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
Many times the ocean
has saved Nippon, pearl of the sea,
an oceanic symbiosis a speck in a fecund see.
The dikes of man such miniscule plans to hold back the tide.
The throngs, each and all crawl across the thin skin of volcanic soil
or rise with in the hump-backed alps of remnant cones.
Yet, the sea rises to reclaim its own
scour the pallet of man, refine, burnish melt, reform.
With pen and sword kanji drawn, samurai born
with knife and bone entrails torn, honor tested
tested by the hand of He,
tested and found worthy.
The children of the Divine Wind
rise above the tsunami, as one, unbowed.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
Haze up in the heavens encircles this orb.
Half-dark, half-light, shines from above.
Twinkles of light appear to absorb.
Fractions of darkness within lighted glove,
Speaking to lovers held in each other’s arms.
Answering questions of science to some,
Floating around spreading blessed charms,
Listening close at times, hearing a hum.
Lovers for centuries, graciously, captured by,
Sweet serenity and magical mystery,
Others entranced with secrets, which fly.
From words written and spoken in history.
Satellite, orb, lady, they are all the same.
Mythical goddesses, gripped in flame.
These tales have spread so many games.
This object seen most nights has no shame.
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010
My door is open
I welcome you
To my Highland lands
Off heathers and hue
Cross the bridge
Of centuries old
To my castle of grey
In it's regal fold
Stand with me
In the great hall of my past
Us Fraser's will last
Climb spiral stairs
To a turreted tower
Look out on my lands
As the northern lights shower
Turn to the left
Look out to the fields
They stretch for miles
Many harvests they yield
The moat leads off
Into a river so pure
With it's salmon ladder
Caught to mature
Lets take to the horses
To forests of pine
They carpet the glens
In greenery fine
Camp fire and cheer
Chasing the deer
The welcome we received
When we reached home
Venison and pheasant
From our Highland roam
Off the great hall
To the room of the past
Where tartans and paintings
My ancestral past
Open great fireplace
Lights up the room
Claymores and armour
In past battles bloom
The evening draws
Arrival of guests
To feast on the roam
For the food we are blessed
Bedtime retire for all
As i look out my window
In awe at it all
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Out of love foretold
secret raptures from the old
Illusions coves for their powerful voices
A place where our ancestors once walked
Where trees listening
and disperse seeds of hope
Creation marvelous portrait
About the harmony - it is said
that it can develop strong band
It is a reality that can
compare with the wildest imagination
Ancient villages built of marble and stone
Wind chimes a rhythm that beckons
Mystery melody that asks us to join
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014
Copyright © Vincent Rossi | Year Posted 2012
Here further down the hillside slope
Down close to the creek with hope
My husband bought a house, land
Fenced in and made many plans
Subdued the land to cow pasture
And planted a garden, fruit trees sure
Fathered another child to call him sir
The creek seemed to like the stir
Enjoyed the children for a little while___
Loved them so that it made her smile
Today she loves grandchildren the same
No girls there are in frills ___tame
The creek keeps on flowing to the sea
The land is mostly stripped of trees
(This is my adaptation of Robert Frost's poem "The Birthplace". I hope that it does not insult
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
We live today in a world of great tumult
And of rising uncertainty and anxiety
Which pervade the world stage like a cancer
Despite soaring technological advances
Our environment and our home Earth
Are bearing an unimaginable burden
People are wondering what must be done
To right these wrongs and adjust our course
Before we turn the corner to “No Return”
Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, and War
Are still with us today since the beginning
Of time and are mankind’s greatest shame
God may be with us intellectually
But mankind must be self-reliant
To survive an inattentive, distant deity
People see answers to these enigmas
Sounds are made, echoes are heard
But nothing comes back in response
Frustration reigns supreme for many
Fear and anxiety multiple all concerns
There can never be easy answers
Tyranny still reigns alive in many countries
As the actions of tin-eared dictators abound
And are on ample display for all to see
Poverty is still a shameful, terrible curse
Which afflicts the most unfortunate
And is paid lip service by the wealthy
Disease is a scourge still in our world
And still felt by those most in need
And never enough is done to change this
War is the ultimate insult to mankind
And its wide-felt swath and affliction
Plagues yet our modern, enlightened world
What to make of all these challenges
Is not easy for any of us to digest
And let alone understand why
Yet understand, comprehend we must
If we want a better world for all to live in
A Sisyphean task at its very best
Man still holds the key to make change
Positive and real for our troubled Earth
But can it ever be really so in the end
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
Schoeningen, Germany (October 16, 2014)
(Tercet unrhymed poetic format)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
Mother Nature Cries
Mother Nature cries now her deep tears of true sadness,
For all the years of Man’s sad shame and utter madness.
Man has brought this lovely lady quite often to tears,
By his poor and pathetic care of our Earth over the years.
Mother Nature’s been with Man now it seems forever,
And he does nothing at all and always tells her never!
Man’s climate sins are so tragic and always most telling,
And all he does is bitch and moan, and keeps on yelling!
Man’s span of existence is short in our Earth’s long life,
And all he’s done is corrupt, pollute and caused her strife!
Mother Nature cries at this sad tragedy Man has thus wrought;
She knows his life on Earth may be short, and learn he’ll Not!
Mother Nature will adapt and evolve over time with no problem,
And she knows Man’s adaptability to change may be a problem.
Perhaps Man will learn this sad lesson here before all is too late,
And seek climate harmony in all he does and make positive his Fate!
Mother Nature cries—yet this can change with Man’s redemption,
If Man becomes Earth’s Good Steward and lives by God’s direction!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - May 3, 2015
*Originally completed for my new book on February 12, 2015.
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
Orphaned footsteps round the old place.
Pitch black soil, packed deep with bartered
coin and Indian heads – wood and otherwise,
coat her worn leather shoes, Hutterite chic.
The long land screams within its own silence.
Prairie sage burns somewhere, a ghostly smudge
for the undulating grass and, those it serves.
Its alive scent makes the dead turn towards
its head - and the barely living turn to listen.
The impossibly endless horizon holds its bright
blue at bay, begging acknowledgement for
its self-professed being and looming enormity.
She looks at the broken window glass and
through the tattered, delicate gray lace. “Those
were hers.” She whispers to the one who listens.
This great-great-granddaughter sees the curtains
as they once were – wistful in the hot Manitoba
wind; fresh and lowing with the honest elemental
scent of aspens, hope and bare-knuckle wash boards;
always fresh; shifting in the cry for solace in summer
shadows – never as still as this moments endlessness.
Blowing through the deep brown of splintered pine
front doors; cracking the announcement of cast iron,
rot and burnt wood comes the simple statement of –
I lived. This mother of five young does not cry,
just yearns to walk in the old ones footsteps;
to know them loved; hear the birdsong through
unbroken bedroom windows for a 5am waking;
feel the resistance of dough on fingers that beg
to be broken, and kiss the twisting undead, living.
The burning of the noonday sun taps her whole,
marking; branding her pale Swedish skin its own.
The red sting of burnt breaks her inward silence,
welcoming her familiar face home.
© Kristin Reynolds 3 29 2009
*Reposted for John's Summer Celebration Contest. This is a personal celebration;
celebrating and honoring my great grandparents who settled in Manitoba after leaving
Sweden and Denmark. This celebrates the summer of family, at least for me. We went there
every summer until it was gone...
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
by just looking at it from the distance
a picturesque view captures right away our hearts
a stair like going up to heaven on its magnificent appearance
a cogent power beckoning every tourist to visit and become a part
of this historical place and one of our world’s beauty spots
the People’s Republic of China stands tall with pride and glory
in possession of this gigantic dragon-formed and walled stair
a product of their ancestors’ concerted effort to protect their country
from heartless invaders who want to ruin without care
so, they’d built it with masonry and rocks strong enough and fair
let’s all go and experience this great and wonderful place
anytime of the year but winter is still the best, I bet
climbing on every step of the walled stair with nuance pace
so lofty but a gentle breeze will extricate ourselves from sweat
more power and energy will be saved and it’s a challenge a bit
Great Wall of China has been built and renovated until Ming’s Dynasty
a creative work of art by the Chinese and their great masterpiece
along the mountain sides to the top winding up with majesty
so impressively built as if trying to reach an endless place
a breathtaking beauty inviting us to capture tenacious memories
climbing on Great Wall is so much fun and enjoyable
a stop on each pillar shows a full view of the scenery giving us a great tour
a part along our way up is a long chain of padlocks for lovers and couples
an everlasting love, peace, bliss and everything they’ll wish for
believing that leaving a padlock and key there, wishes will be granted for sure
the most challenging and rewarding part is the incentive we’ll get
if we climb and reach the peak, a certificate for us to remember
so, to make our experiences with travel expenses commensurate
let’s all gather our strength and be determined as great explorers
for us to get one of the most precious moments in life to cherish forever
April 8, 2013
The composition of this poem was also inspired by my wonderful experience in this place when we’d our school tour last March 7-10, 2011 at Beijing. Both great happiness and terrible sadness I’ve felt that time. My happiness to see the beauty of the place but terrible sadness was deep inside of me because I was thinking of my father who was already at his critical health condition and, I went back home to visit him just after coming back from our joyful tour.
Contest: Seven Wonders
Sponsor: Greatest Poet Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013
A Progressive Shadow
A series of real challenges and troubling world events
In our twenty-first century give us a definite reason and
An urgency to pause and reflect on mankind’s situation.
Our world today—more than at any other time in the past,
Is faced with an uncertainty and a palpable anxiety that is
Pervading on the world stage for all of us to sense and see.
These challenges and situational-events are so daunting and
Form a “progressive shadow” engulfing the soul of mankind.
They cry out now for collective action to find real solutions.
Our technological advances are indeed impressive for sure,
But our stewardship of our planet is lacking, a true tragedy,
As the World Climate edges closer toward a vast cataclysm.
Our political leaders choose to bury their heads in the sand.
Now is the time we must to face down all of these problems,
As Mother Nature herself cries out warnings to our deaf ears.
The classical scourges: Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, and War
Are still with us today as they have been from the very start.
They accentuate mankind’s great shame for all of us to see!
Atrocities, Famine, Refugees, and Terrorism add their lot
To this growing list along with Nuclear Proliferation and
Political Mendacity for Personal Gain—with no end in sight!
Reasonable answers and solutions abound to these enigmata,
And people are in strife and rightfully want something better;
Yet the oft-noted solution is the “Head-in-the-Sand Syndrome.”
Despite any true faith in God, mankind must be self-reliant,
As a distant deity plays tough love with the bad decisions of
His “Divine Creation” as we all stumble along without a clue.
This creates fear, frustration, and anxiety that multiply readily,
Making potential solutions and decisions even harder to do.
There can never be easy answers under these circumstances!
The tasks facing mankind are many and Sisyphean for sure;
Yet we must have the courage to face them down as we seek
Realistic accountability from our politicians and big business.
Meanwhile God is watching and Mother Nature is waiting . . .
For mankind to do the right thing and to step up to the plate;
For the “Collective We” hold the keys to make these changes.
Can we do it? Will we do it? Can we rectify our inhumanity?
Can our nation-states serve the people and not themselves?
Can we not all realize that we’re in this tragic mess together?
Tin-eared dictators and fools will gladly tell us all differently.
The temptation to take the easy way out is always there for us.
But are we prepared to inherit this wind and reap its vengeance?
Meanwhile we continue on our present tortuous path oblivious
To the realities facing us squarely down every minute of the day.
In a mythical sense—perhaps we wait for Jotunheim to save us?
Eventually all the sand in “Earth’s Hourglass” will run out and
Our gig will be up, and all of us will be forced to pay the Piper!
Are we not better than this? Let us hope we can find the courage!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 29, 2015
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
< Cascading lakes and streams
The loon stands out it seems
Minnesota's state bird
I know it must sound absurd
Adopted in nineteen sixty one
Wails and yodels heard under the sun
Black and white bearing red eyes
Wingspans five feet can make one cry
Body lengths up to three feet
Yet clumsy on lands and moss peat
They are high speed flyers
And great underwater divers
They can dive up to ninety feet
In pursuit of fish they want to eat
They are even on our license plates
An critical habitat drawn on metal slates
Twelve thousand of these unique birds
God that has to be a lot of turds
But for now I'll enjoy it's captured views
Of this beautiful loon and it's most colorful hues
Written By Katherine Stella
Entry For Mini - Blog Beautiful Bird Contest
By Constance ~ A Rambling Poet
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2010
Winters flows recede
Unknown depths reveal the past
Strata shows time lines
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011
I am the
The emblem of my
proud country it has
been our valiant
pride for so
The thistle has been the national emblem of Scotland
since the reign of Alexander III (1249 - 1286) and was
used on silver coins issued by James III in 1470.
According to the legend, an invading Norse army was
attempting to sneak up at night upon a Scots army
encampment. During this operation one barefoot Norseman
had the misfortune to step upon a Scots Thistle,
causing him to cry out in pain, thus alerting Scots
to the presence of the Norse invaders.
My entry into Deborah Guzzi's " Oh, what a Shape I'm in! " contest.
Not easy doing the above, i nearly went cross eyed.
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Beneath the fathom’s deep, in wreckage’s graveyard
Of the forgotten, here the broken bones of ships lie still,
Covered in a forest of seaweeds greenery.
Corrosion steel hauls ripped wide open, lay against ancient
Wooden beams from vessels voyages, of long ages distant past.
Faded names, render no clues reference, for the maritime detective.
But tragedies lost vessels, did ride upon the frothy foam,
And spray above, sailing the big blues timeless tides.
Nay Poseidon's toll ti’s payed in sailors flesh, melting
Humanities dreams beneath his drowning waves.
Beauties fare, and proud are they, the crippled,
Swallowed whole by the aquatic storms avenging rage.
Mercy's mere-angels weep thus, for the mortal souls lost,
Guiding them towards their spiritual resting place below,
And welcoming them unto their fathers kingdom beneath,
The abysses darkening depths.
Torn asunder is mankind's well hued craft, shattered
Into bits pieces, large to small, a glittering shards
Rain of destruction. crashing into the muddy bottom,
Of the under belly of the sea itself.
Deaf are the silent cry's of men, whom leave only
Bubbles streaming upwards, as their last epitaphs
Tribute for thy existence.
The devil's gardens, swim these black waters,
Turning them crimson red, sharp toothed monsters,
Feasting upon carrion discarded left overs.
Dark figures, phantom creatures, lurking just below,
The briny surface, awaiting for the Poseidon’s next victim,
To join the graveyard of ships.
Faded are their names, forgotten titles, as the paint
Peels, on the once majestic vessels.
Now they remain wreckage’s ruins, abandon to the
Mercy of erosion masterful hand of destruction.
Hear the sounding clanging of bells, whom ring in
Silences of troubled waters abode, it is the cracking
Of doom, beware thy young lad, he whom seeks fortunes
Favor abroad, for only fools test the might of the sea,
Against thy own grit and survive.
Thus thee shed a tear for the fallen, dear lad,
For no other will on the dead’s behalf, in thine
Cemetery of the graveyard of ships. no passages
Return tickets are given.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
People are commonly different
Symbol of diversity piece
Pure race doesn’t exists
Color and creed are just an identity
Believe only in human history
God sculptured them from clay
People are equally created
Having many opposites
But respecting others taste
When everyone is treated equal
Nothing appears but peace in hand
Discrimination, disunity and, suffering won’t be born anymore
Written to advocate to suppress racism
Bandar Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia
10:30-11:00 am, November 13. 07, Tuesday
Copyright © Neldy Jolo | Year Posted 2009
Imagine lakes of dreams
Blood contained streams
Imagine oceans that behold undiscovered beings
Imagine human life depended off of cheers and games
Man design’s umbrellas
And eventually would play a part in acid rain
Imagine not wanting to smell another rose
Or touch another soul
Because of despair and shame
Imagine in the mist of your demise
You have the passion to rejoice and sing
Imagine driving pass shattered glass
The interior is soaked with blood stains
Your mind can't comprehend the fact
that it's a dead family in the next lane
Imagine dreaming for freedom
As a result by your neck you hang
Imagine for the sake of progress
You whip a man on his back and call him a slave.
Rage, Pain, Fortune, and fame
You don't have to imagine this
Because that's what life brings.
Copyright © Andre Sanders | Year Posted 2012
The day I died, a village cried
and tears washed to the river's side
I meant the world, to my survivors
A Valley Oak......yes, that was me...
A stately tree with history
They drew from me a sense of pride
Four hundred years, I had sheltered them
with limbs that reached up to the sky.
I stood my ground, through all the rain
They understood, my worth, my veins
ran deeper than the eye could see
FOUR HUNDRED YEARS!.....Yes, I was old !!
And blood turned cold the day I fell
You see, I was much more than Oak
I spoke for those who've long been gone.
I reigned beside this countryside
and watched the tribes beneath the sky
I saw the white men, take away
and claim the ground beneath me, found
And soon a way of life would end
And I would bend my boughs, to pray
Four hundred years, I've overlooked
a river bend, below my limbs
I watched the steamboats ferry men
and saw men die, and saw men rise
and saw men carry hope again
And those who came so long ago
would build a town that grew to know
how values and our valiant strides
are deep as roots, as mine that grew
I was not just a simple tree...
I had a place in history...
I sat beside a little house
One still a treasured artifact
Once built along the river's bend,
It now sits naked in my tracks
without the shade that I had lent
The man who lived here, led a state
The first to govern, in my shade
It is a fact that through the years
I've watched and shed a thousand tears
What will become of what is left?
A town is left, a state bereft
But facts can't change that I was here...
My roots hang tight to yesteryear
They've grieved, and shed their tears for me
when winds prevailed, and down I fell
I wish them well, and if I can
.....I'll try to surge from down within
perhaps one root will sprout, and tell
my leaves to find the breeze again
Inspired By Tree Personification Contest
Based on the actual tree that came down in my home town
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
Until His Red-Heart Weeps
In his forest, the Indian avoided the trappings of the white men;
There his footfalls upon soft and clean, untouched virgin ground;
A place where his tired soul can finally reach ever deeper within;
Nature then generously gifts him its wonderful, wilded sound!
Each morn, Big Turtle rears its big, bright and shining head,
Casting light for his keen eyes to find game to provide his needs;
That hidden meal on hooves resting in its distant undercover bed,
In the thick of it, far out in the heavy brush and tall weeds.
As he travels down the long and winding fast river courses;
He scours the terrain for sites to set his Native water traps,
Day is hot and he races on without benefit of white man's horses,
Through and over tough obstacles never seen on white man's maps!
O' how his big heart so fervently loves this huge wilded place,
Where his freedoms are only limited by gathering his family's food;
He roams in Nature with no scary war paint upon his dark red face,
And now, his Native spirit and heart are in a calm and serene mood!
Unaware of the sad fate future holds for his family and his tribe;
This warrior wrestles only with meeting survival's high cost,
Soon evil white men will arrive to steal, lie, cheat and bribe,
Until his red-heart weeps, family dies and all is tragically lost!
June 15th , 1989
Turtles play positive roles in the folklore of many Native American tribes. In the creation myths of some East Coast tribes (such as the Iroquois and Lenape), the Great Spirit created their homeland by placing earth on the back of a giant turtle. This is why some contemporary Native Americans refer to North America by the name "Turtle Island." Turtles are a symbol of the earth in many different Native cultures. To Plains Indians, turtles are associated with long life, protection, and fertility. In some Plains tribes, a newborn girl's umbilical cord was sewn into a figure in the shape of a turtle to ensure her health and safety. In other tribes, turtles are often associated with healing, wisdom, and spirituality.
Big Turtle, A Wyandot (Huron) Legend
3. Scour | Definition of Scour by Merriam-Webster
transitive verb. 1a : to rub hard especially with a rough material for cleansingb : to remove by rubbing hard and washing. 2 archaic : to clear (a region) of enemies .
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
Meandering rivers, streams and burns
Zig zagging, flowing in contour turns
Sparkling waters as pure as can be
Flow through the glens and down to the seas
Much life is found in these translucent waters
Species of fish, and delightful otters
Along these rivers, streams and burns
Grow many grasses, trees and ferns
Varieties of greens in wonderment bloom
A most beautiful sight is natures front room
Her seasons dictate, the rise and the fall
The pictures she paints, delightfully enthrals
These graceful rivers, streams and burns
Lured us to settle, for beside the seas we yearned
Villages turned into towns, and towns into cities
For the lure of these waters, some murky some pretty
For all around the world, the patterns the same
These are just a few, the Thames, Ness and the Seine
Look after all waters as they are all our concern
Our meandering rivers, streams and burns
" My entry into Brian's contest Flow, River, Flow "
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
felt and revered,
stirring an awesome emotion
which stillness repeals
whenever brightness shines;
and the primroses' scent spreads the delight
of the mild season.
What do the stars
tell a lover's heart...palpitating
in tranquility, amid shadows
that advance with the pretty fireflies?
Dream, and reprieve from the loss...
hoping that love doesn't lay at rest,
but chooses to celebrate
'till after the evening and tell romantic tales.
The invisible crickets chirp,
somewhat awkward to the ears,
I'd rather hear the coos of the owls,
which are richer and more harmonious in sound,
but where are they in this darkness, unless
they are mating in the willows of the lake?
Our blanket is spread on the wide Sheep Meadow,
with the superb view of the Manhattan's skycrapers,
towering over us as sentinels in castle's towers.
Juliet wanted to taste this freedom,
embracing and kissing her handsome Romeo,
not fearing anyone intruding in her paradise,
unwilling to leave anytime soon;
and unruffled, she would continue to love him.
What do the stars tell a lover's heart?
Accept the lovely rose that he offers you, and adore it,
because it has no thorns, to make you bleed in despair;
sing with him a beautiful sonnet that Shakespeare wrote
for his lover who crossed the huge Atlantic ocean,
when ships took months to reach America's shore!
Written on 2/19/2010
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
A blessed soil which perspires cashews and coughs out black pepper,
its global banner of rice is raised so high
which is only beaten by one.
Specializing in the juices of the commonest limbless reptile
with cuisines highly recommended by the parliaments of health.
From dragons to birds;
the turtle to the horse;
the minds of its people have well been bonded to these,
making historians marvel at which exactly
helped in denting the American military pride.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015
We have waited long and now momentarily pause
to lose ourselves in the Western skies of spring;
our mellow looks follow them until dusky evening...
ask the awe-captured painter how they seduce!
Even the big mountains in the background seem blue,
below them discover lovely bluebells that surely ensue
beauty by waving in prairies dotted with yellow daisies;
spend an afternoon in contemplating the red canyons!
And resting beneath the motionless clouds, be dazzled
by radiance: deep moments of awareness can stupefy;
go back in time by imagining the same light blue sky
that the old explorers saw heading West to seek gold.
Walk farther towards the blue lake, wide and clear,
it steals indigo from the above sky to look pretty;
the cactus in full bloom proclaim the desert's glory
once seen by young, wild cowboys who chased deer.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016
I am just a figment of your mind,
You create me, and perfect me,
I become your every dream.
I am just a wind that is passing bye,
I carry no emotions, only stories,
That my Ancestors whisper to me.
I come and I speak,
Like the White Buffalo of our tales,
Here and then gone.
I lend my essence to heal,
As the rain does for the land,
Though I could easily destroy.
I am just an image in the smoke,
Dancing as the [Ga lv quo di] pipe,
is passed from one to another.
I am just the beat of the drum,
The call in the night,
As you dance around the fire.
I am just the feather of the Eagle,
And that is all that will be left of me,
A memory of a dream.
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012
With a squint of an eye my heart skips its beat
Beneath roots leaves and trees
Hides what Mother reclaimed
Copyright © jimi peranteau | Year Posted 2015
This is May
The time of the beginning of the month of rains
This is May
The teen girl coming boldly to my mother's room
This is May
Don Colon sails to Discovery Bay and leave in chains
This is May
Her young body like a delicate and exotic perfume
Are clouds dark as memory
On the old page of history
This is May
And I prefer none, but long to be there
When gully overflows cleansing me of fear:
May murmurs in trees
Golden with juicy blossoms
Falling for the rain
May bares her bright breast
To the oval lips of skies
The young heart thunders
May brings her ships to bay
Laden with lost sailors' joy
Black rivers run red
May wears the mountain scent
From fragrant flowers succulent
Hope seeks new domain
May too is for love
Love of brave warriors' drums
Beating like a heart.
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
When a person approached investigatively,
He chases his relations suspensively,
He finds clue and works dramatically,
Suspection always works progressively.
Confirmation of belief confirms sensitivity,
Growth brings a change to work relatively,
Hunger is seeking growth for productively,
A limit of growth confirms value qualitatively.
When population has highly density,
Unemployment works offensively,
Poverty grows to increase crime,
Disaster comes to balance creatively.
Everything is naturally fast and slow,
A person has patience for a balance flow,
Air can’t across a gravity line,
Sun has different heat rates a limit to grow.
Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2005
Earth, Its Ancient Wonders And Mysteries
After the storm, miracles so 'oft grow
gifting healing that mankind finds so strange.
We foolishly think every thing we know
is written in solid stone, can not change.
That deluge that washed up the distant past
snaps cuts into our rigid, raging minds.
Living in this world blind, racing too fast
looking for treasure within all our finds.
After floods, treasure often comes forth
with shock and majesty we are in awe.
Very frigid the whipping winds from the North
Nature's gems so shiningly come to call.
Wherein, earth holds wonders and mysteries.
shimmering gold rests in its histories!
Robert J. Lindley, 9-22-2015
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 100
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
You see my face and you see my expression but you don't know the real me that i'm
You don't know that behind these eyes that a little girl cries every night, you
don't know the half so why are you desperately trying to label me with some brand that I
would never wear.
If you'd look a little deeper into these pearly browns you know that I am not just a
cover you have to take time to read the book to really know me.
You can't just skim the back or listen to what other people say because yeah I might
be talked about but unless you dip into the pudding you will never truly know why.
Maybe if you looked a little deeper you'd see someone trying to keep up in a endless
I keep on moving but it's never any good I guess I underestimate myself or maybe I
just need someone to give me courage.
I see the surprised look on your face and all I can do is laugh, I bet you didn't
think that I had so much depth, I better you never realized.
So even if it's not me your interested in, please let me teach you one lesson. You
can see some much more behind the eyes of a girl than the cloud of makeup hiding her
In a girls eyes you can see her insides, her deepest fears, her insecurities.
Behind these eyes is the magical side, and if you can look into them first then I know
that your confident and well worth the struggle.
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005