Poem | |
On the day
that John Lennon died,
people were just going
about their business
as they did every day.
Mark David Chapman
Catcher In The Rye
void of his holy self.
He would have had to
Imagine there’s no heaven.
John took the elevator
down from his room
at peace with his belief
that there was
no hell below us.
He stepped out
on that fateful day
above us only sky.
On the day that
John Lennon died,
people where just going
about their business
as they did every day.
Imagine, all the people
living for today.
Chapman talked to Lennon.
Just before he killed him.
He was singing "imagine
there’s no countries
because it isn’t hard to do."
Chapman shot his
hollow point bullets,
there was nothing
to kill or die for
and no religion too.
What a senseless killing,
how senseless killing is.
I imagine all the people
living life in peace.
John fell to the ground,
a pool of blood beneath him.
A preacher on a soap box
unaware of the horrific act
that had taken place
was spewing words
that never belonged
to his soul but filled
the tin cup he was holding.
He yelled loudly,
‘you may say that I'm a dreamer
but I'm not the only one’
a woman in the crowd hummed
‘I hope someday you'll join us.’
A teenage couple under
their breath followed with
‘and the world will be as one.’
They say when the police arrived
Chapman was reading his book.
Imagine no possessions,
I wonder if you can.
The Detectives did not wait
for an ambulance.
They rushed John Lennon
to the hospital.
They weren't looking for credit;
they had no need for greed.
The preacher had left
with his tin cup full,
no need for more or hunger.
At the hospital the air was
like most emergency departments,
people comforting people
who themselves needed comforting.
A brotherhood of man.
In a hospital with its tragedies
life is more than real
you don’t need to imagine
all the people sharing all the world.
It just is.
You can hear
beating in tune,
‘You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one.’
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: I Love Rock n Roll
Poem | |
Devils deadly dime
The sign said no grown-up at the playground.
Tripping on a penny, like a mime!
My hand is in my pocket with the dime I found.
Its all mine, I asked for the devils hand that time.
Echoes in my head, bounded by a screaming sound.
Paying for a forgotten crime,
on what comes around goes around.
A prison with greed that carries an evil musical chime.
Jumping off the merry-go-round!
Encouraged by the devil,
the pleasure of his deadly nursery rhyme.
Now the world is measured by my blood level.
The devils delight feasted on my youth before I hit my prime.
Bashing my mind, with thoughts implanted by evil.
Entering the day with no beauty to my sublime.
Begging him to remove this anvil!
He laughed while he cursed me with a favor for a favor.
A fallout so violently in this world not civil.
One can only lust on the taste that only he can savor.
Hanging out by the swings wounding me with prey,
on two victims to his delicious flavor.
I climb my way to teach a lesson in hate not love.
Two siblings who always scream for each other.
Giggling as I offered each a push and a shove.
Stopping they give each other a big hug.
Defeating and proving love is a stronger disease
The devil wicked eyes looking at me like a bug.
Clawing at my inner guts with remorse that he will win this war.
Until another day one skips the penny,
and begs a poor fool like the devil for his dime.
Tossing heads for his tail when times hits rock bottom.
I will stray away from his deadly reaction time.
He will not own my soul so freak'em,
and his greedy deadly beg of a dime.
Poem | |
Seven generations walked through your door,
Which stood so strong and always welcomed in.
You said goodbye when boys headed to war,
Two soldiers lost to battles they can’t win.
Your kitchen always busy as a bee,
With canning, baking apple crumble cake.
Stone hearth, a place for warmth and drink some tea,
The table decked with riches to partake.
The living room a place to sit and chat,
With pictures hanging for one hundred years.
A chair still there where ancestors once sat,
This room for laughter and at times for tears.
Your nursery where many babies grew,
With bassinet where ev’ry child did lie.
The paint would change at times from pink to blue,
A place where time would always quickly fly.
The floors within have felt each child’s first walk,
Their worn out wood drowned many times with stain.
You watched the aging people gently rock,
You’ve heard and felt the tapping of a cane.
I stand and listen in your sacred halls
And feel that you’re a part of everyone.
Each breath we took embedded in your walls,
Of fathers, mothers, daughters and of sons.
Old house of stone your warmth embraces me,
Your children now all scattered far and wide.
You still stand proud for all the world to see,
The thoughts of you, sweet memories inside.
The house my children grew up in.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III
Best of 2014 1st place
Poem | |
Enough Angelina, drop the bouquet of harebells.
The flowers wilt as your graying hands stiffen. See, how grave
is our newborn son. We gift him a black crêpe layette.
Say Darling Edward, say, Golubushka, make me come alive.
Leave this chapel, return to his cradle, quicken your deadwood.
Come, rock his sweet little boat, croon, sladkiy bairdark.
Your shade sighs as the mourners trudge into the dark
of All Hallow's Eve. A breeze stirs the hairs on my nape. Bells
toll, the ringer incants “Unto the Church, I do You call, Death
to the grave will summon all.” Freshly turned gravel
rolls from the burial mound, the earth’s answer to life’s
reticence. Our son, whom I cradle, mutely lays.
See, the ground moves. There, there, my boy. Love's only mislaid.
Father, Mother, take the babe, go, shield him from Highgate’s darkness.
I stay. By will alone, I'll not let maggots deface beauty that lives.
My Angel, please, tug the cord housed in your coffin so the bell
will ring, rouse London’s rigor. You will waltz on this grave,
speak of Siberian winters, then scoff, roll eyes at the vigor of death.
Insubstantial lips brush the babe’s forehead, even death
cannot stay her reply. Ed’ard, Mother will take him home to lie.
A chill north wind rises as if to show your sorrow from the grave,
clawing the headstone with twigs and pebbles; clouds darken
the moon. Your shade screams; a bough whips Mother's cheek, the bell
on its gold cord is silent. Wind nigh swallows my howl, Angelina, live!
We are alone, Angel, save for those cemetery ravens which liven
roan weeds. Three nights I've troubled Highgate, plucking deadheads
from your boney wreath. Obstinate wife, revive the grieving bell.
I hear them calling Ed’ard, Come. I am torn from your stone: waylaid,
outnumbered, locked in our bedchamber. At the next darkening,
the babe's rattle rings, calling your name. I escape to your grave.
Nightclothes drenched and shoeless, I topple onto the grave.
Yea though I walk … ring, damn you, bell, ring! Curse this life!
The sky cracks open, sheet lightning pierces the craven darkness
as if in answer a mother oak’s limb shatters. The deadweight
crushes me against the granite angel where you lay.
At sunrise, church bells rang Angelus prayer from the chapel’s belfry.
Angelina, Angelina, our grown son visits our grave to honor the dead.
He is our true afterlife; all my fears have been allayed.
All is too calm and well 'til his eyes darken as he batters your bell.
Collaboration by Cyndi MacMillan and Debbie Guzzi
Stanzas 1, 3 ,5 and 7 by Cyndi MacMillan
Stanzas 2, 4, and 6 by Debbie Guzzi
Poem | |
Resting on this oversized jagged rock
Gazing out across the vast blue sea
Waves crashing upon the stony shore
A soft mist spraying, showering me
I think... I think of you
as the seagulls glide up in the air
as the morning sun rises o'er the horizon
as the soft wind blows in my thinning hair
what were you like?
what did you do?
were you the same
before I met you?
Were your eyes elegant, like pools of love?
Did you see beauty in the littlest of things?
Were you always this so darn sweet?
Did your dreams soar on angels wings?
I want to know all of who you are
What you did and where you came
I want to know your thoughts and dreams
Your favorite flowers, colors, and names
As the sun drops down and the stars shine bright
I wonder... I wonder what you are thinking tonight
Poem | |
My dearest Claudia,
For eighteen months, I've been at this Jerusalem outpost.
"Tis you and young Julius that I miss the most.
This wasn't the adventure I set out to seek-
At least, not until this past week'
A local rabbi rode a donkey into town,
While people were throwing palm branches down.
Many proclaimed Him to be their "King."
The Jewish leaders vehemently denied such a thing'
They arrested Him and a riot ensued;
My squad was called in to get the masses subdued.
Back and forth, they sent Him- through several mock trials.
The prisoner maintained His silence all the while.
"He's a traitor to Rome," the priest and leaders cried.
And the crowd wanted Him crucified'
A "Royal robe" they made Him wear
Then His own cross He was forced to bear.
With a thorny crown jammed down upon His head,
It was off to Golgotha He was led.
Lifted up between two thieves,
The day turned black and I wanted to leave'
Then I heard my Centurion say something very odd:
"Truly this is the Son of God'"
Buried in a borrowed grave- as if in a womb-
I and my men guarded that tomb.
Then some time during the middle of the night,
The rock was rolled back 'midst a blinding light'
In the morning some woman came to that "prison,"
But two beings inside said "He has Risen'"
This week's events have so drastically changed my life.
That I was compelled to tell you of them, my beloved wife.
Your Husband Octavius
Arthur Ball (h.S.L.P.)
April 16, 2006
Poem | |
i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is
broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture.
i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me.
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives,
she's also got a gun.
she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it.
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest.
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.
i pump she pumps then we get out of the car and fix the flat. never liked
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.
Contest: Chopped III
Sponsor: craig cornish
Poem | |
SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY
See what you want to see
Don't Look at me!
You are staring you are watching;
Eat what you can't be
Come sleep by my side
The whole world is our playground
Don't make a sound
Stop clowning around
In the mist of the night,
You keep me from crying
I wipe off the taste of your lips
You kiss me starting at my inner hips
You broke me in a way..
I hate to say your love is better every day
I deny you, the one thing I can't say
You are my pillow
Where I rest my legs,
Can you feel me~
This moment feels right
I just want to die here,
Die here ~
Die here by your side
I sleep with my eyes wide open,
I sleep with the enemy by my side
Come here and hold me
After you watched my worlds collide
Come here and love me
I'm yours till the end of time
You can rock me!
Under the moon and its rhyme
I put it all to a side, how I hate you inside
I can't let go
I just want you to know
I'm a fool in love with you
Even if it doesn't show!
12- 7- 10
Poem | |
My hungry heart and thirsty soul yearns for refill...
Darkness and light roll then turn me up and down.
Laughter and cries conjure caress my being in shrill.
Gaping aghast to running rush caused a run-down!
Yet, You my God comforted me 'neath water tides try.
In trials and confusion, Your Sovereign a rock still.
To shaky hope and weakness, Your grace empowers my will.
The wilderness brings forth spring when I found yea...
Hearing the sweetness of your voice in silence
unfolds truth - healing wells of pains and woes...
Heaven's breath by blossoms smell brought no shyness
of searching... finding... knowing You more and more...
Stars and moon shine along with my life's lamp shall bow
in praise and worship, the deepest reverence I can offer.
Thanking you until my life is done, my forever vow.
As finding You, my God within labyrinths sets order...
August 10. 2013
FIRST PLACE, GLORY
CONTEST: FINDING GOD
SPONSOR: Gale Angel
Inspired by Biblical Verses:
*Acts 17:27: That they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us,
**Matthew 7:8 = For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.
***Jeremiah 33:3 - call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and
hidden things that you have not known.
Poem | |
hay, manure, cows
a low long bellow -- ancient
birthing call, s w o o s h . . . life
barn filled with hay, cows
moist heat, the smell of manure
wet nose, brown eyes --- time
a hard bellow, the birth cry
final push . . . s w o o s h, miracle
dedicated to Mary Jo, you rock country girl!
Poem | |
Bah Bah Black Sheep I Am Slamming You Nathan D
I know you think you’re so tough with your words in the rough
You keep your poems tucked in underwear and you won’t share
Let me tell you Lil Bub my attitude is BIG, so here’s de rub,
I’m going to scratch you like a cat
When you come close for de pat;
And Yo! God got no ears,
For your small condensed tears;
Next time you lash your tongue and whip, you cum on wit no hip
Bah bah black sheep, you ain’t gonna pull de wool off me pip
I like to mentally infuriate you
And yes I like my milk fat free
Yeh I got you’re number you
And no I ain’t sniffin no glue
It is called “SLAM POETRY”
And as for keeping your poetry all to yourself, well go to hell
Where the devil will give you a pitchfork, dig what you can’t sell!
Cause I ain’t digging me no hole for empty air
So fork it out Nathan D, lay out bare,
Cuz I’m not muckin with you just for fun, I think you Rock
Like third rock from the sun
I like you’re quip, you son of a gun!
Poem | |
In the silent breathing of night,
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish.
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.
The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh
With endless stings of cruel misery.
The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.
The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)
I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!
Poem | |
I carry my mother
like a rock in my pocket
that I just can’t seem to throw away
It serves me
it just weighs me down
When I first found it,
when I first picked it up
and started carrying it with me,
I thought it so beautiful –
I could look at it for hours
But, like my mother,
it never looked back at me,
never grew warm under my loving gaze
For the longest, I was blind to that,
Blind to anything but the beauty,
blind to the cold, hard,
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
I carry my mother,
a thought without weight
And she’s heavier
and she’s colder
than all the stones
By the time I recognized her
immutable, emotional unavailability,
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –
But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart
Could not stop
that one day this stone,
deep inside my pocket,
Might just become
its own opposite –
Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm
But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water
When my mother
Poem | |
Dropped some purple haze with Jimi -
we created castles out of polished beach glass,
then we fused with acid-laced clouds.
Kissed the sky
Jimi started bawling,
his torrential tears washed us down and out to sea.
Each drop of water became a pixel,
until reality morphed into a painting of musical notes,
and the music transformed back into a fresh reality.
There wasn't any more doubt
whether we were experienced now -- and how.
The tide washed us up into heavy crosstown traffic.
Jimi wandered down Voodoo Blvd,
I became a hoodoo child
gobbling up sugar cubes filled with liquid sunshine.
I watched the yellow cabs race by,
watched the heavy metal race by.
Jimi was jacked into electric ladyland,
his radiant smile, hiding pain
and covering other people's lies.
Even so, Jimi believed in his message,
sincerity set him apart from the crowd,
which is why he made sure
not to let his smile, wither and die.
But the more that his manager pushed,
the more that Jimi's pusher came....
Jimi was hypnotized by the flashbulbs of fame,
attempting to out-run a childhood filled with shame -
blowing out speaker stacks
with that twisted pedal magic,
vibrated from his guitar,
making love to the sky with rainbow hues
of acid rock-induced rolling blues.
Jimi simply wanted someone to love him back
even half as much as he could,
for Jimi's love was honest and hard,
with wings waiting to be released
into a world not yet ready to be fully free.
Kissed the sky.
Kiss the sky
2013 "I Love You Like Sky" Remix
May 20th, 2013
Poem | |
There aren’t too many jobs that kids can do
when they are in their pre-teen years, but we
knew of a place to work where berries grew.
To pick them was a job of misery.
In June, my siblings and I went each day;
into a field with hats and pails we’d go!
On hands and knees, through dirt we’d crawl our way
while picking berries up and down each row.
I still recall the rock ‘n roll we played -
our only pleasure as we all perspired
in Iowa’s damp heat, away from shade.
When we were through at last, we felt so tired.
No smaller pay have I since ever got.
But how I loved the treats that money bought!
Poem | |
The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
Poem | |
running to the rock
a strong tower against foes
her love a refuge
To strong women and their love
Poem | |
Sing a lullaby, baby on my chest
Soothing her slowly, she so needs a rest
Hush my little baby don't say a word
Daddy's going to buy you a mocking bird
Rocking back and forth, she's finally asleep
Tiptoe to her crib, making not a peep
Lay her on the bed, tuck her in real tight
Slowly leave her room, pray she stays the night
Head on down the hallway
Find my sexy baby
Lay her upon my chest
My fingers do the rest
Kiss her soft and slowly
Love her long and wholly
Dance to our special song
Rocking her all night long
My two babies, how I love them so
Holding them close, as our family grows
Poem | |
She dresses the land down
in a virginal bridal gown
a masterfully cut and sewn chenille
shines brightly with a fine crystal appeal
Her assistants work quite diligently
to add special touches and then flee
they decorated the mountain peaks
using all their white glitter techniques
beat beat beat beat
one small step to the side
As an observer...
your feet quake in their shoes
your body heat quits without notice
your nerve endings are on edge
your common sense walks out the door
A little girl tells her mother
" Mom look big, fat, snowflakes"
you look out at winter
unmoved she looks right back at you
with a chilling icy stare
freezes the turkey in the oven - to the bone.
she exhales a wispy sigh
by her royal blue decree
a below zero degree.
she is brutal, my oh my!
beat beat beat
another step to the side
Back to all the children lean
Back to younger than nineteen
Back to those in their twenties
Those were my best years, twenties
Back to men and women below fifty
don't know why but they look happy
Skates are sharpened
Skis brought out of storage
You can hear the sound of coats,
Zippers being pulled to up above the neck
Sounds of thick socks and scarfs
walking out of cedar drawers.
Toboggans racing down hills
Kids right behind them wondering
why their sliding on their own butts
Trying to catch their brand new ride.
Snowboarders execute their killer moves
no judge no jury it's all 'bout the grooves
here's where this poem
steers off the beaten path
so hold your breath
beat beat beat beat beat
here we go
with the flow
Winter has arrived,
oh sh~t here we go
This woman is far from shy
She with that dry ice heart
That woman will cut you open
With the chill of her breath
That's right Dorothy
were not in Kansas anymore
This Witch is East, West, North, South WICKED!
We're not even in Oz this Witch is spelled with a
B and she's got a hell of an itch, if you catch my drift
I preferred her father he was kind compared to her
since she took his place minus forty is a warm day
she dresses in winter white but the Grinches
coal black heart at least had some life in it, this
women is down the toilet with her potty mouth
her heart is frozen solid Dead! Bad! and Beyond!
With her there is no such thing as a thaw
even her brother was occasionally warm
Not her she'll shrink your willy
from ten to two inches long
(who the heck is willy, should we free him?)
Don't test her she is far from tame
She'll freeze your flesh, use your frozen balls
as ice cubes for her one hundred and forty
proof vodka. Laugh in your face as she downs
her drink. Then gargle with your family jewels.
Ever notice how you never see the Devil
at the peak of winter, even he fears her
She froze off the tip off one of his horns
When they were kids and not a thing he could do
She's family - hands off - if you know what I mean
There has to be honor in a house of thieves
Winter is here
and it's frikkin cold
she'll drop six feet
of the white sh~t
in a single go
back to some sanity
let's end this with some
bullsh~t poetic beauty
Did I mention Ontario's Niagara On The Lake
Did I mention Ice Wine and tasty Frosted Cake
hang on to your pants
beat beat beat beat
beat beat here goes
During the christmas holidays you
have to go to the Falls, what a venue
Niagara Falls itself is quite amazing
The powerful lights they shine blazing
Against the thundering waters rushing
Like the results of an artist's airbrushing
The Festival of Lights is also worth perusing
It is a path you follow in your car just cruising
We follow it up with Montreal every year
It is a long tiring ride but we're finally here
It's a New Year - all the land is aglow
Voices of children playing in the snow
Sculptures for the festivities come to life
Lights shine- with colors bright - people rife
With enthusiasm for The Festival Of Ice
A family event in this winter paradise
beat beat beat
once last walk on the wwwwwwild sssssssside
A Winter Paradise? pahh!
The B~~ch gargled with
Your Gonads in her mouth
She used them as ice cubes
Who DOES that?
Yes this is a chilling ending
but an ending all the same
you all come back now
you hear? The End!
and now the refrain
Come on Manuel it's back
to the igloo with us. (Now why
did I say that in my John Cleese
Voice.There's Something Faulty
there. The man Towers above me)
No Senior this winter thing
She is not working out for me
You stay if you like, I am visiting
my friend in Malta...
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper
Contest Name: Rock Me Around the Clock or Rock Me to Sleep--Rhythm Poems
Poem | |
I flew over Bryce Canyon my wings fully spread in a gentle glide
as I marveled at the view below. It wasn't the first time but it always
felt like it. I flapped my wings to ascend even further and consume
even more of the landscape. The weather chiseled rock that always
reminded me of sandcastles children sculpted at the seashore.
I loved the fragrance of the pine trees that neatly grew amongst the
rocks and the white and golden blend of colors that jutted here and there
against an ever changing sky. I suppose if they could see me - humans
would gasp at the sight of an Angel and me well I still gasp at all that
God created for the pleasure of mankind.
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 | |
R e l i e f:
the f o g,
b l urri n g
of your pain.
Can you feel
anything at all? I
watch you drink your
life away, far too many
moments lost, forgotten
in that h a z e. I watch as
you f e e d your disease,
suck yourself dry before you
suck me dry, draining me
like one of your bottles, till
I'm empty inside. But I can't
wait around for you to snap,
to throw me against the wall.
I won't shatter like a bottle.
I won't burst in a mosaic of
glass and light. You cannot
b r e a k someone who is
already b r o k e n. You can't
fix someone with s l u r r ed
apologies or promises that
smell like stale alcohol. I
can't be there to drown at
the bottom of your bottle.
I’m done with rock bottom.
For Anne's "Battling Addiction" contest
Poem | |
You are scissors, and all you can do
is to cut all those paper hearts through.
But I’ve hardened my heart
and before you can start
to destroy me, I’m going to SMASH you!
(Gosh, PD, they won't even permit the ~sign in the title!)
Poem | |
...She is a ten year old girl.
...A fine example
for her daughter.
...He is a father a husband.
He was a soldier...
...sent in harms way.
They are a family proud....
is everyone's nightmare....
...This brave man
was badly wounded...
while defending his country....
a head injury.
Did he give up...
...lie in a bed,
expect to be spoon fed?
No one would of blamed him...
...certainly not me.
He did not give up!
...The heavy fog that now
lays inside his brain...
...is just another battle.
...Was he the hero?
Yes most definitely.
Ah but his daughter,
...ten years of wisdom
"When my daddy walks
he uses my shoulders."
the soldier...head shaven
walks using his daughter young...
...in front of him, to walk
to where he needs to go.
Ah but his daughter...
...ten years of wisdom
"I love my daddy
he is my hero!"
I see more than
one hero, that young girl
just oozing with love,
that little girl is my hero!
Still in my heart
"i love my daddy
he is my hero!"
I just want to hug her.
At ten years young
she is a soldiers rock!
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Contest Name: The Good News Paper
Poem | |
With a voice ornamented in ogled tension
you ask me,
like vulnerable flesh queries warm obsession,
Do you mean to love me this way...
on your mouth, a hold of hope I see
to you I say...
Does the sun choose to flare into sapphire atmosphere,
Does the moon decide who's eyes to enchant,
Does a rose ponder its tempt,
Does a man dare his heart relent,
Does a woman wonder whence came her allure and dare,
A heatwave of heartache's swelter swells over your soul
as the outcry of orgulous omens try to defy our survival,
blood drops fall lonesomely from the old body of a lark
a steeple bell broken by the thunder of sorrow in the dark,
gold found burning into rivulets reaching into graveyard rock,
you begin to weep
because the weight of worry waylays your wishes for our eternity,
I surround you with a love shield that shames the arrows of agony
kissing you softly deep,
then I tell you that fate is not our enemy,
don't you understand my Lady...
Sultans cannot buy or sell the feelings we share,
Emperors unable to enforce the silence of our hearts,
rivals are but ridiculous in attempt to dowse our flame,
Time be trite in march against the magic in our care,
the poetry of our purpose will not be censored by cynical marks,
emotions erratic in wrath will not wrest the roots from which our passion came -