-A poet in heat-
Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails
This part of you
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"
You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet: "Ink Never Lies."
Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sung under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propagandas
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth
I quickly grew tired of poems about
the supposed gentleman who wanted
to turn his gal into a flower.
I thought about what it might be like
to be turned into a
maybe domesticated in a garden
first, then plucked
or plucked straight from the wild.
Stuck into a vase
on display for people to watch you
People admiring you
with punctuated looks of sentiment,
sniffing you while they watch you
someone might press you into a book
to preserve you for later admiration,
only able to touch you like a
so your petals don't disintegrate into dust.
Nah, I would rather she be a
have her petals embrace me.
She might try clawing out my eyes with rage
and slam the kitchenette
in just that way I can't stand,
before we cuddle together,
an ashtray between us
smoldering with the stacks of Pittsburgh or
Chicago or Buffalo City.
And even if the blue light flickering off the walls
can't fill all the empty spaces
in our hearts,
at least we chose to be there
living for the sole purpose
of dying to look good in the casket,
only to be pressed into a mausoleum.
When the time comes,
I want my corpse to feed
the forces that don't give up
fighting against contrived,
manicured lawns --
that don't stop fighting to break through
concrete city slabs
with the faces of dandelions and chickory,
into bright ruckus
while making love to the sky.
April 7th, 2014
“i am with the roots
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"
There was a time
when I wanted to be one of them,
to somehow fit in
with the fancy rituals
of their high society.
But the da-Dumb, da-Dumb, da-Dumb
made me want to puke,
made me want to bounce my head
off the table, hopefully causing the bone china
to add clatter to their snobbish
Words like "gossamer"
flitted around the room,
word so thin but veiled
even the candle light appeared
to shy away from those dry wings.
The snobs talked about how
I was too simple with words.
They did so with such a simple,
the irony provided oxygen for flame
And the critics proclaimed that
I wasn't able to love,
when really, I just wanted to get away
smoke a cigarette in peace
while hitchhiking back to my chubby cherub,
feel her belly fall and rise against my skin.
I was finally able to love,
and she died.
The previous pain had been for show:
"Look at the drunk ham
feeling sorry for himself."
But when she died,
I distilled tears
into a different type of proof.
I was no longer willing to be
their carnival attraction
placated under the table,
listening to them upstage each other.
When I was able to stand again,
a cold, sharp thing was birthed in my mind,
I wanted to shoot them all between the eyes,
splatter their degrees and deeds
with their blood and brains.
I found peace though -
stopped wanting to be one of them.
I found peace
away from their chatter
about what to carve on their headstones
or what type of fancy imported granite
their mausoleums should be constructed of.
I found peace in readying myself to be
to be perspired into the open, fathomless sky --
the same deep blue as the bird
who finally pecked his way
through the rusted cage of my heart,
freeing us both.
April 12th, 2014
“i am with the roots
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"
In memory of----
Solely in my room, I can't stomach the sound of my heartbeat.
I sit here alone to forget the taste of air,
Overwhelmed by the scene -unbelievable footage
18 seconds too long, "I can't breathe."
My judgement is gone, stressing all night long
I use to fear dark colors, now I fear spinning bright lights
Red, White, and Blue, I spew the NY Police crew
What's wrong with your blue eyes?
You see him, you want to mess with him
What a day to trade -- a life for illegal cigarettes
Persecution and judgment day, a sweet life taken away
"I can't breathe", executed in broad daylight!
Bullies left and right
What happened to minding our business?
Moneymaking, refusing to be singled out
A hurting voice tackled by racism
Free to see, pouring his heavy heart,
Oinker's demand the ground, leaving out his testament
8 times too many, "I can't breathe!"
Where did his vitals go?
Can someone please pound the pavement!
Stress, anger, madness, the voices of the innocent
"I can't breathe." the volume of Valium
"Officer, did you not hear the man?"
Are you deaf, have you forgotten how to save a life?
Is it just the NYPD or is it every other badge,
Insinuating crime's a one-color show.
We are all criminals, why the excessive heat?
Shot, tasered, beat down, pepper sprayed, now on the ground
The choke hold of all choke holds, murdered and out numbered
The echoes remain "I can't breathe!"
- The truth!
Eric Garner robbed of his own natural path and youth
One man down eyed suspiciously
Perplexed minds suffocating him instantly
The mistrusted, the fear, the hate,
So tangible, uniforms using deadly force
One asthmatic in a choke hold
Slamming his head on the flooring
Open wounds, worldwide tears
My heart goes to the family and friends left behind
A courageous last breath, for the first and last time
"I can't breathe," now deceased.
You left this world unwilling, waking up a strong community
Strolling in a better world, where racism don't exist
"I can't breathe," Eric Garner Rest in peace!
Look into my eyes
Follow me into a world of ecstasy
There and only there
Will you find the peace to unwind
Beautiful brown eyes not blue
Shady lids, stunning ocean view
Embracing every word
Hear the wind whispers your name
Come with me
Drown with me
Into the abyss of loving rain
Embrace this moment as I draw you in with words
Release you with the warmth -------I was there
I Share--I take
I LOVE--I HATE
Into my arms
I am the charm
Around your neck
Around your wrist
Listen to the voice from my beating heart
The freedom of touch
The freedom of speech.
Like the wind
I'll find my way
Into your heart
Arouse the cheerful energy
Of your insecurity and pen
Follow me into the sea
There we will fall into the deep
Build sand castles
Around dreams of reality
Slip into my aura light
Set to the rhythm of the oceanic night
Now, listen to the breeze
It's called out your name
It's only a matter of time----------------
You'll find yourself calling out...... mine
Dedicated to all my loving friends & fans :-)
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Like garments of
Gold and silver thread,
Shimmering in sunlight
Or bathed by moonlit glow,
Leave me breathless,
Caught up in their naked truth
And timeless flow—
And I become aware
Of nothing else.
She hummed the dawning of the day
while spry hands bounced babies
Wielded a spatula with expeditious
movements flipping pancakes onto a plate
Folded napkins at place settings
She was in full swing at noonday
as brisk hands folded lunchmeat and bread
into sandwiches Smoothed the creases
from pages of homework Kept the iron
moving in a pendulum motion over
the mounds of spanking clean laundry
She talked with her hands
gesturing wildly with excitement
Administered slaps to unruly kids with her hands
She took all gossip with a grain of salt
Tossed a pinch over her shoulder
with a cupped hand just in case
With reverent hands and nimble fingers
she daily turned the pages of the good book
unerringly finding the appropriate Bible verse
Now a smattering of age spots dusts her smiling
frail countenance aglow through paper-thin skin
And mother folds her twilight hands
You never really knew the beauty of your soul.
Of how it is possible to be both old and young
within the same body that tells about the years past,
but can put to shame so many of today’s indolent youth.
How were you able to retain such innocence,
for only a child can categorically say such abhorrence
of one type of food even with the knowledge that it is good?
Yet words of deep understanding pour forth from the same mouth.
When the gift to listen was showered upon the earth
you must have paid attention, for you have it in abundance
“To hear is normal, to listen, a gift, and to understand...a miracle”
One who would care to keep these words would understand. You do.
You are sensitive. Who would have thought it so?
You have that amazing capacity to command words to your bidding
and just the right touch of irreverence to twist them when it suits you.
Still and all, you feel the wound deeply and I’d hate to be the cause of it.
I tried to look into your heart through your words.
Words which were already read by many before I entered the scene
yet they did not see the sadness, the dark that lurked in the corner of your light -
They were too mesmerized by the laughter, to see the crosses in your eyes.
Note: John W. Wulf is the author of the book The Lady Who Loves the Whisper
The Crosses In Your Eyes Contest
Sponsor: Justin Bordner
27 July 2015
He portrays some deep dark evil characters
But I only have to hear his voice and I simply melt
It's rich deep and dark like melted chocolate
Ohhhhhh I find it sosooooooooooo sexy
He’s so tall and has greying hair
With those dark brown eyes
Ohhhhhhhh I’m in heavennnnnnnnnnnn
I think I need to lie down in a dark room!
11th February 2015
just click on this link to hear his velvety voice...
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
In advance, I wish to heal the mind, body, and soul
Thanking all God's creatures
Coating all my expressions from-
-Yesterday, today, and tomorrow
Conceal every worry,
Focus on the goodness that fills my spirit with thankfulness
And, well, honored comments.
This is a rich tribute to:
All Poetry Soup Poets, with grateful and appreciating hearts
Enjoy the time, you give each and every Poets
Now they say that girls are made of sugar
And spice, but good girls finish last my friend.
For there is one truth for all women kind,
Come hell or high water we will fight
For our right to indulge ourselves in
The need for perfections greatest
Yes we will take down that cookie
Puppet clown, dressed in blue,
For there is no fiercer monster known
To man, then a women who’s cookie
Faddish is left unsatisfied.
Peanut butter to chocolate chip,
Just pass the milk and watch out dude,
For women shall be the first to dip.
Call us the two fisted women of the
Raw dough generation, we don’t
Really care, just pass grandma’s old
Roll me down the bakery sweet,
No fragrance smells finer then freshly
Baked what ladies, COOKIES.
Sugar me sweet it’s the ladies favorite
Treat, by the bucket or truck load it can’t
Be beat, frosted or plain, it matters not,
But without Milk its sacrilege that is
Now chocolate maybe the vise five to
Seven days a month, but cookies rule
As the male race drools, because honey
There is no doubt women will take you
Don’t for what, lets all say it ladies around
The world, all together now, SAY WHAT
By the way did I tell you my favorite
Food in the world, of course it’s very
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO POET DESTROYER
And to all women
Lightly the rain falls upon the lamp lit streets, the shabbily dressed figure
Walks with an air of uncertainty down the cobbled stone streets, leaning,
On his rickety cane, the elderly gentleman huddles beneath his umbrella Of refuge.
Shadows of the tenement brownstones line the edge of this rough necked
Part of town, here is the sheltering halls of the forgotten do dwell, the poorer
Venue that slum lords build their fortune’s foundation’s upon.
The gentlemen approaches his own dwellings dormancy with hesitations
Beating heart throbbing within his small fragile bent frame, for he knows
Tonight shall be his last night on this ethereal plane of existence.
For one last moments belief reflection he remains completely still, just to
To feel the autumn breeze against his bare flesh, to hear the rain drops hitting
Against the window panes, and to bid his final farewell to humanity.
Taking out his keys with his wrinkled twisted hands, he unlocks the doors
To his apartment, turning around to look outwards the gentlemen sighs, it has
Been a hard life, but I’m resolved to meet the next adventure, then he shuts
And locks the tenement’s door.
Weary from his days traveling the elderly gentlemen, climbs his steps upwards,
Towards his little room in the back area of his apartments, then he sits at his office
Desk for the last and final time, now to complete my journeys final entry, he thought
To himself this writer of the super natural’s acclaim.
Dipping his quilted golden pen into his ink well, the master writes one last line,
The end, or is this just the beginning?
Clumping over, clasping upon his desk the elder gentlemen’s heart lies stilled
As if at perfection’s final rest, his golden pen now runs crimson, bleeding downwards
Across the aged parchment paper, dripping onto the old wooden floor boards below.
The office door blows open a tall figure thus so enters, dressed in a raggedy robe of black,
Thread borne and full of tares and wholes, the creature approaches the dead gentleman,
As if in a screeching howl, the Grim Reapers touches him, ripping his spectral spirit
Free from the fleshes boney shell.
I’ve come for you old man, resist me not for your sins are heavy, and I’ve no time for
The ranting or ravening’s last pleas for salvations from one such as yourself, I have no
Last wishes qualms my friend, take me at your leisure, for I’ve grown weary of this life,
And it’s lonely emptiness.
Then the room grows cold, the ethereal disturbance ends as quickly as it had begun,
Leaving only the shell sitting at the old wooden desk, what happens when the writers
Golden pen runs crimson, bleeding downwards across the aged parchment paper,
Dripping onto the old wooden floor boards below?
The world of humanity thus so weeps for him, for he is the grand master of darkness’s
Written word, the skilled craftsman’s whom reveals what lies beyond the darker realms
Ebony gates, by his darker words of wonderment.
Farewell Mr. Edgar Allen Poe, we shall miss you always, you whom welcomed death
So easily, but the world of men is left empty without thee, as thy golden pen thus so
Now runs crimson and lies stilled forever.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
SCATCH A CHARACTER CONTEST
A Tribute to Jayson, My Brave Warrior
My dear son, Jayson
When you called late last night to let me know
You were deploying to go overseas tomorrow
In spite of my great resolve
I broke down and sobbed.
The little boy I lovingly nurtured
So witty and good-natured
So kind, compassionate, and loving
You’ll always be my sweet boy
Even though the world now sees you as a grown man.
Recalling special times when I showered your baby face with kisses
Or tickled your armpits
Howling with laughter, you would beg me
“Do it again, Mommy, I love it!”
I remember all those moments we had
At times rocky, sometimes sad
But most of all memorable and enjoyable.
I remember your growing pains
All your questions, anxieties, and mixed-up emotions
Yes, we made it through hurdles you and I
Making me laugh, making me cry
But taking that journey together was quite priceless!
You’re now a strong, valiant, young man
Willingly putting your life on the line
Many have thanked you for your service
And, my brave warrior, I am so proud of you
When I hear your humble, heartfelt reply, “Glad to do it!”
You’re just simply the best!
While you took a minute to leave the nest
I’m grateful for the extra time we were given
But I know
It’s time to let you go –
Go take your rightful place in the world.
You’ve grown wings like a fierce eagle
It’s your time to fly high! Now soar!
But remember that you are always a part of me
And even though we may no longer hold hands
We are still holding hearts.
These tear-splattered pages
Reflect my anguished heart
Knowing you’re prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for your country
I pray that you will return to me safe and sound
I love you, my hero - my precious son.
¡Vaya con Dios!
It’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink,
to wash your hands with sanitizer instead of soap.
Your mother will joke
about how it doesn’t get your hands clean enough
but when was the last time you listened to her anyway.
It’s okay to cry today,
to use your sleeve instead of tissues.
It’s okay to take that thing that hurt you
and throw it out of the moving car,
just don’t go back to pick it up,
it’s not lost luggage,
it’s buried tumors.
It’s okay to hate God today,
to change his name to yours,
to grab the headstone with your mitten covered hands
and try to knock it over.
Throw the snow at it,
the roses have died.
It has been too long since the passing,
but I give you permission to hate God today.
It’s okay to break into the liquor cabinet
and medicate peacefully,
to drink too much sometimes
and not know where you’ve been
because you’ll eventually find yourself.
It’s okay to walk alone sometimes,
sort your thoughts,
to clear the air with air,
and dry the wounds with salt.
It’s okay to climb into bed early
and stare at the ceiling,
to just tell yourself that it’s okay.
Bold lines are taken from the poem Letter From My Heart to My Brain by Rachel McKibbens
O Leader!, O Saviour! , O Braveheart!
Words went so sparse, in your praise
To Thank You, paint you an emblazon.
Galvanised is the nations skeleton now
We dare to fight, we dare to grapple.
There is no hawk on prowl, no one a maim
You kindled the fire, darkness burned
We enjoy the blue sky with dazzling sun
You were the Candle, you were the light
You were the ark, you swept the dark.
Courage is synonymous with your name
Voice to, dumb by the oppression
An ear to the deaf, whose ears fear.
Shadowy wings to the brood you gave
To outbrave the deserts of despondence
We learnt to crawl seeing you ahead.
Now I don’t dare to say, you left
You left us Dear Leader, they say
I feel all papers lie, all news is fake
I see, masses weep, wailing so deep
My hands shivered holding my pen
Crying for the lone cry in the wilderness
I, let not my tears roll out of eyeballs
Better seep in heart, nourish your love.
Your never died, and you never will
You live in the living of one and all.
In loving memory of my beloved Leader and religious scholar Molvi Iftikhar Hussain Ansari (Kashmir, India), who left this abode today for a divine and eternal journey.
Tribute to My Dearest Daughter
My darling daughter,
Precious child of my youth,
Dearest to my heart -
From that wonderful moment
When I first felt that fluttering of life,
Rhythmically beating beneath my expectant bosom,
I knew that I would unconditionally love you forever.
With deep motherly pride
I helped you develop into womanhood
Watching you become a strong, well-rounded woman.
A loving mother yourself, you are not only a blessing
To your own children and your family,
But you are also a blessing to others -
Those who hurt in life and need care and compassion.
With its ups and downs, life has transformed you,
Challenged, nurtured, matured, and molded you.
You are kind, thoughtful, generous, patient, and understanding,
Unselfishly expecting nothing in return.
You are a wonderful human being -
You are a true angel.
God bless you, my dearest daughter, my love!
Entered in contest “Relationships” sponsored by Regina Riddle
Two lovely brothers are no longer with us
They are playing their guitars in heaven
No longer can they travel and see the world
But their memory can live on forever
Jactor Project it is totally unique
Set up by their parents as a lasting tribute
Just place a ‘Warhammer’ figure where no other would seek
Anywhere in the world you think the boys may have enjoyed
Jacques and Torin loved to play music
So a musical location would be great
Or the highest place you can think of
As Torin enjoyed the heights
The idea of Jacctor is to hide these figures
Where no one will ever find them
Take a photo of the secret location
But let Jactor Project know where they are
Then they can be placed on a map of the world
We can then see Jactor on a world tour
The boys are no longer with us
But memories of them can live on forever
Please visit the Jactor Project Facebook Page
Get a figure and take it with you on holiday
It need not be an exotic location
But with your help
Their memory can live on forever
Get a figure from Sarah and Ray today
Send Jactor on a round the world holiday
2nd March 2015
His messages are always elaborative.
We converse as if we know each other well.
He is a famous poet on the Soup.
He writes his verses with depth.
Bravo, Richard Lamoureux you are one of the best!
I like when you spread your wings to write a poetic text.
His philosophy intrigues.
His words are high literacy.
Rick I will call him via commenting
but he is such a Ricky through inner strength.
Bravo, Richard Lamoureux for being the one I tribute!
I love when your libretti smiles uplifting my spirit and making me feel
He can be quite cynical.
My respond is to explain some more.
Richard is what I call him then.
I know he is talking to me as a friend.
Bravo, Richard Lamoureux!
This is a tribute to you.
I will close now.
I hope you frame this and hang it high.
Let the world know you shine.
Your motivational and inspiratory poetic voice is precious.
Bravo, Richard Lamoureux this tribute is to you!
Continue to instigate; this encourages another to write.
PENNED ON AUGUST 17, 2014!
His talent as a Bard explodes
From an exquisite mind it flows
Through an instrument of script
Flooding parchment reverberating
Through the psyche creating waves
Reaching the far ends of the universe
Words of truth deep sentiment flourish
Propelling legitimate personal emotions
Giving due praise to brave loyal and true
To God nature his love and fellow Bards and
The magnificent highlands he loves so well
Always uplifting inspiring and sharing
Accept this tribute from an amateur a friend
With gratitude for reading commenting for
Being just who you are, The Highlander
Heroes of my age in their morning mourn,
Filled with teardrops of pain and sorrow,
They'll be now part of the epic history,
But the cloudiness of who ones's fault still remains a doubt for justice,
When all lies in secrecy,
Can we blame peace and harmony?
Where we are all thirsty.
The masters of war behind the walls,
Safe and sound from the bullets of death,
The heroes in order and duty,
When guns can't do anything for victory,
When bullets can't do anything for survival,
They hide behind the seeds, behind the prayers
Behind the first fallen hero.
They, who are grabby for one's life, for one's blood,
Thirsty for distraction of one's covenant,
They, who pulled the trigger, who ought killing is a game,
Shooting one's body as if a little toy,
Like the Trojan war of old, was trapped and deceived.
Will their consciences arrest them?
Will forgiveness forgives them?
When they will die?
In service, for security the heroes died,
To sacrifice one's life in the name of duty,
A peace we wish is a peace they're yearning?
Or an inside job for another piece of power?
Who knows, we only care
But the Man can see them behind their masks,
Through their eyes, inside their brains.
The agony and heartaches they leave behind,
The scars that'll bleed for justice and life,
For the woman of love, alone in coldest times,
Somehow tears may dry by the aging of time.
For the cries of baby longing for daddy,
Searching for brawny arms that will lift them,
The baritone voice that will laugh with them.
Now change of path, life will never be the same,
The light will also be now the wall.
All will pass, all will calm like an ocean after the storm,
But justice still pursuits justice, must not hide from another demise,
Will give them the truth? Will the lives be not wasted?
Afraid for this will be one of the unresolved cases,
Repeats the failure of my Country,
Their coffins, their graveyards, in memoirs for the heroes
Once the stewards of us, once the fathers of Country
Worthy of prayers -for them, for families and for justice.
We salute the Fallen!
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
All results of
R.I.P. William Dale Eubanks
d. July 1, 2012, aged 68 yrs., Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee
Death came as no surprise
the first Sunday in July;
it claimed you, on a ridge in Tennessee,
with kin who took you in and waited with you
through the last hard days.
You kept what fears you had well hid,
did not betray with loud complaint
the fate you could not but know awaited.
A smile, a joke, a hug – exotic meals –
And genuine interest greeted all you met.
And you were, certainly, never boring
but well-traveled and smart
beyond the telling.
We’ll miss your wit, your bright demeanor,
and will remember all you freely gave ---
and what you took from us
with your passing.
Through closed eyes, I see what has become of your land.
I hear flutes, blessings drifting across a land filled with
highways and stoplights, never silenced.
Through closed eyes, I see children screaming and running,
smoke from soldier's muskets settling upon their fallen bodies.
Through closed eyes, your drums still beat, Warriors still dance,
and strength of your Elders lives on.
Through closed eyes, flutes are heard,
What if Mother Nature
and I applied for her position?
How would I dare
her un-ending cycles;
her secret duties?
Could I invoke such power,
or must I simply become her?
into a cocoon of natural faith.
Let the atoms of the cosmos
transform my light into spirit.
Would I then emerge,
complete with every force of mystery?
Awaken each day with pink mist,
and burn each evening sky
Command each leaf, each breath
and every symphony
Would I wear her gowns
of argent, lavender and aqua;
step lightly on mossy stones,
and dance upon silver meadows?
Grace the heavens
in cloud-white glinting wings
the depths of darkest night
bear stars, filled
with the promise
of every beginning?
From the wild western plains, I call unto thee my sister of the poetic heart,
Where have thee gone, swallowed whole by a desert storm, or lost amongst
The tumble weed of discontent.
Let the blazing heart of Texas yield thy freedom’s liberation, come home to
The pages of this sacred internet outpost, we miss your shining star, called
Friendship that you gave unto us, Linda, the poet destroyer.
From the depth of the very waters of the Ohio Basin I do call,
Let my voice be heard unto one and all, against the breath of the
Winds of dust, hear me my sister poet, let the soundings crash ripple
Like a wave upon the ocean of sand, echoing across the aroid landscape
Of Houston, we miss you come home!!
Oh upon hell’s storm the night winds do shudder and shake, with
Leaving inspirations heart to ache, what festering wounds have thy
Left behind thee, without our muse we are just the blind wondering
In the darkness of our own thoughts, unable to write with strengths endurance,
Behold a phantom shade am I, a thin wisp of breeze melting beneath the
Desert sun, seeking a mirages illusion known as my sister poet, Called
Linda, the poet destroyer.
A vintage portrait of my former self, without your words of wondrous
Expression my colors run together, and bleed asunder from my canvas once
But here in my winter of ice cold, in this chamber of the frozen soul,
I call unto you, with one last icy blast of breath come home, unto us,
Don’t let us freeze in this dungeon warm us instead with your words
Of kinship, and friendship.
Let my words echo unto Houston, Texas, let our Linda answer our hailing,
So inspirations sisterhood can breathe once more a sigh of relief at last.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
An earthen gray memorial stands alone against
A rugged desert landscape, built by the mortal
Hands of the faithful.
No bells do ring, in the churches steeple, but in the
Heart of Texas it's sounding message can never
Be silenced, remember the Alamo.
For the fighting men of valor's honors sacrificed,
All for liberation's call to freedom.
Listen to their whispering voices, traveling
Across the tangle weed dunes, and harken unto
Them, never to surrender even after death, do
They fight for country, hearth, and home.
These pioneer men whom built this nation's
Backbone, carved it out, with steeled bowie knife
Sharpened edge, and musket balls powder's flash.
Gathered here, for one last hurrah’s gallant stand off,
To the victor's gaining everlasting immortality.
Gallantry’s brave, shed their dearest blood, sacrificing
Giving everything they had, including life itself.
Cannon thunder bolts roar, as lightening rods raw force
Striking against mortars harden walls, yet the
Spirits of bravery strong, did not yield, or raise
The white shield of surrender.
Keep thy black powder dry, lift your rifles high,
But don't fire men, until you see the whites of
Your enemies eyes.
Under the hailing of gunfire’s smoke, did hells
Storm rage, both sides dying for their country's
Beliefs right or wrong.
Death's battlefield littered with fragments deceased,
A graveyard left unattended, wars unfortunate
Fallen, became salvation’s tribute to behold, in the distance
A tattered flag, still waves in the winds of freedom.
Bricks of defense, shattered as if made of glass,
Debris spewing outwards, towards martyred legacy's
Champions, killing many before they hit the ground,
Receiving remains of the valiant dead.
Oh in the heaven's trumpets did herald, these
Courageous souls, welcoming honored soldiers, home wards
Unto God's boundless country, for these explorers
To discover the horizon's endless divides beyond.
Prisoners living, taken by horse and rider were forced
To bow, beneath a foreign banners alien flag.
Yet even than their American hearts didn't waiver,
Until the swords steel severed life, from the fleshes beating
Drumming from within.
But the last warrior yelled a rebels battle cry,
And as he fell with his last dying breath,
Remember the Alamo!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A sigh escapes still, immune to overt silence, unabashed...justified
Another teardrop enters the infinite pool of resilience, uplifting...reinforcing
Another hand empathizes--
touching, impulsively putting one's heart unto wounds, alleviating pain
enfolding memories into paper, ostensibly vigilant
Unborn dreams awaiting fruition.
empty streets, impacted pieces: occupied lives, unwavering spirits
Arighting the entropy--
"Not Impossible!" Heaves Obstacled Nation -- Untiring, Persevering!
A lone emboldened seed is planted, objectifying hope,
ushering life amidst rubble,
engaging tenacity inherently within overburdened, yet undauntable voices
Ardently surging, emerging from insidious waves of chaos,
ultimately touching azure
Time effortlessly moves, insensitive to ordeals
nonetheless, undoubtedly healing...
As wings echo distantly, irradiated winds oscillate
blush unfurling light...
Arise, Sun! Embrace the illuminated blossom. Orbit Love's universe.
11th March 2011
**It has been two years since Japan encountered
such a devastating triple tragedy
of the earthquake in Tohoku, tsunami and
the Fukushima nuclear plant disaster...
They are still slowly picking up the pieces,
so much needs to be done,
so many are still displaced, uncertain of their futures, of their lives...
hopefully they are not forgotten.
It may take long, long years,
but I honestly believe Japan can rise over this, I honestly hope so.
****Thank you David for this enjoyable challenge.
It has pushed me to approach this topic in a way that
I would have never thought of on my own....
I watched the blood flow
coagulating in pools of misery
How could a genius be so careless?
Shaving away our humanity
filtering it through an inebriated brain
Poems in the thousands
orchestrated in the ordinary
yet not quite right
Genius exacts a toll
Somewhere beyond mirrored ideology
flashes the broken image of man
the smell of whiskey
one night lays
Lonely is as lonely does
Sticks poked into blind eyes
bones cracking like porcelain vases
adorning the altar of an enigmatic fool
Are we trapped?
Are we idiots?
Do we drink from the well of insignificance?
He sits alone in an empty room
Until he thinks us out of existance
We are still here
Not so Genius
Brilliant none the less. His story is sad but his poetry is riviting.
I enjoyed this contest, facinating person of whom I was not familiar.