People make me smile the way
their eyes shine when they talk
about something they love
when they feed me food. Or tell
me how much they love me
when I look into someone's
eyes and see it I see that look
in their eyes I see love in them
When I see someone laugh and
have fun in what they do
The way they cry for there lost
When they give me a smile and
tell me how beautiful I am
People are beautiful well some
are and I wish someday I can
find someone who will look at
me and say "you have that look
in your eye" what look?
I want to find someone so
beautiful in the inside I can't
stay away they amaze me with
what they say an do how they
will dance in the rain and know
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a
rainy day and just talk about
I want someone beautiful
Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013
The rain pours down on the city.
A sense of putrid disgust fills the air,
as trash litters the streets
and grime grows in every back alley.
The clouds cast their shadows
and the lack of saturation sucks the life out of everything
The rain adds depth to the highlights and shadows of the world,
making the spray-painted brick walls and cigarette-ridden cracked roads look surreal.
The rain cleanses the earth of it‘s filth.
It‘s the emptiness that makes me feel,
the destroyers of my body.
For all the years of coffees, cigarettes,
opiates and alcohol have numbed me.
My insides feel sick, my organs venal.
My body is being held together by a rope of chains,
and the chains are rusting against my skin.
I often find myself in bed with an old fling or an attractive stranger.
Another night of vigorous intercourse,
makes no difference to me.
They take more pleasure in it than I do,
for even at the end of the night,
I am still
and truly alone in my mind.
Copyright © Todd Dawson-Cooper | Year Posted 2016
Gentle April showers tapped on a rusty tin roof
the four leaf clovers already wet from the morning dew
spring forth little one, to a life brand new
Possibly you can be delivered today peaceful and true
the daises whisper your name saying their “I love you”
the cows need milking and the rooster bids you adieu
On this peaceful spring is a farm waiting for you
blue birds spread their wings singing praises too
as a new foal stands near the fence playing peek a boo
The ducks in the pond swim happily two by two
even the ravens in the field caw waiting for a baby born new
come on little girl with scarlet curls show them what you can do
Pink blankets are awaiting to swaddle you, not blue
the barn is excited for changes even Lucy goose
from a little gypsy dancer dancing to cows moos
On this grand April day peace abounds with her fruits
she will grow up in a barn dancing telling her truth
even though she may be but one she knows...
"Peace begins with me, but also with you,
Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012
The relentless sun burns,
Warming up the sky.
Open the car window and see the children play.
“Where is the rain?,” I wonder,
And try to push the thought out of my head.
Change the radio station.
Later, clouds form.
Could this be it, our release?
Drops fall for a moment,
The sky is important and, they stop short.
And the infernal sun returns.
Copyright © Janice Harris | Year Posted 2015
The cool dampness of the morn wraps its blanket around me inviting me come
sit enjoy..The gap in the hedge row calls my name; come into the mist be
shrouded and walk into the unknown as the rooster crows constantly stirring the
air with their vocals..The sun with its yellow light of illumination ever getting
brighter and warmer draws creatures of the sky to fly and sing praises..There is
beauty all around on this spring morn. .Silly Mocking Bird said Whip-Poor-Will
and for a second he had me totally confused was I getting up or going to
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
What people believed in 1912.
Was a myth in the truth, placed on a shelf.
Was the unthinkable, unsinkable..
The fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
Would never kneel or break its bow.
The ship could never sink or rust.
Was rumor going round, we all could trust.
The crowd showd up to celebrate.
As the ship was Christened to show its fate.
But The White Star Line was cruising fine.
When it hit a berg, under a darkened sky.
There it lie, with many to cry.
At the bottom of the sea she'll die.
They said the Titanic could never sink.
Their opinion a myth, now she's on the brink.
With fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
The voyagers finished their final meal.
To the bottom of the ocean they went.
A many to cry, while she made her descent.
The Titanic was a ship in trouble.
But now a myth, and a pile of rubble.
At the bottom's where she made her grave.
A sigh of relief, for the lives they saved.
To the rescue, and on the double.
Titanic was a ship in trouble..
Her maiden voyage, now turn the page.
Thousand of people, in a fit of rage.
The news it read that we all should mourn.
The Titanic's passengers, their lives were torn.
A myth of truth placed in the news.
The unsinkable ship..Would never lose.
Titanic-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
ALL rights reserved..
Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014
Is tomorrow the end of March or the beginning of April April one or March 32 the
way to approach the online scenario is to make it seem to be true. Associated
Press AP: The Government in a brief memo enacted a new presidential law
bringing the March 32 a new day into the light of day. The President of the United
States declared leap year over null and voided. Here is the words of the transcript
from the Whitehouse: This is President Bush talking "Eye am certain all we ever
had to do was add a day on the end of a month when we need to in the year they
used to all call leap year year. March now has the end of the month the April
starts after the March 32 has come." End of quotation. The Democrats in Georgia
have declared WAR upon the United States "we believe it to be wrong to take
away leap year is bad enough but to add a day to MARCH is madness." The
press corp at the Whitehouse is for once speechless. The day of the end of
March will be celebrated all over the nation with the observnace of the Marching
Bands of America. Send money via PayPal to Box 666 Mountain Verne
Washingtonia, D.C. For the hearing impaired we have prepared a phonetic
version of this message. March 32. Mahrrch Thirtee Twuu. In DRY counties of
Arkansas this day will fall on April 1, 2008. The subdivisions housing in the
Indian Reservations in Oklahoma will be left out. No one in Central Asia may
observe it. Lets go LIVE to the White house to ask a question of Mrs. Bush. What
will you do Barbara? The First Lady is unavaliable for comment. This is highly
unusual. We remain speechless. The new day falls on a Tuesday this year and
April 1, 2008 is on this Wednesday. All of you are April fools.
Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008
-Honey go to the Dr
-April I don't know Am I still alive?
-Do it for Us, ours strive
-And the watcher what I should say?
-Tell him the all system was hacked
-The all system was hacked William (Blush)
-we going to do some tests now
"this guy is one in a million"
1000 Doc critiques
Deliberation: -Not going.
April goes to the office, -so Easy going how is he?
Good so far The CPU is Ok, Keyboard and Screen Alright
The power A-L-W-A-Y-S in save E mode
See this <| ...
He will never again hit the road with full load
Copyright © PEDROS FERNANDES | Year Posted 2013
Her eyes amused me, slices of January that held April tightly....
she could rain in snow, drop from upside-down skies, and we held tightly to the tears that
only appeared on the opposite side of closet doors as we marked our claim on unusual with
hand prints that never saw the sun.
Two days could have passed underneath us before we blinked, my windows whispered glorious
promises but we kept them closed for safety, for the opposition of who we could be, and
she knew the secret of every season, she knew how to laugh when bedroom doors...
I drew her behind the mirror and we created October across December stars, we became
disobedient underneath the glorious names we sang that night for lips speak magic when
they pretend to lie and dishonesty was but a kiss away from sunrise.
Time stung me come August, come March, come the age of thirty-two, her eyes had been shut
for years now and she sunk beneath flowers I am positive would be beautiful enough to
photograph had I the courage to glance, but my feet have never crossed the grass that
blankets her and roots her promises...
tangled beneath tomorrow with a tight grasp on yesterday, and I wonder if the days have
yet to fade the color of her hair.
It rained in January when I existed miles away, teardrops of memories that fell as softly
as the whispers of her name, I closed the bedroom door tightly and listened intensely for
the echoes of dishonesty, for she remained there, somewhere, behind mirrors that painted
her and the lies that bit my tongue, that reassured me...
our hand prints would hide from summer...
covered in ice-cream secrets that screamed her pain from a smile, from a foolish wish that
spoke us inseparable.
Her eyes, blue as October, slapped me, that day, as they painted themselves the secrets
girls are never supposed to witness, as they refused to allow April to fall but declared
with the beauty that she
could never see.
Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese | Year Posted 2007
My nocturne is a mighty wind
blowing across fragrant skin
the world relentless in its struggle
she is an etude, I know that now
it comes along in whispers
between strangers who share the feeling
of what it is to love the April breeze
so many of us acknowledge virtue
in the shining disc of the sun
with all its unique perfections
nothing seems too onerous
with a little sunlight dashed upon it.
Wait till you feel the strangeness
of a cold summer day, I tell myself
April is not through yet, still my heart remembers
the warm summers of laughter
and the imperfect world making its way
along with the seasons
like a romantic bride off to see the whole of Europe
on her exciting honeymoon.
Copyright © Jonathan Elliott | Year Posted 2013
She worships her western horizon
toward the river, sparkling, hinting of lightning pasts and futures.
Leonardo is wrong.
This seems unlikely, perhaps judgmental,
even so, his God clearly reconstructed in his well-owned glorious image,
universal God of Creative Architecture.
But, for her, as she watches bruised red wilt into painfully pale lavender,
over black night's forest line,
nature speaks through Gaia's full-timed EcoLogos Voice,
sometimes in pastel skies and meadows,
sometimes in relentlessly vibrant green,
sometimes Full Moon, New Moon,...
Rain, Wind, sometimes sublime both on her tin roof, whistling through worn-out window frames.
If God were made in her image,
creation would speak in reasoned fertile seasons of shadow dark, and lightning bright,
synapses of climax, echoing down river valleys
rolling out grand majesty of EcoLogos,
rain beating Earth's thunderous future.
It would have been more revolutionary
and probably therapeutic,
most certainly lovelier, had Leonardo portrayed God as Earth's logos voice
swirling light as surf,
tidal river waters gleaming wide at dusk,
narrower in dawn's first light,
a ribbon flowing light emerging to west
reflecting waters greeting eastern sky enlightenment,
Gaia's morning river logos
translating Sun's architectural might.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Why is thy doth of perfectionism?
Melancholic's bore her not
Emeralds, sapphires, diamonds in a row
In April prime, lives her through
Her amulet sparkled like Indian's birthstone
To the glory of her, her alone
She's demure sometimes arduous
You cannnot fetter her like chain of Troy's barbaric men
By Helen's cry and things subside
One, two, three, and deep she carrying the stone
And twa's doomed
She asked, How do I live and die?
For my God, I live in thine.
Copyright © Amor Otong | Year Posted 2015
it was in my mind
need it this time
i could sit
so i got it quick
i was a hot sun gun
SEX ON THE RUN
Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013
The laugh like cry of the April woodpecker happy in the early spring,
And the dry harsh note of the Jay, awaken the forests and everything,
The dusky wings of rook’s glance in the sun, they are so timid and coy,
Chased off from sown fields and hedges by the clapper of the bird boy.
Bees soon will be seen again diving for nectar in the bells of flowers,
Making a sunshiny hum of renewed happiness so contented for hours,
Men, women and children on the landscape working hard with spring,
Ploughing, harrowing, picking up stones listening to nightingales sing.
Others rolling, bush-harrowing or cleaning the drilled wheat for bread,
Breaking the caked crust on the surface with light harrows the clay red,
Shepherds, shifting hurdles giving the flock pastures the greenest of all,
People working in gardens hoeing, sweeping leaves from last year’s fall.
Peacock and tortoiseshell butterflies amid flowers they don’t have a care,
Settling on warm grounds or hovering high above in the still country air,
Such is April with variable wind and rain with a touch of very early frost,
Nightingales around calthas or kingcups near river places they love most.
A coltsfoot shows it’s yellow flowers on cold bare lands without any leaf,
Violets both blue and white are found as sweet as ever on their own heath,
A cardamine stretches up from the margin of a moist green little hollows,
Again the clapper of the bird boy can be heard chasing off hungry swallows.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2012
Show me what eye must do now? Just believe in Jesus and see the miracle of
life. Eye took Hitler in the air with me flying is not hard when made of Titanium
steel and brass rod. There is a small town in Arkansas and eye took the Fuhrer
there and placed him with a Family the woman and the boys. He lived there until
1963 and was buried in the cemetery south of town near Morrilton and the five
mile creek. The grave stone says Milton Stone upon it and Mrs. Stone was never
home she always worked three shifts at the cotton gin to make a house into a
home for her boys and her strang guest. Eye chose to call him Milton Stone. He
sat most days upon the porch and rocked there back and forth like any self
appointed guardian of boys. He was so thankful to escape the Air Patrol. The bits
and pieces of the parts of Hitler that they found was only just a long stray dog eye
found and let him follow me into the pit the bombers hit the android eye was
rocked a bit and the poor stray looked up at me in wounded horror but the teeth
looked enough like the Hitler to fool the German Officers. Jesus saves one hard
hearted android and the Fuhrer from a early grave. Adolf Hitler is Born - April 20,
1889 Milton Stone was buried April 20, 1965. He stared hard at me one day when
eye rode down the highway in a car in my human form he did not wave but he
knew that it was eye. He was full of lemonade and fish the day he died he was
Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008
Still a bit cool out tonight. I drove to my boomfield anticipatin' gentle winds
and sweet returns. All my booms impress and amaze me, 'cept for a
couple of 'em, which I know always takes me a few tosses to figure 'em out.
The air is sweet with the promise of Spring....colorful ducks and geese fill
the sky. Quickly, sundown approaches, winds abate and peepers from the
creek at the edge of my field begin their harmonies.
Suddenly! in a dead-calm wind.... I feel it, only in Spring at sundown!
a cool creek breeze, waist-high, slowly waves over me....redolent with
moisture-filled Spring perfumes released from their winter slumber, while
the air above my waist stays warm!.... a sensation unlike anything I've ever
felt or smelled before!
Then it comes to me.... hmmmm.....stationary warm thermal above...cool
air below.... MTA time! ( a special 'rang shaped like a small hockey-stick, called
maximum time aloft) ... I begin tossing sweet flights (for me!) and eagerly
catch 'em low, reveling in the different temperatures, odors and sensations as
I reach to bring 'em in near the ground. An overwhelming sense of well-being
floods my mind.... as I thank my boomerangs for taking me deep into
April.... in Minnesota.
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009
If the wind changes and the showers fall heavily on meadows and glades April is Green,
Buds and leaves grow quickly on these green days everyone can see that there is a sun,
Walk through villages, commons and steep lands, the sun reflects off the thick grass,
Larks sing as they twist and wrestle with warm air watched by blackbirds in old trees,
Across the commons large flocks of goslings the same shade of green as a willow catkin,
And gorse in bloom right along the hedge sides in dells and woods lying in the sunshine,
Their faint scented perfume and scented wood anemones are in their thousands over fields,
The turf is sown with violets while cowslips grow buds over the meadows and flower early.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
How alive the light appears--
bending with the water--
sliding from points of crests;
making one wonder
if light is only above
or somewhere in depth of sea
a spirit spark swells
until it can do but one thing-surface!
This is not morning sun rising;
or moon or starlight
tempting one to dream--
it is the light that men follow...
even onto the cross...
Copyright © Joe DiMino | Year Posted 2016