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
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
Don’t count every hour in the day,
make every hour in the day count.
How heavy and quick are indifferent hours,
Their tread crushes the most tender of dreams,
And though time knows not its pressing power,
It tramples the heart, yet hears not the screams.
A dancer, sculptor or siren with song
beholds the cold clock and its silent charge,
Each stage, chisel and note aches to belong
to minutes that mince, steps buoyant though large.
These tasks of days grate and night pounds abuse,
But the artist learns to dodge, buck and roll,
How clever is craft! How wily the muse,
For we, the moved, do not cower or loll.
The sun bears down and a blue moon marches,
~ Beneath their weight, my poetry arches ~
*Written Feb 12, 2012 For Paula Swanson's "Trample" Contest
Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....
Write me a smile with your magic word
And write it nice and wide
Write me a whisper, that's never been heard
To show what you're feeling inside
Write me a tear, as it runs down your cheek
Each time that you need to cry
Write me strength, when you're feeling weak
Or love that will make me sigh
Write me the anger, when it doesn't go your way
Or contentment, each time that it does
Write me tomorrow, instead of today
Or maybe the way that it was
Write me your heartache, with all of your pain
When your heart's been broken in two
Then write me the pieces of you that remain
For I need to feel them too
Write me the morning and evening skies
Or maybe even noon or night
Whatever emotion your lonely heart cries
Like only a poet can write
The last few weeks have been real hard
You see the "dealer of life" deals the cards
As the trials and blessings come and go
It's true we must reap what we sow
At times the trials are many and the blessings are few
Just let the light of your soul shine on through
Yesterday I walked to the bridge over the creek
By the time I got there I was tired and weak
As I sat on the bridge taking a break
Questioning "how much more can I take"
A speeding drunk driver lost control
I watched it unfold nice and slow
Sometimes the blessings are clear to see
They crashed into the rail right next to me
My guardian angel said soft as could be
I'll never give up on you don't give up on me
These last few weeks I have felt rather low
With a deep down emptiness up in my soul
So regardless of the pain or length of the fight
I reckon it's once again time for me to write
For my pen is the tool that I use to see
The power of the Lord working in me
I do not know?
Sing a song of sadness
Pocket full of frowns
Brings us all down.
Rain in drips of sorrow
In colors dark in hue
No better day tomorrow
Only clouds haunting you.
Bear the blame of guilt
And wear it on your shoulder
Tear down all you've built
Soon you feel much older.
Rhyme in lines of regret
For all you've said and done
But as people always forget
Then you'll have none.
He played softly on (Les Paul Strings) (The Day That He Returned Home) from the war. (One
More Mile) to go, then he will be (Kissing and Caressing) her. That was all he thought of on
his long journey home. He was going to try and win over (The Iceberg Beauty) he saw so
long ago while (Sitting on the Beach). (Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained) so (He Left Her a
White Rose). He was hoping the (Dark Maiden) would become (Golden and Gorgeous) once
again when (In the Meadow We Lay).
(She Entered My Dream)s forever on that day, right after we dove into the water. When (We
Came Up For Air) (The Flow of My Heart) stopped suddenly. (Have You Ever Sat Still), so still
breathing stops, the eyes suddenly glaze over and when the (Doves Fly), (The Raven
(Her Reoccuring Dream) was to become a blond (Beach Beauty) once again for him, as he
was always (In Her Dreams). He would cover her with (Sunset Kisses) and the flame of life
in her would never flicker and die. Alas, (The Mirrors Spoke) of her (In Ageing Decay) as
she (Sat in Shame No More). Her time was up, those (Three Wishes on The Sandy Beach)
were not enough. She needed a fourth to be young for evermore. Instead (On Blue Silk She
Lies), this time her eyes will remain shut (When They Close For Evermore)!
* Narrative derived from one poets work here on the Soup.
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light
Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come
To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.
The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.
Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.
Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -
To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
A duet with the breeze.
So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.
With merriment's ink:
A song etched deep:
Art carved out of sky.
Title: Night Poem
Rising from within my quill
Waves of ink crest and crash
Upon the papered shoreline
Riding in and out on the tides
Of yesterday found…
Sullying the once untainted
With both the rash and tender
Of the restive poetic spirit
An autonomous symbiosis
Of today’s moments…
Endlessly seeking identification
Ink scrawled candle flames illume
Scratched out paths into tomorrow
The journey of the minds eye
Of tomorrows chance…
Each penning a new step forward
Into our own intangible dreams
Our elusive target moves ever further
Where no direction can lead us on
Of our poetic hopes…
When poets bleed they fill their quills
And write their words in red
The letters scream each time they're made
In the hope of being read
The page becomes a sounding board
A mirror to the soul
A reflection meant to bring them peace
To comfort or console
They choose their words so carefully
Not wasting a drop of blood
Writing words that lift them up
As tears begin to flood
They'll write with true conviction
Each time they start to weep
They write sometimes to clear their minds
Before they get to sleep
When poets bleed a word is born
Trying to appease their need
Shining a light to the whole wide world
And all who want to read
A CLASSIC SUMMER IN GREECE
Viciousness and mystery erupt on arid soil.
Summer heat and idle time can make the spirits boil.
Languishing in stuffy rooms with very little sleep--
Night time flickers of the light-- imagination leaps.
Heat that beckons times long past invade a fevered head—
Athena pleases lovers mid her goddess silken bed,
Grecian legs march bravely –- prelude Olympian races--
Soldiers dream they sail away to see exotic places.
Heat waves shimmer landscape –men will do what they are told--
Spearborn soldiers helmeted sing down a dusty road.
Tho in mind they join their lovers whispering by the sea,
Drink of mountain waters --rest their head on sweetheart’s knee
Helen, when she sailed away –a wayward selfish wife
Without a backward glance she risked the cost of human life--
Was it the heat that made her crazed to do this foolish thing?
A fit of summer boredom could create this witless fling.
Autumn winds are blowing now-- Troy’s nights turn cool and fair--
Does Paris try to ditch her --as naked Helen combs her hair--
Does Hector tell his brother--get this woman out of here--
Does Helen beg to stay-- and tell her lover not to fear?
Heat can play the brain and make it dance a backward tune--
Clarity as sun tricks down—repeats a former June,
Perhaps there is a lesson learned from heat that sears the soul--
Summertime romance will write us each a tragic role.
Victoria Anderson Throop ©
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.
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
( I left )
) you (
( my )
(note) O oooo
( on )
) a (
( for )
) you (
( to )
(read) O oooo
( ere )
) the (
Thoughts Promenade inside my head
Absent of composition or direction,
As water dollops on a heated griddle.
I pass time exhuming notions
Thought long ago perished.
From night filled crevices of my mother wit,
I examine ideas whose propellant
is as monster bat wings darting to and fro.
Free flying, suddenly vanishing,
As if having been exiled from my psyche.
Their duration, analogous to griddle dollops;
Once vaporization has occurred,
I'm left to contemplate these mental aerobics,
In selfish tones, while examining my worthiness
As God's humble quill this day.
Conceivably, those concepts I've pursued,
Will birth in ink another time.
A time of God's convenience and choosing.
scissored shades of Betsycoed
taste of yester youth's sweet tones
splashing sound of forest water
kissing shining sacred stones
Dreams of swirling druids dancing
in the faery water's rill
flash reflective thoughts of flight
The dragon tears yet spill
The druid hymn of waiting
for greed to die of want
a constant scream of tortured winds
belie the curse of can't
What matters ought to those who fought
and died that I be here
to stand beneath a blazing sky
and gaze upon the Western sea
moments of reflective thought
pondered on expressed and caught
to feed an ever growing need
To dig and rap and plant a seed
That blossoms in another mind
Repeated as the finest kind
to be forever sowing seed
And time to spend with thee
Change is the only constant - we know this to be true,
Some of us wait them out - to see what will ensue.
Still others try to fight them, happy with the way things are,
A few fall into day dreams and wish upon a star.
Some changes are rather easy while others are quite hard,
Which ones must we live with - which ones can we discard?
Changes come throughout our life no matter where we go,
A few come fast and furious, yet others subtle and slow.
When changes come upon us decisions we must make,
All the while juggling priorities - them not to forsake.
The best that we can do while traveling down life's road,
Is to help our friends and family carry their precarious load.
I'm very happy I found this site,
PoetrySoup.com is a lot of fun,
I spend so much time on the computer now
I have time for no other one...
It's a rush, a blast, a challenge...
I'll love it till I die...
Only one thing troubles me,
And that's the reason why..
I spend so much time hunched over,
typing in my silly poems,
Hoping that they'll soon be read
In many far off homes...
But I do appear to have a problem...
A physical one at that...
My neck is hurting so severely,
By hours looking down,
writing and reading..
In the spot I sat...
I gotta make a judgement call...
Is the fun worth more than the pain?
Compared to the fun I have, the pain begins to pall
Who would not prefer the sunshine to the rain??
I do not know?
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?
I feel trapped in a world that's not mine
and sometimes I feel like crying
but my insides are so blind
Screaming all the while
my insides have gone wild
And I'm tired of having to find time to smile
My mind keeps racing trying to place
for each day never stays the same
Insanity from pain, to living everyday
in the rain
Sure sunny days have came
just the same
But gone so quick I barely get a glimpse
I know times will get better, but for
the time being,
I'm saying what I'm seeing,
Just freeing what I'm feeling
Still dealing with this bad feeling of a nightmare
While I stare in the mirror
I don't care what's fair or fair
to wear out my words
My curse is pure life without words
All these words inside my head
drive me crazy while in bed.
They will dance inside my brain
and fall down like pouring rain
When I try to dress for work
down the hallway they will lurk.
When I leave and drive my car
on every signpost there they are.
What this soul now has to do
is write down these words for you.
Taking pen and pad in hand I'll
write down what they demand.
When it's over and all done and
these words have had there fun.
They will leave me then to rest
you know the rest,,,,,,,,,......
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
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
I do not know?
The writer I am in my dreams
is more sophisticated than I am
and sees the world as an untold story
I mainly see the footsteps behind me
Where I stepped softly so as not to call attention to myself
this writer conjures volumes about the man on the bus
who has a scar on his face five inches long
she elaborates on his life with gifted prose
he is a pilot shot down in Vietnam
guerillas gave him a scar and set him free
he used to be a lion tamer
that one is self-explanatory
I simply cannot stop staring at his scar and wonder
does it bother him to have such a mark?
The writer I am in my dreams
has perfect time management
goes to work, attends class
has a beau
moves from day to day
finds time for friends and play
hobbies and exercise
dance class and likewise
the writer I am in my dreams
her words are clear and precise
they don't feel like empty thoughts on a page
they don't sound immature
her words and statements work
they don't get in her way and make her mind spin
and conjure up thoughts of self-worth
they whirl around the room and
whisper about the unimagined
they dialogue with rhyme and wit
and they always converse graciously
the writer I am in my dreams
I wake up and pray to be
and sometimes my prayers are answered
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
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
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
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can
I think about life, I think about my everyday strifes
I know I love you girl you the mama of my children
You already like my wife
I know I have cheated from time to time
but you the only one who I sleep with at the end of another long night
Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can
I know I like to drink yet it feels like I love that alcohol
This liqour and beer is my number one downfall
If it werent so then the crazy *****in my life now I would have never saw
I would have never ended up sitting in prison for breaking the law
Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can
It's alright now though because Im back in school
I know I struggle at times but Im reframing from being another lost fool
I know it bull-*****even though many youngsters think that *****is cool
But they don't know if they been where I been and still want to do what I do
Forgotten somewhere in the midst of steel and concrete.
Bound by shackles and chains even in our sleep.
Living like wolves preying amongst lost sheep.
Concrete tears and pains so mindfully deep.
Forgotten by those on the outside.
We cant even run no where, we cant even hide.
No choice left but to sit and fight.
In here only the strong minded survive.
Truth be told in here what is wrong is right.
All most os us got is wasted M&^*&F*^&&ng time.
We sit back and work out and write heartfelt rhymes.
Not to be a victim of prey we all trying.
Many stories are told, songs are written of truth over lying.
We are gone for the moment but not truly forgotten so the hurt we must not show it.
We are to old while we young to be crying in front of full grown men for this is a time we must out grow it.
There aint no way out this hell hole and we all know it.
Feelings of hopelessness surrounds te heart to the point where we can no longer control it.
In here there is only time no fun.
Darkness fills night no light shone in here from the sun.
Only by our own selves we may be out done.
BECAUSE IN HERE IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE TRULY THE FORGOTTEN ONES....
Yeah I can get so hyped up with life so high I'm so freaking verbally drunk like a psycho,
Mind so wrong nothing in my vocabulary at that time in my mind can get right though,
A piece of this hate cake in this corrupt dictionary I'm going to have to take a bite though,
Whether the answer is written in hell yeah or heck no,
Im going to shoot through your deer less body like a scoped out rifle,
You just another liar if you say my words aint make your mind shake and awake with a stifle,
Im shooting sideways, up, down, so much I get high low,
I could be telling true lies when you see my fake gun ridden smiles,
I might just shoot self in head because Im getting a little too suicidal,
Im in need of God because I keep skipping planned revivals,
Im reading the rhyme master Shakespeare I aint reading the Bible,
Im playing with word bullets shiny as a burning star struggling for simple survival,
I want people to tell the truth but cant help but keep telling themselves lies though,
Hiidden demons in the book of lifes closet dont tell me how it is because I know,
I too onced played with life like a toy plastic as Tyco,
Im going to stand out in this world like the tower of Eifel,
Im going to bring out all my freaking hidden poetic files,
Im putting word ryhme puzzles together like floor tiles
Im going to do it now not later gator or after while crocodile,
I got little time in life left on the sun dial,
I got but few years or even months left before I face my ultimate trial,
But first Im going to have some fun into the night sun until I get riled,
But family comes first I must start to think of my own seed, my very own child,
I got to stop the ways of living stupid like Im out of hand so wild,
I must drink from the fountain of life like the Egyptians do from the Nile,
Pull my own way out this ****ing trash, this bull *****pile,
I got to stay strong in the mean time because everything in life takes a little while,
Sometimes I dont give a **** about nobody because it feels as if I have nothing to live for, but now I got a child I would die for
So now I must keep living because if I die I know I would leave behind a child behind that I would cry for,
I must walk that road less traveled like a car breaking down on the open road still trying to idle,
Walking amongst greats is going to be my own personal hypo,
I will walk strong in the days that I die in my last UNSEEN MILES......
I cant believe Im going to have my own family, something I never had;
Its time to step up and be a real dad;
Now I can remember the things that make me happy and forget the things that make me sad;
Its time that I start doing good than the bad;
I want for my child to see me as a role model;
Its time I break my own chains to that alcoholic bottle;
I want to be that someone who can be trusted to follow;
I silently cry at night because the truth is hard to swallow;
I jus hope I can make that change today not tomorrow;
I got to change before I end up in an?early hearst;
My art is my gift and alcohol is my curse, I must break my own alcoholic thirst;
I must relieve my own selfishness tendencies before they burst;
I got to stop making alcohol my only because its no longer just about me, because my very own family comes first
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
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.
Took a look
At his portmanteau
In hopes of seeing something
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....
I ponder the same thoughts as he.
But my words are rocks.
Illusive, words go beyond feeling them,
Deep into native instincts
Forgotten in generations of rebirth.
His stones are
Time before; time hereafter;
A time capsule within;
A mystery without.
Mine are rocks.
Inspired by the poem "Stone," by Charles Simic, current Poet Laureate
You Won't See The Tears
No more, that all every tear shed comes back tens times harder then when shed. You say I'm blind,
blind to how you feel to what you think and the feeling that you proven as if yet. This what is this? This is
nothing to me I will become a rock unable to move to the places you see fit and deem them favourly.This
thing takes time takes time to break it like a city your unable to penetrate and destroy. This life and time tears
are seen pure weakness from the rather studded mind it makes me thing less of this world with each passing
day. What is it when everything can’t be seen for it true color hiding behind a mask of pure deception. This wall
to block out a world, which doesn’t favor me in the least bit, has come to pure rain, rain and more rain. I shall not
let no man see this tears for they are the only thing that belong to me and me alone
After working day long, was relaxing mind and soul
With a beautiful song.it took away all the troubles
Out of me.
As I was gazing around,my eyes caught the glimpse
Of a bright colored book.
Ah!! After a long hiatus,I saw the book.
it filled me up with nostalgia.
It was my diary ,a vault of my wonderful memories
Of good and bad.
Opened the book ,saw all the poems
Written when I was young.
Sweet music was being played in the heart,
Read all those poems .
There was one unfinished poem looking
Sadly at me,saying ,give me a beautiful ending.
Ran my fingers over the pages,
Which was my savior from unrest .
This busy life made me forget the treasure
Trove of poems and passion.
The poem got me time travel and
I watched and enjoyed those bygone moments.
A poem about feelings which are unsaid
But still hold so strong in the heart.
The poem got its beautiful end,
it taught me that feelings are to be expressed
and they still linger in the heart,the
person goes away from us.
Its not that feelings are dead and
Heart had dried up,they blossom like
A flower every time whenever the
Cross our minds and make us
Relish those wonderful moments.
Tears rolled down my cheeks
Of content and happiness.
If I write a lie then my whole life has been like an entire lie/
I can't do what must be done if one doesn't give it a try/
Im living what I write until my breath of words in my body die/
You see my rhymes grounded until they finally set forth in flight/
Paragraphs blinded until words give them sight/
If I write what was wrong I can still make that mistake right/
Im trying to live in peace yet at times I won't live if I don't fight/
I shouldn't be thinking like two because I am only but one/
You see working on verses late into the night until the early morning sun/
I fight with sophisticated verses upon many losses until my spoken fight is finally won/
Lost into thoughts so deep until they no longer seem fun/
Thinking out the day worried every night that I sleep with a gun/
If I am not to your standards I dont give a **** if I am shunned/
Im doing what I do until the day that my purpose in life is finally done/
I remember the first time
I called myself a poet
When someone asked what I do
With all the time in my day
Not really sure how to answer
That one very easy question
It somehow slipped from my mouth
At that time this way
I'm A Poet?...
Still unsure if I was worthy to call myself that
Though as the saying goes
"I had just now made my bed"
And sleep in it I will
For poetry to me is a thrill
With it being the only way
To remove the thoughts from my head
But Dare I Say I'm A Poet?...
But that's what poets do!
They write words that flow through
In hopes of sparking a thought or feeling
In another persons mind
So as I live out each day
I let the words fall where they may
With a thought that someone will be delighted
When reading the poems they may find
So I Guess I Could Call Myself A Poet?...
Now on a mental crusade you might say
On a journey through the thoughts
And different memories of my life
Writing down everything
That decides to develop in my mind
After life and dreams...
Some petty little things...
To be ever written...
This Is Me "The Poet!"... :o)
PD's Contest: The Poet
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
What shall be the words of this page,
for nothing at this time comes to light.
I see the world as a stage,
yet of nothing do I care to write.
This indeed is a rare time for me
for my pen has always come through,
word after word and line upon line,
each poem,different and new.
Birds in flight and children at play
yet none of this holds my attention.
All to me is empty notice
and hardly even worth the mention.
A paradox as a poem comes forth
when indeed I had nothing to write.
In this, a small sense of accomplishing
that has rescued me from this day's plight.
I do not know?
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.
The wall clock is rushing me once again,
I hear its incessant quick-talk-quick-talk,
How cold the face while its hands constrain,
Hands that first rebuff then tightly interlock.
Love I’ve not given, not nearly enough,
Morning kept her schedule, rigid and right,
Harried by long lists, poor afternoon chuffed,
Spent evening skipped then tripped over night.
Now I count stars and think on tomorrow,
There bids a much better use of my time,
Peace splints worn bones, enters raw marrow,
Tenders me verse in restorative rhyme.
Words slow hours for poetry welcomes
mere seconds that bring a trace of wisdom
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....
I spread my broken down wings and fly
So minded high when Im so dam low that I cry
Im living around hurtful people so much it makes me think suicide
You see the pain written line after line
You can honestly see the tear drops fall down from the eyes
Pain so deep a sucker like me can always realize
Realize the pain inside a hearts truth so much that it seems like a lie
Everyday is is certain do or die
When all is said and done atleast I can let me people know that I tried
So someone tell me something different on this crazy road in which I ride
Everywhere I run It still seems like an addict like me can't hide
I do what I do in forms written in rhyme
Living a young crazy life trying to get out a life a crime
I know that Im still young but it feels as if I am running out of time
I almost went out twice that should be a life changing sign
Yeah I like to laugh yet I wouldn't know what it would be if I wasn't crying
I keep crying when Im laughing that the feelings collide
All because yesterday I lived and today I died
I live a life in a place where alcohol violence reigns supreme/
over a dying culture split in se7en groups of se7enty times se7en of rival teams/
I hear my brothers hollers I hear my sisters screams/
I see people live among broken glass like that of many broken dreams/
I sometimes wish I could not see what my two eyes sometimes see/
I cant act blind as if it were just a brush off my sleeve/
The more I lose in life the more it seems the less I need/
I try and overcome my own selfish greed/
I got a child on the way I now look at what kind of role model I'd be/
I was was incarcerated so I must not take for granted for the simple fact that Im free/
But it hard with tattoos on my face in place where tattoos like mine seem a disgrace/
Lord watch over me as I take last place in this life game race/
It not a matter of being first second or third Lord cuz all I need iz your grace/
help me to better walk off this destructive road and slow my pace/
Just take me now if Im done with your purpose if thats the case/
Because I dont want to live like I got to look over my shoulder right around the corner....
Introduction: Life is a mystery with many ups and downs throughout the journey. The
journey filled with thoughts of tranquility and turmoil. But the perfect sensation is the
time when you get to feel closer to your Almighty, the one who understands you the best,
your closest friend, your hope and light, your solution to every problem, The mystery you
came to life to solve and to believe in.
Even in the happiest and the saddest moments, He is always there when you need Him.
Right now I am, thinking what to write
Holding my pen, it’s almost midnight,
I’m truly out of words, to express my whole life,
It’s so absurd, cut all pain through a knife
And I wish I could feel, Your presence in my soul
I know that You know, what I am going through
And I’m not sure I believe, unless I really feel
But I know when You’re not there, so I pray to feel You near
Now I can see, what this life is about
Now I do know, I’m too lost without,
Diamond in the rough, that’s what I was
But now I’m reborn by the shower of Your bliss
I’d die to satisfy, I’d do everything I can,
No matter how tough, after all I’m a man
I won’t fall apart, You’re always in my heart
I’d swim oceans and more, only to be Your friend
This undying grace of Your creation,
Time and space, more than perfection
You’ve opened my eyes and showed me the truth
You’ve blessed peace to my soul; I know what’s my role
I see two key coins, one black and one white
And all I have to join, the one with your light
Life is as it is, we make it our own
Hard or easy, full or alone
Everything grows, as they all involve
With the rose you put down, to show us what’s love
I wake up early, to see Your beauty,
Throughout the morning sun, I feel complete and done,
I drive all the way and see my problems solved,
By Your love from above, I stand still so firm
Everything I do, everywhere I go,
Every moment I breathe, I remind myself of You…my Almighty.
You are my split nail.
I catch you on every pair of stockings that I wear.
You snag my lip a thousand times a day,
subconsciously drawing blood.
I should spare the time to trim your edges,
to calm your pleadings, to dull your voice,
you are my sharpened edge,
my heightened response, my after-all~
(and here I thought you were my paper quill
flowing ink to swirling black in stone scented liquid on feathered paper air...
ah, absorb me...)
but hope upon hope comes to naught tonight
as you are but a fortune of pain
on the verge of exposé,
and I simply,
have no time for you.
There aint no other way how to put it or how to say it,Im the Artist and the Poet/
Through my created creations I show it/ Im gonna rize to the poetic mountain top before you even know it/
This my poetry and self-made concrete art only I control it/ So all ya critics out there behold it/
I was gone for a minute locked up and locked down trapped inside concrete/
I was at work the whole time my poetic skills only got better they did not sleep/
Now I arize through shackles and chains I now know true defeat/
Im here to stay Im the artist keeper the true se7en poet of keep/
I will do what I gotta to be poetically remembered the day I go se7en feet deep/
But for now my life upon ya'll I lyrically creep/
My thoughts are one of a kind they cannot be replicated/
Im so relevant now fifty years from now I still wont be outdated/
Its your coice you can love it or you can hate it/ Go ahead haters debate it/
Still Im the Artist and the Poet thats my motto statement/
A whole empire of poetry and artwork since lockdown I have painfully with pleasure created/ NEVER AGAIN WILL MY ART AND POETRY BE UNDERRATED/
I was nothing before all the time spent in concrete and confinement/
Now Im truly poetic with artistic assignments/ Anything I draw I can also rhyme it/
There are more to my tattoos each one has a story and a meaning behind it/
I knew there was hope in poetic art I just had to find it/
All I got to say now is "F@#k ya'll who wanna Doubt me/
F&%k all dat shyt you judge me like Im on American Idol when you dont even know shyt bout me/
Your vision of life is blurry and your death thoughts seem to be a lil cloudy/
I am a Poetistic Diamond in the rough it was God it wasnt you who found me/
Now I know more people from around the way gon crowd me/ where money and trouble again will surround me/
I was a lost gem on lockdown waiting to shine, waiting to poetyically explode/
A natural born poet carving out my own road/ Living by my own F%$#%ckin poetic codes/
I can't be rhymefest free when I get lost in that poetic mode/
My Time is almost here/ I been waiting for this momnet all f&&%&ing year/
I cant believe I made through many concrete shed tears and many unheard of outside fears/
My freedom day is near I will not blow it/
This my time now homie I control it/ Im concretely the smartest writer even if you aint know it/
MAKE WAY PEOPLE FOR THE SE7EN KING ARTIST AND POET
All writers at one time or another
say I can't write, I have writers block,
no you don't. What you have
is restless mind.
When you don't have any ideals
coming your way, go outside sit
for a while, listen to the birds,
enjoy the floating white clouds,
look at the trees, the flowers,
the grass, smell the air,
a moment in time will come to you,
remembering something that happened
to you long ago that you had not thought about
in a long time. You will then go inside and write
something. So don't use the excuse of why
you can't write, by saying I have writers block,
there is always something to write about.
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
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.
I used 2 think I know what I wanted out of my confused soul/
I want not what I have ,I want what I never had/
I want my time 2 stop, yet it still continues 2 go/
I strive 2 be good but almost always end up in the bad/
Livin in this American Struggle I was once happy, now seems like Im forever sad/
Im a man of values and peace but find myself in corruptness and fights/
In prison I had many dark days and very few bright nights/
No matter how wrong I was I am still 100% right/
Im searchin for inner peace but find myself so self-conflicted/
I want this but rather have that, Im so self-contradicted/
I find my heart fightin lovely thingz my soul so badly hated/
I want 2 be normal but find my talents by so many overrated/
I find it so easy 2 forsake that I rarely myself ever forgive/
My mind wants 2 die while my heart still wants to live/
I want to be recognized that I go unnoticed and lose track of the real me/
So I came 2 a concept of appreciating the fact that Im now free/
Now I just want to kick back an be me....
"Roll on tonight my mates are coming round
For a few cold beers and some rocking sounds
Time is drawing near, as I hear a knock at the door
Blimey! at this time of the night, a vacuum salesmen stands before"
"Hey pal make it quick, I have a party to host
Tell me your pitch, now disappear your a ghost
The best place for them is in the lunar craters
Sucking on Listerine soaked tissues, singing, "see you later alligator"
"Another knock on the door, and I'm pleasantly surprised
All my intended buddies on my doorstep, the parties arrived
For a night of drifting, ending with earache and pain
Entering wormholes of insomnia, no pain no gain"
"Our party is going to be like a cool Rock 'n' Roll gig
Beers flowing a plenty, this ain't no highland jig
We start with Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention
Best friends and myself, our schooldays convention"
"This is no wine and dine as Dire Straits play
The "Sultans of Swing" sounds excellent any day
Next we play Deep Purple, listening to Jon Lord's Hammond sounds
Music is our medicine in six speaker surround"
"In between sounds to the kitchen we head
Tid-bits and more beers to keep our gig well fed
We sample some Grunge Metal listening to Nuclear Waste
But once again Classic Rocks rules, as Grunge is not our taste"
"For the next couple of ours it's like The Monsters of Rock
AC/DC and UFO, the Rock never stops
We air guitar to "Whole Lotta Rosie"
Wearing spandex boxer shorts, one of us drumming like Cozy"
"We all awake in the morning, some with sore heads
But it was never a night that we were ever going to dread
It was a bunch of guys who met whilst at school
Who released their friendly energy, like fools but really cool"
"Tom, I never knew you, but I thank Catie for this
Writing this poem, just fills me with bliss
I know you will be busy, but if you happen to look down
Give our convention a shout, join our Rock n Roll clowns"
My tribute to Mr Tom Bell, so many people spoke about him.
Reading what they said, I only wish I knew him.
I do not know?
Salt soaked eyelids sagging
Unceasing streams of liquid
Tears stained the silk face
Painting the terrors of the day
Hush my child, I'll sing you a lullaby
Caressing you with the heavenly chorus
The ground does not desire anymore sorrow
But the stars crave your twinkle
Steadily, curtains of skin descend
Masking the pain etched into the eyes
Lips tremble, uneasy slumber
No more teddies, no more light
Hush, I'll bathe your dreams in white
Let the skin slide from your shoulders
Ease the suffering of physical wounds
I'll mend your broken winged heart to fly.
Tranquility overtakes the mind
Scattered breaths steady to an even beat
A rare peacefulness discovered
Yet the burning sun shall overtake the night
Hush, I'll cradle your bare heart
And fly you to the heaven of stars
Laugh as though you've never uttered a breath
For this shall not last
The morning blaze arises chasing the night
Ashes of humans piled up into mounds
The remains of dreams and lives broken
And one little child
Hush, my child Hush.
Bad enough to hear ‘you lose’
Then a flock of mail flies in
Don’t know which one you should choose
Then you glimpse ‘an AWESOME win’
Maybe it’s my humble past
Maybe it’s my country school
No one smiles when they are last
If you do --you’re called a fool.
Glory is its own reward
If you win your heart beat sings
Friends will greet you if they can
Life is sweet on eagle wings
Time is precious, time is short
Worlds await on shelves in books
Brush twitch paintings-- feet seek sport
I crave salmon on a hook
Ungrateful twit that I may seem
Courtesy is sometimes missing
My head I'll dunk in ice clogged stream
Avoid the flock of kiss kiss kissing
If you note that I have lost
Spare me time and spare me shame
Spare yourself the time it costs
To remind me that I’ve lost again
Nov 30, 2012
we always lack
the better word,
a polite reply or
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…
There is a Book of Secrets each person writes
the book is about all the things they do from
the time they are born to the day they die
Some write a about discerning lifestyles,
which indicates a Blanket of Darkness,
masquerading the true nature of what they
might feel inside
Some write about the Shades of Fall
while sitting in their favorite chair
looking at the October Rain drops
cleaning smog from the air
Some write lyrics for a love song
while looking up at the starlit night
They find themselves humming the tune,
creating the title for the song - Romancing The Moon
Some write about The Jewels of the Faeries
creating a magical tale, to be read to children
when it's time for them to go to bed
Then, there are those who write about
A Gate of Dreams, taking the reader to a
Gentle Place, Where the Angels Fly-
From Where They fall
In Violet Light to mend their broken wings
Every writer has a story that needs to be told
The greatest reward the writer receives is to know
their story touched the reader's heart and soul
Rosalyn M. Lampkin
In the beginning I started off as just another nobody from another nowhere trying make it to somewhere as a somebody as everyone else. In the beginning I was BORN TO LIVE TO DIE, but in the process I was BRED TO LEARN TO SURVIVE. I became a CONVICT OF CHRIST through PAINFUL PLEASURES of my many struggles and strife's. I was a SINFUL SAINT but more of a sinner, mainly a loser and never a winner. I was once considered one of the best, now days I'm just trying to be lower than the rest, unseen in plain sight , NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS. I became lost in time through my many self-taught TRUE LIES of yet another LOST FIND growing up where few DREAMS LIVE , but many more DREAMS DIE. I soon got LOCKED UP but it was very educational because I LIVED IT and LEARNED FROM IT. I was given a choice to LIVE FREE OR DIE INCARCERATED, so I made that choice to be more loved than hated, so I became UNDER LOVE and OVER HATE, I learned to stop wanting and actually appreciate. Its been hard to change so I became a POET OF PAIN. That's when I learned the truth about those who think their dying for something but they might as well be living for nothing, because I learned that real truth comes from LIVING FOR SOMETHING because I ain't DYING FOR NOTHING. So now I am forever a W.O.L.F. once a warrior of lost freedom now trying to stay a warrior of LASTIN FREEDOM you know what I mean.
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
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
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
My time keeps ticking/ Fresh outta mind prison/ I still have a hard time trying to listen/
I keep on walking yet I keep on tripping/ The pain in my brain heart thickens/
Redemption for change Im still missing/
Im still on the reservation/ Dont any of my own people see the alcoholic devestation?/
More self destruction than self creation/ Addicted alcholism among our own we keep making/ Young hearts and souls everyday we be breaking/ Most of us young souls around here are rarely forgiven because we are to busy been forsaken/
This is my own mind made prison astrology/ Im hard like a rock involved in geology/
Dont any of my people understand this poverished prison geolgraphy/
Our destruction can be seen in NAT GEO, dont you people see it in the photography/
Time is no joke nor is it alive yet somehow it can still bleed/
Im still out of prison yet in my mind it still doesn't feel like I have been set free/
I know my out out but I dont have the keys/ In or out it still remains hard just to be me/
Everything now days in life cost a fee/ Its not my culture its the American Greed/
I guess now days I gotta leave a trail, I gotta PLANT MY VERY OWN SEEDS......
I do not know?
Our paths have always crossed. Our hearts forever intertwined
We have lived and loved each other so many life times
Together we’ve slain dragons. We have walked side by side with beast
Witnessed you wounded in battle and fall to your knees
We first fell in love in a world that came before
I have suited you for battle and watched you leave for war.
Together we escaped the wilderness , said our vows by peaceful streams
I’ve given birth to your children on every mountain peak
I’ve watch you quest for new worlds, far across unknown seas
Ive watch you bring down nations , only to rescue me
We have treaded long and far, across hot foreign sands
seen you slay enemies and take the spoils of their lands
I have watched you build kingdom, and helped you tear them down
Together we were made King and Queen, our heads adorned with the crown
We have lived and love each other time and time again
We were predestined,
Created for one another, before our lives began
Laid up in bed these couple of days,
I’ve seen the passing of the sun’s rays.
Much time to think as each night time nears,
I search the state of my hopes and fears.
The rule of nine guides these lines I write
even as these words now come to light.
The words before me or so they seem
could make this poem a writer’s dream.
It would be nice with nothing to do
but sit and write till each day is through.
No permanent sanctum do I find
in this with other things on my mind.
I’ll write these words as they come to me
and take advantage of time that’s free.
Still, other things contend for “my view”
so I’ll search the road my thoughts lead to.
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.........
father time in my chest
keeper of its own pace
just skin and bone depth
influences time and space
what are we but drifters
in an unknown
see truth in a literal
belief before my face
stars with no funeral
light will win the race
here i am, not for long
death starts at home
where is this leading?
which story could it be?
despite all my reading
writings the cup of tea
i dont need to know it all
as long as im not alone
Language is a
Blooms in every shape,
size and color
Tendrils of words grow
every which way,
the vertical and horizontal,
pillars and frameworks
of each diverse community
is a slow, lazy ocean
whose tides lick
the verbal shores
offering new sand & water
while re-absorbing and changing
It flows out,
a living, breathing,
Language is essential,
is vital and ageless –
a kaleidoscope mosaic
what would you or I do?
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
Yeah I know my life may be broken but yet my purpose in my life is still bound/
Im picked up by Jesus everytime Im lower than dirt burriend alive underneath the ground/ I look for signs, I look for meanings, I try and hear something great but cant hear no sounds/
I look like S&^t, I look like a clown/
I know life aint no joke, aint no game because a lot people I seen last decade and last year are no longer around./
I was lost in lies until I found truth, I was lost in prison until appreciating freedom in me was found./
IM know I still got purpose for broken life that is bound...........
leotard atrocities may
never have been led,
the path of glory…
had she not kissed the
air in alphabetical designs,
I’m trapped in the American struggle/
Surrounded in the alcoholic drug addicted jungle/
In my soul called soul I seem to unknowingly look for trouble/
Yeah am I the only one to truly see our invisible chaotic bubble? /
Am I the only one to truly live in while I realize the hidden pains in our own ghetto living rubble? /
I see in what I still saw of the pains at the same time I hear the alcoholic mumbles/
Like a burnt cracker over a uncooked cookie I still see the culture crumble/
I see the staggering, I see the swerving and I see thy own stumbles/
Still yet I am crawling out the dirt like an ant spreading my wings in the sky like the bees bumble/
It’s when I knew I was a soul called soul/
In my soul called soul I am in the super bowl/
Seven hundred seventy-seven now I can’t let thy football fumble/
I am not going to let thy ring leader lead me in the circus no more, I am no longer an elephant Dumbo/ I’m here to stay not to go/ I been down that same road too many times before/
I know what it’s like at the bottom, I hit it straight rock ,yeah I been that low/
now pains of my life I outgrow/it’s when I knew I was a soul called soul
In my soul called soul/ I hang on not to my enemies nor my friends but my own inner foes/
I got no true friends, I got no true bros/ I got no true women, I got no hoes/
I don’t even know if I will even make it to be thirty-four/
I worry about alcoholic danger in the hood every time I walk out my front door/
I thank God I’m not rich and thank him for the experience of being dirt poor/
I thank him for the fact that I no longer have to steal from the local store/
I thank him for the simple fact that I can do simple everyday chores/
I remember a time when I was in a prison cell where even death itself felt like a bore/
until one day something great pick me up off the prison floor……..that was a time when I know I was a soul called SOUL/
I know my truck of life was ready to take it’s damage when it can still pull its own toll/
I knew my boat of life was ready to go against high winds with a broken bow/
I knew I was ready when I can go against waves 100 feet high go under and still row/
if not then I make the surf board roll/ The storms comes like shadow hidden in the skies undergrowth/ I’m not only floating I’m also flying through them both/
I am no longer empty with darkness I am filled with light shone/
I am no longer alone, I am force of many through word flow/
I am a prophet among my own/ words put together like no other only I condone/
I say it in a unique tone/
I’m going to make it past the internet and cell phones/
I am the one, I am by a higher power chose/
These problems in life I will outgrow/
I will overcome being just another SOUL CALLED SOUL….
Big Bang transpires when you crack the spine
As eager eyes sweep the rows
Language consumes until you’re mine
Trapped inside a world of prose.
As eager eyes sweep the rows
Fact and fiction copulate
Trapped inside my world of prose
Fiction’s reality without the proof
We haven’t the time to argue what’s real
Although our scientists remain aloof
Worlds are created through what we feel.
We have no time to argue what’s real
Too busy scribbling forth existence
Worlds are created through what we feel
Your mental refuge with our assistance.
Too busy scribbling forth existence
Although our scientists remain aloof
Your mental refuge with our assistance
Fiction’s reality without the proof.
**For Jared's Pantoum Contest
I walk through the reservation valley of alcoholic death/
I fear no darkness among my own for the light breathes life on its own through my every breath/ I can no longer fit in for I need to stand out above the rest/
I can no longer follow, I got to be the host of my own because Im tired of being the guest/
I want to be the writer I dont want to be the reader/
I want to be the artist with the brush, I want to create I want to finally be my own leader/
I want to be able to follow society's rules because I am tired of being a cheater/
I want to be the supplier because Im tired of being the seeker/
I guess life is what I make it/ Forgive less as much as I still continue to forsake it/
My life is just a jolt but at times I feel death shake it/ Grab my emotions by the reins and straight earthquake it/ I try and fix my problems until someone comes by and breaks it/
but this is my time because Im still young so this young opportunity in life I must Take it.
I got to hold my head held high from being low/
I got to stay lost until I find my own being my purpose of another young lost soul/
I cannot stop because Im too tired of staying stuck I must stay on go/
This my life now I know it my story waiting to be patiently told/
This my life now I got to let it un fold/ Let it slowly but surely grow/
Im just a hidden bomb waiting for my poetry to blow/
EVERYTHING I DID OR DO IN LIFE NOW IS SOMETHING I CHOSE?
I GOTTA CHANGE BECAUSE I JUST CANT KEEP WALKING THE SAME RESERVATION ROAD.
This is a new word in the name of the Infamous Pinkee....I still say that it should be
added to the British and/or American Dictionary! There is an ongoing campaign to
implement this change fore it is detrimental to the survival of the total alphabet system.
This, I do in the name of the Pinkster....The only problem with this word is that it's spelling
seem's to change every time that it is used, according to the setence structure. I bet that
Scholars' will fight over this for years.....
Ishchehaduta do what you want
I can ish-chu-data
The way that I feel
I can isch-cu-duta
When I finally need a break
Or climbing up a hill
That's that old isch-ca-dut-a
Some-time's it could kill
I can isch-chu-du-a
When I'm eating a steak
I can even isch-cu-duta
When it is all just a big mistake
That's the chance we take
I can ischcu-duat
When I say that I love you
When I am alone and feel blue
I truly isch-ca-duta-doo
Especially for you
I can isch-cu-duta
When I am talking on
This is the making of
When I just want to play
I do seem to isch-ul-ax
When I just want to relax
I isch-cc- to the max
When it is time to pay
The "ISR" their tax'
In such a seriou's way
As a fact of the matter
I wish that I could Is-cha-duta
Again to day
Only this time that I ish-co-duta
It won't be for play
I used to harbor lofty dreams
Of winning wealth and fame.
I vainly dreamed about a time
When the world would know my name.
But time and those rejection slips
Have tempered my wild dreams.
The ceaseless grind of passing years
Has mellowed me, it seems.
So now I breathe, create, and write
Simply because I must.
No longer do I crave those things
For which I used to lust.
A Dark Identity
Days into nights... time without time
Normalities of everyday life beckons to remain
Shadows with lights.... to find to define
I am he who goes by without a name
The world is only up to date
And I’ve decided no more to follow
Bearing time to finally relate
Yet a self I’m to find to wallow
He who walks without an identity... walks alone
And he who walks alone needs be proud
Yet walking forever without finding a home
Have I that heaven beyond the clouds?
I cannot see either far or near
I cannot be to be neither nor
I’m listening... I cannot hear
I’m at peace... I’m at war
I did not know... am I suppose to?
I know I’m alive... is that enough?
Yet, rather not to know than knew
For knowledge shall never last
A mystery if not yet to be
That one mysterious hope to be searching for
I have dreams but what did I see?
I have no one... not one I can call
A darken need shall heed not words
For the dark shall rise as light
The fade will be a promise to be heard
For shadows are without night
And I started to listen distractedly
Hearing for what my eyes cannot see
A hallucinatory moment ever constantly
As I began to believe that of what cannot be
The instant my eyes close
My mind drew as suppose
Sketching a stand alone amid a world once seen
Of ranging fires to have had believed as a dream
And there I was... a lone figure enveloped in darkness
With crossing flames alight yet from a distance as useless
Left as I was before... I am to return as I am
Reliving once more this beginning with never the end
Thus did I continue my path away from the bloodshed
Carefully as one had hoped where a darker darkness be led
No more do I wonder what transported me here
To only know for certain I am riddled of constant fear
“Fear is a fire
To temper courage and resolve
Be it desire
To quench the thirst for one’s unfounded lost”
And there it was... words barely a whisper
Where it came from... no longer matters
For the intended vigor were already cast upon
Serving me with renewed purpose for a sense to belong
Before long, beyond doubts... my callings were clear
The source from where it first began was indeed here
Almost startled, I looked around knowing I’m blinded to see
Too dark as it was, had it not been a lighted green to be
And there it was... a single light beyond the almighty dark
That one greenish light to aid one’s lonesome heart
Rather peculiar for I haven’t notice it before
And naturally I am to walk towards the green grandeur
Flickering and wavy as I drew closer to my destination
Seeing finally for what appears to be the least of expectations
Astonishingly, it was a lantern where within was the sighted fire
And simply the fiery green alone ignites ever on in dire
Levitated in midair, it stands rigid with its haunting presence
With an aura more deserving then welcoming of essence
So mesmerized I was... I wanted to behold
That of warmth for perhaps deliverance from cold
A dare if not, if only, if I must
A flame to embrace, a curiosity to engulf
And surely... I lifted my hand with only a wanting touch
Surely but unknowingly... the flame itself is to parch
Sparkles of green eludes and transcends about
As well an aria, an ancient tune goes aloud
To only see to believe, perhaps my life to perceive
Yet the question being... what did I achieve?
Smoke arises... wavering, quivering, settling...
My time... misgiving, misguiding and misleading
And there he was... rather it be
A human?... isn’t to be I see
“A dark wanderer, perhaps a lone wanderer alone
Regardless... a stranger afar returning home
Have you the teachings bequeath upon you?
From a once being of a knight who knew
For he alone stands unnerve by another
Serving a purpose to hold true forever
The resemblance I see forth leaves me incertitude
Both as mortals... though only he remains in servitude
Yet... my appointment upon you is clear
I am to you drawn as you to me when you hear
Nevertheless, far too long were you of absence
And once more I am in honor to be in your presence
It never is clear what the heavens contrive
For this unsung war... humanities were birth to strive
Every one mortal given birth were forged for war
To ensure the survival of humanities and of peace to befall
For many years this bloodshed wages in dire
Almost as certainly, the spirits of men responsively tire
No more are there ideas nor hopes they are to see
Battling on for pure survival remains what leads them be
Your return however, will perhaps set the tides in our favor
Though I know not the intention, I do not disregard altogether
Do not let the reasons why you have returned cloud your mind
I ask of you rather to remember who you once were to define
The land of The Ancients is never a quest for truth to seek
Purely for good to triumph over evil is the only idea you will need
Prepare yourself well stranger, for good will always be in disguise
Treachery and deception as often will never in itself be a lie
The unforgiving way is still a long one I’m afraid
However well is Heaven to plan... evil as always will await
And until out time will once more cross between us
I assure you... your time in this world will outlast”
My bed is anxious,waiting for my snores
Today's going to bed, tomorrow's a few steps ahead
I wonder why I took "the" pen
I feel like putting them down
What am I inking?
Just wanna scratch my itchy paper with my juicy ink
Singers? Go sing...
Comedians? Go do comedy...
Others? What's your "itchy paper?"
Have you applied your "ink?"
Be good at what you do
Love what you do
Go scratch it!
Justified actions com*plicated
things that don't
matter; unruled my voice
Here I speak truth only you and
I know is just another
way to let loose of the
We will CRISS~Cross paths to
lead an example; But
The Key will unlock your soul
and re*lease it's grim*ripper
roars through you that
embedded night in
Ex+ Scapes my mind.
For I am not the devil's
advocate of A bottomless pitted
Burning trees that ash these
words, time n' time again...
Like A broken recorded tape-
player *YOU* Still don't;
hear! What is it going to
take??? What is it that YOU
I do not care.... For I am an
angel of **LUCIFER**, He comes
I claim to have been reborn;
Re*vises. Revolutioned to
power it's stabbing sword
defeated of EXCALIBUR.... All
for one; and All AlMighty
CLAN... KKK..FEAR GOD
OR,"KARMA" For you are
NAKED!!! Cause I can hardly
notice you...As I FEAR MY GoD.
Written by Carma
Entered in contest what's your fear
Sponsored by; Tanya Harrington
Standing in line, I saw you over there.
Purchasing your ticket to the "Lust County Fair."
Your lips were locking at the County kissing booth..
Looking more like "exchanging of the tongues" than just a smooch.
On the ferris wheel, your hands where all over her.
You could be "her father" you old ugly buzzard.
In the "petting farm", I see your fittin' right in..
Amongst the other swines and swindlers bathing in their sins.
I hope you feel justified with your so-called young date.
I would not give you the time of day even with a "mail in rebate!"
You came over, pounding and kicking away at my door.
Seething with anger, no rain checks this time bud; it's over!
Lost between files, forgotten in daily schedules
slipping away in the daily humdrum of dear life
and quietly ebbing from my mind is a verse.
Of the warm embrace of the yellow orb that attends my mornings,
And of the friendly chatter and heavy pats that at times encapsulate my afternoons,
Of the sounds of lowing of cattle with their clanging bells that I yearn for in my evening, sauntering from the rolling hills yonder into the open kraals besides the warm smoking huts,
And of the patter patter of the of the pearly ocean waves, quietly muffling the hooting madness to gently lull me in my nights.
Or better still of that first warm smile replete with promise, or that parting embrace heavy with looming tear,
Or of gentle pets and carefree laughter in the lush park, or one of a forlorn bench beside a moat of solitude.
Give me time
Before the tender caress of the yellow orb no longer thaws my frame,
And the friendly chatter is quieted to soft sobs,
The heavy pats emasculated to pale caresses of loss,
The lowing of cattle is supplanted by solemn sermon,
The clanging bells begin tolling atop a turret
and the soft patter patter eases in to the unbroken still of placid waters
To pen a verse
Before a warm smile I can no longer partake,
And a sad embrace and the welling tear no longer prick a steely heart,
And a cold frame is no longer attuned to gentle touches and gaily laughter
Before busy schedules ebb away, deadlines fleet, and files dissipate,
Before waters yonder muffle the humdrum of a busy life,
Till only the dregs of a forlorn bench besides the moat of disappointment
quietly attended by all the time I should have penned a verse, is all that remains,
Ooh lord give me time to pen a verse.
Bath water …
Maybe too hot to feel
I'm feeling alone and cold inside. Little time to relax to reflect on some thoughts and several things in my life. My eyes rolled to the back of my head like…, I just can’t believe this.
Several attempts to cry but....
It's not pride. I've tried not to hide but found that I can survive time. I'm too wet to write. Not fighting the flow
The need for expressing my feelings are needed I’ve pleaded with myself looking into a mirror Reciting lines after lines looking and listening to what could be my own poetic Passion.
My voice, my thoughts raw; Cuts deep for the personal gain for something I’m in search for.
Stitches soak in wet as my hand drips excess water and blood, like my mind with words I’m thinking the pain can’t get any worst.
Crossing out thoughts like the tattoo on my arm baring witness to my personal pain. Forever tattooed cross for my personal reminder like my stitches will be the reminder of another time. The past can’t last forever. Timeless thoughts. I’m Scared.
The pain, mine I'm the blame.
I'm not ashamed.
It's the man I have to tame inside
Several mistakes cover my body, leaving scars for stories to be told or for the unknown record of my life. Like testifying to living proof. My mistakes I can’t tell.
I'm still learning.
Feelings desire’s that I won't let control or bury me in misery.
I refuse to look away
Or walk away from my pain because each stitch tells 13 stories like the souls of men and women they are different and defines their personal pain.
My scares are my personal and emotional team working together influencing a chemical balance or at times unbalance thoughts dancing to a hardcore jazz sound. A mixture, variety of thoughts.
Bath water cold
My thoughts are now different, time taught me this lesson it can't stopped or locked away like the dreams of my mind.
No stop watch or maybe I’m just lost in time.
A girl of my choice is way too hard to find. Every time I see an attractive girl, I keep finding out that she already has a boyfriend or is happily married to her husband and has children with the guy. It breaks my heart just thinking about it. It seems that I'm trying way too hard. Maybe I'm looking too hard for this special someone. It also seems that I'm not good enough for any of the girls of my choice, let alone one girl who's about my age. Now that all of the good, attractive ones have been taken by random guys, I'm reduced to nothing. I should've met those girls by choice sooner rather than later. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, and no matter how many times I have to reach out to those girls from my past or whatever, I couldn't give her some St. Valentine's Day presents, let alone red roses, I couldn't ask her out on a date, I'm barely dealing with the fact that these girls each have boyfriends or happily married, and I've been rejected one too many times. I should be in a serious relationship with a girl of my choice and trust, I shouldn't spend Saturday nights in total boredom. But the fact that one of the girls I was interested in is with a guy who's way more attractive than I am makes me very sick. And no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it's just not enough for any of them. And since I have no girlfriend of my choice, even one of them outside my race, I'm forced to spend the rest of my life in solitude alone; thereby remaining in a real, depressive state. And every time I see a loving couple, it makes me depressed and they shove it right in my face. It's like someone had taken a butcher knife, plunged in in my chest, and yanked my heart out, killing me in an instant. I can't bear to handle this type of rejection. Well, I might as well die a virgin because there's just no point of me dealing with the fact that these girls are either happily married or already in multiple serious relationships with their current boyfriends. Being lonely and depressed and not having a female companion of my choice to talk to on a Saturday night is sad, and it's definitely pathetic. How legitimately disappointing. If I don't find me a girlfriend of my choice and I don't get married on time before my 25th or 30th birthday, I'm going to die a virgin. When will all of the rejection and the torment end? When will I stop being lonely and depressed? When will I ever learn?
I do not know?
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
I'm back to my writing,
I'm back to my thinking,
I dont know why I keep fighting,
I don't know why I keep drinking,
I always think I'm too spiritually weak,
when I choose to ****ing smoke,
but even ever more when I take that next drink,
killing myself ain't no ****ing joke.
Soon I will be six feet deep,
I'm down in the reservation gutter finally broke,
words said softly but nothing meaningful ever spoke.
I'm back to my writing,
I'm back to my thinking,
I dont know why I keep fighting,
I don't know why I keep drinking,
Tell me something different Lord!
Tell me why I grew up so ****ing poor!
Tell me why I spent time sitting in prison crying to you on a concrete floor!
Tell me why I can't have what I want in this life in what I truly do adore!
Tell me why I am doing this when I can be doing that because this *****I'm doing now is a bore!
I'm back to my writing,
I'm back to my thinking,
I dont know why I keep fighting,
I don't know why I keep drinking,
I know the answers I ask are hidden deep within,
I just have to look past my sins,
I guess I can be an outlaw of just another outcast laughing at the world with a silent grin,
I know I can be no hearted in the land of OZ I'm the mother fuking man of tin,
I know if I would I would do all this *****all over again.
I used to be the one at the end of the trail with just another loss but this my time to win.
I know the answers I ask are all hidden deep within.
When the world sees a broken-down shack
A poet sees a castle on a hill
Though both will look at the very same thing
A poet will look with his quill
When the world sees an old man and wife
A poet sees the first time they kissed
When the world sees the age in their eyes
A poet sees the love that they missed
When the world sees a dark rainy day
A poet sees a time for romance
When the rain keeps the world locked away
A poet sees a good time to dance
When the world sees young people in love
They say they're only pretending
But the poet will see Romeo and Juliet
And write them a happy ending
The world can see the same things we do
But somehow they just don't know it
For they choose to look with their worldly eyes
And not through the eyes of a poet
I beg for your forbearance
For I have disregarded my faith towards You
I beg for your healing in advance
For I have disclaimed Your protection and now I’m blue
Do you notice that I’m blanketed in deep distress?
My pillow is soaked externally with unsettling tears
My good memories that bestowed hopefulness
Has been meddled with for years
Has been mistreated and replaced by insecure dreadfulness
I need shelter from the tide of despairs and fears
I’m shattered and I’m seeking Your helping hand
Receive my hushed prayer…from your throne in heaven
I’m begging for Your contentment that’s beyond grand
Receive my muffled prayer… or I’ll be stuck in this tarnished den
Do you notice that I’m spinning mad in the rivers of mystifying visions?
My unwavering boat sinks drastically with damaged gears
My bad memories that departed from my missions
Has been discarding the carefree years
Has been neglected and torn apart by dishonorable decisions
I need Your love to embrace me with jubilation and cheers
I beseech for Your mercy
For I have abused my steadfast hope towards You
I look forward to Your infinite Kingdom favorably
For I have admired Your blessings and now my dreams come true!
In Jesus’s name,
I wanted to be a writer
When I was just a young teen
But I was so incredibly shy
And kids can be so mean.
Then a new teacher came along.
He had such a different view.
I no longer felt embarrassed
By the writing that I'd do.
He made me feel I had a gift
And that it should be shared.
To him I admitted my hopes
And I felt that he really cared.
Mr. Sowden encouraged extra work,
To write about whatever we wanted.
So I wrote and wrote and wrote some more.
The words just flew, undaunted.
My grade ten English teacher
Read my work out loud
And winked when the class applauded,
For the first time I felt proud.
I never signed my real name.
The class didn't know it was me
But my work garnered admiration,
On display for all to see.
That was the year I learned that
What I wrote was pretty good.
I just needed time for confidence to grow
And that, Mr. Sowden, understood.
He made us see the written word
In a way that made us aware.
So I would like to thank him,
The English teacher who really did care.
Drain out the violence from the paintbrush and smear it to the canvas
Aggressive creatures scuttle into my expanding cranium
Memories of him echoes through the forest…into the atmosphere
Astonishing screams of misfortune filter the forest where he once trailed
Great solitude and rage tortures us all…we will not fall!
Everlasting breakage paints me a portrait of turmoil and what not
I was told to write
But i didn't know what to say.
All i did was sit there,
all darn day.
My thoughts were all jumbled,
they made no since at all.
My teacher told us to write.
I said " i will be here until nightfall.
She told me to open my heart
to explore, search, and find,
that one thing that would make me write.
By now i had that one thing in mind.
So i sat there and wrote all hour.
I never missed a beat.
By the time my story was done
I knew that we would meet.
Soon but not soon enough
did my dreams finally come true.
And i can't wait for that day.
When i get to be with you.
Forever is a long time they say.
But don't they know.
You can spend for ever with a person,
and there will be things about them that you don't know.
How i wish for that day to come.
Hoping i will be with you.
I will stand by you forever,
knowing my dreams have come true.
So, i sat there and i looked at my paper,
looked at my teacher and said with all my might.
I should have never listened to myself,
when I said I couldn't write.
If my writing ever takes me
Even close to notoriety,
(Or infamy; more likely)
And my poems marry paper,
Become books lost in libraries,
They will house a small biography,
Black and write and written for me,
(With a greyscale portrait, maybe)
And my life will be condensed.
'She lives, and she lives happily,
With the one she loves unfailingly.'
And that will tell sufficiently
Of the muse behind my words.
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.
Denied by a child’s interruptions, sleep
hoodwinks from heavy stars, spurns my invites.
Exhaustion bleeds me dry while hours creep,
No chilled belladonna nor quill of midnight.
Restless from less rest, I mentally pace
But words fall flat, truth, they all fall flat,
And each white page turns, does an about face,
They’ve spotted a mind too blank for combat.
A thousand lines hide from a drained pen
and yet mothers know life’s priorities,
We give of our time until all is spent
on love, leaving us fulfilled yet empty.
My girl stole a heart then inspiration,
So verse pouts, awaits her maturation.
** Please, if you read this, send a smile or a nod or even a prayer or a "It'll get better! Hang in there, Mom" I need a rally ... my battery isn't low. It's dead.
I want to muse—
wearing eye-glasses, but
urge my pen for words that guide
to sea of love. Sun makes
her lips fiery, we sip
swallow it, childishly! Hmm, Nitz’s heart
pumps out breath, holding our souls
like victims for ransom. Ah,
etching our aliases in the sudor like wine
on the lustful spread of green, I
look for the cheerful shadow
of sky, as we dress our minds
with chrysanthemum of a summer day.
Suddely when it gets tough to breathe and so it seems
that no one hears your call,
"Whisper" and fate will lift you up from your downward fall.
Even though you don't know who I am,
there is a piece of solid ground where we both undoubtedly stand.
Then suddenly and fragile in a carefully constructed plan,
in a world where life evolves,
fate will often guide your hand.
Real or imaginary and the most important of all,
destiny has a chance to make the last call.
Truth tells us a story of a fragile life that fades away.
Maybe tomorrow or maybe even today.
But you will change the color of the big wide open sky,
and put all of your fears far, far behind.
Holding your head up high,
you take the ride of your life,
in a rough sea of waves.
You grip the very guiding words of the very truly wise.
There is suddenly a fragile moment in all the world of time,
where we all lose grip of a strong hold rope,
but fate will very well be there to often give us hope.
Every now and then, the solid ground we walk everyday,
becomes as fragile as the sand along the shoreway.
Fate will lead a path and light a spot for us to stand.
When your hands can no longer hold a pen,
to write what your heart speaks within,
shout forever unto the wind,
and your words will be carried miles and miles by your friends.
Then suddenly and fragile as dreams may be,
painting pictures in your mind,
there is forever fate that will grant your wish one last time.
etched on a tree stump.
the carved memories of us
lasting through the years
In times like these
watching the tales of the night unfurl
while the stars are alight,
bright in their glory
I remember you
and the hurdles that lay before us
I plead with space seeking for reason why time will never suffice
I contemplate what to do with infinity as she strides further
I thank eternity for her patience
We resume our favorite room-continuum
and leave the rest of our history to eternity and infinity
to compose, debate and solve our conundrum
Remember your aspirations as I ponder mine
You know that I will always keep you in my prayers
We need not give up
For we are just a footstool away from realizing our dreams
I will preserve you in my memory
Hoping that time will show mercy
and grace will protect me
This I promise you
I will remember you till the day that I last
My Dear Lady.
The house is quiet, the end of day,
my wife and kids are far away.
In spite of all, and come what might,
I seize the chance to sit and write.
I take my old and trusty pen,
I’ve had it since I don’t know when,
a fresh new page is put in place;
it’s white and large, with empty space.
To help the mind get up and go,
to help aesthetic juices flow
and help my humble prowess shine,
I think I’ll take a glass of wine.
So now it’s time to settle down
and pen this verse of great renown;
majestic words to fill the page,
which echo down through time and age.
But nothing comes, no lilting verse,
no thoughts invade my universe;
no inspiration comes to pass.
Perhaps I’ll take another glass.
Oh dear I seem a bit confused
and stumble over words I used.
So, quick, before the close of play,
I take my pen and write away.
Next morning comes, with bloodshot eyes,
I strain to read my crafted prize
with words well tuned and erudite.
But what I see gives quite a fright:
I dream of your bodily beaut,
I find you so cuddly and cute.
It’s oh, such a shame,
I can’t play your game.
You see, I’m ash pished ash a newt!
For Carol's Competition.
I was in study hall doing my homework when it first
Manifested and it was as if I was possessed for my
Pencil had a mind of it's own and the paperwork
Formerly known as Algebra became excited scribbles
Darting back and forth and up the sides wherever
There was any room and as a wry grin appeared
On my face I began to realize what I had been
Jotting down on little scraps of memory had indeed
Come full circle after all these seemingly long years and
I had been using words purposely!What a revelation!
I remembered the shoe boxes full of words that sat
High up on shelves,secreted away from prying
Motherly or brotherly eyes and gotten down
From time to time to be examined with careful
Scrutiny as to what events and pictures in my
Mind's eye had been deciphered or thought of
And still I did not know there was a real term
For what I had been doing all this time in my
Young life and now I knew as I approached my
Seventeenth birthday that besides being afraid of
Teenage boys,report cards that weren't up to par
And hard-nosed parents who found grievances
Everywhere it seemed,and early development that
Embarrassed me,I actually had something awesome
Going for me in my troubled life-I was a poet!
**for contest "Epiphanies"
sponsored by Desiree Birdseye
Here and there life is everywhere
Listen the noise what the birds are making there
Just open your visions and set the missions
Feel near as happiness here
You are like my mesmerizing lullaby
You soothe my body…warming me like blankets
You make me die all the time when you prepare to fly
You are making me daydream without ruthless regrets
Your powers are amazing! You can even teach me to fight
With Your thundering might,
You melt away my impassive heart…
Like a candle, scorching with fright
You are like the merry midnight sky
But our merriness broke loose when you waved bye-bye to our friendship
You make me cry in high spirits time and time again…when I receive your reply!
You are inspiring me to take wing like an eagle, but I lost my grip
My emotions are roaming freely…someday I’ll reach to heaven’s height
With your mind-blowing sight,
You shun out the anxiety brewing in my tender heart
Like a dandy candle…a wish that won’t depart
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.
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.
The reason im on the damn fence.
Becuase nothing i seem to do.
Seems to make sense.
A mind will listen by expanding
knowledge to learn; or explore
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
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.
The Seventh Fable
The Seventh Fable
People have preconceived ideas from Religion and Television
combine these two ideas and no wonder everyone is mental.
The Eye is just now thankful that the computer was not mine at age 14. The TV
was enough to ruin me for life. It is no wonder that eye still don't have a life.
Falling into cracks made just for me. Living in the NEW AGE causes so much
uncertainty and problems we avoided in our past come back as daily necessities
of the mass of useless protoplasmic mice eye once saw a man on the highway
with a sign he was begging for more money to get some more useless wine so
the people went zigging past avoiding him until he fell down on the ground it
seemed to me he was passed out perhaps he died and no one buried him
sounds like an episode of Twilight Zone. There was episodes eye will never
forget the NOSE throbbing on the stairs inside the house the girl tried to leave the
shelter of the fence once out she turned to dust the man with the wires in his arm
seeing the oven where he was born the little airforce people in the GIANT
woman's kitchen getting swept.
It just occurred to me the ins and outs of celebrity imagine all the casting calls to
make the episodes. AND the fact that Charlax was never chosen for even one of
them seems sort of some kind of twisted justice the actors used were just the
best of all the crème de le crème of all the hollywooded jest. Webseries Pilot
The Charlax would be excellent at this OH wait look at that ethnic face. Male,
open ethnicity, early to mid 30's - JG. Federal Agency Detective. Good at his job,
but fresh enough to still want to make a difference. Oh if eye were only Twenty
Years different. A Twilight Zoned Detecative with the name Rick Roll selected and
elected to be the actor of the myllineum.
Is quite beefy and dandy.
He is a comedian on SCTV
He's funny--everyone must agree!
Two thousand years ago a tiny bird
Loved by a Roman beauty met his death.
Catullus, a poet, was by passion stirred
And penned light lines, as fresh as baby’s breath.
“She loved him more than her own eyes,” wrote he,
“For he was gentle.” Furthermore he told
Of their affection pure that held the key
To sacred love, precious to her as gold.
That sparrow and his mistress live anew,
In everlasting, perfect adoration.
Catullus told their tale. There’s no adieu
And their true bond still offers inspiration.
A poem can send echoes throughout time,
To touch our hearts today with love sublime.
My baseball cap is my helmet and my Nike's are my boots,
My country is my hood and my colors on my flag are niether red white or blue,
My weapon of choice is my two hands,
sometimes it can be whatever when I am threatened with a great fall from my stand,
I have no general or soldiers but I have family and above all I got heart.
My battlegrounds remain in my own home and sometimes even in the local Wal-Mart.
Every inch of my hood is up for friendly fire,
Violence remains apart of life around here searching for peace is far from desire,
Everyday remains but another day someone will die,
but more importantly is that another mother, brother, sister or father will cry.
But I am a street soldier so I am prepared for anothers or worse yet my own demise,
And as a street soldier I must keep the battle in check, no not with what I see with my two eyes, but what war is really going on inside the mind,
My battles dont come from without but from within......I am a street soldier fighting through time.....
I want to make sure I’m not falling on my face...
And I`m willing to go the distance
And I want to bring back good memories...
I want to make sure
You`re safe and you`re in a safe place
But GIVE ME some space
Sometimes, I wake up...feeling so distressed
But GIVE ME your sweet grace
And we'll beat the race...and this pain we share will not be addressed
I don't want to be unsure - am I the one losing the race?
And I'm chilling in this heavenly place
And I need to trade you my apologies…
I don’t want to waste your time
You’re absolutely safe…as long as you keep pace
Bored in my mind
Thoughts have run dry
Oh! Why am I not surprise
Here you are, wondering why
Who look on life with eyes
We thrust the truth aside
The pleasure And delight
Are hard to describe
Glorious departed likewise
After bitter strife
That guides the time
We live a day, we die
Someone new enter our lives
Till a vague dream imprint
They lived so short a time
You wanna know why I read?
I read because books are my escape.
I read because the friends I have in books are so much truer than the friends I have in real life.
I read because in books I am as breathtakingly beautiful as the heroine in the story and not a one-hundred-thirty-three pound white girl with a black girl’s ass.
I read because the stories are either so good, I can try to wish myself into them
Or they’re so horrid they make my life look like a fairytale.
You wanna know why I read?
I read because the parents in books don’t yell at me for failing a test that I stayed up until 1 in the morning studying for
Or tell me I’m getting cellulite when its clear that I already hate the way I look.
I read because the little brothers and little sisters in books are adorably hilarious where mine are annoyingly bothersome.
I read because when my nose is in a good book, my mind is where that book is, not in the reality that is my life.
I read because the boys in books are more kind to me than the boys in my classes at school.
You wanna know why I read?
I read because I love to read.
But you wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because reading is shameful in the world I live in.
I don’t read because reading is something tedious, a chore you do simply to make the grade in English.
I don’t read because the stories in books remind me just how much my life sucks.
You wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because every page I turn is another homework assignment not turned in, another failing grade to show my parents.
I don’t read because every time I read I want a snack to munch on, and every time that snack is a chocolate bar I think to myself “You fat, ugly girl, you don’t need that chocolate, you know what they say: a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips.”
I don’t read because what boy wants a girl whose prince charming is not ever going to show up on her front porch with a dozen roses and a devastatingly handsome smile?
You wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because every time I finish a book that was a new obsession, I have to find one just like it and there never is one.
I don’t read because when the hero dies, so does a piece of my heart.
I don’t read because every book I read just reminds me that I’m the freak brainiac of my class, and that’s all anyone sees when they look at me.
I don’t read because the perfect characters in books make me hate my imperfect self.
I don’t read because I hate to read.
I do not know?
Rejection A Practised Skill of Mine
Rejection is a practised skill of mine,
I receive manuscript rejections all the time,
Sorry your book project isn’t the right one for us,
Maybe you could add some vengeance, fear and lust,
Getting published is a near impossible feat for me,
There are thousands of books written that are better you see,
Rejection is common for writers so I am not alone,
Perseverance, talent and a heart of stone,
Automatic form letter sometimes written by the editor,
Are you sure you’re not a linguistic predator,
I reject your rejection, it lacked character depth and wasn’t written well,
Maybe you should take your advice and revise your rejection spawned from hell,
I’ll send my book to the publisher down the road,
And maybe he’ll love every word that I wrote,
He will publish my book and it will be at the top of the best sellers list,
Now you can contemplate the great opportunity that you’ve now missed,
Sorry Mr. Editor for the great author you’ve just lost,
Maybe next time you’ll read more of my work at any cost,
Rejection is a well practised skill on mine,
I receive rejections all the time,
I’m a talented author, I just know it,
I’m also a very talented poet,
Some people do crossword puzzles to pass the time you see,
Writing poetry is a mental exercise for me,
This poem is special; it’s one of a kind,
Especially since it’s author is mostly blind,
I write with my heart and my unique inner fire,
To be a great author good eyesight is not required,
Although rejection is a practised skill of mine,
Regrettably I must reject you rejection for the last and final time.
This poem was created on March 4 2011
You’re the dawn of despair and gloominess
You’re the sunset that discards my gladness
You deceived me…you made me trek the road of calamity
You grieve for me…you yearn for my sympathy… but I overlook your pity
Horror strikes me, scorching away my destiny
My confidence has slowly departed from me…so what should I do?
Terror swallows me alive, now I’m begging to flee!
My self-reliance has disregarded and fled from thee…now I’m crammed with woe
Digest the emptiness that I feel deep inside
Heed to what I’m about to announce to you…
Digest the affliction that I brushed aside
Hear what I’m about to warn you about…it’s all true
You deserted me…melt the isolation that has filled us with woe
You brainwashed me…you tarnished my bliss
You captivated me…now I have nowhere to go
You terrorized me…you singed up my happiness
You’re the dawn of anguish and shame
You’re the midnight stars that burn with fame
You betrayed me…you made me cut down my garden…shedding fertility
You mourn for me…you long for my forgiveness… so I’m ready to accept your plea
What is the code that will animate your presence?
What is the code that will liquefy the ice of silence?
Waiting for a response
Stumbling upon it for months
Fiddling with decaying words
Letting go of birds
Will I ever be let go
By troublesome guilt,
Fluttering and squealing with joy?
Waiting for an entrance
I try to break through it for years
But I'm shattered by denied words
I'm trying to find a path to go through
But...I'm trapped by the thought of you
Why should thoughts, ideas and dreams be
as esoteric as secrets?
Turn them into poetry,
and share them with the entire Humanity...
I have shared mine with all without ambiguity!
No fortress, stately rising into the vast skies,
can escape the battering storms so damageable,
and not tumble down...to lay in ruins as others have;
here's your only chance to be immortal:
be a wide river which can withstand tides!
Why should a literary work
be as esoteric as secrets, to remind the worst humiliation?
Don't pass under the yoke for a defeat,
be daring, fearless, challenging and brief;
do lucky survivors ever submit their will to desperation?
And should you be disheartened by a wrong choice?
Don't cuss fate or damn yourself for bumpy roads;
instead of complaining, look on the brighter side:
dare to make a difference with the gift of words...
by giving your dead language a more vibrant voice!
Verse: a metrical or rhymed composition as distinct from Prose: Poetry
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci
It’s rather odd
That I woke up pretty early this Saturday morning
It’s rather odd
That I awoke from my indescribable dream, filled with mysteries
It’s somewhat peculiar
That I enjoy being a teenager—now I could do whatever I want and when I want!
But that’s selfish of me, huh? Ha-ha like I care…psh!
It’s rather alarming
That I awoke from a motivating dream without the alarm going off
But that was only a coincidence…I think!
It’s rather startling
That I aced a test in my Algebra 1 class and…
Yet I failed the class miserably…so I have to take Algebra over again! GREEAT!
It’s rather startling
That I faced my past fears and…
Now I don’t appear to look like a fool anymore…or do I?
My startling moment was
When I noticed that I had an acting talent!
My startling moment was
When I noticed I had a writing ability too…
My startling moment was
When I composed my own song—now that’s awesome!
My startling moment was
When I heard that my brother was going to be kicked out of the house!
My startling moment was
When I did my piano practice on my own—now that’s tricky!
My startling moment was
When I noticed that I had suicidal thoughts…
I had horrible experiences while facing this problem…DX
My last startling moment was…
Uhh, I totally forgot…
What was my last startling moment if you know?
Oh!! I know! I know!
When I first created my main characters in my future trilogy! ?
The sun’s devouring rays
Reveals an astounding sensation against the marvelous universe
It caresses the earth with warm hugs and gives life to the motionless gaze
Its auras are above nature’s designating exteriors
Its swaying beauty is beyond Earth’s inhabitants, deserving my praise
It treasures the sky with joyousness and forms swarms of jeering birds
The sighs of the wind attracts clamoring herds
The sun’s appalling flames
Unshackles a zealous tune that reveals the Earth’s accord
It embraces the atmosphere with remarkable claims
Unraveling my curiosity; my ears are pleading to hear more, so I go forward!
It prizes the ocean with eagerness and forms swarms of screeching seagulls
The strength of the waves draws in scorching souls
The sun's unattainable rays
Motivate life to trail on till its duty is done
Its auras seep through the whirling sky and strays
Embracing ambitious love like a father and son
POEMS AT EIGHTY-ONE
By Leonard Kleeman
I started writing poems at the age of eighty-one.
I did it because I enjoyed it and it was lots of fun.
I thought of getting published but I pushed
that all aside,
I read so many poems that I knew I
I admire those who write and do it big time
and most of their poems don't have to rhyme.
Many of those I understand and many I do not.
Some are hard reading and some I really like a lot.
To be a published poet you have to write a
be it metaphors or similes or other stuff
I read and read so many poems until I really knew
It isn't just the form they have but they must have
A poem to have meaning is a very important thing.
You have to understand it or it can just be annoying.
It can be done in free verse or any other way
as long as the reader knows what the poet has to say.
I remember as a child reading Mother Goose.
When I got much older I even read Dr. Seuss.
And, Robert Frost became my favorite to read.
Even finding poems by Emily I would often plead.
So through the years I had a great taste
of all the poems and some even to waste.
I decided then to write in rhyme
and to be understood all of the time.
I made my poems as simple as could be
with easy meanings that all could see.
I then set them to rhyme to give them
For all to enjoy and never do harm.
So here I am now at age eighty-one
writing some poems just to have fun.
Maybe they're just lyrics writ off the cuff
but I'll enjoy my time that's left writing that stuff.
One dead pine still standing
Gray billowing clouds above
Threat of rain stormy weather
From those dark clouds unloved
Those bodies in the graves
Are not bothered, resting in repose
The tombstones stand(unchanged) unhampered
We the living are the troubled, constantly changing
By exposure to storms untold
We know our time is soon coming
When a marble or granite marker our name contains
Will anyone remember our living?
Somehow I feel that my words will be remembered!
Passed on as time continues to unfold...
Next you can expect Running Chestnut over the hill and through the grove in three moons and a coon's age but I am only as old as I can still remember only as I feel No rain no gain in my december pond In my day we walked uphill bare footed in dirt older than both ways in around about way growing gracefully Help I've fallen asleep at the wheel in my golden age and can't get up to see blue hair on the back burner Coming and going expression lines upon my face a moment of good vintage did I leave the stove on The Running Chestnut doesn't fall to far from the tree
I have become a den of desired loneliness,
hiding from society, concentrating on words
that make sense to me, if not to others...
and believe me my stories leave no doubts:
I unearth them from my past to find many truths.
My hair needs trimming and grooming I resemble a wandering raccoon,
I haven't shaved this morning, just showered in a hurry...
not to miss another contest deadline and lose my price;
and glad to have completed one this afternoon, I'm feeling like a balloon
that goes higher and higher until it reaches the mighty stars.
A poet takes the time to think the unthinkable
Using just the right words to make people aware
They set emotions to fight the good fight
They make people understand others differences
A poet can end the needless deaths of a war
They can show the pain behind a child’s tears
They can use imagery to show what cannot be seen
Their words can make a small flower seem like the entire world
And make the whole world seem like a pretty flower
A poet can share Heaven and they can create a Hell
They can make people see the beauty in a passing cloud
They can hear the music of a breeze travelling down a wooded valley
Their words can show even the purest form of love
A poet writes not for money or fame
They write because they feel a passion others cannot understand
They write to share their feelings and thoughts
A poet writes because it is in their nature
A God given blessing that they cannot, will not ignore
They just hope that someone will read their work
And they will, even for a moment take time to think
Maybe remember how wonderful the world and her beauty is
If they do a poet will smile and their purpose will be achieved
That is all a poet will ever ask
We are sullenly mourning
For security from the demoralizing night
I am despairingly probing
For mercy to carry us back to our divine flight
We are all wishing for infinite freedom
We are all seeking for an abundant kingdom
If we are living in pure happiness, why are we so emotional inside and out?
Why are we painstakingly tracking down a getaway away from this mystifying dilemma? What is all this venturing about?
If we are swaying in the rhythm of faultless jolliness, why are we vexing about the departure of our best friend?
It isn’t in our control…so get a grip or we'll fall!
If we build up our friendship, we'll have wounds to mend
So stop your blaming and cursing or we'll be in appall
If we are all leaders, why are we panicking?
We are all leaders…we aren’t senseless pleaders!
So face your phobias and get out of the deserted state!
We are all leaders…we will not give in, vile deceivers!
Saunter out of sight, so we won’t meet our unsettling fate!
You meddled with our cries
So don't point fingers, you insidious devil
And forced us to believe your jaded lies
SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I don't want to consider your excuses, for our truth stands still
If we are living in pure happiness, why are we not meant to be?
If we are living in pure happiness, why are we battered and bent?
If I am living in pure happiness, why am I not free?
Could we ever discard this horrifying dilemma that pounds on us like cement?
We must act like a leader—tough and vigilant
Striving to survive!
We must mimic like a leader—buff and independent
Struggling to stay alive!
Disregard the mourning state;
Drive out the defiant enemies and make them face their damnations
So we can joyfully integrate and negotiate
You’d do me a favor to cease your supplications!
Walking away might be the most hardest things for a man to do,
you cant even imagine what that feeling can do to you.
Falling flat on your face would be better than to look shameful,
even walking around naked around the streets would be cool.
But like any story in life goes, there is always that one person that will help you get back on your feet and walk again.
No matter how much you fall, no matter how much you stumble upon a struggle, that person will be there with you till the end.
Give love and thanks to this person who never leaves your side and helps you put a smile on your face everyday.
When the day comes to an end and you know that the person has to go, all you can wish is for your special person to stay.
Mine has walked away on me,
I was so blind that i couldn't see.
She wanted everything for her self, for me to change and be what she wanted me to be,
but i had to let her go and never see this person again, cause it would only be worse in the end.
Writing this is more painful than getting your body tattooed,
writing this is more painful than getting over screwed.
Writing this is more painful than words,
writing this is more painful than razor sharp swords.
No matter how much you try to let it out it just wouldn't come out,
the pain is way to deep and its almost like its tattooed on your bodies gout.
haven't i been hurt enough in this world, i just don't understand why i am being treated like this,
is it cause i am better than you and have nothing to look forward too but my blue and black handkerchief?
The cut was way to deep my dear, you just cant imagine,
i have been cut and bruised for the last time, i can promise you that.
No one will ever touch this body or hurt this soul ever again,
if you wish to try so, go ahead and check it, but before that go ahead and get yourself a casket.
i see it before me
i have not stepped towards, nor walked along its direction
it is clearly there for me to do so
can stray left or right of the way I go
and all I know
is that it starts
A blank page,
A fresh start,
A canvas for the heart.
Simple beauty sustained.
No blemish on reflection.
What future storms rage,
On a blank page.
Like a rose lacking its pedals,
My tranquility disregards its fascinating smells
Like a tree shaking off dashes of its mangled leaves
The switch of seasons interweaves...
You infuriate me with petrifying peace
You unlocked the gate... unsealing healing doom
Miniscule doom rummages through the town,
Wreckage brings peace, making us whole,
Stumbling down by our enrapturing gown
Polishing the mayhem, what a fine world...
You ate away at my purifying peace
You unfasten my fate... concealing chilling doom
Like a guitar tattered and out of tune,
The havoc that I observe is merely a mouldering misfortune
Like a drum busted open during the afternoon,
The peace that I yearn for has expired again...
You hesitate to gather refreshing peace
You unwind my misery state... unraveling incorruptible doom
It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
It seems a rather awkward move,
To rhyme words like “Love” with words like “Prove”,
And to rhyme “Lord” with the word “Word”,
To me it just seems quite absurd,
Is there not a word around,
Which will make a similar sound?
It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
Maybe their aim was just to be,
A pleasing read aesthetically,
And the writer was too proud,
To change the word when read aloud,
But surely a hymn must be sung,
And those lines don’t trip off the tongue.
It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
Perhaps they simply didn’t say,
Those words the way we do today,
And that once upon a time,
Those pairs of words did make a rhyme,
We know our language has evolved,
So should the writers be absolved?
But it annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
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
I walk in the pathetic pages of a used tired book
Crushed by the heavy leaves that lied to me
The older I become, the angrier I see
orange, red, yellow peeling
Panting, painting, pelting poems
against a soggy canvas and sagging
lines like tired feet held together with
sad gray shoes
We're the oldest ones here
The doctor is so young
The lawyer is a child
The children are all grown
My grandbaby is going to college
Still when I brushed my hair today
and sashayed by you
a lilt to my tongue and a
swagger in my lips
I curved a kiss to you and
blew an ocean of windtossed
I scooted under them
like a silly child
Smelling the earth
Rooting like a piglet
When did Tubman push her
Putting nails in trees to indicate
the turn in the fog
the fork in the road
If she could work into
the autumn and beyond
Why kant I rite the lanterns
of my life?
And in autumn
You don't need permission
To fall and land in earthy
Staggering, solemn, orange
Reborn like a felled tree
No, It was not my time
to jaunt & jump about
the Morld with You, to
of Ischia, the privileges
of Mackinac, "...our Paris, Ilsa!"...
Ornamented ataud &
calefacted incinerators are
merely better-funded!, to a last-
notice of proteaned hoar, the
dearth of silk...
So, it was to be
Goa, or Delhi "curry-in-a-hurry" not,
and the touts & shouts
as We passed...
You in those shoes,
toeing-up with heel asway
like a silent, ticking-pendulum,
Allowing sole specialnesses, but a few
to my inti-mated Life,
why there was You insinuate...
E'er Yours-sporadic, tho'
an extravagance of Soul!, like
incipient Sinatra, or
the piano of Jarrett! But,
No, it was not your time
to jump & jaunt-about
with Me, but for You,
like a junkie afeared of needles,
to be going, & mine
to Write... of It, plecking-off
the pilpuls from
My blanket, & You to
replacing contoured batteries
for Now... perhaps as recent
as tomorrows' accident.
Yes, I remember…
I’ve a sonnet of us, rhyming
silently, across the vast blue sky
in waiting, eagerly
for sweet November rain.
We knew, we both
have the need to feel
what’s good to be touched…
the truth was, by the way,
I enjoyed the beat.
We danced, whilst the noon birds warbled,
with unchained melodies, as the passing wind
gently rippled the field’s golden hair, till we
settled, ourselves, into a naked ritual, exaggerating much
the vers libre it was leading us, before
finally, we wrestled the night, with an adieu kiss.
Yes, I remember…
I’ve a sonnet of us, for
sweet November rain to cleanse and freshen
the wrinkles we left on a golden field, of tares,
…for its next transients!
It's time to overthrow complication
To cease the reign of complex words' occupation
Million dollar syllables will no longer make up what is considered deep
Shakespeare-like riddles are banned from "classical legends" to meet
Non-breathing, abstract matter can, now, die from being personified
It's time to stop the degrading of such sweet expression
Give me your confession
Promise your words' digression
Because until then Poetry will be in depression
Notice these rhymed conceptions
See their unnecessary communication
Realize that your intellectual, finger-snapping speaking is a deception
I pray you rehabilitate this addicting obsession
It's time to have your sentence debated
For your talent, you've faked it
Some judge that individual words is what makes Poetry
That may be true, but rare writing does not make it hard to beat
In effect of you saying what people can't comprehend
Doesn’t mean it's deep
This...you may not understand
So ridiculous...it's going over your head
It's time to enforce what is mandatory
Required for you to study this written directory
An obligation for you to sacrifice your mislead words of feigned innocence
Necessary to fight the war to rekindle what is left in Poetry's defense
With my mind's passion, I can only have it stated...
No more complicated...
X - out the degraded...
Cease the debated...
And do what is mandated.
Like autumn leaves the colors of my life have changed
From mountains to hills of green a new but old state i have move to again
Strange is the surroundings now similar are the horizons
What I thought would be easy has become hard
The quest for living not so intermediate; life on this coast seems so hard
Ponder if i will ever be better off but with faith and pray i believe i should be
Seeing old faces and having re connections have made the time here pass easier
Skies are only grey for a time the sun of my happiness shall shine bright again
God calls out this is the path i just need to listen and be patient for this time alone.
Oh, but for the gift of the written word
When it comes that time of day for solace.
They become the friends whom I seek
As much as if they were Kings in a palace.
Would I but get to know them better
As each and every one reads past.
Time will not allow me to meet them all
But the ones I do, seem to fill the chasm so vast.
My mind thinks on them every now and then
Only to be tempted to sit and touch them more.
Not only with the thoughts I had and have
But with the emotions deep in my core.
When I find that my words do not come
I cry for the ones I cannot know.
Then I read the words of others who share
Their words, like blossoms, within me grow.
It is their kindness to me for which I am thankful
As their words wash o'er me in time.
To each of them I am the quiet reader
For the words they write stick in my mind.
These gifts to me are not to be overlooked
As each one is a treasure wrapped in its own rhyme.
May the Lord continue to bless all those who write
With the gift of words, both simple and sublime.
Is there anything else I need to say?
There is but one thing I hope to do.
Write words of emotion, comfort, elan, and voice
That I might help to fill other chasms, too.
I write because I am blessed
Each time I grab the pen and pad, there’s a message to be expressed
Why did he choose me?
That reason is still unknown
But I dream daily to find out why
All before I am dead and gone
But fact is he chose me, so I must take on the skill
And everyone knows the mind will give out
Before your body ever will
I write because I am blessed
Meaning I am very bold, adventurous and strong minded
So every time I choose to write, if there’s a message
Surely I will find it
I can speak on any topic in many different styles
Making me mostly who I am
A versatile child
I write because I am blessed
By: Quiayren D. Young
I was going to write a poem,
but my brain went on fire,
and the fumes and darkened charcoal
swallowed up all poetic ability and
let breathe only ebony dust in the
darkened gunpowder night, it's 1:37am,
and I'm lighting a small flame on my lap,
it has something to do with stanzaic form,
and very little word choice, in fact I don't
much care for form anymore at this point and the sentence extends dangerously to the left.
So I’m fuelling the steam-engine, and the passengers come in screaming, flailing their arms up in the air like broken barbie dolls, and I don't much care and wear a look of non-chalance as the train continues to slip off the rails and awkwardly stumbles through a grouping of elderly evergreen trees. Fifty-two people died that day.
And I was none wiser when I stopped in the late night purple marble of a greenhouse filled with wild orchids, and had to deal with a shovel-wielding drunk redneck who disliked hippies on his property.
I had no notion of space and time in the red-corridors of love, or falling head-first in the living walls of symbology, because words are more than black lines, they are little black lies that mask true experience in a soft hue of human palatability.
And that time, in fact, this time, when writing was done to test the possibility of an eternal fire, burning, burning, burning, even when the soul necessarily isn't. This is who I am, the doubting tragi-comic psychedelic wonder-bra of the Canadian literary canon, and I'm undiscovered, and unread. Ain't that the truth?
So where's the art, and entertainment, who's doing the narrating, and why are ravens barking by the old tree at the hangman's corner? I can't answer that, I'm just a bubbling chemical reaction. I'm just an organism. I'm just a brain reacting to stimuli, I'm just a synapse firing electronic television mechanization into the sad-eyes of ghosts on Ginsberg's spider web,
except this time it's just wooden dolls with rubbed out faces, and I'm not sure who erases, and who to blame for not being saved from ridiculous hell because everyone only thinks for themselves, and, and, and... so do I... Even to the point of running out of words, and as the final letters are tapped into succession, I hope someone looks into this rant and sees a small stretch of life that breathed as well as it could, with true lies, unconstructed, and spilled
on a night when I can't write.
I do not know?
I have found, without any doubt,
I am no marathon man,
as I squint to see one ahead
who's breached the nine-hundred yard mark,
leaving sure-footed impressions
in the infinite beach shore sand;
while, my breathing is convulsing
into a strange, worrisome bark,
I'm afraid I'll soon keel over
in the tide, to be left to die;
in a ragged awe, I wonder,
" How the Hell does he run so fast?
At that kind of determined pace,
I would swear he could almost fly."
Me, I'm just happy not to fall,
and have my lot, again, re-cast.
Night’s wings are silent swift, fleeing as Verse
dresses in red silk, luring away a mind
meant to finish preparations to nurse
literacy in the youth of mankind.
Mental acrobatics (and good balance)
fail as midnight slips by, stealing away
psychical worksheets unacknowledged chance
to increase children’s prowess in word play.
I'm like your duckling, dear
I follow wherever you roam so have no fear
I'm your duckling, so don't disappear
Be my dependable leader
I'll stick around and I'll abide by your side
Like a shadow...(3)
Wie ein Schatten...(2)
I mimic like your duckling, beloved
I swim wherever you paddle so slip on my gear
Be my trustable coach
I'll follow your routine and float by your side
Like a reflection...(3)
Wie ein Spiegelbild...(2)
I'll follow you wherever you flee
Just signal where we ought to be
I'll follow you wherever you take wing
Just push me back and forward like a swing
Lift me up and pull me down
And I'll follow you
Like your pesky duckling
Take wing, my darling angel
I'll watch your Devine flight and wave a farewell
Someday I'll dwell with you
But I'll be your duckling and will always have you to turn to
Like a hero! (3)
Wie ein Held! (2)
Like a shadow...(3)
Wie ein Schatten...(2)
Like a reflection...(3)
Wie ein Spiegelbild...(2)
I'll follow you like your ugly duckling
In my fervent heart,
You knew I treasured you
But you didn’t return those tender feelings
Just see the fumes arise from the consuming fire
Because my wicked desires wasted away into embers
I love you…I love you…These feelings are ever so new!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…These feelings are always true!
You knew I honestly adored you…oh yeah; I always did from the start
But you don’t consider those mild feelings—you wrecked those bits by bits
Ah! Now I’m crammed into the ascending fire, splintering me with the strokes of death
Because of my virtuous desires, I’m wasting away into the pit of corruption
I thought you were encompassed with my passionate kisses
But you wanted to chase after your callous blisses, now I’m faced with crises
I detest the thought of adoring you…but I have to admit—I love you!
I love you…I love you with all of my heart! Do you love me too?
I know the desires that I have constructed for you never occurred in your heart
I know in the bottom of my heart that you were only enticed by your sick pleasures
You’re dumping me into the raging fire and you’re a sneaky little liar
Because I ain’t lying like you do deceitfully to me—I’m in love and I can’t draw back my desire
You brought magnificence in my eyes, comforting angel
But I’m subsiding into the cavernous fire
Because I surrender to my legit desire
How could I free from the embrace that yanks on to me?
You brighten up my dreams and set me free from reality’s calamity
I love you…I love you…These feeling relieve me from the blue!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…I adore your every existence—do you get the clue?
You knew I kept this feeling inside for so long
Nevertheless, I feel that I belong
In your heart…In His heart…
In my heart…we’ll never depart!
You are my true endeavor
And I wanna win your heart forever!
You’ll always be loved because you’re above beautiful
But, you don’t believe this love will survive in this stranded palace
But I’ll attempt to win you with all of my might and I’ll defeat the malice
Our boundless love is like two fireflies floating in the midnight sky
But you disturbed our greetings and you didn’t even accept the feelings I felt for you
Why did you blow away our interweaved feelings of passion
And blew them away into the heartless fire?
My precious love, why did you diminish my eternal desire?
You knew I worshiped you
In my sensitive heart
This is another modern age,
the one others will dream about;
a free spirit out of a cage,
a balladeer creating art.
Many ages ago they used plain paper and ink,
I use a keyboard and a computer at all times;
it's a powerful hardware that makes me occasionally blink...
then it's time for me to go to bed and wait for surprises.
Pens, pencils, pads and note books now are things of the past,
what if a power loss occurred and the screen went blank,
who could recover any work...wouldn't some beat on their chest?
Get used to saving your work, be diligent and don't strain your shank.
This is another modern age that will flourish as fragrant lime,
and to lead one must be determined, motivated and accurate:
counting syllables, checking iambic meter, stress and rhyme...
and the author will have a chance to become a Poet Laureate.
what from the founder Aesop fell
vital spark of heavenly flame
unto my thinking thou beheld'st all works
Who ever weeps somewhere out in the world
A dream of Venus
let nothing disturb thee
music first and foremost of all
Mystical Strains unheard
No, I am not, as other are
since I am convinced
hoping all the time
I arise from dreams of thee
Here , Where the world is quiet
For many thousand ages
Break Break Break
Far as Man can see
lest you should think that verse shall die
A Thing which fades
I found at daybreak yester morn
low on chromed cloud
open to me
Remember what past
Pity! Mourning plaintive tone
Since I am convinced
That time , I see you passing by
Thou art one , The first of every number and foundation of every structure
Break Break Break.
His dreams of buttered toast and trains became
Beleaguered by town-planners and architectural sharks
Who erected on his green and pleasant visions
The blight of sunless tower blocks and concrete parks.
Once bicycles and potting sheds held blissful sway
In country lanes and gardens swarmed with bloom,
Replaced by streams of motorised invaders,
In place of lawns - hot tubs and decking loom.
His chronicles of defiance ring like warning bells from
Small quaint churches in his rhyming pages,
Across the village greens and through the cobbled streets
Down the passages of post colonial ages.
The words of such gentility and slowly dying culture,
Sandwiches of cucumber and egg and cress for tea,
Earl Grey poured from china pots, sugar lumps in silver bowls,
Croquet hoops and endless sun and sweet austerity.
That world, though semi-fabled, seems ever more unreal,
And images he drew upon are all that now remains,
To teach us of a man who lived and then outlived his time
With his marvelled dreams of buttered toast and trains.
Midnight is waving a keen goodbye
It's time to yank away the galling music box
Let the dawn echo your lullaby
When it comes to all teenagers (teen boys and teen girls) falling in love with each other
back in the 1960s, it was a beautiful thing. The 1960s were also the decade when the
British Invasion began, especially when the Beatles had made their way to the American
music scene and the Rolling Stones had made their way to the rock and roll music scene in
Hollywood, California. But before the Civil Rights Act and other laws were in effect, all
public places, including the diners, were segregated before being integrated. It seems
that both of the then-young lovebirds really had a great time, especially when they went
to see a movie and stuff. It was the year 1960 until the year 1969, way before the 1980s
were born, even me. Back in the 1960s, before MTV made its TV channel debut, these two
teen lovebirds had gone out to eat at a diner, they went to a drive-in movie, a school
functioning (including the high school dance), anything these two have done on a Saturday
night. Their favorite love songs of all time when a man and a woman were teenage lovers
were "My Girl" by the Temptations, "Do Wah Diddy" by Manfred Mann, "My Boyfriend's Back"
by the Angels, and "Happy Together" by the Turtles. Even when the "World Peace" slogan
began and Woodstock 1969 became the grooviest music festival among all teen couples, it
was a great time for them. And as for the Flower Children, who were teenagers at the time,
it was also love at first sight for them. But now that the 1960s are gone, it'll be a
groovy decade for all of the then-teenage couples will always remember.
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.
It’s the time of the day
When my friend lurking all day came alluring
Pulling me on to the bed of romance
Lost and caught in her cobwebs of passion
I cuddled her with artistic hands
And with a lover’s deft touch, I caressed her
Struggling and wriggling with pained-pleasure of love
Her skin so pure, so pristine
Light, rich and fluidy was her black blood
Oh! It was her first time!
Oh! It felt like it’s my first time
Lone long evening, in a desert of a house
Lone like survivors of plane crash in middle of a nowhere
Save for a peeping white fluorescent
An indifferent radio set
And a compromising notepad
It’s the time of the day
For my new black pen and I
And our copulation conceived for us:
Creases of these poetic lines.
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Lawfully or unlawfully,
When a person commits crime,
His soul has no taste of blood,
He seeks mercy to repent,
From his forcible power,
That was hidden inside his mind,
He seeks salvation forever.
But when another cruel power,
Serves forcibly punishment for him,
Then his soul reminds him a criminal,
An innocent blames him a killer.
Actually circumstances are very powerful,
Opportunist always picks innocents,
Those have painful poverty to curse,
Intelligent people teach them a lesson.
A lesson of crime is unlawful achievement,
A poor can lost his way because
He is poor but he is also innocent,
But professional was never declared criminal.
They are enjoying their lives peacefully,
They are high ranked in society,
Their dignity and honour has a place,
They managed crime but aren’t punished.
Innocents kill innocents when a criminal,
Dies in the eyes of Law, system was shaken,
And struggles itself that is seeking change,
Who shall remove these masks from justice?
Over the centuries had passed away,
Who has learning from innocent deaths?
Only innocents were born to wear pain,
But a master mind is always well-respected.
Professionals has their class for protection,
Where they care for eachother to hide crime,
They honour eachother for a declaration of respect,
That’s why law and system has innocent death.
The hour is late and my mind has been spent
my head is hollow, filled with spider’s fluff…
No, no that’s not exactly what I meant,
but I’ve used up my word ration on… stuff.
I wrote all day long, I’m thinking in song
and poetic forms are coming out wrong.
Morpheus, I believe I need some sleep.
Tell me, where do you keep the counting sheep?
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
If you want to be a writer,
you might as well forget money,
the ink pierces your skin-
such a pattern of mourning-
it strips all pride in hopes you'll quit-
like they all do.
You might as well sign the contract of death-
to die before any work-if that even
or merely acknowledged.
The steps of becoming one with the pen,
begin with hurt
there's no way you can achieve a smile
when a thousand doubts are slapping your face.
so you're locked up in your own world-
without a key.
The pity emphasizes the fact you're unknown
and from that you always will be
hopes and dreams are stomped on
while you continue to change the world
with a single line-
I want to be a writer.
Well of course you do-
but can you run through the eternal disaster?
Hoping you get through
without a single scar
blood only kept within.
That's the defining moment-
blood seeping through-
searing feeling of the climax
and then it all ends.
youd have to see it to believe it
but im making compton famous
a medusa mask
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
we're onto the mayor of the surprise holiday now
remember loose lipped sunken shppied
Quite often I have asked myself
the true purpose of writing,
when I could indulge in life...
and suddenly stop dreaming!
Tired from work, my poetical urge rises:
like tides rising on the moon's appearance,
I look away...even reality is no pretense;
yes, words can survive a body that dies!
I feel and pursue no other passion more than this one:
bringing verses to life when they are non-existent;
at least, they have found in this poet a strong voice again...
they will be recited by vibrant lips, then he'll meet his end!
I have no idea what you are facing in this segment of life
You are like a labyrinth; I can’t untangle the mayhem without any clues
Spill out your emotions…there’s a waterfall in your eyes ready to collapse
I don’t have the time and willpower to hike on your colossal mountain
Are you fit enough to climb with my echoing praise?
I doubt I ever have the strength to crawl into your agonizing thoughts
Of destruction and decadence
Of despondent dreams and isolated guidance
Do you accept my benevolence towards you?
Do you believe that I can mend your shattered dreams?
Do you accept my fondness towards a friend like you?
Do you have faith that I can make your dreams a reality as it truly seems?
Your contemplation is another expedition to trek
You are like an island, separating cramming chaos from undying peace
Rise from the cave and attack…there’s a bear in your nature, watching over her cubs
I don’t have the ability and determination to trudge in your soggy wasteland
Are you slick enough to trek with my shielding gaze?
I doubt I’m nowhere to be found in your thoughts of desolation
And destructive formation,
Springing forth the equipment of your
Turmoil and damnation
With any luck, I hope we can arrive in one piece
On the other hand, I wish that we both escape from this horrifying journey
Because I want to discard the labyrinth, crafting puzzling pathways that draw me back to
Destruction and recklessness
That I, by no means, address
You are powerful even in the darkest of days... I prayed for Your insight
Night and Day...every pondering moment.
You responded to my prayers in many unique ways...You made my spirit take flight
What should I say? You scrubbed off my lament.
You relieved me from distress
You fearlessly strengthened my hope
and frayed my fear
Now I'm in high spirits with freewill and delight...
and I must confess
You wiped away the boundless tears, shattering my negativity...
your love is crystal clear now!
Am I still that hovering angel...yearning for some light?
Am I still that naive spirit, giving in to the darkness and seeking plight?
I know God loves me, but I doubt Him still
God revealed His love with my whole family...but i don't feel right
I know God cares for us, I see no sign of Him or His will...
God dealt with us with patience and kindness, but I can't yield on to His radiance so full of might
You are fruitful even in the darkest hours...I prayed for Your delight
To fall upon me day and night...effecting my every thought process
You promised me Your blessings and upcoming Kingdom every time I consider Your Word... You made my dreams come true and lingered around me despite
My bitter, spiteful words that I didn't mean to say... Is there any hope that I'll ever be successful during this time of cheerlessness
But, I believe God is a merciful creator!!
I do not know?
LOVERS CAUGHT IN THE MODERN WORLD
Culture keeps us safe
Until it fades
Family keeps us warm
When we need shade—
Techno worlds are brash
And spit out
makes hearts clash
Gives lives a shove
spring roses turn to ash
Leaves lovers wondering
Is this life complete--
Leaves dreamers listless--
stills lovely dancing feet
Blaze the path
Create new words
something each fragile lip can say
Lovers toss skin
Blood to bone
And, amidst the fog
Stand Dazed, Perplexed--
Lose their will to roam
Fearfully Refuse to
Leave the safety of
Their natural home.
Blaze the path
create new words
something my fragile lips can say
Victoria Anderson Throop
Dec 25, 2012
© Juja, Kenya
The bell denotes my presence and I breathe in all the must,
The old man sits amidst his books himself covered in dust.
I glance around -
Without a sound -
What will my hunting eyes expound?
My favourite place to visit full of wonders and old writing,
Such stories do they tell to me, before you even crack the binding.
A missing page -
Gold words engraved -
Intriguing, so I must engage.
I find the little hidey hole, past modern paperbacks,
An antique chair to sit and stare at what today’s world lacks.
A sense of style -
In rustic guile -
Enchants even the smallest child.
I run my hand along the row of books with golden lettering,
Experiencing all their worth, regretting what we’re forgetting.
They are our last -
Ancestral past -
They speak to us in volumes, vast.
They call to us from history and they ask us to remember,
Before they too become extinct, they are a dying ember.
Our legacy -
Where knowledge waits on scratched CDs.
There are pickup trucks and pick up lines
Pickup sticks and stick up blinds
Blind man’s bluff and kick the can
Candy apples – Candy Man
Hersey bars and Hersey kisses
Mr. Goodbar – fish Paul’s Mrs
St. Pauli’s beer and Miller Lite
The light of love and dark of night
Night time kisses – bed time stories
Bible verses of God’s glories
Glory to God in the highest
The height of deception a midnight tryst
And try as I might, I can’t recall
Where I was going with this at all
Suffice it to say upon more reflections
I was hooked on the words and on their connections.
Lost deep into the moonlight awoken by words blowing in the mist
life is going by so fast so say what must be said before the time is amiss
Starry skies with lost meanings into the deep dark blue depths
Time is a passing so do whatmust be done before there is none left
Haunts me…it smothers me…
I can’t handle the smell of burning sage
It overpowers me…will I EVER be free?
Grasps on to me…it bothers me…
I can’t expose my courage on stage
It’s horrendous…will you EVER pay the fee?
Reigns upon me…It chases after me...
I can’t let loose my youthful imagination, flipping page to page
It towers over me…will I EVER joyfully flee?
Recoils from affliction… tracking me down…
I can’t shed the grief that lead to rage
It pulls me back…will I EVER be a budding tree?
Pain is my beauty, rage is my sadness.
Laughing is my soul crying out silently.
Yet you do not see, these truths that lie within,
instead you turn a deaf ear, blinded from the darkness of your sight.
You only feel your sympathic ear, reflecting my hearts expression.
Powerless daily, I struggle to allow my invisible voice from within,
To speak and to shine thru.
A moment in time
The music bringing you back to places in time which
affected you with an emotional
consequence But since all this time has passed now it
has become a remanicent memorie of
all the uplifting, downsizing,
and overwhelming roller coaster rides.
A message in time to come, if you choose to see it.
An immediate refreshing of the emotional
in combination with your intellectual self.
Then it becomes not just a message anymore.
Instead it has grown into a great metamorphosis of spirt to embrace;
consuming your sinful
nature, leaving only the lambs blood,
giving you clarity, peace and serenity.
A Christmas Poem
You told me I should write it – it’s written but not sent
I'm not sure who would get my point - or who would just get bent
The 1st I wrote at Tulley Gate
Traffic on 1 made we wait and wait
By the time I got to Telegraph
I composed another paragraph
On Pohick then from light to light
I'd stop, grab paper, pen and write
And on the parkway from time to time
I'd stop at lights - jot down a rhyme
Then in the garage at my own home
I finished up the Christmas Poem
And this morning at an early hour
I composed this intro in the shower
So like I said, the poems been writ
I just don’t know what to do with it.
What do you want for Christmas? Or can I say that here.
Or has “Christmas Joy” been replaced by generic “Season’s Cheer”.
What do you want from Santa? Should I bring mistletoe?
No – I did not hear about the ban on his joyful “Ho – Ho – Ho”.
Is his workshop still non-union? Or have the elves gone out on strike.
And what’s this about PETA and using animals for flight.
And did you know his list of who’s naughty and who’s nice
Has been eliminated by physiologist’s advice
Today’s kids are rewarded just cause they’re a kid
Labeling them is not allowed no matter what they did
It’s no longer “Christmas” shopping; it’s the “Holiday’s” big sale
And if someone’s get’s offended, you might end up in jail
The Christ in Christmas means one thing
The birth of One who would be king
If it weren’t for Christ, there’d be no reason
For what we call this Christmas Season
So if greeted with “Happy Holiday”
Think about our Lord and say
This was written between Fort Belvoir, Va and my home in Chantilly, VA - about a 45 minute drive.
Your sweet breath escapes you and engulfs my soul
Through words spoken as though from some celestial being
Warm emotion floods me, floods my very fibrous core
Love I feel is not a mere four letter
Word that reluctantly man takes for granted, but more a
Monument to the jubilous fire you set my soul alight with
Speak, I cannot, the true magnitude of shear bliss
Endured by my mortal flesh. With the slightest brush
Of your angelic fingers. None can know or fathom
what true insurmountable beauty lies within
green fields of yet discovered highland plains laden with
flowers and sweet honey aroma blows within. Feeble
in my attempts to profess my own meek emotions
turmoil of my own past colliding with the yet to be. I destroy
myself knowing such turmoil I cause in an entity
none like yourself. Meager apology and material possessions
offer no hint of emotion of love and remorse contained
My, love, our love, will endure of that much I am sure. Open my mind
My only wish, to show you things I need you to see. I have known
No strength such as yours you take for granted. Times as this
I've never known but with you only would I have it to spend. Forget
Not the who I was, the who I am, and the who I will be.
My love, our love will endure of that much I am sure
Monotony & Mundane remain the same
caught in this slippery pretty net
we're all falling in and around our own whirlpools
our upward spiral climbs too high - the higher up the further down
Fly the same play the same one with the other
floating always floating
This sea we've created weaved in the merciless
fabric of the time we all flock to certain death
holding the hands of our clocks & wondering why
our own bleed. double edged is the face of
a sundial. With each shadow flicker anguish &
joy death & life exist permanently & are lost forgotten
by time held by life lost by eternity.
Let's all rally hand in hand while the band
Its been such a long time since I have sat down to write,
although many a word has haunted me at night,
us writers you know are seldom yet always uptight!
When the words just don't flow in a special kind of way,
we rarely have anything to say,
I'm writing today with this to say if I may.
If your one of us and need to express feelings inside by writing indeed,
than let nothing stop you from planting this seed,
we are people with a great need.
A need, infact a compulsion to speak to someone,
take time and write, don't turn away and run.
This message I feel I must get to you and I,
To Hell with writers block, don't let the ink dry...
I do not know?
Dwelling with the gracious Lord
Traces righteousness and worthiness
Enlivening my glum life
Dwelling with the Almighty
Embraces blessings and gratefulness
Animating His faithful life
Poetry is a necessity
These words my breath
Blows thoughts in profusion
Into a windswept field
Your hair is golden
Like the hayfield
I say thanks
But I am not thankful
Aura this and aura that
Aura just a little bit
A thesis on poetry
Is time well spent
And time in the physics lab
Is time better spent
Sipping coffee with friends
Even if it is starbucks.
Versifying unknown souls
With tinge of dawn
The next time that you take a shower,
Prepare to stay for about an hour,
Run yourself the hottest water,
Keep in mind how much your thought of...
One hand holds the towel around you,
The other holds the thing you're bound to,
So let it drop below your waist side,
As I spot just one place to hide ...
Caressing you in perfume soap,
Compressing it on every slope,
Like the water making you wet,
And at the same time making you sweat...
Before you close the shower door,
You'll see my name in glass once more,
Just slowly wrap yourself again,
But know that it won't be the end...
Cuz as you lay upon your bed,
You'll wrap yourself in me instead,
So you won't think its just a dream,
That you left rising in the steam...
I sleep like the pillow on the bed.
I remove the body out.
I put it back in.
I want to do sleep at night again.
(for Hart Crane)
How completely the silence
encloses our life.
We will talk and crowd the room
with words like blown-in insulation.
The beveled moon cuts us
with its edge something not considered
not thought of before.
The treason of a moment
never pleases in retrospect.
And there is no season
for banality just frailty
for there must be living:
the pale strawberries of spring
a rainbow trout in winter lake.
There is that and the silence
so nearly said telling nothing
and everything of presence a dull
sheen concealing the stone the dark
wish the plum Hart the plum.
A spoken art
Trace it's steps from the paper to my heart
A rush from my mind to my soul then to the pen
I embrace this gift that from time to time lifts
my weeping soul form pain as i gain
strength to carry on
Just as a new life is being born
Provokes a new sprit's bells to joyfully ring
Every mountain side will hear it's sing
Poetry is to me as nurture is to family
Making my dreams a reality
non fiction to fiction
wrong to right
day to night
Sometimes I argue with my mind
Only to find a new creation
Our family tree will never stop growing…our faith and comfort will never crumble
Love grows here…so have no fear—God is near
My family, though packed up with pride and low self-esteem, still appears humble
Mirth produces joy and our hope gives birth to cheer
God is our Father; who could play this role as skillfully? Who, other than God, created the world so genuinely?
Love comes from He…so scare away the anxiety—God will grant us ecstasy
My family, though packed up with hope and despair, cherishes my soul with glee
Rebirth and life comes from He and our faith should draw near to thee
"i love you sweet boy..we will have fun this summer and be a close and godly family..nighty nit my light"
This summer, I am positive that we will be a close and godly family
But we must be lights of the world…and we must be willing to finish that race of hardships to earn His dignity
By all means, we will have an enjoyable break without paying a fee
But we must be God’s faithful followers…and we must be prepared to follow our Shepherd who is the key
Of never-ending faith and comfort, nourishing us abundantly
He still exists…He unravels the insanity
Of this world and set us free from blasphemy
Watching over us with pure vitality
Give us Your water
Don’t leave us in the gutter
Listen to the words we mutter
I pray that our family tree will look up to you devotedly
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Scrabble
Sponsored by: Nancy Jones
Poetry in motion is like singing a song,
With words their meaning, short or long;
Thought expressed with feeling of the written word,
An expressive idea carried as if on the wings of bird.
Gaiety, festivity, dedication or sorrow words meant,
Even to cherish, share, or a way to just vent;
Carefully scribed from thought, said or just done,
The poet can be serious or write just for fun.
A long time ago many stories were poetically told,
Some became treasure and thus never grew old;
Rhythm, familiarity, or just were easy to say,
Poems that endure, even now, to this day.
As we ride the winds of time so much can be said,
The very essence of poetry that dance in ones’ head;
Not for fame, nor fortune, not even for fleeting power,
A symphony of lovely words like the beauty of a flower.
For as long as man lives and is able to clearly think,
He will express his feelings with song, verse, or drink;
In his bed, at his work, or just a sudden notion,
He will happily sing a song with poetry in motion
Have you ever felt
You were born decades too late?
Centuries too soon?
Well, maybe you were...
To bring back old landmarks or
Usher new knowledge.
So, let history
Repeat its lessons through you
Or write your own books.
In my life
I have loved
And I have been loved
I have hated
And I have been hated
I have tried to kill
And I have had others try to kill me
I have lead others into addiction
And I have lead others out of addiction
I have been a Wolf
And I have been a Lamb
I have always dreamed of just being simple
And my life has always been very complex
I have a dear friend who is a Missionary Nun
And one who is a convict on Death Row
And I love them both equally
And understand them both completely
I have been all that is wrong
And I am all that is right
In our society
I try so hard to help others see and understand
How it feels to be me
Yet I myself can’t fathom why
Anyone would even care
I have been as cold and hard as steel
Yet compassion fills my every moment
I cry every time I watch Forrest Gump
And I rush every time I watch Pulp Fiction
For I have loved with every drop of who I am
And I have drank from the cup of excitement
I am everything you should be
And everything you shouldn’t be
At the same time
Many find comfort in me
And many fear me
Many love me
Many hate me
Yet everyone seems to respect me
While I struggle so hard with self respect
I know our Lord is using me through my poetry
For this gift
I did not learn or earn
It struck me like a bolt of lightning in the night
At the age of 41
And my soul has been in poetic turmoil ever since
When I was nothing I was something
Now I’m something and I’m nothing
But a Poet
And I find great comfort in that
A special thanks to Jesse (Redman) Wasson
Who inspired me to write this poem in his
Last letter to me. Please pray for him he is
fighting a three strikes case for his life.
I do not know?
Eventually, nothing is eventual,
not even a passion at it's height;
the colour blue may seem perpetual,
but, my sky's a persistant grey blight.
Where's this horizon I must look to?
It's impossible to percieve this time of night.
Where is faith that I might measure it, true?
I'll need new hands to divide my lonesome plight.
Loss is a viscous form of loneliness,
when found in the fullnes of flight;
the profound verging on holiness.
though, it's grip in hand's too slight.
A depth of divinity that's best crossed;
empty confessional, a dry communal rite.
Forget Caesar's due, such luck's best tossed;
all hope's abandonment upon first sight.
There is no Sara, no Beatrice, only you;
and this future, alone, fills me with fright.
Our time together, far too soon, took wing and flew;
I no longer yearn for tomorrow's sun to shine bright;
all I think of now, is how I watched from the pew,
and beheld such beauty, it would undo, even, God's might.
But, now, we've parted, I've forever lost sight of you,
and, as I sit by myself, my Hell's defined tonight.
Stick to the pen, not to the sword
this is the oath, long ago sworn
by the writers, who became the ignitors
of the free thinkers revolution
Now that I'm a soldier
don't cry on my shoulder
for I know its never right
I'm like you, imprisoned
in this War of Attrition
we are the seekers of the light
Wrongness is winning
in this, the beginning
jaded as it seems
the hope has not faded
for someday we'll make it
grow as a beanstalk from a seed
Yes this tiny hope, forever shall float
the same way it has carried me thus
through the street of desire
fly over the liars
and the evil that swallows them up
I'll stick to the pen, like my old dearest friend
as tyrants cut us down with their blade
I shall get back up, and come back with such
fury as ink fills the page
exposing the lies, I shall have mine
for the pen is almighty, and forever in time
I wait crossly
To get picked up straightaway
I wait optimistically
To step into the murky bowels of my car
I can’t advance…
When you’re dragging me to your feet
I can’t progress…
When you’re motivating me to be incomplete
I wait at ease
To get a ride home
I wait with heaps of crotchetiness
To jam myself into the jumbled car
I can’t drive on…
When you’re creating traffic in my dreams
I can’t carry on as fast
When you’re taking your time on the freeway,
Though your obedience beams
You’re jamming my dreams, sweet dream catcher
You’re liveliness gleams…It’s not what it seems... (2)
It’s certainly not what it seems…
Blame it on my dreams!
You’re just a dream come true…
It’s nothing that popped out of the blue…
It’s not that surprising
If you only knew…
Oh, you don’t have a clue…
This infatuation is positively true!
I can’t move on…I can’t drive on… (2)
I can’t ride on the road to victory…
I can’t burst forth by dashing proudly
Until you hit the brakes and cease from
Jamming my exotic dreams
I can’t travel on… I can’t light up the sky…
I can’t dream on and on and on
I can’t drift on and on
I can’t…I can’t move on
I can’t… I can’t!
Until you inspire me to gleam!
(the whispers grow soundless)
I can’t drive on…
I can’t drive on…
I can’t drive on…
I can't...I can't...
I just can't,
I do not know?
Too many words and rhyme
but not enough
nor style or original scheme
He senses that his reign must end
His poetry becoming archaic
Time advances his once A-OK vision
As the snow falls in Late January
The hair on his scalp is turning grey
A youth he did knew as his ideas now fading away
It is time to end the Chapter
where I slumped
in a book,
of my gaze
as I listen
to the gasping
of a night-
that never complains
Time was spent...
Time went down...
Time has gone this day.
For the ticking of the seconds,
Always seem to fade away.
But there is the singular moment...
When Time stands still for you...
It is in the apprehension, fear, or elation felt.
Writing is the bane of Time...ALONE,
Where you must face Time - Head On!
Numbness prevails over me,
Masking me… sending me pangs of suppression
Deadness tears its way inside of me,
Consuming me… devouring me with yanks of oppression
Darkness frowns upon me,
Dragging me down…sending me scraps of sadness
Gloominess molds me inside and out,
Chasing after me…surrendering to my wretchedness
Shadiness lurks above me and it wildly swarms,
Murdering me…scarring me with my unbroken misery
Murkiness blankets over us like troubled storms,
Shaking us up…bribing me with heaps of boundless fury
Edginess overrides me like a wraithlike form,
Misleading me…sneering at my failures and agony
Blurriness absorbs in this uncanny terrain…no sign of storm
Still, I’m withering into sand, grinding into shards of tragedy
Such a strong word with meaning of "HATRED"
Love and unity for humanity are the keys to my soul
That's cruel and unjust
For you to pass judgement is out of character
What happened to this world that has so much corruptive human beings that are
to polluted by past times to see the richness and love in the modern times
I bare two "KINGS"
If you think you are going to bash their mixed race and speak to them in a
manner of disgust
That to me is a judgement you have passed on to yourself and the man above
We were all created equal and we all have blood in our veins and hearts that beat
So tell me why you are so rude and disrespectful
Needs to stop!!!!!
Like I said to who feels wicked with calling either one of my "KINGS'....a nigger
shall be dealt with one the other side
How dare you be so damn rite cold and mortal to prey on innocent children
whose parents have understanding and see beyond the colour of skin
You have committed a "SIN"!!
Look at yourself for you are no better than any human being
After all love is love and it's the inner beauty
This is wriiten from me to you and to let you know my "KINGS" have a mouth to
talk and ears to hear
Eyes to see and hearts to feel pain you chose to inflict on them
But one thing I have blessed them with is
"EDUCATION OF THEIR MINDS"
You will not force your corruptive entry because my "KINGS"are brighter and have
been taught that mankind is unjust
They will speak with intelligent fierce and all the teachings I have taught them in
To all you "RACIST" people look out simply because I have been blessed with
two "KINGS"....and" YES"...their hearts "SING" out "LOUD" with "LOVE"
and "PURITY"and cleansliness and they will not be forced to accept defeat
For they are always walking tall and holding their heads up with pride
Nor matter the colour of black nor white we are all people and choose to
unite...one way or the other.. your comments don't fear us...it only makes us
."LOVE HAS NO BOUNDRIES"
"LOVE IS NO COLOUR"
But "R-A-C-I-S-M" is dark and uncalled for with so much hatred and unjust
Make this world a better place and do your share for the children of today!!!!
I am but an ordinary woman resting in my easy chair after a long day of work.
However I am about to transform myself into a great explorer.
I travel through the many realms of space and time all from the safety of home.
My journeys cost me nothing but time spent in their enjoyment.
I close my eyes tightly to contemplate whom I shall visit this night.
Shall I sup with King Arthur and the knights of the table round as bards entertain,
Or feast on nectar and ambrosia with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus?
I could feel the angst of Cyrano’s unconfessed love for Lady Roxanne,
Or that of souls from Poe’s pen with his mocking raven quote it “nevermore.”
Choose to learn the life cycle of the bee, lion, or bear through a scientific work,
Or fly through space on a star ship with the creator of a masterpiece of science fiction.
I can recapture the whimsy of childhood while chasing cars with Clifford the big red dog,
Or take a brisk run with Pooh and Tigger through the hundred-acre wood.
I may celebrate glorious new beginnings with Mother Mary and Baby Jesus,
This holy birth portrayed forever within our sacred Bible.
I might also choose to contemplate death along with Caesar during his last moments.
Only the playwright Shakespeare could portray these with such tragic effect.
I may discover the secrets of gourmet recipes from master chefs,
Or learn how to sew a patchwork quilt of old fashion.
Vicariously visit the culture and religion of various peoples,
Or study the history of my fellow Americans.
Maybe I should check the financial reports to see how the stock market is doing,
Or it might be pertinent to examine the latest advances in law.
Let me discover the origins of favorite words in a volume of etymology,
Or distinguish quartz from quartzite whilst leafing through a book of gemology.
Books, yes volumes hold the secret keys to my voyage,
It is they that conduct me each night worldwide exploring.
I need not to plan ahead pack luggage or gather tickets,
Fore when I wish to escape this world a book is always close at hand.
I may travel safe and undisturbed through numerous times and places,
And leap out of one adventure headlong into the next without moving a limb.
When I am weary from the road or have chased enough beasts as warier fine,
I simply mark my place, fold the pages together gently, and retire to sweet sleep.
How does an old soul express oneself?
Pass down to others their experiences and heartaches
As well as the conquering of all tribulations
In what manner shall I share my life ventures?
For I have climbed the highest mountain of emotions
To topple aimlessly to the cold barren ground below
Time, and time again
However, my spirit holds no space for bitterness
I have stood at the summit of the valley of
Hopes and illusions, my trenchant sword
Of truth, poised in hand to battle the face
Of manipulation, whose blade glitters with deception
Yet being the victorious, I walk away ever so humble
How Shall I be remembered?
I have spit in the face of conformity
And bathed in the essence of rebelliousness
For me and persecution are no distant strangers,
At a venerable time in life images of happiness
Have been desperately clung to
But the swift smack of reality across the face
Still burns my cheeck to this day
A raging dragon once showed me many sights
And said decide upon yourself what is purely evil
A silken white swan appeared, and she endowed
Upon me many visions, saying interpret for yourself
What is truly wholesome and good
For outside these dual forces spiral about
Inside the silence of your spirit, you will know
Which is true and what is false
After the persona of this life has turned
To ashes and dust, gaze into the liberation
Of the sky, feel the wind stir and listen
To me whisper inspiration through the soothing
Flow of a calm breeze, for I have said before
When the reaper comes knocking, it is to the sky I will
Remain in an eternal union with
How shall I be remembered?
At times the phrase nobody knows me has been
Branded upon my conscience, possessing the
Golden chest of knowledge from experience
Has taught me how to cope
How may these things be told?
With the finest present of all
Requiring no price tag, it is the offering
Of my words, for words are truly a gift……………………………….
She is mines for just an hour
But she makes it seem like more,
She implies what time is ours
Stays behind the bamboo doors....
While undressing me to shower,
Tending to my every need,
From the bed of Asian flowers,
To the towels at my feet...
Then massaging me in oil,
That evaporates in steam,
So her hands can softly coil,
What commemorate's the scene...
Not a word is ever spoken,
Until one is spoken to,
As she dries me off from soaking,
From the moisture coming thru...
As the hour takes each minute,
Just to turn it into two,
She devours me within it,
Like a concubine should do...
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.
In this world we criticize
When will we realize
That sometimes we should fantasize
Instead of ostercise
We try to commercialize
And even capitalize
When all we should do is harmonize
In this world we colonize
And some terrorize
And then pulverize
And we institutionalize
It is a world where we advertise
Go crazy with exercise
Want food pasteurized
And drink milk homogenized
Then we coat it caramelized
Not showing what we despise
Because we try to revolutionize
Instead of realize
glimpse of blitheful calmness
Haunted the garden I nourished so well
sense of fulfillment lingered in my thoughts
grasped a positive, enigmatic idea
And planted it on this conceptual notebook
gratisfying radiance showers peace, I must confess
It gave immortality to my garden I protected-- it's quite swell
piece of cherishment hovered in my thoughts
clutched an audaciously, cryptic idea
And recorded it on this invigorating poem book!
Gems of poetry tucked in an old closed bag
written over so many long years as a gag
Youthful thoughts have now become older and wise
changing the color of the gems hidden inside
Sharp at first not seeing the direction they would take
then suddenly bringing forth character, uniqueness of shape
Some simple, some complex, some half written left behind
written at night, when sadness strikes, or written at any time
Now that the process is close to complete
let these gems spill forth and drop at your feet
Search through them all for the ones that are rare
don't throw out the others like you don't care
They may get better with more polish and time
keep writing with verse and writing with rhyme
Shaping gems of such brilliance written in prose
stuffed away in a draw is a bag of gems, please don't close
I do not know?
To rise, then fall, and then rise, yet again,
this, the most inspirational cycle;
every time I re-awaken to the truth
of the world, it's beauty is an eyeful;
though, I know, that the inevitable high cost
will, again, demand I walk through Hell,
as I, constantly, have in my long past,
far more often than I, now, care to tell;
existence captures my beating heart,
carries revelation so fair to speak of;
yet, just as Night follows Day, eternally,
heartbreak chases the dawning of Love;
my promise is to sing a different song each time,
trailing ever stranger visions,
crossing the sad tide with two token pennies,
payment for my unending missions,
but, never able to step twice
into the same, ever-flowing river;
the water's beholden to constant current,
as it's inevitable driver,
just as I'm forced to unceasing movement
throughout Time's most darkest, strictest confines;
so, no two Days, however close they may appear,
can their strokes be of the same lines;
made to define the latest pitch of Night,
I brave the stream, no matter how re-arranged;
only then able of describing Life,
after having been absolutely changed.
right here, now, as i type,
characters are getting
that sinking feeling of
their own digital oblivion
i am typing in my "working" file,
the one where i always start out with
a few words or lines i might forget
if i don't net them right away
and they always start out on top
in the fresh digital aire of light
flashing their shiny tails and i's
and are captured for all posterity
should posterity ever be in need
of some flagrant synapses output
that fired through my skull
at some 100 metres per second
the thoughts from yesterday or,
tragically, a few moments ago
are pushed lower in the techno-lit
ocean of all possible lines
sinking slowly from sight
with their little character-eyes
looking up toward the light of
my screen receding in the now
there must be 53,696 characters
(statistics being numbered in many ways)
sinking now, like so many plankton
or diatoms in the digital oceans
to feed the dark "word fish"
and other creatures, maybe something
glow-in-the-dark with ghastly teeth
like in my fourth grade biology book
yet if those 53k of diatomic letters
are really four-letter-words
that have been puzzlingly rearranged
like blinking cursor literary DNA
just think of all the swearing
that might be bubbling out
of that digital Davy Jones at
the bottom of this oceanic chest
© Goode Guy 2011-10-07
Starlight, star fight
I hope no one cries tonight
I hope that life
is more than the sun
and more than that book I read
about the horses,
more than the dirt on the floor,
sitting there like a
fairy dust covers a flower.
The flower blows in the wind
and I weep
for the day that comes when
life no longer
has an end
or really a beginning.
This jacket is itchy
and I itch it like my mind
hurts, it hurts when I think of
how sick I am of
running away from
the life that is coming
Damn I'm late. Time moves slow but, sure as the devils footsteps. Ever so lightly
as sin and time passes by. Damn I'm late. Time is creeping up on you like the
sure death of cut wrists, and the running out of air in this box shape life. Damn
I'm running late, and there is nothing I can do about it, like the ones doomed and
placed aside for the Pitts of hell. So why rush, why run, why wish, or hope. I'm
already late. So I guess sorry would be my reasoning for lateness, and time
would be my reason for my sorries.
I do not know?
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
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.
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.
is my music,
at night. The
screeching mind and a
in any way, disturb
a sleeping sea.
I can't tell you now
for my voice was lost today
The shadows from his younger days shake his resolve,
and make a mockery of time 'til time be lost
to moments of bewilderment, ne'er to evolve,
they bounce and bluster errantly, much to his cost.
Shades and silences, outbursts of ungoverned rage,
cruelty breeds rancor, e'en in the meek at heart,
kept and restricted, like a creature in a cage,
no literature for him, gentility or art.
Dissimulation, trickery and guile he plies
as tools to engineer his self-preservation,
he tells quaint versions of the truth, and bald-faced lies,
so's to avoid the whip and recrimination.
Childhood should be the nursery of hope and mirth,
not fear and perturbation, for the budding soul,
a testament to love, where supplicants may dwell;
not tyranny or willfulness, a wayward goal,
shun darkness, disillusionment from God's green earth,
cast demons, evildoers to the depths of hell.
....so next time you see my name in print
Think of all the time I've spent
All the torn and crumpled sheets
Of witty prose incomplete
How I suffered with intrusions
That scattered thought into confusion
Seeing thoughts within my mind
To find out that my pen went blind
It's a long journey from brain to pen
And inbetween the words would spin
Into a different configuration
from intended. What consternation!
So next time you see my name in print
Remember how wrong it could have went
I do not know?
I've seen break-neck speed;
I've drawn decks to read;
starved love for greed;
seen the sky slowly bleed;
everything being equally free,
all's the same as time to me.
Like leaves shaken from a tree;
fallen in sympathetic tea;
a tragic fate to plead;
murders of ravens feed,
then, crap their truths into the sea,
all's the same as time to me.
I've felt false nobility
in the face of sincerity,
happily paying the royalty,
while finding hope guilty,
embracing it's obvious frailty;
all's the same as time to me.
From all points, equidistantly,
dead centre of the galaxy,
frequencies heard infrequently,
doomed to drift perpetually;
everything being free, equally,
all's the same as time to me.
Attention all poetry:
This is your stewardess Free Verse speaking.
Please make sure that your seatbelts are
securely fastened and your tray table is
positioned upright in the seatback in front
Thank you and have a nice trip.
My poem's batteries have run out.
They died somewhere over Kansas while
listening to The Talking Heads.
My poem is sitting aisle. He can't see
Kansas or anywhere else.
Sitting next to him is a very interesting
fellow. A man who keeps on mumbling and
but my poem likes him, with his shaggy
blonde hair covered by a tilted green beret,
his devilish smile, his funny French accent.
The name embroidered onto his vest is,
I write this for you
because you have given me
a world of beauty in your writing.
So, it’s time to give back.
Because you have given me
almost everything in your heart,
so, it’s time to give back
everything I have in my heart.
Almost everything in your heart;
a treasure, of the purest kind.
Everything I have in my heart,
I wish to share with you.
A treasure, of the purest kind;
a world of beauty in your writing.
I wish to share with you!
I write this for you!
Subjective to the eyes upon words, poems are never
the same twice.
Quiet as snow fall you revealed the truest form of a self centered
Leaves fall in a similar pattern to unfamiliar words being recited
around an ever-
trusting ignorant society. Perhaps the "Road not Taken" is where
i shall resign
my poetic beliefs and live as a reborn gust of wind, blowing lives
directions. I have taken the time from time which has already
escaped my life
and given it too less of a friend, which became more of a burden.
out in every direction giving reason for blame when blame insults
essence of my reflection. One star permanently blazed into an
empty sky can
depend on me like clockwork, for I am the first to call criticism upon
"Frost" in the
winter. If it were truly that simple then the pen would lose it's importance
tool of our trade. Who said that brilliance was not born,
only created through
practice? Then would be the time too call yourself gifted.
A lifetime is lived "For
once, Then Something" and until time is chosen none will be revealed.
world; the sun will not shine without the loss of the moon,
the rain only falls upon
broken smiles, and the breeze is never as cold as "Frost".
The hate of time havocs foolish fate
And I, no one's blank slate
Will not my conscience hesitate
Or cast my eyes down at evening's gate.
You are neither victim nor demon since
You of your error is unconvinced
I am a child no more to wince
When white sheets of mind befouled are rinsed
I make my decisions without the noise
And cheap popularity's phony poise
But as humble I'd fear forfeit a sunrise
And have fool graffitied on unlighted eyes.
I have tried picking up time before
The past like frost from hoar
Had only present, and memory more
Than spite makes every pain a spore
I do not know?
Why is time so slow?
Why is day so long?
Why is hour so complicated?
Why is minute so wrong?
I can't help but to think
Why this world's so weird,
It's kind of like something
That I have always feared.
You sit and wonder why
You were brought here in the first place,
Not to only think
That it's kind of like a race.
To see who lives,
To see who dies,
To see who whispers,
Or tells all lies.
You never know what happens
In the very end,
It's time to end this complication
There's no more to be said.
Beyond Imagination where hope exist
Lies the hand of God's list
Unconditional love is the gift from heaven
Dreams we share is only daven
Far away through cloudy skies
God's Love will grows and never dies.
A promise will be made from the heart
Heaven and Earth will never be apart
We kneel down each day and pray
So God Smile on us Everyday
a series of acts
with a few different scenes
and the script is me knowing yet praying
that it wont be
Every act i face a series of tests
each test given a name called a scene
I repeat these scenes like life lessons
and when i get them right
like a game show
i move on to the next act
How many acts are in a Shakespearean tragedy anyway
will i be strong enough
when in this test no matter how near or far from home
that's always where I'm pointed
I walk out one door
to find myself on set still
outside this time so it should appear
another door i walk into leads me inside
but yet on a yacht going far away
and the actors are always there
asking me dilemmas
choose this choose that
and then I'm right back at the beginning
flashback making it all make sense
like a dram of circles inside my head
the foreshadowing is thick
for we all know the circle routine of the circle of doors
that lead us around on the set
from act one of home to outside
then faraway and jail
to yacht to flashback home again
what is the lesson to be learned
depends on the actors
and the foreshadowing is thick
story lines story lines
this is my life
the show must go on
and i sit here wasting time to write
the actors of my life were never friends
and proof for look they are all on strike
leaving me to walk these circles in my mind
alone on this set blind
open the door
sunrise blue bright outside sky
open the door
I'm on yacht
open the door
I'm in jail
open the door
I'm in outer space
open the door
I'm home again
and the foreshadowing in this scene is clever but oh soo thick
as i walk in circles by myself
the story seems to stick
how can i make their guts crawl and plan to fail soo tragicly
no one would intervene and it would make us all sick?
My eyes are hungry,
like a ravionous beast
To eat the words up
like a tasty treat
no matter how much i read
i just dont seem to get enough!
i try to take my time with it...
but my eyes just gobble them up
romance and more
i read till my eyes blur
or till my head is sore
the hours fly by
paled and insignificant
but who really cares
when the world your living in
is so vastly magnificant
adventures your in, they never end
with prince charming at your side
or stuck on an island
because your plane crashed and you almost died
you walk into to a library
and heave a sigh
a choice has to be made
but its yours to decide
Breath deeply and
Place your pen aside
It has little power left in it
Although you have endeavored
These are not your moments inspiring
But are too transparent in simplicity to record
Where is your racking anger and troubled solace?
You always compose through those eyes filled with sorrow
The meter of your verse will be painted with a dangerous divinity
And a spiritual suggestion as you put blindfolds over our true eyes
Light that flame within us that directs us past fear as a radiant beacon
That astonishes the most naïve in us with an exhilarated spiritual moment
Only you will hear its approach echoing deep within your creative heart
The tides of time will cleanse away obscurity corrupting your mind
The long deceased will reanimate as the verse flows unfettered
Those thoughts are fetal now wait to put pen to paper
While they grow under the blanket of fulfillment
Soon they will all surface and wash ashore
On the eternity of the rising sun
With the storms passing
In the hour of their birth
Let the moment rise
But breathe deep
Within the chemicals
remain your mind
somewhere the soul divine
everything you say and do
not depending on the clothes you wear
or the shoes that define you
you are a writer
gift from soul learn lessons
want to share them
with spaces perplexed reason trapped within
as you become an artist your soul begins to scream horrors
cry and shout
you begin realizing the nightmare
truths wonders doubts
don't fret my friend for this is only the beginning of your gift
only a matter of time
for your brain
creativity to understand privilege
blueprint or the script
essence has developed
take it slow learn tools of expression
when your mind notices
you are paying attention to your spirit
your soul, doors begin opening and closing
all tumble down this rabbit hole
when you learn to express feelings inside
start to understand there are many sides to this puzzle in time
start to understand life lessons
and the beauty of art
you become humbled enraged
smart stupid and full of heart
keep asking questions
don't forget to go back through your own pages and answer them
don't forget to look through insecurities
tell yourself what you have learned from them
don't deny your lessons your heart is begging you to learn
keep in mind as you grow to become wise
were also once blind
reasoned with the puzzles inside
when your brain realizes you are listening to your thoughts
your mind begins playing tricks
whether you like it or not
see through the illusion
learn which voice to hate more than you
and offer yourself clues
to go back on to which door
you obviously readily did choose
keep in mind you are beautiful and your soul
the angels mans plans and god will pave the way
you might feel lonely like everyone but there will come a day
when all the loose ends fit
and you see your piece of the bigger puzzle
your voice of reason in the insanity
that’s a blessing to be heard
but don't forget
you choke on your own words.
Why are u the only thing on my mind?
I'm trying to pay attention in geometry.
Why can't I be without u,
Without losing my sanity?
Why do I need u in my life?
Why must u be different than the rest?
I try to be happy on my own,
But your my biggest test!
Oh crap, Mr. G just asked me a question,
And I don’t know what to say!
I haven’t paid attention this class,
In fact I haven’t all day!
I was spaced out in geometry
And daydreamed through phys. ed
Now i'm supposed to answer #8
I need to start using my head.
I think the answer's 32
No, wait its 33.
When I answer everyone laughs
And I sink into my seat.
I’m not on the right question,
I’m not even on the right page!
Everyone is staring at me,
I feel like I’m on stage!
Should I sing a little song,
or break dance on the floor?
I look at the right question,
The answer's 64.
Thank God it's finally over,
Everyone looks away.
I look at the clock, and sigh in relief
Because there’s only 10 minutes left of the school day.
I blame this all on you
Because your always on my mind.
I can never concentrate
Cause I think of you all the time!
Carpe Diem, seize the day
Live by the rules of the game you play
The world is your oyster, enjoy the ride
When the going gets tough, look on the bright side
Silence is golden, take that to the bank
Put that in your pipe while smoke screens draw blank
Though money makes the world go round
Speak louder through actions than through sound
Empty vessels make the most noise
Best medicine, laughter, daily poise
Fool me once means shame on you
Shame on me, that’s fooled times two
Follow your heart, reach for the stars
Dreams come true, firefly jars
A bird in hand is worth two in a bush
When push comes to shove, shove comes to push
A stitch in time always saves nine
As luck still favors prepared minds
Fortune favors the brave at heart
Every ending once had a start
Live your life without regret
‘Tis better to forgive and to forget
We’re proned to get as hard as we give
Throw stones in the glass houses we live
Don’t count your chickens before they hatch
Two birds with one stone, that’s quite a catch
A rolling stone gathers no moss
Too many cooks spoil the broth
Just try again if you don’t succeed
And don’t believe everything you read
Make every experience educational
To think twice before speaking is critical
Let sleeping dogs lie I always say
Cause every dog will have his day
To be taught new tricks no matter the age
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
Two heads they say is better than one
Violence isn’t always the key my son
Beggars can’t choose, that much we know
More haste less speed, no time to grow
When seams come undone, it’s cause for concern
We are what we are, we live what we learn
You should have stayed longer to know me more
It is time that makes love and not our hearts
For we are but discoverers, and nothing more
You left too quickly and stayed too long. Should I
Convince you now that your other world is different
That your former wisdom insufficient for the trip
People commit to grow, and if together
The hate of time will slowly fall apart, the mist
Of morning if it clears now
Shall show nothing but the shattered glass of vows
I do not use words loosely nor in excess
I only say I love you with words fully dress
To carry connotations and context to an infinite end
Love is immortal, and I write things my oral way
The gesticulated discourse a stitched flag of meaning
How can you learn so much so far away
What dumb dictionary can dictate the desires of the heart
Perhaps if you had not lingered so long to come
Blank pages would not be brilliant and simple art dumb
I am too small to be any finer torn apart.
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
I do not know?
(This is a fictional poem)
I built a time machine and I went back to 1952.
Ricky Ricardo kicked my ___ after he sang Babalu.
I told him that his song sounded like a big piece of crap.
He cussed me out in Spanish and gave me a good slap.
He started beating on me until I hit the floor.
That was over a month ago and I'm still sore.
I had never taken a beating like that before.
I'm not going to travel through time anymore.
I have admired many, so often, and
wondered for whom they used to write
their muses; if not for their lovers, then
for whom? A poet like me who loved
them for great things. Ah, I know—
a different thought, a different
style, but not that much concerns
me, awhile, but the smile in you
that beamed like magenta moon and
lured strollers to kiss the twilight night,
until it dimmed away, so were you,
ditching the one you loved. Having
dazed in the stolen memoirs of
spring that was mine, I know now—
admiration, sometimes, if not always has
a bitter ending…in a poet’s lonely page!
Through the beauty of words,
an unsuspecting poet unleashed his passion,
instilling it into my brain.
His in un-familiar form, written flawlessly, so sweet they say.
Oh, do not hungry nor tease me with your musing,
for my stomach surely can’t wait
to peek through the youth of your life
Do not ask
what my heart can do, once young,
but now complicated and ageing on my favorite pillow.
Nor seek the truth, inside me, wandering not from my ways.
Do you see in my face the youthfulness, once I had,
now hidden for eternity behind this frail skin,
and clothed by this grayed beards of my yesteryears?
A great rhymer,
sometimes a free-verser,
so many years ago, versified the Earth.
Not of salt, but by his wondrous soul, tinged with crackling hues of fall.
O you, who de-versify me
do I see thy quill rhyme?
Then bother not thy self to ask about my sonnet.
It's a hard pill to swallow knowing that something
you worked and fought so hard for is just a lost cause
and you can't put life on pause, all you can do is wonder
and think what a fool you are
now there's a handful of people who think they can change
who their significant other is or who they used to be
love is blind and when you in love and want someone so bad
it's kind hard to see the light and everybody goes threw the b.s
but you try your best to make things right and you began to wonder
he or she isn't even trying despite the fact how far y'all came
they say their completely honest with but deep down you know their lying
and when you make time for them and they don't make time for you
tell me what do you do, what do you do when you think
every time you try to reach out to your mate the devils laughing in your face
and you finally realize all the time you spent trying to be the best man
she was never trying to be the best woman
you see you were looking for love but only found heartache in your left bosom
she was looking for a sex partner and thats whats real, but
behind this reflection in the mirror now after adding your relationship
up from it's ups and downs it get to be and seem so much clearer
she could never be the woman who you see yourself marrying
fact of the matter is she's just the woman with your child she's carrying
and the signs were there in the beginning that she was swimming in lust
and ashes to ashes dust to dust thats what the end of this relationship
was made up of, a relationship that never should have started
and now all you're left with is a broken heart thats dearly departed
and a mind thats critically injured and all you can say is, its my fault
sometimes we have faith in something thats nothing
something thats not there, one living in despair and another
just too in love to admit that despite of what her lifestyle has
always been like he's always forgive and forget, but in the end
it was his heart that was gonna be a homicidal casualty, but
thats just life I suppose and I'm just facing reality
If you could travel anywhere
where would you go?
If you could meet anyone
who would it be?
If you could have any job
where would you work?
If you could eat anything
what would it taste like?
If it could be any time
what would the clock read?
If you could fly
how high would you soar?
What do you think book are?
They are the answers to these questions
Instead of searching for the answers,
open a book
for they are our ticket to knowledge
They take us anywhere,
everywhere, all around
All you have to do is open a book
I had a collection stashed under dust
The feeling came over me with a wind and a rush
So I built my dreams
Out of impossible extremes
I found a place where my soul talks in rhyme
And I answer back to it from time to time
But I’ll never give up what make me tick
Even if my ego takes a lick
I shall set my goals
On pale paper or paper with holes
And I will rattle doors with a thunderous bang
And listen to the voice of experience that sang
Every now and then I’ll bite more than I can chew
And kick myself in the ass when I’m feeling blue
I won’t put off what can be done today
And I hope to keep writing till I’m old and gray
The Cafe lights glow with the
resisting urge to dim
It's not long before the darkness consumes
this little town I find myself in tonight
Pouring rain, pounding thunder make it hard
to keep my smokes alive
Shackled beneath a gas station overlay
I count the money in my pocket
Forty, maybe fifty bucks including change
I find an empty car close to the nearest liquor store
jack up the handle and bundle up for the night
The contents inside include a half eaten blueberry muffin
cold coffee, and a dated CD
I hate blueberries
I pull out what juice is left of my tin stash
pour it into the nearly empty Holiday cup
To my surprise, the mixture ain't half bad
I slip away with the sound of beating rain
For my self destruction leads to another man's creation
I fall asleep
It is time you owed me the truth,
Stop these lies,
I can see right through you,
For many months now,
You have kept in disguise,
And now it is time you stopped playing this game,
You have nowhere to run,
No where to hide.
Be careful about what you are going to say,
With that menacing tongue,
Please don’t lie again!
Don’t you think I deserve honesty?
Just me straight with me!
I don’t need your sympathy!
There was a time in my life when I cried and cried and cried.
Then one day I looked up and began to dry my eyes.
There was a time in my life when I complained and complained and
Then one day I realized it only caused me to remain.
There was a time in my life when I screamed, and screamed and screamed.
Then one day I heard myself and boy did I sound mean.
One day I got a revelation, and it has helped me to this day.
I don’t have to cry, complain, or scream for you to hear what I have to say.
I just need a pen and paper, and my computer too.
Now I can write, write and write for my words have a voice too.
And as I write these poems out, they speak to all of you.
First poem written in 2008.
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
when you reach out to teach lessons
humble a crowd
you have to be humbled by another
prepared to humble yourself
when you go through depression
don't just write it down and throw those feelings
share the journey with the masses
and teach the less fortunate how they shine through tragedy
deep inside ourselves we ask the same questions
there comes a time when you find yourself
inside the light grows
you can offer advice to traps
which you've been ensnared,
writing is not a gift
to heal to protect
prevent a longer nightmare
for the gullible
sick, hurt, and despaired,
cast out your broken thoughts
stitch them in time with hope,
heal yourself with your own words
no one else can
don't abandon yourself.
Answer what questions many have left in the dark
don't be afraid to be your own answer
because millions will feel you
and millions are thirsty
and this is where the healing starts
don't be afraid to go back in your writings
and heal your own thoughts
with inspiration metaphors dreams
you are your own answer
voice of reason
touches upon thousands
future human beings
you are gifted
this is the truth you are told,
some will make it down this road
take my advice,
some will make a difference
in the dark side
save tricked souls
from torturous minds
some cave into religious dogmas
fall prey to demands
what they think people want to hear
the truth is
the answer lies within each of us
we are all a puzzle piece
I am thankful for getting back to the muse
It’s helped me get through the sicknesses and blues
With more time at hand
I’ve got a plan
To finally put forth
All that I’m worth
For that book
That only took
About 30 years
Throughout laughter, fears and all the tears
That I’ve talked about it
Now just submit
A line here, a line there
Its time to prepare
For if I get this done
My family and I will finally have some fun
I do not know?
To assume the
takes a lot of nerve
To get up in front of a
And read what you have
is something which requires
a little "chutzpah"
But if the time is right
It's a good thing to do
Let the light hidden
in the words
Shine on the awaiting public
You only have a little time
So give them your perspective
Your outlook on things
If the time is right
and if the ears
then you will
see subtle changes
The future is an unknown quantity
But if we share - if we share
then we will see
that meaning comes through
and the small light kindled
may light the way
to the next dawn
why you go out of your way to make the world mad
the little power we gave you
walked all over me
and funny you think im the only one you have to answer to
but id start here
id start here if i was you
so many people like me
soo many people tired of you
you dont care
go do your suicide somewhere else
headless beast on a power trip
sell it to yourself
i have no time for you
nothing wrong with the haters
they have good reason to hate you
i hate you too
pushed the envelope too far
now there is nothing i can do
not for you
Desperate for control
you teach me the wrong wisdoms
why do i continually sit here and watch and l;isten a bunch of idiots
taking no responsibility for their own bull@#$%
i will be making my case
against each one of you in turn
but what do i know of being obsessed to a sick mind game
one by one
day by day
pointing my finger
calling out the names to bl;ame
the whole world knows
took a stand for all the wrong things
do you even know what you are
your puieces fit
ill rub it in your face
show you what you stand for
your wrong answers
solviong your riddles
whats the answer in the middle of all these sick individuals
whose the ones to blame
your utopia of $%& just got taken away
the pieces fit allright
ill point you out
tell everyone what part of the twisted plot
how you betray me
building my case
its just too obvious
way too obvious
disk by disk
movie by movie
how your working together for genocide
i have no time for you good riddance
swim in your own viceral
tell me why you said those things you said
acted the way you did
lied to me again
the part of your own denial
a world throws you away
not me for being innocent
the world you create how it affected me
we will be going to trial
building my case
learned from your hate speach
all the times you tried to kill me
you get paid to live my dreams
the ones you takle away from me
building my case i'll show everyone
what your doing
building my case
you are a war crime
and your not getting away with it
go live with yourself
obsessed with yourself
and how you can lash out
i dont need it
i have no time for this
life is too short for this bull$%&^
so i'm building my case
of your warcrimes
I don't forgive you
i never will
laugh all you want at your power trip
your delusion of pwer does not have me fooled
I do not know?
a try at beating time today
A poem sung a rondelay
thoughts transferred to someone's mind
with words repeated to remind
and stick so well they will repeat
in time to pulsic heartfull beat
a thousand years from now
should children bring to light
my words of joy and hope and Spring
a nursery rhyme
a try at beating time today
I want to be.
Just to be.
Beating the odds.
Beating the clock.
For what I am,
And what I want.
For how to get there,
And how long it takes.
For all of us
Who have no voice,
And little choice.
On the hamster-wheel
I met you hollow as the bones
of sun scorched trees with roots upturned
Worn to smoothness, polished grey
I met you when you'd less to say
But time and temperance green the ground
by pushing growth and sticking 'round
The seeds which scattered, dormant, light
in a gust of wind and time, took flight
They settled with your words and grew
with limbs of strength, they became you
And soon you laughed and bloomed in pink
and unwrapped time as a gift to think
Soon, your roots entwined the earth
You opened your arms to a million birds
and swayed in the wind to their favorite tune
as you etched them into your friend, the moon
Now you speak as all nature does
with a heart full of passion that's rooted in love
Each limb of growth reaching into the wind
Your words are a healing, You're on the mend...
Ask Me no more where Jove bestows when
June is past, the fading roses, for In your beauty's
Orient deep these flowers, as In their cause sleep ask
Me no more whither do stray the golden atoms of the Day;
For in pure love Heaven did prepare those
Powders to enrich your hair ask Me no more whither
Doth haste the nighttingale when May is past;
For In sweet dividing lawn She Winters, and keeps warm Her
Note ask Me no more where those Star's light, that
Downwards fall in dead of Night for in your Eye's they
Sit and there fixed become as In there sphere ask Me
No more if East or West the foundation builds Her spicy
Fragrant sweet violent sent love thou art absolute sole
Lord I gift writing poetry to prove the word we'll now
Appeal to no none of all those thy old Poet's great and tall.
I do not know?
WHY STARE ME IN THE FACE?
WITH THE THOUGHT OF MEMORIES WE ONCE SHARED
THAN TURN AROUND AND MARRIED ANOTHER WOMEN
I LEAD TO BELIEVE THE THOUGHT OF ME BEING IN THAT SAME POSITION,
BUT IT ALL CAME BACK TO ME THAT IT WAS JUST MY VISION
I DO REMEMBER IN OUR TEEN YEARS IT WASN`T JUST A VISION
WHEN TELLING US APART WAS ALWAYS AN ISSUE DETERMINE
I DO REMEMBER THE COMMENTS BEING MADE TO US TWO FROM OUR
FOLKS " WE HOPE WE MAKE IT TO SEE YA`LL WEDDING AND MAYBE A BABY
SHOWER IF GOD BLESS YA`LL WITH THAT ONE TOO"
SPRING, SUMMER, FALL, WINTER FOUR SEASONS WE SHARE AND ALL THAT
HAD COME AFTER JUST LEAD WELL
GOD I ASK MYSELF "WHERE DID THIS ALL END? OR IS IT "WHY DID THIS ALL
I STILL CAN`T FIGURE OUT HOW HAD THIS REACH THIS LEVEL
WHENOUR BELIEF OF LOVE WAS NEVER TO STRAY AWAY FROM OUR
WHY STARE ME IN THE FACE?
WHEN YOU BETRAY ON WHAT WAS ONCE OUR GOAL TO GET MARRIED AND
THAN LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND SAY " I`M SORRY BABY GIRL BUT I DON`T
KNOW HOW IT GOT TO THIS POINT"
I GUESS I CAN`T GET OVER THE FACT OF LETTING GO ON WHAT WAS ONCE
MY PROPERTY OR PRETEND THAT THIS WAS ALL A BAD DREAM
SO I LOOK HIM IN THE EYE
GAVE HIM A KISS ON HIS CHEEK
I WISH HIM THE BEST FOR THE BOTH OF THEM WHEN I WISH IT WAS ME
I WALK AWAY WITH THE BRUSH RELIEF OFF MY FEET AND ALSO READ THIS
PRAYER IN MY HEART TO KEEP IN ONE PIECE
"GOD BLESS MY SOUL AND HELP ME REALIZE THAT THERE IS SOMEONE
OUT THERE FOR ME TO SHARE MY LOVE WITH AMEN"
Soothing, calming, exciting, fun.
Loving, laughing, living life.
Sadness, death, anger, and hate,
An exciting adventure awaits.
Moving, touching, inspiring, and such.
An intresting mystery haunting your thougts.
The fantastic future is new and different yet,
The past is familiar and warm.
Whatever your type-
Literature is the paving stone that lights up life.
Minutes turn to hours,
as the clock ticks onwards;
still the paper before me
remains crisp, white – untouched.
My right hand is now cramped,
from it’s gripping my pen
and the notation on my pad,
slowly bringing alive my thoughts.
Every scribe I write becomes structured,
I stop to think before every word;
look back over what I have written,
disjointed, yet I know it all.
A play on my script,
tweaking here and there.
Informing every thought I record,
bringing brilliance for my virgin page.
Words form sentences,
pictures are painted; a masterpiece of art,
breathing life to my work,
to be realized by many.
I transfer my scribe,
to my neat sheet waiting.
Ink flows smoothly, a pleasure to see.
Release washes relief over my tense form.
Midnight strikes, not long left now,
before I can lay my pen to rest
and bid ‘Goodnight’,
to another fulfilled and worthy day.
I do not know?
To show you that i live to be true
here is what im willing to do
I will for sure you there's no mountain to high to climb
I will talk and never walk out on any situations
I will love you not just physical but spirtually
I will take two moments of my time and give you one
on a daily
I will for sure you that we will make it
through any task or storm
I will be your backbone when your strength feels weaken
I will pray with you any place time or day
I will for sure you that my love is true
Do you feel that there's anything else left that
i should do or say
recalling previous facts
of mental impressions
drawn from memory
"Of Person Thing Or An Event"
A Clarity Pyramid is a poem consisting of two triplets and a single line. 7 lines in all. The
poem is center aligned when displayed. The first triplet has 1, 2, and 3 syllables. The title of
the poem is the one-syllable word of the 1st triplet, which is displayed in all capital letters.
This line is followed by a two-syllable line, and then a three-syllable line, both of which clarify
the definition of the poem, or are synonyms for the title. The 2nd triplet has 5, 6, and 7
syllables. Its design is based around a life event contained within the triplet which helps give
a poetic view or outlook on the first line - the title. The last line is 8 syllables, and is in
quotations as this line contains a quote that defines the first word -title.
Thought it might help me tonight
If I at here and just write
About how my life I've since lost sight
Don't know what to do anymore
Nothing seems right
Losing any and all strength here
I have no more might
Words can sometimes help heal
The wounds that had cut so deep
But these words aren't helping me here tonight
I feel like I must weep
But do you think tears coming down from my eyes that seep
Will be what helps me here
No it just causes more sadness
And more fear
I've successed at failing
And have failed at being a success
My life before wasn't my own to lead
Now my heart is lieing in wait
It's already began to bleed
For my heart will never be freed
For the love I have for someone
To which I don't know if he feels the same
He's the one I let get away
And now I live with that shame
You know who you are so I don't have to say your name
No the writing of these words tonight
Still didn't make anything I've done right
They didn't give me peace
They didn't let my mind by forever quiet
All that could only come from time spent with you
Funny what a few simply spoken words from you could do
Before why couldn't we see
What we had been searching for all along
In everyone we met
We had right here in us
And we let time pass by like a phantom jet
God I miss you
Somewhere inside me it's saying
You are missing me to
Never had feelings like this before
Taken a hold of my heart, of my soul
This time we need not shut the door
Let our hearts be free and soar
Then these written words I would need no more
You're being evicted. Get out do it without delay. Oh yes, I got kicked out my
apartment in the cold month of February. Now all my money is spent, paying last
Working on commission is hard you see.Returns, returns and more returns.How
can I earn when the customers continue to return.So this is why I struggle to pay
Now I'm living with my cousin and I spent much of my time fussing,about the
strange things that go on in the night.I'm really stressed having no one to turn to.I
fight to pray but I'm left with no words to say. So my spirit man intercedes for me.
I get up in the morning with a tired and achy body,due to sleeping on the hard
floor.This the second time this situation has happened to me.
I continue to work on commission. Keeping my eyes open for better job
opportunies. Chicago was a possibility, but I needed to move,moving
money.Moving from place to place.
Shut the door to the secret things you used to do when no one was around.That
would bring frowns to the people's faces if they would of caught you doing what
Shut the door . Now you're mature.
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
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
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.
Ah, they are here, un-still
and un-relentless. They kept
whirling and glowing, with great
lushness and rhythm, offering
aroma of strange time—
into the pellucid metamorphic rock of my head,
among the fictitious thin threads
of life. Hmm, they wear
no clothes, at all, yet their sultry eyes
were cornflower blue! Taper flames dance
with my heart; my starwars stained,
darken. Oh, I should,
yes, I should perceive of
how I will be slumbering with them
when love comes in the night that never complains
…and not where these thoughts will be etched!
I ain't got time for rhyming words
I ain't got time for writin
I only mind my farmin herds
and do my share of fightin
I settled all this land around
and cleared the river spring
just so you could set you down
and let your freedom sing.
so write your poems I don't mind
say everything you feel,
just recall those left behind
we buried in the field.
the ones who never wrote a line
but listened when they heard
the declaration read out loud.........
it's not a dream deferred.
I do not know?
(This is not a poem but an exercise; I have posted it to show how I work on meter
and rhythm. It is easy A to Z and keep the same foot through each line. It is a
speed writing exercise and you do not have to make scene of the words just one
line at a time. Good luck!)
All around the kitchen table, with a look that's hard to label
Breath, a fast dieing fable, shallows wind and barely able
Cry a tear of lovers lost and not a thought, as to its cost.
Defy the one, which has betrayed and stand you ground unhandy played.
Everyone will feel the wrath of this woman's unruly path
For everyone must make a claim, to pull a piece of the blame.
Gone is love and inters fear, with the dropping of a tear.
Hear a sound of sign for parting, feel a tearing of heart starting.
In the winter in the striking, of a cold wind with it's riding.
Just before the fall of darkness, in an unforgiving sickness.
Kind O, kind maybe forgiveness, if it finds a little weakness.
Look into the eye of sorrow look into the dark tomorrow.
Mill the burning and the horror, of a love that's not to borrow.
Not to friendly of a greeting, with no way to stop the bleeding.
Open up the chamber door and spill the milk upon the floor,
Pasteurized or two percent matter not for milk is split.
Quickly move the tablecloth and slop the pigs as from a troth.
Rush into the grocery store, trip the door-man at the door
Slam you're cart into the beans, hear the stacker as he screams.
Tell the checker she must hurry, now's the time for you to worry.
Under gun as time is spent. With no way to pay the rent.
Vanished is the feel of rightness only be replace with kindness.
Work a finger to the bone and yet no one will even phone.
X- will mark the very spot where the end of day will drop
Your day is done so to your bed tomorrow yet rings in you head.
Zest for life you must muster for the days that lack luster.
Each day, like clockwork
they would meet
at their usual place
in the poetry section of the
There, no one ever bothers them
and the books seem to set the tone
for their meeting.
Today was no different:
Each and every day at half past three
The two would meet at the library
Between the shelves, among the books
There’s no one about, so no one to look
Their time was important, they seemed fulfilled
Each time that they met, another thrill
Anointed with mischief, had need to meet
There by the books, they created their heat
Among all their favorites, the poets before
Who wrote of their loves, the losses, much more
They whispered in silence, with never a sound
As the two came together and fell on the ground
The passion in the books, above them, they knew
Helped to inspire them, the things that they do
The love that they shared each and every day
Was poetry itself, in a most unique way
But there, there’s a sound, footsteps one heard
They stopped their interaction, silenced all words
Still united as one, on the floor tightly wound
The person approached, they made not a sound
Down the corridor, the person then traveled
Their bodies still locked, not wanting to unravel
He kissed her so gently, she held tightly that kiss
Today must last forever, for tomorrow they’ll miss
They both heated with passion, ready to explode
The lovers among the books, were ready to go
Dared not to scream, for then they’d be heard
Each holding the other’s mouth, to not utter a word
Excitement they shared, oh, each every day
While books sat on shelves, they came there to play
Among giants, the authors, who penned love’s verse
They came each day, to satisfy their thirst
Together they would leave, with smiles galore
From their time in the library, the time on the floor
Knowing, behind them, they had time for themselves
Among the many love poems in the books on the shelves
I am but a mere speck
In a wreck of emotions
In a larger pile promotions
Of writers and dreamers
And graphical screamers
Who surge to the screen
That wonderful machine
To thrust out their feelings
Who lay there looking at ceilings
From time to time
With an imaginative mind
The day’s events
Maybe in an order of segments
That wish to share
All that they fear
And yes they delve
Deep into their shelves
A literary creation
Where they form somewhere
Here or there
Of ego and right
Yes, so many muses, lovely and bright-
so how come you learn not from them?
There is really no better muse to read
than written from the heart of a poet.
When you seek of my own lips for you
seem to follow me, day by day, ‘til we
unknowingly, kiss the end of hour. Why
not give your self a chance, to feel how
good it is to hold hand in hand, sealed
with love and passion. Ah, let my muses
I started writing when I was young
of all the things that I had done.
the girls I met, whose hearts Icouldnt win
the places I worked.
The situations I was in
Every now and then I would put pen to paper
and I would begin.
I wrote to get it off my chest
at the time it was for me the best.
Im still writing today ,only in a different way.
I write not so much as frust .
This time its more a must.
Im writing for all to see ,
and thats now what pleases me.
A poem, the component
Of heart and
With all the rhythm
And rhyme that I gush
In wordy hives
On a tree, as its
Juices run down the earth
To kiss and reverse the enchantment
Of winter. Ah, I am--
Not to irritate
Yet, to please them
With scented hue
Of sensuous love, wafting
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
I do not know?
Our world to grey
Twisting and turning
Through another day
Passing through the shadows
Of words unspoken
Speaking empty promises
Made to be broken
Of our society's
Is this all that life
Could really be
Freedom of man
Are we truly free?
You and I know it's all written.
A book of all our futures.
We both want to find this "book"
And tear it to shreads on the floor.
We both want to tells loved ones, teachers.
When you see it like us, it's too great to ignore.
It's time. That's it.
This is what everybody wants,
But what you only get once.
If we could rewrite it, it would
Once again be "One nation under God."
People get blinded by a sight that they could
Finally see peace, and that is really what you want.
WE want to close this book and stop time,
Rewrite the book and live happily ever after,
Light candles, watch them fade,
Sit back, see what happens from our view.
But we know, we could NEVER see this book.
Whatever the therapist is jotting down,
Whatever the book beholds.
All we can do is let it happen.
Right now, in this moment, it is written.
Not just what's past, not just the future.
All you can do is let it take it's course
And be a puppet. You can do something
Great, but only if you believe it is written.
And, if you are wise, you will know
To love or hate time, or just go with the book.
My pen, before
The remnants of
My thought I had yesterday
I sip them not
From my pen, but I just
Without force, for
Will come again,
As I felt
Her whimsy throb,
There is a blurred brumous haze.
Afloat upon a invigorating mourning.
Alive with the aroma of petrol and
The glass somewhat stained with a rich
Raindrops like perspiration on a mother in childbirth.
A broken window wiper beats a jungle beat.
Across the clammy windshield.
Harsh noises of horns honking.
Intermix with the wiper blades.
To make a cruel early mourning remix.
Of yesterdays one hit wonder on the radio.
I am not asleep nor am I fully awake.
For my eyes are as heavy as the static rain.
I am blinded by the oncoming onslaught of
lights and traffic.
Like a metal stampede rushing at me.
As if i'm a capeless matador.
I am ready, set on the mark to go
Run in between the white lines
Waiting for the gunfire.
I do not know?
Storm clouds blew in tempestuous winds
May's blue skies turned gray
Raindrops pranced into dance ,
And fell to quench dry earth
Flying leaves ,branches sway
Empowered by her wind
week and rotted limbs
A calming lullaby breeze
Tender and meek blew by
And bolts of lightning,and
Bouts of grumbled thunder ceased
Only stillness and calm remained
Too quickly thunderstorm was gone ...
On a block note---‘tis cheaper,
or perhaps, on a computer screen
I will lay my emotions
and classify them in poetic forms.
Sonnet for the heart,
free-verse for the mind,
lyrics for the body,
rhyme for the soul.
When I’ll be writing sonnet,
I’ll be in the back porch
where I can seat, calmly,
and watch the roses bloom.
When I’ll be writing free-verse,
I’ll be in my study room,
where I can dawdle over time as I’d love to,
letting it flows, like I used to do.
When I’ll be writing lyrics,
I’ll be under the shady mango tree
where I can hear the noon psalms
of cheerful warblers.
When I’ll rhyme,
I’ll be on my throne, longing...
for the sensual night
to rest and kiss me to sleep.
Later, I’ll review the forms, which by then
are completely unveiled: the heart bloomed,
the mind no longer worried, the body calmed,
and so as the soul in a peaceful wind dance.
All these will be,
encoded, in my diary, tinged
with sadness and happiness---
as per how the days go by.
I do not know?
Once the paper is kissed with ink of beautiful array,
Only to share with the world today.
Into the public's arena without delay.
The poet's life is finished for one to say,
"Are you out there? Hey!"
"I know in the writing I left my life an opened book."
"I'm smiling in saying cheese."
"Give me my privacy! Please!"
Internet as entity
The feelings as eye smurf upon the internet
Are strange and palatable
They are truly feelings even though they are not part of me
There is lag time and it is horrendous feeling of waiting endlessly
A click and the some green dots all in a row to make me think that everything is
fast and not so slow and turning pages in my book of time the lag the lag the lag
almost becomes a part of me the nerves just then unwind and someday when
eye am KING of all the world the HEAD of internet will lay beside my bed and sit
beside my foot as eye shout gleefully at it go lag thou Internet
Head go look.
I do not know?
fingers flying linguistic leaping reaping words of wondrous harvest
never looking at the keys so many words appear with ease
Would that I could be so good but finally I’ve understood
Why I never took the time to learn to finger words so well
The words the thoughts in dreams in rhyme to cause or curse
To last in time are just a part to play to say hello to others on the way
And there’s no way to even think completed thoughts as fast as they
Whose fingers fly in patterned habit
But once the lines are there to see I find the editor in me
Can play along as if a song was running through the verses
And the druid laughs aside with joy as rhythmic rhyme immerses
The constant beat as words repeat the feat of rhyme is wicked neat
What matter that the words are slow I find the joy is ever in my mind
Looking at the keys in hunt and peck
So you think you are a poet,
these words I hear so much,
of others, not really knowing,
the written words touch.
I have to remind them,
from time to time,
these are my feelings,
I just write them in rhyme.
Some often question,
where did this come from,
do you really feel this,
I'm thinking , you are so dumb.
Trying to explain the feelings in my heart,
is not an easy task to do,
for some are clueless to your words,
and I think quietly to myself, If you only knew.
I do not know?
Light is rhythm on the end
Of spiral cantilevered space
Bouncing photons’ dreams of birth
Monolithic thoughts that tend
A viral panting pulse to race
For views of worth
Is yet a way to balance time?
Is still an answer found in rhyme?
With written word we speak with ease
To yet unborn on foreign seas
To far flung worlds our words can travel
And worthy thoughts may yet unravel
Secrets lost in ancient past by ancestors
That could not last
To see the fruits of all their thoughts
Fall bursting seeds yet less aborts upon a head
an open mind that shudders from such ecstasy
and for an instant sees like me
and writes to yet another
I reach and greet you
From one gone on to one anon
People's praise may persist
Before the perfection of
Promise and potential.
Such, such great blessings
For me, with all my writings
Thou, a year ago, my heart
Had no idea where to start
I really wanted to give care
Yet, I was too shy to share
My part, thou, I already met
Two left paws, in a tiny set
A serious type petite haiku
And, his twin sibling senryu
I did learn their cute names
O yes! I played the games
Still, I scrambled in my spell
Thinking they were from hell
Write....write, until I learned
To learn is to burn is to earn
My inspiration’s from Above
I finally explore my true love
I love you…O, love me, too!
As, I open my heart, for you!
Thou, I may not be the best
Read me, while having rest
For a thing or two, you gain
‘Cos this isn’t all about vain
There is, a joy, to be found
Like me, I heard the sound
Of happiness, when I saw
Strangers, I even not know
They were united in singing
Songs, of my great blessing
At times, when moon is fool
Is enough, to be….thankful!
words, for when
night comes, with dull eyes
I’ll be in a room,
of your eager heart
is my light,
them, ah sweet nectars,
that will move my world
for poet Ernilando Tugaff
Yup, did it again...2 am, and I lost 4 or 5 poems...which will have to be redone...I
will try to wait till tomorrow, as I am exhausted from a stressful day...what am I
doing wrong??? However, in the past, when this has happened, I find I can not
go to sleep...my mind won't let me, so I wind up getting up, and back on line...and
as so many times too often, greeting the rising sun with weary eyes and weary
body...and no TV to watch, it's all paid programming, infomercials, and the
likes...and unlike the classic telemarketers, who'se chain I pull with great
glee...being overly friendly and asking "dumd" questions ...and baiting them for
upcoming sarcasm...I LOVE a battle of wits...on my last psychiatric evaluation
last month, by the time I was done with that "shrink", he needed a psychiatrist!!
Just give me a pompous fool, and in no time at all, I'll deflate their egos and they
will go home crying...later...
Yesterday I, after work, went straight home
Because there was a poem beaming
With hues of beautiful Saturday afternoon
That kept running through my head
Great! I’ve a poem to share
No bothering winter wind
No snow to melt before my crisp feet
What a perfect time to write
With a pen and block note in hand
I laid myself on a garden love-swing
Then, suddenly, you came joining me
With a pink smile on your face
You were very lovely and I fell in love, again
My breath, in haste, intertwined
In perfect harmony with yours
And, the poem flattered away, completely gone
I couldn’t remember if it was sonnet or free verse
But, it doesn’t really matter anymore
For you held me tight, kissing….and tingling
That I love it, making my day complete
It was a Saturday night, at around seven o’clock.
Still at home until the phone rang,
“Jacques, is that you?” the voice said.
“Yes” I said and quickly realized it was Simon.
“Come down to Club 21, all the gang’s here” he implored.
I quickly changed and ran out the door.
Oh, yes, everyone was there, a cornucopia of mixed delights.
Jeannie was there in a bright, tight blue dress.
Mandy was there dancing in a halter.
The twins, Bobbi and Bette, were smiling and offering drinks.
I couldn’t say no, now could I?
One thing led to another, drinks then did flow.
Looked at my watch, where did time go?
It was five in the morning, so I walked on home
Still wobbly and painless, but managed to roam.
It’s now nine in the morning, laying in bed.
What is that sound, and pain in my head?
My sister is yelling, to me, from the door.
Why did I ever agree to drink more?
She’s yelling that mom said we all have to go.
“It’s church time now, Jacques, Sunday you know?”
Oh why, yes, oh why, did I drink, not stay sober?
Now I am just suffering from the biggest hangover.
But my sister’s still screaming and louder she gets!
“Get outta here”, I shouted, “I need some more rest!”
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.
From a sleepy mind, unable to sleep...
These words I do feel deep...
The Soup has become my
number one family
One I spend my time with great joy,
I hope I don't too often annoy...
But that's what ya get,
When ya read a dumb goy...
Seriously (or as close as I can get)- to Christy- I am so glad you love the Shivaree
song- it was on the ending soundtrack to Kill Bill II. I first heard of it on a great
NYC college radio station, WFUV, from Fordham University...I was driving when I
first heard it, and nearly crashed! I was awestruck, and haunted...I ordered the
CD from Amazon (you can get anything there!)...and have heard it many times. I
have not been able to "get into" most of the other songs, because if you put a
Picasso next to the Mona Lisa, you can't really judge. I have trouble lately getting
a continuous clean video (on You Tube, same as you)- and hope there is a video
available from Amazon, but haven't checked it out yet.
To my precious Shar, you are so sweet, and easily the most popular poet on the
soup (well deserved)- I often get so wrapped up in writing, I have to train myself
to read more- And I've been trying...ever amazed by the talent I read, there is not
enough time in the day...and the reading is so pleasureable, it ought to be taxed!
(oops, none of us want that, it was a pun..."Monty Python"...the parrot sketch),
what a joy to have this great library to enjoy for years to come...And Christy, why'd
ya' send the racoon here?- He just left and I had to join "The Racoon Club" to get
him to go...Ya'll great, and I still got an hour or three left in me...
Poetry ( O ) pen
( H ) eart
Love ( P ) oetry
Heart ( L ) ove
H ( E ) art
Trust ( A ) we
Truth TRU( S ) T
Awe LOV(E) OH PLEASE
These words of love eye give to ewe in lieu of kiss.
These words are penned instead of the
Three thousand words of cahtter that eye would espouse
If eye could have all of ewe time every moment of ewe day
This is tTtime condensed.
TRUTH is NOT left out.
Truth equals TRUST and comes to me
Every time eye read a poem that ewe send.
swing, with them
...yet no one noticed me,
soup much loved,
with a rose
...in the night rain’s fast trot!
I do not know?
Why have Age and Wisdom become
One when seen by most?
Time may be greeted, taken in; then
you become it's host.
Is Youth truly so envious, that it must
answer Beauty with sharp wit?
I would rather welcome it than snuff
it's candle as it's lit.
What age was Keats when Death stole
him, too soon, to his final rest?
For I am that age; though still,
I know he'd have my best.
Softly I fall
Under the spell of Spring
My lips recall
My tasting of the morn
Each day I work
Recalling what could really be too far to reach
In time to see the dawn
My back is warm
E’er I could feel a soaking rain, and as bees swarm
Neath brighter longer days do yet I see
The way that time sneaks quietly by
How could I know life ties itself to thee
I rest my back against a young and helpful tree
Victor of wars I hardly knew I waged
I roll the dice of Lady Fate and dream of what could be
Not knowing where this road is going to end
God knows I pray to gain the sight and rise again begun
So must we all travail
Each day is new
As rises yet the life persuasive sea
So goes the time in rhythm with the tides
Yet swiftly too
It is the same, she’s like
my free verse, I wrote, while I was in bed
longing, for night’s magical touch. And, as the
lamp’s light tingles
my thought, I remember her sweetness
that my senses overflow with it.
It is the same, she’s like
my free verse, but only she’s even lovelier, than
before and full of life. She’s lying down, close to me,
snatching weary spirit, from being out of love,
by her breathe, by her sensual lips. And, this great
longing---the erotic pleasure, is now buried in the night.
So many tell me I can write
I have a talent or a flair
But, this I say, it may surprise
The words come from just thin air
I sit myself down and quickly type
The words, they flow then on the screen
No lengths of time to write each one
Nor hours pass so, in between
Within some minutes, there appears
A poem written for all to read
Believe me friends, I take no time
To reflect in words, my heart that bleeds
As emotions swirl to make the verse
Some happy, some sad, some fantasy
The rest my friends is, how do they say?
Oh yes, the rest is history
Here I nestle, against a pillow, all by myself;
As I wait for you, I‘ve finished watching
A Mel Gibson film; the title
I can’t even recall, for my attention is on you;
Oh, something like this “what women really want?”
Anyway, does it matter to you?
I’m waiting…waiting and still waiting,
Yet, you don’t want to come near me;
You float somewhere out there; outside this world,
Surely, where we can’t be together;
But if you heed me, on this water bed
We can share what you wanted to write;
How long should I wait?
Or, should I go ahead?
Just a good night kiss is all I ask;
Is that too much, too hard to give;
But your tapping sound is all that I hear;
Crumpled papers, too many; the light’s still bright,
Should I dim it, for you, to be more romantic?
Ah, I can’t take it any longer!
Will I be waiting here forever more?
I don’t think so, ‘cos my eyes, now sleepy;
Honey, good luck on your writing…
And me, I will close my eyes to sleep!
In wildest dreams, In snow and silence
We speak only whispers, like velvet violence
We curl up our brows, in fashionable distaste
and dive into mirrors with liquid grace
You'll warm by the fire, I'll wish I was there
to sip and discuss all the words in the air
To fill up on secrets, to laugh 'till we cry
A pair of sweet dreamers, that's you and I...
I do not know?
A note to poets yet to be
No matter what their age is
They’ve indexed mine as world war two
But what’s a scouser lad to do
With all those bumhole sages
To develop the ability to speak into eternity and not be heard’ s demeaning
It’s not just finding words to rhyme with syllables in metered time
You have to have a meaning
To give to those in later years to make their eyes o’er flow with tears
of sentimental empathetic leaning
It doesn’t have to beat it home to keep repeating in a tome
With weight too late to ponder
It only has to make them peer through time to see a moment clear
To stare with your eyes yonder
To show a simple memory of what was here for you and me
A rushing stream a vivid dream a rose in prose depicted
But chiefly briefly try to say your message to a friend
Emotions free a trifle fey and true blue to the end
So polish your vocabul'ry and pay your syntax just to be
Remembered in eternity
Come combat time with words that rhyme
And when you’re bent in blind intent or lost in thought and sorely spent
Just read and heed these thoughts I sent
To you my friend through time
Write it, every beats that come from within.
Oh, thinking, too much thinking
Is just a whole lot thing---it tears your posture apart.
Heart is going wild,
Like a wildfire, crackling its nerves;
Whilst the mind wanders, lost in wilderness.
Lo! Poetry and its power---
A solution, a method, a therapy
Whatever you call it, it’ll…
Surely makes the summer heat cools a bit,
For a word or two is enough
To satisfy the inner thirst.
Unveil yourself, from such solitariness;
And let us talk, anything---
It’s time to share and resolve the paradigm of our life.
I do not know?
The alarm goes off and I rise up, for a moment foggy from sleep.
I look through the curtain and stare out at the world in front of me.
Where am I ? My mind is a blank , the cob webs still clinging.
Oh yes I remember. I'm Where I'm supposed to be.
Miles away from my home and my family, doing a job not many can do
or would want too.
This is my life day and night, to deliver my loads to the receiver's so that
consumer's will have what they need. That's what I do.
Then it's off to another pick up and another hurry up and wait day.
Because no matter when I get there the freight won't be ready to load.
So I'll be up all day waiting for it. No one seems to care.
Then it's all night long no time to wait. Got to get on down the road.
Montgomery is a long way off and 7 a.m. comes early, just enough time
to fuel up. Both the rig and myself. Grab a thermos of Joe
Then it's back to the road I go. The HOS is a pain the D.O.T. the same
The coops are open and weighing. My weights o.k. and it's off I go.
Daylight is just a memory and the night is long and black.
The c.b. is chattering low. 10 people talking at the same time.
Truck stops are full and there is no place to park so I head out
to find a rest area. Then call home on the land line.
Hello I miss you. Did you take care of the things I asked you too?
Yes I'll be home by Friday, No I haven't forgotten a thing
Yes I know I won't be late. I promise! Yea I love you too!
I hang up and I feel it, the painful sting.
I walk back to the truck, sadness fills me, and it lingers.
My heart hurts until the night closes in on me and I sleep.
The alarm sounds and I arise and I move out onto the road
Montgomery calls, and the diesel in my blood flows deep.
This is my life. What I do to make a living
It's hard and lonely and scary too.
But it's the life I've chosen to live and I know it better than myself
Miles, and miles, everyday. That's what I do.
Time to write
Time to exercise your hand
Be sure to ready your paper and pen
Or, check your p/c battery
Before you begin the word journey
And make sure no one is around, disturbing your mind
Tis not about rhyming, nor about the form
What you feel is right
For you, to make others laugh
Or touch their heart
Above all, be yourself
The originality lies inside you
And, the rest will smoothly flow
Try it, and hope you enjoy the fun
The Letter Change
The Letter Change
One word one entire word one letter of an entire word one letter of a word
changes the entire meaning of a line and can change the entire meaning of a
poem try the thing on for size oh gentle reader ewe and see if eye am write.
When gives some idea of time when eye then changed the w to a t then it
became then and changed the meaning of the sentence to be then to be a
somewhat different idea the time change made it seem to be a different direction
a different place as if it is now a change takes place and makes the poem so
much better than just a past mistake would seem to enhance the poem just to
make it bleed please tell no one oh precious ewe that it was accident and just
mistaken typing and let them all think me the genius that eye am for loving ewe.
When then the letter change.
the black word at the top
probably not just me
but what does it me
on this card all about satiation of a puzzle piece of Freudian slips
of the ego maniac dealing me a hand
of a two sided card
The Blue "Spirits" written on the bottom upside down
I do no know the right side up
and the "masks is there on the side
just one card professor
just one card
the nine of hearts
a piece of the puzzle
a piece of the chapter
a legacy of five hearts upright
showing me there is more love than what may be topsy turvy
four hearts upside down under the top five
and when i flip this card over what do i find
on the other side
the six of clubs
a card of success
Blue on top a word that speaks "Alone"
Down at the bottom and upside down
an omen written "within"
and on the side i have "expressive"
My deck of 26 cards with two sides
and these are just a few of my favorite things
the puzzle of Freudian slips
the word game
confuses expressive masks
I'll never know
on card with two tails heads and tails
would you like a reading after you read the fairytale?
would you like to know more more than the yes or no to your answer and what
you found here to the question you didn't t know to ask
and what have you found in this moment you are made up
besides the greed and arrogance you pine and hide away?
did you cry
did anyone come to intervene
did the destroyer change your ways from those who could wipe
this place clean
and is time ticking tick tock ticking away
to reflect within the mirrors
around you echoing your souls
as we all cry
and cry like teddy bears
banshee teddy bears
is time still ticking away?
success of being satiated
cursed by being alone within and expressing it
to confuse your spirits and mask it all
such a poetic piece of art
my nine my valentine six of clubs nine of hearts
trump taking trick winning mastermind trump
hand winning card of the game fortunetellers jaw drop right now
because they are also god given
when they see the mirror magic of alphabets and words reflected in my living
room surrounded by tick tock ticking
and i cry every night
like a banshee
wanting to rewind the tapes see what i would have missed if i didn't take it all on
and what is left for me
are my hands gonna be clean?
Barely six years old, when he talked
to the evening sea, to the moon and the stars
yet, I am without doubt that in yesteryears
I had and enjoyed the very same passion
It seems an appreciation at most
and I’ve spoken about my own in the past
so I have had great time, flaunting it
I had and enjoyed the very same passion
hardly have I pushed the brain
to whisper awhile, this so-called writer’s block
is not a big deal. Oh, there he is, sitting
Head slightly bent at my father’s table
I read, by heart, every word that comes out
through his pen. And, in his young mind---
I feel once more, the muse I loved, glowing
“love you” and “blue”
love ewe and blue aer rhyming words true
there is always inflection and poor attitude
limits of knowledge above snobbish refrains
trains run on time only in the movies
movies run on time only in a small town
there is very few movies shown on trains
blue can be an attitude blue can be a heart
love you can be used to start a heart apart from you
as you watch the blue southern train depart
from the blue stunted depot with the board walk floor
the little blue conductor yelling all aboard her
as the train takes the love and makes your attitude blue
soup mix tastes so wordy so blue so true and good
with a doubly heaping helping of a love ewe attitude
I see my past,
Unveiled within this poem;
Written by an erratic hand---unwilling
To cooperate with my heart’s rhythm.
I can not see the future, if there is no past.
I tried and had lived in the fast lane, but still
Emptiness filled my brain; a grim
Hope is all I have, from my past;
Only what is left inside of me is this poem.
I do not know?
Every writer from
Soon to come crosses one another finger-path ink of thoughts.
Here & now,
Compositions only read unapproachable.
I do not know?
How much trust can someone have
until it runs out and you cant trust anymore
or how much love can someone have until
its tainted and you cant love anymore
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
Life is short and it should be appreciated.
Each day we have should be celebrated.
Life is short because time flies.
It's a fact that it doesn't take long for the years to pass by.
Before we know it, a whole lifetime has passed.
We should make the most of life because time goes by so fast.
Now,pry loose of you're empty sensation;
The telecast snares of the modern mage.
Flee it's glowing, numbing emanation;
Though, it's truly a sight, distraction's cage.
Weary era, empty celebration;
Words, immaterial scribbles of rage.
No more endless, corrupt deformation;
Commit to author a new Golden Age!
Pointless comment: poems hold no vocation!
Ignore all who'd say so; words of void sage.
Find the path of you're own true elation,
Discover a course, map you're own blank page.
Permit none to accuse it as digress,
Rejoice in this, your new work in progress.
(This is a fictional poem)
I was rushed to the emergency room when I had a bad fall.
The doctors checked time after time but they couldn't find a pulse at all.
Everything suddenly became very bright.
I heard somebody tell me to walk into the light.
I met God and he had gray hair and a beard.
Sadly I had died just like I feared.
God was very tall and he really shined.
He said he was going to send me back to Earth to help mankind.
I've become a preacher and now I'm spreading God's word.
I'm helping to make certain that people's futures in Heaven are assured.
How long can I last before I’m washed up?
When will I give up this joy in my life?
Will I quit in a year?
Will I write ‘til my end?
How many cycles of happiness and sadness will they embody?
Will they ever mature like the boy into a man?
Can they ever make a difference in somebody’s life?
Or will they always be merely a way to see inside of me?
Do they bear fortunes in my future?
Will I ever be appreciated as a poet?
Will I eventually find out that I have hundreds,
even thousands of admirers,
and didn’t even know it for so long?
The future of my escape,
of my expression,
of my falling depressions,
and of my rising delights
is ever so uncertain