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
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
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
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 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 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 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.
I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…
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.
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
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
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.
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
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".