When you are pushed, push back.
Who do you think you are!?
The only apology in this room is you!
I refuse to hold hands with your broken memories.
Falls unto 95 degree quicksand
I now use to cover your illiterate stanza.
Your insignificant breath used to layer
With seductive whisper
I siphon rejected wood chunks,
From your winterized shoulder
Igniting our bridge under Summer equinox
To hold you again tomorrow
I walk down melancholy roads
Just to hear smile’s exhale
Following Gene’s footsteps
Singing in my
For every judgment you made
Is every step I take
Every move I make
Towards rose colored stairways within
Your unseen heaven
He’ll be watching you
But rising in love
I do not
Want you encased in my cerebellum
You have become a preposition with no value
Without dependency’s fingertips
Upon my beautiful Spanish lips
Mi corazon no quieres a ti!
For my mirror, lunges true colors upon my sleeves
Forged hummingbirds unwrapping knotted Cloud 9s
Without a need for you
Without a need for you
The arrival of silence’s last stand
You will see the titanium on my hand
And your binary smile
Will evaporate unto your cracked Sapphire’s shell
As you wear my incipient exhales
Giving you hell
©Drake J. Eszes
this is the hour resting on the basin
of a sacred chalice awakened by crowns of stars
peeping then, swelling blue yellow...
this is the hour,
the hour of dusk filtering the shape of a world
kneeling on wooden pews and candles;
the winds touching the valley that knows
this is the hour… when the homage of many
an outstretched arms surrender
to the blazing wisps of a godly dawn,
of a late twilight's hour
as this is the hour, lightened by stroked peace
till the vessel of light
drifts along rivers, and earthen clay,
shadow to light ,light to shadow reaching
the final call as on this the hour,
a scented air bestows chaste stillness…
this is the hour for the gentle lamb of holiness
to pass through an arched moment
while kindness of eyes bows unto this hour.
Verlena Walker's Holy Is The Lamb
I’m tired of knowing
That because of my race
Because of where I live
Because of my last name
I’m part of the band…
The children of a lesser God
I’m tired of knowing
That there is so much hate
That it can only escalate
Till someone presses the button
And we blow up in nuclear hate
Some of us are children…
Children of a lesser God
Labels and degrees
Religion no longer a balm
But something to cause harm
Human life of differing values
We mourn them differently
for some of them are children...
Children of a lesser God
How it must make God cry
When His children bleed and die
Unable to understand
That there is a grander plan
One of perfect harmony
In another place in time
He won’t be sitting at heaven’s gate
Asking for an ID
Or checking your nationality
He won’t see the color of your face
Or ask about your race
All He will want to know
Is if you let love grow
Did you live according to His will?
Did you try to relieve suffering and pain?
Were you the bandage of peace
that bound up the wounds of hate?
First, second, third world people
Are all children of one God
Though some may disagree
I ask you all to see
That we are all
Every single one of us...
Children of the Greatest God.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I do have purpose
that stays near
a constant reminder
of my inner child
As my conscienceness
shines through to create
a new perspective
I break out of my cocoon
Only to discover that
I find places where
the sanctity of my being
does not flow as it should
My intuition is what
guides me though
there is no longer the
desire for the constant
upheaval of tragedy to strike
On my journey I have
discovered that there
are many hidden truths
So as my spirit ascends
I am inspired by my bravery...
If I am frightened
by the visibility that
standing proud does to me
then I shall stand even taller
No longer will I fear
the degradation that
once was my shadow
there is no home here
for the shame any longer
And I will no longer be
swayed by the fragments of defeat
When I become sorely tempted by
And I think I can't
make it on my own
I will remember that
I am walking this
road of life for me...
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
a picture of disaster
of Self pity
of little worth
on a cornflower blue background
and red brush strokes
put me on canvas
for all to see and
free wine and
will never be
isn’t for them
I am a masterpiece
THE POWER IS GREATER!
The Big Bang designed the stratosphere and troposphere.
Below both majestic presence, Earth is the topography.
Today, all God’s creature roams freely.
Human being munificence is magnanimousness.
Now sits a child fulfilled.
She has her ink pen.
She aspires to be a writer – a great poet someday.
She is real to a righteous path.
Her themes and topics display a certain initiative.
God’s kind of poetry she leitmotifs vigorously and the melodies manifested.
A theological epitome inner cores and personification of the spirit went aglow.
Her radiance was beautiful.
Her voice recited the glory of the omnipotent.
God had sent the gift of psalm and she embraced him with open arms.
Baptism converted her soul to be a modern-day Apostle of the Lord God.
Prophecy she formed.
Wisdom and knowledge was born.
Her innateness was so strong that she was a natural.
Her libretti brought smiles.
When a release was necessitated from emotional dismay, her librettos bring hope and puts God’s speed in place.
The Lord God sent the gift of psalm.
In a whisper, is the strength of voice.
The Lord God provides the power.
The people exclaim, “This is God’s kind of poetry.”
Eloisa proclaims, “This is praise and worship of the omnipotent."
PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 19, 2014 @ 12:48 A.M.!
Challenge Title "God's Kind Of Poetry' Contest!
a resilient soul
hoists his drooping wings
dreary but dreamy
he keeps on searching for his illusive dreams
regardless of the storm and height of mountains
goes through miles away
in his equanimity
straight with vision of sunrays
on plight are failures
not too bad
the mighty swords in his heart
so much patience and love help him to survive
in every vicissitude and kinks of his life
we can get the melody of what we want
if we allow the cacophonies to come
Dec. 5, 2012
Form: Suzette Prime
Contest: Suzette Prime: Prime Numbers and Philosophy
Poet Sponsor: Suzette Crous
Split apart your ribcage,
Open up the corridor, and let me come in
Uneasiness instantly strikes through me
Let me sway away...
Let me flutter away...
Like a butterfly out of its cocoon
I'm trapped!Let me depart
Split apart your ribcage,
Unwrap me, let me go!
Believe me...reflect on me
Let me sway away...flutter away
Let us both seek the sun,
So we can grow together once more
Glass and fractured imaginings are trite
Upon his blameless feet
Even as he dance and play about them
Toxic and perilous smoke are authority
Outside his naive lungs
While he freely breathes to ensure laughter
Blood sprinkles and routine metal shards
Within his innocent hands
Presently, as he claps to the street’s tune
Mordant activities be forever present
Before his youthful eyes
Just before the gleams therein make hearts sway
The resilience and spirit of youth