Is not the poem
Is not the poet
Is the observations
Is the emotions
Is the diversity. entwined
Opposing views always sought
Is the love
Is the hate
Is the sadness
Of losing to fate
Is the laughter
Of a child’s dreams
Is the love
That is sometimes unseen
Except by the poet
Who in his lonely sadness sees
The beauty of all
That surrounds the depression in he
My heart something broke
I became cold
For childhood days gone by
A million ways
Now I write
From down below
Where darkness is the sea
That I sail in eternity
Of in the distance
I heard the notes of a symphony
So now as I sleep
A thousand deaths
For that one musical note
To wake me up
Heart and soul
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
Authored by Chuck Keys
It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.
There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically
It wasn't here or there and it was.
With no distinction,
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.
It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.
In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.
The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."
Differences exist for differences,
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
A fleeting still small voice tries to warn me
A sudden overwhelming desire to run
The tell tale taste of metallic flakes
Means my nightmare has begun
Everything around takes on a ghostly pallor
A landscape of anguish and corrosion
A moment of silence before the violence
The flash of light, the brilliant explosion
The sound of the Sun fills my ears
Fear, my throat, though none escapes me
And paralyzed I clench my eyes
As my tormentor prepares to rape me
And it's endeavor is absolute
Consumption is its ultimate goal
It exists to chase me so it can erase me
Whilst feasting on my soul
And then that familiar salty smell
The sudden rush of warmth so stings
Engaging me relentlessly
In vile unspeakable things
Over and over and over again
My limbs stretched and wrought
As it's teeth tear my bones bare
It's mind defiles my thoughts
And still wounds beget wounds beget wounds
As in the mouth of madness I suffer
And with every injury he just seems to be
Rougher and rougher and rougher
Then just as suddenly as it began it ceases
And for a moment I am clearer
And then the true horror of it all
Is revealed in a darkly lit mirror
There in front of me stands my destroyer
Face flush with it's fill of my pain
And I find that it's eyes and mine
My God, they’re one in the same
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2011
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right
I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song
True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load
I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should
For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight
He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl
I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2011
I am a coward with open sores.
I write and wonder who it bores.
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly.
I see others carrying out my dreams;
that’s what’s defeated me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way.
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say...
I worry the world will leave me.
I cry because no one believes in me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I understand nothing comes easy.
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me.
I dream I am healed and brave.
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave.
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours.
I am a coward with open sores.
© 2011 ~JSLaM
* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011
* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011
* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.
Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011
Spill Ink—the poets’ timeless warp and woof;
Signifies our mantra beyond reproof;
Late at night as poets struggle to write;
Our Muse enchants poets to such delight;
Poets seek tone and tenor for a splash,
And images and nuance for a dash.
"Spill Ink!” Poets cry seeking perfection!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(October 18, 2014) (Rhyme Septet)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
Looked at the outside of steel window
Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air
What the news was brought in the feelings!
Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor.
Waiting for the light in the window
Dark vision comes down into my eyes by cycle-weariness
Down from one circle to another circle in time-blindness
Who stands here, the Islamic old man!
History of terrorism was carved on his burnt body
He wants to say something!
A white-complexioned Christian young man stands into the neighbor circle,
White-skinned history was printed on his blood-stained body
He wants to know something!
A dark-colored Hindu boy stands into the third circle,
History of third world is awakened on his envenomed body
He wants a little smile!
The old man, young man and boy are coming forward from the circles
Great distance... Near ...in front the room...
Who are you? No reply
They disappear into the tuberose equipped black and white photo of my father
Dad is smiling, I am senseless!
Tears are dropping from the eyes of our cat on the corridor.
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014
I am able to move one’s spirit to the pinnacle of joy or drive it to depths of despair.
Not a chore to evoke passionate emotion--convey love, hate, life, and death.
Within those four small words lies our meek human existence all told.
To omnipresent Alpha and Omega, of what core lies between?
Now I sit with pen in hand to ponder many words of wit.
Gift to paint, not I, yet may cast an image to mind.
Bright lavender fields coax the amorous duo
to mingle with its deep, heady scent.
Amidst wet sewage soaked dirt
a filthy small child lays
weeping for mother
a bloody heap
Make them express.
Giving wide literate detail.
Understand to hold a soft heart.
Else never will you touch one’s soul.
So this is merely the lone reason I compose.
Excitement and warm sympathy and fiery passion,
within many a sorrow and tears and friendly persuasion,
in absolute care I do write and lay my psyche upon each page,
then wonder at length the primary purpose of such artistic endeavors.
Who among the world’s populace might gain an insight from what I scribe?
Does this really matter at all; since rarely, if ever, is it what one says… but how.
Copyright © Michael Santner | Year Posted 2005
An inner earthquake rattles him again
as the fiery sun dips in the horizon
Can he too, hide his halo as such?
Closing his eyes as he folds in his wings,
wishing he could take it off
He trembles...must he embrace darkness to know of love?
Sun breaks over the mountain range,
her obsidian skin absorbing the light.
If her body is like a canvas of night,
could she reach within herself,
beyond the horns and hooves
and find her own hidden sunrise, deep inside?
The darkness is more reassuring
than he could have ever imagined-
something to truly weigh his goodness against,
in a finely-tuned balancing act.
And as the stars can help guide a lost soul,
he too possesses a true north within.
Oddly enough, she welcomes the radiance,
such a stark contrast to what she has been used to-
rays drip into her like ink diffuses in water,
a momentary burst of chaotic brilliance,
followed by an even stillness.
She cannot escape it, becoming a part of her.
The rooster crows for the third time,
so he opens his eyes to this daybreak,
emerald mountains shimmering in the morning light.
Through abysmal depths, he arises and now realizes
Darkness comes as the light falls, it is inevitable...
yet Light also takes over that darkness.
With the thickening dusk,
clouds turn into amethyst ribbons.
The day's warmth thawed a part of her
that was kept frozen and dead for eons.
Now, she would do everything in her power
to keep it pulsing--to keep it alive.
Upon watching them, sheer fascination takes over....
even though these two are on different paths,
they had both achieved a similar transformation,
as if neither was an agent for one side, or the other.
Not any longer.
And how their auras shone
....in perfect equilibrium.
*nikko palmario wrote stanzas: 1, 4, 5
I(Chris D. Aechtner)wrote stanzas: 2, 3, 6
We both wrote stanza #7
Opposites: Angels and Daemons/Sunrise and Sunset
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2011
Looking at the vast azure sky, one can't help, but feel small;
as crowds of ants run in terror of cathedral-sized Converse.
I left sugar cubes next to their hill, feeling purposefully big.
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2015
You think you’re alone out on the range
Sittin’ silent under starry sky,
Just a marvelin’ at the universe
And wonderin’ ‘bout that ol’ question: why?
You shake your head at worlds of worry,
Knowin’ it ain’t often that you’ll find,
All the answers to your queries
Beneath the clear black sky and pine.
You wonder if we rose up from mud
And walked straight and tall upon this earth—
Or was it all created in a moment—
A conception that gave us true birth.
Are we all no more than those monkeys
Evolvin’ slowly down life’s long line?
Or is there more to earth and heaven
Touched by something truly sublime?
We keep on punchin’ clocks and cattle
And tryin’ to get through each new morn—
But is there more to life than dyin’
And will we somehow be reborn?
All the cattle know my hard proddin’
As I lead them along time’s sad way—
We live for but a flashin’ moment,
As we watch life go by in one short day.
So make the best of trails you ride, cowboy—
Each tomorrow is both yours and mine—
And gaze long at stars in that vast sky
Placed there by intelligent design.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2005
Some lives are like a stone quickly skipping over the ponds top, forever tossed.
My life is below the surface trying to reach upward with each breathe lost.
But there is still beauty, deep down here in the great depths below…
For the solitude holds me in its grip as I dwell with what I know.
My occasional trips to the surface leave me vastly wanting more…
Still, my life below the surface doesn’t scare me as it did, once before.
And the breaths will come when given, as my life continues to flow.
True it is dark but beauty lingers, everywhere the currents move below.
At times, the surface reflections seem surreal, as if it’s a place not to go.
Comfort comes more and more to my soul, as the deeper I glide below.
Here I dwell within myself, with words, and thoughts, that carry me along.
Perhaps I have found where I truly belong, as I sing my siren songs.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
What is this unseen power
It changes all that exists into dust
It shapes our lives and our landscapes
It sculpts and changes us.
What is this unseen power
That rules the world of men
That heals and teaches and equalizes
That triumphs again and again?
Time is that great master
Of power and wisdom and grace
Which by doing nothing but passing
Leaves its mark on every place.
Time...yes you can waste it,
But be aware when you do
Time will return the favor my friend
And eventually start wasting you.
Copyright © Melanie McLaughlin Reed | Year Posted 2007
We are all strippers on a stage
choreographed of broken dreams.
Our materialistic schemes
drown values in whiskey bottles.
We are all strippers on a stage
who put down our pillow case veils,
dawned a garter belt, sold our souls
for the price of our panty hose.
We are all strippers on a stage
who can not keep with this life style:
with nights too long and days too short,
where a candle burns on both ends
a center burns out; we sell out.
We are all strippers on a stage:
vibrate and shimmer for dollars,
feed this addictive scenery.
Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2010
He told me to write a poem
About beauty, wind blowing
Hair tossing , dream making stunning
Gorgeousness of living
Beauty addicts and blind ambitions
Movie stars and historical happenings
Formal dresses, women in high heels with
Faces meant to smile
That’s what poems should be about, he says,
Your good at that kind of thing, just spit it out
“Shawty, write a poem about beauty, that’s real poetry”
“Everything is beautiful, baby…”
“But what is beautiful to you?”
Births and rebirths
Phoenix Red celestial torching of the hearts
Interlocking fingers in twilight
Kisses, Death, sorrow, crocodile tears
Laughter, Ecstasy , black
White, brown, yellow, silver crimson
Skin on skin, chest to chest, on and on, soft
Hard City light heaving, breathing against the Ebony sky
Natural Twinkle of diamond shadows,
Cosmos, Atoms, Hydrogen bonds, Electrons
Nucleus, matter, anti-matter
Smash together, slither mutually
To create harmony.
Everything is beautiful.
“Just write about that then..”
"Not everything has to be written, somtimes you just have to
live it out.."
"What's the point then?? What's the point of writing about butterflies
and waterfalls? I just don't see it? Why do you have to doll everything up and
make it more then what it is? Not everything has to be picked apart and analyzed."
"Mmm, I suppose."
"What's real poetry to you?"
"I don't understand."
I recline and rest my head on his chest
Tracing lines of thought on the ceiling
Helping him dismantle the universe and put it back together
In his own way
Enjoying lyrical symphonies of life
Breath by breath…
"This, baby, This is real Poetry.."
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
My Guitar weeps
And not so gently
It strings together broken tears
It has seen my feeble attempts at love
My Guitar laughs
As I try to serenade
A song that lovers play
It strings together broken romances
My guitar sleeps
For I am not doing to well
In charming your heart
My guitar is bored
My guitar kills me
And steals my girl
They were meant to be it seems
They joined chords and sang
The funeral was brief
The music was good
Guitar music after all
Now they travel onwards
With not a thought of me
With no guitar
As the ghost of me weeps
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013
When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...
I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky
The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn
I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe
The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul
Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through
Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost
I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art
As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow
Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place
The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost
Day was Life,Night is Death
And the latter has given counsel on my final steps
Copyright © Winter Wallace | Year Posted 2009
Every time we fall we lose a bit of are selfs.
Untill hollow becomes the heart.
bare as a vacant stores shelves.
The dreamer finds solice in every new face.
That new love's illusion.
Cold is the afterglow when we reflect apon that
once passionet embrace.
Can the bitter heart find a reason to try?
Skipping stones alone across dark water.
We keep setting are selves up without
a single question as to why.
A room smoke filled yet every thing shows
Sometimes we play the cards.
And hold the best one aside in fear.
As vast as the ocean from its shores
the the innocent crawl.
Trying to capture only a glimmer of that true passion.
Every time we fall.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
Who is more righteous,
The pious man who watches in awe,
Or the faithless man saving those in the blaze?
Who is stronger,
The man who lifts a ton with one arm,
Or the mother of four on her own?
Who has lost more,
The man who has lost his money,
Or the man who has lost his love?
Who is weaker,
The man who can't fight back,
Or the man who won't fight for him?
Who Is more savage,
The man who doesn't know right from wrong,
Or the man who doesn't care?
Who is wiser,
The man who has the answers,
Or the man who asks the questions?
Copyright © Michael McOrus | Year Posted 2005
Marching down life’s highway, my feet became very sore
I then came upon a sign that read “Heaven’s Grocery Store”
When I got closer the doors swung open wide
Next thing I knew I was standing there inside
I saw a flock of angels positioned everywhere
They handed me a basket and said, “Child shop with care.”
Everything a human required was in that grocery store
With many commodities to carry, you could always come back for more
First I acquired some Patience; Love was in that same row
Further down was Understanding, you require that everywhere you go
I grabbed a box of Wisdom and Faith, a bag or two
And obtained Charity of course but more than just a few
And then reached for Courage to help me run this wicked race
My basket was almost full but remembered some loving Grace
I then chose Salvation for it was advertised as free
I tried to collect enough of that for both you and me
Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill
For I thought I had everything to do the Master’s will
As I went up the aisle, I saw Prayer and proceeded put that in
For I knew when I stepped outside I was bound to encounter sin
Peace and Joy were plentiful, the last thing on that shelf
Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself
Then I asked an angel, “Now how much do I owe?”
She smiled and said, “Just take them wherever you may go.”
Again I asked, “No really, how much do I owe?”
“My child,” she said, “God paid your bill a long time ago.”
Copyright © Adam Kirkhoff | Year Posted 2010
By M. Taha Effendi
Do You not see, Almighty God,
How Your order man defied?
So base, so vile, so gravely flawed,
Yet so consumed by pride!
He broke all sacred codes though warned,
He dared to pay no heed,
He mocked Your words, Your gifts he
He breached what You decreed,
Beyond the holy saint's facade,
There hides a worthless cheat,
A savage beast, a thief, a fraud,
The master of deceit,
Too weak to tame his lust and greed,
To feel remorse, too vain,
Power, wealth his only creed,
And Your worship he disdains,
He quenched his thirst with blood he
In countless wars he waged,
Centuries wore on. Millions killed,
Civilizations laid to waste,
But he prides this life of sin and crime,
As he leads himself astray!
His humanity lost in his race with time,
And by the error of his way,
Why then My Lord was I expelled?
Was mine a darker sin?
I am the angel that rebelled,
But is not man my evil twin?
To salve his conscience, me he blames,
When he himself is full of vice,
While in his heart surely he shames,
To have staged his own demise,
It is a myth his vice I feed,
He writes himself his fate,
Man: A far more disgusting breed,
Not merely my incarnate!
(Finalist - International Poetry Soup
Copyright © Mohammad Taha Effendi | Year Posted 2010
Life is but a winding road
Filled with faces along the way
Coming in and out of your life
Coloring your every day
Yet most spend just a moment
A fleeting glimpse before your eyes
They giveth not and taketh not
And cause you barely a rise
And some stay just a moment
Earning a thought upon your mind
Triggers for countless memories
These are the most common kind
And fewer still stay even longer
And commune with you a while
Leaving behind dearest memoirs
Of sweet tears or a special smile
And rarer still those faces grand
Building mansions in your soul
These are the faces of a lifetime
Whose virtue you do extol
And know that you simply are
A feature filled soiree
A portrait in collage
Of the faces along the way
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
I saw a death shadow in the eyes of my infancy
a soft mercy with calm blue fancy,
in childhood, when free will asserted it's wild supremacy
we sang of star charriots and laughter loyal to hyperactivity,
I see a death shadow in the prime of my ascendancy
outlining my temple of truth, whistling thy words of wizardry,
I hear It like the madness of morning's ending,
I taste It as if from the burning breast milk of a Dragoness,
I see It in the bleeding smile of my heart's kindness,
I speak to It when love's luster unlocks the lunacy of loneliness,
I feel the humble shade of It's jade justice in a world hot and hustling,
My death shadow has a surface sweet with patient purpose,
It is not rough with forboding frost that frights the fight of flesh,
rattling the scythe of doom and cackling for cataleptic crisis it does not,
It is not a grim God or a greedy Goddess, no taxing terror trumpeted,
It has never been an angel of escape or a demon of dour delirium,
when suffering becomes a seduction of brute beauty I share in it's wise joy,
my death shadow follows the desperate yet disciplined form of my body battle
through life's plethora of coy poisons and possessive passions,
marching along side me with martial grace, sculpting my face with lion spirit -
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015
To see ourselves as others see us --
unmasked images, through others' eyes --
half-formed caricatures, perhaps --
or mere grotesqueries --
barely recognized, telling
what we thought to hide --
we'd label these as skewed
perceptions, not real truth...
But, no matter -- when once
I thought myself unfairly judged
and asked "How so?",
I was reminded of the obvious,
i.e.: all outcomes are determined
by perceived attitudes and actions.
Not truth, but clear perception,
pure appearance, guide others' thoughts
and so create the world we live in.
Thus, however harsh,
"Perception is reality."
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
Primose path leads to the slaughter of American
dream delete pause proficiency with internetty
webbegone after thoughts of yahoo googleyed
interred intracacises that shed benign capsules of
mom entary apple pie delquiences cooling
the soul shopping for the next alias avenue of
pointless me procurement mauling an ongoing
onerous dildodate vis a vie meme.com/me in
an engaging omnipresence of sextext no tact
spell ckeck chicshicshakplak no sense tic tac.
Talk? Walk? Balk? Chalk? Sue? Sulk?
Dinosaur diligence posse with the senior
gestages gestulating, we r forevre 21 and ying yang
dung. Yes, good f ing luck with that!! Look at your
petridish parents and see what box u check to lid close
and abscond with the lost liberal leftovers. That
is you in reverse in a few carnal years after Hilter youth
children decide to screw us as the new
generation which skewer post present parental postulates
to the oldster outhouse outlets so u can be "youf" free. Little
do they notknow as they cumulatively co opulate
that they set the stooge stage for no thanx ahole actions.
The DOS does'nt fall from the Apple tree. Leave it,
love it, learn it while ye may, the kid crisp cosmos of
offspring social dicktates are biting at your heartbeatbit
empty elmo enterprises. Pause parenatal prenatal
preferences prepearing perinatal persons pretasking
postnatal practices, in which you have veno papa preparation.
Think before you For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge and Analyze
your ass-incarnate initiate. Borrow berofe u basterdize,
condomize before u copu culminate, decide before
u dicktate, envision before u envy, fail before u foil,
grasp before u germinate, halt before u hinder,
illuminate before u illerate, jump before u jinx,
kill before u keep, love before u lay, meaning before
moaning, neutralize before u now, obilerate before
u ooops! presence before predicament, quit before
quake, resilience before ridiculous, sanity before
sexusensuality, thinkth before u thumpth, utilize
before u unionize, victory before victimization, we
before want, xx nor xy, zen before zeal. Pocket
passion files fly in the face of ruined reason residules
to the point of pronounced perplextion plagued
prominantly with no recall references to problematic
protocals for near north normalicies in my buckeye
life measures of simpatico silly symbiosis sublime
of mini me monophile mucous made misdemeanor
milktoast memories. Pass go, collect $200.
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013
Here, as I wander
Many roads, many paths
All one shall see
Is I walk alone
She appeared, like a dream
Like the mist of night
Or the fog of morning light
But I swear she was there
I reached to touch
The sweet taste of what was
I longed for the past
Yesterday, when dreams were dreams
I could smell the fragrance
The smell of morning lily’s
One could taste even the air
And feel the suns grasp of the day
Such desires burn deep
Within our souls, should one believe
Or so I have been told
As a withering candle, my desires have faded
Tears, oh the tears have faded
The heart grows, only in the desires for thing past
And yet the heart, sands of time, becomes a desert
The music still plays, and I still walk
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2012
I walk through the life of silent dreams
A museum of sorts
I passed by my reflection
Not a mirror in site
I was horrified
As I stared into my face
No, no, I could not
My eyes could not view such horrors
Shut tight for fear of light
The journey was long ago
Where emotions floated or not
The soul fell into the sea
I belong to no one
Thus they say I am free
I belong no where
Thus I am in a prison
I float inside a bottle
Like a goldfish in bowl
Waiting to be painted
Knowing too well
The drawing will never be done
The wilted rose shall weep
One more time
For the face no one shall seek
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015