Poem | |
Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer
Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around.
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…
Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey
There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~
(for Catie's: Re-write contest..)
Poem | |
My view on seduction,
is that what you're asking me?
my thoughts on loving a woman,
that's what you want to know?
Have you ever seen the image of a woman
in the ocean while walking along the beach?
You know how the shape is all there but void of definition.
You know how the shape is sort of broken,
how the lines are not distinct.
I wonder if that is what we men
have done to women,
they who we treasure most.
How often do they have to hide as a replica
in order to protect our egos.
To take a back seat because we have a need
to drive the car to be in control.
So if we don't allow them to be whole...
but you know what else,
what if they are perfectly defined
the fault is in how we view them.
What if that is them
we have no role,
no blame to assume.
What if that is exactly the way they want it to remain,
shadows of different intensities.
What if they want to be a series of reflections.
What if the ripples in the water are of their making.
I want to hold a woman.
Hold her completely defined.
learn more about her everyday
because I hold her like a book I'm reading.
I will tell you this
I don't have a need to know everything.
If she wants a locked room
that she has the only key to,
that makes sense to me.
Still I want her heart, her laugh, her tears
I want the feel of her flesh and I want her defined.
I want to see her not just her likeness.
I want her smile
I want all the expressions of her face.
So you're walking along the beach.
The relationship is new
for the most part
you are with her facsimile
but if you look down
you can see her feet,
not just her impression.
I can build from that.
She is steady
she is with me.
You want my view on seduction?
You have to accept
a basketful of contradictions,
you have to read the book
accept there will be constant re-writes
you have to at least see her feet from day one.
If you want to make it to the top
you have to start at the bottom
there are some great stops
on the way up.
love between two people
You wouldn't treat your career lightly.
Get it right.
Make sure she leaves footsteps along the beach.
That is how you seduce a woman...
...listen to her
...be interested in her career
...her wants, her needs
...don't talk a good game
Sponsor Justin Bordner
Contest Name The Heart Of Seduction
I understand this is a extremely different view
of seduction and might not fit what Justin
is looking for. This is his contest and I wholeheartedly
respect that. For my taste this poem is very seductive.
In it I share what I believe it takes to seduce a woman.
Poem | |
lightning punching down,
fast, blinding, loud – blood pain
a prayer of tears
to all who have suffered violence
Poem | |
You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
whether I took
my pills today or not.
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
The love of my life
left me after
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
"Will she tie my
when I get old? "
Poem | |
As we watch the girl stumble inside of her cage.
We wait, from without, and we shout out directions.
Answers opposing, our voices clang together --
As useful as banging of pots to the floor.
Enslaved, she carries the weight of his weakness.
Pulled to bloody knees, she dare not cry out.
While around us were blue skies and grasses so green,
Her sky was obsidian, with dust at her feet.
Filled with remorse, bruises deepen and spread
Into scars and disease she thinks cannot heal.
The patchwork girl, with no shroud for cover,
Lay broken and hollowed in chains of defeat.
Poem | |
I'm in me bath here, with a box of red cheer,
yeah a box of red cheer, beer's too bloody dear.
Me mind's wanderin twixt big tits and riches,
bein able to scratch at what itches,
without scratchin the bum out your britches.
If they think you got what,
they'd rather they'd got,
mate, hang onto your hat,
they'll bloody take that.
That girl in black tights, so jam-packed with delights,
nights full of delights in them slow movin tights.
She's not, like Jacko reckons, a whore.
Wouldn't lie on me bare wooden floor.
Christ, I did nothin to get to be poor.
And you can't pay what's due
so your creditors sue?
Funny old world, not half.
But good for a laugh.
I can't help but hear next door's shoutin and tears,
all their shoutin and tears, I can hear em from here,
through the stem of me glass on the wall.
Pray to God he don't hit her at all.
I'm half pissed and spliffed and I never could brawl.
But I stand in the queue,
for a place in the zoo.
Heard you shouldn't have pride.
They wouldn't have lied.
A party's upstairs but I can't breathe their airs.
I won't breathe their airs, them there upstairs.
So I fill the bathroom with me smoke.
All those girls shaggin some other bloke.
I just lie here and soak and suck on me toke.
What's it like not to do
what your needs need you to,
to beg borrow or steal,
to make it come real?
I hear downstairs' soul hit his lavatory bowl.
That porcelain bowl gets the whole of his soul,
as I wring out the bladder of red.
All the sweetest of girls, Jacko said,
have big whites to their eyes that aint never've bled.
There aint nothin so nice
as those whitest of whites.
On rich girls with sweet arses
in slow movin tights.
Poem | |
In the past, my country
cradled me within her womb,
but our roles reversed.
I held her in my arms,
felt her slip away.
I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
and pie-charts overseas.
They wrenched her from my arms,
took her from my loving arms
to poke, to prod and draw blood.
I prayed while watching attempts made
at her resuscitation,
as greedy hands held out pens,
prodding me to fill in the proper forms.
The world is on lithium,
the drug has defiled the last drop of clean water.
My country was on lithium,
for her, the vibrant colours turned into dull grays,
and in the end, her heart gave way
from having spent too many decades
trapped within a gilded cage.
She had an organ donor card -
her organs were sold off one-by-one
while she still clung onto life.
Her organs were removed,
replaced with waving flags
and roaring stadiums.
Men from every standing, race and creed,
groped Motherland's body
after causing her to bleed.
Many men had laid with her.
Oh, how they did.
At least some men showed decency,
graced her with meaningful caresses.
But they were far and few between -
between the rape, miscarriages and spoils.
Lithium is being slipped into my drink,
into my food, into the very air I breathe,
so daily I purge,
horrified by my country's overdose.
She looks decrepit, splayed out in the morgue,
a cardboard ticket hanging from a big toe
like an empty, whorish price tag.
I will have to give her a proper burial in my mind,
for they are going to have Mother embalmed,
encase her in a glass coffin,
and put her on display.
Our Mother passed away,
yet the land is here to stay.
I will walk across clear-cut ridges,
pass through neon-lit distractions
as a gypsy vagabond.
From now on, the territorial lines
mean nothing more to me than rules to follow.
The shell of this country remains,
Nationalism has turned empty-hollow.
I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
and pie-charts overseas.
I lost my country today,
held her in my arms,
watched her slip away,
felt her slip away.
April 30th, 2012
Poem | |
The scent of your feelings clings
To the fabric of my dreams
It never leaves….it lingers
The scent of your feelings
The fragrance of gardenia
When you are tender, sweet
Gentle and serene
Tranquility showing through
In the gardenia scent of you
Seducing scent of jasmine
Surrounds you like an aura
Promising opulent luxury
Of flesh upon flesh
With you in control
Leading me deeper
Into the scent of your fantasies
Tantalizing, teasing, tempting
Endless jasmine ecstasy
Sensual and satiating
Is the jasmine scent of you
Perfumed in Damask Rose
Giving off the scent
Of inner turmoil
You are brooding and troubled
Needing to be reassured
Held in the strength of my arms
Quieted by my love
Till dawn’s light
When your safety is assured
And your scent finds release
Along with that of mine
Honey suckle perfume
Your need to nurture
To let me suckle
At your breasts
Your perfume speaking
In words my soul hears
That you live only
To care for my needs
Your perfumed hands
Soothing way the aches and pains
Of my rough and busy day
Honey suckle promises
Of womanly affection
In waves of comfort and light
I taste honey
Nectar that sweetens my lips
For I know it flows for me
I know I am nothing
A poor lost man
Without the fragrance of honey suckle
Wafting over me
When there is venom in your eyes
Sparks fly all around me
And I know a storm is coming
A scent foreboding
Indicating the imminence
Of the unleashing of thunder and lightning
Torrents of rain
The scent of angered passion
I sense it
I smell your brewing storm
I’m unleashed in the elements
And yet….I know
How to harness your storm
How to bring calm
How to let you vent in my arms
Beat at my chest
I silence you with a kiss
Your arms pinned
The anger passes
Left on my chest
Leaves me shaken
In the aftermath
Of your storm
The perfume of surrender
Absolute abandon to my will
The sweetest fragrance
The tenderest emotion
A wilting flower
Waiting to be revived
Tenaciously wrapping around my body
Knowing its source of life, love, and happiness
Your scent moves me
Brings out my desires
To please and reward
To bring color to your petals
By my life giving stream
Lost in this scent
The most beautiful of all
The scent of surrender
The scent of your emotions...
Clings to my being
A perfumed eternity
In your arms
For Anthony Slausen's Scent of Your Soul Contest
Poem | |
Haiti, the home of voodoo practices
Seventeenth Century Spain cedes to France
Catholic Spaniards trembled when they saw
“Dead” men revived to wander in trances
A vile poison can make men appear dead
Revival requires an antidote
But perhaps there is more to zombie lore
An explanation to why these souls woke
Brutally treated slaves worked sugar fields
Captives from Africa known as “Maroons”
As French aristocrats sat and grew fat
Blacks sweated for “sweets” in the tropic sun
Buried guilt deep at night still festers
For conscience is God’s gift to each man
Some may suppress it for just a short time
‘Til magical night envelopes the land
Spirits of those who were taken in chains
Are given by God a chance to rebel
Stalking the living in deathly pallor
Haunting their captors with visions of hell
“Zombifications,” Maroons erected
Spreading the horrors of slavery with anger
Showing the French what their evil produced
And putting their sanity in danger
So please put the voodoo dolls back on shelves
The needle-sharp pricks of remorse can sting
Enslaved Maroons prevail in heaven’s court
Our Creator’s eyes aren’t missing a thing
Magic, black or white, God sees no color
Love is bestowed on men of all races
And those who question the Lord’s intentions
Should look in the eyes of living-dead faces
Poem | |
I’m made of ten thousand layers, curvaceous but stretched thin,
How should I begin to reveal the shape of this maiden-lover-hag
and the landscape that few men view, behind the louvered door?
Archetypes coexist comfortably below and upon my shared skin,
First, the shrew makes minced meat of all your carnivorous ways,
Then, I become the shy virgin again until Venus takes the floor.
Morning, while I tend my child between wringing out wet dishrags,
I release the Mother Goddess, nurse and maid, maker of wee sighs,
Bending down to wipe a tear, kiss a brow, proudly raise a nation.
A chatelaine rattling keys, I walk the wide halls of imagination,
Strong and free, yet accepting of my femininity, moved to cry
by the joys and miseries of family life, twin dimensions of wife.
My hips have turned soft men to stone then have rocked them
home with urgency; the same hips that sheltered one yet born
now happily support a burdensome basket each laundry day.
Betwixt the ribs, there is still a girl, weaving daisies evermore,
Remembering ribbons tugged from her hair, a tomboy daughter,
Climbing trees, bloodied knees, leaving trails laced with laughter.
Slips out the hoyden, lacking grace and gentleness, too crass,
and the very clouds try to escape the look upon my crone’s face,
Flip and sassy, standing up for the weak, voicing world wrongs.
Daily, the lady, the broad, the nag and miss rewrite their songs,
They play their parts so aptly, leaving me and them quite satisfied,
A lifetime is horribly short, my sex gives all her love and worth,
And men quickly learn that no woman on this lovely earth
can simply be classified.
*Inspired by Alanis Morisette's "I'm a B_tch"
**For David's contest, I hope
***Began the write May 26, 2012, finished the write May 29, 2012
Poem | |
Does the past really matter?
Does it set you free?
I’m absorbed in the sin,
That is surrounding him and me.
Lost in the curiosity,
Cold to the touch.
Drenched in the poison,
With my dignity in his clutch.
Feeling like I was cheated;
I chose the evil instead of light.
I traded in the sunshine,
For what lurks in the night.
I disobeyed his orders,
I gave up security to be unsure.
I went against the warnings,
Gave into darkness instead of remaining pure.
Once my bed was made of soft grass,
But now it is made of stone.
Was plump from all of the luscious fruit,
Now I’m starving to the bone.
My curse is one of circumstance.
The punishment a crime,
I’m stuck inside this dampened cave,
For the rest of time.
My world came crashing down,
The grief has not subsided.
My heart broke completely,
When my sons collided.
My misery a token,
From the abandonment I earned.
Upon the time spent in sorrow,
There was a lesson to be learned.
Have I found the moral?
Only in time we shall see,
For all I did was eat an apple-
From the Knowledge tree.
Poem | |
I LOVE THEE
I am no voluptuous beauty nor do I live a life of purity
I can only say: I love wholeheartedly with all I am so truthfully
I keep my heart open though it gets hurt so often
I avoid to be irate as I know love changes the heart rate..
Guys tried to coo and woo, they say words as for "only you"
Yet, hard to believe it is true as I see some untrue
I give chances as my heart marks with tact entrances
I learned from various instances looking man in romances
In places where rules impede, two persons who wants to bid
Not of money but of affection, in them must be determination
I love thee not of what you have…
Not even of who you are but to how you are to me…
If I love you, don't tell me much what to do…
As me, myself will show you, I am that real and true..
Yes, I am liked by many but tell you what:
I don't like this honey nor am I proud of it in anyway
One is enough to make me stay
Stand with me through it all, I give my best not to fall
My name your sweetest call echoing in every wall..
Hold me firm yet dear; allow me to move closely
We'll make it anyhow, treading smoothly on flows...
We are strong, aren't we? No one moving alone
Together we'll face phases in tune, though there will dunes..
© OLIVE ELOISA D. GUILLERMO
3:25 pm, 07/13/2013
CONTEST: ANY POEM GOES #13
SPONSOR: POET DESTROYER
8TH PLACE (TO GOD BE THE GREATEST GLORY)
Poem | |
My life surpassed, fades long, yet fast
(Below the dirt, my coffin's cast)
Despite how deep, however vast
I'll dwell inside that vacant mass
It's only He that understands,
The One that gave me Poet's hands
So tell me please, if you can-
How from dust arose a Man?
Poem | |
W-hen the fullness of time had come, Jesus was born behind an Inn in a cave-like stable.
I-n the Inn there was no room for the Son of God, no room for the Saviour of men.
S-tar was shining so bright above the stable for the shepherds to find their way to Him.
E-ven angels proclaimed His birth to those shepherds "Unto you is born this day."
M-anger is where Mary and Joseph first laid him. It was filled with hay.
E-very animal there must have known that their Creator had come that day.
N-o one knew the depth of love God had, to give His Son to dwell among men.
S-ame star guided three kings from the Orient, who studied the stars and heavens.
T-hese wise men from the East came saying "Where is He that is born King"
I-n their hands they brought him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrr.
L-ike these three wise men, wise men still seek him today!
L-ove is the reason that God sent His only Begotton Son into the world to save us.
S-eeking for you and me, yes God was seeking for us because we had left Him.
E-veryone, yes, all we like sheep have gone astray. Everyone to his own way.
E-ach one has to make his on decision to follow Him or not to follow Him.
K-ing, born to be a King. King of the ages. King of the past. King of the future.
H-eaven, He came from Heaven to earth to show us the right way.
I-niquity, the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
M-elody, He gives us a sweet melody, we sing many songs of praise to Him.
T-ree, A Christmas tree, the love that Jesus had for us, to die on a tree.
O-nly one life and how soon it passes. Only in life can we accept His Love.
D-eliverance, He came from Heaven to preach deliverance to the captives.
A-cknowlege Him and accept Him. Behold now is the accepted time.
Y-ou, Yes, this Christmas Love was for You. Will You accept this love?
For Brian Strands Christmas Love contest.
Poem | |
She showed me the clouds
and how to walk on the ninth one. A dreamer.
In the absoluteness of her mind, no barriers
exist within existence
as if her battles have
been won. I think she craves to fly,
past those clouds---another possibility
to make possible, a challenge
to challenge. Or dream about.
She probably thinks that when I complain
I cannot see the clouds,
the way she did when things got rough
in life. Of course, I beg to differ.
She dreams. I live. I don't
keep my eyes on clouds all day
as if there is nothing else to see
to make me understand the world better.
I suppose I'll rest one day, exhausted
by the what-ifs and whys, while Mama smiles
and points upward.
Poem | |
She thought by marrying an older man
She would forever look young in his eyes
He led the way, ‘twas a child that held his hand
Until he met with an early demise
Older now, she finds herself attracted
To young men more likely to outlive her
But my, oh my, how her peers reacted
With choices she made, they could not concur
Fiftyish gal with a thirtyish mate
He showers her with such great affection
And he doesn’t mind she can’t procreate
But from old friends she's scorned by rejection
These friends have husbands who are cheating now
For men have desires to feel young as well
Their marriages hang from a fragile bough
As these men fire blanks at much younger belles
*Entry for Dr. Ram’s “Cougar Effect” contest
By Carolyn Devonshire
Poem | |
Woke up to a new life in Egypt
I was young not more than seventeen years
Adorned with gold and precious stones
My body was in the shroud of silk and jewels in my hair
I sat on a throne as a Queen
My name was Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile
During the day I lay on the silk cushions
and dozed in the shade of palm trees
Beautiful men and women kept flitting
around me with all sorts of temptations
Fed me all sorts of fruit and cold drinks
When evening came, it was time for romance
As Queen I had many to choose
My choice was of course:
"The greatest men of Rome"
Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius
Why choose one when I can have two?
On a long journey down the Nile with
my love Julius Caesar, I was forced to
make a choice.
But a choice one must take...and the
choice was that I gave birth to a son
and Julius Caesar was the father
My love life was not popular
my husband was killed and I
was no longer popular
It was no longer a life of happiness and joy
No, it was war and national mouming
and I would not live anymore
Poem | |
where a pow wow stampeedes preconceptions of inheritence,
from Her beaded neck charms of chance & chains of change
glisten from opulent offerings of roots, corn & lavender ablaze
on an alter of unworked stone mantled with skins strong beasts knew,
She is a " Stomp Dance " Queen with an owl as a friend and a spider as assassin,
with rattlesnake ribbons around Her wrists and prayers in Her braids thick with traditions,
the walls of Her teepee painted with the pigments of buffalo blood & sunflower pollen,
portraying a history hewn from customs known to Spirits and men alike,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen speaks for Her People and sings from the stars,
I found this Tribe, not in Appalacia nor on a prarrie stage but in the smoke of ceremony,
the Cherokee Princess has rattlesnake teeth tied to Her thigh & turtle shells upon Her hips,
She played the rabbit on the scene, then the wolf, if you know what I mean,
celebrated by the warriors as a tomahawk maker,
praised by the medicine men for Her Visions,
and feared by the Elders because of wrath that may follow Her steps,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen is a Princess, She is a Cherokee with a song Her own -
Poem | |
The confusion of the living
With its sad and futile passions;
Is wearing out the people
As a woman wears out fashions.
What men have taken from the many
Is now the property of few;
The commandment not to covet
Is what men now love to do.
The dream of being equal
Would give abstinence from pain;
But they counted all the cost of things
That were not theirs to gain.
The landscape of life's summit
That bathed itself in glory;
Has told us what we now can see
With judgment on the story.
All the banal thoughts
Of self-righteous grasping men;
Never found the satisfaction
In truth written by a pen.
The friends we have today
And those that we once knew;
Are not more than the memory
That we once listened to.
Believe the fleeting moments
Find what they never gave;
For the sins of selfish living
Finds no comfort in the grave.
Poem | |
This ain't my first rodeo, so knowing the score more than four
I declare in this manure-flinging system of elected despotism
we ain't got no permanent friends, just permanent interests.
America's a dazzling chupacabra of a conceit
conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition
that shades of equality increase the gross market share.
We supplant the visible etchings of the colonial lash
with the invisible ones of debt by procuring more *****we don't need.
Breathless canaries in a cultural coal-mine,
fascicled to Breaking Bad, Mad Men and the Simpsons,
shackled to Amazon 's 'Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought'
we're driven out toward the oceans beneath Europa's baker's sugar crust
where freedom exists on a mono-cellular level
but knowing we 're not alone doesn't amount to manure
cuz they ain't Christian microbes so they ain't gonna be no use to us.
Like wind before the thunder the supple susurrus of my heart
sends frissons of pleasure jolting though my *****
bloated to such Brobdingnagian dimensions
as to feel at home in the hallowed aisles of Costco or Sam's Club.
Our finger wagging Uncle has overstayed his welcome,
So **** your tired, your poor -
you're taking away jobs from real Americans.
**** your huddled masses yearning to breathe free -
your emergency room doctor visits are costing taxpayers $2286 a pop.
**** the wretched refuse of your teeming shore -
we already have enough garbage to fill our landfills
Just gimme my VIZIO 80” Razor LED™ 3D Smart TV for my eye candy
Gimme my Google Nexus 8 cell phone cuz Steve Jobs can suck my dick
Gimme my Fidelio X1 headphones so I don't miss the subtle nuances in Willie Nelson's
Gimme my Nestlé Crunch Girl Scout candy bars for my sweet tooth and latent pedophilia
Gimme my Dial Triple Moisture Body cuz my balls got a stank like 3 day old crawdads
Gimme my Quilted Northern Ultra Plush toilet tissue cuz my ass needs TLC and backdoor action
Gimme my Fruit Smoothie Shakers so I don't have to get gouged by some turban mofo at Jamba Juice
Gimme my Gillette Fusion ProGlide Power Razor so I don't look like Jesus-F-Christ or a sandnigger
Gimme my Lash Factor Eyelash Conditioner cuz flirtatious love winks should be unconditional
America's soul is shrinking and vanishing like glaciers.
Grackles ebonize the sky where once proud eagles soared.
With God's help, America will rise again like the body of Christ after a good whooping!
Come on y'all - don't let my patriotic rant spoil a perfectly good Klan rally.
Poem | |
I invite you to join the perfect womens club
The application is sitting on the desk
The following will not determine acceptance
Certainly not breast size
Education will make little difference unless it's used wisely
There is no one to compete with
Acceptance is almost always guaranteed
What are we looking for you might ask
Have you cryed?
Does your heart possess the capacity for love
Do you sing along with the radio
Have you smiled, really smiled?
Have some of your dreams come true?
Are there still dreams waiting to unfold?
You can be shy or outgoing
You don't have to be anyone else
Flaws are important
They are what make you unique
Doubts and confidence
Forward and reserved
Doing the best you can today
It's okay if you have failed
Are you still smiling?
It's even okay if you are crying
You just have to be you
No need to change for anyone
If you want to change that is okay
You will reinvent yourself many times
Perfect in imperfection
A proud member of the Perfect Women's Club
Poem | |
You shimmering waves on the ocean blue
Dance not again, he cannot dance with you
You weeping forests where the winds wail too
Let your bright tears fall in the pool of dew
The world of pop will never be the same again
The king is dead, and life is a dream so vain.
Do you ask me why does my sorrow flow so
Endlessly for him? Is he not gone the way
Of men that many went before? O I do know
My time may not be long, and lessons delay.
Who do think was the man in the mirror? did
You see us there, did you know it oppressed him
When like wanton dogs drugged and rabid
Went heedless along the callous way being dim.
Look at the dance videos again, tell me
You see the what he begs to beat it. Off the wall
Are shadows falling like an inner expose
Where he internalized the world, and yet did call
In many songs - his troubled world was us
But now the king's sun set to dust, and we
Remain to heed and weep the vanity of lust
The tangled truths of out tentacled history!
Michael was God's gift to our season, and how I
Wish he would dance for me across the tribal plains
Of Africa again, where warriors ride in the sky
Through the fire make us brothers without chains
A global oneness where dreams deny the child
Nothing again. O death, what oneness beyond this
Can we find? Treat him kindly there, be mild
To him who in this troubled life knew no bliss.
Michael I miss you; O genius, sleep now in peace
The storms of life are over, the lightning ends
And droughts will come again, but I'll never cease
To proclaim your virtues to foes and friends;
Sleep beloved. Your glory stream in summer's eye
And Harlem's street are filled, old men remember
And old women interrupt their planning to cry
Farewell, Michael ... the grandest star is but an ember.
Poem | |
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,
She has been blessed by an angel's,
Realizes not a mightier power stands,
Before her, shielding his lamb from,
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,
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,
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
But within life's circle the
Human touch comforts a
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
One day we will find a cure.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Poem | |
Climb up the hill where gypsies hide,
And breathe on the wind of a restless tide;
Where notes of sorrow from a violin,
Cry out to the night from a heart within.
The day is dim and night is alive,
And gypsies dance like bees in a hive;
They spin and turn while the fire burns bright,
And sparks fly up to kiss the night.
Old men sit while weaving a tale,
While young men sit drinking their ale;
And fires of night flicker and glow,
While the winds of night moan and blow.
They dance too fast, they dance too far;
They follow the light of a fallen star;
But there in the sky a sickle shaped moon,
Dances with gypsies in the fires of June.
Poem | |
We made arrows from feather and bone
before burning down our homes,
our footsteps slinking
over undulating, snow-covered hills.
The animals residing inside my head
follow me into the forest
where I cross streams to lose my scent.
Bugles blare in the distance,
but at my feet, the hounds lay open,
bleeding-out in morning's fresh snowfall.
These moments invoke an original sin.
I could fell a million men with the softest of blossoms -
slay a million men with a gentle, whispered caress.
And so I pray for my hate to be replaced by grace,
since you are the other half of my heart and hearth,
since you are also a victim to the plague,
it's all I can do, to atone for my Aboriginal sin.
~(2013 Halfling Remix)~
January 22nd, 2013
*Dedicated to Singing Rain: May your sacred arrows always fly true