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Narrative Inspiration Poems | Narrative Poems About Inspiration

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Details | Narrative | |

The Clouds

"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"

=voice=
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?

"Gods voice"
My child, it is I who will walk with you! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth. Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You ran to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles and tribulations. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak.

=voice=
God, are you a dream of beauty? The holy book.
My preacher spoke of the afterlife, calling it paradise. 
I remember now, I felt this company once before, this light.
Many times, I forsake the light and still you never left my door.
I felt it on the day I was born, 
the day I became baptized in your holy name. 
I felt this light before, can you explain it once more? 
Lord pleases clarify the day I fell down to my knees, accepted Jesus as my savior? 
On that day, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my  failures’.  
Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"

"Gods voice" 
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road.  This light never left you. 
My sweet child did you not listen, 
Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible. 
My child, you were not searching for the right answers.

=voice= 
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?

"Gods voice"
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself,  
I always answered even when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your soul's disguises.

=voice= 
Lord, I have other questions to ask. 
What should I expect out of my personal sins? 
My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence-- 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

"Gods voice"
Getting right with me has brought you here!

=voice= 
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?

<3

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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Justice in the Quest For Love

I saw how martyrs longed for love, and so began the play of my flitting heart
A strange girl had I become, with airs of fickle dream,
My heart an embodiment of wonder to all that dared to behold it
Closing my eyes, I would find myself knowing something new would shine my way
Had I known what was coming, the dawn would seem far less appealing...

As all journeys begin, a darkness began to veer its head
The plot of reality melted in dissonant chords... 
Dark blue fogs of doubt caked my mind and heart 
Though the longing for love never left... 
And had it left, no dawn would await me 

I saw there were rules setting a foundation for my intensely embarked mark 
I knew if I were to feel any twinge of fire, 
I must first be rid of the fog...or at the very least find my way through it 
How it stung as it hit my virgin skin, not like gentle clouds talking me through it, 
Caressing, surrounding and seducing. . . 
No, like a poison, the bleak thickness of the doubt choking me 
Reducing me to child's tears...I toiled through its torments, 
I rested upon rough rocks of rhetorics 
Admiring their vitality and honesty... 
At one point in time I had convinced myself that I was one of them 
A rock- cold, rough... hardened and overlooked...destined to crumble 
Though more demands surfaced on this quest for love's Justice 

Weakened by the blue fogs blackening,
 I cried out in the pit of my heart, surrendering before me 
Words...kept so long inside... 
I freed them from the strongholds of my darkest nights 
And soon there was a deep, hypnotizing reply... 

Justice, tall and proud, said from above the sinking pit, 
"True, I have seen you before, 
A token of adoration you have become, 
Crying night after night in melodious black, 
With little to take, and everything to give... 
My demands are simple, as your longing is profound, 
You, yes, you! Take my hand so I may hold you tightly..." 

My mouth agape, I stretched out my hand to meet the vines of his fingers 
Clutching in sparks, he breathed into me life... and promise of love 

"Surrender your heart to the hope of love 
When you find you are not alone, as none of you are, 
When you praise with your singsong words that passion has altered, 
Giving all to a soul you have yet to see, 
You shall feel my hand lift you as I do now... 
Soon once more, you shall learn- the dawn will always be dawn 
And the night will always be your velvet pathway to Beyond." 

This, Justice proclaimed in the voice of a thousand cries of birth 
The overtones spilling out in rainbows of rapture 

It was soon after his visit, I knew I must perform... 
Surrender, faith, and action Three keys to the same door... 
And they, golden and alight, were in my hands to use 

The time came when my heart grew roses, thorns and all 
And hearts smashed their way through, though I cherished the burn... 
Fogs still lingered in the alleyway of fear 
And now I knew not to inch my way near 

For the punishment he had whispered like darts in my ear, 
"If you, now seeing the truth, dismember your heart, 
I will crush your petals into black abyss, 
I will reduce you to dust, leaving the thorns, 
I am animal in the face of failure, 
My tolerance for hate is shorter than an ant beholding a mountain 
And if you so much as reject my call, 
Hate is exactly what I will allow, 
And it will destroy you, oh singing heart..." 

This I ask of Justice, on the day of my calling, and yet still today... - 
"Tell me, oh spirit, 
Phantom of Epiphany, 
When the love I so long for locks tightly upon me, 
Becoming me, 
Shall it be as I dreamed, 
Or shall I be wholly disappointed, 
Left in the agony of reality, 
Where roses grow, thorns and all... 
Only to wither...and die... 
?" 

He was so gentle...that he merely smiled and left me... 

It was right away, soon after his departure, 
That I felt he never would fully leave... 
He allowed me to weave my own dreams, 
Finding out for myself if reality was truly as magical as they write 
And as for an answer, as dull as this may sound... it is... 

I, like many tearful martyrs before me, 
Continue to long for a love that will fulfill me 
Often reality teases me, and I know not if she is demon or angel 
Though one day, I will see reality is on my side, ugly or not 
The play of my flitting heart still beating its rhythmic drums 
The rainbows of overtones lulling me into ecstasy, 
As I see words of wisdom thriving in the hands that save 

This, though little, I know- 
Love is justice of reward beyond our wildest dreams 
He sings to us every night, never making promises... 
He just smiles and allows us to live it 
He allows us to discover, and in turn give... 
To enlighten others still trapped in the ruts of fog 
Once we feel it, there is no turning back 
Please do not let him crush those roses you have made... 
Even their foundations were meant to reach the skies 
Touching the brightest dawn...and Beyond..

 -For Justin Bordner's "Love Justice" Contest 
Love you loads, and thank you immensely for inspiring me! 

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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JE SUIS CHARLIE -- Afterthought

JE SUIS CHARLIE — Afterthought

The shock of this most frightening tragedy is practically beyond 
the pale of any reasonable or adequate attempt or effort to explain
it or to rationalize the horrible circumstances surrounding it.

Let me just say that all of us who are writers and poets ply our
poetry, “our intellectual wares,” if you will, in a common written
medium that expects the same unrestricted level of freedom of
speech and expression exercised by those extraordinarily brave
artists at “Charlie Hebdo” who were recently murdered in cold
blood by self-styled Islamic extremists in Paris. 

It is also equally saddening and deplorable that some courageous 
police officers died in the line of duty defending these freedoms 
as well as some other security people and hostages caught up in 
the midst of these most terrifying circumstances. 

The heinous actions perpetrated by these armed extremists
destroyed innocent lives and affected the lives of a number of
loved ones whose burden of sadness and tragedy is unimaginable. 
Their actions also were an attempt to strike at the very heart of 
those sacred freedoms that all of us who live in open societies and
democracies cherish as part of our everyday lives. The armed 
extremists, by their actions, also personified and demonstrated an
obvious affectation for barbarity, stupidity, ignorance, and cowardice 
that were all on ample display as a result of what they did.

Freedom of speech and expression are among those certain
historic inalienable rights given to all of us by the divine hand of
God himself, and certainly not by the generosity of any government 
or religious group (regardless of faith). The brave souls who died
at Charlie Hebdo, died exercising this most sacred franchise.

The point I’m driving at is this: Those extremists who committed
these most reprehensible actions of recent against their fellow man 
did not win in spite of their collective efforts to destroy lives and to 
sully these precious freedoms that all of us as writers and artists 
hold so very dear.

The outpouring of emotion and sadness in support of these slain
heroes in the face of this most despicable crime is quite compelling, 
and underlies the continuing determination of all of us who love
and cherish the freedoms of speech and expression to continue to
speak out and to exercise these sacred rights without reservation.

With all of this in mind, I humbly and proudly conclude my narrative 
to all of you here by saying and echoing as loudly as possible:
“Je Suis Charlie” . . . “I am Charlie.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (January 10, 2015)
(Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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CITADEL AND CONSTELLATIONS

CITADEL AND CONSTELLATIONS The green leaves in rugged moans; The tall bushes in rumbling groans; The roofs train creaks-- their fugue blow cobwebs hugging branches below, such are precursors inviting darkness lair for stormy clouds before crowd the days. Yellow horizon seem unreachable honey as in my life's ocean, balloon billows I bear. I-- surged in every swell to skirt yet still lashing waves dashed pushing me sometimes to despair. Again, cataclysm walk unheralded casting loose my arms lift upon the glimmer of silver lining from afar somber shadows enshrouded me in a mist of struggles. Ounce of strength I have, I try to juggle and juggle yet, curses fell from hearts and lips parched of love. All these came, one and all -- the flowing light has flickered flash and gone but beyond all these you stood -- my sentinel... You hushed the bad constellations hanging 'round my world like a lighthouse guiding a lost ship to his home. Yes! You are my beacon, a promontory amidst cyclic onslaught brambles and chameleons, a rock to cling in the wind's creeping fury, Staunch and firm, my ñhero fighting the torrential cascade of tirades and reproaches: MY CITADEL. . . _____________________________________________________________________ ***Sponsor Shadow Hamilton Contest Name Your Favourite Old Poem #2 ++Placed 2nd++ ***Sponsor Justin Bordner Contest Name How You Make The Stars Hush ++Placed2nd++ ©O.E. Guillermo 06:37 pm, February 24, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

I Want to Sing Too

I can’t sing
I mean I can’t sing
I’ll leave the singing to Walt.
But I assume, as he assumes, as you assume, as all assume,
I love like you, love like him, love like the Lord above,
What is there? Singing? Why can’t I sing too?

Every cell and feeling that exudes from me,
Leaves an impression that I’m proud for all to see.
Every smile and gesture makes me a man,
It doesn’t always fit into my plan,
But I think the trepidation is waning,
The insecurity finally is straining.
All this time I’ve wanted to sing,
But it’s always been my failing.

I can’t sing
I mean I can’t sing
No that’s not true.
Something is different.
I no longer assume, I assure.
I don’t wander, I wonder.
I can’t fear, I fight.
I don’t love, I love YOU.

I haven’t sung because of others.
But these others are sisters and brothers.
Sometimes my voice might crack,
The beauty I may lack.
But YOU have opened my mind,
All this time I’ve been behind.
YOU have opened my eyes.
I’ve seen the pretty skies.
YOU have opened my heart,
And I’m ready to start.
YOU have opened my lung,
And I’ll be heard, and sung.

Copyright © Derrick Shane | Year Posted 2013

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The Inspiration Store



I'm looking for some inspiration Can you direct me to the Inspiration Store? Heard they've got some real good bargains Great ideas never used before! I don't often need to avail myself Of this vital and humanitarian service Been quite prolific in the last few years But now I'm feeling a wee bit nervous! It's five minutes before the midnight bell I've come up dry all the day long Utter panic has grabbed hold of my brain Thinking suicide would be wrong! There's other things besides poetry I'm told On this great big happy balloon But none so addictive as rhyming and rhythm It turns people into silly buffoons! The Inspiration Store has saved many people From utter and overwhelming despair So I guess I'll do a search on Google Maps Before I totally lose all my hair! © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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Nayda

Beyond the skills of escorts
and the appeal of other playthings,
smolders the need of the soul
infused to best every man.
Twelve years have taken
the scars out of the memories,
from the last time I was
up and through
just to come down and out
to find every fairy tale
extends it’s hand
to some tragedy.
The odds don’t warrant
the time of practical effort.
Too keen to the liabilities,
always calculating ends.
It is not the demands of over
or having to start something new
rather, better to remain alone
than to be let down again.
But now I see you,
and it makes me pause
so still, with the whisper --
Are you sure?
	Falls into a deafening singularity 
forbidding even a scream, it’s escape.
I sit and can only see
the touch of Heaven
reaching across the Caribbean
to color your face.
As your smile holds the songs
of every dawn’s temptress,
under the soft disposition
of your eyes 
rests a divine spirit’s symmetry, 
smoothing features
while lensing each strand
the perfect frame.
That once moved a favored King
to murder a man, only to bring
the sword into his own house.
Enabled an army to take 
a strong city with just one horse.
And enslaved the envy of Venus
to sharpen leaden arrows,
but fury slipped her hands
and bled her wrists out.
Blood clotted on the cold muck
of her grave, a suffocating cocoon.
Immersed the viewer becomes, 
and timeless the window
of the heart that is God’s craft,
denying the deceiver’s forgery
of any singed carnality.
As if proximity has been given 
within the mist of your perfume,
in just this one picture
of your face.

Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2016

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Last Laugh

They laugh under their sleeves,
as they destroy you,
trumpling you on the ground
like dirt. They laugh visibly
because they think
it doesn't make a difference
if you know their schemes
or not,
for your life is in the balance.

They scorn you
when it starts raining;
the dirt on your clothes
and skin turn to mud.

"The gods have forsaken you!"
they shout.

Little do they know the rains
are fuelling your inner spark,
that has always been with you.

Slowly rise
like a phoenix from the ashes,
as the rains clean your
body and clothes.

The rains turn the ground
to a flood. You levitate.
They drown,
as they look at you with shameful
eyes.

You laugh last.

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016

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A Poet Without Inspiration

The wait was eternal for inspiration -
minutes ticked by with gripped pen, 
and seated without hitting a stroke.
Closed eyes submit nothing in a world adrift in opacity. 
Somewhere between midnight noir and the rise of morn's fog,
I'd fallen into an abysmal necrosis, deprived of light.
I'd built a fortress that shut me in and the key to my cell was me.
I brandished a pen that became a sword 
that hacked and sliced at my every word.

My dreams were gone along with life's sensations.
No wonder I could not find causes for inspirations.
A poet who doesn't write is of no use, none at all.
At the edge of a cliff - should I jump or fall?
The sound of laughter caught my ears
and through eyes blurred with tears
I saw children running free along the water's edge.
There I stood, undecided, upon the ledge.

I sat on the cliff with legs overhanging and watched them play.
"Well, poet, have you nothing more to say?"
A scolding for thinking of naught but notions of doom
A spanking I needed for being in doldrums of gloom.
"Now see what you've done," said my Muse. "Your crime
seems to be that you begin in free verse but always end in rhyme."
My laughter was louder than the children at play
who now stopped in the surf and looked up my way."

A wave of my hand and down to the beach I ran.
        Inspirational thoughts filled me like waves crashing upon sand. 

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016

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A Letter To My Hero

  


November 19, 2001


Dear Doc and Doris,

	It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. I believe it was some years ago at the Sims reunion. That was several years before we moved here to Florida after my retirement.

	I talk to Dorothy and W. D. fairly often and got your address from them a couple of months ago.  I also have a recent picture of you that was taken at Mike’s funeral in Marlow.

	I suppose it was something about that picture that caused me to begin reflecting on when I was a kid in Cameron many years ago.  We lived down below the railroad tracks there just south of the jailhouse.  I was just a kid 6 or 7 years old. Then later we moved to Houston where Dorothy and Daddy went to work in the shipyard.  I remember during those years thinking often of my cousin Carl Sims and his brother Melton Sims who were far away fighting the war against the Germans in Europe.  I still have pictures of you somewhere showing you in your uniform.  Doc, I remember how proud I was to tell everyone about my cousins in the army and how I wanted to grow up and be a soldier and fight the Germans.  

	In the last couple of years those memories have been revisited with the release of the movies “Saving Private Ryan” and even more recently, “Band of Brothers.”  Having never experienced the horrors of war, I look upon these two movies as the most realistic presentation of wartime action ever made.  Even at that, I’m sure they haven’t portrayed what it was really like. 

	Doc, I write you now having much more hindsight than when I was an impressionable kid.  But the years have not robbed me of the pride I have in calling you my hero. I think of those years when I was but a child and you, a young soldier. I remember how excited I was to hear any news about my cousins in the army. And I remember the sadness in hearing of Melton being killed in action. 

	Though time has painted a different picture for each of us, those things that linger in our memory can still be seen through the eyes of a child and a young soldier. I look at that recent picture of you and still see my hero. I see a young soldier in uniform and feel the same pride well up inside a young kid in Cameron.  
	
Doc, I wanted you to know these things.  I could have kept them hidden inside my heart and never told anyone.  But, they are mine to do with as I please. And I choose to send them to you and Doris with the love I have for you. As Christians, we know that the love we are sharing in Jesus Christ will be eternal. I believe the respect and admiration I hold you in for what you did will also last forever.  

	Maybe we will get back to Texas one of these days.  If so, I hope to have the time to come by Mexia and see you.  If not, who knows, someday a kid may tug on the sleeve of a young soldier. The young soldier might turn to find a freckle-faced kid, joyful in the presence of his hero.

	Doc, if not before, I’ll see you in Glory. I send you respect and most of all, love.

With eternal admiration,
John

Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013

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The Legend of G-Man, Garrett Gamble's Historic Hockey Night

On a historic, emotional night of March 28th, 2015
It was the most important hockey night to be remembered

While the current players played 82 games for the season
This member played only 1 game for one true reason
To cheer for the team he loves for all his entire life
And so his passion gave the Toronto Maple Leafs a great new hope

Entered through the player's locker room to find his true colors
A sweater of the blue and white awaited for Garrett Gamble
Enriched with his honorable name and its number
He will be known for the team as the "G-Man" of #42

Having an everlasting smile and determination on his face
The voice of the Air Canada Centre called out his name
And as Wendel Clark skated by his side, this is true heroism

All he ever wanted on his life was to drop the puck on center ice
Making this wish a reality was the chance of his lifetime
Being an honorary "Puck Dropper" was the role destined to play
And so he signified the start of this game

The "Battle of Ontario" was fought for long, hard minutes
And it all seemed all hope was lost as the Maple Leafs fell behind
Garrett's undying determination was to be seen with his wish
He knew the Maple Leafs will fight back along with him to win

One final period and the Maple Leafs won't dare to lose
For they fought along with the spirit of the "G-Man"
Dared on a risky play with time against them
Bozak sounded the goal horn, keeping Garrett's hopes alive

A tied game was taken into the Overtime Period
And Garrett "G-Man" Gamble was the 5th man to play on the ice
His true preseverance for the game and the sport led upon this
Brewer tapping the game-winner, sent the crowd on loud cheers

The Toronto Maple Leafs saluted to the crowd as the winners
"Bozie " and the "G-Man" emerged on the ice together as victors

Eric Brewer earned the 3rd Star of the Game for delivering the victory
Tyler Bozak was awarded the 2nd Star of the Game with his "Hat-Trick"
But it was Garrett "G-Man" Gamble who deserved the 1st Star of the Game
For his undying will and spirit to rally a team who gone on a rough journey

He enjoyed this game will a full beacon of happiness in his heart
"It was a great day!", these were the emotional words of the "G-Man"

This was a story of a loyal fan who became a player with true honors
The honorable player who played along with his beloved team with heart
And with his heart... became an inspiring legend for life... forever

People of the Leafs Nation... this was "The Legend of "G-Man"

Copyright © Nileisha Giselle Deliz Diana | Year Posted 2015

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We Are There With You

You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit

We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you

You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love

If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
 


______________________________________________________________________
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2014

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New Paths

A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
Getting piqued,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...

The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Walking confound,
Silence profounded,
Sight astounded,
Passed through burial grounds...

Seeking for another way around,
Noises resound,
Spirits surround,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...

Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...

Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Plans propounded,
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...

However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...

Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

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Modern Proverb 8

loneliness is a good thing...
to share with someone

Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014

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Golden Windows

A young shepherd living near the hill,
taking his flocks everyday to drumlin.
He wonders deeply while sitting upon the rocks,
looking at afar house while feeding his flocks.

The shepherd's desire is fantasy of afar home,
that has golden windows behind hedge of anemone.
He wonders if the windows of the house are gold
how other appurtenance of the house are mould?

He starts his journey to there, finally after some time, 
going along the way across the hill while biting a loaf of naan.
When arrives, he finds the house in fully collapsed condition. 
There are no golden windows but a poor crumbled house. 

He looks to his own house down the drumlin
surprised by the heavenliness of his own dwelling
The sun was casting back on his house's stained windows 
just like the sparkling on the gold as the sun downs

Copyright © Sirat Ahmad Haidary | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |

Color: Slave Narrative

We are people of color
prideful
beautiful of color
but we are viewed as athletes
rappers and 
singers
eventhough we have one of us
in the white house we are still
viewed as such
we were once kings and queens
but was stolen from our land 
and our land was robbed of everything
we were oppressed and forced into a way of life
that we didn't want 
our women was raped and viewed as
sexual objects instead of people
our men was labors and when they
could no longer perform they were tossed
aside left to fend for themselves and when
we finally had our freedom our problems
continued we viewed as second-rate inferior 
to the other race, we weren't
given any opportunities and when it came 
to school it was horrible
just another thing we had to endure
like segregation we couldn't use the 
same restrooms or sit next to them but
the sad thing about it was that it was viewed as constitutional
"Separate but Equal" was what they were calling it
but when the nation was under attack who did
they turn too they turned too us for help
but we were still treated unfair but there were some 
bright moments for us during that era
Jack Robinson opened the door for us to play sports
Dr. Martin Luther King
Malcolm X 
Rosa Parks
fought for our equality along with others that are not 
mentioned in this poem that's why I 
am grateful for all of the opportunities that I have today
I am grateful to go to school and 
sit anywhere I want to 
I am grateful for all the people of color who gave it there all
and sacrificed everything they had so that we could
have this chance to do what they could not do
I love my people of color
my prideful
beautiful of color and 
just to let you know
I'm not a racist just someone 
giving you the history of our people
the people of color 

Copyright © James Wilson | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |

Hope: Slave Narrative

Hope is something that is wished for
Hope something that we want 
when we feel like our prayers
aren't being answered
Hope gives us joy for the future
A time when better things await
Hope is a miracle
Something wonderful
Something not from this world
and I know what you're thinking if 
hope is all of these things
how can one obtain it 
and the answer is simple
it's embedded in all of us
but to be more precise
Hope is found at the heart

Copyright © James Wilson | Year Posted 2014

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RENEWED BY GOD'S SPIRIT

RENEWED BY GOD'S SPIRIT Falling, falling are the salty drops from my eyes. Crying, crying is my broken bruised buckled heart so long oh so long, I am within a cell of loneliness that windows and doors I kept on guarded walls-- strangers who passed by on microscopic study... My glass of trust cracked to pieces that I don't know how and when will it be whole again... Disturbed nights caused my eyes a free make-up of black shadows yet, one night, as I have no one left to talk to You may say crazy, but what I did is just to have a solid storm of cries together with my laptop, it's where I tip tap everything; that flooding pains and hurts rooted deep down that well of frustrations, unmet wants and needs raining along that crippling fear of uncertainty one by one, my every tap seems a spiral step of explosion. My shoulders droop, my body assuming a fetal pose then again I shudder--- tears running fast inevitable. Some sounds vibrate free from my drying throat I want to halt them but am too weak, weak but still, they came through volts of perspiration duet to my sobs and murmurs then finally, I came to my senses, I hold my hands close to my heart and I began to speak at first syllables to my God... I opened my heart to Him, my mountain to mountain jars of sadness I lift it all to Him... I confessed to Him like a child baring everything as I fall to my knees and bow my head. And in that deafening silence of cold November last year, there is the hush of warm breeze engulfing my being it did comfort me; suppress slowly my sobs and cries stirring my senses; firing my faith and spirit and so that fleet of darkness that touched my being. ©O.E. GUillermo 6:29 PM, December 08, 2014 Sponsor Shadow Hamilton Contest Name Fighting Depression(poems for PD) Placed 5th

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Rooted

It was once a good and honest worker calculation area. 
His life was encode the world on your back in the form of numbers and proportions of these.
When he saw the sun, looking for the angle to calculate its axis, 
when he saw another human being quantified his features, 
gestures and inferred about their possible reactions. 
Poor man, he did not see the horizon as a screen display of Monet, 
who did not see the other as an extension of divine knowledge. 
So is the mason, electrician, psychologist, engineer, 
administrator, businessman, politician, ... 
men who are good at what they do, but each in view of the world that surrounds it. 
Because it is simpler to be one ... than having multiple views of the same mind.

Copyright © Max Diniz Cruzeiro | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch some pails of water
Jack climbed some trees while Jill was picking some pretty flowers

After some hours Jack realized that he was wasting time
So he called Jill to hurry up before ‘tis half past nine

So off they went to continue their very long journey
‘Till they passed by an old beggar and gave him some money

When they both reached the well Jack and Jill filled up their buckets
Near the well were some berries which they put in their pockets

When they reached home their momma and papa were so happy
For dinner they had meatballs and soup and chicken curry

 And five bags of bananas which a rich neighbor gave them
The good that you do to others will always be returned 

Copyright © Mariam M. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Why Can't I Be Young, Rich and Thin

That answer to that is painfully simple: I’m a disabled, thirty-something individual with compromised mobility…and I’m a lazy S.O.B...

But, oh, how I fantasize! And loath am I to torture myself by looking at all the exquisite, fabulous fashion creations by Versace, Comme Des Garcons, Missoni and Vivienne Westwood; elegant creations I will never be able to wear, let alone afford. Though I enjoy being a man and would have it no other way, I envy women and sometimes wish I was one, just so I could wear a Versace gown, even if it were just to take out the trash.

I worship fashion and models; they are my demigods. They embody all that is outwardly beautiful. I don’t mind the shallowness of it. I wish I was Coco Rocha, Naomi Campbell, Janice Dickinson, Linda Evangelista, Tyra Banks, Milla Jovovich, all rolled into one. I wish I could strut and stomp the catwalk; to pound the runway in some outrageous creation by Rei Kawakubo. To jet-set to Paris, Milan, Tokyo, London…! I would die and go to fashion heaven, and see Gianni, and I would be his Muse. Poor, Gianni; why did that bastard kill you? Genius was lost that day and fashion has since suffered in your absence.

I wish I was as skillful with sewing as I am with words; since I’ll never be a model, I’d at least like to design clothes that would echo my influences. A mesh of the sex of Versace, the elegance of Missoni, the insane artistic destruction and anti-fashion of Comme des Garcons and the hipness of Vivienne Westwood; yes, that would be my style, as my poetry echoes Poe, Shelley, Keats and Dickinson. 

But, alas and alas again! For these are all but mere dreams and fantasies that shall never be fulfilled! But a gay boy can dream, can’t he?

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

The Prodigal Son

When a father of five 
came home faced 
with one in five children of convalescence 
which he will pay more attention?

So organizations should be 
when in a department or group, 
one member is left out 
of the production process. 
Discard the individual or rescue?

Copyright © Max Diniz Cruzeiro | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Lost Inspiration

Lost Inspiration

- ieL


a few years ago, i found someone
to chat, to talk, to share my time
i can't explain the words of heart
i just smile! it felt so right

in midst of my agony
i saw you! smiling at me
i suddenly asked, "why?.. why?"
she just said "you inspire"

couple of days, months
i used to have you, here at my side
i didn't know how it works
but you totally melt my pride

we still stayed as friends
even we have this feeling
fast pulse, cause we love each other
surely! we've hit by a love archer

i was so depressed, frustrated
you've rejected me to love you
tears fell in my eyes without no clue
'cause "I disagree!" your father have said

one cold night, i drunk too much
i felt so despair, drain my guts
i drove my car, so careless
i'll hit the bridge! i closed my eyes. . . 

i woke up early, i'm in a hospital
i remembered the accident last night
i stood quickly and felt so light
there's no mark of wound, in my body and heart

i'm on the gate of my home, i stopped and looked
it's full of mourning crowd
it's impossible to move forward
i used the back door to check inside

i saw you sitting, crying
i tend to touch you, but can't keep moving
my heart beats so fast, just like when i see you
but i felt not love, but nervous

i slowly came near to calm you
my feet froze in the ground, it's weird
i pushed myself to walk, even to crawl
finally got a few inches. to hear you

you were apologizing deeply,
because of ignoring my feelings
you begged for my forgiveness
'cause you truly love me

i felt no more pain, nor anger
i just smile and want to say "it's okay"
but before my words be utter
i was shocked, it blew me away

i saw myself, lying in front of her
sealed in a well craved box, a coffin!
i can't believe what happening
this was not a dream, nor nightmare!

i tried to hold, to embrace my love
but my hands passed through her body
i shouted and cried to my love
but it seemed she can't hear me

i'm crying at loud, for someone to feel
that now i'm in vain, in so much pain
i just want to show my love again
for God i wished, make me real!

but in the moment of my frustration
i heard you whisper, soflty
"i love you so much!, for i'll be
cherished you and be my inspiration"

my heart glows and released joy
for i felt your sincerity and love
all turned into such admiration
for having me in your life

i quickly wept my tears away
that my love for you was not wasted
maybe i'm not exist here, today
but i'll live in your heart, forever . . 



Copyright © Jeriel del Rosario | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |

New Day: Slave Narrative

Can't wait for the new day
this day had brought me
nothing but heartache and misery
but I will make it to the new day
no matter what
I'll do what ever it takes
bite scratch and crawl 
my way to the new day
cuz I can see it over yonder 
over the horizon and all
I have to do is hold on
til the new day arrives
can't wait for the new day
cuz I'm tired of living in poverty
maybe this new day will be full
of happiness and joy
but won't find out unless
I hold on til the new day
arrives which is over yonder
over the horizon 
what a wonderful day the 
new day will be

Copyright © James Wilson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

The Beauty Within

The Beauty Within When a heart is kind Goodness seeps into your mind Peacefulness flows all about As the inner beauty turns inside out When the kindness of the heart is given Energy flows with life worth living All living life comes from the Lord His inner beauty keeps us in accord That glorious beauty of nature Shows God’s kind heart so pure The beauty is an unspoken love That comes from our Lord above When we begin to focus On God’s beauty all around us A sense of peace will slowly start As you feel the goodness of God’s heart It is all the glory of the Lord’s Gracious beauty of His innards Kindness begets kindness like a friend Pouring out all the beauty from within Not everyone can see inner beauty As we all look at others differently Only within the eyes of the beholder Will the true beauty begin to smolder A person is not seen by their outer shell That’s how I see it as far as I can tell A bitter heart that deceives like a crook Appears ugly no matter how great you look Let your heart be kind and always shine Your inner beauty all of the time! Florence McMillian (Flo)

Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2014

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From Great Pain Comes Great Inspiration

A total Jedi mind f*ck from Hell is what this is. I feel like a nuclear bomb has exploded in 
my mind of Hiroshima proportions and I am on the brink of a Chernobyl meltdown. 
Bewildered may be the best description of what I am feeling right now. I cannot process 
anything; I feel like I am in total and utter f*cking shock. I apologize for the expletives; 
I normally never curse when I write because I find it uncouth, but I have to get these 
feelings out; I know if I don't, I will want to cut, which is the last thing in the world I want to 
do. God knows I have enough scars; I don't need or want anymore.

From great pain comes great inspiration, I believe. Even though my mind is positively 
reeling at this very moment as I type, I feel exponentially inspired. I am completely 
overwhelmed emotionally, and I have just now stopped sobbing and weeping enough to 
write; to get these horrid feelings out of me.

Even the smallest of troubles or strife turn into absolute tragedy and catastrophe in my 
mind; I cannot help or control it, and God knows I wish I could. I "catastrophize" everything.

My best friend of 15 years just called me and told me she was moving to Alabama. I 
shouldn't even say "best friend" for she is more like a sister to me. Always, always she 
has been close by and been there for me as I have been for her, and now she is moving 
what seems like galaxies away from me, and the pain I am feeling is so tremendous and 
shocking; so unnerving and vexing and tormenting and afflicting...I could go on forever 
with melancholy and exasperating adjectives and descriptions. In my mind, she is dead 
and I am hosting the funeral in my brain. That's totally insane; I understand that, but at 
this moment I am NOT rational. For a moment after I stopped crying my eyes out, I 
almost felt catatonic. In my partner's arms, I just wept as he held me; I was shaking 
and shuddering furiously. I feel lost. I haven't felt this powerless or helpless since my 
grandparents died. She is moving away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am 
a horrible and selfish human being for I want her to stay, so desperate do I feel. 
Wendy, my sister, my best friend, my partner in crime; my cohort, consort, comrade, 
co-conspirator: you who know me best, inside and out, like a book...you are leaving me,
and my sorrow is swallowing me whole- devouring me like an angry, rabid beast. Don't 
go; don't leave me. With every fiber of my being I wish you to stay, but you've made up 
your mind and told me your decision at the worst possible time, when I am already too 
stressed to deal with or process this kind of pain and anguish in a healthy way. I'm ready 
to hit the bottles: whisky and Lortab. They will ease the pain and will quell the compulsion 
to cut.

This is the most personal blog I have written. I didn't know what else to do but turn this 
despair into words to help ease the heartache and suffering. If anyone cares, I need 
support right now. I need prayers and well wishes and good vibes; I am about to crumble 
to pieces. I feel like the proverbial rug has been pulled out from under my feet and I don't 
know what to do. This is the worst feeling in the world. Uncertainty is truly the worst of all 
ailments.

~Chan 

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013

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Precipitous path

Upon this precipitous path, I walk, high above, hungry predators soar. With each step the sun burns deeper, but nothing distracts me from my quest. Isolated, I continue along deserted land, each elevated step a challenging adversity. Fatigued, oppressive demands rage a war, between a troubled mind and stubborn heart. The sword of my silent soul becomes a shield, valiantly battling dangerous obstructions. Each obstacle becomes a conquered threat, sweat and blood drip, but fail to detract. As twilight reveals the refreshing moon, stars guide, illuminating naked light. As I approach the zenith of my triumph, my voice echoes among the valley of white lilies.
11 April 2016

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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THE CROSS ROAD

When words sound like a lost course

Who is will provide the answers to all this questions we ask

When the world feels like sinking sand

Who will beat fear to hold my hand?

When the road of life seems too long to reach the end

Who will tell me continue when am just about to stop

 

I am not afraid of what the world brings me

It is after all life, and it is meant to be

I cannot chose what my tomorrow becomes

But I can choose to become my tomorrow

And define my existence today

But a choice is but a choice

It may not define what becomes

Or what tomorrow may bring

 

When behind lies the tattered ruins

Of an interrupted middle class firmly

When our differences of reason cannot elevate

When sense make no sense

And the silence in my house

Is beyond the count of grief

I sit and take a moment to meditate

For you to read my thoughts in a poem

 

In the deepest end of solitude

I find a place to bury pain

What my heart cannot heed

My mind cannot feed

To corrupt my thoughts with greed

I am not afraid to be alone

Because no one is ever alone

But I am afraid to be what I am not

Like a wound left to rot

 

A defined sense of solitude

At the cross road

When thoughts collide

When we take a moment to weigh our load

When we all pause

To Whig history

 

 

When the sea mimics the land

Life still exist within

When the sun set to the east

And the night is left for beasts to feast

Life still exist within

When all is lost

And when all is said and done

When fun has become less fun

When all have come and gone

When there is nowhere to run

Life still exist within

 

When something becomes nothing

When nothing becomes something

And when ideas deceive the mind

In the interregnum

It is the journey of life

Not the arrival which occupies my mind

When we get to the cross road,

Copyright © Nobert Mathumo | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Paris November 13th Makes Me Weep - Afterthought

Paris November 13th Makes Me Weep — Afterthought

The shock and tragedy of this most horrendous event of slaughter, murder, and unmitigated evil are indeed a very sad commentary on the state mankind finds itself in today as the dark specter of terrorism and chaos attempts to engulf our entire world.

We can never forgive and we should never forget the evil that these minions of darkness—in their acts of barbarity, cruelty and cowardice—perpetrated upon the innocent, unsuspecting people in the magnificent city of Paris during the evening of November 13, 2015. 

The death and destruction wrought by these armed terrorists, although similar to that which occurred to “Charlie Hebdo” earlier in the year on January 7, 2015, was unfortunately executed on a much larger scope and scale resulting in the deaths of 129 people presently and injuries to over 350. All of this transpired in the later evening hours with a cold and quick military precision among terrifying shouts of “Allahu Akbar” by ISIS-associated terrorists.

All of this was supposed to done by these terrorists in the name of God! Huh? Really? All of this was to satiate a dark thirst and to justify an evil philosophy of murder, rape, pillage, and destruction en masse in the Middle East—and now brought to the evening-hour streets of the great city of Paris in France.

The makes me weep the deepest tears possible for sure, as I am also sure it does Almighty God in Heaven! This horrific event is beyond the pale of any semblance of human decency and dignity, let alone morality! These self-styled Islamic terrorists and extremists filled with hate and anger committed the cold-blooded murder of innocent people to fulfill their warped vision of Islamic sanctity—and in God’s name! This was an abhorrent act of absolute sacrilegious depravity on the part of these terrorists!

These individuals may perpetrate this evil and stain the streets with the blood of innocent people presently, but they shall never be allowed to win in this ultimate struggle. The motto “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité” (or “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity”) for France stands at the vanguard of freedom and justice as a timeless symbol and legacy from the Age of Enlightenment that is now inextricably bound as part of the French national heritage. I pay my humble tears and respect for what this historical motto stands for and means today.

The freedom-loving countries of the world and their people must stand together now with France in this hour of maximum danger, and help support its government and people in combating and destroying this dark specter of terrorism that has entered its borders and murdered innocent people without any iota of conscience or remorse whatsoever.

With all of this said, I offer my sincere respect to all of the dead and injured victims who had to endure this nightmare tragedy in Paris on the evening of November 13, 2015. My God protect the eternal souls of those who perished in these coordinated acts of senseless violence, and give solace and peace to their families and loved ones who remain behind.

I know that I shall never forget this evening of terrible violence inflicted upon Paris and its innocent people, just like the violence and death during 9/11 in the United States.

May God Bless the victims’ eternal souls forever, and let us pray that the murderous violence of ISIS and other radical movements analogous to them are one day stamped out from the face of this Earth. Amen!!   

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 15, 2015 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

My Other Self

If God made it possible for me to talk
to myself back to when I was a child,
I would make myself a better man
than I am today.
I would tell myself to live life as though
it was a gift, embracing every second,
minute, and hour. As the sand of time pass,
I would see every milestone and challenge as a gift.
My perception towards sadness and misery,
would be like that of passing clouds…

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2015