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Details | Image Poem | |

Artillery Rain

~Perfect Rain~

Me! 
I can see!
All the tribulations around
A rage against the burning wind
Nobody hears the crackling sounds in my voice
Everybody avoids to feel the smoke hidden within
A rain so deep it burns all the enamel off my skin
A rain that cut my soul in half
Two piece that will never entwine or merge down my dragon path
I feel this eternity has no ending blaze
Trigger happy rain, extinguishing a bonfire around my rose.

I will sleep under the artillery stars tonight
With the perfection of my fiery crystal lava teardrops
Washing the ashes of my face,
Suppressing the overwhelming fear
Knowing no one will ever, "BLAME IT ON THE RAIN!" 
As long as the torch keeps loading another artillery round.

pd

Details | Image Poem | |

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday, your features grinned,
some silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind;
our images, that in the fields imbue.

I saw tempestuous, around me shades,
the rain's persistence had engraved your name
upon the slate, around she formed cascades,
inviting flash amid the drops, and flame.

I saw flash yesterday, inside the rain,
how beautiful it was, her kiss of dew
your words became my sails on trip arcane 
the clouds, your messengers, 'mid skies to strew.

I sensed the crooked line reticulate,
the sulfur acrid smell and pale flame's hue,
transmuting to abderian road skate,
zigzagging on a water copper tube.

The flame transformed to runnel flowing laughs;
the rustling of droplets on the leaves,
combined the bright and shapely drawing graphs
with clouds to form above, celestial eaves.

I saw flash yesterday, my features grinned,
like silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind:
two images, amidst the fields imbue.

© G. V., 10-21-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)


Details | Image Poem | |

Money-God

Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.

Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.

People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.

Godless? 
With or without the words, 
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God, 
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.

The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.

If I had been given the chance, 
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....

....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.

If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within, 
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.

Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling 
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.

Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.

If I had been given the chance -- past tense....

....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,

until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.







December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S:  28 - 2 = 26




January 7th, 2013




.

Details | Image Poem | |

Upon Longfellow bridge

Upon Longfellow bridge
(Street lights)

The Autumn leaves shift colors in the breeze
and some, above the land, will travel far
as whisperings inside the woods appease
through nature's flawlessness transmit, and mar.

Abundantly the light diffuses fore
the sun deluges neath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October was, upon Longfellow bridge.

The twilights of the Autumn so expand
to hail the stars on Massachusetts towns;
my freshman attitude enfold, unplanned,
while lithe the night the street lights casts and crowns.

In darkness, still, the street lights blink before
the night retreats beneath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October is, upon Longfellow bridge.

© 10-01-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Sponsor: nette onclaud
Contest Name: FIND THE PUZZLE! 
T A R N D A I


Details | Image Poem | |

Spiritual Moment

“My Mystic Moment*with you”

A natural look of who I am on the inside.
A reality check of who you are on the outside.

A mirror facing west makes the difference in you and me.
Open your eyes and see.

The child I was today is the reflection of you tomorrow.
The ideas of different skies, drifted off without sorrow.

I am the good the bad, and the ugly…
A song permitting retrospection to delay the same face with yesterday’s glee.

From moon, to admirable moon;
The dignity of holding the same tune.

I am the swan that swims through your veins.
You are what swim’s through my moods and rain.

The miracle of our heritage, echoed so far away. 
Auspices now imitate metaphors that were under the surface bay.

An unknown look strays outside the window.
Behind the gates, that leads into tomorrow’s limbo.’

A mirage of turning around and seeing nobody but you and me.
Mystic moments that attract other moments of originality.

A dream that speaks about the image of my new beginning.
My courage polishes off the mirror image of a falling stars ending 
You are the beating pulse that resides on the inside and outside of my being. 

“You are the REFLECTION of my spiritual place”





Details | Image Poem | |

FLAVORS OF HER ESSENCE


A woman's soul, is it as porous as the air that breaks the water and earth apart from each other? In the slither of liquid contours, this maiden's essence blows into tiny glints of filling days’ silent pages without having to fill in the blanks. But such fire on her navel; swelling, leaping forth unto a black dahlia of night dripping with all the kerosene stars like a tigress on a hidden, sensuous prowl... This is her shape. Then coming from metal gut, she fumes of musky-flavored energy, steaming the brain for a war of poker in a den filled with invincible men as she raises the bets for a royal flush of aces... This is her bullish time. Yet, curling into late evening she enters into the pillows of her soul rinsed from the bouquet and incense of a dulcet day, her bosom of long breaths warming the lamp gentle, temperate, and mild in peace, coasting along the ledge of her swan sleep... This is her soul's time, shape and peace. Anthony Slausen's Scent Of Your Soul 10/14/2014

Details | Image Poem | |

NOVEMBER DREAMS




A marquee of stars dims, to beckon early winter’s stage;
Reflecting crunched flowers in ghastly hues, detached from their limp boughs.
The nightfall drapes hush of serenity , as flakes soothe trees’ nest.



 Andrea Dietrich's  October Bliss or November Dreams
10/09/2014


Details | Image Poem | |

The Simple Pen

            The Simple Pen

I am but a simple man with pen in hand
To cut open a slice of universe with verse
And with the ink
Let it bleed not red
It flows instead with mortal colors
Over a life well spent
What is left over
We drink this in a cup
Pour more to fill it up
But little at a time
Too much reality can cloud your mind
Said the simple man with bleeding pen
 

Details | Image Poem | |

Out of the Sun

              Stayed 
             in the sun 
              to long
               today
 The skin became the bark of a tree
 the soul turning to brittle scars
 for uncaring worlds to see.
             my face
            is a pile of 
           old owl bones
sewn into banks of midnight creeks...
even the plump, over ripened ones 
no longer look at me...
but if their car was desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black
they'd paint a wormy, water colored  smile...
slide it through my barbed wired heart
so long as I could spin the jack...
so I spin it until their potholes turn to satin-
               Stayed 
              in the sun
               to long
                today
the mind has smoothed over 
like pebbles in Saturn rings..
a forgotten spice in the conversation of life
an hour later the word snuggles up to me
               laughingly.

Tomorrow or forever( which ever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside
till my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday 
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack,
when the mind was a great silky nest...
the face a flowered meadow place 
where watercolors swirled all day, 
the heartworms kept at bay.

I'll stay hidden within the briar, 
till the jewels of memories sooth 
every scar - every stripe,
the molten knots of cruelty,
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
until then only my curtains breathe...
       ...stayed in the sun 
              to long
                today





Details | Image Poem | |

Ugly


Underneath the exterior Gardenias bloom unannounced Lamenting that no one lifts the veil Yearning to be seen...

Details | Image Poem | |

WORDS--THE HEART OF IMAGINATION



Before twilight’s panels close the day,
I sneak into this sacramental hallway
fueling my pagan howls where I can be
the raw-weed of a bush: a time when
vignettes drain the floor--- spilling bones
of my own fonts, scratched and bent.  Here,
the vein bleeds of how i watched the pellet sun
grate dusky leaves among stones, or why
old man Charlie picked his a regular bench
in the park, talking to himself motionless
as if a 40s band were playing through his head.

More images stampede as the gas light
blinks with the harlequin moon, touching
my lower spine, my zodiac beginnings: still,
the morphine hours wear off from a trance…
I walk in limbo upon wings 
of parchment flooded with drunken ABCs ,
outpouring secrecy of thoughts. My mind 
outlines a visual  language : the drama 
and comedy of one day  make me a student
aging reveries: my bile hurts no more, as

my fingers grasp new stars on fire.



Brian Johnston's Contest
Words---The Heart Of Imagination
by nette onclaud





Details | Image Poem | |

YESTERDAY'S JOYS


Barefoot, I romp on flush of evening’s bliss
when moonlight acts as ally to rare trance,
my hair ruffling with the sashay of leaves
as if trees golden waft tunes to enhance
sweetened chorus of birdsong’s melody--
among cobblestones from old hometown's alley.

And there I find my spirit’s total release
this body darting in malleable form;
while woodland becomes a new universe
bathed  in luscious dew of flowers adorned--
pulse rising to catch a trade-wind recede
while a giggle bounces like a soft reed.

The child within me saunters without tamed care
not knowing I stumble on the blue of rocks,
where lit plumes reel and spiral from nowhere--
lo! my feet tap a magic that unlocks
a host of fairies slip-sliding away
to breathe pure enchantment, " be young...good day!"



Isaiah Zerbst 's Pick A Title
11/5/2014

Details | Image Poem | |

"Walls Between Passion"

written by Michael & The Mysterious Lady of Soup


                                                 Michael
                            The walls are tall but I know your there.
                          I hear your voice and the thoughs we share.
                                 So close but can't touch your hand,
                 all I could do is spill out my words and let my pencil land.
                                              Lady of Soup
                         I can feel your heartbeat beyond these walls,
                                one tear drop and my pencil falls.
                           The image of you vibrates my desired needs,
                            every thought about you inside me exceeds.
                                                 Michael
                                   I press my palm on the door,
                      just to feel your hand makes me want you more.
                          My chest is beating to your song of desire.
                      To be inside your body and feel your waves of fire.
                                              Lady of Soup
                        I take a deep breath to feel your essence here.
                           In my mind, the image of becomes so clear.
                             I can not calm a single thought about you.
                  I place my hands on my chest in hopes you get through.
                                                 Michael
                        Soon this door will open , and all shall be revealed.
                     So many things to be said, will start with kisses sealed.
                           To see you standing in your beauty and appeal
                              I have to have you as our passion will steal
                                             Lady of  Soup
                      The time has come for us to be in each others arms
                  before you opened the door, you had me with your charms.
               Lets throw these notes away, and feel the desire for each other.
               Lets keep this a secret between us, my dear poet and sexy lover..

Details | Image Poem | |

In The Desert

In The Desert


In the desert walks a man with no name
within its barren sands he seeks no fame
Survival is his only wish and only game
all burns, sticks or crawls nothing is tame

The rattlesnakes strike with poison gifts
nothing soothes, quenches or uplifts
A heat that singes as it burns on down
Rarely, if ever relief from a cloudy gown

Yes, O' yes, beauty does still hide here
found only if he can conquer his great fear!

note:  Fear of the danger a desert presents often clouds
 the beauty lying within. A proper emergency plan is a must
 when entering a desert.
Food, water and a compass are just the basic start.. 

Robert J. Lindley, Contest- In The Desert  , 09-14-2014

Details | Image Poem | |

DOLL WITH WINGS


Porcelain doll hangs on shadows and wings Of twilight’s frame. Guarding an autumn child The toy lightens ink of stenciled dusk As her enamel fingers gleam like candles Yellow the stars where she comes from robed in fine lace . Through heaven’s print An angel in disguise bestows love, as Porcelain doll hangs on shadows and wings Rick Parise's 8 Lines 7 Words Enjambment Contest by nette onclaud

Details | Image Poem | |

No Deposit, No Return


Your wishes can't regain,
A thrill so long ago. 
To once again reclaim 
A past you wouldn't know. 

You view a different dance, 
With unfamiliar tune 
You pine for lost romance, 
Yet treasure not the Moon.




Meter - Iambic Trimeter (Cataletic).
A-B, A-B Rhyme.
 
Gene Bourne.
06-11-14




.

 

Details | Image Poem | |

My Left Breast

strange it was there just the other day 
hanging about as usual, 
reminding me in my mirrored image 
of my definite femininity 
now gone, am I less of a woman? 
will you look at me differently, 
or strangely as I do myself? 

I never really gave it much thought before 
of how things come in pairs 
how lonely one would be without the other 
how misshaped one appears, 
no longer jutting forward, 
proclaiming sensuality 
thrusting into the limelight, 

now scars and a flattened ego, 
fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing 
men, look at me in horror, 
women in shock and pity 
and with gratitude, yes that it is not them 
my left breast is missing 
no not missing, taken, stolen...

it was just a lump a few weeks ago 
a tiny pea shaped knob, 
that hid its cancerous intentions
so very well, yet lay in silence waiting 
to steal away that part of me
that defined who I was 
what purpose I served in society 

am I still a woman, a sexual being? 
I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so 
but yearns for its mate, 
the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right 
unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided
my left breast is gone, surgically removed  
I can still hear its scream

Details | Image Poem | |

Nurse Anne

            Nurse Anne

Snow steeped in mountains and mountains steeped in snow
Evergreens and pine trees hold the earth with purpose
Nurse Anne steps into hospital from brutal winter cold
Measures stethoscopes and takes gentle pulses
Takes care of bullet wounds and children on her rounds
Wears white, green or blue uniforms or gowns while working
That’s pure speculation as you know
Nurse Anne is not a lawyer according to close sources
She writes poetry on line, refines them in her leisure time
Her prescription for good health and life is simple
Eat vegetables, fishes and less meat
Most importantly, Breath, (it helps a lot) 
Take moderation in everything
Get plenty of rest and sleep
And if you can’t be intelligent or stay on your toes
At least stay on your feet
Naturally a life spent vertically is not advised
Nurse Anne wants us all to exercise 
She will help you to get by and back to skiing
With her good guidance and by being wise
She does her noble work then travels home
Returns to evening
To writing poems at her own leisure

Details | Image Poem | |

Libra

It twinkles brightly upon a baby’s first born cry On September 23 to October 22 reigns up in sky Transforming into a magical pair of scale Hailing the beauty of Venus to unveil As its Libran muses tread a path of life thenceforth Soaring on element air, Friday has a blissful hoot Ravenous taste on cereals, apples and berry fruit Oh, are they on diet just to fit their suits? They might have been smitten by a peaceful sky blue Wearing gems with sparkling sapphire and jade in various hues Their floral taste of rose in pink, white, blue, red or yellow An exquisite gift of love, three for me and three for you Born Libras are courteous and diplomatic Loving, sweet and most especially romantic They are easy-going and charming They are very sociable and they are darlings Born Libras are peaceable and fair Lovers and friends to everybody, they prefer They are balanced both in mind and in heart forever No ambivalence for love, never a teeter-totter
Aug. 26,2014 6.10.00pm I just got most of the information here from the designs of my favourite mug and cover of my piano piece. I don’t know if it is true ;)))))

Details | Image Poem | |

Up To His Neck In Tide

He Etched His Thoughts into The Sand,

With Silver Trace it Sank Deep.

              - He Watched it Dance -

The Wind Carried his Command for Miles,

Above The Derision of the Populous.

               - It's Out of his Sight -

The Words He Carved Reached Every

Corner and Peninsula Under The Starlight.

                - Orchestrated Claws -

The Grains Seemed To Weep as He Violated

Them. His Will Breaks.

                 - The Surface, Disturbed -

The Preservation of Evil Intent Dwelt 

In His Capacity For Absorption.

                 - His Legs Began To Sink -

The Past-Tense Glass Proposed No

More Slack, He Would Be Judged.

                 - He Stopped at His Waist -

The Waves Roared in With Exhuming Force,

The Water Quickly Engulfed Him.

                  - Up To His Neck in Tide -

The Moonlight Shone a Beacon, and Scratched

Its Image into The Rippling Surface Above him.

                  - He Reached out To it -

It looked like a Paper Plate Behind Heat Haze,

It's Image Quivered Behind The Reflection.

                   - His Breath Ran Thin -

His Insides Consumed Themselves For Any Kind

Of Sustenance. They Screamed and Collapsed.

                   - His Breath Ran Out -

Details | Image Poem | |

Musical Torment - The Infamous Masterpieces

Torturing me with touches
I feel the sting of hardened and lasting lust
Touches not of mortal fingers,
But Halloween-haloed strings composed by musicians of mystery
Pressing upon my back--yes! A searing, yet melodi-errotic strike
All upon me, yet far from me...

Leave me not in the judgement of my own scrambling feelings
Rest not away as I hold my hands out in the dark
Deathly dances are visions heaven-bound for the duo--
Yet for the solo- a blank, useless measure...

The pulsing silence of amateur-stitched love rattles me
Making rhythms giggle in my mind
Intervals of idiocy tormenting all reason
Truly an agonizing, but for others--minor--prison
Is the smile that helped design those strings
Those strings that pluck upon my spine
Controlling me in a dark place stuck between tunes and time

Why are your hands so cold when you play those piano keys?
Why are your lungs so eroded with the pride that taints the songs you sing?
Why have the rhythms gone awry, and why does your apathetic dissonance thrive?

And tell me… through it all…
As you compose the rise and fall…
Why is all this destruction you created so vibrantly alive?

Details | Image Poem | |

Never Good Enough

Your not pretty they said,, and it all went to your head.
The same words repeatedly playing as you lay down in bed.
You give up trying because theres nothing left to do,
so you just stay in the background picking up everyones residue.

Your too afraid to speak out, or make a name for yourself!
Because your too busy stressing out, trying to please everyone else!
Running away cant get you any further, so you figure theres no way and wonder why bother.

The mental scars that have been left unseen.
The pieces of your heart that have been picked at, beginning to bleed.
But because of society your not qualified as good enough, so you turn to sin so you can feel good and tough.

However, it can only last for so long, you can no longer cover up the words of your heart with the words of a cheerful song.
No more pretending  or wanting to be, the people you idolize and see on t.v.
How long will it take you to see your true worth; the purpose and reason you were put on this earth.

But your too narrow minded, not really trying to see;
that society is so corrupt and its making you weak.
Your too focused on what people may so or think,
so you sit and drown your thought with an iced liquor drink.

Someday you will realize the true beauty that lies within.
Not the tone,color or perfection of your skin,
but the beautiful life that God has blessed you with.

Details | Image Poem | |

There is a place

There is a place you can go that is full of only love and Warmth .
you will be surrounded by a light that shines from the Heavens ,
Sprinkles of Silver and Gold. 

This place is filled with brilliant colors of Purple , vibrant Gold, all colors.
not one Color is less significant then another ,
for every color is equal here .

This place is surrounded by the beauty of different Flowers.
All flowers have significance here . No one Flower is better then another .
All Flowers are equal here .

It is important you know , you can cry here , and should cry as often as needed .
For  the tears will cleanse your Soul and give the Flowers water to grow.
No  one Tear is insignificant here , every tear has value and not one is better then another .

 money holds no value ,  Where you live , what you own,  has no significance here .

You will be surrounded by a beautiful light that shines from the Heavens .
A shining warm light will encircle you and allow nothing to hurt you . 
Hate will be shed at the door light a old jacket of no use. 

There is a place of beauty and  Worth.
This place will not be found on Earth .
It is a place where no one person is better then another .

Details | Image Poem | |

If Children Were Puppies

                                                IF MY
                                            CHILDREN
                                         WERE PUPPIES
                                            THEY’D BE
                                               NICER
                                                  TO
                                                  ME.
                                THEY WOULD NOT BE FUSSY
                        AND            TALK BACK YOU            SEE.                       
                       SIT             BRAVE AND LOYAL           NOT                        
                       TRY             TO RUN AND HIDE.           AND
                                        FAITHFULLY  FOLLOW
                                           NEVER LEAVING
                                            MY SIDE. BUT
                                            IF CHILDREN
                                             WERE PUPS
                                              THEN THEY
                                              MIGHT EAT
                                             LIKE    HOGS
                                            CHEW    YOUR 
                                          GOOD        SHOE   
                                 MAYBE HIDE         YOUR CLOGS
 	    AND IF CHILDREN WERE PUPPIES, THEN WE’D ALL BE DOGS!

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
12.02.2012

Details | Image Poem | |

Nimbus moon


The north winds blow on loners' date,
it's cold on fingertips and dark,
night's owls resemble souls that hark,
- we met in life, one verse too late.

The clouds are gray, soul's sermon clogs
alone I wait on rain's frontier,
and breathe this void - alive once Pier,
whereon you smiled at winter fogs.

And it is strange to feel you there,
you never left the winds' lone call;
I feel the flow in veins to haul,
a string of tales - nostalgic fare.

And you appear - a wraith in mind,
that distant smiles with lonely eyes,
gray clouds and snow from low hung skies,
- how doleful meet our dusks and twine!

The night ascribes - pure quilt of snow,
so much quietness falls and dearth,
regales the emptiness of earth
and solitude of our time's tow.

The nimbus moon won't spring to fore,
but if you show, my hope will shine,
a conferred love will wave to mine,
bloom scented winds will reach Pier Four.

© G. V. 08.23.2013 All rights reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)