A heart full of love ready to love,
it is diffcult to feel and to show,
but as if a rose that blooms in Springtime
my love is ready to bloom.
Pettles lay along a darkened atmosphere
lit up only with four wax candles
a portrait of a woman hung over a mantel piece
in honour of my one true love.
As the twilight shine though my bedroom window,
I show a heart full of love,
to take and to hold for eternity.
And as she slowly moves forward,
she takes me home with her,
and opens her chest and shows me her heart
with a glass of red wine and charming cigarette.
She sheads tears of pain and sorrow on my broud shoulder,
I curise her hair, silk laced hair,
shining against the twilight and the moonlit sky.
My heart full of love,
so divine, so original
a one of a kind.
We make love in the midst of the twilight,
as my dream girl is now reality and my pain is no more,
her pain is no more.
Too show such love makes a man feel free
and his soul lighter.
She holds him there,
as the sun rises over the mountains.
The birds sing a tune of cheerfulness,
and they talk about everything beautiful and kind,
that is still left in this cruel and empty hearted world.
Romance and love shared
with a heart full of love,
smile and kiss upon smooth lips,
feel me against your tight body,
and love me till the morning
when Blue eyed Death is staring us in the face.
and we go with him,
and play a game of risk,
and together forever,
onto a diffrent world
we shall love each other forever,
for you and I both have a heart full of love.
I never hide anything from you,
Told you nearly everything about me,
Just wanted your appreciation,
Instead my angel why gave me rejection.
Just like a kid cry for toys,
Just like a poet cries when being rejected by publishers,
Just like parents cry for their children’s pain,
More then just like that, I cry and cried for you.
My angel now I can’t eat,
I can’t even drink properly,
Days and nights are passing,
But still I am in love and thinking of you.
Please come back,
I will be always yours,
Just give me one chance to prove myself,
Why you have rejected me without giving any chance.
You are so pretty my angel,
But let me tell you something,
I would have still loved you,
If you were not that pretty.
Could it really happen?
This question has become a big itch,
Will that day come when the poor become rich?
Could it really happen?
When some of us men stop this game,
Create a real heart and stop saying things just to drive her insane.
Could it really happen?
When some girls will stop looking only at financial charts,
And start focusing at the inner part, which is the man’s heart.
Could it really happen?
When every father will be responsible and be there for his son,
Won’t leave him alone and allow him to gravitate to the gun.
Could it really happen?
When every race will be free,
So people won’t judge another because of the colour that they see.
Could it really happen?
When people will be kind and also be real,
And poverty stops so everyone can eat a real meal.
These are the things that I have always saw,
People hardly see the positive, but always see the flaw.
So right now I am thinking. Will it really happen?
I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation
of words cascading from a nebulous eye
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto
a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,
and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly
sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry
fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,
Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion
itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever
careering from caustic career path to another new low,
Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s
counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the
fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp
Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent
with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond
farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering
Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and
gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed
existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a
Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding
gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels
in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love.
Praise no other; I am poetry.
With a ragged bag and a sack, I am leaving you to chase a dream…
Dry your tears, my dear; no more wail. No more songs of grief,
No more tired bones and tired soul. Just dry your tears.
How mother died awhile ago and father stayed, and made us howl
Like ghastly wolf, a creature of the night. The food we scrounged on
The floor, when your tummy cried… my eyes cried.
But dry your tears little one… just dry your tears,
I have words in a bag, a dream in a sack. I have stories and novels
Poems and tears. Remember the sweater I gave you, when even fury dogs
Would freeze? I lied when I said ‘I felt heat, I just ate or I just smiled – you missed it.’
Close your eyes, and do not stare at my back, not tattoos, just
Scars on my back, disfigurements I wear.
But dry your tears little one… just dry your tears.
Hold on! Even when wolves are circling, knaves are preying
And God is loping deaf. There are stars and there are blooms that
Even we shall see. Just dry your tears my little one… just dry your tears.
God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.