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Best International Poems

Below are the all-time best International poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of international poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New International Poems

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

International Relations by Wulf, John
International Limerick Day by Smith, Tim
International space station by Wigley, Viv
International Love by Ngoma, Thabang
Villanelle: Nations barely survive the turbulence of international events by Wignesan, T
International Day of Happiness by van Akkeren, Huberta
International Family Day by Gangabissoon, Anoucheka
An International Friendship by Devonshire, Carolyn
International Incident by Lane, Tony
An International Monument by Delacroix, Caroline Cécile

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The Best International Poems

Details | International Poem | |

THE BROKEN DOLL

Walls of silence hold,
 Me prisoner,
The child held within,
 Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts, 
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
 Deep inside. 
Shedding its outer skins,
 Protective
Layer thus preserving its,
 Inner being.
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
 Damaged appendages.
The fallen angel kneels in,
 Shame,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
 Deaf ears.
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
 Winds breath.
Hardening to stone, the
 Chilled heart
 Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
 Kindred,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
 Victim’s refuge.
Small fragile hands reach out,
 Into nothingness,
Hollow space grasping into,
 Oblivion.
Chained shackles twist,
 Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
 Thoughts.
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
 Adrift,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
 Wreckage.
Displaced and damaged,
Beyond repair.
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have, 
Cared for her the most.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

More great poems below...


Details | International Poem | |

One World

Love is not a color,
No hue, neither a race.
All of our blood is the same, 
That runs deep within our veins.

If we could lift up each other,
And know that we all care.
If we help our sisters and brothers,
There's a bond that we'll share.








©2013 Honestly JT

Details | International Poem | |

Proverbs Of Life

Proverbs Of Life If you don't have a purpose in life, then you don't have a life. It is not what the world can offer you. It is what you can offer the world that counts. If you think nobody loves you, think twice. Someone loves you very much. It is not how people can help you that counts. It's how you can help people that matters. If you have lost your best friend today, make a new one tomorrow. It will make a difference. If your life is not going good for you and you don't know why. Analyze your life and you will find some answers. Don't count the bad times you've had in your life. Count the blessings you had instead...
09/13/2014 By Lucilla M. Carrillo

Details | International Poem | |

Heinrich Heine Revisited

I can clearly sense your utter despair of Der Matratzengruft*
As you valiantly carried on your poetic works to the very end.
This did not change your literary accomplishments well-known,
And your courage through the misery and morphine* is undeniable.

Your lyrical poetry speaks volumes among all of German literature,
And it was most marvelously set to music by the likes of Schumann,
Schubert, Silcher, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Strauss—to name a few. 
Their melodic tones as applied to your verses then, now live on forever!

Your role in and principal contributions to Romanticism fall in line
With the highest quality of your poetic language and its intention.
Your role in battling early nineteenth-century censorship in Prussia set 
You out front of many of your contemporaries who resisted much less.

It’s so tragic Herr Heine that your literary resistance so prominent in
Challenging Prussian censorship would make you ever so more noted,
And besmirched as the Nazis in 1933 burned your books and those of
Other German scholars as a reflection of their insane and twisted beliefs!

It’s with great irony indeed that the banning and burning of your works by 
The Nazis was parodied further by them as they ignobly quoted and used
Your famous line from “Almansor,”* when you likened that “where books 
Are burned, in the end people will be burned too.” We know what they did!

And so, with both honor and sadness I do understand the very cry of lament
From the confines of your mattress-grave about your final exquisite poetry,
Written through writhing pain and tears as you faced the end of your life.
It took great courage to face your end like this while staying true to your Muse!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 15, 2014) 
(Narrative Quatrain poetic format)

AUTHOR’S NOTES:
*Der Matratzengruft from the German means “The Mattress-Grave.” 
(Heinrich Heine was confined to his bed, his “mattress-grave,” in 1848
with various illnesses until his eventual death eight years later in 1856.)

*Heine poetically referred to his pain predicament in the poem “Morphine,”
written near the end of his life, when he noted in two famous verses: 
“Gut is der Schlaf, der Tod ist besser—freilich / Das beste waere, nie
Geboren sein.” (In English: “Sleep is good, Death is better—of course, /
Best of all would be never to have been born.”)

*Almansor was a play written by Heine in 1821 that had a most famous 
line in German: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Buecher verbrennt,
verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.” (Rendered in English: “That was
but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as
well.”) The significance here is that as the Nazis burned the books of Heine
and other German artists on the Opernplatz in Berlin in 1933, they actually
celebrated this event by “engraving” Heine’s famous words from “Almansor”
in the ground at the Opernplatz site. The obvious depravity of this terrible
event reflects the innate cruelty, stupidity and evil of the Nazis as they 
burned the books and defiled the names and reputations of Heine and other 
famous German writers. Their actions were monstrous and shameful, and 
were indicative of mankind’s base instincts at their very worst. Moreover, 
despite converting to Protestantism from Judaism in 1825, Heine’s Jewish 
origins played a continuing presence in his life and were one of the major 
factors for his being scapegoated by the Nazis later in 1933. And besides,
the Nazis were always more interested in burning books, rather than 
reading them!  


Details | International Poem | |

AUTUMN ON FIRE

God’s inspirational napalm set ablaze upon the trees of autumn,
Welcome to the ascension of the fall season, bursting forth onto
The leaves once evergreen.
Colors of crisp snapping, auburn reds, fires aglow oranges, and
Subdued darken browns to contrast the mixtures blending, created
By the masterful hands of a higher powers creativity.
Tender timbers mutated into a glorious display of light and color,
Splashing the palette array of natural beauty.
Blessed in magnificence the lord hushes and stills, the mortal heart,
As inspiration captures the poets ink pen to write,
Upon the empty parchment page.
Strolling lovers huddle together, beneath a wondrous tapestry,
A canopy of leaf petals, that descend as it is caressed
By a chilling fall breeze.
Whispering softly in each others ears tender words
Sweet nothings, youth in utter splendor wrapped
Embraced in loves devotional shawl of emotions.
Behold vows promises of perfection uniting
These spirits of fall, united against the winter
Winds forever more.
Cold and slain lay the roses of summer, yet within
The wild heart of innocence, the flame of desire
Shall not flicker out, nay it lives strong in the young,
A blossom of delicate distention is true loves flower.
Oh in timeless remembrance as years will pass,
And only one shadow remains between these two
Souls united joined in life as one. 
Shall beyond another single silhouette awaits,
Tracing these burnt ambers of autumn from long ago,
 In cascading showers of melted colors of memory.
In angels tears a gentle rain does fall, yet a smile
Crosses the face of this eternal love, a blessings
Promise in one word spoken, always.
God’s inspirational napalm set ablaze upon the trees of autumn,
Welcome to the ascension of the season, bursting forth onto
The leaves of the evergreen.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

More great poems below...


Details | International Poem | |

EDGER ALL POE

Our dark founding father, of American literature,
A sinister beacon of darkness, lighting the way
Into the darkened abyss of mankind’s soul.
Within the galleria of madness, he is the
Grandmaster of the black ink, and it's
 Written words of terror.
In thus the shadow realm, does his spirit
Still roam, on the cutting edge of fear,
A fine thin line, is drawn between reality,
And fictions illusionary world.
Life's a shunned, abandonment’s creation,
The lord's misbegotten son, embraced
The night's cloak, in it's power
His only salvation unto history's
 Remembrance, is found a truth's
Justice and notability's respect.
Loves passionate compliant servant,
Dashed against the rocks of life itself,
Broken and damaged, he rose above
The waves of poverty, and the under
 Current of tragedies broken
Heart.
Some may say he wrote from the after
Effects that laid, at the bottom
 Of the bottle.
Or afterfeeds drug endued comma, dulling
The emotional nerves concept between
Right and wrong, the social exceptionable
Norm.
But we care not what others wish to believe,
For we honor him, those of us the dark poets,
As the father whom lead the way, between
Light and dark.
Dearest Edger Allen Poe, the legend, the man,
A spiritual dark representative, with pens quailed
Ink at his command.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN




















Details | International Poem | |

YES I AM

YES I AM
I am that tall,good and kind man
I have the longest legs on earth
I am the fastest man on earth
I am deaf and dumb
My eyes lead me like a sheep and its lamb
I am very curious but,
very time conscious
I am jobless
I am homeless
I always thirst for water
I always need a good Samaritan
Despite my state,
I am the world's priority
People suffer a fate
But need me to be free
I am he everyone awaits to make a mirth
I go to anyone who is willing 
All I need is caring
Everybody needs me
But I come without acknowledging me

I come I come
I stand at your door
Open and welcome me with a kiss
When you delay,I make a hiss
The next scene, I turn my back to the door
There you will miss

Don't try opening
For I am time conscious
Don't try calling
For I am deaf and dumb
Don't try following
For I have the longest legs on earth
Don't try chasing
For I am the fastest man on earth
I come to make you mirth
But you can choose to be in dearth

I came I came
I stood at your door
You welcomed me wonderfully
But you made me sit on the floor
You left me and forgot to close the door
I moved out slowly
Upon your return,
You didn't see me
You forgot I am time conscious
I saw someone ready
So went there because I was curious

You tried calling
But forgot I am  deaf and dumb
You tried following
But forgot I have the longest legs on earth
You tried chasing
But forgot I am the fastest man on earth
I came to make you mirth
But you chose to be in dearth

I stood at your door
You welcomed me wonderfully
You made me sit comfortably
But refused to give me water when I was thirsty
You left me and forgot to close the door
Upon your return,
You didn't see me

You tried calling
But forgot I am deaf and dumb
You tried following
But forgot I have the longest legs on earth
You tried chasing me
But forgot I am the fastest man on earth
I came to make you mirth
But you chose to be in dearth

I stood at his door
He welcomed me with a kiss
He closed the door,
gave me a place to sit comfortably,
gave me water to lessen my sore,
Prepared me a mutton
He made me eat like a glutton
He laid his spreadsheet on a bed
He gestured to me to lay my head
I slept until he received what he needed
He decided to keep me forever
Alas,I embark on a journey
Joy like a river flowed in his heart
He smiled while escorting me

Yes I am
I am the very person you needed
But I came and you took me for granted
I am the one you are awaiting
When I come, show me the caring
I am opportunity.

Details | International Poem | |

SISTER WARRIOR

Why me dear God in heaven's
Name why me?
Awaiting for a divine answers reply.
Kneeling at the lords sacred altar,
Lit candles flickering all about her
A bowed head in reverences honor.
In prayers hands tenderly cradling her,
Rosary.
She has been blessed by an angel's,
Healing touch.
Realizes not a mightier power stands,
Before her, shielding his lamb from,
 Harms way.
Faith guides this believers soul, 
Homeward unto grace.
She is truly not alone in this fight,
Rekindle a divine spark within,
Rage against the fading light,
And behold of a new dawning.
Humanities loving spirit everlasting,
Its our greatest weapon.
And many hands rest upon,
It's hilt.
Behold the sword of hope 
With it's sharpened edge.
And millions lend their strength
Of will behind it's wielding power. 
We are here my friend, my sister,
Always.
Let this evil shadow pass, give it
No binding power.
Shake off fears disbelief, know,
Sister warrior on this battle field,
Women must fight together. 
 United standing strong,
 Fixed on one single goal survival.
A pink ribbon may represent
The cause,
But within life's circle the
Human touch comforts a
Spiritual soul.
With faith's devotion as her
Guardian’s shield it will carry such
 A brave lady,
Through hells fire and beyond.
Remember your not alone
Against our common enemy
Named Cancer.
One day we will find a cure.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN 

 


 

Details | International Poem | |

Divine Flowers

Divine Flowers 

In a flower’s velvet petals
There dwells a divine scent and hue
Soon a tiny creature settles
That will help pollinate a few.

We are blossoms of our dear God
Born each in colors of our kin.
It matters not our birth of sod
Neither the colors of our skin.



For Andrea Dietrich's "Tell Me Your Number Contest" I am 8  
8 line form  Heroic Rispetto (Month and Day) Path May 3rd. 5+3=8

Details | International Poem | |

New Stars Are Formed

Strange colored skies climb northernly this night
Calling our future with wild deamons eyes
Abscure as the creatures who answer the call
Wild are the answers of the reasons and the faults
Certain as the well swept winds
Alluring in it's grasp fought negatively through single wins
I pray twords the skies and it curdles and swims
Thoughts twords the sun and it scorches my rims
Carry me far enough I can be within your sights
Stash us away and the sun will be bright
Motors may break but oceans will be light
I will stay on the coast and wait 
The award I will do is make the evening a minute late
Parched is the gulf as the single minute breaks
Great is the second docks a seperate mans gate

The Earths crust slowly begins to crumble
It quivers, then quakes, it slowly opens, the rivers break
A star is born somewhere, a beautiful new star
Great is the struggle, born from the heavens a small light it makes

The new star pulls, it turns, then it feeds and it's fuel it burns
Gently it orbits following all things it understands
The new star bends it dances it stands
Tancing outwardly as creations comprehend

A continient wavers as the new star binds its brand
It feeds off of our oceans as our tides wash in
It goes just as softly forward and back
As the rays of its placement barrow up to the sun
We watch very carefully because it's damages are already done


Details | International Poem | |

PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

From behind the crimson curtain,
The skylark sings within her
Gilded cage of musical notes,
To please her dark lord and master.
Beauty's prisoner of the forsaken,
She raises her voice in clarity's
Magnificence,
Beneath crystal chandeliers opulence.
As if a bird taking flight within
Harmonies Symphony.
This youthful diva sheds
Her physical shackles, released
By a spiritual reclamation, of liberty's
Beyond her earthly form.
This mistress of song captures
Liberation’s heights, beyond freedoms
Escape, to soar high above the heavens.
She is set free, released within the music itself.
In the mind of the phantom, he plays
Along with the orchestra of the dammed.
A pianist of great renowned, with loves
Sweet melody, is inspired by jealousy’s
Conquest, she is his, always and forever.
The dead’s musicians, play on, with their
Instruments precisely in tune,
A delicate balancing, is each textures
Movement, it is harmony's perfection,
A Graceful sounding, carried across the
Stage of this twisted tragedy.
On destiny's piano the grand master sits,
With his candelabra lit, from loves eternal
Flame of desire.
It's light softly flickering, by gentle winds
Breeze, calling her name, Christine.
Oh angels of mercy, here the meadow lark
Singing, beneath the cobbled streets,
And sawyers chambered walls.
Love's prince does slay the beast,
As fire shatters the opera house, leaving
Nothing but ashes residue behind.
Yet in echoes voice, he screams by nights
Breath, her name once more, he calls unto her,
The phantom of the opera, Christen.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | International Poem | |

King Vlad Redux - Second Cold War

King Vlad Redux – Second Cold War

Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin’s grimy fingerprints on current history
are for him nothing to gloat about—au contraire I say emphatically:
His actions bespeak one who’s not an architect for peace—not at all,
rather a quite deceitful dictator and a harbinger of a Second Cold War.

King Vlad’s old Soviet-style actions are clear for all who care to see,
and make no mistake about it—he’s without remorse and a soul to boot.
A Master of Malarkey and an International Bamboozler Supreme, he
certainly is, with a menacing image and not one iota of conscience.

King Vlad risks a Second Cold War with his violation of international
law concerning the blatant, illegal annexation of the Crimean peninsula.
With his brand of new style Soviet adventurism on the march, the Old 
Soviet Bear has been resurrected anew—and it’s hot on the prowl again!

King Vlad’s new spirit of nationalism for Russia is not at all progressive
as evidenced by his current war on certain ethnic minorities: Jews, Tartars, 
Armenians, Gypsies—to include anyone who chooses to resist and protest
against his new age fanaticism rebranded anew in the twenty-first century.

King Vlad’s lineage to and proclivity for the old Soviet Union and its star
cast of past gangster luminaries: Lenin, Stalin, Beria, Molotov, Brezhnev, 
and Andropov—to name a few, are quite telling since they reflect the real
nature of his psyche and the tragedy he brings now to the world stage.

And lest we forget, the innocent souls of the murdered passengers from flight
MH17 in eastern Ukraine who cry out, as do their families, for justice from
the criminal thuggery and hooliganism perpetrated by King Vlad in support
of proxy groups that do his evil biddings soaked in lies, treachery, and deceit.

King Vlad takes pleasure in fulfilling a fanciful role today of the old Soviet
Bolshoi Nachalnik (Big Boss), whose historical antecedents from Soviet Big
Bosses of past fame, doesn’t augur well for future democracy in New Russia,
and doesn’t align with the precepts of good governance and human rights.

King Vlad’s treachery and deception are certainly open for everyone to see 
as he executes his plan of disrupting the balance of the current world order.
We all should be forewarned of the clouds of tyranny and aggression that
could be unleashed one day on the European continent and the world today.

King Vlad, despite very strong objections and economic sanctions imposed
by Western leaders and diplomats, understands only one word rendered so 
poignantly in the German language: die Macht (or Power), which lurks ever  
behind his public mask and psychological makeup as a former KGB officer.

King Vlad’s actions reflect his virtues of lying, denying, accusing, rejecting,
and criticizing—all poison arrows in his quiver as a Master of Prevarication.
His real mask is that of a Monster who had the very best Soviet teachers and 
wishes to tilt the axis of his New Russia on a collision course with the West.

And so Generalissimo Stalin . . . how do you like your nasty little boy now???

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 30, 2014)
(Narrative Quatrain)

Details | International Poem | |

THE POET DESTROYER

A shades poet, writing in blacks quailed ink,
Expressing emotions by a poetic pallet of diversity,
On a canvas rainbow bursting forth across the
Horizon at dawns first light.
Imaginations dream seeker, walking amongst 
The clouds, in heaven's meadows above.
Inspiration's muse, she'll never realize what
A simple comments pleasure, can give to
Lighten up someones day.
I've read eloquence's words placed upon the
Lab top screen before me, and felt tears sorrow,
Exhilaration’s heights of elevation.
Through her words of poetic thoughts placed 
Within lines.
Getting to know another person, and so now
Calling her a friend.
We the bards are becoming a rare breed, 
Unique each one of us, in our own ways,
But in retrospective similarities sharing the 
Same traits and needs.
To write, to express, and use our intense
Imaginations, to take others along with us,
In a journey beyond physical limitations,
Beyond body and mind.
She calls herself Poet Destroyer, but in 
Reality's truth, she is not destruction’s poetic
Slayer, but instead an angel of 
Compassion helping those whom need guidance.
What is the meaning of life, I've heard this
Asked many times before?
My personal opinion to this question is
To make some kind of difference in this 
World.
To touch another's persons life in some way,
Special,
Poet Destroyer you've touched mine,
And this is my way of saying thank you.
Happy Birthday to come my friend.
Always Cheri.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



Details | International Poem | |

IN THE LIGHT OF LOVING

Within the loving there is light,
It binds us, defines us as a species,
Kindred brethren embracing the hands
Of humanity.
A universal chain of generations clinging unto
One another, pieces of a puzzle that is never
Completed but extends on wards into the realm
Of the infinite.
For nothing really ever ends, it is the circle of life
The river flowing into an ultimate stream called
Forever.
What makes up the rain, is it  the tear drops of
Faith, peace, and hope, no it’s the human
Component, emotions rainbow the promise
Written within our inner soul, the loving
And the light.
What makes humanity human, it’s the
Traits of beauty hidden within us all.
To embrace the heart broken, and show
Them compassion.
To feed the hungry your own ration’s portion,
And in the knowing, you smile with satisfaction
Because you’ve done the right thing.
Or picking up the shattered pieces of a broken
Child, and embracing him or her, and showing
What true caring, sharing really means,
This is the human light of loving.
Now comes faith,  peace and hope, in the
Clarity of a crystal stream, without rippling,
The stilled pond for the rain has stopped,
The tears fall no more, for we are the united
Joined together by the hands that bind.
A universal chain of generations clinging unto
One another, pieces of a puzzle that is never
Completed but extends onwards into the realm
Of the infinite.
Within the loving there is light,
It binds us, defines us as a species,
Kindred brethren embracing the hands
Of humanity.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO; ANNE LISE


Details | International Poem | |

ALWAYS A PRINCESS

In my father's eyes, I'll always be his princess,
No matter how old I've grown, he still sees
His little girl, dancing across the invisible stage
Before him.
A living Cinderella in miniature form, whom
Will never grow up, and thinks her dad is prince
Charming, and the strongest man on earth.
Cradling within this wondrous heart, is devotion’s
Biggest fan, the man I call my father, he's protector,
Comforter, and the everlasting image, of the perfect
Man that I idolize.
No wizard's wand or sword, holds more magic
Than his tender words of wisdom, as I stroll
Down the yellow brick road of life, I'm his
Dorothy, and he is, the Wizard of my oz.
Oh Papa, you've instilled the wonderment
Of this world within me, and I know, no matter
Where I roam, he shall always be a part
Of me.
You've always said, no matter how old I get
That within thy heart, a princess remains, timeless, 
Ageless, as if Alice, hidden behind the looking glass, 
Peering through from wonderland, magical world.
Perfection's cherished rose, whom never loses it's
Petals, but blossoms nourished by loves fertile soil,
That only a father's faith can provide.
I'll always be his princess, no matter what bad
Choices I may make in life, I know he'll pick me
Up and smooth out the wrinkles in my velvet gown,
Wiping away my tears, turning them instantly into diamond
Shards, and letting me dance away again, clapping
For this his darling princess. 
So let the musical waltz of life, play forever forward,
As I lightly tip toe, across destiny’s ballroom floor.
My dancing card remains eternally full, written within
One name stands out, it is yours dearest sweet man.
He is after all my prince charming, and I am
His dearest little girl, and of coarse in his eyes
Always his little princess.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN











Details | International Poem | |

I Do Believe

"I Do Believe" 

The purpose of LIFE is to {Living In Faith Ever} 
to enrich God within us 
to an optimum level 
so that We as Humans 
can be guided by God 
to fuel out brothers and sisters 
with the same driving force 
to connect with the living God, 
to His existence and 
to See the Invisible, 
Believe the Incredible, and 
to Receive the Impossible 
to our everlasting journey 
to Heaven.

Rev. Samuel Mack
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com

Details | International Poem | |

FINALLY HOME

We'll climb over paper mountains
Cross over distant seas
We'll give away our fortune
We will get down on our knees
We'll be analyzed and scrutinized 
Receive training from the best
But until at last you're in our arms
We will never rest
We will never rest

And...
We're dreaming of the first time 
We will see your face
Such a sacred moment
That'll never be erased
All the sacrifice worth it
None of it a waste
'Cause when this journey's over
You'll be in this place
You'll be home
Finally home!

Today we got our travel approval
We're packing up our bags
Been through highlands and valleys
We've overcome a hundred snags
Done things we didn't think we could do 
We feel so very blessed
But until at last you're in our arms
We will never rest
We will never rest

And...
We're dreaming of the first time 
We will see your face
Such a sacred moment
That'll never be erased
All the sacrifice worth it
None of it a waste
'Cause when this journey's over
You'll be in this place
You'll be home
Finally home!

*Story of a family's long journey to adopt a orphan with special needs

Sponsor: Roger Horsch
Contest Name: Many Miles Away

4-1-14
Ballad

Details | International Poem | |

A World on Fire

We live today in a world of great tumult
And of rising uncertainty and anxiety 
Which pervade the world stage like a cancer

Despite soaring technological advances
Our environment and our home Earth
Are bearing an unimaginable burden

People are wondering what must be done
To right these wrongs and adjust our course
Before we turn the corner to “No Return”

Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, and War 
Are still with us today since the beginning
Of time and are mankind’s greatest shame

God may be with us intellectually
But mankind must be self-reliant
To survive an inattentive, distant deity

People see answers to these enigmas
Sounds are made, echoes are heard
But nothing comes back in response

Frustration reigns supreme for many 
Fear and anxiety multiple all concerns
There can never be easy answers

                      *******

Tyranny still reigns alive in many countries
As the actions of tin-eared dictators abound
And are on ample display for all to see 

Poverty is still a shameful, terrible curse
Which afflicts the most unfortunate
And is paid lip service by the wealthy

Disease is a scourge still in our world
And still felt by those most in need
And never enough is done to change this

War is the ultimate insult to mankind
And its wide-felt swath and affliction
Plagues yet our modern, enlightened world 

What to make of all these challenges
Is not easy for any of us to digest
And let alone understand why

Yet understand, comprehend we must
If we want a better world for all to live in
A Sisyphean task at its very best

Man still holds the key to make change
Positive and real for our troubled Earth
But can it ever be really so in the end

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
Schoeningen, Germany (October 16, 2014) 
(Tercet unrhymed poetic format)


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If Languages Were Instruments

If languages were instruments,
English, the language of my own America,
Would be something like a piano.
Each word is clear and sharp-
When we sing, the note does not waver.
But I suppose it's more fair to say that
English is something like an electronic keyboard
With two hundred different modes because English
Has so many different versions, 
Adaptations of other instruments,
Emulations, or imitations, however you want 
To think of it; there is no accent that cannot 
Be reconfigured to be
Played on keys in distinct shades
Of black or white.

Arabic though...
Arabic is more like a violin.
The sound of Arabic
Flies up and down the scale
In deliciously smooth legato,
Stopping to linger on vibrato;
Poignant

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THE STAG

THE STAG

It's a creature of vapors mist, existing within a thin veil
Of nothingness, descending from the unknown pastures
Called Nirvana.
A mystical spirit lingering in the sacred meadows of native, 
Legends and folklore, a beast of good omens, proclaiming
Peace and tribal bliss.
It's very breath brings forth life itself, in nature's 
Spiritual realm, where ever it's hoof's land, the evergreen
Thicket wild, sprouts renewals promise.
Routing it's horns, to a fine points sharpened edge,
The stag shakes the mystical forest free from the chill
Of winter's deadly embrace, and thus welcomes spring
At last.
No such a delicate of Doe appears, than she his mate,
Softest of the brown eyed kindred, gently she approaches 
His grand majesty, ever so tenderly and loving.
With sheer grace of step the two merge as one,
Uniting beneath the lunar moon of twilight.
Behold the white light of brilliance's fire, blazing
As a thunder's storm of the eternal, these are creatures
Of God's everlasting flame, burning on the hearth
Of seasonal change.
Hushed is the woodland, as if frozen in a soft pause,
Ascendence illusionary beings transcend the ages,
Flashing in the shimmering glow from the stars
Of heaven itself.
Melting phantom's of illusions, drift amongst
The night sky, leaving their earthy bondage,
Released once more to feast, in the glens of paradise,
Grazing in the meadows most high.
In the wilderness wild life is renewed,
And the goddess of spring praises them, for their
Sacrifice.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN










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THE TITANIC

Collisions avalanche, beneath the icy
Waves, of the North Atlantic.
Birthed in the cradled of Belfast,
A maritime giant, became crimsoned,
By champions shattered tradition,
An ironic omen presence to come.
For she bares tragedy’s mark, the name
Given to this colossus,  the titanic.
An aquatic diamond gem, of ocean
Liners, refined and polished for the 
Privileged elite.
A jewel shinning, with a brilliance fire,
No vessel could rival, this grand ladies,
 Opulence.
The unsinkable legend survives even,
From under the brimey fathoms depths.
In the whispering wind echoes, carried
Just above the foam and sprays watery 
Crest, a haunting refrain is spoken,
Ice burg dead ahead.
A sheer ice blade, is driven into the
Hulls breast plate, puncturing the maid
On her maiden voyage.
Death's fiddler plays an eerie tune,
As the screaming chorus sings,
Dooms lullaby, of remorseful regrets,
Of the living dead.
Abandon ship, women and children
First, but life’s greed proceeds protocol,
And man take seats reserved while 
Others are simply left empty.
A once shinning star, is broken now
In two, rivaling in pain, she the
Grand lady, shutters, grasping for
Some hold, but fates evil hand
Pulls her beneath the frozen
Angry sea.
To rest at the bottom of titan's
Kingdom, in a crept mausoleum of
Seaweed, and coral debris.
Yet the Titanic still remains the
Diamond jewel of the seven seas,
Her mystery's beauty, a mystic
Inspiring mankind to solve
The questions that remain,
 Unanswered.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
HISTORICAL

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BROTHER'S OF THE WIND

Through the whispering pines, down the valley's deep
And wide, do they call unto one another, the brother's
Of the winds.
North chases east to west, as south's warming breath,
Begs to play also, once around the world, over land, 
Sea, and mountain tops vast divides.
Tag your it, not I says, the three, as they roll, and duck, 
Shifting thus for cover's airy currents, above, below one another.
The east wind is the trickster, mischievous fellow,  seeking
Up behind his brethren, than laughing with sheer delights
Gleeful pleasure, until his companion’s kindred, catch up with
Him and pick on him later.
Latitudes unto longitudes, these spiritual pirates,
Of freedoms quest, to remain as liberation's
Outcasts, to conventional reality.
Mother nature's wild children of the untamed,
Swirling divinities whom never rest or settle in
One space, air spirits tasting the everlasting flavor
Of abandonment's desire, beneath their wings of flight.
Soar with destiny's favorite sons, brethren beyond
Human reproach, except unto one another calling,
Come excel with exhilaration's, mischief makers
Extraordinaire.
Ariel acrobats ascending, descending at wills whim,
Concurring the heights currents as invisible eagles,
Than free falling towards the earth beneath.
Gliding dare devils challenging the open air,
Testing the fates of destiny's sails, to imagination’s
Boundaries without fail.  
At night fall a whispering voice, she calls unto
Them, mother nature, come my sons, it is time
To finally rest.
Yawning with their blustery breath, these tempestuous
Mischievous lads, float a loaf towards the cave
Of the winds, and dream of the chase to come,
On the marrow's sunrise.
Illusion's dreaming realm tosses aside, it's veiled
Currant unto these ideal God's, whom play with
Raw power's force,  using it's strength as if a game at play,
These brother's of the four winds, set adrift within
This realm of imagery.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN





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Broken English

He speaks in broken English;
It's interesting to see my language this way-
Spread out like pieces of shattered ceramic,
The edge of each word tossing off glints of meaning
Like bits of light, illumination; a kaleidoscope
Of light or sound dancing in the air before his lips...
At times he seems embarrassed, pausing before he speaks, 
Like the boy who tipped over his mother's favorite vase-
He knows how I love words- and scrambles to piece back
Together the fragmented ideas, hoping the cracks might
Be overlooked; the result of his efforts is often unconventional,
And yet... impossibly lovely too... 
It's a picture puzzle of a lonely landscape rearranged into a flower
It's a mosaic; the pieces don't have to fit to make the image radiant
It's a kintsukuroi bowl, the language veined through with gilded passion,
More beautiful for having been broken

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God Is Not A Murdering Maniac

This is to those idiots leaving their own countries
to join terrorist organizations in foreign lands.
Religion is not very difficult to understand.
God is not a murdering maniac! God is love!
The Devil is a murdering maniac!
I know you stupid fools who think being a terrorist
is a good thing to be are the dumbest of the over seven billion souls
currently living on earth but even you damn ignoramuses
should have enough active brain cells to understand this one simple fact:
God Is Not A Murdering Maniac!

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THE STONE GARDEN-2

Do the immortals cry, what happens to divinities
Tears, crystal shards of frozen miracles, cascading
From the heavens above, swallowed whole by 
Mother earth.
In the abyss of darkness, within caverns dark and deep,
Lies a hidden chamber, of wondrous creations.
Glittering stone shingles, that hang from cave ceilings,
Crystal chandeliers of opulence's brilliance, shining on high.
Diamond cylinders, made from the weeping heart, of a divine
Spirit himself, a stone garden of sorrows tears.
Exposed to reflected light's illumination, oh so do they
Shimmer and sparkle, rainbow prisms of color, frozen
Molecules held prisoner in status freeze.
Nay water is life itself, a living element of nature,
Creations clarity, a universe within a universe.
Oh in such magnificent beauty, lies this sacred
Vision, of this the almighty’s most secret garden.
Seeping mists of moisture rise, enveloping the
Flickering rays of lamp light, adding an eerie
Obedience to this textured display, in this
Almost blackened realm, hidden beneath the
Earth in fathoms deepest depth, the artistic hand
Of God can be truly felt.
Ricocheting light randomly strikes against variations points of
Color, setting aglow from the blue hews, to purples
Fuchsia, a palettes splashed array, bursting forth
This underground aurora borealis.
In granite's cathedral of stone, split by the elemental,
Giving birth to fusion, exposing natures raw force of power.
A blending between spiritualism, and science takes place,
To create this grandest of masterpieces, that I call the stone garden.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN