In churned up soil the poppy rose
On top of death, still steadily grows
And in our minds we see the crosses
That lie in rows and count our losses
Blood that drips from tiniest bloom
Beloved children, lost from the womb
Their essence blown upon the earth
For infinity, will show their worth
And so they marched by decree
A war they fought, so we could be free
The poppy, how we remember them now
So in silence we do reverently bow
One single day, just once every year
To remember all the horror and fear
To give thanks and praise, to those in need
Who saved us through unselfish deed
For so young when they said goodbye
With no idea that so many would die
In Flanders Fields where poppies grow
Innocence, now lays buried in each row
For those that did return safely home
Their spirit lost and so had flown
To fly away among the peaceful skies
With friends and larks with carefree eyes
In the thunder hear the roar of guns
Calling to all our native sons
Arise, arise, from sleep once more
For once again, there will be war
In Flanders Fields, the poppies grow
They cover our loved ones, buried below
Like a blanket, they protect all within
From a world that is ravished by sin
More souls will join them as the years go by
More wars will be fought, as the lark does cry
More fields will be filled, with our dead
And poppies will mark their graves in red
"Lest we forget and more shall die"
"In Flanders Fields our loved ones lie"
Copyright © Bernadette Langer | Year Posted 2006
If only I can ask the world
To gather all the love
Each person has.
If only I can feel the love
Free of inhibitions in some extent
And share it with everyone.
If only I can be
With the love of yours
So that I can have my last wish.
If you permits me to live and die
Unconditionally with and without you
Oneness reflected indeed.
Copyright © marvin celestial | Year Posted 2012
A nation of peace,a nation of pride
A nation that's spread far and wide.
A nation of hope,a nation of joy,
Thats free for all, man,women ,girl and boy.
A nation to give,a nation to take
A nation filled with reggae,socca,calypso and rake and scrape.
A nation of colors; black,gold,aqua....sometimes called blue
can be seen everywhere above land and under sea too.
A nation of democracy and old english style,but things sure have changed if you
look up our file.
From outside rock stoves,to TV,radio,computers and wi-fi connectivity.........
I'd say that a long way from July 10 1973.
An nation filled with hospitality,love and history,
Arawaks,Caribs and American Indians are the basis of our nationality.
A nation where Tourism is number one, because of the Bounty of sand sea and sun.
Yes,a nation of Youth,sports ,culture,uniqueness and island fashion trends,
Like native Androsia our own local blend......and straw work and junkanoo,the list has no end.
This nation of beauty,splendor and self defense ;yes its celebarting its own INDEPENDENCE.
Copyright © Quentin Sands | Year Posted 2008
We treat it like a marble
in our pocket for a while
we win it
we lose it
but no matter where it goes
it always holds
the warmth of our hands
Copyright © Gerry Mattia | Year Posted 2009
the swans glided gracefully
making circles on the pond
the sun's luminous glow
a mirror reflection of their souls.
her heart skipped a beat
as her lips parted to smile
his arms wrapped her tightly
tender fingers graced her cheek.
he gently caressed the softness of her hair
his touch, a warmth she always adored
she clasped his hand in hers with care
the feeling electric; the way it had begun.
her hand stroked his lovingly
she beamed with pride from within
slowly she turned to gaze into his eyes
he was her heart, her joy, the love of her life.
he tucked her hair behind her ear
cupped her face in his hands
as he deeply & passionately
kissed her rosy, full lips.
they soaked in the moment
of love's words through touch
feeling the beautiful essence
they had created with love.
with nature as their witness
guarding their precious moment
they honoured their day
their anniversay; the way it had begun.
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006
"Times Square was magnet to rejoicing
hearts, as mine was on that day the victors
came. With roses, red, as were perhaps,
my cheeks, I vowed each bloom for
every home-come valiant there I'd see."
"I see her still despite the sixty years,
a taintless angel clutching there a bunch
of roses, red, as were her lips, a pair of
magnets that had drawn me close and
closer yet, and in a flash, the kiss."
"The kiss, a flash of light, and all from
senses blotted out, save for warm, tender
lips on mine, my body backward bent
in sweet surrender held by arms, the scent
of roses crushed between our breasts."
"Our breasts thus pressed, the roses in
between; how long did we remain thus
still in time? For but a span of breath
commingled, held? A moment's measure
of twined heartbeats kept in trance?"
"In swooning trance, then rudely snapped
out from by surging mass, rejoicing river
crowd, there wrenching him away, and me,
still stunned, forgetting there to hand him
but a single, breast-pressed rose."
"A single rose, if but to press to lips, or
in between the pages of a book held dear,
a keepsake from an angel kissed but with
no name to call in sleep-failed nights,
for failing there to even give my name."
"My name, I wish I had the sense there
but to whisper to his ear then yet so close.
Perhaps, it would have been the key
to worlds away from lonely wards and
wakeful nights with just the sick with me."
"With me is but the memory of lips, their
warmth the years have deftly dimmed;
that kiss, a quick-eyed lens man stilled, now
wrought a lifelike replica of vanished time,
one budding love rose crushed by fickle fate."
Copyright © Miguel Mendoza | Year Posted 2007
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)
--- Note: "The singing machine" is a not so tongue-in-cheek reference to Gene and his penchant for singing whenever and wherever he wished, as well as to his karaoke
equipment and his nickname at bars that featured karaoke nights. ---
You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks
for us to hear when, and if, we will)
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
The eye,a sign the
unwise can't comprehend
Forged from the world's
illumination in darkened
enlightened ones like
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac
The eye is a tree
with many branches like
Priory of Scion,Knight
in all corners of earth.
The world is clothed
through wisdom from
The eye,all seeing
emblem of power and
riches to the lion hearted
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and
Creating the social order
through men of power....
Some see it as a
curse,others a blessing.
I feel it,the great eye is
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
A very wise person said to me only yesterday
Why do you have such expectations in life
If you have expectations, you will only be disappointed
It was like a light bulb suddenly lighting up in my head
Of course that is where I have gone so astray in life
I have always had expectations and have always been let down
A Parent has expectations that their grown up children will call
A wife has expectations that on her Anniversary a fuss will be made
Children have expectations that the world around them swirls
Men have expectations that their wives will at them always swoon
Oh yes one can have dreams and hopes and future plans
But the word expectation means eager anticipation
In other words the total act of expecting what you want to be given
Now flowers can be given on an Anniversary to celebrate love
If you are not expecting the gift, then what a pleasure it becomes
So expectation is really a Want, I want the kids to call
I want you to love me, I want you to need me, I want you always
Love should be given not demanded, love should be free
Kids will call if they love you and care about making you content
Flowers should be given from the heart not expected as a right
A person in anguish should not cry out for you to save them
A person in anguish should love themselves enough to save themselves
We should not expect a rainbow in the sky, but be happy when it is there
Things should be given freely not expected, then that is real joy
I will from today try to expect nothing, and in the process grow stronger.
Copyright © Lizzie Treetop | Year Posted 2012
Trapped in a perfect world, what does time
mean? Wait, nothing is permanent in this
Stay or go. Which way did you decide?
Is that your hand reaching out to me,
Shall I grab your wrist; wait, this is fine.
The sweet scent of timelessness circles
over my head spinning me heedless.
Moods float keeping my goodness in
place; there, now I can see your face
floating on the canvas circled with a
brush in all the grand colors.
The thrush of ochre, gray and sand.
Tips of green highlight the tops of
trees sitting against a sky splashed
in blue hue.
I feel you there pulling my hand
spinning me around and around
through years of you and me,
burning candles from the heart,
aroma swerving through the soul.
We set apart, not going somewhere
flames burn to keep you a part of the
great mountain that only you could see.
I wake in scented timelessness every day.
Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page | Year Posted 2011
Tonight, the full moon blooms
And foils the looming gloom.
The remnant doom from noon
Has lost it's bullish tune.
And embraces dusk's eerie cool.
The village square it illuminates
Arena of moonlight tales of late
The little ones gather and wait
While the elderly engage in debates
And the goats noisily ruminates
The bright night, lights sparks
Of bliss and joy in trees' barks
The tall iroko whistle in parks
Where young lovers end their tracks
And skimpy skirts lose their tacks
The son of perdition frets unsure
The thief in the night fears exposure
The pirate sailor steers from ashore
The night fisherman denied action
For the kind light bathes the ocean
Tonight, the full moon beams proud
As the town crier makes his round
Belting forth a piercing sound.
While the town's chorus echoes loud
The stage is set for the yearning crowd
Copyright © Kolapo Olapoju | Year Posted 2012
Love breeds hate, we are her children,
lost and scared, blasé and meek.
We curse the ones who left us lonely
and blame the ones who made us weak.
Love will shove you to the ground,
on all your fours to crawl through dust.
You'll lift your head towards the sunrise
to catch some light but only just.
Love breeds fear, now watch me shiver:
too scared to open up the door,
in case in comes another stranger
to add more damage to the sore.
Love will leave you lying breathless,
your body scattered on the bed.
A hopeless pilgrim gone off radar,
still longing for the words she said.
Love will show you the error
of your pathetic little ways.
With every hand the stake gets higher
and in the end - the loser pays.
Love will never give you pity,
too many fallen, fools galore.
A lesson learnt, I should know better
but here I am, begging for more...
Copyright © Roman Atkin | Year Posted 2012
they sentenced me to
pay off your credit cards and
back tax ring that bell
they sentenced me to
be subjected to grumpy
not so special day
they sentenced me to
wish I didn't waste my time
trying to be sweet
they sentenced me to
wonder about your motives
it feels so phony
they sentenced me to
first take back my heart and then
protect it from you
Copyright © kristi hayner | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
I can't imagine what goes through a girls mind,
As she lives grows and encounters the blues,
Looking for prince charming in the nick of time,
To carry her off on a journey that begins with two.
Most guys I know tremble at the thoughts of getting married,
They run hide say not for sale and crack other jokes for fun,
Guys think ball chain hang us now or let me be buried,
However with smitten heart they come with eyes fixed on one.
The day comes which the two have planned at last,
It seemed like forever this moment to arrive,
Hand in hand giving rings and vows shall they cast,
The Lord over them teaching them how to thrive.
Next stop vacation fun and the honey moon suite,
Then lessons of how to live together and pet peeves will spawn,
Moving on in their future we hear the pitter patter of little feet,
A home the lady will keep tidy while the man cuts the lawn.
Years will pass by and changes shall take place,
Children now grown and ready to leave the nest,
But the two remain in tact thankful for each other and new space,
Knowing it was God who helped them excel and pass each test.
Hebrews 13:4a - "Marriage is honourable in all,..."
Copyright © William Arthur Tell | Year Posted 2006
She gasps still choking
Bleeding justice follows them
Darkness now bleeds lies
Copyright © Tim B | Year Posted 2011
How to Invest in your Valentine Hours ?
Daisies are Stubby,
Daffodills have a Spout,
Watch out for Cupid,
For He's Sure to be Out.
Poppies are Red,
Forget-Me-Nots are Blue,
Be Sure to get Flowers,
For your Little Missy-Sue.
Marigolds are Short,
While Sunflowers are High,
Chocolates are Sweet,
Prepare for your Cutie-pie.
Pink Pansies with Petals so Soft,
Lily of the Valleys that Smell so Sweet,
This Time and Day you Must Share,
Dinner on the Town will Be a Nice Treat.
Some Flowers like to Climb,
While many Others Seem to Crawl,
A Smile - Tight Hug with a Gentle Kiss,
Realizing your Efforts were Worth it ALL !
Written by William Arthur Tell
Lu 12:27 Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto
you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Copyright © William Arthur Tell | Year Posted 2010
We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.
Copyright © James Ph. Kotsybar | Year Posted 2011
to one who was never born
I cannot fit you amongst dead sisters;
put you to sleep with humming lullaby.
I cannot, for you
have never been born.
Mapping a womb sometimes reveals you,
coiling, illusory and innocent.
Just any womb
carrying a girl.
You seem iridescent midst mother’s warmth;
it means nothing to you, if you may
never be born as
my little sister
whom I have not put to sleep with a song.
© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
Copyright © Kushal Poddar | Year Posted 2009
What I meant to say was...
I'm sorry, and
I miss you,
And I forgive you and I hate you
I meant to tell you that I want to work it out
And it could never work between us,
There's this thing between us,
Though you have my whole and soul
I listen for your whisper at night,
I sickly dread crossing paths
I promise you I meant to talk to you again,
Unless I got in my way
I cry to you, at you, sometimes for you
But nevermore in front of you
You've made me stronger than that, though
I do love you
I meant to tell you that you're scum
What I meant to tell you was that
I can still feel your love
The quiet way you left me in the night
Or the messy way I ripped you from my side
Your wish to die
Your guilt, my guilt, my lies
Nevermore I want to cry
What I meant to say is I'm drawn to you
For love of danger, or neglect
Not for love of myself (or is it?)
What I meant to say is that I love you,
But I choose me.
Copyright © Rose Melo | Year Posted 2011
I want to taste her.
Not anyone specifically,
I just crave to know
what it all could really mean.
I would fall for her. Knock down these Berlin sized walls I have up. But my world sucks because Her is just a figurative way of discribing something that may never come.
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2009
It’s another red-letter day
a holiday in the U.S.
a national, religious holiday
known also as a ‘Turkey Day’
a very important day.
A chance to be reconnected,
a moment of being together,
a salutary occasion for gratitude,
full with family folderol.
There are historic reasons
this American celebration
has its origin centuries ago;
as the Pilgrims did it and -
invited neighboring Indian tribes.
To hold it with a feast –
A celebration for God’s blessing.
giving thanks for a common purpose,
freedom, justice, and worship in God.
Through Sarah Josepha Hale
this event has become a tradition
a realization that came to fulfillment
marked with significance, thus far.
With church services elsewhere
wth family reunions all over
with customary turkey dinner
oh, a reminder of the historic past:
at the Pilgrims’ big celebration.
In many homes and families
Table fellowships spice up the day
with turkey, mashed potatoes,
cranberry sauce, maize, pumpkin pie
and other vegetables and desserts.
a complete picture of this great tradition.
Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012
Her look that day,
Should have told me everything she could not say.
Unprepared, I stared.
She walked away.
As she tossed our ring,
I felt the sting.
If I’d known then
How I feel today,
I'd heal the abscess and my heart’s decay,
Before her affection left me there that day.
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
There’s a truth that remains since
the beginning of time.
God created man and woman,
with marriage in mind.
From the dust of the ground,
Adam was formed.
From his side came Eve. A new life was “born!”
God’s design for marriage became
very evident and clear…
If not for Adam and Eve,
none of us would be here!
Marriage is a blessing from God.
A gift from God above.
A man and a woman come together
as an expression of their love.
Anything different than one man
and woman is perverted.
This is a lie from our culture that
is trying to be “inserted.”
God gave us all a natural love
with a strong ambition.
To come as a husband and wife
is a God given intention!
Read from the books of Genesis
God’s idea of marriage is
for any person or nation.
Many can try to change what God
has already designed.
It’s no wonder why so many have
Let’s come back to God and
trust him with our life!
The one who set up marriage as;
“one husband and one wife!”
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012
IN MY MIND I TRACE BACK THE TIME
DAY BY DAY AND WEEK TO WEEK
ONE MONTH TO THE NEXT AND SLOWLY
ALL OF THE YEARS THAT HAVE PASSED; EMBRACE ME
SO MUCH TO CAPTURE IN A SINGLE VERSE
SO MUCH FOR THE BETTER THAN FOR THE WORSE
THINKING BACK TO OUR VOWS TO EACH OTHER
AND HOW FOREVER HAS REMAINED WITHIN OUR REACH
SO MANY DREAMS, SO MANY DESIRES
THAT THROUGH THE YEARS HAVE NEVER FADED
AND ALL OF OUR PROMISES AND ALL OF OUR WISHES
CONTINUE EACH DAY TO EMBRACE US
AND HOLD US FIRMLY SIDE BY SIDE…
IN MY HEART I TRACE BACK THE TIME
DAY BY DAY AND WEEK BY WEEK
ONE MONTH TO THE NEXT AND EVER SO SLOWLY
ALL OF THE YEARS THAT HAVE PASSED; EMBRACE ME
AND EVERY ONE OF OUR MEMORIES
AS WITH EVERY EMOTION THAT FLOWS THROUGH ME
PART OF THE PATH TO OUR ETERNITY..
Copyright © Michael Domaracki | Year Posted 2012
I'm watching my son
Playing his strange game
If we're not careful
Will he go insane?
He seems to enjoy
This World of pretend
It is just fantasy
Not real in the end
He's still the same guy
I don't see a change
You may wonder why
I don't think it's strange
He knows the difference
Between right and wrong
We helped him along
Values that he learned
Didn't come from his game
If that was the case
It would be a shame
Video Games Played Contest.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2012
It's pretty late, isn't it?
The day's done, Midnight draws near
You mischievously glance at me
I carry you away to our room
Along the way, I think
Of all the last four years have given me
Scar tissue that I wish you saw
Warheads all rusting in peace
Four years ago, I was still so innocent
Fresh eyes, clear mind
Chasing some distant dream
Through a lush, lovely forest
And in a massive clearing, I found the dream
And took her in my arms
She ripped herself away before I could blink
And dragged me down into her suicidal spiral
It took months to escape
To pull us both out
My eyes became jaded
And her innocence was given to another
Latching onto a beam of light
I clung to another
Treating her emotions like a toy
And feeling that I was making her stronger
I became addicted to her quickly
I lived to repent my sins
And repent I did
As I became the toy to her
And in that time, I headed west
Trying to ease the pain of loss
Dragging yet another soul down
And running when it became too much
I've yet to apologize for that
Maybe it goes without saying
But if it doesn't
I send my prayers and sorrow to her skies
And as I walked upon the plateau
Where nothing but weeds grew
I found a single flower
Weakly blooming under the dust
That flower would change my life
And alone I sat on that plateau
Blooming alongside it
Blooming alongside you
And as time passed
The plateau began teeming with flowers
As my life and yours
Became increasingly intertwined
My sorrows melted away
Every loose end that caused me strife
I went back to tie up
And close another chapter of my life
My thoughts come to a halt as I look upon you
Your body under mine, our heartbeats in sync
I take you in my arms and press my lips to yours
Here atop this flower plateau
Copyright © Derek Chos | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
one short score and five ago
it wasn't so - that streams
flowed in airless wires
that Dolby heard symphonic
on hand phones was absurd
that art could be a part of everyone's day
meals smartly delivered - have it your way
cookies cooked on every chip
bits for sales cooked to look legit
who knew we'd get delivery
of anything we could want or see
how-to brain surgery on YouTube
all mind's desires blogged now denude
and the porn, oh the porn
so high-def, so hot and forlorn
progress, regress, no matter now,
not totally, but - it's just a mess
we made it, a mirrored graven image
like us, to carry on our lineage
rub-a-dub-dub, it's all over us
newness notions hopelessly scrubbed
it's really the same ol' us you see
trinity or the favored Menage à Trois
we'll always take it to the Nth degree
so type 'n' say your mind's eye's desire
the whole world web buys 'n' sells us entirely
© Goode Guy 2014-03-13
Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2014
Note: Every year the government sets aside a Day of Remembrance for the
Holocaust. This year it is the first week of May. Please share this with everyone so
that none of us or our children ever forget.
They rounded us up one day in the rain
Herded us into a cattle-car train
We were just Jews, it was simple and plain
The pain – we must always remember
When the train stopped there were so many dead
Ushered into two groups, tears were all shed
Weak ones culled out and away they were led
That said – we must always remember
None of this ever has made any sense
Staying alive in good health our defense
We'd spend every day praying out by the fence
Consequence – we must always remember
At night we would gather and in silence we pray
Pray that we make it through one more day
What tomorrow would bring – no one could say
Today – we must always remember
Each morning we’d line up; they’d walk down the rows
Deciding who lives; deciding who goes
Each morning we’d pray that we weren’t one of those
God knows – we must always remember
And the stench in the camp from the ovens by noon
Reminded us all of our impending doom
Relief from this hell-hole could not come too soon
Repugn – we must always remember
There were thousands of us left back in the damp
In our bunks, in the ovens, or the cattle-car ramps
And surviving this ordeal left its own stamps
The camps – we must always remember
So each year we gather on Remembrance Day
To honor the loved ones who have passed away
And the horrible price that they had to pay
We pray – we will always remember
Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
I love you for being my husband.
I thank you for all your love.
I thank you for being there,
A special person sent from above.
I thank God for sending you to me,
For giving me a life with you.
And our children he entrusted me.
Your acceptance, guidance and care,
Given so unconditionally.
Together with my love and certainty,
Give us so much to share.
I feel a special bond not there before.
It gets stronger every day.
Making within me such awesome happiness,
My heart longs to soar.
I know that I am not always perfectly undoubting.
We both have our failures and imperfections.
I think, however, our short comings and trials
Build between us stronger connections.
I believe that God has brought us together,
Because each has a lot to offer the other.
You, as the father and husband,
And me, as the wife and mother.
Copyright © Summer Gratias | Year Posted 2011
Why You, Why Not Me
A friend-less/Pen less/Friend
Some-thing that a young aspiring writer
Would say to an well established
-POET OF THE PEOPLE-
*****How do I get a " Poetic License "
*****In sending off... How long will it take....
*****Where do I get the Poetic License
******How much dose it cost?
ANSWER; It takes's time, business and a steady relationship.....
Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2011