You sat there crying with tears rolling down you face
Asked me why I didn't show you any compassion
All I could say was that 'I'm just a man'
I should have wiped away your tears and held you tight
Told you I loved you and everything will be all right
Yet, I showed no emotion, because 'I'm just a man'
All the answers to your questions, I couldn't find
I was impatient, because 'I'm just a man'
All those times you would scream and shout went unnoticed
I thought you would calm down after the silence
I never meant to hurt you, but 'I'm just a man'
I can still remember the day you said goodbye
I was so confident you would come running back
I wish I wasn't so arrogant, but 'I'm just a man'
I saw you walking the other day with another guy
I can't help but be jealous, because 'I'm just a man'
I saw you smile and you seemed so happy
Finally, you met someone who understood you
Who will show you compassion and hold you tight
You deserve a real man, not someone still a boy
But how could I understand, when I don't understand myself
I was an unloved child who lost his childhood
Nobody taught me how to become a man
Nobody told me the difference between right and wrong
Nobody taught me how to love and care for another
School didn't teach me anything about life
Now here I am again all alone dealing with the ghost of the past
Even though you don't think so, I did love you deeply
Guess I didn't say it enough, because 'I'm just a boy
I hope you have forgiven me for the times I hurt you
Because 'I'm not a man', 'I'm just a boy'
The Silent One
9 September 2015
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
They had fought.
He left without a word...
...while she was sleeping.
She threw on the gown she had worn for him the night before,
pushed off the china vase and blooms he had given her.
She watched them fall in...s l o w...m o t i o n,
listened to them crash to the floor...
...sat on the window sill,
where the bouquet and container had been.
She proclaimed to the world "c'est la vie!".
She was alone
but at least...
...she was the only flower.
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Contest Name: c'est la vie
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
On cold evenings
Surrounded by friends
I could stay up forever
From the blackness
Feeling that I could float upward
And walk with the stars
On their lonely journey
There was a girl
I was with then
When I first saw her
I wanted to feel her softness
Her breathe on my cheek
Brushing against my thigh
When I held her close
And even closer
I wanted her
To say she loved me.
Had a perfect balance
Teasing and challenge
A subtle change
That I never understood
The closer we became
The more anger
And resentment followed
When she smiled I was envious
When I laughed she was angry
We broke up
We were young
It was my fault
Or blame it on the times we lived in.
Outside my room
In a long and empty hallway
And like an undeliverable letter
A message scrawled
To no one in particular
Haunting visions are
Returned to me
The slenderness of her waist
The way she arched her back
The touch of her hand
The way she kissed
I feel her presence
Yes, I relive all that.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009
She’s just an old memory of a younger man’s dreams
An image of love hard to find
I can still see her eyes, taste the joy of her lips
In the deep recesses of my mind
Hair that was flowing, a smile that was glowing
An angel with earthly charms
Felt her heart beat in the tropical heat
Got lost in her loving arms
Sometimes I wonder if it was only a dream
An old sea story that I told
But I remember those eyes like a radiant beam
A treasure greater than gold
I wonder now if she waited on shore
With the fire in her heart still burning
And I wonder if there were tears in her eyes
Realizing I would not be returning
She’s just an old memory that haunts me today
A storybook love affair
A blanket, a beach and two bodies entangled
On a tropical island somewhere.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008
I am standing outside my bedroom, on the precipice of lost innocence.
Wide eyed, and barefoot on cold hardwood.
Someone is hammering on our front door.
My father, looking a bit annoyed, shuffles anxiously down the stairs.
Tussled hair, a bewildered vein bulging in his forehead,
wearing his old, blue plaid robe, (one with a woven rope belt),
he frowns like a lightweight boxer, ready to enter the ring.
There are two grim faced policemen waiting on the front porch.
My mother, at the top of the stairs, clutches the neck of her gown.
She looks as if she might choke herself.
Confused alarm, reflects in sleep-swollen eyes.
They ask my father, “How well do you know those folks across the road?”
As they notice me standing on the stairs, they quickly lower their voices.
In a hushed, rather husky monotone, they whisper to my father...
something about a boy who has taken a shotgun into the hillls...
and into the chill of the night…
He has taken his own life…and has been identified as the boy...,
the teenager, who lives kitty-corner across our road.
The same kid who mowed our grass when Dad was sick for a spell last summer.
The one who bags Mom’s groceries at the local A & P.
They think I don’t hear them ……but I do…
and I hear them ask my father,
would he, please, come along to help them break the news?
My father, glazed eyes, and head low, steps away a moment, to quickly dress.
I remember hearing my mother gasp, then suck in a sob,..
But then is right behind me, pulling me towards her…..
and I can feel her heart pounding, through flannel of my pajamas.
She is squeezing my shoulders..so hard that it hurts,.... somehow I don’t mind.
I look up seeking reassurance,.... her eyes are huge, …
and she knows that I have heard….
And we both know,...that nothing will ever be the same.
After this day is over, the childhood of yesterday, will wear a different face…
Father pulls a coat over his pajama tops, …he gives my mother a touch on the arm.
With a desolate look at me, he touches my head.
He steps out into the darkness of a not quite dawn.
And through the window, I can see the line of shadows on the lawn.
Three men, like hunched over soldiers, walking slowly into the wounds of a new day.
(Sadly, this is based on a true story)
100 in a ROW contest #1 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by P.D.
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
I was seventeen, had one year left of high school and a boyfriend I didn't even love. It was the end of summer, and I was on the verge of a night indelible
because it was incredible for me.
If "tall, dark, and handsome" had a face, it belonged to one who walked
into the store I worked at nightly all alone. He brought with him a smile just for me -
beautiful, magical, seducing. Were he music, he'd have been the warmest song
to ever touch my soul. Perhaps it was the moon, lunacy-inducing, that made me crave
his visits more and more, for he'd come each night into the store,
his ritual to tease me with his glances; then stand in line with just one purchase,
engaging me with words deliciously belying that he spoke my native tongue.
Did he know I fairly worshiped him?
And where was Aphrodite to let her dear Adonis wander free?
I learned eventually he was staying with a brother and soon would be returning to Quebec. I do not know, but I can now infer the moon waxed full by the time he asked me out, for I had waxed complete in my audacity. Knowing it was his last night in town, I closed the store up early and fled with my Prince Charming.
The stuff of poetry that night transpired. . .fodder for the several poems of romance I've since penned.
Sitting in his car in front of my own house, late at night, into the early morning. . .
The way he gazed into my eyes, teaching me of butterfly kisses and his breathing his sweet breath along my ear lobes, the way our fingers interlaced, the way he caressed the small of my back. . . He taught me how small things can be just as sensuous as that act of love that virgins do not know, and he branded me with a yearning for a sweet romantic love I'd never felt so strongly, nor would I ever know again as wonderfully as I was shown that night, for others in my life I've kissed, yet I have never missed them.
My dream love wrote me postcards from Quebec. Then it all died out.
I married. A few years passed; then I got a call from him, completely unexpected!
Somehow he'd tracked me down to my new home. I took the call, as I held my firstborn baby daughter in one arm. Heart in my throat, I told him it was nice to hear from him, but I was married now. So though I'll never know what "may have been," I'm still left with the memory I chose to make with him that one day of my life, my very best, because for just one night, I was Cinderella. A prince still holds my slipper, and infinite romance lives on inside my poems.
For Frank Herrera's First Love Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
That day by the lake,
tattered jeans and old t-shirts,
my hand in your back pocket as we walked,
hooked over the top of my waistband.
It was hot,
You tilted your hat at a silly angle and laughed,
I looked over and thought
Smiles exchanged and then a kiss,
I think I melted inside.
We took turns walking backwards
holding both hands
drinking in the sight of each other.
Of course we fell,
you to the floor
completely in love.
Making a frame with my hands,
a captured moment,
'smile for the camera'
and what a smile it was.
Sitting together in the long grass,
both our hats at silly angles,
you made a frame in front of us,
as I kissed your cheek,
and captured a memory.
Images stored safely in my jeans pocket,
not the one with the hole,
that day by the lake...
it was perfect.
Only now I realise
one camera never worked.
The image of you, still vibrant
as that day,
but the one of us
you made with your hands
faded to barely a whisper.
That day by the lake
we both fell...
but only one fell in love.
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010
He called it love and his captivating way,
She called it fear and longed for the day.
All alone she cried those bitter nights,
While he ran around to his hearts delight.
He had her heart he pulled her strings,
All she ever wanted was the joy that only true love can bring.
He controlled her mind, her spirit, her soul,
All alone with no hopes of ever achieving her goals.
Completely stripped of confidence and pride,
She became a victim of his heartless and evil side.
She was hardly a child when he stole her heart,
Lured in to his web with lies and broken promises from the start.
Now all of her dreams have faded away,
As she musters up courage to try to make it through another day.
He has convinced her that what he says is the final word,
No matter what she had read or heard.
You can’t make it out there, alone, is what he said!
You won’t last a week till somebody finds you dead.
So callous and cruel he chose those frightening words to keep her here,
But she had reached the end and leaving was the only way and she saw it clear.
She said you’re right and I should hush so let’s not fight,
But her things were packed, she’d be leaving this night.
He got all dressed and went out to make the town,
She called her a taxi and left that clown.
She broke the bonds that held her there,
Now she’s on her own enjoying life and breathing in this new found air.
This little sparrow has found her wings,
Enjoying everything this life can possibly bring.
Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2008
he thought he knew her
this man she married….
inside those morning glory eyes
her tentative blooms unfolding
soft and pink with desires fire….
reserved for just his caress
that he crushed and stepped upon
whiskey is much better
when its aged…
and he has some growing to do
amid the whimpers of a sudden rain
pelting with a vengeance
all the skin can do is take the cracking
as its human capacity is limited
where did she go he wonders
questioning her disappearance
with unjustified despondence
(still consumed with just himself)
as she vanishes without a trace
sometimes the ropes break…
and sometimes they come untied
even steel chains come unbound
in moments of clarity
he remembers how he once held her
(vapors are fragile but consuming)
even then in a choke hold
grasped around her once willing
pale and bruised up neck
with rough hands and lies
he believed as well as her
leaving her mummified and torn
oh ignorance leaves one in nirvana
violins sound sorrowful when played at loves demise
so when the music floats upon a lonely air
going nowhere on a ripped up wind
does he have a right to grieve what is lost
(a bit like a baby that lost its toy)
when he threw it out with Mondays garbage
and only now
when its gone
(attempting to excavate a grave)
does he mourn its passing…..
Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009
the fire rages on….
smoke hot and murky
(like sodden dank old whiskey)
burns the backs of her brooding eye lids
as she watches fires power frolic
like a mesmerizing ghost
it consumes with licking fingers
the aromatic lavender and the intricate lilies
destroying so slowly
the dark hard leather
and delicate white lace
(it could be gone in an instant)
the quiet like a devastation spills into her
like bodies of the long passed
eyes like cheap gin
on a Saturday night
begging to be borrowed
in someone else’s head
forms of faces out of tune like an old scratched record
replaying into a wiped out ancient black sky
breeding dismay between what should be kissed lips
burrowing into flames she sketches with her ruby red
and shadowed pink mouth
(had it always been this way?)
she….with fragile fingers
twining and untwining
(with temptation of a rose thorn)
unhealed with lacerations
does she own the capacity
on her own
to block the fierceness of the sun?
beneath the stale sirens
(pounding out a raucous rhythm
on her heart)
of a raw and frantic flutter
she hears the wild piercing
of wings beating in futility
against harsh walls
rat tat tatting….rat tat tatting….
battering and scattering
trapped inside a cage
“fly free….just fly free!”
she pleads to the lady she visits every Friday
“why the hesitation?”
as she whimpers from the wounds
old and dead and long buried
in the ground beneath a willow
and still the fire rages and rampages
steals the flower petals
while ripping through the forest
as she trips on tender heels of the never fast enough
smoke still burns the backs of her brooding eyelids….
Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009
Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully
a not married one husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.
Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.
Im a southern man once means several things non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying
to myself as i watched him running naked across the dessert being chased
by the flying monkeys he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance
There goes a fine american.
I would have ran after him but but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me
I herd they had a thing for southern actscents.
And theres nothing worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me
Ive delt with this problem befor.
and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand
in all his naked glory.
Besides I left him some sneakers and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.
Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle
So as i sit behind the wheel ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person run to and feel at home.
I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.
And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.
My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels today.
And hey she had went to church more than once so who was I to argue.
With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races Untill next time kiddies.
Adios and im off to find my amigo.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
The smoke is a question mark...
My view of you is covered in gray
You pause, look back, then walk away
You’ve neglected to open your umbrella…
Tomorrow, under a different sky
I will listen to the songs of yesterday
The world leaves behind a sign language for broken hearts
It is cloudy, it is beginning to rain…
Goodbyes are bitter ales we drank today
I look again, through the smudges of the day
We are going to leave behind a trail of smoke
A sound like a tired mother calling in her child
The train whistle rings in the dusk
I take a last look through the window
I have said my goodbyes
The train begins to move
We are leaving the station platform
Tears weep down the window
Spilling over the imprints of my hand
I found myself dry eyed and my throat too tight to speak
Finding a place to put the carry-ons
People are chatting, settling in
Happy, excited, anxious to be departing
A thin straight lift and a gray, silvery curve
Like a sickle for harvesting the first star…
The smoke is a question mark
"Write A Backwards Poem"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
The phone rings empty into the night.
Filling a void that brings strange comfort
to thoose around.
Rage eats away untill it bores a hole
straight through are hearts.
Whiskey cauterizes the wound.
Alone with fools we gather.
The bitter ones taking to there barstools.
the weak look to punish thoose happy
Who dare to feel anything in the place of
She left so many years befor.
At least her mortal soul did.
I rememeber when it was when I still
dared to dream.
Long befor reallity was a friend.
Motions keep us living.
She spoke but the words were empty as her heart.
So as strangers we parted just as we met.
With a bitter taste I never did reply.
The phone rang it's last time.
I herd it echo farewell down the hall.
I had to go so I never unlocked the door.
i just left my emotions hanging like some
forgotten coat pushed back in
Its been almost a year since that phone filled
the emptyness of my soul.
If only I had answered.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
A young boy sat atop a hill
Wondering at all his Father had built
He thought about the clouds, the flowers, and the trees
He thought about his life, what it all means.
Then he saw death, dark and grim
Walking up the hill, directly towards him.
With fear and dread, the young boy cried
“I am not ready, this can’t be my time.”
Death listened to the Young boy’s cry.
And asked “why should I grant you more time?
Convince me?” He said. “Then we will see
If you are deserving. Perhaps I’ll let you be.”
The boy stared Death directly in the eye.
He searched his heart and then knew why
His life should be spared.
Why he deserved more time.
The boy stood straight and tall on his feet
And said, “I have never sung a song so sweet.”
Never written a poem that changed a life,
Or shared a kiss with my future wife.”
Death sat and listened with intent
To the boy's argument and was convinced
That this boy was indeed sincere and true,
He would not take him with his years so few.
Death said “Go live your precious life,
Write your poem and find your wife.
Sing your song with a verse so sweet
That man will bow beneath your feet.”
“I will come again when the time is right
And we will continue our journey into the night.”
“But, heed my warning to you.
Live your life right and always be true.”
The young boy grew into a tall, strong man.
He found success, money, friends and fame.
But in all his glory he was alone
And he walked again to his childhood home.
He climbed to the top of an old familiar hill
And as he stared across the land,
He marveled at the majesty of his Father's hand
And the man sat down to ponder his life.
As he sat Death's shadow came into view
The man stood and said, “I remember you.”
“You came for me here when I was young and afraid,
And showed mercy on a small boy and set him on his way.
But, I beg you please, don’t take me today,
for I have sinned and lost my way.
I am empty inside, I still need my life.
I haven’t my poem, my song or my wife.”
Death said, “Write your poem and find your wife.
Find your song and live your life.
When next we meet, I promise you,
Your life will end, it will be through.”
The man traveled the world and enjoyed its pleasures.
He made and lost an endless treasure.
But, time was not the man’s best friend.
And He grew old, his time was at an end.
His money spent and his friends all gone.
The old man set out to find his song.
He tried to write poetry, but couldn’t find a rhyme.
He searched for his love, but she too had faded with time.
And he came at last to a familiar space,
A tall hill overlooking a plentiful place.
The old man clambered up the steep hill
And sat in awe of his Father’s will.
And as he sat he saw a friendly face.
Death had come to their old meeting place.
Death stared into his ragged face and weathered eyes,
And said, “How are you, my friend? How have you passed the time?”
The old man stood and stared Death in the eye.
With a heavy breath, he let out a sigh.
“I never wrote my poem and I never sang my verse.
I never found my love and loneliness has been my curse.”
He paused for a moment before he said,
“I am ready my friend for my eternal bed
Take me now for I’ve nothing to show
Nothing at all for your years that I stole.”
Death took his friend who had known no harm.
Down that tired hill, they walked, arm in arm.
Through the green valley that his Father created
And into the shadows, his image faded.
Copyright © James Andersen | Year Posted 2016
In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.
The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...
Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
It was in July of 1945
And the USS Indianapolis
Had a crew of nearly 12 hundred alive
But a Japanese sub fired and did not miss
American sailors had completed their job
Delivering parts for the first atomic bomb
Some sank with the ship, others in the sea did bob
No food, few lifeboats, ocean deceptively calm
Surprise attack, no distress signal had been sent
It was four days later those floating were spotted
The survival rate was just 25 percent
With hundreds of sailors’ bodies the sea was dotted
In the movie “Jaws” as Captain Quint had related,
“The sharks came cruisin'. So we formed into tight groups.”
Six men per hour were killed while for help they waited
All were lost but 316 Navy troops
Some victims died of exposure or starvation
But far more were killed by the sharks that had attacked
These men lost their lives in service to our nation
But bomb parts delivered had a deadlier impact
One of the last ships that was sunk in World War II
The Indianapolis had turned the war’s tide
With a mission carried out by a courageous crew
Victory was soon celebrated by allies worldwide
This is an entry for the History Poems contest
Copyright © Diane Locksley | Year Posted 2011
He played softly on (Les Paul Strings) (The Day That He Returned Home) from the war. (One
More Mile) to go, then he will be (Kissing and Caressing) her. That was all he thought of on
his long journey home. He was going to try and win over (The Iceberg Beauty) he saw so
long ago while (Sitting on the Beach). (Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained) so (He Left Her a
White Rose). He was hoping the (Dark Maiden) would become (Golden and Gorgeous) once
again when (In the Meadow We Lay).
(She Entered My Dream)s forever on that day, right after we dove into the water. When (We
Came Up For Air) (The Flow of My Heart) stopped suddenly. (Have You Ever Sat Still), so still
breathing stops, the eyes suddenly glaze over and when the (Doves Fly), (The Raven
(Her Reoccuring Dream) was to become a blond (Beach Beauty) once again for him, as he
was always (In Her Dreams). He would cover her with (Sunset Kisses) and the flame of life
in her would never flicker and die. Alas, (The Mirrors Spoke) of her (In Ageing Decay) as
she (Sat in Shame No More). Her time was up, those (Three Wishes on The Sandy Beach)
were not enough. She needed a fourth to be young for evermore. Instead (On Blue Silk She
Lies), this time her eyes will remain shut (When They Close For Evermore)!
* Narrative derived from one poets work here on the Soup.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
On the banks of a river under the nest of a dove
He looked into the eyes of the girl that he loved
She was simply as beautiful as beautiful could be
He was bitter as the salt, which came from the sea
But something about him she could not resist
Perhaps it was the tender way that he kissed
They were truly as happy as two kids could be
Sitting there on bank under the shade of the tree
Sharing all of their dreams and all of their hearts
Not knowing their parents would soon tear them apart
She told him if I can’t have you no man will have me
Those words that she spoke were true as could be
She turned to God and he turned to dope
I guess each of them needed something to cope
She became a Nun a beautiful heavenly flower
He became a convict with a shot callers power
Throughout their lives as the story is told
Each held the other more valuable then gold
Friends to the end regardless of the path
Its all very simple if you just do the math
Written for Elaine's contest
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view
I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused
I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone
So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss
April 14, 2013
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
I see you looking at me
There is an old pang in my chest
there where your hands used to caress
where your lips loved to roam
there where you called your home
There is an old flutter now
What is that in your eyes?
Is it real or just a disguise?
I see you looking at me
No, it can’t be
And in that instant your memory consumes me
A roaring fire lighting the room
Shadows dancing on the walls
We are drunk on desire
.....caressing your breasts
.....kissing your body
.....tasting your love upon my tongue
Unbelievable . . . panic seizes me
Don’t look at her -- flee
But in that moment my shattered heart
Leaps with joy
I see your eyes
....and I feel the earth
....moan with delight
I wish the world would go away
How can this be?
It must be a dream...
I turn away from your stare
Look down at my shaking hands
I need to think....
Why now? Why here?
Out of nowhere…you appear
Oh, but....I want you
I sneak another peak
As my mind brings to my eyes the memories
It seems just yesterday
you looked at me that way
....when you undressed me
....when you caressed me
....when you made me understand
how a body can speak
the language of love
has my body spoken
with the same eloquence
That language I first learned with you
I want you
But....the pain won't go away
you were too proud to say,
Oh....but my lips are getting moist
hungering for your kiss
I look your way
My heart will give me away
Thundering in joy
It won’t be still!
.....Let me think
.....Let me THINK!
Oh...Oh...but....I want you
Here you are….
You’ve made it over to me
Here you stand
Looking down at me…
Reaching for me….
Taking you into my arms – lifting
Your eyes -- dark pools of honey
Your lips – full . . . moist . . . inviting
Our bodies embrace – I am home
My prayers for another chance – answered by your kiss
Our words tumble over each other
Tears, laughter, kisses . . . relief
My beautiful darling – I’ve missed you
....the way you look at me
Making love until the dawn
Our bodies intertwined
My head resting upon your breasts
Listing to the rhythm of your heart – my heart
How beautiful you are my darling –
Your love is fragrant and radiant
Filling my heart with light . . .
Look – I am glowing from within . . .
I feel a stiffness creeping into your body
WHAT – fear seizes me – I can’t breath
My darling – abandon the hurt, the pain I have caused . .
I am on my knees begging
How can I prove my love –
earn your trust?
I won’t leave – never again!
I love you
you . . .
What if you hurt me again?
This time....I won't recover
This time….I won’t survive
It has taken so long
for this heart to mend
Down on your knees
Your eyes plead
I see the tears gather
Can I risk it?
But then again
Can I risk going back to the emptiness
that you left behind
A life without you
was only days and nights
of longing...for you
My fingers reach
For those unruly strands of hair
You turn your face into my palm
Planting a kiss
Your arms go around my waist
as you rest your head against my body
We're lost to the world
You're finally home
I bend down to whisper
"Stand up and walk me home
There is a language….
I want to hear your speak to me.”
And that night
In our hungry bed
The eloquence of our shared language
The body syllables of desire
The sound units of passion
The language of our love
Was heard by the world
The story of a chance encounter between two old lovers
~~~~~~~~~Love lost and love found~~~~~~~~~~
A Collaboration by David Meade and Eileen Manassian
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
Reporting live on the soup, with Americas MOST. WANTED. POETS.
Standing here with our host John,
With an exclusive update on criminal poets, captured and on the run.
Switching over to you John,. "Thank you P.D., lets give thanks to all the
P.M.W. tipsters, and our lovely F.B.I. agent Andrea Dietrich (Andy) & U.S.
Marshal Shirley Harrison (S.H.)
Capturing 1 infamous fugitive Nikko Palmario, a comment crusader going contest crazy.
Christopher Brantley, still at large U.S. Marshall (S.H.) says, "This brilliant fugitive leaves no
trace." A dangerous poet posting comments longer than his poetry. Leaving a distinction of
excellence in any short form. P.M.W.tipsters Demand to be brought down to poetic justice.
P.M.W. Tip, led Marshall (S.H.) to the most notorious blond bombshell on the soup.
Captured on her vacation Linda Marie Bariana, lost control of her blond moment.
Paralyzing her laptop with sand. Covering to other crimes with to much poetry rhyme.
Her # 1 crime, entering a dark poet contest, to bad for this SWEET HEART who shines.
Wanted in all nations Lynette Chachere a realistic poetic criminal against reality & dreams.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says"Our sweet Lynn, carries a weapons against all Enigma wonders."
A shameful crime to bring down a poets spirit with an intervene of her intense poetry.
F.B.I. Most wanted poetic lunatics, Billy the Kidster, with a Mental Poet Disorder.
A maniac on the rampage, a poet who lost it, with a crime slamming himself.
F.B.I. Most wanted viscous fugitive Christopher D. Aechtner, alias Vomiticus Grammaticus.
This former Canadian elusive bad boy, topping the hot list, a harmless poetic threat.
Dakarai Cobbs, a 30 year old soups spot robbing thug. F.B.I.(Andy) Says "We offer 1 million
For the capture of this accused space invader aka the Sonnet man.
A poetic gang banger posting out of control, with a drive by of 130 hits in less than a month
Nathan Dilts, at large with the biggest search in poet history.
A terrorizing poet implanting each poet with frightening thoughts and images so twisted.
Making his followers absorb his evil poetic plots, while connecting center of dots.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says he is a mastermind with explosive & twisted thoughts.
Marshall (S.H.)Says "there is nothing we won't do to take his Poet License away.
((sorry no room for the Poet Destroyer))
Back to you P.D. "thank you John, there you have it soupers a few top criminal poets."
Reporting live on the soup P.D., all across the world enjoying our poetry security
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me.
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif.
Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body.
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life.
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears,
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK".
I lied, knowing it wouldn't. Besides what could I do with so little to give.
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.
I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me.
Copyright © Charlene McCutcheon | Year Posted 2014
Examine your surroundings,
most importantly their hue,
for I recall a day when setting sun
hung in the fire of a neon sky
and blazed an orange red.
What imperceptible thread held it
there above our heads like a paradigm of passion
suspended for all time!
Even now, years later,
I draw that moment out and bask in it again. . .
and over again. Also I remember how
that serpent came from nowhere
and slithered terra cotta in the sand around our feet.
I believe he was exponential (in a Biblical sense)
of what we soon would lose - our innocence -
as afternoon slipped into an iridescent dusk.
The colors of that dusk
bursting and sizzling like our steamy summer love,
primarily in nuances of lust,
flowed scarlet over us in the color of a crimson
which was cardinal as sin.
Then to the screams of gulls and to the crash of waves,
I writhed beneath a surge of heat
and his face. . . that glowed with desire.
Only at the beach was I ever to know
such splendor. . . there with my first love
and there with the sun, where it burned out.
For Your Best Love Poem Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high,
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven.
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
Copyright © Nichola Vincent | Year Posted 2014
I am your champion, I fight for your cause,
my love and devotion give some people pause.
When I saw you I knew you, just like with your dad.
I guess our deep happiness makes some people mad.
I work hard at my job, so that we can live,
and hear me now, son, when it's time to give,
I am the one who ups the amount,
I've done this more often than I can recount.
I also work so your dad will be covered,
for doctors and dentists and allergists and others,
and who do you think pushed him to go
to the skin doctor some two years ago?
From the moment I met you, you felt like my son,
but this is a battle that cannot be won.
When your dad and I married, I didn't steal him away,
he's just as devoted to you to this day.
I heard someone had told you that I was "controlling,"
(I can't even write this without my eyes rolling).
Who insisted your dad fly to LA to see you?
Who worked overtime to pay for this venue?
I encourage his freedom, I've not clipped his wings,
his happiness, above all, is the important-est thing.
I will not be silenced, nor be vilified,
and it just breaks my heart when you take HER side.
I am LOVING and GIVING and ALL THAT IS GOOD,
and I'm tired of being so misunderstood.
So, pardon my migraine, it wasn't intended,
my strength just gave out as your judgement descended.
I lost a whole weekend, I slept like the dead,
I was just too defeated to face down my dread.
I kinda' felt reality shatter, unsure what was real,
like in "Jacob's Ladder."
We're getting no younger, your father and I,
the older we get, the faster time flies.
I love you as if you were my own child,
I'll not carry this burden unreconciled.
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009
If I rewrote the story and somehow are paths
did not cross.
In temptations fire.
We would only know the cold of others.
Freezing in the silent agony unable
The statue remains its meaning erased.
As into others we will seek.
The emotions we no longer share.
Alone I am now inthe isolation of many blank
The jokes are but a wall built to conceal.
All that I am.
That I could never reveal.
Use the substances to keep you numb.
And let the voices take you to another place.
Beyond the madness there lies
beauthy in pain.
And always truth.
Destruction breeds art.
I light up in a room of vacant stares
and empty lives.
To blind in addiction to know the other does exist.
In this den like some scene from a opium parlor from the west.
Ashes hit the floor along with my pride.
This battle im losing with devilish glee.
All but nothing is left.
so in the shadows I confide.
Sometimes wisdom can come from great acts of stupidty
sometimes pain brings us closer to the truth
nothing stays buried it just lays in wait.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2010
Darkness is my life that apears in
Has it come to just another fix.
The smile does conceal my losing fight.
The music the screams within.
The lies eat away at the man I can no
Hollow is thy heart.
Crimson stains all that is never held in
It started a game now it's a curse.
In darkness I speak to you
all I could never say.
The man once known to you.
Has all but faded away.
And as I slip into adictions abyss.
Candle lit memories were taken
with the breeze.
That killed that romantic glow.
As the stranger who exists in the form
once you did love.
Twist's into a form you cannot understand.
I ask out of love for you to forget.
The monster that haunts this form.
In memories true love we will forever know.
The emptyness of of this life.
And the once splendid candle lights glow.
In truth we die.
As we live.
So must we cry.
Not every every question has a answer my friends.
Copyright © DR Robert Gonzo | Year Posted 2010
My younger sibling, I brought you painfully up, you brought me "pain" fully
I myself struggled through constant hard times, your constant struggling with yourself, hard timed me
I cleared a pathway through life for you, you clearly thought the pathways were lined with gold
Today I had to repair, Mums front door, the door you caused to be kicked down yesterday
I love you and will defend you, even when you are wrong, which as you know, you never are
You lost your parents some way back and now it seems you somehow lost your way
I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid
You cannot mess with men like this, they follow no set rules
Wealth becomes a god to them, they do not suffer fools
I pulled you from a hole today, I pulled you from a hole
The talk was death to stinking thieves, I saved your very soul
You lost your mum and dad so young, is that why you rebel but life is not a one way street, I lost them both as well
You brought me lots of grief tonight, you brought me lots of grief
I brought you up as many things but one was not a thief
I handed back, the things you took, I gave them all right back
The men who stood at mums front door had shot guns in a sack
The offer that they offered me, was one, to not refuse
Return the goods the "bastard took" or read it in the news
If mum and dad were still alive, for this you would pay dear
If mum and dad were still alive, do I make myself clear
I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid
Copyright © john scott | Year Posted 2011
Meet me at the same place
Just for one last time
There's nothing left to lose now
For you were never mine
I tried to speak the words
I was to terrified to say
Seems I was right to fear
You've already turned away
You knew that I'd be angry
Disallowed me to react
Responding to the fiction
Without hearing the fact
And if I really know you
I know when you chose to walk
You left a space wide open
To encourage me to talk
So I spoke the words I promised
That would never never my mouth
Because I believe that closure
Shouldn't hold a trace of doubt
I wanted you to know that
Every 'Love Ya' that I wrote
Was just some smoke and mirrors
For the real words gripped my throat
But now there's no prevention
The worst already walked through
I'm not afraid to tell you now
I think I've always loved you.
Copyright © Jodie Williams | Year Posted 2012
Go ahead, you freaking coward, I thought. You drove all this way, with your new 6" GPS. Now you’re a bowl of jello who can't ring a bell? I took a deep breath and pushed the buzzer ... nothing. I knocked, softly. The door opened, slowly....
"Joey Sliwa?" a voice said.
It felt good to be recognized after thirty-five years. "Yes, Lana?" I said, smiling, questioning. A touch on the arm and an awkward hug. She led me into a medium-sized living room with two, white-as-snow Shih Tzu puppies.
Sitting on a plush, microfiber couch with coffee and a baker's box of pastries. I was so drawn to this woman, I had to force myself to move away.... The dogs sat up. Their attentive stares were ... disconcerting.
"I can't believe I'm here," I said. "I never would have come without calling -- but, your number was disconnected and you stopped communicating on your Facebook page."
"I'm flattered you were so concerned. You do know I have MS, right?"
"Yes, of course. I figured it might be something like that. I guess ... I wanted to see you one last time before I dropped dead," I said, with a half-smile. Our fingers touched and, yes, there were sparks.
"How are your kids doing," I inquired.
"Both grown and out of the house. They're always badgering me to come live with them." She seemed lost in thought ... for a moment.
"And, Bob. You never told me. What happened to Bob?"
"I don't want to talk about him," she said. "He was abusive and a terrible father. That's all I'm going to say -- for now."
I moved closer and put my arm around her. She didn't pull away. "Lana, you don't have to explain anything. I'm here to visit my old friend, who I love very much." There were tears in her eyes.
"You know, Joey, we can never be," she said.
The Shih Tzus' white-as-snow fur was no longer so white. I felt a pain, and I was frozen in place.
"Joey. What's wrong? Can I help you?" I heard her speak.
"Can I help you? Sir, do you need help?" The voice of a young man. "Dina, call 911."
I opened my eyes. My arm was outstretched, trying to press the buzzer. There were people around me who I didn't recognize. "I was looking for Lana," I stuttered. "Lana White?" The good-looking kid with the Burt Reynold's moustache took notice when I repeated her name.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Joey Sliwa. I was friends with your mother many years ago. We recently connected again on Facebook," I said. "And, you're her son, Daniel. I saw pictures." I felt a tightening in my chest.
"My sister called for help. They'll be here, shortly," said, Daniel. He ran back into the house. There were neighbors gathered around.
A teenage girl who was listening to the conversation sat next to me. "Lana passed away three months ago. It was in all the papers. And, it was a week before her body was discovered. They found Goo and Princess eating parts of her body. It was just too horrible," she said.
One of the neighbors screamed at her: "Gigi, get the hell out of here. You're father's going to hear about this. This man is in no condition to hear that shit!" Gigi quickly left my side.
The ambulance arrived and they lifted me onto the stretcher. The last face I saw was Lana's daughter, Dina. It was uncanny the resemblance to her mother. I felt light-headed from the oxygen. The cold ambulance air-conditioning made me think of brisk autumn winds. I knew, if I closed my eyes now, I would be back in the living room with Lana. So, I did close my eyes, for the last time....
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016