Poem | |
When the crimson rose has faded
And our day at last is done;
In the forest dark and shaded
Blows the tempest, dims the sun.
When the night holds us together
Shall forgiveness mend the past
Will despair bring sunny weather
And heal our hearts at last?
If we hide within the shadows
Will you stay here close to me;
Will we walk forgotten meadows
Or sail a foreign sea?
In vain the hour must reap
What we gathered in the sun;
And love's harvest now will weep
For the battle never won.
Within the world's disgrace
In the hour of Nevermore;
Will there be another race
To a far-off fabled shore?
We promised love tomorrow
We preen with pride today
Now pride and love will borrow
The tears of yesterday.
Our pride we now confess it
Is a sin that couldn't last;
Our passion if we kiss it
Is like a dream now passed.
While fragrance scents the garden
And the misty moon rides high;
The wind whispers a pardon
When love goes passing by.
More great poems below...
Poem | |
The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
One summer afternoon, lying wounded next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction, a land of disgrace
A blood thirst battlefield is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind bleeding hands
Crawlers, render their lives giving grace
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing, warm feelings
Summer rain, lungs filled with blood, one last post
Glorious by numbers, screaming blades
Gemstone in touch with the Holy Ghost
Soldiers come in a little close
Crawling, missing limbs,
Twisted nightmare with no ending
Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against the dying wind
Dirt piles of crushed windpipes -- sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle upon the sky
Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on walls, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
Fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, mothers face
Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin
Distant, before Texas and her annexation,
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!
Poem | |
-This buds for you!-
-It takes one to know one!-
-I know you are, but what am I?-
A second hand, on my stopwatch, going nowhere!
You are a joker, a smoker, a midnight stroker
<-------How, about that, Steve Miller song
I'm not here to talk about the way you comment a poem
That's not how I roll, now listen, and listen well,
I don't care, about them words you speak
A whining sheep, every time you don't score
Crying behind close doors,
Boo-Who, I did not place high in so-and-so's contest
Gosh&dammit, not everyone's on a quest
Blogging, about the day, your poem got demoted to nonsense
Trying to comment relentlessly,
You can't top, a mountain that has no setup
I'd rather leave a copy paste comment,
"than being fake as fake can be"
At least, my copy paste was a song,
in which welcome the new poets on
Treating, everyone with love and security
Your invites, are cold and force, to you it's not about community
No motion, to your notion, simple, and disgusting
I don't know why you think, we are competing,
Long ago, I left you bleeding, no reason to be defeating
Your paranoia, has you thinking, it's all about the points,
It's getting old and boring,
You cry babies are nothing more than jokes and hypocrites
Hey you, this ain't dominoes, we done pass every Jo-Jo
When, I have time I sit here for fun, my trigger finger on the gun
Reading, commenting, until my day is done
You think, because someone, left a copy paste
That your poem was not read,
Perhaps, it was not understood, or enjoyed
Or, a welcome to the neighborhood
A nice smile, from me to you
Nice poem, You Rock!
So What! ---- WOW!
This Bud's for you
I think it's time for you to GET A LIFE!
Be glad someone took their time, in checking you out twice
Not, everyone on this site, is full of bull-shit
The smallest words, are more likely to be legit
I don't need and expensive comment,
I don't want to impress, when it comes to the best comment
Please do not make love to my poem!
A nice pat on my back will do,
Now that my friend, puts a smile on my face
To know you care, to know you were there:)
Poem | |
Bright yellow sparks glisten around the landscape
Sheer environment expose
Warmth slinks down every step
Spur like rays muster in long light
The wolves wait to howl
Soon--Bunch of flowers
Huddle in with sunlit love
Poem | |
Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.
More great poems below...
Poem | |
-Dr President Lady, please launch the nuclear war button-
I'm packing up my girdle; I'm heading up state
Where society thinks only men should run for president
Chill with Bill, on the side show Hill
Subsequently, he got tripped up with his hand in the biscuit jar
This poem is not about me... It's not about, Hilary
I'm here to cheer and throw off an early vote voluntarily
I'm numbering my days with the aces
Until the 2016 U.S. Presidential election
Only in a woman, you’ll find confidence and determination,
Someplace out there is our leading lady in disguise
A woman who sits down and pee's with pride
A woman Like Hilary, whose place was denied in the sun
I will vote for a woman who is not afraid to lead,
Grab up her crotch, and fight for all the right reasons
Repaint the town white and her fingernails red
Blue lipstick in the breeze, a tommy gun in her possession
A million dollar diamond ring,
A mink from all cultures of the globe
Sing hallelujah, Amen Praise the Lord!
Pink ribbons of freedom,
China can test all her might,
It's time to feel the empowerment of a woman's delight
There she’ll be’, sit down and enjoy,
When it’s time to hear her voice,
The bullet will miss her beautiful mind,
She'll Raid the Democratic Nomination moment of the blind
Her ego on the side; when it's time to reason with society
Feel the shattered glass feeling when sharks attack whitey
Cop Out the Republican Bully
Black Ops the Democratic Liar
For women can reach, preach, and teach,
Nursing a world, collaborating with every mind
A barrier to be breached, a blessed moment to come,
If you require a true hit, vote for a woman in the Oval Office
Who said Mrs. Wonderbra can’t launch the nuclear war button
Poem | |
A conceited spring leaf, with pride in its heart
Its vigor and its beauty
The tree, how important it and its sibling leaves were,
And that without them naked the tree would have remained
Foliage, that so majestically the tree had dressed which, not only
Oxygen supplied to the tree
Also protection from the wind and for the birds a place to
Make their home.
The tree, after the leaf its long monologue had finished,
Turned towards it and asked with a sardonic smile:
“Where would you be, my newborn friend, if I were not
To provide, my branches for you to grow on
Nourishment from my roots that are hidden in the
© Demetrios Trifiatis
12 MARCH 2015
* All stories I write with such dialogues, are the result of inspiration.
If, however, the story is not a poetic one, Please, blame me and not
Poem | |
(Bill's 62 Ford Pickup)
She was very old, but she was quite grand,
she'd climb any hill, plough right thru sand.
She was loud enough to make your ears ring,
yet passing those hot rods made your heart sing.
She rattled like a chain, her beauty was gone,
upholstery was shot, we laid a towel on.
When she came to us, headed for the dump,
with her floor rotted through, rust on her rump;
Mel said "I'm through with her, take her if you want,
but you'll need to 'fix her up' she's begging for paint."
So we traded services, and chose the color blue;
Bill wired Rich's body shop, so we could use it too.
We patched all her holes, bought out the parts store,
gave her a hi-speed rear end, restored her 4-on-the-floor.
Her new body was sleek, cab and bed all one piece,
many people stopped to beg, "Sell her to me, please!"
High-rise manifold and cam, new brake system and clutch,
260 C.I. V-Eight engine, 4-barrel carburetor, dual exhaust.
Hounding those salvage yards took quite a toll,
but at sixty-five R. P. M. , she could really roll.
She took us back and forth, as we built our new abode,
lived up to every task, hauled many a heavy load.
We didn't throw her away when her job for us was done;
we sold her to a farm girl, who's taking her for a wild run.
We reminiscence about her as we rest in our new home,
we often miss the old girl, now that she's truly gone.
We wish someone could take us and do the same good turn,
give us a brand new chassis with energy to burn.
We'd like to join our old Ford, being restored now and again,
to our original beauty, with a souped-up power plan.
Poem | |
"Your first poem was an
excellent poem....you are
skat on my first poem.
"Wonderful and deep
poem....you are welcome
to poetry soup..." That
was Poet Destroyer.
"Wow you have touched
my heart in a special way
with your poem.....your
new friend Leonora
Galinta" said Galinta.
"Well penned" said
kithinji and so many
Hearty words from these
unique poets spurred me
to write better poems.
Which they appreciate.
Poetry soup is safe haven
where feelings and
emotions are expressed
in tangible forms.
An educational enclave
where different forms of
exchanged like two
hands washing eachother.
Am most humbled to
meet these dazzling
gems radiating warmth
like the sun-a privilege it
is connect to parts of the
I believe we all will meet
someday,not in the after
Leonora Galinta is an
angel to meet,whom I
admire amongst others.
Love to set my eyes on
her delicate and graceful
nature. See her graceful
carriage, feel her gentle
hands and smiles as she
exudes sweetness. I pray
hand of time will
backwards when that
day appears as we walk
in the woods leading to
silent deep blue sea with
whispering...... A prolific
writer as well.
PD will I meet
amiable nature,full of
grace and charm. A
Skat is lovely with her
immeasurable words of
Kithinji will I love to
behold,to learn from him.
Have drink with Robin,
Alian, shake akinyemi,
stroll with Joe, hv a hike
Sibanda, dine with Ralph
Saying hi and hugs to
Meeting the soupers is
making a happy family.
Am gliding like the
eagle,soaring higher as
the day pass by.
you soupers are my
(Baron Of Ebullion)
Poem | |
When it just seems that life means no more,
When it just seems you cant take another step,
You just wish you could embrace a lion’s roar
You just wish you could get some help.
Sometimes it seems so wrong to do what you like
Sometimes it really feels guilty to be who you are
You just wish to ride on a stallion’s might
You just wish you were not where your heart is marred
The world is cruel just to live in
Which makes the fantasy a better place
But nay, you cant lie to your within
So leave the battlefield with grace!
Sometimes it seems so hard to move on
Sometimes it seems so tough to pursue
You wish that all your troubles were gone
And you wish to begin a life anew…
You reach out to an untouchable dream
Impossible to grasp or to even feel
Sometimes the end of path is so dim
And it seems the way out is concealed
When you need something to guide you right
Sometimes you wish there is a guiding star
You search high and low for a star so bright
But it is impossible in times of war.
At times you have a battle with your within
And there comes a time when you won none
You find you’re weakened and your pride limping
You wish there is someone to hold on…
Even if you dive for the treasures of the sea
Even if tears of blood you would cry,
Destiny and fate shall not change any,
Even if the whole world you choose to defy.
Sometimes it seems your past is haunting
With your inner self you are battling
But each second you are weakening
And in the battle you’re losing…
A superior power comes into sight,
Destroying all form of threats,
With His might He would fight
With His love He would protect.
Once again the strength is your own,
And your pride is in control
Once again you are not alone
Knowing that you He shall hold.
Hard as it is to endure the tortures of life
Finally you’re no longer left in the cold,
Slowly as you are starting to revive,
Gaining strength as the mysteries unfold
Poem | |
I was waiting by my mailbox
To hear news from the Soup
I know they like to keep me
Somewhere, in the loop
I couldn’t wait to see, ME !
Somewhere at the top
Of The Hundred best read poems
That reader's thought were Hot
While I nestled in my chair
Took my subtle writers pose
With my thumb under my chin
And my finger, side my nose
I started to peruse
The list presented clear
While looking for My Name
I found it wasn’t there
Perhaps an over site
Could sure explain, a lot
They failed to read, the comments
And all the praise, I got
But then, it came to me
Those guys are really smart
My poems are so good
Their’re simply off the charts
Poem | |
Tower of babel
falls pride crushed dust
scattered across the face
Of earth dull heads crumble
Who challenges Gods of the ice-bergs
Spilling thorns on sad milky way
Are we building tower ?
Let it crumble on heart.
TAROT CARDS - Poetry Contest
Sponsor nette onclaud
Octodil 4-4-6-6-8- 8-6-6 syllables
No. 6 The Tower
Poet: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
Poem | |
Poets Dream To Inspire Others
Very few share their deepest inner thoughts and fears
those birthed before ever first had soft baby tears
Takes one stout of heart and secure in giving mind
to share such freely and openly with all of mankind
Such thinkers and poets are truly a special breed
freely forcing their hearts and minds to bleed
That others may gain some insight, some small part
of how man weds his inner soul with his open heart
No declaration that such men much better or worse
than any other people living with this world's curse
Just far more willing to be criticized or given praise
for thoughts presented and wonderful hope they raise
Robert J. Lindley
note: Poetry is a lot of things but first and foremost it should be about
giving to others by way of writing for the edification of those that read it.
Poem | |
Troy, The Defeat, Odysseus Punishment
Apollo, the archer-god, was quite unfair
Slew Eurytus for a vain archery boast
Mortal lives he had so very little care
Sending Greek ships sailing to the coast
Helen of Sparta, beauty beyond compare
face that launched a thousand ships
She of perfect face , body and hair
Paris stole this prize on his epic trip
Mighty hosts of epic fame and renown
sailed away to retrieve this treasure
Oaths given to hunt Troy's Paris down
Sacking the great city for good measure
Tens years of battles history so records
Heroes of brave deeds, tales now told
Great warriors , sworn to mighty Lords
Fought in the style of the swords of old
War was long and death was so redundant
Odysseus, devised a very cunning deceit
Pray upon Troy's hopes so very abundant
Victory, the sailing away of Greek fleet
A gift of a horse statue left on shore
Warriors hidden within its outer shell
Planned surprise attack just once more
Sack Troy sending its warriors to hell
Such a success was this devious plan
Troy fell to its most relentless foes
Death harvested wrath upon every man
Brought Odysseus trials the story goes
Odysseus warrior of Troy's epic defeat
Master of the great bow of Eurytus fame
Destroyer of Troy by such cunning deceit
Slayer sailed away, Troy in all in flame
Robert J. Lindley , 08-31-2014
note: Eurytus' grandfather was Apollo, the archer-god,
and was also a famed archer. Eurytus has been noted by
some as the one who taught Heracles the art of archery.
According to Homer, Eurytus became so proud of his
archery skills that he challenged Apollo. The god
killed Eurytus for his presumption, and Eurytus' bow
was passed to Iphitus, who later gave the bow to his
friend Odysseus. It was this bow that Odysseus used to
kill the suitors who had wanted to take his wife,
Poem | |
There will be a day when Alba becomes free
To unite this great nation, rid our debris
Join together, families, neighbours and friends
Encourage unity, let Alba ascend
And this will happen, as long as one Saltire flies
Uniting our nation, all of you and I
Poem | |
You can see me when I fly
And my wings across the sky
My body is large and my neck is long
I will never sing a gentle song
My breath brings fire from deep inside
It's the reason many families have died
Don't come looking for a fight
Because I will scratch and bite
I will pound the ground and rattle your head
I will rip your flesh and your blood will spread
I will pick your bones clean
I am a dragon like you've never seen
So if you don't want to be ate by me
You better just turn away and flee
Poem | |
I remember that night as if it were yesterday,
sitting and watching your chest moving rhythmically
up and down as you took each breath.
Your face was that of tranquillity.
Your cheeks were scarlet from spending hours
on the beach in the November wind.
As your little eyelids began dancing in the moon lit room,
I couldn’t help but wish I was there in your dream.
The skylight allowed the moonbeams to shine down on you
and you were that night; my star.
I rushed to get my video camera to capture this rare moment.
Then sat there filming you, not wanting this serene moment to end.
Soon my son, you shall graduate from university.
So much has been lost since then, and the video?
Yet still when I close my eyes, I can see you there,
that warm feeling wells up once again in my breast,
and that night has become one of the most
treasured moments of my life.
It has been branded in my heart and soul forever.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Contest: A poem you have not entered in a contest #12
Poet Destroyer A
Poem | |
He never did see a face though only a board width away,
yet remembers feeling privileged, spending those last few moments
while trying so hard to find the softer soil to lessen the impact
upon the brass plated permanent encasement; in this final resting place.
beneath the old oak
neither sun nor moon perceived
a veil of shadow
He’s mindful of the susceptible sensation within when the last
shovelful that completely covered the coffin tenderly placed,
then the license to use the coarse fill of heavy clay and stoney soil.
to become apart
at one within holy ground
the grass grows each spring
A phenomenal pride when to barrow away the surplus soil,
leaving the mound trim and tidy, a monument for the deceased;
also a monument for him, his very first dig, all with his own hand.
a mark of respect
for three score years and nineteen
© Harry J Horsman 2015
Poem | |
Pink- Pink- Pink-
Every peak has its own attractions,
Like the mountains,
The mounts of a woman,
Have always remained,
Her pride possessions. 01
It has the charms,
More intoxicating than wine,
As it reveals the beauty,
Of a woman's alluring binds. 02
These mounts gives,
The wings of imagination and colors,
In the mind of an artist,
And they arise the passion,
In lovers mind.03
Their rise and fall,
Has shaken great empires,
Under their cool and peaceful shade,
The dreams of a child form shapes. 04
Its serenity has given birth,
To most pious and holy figures on Earth,
And their warmth have shaped the dreams,
Of many powerful kingdoms on Earth.05
They feed life giving milk,
To every new born light,
Every time they laugh and cry,
These lofty mounts,
Help in forming shapes,
When the child begins its story. 06
But these pride possessions,
Of a woman,
These lofty inspirations,
Of Poets, Writers and Artists,
These magical charms
Which often become more attractive,
Than the face of a woman,
A wide spread pollution,*
Which is the unwanted gift of
Modern living and
They are also the gifts,
Of worst living habits,
Adopted by thousands,
and millions of woman,
As they fall prey,
Before the charms,
And shows of modern generation. 07
Many such wonderful women,
Who are in the grip of this pollution,*
Have brought this curse on them,
Of their own follies and errors. 08
Many such suffering women,
Can really get rid of,
From the curse of this pollution,*
If only they can show,
The courage to adopt,
The natural way,
Of living and breathing,
Possible under the boon like shade,
Of real Yoga. 09
Of the distortions,*
Of their pink pink ribbons,
Are mainly the results,
Of their own creations,
And these results,
Are not something,
One should blame,
The destiny or God every time. 10
Some of the serious reasons are,
Not caring rightly,
For one’s own pride possessions,
And the lack of,
A cool and calm mind,
From morning till night,
All the junk foods and wine. 11
Beyond all time limits,
your peaceful mind. 12
Running and more running
To catch others,
So that you may not leg behind. 13
And madly crying,
For more and more wealth,
Even if you have sufficient,
For your life time. 14
Are the reasons,
Which invite the pollution,*
To sow its rotten seeds,
The enchanting valley,
Amid the mounts of,
Pink pink flowers. 15
Can still be derived out,
With the little practice of Yoga,
But it remains untouched,
And unsung about,
By most of the modern women. 16
These otherwise elegant women,
Regularly face the problems,
Lack of peace,
And sound sleep.
Which ultimately take away,
And coolness of mind,
Resulting in strengthening more,
The un sprouted seeds of pollution.* 17
Still it is not too late,
If they can only change,
Their life styles,
Their eating and drinking habits,
And adopt from today,
The way of natural living,
The boon like Yoga. 18
As the practice of Yoga,
Not only add years to your life,
But life to your years, as well. 19
Kanpur India 15th Nov. 2012
*Pollution- The other name of Cancer.
Those who want to share their views on My above Poem may
write to me on my yahoo mail id: firstname.lastname@example.org I
would welcome your brief comments and if possible I will reply
you. Thanking you in anticipation. Ravindra K Kapoor
Inspired by Poet Destroyer I am dedicating this Poem to all those women of the world, who are facing any such problem of Pollution* And to those also who are not facing it, so that their life my feel the joy of living under the blessings of Yoga.
TO OVERCOME OR TO TAKE PRECAUTION ON THIS PROBLEM UP TO SOME EXTENT- ONE CAN START WITH ANY ONE OR TWO OR THREE OR ALL FIVE OF THE SIMPLE YOGA EXERCISES I HAVE GIVEN IN MY ‘YOGA IN POEM’ SERIES 1 TO 5 ON POETRY SOUP IT- SELF. YOUR COMMENTS WOULD BE HIGHLY APPRECIATED. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=490745
IMPORTANT NOTE: The best effects of Yoga can only be obtained if it includes the main exercises of essential ‘PRANAYAMA’ otherwise it wouldn’t yield the desired results and PRANYAM should be learn properly first. Ravindra K Kapoor
Poem | |
Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013
I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over
Taught me to fight back
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over
He gave me my stubbornness
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over
How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over
Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on
I may stumble I may fall
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over
Sabrina Niday Hansel
Placed 1st in "Unsung Hero" 7/2014 contest
Also 3rd. in "Portrait of a Poet" 1/2014
Poem | |
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this alletrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevaient from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths, roles and qualities
of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s
Poem | |
The devil went down to Washington to see what he would see
Ah yes he said everything looks real good to me
Everything is sliding down as I have planned it
That phrase “under God”: they have all but banned it.
This is sweeter than in the days of Adam and Eve,
Appeal to their almighty pride and they’ll believe,
any old thing I wish them to perceive,
or ridiculous philosophy I may conceive.
“I” the great perpendicular pronoun,
they all love that delightful sound!
By using their pride I can steer them.
forcing the meek to fear them.
Those prime time commercials were my special inspiration,
The ones that reinforce their economic and ego inflation,
with the phrase “I buy this product because, “I’m Worth it!”
Or my favorite humility killer, “because I Deserve it!”
It’s so funny! They all think they do!
They stick to their mirrors like glue
While sliding in their own poo!
My what a little vanity can do!
Makes me feel like singing!
As my dark angels are winging
“Glory, glory well for me-ee
Glory, glory hell to thee-ee
Glory, glory hell to we-ee
I’ll have more compan-eeeeee!
Poem | |
PUNGENTLY POIGNANT (STRONG & EMOTIONAL)
I am from the Mississippi Delta where cotton use to grow.
I am a codified bonified mind that way sets the flow.
When Hurricane Katrina hit, the vibes of so-called power were felt.
Crossing the Mississippi River was a manifold shown.
I went to the North to discover self.
I gain knowledge and intellect.
They say the ways of the oppressed man was embedded by King, Jr.
Who went to West to learn Gandhi’s concept!
Oprah Winfrey visited his slums.
Where she was greeted as a great one.
She walked through the City at night.
Gaining her insight as sums of sums.
You see the Northern region of the U.S. desires the prophecy that man bought via
The time of servitude and bondage.
Today the power struggle cover is iniquity.
A paved path of emplacement is the European man statement.
X marks my footsteps said 101 Black Man of the Delta President.
He is a statue of political etiquette.
He hides behind a culture of low-downiness.
He broadens my world as the bawdiest bitch.
We all family out.
What do we talk about?
The systematic discrimination happening in our lives.
To conclude, family and friends is how we socialize.
If you want to know how this lineup.
I will see you in stance as a home front hand-cuffed.
Get your house in order.
Your blood does not provide a hidden culture of defiance.
Poem | |
A predator among us.
A villian in our midst.
An entity of evil,
Clouding up our wits.
Preying on the innocent.
Devouring the strong.
A sycophant immortal.
Unbound by right and wrong.
White wool adorning
The curves of their form.
Cloven hooves dragging
on the ground with the worms.
No hoofprints behind them.
just the four toed paws
dotted at the tips
by their long and angry claws.
Nature is a cruel being.
Creating monsters in her storms.
No one understands
And everyone is torn.
The prey will always villify
those who are higher than they
on the food chains bottom
the sheep will always stay.
The wolves are meant to feed
without remourse consume
The psyches of the weak
to bring them to their doom.
The sheep will bleat and bellow
in fear of those wolves
And try to justify their blindness
by stamping hard their hooves.
Hiding in the herd,
the prey upon their back
the predators facade
turns their wool to black.
Such is natures way.
No one is at fault.
The circle of life.
The predators of thought.
For who can blame the hungry beast
for eating to survive
When you people create such feasts
And tantalize our eyes.
We can not feel guilty
for gaining our sustenance.
consider this my fealty
for i shall not repent.
Poem | |
I am Reality’s angel
resting on the broad shoulders of discovery
the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target
ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you
there is a creator of all things
He is just and patient
many still have fallen into the masses of shadow
wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy
I have seen grown men fall like rose petals
and weaklings rise into unjust leaders
forever the follower of furtive evil
dominating only to remain inferior
the most important answers lie in the unseen regions
where no sense can fully give assurance
the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn
grows weary because of the distance it must take
and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates
it is knowing we are seeking something far
that could very possibly not exist,
that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense
it is knowing all we really think we know
and yes—even a lie
all that has been written thus far rests under my wings
under the warmth in which you refuse to feel
can you believe in me—
though I am completely unseen?
how much more difficult would it be to see