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Don't stop! The most popular and best Argue poems are below this new poems list.

why do we argue by Osho, Francis
To Argue Or Not To Argue by Parker, Frederic
Argue Shadows by Mantle, Emma
There ain't no need to argue by Henderson, Rachel-erika
wide spread argue by SCHMIDTKA, IAN

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The Best Argue Poems

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During Sex I'm Often Naked

You can't make someone love you all you can do is be someone who can be loved.The rest is up to them. No matter how much I care, some people just don't care back. It takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it. You can do something in an instant will give you heartache for life. It's not what you have in your life but who you have in your life that counts. You can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes. After that, you'd better know something. It's not what happens to people that's important it's what they do about it. Always leave loved ones with loving words. Either you control your attitude or it controls you. Heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences. Money is a lousy way of keeping score. Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have. Regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place. Never tell a child their dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if they believed you. You must be able to forgive. No matter how good a friend is, they are going to hurt you every once in a while - you must forgive them for that. No matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief. Our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are but we are responsible for who we become. Just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other and just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do. Two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different. No matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides. You can keep going long after you think you can't. Even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help. It is hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe. Credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being. Writing, as well as talking, can ease emotional pains. The paradigm we live in is not all that is offered to us. (This is my own personal rewrite or version if you will of a common post on the internet with many contributors and credited to Anonymous) 22~12~2014


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Cas Tim Jan And Me

You have all heard I am sure of the three musketeers
The group with the swords not the ones with the funny ears

Reminds me of a joke that right here would apply
There are three kinds of people I tell you no lie
Those who are really quite good at math
And those who are not and that's that

They were the three musketeers but they were four
Their math was bad not three, four and no more
I hope you're all still with me, I'm not trying to be a pest
I need you to follow me because at the end there's a test

There is Casarah 
Yeah and hurrah
She is a good ma

Then there is Tim
You should know him
He's tall and trim

And  finally there is the kind hearted Jan
From England she's the one with no tan
Coy and demure behind her fancy fan
 
 If you kept count that makes three
Who can argue. You'd have to agree.
Now we have arrived at what I am trying to say
I've just joined them and I quite enjoy sword play

Do you see? I am number four.
I'll just walk through their door.
That makes me the best, the fillet mignon
It turns  out that I am frikin'  D'Artagnan.


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Multi-Tasking

Wearing wireless headphones as I listen to the news.
I'm outside watching children playing, taking in the views.
There is screaming in my ears two voices disagree.
A little girl serves her playmates imaginary tea.

They're speaking on the pod, unarmed victims shot by police.
Captives tortured in war. I hear our own. I hear their pleas!
There's screaming in my ear a few voices disagree.
Little girls sitting pretend to speak French saying Oui, Oui!

There are typhoons hitting an island, reminds me of a tsunami.
Also officials gathering parts of a plane shot down by an army.
What  happened to the plane that went missing, no one remembers.
Teenagers on the street play basketball great kids, great neighbors.

The president uses his pen, makes some politicians angry.
There is screaming in my ears so many voices disagree.
The girls skip rope, laughter fills the air and singing too.
 Pundits discuss, argue this and that it's what they do.
 Night and day is closer then these scholars and their degrees.
Theres screaming in my ear, voices, everyone disagrees.

The guys still shooting hoops, living the life, always polite.
Protests on the streets, the  police display their might.
Some back peaceful protests others speak accusingly.
There is screaming in my ears, crowds of voices disagree.

I wave goodbye to the boys, we'll talk, I'll see them again soon.
The children want me to skip rope I play along like a buffoon.
They laugh that I can't skip properly. I leave them to their play.
There's screaming in my ear, voices...might as well talk to clay

My sleep will be hard, in the morning the sun will shine, children will wake.
What kind of world will we leave, you smile and laugh but feel like a fake.
Look how well we have done. When did we stop being one, being mild.
What happened to being cohesive? It takes a village to raise a child.
There is too much screaming in my ears, too many voices disagree.
I can only pray, lend my voice to the calm, hope we can all agree.

11~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Contest Name: I CAN'T BREATHE: A peaceful Protest, An Anthology of Powerful Poems 
 


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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To the Scoffers of Sensual Writes

To those who think that poetry must be
of lofty things, not sensuality
To those who write of stars and sun and moon
and who to romance will not ever swoon

To those who write of angst and misery
of all that has gone wrong in history
To those who think I write frivolity
and read not what I write: an oddity!

I write to you, and all my thought's I'll bare
and see if you can argue if you dare
If you’ve forgotten passion's blazing fire
Or how consumed your heart was with desire

If you’ve forgotten romance in the night
Or making love in early morning light
If you’re denied the thrill of ecstasy
And can’t bear witness to its urgency

If you have come of age when health concerns
are all of life that now your mind discerns
I tell you dear, the fault is yours not mine
Devoid of love life meets not plan divine

The gift of love is granted from on high
You can’t deny that even if you try
the pleasure’s woven in anatomy
He formed and blessed our sensuality

To reproduce was in his own design
But also to enjoy the act sublime
There is a little bud that’s meant to thrill
It’s only use is pleasure to fulfill

So tell me, what is life if not for this
To show commitment with the sweetest kiss
In right communion to be drenched in love
And in its throes to glide to heights above

My fellow poet, write of lofty things
And all the finer thoughts that wisdom brings
I pity you for love and passion’s reign
Has banished you from glory with disdain

All nature and all life with love is mixed
And so my mind with passion is transfixed
It’s love that makes this world go round and round
Without it, best be buried underground.

Eileen Manassian





Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Caring For My Mother - A Letter To A Loving Friend


I sit here alone...wondering...how much longer this...and in hearing 
the question a silent icy fear blankets my body...the answer would 
come wearing both masks...tragedy...comedy...this is my life. with
freedom comes death...it hangs over me like a Mexican piñata filled 
with chocolate covered blades...so each day firmly slipped into 
neutral I exist...barely a choice to live...so I ask myself...how
did I get here...the answer comes thundering from up above...
a dead poet speaks...son that is the path you chose at your fork 
in the road... you don't argue the truth...you just throw cold water on 
your face...no...you step into a frigid shower...cleanse your thoughts
...stand in defeat happy to feel something even if it is just the pain of 
your nerve endings screaming...soaking wet and naked is the only life 
you presently afford yourself...there is no one to hear your tears...
what little sound they make rolling down your cheeks...they are not 
self pitying but rather wanting...of a loss so deep...what in your own 
self appreciation defined you...you want back your art...it...that so 
often led you back to the promised land...still you are not that hot 
headed fool you once were...you will not stand on the mountain only 
to shatter the tablets with their ten commandments...a cooler head 
prevails...so you think...like a soap opera...these are the days of my
life...I am strong and vibrant...yes I am and I will walk as slowly as I 
must towards my light and yes I will come out the other side a better 
man for this. 

08~01~2015
Armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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Hard Work

Laughter drifts through the house, ....it has been such a while
Debate filters in, from the kids in the kitchen
The rafters are rattled with two strong opinions
Girls against boys, with opposing positions
I've watched them shuffle their cards and argue who won,
They seem to be lost, in the light masquerade,
of bittersweet happiness that is dim from the gray

Dipping their chips into onion laced cream
smacking their lips, and drinking their cokes
They are betting a few of the red plastic discs,
that will ante' this round 

...I listen, and smile, it's a beautiful sound, ...
   So long overdue,.......
                     we are embracing the mood... and it is time that we do....

Now a new game ensues.....
Monopoly, perhaps? Or charades, they will play
Whatever it is, ........ let it fill up the day
                                Let it take them away,....away from the gray

I let up the shade
to watch the evening come in,  bringing umber and rust,
as earth swallows dusk, which is fading away

From the living room window, I am hoping to see 
geese flying back to their warm winter homes
All nature seems normal, routine, once again

Winter is coming and a new year begins
How will it be now, this journey, untried,?
As we move on, wearing smiles, wearing grief on our sleeves
Smiles, for awhile, hiding anguish, and pride

Cold days are arriving......and there is talk on the hill 
where tall pine trees are whispering, 
reminding the creek, and the ash trees are shedding
and katydids will not call out condolences in the dark

Soon enough, when the lark sings,  wet grass will need tending
stacks of shutters will need painting,
and snow will yet need to be pushed aside

How will they cope..?
He's not here to do it...but somehow we hope
they will wade their way through it..

But for now , at a kitchen table
for these brief moments, they are able
to laugh, argue, and have fun...
                       Someone shouts out,  "I won!"..

Joy is hard work...but it needs to be done 




_________________________________________________________


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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White Lace

Winter cloaked in the whitest lace
Spreads its folds across the land
Transforming the earth's tired face
In beauty she makes her quiet stand

For those who weep for summer lost
And long for days of idle breath
Those days come at winter's cost 
She sings the songs of living death

For naught we argue with the wind
And rail at ice that will not weep
Hoping these days will soon rescind
And her buried promises  keep

Winter dances with solemn grace
Dressed in her white gown of lace




Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2010

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Open Sores

I am a coward with open sores. 
I write and wonder who it bores. 
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly. 
I see others carrying out my dreams; 
that’s what’s defeated me.
 
I am a coward with open sores. 
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way. 
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say... 
I worry the world will leave me. 
I cry because no one believes in me. 

I am a coward with open sores. 
I understand nothing comes easy. 
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me. 
I dream I am healed and brave. 
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave. 
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours. 
I am a coward with open sores. 




©  2011  ~JSLaM    

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011

* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011 

* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011
                 
   


Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011

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My Funny Valentine

Vino
Vinny
Vino
Vinny
There was no doubt I was seeing double
Vinny poured another glass
I actually think it was whiskey
There we sat, at the back of the Angelos Steak and Kill
The joke wasn’t lost on many
The joint was dark and filled with smoke
Each booth offering up its own unique privacy

Never an evening went by
That some devious plot or plan wasn’t being hatched
Tonight was no different
Vinny laid it all out on a napkin
He told me revenge is bitter sweet
Tomorrow night we would feast on the bitter and the sweet
I had no doubts
I was ready to prove my worth
I was ready

Well the next night came faster than a hangover
Eight of us left in two cars 
We had a shot of grapa, only that
The Capone said we needed all are wits about us tonight, and then some
Now no one could argue that, and no one would

Laughter and bravado go hand in hand
We arrived on the side street, where one lone doorman 
Was smoking his life away
Little did he know, how soon that fag would be his demise
One shot to the head, and blood spurted 
The water fountain of death
Began its dance


In went Vinny in the lead and me right on behind
One doesn’t waste time with fancy introductions
We were there to deliver the red blood of revenge
Sweet death served to order, and we followed orders
The dinnerware and glasses shattered, wine became blood
Made men fell, bullets tangoed uniting the living with the dead

A blood bath
There are no other words to explain
The dead danced with our bullets and fell onto the now red carpet
Revenge was served, they said bitter sweet
Me, I fell to my knees
Vinny he looked over with an uncomprehending stare

The waitress serving drinks
Was shot right through the heart, it was my bullet
That murdered my finance
For me this revenge was to be only bitter
Dazed I lay, in a pool of blood, hers

Sirens in the distance
Vinny yelling, get the hell up, get the hell up
There was no heaven or up for me
I was as good as dead
They left
I crawled over to her

Tears clouded my vision
I laid my head upon her breast
Entwined in agony, within the grasp of reaper
I caressed her soft hair, I kissed the sour blood of my sins
My enemies in death, served me my own poison


She put a finger to her lips
Seductively 
She whispered shhhhhhhh
I whispered back, with my now black heart

Be my
Funny valentine

She smiled softly and died


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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No More Soup For Me

I sought a place to post my poems and thought I'd found a fit for me.
At first I was thrilled and felt I belonged to a pleasant community
But I lost my taste for soup and then came to the sour realization
That it's a site of more takers than givers, one rife with idolization.
It's overdue for me to take my leave. This is a place I no longer belong.
I've had enough of those who can't seem to tell what's right from wrong.

I don't want to read nasty words from writers who use vulgarity
or comments of praise that were made without thought to sincerity.
I never liked the idea of 'you read my poetry so I'll read yours, too.'
A tit for tat mentality?  Isn't that what politicians and children do?
I don't want to be in a place where people argue, fight, and grumble
or with those pretending to be nice, but complain of others in mumbles.

I never thought my poetry was on par or better than many in the soup
but I was pleased with what I posted among all those in the group.
Scripture tells me to consider others superior, so I have lowliness of mind.
Humility is a quality I wish to emulate, so it's on humble pie I've dined.
I don't have an ego though accused of having one. I'm not pretentious
but this soup has those who are eager to be obstinate and contentious.

Pointing fingers and throwing insults?   It sounds infantile but it's true.
I've even been called a hypocrite by one who shares this site with you.
No judgement will I make of the one who stoops to callow name-calling.
Reaping what we sow is always the repercussion of what's befalling.
I've not mentioned any names because I prefer exiting on the high road. 
We're all responsible for our choices and some people have no honor code.

A poetry site should be a place of camaraderie, not one of self-defense.
A place where encouragement reigns, where no one is stressed and tense.
Galatians warns to stay away from dissension, hostility, envy, and jealousy,
so in accordance with His Words, this soup is not a place where I should be.
In the eight months I've been around I met some of you who were kind.
I hope you know you meant a lot to me and will often cross my mind.

I'm moving on to enriching phases of what's important in my life.
I wish everyone well  -  no hard feelings  -  no bitterness or strife.
My hand still holds a pen so I'll write when the words fill my head
Time for me to take my leave.  In soup waters I'll no longer tread.


Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016

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Till My Poems Are, no More

I bequeath to you my poems,
For words are all I own--
May the images of snow and fall
Bring you comfort when alone.

And I will leave you all of it;
The moonlight on the moor--
As well the quiet, leafy wood,
Or a sunbathed distant shore.

And among the rhyme and imagery;
The metaphor, and theme--
You'll read of rose and morning dew,
Of midnight naps, and dream.

And somewhere in between the lines
The fantasy turns real--
So take these words I proffer you,
And touch, and taste, and feel.

Amazing are the things you'll see,
Like the ivy-covered wall--
Or the icy streams of diamond
And the spill of waterfall.

So enchanting is the moonlight,
So too the autumn breeze--
Oh how I'll miss the butterflies
And the stand of ancient trees.

So precious is the lily pond,
The wildflowers too--
Take comfort in the song of rain
And the pansies playful hue.

How amazing is the hummingbird
In uncertain, frenzied flight--
Reminds me of the dawn and eve
As they argue, day or night.

And in the valley of the glen,
Where stands the steeple church--
There remains a knee-high meadow,
And a lovely stand of birch.

So Immerse yourself in wondering,
Set your spirit to the sky--
Behold as children, puffs of cloud;
The bee and butterfly.

And let your palette taste the wind,
Hear the quiet of the snow--
While delighting in the jasmine;
The sweetest scent I know.

Take my words and nurture them,
Kindly revel in my dream--
And keep alive the buttercup,
As well the mountain stream.

May you sleep the night, and linger;
That my dream may carry on--
Give life to every word and thought
Till the images are gone.

May you celebrate the beauty;
May you open every door--
Till the sun is swallowed by the sea,
And my poems are, no more.

~M





Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014

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JAN ALLISON

I prefer to be called Jan … only my mum calls me Janet
Makes me feel like a naughty child and I am never naughty!

Just started writing poetry last year
Aims to try and make you smile
Now I have the writing bug and I never want to stop

All I want to do is learn about writing
Loving my new found creativity
Life experiences recently have made me stronger 
I don’t try to pretend to be anything I’m not
Self-confidence is at an all time high
Only those very close to me know what makes me tick
Now is my time to shine

The meaning of ‘Janet’ in Hebrew is Gift from God
So who am I to argue with that endorsement!!!!

Sponsored by CT
Contest – what’s in your name
2nd December 2015


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

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And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 
money.

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.


Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009

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The Door To Forever

It was such a small thing
It happens all the time
Fathers and sons disagree
Fathers and sons argue
Fathers and sons say things
Things they really don't mean...

We exchanged words
Harsh words over nothing, nothing at all
Childish words over petty differences
Angry words which are critical
so critical now to recall and to relive
over and over again…

You were ready to drop the matter
You were ready to relent and apologize
I was not ready to drop the matter
I was not ready to relent and apologize

You were the adult, I was the child
I reversed the roles, you reversed them back
You wanted to relent. I refused to relent
I refused and let you walk out that door

Yes, I let you walk out that door
That front door, the door to forever

the last time I didn't talk to you
the last time I didn't say I love you
the last time I saw you
the last time I saw you alive…

Submitted for the contest: 'Something Seemingly Insignificant and Unexpected Changed My Life'






Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2015

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Tell Me

I have heard, others talk about your god
He doesn't sound like a god I wish to know
Sitting in heaven high on his throne
While I'm left to suffer here all alone
Guilty of sins for which I must atone
I've called those television evangelists on the phone
Put my hands on the screen, as they gave god praise
Was that him working in mysterious ways?
They say he created everything in just six days
No wonder he needed a day of rest
He must be more exhausted with all the sins being confessed?
I myself could keep him busy for over a year 
You can't imagine what's on my chest
It goes even deeper compacted and pressed
So why? I ask why
Why do I need a god of fairy tales
Hung on a cross with nails
Him who is righteous 
and me who always fails
Tell me?
Yes tell me
I really want to know


I too would not want to know that god
Distant sitting on a throne
While we suffer all alone
Burdened by sins for which we can't atone
Confessing to some fraud on a telephone
I will let others sing their false praises
With their religiosity and New Age Crazes
Repeating pseudo wise lines and rehearsed phrases 
Placing unsuspecting seekers in guilded cages

I sit here and wonder
What is there for me to tell?
I have no magic spell
God isn't a product to sell
Let others try to argue and yell
I cannot convince you what to feel
You believing in God doesn't make Him real
He has always exisisted
Deeper than any feeling
Not just a fairytale
Abstract and appealing
He says "Come to me all you who are weary"
A God of compassion 
Not a "Big Bang Theory"
Because I know Jesus
I'm thankful and teary 
He has answers to question's that can't be answered by "Siri"

It's hard understanding  
a God you don't know 
When you feel tossed by life's waves to and fro 
Reach out your hand, my God won't let go
Look in my eyes
See God's reflection
With his heart I witness your perfection
You are not some evolutionary collection
Formed from cosmic dust or random selection
You are Loved that's why Jesus died for you
His love intimate
Freely given and true
Unearnable by things you think you have to do
He patiently knocks at your door and waits for you
if you open the door you will believe in Him too
I speak from my heart and these words are true

We each have our own truth is what I believe
Yours is original sin, Adam and Eve
Yet your God is intimate as well
One who Loved us even though we fell
I'll keep my mind open and wait for a sign
If he's real, perhaps one day He'll be mine
Give me your book
I'll read and test it line by line
Perhaps the water in my veins
Will turn into living wine
When with the King I dine!


Reposting after reading Miraj's thought provoking poem "In Search of God".







This is a creative exercise between myself and my friend Eileen.
I've chosen to take on the persona of a non believer who is questioning.
I look forward to her response, it should make for an interesting conversation.

I put Eileen on the spot with this one by posting it before she viewed it.
Her creative process is different than mine and I should have respected that.
Eileen sent me some soup mails with some creative ideas which I have
weaved into my story. Thanks for the inspiration Eileen, we will take on
another collaboration soon.




Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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The Final Say

As our world spins into this blatant madness Family units like dead leaves, fading fast! Our children lost, good values tossed Idols abound, keeps us in a choke! Excesses, extreme shape our lives The Golden Rule, now a corny joke! A simple guide to can heal our earth-disregarded Yet, in spite of all these, God will have the final say When wars and storms sweep across our earth Leaders ignore the hour at hand Perhaps, the last to stand as men To right the wrongs of history past And re enact laws to seal the cracks! Potent winds arising, already on track Remember, love for man and nature will heal this earth Yes, I believe, in spite of all these, My God will have the final say So let the politicians, argue, fight and scheme Let the liars, deceivers, play their games!” Let death merchants chant their evil anthem “It’s not a child, but a piece of flesh”! While the years like pages torn from a book All blowing away like dust in the wind Gone forever beyond eternity's veil! 'Too simplistic', some claim, that love's the remedy Yet, in spite of all these, I will fear no end, for My God will have the final say! ~*~


Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010

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The Conscience

In moments brief, rippled light pierces dark.
Exposing the shadowed world of desire.
Rising like a mist, a decision stark.
Whether the soul refrains, when flesh sets fire.
Between two fragile worlds that tug and haunt.
Where the sun neither sets or rises.
The measured distance from soul and flesh taunt.
The struggle for dominance crystallizes.
Like leaves drifting silent through open space.
Like a bird gliding in wondrous flight.
The soul seeks to find its final face.
When it stirs from restless human plight

To argue with reason, when emotions reign.
To release a demon, your soul to blame

8/26/15


Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015

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Tell Me

I have heard, others talk about your god
He doesn't sound like a god I wish to know
Sitting in heaven high on his throne
While I'm left to suffer here all alone
Guilty of sins for which I must atone
I've called those television evangelists on the phone
Put my hands on the screen, as they gave god praise
Was that him working in mysterious ways?
They say he created everything in just six days
No wonder he needed a day of rest
He must be more exhausted with all the sins being confessed?
I myself could keep him busy for over a year 
You can't imagine what's on my chest
It goes even deeper compacted and pressed
So why? I ask why
Why do I need a god of fairy tales
Hung on a cross with nails
Him who is righteous 
and me who always fails
Tell me?
Yes tell me
I really want to know


I too would not want to know that god
Distant sitting on a throne
While we suffer all alone
Burdened by sins for which we can't atone
Confessing to some fraud on a telephone
I will let others sing their false praises
With their religiosity and New Age Crazes
Repeating pseudo wise lines and rehearsed phrases 
Placing unsuspecting seekers in guilded cages

I sit here and wonder
What is there for me to tell?
I have no magic spell
God isn't a product to sell
Let others try to argue and yell
I cannot convince you what to feel
You believing in God doesn't make Him real
He has always exisisted
Deeper than any feeling
Not just a fairytale
Abstract and appealing
He says "Come to me all you who are weary"
A God of compassion 
Not a "Big Bang Theory"
Because I know Jesus
I'm thankful and teary 
He has answers to question's that can't be answered by "Siri"

It's hard understanding  
a God you don't know 
When you feel tossed by life's waves to and frough 
Reach out your hand, my God won't let go
Look in my eyes
See God's reflection
With his heart I witness your perfection
You are not some evolutionary collection
Formed from cosmic dust or random selection
You are Loved that's why Jesus died for you
His love intimate
Freely given and true
Unearnable by things you think you have to do
He patiently knocks at your door and waits for you
if you open the door you will believe in Him too
I speak from my heart and these words are true

We each have our own truth is what I believe
Yours is original sin, Adam and Eve
Yet your God is intimate as well
One who Loved us even though we fell
I'll keep my mind open and wait for a sign
If he's real, perhaps one day He'll be mine
Give me your book
I'll read and test it line by line
Perhaps the water in my veins
Will turn into living wine
When with the King I dine!










This is a creative exercise between myself and my friend Eileen.
I've chosen to take on the persona of a non believer who is questioning.
I look forward to her response, it should make for an interesting conversation.

I put Eileen on the spot with this one by posting it before she viewed it.
Her creative process is different than mine and I should have respected that.
Eileen sent me some soup mails with some creative ideas which I have
weaved into my story. Thanks for the inspiration Eileen, we will take on
another collaboration soon.





Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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UFO's Believe It or Not

U nderstandably pleasing everyone is not possible. She wrings her hands
f or even under the best of circumstances, those who wish to take
o ffensive will, ranting and raving, howling at the moon, arse-kissing 
A ny plastic image stuck to a dash-board, paying the piper.
r eally, is it any wonder hellicopter head lights are taken for 
e rrant space ships, even Ezekiel saw a flying wheel
S uspended within a wheel, and we all know, the Bible is the word
o f God. Are you going to argue with that
R easoning? really? like well, just because Leary was on acid
e ven Hindi yogis saw levitating laghimas
a nyway, she says wringing her hands
l believe in them!


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013

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A Friend

A friend is always there for you
when you need them most
A friend will give the last they have
and, never brag or boast

A friend will always love you
just the way you are
A friend will come to visit you
no distance is too far

A friend will give you the biggest hug
on those days you need to cry
A friend will always go with you
and, never ask you why

A friend will always tell you
all the times that you are wrong
A friend will tell you..if you can't sing
when you try to sing a song

A friend will argue and make you mad
`til  you can't stand..to see their face
That's when you both..go away for a while
and, give each other space

It's such an amazing thing in life
to have a wonderful friend
Who will share the good times and the bad
until the bitter end



I dedicate this poem to my best Friend 
Greg Stack
May you rest in piece
Feb. 14th 2015


Copyright © Roger Horsch | Year Posted 2013

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Patriotism

Have you ever thought about the Death of Christ?
Why did they crucify him?
If you read the story then you know
But what I ask is why didn't God stop them?
It's natural to protect our own
How could he let him be sacrificed?
For the good of all man I've been told
God sacrificed his only son for us
But what does he ask in return? What does he want?
Are we supposed to try and emulate him?
I wish to know
I don't understand his decision
To not help his only son, I couldn't do that
But I do know that is why we are not gods
Do people who give their lives for others emulate God?
When a solider dies for our country is he dying for us?
Or freedom? or both?
Are the parents godlike in their sacrifice of their children?
Like Christ when he sacrificed his only son
Or is it more than that?
Is patriotism just a mindset to get people to fight?
When one country is mad at another
It's the leaders who argue not the countries
Why can't the leaders fight and leave us alone?
Do leaders send their own children to fight and die?
Why should I send my children to fight and die for you?
Are you a God? Do you have my interests at heart? Or yours?
You say it is in the name of freedom, but whose freedom?
We have never been free
You send me to fight, kill, and die
And yet you say I am free, free to do what?
Free to murder those you want dead?
Free to send my children to their death for you?
Who are you again? Are you a God?
I fight for God not you
My children are not targets or murderers
And now you demand my children to be your shield
Who are you again? Never mind
I know who you are it's very plain to see
You are not a god you are a coward
You are evil and you are trying to destroy us
You are lying to all of us just as you always have
You speak of freedom
As you try to blind us with patriotism
And silence us with duty and honor, Meaningless!
From one who knows nothing of their meaning
I wonder what God would say to you
Knowing who and what you are
Would he forgive you?
Would he understand your deception? Would he?
I could not forgive you, this is why I am not a god
I can't forgive, I am vengeful, I would punish you
Without mercy
For allowing this deception of youth to continue
Maybe you believe your right but I can't believe that
You know what your doing is wrong yet you continue
One day you will pay, as we all will 
We are all guilty to some degree
But most of all we are guilty of sacrificing our children to you 
Who are you again? never mind
I just remembered, your the devil






Copyright © Eric Nolan | Year Posted 2009

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Too Fast for Me

For every step my father took,
my short legs took three.
“Daddy, please,” I called to him,
“you walk too fast for me.”

My sister took a husband;
my brother went to sea.
Our father sighed, “Our family time
has been too brief for me.”

As my teen years ended
and college lay before me,
Dad shook his head in sadness,
“It’s all too fast for me.” 

When Mama died, we reminisced
their forty-seven years.
The passing time, the life they shared
were captured in our tears.

And as computers came of age,
Dad watched me surf the net.
“I’d like to learn,” he said to me,
“But I’m not ready yet.”

Then as Dad lay dying, carrying years
that numbered ninety-three,
I could not help but say aloud,
“They went too fast for me.”



* I wrote this poem on the way to my father’s funeral.  I wanted to read it aloud as a tribute, but my sister said the rhyme made it sound too amateurish.  She has her PhD in Literature, so I didn’t argue.  I should have.


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

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Learn to dance

		
Got a party coming up
I need to learn some moves
so I listened to the all-time greats
for tips on how to groove.
These music legends from times past
should know the moves to use
but what they say is conflicting
and now I'm just confused.
Curtis Mayfield sang 'move on up'
Dobie Gray sang 'get on down'
but someone else says 'get on up'
can't argue with James Brown.
'Let your backbone slip' says Otis Redding
(he sat on the dock)
but last time that I tried that move
the darned thing went and locked.
Chubby Checker did the twist
but that just gives me gyp,
Van Halen reckon I should jump
more likely that I'll trip.
On second thoughts, I'll sit it out,
ignore the dance floor action.
If I take on all of this advice
I'll just end up in traction.
Some dancers are pure naturals
it's how their body's wired,
in my case it's much simpler-
I'm getting old.
And tired.


Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2015

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The Jester Jack Hour



Hey everyone... do you know what time it is!!! It's time for The Jester Jack Comedy Hour Brought to you by "Hair Today... Gone Tomorrow!" The makers of fine electric shavers Now I know what you're thinking, I have a beard Why would I need an electric shaver Well, I have very hairy arms and legs A massive hairy chest and arm holes As well as very bushy eyebrows and ear holes! Now on to the show... have you heard this one What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back? Give up???... A STICK! Got a million of 'em Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana Dum de um dum! More? Okay... Do not argue with an idiot... he will drag you down to his level Then beat you with experience! Here's another... graveyard workers really dig their jobs A real groaner! Da de da de da da... da de da de da da Well that's all the time we have folks! So be sure to tune in next time To The Jester Jack Comedy Hour! © Jack Ellison 2014


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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Rio Grande River

Now this is quiet a famous little stream, many untold story
The muddy waters run slow, but don't let it fool you when it comes alive
Divides the United States and Mexico, but it is just a line
Old Cottonwood trees and quick sand, some cross it for glory
A history of out laws crossed it fleeing into Mexico, some did not survive
Maybe holding up a bank or stealing from a gold mine

Long yesterdays ago, Pancho Villa and his raiders came
They robbed and killed, then head back to their sanctuary 
Some though him to be a hero, to the poor he was a giver
He was an out law, that is where he got his fame
Even today there are those that will argue to the contrary
After he did his damage, he always crossed that river

Those muddy waters have seen a lot and still active
It has been a battle ground, many old cowboy songs sung
But like history, the old river changes too
Sometimes history is not very attractive
Those cottonwoods have seen many horse and cow thieves hung
Back in those days that what they had to do

The tides of the old river have changed. smugglers bring drugs to this side
No longer six shooters, it is machine guns now days
No more cowboys and Indians, now cocaine desperado thugs
Anything goes there, no such thing as pride
And the old river once again has had to change it's ways
It is all because of damn old drugs


Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2010