Long poem by
Charmaine Chircop | Details |
Feel me an emotion deep inside your heart,a soft crimson rose reicarnated,
a red heart full of velvet petals ,birthed from a white wild simple daisy
embroided in mystique passion,a bacchus of wine in finest aroma of verses,
and deepest thoughts of you.Feel me ,as I come back to you,in your night,a
gentle sweet wind through your open window, caressing your face,breezing you
in a sweet dream,breathin you in,lullabying you on a ride just for two,me and
you,in a beautiful forest by the lake,lying down on a carpet of golden
leaves.Feel me there,once again,Feel me so very close to you.taste me,taste
my juicy strawberry lips as we kiss,a wet kiss.Feel me in the fresh liquid
raidrops cleansing your mind,from every worry,from every trouble, as i pat your
back,and listen to you,to your wants,to your needs,and to your every
thought.Let me listen to your silent voice,echoing inside my own existence!Let
me feel you,your wishes,your dreams,your past,your present,Let me listen to
who you are and what you are,what you want,let me be here,feel me,cos I am
here for you.Feel that little soft spot in my heart,that soft spot full of
love and warmth ,reserved just for you.Feel me as we dream,as we hug,as we
snog,under yesterday's lanterne,in the park,holding hands ,once again.
Feel me as we walk and talk,smile and giggle all the way,Feel me as we lie on
the rocks,gazing in each other's eyes,cheered by tamed silver waves,covered
by a warm balnket of shining stars,Hugging the golden Moon,in blue black
velvet skies.Feel me as i dip my brush in oils,painting this path,a garden of
Eden,created just for you.A path of coloured rainbows where we can walk.where
we can dream,where we can live and love,where we will never lose each other
again.A path where emotions and feelings aren't hid.a path, where i will always
feel loved by you,and you will always feel loved by me.Feel me a candle flame
born just for you.I don't wanna go away again,I want to stay here with you.I
don't want you to go away,I want you to stay here,with me.I want you to love
me ,as you did in the past,I want to feel your passion,your love once again,I
want to feel your hearbeat,that heart, i loved so much.I want, need to know
you love me still. Feel my love,cos i always loved you ,and I always will.Feel me
as your hand cups my breast.Let your palm feel the drumming of my
heart,Feel me, cos I'm still so much in love with you.
New Version : Feel Me ...
Feel me, an emotion deep inside your heart
A blushed rose reincarnated from withered petals
Birthed in fervent passion and affectionate thoughts of you.
Feel my colours of red- wine within the jet-black of your night
Let me rest upon your pillow breathing in your lullaby.
Feel me on blanket of blown leaves and a dew-lush zephyr breeze
Taste me,taste my waters from fresh rain,let me wash away your pain.
Let me cleanse your mind and soul from saxaphonic blues.
Let my fingers run way down all over your back
as I listen to desires ,wants and jazzy tunes.
Let me hold on to your hand,while we walk,giggle and talk.
Let us sit on our on the old bench where our hearts were scarred by stems.
Feel me fall where footprints rest.Pick me up,feel my caress.
Watch me paint a rainbow path with palettes of hundred hues
Let your secret garden blossom where my velvet bleeds its blooms.
Feel me, Feel me by your side. Let me capture
sun and moon within the fire of your eyes.
Feel me, can you hear my plea ?
My beloved you...Come close ...Come get lost in me.
Least Viewed - Contest sponsored by Marugo Mo
Rewritten : 19th October 2016
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2010
Long poem by
Diane Lefebvre | Details |
Millie Mable Millipede was worried by the news.
Mike and Molly Millipede would soon need winter shoes.
Their itsy, bitsy, tiny feet, until now free and bare,
Were leaving cold and frosty foot prints almost everywhere.
Winter soon would visit, with the ground all hard and white.
A millipede not wearing shoes might be a dreadful sight.
For all you ‘people’ children, buying shoes is just a treat.
The reason for this being is, you only have two feet.
You try one on and lace it up and if it's not too snug;
The other shoe, is put on too, then tested on the rug.
And if they fit, you may be sent, outdoors to run and play.
Without one hundred stiff, new shoes getting in your way.
The problem with all millipedes, a dilemma . . it is true,
Is fitting one foot at a time, with one good fitting shoe.
For if you have one hundred feet, all bare and black as soot;
It's hard to figure out real fast, where each shoe should get put.
And soon all little millipedes get bored and squirm about.
A squirmy, wormy millipede can make a clerk a grouch.
Were all the shoes kept in one house they'd fill the empty space.
Out the back door, down the street; you'd find them everyplace.
Hundreds in the attic and hundreds in the shed.
Shoes peeking out the windows, shoes stacked beneath each bed.
Shoes filling up the cellar and lining hallways too;
And where would Millie find the room to keep her favorite shoes?
Now comes another problem when you wear a lot of shoes:
Keeping track of hundreds; there’d be some shoes you’d just loose.
And the shoes need be like slippers, with no ties of any kind.
For millipedes to tie each tie, would take far too much time.
It would make them late for school, for lunchtime and for play.
Tying shoes is how the 'pedes' would spend most of each day.
They'd be behind in everything; why nothing'd come out right.
They'd still be tying their last shoe at bedtime every night.
To add to this, there comes another awful, dreadful thought.
For safety's sake each lace need be tied in a double knot.
When finally comes the time to tuck each little 'pede' in bed;
Those double knots might make a mommy millipede see red.
Millie Mable Millipede knew she was in the stew.
Dealing with her children's feet was more than she could do.
She thought a lot and then some more, until her brain felt dead.
And then a bright, white light went off, in the left side of her head.
She had the problem figured out and how to make it end.
Her children's many feet would be all toasty warm again.
Now Millie, Mike and Molly need no winter shoes at all,
Since moving south to Florida, where they now grow strong and tall.
Pale Moon Lagoon has now been picked, to run and jump and play.
If you should choose to look around, you’ll find them there today.
They live beneath the rocks and logs, their feet all bare and free.
And when you have one hundred feet, that’s just how it should be.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Peter Dome | Details |
It was a warm summers day and I was walking down the lane
I'm sure I saw a pixie
waving to me from a train
And later I saw him again
A Pixie waving to me from a train.
Well! I was so surprised I scratched my head
and had to pinch myself
just in case I was dreaming in my bed.
So I carried on with my walk
down the lane
I heard someone laughing at me
''he he he''
I turned around to see a cheeky laughing Elf
sitting in a tree.
I tickled his Belly
and he chuckled with glee
''eee eee e''.
He was hungry
so we built a campfire
and toasted muffins for our tea.
The Elf was so thankful
he gave me three wishes
I gave them away
to the Pixie on the train I saw waving to me
from the train earlier that day.
You see sometimes
it gives you more pleasure to give than
to those who need it
more than we.
So the next time
you see a train go by
you just might see
A Pixie on a
wave at you
like he did to me.
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. July.
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Wrulf Gunkl-VonGlashaus | Details |
VIII … stop! - Skid! - Shift knobs, slide gears, vomit numbness, fondle!… the music of
VII … unmannered retching! since everything is a percentage of death in motel prayer-nights
separated from unholy echoes and junkyard dogs yapping the insanity by disdain mating
hysterical drools with refried rectitude, masticating giggling shame: “That dog, there, lifting a
leg, there, back-alley sodomy of wetness in air – Hush, mentioned for headstones only”
strewn among graveyards, sweet-jeezus jukeboxes purple-trumpeting along the borders of
Their juice: “Yes, Holy! Holy! Holy!” screaming down the Holy Ghost and Fire in prayer-
gutters backbiting along time of choicely chosen madonnas weeping children dear-jeezus-
glittering through open legs into angst, screaming tilted jigsaw puzzle pizza-glitzy jive for
crumbling bridges back and forth between us and wrinkles of self-righteously disgusted
VI … bloodcurse-running!
V … in dark rain! Red Sea deluges of body burning with love or shame-delight while
lightnings flash through babies’ mouths giggling thunder rattling screaming jigsaw puzzle
dripping into gelled pots of leftover Judgement “Not here, not there, not any nor every when
or now!” “Jilt the proper puke! Go with pyromania! Torch the Dogma State! – the pimps of
puppy pimple-love!” who juggle governed durges of rote, “Save the children!” - lapdogs
yipping the absurd reprobation of cloned devotion drowning unwashed questions, non-visa
versa versus vice: “Dead business liturgy!…
IV … confessing in whimpers while love returns unwashed by tears of joy with eyes unwept
and blank - chameleon colors change with choice of sins - the tilt, undropped shoe, The Word
beyond all words waiting in the hush of The Timeless Whisper, the sighing , yet, of a stinging
sweetness: blushing dawn draped like a Bridal Veil! Hear it, touch the deep Hymnal-Wraith
when the darkness yawns and Gypsy-Sun slips mirthy skyward with giggle of wind in birth -
stallions chasing mares, babies playing the alleys of apple-cider autumn, Soon, amethyst-
glittter of dusk and Gypsy-Sun kiosk-safe beyond; moon, then, perhaps, and lovers’
juxtaposition before rooster-purple dawn with All contained in all,
III … and the why of how, when and where, the where of how, when and why… all we, here,
in roads, fields, cradles, in streets…
II … the rain! - the dark rain!…
I … ascending silence like cathedral-chills of tomb up spine…
O… oh sweet, snorting jeezus…
Copyright © Wrulf Gunkl-VonGlashaus | Year Posted 2010
Long poem by
Joel Thornton | Details |
Spy vs. Poet - pen trickery
(A collaborative poem by Serena Storm and Joel Thornton)
Dissimulating cloak – an apocryphal script
Ah, I see "I" the spy has stumbled upon new tricks
Disloyalty - The Perfidy - eye-witness – an errant scheme
Perhaps errant- perfidious? A joke! - I the spy got an eye full it seems.
A lie – a guise – eyesore - obvious & obscene
Lying to a liar, eye for an eye, i spy, seems fair to me
Fairness? ashes to fire, eyes of the spy stare - choke with antipathy
Agent, you should care less- i echoed your morals - you're the only psychopath for me.
Black-ops - My heart stops – deplorable – still I see this secret path. – spying on destiny
Special ops-special kind of special -no concern for collateral wrath, abandoned protocol, to spy on me
An echo back - a laugh - I spy within your eyes at last - an encumbered immortality
A new attack -a giggle- encumbered within portal as well, charged for weaponized poetry
A sign to act – a symbol – rumored derision – in the cradle of hell - rediscover – unutilized Creativity
So with no further hesitation, regards to this investigation, endless determination : speak your goals to me
I spy now confessor, my beautiful complication, I spied from the noblest intentions, I spied out of love and adoration, - entangled souls - a predetermined destiny without other goals I focused myopically
This poet feared aggressor, set traps to lead to implication, no foresight for prevention.
Could've avoided some damnation- spiralled out of control- nothings predetermined with me.
I sensed it spy -I know you guy- but you're crafty to a fault.
I know not why - or just in portal you lie-i take it with a grain of salt
I followed some leads- confessed and made up false deeds- to lure you out somehow
Your pen enslaved-up until bedave- how come I feel love for you now.
Ultimate entrapment - not taking the rap for it, I will not turn myself in
Your wire taps hint- level of ridiculous shit- same prison, different pen.
You're a true romantic, through and through - have good intentions and i know it too, ineed you to see
You're coming at me cape on back-understanding of situation you lack- black and white files don't show you meme
These places-these faces-you so deserately seek to spare me from
Were salvation, took me in no hesitation, I call them my home
I am struggling now, confused some how, of who's right or who's wrong
Red handed you said-portaless tape red- now, you state where i belong
Copyright © Joel Thornton | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Rhoda Monihan | Details |
It was the year 4250 and a very nice day. Grine who was well tanned and with long, dark flowing hair had just left his Mac, the warmth to his bedroom, on which he had been home bouncing, or as it used to be known, home programming, in Merte. Everyone everywhere could program because we were taught it from P1 of school, and he was headed for The Network Nibble restaurant where he was to meet his buddies Shark (a gaming name), Peirca and Tullon who’d also been bouncing. All restaurants were considered places where you could meet other people as chatting at mealtimes had reclaimed its importance because we reflected on the meaning of life and had accepted just one belief as a world, humanism based on atheism, since we had sent a humanoid robot onto Venus, when technology became morally described by law court.
Finished bouncing, pleased
Sat with friends, bat around code
Forward! To chat, grace
They ordered, and all four wanted Ninis, Tanzup and Cousmous. Tunis was a purple vegetable like the good carrot, and like most new foods which became available, was artificially grown in a lab where synthetic foods were invented in cultures. Tanzup likewise was a synthetic steak bought from the Harvard labs by the grandfather of all food companies, Findus, which had gone gourmet a millennium and a half ago. And cousmous was just shredded banana combined with eviagé, a recently developed synthetic vegetable which tasted like mars bar, extinct for 1913 years, that was bought from Harvard by Nike, because all sports companies by law now have to sell at least one food product, since we’d caught up with our capitalist ignorance and accepted the primacy of marketing ethics, specifically that a private company’s responsibility to direct people towards health, fitness and diet was indisputable.
Food good, fills me right
Main component Ninis, veg
Not the steak aside
A server must’ve overheard Grine discuss his computer program, because both the chefs came out, and they were both superforms, humanoid robots made at MIT Lab, because this was Massachusetts. The manager of the Network had a friend in research there looking at human flight for all people, not just for the academical who were also sporty. She’d bought the chef superforms for half their cost. But that was just another benefit of friendship to her, and of opening up to people rather than stagnating by introverting too much into tech.
My chefs love me, oil
No questions of friendliness
Discount for good friends
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
busane shoba | Details |
Now that the rain is gone,
I can see clearly again.
I can make comparisons
between the stars and your eyes.
Because they shine alike,
And both carry unsung beauty.
Like an artist takes time to perfect their work,
so was the creator when it was ya turn with his hands.
you must have been born on a sunday,
when God was taking a rest from earthly events
and he took all the time with you.
You are God sent,
I was lucky to have you,
That is why i will never loose you,
As precious as diamonds are to many,
you are to me.
you are a part of me now,
Ma wish is you hold me as special as I do to my life.
When a day passes by without seeing me,
Do not cry for me,
because oceans alike,
your cheeks will be,
I won't be anywhere to wipe away the tears,
but will not forsake you,
every time I turn ma back and walk away from you,
It is not meant to be forever,
I will be back to be with you,
Whatever circumstances may stand in our way,
we shall overcome,
For in tandem we will rise
and in tandem we will be stalled as the road narrows,
True love is what guides what we have,
Forever we shall hold on to each other
as each day brings joy to our lives,
enriched with love and devotion,
because love and devotion are as earth and sky are,
neither exists without the other.
may you be blessed with the infinite joy from such a love,
let happiness bring light to our lifes,
so we can pull thru and stay together forever,
and lets bring comfort to each other,
i will hold you in my arms evry chance i get,
and even if the missisippi flows down your cheeks
from your eyes, i will keep them dry....
when nights become cold
i will hold you in my arms and keep you warm.
for the long nights i will hold you gently
and let you enjoy the beutiful sleep
i will watch over the sleepning beauty
and wonder how God came to create such as you,
and during the day i will keep you company
and put a smile on the cute face of yours
I will kiss your lips that are so soft and sweet,
then move on to your cheek that are so smooth and unique.
and wait for giggle for i know it will come,
i love you.
this isn't a game but true love is the name.
It's an everlasting love we endure
a love so clean and so pure.
A love so deep yet unseen.
forever truely yours..............
Copyright © busane shoba | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Julia Hill | Details |
There's something magical that happens when
you are 10 years old, chasing butterflies,
skipping stones, riding little pink bicycles
with streamers and white baskets on the handle
bars with a big yellow sunflower on the front.
Roller skating down the street that looks like it
would swallow you whole, and revisit that same
street as an adult and think as you smile to yourself,
"what was all the fuss about?"
The wind flowed through your tangled hair, because
when you were 10 you weren't worried if the boys seen
you with a "bad hair day!"
Remembering hop scotch, and jumping rope.
Playing jacks, and sipping cokes.
Reminded of honeysuckle scented vines,
picking a few and licking the honey right then
Not a care in the world.
Me and my best friend singing as loudly as we
could "Down, down baby, down by the roller coaster.
Sweet, sweet baby, I'll never let you go." Clapping our
hands in perfect timing with the other, like a well oiled
machine. Never missing a beat. Going faster and faster
until our little hands and arms were worn out.
Climbing that big tree in her mom's back yard. We
both climbed to the tree top, with her mom
yelling out the door, not realizing we were about 50 feet
in the air. We would giggle and she would tell
us to come down, and we did. Even thought we didn't
want to. She must have been horrified knowing we were
that high in the tree.
(We were 6 at that time)
Some of the most fun times I had as a child were with
her. We even fought over who was going to be Shaun
Cassidy's girlfriend. She always won, because I always
seemed to give in, and take the other guy, just to keep
peace. Even though I was sad she didn't want to share
(I honestly didn't care, I just secretly wanted to like him
with her as if we were one soul, one heart. BFF's forever)
We did everything together.
Then we grew up.
Lost it again.
Found it once more.
Now here we meet again, instead of 10, we are 38, nearing
the 40 mark.
I still love her today, as I did in 1974. When we first
met in kindergarten.
I've spent my lifetime thus far with her in it somewhere, either
in my heart or on my mind.
We can still make each other laugh hysterically.
Remembering when, yet making new memories today.
Now there's just something magical about that.
Copyright © Julia Hill | Year Posted 2007
Long poem by
Cat Way | Details |
A birthday cake sits before me, laughing at me. The candles whisper mean things, they know my thoughts. The ocean of red frosting simmering in the lights above, the little black flowers that everyone has dibs on. So elegantly outlined in more black lace, this cake is not for a funeral, no of course not. It's for me and the year that passed, for the one coming my way at full speed, the year of tears and stress. The year of chores and closed doors. Birthdays were never my strong point, they always make me sweep. Makes me want to just draw the curtains and sleep the day away, but no that would be letting me off the hook. Much too easy, everyone must talk big and do nothing. The sickening smell of plastic and mold radiate from the cake, must of been on clearance from the bakery down the street. They show up at my door bearing a balloon and small bag and this atrocious cake. Mother always said it's not how good the gft is it's the fact they got one. I must smile and hold it all in till they leave but in the meantime blow out these taunting candles and force down the oily sponge. Open the gift, a bag inside a bag, a old plaid, partly fake shiny leather purse that only a five year old diva would love. The leathery fur lining the mouth of this little monster is coming off with every touch, wonder where they got this thing, but you must be nice and give them the meanness only middle school girls can pull of, the meanness with a smile and a dis but thanks all in one. I rather think of anything right now, terrible “gifts” or the fact they showed up without even picking up a phone, anything than standing here with this thing burning on my kitchen counter waiting for the howled song to be over to blow this thing out and get alone again. Go back upstairs to my little nirvana and sleep the rest of this nightmare away. All their four faces glare at me, they know exactly what I’m thinking. One stands with my balloon in her giant hands and bounces it off my head, how I wish I could take the string and strangle her with it but I do a half assed giggle and ignore it, she keeps doing it, finally her mother has the brainpower to yell at her to stop. Even she knows I will attack, don't you think I’m on edge enough as is? I feel like the candle, starting to sweat like hot wax, hands grip the knife mom handed me and can't wait to cut this thing. Big breath, be sure to get them all in one try, pretend to knock ‘em all dead.
Copyright © Cat Way | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Carol Eastman | Details |
Dragon was having a bad time; nothing was going right, one day.
First, he tried to cut the ribbon for the new library… in his name.
A breeze made him sneeze, sending sparks going, you know where.
It all went up, immediately, with lots of colored, flames in the air!
The fire department, knowing Dragon, was already there, for the show.
Dragon seeing flames, roared a terrible, NO! Melting their hose! Whoa!
But not to worry, sprinklers inside came on, putting out the fire’s glow.
A fire sale, for Smokey, moldy books, will be in the future, I’m assured.
Insurance saved the day, but our poor guy won’t be allowed, opening day.
Dragon will only be allowed to get books, on the Internet. But that’s OK!
He was a bit depressed; so we took him to the park, for it was on the way!
Once there, the Sheriff of CrazyLand, wanted him on a leash, without delay.
I told the Sheriff, if Dragon needed it, he could be the one to put it on him!
Out of control, Dragon & the Sheriff, bounced and flew, hitting every limb.
Until becaming entangled in the statue of Shakespeare, a tragic, fitting end.
As they went down the statue held, but the sheriff ended up tied to it, so grim.
Paparazzi swarmed for pictures, as Dragon’s nemesis was truly, fit to be tied.
Nothing was going well, as we were, off to christen a baby penguin, that cried.
While there, we heard a shout to get Dragon, a BIG St Jude medal, on the side.
You know… the ONE… The Patron Saint, where all Hopeless Cases abide.
Then, a lit prayer candle fell, and rolled until catching a rug afire. Take care!
It really wasn’t Dragon’s fault… much… tho it was his tail, which put it there.
Then a miracle occurred. God had heard us, for Dragon finally, saved the day!
He extinguished it quickly, by spitting Holy Water on it, from the font, so fair.
Ewww. I say! Still in Defense of Dragon, every thing will eventually be OK.
Tho Dragon drool in the Holy Water made an ‘Out of Order’ sign, perfect today.
Naturally, we immediately offered, to help clean the Holy water font out…
Fortunately, the Priest had a GREAT sense of humor, for he gave Dragon…
A blest St Jude metal, stating, ‘We could ALL use ONE, ‘With Dragon near!
PLUS a little electro shock therapy! Yep! No Doubt! And the baby penguin…
When baptized, he gave it a St. Jude metal, plus all others, that were about!
Written by Carol Eastman 1-29-2015
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015