As a young boy
Sitting in a pew
The winter darkness pressing down
Candlelight waves from hidden drafts
Shadows danced on the walls
I heard the words destined to me
“Be still . . . know that I am God”
So I listen . . . eyes open
“The Passion of Christ”
I was gone . . .
I saw eyes . . .
Judas under the olive trees - Gethsemane
His eyes . . . cold, darting . . . filled with manic evil
Torchlights hissing . . . turning eyes yellow
Then a kiss and chaos erupts
I closed my eyes . . . suddenly afraid
Now I see a set of eyes . . . filled with burning hate
A High Priest screaming . . . B-L-A-S-S-P-H-E-M-Y ! ! ! ! !
All around ugly eyes staring with dripping contempt
Old men spitting with bared rotting teeth
Then I noticed . . . and . . .
And my heart ached . . .
Jesus . . . standing quietly with closed eyes
Then we were off to Roman authority -- Pontius Pilate
I saw his slanted eyes . . . squinting as if too much sunlight
Loud voices yelling outside . . . “Crucify him!”
In my heart, I cursed these people – but his eyes
His eyes were dark, soft – forgiving
A hand washing and we are walking . . .
To a hillside, a place called Golgotha – the skull
Empty eye sockets . . . a place of death
The eyes of soldiers hard, focused . . .
Spikes, woods – his sad eyes burning my heart
Closing my eyes, I heard a sharp gasp . . . soldiers yelling
As I opened my eyes – I was looking out with his eyes
We were seeing the same things
Angry faces with eyes of burning ashes
Taunting and jeering – a wave of hysteria hitting us
I heard and felt a deep groan
Fear gripping me – I knew instantly we needed to go
Men, women, soldiers, slaves, leaders, teachers
Eyes filled with blood lust
Evil, hatred . . . . I can’t breath
Death coming with the darkness
Jesus! Can’t you see . . .
Then I heard him whisper
“Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.”
My heart sank realizing with horror
Jesus is staying . . . dying
I felt his purposeful breathing
Muscles, bones, joints aching with a searing pain
My eyes filled with tears
I saw another set of bloodshot eyes
A voice next to me yelling
“If you’re the Christ, get down from the cross
And take me too! Let’s go!”
NO, NO!!! . . . What is he saying
Those are my words – I am sick
My stomach seizes . . . guilt fills me
I close my eyes
Another voice – on our right speaks
“Lord, remember me . . . “
Jesus painfully turns, twisting his body . . . looking . . .
He sees blue eyes – my eyes
I am hanging next to Jesus
“Today you will be with me in Paradise”
We were one – together . . . one body
Now separate crosses . . . I feel crushed by loneliness
But his words . . . “Paradise” . . . “today”
He loves me – I see him looking at me
His eyes illuminating my soul . . . it hurts
I tried crying out – I love you . . .
But only a sob squeaks out
Gravity pulling down pulling down
Eyes straining against the pain
Joints and ribs stretching . . . popping
Chest heaving for each breath
Body convulsing against wood
Head back . . . eyes wide open . . . he screams
“My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”
No one answers . . . surprised eyes
In my tears I felt the agony of the cross
The bleakness . . . hell
Back in the pew
I heard the preacher
“He died for you”
What . . . why . . . no . . .
No, I don’t want you dead
Hey, wait for me – slow down
Running hard, breathing deeply
I stuck my head in empty tomb – hum??? . . . .
I sat quietly next to Mary Magdalene . . . wondering
The gardener spoke – “Mary”
But he was looking at me – bright eyes
He said . . . “David”
“David, I love you”
Yes!! Woo Hoo . . .
Look at me . . . I am dancing
With shinning eyes
“I love you too”
“I love you”
Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015
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
"Shhh, look there they are.
No one believed me.
Now you see them too.
A blessing of Unicorns.
If anyone knew where they were
it would be the end of the Unicorns.
The one with the wings is the Queen.
See how sad she looks.
She has separated herself from the blessing.
She loves the other Unicorns
but she is dealing with her own issues.
They love her, she knows that.
This is different.
She has to deal with this herself.
She knows she is loved.
She knows they all care for her.
She is their Queen after all.
I don't know.
I brought poetry.
I brought soup.
I have to try.
I hope she believes me.
She is going to be fine.
I dreamt about her.
In the dream her wings were spread.
You should of seen them spread
they must of spanned farther than the horizon
higher than the milky way.
In my dream her magic horn was a beacon,
it was leading her through the dark
but she was also a beacon for everyone else.
Everyone who was trapped in the darkness.
She led them too!
She always has.
She is our Queen after all.
I stood there amazed
she was magnificent.
She waited patiently and the light filled her.
She knew it would happen and she was right.
That hand from up above
the one she always trusted
filled her with light.
She is the Queen and in my dream
she had returned in her full glory."
Linda was back.
It starts with an L
L stands for love.
Maybe It's not a dream.
'Fairy tales can come true -
It can happen to you...
life gets more exciting with each
I believe dreams are
just a window to reality.
I believe in Fairies.
I believe in Unicorns.
And I believe in Linda!
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Fighting Depression(poems for PD)
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
THIS IS A FICTIONAL WRITE THAT EXPLORES THE QUESTION OF WHAT LOVE IS. IT DOES SO IN A DRAMATIC WAY, AFTER ALL THAT IS MY DNA. IT ALSO TAKES A UNIQUE AND CONTROVERSIAL APPROACH TO THE TOPIC. IT IS MEANT TO STIR THOUGHT NOTHING ELSE. IT POSES QUESTIONS AND SUGGESTS ANSWERS BUT MAKES NO CONCLUSIONS. SOMETIMES AS WRITERS WE HAVE TO MAKE WAVES. SOME WILL RIDE THOSE WAVES ON THEIR SURFBOARDS AND CONSIDER THEM INVITING. OTHERS WILL FEEL THE WAVES CRASHING AGAINST THEIR FLESH AND IT WILL BE PAINFUL.
Love is a streetwalker at the corner of Hooker Lane and Prostitute Crescent.
You wanted to pay. Do it and leave. That's the way it's suppose to happen. But it doesn't quite go like that. She is looking at your eyes and she sees something and it feels like love to her. She cries and her tears are real. She touches your face with her pretty little hand and goosebumps run up your spine and you lose your breath.
You kiss her and stroke her hair and you are staring into her eyes as her pain grabs you by the biceps and touches your heart. So you just hold her you hold her and you love her as if she is a beam sent for you to project sent for you to protect.
She opens up and says words you heard in her tears. You listen you hold her and you just listen as she peers into your subconscious to sit with the frightened child inside of you. You take each others hands and you roll in the softness of the innocence of your childhood. Your silly hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams that back then were anything but silly.
She is beautiful. She is barely twenty. And you? Well you are going on thirty or is it forty.
You pray God will save her. Not pray you mumble it. Her smile tells you she knows. She feels like your responsibility and you don’t want her to die on the street working her corner. You don’t want to feel but you do. You are a weaved outer core of veins and you do. You feel everything. You are her.
She looks in the White Knight eyes she pinned on your face and you know the pins are there and you see her with your Gladiator brights.
You make love to her and she loves you back and holds you in her dream of what might have been. She is your Queen and you have stripped your armor, stripped your flesh and your organs. You are naked in her shine. You are raw in her light.
Sex? Sex costs one hundred and fifty bucks! Sex? Sex is two dogs humping in the park. Sex is not love, it is empty. Empty because the person is a stranger and there is no emotional connection.
At least that is what you thought.
But one day you are 53 years old and you think of your one hour bought woman. Did I say woman? She was a girl a vulnerable lost girl.
It is more than ten years later and you still remember her. That single hour in your life and it is engraved on your skull. Tattooed to your mind. Just one word. FOREVER. You can barely remember six year long relationships but you can still remember the touch of a woman, yes a woman you were with for just one hour in your life. You can still feel her skin. Her tears still burn like molten lava.
She is still on your palette; you still feel every word that penetrated your hide and struck the part of you that was her. You remember it. Not as a single moment but as every tick of the clock, and the multitudes of emotions, of thoughts, of realizations, of questions that existed in each and every second and you wonder...
Maybe you can buy love. Or at least find it on the other end of a financial transaction, maybe once you did..
Maybe love doesn't last three hundred and sixty five pages like in a novel. Maybe love isn't roses from the first frame to the closing credits, with a beginning a middle and an end
Maybe love is the memory of a 60 minute love affair with a working girl you met all those years ago. A memory safe and sound, written and produced, neatly tucked in the black vinyl grooves on the highway between your heart and your brain.
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
As a young boy
I watch with interest the small man
Wolf Hunter - a wise father of the hunt
He begins an old ritual
coating his knife blade
rich animal blood and tallow fat
Wolf Hunter adds another blood-tallow layer
and another – freeze
A frozen tallow-blood knife
Wolf Hunter knowing the wolf
fixes his knife in ground
prays and leaves . . .
Grey wolf sniffs air and begins to run
blood is on the wind
he licks, tasting the delicious blood-tallow
He howls into the night and licks faster
a blood lust building
lapping the blade until the sharp edge bites
Feverishly now, faster and harder
Grey wolf licks the blade in the arctic night
great is his craving for blood
The insatiable blood-thirst
now being satisfied by his own warm blood
the naked blade biting his tongue
his carnivorous appetite devouring
In the pale morning light
Wolf Hunter finds Grey Wolf
dead in the snow
stooping down he picks up his knife
I stand . . . frozen – sicken by the sight
Wolf Hunter looking at me says
. . . to be consumed by your own desire
is a dangerous and deadly foe
staring at the bottle
hands shaking -- eyes filled with lust
a vison: a grey wolf consumed . . . dead
the howl of the wolf-wind beseeching
To be consumed by your own desire is a dangerous and deadly foe
Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2014
You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
whether I took
my pills today or not.
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
The love of my life
left me after
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
"Will she tie my
when I get old? "
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
The blackberry's love for the garden rose
Brought down the gardener's wrath.
The blackberry sensed the danger
As he wended the garden path.
" A love so true as mine", he sighed,
"Must dare to brave the hoe.
Just a few more feet to reach her,
My true love she must know."
He crept along so quietly,
Sometimes quite out of sight
Until he nudged his darling's feet.
Did he dare to trust the light?
He heard the gardener's heavy boot
And hid in craven shame.
He knew he'd soon be weeded out,
A seedling with no name.
"Have I no worth since I don't rate
Some Latin nomenclature?
Without a well known parentage
Am I a freak of nature?
His darling's line was long and pure,
No skeletons in her past.
He had to make his feelings known.
Those boots were treading fast.
Gently then he wrapped his vine
Around his loved one's spine.
In great amazement he opined,
"Her thorns are sharp as mine".
The sweet rose felt his tender touch
And realized his fear
And wondered at his bravery
In coming to her here.
She heard the swishing of the hoe,
She heard those nearing feet.
Quietly letting down her leaves
In a manner so discreet
She covered her wild lover.
The gardener unaware,
Stopped but to view her beauty.
He saw naught hiding there.
She whispered, "You are safe now".
The blackberry's heart was light,
Thankful that his dear sweet rose
Had not exposed his plight.
"A rose is still a rose." she said,
"By any other name
And in our distant ancestry,
We share some of the same".
"I'd rather know your wild love,
Than a love that's dull and tame,"
Cuddling close, returned his kiss
Without a bit of shame.
Next season there were seedlings
Of a very different kind.
The gardener delighted, cried
"A horticultural find."
The moral of this story?
Things aren't always what they seem.
The love you look down on today,
Could be tomorrow's dream.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009
excavate my fervent soul
with your familiar hands
(determination gets you everywhere)
stripped down to just my skin
in this sultry summer night
moon shining provocative…..bright
entwined limbs in midnights swelter
architecture of this flaming hanker
you must stoke this slow red simmer
I assure you that I blaze
with just the right erotic touch
I become a vixen
trace those fingers down my spine
those lips a naked search
beyond the present sunset
to this hearts clandestine perch
(buried profound but beating)
inside a cave of safety
if you will only reach it
patience is a virtue
I am only just a slave
held captive by your binding
to your Adonis body
I am helpless as a hostage….
my master….I await….trembling
for that final surrender
you can render me helpless my love….
and leave me barely breathing…
Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009
Believing that marriage was ordained of God;
that, like a seed, it needed constant nurturing,
she sowed her deep devotion with a hope
that stretched beyond an ordinary scope.
That hope scanned schisms that had left her desolate-
until it reached the heavens with her prayers.
Time and time again, her spouse complained or failed to do small things
essential to cementing the marriage bond.
With unusual restraint, she held her tongue, forgave. . . and listened.
If matrimony were the fire in a hearth, she supplied the kindling and the logs;
then lauded him for twigs that on occasion he tossed in.
Some nights she’d lay a weary head upon the chest
of the one she called her husband (when he was fast asleep and didn’t know).
In those moments, she felt the beat of that heart he never showed to her.
With humbleness she supplicated God
that she might find connection with her mate.
She wondered and she wondered why. . .if thoughts, invisible,
which were transmitted to the Lord, were able to be recieved by Him,
why could not her words, directly spoken to the one on earth she loved, be heard?
Daily on her knees, she telegraphed celestially with a faith most extraordinary. . .
and wisdom came. Her love would not be broken, and she grew.
The seed she’d planted took root too and grew until there came a time. . .
she laid a graying head upon the chest
of one that was her husband (not just in word only);
a someone who now watched HER as she drifted off to sleep.
With his heartbeat strong in her ear,
she heard him whisper softly, “I love you” as he kissed her cheek goodnight.
For Audrey Carey's "To Err Is Human to Forgive Divine"
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
One night a guy & a girl were
driving home from the movies. The
boy sensed there was
something wrong because of the painful
silence they shared between them
that night. The girl then asked the boy to pull over
because she wanted to talk. She told him that her
feelings had changed & that it was time to move on.
A silent tear slid down his cheek as he
slowly reached into his pocket & passed her a folded note.
At that moment, a drunk driver was speeding down
that very same street. He swerved
right into the drivers seat, killing the boy.
Miraculously, the girl survived. Remembering the note, she
pulled it out & read it.
"Without your love, I would die."
Copyright © Le'Rita Clark | Year Posted 2006
None are just titles.
I live those titles every day through my actions.
I am successful at those roles every day.
I possess unconditional unwavering love .
My profession as much as my titles defines me.
It is not just my career it is my love.
Directing theatre has my unconditional unwavering love.
I am successful at this role every day.
defined by my actions.
I act on my beliefs.
defined by my beliefs.
I believe in the fiber of someone's character
not their words,
in their intent not just their actions.
Peoples needs are important to me not just my own.
committed to forgiveness,
Humans are basically good.
The forest is dense predators lurk in the shadows.
Fear plays too important a role in too many lives.
I help others rather than judge them negatively.
Even though the task ahead seems insurmountable
we will find our way through the black of these days.
People with completely different views can and do bond.
We must learn tolerance for without it we are lost.
I do not give too much importance
to words and ideas.
I learn from nature
like the mighty oak
I can bend with the wind.
I prefer more round tables,
less round 'em up.
In less locks
more open doors,
in more heart
less knee jerks.
I have the strength to accept I die
the will to live every day.
I worry about the incredible suffering
exists away from North America.
above all else
It is about put up
or shut up.
I am anything but silent.
one of many
in the end
that is who
Sponsor: frank herrera
Contest Name:"I AM"
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
She sits and rocks, so gently back and forth
Her chin leaning heavily on her chest.
In her hands she cradles, one flat waxed rose
And sighs as pain is swelling in her breast.
Her long grey hair, now tied up in a bun
Is what I see when entering the room.
I helplessly watch, her tear drops flowing,
They look like dew, upon the lonely bloom.
Slowly she looks at a picture nearby,
A glimpse of a smile creases her face.
Granddad with her, stand on their wedding day
With red roses, and a dress of white lace.
After the wedding, she said with a smile,
I took this one rose and waxed it back then.
Granddad had laughed at me wondering why.
I said, for the special memories when…….
And now this old rose, I hold in my hand,
Precious memories kept in my drawer
I pull it out remembering the day
When granddad loved me, and I loved him more.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Contest: Encounters with Flowers
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
"I heard an angel speak last night and he said "write" - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
that was the last word he whispered before his eyes closed forever...
I close my own eyes, bite my lower lip, 'til I taste tin, stone angel crying with me...
The wind sends chills through me, as the heavens threatened to weep
brown leaves skittering between my feet, seeking for shelter.
How I related to those leaves: dry...brittle...dead.
I look at the Angel that watches over him,imploring for answers,
begging this Guardian to take pity on me, help me remember.
She only looks at me, with tears in her eyes, her beautiful face
always looked enigmatic to me, for she was smiling...
and yet those tears hinted at sadness,
seemingly reprimanding me with her look.
I bow my head in shame, and reach for her hands,
but I only feel cold, hard stone...not unlike my heart
My throat catches, I can hardly breathe--
I loosen my grip, feeling it might burn this time
...from guilt, for forgetting...
I glance at her magnificent wings, and wished I had them, too,
if only to fly away, but my feet are stuck on the ground,
with a heart buried in regret.
I whisper one word: "Sorry":spoken so softly, I think I only said it in my heart;
I say it louder, my body wracked with sobs, my heart bleeding crimson tears of anguish.
I look at the Angel and notice something on her sash--
One pristine white feather lay there-a stark contrast to the moss covered stone.
I take the feather, notice wordings etched on the sash--and scraped off moss,
Tennyson's words go straight to my heart...
" 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
The memories come back like a flash flood, assaulting me, bringing me back to that day.
He told me he had an angel carved to be with him at his grave,
since I, his angel, couldn't always be there for him. And that he understood,
that it was okay. I shrugged it off, told him I love him forever.
I still do, that's why it shamed me that I also love another now.
Seeing those words, I felt such a sense of peace, like he was embracing me,
smoothing out my hair like he used to, telling me it was all right.
I blink back tears, and say "Thank you" this time...I hug the Angel and I felt warm.
Drizzle and sunlight bounced off each other as I walked away.
I turn my head around to his grave
--and the Angel looked on with a smile.
Constance's Angels in Cemeteries contest
June 18, 2011
Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2011
Peering at the radiating faces of happy families
So much joy emanates from well-to-do children’s sparkling eyes
Wish I could replace the grief, put smiles on the faces of my sons
Without a glimmer of hope even promises of warm meals would be lies
In the brown eyes of my sons, the same eyes their mother, my wife
Sadness the sacrifice, a courageous mother giving life
So great a zest for life she sacrificed to give her sons life
But now greed hath put her seed in peril and my world in strife
No “Help Wanted” signs in the windows of Main Street’s bustling stores
The aroma of fresh bread wafts tauntingly from the bakery
With my hands in pockets, finding not even loose change
Overcome with hunger and jealousy, should I resort to thievery?
Mind reeling, contemplating abating moral principals
Suddenly appear familiar brown eyes amid face so dear
The image of deceased wife, Spanish born eyes filled with tears
Speaking, "Abe, the Lord is gracious, walk until head is clear"
I follow the light in her warm eyes reflecting in glass windows
They lead me down the road to a park at the end of town
Dressed in ragged clothing, a man sits with a smile of peace
Breathing white puffs in frigid air, this gentle soul sees my frown
The message is plain, as my fears begin to clear
There is a greater depth in a soul of love well kept
The night is far spent; I kissed the hand of this gentle man
He smiled sweetly and said, "Lift up heavy head from dread"
I look up to see sun glistening on snow-laden pine boughs
It’s here, Christmas Day, and I’ve left my children alone all night
An ache in my heart compels me to race quickly back through town
Breathlessly, I reach my porch unprepared for a welcome sight
Hearing laughter within, I smell, yams, turkey and ham
I open my door, on the floor, presents piled high as well
Laughing with glee, sons kiss me, sparkle of brown eyes I see
Sparkling brown eyes, of Spanish descent, love is evident
“From where in the world did all this come,” I ask my sons
“Beautiful lady with Spanish brown eyes, stopped at our door
She said a strange thing, as on the floor our gifts were lain,
‘Tell Abe keep the faith; a mother's love is stronger than the grave.’
Her hugs and kisses, will be greatly missed! Who was she, Daddy?"
Thank you, Moses, for joining me and guiding me in this write. Merry Christmas, dear
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
I am writing to you because I know you have a wish.
I have been thinking diligently about your wish. It is not
going to be easy but I think it can be done. First I am going
to break down your overall wish into many smaller wishes.
I want you to get that electric car you always wanted. That huge
backyard protected from unwanted visitors. I know you have a love
for life...do you remember when you told me - You should never eat
anything that once had a heart. I miss all those organic vegetables,
fruits, growing foods you use to treat me to.
I want you to be able to see the stars at night not hidden by the
crud in the air. Enjoy a sunset free of gaseous neon colors. Rid
the world of killing machines. Did you know there are weapons now
can kill hundreds in a few minutes, I know it would break your heart
Than I want you to fill your lungs in the cleanest of air plumped up
with an abundance of oxygen. Drink from the oceans, lakes, rivers,
bays fresh thirst quenching water. Can you imagine all water life
free of cancerous tumors, fishies free of disease but I am off on
a tangent. I want you to play in the rain without fear. Have you
heard of acid rain?
I want you to get each and every single wish that I mention.
Delivered to you by the most gentle of breezes. In the frozen
fingers of the icebergs. Some in the whirlwind motion of the
smallest of tornadoes. Others through the hairline cracks of
the best behaved of all earthquakes.
I love you with all my heart. I know so many have changed
without remorse. They are so busy looking for the pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow they no longer notice the rainbow.
So many wishes you yearn.
I wish for you mother, at the very least your children would
stop raping you, sodomising you. Mother Earth we your children,
us the humans live here by your grace...well my wish for you
mother is that your children would stop all the denial, all the
arguments, the rationalizations...we have all the excuses for
what we do to you. I wish what you wish mother. I wish your
children would show you the respect you deserve. Just that
no more, no less.
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest Name: My Wish For You
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
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
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
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.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | 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
To hear the whippoorwills' sad urgent call
I was very glad when I was a lad
But now twilight nearing new season's fall
My Essence of truth my consciousness calls
My tears being not of my former years
For sake of humans I now turn my cares
As compassion of true identity
From sacred place calls from infinity
Within unlimited aspects' of me
A great white throne in the distance I see
Around sacred bend a familiar friend
Silhouette of me as my God I see
No more desirous of earth's vain glory
The mind's wilderness of exploratory
History recedes illusions of me
My ego thoughts I just had to be
Totality of Love I see as me
Enter into God's synchronicity
I now see my God as I now see me
As sacredness of the reality
As Sacredness calls a new season's fall
Recesses the former whippoorwills' call
As new life calls I now realize it all
New life is in the Sacred Season's Fall
Mystified as I liquefied I cry
As in spirit of love quite high I fly
Above consequences life's densities
As spiritual tears replace human fears
Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2010
Can I ask a question of you my friend?
Have you started drinking from the bottle again?
You look so down it’s clear to see.
What you really need is to be set free.
The answer to your problems they won’t be found.
Coming from that bottle you just put down.
You don’t bend your elbow you bend your knees
Trust me just once He’ll hear your pleas.
You’re hurting so, I can feel your pain.
There’s a way out, and it’s so very plain.
I was where you’re at not long ago.
But I had someone who wouldn’t let go.
Now I want to be that someone that you can turn to.
Help to guide your path and the things you do.
Are you really proud of your life thus far?
Drowning your sorrows in some dim lit bar.
How many times were you too drunk to care?
Well I can relate, yeah I’ve been there.
You thought you lost it all, that’s just not true.
If you trust in Jesus I guarantee you, He’ll lead you through.
We all make excuses for the things we do.
He’s heard every excuse there is a million times or two.
Quit trying to blame Him, He didn’t put you there.
You know I’m right, But you just don’t care.
Listen little bud, you’re like a son to me.
I care for you very much, I just want you to see.
I know I led you wrong for many, many years.
Now you’re carrying all my demons and most of my fears.
I know you care for me a lot, that’s very plain to see.
Now turn it over to Our Savior, let Him be the one to set you free.
Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007
Together As One
To dream as one.
When we dream we dream as one. When we laugh we laugh as one. We have a life
together that compliments one another. We have a love that is like no other it’s as
one. We reach for the stars and look for the moon. We support and care for one
another on our journeys as our journeys cross paths.
We listen with excitement to each other’s dreams. To understand and encourage
comes from the heart. Knowing with certainty that we deserve the love we give and
receive as we are as one. What is wonderful for one is so for the other for our life
path is the same. Knowing one so well is to know one’s self without a doubt.
Dreams that come together both big and small shared by knowing hearts that want
the same want are as one. A love so strong can feel and guide with the stars and
moon. Set in motion a force together nothing can sever but blessed be a dream
together as one!
Dream, laugh, and love we do as one for we became one. Together we reach for the
stars and the moon as we share the paths we take. Our journey takes us many
directions to which we share our delight. A journey worth taking is a journey worth
sharing…sharing as one!
Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2011
Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak
Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept
Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity
Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!
Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010
Tea Leaves On The Bosphorus
Seated at a table by the stirring water,
My eyes absorb the shore of Asia.
Minerets and aged worn stone
Stand haphazardly along the banks.
Istanbul is a lady with secrets
She'll lure you with her unrevealed virgin beauty,
Then seduce you with her ancient lovers.
Grilled sardines filled my charger
Fish pulled from the strait just minutes before,
Lay garnished with parsley and mint .
Red pickled turnips and warm flat bread
Are the implements that help feed me
And scoop up the humus,
Turkish nourishment for my soul.
The empty plates are cleared by a handsome waiter
With dubious intentions I feared,
But I was flattered none the less.
A bowl of yogurt was placed before me,
And my admirer arrived with a comb of honey.
He held it high above the creamy cloud and let the heavy ochre
languidly pour atop the milky whiteness of delight.
After his seduction,he left me alone to my pleasure
As I lapped at the sweet and sour heavenly temptation,
that parted my lips and elevated my being.
As I recovered from my rapture, two eyes caught mine.
The heathen that destroyed my diet approached the table uninvited.
He pulled up a chair and sat down across from me.
In his hands, a cup.
He offered to tell me my future.
White, small, as fragile as an eggshell with the top lopped off.
Within was a dark tea with floating leaves.
In a chivalrous attempt at English conversation,
He handed me the libation and the offer to read the remains.
I, alone in a man's world, unmarried, and of a certain age,
Did not need encouragement and I accepted his offer.
I drained the tea in one gulp and returned it to his hands.
He placed the cup in one palm , then turned it upside down,
Allowing the remaining fluid to drip out around the cup and onto the table.
Once the cup was upright again he studied the leaves, then he spoke.
His voice was soft, at times , unintelligible
His reading was honest, and truthful, and painful.
His prophecy, amusing, and entertaining
His vision and it's accuracy were astounding.
Fifteen years later, the leaves delivered on their promise.
Long fluid lines inside the cup foretold of a marriage,
To a man who would cross a sea to find me.
Two shorter drippings were the children that now delight me.
The tea ring that he was able to complete around the cup ,
Was the warmth of a love that would soon envelop me.
Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2011
I'm till struggling to connect with you...
It feels strange that you are actually here, and so near..
You...walked past me a couple of times,
Your eyes were glistening, sober, serious...
Rushing by as if something deathly important lie ahead
In that moment, I could hear my heart thrashing in my throat
A victim in a prison, desperately closing those eyes from the fear
Wanting...to reach out to you....
But not knowing how...
How will you ever know the tears I have shed?
How will you ever see the love and care in my eyes?
Maybe we will never know what we could be...
Maybe I am lost in uncertainty's sea
Don't walk by me...
No, not anymore...
My sorrowful soul holds its breath when you do...
And when you are gone again...
My heart sobs...
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely - red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.
She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be Queen;
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.
Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping, like a willow tree.
Then the sky begin to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that Irish rose,
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.
The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.
The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone
That still stands alone upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010
"TELL YOU ABOUT ME "
Born a full blown Libra to a scale of blind justice
My hair & eyes are brown as can be
I come from a large family
Don't like to be called a princess
every now and than you still find me climbing up a tree
My daddy paid for my expo ride
My favorite color comes in green
In my hometown I join the women baseball team.
I still own a lot of Mardi beads
I love boxing in my own back yard
I dislike when people think I am very brainy
I no longer care of the Physics of my stare
Funny to think I once knew that the mass and energy,
is related to the famous equation E=mc (tiny) 2....
c how I love the speed of light, gravity do to motion due
m &o are like the m&m of the mass related to the observation of me
LOL : - ) I still have a bit of physics dumb minded skills
Ask me this tomorrow and I will forget every # of square root
Yikes to geometry I want to c light when it comes to v for my velocity,
changing and walking to a straight direction to my four walls of dimension.
That is me not so nutty but a little crazy
With an IQ, to mix and match & play it out.
I love the challenge when I'm standing on my own high horse
Ask me to many questions you will get a beat around the bush
Who really needs to know the truth about being confused
I love to passion out my color pink.
I alway come across to many eye blinks
Get caught up in puzzles that help me think
Yes I love video games Just got done playing "Halo"
M.K. Liu K. is all I got to say/// me play Guitar Hero? hmm? ;-)
My spirit does not let go of the cartoon phase.
When it comes to favorites, I place my son as # 1
How about my favorite niece, she my only true buddy
My favorite all time poet, not many care for his dark eyes Mr E.A. Poe
Emotions to feel it all, why not let it show.
Do not give me coffee, I will over expose my silly charms.
I love my dog, hate his fleas, I keep him away from the birds and the bees
One thing I can not go with out is to solve a mystery when in doubt
I guess sometimes I can't even figure myself out,
Why some one would say I can be a role model?
This is just a bit about me, ooh yes I forgot to mention
I love the slamming world of all kinds of poetry.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream out bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without any mercy
You attempt to defend 'gainst her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
© Jack Ellison 2015
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015