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Quatrain Places Poems | Quatrain Poems About Places

These Quatrain Places poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Places. These are the best examples of Quatrain Places poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Yellow Shoes in the Darkness

Walking through the land of shadows 
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues

The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the darkness
I heard a horrible sound

"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"

I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree

Light and color expanded
Traveling up to the skies
The entity that scared me
Was right before my eyes

As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears

I reached down to touch him
I told him he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face

"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."

I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season

So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned

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Commenter's, I Thank You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Fireside Conversation

Unravel your ego
sit down for a spell
Let the cool green glass
of deception dispel
Wind all your hair 
'round the wheel and dissolve
Tell me your story
and we'll be involved
You will be captain
and I your first mate
in the skies of forgiveness
pop bubbles of hate
We'll write out our names
with invisible ink
and laugh 'till we hadn't 
a thought left to think
Sipping hot cocoa
'round fires of trust
we'll bandage depression
with cider and rust
and blow concentration
'till wishes ensue
and glisten in glass 
like reflections of you

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A melody from yesteryear 
Plays softly on the wind--
A mix of myrrh and honey,
A wistful sweet and bitter blend.

Fond memories of bygone days,
Of long departed friends.
Of hollyhocks and lilacs,
A reverie that never ends.

A vision of a one-room school
Set in a woodland glade--
Of children playing joyfully
There in a spreading oak tree's shade.

A farmer toiling in his field
Behind a horse and plow.
No air conditioned tractors
As modern farmers do it now.

A rustic, weathered, country church,
A Sunday morning bright
Glows fondly now in memory,
Bathed in nostalgia's hallowed light.

A barefoot boy with fishing pole
Beside a lazy stream.
A song in perfect harmony 
Played in that golden summer dream.

Oh memories, sweet memories
Locked in my soul to stay.
Oh melody, sweet melody,
A haunting song of yesterday. 

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The Owl and the PusyCat Sail

Together the Owl and the PusyCat were married
Then again sailed out over the deep blue seas
Searching forever for the great Land of Nod,
To the place where they could find true peace.
True peace, true peace… Where they could find true peace.

The love that twined forever within their hearts
They sought throughout all the wonderous lands
Going to the place where they would live in peace,
A place where true peace, rules and lives in the hearts of the land.
The land, the land… Where true peace lives in the heart of the land.

Alas, the love of the heart, though truly not easy to find…
Is easier to find than the love of peace, found throughout the land.
So it’s said they will continue to sail, until that day comes true,
And when they land for the final time, will be up to me and you.
Me and you, me and you… That day will be up to me and you.

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The Vietnam War

The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed

This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace

With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base

These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews

One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar

The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die

In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail

Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction

Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died

The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind

Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say

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On Golden Sands - For Adults Only

On golden sands in naked lay
Adventurous hands in touching display
His Maidens skin like fine porcelain
Lips in touch, loves to gain

So caressed she becomes so moist
Groans of excite in wanting voice
Her perfect pink lips lure me to kiss
Sweet she is in hungry bliss

In spiral licks to her lips I head
As she welcomes me home on natures bed
Slowly I enter whilst warmed by she
In kissing touch sharing her honey we be

To her nape I kiss whispering words of love
On natures bed, blue ceiling above
Our movements of joy like the oceans waves
Excite her firm breasts, her pertness I crave

My head in her hands as she entices my bite
Kissing, licking her pert nipples in hardened height
Our bodies now joined in writhing glow
Sharing words of love as our loving shows

My pillar of man between her Vee
In rhythmic motion thee and she
Spontaneous we are in pleasurable voice
Arched she becomes as our bodies rejoice

The release of man cascades her inner walls
Warmed and pink my eyes now befall
A gentle kiss to her heaven I plant
In loving groan, my Maiden now pants

Up her torso I kiss to her lips I share
Sweet tasting honey to her eyes I stare
In gentle touch our moment now lived
Memories we share, for our love we give

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A Park In My Neighbour

A regular walk to the park
My baby’s favourite landmark
Not more than half a mile away 
Where kids like to run and play

In the centre of the busy town
A place filled with giggling sound
Not only by little princes and angels
This place is liked by parents, as well, 

Rows of beautiful flowers
A big wide tree in the corner
The green grass covering the ground
Swings,slides and see-saws all around. 

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Average Age 19

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 "

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If You Ever Cross Me

I am never jealous, but theirs an evil in my eye
Step forward and cross me, and soon you'll wonder why
No matter where you are, it doesn't matter where you hide
For I'm the clever one, who'll find you and watch you slide

There are some things that you will never own, nor I, so read my words
For if I have to find a reason, my actions are seldom heard
These actions I speak about, are the watching of your life fade
And the squealing through your last breath, your body in dying cascade

I am never jealous, but theirs an evil in my eye
Step forward and dare to cross me, and soon you'll wonder why
The world is small enough, it takes nothing for me to try
I can only ever promise, take what is never yours, and you will rightly die

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Amidst a Flowery Meadow

Amidst a flowery meadow we walked this sunny day
Two in love a wandering to find a place to lay
We happen across an Oak tree, as old as old can be
Below it's green filled canopy, we lay in love so free

We chatted and chatted for ages amidst this greenery
Our minds knowing our eventual, to be naked and so free
We turn to face each other, leaning in we share a kiss
Our eyes know our looks, to be in desirable bliss

Lips now touch like whispers, in gentle delightful flow
Urging excites our wants, our desires in us grow
Slowly I undo her buttons revealing charms so sweet
Her body reflects my attention, in pertness rising greet

Cupped I kiss her gently, her hands run through my hair
Her torso openly naked, whilst the Oak can only stare
Sighs now resonate across this meadow of colour
She whispers words of crave, delight my wanting flower

I touch, I kiss and caress, this bloom in radiant pink
Two now become one, as we start to love in sync
Frantic kisses now shared in lusting craving require
Our orchestrated echoes confirm our wanting loving desire

Amidst a flowery meadow we walked this sunny day
Two in love a wandering to find a place to lay
Our passion and love flowed in this lovely flowery place
Below the oldest of Oak trees, lovingly we graced

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Who is Actually out There

Who is actually out there That the multitudes believe What religion is really there That they all see How many are actually out there That makes them all believe What religions are actually out there That they all see and believe How do they know they are there What have they seen that they believe All their religions they say that are out there That have never ever been seen So many scripts and fables Passed down through the times Passages from village elders Etched and changed their minds Do believers look back even further To well over two thousand years When the village elders decided To suppress, enhance their fears Do believers go back even further When the land produced their gods Volcanoes, lightning and thunder Became their staff, their rod As I return from beyond the dark On travels that you can't comprehend Others actually know where you came from If told would send you round the bend All that you believe in Was passed down through the years The elders of human history Suppressed you, to contain your fears .

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Fall at Wenatchee River

Autumn clouds drift over the Wenatchee River
Changing from blue to a metallic silver
I walk it's shores as the greying breaks
As it captures ochres and greens in reflection shapes

Translucent ripples in undulation dance
Insects skim the waves with their life they chance
Trout break the surface to share my view
If I am the first man to be here, what a debut

Ancient rock from a long ago past
Scatters it's slopes in sporadic cast
Stones and boulders of all shapes in sizes
Carpet this podium like neolithic prizes

I go back to my canoe, the way out I came in
A Scotsman leaves humbled in his skeletal skin
To be here for this moment brings a tear to my eye
As I turn my head and look back, reminds me why

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Drive across the country
Let imagination flow
Tumbleweed and flat lands
Reveal a western show

Mile markers pave the way
Across this land sublime
Wind blows through the car
On my arm sunshine

Generations of people
Spirits across the land
Occupy a history
Of faces in the sand

Deep inside our spirit
Adheres to our respect
This peaceful land of bounty
No one shall reject

Fresh cut grass lingers
The present rescinding more
Where old shacks and farms
Grasp our inner core 

Land abound with wisdom
Dust has settled down
Enjoy driving the distance
See another town

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The Castle

In the green countryside of Wales,
A castle sits, dark and decaying,
It holds many ghostly tales,
That the locals keep relaying.

Surrounded by majestic, rolling hillsides,
Covered by a gray, misty shroud,
And cliffs high above the blue sea tides,
Where voices still ring out loud.

What was once a beautiful garden,
Where all the children used to play,
Has been left to whither and harden,
Just as the castle was left to decay.

Long cobwebs hang like curtains of lace,
In windows that remain dark and cold,
Someone still walks the crumbling staircase,
Just as they did in the days of old.

They walk the towers and through the halls,
Making the dusty, wooden floors creak,
Their portraits still hang on the walls,
Where the voices of the dead still speak.

The empty rooms will never make a sound,
But, if you listen hard enough to their history,
Stories of romance and love still abound,
Along with secrets of murders and mystery.

Written by: Kelly Deschler - August 8th, 2013
Giorgio V's contest - "In The Faraway" - the theme is gothic

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On My Every Wall

My spirit resides in a small family’s home. I serve to divide up the rooms of that place. I haven’t got legs; therefore, I can’t roam. I guess what they see of me there is my face. . . a surface, which smooth, is painted beige-white. No ears do I have, and yet I hear all. No eyes, yet I see everything day and night. No lungs, yet I breathe; I am every wall. When holidays come, I inhale such delight: the sweet scent of cinnamon and fresh baked bread. I love it when sun through the drapes casts its light, and also I’m warmed hearing everything said . . . and sounds of the children laughing with glee, the soft sounds of love making from their folks’ room and their music, when played, which permeates me, dispelling those lonely times I feel such gloom. . . . for there was a time the kids colored on me. Their mother got angry, but all I recall is how small hands scribbled on me eagerly. Now I long for their touch on my every wall!

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Beautiful Italy

I stood on top the leaning tower of Pisa
And watched as the tourists walked by.
I felt just a little bit closer to heaven
When surrounded by her bells in the sky.

I visited Rome in the springtime,
With its colorful flowers galore.
Seeing Saint Peters sparkle in sunlight,
You couldn't ask for much more.

I have ventured down and around
A narrow cobblestone street,
And marveled at ruins near the edge of the city
Where the old and new come to meet.

While viewing the beautiful fountain of Trevi
And watching as young lovers kissed,
I could feel the cool breezes blowing
As the fountain caressed my face with its mist.

I remember the wonder of Michelangelo's David
And the pigeons that flocked to his arms.
How proudly he stands in the city of Florence
With her glorious art that defines her charms.

Beautiful Italy, where rolling hills of 
Vineyards produce the finest wine,
And its grapes so plump and juicy
Can withstand the test of time.

In Venice, the city of romance,
Where lights in the evening dance on the sea;
Where all of one's cares seem to vanish,
And all of your worries will flee.

Oh beautiful Italy,
Where lover’s dreams come true.
A land of love and romance
Where I fell in love with you.

Italy - for "Somewhere Over the Rainbow Contest" by Debbie Guzzi

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Blueberry Hill

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

Where's Blueberry Hill?
Is it north; is it west?
All the people are talking
and they say it's the best.

Little fingers are picking.
All the children bent down
filling baskets with berries
on the far side of town.

So; where are these berries
I see marked on the map.
In this place called a district
of the Minnow Lake gap.

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Paris by Day

Meandering silently on this warm sunny day
Past the artists with easels perched.
Oil paints, scenery, still life, it all,
Taking it in, on the Rive Gauche.

The brush strokes capture the beauty
While life on the left bank goes on.
I wander past, hands in pockets,
Appreciating the beauty of Paris’ sun.

The nightlife in Paris is as they say;
Burlesque, lively, bon vivant.
But, Paris by day, walk face to the sun
Shows a side more intelligent than fun.

Appreciate the art, the culture, the joie de vivre.
It is here for all, the Louvre, Notre Dame, la Tour Eiffel.
Take with you your thoughts as you wander the city.
Leave, then, with more thoughts and culture as well.

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Pretty La Conner

La Conner is such a pretty small town

That has grown and has changed for many years.

One of the first settlements in the state,

It is so much more than it first appears.

Many buildings from the earlier town

Have been recorded as historic places.

Residents point them out to visitors

With unconcealed pride upon their faces.

The town is surely an artist's mecca.

You'll find them smocked and painting everywhere.

But no painting quite catches the aura

That permeates La Conner's ocean air.

It has become a yearned for destination,

Where vacationers determine to come.

Visitors fill its one shopping street in summer

And keep coming when the summer is done.

Some shops are stocked with finest of fashions,

Where every woman is eager to shop.

Fine art attracts through other big windows.

You'll find that each place is a worthwhile stop.

The town is perched upon wide hillside,

With channel of water on West Side.

North, South and East meet the big fertile fields.

Town of La Conner is contained inside.

Fine yachts and fishing boats drop their anchors

At docks located on the Channel side.

One can almost feel the town's slow rocking

At exact moments of  incoming tide.

The lovely high Rainbow Bridge spans the Channel

Connecting La Conner and Swinomish

Indian Reservation across the way.

On either bank one could just stop to fish.

Written 8/25/14

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Amidst their Wilderness of Blue

I remember the day as I stood on the pier
From beyond the point the trawler drew near
Weeks away amidst their wilderness of blue
A crew so brave in their quest to do

Berthing was simple as they had done so before
As I await in anticipation where the fish are stored
Basket after basket, many species graced with ice
Their quota now declared as they await the best price

Smiling faces now radiate all around
So successful from their new found fishing grounds
To their local they celebrate their catch
Back home safely in family attach

On this day as I stand on the pier
Beyond the point no trawler draws near
Weeks away amidst their wilderness of blue
A crew so brave, back on land worries grew

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Time does simply fly passing clouds on it's way Dark or fluffy white below them life has say Even the likes of I, who I met, where I went Sporadic, or for a reason, I to there was sent It's where I went that matters, and who I went to meet For me it was a she of beauty, I'm swept from my feet She, this dark haired wonderment, I soon to greet Four days beside my side, gracing ones cities streets These days of happening past, two years on passing clouds If I were to show my heart, inside this Scotsman proud For in it time can't change, or ever to tear it apart If I had to go back to our together again, I'd joyously restart <*>

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Heart filled with happiness, eyes much merry; cheeks color strawberry,
just running through fields of ripe huckleberry,
keeping away from the buzzing, restless bees...
going to a from their sweet hives hanging from massive apple trees.

More than childhood memories, such are these...
a reflection of youth that removes them from nostalgia; husky peasants
shaking off the husks from the golden corn;
a tasty, hot corn meal for those winter's dinners drooling on my tongue.

And approaching a torrent, I threw pebbles found on its almost barren banks
back into the spattering water that I drank sporadically until I was full,
to indulge in its freshness...squashing tiny daisies
that seemed too afraid to squabble with a giant and fight for their survival.  

The southern landscape with its mild climate, was rich and fragrant,
inviting hands to pluck the delicious, tempting fruits
off their branches, scattering the thrushes engaged in musical tones;
and I tongue-tied hurried along cogitating an instant.  

Would it be too childish to ask for a come-back,
to relive the cheerfulness of the oldest days, ceased by time and age;
to observe a reflection of youth take shape...
and embed, in a secret, a conversation regardless  of present knowledge? 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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His Love is a Red Sea

His smile is like sunlight
He moves like poetry
His voice is an Arabian night
His love is a Red Sea

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Falling of the Edge of the World

I travelled into my thoughts
To somewhere I've never been
The horrors that awaited me
Took me to our human extreme

I cried when I looked through
The windows of our past
And marvelled at what she gave us
I was left in total aghast

In the year two thousand and six
Seven hundred and eighty four
That graced the lands we borrow
Were shown the extinction door

The Tasmanian Devil never nasty
To the Wolves that roamed Alba's land
The Dodo so strange a bird
Were in natures future plans

Twenty eleven now awaits us
Whilst us humans continually strive
Nine hundred and five is now the total
That will never be found alive

Us humans, before we go to sleep
Their falling of the edge of the world
But hey! we'll never change
We're ignorant, and incredibly absurd

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My Heart is in the Woods

There is a calmness that comes on its own,
When I rest underneath all these trees.
Perhaps it's because I feel quite at home
When pine needles speak in the breeze.

Or maybe the mother of nature
Loves those who were raised on her knees?
All that I know, is that there in the woods,
I feel quite at home. I feel free.

The quiet resonates within me;
It seems to be deep in my bones,
For I am aware of the stirrings of life,
Though to others, these things are unknown.

The sigh of rainfall, hitting green leaves,
The chatter of squirrels on the ground,
Nature speaks out in so many ways,
With vibrant colors and sounds.

Birds singing on misty mornings,
Owls hooting woefully at night,
The forest is where my spirit dreams
Whether it's dark or light.

How deeply I yearn for the forest,
To once again hear the wind's song!
Someday, I will go back there again,
For it's there that my heart belongs.

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Orangy Pink Lava Flow

Undulations on the horizon
Leave a most beautiful sight
As their outline becomes clear
Whilst the sundowns at night

Above these darkened ancient
Are different colours of cloud
Their beauty quietly shows
For to me they shout out loud

As the suns about to sleep
I see an orangey pink lava flow
Cascading across the dark
Momentarily a beautiful show

Then suddenly in the blink of an eye
What's seen is now gone forever
For the memory will always live on
When I die, what I've seen, is treasured

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A Nature Walk

Stop for a moment, to only admire The wondrous, warm world, where I do reside; These gigantic trees do serve to inspire, Notice the beauty, with nothing to hide. The golden orb shines through neon-clear leaves, From the canopy falls a single drop Of dew that is unstirred by any breeze, landing on my palm with a tiny 'plop'. Next is the meadow, so spacious and fair, Filled with daffodils, and fat buzzing bees. This fantastic scene, tends Nature with care, Yet Home must I go, now back to the trees, For with this family, I must be sure, Found at Home to make a nice, hot breakfast, Since my love for them, is ever so pure, So I bid farewell, as I'm Home at last.

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Renew on the Serengeti

The rains in fall on the Serengeti lands
It's impending approach is in natures plans
From barren to lush bringing droplets of pure
Seasonal they are, but will it remain her renewing cure

For we treat her lands so bad, so mean we don't console
Will we ever understand to our neglect that we extol
There will be a day, when these vast expanses turn to dust
And humans and their wants, will turn their iron into rust

We have to take a stand, before it's all to late
And sit around the mediating table before we reach hell's gate
Decisions for the good to be made for our futures kin
As the heads of State's shake hands, from this room within

Inspired by Wilma Neels poem "Renewal" ty.

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Winter Forests in Oklahoma (without snow)

The night turns to day, it is oh so cold;
The moon is bright and crisp, the sun honey gold;
The forests are brown and leafless, there seems to be no life;
The silent peace within it, no ruckus and no strife.

I love the winter forests, no longer wet and green;
Everything within it, hibernating;
Every once in a while, a small creature will stir;
Sending golden colors up, a flurry and a whir.

Note from Author: 
This is a tribute to my Oklahoma home which I sometimes miss very much!

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Long Live Love

A toss of the head
A flick of her hair
The wave of her hand
As her beauty did flare
Her bountiful step
The spring in her stride
Her laugh as we waked 
Hand in hand through the tide
Her mouth with its smile
As we wrote in the sand
Her cries of frustration
As sea coated the land
Those little I love yous
Meant so much back then
That on annual vacations
We repeat them again
For least we forget 
In the daily ado
Our marrital vows
Mean forever I do

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Browsing In An Antique Shop

On that laden shelf, perhaps a scratch or two Yet strong and boasting of times gone by A piece of yesterday that we can touch A past gone,but with the present a visible tie I find a certain longing as I putter about To know the stories, secrets that they hold Of men and women whose lives they touched If these pieces had a voice, what stories told Remembering the past a musing for a rainy day As I touch and examine through the afternoon Perhaps to take an old treasure home with me And from time to time with the past commune

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Below Skies of Azure Blue

The setting was lovely and blissful, the company so divine
In a flowery meadow we sat, this girl soon to be mine
We talked and laughed and cried a little, under blue azure skies
Reflections so true, of two in love, looking into each others eyes

So many things we discussed, about our today and tomorrows
Ahead in life are trials we'll face, being elation and heartfelt sorrows
The one thing that absorbs us two, is the wanting to extend our hearts
Children so very much wanted, will cement our future start

Our moment warrants distraction, hush! as we listen to the sounds around
Nature resonates in abundance, in her beautiful tranquil grounds
The symphony of insects and birds, our choir on this day
Colours that curtain our presence, in graceful rainbow display

We lie looking at the sky, and the freedom of the birds
Who glide and soar their thermals of life, their liberty never earned
Whilst we lie in this flowery meadow, two souls so free to roam
Freedom is granted to us, on this planet that we call home

For the rest of the day we embraced, in silence and loving bliss
Sharing kisses and moments of touch, with no other I would wish
When the time came to leave, over our shoulders we looked around
For this was the day that our future started, amidst natures beautiful ground

It's many years later now, and our children are as free as can be
We all should live this way, and raise them in liberty

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All Natural

<                                   earth ~ third planet from sun
                                     liquid and iron ~ cores
                                     continents  ~  islands  ~  pun
                                     arctic  icing  ~  drips pores

                                    wind  ~  natures own fury
                                    flow gasses ~ bulk movements
                                    storm ~ hurricane ~ jury
                                    place in pocketbook ~ dent

                                    fire ~ oxidation
                                    combustion ~ releasing 
                                    heat ~ light ~ good ~ tar nations
                                    pollution ~ choking ~  thing

                                    water ~ called H2O
                                    oxygen ~ hydrogen
                                    evaporation ~ goes
                                    will exceed supply ~ when ?

                                   earth ~ wind ~ fire ~ water
                                   Nature's elements   ~ sure 

Entry For
Barbara Gorelick's
The Four Elements Contest
G.L. All

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Tension on Site

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

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

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

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

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Young and middle-aged ladies, who wear sundresses
when summer days sizzle, make the opposite sex notice 
how lovely and sexy their soft skin is;  curious guys,
of course, can't help staring at them...not once but twice!  

Watch them chatting on a bench of a park,
or just strolling down a busy street...
pushing their baby's stroller in the July's heat;
come closer to hear their silly talk!

Jan, my niece's friend, attracts me like no lady ever can,
she wears a colorful sundress she made herself,
and she talks funny to make everybody laugh;
some thinks she's crazy, but I'd love to be her man! 

Many women go to great lengths to get one of these...
the one that makes them stand out and get winks
from men who are easily distracted in the baseball's field:
they wish their wives looked like that...more strength they'd yield!

Fashion models draw admirable glances from an applauding crowd,
but they wear sundresses for recognizition, not for their soulmates;
so ordinary ladies wear them to find that ideal boyfriend or husband,
and admit among yourselves that it is a style of attractiveness!

Written by Andrew Crisci
for Constance La France's contest, " The Sundress. "

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Amidst a Heathery Hue

Amidst a heathery hue below a towering Ben
A beautiful maiden graces this proud of Highland men
From overseas she sailed her visions now finally clear
She lies before me in witness my heart pounds she is so near

Face to face we are chattering like birds on the wing
My hand she takes to her bosom her heart now starts to sing
Of melodies about love and the wanting of loving arms
No more hurt and sorrow just days full of romantic charms

Future days in blissful awakenings, just as it should be
My arms like canopies of green all wrapped around this loving she
Many kisses and cuddles that anoint this blissful pair
Speechless amidst a heathery hue, for all I can do is stare

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The Absurdity of Politics

My brother David met William Geris
A former head of state of Utopia
Having dinner in the city of Paris
They talked about big things

David had plans to run for the state Judiciary
So he discussed it with William Geris, He said
Go ahead David, for me that will be beneficiary
Play the music and let them dance to your tune

Get to the poor folks and promise them heaven on earth
Woo them with sweet words of a better tomorrow
Breaking the cycle of poverty and a prosperity rebirth
Promise them free education and free health care

You need to go to all the churches
Promise them every valley will be filled and every mountain made plain
You need to be charismatic to show you are ready for service
And don’t forget to say your long prayers

You need to hang out with the drug smuggling gangs
To really show you are one of them
Tell them to give you the chance to emancipate them from death pangs
And know well, they love to break laws and ransack state properties

You need to link up with Organization for Youth Ablaze (OYA)
“A Change you can see! A Change you can believe in!!”
Now that is what I call the ‘advertising phase’
Promise them of gargantuan jobs and scholarships

You also need to hung out with the financial gurus
A kind of ’Dating’ before Marriage
Sound it aloud, they are the ones with the clues
Cars-Yes! Gargantuan contracts-Yes! Meetings at some posh hotels-Yes!

Pull the wool over their eyes, indicting songs of hope and peace
But when you lose the election insists on a recount
A diversionary tactics of getting the opposition votes cease
“I’ll slap you so hard that your teeth will come off”

Mr. Geris is this what is on the ground, you call politics?
It looks like I will be a schoolboy fantasy and a sketch cartoon
David, my son most politicians have with them a bag of Poly-ticks
I call it the absurdity of the absurd Poly-tricks

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Mississippi River

Her strong and mighty currents flow
From Ohio Valley
South to the Gulf of Mexico
Alligator Alley

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A Posting to Remember

We met during the war on this now famous sunny isle
Like a moth to a flame, was her infectious smile
I was in the Navy, stationed aboard an MTB
Keeping shipping lanes open, for the Mediterranean Fleet

Whilst the war years progressed you could sense the islands bravery
Heavily bombed and damaged, under threat of Axis slavery
Although we lived amidst, we could only marvel at their spirit and guile
They fought hard for their liberty on that famous sunny isle

I'll never forget the times, endured during this terrible war
Camaraderie became their strength, for what they had fought-en for
Simple life went on, amidst the cafes and the bars
My new found love from this famous sunny isle, became my married dove

We still recall the radio broadcast, declaring that war is over
As we headed back to my homeland, to Scotland and live in clover
The day that we embarked, many a tear fell from our eyes
Looking back at this famous sunny isle, under peaceful azure blue skies

Many a word we spoke, whilst we sailed to Southampton Port
Now demobbed, to a civilian, hopefully the war mongers are brought to court
Although the war years showed their horrors, respect was never far away
This famous sunny isle, wears the George Cross in deserved display

Heading home to Scotland, past fields in harvest bloom
This proud Royal Navy sailor, with his bride and he a groom
We cried as we passed the war torn, not only was it the famous sunny isle
For the war had been so expansive, in it's putrid inhuman vile

We settled on the West Coast, amidst the heather and the glens
Bringing up our boys, praying they'll never be fighting men
Many nights we stayed up, answering questions of our past
From that famous sunny isle, our true love would always last

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Light in Darkness

I lost myself in dense darkness Leading into a quagmire-like place My mind do have shrewdness But this time it's not the case Only fools lead owns self astray In the place of no light Where it's senseless to take flight Place's price you need to pay There is a place of light But why go to the night It shows we are foolish We make our own life hellish Indeed, most of the time we are idiotic But need not to be frantic Because by God light was created So that in darkness we can be guided

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Contemporary Architecture

The London Gherkin gives no inspiration
As for the Auditorio de Tenerife by Calatrava
I can think of no other explanation
Except perhaps they shared too many bottles of Cava

The National Grand Theatre built by Paul Andreu
Built in Beijing China; and it looks just like a dome  
I wonder what he was on, when he put the plans on show
It looks like a greenhouse- that we have here at home

Simmons Hall in Cambridge Massachusetts
Looks like a Lego prison gone wrong.
Did Steven Holl take some bets?
Or had he been on the bottle too long

Architecture of the contemporary kind
Does not inspire me
I am more an of old fashioned girl
And will accept a castle built just for me.

30 St Mary’s Axe is commonly known as the London Gherkin

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The little sextant was diverse
to have position on the Earth.
While going in circles 'round the sun
and seeing all for what it's worth.

It shot through space
and saw the stars.
It passed through Heaven
paired with Mars.

It spun in groups
much like our own.
Through some not quite:
and lesser known.

In time it passed
our way again.
The universe
come home to men.

While those who watched
and wondered why,
would only say
that we're going by.

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A Simple Solution

Out walking in the woods one day I found a creek that begged me to cross Just a bit too wide to attempt a jump And the only rock was covered with moss I walked up and down the bank a bit Couldn't find a log to bear my weight After a bit of thought, took off my shoes And sure enough, my feet worked great.... For the Dilemma contest...

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Marian Doesn't Drive

Marian gets around just fine
Although she prefers to stay home
That's where her Heart belongs
Never much of one to roam

Church on some Sundays
The grocery store and a restaurant or two
Are the places Marian goes
But only when she has to

Marian's got her collection of spoons
From everywhere everyone else has been
And looks up those places in an atlas
Puts a little dot there with a pen

No, Marian doesn't drive
She prefers to stay home
It's where her Heart belongs
It's where she's never alone

Marian doesn't drive
Never been on a big ol' jet
But she's traveled halfway around the world
And isn't quite done yet

Marian's Faith, Love, Hope and imagination take her
Where no car or plane ever will
My Grandma is an inspiration to me
From right there in her home on top the hill

All the years of Love and Laughter
Fill Marians home with memories
And keep her company
With thoughts of her 8 sons, a daughter and their families

No, Marian doesn't drive
Never been on a big ol' jet
But when she makes her way to Heaven
It'll be without one single regret

© 2011 Kevin Stock

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Splish Splash to Pash

To the summer blue they enter
Creating a lovely splash
Two in falling clench
Feelings relate to pash

Frolic's lead to cuddles
Amidst this pure of blue
Wetted lips in caress
Hearts touching oh so true

Exiting the water
In awe he looks at she
Her clothing hugging her shapes
As she slowly walks to me

What I see allures me
Investigative is my mind
My hands she takes intentively
Impressed in loving kind

Below a greened canopy shade
Two in slow undress
Naked torso's stand in wait
Soon to be addressed

Hands in liberty wander
Roaming undulations
Kissing leads to loving join
In sharing loves sensations

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Celestial Stairs

It's an overcast and rainy day A day to stay in and be cosy Gaze out the window and dream of stuff As you begin to feel real dozy Time to write some clever rhymes As you don your creative chapeau Bout magical places and scary dragons Or a scene with the sky all aglow Maybe macabre like Edgar Allan Poe Or happy like a Disney named Walter Perhaps one 'bout the worlds great wonders Like the famous Rock of Gibraltar Skies the limit let your mind run free To a world beyond distant stars To mythical places with exotic names And customs strange and bizarre Love them best, these days that inspire Sweet visions of maidens fair Days that expand your creative mind As you climb those celestial stairs © Jack Ellison 2013

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Seven Blank Tiles Speak

If I had seven free tiles
I know the word I would make
And when you know my word
We need it for earth's sake

The word that I have chosen
Chowa is what it means to me
It's what will reunite us all
The word is simply harmony

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I am for what I am

Since the day that I first left
Looking back,
Through different windows
Knowing there will be reft

I am for what I am, and I'll be

I am for what I am, you'll see

I found it hard to explain
The actions of our cause
Highlanders against the Lowlanders
Simply because

I am for what I am, and I'll be

I am for what I am, you'll see

The answers and reactions
To which they promptly, replied
Trust and honour abounds
And pity those who lied

I am for what I am, and I'll be

I am for what I am, you'll see

I'm now in an enviable position
To look back on my ancestors so
I'm Scottish, the son of Kane
From my days so long ago

I am for what I am, and I'll be

I am for what I am, you'll see

My name is semaj, The Highlander
I've come back from your future so
To an earth in rutted grief
And allow your tomorrow flow

I am for what I am, and I'll be

I am for what I am, you'll see

All Nations should be accounted
North and South Hemispheres
To allow you to continue
Allay our space age fears

I am for what I am, and I'll be

I am for what I am, you'll see

It's the reason I have returned
To Scourie is where it started
Your future wormhole lies
For me, it's where I departed

I am for what I am, and I'll be

I am for what I am, you'll see

We can only take,
The ones who'll live so free!

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Amidst Fields of Dry

Through my eyes I see a home of old
If it could speak what would I be told
Would it be stories of joy or sadness and hurt
Will I ever be told before it's crumbled to dirt

Below a saddened sky amidst fields of dry
Could this be reason as I wonder why
Barren lands as the eye can see
Is this the answer that's in front of me

A dilapidated fence with wire of old
No more are the beasts that were in safety hold
Hedgerows so brittle in decaying cascade
Here nature has spoken with her typical tirade

Through my eyes I see a home of old
If it could speak what would I be told
Death is never lasting as I look to my right
For a greened tree prospers, it gives me light

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In Wonderment, They Stared

What a joy it would be to see you walk the Glens
On purple bloomed heather, on the lands of the Highlander men
To witness your aura, your smile, amidst the Ben's atop with snow
For no matter who stands beside you, being there they'll surely glow

Being there they'll surely glow, proud to be standing there
To your beauty they will look in awe, in wonderment, amazing stare
Whilst all around there grows, many ferns from a forgotten past
For no matter who stands beside you, your beauty will always last

Your beauty will always last for it's captured in many hearts
In wonderment amazing stare, from the Highlands you'll never depart
Now imbedded your heart runs free, to roam these Alba Glens
And this Scotsman chosen beside you, your choice of Highland men  

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Steamy Windows

Amidst the steam on the panes of glass
Are breasts of pure of my Maiden lass
Firm being loved as our hands are clasped
Pressed to impress as our bodies clash

Naked we are sharing as two become one
Again through steamy windows our loving's begun
As the water cascades down this naked of two
Impressed into thee as I stand behind you

Lustful we are sharing moments of bliss
As we turn our heads in tongue lashing kiss
The noise of the water drowns joyous groans 
Our excitement reaches peak, to one another we're sown

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This Tundra of Ice

Barren and innocent
This Tundra of ice
A marvel within us
Perfect, concise

Below sunsets of pure
We're blessed to grace
To witness such beauty
On this wonderful place

Barren and innocent
Is this Tundra of ice
It's our future legacy
Let's keep it precise

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Living with Mother Nature's Bruise

We turned to each other when we heard on the news
Our daughters place of work, enduring mother nature's bruise
She worked on an island now swamped with wrath
To her we now travel to retrace her last path

To go there blind never knowing if she breathes
Thoughts think the worst as we subconsciously grieve
Our daughter, our life, as we make plans to depart
Facing hours of torment as our minds tear apart

To this island we head where she enjoys life to the full
Thinking back to her young years, learning in school
This paradise as she calls it, in the Indian Ocean
Our minds picture, her love to live notions

We step of the plane into a world far from home
Praying we find her, dead or alive, to never roam
To the north of the island, Aceh is it's name
Is this where we find her, with no one to blame

We reach the village, it's where our daughter calls home
Teaching the youngsters English along the beaches they combed
We wander dazed and confused, joining the crying and the grieving
Emotional rescuers surround us, they just keep on believing

Hand in hand we stare hoping, as our eyes glimpse the lost
Our daughters not there, as we join the emotional exhaust
Suddenly I feel a tugging on my sleeve
Lady lady, you my teachers mama, come with me please

Looking down, my eyes cascading with tears
A beautiful young girl, momentarily relieving my fears
Lady lady, please please, come with me please
To a makeshift hospital she takes us, our hearts so in unease

To a door we arrive, she cries, mama's teacher mama's teacher
As she is led away by the hospital preacher
We are greeted by a doctor, taken through corridors of death
The relieving earlier felt, now replaced by inner reft

The stench of death drifts, lost souls we feel crying
Resonating sounds echo, the last breaths of the dying
Cubicle after cubicle, every curtain our hearts run
In broken English, is she the one, is she the one

The second curtain from the last, the doctor once again opens
Despair and tears increase, parents lost in their hoping
Before us lies, a broken twisted bandaged soul
The tattoo on her ankle, I cry Nicole, it's our Nicole

Engulfed with emotions our cheeks streaming with tears
Viewing the earlier posters, parents losing their fears
Living this moment, realising their daughter has lived
As we look back to the pictures, knowing families are sieved

Words we will remember until the day we are gone
That moment we heard, is she the one, is she the one

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Slag Dump

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

A skyline for a slag line.
A glowing melting rock.
An acid burning slag dump.
The miners on the clock!

The sunset meets the hill.
A seam of orange and fire.
Black smoke ascending from it.
The thickest form of mire.

A cauldron tipped and flowing.
A soup's heat puddle still.
The river red thin ribbons
and our love a slag dump spill.

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Almost lost.  Scanty  ice below equator,
Trackless wilderness of ice and fire.
Africa’s king.  I’ve climbed none  higher.
Kilimanjaro  with majestic  crater

Like the  long-gone  dodos,  -    somnolent
Before  this white man
Saw such  ground of  black  obsidian -
Kilimanjaro  -  not  extinct,   but dormant .

Gift  valley  to Kaiser  from Queen
Rift  valley - my world  is coming apart. 
Where do I go , where to start?
The Snows of Kilimanjaro are barely seen.

Hemingway knew the score
How high do we  aim?
With our  excuses   so  lame? 
And what do we settle for?

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The World's Big Apple

From an awesome fountain, teeming with life
Out of her depths arose a city of lights
Built upon the shoulders of native sons
A place of hope, liberty, and freedom invites

For centuries her gates have been open wide
Welcoming hoards of strangers from afar 
Bringing multiple cultures, traditions, cuisines and skills
Now a “melting pot”, a bright, twinkling star

Her people once thought of as cold, and uncaring 
On broad streets, and alleys, the death toll was high
Now a change of heart for the better is born in
The world's "Big Apple" reaching to the sky

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This place called Talisker on the Isle of Skye
It just has to be visited to be seen by the naked eye
Situated on the West Coast, on one of Alba's isles
In any season one can only toast, taken in by smiles

For in the Spring it's surrounded by anew
Shoots reborn showing seasonal view
Lambs jumping, springing, on the various farms
With not a care in the world sharing their charms

Summer now abounds in blooms of various greens
Sparodic white houses stand out amongst the scenes
Birds in vocal song catching insects on the breeze
The sounds of children playing in fun filled please

Autumn slowly encroaches with the signs in the trees
Leaves in colour loss as the branches start to grieve
Carpets of many shades delight before their end
As we await the impending rains that natures due to send

There is now the chill of winter as all around starts to show
On the high ground her intentions, craggy peaks topped with snow
The day will soon be here, with her virginal carpet lay
Whether Spring, Summer or Autumn, even Winter has her say

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It's another morning and I'm so fortunate
To awaken and enter another day
I reflect for a few moments
And remember the ones who strayed

For many a reason this has happened
Mans inhumanity to man is one
Car jacking in many cultures
Or the bullet from many a gun

Rapists, paedophiles and murderers
No care for the victims they claim
Be it needle, chair or rope
Taken out should be our aim

And now I speak of the gangs
Their bravado speaks volumes to them
Peer power within their families
In my eyes they'll never be men

To the politicians I care not to look
Never tarring them all the same
It's the ones that lie through their teeth
Power and riches their illegal fame

The next morning I awake once again
And reflect on the decent out there
Much time I can reflect about them
To the good I can always fare

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Imagine You're There

Close your eyes and imagine you're there
You're naked and shaved as they stand and stare
Watching your loved ones herded away
As you await your fate, it's their lies that say

Earlier that day we disembarked from the train
We're in a place called Auschwitz in the pouring rain
An unfamiliar smell hangs in the air
This feeling I get, is of total despair

We enter a building where clothes and shoes lie in mounds
On the periphery of me I hear screaming sounds
Families, fathers mothers daughters and sons
In our Hebrew tongue, why are we the chosen ones

We exit this building and enter another
Where we are told to remain calm and await our shower
No water is felt as the quietness delivers
Motionless some lie, as I await my deathly shiver

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Appreciation of Freedom

In this democratic country, there has been discussions of this
A Mosque to be built, near Ground Zero their wish
Through their depths of despair, New Yorkers have spoken out
But democratic they'll be, so proud through their doubt

This is what makes a city, at a time like this
To see past the hate, and allow the neighbourly bliss
The following needs to be confirmed in this country of the free
Freedom for it's people, and to do what desires thee

Where ever this Mosque is built, in the surroundings of city life
Unite it's neighbourhood, never turn to previous strife
Next door could be a butchers, a nightclub or a bar
For their doors will never be closed, they'll always be ajar

In New York City, this metropolis that never sleeps
No longer will it see disaster, no more shall it weep
For if you desire to mingle, appreciation of freedom shall play it's part
Become true Americans, build it's future and be it's heart

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Tall Tales

With muse in hand I must come up with great stories
That it keeps it's seeker longing for more of it's caption
free verse sonnet haiku or just stopping on by
I'm sure that there's something you may find very interesting

Tribute To Writers Here At

Also Entry For 
Brian Strand's
Poulter's Measure
GL All

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We All Become Each Other

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

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

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

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Another Kind of Man

To be intrusive to another's mind to taste what the hells going on
To be different from other men as they sing a different song
For this, this blind man seeks to be the seeker to see and scan
To go inside the mind of another, another kind of man

History has shown and reminded of the monsters that have been
This trait of human man, as each generations scene
What makes us be so different, to hurt whom we care and love
Is it some form of weakness we allure, against family loving doves

As I enter their minds even deeper, the appalling rise to view
Standing proud in their deathly mask, their hurting of others true
Rapists, serial killers and dictators, or even the family man
What possesses their power to indulge, that this blind man can't even scan

My thoughts go out to you all, who have suffered at the hands of man
Evolution is not the answer, to really be who they can
This blind man he said to me, if I look into you what will I find
My reply to him was simple, I'm just a different kind 

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Colonial Skyline

From the heart of their country to a new world they did sail
Over an expanse of ocean through storms and gales 
They settled in New Amsterdam, this Dutch colonial place
To create a new world in their progressional space

Many years later after conflicts took their toll
New York was born, under British control
The gate to this city is passed by a lady so proud
A gift from the French, freedoms torch raised to her clouds

The Big Apple, this city in the year 2001
Where infidels and cowards tried to bring this gem down
But deep from their depths from the loss of their Twin Towers
Feel its heart and strength, its unity powers

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Vertical Entwine

Torso to torso, pressed to impress
Internally we share our loving zest
Loving and proud in our moment of bliss
To your nape I whisper a loving kiss

Your imprint of pert against my palms
Whilst I savour and sense your womanly balm
Slip sliding thighs in vertical entwine
Torso to torso we lovingly grind

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Below the Palms

On golden sands hands on hips
Faces close, moist touching lips
Orchestral sounds of natures bliss
Two hearts desire their joining wish

Under palm tree shade, two in lie
Above even higher azure blue skies
Kisses lead to caress in softly touch
Hearts pounding in desire so much

Naked to bare amidst natures sounds
So splendid they arouse on sandy grounds
Whistling leaves in admiring wave
Bodies impressed in touched engrave

Echoes of passion fill this islands air
Waves gently lap, their way to declare
Resonating sighs, romance shared by two
Blissful love can be, and be so true

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This Blind Man Sees

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

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

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

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

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She and I, Await to See

I stand in awe at the arrivals gate As she walks towards me, my heart now waits In-trepidation now sinks in My hands to touch her Spanish skin I feel a feeling never known before Emotions of love ooze through my pores Closer she walks into my world I joy to witness her hair being twirled I understand after we've talked for a while Mitigating circumstances, but we still smile Tomorrows take their time because of this As we continue our holiday, in hope and wish I reflect on the days that we spent together How happy she was in the Scottish weather Now she has returned, I'm again left all alone I hope and pray Scotland will be her new home I meditate, contemplate, in understanding to believe In wonder muse I marvel when we met my eyes did see As she walked towards me, my heart now awaits Will she ever return, through the arrival gates

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Read Earth

Harsh beauty spreading far and wide
Mother's creation by nature's own bride
Iron grain canvas under bright atmosphere
Where arid, baked land meets water cool and clear

Streaming cruel heat reigns over all
Beating down on a land held in subjugating thrall
Parched artistry spreads over miles of land
Rocks, hills and animals, and course shifting sands

Fevered earth burns on an unshod sole
Trees give sparse shade to those who stroll
Along a path, that's been walked by few,
Over millennia past; now awash with soul's residue

Land red with iron and actions abhorred
With laughter and bitterness, with hope deeply stored
A vast stunning world, a back drop so grand
A future and history that's held in the land

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FREE CEE that which she wishes were true


here is what she will never seem to understand
no matter how good good gets is it good if you can't hold your lover's hand?
if it's the best music or just plucking a rose from a vine
what good is it if you can't share it with someone you yearn to call "mine?"

if there's good in the simplest of things how can you enjoy it all alone?
it's as difficult as going to the sea and trying float a stone
there's the loveliest thing Mother Nature ever made real
but it turns ugly if there's a hole in your heart medicine and/or time cannot heal

so i go to places where my lover refuses to go
which leaves my soul empty and my spirit low
all i think of is how much i wish she were there
but with all the loveliness i see there's sorrow i cannot bear

joy isn't joyful and turns dark when i can't share it with someone i love
because i'm missing the hand i want to hold and all the wonder thereof
so that's what i'm condemned to until she tells me to leave forevermore
and there is no way for me to ever be able to even the score

so i can tell her about all the places i've been 
but i've been there all alone and that's a remorseful sin
when she's not next to me i can't even summon a simple grin
and all i can say to her is "honey, you win!"
 (c) 2012...PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~

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The Setting

The setting of the sun is captured by the surface of the bay
It makes one feel so proud to stand and witness this, this day
Whilst the suns downs, it's as if the ripples still give it life
My thoughts in total capture as these scenes erode my present strife

Tranquillity now flows through me as I sit amidst a darkening sky
Knowing answers are there to be found, to ask and wonder why
Tomorrows dawn shall greet me as I enter into another day
It's the knowing of being around, allowing the mind to have it's say

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This Perfect Spot

There's a perfect spot
Just a climb from the beach
Its my desire to be there
With my blond haired peach

It's secluded and private
Is this rocky edge
Where our love of tomorrow
To her I will pledge

We will lie on our backs
Our eyes caressing the sky
Watching cotton wool clouds
Floating gently by

We will close our eyes
Open our ears to the sounds
Of natures orchestra
In symphony surround

The sun will beat down
On us two naked souls
For soon we'll be one
Is our perfect spot goal

We turn to each other
As our lips gently meet
Undulations, discovering
Our sugary sweet

We mimic the waves
As they pleasure the shore
Voicing in sync
Echoing their roar

With the cooling breeze
Serenading our skin
As we unite our love
To each other, from within

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So alone and pensive, he stares at the paved, glaring square below
admiring an elegant lady strolling by...
with a vibrant spirit in his blood, his enthusiasm will flow;
what kind of reward will he have, if he doesn't try?

Young man, have you done enough to get ahead in life?
Oh, you desire a marriage and many kids;
they will come through fortitude and sacrifice...
put aside every useless fear and beat all the odds!

Big town youngsters' dreams are awaiting release
from a heart, which will see his dream realized...
when triumph, fortune and glee will never cease;
he stands at the balcony with a look so mesmerized! 

Entered in Iolanda Scripca's contest,
" Untold Secrets "

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We Are One and the Same

Once again although we are one and the same
One strikes another in confrontational shame
The thirty eighth parallel shows that man has not lost
To discuss through weapons, no matter the cost

Diplomacy with thought, before all leaders speak
Just listen to each other as it's peace that we all seek
It's not just your own lives that you play with today
Escalation of conflict brings others their say

History tells us that no one really gains
Only generations present, will feel wars pains
No care is ever given when decisions to fight are made
Whilst we await the screaming whistles of their hostile serenade

We live in the world of conscience, mans dark abyss
Whilst the majority enjoy the light, peace is their wish
Will there ever be a day, when man may finally learn
To abide by life and decency that decent people yearn

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London, Translation of Paul Verlaine's poem: Londres

London, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Londres

	…a serious and well-behaved Englishman, well-attired, handsome clothes (Victor Hugo)

(In this poem, I didn’t feel adhering strictly to the rhyme scheme would have served a higher purpose. T. Wignesan)

One summer Sunday when everything’s bathed in sunshine
London turns into a real feast for délicate souls tuned in :
Trees strong and rotund from frail lawns sprouting
Tender green, an air far from mists and gases grows fine.

So much so they appear to be planted in pastoral country
Limpid sunshine feathery in the fine sky, though blue-ish
Hardly. One feels as if in a bath where wafts
The perfume of a lingering infusion of tea. 

Ten-thirty, the hour of interminable services
Divine. Thousands of melodious bells toll through the air
Sonorous and volatile as though seized by strange caprices,
The psalms of David come snorting through clear fog.

Such silvery tintinnabulation that one hears not in France,
The country of intensely tolling bells of bitter bronze
Strike up a concert that’s most sweet, instilling of hope and joyous
Though perhaps a little too sweet, one must there fear Hell.

Tolling bells again greet the afternoon. Men in queues
Well-dressed women and children glide rather
Than walk, hold to their silence in a selfish manner
With their voices reserved instead for exclaiming amen.

All this people look pleased in their stiffening posture
Clasping, even if mistakenly, to their profession of faith
And their Protestantism being alike rough and spineless
Makes some look even set right above the reach of the law.

Hopes of the true christian, Peter’s ever-widening fish-pond,
Fish ready for the Fisher who may count on catching them ;
Holy-Ghost, God Almighty, let pour Thy light on them
So that Jesus’ worth they might at last come to understand.

Six o’clock. The drinkers find their way to the refreshment room,
The family its «home » and the street’s abandoned to God :
And in the dirty-looking sky a few stars look quite lonesome
Foreshadowing rain over homeless beggars out in the cold.

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013   

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Goodbye Fall with all the auburn leaves of the reddest sunset,
goodbye crackling path where I met the last songbirds,
whose melody accompained me to winter's doors;
and with deep sadness I kept on looking back.

Welcome gloomy winter with short afternoons and long evenings;
watching the advancing shadows and loudly hearing
the furious sound of the squall rampaging the stately trees,
and making them weep when the icy rain comes down with lightining. 

Sitting in a rattling, rocking chair, I peruse through pages of sunny places afar,
forgetting the dreariness of this frigid season and be consoled by a warm fire;  
and still nostalgia abounds...thinking of the pleasant strolls of a past season,
which thrilled me with its colors, and through delight I justified my reason. 

O winter, don't linger as you always have...shorten your stay, avoid foul play; 
and could I ever stand a pale sun, hardly giving off with its luminiscence,
in this house hidden among the maples and the pines of a squalid valley?
Old winter, don't mislead me with days without snow...that's utter pretense!

Goodbye explorer fedora hat keeping my dreamer's head cool, 
sparing my skin another ugly wrinkle, allowing late beauty to rule;   
goodbye iced coffee sipped from my Big Apple plastic cup,
which I bought along Fifth Avenue in a crowded, variety shop. 

Ummerciful winter, pity the desperate state I am in,
reduce the wrath of your devastation, step inside and to tell me your amazing tales...
hoping that I will write them down for everyone to read and enjoy for immortal ages;
relentless winter, reduce the dreariness of this frigid season.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Modern House

Our house craves bold colors and crisp, clean lines 
No heaviness of wood, antique white or brocade
Just chrome, seamless showers and open space 
Inviting air and light so we may shunt the grave

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Draped Long

Locks of black draped long
Stockings torn scattered thong
Excited to pert pouting lips
Boots licked, slicked

Peachy skin tasted neat
Kissed to caress sweet treat
Glazed eyes in lusting cry
Tattooed temptress, undressed

Sweated runs cascading love
Shapes of thee in welcome glove
In writhing motion natures ocean
Lusting waves, crave

Passionate moans echoes groan
Loving two in wanting roam
Fetish filled fuelled now spent
Strangers lust, never repents

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Farewell, Dear Nightbird ( Cowritten with Carolyn Devonshire )

You were but three inches tall that day
When I heard you cry and ran outside
To stand between you, my beloved owl
And a swooping hawk, wings three-feet wide
          Little me, new born owl of the night
          Staying in my wooded habitat
          Being brave enough to venture out
          Golly, Ollie, thinking what was that
Each night you have serenaded me
But today I bring sad news, sweet friend
I must move away and leave you here
Our life together's about to end
          To part, but in different places
          The lovely times we shared together
          This so sad Barn Owl and his neighbour
          We two birds will always be tethered

And when the moon overcomes the sun
I'll listen for your cries o'er the waves
Your gentle croon brought peace and comfort
It's a memory my heart will save

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Walking Through the City

The cool breeze on my skin
As I wander through the street
Listening closely to the sound
Of the city's breath and heart beat

People's lives intersecting
Briefly touching, passing by
Contact as evanescent
As snowflakes on alluring fire

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The entire island of Manhattan is being swiftly raptured
by a heavenly force, the Harbor is badly shaken...
it seems that Judgement Day has come as prophesied;
there Lady Liberty still holds her torch, before it's gone!

If this vision is true fiction, how awful the real event will be
with Lady Blind Justice and Lady Fairness with a set of scales;
they are standing on the terrestrial globe to warn the stubborn Human race,
which has contributed to this state of chaos...defiling morality and honesty! 

So terrified are the seagulls that called this haven their home, a real bliss;
the Big Apple's greatness has vanished from everything else;
Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the ocean, Manhattan's wealth 
is taken back by the Almighty to punish the evil ones, and reward the just!

Entered in Carolyn Devonshire's contest, " Phoenix Rising "

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He wears a bandana and smells
worse than an unkept dog with a horrible breath; 
I heard rumors that he sleeps
in a garage, where dogs are infested with fleas.

He drives a station wagon emitting strong fumes,
does he ever change his engine oil or let it burn 'until the engine 
stops running? He shows no blush of shame, but curses more than
a truck driver while he sits still and counts his woes.

The hungry dogs bark and peak out of the car windows,
seeing angry faces and hands waving at close distance...
the defiant driver refuses to come out of the broken-down car,
and with raggae music blasting, he gives them the finger.  

Only a bigot could act in such a disrespectful way
as fury increases and every driver blows the horn constantly,
but too much air noise gets pedestrians tense, and one of them 
calls police on his cell phone...they come and arrest him.   

And he still smells in that cell cramped with criminals and offenders,
he even had the guts to ask one of the officers to bring in his dogs!
Oh, filthy, unhygienic guy they should hand you soap and towel,
instead of keeping you in there and make everybody yell!

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Big Nickel Eyes

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

It's at the top of the hill.
It's silver and shiny.
It's broad and it's tall.
It'll make you feel tiny.

It's above an old mine.
It's next to some rails.
It's a dot on the horizon.
It's not heads and not tails.

It's a circle with edges.
It's a coin large in size.
It's the money we made
for our Big Nickel Eyes.

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Jellyfish is the stinging kind,
it is found in droves
on our crowded beaches...
any little sting can drive anyone wild.

Yes, they are spineless, mordant and gelitous...
being closed watched by large gulls with a hungry palate,
but are chased away by dogs so ferocious;
I'm wondering how they will look and taste on my plate!

And still curious kids scoop them with plastic sand-shovels
and try to save them by dropping them in water-filled buckets,
running with excitement...ignoring the screams of their moms,
and they yell, " Put them down, they will sting you more than once!"

O jellyfishes, don't be vicious...we love you like shell-fish,  
if you could talk, your bizarre conduct won't be misunderstood by many! 
Is the water so polluted and infested with sharks that you flee from the sea, 
or are the fishermen so angry for wasted time on a worthless catch?

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Publicly Shamed, Allegedly Framed

It's not my fault I'm not to blame You have no proof I will show no shame I am a father of four And you accuse me of this I'm internally destroyed To get your wish Figures and statistics For crimes you can't solve Let's pick on the innocent Your conscience resolved To hell with my future As you walk away Another bent system And I am your play

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Have you ever Wondered

Have you ever wondered, where we all came from
Were we ever in the trees, to the present upright and strong
Does it make you think, can you go into your dark
What do you actually seek, or is the truth far too stark

Have you ever wondered, where we all came from
These creeds in earths modern life, is it now here we all belong
Does it make you think, but honestly, how far back can you go
Are beliefs so now, so recent, when earths axis newly flowed

Have you ever wondered, where we all came from
So many say their creator, they voice as their song
Does it make you think, through your eyes is what you see
When elders ruled past tribes, and what they said you'll be

Have you ever wondered, where we all came from
That science plays the part, that built this living throng
Does it make you think, ever since the existence of time
That mother nature is the creator, all living hearts are her chime

Have you ever wondered, where we all came from
On this planet we have excavated, the evidence so belonged
Does it make you think, of the icons in our past
The ones that exist materially, the ones seen, seem to last

Have you ever wondered, where we all came from
This creator of modern man, natures right and others wrong
Does it make you think, that tribes elders had their say
Power became their ultimate, that many still believe to this day

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Never much do birds fly south;
I wonder-
if they have stronger legs now.

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Diversity of the Elements

Standing upon it without thought passing each day,
Our terrain serves our continuity, preserving sway.
Preparing spectacular topography to which display.
Characteristics of different hue, glorious and gray,

Whispering air flows throughout the world in peace.
Silently it moves at times, often seeming to cease.
Constantly circulating in every aspect of its lease,
Violent it may become with a destructive release.

Spontaneous combustion, never proven to be,
Powers of the flame, necessity for you and me,
Discovery of fire was easy, produced heavenly.
Captivity, tricky of this beast, fire was born free.

So much abundantly occupying our spaces so near,
Producing different cultural life, to enjoy and fear.
Securing borders for explorers to travel our sphere.
Our closest boundary, but not, our final frontier,

One irrigates land, one separates flowingly diverse.
One feeds the source, only as fuel to burn, intersperse.

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From a mountain's peak,
to a very picturesque valley below,
these cold and sprightly waters flow...
watching the gyrfalcon cool off his beak.

River, don't stop your flow anytime,
let me admire how you glisten...
running down the snowy inclines;
hearing the croaking sound of a raven. 
Further down you plunge into ravines,
and less forcelful than a waterfall,
you splash on rocks and wildflowers...
raring in the manner of a rascal.

No vigilant eagles, or dozing marabous amid stalks,
are found as you approach vast grasslands,
but the ocean is very far and doubts arise;
o river, keep on flowing towards those serene skies!

From a mountain's peak with graceful glee,
you gurgle in flowless rhythm without mistake,
satisfying my dry palate in a dire state;
o river, flow like the blood that sustains me!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Sleep well, Emily
on a soft pillow
resembling a willow
courting the starry sea...

And should a storm arrive,
I'll shut the windows,
and keep serenity alive
for the sake of precious dreams...

Sleep well, Emily
dreaming of August' breezes
when the gleaming waves
reflect a dark blue so pretty...

Covered by a transparent satin sheet color sapphire
softer than your own glowing skin,
your feminine curves induce an incredible desire
in the palpiting heart of this tempted man....

Sleep well, Emily
putting all thoughts to sleep,
unless passion arises an intense heat
to allow me to touch you softly... 

And exploring our sexuality
without being ashamed of nudity,
we are those lovers seeking total darkness
into a place where there's deep tenderness....

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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In my sleep they came jeering,
making awful noises...shaking my bed;
I couldn't either move or talk and hearing
them speak a weird language, I covered my head.

Many nights I dreamt of corpses in cold graves,
I was walking into that cemetery I used to visit;
dead people couldn't harm me I thought to myself,
little did I know they were evil spirits who could have.

They kept on coming in dark, frightful dreams,
they tied me down with ropes and laughed,
I screamed, but nobody head my screams;
mom and dad were in the next room, they chatted.

One stormy November night, before going to bed,
I put garlic cloves underneath the mattress,
and waited for them to come closer and snap;
my plan worked, they sniffed the garlic and left!

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Natures Rain

When one closes ones eyes and listens to the rain
It takes you to places where the sane always reigns
To take you away from natures rains that fall
It's unjust and wrong and you lose it's en-thrall

It's a beautiful sight clouds engulfing blue skies
Of impending moisture arid grounds in surprise
So much depends on it's droplets of life
Turning the barren and relieving it's strife

Yes there are floods when natures tears swell
But we are the guilty in the places we dwell
When the rains fall we should open our arms
Without this phenomenon our life would be harmed

When you hear on the radio or watch weather reports
Respect what she delivers and show your support
There is a reason why her tears always fall
It appears to be humans, who are having a ball

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Sudbury Bars

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

There are some behind bars
serving drinks for their time,
that there's more in this city
than the world we can chime.

They're the place you met Linda.
The place you played pool.
They're the waitress who served you
and the time you were cool.

All these bars are our memories.
A glance through a room.
A romance for starting
a Sudbury boom!

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They made a huge nest with straws of golden hay
on the top of a fragrant, shady apple tree;
and they were the beautiful bluejays of May
that constantly warbled until sunset vanished entirely.

They have gone to a warmer place with pretty cotton fields...
before winter approaches and turns into a white blanket,
but my nostalgia for the departed bluejays with soft wings
fills the chilly and stormy air with something I can't predict.

Oh, bluejays which other bluest sky you fly under...
without the fear of an impetous, frightful thunder,
to find that haven which delights even a restless lark  
when sunrise arises his desire to be a free heart?

Luckily, they won't be here when the frigid wheather will be coming...
when that glistening blanket of snow will cover every meadow;
they will remember spring battering the land with a sudden windstorm...
and listening to their cheerful song, brought true joy to my living. 

Oh, bluejays from this icy window I yearn for a celestial, melodic praise!
Could anything console me as the moon wanes,
if sunrise offers no hope for my deep longing
that soars over miles of frozen sky...until it awakens me from dreaming?

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci

Written for Constance-A Rambling Poet
for Beautiful Birds Mini Blog Contest

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Could we ignore those heroes and heroines,
who fought for freedom and gave us many choices?
Every country has them and their valor we should revere!
I'd like to be one of them...but I hesitate to dare!

More than five thousands of years people have lived on our planet,
and powerful civilizations rose to subdue the ones with a weaker sword...
even today when knowledge is supreme, the mighty ones continue to do so!
O inhuman and foolish race...have you lost all consciousness and grace?

How can the human heart be enslaved by mighteness,
if precious freedom is a right given by God without prejudice? 
All, I repeat all peoples are entitled to liberty...O heroes and heroines rise!
I'm not inciting anyone to rebellion, but protest they should with their voice!

O inhuman and foolish race, how much longer can you brag and not be erased?  
Rome crumbled with its marble idols...others followed and lost what they highly praised!
Now justice is veiled by a feigned appearance: haters of faith and lovers of money abound,
bringing more destruction and danger to anyone alive...will they return to God?  

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     the chill of the wind
goes right through your frozen  bones,
     a summer breeze run through your mind
taking you to sandy beaches and ice cream cones

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He was crucified by the Romans with the sharpest nails
by the will of an angry mob;
did anyone hear Jesus's sob?
Pilate refused to find him guilty and washed his hands.

Betrayed by Peter, hated by rebellious Barabbas;  
whipped at every fall, He patiently carried that cross to Calvary,
but a kind, humble woman felt much pity for Jesus 
and with a clean cloth wiped off his blood as an act of mercy!

And dragging His heavy cross through the narrow
streets of chaotic and uncompassionate Jerusalem,
someone, who had heard him preach about God's Kingdom,
picked up his cross and relieved some of the pain and sorrow!

Many believed Him to be the Christ, 
but the envious Pharisees did not,
and accusing him of blasphemy, they mocked him...
not noticing how the April sky was becoming dim!

He was laid in an empty, cold tomb amid palm trees and stones 
and on the third day, as Jesus promised the twelve disciples;
He miraculously rose...ascending the heavenly throne,
where God the Father handed Him the glorious crown!

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Haiti: Dreams Betrayed Beneath the Sun

Haiti: Dreams Betrayed Beneath the Sun

Our “Mother Earth” has filled her graves; dread stays.
Entrapping thousands in her hungry jaws.
She quivered with her deepest rage, oh, day.
And from her belly under seas roars cause.

Spitting fire, destroying, homes; thus stealing breath.
Disaster bound its heart to tears affright.
Rescuers search the rubbles heaped with … Death.
She killed the young and old with just one bite. 

Gone; children ripped from parents while they played.
And Old folks lost in thought found not their stay.
In moments those that lived had passed away.
Now destitute, survivors to God pray.

The rich and poor together work, none tire.
Will hopes and prayers revive their stolen days?
The rescued, shocked, and dazed reap horrors’, ire.
Life lost beneath debris turns to a blaze.

The world looks on with wonder, all amazed.
Resilient, pained, some brave survivors’ fight.
For tragedy had thrust death’s dreadful phase.
But human strengths arose to face their plight.

As help from other lands aid dreams betrayed.
Reminding all who lived that we are one.
United humans, tasting dread; strength stayed.
Compassion, peace, and love beneath the sun.

© © Dane Smith-Johnsen
January 31, 2010

Poetic form: Quatrain

Details | Quatrain | |

Sitting on the Beach

Sitting on the beach
I close my weary eyes
To hear the rushing waves
When they land its their goodbye

Sitting on the beach
Sounds of nature all around
Children playing in the sands
Their happiness abounds

Sitting on the beach
Soft breezes grace my face
The reeds reply with whistles
Whilst the gulls glide their space

Sitting on the beach
Enjoying the sun rays on my face
There is no better place to be
For sure this is the place

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When the well-rested rooster woke up at noon, he found himself in the lap
of a gorgeous boy and he was telling his mom with urgency,
"I want this rooster, he can keep the lonely and moody parrot company!"
And staring at him," It's a rooster, not a pet!" she exclaimed.

Mothers always try to please their kids, and sometimes they really spoil them,
not according to their customs and beliefs, controversially fathers are stricter than them;
"I'll take care of him and soon he'll be living in our ranch home" he promised...
and continuing,"From now on, his name will be Harbor: the lovely place where I found him!"

The gentle boy kept his promise and Harbor became part of the family,
and the talkative parrot taught him to say the exact words he said;
and months went by, but nobody knew that he could speak so humanly,
and how did they find out that Harbor was smarter than an ordinary bird?

They overheard him in a challenging conversation about finding a perfect mate, 
in the shortest time and the shrewd parrot thought he surely would have been the winner,
but to his surprise, Harbor used his accumulated wisdom and searched the nearby farm,
where chicks were bred and then put in perforated carboard crates on a freighter.

Harbor looked around and didn't really like any of the chicks he saw,
and was he about to give up on his search? Suddenly not! He trotted past the noisy farm,
and to his bewilderment, he spotted a young chicken on the grass below...
and gallantly approached her, and with a chat started a romantic affair by keeping her warm.

Harbor and the young chick clicked and they quickly were talking about marriage,
lots of baby chicks to feed: the ultimate dream of two domesticated birds; 
at first, the upset boy wasn't too happy about their agreement, and exploded in rage,
but realizing what was best for Harbor, he finally gave him his blessings.

On the same farm the newly-wed live, and have big plans for a large family;
one more thing, if curious folks decide to visit them anytime soon, they need a reservation.
They will show them around with their fowl hospitality, but rule out temptation;
none of them will end up on their plates for the next Holidays or any other special festivity!

Details | Quatrain | |

White Lightnin

It's a proud family tradition

Here in the hills of Tennessee

My grand daddy brewed White Ligntin

And my daddy, before me.

It's just Cornmeal, water and yeast

Brewed in the family still.

Them revenuers can't find the place

They probably never will.

Don't drink it down, you sip it slow

It kicks like a stubborn ole mule.

There's a reason it's called White Lightnin

Some folks call it fuel.

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In Ageing Decay

In a dying world
Turning to blacks and greys
The world we once new
In ageing decay

The sun that we knew
Was in steady decline
This side of the universe
It no longer wanted to shine

For it knew much more
Than we humans thought
Like everything else
We had it bought

But out there somewhere
There is a chosen few
What you read above
They already knew

For in a secret place
There is a fountain of new
To slowly fall in
Takes you to a world of the few

In a dying world
That's turning to blacks and greys
Enjoy while you are here
It could well be your last day

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Saturday night Enterprise

Saturday here on the holodeck
Jiminy Cricket dances around
to keep baser instincts in check
theoretical ethical dilemmas abound.

The holodeck is like dream time
capable of desires and fantasies
events both horrifying and sublime
played out, life across the galaxies.

An actor on a stage of possibility
can play the part of hero or villain
dastardly or the epitome of civility
darker motifs behind curtain hidden.

Which, to be or not to be, selected
choose, and get into character to portray.
Is the actor the character, or unaffected
by the actions of the part that he plays?

Is it harmless release to play it "bad"
and too, is it no value to play the "good".
Was Hamlet's character really raving mad,
or the sheriff far worse than Robin Hood?

All the world's a stage, us merely players
might go beyond the cornered universe
to philosophers, hucksters, soothsayers
all who purport good to bad and obverse.

The doors to the holodeck close "shwoosh"
and our man by the door gives a nod
tonight's experience might be an ambush
or tomorrow's wizened connecting rod.

Life's lyrics still sing melodious tunes
for singers, actors, and audience to decide
Jiminy with umbrella and hat, so croons
"Always Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide."

© Goode Guy 2011-06-08

tweeeeeeeeeeet...all hands report to the holodeck!

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I had hoped to beat the violent storm's shooting hail,
struggling through falling branches, some broken and some whole;
my mutt with a rigid tail growled steadily and pinned his teeth to my jeans,
and I stuck in mud, vainly tried to break loose, but nobody heard my screams.

Trucks loaded with tar drove by and the burning smell made me terribly sick,
someone thought I was the farm's scarecrow and threw a beer can at me,
and he even hissed and cursed with a deriding tone for my disheveled shape;
I waved like humans do, but he thought the gusts had shaken my hands with frenzy.  

Lucky me it wasn't winter, the warmest wind slapped my unconsoled face,
naughty quails flew over to pick strawberries hanging from my torn hat;
all of a sudden a few became a herd, and my body was being mouled into pieces, 
and before I turned into rags and bruises, the farmer came running with his rake. 

And I stuck in mud, I yelled for help, then all the birds flew away with discontent,
the middle-aged farmer introduced himself with his sourthern friendliness;
what would I have cared about his hospitality, if he hadn't pulled me out of the dirt,
and hadn't taken me straight to the shower, and given me some clean clothes?    

This was my immediate need, and he saw it in my disgusted mood and slow thought,
and with his witty Tennessee accent, he addressed me as sir as if I were his officer superior;
respectable and kind, without prejudice for a yankee, he picked me up without effort,
and singing a country tune, he lied me down on the back seat without slamming the door.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Nickel Big

Poems about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

There's a nickel big that I feel small.
A coin to wonder where you'd spend.
One broader than your shoulders.
One much to large to lend.

There's a nickel big in Sudbury.
A city home to miners.
Where mining for our nickel
is not meant for the whiners.

There's a nickel big from in the Earth.
A coin come from the heart.
Where money is for spending
and nickels for the art.

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Thunderstorms are fierce,
bringing devastation to Nature and humans;
and such are the Monsoon rains of all seasons:
a reminder of India's tragedies.

Torrents from clouds form wild rivers,
and everything is subdued by their force,
it brings to mind the Biblical Deluge
when only a faithful family found refuge.

Where houses, squares, churches and trees once stood,
now there are floods drifting people and animals... 
struggling to keep their heads above water;
many will experience horrible deaths without finding a road.

After they pass over the devastated region,
they will go the the next destination to cause more death
and incite survivors with ire and desperation...
then is God responsible, or is it Man who has no respect?

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How wrong is the notion than having two great loves...
doesn't make a heart absorb what it immensely adores.

My natural motherland is that southern European country
kisses by the warm waves of the Mediterrean sea,
where a great empire rose and conquered others,
only defeated by the barbarians like the Huns.

My adopted motherland was discovered by Columbus,
who with three ships sailed the Atlantic Ocean confidently, 
hoping to find a route to India, the land of spices and mystery...
and he thought all along it he had found it without any loss.

The first one made a dreamer out of me overnight,
and inspired me with her breathtaking landscapes and skies;
who has ever see Mount Vesuvius throught a teenager's eyes,
and be somewhat moved by the magnificent sight?

The second one nourished my erring and poetic spirit so sensible:
seeing snow-capped mountains, green vallies and sun-drenched canyons;
there all thoughts fled to find kids playing with crayons,
attempting to draw with ingenuity images very awesome and beautiful.

These two countries are loved by me as I loved sweet mother;
the old one holds her strict religious values and the other has more realistic freedom,
not suggesting to quickly discard one, and embrace the other;
I will definitely love them both and honor their flags with the joyful beats of my drum.

How happy and grateful I am to have had these friends fulfilling my worthiness
that  daily shaped my character and broadened my avenues towards success.

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At one

secular and sacred
          back to back
          in the world
in Christ,we nothing lack

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Blackhawk Dawn

In rugged mountains of beige
A mission has been set
To rid a faction of rebels
Where conflict will be met

To return a country to good
Dispose of the unwanted
For the feud to conclude

Near the Helmand River valley
A major offensive is set
U.S. Marine push
Juniors and Vets

Its not even daylight
As i radio them in
Colleagues of three
Hereford's unique fighting men

In our covered position
The Taliban are sighted
Car bombings, slaughter
Rotor blades we invited

A distant sound
Of birds of war
Bringing Marines
Bullets, hard gore

From the valley rises
Western army brawn
In formation flight
Blackhawk Dawn

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We Are The Power

Look out your window
And what do you see
A land of beauty
And all in purpose is free

Conglomerates all over
They grind and they mine
Who tells them to take
What is yours so defined

Elections must change
For tomorrows today
As we are the people
And our thoughts you must say

Be in power
As we have granted you grace
But we are the power
To remove you of place

If you can't be upstanding
Especially, from where you came from
We will know you as weak
When you thought you were strong

For we are the people
Your bosses we are
If you do whats right
We will allow you to star?

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A guiding light!

Prism's shining
Guiding the way 
The haunting of horns 
On lighthouse bay!

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Get to Work

Men at work, bumper to bumper
tensile traffic, thick black bitumen.
Everything seems to last longer 
then that grey granulated concrete

that extends from Bodega, Cali-
fornia to Savannah, Georgia.
Blacktop pot-fill smells like
the solid and searing work of roofers;

hardhat knuckle down workers,
men that stretch skyscraper towers,
or suspend themselves over
the ledge of the Golden Gate Bridge.

If only this endless line of steel
on rubber wheels could steam roll
past the frustrated flashing lights
and pinstriped lattes honking horns.

If only these orange jump suites,
(sloth shaped men on armrest shovels,)
spent less time blathering like this poem,
we’d all be able to get to work. 

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Locked Away

My husbands actions locked with my soul and remained at our frount door,
He reenlisted again and had left for the Afganistan war.
My eyes became swollen the tears begain to pour.
Then all of a sudden, for some reason, one day I wasn't mad at him anymore.
I inwardly waited to hear his keys rattle and his duffle hit the floor. 

Quatrain - a hopeful heart

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Rain is more than a blessing,
watch it from a window pouring...
birds take a long bath as little springs form;
and kids run outside to get wet and dance in the storm.

Rain is good for every tree, pant and flower,
and on them we daily rely for food and adornment...
plenty of showers in warm spring, thunders in scorching summer;
the happy eyes of farmers love to see it fall on fields for a bountful harvest.

Without rain the earth would be a huge desert,
no plant life would survive in arid soil and the cattle
on prairies would aimlessly roam to find a river for their thirst, 
many will die and the cowboys without their wild horses wouldn't be so festal.

Rain is a source of wealth and more than a blessing, it promises
pretty roses in bloom, abundant fruits on trees and wheat with golden kernels
in the fileds, where those stuffed scarecrows protect them from very hungry ravens;
imagine life without rainfalls, it'll resemble the somber moon with dry valleys and canyons.

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I have many qualities and talents 
that make me popular and likeable for my kindness,
and unpretentious gallantry;
ask me if I'm blue-blooded like the gentry!

I exist for a purpose and I intend reveal my cause;
honesty and shrewdness will guard me against errors...
do weeds grow in a well-maintained and embellished garden?
A grubby garden attracts gloominess, mine appeals to sunshine!

I have traveled down rough and dark roads,
grabbing the attention of bad-wishers,
who handed me gooseberries, not gorse;
it was a clumsy course swarming with rocks and thorns!

I exist for a purpose that puts fear into my unseen enemies,
who grumble and judge more than the-assumed-righteous-ones,
they are obsessed with their perfection and like to impose it on me;
but do they know that I control my destiny by spinning my fortune' wheel?

My belief is not to accept anything of worthless beauty,
I love to hide myself in the grain fields,and shake their stalks...
to celebrate a harvest more bountiful than sunflowers;
and I imagine myself gorging on fresh-baked bread daily!

O golden grains, your seeds satiate many that earn their hard living,
saying grace at God gives them His blessing;
and those hands that cut the husks off are much detested   
by the elite with a feeling of inferiority and a lack of gratitude!

I exist for a purpose to bring glory to the Heavens,
that magnificently dazzle upon me in times of desperate need;
pity is an unacceptable word whenever they attempt to make a deal;
I change no direction and try not to fall into the trap of moral weakness!

 Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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East Berlin
Before the wall fell
Under the lamppost
In silhouette tell

So still they stood
To a window they look
They put the fear of death
In scare ridden spook

These Ministry shadows
Who haunted neighbourhoods
Persecuting the weak
Because they know they could

After the wall fell
It became their demise
This Stasi, State Security
In all out despise

Many people died
Or simply disappeared
By these silhouettes under the lamppost
That a nation feared

After the wall fell
They were hunted and traced
This Stasi, State Security
Have finally been erased

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I was raised amidst thieves, thugs and rats
Not the rodent, I’m talking about snitches
I grew up next to the rotten, rebellious and the skinny one is always called “Fats”
I was brought up by Broadway, by boosting and a bushel of b*ches

Ain’t nothing new to me, where I now exist
I am immune to the horrid places I go
There’s so many places I hate it’s too long a list
Suffice it to say that I know that which I know

My father was fifth avenue whereupon the rich dwell
And my mother was Madison Ave. where only the chic congregate
Both of my parents gave me a map straight to hell
And that’s why I don’t even have time to hate

Thieves were my tutors, and my teacher was other people’s blood
Yet I saw angels above my head revealing what I needed to hear
Listen, my friend, I fear boils, locusts and flood
But I’ve tried to dissipate and mitigate all of my hate

And then you ask me why I have aching f*****g feet
Because I wasn’t raised up I was dragged up and honey, that’s for true
And there are certain people and relatives you don’t want to meet
But fret not for I don’t fear the government, I don’t fear the law and I don’t even  fear men in blue
                           © 2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~


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Watching As Life Goes By

Watching as Life Goes By
     By Dane A. Smith-Johnsen

The Interstate Traffic,
Composed of many folks,
Landscapes very graphic
In sun or when rain soaks.

People on vacation
Or driving fast to work
Going to the ocean
Sunbathing is the perk.

Don’t forget to mention
The meetings meant to sell.
Leaving for conventions.
To learn how to do well--

Children visit mothers.
And reminisce for fun.
Young sisters and brothers
Are quickly on the run.

Going here, going there
Doing this, doing that.
Maybe to a state fair
To judge a hog that's fat.

Birthdays, weddings, parties!
Gone shopping very fast.
As busy as a bee,
Too long, such rushing lasts!

Meanwhile, cows in pastures.
Watch many cars go by.
Partaking nature lures.
Greeting the bright blue sky.

Likewise in the woodlands,
With the Interstate nigh-
Watching, I hold God's hand.
With peace, while life goes by.

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I find hard to move around,
dragging my aching body,
unable to do even the simplest chores...
yes, I am very sick of flu:
it's something I can't undo!

I will not go to the hospital,
lie in a comfortable bed for hours,
coughing and sneezing waiting for a call...
while spreading this virus and infecting others.

I'm missing out on brisk walks  
that keep my immune system healthy,
and no blues frustrate me more than loneliness...
come spring and let joy renew itself in this memory.   

My remedy is Robitussin by far,
a miraculous cure for cold symptoms,
and since I can't go out, or drive my car...
I indulge myself in the creation lyrics.

It's my first day back to work,
I'm drinking coffee, and I shouldn't,
but these headaches won't go away...
unless I smell it, sip it and dream away.

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci

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A stranger place

I'm just a stranger here
the neighbors smiling at me from ear to ear
I've been gone for far too long
even though it's only the first year

There are sparrows walking this ground
a scarecrow stand forgotten and on the porch a dead coon hound
This is a nexus, a rip in my common space
I'm standing amidst this crowd but I'm no where to be found

And raindrops are falling beneath my feet
A mother losing her way hangs up her bedroom sheet
I want to run away from this melancholy shame
but there are so many faces here forcing us to meet

The sharper the knife the duller the man
My daddy had once said this but how was I to understand
that a man aint just a body walking around a town
and that if a life he takes then he's to be judged by the land

There is blood on the highway, yet no body to be seen
all these empty ghosts here must make it Halloween
but I'm just another puppet opening up a closet
just to see the backyard to find out what it might mean

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The Orpheum in Winter

Eating the paint on the Orpheum walls
are the voices of every performer
Some dressed in black with pearls in their hair
Some straight from England (Paul Weller)
Truthfully, I've been left freezing myself
eating the cup of the deep yellow moon
lifting the music out past the old walls
of this beat up Victorian room
Frescos are heavenward scrolling and spun
faded out velvet on chairs
A spit of a girl now behind the tall mike
not a one of the men in her life still is there
She is a replica of each of these seats
and what they contain there with in
The crying and torture of bruised and bled souls
left over from yesterday's sin
She is the voice of collective remorse
They're sorry for spilling the moment
The room heaving breath from her following's sigh
releasing their beaten up torment
All of the paint absorbs the dark air
and peels on like acid to rain
Orpheum walls, once a grand concert hall
Now home to, and bursting with pain.

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The Open Road

The highway is my heaven

I crave the open road.

I fire up my Harley

And away I go.

Following the sunset

Toward the western sky.

The throttle is wide open

If I had wings, I could fly.

It's a form of self expression

It's the freedom of the road.

I fire up my Harley

And away I go.

The wind, I feel upon my face

My woman sits behind

It's a feeling like no other

It simply blows my mind.

Speed is my religion

My Chapel is the road.

I fire up my Harley

And away I go.

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Black River

Sitting on the river bank
while black water pools and slips away
cleanses the spirit of all that was
with a spit polish brass on the dullest day
Invading the current with questioning
with feet skinned in white and bones
catching the answers in black water leaves
while they linger, then sink to their home
All of the motion, in rocking, in waves
All of the sounds brim with life
strip me to soul strings and play me like music
an orchestra dark and deprived
I'll never settle in silt and starvation
I'll never sink like a stone
Catch me a current out on the black river
Carry me back home, alone.

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If you wanna come to this country

You don't break down our door.

I guess the term illegal

Doesn't mean much anymore.

English is our language

Our Flag, the Stars n Stripes

Spanish should be outlawed

Our Flags not red, green and white.

You sneek across our border

And have the nerve to demand your rights.

Those rights, were fought and died for

They are a citizens birthright.

You have a country of your own

Back to which, I suggest you go.

You don't belong here, you weren't invited

GO back to MEXICO!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Nightly, They Glow.

Fluorescently yellow,
these flickering fireflies
swelling and streaking
'cross burgundy swazzled skies
Deeply enraptured 
and wanted to capture
I lie low in wait
as my breathing grows faster.
Wishing they'd light
on the tip of my finger
Casting their glow
for a moment they'd linger
Then off they would be
into darkening skies
Leaving their trails
like an exhaling sigh.

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Virginia Matriarch vs. The Ground

She's rickety at best at ninety
Tough blood nails her veins
to her rocking chair on the front porch
sniffing out impending rain
Her house coat hides her skeleton
but for her needle legs
which somehow hold her frame from gravity
like the trappings in a spider's web
She remembers nights of ink and silence
underneath her stars
but now her front porch sags and rests
at the stage of sound and cars
Her little home, her little porch
off Interstate 95
has kept it's old Virginia appeal
to the travelers who zoom by
She hasn't changed a thing, you know,
She lights her stove with wood
Her outhouse watches the steel construction
where the century pine once grandly stood
She spits tobacco on the road
and hollers at the wind
"Bring on the rain, you blasted thing
my life's about to end!"
She's left her home to Uncle Shuvrow
Her personals to May
She's sick of new construction
and is sure she'll pass away
But the ground beneath her has tough blood
and won't let go right quick
It doesn't want to lose it's soul
Her Virginia voice, it's tick
Her footsteps make the ground alive
Her younger dancing days still fresh
It doesn't see her tired eyes
or feel her sunken bag of flesh
The ground just knows this woman
like the back of it's aging hand
It knows she reigns with countenance
in a now developed land
The ground won't let the storm begin
It threatens the sky to obey
This old Virginia matriarch
will live to curse another day...

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After dusk, with this gift
of a dusting bowl of fireflies
we're in tune, with bare feet
on the minty sugared grass
Flying wisps, dandelion
light on tails and giggles too
Humid breath in the air
toward the moon an ocean view
Sparkle wings, sleepy eyes
breath of sweetened apple trees
mark the night to be crisp
after dusk pulls in the breeze
With this gift, we elate
with a glow upon our cheeks
Fireflies, summer skies
closing eyes in quiescent peace.

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Showing of Stars

Silence and shooting stars
Icycle wind
Spins me in every way
Beckons me in
Night of the deepest blue
Moon on my face
Air of the mountains
mingled with space
Winter is on the wings
Let's sip the silence
I'm filled with shooting stars
nature's compliance
Pines on the evening watch
Protectors elite
You by my side
makes this moment complete...

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Within the land of clover
O’er the fields of green
Wanders, a bagpipe player
Just blending to the scene
He breathes the air of the hills
Into the plaid bagpipe sack
That keeps me as a visitor
Always coming back

The land and all its legend
The Castles on the hills
The Rose of Shannon’s aroma
It does all give me fill
But yet my mind there wanders
As my feet push on to see
The lovely Emerald Isle
That patchwork of the green

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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

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Memories We Made

Laughter about us 
While the children play
The sunshine has faded
The sky turned grey

An innocent child 
Out in the rain
Sounds of a distant
Yet inbound train

These are the things
Of a neighborhood park
With playground and benches
Tables and basketball court

A dog walks his owner
Gentle rain subsides
Still behind the clouds
The sunshine hides

No one is leaving
Due to this spring shower
Drops of water 
Collect on the flowers

As day turns to night
The rain comes to a stop
A child tells his father
“Daddy, you rock”

Headed home from the park
After a long day
Loving the memories
That our family made

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The Vacant Eye

Blinded as a child, 
by a rock thrown at my eye
The pain was great, I'd demonstrate, 
but I'd hate to make you cry
I found a marble on the street
and figured it would do
Popped it in that vacancy
so I could stare at you
Now 'scuse me sir, it's rude to gawk
at someone else's head
even if my real eye's green
and the other crimson red.
Beggar's can't be choosers,
that's what I've always known
This shiny red is better still
than just plain hollow bone
Now turn away and eat your soup
you perfect featured fellow
Be glad your eyes are real and match-
They could be blue and yellow...

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She counts the wind that blew her west
over an ocean as her first breath; 
the brightest of whatever constellation 
stood sentry overhead, her natal star.

She can’t spell her birthplace, a town 
half a day’s walk from the once-capital
of a land forever changing boundaries
by the logic of politics and war.

She can’t tell the hour of her birth, 
but only the moment of her mother’s death:
it smelled like all of her own people 
dying, which is the stench of fear. 

Orphan with only her lungs to beg 
free air in a new place, she asks you 
to cast her chart. No matter the past, 
she says. Just tell my future. Here.

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The Perfect Place

Extended there to greet the horizon
A jetty formed with rocks, in sea
A place to retreat, to find true peace
It feels as if it was meant for me

Well, in fact, it is there for the many
Climb and walk, feel sun and mist
Stand upon the tip to witness
Sun descends, the sea gets kissed

The jetty, there, children fish from
Lines are cast, hopes are set
Smiles, broad, as reeled in catches
Give meaning to the effort’s sweat

The many that traverse the formation
Have stories then to tell and share
Memories of days when all was perfect
Memories of days without a care

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Soul stir my attitude
Blow me a kiss
from off of the tip
of the top of your list
written in muse
in pockets crunched up
Just unlock your soul
and start off at the top
Amber in anklets
and peppermint pine
A song humming breath
from the day you were mine
Green gold in rings
from a shop lit in winter
and shards of blown glass
which you still have a splinter
Promise of virtue
and floating of vice
Circles of star storms
we saw once or twice
Pooling of thunder
over our heads
Watching the rain
without leaving our bed
Summer blonde hair
while we swam in the sea
all this and more
in your kiss blown to me...

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Beneath Your Scented Feet

Dwindling summer, keeps hordes of twitchers away;
Acropolis, fortress with a very charming height;
Promise not to cry, I shall see you in the sky
For a glass of ouzo, in beautiful moonlit night!

Though, Sunday is fine for me to sneak around;
Approaching your beauty, really, is not that easy free;
For loyal gatekeepers are watching the town,
I must take refuge, under the romantic olive tree!

While savoring your fragrance, in solitude!
I hear a man, singing in a falsetto;
For my unwanted skin attracts multitude,
That I decided to stay incognito!

As I huddle beneath your famed and scented feet;
Waiting for a chance, so I can kiss you goodbye;
Birds warble, sending jealous gods to fall asleep
Inspired by your beauty, in your arms, let me die!

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Southern Girl

I minted purity in flowers
dancing daisies, wild wheat
blowing thus in brittle wind
which grandma said comes from out east
I blacked knees with soil skin
roots entangled, frying sun
'gainst the wilting of the winter
toward a breath that's just begun
I lit the candles on the back deck
air gone sheer with heat delight
smoking whispers of a sunburn
held on cheeks well through the night
I kissed the calling of desire
mirrored eyes, impetuous mouth
and beat my heart to the pulse of summer
bare feet finally at home in the south.

Details | Quatrain | |

In My Mind

In a secret corner of my mind
A place I often go
I exit the world, peacefulness there.
It’s a place, we all should know.

A haven for thoughts or dreams alike,
A place of safety too,
But there, when I am alone in thought
I, so often, think of you.

Never wish to leave just where I am.
No, never leave this place,
For a look of happiness can always be seen
When looking upon my face.

I hope to see you there some time
And take a moment or two.
If you can’t make it, worry not
For I will dream of you.