A fleeting still small voice tries to warn me
A sudden overwhelming desire to run
The tell tale taste of metallic flakes
Means my nightmare has begun
Everything around takes on a ghostly pallor
A landscape of anguish and corrosion
A moment of silence before the violence
The flash of light, the brilliant explosion
The sound of the Sun fills my ears
Fear, my throat, though none escapes me
And paralyzed I clench my eyes
As my tormentor prepares to rape me
And it's endeavor is absolute
Consumption is its ultimate goal
It exists to chase me so it can erase me
Whilst feasting on my soul
And then that familiar salty smell
The sudden rush of warmth so stings
Engaging me relentlessly
In vile unspeakable things
Over and over and over again
My limbs stretched and wrought
As it's teeth tear my bones bare
It's mind defiles my thoughts
And still wounds beget wounds beget wounds
As in the mouth of madness I suffer
And with every injury he just seems to be
Rougher and rougher and rougher
Then just as suddenly as it began it ceases
And for a moment I am clearer
And then the true horror of it all
Is revealed in a darkly lit mirror
There in front of me stands my destroyer
Face flush with it's fill of my pain
And I find that it's eyes and mine
My God, they’re one in the same
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2011
Dazzling, alarming lights of blue,
the last images he can recall.
Flying over the murmurous sea
laying there in an uneasy sprawl.
Rushed through hospital corridors,
doctors attempting to save his life.
His eyesight lost in a bomb blast,
hoping death would end this caustic strife.
How he missed his gorgeous blue eyes.
How he missed his mothers sweet face.
His mind stimulated arcane thoughts,
taking him to a surreal place.
Many thought he would crumble and fall,
but in darkness he discovered light.
Found love in the absence of judgement,
let go of material delight.
Without vision, he learned to listen,
depending on sonorous senses.
Now inspires those with difficult lives
and never falls for false pretences.
29 April 2016
MORE THAN THE EYE CAN SEE - Poetry Contest by Mystic Rose
PLEASE INCLUDE THE FOLLOWING WORDS IN YOUR POEM
GORGEOUS SURREAL SONOROUS DAZZLING MURMUROUS CORRIDORS ARCANE
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016
I can see into the future
Ashamed of what I see
That through the endless fighting
There are things I'll never be
You can see a thousand faces
That pass through every day
That look completely through you
In a devastating way
Why they never see me
I still don't understand
I never find success in things
And I'm broken where I stand
Confusion is so prevalent
In my understated life
And the deepness of my misery
Will cut me like a knife
Being so determined
Somehow i will survive
The numbness of my misery
It says I'm not alive
Where does this road lead too?
When will it ever end?
I'm a tree of fallen timber
For, I never learned to bend.
Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2008
Ancient echoes from the past
Glimmer just beyond your grasp
When you know that you’re alone
Of a long forgotten song
From the corners of your eye
Hints of time passed by
Of things you did not see
Of the things that used to be
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010
There once was, a Miss. Communication
With pleasure she loved to communicate
Writing of love and the wonders of life
Her passion extreme and never sedate
Those afraid, of Miss. Communication
For she expressed herself with all her might
They banded together, to make their point
Miss Took, Mr. E and yes Mr. Right
Sadly the Kingdom, fell into darkness
For not a single note flowed from her throne
The sound of her music, could not be heard
Miss Communication sad and alone
So the town people, gathered together
Including, one who was Miss. Understood
We looked to her, in hopes of an answer
As she strummed on her harp made out of wood
Miss. Communication, rose to the call
For in the end she knew they were all friends
Because with passion, sometimes lines are crossed
Miss. Communication, never pretends
She felt real joy and her pen regained strength
Entering again, into the land of dreams
For within, our miscommunications.
It's true, nothing is ever as it seems!
Events of the last few days have left me feeling sad.
Things said that have left people I care about hurt.
Misunderstood people on different sides that are
really in the end not so different from each other.
Reconciliation comes from listening, in the end
each of us is looking for a place to belong and be
appreciated. Let us choose to act with gentle hearts
and kind words. Being loving is a greater cause than
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
If we lived in a perfect world,
happiness and love would abound.
And in this utopic dreamworld,
there would be no hate to be found.
Peace and brotherhood would flourish,
in an idealistic dream.
And we'd all help nature nourish,
every ocean, river and stream.
We would all live in paradise,
a virtual heaven on Earth.
And from orchids to edelweiss,
flowers would encircle Earth's girth.
All diseases would disappear,
and no one would die of hunger.
And there would be less fears and tears,
for we’d live forever younger.
But alas, it isn't that way,
disease and cruelty exist.
And starvation is here to stay,
while warfare and famine persist.
Written Feb. 9th , 2016 for "In A Perfect World - Poetry Contest."
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016
I've heard the music a smile secretly sings
And the sudden thunder a teardrop brings
No beginning or ending round a golden wedding ring
Together love and time keep on turning
It takes but one breath to keep on living
When your dreams and sorrows become the same thing
Empty eyes open there for the forgiving
Then memories invade, night becomes morning
Like the ring we wear, no beginning or end
We search to see where this journey shall send
Apart we are halfed neither night or day
Where nothing can grow, shall it be that way?
Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013
My father had been out of work for way too long.
At night, I often heard him and mom weep
Food was scant, but love was strong.
As was that hunger pain when I lay to sleep.
My little brother was too young to understand.
Still a babe in arms, he brought our only smiles.
I loved to play with him and hold his tiny hand.
It seemed to take away the hurt from life trials.
Then, one-day dad came home all excited.
He was talking so fast, grinning from ear to ear.
He said that our future was well fated.
That we were in for adventure was clear.
It was that new ocean liner, the Titanic.
Dad had been hired for the maiden voyage.
We were going along as his sidekick.
A family destined for American homage.
In just five days we boarded that ship.
Immigrating was a dream come true.
Accommodations would be a hardship.
But it was worth opportunities…new.
Dad worked as a scullion in the restaurant.
We were housed on the lower deck.
It was a very crowded lodgment.
We stayed together until the shipwreck.
Sirens were screeching people screaming.
We could not find dad anywhere.
Was he locked up as a cageling?
Could it be true; was he trapped down there?
Lifeboats were being lowered.
Mom held my brother, crying.
Dad must be somewhere cloistered.
We all feared a dreadful dying.
Someone put me in a lifeboat.
I reached for mom as it descended.
The Titanic was still afloat.
But my family separated.
The water was freezing.
I had forgotten my coat.
People crying, sniffling, and sneezing.
The lifeboat soon became an iceboat.
Within a few hours, death began.
Shivering, I crawled beneath two corpses.
A young girl destined to live without her clan.
Hidden from polar breezes.
That was the last time I saw my mother.
My mind holds the image clearly.
She, calling for dad, was cuddling brother.
Oh, how I loved my family dearly.
When rescuers finally arrived.
I was the only one alive in the lifeboat.
Beneath those bodies, I survived.
Then, I was wrapped in a warm coat.
I never did see America.
I was sent to an orphanage back home.
Life had dealt a great trauma.
Forever had sunken in the ocean's foam.
© April 9, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: My heart will go on and on.... Free Poetry
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2012
Beauty and BigFoot
By thirteen I was quite tall—
Five-foot seven—friends were small
Always tallest in my class
On school lines—was always last.
Friends were shorter, more petite
Always looked to size-up feet
Compare shoes, I do not fib
Was self-conscious—mine were big.
Their size five to seven, fine—
I was BigFoot! Mine was nine!
Teenage complex anguished me
BigFoot phobia, you see!
Later friends caught up with me
Height and feet grew handily
Soon size nine in grownup form
Looked upon as kind of norm.
Thinking back on “BigFoot” years
To fit in, drove me to tears!
Teenage stresses to compete—
Happy now with normal feet!
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
You played your pipe for me to dance,
as puppet master, worked the strings,
but today my heart will pirouette;
I am giving back the gold nose ring.
Last night I saw just how it is
Between yourself and naive me;
you are the wolf, I am the lamb
always destroyed in repartee.
You think I cannot live alone
without your condescending reign;
you won't hear Arrivederci play,
I won't come back to Rome again.
This love train has left the station;
It is speeding down "don't look back track."
Goodbye to disappointing love;
I'm moving on to be exact.
September 6, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
Prisoner of the enigmatic sea,
standing alone upon the rocky shore.
Once it illuminated the horizons,
now abandoned, it watches as waves roar.
Powerful winds influence the current,
as the atmosphere perspires salty air.
In conjunction the ocean joins the storm,
raging tides dance with malevolent flair.
Tempest terrorizes with wild fury,
flooding lands, demolishing weak buildings.
Animals suffer with fishermen lost,
storm leaves behind an aftermath of killings.
Standing tall through this barbaric onslaught,
unscathed the lighthouse combated all harm.
Replaced by modern day technology,
deserted, forgotten but not lost its charm.
9 April 2016
Sentinel Quatrain Form - Poetry Contest by Eve Roper
10-11 syllables. Checked on www.howmanysyllables.com
Write 3 or 4 stanzas, in Quatrain Form about the lighthouse in the storm. I want to feel the action, the wind, the cold, the terror, the despair.
A stanza or poem consisting of four lines. In the basic form,
Lines 2 and 4 must rhyme while having a similar number of syllables.
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011
The welfare poem is not for you
and not enough for anyone.
The welfare poem is very small
and not just given to everyone.
It's not enough to read for long.
It's just a little short.
It's not paid much attention to
and not the longing sort.
With thanks there's those who'll get it.
Those of who deserve it.
It's just some stolen words,
though I would soon forget it.
It's filled with much disgrace.
Those wary as they read.
It may be meant for you
if you accept the need.
I hope you have enjoyed it.
I'll cut you off for now.
But if you want more later
just beg there's more somehow.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2014
To stand you anymore
my head will burst
you're rotten to the core
and maybe even worst
My eyes are closed
I can't stand your sight
just get out and leave
before we start to fight
What you are inside
is a true disgrace
but you hide it all
behind that face
To people and folks
you seem innocent
but to me you are
so crooked and bent
Just go away
I can't stand your sight
move from here
before we start to fight.
Copyright © Maryam Jameela Haniff | Year Posted 2009
Darkness is killing my will to fight
The way to climb beyond my scope
Searching for a ray of light
In an oasis called hope
Feel like a stranger in my house
Drying inward from the edge
Climbing like a spider
Got stuck in my own web
The clouds in the sky
Add to my tears
The balloons in my hand
Do not bring me cheers
Nothing to push me down from here
I can only jump without fear
I break the balloons, I dare the rain
I splash in my web full of my tears
Here I come, you can push me away
I will find my way to dodge you away
Not everytime can I go astray
A day will come I will find my way
Copyright © Suresh Iyer | Year Posted 2010
I stand here and watch the changing of seasons,
a summer of winters, an autumn of springs,
I stand here in thought, not knowing the reasons,
to the meaning of life, how the caged bird still sings.
I stand here and watch as the years pass me by,
regrets of my past, what my life might have been,
I stand here and muse over one butterfly,
freed from the prison it had put itself in.
I stand here and watch as the dark turns to day,
the first glimpse of sunrise, a shimmer of light,
I stand here and wonder where clouds go to play
would they take me with them when day turns to night?
I stand here on guard while my inner self dreams,
of a world free of hurting, a life blank of stain,
I stand here and listen while my inner self screams,
with fear in his eyes and a soul filled with pain.
I stand here alone, memories by my side,
a flood of emotions, bittersweet in my mind,
I stand here unknown with the tears I have cried,
searching for answers in a world where I'm blind.
Copyright © Curt Mongold | Year Posted 2008
At times life can seem unfair,
for your heart loses all hope.
And from a pit of despair,
you struggle merely to cope.
Love is an elusive dream,
interlaced with nightmare thoughts.
And anxiety's extreme,
tying your stomach in knots.
You try to rewind life's tape,
but you find it's stuck on pause.
And there's no way to escape
your suffering, or its cause.
Abuse morphs into self-hate,
guiding the knife on its path.
And admonishing your fate,
you let its blade purge your wrath.
Every cut exacts a toll,
unleashing a scarlet flood.
And yet, the pain in your soul,
is numbed by the flow of blood.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
Hidden from the world
Holding angels ransom
With ivory inked thighs
Legs swallowing purity
Prying pink eyes
With sin studded threats
With pierced pirouettes
Leering from afar
Come out of the corner
My jaded sultry star
Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2006
A poor Pegasus dreams
Of soaring freely in the sky
And to graze on the mountains
With her friends, she would fly.
She awakes with a stutter
Each and every day of her life
Hoping to soar free
As each dream becomes a lie.
She gallops through the meadow
As she tries to take flight
But she falls every time
Wings like a withered kite.
When duty comes and calls
Her friends soar off the cliff
The the poor Pegasus cries
For she shares no part of the myth.
Her hoof's thunder away
As she gallops with all her might
Her wings try one last time
Only to fall out of sight
Each day she weeps alone
As her friend leaps and sings
For poor Pegasus can never fly
With her withered, broken wings.
Copyright © Catherine Adams | Year Posted 2009
Why can't she learn to do that right?
You'd think that she'd know better.
Someone should tell her what to do,
To hone her each endeaver.
What is he doing over there?
He should be over here.
He should be told where he belongs,
And make it very clear.
She never does as she is told,
Although I've tried and tried;
What she should do and how and when,
I took it all in stride.
I spoke to her, I spoke to them,
To bring her back in line;
But she is stubborn, wants her way,
But she will learn in time,
That I am right and she is wrong,
I'll teach her that I know,
Much more about her work than she,
I'll tell her where to go.
It seems my help and good advice,
Is just ignored and spurned.
I only want the best for all,
The best for all concerned.
I guess my help's unwanted,
But if 'twere put to test,
They all would see that I am right,
And my way is the best.
No matter where you go or what you do you're going to find some people in the world who think they know more about eveything than anyone else and they will do their best to force their opinion on everyone they come in contact with. Th ebest way to handle someone like this is to give them a wide berth. Stay aloof but friendly in a distant sort of way. However, don't hesitate to let them know you cannot and will not be bulllied because this type of person capitalizes on your weakness. Whenever they start something with you it's important to make sure everyone knows exactly what was said and done when it happens so you don't end up looking the fool instead of them. When they find out that instead of keeping quiet you will fight back using their own methods against them they will back off and leave you alone.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2011
there once was a time of simple pleasures
like hop-scotch, marbles and electric trains
hop-scotch turnd into scotch on the rocks
when i got drunk enough to realize what adulthood ordains
childhood led to my becoming a hood
i held a lot of adoration for adolescence
my youth was an era of hopes and dreams
and faith formed of fact was at its essence
stealing kisses in the kitchen became blatant thievery
i played spin the bottle until i spun out of control
jumping rope landed me at the end of my rope
and sin seeped deep into my soul
I recall when nursery rhymes first became rhetoric
And when reality dashed the dreams to which I once clung
Now, at sixty four, I have only one regret
And that is the fact that I didn’t die young
© 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2012
When rejection eludes understanding,
anxiety places love on trial.
And despite the hurt, you plead one more chance,
extrapolating hope from denial.
If your heart is pierced by nagging doubts,
it's like sharp splinters, undermining trust.
And lies built on fleeting shadows of joy,
leave you drifting between love and disgust.
Total truth’s, a prerequisite for love,
if it is to have any chance at all.
For shackled to an inflated ego,
passion, only intensifies your fall.
Reality, somehow just disappears,
isolated in your fanciful dreams.
And depression becomes love’s nemesis,
orchestrating psychological schemes.
Decaying dreams, morph into frustration,
resulting in an inward migration.
And walling off your heart, you hide away,
courting demons of your own creation.
As falling tears, threaten to drown your soul,
happiness quickly slips away once more.
And you beseech God's help, to turn back time,
so that everything can be as before.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016
In the darkening room I stood:
tears welling in my eyes:
by the windowed-wall, looking out,
my small chest full of sighs.
Headlights bright white and tail lights red,
paired, meandered down the street,
yet the white headlights that I sought
seemed only to retreat.
Cold, calm, singular, tear drops fell,
soon reaching down turned lips;
as in the house across the street,
the living room was lit.
A Father held his baby high.
He hugged that toddler tight.
I wiped the corner of my eye,
and gazed into the night.
Above the darkened woodland near,
beneath a cobalt sky;
the highway brought their Fathers home.
alone again stood I.
Horns blared out in drives near by
sweet laughter filled the air,
and, in the drive across the street,
their Fathers did appear.
The children ran out slamming doors,
on small unshodden feet,
with tiny squeals, and upturned cheeks,
their Father they did greet.
Where was the father who I sought
our lives incomplete
a traveling man, my Father
did nothing but retreat.
*A memory from when I was 8.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2008
I do not recall
The bravado with which I spoke
The titillating prose
Seduction’s prelude to a poke
You spoke of love
with a lust that I understand
your heart a bloom
your derriere met my hand
I pulled you closed
my eyes nearly met yours
your bosom winked
thank God I wore drawers
Do you not see
that my passions are pure
a burning in my loins
for which water has no cure
We gazed upon the heavens
I wrapped her in the moonlight
I looked at the time
my prayers faded into night
We danced till dawn
I had answered her romantic call
I whispered sweet somethings
Before her foot procured my fall
Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2006
Life happens when you're busy,
Making other plans,
And things are often side tracked,
By circumstantial demands.
When you least expect it,
And sometimes when you do,
Life throws you a curve ball,
And some folks sit and stew.
They fuss and cuss and grumble,
Stomp their feet and call out names,
When it's just life in one big bundle,
And there's no one to blame.
Stuff happens, that's the way it is,
Grow up and face the facts.
Learn to face it like a man,
Stop putting on an act,
Like everything should be just fine,
Should be a bed of roses,
Well every rose bush has some thorns,
As well as blossoms for our noses.
Life justisn't perfect.
It's just not meant to be.
It's not your fault and it's not mine.
There's no use blaming me.
Relax and learn to smile at life.
Just take it as it comes.
You really have no other choice.
You might as well have fun.
Learn to laugh at life, Chill Out,
You'll come out better in the trade,
If when life hands you some lemons,
You'll make some lemonade.
You'll live a whole lot longer,
And maybe keep your wife,
If you stop your griping,
And accept that that's just life.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2011
Swimming through the raven depths—
darkness envelopes me in his cold embrace—
searching for what may never come,
and feel a hand upon my face.
I reach, scared it might be you,
and terrified it’s not.
It’s no one: I’m alone again,
in the place that you forgot.
You say distance is you’re only friend,
I’m struggling and sure you see.
Don’t understand this game you play:
leave me searching for eternity.
I see you not, but I feel you:
sense you’re watching, but you’re not.
Difficult now, treading in circles;
I need air, but you forgot.
I fear I need to give up soon,
my limbs become so numb.
Eyes heavy, compressed by fear,
to the oceans prowess I’ll succumb.
You were my every waking breath,
and my every golden dream,
now you’re nowhere, yet always somewhere,
bubbles muffling my scream.
My eyes are slowly closing,
tide drags me to the abyss,
until I’m nowhere, maybe somewhere,
saved by Raven’s deadly kiss.
9th August 2016
Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016
I do believe in magic
I so believe in peace
I believe you know undoubtedly
Of beauties and of beasts
The human spirit can withstand
And rise above the shrine
Belittle all you want, my dear
I’ll be the dwarf in time
But I’ll evolve as I hold dear
These sentiments that haunt you
I’ll cherish every single tear
Because you’ve plagued me to
I’ll turn the other rosy cheek
Though undeserved it may be
I will forgive, but won’t forget
The promised growth inspired in me
Further more, I wish to say
Remind me that I’m still alive
Disturb the sleeping monsters
Please provoke me to survive
You compliment this hypocrite
Attention seeking scum
And help stick out the finger
That outranks the sorest thumb
Copyright © Brandon Basson | Year Posted 2006
They said you needed surgery.
You said 'There's business I must do.'
I drove you to the funeral home.
The arrangements were for you.
I had to wait outside that day.
I couldn't go in there.
I don't know how you made those plans.
You showed how much you cared.
You knew you wouldn't make it.
You feared the end was near.
I hate what your life did to you.
I wish you were still here.
How do you plan your funeral?
Were you as scared as I?
What were your thoughts heading to the docs?
Did you know that you would die?
If I could turn back time and say
the things I'd like to say,
I'd say 'I love you' and 'I'll miss you.'
'I wish that you could stay! '
Copyright © Mary Nagy | Year Posted 2005
The rain outside my door
Its talk, a calming effect
Upon my restless spirit, implores
the need to reflect.
The rain, drenching the moors
Its pounding upon rocky crests
Like the clapping of hands, soars
Upon the senses, dissolving stress.
The rain inviting me outdoors
Its plead to leave the comfort of concepts
Exchanging the warmth of safe indoors
For the dramatic cold of clarity, intercepts.
The rain, cleansing a downpour
Its relentlessness stripping the walls erected
Around the damaged heart, explores
Upon new possibilities, wider directed.
The rain, beckoning a force
Its puddles upon my feet impress
With childlike laughter, a dance extorts
Revving the spirit, the genuine soul expressed.
copyright © 02.06.10
Copyright © Caroline Cécile Delacroix | Year Posted 2010
A fledgling heart's plagued by deceit,
infected by lies designed to please.
For sincerity's a delusion,
and intimacy is but a tease.
Doubt fosters currents of disbelief,
casting trust adrift in unsafe realms.
And the anguish of a broken heart,
mimics the wind crying in the elms.
Dreamers sugarcoat reality,
trying to dilute its bitter taste.
Yet, when happiness begs compromise,
youth’s illusions are soon laid to waste.
Riddled with feelings of incomplete,
your yesterdays unwind and replay.
And inhibitions begin to fade,
facing feelings you once put away.
You sift memories for signs of truth,
having lost it somewhere in the past.
And allow fantasies to reshape,
till the heartaches slip away at last.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016