As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder
Trickling over my mind
Came scampering the question
This dilemma of a heart
Come running into my embrace
Stricken with fright
It asked me
Father, why do we write
And so I dipped my feather in the darkness of my mind
And brought forth my answer
I wrote of fear and the love that comes at a dreadful cost
Of meaning and of the fight for knowledge
I wrote for voices unheard
I cried for emotions long forgotten
And the answer came to me as the tears wrote their own tale
Painted in pain was the image of a long forgotten glory
Of emotions left unstirred
Come to see what these words have conspired
Come to see how these words have called them from their sleep
To ensue in them an undaunted hunger
Well my dear son
Here comes my answer to you
I write not for you
Nor for me
I write for what is within you
What has bubbled forth within me
I write to stir the masses
Willful subjects of our being
They huddle in wait
The towering limestones of their cave grow eon by eon
As they rot away, moment by moment
I write for them
We write for the grim
The unnoticed prestige
We write for what you have neglected to see
To bring it forth before your eyes
To fix your head with an iron collar
To make you a slave of our direction
We write to be your masters, when you need one most
We write to fix your gaze on what you have never lost
We write to drag forth from the depths of your inky heart
We are the harbingers of emotion
Be it hate or lust
The unseen veil of ignorance, or to shatter the blinding globe of pride
We are the harbingers of sight
With our binding collars, our guiding feathers, dripping the black sweat of our labored toil
You will come to see
What has not been seen before
Fathers of a relationship sown by words, sealed by the dawning of the sun, the dawning of
Your feathers, to your wings or to your ink
And feathers will flutter
Bearing you into the frigid embrace of the skies
And when the winds will them no more
We will descend upon the ground
And speak to the earth as we are reclaimed in its rough embrace
We will write to the trees, when we cannot write to the birds, the sun, and the sky
And through the trees we will see the stars
And to them we will write about the shade
© Samir Georges
Edited for Deb's Free Verse Contest on why we write.
The last few weeks have been real hard
You see the "dealer of life" deals the cards
As the trials and blessings come and go
It's true we must reap what we sow
At times the trials are many and the blessings are few
Just let the light of your soul shine on through
Yesterday I walked to the bridge over the creek
By the time I got there I was tired and weak
As I sat on the bridge taking a break
Questioning "how much more can I take"
A speeding drunk driver lost control
I watched it unfold nice and slow
Sometimes the blessings are clear to see
They crashed into the rail right next to me
My guardian angel said soft as could be
I'll never give up on you don't give up on me
These last few weeks I have felt rather low
With a deep down emptiness up in my soul
So regardless of the pain or length of the fight
I reckon it's once again time for me to write
For my pen is the tool that I use to see
The power of the Lord working in me
I do not know?
As I place the pen
my soul beings
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla
fog around me, allowing
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams
of being a published poet
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
into an early sun
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
‘ Language Lesson Learned … ’ 59th Senryu
I Don’t ‘ Speak ’ Evil
I Don’t ‘ Understand ’ Wicked
Translation … Ended
Here’s what I’m thinking now
at the end of the world:
There are no atheists in foxholes—
no theists in politics.
If knowledge is power,
and power corrupts,
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero?
Does it matter that I didn't’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
There’s a poetry reading tonight
whence I’I'll chide other poets
who don’t sit alone.
I won’t bring up death
but I might have to breathe,
even into a mike
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo
maybe even a wince or two.
Just maybe I’I'll talk about love
and how following your heart is like following a dog—
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs).
But how many times have I used that line
since the story I wrote about you,
a witty and sexy and fictional you?
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you.
I won’t recite it from memory
because I don’t think about you that much anymore,
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me,
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes?
I don’t remember your eyes
except they are blue.
And I don’t remember you,
not even when I smell cucumber and apple,
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed
or when you walk through the door
happy to see me;
even then I don’t remember you.
Does it matter that I don’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
How about a few one-liners
for the end of days?—
Depression is self-awareness,
which you’d know if you were;
I need Ritalin to listen to you,
Lithium to hug you,
Viagra to feel you,
and Valium to sleep.
All you need
is me standing there, waiting at home
with turns of phrase and word plays
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand
but want to buy as much as I can
and how I love celebrity gossip
and detest poetry slams
and find rhyming trite
except when I am.
Hypocrites can still be right,
which you do understand
because you nod at my nonsense
about fighting the man.
But now, at the end of all things—
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read,
and you’re just sitting there, smiling
asking me to pass the bread.
I don't know how to abandon
This maniacal world
Where electric words stalk my nights,
Devouring my mind.
Volcanic images appear
As uninvited guests,
Wrestling atrophied concepts
Into structured rhythm.
Metaphors tease unrelenting
As sounds tickle my heart,
Disowning my need for respite
From red saturation.
Yet I feast upon each moment
Of inspired reverie,
Count each hour of sanity
An insulated gift.
I fall into meek thanksgiving
For voice of expression
Even as I hear the approach
Of mystified ideas.
For what would I be without art
Conveyed in written form
But an aching, unfulfilled soul;
Derelict and deprived?
Man is an excellent work of God---
His visual poetry or art, out of mud.
Being one of God’s many creations;
Man must not forget his obligations.
Thou, man know God’s everywhere;
And yet, he does not bother to care.
Either man lives by God’s command,
Or, he will not live in a promise land.
Man must take this into consideration,
If indeed his heart craves for salvation.
Communities have a pillar
Carol is this ones name
Our Poet Laureate
Who demands no fame
Called Mrs Brown
Is more like a mother
In Poetry's Soups town
She cradles and welcomes
Us poets anew
To this amazing website
A community so true
She's now back in the fold
Where she loves to be
To read what she can
Of you and thee
So Mrs Carol Brown
For your kind comments and words
The Honor given to you
" For Mrs Carol Brown "
You spoke of a love you
seem to know so well.
An innocent declaration
that burns in my memory still...
smoldering in the corners of my heart.
A quiet blossom of love with tender petals
that cascade into a deep scarlet pool of affection.
Beneath a silver moon, I swam in those words,
saturated to my very soul.
Can you tell me now, with a solemn heart,
that you knew not of the things you shared?
Your soul cries for truth & I know it is there.
Because I touched it
Immersed myself in it
in your love.
When I started my writings I didn’t know that much;
But, as I began to write, I learn to know so much.
Let’s say I knew a thing when I got featured, my poem;
I knew what rhyme is, but my heart has its own anthem.
Writing is not that easy, which made it hard to meet
All the poetic forms, if I always see, but a white sheet.
Yet, I knew that if I will try, I will lose nothing; I tried.
So I wrote this very short poem, a senryu thing: a bride.
That you took joy reading it, making me smile and proud;
The way I see myself now, I’m a poet, with a voice: loud.
If I chose to be a poet, sure I wouldn’t be in a losing end;
For a poet never lose, but certainly, wins a heart. A trend.
At least now, I know how and what to write. I learned.
I’ll be writing sonnet today, for yesterday it was tyburn.
You see, I learned a lot, through the help of my God;
And you, my love, His blessing to me when I was sad.
Grasping my soul into its mystery,
Leaving me motionless, breathless,
Wanting to breathe more of its
Aroma, its sensation, its
Mystified, encrypted feelings…
It’s my devotion,
It’s my colorful ocean,
It’s the web of my emotions…
Smiling, as I meditate
My uncontrolled enthusiasm…
My beautiful fervor, my passion…
A-h-h! As its hymns play,
Harmoniously, its words begin to say
All the things in which I want to hear,
Words that draw my manifestation…
Between the hazy mists I sit,
Watching tiny droplets of water
Condense with tenderness on my skin...
Slithering, as new worlds of words
Begin to form within…
Dreamy haze in which I feel alive,
Take me into thee,
Where no one can revive
Me from this ecstasy, from
My life’s fantasy…
Everything in me, and
Everything destined to be…
The words you share, they touch the heart
Coming from yours then, a natural thing
The thoughts, the care, the love you impart
Make me just read so, again and again
I take each write, so penned by you all
Take them, consume them, live them, I do
Within the words I become enthralled
To live vicariously, making all true
Sometimes I read them more than one time
For the words are so lovely, I simply must
I fall in love with the stories and rhyme
I swim in the ink, of this you can trust
I enjoy all the words to get lost in the read
Let the poet’s ink write, the poet’s heart bleed
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
Burn upon my heart
Your words of venom
Lash upon my soul
Your thoughts of ice
Stab upon my mind
Your emotions of chaos
My pen flows from chaos
Controlled ink of the heart
My parchment sliced from my mind
Untouchable by mortal venom
My warmth to thaw your ice
Thick and bound to your soul
Yet my soul
Consumed in all chaos
Not a hint of ice
In any corner of my heart
Veins flow free from venom
Unleashing the will of my mind
Unbreakable is my mind
Beauty is my soul
Unchanged by your venom
Grace in the chaos
Which surrounds my heart
Guarding from you ice
My hate for your ice
May sometimes blind my mind
Your bitter heart
Your empty soul
Crashing in chaos
And dripping in venom
How you drown in venom
How you suffocate in ice
Swallowed whole in chaos
Darkness engulfed mind
Blindness endangered soul
And emptiness in place of you heart
My words of chaos, flowing from my soul
Untouched by your venom, and lonely heart
They will melt the ice, which controls your mind
Once again as my pen fails the page
In a humble but sincere effort
To honor my loving sage
As I ponder and attempt to deduce
In a low, soft chuckle, “more than words”
My rhetorical excuse
By function; words exact, color and define
And with Webster’s sword levied I chase
Definition of you into the sublime
Concept, newly born of insight and ash
Presents no attempt at justice
So its fate is sealed to trash
And alas, as a thousand times tense
I seek to corral feelings
By pen within paper fence
For moment’s sake, suppose these words I cannot cage
I humbly offer in place of love song
The feelings that surround this page
As I sat and wrote this poem,
I was grateful for my cozy home.
I started praying on my knees,
And suddenly I could write with ease.
I am sure, that if you pray,
He’ll be there for you each day.
He’ll show you your talents and your calling,
And when you are down, He’ll catch you from falling.
When I’m praying on my knees,
I know it’s Him I’m going to please.
By writing these poems and spreading the Word,
He knows when they’re read,
His voice will be heard!
I hope He makes you smile today!
I know it happens if you pray!
To Commemorate My 300th Poem Here On The Soup
300 Tales Done
300 Threads Spun
Only 700 More, GOD
and Wherever YOU Beam Me
10,000 More, Gleam Me
- - - - - - - - - -
… I Have Lost 200 Poems
But Here Are 300
Because I Open My Arms
To Inspiration Undaunted …
“ Pancakes, Preserves, Poached-Egg & Pork
Maple-Syrup, Milk and Sun-Motes In The Morn
Calling My Name, Just Like Flapjacks To A Fork
Psyche Is Picking Up Poems, Like Babies Just Born “
- - - - - - - - - -
A Childhood Poem Remembered …
I See The Moon
and The Moon Sees Me
GOD Bless The Moon
and GOD Bless Me
… and Long Live, The Love Of Poetry …
I feel it
Shifting within me
Wandering in open space
A gypsy striving to get
From place to place
Whether it slithers
At a snail’s pace
Or simmers in an
Utterly poignant disgrace
I feel it
Gliding amidst my organs
Making my heart race
As if on a wild, stormy
In search of an exit
Burning its trace
Through my every sense
I therefore rest my case
And simply write it
I once was like a catipiller young,naive,and new
Always living from my heart not knowing what
else to do.Easy to take advantage of, that is
just the case, people would walk over me
like I was their dirty used up suitcase.
Now I feel a newness coming, like a light
shining from the sky, colors fill my world
and I know I am blooming into a butterfly.
Purple,Pink, Blue and Green I can feel them
flowing through. Colors of the rainbow raising
me into full bloom. Wise and strong I am becoming
My faith leads me where I need to go giving me
insight and wiseness for only me to know.
I have not done this on my own you see
I have been guided by God and Angels
on this Earth. Wise words the wisdom at
it's best comes from a wise lady who
seems to know me best. Lucky, I am
to have her in my life, she always shoots
it straight and tells me like it is, knowing
her words touch my heart and gives me tons of faith..
I feel like flying through the sky or climbing
a tree way up high. I feel like observing the
world just like a brand new butterfly so as I
Bloom I become Anew something unlike the past
Smart and wise beautiful on the inside and outside
a touch of color here a touch of color there
makes me glow and become a beautiful blooming butterfly...
Written By: Christina A McCullouch
I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation
of words cascading from a nebulous eye
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto
a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,
and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly
sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry
fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,
Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion
itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever
careering from caustic career path to another new low,
Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s
counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the
fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp
Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent
with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond
farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering
Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and
gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed
existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a
Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding
gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels
in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love.
Praise no other; I am poetry.
Please don't anybody ask me to decide anything. I do not know
The difference between, the Concord or a Jet Plane
The Republican or the Democrats,
White lies or some faker boldfaces fibbers
The donkey audible or the gold $$$ signs
Each of them has his or hers agenda to threaten small businesses
Like our MA & Pa's Country Stores
What is next to give city contract to street whores?
You stole from poor and you gave to the rich
investing billions of dollars into useless political funds
let wait and see which canidiate is going to get the job done
To send a man to the moon is costly
taking care of a homeless shelter is leisure: and tax deductible
However, giving millions dollars companies a hefty tax break:
not so sensible.
Please don't anybody ask me to decide anything. I do not know
How is the weather outside, it is raining? Sunny or simply gloomy
Because I guarantee one day someone is going to sue me.
Either for libel or slander
Or just for being a party pooper: Like our famous America future
Please don’t anybody ask me to decide anything.
because my views on world politics is shilly-shally.
I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…
Im Building my own teepee made from straw Logz
I try n keep up with my cats but how can I when I cant even trust my own dogz
I know I have a hard tyme trying to get a simple regular low paying job
but I shall overcome, I shall rise against all my past tattz and all my ****ing oddz
I used to be down with the evil d, now Im down with the holy G yeah dats God
I used to give you nothing Lord now its tyme I start to giving you nodz
I used to be all about talk, but now cuz of you Lord Im all about walk
I spit words while I walk through gates locked either bottom or top I still rize till I drop
I dont stop I shoot guns at fake cops tryna steal my patnaz freedom socks
but this my life now homie I cant end up lying in chalk
I walk my talk while I talk my walk through unknown clocks ticking away like my times tock...
I running past bumps while Im jumping over dead pits
I struggle like many, a life of addiction I know its hard to quit
I just had my first kid....it still hard tryna rize above the past shyt i did....
I done placed my rez life betz...I done already placed my lifetyme bid
I cant lie I still smoke n drink but the alcohol from my life rite now like many I struggle to rid
I try n cover up shyt but how can I cover up tattoos Lord they come without a lid
everymorn it feels as if I awake to a life full of crap leaving me lil tyme to give a shyt
but thats life Lord I know now thats how we deal n what we MAKE OF IT
heart flutters bearing the news
appointed poet laureate
bows comrades honoring name
gift gabble raising thy brows
expectations of nil
inspirations for others
Tribute To Poetry
And To All The Wonderful Poets
Here In The Soup Bowl
I Bow To Each
Also Entry For
Poet Laureate Contest
These words are my hearts song
I bleed a script on how I feel
The sanctum, to which I belong
Harmony, hate, peace, and love are strong
I am not limited one emotion
These words are my hearts song
Un-veil the scroll of my life’s bond
Enter my lucid mind, over-flowed passion
The sanctum, to which I belong
Inspired by events of breaths prolonged
To exhale, you first must inhale
These words are my hearts song
Burning in my heart so long
This here pen is my ember
The sanctum, to which I belong
In my Eden of words, I do no wrong
With an idle quill between my fingers
These words are my hearts song,
The sanctum, to which I belong.
Am I the only one who's feeling there is something very wrong with all of this ,
I can't seem to get anybody to listen not even when I raise my fist.
How can they not see what I see ,has everybody lost thier mind I say,
Why can't they see what it is that is making them act this way.
Have you taken a look around to see there's something that has changed,
When you look into peoples eyes Lord how you can see the rage.
No compassion for thier fellow man as if they have never ever cared,
For the future of mankind and how we all should be aware.
Saw a friend of mine the other day he was acting a little strange ,
I can't help but wonder just when , how , and who's the blame.
This power and greed is consuming us all we just can't seem to stop
Stepping on our brothers & sisters as we race to the top.
Where's the love ,the kindness ,the hope and faith we use to live by,
How we allowed ourselves to sink so low I' will never know why.
Still I will contunue to spread the word which has always been,
Be good and love one another as you are learning not to sin.
Please don't be another wreck that has been pushed to the side ,
If you' listen to the one and only word you will know why.
We will all band together so we can stand tall and free,
It is one simple word and that is love how could you nor see.
As a writer always writing about my life everyday, I have to write this when I say that this is the only way that I know I know how to speak and write about "My" life before I "Die" in these reservation cold streets like many of my own people.
I have hope for something better and bigger beyond our cold rez life streets here in money rich America.
I'm trying not to be another victim or just another number and I'm especially not trying to become just another "Rest in Piece" or just another "In Loving Memory Of".
I'm trying to leave something behind for my people but especially for my "yet to understand daugher", and this is the only way I know how to leave my very own one of a kind unique individual thoughts behind is through paper, but now what make's it even better now days for us is the "Internet", and my Internet crowd and across sea's internet crowd will listen to my words more than my "family" or "friends" ever will, and this is the only way I can truly be there for my family, my friends, my people and my daughter is in these words that I write, in this words in which I speak, and I have to be careful about what I write because it can help, but more often than not I can make them hurt, but I got to be careful about whom these words I write and speak about.
I got to be more about helping than hurt as a True Lone Poet Speaking Life as "A Writer Always Writing".
I think I self-sabotage unknowingly
because of fear
So my message goes unheard because I’m afraid to let the people hear
And end up drowning in the poetic blues
doubting my ability to write about the truth;
I dug deeper and deeper into myself trying to write a poem good enough to be free of judgment
Then I stepped out on faith and suddenly I was triumphant
and my writing grew
and I was loving it
I had finally passed the fear of speaking and caring about who the fu*c! was judging it
As I wait to be inspired for the next poem,
I sit and think alone and drown in my sorrows
Listening to jazz, blues and a.m. radio
trying to find an excuse not to perform at the SLAM
because again I can’t think of a damn thing to write…..
Drowning in poetic blues
Will this be the one that will be thrown away and never be used
Or will this be the one that transcends the others
and finally prove that poetry is blues and blues is poetry and hip hop and jazz and r&b,
Poetry is music and the words dance around in my soul
and I am free once they become spoken
In the meantime the paper is where the words will rest
until the silence is broken
Drowning in the sea of proper delivery
My voice, my stance, my intensity
How will others interpret the words that I’ve chosen so diligently?
I wrap my soul around the possibility that none of the words I choose –
will keep me from becoming deluged and trapped by the poetic blues
Somehow my heart refuses to accept that I don’t deserve to have my words heard
and it takes over this whole process
No more time for shrinking and feeling less
I was born to make my words manifest light
I am a gorgeous medium to the truth yeah that's right
I was sent here to give you a piece of good news
Remember that God is with you when you get
The poetic blues
What twist of fate has befallen us?
When nighthawks no longer soar by day --
Ritualistic measures of time usurps moonlight
Where then shall I see upon my love’s face ~
A smile that would light the ancient Nile
Oh to feel the warmth of his sweet embrace
Dusk be not in such foul temperament..
Let pace of dawn be slow to arise
As it steals the warmth of our embrace
Oh twilight stars of night twinkle, now
As, the nighthawk, pleasures ebony soul
For that simple delight, I’d walk the naked miles…
Saddened is this heart when we must part
Let the setting of the sun come soon
Then we shall soar once more ‘neath lover’s moon
The watchman comes nigh, careful now
we must depart this gentleness – Remember,
For that simple pleasure, I’d walk the naked miles…
What is it to see the soil of home again?
A welcome, snow-struck and a return
To cold; sharp white contrasts sunburn.
We converse in broken tongues to men
We know, hooked on holiday language
Comprised of wandering hand signs.
Collect the car and pay parking fines,
Drive through towns and over a bridge
Until we reach the Western gateway.
Oh when will we arrive at our house?
No camels there, only field mouse
Which are eaten by our cat anyway.
The plane flies for an age, slyly yawning
Through the stretching, pealing sky,
A knife through air; what it is to fly.
Our travels over; a new day is dawning.
Introduction: Life is a mystery with many ups and downs throughout the journey. The
journey filled with thoughts of tranquility and turmoil. But the perfect sensation is the
time when you get to feel closer to your Almighty, the one who understands you the best,
your closest friend, your hope and light, your solution to every problem, The mystery you
came to life to solve and to believe in.
Even in the happiest and the saddest moments, He is always there when you need Him.
Right now I am, thinking what to write
Holding my pen, it’s almost midnight,
I’m truly out of words, to express my whole life,
It’s so absurd, cut all pain through a knife
And I wish I could feel, Your presence in my soul
I know that You know, what I am going through
And I’m not sure I believe, unless I really feel
But I know when You’re not there, so I pray to feel You near
Now I can see, what this life is about
Now I do know, I’m too lost without,
Diamond in the rough, that’s what I was
But now I’m reborn by the shower of Your bliss
I’d die to satisfy, I’d do everything I can,
No matter how tough, after all I’m a man
I won’t fall apart, You’re always in my heart
I’d swim oceans and more, only to be Your friend
This undying grace of Your creation,
Time and space, more than perfection
You’ve opened my eyes and showed me the truth
You’ve blessed peace to my soul; I know what’s my role
I see two key coins, one black and one white
And all I have to join, the one with your light
Life is as it is, we make it our own
Hard or easy, full or alone
Everything grows, as they all involve
With the rose you put down, to show us what’s love
I wake up early, to see Your beauty,
Throughout the morning sun, I feel complete and done,
I drive all the way and see my problems solved,
By Your love from above, I stand still so firm
Everything I do, everywhere I go,
Every moment I breathe, I remind myself of You…my Almighty.
My constant mirror from heaven,
On earth and in the sea,
Only you can be;
But can you see yourself in my poetry?
I needed a way to release from inside,
All of the tears that I never cried,
My head was exploding from all I kept in,
While onto my face I glued a fake grin;
I hid inside my suspicion and fears,
And locked them away for many years;
They built up a wall and trapped me within,
Until I didn’t even know where to begin;
I had every emotion locked in my heart,
So I started to write, I made it my art.
‘ King David’s 23rd Psalm … ’ (Classical-Tribute) 61st Senryu
The Brave Should Know Song:
King David’s ‘ 23rd Psalms ’
Makes Warriors Stay Strong
I used 2 think I know what I wanted out of my confused soul/
I want not what I have ,I want what I never had/
I want my time 2 stop, yet it still continues 2 go/
I strive 2 be good but almost always end up in the bad/
Livin in this American Struggle I was once happy, now seems like Im forever sad/
Im a man of values and peace but find myself in corruptness and fights/
In prison I had many dark days and very few bright nights/
No matter how wrong I was I am still 100% right/
Im searchin for inner peace but find myself so self-conflicted/
I want this but rather have that, Im so self-contradicted/
I find my heart fightin lovely thingz my soul so badly hated/
I want 2 be normal but find my talents by so many overrated/
I find it so easy 2 forsake that I rarely myself ever forgive/
My mind wants 2 die while my heart still wants to live/
I want to be recognized that I go unnoticed and lose track of the real me/
So I came 2 a concept of appreciating the fact that Im now free/
Now I just want to kick back an be me....
Inspiration is all around me. It swirles in the midst of darkness and deceit.
Blinded by dry tears...the deliverers of this blessed word find me when I know not what to look for or where...
I and my kind walk in circles looking for and end to pain, deceit, betrayal, unlove, uncareing. We are looking...but not invane.
When the circles we walk in seem endless take heart and know that it is not a downward spiral... Keep looking and you will see...
(C)....Catherine Buchner 2012
I thank you
with every word I write
every confession I pen
I thank you
with tears of joy
shed in tears of jet black ink
to the sound of rapping on gentle plastic
with every tap tap of the keys
I thank you more,
for holding me
when I run for your embrace unbidden
I thank you so much
when I run from home
escape that place
that begs escape
and rush first and only, to you
so thank you
for reading my words
and embracing me
when the embrace I feel at home
is a pressure that I cannot take
I know to you I can run
and with all the thanks in my heart
embrace you once more.
‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …
Yet… It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
On the Planet, however Polluted or Profane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Wherever the Delusional -Dimensional Plane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Or Danger-Plot, Prison-Door or Deepest Pain
Or Present-Defeat, or Darkest-Hours-View
even Thru Dying-Breath, Devout Prayers Proclaim
to Be Delivered- New, True, and Pulled-Thru
to Claim The Prize of Life-Perpetually-Sustained
… For Particularly, By God’s Unpronounceable Power
Thru His Son’s Unparallel- Principal-Purchase… Dower
God’s Dependents and Dreamers Will Prosper-Gain
The Prophecy, The Promise, The Paradise-Preordained
The Perfect-Future and The Victory-Parade
… The Distant, Destiny of Eden – Never Been Doused Nor Degrade
Then… It Won’t Matter…So, Please Dismiss The Paltry-Strain
The Days of The Deformity and Damage-Train
Will Be In The Past … Departed-Detained
Disaster and Disloyal Will Lay In A Destroyed-Plain
Damned For All Of Time –Proliferate-Blamed
Patience-Persevering…Demands Punishment - Prediction-Sang…
… Final-Draft …Stop-The-Presses!... Poll-Loudly-Refrains
When You Really Discern and Pragmatically-Attain
The Divine God and His Son’s King- Domain
Publicize Their Progenitor and Predominant Names
and Preach and Deify Like-Doting-Platoon-Swains,
with Pedestal-Passion and ‘Plum-Plumb’, Persistence-Ingrained
For On Position-Comparison, We ‘All’ Pale-to- A-Feigned …
…Puppets and Peons and Dim-Witted-Parasitic-Great Danes
and Dopamine Defective, Demerol Addicted – Darwin-Poisoned-Sprains
or Just-Plain ol’ Dire-Derelicts-Insane
(and now… I have a P D Q,… for Me and You… Migraine)
Oh… May They Accept This Poor-Placard-Crane
Amen… Again… Amen
Bad enough to hear ‘you lose’
Then a flock of mail flies in
Don’t know which one you should choose
Then you glimpse ‘an AWESOME win’
Maybe it’s my humble past
Maybe it’s my country school
No one smiles when they are last
If you do --you’re called a fool.
Glory is its own reward
If you win your heart beat sings
Friends will greet you if they can
Life is sweet on eagle wings
Time is precious, time is short
Worlds await on shelves in books
Brush twitch paintings-- feet seek sport
I crave salmon on a hook
Ungrateful twit that I may seem
Courtesy is sometimes missing
My head I'll dunk in ice clogged stream
Avoid the flock of kiss kiss kissing
If you note that I have lost
Spare me time and spare me shame
Spare yourself the time it costs
To remind me that I’ve lost again
Nov 30, 2012
to verbally wrong those who are blind
without written rights
with no lyrical sight
living in the poems day not knowing its what happens in the poems dream at night shedding literal darkness upon my lights
with a bit of courage feeling fright in the sky
flying like a chinese kite
eating away at the core sugar cake bite
chopped verbs like cow skin tripe
in the words personal hype through letters slowly but surely typed
small yet reaching heights
among a culture bleeding yet still choked tight
because its not a maybe or a might
poetically doing what I do when I WRITE.
I write what I know, and know what I write.
I travel through time, every rhyme with might.
Ruminating the past; its wrongs and its rights.
Any time of the day, and any darkness of night.
I pen history and its future, as small as it seems,
Inking a mission, my pen shadows my dreams.
I engrave bits of pain, through every extreme.
Inscribing a passion, my script and its regime.
My pen is much mightier, than an army indeed,
it slashes its victims with a whimsical need.
It destroys its targets, planting a poetic seed.
It preys on cruelty, and the abusive it feeds.
Feeding a toxic dose, of words and rhymes,
serving a deadly concoction of ink in time.
For the tongue is more lethal in words of rhyme,
the triumphant work of a poet; yours and mine.
I look ahead to the ends promised in my mind
But always reality clouds my eyes with the peppers of life
Sometimes I make hasty progress
Only a few steps ahead to be forced more steps to regress
Sometimes my hope gets a boost from a fine line I read off a book
But as soon as I lay down the book
The reality of a stool beneath my foot
Makes me anticipate the pain of the noose
Still I have a will and I know that soon I will
On the back of the winged unicorn of my dreams
...I will soar free
This reality is for the benefit of my dreams
On its harsh grindstones I will sharpen my will to live
The work I do is not the most prestigious one,
from four to twelve thirty I drive...until my shift is done;
a forklift driver rarely takes a coffee-break,
and being courteous and helpful to customers means a lot.
My long-life dream was to be a songwriter like Andrew Lloyd Webber, but my songs
didn't click...they never made the Top Ten on the Billboard Charts;
and although they didn't sell well to make it my profession, I still hold my thumb up...
that if a famous recording artist performed them, I'd have a huge hit!
My free time is devoted to creating lyrics that I will set to music in late hours;
and I would never be a Mozart, Verdi, or Beethoven if didn't knock on doors
and expose my works to those who would be willing to listen without reluctance...
could one be old and succeed as the young ones with fresher, brighter ideas?
For now, I remain the same blue collar guy coloring more illusive dreams;
many approach me and say," Don't give up...you have plenty of chances!".
I do want to believe that and wear the deserved crown and be lauded as others...
'till my lucky day comes, I must make a living and have the faith of the achievers.
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION
Even though i did not hear your voice tonight i'm still ahit,
I will go on like this for ever, i wont go out without a fight.
I'll fight till the end of this life to win your heart,
All you have to do is tell me when to start.
The music blarrin in my head phones at 1:52 AM and i'm lovin it,
cause it helps me remember your gorgeous smile like it was meant to fit.
Wanting to feel your touch and kisses all over me ignites the fire in me,
Wanting to take you by your hand and run wild in a big sea.
There aint much i can say to express myself but this will have to do for tonight,
I think its just that i haven't reached height.
You no I love you and that's all that matters or will ever matter to me,
I will love you till i die, like I told you before, cant you see?
I do not know?
where oh where
does my passion lay? in a shoebox,
under the staircase? i’ve been looking all day,
i’m getting too tired to play. i guess it’s better off this way,
to be missing eternally,
than to have been found and broken,
a curse that bounds when spoken,
these days i hardly mention your name.
most dreams are fairytales,
i need to pretend if i want to achieve.
i’m numb, like i’ve had a lobotomy. i am living in honesty
or i am not living at all,
my passions been pressed into the page
- transformed from a natural beauty into something useful.
Read the old poems
Now that you love the poet…
More depth and beauty
My bed is anxious,waiting for my snores
Today's going to bed, tomorrow's a few steps ahead
I wonder why I took "the" pen
I feel like putting them down
What am I inking?
Just wanna scratch my itchy paper with my juicy ink
Singers? Go sing...
Comedians? Go do comedy...
Others? What's your "itchy paper?"
Have you applied your "ink?"
Be good at what you do
Love what you do
Go scratch it!
But now your here,
Raise a glass
to all the talented poets here
who, inspire us to write everyday
and all the friends we have met along the way.
by a common interest
to express our thoughts
and give pleasure
to all the poetry family.
peter Dome. copyright. 2012.
He lived when Elvis, the Beatles, Johnny Cash and the Rolling Stones
had strings of hits and he passionately hummed those up-beat songs...
dreaming of becoming as successful and famous as they were;
and following his dream, he turned into a big country singer!
Everywhere he went, he carried a heavy transistor radio
and listened to them and learned those country and rock lyrics...
and the longer he sung them, the more he fed his ego,
so he wrote words without music, hoping to create melodies!.
Sitting at the piano as Beethoven did, he frantically played those keys,
blending them with easiest chords; and if they sounded awkward to him,
he would certainly use another chord that was simpler and more harmonic...
so the boy's passion for music grew as he planned to hit many unknown roads!
Up North, people called country stars: hillbillies with nasal, funny voices
and such names like rednecks caught on; one would be surprised by their remarks,
or at how they unfairly they were discriminated...and they were all proud Americans!
But the boy's passion for music took him to unimaginable heights and riches!
Who is in charge of our children's education?
What happens when parents don't do their job?
When children have no sense of reading, writing,
till they hit that school room head on?
Who is responsible to initiate, ingratiate, the word,
so language is understood from infancy and
not suddenly at five years old when
communication receives the attention it deserves?
Parents stand up and take notice
schools do not provide the only source
You are your child's first teacher
You are the one who gives him voice.
From you he will learn expression
From you he will learn who he is
From you he will learn his roots
Give him your love and attention.
Provide an environment filled with books
A place where reading takes precedence
Instill in him a joy for learning
With gentle hand and loving looks.
Model the love of learning
read on your own or with
till without even knowing
he'll develop a yearning
to know, to explore, to evaluate
all there is and more.
I do not know?
The rhyme is in my heart,
The beats in my mind,
As I go over the words,
Time and time again,
As i spill them out on the computer screen,
I know this writing is made for me,
It's what i do,
It's what I say,
It's what I feel,
Sometimes what I push away,
It doesn't always make sense,
But it's OK,
I understand the meaning between the words,
As i tap, tap on my keyboard,
Short but simple,
Is how it comes,
The rhyme is in my heart,
The beats in my mind,
Slowly making poetry.
Slowly becoming mine.
Emotions without reasons...
Is my excuse.
As i type it on the computer screen.
Overreactions and reactions can lead to drama queens
The Soup just recently, whose here will know what I mean
Itching souls bitching, for what just amazes thee
To be better than someone else, look at me I'm Sandra Dee
Yes this makes me laugh, but also to scream and cry
To me it beggars belief and makes me wonder why
No matter who we are, and where we all hail from
The ultimate is to be read, it's the poets form of Prom
I finish this humble piece, to thank the ones who deserve
It's the Admin of this site, their dedication means we're preserved
A part of labor and a part of pain
A part of sadness and a part of happiness
However; seeing a small glimpse of the future
The labor, the pain, the sadness and the happiness
Was close- by: waiting to be belong
Why torture the night?
When peace seeks unity
And the morn is few hours’ away
tonight we lie awake: thinking
Why torture the night
Ours hearts beat sporadically
We search deep within for
The truth which were never told
Why tortured the night with humility
Mr. R and Mr.O
Chivalrist of pure intent
Honoured by the ears that lent
A tale recounted to content
Resplendant wonders brought to ear
Laments that draw an unseen tear
Evasion of the heart's deep fear
Soft young mind and placid eyes
Lucid to the tale's disguise
Unseeing the truth behind the lies
There upon the golden water
Wimsically listening to the lauder
Inclines the middle Liddell daughter
Days have come and years have passed
Golden evenings couldn't last
Erosionary time has swept too fast
Dreary dawns and bitter nights
Overcame the muse's might
Dead and gone, that fragile light
Greiving when his heart was tore
Secreted to land of lore
On through Wonderland he'll soar
Now to dream forevermore
Wordless and pitiful, this fool can’t deny
The emptiness hollowed out deep in my mind
Nothing will redeem these broken thoughts
And nothingness is all I have, I’m so damn lost
I can’t remember how to sleep anymore
I can not recall the taste of oxygen or law
Only the blood that was spilled from my mouth
As I choked upon the words that threw me down
How am I still living without my heart?
How is it that I can stand when I fell apart?
Truth is that I am gone, deep in the dirt
A place where I can not think; where I’m safe from hurt
I can’t recall a way to speak anything
That does not remind me of every single thing
The dry blood across my skin will not be washed away
And whatever else I try to hide has stained all I say
Collapsing into a mess upon the kitchen floor
Fearing to even walk out of my bedroom door
The sun burns away every place I can cry
And the moon delivers another thousand lies
How can I ever hope to breathe and sleep again
When every single breath I take turns dreams into pain?
The stains of blood are punishment for all that I said
And nothingness has carved your face deep within my head
Wordless and pitiful, the things I will write
The deepening eternity of every lonely night
The broken thoughts accompany a song that always plays
I’ve lost you forever, but this music will remain
From my thoughts on the paper in which it lies,
My everlasting passion is inked as it dries.
The way I feel inside, you might want to spy,
But if you pry, how will my lyrics surprise?
A song for thought will only leave a thought.
May sound difficult, but that’s just how I talk.
I was lost, but I found me.
Dreaming and believing that writing was my key.
The way it flows and the way that it goes pumps me to speak
the very thoughts that many minds chose to keep.
Many rocks I’ve kicked and many decisions I’ve made.
Any wrongs I take the blame.
Tic-tac-toe is only a game.
I plagiarize your eyes with the notes that I’ve taken,
A high note here and a low note there-
You’d swear I’m in your head when my song hits your ear.
Pain recognizes pain
And I’ve have my share of bandages.
My vibes from life heals the permanent damages.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
Reaches farther beyond the beat,
Over the lyrics on the sheet,
Not only is it about the speech,
But more of what the message seeks.
True enough a theme is touched and a heart is rushed.
With the mind-throbbing picture disappearing
Through the ink of my pen and revealed through your lens,
You can’t hear me, but do you feel me?
I cherish my talent and where it could possibly sweep me.
My doubts and my worries are beneath me.
I love for brighter days and pray for more things to pave.
Call my life my number because its infinite.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
My mentality drips it.
A power adopting consent,
For the welfare of all,
To establish equality,
To provide opportunities,
To remove discrimination,
To break down the prejudice barriers,
To build a bridge on gaps,
So anyone a child, young,
Old, able or disable can walk,
Freely, with honour of a nation,
And can adopt a pride of safety,
And can provide security,
It is a lesson for everyone,
To protect society,
From Criminals, robbers,
Smugglers, gangsters, rapists,
For everyone’s share of happiness.
For a standard for living.
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
Poetry perpetually propagates poems
is the problem
As technology has progressed , bound leaps ,
within the nanny state , Man simply sleeps .
Replaced Automatic ; Manual Labour.
Solved by Machine mind's , Binary No more .
For synthetic constructs for your whim , creeps
pumping cheese-its into bulging wheeze heaps.
So keep That lard thru blood , spotless , can ignore
such irritations as ; Clearing the floor .
While Digital duty serves ; watch those beeps
streaming 24/7 fiction keeps
sake in sight , forms pixel ; away those flaws
by Avatar's dream , away life's true claws.
While around , leashed , the world quietly leaps ,
Attended by metal hands ; Left
I do not know?
Who do you feel like today?
Do you even remember my name?
It's been 8 years since then,
Has the willow tree we sat under gone dead?
I wonder if you've changed,
if you regret your biggest mistake.
Do you feel the sorrow i feel?
Is this pain the only thing that feels real?
I feel no sorrow now,
I only feel hatered for the world somehow,
How could you rape your granddaughters?
And Forget your own son, My father?!
How could you do this to me?
The only way how i feel now is to bleed.
I put no effort, no feeling, no thought,
In the war,
This battle in my heart
How do you feel like today?
Is it easier to know that your safe?
Outta jail they let you out,
Why so you can pay your road to hell?
So i plant me a willow tree,
right above the grass,
below the leaves.
I lay here below this willow tree,
My only friend beside of me,
The memories still remain,
But it's better off this way
During the years that I had lived
many friends I have had;
some nice, some good, some bad...
ah! being friendless is very sad!
Beside family...who else
will remember what I've achieved,
perhaps a stranger reading
my works too lucid and intense?
I have honored many unnotorious folks like humble mother,
and the ones who have touched me in ways nobody has...
having been an innovator, not much of a shaker,
readers will uncover the true meaning of my writings.
Besides family...who will take time to read them twice?
Have I moved, inspired and changed them in several minutes?
That could be so true by the interest they have shown in the poems
I've written and my wish is that they have found that voice!
I seek no praises or laurels for my creations with words so intuitive,
and if an ode were dedicated to me....so very honored I wouldl be!
It's not being naive...not to have realized it and be crowned with victory;
and in any respectable way they wish to remember me, it's their prerogative.
You’re much too proud to answer
Don’t want to appear too keen
But every single message sent
Has a check mark…meaning “seen”!
Won’t start up conversations
You won’t ask me how I’ve been
You keep it all under wraps
But my messages are…..”seen”!
You won’t come out and say it
But I know you’ve checked the screen
You answer what’s in my eyes
For my messages you’ve “seen”!
Sometimes I get so angry
I resolve myself to wean
From writing all my feelings…
But then the message comes…”seen”!
And so I keep on writing
Though you TRY to act so mean
At the end of every day
All my messages are…..”seen”!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I have carved seventeen years into this notebook
Dragging Mondays across the paper
Saturdays exploding from the nib
It is not enough now
To take a hair from his head and rest it on a page
Sacrificing my heart to the wind
Praying she might not take it from me
It is not enough now
To take a reflection of his smile and scatter it across these sordid lines
In the hope that they might trap it for me
And not keep it for themselves
I want to pen myself into him
Carve myself deep into his skin
Curl into myself
And live there
In the space between his heart and lungs.
The closer I get to You, Lord, the less of myself I see;
The closer I get to You, Lord, the more like You I'll be-
My wants, my hopes, my dreams will be in accordance with Thine-
For I no longer am happy to be less than You would have me be;
Because I'm Yours, Lord and You are living in me-
So the closer I get to You, Lord, the less of myself I see.
The more of myself I give to You, the less of myself I own;
The more of myself I give to You, the more You sit on my heart's throne-
My thoughts, my words, my deeds become Yours to do as You will;
The closer I get to you, Lord, the better inside I feel-
Your Holy Spirit now leads me because now I'm doing you will-
So the closer I get to You, Lord, the more You become so real.
The closer I get to You, Lord, the less of myself I see;
Until one day I'm totally all You would have me be-
Wholly and truly complete in Thee.
Why I Enjoy Writing Poems...
I often have a thought or
two on my mind.
And have written them in the
expression of a rhyme.
I’ve tried to write
as I feel God has led.
And try to do it in love,
in what's written & said.
At times, I “have stepped
on people's toes.”
This is not my intention—
God really knows.
If you've read a poem that I wrote.
I hope you were encouraged
There’s a message that
I pray comes across...
"With Christ... all is not lost!"
I’ve tried to write poems
from my spirit.
As an expression
of how I live it.
The words written are
from my heart to you
May they be a blessing in
whatever you do!
By Jim Pemberton
The monster became a living, walking nightmare
my dive into insanity, no longer perfect, containing a blank stare
I should resist, the monster will find me, run away with me
Pretend to hear my meager complaints, force me to see what I'm afraid to see
Blame and guilt, volleying right and left, up and down
It's crashing me closer, with every step, I'm falling to the ground
It's all a game, just play along, play the game, play it well
Brimming confidence, dissolved in thoughts, of what? I won’t tell
Demons, devil born souls, run quick, run fast, stand my ground
No sense of fear, n sense of foreboding, not even a slight sound
High speed, pursuit of hell, bent on going, bent on crashing
Giving into the power, life's faster, lights flashing
Crash and torment me again, my eyes close after all
The beginning of the end for me, feeling numb after the fall
Is there a way out? I'm different, distant and moved on
Listen to the water, calling, coaxing into death, I'm gone
Endless, empty cloud; dreamless oblivion; oxygen, exhalation
Am I dead? Still alive? Broken into pieces, I need motivation
Reality closes in, walls me in; until there’s nothing there
Death comes behind me, containing a blank stare.
Walking away might be the most hardest things for a man to do,
you cant even imagine what that feeling can do to you.
Falling flat on your face would be better than to look shameful,
even walking around naked around the streets would be cool.
But like any story in life goes, there is always that one person that will help you get back on your feet and walk again.
No matter how much you fall, no matter how much you stumble upon a struggle, that person will be there with you till the end.
Give love and thanks to this person who never leaves your side and helps you put a smile on your face everyday.
When the day comes to an end and you know that the person has to go, all you can wish is for your special person to stay.
Mine has walked away on me,
I was so blind that i couldn't see.
She wanted everything for her self, for me to change and be what she wanted me to be,
but i had to let her go and never see this person again, cause it would only be worse in the end.
Writing this is more painful than getting your body tattooed,
writing this is more painful than getting over screwed.
Writing this is more painful than words,
writing this is more painful than razor sharp swords.
No matter how much you try to let it out it just wouldn't come out,
the pain is way to deep and its almost like its tattooed on your bodies gout.
haven't i been hurt enough in this world, i just don't understand why i am being treated like this,
is it cause i am better than you and have nothing to look forward too but my blue and black handkerchief?
The cut was way to deep my dear, you just cant imagine,
i have been cut and bruised for the last time, i can promise you that.
No one will ever touch this body or hurt this soul ever again,
if you wish to try so, go ahead and check it, but before that go ahead and get yourself a casket.
‘ Generous Words … ’ 18th Senryu
Love … is A Give-Word
God … is A Generous Word
Forgive … Says It All
Alluring are all these things in life in
which one may become fond in
Calling upon all to climb up on their
own stage; free will regardless of
When it comes to receiving nothing
in life grants you knowledge more
than does reading
Engage in life to gain experience this
sets up a phase, be your own sage
Those of you who can come to
understand now is the time climb
up out of the sand
Tuning into one’s own inner yang,
requires one to hear the bells when
Believing that you sit in his right
hand one comes to realize that life
It all depends on the choice of
words which you cling they display
the song you sing
The Creator always comes to your
aide, no matter your individual
A clue to each and every perversion
exist inside all culprits arson
The sound of the first grenade is the
signal to the enemy; begin the raid
The soul is the intent to blacken in
the words discharged by these evil
In there attempt to acquire all
things delicious they embrace the
If one does want to recognize their
spin, all you have to is see how they
Why they stay so furious, their will
belongs to all things they find
Failing to see their despicable yin
leads all down the path of
There will be way far too few able to
pay the bill on the last day it is due
After relentless tearing your soul
will continue its everlasting searing
After you realize that there has been
a coup you will not all be able to sue
Tortured and tormented you are
now filet and sauteed burning
***** For the "Word Game
Contest" sponsored by Catie
She's running toward the light.
She's chased it all her life.
She wants it all to end so bad,
But she will never reach salvation.
She sold her soul.
He tricked her.
The master of deception.
She thought he wanted more,
More than just her mind,
But that's all he wanted,
To put strings attached.
She has to break free,
Before he comes.
She must cut the strings,
Pull them apart.
But she doesn't know how.
She cuts her wrist.
She thinks she just reached salvation.
But she just let him forever have her.
She completed the deal.
She shed the blood.
She killed herself.
Now the light goes out,
And she's all alone.
She starts to cry,
Then she hears footsteps.
He's come for her...
rain drops due cause the dew thickens
in the morn light barely flicking, misting
crickets stop in thickets and listen
stillness of the moment sundials ticking
presence of the motion constantly spoken
loads of odes a la mode left open
soaked in a coat my hope approaching
light broke I awoke and eloped with odin
my lips sealed no promises broken
mind in a frenzy, excited for devoting
more meaning in the fire, desire is stoking
lines that humble me, released emotions
spiritual language, balanced ascending
challenge amending, talented bending
of words I've heard or purged for an ending
my muse eludes to conclude I'm attending
A muse never inspires me,
does she really exist?
I rely on the inner voice
more believable than others,
even less confusing and more encouraging;
one will get the profoundness of feeling
when surrounded by certainty:
laying down to dream, not to rest!
Who's been engulfed by false inspiration?
Don't be too hasty for any deception
that offers the illusion of greatness...
consider every idea that tackles;
be smarter than a salesperson,
or more alert than a new visitor in town...
rely on that confident, inner voice
when truth is the only choice!
The snow shining so bright from the reflection of the night moon in the winter sky
My mind drifts wondrously back into the past
Remembering so vividly of you looking so intently deep into my eyes
And thinking of how we thought what we had would last
We would hold each other ever so tight
Whether it was over the phone or we were with each other right there
During the day or deep in the night
It didn't matter cause we had one another, so we did what we had to do and took it at that
without a care
Laying wrapped up side by side I could hear your heart beating along with mine
Those feelings neither one of us could completely hide
Those moments forever captured in time
Seems our thoughts of us lasting back then however, were wrong
So we had said goodbye and tried so hard to move on
But although hiding what I felt for you worked for awhile, I've been in love with you all along
True love never dies nor is it ever completely gone
I'm here in this place with all my regrets and misery
It all runs so extremely deep hitting my heart hard and ravishing my soul
All I know is that I need you here with me
I know I need to regain, over myself, some form of control
I sit here and wait for you
Hopeing each day, what I'm saying here, soon you may come to realize
Yes I do this partly because this is what I choose to do
But also because it's never ever too late and sometimes, to get it right, it takes many tries
I write my words within these poems upon paper, they are so truly how I feel
Here on these pages are what, to you, I still need to say
In some small way they kind of help me to somewhat heal
And they help me also make sure all my thoughts that are needing to be said
Don't get trapped, stuck, and lost within my head
And to insure that to you my words will find their way
there is both a time
and a place.
Leave your swollen sensations at your seats,
and please allow the door to hit you on your way out;
I can tell you need the kick.
Call it a funeral,
sounds like a carnival,
call it a funeral,
I call it a fun-for-all.
Often my thoughts do range far and wide.
But it’s not just my thoughts that skim the tides.
When my Hubby asks and I don’t reply…
He says I’m free ranging again with my mind.
He laughs and tells me to please wake up…
But I’ve already been there, thank you, so much.
Deep in thought and so far away,
He’s still my muse in every way.
But once I get going on that thought…
Look out boys, my mind is set and lost
But don’t you worry. No Sireeee.
When the typing slows you’ll know I’m back, you see.
Those free-range chickens have nothing on me…
I way surpass them in productivity.
And as my words free range far and wide
You’ll find… others may be joyfully joining me for a time.
Waiting for a response
Stumbling upon it for months
Fiddling with decaying words
Letting go of birds
Will I ever be let go
By troublesome guilt,
Fluttering and squealing with joy?
Waiting for an entrance
I try to break through it for years
But I'm shattered by denied words
I'm trying to find a path to go through
But...I'm trapped by the thought of you
A Writer’s World
“My life is not an open book, but the “highlights” speak louder
than the title that’s pure creativity: a careful design…not made by the web.”
Writers make the world a better place…
truth be told, how else could we escape…
from this madness in this world
I’m just runnin’ on faith.
This paper and pen lives so deep within…
can’t see myself livin’ life without them…
they ask how do you do that
and when I put it down
I hear them beggin’ me to come back…
I could go back, but if I went back
it’d take the black of the ink of the pen
that I use to think with and then…
I’d be an endless worry to them
with the red in my eye from the ink of the pen
I will edit rougher drafts through the laptop…
this is just the beginnin’ of when winnin’…
when winnin’ don’t give in to the redness in my eye,
to the pain when I blink samurai
and no lie I’m in war with the pen and the paper
that I’m usin’ to win with writin’ off these haters……
.come a dime a dozen don’t you know this…
glad I wasn’t!
Genius when winnin just can’t give in…..
sync with my lyrics so originique
holdin’ this pen so tight against this paper
no writer’s block….when winnin’…must think
so I’m gone ya’ll…..”Extinct
By: Aleasha Martin
How do you know?
Who tells you so?
Is it premonition?
One who forever butts in with song;
With the voice gone entirely wrong.
Do you reach for opinions of loved ones?
Would they inform you the talent you suspect is none?
Would you be mortified by truth.....?
If truth was sincere?
Or could you embrace the honesty you hear?
Would you regroup; or give in?
Would the fighter arrive telling you to win?
Is it even worth trying to continue.....?
Or is it only false hope that lies deep within you?
Are you a no trick pony.....?
With no chance, no passion, a phony?
But it does burn deep inside you.
Most times, the only friend to guide you.
It listens and makes you talk back.
Filters your senses, pushing you back on track.
You need no affirmation.
Only self adaptation.
When the voice inside you fails to love and guide you,
Release the headaches of self doubt.
Let you figure you out.
Because when those in which you’ve confided all depart,
You are the one left with aspirations.....
Of the calling you failed to start.
The dedication of this journalist gem
Whose writing, brought down
Drug dealing men
Eire's Sunday Tribune
And Sunday's Business Post
Newspapers of note, for in them she wrote
But it was the criminal world
And her writings so splendent
That craved her to write for the Sunday Independent
This brave reporter put her life on the line
To reveal to her country
Their drug filled slime
To avoid libel
Pseudonyms she chose
To protect the paper, from legal blows
Drug dealers uncovered
Showing their ill gotten gains
Irrespective of lives and families pains
Threats turned to visits, firing shots at her home
To deter her uncovering
In her investigative roam
Three months later she was shot in the leg
But the dedication of her
Thousands of newspapers were read
Near Newlands Cross
On the outskirts of Dublin
On a motorbike, two men with a gun
At a traffic light junction
With a Magnum .357
Ireland's Journalist Jewel, was taken to heaven
The name of this gem
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the
criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "
On this parchment
I am forced to write
That of which I cannot speak
On this oh so delicate paper
I am enraptured
by my under lying thoughts
On this meager piece of material
And this once sharp pencil
I try to express the deepest of emotions
On this once blank loose leaf
That I now read to it's fullest
I find that though I wrote about nothing
On this one piece of parchment
About nothing at all it seems
Is full of something you feel, not just see
"and don't forget the pretention"
everyone nodded along as
the first line Hit
cut w-/ Posh .. chugging
stars , throats end to end slit.
Schemes o'er everything
I realise now that you need
these 'things' ,
imaginary or other wise. Anything
to keep the Belief that
Life is worth living.
By their ridiculous Forgery
to emphasise insubstantial shapes , mutilated
text , colour & breathing connecting Heart
to Pen under strict obligation
to remain Nonsense
Above seperate Action.
I just want to be Honest
o'er the vicious Cycles of Trend
inspiring by reflection
We replace real life as we all
like Motion Pictures
Lost within Code
he might be you or me Beating
the walls as we try
out these twillight eyes switching o'er
to Terra's Remote viewing
zoom ignites thy Bone's hollow Fractures
happening, pure & simple , we errode
in a sudden glass moment ...excuse me
& my obvious slander .. Keeping it real may soon dismay
at a pulse of Cheekbones ; Paper artic traces flickering on
nervescreens before our pristine chords reciting
"Nobody's story" revolving round
nothing really ... simple words.
Oh Lord its so clear
All Places & All Times
its just us
trying to make faces in the sky....
and scream no more dropping
your daily optic reset calibrating
Our CCTV standard view
declining to smash utterly as Minute
prevent such ink immediate
between Mind & Matter ,
Powdered Charcol , meaning the whole
Legal Judgement satisfied
Logic there in
Personal reasoning & Multi - simplicity
Leftscreaming up the curb
you were just walking by... Society's Needs
cackling inhuman . Adverts scattering w-/ only One
Purpose rocking aby sentence.
Cast Calm to Create.
I have invited Shauna Allebach to a date to my table to drink wine,
She picks my flagon of rare ales and pours herself a glassful of wine,
Sweet lips hanging from her wine's glass's tip ,I'm so confined,
I see her creativity in a new design,
To my thoughts i resign,
Seeing intelligence in display on her every storyline,
"For iron sharpeneth iron" a true sign,
So true as "Saxon" eating swine;
My arms akimbo,
My salient mind in limbo,
Anthony Edmond John picks up his quail, ink and this page,not a stumble;
Two sheets have I crumbled,
Still piecing together words to qualify M.Shauna Allebach,
For its for this genius i organise this praise rumble,
Our minds entwined making me humble,
My hands on this page see them fumble;
I see you at the top no wonder,
Never let naive minds put your creativity asunder,
Nor let negative souls your inner you they plunder,
I give it up you! let the world feel your creative touch as a peel of thunder,
My darling, never forget Man with his blunders,
Be focused never look yonder,
Remember your pact as a literary saint,
In shades of gold do I adorn and bejewel you,
My crowned POETIC QUEEN.
...A poem dedicated to a character named Koreen Mae Garson (a lady, not a man)...
Your love smokes me like a worn-out cigarette
Your love blemishes me with bite marks
You brush aside the crumbs…now I’m stomped on all over again
Your hugs are constricting like a serpent
Your hugs loses its passion…my fury vigorously sparks
You abandon me cold-bloodedly, now I choke in harsh punishment
Your treachery strangles me…you don't consider my screams of importance
You snatch away my humility and leave me with the crumbs of shame
Your arrogance plants a grave in me…you don't notice that I desire your radiance
You ditch me with senseless remarks and you make me feel game
You ruin my modesty
You stole away my heart’s virtue
You bruise my sustaining dynasty
You complete me with rue
Your conceitedness intoxicates me…
Your arrogance underwhelm thee…
You unscramble my remains and insert me with the liquid of corruption
Your self-confidence leads me to never-ending fate…you disregard my joy
You handle me with maltreatment/enchantment and smudge me with your provoking expression
You crushed me with your cunning plans, now you made me hunt after my prized boy
Your hatred penetrates me with lush, crooked trace
You swap me onto the floor, now I’m smashed into smithereens
Your smiles lose its splendor...your enlightenment gains disgrace
You disown me carelessly…now I spilled your moldering beans
You’re imprisoned by the chains of infuriating heat,
Feeding off the crumbs of deception
It is not that I love you less
When first my lines of heavenly Joyes
through regions farr divided
see with what simplicity
see! With what constant motion
Philosophers have measured mountains
Man, dreame no more of curious mysteries
Oh wearisome condition of humanity !
Oh might Nothing ! Unto thee
O Joyes ! Infinite sweetness! With what flowers
Must I then see, with what busie heart
Heare mee, O God!
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares
Busie old fool , unruly sunne
Absent from thee I languish still
O sweet and bitter monuments of paine
Out upon it , I have lov'd
Sweet day , so cool , so calm , so bright
where do these voices stray
like to the falling of a starre
Poet and Saint ! To thee alone are given
A ward , and still in bonds, one day
All my past life is mine no more
How vainly men themselves amaze
dazel'd thus with height of place
Here lies wise and valiant dust.
There were clouds from the sky
To be a little darker then before
Some thoughts in sacrifice to deny
The ever mist in darken haze to recall
And the walked path was an unsheltered one
He who bears the weight of unnoticed vapour
Should be realized to have unflustered thoughts come undone
For he who thinks will thoughts be flooded lesser!
That be pure and impure to see
For a path of evil may well be a course to undertake
To understand the substances of purity
To then walk perhaps the dream-fill path in wake
As the rain becomes heavier in turn
It only meant for the routes be harder to view
To be drench toward a point of no-return
Guess not the unseen road but be sure of surreal!
Mayhaps an after-rain be of rain an after
To share the affair and to embrace as one… the unknown
And to walk is the path already be taken forever
Yet the rain, hasn’t me to recall of those being shown
Able bodies come..
dig .. excavate.. find gold..
how I jumped..keep looking..
ore... picks..quick rising
settlements.. tents.. Unbelievable..
Vigilantes.. Worries... xenophobic..
what from the founder Aesop fell
vital spark of heavenly flame
unto my thinking thou beheld'st all works
Who ever weeps somewhere out in the world
A dream of Venus
let nothing disturb thee
music first and foremost of all
Mystical Strains unheard
No, I am not, as other are
since I am convinced
hoping all the time
I arise from dreams of thee
Here , Where the world is quiet
For many thousand ages
Break Break Break
Far as Man can see
lest you should think that verse shall die
A Thing which fades
I found at daybreak yester morn
low on chromed cloud
open to me
Remember what past
Pity! Mourning plaintive tone
Since I am convinced
That time , I see you passing by
Thou art one , The first of every number and foundation of every structure
Break Break Break.
‘ Uni-Verse ’ Haiku # 11
Oh, What Universe
What Grand Word, Did God Speak First
... Gave Beginning – Birth !
Now ... tell me the truth at 80 spaces .
Oh yes monthly at no extracted cost ,
trumpet swans announcing "All-New" "Chases"
... Gameshow w-/ only purpose " Just stay lost".
scratch that ... start at the count ... three Faces.
flicker on screen , once more , spider webbed frost.
Pulse of cheekbone ; paper Artic traces ...
Hailing to the Fanatic's RoseArm crossed.
... Why just imagine , All times // All places ...
Daydream reality clearly embossed
by Our pristine chords reading "All's Debased" ...
Job to do ... hands join ... Avert as off tossed
I may stain ... lip gloss ... gulp of life wasted.
All Presents, Our Situation Hostage .
withpen in hand awake, apparations of immortality
consumed inward. This straight heart's delight
yelling Tiny Nicaragua's a big threat
to undernourished Mexico.
By common sense , common law , common tenderness
& common tranquility I want to know what
happens after I rot.
shooting Gasoline electric speed ; empty soul'd
exploding at viaducts heavy bound and
manacled upon the City's Heart.
... Was that a shot ! backfire
or cherrybomb? jiggling yr knees there blankeyed
in the rain.
While each flower Buddha eye repeats this story
with teenage boys , The Red Police and grunts &
screams & shouts ...
... eyes , tongue and heart ...
theres' just too much to see ; world-wide
and full of money. Count yourself Greatness
in their pointy empire accumalating on the margin
with broken plumes of sensation. As
here naked in the dark , dreaming....
"I know you are
specially designed for this operation"
the man twisted as the Old Stories
streaked gold across the wall opposite.
When the lights went out a
moment later , touching his throat , like
a piece of ice dictating :
' Lies about Man's psychological &
"I know ; I wrote it , seldom happy
& junk sick" Laughter from
the Alcatraz of his eyes
asking someone for The Synopsis of ;
Flight , wordless.
Hate , an active verb.
Fury , the inside of a furnace.
cars or aristocratic
w-/ out figures
an ambigious image
it is easy to concede
behind barbwire fences.
...Years ago ; memory....
sober in the spotlight
are for once
cherished in a world.
just Hold you
a foreign face.
When You Really Discern…
‘Why The Drama?’ Pattern
When You Perceive…
Who Demands and Why?... Proceed…
… to Ply and Pry to Ascertain…
’ He Deserves This Portion-Acclaim’
and Drumming-Heart, Soulful-Desire…
and Defer-Strength to Dry-Pyre
and Humble-Pie, Donated-Data –
in Your Plea-Bargain-Brain- Por-Nada
Disperse the Diaspora
Prefer Real-Deal and Retain Prerogative-Honor
To, The Divine and Peerless…
Person of God – of Pure-Spirits
… Whose Personage Positively…
Remains Due-Homage and Dignity
Of The Direct-Pact - Empirical
Drawn and Done,
with His Precious DayStar-Son,
Who Deigned to Come
by The Father’s Decree…
Was Dispatched with Poise-Prudently
as Probe and Provision…
for Our Poverty and Pleurisy-Drain-Derision
He is The Pivot-Portrayal of Royal…
of Dazzling Famed-Piety and Propriety!
The Possessor and Presenter
and The Permission-for-us-to Speak and Palace-Enter
This Potentate Happy One...
Proof-Explained and Patent-Won
Delving Mysteries; Described Memories;
Drawing Forth Miracle-Draperies
and In Deference…
As A Pro-Dative – Proconsul-Presence…
He Maintains Preference
and Displays: That, The Dynamic-Will…
and Determined-Purpose Still,
Definitely, is Top-Priority…
One… and The Preeminent-Same… Pardon-Plea
He Is The Presiding – Deciding-Door-Key…
Precisely! - Praise-Accordingly!
For We Are Wind-Swept, Droves of Dust…
Dirt and Air-Gusts,
Now, Plundered-Seeds… Still-Planted…
Packed to Earth, Properly-Contained and Patted
if We Continue to Divide…
Disfigure, Pilfer and Hide
From SonShine, then in Dirty-Prairie…
We’ll be Permanent-Lain- and Perjury
If ‘We Choose’ to Develop…
Too Low-Down, to Peel-Hope
The Preview, We’ll Not Regain…(We Deserted!)
Its Our Duty and Delight…
to Reach Dawn-Heights
and Par-Policy: Dump Rotted Produce…
and Pitch-Pit-Grain- Pro-Ruse
Circuitous circular departures cleverly Sequester and
embrace Inexpressible moments of time.
Reexamine status, prevent consciousness apathy,
fabricate and reflect acceptance of self.
precisely propose to expose fallaciously filtered
fantastical trickery touched theories.
Turn tasteless translucent tall tales into stable, sturdy,
structured strands and threads of reality.
Penniless pocketless Poets put the points paralleled
and placed above onto pure white pieces of paper.
Once they find the ramble in their role they carefully
command,Clever creative content to appear from thin vapor.
Amusement, bemusement, a resplendent daring drawn
out dark dance down a solitary diabolical descent.
Lingering Layers let love live in a finely spun web of
lazy, lofty, lyrical linguistic letters; lost lurking spiders cant
reach the heights that sadness fled.
Poets are pros, pronounced proponents, that precisely
reconstruct a feelings components that fails to leave any
audience in a stoic state of stoney discontent.....
Though they tirelessly endeavor to gain a fans approval
and respect, they fail in fortunes favor.
Yet each day they commit make their art
when most would be right to quit.
Anyone can become a pro poet,
you can tell we are devoted, though it should be noted
if that's the readers intent, not a paid pro among us can
come close to turning our
thoughts into rent!
The constant aching of deep despair
A cutting sword to the novelist’s pen
Mythical creatures are no match for this legendary obstruction
The chaotic stillness proof of the battle inside a genius mind
The search for a word, phrase or rhyme
Ever reaching for that just beyond his grip
Literary collections are not of use
What is written is cemented, not to be moved,
The perfect sentence not his for the taking
He returns to the parchment
The ink drips from his quill
The dark spot is a new world for discovery
Oh, my sweet Soup sweethearts,
So much love you send my way.
How much more can a man ask for?
Sharon, Christy, Rhoda, Catie,
Farah, Renee,Sweet Ruby, Sue,
Patricia, Sandra, Carol,Karen,
Heidie, Elaine,Teressa, Trix,
Caryl, Vernette, Julie, Anita,
Bella, Laine, Susan Cousins,
Karen O'Leary, Melainie Ross,
Patricia Contreras, Judith, Bella,
Louise, Crystal, Melanie,Alexa
and all other of my poetic vixens,
wiser than men in many ways,
I love you all!!
While back to the head in the
Mountains become just another
comma ; diagram.
Caught by this flash....
Daylight surfing past my window ,
please to our begging. Sailing
out to record.
Rooms congealed w-/ smoke
as the last cigarette falls from yellow
fingers , a cough ignites the body ;
left ventricle collapse and the rest is...
Profit ... Mr billion dollar money suit
falling flat on his face. Punishment
always for the capital.
As LOGIC above
shoots this expected expression....
Excitement is running through my mind at this point,
It is hard to control so much
When something so honorable,
Happens to come across
For me personally,
It was the proposition
From a contest by,
World Poetry Movement
In which I entered in,
And received a letter back
Stating that my poem,
Had made it to the next level
But that is not all,
What's more is that they informed me,
That they were publishing that very poem
In a book titled "Stars In Our Hearts"
Which is to be published in August this year
I hope each and every one who happens to read this,
May read my poem "The Beat of the Heart"
In the book.
I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.
I feel my intellect in what I cannot understand.
I know by going where my heart and intelligence leads me.
We learn by doing. What activity is there to be started?
I hear myself jumping from eye to eye.
I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.
Of those helping me, who are you?
May God bless the Helpers! I shall give back to you,
And know by going where my heart and intelligence lead me.
A Letter is written on a Page; but who in the world may know what’s next?
The author goes on an imaginary dream come true;
I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.
Fate leads us into a whole world of unknown
For all who know, so don’t be afraid,
And, exceptionally, know by going where the heart and intelligence lead.
This dream supports me in a lovely manner. I must believe!
What goes around comes around. And is waiting.
I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.
I know by going where my heart and intelligence lead me.
Picking up my pen, I begin to pursue my purpose,
slaving away, I sacrifice subjects until I submit work,
suffice with a deeper surface.
Gaining growth and wisdom within my writer’s gravity,
I am grateful to gaze,
and watch as my words wonderfully unite
to whisper and shout in worthy ways.
Drawing artistic dreams,
I dictate and decide the next topic to describe,
whether venting anger or reciting vibrant value;
I aim to paint a victorious vibe.
Masterminding the masterpiece of matter and material
in a meaningful lyrical marriage,
I continue to contemplate and combine careful words
to convey emotion and courage.
Bountifully blessed with creative beauty and belief;
I became the poetical blacksmith,
fabricating fabulous fables
with a sense of fearless frailty forthwith.
I am amply able to inspire ambition and accordingly achieve,
with my notepad navigating toward noteworthy
after being notorious naïve.
I think therefore I am,
I write because I can.
For more poetry goodness visit www.checkmyflow.co.uk
God … Is The Greatest Poet of All
God … Is The Greatest Poet
God, Speaks … And Leaves Us In Awe
… Astounded and Author-Devoted ! …
Yea … We are Humbled and Thunderstruck
and Sublimely Mesmerized
on His Sacred Utterances … We Have Drunk
like Raindrops of Soft-Mercy-Cries …
… While Angels, Sing in Quicksilver-Skies
Even His Son, is Called: ‘ The Word ’ and Wise ( John 1: 1 )
and Every Will and Syllable, and Vowel, Which Rise
… Begins, with Wondrous Words, ‘ He ’ Vocalized
And His Words, Are Strict-Forms and Bright-Joy-Colors
or Sometimes, Warnings in Stark Black and White
Yet … Articulated in Glorious Auras
from He, Who Called, The Darkness … Night ( Gen. 1: 5 )
from ‘ He ’, Who Said: ‘ Let There Be Light ’ ( Gen. 1: 3 )
‘ He ’, Who Orated, Birds in Sun-Flight
‘ He ’, Who Orated Sounds, So Right
Spoke Words, Worthy of ‘The Copywrite’ …
… Like, ‘ Let Us Make Man In Our Image ’ … ( Gen. 1: 26 )
… and Humans, have been Echoing, Ever Since
For His Words Are More Than Vintage
They Are Epitome of Love and Law-Sentence
… Yea … We Emerged from God’s Epiphany
We Should Recite, What He Spoke First
in Such Beauteous, Lilting-Poetry …
… God, Spoke Forth ‘ The Universe ’ ! … ( Gen. 1: 1 )
… Called, The Dry Land, Earth ( Gen. 1: 10 )
Called, The Waters … Seas ( Gen. 1: 10 )
Pronounced Eve, Mother of Birth ( Gen. 3: 16 )
(tho’ She Stole at Speech-Trees) ( Gen. 3: 6, 13 )
Yea … God Called Forth, Flashes and Flowers
and The Breath of Life and Swarms of Honey-Bees
And with Dynamic, Inspiration Power ! …
God … Even Called Forth … me
… and You, and You, and Your Voice Too ! ( John 3: 16 & John 10: 16 )
And Refreshing-Dew and Dawns, Brand-New
And The Rare-Edition – Chosen Few ( Matt. 7: 14 & Matt. 22: 14 )
… Each Bound-Volume, Ringing, Amen-True ! ( Rev. 14: 5 )
Yea … God, Is The Greatest Poet of Them All !
So, Let Us Catch Each Poem-Pearl, in Free-Fall
and Collect Them and Gather Graciously, as They Call
to Conjugate and Climb O’er, Deaf-Mute-Stanza Walls
… to Applaud, The Greatest Poet, Ever and All …
It surprises me still, how devoted I am,
You're a form of religion, I will be your lamb.
To herd or to slaughter, or do what you will,
I'm yours for the taking, a vessel to fill.
I've found my addiction, but it's one that won't feed
On a liquid or tablet, but a different need.
For it's writing of you that's my ultimate vice,
And no matter the danger I'll pay any price.
It kills me that you are the prize I can't get,
For the moment at least, so I can't touch you yet.
And I hold you in my world of paper and ink,
But the pages are fragile, you burn and you sink.
they cry heavens light
for the sun has lost it's sight
untile the moon shines
Our family tree will never stop growing…our faith and comfort will never crumble
Love grows here…so have no fear—God is near
My family, though packed up with pride and low self-esteem, still appears humble
Mirth produces joy and our hope gives birth to cheer
God is our Father; who could play this role as skillfully? Who, other than God, created the world so genuinely?
Love comes from He…so scare away the anxiety—God will grant us ecstasy
My family, though packed up with hope and despair, cherishes my soul with glee
Rebirth and life comes from He and our faith should draw near to thee
"i love you sweet boy..we will have fun this summer and be a close and godly family..nighty nit my light"
This summer, I am positive that we will be a close and godly family
But we must be lights of the world…and we must be willing to finish that race of hardships to earn His dignity
By all means, we will have an enjoyable break without paying a fee
But we must be God’s faithful followers…and we must be prepared to follow our Shepherd who is the key
Of never-ending faith and comfort, nourishing us abundantly
He still exists…He unravels the insanity
Of this world and set us free from blasphemy
Watching over us with pure vitality
Give us Your water
Don’t leave us in the gutter
Listen to the words we mutter
I pray that our family tree will look up to you devotedly
I am the chief!
Your every wish
now lies within my grasp.
There will be no gradual
lessening of your temptation.
But feel free to keep this thought in mind~
I would never abandon you cheaply!
and Par-Policy: Dump Rotted Produce…
and Pitch-Pit-Grain- Pro-Ruse
It Was Due To Prior-Parent’s Vain-Disobey,
so They Diminished, That-Dare-Day…
and Passed Up The Palatable –
Course (so not hard !)
But They Failed to Avoid:
The Ditch, The Decline, The Devoid
They Deformed; Distorted…
and Perished, at Path of Disdain- Deported!
Prithee, Who Wants to See… A Dashed-to-Pieces Pottery?
Not even-Periphery-me!... It’s No Longer Picture-Pretty
Despite Protocol-Deficiency… ‘til I get a Decent Setting Plate
On Broken Dresden- my Pheasant-Dinner Won’t be Ate
And Now… Disorder of The Day…
is Devious, and Double-Dismay
… Disgrace, Depression…
and A Putrid-Depraved-Puke-Stain-Progression
Plunged into Disease and Death;
Some Plummet and Pose-Deranged-Stealth
and Picking Up Pride-Plagues- Still-Pandemic
from-Cain’s Prozac-Paddock … Pathetic !
Though, All Are Not Dissidents-Decayed…
Deteriorated … or Dastardly-Dross-Sprayed
Applaud- When Prodigal-Lost is Found,
and Those ‘Punching-Back-At-Pangs-Bane’ Pound!
By Adhering to The Dedicated-Drive,
of The Deft-Guardian-Defender’s Eyes
Who Points Where Our Polished-Pebbles’ Sling,
Dove(ing) Over to Dangle The Desist…
or Meet Thy Downfall Pretenders-Risk…
For We Pummel Problems…
and Dent and Pelt Puzzle-Plight-Chains (Pop ‘em!)
Definitive Deeds, Decorous…
Meant to Disable Dynamite Pipes-Porous
To Prevent Our Pulverized-Maim
and Proffer: A Predicament-Slain
Our Pilgrimages In Pursuit of Paragon-Virtue…
Must Make Distribution or Divesture:
the Property… of Pomposity
Pageantry… Profits and Desperate-Popularity
and don – Parsimony, and Penury,
Pariah, Pest-Control and Peculiarity
yet Pleasurably, we have heirloom-Pendants and Pence-a-Few …
and Pearl-Gates and Doubloons and Dew Drops Too
‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …
To the one that wrote who's quoted
Sipping java sung not noted
Others in lime being doted
Light they soke in dark you wrote it
Fate being fate you are poet /Rime Couee
I do not know?
Failure to plan on your part
Doesn’t mean an emergency on my part
That is what today over the radio I heard
And as sharp as an arrow in my heart it stung
Now it’s almost a month
Since on the boat of chance I jumped
...hoping for luck
I’d heard enough of my big dreams banging my head
Now here I am, so worried of what’s ahead
I know all about that positivity stuff
In fact I write about it trying to earn some cash
But man, how tough it is to live off art in this part of Africa
The society looks at me with suspicious eyes for they do not understand
I am a lone ranger in a range full of cons
I am a range rover in a range full of thorns
I try my best to improve my all
But always to reality’s end I fall short
Sometimes I wish to be back to the home that didn’t foster my hope
Sometimes I wish to be helped by the dad I’ve never known
But all the time life shouts upon me the reality that I’m alone
Oh, I know I gotta stay to fulfil my purpose
...but sometimes I wish I was gone
water in a canal
poetry to me
is a bundle of
ousting every moment
that you walk
your self in
thinking of another
for life and death
the power that is
in a time report
poetry to me
is expressing your
self in ways
that are familar
I do not know?
Be your own explorer and see for yourself.
There's lessons in all the world.
In each blade of grass, and each flower petal.
Flying off the tail of your coat,
Hiding creative bandages.
Papers full of words of life.
Packing out your dingy jacket.
And money is no object.
Life is so short and is so briefly lived.
That your out for living, trying to help,
And dying in the end.
Because your dreams were larger
Than yourself or even others.
You tried to save the world.
But it's flying off the tail of your coat.
As your riding into the sunset,
Hiding creative bandages.
Like papers floating in the sea.
You sail away. As your journey lives on.
On to the next person who needs our help.
On to the next person who's soul is gone.
Love is like the open ocean.
Your a drop of water in it's hand.
But someday, your journey, will end.
You'll find some sort of resolution.
Maybe, a pen in your hand.
And finally, return home.
You'll Leave the world,
Flying off the tail of your coat.
Hiding creative bandages.
That you've kept threw land and sea.
You've learned so much, throughout the years.
So drop it out into the world.
Your collection of creative bandages.
You'll show for all of them to see.
So Your journey may be said and done.
But you'll always have your dreams.
And those creative bandages.
That you pray will save the world.
I do not know?
Someone to run to,
Whenever I fall.
Someone who loves me,
Knowing nothing at all.
Sweet Goddess, Personification,
You’re not an abstract ideation,
So listen to this supplication:
“Love me, and my verse creation.”
This is where I come to bleed.
Where I leave my heart for you to read.
So many things in my heart to grieve.
But only one place it can come to relieve.
It's where my friends I've never met,
Yet, in their minds, my feelings I set.
You relate my fears. You see my love,
Even for that of my God high above.
I speak to you of the one I hold dear.
Whenever, for her, I'm shedding a tear.
Poetry and song in the world we fill,
Leaving it with an insurmountable bill.
Though in money and riches we do not bask,
A little of your time is all I ask.
Poetry soup is what soothes my soul.
It makes even the broken feel once again whole.
I write when I'm joyful. I write when I'm lost.
I write when the world has me beaten and tossed.
It's a medicine so potent we cannot perceive.
They're words that can make weak humans believe.
So to you the readers I am ever indebted.
It's a friendship I have not ever regretted.
A single, unnoticed ray of light
shooting across the sky at night
straight down to my head
in our conversations
it is, as it has always been
between the King and I.
He tells me what he sees,
and he feels for the unworthy
he cares for the damned
though he see the lies
that are fed from the lies
of the leaders
Return soon, brother in arms
return from the sea, comrade
walk upon the shore
or walk on water
once more for the doubters
the King knows all about us
alas, he has not returned yet
I will know that day
once, twice, more like seven times
to the exact the moment he's raised
Conquered by all of the hope
of your allies
the few that still dare to
believe in you
very same as the ones
who keep feeding you
in the outskirts of our realizations
the dreadful dreary dreamy illusions
The King best exists in the pretense
at the moment just before, your mind intervened
and cast in just a shadow of doubt
that spread rapidly far, and between
this now makes him limited,
now I have my chance
to pull the wool off the greatest wolf
the world shall break its trance
I am now your lord
I feel all the world
I am always yours,
I am so happy to see you again,
I wondered where you had been,
Only one problem there is,
We can’t go on like this.
I have to get some sleep,
You have to let me rest,
I don’t want to hear a peep,
I know what is best.
You come inside,
I have no place to hide,
There are rules to be made,
I will not be betrayed!
You have to listen to what I say,
Then maybe we can make it,
Through another day,
But this is a fact,
I am glad to see you back,
But never again,
Can we go through this and win,
One of us will have to go.
Now you are words And I am man,
You have the largest words in the land,
I am still smarter, I know how to think,
And no you won’t, drive me to drink.
You cannot consume me,
Like you have in the past,
Not if this relationship,
Is going to last.
So there you have it, in a nut shell,
And if you don’t like it, go to……
ring the bell!
you soup poets, so talented,
so expressive, so way above
have here a family dedicated
to the poetic form
but far more important-
you care for each other....
last time I felt like this,
was the love of my dear mother
I salute you all, I really do
and I'm very proud to be,
a PoetrySoup member new!!
you where to hold my hand
and look at me, my heart might
skip. I would look away, say
“The sky is lovely.” Yet there
are clouds covering the sky,
like I cloud my words meanings, for
in truth, I don’t think anything of the sky,
nor trees, nor flowers when I’m
with you. Only you. Therefore, I think
I need you, and like the
infamous poets before me, I will
attempt to immortalize you in lines,
and woo you with verse. If that should, however,
fail, I lose you to the wind, and men
yet to come, and without
you, I’ll be of the trees Orpheus
sings to, with somber branches and
lost leaves. I will talk and write of your
eyes, an electric, endless brown.
Of your voice, drifting in
the air and stopping at nothing
to please. Of your figure and grace,
destroying wills of men like the Sirens song,
yet thicker and more potent,
lingering like cigar smoke in the air.
Eventually, yes, my mind will move on,
but frozen in time would be my
emotions for you in these lines,
and if ever you need to feel loved,
you need only read.
If it where to work though, the
story takes a different path, which is
one I leave to your imagination.
An obscurity found in most love
stories. ‘They lived happily ever after,’
would, could, be us, where you to
dip your fingers (what gentle,
beautiful fingers), into the well
of my palm.
The choice then is yours then,
my lovely R------, what’ll it be?
The sun touches the mountain peaks.
O, what a time of morning !
Beauty is here for one who seeks,
here within God's adorning.
All awakes from the cold dark night
as the fog lifts from the scene.
The sun is raising mornings' light
as all here looks so serene.
Once again, I write at the wall,
this place where wonders abound.
Here, it is the things of God call,
now, with no one else around.
Within natures' sanctuary,
it gets no better than this.
Of distractions, I am wary.
so much I don't want to miss.
How constant and steady, our God
as sun's light bids all to rise.
Time not spent with Him would be odd;
our Creator, True and Wise.
Batman had Robin,
Abbott had his Lou,
Harvey had his rabbit,
Just as I have you
Like milk and cookies
Naturals together since times of yore
And our President Bill Clinton
Had his friend Al Gore
Like Peace and War
Tolstoy's famous book
And magazines so alike
Like "Life" had it's "Look"
I walk in nirvana
Unsure if this is true
And you can count on
A love forever for you
Let me tell yall a little sumthin bout me
I left my church to pursue my callin
forget soul searching God got me on the throne
so I'm spiritually ballin
Now I then seen the political numbers
so people doubted I can do it like Stephanie Rawlings
but check it I take orders from the 5 Star General
and I'm just a crucifixion away from meeting the servant
Now look, I been fallin out of his good graces
like Alicia Keys, praying for wisdom, knowledge,
and understanding so I stay on bended knees
and I'm just me no better than the next man
just lyrically gifted, Paul said we we're more
than conquerors so thats why I'm trying to get lifted.
I represent the 12 tribes of Isreal so I'm one of the
chosen few, but like you I'm still on the front line making solider moves
this here is the testimony and me I never feared danger
but still people wondering where I came from like Jesus in the manger
I tell em I been sent to witness not testify
live life till the last day
when the good Lord meets me in the sky
I am the invisible hand that guides your fingers
Before the thought has consciously formed
Your ears ring with the undertones of your muse
She speaks softly and you listen with your heart
A passionate story teller in short form and verse
Relinquishing every fragile emotion within this abyss
Of great pain and sorrow your words begins to bleed
All for the sake of protecting me
I am the child within
I am the adult that screams unfamiliar faith
One who is still
One whom you so eloquently embrace
I am the soul that whispers. no need to shout your name
I am the love you search for as you release old shame
A ghostwriter living inside a paranoid’s mind
Seeking and searching for that moment in time
I am your breaking point when all goes mad
I am the ocean that rides the tides into the sand
Sands of time, sands of stone
I am your ghostwriter that will someday
…Make you known
I do not know?
A word,fruit of poets paradise
With a touch of essence, he write his delight
of men,and all with sight
Men dreaming schemes dreaming hope
Hanging to that, gold as a rope
And his drown in waters of his desire
Desire,a blind leading a blind
its looms touches the mind
it's as a light as a fire
the winds of winter have
blown you towards distant harbor.
Fast. one two andyouwere
gone. but doubt the fact that your
trek was consuming I do
You have stood through
piercing winds, battered your chest,
ripped your legs- but your
hands were never touched- you
placed heel to heel, slowly reaching
stone tablets, lifted your hand to chin
and found a good place to
The good city- will be good
to you. they will embrace your ink,
and consume every word dripped
from your pen. A mark of
valor sketched into stone, whispered
among connecting winds- implosion
of particles still remaining.
They will then
introduce you to the world you once knew. a
world you once knew well. but it will
not be what you recall.
Your words will bring
them back (a glimpse into a world
before their time) and make them
still fight, make them still yearn for
the right to be free.
The blackened skies have
blessed your ink with solemn
voice. let it be heard.
the people will listen. will follow.
May the four winds blow
you safely home, Mr. Poe. we’ll
My beloved father died
about six years ago
We were "joined-at-the-hip"
or were told that so,
When he died,
I kept getting his
credit card bills,
They grew impatient
for his ability to pay was nill
I got tired of trying
That he wouldn't be signing
anymore checks again
So to one and all
I requested a form
A change of address...
What could be more norm?
I filled it out, new address:
Calverton National Cemetery
Area Z, plot No.2540
And from that day,
No credit card bills
Did pass my door!
Another true tom tale.
I do not know?
Everyday about the same time
We'd pass each other on the street,
staring deep into the others eyes
day dreaming of a way to meet...
Would we tell one another lies
because most mistakes are made in haste
but our vows are the compromise
that keep our wedding rings in place...
making love in each others minds
the thought of it makes time stand still
our shoulders brush and at the same time
I breathe in deep to take my fill...
could you and I lead a secret life
or maybe we could just be friends
but today I think I will just say hi
and tomorrow we'll make love again...
E ncrusted amidst sensation,
L ust, and temptation,
U rged towards frustration,
S uddenly back to elation,
I ntangible desperation, hence
V eneering mystification...
E nticing words of vocation,
Pen with motivation…
Pen with relaxation…
I wish people would quit picking on my sister. She is a wonderful writer and I know her
work is dark and creepy but that is who she is. She writes to entertain and to take you
places that make you uncomfortable. If you read her poems and you get the chills she has
done what she set out to do! If it creeps you out to much then when you see the name
Illyanna De La Keur then don't read it. This is a place where we all can demonstrate our
creativity and I would hate for her to remove her work and quit writing. Illyanna is a
writer that is an acquired taste and if not for her and my other sister I would never have
explored my own talent so please lay off on telling her to change her subject matter.
Reaching into the quiet,
these last hours of evening.
They beckon one last look
at the all encompassing beauty about me.
So reminiscent of the One,
the One who put it there,
and all I can do is write.
I write the praises that echoes my hearts’ song.
As the rain misted cloud hovers
so low over the valley,
Jesus, I am reminded of you my Lord.
As I am under the Shadow of Your Wing
and comforted by Your abiding Presence,
what I see about me slips into
the inevitability of night-
but no matter
I wrote this while listening to Vineyard Worship leader
Brian Doerkson sing ‘Refiner’s Fire’ and looking out over
the valley at a place I love to write
Poetry is thought
Turned into words
Where many can read
Not many will have heard
But the spread of writes
Our poets words
Once someone has read
Then someone has heard
This poem is written
For the Poetry Soup pens
Our family of members
Every single one a gem
The family was seeking my acceptance.
Dad told me, his family is very nice,
And he is reserved kind of person,
I was also delighted, he was quite smart.
The day came, he booked a carriage,
To pick me as a bride from the Church,
We had a round in the town and went off,
To attend a celebration, where it was arranged.
My dad presented me a brand new car as a gift,
After finishing the party, we had a honeymoon booked,
We were very happy for this arranged marriage,
My dreams came to touch my sleepy beauty.
I have seen a strange and burning body,
Flames were exciting me and my feelings,
Realised a peace song that was delivering,
A cool and I were nearly nearly exhausted.
When he came, he was a little drunk,
When he touched my body I melted as ice,
I thought, he will enjoy me whole night a sip,
I was strange as I was lying in a pool.
‘ A Poet Goes To War … ’ ( Josh. 23: 10, 11 )
A Gentle-Poet … Goes To War
Oh … How Far … How Far … How Far …
Did You Push A Tender Heart
before Poet Finishes, What You Start ?
Just Like That Musician, Shepherd – Boy
whom a Lion and Bear, Dared Annoy ------ 1 Sam. 17: 37
Trying to Steal Some of His Precious Sheep
Poet, Showed Them … What’s His … He Keeps !
And That Same, Brave-Poet Went To War
Against Goliath’s Insulting, Roar ! ------ 1 Sam. 17: 45 – 51
… But With just One Pebble Fling
That Poet’s, Sling, Thru All Of Time … Rings !
And If A Wise-Poet Goes To War …
That Poet … May Wound and Scar ------- Acts 7: 54, 57
For Words, Gouge Deeper Than Stones
Pen’s Mightier Than Sword … Cuts Clean To The Bone !
But, You made Poet … ‘your’ Foe, with Mock-Chimes
The First Thought … Just Give Them, Calm-Down-Time
But, Know … This Poet Thrives … Behind Enemy Lines
Forgiving and Wishing, God-Giving, Words-Divine !
‘Cause When Peace-Loving-Poets… Go To War …
‘We’ … Must Travel by: The Bright Morning Star --- Rev. 22: 16
and Wait on His Orders … His Way
and I’m Cautious … Like ‘The Commander’ Says … -- Matt. 10:16
So, Before you feel The Need To Spar ---- Zeph. 2: 2, 3
Before… Big Poets … Have To Go To War ---- Genesis thru Revelation
… Know That Such Poets … Are Word–Warriors
… Don’t Make ‘em Go Off … on ya’ !
‘Cause you Won’t Survive … The Tongues of Fire ---- Acts 2: 3, 4
( or The ‘ Lake ’ Either … If You Live Like A Liar … ) --- Rev. 21: 7, 8
Gon’ Wind Up, Locked Behind Abyss’ Bars
… For Making ‘ Poor-Poets ’ … Go To Wars ! ---- Matt. 18: 6
Sometimes this world is as non-descript
as the very lives we oft times
choose to live.
Then God comes down and hovers over-
His breath divine becomes our cover.
As we then look up and see through
The skies open up from above and pour out
His Life, His Love,His Grace from above.
The world is then no longer non-descript,
For we shall have seen
I do not know?
From the Greek Charis = gift, grace, favor, charm
A name for the gratuitous gifts of the Holy Spirit
As they are described
For example in Corinthians 12:6ff
The gift of healing
Speaking in tongues and
The gift interpreting them
Firmness in faith and so on
Also included are the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit
My eyes are hungry,
like a ravionous beast
To eat the words up
like a tasty treat
no matter how much i read
i just dont seem to get enough!
i try to take my time with it...
but my eyes just gobble them up
romance and more
i read till my eyes blur
or till my head is sore
the hours fly by
paled and insignificant
but who really cares
when the world your living in
is so vastly magnificant
adventures your in, they never end
with prince charming at your side
or stuck on an island
because your plane crashed and you almost died
you walk into to a library
and heave a sigh
a choice has to be made
but its yours to decide
I do not know?
If you are white, God loves you.
If you are black, he loves you too.
He loves you if you're Asian, Mexican or an Indian.
God loves all races, he loves everyone.
God loves you and he loves me.
He loves all of his children equally.
Adam ate the apple
he wanted to judge for himself
and we are all his children
Judgements of the judges
the wise judge all things
it would be wise not to judge at all
those who judge will be judged
to judge our very nature
some will judge angels
and how can we judge angels
when we cannot even recognize the devils within
if we profess to recognize devils then sin
how is it that we can judge ourselves worthy
to inherit the kingdom of heaven
into the fires again, Oh man
if we inherit the Kingdom Of Heaven
what will we do when we get there
and how is it that you do not know
we are home
O Lord, to you, I come today;
Fruits of my lips, I bring;
Hymns of praises, to you, I sing;
In lonely tears, I pray.
Yet worthy not I am, I ask
Have mercy on my soul;
Lord, despise not my every call;
‘Tis life, to you, I trust.
O Lord, to you, I come today;
Keep me, from vanity;
For in peace, where I longed to be;
In lonely tears, I pray.
Beyond Imagination where hope exist
Lies the hand of God's list
Unconditional love is the gift from heaven
Dreams we share is only daven
Far away through cloudy skies
God's Love will grows and never dies.
A promise will be made from the heart
Heaven and Earth will never be apart
We kneel down each day and pray
So God Smile on us Everyday
A writer’s quest is not one of impressing,
Not one of over doing,
Rather one of purest communication.
A writer’s quest lives within,
In hearts, in thoughts, in souls,
Feelings become words,
Depth is spread on paper.
A writer’s quest is not always easy,
Always wonderful and rewarding,
But as a writer I am dedicated,
As are all other writers bound,
To fulfill this arduous quest!
I do not know?
Many Christian communities on earth call themselves churches
According to the Catholic understanding
Only those in which the sacraments of Jesus Christ’s have been preserved
In their entirety have remained “Church”
This is true especially of the Orthodox and
In the ecclesial communities that resulted from the Protestant Reformation
All the sacraments have not been preserved
I do not know?
A record of a secret document
Embedded in my memory
Threatening to open
My feelings to the world
And I will keep it clandestine
Waiting for you to furiously
Copy down, word for word
The essence of my emotions
Many Days should speak, and multitude of
Years should teach wisdom, I said. But
There is a spirit in man: and the inspiration
Of the Almighty giveth him understanding; therefore,
No prophecy is by the will of man, but holy men of
God speak and write the word as they are moved By the
Unction of the Holy Ghost for the edification and
Exhortation and comfort of those who will hear and read.
I do not know?
To show you that i live to be true
here is what im willing to do
I will for sure you there's no mountain to high to climb
I will talk and never walk out on any situations
I will love you not just physical but spirtually
I will take two moments of my time and give you one
on a daily
I will for sure you that we will make it
through any task or storm
I will be your backbone when your strength feels weaken
I will pray with you any place time or day
I will for sure you that my love is true
Do you feel that there's anything else left that
i should do or say
The everlasting presence of elegance
Is distributed through the artistry's vein
In which creativity flows
Never to run dry or begin to drain
Because a mind poetically inclined forever brings rain
That downpours forevermore
Outlined experiences lyrically sane
Whether recited or written
Words are interweaved in position to birth lyrical precision
That started with action of the purest passion
Movements from a left to right direction
Causes an erection
Released freely on blue lines carefully straightened
One on one love making
So that the ritual of spiritual cadence is never forsakened
Thoughts caught in times rushing path
Crashes against shallow interpretations on a daily occasional
Basis is consistent like delivered rays from the mother sun
As long as the world has spun
Millions of years, through oceans of tears
Thousand of miles of smiles
Still my quest will have just begun
The practice is sacred
The dialect is purposely presented naked
Full vision of view must be at use
Total truth is my language in which I choose to speak to you in
Proof no whiskey could bottled
Contents of substance no one beast can swallow
Only ongoing tomorrows
The comings from the grains of my sand......
I have always dreamed
of making it as a writer
that is what I'm good at
that is how I express myself
is through writing
I dream of making it big
becoming a famous writer
make everybody happy
that is what I do
and I love it.
I do not know?
When your heart grows weaker and you no longer want to fight,
And the hounds are howling, a struggle in the plight,
Remember, Hope is in the future, the outlook is bright.
When feelings of insecurity quickly begin to grow,
And your spirit is at an all time low, consider this even though,
Hope is in the future, this I do know.
Sadness surrounds me, life is so unclear.
My hands tremble and am always filled with fear, although I must adhere,
Hope is in the future, the target is near.
The army grows stronger little will to fight.
Everyone has their own wrong and right, but I know with all my might,
Hope is in the future, with faith not sight.
Summer is not eternal winter will come.
No mortal can comfort what damage has done.
Hope is in the future through Christ God's son.
Encourage one another
and promote each others work;
help them if they're struggling
nurture all their worth.
Advocate or contribute,
stimulate their minds;
Recommend a sponsor,
to assist, support or sign.
Foster them or forward them;
publicize and popularize,
all will help to plug;
every piece that warrants it,
returned with such a hug!
Minutes turn to hours,
as the clock ticks onwards;
still the paper before me
remains crisp, white – untouched.
My right hand is now cramped,
from it’s gripping my pen
and the notation on my pad,
slowly bringing alive my thoughts.
Every scribe I write becomes structured,
I stop to think before every word;
look back over what I have written,
disjointed, yet I know it all.
A play on my script,
tweaking here and there.
Informing every thought I record,
bringing brilliance for my virgin page.
Words form sentences,
pictures are painted; a masterpiece of art,
breathing life to my work,
to be realized by many.
I transfer my scribe,
to my neat sheet waiting.
Ink flows smoothly, a pleasure to see.
Release washes relief over my tense form.
Midnight strikes, not long left now,
before I can lay my pen to rest
and bid ‘Goodnight’,
to another fulfilled and worthy day.
Somedays you bounce high,
Somedays you barely rotate once.
Sometimes you even get a flat.
But the trip is a long one, And
chances are good you'll get what you want,.
Maybe not all, but a sizeable portion.
Life is a compromise
My only advice is to keep a portion of yourself,
set aside, with no sharing. This is the pure magic in
you, incapable of being hurt or disappointed, It is your refuge
when the ravages of fate strike..
When once again you experience the heartbreak
of disappointment at the hands of others you had trusted and/or loved....
Just remember, keeping a little something of yourself, to yourself,for yourself,
well guarded, does not mean you can't intereract pleasantly with
others. The Soup has the 'Cream Of the Crop"- talent, intelligent, insightful.
People I am proud to be associated with.
If our Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour, were alive today;
He would then diligently be teaching us how to pray;
He would have penned beautiful haiku & senryu & rhyme;
Not the elegy of life, or the A.B.C. of crime.
But haiku, about the birds, the fish, and wonder nature;
The senryu, about mankind, being stubborn and un-pure;
And the hearty rhyme of His peace and love, be the armor
Of faith, for those who long for eternal grace, evermore!
His poetry would be the New Heaven and the New Earth,
And in His holy Church would be the promise of re-birth;
If our Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour, were alive today;
He would then diligently be teaching us how to pray.
Yet, on this perverted Earth, He had opted not to stay;
Indeed, just for us all, from God, we would not be at bay!
I am non religious
And believer in God
But my guilt is that
I were born a human
And willing to act as a human
As nature provides me
All my necessities
Free at cost,
I never paid for a seed,
I don’t know
Who produced it?
And how long ago?
I know only a thing
Someone, who designed a human body,
Also build a brain to control it.
Is he known as a God?
Or is nature developed all?
For my care
For my happiness
For my human growth
Air, Sunshine, River, mountains,
Forest, animals, birds and planet
Day or night
Is a religion can produce?
Or just can divide only
For its separate identity
Or different belief in natural spirit
Why do I need a spirit?
So a human can purify its deeds
A person can differentiate to justify
Own qualities as good or bad
To examine a sophisticated approach
As an evil or a Devine
Recognition for mankind’s
Behaviour or attitudes
For welfare or betterment
For a living standard
As a human on earth
Not a God in Heaven.
I could say to you:
You are so beautiful to me.
Or something rather like,
You are the only one my eyes can see.
But to say such seems predictable,
True as they may be.
To really love, I would say,
Would be to think of something unimagineable,
But I read poetry every day of people who love one another
That sounds like complete babble.
Now, I could end this poem and say I love you
In a way that is not fictional
And my love would never stray,
But, would tht not be predictable?
You inspire me,
your the reason why,
You have made me see,
how fun it can be.
With out you I would not have begun,
your my number one.
It was as if you touched a switch,
my poems spinning in my head,
waiting to be read.
Waiting to be free,
you inspire me.
I can not thank you enough,
except to say the poetry I now write,
I dedicate to you,
not just to night, but for ever and a day.
for your inspiration,
I thank you in every way.
Truest as the love from the heart that beats from our breasts,
That the daughter of mine, Matilda, is sick to the wonders,
who lies stoned cold and emotionally depressed watching the skies
grow bluer and nature's green so bold as she lays to rest.
Her violet eyes, now to gray, tells that I can merely scarce the pain,
and as truest of the love that beats from the heart in our breasts,
that soul does crave a wondrous treasure that rings so
Bold but timid and yet it speaks all in rhymes.
She lips out the words, "Read me a poem just one last time"
And my fingers roam amongst a page,
So soft as I read, "Nothing Gold can Stay."
To you, my favorite Poet
I view you, as my sole comforter
You comfort me, with the beauty
Of your songs and verses
Written, by the power of your spirit
With love and passion; your work
Topped the best-sellers’ lists, a world record
I believe, no word travelers can break it
No matter, how best they tried
I really have no idea how you did it
But truly, you’ve amazed millions of readers
With your thoughts, calm as the sea at night
Bringing peace and hope, into their hearts
Thou, many of your so-called fans excelled
In their own writings, yet, they failed
To capture the brevity of your word
They, too, failed to unearth its mystery
Oh, by the way, I found a translation of your
Book, it’s in my 7th tongues---the Modern Greek
Left purportedly, by one of your procrastinators
In a wooden shelve, in the attic-room
Adorned with dust, but, when I blew it away
Voila, my life has changed, completely
A better life
That you, instantly, became my favorite poet
You, the greatest, of all time
Greater than any poets/authors, living or dead
Your masterpiece translated into different languages
…..for those who wish to learn your wisdom
Now, that you’ve shown me
The new life, with the strong guidance
Of your lovely rhymes and styles
Yours, I will, steadfastly, bind them
In my heart, forever, for without You---my God
There will never be me, your new born child
Nor, there’ll be poets such as Poe, Frost or Pushkin
If, you had not lend them, your silver quill
I do not know?
My heart everyday, in the Lord rejoices too
Because without Him, I wouldn't last a day
God wants all the time, to walk with me
In the Lord rejoices too, my heart everyday
Every morning when the sun glows, I open my eyes
And send all my praises to God above high
The Lord wipes all my tears away, yes, I know
I open my eyes, every morning when the sun glows
It doesn't matter to God and that's so, what in the past I've done
Jesus forgives me when I repent and then my sins are just gone
God is my loving Dad, and yes that in my heart I already know
What in the past I've done, it doesn't matter to God and that's so!
Dorian Petersen Potter
People's praise may persist
Before the perfection of
Promise and potential.
If you can't be a pine at the top of a hill,
Be a scrub,a little scrub by the side of the rill.
Be a bush if you can't be a tree.
If you can't be a bush,be a bit of the grass,
And some highway happier make,
If you can't be a muskie,then just be a bass.
On I Am Daniel
On I Am Daniel
AN Poet explanation.
If King Darius was speaking thus it meant that he was thinking of poor Daniel in
that cave and it could very well have come from him speaking to hisself to his
inner conscience and so the reader can decide to read this verse as if KING
Darius speaks it first…
My heart so troubled earlier and earnestly seeking deliverance is now at rest and
I can be blessed in every circumstance because I kept the faith of GOD a test but
not from him to us this test is testing no one least of all this Daniel. The lions do
Or Daniel Thinking?
And if the speaker now is DANIEL then self evidence assured
He was wondering out loud and marveling at his creator action that his creator
would deliver him.
When a person was delivering,
Leaflets door to door,
When a person was calling them,
For a demonstration,
When a person was on strike,
He was never supported by them,
When a person stands for them,
And asks them for a voice,
When a person was delivering a lecture,
They never care for him,
They were always busy,
Domestic matters were only their need.
They never care for candidates
They never care to vote them,
They never care for campaigns,
Always They remark, politics is n’t good.
When a flood made them homeless,
They opened their eyes and watched others,
They were waiting for their president,
They were asking what will he do for them?
Yes, I heard them when they said,
Politics and equal rights is our need,
A choice for a candidate is our need,
Society can’t develop without service.
I do not know?
This is what I’m facing
Constant thoughts pacing
As if they were racing
But I’m tasting
Writing poetry in 20 lines???
Not with this extra space that I’m wasting
But what’s wrong with this nation,
Limiting my poetic congregation
To decrease my lyrical fluctuation
That’s why many lines are vacant
Poetry readers are impatient
But they’re going to hear my poetic donation
Full of information
Of a poet’s fixation
To “Poeticize” this nation,
My poetic foundation
Comes from lyrical conversations
My limitations compared to yours is amazing
The mark of Jesus Christ is what I’m chasing
But thanks to me and my pen’s affiliation
This poet shall influence my Lord God’s creation.
When first the cold wind,
Blew to them, they flew away,
To dance under the sky,
To welcoming the clouds.
They sat on the air waves,
And made tops as peak of mountains,
Tired rose up with its joy,
Up and down to cuddle birds.
Sea, Bird and Air convey massage,
To the plants and trees,
All shared their happiness,
To kiss rain drops.
Animals bathed their bodies,
Burning earth smiled once again,
New leaves and grass touched rays,
Nature delivered fruit and flowers in joy.
Unblocked and unbreakable affords,
Hide new dreams of love,
To touch un-awakened mind,
To keep this life for living.
Why do you spend lot of time with animals?
His wife and family always argued.
When a native comes to visit, you have to discuss,
You shared your knowledge, if he is interested or not.
You never thought what they think about you,
Your opinion is; until we didn’t share something,
Nobody can learn or enjoy a lot of happiness,
What is special in animals her non-stop sparks?
Animal produces food but never claimed as human,
Look at the honey bees, we always afraid to touch,
But all likes to eat honey, to enjoy its taste,
Valuable to eat for health, it provides energy.
Think about nature, everyone has a language,
The entire races, human, animal, birds and tree,
Enjoy speaking and singing but hard to understand,
Without identification or learning, it’s hard to believe.
Honey bees also has poison which deliver when bite,
But never mixed in its product, as human do,
Their unity is under a command of one queen,
A natural learning, a person also can produce sweet.
If I did something wrong, don’t laugh at me,
No argue on your freedom I know laugh is free.
If someone is injured and crying for pain,
Is laugh necessary why he didn’t use brain?
You can talk and laugh it is n’t a matter,
You need to think about a place is that better?
If you will seed the nails who shall walk free?
Why a person cares not a person that’s my worry.
If everyone will throw rubbish, what will be a face?
Is animal will be astonished what is a human grace?
This is only a person that can do lot better?
Nobody can serve better if he is a cheater.
Roots are going downward and leaves are going upward,
A person can walk forward as he can go backward.
He is getting old and becoming a child cruel,
He is selfish and greedy, playing everywhere foul.
Let all the music stop.
Silence all the joyful noises.
Meditate upon His word
As the singers lift their voices.
Dancers hold your movements.
Musicians cease your playing.
Let us sing God's praise together
And think of what we are saying.
If academic degree is sufficient,
To mobilise or to activate,
To improve a vision of someone’s nature,
To learn skills and to provide,
Best opportunity to deliver,
A better service for the welfare,
And for a high standard for living,
I also succeed to get a higher degree.
When I found myself,
Degree develops only sources for living,
Not sufficient to establish,
Justice, Equality, Liberty and fraternity,
I had lost a balance of my life.
I stop to read only books on a subject,
I chose all the basics that I need,
To become a human: a civil person.
The society is facing injustice,
Inequality, bonded labour, racism,
Prejudicism, what is behind them?
Only degree holders,
If they were human and civil person.
Nobody cries on Earth for help,
Poverty, injustice, racism,
Inequality and racism,
Is a provision of these intellects?
If they are educated,
Their standard should be based on education,
As they have belief,
And service, it seems,
There academic education is bluff.
Who does prepare children for suicides?
Who does care soldiers to kill innocents?
Who is greedy and not selfish?
Was Lord Jesus academic?
Was Lord Mohamed academic?
Was Lord Rama academic?
Was Lord Krishna academic?
Why these academic people still have belief,
Heaven is better place for living,
They are dishonest and corrupt,
They deliver cruelity and exploitation,
Because they are son of Devil.
Few people has strong objections,
They advised me, don’t forget,
Your tongue is also your mother,
It is a duty of us to serve for it.
I wrote twenty five years,
For one language, one nation,
And one race, they never accepted me,
I had long suffering without appreciation.
I have no limit but my patience,
Has a limit that develops courage,
How long a person can walk alone?
A burning belly needs something to burn.
Nobody works free, wages or salary is need,
A person who wants to live, a chain of supply,
Is only a satisfaction for living? Personal goal,
It isn’t a matter in which way do you serve.
Yes, my beloved Christy (What a beautiful Name!)..what comes around, goes
around; I've seen this saying proven true, oh, so many times...
Teresa, my dear, you speak words of wisdom and truth...Ever listen to the words
of "As Tears Gobye"? Children are our hope for the future, hence teachers are the
pathway to the future...
John Heck: thanks dude.
And to all the Soup-nutz out there: without your encouragement, my page would
be bare...A true blessing to join this esteemed group of talented, bright people.
I mean, I doubt there's a single member of the "Huh? Wuz Up?" crowd to please.
When I stood up,
On the mountain,
Air starts to blow,
The whistling in my ears.
I looked at the sky,
A white ball moon,
on my left,
A golden burner ball on my other side,
The dark clouds were floating,
Not reaching any where,
Below and above,
Left and right
not going anywhere,
out of my sight.
Mountains and rivers,
Trees and Birds,
Sky, Moon or Sun,
Not even planets,
Only I can dance,
Sing or whistle,
I am your echo,
You can listen through me,
You can live through me,
You can see through me,
I am n’t only air,
I am your life,
A power of change.
She reads my writes, moments after....
Responds at once,
As she does for all...
The towering beacon
Of the soup's genius,
She should be paid..
For the life she breaths
Into this site each day,
And we are blessed ...
To call her Soupmate....
On top of the elites,
such as Rhoda, Sue, Heidie,
Christy,John, Vince, Popa Joe,
Farah, Maya,Carol, Patricia,
Peggy, Laura,Jack,My lovely Ruby,
John LoveingIII (What a cool name!!),
Peggy,Karen,and so many others
my mind would melt trying to go further,
and surely I would run out of ink.
Just let me say, she is the brightest beacon
at Poetrysoup, I dare say we'd all agree,
Her poems are great,
And somehow she finds time,
To read all our works,
And generously comment,
That's a miracle to me.
So thank you Shar, from
all of us, we value your every word,
You are special to each one of us,
It's about time of this you've heard.
I do not know?
Decode my expressions
Because there’s something
I’m not putting into words
An open mouth dying
To release a captured feeling
Yet, lips tighten shut
When the moment comes
I know the truth
And I hope you do, too
I do not know?
So is poetry you want to write, how can this be for you are nothing but a
construction worker, are you ready to give up your life, face the anxiety that will
shine through your tears, never to relax in subtle idleness. Give up your
harmonious life. Dispute not what fertile words are waiting to become an infinite
oasis in a sea of amber, restfulness naught amiss lulled never more. The
grandeur of senses swooned by the lack of you own spirit to scum the torment
that befolds it, majestic naught be in remorse that will dwell upon thy very soul. In
dubious ways your memories to be swept away like forest scents drifting on the
limpid currents; shrouded, muffled, tortured never to be reborn, solidarity in your
right torn apart by oblivions avenging treachery. Demoralizing days to come,
nourishment shrouded by the harmonious burden to not stop and pay homage to
your morbid soul. Sweet fervors drifting thru thy window beckoning your call to be
out, to be reborn again upon life itself, but gilded in your lofty room powerless by
the seductress need not to stop. Your nature enthralled upon your body fair
whence restfulness abounds you, sleep deprived, emotion naught, languor
taken over. Cruel life sleeps.
I do not know?
Wrote me a letter
Sealed it with your fate
Kissed that seam
With your feelings
While words dripped
Off the paper
Into my mind
I do not know?
Some people ask exactly how
How I do what I do the best.
Listen really close; put your thinking cap on,
I’ll tell you and put your mind to rest.
They say that I have a way with words,
How they come out on paper with pen.
It all started ten years ago,
This is how it will all begin.
With a pen in my hand, and a rhyme in my heart,
God anointed this writer of His.
I started writing, and the next thing you know,
To God all the glory is.
Really, I’m quiet. I’m not one with words,
I don’t like to speak aloud, you see.
As God gives the words, I write them out
It’s my God given Ministry.
It’s really not this frail human,
That is writing of her own accord.
It may sound good, and it may sound nice,
But remember, it’s all the Lord!