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Details | Couplet | |

The Mightiest of Poet's Still

Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.




Details | Haiku | |

It is now

Ain't a word, you said.
but it takes a daring gust 
for things start to be.


Details | Bio | |

me myself and i

Me myself and i

For I myself, 
Believe in myself.
For I love to stand by the book shelf.
In order to read some nice stuff.

Yoruba is my lineage.
I’m seen by my image.
And am called by my real name.
Buying things, I buy not fake.

I aim to be among the greats.
For one of my saying, says,
“Pays to be popular than being famous’’
Cos, famous people could be no-torious.

People say am pretty shy
That a time, I wish to cry.
Cos, I know I do try
To hide that, am really shy. 

I’m a Muslim,
For my religion is, Islam.
So, pock meat is an haraam.
But I’m free to dine on ram.

I wish to be a doctor 
So that youngsters can see me as a mentor.
I love teaching as a Professor.
For all that are great, are my mentor.

People don’t really know me,
So, this is to tell who I be.
For I prefer being a Lewis’ base,
Than to be a bronsted’s base.

Ridwan is my real name. 
Olyrid is just a nick name.
You better know before it’s too late,
For I involve not in a criminal case.

My advice for you in life is this:
Serve you GOD, when not in pains
For in good health a person fails,
But calling unto him when soaked in pains.

Olyrid4real,
Is my yahoo mail.
I’m dark, friendly and a little tall.
And all I love is winning soul.

For all I hate, is the “big boys” style.
Cos “sagging” is what they like.
For all I do, it’s my own style.
So if you like, you can be my type!


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Archeology And The Poet ... '

Dig Down Deep
Carefully Unearth
Artifacts Will Speak
Words of Worth

With Pick and Shovel
And Papyrus
If Block and Rubble,
Gently Brush

Treasures Buried
Deep In Soul
Heart-Stone Quarry
Hold Hidden Scrolls

To Royal Edicts
Read and Call
Hieroglyphics
On High Walls

In Expeditions
To Exposé
Show Gold Emotions
In Glass Display

From Pyramids
In Sealed Mystery
So The Poet Did …
… Archeology

To Preserve Words
of Antiquity
So That You Heard
and Shared, Discovery …


Details | Limerick | |

AHEAD OF HIS TIME

Young Shakespeare didst say to his tutor,
"Methinks I wouldst be much astuter,
And per chance, I wouldst say,
Mightest write a screen play,
If some fool wouldst invent the computer."


Details | Shape | |

The Narrow Path

                       The narrow path
                           to treason
                            is only
                            a word
                             away.
                           To falter 
                            in your 
                            reason
                          or explore
                        unauthorized
                           dissent.
                        To question
                      fearless leaders
                        or a decision
                      from the bench.
                      The narrow path
                          to failure,
                           oppose
                       the status quo
                          and down
                             you 
                              go.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Welcome To the Soup

Welcome, Ms. Valmer!!  Glad you are aboard- now you can comment on any 
poem, right after reading it....and try your hand at your own, should you choose.
Lotsa great people here.  PS- could not open greeting sent- comp. needs 
something installed - some file, I'll have to find out how to do it.  So glad you 
joined! Luv, tom


Details | Quatrain | |

TO SHAKESPEARE WITH ADMIRATION

He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.    


Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears, 
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!


I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!     


I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father; 
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?


He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!    


Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep; 
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!  


Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "


Details | Free verse | |

Behind these eyes

    You see my face and you see my expression but you don't know the real me that i'm 
protecting.
 
     You don't know that behind these eyes that a little girl cries every night, you 
don't know the half so why are you desperately trying to label me with some brand that I 
would never wear.

    If you'd look a little deeper into these pearly browns you know that I am not just a 
cover you have to take time to read the book to really know me. 

     You can't just skim the back or listen to what other people say because yeah I might 
be talked about but unless you dip into the pudding you will never truly know why.

    Maybe if you looked a little deeper you'd see someone trying to keep up in a endless 
race. 

   I keep on moving but it's never any good I guess I underestimate myself or maybe I 
just need someone to give me courage.

     I see the surprised look on your face and all I can do is laugh, I bet you didn't 
think that I had so much depth, I better you never realized. 

      So even if it's not me your interested in, please let me teach you one lesson. You 
can see some much more behind the eyes of a girl than the cloud of makeup hiding her 
face. 

In a girls eyes you can see her insides, her deepest fears, her insecurities. 

Behind these eyes is the magical side, and if you can look into them first then I know 
that your confident and well worth the struggle.


Details | Idyll (Idyl) | |

Beethoven Opus 133---poetically

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Narrative | |

THE RICHEST HERITAGE OF HUMANKIND

Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same, 
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.


The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,  
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.


Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.


Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and satire...to scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.



Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Leashed Down

Leashed Down


Bound by my hands
Bound by my legs
Bound by my waist 
Bound by my neck
I can't  hear
I can't  smell
I can't taste
I can't see
I put everything away and only thought of
What brought me joy.Nor do I want to
Cry leaving my captures to smile about
To gloat,to have that unknown brutal power
Over me which is held in one tear.
My  body numb,my heart is stopped,my mind is blank
Is this dying? Why am I paralyzed? Could it be falling a sleep?
These chains are cold but everything is hot.What feeling beside
Pity would become of me?..Be it not grief not sadness not even remorse.
But as I stand up from this seat,I am nothing more then a well mannered
Pup on a tight leash.


Details | Ballad | |

The Forgotten Ones

Forgotten somewhere in the midst of steel and concrete. 
Bound by shackles and chains even in our sleep. 
Living like wolves preying amongst lost sheep. 
Concrete tears and pains so mindfully deep. 

Forgotten by those on the outside. 
We cant even run no where, we cant even hide. 
No choice left but to sit and fight. 
In here only the strong minded survive. 
Truth be told in here what is wrong is right. 

All most os us got is wasted M&^*&F*^&&ng time. 
We sit back and work out and write heartfelt rhymes. 
Not to be a victim of prey we all trying. 
Many stories are told, songs are written of truth over lying. 

We are gone for the moment but not truly forgotten so the hurt we must not show it.
 We are to old while we young to be crying in front of full grown men for this is a time we must out grow it.
 There aint no way out this hell hole and we all know it. 
Feelings of hopelessness surrounds te heart to the point where we can no longer control it.
 
In here there is only time no fun. 
Darkness fills night no light shone in here from the sun. 
Only by our own selves we may be out done. 
BECAUSE IN HERE IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE TRULY THE FORGOTTEN ONES....


Details | Senryu | |

Messages

Born of depth and soul  
A peaceful man rests weary 
Detained with his mind 


Details | Free verse | |

Robert Frost

Past the valleys strewn with apple trees- 
And spirited places where he derived his passion
To the hardships and things forgotten-
He clutched his thoughts in the quiet of candlelight
Through the woven fabrics of his mind-
And the boundless journeys he strove
We gained his poetic wishes in perspective
Now I drain my thoughts in deliberate diligence       
Hoping to bring him approval 
Though I know he no longer resides- 
I feel him in the cracked filled walls of yesterday 
I am but a humbled poet -
Waning in the lost wishes of a master   
I will walk with Robert Frost deep in my soul- 
Breathing the pages of him and his earnest intellect 
Rehearsing the dreams and agony of an America’s past- 
Poetic paladin 


     
 Inspired by Amy Greens “Wow me with inspiration contest” ! 


Details | Free verse | |

To The Beat of Jazz Poetry

From bebop, swing to hip-hops thing
True poets had it best
For there is a rhythm in the soul, 
Which they all just had to express

Some could not control
This powerful thing 
 Was so often put to the test

It began to dawn coming on strong
Within the birth of a thing 
Called the Harlem Renaissance 

That jazz, that poetic-jazz, of intense birth 
Possessing syncopated rhythms 
And chronic expression of surreal tunes 

That perfected blend of jazz-poetry 
Developed into what it is today. 
Thanks to poets like Carl Dunbar and Langston Hughes 

That jazz, that jazz, that wonderful poetic-jazz
Being bred of pride, lyrical form and grace
Transcended cultural barriers 
Readily accepted in the 1950’s by the humane race 

Therefore, the mantra had begun to be 
So freely expressed within poetic lyrics 
To syncopated beats moving on through the 60’s and 70’s
By way of beat poets like Amiri Baraka

Returning strong throughout the 70’s and 80’s 
Thanks to artist like Gil Scott-Heron
Oh, snap he was one of the founding fathers 
Of spoken word poetry known to youngsters 

Borne to free-styling or hitting the beats 
On stage or in the streets
Yes, you’ve guessed it, most def its rap
 
Re-educating the poet in me, thanks to that thing 
In which made many a heart sing 
As these icons did their thing

Starting with something called modern day jazz-poetry…
Born during the Harlem renaissance and still going strong


Comments: I hope that you have enjoyed this free verse
tribute to some of the greatest modern day
founders of what is known as Jazz-Poetry.



Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: III

Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?


Details | Bio | |

Living for Something and Dying for Nothing

In the beginning I started off as just another nobody from another nowhere trying make it to somewhere as a somebody as everyone else. In the beginning I was BORN TO LIVE TO DIE, but in the process I was BRED TO LEARN TO SURVIVE. I became a CONVICT OF CHRIST through PAINFUL PLEASURES of my many struggles and strife's. I was a SINFUL SAINT but more of a sinner, mainly a loser and never a winner. I was once considered one of the best, now days I'm just trying to be lower than the rest, unseen in plain sight , NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS. I became lost in time through my many self-taught TRUE LIES of yet another LOST FIND growing up where few DREAMS LIVE , but many more DREAMS DIE. I soon got LOCKED UP but it was very educational because I LIVED IT and LEARNED FROM IT. I was given a choice to LIVE FREE OR DIE INCARCERATED, so I made that choice to be more loved than hated, so I became UNDER LOVE and OVER HATE, I learned to stop wanting and actually appreciate. Its been hard to change so I became a POET OF PAIN. That's when I learned the truth about those who think their dying for something but they might as well be living for nothing, because I learned that real truth comes from LIVING FOR SOMETHING because I ain't DYING FOR NOTHING. So now I am forever a W.O.L.F. once a warrior of lost freedom now trying to stay a warrior of lasting freedom you know what I mean.


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Inferno Negro

the negro is inferno. doomed for hell. sinful with lost indulging in their own ignorance. made into a reincarnation of the devils wishes. the devils wants the devils needs. they say the pigment is the reason. but i say Jesus is the reason for the devilish seasons excuse my blatant response to the evils that have been done in the name of the SON. the inferno negro is the movie of this country, always watched and critic-ed. you must understand that self hating is very wicced, misunderstood when you walk through a suburban neighboorhood the devil is screaming conform!! conformm!! inferno negro you dont belong so just get along, even if the devil knows. the devil knows your story and your weakness and he lives behind and inside the so called supremacy system we live within. peace inferno negro know thyself for you are so lost in this Babylonia hell.


Details | Clerihew | |

My constant mirror

My constant mirror from heaven, 
On earth and in the sea,
Only you can be;
But can you see yourself in my poetry? 


Details | Senryu | |

' King David's 23rd Psalm ... ' (Classical - Tribute) 61st Senryu

‘ King David’s 23rd Psalm … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  61st  Senryu



The Brave Should Know Song:
King David’s ‘ 23rd Psalms ’
Makes Warriors Stay Strong


Details | Alliteration | |

One Among Many part 2

I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better. 
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
 I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
 I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.


Details | Imagism | |

Embrace

They ride the good dragon-cloud towards warm light
While wistful wind was a wrongdoer on the hollow hill
Wrapped woven from the wounds and wrath`s night, 
The wood will wear white woolly witness of the windmill.

Hoarfrost hitch-hikes and hoists with hoarse hood,
Drumming beat of hobble of the army`s fatal feet,
Far away from the glow-worms of their childhood;
Friends fumble the glassware where they might meet.

Falteringly frogs of fancy jump towards the lake’s glass; 
Orphan souls sit on the steps of hope in winter`s time
They scrutinize the frozen sky of hope to find the rhyme 
Of the verse from the other side they want to happily pass.


Details | Lyric | |

Phantom

i don't wanna sit here 
in the garden, without you 
i don't want to be here 
falling apart, waiting for you 
cause i'm sick and tired 
of existing here, without you dear 
hanging onto nothing, hoping for something 

we're not adam and eve 
oh why can't you see 
how much i need you 
so hard to believe 
yet cannot conceive 
how much i love you 
i won't say sorry 
doesn't mean a damn thing 
cause you don't love me 
we can never be 

i'm not gonna stand here 
all evening, without a clue 
i'm not gonna be here 
sweetheart, bleeding just for you 
cause i'm sick and tired 
of burning here, without you dear 
hanging onto nothing, hoping for something 

we're not adam and eve 
oh why can't you see 
how much i need you 
so hard to believe 
yet cannot conceive 
how much i love you 
i won't say sorry 
doesn't mean a damn thing 
cause you don't love me 
we can never be 

you're not adam, 
more like the snake 
you're the phantom, 
that haunts me 
you can't be adam 
more like the snake 
you're the phantom, 
ripping my heart away 

we're not adam and eve 
oh why can't you see 
how much i need you 
so hard to believe 
yet cannot conceive 
how much i love you 
i won't say sorry 
doesn't mean a damn thing 
cause you don't love me 
we can never be


Details | Free verse | |

My Thing

Writing is my thing. My drug of choice. My bling bling.
I fall in love with the similies and mentions of passion while wrapping my body in 
sentences.
Creating complicated rhythms and making them simples as instances
Every line a differenet emphasis
Commas, explinations and periods
Sometimes rhyming and sometimes not
Stopping to puff so my thoughts can lock
Feeding hungry souls starved from starvation
Creating new creations
Making people feel the sensation as I build up to mind elevation

The quest for knowledge is not a game
Spoken movements teach about the pain
I write to ease the pain
Rhythms run deep

Deep underneath clouded visions of unspoken truth lies a message
a message...a message that should be taught accurately to the youth
About the struggle of a people that was misued
abused, refused, confused, raped, beaten down
uneducated
portrayed as clowns, coons, niggers, fools
Modern day niggas and goons
Wake up!! Did you hear the news?
You are responsible for you!
Imagine how it would be tho
If we were uninterrupted and brought overseas yo
Uprooted from a line of royalty kings and queens
Africa unite is all we'd sing
Rhythms run deeper into the seams of my being

I write to ease the pain of the oppressed
I write to celebrate their success
I write to educate the rest
The message..The message..The message is very clear
No time time to waste
The time is NOW
It's here!


Details | Senryu | |

' Edgar Allan Poe ... ' (Classical-Tribute) 64th Senryu

‘Edgar Allan Poe … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  64th  Senryu




     Edgar Allan Poe ...
Master of Scary Suspense
   Tortured Ambience


The Raven … The Pit and The Pendulum
House of Usher … Annabel Lee , etc. 
(“She Walks In Beauty, Like The Night”)
     one of my favorite poetry-lines


Details | Couplet | |

Hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion

Kids are playing with strange blue graffiti
So, they wrote several times: ”Neffertiti” …

And drew the most beautiful queen`s head.
The whole history of Egypt written in red, 

With sacred hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion:
The Pharaons` destiny dandles a dewy dandelion…


Details | Quatrain | |

From The Dust

I've knelt on mats of reeds to idols,
that we revered with pious trust.
They fell to near obscurity,
and now they mingle with the dust.

I've of chiseled and scraped from the tablets
my deep deliberate curving ruts,
to weather out times ruthless passage,
carving out my eternal cuts.

Indelible, and yet delicate
and considerably few,
consider all of what you see,
for they purely belong you. 


Details | Free verse | |

Living Language

Language is a
trumpeting vine,

Blooms in every shape,
         size and color

Tendrils of words grow
     every which way,
here,                            there,
            hither
&			            yon,
insinuating themselves,
curling lovingly,
inexorably,

into, around

the vertical and horizontal,
diagonal
pillars and frameworks

of each diverse community

---

Language
is a slow, lazy ocean
 
whose tides lick
the verbal shores

offering new sand & water
    while re-absorbing and changing 
          the old

It flows out,
      ebbs in,
a living, breathing,
constant motion

---

Language is essential, 
is vital and ageless –
a kaleidoscope mosaic

always perennial,
always new

Without language,
what would you or I do?

Without language…...................


Details | Chastushka | |

A ROOM OF HER OWN

A ROOM OF HER OWN


Byron died at thirty six
Prolific poet’s work was done
Lucky I am still alive
I had no time ‘til fifty one.


Details | Senryu | |

' Lord Alfred Tennyson ...' (Classical-Tribute) 62nd Senryu

‘ Lord Alfred Tennyson … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  62nd  Senryu



       Tennyson Thundered
‘ The Charge Of The Light Brigade ’
      Salutes … Six-Hundred


Details | I do not know? | |

Politically Correct

Politically correct I’m not; if you seek precision you ought,
find the time, to define the rhyme of perfection
in words you’ve sought.

A simplicity of words I am; I do not write for status or glam,
I pen my mind, whether thoughts callous or kind,
truthfulness you’ll find.

Paper is more powerful for me, not keystrokes of a PC you see,
a pen in hand, is more commanding and grand,
when writing on demand.

Following the norm is queer; I allow the pen and paper to steer,
a symphony of life, thru every memory and strife,
of a mother, daughter and wife.

Technological progress I dread, only because the pen is now dead,
so take heed in my words, though seemingly absurd,
but a poetic pen should always be heard.


Details | Clerihew | |

Edmund Clerihew Bently

Edmund Clerihew-Bently,
In science class, listened intently,
Wrote biographies in four short lines,
Invented his own poetic designs.


Details | Rhyme royal | |

The Thoughtful And Truthful Troy

Troy, England's Keeng Of Royalness is
Both thoughtful and truthful - Oh yes!
--------------------------------------------------------
Written By: Royalness Troy Turner,
                  The Keeng Of England

Copyright (c) 2011 Royalness Troy Turner


Details | Free verse | |

The Same Reservation Road

I walk through the reservation valley of alcoholic death/ 
I fear no darkness among my own for the light breathes life on its own through my every breath/ I can no longer fit in for I need to stand out above the rest/
 I can no longer follow, I got to be the host of my own because Im tired of being the guest/
 
I want to be the writer I dont want to be the reader/ 
I want to be the artist with the brush, I want to create I want to finally be my own leader/
 I want to be able to follow society's rules because I am tired of being a cheater/
 I want to be the supplier because Im tired of being the seeker/ 

I guess life is what I make it/ Forgive less as much as I still continue to forsake it/
 My life is just a jolt but at times I feel death shake it/ Grab my emotions by the reins and straight earthquake it/ I try and fix my problems until someone comes by and breaks it/
 but this is my time because Im still young so this young opportunity in life I must Take it.
 
I got to hold my head held high from being low/ 
I got to stay lost until I find my own being my purpose of another young lost soul/
 I cannot stop because Im too tired of staying stuck I must stay on go/ 
This my life now I know it my story waiting to be patiently told/ 
This my life now I got to let it un fold/ Let it slowly but surely grow/ 
Im just a hidden bomb waiting for my poetry to blow/ 
EVERYTHING I DID OR DO IN LIFE NOW IS SOMETHING I CHOSE? 
I GOTTA CHANGE BECAUSE I JUST CANT KEEP WALKING THE SAME RESERVATION ROAD.


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

pondering poetic pans and fancies

The Olde Druidic Elven Way
'for ever words were writ
the rhyme and rhythm
helped us see
the shape and taste
and need indeed
of apples yet unbit
To help a man be what he is
alone in all his glory
to know what's right 
and use his right
of individual freedom
is the well point of the story
painted words of admiration
to hold the beauty of our life
in constant view to help him see
The shape and taste
the need in deed
of apples yet unbitten


Details | Senryu | |

' Alfred Noyles ... ' (Classical-Tribute) 63rd Senryu

‘Alfred Noyles … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  63rd   Senryu



   Alfred Noyles’ Poem Rings
‘The Highwayman’, Came Riding
   … Still Gets Me Crying …


Details | Diminished Hexaverse | |

Net

 It came to me seeing
How I enjoy poetry
Why not just type poetry
In the search engine box
Click, see what I might find
I'm here three years later

Interwoven wires
All around the world
Different people
Countries, languages
Customs, religions

I stood on net
The net covered
Feet, legs, waist then
Entered my heart

Became part 
Of life, holds
Attention

Addict
Trapped in

Net 

Poetry pronounced poe/try

Sponsor: David Williams
Contest: True Diminishing Hexaverse


Details | Couplet | |

A Poet At Sea

                                                     Just a Poet at sea...
                                   A voyage across waters where I can be free...

                                      I sit with my feet up writing of the views...
                               Always knowing that my poetry will make small news...

                                The pages turn as I watch parents and children play...
                           I scribe tales of lovers and dreamers who set sail that day...

                            As the darkness filled the night only a quiet sky set a tone...
                                The moon is my light to scribble as I watch all alone...

                              The shaking of my pen as my paper is dusted in snow...
                Then screams of horror as water pours at my feet with no where to go...

                             I clench my book of tales and run to a point where I can be...
                                    And there I float as this world is eaten by the sea...

                                              As silence and cries drift fast asleep...
                               I close my eyes and die with only my poetry to keep...


written for DreamWeavers
Titanic contest...
by Michael J Falotico


Details | Rhyme | |

Beyond Words

Flowing words that show a story well
Rhyme a delight to see upon a veil.
Poetry soothes the soul, tells of feelings.
Lines in metaphors, inspirational dealings,
Verse that is free, describes virtual history.
Acrostics can deliver any kind of mystery.
Poetry more graceful than a flowing brush,
Creates pictures and forms in breaking hush,
Haiku surrenders nature’s beauty so short.
Senryu captures humanities truth and tort.
Paint captures sight; poetry feels the scene.
Writers develop spirits, feelings felt and seen.
Sculptors captivate realism, fantasy supreme.
Poets bring joy, sadness, life, love, in a dream.
Whether rhyming or not, a good poet shows.
Few or many lines they create properly flows.
Poetry rings out in emotions of various forms.
Lines of any verse go way beyond the norms.


Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part II

The Med between us
The gusts make me think of you
Storms... it’s just like home.


Details | Couplet | |

The Letter, 1660

These rustling humans, how they jabber!
With their smudged and crinkling ink dabber

I lie here resting while their investing
Their moments in this blabbered pestering

I've seen their pages scribbled in rages
Of inspiration by their sages

I hear the parchment, crisp and crackling,
Depicting marks pronounced in cackling

And wheezes of a breezes sighs
Read in secret by her eyes

Here in this secluded corner
This one was sent by a foreigner

The rounded man, all clad in fur,
Hears some code, it makes him stir

The thinner man sprouts in his chair
Which creeks beneath his squirming dare

The glamour creature, thin and frail,
Seems neutral about the true tale

I hear a fist pound on the table
Shouting that this could be a fable

"What if it's true?",  the other asks
While in fascination he basks

They analyze it for a clue,
This letter, to learn if it's true

The chamber, while closed, is secret, airy
While echo's this secretary

The scribbled riddles held in hand 
Are esteemed to be so grand

I might chew them if I could
For I bask in my puppy-hood




Details | I do not know? | |

Angry immortal

You dont need no friends
all they will do is hurt you
let them all go, why hold them up?
the family are so far behind,
they will never understand
we are so alone, in this life,
women want what you can give
i wont trade money for sex
or even a bit of attention
or a commitment of ownership
a culture of prostitution...

The poor people steal from you
the rich will rape you
not selling my rear for interest..
and the middle are just stupid
addicted to the drugs, the propaganda

I am the artist, the expressionist, the prophet,
alone, with one mission, 
where are my pleasures?
cursed to teach this selfish culture
pathetic humans, suffering
too stupid to give anything
complaining, whining, frustrated,

They are about to destroy themselves
a collective suicide of selfishness

The other immortals tell me to have hope,
to love them, to teach them,
They arent my friends, so busy 
teaching, and giving to the vampires. 

The christians love war and murder of others
They worship, punishment, hatred, and money
the buddhists wont stand up for themselves and fight,
the middle road is lost.
The muslims are too busy oppressing women
and praying for heaven
The jews know nothing of love, only greed

They tell me i should feel special
i have so much to teach and give,

Jesus taught them forgiveness
helping the poor, loving all people
they crucified him!

The afterlife is so wonderful, they say,
if you teach love and forgiveness.

I am in this life now,
and all i find is tricksters, liers and decievers
I am tired of being alone, 
The body is male, and only half of itself. 
addiction to female energy
no control, clairvoyance gone
the suicidal idiots have something right

I am cursed to sit here and learn compassion,
patience, how to inspire them
teach them to love, and give to others, 
all in the hope that they wont destroy themselves

Why cant i give up on hope?
they are pathetic, i am tired,
of the abuse, and anger, i evoke.

They hate me, unless i pretend,
smile the big smile, 
and pat them on their back for selfishness.
They love you then, 
I do not worship their god, of self-worship.
I wish i could, maybe i would be rich. 

living off of the blood, sweat and tears of others
how nice that would be, to relax, no responsibilty
to give or love anyone except my family.  

I am sure i will feel better tomorrow


Details | Senryu | |

' William Shakespeare ... ' (Classical-Tribute) 65th Senryu

‘ William Shakespeare … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  65th  Senryu




   One and Only Clear …
   He’s Poetic-Theatre
Oh, William Shakespeare ! …


Details | Blank verse | |

Writing Under Pressure

 Im sitting here writing under pressure/ my life is optomistic even though it getting lesser/ Im sitting here writing for tomorrow if this should be my death letter/
 I know I aint the best but I could be doing better/
 Im softer that a bunny but I can get froggy hard skinned like leather/ 
Im standing out in this cold written breeze with no sweater/
 Im swimming through oceans and flying through storms no matter the weather/ 
Im shooting up a dosage of true lies like Im the only drama setter/ 
I've been filled with wisdom of worth ever since I met her/ 
I cant be beat by knowledge only if I let her......ever since that day of fate I've been Writing Under Pressure....


Details | Haiku | |

the ceiling burst

the debt ceiling talk
led to so much tension that 
the room's ceiling burst


Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Baggage Claim

Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival, 
          I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches 
                                                Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
          Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
                                                He holds the key to this new world.

The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience 
          Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped 
                                                Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence 
          Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped 
                                                Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.

My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
          In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
			   Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
          On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
                                                Our intrepid journey commences...


Details | Acrostic | |

Love's Reverence, a cover of ''A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky''

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


Details | Free verse | |

US Constitution movie theater montage

Constitution:
From the mighty quill feathers of post revolutionary colonists
a seething declaration that will stun the world. 
This is how its done, 
we dont mind you having guns,
say what you will, 
thou shalt not punish unusually, 
we make the laws, you interpret them


Details | Free verse | |

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare

You watch the show week after week
You cry when you are supposed to cry
Laugh when you are supposed to laugh
You even feel the intended anger
Milady, please loosen your bustle
Breathe in the cool evening air
Know that this story has been retold hundreds of times
Differing sets and actors sharing the moment with you
However, the words were written centuries ago
By men who were skilled in the use of a quill
They were meant to take your breath away
Some were meant to make your loins quiver
Other were meant to make your heart skip a single beat
However Milady none live within a spark of truth
They are merely to tell a story
The actors have no true feelings when they speak
Their kisses are without the love they show
The blood does not flow from the warmth of a body
No one died of poison or at the end of a sword
It is all a show performed to share the writer’s thoughts
Alas Milady do not leave the theatre empty hearted
Take with you the words you have heard
Hold tightly the feelings you had inside you
If you can do that Milady the writer’s work was not in vain
The actors work would be appreciated
And you Milady, you will have a memory
A memory of one of the greatest stories ever written
And you will, for all eternity, remember the writer’s name
You will remember the name William Shakespeare


Details | Free verse | |

The Language of the new generation.

Understanding the new generation.
They have their own language.
Their own new meanings to the same words.
They have their own communication + lingo.
Has it not been the same with each new 
generation in history?
They discover a new style that is shocking
to the older generations.
Adjoining generations seem to listen
to each other.
At which point do the generations do not want
to listen.
Where is this gap?
Spelling is different for the same words. 
A lot of abbreviated text is used.
There seems to be an absence of books amongst
dvds + cds.Has this interior design element
been overlooked?
Is there a new dictionary to accommodate the
new generations?
Or is this just how life is?


Details | Epic | |

A New Collection to the Eye Forest

Crackling blood lies in these forest grounds
Grass growing by its lively effect…
Growing a grimace to the environment    
As the predators hung her on the branches,
carving her left eye on the oak tree
and carving her right eye on the olive tree

They grow livelier…
sucking up the carrions from off the ground
Drowning the vines that try to 
suffocate and remove them for life
left to be in history…unceasingly forgotten 

Now the forest has industrialized into an Eye Forest
Eyes protruding…extorting on the tree trunks
Liquefied by anguish…they had wished to escape
Their pupils punctured by arrows of death 
They grow more affectionate towards the lively soul… 
watching people suffer in indignity and disproof
Here’s that living evidence! Hidden proof!
 
Hunted by the worst predator out there
in the deepest of the forest

The eyes seem to stare into your own
Locked with your frightening vibes 
Feeling your dangling fears and pain 
Weeping them insane…
there is no one out there to be blamed,
even in the deepest of the forest

Oh you carrion heart, soul and body
you are accepted to the collection
and grow insanely and look into a world of reflection

You are one of those who lie in the midst of obscurity 
JUST wait till the day of Resurrection... 

Oh you carrion soul and body 
Surviving through the shadows of the forest, 
roaming along the compacted forest, 
moping about in displeasure 
because without a doubt 
you are a magnificent collection 
to the eye generation 
to look upon a cheerless, remorseful life,
Given away by the predator

They soon diminish the evidence…
Here’s that living evidence! Hidden proof!
You’re left for dead after all

Allow them to spread one of your eyes
on this tantalizing tree
Let them do their job as a hunter
Your awareness is diminished

Allow yourself to not be startled 
Lose yourself,
and later on, you’ll break free of pain and fear


Details | Tail-rhyme | |

No Title of Write

I apologize, for all writes.
At least once, I broke someone’s rights.
That’s why freedom of press.
Nothing written, make lonely nights.
Words written will always start fights.
Be aware, don’t suppress.


Written for
Sponsor Barbara Gorelick 
Contest Name APOLOGY ACCEPTED 


Details | Epic | |

Friendship 101

Friendship is the state of both people being the best of friends. Friendship also means      that one person is to protect the another person (man and/or woman) from all kinds of danger, even being taken advantage of. There's always a difference between two people being just friends and both best friends (a boy and a girl) falling in love with each other, especially when they've known each other since they were babies or elementary school. Building friendships mean that he and/or she has built the bridges that will never break  or burn unless they'd betrayed each other by having affairs with their boyfriends/girlfriends, selling them out to the the wrong crowd (including the devil), and that kind of stuff. It seems that without each other, they're nothing. Both people, including those from either elementary school, middle school, high school, or college really need each other, especially when they will have found out that their spouses or lovers have been cheating on them with somebody else. The greatest thing everybody should learn about friendships is that all friends are there for each other every single day. And the other greatest thing about friendships is that they've got each others' backs, especially when they're falling on hard times like facing reality, dealing with being decades old, that kind of stuff. Let's hope that all friendships don't end in pain, sadness, and suffering. And if these people continue to stay the best of friends for years and years, even through out all of the school reunions, things will always be the same. I hope all friendships stay stronger than ever forever.


Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet 15

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
	Man Sleeps....


Details | Free verse | |

Within the Inky Pages

The binding groans open
And lets me in
Plunging into the depths
Of a cream colored world
Scents of ancient tomes fills my soul
And I’m addicted
I need a fix
				I really need a fix
And I inhale like I’ve never breathed before
My eyes glaze over, and               I’m   g  o  n  e
Universes I never knew appear
Black holes suck me in, Supernovas explode
Stars dazzle my eyes
As the words sprint across the page
It stole my heart, it did
I’ve never been in love like this before

Running fingers over the inky pages
Texture filling in the ridges of my fingerprints
Flooding my identity

Knowledge makes me
Builds me up to take me down
Into myself
Over and over
Inspiring new thoughts
That I thought were new
But really were hidden under
The dusty covers

If we save literature
If we save books from censorship
If we promote literacy
We can save mankind
And it’s history
The bad and good
Lessons learned and yet to be understood
All the falls and tumbles
Rises and stands

All within the inky pages
Held in my hand



Details | Bio | |

The Death of Saddam Hussein

It's been a long time since Saddam Hussein was executed by the Arab authorities and the U.S. Armed Forces (the U.S. Army, the U.S. Navy, the U.S. Coast Guard, and the U.S. Air Force). This guy had been terrorizing the entire Arabian nation since the Cold War and Operation: Desert Storm. Saddam had been torturing people for no reason and chopping up his victims limb by limb. The Arabians and the Americans are glad that Saddam Hussein's dead, especially for what he did to these people, even his wife.  It seems that he had pure hatred toward other people, including us Americans. Saddam was responsible for the deaths of all innocent Iraqi's citizens. the loser was also responsible for starting the war games in Iraq and stuff. Mr. Hussein was the President of Iraq until he was captured by the U.S. Armed Forces and the then-President of the United States of America George W. Bush. Saddam Hussein was just like Osama Bin Laden, even when that guy killed all of the U.S. citizens in New York City on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. And because of Hussein and Bin Laden, the United States of America had lost its innocence, even since 9/11. Not only was Saddam Hussein a gutless coward, but on top of all that, he was also a womanizing cheater and a heartless assassin, too, as well. But now that this human-killing, soulless, heartless Neanderthal has been executed for starting war games, terrorizing unexpected citizens of Iraq, and killing the men because they couldn't get jobs, go to school, or whatever (good riddance), the Iraqis back in 2004 had moved on with their lives. and not only is Saddam Hussein dead, but Osama Bin Laden is also dead. And as far as the Iraqis, the U.S. Armed Forces, and the U.S. citizens are concerned, the giant Pit of Inferno is exactly where they belong. We all wish Saddam Hussein, Osama Bin Laden, and other terrorists had never been born.


Details | Free verse | |

Poe's pen and liquid

And there sat Poe,
his pen dabbing on

Poe’s hair converged 
his profile

Not an eye,
not a wink,
except...
refill please,
as he leans to his paper
to indite with  wit

All chatter with intelligent
consideration,
but pause at moments
to watch Poe,
though souse,
inscribe with;
 
enduring ink


Details | Rhyme | |

IT NEVER GETS OLD, IT STILL INSPIRES US

The first written poem by Mankind
dates back several thousands years...
even the Bible writers used it to inspire
as King David did in his spiritual Psalms.


Then, the intellectual Greek and Roman poets
performed it daily in the amphitheaters of their great cities
as the most popular art form so meditated for anologies... 
and it never gets old, it still inspires us with its verse.  


Read all genres: from ages past to our present time,
to discover that human feelings are equally sublime:
joy, pain, hope, love, triumph, defeat, envy, betrayel, hate and happiness...
among those you have read so far: which ones have made you speechless?


Be overjoyed that our poetry will live on after we'll be gone,
our names proudly set in stone: it's the greatest honor bestowed upon us;
and the ones who admire our work will definitely carry on,
hoping that they too will partake in that ureal glory...even surpassing ours.


Details | Quatrain | |

Student's Descent

with apologies to E. A. Poe...

Student Descent

At first the chamber's gentle rapping could not my slumber even stir,
but as it came to be a tapping sonorous visions were to be no more.
And as I stumbled in the darkness, I heard her voice distinctly cry
"O Ed your offer reconsidered will now with me an evening buy!"

Femininity with such harsh bravado, what lady offers such taboo affairs?
I've read of men, weak in the loin, who fall into such infectious snares.
Flesh's joys can wait, I've got to study, for school has such quick paces
and as a student of the arts, time's robbed me of all social graces

Alas, I dream of that day of bliss, but now Ed's the man and I'm the other.
I ask her name and Eleanor is given, by her, but certainly not her mother.
"He's not here, in fact, I don't know him." I utter with a boy's tone.
"Well I'm still here, and you're awake, and so am I and all alone."

My thoughts arranged like a card deck dropped, and left with such a feeble mind.
Should I ignore this dream, or is it real? Behind the door what will I find?
A gentleman would let her in, at least she'd have safe haven.
But to my shock with doors pullled wide, there's nothing but a raven...

Now I'm not mad, but this is odd, as a women spoke, not a bird at my feet,
so I sprint to my room, bury my head...but now it's clear...the wooden floor's
got a beat...


Details | Bio | |

Artificial Intelligence

A mind will listen by expanding 
knowledge to learn; or explore 
possibility's.

In these teachings of technology
we figure out what we know is:
just A various combination of what
was programmed into our mind.

As time passes, we'll adjust to
evolve ourselfs into becoming
artificial intelligence; amoung
society and indulge it's greatest
achievement.

Until they soon take mind; over
body and loose all self~control
to empower the world.

I will not be your robot to control, 
I am my own individual person.


Details | Sonnet | |

Eternal Sparrow

Two thousand years ago a tiny bird
Loved by a Roman beauty met his death.
Catullus, a poet, was by passion stirred
And penned light lines, as fresh as baby’s breath.
“She loved him more than her own eyes,” wrote he,
“For he was gentle.” Furthermore he told
Of their affection pure that held the key
To sacred love, precious to her as gold.
That sparrow and his mistress live anew,
In everlasting, perfect adoration.
Catullus told their tale. There’s no adieu
And their true bond still offers inspiration.
A poem can send echoes throughout time,
To touch our hearts today with love sublime.



Details | Free verse | |

Babylon

Words hold the meaning that we assign them
Ever since the fall of the tower .....


Babylon
Ancient land of mysteries solved
and shared
Where collective mind 
cast away the shadow of doubt.

Creative thought 
held siege by the Jealous Gods of war
and retribution
Zeus
Appolo
Yeshua


A hundred times, babylon fell
to the Kassites, the Assyrians, 
She fell 
and was re-built by Nebuchadnezzar   
The hanging gardens, of Eden
her fruit of art and music
flowed through deserts
with the sweet wine of Bacchus
intoxicating all in her pleasure. 

In the aftermath of the great feast
they awoke to find
The Persian army stationed amidst them
having walked through the river
and under the walls.  
Order reform, separation. 
corruption deterioration
Dust to dust.
till
Alexander the Great
wooed her alive again.. 
Babylon
dancing through gardens, libraries, 
markets, travel and trade
musicians, poets and playwrights 
came again to sing praises of her beauty.
With his death 
she fell
pawed apart by the feuding decay of his bureaucrats.
Babylon, death and rebirth..

Now she lies beneath the sands, 
beneath the waters of the Euphrates 
A camel ride south of Bagdad
where the tanks and shells of many lands
shake the ancient tower down.

Hammurabi’s code still stands
shattered into a million languages.

Right is right
and Law is Law.


Details | Free verse | |

a running chestnut- prosodic ha ha

By any other name what is in a name 															prosody Rosa Dee the sweet voices arise in                       													Consonance assonance resonance Renaissance															you see being reborn by the word frequency 															colorfully resurrected euphoric euphony 																your flowing down along the Dee an Irish sea														  without life the screams of cacophony  															  cantos of Muirghein the queens nightmare            														 winds of change blow upon the wordy mare      															but the word in question rhimes with prosody                       													so you see to alliterate the marrying sounds															 honest dissonance choosing rather to write it down														 nomadiclly poeticlly phonetically as Rosa Dee															 instead harboring to the odic glottis lotus                                                                              within hours hope to see a singing laughing flower


Details | Rhyme | |

May 28

It’s Ian Fleming’s birthday
The guy who wrote James Bond
Who always teeters on the edge
Then took a step beyond
Let’s raise a glass to toast him
Wherever he’s interred
And make it a Vodka Martini
Shaken but not stirred

And while we’re talking birthdays
I’m sure the C C R
Without the great John Fogerty
Would not have gotten far
So if I’m “looking out my backdoor”
And see a “bad moon rising”
Or think I hear Ms. “Suzie Q”
It should not be surprising
This talented song writer
Has written quite a few
And it was on this day in May
He was “born on the Bayou”

Mdailey	5/28/11

I have always enjoyed the writings of each of these men



Details | Rhyme | |

Olde Hymns

It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.

It seems a rather awkward move,
To rhyme words like “Love” with words like “Prove”,
And to rhyme “Lord” with the word “Word”,
To me it just seems quite absurd,
Is there not a word around,
Which will make a similar sound?

It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.

Maybe their aim was just to be,
A pleasing read aesthetically,
And the writer was too proud,
To change the word when read aloud,
But surely a hymn must be sung,
And those lines don’t trip off the tongue.

It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.

Perhaps they simply didn’t say,
Those words the way we do today,
And that once upon a time,
Those pairs of words did make a rhyme,
We know our language has evolved,
So should the writers be absolved?

But it annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.


Details | Free verse | |

Favoritism Forwarding

Photobucket - Video and Image 
Hosting

Let everyone know
whose on your lists
drop them a line this time to tell them
exactly where they sit on your favorites
let them know what their poem means to you while they are still alive
this is your interactive audience
your psychic sidekick
your spiritual inner workings guide

Let them know who is on your list
and then tell them to pay it forward and in a few more months 
let it spiral out again
why sit in silence and never know
who your fans are
read up on them find their tastes
and pleasures and then help define them

Let me know please
who is reading me
tell me tell me
what poems of mine do you continually re read
the future
the future
the future we aim to touch
but if we don't work together to find out the present favorites
we might not ever know much

So teach me about my writing
who is my target audience of you
drop me aline so i can find
whose reading me and why
and what i can do
to entertain you
and the future in a better manner
so the competition will have a competitor in this corner
now please pay your favoritism forward





Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

the goatherd's crooked staff

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa made
tea so his Third Eye could open
to see dreams fortifying in aspiring hearts
as they reach for the next beat in their comings and goings

Socrates played the lyre by
banging on the strings while
humming and hawing about the trouble of
always stressing and straining against the chains
though he loved Phaedrus in the Symposium 
it was Xanthippe that made him a muse

Hermann Hesse spoke in tongues
while translating the synapses of a goatherd 
who arranged new ideas like glass beads 
which almost always came undone
except when Siddartha played the lute
in exchange for his crooked staff

Nietzsche saw the cunning linguist
would never solve the puzzle of the dead body 
which Zarathustra carried to his bed like a wolf
where he lay dying of syphilis wrapped 
in the wool of many sleeping sheep

Sibelius finally gave in to the seduction of despair
when for many restless nights he looked up at the
stars in the same Elysian fields where
the goatherd lay asleep
dreaming


Details | Narrative | |

Beauty and the Unpublished Author


Far away in a little town tucked in the corner of a map
Lives the girl who ruined his heart
And broke his life

While with him she would smile and laugh so sweet
Tender as only she could be
In his heart she lit even the corners so deep

With time she became his definition of life
In all he did he had her in mind
Life wasn’t life without him seeing her smile

As moments grew into weeks
The flower of his heart started to reveal its wilt
In her eyes no longer was the sparkle he was used to seeing

Winds carried awful odour of their disorder
Tales went round of her illicit exploits behind the counter
The man with the shop at the corner savoured all the honey she offered

At first he dismissed the whispers with laughter
But soon he discovered he was the only one on the other side of reality’s border
Yes indeed, another prince had taken over

Trouble was how sincerely he loved her
Problem was that even she had only love to offer
Issue was he hadn’t yet sold a dime of the books he authored


Details | Rhyme | |

Ireland's Journalist Jewel

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
Veronica Guerin
 
 
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the 
                      criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "
 


Details | Senryu | |

Beginning of the Country

The country started By making a little sweat Causing injury Writing promises Of the great Constitution Wearing fresh clothing Now we have finished Because we are very smart Awesome document
Russell Sivey


Details | ABC | |

Gold Rush

Able bodies come..
dig .. excavate.. find gold..
how I jumped..keep looking..
mercy.. Nothing!.. 
ore... picks..quick rising 
settlements.. tents.. Unbelievable..
Vigilantes.. Worries... xenophobic.. 
yelling zestfully..
 


Details | Verse | |

Buttered Toast And Trains

His dreams of buttered toast and trains became
  Beleaguered by town-planners and architectural sharks
Who erected on his green and pleasant visions
  The blight of sunless tower blocks and concrete parks.
Once bicycles and potting sheds held blissful sway
  In country lanes and gardens swarmed with bloom,
Replaced by streams of motorised invaders,
  In place of lawns - hot tubs and decking loom.

His chronicles of defiance ring like warning bells from
  Small quaint churches in his rhyming pages,
Across the village greens and through the cobbled streets
  Down the passages of post colonial ages.
The words of such gentility and slowly dying culture,
  Sandwiches of cucumber and egg and cress for tea,
Earl Grey poured from china pots, sugar lumps in silver bowls,
  Croquet hoops and endless sun and sweet austerity.

That world, though semi-fabled, seems ever more unreal,
  And images he drew upon are all that now remains,
To teach us of a man who lived and then outlived his time
  With his marvelled dreams of buttered toast and trains.


Details | Narrative | |

Vignette-CHARLES DICKEN'S CLASSICS

There was a great English novelist I truly admired since my vibrant youth,
and his name was Charles Dickens; and his classics I read and revered.
He wrote many memorable novels, and one of them, filled with truth,  
was: "A CHRISTMAS CAROL", which he splendidly narrated...
as those London's bells tolled above a foggy, busy Avenue. 


Entered in Brian Strand's contest A Literary Love Affair                             

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Dizain | |

Profits are Poets

Two thousand twelve, just a new year,
No one knows the end, except one.
With faith, knowing right, none to fear,
Everyone just hypes to shun.
Others do it, in lively pun.
Outcomes of profits can be fit.
They can be played, on any bit.
Profits are mans weakness, in life.
They make all people, fear their wit.
Profits are poets, giving strife.


Details | Haiku | |

' Uni-Verse...' (Haiku # 11)

   ‘ Uni-Verse ’   Haiku  # 11

        Oh, What Universe
What Grand Word, Did God Speak First
     ... Gave Beginning – Birth !


Details | Free verse | |

World Cutup

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
	Yellow butterflies 
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 
Even 
	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.


Details | Blank verse | |

Life Is The Ink

Life is the ink
I write with.
Words are the actions
I maketh and take.
Paper is the earthly conneciton
Of where I am.
This pen is my destiny,
For only I hold the key.
These lines are boundaries
Of memories and times.
This book is my story,
Telling all there has been.
Writing is as living
As to remaining is as dying.
History is vast,
Yet each life creates its cast.
Life is the ink
We write with.
Words are the weapons
For fight and defence.
These books are our story
And forever we write freely.
Life is the ink
And is bound to run dry.
Our words remain
Even after we die.


Details | Free verse | |

DEEP DOWN

New
growth
              from
              old
springs
forth
           little
           songs
of 
Italy
          where
          flowered
          sonnets
to
fill
         poets
         hearts
for
hours
          ‘til
          centuries
went by
French
          Vers
             Libre
to
England’s
           acclaim
           by
Imagism's
open
           form
            free
verse
             became
…
   …poetry  


Details | Quintain (English) | |

Pentastich-PABLO'S IMMORTALITY

He died as all humans die, 
and yet his thoughts have never ceased...
to declare a mortal an immortal:
expressing himself with works 
full of sensitivity and awareness. 


He lived and breathed that Chilean air,
sent from the mixed breezes of the Andes;
and sitting down on a warm rock,  
he contemplated the white peaks of those mountains...
gleaming from distance, to instill more tenacious memories.


Pablo glorified the human spirit
with its unflinching fortitude, 
to describe the joy or sadness of a certain age;
and absorbed in profound thought,
he continued writing until death stopped his breath.



Details | Rhyme | |

THE TRUE PURPOSE OF WRITING

Quite often I have asked myself
the true purpose of writing,
when I could indulge in life...
and suddenly stop dreaming!


Tired from work, my poetical urge rises:
like tides rising on the moon's appearance,
I look away...even reality is no pretense;
yes, words can survive a body that dies!


I feel and pursue no other passion more than this one:
bringing verses to life when they are non-existent;
at least, they have found in this poet a strong voice again...
they will be recited by vibrant lips, then he'll meet his end!


Details | Rhyme | |

HISTORY WILL JUDGE ME

History will judge me I'm finally told,
when greatness will be mine to behold;
this naked truth has always reflected my intent...
nobody has ever been able to muzzle any sentiment.


Negative criticism can't eat away my spontaneous creativity,
and diminish this inwardly intricacy;
and if irascibility seems irrepressible...
no irony is found in relevant words that are totally irrefutable.


History will judge me for my free will,
examining my morals and authenticity,
and by its own standard, acclaim me as they will...
even for my fluent and expressive verses of sincerity.


Belying is not the mendacious creed I profess,
intolerant of inequality, inflamed by fairness...
expelling deeds of duplicity that impinge on truthfulness;
and the imbecile, like the scoundrel, still practices insolence.    


History will judge me for my temperament:  sad, jaunty,
jolly, jocose, comical, querulous, lonesome and moody;
and should it immortalize me among its chosen literati...
this honor I will accept with acclamation and dignity. 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci 
,


Details | Alliteration | |

The Prime Directive Quiz ( P D Q) or Prolix Drama Queen Part One

When You Really Discern… 
‘Why The Drama?’ Pattern
and Pending-Adoration,
 Pertains-Peroration
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
…The Pinnacle… 
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… 
and Portal-To-Pace-Immortal
This Diadem-Prince-Progeny… 
of Dazzling Famed-Piety and Propriety!
The Possessor and Presenter 
and The Permission-for-us-to Speak and Palace-Enter
The Premium-Derivative-Son,
 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
  or Plow-Perverted… 
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


Details | Free verse | |

The Interlude

I am drenched
In a solemn, endless rain of tears 
Over the drifting of my sole spring—
Its grace and ethereal splendour

Extricate me, 
Now lost in the tangled darkness of cosmic riddle
Fire me, 
To the crest of your sublime ripple

In a murderous mob
Hunting down intolerant voices
Let me flourish 

Efface that vestigial wilderness
Of towering forest between
So I can hear …

Lavish on me the wealth of your melodic inventions 
Closing that desert of distance
That long seems across trillion miles 

I, the latest flame in your rising fire
Pull me near your rapid river
Where groves laden with mangoes quiver


Details | Ode | |

SOME WILL KNOW GREATNESS

Our modern world has become
so advanced and sophisticated,
and its technology is at our fingertips;
unlikely yesterday when everything was slow-paced,
now fast-food and credit cards are a convenience...
and poverty is the plight of low-income!

Some will know greatness,
for having made unthinkable strides,
and they will be honored or even immortilized;
and I like to be one of them...simply remembered!
The great minds of the past, like those of today,
struggled to come out of obscurity,    
until Popes and wealthy people recognized their genius;
and those names became so glorious!  

Each one of us is born with an amazing gift,
and through vocation and inspiration,
it can grow in size and scope...
if it's used with good intention!
Painters choose the colors of their images, 
writers create the words of their moods;
sculptors carve out  faces with a chisel,
and  composers imitate the feelings of the soul!

Some will know greatness,
and though riches may not ever be theirs...
their works are the reflection of themselves,
or of others who made a difference;
we have seen them, admired them
and applauded them with excitement!
And they are as detemined as we are,
fullfilling a mission beyond compare!
  


Details | Light Poetry | |

' The Greatest Poet Of All ... '

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 …


Details | Rhyme | |

Endangered Species

The bell denotes my presence and I breathe in all the must,
The old man sits amidst his books himself covered in dust.
I glance around -
	Without a sound -
		What will my hunting eyes expound?

My favourite place to visit full of wonders and old writing,
Such stories do they tell to me, before you even crack the binding.
A missing page -
	Gold words engraved -
		Intriguing, so I must engage.

I find the little hidey hole, past modern paperbacks,
An antique chair to sit and stare at what today’s world lacks.
A sense of style -
	In rustic guile -
		Enchants even the smallest child.

I run my hand along the row of books with golden lettering,
Experiencing all their worth, regretting what we’re forgetting.
They are our last -
	Ancestral past -
		They speak to us in volumes, vast.

They call to us from history and they ask us to remember,
Before they too become extinct, they are a dying ember.
Our legacy -
	Technology -
		Where knowledge waits on scratched CDs.


Details | Sonnet | |

SONNETEER OF ANOTHER ERA

I'm the sonneteer of another era,
Struggling for fame and dreaming of glories...
Living free in prosperous America,
Where there's hunger for interesting stories.


Invite me to share yours as thrills resume;
I will give my opinion anytime,
But perfect syllables count and strict rhyme scheme
Are required for rhythm to happily chime.


Petrarch and Shakespeare were the greatest
Poets who created remarkable sonnets;
Read their works with unquenchable zest:
You'll discover they wrote them in the hundreds!


Study the unique forms of each sonnet; 
Model yours on them with true interest!    



Details | Free verse | |

An old motto renewed

woke up this morning
to an epiphany
of how your world works
be the best you can be
the best human 3 coil double flusher you can be
at first i was upset
in denial
that i too could live up to such high standards
how could i ever compete with such human waste
when they practice being a walking talking waste of skin everyday
acting it out
singing it
and making more money just by practicing an old motto renewed

Thats the only power you have over me
to be or not to be
a huge clog in the toilet we know as life
and i could practice it
all day and all night
no point in dancing around it in denial
but that might make me worth something
if i could pull off the feat of unequal measure
and finding someone to label what they really are
and laugh at the fact that they are oblivious to how your world works

Practicing being a total waste of skin
and then blame it on someone else
and hang their dead baby off my neck
but nope i'm better than that
i can be the best 3 coiler double flusher i can be
without any practice
just human nature at this point

Act 1 scene 2
making one person living a lie
look like a good person
as the rest of the play is all about everybody competes for the reward of being a clog in the 
toilet we call life
Song and dance
still the same glory
and yet soo many of you basking in your power
of who is or isnt in denial of how your world works
practice makes perfect i guess
no point in trying to change anything
just go dangle someone elses dead baby off your neck

an old motto renewed
be the best double flusher i can be
live it, sing it, paractice it to one day show the world their brand new lie
and next lesson of how to be succesfull at something
that will only come naturaly
why not?


Details | Quatrain | |

Nostradamus

Some have regarded you as a prognosticator. Others have considered you a prevaricator. How far into the future can one person see? Could you really see what was coming in the sixteenth century? With your poetic passages known as “quatrains”, many believe you held the future’s reins. Your words made your prophecies quite mystical. However, the language you used was equivocal. Despite your writings many consider so vague, compatriots called you a healer who conquered the plague. However, you could not save your family from death. The disease took you wife and children’s last breath. You lived during the renaissance age of men. It is questionable whether you were a genius or charlatan. There are many interpretations of what you had to say. Some debate over the meanings of your quatrains remains today.


Details | Concrete | |

OGAM

       ||

       ///

        |

       |||

   in stone they left their name
       
                   until writing came to fame

Note: Ogam or Ogham : a 4th Century (c) Irish/ancient British alphabet inscribed on stone etc
above ,below or across a horizontal line

          |      ////    ||    |        ///

          b       r       i      a        n


Details | Senryu | |

The Behistun Inscription

World heritage site Multilingual script The God's place or land http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/places.php


Details | Concrete | |

Words in the dictionary

English prides itself on being a well-spring of today’s language
like a magpie that freely picks up foreign words elsewhere
with an attempt to incorporate them into its richness of vocabulary;
a great endeavor that makes sense to be a global lexicon these days.

It’s a continuing effort that knows no barrier with other nations,
to the world of cultures with an attitude of openness and expansion;
widens one’s horizon and enables one to get a habit of insertion,
recognized as an inspiration that becomes a treasure trove of information.

Interesting it may be to find one’s word from a particular culture
that insertion in the dictionary which is a constant guide to everyone;
a close study, a reference to certain thoughts, backgrounds, and origins,
these words provide their meanings and usages in sentence constructions.

Yet their phonetic spellings are great indications to pronounce them well
according to history or origin that supply right definitions and implications,
their etymological meanings, derivations or other shades of meanings;
in their contextual variations or figurative implications thus far.

As they possess the power of meanings or as an identity of every word,
their roles make substance and clarity to what is necessary to understand;
they make a difference; they serve like guardian angels in every way,
whose central tenet and mission explore guidance and comprehension.

Webster’s, Oxford, McQuarie or Thesaurus as dictionaries used these days,
with idiomatic expressions provided in different contexts and origins;
however, profound or different as applied in many human situations,
they convey wisdom; so rich that many times they’re used in today’s parlance.

Words, words, words, as Hamlet famously moaned when Polonius asked him;
what he reads and wrestles with words and meanings generate an answer,
it’s the same thing with one’s attitude to consult or refer to a lexicon,
a dictionary, a thesaurus, or any similar print that provides meanings –
words that draw the link between history and experiences of humanity.


Details | Lyric | |

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Doth if not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art, 
To feel how I press thy singing 
Close to my heart? 

Published first at age thirteen,
Historical stanzas
Expressions of the patriot thou art
Lyrics singing.

Your candles nightly glowing,
Great writings to impart,
Signaled from the Old north Church
Paul Revere’s Ride.

Do you revel from above,
“Poems of Slavery” roused,
Oh, abolitionist, thou famed
Compassion heard.

The Villiage Blacksmith sweating
Working his way through life,
Remembers your ancestral past.
Honored through time.

My favorite childhood poet
Sharing my same birthdate*,
You crossed the decades to my youth
And made me see.

Where lies, now, thy influence?
Embedded in my soul –
Patriotic heart and poet,
Grown from thy art.

Ó November 19, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  The Passionate Reader 	
Sponsored by: Constance ~ My Dear Heart ~

See Notes:


Details | Free verse | |

Rondel-LITERATURE

Literature

is the creation of words:

funny, sad, dramatic, tragic or satirical...

so adored by writers,

to appease their exploding passion through

literature!


Literature

is verse or prose...

seen by different eyes;

its works outlast us:

excellence is the essence in

literature!


Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Lanterne | |

CENSORED

Thoughts;
freedoms
wave goodbye-
all confined things
die



Inspired by the maxim of Toulouse Lautred's father about nature/birds etc


Details | Rhyme | |

It Is Written Chapter One Verses One To Five

In the darkness of the night,
a camp fire glows, yellow, orange, bright,
around it sit people who we now describe,
as together, having formed a tribe,
and as they roast their latest kill,
enough this time to eat their fill,
the father figure of them all,
begins to reminisce, yes, to recall,
stories of great deeds that he,
has stored within the recesses of his memory.

And through passing millennia it was thus done,
tribal histories passed from father to son,
until the populations of tribes had grown,
and many different stories had come to be known.
Then there came the great idea to draw,
depictions of what each day they saw,
when hunting the animals they needed to stay alive,
they recorded each species which then, did thrive,
painted on cave roof and wall,
wondrous visions which still enthral!

Change came slowly from this time, and,
populations moved to find new land,
so they could ensure their survival,
looking for space without any rival
tribes competing for scarce resources,
life was hard with Mother Nature's forces,
stacked against this new species, who,
compared to Earth's history, was brand new.

Successful tribes began to grow,
and with life experience they came to know,
that the hunter gatherer way of living,
was particularly hard, and unforgiving,
and that for their populations to expand,
they had to find new ways to exploit the land.

So from this point, change came faster,
sometimes punctuated by a natural disaster,
but change it did, and before too long,
they built settlements that were big, and strong,
on land from which they now knew,
the kind of crops from the soil best grew.


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry In Motion

Poetry in motion is like singing a song,
With words their meaning, short or long;
Thought expressed with feeling of the written word,
An expressive idea carried as if on the wings of bird.

Gaiety, festivity, dedication or sorrow words meant,
Even to cherish, share, or a way to just vent;
Carefully scribed from thought, said or just done,
The poet can be serious or write just for fun.

A long time ago many stories were poetically told,
Some became treasure and thus never grew old;
Rhythm, familiarity, or just were easy to say,
Poems that endure, even now, to this day.

As we ride the winds of time so much can be said,
The very essence of poetry that dance in ones’ head;
Not for fame, nor fortune, not even for fleeting power,
A symphony of lovely words like the beauty of a flower.

For as long as man lives and is able to clearly think,
He will express his feelings with song, verse, or drink;
In his bed, at his work, or just a sudden notion,
He will happily sing a song with poetry in motion


Details | Haiku | |

In Your Times

Have you ever felt
You were born decades too late?
Centuries too soon?

Well, maybe you were...
To bring back old landmarks or
Usher new knowledge.

So, let history
Repeat its lessons through you
Or write your own books.


Details | Rhyme | |

UNWANTED

Have you ever felt unwanted?
Like your being haunted 
One minute their saying bye-bye 
But when you walk out that door 
They wanna break down and cry
And say why did she have to go so fast
But really their feelin free at last

Have you ever felt unwanted?
Like you would have changed something in your past
And u messed up and that was your last
You feel so ashamed
Your saying stop playing games
But you really don't know
They want you to go

Have you ever felt unwanted?
Like there was no comfort place
Like someone just up to you
And said i need my space
How would you feel?
Would you fell blu?
Or when it all boils down 
Would you feel the same way too?


Details | Free verse | |

Alanis morisette

I know you got my letter 
from years ago
the one about all my problems 
and the crush i had on you
about my dresser and my mispelled name
and what slide meant to me and why

I should be accountable
but im not sure what im supposed to do
ive heard you
and understand your sick of your voice and why
ive even tried joining your fan club
but i think that fell through

I told u about my friend sherri shepherd and her family
and how they blindly ylead eachother 
but im not allowed to be her friend

Im not sure what id do if i was in your shoes
recieving a letter from a child fan
telling a stranger their suicidal tendencies
and molestations and abuse at home
and their witchcraft circle and strange experiences that involved
making love to a famous artist before their career had changed

Alanis
its like unexplainable to me
what you are
a reminder of a mother figure i never knew
a saving grace when the angels seemed soo far away
and i understand all of ur lyrics from im not ur mother 
i diont carry you in my womb for nine months
to not the doctor
and now i wonder if im like an adopted 27 year old 
life lesson 
object to crave 
side project 
toy
you never wanted but got handed
and passed with flying colors

even though a few of your lyrics are two edged swords
im not sure what i wrote and sent off to you
but by the time you read it and wrote that song a lot had changed

i spoke of love like yours
and the help i needed and how i was fascinated with you
things i needed help with no one else could
i dont remember what i wrote
i think i wrote marilyn manson one too

Thank you
we bruised eachother
and i know you did a lot more for me
an object to crave?
its there u know...and it might not be me
but if u want one and u cant find one
i can help u look, or show u places to start

life is strange
i cant fathom the loops we sent eachother through
and who knows what anymore
but thank you soo much



Details | Verse | |

Castles In Spain

Drumming from the amps, bristling with snares and hooks,
(“I see in your eyes, castles in Spain.”);
Aide memoirs of the past, post-war resurrection, stubbornly,
Wreathed in wires of smoke and delineated by baselines,
(“I see in your eyes, castles in Spain.”);
In the imaginary glare, scrubland plains play host,
The homeland of bleached white sonic structures,
Aspiring to touch the scorched stonewashed sky,
(“I see in your eyes, castles in Spain.”);
Ravaging the cold corpses of pastoral dictators,
Burying them in gritty sand, interring with their
Emotional fascism for companionship on the final
Journey into the heartlands of the dead conquistador,
(“I see in your eyes, castles in Spain.”);
In that hopeless kill zone of love and promises,
That vain and empty body of soulless night,
That reflective insult of scorn and terrible beauty,
Replications of dreams laid bare, films on her iris,
Panoramas populated by citadels of waste,
(“I see in your eyes, castles in Spain.”)
(“I see in your eyes…castles… in… Spain!”).
But what can I do?


Details | I do not know? | |

By A Lone Cowboys Hand

Upon the page forever bound, the wagering of life will be found,
Where those words are gathered in paper and ink and bring a cowboys life to the brink
Of wit and charm with a cowboys creed, what’s on his back is all he’ll need,
For those turns in life that unfold, like a horse that he couldn’t hold.
His wild eyes would test his fate, with quick sharp hooves his teeth bared with hate.
Or a more subtle gander into life so told where he could walk on land, not branded or sold.

Find a friend not easily made, standing alone when he has strayed 
To a place where he shouldn’t be,
And with in his eyes all he’ll see 
Of life and early death,
Beside a friend until his final breath.

The pages are bursting with emotion and wit, the knowledge of where he got most of it.
Feeling the breath of a horse rode down. Hearing the spurs as they strike the ground.
Smelling the leather and sweat of a hard days ride.
Knowing they have done more than just tried.

Horns that gore a pony that he was on, artistically maneuvered in words and drawn,
To make you feel the at painful fall,
The reality of a mad cows bawl
All etched into words and forever bound to a book of silence,
If not read now sound will fill the mind and souls with imaginations of prairies and knolls, 
And mountains where cattle hide with no brand burnt upon their hide

You are drawn into a life where men were free, and shaped by the land like they ought to be.
 Lives that were whittled and chiseled into long hard days,
The force of mother nature and the changing of ways 
Bring alive the west, we now read and hear. The wisdom behind the handmade gear.

Cowboys North and South, bring knowledge and hence are a powerful part of evidence, that the Grit of Smokey, Flint and Sand where brought to life by a Lone Cowboys hand.
From cover to cover you are woven into the past and live with the cowboys the author has cast,
Turning each page so you could read on 
Knowing the emotions and feelings along 
With the horses and cowboys names.
Brought to life by one man,
Will James.


Details | Verse | |

Hand to Hand

 I hate others,
That are objecting me. 
I love others,
That are encouraging me.
Who can alter me?
If I don’t accept any device,
I like to tease others,
But always I love to my like,
Dislikes, I always mind,
I amn’t different,
I do as you do,
My mankind is yours 
And yours mankind is mine,
Then what’s my weep,
We are traveling in a same boat.
You scratch me, I shall scratch you. 
Nobody a third can ruin us.


Details | Free verse | |

VII: Conquered

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 
of pretendness
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,
your Magus.


Details | Narrative | |

vignette- A POET' S POET

London born,Lancashire bred
Into Chaucer's footsteps,others he led
Medieval prosody,his 'little song' said-
Long may such sonnets be heard
Of the fountainhead of English poetic words.

Tribute to Edmund Spenser 1552-99


Details | Narrative | |

Ben Ja Min

on Jan 17th 1706 Benjamin Franklin was born 
became a printers apprentice 
established the first lending library
was known as an uncommom comman man 
that taught self in science and inventions






Benjamin Franklin 1706-1790


Also Entry For Brian Strand's   Vignette
A Literary Love Affair Contest
         GL All


Details | Cowboy | |

Dear Charlie

I have thought of you often, found some paper tucked away,
I’m feeling sentimental and have some time today,
So with pen in hand I thought I would write a line or two,
Though I don’t know where your at or if this letter will get through.

Well the wire is now strung and the cowboys are fenced in,
The Indians that rode beside you will never be again. 
The long horns their now mulies a horn not a one,
I guess the wild west days have come and gone.

But Charlie I think you know there is a die hard breed.
There are still some out there that live the cowboy creed.
I know it’s not exactly the same as when you rode so bold,
But Charlie I wanted you to know that not all the saddles are sold.
For they wake each morning to the rising sun,
And know at the end of each day their work is still not done.
And they will gather around a fire to hear a yearn or two,
To see who tells the better tale of the things that they do.
And some paint a might good picture too, I have seen them at their best.
I guess there’s still a little wild out here in the west.

We think of you often and dream of a time 
When the range was open and the land was in its prime. 
When long horns ran high ridges and tested cowboy wit,
And even the best of the ponies would still challenge the bit.
So I thought I would write to let you know 
that you are thought of out here in what we do and where we go. 
And there still is hardcore buckaroos who still challenge change,
And they fight for the freedom to ride the range.

Well the fire has burned to embers and the crew is coming in
The quiet moment that I had, is now brought to an end,
So I will stoke the fire, put the coffee on and say goodbye for now,
Hoping you might get this letter some how.
Just remember your not for gotten Charlie and you will live on
And the cowboys and buckaroos are not completely gone.
And when I have more quiet time and paper that I might find,
I promise to write again, rest in peace my dear old friend.


Details | Limerick | |

Some rime with that?

A poet was rhyming an ode
Driving his car down the road
He became so engrossed
That his car hit a post
And his trousers became a commode

So from that day on our sweet poet
Swore on his word that he'd stow it
avoiding such deep concentration
Before he'd become so unravelled
Or he'd be on a roadway less travelled


Details | Romanticism | |

Milk and Cookies

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


Details | Free verse | |

Getting blacklisted by the feds 101

FBI
Allah
Iraq
cocaine
Bomb Bomb Bomb
Gun
die die die
smuftee
hash
Bush
bullet bullet 
knife
marijuana
kill or be killed
death
drugs
heroine
New world Order
KKK
white power
snuff
crack crack crack
kuwait
UFO
Satan


Details | Senryu | |

WORDS OF FREEDOM

Behind cell bars, he
wrote that letter with wisdom... 
revealing his dream.

Desiring justice,
he condemned unfairness...
confronting evil.

Without violence,
He spoke loudly and clearly...
the Nation listened.


Entered in Abe Lopes's contest,
" From A Birmingham Jail "


Details | Free verse | |

From Cover to Cover

From being forced to cross the Atlantic Ocean under the cover of stars
to volunteering for a mission above every ocean to the stars.

From being stared at on an auction block and having the family sold and separated
to ten years running, in the most watched block, as a priceless model of the family unit.

From working for peanuts and fertilizing somebody's land with the blood that runs off of
the back
to owning the land, working the peanut, and transfusing the blood back.

From being robbed of a spoken language, losing a religion, a culture, a god
to influencing: the language spoken in cultures, songs in religion, and the pathway to God.

From losing a hand and a foot or a leg for not being fast enough to get far enough away
from “the man”
to using the hands, legs and the feet in running farther and faster than the average man.

From the king, of a nation, beaten into a personal slave and called names like coon,
spook, and “Boy”
to a boy named King who would grow up to “win over” a nation for the equal freedoms of
every person.

From generations that had to take the last names of past presidents
to being the name that can give a future generation its first president.


Details | Free verse | |

The Diary Journals

This will be a real series of excerpts for civil war diaires fron Jan 1, 1864...mixed 
with my diary journals from 1967-NOW...
there will be no censoring, so tender minds may wish to avoid.....

The first entry is from Jan 1st, 1864;
     A driving rain storm, and this is the first day of a New Year.  I am all alone, and 
have felt very lonesome all day, and hope today is not a sample of the coming or 
future years.  I was so hoping Jerrie---would come out tonight, but the last train 
came and so perished my hopes of his coming tonight.

_______________________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________________


Details | Free verse | |

Number Nine (Nonet)

Sixty-three divided by seven
Four squared plus two and minus nine
Square root of sixteen plus five
Square root of eighty-one
Three squared plus zero 
Ten minus one
Six plus three 
Three threes
Nine!



Comments:  dedicated to the mathematical wizards who would like to write a 
nonet poem, this is your chance.   This is a very understandable way to write a 
nonet. A nonet poem has nine lines, with the first line containing nine syllables, 
the second line eight, the third seven, then six, next five, then four and so until the 
last and ninth line has one syllable. The nonet poem may be written about any 
subject, and rhyming is optional. Start with a topic sentence and work it down live 
a funnel. It should be deductive and inductive.


Details | Acrostic | |

"TRANQUIL"


Totally peaceful~ a picnic in the park.
Restful~  relaxing~ fishing~ riverside.
Amazing~ building castles~ at oceans edge.
No strife ~ no stress~ cloud watching.
Quiet and calming~ a  misty midnight walk.
Untroubled ~ unusual~ under the moss draped oaks.
Idyllic ~ impressive~ stars on a black velvet sky.
Longed for~ nature's music~ lovers hand in hand.


Details | Blank verse | |

Alligators

Beware from alligators,
A notice board was hanged,
Outside the pond,
And water was very quiet.

I tried to look around,
I haven’t seen any alligator,
But suddenly an animal came,
And bend to drink water.

I have seen a giant alligator,
Attacked on an animal,
But a poor animal has lost his life,
But board was still hanging.

I have seen thousands alligators,
In white clothes but never seen, 
Any notice board, is system so worst?
They are sucking bribery who noticed.


Details | Narrative | |

' A Poet, Goes To War ... '

‘ 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


Details | Rhyme | |

The Written Word

Aye, the written word!
Dearly, my dearest friend
Bestow the meekest with thy power
Liberate thy most ignorant follower
And then to them
Make thee, great men

Aye, touché
To wisdom, to wit, to script
Tongue also sharp and dreadfully quick
But thus a pen mightier and ever brave
With one bold stroke, swift of quill
The most ardent of cynics, shall be swayed


Details | Ballad | |

Emily Dickinson (1830-1866)

In her isolation
For it is there
She dreams
And in expressions 
It seems 
For in a lifetime  
We could never interpret
The Civil war crimes 
Passionate ink spreads with mystery 
In a time of such history 
Unique is her style 
Her words 
Beguile 
With “Capital” punctuation 
For her formation 
And true imagery that indulges the mind 
Here you will find 
She has chosen but a way 
Many other poets couldn’t sway 
And so it wasn’t until her 
Death 
 Her work gave but a breath 
Upon the published page
In the age 
Of 1866 
Where she was otherwise missed



Details | Acrostic | |

The Prophecy

Telling of doom and despair, they write in poetry and prose.
Hearing and deciphering as in any piece, varied elucidation,
Every century, has a foreseer of the past, their words have rose.

Preparing for tragic events, is like finding something un-lost.
Reality sets in afterwards, when the details and time has past.
Only profiteers gain from our fears, while humanity pays the cost.
Prophecies are words shared, written of mind and heart.
Hearing tales from the past, though written only after the fact.
Every one in their hearts, know the truth‘s, from the start.
Careless weaving of tales can bring such harm and destruction.
Years may change the words, prophets continue in the part.


Details | Free verse | |

Credentials

I thought these white words like seering light
That jived my brain with alien meanings
To my pain were scandalously gone
I thought I would have to find a way to speak
Using silence as my native tongue
While I mourn the longing for cadence and rhyme
Then suddenly I was shaking like a mountain on fire
My whole world was convulsing with desire
And I knew I was abouut to spew hot lava again
And send foul gases to give life to dying forests
And bring men to joy surreptiously 
For these white words belong to a whole energy
An assembly of things in chain like my soul
For there is no reality of anything except that which is conquered
And must erupt with volcanic presence
To claim even the edge of a normal existence
The black burden is a perrennial tragedy, a mask
For all we cannot say or do with ignorance again
I still am apostle of thunder, and of justice
And of song, bacchanal and the drum that dance
Against the skull, breaking the bone for thoughts
Of deliverance. I love women who are rivers
And who make me weep like the sea
Because I cannot articulate the sincerety of what I feel
Some I did not call they came of their own volition
Forcing their hurricane on me
I wrote no dance for the tornado they became
I watched them spin and went their way
You should see how these scaffolds blamed me
When they had no more use for me
I was never building them
For always my hoiuse was for one true love
Who losing her identity wanted to be a scaffold too
And pulled her house down just like the Bible said she would
And when I thought that was everything
There on the ground was words
This incessant mistress whoring at my feet
I picked it up for my own therapy not revenge
The pen is sweet in my hand
It scrolls memories again, it scours the frenzy of pain    
This is all I am


Details | Free verse | |

Psychosis of the muse

such a secret important word
danced around verbally
conditioning you the way they want
for utmost power
if i had it my way
i would have you ring a bell everytime their secret word
tweaks you out

Jeese 
I wonder what the secret word is...
everytime i hear it, i cant help but feel this way
crack a smile and drool
and then get bent out of shape

Not like you owe me anything
cause you don't
but alas
i can't help but care
this is affecting me
and i refuse to tell you
your secret word

Dangerous?
does it make me dangerous...
start reading from the dictionary
and i'll show you dangerous

one secret word
they all sing around for the one
whoever the one is
in a world full of number 2's
we're all number 2
to the one

Obliviousness rocks
unfortunately you can't allow yourself
this ignorance
cause you my friend
are brainwashed
but alas
the villified ignorance speaks for itself

quite an oxymoron paradigm shift riddle
i wonder what the word is
I suppose i'll figure it out
cause my life depends on it

momentary hero
i am making you blind
present you with a riddle to make you smarter
but alas
i can only show you the riddle
i wouldn't be able to tell you

one word
such an intricate word
lost in the matrix of mentally conditioning yourself
when you ough to ring a bell

It's gonna happen now
you will have the desire to puirchase a bell
and ring it 
a lot
because of this word
whatever it is....

the psychosis of the muse
another part of society blackmailed
and scapegoated
and used as a weapon
cause we are all number 2
to the one


Details | Ballad | |

' Legendary ... ' ( Part 4 (of) 4)

‘ Legendary …’  ( Part  4 (of) 4 ) 



Now, that the Maiden was Unaided, Quickly, ‘He’ Located, Her Craftily
Beth, was in A Flurry, Too Much in a Hurry to Hear Turning of A Key 
Alas’ … The Happenstance of Harm, at the Bower, twas’ Done Most Foully !
Alas’ … The Happenstance of Alarm, Maid twas’ Undone for Shameful Villainy!

 * * *  The Maid so Afraid, for The Earl Waylaid – Her, to His Infamy
He Ravaged and Damaged The Maid … and Took Her Innocency …

And She, in Her Distress and Mental-Regress and Misery
Sat Horrified-Aloof, Sitting in Soiled Proof, of Her Plundered Chastity
There Could Nay be Gathered, Her Tattered-Wits twere’ Shattered, even for Modesty
As The Earl snidely Chuckled, and Boastingly Buckled His Belt, Smirking Heinously

Yea, The Earl had Sated His Dissipated Lust and Gloated – Gleefully
Went Back to The Masque-Ball and Unmasked and Called and Mocked Maliciously
Impugned Beth, to One and All, of Her Downfall from Grace to Impropriety
The Earl Made Sure … The Stunned Knight Would Overhear, The Indecency …

But Much to The Earl’s Chagrin and also Akin to Cowardice and Incredulity
… The Knight Spoke Nay a Word, Only The Hissing of His Sword, Struck Accordingly
The Last Look, The Earl Saw Was … Rage and The Fraught-Gaze of  Insanity !
Yea, The Knight, Smote The Gloat off The Face of the Vile Earl, Most Deservedly …

* * *

Thence, The Knight, in Their Sight, Became Legend That Night as He Fought Mightily
He Escaped Royal Guards, His Heart was Beating Hard, as He made it to The Bowery
And by the Window, He could see by Melted Tallow, a piece of cloth hung Raggedly
caught Wherefore Beth … had jumped to Her Death … and Lay Below Crookedly …

* * *

Now, Tis’ Sad To Recite … They Hung The Poor Knight,  tis’ Further Travesty
For The Earl, tho’ Highborn, wast’ a Cur to Be Scorned … a Monstrosity !
Alas’ …  and Aghast, the hope of Lovers Together at Last, Turned into Tragedy
Fie’ and Fain, lest’ we Forget, this be A Story and yet… couldst’ be Reality …

Yea, Fie’ and Fain, lest’ We Forget, …  Why The Earl, His End Met … 

                        … This Too Was Vanity …   Eccl. 1: 14

‘ … Sweet Wine On My Lips … Drip In Ecstasy
Sweet Touch On My Hips … Smooth as Warm Honey
Sweet Love of My Soul … Last An Eternity
Sweetheart, Be Thy Bold in Bravery …
… and if Sweet Talk, Be A Token
And Language Be Spoken …
Be Legendary … Be Thou Legendary ! ‘

                               The End


Details | Quatrain | |

MY POETICAL EXPRESSIONS

Through these verses I divulge my poetical expressions
to ignore criticism and not hoot while extricating my ideals;
my work is marked by indisputable integrity,
more plausible than a woman's chastity!


Recognition and deserving honor are nice,
but they are the least rewards I seek,
best of the best...who ever was ?
Worst of the worst.. I cannot be!


I fall between these two, lest I fault
and fairly deserve the dungeon... 
the crowds not applauding my effort,
not  proclaiming me a champion!  


My words are soave, sometimes as rigid as hooves of a horse...
reminding all that I am as human as anyone else who bleeds and rejoices, 
but  my creativity is not satiated by inferior knowledge or bizarre notions,
although my glory is never accompanied by real expectations!


Like Homer and Virgil the masters of ancient poetry,
I do praise their work, and recognize their genius shining in their word;
Troy fell and Rome rose to prominence by a bloody sword;
I don't fall by trickery, I stand on my fortress of liberty!


My obligation must be fulfilled by ardous work, I will not depart,
or merely linger on...until this mission is faithfully accomplished, and this voice,
before fading, invokes its last sunset to finally fall silent;
and if readers acclaim me, I have succeeded in my poetical expressions!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Rhyme | |

BOOKSTRINGS 1

I arrived earlier in time
To witness the great work of creation
When from the dust emerged the first man
I saw the destruction of the Noah’s world
And the reconstruction thereafter
The earliest civilization on Egypt soil
Unfolded before my very eyes
The reign of the Greek gods and
 The might of Roman, I shared 
I walked the streets of Paris
On the eve of Robespierre’s revolution
The triumph of Lenin, Trosky and the royal guards
Were mine at the proletariat Russia
With Cromwell, I drank from victory cistern
In Britain, in the battle against the crown
In the boat beside Columbus
We discovered the new world, America
In Berlin, we sat and scrambled 
For Africa’s  partition
From the rocks ravines of Kenya
I fought in the Mau Mau’s rebellion
Behind Ghandi, I walked 
Paving the streets of India for independence
At Capetown, I teamed  up with Mandela
For freedom in apartheid South Africa
I saw the the CIA at Congo Kinshasa
Murdering young Patrice Lumumba
At Lagos and Accra, I saw the magic wand
Waving over the peoples in the hands of Zik and Nkrumah
On stage with Bob Marley in old Rhodesia
I danced redemption song on the first of Zimbabwe
Last centuries, yesteryears, yesterdays
Today, tomorrow on pages and lines of books
Open before my very eyes and mind. 


Details | Ballad | |

' Legendary ... ' ( Part 3 (of) 4 )

‘ Legendary …’  ( Part  3 (of) 4 ) 



… Now, The Earl, had Spies, to keep Intruding Eyes On The Tryst of Secrecy
Beth’s Tresses, like Raven Wings and Eyes Emerald-Green, Became His Fantasies
Yea, He erstwhile Plotted, for He wast’ Besotted with the Cobbler’s Daughter’s Beauty
All to no Avail … for Beth Knew Well,  Twere’ None, More Wretched, than He !

So, She didst’ Spurn his Declaration and Protestations of Undying Fidelity
She didst’ Return, His Portrait and String of Pearls and His Poems, Peremptorily
Forasmuch, and twas’ this and such, She Rebuffed all His Pleasantries
In Favor of Her Knight, she Reserved This Right, which Enraged, Their Enemy
 - - - - - - -
Now, Twas’ but an Instant, of Insistent Cajoling, that Beth Pleaded Prettily
To Part with Her Swain, til’ Their Hearts Came, to be Joined For Perpetuity
To Compose Herself, for Their Nuptial-Heft, She twould  Prepare Hastily
And Rendezvous for His View, stating … ‘ I  twould’ Look, My Best for Thee!’

And as She left His side, She was Singing Most Merrily …

‘ …  Carry Me in Thine Arms, to Our Beloved Balcony
To a Bed of Blushing-Rose-Petals and Wild-Tossed-Peonies
A Bed Lover’s Designed … Draped in Damask and Brocade -Satiny
And let Moon-Glow, from Yon’ Window, Bathe Us Both Bodily … ‘

… and The Handsomely Styled, Smitten Knight Smiled, as He Heard Her Warm Gaiety …

… Sweet Wine On My Lips … Drip In Ecstasy
Sweet Touch On My Hips … Smooth as Warm Honey
Sweet Love of My Soul … Last An Eternity
Sweetheart, Be Thy Bold in Bravery …
… and if Sweet Talk, Be A Token
And Language Be Spoken …
Be Legendary … Be Thou Legendary !

                                  ( Part 3 (of) 4 )


Details | Free verse | |

Words

Words,
So powerful are you,
Words,
So long abused,
Words,
Why do we misuse,
Words, words,
Written and spoken,
Words,
Change our lives,
Words,
Are the laws,
Words,
Are our life.


Details | Free verse | |

What The Bleep Is Going On Here

                                                     past        .55
                                                  present     2.72
                                                   future      10.00









Scary Thoughts
Mr. President 
Open  Those 
Reserves  Now  Please 


Details | Narrative | |

vignette-THE LYRICIST

A missionary,with medical skill
With a gospel,fulfilling God's will,
Biographer,extraordinaire-
An historian,writer of song
Out of scripture his lyrics came from !

More @ Luke 1:29 Ave Maria ;1:46-55 Magnificat;1:68-79 Benedictus;2:29-32 Nunc Dimittis


Details | Blank verse | |

BOOKSTRINGS 11

I have been around the world
Deepest, darkest corners of the globe
Down south, up north
Up high in the air time countless
Through routes criss-a-cross
Many times on sea sails
I have seen the world greatest cities
Lived in the thickets of the sahara
Several nights in the African jungle
Mingled with red Indians in Guatemalan forests
Been in  and out of oval office
The white house the Americans pride
I’ve felt the might of the Kremlin
In the Duma of the Aryan race
Gone under below the earth
In Australia, the lone continent
Gazed boldly at crown of Elizabeth
Like a Duke in Edinburgh palace
I’ve dined and wined at the so rock
In Abuja the power place of Africa
Been amused and excited beyond expression
I’ve let flow flood of tears
Felt pains and agonies deep to the marrow
All on the  platter of books
And behold!, the wide world
Before my very eyes and mind
To wander and wonder.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

How Mark T Made His Mark

Money for nothing...
Newmark & Lewis you see
Was where Mark T worked
And was visited,
By a famous rocker
Who likely got the idea from him
I long wondered if true
And have been more than satisfied
With the proof.

I thought this tribute was done,
Then I realized I'd missed
the mark...(and I do miss Mark, believe me)
Mark's mark was really on those 
He shared the earth with.
No one ever influenced me musically
more than Mark.  What he taught me,
I couldn't have learned in Juilliard's.
And not just music.
Mark was way ahead of his time.
Way ahead.
He had his weaknesses, who doesn't?
But he did have a good heart.
He was a good friend.
I am sure he was a good father.

I was in numerous bands with him.
Like I earlier stated, somehow
his presence calmed me, even
when we were facing unscaleable
obstacles.
Once he brought over two albums,
pre- band practice.  I was introduced to
Floyd's "Atom Heart Mother", and the Dead's
Live Dead version of "Dark Star"

To this day, these are my favorite
pieces of music, particularly "Atom Heart".

How I wish we could have spent more time together.
How I grieve, with his family.
Only years later learning of this.
Countlessly trying to reach him prior.
Someday I will.


Details | Free verse | |

Help one another!

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!


Details | Free verse | |

Sequential Septuple

Cattle-cars filled with Jews,
Hot guitars wailing blues,
Pulsars beaming in the night,
Thoughts of wrong, desire for right,
Cigarette ash- grey and rigid,
German soldier, Russian front frigid,
Masonic poetic words far too turgid


Details | Free verse | |

MADE UP POEM

 MADE UP POEM 
MADE UP POEM 
Managerial inseparable font new words made up just on the spot 
warpped constitutional practices they took JESUS out of school 
they pray to the dollar bill and grab as many of them 
as they can possibly imagine 
they start out slow and then they snowball 
they change the history in the history books 
they give the children dirty looks 
they have an analytical mind 
they have no rhyme or rhythum 
though they beat upon a drum 
they tattoe dreams upon their arms 
and sleep in constellations of alarm 
they ruin life for all the rest of us 
they make it hurt and make it suffer 
they indicate and relate the waif 
they simulate their lover 
they do it undercover of the light 
mye soul will be with JESUS 
for they murdered all the crowe in me 
they fight they kill and they could not pay the bill 
what is worth thy soul in all eternity 
a new york t shirt and one dollar bill to some 


Details | Light Poetry | |

Washington

Out of all of the presidents, George Washington was one of the best.
When he became president, the USA was truly blessed.
They offered to make him king but he rejected it.
Then they offered to make him president and he accepted it.
Washington was a great leader who filled people's hearts with jubilation.
I wish I could travel to the past to see his inaugurations.


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

making It great in 2008 (part19): Just Do It

to make It great in 2008 just do it
just make sure that you're in sync with the Holy Spirit
as you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you
for as long as you're in Christ there's nothing you cannot do

when I think about the presidential election of 2008
I realize that a historical event is now taking place
an African-American man has won a major party nomination
for the very first time in the history of this democratic nation
but in order for him to take that seat
there is one task as voters we must complete
just do it, just do it and stop all the talk
stop the criticizing and player hating and just walk the walk
walk up to that voting booth and make a conscious choice
for the voting booth is the only place where the government hears your voice

when I think about those words written by the apostle Paul
in jail and at the end of his life's long haul
in a dank dark cell he inked those encouraging words
about what it takes as a Christian for one to be heard
just do it, just do it find your joy in Christ
just do it, just do it just make sure you do it right

for there is no substitute for the authority of experience
you must actually live through it to serve the sentence
you can read about it, you can goggle it, you can even say that you understand
but it's like having a baby it must be experienced by one's own hands
to know that in you there has been a major change
to know first hand that your spirit has been rearranged
to know that the Lord has bestowed upon you His grace
to know from your past that a change in you has taken place
for mole hills can become mountains, big can become small
minors can become majors and short can become tall
to experience for yourself being a part of the body of Christ
to understand that a spiritual change has come into your life
to know and believe there's nothing that you can't do
for the Holy Spirit of the Lord Christ now abides in you

I say this to the Democartic Nominee, Senator Barak Obama
you will be the next president in spite of all the Republicans drama
you're destined to do great things through Christ who strengthens you
so don't worry about John and Sarah for there's nothing that they can do
it's not just a coincidence that on the very day that you were appointed
it was 45 years since Dr. King gave a speech that was so anointed
so make It great in 2008 just do it but do it correct
bring about a change to America thus earning the people's respect


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fabel Seventeen Part Two

Eye left some bags underneath the moonlight with some messages from me to 
ewe if someone finds them please just not to worry eye will say the thief just took 
them and thank them for finding them they never play detective like the rangered 
rangerer. Remember to tell this next one to an atheist the next time the question 
GOD? Take the Concept of GOD and then think really hard about what that could 
really mean then think how it would not be really hard to write a bible for a GOD? 
He could have made FOURHUNDRED GOSPELS not just FOUR? He could 
make FOURHUNDREND bibles each one different then the one before the Four 
Hundredth Bible Chapter 21: Verse 3 says 
Jesus saves the rangered and the rangerer? Oph please. Marshall Thompson 
was a Texas Rangerer when he rangered all the crock pots was full of meat and 
set too hot. Chuck Kobasew is a Bruin but he has a secret desire to be a 
rangerer and live in a BIG APPLE and eat little Johnny Appleseed’s all day and 
when he played against the New York rangerers he rangered them. The Blue 
Power Rangerer was hard afoot to kick the evil treasoner the Harly sidekick. The 
Harly was the yellow rangerette now in disguise. She sidekicked the poor blue 
rangerer and then he rangered the yellow rangerette with a royal blue sidekick to 
her motorcycle footrest. Then the commercial came on.
Buy a Ford Rangerer either yellow or blue and you will be the rangered rangerer 
come true.


Details | Free verse | |

Critical Moments

Circles of confusion and a mirrored box
Image decisive instants of living and dying,
Entering and leaving the state of existence
In movement and idleness 
Capturing the connection of all things... 
The closer to, the less seen,
The further away, the bigger the picture
Yet, there's always something hidden
That answers the reasons why, shows new ways 
Of thought that suggests stones and studs
Metal and glass from ground, trees, air and sun
With flesh and bone of darker shades of white 
Lighter shades of black interrelating for undertones
Of what's his, what's hers and everything is theirs
On paper without words for the deaf through 
The unseen for the blind... the emotional by way
Of what is felt reveals the greatest mysteries
And implications of the objective and subjective
Views join together for knowledge to understand
The crucial for a better society on earth
As the truth that is a lie etches in the memory
And freezes in time culture by capturing 
Critical moments that connect all things in 
A mirrored box through circles of confusion
To usher in indispensable periods of success


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Steel

Steel that fills the skies,
Steel that supplants the mighty ocean
Steel casted hearts of bravery...
These are our guardians,
Our navy, which sets a new standard,
Our Air-Forces,
That can cover the skies
of any spot on earth...
Our men, stout of heart,
Gun at the ready....
Their buddies reason enough...
To face any odds, to take
any risk...to face any death...
So their buddies survive...
This is a small sampling of the Steel
of America...
We take our time...
We try so hard...
Not to hurt innocents...
Some take this for weakness...
But that is their's...
This country is ringed by steel,
It exports its steel bite
Whereever, and whenever,
It should choose...
Think carefully,
Save a foolish,
Hasty act....
Should show you,
And those you love,
The valley of death
Is where you have wandered.






Details | Free verse | |

Distinguished Genttlemen

The laurel wreath
Bestowed on victors
Every four years
Blood, sweat and tears
In Pythian Games
Honoring Apollo
At Delphi onto Greece
In a classic ceremony
The corruptible glory
An immortal crown
Prized to artists
Public officials
The poets of Rome
And here at home
A rebirth of antiquity
With Apollo's oracles
Music and poetry
Prophecy and medicine
Things of God as things of men
The reform defecient renascence


Details | Free verse | |

Brief Explanation

Now since most women, Asians, Ricans
And the rest of the white America
Don’t understand why niggas do what they do
I've done a lil observation so...allow me to tell you.

Now as far us blacks can look back
We thought God overlooked us wit blessings
So over the years of oppression 
We chose to rebel & fade to black
And truth be told you can't change the past
So when this world hits us wit uppercuts
We came even harder wit flurries of hooks & jabs.

Now as far as why most niggas be robbing,
Stealing, and killing is kinda hard to explain
Maybe because we ain't never had much
In this world so we'd figure we could change the game
Or maybe because most these employers
Won’t even think about giving a nigga a second chance
So that’s why you see niggaz posted on the block 
Wit a pack in their D-Boy stance.

I then lived that thug lifestyle so 
I know true niggaz blood in blood out
just a typical paper chaser back then
Robberies & home invasions
we get the money get in get out
Racism still exist, you know why
They still be hanging black bodies in the south
Problem is no matter how hard they try to kill us
We coming to hard to ever have a drought.

Last but not least every woman 
Is just dying to know why most niggas cheat
Truth be told most these niggas ain't
Real so as far as a relationship they can't hold it
So they just b!tch up & fold
These niggas can't hold the load of what 
Actually defines a real man
so if what you seeking is something
long term go on to the next man

You see most niggas real niggas 
they don't talk much for a reason
true we can't over look our past
but to most niggas everywhere
the future of this white America needs us
niggas on the same old sh!t and 
today's just new & beautiful
so what you heard from me 
is a brief explanation why 
niggas do what they do.


Details | Rhyme | |

Book a Trip

Book a trip
On board the Great Railways
In mysteries and histories of your nation
Riding from destination to destination;
Saddle up for other trails to blaze
With each page you flip.

Book a trip
On board the wings of flight
And fly to distant lands
Discovering times and races and
languages and cultures day and night;
Take off from the airstrip.

Book a trip
On board a craft for outer space
And go beyond earthly depiction
To terrestrial fact or fiction
Where fantasy is commonplace,
And imagination is the ship.

Book a trip
On board a seafaring vessel
And sail the seven seas for love
And adventure directed from above;
Dive into ocean worlds, and nestle
Into nature for other tips.

Book a trip
In your free time or if it's a bore
And learn the past, present and future
The sciences and how to suture,
The arts and games and so much more
In silence or with words on your lips.


Details | Name | |

Personal Goal

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.


Details | Rhyme | |

Now I Know Why They Call It Tom Turkey

Like a gizzard on a lizard,
Like a bill on a $1 duck buck,
Like a wallet whose use is forgotten,
Like the window with no glass
Some stuff  just don't make sense,
And some people know no cents,
Like a meal without nutrition,
A roof unable to hold the rain,
Sometimes you know where you are,
Sometimes you're just insane
Like peanut butter and  ground glass,
The Taj Majal a subway stop,
A ship without a sea,
A faceless face with sightless eyes,
A sense of comraderie,
Each morning starts another day,
With or without me.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fabel Seventeen Part One

Fabel Seventeen
CharlaXFabels
Rangerer Rangered
There is many words that seem like they should belong to the English language 
but actually on closer examination they do not appear in the dictionary today the 
word is Rangered. If the eye were to try to brag about the flesh it would not help 
the things that happened were to someone else perhaps the rangerer. Now that 
eye am free and in love with the ewe eye am just the rangered not endangered to 
be lost but entitled to be found by the love within us both. A man was talking to 
his spouse “eye have found GOD” said the man “OH tell me where is GOD?”  
Said the woman and the man said “GOD is upon the internet it's a Charlax Poem 
come and see.” The lone rangerer was riding SILVER to the entrance of the mine 
where he makes bullets’ and the shine of a penny caught his eye. The Scout 
pony stopped behind the rangerer and TONTO said “what’s UP 
kemosabe”? “The CharlaX told me that a penny turned tails up is lucky can you 
tell it to me old friend TONTO?” said the lone rangerer. Its heads kemosabe and 
the old Indian kept the coin. The moral of this story is to check pennies for 
yourself the luck will then be thine. The Airborne Ranger was jumping out of the 
tower when the sergeant kicked him out he was heard to yell out “TONTO” 
not “Geronimo” as some are in belief. He fell too earth and broke his rangered 
leg.