Long poem by
Laura Breidenthal | Details |
I heavily recall two times when I had made you cry,
Both of which bewildered and moved me
My response was that of disbelief, and regret
And never, upon recalling,
Have I felt more of the need to address these moments
We were young, certainly, tied together by our imaginations,
Our wit, and artful talents,
You, an adept, musically inclined,
And I musically aroused
It seemed such a normal day that my guards were broken,
And I freely blabbered,
As I would to a sibling, or my favorite play thing
We had known each other for a while,
And I deemed it right to show my all
You shared your favorite toys with me,
And I made it my signature, in my goofy ways,
To disperse each play session stirring your mind
So that you may laugh, and I may laugh too
I remember the living room,
Sitting on the light brown carpet floor
And Grandma, for I considered her my grandma too,
Contented on the couch, enjoyed our giggles, and smiled,
While she read her weekly romance novel
I always wondered the reason for her reading,
And how she might receive pleasure in such a simple thing as
Attending to our nonsensical trifles
We played with our stuffed animals,
Hers was a white, fluffy bear with sophisticated clothes
And mine, an alligator, naked, and morose looking
I thought it would stir more laughter if,
In contrast to the kind, gentlemanly bear,
The alligator would respond in grumpy exclamations,
Even insult, if he were pushed too far to conform
For as the gentlemanly bear insisted upon conversing with the alligator,
Having tea with him and discussing matters of interest,
The alligator’s response, frank and cold was soon drawled to,
“No, no, no, I do not want to!”
Having repeated such a phrase a couple times,
I saw that it resulted in her laughing,
So, repeating the phrase,
I meant to conjure more fits of joy,
However, after the third repeat, she suddenly stopped,
The insistent gentleman was speechless
In a strange pause I stared at my friend,
Watching her pink cheeks pale,
And her eyes water with sudden tears
I squeezed the alligator, almost cursing it instead of myself,
Watching her and wondering what had caused this sadness and pain
She turned away from me, and cried,
Getting up quickly, embarrassed, and darting into her room
Grandma seemed understanding,
And this bewildered me even more
Surely, I had done something awful,
Making my closest friend cry,
And surely, a lecture was soon to put in me in my place
Instead though, she apologized to me,
And told me not to worry, that she would be just fine
Though never, being the friend pleaser that I was,
Did I feel more awful, and more worrisome
I thought of what I might do to make her feel better,
As Grandma walked down the hall and entered her room
I thought perhaps, she would want me to go home,
So I got up, stuffed my bag with my things,
And waited at the door,
Rehearsing in my mind a thousand apologies
She returned out of the room,
Saying nothing, but motioning me to the floor with the toys
I obeyed her, never more guarded and thoughtful in my life,
And we resumed our play session
The alligator had took a turn to being quite the sweet chap
And realized that the gentlemanly bear was not as annoying
And bossy as he first thought,
That he only needed a friend to talk to
Someone kind and understanding
The second instance was in a later year
Dear Grandma was away in a separate apartment
Her father was frequently at the house,
A quiet, but nice man,
Always retreating to the back room
Whenever we entered the house for lunch or to retrieve a doll
Despite his kindness, his reserve slightly intimidated me,
And the few times he addressed me
Were always awkward, and thankfully, short
We were more inclined to outside activities those days,
Roleplaying, sporting, and running about,
I the servant and she the princess
I did not much mind the role of the servant,
As I had many quirks,
And nothing too great was expected of me
We often, befriended despite our opposite positions,
Would sit at the swing set and converse together
As equals, almost,
The princess gaining from the servant wit and adventure,
And the servant, gaining from the princess,
Patience, poise and simplicity
But our session was long over as I heard the call from her father,
And we both sighed, and ran into the house
My mother had come to pick me up,
And her father, gently, led me to the front door,
With the usual, “See you later!”,
And, “It was good to see you again!”
My friend, happy in countenance, bid me goodbye,
Smiling, though pale, once again
It did not occur to me at the time,
That she was on the brink of tears
And as I got into the car,
As we pulled out of the driveway,
I saw the look of sadness and despair on her face
Her eyes… they splashed on me grief
She was staring at me, tears running down her face,
Her body quivering, standing at the curb
I could barely make out from the muffle of the car,
The sound of her crying out,
Just as her father stormed outside, dragging her away,
“Ashly, what the f*** is wrong with you!!!??”
And we drove away, my face plastered to the window,
Thinking to myself,
“What have I done?”
I was so confused,
So sad, and so strangely angry
To see her father drag her in that way
Though I wondered, perhaps, I had faulted her once more
That in me leaving, she took it as a rejection,
And I felt it my duty to be near her again,
To assure her that I was always her servant
And she was always the princess
I could not, if I wanted to,
Revert to the mindless alligator again,
And, like her father, disregard her enigmatic feelings,
As well as her insistent need for affection and kindness
I vowed I would always provide her with my best
So that only smiles and laughter animated her delicate being
To be a friend pleaser—yes, that is what I am,
Requires more of self, to even enhance oneself,
To build up the deprived,
To change perspective,
And change character,
And in turn, serve selflessly,
For to gain the thrill of happiness
From a more than worthy companion,
Is, for me, to gain the world
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Laura Breidenthal | Details |
Upon this date he spoke no more of the preceding moments,
Tearing and hurling insult upon insult
In several directions, his tongue whipped and scorched me,
And he waited relentlessly to see the spark in my eyes fade…..
He was so livid by my silence, he began thrashing around the walls,
Grabbing a wayside demon and crushing him into the ground…
He destroyed Death’s bass, pulling off each string in monotone menace
Glaring at me, as he yanked each off,
The whine of its timbre flooding the eerie, murky pit……
“Nothing else, but you and I,
No more music, no more beat…
Your heart alone is enough to drive me mad…”
He spat into the crushed instrument,
And Death cowered, scampering away like a wounded rat
Picking up the pieces as he disappeared into the soot
“Just you and I,
I will not hear another cry except from your lips…
No cheer, except from your voice,
No fear, except from your soul…
No support from above….no love to bring us light…”
I circled him my tears glistening,
The light burning him, as he laughed bitterly
And I sang…
“Your attacks drill against your friends,
Your darkness sifts, in pending motion,
You can crush the pulse that you began,
Though you cannot end my faith and devotion.”
He stared, his nostrils flaring,
His claws protruding in and out
Suddenly he smiled, and he was calm again
The wailing of a freshly injured demon faintly sounding…
“Tell me Loving Lady,
Of what you recall of mortality…
What do you miss the most?
The rush of Death’s call,
The touch of slowly falling?
The thrill of free-will…kissing the darts…
The crushing of sadness in your feeble heart…
You have missed mortality I am sure,
You have missed the spirit of mutiny,
The infernal blaze of my brilliant core…
We need not but our voices to replay such times,
I remember your days as much as I do mine…
Remember you used to lust and lie?
Remember when you were afraid to die?
Those darkest nights, remember me grinning?
Remember the infatuation of sinning?
No, it was your art, and you left a trail,
So He might follow close behind might you fail…
He allowed you to suffer, to ache…to retch
You forgot Him, and embraced my ways…
Do you ever miss those wondrous days…
Surely, surely you must appraise…”
I picked up a lone string of Death’s mighty bass,
Feeling the metallic twine cool in my hand
The crushed demon moaned in agony beside me…
“Mortality was a rustic feat into the fray,
Many times blinded in the dark, to emerge into the day
I miss the way danger led to discovery,
In suffering greatly, I miss the relief of recovery
I miss the way it was so bittersweet,
When the wrinkles began to appear…
I miss the sound of that single drop of rain…
Falling into the rest, never missed, always blessed…
Recalling the times I have stumbled,
I miss what now I clearly see…
I recollect darker emotions and I miss how they built me,
How they led me to the ones that guarded me to the end
So I might live in a better place where pardon became my friend…
Death’s voice intrigued me, frightened me, redeemed me,
The falling of those around me led me to my calling,
And swiftly, failing became a past that set me free…
The test of free-will became a weight upon my shoulder,
The challenge became what shaped me as I grew older…
Sadness became easier, and less enjoyable,
When I focused my life to the skies and into open eyes
I remember the lusts, the lies, the sins—they never belonged to me
At the time, I didn’t see this—they were all I wanted to be….
I hunted to wallow in the madness and sadness of darkness…
I believed I did not deserve the wisdom of righteousness
In my mortal skin, I learned to look deep within…
And fight off the urges…the lusts….the timey wages of sin
It became my duty to no longer allow you in…
Though my love for your redemption grew brighter within…”
The Devil clawed the bass string in my hand
And it strung an empty sound that echoed dryly all around…
“Immortality has its torments too…
See how gently I return to you…”
He never could destroy the beat thumping from my chest…
He merely hummed along with it in begrudging dedication
Stubbornly, he sought for my pain
But the hurt had been released far above, where still he dared not look…
I lifted up a crippled demon and kissed his forehead
“I love you as well, demon, do not be afraid…”
The weary eyes stared into my own, than quickly glanced in fear toward our fuming Prince…
“You understand pain, fear, and torment more than any, I am sure
Would you like to sing too?”
The Devil in rage grabbed the demon by the throat before he could answer
“You foolish woman… he is MY pet…
Nothing else, but you and I…
He has no voice, no heart…no mind…
I give him no permission to,
And he accepts his place…
Unlike I …unlike you…”
I touched his clenched hand, and his grip loosened upon the demon
“All voices deserve to be heard,
Through compassion, let his existence ring…”
The Devil scoffed and threw him down with much force, perturbed
The demon dared not move
“WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE TO US…. To mock me…to turn them against me…?”
The hush of his question held more intensity than his shouting
He belongs in the dust,
At my command… he can never be like us…
You love him as much as pity will allow…
We are special, Silly Being, and his fleck of existence is but a toke
To gamble with for my amusement, nothing more…nothing more….
Stop this attempt to become the idol of the underdog
Don’t be such a predictable bore…”
The demon shriveled, but remained…
Like mortality’s fate, his body did shrink and fade…
But I heard his somnolent thoughts….
…I am but the refrain…
Immortality….. has….. its torments….. too…
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Edwin Hofert | Details |
Understanding Suicide Understanding Me
Awhile back I had a dear friend contact me to ask if I heard about the young mans suicide at a nearby towns school. I had not. After asking one time on face book if any one of my friends had heard of any such event. My wall began to fill up with details about his life and his personality. His struggles and even previous attempts to end or erase his existence.
He was described as having dreamy eyes by female classmates when he was younger. He was described as the most polite and well mannered but troubled child one person said they had ever met.
Memories of my own changing years flooded my soul as I thought about it all. I did a school report in what they called then Junior High. And my chosen topic was suicide. I've often asked myself why I chose that topic. Today will be one of the very few times I admit it was on my mind a lot during that period of my life. It wasn't because my home life was unbearable. It wasn't because I had no friends or because my young heart had been broken.
In fact I'm only just now realizing it had almost nothing at all to do with my surroundings. It was something within me. Fear certainly had a part to play. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of never really feeling like I fit in. Even though by all outward appearances I was adjusting as well as the majority of people my age.
There was then and sometimes even now this voice. This relentless cruel and demeaning voice always there to remind me. I'll never be good enough. I will always only get what I deserve and that's why I'll never have anything that lasts. Anything that is true. And truly mine.
I was only given a passing grade for my report on suicide because it was obvious the amount of time and effort I put into it. I was told the topic I chose was wrong for a jr high school project. I had failed again. All of that after listening with blood pumping that we could choose our own topic. Somehow my choice wasn't good enough.
I realize now that my very choice for a topic should have sent off bells and whistles throughout the school that one of their own was thinking thoughts of suicide. But they missed it. They didn't see me at all.
Today I don't know why I chose that topic. But I know that one result of it was the saving of my own life. The understanding I gained by being able to see inside the mind that is tormented by unanswerable questions all starting or ending with why? And the realization that to the troubled mind the ultimate answer to fix the most un fixable things.
Is to end it.
This is the point when discussing suicide where fools love to chime in un researched and selfish insensitive remarks revealing their opinions and the fact that they are a fool.
A wise man knows only what he knows.
And he does not pretend to have already been where he never hopes to go.
People often consider suicide to be a selfish act. Sometimes referring to it as a cowards way out.
I hate that. And I hate anything that tries to simplify something as complex as a human mind that has reached it's breaking point.
The fact is that to the person in the midst of that struggle. It is the most unselfish and heroic thing that they think they could do.
My point is, that it was my understanding of suicide. It's effects and it's consequences that kept me from crossing that line.
After all the details of this young life surfaced and several hours later my dear friend and I talked again. And without saying it I know she was asking about this path I'm on with my poetry. The tributes to loved ones that have died. The heartache and the heartbreak that I see every day sometimes all day long.
And she asked me. Does all the sadness ever get to you? I responded Absolutely.
There are times I struggle beneath its weight. Sometimes I fall. But somehow I manage to get up again and I keep writing and sometimes when I'm lucky I see someones reaction to a poem where all of a sudden they get it. A life changing revelation takes place in that moment in time. And for a minute.
I know the reason I'm alive is to help other people live.
And to find the fullness in their life that I may or may not ever find for myself. It's no longer about me. Because you see somewhere back there that part of me that wanted so badly just to die.
I let it die. And I moved on but not me as I was. A different me. Weaker in some ways and stronger in others. Less proud but more to be proud of. More easily overwhelmed but less breakable.
And so when you see me on the mountaintop and I'm strutting around acting like I belong there. Please. Just let me have that one moment. Because tomorrow I'll be back with the mountain on top of me. Trying to find another way to save someone from going where I have been and hoping to enrich other peoples lives even if it means I know I'm simply going to be passed up along the way.
My reward is you rising above my highest point. My fee for my services? That you never forget how valuable you are. And that you keep pushing forward and never give up.
If you forget me tomorrow. That's ok. But don't forget the things I said. And don't forget to help someone else along the way.
Heart Whisperer Ed Hofert @ facebook
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Funom Makama | Details |
How the housefly gets attracted to organic decay
and an infant child traces the voice of its mother
are nothing compared to the intense attraction
Michelle and I possess on the guy owning not a strand of hair on his head
but is in command of all forms of feminine arousal
Our weakness was too glaring; our lust, too embarrassing
the chance to act rare and expensive we've lost.
All we've got is to dance to the tune of his authority
as he smiled and consented to our 'not so hidden' desires.
Now, he walks straight at us his every step, an additional load on me
I seem to carry the entire solar system on my chest.
My heartbeat, pulsations and breath are as loud as a live rock band
"I've never seen you here is this your first time?"......... He said
"Yeah, actually!".................. I said.
My friend and I responded simultaneously
our answers gushing out like a group of running horses,
mine seem to carry more weight as it tames any challenge from hers.
"So, how did two love Angels fall in such an unworthy place as this?"......... He said
"How unworthy?"........................................... I Said.
I've championed the game of words and emotions
and just as what inevitably defines the day is sunlight
so is my testament.
Michelle showed glimpse of disapproval to my replies
but my exclamation of her name gave adequate caution.
"yes, this place is unworthy, because I need to pass through seven Oceans
and seven hills to see someone like you"........... He said.
"Then you'll never find me there. I'm not a specie going extinct." ............................ I Said.
The gods of luck have smiled on the Lions once again
in preference to other cats.
The father of favour, shaking hands with the Eagle
while by-passing the other birds.
This is my exact situation as jealousy builds a castle in my friend's heart.
"So, what's your name, sweet damsel?"...... He said.
"Anna"........................................................ I said.
This is a familiar routine, his plan is as detectable
and as obvious as watered grass
but letting it turn green is what I must not allow
so that the security of my reputation is not compromised.
"Anna is a lovely name, do you like poker?"........ He said.
"No, I don't!"........... I said.
The looks of my friend, spoke 'awe' mine replied in aggression
then she flowed in complete understanding on its message on not acting cheap
especially to the one we've shown so much likeness.
"So what do you like?".......................He said.
"Going out to the Cinema or the beach or engaging in salsa".......................... I said.
Already scoring goals and dominating the game,
I felt my opponent was completely toothless and flattened.
But playing along is my aim to make him beg on his knees
which adds to my fame.
"Can we try any of those sooner?"......................... He said.
"How do you mean?"............................................... I said.
Another punch brings about another shield
and sometimes a strong defence feels more fulfilling than a heavy attack.
"Let's go out to the movies this night"............. He said.
"I'm busy tonight!"........................................... I said.
It feels like punishment to him but he takes it like a challenge
and this keeps me far from winning.
Being on top is my birth right and a step lower is deemed a sacrilege.
"What about going to the beach this weekend?".................. He said
"I'll be out of town"................................................................. I said.
Persistence could be rewarding but my protective walls
are just too thick for any form of penetration;
too high for any form of infiltration
and too deep for any form of condemnation.
"Then, when would you be free to teach me Salsa?"............................ He said.
"I'm not stable, neither can I determine my free time"..................... I said.
The game of attack and defense is never absolute
as the attacker may fall victim of a rare counter attack
or the defender, gets wary of his defense
with no chance to pull an offensive string.
Either, ending up as the vanquish despite the brilliant strategies being set up.
"Michelle, are you also unstable like Anna?"...... He said
"What!"............................................................... I said.
Envy plans on a historic transfer
while my friend poised not an aota of difficulty
and this makes me extremely furious.
She was just at the corner waiting for this opportunity
and even before it avails itself, she snatches it into her well guided belongings.
Looking at both in confusion and disappointment;
they share contacts and crack jokes.
"I'll give you a call this evening".................. He said
Nothing I said because now, Michelle is running the show.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.
He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.
You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.
Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands.
Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent. We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.
His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.
He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.
He looks each man straight in the eye -
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.
His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.
He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.
He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.
Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.
“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves. Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.
Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son. Keep pushin’. Remember, no pain, no gain”.
He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.
As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.
He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!? “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”?
He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.
Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.
Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.
Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.
So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Poet Destroyer A | Details |
Lost in a poets convention,
I can't recall every poem, I've read through the years
50518, unique comments I 'validate'---
Thank You For Sharing Your Happy and Sad tears
Since March 24, 2010 In the mist of every line,
I'm sending special hugs, for he/she that favorite me through the years
A praise to all poets mentioned and not mentioned
I will miss, the sweetest girl on this block LEONORA G.,
She treats me with love, adores my words and twisted poetry.
I will start with the soups famous October, 7th babies,
Frank and Kash, Debbie D, and myself, these lines belong to us,
Our best characteristic has everything to do with the mind
In our poetic hearts you'll find the symbol of justice and balance
This is not a song, it is not a poem, it's a free falling memo written with style
Back in March 2013, I said it then, I'll say it again
Andrea, you and only you are the Poet Queen
By the Queen, sits the Poet King of rhymes, Robert L. Hinshaw
Thank you both for never stepping on your loyal subjects
Carol B., & Linda Marie, no one can replace the hole you left inside
I will miss all the little poetry pups, who came and sat by my side
MAHIMA and Saanvi, and Sabrina, thank you for the encouragement
Phyllis, Joyce, Francine, Rhonda, Betty, sweet Karen A., and Catie,
Clap your hands for the lovely quiet soup ladies.
Okay, maybe not Karen A., and Catie, these ladies love speaking their minds:)
SARA K., a mentor to some, a Fairy Godmother in my book
I will miss her "Magic Pen like Wand" dearly.
Gail, thank you for spreading your wings, and teaching us how to fly.
Hopefully --wings are a nice gesture, --waving--
"One day I'll see you again, my friend."
Daver Austin, "Go ahead, make my day" thank you for the show
Now, you know why I referred to you as, "The Clint Eastwood of Poetry."
Russell Survey, encouraged my days and moods with his kind words
Scribe ML., where are you my friend?
Don't you know your BIGGEST FAN misses you!!!
Dr Ram, Bindu V, Litan D., Donna J, Shadow, Sandra A., Peter Durgan,
Giorgio V., Mystic Rose, BL Devnath and of course our Nette.
Thank you for being kind and rewinding and replying to every note.
Joseph M., Caleb S., Vincent F., Juliet L., Lucy Carrillo, Scott 37, Johnny R.,
Kelly D., thank you for the honor in always honoring my words
Roger Horsch meets Eileen Ghali, your smile, her smile always made me smile,
No matter how many miles apart, our smiles always met on the same page.
Jenish, Don J., S.Z. Kamoonpuri, Gideon, Gary, Austin E., and Jody M.,
Fatima N., Mark N., Aiyah B., Ralph F., Kathryn C., Elly, Ayesha A.,
Clay W., Erich, Syam, MIKKI, John B., Olusegun, *Sukmawati* Gwen,
Delysia H., Frederic P., Richard L., Brenda L., Keith, Debbie G.,
Thank you for painting the best IMAGERY
Michale Clarke, Charma C., Wayland B., Jancarl C., Carrie, and Harry,
M&M, Abdulhafeez, Michael B., Maria P. S., CHAN and Mandy T.
You are only the beginning of what makes this a good community
Arlid A., Dinda M., Silly Billy, Tim Ryerson, we go way back.
Ravindra, Kim M., Richard S., Honestly JT., Wade A., Dom-X.
The ingredients in your poems, makes the best soup remix
Joe M., Jack H., James H., James P., Tim B., Jon A. C., Allan K., Matthew A.
Deb Wilson, David S., David William, Thomas S., Cecilia M.
Keep that pen flowing for tomorrow needs poets like you.
Justin B., Laura B., your words will continue to be a part of me.
Owen Y., and John L., your visits, your friendship I will never forget
Yasmin and Carl F., hanging out with you on the soup was the best.
Cherl Dunn, and Colleen Bono, SandyIvy, I will miss everything about you,
Mostly I will miss your friendship and the way you took care of me.
Poet and sister Skat, keep rocking what I can't....
Copy paste your love, welcome in the new.
Show Edwina, Robin, Sam B., and all the NEW POETS they belong
Last but not least-- Behind every mess, they are the best
--Craig Cornish and Cyndi McMillan
What have you done, I admit without you this place would have been no fun.
Thank you for the spin, making every penny worth our paid premium memberships
Before I forget,
I want to take this time to reminisce and add two old friends to my hot list.
Nikko and Chris A..... My first POETRY SOUP FRIENDS.
I will never forget you, and all the fun moments we had,
Back when the soup was not like this:)
Chris, can you ever forgive me, I never stepped up to say "I was Sorry!"
As you know my kindness is my weakness
Now it's time to be strong and move on
If one day I return, then you know, I fell off the wagon
And, into arms and luring fingers of Team Poetry Soup
The Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Prince Rage | Details |
Oppressor and the oppressed.
Who is the oppressed and who is the oppressor?
Who has the right to beat a random person on the street?
Who has the right when to pronounce a person guilty or to see that they is the victim?
Who has the jurisdiction to carry a gun and to unload on a random person because of the way they is playing life's game?
There is a president but he has a nation that needs to be run, there is a mayor but he or she needs to govern protection and education for every man,woman, and child. There is those who vote and those who do not, there is those who KILL for a FEE and those who KILL to protect those who threaten and attempt to poison their feed.
In the Crayola box there is over 8 colors and how many of them do you see fighting to maintain a piece of land that doesn't even have their name? These colors have managed to get along but why has us as artist slander there good name?
You may agree we should be free, others may agree to lock them away, the third party may vote that we should have a Hunger Game and declare a winner from each district and let them be reminded by name and plaque.
Will it not be funnier if things went back to being the same before the post-Europeans, before the ice age, before slavery, before time itself? Before evolution, before the industrial revolution, do you believe it will solve the conflict of today? Do you believe it will create a new name of a newer society that is under a different system?
The enforcers enforce a punishment that themselves would not want to see happen to people of there kind, the victim sometimes is the guilted, the drugs may make a person a bit deranged or even appearance may look strange. But deep within their brain hides another person who has experienced a pain that became so unbearable so they hid behind a false name. Drinking, smoking, feeling of looking at trees in 3-D is all the same when you are being called a different name, but let it not change you into something that you did not dream of to be.
Look at me, I am me, you may see prince, others may see another black person, another person may ask me name and they may read my palms and tell me that I carry. Both a Spanish and African name that I was originally given to from birth. But hey life is a curse. You can argue with what happened in the past but will that change the date of today's oncoming past!
But the most funniest thing about our past is how much we cherish it and pray for its ways to be continued on today. But look around you what do you see... I won't say any name for my name is not even copyrighted, BUT EVERYBODY WANTS TO START A RIOT! I look at the people around me and I think how can you say that we need to bring change when your thinking and doing the same as the person who once stabbed you in the back?
I'm not saying don't hate the Man, I'm not saying say **** THE POLICE, I'm not saying that the president is part of some dummy corporation, I'm not saying that their isn't a war that has begun, but if you choose to believe what you hear than you will get what you perceive to be your reality!
I'm not saying don't go to school, I'm not saying don't drink, smoke weed, or snort yayo, I'm not saying that you have to rob and be branded a theft, I'm not saying that you shouldn't give love a chance, but everything is up to thee on how thou wants to perceive the world.
I'm not saying that if you close your eyes you will dream, I'm not saying that if you smoke crack you will become a fiend, I'm not saying that THERE IS NO DEMONS ONLY REASONS, I'm not saying that if youse look into the mirror you will see another person in your eyes, I'm not saying that the soul lies behind the eyes. But if you believe the lies you will think that when the truth is told you will think that, that is the lie.
There is a oppressor and there is there oppressed. There is the depressed and there is the depression that we all feel. There is two eyes but they act as one. Nobody asked to be POOR, nobody asked to have WEALTH,nobody asked to have POOR HEALTH, nobody asked to be born with ways that needs to confine to limited space.
But hey the more you believe the lies. The more that you have to believe you will be confined Into thinking that this life is a lie.
There will be battles, but instead of battling and slandering. Why don't we make our voices be heard like that over a beat slapped with claps and a set of drums. Kicking the inside of ears.
Let us prevent the internal bleeding of our heart that is beating (BREATHING)!
Copyright © Prince Rage | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Isaiah Zerbst | Details |
*There are only two damsels in this tale; all variations were simply for ease of writing.
Once Kate and Isabella went
To see the pretty fields of Gwent
And traipse through forest shade
They packed a picnic lunch for two
And skipped away in dresses blue
To find a charming glade
First tea and cakes, then off to play
They laughed and wandered all the day
'Till day was waxing faint
Then homeward faced, linked arm in arm
With never fear to cause alarm
Nor caution bring restraint
Alas! Alas! there lay a hole
With plot to swallow heart and soul
One golden-headed girl
That wretched hole may death berate
And end of being imprecate
That vile, vicious churl!
"Oh, help me, Kate!" cried Isobel
But fingers slipped and in she fell
'Mid shock and disbelief
Then Isabella, far below
Called, "Quickly, Katie! quickly go
For aid and sure relief."
Then Katie knelt beside the brim
Once sparkling eyes with tears aswim
And said, "I'll here remain."
But Isobel at once demurred
"Oh, Kate, some help must be secured
I cannot move for pain."
So off she went and searched around
But not one soul could there be found
Nor ever likely step't
She stopped awhile to sit and rest
Her folded hands to bosom pressed
And there she softly wept
A mounted knight then riding by
Beheld her tears and heard her sigh
And off his palfrey lit
Said he, "Fair damsel, golden-haired
Such doleful frame must be repaired
So speak thou whilst I sit."
"Alas, good Knight!" quoth woeful Kate
It may, I fear, be just too late
To save my friend to day
With haste, good knight, come, follow me
And see if succour yet may be
Oh, help me, knight, I pray."
The knight bestrode his lofty seat
Then set her aftward nice and neat
And off they set at trot
The knight she held with firmest hold
'Till at the pit both dark and cold
They Isabella sought
While night sped on at rapid pace
The knight set out to win the race
And save the damsel whole
A rope he from his saddle fetched
And tree to Isabella stretched
Then clambered in the hole
Right down the rope he quickly swung
And to her side he deftly sprung
He raised her from the dust
He tied a rope from waist to waist
And she her arms about him placed
In sweet, confiding trust
A span or two to hand he climbed
With Isabella right behind
'Till safety was secured
Then Kate and Isobel embraced
Said Kate, "What awful things you faced
And terrors you endured!"
Well, this was Isobel's reply
"Oh, Kate, I should not tell a lie
In word or even deed
Except to brave that curséd fall
It really was not bad at all
I knew you would succeed."
Then to the knight she turned and saith
"I thank thee, Knight, by all my faith
For saving me this night
Thus here I give my ring to wear
And trust that ye might ever fare
As well in ev'ry fight."
Then quoth the knight, "Thy ring I take
With faith that it myself will make
A nobler, better man
To fight for justice, truth, and peace
In hope that vice and evil cease
In ev'ry way I can.
"But let us neither tarry long
For hark! the cricket's evening song
Pervades the damp'ning air
So let me take thee, damsel, home
'Twould never do to leave thee roam
On halting legs to there."
Thus Isobel his palfrey rode
While Kate and he beside her strode
Right to their township sweet
"'Tis Belle and Kate!" the watchman called
And quickly down the drawbridge hauled
That they their kin might meet
The threesome turned from roads away
To streets of black and muted grey
'Till safely home at last
"Oh, praise the Lord," quoth Isobel
That though some trouble us befell
Those troubles now are past!"
"'Tis not so true," quoth Knight with grin
There yet remains to get thee in
And halting legs at that."
Then from the palfrey off she slipped
The knight her falling figure gripped
And bore her o'er the mat
His burden carried up the stairs
'Mid father's, mother's wond'ring stares
And gently placed in bed
Her father asked her why he came
She said that she was nearly lame
And dizzied in the head
At that he wished the knight to stay
But through the dark he rode away
His lamp the crescent moon
And though he had some deed to do
Those pretty maidens somehow knew
The knight would see them soon
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Funom Makama | Details |
Finding a new hiding place
the grass cutters cherish
not taking advantage is deemed extremely foolish.
Taking note of the lady who seems Scottish
and protected by her beauty and charisma
is a situation meant for me to act upon
With my courage, her intimidation must vanish.
I sit on the available chair and reciprocate her welcoming smile.
"Your fixed focus on the meal
and comfortable sitting position
means you are all alone"......... I said
"So?"...................... She said.
Despite being famished
I needed some inspiration and creativity
to keep this hard to find wealth
rooted to my territory.
"But your moving feet and gentle
mastication shows you need company"...... I said
"Well! You may be right"........She said.
My gaze never left her blue eyes
as this ravishing being threatens
to tarnish my reputation.
"What brings a working class
attractive, young damsel
to a place like this?"........ I said
"to eat"................. She said.
Nature came to my rescue
as what arrived was my dish
garnished with vegetables and fish.
or is it just humility?"............ I said
As the Cheetah waits patiently
to pounce on its prey
so I am. Waiting for the right time to tick.
"Your short phrase answers
remind me of a princess from India"............... I said.
"Thanks, but who was she to you?".............. She said.
Now in a welcomed territory
with the precious gift of liberty and freedom.
the bee is about to dance with the rest
in their honey comb.
"My first Love but no more"....... I said
"What happened?......She said
It seems the path chosen is right
what is left is for us to walk through it.
Nothing else, just walk, walk and walk.
"She developed the arrogance of a Briton".....I said
"Just that! She's worth a second chance
if she's as tough as the Jew"..... She said.
Can the dog ever be the king of the jungle?
can the bamboo boast of deeper roots to the Oak?
That's me! Sitting on all of Nature's components right now.
"Oh my dear! That spoils it all".....I said
"Really? Tell me more"..... She said.
As my Tongue wags my brain remained blank
with its sensors dissipated.
"Are you saying she should be quick to
anger ?.... I said
"You mean the Jews are quick to anger?...... She said
The more the talk the more her welcome.
A pleasure to behold and an experience to die for.
"Yes and also very cunny"..... I said
"How's that?"......She said.
My mouth speaks of another
to an Angel who seems so human
while the mind is already in full possession
of this being so unfamiliar but dear.
"I was once given change
with two $4 bills inclusive
in a Jewish shop"...... I said
Then the Jews are indeed silly
and crafty"...... She said
Feeling already in the promise land,
I drink its milk without asking
and lick its honey without minding
"the deed always speak for the doer".... I said
"But it's still an assumption and not all may be same"..... She said.
A little current then passes through my head stimulating
the need to seal this opportunity.
"Forget about those devils!
What if I say we hang out tonight?"..... I said
"No, actually!".....She said.
Impressed by her feminine flame
which is not uncommon to gorgeouses of her class
I pulled the gear once more awaiting the motion to begin.
"After such an interesting chat you say no? Are you
seeing someone?"....I said
"No! But I am a Jew and one of those
devils"...... She said.
Starring in frustration and self-hate,
I stay inanimate, lifeless and dumb,
while she laughs graciously
which increases the already existent injuries,
cutting me piece by piece in the inside.
Nothing I said
Nothing she said.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Casarah Nance | Details |
Sometimes beautiful is ugly.
Plastered layers of charcoal covered color covering imperfections,
masked makeup monsters modeling on the front page of magazines
selling dreams and skin care creams while life isn't what it seems.
I was a teenage beauty queen, top shelf rolling in wealth.
Light bright with seven ways to shine on the drop of a dime,
I could pose with the pros and expose everything from tips to toes.
High praises on runway stages mentored by experienced ages,
trapped in a world of rib cages and dark diary pages.
Sometimes beautiful is ugly.
White bright smile, take an inch and my looks get me a mile,
I was who you wanted to be, take a look at me, I've got style.
A beauty, a cutie, pretty damn sexy for seventeen in the city,
tasted and wasted ego and energy got the best of me.
Headlines of mine screamed at the screen "role model fails"
Pregnancy halted my exhausted name, flip the coin and I'm tails.
Media slanders and slants my loose shirts and pants, making me mad,
Act naturally with this thing inside me, telling me it's bad.
Sometimes beautiful is ugly.
This baby girl, she was born away from the heated press,
But cameras and chaos follow me, my life still a mess.
A beautiful face was an addiction to the billboards, more they ask.
I give them what they ask for, I give more and more, beautiful skin.
A world of sin, I side step the drama for now I am a mama and I must behave.
I gave them all I had left inside me, and they took like hungry wolves.
Sometimes beautiful is ugly.
That night I won't forget...
Lights followed me as I drove home, not alone, my daughter in her seat,
she wiggled and giggled her stripped stocking feet, laugh, whoop and repeat.
My interview went well on the hottest talk show in the country, positive, that's me.
Nothing could bring me down, I felt like a bird in a feathered gown and I was flying,
High into the air, my daughter and me, we were welcomed there.
Then a crash, louder than any noise I have ever heard before, ripping time.
Screaming into the night, eyes go colorblind, head pounds and bleeds.
Smoke starts to seep and I keep inhaling until I cough. Burning blood drops.
Electrifying vision doesn't stop but echoes with explosion. Get out..get out...
But I twist and turn as I burn to get my daughter free of restraint.
Alarms ring, sirens sing, broken bones crack under my fingertips.
Somehow by the grace of God we get free as the fire consumes the wreckage.
Sometimes beautiful is broken.
Recovery keeps me secluded, depression has me in a stranglehold.
My body feels the degrees of being warm yet my heart feels so cold.
I cannot go back to the world I once knew, beauty has too high a price,
and I can no longer pay, that world is a snake pit, it is not nice, not forgiving.
I would not take a single call, ready to shut the door to it all.
Scars deep from my head to my toes, self hate grows, regret shows.
But one more interview, that is all I'll do, then I'll take the money and run.
My ugly is a loaded gun and I will not let them torment my tragedy.
I could only imagine what social media is already doing to me.
Sometimes beautiful is burned.
First steps into daylight, anxiety fright, I have never been so afraid.
But I hear applause, I see signs and support, those who have stayed,
praise for my actions, satisfactions for my humanity, they grieve with me,
they believe with me and I am welcomed into the light again.
These scars so bold on my face that make me turn, teaches us to learn,
Beauty isn't just the surface, it is inside and outside and around everyone
It is a message that we are not alone, we are never done, never forgotten.
Sometimes ugly is beautiful
And in the mirror beauty is clearer for it comes deeper than the reflection
but shines from the inside in an outward direction.
For Contest: Beautiful Scars
Poet: Casarah Nance
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015