So words become; the order of the day
and order of the day becomes
the soldiered meaning of all work and play,
the ever present, beating drums.
Then words become; the lure of the lie
and liars lure every son
with shadows of gold 'til they all but die,
to retire, to be, to be done.
And then, once again; the words become
the order of every day
to sleep, to awake, to be dead and done,
'til all words fly, ever away.
Copyright © Tom Hitt | Year Posted 2015
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012
Written January 8, 2013
The morning blues in a lily on the pond
Wake on the wrong side of the road
Penniless pockets play the vagabond game
Ride the tiger recently tamed
On a long road to nowhere, horizon's stain
All's my name sitting next to me
Lie down with graceful angels deep in the snow
Or on wet grass recently mowed
I've grown accustomed to the scent of your mane
Spelled chug-chuga-chug is my name
Oh why do flowers never bloom in the snow?
They never have a chance to grow
No, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore
The oaks and pines getting clearer
Much to a land unafraid to spread its wings
Listen to Woody Guthrie sing
Bacon sizzles in the rain and sunshine reigns
We've reached the line of no return
Of the big rock candy mountain we will sing
For the next week my phone won't ring
Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2013
P aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
The Beach of Promises
Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,
strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.
Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,
walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.
Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,
lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,
my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,
wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Oh, what am I going to do, today?
I've got so much time on my hands that I
Will simply go mad if I don't find a way
To fill it all up with some stuff to get by.
I try to stay busy with this and with that
And sometimes it works but at others falls flat
I think at such length that my head starts to hurt
And then I relax with a cup of yogurt.
I once had a job where they worked me to death
I grunted and groaned 'til I gave my last breath
The medics restarted my heart with a jolt
I thanked them, then, wisely, decided to bolt.
I could someday make a good living at rhymes
But all I might do is to fall on hard times
I'm cracking my skull like a ripe coconut
To pull myself up and well out of this rut.
A jack of all trades but sad master of none
Among all that's not new now under the sun
I can't just go out there and find a nice niche
It makes me so crazy I want to yell, "SHEESH!"
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
Who is that man staring back at me in the mirror?
I keep looking and searching, analyzing that mans
reflection, and he keeps doing the same thing.
Who he is is a mystery to me, it's a little unsettling
he looks familiar to me, kind of like, me but older...
Could it really be me?
I see traces of my youthful self, and the man I used to be
hints of hidden blonde hair among the gray and white strands
dark spots and wrinkles on my weak arthritic hands.
Each grey hair is like a mileage marker on the highway of my life
this body is certainly well traveled, the miles have passed quickly,
faster than I anticipated, the end of the road appears on the horizon
and the pace quickens.
Each wrinkle and line around my eyes and mouth are reminders, grave
reminders, reminding me that the grave is only a missed breath away.
Thankfully I see the scar on my chest, which also reminds me that at least
my heart will keep beating by force of electrical impulse if not by nature.
I can't say that this impression of me is new and improved
more like used and abused, but definitely renewed in the spirit,
the man I am within, is who I really am,
not this worn out replica I see looking back at me.
I see traces of the man I used to be, traces of strength and vitality.
Although my strength has escaped me, and left me here trapped in this
fleshly prison of a body, my mind and heart rejoice in anticipation of all
that I'm going to do.
Sadly, this man in the mirror reminds me that it's simply not true!
At least the youthful face that once was filled with anguish and despair
has been replaced by a wiser face, one that understands why
people can be sometimes so cruel, and why life is sometimes challenging
As I stare at the man who stares back at me, I can see in his eyes a
genuineness, a sincerity, an honesty, and a tranquil peace despite the pain.
I smile an accepting smile, and he smiles back at me, as if to say I like you and how you've turned out, and I say to myself, me too.
John Derek Hamilton
May 06, 2016
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016
Our world is embarking on a destination
that is odd and strange, everyone has
learned to fear age,
Corporations are obssessed with youthfulness
and the ability to be cute,
They are shoving capable people down the
"Involuntary Retirement" is what it is silently
called, the intelligent are overwhelmed and
appalled, because the victims are being replaced
with people who lack quality and have no taste,
But as long as they are young and virile,
Good people are laid out to pasture as if
they were waste,
Why does our society abhor aging gracefully?
Is it because they are so desperately trying
to please "the establishment" and the advertisers
who are ardent worshippers of youngsters with fluff
and trimming, yet beneath the surface they are
shallow and clueless?
Copyright © Margeret Bailey | Year Posted 2011
this Puzzle now.
I dance, but stumble
into a waxed window
without anything but
Coarse is your
and dry are my
interests in you.
Once an icon,
onto a different
If luck brings
an arrival of
Copyright © Ian D. Campbell | Year Posted 2012