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On Writing And Words Places Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Places

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Details | Quatrain | |

Commenter's, I Thank You

Now where does this Highlander start
To thank those commenter's, present and past
So many read and absorbed
Their kindness to me always lasts

Dr.Ram and Carol Brown
My African Queen 'Miss Wilma Neel's
Michael from New York City
Whose comments I internally feel

There's Andrea, the Utah babe
And Carolyn, from Florida State
Their writing I so enjoy
For their words reverberate

John Loving is such a wonderful guy
There's Sara and Doris too
Deb Radke and Sharon Ruebel our newbies
Made welcome to our literal zoo

P.D. Skat and Constance
Barbara, Iolanda and June
Francine from lovely Nanaimo
Many thanks to all of you

To Ruben, Celene and Raul
Your past writes have helped me grow
Along with so many others
You have helped my words to flow

Blimey! I better not miss out the Brits
Sarah, Brian, Sharon and June
And Anna Marie, away down in Wales
I have read in my front room

Many dudes I also have to thank
Harry Horsman the Geordie boy
The two Roberts, Dufresne and Hinshaw
Whose writings bring so much joy

There's also the bard called Peranteau
Billy the Kidster, Cecil as well
HG, Catie Lindsey and James Goff
Who marshalls his words real swell

And lastly there's the thousands of others
This character has ran out of space
Keep the ink in you pen gently flowing
Your names to me is your face

Golly! this is turning into a story
And many told by the above writing troops
As I marvel at your writing ingredients
Keep writing for this wonderful Soup








http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-16.php


Details | Rhyme | |

The Man in the Wilderness

Feeling like a lodger
In my own home
Thankful for my music
And my new found roam

Families and communities
They are just so hard to find
But in April 2009
I found the most precious kind

I found the name amusing
So the button i clicked on to see
The layout was very inviting
Like an open door should be

For in a matter of minutes
On first uploading a poem
This Highlander was content
He had found a welcome home

So many lovely writers
Poets who share their bless
No longer this Scotsman is
The Man in the Wilderness



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php


Details | Free verse | |

Grand Canyon

Some people are voices
On the edge of rocks
With steep slopes and cliffs.
Some people are echoes
At the bottom of walls
Carved by rushing waters.


Details | Rhyme | |

A Palindrome Tale

A Palindrome Tale

I’ve got a tale to tell you of travel, love and lust
The travel, it was joyful, my love life was a bust
I met a girl in Tulsa, next day my diary read
A slut nixes sex in Tulsa; “Dammit, I’m mad” I said
So I went off to Europe to see the Mona Lisa
I thought it was in Italy; but as I pee, sir, I see Pisa!
A Delia saw I was ailed; I’m a fool; aloof am I
When she offered me spaghetti, I said “I prefer pi”
And then I found Naomi – Naomi did I moan?
I did, did I? I can not lie.  I headed back to home
And then I met this Madam; as mad as Adam, she
Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live; God saw I was dog tired
Live not on evil they did say; Then my luck expired
Revered now, I live on. O did I do no evil I wonder ever
No sir, panic is a basic in a prison where I dwelt
Ned, I am a maiden; not a banana baton had I felt

Mdailey	3/31/12

A slut nixes sex in Tulsa; 
Dammit, I’m mad 
as I pee, sir, I see Pisa!
Delia saw I was ailed 
I’m a fool; aloof am I
I prefer pi
Naomi did I moan?
I did, did I? 
mad as Adam
Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live
God saw I was  dog
Live not on evil 
Revered now, I live on. O did I do no evil I wonder ever
No sir, panic is a basic in a prison 
Ned, I am a maiden
not a banana baton 





Details | Limerick | |

Where Talent Lives

While doing my daily internet loop
I read some poems at Poetry Soup
Some souls were bared
Emotions shared
By a wonderfully talented group

So many unknowns are gathered together
Brandishing their talents without a tether
Notable skills
From gifted quills
Flocking together like birds of a feather

Whether mundane or totally bizarre
Through words they express just who they are
Some young, some old
Some shy, some bold
Each as marvelous as a shooting star

To the nameless owners of this great site
Thank you for giving our poetry flight
No longer adrift
Because of your gift
You are the beacon that brings us to light


Details | Limerick | |

My Table of Three plus Me

A poetry convention is a wow
Our writes we endeavour to plough
We'll meet so many friends
To enhance writing trends
Our strengths are as thick as the bough

To my table I have decided to seat
Three ladies whom I'd so love to meet
They are favourites of mine
And they will be for some time
Their poetry to read is my treat

The first lady to seat is a gem
Her novels just shine from her pen
She's a New Jersey girl
Who makes my heart twirl
Her poetry flows 'tres bien'

The second lady to sit at my table
If given the chance, I'd surely enable
She's Maltese, she's Celene
A Mediterranean Queen
Her name would be beautifully labelled

The third lady who I now show to her chair
Her writing just makes me openly stare
It's oozes life's desire
It makes me aspire
Table Top Mountain, I wish I was there




<*> Not for any contest, but I thank Michael for the idea, ty <*>



Thank you Carolyn Devonshire, Celene Crescent & Wilma Neels for being you,xxx




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-16.php









Details | Verse | |

A Coffee Bar with Orange Paint

A coffee bar with orange paint --
   Brown tables on a tiled, grey floor --
Soft light within blown glass above --
   A neon sign hangs by the door.

I come here sometimes just to write.
   A coffee bar with orange paint
To some would be apalling; but
   I do not see it as a taint.

Tonight an artist's work is hung
   Upon those walls in bold display;
A coffee bar with orange paint
   Allows her dreams to have their say.

I like the color in these walls --
   A brazen hue, not pale or quaint;
And in this place I weave my words --
   A coffee bar with orange paint.


Details | ABC | |

Grandma's Garden

 

Apples.. beetles.. caterpillars..
daisies everywhere.. 
fertile ground.. hollyhocks.. 
Ivy jumbled kegs..
leafy mint.. nematodes..
oregano..peas.. 
quiet rest sunsets.. tomatoes under vines.. 
wheelbarrows.. xanadu yearning zeal!


Details | Lyric | |

The laughing moon

It's here now under a converted sky
Where daylight has loss it’s might
Hours before the green hills had sight, with 
splattered  hints of yellow wild flowers so bright
Now time has casts a different light
  
It here now where the heavens sings an evening song 
With twinkled lights on a moon lit prong
Dancing stars and dreaming of mars 
Its here on this transformed spot 
I will sit and jot

It is here now as I lay back on this cool grass, and write a story 
with the heavens the color of quarry
Of jeweled eyes in the skies 
that connected to stories, some disguised 
With silver spoons and astrological loons
 
On dream away, dream on by
to the earths motions and lullabies
It is here now time to take a brake
from life’s work ,and worries and heart ache 
Try it yourself remember when, you were a child
when you looked up the night and smiled amen
   

 
 
                                       


Details | Quatrain | |

TO SHAKESPEARE WITH ADMIRATION

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Details | Lyric | |

Day after Day

There’s places and faces where I’ve never been
some of them laughing and living in sin
Some of them hurting from being alone
And the places seem part of my own
The rhythm is flinging these words in my head
Against walls that refuse to be bled
Riding on nightmares through darkness and blight
Then lazily cruising in dreams
In this odessic searching
For reason for being
Nothing’s as bad as it seems
But on turning away
In my off handed way
I’m so tempted to say
Another could view it as fey






Another attempt at explaining my motives for living and writing about it


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 | Couplet | |

A Different Verse

A different time, a different place
A different life and different face

Different wants and different needs
Different values and different creeds

Different Pomp and Circumstance
Different songs and different dance

Different likes and different hate
Different foods on different plate

A different boat on a different sea
A different you and a different me


Details | Narrative | |

THE RICHEST HERITAGE OF HUMANKIND

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


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


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


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



Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | 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 | Shape | |

O h i o

*OHIO*     O     O     OHIO     *OHIO*
 H     H      H     H         !         H     H
 I      I       I---- I         !          I      I
*OHIO*    O     O      OHIO    *OHIO*


Details | Rhyme | |

The Soup Hall of Fame

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Free verse | |

Roll Call

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION








Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part I

Gathering grey clouds
Whip crack of frothing thunder
Is this Africa?


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 | Rhyme | |

SOUP Spoonin'

Online tonite
looks like 
a whole lotta' spoonin'
goin' on in the "Soup"

nosin' around the comment coral
I see love 
amongst the group

yessir'...
hot Soup!
stirred 
not shaken
marriage scent in the air
no fakin'

where it leads...
we shall see
I know some 
are dippin' crackers in the "Soup"
but Lawd' knows 
IT AIN'T ME!~


Details | Monoku | |

A Poet's Home




No matter how long you stay away, you can always come back home again ~*~
Note: 1/21/12 For Carol's "What I like Best about Poetry Soup" Contest Annalise Brigham *2nd Place


Details | Rhyme | |

The Beach At Eby Rd - - - My Quiet Place

 
The Ocean breeze soothes me. The sound of waves relaxes me. Soft sand between my toes, collecting unique driftwood to make crafts, beachcombing is my "quiet place". You can't live on an island and not love the water. I can sit and watch boats sailing by or watch eagles soaring in the sky. The beach is where I go to sooth my soul and find my inspiration. ~~~~ The Beach at Eby Rd.~~~~ (my quiet place) At the end of the road, I park, leaving my shoes behind. I walk along the sandy beach. All troubles leave my mind. I breathe in the sweet ocean air, raise my face to the sun. Inspiration flows through my veins. Another poem's begun.
for Sara Kendrick's contest "My Quiet Place"


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 | Lyric | |

The Paper In My Lap

Ashley Plotczyk
Inspired

I write, inspired by my heart 
my thoughts only able to be expressed 
through my poems
The best time for me to write
is when I am emotional 
The paper serves as my relief 
It takes my struggle away from me
I love to write when no one else is around me
My thoughts only heard by me 
but read by others once I have mellowed down 
I enjoy sitting down
being only surrounded by silence
This is the time I take for myself
I take the pen and I write until I've found the right words
The only words that can soothe my uneasiness 
from my busy life and hectic mind 
My favorite place to write is anywhere I am able to write 
at that moment that I have the urge to release my feelings 
Like my busy life, I do not wait around to write
I write poetry everyday and I will not always be in the same places 
But my mind will always know how to trade places with the paper in my lap


Details | Alliteration | |

One Among Many part 2

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


Details | Rhyme | |

IN A BRIGHT STUDIO OVERLOOKING THE NOISY STREET

In a bright studio overlooking the noisy street,
I hide from the living to write with a frantic beat;
loud voices and sounds will subdue before dark...
very sweet is the the melody of the lonely lark.


Even when it snows, the view is quite awesome:
watching snowflakes slowly come down and dress 
trees in glistening white...one can feel lonesome
when every audible sound is hushed by stillness. 


How lovely it is when happy faces peak from windows!
They may seem immensely surprised or stupefied;
and some even open their doors and come outside
to observe the fluffy snow descend on the pines' boughs.   


I pause for another minute, then resume my writing...
it's profound observation that inspires the heart and mind,
giving this motivated poet many ideas of positive feeling;
I sense and absorb them, not noticing kids getting wild.   


In a bright studio overlooking the noisy street,
I fear shadows towards evening when feet
make deep footprints that lead to my stairs... 
and afraid of ghosts, I begin chanting prayers.


Details | Free verse | |

Shameless Self-Promotion

Here they go again.
anything to win,
indulging
in shameless 
self-promotion.
layin’ it on thick, 
	makin’ sure it sticks,
		slappin’ it on like lotion.

“click my stuff,
and I’ll click yours too.
wanna feel like the best 
even though 
it ain’t true?”

back n’ forth complements
are so self defeating.
inflating other’s heads for praise 
is a blatant way
of cheating.

“do unto others”
but don’t lie, 
to boost their ego.
misleading them 
to raise their hopes 
should clearly be illegal.

no need to read 
a word
of their work
while scratching their backs 
bare.
skimmin’ 
	skippin’ 
		scannin’…
all’s fair
in tactical 
warfare.

poets thought to be adored 
while chewin’ truth’s gristle.
before you swallow,
broke a tooth that hurt
like a damn 
lit 
missile. 

feeding on lines 
with hidden agendas 
is worse
than bein’ ignored.
cuz’ when you find 
copy n’ pasted comments, 
your hopes 
are sadly floored.

how about 
reading and endorsing work
you actually enjoy,
instead of 
feedin’ folks a line of crap 
laced with praise 
and “atta-boys!”


Details | Quatrain | |

Tension on Site

Writers are lured or find their way
And when they arrive they write their say
Welcomed aboard their words are shared
On arrival are they, cared or scared

We read in the blogs, about that, about this
Sometimes it's serious, sometimes it's bliss
We are here to write, and share our work
If that doesn't work, our roads have forks

Decide if ye may, if it's here your to be
If you are, it's to be in harmony
If it is not, democracy rules
Don't become one of them, a literary fool

For this is the site that rises above
Indiscretions if any, we are bound to shove
Our writers have been lured, and lured to stay
If this site's not for you, please be on your way


Details | Free verse | |

Coffee Shop

Bustling people and clinking forks
A crowded maze of tables and chairs
The soft conversations meant to be secret
Rise to a horrible din of mingling words and phrases

The smell of stale coffee beans and perfume
Caress my nose with a familiar touch
The morning shines outside the huge windows
Burning brightly, it washes out the crowd

People become shadows in the insane light
The breaking dawn ruins their features
I set alone in this madness of Sun-fire
My senses raped by terrible sights and sound

They fuel my desire to be ...

The smell of unwashed skin and vodka
Drifts in on a fugitive breeze
The rattle of a beggar's cup points to its source
Its owner's suffering passes silently amongst the crowd

An old man sits with his paper in hand
A daytime hooker enjoys her hazelnut creamer
A well-dressed woman curses her cellphone and spills her latte
A child grips her legs and she curses him as well

In a dream
Sepia tones and friendly faces
In a nightmare
Shadow beasts and hungry eyes

They fuel my desire to be ...

My pen begins to glide along the rough paper
A few words, hard pressed, appear like forgotten children
Suddenly their voices are not so loud
My eyes begin to focus only on the paper

A beautiful thing begins to form
An ornament to the chaos around me
I find a wonderful peace
And the words flow gently and with ease

The shadow beings float around me
Trying to disturb my bubble of genesis
There sounds cannot stop me, I do not fear them
These hateful beasts are helping me so

They fuel my desire to be ...


Details | Light Poetry | |

A book with no end

Our dialogue is like a book with no end
Pages without numbers a writers friend
The ink in my pen will never run dry
My mind feeding me a constant flow
Visions brought forward places unknown
Emotions explored from crevices below
Delight in the stories and places i see
Together a partnership - perfect harmony
Each turn of our page a newly created phrase
A dance within the sphere of heart and mind
Just like ribbons coloured and intertwined
Our dialogue is but what gives me light


Details | Verse | |

HOME IS MY QUIET PLACE

Which other lovely place could be
so remote and silent,
if not this room where thoughts
turn into sweet verses that enchant.  


A fake hawk guards the wide window,
its face with red eyes keeps 
those noisy kids away 
while the cuckoo clock laughs and sings!


Details | Limerick | |

Another Time, Another Place

I'm for all people and their faith
It's for them and not others to deface
     They'll have their moment to preach
     On poetry sites the words teach
And leave for another time, another place







http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/religion-or-not.php


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 | I do not know? | |

Brain Dead

There I lay.

Remained, unchanged.
Mind numb, thoughts blank,
Only visions of snowy white project onto the black backs of my eyelids.

Was I paralyzed? Or perhaps I had reached my final destination six feet under the earth...

No. Worse...
Writer's block.

I look around me. Nothing but enclosed darkness. No windows, no doors. 
The air is thick and cold...not yet cold enough to see my breath, but just cold enough for an uncomfortable setting...the monotonous silence is deafening...

I panic, running around frantically in the chilling prison walls of my mind, screaming, clawing, kicking, hoping to somehow break through and see the light of day. 
I stop after what seems like endless useless hours of fighting. Hands bruised and drenched in stale dried blood. 

I'm sitting on the ground now. I yell into the emptiness but receive nothing in return, no echo, nothing. I yawn wildly in fear I have gone deaf...but then I hear a voice. Soft and faint, so gentle that I'm ambushed with another attack of yawns to once again reassure that the tiny whispers are more than my blank labrynthed mind playing tricks on me.

There is a light. A small light, bright and inviting. Shining through an old fashion key hole, to an old fashion door that seemed to appear from thin air.

On hands and knees I approach it with caution. I hear the innocent voice again and I pause. I take a deep breath and look into the peep hole. 

I find myself locked eyes in the reflection of the wild appearance man in my computer screen and awaken.


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry About Poetry

Shades of color bounce within
Singing their hues dancing in place
Vivid lines colored outside
Rules broken with empty space
A midnights dream heard and seen
Gleaming from the twinkle of a eye
Wings touched flown and plucked
Gliding like a bird up in the sky
Wishes from pennies thrown into tears
The reservoir over flowing with pigments of pain
Drowning from the shadows 
The flood paints the day
Words speak volumes of silence hidden
Their sounds blind to what they see
Mirrors of nouns and verbs 
Their meaning and secrets lost at sea
Emotions ruled by laws of language
Spelled in boxes of glass
Melted from sands inside
That voices strangle to grasp


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 | Limerick | |

Data Base, No Place

There is a person with more than one face
Who struggles in more than one place
Being on line one at a time
It sure can't be fine
Infecting ones data base









http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/humour-5.php


Details | Imagism | |

WORD FROM AFRICA

SENDING YOU A WORD FROM AFRICA

            There’s a word
              Slurred word
               Is it heard
                       That word
                           Now blurred
                        On a bird
Flies
Flies away
Break of day
Green hot day
            Piney day
             Smell sway
                      Word sway
                           Flies away
                                       Flies high
                                                    Bird in sky
                                  Look up high
                    Flies high
          Right by
you



Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
Dec. 1, 2012   Nairobi, Kenya   Africa


Details | Narrative | |

MY TREASURE BENEATH THE TIDES

The murky rolling waves subject
to the whims of the February's wind, 
far above the secluded lighthouse;
the roaming aircrafts vanish through thick clouds,
leaving behind a trail of hazardous vapors...
but the geese and seagulls can't continue their existence!  

And still the sea offers them its promise,
a distant shore untouched by man...
by his greedy ways and incompassion,
causing the extinction of many species;
my reflection is based on fact :
we can't survive without them!

The stylish wild birds engage,
as if striken by a sudden rage,
in their frantic, daily dance over the marina,
as I listen the melancholic lyrics of  " Nessun Dorma "...  
the exquisite area of Puccini,
which comes alive through the extraordinary voice of Bocelli!
   
 At four the fog thickens and shrouds the shoreline,
the brass lampposts light up with reluctance...
to shy away the presence of any ghost; 
I, in transitive joy, hide my treasure beneath the tides,
hoping someone will find it  and remember my work... 
long after my thoughts will be no longer alive! 


Details | Ode | |

New Orleans, Louisiana: aka The Big Easy

What's go great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is that of its jazz music and its voodoo culture. The city has been known as "The Big Easy" since the 1800s. It seems that all of the tourists from across the United States have considered New Orleans their favorite vacation spot. There's always a Mardi Gras every day, we've got people throwing beads at each other, jazz musicians playing their instruments (the saxophones, trumpets, etc.), and people dress in costumes every single day. But what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is that when spring breakers come to the city for spring break, even when they're still going to college. Everybody knows that the Big Easy is also known for its Cajun cooking, especially when the chefs are known for making a lot of jambalaya, gumbo, and a lot of Cajun foods. And what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is when MTV was there, especially when the MTV network executives had been recording episodes of "The Real World:" one back in 2000, the other was back in 2010. New Orleans, Louisiana, is the strongest city in America, even though it was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina back in August 2005. But the famous street best known by New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is the French Quarter and and one of New Orleans' favorite landmarks is the St. Louis Cathedral. And the New Orleans Arena and the Louisiana Superdome are home to the New Orleans Hornets (NBA-National Basketball Association) and the New Orleans Saints (NFL-National football League). Even the late Louis Armstrong was from the city. Well, I hope to go to New Orleans, Louisiana, one day. And if the City of New Orleans were to stay on the map for a long time, it's going to be like a Mardi Gras on a Saturday night and Fat Tuesday in the afternoon.


Details | Epic | |

Suburban Living

    The suburbs have been a part of the lives of all Americans, especially that of the  awesome Caucasians. It's been affecting the lives of all U.S. citizens since the day frozen TV dinners were invented. There's a lot of suburban communities that are outside the cities: suburban communities like those of Dallas, Texas (Grapevine, Arlington, Addison, e.g.), Edmonton, Alberta, Canada (Calgary), and other suburban communities. If only these people would just appreciate the the fine essence of fine suburban living, especially when he or she's finally away from the hassle of the city. It's makes everybody  happy just thinking about the suburbs. But these people will have been easily bored with nothing to do, even though they're trying to do something fun. But despite the boredom and whatnot, there's a lot of places all families can do: things like going fishing, going to the park, everything. There's also a bunch of malls that everybody can go to, especially that of the Parks Mall in Arlington, Grapevine Mills Mall in Grapevine, and other malls in the suburban communities. I love suburban living. And if everybody were to move to the suburbs to begin a peaceful life, that would be very awesome.


Details | Quatrain | |

We All Become Each Other

We all become each other
When we read each others writes
Its because we all learn from each other
That in our mind they turn out right

We all become each other
Its the nature of the feast
The poetry forms the words we use
On paper they are released

We all become each other 
On this community on the net
Names with images, some bio's follow
With time we all inter met




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-9.php


Details | Rhyme | |

Poets in Sync " Two Peas in a Pod "

April this year
2009
Writing and posting
Wow, it's all going fine

Miss Gorelick, Miss Devonshire
Welcomed me aboard
Two lovely ladies
Wow, this Highlander's scored

But honestly
The feeling i received
Was very much more
Than i had dream-ed

The weeks progressed
As i wrote my poems
The comments by Carolyn
Had kept me going

As i wrote away
Topics and themes
Historical and nature
Subjects to me, supreme

As i read Carolyn's
And she read mine
Two peas in a pod
It springs to mind

Similar writings
And some even the same
Signals in harmony
Sailing the same plain

And look at us now
A collaboration couple
Our future in write
A poet double

Our poems together
Two heads as one
Look out for our postings
There's much more to come


 
My entry into Nathan Leccese's contest " Two Peas in a Pod "



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/carolyn.php


Details | Free verse | |

Babylon

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

Right is right
and Law is Law.


Details | Free verse | |

Free Range

Often my thoughts do range far and wide.
But it’s not just my thoughts that skim the tides.
When my Hubby asks and I don’t reply…
He says I’m free ranging again with my mind.
He laughs and tells me to please wake up…
But I’ve already been there, thank you, so much.

Deep in thought and so far away,
He’s still my muse in every way.
But once I get going on that thought…
Look out boys, my mind is set and lost
But don’t you worry. No Sireeee.
When the typing slows you’ll know I’m back, you see.

Those free-range chickens have nothing on me…
I way surpass them in productivity.
And as my words free range far and wide
You’ll find… others may be joyfully joining  me for a time.



Details | Diminished Hexaverse | |

Simple Unoccupied Bench

The simple bench sits
Unoccupied now
Classic table holds
Intent to write poems
Correspondences

Light sweater blown
Onto yellow
Roses, walkway
Empty no one

Garden neat
Perfect plants
Fenced closed

Where is.......
Empty

Bench

("The Bench"(The Garden Of Versailles) Edouard Manet (1832-1883/French) Oil On Canvas)


Details | Quatrain | |

This Blind Man Sees

I remembered the day I joined
Paradise it appeared to me
It can still be this way
But only if others can see

I am playing the blind man
I cannot touch, nor I see
As long as everyone is
Who they make out to be

I have trawled many a write
But it's the comments this blind man sees
For out there resides
Someone so different to thee

Many people talk to themselves
Some even answer back
But this blind man is just to clever
For out there, there's one who lacks








http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-14.php


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 | Name | |

Sanitarium

Sanitarium

  S-  sanction
  A-  apprehension
  N-  negitivism
  I-  insainity
  T-  tentitive
  A-  accenssion
  R-  redirective
  I-  immobilization
  U-  under seat
  M-  man handle


Details | Pantoum | |

UNQUENCHABLE THIRST

Vivid imagination spins,
when one creates
a fine literary work...
life would never be happier.


When one creates,
ideas keep on flowing...
life would never be happier
with thoughts swifter than light.

Ideas keep on flowing
like water from a waterfall
with thoughts swifter than light
I am glad to reach my home.


Like water from a waterfall
that's pure and refreshing
I am glad to reach my home
without worry, sadness or doubt.


That's pure and refreshing 
as I drink it with great delight...
without worry, sadness or doubt,
to satisfy my unquenchable thirst.


I'm still writing my first Pantoum,
seeing shadows advancing...
without worry, sadness or doubt,
I pay more attention to form than rhyme.


Perched on the power line, owls stare at me
and wonder what I am doing at such hour
by this bright lamp...as
vivid imagination spins.




Details | Rhyme | |

New York Poets 800th Poem

Considering all the people there, it’s a big state! Many members from New York have talent that's great. Poets hail from Syracuse, Rochester, Albany, Plattsburgh, Scarsdale, White Plains, or Schenectady. They may come from Niagara Falls or Binghamton, or one of the five boroughs such as Bronx or Brooklyn. From Long Island Sound, to as far west as Buffalo, the poets from New York are the ones we should know. These folks can write up a storm of impressive poetry. Their fanciful works defy comparability. They live anywhere between Yonkers and Utica. The numbers of their great poems are a plethora. So we salute all our members from the Empire State You are the people everyone can appreciate!


Details | Lyric | |

Scotland has to be Seen " Beatlemania "

In the countryside in bloom adorn
Beautiful scenery for all to see
The sun shines down, its full of life
Different shades of different greens


Through the glens our trips begun
So many sights that have to be seen
Feel the passion of hearts so brave
This land called Alba, peacefully serene


    The land of the Scots, is the best place in the world
    Best place in the world, best place in the world
    The land of the Scots, is the best place in the world
    Best place in the world, best place in the world


So come and see our beauty hoard
So many sights for you to explore
Different vistas, makes us say


    The land of the Scots, is the best place in the world
    Best place in the world, best place in the world
    The land of the Scots, is the best place in the world
    Best place in the world, best place in the world


To live and die in the Highlands breeze
A world apart a different breed
We are the Scots, no in between
So please visit Alba, it has to be seen


    The land of the Scots, is the best place in the world
    Best place in the world, best place in the world
    The land of the Scots, is the best place in the world
    Best place in the world, best place in the world



My entry into John Heck's " BEATLEMANIA SING-ALONG contest "
         please sing-along to the tune of Yellow Submarine




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-4.php


Details | Rhyme | |

Ireland's Journalist Jewel

The dedication of this journalist gem
Whose writing, brought down
Drug dealing men
 
Eire's Sunday Tribune
And Sunday's Business Post
Newspapers of note, for in them she wrote
 
But it was the criminal world
And her writings so splendent
That craved her to write for the Sunday Independent
 
This brave reporter put her life on the line
To reveal to her country
Their drug filled slime
 
To avoid libel
Pseudonyms she chose
To protect the paper, from legal blows
 
Drug dealers uncovered
Showing their ill gotten gains
Irrespective of lives and families pains
 
Threats turned to visits, firing shots at her home
To deter her uncovering
In her investigative roam
 
Three months later she was shot in the leg
But the dedication of her
Thousands of newspapers were read
 
Near Newlands Cross
On the outskirts of Dublin
On a motorbike, two men with a gun
 
At a traffic light junction
With a Magnum .357
Ireland's Journalist Jewel, was taken to heaven
The name of this gem
Veronica Guerin
 
 
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the 
                      criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "
 


Details | Free verse | |

A Cup of Tea

stepping out into the open air 
i feel a course of light running through my veins 
the sky, the sun, the grass 
some things never change 
and i pray they never will 

underneath this tree i built 
i gather from the shade 
a sense of belonging for what it's worth 
i could never taste the touch of your lips 
or the incessant nudge of a friend's reality 
but i can just as well sit here 
and become the earth again 

it's just me now 
and that's okay 

i take a trip up the countryside 
my jacket across my shoulder 
waving to any passers-by 
it's not as lonely when everyone knows you 
i find a diner off the side of the road 
and stop in for a drink 
i sit alone in the farthest corner 
and ask the waitress for a pen 
she obliges but she wants it back 
then asks me what i'd like 

just a cup of tea 

i pull a napkin closer in 
and write what i see/feel now 
the sun reflecting off the window 
and the glare in my glasses blinding me 
it's beautiful out there 
and it makes me wonder 
how much more beautiful it might be with you 

but it's just me now 
and a cup of tea 


Details | ABC | |

Gold Rush

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


Details | Narrative | |

Vignette-SPEAKING FROM THE PODIUM

Speaking from the podium, to thank 
all for my Poet Laureate Award;
overwhelmingly glad to receive it
from the hands of a famous critic...
I discern how the audience loves my lyric!


I have never spoken so openly
about the idealism and realism of my poetry;
and they are listening, focused on my lines
recited softly to them with emotions and tears,
and their positive response is my reward. 


Applaud me for creating new rhymes and rhythms,
poetic words inspired by the wilderness of frontiers,
by the truthful insights I expressed with my momentum;
unlikely other poets, who are perpetuate in memoriam,
and lie into tombstones never having been given honor.     


Entered in Brian Strand's Poet Laureate contest

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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 | Ode | |

SHAKESPEARE'S LEGACY

Desire make me flee to England's shore,
to Stafford where Shakespeare wrote
sonnets by candlelight and moonbeams;
let me open the tall, wooden front door,
to see him in that corner weaving a thought,
swiftly turning them into theatrical schemes!


Ah, he weeps for a past tragedy he witnessed, 
making those tears flow on clean sheets
that leave him heartbroken and drenched in tears!
Oh, those sad moments seem to disappear
as he dreams of unforgotten faces he loved...
and many say he didn't feel joy but fear!


Shakespeare's spirit is not a common phantom whose voice can't
be heard everywhere it rumbles...listen attentively, don't fret!
Glance at his pensive face, read the inspirational words of any play
he's writing on paper for all to ponder in their own, persuasive way!


Details | Quintain (English) | |

Pentastich-PABLO'S IMMORTALITY

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


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


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



Details | Free verse | |

Compton Ghetto Art Christmas

youd have to see it to believe it
but im making compton famous
a medusa mask
tribal
leave a candle burning
and a wall of clocks and mirrors
and a wedding day gift i painted

so you walk to your car
or into your apartment
and my window do you see
the blinds always drawn shut

but this artist game is open season for criminals like me

there is a candle burning beside the book 
with exactly that title

a kite and a flag of rainbows
and several mirrors to haunt your soul
kept safe by the hands of time
in case you have shattered one

but the grinch of the ghetto christmas is reminding one and all to behold
the cracks that keep us cold in the winter
the pots and the pans
sure it seems messy
but there is such a method to the madness

a pet nmaed rock
and no cats are allowed
but when you wlak by or drive by this view of the closed curtain of lights 
and delights

we're onto the mayor of the surprise holiday now

remember loose lipped sunken shppied


Details | Free verse | |

And I Know You Still.

Catch it
this current
striped of wire
sting of berries
tart and sour
on the wind
and in your window
Hold it
Break it
and control it
Mind the matter
heart and soul it
Wind the willows
'round your finger
Sip the sunshine
let it linger
and the motion
of commotion
Catch it
Tip it
sip devotion
and connecting
continents
sting of distance
pales my friends...


Details | Blank verse | |

cracked headstones & unfinished thoughts

six writers in a cemetary
each scribbling at the ears of the others
focusing through drunken desire
what could be better?
these casscadeing lines, 
broken sonnets
shouted into fields of dead
cracked headstones & unfinished thoughts
Where have i been?
so many years squandered
i've sat here before,
in this very spot
& felt that somehow, 
it must be my own
i've read these lines before,
never quiet giving them life
now with the sound of name-dropping poets,
listing every friend, financer,
first love, & false start,
i realize
someday we will be the name-droppers,
recalling the first times
we spoke, read, felt
these words
or that line
never quite finished
with the list of beginings
first times


Details | Haiku | |

Drought

rainmakers rattle
in the hot summer sunshine~
crows cavort in the corn
 


Details | Free verse | |

Oregon

can I report on a story
tell a tale of thy hills
relate to a beautiful river
help you imagine the green fields

This is Bob Blankinship reporting
to you live in the lush mountains 
of one of the most beautiful places in
the world , the beautiful state of
Oregon. I believe that poet Rick Parise
has capture the serene beauty of this 
breathe taking wonderland with
a simple but beautiful poem entitled
"Pure Life" This is how it goes,
_______________________________________________

onward through the hills of a pleasant dream
I push forward to reach the waters of a pulsing love
surrounded in great vastness air so crisp and visions alive
I knee at the waters edge to sip pure life...
_______________________________________________
Words cannot describe the beauty here in Oregon
If you want to experience this beauty for yourself , just jump in the car take a ride of your life , "pure life" that is !!
Bill Blankinship reporting , blessings to all , goodnight!



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Eightynine

 Eightynine 
Eightynine 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
FearsRelived 
 
FearsReleave 
 

Main Entry: relieved Function: adjective Date: 1850: experiencing 
or showing relief especially from anxiety or pent-up emotions 
— re•liev•ed•ly  \-ˈlē-vəd-lē\ adverb Relive One entry found. 
relive 
Main Entry: re•live   
Pronunciation: \(ˌ)rē-ˈliv\ Function: verb 
Date: 1548 intransitive verb 
: to live againtransitive verb: to live over again; especially : to experience 
again in the imagination Releave must be an adjective or mabe just a noun eye 
frown as some of my flock of followers must do at some of the spellings eye 
make of words that have been spelled this way for at least six years. Main Entry: 
reweave  Reweave can be found at Merriam-WebsterUnabridged.com. Reweave 
is the way ELMER GLUEALL says RELEAVE. OH FUDD. WAIT. Releave looks 
just like a real word does it not class. This is the reason we have school idint it 
so fun. Some professors get a case of nerves when something like this typo 
occurs but eye as a Lewis type teacher make inroads of nuances the words 
flowing in the desert places like oasis of stasis static ornaments near Colorado 
Boulder. There was this episode of Mork and Mindy where the EGG went flying 
and OH my it landed hard.  The memory gets better when you stop. Just give it 
some more time to regenerate the Christ is GOD. People are idiots in there 
dealings with other people. Scientific evident escaped the masses when they 
chose to witness to the escaping gases of the sublime whiskey beer farts given 
time they may recover the couches with upholsters from the hang over guns of 
the cowboy trudges. TO: the eviloushonist life is just a reactored accidental 
inflated accident. The worthless people who run the behind the scenes at the 
internet places aer too blame they aer too flaming strang. There is a 
misconcepting theorem that people do what other people think the truth is that 
people do the impossible things that no one does or even thinks of like getting 
up from a day of boredom and going on to see what finding means to see what 
living does. Please do not feel let down or depressed or put upon eye tired to 
make this fabel work without an idea of any kind without a premises without a 
forum places without much hope of even rhyme this thing is done this is quite 
enought for now please stay tuned and keep me ici and come back its 
SATURDAY the next one will be formed on SUNDAY when the author has more 
time. 



Details | Epigram | |

Your Great { Epigram }

I have joined a really great group
none other then poetry soup











Tribute To All My Rowdy Friends 
in the soup bowl   Luv Ya
Thanks For Your Support



Epigram is derived from the Greek word “epigramma” 
meaning “inscription.” The epigram is short, satiric, humorous, and witty. It used 
at times to express social criticism or political satire, and is often written as a 
single rhyming couplet. 


Details | Bio | |

Newfound Inspiration

Leopard print, yellow brick
  smoke in the air, not thick.
Shadows cast upon the wall,
  people all around, some short, some tall.
Mellow music out the speakers flow,
  sitting with those I know.
Rock & Rye, artwork catching my eye.
Poems flowing from my fingertips,
  casting a sideways glimpse.
Inspiration flowing from the Red Eye.


Details | Ode | |

SHAKESPEARE'S LEGACY

Desire make me flee to England's shore,
to Stafford where Shakespeare wrote
sonnets by candlelight and moonbeams...
Let me open the tall front door,
to see him in that corner weaving a thought,
swiftly turning them into theatrical schemes!
Ah, he weeps for a past tragedy he witnessed, 
making those tears flow on clean sheets
that leave him heartbroken and drenched in tears!
Oh, those sad moments seem to disappear
as he dreams of unforgotten faces he loved...
and many say he didn't feel joy but fear!
Shakespeare's spirit is not a phantom whose voice can't
be heard everywhere it roams...listen, don't fret!
Try to glance at his pensive face, read the words of that play
he's writing on paper for all to ponder in a persuasive way!


Details | Free verse | |

A PERFECT IMAGE

Everything is going well,
looking forward to living a fuller life,
burying the not-so-happy past 
under the ashes of turbulent days...
willing to forget all the hurtful ways.
With thoughts and pen ready to create,
new lyrics for songs and verses for poems;
who ever said that life can't be grand?
Don't assume I stare at the hourglass,
counting every flowing grain of sand! 
Honor and glory were not expected,
but I accepted them with gratefulness;
and they are not the gods I bow to,
I pray to a real God, who always dwells 
above the unreachable realm of blue. 
The gladness of being alive and thankful
has made aware how I greedly clung to my estranged, dark world...
with people passing by, never saying hello;
did I ever wonder why they were so distant and cold?
Why didn't I share anything with them...only glorifying my ego?
Pride can be achieved by willingness and stride;
and it has the loveliness of very delicate lilies,
which an unexpected wind can suddenly taken away,
to never bring them back to the scented, open meadow, 
and be picked by delicate hands to adorn a lovely home. 
So desperate to excel, motivated by desire and passion,
to go beyond the unexplored and find a perfect image
of that peaceful soul living on a deserted island,
where Man has never left any imprint of his intellect,
or imposed on land and fowl his invasive foolishness.  


Details | Bio | |

Back When

M y brother turned his back to a flaming sky

said, "If ya seen one sunset you seen em all."

I was slowly losing my tiny empire

It was so upsetting to watch it fall

Every night before we'd go to bed

My brother would read from, "The Lord of the Rings"

"We only see shadows", my momma said

We'd light up a joint while she threw the I'Ching

And when she read it, we were all ears

"The superior man always perceivers

In the morning, we'd fire up Mother, and hit the road

I was " Two Toke Tito" back then

The toe headed stoner bandito back when..

Mom threw the TV out the window

when they pretended to land on the moon

I made up my very own language back then

Had my first magic mushroom sandwich back when

They killed those kids at Kent State

and Abbie tried to levitate the Pentagon

"Mother" was our psychedelic house on wheels

We headed south to land with a little more sun

Back then there were Gypsies in Mexico

the locals would gather and wait for the show

Momma told them that we were just hippies and there wouldn't be one

Our cat, "Hash" ran away down in Navidad

at least it was a place where he would never lack something to eat

The darnedest cat that we ever had

He loved to smoke dope and he was never bothered by the heat

We always wanted just one more year

in the tropical mountains where the air was so clear

and the mornings were cool enough to see our breath

We tried at the border for another year

when they turned us away it felt an awful lot like death

That was back then..

Back when Timmy O leary had something a lot cleaner than meth

Now thirty eight years have come and gone

My oldest brother's republican and momma passed on

My real dad did too, but I didn't know him anyway

Now I'm a blue collar stiff fighting to survive

I swore that the system wouldn't take me alive

It makes me feel like dying sometimes, That's all I've got to say


I still remember when

My brother turned his back on a flaming sky

and said, "If ya seen one sunset ya seen em all."


Details | I do not know? | |

dreams

Are we asleep,
When we're awake,
Is it touching that's real,
Or the feeling that's fake...
Once we close our eyes, 
Just where do we go,
To a place in our minds,
Or a space in our souls...
Wherever it is,
I know I can be,
Who ever I want,
Or whatever I need...
So when I succumb,
My sleeper awakes,
And slowly I fall,
To much deeper states...
Until it provides,
Or until it adjourns, 
Is where I reside,
Until it returns...


Details | Free verse | |

[Dear sir,]

Dear sir,
the winds of winter have
blown you towards distant harbor.
Fast. one        two         andyouwere 
gone.  but doubt   the fact  that your 
trek was consuming I do 
not.
	   You have stood  through
piercing winds, battered your chest,
ripped your legs- but your
hands were never touched-     you
placed heel to heel, slowly reaching 
stone tablets, lifted your hand to chin
and found a      good place     to   
rest.
	          The good city- will be good
to you. they will embrace your ink,
and consume every word dripped
from your pen. A mark of 
valor sketched into stone, whispered
among connecting winds- implosion 
of particles still remaining.
	                 They will then
introduce you to the world you once knew. a
world you once knew well. but it will 
not be what you recall.
      Your words will bring 
them back (a glimpse into a world 
before their time) and make them 
still fight, make them still yearn for 
the right to be free. 
       The blackened skies have 
blessed your ink with solemn 
voice. let it be heard.
the people will listen. will follow. 
	
May the four winds blow 
you safely home, Mr. Poe.  we’ll
be waiting.


Details | Free verse | |

The book the wizaed wrote part five

But you cant keep this book intact its not allowed 
your soul will not bear it 
do you keep all the prophecies to be a part of the truth 
do you tear out the love and find just the directions to eternal youth\ 
do you keep the satanic metaphors to reveal the author had a horrible soul 
this test upon humanity is sitting by the riverside
Love for sale in western mail
Love for sale in western mail
Watching it all go down is given to every woman child mother father adult 
and then you create how its passed down to the future but its never whole 

one day I will write this book and you will all dream 
Pushing the limits
So many nights crying
The limits that limits that change
About its entirety 
go from house to house 
to read the book 
with pages missing to compare it to yours 
to fathom family legacies and opinions 
Born to please
to try to understand the truth of oppression and decisions and accuracy and 
creativity 
and in this book I will write stories and I will write traditions and I will write games 
and I will write sanities and insanities 
but what you keep and what you throw away 
stay away from the river man
The water is cold
Don’t ever set me free
Born to dream
Of those days of warm rays
No one has a clue
You’re safe when they hear me
But they’re gonna clue in
When they see the sneak
They clueing in
All their strength not to fall apart
Satellite secret moments shadowed in the heat of the afternoon
To the holiday
They will always want by their side

they’re cluing into the bird lady

Doing things my way
they’re cluing in to little miss daisy
is another test 
another dream another curse 
another prayer of metaphor 
another chain 
of soft spoken words
to never have answered 
something this generation had that memory can only answer 
and the death wish of not cooperating leave you upon a grave of cand’lit flames 
and hells passed on to legacies of hell the arch angels tell you to tear down 
walls to cripple you all 

Everywhere
Everything blue eyes
Unbelievable ways
Sky of white stars exotic
Magical times

Broken faith makes me
your new book of god 
And I’m running out of here
Or no way at all
Running out of here

BROKEN FAITH
makes me
YOUR NEW BOOK OF GOD

And I’m running out of here
And I’m running out of here
Come to the reason
You really got me
I wasn’t fake
come to the light
back to the middle


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 | Free verse | |

The book the wizard wrote part three

find the messenger and shoot
she smiles and looks art me and says
you don’t know do you?

plant the seed to take care of number one first
censor defaults of sentiments left to chance
head east head west head north head south
It makes me blind s
Save some time and ask may I go
It might save some time
Just wake up 
I feel like nothing
Nothing
Nothing at all
I cant take it no more
BY E BYE baby


in the morning and know you’re doing right
Slide slide slide
May I go
Ask yourself
Chant for the ending but ask where do I start?
Would I crumble
Up or down the stairs
I’m oblivious
Hypocritical
Such a stupid riddle







Why?
And out the door


Right or left? 
blind man leading the blind its gonna be something else 


I will survive
and in this world where I lead this brainwashed believer into the realm 
where the sucker patrol saw him coming 

Dear Jesus
Right tight left Lucy
Whispered Mary

What you’re doin to me!
I think the lambs of god are dieing
And the words that lingered slipped and fell

Because you wont believe a word I say!
So what is it like for you she asked
As long as I know how to love oh go on now walk out the door


we'll all predict his surrounding and his reality have prayers of virtues and 
poisons to discover our own brave and cowardice selves 

but the clincher is this 
everyone\ 
every family has this book
I don’t want to miss you baby 
and the last page reveals another hidden truth sparkling
shining tired defeated 
another layer of this perfected riddle of missing layers 
and oxymorons  
stay I go


if I go I stay
If I stay I go
Coast to coast
Smooth smooth smooth
Coast to coast
My operator

Nothing at all

Coast to coast key largo
Nothing at all
Lover Boy we’re face to face
With this champagne
Shadowboxing the double crossed

around the block and method to the madness totally beaten of every 
alliteration ,made easy to hurt
this major puzzle 
is a conspiracy fast love poem and its slow masterpiece of every easy families 
hurting creation 


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 | Free verse | |

Dew Drop Inn

There was a place called Dew Drop Inn
In that place, you could find many a friend
As long as you drank beer, wine, whiskey or gin
There was always some-one surrounding you 
Happily obliging to join in with you
Dancing and singing often off key
Didn’t matter to the barkeep 
He was always as pleased as can be
Especially when customers spent more than fifty 
When time to close before he would turn the key
He would state "Thank you for coming friends
To the Dew Drop Inn, Please Do Drop in Again" 


Details | Sijo | |

Antique Store Find

A wall of printer's blocks, in rows, in ink, in metal, wood
Jumbled letters, thoughts exploded, chaos in unsteady line's eyes
with dusty vacancy slots formerly spelling: "I love you".


Details | Acrostic | |

Poetry Soup

P oets, Bards, inspiring, uplifting, admonishing
O ften prophets, idealists, weaving words from within
E expressionists, reciting feelings into the night
T his web site unites, illuminates the music we write
R eleasing the need to speak our truths
Y earning, to employ skills with finesse, like we’re possessed

S ometimes in many forms such as love and romance that melts a heart 
						Grown cold
O ther times, poems of side-splitting humor injecting hearty laughter
						With soul
U nending descriptive verses and phrases, creating special effects
						  And mood
Poets, articulate, all brave, who dare to dream, to speak even if they’re
						   Misunderstood

A collaboration w/Audrey Carey


Details | Ode | |

BAIANO

In the lovely Campanian countryside, amid
verdant hills and mountains...where Virgil
stopped to rest,while jeourneying to visit Cybele's temple, 
lie a fertile valley where chestnut and walnut trees
abound...there is hidden the bustling town of my birth!
Narrow streets overlooked by bell towers,
and whenever the sturdy bronze bells ring 
in the fragrant air of early spring:
young and old from windows and balconies, 
in the twelfth hour, engage
in the sweet thanksgiving prayer...
while the tricolor flags sway in the warmest breeze!   

The town's friendly people will welcome you with song,
untill you feel wonderful and touched by all;  
this town has seen invasion, pestilences and a dire year... 
an almost fatal hurricane that prevented a fierce battle
from being fought during World War II;
was Divine Intervention a factor to be acknowledged?
It spared this town being bombarded by air,
and it saved my mother's life to tell this truth!

God blessed this unknown place,
and sent Mary with the infant  Jesus,
four days after He was born,
on a long jeourney through that valley
filled with peace and beauty:
to find a revered and holy mountain...
much closer to Heaven!
And She shed many tears
to give all the dull flowers
a brilliance of their own!

Deep in the hills there was a very special place I choose,
where I would rever the magnificence of the valley...
revealing a superb panorama with the Vesuvius in sight,
was there another creation as magnificent as that ?
And that owesome view perked up my inspiration inside,
teaching my  tiny fingers to write with a human heart!
O Baiano, don't strip this name from your walls and stones:
I am a forgotten native who will return before he'll die!





Details | Free verse | |

Mirror

In Opposite World
Where a human prove to be bold
Lies a reflection
Of magic and perfection

Love and Hate
Yin and Yang
Light. And Dark
The story to be told

An Image in the glass
Iimitating himself
for better or worse
and no remorse

Mirror Mirror on the wall
Whose the fariest of them all
Mirror








Details | ABC | |

Lost In Sorrow

Lost In Sorrow
Drowing in black blood
searching for something 
but can not find

Lost In Sorrow
Drowing in black blood 
touching burning acid
burning thru skin and born

Lost In Sorrow


Details | Quatrain | |

MY POETICAL EXPRESSIONS

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


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


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


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


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


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


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Fibonacci | |

POCKET MASTERPIECES

A
work
of art-
in tourist
pictorial guides.

Tribute to Alfred Wainwright


Details | I do not know? | |

My quill my arrow

Climbing up on the old crusty castle wall.
Skipping my thoughts off the clouds
and hopefully unto you.
"My quill my arrow and 
space is your sheild."

"Hello Molly dolly my dear purrfect cat!" I
say as she climbs up pulling her fat.
"Where's your brother willy?" After a long 
stretch and yawn she purrs "Oh he's down
there hiding in your hat".
Lifting her up placing her cold wet nose
to mine. "How lucky this life I am so
blessed to grasp"
Setting her down, I begin to write..


Details | I do not know? | |

The Poet's corner (2005)

Where’s the poets corner at?
Where ever lay my hat
On the bus or at work
Wherever my inspiration may lurk 
A poet is a gypsy of every corner 
A savior to a word mourner 
Where ever I lay my hat
That’s where the poet corners at


Details | Lyric | |

The nature of writing

Rivers run 
Where poets sing 
For wishful words with an endless ring 
Rippling rhythms a waters motion 
For dipping pens in black potion
To the early morning glories that climb  
With open minds where poets may rhyme  
To the mountaintops 
To the line of the sky 
Written notions shall apply
And fields of gold that blow and wag
And writers dream that they may brag 
So flow and stream like the riverbed 
And clear the words from out of head 
Go and carry you thoughts like seeds 
Where they be spread as far weeds 
And rest as weary winds that fall 
For silence breathes 
Where poets squall 
 


Details | I do not know? | |

Within the Cover

Spell bound itch
To write words
Unwritten magic
In graceful twirls
And reluctant hooks

But caught, sealed
From the freedom of flow
Until the swiftly forming, 
Fantasy finally sprouts
Wings and takes flight

Unraveling the sheets
Magic cast in curled forms
But only the reader
With a vast imagination
can truly open the door

The door written, cast
Upon the covers and 
Throughout the tome
That will guide someone 
Into a land of unknown

To a land visioned
By the creator
To people and creatures
That dwell within 
The covers of a book


Details | Free verse | |

Critique Nazi (poetry game) To become what you wanted

for now i am empty
blank
emotionless
but soon enough i will fill that whole
edit myself
with all you remarks 
and believe you me
the comments that go along
that you write
will be writing me

for now i am a shell
a hollow wonderful thing
and then you come along
tell me a thought or feeling
and i add it in
and leave you to wonder where it went how i did it
and i become everything you said to me

One poem written by many
through my minds eye and hand
one poem right here for you to see
i am the shell of nothing lonely
and waiting for the comment to change me
the inspirational words to satisfy someone
who will unsatisfy someone else
until all are satisfied
and i am something
no longer hollow
no longer shallow
a lesson in learning critiques of nature
and everything you could have would have should have said
is right here

I will become everything you say i should be
everything you say i am
i will exaggerate
everything i should add check or change your will be done
this page becomes everything to somebody
begging for control
this page loses all sense of it
as we take turns leading blindly


Details | Rhyme | |

Rhyme and Reason

A pen in my right hand, 
And I am off to la-la land.
I’m zipping through the zoo,
Or just passing by you!

Poetsville is a city to be,
There are great big trees.
Homes are huge there.
Rhyme and reason are pretty fair.

Little people dance in the streets,
Shuffling their tiny little feet’s!
Always a song and always a voice,
Lyrics dangle in the breeze by choice.

There is always a Rhyme with a Reason,
Sprinkling rainbows for the next season!
Rain or shine the poet knows how,
To turn it around making words that wow.

There are deserts and oceans by the shore,
You can count them one, two, three and four.
It is a rhyme and reason just for being,
Right side up with what you are seeing.

So off to la-la Land I will be,
Just my pen and just me!

®Registered: Ann Rich   2006


Details | Rhyme | |

Under A Spell


As I sit and watch the evening star
I can feel the moon touches me, from a far
Wanting to taste my Smirnoff vodka, with lime
The worn mind suddenly rhyme
Tonight, it’s on the verge, of unearthing 
A treasure, a priceless thing
Eagerness I felt as I saw my toy
Tirelessly blinking, for me, with joy
Waiting the speedy touch of my hand
While my old silvery quill-like pen 
On a white papyrus, lies, inkless
On the bedside table, of narra wood, shameless
As I begin to peruse the Latin inscription
I heard the clock chimes, with repetition
Ding…dong…ding…dong …ding…dong
The sound is like from an ancient gong
I know it’s midnight, but when I turned to look
I noticed the blue-eyed princess, still, reading the book
Of Kama Sutra, left by an old transient
From the Pearl of the Orient
When my hand found the coded key
The rhyme’s gone and the mind’s no longer free
For I became, the prisoner, of my sultry princess
Under a spell, I gave her my oriental kisses



   


Details | Quatrain | |

Journey

One trip around the sun
And I still haven’t left this place
Burning feeling from my pen
Time from a distant mind

Eight phases of the moon
Eclipsed in a crater of discovery
Sifting through foreign thoughts
And I still haven’t left this place

Wading in a barren strait
Shipwrecked though never at sea
And I still haven’t left this place
Anchored by scribbled dreams

And I still haven’t left this place
And I don’t exactly know why
Trapped between two ears
Until I digress…sometime


Details | I do not know? | |

My World

On that stage, I see my self on that stage…
I feel free.
Free to say whatever
And free to do me.
Dressed in sweat pants, black shirt
With white long sleeves…with a coofy
…Just being me.
Nothing anyone says,
Nothing anyone does affect me.
Because all will respect me
None will neglect me…but if so
My words shall protect me.
When I am on that stage 
I am on a pedestal…
Where many wanna bees
Wanna be me…
But what they fail to see
Is me doing me
And not anyone else…
I chill and be myself
By myself because 
On that stage, I see my self on that stage…
I feel free
Free to say whatever 
And free to do me.
But there are infractions and glitches
That takes me away from all the relaxation
And freedom…
Then it hits me…
That no matter where I see myself
I will always be back 
In the world of rules and consequences.


Details | Free verse | |

I opened the door today

I opened the door today wondering why you’re here.
I opened the door today wondering why he always stares.
I opened the door today to see a perfect flight of stairs.
I opened the door today so I could go to the fair.
I opened the door today and the wind blew your hair.
I opened the door today to realize it was all a dare.
I opened the door today and realized no one cares.
I am not opening the door today. 
It’s your turn to go out the door.
You opened the door today and saw the rain come down.
You opened the door today and left with a frown.
You opened the door today and hoped your heart wouldn’t pound.
You opened the door today to go get a new “crown”.
You opened the door today while jumping up and down.
You opened the door today to make a journey to another town.
You opened the door today and didn’t make a sound.
We decided to go out the door together this time since 
We have both been let down by the door. 
We opened the door today and walked a couple miles. 
We opened the door today and went to check some files.
We opened the door today and gave some random smiles. 
Neither of us are opening the door today.
This door is staying shut. 
Tomorrow we will go out the back door.


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Hot wheels.

as I roll them a cross floors dirty with memories that were said to be untrue,
                                         I recall this one
           my favorite             
                                                                  it was dark blue,
this one took me away from the pain on the inside
                       this one
                                                        was black and fast
    it hide me from the beatings 
                                                                 I felt out side,
this one would pick up my mom and take her away for a while
                    it was classy with gold trim
it covered her bruises
                                                                 and always made her smile,
this one was big enough for all my brothers and sisters
                                                      it took us to places we been before
                  a black and white police van
                                                                    a place that took
pictures of our cuts a blisters,
this one took my brothers away because the law said they were wrong
                 their crimes
                                                      were cries for help
                                                                      like the unheard
abused song,
this one took my sister to where she wanted to be
                in love
                                                        not like what we had
                                                                        love that was free,
the one I spoke of you know my favorite one 
               the one that's blue
                                                         it drove me away from the shouts
and screams
                                                                         to a place where
I had fun,
all of them dried my tears hid my pain and helped me when no one cared
               their dream catchers
                                                           hope chests 
                                                                         to me they were
the only ones there,


Details | Free verse | |

Negativity's Spool

This spool of negativity
unraveled, sparked and metal lime
pierces eardrums in their skin
and wraps conundrums 'round the brain
It usurps all the confidence
which should be stored in violet bowls
to sip when low ignition strikes
and twines the weary, dragging souls
It threads the skin of counterparts
to skin cells loving anger
and twists it's turns through open mouths
to happiness endanger
This spool of negativity
spat and rolled by rotten tongues
will stretch and tear at the slightest tug
like paper silk gone soaked in rum
It dusts disintegration
and sleeps in rusty coils
and snakes through poison mushrooms
in the darkest forest soils
It winds a whisper metal lick
into the hearts of mighty men
constricting blood of pumping life
until they reach to sorrow's end
with thoughts too steep and oiled black
to negatively condescend...


Details | Rhyme | |

The Home of my Computer

I call it clutter corner
and you can see the reason why
things are scattered everywhere
enough to make ya cry

But that my Friends is happiness
a place to dream each day
a place to put the words I write
To save the things I say

Who knows the final outcome
If I made it look all bright
Perhaps the words would stop to flow
If it had a different sight

So stay it will all cluttered
that corner that I love
The corner where I write whose words
that come from heaven above

Mr. Doug


Details | Rhyme | |

Reading Ondattje

Grind the curry
Balm the wax
and sweep the bits of bellow to wind
Blue the sky
Break the dew
and liquefy reason before we begin
Coral the room
Stilt the walk
in pyramids of brinjals, persimmons and figs
Sleep the fan
Curl the mind
in spirals of sweet burning Sri Lankin sprigs.


Details | Narrative | |

A PERTHSHIRE LAD

Grew to manhood on the river Tay,
Writing poems ,most every day;
Cinquains,epigrams,whigmaleerie-
His diary of a dying man,left
Telling observations, for all to see.


Tribute to William Soutar


Details | Free verse | |

Cryptic Puzzle

Cryptic Puzzle 

forgotten words penned long ago left for someone 
like the dragonflies to rediscover 
we found the words on a secret place 
the place the place the place 
where oh where is the place to discover 
cryptic puzzle 
8 sides,8 streams a countin 
this is certainly not a mountain 
built outside old man, 
the clue rack is lain, 
l()()k in the SE corner of the _____? 
look 
parme~ 


Details | Narrative | |

VIGNETTE- SHIBBOLETH

Jephthah the judge,from Gilead he came,
With this difficult word found long-lasting fame-
For those upon the losing side
He devised a cunning plan,
Asking of his enemy,to pronounce it if they can

Note Full story -Judges 12:6