Long poem by
Stephanie Gutierrez | Details |
The 10th grade-I was hurt, had a lot of pain I wore, thought that everyone could see it on my shirt, I felt incomplete, tried to be neat and do all the things I could to just be me, however, the pain didn’t cease, I couldn’t escape, had that basketball in my hand and that was clear that I had found the love of my life, ballen, shooting hoops, being me, the lost sheep with not too many that new inside how I was feeling deep inside.
First love came after a heart break, or so I thought, trying to fit in in high school I settled with the fools doing what they do, not cool evidently. And my heart was crushed when I rushed to trust someone to hold my hand and call me there girl, didn’t happen quite that way, so I opted out to pray and one day my prayer was answered. And there he was… handsome, tender and happy, he was hard and caring at the same time, I was on Marvin’s “my oh my” welcome to a true high. We caught each other’s eyes, and in an instant all the pain that resided drowned away and I still remained, with a clean plate and he melted my heart. We started talking, walking, meeting each other on breaks, and at the end of the day we lived close enough to one another that the chase kept up pace. Once we got off the bus we would meet up again day after day. Walk to the movies, like kids I finally felt free to play -no escaping I was having fun living finally, innocent love.
We would take pictures once a month, go to breakfast, dinners and lunch, and when we kissed it was like we were the only ones. A hug like a safety neat, a laugh that you wouldn’t forget; and that was just us.
But people started talking, teachers became concerned, parents expressed the things that we were trying to explore, and it went from free, to complicate almost instantly. Stress and test, trust it was rougher than a good game of chess. We are now at graduation and knotting our heads, I'm getting kicked out the door of my parents, while he is trying to be proper to his. So love became a task, and the chase became more complicated than math, where it got so bad we had to ask “do you still want me? Love me?” heartbreak…broken glass.
Chasing love is no easy task, seeing your love incarcerated and numb not a righteous path, taking greyhound buses to visit, driving alone in the lonely journey to be nearer… didn’t make life any clearer. But loyalty helps to fill up an empty glass. In the mist of the twist, and the roller coaster we have two lovely children that remind us daily why we survived our trials and tribulations, there smiles and laughs are pure and innocent. Seventeen years later we are closer than we ever cloud have planned for or imagined, and when we look in each other eyes it’s no surprise the love that sprouted once upon a time is still shinning, through good times and bad, the rain and sunshine are hands are locked and intertwined, and the love is unconditional; innocent love still growing within us.
Long poem by
Country Girl47 | Details |
A couple decided to walk
down to the park near the river
At that time, you could barely see the crimson moon, just a sliver
That moon was always that color on Halloween night.
Lexy was holding on to James hands very tight.
They were so romantically in love
Lexy thought he was sent from above.
The moon had finally came out from behind the clouds
While they were standing by the river they had heard something crack loud.
Lexy grabbed James and screamed, "Let's get out of here."
She had a fearful look on her face and turned to tears.
It was too late, a strange creature came out of the water with fiery eyes. They were grabbed from behind, as she started to cry.
They couldn't even scream
their mouth were covered.
The creature said, "You two lovers, are mine tonight."
I need two virgins for the witch
had been watching you all year
Their faces were white, full of fear.
The creature had blood
flowing from his eyes
As he completely came out of the water,
He was all covered with flies.
Lexy and James hands were finally tied.
The two who had grabbed them
walked in front of them at last
They were zombies, dry blood Tongues were like a serpents, fast
they didn't dare move for they were poisonous with venom.
A boat came by, the monster gave the kids to the witch
when she spoke, she was loud and had a high pitch.
When Lexy and James were placed
in the boat,
The witch cast a spell, then put on a black coat.
When she cast another spell, large snakes came out, then wrapped
around their bodies, hissing,
they were trapped.
Boat finally stopped, snakes had disappeared, zombies had came
and picked them up out of the boat,
laid on a huge rock, positioned same.
Their hands and feet were spread
tied to the trees, next to where they laid,
spells were cast, evil prayers were chanted, when ordered, zombies obeyed.
A goblet came over with a dagger
piercing them through the heart
they died instantly, which was planned from the start.
Poured the blood, from the heart into the glass bowl, too
Each zombie and goblet sipped blood from the bowl, they knew
they had to chant, then the leaders of the group and the witch bit through
it and bit a piece from the heart.
Passed it around to each zombie
so they could do the same
gave them energy and now
they were no longer tame.
Ate all the flesh off the bodies, made a sacrifice, spirits came out and flew away,
turned midnight and disappeared, they all went to their homes to stay.
© Melanie . All rights reserved,
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
There cannot be two identical things in the world. Two
offer infinite locations within their shells for electrons.
Thus, nothing can be definitely eventually known.
All to the good
because golf and chess and basketball, as well as
mathematics, language and genetic recombination
for discovering the possible (which is more attractive than
in what we thought we thought about the sun and clouds.
In Borges' The Parable of the Palace, the poet's attempt
the world in a word results in what, surprisingly, is
personal obliteration a piece of anti-matter that
occupies no known shell in this or any other instantiation.
Got the plot?
We are "moving through some allegory between a City of Hope,
has been abolished, and a City of History, where hope can be slipped
Actually, the recombinations
which make prediction and intuition fortunately hopeless and each
gone well or wrong, are represented by equations of such complexity
not at all from the very stars and neurons whose interactions we wish
The world keeps up or ahead of the collective attention span by offering
or otherwise rapidly contracting universes, big bang by big crunch.
I like that, I like that I can't know what I'm doing (until it's done).
faith and understanding
(hope and history) become one absolutely fluid quantum motion, a lovely
a thunderstorm, a terrifying and (for someone) final tornado or volcano.
From his earliest published work, Ronnow displays a fascination with
the world without the self, a ridiculous consideration considering time's
6.5 x 1010 sunsets and sunrises over mountains and deserts (for every
themselves rising and setting via magmas, oceans, tectonics, meteors,
Do your homework I said to Zach. Why bother was his attitude.
time is an illusion, an invention man made, there is only change. Birds
But the calendar and colors, genus and species, bacteria and galaxies,
are the innumerable wonders about which Sophocles said man's
why because we identify or classify birds by the complexity or beauty
of their songs.
Long poem by
Natasha Horton | Details |
Separation rules the nation it seems
Our race decrease the identity that cannot be redeemed
Yes we have amicable lives whom still believe in MLK's dream
The steam from our hatred of deceit and misfortune
Has brought our brains to be washed in them
I feel like my people don't understand fear
Only the kind that could end your life or when the boys in blue are near
It's very rare for a black community to have unity
Even though their own may bring forth destruction or present a bad opportunity
Blind in a path of darkness, deciding to change but it's too late
Went down the wrong road and took the bait
Putting ourselves in situations we didn't want to create
It's Satan's job to keep you in that place
But God said to repent and He'll forgive and it'll be erased
What's happening to us in this world today?
It's very obvious where some of our people's priorities lay
Are we really that distracted
On the hottest rapper, shoes, money, and fashion
Disaster is right around the corner while your're ignoring the real problem that's about to happen
Reactions are suppose to be in the realm of wisdom
Being in your feelings can sometimes be the end of your feedom
Just listen to what people say and what they do
Why? Trust me, they are watching your every move
You were born to win and not loose
Let's encourage one another and not be abused
By those who taught us the false hood of our heritage
For it goes beyond Harriett Tubman
We are royalty
Kings and Queens with true loyalty
Now we have become jokers and servants
Stripped for our knowledge to be non-observant
To follow the rules of this land
Limits us by a simple code through the government's hands
Tobacco and liquor stores on every corner
Yet shutdown the programs the kept our kids out of trouble
Double negatives that play in our lives
Despise those who take our future for granted and not recognize that we were structured not to survive
Open your eyes
For time is not on our side
Never was and never will be
Yet we still have control of what we face and see
Clock is ticking
No more wishing
That circumstances will change
Yes, faith can rearrange all things
Pray about it, trust and witness your abundance
For we have always been the chosen ones from each end of the compass
Wake up and know who you are
For God has brought us this far to reach the stars
Long poem by
Reynaldo Mast | Details |
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
Basketball stands for war or battle.
That's why I think about the players'
personalities, in my foxhole or squad.
Danny and Ben are fast and smart. Dan
especially can pass making him master
and commander. To defeat them as we did
is very satisfying. Ben's five year old son
is intelligent but distant. Disdains to answer
my question Why are you you?
But I'm not here
to catalogue the men's personalities.
I like them. But each of us has moved on
many times, when _______ suddenly died
the games went on with hardly a mention
and his name has since been forgotten.
But even this, absolute mortality
of not just our bodies but our names
and souls is not what I came
to talk about. Yesterday, between games,
I asked Joe how Molly his daughter likes
the high school. He mounted an impassioned
defense of reading as the indispensable skill
when I suggested math, the scientific method
and history are essential too.
Also between games
Bob diffidently asked why my kids are bald.
I was moved by the care he took to satisfy
his curiosity, concerned the subject might be
difficult. He's a political science teacher so
I took the opportunity to ask What ails
the republic? Of course I answered myself
wanting mostly to hear myself talk about Iraq
and how empire is self-correcting. For once I was amusing
I thought, treating the subject with a light touch
But none of this is what I came to say.
A new guy, very big and strong, a
bulldozer under the boards with a good
outside shot if needed got into a dispute
with the other Bob who likes to tell people
what to do sometimes, about an offensive
foul Bob called which we almost never do.
The new guy said If you can't take it don't
play under the boards which is what I say
when I'm pissed and don't give a shit.
Bob said You've been pushing and shoving me
all day. I said He doesn't want to be
pushed and shoved which got a wry
smile out of Danny as I put the ball in play.
Long poem by
Thomas Hsi | Details |
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS L.H. ANDRESS
Long poem by
Kristopher Higgs | Details |
While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.
Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel,
And so before it I choose to kneel.
I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.
I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.
I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.
My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.
Long poem by
VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Details |
Boys do boys BREAKS toys. Knick knack paddy wack. Give. A dog. A bone.
Some say the things that boys do are wrong and even more wrong still.
Pushing a go cart up a steep steep hill. Wrestling down steps and falling.
Breaking bones. Being home alone. Fire crackers one two three STOP spitting
REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT
Boys even when they're right they're wrong. Boys are strong. They are
Triumphant on mix martial arts and wrestling night. They need a place here in
SOCIETY. They need their own show and tell month. What week? What's a week?
Fighting through one trillion trillion jeers. Not wanting to show their fears.
THE MEDIA COMES THE QUICKER
Fearing vulnerability boys are nothing but the brunt of solid steel with DIAMOND
Spikes. Many boys are MELLOW but spell WE DO RAISE HELL. Some might
Think boys do things for SPITE. Such as staying alive? Or flying a kite?
Boys but when dark is night stay inside. At DIFFICULT times they fight even when
They're right thinking they are strong. MAYBE they are wrong?
Wrestling tearing fisting clenching cursing spitting stomping reaching for his own
Fate. Suffering alienation and hate. What he wants he gets one way. (Sparing no grace) or another. All in all in all. Some boys walk a CHALK line and are fine.
In the light of the life of things this is how it is. Boys are STRONG. They go long.
THE MEDIA THE CONDEMNATION THE VILIFICATION: Boys are bursting through malls tearing down walls shooting guns on the run.
Nothing but boys will be boys. Nothing is truth until it is seen through the eye of a boy
Keen. Gangs, tussles and physical rebuttals. There those tails wagging of puppy dogs,
Yeah boy! You got SWAGGER you got sway. Football gear and baseball cards yeah all
Hard. Make way for shooting hoops hanging on stoops
TRACES OF MANHOOD TO DATE. BEEN NEVER A MAN WHO HASN'T BEEN A BOY.
ENJOY!! GOOD FATE!!
VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Very early Fall morning…crisp and clear.
Sitting on the patio, sipping hot coffee.
Only my path to and from the bird feeders,
Rain gutters hung on the stockade fence,
Has disturbed the beautiful, glistening dew
Blanketing a lush, green Bermuda lawn
Awaiting the season’s final mow and a Winter sleep.
Early morning sunsmile creates a mist, a little fog,
That artists have great difficulty recreating.
And the sprinklers are making music too….
CH CH CH CH CH CH CH CH
As I filled those bird feeders,
Only the patient cooing of white wing dove
Waiting in the surrounding trees
Could barely be heard above the sprinkler.
CH CH CH CH CH CH CH CH
Feeders filled, I walked away.
The air erupted with bird song.
Our giant privets were alive with hungry sparrows,
Each announcing breakfast.
All the locals seemed to understand.
The robins and larks, the finches and cardinals chimed in;
But only the jays’ sharp calls could be heard above the din.
What a ruckus…but so beautiful a song,
It is a ‘wall of sound’ to be envied by rockers.
Orchestrated by Mother Nature….Mrs. God.
The sprinkler's barely heard....
ch ch ch ch ch ch ch ch
Squirrels wait out of sight.
One may bark now and then, but
They’ve learned that patience pays.
It’s not just time to feed those damn birds;
It’s time to feed the greedy squirrels too;
And chow time is well worth the wait:
Sunflower seeds. Peanuts. Suet. Dried fruit.
You can almost hear them as they gobble,
“Mmmmmm. Man, this is the good stuff, Bro’.
I mean the good stuff. What a life.
I’ll never leave…not even for a girl squirrel.”
It’s as if they think they’ll never eat again;
As if we hadn’t been feeding them
Every day of their lives…and their parents.
If we could tell them apart.
They would have names.
All this and good coffee too.
What a beautiful Fall morning.