Poem | |
Upon my tiptoes, I gaze through a window, the window of my mind.
I pull back the curtain, peer from a partially drawn blind.
Before me lay this youthful beauty, perfection in every line,
And standing there beside her was the old keeper of all time.
He swiftly knelt beside her, and stroked her heaving chest,
Carefully caressed every curve, and sagged her gentle breast.
He cast his spell upon her, aging her as if fine wine.
Left some thoughtful wrinkles, added character in each and every line.
Bestowed upon her all that wisdom, more than she had ever known before.
Brought her many pleasures, also heartaches, several score.
Held her tightly about the waist, now broader at the beam.
Added some weight here and there, not as much as it might seem.
He gradually drooped her shoulders; shiny hair now turns to gray.
Faded memories of life's passing parade now help to pass her day.
Her youthful pace is throttle now, her feet shuffle slowly across the floor.
Though still a thing of beauty, that beauty is different than before.
Time for her is now slipping away, slowly heading for life’s stage door.
The journey has left her exhausted, no longer willing to fight the fight, but unwilling to beg for more.
Time had been an exciting lover, but she will not love another day.
She lies prone upon the sheet as Time exits the stage. I watch with amazement as the scene just fades away.
Poem | |
When my world collapses
And I'm feeling blue
When the chips are down
Can I count on you
Will you stand by me
And help ease my pain
Will you walk with me
Through fire and rain
Will you stay with me
When the world turns away
And hold my hand
Help me find my way
When the dark clouds come
And the sun don't shine
When the rain starts falling
Will you still be mine
If I lose it all
That I can no longer cope
Will you smile at me
And bring me hope
If I find my dreams
Have all turned out wrong
So that I must leave
Will you come along
When the tide arrives
As I stand in harm's way
Will you be my support
That I do not sway
We will walk through this world
With our heads held high
While our hearts reach out
And touch the sky
We will stand as one
With a love sublime
We will love forever
Until the end of time.
Poem | |
written 25th Oct 2013
I don't know if human's will ever see
every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
there has to be a place for the poorest
The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
I am to believe "all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story
The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
he learn's the treasures, of "everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of "richness
seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty "as an illness
Love start's from the soul, and from there, it is taught to grow
the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace, defining the difference in richest and wealth
t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth
He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
for his wealth, is humanly "uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...
Poem | |
I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home. I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.
I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay. Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual. He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being. Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies. He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination. It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.
Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home. Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work. When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims. In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.
Jimmy was not a promiscuous man. He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life. Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man. He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.
When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS. The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.
Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system. Jimmy and Afi
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.
It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away. I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.
Poem | |
My prayers are not asking you to
save me from my enemy.
My children have turned their backs.
They praise dance with many
When they need be refuking,
protesting and rebuking.
Among-st those who fight against me-
be my offspring.
I fear not the man who
I already know to be the beast
While my eyes follow my historical foe:
Those created in my womb,go
behind my back sign treaties with known
Chiding our valuable place in history.
They do not want to know how they got here-
They do not care.The nature
of the beast consumes them.
Eyes full of temptations we
kept their butts covered,
and gave them what we could never have.
Instead of gratitude they give us latitude
we cannot reach them.
They love the enemy, like a favorite pet-
Stroking the dog and biting
the hand that feeds them wisdom.
We walked miles with no shoes -
Prayed for our families-
Now our families-prey on us
With every thing handed to
them through the struggle;
Our children render our efforts
useless and in vain.
Vanity be thou sanity
Consuming life from
the top shelves in cafe's...
Thinking non -sober thoughts-
Who knows why we now be despise.
Deaf are their ears when they hear our names;
Holding us accountable, For the shame.
Never ready for the change.
My prayer now is;
God save me from my people:
The joy that settled in my
accomplishments is now
They want to have
their cake crumbs
and eat them too.
Save us from the
disgrace of how they
discount all we've sacrificed -
We made it through
and we have shown our
strength against all odds
How now they praise-
dance with the enemy
They drink no more
from separate fountains
Never sat in the balcony-
never knew the colored section;
Never stood on buses.
Those of us who never found a soft
place to land in the concrete jungles;
have lined your bottoms with cushion's
from the sacrifices and suffering we
Watching you again discount us as you
leave us to the ridicule of your own judgment.
As you praise dance with those
who aspire to see your detriment.
Never before have so many brave elders
have had to watch their own children rob
them of their glory and dignity.
Even an imbecilic knows when he's better off.
That's the sad difference between an
slow learner and a fool.
A fool never cares nor takes responsibility..
The slow learner finally learns.
And is delighted to be enlightened.
Where the fool continues
to waddle blissfully in his own ignorance -
Resenting all who shed light on the
error of his ways....
Those who have his best interest -
Become his stumbling block.
Difficult now for them to blame others;
With bright lights shining on stupidity--
We give them proof-
blinded and overwhelmed
by the truth-they are not interested our story
Never realizing that while their
stubborn heads were buried-in the sand.
We still have to stand-- guard
over their protruding azzes
Until my children have learned
where they fit in on earth,
and what they are truly worth
they will continue " Praise-
Dancing" with the enemies
They will continue to be as eaglet's
flapping around the yard ,
clucking with the chickens...
never soaring-never getting off the ground
Bewildered by our "diminutive etymology":
The Elders and The Ancestors;
We look dumbfounded,and mutter....
"Where did we go Wrong" ?
Poem | |
When I shall be the old man here,
Forgot by time, uncountable by year,
When I shall wish to pass the living brink,
At You I shall devote my thought and think.
Uselessness I`ll see in all that I achieve,
If I do not have love or can`t forgive
To do with love all that you have so ruled,
Unknown or known as suffering endured.
Washed I should not be from any of my sins,
If I did never forget or never forgive since
The hour of balance is inclined toward my trap,
And hardly passes us one thought or any other step.
And if I did not help that stranger foreign man,
A good word for the pain of that wretch sideman,
If I have never known to help my friend or mat,
In vain I shall be sorry, cry shouting or fill pat.
Or maybe all these I have done presuming,
But without love, alien and with so confiding,
Than I am just a sonorous forefinger copper,
An ugly earth body without climbing upper.
But even so, there is existing one more chance,
The wisdom in the last hour of one slippery Trans,
To give me power to see what does He want,
As life to give me; not to take and be redundant.
But sorrows, which born from facts and sin,
As are recognized, even now could be foreseen
That Judge with love in everything he does,
Inquires all and, with affection… forgives us.
Poem | |
Karma was my best friend...
Until I fell for her deceitfulness...
She always had my back when others would try to harm me...
I would laugh at her and the way she would play with others emotions...
Not knowing that I would fall as one of her victims...
See Karma is mysterious...
I guess that's why she is perfered as a female dog...
She has no feelings...
That's why she always wins her battles...
Me and her never see eye to eye now...
I guess we're to much alike...
I also have no feelings...
Some may say that's impossible, being a human with no feelings...
See, My mother is Sorrow...
My girlfriend is Pain...
My enemy is Fear, I have none...
I came in the world naked...
So Karma can't take anything from me that is rightfully mine...
So when I leave this Earthly Hell...
I will leave, knowing that I have won the battle that no one else has ever
Poem | |
When comes again your visitor,
Bringing the darkest evening of the year,
Do you stop for longer there-
To watch the woods fill up with snow?
And when travelling the road once more,
Through brighter nights and warmer days,
Do the woods seem so lovely still,
Still so lovely , dark, and deep?
Does your November guest still linger on,
To show you beauty in the withered tree?
And when the lakes have melted through,
And the birds returned,
Does she stay for the chores of Spring,
And whilst mending walls whisper quietly,
That good fences make good neighbours?
And when your window tree,
Is plumed again,
And watches you exposed ,
Does he see you in-between,
A faded earth and heavy sky,
With your guest asleep beside you?
Or does he see you happy there,
In warm fields freshly mown,
With a spirit kindred to your own,
So that henceforth you work no more alone,
To find the flowers,
Overlooked by the blade so keen?
Poem | |
She should have been Hera, goddess queen of heaven, the sister-wife of
Zeus, king of the gods; she would have caught him one Friday night tipping
Out while she sleeps to visit one of his plumy wives and over 100 relations.
She would have said, “Sit down Zeus; let me inform you about the laws of
Property settlement and child support in heaven with a concrete poem.”
She would have straightened up Aphrodite, goddess of love and lust.
Especially when Aphrodite was caught red-handed making love to
Her son, Ares, the God of war, she probably would have said, “Now look
Here woman, quit messing with my son and creating all this rumblings in
Heaven with the gods.” I could see some Lanturne poems floating
She would have acted as the sister of Demeter, goddess of fertility,
Agriculture, and harvest, a sister of Zeus. Because she would have
Blessed women with children who need them, and also farmers
With great harvest and crops to feed their families and sustain the
People across the land, by waving a haiku poem in her healing hands
She would have screamed as the sister of Hermes, the crooked cattle-rustling
God; son of Zeus and Maia, who stole his brother, Apollo’s cows, then
Lied, and swore before Zeus, their father, “That even if I knew who stole
Apollo’s cattle, I would not even accept a reward for finding the thief.”
She would have gave her crooked brother, and son of Zeus, a flying senryu
She would have been with Athena, the virgin goddess of wisdom, reason, and
Heroic endeavors; the daughter of Zeus, and Titan goddess of wise counsel
Métis, especially when Athena appeared onto Swift-footed demigod,
Achilles, and told him, “Sheathe your sword and defeat Agamemnon, the
Greek king with words of wisdom.” I could see some wise epigram poems
She was probably counseled by Apollo, her brother, god of music, healing, and
Poetry; the son of Zeus and the Titan goddess Leto. Because she has cared
For the sick in hospital emergency rooms, and has also stimulated us for years
With her poetic muse. She has counseled many along the way and has calmed
Many storms with loving charm. “Hail my sister in Christ—Karen O’Leary!”
Happy birthday angel and wishing you many more for years to come!
Poem | |
The other cheerleaders didn’t like football
Basketball was much easier to follow
But I got bored watching them dribble the ball
My response was hard for others to swallow
Growing up I didn’t have too many toys
So I had to find my own entertainment
I became a master of animal noise
When I “croaked” on the bleachers strange looks were sent
My frog impersonations left them aghast
When I did my seagull, the team stopped playing
They stared at me oddly as though I’d passed gas
They couldn’t relate to talents displaying
This was the first thing that led to my nickname
But once in class I was asked to give a speech
The teacher was writing, so bold I became
Her attention I was trying to beseech
Being a contortionist since childhood days
Locked one leg and arm, looked like a flamingo
I perched on one foot for each eloquent phrase
The teacher looked up and called me a weirdo
The class agreed and “weird Carolyn” was born
Frequently called upon to put on a show
Much laughter I bestowed, accolades adorned
Never understood why I didn’t have a beau
*Entry for Francine’s “Tell us something we didn’t know” contest. Okay, the secret's
out and I'm ready for my punishment. At high school reunions I'm still called upon to