There's a vision we hold,
It's value in what has been told,
The reason so many souls are sold,
Working life away to acquire gold,
Molding their existence.
What is it's significance,
The difference from any other stone?
You're only shown you needed some,
Just a little crumb is all you need,
To feed a family in need.
That shimmering greed,
Now poisoning Earth's seeds,
Dirty deeds making enemies,
Turning beauty into pennies.
Keeping people from getting any,
Only creating scrutiny,
Mutiny in reverse.
As the curse is lifted,
Only the gifted can see,
The truth behind money,
I think you'll find it funny.
The value that is assigned,
Is defined within the mind,
Signed by the soul.
Gold stole the power you hold,
Devouring the life you were told,
Was just about growing old,
And watching it all unfold.
Have you sold your life to gold,
What is the value you hold?
Another "I Do," Another Pledge**
I found myself confronting mortality in the guise of the viper on the day my heart was irrevocably broken. Deep within, I understand that he liberated you, much like the Meadowlark’s song.
Once again, I utter "I do" and make another pledge. The deceitful viper adorned himself in the same black suit. He donned the colors associated with malevolence during this second endeavor, for it is indicated that "strait is the gate and narrow is the way."
His countenance radiates as he feigns a smile, resembling a contrived pose for the camera. I observed the specter of death in his expression, reminiscent of Pinocchio’s nose.
The well-wishers murmured, "No discernment; what a disgrace, what a waste! A lamentable image of a man." The pastor solemnly proclaimed, "Amen."
I perceived death upon the visage of the haunted individual. The fissures in the antiquated brick wall emitted a haunting melody: "You stand before the altar as yet another fool."
Is this a wedding or a funeral—an evening fraught with foreboding? The middle-aged groom reflects a decline in love and kindness. Love, indeed, is blind.
We are the sum, we are the whole,
A product twined by every soul.
We are the cast, we are the mold,
Defined by lies and truths we’ve told.
We are the plague, we are the cure,
Old minds corrupt and young hearts pure.
We are the wars, we are the peace,
We’re life’s first breath and death’s release.
We're every voice, we're every tongue
We are the rests in anthems sung.
The artist's brush, the sculptor's clay:
We are the canvas on display.
We’re rushing flood, we’re scorching drought,
Saint Peter’s faith, Saint Peter’s doubt.
We are the loaf, we are the crumb,
We are the whole, we are the sum.
Human life is the most precious gift given to us by the Creator
we are supposed to be higher than the wild beast in the field
today's humans have lost their way and have become lower, than the wild beast in the field
we have forgotten that we are" the children of the most high" Created in love
We are our brothers' keepers, condemn the wrong and extol the right, when we see it in each other
telling the truth helps to keep us on the right path on this life's journey
Modernland has legalized murder, they roll these streets
Billyclubs in tow, those weak are taped and tortured
Throw'em a gun and a bullet grinning through glass
As those who suffer pull the trigger, bang
Darkness isn't evil, the real monsters are people
Art is rebellion, they want Armageddon, life isn't Christmas
They decide who gets presents, I'm number one
On the naughty list, then, some call it divine intervention
Others say entertainment, I say sacrilege to the manes
I came this morning
Wine bottle in hand
Looking for you under the tree
By the shelter
You must have known I would come
For you moved your bags.
I think I've fallen in love.
Why would you trust that?
What might you see in me who
Put you on the streets?
"Homeless, welfare mama," we called
You in scorn.
I saw behind those eyes
Woman
And your image sleeps with me
On restless nights.
“Awake,” I tell myself, “you are
Just an unwashed pig dragging your daughter through
The gutters of Philadelphia.
You should get a job."
In my half-sleep, those uneasy eyes
Haunt me into sweats of apprehension.
Today, I finally knew I must meet you;
But you moved your home.
THE PATHETIC AND DEMONIC
BEHAVIOR OF THOSE WHO AGREE
AND BELIEVE IN HATRED ,
ANAMOSITY AND VIOLENCE AGAINST
THOSE WHO DISAGREE WITH THEIR
PSYCHOTIC IDEOLOGIES THAT ARE
DESTROYING THE COUNTRY AND
THE WORLD WILL ULTIMATELY HAVE
TO FACE THEIR CREATOR AND STAND
TRIAL FOR THEIR BEHAVIOR AND CRIMES.
THEIR PUNISHMENT WILL EXCEED
THEIR EXPECTATIONS AND
IMAGINATION . THEIR EXPULSION
FROM THIS WORLD WILL GO BEYOND
THE LIMITS AND BARRIERS OF TIME
IT'S SELF AND THE UNIVERSE OF
CELESTIAL BEING AND THE UNIVERSE
IN WICH WE RESIDE.
ALL THAT WILL REMAIN FOR THOSE
WHO WORSHIP HATRED IS THEIR
OWN HATRED TOWARDS HATRED.
CHARLIE KIRK , MAY THE LORD
ALWAYS BE BY YOUR SIDE.
Michael E Harris
09102025
Wrap Your Arms Around The Earth
Destruction around the world.
Mother nature at work.
Storms on the rise.
Buildings on fire.
Wiped off the map.
Submerged and trapped.
Need a heavenly blessing.
World crisis at the brink.
A hard life after the flood.
Bridges collapse, going under.
Survive After the storm.
Many homes are gone.
Wrap your arms around the earth.
With so many impacted areas.
Reach out for those in need.
Water subsiding.
All overwhelming.
Another hurricane.
Just heartbreaking.
Nothing will be the same.
I map the vision, chase the need,
Between the lines, I plant the seed.
From stakeholders to strategy,
I am the bridge - that's BA me!
(chorus)
We ask, we link, we write it clear,
Align the goals, wipe out the fear.
No cape, no code, but still we thrive -
Business Analysts keep dreams alive!
Align with teams, architecture too,
Assumptions challenge 'till they are true.
Deadlines loom, the scope may sprawl -
But here we are, who see it all.
When trying to grasp thoughts through our mind’s haze,
It’s like trying to escape a thought maze.
As the bits and pieces accumulate,
How will they connect, how will they relate?
We try to relate them to things we know.
Each thought should be placed right where it should go.
So many topics to assimilate,
We constantly add and have to update.
Without clear focus they may lose their flow,
By first burning to bright then losing their glow.
Without definition, they will not last,
Some good ideas will drift to the past.
Give each thought it’s time, make sure it’s defined,
It will be its best when finely refined.
making others feel worthless does not increase the value of ourselves
cardboard mattress
concrete box spring
cocooned within the threads of shame
pillow stained
with dried tears of despair
air pockets
hover with a pungent force
that’s the way I remember her bed—
as I walk by.
Double-dutch ropes slap the sidewalk -
snap - snap - snap -
braids whip air,
girls jump in, counting
uno, dos, three,
feet flick like drumsticks.
The ice cream truck jingles off-key,
icy lady shakes paper cups,
piragua man shaves ice into snow -
his knife scraping the block awake.
Pastelillos pop in hot oil -
spit, sizzle -
plastic cups clink with rum and cola,
congas crack, maracas shake salt in the air,
horns blare like chisme in heat.
Heels click-clack over concrete -
punctuating each spin,
each swirl of hips.
Whistles split the air -
one from the lifeguard at Jefferson,
two from the men on the corner,
three from abuela
when the coals are hot.
Somebody throws meat on the grill -
ssszzzz -
smoke climbs windows,
neighbors bring foil trays -
yellow rice, ribs, roasted corn -
each dish a downbeat.
Kids yell cannonball,
water smacks back,
lifeguard’s whistle cuts through splash.
Old heads tap dominoes on tabletops -
crack, slap, smack -
hands older than the stoops they sit on.
The block fills itself
the way music fills a drum -
the street hums under bare feet.
Tonight,
the moon will smell like charcoal
and sweet ice.
they sit outside the penny candy store,
old men slap dominoes on chipped tables,
smoke curling up like prayers
their wives gave up saying.
i lean on the fire escape,
watch them call me mami
like it’s my birthright —
call me solid, thick like the block,
hips wide enough to hold the gossip
and still swing.
they say ju got that caramel skin,
that soft bite in your mouth
when you try to say sweet —
they say i’m loud, i’m stubborn,
i argue with my hands and my hips,
i got too much to say for a girl
that comes from stoops and window sills.
but this is my gospel —
my curvy body a prayer,
my no’s a sermon,
my laugh breaks their cigar smoke,
my name rides the domino slam —
mira, mami, this girl ain’t leaving
her corner for nobody.
Dear Therapist
She illustrates human wisdom, her ability
to understand predicaments befittingly.
Wisdom is her name, She is balanced like
the scales both intellectual, perception.
Her name is Sophia.
Specific Types of Community Poems
Definition | What is Community in Poetry?
Poems Related to Community
neighborhood, center, district, people, company, nation, society, state, public, association, commonwealth, commonality, locality, populace, colony, hamlet, turf, territory, body politic, neck of the woods, residents, general public, stomping ground, semblance, likeness, affinity, kinship, identity, sameness,