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Free Verse Tribute Poems | Free Verse Poems About Tribute

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Details | Free verse | |

Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -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 sang 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 propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

~*~

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

I Can't Breathe

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!

By: PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

flowers for Chinaski


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 
flower --

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 
slowly wither.
People admiring you 
with punctuated looks of sentiment,
sniffing you while they watch you
die.

By chance
someone might press you into a book
to preserve you for later admiration,

only able to touch you like a 
gentleman,
so your petals don't disintegrate into dust.

Nah, I would rather she be a 
woman,
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

and lived.

Lived beyond 
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,
blossoms exploding
into bright ruckus

while making love to the sky.



April 7th, 2014




“i am with the roots
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument...."

-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"




+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

flowers for Chinaski -- part ii

part ii


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
and forks
to add clatter to their snobbish 
symphony.

Words like "gossamer" 
flitted around the room,
word so thin but veiled 

and distant,

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, 
small-mindedness,
the irony provided oxygen for flame
to devour.

And the critics proclaimed that
I wasn't able to love,
when really, I just wanted to get away
from them, 
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,
and 
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 
consumed by 
roots,
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
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument...."

-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"



+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

The Wind

~~The Wind~~
            
           ---
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
It yearns
The freedom of touch
The freedom of speech. 
Of love, 
Of purity
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

by: PD
Dedicated to all my loving friends & fans :-)

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Tribute to Charmaine Chircop

If tonight I could paint a moonlight sprinkle it with endless love and childlike magic sail away with you across an azure sea on a vessel to happiness If tonight I could close my eyes dance with you through the chambers of my heart wrapping you in the endless emotions of my soul and let all my Pasionata set us free If tonight, just like the wind felt on your moon glowed cheek through the silent distance would you remember me a fresh sweet scent of last gardenia on yesterday's linen sheets a wonderland of happily ever after's through fields of daisies where the river meets the sea little by little dare to dream a dream wonder a bit longer lose yourself where the crimson bleeds it's rose
08/07/2015 Tribute Contest hosted by Silent One

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

9 11

                                    
                                                               
                             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 ~









          

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Soul mates solace

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
recollecting memories 
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
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Poet

Poet—Your words,
Like garments of
Gold and silver thread,
Shimmering in sunlight
Or bathed by moonlit glow,
When shed—
Leave me breathless,
Caught up in their naked truth
And timeless flow—
And I become aware
Of nothing else.



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

The Crosses In Your Eyes

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, 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.






*John W. Wulf, author of the book The Lady Who Loves the Whisper  
___________________________________________________________
1. The Poetry Soup Poem of the Week - 02 August to 08 August, 2015
2. The Crosses In Your Eyes Contest - 3rd Place , 29 July 2015
    Sponsor: Justin Bordner - 
  
Kim Patrice Nunez
27 July 2015

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

A poet's dozen Poetry Soup heroes

Not for contest: Tribute to all those who have helped me grow as a poet

rivers flow gently like that of a poet's pen creating heroes How can I mention only a few-as there are a number of inspirational poets who woke me from my slumber From all those who greeted me with a pleasant welcome to all those who watered the rose that grew in the desert The Aqua girl encouraged me to share my raw lyrics as I posted - many commented with encouragement My lack of detail for grammar had others in hysterics while many advised me to ignore the discouragement The ink flows as my poetry heroes provide nourishment
A poet's dozen is 12 lines of poetry using the following forms in this order: One modern Haiku: 3 lines: Syllables 5,7,5 A couplet: 2 lines Free verse: 2 lines English Quintain: 5 lines: Rhyming scheme ababb The Silent One 1 November 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

He Makes me See in Color

He makes me see in color
when I’m enshrouded in my grey.
His hues of happiness twirl and dance
and my life takes on a different stance.
~~~Beauty birthed in blessings believed~~~
        He gifts to me...
reassurance in reality’s revelations!
His color blind eyes
make my truth blind ones see...
My words are wonderfully wise
Passionately poignant
Honestly heartwarming
Sensually scintillating
Oh la la lacious…simply delicious
vibrantly colored in vivacious!!!

These are the word colors
he mixes on my page’s palette
with his own signature artistry. 
He embellishes the plain canvas of my mind
a kaleidoscope revelry….I see
This color blind poet,
this mentoring friend
is a man who carries a name
which says it all...
Lamoureux: the one who loves
He's a lover of colors he cannot see
because he’s gifted them...
He’s gifted them all
to me

Eileen Manassian Ghali
For Richard Lamoureux's Contest
Who Do You Think I am
September 26, 2015

You paint your pictures, on the canvas of my mind.
Ebbing and flowing, as your thoughts become released.
Texture and color, are displayed with every line.....

From another poem
If I could see in color.....

Richard Lamoureux

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

It's Okay

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

Copyright © Katie Pukash | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

YOU'RE MY INSPIRATION - DEDICATED TO MY AMAZING MUM

How do I begin to describe you Such an incredible person Yet even now you doubt your abilities You lost your own mum when you were eight - you never ever got over it You worked all your life, started off by working in a bank for almost 20 years Then when you had children you ran a village shop from home But also helped run the smallholding where we lived You even had an evening job to bring in extra income Then you began working in a care home and that had a big impact on you At 50 you changed direction in life and studied and trained to be a nurse No mean fete with two children to bring up When you retired you continued to work in a care home Then you undertook charity work every week still continuing well into your eighties In fact you were on your way to work at the charity shop when you fell You were found lying in the street … Two bleeds on your brain and over three months in hospital How you pulled through I will never know Yet you battled on and are still with us still Now you have short-term memory issues and are going blind Fate struck a cruel blow when dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer He passed away in February Your lifelong partner for nearly sixty years Your world turned upside down and now you live in a care home We are selling the family home - gosh I find it tough emotionally I know we have lost dad but I feel like I am losing you too You are helping me clear out things from the house Items you have known and loved for many years Sadly we can’t keep everything It must be so so difficult for you, yet you never complain I just want you to know how much I love you How much you inspire me We only have one mum and I am so lucky I have you still Written for a previous contest but too late to be submitted Placed in Judy Konos' Contest - tell us about your mom 18th September 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

THE PRINCE OF PURPLE

Beneath the opal white moon, the crying doves shed their precious tears,
Causing the purple rain to fall, melting at the lavender notes of musical dreams,
Camelot’s illusionary ivory towers of brilliant colors, seemingly fades unto the
Violet shades of gray, as the minstrel’s music grows silent for the last time!
The pied piper’s fluted guitar, remains stilled in the silence of a generations
Mind, the world weeps in fuchsia stained technicolor for their slain prince
Of rock in roll, plays now within the heavenly band beyond, rocking the
Ages, lost amongst the spiritual stardust from which creations mystical
Legacies are born!
In reverences musical temple hall of fame, another name is added 
Amongst the universal giants, that have crisscrossed humanities 
Triumphant vast historical tides, rolling ever onwards within the waves
Of the timeless rebel, jamming with the beating rhyme of the 
Human soul forever!
Gentleman’s coterie of lace and satin’s refinement, is this instrumental
Conductor strumming, at the inner finite strings vibrating within the
Harmonic orchestra of an eclectic mind, a whispering dreamer whom
Heard an expressionistic tempo hidden within the color purple,
And thus wept in the violet rain!
A flickering candle quivers within the moistures clouded wake,
The concert master stands alone at the center of the musical hurricane,
Untethered from his slave marked chains, the band leader strikes against
His podium of freedom at last, rock-n-rolls final creshando, echoes
Within the winds of destiny, carried upon the voices of his generation!
Legends burnt ashes rise above this fiery phoenixes’ resurrection, 
For in truths resolve this singing firebird’s melody, shall play forever 
Onwards, as the doves cry in flights eternal soaring!
Where has the musical voyager gone, the visionary fuchsia master,
The soul captain hailing the distant shores of rock nirvana,
By playing mystical notes of color illusions, on the blank canvas
Of the horizons musical sheets, beyond mortality’s everlasting
Window of social acceptance!
Let the elegant birds of peace fly forth, with their wings appendages
Extended upon the breezes of this artistic grand master, set blazing
In lavender flames, quenched only the falling of the purple rain!
But even then harken, listen my generations of rock fans,
Can you not hear the wailing guitar, of the musical force, known
 As prince the visionary revolutionary!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 







Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

A Tribute to The Highlander

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

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Poet's Heart of Gold

Giving Thanks 

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

:)

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

A Poem for the Fallen 44: A Tribute

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!

Copyright © Reuben Escarlan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
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.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
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,
Oh well...
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.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia

Copyright © Laura Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

COOKIES

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
Confections, COOKIES!!!
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 
Cookie jar.
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
No doubt!!
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
COOKIES!!!!!!
By the way did I tell you my favorite
Food in the world, of course it’s very
Obvious, COOKIES!!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO POET DESTROYER
And to all women

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Bill


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.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

A Tribute to Jayson, My Brave Warrior

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. Godspeed! ¡Vaya con Dios!

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

ECHOES FROM HOUSTON

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,
Any longer.
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
So miraculous.
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



Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

The Flute Sings, A Dakotah Tribute

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,

                                 and Spirits

                                           never die.



Minnesota
12/26/12

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP

THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP Anita’s eyes were brown. She was the kindest of angels. Her speech firm with authority but reassuring with a glass- like sensitivity; she seemed to know all. Prompt as a rooster's first crow, that's how she is. She stands like a lioness ever ready to act, a channel to prolong the patient's life. Her heart is a captive cog of dedicated compassion: as a wife, as a mother, as a Dean, Professor, and as a nurse. She stood always regal in white. Bearing a sanction of life and death with each shot made by her gentle hands. She had Tiger eyes for signs and symptoms; sponges to absorb order and pressures, she was simply a lamp for a sick person. Our batch, she handles with iron fist. Labeled as "black sheep" – for some of us are noisy cans but empty inside. Black sheep but later turned into the cream of the crop. She stood as our Samson pillars then despite canyons of doubts and critiques, our batch defies the odds. Yet, one day a snapshot happened – She fainted while teaching. She was brought to the hospital, scrutinized and observed like the frog in my sophomore year. I was one of the nurses who rendered care. I watched, how the shining light in her eyes turned to stormy sadness. I have heard how her sturdy voice now sounded a tattered tape only syllables and groans, no more. Her before supple glowing skin turned a wrinkled ash — all tautness gone. Finally, she needs only bags of blood in two days her life passed my Anita... _______________________________________________________ Sponsor Thomas Martin Contest Name Show but Don't Tell Placed 3rd... O.E. Guillermo 5:15 pm, May 19, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Becoming Mother Nature

What if Mother Nature
 retired,
and I applied for her position?
How would I dare
to assume,
 her un-ending cycles;
 her secret duties?
Could I invoke such power,
 or must I simply become her?
Spin myself
 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
 with crimson?
Command each leaf, each breath
and every symphony 
of living?
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
and in
 the depths of darkest night
 bear stars, filled
with the promise
 of every beginning?
 
Suzanne Delaney


Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Eleventh, March

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.








0330040203042013



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....



Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

THE ALAMO

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,
Yelled out,
Remember the Alamo!!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Flowers die,Pictures fade

I wrote this in memory of my uncle.


Flowers die and pictures fade,attempting
to erase every memory ever made.

Letters are lost while the clouds roll in,
letting the rain pour and the sadness begin.

Feelings are lost and people pass on,showing
us we're the one's who have to be strong.

GOD gives us strength to keep our head held high,
not letting the wonders of the world pass by.

Love everyday and you will see,miracles
happen when you believe.

Nothing can stop you from living your life,
even when the pain cuts like a knife.

Some family we've lost and some still remain,
leaving only love and happiness to be gained.

Some memories fade while the best never die,
leaving you with feelings of wanting to laugh and cry.

People make the biggest impact without even trying,
then everything changes when they are dying.

Ton's of faces get lost in the crowd,
to your surprise certain one's stand out.

GOD gives you love and never leaves you alone,
providing a loving family along with a good home.

Life will bear obstacles and put you to the test,
but you have to be strong and always try your best.

Never back down from any hardship thrown your way,
it will make you stronger until your last day.

Say what you feel in your heart and never back down, even
when your taking your last breath take one last look around.

Angels are singing a song only you can hear,
complete the last part with an open heart,
and absolutely no fear.



                                         Flowers will die and pictures will fade,
                                   but your memory is one that will always stay.


                                       In Loving Memory of my Uncle
                                             You will be missed dearly.

                                                   MAY 28th 2012

Copyright © Colleen Bono | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

The Sand Dunes Bard



                        ......for Clark



Thoughts are more sure-footed at
Low tide, those he meets along the way
Are often stationary....sometimes stuck,
With a helpful curse, a hand reaches out,
Feigns retreat, chuckles and spares another
Mucklucker from the landsharks,

Towards sundown, God provides,
A daily dose of thanksgiving squeezes between 
Epitaphs, well earned....

No bearing, the sea, nor desired, but the gems
Left behind sparkle forever, 

Mental health central,

        A

          Moveable

                    Feast



10/4/14



Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2014