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Tribute to Jack by Chirino 3rd, Robert
Evergreen Rose, tribute to Mystic Rose by One, Silent
tribute to hurricane Katrina by hardnett, concetta
Tribute to Eric Boddie by One, Silent
N H S a tribute by Strand, Brian
tribute five by boddie, eric
Tribute to Gary by Quinn, Pat
My Tribute to The Silent One by Breidenthal, Laura
A Real Humdinger Tribute--Jack Ellison by T.M.M., Eve
Dad Tribute by Negron, Nayda

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The Best Tribute Poems

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails

This part of you 
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking  words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"

You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions 
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet:  "Ink Never Lies."

Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

by;)

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

More great poems below...


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Ancient Warrior

I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow,
You carried burdens then; you see them now.
You’ve heard the cries your people who in pain,
Have shed their tears two hundred years like rain. 

Your sad brown eyes, reflecting now the sky
I see the wings of eagles flying by
Beside you stands an Appaloosa mare
Her spirit one with you now over there.

You hear the drums, they bid you to come near,
Your spirit drawn the beats they ring so clear.
Song like prayers are chanted through the night,
Calling you come, and help them end their plight.  

You’ve heard sad cries and now stand at their side,
You join the prayers with both arms open wide,
United spirits sing until the dawn,
When in the fire’s flames a golden fawn.

Remembering a smile crosses your face,
When tribes were one with Mother Nature’s grace.
The lakes and streams flowing with waters clear,
Flow sadly now, the planet lives in fear.

The weightless feathers that adorn your head
Your tribes grey future weighed you down instead.
Now breathing deep you smell the winds of change
While here on earth your people rearrange.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.21.2014
Giorgio A.V. Contest 
Iambic Pentameter 
1st place

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans


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flowers for Chinaski


I quickly grew tired of poems about
the supposed gentleman who wanted
to turn his gal into a flower.

I thought about what it might be like 
to be turned into a 
flower --

maybe domesticated in a garden 
first, then plucked

or plucked straight from the wild.

Stuck into a vase
on display for people to watch you 
slowly wither.
People admiring you 
with punctuated looks of sentiment,
sniffing you while they watch you
die.

By chance
someone might press you into a book
to preserve you for later admiration,

only able to touch you like a 
gentleman,
so your petals don't disintegrate into dust.

Nah, I would rather she be a 
woman,
have her petals embrace me.

She might try clawing out my eyes with rage 
and slam the kitchenette 
in just that way I can't stand,

before we cuddle together,
an ashtray between us
smoldering with the stacks of Pittsburgh or
Chicago or Buffalo City.

And even if the blue light flickering off the walls 
can't fill all the empty spaces 
in our hearts,
at least we chose to be there

and lived.

Lived beyond 
living for the sole purpose
of dying to look good in the casket,
only to be pressed into a mausoleum.
____


When the time comes,
I want my corpse to feed
the forces that don't give up
fighting against contrived,
manicured lawns --
that don't stop fighting to break through 
concrete city slabs
with the faces of dandelions and chickory,
blossoms exploding
into bright ruckus

while making love to the sky.



April 7th, 2014




“i am with the roots
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument...."

-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"




+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner


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flowers for Chinaski -- part ii

part ii


There was a time
when I wanted to be one of them,

to somehow fit in
with the fancy rituals
of their high society.
But the da-Dumb, da-Dumb, da-Dumb
made me want to puke,
made me want to bounce my head 
off the table, hopefully causing the bone china
and forks
to add clatter to their snobbish 
symphony.

Words like "gossamer" 
flitted around the room,
word so thin but veiled 

and distant,

even the candle light appeared
to shy away from those dry wings.

The snobs talked about how
I was too simple with words.
They did so with such a simple, 
small-mindedness,
the irony provided oxygen for flame
to devour.

And the critics proclaimed that
I wasn't able to love,
when really, I just wanted to get away
from them, 
smoke a cigarette in peace
while hitchhiking back to my chubby cherub,
feel her belly fall and rise against my skin.

I was finally able to love,
and she died.

The previous pain had been for show:
"Look at the drunk ham
feeling sorry for himself."

But when she died,
I distilled tears
into a different type of proof.
I was no longer willing to be
their carnival attraction
placated under the table,
listening to them upstage each other.

When I was able to stand again,
a cold, sharp thing was birthed in my mind,
and 
I wanted to shoot them all between the eyes,
splatter their degrees and deeds 
with their blood and brains.

I found peace though -
stopped wanting to be one of them.

I found peace
away from their chatter
about what to carve on their headstones
or what type of fancy imported granite
their mausoleums should be constructed of.

I found peace in readying myself to be 
consumed by 
roots,
to be perspired into the open, fathomless sky --
the same deep blue as the bird 
who finally pecked his way
through the rusted cage of my heart,

freeing us both.



April 12th, 2014



“i am with the roots
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument...."

-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"



+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner


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I Can't Breathe

In memory of----

Solely in my room, I can't stomach the sound of my heartbeat.
I sit here alone to forget the taste of air, 
Overwhelmed by the scene -unbelievable footage
18 seconds too long, "I can't breathe."
My judgement is gone, stressing all night long
I use to fear dark colors, now I fear spinning bright lights
Red, White, and Blue,  I spew the NY Police crew
What's wrong with your blue eyes?
You see him, you want to mess with him
What a day to trade  --  a life for illegal cigarettes
Persecution and judgment day, a sweet life taken away
"I can't breathe", executed in broad daylight!

Bullies left and right
What happened to minding our business?
Moneymaking, refusing to be singled out 
A hurting voice tackled by racism 
Free to see, pouring his heavy heart,
Oinker's demand the ground, leaving out his testament
8 times too many, "I can't breathe!"
Where did his vitals go? 
Can someone please pound the pavement!

Stress, anger, madness, the voices of the innocent
"I can't breathe." the volume of Valium
"Officer, did you not hear the man?"
Are you deaf, have you forgotten how to save a life?
Is it just the NYPD or is it every other badge,
Insinuating crime's a one-color show.
We are all criminals, why the excessive heat?
Shot, tasered, beat down, pepper sprayed,  now on the ground
The choke hold of all choke holds, murdered and out numbered 
The echoes remain "I can't breathe!"

- The truth!
Eric Garner robbed of his own natural path and youth
One man down eyed suspiciously 
Perplexed minds suffocating him instantly
The mistrusted, the fear, the hate,  
So tangible, uniforms using deadly force
One asthmatic in a choke hold
Slamming his head on the flooring
Open wounds, worldwide tears

My heart goes to the family and friends left behind
A courageous last breath, for the first and last time
"I can't breathe," now deceased.
You left this world unwilling, waking up a strong community
Strolling in a  better world, where racism don't exist
"I can't breathe,"  Eric Garner Rest in peace!

By: PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

More great poems below...


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Night Owl

Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!

Copyright © Kelly Deschler


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Indian Girl

--Virginia Slim--

Different eyes, the same world 
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl 
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair 
---Now listen to  the colors, of transformation, 
On the day she was born, the wind blew in, 
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A  gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim

Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names. 
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl, 
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man 
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,

Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman, 
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero, 
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas tricked and captured, 
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over, 
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands

Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before the princess, 
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision 
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands

by;PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A


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Lucilla Smiled

Although her smile I could not see, Lucilla smiled through poetry. This lovely lady I met here who graced us with her sunny ways until her very final days became for me somebody dear. Although her smile I could not see, Lucilla smiled through poetry. Her words of wisdom now can flow in heaven, where all angels go. This lovely lady I met here became for me somebody dear. Although her smile I could not see, Lucilla smiled through poetry! RIP Lucilla Carrillo - Written in her memory Oct 2014 For the Sonnetina Rispetto Contest of Dr. Ram Mehta

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich


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Tribute to Charmaine Chircop

If tonight I could paint a moonlight sprinkle it with endless love and childlike magic sail away with you across an azure sea on a vessel to happiness If tonight I could close my eyes dance with you through the chambers of my heart wrapping you in the endless emotions of my soul and let all my Pasionata set us free If tonight, just like the wind felt on your moon glowed cheek through the silent distance would you remember me a fresh sweet scent of last gardenia on yesterday's linen sheets a wonderland of happily ever after's through fields of daisies where the river meets the sea little by little dare to dream a dream wonder a bit longer lose yourself where the crimson bleeds it's rose
08/07/2015 Tribute Contest hosted by Silent One

Copyright © Tim Smith


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Tribute to Eric Boddie

Enlightened is the one that rhymes words with so much ease
Rebelling against the nemesis that is the mind block disease 
Inspiring so many with his vast selection of poetical lyrics
Care free writing with so much ease, without any gimmicks

Big man with big muscles it what he lets you see
Only revealing his romantic side for his lucky lady
Devout he is in his love to Jesus and God's word
Developing to inspire, staying away from the absurd
I've never known a man so sincere and pure
Enchanting rhymes into poems forever, I'm sure..

Tribute to Eric Boddie
30 August 2015

Copyright © Silent One


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The Wind

~~The Wind~~
            
           ---
Look into my eyes
Follow me into a world of ecstasy
There and only there
Will you find the peace to unwind
           ---

Beautiful brown eyes not blue
Shady lids, stunning  ocean view
Embracing every word 

Hear the wind whispers your name
Come with me
Drown with me
Into the abyss of loving rain
Embrace this moment as I draw you in with words
Release you with the warmth -------I was there

I Share--I take
I LOVE--I HATE
Into my arms
I am the charm
Around your neck
Around your wrist
Listen to the voice from my beating heart
It yearns
The freedom of touch
The freedom of speech. 
Of love, 
Of purity
Like the wind
I'll find my way
Into your heart
Arouse the cheerful energy
Of your insecurity and pen
Follow me into the sea
There we will fall into the deep
Build sand castles 
Around dreams of reality
Slip into my aura light 
Set to the rhythm of the oceanic night

Now, listen to the breeze
It's called out your name
It's only a matter of time----------------
You'll find yourself calling out...... mine

by: PD
Dedicated to all my loving friends & fans :-)

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A


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Clerihew Soup

I tell you I like, that Wayland a bunch
He'd be the guy, to be there in a crunch
Not afraid of humor, he paves the way
With clerihew words, he loves to play

Let's talk of Eileen, the Queen of passion
Her verses of pleasure, will not be rationed
She causes men to rise, women to weep
Many a farmer, have stopped counting sheep

Then there is Shadow, who is a bright light
Her name suggests darkness, but that isn't right
With a pen and paper, she loves to play
Out of the Shadow, poems brighten our day

There is the woman Donna, she is filled with charm
For her animals, she'd give her left arm
Still here in the soup, she adds her own spice
She's a little bit hot and a whole lot of nice

When it comes to Eagles Montery's the last word
She's not in a flock she's a solitary bird
With her strong wings creating a breeze
Verses dance on the wind with the greatest of ease

I can't forget about Richard, now there's a man
He teases Eileen, just because he can
Yet within the humor, his clever exists
His poetic talents, impossible to miss.

My friend Vicky T, has brought me to tears
She possesses insight well beyond her years
A voice from the wilderness, please take heed
Wisdom resides in her poems that we read

When it comes to nature, our Nette is the girl
She makes mountains quiver and pretty leaves twirl
To angelic worlds she causes us to travel
Brooks are helpless she makes them all babble

Our Andrea she is well beyond great
Her words are profound they carry such weight
Regardless of form, many contests she wins
She's top of the heap, before she begins

Becca's a doll, with a sensitive pen
She writes of the now and also the then
Her words magical, a muse guides her pen
Capturing my mind again and again

This place amazing, a Mystical Rose
A unique handle my creative friend chose
Perfect for her that woman has style
A perfect seven at the top of the pile

My buddy Drake he has really mad skills
With words like honey the airways he fills
If you are lucky he'll let you co-host
To him I raise a glass to happily toast

Others must wait I'm running out of Rymes
I will write of them some other time
Until then I must wish you all goodbye
Have a sip of my soup, give it a try.




Inspired to try my first Clerihew by 
Wayland Bunch. Hopefully I have got it right.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux


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Word Piles

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” — Dr. Seuss

There was an old man, he was tattered.
He’d piled his words like it mattered,
all of his life
through trouble and strife,
while his wonderful wife, well, she nattered.

Oh why do you pile those words over there?
They’re taking up space much needed for air!
Forgive me my dear,
I like them quite near,
without them, I simply don’t care.

He pushed them and nudged them, those words that he loved,
but his missus attacked them, often ungloved.
The man only smiled,
which left her unstyled
like all of her wits had been shoved.

One bright summer day the man took to flight,
off to the place we often call night.
His wife was aghast
as she stared at the past
and those piles of words in her sight.

She sat in their midst, breathing a sigh,
missing her husband caused her to cry.
The silly old pest,
could only but jest,
she missed him, but didn’t know why.

Until she began to shovel and scoop,
all of those words piled like poop,
throughout her house
by her missing spouse.
The thought made her lips start to droop.

Suddenly a baby word drew up quite near
and nudged at her eye, releasing a tear,
which started a flood
turning words into mud
who then giggled out loud with good cheer!

Contagious it was—all of that mirth,
more precious than gold (what it was worth)
turning around
her well-practiced frown,
releasing a smile on the earth.

What she’d never known, what she’d never seen,
was, though he’d loved words, she was his queen.
The joy those words brought
was what he had sought,
to give to his wife who’d been mean.

Now she saw through the mud his bright smile,
amplified much by the pile,
full of whipples and wots
and twisted what-nots
plus words not used in a while.

The funny ones, much in disuse,
discarded and thought too obtuse,
pronounced with a quack,
or maybe a glack,
were enough to plant grins on a moose.

So she gathered those words with great care
She even put some in her hair.
They whispered to her
like a kitty-cat’s purr
and her smile made onlookers stare.

She threw out her lonely big bed
and slept on those word piles instead.
The man of her dreams,
although silly, it seems,
was the hubby she’d deemed loose at the seams.

Finally she really did love him, him and his odd-wording ways.
She reads his words without ceasing, on her many, colorful days.
Her nights are now filled with chatter
and nattering, nat-nat-nat natter.
Those words and hers, joined as one voice, singing a word-piler’s praise.



John Wulf  08-11-15 for Dr. Seuss Quote Prompt Contest

Copyright © John Wulf


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Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty


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Football, Beer, His Car and Kid

-The Same Old SongS-

That's all he ever talks about 


~SKAT~

Copyright © SKAT A


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Whiteness

Winter frost on willow trees  
     Weeping tears of snow.  
Halos 'round the opal moon,
     Hopeful, humble glow.           
Ivory keys collecting dust, 
     Itching to be played.   
Tresses bleached by age and time,
     Thinning as they fade. 
Empty pages bound in cloth,
     Ernest for a word.
Naked rows of birches -
     Noble and absurd. 
Endless skies of cotton clouds 
     Eager to unfurl.
Strings of sparkling diamonds, 
     Strands of subtle pearls.
Shovel, shiver - still, it falls:
     Snow subdues the world.

Copyright © Heather Ober


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Poet - 'A Poet's Worth'

Poet—Your words,
Like garments of
Gold and silver thread,
Shimmering in sunlight
Or bathed by moonlit glow,
When shed—
Leave me breathless,
Caught up in their naked truth
And timeless flow—
And I become aware
Of nothing else.



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong


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A Visit From Santa Claus

It was Christmas Eve, not a soul made a sound,
And not so much as a mouse could be found,
The children had hung their stockings on the hearth,
As a quiet, peacefulness gently fell upon the Earth,
My family were all asleep, their heads full of dream,
Of Santa's arrival with his eight reindeer team,

Father in his nightcap, slept soundly in bed,
And Mother in her nightgown of green and red,
When all of a sudden I heard a commotion,
And jumped out of bed with a curious notion,
I ran to the window and pulled open the curtain,
I thought it must be Santa Claus for certain,

New fallen snow shone bright below the moon,
Giving the illusion of daylight in mid afternoon,
I looked out my open window despite the cold,
When a sight met my eyes, wondrous to behold,
A lively, old gentleman aboard a great sleigh,
With eight flying reindeer leading the way,

As quick as a bolt of lightning out of the sky,
He called to each one as they rocketed by,
"Now, Donner! Now, Vixen! Now, Dasher and Dancer,
On, Cupid! On, Blitzen! On, Comet and Prancer,
Leap up to the wall and onto the rooftop,
Dash away all and let us make our first stop!"

They flew through the air with much ease,
Like dry autumn leaves on a sudden breeze,
The reindeer landed so smooth and swift,
Along with Santa and a sleigh full of gifts,

I heard their hoofs pawing upon the shingle,
And joyful laughter from that old Kris Kringle,
I ran downstairs to catch a glimpse of his face,
Just as he came down, out of the fireplace,

He was cloaked in red with a fur trimmed suit,
And covered in soot from his hat to his boot,
A large sack full of presents he carried along,
He opened it up as he hummed a Christmas song,
With much merriment his blue eyes twinkled,
His face was joyful, and yet somewhat wrinkled,

His cheeks were blushed like the berries in holly,
His snow white beard was long and quite jolly,
From his pipe came out a great puff of smoke,
He began his work and not a word he spoke,
Santa Claus was tall, with a belly quite round,
And his laughter was a most glorious sound,

I looked on with glee as a smile crossed my face,
When he approached and gave me a warm embrace,
Then, Santa placed several gifts beneath our tree,
Something for the children, and Father, and me,

He filled the stockings with sugarplums and a toy,
Which I know will delight my little girl and boy,
The midnight hour on the mantel clock chimed,
He turned, then back up the chimney he climbed,

With a whistle he signaled for his reindeer to go,
And away they flew with a hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!,"
Before disappearing Santa exclaimed from his sleigh,
"To all a good night and a Happy Christmas Day!"



(repost)



Copyright © Kelly Deschler


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Twilight Hands

She hummed the dawning of the day
while spry hands bounced babies
Wielded a spatula with expeditious 
movements flipping pancakes onto a plate
Folded napkins at place settings

She was in full swing at noonday
as brisk hands folded lunchmeat and bread 
into sandwiches     Smoothed the creases 
from pages of homework     Kept the iron 
moving in a pendulum motion over 
the mounds of spanking clean laundry

She talked with her hands 
gesturing wildly with excitement 
Administered slaps to unruly kids with her hands
She took all gossip with a grain of salt 
Tossed a pinch over her shoulder 
with a cupped hand    just in case

With reverent hands and nimble fingers 
she daily turned the pages of the good book
unerringly finding the appropriate Bible verse 
Now a smattering of age spots dusts her smiling 
frail countenance aglow through paper-thin skin
And mother folds her twilight hands

Copyright © Monterey Sirak


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Hidden Beauty

Her smile was lopsided, crooked
And her eyes had lost their shine
In a wheelchair bound and broken
Sat this mother dear of mine

Once the one that they called “Sunshine”
Now was bowed with grief and care
Garbled speech and eyes unfocused
Made the people stop and stare

Yet in this woman there was hidden
Beauty of the rarest kind
Love for God and for her family
Love for words all graced her mind

She was brave and she was noble
Took the falls and burns and smiled
Knowing that her child, a daughter
Lived with fear so justified

People did not see the beauty
Hidden in her crumpled form
All that they could show was pity
Perhaps that is just the norm

But in her dear withered body
MS had so brutalized
Was a mother’s lasting beauty
That her daughter eulogized

Once a flower brightly blooming
In the garden of my home
She remains my flower ever
In the memories where I roam

Eileen Manassian

I grew up knowing my mother was ill and that she would eventually die due to MS. I lost my Mama on March 19, 2000. I still miss her...Her name? Angel. That was my Mama's name. When she was younger, they used to call her Sunshine because of her dazzling smile....

More poems I've written about my Mama:

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/may_17_429673
 
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/my_mothers_daughter_480741

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/march_19__464436

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_remember_you_443028 

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_hypochondriac_429384

Copyright © Eileen Manassian


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Another Day

A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.

As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.

Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.

Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.






A Word Collage For Chan Hurst



(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)

Copyright © Kelly Deschler


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The Crosses In Your Eyes

You never really knew the beauty of your soul.
Of how it is possible to be both old and young
within the same body that tells about the years past,
but can put to shame so many of today’s indolent youth.

How were you able to retain such innocence,
for only a child can categorically say such abhorrence
of one type of food even with the knowledge that it is good?
Yet words of deep understanding pour forth from the same mouth.

When the gift to listen was showered upon the earth
you must have paid attention, for you have it in abundance
“To hear is normal, to listen, a gift, to understand...a miracle”*
One who would care to keep these words would understand. You do.

You are sensitive. Who would have thought it so?
You have that amazing capacity to command words to your bidding
and just the right touch of irreverence to twist them when it suits you.
Still and all, you feel the wound deeply and I’d hate to be the cause of it.

I tried to look into your heart through your words.
Words which were already read by many before I entered the scene
yet they did not see the sadness, the dark that lurked in the corner of your light -
They were too mesmerized by the laughter, to see the crosses in your eyes.






*John W. Wulf, author of the book The Lady Who Loves the Whisper  
___________________________________________________________
1. The Poetry Soup Poem of the Week - 02 August to 08 August, 2015
2. The Crosses In Your Eyes Contest - 3rd Place , 29 July 2015
    Sponsor: Justin Bordner - 
  
Kim Patrice Nunez
27 July 2015

Copyright © Kim Patrice Nunez


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Mirror Ball

I'm sure this hill is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,

A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.

The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.

The future sighs, with solemn face
The wrecking ball, the glittered waste
No plaque to read "Historic Sight".
The swirling dust, a dance goodnight.


Gene Bourne
08-01-14
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Copyright © Gene Bourne


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My Angel in Disguise- Tribute to FJ Thompson

She saw my pain and gifted me a crown
and named me Queen when I felt like a clown
She sent her gift cross the many miles
And wreathed my teary face in rainbow smiles

She knew what words and rhymes all mean to me
And so she gifted joy to poetry
A chance to add an image to my rhyme
And write of life and what makes it sublime

She left this place for she could not abide
discrimination’s sneer; it touched her pride
But she came back for me in time of need
When others brought me down, my heart she freed

In every line she writes my heart can trace
The beauty of an angel filled with grace

For Silent One's Tribute Contest
Revised August 6, 2015

F J (Flo) Thompson is a woman I admire with my whole heart. Some of you may know the story of how she named me Queen and wrote a poem about my kingdom here on the Soup. Knowing the sensitivity of my heart, she sent me a tiara and hair decorations in the mail all the way here to lift my spirits.  She gifted me my first Premium Membership and now….a year later, she gifted me the second one along with a Lifetime Membership. I discovered that she anonymously gifted others Premium Memberships as well.  Friends like this are so rare and precious. I’m overwhelmed as I write. I love being able to add photos to my poems and being able to blog. People don’t know what joy I find in writing. FJ knows. She’s my angel in disguise. I’m forever grateful. I love her poetry because of the strength of passion and conviction with which she writes. 

Copyright © Eileen Manassian


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GOODBYE DAD

Dad I know you would understand We weren’t there at the last to hold your hand We had already said our last goodbye You are now with the angels in the sky Tribute to my lovely dad who passed away peacefully last night at 7.55pm RIP Dad we will miss you Jan xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 21st February 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON