Whispering to be heard My lips touching your ear in the darkness of the night Your head rests upon my shoulder And sex never enters into it I love you that much As a part of everything I am Waves of light run back and forth be tween us Still and quiet there is no need for words But I whisper I love you anyway And with your eyes closed you begin to smile If I were a cat I'd be purring now Contented with who I am And thrilled by every blessing that comes through you to me To make us who we are as one
Copyright © Michael Ainsley | Year Posted 2016
Wind so cold.
Fondles my face.
The tears from heaven.
I wonder if i wish
to stop them
The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin
with the pure coldness that you bring.
like it's my first time in the snow.
the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.
The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here.
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
And again I fold.
Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013
W A I T I N G.
Seems as if I have waited
In line or on hold on the phone
Where blatant disrespect is shown
No longer fast service to show
Just wait, wait, wait
Take a number
Life is what this is
Waiting for something
Waiting for the other shoe to drop
Waiting to see
Waiting to hear
No longer is waiting a past time
Waiting is all the time
Take a number
Do not have a seat
I no longer know what
I am waiting for
In this waiting game
When I get to the front of the line
The well has run dry
Or there’s a sign on the desk
Saying OUT to Lunch
My life is a take a number life
I have no reason to wait anymore
There is no wait left in me
The other shoe has fallen
The line is much too long
Time is up, the building closed
And now my time has come
I get on the line to talk with God
He asked me what I did while here
I waited, I exclaimed
I waited to be born
I waited in line to die
But most of all I waited...
On Christmas every year
Hello we are transferring your call ....
Hello, someone will be with you shortly
All of our representatives
are busy helping other customers
Your wait time should be
approximately twenty minutes
Can you hear me?
I was next hello; Buzzzzzz..
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2011
Tell me of your peace.
Let it tell your story now
Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams
Weary from a journey of self-discovery
My child, know the comfort in your peace
You feel hope in this familiar place
As it gently sloughs the pain away
Tell me of your peace
In which we all are blessed and free
Search throughout your soul sweet child
Peer not within your cluttered mind
Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see
Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best
Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace
Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know
The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun
Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene
An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven
Soaking this in with relucant ease,
Breathe it deep with a slow release
Take it in, delight in details you discover
Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here
You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears
We share not the same peace, no no
Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none
Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach
We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves
Please young one, listen closer now
I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down
Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies
I know you're weary, let go of all you carry
Don't be afraid, here you are burden free
Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe
Sweet child, tell me now if you see
Peace resting deep within
Waiting for you
For you to let it be
Copyright © Gabrielle Charisse | Year Posted 2013
Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013
Living among dead corpses
My creativity becomes stagnate
As I surround myself with
Dreamless adults never realizing
Their full potential in life
Witnessing generational leeches
Attacking the mind, soul and legacy
Of an unsuspecting youth
Instead of experiencing daily
Burst of DMT in his pineal gland
He is subjected to
Tricked into selling his birthright
Copyright © Tanya Jenkins | Year Posted 2010
Amidst the binge of the champagne, and the glitter on the faces, she heard the
distant lullaby. Glistening repertoire of appreciation elated her, but her soul had been
far forlorn. She smiled her way through the ballroom, shaking hands, wishing
prosperity and hugging the nonchalant children, who didn't even remember her...
their innocent, curious eyes, complacent enough to defy contact.. but still she bore
them momentary warmth.. and quietly soon enough, they gleamed with fondness
towards her. That made her happy. She danced through her guests graciously,
illuminating even the minuscle flicker of the dynamism that inflamed her celebration of
triumph. It was her day of glory, but somewhere, the gaping hole within her had
She couldn't bear the tinge of strangers crawling beneath her destiny.Like cobwebs
spun all around her, she gasped for someone to call her own. The outlanders raided
her memories in the making. Her soul became an illicit labyrinth that had been
expanding like a monster. She couldn't find her people! Her People. Everywhere she
looked, her vision proliferated from Void. How could she hide from darkness itself?
She cried, but...
A sudden loud burst of laughter from a nearing clan hurled her back to reality. The
strange realization that she had been ruminating through her desires, made her
smile naively. She knew she couldn't be happy. The lust for satisfaction glided life into
her. She resumed her counterfeited solace. To tunes so subtly high and alone, she
began dancing again.
Only till the guests had left, she looked at the empty glasses and collected her tears.
She saw her reflection...The splendour of the ballroom in the background, the beige
on her body and the silence....she felt alive, only, to die again.
~~Won 2nd prize for the Dark Prose Poetry Contest~~
~~~~Thank You all, so very much ~~~~
Copyright © Iman Roy | Year Posted 2011
wake up to serendipity
ignorant and unknown
shaken and not stirred
blond can be bond
Reality, metaphor and cliche
cheesy juvenile decay
Love, care and hate
past the use by date
of fights and torment
and well deserved lament
salute to the solitary reaper
with Metallica... I disappear
Copyright © Anwar Hussain | Year Posted 2009
She's sliding and if you look past, if you watch her.....
maybe you'll capture a glance of her yesterday.....
“Sunrise only falls when you don't believe tomorrow exists,” I explained, in my most
She bit her lip and shook her head, she followed me into my room and shut the door, she
locked us in, for an hour it seemed, and whispered in my ear....
“I can write pain better than anyone,” she informed me, “I'm brilliant at tears.”
And with this she tore pages out of my beloved sketch book, the one that no one is allowed
to touch, and just when my jaw fell with the shock of her brazenness, I shut my mouth as I
watched her pen turn letters into sobs....
I followed the words as they ran down, as ink turned into pretty swirls that screamed art
and I told her...
“Your angst belongs in a museum.”
I had never seen her smile before, I had never heard her grin, but her lips parted at that
moment as a single curl dropped down her previously wrinkled forehead and I saw the beauty
in eyes that cry and knew that she had realized I accepted it.
“Oh, but who would pay to hear me scream?” she asked, almost joking, as she crossed her
legs and sat forward a bit, as her teeth tugged on her bottom lip, as she looked more her
age and resembled a child instead of me....
“I would,” I replied, as I pushed back her hair and kissed her on the nose, “I would, if I
didn't hear you in my dreams almost every night.”
Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese | Year Posted 2007
Segun my child! My son!
Soon, the cock will crow at dawn
And the east will showcase the sun
Soon, you will leave my home,
To found your own
With words of wisdom, you won’t be alone.
Like a mini-skirt, advice is too short
But it covers the body’s vital lot.
Your brother is not your friend,
He is another you, but independent
So your love for one another, allow no dent
For the sons of men…
Every journey far destination brings
Nature presents a transport means
The snow has the snow dogs
The desert has the camels
The long distant road has the horse
Even technology came to aid us
For the road, we have the cars
For the seas and ocean, the ship
For the rail, the train
The sky has the airplane
All, to lead us through our destiny lane
That is it with man’s life and the battle in it
For whatever fate comes to us, so be it
As the future hungers like a wild beast
Likewise on it, your eyes be firmly fixed
Take a deep breath my child, and learn this
Every master was once an apprentice
Be it the prophets or the dentists
Fate is most times very unfair
Be not defeated by the things you saw
For life is more like war
And all is fair in love and war.
But whatever life’s battle you face
Nature will surely with remedy surface.
When you fall or fail
Don’t ceaselessly wail
Inhale…count to ten, and then exhale
Turn stumbling block to stepping stone,
So the builders reject, will be chief cornerstone
Two Demi-gods are on man’s destiny entrance
Their names, Consistency and Perseverance
Segun, to them, you must bow
No matter what, no matter how
On their feet, bring your head down
I know my son, I know,
That adventure is the blood of the youths
But by rushing the moment, the petals are bruised
So, calmly assimilate my child, calm study
For so, Apostle Paul admonished Timothy
Never be the first to hate
But to forgive, be the first and be in haste
My son, all humans can’t love you
If they all do, then they want to kill you
Likewise, all humans can’t hate you
If they all do, then they want the best for you
What people suffer to get, yet you so easily get
That you must never despise
For it is your miracle in disguise
For the sons of men,
Me, myself and I comes first
Don’t follow that context
If you find the opportunity to rule
My son, take the alternative to lead
For where rulers doom, leaders bloom
When fortune knocks on your door,
Be quick to offer him a sit
Use your wisdom and condor
To keep him and give him no exit
Copyright © Isioma Esemene | Year Posted 2011
Love can make the most brilliant mind
Into that of a babbling idiot
Intellect and equations flee
The neat and ordered becomes chaos
Butterfly’s in the stomach
Cat gets your tongue
All your studies of nature
Made no mention of this
Trying to figure it out is a waste of time
The conclusion is harsh
And very simple,
Love just is.
Copyright © Edward Ford | Year Posted 2010
(form a circle) A circle meeting
Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2011
God created hands for building things. Sometimes before you build something, you must first destroy something else.
Wildfires are never supposed to be put out. Their sole purpose is to burn the entire forest to the ground, transform living things to fertilizer, making room and preparing the soil for new growth.
It is almost paradoxical,
that there must be death before birth
My hands have stared the grim reaper’s reflection inside the pool of my best friends blood. An old student I used to tutor told me that I am the best brother she could have asked for
She said she will always love me
This was after I burned every bridge that traversed the gaps between us
Stared at her from across her desk
Told her that she will never be my sister. That our bloodlines will never match.
Our gene pools are just strangers that made the same wrong turn.
I spent so much time trying to find my way back that I never realized I was home in being lost I found something comfortable, without expectations. I only corrected myself after she spoke,
because I heard something familiar in her voice.
She sounded like family.
I have the scarred and wrinkled hands of a senior citizen
I’m only 22 years old
I once got my palm read
This gypsy woman told me that my lifeline should have been cut short when I hit 17.
That was a year ago.
What do gypsies know anyway
I have defied the odds my entire life.
Been broke down and built back up too many times to count
My fingernails chewed raw to the cuticle out of anxiety
I enjoy the taste of my own pain
Sometimes I use my own hands to destroy myself just to see who my real friends are who will build me back up when I can’t do it alone
My hands have a desire to learn how to cook, but I’m not that great.
So when I am alone,
I tend to be hungry, not just for food though.
I starve for someone to talk to
It never satiates, because it’s not you.
I know what it tastes like to completely give myself to someone.
My biggest fear is being abandoned.
When I look into your eyes, I am not afraid.
I need to cook you up a feast of myself, then feed it to you every day for the rest of our lives
Please tell me what I really taste like,
Years after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved into my aunt’s house.
Since I was 5, every time I speak to her she asks me:
“Spenser, did you thank God for waking you up today?”
I think to myself, I never did tell my eyes to open themselves. It just happened.
So I don’t know how to respond to her correctly.
I tell her that I love her, that I am writing a lot.
She tells me that she puts her hands together for me every night
Prays that I will get the job I want
I guess some prayers do get answered.
Sometimes two hands in the right position, matched with a conversation with God,
Can change things.
I even accidentally call that place home sometimes.
My dream is that my hands evolve into wolves, become part of a pack and work together with other hands to make a difference
Some days they will be the alpha male.
Full of confidence, at the head of the pack
Other days I need someone to show me the right way to go
Because if I’ve learned anything
It’s that I am not always right
I can not always be in control of everything
The only thing I have ever really wanted is to know
That my hands were truly
A part of something.
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
A noble story one that ought to be our good host laughed and swore the games begun. Come match the knights tale if you can sir monk. To bellow arms and blood and bones he swore. A noble one I'll pay off the knights tale lets do this right. You tell yours by and by either I'll speak or go on my own way. Everyone listen but first i will propound that i am drunk i know it by my sound. For I'll tell a golden legend and a lie. Forget your ignorant drunken bawdiness it is a sin and great foolishness. Tell us of other things you'll find to lack i see you are angry with my tale but why. cuz you are a fool your head is overpowered by the wine. If you are not enjoying yourselves then cut off my head but as i drink my wine and ale. Whoever won't accept what i decide will pay for everything we spend along the ride. So hold up your hand if you accept my speech reflect a little and don't hold me to blame if you choose wrong don't lay it on my head. And both of them had bawdy tales to tell theirs no sense making earnest out of game.
Copyright © craig schaber | Year Posted 2011
Flamboyant extravagance now infra dig
High class labels embarrassing
Enormous houses now freezing cold
Investment bankers – hiding the gold
Green philosophies put into action
Recycled living the latest fashion
Anxiety political personal basic
Maximise optimise – the cant of the wise
Expression depression opinions outpour
Anger, betrayal, corruption and more
Mortgage arrears fuel fears of repossession
Government’s reaction – an impotent regression
Churchmen clinging to their uniforms of history
Vatican keeping church assets a mystery
Emperor’s new clothes glory castles in the air
Expression recession - a very sad affair.
Copyright © Liz Walsh | Year Posted 2010
On a street long ago
with a sidewalk and curb,
Back when houses seemed huge,
In a child's wide-eyed way.
On a screen porch, played quietly,
As not to disturb.
For my mother was having
A headache that day.
All the front yards were deep,
Nestled back from the street.
With a walkway of concrete
And large, shady trees.
Every morning, I waited
to yell, then retreat,
When the giant man walked by,
never noticing me.
All I knew was the little
They let children know,
That he lived with his mother,
On the far side of town.
He was big and slumped over
And walked very slow.
Not a person remembered
Him utter a word.
As he passed by our walkway,
I readied my shout,
Then remembered, "Play quietly",
Mom's head hurt today.
I recall as he stopped,
Slowly turning about,
Then he started his blunderous
Footsteps my way.
I was puzzled and frozen,
A chill up my spine.
When he reached our front steps,
I could hear mother say,
"Hello Billy", then ask
if his mom was okay,
As she latched the screen door,
Nudging me back away.
Mother always recounted
What happened that day.
And she spoke of the good heart
That lay deep within.
It was only that once
I missed shouting his way.
Billy worried, not hearing
His four year old friend.
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
In the darkness, is where the light hides
the quiet soul meditates in the silence
of his thoughts.
Only to shine when revealed in Words;
and only comes to pass when spoken.
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
Commitment is ….. beautiful when you love somebody.
Commitment is giving something greater than yourself.
A promise: To Assure, Guarantee, Swear, Agree, Secure, Give your word
A pledge: A Promise, Oath, Word of honor
A vow: To Be determined, Declare, Undertake, Assert
Assurance, Dedication, Loyalty, Devotion, Steadfastness, Allegiance,
Faithfulness, Duty, Responsibility, Obligation
If, to the one you love, you cannot give commitment, then you have nothing to give.
God committed Himself to us, He gave of Himself, He gave Jesus.
Jesus then gave His All to us, He held nothing back.
He took the cross that was due us.
Was that commitment? I’d say it was … it was the Ultimate commitment!
Copyright © Bev Edwards - Walther | Year Posted 2007
Some things are lost along the line
Some things, beautiful and fine
Driving down the lone road to the stream in my hamlet
It’s like yesterday; like catching birds from their nest
I giggled as I drove by
Mothers breast feeding babies and singing lullaby
Naked boys rolling condemned tires, and
Ripped virgins with little cloths coverings, as attires
I giggled as I drove by. It’s just like yesterday
I remember Jerome and others as we gathered to play
There was the moonlight rendezvous
Where we all gathered, boys, and girls, all of us
There was the tales by the moonlight,
Ancestral heritages, sacrifices and the Lion’s might
The Lion’s might, yet he falls beneath the crafty tortoise
I still can hear the choruses; I hear my youthful voice
I loved folklore songs. Wars songs for strong sons
Let me try seeing if I can still sing one more;
Yes! I still can sing “Omalingwo”
Omalingwo, Omalingwo tee …… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo nwam…… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo dia …… Omalingwo
Nne nei di na Otutu-aja-o………..Omalingwo
Elikwue ma yu atuna ngwo ji ……Omalingwo
Ngwo, ngwo onye oma………….Omalingwo
My God, I feel new!
I can still sing it! Oh God I knew!
Omalingwo! Story of the child of a deprived mother
Jealous king’s wives over ready for murder
Murder and deprivation if that will give them a son
To sit on the king’s throne and shine forth like the sun
Story of good over evil. Omalingwo!
A deprived mother’s son.
I giggled as I drove along,
Remembering my tiny breasts, when they formed
And more fortunate girls laughing me to scorn
I remember these things till sadness beclouded me
I am fully grown now; nostalgia overshadow me
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
We can’t assemble again, just like broken pot in pieces
Oh! The Eve’s tempting apple of white collar jobs
I heard Jerome lived and then died in Jos
Killed by religious rioters with missions unjust.
I heard Nwasombia is a head dresser is Lagos
At 52 and still searching? Celibacy is obvious
I heard Nosike is in aviation, head of pilots
Even Chima is now in parliament in Cyprus
Chima, who spoke big English like “opprobrious”
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
No more gatherings, just like broken pot in pieces
Still driving along the lone road to the hamlet stream
Still thinking of beautiful things
The beautiful hamlet serene things.
Copyright © Isioma Esemene | Year Posted 2011
Counting dimes in the coffee shop
dangling earrings peeling orange
rinds, stuffing her mouth sitting on
She had guts in her soul enough
to face the sun and what she had
done. Her tattoo came to life.
Loosening her hair, she kicked the
garbage can. Shaking bells on her
toes, she traveled the land. Sand
neath her sandals.
Face up to the moon stirring in the
brine, it was her season to shine.
Who else did she know who had
become undone. She pines, she
whines. The geese flew southward.
No one else gets to walk into
someone's life and then promptly
Counting dimes, the church bells pealed;
golden braids she made with her hands,
strand by strand. Hand in hand, in prime
time; shook off her golden rings letting
them stew in the brine.
Ominous signs told her it was her season
to shine. Rolling to the sea, rolling to the
sea. That's what she could be.
Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page | Year Posted 2011
Me: By Oladeji aka Vicki Acquah
Because I am only
ONE of my Kind.
to Abort my mission..I ask..
Could I have been a little more
could I have gone along to get along,
be a softer place for hard asses to land.
Could I have been a little less
Yes... I could have...
But then where would that leave you?
That would not have been me,
And as you can see
There's enough of them
....And they are not changing a damn-thing.
And then there's me...
Me: by Oladeji Vicki Acquah
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2015
And the westerly wind,
Will blow a sea of waving grass
And the sea's fine mist
Will breathe drops like dew
And the sinking suns
Will cloak the sky's horizon
And the moons of Autumn
Will beckon the golden fertililty of the harvest
And the violet tinged edge of night
Will cry for the white bursting of the stars
And the carved thrust of the mountain range
Will challenge the forever yielding blue
And the hovering tunes of the dawn's awakening
Will mimic the lullaby of my dreams
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2011
When I recall the spilt milk of my youth I want to cry
regardless of all the water that has passed under the bridge.
On quiet nights I often find myself looking back across those bridges
that I burned so long ago and still I see all my misserable yesterdays
like so many wind blown leaves swirled into a great pile on the ground.
Now even bushel baskets full of yesterdays won't buy me one more day.
But peering ahead over the distant fence where the grass is much greener
I am seeing all my tomorrows lined up neatly in a row.
Copyright © Monty Newman | Year Posted 2010
I have begun the process of forgetting
(and of selective remembrance),
apathetic to once-important retention
of what I thought defined me as myself.
The flow of words is slowed and stumbling --
to be sought out, puzzled over.
Still, they reveal themselves.
This would have dismayed me once;
now, not so much.
I sip coffee, read the news, pet the cat,
and raise the blind to morning sun,
to mundane life, to rife green,
green grass and over-arching sky.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2015
For every step I take toward the sun,
the spark that lit the fire inside me dwindles.
History slated on unforgiving stone erodes;
A weakly chiseled dream.
But I will remember it all,
and tongues shall breed these words
and hold them with intent.
Oh, how we have fallen!
Mighty and meek alike.
We were once just, and strong.
But greatness has cast down it's
poisoned banquet and corrupted hearts
that once bled for glory.
It is with a bitter tongue I speak these words!
Remember the reason we set foot outside
of our city gates.
Remember the certainty in your hearts;
that we men would give people hope!
Hope for life without malice.
Hope for a life of freedom!
A chance for prosperity!
...but what prosperity have we given?
Short of the bountiful throng of arrows that have captured
the eyes of this land and left it's people in fear?
Does a just King rule with the might of fear?!
Or does a King rule with compassion?
I ask you men,
you loyal few.
What would you have me do?
Would you have me slaughter this woman;
this beautiful princess of her people and take her
home as a prize for conquest merely because her
husband was the one that stood in the way?
Is her beauty the cost of her life?
She has wronged not one of us,
and yet you Brakkdus scoff at the thought of
her surviving her King. Why?
Here I thought men of honor followed me,
I thought men of courage swung my blades!
And, yet you fear this woman who could no
sooner do you harm than your own from the
bed that you left her in!
No, Princess Xavia shall survive her King
and remain here with her people.
I refuse to conquer the land of a tyrant,
only to settle for it's fallen ruler's morality!
If that does not befit you, then surely I am not your King.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Princess Xavia's Response
I stand with humility before such valor
My people have borne
the burden of swords and arrows,
they are silent with fear and trembling before you
Which would be yours
to burden them with once again
yet you offer them freedom
and me my life...when you could shame not only me
but those who are entrusted to me
I would prefer to fall upon the blades of your men
than to become flesh passed amongst them
the destiny of a woman
who has became the chattel of a lost victory
My blood be shed before such shame
be cast upon me
Yet you.... you have offered me back my Kingdom
and restored my name
Gallant your soul in the shadow of such a night
beneath the dark stars
where only the flames of a burnt, ashen city
provide any warmth for my grieving people
You have offered them hope
through a frail vessel such as myself,
such honor is seldom written upon the hearts of men
in days such as these
Your compassion is a light in this darkness
these times inscribed with blood
such is this age,
when the voice of stones speak more gently
than the hearts of men
Dark are these days and black is the moon
of these nights,
in these lost reveries we journey through
dreams that have become nightmares
Yet strength has arisen in one man,
a leader who throws light back
at the fallen stars
granting the nights a moment of solace
for your honor has returned hope
a light stronger than blaze of the midday sun
And as I take back my broken people
we shall take refuge in your kindness and in that light of lights
shall we rebuild this Kingdom,
our sanguine ties shall bind us
and we will rise.
I gratefully accept my life
returned to me through your kind hands
And secretly, within a whisper
it is my prayer
that when I look upon your countenance
and the time comes
that I shall gaze into your eyes again
it shall be as the queen you have restored
to her throne and to her people
and who keeps quietly within the space between her heartbeats
and the hope that she will share her throne
should you find her efforts and her heart
(c) Katherine Wyatt 2013
Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2013
What is it about me
that I cannot place you
in the picture painted by the years
the life has already spent?
Do you merely lurk,
and leave at a much later time?
you are staying
If you may.
While I find a place (for us)
in the picture of eternities,
the gods must be
Ah, the grand scheme of things -
A familiar spirit we feel -
(Note) This piece was inspiredly written for the beautiful souls - even the
strangers - I have met along the way and will still come upon in my lifetime. To
each special one, you have stirred quite a familiar spirit within. A remembrance
of forgotten past, I suppose. Thank you for letting me peak through your
soul's window. The veil of forgetfulness has never been thin as now to me. You
have so given me a gift I shall treasure in the moments I may tend to forget
who I truly am - a being with a soul.
Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013
It is not hard to fall in love with a beautiful apparition. You don’t know them, but are easily
entranced by their chemistry. Your brain ignites a myriad of sensual wishes. Carnal exploration
and fantasies played out in seconds, heating your heart like an oven. They disappear as quickly,
a wisp of smoke, but you miss them immensely. A hallow feeling leaves you weak, sad, and
alone stretching for minutes, days, or years till the next one steals your heart. Man or woman,
boy or girl can manifest and escape around corners and be gone, but in the moment you had
them for eternity. The Petrarchan romance you read lives in their dance and laughter. No one
goes without this fictitious ache; it follows you as your shadow does, comes to life as often.
Looking serene a placid lake reveals a reverse world where everything is as real as the earth
you tread, as vivid as those memories you hang on walls. Veiled in disbelief as a mere image
those waters taunt you with their likeness. The ghosts you long for are down there, but there
they know you as the beautiful apparition
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2010
So, if a matrix is a body substance, in which all cells are embedded?
Then can I not spiritually say that the body of Christ is also a matrix?
Well, is it safe to assume or safer to not assume the differences in such?
If I have a World Wide Web with many matrixes, there must be a main.
How does one achieve the main matrix without a conversion of all matrixes?
Each living breathing organism has a matrix, but what supplies this?
Seems how all bodies have cells embedded in a matrix,
Is it not safe to assume that the universe has a matrix?
If so, where is the main universal matrix?
There must be a connection of some sorts,
Nevertheless, what is it and where is it?
Moreover, why has this not been thought of?
If the body is the temple of the Lord,
Then He must have a main matrix.
Matrix is Latin for womb.
So in which womb is this matrix?
Only a female has a womb.
There must be one that is required by none.
Now let us get even more difficult here.
We have a World Wide Web with many matrixes.
What if the World Wide Web is an individual womb?
It obviously has good and evil in its growth.
Could there have been two that fused by one?
Could there have been a conversion of all matrixes.
Or is there only one main matrix being a female?
Let us get back to the body of Christ and His matrix.
Let us even go to your own bodies matrixes.
An enclosure within in which something originates or develops,
This is what lives and breathes inside of you every day, a matrix.
Do we not develop Christ within ourselves, and He our originator?
Is it not safe to assume that we are the body of Christ?
Moreover, that we are of a matrix that has a universal main matrix?
®Registered: Ann Rich 2006
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2010
Holiday’s Roadside Wreckage
by Odin Roark
To live as you’re not
To be who society massages you into being
To succumb to counterfeit identity
Is to skid into mere roadside wreckage.
We pass such rubble all the time
The defective and or mismatched parts of authenticity
Merging with Nature’s roadkill
Decorated by gum wrappers
Festooned by beer cans.
Few anticipate the accident,
The head-on collision with reality,
Where darkness and tears
Become the black ice of misfortune.
Some will slow down enough to see when they look,
Realize that reason and logic’s purpose
Is to reveal the highway shoulders and ditches’ necessity,
Irony’s off-road demise for make-believers
Careening unconscious down life’s highway.
Unrewarding scenery made repetitively prophetic
Until we take the time to recognize and live compatibly
With who we really are.
Copyright © Odin Roark | Year Posted 2014
They came with vicious dogs.
They came with clubs and ropes.
They came with galloping horses.
They came with guns and tear gas.
They came with hate and fear.
Oh God! They came to kill!
But we just kept marching---
Rattling broken chains behind;
Arms and hands fastened by bonds of love;
Our pride, dignity, and audacious faith before us---
With the glorious cloud of our precious God above us---
We just kept on marching---marching---marching---
Marching up to freedom's land: Glory...Glory...Glory...
God! I am so glad I was in that number
That just kept on marching on!
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015