Long poem by
Poetryof Providence | Details |
Not a day goes by I don't think of you
you have permeated my fortress and walk freely in all its rooms
(examining it's furnishings)
how did I allow you entry without the
usual search scan and seizure ?
I'ts like a foreign substance and all
my antibodies are seeking to eradicate
your presence (anti-christs)
My mind and heart find your entrance exhilarating
like ecstasy ( a neurologically happy drug ,
which by the way I've never imbibed in but the
other one I'm only slightly familiar with)
My body wants to throw you off like some
intruder to the death it lies in bondaged slavery of.
I finally understand the WAR.
I want to isolate this substance and imbibe at will
or as often as I desire.
There's no corner on the market for this substance,
you can only get this by freely accepting it as your
own life blood , the loss of which kills us , but it's
flow is what keeps us alive.
I desire to lay in it's bliss
like basking in a warm sun's rays
unfortunately I burn easily , so I usually limit
my exposure to substances I feel may do me damage.
But OH , HOW GOOD this FEELS , as though I should
have been born to this naturally .
But NO , love is not the natural substance of the world
in it's battlements and fortresses erected by men and
so thoroughly indoctrinated into his very being .
I just want to bottle this and share it with everyone.
But everyone "knows" every really really great substance
wears off and kicking the habit is way way painful .
But I want to suck this up and live in it , to have the heat
of it never dim , until it is an all consuming fire that lights
everything in it's sphere . Yes LOVE JUNKIE , child of God
a shameless addict to truth about the paths people choose
to "lose" themselves on .
I've been like a bloodhound sniffing out every trail looking
for this substance the one that transforms you into fully
brilliantly vibrantly alive , and to roll in it until every fiber
of my being is saturated with it's fragrance.
The factory that manufactures this is built within ,
and I want unlimited access , but my own body has
set up perimeters and walls to fence off my full access
to my own God given life source ..(the curse)
You can only have full admittance when you can use
it's power to give life and not destroy others , to be
able to manage it usefully for the benefit of all.
But I'm a natural indulgent in what feels good ,
substances always on the intake , seeking to have a
balm that shields me from being abused or seeing
my own abuses of Life. My ability to utilize a substance
so powerful is limited by my training , my will and my
exposure to everything that seeks to sell it on the open
market like a thrill seeker , or cheap whore who can be
had for a bouquet and dinner , which is quickly consumed
in one night and disappears tomorrow . Nothing that the
world offers can even slightly imitate the magnitude and
power residing where Love dwells . When you've been
allowed to taste its manna , the desire for a plateful
is now not even enough but the drive to constant partaking
of its presence is now an all consuming fire and I am
driven to sign up for the lifetime plan . For better is a life
that feeds on love daily , than to choke and suffocate on
the bowls of hatred served up daily in the worlds menu.
I have relished the view from opposite sides of the room ,
when you're ready for the permanent plan you will
have to crossover to the other side . I know you read me,
like the good book , and when you understand you can
hide it from the world , but not from me , or yourself .
We want full access to the wellspring of life and love , I'm
willing to share the source , but it's a limited partnership (MLP)
on a lifetime plan , but it's riches are infinite and can only
be provided by the source. If you're willing to crossover ,
I'll allow you re-entry and full access ... Love
COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Long poem by
Jesse James Forster | Details |
Day quickly fades into a fearful silent night
Frightful because within the darkness evil comes to life
Abomination that became legend as legend became myth
The wicked epitome of sin
Beautiful by day but a shapeshifting demon in disguise
It has a long disgusting tongue with unspeakable desires
Blood thirsty creatures eating unborn babies in the womb
Fangs that'll transform people into dead flesh eating ghouls
Severing her body from her legs so it can fly
On serpent angel wings preying on its next victim to die
Bayani took his pregnant wife Amor to the hospital for becoming sick
A three day journey from their mountain village will now begin
Theyll travel through the valleys seeking shelter as they go
Amor wearing garlic on her belly protecting her babies soul
Traveling through jungle & deserted roads along the shore
Knowing when they hear a dreadful cry theyre not alone
With every step they take they abhor the falling moon
Something once so beautiful is now impending doom
By dusk they came upon a village but every door was closed
Desperation in their voice they scream for help with little hope
Dismay dripping from their skin so the demon could smell their fear
Before they heard the dreadful cry the Aswang did appear
In horror they banged on every door pleading for some help
But no one gave relief having their own to protect from hell
Bayani remembered legend perhaps there is a way we can survive
Destroy her legs before she reattached her upper body in morning rise
A task that may be difficult because the lower half they have to find
Before they made a move she swooped down with her evil yellow eyes
She grabbed Amor by her throat as Bayani pled for her life
Please let my wife and baby go and in return you can have mine
She said a lovely gesture but be patient youre the next to die
With a evil grin she slit her throat and consumed their unborn baby still inside
Falling to his knees with a broken heart he asked her why
She said I have no compassion or reason and let me tell you why
"Im the first Aswang of this village
A maiden by the day
Im the reflection of their darkness and their evil ways
Desires that cannot be spoken
A blackened heart equally broken
Habits that are disgusting
I am made of nothing
I am the mirror they will never face
The fear that keeps them all awake
But the truth is much more powerful
I am the face behind their faith
The contradiction of forgiveness
For every time you kneel and pray
Im the fear that keeps the children crying and afraid
It started with a lie
Then desires to reach the sky
Which resulted into sadness
but with a deeper understanding why
Sad because I can see the darkness they themselves alone hav caused
Many more will be like me and many already lost
Failed secrets buried forever
And I will be like them
I am also you
If you wear the wickedness of all your sins"
Long poem by
Mark Goodson | Details |
Yamaha impressed me the first time I laid eyes on her glistening blond maple wood, her stylish body details, her long fretted mother-of-pearl inlay; lobed with golden keys. Her voice called to me the first time I held her in my arms. I strummed her six strings slowly in the key of G, then moved softly to D and C. All the while, I searched earnestly for her purity in sound quality and style. She was not the most beautiful in the showroom. But oh yes! She did flatter me with her musical presence. She was beautiful to me! I knew from that moment on she would be mine for eternity.
Within the hour, I took her home to meet the family. She was shy on the journey, not making a sound; perhaps due to this being her first automobile ride or simply wanting to see a world she was now a part of. Yamaha was cased in alligator leather, a brown dressing which was stylish for the day. We were both nervous as we arrived and got out of the car. My strong caressing grip on her handle assured her she wouldn’t fall and it would be alright. She knew it would be alright as I smiled at her.
I opened the door, allowing her to enter first. When in the living room, I called to everyone to come meet the newest member of the family. Dad was taken by her simple yet elegant beauty and style. Mom touched her first and she was most pleased. At that moment I realized the importance of first impressions as Mom marveled at how pretty she was. I sat down in the best chair in the living room while Mom listed to Yamaha talk and I sang a popular country love song. I was pleased with the family acquaintance to Yamaha. It was evident she had become a part of the family.
The first few weeks, I couldn’t keep Yamaha out of my arms. I longed to be with her every minute of the day. In my eye, she made me smile by just gazing upon her. I fumbled with her in those beginning days. She ignored my elementary attempts at refinery and permitted me the time to catch up to her mastery rather than bow down to my level. Like any two lovers, both must reach to the need of the other. Only then is love truly in harmony.
Today, Yamaha is not the young glistening blond I held in my arms some thirty years removed. Her wood has been scared by my love to play her. She has received countless face lifts which cover her tainted mother-of-pearl. Her brown leather case dress stands in need of a seamstress care. But as with all things having been learned through love, we now make beautiful music together. She is my treasure, a light into my soul's well. She amplifies my inner being. As I perform, she is glorified. We have grown old together,and gotten better in time. I still hold her in my arms day by day as this lover has risen to her grace and expectations. She is my treasure for a life time.
Long poem by
kevin wint | Details |
I say I find myself trapped in some sort of sadistic paradigm
With my eyes closed she’s still deciding whether she should delete this baby, I guess she’s
They’re getting closer; I can feel their sharp needles creeping down my spine
Whatever happened to freedom? Why do you think your life, is more important than mine?
I say, this self-interest cannot even explain…
I say, this disgusting self-interest has turned into pain…
What am I saying..? This is more than pain
Why do you want to delete women, was I not well behaved?
I swear to God, if I could swear to God, if you delete this damn fetus you will not be
But at the moment I’m just, trying to get you off of my, developing mind
But at this moment somehow, I can’t get you off of my, developing face
Facing these problems is like pleading a case, I guess you just pleaded guilty cuz you
wanted me deleted and erased
Erasing this baby is fine but remember you’ll never, never, erase that mistake
Is that all I am to you women? Just some little mistake
Mistakenly I’m cursing this disillusionment, mistakenly your cursing my existence
I say most days it’s easier just to cry and say I’m okay
Instead actually telling these strangers, what I really want to say.
Saying this makes you often reminisce about how life would be and sometimes I got to
keep my mind off that like
Baby do you still love me?
My heart somehow died, when she asked me that, my heart feels like, I a’int even got a
metaphor that, it just hurts.
You know what everybody?
Never mind, this poem is giving me some sort of headache
Freaking 23 chromosomes she had to contribute, I guess that was a headache
Audience don’t ya see that cabalistic virus trying to find its way through her iris
And corrupt her perception of what the truth is.
Truthfully speaking she could’ve found ah new man
But where the hell was I gonna find ah new fam
Why is this love so complicating?
Why is this love so fascinating?
Why is this love so devilishly addictive?
But at the same time my love for you is naked women; I don’t want anybody to see it but
So everybody, shh while I, move out these dark clouds and bring in this beautiful sunshine
Cuz that’s what you are women, you are my sunshine
Did you not hear me, through this sadistic paradigm?
This prison told me not to forgive you, but somehow you’re not on borderline
Those sharp needles, somehow never touched my spine, you broke through that self-
interest, and came just in time
So I swear God, Cuz I actually could swear to God, through this pain, through this rain, and
through this vain,
I will reach to the light
And I’ll shout your name
mom, I still love you
Long poem by
Jorn Kolding | Details |
On this side of the inferno,
A cool breeze gently tugs the sleeves,
Of the man whose plan is to seize,
Just enough children hands to die,
Before the rot of paradox,
Sets in to make him lonely again.
His idea is to take a metaphor,
(Which is not quite a living thing
But still something you’d be best off
Keeping an eye on, so to speak),
Distill its essence in vapor,
Inhale, and, if all goes well, fly.
Looking down at Cadogan Place,
A lost poodle looks left and right,
Searching for his lady of fate,
A woman of some pedigree,
Whose appointment with the doctor,
Should have come before the bridge.
It was not a long war, exactly,
The casualties were kept low,
So as to keep things kind of fair,
The armies fought against the words,
By which means it was a real war,
In her head that is, before she jumped.
A man, with a broken wheelbarrow,
Full of gall and grinning onions,
Stood on toe searching the night light,
For the coming nocturnal gift,
Showers filled with resentment,
Enough by George to make him rich.
The flying man grinned and waved,
A dream much more than good or bad,
Beyond the English din of facts,
Horizons paved by German rats,
Lay a frontier, the final font,
Where little magic verbs chanted.
Like the zipless art of friction,
A new slang fell upon the land,
The man on the ground pointed down,
His boots heavy with laughter’s sound,
Making his rounds by selling nouns,
Penny magazines for the poor.
If living was only to be,
Sick for most of eternity,
The parlor lady almost drowned,
Might just have counted her blessings,
For when truth gets told by owls old,
Dying deals just another blow.
When she got back from near defeat,
The water of fire, air, and earth fell,
Like a hundred thousand thoughts,
From her shoulders in one big swell,
Soothing not just the ache in her heart,
But healing poetry’s lost art.
Be not deceived when fiction flies,
For it takes two ones to make a third;
The tears of lies flow down a stream,
To where a receptacle awaits,
A tiny grail called the ocean,
Which opens its mouth and cries.
Artists, saints and philosophers,
The proverbial trinity,
All in it from go to finish,
To make laws out of points of view,
From flaws so fake and sick to see,
As to shame the sun into tears.
Thrice removed from the heart of life,
Sat a man in a pyramid,
Holding a timepiece to his chest,
Geometry’s essence for rest,
The wet kiss of life fleeting fast,
He forgot why lips were therefore.
The noise of all the busy streets,
Starvation teasing Burden’s ass,
Words by numbers laughing loud,
The Stone, the Rock and all the crowd,
All crushed by the turn of a crank,
While exploding stars meant nothing.
Long poem by
Michael Smith | Details |
A moment stauls...
Somewhere in between
What shall always be...
Known as my lost and forever hour
Where I wake to sounds of thrashing rains
A clock sits staring, ticking and tocking
My own darkness illuminating lightning
Distant thunder following her in shame
Although, throes of raven blackness
Slumber holds on to the pitch
But, I pass through limbo hallways of surreal
Stumbling forth in directions by my blinded feel itch
Walls of lucid memories like dripping paint
Begin to lapse deep into the younger years
And creaking footfalls shatter their echo
Of certian remembered fears
"Ah" deja vu sounds the alarm even further
Cracks from father’s room, is the ceiling leaking?
Into my little ears I'm more awake
As I hear the faint famaliar tears of weeping
My curiosity ever stronger than before
And innocent eyes through doorways peer
It’s the war again; Mom said he tried...
To leave it all behind, but still it's always there
And the storm's outside, but in a booming violence
Rushes back surreal into the unforgotten killing
The death, its experiences still locked up
Within his mind never free or escaping
A heroes love is his strength
Protecting me from a world with terrible pains
But, somehow I’ve learned to understand
That he needs his son, to calm his troubled angst
And silently I step
Inching slowly towards him
And nestle up within his trembling hands
Tugging upon one sleeve whispering "Dad, oh dad?"
“God has sent me here”
I say directly in his ear
Quieter now “To love you”
My tone gentle to his needs
Wiping away his tears
He whispers back...
And picks me up, relieved
And in turn we face the scene
Of a passing storm into silence
As the rain seems alive to notice
Stopping to watch our mends in evanescence
We are somewhat aware we are within God's presence
Looking to each other with a shrug
And then my dad holds me up
Giving this boy the biggest hug
Beneath the returning quiet
And the ambience of moonray light
He carries me back to my room
And places me into bed amid the last flash of white
Pulls the blankets up
Knowing this will comfort me
And I’ll never forget the words
He said so effortlessly
You will have a son
Always let him know you love him
And your bond will never end”
Again I wake, this time
To the sounds of an apologetic rain
The lightening has ceased its battle
And the thunder it no longer blames
I unwind the blanket
And uncover and sit
Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes
Awake, on the edge of bed
Was this a dream?
Or a twist of fate reality?
I ponder, running fingers through my hair
And, merely reflect upon it
Then I realize…
I was not alone
Dad is watching, not far away
And I know one day, I'll see him soon, after heaven's gates
Long poem by
James Kelley | Details |
I am walking in your footprints again. My bare feet are so small when contained within the imprint of your own We have walked this soft grassy road, side by side. Now I walk only with your essence. I feel the brush of your skin and callouses of your hands on my body. Such soft reveries. Its inevitable conclusion is bleeding into the clay and tall grasses beneath our ghostly steps.
I am Earth and you are Sky, and the wind carries the daily exchange of our nature on soft songs. I no longer chase the zephyrs that swirl upon the low grounds. They carry leaves and debris that settles back onto the clay beneath us. We both see one another clearly, but somehow do not have clear vision when it comes to our own storms.
I am rain falling sideways, pushed by your reaching gusts. Locusts swarm in the eyes of my pondering caress; we are a plague of fathoms at the foot of a swallowed sea. You are the calmness of Earth’s depths, my rage punishing your shores. You are the beauty of my destruction, the ebb and flow of my tormented purity. I only wish that I could feel your weight upon me again, holding me at rest.
But the scales of time’s sandy tick have tilted, leaving me crazed and undiluted. I watch your limbs sway, your leaves break free and wander, searching for the source of my prayers, and I blink. The night swells in my breast and I feel your fault lines shake in the bones of what is left.
This feral land is the bedchamber of our lovemaking. The faces in the trees are watching us. We give them life as they dream us into being. The soft waters of the bayous are a song hanging in thick bayou air. We are like water. I close my eyes and you are within me.
Our bodies are trapped in the temporal. Our minds caught in patterns we do battle with perceived realities. Yet your spirit is etched beneath my eyelids. You are never far. We are writing poetry across oceans of time. Lovers in every form. Weaving stories of creation and destruction upon each individuation. Flesh as a vessel, is only bound by time. My heart is heavy with shadows. Yet together, we are Fire and Light.
We are the eternal design of nature’s fury: the break and the fall, the flow and the pull, the thrust and the splash of kindling spirit. We are all, and we are one, and I feel your feet within mine as we walk down, further upon the grassy road of our story. Your hand is soft, mine broken and bleeding. But you will heal me, you always do. For you are the wind that molds me, the crash breaks me, the flame that purifies our bond, and the water sending ripples on the shore of every world in which we choose to play our songs.
(c) James Kelley and Katherine Wyatt 2014
Long poem by
Deanna Schaub | Details |
Winter winds blow all around.
I’m astonished by the sounds of Jingle Bells and reindeer stomps.
All of this should never stop.
Snow lies on the ground, if only that weren't too profound.
Time only leads to decay, but not on Christmas, not today.
You should see the angels pray.
Toy trains, and rag dolls are the things kids used to want.
But time has changed, yes so have children…
Santa seems as if a villain.
So much fighting, so much crying, it sounds as if the kids are dying.
“I want money, I want fame, and these toys are just so lame.”
But that’s the product we provided.
Second chances are no more, Santa’s plot we wait for.
He’s sick of this, he doesn't care, it’s as if he’s not wanted here.
He gets ready to take it all back….
There’s still one toy left in his sack, it’s for a little girl, half a world away.
Now how could he have missed this, on the perfect Christmas day?
He turns around, not time for war.
This toy, the girl is waiting for… It’s not a toy like you’d expect.
She didn't ask for electronics, or stupid games such as Sonic.
She just wanted one small thing…
She’s waiting for something EXTRA special this gloomy day.
In a bed she sits and stares, at the window near a chair.
She’s so weak, and all alone.
She doesn't even have a real home, not where there are bright lights anyways.
They've decorated a weeping willow, the only tree around the “home”.
So she has lights to see.
It’s Christmas after all, but there’s no way to calm the raging sea.
She’s dying, it won’t take much longer, and she doesn't care about the tree.
She needs a new heart extra bad.
So, Santa’s bringing her the one thing, that will stop her parents from being sad.
He rushes to the hospital in his golden sleigh, and climbs right down the vent,
He’s saving Christmas today.
Santa rushes in just in time, finds a doctor, the girl is dying.
It’s not what he usually does, but he stays and watches as they save her life.
He waits for her to wake up.
“Santa, you saved my life, oh thank you so much! I needed my heart to be touched.”
He just smiles, and kisses her hand. He’s so glad he didn't destroy the land.
Christmas is still a special day.
There’s no more sorrow, no, not today. Santa smiles though some are still ungrateful.
There’s that one child, standing in the snow, her life can now be started in the evening glow. That’s life for the grateful, loving, caring, and the thankful. Most of the time Santa just gives toys. For all the good girls and boys. But not today, and not tomorrow, once a year he gets rid of sorrow. So sleep tight and say your prayers, Christmas time is but once a year.
Long poem by
Lauryn Jean | Details |
Last knight Eye dreamed Eye was a dragon with wings made from disdain and shaped like quaking fear that burned holes through my subconscious imaginings. Eye was gliding soundlessly thru dark clouds, thunder, and rain, while the Slayers stood below, grounded in tyranny and trying to pull Me from the knight sky...Then Eye could hear, then Eye watched thru Dragon-I's as arrows joined my flight...trying to penetrate the hard scales of My spiritual skin. The muted sharpness of the arrows' dancing ricocheted off of Me.
Then Eye cried. Not in agony or pain or sadness...no
Eye cried in echoing defiance of the oppression of blind slavery and meaningless denial. Eye belched blue and green flame and roared aloud--as loud as my Dragon-voice would carry. Eye scorched the minds of the lie-ers and self-made martyrs (there, the ones who were carrying the omission of Truth of this world).
The Slayers still stood their ground. They kept circling around and around under Me...but Eye kept pumping My neck, Eye kept beating My wings, but still the Slayers came...more and more of them...
Eye dived down deep toward their barren landscape (My Own Hunting Ground!!); Eye needed to see their torn, hated faces...Men, all. They kept their hoods drawn, their faces hidden from My I's. But their bodies were bare and naked to My Dragon-flame, naked to the force of My righteous wrath. Eye swept down closer, closer until Eye could smell the scents of their sweat and dried blood (of conquered servants before), and Eye could see, even count, the dark hairs sprouting from greasy, dirt-clogged pores. Eye could see that some bore vehement scars, jagged marks streaking across their man-flesh.
Their weapons were crude, mostly: wood axes, scythes, cudgels, kitchen knivez sharpened to a murderous edge...the only sophisticated armaments were their bows, their arrows. The bows were of blood and bone and tendon and blind fear, the sinewy string woven with acceptance of the Truth...how odd (the Truth that they must stand and fight a common enemy as a single unit, that they must stop war amongst themselves to do so)...and their arrows were bound with Hope and Reason, that Eye would die before them, that they would live on. The bows were more beautiful than the Slayers deserved to wield, but they commanded them with such grace and poise and proficiency...
The Truth is Eye, the Dragon-Knight, and the Slayers are all of mankind's fear and war and social stigma among thorns...
Their bows were the making of Truth and Love and Acceptance, only constructed and command-able when mankind will stand together and open their I's and see.
Long poem by
Brick Cullum | Details |
Hello old friend,
I see we meet again.
It’s hard to purge the hate
And binge the beauty—
I’ve worn these metaphorical
And trekked the span of a
So you can’t escape the truth.
Grinding fears may gnash you,
Haunting demons may trap
But I will never harm.
Look in my eyes to see the
That you’ve let go to your arm;
Now that you’re here,
Let’s have a talk.
She was God’s gift to man,
Women too you might say.
When she looked to the night,
It would always part it’s way
So she could walk in the grace
Her beauty breaks all simile,
And no metaphor could
Let me show you her with
For she would resonate in the
Shining bright like the moon.
Opaque whiteness cascaded
Ripples of the human genome.
She was an angel.
I watched her every day
With some brutish envy;
She, to me, was confidence
A bright beacon of wonder
Or a whimsical whimsy.
She would walk with perfection
Riddled into every step taken.
And even though it was
She would walk with me.
We became the blood of life,
The elixir of friendship.
I couldn’t breathe without
Without hoping she was alive.
Because when you love a friend
Like I loved her,
You would die to see them live.
Yet something changed in her,
It grew dark like a possessed
Poisoning her heart with
The disease took her soul first,
Before coming to claim her
A body that never needed to be
Have you ever watched a friend
She became so lost;
A ship on stormy waters.
Oh, how I tried to show her to
A translucent lighthouse with
Her soul was bleached from her
Her bones like dust beneath the
The story shined on the body
No longer belonged to her,
And a critic with gross morality,
I was forced to read.
I saw ignorance and bliss,
Pain and compassion,
Hope and destruction,
Truth and repulsion.
I couldn’t believe that she was
dead and gone,
Words from a wordless song.
I was left in the darkest hour,
Holding her empty and cold
While the world watched and
They always judged and never
Never bothered to look her in
When they were the only
reason she had to die.
My angel had fallen,
Like rain or like snow.
She was magical,
But she had to let go.
I think she might say it was
But you be the judge now my
Should you continue on the
You may meet the same end.
Angels fly and fall,
May the truth give you wings.