COLORS for MOTHER,
Looking towards the blue sky
Every color camouflaged around the cloud
Tears of sadness began to dry
Watching all the colors display out loud
The dark needing to fade
The grey in my life finally made sense
Colors overlapping, forming a beautiful cascade
Shoulders of tense
I imagined your smile against the yellow sun
Giving light to all the matter of the things I've done
A warmness in my red heart-- together in the long run
Creating a new purple and pink sensation-- as one
My new rainbow doesn't come in black and white
Giving reason to follow the joy of light
A gift of colors remind me everything will be all right
A guide blazing throughout the night
Lavender plant blooming for the world to see
A garden of every color just for me
Everyday I see the sunrise, rising up in colors of glee
My Rainbow will appear everyday without rain, no matter how deep the sea
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet, the perfect skin tan
My sweet angel your the largest spectrum where ever rainbows span
I wrote this poem for my mom.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011
Lapis lazuli mines with wide blue eyes
bringing to mind precious stones and
caramel scones; innocent and wise -
Wondering, yet without surprise.
Staring down the universe, a challenge
in your look though you are young;
The earth made only nine revolutions
since you came out to see the sun.
Unguarded and arched, your brows
betray high wire tension; enough
to light up a hundred moons and warm
plump cheeks to cherry bubble gum.
Be not impatient to grow; you smell
of open grasshopper meadows
and firefly lighted lakeshore walks.
You’re a mother’s envy and pride.
Red lips! Your passion for life exists.
Scarlet, lipstick would be a surfeit -
Today as then till many summer’s been,
your spirit will always be free as the mist.
After: Portrait of Carol Nye Rhoades (Robinson) (1915)
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting No. 2
Kim Patrice Nunez
08 January 2016
Poem of the Week: January 10-16, 2016
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016
My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
*Inspired by the art of Susan Seddon Boules*
Mother Bear, Mother Bear, a child is I.
Save me from the sky, night chills my bones.
In your arms, not alone, my spirit shines,
Your power defines who I may become.
The sum of your actions mold me Mother.
In the fear no other can protect me.
There is no blind when we see who we are.
You are never too far to teach me good.
As I should, I hold on to your words and you.
Mother Bear, Mother Bear a new heart beat.
Warm me in your heat of everlasting,
A light we are casting that will shine on.
I love you Mother Bear, and know you will always be there.
For Contest: Free Verse art inspired by susan seddon boules
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014
Mother Nature, You The Seed Of Earth's Delights
Soft spoken and sweet art thy graceful ways
Within forests of rainbow trees a light shines
For each of thy songs, the sad world pays
Reluctance in glory and resentfully it opines.
Coming Spring, brings increases in thy lights
With calming days and grace in castle towers
Soft spirits dance in woods on cooler nights
And later finds comfort in thy majestic powers!
Sun and morn bring far more pleasant things
Even happiness in light cool spring showers
Gratitude for blessings thy heart always brings
Admiration for thy gracefully wielded powers.
Mother Nature, you the seed of earth's delights
And greatest author of its most beautiful sights!
R. J. Lindley
no date on old poem.
No date on an old poem. Most likely late 70's to early 80's.
found six verses to another poem that I may finish if I
can find the time and do not forget to do so.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
As death creeps out of the darkness,
A mother becomes the rope in a (Tug of war.)
A child reaches to help its’ mother in her weakness,
And stares death in the eye with abhor.
The rope falls limp in sure defeat,
Yet the child pulls on the strength of heart.
Against the evilness and deceit,
Fighting with the will to not be apart.
The hooks of death on weary knees,
Shackling the arms, exposing vulnerability.
Screaming and crying the words of “please”
The mother rests with peace and tranquility.
A child left to battle life’s groans,
Preparing for the encounter and all its’ lour.
For one day she will meet Mr. Bones,
And she’ll be the rope in her child’s (Tug of war.)
Inspired by Brian’s Picture Poem’s Contest
Käthe Kollwitz, Death and the Woman (Tod und Frau), lithograph, 1910.
Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2009
Beside the seaside the fisherman's wife,
her child in hand, walks asking about loss.
Her father, years gone, left a life of strife.
They both offer prayers with sign of the cross.
A serene light graces this seaside day.
Time seems to still as mother and child gaze
to the past and father's laughter at play.
Now he's gone in darkness and time's dim haze.
They look and pray for their hero now lost,
finding peace in this daily morning walk.
Their lives once full demanded a harsh cost,
as misery follows them, see it stalk.
But, sights and sounds ease with familiar tune
and beauty helps the sad and grieving hearts.
The pleasant weather this morn in cool June,
missing only the flights of the martes.
Soon sailors and fishermen go to sea
with nets to cast while praying for big scores.
The strolling pair pray, "return him to me",
to Neptune they each sadly implores.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-12-2016
Painting number nine
Poem number nine, Ekphrasis, (rhyme)
(Morning at the Quay in Venice), by Helen Allingham
and Debbie Guzzi's ten/ten/ten challenge.
Ekphrastic: Writing on Art and Art on Writing [this site ACCEPTS reprints] http://www.ekphrastic.net/submissions.html
Definitions of Martes:
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Slow was the logo he had been wearing since he was born.
Born into a world of poverty and scorn. They look at you funny when your mom is
destroying her fetus and it's not even born yet.
9 months of pain in a bubble of insanity. Slowly fading. She didn't know how much you
were going to be.
So when the day came and she lied down on the table screaming and breathing. Cussing and
fussing. Wondering why she didn't keep her silly legs closed.
But then you come around and your eyes were enough to tame her. No more stripping to make
a dollar, no more crack pipes she wanted to be the perfect mother. She raised you right,
though she made some mistakes she was really trying.
Your first day of school she held your hand and cried because you were becoming such a
She didn't yet know the hardships that were to come. The boat was solid now but the waves
were sure to crash it.
The little boy strutted to school he wanted to make his mother proud but he didn't yet
know he was going to be made a fool.
First day of class and he could barely read. Teacher's crucified him because he didn't
know his ABC's.
From then on he was labeled slow. Got left back in the 3rd grade for him their seemed no
He went from being so determined to blaming his mother, the stress so enormous she
started the pipe again.
The boy couldn't imagine how much he had hurt her. But he knew hurt as well and for now
he felt he deserved to be selfish.
Kids teased him every day, stole his lunch money, called him " slow" and a dummy. He had
no friends and one day he turned to his mother.
He said mom why is that every day I go to school and they tease me and I come home and I
tease you. But you’re silent, you don't ever belittle me. Why is that mommy? He stared at
her with intelligence in his eyes. The mother was silent for a second and then she looked
into her baby's eyes and said " Because to me you are golden and even though they might
not see it I surely know it".The boy looked at his mother and said but how can I be
golden that's not what anyone says they all say that I’m slow.
The mother looked at her son and reached out for his hand and slapped it. Didn’t I tell
you never to listen to what other people say it only matters what you think? What do you
The boy gazed into his mother's eyes and said " I think I’m really bright, if you can see
it and I can see it than that's all I need to know. The mother smiled as he left her that
day the future seemed bright.
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005
Your strong hand
beneath my head
my Love in your Blood
turned from friendship
the first time you
took my Hand
and traveled every
line, of my Flesh land
the way you reflect your soul
Into my Eyes,
makes me forget my small stature
in this world
I wish to carry your
be it boy or girl
be them strong of spirit
Smarts of street and class
leaders of Eminence
Sweet mixed with Sass
I see this future
as I fall head first, spilling
into your secure embrace
like a single bottle of Rose Wine
Down to the last Taste
Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010
I cherish you,
If you cherish me.
You brought me to life,
We began to meet through time,
Sometimes you don't comprehend me,
Sometimes you don't understand me,
That sometimes time isn't enough,
That sometimes instincts get uncontrolled...,
You were designated for my life,
And you profile my living...
We share lives...
Time brings maturity,
And time doesn't last forever,
As well as we don't last forever...
There is no such thing,
As total perfection,
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
You Drive me into this Malice, into this Maze
I can only see the last of days
Your Creation Failed With Me
Burn with malice as you bridge to the plains of ennui
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012
I was told about your retrospect, after that scene, I burst into tears. I learned they came to genuflect like angels and took away your possessions. They dehumanized your progeny like animals. They dragged them as if they wanted to tear. Your progeny toiled just for us to cheer. They (the visitors) hypocritically played the drum expecting your progeny to dance. Your progeny suffered for my emancipation especially when the visitors wanted their nod consolidated. Your bold progeny tried come hell or high water to get it emasculated, but the more they tried, the more it got devastated. They fed your progeny and told them to regurgitate. They forced them with the rod anytime they tried to hesitate. They (the visitors) searched the brave among your progeny and escorted them to the grave. Wherever the deceased are, I pray the creator keeps their souls. You suffered but the battle ended. We thank those who toiled their blood and passed through all holes. We live confidently because of their fight. I couldn't stand the sight when I watched pictographic scenes of the battle. We were discarded but have been found. Today is your day for you were freed this day. Although I am happy, I am sad and I hope you know why. You were freed long ago but as if we have reached an impasse, we can't go. Anytime I think about it, I have no option than to sigh. Your present progeny need to wake up and work relentlessly, for your name should climb higher than I can see. You deserve the world's priority for you suffered immensely. It is unequivocal that your womb is blessed. We see bloody things in your neighbor's houses but we live happily on your compound. Awake present progeny and make your mother proud. You have tried but looking at your mother's grief, it is very minimal............HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO ALL GHANIANS
Copyright © CHRISDAD KOJO ARTHUR | Year Posted 2015
Ode To ‘Mother’ Creator ©
Not only is it a marvelous happen chance in being able to have ‘shares’ in Mother Nature’s flora creations 'first hand'---
But, we are then granted to sit before her, these ‘set tables’….
She, as our ‘hostess’ serves ‘up’ an endless canvasing ‘kaleidoscope’ set for our eyes only!
She tempts us again and again, into a fevered ‘hunger-fest’ to (pig-out) by and they are very much ‘ready’ with such ‘food for thought’!
She has intuitively displayed her indulgent ‘realm’ to overrun our 'minds' eye….
We are prearranged to touch, taste/smell and become a convert---
It is; as true, loyal, ‘voyeurs’ we now give our undivided attendance, when we are all invited to her 'seasoning’ assemblies….
Their wholeness is made perfect, even into their ‘finally’ timed performances!
Her uses and gifts work miraculously to brightening 'up' her shadings and tonalities towards her abundant-folding true colours and her 'achievements' are (forever) complemented upon---
Whether, it is in her fauna show of velvety, satin and silky petal-flowers spending titillating fragrances
Or, by use of her seasonally ‘varying’ cycles, in 'all' her weather modes; she always will spend, all her wonderment and excitement--- towards her spectacular works!
Her numerous ‘paint-box’ colours with their different scents and shaded consepts are definitely.... crafted, in alluring us feverishly, into inventive crazed acts---
Just like the moments, when a (newly) box of crayons, first opens up and invitingly nudges the painter and writer forward.binging 'us’, to recreate one's own bountiful displays with worded colour and paints….
Thus, with our 'first hand' wonder/mental experience, “Mother’ has never 'giifted', (a questionable) blank canvas to work upon!
We are a growing world-wide nature loving group, enamoured to (dabble) our time away, 'within’ her 'ecospheres'---
We have also ‘gifted’; as well, to oiur 'public', family an friends many of our exhibited works….
Our own ‘piece-meals’ are proudly admired and profitably ‘feasted’ upon!
Many wonderful invites are sent 'out', for all to come and attend our (tabled smorgasbords) ---
‘Mother’, must be as proud and pleased when taking note, of all the vast, interpretative and varied (personal) worked styles we have made, in her likeness….
she has ‘qualified’us her pupils, in her stead, to such ‘artistry’ freedoms!
We have been ‘branded’ her slaves; as only a true slave driver can do---
We are meant to go through with our own ‘humbling’ efforts willingly.
Our need and desire to please and honour her great gifts, by these, our gifts are surmountable!
Our enthusiasms, to share our ‘Mother Nurtured’ talents among one and all to salivate and savour, is indeed a two-fold 'forever'gift and made much more---
We can only hold her responsible for our inspirational madness every day, days in and days out throughout time….
Mother Nature, we thank you for the power you have given us again, and again and again to learn, create and live in your world.
We are indeed, our own 'self-appointed time keepers and guardians to your ‘star studded 'forevermore''garden!
My writer’s mind speaks ‘never’ enough words to paint your magnificence---
There are not enough means, to ever do you justice….
Our word/plays and colourful paintings are but a ‘stitch’ to your ‘dressed’ canvases!
A true lover of Mother Nature’s works.
Artist and poet writing with ink and paint!
Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015
Hera precious, gorgeous queen of splendor,
of mighty Ares,and Enyo,the mother,
to thee I write my gratitude and thanks
for all thy blessings showered upon my head.
Thine is the pomegranate and the diadem,
with which you rule all worlds and human lands,
with magnanimous mercy and charity.
of rainbow colors dressed divine thou art,
the sunny smiling matron of the arts,
Thou,queen, who favorest the pure of heart.
Copyright © Victor Chavez | Year Posted 2013
I'm dreaming with mother
I'm dancing with father
i'm laughing with brother
i'm dressing up with sister
i'm sitting in grandfather's lap
i'm talking to grandmother
i'm singing with auntie
i'm helping unlce
i'm dressing cousin
One by one
Two and two
Three to four
There is no war,that can tear me from you
Five by five
Six and six
Seven to eight
This was the last memory I have of you all.Catch me,free me,bring me back to life,watch over me,and set peace over my head.
Nine by nine
Ten and ten
Eleven to twelve
What more could I'll tell you? Did you not hear the words that came from my mouth as I ran toward you?
One by two
Three and four
Five to six
Catch me when I fall.
Free me from my chains.
Bring me back to life and away from the grave.
Watch over me while I walk through this valley of the ignorant and dead.
Set the peace over my head,that i may control what fury I carry inside.
Seven by eight
Nine and ten
Should we use are words and speak and use are actions and break one another? What reason could we show if we lose part in memories that were so perfect and harmless.
Just how many times must i say it again?
I'm dreaming with mother
I'm dancing with father
i'm laughing with brother
i'm dressing up with sister
i'm sitting in grandfather's lap
i'm talking to grandmother
i'm singing with auntie
i'm helping unlce
i'm dressing cousin
What a peaceful exist this is and should always be.
Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012
white on blue
tears wave to
pain on cue"
~JSLambert © 2012 Poet TreeZ Publishing
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012
Women are not just mothers
they are not just a companion
they are beloved
in the soul, in the eyes and in the heart
Do not underestimate their roles
they are power of the world
their power masked by the eyes
the effective power of love
Remember who are those women
their services are not just a parable
do not forget their roles
they are one to rage war
Why women are not just mothers
their heart are soft like a wind
born leaders strong and firm
from stomach of these queens
Only questions can be afford
a man born in time they hold
born to take care of the world
these women indeed are like fort
Women kept everyone’s name
if forgotten will shake the world
they have the power of words
in their heart to sail the boat!
Copyright © Neldy Jolo | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
Whispers in your ear you fear
The child with no mother is near
As she promotes her soul within
To see you lifeless cunning grin
The warped faze and constant glaze
Undress your body with ever rage
As she smells fear from near your maze
Your mind at ease is restless peace
The clock strikes 12 tic toc heart stopped
She warms you up as her baby soft touch
Enters your cloned state of mind
From the cloned state of time
When things where in rhyme
Of a perfect loves chime
Ticking away the clock strikes 1
The motherless daughter shows you her fun
And see where it leads as she shows you who won
And see her heart bleed as her mother did once
The clock strikes 2 she reloads the gun
Points it at you as she smiles you hear the drum
Her heart beats loud keeping tune in her womb
As the trigger from her lonely motherless gun
Come to halt as the clock strikes back towards 1
She sees youuagain as you where back in time
Back in time when her mom was around showing prime
Back in time when she smiled at others with a crime
Back in time as she feels her heart stop in rhyme
Tick tock the gun pulled her shock
Back to time it did her
As the motherless deter
Bring your pain
Bring your shame
For we all are motherless sons
For we are all cowards of none
The same said for her
As the motherless daughter
Could fear nothing more
Than her shadow on the wall
Copyright © Penn Kname | Year Posted 2007
sophisticated architect who framed the home of my life's essence
eloquent sculptor who casts and molds my ethereal vivacity
aesthetic painter who puts the ravishing, superb hues in my flawed existence
imperial majesty, owning the aureate diadem of my subsistence's glory
" NUMBER 1 " mother, the blood when I'm in thirst and the flesh when I'm hungry.
Copyright © jun-jun villanueva | Year Posted 2011
Gather your sheep like a good shepherd.
Teach them morals and guide them rightly,
Educate them on African Values and culture.
Protect your sheep from the hynas and lions
That parade more in the forest of life to kill.
Remember the community begins at home.
I know you are not irresponsible like the Goat
Who has three breast but gave birth to four kids;
What will the fouth kid suck if others are sucking?
Guide the boys to stop looking at the Ladies lustfully,
The girls must bring their husband home as it is
Stated in the tradition of Africa, no under tree love.
Cover your children with your wings like
Mother Hen covers her chicks against the kites.
Do not go loose in front of the young minds;
For when mother cow is cropping giant grasses
Her calf watches her from behind the scene.
Act like the mother you are not like a child you're not.
When a child misbehaves in your presence,
Hit him with a rod of correction and bring him
Back to your side with a sweet flavoured left hand.
Educate the ladies how to close their legs while sitting, and the boys, you must not leave behind;
Teach them that Africans never pregnate a lady before they marry her and the younger ones,
Tell them that Africans don't put their trouser
on their waists.
See her in skimpy skirt and drive the skirt away from her waist, African women don't wear skimpy skirt.
Those whose wrapper always untie because of civilization, padlock the wrapper to their waists.
Those boys whose pants flip up and down publicly,
Tie their pants with ropes to their waist, Africans have a face to preserve and protect in days to come.
She lust after money when in love and lost her value, show her what love means to Africans.
Father Africa, leave all not in the hands of Mother,
Bark when you needs to bark in front of your sheep.
Roar like a wounded Lion when the sheep goes wild,
All should not be left in the hands of Mother Africa
Nature has made us two, two together, two hearts beating as one can preserve many lost dignities.
You and you can save the you that stray away in shame.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016
Your beauty is a ripe and full
as the moon in view
so many tried to compete but there
talents were to few
for the mother that you are
is a hard act to follow
the love that you bring
voids the hollow
for our child's life is vibrant
due to your generous amount of love
so happy mother's babe
for you have to give you already gave.
(To my wife Courtney Dyer)
Copyright © Malcolm Dyer | Year Posted 2008
I am only 8 inches long
but I have all my organs.
I love the sound of your voice.
Every time I hear it
I wave my arms and legs.
The sound of your heart beat
is my favorite lullaby.
today I learned how to suck my thumb.
If you could see me
you could definitely tell that I am a baby.
I'm not big enough to survive outside my home though.
It is so nice and warm in here.
You know what Mommy
I'm a boy!!
I hope that makes you happy.
I always want you to be happy.
I don't like it when you cry.
You sound so sad.
It makes me sad too
and I cry with you even though
you can't hear me.
my hair is starting to grow.
It is very short and fine
but I will have a lot of it.
I spend a lot of my time exercising.
I can turn my head and curl my fingers and toes
and stretch my arms and legs.
I am becoming quite good at it too.
You went to the doctor today.
Mommy, he lied to you.
He said that I'm not a baby.
I am a baby Mommy, your baby.
I think and feel.
Mommy, what's abortion?
I can hear that doctor again.
I don't like him.
He seems cold and heartless.
Something is intruding my home.
The doctor called it a needle.
Mommy what is it? It burns!
Please make him stop!
I can't get away from it!
Mommy! HELP me!
I am okay.
I am in God's arms.
He is holding me.
He told me about abortion.
Why didn't you want me Mommy?
Every Abortion Is Just . . .
One more heart that was stopped.
Two more eyes that will never see.
Two more hands that will never touch.
Two more legs that will never run.
One more mouth that will never speak.
Copyright © Princess Corazon | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
When I hold your hand
I know its true
your love for me
has truly grew
from a hill to a
your the only one
I can count on
to be there when times
in all your sweet
kisses and hugs, you
have shown me
your love is my treasure
and we can stand strong
through any weather
as turtle doves,
we fly together forever
when I hold your hand
Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010
Forgotten but here
Remembered yet never there
Why do you exist?
Copyright © Daniel Spencer | Year Posted 2012
For nine months
With love and pain
With joy and suffering
In her womb she carried me
A mother she is
And a woman of virtue.
When there was no one, she was the only one
Even left alone, she never leaves me alone
Indeed, she’s a mother
And a woman of virtue.
When toddling, she cared
And still directs when I could run
She is a mother of the child and the adult
In her thoughts are all, even the descendants to come
Many names will I call her; “A mother of all”
And a Woman of Virtue.
Copyright © Francis Twumasi | Year Posted 2012
She saved herself from pick up lines though she looked vulnerable
She's sooo lovable her heart definition could ruin my poetic abilities
You cannot put a price on her she's not billable
If only her lips where adjustable my soft poetry would define her inabilities and weaknesses for the mute to scream happily ever after
She's untouchable i O you an explanation
Her tears tattoo broken spirits uploaded on instagram
She's no twitter baby though followers invite themselves its unbelievable
I could throw nice verses in our conversation but i'm afraid i'm love blind
I'll tell you more about her if you ask me....ask me nice
Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013
Facedown on the carpet I just knew that I would die,
the red obscures my vision as the blood dripped in
I never saw it coming, tell me, how could I have
slipped? But let me back it up a bit and tell you bout
My mother was the type who gave me food but fed
me lies, the woman gave me life October 5th of '85,
while growing up I always knew that something was
amiss, my 16th birthday's when I found out true lies
October 2K1 my goodness, it was such a time, I
lived my life the 'seat of pants' way, out there runnin
my b-day gift from Uncle Sal which I was blown
away, a nickel plated 22 he called a 'throw away'.
Mom Dukes was straight addicted to a lithany of
drugs, my father died absorbing quite a lithany of
I thirsted for the streets and no amount of love could
quench, to now possess a firearm, it all now
seemed a cinch.
I had some people over to the crib to celebrate, my
little cuzzo Pop and plus my homies Rell and Nate,
we had the PS2 because that Madden game was
heat, you know how things occur sometimes when
you expect it least?
It seems that day my mother really snorted up some
blow, she had assorted stains of snow which
showed around her nose,
when Moms got high the sky could fall and she just
wouldn't know, she also had a case of real loose
lips because of coke.
Now everyone was chillin, plenty happy times for all,
then Moms approached my Uncle Sal, the rising of
she then just spoke out loud enough for everyone to
hear, 'Why don't you claim your son right now while
everyone is here? !
The music stopped and pinheads dropped I'm
thinkin who the F? Now cheery Sal with teary smile
embraced me to his chest,
'I'm sorry it was done this way but yes there's
sumthin true, I have 2 sons see Pop is 1, the other 1
I fainted, dropped my brew and don't know what I'm
To Be Continued......
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze
I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.
Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.
From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.
On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.
Copyright © Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah | Year Posted 2010
I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!"
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat
He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face
I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them
Copyright © Shayla Dendinger | Year Posted 2012
Ms. Potter caught her daughter Lollipop
There dancing in the grocer’s parking lot
And scolded her profusely
‘Til someone cranked up “Juicy”…
Ms. Potter stopped and dropped it like it’s hot
How soon some forget that they were once young too. If the power of dance is ones
passion it is not the worst vice a child can have, in fact it is good exercise. One
Copyright © Adell Foster | Year Posted 2008