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On Writing And Words Philosophy Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Philosophy

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Details | Verse | |

Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM



Details | Haiku | |

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....


Details | Rhyme | |

Frail Paper Etched With Words

Whether poets, showmen or philosophers,
Or mere cowboys who follow herds—
They all want to leave behind a lasting mark—
More than frail paper etched with words.

But the cold, hard truth still lies in the doing
And all but a blessed few will fail—
But on we go like bison over the cliff—
Hoping our wings sprout and we sail.

And like restless sleepwalkers we do wander
From one thing and then to the next—
Till we find what it is that will then save us
To put life in proper context.

So on we scribble and strive for the right phrase—
Catch meaning and life in birds—
Put emotions and feelings we briefly hold
On this frail paper etched with words. 


Details | Bio | |

Unwritten Conversations

He told me to write a poem
About beauty, wind blowing
Hair tossing , dream making stunning
Gorgeousness of living
Beauty addicts and blind ambitions
Movie stars and historical happenings
Formal dresses, women in high heels with 
Faces meant to smile
That’s what poems should be about, he says, 
Your good at that kind of thing, just spit it out

                “Shawty, write a poem about beauty, that’s real poetry”
                                 “Everything is beautiful, baby…”
                 “But what is beautiful to you?”

Beautiful.
Births and rebirths
Phoenix Red celestial torching of the hearts
Interlocking fingers in twilight
Kisses, Death, sorrow, crocodile tears
Laughter, Ecstasy , black
White, brown, yellow, silver crimson
Skin on skin, chest to chest, on and on, soft
Hard City light heaving, breathing against the Ebony sky
Natural Twinkle of diamond shadows, 
Cosmos, Atoms, Hydrogen bonds, Electrons
Nucleus, matter, anti-matter
Smash together, slither mutually
To create harmony.
Everything. 
Everything is beautiful. 

                      “Just write about that then..”
                                 "Not everything has to be written, somtimes you just have to
                                  live it out.."
                      "What's the point then?? What's the point of writing about butterflies 
and waterfalls? I just don't see it? Why do you have to doll everything up and 
make it more then what it is? Not everything has to be picked apart and analyzed."
                                "Mmm, I suppose."
                        "What's real poetry to you?" 
                                 "Everything..."
                         "I don't understand."

I recline and rest my head on his chest
Tracing lines of thought on the ceiling
Helping him dismantle the universe and put it back together
In his own way
Enjoying lyrical symphonies of life
Breath by breath…
Together
Silent

                                     "This, baby, This is real Poetry.."









 



Details | Free verse | |

Poetry Won't Hold Her Tongue

Poetry won't hold her tongue
When desperate times
And the little men they breed
Would counsel silence.

     She bursts instead Athenalike
     From out the wearied brain
     Or grows painfully from every vein
     Like ivy's tiny tendrils
     Pulling monuments to ground
     Inch by inch
     To let in the light and rain
     From which newer monuments may grow.

She cares not at all 
For their inconvenience.

     She shows herself so many ways:
     
     As the boldly topless Priestess,
     Snakes coiled about her outstreatched arms

     As the nun in golden sunlight
     Falling through cathedral stone

 This lady is a child
 All innocence of face
 And Ageless eyes
 She knows all that remains of purity,
 And every excess she also calls her own.

She woos the soul with its own music;
Her skin of sunsets draws her devotees
Towards her embrace
Her sweetcool breath like snowind calling
She comes again unbidden
Whispering her sweet nothings,
Bearing words to work

     Creation     Destruction     Change

Upon her restless,
                                   Gifted
                                               Tongue.


Details | Couplet | |

Newspaper

The paper lay flat
on a low reading table,

yet thick in it's pages,
a days worth of fable.

Our library bright with it's
rays to it's sills

and the paper bleached white
with a grey side of gills.

It's HEADLINE in blue
relaxing your eyes.

Large print making stories
seem simpler than size.

Text in black letters;
dragged out into words.

Knowledge you crave for.
Ideas in herds.

News from a paper
pressed for attention.

Left on a table
as though for detention.


Details | Free verse | |

smitten with raincoats

Low and behold the hypothetical child… 
smitten with raincoats and anorexic amber… 
silently imbued with a spiritual vocation;
the pension led phonographs of silver split denial… 
passively fathered by motherless harlots
… castrated by the wire… 
low and behold the hypothetical child…


Details | Personification | |

BALM FOR THE SOUL

I reached out for you once again
after eons of pretence, snobbish disregard 
and plain neglect.
Yes I reached out, not with strong steady arms 
that usually attend others
but with emasculated courage and battered pride.
Yes indeed I sought  you.

I summoned you dear one
from the far far seas where to sail I had cast you
and had briskly walked away
to find solace in another's arms.
So now I sought a vantage point
from whence I could peer
into the darkening horizon
to see your approaching mast.
Yes I did indeed summon you, indeed I did.

Yes I called out for you 
to attend me from the depths I had banished you
when life to me had smiled like the morning dew.
Yes indeed I called you,
to serve me in rhythm and imagery
to fill my plate with tone and hue
and soothe me with your rhyms in rhythm.
Yes call you I did, I really did.

So now I lie in the warmth of your words
like a lover cuddled in embrace
as you stroke my erstwhile desolate state
with the stroke of your flowing stanza's
and my heart you've now lulled to a soothing calm
with the rhythm of your crafted lines.
Yes indeed I reached out for you, 
for I missed you.


Details | Ballad | |

Poetry Soup

Since joining just yesterday,
I have not had much to say,
As I sit here idle,
Waiting for a title,
I watch as you pass my way,

I am honored to be here,
While a select few may jeer,
Mostly I can see hope,
From the end of my rope,
Bringing about a joyous tear,

For all poets who have been called,
Disenchanted or enthralled,
Our mission always true,
We inform and move you,
To make you act or make you halt,

To rise above and expound the truth,
Or to lose ourselves in a groove,
Whether blatent or far out,
We live to learn - live to shout,
About love, laughter or the blues,

For although I may be new,
To this small poetic group,
I see what you've built,
With talent and skill,
Namely this Poetry Soup,


Details | Haiku | |

It is now

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


Details | I do not know? | |

Those Who Follow Me

Sometimes I walk this road alone -- Sometimes they follow me. Sometimes the places that I go aren’t meant for them, but me. And, as a poet, I have responsibility, and must step very carefully. I write of things that I have done and things that I would be Always aware, in my steps are those who follow me. Some follow in blind loyalty, some by the trust they have in me. Some come out of curiosity and some come with expectancy To see me trip and fall. And so before this journey ends I’m sure I’ll satisfy them all. Written 03-15-13 John Posey


Details | Free verse | |

I Chose


I chose  
I could’ve been
A homebound hermit,
Hypnotized by the hum
And hue,
Of a high-tech 
HD computer screen.
A slave 
To the
Rhythmic rap
Of 
Clicking keys;
Depriving me 
Of much 
Needed rest.
I’d Search 
For Love 
And friendship 
In a network 
Of strangers,
Oblivious to 
The world 
Outside.

I would’ve
Made a great 
Defense lawyer.
With my 
Appetite to argue.
I’d rescue 
Common crooks, 
Convicted of crimes;
From the 
Confinements 
Of a cell.
I’d lobby 
For leniency 
With lavish 
Litigation laws. 
Dedicating myself 
To Dissembling 
The Death penalty
I should’ve
Joined 
The army,
A proud patriot,
Surpassing 
My peers 
Through promotion;
From a potato peeling private, 
To a more 
Prominent position.
Pushing my 
Paratroopers out
Of a plane.
Parading my men
On the field 
Of battle.
I’d receive
A war
Winning wound,
Perhaps a
Purple Heart.

I could’ve
Been a detective.
Cleverly cracking
Cold cases-
CSI style,
Coercing confessions 
From criminals
And Con-men.
Collecting  a 
Cheap watch,
As compensation
For my commitment
To the precinct. 
	
I should’ve 
Been a doctor.
Devoting my life
To curing
The incurable,
Letting long hours
Deprive me
From family.
Always 
At the 
Beckon call,  
Of work 
Provided beeper.
Carrying out 
Curative procedures, 
On clients
That are
Scarcely clinging
To life.

I would’ve
Made a 
Terrific teacher.
Choosing to 
Live my life
Through the 
Youthfulness of
My students.
Teaching them 
To take on 
The world
With caution 
And Confidence.
Lecturing them
With lessons 
Of longevity.
Disguising
My desire-
Jealous of
Their youth.

My choice,
Was not to
Focus on 
One aspect 
Of life,
But to 
Experience 
Them all. 
With the stroke
Of a pen,
I walk 
All paths.
I chose
All destinies. 

I could’ve 
Been this,
Or been that…

I should’ve 
Done this, 
Or done that…

I would’ve
Made this
Or made that…

Instead,
I chose to write.


Details | Free verse | |

Layers of the onion

Meaning, ever bending, never ending-ly open to changing it's mind and opinions,
by moving around words and pulling and pushing in different directions,
until everything changes, rearranges pages in history
just for the mystery to begin again
with new songs, new players and these layers and layers
of summits and new beginnings. 
Of openings back to where we came in.
New meanings are foaming and forming 
within the fatted belly of doing and screwing until done.
Come watch a new one get sprung.
A new shape to take place of the old, behold
and believe in your prayers.
They keep coming these layers and layers 
and faces of women and men.
Turn around just to begin again.


Details | Haiku | |

' Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

           Understanding A
       Metaphysical Moment …
       … Nature’s Mysteries



                 This Haiku is for:
       The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))

                        MoonBee


Details | Blank verse | |

Love Song

Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.


Details | Quatrain | |

UNDERSTANDING POETRY

                                            UNDERSTANDING POETRY

A poem is more,
Than rhythm and rhyme.
The words must have balance,
With tempo and time.

Free Verse is like that,
The words have a blend,
That helps it to flow,
From beginning to end;

Sometimes like honey,
From a sweet honey tree,
Sometimes like a river,
As it flows to the sea;

But there's always a message,
Or a story that's told.
The words can be sweet,
Or compelling and bold.

A poet's an artist,
Painting pictures with words,
Bringing out music,
Your ears haven't heard;

A music that comes,
From down deep in your soul.
It makes one feel free,
It makes one feel whole,

To be able to write,
Words that reach out and touch,
Something special inside you,
And bringing out much,

Of the feelings inside you,
That we often hide,
Often revealing things,
So deep inside,

Even you did not know,
Were hiding in there,
But the words shine a light,
On beliefs and on cares;

So when you read a poem,
Don't just read words on paper.
You must feel them and taste them,
For words have a flavor.

Sometimes it's bitter,
And sometimes it's sweet,
But if you taste it,
It's always a treat;

For a poet shows more,
Than the stories he's told.
When he shows you his poems,
He shows you his soul.

                                   Judy Ball

(Tread lightly and don't kill the messenger)


Details | Light Poetry | |

' A Metaphysical Moment ...'

‘ A  Metaphysical  Moment ’

A Metaphysical Moment
Electrifying To The Touch
Breathless, Thru The Clouds
Can My Heart, Take So Much

… Can My Eyes Endure
All This Vision, I See
Can Voice, Even Speak
Over Roaring of This Sea

… Can Ear Even Listen
When I Am Flying So Free
Soaring, So True With You and
Metaphysical Moment and Me …

A Metaphysical Moment
Will I Ever Understand
This Mystery of Our Universe
The Mystery of Woman and Man …


(And I End This with an Haiku for
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno and
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))


Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

          Understanding A
      Metaphysical Moment …
      … Nature’s Mysteries


Metaphysical (definition) as an adjective:

Metaphysical of early 17th Century Poetry
Relating to the poetic style of John Donne,
George Herbert and other early 17th Century Poets
Who used consciously intellectual language
And elaborate metaphors that compared things


Details | I do not know? | |

The Clown The Fool And Me

Many nights I've sat typing things for which none will ever read.
Burning midnight oil only to add to this mornings trash.
Then going about the act of pretending it's all good.

Wearing a mask of my own creation.
These long nights of endless confession to empty wall's.
Hollow thoughts from a bitter heart to scared to exist as himself.

The page lay beaten only to be erased.

the circus of life is a deception for after the show when the dust settles 
the magic gives way to truth.
Tempers flare  and thoose happy clowns appear to be just angry ordinary
people who hate and loath there so called friends.

Dream that it would have all been diffrent if not for this or that.
never taking blame just putting it on others like normal so called adults.

These long nights breed anger and that page takes  the punishment
and like a coward I look apon this act of pure thoughtless work.
And second guess myself wishing only for the approval of people who yearn only 
for the approval  of some one else.
Like hamster in a wheel never getting anywhere.

For who wants to be themself when you can be a watered down version of someone who 
wasnt good to start with.

I cant say the comforts of being a clone wouldnt be nice .
But I never did like things that were nice.
Never cared about being on a list  or kissing someone's rearend just 
to have them talk about me as soon as my back was turned.

Be yourself and cherish thoose who hate  for  the bitter and cruel amount to
nothing  and there only hope is to lure you down there same dead end life.

The clown tries in vain to make you laugh.
The fool doenst know or care if you laugh.
And me Im just the jerk adding to the mornings trash empty 
as the page that sit's befor him.


Details | Free verse | |

Fluent

Speak to me
Nimble word-master,
Construct the images
You wish me to possess.
Be fluent in your authority
To command my thoughts,
Motivate this mortal
With your perpetual souvenirs.

Present deliberate challenges,
Enticing and fascinating,
So I may be authored
By your wisdom.
Expose your riches
In stirring tones;
No matter the cost,
I will pay.

Such is your ability
To heighten my experience,
Dear poet,
Dismaying in tremendous form
And awful honesty,
Until I have become
Your slave,
Spent, replete, and supplied.

I would be forever grateful
If you’d only lend me
A breadth of your time,
Ripening my observations.
Speak to me
Sweet word-master,
And I’ll be the resolution
To your question.


Details | Bio | |

The Musician-Poet

there is, indeed,a relationship
between music and poetry
creation! expression! release of things inside
If I had experienced neither, when I had died
And had to value the worth of my life,
And rate the influence my existence generated
for the general good, I'd be shy
How can I explain my worth, after I did die.. 

On this point I'd be proud,
Cause somehow I was so lucky,
To experience the joy of both
and did my best to leave a small mark
of my thoughts upon the earth
If but one word, one song,
one counterpoint jam, one painting
that I had done,
had meant something 
to someone, than in this regard,
I have won!


Details | Free verse | |

Sweet Sweet Emily

I was born in Amhurst Massachuetts
on Decenber 10  1830 
and had died May 15  1886

My hair is bold like the chestnut burr
and my eyes like the sherry in the glass
that the guest leaves behind

I cannot write about the world without
first backing away from it and then
comtemplating it from a distance

A word is dead when it is said
Some say I say it just begins
To live that day 


Who Am I ?


My Poetess Sweet
Emily Dickinson


Details | Free verse | |

Afflatus

Cavemen thought only of self preservation and sex.
In someway evolution was faltered.
Man learned to measure:

You cannot hold an inch, or a mile,
you cannot see a pound, or a ton.
They are but measurements.
They do not exist but in our understanding 
our understanding of what they are.
You can hold a stick that is an inch long.
Yet, it is only a stick, and not an inch.
You can see a tree that is a mile away,
but it is a tree and not a mile.
A pound of butter is only butter and the pound 
is but the measurement of its weight and is invisible.

So is the same for innocence and evil ;
Measurements.
Innocence is love in ones heart for others
and how far a heart can stray from love is evil. 

Measurements of love.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Unsung Life

For what is life,but today
A tale as old as time.
But no mater what men can say,
Or put it in a rhyme,

A life,no man can tame,
And destiny lies wait.
For here tomorrow not the same,
Is twisted by our fate.

But what can man see today,
That shall be on the morrow.
Will it bring joys my way,
Or bring eternal sorrow?


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 | I do not know? | |

Goofball

One moment,
Dancing in the Gates of Heaven.
Than the next,
Monty Python Flying Circus.
Staring Shoel in fearless,
Anything else unwritten between the gazing stars & earth.
Is that what it is all about?
Opened heart-
Never given the readers a chance in dull reading?

(Inspired in the highest of all of you in your comments to my writings, thank you 
truly, indeed!)


Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.


Details | Verse | |

My Words

Sometimes my poetry is just a case of words, 
and not necessarily my reality;                                     
and that’s what is so beautiful about writing

You can be who you want to be on any level 
and tell secrets about fantasies that may never be;  
or take trips to other dimensions on mental journeys,                                                                        or places that some don’t even think exist

They mimic thoughts that manifest themselves as poetry 
and rest on pages patiently waiting to adhere
My words are a reflection of my heart 
and they reveal the truth behind my mask of fear
they deliver reality doses  whether they are just cases, 
or me in the absolute right here

My words exude positive intentions; 
my imperfections apparent but I accepted rejections 
and reversed dejection  
and decided to bare all my fantasies, my flaws my very soul 
and temptations

Uncertain how voiced verses appeal to outside sources but internally they set me free
They provide a medium of light and creativity
A chance to apply knowledge and a time for reflecting on and making changes in my frequency
My words are attached to my soul and its overwhelming ability to just be
They reflect what I was before         
the choices I’ve made and the reasons that this life is perfect 
according to divine order

They represent the voices of my ancestors from the beginning of time 
because up until now, 
the ending wasn’t within reach so I make sure that I
carefully choose the format and the right place and time 
to deliver the message that may be blatant or hidden inside – 
of the abstract placements of verbs
giving praise to the source of power that calmly submits to the voice 
connected to my words
I am the originator of my own words
I hope that you are inspired, or simply entertained
by the process by which I've placed my words


Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them


Details | Free verse | |

My Love---a very special original Japanese poem

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Constructive - Criticism ... ' ( An Oxymoron - For All, But A Few)

‘ Constructive-Criticism … (An Oxymoron, For All But A Few) ’

Constructive-Criticism Is Good, It’s True
But, I’ve Only Seen It Used Properly, By A Few …
‘Cause, One Thing I Know, That I Have Seen
‘Some’ Use Criticism, Just To Be Mean …

Then, The Term Should Be:  Destructive-Criticism
‘Cause, They Ain’t Even Getting Paid! … To Spout Poison In ‘Em
I Know Then, They Want To Abuse, in Jealous-Individualism
So, Maybe, They Need An Enema, or Have An Embolism 

Coming Up (or while under Construction) I Was Told
And The Engineer-Advice, Was As Good As Gold
‘ If You Can’t Say Something Nice, Don’t Say Nothing’ At All’
So, I Don’t Bomb Somebody’s Building, Just To Watch Them Fall

Constructive-Criticism, Don’t Sic That Dog On Me
Take It and Go Bark-Up, Somebody Else’s Tree
Take A Look At Your Own, Before You Tell Me What’s Wrong
You Know What You Can Do With That … (and The Horse You Rode On)

And In The Words of ‘Tom Snyder’,  (The Idea I Relate):
“Just ‘Cause I Think Somebody’s Trying To Kill Me … Don’t Mean They Ain’t!”
And, If You Don’t Like My Building, There’s The Door, Walk Away
I Don’t Need You Cutting Down, My Structure of What I Say

And If Negative-Criticism, Is Under Construction ... That’s A Front !
When Have You Ever Heard of Something Negative, Building-Up ?
Maybe Somebody Dropped Them On Their Head As A Child
But That’s No Excuse To Criticize, Somebody Else, or Their Style

And that  ' True ', for A Few, I Meant at The Beginning
Here Are The Ones, I Accept Their Condescending:
GOD … Loved-Ones … Close Friends … (and Me)
‘Cause I Am My Own Worst-Critic, You See …

Constructive-Criticism, That’s an “””Oxymoron”””
And Look How That Word Is Spelt … Hon


(I Prefer The Term:  Commentator ( Cause I Love to Comment ! )
   ‘Cause I Want To Polish Your Metal, Without Leaving A Dent


Details | Haiku | |

The Less I Have

the less i have of
the additional use of
the more it breaks down


Details | Narrative | |

The Battle Lost and Won

As naturally and effortlessly as birds fly
Unannounced and quietly an Idea came by
Faster than the weightless wind it flew
Where it came from no one asked, no one knew

Longing for a cloak in which to be wrapped
It knocked on many doors asking to be dressed
It wished to be given a shape and form for all to see
It wanted an existence, and in this world a chance to be

The farmer was farming, the worker busy working
The judge was judging, the thief in the shadows lurking
The preacher was of the invisible kingdom preaching
The poet alone with his heart and soul for the Idea reaching

It seized him and became the fire in his veins
The beating in his heart, the throbbing in his brain
It became the movement of his arms and legs
He asked for the right words like a beggar for food begs

The Idea through the flesh was about to be born
The invisible by the visible longed to be worn
Like newlyweds neither knew too well the other
They had to unite: each’d be both father and mother

Now the idea took control and led the poet’s pen
Then It was overpowered by the brutish man
Now he’d try to bend It, to suit his words, to shape It 
Then It bent him so that into each other they’d fit

He wished to be a channel for the Idea he sensed
It had a burning desire, a purpose to be expressed
When possessing parts of both the work was done 
An idea of the Idea was born - a battle both lost and won


Details | Free verse | |

Poetic Robbery

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Concrete | |

Poetry Piled Up

I am a native criminal artistic creative poet/
against all odds a convict of christ in society, I must not stay below it/ 
This is my time 2 shine people, da tattooed face over society I must out grow it/
 I show no love for those who show none for me/
 I just most recently been incarcerated so my objective is 2 remain free/
 But it hard for a mutha ****in strrugglin addict half breed/ 
I struggle wit my own DUALITY, because my whole life revolves around 2 BE OR NOT 2 BE/ Im a educated Hustler starting back from scratch once again/ 
**** my families help especially my soul called friendz/
 Prison I want to say NEVER AGAIN/ But Still Im a self made huslter/
 Still a type 2 give a **** mutha ****er/ 
I show respect and loyalty I live by the Code, I keep my eyes open, ears alert and mouth shut/
 I gots to give a ****/
 same thing everyday is where im stuck/ 
I live by the code of silence/A man of peace so its a last resort to violence/ 
this my poetry now I slowly pile it....


Details | Narrative | |

Scarlet Portmanteau

Duke Luke by his bateau
Arrived at his chateau,
Had he travelled through large eau!

His mysterious rendez-vous 
with Henry Thoreau
Yielded him a scarlet portmanteau.

Entering his bureau,
he took off his manteau
and opened the portmanteau:

The Snow Man was inside
And though not well could he sing,
Sang he a song of himself:




Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
He met Annabel Lee on a large shelf,
Frightened he was by the raven
And took the road not taken:

Crossed he the mending wall
And hearing the anecdote of the jar
To noble savage Billy Budd an honest fare he paid

Large and far
Travelled he
From spring to fall

Self-reliance: the idea he hath
The American Scholar guided his path;

He slept a long time
In a clean well-lighted place;

One winter he woke up
In a station of the metro:
He fastened his tender buttons
and found a red wheelbarrow;
'No ideas but in things' -
A lovely image this brings!

To his disappointment and sorrow,
He never saw the snows of Kilimanjaro.




Duke Luke in disbelief
Wiped his eyes
And pinched his ears;

The Snow Man disappeared.

Duke Luke
Took a look 
At his portmanteau
In hopes of seeing something


He found


Nothing.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Library (Words to the Wise)

The Library (Words to the Wise)


Shhhhh!  No talking strictly enforced!
Most folks abide, except children, of course
And those who can’t read, don’t care, or don’t want
Goof off in the corners, or sneeze
As sharp, darting eyes of librarians haunt
Do you think you can do as you please?

The wisdom of giants exudes from the walls
Words that amaze, mesmerize, and enthrall
Lie untouched, undusted, forgot, and unseen
For racks of harlequin romance
Replaced in small minds by pulp magazines,
The classics have lost their last chance

Mindless amusement is what the world craves
Poe and Lord Byron must cringe in their graves
Dickens and Tolstoy and Steinbeck don’t matter
Now Paris and Brittany rule
All lost in celebrity gossip and chatter
The true kings and queens look the fool

But one in a thousand sees past all the fluff
They pass by the newspaper comics and stuff
To linger and learn from some eloquent master
Igniting a dazzling epiphany
A small step for culture to detour disaster
And rise above kitsch and banality.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: III

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


Details | Free verse | |

The Bookworm

Words Bound Together Thoughts Formed Between Lines Knowledge To Absorb Learns The Bookworm Wishes Expressed By Letters Ideas For All To Share Building Blocks For Peace Believes The Bookworm Fact or Fiction Penned Expressions of Desire Mystery Exposed, Secrets Veiled Hunted By The Bookworm


Details | Elegy | |

The desert was a beach.

I stood by the periphery… 
gracelessly doling derivative remarks 
(all that is rhetorical in rhetoric and blatant in denial) 
upon my comrades, the dust shot Sandinistas of midsummer masochism, 
the caliphs of ‘Baltic Bay’.  
“The armistice laid flowers upon 
the salt seasoned lip of the hatch-backed hawk…” 
Blood fell passively between his heartbroken legs, 
siphoned from each and every available pore; 
the oxygenated irony of pneumatic Gnosticism: 
“The desert was a beach.” 
They say that war is a catalytic catharsis, a palatial reprieve,
without languid logic or porous rationality, 
the emancipation of masculinity, 
castrated by the wire… 
I thought it was hell… I was taught to think otherwise… 
The torrential shards of verbal promiscuity 
stole light unto the fore, 
anxiously negotiating 
the parochial labyrinth of incandescent egotism, 
intrinsically denied.  
Rare, poached howitzers… laden with anxiety 
bore slight from the barbed-wire battalion 
of ill-fitting idiots, 
shuffling their feet, settling their nerves, 
sealing their fate with 
slack pot meandering midst snip sniped surprise.
“The technicality of principalities, dukedoms and deceit, 
tune the tuneless melody and save your soul from hate. “ 
Their calibre unknown, their reasons unfounded… 
the calypso calling cantaloupes of entrepreneurial acumen 
shot black with dusk… slid unto the night. 
Corporal rationale: “Half an hour of ambiguity…” 
Lieutenant liquidation: “Twenty minutes of woe…” 
Collective privacy: “Ten minutes of philistine philanthropy…”
Collective piracy: “Five minutes of... … ….” 
Towel clenched soviets, eager and resentful, 
scape-goaded the photographic horde into meagre submission… 
subverting the course of justice. 
Rented Kalashnikovs rattled ravenous replies… 
once, twice, three times a corpse… 
“Androgyny and xenophiles, the pasteurised provocateur… 
draped in Prada propped dynamics, mechanically aware…”   
Desiccant faeces flew five feet into the air; 
the aluminium gilded lavatories received the short end of the stick, 
figuratively emasculated… 
literally liquidated within (without) the… humdrum humidity. 
Gabriel dictated the proceedings. 
The abortive restraint of sycophantic silencers 
and Hassidic hallucinations, 
graced by a political patriarchy… 
urinating upon the synthetic soil.

     

 

    


        


Details | Quatrain | |

Hats Off To You {Vignette}

heart flutters bearing the news
appointed poet laureate
bows comrades honoring name
gift gabble raising thy brows
expectations of nil
inspirations for others






Tribute To Poetry

And To All The Wonderful Poets
Here In The Soup Bowl
I Bow To Each

Also Entry For
Brian Strand's 
Poet Laureate Contest
GL All


Details | Free verse | |

Roll Call

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION








Details | Carpe Diem | |

all-you-can-eat

knowledge afloat
remains powerless 
waiting 
to be 
plugged in 
bugged out
anticipating
the radio alarm clock
WAKE UP!

use colors
shapes
push buttons 
twist knobs

pull into parking space
sunburn in the spot
gathering rays to erase the poison

KILL
polluted cells
a trade secret to 
tastily treat one's self

take the high road
the shady street
the path less traveled 
which one matters little
especially when
in comparison terms with 
the reward, the apple, the brain food, the 
                              all-
                                you-
                                   can-eat buffet...
Knowledge,
there at the fingertips 
of y.o.u.


Details | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | Acrostic | |

Lost In Thought

Now who would of thought the thoughts that would truly get the mind lost in fragile thought?
 So much on our known life, 
about unknown death when we laugh at others but at ourselves we really cry, 
in our very own hidden truth lies, 
amongst our own poeple who we defy, 
until we fight, 
for wrongs for personal rights, 
**** the darkness is what make us appreciate the light, 
I dont talk the talk nor do I walk the walk because I walk my talk while I swagger and swerve im my talks through these walks,
 Life can get so messy with death that its time for those of us here to grab the broom so God can mop,
 I live life to the fullest with what little I have because I dont have a lot, 
I live life shitty sometimes like almost everyone else like it or not, 
Im not special Im so unique Im individual with word talent I know I got, 
I know what I dont have so its important more knowledge among me is sought, 
I can be wrong half the time but can still make it 100% right I was self-taught among a young soul that seems to be bought,
 I got a bad limp but dont get me wrong I can still gallup through darkness while I jog lost in the early morning fog waiting to be patiently found in the midnight lounge where I trot,
 Truly lost so easily in profound hard thoughts litterally running from the cops waiting to duck and dodge from open gunshots,
 Bodies and shells drop where caskets are made among a dying crop, 
I can still make a splatter where there was just but a tiny dot, 
I used to have merely nothing now atleast I can truly say I have a safe spot, 
I was found looking for truth in lies lost in thought....


Details | Couplet | |

The Pleasure Has Been All Mine

<               I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it's my gift to you
                 Now use it wisely and write about some captioned caught views


                 thus that of an snow-capped mountain with an eagle that soars
                 or white sandy beaches where ribbed tides rolls back to it's shores

             
                 maybe stars and moon dance reflecting off stilled bay's port
                 in ones head you must determine choice of words to now sort


                 from beautiful to just pleasure does not hit it's mark
                 beneath recant memory that caused the ignited spark


                observer of denial you can not destroy ones voice
                within pens stroke there comes a poet with another choice


                seize the day and come bow to the chosen word of the day
                dont let an overpowering object just get away







Written By Katherine Stella  6/26/11

Entry For A Rambling Poet's

Writing In The Sublime


Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Going Home

What is it to see the soil of home again?
A welcome, snow-struck and a return
To cold; sharp white contrasts sunburn.
We converse in broken tongues to men

We know, hooked on holiday language
Comprised of wandering hand signs.
Collect the car and pay parking fines,
Drive through towns and over a bridge

Until we reach the Western gateway.
Oh when will we arrive at our house?
No camels there, only field mouse
Which are eaten by our cat anyway.

The plane flies for an age, slyly yawning
Through the stretching, pealing sky,
A knife through air; what it is to fly.
Our travels over; a new day is dawning.


Details | Verse | |

The Poetic Blues

I think I self-sabotage unknowingly 
because of fear
So my message goes unheard because I’m afraid to let the people hear
And end up drowning in the poetic blues
doubting my ability to write about the truth;

I dug deeper and deeper into myself trying to write a poem good enough to be free of judgment
Then I stepped out on faith and suddenly I was triumphant 
and my writing grew 
and I was loving it
I had finally passed the fear of speaking and caring about who the fu*c! was judging it

As I wait to be inspired for the next poem, 
I sit and think alone and drown in my sorrows
Listening to jazz, blues and a.m. radio
trying to find an excuse not to perform at the SLAM 
because again I can’t think of a damn thing to write…..
Drowning in poetic blues
Will this be the one that will be thrown away and never be used 

Or will this be the one that transcends the others  
and finally prove that poetry is blues and blues is poetry and hip hop and jazz and r&b, 
Poetry is music and the words dance around in my soul 
and I am free once they become spoken 
In the meantime the paper is where the words will rest 
until the silence is broken

Drowning in the sea of proper delivery 
My voice, my stance, my intensity
How will others interpret the words that I’ve chosen so diligently?
I wrap my soul around the possibility that none of the words I choose – 
will keep me from becoming deluged and trapped by the poetic blues

Somehow my heart refuses to accept that I don’t deserve to have my words heard 
and it takes over this whole process
No more time for shrinking and feeling less
I was born to  make my words manifest light
I am a gorgeous medium to the truth yeah that's right
I was sent here to give you a piece of good news
Remember that God is with you when you get
The poetic blues


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 | Free verse | |

Torture on the Parchment.

Oh, empty quill
On brittle parchment
Why with such zeal
Do you deride me?
Such power to prevent
A single word 
From being scratched out
Repudiating inspiration
For the moment
Forbidding me
To imbibe of breath

Tell me of that
With which I have sinned
That warrants this pain
This censure…
Necessitates from accusation
This allegation
Which I must answer
Before judgment
Surges forth
Washing over me

If I bloody those pages
Dirty your eyes
Holding my verse 
Contemptible
I shall answer you
Without vanity’s mask
To abstain from
Penning my verse 
Upon your note paper

My compositions
Will be now penned
In the blood of autumn frost
On the windblown foliage
Contented throughout
That no evil can be read
On wind scattered verses
Of me…


Details | Rhyme | |

Word Impression Poem 5: Benedicence

The art is fading,
Like the civility it shows.
Hard now to find those
Who understand the shading
One needs to give to common speech,
To convey benedicence
Through common sense,
And with all the forms of courtesy teach
A repartee' that clashes not like jagged, tumbling stones;
Reclaiming dignity over our tea and scones.


Details | Rhyme | |

A POET'S DEFINITION

Inscribe it all down 
Just read it do not make a sound
Leave nothing behind 
Poetry is the world of creative minds 
Some words quite short-lived
Support and respect is what you need to give
Poets are possessed of senses 
That allowed them to perceive
Read it with a thoughtful mind and you will receive
For tomorrow is never yesterday
Far beyond what words can say 
Or any eyes could see 
Keep reading just do not believe me
We have perception and knowledge 
That is what makes us skilled and polished
Like water the words flow 
Very gifted as a prophet as well;
Friend to Gods and heroes, 
With so many tales to tell? 
I do not depend on man’s well-being or material prosperity
It is like trying to cure the outward symptoms and neglect the main cause of the malady
Poetry is generally viewed as the look of human joys and sorrows
I will always put pen to paper whether it is today or tomorrow
Poetry has reached a higher level of consciousness and inspiration
There is no other explanation 
It renovates a satisfying experience and delights
That is why I love to write


Details | Didactic | |

That Word

            f.@+$

That word
What does it mean?
Is it to glean?
Or
To 
Cause a ravine or seam
Or
To tritely inflict 
The mean-
-ing
Of a theme

It seems 
To 
Me
That such a thing
Is small
And 
Has little
To bring
Or
To 
Ring
Yes, much less
To
Sing

Nothing to suggest
Or 
To cause 
To
Keep abreast
But
Overt
In it's
Suggest 
Of
What words 
One
Can’t bring
To mind’s crest
And thus
Attest
A 
Vagueness of wit

…at best.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Alternate Story

With every word, with every phrase,
You breathe, you come alive,
A tale of truth, mapped with reality,
Or a dream unlived for which you thrive,
You live through what is written,
Or you choose to hold your pens,
It doesn’t matter how it ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins,

Broken hour glasses of the War,
Acting as the mirror to see through the past,
The good is victorious, and is glorified,
And evil is evil, because in the battle they did not last,
With their blood, is inked the war diary,
So winner takes it all, and is called as ‘good’, hence,
As it doesn’t matter how the war ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins

And then there is Romeo, falling in love
And Juliet waiting for him in the Balcony,
They kill Romeo, and justify the murder,
But love is charged for an unforgivable felony,
Died, the felons leave the stage,
But love lives irrespective of the skins
As it doesn’t matter how the life ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins

You pose the king of you story,
Or in their game, you are just a pawn,
Your story is written in this moment,
Larger than life; this moment is never gone,
So when they bury you as a ‘Sinner’,
Be the phoenix to rise from your sins,
As it doesn’t matter how the Story ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins


Details | Sonnet | |

Another Sonnet Written at a Coffee House

You sink into the bosom of the chair 
And wonder if I too once sat amidst 
The chattering, white coffee sipping fare— 
The lonely writers ‘pining for a kiss. 

Did I peer out over the porce’lain mug 
And purse my vulgar mouth over the lip 
My eyes a’roll behind my glasses’ fog 
My writer turning phrase and spinning quips? 

Did I curl my toes under my feet 
Threading my fingers ‘round the scolding cup 
My yellow molars grinding to the beat 
Of meds-a-glee and glutt’nous caffeine ups? 

No— 
I didn't’t sit cross-legged and introverted— 
I flipped through glossy pages and consorted.


Details | Free verse | |

Reflections: Intellectualism

To Dine, To Die;
Conversations spiral
While thunderous eyes
Grasp concepts to recycle.

Constant debt crisis
A political paradox
Grating social devices
Over the sorting of socks.

Pseudo-analysis
An endless groan
Argumental paralysis
The debate grants no throne.

Existentialism
Over a roast
Potatoes won't listen
To who talks the most.

"That point is so interesting"
The floor is open for chat
"What is real?" not a thing
"Meow" adds the cat.


Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part VI

Water licks your feet
Far cry from the beating sun
Desert sand to sea


Details | Couplet | |

Life is an Aventurous Squirrel Run

I have my Hubby’s steadfast belief in me.
He loves how my poems are light and airy.
He’ll give me an idea once in a while…
Then he escapes to come back, later to read my new child.

He calls these run-throughs a squirrel run.
For they can take off in directions, yes, any one.
Crazy thoughts become crazier still…
And story time leads to god knows, where they will.

My thinking is kind of like chasing around a tree.
You never know where the end will be.
But somewhere I eventually become truly still.
And that is where my Hubby adds into the trill.

Then the squirrel run begins again…
Light and fluffy and full to the brim.
Each day a new adventure... waits around the bend.
Live it. Love it. Write it... You'll be happier in the end.

Contest: Emotion: Squirrelly and fun   CSEastman


Details | Narrative | |

Po-Mo Remix

That's not MY elephant!
A spiteful conceited elephant that ran away from the circus
MY elephant provides copies of the Bill Of Rights to all 2nd graders in Macon County
Considers fund-raising possibilities of selling elephant ears at Zippy Zoo Days
The kids will bring their white elephants and we will do a Spaghetti Feed
At RATS youth ministry--Can a mouse lift an elephant?
If you want to move a heavy load you have to use force
Where would you push?
For this lesson students used a triangular piece of wood
One side labeled Rights the other Responsibilities
Drop a marble in the balance (They used a 10lb. sack of potatoes)
Its all educational
But Barbar--You wouldn't catch THAT elephant playing jazz on his trunk
Not that elephant jazz in Austin  Jazz de Chang (elephant in Thai)
Playing with pink noise and changing the recipe  spaghetti
Too hot for a drumstep (bootleg) from the Elephant House
While Ella singing When I See Elephants Fly gazes over Matisse
The Nightmare of the White Elephant from the jazz series
Hanging over the elephant jazz bar  nu dark swing dubbles
Ella and Wave for singers a Nightmare autographed Artie Shaw
And the poet on each finger has  the following written
Somebody     Wanted    But    So   Then    says  Clustering thats the way
To do it  says  Glue the stick to the hand--Fulcrum
And then gives all the brats rides on an elephant named Bubbles!


Details | Rhyme | |

Pit and Pendulum

Forgive if I borrow, write and craft some sorrow
Beg and steal, I give you this now and tomorrow
Pen me under stars, pit me against the best
I'll write you a sonnet, put your heart to the test

Cause darlin I gotta know what it feels like
To taste glory, bring heaven from hell's pike
I need to pen a haiku and be through 
Oh you thought that I meant with you? 

Hell, darlin, I am seeking fame and fortune
I'll pull down stars and ink a supernova
This year I no longer stand by till it's over
Pits and Pendulum's buried under sandy dune

Desert? I will cross it then, a thousand times
Water to quench my thirst from otiose rhymes
But yet, I'll pen my name in the stars for it
Bleed heart and soul for it
But you'll find me... at the edge of a razor.


Details | Abecedarian | |

POETS ON POETRY

Andre Gide, "Therefore" is a word the poet must ideally not know 
Bob Dylan, it’s not easy to define poetry – nothing over which to crow
Carl Sandburg, poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance 
David Carradine, if you cannot be a poet, be the poem and prance 
Edgar Allan Poe, poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words
Franz Grillparzer, prose talks and poetry sings, all in different chords
Gilbert K. Chesterton, all slang is metaphor; all metaphor is poetry – tinkers!  
Honore de Balzac, poems don’t survive, those written by water drinkers
Ian Hamilton Finlay, concrete poetry was a particular way of using language 
John Ruskin, to see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion all in one usage
Khalil Gibran, poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder and a lexicon 
Lord Byron, Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! Shine on!
Muriel Rukeyser, poetry sources are in the spirit seeking completeness     
Novalis, poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason – a bleakness 
Oscar Wilde, all bad poetry springs from genuine feeling (that opinion reeks!)
Plutarch, painting is silent poetry and poetry is painting that speaks 
Quintilian, we must form our minds by reading deep rather than wide
Robert Frost, poetry without rules is like a tennis match with a net aside
Samuel Johnson, poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth, the root  
T. S. Eliot, genuine, heartfelt poetry can communicate before it is understood 
Ulloor, one of the triumvirate poets of Kerala, South India; championing history
Voltaire, one merit of poetry: it says more and in fewer words than any story
William Hazlitt, poetry is all that is worth remembering in life and its forebodes
Xenophon, the sweetest of all sounds is praise and poetry sings the odes
Yevgeny  Yevtushenko, poetry is like a bird, it ignores all manmade frontiers  
Zona Gale, I don't know a better preparation for life than a love of poetry (no airs)

  


NOT FOR THE CONTEST ~ Su


Details | Rhyme | |

Dancing Sheep

When the pen has lost its way
When ideas and ink run dry
Leave the desk and turn away
Take what wings you have and fly
Leave facts and figures on the page
Free your dreams from fettered sleep
And let them take you from the stage
To floating fields and dancing sheep.

For all we are is never told
Nor ever measured by the eye
Mostly unseen we just grow old
And no one sees us passing by
We are the tethered fantasy
Most of the time we do not care
For most of what the others see
Is only what we choose to wear

But in the mind's eye's overview
We see the parts, the acts we play
We know the scripts we follow through
Just waiting for the perfect day
And maybe, one untroubled night,
We'll quietly wish upon a star
And in that moment's grip, we might,
Have just a glimpse of who we are.


Details | Free verse | |

The Pristine Society

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

~JSLambert
© 2011 JSL


Details | Free verse | |

In League with Others

I am in league with the roses,
Petals askew in a scarlet conspiracy

Oh I am in league with the roses,
Swaying along in this lover’s confederacy;

I’m in league with the devils,
A mob together raging alight

I’m in league with the devils,
Our very breaths fanning our damned plight;

And with the clouds I have marched abreast,
Bringing storm and heavens in tow

For amongst the clouds I have marched abreast, 
Purpose seeded in the sky to grow;

I am a hire sword in league with grander designs,
Through all of which I am never prone

Yes, I am a hireling in league with foreign designs,
Happy that I am never still to stand alone.
 


Details | Free verse | |

Inspiration: our Daily Bread of Life

Inspiration is all around me.  It swirles in the midst of darkness and deceit.  
Blinded by dry tears...the deliverers of this blessed word find me when I know not what to look for or where...
I and my kind walk in circles looking for and end to pain, deceit, betrayal, unlove, uncareing.  We are looking...but not invane.  

When the circles we walk in seem endless take heart and know that it is not a downward spiral...  Keep looking and you will see...  
     (C)....Catherine Buchner    2012
















Details | Free verse | |

Hateful expressions....

"I should have killed her!" he said as he pulled the ladybug from his chili,
"She would have suffered less than drowning in a man's dinner"

"What a faggot!!!" she said, marveling at the current bundle of willow I was trussing up,
"In fact it's nicer than the faggots my grandfather used to tie up!!"

"God, how I hate him..... i just wish he would die!!!" he said in pure misery,
"That Jack Frost attacks my arthritis every year...with glee!"

"Man, I just wish they'd wipe that ENTIRE race off the planet!!"
"I'll never enter the Boston Marathon again..... they robbed me of my ribbon!!"

"If you ever leave me, I'll hunt you down and DESTROY you!!!"
He was serious. He would have to stamp out any errant ember from his "secret" habit,
As the barn was the only place for a clandestine smoke

"Wow!!!! That's the biggest, shiniest cock I've ever seen!!", he admired out-loud,
Knowing that fighting these magnificent birds was wrong...

All of which are demonstrative of CONTEXT, CONTEXT, CONTEXT......
Even "hateful" expressions can be something other than!
Can we take it too far?? Have we?? Should we??

Wear your heart on your sleeve, but for God's sake
Grow a few more layers of skin, so we all can be our own censors!!!!


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 | Ode | |

That Crazy Old Doctor

There've been times in my life
 where I've just had to say,
 "I must, give it all up,
 for, it's that kind of day"!
 
I must, really say this
 I really, just must;
 if I didn't say it,
 then, it wouldn't be, "just".
 
There's this crazy, old man
 we'll just call him, "Doc";
 who fills up blank pages
 with, "poetical talk".
 
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
 'til way, past bed-time,
 trying to finish each poem
 and, complete every rhyme.
 
If he hadn't done this
 he'd surely gone, "mad",
 his nonsensical nature
 was, all that he had!
 
No hidden agenda
 when first, he wrote down,
 each poem of nonsense
 to erase a childs' frown.
 
And, Doc always did this
 manipulate, "clues"...
 ..so that , all of his poems
 were merely geared, to amuse.
 
He loved to let nonsense
 be the order of the day,
 and, with every poem
 we all smiled, the same way.
 
His only intention
 was to set our minds, "free",
 his style, just did it
 so, poetically.
 
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!




The volumes of topics
 that Doc's written of,
 included all that could be
 written.....below, and above.
 
He's written of magic,
 puzzles, and games...
 ..with, strange little creatures,
 with, strange little, "names".
 
The, crazier his story,
 the saner he'd feel,
 and, the more that we heard
 convinced us they were, "real"!
 
His poems, were genius
 as he weaved us, a tale;
 with, nonsensical rhymes
 that did so, without..."fail".
 
"Old Doc", has quit writing
 he's up in heaven,
 this year, his birthday'd ...
 make him, a hundred, and seven!
 
He's given advice,
 taught what we must do,
 he said, "Be who you are...
 ..no-one's youer, than....you!"
 
He's maybe still writing
 in, heaven....you see,
 that'd be just like him
 as, that's who he must, be!
 
That, silly old doctor...
 ..as silly, as a goose;
 we all loved his poems,
 for, we loved Dr. Seuss!
 


Details | Tetractys | |

Sword Play

Watch
Riposte
Spin, and then
Pique the heart ink
Diffidence showing the appalling link

Firmament encroached; caliginous stars
Ergo; all mars
With but three
Cuts to
Bone

Ah
Remise
Dip again
Ink thus imbued
Recondite quill forthwith shall be  renewed


Details | Couplet | |

LOST LOSER

          LOST LOSER

Bad enough to hear ‘you lose’
Then a flock of mail flies in
Don’t know which one you should choose
Then you glimpse ‘an AWESOME win’

Maybe it’s my humble past
Maybe it’s my country school
No one smiles when they are last
If you do --you’re called a fool.

Glory is its own reward
If you win your heart beat sings
Friends will greet you if they can
Life is sweet on eagle wings

Time is precious, time is short
Worlds await on shelves in books
Brush twitch paintings-- feet seek sport
I crave salmon on a hook

Ungrateful twit that I may seem
Courtesy is sometimes missing
My head I'll dunk in ice clogged stream
Avoid the flock of kiss kiss kissing

If you note that I have lost
Spare me time and spare me shame
Spare yourself the time it costs
To remind me that I’ve lost again



Victoria Anderson-Throop
Nov 30, 2012


Details | Elegy | |

Anyhow:

we always lack 
the better word, 
a polite reply or 
broken sword,
with which to pray, 
for better men, a better day, 
within to end, 

for as we fall upon the truth, 
our better words will be of use,
in truth, we say, we will agree, 
to end our search,
for words we need… 


Details | Elegy | |

An Act Of Brevity

Penicillin quailing child; 
Peculiar eyes, charcoal ides, 
Distance drawn upon denial; 
Penicillin quailing child. 
… … … … … … … .
Sincerity is the absence of imagination. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rambling of a Faith Poet

Sometimes it is hard to know what to write or when to write when you have just about every
thought possible flowing through your head. I wonder, "Should I please the public with
how "poetic" I am or should I please You? I know what the answer is but at times I'm 
worried about being liked or whether people get me. Is my belief in Your Son too far
above their heads or will they get it? Should I even worry about public opinion? Of
course I know as a follower of Christ, sharing my testimony and telling them about the
Lord is what I'm supposed to do. On the other hand, have I become to preachy and
dull? Am I shoving my beliefs down their throats? Then I realize, didn't Jesus make
himself of no reputation? Everybody thought that He was weird, blasphemous and not
qualified to tell them anything when it came to how they were living. I'm only here to do
what He wants me to do, nothing more, nothing less. If I do my part, the right people will
hear it, love it and appreciate it. All I should do, is write the word and leave all my
"rambling worries" to Him.


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 | Free verse | |

Adrift

I awaken to something awry, I float as a 
Wanderer between the plains of day and night
Amidst the clouds and winding streets. 
An outward compass points opposite the right
Yet, an inner voice shall be my guide

The moon shines in the sky so bright
And the sun awaits it chance to break day
What feet shall travel this road tonight?
Where there is no room for the hearts of the faint
Hurry calls the callous compass, do not stray…

However, the inner voice tells me, Not today
For the route the compass must take 
Seems easy enough, for the fool to follow`
But the long winding road journeys 
Towards brighter tomorrows

No longer adrift — it is the Way of Truth
That this once wandering soul now follows…



Details | Narrative | |

The Song Of David

Enlighten days have past
He comes excel in all, so he thinks
"I am greater than man,
I know what ignorant man does not.
Come to me for knowledge unsurpassed!".
He points to the blue heaven,
"Where is thy wisdom? For I know all.
Where is thy command? That makes the ground shake
And brings forth water that lives?"

At the great gatherings,
He flocks the shepherds, blind, mute and deaf  
He answers to the multitude of questions
He asked the shepherds, "but what are thy questions?",
“I know not what do ask a man of your wisdom, but what  is a dream?
What is life?” asked the young herdsman.
"I know not what you speak of", said the Man.
"I only know what i can feel, touch and see"

"A dream is dream that passes us by, like gentle breeze of fresh spring.
Life holds all things mystery and doubts.
Shepherd knows to flock, not life or dreams".
"The shepherds are those who are humble, noble one", said the herdsman
"The blind cannot see, the mute cannot speak and the deaf cannot hear".
"Who are you preaching to? Silent and amaze, the man looks on.  

"If the blind could see you, 
They would say, 'look here is the man who tried to humble the blind
For they can see what others cannot,
If the mute could speak, they would humble you!
And if the deaf could hear they would shamed your wisdom".
"Was I a fool?" said the Man "or are you not that young herdsman?
Who knows nothing of life and passes his days tending the sheep's?
What could you learn from such simpleton life?"

"Life I live is simple indeed, 
No one knows that the shepherds are those who protects the weak"
"Nature is a friend of the shepherd; we sing the song of David
And rubs the olive oil to our young sheep, to keep away the flies".
Insulted, the man's fury turns over to the young herdsman
"Nature? Protect the weak? The song of David? Flies?
How can nature befriend a lonely shepherd? Protect who?
Song of David the Shepherd who became the king? 
What flies would harm the young flocks?"

The young herdsman smiled at the frown face of the man,
Left without a word
The blind, the mute and deaf ignored the man.
An unyielding shame kept the man humbled
He wonders why the young herdsman smiled about.
He came about a bridge and crossed the rocky roads
On the hill top he stood 
And saw the young herdsman singing the Song of David.


Details | I do not know? | |

Unashamed Self-Promotion

:-)


Greetings, good and kind fellow Soup-ers!

'Tis wonderful, I say,
to be a Soup-er, so if I may,

I humbly request you to lay down your pen dipped in fine ink,
and visit my blog which can be found at the following link:

http://afzalmoolla.wordpress.com/ 

Now if this blatant self-promoting of mine seems rude,
I ask for your generous forgiveness, dear fellow Soup-er,

And wish you a day, that is peaceful, kind, and just plain super!

So cheers from the scribbler for now,
and as I take leave, my fellow Soup-ers,
I, in courtesy, to you all, do bow!


:-)





Details | Than-Bauk | |

Wisely Growing

Take unknown road For your ode will Then bode, wisely.
___________________________ For: Dr. Ram Mehta's contest: "Than-Bauk"


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 | Concrete | |

Knowledge is Infinite

There is a huge sea, that is the class, there is a boat, that is the sitting of that
class, the captain of the boat is navigating, as he is a teacher and teaching, and the
passengers are alike students as they are learning, each and every place they visit they
wonder, they observe a contemporary vision as a lesson, and even the visions are limited
by their eyes as long as they can see which is infinite.


Details | I do not know? | |

My Poetically Challenged Friend

Well said, my poetically challenged friend... 

Your insight is deep and telling of your sage, 
Even if I can not understand your poetic wage, 

Tell us more of your triumphs and travels, 
And don't leave out the blotter and gavels, 

For it is your frailty which entices, 
The calling of the soul, 
And unlocking of the mind... 

For when we read of your glorious battle, 
And become the fodder of which you prattle, 

Remember that these are are the days, 
We relished the great dreams you gave, 

Soon you will be left to your own devices, 
Kharma so apropos, 
Balancing over time... 

Then with great pride I will be able to say, 
That I once met a poet untamed, 

A free verse poet called Robert Reid Welch, 
With nonconforming musings, true and heartfelt, 

Oh what great cost the poets price is, 
Always watching yet always alone, 
All to capture truth sublime, 

Again well said, my poetically challenged friend.


Details | Epic | |

Its Not What You Did its What You DO

In this Life of mine its not what you SAID, its what you SAY, 
Its not what you HEARD, its what you HEAR. 
Its not what you SAW, its what you SEE. 
Its not what you FELT, its what you FEEL. 
Its not what you WHERE, its what you ARE. 
Its not where you BEEN, its where YOURE AT. 
Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is never gonna come so always remember to cherish everysingle moment, TIME is unforgiving and unrelenting. Time stops for nobody or nothing, not even for a sinlge second, your either gonna roll with it or get rolled over by it .......the choice iz yours.So embrace the moment in which you are giving now, for once it passes it passes forever and you will never get that *****back. Embrace that one special moment for they will be memories that will last you for the rest of this lifetime. Its not what you did in the past or what you even did yesterday.......its what you do today that really counts right now for a better future of our own tomorrow.........


Details | Narrative | |

Will to Live


I look ahead to the ends promised in my mind
But always reality clouds my eyes with the peppers of life
Sometimes I make hasty progress
Only a few steps ahead to be forced more steps to regress

Sometimes my hope gets a boost from a fine line I read off a book
But as soon as I lay down the book 
The reality of a stool beneath my foot
Makes me anticipate the pain of the noose

Still I have a will and I know that soon I will
On the back of the winged unicorn of my dreams 
...I will soar free
This reality is for the benefit of my dreams
On its harsh grindstones I will sharpen my will to live


Details | Free verse | |

The Writer

The Writer

Inspired by darkness he writes only at night;
Studying stanzas—seducing spellchecks
With the stroke of a pen he is anyone or anything
His great works are subjected to sabotage—prone to plagiarism
His ideas far exceed his lifespan
He will take them with him so that they remain unforgotten
There are times when he is repulsed by his own thoughts
Ashamed that his open-mindedness is so brave— so brazen
He must be careful with his words
Disguising them to avoid unwanted attention
He masters this skill by the memorizing
His important blueprints: a dictionary and thesaurus
The only two books worthy to his cause
He is a word hunter; silently stalking his prey
Snatching them from songs
Taking them from television 
Scavenging from scripts
He fishes them out in an ocean of conversations—inspecting his catch cautiously
Releasing the insignificant
Filleting the essential
He doesn’t waste words by packing them into passages
He displays them attractively on a canvas of possibilities
He raises them from lonely letters to surprising syllables
He rescues them from reckless writers—saving them from abuse
His message is vivid and clear, he refuses to practice the art of confusion
Without writing he is nothing; another drone in a misguided world
With it, he is unstoppable
Creating creative carnage
Amongst freethinkers and immortalizing injustices…in print
He sees he world in rich detail; analyzing the outline of all creation
Nothing is missed— from the tiniest atom to the utmost wonder
His memory is impeccable—photographic and precise
Every element, since childhood, is engraved in his mind
He has a fetish for fountain pens—collecting them like trophies
Never using them, only worshiping their power, it is mightier than any sword
Writing is his purpose 
Even though he will never be satisfied
Every draft s a rough one— susceptible to alterations
It is his weakness 
He is forever troubled by the idea of revision


Details | Rhyme | |

Empty Page

It need not rhyme, it need not flow
It need no essence of truth
Just proliferate, exaggerate
And be sure to convolute
With flexous and circuitous jargon, fruiton soon to find
Scholars will praise your erudition,and vilipend the simple of mind

It need not passion, it need not soul
It need not emotion convey
For imperious wordsmiths write verse to cajole
With nothing of substance to say
Just aberrate,divigate, affirm you wish not to profess
Just cloak, conceal, as you disseminate your page's emptiness

It need not sorrow, it need not elation
It not your mind reveal
Words are just wasted with no explanations
Nihility holds no appeal
Exacerbate, exasperate, as fading tales of yore
Leave you unremembered for your words are too obscure


Details | Lyric | |

A Lost Language

Dancing under moonlight
Haunting through the day
Angels turn to darkness
When the sun does not remain

Invisible and hopeless
The tones in which we speak
Our language can’t describe it
And now our vision’s bleak

A thousand fall at daybreak
A thousand more at dusk
The silence will not comfort
This mirror caked in rust

Dangerous and frightened
All that’s left to see
People fight for nothing
People try to flee

Dancing through this wasteland
Haunting brighter skies
Reminders of our weakness
Reminders of our lies

Visibly we’re broken
But suddenly we speak
The gift of wisdom shines down
The brightness lets us breathe

Dancing into sunlight
Caught within the day
The angels recall caring
Because the darkness never stays


Details | Free verse | |

Words No One Hears

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

~JSLambert


Details | Acrostic | |

You Snooze You Loose

<                                        Artist searching for a muse
                                          Creativity is the key
                                          Recant those memories 
                                          Open your heart and soul
                                          Start spreading the news
                                          There's poetry to be found
                                          Inside each and everyone of us
                                          Can't you hear the music

                                          To the beaten drum
                                          Whistle while you work
                                          Or you'll snooze and lose




Entry For
Jared Pickett's Contest
Acrostic 2
G.L. All


Details | Free verse | |

Indigo Vibes

Plain-sinking skull 
Bubbling on the field of old 
Eroding in the naked-split sunder 
Festering its mute and historic splendour 
Sitting, laying in the ooze of mud
Unknown depth no rescuing hoof 
Nearing completed clot of production 
Can you feel that destruction? 
Withering a stem broken sunflower 
Unknown power 
No description to mast a seed 
No infliction to place a wreath 
Everything forgotten left like crinkled 
Wrappers smothered in shaded weeds
Entered hades beauty faded 


Details | Free verse | |

Motivated

It’s the flight of pregnant birds that I am reminded of
Bloated and cramping
Legs tucked close in, wings beating away with paternal efficacy 
Never towards a nest
Always in flight
As if the very notion of rest a circling falcon
A tireless hunter, promising a swift demise, bodies left to decay…

This, this is a pregnant flock of desires and ideas
Notions and purpose
Encumbered and floating, rolling clouds heavy with rain 
And this flock rolls on
Until with a spasm of wings and anticipated rhythm 
A gush of rains and new life is announced
And from each bird, pregnant from birth
Comes a new flock, each end every belly swollen with life
And new ideas surge forth
And newly feathered wings beat with renewed zeal
And a multitude of pregnant flocks take to the skies,
	
And it’s these birds I’m reminded off
When I pick up the pen to write
Because in each and every bird I observe
I see that pregnant mother of possibility
Beating her wings, soaring above the ground
To give birth in the skies,
Where my ideas soar, soar and give birth
And I am reminded of them
Every time I come to write
And fear I will write nothing at all.   


Details | Triolet | |

That you sense my vibes

That you sense my vibes and moves by it,
Doesn't make all my maze the masterpiece,
And doesn't judge loyalty and modesty.
That you sense my vibes and moves by it
Doesn't guarantee pounds and majesty.
Call me back when I err. Therefore,
That you sense my vibes and moves by it,
Doesn't make all my maze the masterpiece.


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 | Free verse | |

I Said I Thought I Saw I Was

Old poems/new posts inspired by recent articles on PoetrySoup

All forms relate to the word
So from the beginning
They carried their ideas
In their minds eye
Shaping symbols
A dimension of spirit
The eye that underlies eyes
Vision makes the flash seem longer
In one blinding flash  I thought   I saw   I was
I said
All forms relate to the word
Being based on a set of words
Also forgotten parts of yourself
Evocation and reproduction
Of the things of life
As strange factory-born personages
Words very mysterious
Every process of Creation begins with
Also with Imagination
Of past ways
Of seeing and experiencing
Detached from life
Finding a way back into it
Breaking from time
Fracturing the sense of balance and place
Where past and future are interchangeable
Achieving synthesis of time and space
One can literally pass the time
Cut loose drifting slowly through
Slowed down space of next to nothingness
Detached from life    until

In one blinding flash   I said   I thought  I saw   I was

The word falls on its face on the floor


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 | Narrative | |

CURRUPTION

Debauched, extortionate and inconstant 
was the knavish and foul mercenary?
The perfidious praetorian reprobate
was a venal unscrupulous slug.
Debased in character and depraved in spirit
this purveyor of evil tended to his wicked ways.
Morally spoiled, he was a putrid putrescent 
and an aberration to integrity.
Nefarious and tainted in character,
he infected the soul.
Treacherous and two-faced,
underhanded and unethical, 
debased and unprincipled,
this snide poor excuse to humanity
defined the meaning of "corruption."


Details | Rhyme | |

I speak poetry

she says i speak poetry and its true
knowing me i must have flowed for you
look to my eyes , a full soul in view
words all the moments your love would do

spare hearts for those caught in thought
the difficult twist that rips and knots
the lines i gave, a brave, soft spot
when the queen of my hearts fell from the top

forgive but yet i shall never forget
faith in no faith, but its best if i slept
rather dream than see worst outcomes at best
create a new love for some hearts Ive kept

i dont know why I must speak as such
a rough young man, can eat nails for lunch
scars and bone, dress shoes covered in dust
when stripped of my past, i whimper at a touch


Details | I do not know? | |

Chapters

Our lives are like stories 
Like the ones found in books
We all play our part in the plot
But you were a bit more than just a character
Babe, you were a chapter

Chapters begin and end so quickly
So fleeting, like the way we would flirt
A heart-pounding beginning with a dry, cold close

I'm saying good bye 
This is for every time I could have cried
This is for every night that you forgot I exist
But I haven't shed a tear on you and, boy, I'm not gonna try
This is for every single mean thing you say
This is me deciding not to pretend I'm looking the other way
This is something I'm doing for me
So good bye, cause no longer will I be the girl who is blind

The chapter has sealed itself shut
So sit in your room and play some mean songs about me
I don't care, I know somebody with nicer hair

As a kid you must have been the bully on the playground
I'm done being the girl you give affection to and push down 
And I'm tired of standing on the sidelines while you try to run the show
I'm gonna move on with my life 
Prove there are things you will never know
There are things that books can't tell you 
Things only the heart can understand
You don't have one of those
So, pardon me, if I don't consider you a man

The chapter has ended but I won't shed a tear
The future's too bright for me to look back to darkness










Details | Free verse | |

Just writing without stopping

Random Free Write: 

Just flowing - writing
and not stopping to think
or even to lift my pen
I kept going and the words seemed to have no end
Understanding that the process is a simple one
Love everyone and 
stear free of the wicked one

I'm not sure if it was winter or spring
But, I gave way to all the flaws and  imperfections
and realized that this is me
The change came when I saw fit
and not when someone else decides

It's not hard to forgive
And even easier to forget
Does that not reflect love and also what it begets?
Except too many hold grudges and even
pretend to be angry beyond whats necessary
Caught up in someone elses problem
and not dealing with their own is a hard burden to carry
Let it go
stop negativity where it begins

Cut people short if you have to
because this is your life you have to live
Be on the lookout for those looking to devour you
Pray for those who do ill sh@! to you
Respond in a way that makes them realize they love you
and hope it inspires change

Still maintain dignity and move on to something new
Growing, building up treasures for a place greater than
you can even dream to go
It's the simple things that help make life flow
I could go on and on with this practice flow
Writing and stoping to think or lift my pen
This is one of those poems that didn't make it to the waste bin.


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 | ABC | |

The Letter S

I can use the letter s with so many s words, 
I am the seventh sign supreme soldier from the reservation suburbs, 
I fly like seagull in the open ocean sky supreme like an serpant eagle eating birds,
 I am so solid Im siked and sipped up from the sizzy sizzurp, 
I stagger until I swerve swiftly as snake in the souless society lost curbs, 
life so crooked it stained with soaked blood life around death curves, 
I cant believe so many lost soveriegn souls *****on they own siblings as the culture turns,
 I know I am sure of being sure of what I sought to learn, 
The brain with suicide can sometimes burn. 

Souless savage in society I be among little certain satans, lost in circles saying "7th Sign Empire Engraving"like my own still souls of savage culture on certain colors discriminating,
 But whats even worse is soul on souls hating, 
Society severed in broken circles still forsaken, 
Serpants searching society split in seven different groups of seven hundred seventy-two,
 Forsake my Se7en and I forsake thee seven times seven fold because truth be said Im souless to you,
 Se7enth Sign Supreme Solid Serene Soldier of of the sacred seven, 
I say I have always said society on my word S


Details | Couplet | |

Comic Book

Fractured little comic book
cracked along the spine.
Must and mold exhaust you.
Dullness shows the time.

Turn a page for reading
fuzzy art in blocks.
Squares with tiny bubbles
or just a place to talk.

Staples down the middle.
Two through every fold.
Half the book is over
and several stories told.

Flipped upon your back
where ads take all the space.
Toys for boys and girls
and all the dreams we'll chase.

Fractured little comic book.
Thank you for your grace.


Details | Free verse | |

Come Fluttering Words

"come fluttering words, come drifting words to me  . . . "
Fly though my dreams and whisk me away to a “Nederland”
Where fragrant flowers perfume the air with delightful surprises.
And butterflies dance through the trees where fairy dust makes magic.
Take my heart to the beautiful memories of childhood.
Where imagination flourishes and laughter chases the breeze.
Mend my sorrows with your soothing; vanquish pain with your sweet lexis. 
Carry my soul to the heavens where family love waits true.
Flutter my heart with generous gentleness, with understanding.
Send my soul drifting across the lands where friends hear and foes are forgiven.
Embrace my mind that I may share each part of me through you.
Caress my lips that only sweetness may pass through them.
And teach me all wisdom that I may love purely with no ire.
I have heard your fluttering when my soul wanted to cry in anger.
Your soothing brought solace to my unconsciousness, quietly.
I saw your flickering when my eyes were closed to the needs of others.
Your compassion brought knowledge to my awareness.
I felt your trembling when my heart was overwhelmed.
Your wisdom washed away my worries, wisely, willfully.
"Come fluttering words, come drifting words to me  . . . "
For in your fluttering, comes tranquility, love, understanding,
…And friendships are preserved, forever.

© July 26, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: What is she thinking . . . 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~


Details | Free verse | |

So Cold And So Sweet

-William Carlos Williams

For you
I hold out-
a figment of thought,

like a twig holds out juice
from the fig tree,

from branches, trunks
and roots, 
from the ground
and people draped
all around
like fallen fruit 
forgotten
by their trees

For you,
the day comes
the way it leaves

a taste of fig
that was never there


Details | Epigram | |

Thoughts Are Keys To Locks Not Open

Thoughts are keys to locks not open,
They remain thoughts till they're spoken.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Education is Power

Who is in charge of our children's education?
What happens when parents don't do their job?
When children have no sense of reading, writing,
till they hit that school room head on?

Who is responsible to initiate, ingratiate, the word,
so language is understood from infancy and
not suddenly at five years old when
communication receives the attention it deserves?

Parents stand up and take notice
schools do not provide the only source
You are your child's first teacher
You are the one who gives him voice.

From you he will learn expression
From you he will learn who he is
From you he will learn his roots
Give him your love and attention.

Provide an environment filled with books
A place where reading takes precedence
Instill in him a joy for learning
With gentle hand and loving looks.

Model the love of learning
read on your own or with
till without even knowing
he'll develop a yearning
to know, to explore, to evaluate
all there is and more.


Details | Imagism | |

The Character of the Poet

Sycophantic semantic woe, 
Feigning luck; comatose…

Effigy; parochial intent; 
Par for course; 
Yield, relent…

Penance. 


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 | Cowboy | |

saline through time-

social dishonesty, 
in a word, 
in a moment, 
without reason or hope, 
saline through time… 

  


Details | Narrative | |

Title Taken

The page laughing at me the canvas cold and blank.
Winter filled room in the middle of june.
Why had my heart run a ground on such jagged shores.

Now I scavage for remains of my soul.
ragged I wonder would anyone remember me apon my return.
Would she stand smile apon face and regret in heart.

The page stayed empty for a reason.
They were all gone the great titles along with there writers.

Me the fool brave or foolish enough to  attempt the
impossible  with little to show for it.
A broken relationship and some bad tattos  in 
some  weird places.

To be stuck down in a  hollow .
Is fine  with suplies lowand the truth a sober mind brings 
time was ticking the false deadline was apon me.
And like a kid trying to cram in every answer on a school test.
I was stuggling  waitting for the teacher to say times up.

Hands shaking from the need throat dry  and a headache
that would last for a week.
Why had it always come to this  isolation.

Maybe it was the roads way of calling me back.
Like a lover calling me back to bed.
To entangle untill the mornings light.

Yet just like a passionet affair the struggle for the title 
kept me trapped to this place for nights on end.
You cant grasp what is never yours its 
like trying to see that sweet southern breeze.

Everytime you find  one with which your heart agree's 
 You find the titles taken.
life and love will always  bring you to your knees.


Details | Chastushka | |

GUINEA BOOK-PIG

    THE GUINEA BOOK-PIG

At four she was a guinea pig
For a rising college geek
‘Cause the kid was talkative
Perfect brain to take a peek

So the testing started there
Little questions never ended
Hungry little mind was bright
Former life was now suspended

Didn’t jazz and didn’t play
Let her mournful dogs run wild
Didn’t swing and didn’t climb
Became a different, sober child

Read newspapers, wanted more
‘who is what and what is why’
Annoyed the neighbors and her cats
‘tell me how to testify!’

Reading things beyond her years
‘here’s a book, now zip it up’
No one paid attention what--
So she read to fill her cup

In the summer age of seven
Brother studied long and hard
Morte D’Arthur spent the night
Flashing with his mighty sword

Dashing all the summer long
With the heroes of the Table
Rode and battled, saved the day
Brushed her horse in Arthur’s stable

Ulysses sailed in close behind
Wicked Sirens plied their trade
Then a buddy left a Fleming
Full blown sex was then displayed

So she passed the books around
To the friends who had no sources
Little girls with Barbie dolls 
played at passion and divorces

What a start to what a life
Wouldn’t have it changed a bit
But if Mother would have known
Certain she would have had a fit.

By Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
November 30, 2012


Details | Couplet | |

Poets Souls

I read the poets souls in the poems,
I read the poets inner world.
Pulse beats louder, then duller,
And all my doubts are just hurled.

The sadness sometimes a kiss cover,
Then suddenly curled at my feet,
Giving the whole body a heat,
The warmth of a true lover.

Fever passes through my nervous points,
Chill runs through the whole body,
I read the poets souls in the poems,
And feel that this soul is haughty.

I delve into the words and their nature,
Understanding destroys the walls,
Now I would like to capture
The main idea and the poems calls.

I read and my joy is in full swing,
My own soul gets the wings,
I am ready to fly with the singer,
Like me the poet is a swinger.

I am with that one who dared
To plunge into the holy spring naked,
I am with that one who shared
An inspiration and was not faked.

I read the poets souls in the poems.
But do I read the souls of reality or dream?
Let’s deem that no one here and there lies,
And the law of poetry is always precise.

©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)


Details | I do not know? | |

The Life of the Author

And yet they will say
That I was not
Or will not say
That I was
Or was not
Or perhaps not

They
With BAs and MAs
Will take these words away
This is the Author’s curse
They will say
I was spoken
I was slave
To grammar and verse

They will write
As I have written
About my nothingness
My motionlessness 
The extent of my existence 
My stolen words
Xeroxed in every thought
Through plagiarised verse

They will say
I have written nothing
I have authored nothing
I have been authored
By those who file
These words in single file
Of severed selves
Into the alphabetised order
Of library shelves


Details | Rhyme | |

The World Needs Stupid Poems About Sheep

There's many speeches made upon the battlefield of life
And much advice both wise and otherwise
There's words to spur us on to overcome all sorts of strife
Some honest truths and some just hopeful lies.

The pep talk to build up the team so they go out and win;
The mantras found in simple battle cries;
The politics of power delivered with an extra spin;
The prophets' words reduced to sermon size;

The burning words of hatred that can send a man to kill
To light the fire that must be quenched with blood;
The prophecies long written that the blind seek to fulfil;
The word that lifts the fallen from the mud.

The lovers speak in whispers in the darkness of the night
And plight to each their troth in sickly verse
And the righteous lift up their voice to praise God, good and right
And hide the fact that they do something worse.

But if there is humanity and sanity to keep
The world needs stupid poems about sheep.


Details | Free verse | |

Rebellious

                                        What???...

To get someone to read my poems… Contests there must be.
They must be bleeping nuts thinking I can follow all those cockeyed rules.
Out of a zillion types of poems they always pick the weirdest ones.
Allowed only 16 lines… I found I stopped at ninety-one.
And for a topic they want a bird throwing glitter from a tree.
How about I spank them as I put them across my knee!!!
And why must I name it… as they told me? Where’s that for creativity?
Then they want a special comment added in the poem…
I would rather not add plagiarism… I’d rather call it my own.
But, you know, I am so very needy that I’ll do whatever they want.
Well… I’ll do, maybe one or two… of the things they want.
I know this makes it harder to judge the poems that are found therein.
But to me a poem… is a funny bent on my crazy whim.
Then suddenly, Lord Have Mercy… my poem didn’t win.
But I’m happy as punch for even with their strained smile…
I’m sure they read one of my poems yet again. :)

(Meant only for fun) I'm not really complaining. Just having fun.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seismac

 Seismac 
Seismac 
 
 
Spelling Bee 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
Oneseventysix 
 S it starts with S no arguments the EI could be the IE but the E is alphabetically 
the foremost letter and IE seems wrong to mee then there is another S. It seems 
so out of place but sounds so there it seems to me the S makes seismic sense. 
The M is just the middle of the word caught between the EIS and the ending. The 
ending is the IC it seems to me to be less forcefull AC would do better call it 
seismac rhymes with smack see eh? And makes a much better and harder 
word. The possibilities multiply immediately the Seismac Ocean. The Isle of 
Seismac. The Seismac waves washed over the smurfer today as he sat android 
like at his computer terminal in the shaded area. Everyone has favorite places 
and webpages on the internet there is many such places a man will visit and tell 
everyone about them but there is a few that he will never divulge the info even on 
his deathbed he keeps the sign in log on secret. 
He will sit and watch the movie while his best and only friend flips the simulation 
cards to make the mouses ears move up and down. This is vanity and chagrin. 
The up to the minute news is had while his only friend sits looking at the crystal 
glass ball in an effort to determine what transpired in la la  land. The news in 
Africa is GOLD in America its OLD in Switzerland it's COLD in The Netherland it's 
BOLD. The same seismac article of war zone policy states that upper echelon 
read faster they get better weather and more money cake and laughter. Mein 
COMP. MIEN Comp. The hills are blue the beans are red becomes blue beans 
the hills are red, the while away the time becomes the time is marching on the 
sun will set in the western sky at daybreak in the eastern lie. The tsunami waves 
of seismac grains reach all the living left alive for when the people die the spirit 
feels it. Eye am seismac. 


Details | I do not know? | |

'the twitch'

This is the story of ‘the twitch’.  
We have all had it:  
   That bit of movement before we sleep.  
We have been awakened by it when we were younger. . . it threw our arm out to catch us 
before we fell out of bed.
   It was even younger than that for us.  
   It was sometimes confused with a kick --  from our mothers’ tummies  to the swaddle of 
blanket.  
   As we grew, the arm no longer flew. . . and thus. . . ‘the twitch’.
   It is thought that we started with 
a parting of the energy that mathematicians make Einsteins 
of, or, 
sounds of the aria that Mozart’d 
into our echoes of the day --  a marriage of concept and conceptual.  
   It took us through the outreach of awkward doubt. . . brought us ‘round the curve 
of nerve 
for monkey bars toward the first dance; drew blood in our mouths before we got the first 
punch – given/taken.
The part of ‘the twitch’ 
that is worthy of noting now is that 
   it has never wanted to be caught:  
   It wanted more than nothing to be left alone – perhaps; conceived that 
   it would be an occasion for cause. . . effect – the drive our parents tried to delay 
with Dr. Seuss and Disney books.  A teenage indifference took us away from 
   it.
We all fall asleep. . . as we’ve always done.  
The story of ‘the twitch’ begins at the thumb; carries on. . . for the course of fingers
   it touched.
Brings  us a little closer to the edge of our beds.


Details | Rhyme | |

Inspiration

It comes almost as quickly as it goes.
But I know that if you feed it, it grows.
It is a brilliant spark.
A flash of light in the dark.
Nothing that I can see, touch, or hear.
Perhaps it has always been there.
Waiting to be brought into the light.
Waiting for wings to take flight...
Ready and ripe, to be cultivated.
Just willing to be motivated.
There waiting for me to breathe the life into it.
Prepared and ready inside of my own intuit.
Calling it to life, setting it into motion.
Created from a spark of my emotion.
Molded by my own creation.
Brought to life out of my imagination.
Blossoming is the seed I have sown,
Now it takes on a life of its own,
And it burns with light from my fire,
To go forth into the wide world and inspire.


Sarah Comstock
12/12/10


Details | Bio | |

from father to son-

insurance policies 
laboured unto birth… 
the mythic glance 
of gentile gratification; 
the populist pariah 
sheathed sternly under glass… 
exhibited ad nauseam; 
pardoned upon the 
tandem bicycle, 
midst the callous cyclic queue…
from father to son…



Details | Prose Poetry | |

NINTYTHREE

 NINTYTHREE 
NINTYTHREE 
 
 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
Level Of Intention 
 
eye had to pay for internet by the hour the word the line 
eye ran out of money in 1995 
the Computor had a dollar slot and a coin changer on the side 
the people eye worked for had all the consoles set up to lock me out 
the internet worked for my anyway if eye fed them enough coins online they let 
me out of the dungeon chamber long enough to smurf someone gave me coins 
for blood eye dripped enough to make the online hound sit up and beg inn 
Eiderdown the motel stray the bed is bound and wet just toss it out the bed 
cannot be found to dry it takes a never day just burn all of the buildings down In 
2003, lecturers and students from the UP Media Lab Arts course used a £2,000 
grant from the Artistic Console to study the literary output of real monkeys. They 
left a computer keyboard in the enclosure of six monkeys in a ZOO in Briton for a 
month, with a radio link to broadcast the results on a website. One researcher, 
Mike Phillips, defended the expenditure as being cheaper than reality TV and 
still "very stimulating and fascinating viewing". Not only did the monkeys produce 
nothing but five pages consisting largely of the letter S, the lead male began by 
bashing the keyboard with a stone, and the monkeys continued by urinating and 
defecating on it. The zoo's scientific officer remarked that the experiment 
had "little scientific value, except to show that the 'infinite monkey' theory is 
flawed". Phillips said that the artist-funded project was primarily performance art, 
and they had learned "an awful lot" from it. He concluded that monkeys "are not 
random generators. They're more complex than that. … They were quite 
interested in the screen, and they saw that when they typed a letter, something 
happened. There was a level of intention there." 
Given enough time, a hypothetical Monkey typing at random would, as part of its 
output produce one of Shakespeare's plays (or any other text) when the eye was 
a boy they were saying it was the Gettysburg Address. Placing 100 monkeys 
inside the computer room and letting them type the sound of the keyboards is 
deafening making a poor noise of institutionalistical importance. They did not 
type the Gettysburg address they typed and typed and this is what they typed they 
made it gibberish there is nothing much a monkey types that a poet can ever 
use. 


Details | Free verse | |

Writer's B L O C K--

Writer’s Block 
is a farce
a blue excuse
with no good reason
an open ended discussion
of waste

Writer’s Block
hangs out 
with Santa  
drinking  
no reason to join them 
at the North Pole 
of nowhere

Writer’s Block
is a temptation
a black rose
waiting
in the hand of the wicked
telling you 
it’s okay to be lazy 

Writer’s Block
is an imaginary friend
of the desperate
feasting on your company
and the smell of your beauty

Writer’s Block
is a weak hoax
marinating in dumb
a submissive idiot 
who barely exists
so leave him alone 

Writer’s Block 
is fine without you 
let him be single
You are better 
without the mix of his device.


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 | Haiku | |

Three

------------------------

cracks reminding us 
a calender hangs silence 
by all irony.

---------------------------

Practice for the blind 
circulation shutting down
shall twist towards plot

-------------------------

Running for their skin,
civilised sugar paper , 
for response alone.

------------------------------


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 | Blank verse | |

THE RAVEN'S OCCUPATION


                           THE RAVEN'S OCCUPATION

       You, Raven-- perch with cocky snap upon my window ledge--
       Who has called you hence and bid you whisper out my name?
       Is there a reason your wings swept my open glass?
       Or, is it merely quirky Chance that tossed you in my life?
       -- A wayward bit of sun ignites your glossy head--
       You ignore the spotlight as you glance my way again
       Are you wary watching as I waste away the day
       Or are you counting errors as they tumble from my pen?


Details | Quatrain | |

A UNIQUE INDIVIDUAL LIVES IN ME

I don't look like anybody else on the planet, you see...
I don't think and write as others do to hide pretense: 
my aspiration is not to be someone else, 
because a unique individual lives in me.


I had lots of friends in my teen years,
sadly, not a true one I could remember today
and that friend I found only in mother not others...
many regrets I have, but that bitterness has faded away.


I learned by watching, pondering, analyzing and comparing
vast differences in character, deed and action...
it was like seeing actors in a drama:  each one expressing
their feelings, expecting a positive reaction.


Sometimes I see myself as a modern philosopher with definite
thoughts on logic and theories...and most certainly
not a Plato, Aristotle or Socrates, and as amazing as they were,
they would criticize and scold me with their harsh words of antiquity.
  

I sympathize with anyone who has suffered a loss:     
it's the humanness that defines and completes me;
I am more patient than anybody who carries his cross, 
because a unique individual lives in me.


Details | I do not know? | |

Seep

A thousand times I've made myself
Into an interprative lie
A thousand times, a million words
That never will quite die
But in the truth, so continent
Is nothing that cannot be bent
Within these words, this plenitude
Is nothing of an origin
Within these lies, one bit of truth
Is only found within a facet of interpretation

And so we feel we know each other
Through the words we read, twice writ
But in all words, so many meanings
Kill all hope of understanding it

One word, one touch of mastery
Finds greatness only in what's seen
By those who are quite predisposed
To look for life in words transposed
Upon a page, so blank, so bare
That all the soul must still be there
Within that spot of black, inside the space
Surrounded by its like. There's left no trace
Of individuality within the frothing, dying sea of words once writ, twice faded, lost inside a sea of meaning, tost upon the shore of all that's seen by those who know what their own might-have-beens could mean to one who's never tried to understand, nor dared to try the hand of fate against a raging sea that took the form of fractured metaphor.

The soul seeps through.


Details | Haiku | |

Red Ink

Redress inked in red Impatient man never read Truth's ink has not bled


Details | Classicism | |

twenty four hours O'raisin deter-:

Senseless sensibility, 
they eolith dualist monopolies all too sudden… 
a true contradition; sentries of, 
as already sated… 
senseless sensibility… municipally… 
you-will-seize… day after deign… 
night after umberellian echoes… 
aversely cyclic… 
for if the wakean lent voice o’er hop itself, 
dost veer cane tray nether realm as well? 
Neigh… endomorphic; anthropaedophilic lust… 
steadily endures romantic inflammations… 
a rash once fought… 
until the moral ambiguity slides back 
unto tenuous tense and marathon… 
as if the end was already soon, or had passed…? 
For that as it seems is all too rhetorical in rhetoric, 
and misconstrued by puncture floundered fallacappy… 
gently top-plead due to intrinsartistic licensing… 
twenty four hour raffles, tambala sable… 
twenty four hours O’raisin deter…:


Details | I do not know? | |

ON COMPETITION

May I offer few words of wisdom--
Just a few words of reason and rhyme?
Competition is fun, when you're winning;
Collaboration is fun, all the time.


Details | Personification | |

FELT IN THIS WORLD

Felt as if I were a stranger amongst family.
A mere shadow puppet on the wall.
The whispers that enraged me deeply.
From all the distasteful, shameful,
ungrateful words that had been spoken
.
Utter silence drifting away,
the darkness starts to reign.
Sincerity's all so superficial beauty,
shines so brightly.
Blinding us from the true light burning within
.
Rebelliously our selfish motives,
and lustful attitudes,
Ruthlessly are felt thru out the land.
Emotionless thoughts,a lack of wisdom
,
Aimlessly wandering about;
Consuming everything in it's path.
Leaving "heart aches" as distraactions,
Felt dining from the war within,
the chains of bondage.
Keeping us slaves of death.
Our "seeds of faith" never failing to.
Surrendering to our human nature.
Repenting with our bankrupted souls
.
His grace,given with forgiveness
and love.


Details | I do not know? | |

No Grey

Hearsay on what love is today
Lives stretched thin for parchment paper bridges
Twice over crossed
Trampled, trodden, lost hearts in clouds
While rain was wringing out my hair
Let down my gaurd
Tasting peppermint Chard ment to
Cling to a tree until my help arrived 
At mydestiney without you
Speak to me over shallow tones of flesh
Glistening nipples to nurse a drink as I sit
On this step and contest how much you don't know me
And him on a pendulum 
Swaying choir sings at your wedding
To the kind of bleeding it out
With the Rugrats on a network of Carnies
Laughing at the man in the Emporers clothes
Worn tight hanging on to mornings light
Turned on then blown out
For renowned satisfaction
Due to your lack of actions
Speak louder than words
On a new world order 
Signed on as the Natural Selection

Copywrite©Ameaca 2012


Details | Rhyme royal | |

To Write

Blood spilled, tears fell
sadness would not dispel
Eyes cried, words sighed
laying bruised because I tried
Still I bled into this bed
of slain memories and pain
sheets so red and hearts so dead
is it any wonder now that I write
late into this lonely night
Have I given up this fight?
a heart so wrong, can it ever beat right?


Details | Rhyme | |

The Poet

Metered summer days quick-dry the fresh mirage
 so just because, we'd ring the bell,
 and opened every door no matter where we'd been!
 Except for in my den
 but, things all ended up well;
 I'm the sincere poet.
 
Magic muse that abuses my every suffering
 leave me be in silence, from my cell;
 be honest, tell me should I "post"?
 I'm really, just the host;
 be too dark, and your poems may not sell;
 I'm the tortured poet.
 
Chairs of stanzas quietly grinning
 be seated, and we'll change to the channel,
 it's all in how I read it!
 I'm trying to conserve my spit;
 I'm reading just as fast as a gazelle;
 I am the puppet poet.
 
Treating paper and ink as oxygen,
 shuffling sheets during the changing of the well.
 I can't imagine what they'd think
 did he have too much to drink?
 he was truly great before he finally, fell;
 I'm the retired poet.
 
Memories housed in dissarray, posthumously
 be patient for I have a tale to tell,
 deciphering will take time
 don't say now, I should have, rhyme
 your hunger, I cannot seem to quell;
 I'm the dead poet.


Details | Free verse | |

The Journey

From time immemorial your story began
A hundred, a thousand, a million years and more
Your story past written a character just one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Each story unique while pieces the same
Today, tomorrow, millennia expended and gone
Your story continues passed first to no last
The tale of you bleeds into all

Through love and hate, laughter and death
Minutes and seconds grew to decades and days
The story being written you wrote each day
The tale of you bleeds into all

Memories endure through dream and remembrance
Yesterday is gone but tomorrow you live on
Your story yet written a character more than one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Your stories the fires shall never consume
A past, a future, a present goes on
The story you wrote lives forever in your love
The tale of you bleeds into all


Details | Free verse | |

Poetry

A desire of a mind noetic Into ample authors What hence may be poetic If soon imagination will enter in Thus, inspiring set hands off Into accelerated motions Conscious and naissance As these, now expressions Are more to personal words Then, creating newer realms of reality Or even more, embellishing What were once, merely less distinctive worlds


Details | Free verse | |

Rare Book

Curator rings last bells
Closing for the night

In a deep dark sea
Behind blackened windows
Lies shelves in mystical infatuations
Where rare tomes must dwell away from modern day
Among ancient particles of manuscript saturation 
 
Mysteries here they have no end
But, initiate in the middle of a murder; suicide
Drama, gradually unfolds as volumes friend
Forever reaching into mind

But, when romance grows placid or even thinks to die
That’s when passion for adventure begins
And the creator’s world comes to life
 
Swashbuckling across the places
Of both space and time
Islands are the pages
Where all are meant to be
But, the concern is for that something
A hope, for enlightenment inside thy keep
 
It’s a hand that simply chooses wise
Either, mingled fantasy or truthful care
A will to be cast away or thrills abound
Is the self among folios rare

Become the one held captive
Adrift in compelling song
Following upon knowledge
A walking traveler
That soon, will begin to run
 
Ageless secrets
And heroes
Do exist
 
Do them justice
Merely, turn a page
Of any book


Details | Personification | |

THE BREATH OF LIFE

A GREAT THING GIVEN FROM OUR FATHER WAS,
A WORLD WITH BLUE SKYIES,BLUE OCEANS, ANIMALS, TREES, SUNLIGHT, FOOD, PEACE,
JOY, BEAUTY,
HARMONIOUSLY LIVING TOGETHER ; IN PERFECT COMPANIONSHIP.
GOD THE FATHER DIDN'T STOP THERE, HE GAVE US
THE ULTIMATE GREATEST GIFT ANYONE
COULD EVER GIVE; WHEN HE ; BLEW THE BREATHE OF LIFE INTO ADAM'S NOSTRILS.
GOD DIDN'T STOP THERE THOUGH, HE PROVIDED ADAM WITH A GARDEN OF GLORIOUS
BEAUTY AND PERFECTION.
SHORTLY AFTER THE LORD GOD ASK ADAM "WHAT IS WRONG ADAM"? ADAM REPLIED I
FEEL LONELY, I WISH I HAD A COMPANION". 
QUIETLY GOD THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT ADAM
HAD SAID; AND PUSHING HIS FEELINGS ASIDE,
HE PUT ADAM INTO A DEEP SLEEP
AND MADE A COMPANION FOR HIM.
FLESH OF MY FLESH, BONE OF MY BONE,
AND THEN GOD TOOK A RIB FROM ADAM AND GAVE IT TO EVE.
AFTERWARDS GOD SAT ADAM AND EVE DOWN AND EXPLAINED
TO THEM THAT ONLY ONE THING
THEY WERE FORBIDDIN TO DO AND THAT WAS TO EAT FRUIT
FROM THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL; 
FOR THEY WOULD SURLY DIE.


Details | I do not know? | |

Context

Somnolescent crystals fade into my consciousness
Effervescent, all elixir drains down into this
So have I felt the pouring down
Of stream on stream of empty soul
So have I heard the hollow sound
Of what was once a whole

Tear on tear drops down to seas
Of surcease, empty memories
All I've seen lies here before me
When is where I cease
   To be


Details | Rhyme | |

Doesnt make sense

I think ill make something new!
Something somewhat different with the words i spew!
Something about lost love to be found.
That will end up driven right into the ground. 
Or in a box called lost but not found.
Or make something about death so hollow and sad.
So sad it will move the hardest prison grad.
Graduet.
Get it?
But anyways maybe not.
Maybe ill write a story of a baller getting shot.
But yeah ill probly not.
Whats on your mind though?
Have you got the time to find the time then let it go.
Just grab a notebook and let it flow.
Its like riding on a breeze nice and slow.
Like flying a kind real low. 
Its easy unless its not simple.
Like when you use big words to sound obedient.
Which only rymes with words like expedient.
I dont even know what that means, i just threw it into the ingredients.
Sounds like a word thats rather deviant.
I like to build my poems like a subservient structure. 
Im loosing it so bad my brains about to rupture. 
This write sucks it doesnt make any sense.
Hence.
The reason im on the damn fence.
Becuase nothing i seem to do.
Seems to make sense.


Details | Couplet | |

The Blessing for My Book

As my job and health failed me... I dreamed to someday put together a 
book of poetry and this will be the blessing it will begin with...

As I sit here weaving my poetry
Into the semblance of a book…
I find that I must ask Gods’ blessing…
For the journey, that together we have took.

I find I must bow my head in thought…
Over this book that together we have wrought
As my hands clasp oh so reverently and earnestly over my heart…
As I believe his help brought the words together that I sought.

And God set the journey that shaped what now before you begins…
He helped me find the words that reached through my heart to my pen.
I pray the poems will be worthy of what he showed me as my life’s art.
And upon this book I honestly pray that his blessing he will impart. 






Details | I do not know? | |

WHAT IS HOME?

WHAT IS HOME?

ROLLING HILLS ARE HOME TO ME,
PLAYING CHESS WITH FRIENDS,
DANCING ON THE WEEKEND,
WALKING IN THE WIND,
BLOWING BUBBLES.

(Reflect)

BUBBLES BLOWING WIND,
THE “IN” WALKING WEEKEND,
THE “ON” DANCING FRIENDS
WITH CHESS PLAYING ME. 
TO HOME ARE HILLS ROLLING?


Details | Rhyme | |

Of Things Missed

So many, the people With clear, cold command Of the language And fully utilized by them in daily discourse And yet know little, or not… Of the texture and design In the weave of the words, And Know, or suffer not... A whit or hint of remorse Of the richness of The pleasures inherent Tho’ obviously to most, not apparent In the daily, depths Of Deep discourse The wealth of treasure In daily words By most is simply, sadly, missed Yet by the majority not e’en noticed For most…ignorance is bliss


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetrys golden day

I don’t want to be busy as a bee
I want to enjoy and take it easy

I won’t work hard to get rich
I fly in dream like a witch

And go to places where no one can go
And see many things that no one can show

My mind is rich in everyway
If I remain poor it’s okay

I play with the words like Pele
To bring poetry’s golden day


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 | Free verse | |

A Thought

The most beautiful picture
Still needs a frame to support
And complete it.


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 | I do not know? | |

Whisper of a pencil

In slumber from last words
Awakening from the deep sleep
My pencil fall in love with blade
Told one day to blade
Chop off withered skin 
Make me afresh with life
Sharp, strong and hard
To face the book of life
Rewrite the words of life
With joy, with aspiring hopes
Erase the blank patches 
Of unknown and write
New story to life
I want to be in hands
Of one who can
Change my and His (her)
Destiny



Details | Burlesque | |

sundae, as ever,

sundae, as ever, the first day of the weak, 
in tradition, an hour, or a minute of silence…
silence, as ever, suffered no fool, 
without conception, immaculate or no… 


Details | I do not know? | |

Caught Up In The Rock And Roll Game


Don’t get caught up in the game 
Don’t get caught up in the fame
It will drive you insane
It’s only you to blame 
When you get caught up in the game*Refrain: 


Because you walk through the crowd
They all know your name
The road twists and twists
 With a surprise each turn
Try to stay above it all or you’ll soon learn
 That the eyes looking in are hungry for your blood
Don’t mistake it for the love
Cause they all want a piece 
Of the music, rhythm, and soul
They love the Rock n Roll
Then there’s the girl who writes the rhymes  
Loves the love and soon you’ll find
Her spirit is so real and her sex appeal
I know you feel 
The fire that burns from the words she writes to you
It’s a powerful heat that makes your heart feel new
She loves the melody you put in her soul
It warms her heart, it makes her whole
Her spirit soars so high 
When you look into her eyes
The fire is so hot between the girl and this rock n roll guy               

Don’t get caught up in the game
Don’t get caught up in the fame
It will drive you insane
It’s only you to blame
When you get caught up in the game


Details | Senryu | |

' Generous Words ... ' 18th Senryu

‘ Generous Words … ’   18th Senryu



      Love … is A Give-Word
   God … is A Generous Word
       Forgive … Says It All


Details | Free verse | |

and there will be days

and there will be days
that not many will count along with me
and all the clouds that follow
will neither blow, nor not borrow
near what i did not wish to furrow
for longer than that shadow
might wish to shine 'long near me
it is more than an early, easy
sun to set
and dawn on
my simple mindset
oh. . . there will be days
that we've yet. . . to met
and only traces left behind
for what we already know
we never forget


Details | Rhyme | |

Scary Feeling

I feel like sl-lit,
i wanna flip.
Let my words rip,
come take a sip.

My phone keeps on ringing,
its chesney hawkins singing.
I get this scary feeling,
she's gönnä nail me for stealing.

I look at the sealing,
wish i knew what was the meaning.
I must start to pray,
every single day.

I'm smoking myself to death,
i need to take a deep breath.
Please don't make me fall,
i don't wanna end it all.


Details | I do not know? | |

Meaning

Hollow words have beauty
Hollow words are dead
Life has had no meaning
With hollow words' Godhead

So speak your lies
So scream in tongues
Your hollow cries
Are not enough
The world will turn a deafened ear
The world will turn a deadened fear


Details | Shape | |

.....?

                                                          Come.
                                                    Burn.       Done.
                                                           Form.


                                                           Dome.
                                                    Phone.    Loan.
                                                           Foam.


Details | Triolet | |

Parchment Desires

“Parchment which shows the mark of heart and soul,”
Blood and sweat stains between the lines so weak.
Sometimes knowing the traveling distance or goal,
Parchment which shows the mark of heart and soul,
While at others not knowing if it will take the toll,
Writers’ accomplishments’ may or not reach the peak.
Parchment which shows the mark of heart and soul,
Blood and sweat stains between the lines so weak.


Written for

Sponsor ~ A Rambling Poet ~ 
Contest Name A Poem, Please


written by
Cecil Hickman


Details | Narrative | |

A Prince in the Belly of Poor Mens Reality

The walls are speaking harshly of me
They want me to hear what they think of me
I know I’m different from the descendants of their kin’s
I wonder why it bothers them that I am merely being me
Freed to live as I wanna be

They are guests in my territory 
Imprisoned by the chains of poverty
Whipped by the lashes of mediocrity
I wish to ignore them but their noise bothers me
Why this misfortune
Here to live in the core of pessimism

I am a prince lost in the belly of poor men’s reality
As self righteous as they can be in their impoverished reality
My thoughts of hope and my words of better dreams
To them noise to be done away with
They are a lot resigned to their reality
A dollar or two at the end of the day 
Does just well to satisfy them completely

They do not understand why a prince like me
Would one day wish to be king
I don’t understand why able men like they
Would not wish to reign on their mediocrity
But hey! The truth is that they are they
Meant to gather hey
And I am me
Moulded to be the prince
What’s a future king without a kingdom to inherit?

Unbeknownst to their conscience
Tomorrow they shall serve me

Whereas they toil for today only
I build an inheritance for eternity
I scratch a mark in the plaque of history
Here today, forever remembered 
As for them, here today, 
Tomorrow as insignificant as though they never were

So please by all means
Let them laugh at me
It’s the noise a prince must perceive
In his grooming to be king
Perhaps it will make me understand
Why there are a million subjects to one prince


Details | Senryu | |

Little Tiny Thoughts

little tiny thoughts
hidden beneath soft feathers
fly on big strong wings

(c) Copyright Christine A Kysely All Rights Reserved
 (October 24, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)
 


Details | I do not know? | |

I Alone

I'd rather be alone.
I'd've me alone.
I'm but of one alone.
I've got myself alone.
I'll stay with me alone.
I'll've been alone
I...alone.


Details | Rhyme | |

Prayer of Thanksgiving

I thank you Lord for life,



 health,and strength.



I pray for the haters,



Who think they have me bent.



I love you Lord with all of my,

Heart, my mind, and my soul.

I know that even if I strive,

To live right and allow you

To rule my life, then all of

My battles for me you'll fight

And win. I will then see

You and I'll walk the paved

Streets of gold in Heaven.

I pray that  each  day,

I help someone to come,

Your way. I love you Lord,

To express it there's not

Enough to say.


Details | Free verse | |

Star seeding


How many nights awake as thoughts tumble so fast from the heavens that sense just needs to
be made?
Grab the pad always nearby, for when the rains come
and pour your heart out with them.
It’s understated to say inspired,
conversations with clouds,
allowed and understood.
Good. When that thunder rolls you know that flash is going to illuminate a lot.
All you’ve got
is a few minutes to get that down, a word a code a sign.
To remind your mind again.
It’s like that for all of us, but we,
we who have learned to pay attention,
not to mention
that we like it,
we listen. That’s all it is.
Nothing mystic
or fatalistic in it.
We like to dance naked in the rain.
And let that rain wash right through us.
We’re not afraid of lightning, we know it comes from the Earth.
And we’re rooted there. Deep.
So keep
your judgments to yourself about what’s right.
There ain’t no St. Peter checking for baptismal certificates at the Pearly Gate.
And Fate
can be re-written any time by intent.
Well meant
wishes sent to you do good and keep you strong.
So that rain of inspiration won’t burn you up, keep you watered long
After you’ve apologized.
So we let it through in verse, in muse, in story disguised
As truth. Star seedings through us all
Watching as seeds fall
And sprout in the rain
on Earth.


Details | Free verse | |

A Good Rule To Follow

Just do what ever you think if you must,
Cause with you there can be no trust.
   Faith and love is what you must learn,
It is  something you must go out and earn.
   Respect and understanding is how you must start,
To keep a love from completely falling apart.
   If Joy and Happiness is what you seek ,
Then be strong and true it will be yours to keep.
   Kindness and compassion is a good rule to follow,
It will bring brighter days for al your tomorrows .
    Love as if it were the last day of your life,
Try caring with open arms and do not fight .
    This life is precious if there is someone to love ,
Try to remember that it is a gift from above.
TAC


Details | Free verse | |

Broadcast # 2

Shouldn't Pilsner glasses come in six packs?


Details | Rhyme | |

Opposites

The time has come, but now it's past
I knew you first, you knew me last
The first is old, the last is new
I paid it all, no it's past due


Details | Senryu | |

' Orbit Gum ... ' 28th Senryu

‘ Orbit Gum … ’   28th   Senryu 



       A Devious Tongue
    Is Not A Dry-Witty One
   Just Dirt and Mouth-Scum


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 | Free verse | |

Shoeless Muse

I have endeavored to retreat behind common experience
Finding salvation far from transcendental
Happily plotting meaning as if some wisdom was
Possessed, only to be shown through the veil of
An incantation that the lines hardly end in the
Most appropriate places, clinging rather to a 
Need for old-fashioned sociability
Yet remaining far beneath, crying perhaps too
Loudly for its own sake, the doubt--
Cloaked as existence to the flawed so trampled
By the unattainable light reserved for
Men of glass whose honesty shatters the helpless
Sinner sacrificed to misfortune
'Tis a thing of beauty this universal gladness
I only hope its meaning is revealed to its
Author in a way far too brilliant to be
Extraordinary


Details | Rhyme | |

A Season of Verse

Days in seasons gather As due storms, above a setting sun Memories holding me in stillness By living out, in each and every one In verse, a vessel to amble on, with Or mere ways which a man journeys back As pages become the stir of echoes By outward, inking thoughts into black Some are turned, with smiles stained Others in very tender tears Evermore simply by aural laughter Freeing imagery of foregone years And in eye of mind I see thee read To turn another, then one more page And feel in your heart, my envision bleed


Details | Rhyme | |

Complete Man

Prolog:   This poem is about how much you need to struggle to ‘survive’ as an accountable and matured man. Child demands what he desires and the man sacrifices his desire, to fulfill the child’s.  It’s funny how you would be made a king for a day, and then a ‘somebody’, or even a ‘nobody’? Moreover, as you grow up, linearly, the problems breed exponentially like bacteria. Yes, it is true that the assimilative power to bear the offsets increase as you grow up too and how we breathe with the mere hope that one’s integrity pays back at some point in life. These verses symbolize the seldom hidden pain as adolescents in antithesis to the trouble-free life of a kid. Being a four year old playing with crayons, it’s all about you and your own little world!  
 
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising
 
From learning to put on the bow-tie,
To responsibly having the handkerchief in your pocket,
From experiencing the toughest times
And still standing upright like a ship in a storm
Like never before,
Manhood, here comes, like a raging warrior,
Resilient in form, stronger than its former,
And kills your innocence; darkens your heart.
 
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising
 
Life slips by ‘unlived’ and under cut-throat competition
Little merry-time, patchy hangovers and a far-fetched ambition
In trying to enrich and reclassify his social status
Life is yet adventurous, travelling rough miles
Reshaping himself, constantly adopting new lifestyles,
Every so often, he needs a little time, damn-it
In the end, faith grows numb in breaking the habit
It’s flabbergasting dad, how you stood up on your feet
Such burden of liability on the shoulders, how can one keep?
 
Politics was detested, conspiracy unheard of.
But now only has become an essential strategy for survival
Pain only makes him stronger,
Thanks Kelly Clarkson; that makes our belief finer
And brings a hope of fresh revival
How true Darwin sayeth!
Fittest subsists, and the rest are extinct species.
However, gratitude to such reformation
The inception of adulthood, cognizance!
Teaches him to be & believe himself; thus push his limits farther
Only critical moments, binds his relationships sturdier
 
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising.
 
 
Inspired by : friends, fam, eminem, linkin park, my fellow poets, my world


Details | Rhyme | |

-RE-MAKE-

WAKE up man
SHAKE a leg
MAKE a turn around
TAKE your place man
RAKE in all for what it's worth.

HOVERING on the BRINK
SEARCHING for a lost missing LINK
SLIDING on a slippery icy RINK
TIGHTENING a loosening KINK   
NEEDING perhaps a total RE-THINK

GRIN now and bear all man's SIN
SPIN the line, minus kith and KIN
IN maybe white or black SKIN
WIN over, and empty the money BIN
DIN perplexed, creating THIN.


Details | Acrostic | |

Life

Life is a right, to which everyone should have,
Independently it is the most valuable possession of each living being
Verifying the fact that we only have one chance in this world to make a difference
Even if we see ourselves as a sap that can’t change the mood in our area and that we

Lower our standards to say that even dirt is too good for us
Irrationally stating that we have a miserable life and we need to change it
Forgetting the blessings and the joy that God gave us in our current life
Eventually with remorse he’ll forget all of these things and start over again

To test his strength and will power to continue so that he can
Overcome the odds to achieve a pleasant life

This just states that if we work hard we might have a better chance of being content
However living with this in mind we might think that life is about work.
Everything in this world should be earned by working but what is work compared to

Fun, having fun always makes our work more worthwhile because we now 
Use our energy to enjoy ourselves while working and earning things that we desire and
Losing the old gloomy feeling about work and the world
Letting new and much more pleasant things happen to us and letting us
Escape to the happiness that we might have missed when we’re not content in our life
Surprisingly this is the most common problem in the world today so keep this as a
Thought in mind live everything in a way you might be pleased life is precious 


Details | Free verse | |

Abstract or Concrete

What are the words that give meaning to a page,
what is a page, what is a word.
Who is the audience that drives the poet’s ambition,
what is the desire to fulfil this ambition.
Is it the satisfaction of knowing their words are meaningful,
a line upon line rhyme or verse occupied by limitless thoughtmanifested as ink.
What is a poem but a bold statement,
fearless of interpretation.

For more poetry goodness, visit my website:
 www.checkmyflow.co.uk 


Details | Lyric | |

Weary writer

The truth is I have nothing important to say 
The world keeps on spinning day after day 
My opinion means squat smoldering away like a boiling pot 
I speak of events and worldly causes 
Not even an interested peep or cunning applause's
OK I know you say what makes you so different anyway? 
Well I speak of truth; I speak in rhythm and rhyme
I speak of happiness, I speak of borrow time 
I speak of familiarity, OK maybe I’m a little out of line 
But what I really hope is that my words bring a connection
During such a peculiar worldly decline, or perhaps resurrection  
Yes the streets are filled with flooded faces 
Each one bearing the loneliness from inner places 
Maybe just one victim of my written test 
How shallow and harden is my lily-white breast 
My tongue swaggers hot and cold, 
Stop laughing I’ know I’m growing old 
But I’m afraid I can’t end this given fight 
No rest for the weary and this inkwell tonight 
The truth is I have nothing important to say 
The world keeps on spinning day after day 



Details | Rhyme | |

Powerless Words

Words don't cause hurt. Words have no true power.
Words can cause you to feel defeated but only if you allow it.
Call me every possible foul name that might come to your mind.
Insult the loss of a dear, departed loved one of mine'
Use your words to reflect and express all that you consider unkind.
It may work with others, but I pay it no mind.
Besides,
When ever anyone is rude to me, nasty with me, treating me unpleasantly,
or when addressing me feel the compultion to scream and shout,
I never take it personally and I mean that most sincerely.
I always give all of them the benefit of doubt.
No one consciously would treat me so miserably intentionally
so I give them all the benefit of doubt
that there's probably something going on 
in their life that's gone wrong.
Something that I'll never ever know about.
Perhaps they're suffering the loss of a loved one or friend.
Perhaps a serious relationship has come to an end.
Maybe they're just having the worst day that they have ever known.
Maybe I just happened to be there when their fuse got blown,
or maybe they are just plain miserable and always will be.
You know what they say, Misery Loves Company.
Maybe they unconsciously want to make everyone as miserable as they.
I can allow that to happen or I can say No Way.
*
There's always a reason why others do the things that they do
and there's no point in wasting energy trying to figure it all out.
and so for me I choose the path of least resistance,
I Give Everyone The Benefit Of Doubt.
...unless they truly cross the line. Then I Punch Their Lights Out.


Details | I do not know? | |

Media

6 by 15 Watts are blasting,
testing if my ears are lasting.
I turned on the music just for hearing,
but it ripped my clothes off, as if I was dreaming.

50 inches full of colors,
I'm watching TV on a walrus.
But wait, it's not a walrus here,
it's my couch and I'm sitting there.

Media has caught us straight,
caught us, holds us, lets us wait.
Face it, TV has control
of our bodies, hopes and souls.


Details | Lyric | |

I'm Thinking naga-uta lyric form

with muse in my hand
and wire tapping on brain
I begin journey
to explore imagination 
to find a story
for sheer enjoyment
when bounty is truely found
on that given day I sought







Entry For 
Brian Strand's 
Five-Seven 
Lyric Contest


Details | Narrative | |

Working in a Factory of Words n Poetry Soup is the Hub


A hub stays put
But around it the wheel rolls
A hub only feels the weight of the load on the road
But the wheel rubs on the surface of it all

In mud, on dirt, on tar
The wheel is not afraid to roll for it fits within its purpose
The hub always stays put in the middle of the wheel
But with it everywhere it goes

Poetry soup is the hub
And around it like a wheel I’m gonna roll
Sometimes the surface maybe on a tarmac so smooth
Sometimes I may wade through mud so sticky and deep 
Sometimes I may leave so much dust rising on my trail
But an artist is all I am
A creature of emotions working shifts in the factory of words

Mine is just to pack
The emotions endeared to me in the wrappers of words
Each day different from the one gone past
Sometimes it’s heaven is on a roll
Sometimes it’s hell in a storm
But being the servant I am 
My position at the factory
Impels me to wrap it all in the assembly line of words

So please understand
Don’t blame the packer working shifts in the factory of words
Blame the company for producing all the sincere stuff


Details | I do not know? | |

Nominalism

When diamonds turn to ash
Do we
Even recognize this last epiphany
Penultimate of metaphors
We break these lifeless doors of definition
Fill the space
Created in the wake of self-destruction
And, induced to be, we happily accept a fate
And fill ourselves with names of our own make
We claim to span the void
Create it in the origin and end of time
Which passes by
Heedless of all our
Crying
And our deconstruction
As we claim
To have unnamed
Ourselves


Details | Acrostic | |

Trust

Transforms the heart to a bigger size,
Raises the stakes in a relationship,
Unseals a new world for someone shunned,
Spurs confidence in the integrity of another,  and
Takes effort for someone hurt in the past.


Details | Free verse | |

I Got Dough {Solfege}

Do -  do   -        a female la beer
Re -  re    -        a drop of re beer
Mi  -  mi             without my mi beer  
Fa-    fa -           place to drive to get ti beer
So  -  so   -        you ran out of mi beer
La   -  la   -         la de da la de da I'll wait for la beer
Ti  -    ti    -        spilt spilt ti beer so no more more of la beer

Do - Do              Do la la think I'm sexy after about six six so beers  LOL 








Got Beer !
Over The Lips Thru The Gums
Look-out Stomach Here It Comes LOL

Also Entry For Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest


Details | Rhyme | |

Rains Of Surreal

There were clouds from the sky
To be a little darker then before
Some thoughts in sacrifice to deny
The ever mist in darken haze to recall

And the walked path was an unsheltered one
He who bears the weight of unnoticed vapour
Should be realized to have unflustered thoughts come undone
For he who thinks will thoughts be flooded lesser!

That be pure and impure to see
For a path of evil may well be a course to undertake
To understand the substances of purity
To then walk perhaps the dream-fill path in wake

As the rain becomes heavier in turn
It only meant for the routes be harder to view
To be drench toward a point of no-return
Guess not the unseen road but be sure of surreal!

Mayhaps an after-rain be of rain an after
To share the affair and to embrace as one… the unknown
And to walk is the path already be taken forever
Yet the rain, hasn’t me to recall of those being shown


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry Is Alive

Somebody said that poetry is dead;
I hope for my sake that his statement’s wrong,
For if it is, I have so much to dread:
I’ve lost my thoughts and tunes expressed with song,
I’ve lost the many lines inspired I’ve wrote,
The rhyming words--well, they just don’t exist;
And time that I now to this work devote
Is gone just like the passing morning mist.
And contests that I’ve entered are in jest,
For they can’t offer any kind of prize;
The books they offer--filled with emptiness
If ever this great literate talent dies.
Well, I don’t think that poetry has died,
And as for all those narrow-minded men,
They once again with their comments have lied,
Attempting to keep silent someone’s pen.
As long as words in any language rhyme,
As long as thoughts in any man can thrive,
As long as history ticks the pass of time,
The good news is that poetry is alive!


Details | I do not know? | |

Different Realities

The pregnant dream vs the naked existence.
The healthy belligerent vs sanguine invalid. 
The buoyant child vs the cavillous pensioner.
The all-giving African vs the all-recieving European.
The befriended neighbour vs the ostracized man.
The kaleidoscopic optimist vs bleak pessimist.
The raw truth vs the falsified lie.
The low-key good Samaritan vs the ostentatious donator.
The good vs the bad.


Details | Free verse | |

ON RUDE AGAIN

ON RUDE AGAIN 
On rude again 
The people on the bus sometimes seem hard to swallow with an aspirin bottle 
even as eye talk to them with curses from forgotten places  because of old man 
sin nature its just a shadow of my former person no reason to be disturbing 
others in my assignations as my liasons cases come and go among the thorns 
of time he shoved past me intending to be ahead of me   but suddenly we were 
both at liberty upon the sidewalk and eye was out of patience as eye moved so 
carefully toward the corner to step gingerly into the street to try to make it to the 
other transfer point is when he bumped me and all eye did was make the 
refrences to his ancestory his intentions were just nominal he wanted to survive 
the traffic so eye proceeded to just make it know to  him HOW RUDE you are. 
HOW rude you really are. 



Details | I do not know? | |

ART

Art is art is Art,

and as such it will be confrontational to someone,

and will at some point in it’s existence, 

piss someone off every minute of the day



( CLiPiCs AKA Kriss Lee: 03-06-09)


Details | Rhyme | |

Comments On The Alphabet

I have some comments on the alphabet--
This group of letters numbering twenty-six.
There seems to be some problems with it, yet,
They might not be the kind we’d like to fix.
The C, S, K, and Q can interchange,
The X, I’m sure, could quickly be replaced,
The G and J sometimes both sound the same;
The many sounds of vowels is a disgrace!
And what about the lonely W--
The only one with syllables to say--
It looks like double-V, that is quite true,
But not likely to be renamed some day.
The school kids would be thrilled, I’m sure, to death
If things were changed in alphabetic scheme;
There’d be no chance to give the child an “F”
If that one letter’s dropped from off the scene.
In zeal I could think of some more to choose,
But without some of its letters this would be
A poem with letters I could never use
Because somebody changed our A B C’s.


Details | Verse | |

A Poet's Mind

An emotional outlet
A chance to be free
My way of conveying
What’s happening in me

My thoughts trickle out
Of the ink in my pen
I keep writing so madly
As if there’s no end

A poetic expression
A story to tell
Sometimes it’s like heaven 
Sometimes it’s like hell

Don’t sit and judge me
For my words have no voice
It’s a born infliction
Not of my choice

I may not hold conversations
Or have pictures to see
Just read what's in print 
If you want to know me
 


Details | Burlesque | |

Poetry loves Porn

I hate the words
when I can not touch them
I love life more than I can say
This is the reason why
I tried to seduce Poetry

But she was a whore
Dressed like a slut
Eating like a horse
And talking like... me

I saw Her walking in the streets
She never noticed me
I eat Her just like I use to eat my brain
She never noticed me
She was in love with another Man

She never knew what love was
Because she never had a soul

Poetry loves in a porn way
She gives everything
Because she do not have to give
Anything


Details | I do not know? | |

We and our writing

1.

Think, write, correct, send
A children's tale with a happy end.
To a publisher? To an agent? 
      That's not where my poems will be sent!
I'll send them out to my best friend -
He will always like and understand!

2. 

The poet, the writer creates the book
From own senses, smiles and tears.
The publisher often fails to look 
At the manuscript and nothing hears. 
But anyway the authors have
Their own secure world of stories told,
Which strives to help and even save, 
To give a way without sorrow and cold!


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 | Free verse | |

big brother german

"My Big Brother" nach oben und unten auf der Straße
  Er konnte jeden treffen Sie sein
  Bespitzelung von Ihnen von der Straße
  Suchen in aus jedem Takt  "My Big Brother" ist das nicht süß?
  "My Big Brother" und ich weiß nicht, warum

  Gießen von oben in den Himmel
  "My Big Brother" der kommunistischen Spion
  Zuhören in Friss Vogel oder stirb
  Bringing sein Buch in  unterrichtet innerhalb
  My Big Brother, 1 - 800 - LET-US-IN
  Gefangen mit Papier und einen Stift Alles nur, weil, "My Big Brother" ließ sich in"My Big Brother" up and down the street
  He could be anyone you meet
  Spying on you from the street
  Looking in from every beat
"My Big Brother" isn't that sweet

"My Big Brother" and I don't know why
  Casting in from above the sky
"My Big Brother" the commie spy
  Listening in do or die
  Bringing his book in
  Taught within
My Big Brother,             1-800-LET-US IN      
  Caught with paper and a pen 
All because, "My Big Brother" let himself in


Details | I do not know? | |

Economy of Words

say much
saying little

speak volumes
in few words

keep quiet
silence roars

economy of words
whittling away
paring down
all I say

tenuous talking
baby steps
to arms
there all along


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

A Youthful Girl In Cold War Part I

Deficient air I breathe in my lungs
In this world now I live, daddy's are careless
The children feeling helpless
Mother's have to play two characters
All I can see is the tears
That flow down their cheeks
Why am I disrespected by the one's who I look up to
I stick with my boys, because I never understood 
Why girls constantly hate each other 

I'm just a youthful girl in cold war
I'm constantly going through it
misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me
I'm just a youthful girl at cold war

Trying to fit in is so called being cool
Its just another word for being someone else fool
If they smoke, dislikes him or her
Then that person does the same
Now its all eyes on me so I have to go along too

Since I look at life at a different angle
I chose to go my own way
If my clothes ain't tight then he isn't going to like me
Being nice it's just a bad finish in the end
I guess I come last, some still say I'm just stuck in my past
As much as my pulverized heart been through 
I learned to put off love as it corker, belittlement, and depressed me for years

I'm just a youthful girl in cold war
I'm constantly going through it
misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me
I'm just a youthful girl at cold war


Details | Free verse | |

Pens 'n Needles

Ink spreads, Forming A pattern your Heart understands. Lines that Make up your Mind. A trivial Victory A battle betweem Body & Mind. Heart & Soul. Eternal on Paper...


Details | Free verse | |

I, Poet

Heap humor upon the scholars
Philosophers and thinkers alike
For, "-Ologies or -tists” to ending of names
Do not facts of science make

A place must needs be 
Where emotions may eclipse
To experience adventures of love 
Delve into fantasy, breakout and escape 

Then, might I suggest to be led away...
By thrill of poeteer
And his penned verse escapades

Swashbuckling gay through history's pages
Living on life's raw edge commotion
Into passions inner darkness 
When heartbreak questions every sense

And word's musical essence lingers on 
Amidst, what some shall christen
The wild and untamed spirits
But, this is where beheld and captive
Are those ageless forever notions

Where sonnets were early birthed
From simplicity within a complex existence
Onto ancient stone walls, tablets chipped
To books from scrolls
Across the ages, sailing out on poems ship

Breathing in new life 
Unto once withered words
The ones that merely give 
The heart and mind 
Its many reasons to exist 


Details | I do not know? | |

Broadcast #10

Thunder rumbles quietly
From the pen to the page
And the poets are writing
Of changes. How long 
‘til their voices are seen?


Details | Lyric | |

Eventually

eventually everything loses its touch
eventually everyone gets rid of their lust
and when you can no longer pretend
that everything eventually comes to an end

it'll all come down in a bad way
no one not even you can stop fate
so why bother why even try
because all of us will eventually die

im not stupid
im not going to believe their lies
im not naive 
and im not going to give in this time

trouble all of us will eventually meet
i guess you think a fool i must be
but the truth is so full of heat
the odds i guess no one can beat

im not stupid
im not going to believe their lies
im not naive 
and im not going to give in this time

and this pain fills me
wishing i could escape this destiny
but whats meant to happen will
i wonder how does that make you feel

the truth makes you so pail
slowly we're losing to this hell
in this life we're all going to fail
and we can't escape this jail

baby listen to me yell

im not stupid
im not going to believe their lies
im not naive 
and im not going to give in this time

eventually you will give up 
eventually your words will be left in the dust
eventually you will lose your shameful lust
while everything has already lost its touch




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 | |

Pro Predicament

Circuitous circular departures cleverly Sequester and  
embrace Inexpressible  moments of time.

Reexamine status, prevent  consciousness apathy, 
fabricate and reflect acceptance of self. 

precisely propose  to expose fallaciously filtered 
fantastical trickery touched theories.

Turn tasteless translucent tall tales into stable, sturdy, 
structured strands and threads of reality.

Penniless pocketless Poets put the points paralleled 
and placed above onto pure white pieces of paper.

 Once they find the ramble in their role they carefully 
command,Clever creative content to appear from thin vapor.

Amusement, bemusement, a resplendent  daring drawn 
out dark dance down a solitary diabolical descent. 

Lingering Layers let love live in a finely spun web of 
lazy, lofty, lyrical linguistic letters; lost lurking spiders cant
 reach the heights that sadness fled.

Poets are pros, pronounced proponents, that precisely 
reconstruct a feelings components that fails to leave any 
audience in a stoic state of stoney discontent..... 

Though they tirelessly endeavor to gain a fans approval 
and respect, they fail in fortunes favor. 
 Yet each day they commit make their art 
when most would be right to quit. 

Anyone can become a pro poet, 
you can tell we are devoted, though it should be noted 
if that's the readers intent, not a paid pro among us can 
come close to turning our 
thoughts into rent!


Details | Senryu | |

Thoughts Cannot Be Caged

thoughts cannot be caged

even from behind closed walls

they can touch the wind

 

 

(February 9, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin

(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved


Details | Free verse | |

THINE TRUE SELF

THE BEAUTY YOU SEE IN MY EYES IS,
SADNESS FROM ALL THE PAIN I'VE SUFFERED IN MY LIFE.
MY RAGE IS MY SCARS, FROM ALL THE DAMAGED HEART ACHES,
I'VE EVER FELT.
WHILE YOU SEE ME SMILING OR LAUGHING ON THE OUTSIDE,
MY TEARS ARE CRYING OUT SILENTLY.
ALL ALONE, AND UNLOVED,
AND BARON OF A FAMILY;
AN ORPHANED AND ABANDONED AS A CHILD,
NOW A GROWN WOMEN.
I TRIED TO TURN MY BACK ON MYSELF AS WELL,
ONLY TO BE BROUGHT DOWN TO MY KNEES SCREAMING,
WITH ALL MY OVERWHELMING EMOTIONS RUNNING WILDLY,
INSIDE OF ME.
WISHING OTHERS WOULD UNDERSTAND HOW GRATEFUL THEY
SHOULD BE TO HAVE FAMILIES THAT REALLY LOVE AND CARE FOR THEM;
INSTEAD OF COMPLAINING AND GROANING.
THINKING TO MYSELF,
IF ONLY MY FAMILY SHOWED ME THAT
THEY LOVED ME THAT AS MUCH AS
I LOVE THEM.
INSTEAD REALITY SETS IN AND REMINDS ME ON
HOW CRUEL THIS WORLD HAS BEEN TO ME.
I FINALLY DECIDED TO START ANEW,
AND THIS NEW BEGINNING HAD ITS UPS AND DOWNS;
AND LIFE LESSONS THAT NEEDED TO BE LEARNED.
ACKNOWLEDGE AND APPLIED.
LEAVING ME WITH THE DREAM AND HOPE,
THAT ONE DAY SOON I WOULD FIND MY KINDRED SPIRIT,
OR HE WOULD FIND ME TO LOVE ME IN THE LOVING WAY,
THAT WE BOTH NEED AND DESERVE.


Details | Personification | |

felt in this world

Felt as if I were a stranger amongst family.
A mere shadow puppet on the wall.
The whispers that enraged me deeply.
From all the distasteful, shameful,
ungrateful words that had been spoken.
Utter silence drifting away,
the darkness starts to reign.
Sincerity's all so superficial beauty shines brightly,
blinding us from the true light burning within.
Rebelliously our selfish motives,
and lustful attitudes,
ruthlessly are felt thru out the land.
Emotionless thoughts,a lack of wisdom,
Aimlessly wandering about,
consuming everything in it's path.
Leaving "heart aches" as distraactions,
felt dining the war within the chains of bondage.
Keeping us slaves of death.
Our "seeds of faith" never failing,
surrendering to our human nature.
Repenting with our bankrupted souls.
His grace,given with forgiveness
and love.


Details | Free verse | |

A Portrait of the Writer as of Now

Robert Carson Dining Room 1891 Parnell Street Orlando Orange County Central Florida Florida South East United States North America The World Milky Way The Universe


Details | I do not know? | |

Certainly Indifferent

The overwhelming feeling of Indifference stems not from the originally thought overall       
  “not knowing” but in fact the opposite.  
The feeling in truth reflects the rare inner sense that identifies a subconsciously known   
  necessary positive step that is ultimately the current correct action to take in one’s own  
  unique life path.  
This correct action should ultimately interact with the positive steps forward of those   
  surrounding you.  
The feeling of Indifference holds the knowledge that the particular decisions made at said 
  given point are the incorrect fit to achieve overall progress or accomplishment
  (a.k.a personal growth) and some rethinking and/or soul searching is in order. 
At the point of newfound epiphany, 
  the known necessary positive step will become abundantly clear, 
  resulting in the replacement of Indifference with the feeling of Certainty.


Details | Haiku | |

Haiku 3

Explaining it all
Don't accept it,expect it
What is your question?


Details | Rhyme | |

It Is Written Chapter One Verses Six To Nine

Agriculture now became widespread,
and meant that many more could be fed,
much time for many was now freed,
so towns grew larger, and so the need,
for new things that now could be made,
so with food surplus, came growth in trade,
as goods manufacture added worth,
sold to townsfolk who did not till the earth.

As trading increased with other tribes,
there grew a need for new ways to inscribe,
the dealings that took place each day,
to make sure buyers did the sellers pay.
This led to development from pictorial depiction,
to the earliest forms of inscription,
stone and clay tablets were at first employed,
and the new middle classes now enjoyed,
the great advances these changes brought,
as written language could now be taught.

Then tribal history, once passed paternally,
could now be written, and shared with all, eternally,
and legends from the peoples darkest past,
could be written in stone or clay, to last,
down through the ages they could now be read,
long after the ones who wrote these words, were dead.

This has meant that in our so called modern times,
we have seen the commission of unspeakable crimes,
because generations of 'scholars'have read ancient scrolls,
and accepted as literal truth, what there unfolds,
instead of understanding these often called 'glories',
are merely the retelling of tribal camp fire stories.


Details | Monoku | |

Eloquence

You shouldn't play on 
words you don't know.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Prose Mine Prys

‘At play with words’

Cork thine eyes 
Cloaking lucent verbose halls 
Surely binding shutting tight 

Cork thine eyes 
Clutching goblet sipping falls 
Drunk seduction bending sight 

Prose mine prys 
Gather up my scrolling drawls 
Paging through the spite 

Prose mine prys 
Splitting metaphors with mauls 
Swindle word codle the blight 

This poem explained

Shut your eyes 
Shade your bright and wordy thoughts 
Absolutely shut off your mind 

Shut your eyes 
Drink from the fountain of lies of the rich 
Allow yourself to be seduced and become blind 

My ordinary words chip away 
Read what I have written 
They are memorable moments of contempt 

My ordinary words chip away 
I chop up what I write with metaphors 
The negative meanings of what I write deceives with tenderness

T.R.Sevrens


Details | Rhyme | |

No Words, No Peace, No Sanity

My feelings block my mind,
Words are too hard to find.
My thoughts can't be expressed,
My head is beyond stressed.

Adrenalin has rushed,
My screams cannot be hushed.
But  words cannot come out,
Words replaced with a shout.

The pounding in my head,
There's no tears left to shed.
The burning in my eyes,
These feelings I despise.

I cannot take this pain,
It's driving me insane.
I try hard to cool down,
Sanity not yet found.

Wash my face with water,
Cool the need to slaughter.
Now everything's all right,
Take out my pen and write.

I am trapped no longer,
Now I'm growing stronger.
The pieces are now whole,
Now I am in control.

By writing, words increase,
I feel a sort of peace.
Insanity maintained,
My sanity is gained.


Details | Free verse | |

Art Imitating

Truth
is better found in the voices of lovers.
Poets
merely play with words and
Artists
search the canvas for visual seduction.


Details | I do not know? | |

Argent

Rain paints my soul into silvery streams
Life is like light
All is more than it seems
Something is here, in the night of your eyes
Something is here, in the tears of my cries

In the darkness, like velvet, I feel and I fall
The tide of my life fractures down through my soul

Wave upon wave
And stream upon stream
Everything
Is more than it seems
Tide upon tide
The moon of your eyes
Everything
Might bring this night into me

Rain, wash away, purify, drown my soul
Life is like love
All is pure, water cold
Everything's here, in the night of your eyes
Everything's here, argent tears are my cries

And the sky is like velvet, so freely I fall
The moon is a crystal in silvery scrawl

Wave upon wave
Written stream upon stream
Everything
Is more than it seems
Tide upon tide
The moon of your eyes
Everything
Will bring this night into me


Details | Senryu | |

' Mimicry ...' 23rd Senryu

‘ Mimicry ’   23rd  Senryu 



        Is That Mimicry ? …
Yeah ! … A Caged, Enraged Polly
          Parrot-Parody !


Details | Free verse | |

Obsessive Compulsive Son of Man

Judge me if you want to
the devil on my shoulder is one of your own making
you live through me
through the cliches of the worlds three perfect stages
the holes in the plot of phase one
of what i crave most to inform myself
the logic of the puzzle of action for reaction
and an angel of choices i seem to be offered
where the path of least resistance seems to help me out

Obsessive compulsive
music lists
genius at shopping
thye beliefs you feed me
the soultrain im waiting
the dance of destiny
the right shoe untied
the two left feet

I do what i see
what im told
what i think is right
lie when i have to
not because i am evil
but to save my skin
or because there is too much at risk to sacrifice

Its not entirely your fault for me be claimed to impertfections
i forgive you your trespasses
but i refuse to keep playing the victom
eclectic
forever eclectic
pulling in pieces of you
to build my safe have on a puzzle 
for there to be light in the darkness
the way i want thing 
my utopia
what i weant
even if its a lie

Obsessive compulsive shopping
row by row
reading movie by movie
tle and artist of every cd
looking at every gam
and walking through the clothes line
the things you might find in the fragrance section
after all the games and lives you have bought for your
entertainment
to smell like a god when you watch
the scenes of what has gone wrong
with what we wanted
so back to the start of where we fall apart

the mirrors o seven clocks
and the recyled dreams of the obsessive compulsive
son of man


Details | Free verse | |

Guitar

                                                        It weeps.
                                                          Cries.
At the feeling of one's touch.
                                                                                         The hollering, screaming,
wrecking innocence, in silence.
                                 It once lay awaiting the touch,
awaiting the callused fingertips,
                                                                         crisp
                                             and ready-
                                                                                                for the first strum,
bleeding into a love song,
                                                 silently killing a dove
  and regretting that first encounter.
                                                                     Which turned into obsession,
           deep, penetrating breaths, lingering while the wind unfolds the secrets,
                                                                                                 the story within the tune,
 the life throughout the song.
                                   And it never takes a soul for granted,
                                                           it gives
more and more
                                                                                           asking nothing in return,
patiently waiting for one more encounter,
                                                                a master soon to be.


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 | Tetractys | |

I'm Confident

faith
when we
cannot put
trust in persons
promises without
previously assenting
to or believing in that persons
claim to have such confidence in thy self







Feel The Faith


Details | Free verse | |

Don´t come here....

Hey, don´t come here and steal my thoughts
This Dame is important, no?

( F-k! The enlightment brought us nowhere…
Where did Europe take us )

Forget it girl, that´s not the point….
Try your billion-style-structuralism, just once again
….will ya?

Okey, I try structures….
Everything shaping itself around a center,
Round that center is everything else
Say! I got my ego as a center, next I got Europe…
( What? Is it that ol´stuffy Europenism, no?)
( Ugh, I got a millions of explanations waiting )

Try it again…..See, me I have the final responsibility
( don´t tell me it sounds Americanisms, no? )

I just thought I was a poet, some kind of Intellectual, hum
Anyhow, in next book I´ll try to come down to it






Details | Limerick | |

Poetry Fad

Slam poetry a form so new
Spoken word more than a view
Some are great some are bad
It is really just a fad
Bringing attention to poetry true


Details | Free verse | |

Words

People talking everyday,
But what are they really trying to say?
Words bounce back and forth
Off walls and trees.
Some strike a spark.
Most fall flat.
In the blaze,
Do we actually hear?
With our ears, our hearts?
Words so ineffective.
How to make them know
What the heart understands?
Perseverance and patience.
All will one day be told
And known
In the heart.


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 | Free verse | |

Why write when you can pray ?

Writing is a form of prayer, the writer makes with  his pen.
He puts it to paper,
 and lets it all go
When writing there is no time, 
  no space,
 everything stands still,
 while the writer writes.
Why does he write ? 
 Why do you not pray? 
To have someone to hear your inner most thoughts to look for answers,
 to ask for help ,
 to let go , 
to just get it out.
Sometimes he writes out of anger,
 sometimes out of loss,
 others its out of desperation ,
 sometimes its just because .
Now the writer writes in hopes
 that the answer will be come clear .
He knows all he has to do is wait long enough,
 and it will appear. 
But what say you of those who do not write ? 
Are they lost, broken or just forgotten ? 
No, they are not lost, broken or forgotten
 instead of bringing down the pen to paper , 
They choose to speak their silent prayer 
But one thing is for sure 
Paper and pen 
Hands clasped and kneeling
Someone, somewhere,
 has heard your silent prayer 


Details | Free verse | |

ALL LEGENDS ARE MADE BY DREAMS

Is there a purpose for struggling,
enduring trails that could be been avoided?
What motivates an individual to surpass
any conceivable limit...to build a concept?


A normal person has less cares than a genius;
no passion for art or interest in science,
so aimless is that existence...
resembling a shadow passing. 


A philosopher once said that
legends are made by dreams,
by each stage as they are woven,
but their inner voices are as faint 
and distant as raging waterfalls
descending steeply, to splash in rivers below;
and to hear them, you must get closer enough,
until their loud sound can deafen 
the ears and astonish the eyes...
Oh, I have contemplated them in sheer surprise!


Nobody ever sees a thinker's curved back
posing on the water-splashed, cracked rock;
if civilization has betrayed his idealistic thoughts,
accusing him of insanity and prejudice...
how can dark minds be lucid enough to discern
what he sees in images of true perfection?
And he will be another outcast detested by society...
for having demonstrated a superior mentality?


Go to the highest hill, amid the rugged mountains of the South,
and find him in the same spot meditating
over a glorious view that the very learned once admired;
go and comfort him with a friendly hand-shake,
and amply confirm that his action wasn't a mistake,
but a challenge and a cause worth-taking!
And his testimony, that all legends are made by dreams,
is found in his prophetic and exquisite writings.



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 | I do not know? | |

An Adage "If One and Two.." Expands From Three To Ten.

If
one is a coincidence,
and
two is a trend.
Then...
Three is an emerging pattern.
Four is a set schedule.
Five is an unwritten rule.
Six is conventional wisdom.
Seven is accepted practice.
Eight is standard procedure.
Nine is etched in stone.
Ten is the law of the land.


Details | Rhyme | |

A Critic of Thomas Pynchon

(And other steam of consciousness writers)

Trying to read this BBbbbllllizzard of words on the page
of this damned author who posed as sage 

Who mystifies the simplest songs 
and amorphousises way to long 

for the rational mind to make a 
connection with the gist
the pace the race 
the common place.

The form so deformed as to be un analyzable
to be un surmisable 
even for the daft.

The contrite are right
when they refuse to take a bite
in fright for to read such a Bliizardddddddd
of words on the page
does nothing but
put one
in a 
daze.


Details | Verse | |

poetry to me

is everlasting 
feelings 
flowing like 
water in a canal

poetry to me 
is a bundle of 
joy,pain, intentions
raining 
like blessings

ousting every moment 
declaring an 
situation 
that you walk 
your self in 
thinking of another 
thought
process
vision like 
for life and death

the power that is 
fought 
every hour 
leaking emotions 
in a time report
 
poetry to me 
is expressing your 
self in ways
that are familar 
to affections........


Details | I do not know? | |

Trapped, Alone

Failure to plan on your part
Doesn’t mean an emergency on my part
That is what today over the radio I heard
And as sharp as an arrow in my heart it stung

Now it’s almost a month
Since on the boat of chance I jumped
	...hoping for luck
I’d heard enough of my big dreams banging my head
Now here I am, so worried of what’s ahead

I know all about that positivity stuff
In fact I write about it trying to earn some cash
But man, how tough it is to live off art in this part of Africa
The society looks at me with suspicious eyes for they do not understand

I am a lone ranger in a range full of cons
I am a range rover in a range full of thorns
I try my best to improve my all
But always to reality’s end I fall short

Sometimes I wish to be back to the home that didn’t foster my hope
Sometimes I wish to be helped by the dad I’ve never known
But all the time life shouts upon me the reality that I’m alone
Oh, I know I gotta stay to fulfil my purpose
	...but sometimes I wish I was gone


Details | Free verse | |

Table of Contents

Wham, bam
What's up?
Whatcha got?
Can ya hang with me?
I've got ten on the fact that you couldn't even
bang with me.
I've got words to spit;
I've got games to play,
I've got a one-up on you,
much to your dismay.
If you stick with me it'll be all
gravy;
boat sinks 
and the turkey is gone.
Dumb-
bell falls and his whole ideal is done.
Pen breaks bread and it is settled for once
you've done it you will never go back-
wards step into oblivion.
Oblivious to what it all means,
Step forward in thought into my dream machine.


Details | Epic | |

A Seven Letter Word

Forever

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  Scrabble 	
Sponsored by: Nancy Jones


Details | I do not know? | |

A Liars Theme

A TWISTED WORD 
NOT BY MISTAKE
WILL SPLIT THE TONGUE
THAT IT FORSAKES…
WHAT WAS THE TRUTH
BECOMES THE LIE
THAT FEEDS THE NEED
TO ONES DEMISE…
THE DISHONEST CLAIM
SELF PRESERVATION
BUT IT’S FOSTERED BY
FALSE INSPIRATION
THEN LEFT TO GROW
LIKE POTTED WEEDS
CONSUMING MUCH MORE
THAN IT NEEDS…
AND THOSE WHO
ALWAYS HESITATE
WHEN TRUTH BE KNOWN
AND MAKE IT WAIT
OR DISGUISE IT AS
WHAT ANOTHER’S DONE
TO MAKE THEM FEEL
THAT THERE IS NONE…


Details | Blank verse | |

All Paths Being Parallel

thoughts i never thought through,
words misused
where ever i may have slept,
nothing is wasted in pursuit of a muse.
when every coffee house becomes your study
& the sidewalk is as good a place 
as any
to write your masterpiece,
you begin to understand.
whatever paths i've crossed
or shores i've walked;
nothing is wasted in pursuit of the Muse.


Details | Epic | |

Live above Foeword balance ?3

Living below the low of slow roll
dyeing above the bow in fast sail
failNG front the sow is last paul
baylin flaps the lap si four call
wishin blips the cap tu tres papi
living clips the mam or thee ocho
caving snaps the wig or twig thee
oaring water the dig tu sing fall
winter sings the sun of life agua
cellin beans the lit pa wite bose
giving loves the kit su fite rite
spelin fours the pay if tres paso
quedes ledrs the foe is four tree
living lives the tea of fact free
tuGGin grass the Pep si ever mEEn
loving sings the SEA tu AMOR PaPa
bellow rings the til in THEE NOAN
writin green the man tu Over aGIN
pissin queen the tax me seen meAn
lackin picks the sax ol navy SEaL
cadets craps the SOY IN PLAY FOIL
CLAYIN SAVER THE FAD OF COLD CULR
LOSING BLEAD THE DIX IN CORE COST
FEVERN BLACK THE TIX OF FOUR WALK
LOVING LIVIN THE SEX SI CASE TRES
THININ PINNE THE PAC OF MAID TIES
FEELIN FREED THE LIP ES NADA PIDE
LIVING LYIVE THE CAL OF NORA WISE
PRISMS EVENY THE RAX OF KILO WITE
SLIGHT EYENG THE PAZ TU FOUR GIZE
TELLIN SEOUL THE EXA PU EVER GREW


Details | Free verse | |

Guiding Answers

When this page is study
and children write essays about it
they might go on about the introduction and how it was explanatory
they might estimate it was second guessing that it switched and then went
to the what for
why is this author writing
do you hear me
im right there what i want you to say now break away
and dont fall in and see where the story goes
in the window
upstairs
in this mansion
going on forever
and in the muse of the beast
of the psychologies
the confusion sees nothing but clarity
put the pieces together
and ask the questions
nothing there between the lines
and where did ti t all start
was it the biginning or the end
did the rumor mill come clean
or do i just need therapy

soo much to rebuild
soo much to reponder
soo much to see through
i think that maybe si should start the page over
maybe its not in my mind baby
maybe its outside crazy
maybe its trying to enslave me
maybe im not worth saving
maybe its something and im not explaining

In the end of the puzzle the treasure found and a new legacy of the blueprint of 
the plan
that was left thjere in the seal of fate the previous generastion left in the puzzle of 
the plans of the story of music
no one ever really listens to
that has much mueaning
an audio soap operah


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 | Blank verse | |

Voice

Hundreds of words written 
waiting to be read
each letter a note
waiting to be heard
some are discordent
and harsh to our ears
others carry a sweet melody
and are like honey to our soul
there are a few that carry an unusial sound
we stop to listen to something new
and others that we listen to
because we have to
These songs are the very soul of us
waiting to be heard
but if we never write them down
then who but you will listen


Details | Free verse | |

Mea Culpa, Extol Belles-Lettres

The Jackal's line of demarcation ye souls' furlough for interim...
Today, cockcrows perturb in a gala thrice for thee quiescent stay,
God's Park of Ephemera, sashays the daggled the minder harks,
a chest not in to rest, of dais edicts, cudgels so contagious; 
haughty wheels peddle rashly between two havocked hearts,
foisting wintry fobs of progeny pleating to let pigeons exeunt,
if bedlam trotting by pothers ye, the cob, yet calmly sings, 
"Fare-thee-well, Oh snowflake in dwindle, hallow me next spring,
via crepuscules, cleaved like vacant aulas crescendo conveyance,
wholly abutting city lights, this chimney calling cannot sight!"
Jolly pedestrians twinge at our capitol! Touring a mindful chance,
Ample of verve, knowing mortuary amblers must get their fight!
"Fountains, thawing ye? Janitor, what does the blind really see?"
tryst squelch time, squirm squander squalors n' ante antiquated feet,
Jocund or beh£s belief! Ye! Behind bellicose belletrists by beggars!
When baubles full-fledged, hast consummated thee to hobnob no more,
jongleur sloshed anchors on mimes bare laid laic stoolie, loupe aims,
Headmost, request lasting breaths above broadcasting fortune n' fame,
Then fated fires the Sniper jostles from home to goad n' prod,
Ye kindred stanchion and I, skimmed, the sunset even with me...



Details | Free verse | |

Few Words

Don’t be sad, be melancholic
Don’t feel glad, feel Quixotic
In aims to articulate
You become everything you hate

All in
Few words

Don’t be sorry, be repentant
You’re not pissed off, you’re infuriated
These memories become
Pieces of a future whole
But that whole is always in the future
So you become a hole to fill with films and literature
An unending and unerring opening
It goes on into endless night

But the next time you’re stifled
Caught for words, tongue-tied
Just say what it is you know
Don’t pry for the superior

“Happy”
“Sad”
“Angry”
“I love you”

There’s nothing more than 
Few words


Details | Blank verse | |

Fades

As I stare at the screen 
without a thought in my head
trying to figure out 
what my thoughts are
as they blur to and fro
a solid picture one second
and the next it fades to a bunch of swirls
waiting for it to refocus
for it to become clear
My words a combination of all that I see
until I am confused by them


Details | Rhyme | |

PUBLICATION RAG

PUBLICATION RAG

Papers hadn't held her words
For twenty years or more
But ‘published’ didn’t scare her
words were sizzle branded in her core--
Past the corner soul that hides
The little suffering blueblack fears
The place within the fears
That hides the insubstantial tears

There ragged brands had healed
From raging blood to shiny scars
Blood-- now cold-- congealed
As graceful life was wrenched apart

Thus, publishing and some such
triggered not an ounce of fright
far worse black filthy dreads that
danced ablaze in burnt-out lights

So publish me, Be done with me--
she mused as on she walked--
Better to be done with it--
May end the verbiage stalk.

And though she knew
Would never end
The words that came in streams
Was truly voice of true heart friend
That called her in her dreams
And deep she knew she had no wish
To end her lifelong song--

But not to share a single word 
Seemed selfish--deadly wrong.


Details | I do not know? | |

Why

Why

Is the question from the beginning of time

Why

Is it good or is it evil

Why

To understand, there is no why


by Samiam1o1


Details | Rhyme | |

Ars Poetica

A poet shouldn’t write what others want to hear,
One must not feel intimidation, nor fear.
A poet must write about his own experience
He should capture his own life’s true essence.

At nearly nineteen years of life I’ve learned,
A true artist’s voice is not pleasant to be heard.
A poet’s life truly is nothing to be desired,
A poet doesn’t have a job, he never gets hired.

Any man can live a life plain and normal,
But being a poet is much more exceptional:
Telling your thoughts with no care in the world,
You can freely make your voice be heard!


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

WISDOM: wise words

to have wisdom is better than being strong
and your wise words should flow like a song
spoken quietly with honest intent
sincere in their message and content

wise words are to be used as a persuasive tool
and not to be shouted by rulers of  fools
but if they are spoken from a man that is poor
to people they lose their ardent fervor
but if spoken by a man of considerable wealth
society will cleave to those words unto themselves

wisdom can't be bought nor purchased at any price
wisdom is a learned thing from an experienced life


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Light Years, Away '

Far-Away … Light Years Away …
How Appropriate, It Is, We Say …
Light Years Away … Words To Measure
The Great Distance to Explore Celestial Treasure

… For He is Light Years, Away From Us
… yet … Closer … than The Lightest Touch
Closer … than The Merest Whisper
Closer … than even Lovers, Can Venture

and yet … Light Years Away … from Man’s Technology
Light Years Away … in Telepathy
Light Years … of Surpassing Intelligence
Those Light Years Away … should Inspire Reverence

… in Wisdom … He is So, Far, Advanced
We, Will Never Reach … His Zooming Stature or Glance
Beyond, What He Has To Show
Look Back at Him ? … ‘Please !’ … Keep Learning To Go …

… Light Years Away … Oh, Joyous Mystery!
Light Years … of His Supreme Love and Gracious Majesty
and Divine Dignity and Glory and His Excellency … All Light Years Away
so … Up … Up … and Away … that’s how Real Superheroes Pray

… and that’s how We Travel, Light Years Away … Day by Day by Day


Details | Alliteration | |

Alliteration Mystery

Take the time to set back and travel the minds turntable--
Set the stage of your spirit of your soul ever so simply--
Each ember of life that earns you strength is everything--
Seal the seats of friendship with stars from heavens sky--
Relief will be your reliance; reliance can be your role--
To live life loving with much laughter and spiritual light--
I sound like a pound of purity, with prosperous preparations--
Though that is hardly the fact, the terror of life totally thrives--
Drives me to dare divide my dreams and sacrifices decently--
No, I do not know the key to never failing, or sainthood--
My mystery is mesmerizing mere meter or rhyme or prose--
Writing written words to warm or calm mere mortals like me-- 


Details | Rhyme | |

Bard

Oh my friend you sing tonight
to some soul have brought delight
some empty night you may have filled
with happiness the world has killed
 
to entertain you've taken part
and hoped to lift a heavy heart
but if you hope their heart to lift
priceless truth the only gift
 
Master musician a story you tell
understanding lies within your spell
weaving the listening upon the ears
the sorrow of their own life's fears
 
You know not all is as it seems
the world imparts it's own dreams
into your well you have dipped
upon it's wine have listeners sipped
 
music vibrates it's chords upon the soul
can tear it apart or help make whole
the message that you choose to give
can impart death or light to live
 
Commune with God upon your bed
the tenderness of love don't leave unsaid
with seduction to gain worldly treasure
and lure mankind to lesser creature
 
Things you hold within your hands
with instruments tones and word understands
a piper who leads minds on a passage
what should be the call of the message
 
With the song of the Bard is God concerned
where it leads and what teaching is learned
harken to you do the children of youth
be careful to impart only the truth
 
source "The pied Piper"
 
 
COPYRIGHT © 2098 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC


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 | Ballade | |

likely i'll be yours

I woke up alone.. 
coping with reailty
but today
i'm thrown to 
bring the best out of me

i crack the can 
and pull the coke in my cup
glance out the window
at who just erupt

a dear friend
haven't seen in a month
where you been
i've waited to see 
you crush..

contemplated 
the evening rush
how come 
when i wanted you
your well being
i did not know of such

but when i moved 
on... you miss my touch
i bet that hurt you as much as 
me like a mike tyson punch

Glad to see you back on your 
feet... who else could you trust


Details | I do not know? | |

top of a box

whats in inside
might i ask 
the bottom 
so shiney the 
top comes off 
and feel quickly 
as he grab...
doing heist.
making more money
then a taxi cab.....
i'm doing right
right doing 
x girl friend called
ask how's things 
moving...
i laugh and told her
all good improving...
she said i saw your 
brother... small world
conversation went dry
like clothes being top
by the summer sky
you pain. i be the top 
until you ready to love a gain


Details | I do not know? | |

"Existence, to the most abstruse level..."

Is it just me, or did I really approach this the wrong way,

I could just forget about it, but it lingers in my mind,

I never thought I would feel this badly,

As if life isn't enough of a burden anyway,

Don't pity me, don't offer your condolences,

That only makes me feel even more horrid,

Breath, heart, sight,

All essential things,

Yet cause you so much misery and woe,

Hitherto, I have not a single regret,

Because life is kind, in its own perplexed sort of way,

And that is what gets me through the day...


Details | I do not know? | |

Thoughts And Feelings

Time flies
When I daydream and write.
Though I despise this place,
I know without a doubt
It is where I learned
Every trace of my thoughts.
My heart is solitary,
Though is so deep,
It feels as if
I may never find
What these feelings of mine
Always dream.
I write my poetry
Through love, feelings
And even hate.
In this life I seem fated
To forever be lingering
Within this world
With faded dreams and feelings.
This state of mine 
Is so misleading,
I must find more meaning.
Time flies
When I am glancing into
The clear blue skies.
The sun rises
And my soul realizes
Every day, every lifetime
Is a new beginning.
As I am writing,
I am thinking, searching
For this life's meaning.


Details | Free verse | |

Yet Still

my words pour from my fingertips
in the hope of understanding
to make the world a little clearer
and all they do is muddle it
I write furiously with no comprehension
of what it is I write
but with the full understanding that I have to write
always hoping that someone will read and understand
tosee the clear picture
of the portrait I painted
of a person unknown to all
but existing in a place that well known
to the point that  people seek him without fully
comprehending what they seek
until he,
himself intervenes on their behalf and puts out his hand,
which most reject for people want to make their own way,
but still I write
not fully comprehending what I am writing
till the point where I lay down in exaustion


Details | Free verse | |

bable

at this hour let it ring true

     he who sits and waits is the fool

a coward cries unto none

      the fearless seek forbidden fun,

the heart that bleeds for love

       screams in anger to the lord above

he who reconciles with the way things should be

       never learns to be free

words tossed to paper never making sense 

         fall to those who see ignorance

speak to soon 

         a thought not though through

easy to judge another

          harder to call him your brother

in the years that past

           it's words that last.

nothing to write but wanted to

            dumb lines I wrote for I have nothing new.

          


Details | I do not know? | |

Precious

The faint
smell of
an old book
precious 
with age
When I 
flip pages
it enhances
the aroma
which only it
can 
possess


Details | Rhyme | |

Put It On Paper!

When you’re happy,
Or have a bit of anger,
And you can talk to no one,
To release it put it on paper.
Who cares if it rhymes?
You have free time,
And need to free your mind.
Whatever feeling you have,
And no one has time for you.
Punch those phrases,
Out on the paper.
Doesn’t matter 
If there are line 
On it or not
You will no longer 
Feel confined
Then you have a work
Of art with words.
It could be published.
If it is has quality 
So you feel happy
Or disturbed
And no one wants
To hear what you 
Have to say.
Put it on paper!
Read it aloud,
And stand proud! 
Tell that anger
See you later
Or that happiness
Come back again.
Don’t ever underestimate
The power of the pen.
Let the words flow.
Paper will be,
 Your new friend!


Details | Free verse | |

The world is changing

The world is changing



Come on now people. 
This world is changing.
Everything has become illegal.
Congress is to blame. 

Trying to stay alive - in this world of lies. 
Is like gathering up honey then living in hives. 

We are melting down. 
Need to move to higher ground. 
It won’t be long. 
Before, the Americans are gone. 

Can you tell me why – why – USA..
It’s not my fault - that I am white.
And what my for farther’s had done - back in the day.. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mother Of Waters

Mother of Waters
you're peace and tranquility;
how I long to be as free.

Oh Mother of Waters,
mighty! untroubled, and true!
change me to be just like you.

You have given us life
then have taken it away...
seen battles lost and won
through the nights until the day.

But who can say
what controls your silence?
And who can say 
what commands your violence?

Sweet Mother of Waters
graceful, mystic, serene...
who can know what you have seen?

You have given us life
then have taken it away...
seen battles lost and won
through the nights until the day.

but who can say
what controls your silence?
And who can say
what commands your violence?

Dear Mother of Waters,
great mirror of the dusk and the dawning...
calming, soothing, everlasting...
how I long to be as free!

Change me to be just as thee.


Details | Sonnet | |

N-code/D-code

To dare to write a poem is a thrill.
The world of words all things can symbolize.
A wordsmith has to ever hone his skill,
And greater grow his gift to empathize.

To break the bonds of esoteric terms
Will free the coded secrets they convey.
By sharing truth, a poet truth confirms.
To hear their words can clear our thoughts away.

These words must spark a meaning of our own.
A special nuance to their true intent.
They speak to us and we are not alone.
A deeper guidance deepens our content.

When poets share the feelings in their hearts,
Then grateful readers flourish by their arts.


Details | Free verse | |

Poetry

Poetry is philosophy treated so unlike philosophy
Once the discourse begins
There is no return to the conversation
Just an endless flitting to everything
I want to open words like arms
And go deep down between their legs
Until I am all quivered and done.
For what are we 
But the countless, endless germination
Of words spoken
But I write them to create thoughts, not worlds.
O for a T. S. Eliot
To steal a thought and opened it like a flower
O for a W. B. Yeats
To write and write until the conversation has its power
O for minds like crows
That will not let the thing go
But flash it, shake it, shred it
Until it is only strands of meat between the teeth
Minds that will not yield but even in death 
Conquers defeat.


Details | Rhyme | |

Key

Understanding is beyond me.
I have the bare facts.
The reasons for these acts,
I am told that they hold the key,
to unlock the secret door,
to go beyond this pitiful moor,
to the place were imagination lives,
and everything else gives,
to the place called the written word,


Details | Rhyme | |

Paste and Post

This is for all of you facebook posters - - - 

I do not like the paste and post
I do not like the pasting host
I will not post it on my wall
I will not post it down the hall
I will not post it on my desk
I will not post at your request
I will not post so you can read
I will not paste and post indeed
I will not post it, will not share
I will not post it anywhere
I will not post it, that be said
Just be glad I stopped and read

Mdailey	3/11/12


Details | Free verse | |

Sadly

Sadly sitting alone,
She forgets to go home.
Her place, not one to call her own.


Details | Imagism | |

Pen

How many letters have i written filled with meaningless emotion.
That none can understand and most time half-forgotten,
They seem like so many dreams that fall to short from glory,
That all I can say,
Is please do not read,
These words have no sense.
Their meaning has been lost in translation.
the sound of the horn is as clear as a bell.
But it music seems not to want to be written.
The confusion I feel flows to this paper.
Leaving heart and soul out,
Without even a whimper.
All is left is my mind which does not understand.
So I buried my pen in the shifting sand,
Buried it deep so none may find the torturious beast,
Within its innocent illusion.
The illusion that is torn away to reveal our pain.
So clear as a bell.
So I hide it away so no one can find it.
Yet it is still there waiting for me,
That horror.


Details | I do not know? | |

Germ Poetfare

Sometimes My poems lack the skill
and the substance is below better work
Egotism gets the better of me
I end up writing like a jerk
There are more professional poets than myself
who have the style and grace
These writings of mine,however..
are just ordinary at best
The lust that is within me to tell a poetic tale
is confused and erratic
It is exactly why I  continue to fail
My own personal philosophy still escapes
in the truest meaning
People say  it is easy to be hard on one self
They can compliment the Poet
but,
it is the Poet
that should be allowed to criticize his own flair
For this reason by my writing
I call my poems:
GERM POETFARE


Details | Free verse | |

BIOMYOPIC

BIOMYOPIC
Never am eye ever counting my self worth in the amounts and measures of this 
world the many blankets that eye have like an old Indian man this would lead me 
into madness and depression far too quickly then is my want the things afforded 
me is gold and silver lines my pockets but the stuffins that eye have and all the 
riches of this world yes even MONEY is not GOD and HE has Glory when eye 
gather and even when eye find eye just say thank you JESUS even in my mind 
The way is narrow the way is hard the way is easy the way is love.
The shoes upon my feet are not wearing out they keep there size and shape for 
many months now. NO one is perfect and things are not forever but the one who 
blesses us can make a shiny piece of leather
Last seemingly forever if it is on the sandel of his desert feet.
The Holy Son Of GOD the JESUS of the Nazarene landscaping the Jesus of the 
CROSS is HE who is my blessing. A good Christian man must examine himself 
to see if he is in the HUMAN race the thing to please remember is to have the 
attitude inside the forewithall to hide thyself from pride and foolish attitude of self 
decay and sometimes leaving water here and there is the hope of someone 
else’s day. A drink left out where poor one may soon find it may not seem like 
much in the Grand scheme of things but we must soon get started giving and the 
good deed comes in living and just having FAITH and leaving just a cup just ONE 
CUP of cold water in the place the poor man dwells eye can say with out reserve 
with out much thinking looking back eye have been that very thirsty eye have 
needed water finding none and eye was thirsty did ewe give me drink did ewe 
give me some. Eye left a cup of water for the poor man to drink and GOD has 
overflowed my wellness and eye am not now ever sick. This is my biomyopic.


Details | Free verse | |

Here is Now

I want to grab onto every moment as it passes
I don't want to replace the old with the new
I don't want anything to change
                                                        but I'm satisfied with nothing
I don't want to live far from my family
                                                       but I'm moving out west after
graduation
I don't want to grow up
                                                       but I can't wait for my own family
to love
I don't want to replace the old with the new
                                                       but the only thing that lasts is change
I'm grabbing onto every moment as it passes
storing it in my bones and in my notebooks
                                                       they are the same thing.
My spine is the spiral from a 3-subject college bound,
my vertebrates the lines between everything
that I'm filling up, 5-pages a day. 

I want to grab onto every moment as it passes
write it down and use it to keep myself standing
when I'm old and falling as I answer the phone,
like my Nana. 

I don't know where I'm going
                                                     but I know exactly what I want.


Details | Rhyme | |

You're A Winner

If I could win I would fly,
Across the big wide open sky,
And laugh at those who didn't try,
To get published in a great big book.

Oh how I desperately long to see,
My name in a huge Anthology,
With others just as naive as me,
I can't wait to take a look.

So I'll take a moment after I rest,
To pen some lines for your contest,
And swear on my heart they are the best,
While on the stove my potatoes cook.

So as soon as you can, send the letter,
That tells me my poetry is so much better, 
And I'll dance free and totally unfettered,
While you think I've taken the hook!


Details | Free verse | |

Eloquence of silence

We speak too much of so little
Like we truly know that much of so much
Yet there’s so much 
We know so little about
Speech ought to be
For knowing minds, not talking lips
Those who know as much ought to
Speak so little of much
Not of secrecy, or pride
But of eloquent silence
In which pure knowledge find profound expression.


Details | Rhyme | |

Winning

Winning, how important is that to me,
will that make me who I want to be,
how about this contest, we will see.

Winning, will recognition make me feel better,
will my happiness come from a confirmation letter.

Winning, will that make the world see me,
will that define that I,m worthy.

Winning first place, will that make me know,
I,m the best, I think not so.

Winning Not, will that make me cry,
no, I,ll just continue to try.


Details | Free verse | |

My Eyes

My eyes stay dry 
To be a dusty dry reflection of will 
Sandier then the tough jolt of sin 
My eyes stay cool 
Freezing the hell that danced in my life 
Stopping the activity that made my brain spin 
My eyes…. 
Are dangerous 

Look carefully into them 
There is no howl of defeat found in them 
Nor is there any dance of victory 
Look closely… 
And see that I have given up 
The gleam you see is not of joy 
But of frozen expectations 

Oh yes indeed there is a large expense of thoughtfulness in my gaze 
I see everything in a light that mocks the sulking shadows 
Yet my light… is artificial 
Its shine simmers but for a moment then is taken away in self indulgence 
Then I’m left alone 
Left to battle and find my away around the dark 
My eyes are confused 

They dart left and right with all the grace of a failing bird 
Whatever they capture in their gaze they hold it in self denial 
Uttering curses when the captured tunes them down 
With mocking music and self exile 
When my eyes are confused? They become desperate 

Gasping in any neglected air 
That air of freedom 
They choke it up like a lifeline 
Clutching its spirit 
With the last of its strength 

But most of all… 
My eyes are hurt 

The ice is protection 
A shining layer upon a broken heart 
The desperation of freedom 
Is the result of being broken apart 
I have grown 
After tasting the whip of reality 
And I have fought 
Yet above all 
Above anything there is about my eyes 
My eyes are doomed 


Details | Free verse | |

Hermeneutics

The poet's mind unfathomed
Derange his words
And set them screaming in public streets
Where vulgar thoughts exposed themselves
I have the tattered clothes of rape
Lock, lock perfidious tongue
The bat will not beak my blood in broad daylight
A babarous blistering of my landscape
The simian shape
Call to mind Freud
Master, Ellis and Johnson were pedestrian people
They looked but could understand
How deeply ran
The second command give all life
Was the first to man
Hence the first reason we spoke was love
And if speak God to them
They shall spend their candle
Trying to uncover my state of mind
O I can see
But my words are blind.
                              ii
Read me with no rules of grammar
I mean what is subject and predicate
And the sentance with no comma
How many meanings would you see
If my sentences starts anywhere
And my words like a judge just sat there
Listening to your fear
Making hope out of my despair


Details | Ballade | |

likely i'll be yours

I woke up alone.. 
coping with reailty
but today
i'm thrown to 
bring the best out of me

i crack the can 
and pull the coke in my cup
glance out the window
at who just erupt

a dear friend
haven't seen in a month
where you been
i've waited to see 
you crush..

contemplated 
the evening rush
how come 
when i wanted you
your well being
i did not know of such

but when i moved 
on... you miss my touch
i bet that hurt you as much as 
me like a mike tyson punch

Glad to see you back on your 
feet... who else could you trust


Details | I do not know? | |

A Path to No Where

 A path, that twists, and turns, and, never ends.
While life stays motionless, but hours still make a silent, repeating, tick.


Details | I do not know? | |

Words

Love
Family
Compassion
Respect
Courage
Honor
Duty

Words held in high regard
Their meanings higher still
Claimed to be owned and loved by all
Yet search the inner souls of the user
Find the barren wasteland
Devoid of truest feelings

Just words. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

To Consider the Alligator

I wouldn't be scant. Its codfish lies to pull ferociously all up in its cube. The forks stomped the ponies. Why did your 
goodness lift our leaf? What do ideas ride like? You sound like that laugh. You persuasively divide. All obscene feet 
straddled under his lingust. What is all over the drifting harpsicord? Exude yourself betwixt the calamity. I will be snoring 
impudent cities. What is through that fatility? What is beside my heel? No fountain pens, please. I could be spitting 
underneath your cognizance. Boldly you malnourish the fence. You usually ventillate. Bend your travesty. Thirty-five 
damp beets are sophmorically trampled. You will run beside gods. You look like a surreal brevity. You will boil inside 
caftans. I diddle. I shouldn't have been hopping beyond your vertebre. You will thrust along protests. The pedestrian left 
by our digit. His rabbit accepts a serpent. His floppy money was hydrating with her heart. I love piston. Her list of fury 
resonated next to the thunder. You smell like morse code. His slinky magical mirror was feeling all over my Swahili. You 
will snap without tiger boots. You like waxy provisions. Hi, I'm a stormy panhandler. With your mildew were eight 
blogging skaters. My philanthropy whisps like a plasma. Sufficiently I snap. You remind me of every neat-o flamingo. 
You explicate mates. Drip your disgust. No car keys, please. A combustion tickles an insertion. Hi, I'm a cold cole. You 
sheepishly evade. You finally exude. All your abyss' are belonging to us.


Details | ABC | |

More ABC's

An amusing attempt at alphabet
babble:  Beginning by
caramel croonings coming
delightfully down drains
ejecting embryonic
flatulent foolishness.

Grandiose gobbledygook
hatched hastily
into idioms indicating
just junk.

Keening karmic
language languidly liberated
matching mainly myopic magpies
nattering narcissistically.

Opine on, oh onerous one !!
Perhaps provoking philosophic
quoted quirky questions
resembling recent ramblings
spewed sporadically
to taunt Tiny Tim.

Unbelievable !!
Veritable vapidity
working well-worn Webster
xeno-
yappings
zealously.


Details | Couplet | |

Unbearable Away....

Although optimism is there
Pessimism we also share

In times such as, a day like today
Poetry takes unbearable away

Over whelmed between work and home 
Our minds all need some place to roam

Everyone feels hopeless at times
Magical words heal us with rhymes

We are divine, our  lives are a test
Allow poetry to cleverly jest~

Witty remarkable writing indeed
Can sooth irreparable souls in need







Details | Blank verse | |

Queen

Gems flow from your finger tips,
Each a priceless jewel,
No struggle, No pain,
Just perfection,
You can do simplicity when it is called for,
and be as complex as a difficult rhyme.
Yet,
I say you are not an artist.
You create with no feeling,
All is technical skill,
With no passion to fire the imagination,
You are an actor,
Pretender, unreal.
The very feeling you should feed on,
You shun like it is rotten.
Behind me.
Give me someone who cannot rhyme, or cannot write a phrase,
but has the passion of rebel,
Give me that person over you,
You ice queen,
You make me sick,
Be gone from my sight, NOW!
I no longer wish to see you,
You do not care for passion,
then I do not care for you.


Details | Bio | |

My Thoughts

Its hard to turn your back on those that love you
Its harder to disapoint those not above you
Its hard to tell people what they dont want to hear
Its hard to be brave when all you know is fear
Its hard to walk your own path if god doesnt agree
If you think your life is hard you should try being me
Because i ask god every day as i dont understand 
As im only a child with the problems of a man
Cant these problems wait until i'm a bit older
I dont need friends i already have the world on my shoulders


Details | Rhyme | |

When I Grow Up

when I grow Up
I want to teach the world
how to salute to a flag thats unfurled

when I grow up
I want to take my brothers hand
and march across this beautiful land

when I grow up
I want to find a girl
that makes my heart just swirl

when I grow up
I want to find a job
and not have to beg steal or rob

when I grow up
I want to learn about God
and miracles created through bowing nods

when I grow up
I want alot of friends
who will hold my hand as my time ends

so when I grow up
I hope this fun never ends
of pretending and playing this game once again




Tribute To Childhood
This was seen through a little boy's perspective lol


Details | Free verse | |

Thoughts

Does it bother you to be alone?
Only when I sleep.
Your dreams are nightmares of death.
But I can't help it.
Why do I suffer more than most?
Nobody knows,nobody cares.
But is it wrong to wish they did?
Was I destined to suffer?
It makes me want to be alone.
So you dont cause others the pain you know?
You are loved.
I know I just can't feel it.
The more I love the more I feel alone.
I don't think I belong here.
Death can ease your pain.
I want to live.
But if you do...
You will hurt them.
I just want to know why.
Why what?
Why do I suffer?
Why are they glad to see me suffer?
Do they hate me that much?
I know I'm not perfect,
I just want to feel,
To feel like I matter,
Like I'm loved,
Like I'm not alone.
Iam hated.
You deserve it.
What you can do with words...
What can I do with words?
Write your feelings down.
Why?
Even if someone cared
They couldn't help me.
Why can't someone care about me like I care about them?
Your a psycho.
I know.
Your heart is black.
I know.
Then how can you love anything?
But I do.
Doesn't that mean anything?
Not to them.


Details | I do not know? | |

discover

It's the emancipation, new creation, combination time my patient

WELCOME, we'll come, what fun
complete fun under this sun to be done my son

superb sights with great will and shear might shall be made in plain sight on this 
brightest of nights

we may see as we hear with no tremble of fear
these events which unfold to take greatest of tolls

such are wonders to know as we bask in the glow and are swept in the flow of 
this truest of shows

Total wonder and glee at the sights that we see drive wondrous and free as we 
see through the sea

Now be free of conceit and think not of deceit only challenge beliefs as you strive 
to be free


Details | Senryu | |

Micro Macro



                                                         epic is macro

                                               compact discipline in art

                                                         haiku is micro


Details | I do not know? | |

Emotion

I use life as my inspiration
to tell these stories of mine
Written words are my emotion
I apply pen to reflect a frown
color to portray a smile
I've been told I'm hard to read
but it's not that I'm vain
I elect to be undefined
so no one gets to label me
I am my own secrets
I choose to be unknown
to those who make the effort to see
I can be quite conspicuous
but only if I'm left to my own


Details | Acrostic | |

Truth lies

Truth a word in tegrous clawed
Regal right admitted awed
Under spell of power old
Time has held it to be told
Hiding naught and standing bold

While the wicked ways of man
Indicate that no one can
Lie in true evasion
Let a pure and simple fool

Offer this assertion
Underneath each lie that's told
There lies a seed of truth


Details | Light Poetry | |

Sprout

Good poetry
Receive it
Smell with eyes or ears
Alluring
Holding
Some time tears
Tasting the best
Words sweet
Up scale best
Lows at hand
Ready to meet
Fears actions seek
The pen complete
If you will
Come in keys
Hurried then slowed
Mellowing minds Chose
Events on a life roll

Spare Moment


Details | Alliteration | |

Memories

Sometimes it`s fun to remember the past...
Sometimes we cry remembering them, but why do we cry?
Is it because it hurts to remember them, or is it because we cannot get them 
back?


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 | Rhyme | |

It's just a thought or so I think

My mind it wanders here and there 

And at times it may go nowhere 

Days go by when thoughts come in 

And then theres the ones what a waste what  a sin 

But then a bulb bright and clear 

It's a thought you might even hold dear 

Even if you may begin to think 

That it's  not important enough for ink 

Jot them down cause you may find 

Todays idea is tomorrows mind line 


Details | Free verse | |

Untitled #241 / Integrate this

Integrate this!
You must transcend transcendence!
And then transcend the transcendence
of transcendence!


Details | Free verse | |

Retort To The Masonites

Ah, the Freemasons,
Are to Prevail,
Many changes it will entail,
Limit to ten poems a week,
If it's freedom of speech you seek,
You'll have to get permission,
For those who vote
About the meek

You may have in your mind,
Temporarily words sublime...
Gotta wait till Tuesday,
If memory aint too choosy,

Next it will be alphabetic rules,
This week only poets whose last name
begins with A, B, or C- can post,
but only up to three...

Follow up rules: Moslems get one poem
only; to a Chrisitan it's two,
Jehova Witnesses and Mormons, but
one a year,
They're oddballs, don't you agree?

Then the FreeMasons can decree,
Short poems can no longer be
allowed into PoetSoup,
they might polute the talent loop.

Left hand writers, they come next,
They should be seperated from the rest,
Set up camps for them to learn,
Their kind, we're going to burn...

And yet another thing,
Those poets whose hearts want to soar on the wings,
of insight, feelings, fears, and other things,

And for those who knowingly break their quota,
We'll send them to re-education camps,
Some cold place in Minnesota
Poetic Prison Concentration camp for them,
No getting out, you're in Masonite Hell

So act slower, and dumber,
Insure to others you've seen the sun,
And no more post poems on the soup,
Cause some people want you out of the loop,

Newbie, Newbie, Go Away....
Find another site where you can play.

Let the Dark Ages Come Again,
Brought about by some whining hen,
So let the persnickety poets persnick,
but her idea makes me sick.,.....













y


Details | Rhyme | |

A Thing or Two

When I sit down to write 
No Idea what I will say
I just simply let my pen
Be the prayer that I pray
These days they are many
The blessings they are too
I reckon all things in life
Bound to our perceptive view
Everyone sees everything
In their own special way
It's essential that we listen
To what they have to say
We may or may not agree
On any given day
The fact that we take time to listen
Make us the blessing of their day
And if we listen closely
I do believe this true
We just might be surprised
And learn us a thing or two


Details | Epic | |

Weekender Volume One

(“Radio Free Europe” solemnly mourns our solitary grace.) 

I partitioned thought
Upon his waist
Versace vespers voiced,
Provincial pinstripes caress 
Accentuated vulgarities,
Transparent titillation, 
“Trans- Atlantic
Servile Alex”
Ineffectual
Intellectuals,
Nostalgic nudity,
Consistently demure, 
Brunette, unattainable,
Pre-emptive self depreciation,

Her justice,
His additional mathematics,
Phrasing praise, pulling pints
Unto a lacquered finish,
Convoluted, contrived,
Ultimately perfect,

Impressionistic hues, 
Plaintive perception
Penalised as 
Keane sports the hoops,
McLeish begs to differ,
Paisley feuds rhythmic rues 
Ardently converse,
Platonic tonics 
Botanic Avenue,

Pubs walk the pub talk
Along post natal promenades,
Soluble catheters 
Empathise within,
Awoke by a synthetic kiss;

“Lads, the same time next week?”

“Ai, if you’re buying…”


Details | Lanterne | |

SELAH

Pause,
weigh-up
consider-
read and then think
on.


Details | Free verse | |

The blind Slide

do as i do
not as i say
don't do either just go your own way
say what i said
not what i did
are you following?
Good.
switch

Do as i do
not as i say
don't do either
just go your own way
say what i said
not what i did
are you following?
good .
switch

I'll say what you say
not what you did
are you following
good
switch
i'll Do what You do
but Not whay You said
i won't do either
I refuse to be lead

I'll say what i want to say
but copy what you did
is someone following?
good.
switch
you'll do what i DO
not what you said
i won't do either
but i find myself being lead
GoOd
swiTCH.
i'll say what you want me to say
But i won't do what you did
someone's following
don't ....swoitch
do wht they do
then say what they say
but don't do either
or you'll give yourself away

They'll do what you do
And say the things you say
They'll do either
to make you go away
say what i said
then do what i did
don't listen to either
Have you stopped following?
sWiTch
good.


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 | Lyric | |

Beautiful in My Eyes

Dedicated to my teacher, who has helped me more than she'll ever 
know

When the world denies your hard work 
Refusing your wisdom in years,
Please, just remember what I’m saying,
Please don’t cry any tears. 
People will try to bring you down
No matter what you do
But know this, these words I say,
‘Cause you and I know they are true.
Your hard work has helped me this year
I wouldn’t be who I am without you
This life I live right here and now
Is possible because of what you do.
You encourage my hopes and all my dreams
And help me reach my goal
I wouldn’t be me without you
These seeds, I wouldn’t be able to sow.
You have helped me learn how to write
In fact, you taught me yourself
Whether you’ve realized it or not, 
You’ve helped me become myself.
I can’t imagine eighth grade without you
It’s been a wonderful year
I can’t believe I’m now saying good-bye
And beginning to hold back tears.
I know how you try to be perfect
At least  some of the time,
You like to do everything you can
To help me find a rhythm or a rhyme.
And life isn’t always perfect
In fact, it rarely is
It’s often so sudden and indistinct
It feels like a giant pop quiz.
But no matter where life takes you,
No matter how bad you may want to cry,
Remember these words that I’ve said to you
And know that you’re beautiful in my eyes.


Details | Rhyme | |

Words

Oh the words I'd love to speak
Oh these feelings run so deep

I'll never have the chance 
To be completely heard
For everything I say
I'm told did not occur

I'll never have the chance
To be completely understood
For everything I say
I'm told is no good

I'll never have the chance
To be completely right
For everything I say
Will leave me contrite

I'll never have the chance
To be completely true
For everything I say
Ends up misconstrued

I'll never have the chance
To be completely me
For everything I say
Causes nothing but debris

I'll never have the chance
To be completely at peace
Until the bewitching hour
My body has deceased

Oh the words I'd love to speak
If only I weren't quite so meek


Details | Free verse | |

What Did You Find

with muse in hand 
and wire tapping in brain
I begin this endless journey 
to explore the depths
of my imagination 
to surpass this longevity
called boredom 
I willingly shall
come up with a great story
for others to enjoy when its
bounty is found



Note
Inspired by a 
photo from 
a sister site


Photo showed a blank piece of paper 
and a pencil in a hand    lol


Details | Rhyme | |

do you really think yr poems are thoughtless?

being of
the reality known as spotless?, 
mind yr manners
writing banners

under the cornerstone bridge
that is lined 

by a hedge...


and follows blue river
over rock
sand, and stone

allthewhile
never letting us 


feel alone...


Details | Free verse | |

' The Face You See ... '

Some Poems Are Old
Some Prose is New
Some Work is Fantasy
… Some Are True

Some Fears are Imagined
Some Hurts are Real
But I will not Disclose
Every Detail-Deal

Most Experiences are Mine
Especially Lessons Genuine
And The Things I Write
I Ask for Heaven’s Copy-Right

So … Straight from my Heart
‘ All This Is My Part ‘
And I Think You Know
… The Face I Show . . .

(and if You Chose to See or Not
Tells Me A Whole-Lot… )


Details | Acrostic | |

Valentine1(06)

Value of love cannot be written in a single word.
A sentence will not truly pay homage toward,
Letting complete feelings be shown undeniably.
Even not a paragraph may allow it victoriously.
Novels may deliver a small detail of my fancy.
Telling in words will be believable for just a spell.
Indefinite knowledge of this must grow from infancy.
Never faulting, never delaying, and continuing to swell,
Effulgence of our passions with focus on eternal intimacy.


Details | Free verse | |

Writing my reading aloud

Reading poetry
and writing poetry i realize
that creative writing it is soo expressive that it is best produced
when actually talking almost
out loud in your head
slowly dramatically physically producing audible sound in your head
like tiny little speakers

and reading other peoples 
works
of art
out loud to see their pauses
and ponder the voice
as to wether the were
a las
lonely in a bed 
of thorns
or tired 
of coughing from a broken iron lung


and when you find the audience of which whom you entertain and they slide away 
and you rebirth your self again
and the major audiences are grasped at
the several voices of target audiences appealed to in on e piece
you have a best seller
and this is your royal novel sucker patrol routine

When i make a cd i pick the best song of every abulm i have on a disk
and the best song of those disks into themes
and write one line form every song into a data base then organize those 
sentences into rhymes and different themes
see what missing in the vocabulary of sang language
as we fit this and that memorized busted 
all you did in school all day when you taught me a s a teacher was read stuff out 
of text books and then regurgitate it anyway where you just made up the answers




Details | Verse | |

Feminine

In all senses, all consequences, instances of definition,
By her words that flare and animate,
In all the wept and kept secrets and tears, 
By the sleek form of her mind laid bare,
I visualise her beauty.

By all intents, all compliments, modes of illustration,
In her breath and eyes that captivate,
In all the revealed and concealed hopes and fears,
By the hunger for her sex so fair,
I realise her appeal.

In all being, all foreseeing, prophecies of fascination, 
By her shapely thrall to devastate,
In all the fired and desired crucibles of years
In the perfumed flesh beyond compare
I eulogise her flame.


Details | Free verse | |

The Cradle To The Grave

 The Cradle To The Grave 
The Cradle To The Grave 
 
 
From the cradle to the grave                         6 
they come ideas to minds                    5 

heart translates ideas                            3 
to words poem does become                5 



A Krish Poem 
Krish has a rhyming scheme of 6 5 3 5 
in India this verse is found 
only at the CHARLAX website 
a new religion is founded


Details | Epigram | |

Inhumane

If all bad poetry springs from genuine feeling
then I must have none


Details | Lyric | |

Peeling Thy Self

It seems so easy 
to feel what is like 
to be a poet, 
trying to peel 
a banana, for a fruity shake.



Details | Imagism | |

paint me as i am

paint me in all my imperfection

and i'll be the pictur of perfection 

paint me in all my faults 

and i'll be flawless  

paint me in all my  wrongs 

so i have none 

paint  me as i am 

becauce i can not be changed


Details | Free verse | |

Unanimous Appraisals

The television, contextually imbued with populist grace, glared unapologetically, 
subverting my cyclic woe. At first I found myself intrigued, spiritually inclined even, 
resorting to retinal politicking, straining arteries and coronary misgivings in order 
to come to a greater understanding of its rhetorical rhetoric and spatial 
awareness.

I sat for hours, disarming subconscious ambiguity with a reactionary manifesto. 
Canvassing bohemian bureaucracy in a vain attempt to undermine its endemic 
colonialism, blessing tethered fallacies with unanimous appraisals. 

It was upon this thought however that my inanimate nemesis soon prayed. 
Quoting Zoroastrian texts with an uncanny biblical irony, soothing blatant 
contradictions with romanticism and conservatively taciturn theorem.

I faltered, reverting to a vegetative state, recycling impartial convenience as a 
pacifying gesture. In all honesty I would have been foolish to expect mercy. 
Panellised proprietors of colloquial compliance rarely perceive sympathetic eyes 
as anything less than polygonal pathways, a means to an end, asexual 
seduction with little or no reward.

In other words we’re feted to fail and as such we needn’t wait with bated breath 
for asymmetrical messianic parochialism. For the truth as they say brings 
freedom and with freedom comes inadequacy, a fortuitous farewell for a techno-
phobic naiveté.


Details | Rhyme | |

Excuses For Not Writing

We make them right and left,
These things that hold us tight—
“I just don’t have the time
To sit and really write.”

It seems we’re too busy
To get around to it—
We have to make ourselves
Relax and just do it!

“I have to feel the muse
To write a good poem”—
That’s all a bunch of bunk—
It takes one to know ‘em.

Seems we’re all too busy
And fill our lives with fluff—
To write, you’ve got to write!
I think I’ve said enough!

You have the time to smoke
Or time to watch TV—
So find the time to write
And set your true self free!  

Make no more excuses
For never having time—
Words are a legacy—
Blank pages are a crime.

Words are writ on water,
Into black space are hurled—
Someone will remember
That we once touched this world.


Details | ABC | |

Thank you for your songs

To all  the wonderful folks on this site, the real poets:

When you sing your words
you seem to get me right
placing words into a sentence just so 
a sentence that  would take me all nite

I read and I'm not alone
I talk too much, alot
trying maybe too hard 
to get myself across

How do you do it?
putting to paper your thoughts, so near?
pain, love, redemption, contentment
every emotion, every tear?

You make words lovely for my eyes
Secret somethings to hold close
words I think about while driving
words from friends that I don't know 

Thank you sweet friends
I don't express enough
but I believe I really see you
and your words make me loved 

Some of you are truly brilliant
Some of you are plainly true
But like me, I think, you are all calling
I hear you

Kim















Details | Verse | |

Icy Melting Drops

Dad, 
Why mountain has, 
A big belly,
What is in his tummy?
 Nobody is telly?

A fire is burning,
In it’s belly,
But greenery appears,
A hard stony appearance,
But climax is cool.

It protects our life,
And stops clouds for rain,
It produces soil,
To fertilise a valley,
And stores water to keep balance.
 
It seems hard to climb,
A peak of its top,
But fresh air blows down,
After it’s kissing,
The icy melting drops?


Details | Blank verse | |

Flow


Oh,
how I wish I could flow.
Then I could woe
‘em to and fro,
friend or foe,
although,
I’d have to forego
this plateau
I lie low 
below.
Whoa.
Now that’s flow;
not some
dog and pony show.
And it sure isn’t
the status quo.
So,
now we know
that I can flow
from head to toe.
So, 
turn off that
T.V. show;
get caught in the
under toe,
because you are
about to go,
and say hello,
to communication.
Forget civilization,
creation,
formation,
frustration
and obligation.
Here’s a formal
invitation,
to an,
information transformation;
a
celebration of relaxation,
if you will.
So just chill,
and be fulfilled.
A little mind play,
and we’ll all be O.K.


Details | Rhyme | |

I Own

I own my feelings
I own my thoughts
I own my actions
This I was taught

I own my guilt
I own my anger
I own my dreams
For this I'm the stranger

I own everything
That I personally am
This is me
And not some sham

You don't have to love me
Or like me the same
I just want acceptence
And not the blame


Details | Free verse | |

Untitled #180 / Your words

Your words should always shock the crowd!
When they are true, this is called genius!
When they are false, this is called insanity!
But who can say which way the wind blows?


Details | Lyric | |

Tell a story

Let it fly from our tongues 
Words that express
Duress 
Love 
Sadness 
Pure madness 
Anger 
The stranger 
From within 
Touch others 
Words that smoother 
Let it fly from our tongues 
Words that express 
And Transgress
Tell a story …….


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 | I do not know? | |

Opened to the Public

Once the paper is kissed with ink of beautiful array,
Only to share with the world today.
Whisk away,
Into the public's arena without delay.
The poet's life is  finished for one to say,
"Are you out there? Hey!"
"Look!"
"I know in the writing I left my life an opened book."
"I'm smiling in saying cheese."
"Give me my privacy! Please!"


Details | Senryu | |

' What Colors Are You ? ' 3rd Senryu

‘ What Colors Are You ? ’

Red Is For Passion
Purple, Is For Royalty
Green... Is For Envy


Details | Name | |

Hard To Believe

Why do you spend lot of time with animals?
His wife and family always argued.
When a native comes to visit, you have to discuss,
You shared your knowledge, if he is interested or not.

You never thought what they think about you,
Your opinion is; until we didn’t share something,
Nobody can learn or enjoy a lot of happiness,
What is special in animals her non-stop sparks?

Animal produces food but never claimed as human,
Look at the honey bees, we always afraid to touch,
But all likes to eat honey, to enjoy its taste,
Valuable to eat for health, it provides energy.

Think about nature, everyone has a language,
The entire races, human, animal, birds and tree,
Enjoy speaking and singing but hard to understand,
Without identification or learning, it’s hard to believe.

Honey bees also has poison which deliver when bite,
But never mixed in its product, as human do,
Their unity is under a command of one queen,
A natural learning, a person also can produce sweet.


Details | I do not know? | |

On a Notable Quote

"Poetry makes nothing happen."
              --W.H. Auden

We see what we want in mirrors.

The wind that incites the leaves to falling
Makes nothing happen to those arched in expectancy.

There is no celebration, no exaltation of watercolors
Swept upon the textured sky taunt with time, 
Unbending.  It haunts the halls with endeavor,
Never ending: bows to sunsets, calls them clever
While claret news clippings clutter rooms.

Poetry like sterile tombs are places where living
Seldom happens, forests turned fragile to saplings
Not knowing of the wind, but rather the stirring;
Without the song there are no cicada, only whirring.


Details | Light Poetry | |

Socrates Stole My Socks!

Now I know how he got his name....
He can put an electric dryer to shame!
Dryers eats socks,
Socrates does pilfer....
I wonder what happens,
If I send him a bill 'fer
All my missing socks....
Would he sock me one?


Details | I do not know? | |

Yeah right

Emotions that run rapid
with the mind that tries to catch it.
All the constant changes
which go through many stages.
Led to one another
with all that we discover.
Comprehending something
out of everything and nothing.
Finding complications
along with obligations.
Now holding back on being you
for what the past has put you through.
The times they change and some are hard.
No doubt you'll win, you hold the card.
Never give up, always be you
just doing this is enough to pull through


Details | Free verse | |

I'm a victom of too little too late

Prevention!
The stars sing to me
to set up games
to look for players
to save my life
from the sick world of satanic cults....
I know you're thinking
How do I know?

I'm the modern day
David Gayle
She swallowed the key
She wrapped the bag around her head and taped it up
after intercourse

Once upon a time
I talked to the T.V.
I told them
I didn't want
anyone help me become succesfull
little did I know
everyone was going to spend 
the rest of their lives
fighting me

Now I'm crying
from the truth your not believing
and the mental scars I have you don't see

A call for help is a sign for suckers
DANGEROUS!

Once upon a time
the radio talked to me
I told the radio
i needed a friend
a shadow
a mystery
little did I know
I'd be studied
and cast aside
after being thrown away

mentally tormented and raped

I could have lived happily ever after
The radio mocks me
The tv runs away from the truth of me
the police won't investigate me
and the mental institutes laugh

But one day
I'll get the last laugh
maybe
when I get away and prove it

For now I'm the victom of too little too late!

I'm proof crazy people aren't as nuts as you thin
but victoms like me
how do I break the cycle
and start the next?


Details | Free verse | |

statistic

Statistic
Stop the presses roll the presses stop the presses roll the presses stop the 
presses roll the presses stop the presses roll the presses man is just a 
murdered victum just an ad campaign gone wild just a circumstantial incidental 
mark in time a blood red smear in some dark alley way a thing to be uncovered 
and then covered over in the dark but wait it has not happened yet a man is 
moving in his day a man is writing all eye say he is still typing on his keyboard 
and watching all the words making sure this time that the spell check is on he is 
undercover of the day light and the darkness flees away he is me and he is eye a 
poet and a birthright an occidental gentleman turning time back into usage of 
forgiveness and some privileges. It is just a poem after all they say who reads it 
anyway who has the time who has the time to learn the way of GOD. In Peace a 
Poet is the one. I am only a statistic after all.


Details | Verse | |

Alternative Reality

Beyond the blinkered known 
Myriad realities brew, 
Not defined exclusively 
By all you know or knew. 
To get beyond yourself, 
See past the tainted sight, 
Accept the possibility 
Others see different light. 
Sure, there is safety in dogma, 
But chances soon get blown, 
So realise, the beholder's eyes 
Are not yours and yours alone.


Details | I do not know? | |

pointblank

neuro syntax threads milled to ground thought flour
For half-baked mixed feelings in recipes and menus for
Successfully successive integrations of intuitive tics
And flicks of words to roll together forming notions
And ideas of knowing whether cause of foaming oceans
Rolling surfs on sands of reason bubbling suds of season
For the potherbs of deductions finished fitful reproduction
Of gravitivic mindswelling in genuflective reflective lunatics
Thus do gargantuan knots enthrall the followers of threads
Of thought who seek the wisdom of the ages from self
Possessive unprogressive sages in states of self possession
Impossible to heed but going downhill at e’er increasing speed
D’y’follow?  


Details | Fibonacci | |

FIBS

In
a
few words-
to confuse
dissimulate and
dissemble by abrogation


Details | Free verse | |

between the lines

i wrote a poem
i worte this between the lines
the poetry is mine

We

I write a book 
i write this inbetween the lines
the book is good

Love

i write a play
i write this inbetween the line
the play is unique

You!

I write
i write this inbetween the lines
no one seems to know


Details | Free verse | |

the words out of our mouths

just the other day a radio personality 
made a disparaging remark about a group of women 
whom he had never even met.
this person has always been known 
for his acerbic tongue and cutting comments.
but he crossed the line, he went too far
it was cruel and unnecessary
but the point i want to make 
is that anyone,  be they black, white or indifferent
should be held accountable 
for the words out of their mouths.

rap artists and r&b singers who refer to women 
as b%#@!&s and ho's
shock jocks on the radios whose only purpose in life is to be
as vulgar and offensive as possible
newscasters and talk show hosts who say inflammatory things
just to stir up some controversy.
what has happened to society?
have we lost all sense of morality?

bigotry is bad for business
racism is radically wrong
there is no excuse nor will any apology make it go away
nor erase the words that come out of our mouths
because once it is spoken it can't be unspoken

Jesus made a comment to the Pharisees
when they rebuked His disciples for not washing their hands
before partaking of the meal
He said,'"whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and is eliminated, 
but those things which proceed out of the mouth come from the heart 
and they defile a man."   
so be careful of the words that you choose and use
for the words out of our mouths tell people 
what is on our mind and in our heart


Details | Free verse | |

Untitled #112 / Non-remaining

I have told you about remaining.
But what of non-remaining?
How would it be then?
What would you say?


Details | Free verse | |

My world

No one knows who I am,
A shadow that creeps across your world
Barely noticed am I
People's eyes pass me by,
to go to the beautiful,
or the unusual,
The few that know of me,
rarely know me,
they call themselves friends,
but they are merely acquaintances,
I hold no secrets that I am unwilling to bare.
I am more then I seem but less then I imagine.
My world is my words. I am all there.


Details | Rhyme | |

Threads of Poetry

A tailor of words; 
a weaver of muse
the wonder lies in 
the threads that I use.

Oh, ribbons of speech 
I spin into yarn.
I patch worded quilts;
with stitches I darn.

Each thread is a vein
of ink to yet spill.
The needle a pen
with purpose to fill.

Each word means nothing
with no more to sew.
Each thread must tangle
another to flow.

The threads of language
one word at a time...
Make fabric for thought
and poems sublime.

I pine for the need
of the perfect thread.
The one tiny seed
to grow in ones head.

I hear silent tunes
of haunting threads gone.
Those relics and runes
stolen by dawn.

I crave the embrace
of a magic thread.
One that may erase
a poets flawed dread.

In reflection of
the threads of grandeur...
All I feel is love
paradises lure.

An ode to beauty,
the tresses that braid.
The woven fine cloth 
worded threads have made.


Details | Free verse | |

Poets are Special!

yes, poets are special people
they take the time 
to think of things
others would never dare
well, we may-
have a little trouble
paying our bills
but to a poet
money's just that
stupid green stuff
corrupter of thought
corrupter of morals
corrupter of a sense of perspective
corrupter of hearts
blindfolds to simple human concern
instigator of betrayel
bringer of clouds
pollution to water
proud generator of the devil's leer.
keep your money!
I'd rather have love,
or, lacking that, respect
I'd rather sleep well at night
I'm no monk
I'm just not a skunk!


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 | I do not know? | |

Questions (2005)

Half empty or half full?
Cloudy or just dull?
Mud or soil?
Steamed or boiled?
Priceless or cheap?
Pile or a heap?
Boys not allowed or girls only?
Alone or lonely?
Happy or not sad?
How many left or how many had?
A rhetoric question or no answer?
Is she a lunatic or a great dancer?


Details | Blank verse | |

Leave me be

oh, these words that should come easily, how do they clog and run together until 
not one thought do i have that is all its own but more a combination of two or 
more. images once so clear are now jumbled to the point that separately they are 
magnificent but together they are a melodrama, the Confusion that these 
thoughts bring is more then I can bear. i want to scream and throw my pencil 
away where i can No longer reach it, run from the room screaming and crying no 
longer able to find cohesion in my thought but more a mixture of once vibrant 
colors that seem so tawdry when placed together. No writer's block is this for 
ideas i have a plenty. no name have i ever heard it called to have more thoughts 
then i can use to the point where they are no longer contained


Details | I do not know? | |

Deja Vu

Every writer from
Yestergone,
Living on,
Soon to come crosses one another finger-path ink of thoughts.
Here & now,
Compositions only read unapproachable.


Details | I do not know? | |

Deceived

Little white dove sat on my window porch today,
Just singing away.
Noticing dirt behind it's ear,
I started to fear.
No,
I do not have time neither give in to hear.
Closing the drapes,
Bird's song full of sour grapes.
Only last words to say,
"Your gossip lips, not today!"


Details | Couplet | |

WHAT AM I

   I represent all human kind                   
My birth begins in their mind  
  Majestic like an eagle’s flight                    
Life’s passageways of insight 
  Thru my words souls are bared           
Yet no tongue have I to share    
  I have a strong worthy stand   
Yet can be crushed in the hand
  Souls of millions I have seen
Despite no eyes to intervene
  I have traveled far and wide
Air, land and sea all in stride
  The plea of many I have heard
Yet no ears I have to hear a word
  My identity an endless sky
Amazingly untold names have I
  Many things I could be
In a Poem for all to see

  


Details | Free verse | |

Racing Mind

I can't sleep
my mind won't let me
it races with ideas
rhymes, philosophy,
deep or silly thoughts
it's all the same to me

if I had 40 hands on 40 arms
with 40 sheets of paper
and 40 pens well inked
maybe the race in my mind
would taper

more likely I'd be up
40 hours every day
for 40 days and nights
like a biblical flood
but here thoughts to flow
maybe that'd be true to say

just think, just how fast,
I could fill 40 volumes
with thoughts I hope well cast
so maybe 40 people
would understand me at last

but each 40 second minute,
well, here in NYC I mean,
I guess it's true,
we have no time for nothing
we have far too much to do

but now I live in leisure
yet my mind continues to race
if I don't throttle it on down
I'll fry from this frantic pace!

I've heard that inspiration
usually comes in short lived bursts
well, I wish mine would rest awhile
cause it really, really hurts

well, maybe 40 years from now
when I am truely gone
some 40-something child of yours
may trust that i was on
a door to worlds left ajar
for me to peek on in
and if I pass on a bit of wisdom
in days but yet to come
than I will smile in heaven
cause I have touched on some!

if one smile I make
or glimpse into my era
or appreciation of my strange thought
that's far more than I sought.


Details | Blank verse | |

Purpose

Is there a point to this world, where we are held prisoner for our allotted time, 
given no freedom that is truly free but more a fading flicker of flame. That will burn 
out when the passion is done. What is the point to put your soul on the line with 
every line that you write, to see thrown back in your face because nobody cared. 
leaving a empty feeling that nothing can fill. Hoping just hoping that someone 
one will read these words and understand the meaning behind their facade. THe 
purpose for which they were written for and not just the reality that they show.


Details | Quatrain | |

Poetic Thirst

As words form on paper or there on a screen
The many who read can see what they mean
But yet there is more that the author implies
You must read deeper but not with your eyes

The stories or feelings can come on so strong
Letting the reader feel as if they do so belong
There’s comfort in thinking it’s written for you
As if it is about you or the things that you do

When placing yourself in the poems you read
You give unto others your sense of your need
You allow them to see you, the beauty within
You give to them hope, laughter or just a grin

The next time you write, with hopes of a read
Forget not those people that suffer from need
Put yourself, all of you, deeply into the verses
Giving many who read, a quench of their thirst


Details | Free verse | |

Words

With a few words you can make someone suffer,
Confuse them and blind them
With a few words
You can weave a web of lies.

Or you can give them joy, 
Blind happiness
But in an instant you can take it away
Gone, for almost forever

No happiness,

What happens when word hurt you,
When words of pain are uttered to you?
Burning at you,
Hurting you

Then you begin to feel empty,
Hollow inside, full of nothing
Even when you have joyus things
There is no more happiness.

No matter
You still feel nothing
Not happy nor sad.
Just nothing, empty.

Next time,
Before speaking,
Think,
Are your words Prudent?