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Sonnet Dedication Poems | Sonnet Poems About Dedication

These Sonnet Dedication poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Dedication. These are the best examples of Sonnet Dedication poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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On Watching Innocence

A pretty girl in pleated dress of red,
with collar laced in white beneath her throat
and matching bow upon her small blonde head,
is glancing round the chapel. I take note.

Though nails on little hands show grown-up paint,
she emanates no guile.  She’s unaware
That in this world are some who wish to taint
all innocence; for no one do they care!

She nuzzles her dad’s face as on his knee
she’s sitting now - his sweet beloved daughter.
What menace lurks, from which she could not flee?
What evil lessons might one day be taught her?

She hugs her daddy’s chest; I watch and pray
she’ll live to hold a child her own one day.

In Memory of the 20 + 7 new angles of heaven~ "our own little poetry soup VIGIL"

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Sonnet to a Fine Poetess

I know a very fine poet, a dear colleague, who’s so exquisitely talented and bright,
And has a superb facility with words and themes making all fit perfect and right;
She has an unrivaled mastery of the poetic art and writes with the best approach,  
And has an unparalleled ability to write the finest verse beyond any reproach. 

This poet’s sense of depth, empathy, and poetic variety is quite splendid to behold,
And she brings such compassion and power to her work worth its weight in gold;
With well-conceived themes and images she invites readers to her special dimension,
While enchanting them magically with sublime verses and holding their attention.

This poet communes with Our Poetry Muse, seeking her scope and enchanted vision,
And shares amply all with her readers with enraptured intent and a perfect precision.
Our friend’s poetry reflects always the human dynamic with such power and grace, 
And she finds the right tone, tenor, pitch and rhyme—putting them in proper place.
I must say I’m very proud of our colleague’s work and appreciate so her fine poetry,
And I’m so glad she’s with us and gives us such beauty and elegance in her poetry!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(November 9, 2014) (Shakespearean Sonnet in a Rhyme poetic format) 

*****Written for the “It’s All About Me Contest,” December 4, 2014*****

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Lonely Bard

A lonely bard can paint and write more songs,
Which birds loftily warble all day long,
Every note taps the heart of each flower,
Sprinkles dew drops while silent wind meanders.

Her ballad - a gem of all creations,
A home, hollowed not with admiration,
Chasm within draws perfect harmony
For stars to play a perfect symphony.

With knowledge and love, ink surges so deep,
The feather outshines the wind on its tip,
Lifting up dry leaves lying underneath
Every tale is treasured by golden sheath.

Lonely bard pens the lyrics of our hearts,
Where weary souls can find their road to start.

Aug 9, 2013  11.50am
By: Leonora Galinta

“I am a lonely bard
I have no song to sing.
This empty ballad is my home.
A feather against the dying wind- 
-my only expression.”

 -by my dearest sis, Poet Destroyer from her poem, “Umbrella”


This poem is a loving dedication/ homage to my all time greatest & most favourite poet, my loving sis & friend of mine & my number 1 inspiration.

Fourth Place
Contest: Pick a line, any line from a poem of fav. poet
Judged: 9/11/2013
Sponsor: Richard Lamourex

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Eye of the Beholder

A child's beauty contest I watched in such awe;
  young girl in a wheelchair to her father, his all.
Escorting her on stage with such grace and pride;
 each so blessed to be at the others' side.

A fragile princess in a purple pageant dress;
 twirling her first in her chair then lifting her to his chest.
Their dance so inspiring; such an enchanting sight;
 so gently he lifted her high up to the sky.

Sparkling, bright eyes and the most beautiful smile;
 none deserving of a crown more than this precious child.
An imperfect body, viewed as a gift from above;
 her beauty matched only by a father's boundless love.

Beauty in my eyes is not found in perfection;
 but in acceptance, uniqueness, love and dedication.

June 29, 2014
Contest: Encore-anonymous positive new sonnet
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse

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Those Glory Days, Long Gone

Those Glory Days, Long Gone

Those glory days resting so far bygone
I trek ahead, sad and so all alone
Treasures left upon lofty mountain tops
Rushing ever foward, no time for stops

Days, we resting under a shading oak
loving in vows that we forever spoke
Coolest mornings, breezing days easing minds
days of joy in all the many new finds

Those views of life sing forever above
crystal dreams set in our undying love
Nights of magic in epic love unbound
blisses in every kiss our wet lips found

Memories of days and nights now alone
holding memories of life so long gone!

Robert J. Lindley, 09-07-2014

Poem Syllable Counter Results

Syllables Per Line:  10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10  
Total # Syllables:  140  
Total # Lines:  17  (Including empty lines)  
Total # Words:  100 

Did it , hit exactly one hundred words + ten syllables
 per line and great rhyme.. A solid sonnet according to 
my own personal standards. Wrote it and had to minor 
correct only three lines..

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Sonnet 18 Parody

Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art much more shrivelled and much more cold
Rough winds shake the withered leaves of today.
And your stomach hath too many a fold.

Sometimes too hot your sister shines,
And often is your grey complexion dimmed;
And you always smell like my uncle’s swine 
Except your upper lip is less well trimmed.

Thy eternal summer did long since fade
And lost possession of that fair thou ow'st;
And Satan brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives death to eyes.

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Oceanic Blues

How grand it is when blue sky meets the sea,
may sky and sand and water ever be,
reflected in this topsy-turvy lea.
Oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.

Will you meet me where the foam froths and roils,
where waves pound upon glistening soil,
and seagull's squawk in mismatched harmony;
oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.

Sea tossed, the dross shines upon the strand. 
Gemstones are born, where the sky meets the land.
meet me down by the rush of lulling sea;
oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.

Here we will lie for all eternity,
with life and death, and our love of the sea.

Scenic Point by Robert Butler

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The Red Road

The Shaman sits upon the sand,
the sand of ocher clay;
between the walls of ruins tall,
where ancient one did lay.

The sky above, the earth between;
took in her sincere pleas
tinksha’s toned, soft flutes droned,
her mantra’s dire decree.

To be the light on darkened paths,
within the night belayed;
and be the brave dark in the glow,
of God’s pristine light portrayed.

Her life long work no sacrifice 
a love of mankind to display.

*One may be of any race or of almost any religion 
and walk the Red Road. The Good Red Road is a path,
a way of living. It's full meaning is the way one acts, 
the methods one uses, and what directs one's doing.
There is more to the Red Road than spoken word 
or written words on paper. It is behavior, attitude, 
a way of living, a way of "doing" with reverence - 
of walking strong yet softly, so as not to harm 
or disturb other life. The Red Road is a pathway to truth,
peace and harmony.

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Andrea the POETESS

Three dozen Roses, Red ,Yellow and White
To show my affection for POETIC insight
Her Quilled POETRY : Inspirations; ignite
The Pen in my hand as I write through the night

When words from her Heart, in a new POEM appear
I read it twice over 'til message is clear
The image so vivid as Roses "Pure" White
My mind carries her words in Dreams through the night

I wake up refreshed, with a pen in my hand
Thank-YOU Andrea Dietrich; I now understand
I will shout to the World; throughout the whole land
With a feeble Tribute to make YOU feel Grand

As my pen tries to emulate YOUR Talented Quill
Roses for Andrea and Her POETRY skill
Inspired by the Contest "A Soup member worthy of a Tribute"
                     Sponsored by " Richard Lamoureux " 

                   Dedicated to  the LOVELY POETESS
                              " ANDREA DIETRICH "

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Woman's Work

Having had mere minutes to skim your sighs,                 
anesthetize the tip of teeming thought ...        
with platitudes for quandaries which fly bye,  
we care for you, our frail flowers wrought.

The breeze, the muse, the bringer, the envoy          
lends at days end, the tender bits of heart
as on the keys or sewing seams of joy  
our fingers never rest from the day's start.

Hands in the garden smudged with chlorophyll
or wrapped about a naughty childlike pet
oft rest behind a trusty Parker’s quill
all healing touches given without regret.

Small and strong and full of life, they pour.
A woman’s hands give much to be adored.

*Women inspire me especially my mother.

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My Guardian Poet

A guardian poet you have been to me
Much like an angel, there protecting me
When I was silent, lost in dark of night
You read my words and brought me back to light

You told me that my words were ever true
That in my writes were thoughts profound and new
You would not let me simply drift away
A word of hope you’d send to greet each day

Your name is there below each thing I write
To tear dimmed eyes you brought a vision bright
“The Queen of Passion,” how I love the name
You gave to me and life is not the same

To you, my Guardian Poet, thanks I bring
You fool me not; I see your angel wing

Eileen Manassian Ghali 

Richard Lamoureux and I joined Poetry Soup at about the same time a year and eight months ago. Richard has been like a mentor to me. I’ve recently been very unwell emotionally and unable to write. I have appreciated the fact that he did not give up on me and kept daily visiting my previous writes and leaving words of encouragement. My words are my soul, so, in a way, he was affirming my worth as a person, which is what I was in need of. Richard has written a poem for me entitled, "Queen of the Romantic Pen."
Richard, your friendship is precious and dear. You are a man of faith and integrity. May God bless your home, your loved ones, and your heart with all that brings you joy. Thank you for standing by me through my dark times.

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The Bard of Avon

The greatest loves and tragedies are lost
Without a brilliant pen to write the plays
And trace romantic love and evil thoughts
That carry through the years until today.
When first the bard quilled page and manuscript
On comedies and histories of his time,
And then to tragedies where daggers dripped,
Romantic sonnets filled with metered rhyme.
But most of all he left us with a gift,
A treasure trove of witches, kings and knaves,
Ideas and dreams through which a mind can sift,
When stagnancy would otherwise pervade.
Now to the bard I bow on bended knee
With what Victorians called bardolatry.

Written by Craig Cornish - Historical

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Elizabeth's Words

I open her book of poetry
When I need to run away.
Serenity washes over me,
Banishing stresses of the day.

Her melodic rhymes entice me,
My imagination begins to soar.
The kind of poet I strive to be,
Her work leaves me wanting more.

Passionate words and phrases
In rhyme and rhythmic flow.
Each poem awes and amazes
Causing my inspiration to grow.

She writes with flourish and with flair.
A poetess beyond compare.

for Elizabeth Wesley, poetess beyond compare

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NIGHTINGALE'S SOUL LIGHTS Plain spotless uniform so pure and white Modest neat gear rendering tender loving fight Day, night 'till wee hours, eyes a must wide awake Extending a hand, shaking off all aches Tiptoeing like a sly in and out of rooms Dim ~ quiet same as white garden tombs Grace under pressure upon first newborn's cry Wiping tears from a gentle old man's dying eye Evenings so dark and mornings so bright Everyday a nurse sees life kaleidoscope lights Despite some voice rudeness to foul remarks Kindness,her soul's sweet perfume, larks A nurse appears unfeeling firm when mankind bleeds Within her are hidden soft golden beauty deeds (c) 11:47pm July 06, 2014

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'Tis a heavenly honeybee 
with a honeyed tongue
drippin' dulcet words accompany
by the rhythm of her buzzin' song.

...Sweet appetible verses flavourin' my soul
with the nectar fetch from tasty seasons of Springs;
Mmm! a bunch of saccharine syrup to behold. 
Aliment from the supernal honeycomb she ev'r brings.

O' lofty queenbee! a noble subject clings
to your pleasurable condiment,
and to the chorus of your iridescent wings
swarming with merriment.

So, hail to Moonbee
with a vow of Jubilee.

A dedication to MoonBee.

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She mostly sits on the outside looking
into the worlds around her.  Day by day
gazing into strong hearts interlocking
with others, bonding in the friendly way.
Her rationale, by and large is to cope
with life as a mom, with a two year old
and the love of a husband giving hope
that neither will be left out in the cold.

She is assured by his drive and his verve.
He - - in return lets her live her own life.
Sometimes her other self loses her nerve:
she revives, being mom, poet and wife

She offers a sonnet for sweet respite,
for life, being young, and living outright

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Andrea Dietrich

Angelic words she places in lines with care.
Never heard a discouraging word, she did share.
Deeper emotions she does write so clear.
Reality is her concern, realism so sincere.
Excitement sometimes rules her lines.
A woman of deep and emotional designs,

Deeply passionate about so many things in life,
I never met her though read her poetic rife.
Each time she visits others words she reads.
Telling others so sweetly she plants seeds,
Respectfully she instills poetic writings in another.
I saw onetime she felt like a sonnet unwritten.
Carefully I wrote this for her, an earth mother.
Having friendship in mind never was smitten.

I have a sort of gift that allows me to sense certain feelings about people without even meeting them....and usually my first intuition if you want to call it that is perfectly correct. matter what it is about or who it is about I have to write it or my soul is clouded and pain grows within...Blessings..Cecil

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Inspired by;  Constance La France’s Native American Portrait 

Nikan is a man who once stood proud and true all across this land
in symbiotic relation with nature endowed by the great creators hand
passed onto him by his ancestors to never take more than his fair share
and always be kind to this land for it’s the Mother to all whom she shall bare

When times are lean we all will grow thin together for together we are one
with one voice to sing in harmony for bountiful harvest to our Father the Sun
and give him thanks and praise for warming and making fertile our Mother
who blessed new life into the birthing seasons for every Sister and Brother

Great spirit hear my song of hope that I sing for my people who will cry
we are mighty on the earth give us protection or your children they will die
and our people’s blood will flow upon our Mother like deep rivers of raging red
O’ Father I can see no solution will you spare us from the white mans dread 

I could never make claim to imagine this great man’s woeful sorry or despair
Nikan's song is a lonely tune played for the spirit of his people upon the air.

Nikan traslation from the Potawatomi "MY Friend"

Baamaapii Nikan.......until we meet again my friend

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I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.

Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit. 
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.

Upside down,
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.

Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.

® Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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The cold, is here again.
Our lips, are getting dried again.
Lip gloss sellers, are inflating its price again
Men will bear this brunt, all again.
The leaves are littering the ground again. 
Late student will have to pick again and again.
Sweaters would be in vogue again.
The rich won’t boast to us again.
Cos the natural cool air condition is here again.
The lotion cream has no effects again.
B’cos it’s the Vaseline’s time again.
It’s Harmattan again.
The farewell to ember months is here again.
Let’s play safe, perhaps to witness another one again!

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For Joy

So you shall not be disappointed again
So you shall not search this tree still in vain
I've left no flowers here, but more mature
Their fruits love laden to the liquid core
Where swims the litany of my rich heart
Bringing you to hive in songs here, sweet heart

Come from the clammy chambers of the day
The endless buzz wing dried white pupal dreams
The pained routine that fans intruders away
Come brood with me by my billowing streams
Inside my cornucopia build your nest
Make yourself queen here, pollinate me bright
With billowing pillows of your sweet breast
Let me fragrant you with jasmines tonight

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As certain as the rains do fall in spring,
will be my love, for you to have and hold,
and know you now--my rain of love will bring
to you, all joy of which all love is told.

No one could ever count the drops that fall,
and so is put together, love for you,
numbers cannot be given them at all,
though put together, one is what will do.

And every single drop adds beauty there
to something we can call a rainy day,
to fill with love, made up, from everywhere,
the drops of life that make love what we say.

Our midnight place, your front porch, dreaming of
each drop of rain that's filled with so much love.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa

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I've just some things I thought your heart should hear,
since they've been weighing heav'ly on my mind,
so list' and I shall whisper to thine ear
with all compassion my poor heart can find.

You've touched me deeply with the way you smile;
such lips could sooth the beast of anyone;
and spreading love with looks must be your style
for every time our eyes meet, love comes on.

Now I'm about to kiss the lips of you
for this first time, I pray the memory
shall linger on through years life takes us through,
together, as I'm certain this will be.

This first kiss of our love will never end
and changes whom you guessed was just your friend.

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Aphrodite Night

Remembering that night of our last touch,
when nothing was between us we should know,
in love with loving you, and just how much
I wonder where in time do such nights go?

Forbidden like a box that's sealed up tight,
or like the flame that Zeus refused to share
with mortals such as we, and on this night,
Pandora's box was opened everywhere,

you were, that night, my first and only love
and always shall remain that part of me,
created from the earth and waters of
a night that Aphrodite made to be.

       And I am more than blessed for loving you
          forever and all time, as I shall do.
                   © RON WILSON aka vee bdosa

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When you miss a child,
Of your very own,
That is your flesh and blood,
You begin to wonder,
Where did you go wrong,
In your own life,
Instead of looking,
At the beautiful life,
You created,
This you must remember,
So many of the difficult times,
Cause of the times you did share together,
For your children will remember more,
Than you really want to give them credit for,
And they will always remember you,
As their loving parent,
For loving them so much,
More than you will ever know,
And you will never forget them,
Just as you hope,
You will never be forgotten,
From their lives,
Forever more,
As well.

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PoetrySoup Poet

I have found many friends on our site
They have helped learn how to live right
Friends encouraged me to find my way
Friends held me in the prayers they pray

During my absence away from this site
My soul and I fought a constant fight
Because deep inside these words are true
I love the time I spend with all of you

I hope you all know without any doubt
I love taking my soul and laying it out
Because when it comes to life it’s my turn
I’ve so much to give so much to learn

I’ve kept my summer free so I can show it
How much I love being a PoetrySoup Poet

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Which love is not a struggle to the mind?
'tis easier to think love glides along,
regardless of a road not there to find,
or never caring what is right or wrong.

One love, of child, a father's steady hand,
protecting innocence, through many years
as if he knew the way, and had it planned,
to heal each mortal wound as it appears.

As if all things begin with his okay,
the good, the joy of life to build upon;
demanding right, and hoping in some way
he's always with you, even when he's gone.

The banged up knee, your losing of a friend,
are yours to feel, but his to comprehend.

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Destiny's Perch

In the near future, I am going to add it all up into one big sum.
In the meantime, I am going to gather and collect my own space.
I will sift through seeds or weeds and present an enormous case.
But for sure I will hold onto every single yellow chrysanthemum.

In the near future, I am going to roll it all up sealing it by my thumb.
In the meantime, I am going to sit here with every turned about face.
I will drift through time rewinding the hands back to a God of Grace.
But for sure I will give the world a place my heart is triumphing from. 

Quickly, I will come to you,
And instantly I will be gone.
But injustice shall never do.
Nor shall a lie be my spawn.

Or at the least not on my expedient silver polished dime,
And certainly not while sitting on destiny’s perch in time!

® Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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In stillness of her spirit she sits there
with all her prowess she manipulates.
Her fingers’  ripples in coldest water
replenish  mind and soul that ruminates.
Playing in nocturne, she’s  being witnessed
by her governess . The simplicity...
Her portraits that adduce virtues she possessed -
laconic and clear view of chastity.
Oh, renaissance woman,  you shine on top,
as you incandesce in  mind  love of arts!
You’re a czar bringing our decorum up-
women’s pride… imbue modesty in heart.
In the silence of our heart, we listen
in these memorabilia… you remain.

Oct. 14, 2013  2.15pm
©2013by Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved

Second Place
Contest: Sofonisba Anguissola-A contemporary Sonnet for a Renaissance 
Woman-2nd in 
                the series
Judged: 2/4/2014
Sponsor: Poet Cyndi MacMillan

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A Wonderful Day Afishin'

A Wonderful Day Afishin'

 A wonderful day fishing, frying fish in the pan
 logs sweetly burning, smokey smells of delight
 Lake nearly perfect , a pond in God's opened hand
 feast soon to start a beautiful camping night!

 That monster fish that easily broke your rod tip
 set a memory to be recalled decades from now
 As recollections in old age our minds eagerly dip
 mental pictures the where , when , why and how!

 This night shall hold us in a very deep embrace
 join me in a toast to a future so fine and sweet
 Singing of happiness , joy and your smiling face
 memories, good times, wine and fish to eat!

 A wonderful day fishing, so very hard to beat
 Nature's offering, magnificent trout to eat!

 June -09- 1978
 Robert J. Lindley

 I wrote this decades ago. My fishing partner was a fine
 lady that I almost married! Sadly she passed away back in 
 May of 2005... She had married and had a grown daughter 
 in college. I hadn't had contact with her in well over 
 22 years. Still it was a sad day for me upon 
 learning of her death...

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The King of Goth

The Sussex lad, to title and land born,
An alumni, now he stands proudly tall.
In Oxford students pass at future’s dawn,
For some the inspiration was his call.

Provocative, a mighty pen his sword,
Expelled for godless view from hallowed hall.
The Baronet poet, friend to a Lord,
The Gothic king’s voice did incite them all.

His Mary worshipped at her husband‘s feet,
She held his heart tight from death’s final flame.
Did they engage in black acts, pagan mete?
A dark and often troubled soul laid claim.

Into the storm set sail to the end foretold,
He died before his talent could unfold.

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The Colorblind Poet

The poet’s eyes, a glorious azure blue
They grace his face, these flecks of splendid sky
Yet blind to color and to every hue
A truth that makes her sigh and good deny

How can in beauty imperfection be?
How can he write of rainbow colors bright?
Why must he stay unable now to see?
Kaleidoscope of colors bathed in light

Lilac and mint and plum and baby blue
Unseen by him she holds in high esteem
She wishes for a miracle come true
For him to see life’s colors in a dream

Yet from this truth her soul does comfort glean
Bright hues of rainbow in his words are seen

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Dedicated to Richard Lamoureux


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Lost time

I was just a child of four with not much to say
But I enjoyed the times I went next door to stay
You were so sick in bed and didn't feel quite well
But you were strong and played with me so I could never tell

You body was full of cancer you were very ill
But whenever I saw you, you'd smile and I'd sit still
I'd climb next to you on your bed, I wouldn't wiggle
I saw the sparkle in your eyes and sometimes we would giggle

I'd love to sit and dress up in your necklaces and hats
Pretend I was a princess while you would just lay back
I was too young to know how sick you really were
You never ever let on, you let me play, a lot was just a blur

As I grew I was told you loved the time we shared
I wish that you were never sick and knew how much I cared.

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A dedication by Joe:

 In one minute of expression!
In the hour of an age;
I saw the fruit of inspiration
A largesse from heaven’s mage.

So I reached out to its fire
My heart big as blue sky
Just a soul tugged by awareness;
such elucidation I’d descried.

These words could melt in my essence!
The very being of my breath….
I sensed delight could dance between us
true life rejoice o’er mortal death.

Maverick © 4/5/2012
Form: Celestial Verse

The Maverick

Dedication by Michelle:

Within silent chambers of darkened grottos
wandered displaced, my weary muse.
Until he jumped forth from a page of notion
this steadfast man of no recues.

Blue flames did stoke declining embers,
he gave the spark to matchstick thought.
Within a fiery blaze of blessed insight
his verse and rhyme my spirit caught.
Idle minds can’t spin on moving axis
though cognitive fire will sing and dance
Guided by captivating poetic precinct  
I affably admire his erudite stance.

© Joe and
© Michelle Mac Donald. Canada Inc 

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Still Standing

Where were you when my world fell apart?
The Sun darkened and the Moon just fled.
All had been done and all had been said.
And ripped to shreds was my beating heart.

Even the Seas began to part.
And the Mountain tops spread.
I lay there completely dead.
Even the Stars I could not chart.

If only you knew,
If only you were there,
If only you had a clue!
If only life had been fair!

I’d turn the clocks back,
Still standing dead in my track!

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Without You

Define your lovely, soulless heart in death
 To take my heart would be a risk; a storm
 You licked your lips to taste what i had left
 And jumped from cliff to rocks, i was forlorn.
 Upon my lover; roses wilt in pain
 For I’ve lost the one whom has no soul, and
 Was all this give and take with us in vain?
 I loved your soul and heart, we joined by hand.
 The brewing storm that took a life, took two
 For deep within your heart was love,
 And deep within my heart was you
 I’ll see you soon, i promise; heart above.
 For without you I cannot survive
 For without you I will not strive

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Unrequited Soliloquies Of The Heart Estranged

Unrequited Soliloquies Of The Heart Estranged By M. Taha Effendi (Sonnet) As I walk along the twilit avenue, A forlorn heart bids the day adieu, The rubicund sun withdraws its weary gaze, Surrenders its quest of endless days, Vagrant clouds drift to uncharted lands, Twilight steals a last glance through evening's hands, The gloaming emblazoned with pink and gray hue, As I walk along the twilit avenue, The west wind wails in melancholy, A lonely river seeks the embrace of the sea, Unchained melodies of the solitaire's refrain, That has emptied love's hemlock to the drains, Unrequited soliloquies of the heart estranged, Nature's course, onerous, unchanged,

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Your Love, My Every Thought

Your Love, My Every Thought

Send me to the pastures ripe, lush and green
 nestled nearby a stand of mighty Oaks
In sight of placid shimmering lake scene
 never been disturbed by boat splashing strokes

There I may soon see the wonderous sky
 feel the breeze settle my tormented mind
All about feathered creatures sing and fly
 embrace all woodland glory I may find

Beauty brings soft memories of you
 flowers rivaling your soft flowing hair
Fresh newborne leaves sprouting out so new
 my mind soon rested and without a care

I wonder how the hell all came to nought!
When your love races in my every thought

Robert Lindley, 11-16-2014

Syllables Per Line:  10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10  
Total # Syllables:  140  
Total # Lines:  17  (Including empty lines)  
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:   N/A  
Total # Words:  103

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My Heart asks you

A day is a nice day when you touched my heart and smile.
A day is a sad day when you walked distance me a mile.
I work double when you inspired me I got strength,
I finish my day so quicker that was the hardest length,
I float to touch the moon when you read the chapter of my file.
When you disappeared I seen you through my vision of darkness,
I touched my lips and find nearest you where delivered me a kiss,
I lost me for a while and gone through my dreams to life compile.
I walked in my sleep in loneliness you guide me as a fairy queen,
When I touched my body I felt you that has changed my living style.
Few of them thinks no soul is in our body who nested my thought,
Who seeds ideas to fragrant dreams in the mind of my heart pot.
Something is wrong, I start to care me; you changed my attitude,
I saw my face in the mirror, my heart asks you, am i nice not rude?

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Who pays this roaring mass?
Which pretends it has nothing to do with me?
Yet keeps pulling its antenna, 
To watch what I do?
Who pays these seat feelers?
To gawk at me 
Even when I am yawning?
Who pays this swam

To creep into my bolts
And unlock the secrets 
Of My private business 
Who pays us?
 For I have been possessed by their intrigue
I find myself doing what they do
Yet I am not paid at all
I am going on strike

This boss has to pay me
Because I am becoming a workaholic 
yet earning Revenge 

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Telicia Merricks BEAUTIFUL SMILE

B Blessed with an incredible smile,
E Each day she brings my world some light,
A Always with a beautiful sight,
U Unique to her very own style.
T Taking time to look for a while,
I  I observe a smile that is bright.
F From ear to ear, her smile looks right,
U Usually seen from a mile.
L Lifting my spirits any time
S She walks by and just smiles my way,
M Miss Telicia earned this rhyme.
I  I bask in the light of her ray,
L Looking perfect, just like a dime,
E Every time, Every day.

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Out of the dark, you'll hear my whistling,
this night bird searching out the heart of you,
who knows the song is you, and meant to sing,
and I, who feel your words, forever do.

In love am I, with all you'll ever be,
though you don't even count me as a friend,
I come and go, throughout your life, 'tis me,
you'll only know as steady, to your end.

This night bird knows the deep inside your breast,
your secrets never shared with anyone,
each tiny pain, you've thought to be a test,
each answer from each question--Life goes on.

         Out of the dark, you'll feel me spread my wings,
           In love with loving you, and what it brings.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun

My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun
Loch David Crane, 
Border Patrol Auxiliary
26 January  2010

We track illegal aliens in the snow.
It's easy to see where their booties go.
But "huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
should wait in line and come here legally.
Your thievery dishonors those who came
here legally, but have Latino names.
If you, like others, waited patiently
we'd welcome you "from sea to shining sea."
"Observe, report, direct" and document:
these lawful practices are our intent.
On nights like this, lit brightly by the Moon,
I monitor the freqs from our comms room.
	My heart beats faster when I touch my gun:
	it's in the holster empty, safety on.

(freqs are frequencies on the radio in the Communications center.)

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The Unseen

It is crystal clear and right in front of you.

Mixed and matted in a haze so very clear.

Little spots and little dots are floating near.

They get closer and closer to pass through.


Once inside, new thoughts begin to spew.
Some are of joys and some you will fear.

Be rest assured most will make you cheer.

When it leaves there will be many a clue.


The day will set,

And night will fall,

This sign you get.

It’s a name you call.


So wake up and be clean and keen,

See the unforgettable as the unseen.

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From My Kitchen Window

From my kitchen window, one single rose
red in color, bud opening, soft scent.
In distance golden leaves for picture pose,
adjust shutter snap capture heart's intent.

Heart's intent on beauty of God's creation;
not on pleasing three men with my cooking.
Although I serve them as the Galilean,
who came to serve, not to be served as King.

Long in heart to escape into nature,
feeling gentle breeze upon ancient face.
Fall's colors, cool dry air is the real lure.
These from my depressed being those blues chase.

Meals prepared while heart does looking outside.
Spirit lifted above, high thoughts reside..

Click on
"About This Poem"

Details | Sonnet | |


In the kingdom of the Waters
She sits enthroned on its womb
Flanked by the silver facet Atlantic-Indiana
As the barking tides wrestle her marble feet

In the court of the Tropics
She is robed in green foliage of ancient savannah
Adorned with pearls of arid sands,
With ivory mountain and cincture of rift

In the mythic boarder of the Equator
She rests at the footstool of the fierce sun
Comforted by cloud’s tears
And caressed by solemn winds

In the royal neighborhood of Continents
She locks horn with Europe
In the witness of Asia
And her offspring Madagascar 

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Catch Me If You Can French Sonnet

<               enticing to eyes watching mama's pink roses bloom
                 fourty years later someone else now cares for them
                 fresh cut daily and seen in her arms their long stems
                 tears streaming down face I sit under swollen moon
                 waiting watching for sun to come up again soon
                 to catch one more glimsp of mama's planted old gems
                 unfurling petals before been chopped or condemned
                 think I'll ask if can take one for my dining room

                 aroma bursting amidst thy supper's table
                 bowed heads we come and thank our Heavenly father
                 somebody still cared though sick and times unable
                 and answers it's door for which one has come bothered
                 to let bask in roses empowering fable
                 and not to be called as it's one's roses robber

French Sonnet is a poem with rhyme scheme
Syllable count is 12 syllable per line.

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Her Again

I was up on a ledge, 
About to jump.
But it was you who pledged,
To save me from the dump.

When the ground around me was collapsing,
And i was searching for my savior. 
It was you again who got me balancing,
And pulled me skyward. 

And when I had this razor clenched in my fist,
About to end my life.
It was you who pulled it from my wrist,
And now in my heart love is rife. 

Please stay with me forever,
I can't live without you Tamera. 

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By my side

Smiling profusely by my side,
Withholding the aura of my charm,
Thinking how possible is my plan,
Delirious is I as to my possible slide,

Subjecting myself to her emotional farm,
On the process of illuminating her beauty inside,
Now I think it's time to play the clown,
Deliberately displays humility I admire,

She's willing for a passion to conspire,
The wrongs she pleas are suspended by my frown,
If granted the privilege we could make a clan,
Distraction my tool of partial larn,

Seemingly naughty is her on a glide,
Interpretation of status we further seek to affirm.

Details | Sonnet | |

Fall in Love

I fall in love,
why do i love others?
why do i waste time brothers?
imagine, without love,
what ‘ll be the face of this world?
could you survive in hate withheld?

Love is only to care someone’s feelings.
a natural process for nerves heelings.
everyone’s likes a sweet voice for fair dealings.
or would you like to blow up peelings?

never mind, you can live as human,
to enjoy friendship with children and a woman.
or you can live as a beast,
to kill, rape others to spread criminal dust.

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Burning On

My ache licks like a furnace, Silent Spark
For you have further prolonged my patience;
Building on the weak to perturb the dark, 
To surrender selfish sense of silence;
Your silence, an incision to the heart, 
Angers that which disappears out of sight,
That mocks life, to its desolate ill part;
Cowers me out, so far-sight may ignite.
Bright am I now, lost into void and woe,
A panic fire orb which hath poured;
My speech and my prudence still lacketh flow,
Blackened from all heat sorely abhorred
Oh, I do light thee well as I may try
For you I burn on, till the day I die

Details | Sonnet | |


Waking up to aroma
Of a gourmet 
as you awake.
Some like it black
some take creamy.
Many stop and buy
that morning juice .

Details | Sonnet | |

by the river

By The River.
At the estuary of the Amazons the water is muddy and shallow and 
there are no undercover bosses, pretending to be one of the people 
who live in houses on stilts on the small islands where the river 
meets the sea, blends and loses its power; for those who have sailed 
the oceans no river is big. On the delta, of the great river, live people 
who get their income from fishing they are poor yet free from prying
bosses those who buy the river and the sea for exploitation and make 
people into low paid worker; destitution without pride.  

Every group of houses on the islands have a shop that sells sweets,
cigarettes and Coca Cola, the fisherman smokes, children drink cola, 
America´s cultural export reaches every corner of our cerulean orb,
Camel is a brand not an animal, Winston is a night riding cowboy.
 This means nothing for the people here, who try to catch the Boto, 
(pink river dolphin) which is rich in protein and tastes good.   

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What's Cooking Good Looking

with muse in hand
a romantic longing is the plan
dinner at eight
I hope he won't be late

sherry filled to the rim
soft music for us to spin
candles on the mantel
slight ring of dinner bell

waft of curry stuffed chops
and potatoes creamy and hot
buttermilk biscuits on the side
and dessert for which he decides

this is how mom said to get to a mans heart
with a romantic dinner from the very start

Tribute To Romance

Also Entry For
Laura Mckenzie's
A Romantic Longing Contest

GL All

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To A Child Who Has A Disorder

Children with an illness,
Go through life,
They are looked down apon,
Because they are different,
When really they are not,
They are no different from  you and me,
They have the same blood,
Running through their bodies,
Just as their hearts as well,
So, don't just look apon,
Their outer appearance,
And judge them,
For who they really are,
For a lot of them,
Are smarter and brighter,
Than you and I,
Could possibly be,
On our brightest day,
For they have the gifts,
From God up above,
So, always take the time,
To get to know their inner beauty,
For who they really are,
Cause they too need love,
Just as everyone else does,
If not even more.

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To one gone

Black is the night when tender living dreams,
	Circle the skies with wax wing hints of mist,
Too fragile to fall, though falling it screams,
	"Beware, beware the moonlit garden wrist!",

Its hand you knew upon your brow and tears,
	Whose love ignored the trust it could not find,
The roots that never belong or so it appears,
	To find only the boots heavy on your mind.

Touching the skin that covers your soul,
	Of spices whose bite the snake must refrain,
From asking whose deed that blood did control,
	What infinite being did it contain?

Never (did I say never?) did the world sleep so much,
	As the night my lips to your tomb did touch.

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Love for Living

A man tried to control his wife then he failed.
he tried to control his children then he failed.
he struggles the entire life to find an easy solution,
the problem is lingering on he has a better tuition.
he never tried to control himself that's why he failed.
always stuck in traffic, blames to a finder and derailed,
doesn't believe to check weather forecaster and sailed,
he runs everywhere in all directions to become a boss,
always seeks benefit, doesn't like to hear about loss.
Tempered to walk in snow, heat, rain or hail, he nailed.
he wants to grow, money jokes others, nature is funny.
he finds beauty, love gifts and counts a penny.
reached at home, behaves as wife is for his clean.
Blames children 'spendthrift' smoke and drink is a routine.

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Emily's Poetic Flare

There are few people I know
Who touch me like Emily
When I read her, my tears flow
‘Cause we were both so lonely

Only two lovers had she
Both had left her heartbroken
Would she find beau number three?
Fears in poetry spoken

She called herself “Nobody”
And had scant success in life
Surely she was somebody
Her sad words cut like a knife

Ms. Dickinson achieved fame
After death had doused her flame

*Written on June 19, 2012 for Emily Dickinson
Entry for Francine’s “Tribute by Sonnet” contest

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My Ode to The Netherlands


Loaned bikes along the river side rattle,
This year no blades are whooshing at Friesland.		
Crisp landscape peppered with dairy cattle,
strangers wrongly label you as Holland.

Polders and dikes as generations swell,
rude people or blunt, it is hard to call.
Houses, like crooked teeth, in which they dwell,
their colour orange, their loved game football.

Families display their souls on window sills,
flowers, flags and school bags, are all on show.
Full of culture and arts not just windmills,
this country’s charm will set your mind aglow

I may never end these reminisces
So, I bid you “Tot Ziens” and three kisses



Tot Ziens (Toht-Zeens) – see you later

“No blades “refers to:  Elfstedentocht – a speed skating race over about 200 kilometres across eleven towns in Friesland.  Only happens if the ice is thick enough and it is usually organised within a couple of days. 

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Adjoining in the Sunrise

We climbed up a mountain, just he and I
      Never said a word, yet we said it all
      Wondering what it would be like to fall
As the sun lit up the now nearby sky
Lighting two figures who stood eye to eye
      Two hearts beat as one, two hearts beating true
      Beating together as the sky turned blue
We flowed down the mountain, just he, just I
The world waited for us to come down
      The flow seemed to stop, and he looked at me
      Touched my hand as we turned into the sea
Not caring as the worldly awaited us below
      We joined together as two, joined, may be
      Such innocence the world does not know

Copycat of "An Echo from Willow-Wood"
By Christina Rossetti

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Where the nation is mine

Where is the nation which speaks love ,
where are the spirits which kept us above ,
where can we find the solution for grime ,
like a tiny mosquito committing a crime ,  
where the air around lives in a coal miners lung - ,
serving all mankind , till the singers sung ,
darkness our future – remains in our fate , 
hard striking sweats – prove together very late . 

Love is far found under the graves ,
humanity is flown in the melodious waves ,
lacking all words – but we act very brave .

Sum up the words – saving bloody lives ,
bawl , cheer , and glamour – forging against the knives ,
clutch on the oldie – seeking truth till you dive .    

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I offer this poem as a toast!
To the poet, I admire the most!
His talent is , second to none!
He's written hundreds of poems, I've read every one!

From reading the poems he's amassed,
I find his range of emotions is vast!
He's a genius of Rhythm and Rhyme!
I'm impressed and amazed, every time!

To me he's a Poetic Master!
He can make me feel joy or disaster!
Love and Greed and Compassion are,
just a small part, of his large, repertoire!

Larry Belt, is my favorite, for sure,
he's a Poetry Soup, Connoisseur!

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Fly Away With Me

I’ll pick you up and make you fly.
I’ll sit you down and you’ll think.
At least until you can fly in sync.
We’ll go up in the clouds and spy.
You will know me because I try.
I bring you to the crest of a brink.
I catch you before you truly sink.
I am the one always asking why.
I’ll show you a sea castle,
Bring you to the dungeon.
I am the one you all hassle.
I keep you from bludgeon.
So pick up and fly away with me.
We have a great big world to see.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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Wounded Bird of Flight

Young love bird wounded during your flight
Worried now where your companion landed
You sing a beautiful song, but still no sight
Certainly now he must have gotten stranded

The magical serenade continues to no avail
Some concern now for your own well being
This winter flight treacherous you feel frail
The singing stops, you are hardly breathing

One pilgrimage not completed you feel pain
Some guilt overtakes when you start to heal
The flying before your partner was it in vain
Or is there.a bird needing your singing still

Bird of flight your journey is still not done
Heal now, continue to fly for the other one

Penned by Wayland Bunch 2/12/2013

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A Life Well Lived

Long ago in the Windward Isles begins
  A seed, that vine a laboured vineyard bears:
Bondwoman only to root's mortal sins,
  Bore its rich firstfruits for a hundred years!
Elder evangelist shone of God's light
  Did that Vincentian Latter Day Saint part:
Alas, there's one less precious soul tonight
  In sabbath prayer, and one less righteous heart.
Your toil, it is done on this Godless tract,
  But fear not earthly alms unrewarded:
Yours is the good, the way, the selfless act
  That saved and healed, that lifted and lauded!
Go with my tender woe under the ground
And rest in the eternal peace you've found.

                    1897 - 1997


Dedicated to Miss Barzey - a remarkable 
Woman who lived to be a hundred years old. 

September 1997

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"No lady am I." she would say with force,
tensing her shoulders and shaking her head.
I would smile and say, "Yes dear, but of course."
knowing she was truly a lady bred. 

A spirited woman by her own design,
Dianne would speak out just what she thought.
Biting her own tongue was just too benign.
Being equal to men is what she sought.

A lady to pamper, that she was not.
A woman to love is what I knew well.
Inside that body was a love so hot.
She kept it hidden beneath a thin shell.

Woman of passion forever to shine.
I love you my lady, forever mine.

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Keep on like you do

I love our conversations day to day
I laugh at the awkwardness in the hall
I love how you are mine, my sweet blue jay
If this were a movie the snow would fall

The perfect scene that everyone desires
The paramount picture movie nights out
I love that this love does not require
Sadness and despair, the miserable pout

I want to see you as you always are
I want to laugh and share my memories
So you call to me, and I won’t be far
I want to cheer and hear your melodies

For it is a rose in any other name
I am foolish, but who am I to blame?

New found friendship in the darkest areas
But it’s not like we are from dark places
You are the light that disrupts hysteria
There’s no need to hide under fake faces

Thank you, my search for that place is finished
That place where loneliness finally dies
That place where joy is, as it should, cherished
That place where despair meets its true demise

I no longer have to travel today
To travel to that place where sadness ends
Because I have found that place, my blue jay
So from now on, what we do shall depend

Shall we travel together tomorrow
To keep fighting everlasting sorrow

What I say and do I mean completely
What I say to you I mean with honesty
But Please do not take my words so feebly
Don’t shrink in front of the face of modesty

You are marvellous, true in every way
You are graceful, so keep dancing like you
You are beautiful, so smile my blue jay
Smile and I shall be marvellous with you

Please take my words to heart, never forget
They are nothing but spectators tonight
You are the main attraction, don’t leave yet
You will rock, no need to be polite right?

You are awesome in each and every way
You are pretty no matter what they say

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To The Niece That Never Was

Sweet little girl who snuck upon her mom
without plans already in place to meet,
you’re a tiny hero, a bitter balm
for the wound that left an empty car seat.
A routine visit that ended in tears,
and an operation for the next week.
My sister’s truth was a mother’s worst fear,
never to hold her babe, to stroke her cheek.

After the grim appointment, her eyes glazed
her heart rate jumped high, and her fever raised.
Illness would have stolen her, but for fate.
You had asked a favor at heaven’s gate.
Thank you for saving my sister, sweet one.
I wish though, it didn’t mean your life was done.


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An Apology to All

You've restored the light to your soul, O little man, left alone in the dark. But look at what is the toll; Destruction has made its mark. Families are left broken and bent, This colossal structure implodes. You did this to them, and you must repent As their trust for you erodes. You have changed; we rejoice. Gone are those thoughts from your mind. But look back at your choice: You just didn't care at the time. We're all proud that you are well, But you have put us through such hell.

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David's Meanderings

I come to the soup almost every day
Just to admire in awe David’s word play
David’s meanderings keep me inspired
From waking till I have retired

The luminosity in his every rhyme
Are copious and beyond sublime
The funny and the deep of thought
Together he so easily brought

So I look forward to what he may write
Shining like the beacons bright
To read his musing poetry
Lightens load I carry you see

So keep right on my soup friend
I will read each poem till the end

A Tribute to David Williams on Poertrysoup

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Faster Than Night

In seeking ways to beat the speed of light,
what folly might be there, to let it be,
obnoxious to the core, we let it go
to never realize a dream the warp can see.

The death we all must know; the naughts and ones,
so fast, we never come to understand,
quite physical, much faster than the sun's
removing who we are to who's been planned.

Our space, still limited, dark matter slows
until there's more, creation by God's plea
who reasons life goes on, but never goes
beyond the limits of our mystery.

  Dark energy, propelling speed of light
    has reason for  the need of ending night.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet.

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The Play's The Thing

Poetry within the play
the plays a poem themselves
Levity to tragedy
from lovers to kings to elves

He'll reach into your very soul
and you'll cry on their behalf
next time he will lift you up
and leave you with a laugh

Words of love and tender grace
or sharpened like a sword
His poetry, it quickens me,
uplifts me, strikes a cord

Passion passed down through the ages
inspires, arouses and engages.

A sonnet for William Shakespeare

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Enthralling Persona

A man of free will
A visionary soul
Gulps down the misery of discrimination
Climbs a great hill with compassion
Breathes over hurdles

Uses time wisely
Don’t wish but go get
Don’t only dream but pursue
Money won’t create success
Freedom will

It doesn't matter where one is from
A heart matters
Unite to create establishments
Because there is a Nelson Mandela in every true spirit

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The Broken Girl-not me

Is my life not tortured enough for you to see? 
I am broken as can be. 
My heart is torn. 
My tears stain these perfect floors.  
Why are singing with glee? 
Why do you not care about my every plea? 
I am trapped in your arms. 
I am the hopeless moth. 
How did you pick me? 
What is it that you see? 
A girl untouched by life? 
A flower blooming in the desert? 
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.  
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.

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I can't continuously catch this connection
coroscating so cordially as a cure...
Captivating my cranium contemporaneously
contaminating collation of common sense.
I can't think...
And our growing link
makes my heart sink
with your every wink!
Blink... Blink...
Are you reality?
I reach right past self-denial's ruse of
what's real with no rest reeking of regicide
fearing a relapse regarding regression.
Recklessly running rampart racing
to our heart's reunion.
Your soul saying "Speak sonnets of Sensuality".
So sexy yet sensibly sweet...
Seeking to be shown your sentiments.
You're the destination of heaven above.
And I... am in love!

By: Soul's Floetry

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My Famous African Flute

Even the bravest warrior cannot stand ground
at the sound of your breathtaking tune
Your melody stirs up a wrestler, down for the count
You entice the cobra by your shape and blues

You’re famous for your unique stylistic wonder sounds
that emits freedom, liberty, equality, unity and harmony
bonding our common heritage straddling across towns
and binding our diversity on the mortar of your symphony.

You make fighters rise from a standing start with your tune
Through their hearts, you spread your irreplaceable rhythms
reminding them always of their personal charms when you hum
and igniting in their minds the fire of dying a hero of their myths

When the drum beats, the music sounds, at the folklore
You, my famous African flute, stir my soul from being lovelorn

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from Suede Dragon and the Theoretical Formula

A fragrant dancing tickles in my nose Inhaling deep- intoxicant perfume- Of some invisible narcotic rose. The earth is host to swirling love in bloom! Yet summers final blossom wilts away. Each dawning promissory sunset sky- Spectacular transition- ends each day, And no escaping, not for you and I! Two points of view may vary constancy, Surrendering to marginal debate. Relinquishing all fervent penalty, Embracing change, I yield, my devastate. May love transcendent of mentality Deliver always swift reality!

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My Solemn Vow

I think I shall take this very day and make you my solemn vow.
And when I do I shall pass it onto you to follow the just of me.
I vow to open your blinded eyes to show you all that I can see.
I vow to open your deafened ears to hear why I am me and how.
I think I shall take this night and raise up your brow.
And when I do I shall pass it to you with an only key.
I vow to open your locked doors down on a bent knee
I vow to close the wounds from those I did not allow.
I vow to gather my group up into my fruitful field.
I vow to cover you and dress you to simply adorn.
I vow to create a world in which we as one build.
I vow to remove every single painful prickly thorn.
I vow to you that I am your God given Grace.
I vow to you that I am able to create or erase!
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2008

Details | Sonnet | |

A Love Sonnet

.                                                  A Love Sonnet
                                       Composed By: Sara Kendrick

                            Oh! What can I say of my love that's true

                             I just love a game of life with good rules

                     For knowing the rules~~following same~~no sue~

                     Like first write my name so I am known**cool**

                               This poem about love is dedicated

                               To a woman who Rambles poetry

                             Constance La France who meditated

                              Meditated, relaxed__watching trees

                            In her homeland of Canada life's ease

                       With her vintage clothes, a paying job~~well~

                          She is set to enjoy what I have to please

                      That she is so nice to comment on my tall tale

                          Let me summarize and not least disguise
                      Bending rules, dancing around right  is not wise

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Swift Wind

The nice swift wind,blows across my face
hitting me cold,in the life's bitter race.

The streets are lonely and lone I'm walking,
in the cold hostile air,hardly I'm smiling.

Searching for the one who held my hands
to make me feel warm like the magic wands

Still moving alone in the path of life 
feeling the pain through the edge of knife

Still wishing to go back in time to childhood
playing on streets like those in the neighborhood 

far better than moving alone searching for the one
who comforts me just like the morning sun

The nice swift wind ,seems romantic no longer
neither the cool breeze feels like the earlier.

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daffodils spinning heads wind scents lovely smell
     roses bedded different accent emphasizes
tulips are so colorful and bright accentuate
     élites amongst the bushes and scrubs 
placed on the table in budvases to adorn
     treasures at this June garden party
PENNED ON JUNE 29, 2014!

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Happy Valentine's Day

I was wondering what happened to you
I was worrying about you
Your silence had wiped the smile off my face
Your long distance left me out of place

But I now I see you
You have come back with a view
Of our love to be
No chance to ruin
Only intent is to reign

I will close my eyes and enjoy this moment
Of your sweet caress
Of your love scent

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MOTHER When all alone, quiet, and lost in thought, I see again the times when I was young. I smile for attention I often sought, Knowing if I was sad then you would come. You would dry the teardrops that then would flow, Be my bedside nurse on a restless night. A soothing word and I'd forget my woe, Consoled that you were not far from my sight. Your wrath confused me when I misbehaved, Never believing I was ever wrong. But now I see love through your stormy rage. With your wise words I have grown, oh so strong. So when I think of you, Mother and friend, All regrets are over, all sorrows end.

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Great Spirit here come I in humble prayer
child of your Bedonkohe blood and line.
I raise my hands to recognize you there
and plea you recognize this heart of mine.

I know you welcome all into your light
And let my way, as through this death I go, 
Be swift and sure, if bad or good or right
As certain as blood of Geronimo.

Look! Is my line not tied to what's his past?
And does this not bring us our only choice
To bide amongst the tribe from out our past?
To gather in your light, and raise one voice

Of this, our song, our voices unified
And handed down through time, where we have cried.
...............© Ron Wilson
Another very special Sonnet that just wrote itself through me...where do they come from? And how?

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Cade Poulous

You could’ve talked to me
You could’ve said anything.
You could’ve whispered.
You could stand outside yourself
and yell down the barrel of my gun,
and I wouldn’t blink.
You can sing your favorite
song over and over,
or receipt your favorite movie quote.
You could make gurgling noises with your
You could’ve leaned on me,
when your knees were buckled
and your sleep was distant.
You could’ve breathed on me,
when you were feeling behind
and no one looked you in your eyes.
You could’ve talked to me,
when your whispers were sobs,
and no one seemed to care.
I would’ve,
I could’ve, 
I should’ve been there. 

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Does not the glow of Heaven call to mind
The tears of ev'ry mother in her plight?
Such beauty was the love he'd never find,
Perhaps to lead him on, through wrong or right.

And so, this Alter Boy, who loved to sing,
Swelled up her heart, and made her blue of eyes,
Much brighter than her chosen love could bring,
To guide her Alter Boy through truth or lies.

Always he'd feel his mother's tender glow.
Perhaps to make the wrong seem not so bad, 
And if she wept alone, he'd never know,
Because his mother's love is all he had.

And all the pain of knowing, truth, it dies,
changed not the color  of his Mother's eyes.
        © Ron Wilson 2012

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Ode To Condemned Ones

Engraved with harsh sound, each shackle's screech molested my eardrum,
   Its starry silver, sparked oblivious wham into my heart, shattered like shard,
Rigorously, premature sweat hopped down to my forested beard,
 Never! They can't let me loose again, as they gathered like a scrum.

Amid the encrusted iron on my encased cage,
 My bendy fingers scratches till shallow hole,
Gallows way, full of groggy drops, I envision the woody pole,
 Conscience before me, not my time, my death a sin to age.

Guilty of whatever, the judgement not from the creator,
  I despised freedom in all form 
Next world, I will buy a spaceship to carry law sector,
  For, my time is over like a heavy storm.

Pity and pity me no more,
 For, my journey a moral lesson in the folklore.

Details | Sonnet | |



Picture perfect! Paint the perfect picture,
Pictured as my mind defines true beauty.
PERFECTION posted permanent fixtures,
Providing this POET with his duty.
Premature appreciation? NEVER!
Pretty MISS riamichelle reserved it,
Purposely presenting us with clever
Perceptions of herself; SHE deserved it!
Please accept this ode, with an open heart,
Personifying your pleasurable
Presence. Your beauty is state of the art;
Poetically unmeasurable!
People, position yourselves, as I load
Plausible reasons for writing this ode!

Details | Sonnet | |

A Treasure Is He

                                         A  Treasure  is  He
Born  is  Our  King
To  save  the  world
A  jewel  of  Grace  
His  wisdom  a  Pearl
Dear  Lord  I  swirl,  to  hear  Your  word
The  best  news  in  all  the  world.

Jesus  Messiah,  Grace  behold
A  spirit  we  feel  
Precious  as  gold
He  came  and  He  gave 
 His  very  soul
As  the  prophets  of  old  foretold.

Your  Name  most  High
Your  Fame  reached  the  sky
We  look  up  to  You
And  so  we  try
To  give  You  our  all  before  we  die
We  come  to  meet  You  Oh  Lord  on  High.

From  Time  before  time
God   Had  us  in  mind
He  formed  and  designed
In  His  image  defined
He  gave  us  our  mind
He  reformed  and  refined
Oh,  our  God  is  so  divine.
We  thank  You  Lord
Yes  we  thank  You  Lord
For  coming  to  us
In  Your  Name  we  trust
We  are  grateful  to  You,  oh  Lord.

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Orphic consecration, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel's Dedicade d'Orphee by T Wignesan

Orphic consecration, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Dédicade d’Orphée by T. Wignesan

Here am I back from the other dubious bank
where Orpheus’s abandonned lyre laments
the wind down there fills my veins dizzy drunk
and my redoubled hangover numbs my senses.

After having used up my human resemblance
mauve moons of Hell have gotten me in a spin
My eyes ? two diamonds of winter or two fountains
which stare at an immutable sun and remain frozen.

Similar tree springing deep roots, blind to murmurs
shakes in its sleep nocturnal verdures
where defunct suns ripen forgotten :

Very same tree that by day the light violates
bereft of foliage, bereft of birds, clawing at clouds
curses summer with its huge arms anathème.

           (from the collection Sodome, O.C. t. I, p. 253)
Note : Sonnet’s original rhyme scheme : 
                                  abab, abab ccb, ccb

© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 6, 2014

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Obscured Lenses

First look, glasses as my eyes glance
From left to right I begin to read
Much as if I were in a trance
My education faulted for this deed

Second look with randomness I search
Looking for a pattern, no not the glasses
Does this person attends a formal church
This poem is one of their trespasses

Third look now the compulsion takes me
The poem was edited to fit the picture
But I say this isn’t possible, it can’t be
If so they surely deserve a stricture

Three looks, glasses or not, all were done in vain
If you copy, paste, add punctuation then it’s plain

Poem by Wayland Bunch for Occlusion contest. This is a rhymed form of poetry under 20 lines, but technically it fits better into the category of Sonnet, so I don't know if it will be accepted. If not back to the drawing board lol.

Details | Sonnet | |

The Winter Breeze

The cool winter breeze blowing across me,
the sweet little bird flying in the sky free.

Everything so cool and calm around
all happiness lost,seems again to be found,

in the nature of life with the cool winters
and always hope for good with crossed fingers

Such a season,physically changing the mind,
cooling off every anger,whatever that I find.

Along with the breeze the winter brings in
the warmth of happiness,and a lovely dream

The dream of a girl,smiling at me
everything looks beautiful ,just as is she.

Walking along with her ,I'm always at ease
she holds my hand and we walk in the winter breeze.

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He harks the orologio ticks that count
the cosmic seconds that relentless fade
the iron peal of bells and rhythmic sound
expands the utterance his verses prayed.

A silken antimins - her blooming scent
where consecrated scriptures lay
perceived the liturgy and soul's descent
the antiphon of Corpus' Christi sway.

Denomination of the astral halls
his fervid coursing and her mystic stance
dismissal nightly voice to skyward calls
ascension of his soul's her stare askance.

Devoid 's the night that takes his life and past 
she harks his voice the sovereign woods contrast.

© 06-08-2013 G. Venetopoulos

Canon = Rule
antimins ( )
orologio = clock
antiphon = ( )

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Bewitched by a Sailor's Moon

Disperse the sun’s most wicked rays.
Exhale the vapor of the light.
Fill the soft fringe with halo fine.
Dampen the blackness of the night

Stain pink as if the weakest blood
has washed upon cobalt the skies,
cry out in fear for at the dawn
a cresting wave will sailor’s ride.

Belay, belay, the storm’s intent.
The rage incased with morbid fright.
Assuage the rampant fretting sun
“Ah, give me fair soft candle light.”

For in the morn there comes a gale
and pon a widow’s walk I’ll wail.

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My Friend The Piano

You carried my emotions from the start
Each emotion bound in the small black note
Each one coming straight from my chilly heart
The music you make is my antidote
Through the preludes my comfort softly lay
By way of mazurkas my soul does fly
But to divulge you must learn how to play
Although learning is not a piece of pie
Piano brings emotions around town
You have the power to bring my heart up
Or throw me on the floor and beat me down
There are hard times when I just want to cup
My hands in my face and rock back and forth
And think Piano is a friend of worth	

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In Praise of the Midnight Pearl

Come midnight dark and in her jewel clumped
Set her bright Iskin's blackness to better shine
By being darker than your darkened lump
Where no distinction common eyes can find.
For my pearl is not white, nor grey nor blue
And absorbs all light, nothing passes through
She is the universe of my glad heart
And to me alone her virtues impart
Fountains of milk for fevered tongue to sip
Out of her blackness honeycombs do drip

And when on her sweetness the moonlight spills
The midnight pearl reveals its sudden charm
Light drips from it, a milk mature and warm
In which heaven all its passion distills

Midnight Pearl
David Smalling

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Verses to the protector of man

To be one among the brave To walk and live among the blood Is to be, in your own right, as free as a slave To each stranger's glance, you give a bold nod! Yet, your own heart is sick and lonely You wish for your loved one's company Even if your eyes try to remain empty As your mission remains your sole duty! With an empty soul, you use your gun While forgetting God, your enemy you stun Such was your chosen call The one known as Fate decided it all! Ode to you brave soldier, in my own way Be strong and may Mother Courage lead you on her alley!
28th June 2012

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Three tragic convoys of unidentified people

leaving at last one by one their final plane
not yet having back their own name
on Netherland's caring and respectful shoulders
brought a bit closer by soul stirring soldiers

forty(*) shiny black hearses crawl at a footpace
lining up on a for the occasion reserved airbase
driving on cleared Dutch  highways and roads
forty unidentified victims their heaviest loads

finally heading home after such  horrible days
nation's crowds gather along endless highways
showing and sharing silent grief and paying respect
after that deadly sky high rocket impact

the Dutch population is applauding with heartwarming faces 
whilst strongest most impressive comforting tranquility embraces

(c) Elly Wouterse 

(*)This morning (07/24/2014) announced that today's convoy will be twice 
as long - 74 hearses will be on the - for them - cleared highways and roads 
.... and tomorrow... another motorcade of at least 70..............  

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Happy Sobbing over Jane Austin

So absorbed I become,  I must hold my breath
While reading of love's unrequited quest
A tissue in hand wipes a tear from my eye
Enthralled with such bliss, I joyfully cry!

Cover to cover, each novel tells the same
Stories of restraint, where respect still had a name
To honor tradition, often true love had to hide
Keeping family dignity, maintaining family pride

Mr. Darcy so adores her....while she dreams about him too
Complex misunderstandings. Oh dear! Now what will they do?
Unrequited love is burning, ...twisting, turning, bending
That final page of yearnings, how I rejoice at happy endings!!

Such sadness and anguish, but as strange as it may seem....
Jane Austin love stories....give me tragic....happy....dreams! !


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Sonnet to My Mistress

My mistress comes in varied shades; Be it black or clear or brown. When we embrace it feels like blades And fire as She goes down. She is beloved by many, But beholden to so few. I'm not Her one and only: You might be Her lover, too. All the times She's left us To lift another person up, Are all the times I've trapped Her trust In my drinking cup. My lust for Her has seared my soul, And turned it into burnt out coal.

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The sky so still, one summers afternoon,
as golden seas of wheat filled up the eye,
this was our dream, and harvest time was soon
but then the dark came to a troubled sky.

The clouds rolled in, and thunder filled the air
as winds blowed in the scent of coming rain
whipping our sea of gold from here to there
and ruthlessly tore at each golden grain.

When all at once, the wind died to a still
and sinking hearts, as stones of hail fell on
to where the dream was helpless to the kill
and beaten down--the dream we had was gone.

   Then kneeling in our faith--though now in pain,
   we pray for strength to try it all again.

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Cold Nights In Paris

COLD NIGHTS IN PARIS ( Monsieur L'vampyre)
There's never been another dark on earth
quite like the dark of Paris under snow,
where love, it comes and goes, for what it's worth,
and no demands are made, when time to go.

Where lovers slip into the hiding night,
oblivious to cold or freezing rain,
anticipating love, that surely might
warm up their lives for just a night, again.

And love's a little warmer, from the cold;
it makes two hearts to join and keep a beat;
and warms the lives of both the young and old,
who find their love with-in their body heat.

Though easy comes the love--they hold it dear,
without it cold is something they would fear.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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On thy starry ride

Glittery was that sky Silvery was that carpet That on which rode the blue butterfly To show the way to the holy ballet Divine was that sight A star living with light Your face shining with might O my darling father, my knight! Gone was your soul, to that land Called by some as the Never-never land Alone and cold with fright I did shed tears that night! Blissful dance, harmonious ballet Pray life lead me there with thy cabaret!
15th Place Contest : Shooting Stars Sponsored by : Tirzah Conway

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My Dear Grandma

My dear grandma who knitted and crocheted
made intricate creations with her hands.
My dear grandma taught a girl how to pray
with a love for God and courage to stand.

I smile when I see my dear grandma's face, 
smiling back in a black and white picture.
I cry when I think of her final days
and the last time I bent down to kiss her.

My dear grandma was bold and assertive,
family matriarch and woman, faithful.
Admiration grows in my reflective
thought. For her love, I am ever grateful.

One beautiful day, in glorious light,
my dear grandma and I will reunite.

June 6, 2012 for Remembering a Lost Love Contest

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At first when I met him, I was captivated for him
That red string that had entwined us never did end
I exposed every single fragment of me, all my limbs
I strived strenuously to get that red string to rend

You whispered to me that your aim was the impeccable one
Instead I had to pull the plug
I was captivated with my hoarse voice the burnt setting sun
The encased ice I wished were snug

Do you recall those days when we were friends
Then came the those other variables of confusion
Remember all those roads with bends
With you, it seemed as if everything were an illusion

Now I have to let go for it makes me ache
I. too late, finally solved that you were a fake

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A Sonnet For My Wife On Mother's Day

When we met you were "The Talented Miss Glory"
And I laughed at your little joke.
But over the years I've come to see
The truth that your "title" spoke.

You're a teacher of kids, about...everything
Your students are so blessed.
Some kids have above average educations,
Our kids have the best.

You make everyone feel special
You always put others first
When someone's in need and you can help
You jump right in headfirst.

You rise to every challenge, I'm amazed at what you've endured.
So When it comes to things that describe you, Talented's the word.

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For Herda & Wangugi

To become a man he has a difficult task:
he must be brave enough to kill a beast.
A tradition in his tribe, you may ask.
The boy is not fierce, strong, or fast in the least.

The boy has hardly a weapon, hand-made, and surely not a gun:
but a long stick with a sharpened tip, a spear.
This is the tradition, such hunting calls for a shun
from the village if the task is not complete, that is clear.

The lion is too fast, the boy cannot outrun it.
The boy must be silent; the lion is too strong,
and has spotted the boy, it picks up it's speed.
The boy was not careful; the lion too strong.

There is a stuggle, but the boy has killed the lion.
The boy is now a man in his village.

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The living on earth is disaster

The living on earth is disaster,
To understand a matter is understanding,
Knowledge and experience that more demanding,
Hard to count ability if a person is master,
without performance life is slower or faster,
sadness or happiness is a tale of pause,
not much learning; spending is mortal to loss,
our journey is full of pain or a good laughter,
we shall die one day with empty hands,
although religion has good stories of God brands,
i were born on earth to live in peace,
most basics are free but a person charged fees,
oh man;  come to appreciate living, nature seeds pain,
Try to secure human existence we need to use brain.

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Surprise from My love

One fine morning I had a thought,
from the love of my life,a surprise i sought.

She went blank on what she could give
after all she is all for whom I live

My request ,neither could she turn down
nor did she want to see my frown.

Then an awesome thought struck her
a poem she decided to write on her lover

Though a bit tough ,was her first one
and the flow of words came alone

Finally it was ready but she wasn't sure
whether it will be enough for her love's cure

So overwhelmed I felt, how could I ever tell
Just can tell that I Love you whether in heaven or hell

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Mending A Broken Heart

Nothing as cold as a winter of black.
the world still moves, as if nothing has changed.
"a snow angel" i thought as she fell back.
she looked to the stars "they all seem arranged".
her eyes a sunrise on the Coral Sea.
Years pass people, continue in rejoice.
my despair endless, as challenger deep.
i long for her warmth, and ache for her voice.
her love for me eternally in stone.
love crashing down in a thunderous wave.
stars came and went but i stood there alone.
waiting for deaths sweet grip, by true loves grave.
when joy comes with curved blade and dark cloak.
time will mend the heart, it long ago broke.

Details | Sonnet | |

Hello Milady

Hello milady how was your day?
May I compliment you more?
For it is today
That I see you like never before.

Your smile overpowers me
And so much in common we share
I will profess to you gladly
But do I really dare?

For you are too glorious
For me to lose
I was never notorious
For letting my feelings loose

But today I shall, and it shall be done
Because you are the one and only one

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THE RACHEL QUINN acrostic sonnet

The inspiration, for this ode of ink,
Had on a skirt colored blue, green, and pink.
Energetic, with an engaging smile,
Rachel impressed me with her unique style.
Aesthetically sexy from head to toe,
Covered in black with a natural glow,
How could one not write Rachel such an ode,
Examined by walking poetic roads.
Lovely legs, like hers, walk along such lines
Quite well, for fishnet thighs that look quite fine.
Under such circumstances, odes should come
In the form of praise, that should come in sums.
Now, this ode, full of some obvious clues,
Names the inspiration of my new muse.

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Intellectually bountiful multiformed genius was he,
With infinite valleys of depth where great insights can lie.
Profound in his vision of absolute truth he set free,
Young Rimbaud created such beauty the dead rise to cry.
No poet or prince in the anals of man gave so much
To artistic integrity's purposeful journey, unscathed;
His talent and skill can be felt when in words we are bathed
With such wonderful joy we can feel his incredible touch.

The magical merit of sensitive gifts he displayed,
Are eternally part of poetic's most perfect parade,
To the conqureing wonder this genius was willing to give
All writers and minstrels as leprechauns danced on the lawn
The depth of his beautiful mind still explodes with the dawn
As impeccably powerful Rimbaud forever shall live.

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Incite the sigh of unknown highs;
Note the sure hint of inner voice;
Notice the why of poise that cries;
Embrace the mint of fragile choice;
Rouse your sweet dream from realms of joy.
Join in the fare to understand;
Observe the scheme that seeks employ;
Urge prompts fond stare to work bold plan;
Rise to the thought that springs with zest;
Now is good time for feel and tact;
Embark on plot that plays with quest;
Yield surge of rhymes that echoes act;
Endow your best in plain good pact;
Spin wit and jest as truth weaves fact.

Leon Enriquez
29 May 2014

Details | Sonnet | |


If I could gather for you, flowers fair,
the first of summer, slip them in your hair,
to light your face, the tremble of your smile,
how much in love I'd be at what is there.

If I could welcome May in all her bliss,
the window into summer's melting kiss,
I'd know the greatest joy, though for a while,
and die among the gods, for only this.

If I could open summer, and her pain,
each ray of sunlight fair, each drop of rain,
each courting dove, each flit of butterflies
each welcoming of death, that ends all pain.

If I could capture Beltaine at sunrise,
'twould shine much like the light there in your eyes...
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa
Si podría recolectar para usted, florece favorablemente, el primer
del verano, los deslizan en su pelo, para encenderse la cara, el
temblor de su sonrisa, cuánto en amor sería en cuál hay.

Si podría dar la bienvenida a mayo en toda su dicha, la ventana en el
beso que derrite del verano, sabría la alegría más grande, aunque
por un rato, y el dado entre los dioses, para solamente esto.

Si podría abrir verano, y su dolor, cada rayo de la feria de la luz
del sol, cada gota de la lluvia, cada paloma que corteja, cada
revoloteo de mariposas el cada dar la bienvenida de la muerte, que
termina todo el dolor.

Si podría capturar Beltaine en la salida del sol, ' brillo del twould
como la luz allí en sus ojos. 

Details | Sonnet | |

Stay The Hand

Stay The Hand

Send not evil word reapers chasing me
I the lover of every lovely tree
Stay the hand of a very fickle fate
I the saddest victim hit as of late

Erase the ravages of father time
I the fool that writes so clever in rhyme
Staying the cut that ever seeks to slay
I the artist writing no epic play

Slice not lonely heart resting within me
I the clown so desperate to just flee
Staying a direct hit that would so crush
I the writer always in a big rush

Send no blades slicing into my sad words
As I tend them into my little herds!

Robert J. Lindley  08-21-2014

note: Stayed up late to crank one out. 
Drank a very cold brew . This is what I threw.
Just took my last med, time to hit tha' old bed...

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A Sign of Good Taste

His jewel of chocolate delights
In dreams of love dare we behold,
That brings to continental nights
Such luxury enriched with gold.
In deuces rather than an ace
The Monte Carlo cards may fold
His gem will bring a smiling face
Such luxury enriched with gold
Of biking’s tragic final trip
The tears of loss the papers told
His love remains at fingertip
Such luxury enriched with gold
His jewel of chocolate delights
Such luxury enriched with gold.

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Friends in a cursed war

The Laughter on their faces
and banter by the carts,
is just another way of hiding
the hatred in their hearts.

The ground around here swallows
our footsteps as we tread,
now the water gently wallows
where our friends once lay dead.

One day this place is hell,
on others, simply worse.
I'm one of many stuck here,
one of many with a curse.

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Matted Layers

I came from behind and my God at what I saw.
I was astonished and in disbelief seen by you.
I counted exact minutes with the seconds too.
But I stood there intact with no lines to draw.
There are many versions of Grace Verse’s law.
So I read through them one by one until blue.
So I picked up the torch it was all I could do.
I was a flame burning stoked in complete awe.
I gave glory to the Sun and Moon,
I exalted a few Stars along my way.
I even rode in on a cloud at noon,
It was a bright beautiful blessed day.
But there were matted layers of deception,
I guess you can only imagine my reception.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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Bring in Shemp

A bad break came to my kid brother Curly. It happened during the filming of “Half Wit’s Holiday”. A stroke at his age is considered too early. He will be unable to act they say. A replacement for Curly is needed right away. I told them Babe’s condition is temporary. The studio is auditioning candidates today. I insisted Curly will be back, you’ll see. However, our producers said they disagree. We need a third Stooge immediately. I mentioned my older brother Shemp as a possibility. They said Shemp looks too much like me. I told them to take Shemp now that Curly is gone. If not, then the Three Stooges will walk on. Information obtained from the late Moe Howard's autobiography.

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We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.

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Hunched over the computer, I am  mystical,
With mental white gloves and a karate belt - 
A daylight cursor, but on my bicycle,
A word and energy transformer, a flickering Celt.

Such metaphysics I can make into sensation,
Turned into binary formulae by the boss,
My passion is for punctuation- 
But the lingua franca doesn’t give a toss.

 I see the point.  I accommodate the pause.
I rinse the cups and make the coffee sweet,
I am saving myself for this man of laws,
Of Brehon provenance, who will entreat

Me to be his love, his partner and co-genitor,
Of a life graph, where he can trust the monitor.

(c) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)

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The Foil

A weakness wound its wicked way inside
where thoughts of “us”, not love, do dwell and swell,
and formed a nest of twigs to stay the tide
yet cresting waves of righteousness rebelled.

“Stray not,” he said " for look on how I writhe."
Of fire formed made thane to only He.
Yet, man, of mud and clay did breach my pride
for Love of Thee, caste out the likes of me.

Now, Lucifer’s red flame so bright, burns night,
a warning scent to frailer souls, “Don’t fall.”
For even stars misstep, disgrace, pride’s plight,                                           
let his torment be your clarion call.

In light, act right, rise high in good spirit
and say “God, the devil made me do it.”

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Cool ways through undulating field of grains
Giving way to chrysanthemum hills, chalk-manned *
Off to the north the low mountains
And lakes mark the land limit of England.

But the England of the mind stretches far
Around the world to people who own
The freedom to think and speak; and are
Without  orders  from trumpet, drum, or crown.

The ways, the laws, of England’s foundation
Are hated by despot and dictator,
Revealing the weakness of the tyrant’s nation,
Marked by hills manned with  battlefield armour.

‘mums  -  and high tea with buttered crumpets *
Speak louder than battered drums and trumpets.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


1….    “chalk-manned”  -  many of  the chalk hills of Southern England 
have a carving in their bedrock showing  a horse or a man.

2….    ‘mums ….is a common abbreviation  for    “chrysanthemums”

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The melody of our life is made blanch
Dazing our seats by denying us to blare
We are not orators or sorcerers
We are feathers train from the heart
Why is our tone buried in the ranch
When our melody is so sonorous to hear?
We are not trespassing words for lepers
Nor are we to weed the falconers parts 
On the tone is our ditty of ovation
Dear melody, our diary of dialogue
A darling of our locomotion
An era of our useful youthful prologue
A play to watch from the heart in action
A yolk, that may hands for epilogue.

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The morning light, that's blinding to the sight,
breaks through the clouds into the forest deep,
and wakens life from out of darkened night,
into the dawn of one more date to keep.

While life, the puzzle, opens to the dawn,
and makes a challenge of their daily bread,
my wonder is if they're depending on
the grace of God, or on mere chance, instead.

This raises thanks from my observing heart,
that we've the fare to set our table right,
and make a feast of what is just a part
of bounty that's come from our nations might.

       And from belief that Jesus is the way,
          the light and truth that leads the U.S.A.

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There is my holdings my vineyards in Franco 
The eye waves flies off of his wine 
While making millions of euro dollars 
While ewe aer always reining Qyeen 
The kisses lemone oh so sweet 
Only in my fantasy wine is never sour 
 Away the hour enthrall love ewe 
CharlaX Millions making fables true bend 
Holding love above the real life 
Holding love inside the inside 
Holding love upon the morrow 
Holding love without mye sorrow 
Holding love to be the marrow 
Holding love above the dollar. 


The grapes were used though lemone added mix 
A thing unheard in all the land 
The regent came to me anon to ask 
CharlaX why the wine would sec sit 
Tis for the love violette eye bend 
The lemone fragrance doth remind the eye 
The wine is never bitter then 
The love much more imported avec bien 
Love holding more than love can tell 
Love holding odoring the smell 
Love holding like the fetterments 
Love holding like a taste of her 
Love holding only love anon 
Love holding after we aer gone. 


There is a mission now upon the corner 
Near the water they do stay there 
All the homeless wander there they live safe 
They have laoaves fishes sec vino 
No one hungars no ones cold 
No one misses world so bolder older 
No worldly pleasuer can compare 
Working harder now than ever fables quake 
Hold me loving hold me closer 
Hold me loving je embrasser 
Hold me magistrate ragon Qyeen 
Hold me merry happily long 
Hold me sensually loving 
Ruling the vineyard sun love song 


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In her eyes....

In her eyes I did find,the soul of life
in every glance of her,the happiness of life.

So beautiful so serene so calm yet confident,
makes me feel relaxed,whenever i over vent.

Every glance of hers tells me something,
which only I can feel with she being the icing.

The love of my life is hidden in her eyes,
ever so beautiful even if she cries.

The peace of my soul comes in my dreams,
staring from her eyes ,as radiant as it always seems.

Left alone from the world,lost in her eyes,
forgetting everything around ,even the vast blue skies.

In her eyes I did find,the soul of my life,
even heaven seems small for this happiness of my life

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the grief

The Grief 
Big windows are nice, but the sun heats up and
the room gets hot up quickly, we need to shut 
the blinds and close for the view of the sea line.
We visited a man who lived alone and he didn´t
want his day changed by us, switched on the TV 
as he always did at noon and we sat there seeing
a program about lion cubs in Africa, giraffes and
hordes of gnus and zebras. 

TV is a great human voice silencer, the art of talk
Is being overshadowed by the visual to see others
act and carry on a useless conversation so we do 
not have to do it. Perhaps the man estimated our
errand, hoped for more time before being told his 
wife had not survived when her plane fell down. 

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Will and Kate

There is a wedding in old London town
A handsome man and his radiant bride
Ivory silk made up her graceful gown.
A merry throng had gathered in the street
To see the carriage in which they would ride
They cheered to the rhythm of marching feet
The bells are ringing out the happy news
To tell the world a prince now has a wife
With waving flags of red, white and blues
The man who shall be king has found his queen
And together they stand in love and life
As one to face the joys as yet unseen
There is a wedding in old London town
The bells are ringing out the happy news

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Robert Michum 7-1-97 Jimmy Stewart 7-2-97 Charles Kuralt 7-4-97

         ROBERT MITCHUM-----7/1/97
          JIMMY STEWART-----7/2/97
           CHARLES KURALT------7/4/97
On lifes long road, who knows where are the ends
and when the ones we love leave us alone
what words express the loss of dearest friends
held oh! so dear, whom all the world has known?

Was this their highway junction to all time?
Our grief would be too great for only one,
and three together taken, shouldn't rhyme
but brings reality now that they're gone.

Out on the road, with Charlie, Bob and Jim,
we see ourselves in all they've ever done,
as memories, some bright and others grim,
from reel to reel, and love them every one.

They told our stories, every one was real,
as if they knew exactly how we feel.
               God Speed, My Friends
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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Windows to Willie's Soul

Dedicated to Willie Nelson His eyes reflect the wisdom of eighty-one years The gentleness of his words can bring me to tears Though he tries to conceal it, his eyes reveal pain Red lines emerge from “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” Emotive eyes from a thin man with braided hair Not handsome, but his eyes made love to ladies fair Just to leave “Angels Flying Too Close to the Ground” He shed tears, kissed them, and left with a heart unbound “Always on My Mind” are the windows to his soul Just like his eyes, Willie’s music seeks to console Tenderness still shines in the “Midnight Rider’s” gaze “Living in the Promised Land,” this is where he stays Weathered eyes speak of lean years without compromise His music will live on, long after Willie dies
*Written September 3, 2014 for Mystic Rose’s contest (Words in quotations are songs written by Willie Nelson.)

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Sonnet 15

As technology has progressed , bound leaps ,
within the nanny state , Man simply sleeps .
Replaced Automatic ; Manual Labour.
Solved by Machine mind's , Binary No more .
For synthetic constructs for your whim , creeps
pumping cheese-its into bulging wheeze heaps.

So keep That lard thru blood , spotless , can ignore
such irritations as ; Clearing the floor .

While Digital duty serves ; watch those beeps 
streaming 24/7 fiction keeps
sake in sight , forms pixel ; away those flaws 
by Avatar's dream , away life's true claws.

While around , leashed , the world quietly leaps ,
Attended by metal hands ; Left
	Man Sleeps....

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Shall I Compare Thee

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more stormy and less temperate.
Rough winds do shake our fragile bonds of May,
And summer's temper hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot your sweat does shine,
And often is your beauty dimmed;
And every handsome man you do decline,
by chance, they leave chest hair untrimmed.

Part 2 Variation
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art as stormy and as cold
And do leave me longing for May
And winter’s temper too long showed
Sometime too cold yours eyes shine GREY

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A Poem On Quotes

A Poem On Quotes

A quote can inspire others to fame
 words to so fiercely spirit tame
Compassion stabbed out with a pen
 heart cracked open , sacrifice then

Never fear to gift hope to others
 think of love, as in our mothers
Take bits of wisdom to freely share
 ladder be damned , take the stairs

Record good thoughts to inspire joy
 leave those to help but not annoy
Angels see our souls often laid bare
 they rejoice when we unselfishly share

Think of others with poetic shared words
Yes, fly we can, it is not just for the birds

Robert J. Lindley 07-25-2014

My Seven Poetry Quotes
1.To show heart, wisdom and compassion write poetry and 
write it often! 
 by Robert J. Lindley

2. Ink the pen, share with all that will read then.
by Robert J.Lindley

3. If a drug you must have, choose poetry and generosity.
by Robert J. Lindley 

4.To slay the beast deny its feast by writing 
food for thought and savor spiritual inspiration.
by Robert J. Lindley

5. Write to save your soul, always a worthy goal.
by Robert J.Lindley

6. Poetry saves lives as does frequent hand washing.
by Robert J. Lindley

7. Hope appeared, poetry was born!
 by Robert J. Lindley

Over the decades on paper I very often did sign these 
quotes at the end of my writes.
One I left off this list now was during my "bad " years
 it was, 
"Poetry is Death and Torture with a SOFT FEATHER
and no sleep."

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A Will

The birds fly free up in the sky.
Why oh why can it not be me?
Why can’t I just soar and be.
Why can’t I fly above so high?
My spirit guides me as I sigh.
My soul wills me to be free.
Where is this highest decree?
This is why I hear doves cry.
I open a seal,
Carry a smile.
All is so real.
I last a mile.
Inside of me there is a will.
This is why I can’t sit still.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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Living Legacies

He's one of the ones that went and came back.
a wounded warrior, father, brother, son,
Self-made men all, part and parcel of
the American Dream; one of the ones.

One of the ones who barely came back,
our saviors, soldiers, seamen, sons,
Quiet men, full of untold tales;
a bold and lucky man, one of the ones.

One of the ones, relics, scared, but fearless;
part and parcel of the Big Ones,
with their purple hearts in hidden chests,
they've lived the nightmare, one of the ones.

A legacy left to wives, daughters and sons,
A living legacy, one of the best ones.

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RETURN TO HELL - Monsieur L'Vampyre

Tonight love flies from where love never seems
to occupy, it comes from time somewhere,
and long ago, from emptiness of dreams
you've long forgot, but they are steaming there

deep in the night, from where I've spread my wings
and fly into your life in need of me
but be aware, sometimes my love it stings
upon your neck but sets your spirit free;

and then we fly through all of time and space
into the mist that's lifting cool and blue
back to the forests long burned by the race
straight to the heart of love that bothers you;

and you will love me like you've loved before
when you were someone else demanding more.

Take wing my love! There's naught your heart should fear
It's just like deja vu or times gone by
look deep into your death--love will appear
your love will never let your spirit die

and all are just as undead as I've been,
the only difference is you you come and go,
while dying as you have I've never seen
nor had the peace of mind the dead all know.

but love is constant in my life and heart
demanding blood be pumping through my vein
and when you feel my bite you'll be a part
of everything I've ever been, again.

Yes you have lived before and loved too well
and that's the price you pay to live in Hell.

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From the Beginning

Since we met, 
Our hearts have been,
Through a lot,
And I have always hoped,
That you would be the one,
To capture my heart,
But times have changed,
And caused us not to be,
   The people we once were.

People chance through time,
And their true person shows,
And no matter how things turn out,
We can always be friends,
Because love never dies,
It just breaks off, 
But true foundations will last,
Throughout the years,
     And makes love last throughout the friendship.

However, I never give up on love,
Because I know it is out there,
And there is someone for me,
I just wonder who it is,
And where they are,
However, if it is meant to be,
We will be together again,
In the future,
For if you love someone and let them go,
     And they come back it's meant to be.

So, always take your time,
And never rush into things,
Because rushing into things is a disaster,
And both parties will get hurt,
Then there is hard feelings among you,
Which will cause the end all together.

Always search your heart and mind,
And know what you want before you leap,
Because if you don't,
Everyone will get hurt in the situation,
Because it is more than,
Just you and me.

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I Love You, Death

           I LOVE YOU, DEATH
I love you death, and welcome all you're not;
no love, no hate, no failing and no gain,
no fighting for the things we haven't got
nor wondering about our latest pain.

Your mercy is a thing I surely bless
anticipating you, my only friend,
who brings conclusion to all wretchedness
the only one who knows us in the end.

So come you now as I help you along
you know you've tried to get me in the past
but now I know your timing is not wrong
and so I live and breath for you at last.

Your nothingness is what I hunger for
and in your end, I pray there's nothing more.
© ron wilson

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Through time and space, you've come and found me here,
at first I guessed that you were only dreams,
that come and go, so far away, yet near,
and in a time where nothings as it seems.

Too much of you fell on me from the start,
from out of night, where winds of love are blown,
deep in another time, as if a part,
of all I've ever been and ever known.

Deep in a candle flame, that burning sight,
I feel you near, across the universe,
and touch your love, bounced from a satellite,
and make of you my blessing and my curse.

No matter--you've become my love again,
from out of cyberspace, where you have been.
..............© ron wilson

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God's Whispers

hello, sweet lady, can i breath the scent of you
for the very essence of your presence turn my grey skies blue
when darkness lingers, you are my magic lantern of hope
it is through your character's caricature that i am able to cope

when all the chips are down, you come through and uplift
when i am in a certain wanted need, you come forth as a sensuous gift
when life's roads become course, you are my ultimate soothsayer
when i need divine inspiration, you take my hands and lead me in prayer

you illuminate my being like the peak of a shining sun
i am glad that i listened to God's Whispers when He told me that you were The One....

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A Gamblers Lament

A Gambler’s Lament

Lead me out from the madness there in my mind
Into the wind of a coming November,
Come light now shine your brightest glow
And tempt my aging bones;
When such a thing as the noise of night
Beckons in silence to me
I listen to each imagined word

For dread I alone to feel no more
The muscles that toil beneath my skin,
But I long to touch those rolling dice
And to hear the slot machines chime;
Though bleak in chill this dark possess me
The warmth inside the door
Lets me feel no gambler’s lament

I know not where a morning light shines
Far beyond this entrance hung,
Yet inside here the smoke filled air
Is as sweet as the distant sun;
And now I listen to far off sounds
Playing forever in my mind
That shields me from a gambler’s lament

                                  For Sid  

  By M.Norton

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Great is the Day

Great is the day when a song you hear.
It makes your spirit soar through wind.
Great is the day when your time begins.
It makes you wake up and hoot a cheer.
Great is the day when it is a new year.
It makes you back to where you been.
Great is the day to manage a few grins.
It will put you into another hemisphere.
Great is the day just to be,
A part of a world that sings!
Great is the day just to see,
A wondrous mix of things!
Great is the day,
Is all I can say!
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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Look at you! You are going places 
You got that impulse of control in your eyes
You have a hunger that requires constant feeding 
From a passion burning deep within your radical stimulus
You devour all the barriers that stand in your way  
Rise above all the neutralizing slander of surrounding people
To be so chargeless and undisturbed by them
Your soul demands difference!
To sour with the eagles is your point of covergence
To dauntlessly grasp ahold of your dreams and take them into your possession
I stand envious of you Self, of your fire, of your heart 
I admire your light from afar that illuminates my sky 
Your growth is beautiful, like the blossom of a flower,
Brought forth from the rain and brilliance of the sun
To feel such compassion, such power, such indulgence 
Would be next to heaven for one like myself
So carry on Self, carry on

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Lucid Dream -- 2

          LUCID DREAM
I saw you dead. Now read between each word.
I thought the dream was mine, but it was you
who dreamt of me, a love song seldom heard,
though it was me, I guess you never knew.

Yes I was there, not making any sense,
and you, so young and beautiful would think
who is this fool, across my rusting fence?
And you'd not dream I am your missing link.

How could I be there in your restless sleep,
and touch your hand; remembering your eyes
when I awake, from what I thought too deep
to understand or hope to fantasize.

I saw you dead. I searched to find a gate,
but none was there and you had dreamed too late.
      © ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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Sarah Kendricks

Sarah a name that means a princess in noble birth,
Along with biblical experiences of religious worth,
Reading her work one can tell of her tenderness.
A real poetess that has such natural cleverness,
Here and now I dedicate this for her gentleness.

Kindness she has shared with all so generous.
Each word I write without ever meeting her.
Never speaking to her, I know many concur.
Dedicating a sonnet is more then she expects.
Reality is, this will never show what she reflects.
I saw her sonnet was waiting to be written true.
Carefully I read her words, to get honest clue.
Kindness, blessed imagination her poetry thru,
Sincerely, I hope she enjoys this poetry I do.

written for
Sponsor Brian Strand 
Contest Name 1-14 any theme /form max 14 LINES  

Dedicated to Sara Kendrick

sorry somehow my writing software changed your name and I did not notice until after I wrote it in an Acrostic Sonnet poem as well....

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      BAD LOVE
I've loved you all this time; an empty bag;
as scorched as summer heat and cold as snow.
Life clings to me and gets to be a drag
and nothing's worth the time it takes to know.

Continueing to drift all through my mind,
the thought of you it comes--but never goes,
and out of sight is never hard to find,
when there is love, if love it never grows.

I want the touch of you more than life's spark,
but time between us is too much to bear,
love incomplete, has left its bitter mark
here in my cold, and left me dying there.

   I want to know that love is more than dreams
    but somehow it's as bad as how it seems.
© Ron Wilson (aka Vee Bdosa)

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CAUSE AND EFFECT Death of Socrates - Fall of Athens

    The Death Of Socrates
What reasoning has brought you to this place
where death destroys your gift of sanctity?
Before the fall of night, and in disgrace
yes, all those hating you, shall make it be;

they'll label you confused right to your end
corrupter of all teachers of the truth
convincing all the world, you have no friend,
and die for untold sins against our youth.

Your good and bad has brought you to despair;
all indecisiveness in what you think,
the crown upon your head, where once was hair
outshines the goblet from which you now drink.

     How can you bear the hemlock in such style,
      almost as if the world can see you smile?
Let all the wrath, unmercifully divine,
we have to muster, lead us in our quest,
and bring Athenian rule to be in line,
as sure the gods provide they fail the test,
all in our time, for Lacedaemon rules,
have we not made of man the equal to
the sight of death, upon the plights of fools
resisting all the means that we can do?
Their setting sun has risen in the east,
before the dark, those left will have to burn,
their knowledge is their fat, and only feast,
for all they know, they've yet to ever learn!
     Now let the blood to flow down from the hill,
      as if the flood has come and made the kill.
                       © ron wilson aka veebdosa the doylestown poet

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Empowerment of a Blessed Soul

Empowerment of a Blessed Soul

Dark were days that reeked of sadness and blues
 walking on burning embers without any shoes
Suddenly true love found me lonely and waiting
 rescued from the misery of pain and hating

A soul saved to happily spread love and joy
blessing of a new wife and a little baby boy
A gift given that renewed spirit to fly high
soaring along no limit in this sweetest sky

Empowered by the strength of love's power
spreading cheer by the second, minute and hour
That light glowing in our sweet son's eyes
wife was the first gift, son was the great prize

A gift of true love that brightens and binds
blessings exist in joy and unlimited kinds


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Deck Department Sonnet

Heemstra and Salazar cleaning the decks
Working in Deck Department was the best
The work was constant for decent pay checks
Do I miss all that the answer is yes
I can still remember the ship and crew
Now I’m older with some pounds and gray hair
With plenty of memories but no brew
Who am I to say this life wasn’t fair
Because I had fun and great memories
Now I’m reading this sonnet at this place
Few think poetry is for fairies
I am reading this now without disgrace
I may have done short time in navy
It wasn’t easy nor was it gravy

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Bite sized and sexy, your seductive lips
Entertained my eyes. Curled from end to end,
Visions of your grin inspired a trend,
Envisioning myself taking small sips.
Religeously, I would love to take trips,
Leading me to the place where two tongues bend.
Yes, signals like this are easy to send,
When destiny and desire take dips.
Read my words, and I will keep reading your
Insolent sensuality, my muse.
Teach me your tongue, and then teach me some more
Things about your savor that I can use.
Eventually, I will take a tour,
Navigating to where ever I choose.

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You're More

You're more to me than the stars in the sky.
I'd give up the sight of them in order to keep you forever.
You're more than the lyrics that make my favorite song.
I'd give back the words in order to hear your voice.
You're more to me than all the music in the world.
I'll never dance to the beat of any drum but yours.
You're more than any sunset I've ever seen.
I'd give up all the days if I couldn't hold you through the night.
You're more than all the hugs I've ever recieved.
I'd give them all back just to hold your hand.
You're more to me than any life upon this Earth.
I'd gibve my own to keep you safe from any harm.
You're more to me than anything else I've ever known, my entire life.
This is why you have my heart to hold, and keep until the end of time.

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There was an AM station from years ago. I tuned in at night to hear my radio. Their tower was based in Windsor, Ontario. They would let the best of Canadian artists flow. During the day, it was a station I could never hear. Another entity on the same frequency was broadcasting near. When 8PM rolled around, that broadcaster went off the air. The Canadian station took over from there. I always heard the latest sounds from the Guess Who. They also had the Stampeders and the Bells too. One day, the broadcasts would disappear. Their music and messages I could no longer hear. That Canadian transmitter’s call letters were CKLW. Like many other AM locations, they bid adieu.

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I stand before you, judged, a sinner be
relinquishing all rights, I might have had,
but pray thee quick, to judge the soul of me
then lay to rest--the sins that drive me mad.

I seek forgiveness, that's all of my plea,
for all I've been in life, as having fun,
and all the hurt--that's been--because of me
I pray put in the past, as if there's none.

I ask your guidance, on my bended knee
protect my days ahead, if there are some
and never let mine eyes again to see
the lust of life from where all sin has come.

   And Jesus, give me wisdom, now to be
   your servant who's been saved--forever free!
© ron wilson

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There is a piece of you,
And there’s a piece of me,
One over there you see,
And one over here to,
As the sky is blue,
As a bumbling bee,
It is a He and She.
I do, I do, I do.
In them,
In those,
It’s Him,
He knows.
The embodiment of love,
Embodied from up above!
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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A dance of death, a greedy chore
     Trapped inside these creature comforts;
A chance of life may become a bore
     Outside this pleasantly right hurt.
But, soft and fair, though, of the skin,
     In flesh a silent malice lies
Dormant, unnoticed, not used in
     Context. Still, touch me as day dies.
And you, a ghost I cannot touch
     By reaching out to Heart or mind,
Caught up in this sweetly rush-
     Jaded: Nothing else left to find.
Superfluous and flushed, we breath
In gusts, unable to be free.

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Succulent Love

What is to live when u hvnt experienced real love?
 wat is to breathe wen he wakes me sore lyk a dove?
 hw do i kip holding on wen voices kip screaming in my head?
 screaming, "it ws nt meant to be,so jus let it go!"
 bt hw do i let him go when...
i hv becum susceptible to his very presence
 his aura,an unquenchable bold essence
 his gentle touch sends shivers dwn my spine
 his kiss,nothn cumz close to being so divine
 his sexy smile can make a gal forget her own name
 his eyes, their sparkle has indeed made me so tame
hw r u so quick to judge wen u hvnt met him?
 do u nt kno wen u do meet ur words may become gleam?
 his presence wil indeed cover u lyk a glove
 yes him...his name is none other than... "Succulent Love"

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A Warriors Sonnet

My hero, my heart, in your arms I sigh,
To listen to you breathe, your pure passions heat,
In creamy dreams of sweetness long gone by,
And taste your precious kisses; wild wonder sweet.

To open mine eyes in moons’ silver light
And see your face next to mine in our bed;
I would shower you with love in deep night.
Beautiful warrior; who chose me to wed.

But alas, I lie alone and in tears,
Dreaming of you in my arms through night dark.
For a warrior goes to fight without fear,
Leaving his love pining for his sweet spark.

I will wait forever, in this, my fate.
For you, my hero, my lover, my mate.

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Off the Place d’Armes  near the Ruelle 
Des Fortifications,  is  a restaurant small  -
Cosy with smell of garlic with all :
Makes me hungry and want to sit a spell.

Every dish is  a delight:   I love each one  so  -
Cheesy  Onion  soup  and   Vichyssoise;
The omelettes and the souffle  a  la quebecoise;
Cuisses de  grenouilles  and  escargots.
Sound of caleches across the square
Faint violin music down the street there
This  today is  la joie de vivre

The city breathes with Frenchness in the air  -
Near  to heaven-scent   it is so rare  -
But better if it were le  Quebec  libre
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .. . 

Written by Sydney Peck

French sonnet form
Entered in  Cyndi MacMillan’s  Contest   UN, DEUX, TROIS....OOH LA LA!!!!

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There should be a doorway to love -
Some scabbard-hungry sabre to declare
What is not mine, is yours
Bawling infant of the bawdy air,
Trinketing loneliness into the poor’s
Ardent threshold set with jewels rare -
Beryl and ruby; a diamond lures
Only the owner and not the loved pair.

Be one with the child of my cures
You are, you are the authentic heir.
Be with me, child of the midnight hours,
Be thou my confession in the mode of care.
Love me to death, my own creative power,
Be my own child, beyond compare.

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Lunar Love

         LUNAR LOVE
You steal the light when there is none to see
when there is nothing left, you take it all,
and what is left is just the shell of me
all mesmerized and backed against the wall;

you are the moon behind the branches bare
I watch you move so slow and lovingly
until you leave the trees behind and there
I see the shadow of your smile for me.

Where man has walked on dust of lovers dreams
you bathe in sunilght of another day
in other times when nothing's as it seems,
and speak to me in words you never say.

The world is yours, you give it all to me
to wonder at, but not to ever be.

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In meeting all demands fate throws my way,
I sometimes wonder just what's coming next.
So many complications come each day,
that make my life a little more complexed.

I know God gives me strength to carry on,
whenever I but ask, He's always there.
Just when I think all hope is surely gone,
somehow I always find more hope somewhere

that sees me through the very darkest night,
and opens up my eyes so I might see,
and all I need to make my wrong go right,
is just accepting what He's given me.

        He always gives my life a little more
           of all the things I'm never praying for.
                      © ron wilson

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July Rain

Every now and then,
a tear appears in my eye
when I think back 
of beautiful you and July.

You were mine once,
but I lost you in the fray;
my head was hung low 
when you set your wedding day.

I knew you looked stunning
in your white gown and train;
after that, my days were
filled with cold, driven rain.

You are always in my eye,
it should have been us that July.

For "Secondhand Emotion" contest sponsored by Dana'lynn Smith.

By: George Aul

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Death, His Friend He Must Embrace

Back bent,
Spine protruding from withered figure,
His face a creeping shadow,
Scattering, revealing pale ghost beneath,
Breathing eerier croaks from dark fathoms within,
Lips parched,
A bumpy mess of scales,
His eyes dug deep within the shrivels of his face,
Reflecting with joy his distant youth,
Quivering lost paper in wind,
As those lips part one final time,
No one listens to his great last words,
Expecting him to quietly slip away with grace,
Death his friend he must embrace. 

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When all the sand's run out for yesterday
and here you stand reflecting on it all,
no matter what you do, or what you say
you'll never change the way time has to fall;

the sand's been piled onto the waiting floor,
announcing time's run out, as you can see,
all hopes and dreams now fade, to be no more,
as if the way it's piled is meant to be;

all Heaven knows you've done the best you could
to shape tomorrow as you'd want today,
but somehow things don't go just as they should
and sands of time don't always fall your way.

The best we'll ever do is turn the stand
and hope again our time goes as we've planned.
.................© ron wilson

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Minnesota Nice

The great upper mid west
Minnesota put to the test
Ten thousand lakes and streams
Reality for many who like to dream

From Itasca state park
To the Louisiaina's wooden bark
The mighty Mississippi flows
Gently down the outcrop she goes

Crime rates are always's on the rise
But really does it come as such a surprise
Everyone seems to like to hug
Except when its a mosquito bug

So many call us Minnesota Nice
But some still say were Cold as Ice

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On Anzac Day

Across starboard bow the cliffs drew nearer,
  Into harm's way mighty battalions drove...
Men and mule upon cold waves of terror
  Stormed the beachhead landings on Anzac Cove!
Army Corps great red and white standard stars
  In battle hymn out of Commonwealth port:
Where the flame of liberty fiercely chars
  In every heart whose sons fell and fought!
Raise the flag and let us honour the few
  That March at dawn - the glory and the ghost
Of those brave Diggers in foreign graves who
  In duty stood their ground and stood their post.
Old soldiers all they will forever stay
When the bugles fall silent on Anzac Day.


Dedicated to the veterans of the Australian 
And New Zealand Army Corps. Lest we Forget!

September 2001

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  My Crystal Ball
There in I go to deeper depths of me
to levels where no one can ever know
and in the dark where only death can be
a little light fortells where life will go;

it's just a sphere of glass, a crystal ball,
to show the way into eternity
a dome of light, a refuge from it all,
that shakes my soul and lets my mind run free;

and as I gaze into the depth of it
all time's been frozen to the light I see,
and, mesmerized, I drift through space a bit
and free of all below, that I call me.

The beauty I have found within this ball
brings life as certain as it brings my fall.

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Come go with me into the stormy night
where no one thinks to look for love at all,
but when you see my dark, you know it's right
our total love's about to make its call.

Come lay with me as thunder fills the air
and closes out the past, with all the pain,
then lightning spreads its fingers ev'rywhere
onto the dark--and then--the pouring rain

brings peace to mind, and sooths your crying heart,
as close I come, with searching finger tips
then find the spot--upon your neck--and start
to sink my love through heated, trembling lips.

  I set my teeth to do what I must do--
  to sip your love out from the soul of you.
© ron wilson aka vee  bdosa

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Death of the Crocodile Hunter

He was in large life a force of nature
  And in barbed death a martyr to the cause:
Leaping madly on some croc or gator
  Wrestling its mighty ancient tail and jaws!
A call to action lest all not conserve
  That which is threatened and forever lost:
To champion, protect, cherish, and preserve,
  And to end the animal holocaust!
There is in Beerwah a place I avouch 
  Where The Hunter rests, and grew as a child,
And returned a sick joey to its pouch
  And learned to love the demon crocodile.
If ever I see a ghost in khaki
I shall muse of one man and think..."Crikey!"


Dedicated to Steve Irwin

Beerwah is where he lived in Queensland, Australia.
A Joey is a baby kangaroo.

October 2006

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I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.

Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit. 
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.

Upside down,
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.

Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.

® Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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Breath Away

Visual cacophonies: I witness
     Them, blithe and impaired-smouldering like a 
 Cigarette. Phoenix, to rise from ashes
     Is irrelevance; flame is far from a
Necessity to warmth, though I am no
     Prometheus with bruises of the mind.
It has wavered too long, taken too slow
     To only find it has been wasted time
(And the time peices are all unfriendly here).
     They, unreliable and tepid, take
The breath away from me-it idles there,
     Steaming from exposure, cursed and fake.
There lacks a subtle hinting waif to speak
Of all unglories of a Heart that's weak.

"Breath Away"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad

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       YOUR LOVE
If all I'd had for you was just one kiss,
...then surely love would not have come our way.
But holding on, and wanting more than this,
...we found a dream had come around to stay.
Now, all I am, is what you've made of me,
...throughout the years in ev'rything we dare;
whatever comes--comes much more easily;
...because I know you're with me ev'rywhere.
And as the finest wine, our love has yet know perfection--I keep this in mind,
as passing time has brought me no regret,
...and old is something I may never find, long as I've still got one memory,
.............of all the things your love has meant to me.
                   ©  ron wilson

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I Know You Love Me "Just Because"

This heart that beats within my chest
That skips a beat I can attest
Does flips each time that you arrive
Express love, devotion it needs to thrive

I know you love me “Just Because”
And my beating heart has no recourse
But to share sweet sentiments from your heart
Revealing love found from the start

I wait to hear your voice through the wire
You wave your wand and we are higher
Wrapped warm in each others’ arms
Exploring all our loving charms

This Valentine’s Day, our very first
My love I give you, my heart now rests

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Much simpler was the world in black and white,
so easy on the mind, as on the eye.
Most ev'rything was wrong, or it was right,
and no one cared so much about the why.

It was a time when one room country schools
turned out the very brightest of the stars,
but somewhere we got lost among the rules,
and left our world for fast and fancy cars.

We made our lives out of new Kolorchromes,
and raised the pace to near the speed of sound,
we burned our bridges when we left our homes,
so now there's not a home left to be found.

I'd love to see your smile in black and white,
not wondering if love is wrong or right.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa

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For Claude Mckay

Letter me with lines that I may distil
The sovereign sweetness of your flaming will
Teach me to sing of dusty flowers pure
And maiden's savaged innocence no more
To scorn, for you in all emotions soar
Though self-exiled from our tropical shore
Great poet, who brought Apollo's lyre here
O could you walk again your Harlem now
And find a lullaby for our dispear
And steal of words to edifice our vow

For we tingle with the doom we must hate
And all around us broken, tired of late
They sing self songs, until spring flies to ice
While in your rapture vice too would suffice. 

[Claude Mckay was a Jamaican poet, pioneer of the Harlem Rennaissnce, who died in penury in Chicago, after turning from Communism and its lucre to the Catholic faith. His poem "if we must die"was used by Churchill to motivate the allies into war]

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Awake Up To Thee

Up to thee in what your spirit will see.
Between you and me, it’s all that it can be.
Your heart and mind must be bound true.
For your soul to be given and saved too,

Each day that passes depends on what you say.
Depends on the faithful way that you display,
To be forgiven is design, forgiving divine.
Preparing for a sign, trying not to define,

Break not any sacred vow, though live for the now.
Take heed of what you plow, though watch your bow.
Humankind is so very frail, seek you own Holy Grail.
Remember that you may fail, but take up a new trail.

Golden bliss is what no one on earth wants to miss.
Awake and do not dismiss, or your destiny you shall remiss.

written for
Sponsor Brian Strand 
Contest Name UP TO THEE max 14 lines 

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Sonnet 6

Now ... tell me the truth at 80 spaces .
Oh yes monthly at no extracted cost ,
trumpet swans announcing "All-New" "Chases"
... Gameshow w-/ only purpose " Just stay lost".
scratch that ... start at the count ... three Faces.
flicker on screen , once more , spider webbed frost.
Pulse of cheekbone ; paper Artic traces ...
Hailing to the Fanatic's RoseArm crossed.

	... Why just imagine , All times // All places ...
Daydream reality clearly embossed 
by Our pristine chords reading "All's Debased" ...
Job to do ... hands join ... Avert as off tossed 
I may stain ... lip gloss ... gulp of life wasted.

All Presents, Our Situation Hostage .

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Pulse of the Bard, or, Professor

Oh, the full, the precious words,
The darling letters, lighting gray,
Like thousands of thousands of baby birds
Come to carry my dreams away!
The pages waft, sweet and mellow
And spicy subtle scents of old.
Are they stained an aged yellow?
No. They've grown a glowing gold.
I know a man whose wrinkled page
Glows such a gold with passioned glee.
His face, though leathered and heavy with age
Seems all the more rare and beloved to me.
For the soul of a poet is forever unchanged
And the Pulse of the Bard yet floods his veins.

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		    (APROPOS MLK: 2)

I have voyaged over many tempestuous oceans and seas;
I have been pursued in woods by vicious dogs,
Salivating stale slave smells left in hanging trees; 
Been hunted, trapped and penned like sliming wild hogs.

I’ve waded rivers buoyed by the bodies of ancestors;
My blood has caked on their banks in the golden dawn;
Yet I’m still here; solid like a rock, standing in the mist
Of our debtors;
For I am the flaming spirit from the black phoenix’s spawn
I am that everlasting arm of which the ancestors leaned
I am that of which the ancestors long ago spoke;
I am what sustained them during their bloody rebuke
And lashing scorn;
I am the anchor that strengthen them with an audacious
And undying hope.

So come chosen children; everybody gather here
Let us sit together talking and praying for a while.
Like Papa, let us keep our eyes on the prize; gaze 
Not down on the ground.
Raise high your heads: strutting down the blood stained 
freedom aisle.

Listen children, the battle is not yet won; there’s still work
left to be done.
Girdle yourselves with an ebony pilgrim’s pride; girt
The rising sun of new days begun.

Rise up little children and give rebirth to the words
The ancestors said;
Rise up little children and cover yourself with the blood
They have shed.
Rise up little children and rip apart the new veiled shackles
And invisible yoke;
Rise up little children, raising your bright new torches 
Higher than everlasting hope:

You are the new torch bearers of the dream;
You are the new Martin Luther King.

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Dear Wambo

Mambo (hi)
I talked to mum and brother and they say you are not doing well
Mum says the last time she saw you, you were better
She says you are worse now
Your once clear eyes, are now yellow
Auntie showed me a message you posted three weeks ago on whatsapp 
Before you went to India 
You sounded so hopeful
India couldn't do anything for, you are at terminal stage
A topic we hardly talk about because of your age
But we have too
There is no time left too

The only time we have,is to love

My most memories of you, of us
Is when I was entering puberty
I remember embarrassingly asking you about pubic hair, breasts, adams apple
In my homescience assignments 
You were so good at answering them
You were so good at teaching me that new world I was about to enter
You were a great mentor

And those chapatis, OMG! 
I remember your cooking lessons
You were so good at making that bread
With it, we were well fed

Thank you for being an awesome cousin
The only time we have, is to love

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Twilight reaches the camp where he’s held, While moonlight illuminates his gaunt figure. The wires do surround all the cells, And the guards have their hands on the triggers. They’re forced in the showers from night until dawn, Bleeding from where they were marked, The process of corpses goes on and on, Not many make it to dark. The Sonderkommando shove bodies to flame, While the SS take out the others. For Himmler and Hitler, this all is a game, While loved ones are made to kill brothers. None make it pas the gallows and gas, In order to live, please put on this mask.

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All cats...

who roam the dingy streets as common strays
or lie luxuriously within our laps--
fear not, for milk still flows beyond your days,
as do the silken cream and tuna-snaps.

Too long have dogs alone been known to rise;
tis time you too ascend to lofty gate:
oh being of nimble step and keen of eyes,
you are most qualified for such a fate!

So sleep; itself the problem shall amend,
and benediction will you soon receive.
To paradise you'll fly come tether's end,
or so I independently believe.

To such a notion should the world concur:
cats should in Heaven be allowed to purr!

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The gloom of death gone bad so near that night,
as circumstance played out a mournful tune,
and echoed through my brain, as if it might, 
give credence to the shadows of full moon;

and buried I my virgin, thin and bare,
she bathed in lilac, head down to her toes,
I laid her sixteen feet, to keep her there,
and marked her with a headstone no one knows,

and lest the devil wolves, who love her dear,
should get a sense of lilac in the night,
and smell their way from there to over here,
then raise her from her tomb, as sure they might!

I could not bear to end her chastity,
and so she died a virgin just for me!

She was an early purchase, just a child,
just seven years, from gypsies passing by,
and in her eyes the look, both free and wild,
yet of her bondage never questioned why.

All ladies saw her beauty, as she grew,
and changed from childhood to maturity,
to be more woman than they ever knew,
and virgin that she was, was due to me.

But at her end, her body was afire,
and yearning for the love I would not give,
lest I should lay to waste, in my desire,
the greatest beauty of this life I live!

So sleeps my virgin, as she'll always be,
unless my passion gets the best of me!
© ron wilson akaVee Bdosa

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Lord hangs onto me some serious mercy now, 
I am aimed and directed aligned and straight. 
Be it so or be it may I am that God given trait. 
You will never once have to reveal for me how. 
I tell the truth all I have to say about it is Wow! 
If this isn’t just downright genius then it’s great. 
I can only imagine what all this will soon create. 
I must say for all this I shall indeed bend to bow. 
A-men to every single one of you! 
And praise your one supreme Lord! 
You know, I knew I always knew! 
My God, I am your flaming sword! 
You know Lord; you can do whatever you want with that locust, 
But I’m going to polish up on this sword keeping myself focused! 
® Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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Doubtful to give into this passion
which should have not began, 
but it doesn't actually mean that I can  
let age hinder my intention.
I will express all the emotions twice
without faking any genuine smiles;
and whatever this experience inclines
me to be less cautious but wise, 
I should think of no other affection...
only laugh aloud and be delirious,
caressing a face prettier than any woman has
to feel the passionate feeling of devoted man.
Please accept what I am offering you today...
my promise will lead you to a life of endless joy!

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My Feet Grow Weary (For Sarah Parks)

My feet grow weary though I do not stand
Back in crowded buses anymore. Long
Days of marching have no slanting sun, sand
Chains of fear and brittle hope bores our song
Jericho beckons us that we may fall.
This is the other side where Moses died
Kneeling sultry before the promised wall
In circling daze of sun is truth denied
What we were we shall never be again
Except by merit of willful design
No love is true with equal disdain.
My feet must be my freedom's honored shrine
My vote, my testament, my weapon here
Dancing on the grave of coward's despair.

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To Muse Or Not

To Muse Or Not

I write a new poem to stay spiritually free
no denying this wonderful urge in me
Sent from an invisible gifted and guiding muse
my body and willing mind she so cleverly use

I write to stay healthy and joyfully alert
a joy when ignored that so greatly hurts
O' love of life keep well my devoted muse
obedience to the whims of she that I choose

Standing in my realm to obey her sweet hand
marching to the rhythm of her glorious band
Often the urge leads me to sing and dance
I await for her consent to give me my chance

Perhaps it all comes from within my very own heart
I wonder even if my sweet muse plays any part?

Robert J. Lindley 07-04-2014

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Diversities Happy Home/ Monroe, CT USA

Perhaps, it would be Rockwell’s second choice
for my happy home has many different voices.
All around a small man-made lake they walk
proud American’s, multi lingual, they talk…

A maple forest with sweet pine blessing
Whites and Asians, Indians, caressing.
Lovers from all of the many nations
in my park find, content, contemplation.

Children of all colors play like sweet bits
and each and every Grannie watching, sits.
The American dream a joyous reality
a warm, loving place has risen here, free.

So, let new artists and artisans arise to portray
the bountiful beauty of each towns diversity!

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I admire the work by our own Francine. She writes things descriptively clear and clean. Each new submission I eagerly anticipate. ‘I will gladly read it because I’ll know it’s great. Francine comes from the north in British Columbia That’s the westernmost province up in Canada. She lives with a very large collection of birds. What I can admire are her poems with words. Francine is a woman both knowledgeable and bright. I can find her on the Soup both day and night. Her many compositions have been put to the test. Francine does rank up there among the best. There is just one more item I have to say: Francine, what do you have for us to see today?

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Our Promise

Dear Judy Konos,
          OUR PROMISE    
Don't think We're down--You're country, tis of thee
For which our Flags been woven and unfurled,
this very thread, it binds us constantly,
becoming still the envy of the world.

In fifty states we grew to all we are,
and though some think God's guidance is not there,
this truth comes shining through in every Star;
Our Liberty of life shows ever'rywhere.

To tell the world, Come you, and learn our way,
there is no secret to how we have grown,
and in God's light, God's light is where we stay,
to guide you to what we have only known.

between each line, God's word is meant to share,
and "We the People..." is what keeps it there.
    by veebdosa 04/16/2011 (Dedicated to my friend Judy Konos in New Orleans)

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What mystery of life runs through  the mind,
exchanged, such glances, never meant to share,
to raise our heartbeats, if one's there to find,
and if we have the will to take the dare.

To rock the Casbah, is this sin a crime?
Or just beginnings for the world in need
Of change to Westernize all life and time,
to bury burqas where there is no seed?

To see and fall in love through satin thin,
how many have there been to die alone,
and how much beauty seen becomes a sin,
to men who have a heart of solid stone?

Tunisian girl, the world is now ... for you,
So Rock the Casbah, like it's coming true!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa

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Abba the father my heart cries out to you.
I am corner stoned with all I will ever be.
I reach high and climb the skies just to see.
I am in a world so confused it is hard to do.
Abba the father my soul just passes through.
I come to you and I am down on bended knee.
I have a soul begging for justice to be set free.
I am in a world where corruptions make new.
I am searching the distance,
Documenting my presence,
Absorbing life’s existence,
Developing omnipresence!
As this world shatters and shakes,
The Earth begins to violently quake.

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Gentle Streams of Tears

Today I sat down to right a poem.
It filled my heart with thoughts of home.
I put my hand on my cheek.
I never felt so sad and bleak.
I saw the pain of the world today.
Hoping to see things okay.
But the wind gently made me sway.
It made me think far away.
Knowing there is trouble time.
And now things are worth slime.
My eyes filled with water.
My heart goes out to the world slaughter.
I felt the stream of sadness.
With things that has badness.
Gently I wipe that sadness dry.
Tears that show hope with no deny.
I now see with no fear.
Futures gentle streams of tears.

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Sonnet IV

Fleeting moments suspended in freezing air,
     One-sided passion burning like a cigarette,
A taste of feigned innocence and feigned lack of care
     Moving to the music of dreams we will soon forget.
So tell me now; kiss the bottle and spin the girl.
     Our lips show off the unsecrets they know about
And greedily caress inspired skin, unfurl
     A thousand fleshy rose petals and what's left out:
Our sins in ashes of our bodies, smoldering
     Coals in retrospect. Dance in the flames that consume
Our thoughts and actions-a distant sense of folding,
     A closer sense of cloud cover: impending doom.
Our bodies touch, they bloom, and quickly they will wilt
Upon the gravestones of the emotions we killed.

"Sonnet IV"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad

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As you are stationed in a faraway land beyond our shore, our freedom is something you help to insure. To defend our way of life, you are the latest generation. You and your comrades represent our great nation. We would rather see you back in our own land. However, with your unit, you are taking a stand. It is true that nobody likes to fight. You must know how, and do it for all that’s right. Wherever you are stationed, and whatever your rank, you are among the service people we have to thank. Terrorism has no place in anybody’s life. You have sacrificed against all evil and strife. May you and your company stand firmly and strong. With honor and recognition is where you all belong.

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            VAMPYRE WEDDING                               
I make you mine tonight, to have and hold,         
   to lie forever in this love I feel,                         
I bring an end to ever growing old,                         
   and close your eyes, to all that is not real.               
I give you love, that others never know!        
   The joy of life found only in its end!                     
And dressed in love, we go, as we must go,                  
   into the dark! The night! The only friend!                  
I give you death! Then take you ev'rywhere!                
   To know all things; and answer to no-one!               
To have it all! To do as you would dare!
    within the dark, where life has surely gone!                
        I make you mine! I sink my teeth into          
        your waiting flesh, and drink the love of you!

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You looked too deep where no one's seen before
into the very deepest part of me
where hides my very breathing soul and more
I'd not allowed the world to even see.

You made your way right through my heart and mind
and opened doors I thought were locked up tight
through mazes quite complex that twist and wind
into what makes me tick, but out of sight.

The walls came tumbling down--you stripped me bare
between two heartbeats you came all the way
to see my greatest fear that trembled there
and then you let me know you wouldn't stay.

I sit and look out windows to no where
and think of all the nothing that is there.
© ron wilson (aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet)

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I may remember, but I won't give in
to every pain of you, your hurt, your lies;
I've loved you once, but never shall again,
if I can just remember to forget your eyes.

I've put it all behind, I won't be bound,
by empty promises, that's just your style.
I'll walk away, and never look around,
if I can just remember to forget your smile.

I'll never wonder how your world is now,
if you have learned love's more than just a game,
I'll put it all behind; I know not how;
if I can just remember to forget your name.

       I'll never let you know I can't forget,
        if I convince myself, one day, we never met.
©ron wilson aka VeeBdosa the Doylestown Poet

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The dead will speak, if open is your mind.
But do not hope, if hope's not all of you,
forever though it seems, one night you'll find,
persistance is the tool that pulls it through.

Sabbatical thy nature; evil rein.
Supremacy of thought, the constant flow,
An opening to life, that brief Beltaine,
the window through all time, desire to  know.

The Devil to his day, his time is near.
You feel it, death the constant, life the bore,
you must light one black candle, while you're here,
to sap the power you've been looking for.

Breathe deeply--light the candle if it's black.
But realize, there'll be no turning back.

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For my Son . . .

Alone on the wings of an angel I feel at home
Far above the earth I must admit I'm not alone
With the early morning wind I kiss your rosy cheeks
And every night before you sleep I take a few peeks
I see you there growing up with each new day
I look down and hear your  every fervent pray
I watch the way you walk the way you seem so out of touch
And once again I take this time to say I love you oh so much
I write this now because you seem to think I know you not
But my son I wish to say you make me proud for all you've got
I feel you cry for me when you seem so lost
Remember son I'm here for you, do not forgot
Each and every day I look at you
You always stay within my view

This poem is for my 10 year old son from his father who passed on 4th June 
 . . .For all the times he cries for him . . . I know Hamza

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         FICKLE LOVE
The beauty of it all was not so real
until you touched my lips that summers night
to make love something that my heart could feel
and told me you'd be mine, if wrong or right,

no matter what the cost, you promised me
you'd always love me, even to the end
and I believed our love would always be
from you, my lover, and my special friend

but for some time I've watched you turn your eyes
if I should even try to touch your hand
and now I know that love, like time, it flies
but why is something we can't understand.

Your love's returned to where it used to be
perhaps one day it shall come back to me.
                   © Ron Wilson (aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet)

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Longevity Thy Mistress

Sonnet LXX

Pt i

Let it be known that naissance is of late
significant that this longevity
shall live as long as these words shall donate
Affairs of the heart in their brevity,
Not a thought nor a whim should a thief
though if renditions are morbid as bleak 
fully aware that due to mere relief;
in as much that if as old as antique
Thou hast with heart in this old oak of thine.
Lest not we forget the marriage of will,
though it is fixt that the next birth of time
should the shroud of an existence so thrill.
Could those legions who've augmented claim
Mediocrity, forsakens his name.   

Sonnet LXXI

Pt ii

Thou hast paraphrased a psalm though as a chime
which has altered this, the scenery as such
therefore proceeding with his life and time
Can bring, so it appears, a Shakespeare touch
his versions up till now have been bestowed,
though this upon suspicion how we grieve
protected by the way we read each ode 
Like any mistress decoy, should she leave.
That death be the upheaval from this urge
of beneficials openly seduced,
For future ventures death within a surge
that loving brought, existence introduced.
Fruition, in that acorns reimburse 
The moving apparitions plays rehearse.


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The Hour Glass Image

Eye's gazed deep inside as the hour-glass stood still passing it's time through the sleek passage. Where we've been rememberd in honor I've chosen to walk in bravery for those who have died, suffered, went M.I.A. through war and proverty.
I promise to stand once more for these soldiers who still fight for our freedom to protect us from the dangers of our land, May we hope that they return to loved ones back home....

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How sweet the night, my love you came to me
   from out of dreams I'd dreamt within my past.
They weaved the spell and made my life to be
   in need of you, before I breathed my last;

and all my days of feeling less than whole
   were counted in my life of passing years,
though discontent, I guessed a restless soul
   was but the price I pay, with all the tears,

for being borned and being let to stay,
   and little did I guess, or even feel
that all I've been's existing day to day,
   and incomplete, but never really real.

        And how complete you've made my life to be,
        as if you've found the heart and breath of me.

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The heat of battle's what manhood is for
when struggle for the right comes to a head
erupting to a world in need of war
and needing change to how we've made our bed!

We cannot sleep in this, it's much too soft,
mistakes brought on by politicians greed,
and so the winds of war come from aloft
aloosening the horsemen and their steed!

The preachers of dead faith wail at the wall
protesting ev'ry battle cry and truth,
though freezing in the night, they heed the call
of cardless, nameless cowards lost in youth.

      But when the battle comes they'll take their leave
       not caring who is left to ever grieve.

Too late, there's not a one to even pray,
there at the wall, submission is the rule,
they give too much, and play no keep-away,
not holding out, lest they are thought a fool.

while Netanyahu, leader of his quest,
the first so born in bounderies of their State
and made prime minister, whom God has blest,
and given all the keys to seal their fate.

But still the blind stand wailing to the wall,
and ready to lie down, pretending dead,
unwilling to be part of this, the call,
to arm, but give up everything, instead.

From Benjamin their fate is all too clear,
And losing is the only thing to fear.

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My Fame

Is it possible to say?
I love you!
Really I do!
Each and every day!
Would you stray?
In lieu!
Or out of the blue!
Each and every day for you I’d pray!
Inside you I came,
You went,
I stayed the same,
For you I was sent!
Each and every day I was meant,
Each and every day I gain My Fame!

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Leave My Life

You Could never understand me even if you tried Over 10,000 times you've showed me that you never even looked beyond the glass I maybe a disgrace who wish to erase But the pain is so elaborate, all caused by you, how isn't it embraced for you? so many tears you let slip, left to die condoned I am, but only with your voice alone If you don't care to know me, leave my life If you think the dark is scary as it shows, leave my life If you've failed to keep your mind open, leave my life If you ever thought I was lesser, Leave my Life

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          LUCID DREAM
I saw you dead. Now read between each word.
I thought the dream was mine, but it was you
who dreamt of me, a love song seldom heard,
though it was me, I guess you never knew.

Yes I was there, not making any sense,
and you, so young and beautiful would think
who is this fool, across my rusting fence?
And you'd not dream I am your missing link.

How could I be there in your restless sleep,
and touch your hand; remembering your eyes
when I awake, from what I thought too deep
to understand or hope to fantasize.

I saw you dead. I searched to find a gate,
but none was there and you had dreamed too late.

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(Dedication: For Michael and Clara
on your Wedding Day, today, 
Saturday, 19 July 2014)

Cheer fills this day, charm looks profound;
Union of souls here on this earth;
See moments play in sacred grounds;
Trust makes one whole, now glimpse new worth;
Opt to share voice ever sincere;
Make love a sign spanning your time; 
Applaud fine choice etching your years;
Rouse fond design with sanguine chimes; 
Yield to your heart, explore all things.
Rise together, dare life's struggles;
Ignite true start, dare swirl and fling;
True love matters in your fable;
Enjoin true quest now man and wife;
Sense precious fest graced with grand life.

Leon Enriquez
19 July 2014

(Note: This poem is an Acrostic Sonnet with 2 acrostic messages.)

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Shed Thy Snakeskin

Move into the future with a true presence.
There is more to see and way more to do.
It is a life with everything you ever knew.
Shed thy snakeskin with your own essence.
Way up high sits the purest quintessence.
Up above each Star lights a way for you,
Even these skies are a creamier baby blue.
Nonsense is ordained by its only innocence.
There is always a better way.
It is always for you and me.
It is always by night and day.
Where we should already be!
Imagine you did shed every bit of that snakeskin you carry around.
You will lose or you will win, either or I’m aptly located as found!

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Labyrinthine Simplicities

Don’t misconceive my mercy for weakness
Exponent to impuissance that bestows
Ascertain verity of Uniqueness
Appreciate my pose of apropos

Strength my forte led by capriciousness
I once shattered and left to be consumed
Thy inner voice pierces my graciousness
Amidst the flightiness presence presumed 

I am semblance of authenticity
Your erroneous conclusions expressed
Trapped in mirrors of your duplicity
It is not I who is too dispossessed 

My force is life, full of joys and treasures
Multiplied faithfully, basked in pleasures

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Deep in the death, the vastness of your eyes
that reaches into times eternity,
I go, a vagrant, soon to realize
you are beginning and the end of me.

The fear of born again brings me to tears,
of living one more time, as I have done,
and unsuspecting, all my greatest fears
are realized again, and life goes on.

You look at me and bare all you may find,
I am a delicate, and easily to break,
and you can see me hiding in my mind,
from your first look, and I can only shake.

     The book of me is now one empty page
      and all of life has just become a cage.
© Ron Wilson (aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet)

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I felt your glance into mine anxious eyes
over your shoulder, quick and then away,
but you told all, so's I could realize
without our having any words to say.

And here is love, if love there ever was,
for that moment your eyes locked to my own,
to do the things that love, it always does,
in reaching out to make a love be known.

As every spark of it reached to my mind,
love's tremble moved a wave through all of me,
and though I tried, there was no way to find
control of it, and set my feelings free.

Much deeper into love and loving you,
is what your glance has brought my heart into.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa

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Greater Man

They say you're nobody
They talk lies behind your back
They speak of an insignificant soul
A heart worth no attention
I say -
It's the prominence of my walk
The strength of my stance
The graize of my speech to the intelligence beyond glance
I'm a man that's greater
A Greater Man - that's me

A lot try to say you're ugly
Change your appearence - your style
Try to make you conform
Be coll, Be "in," whatever that may mean
I say -
It's the brown of my skin
The scar on my hand
The rareness of my style to the bareness of my ends
I'm a man that's greater
A Greater Man - that's me

They despise your real talk
Call you weak - Call you a punk
They turn the world against you
Your friends - Your loved ones
I say -
It's the abundance of my knowledge
The credit of my character
The uniqeness of my name
An undisputed fame - I'm a man that's greater
A Greater Man - that's me

So when they give you lip
And they torture your stature
When they come across your self-esteem
And say you're not anything
I say -
It's the flare of my actions
The perseverance of my smile
The integrity of my measure
The courage of my style - I'm a man that's greater
A Greater Man
That's me

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And How I Missed You

When to the dust my bones do lie
Bugs will eat the gray from my eyes
God will take me, body and soul,
Then throw me in a deep dark hole
But hell will have no place for me
So I'll be flung unto the sea
Where the tempest shall spin and shout
And say, "No way," then spit me out
Across the grasslands, I s'pose I'll roam
A ghostly soul without a home
Oh, not for any evil deed
Nor any planted evil seed
No wicked sin I committed
Kept me from afterlife permitted
Though it's all nice, you can believe,
You weren't there, so I asked to leave.

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If you lie still and close your heavy eyes
and concentrate on nothing that you feel
as in a dream, where you can visualize
from out of no where, everything is real.

There is a long and narrow cord you find;
you thought was cut so many years ago;
out shining any sun that's ever shined
and made of things that only gods could know.

It's stuff of life, and leads to distant dreams
not ever dreamt by anyone before,
just then you know that nothing's as it seems,
and all we are is dreams, and nothing more.

      The blinding light consumes us in the end
          and it's a love no one can comprehend.

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Xavier Cugat

From the Eastern Spain region of Catalonia, he was born in 1900 in Barcelona. His family would later emigrate to Cuba. He performed with the Teatro Nacional Orchestra. Sailing to New York aboard the SS Havana, Xavier achieved great fame in America. He and his band opened the Waldorf-Astoria. Nineteen-forty brought his greatest hit “Perfidia”. Some later recordings popularized the conga, along with other styles such as mambo and cha-cha. Xavier Cugat maintained great popularity, until he passed and left this world in 1990. Among the greatest of the twentieth century, Cugat left to later musicians a legacy. I thank online encyclopedia for valuable information I obtained to write this poem.

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He was called to face the crowd,
He look at him self, in mirror and shout,
He wish for this, some years, not now,
But, he never knew it will be as quick, now now.

He was happy, because is facing the crowd,
Doing his things, because is holding the crown. 

He gathered confidence from the people around,
Encouragement, from is families, at home, 

He went out and face the crowd,
Speaks of his words, ways allowed.
In friendly manner, in way they want,
He was accepted, not in way they thought.

And he was celebrated in the ways he want. 
Now is making his voice heard to the world at large.
I was called to face the crowd,
To make my writeups Speaks in the ways that touch...
Am here, because am holding a crown. 

Phemmy Oluwafemi. 

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Children of the Sky

A day with no Sun, no Stars and no wind,
A lifetime of lifetimes is in the womb you grow.
You are the children of the sky with the seeds I sow.
You are enriched and fertile in the lands I tend.

A night with no Moon no day and no end,
A world of worlds of knowledge you all know.
You are the children of the sky and to the winds you shall blow.
In the seeds your sown is your mother and your best friend.

You are of the sky,
You are perfect today,
Boundless and high,
And you know the way.

Reach up and look to see,
The wind blowing inside of me!

® Registered: Ann Rich   2004

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The Note

I was corner-stoned by many of you.
The note was dotted with a dash.
But this note was an ultimate smash.
I found a peephole and peeped through.
I found a bird gave him the note and away he flew,
Across the deserts and the valleys he was there in a flash,
Across the rivers and Oceans he made a great big splash.
He made it to the shore, but the note he began to chew.
He passed a timely test,
And his belly was full,
He did not stop to rest,
The note he had to pull.
The bird landed on the Oceans shore,
Singing praises of his rugged chore.

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The Gap

So many empty spaces with cracked dimensions as stardust flew by.
So I counted to ten and held my breath knowing this would just never end.
At every angle there was a gap so I tagged them all with messages to send.
I stepped through portals leading me to places orbiting way too high.

I passed through broken dreams and landed where the Sun never shined.
No Moon, no Stars, and no galaxies were straight, much less aligned.
The Earth had gone completely berserk and the seasons were sudden to change.
It was the gap warping time and even the people looked far beyond strange.

I listened to faint vibrations and watched galaxies as they all weakened.
Time was lost and gone forever, for they had all been forewarned and told.
I found a spot and planted the last starlight and watched closely as it strengthened.
It grew and grew even withering through the hot and cold.

Shooting through portals I spread my light and left it a sparkling trail.
Ray by ray a beam filled the gap and lit it up by my new starlight’s flaming tail.

®Registered: Ann Rich  2005

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The fjiord so blue and cold and deeper than
all time can ever measure in a day
there on the cliff she's stood, since time began
just hoping that her lover finds his way

she's cried ten thousand tears to let him know
she'll watch for him no matter how the sky,
and if the freezing north winds have to blow
between the narrows of the cliffs she'd die

her lamp is lighted every night for him
but this night's bitter cold and made it's mark
although her love is great, the light is dim
and time has turned it to a tiny spark.

   her ancient bones have frozen to the cold
    but love kept her from ever dying old.

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A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn
as sounds of morning break unearthly still
arising to the day, some life goes on
while others have the fear it never will.

Some ashes drift about the morning air
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.

Each life that was is slow in pure descent
and longing for the earth that pounds below
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.

Down in the valley echoes from a train
awhistling here come the dead again.
 ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown PoeT
This Friday, 20 April, is observed as Holocaust Rememberence Day.

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I’ll add you to my safe keeps.
And put you with my collections.
I’ll sit back with my own reflections.
After, I’ve taken hundreds of peeps.
I’ll put you under my pillow where I sleep.
And then there will be no exceptions.
It’s where delusion versus deceptions.
You and I will never weep.
Until your heart is free to run,
I’ll be collecting ashes and dust.
I’ll never be done!
And I’ll never rust.
My collections of restorations appeal.
Piece by piece many of you will heal.
®Registered: Ann Rich   2006

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The Handy Man

The handy man is always available by my night or day.
I’m being stringent to say my very least to his very best.
All potential clergymen are put through his trickery test
Oh my God at these odds and ends his mind dare weigh.
He is intricately susceptible in light seeking a pardoned way,
He overcomes the homeliest just by his daily authentic quest.
In about a day or two will come his much timely needed rest!
Estranged in a time of several times where his mind did stray.
Caught up in clouds he drifts yet further away slicing thin.
Pondering many thoughts per milliseconds flood his gates.
Consuming ideas overwhelm his deep words drawn within.
He forms heaps of potential until he himself smears slates.
Single handedly he comes with his charts already mapped with my plan!
After all, he is quite elaborate when I exclusively need my Handy Man!

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What matters not, now past and put away,
your welcoming brings on another scheme
and here you make your plan, you can not stay
much longer than it takes to build a dream.

In this, the place where beauty binds all things,
forgotten is each pain, you've ever known,
and here, the Green of life, it always sings,
of life to be, from where all love is grown.

Until you get it right, you shall return,
back to your Summerland, where you can grow,
into a life from which we never learn,
because of learning things we never know.

Your understanding is your final breath
And life begins in what we think is death.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa

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Common Ground

Starry night, Star bright shine your light!
It’s a lost world traveling at a rapid speed.
Oh guide me and teach me to properly lead.
For I am down here where nothing is right!
Send me a wind to take my flight,
And let them all take heed!
I am the deepest seed.
For I stand in all my might.
Let the Sun shine down on me.
Let the rains walk away.
Set my eyes where they can see.
For I am day by day!
As the world spins around and around,
I shall be found standing on top of Common Ground!

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No more was she full grown than he a man
but love was something he was looking for
while she would be content, when it began
in knowing he was pleased, and wanted more.

There in the dark, Messina hides the sin,
that makes a boy into what men should be
transformed by love to their believing in
what makes a man a sailor of the sea.

If he could wish, and have just anything,
he'd have her for his mother's tender care,
part of their world, and all a love can bring,
and innocent of love that's really there.

he'll never mention her in sailor's tale;
if he should say her name, his love would fail.
     © ron wilson (aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet)

After all of these years I'm surprised I even wrote a poem about her.

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Man with a Hammer

Tired; tired from today's honest work
Getting to know my young labor at hand
Simple materials, nothing to hurt
Old dew dried in the sun, laid in the sand
Stir; stir in my spirits, shake off that dust
Early rise to toil; got to make that buck
Build me a new wall, build me some new trust
Sort out those nails find one tall in the ruck
Enough with the grinding, ways of the old
Find me a new way to shoulder the load
Its time to get moving, time to get bold
Take leave darn shadow and all you may bode
I've got verve in vows and wide eyes to show
Big hammer, time to rock, rattle and row

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Lucy X

Hazed by the dire rope of death

A subtle incandescence flickered

A white light glimmered like meth

Whilst hushed peaked a snicker

Her smile an adequate sedative

Terminating vivid estuaries

A moment equally competitive

In other eyes deemed honorary

Mi corazón happened upon felicity

Blessed be this origin of jubilee

Freeze we shall in fair amenity

Beneath this fine cherry tree

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 The last of feigning death, love now abides,
 tuberculin, infectious, inside her breast.
 She breaths emotion where your hope now hides,
 and clings to what Melpomene knows best.
 Dear tragedy of love, deep in her eyes,
 to love we die, or never love one bit.
Your soul--once doomed to Hell--see now it flies
 renouncing every hope of ending it.
 Consuming as is love, the hate must flow,
 each seething, creeping, loathing will to fly,
 amongst what hope is left, one thought will show;
 to know the deep of someone, one must die.
 All of your will, which dieth, less for cause,
 has ended short of knowing who she was.
 ©  ron wilson

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The Keeper

I was washed ashore with Mountains looking over me and I could hear roaring Seas.
The sand covered me and my toes curled with sand dollars by the dozens.
I saw dolphins gaming and fish were everywhere, I even met their distant cousins.
The Sun was shining down on me and the Moon was jealous but the clouds gave way.

And I looked up to see the Stars shining and they told me it’s a most perfect day.
Salted lips and these palms fanned, I knew right then I was meant to be.
I stood alone at the shore and blue skies fled taking notice of little old me.
I was touched and moved balancing these visions I began to breathe.

I thought I was by myself, but I wasn’t, not this time.
Looking up I say leave me alone, be gone I’m on my own.
Looking down I am amazed at how truly this is so sublime.
You are the keeper of my secrets and I am of all the unknown.

Shining down upon me you are always standing right there,
Here I shall share myself with you and then I will begin to care. 

® Registered: Ann Rich   2006

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The Best Any Mother Ever Birthed And Reared

The Best Any Mother Ever Birthed And Reared

He stared back at his life amazed
a scattering of miracles here and there
many cried out that he was crazed
when he gave that stern look and stare

Back there vast plains loudly waved
forested jungles crept up so very slow
Nature he wanted touched and saved
a tragedy of pain that the angels know

Dry, dead cities awaited his return
the man that set beauty in the blue sky
his life , a tree destined to burn
walking where others feared to even try

A man among men they admired and feared
the best any mother ever birthed and reared!

Robert J. Lindley, 02-27-2015

note:  Dedicated to H D L ....

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Unbekannte Tochter

1629 a little German girl of 7 years was burned as a witch because she could read

Condemned to flames because we heard her saith
She stood by knowledge she knew was the truth
A child unable to enjoy her youth
What happened to her right to choose her faith
With torture choice was stolen from the world
In blood they forced the word in fear of flames
And labelled nature’s ways as paths of shame
As heretics into hell they were hurled
Always, we remember the burning times
The name of a god that brought fear and pain
Lest we dare forget and it happen again
O men of the cross we know of your crimes
Condemned to flames because we heard her saith
What happened to her right to choose her faith

Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet:To a friend

It's sad that your love couldn't be true to you
And I know you struggled so hard and long.
But life sometimes in the end can turn blue
And there are times when some things can go wrong.

But don't blame yourself for all of this mess
For you it wasn't just written in the stars.
And some things are not meant to be for us
But don't lose hope for your dreams can't be far.

Today you cry for lost dreams and their cost
But I hope your tears are gone by tomorrow.
You'll see that not all is completely lost
Pray you find in the night the light that glows.

Be strong and keep your chin high all the while
Smile and never stop dreaming thru your struggle.

Dorian Petersen Potter
Aka ladydp2000


Details | Sonnet | |


Before these heavy winds, outreaching Fate,
Drive underneath the sod each flowering tree;
Before this heartless hand, whose callous hate
Kills all things living that for loving plea;
Before dire Time, whose iron lungs deride
And desecrate, erode, and crush to dust
The swelling blossoms of the summer's pride,
My stricken tongue finds speech, and speak I must.
Though warm lands chill, and freeze and shrink, to know,
O Winter, know your huge and hurling ways,
In which thy fist, through veil of shifting snow
Winds down the heartbeat of once-happy days,
This mine own rhyming heart, with Song for flame,
Burns breathing Beauty through your ghostly frame!