Long poem by
Joe Flach | Details |
All I remember is going into the garage to get the snow shovel.
I am not even sure how much of the driveway I managed to shovel. Apparently, I was lying in the snow for several hours before one of the neighbors noticed me.
The next thing I remember is waking up from a deep sleep to the sounds of beeping machines with tubes and wires stuck into and on my body.
As I slowly regained consciousness and my eyes were able to focus, I was aware of a young, bald child looking down on me.
“Hi,” said the smiling, angelic face. Given the child’s age and complete baldness, I could not tell whether they were a boy or a girl. And, with the tube inserted in my throat and taped to my mouth, I was in no position to return their salutation.
I tried to remember who this child might be and why they were here with me. I guess my eyes displayed my confusion as the child said, “I'm Elizabeth. They let me walk around the hospital a little. Sometimes I sneak out of the oncology wing and look for people who have no visitors. I like to make sure someone is there when they wake up. I know I always like to see someone when I wake up from my operations.”
She just stood above me smiling. I then noticed she was holding my hand.
“Sometimes it is hard for family members or friends to come visit. Some people just really don’t like hospitals. And, I guess”, she said, “not everybody has someone that close to them. So, I like to become their visitor for them. I hope you don’t mind.”
I didn’t mind. Although it did make me embarrassed to realize that I fit in the latter category; I didn’t have anybody that close to me.
She just smiled at me and petted my hand as the medications worked their magic on me and I started to drift back off to sleep. I heard a nurse come into the room and say, “There you are, Honey. You need to get back to your room now and leave this nice man be.”
The next time I regained consciousness, I noticed a hand drawn picture of a house with a Christmas tree out front with a note that said, “I hope you get home before Christmas” and was signed by Elizabeth.
Each new day, I was welcomed by another drawing of Christmas scenes; smiling faces; reindeer; and, starry skies. All containing a happy note and all signed, ”Love, Elizabeth”.
After ten days of recovery and following the insertion of two stents into my heart, I was well enough to return to my empty home. On my way out of the hospital, I stopped by the Oncology Wing to say good-bye and thank you to Elizabeth. When I asked the nurse at the floor station where I could find Elizabeth, she replied, “Oh I'm sorry, Elizabeth is no longer with us.”
I then said, “Well can you tell me her home address or phone number, I would really like to thank her for visiting me in my hospital room this past week.”
The look on the nurse’s face indicated that I misunderstood what she had meant. Elizabeth was no longer with us.
Sadly, I started walking towards the exit.
Just before I got to the elevator, I noticed an open door with a man lying on his bed, with tubes in his nose and throat and nobody else in the room with him. I went into his room and sat in the empty chair.
When he opened his eyes two hours later, I said, “Hi, I'm Joe. I noticed there was nobody here when you were brought back from your operation and I know how nice it is to see a smiling face when you wake up, so I thought I would sit here with you for a while. I hope you don’t mind.”
He squeezed my hand; gave a slight smile; and, slowly drifted off back to sleep.
Long poem by
Terry Trainor | Details |
Sitting working in my private room a grandfather clock ticks and tocks so very loudly,
Like a metronome tuned into my mind my eyes become heavy my lids slowly begin to close,
My mind drifts into very dark places, jet black places with a tiny white dot way off,
I walk towards the dot and after miles and miles it started to grow so much brighter.
Looking behind to see where I started there was nothing just the darkest of dark black,
I have no choice but to keep on walking towards the white dot now confused and scared,
After hours and hours I reach the dot but it is not a dot now it is a new bright world,
There were green fields greener than I have ever seen the trees had heavy velvet leaves.
People walked towards me they were smiling they were happy I wanted to shake their hands,
But they hugged me and held me and talked so kindly my troubles and worries disappeared,
Young children skipping, my new friends laughing it seemed I had known them all my life,
Being with these people was pure happiness we walked up to a white mansion we went inside.
A beautiful girl came running out to meet us she stood in front of me and gave me a rose,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen it was frosted and gilded and drops of dew fell,
A man with grey hair and a white suit sat by a piano and began to play the sweetest tune,
I leaned on it's shiny surface and could feel the beat of soft hammers on wire, pure music.
All smiled and clapped when this maestro had finished my friends giggled as they saw my joy,
They asked lovely questions nice questions I enjoyed answering as they made me feel good,
We got up and began to walk back to the place where I had first met my wonderful friends,
We talked we laughed everything was about nice things I could feel the smile on my face.
Then the man with grey hair and the white suit said it was time that I made my way home,
Still smiling I desperately wanted to stay forever he saw this and said to have patience,
They stood in line by the entrance each person hugged and kissed me tears ran down my face,
The next thing I knew I was in my private room the grandfather clock still going tick tock.
I thought about my wonderful dream those wonderful people and still felt very warm inside,
It was all so very real and was very disappointed knowing it was just a lovely sweet dream,
Those people in that beautiful garden blessed with such loveliness they seemed so very real,
Standing up and stretching I saw something by the door it was a beautiful rose frosted and dewy,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen.
Long poem by
Liam Darwin | Details |
Why does everything I do always have a consequence that leads me back to you,
I got to see it through and be true,
I cant deal with this,
Its all a massive miss of a passive diss,
A glitch that’s all it is,
When ever i see your face it just makes me see that this place is nothing without you to
lighten the sky,
The way to go.
All that doesn’t mean anything when your not at the centre of everything.
When i walk by all the people I knew at school,
I see them all happy as a drunken fool,
I think to myself i must be a moon to imagine that I could be like them,
They all have socially driven lives,
Without any demise,
Regret is a tough feeling when you don’t understand limits of those that surround you,
A small crack is all it takes to smash the minds of those that you left behind
They dont know how it is to crash into a wall in life.
Well here we are in this life without a care in the world all happy as can be,
But look again there’s more than just people, cars, trees, buildings, and everything else
that you see,
People have to learn to begin to understand how it is for the people who don't have all that,
You see them in the street living out of bags and cans,
How can you walk by and just say good bye,
But that’s just how,
There's no changing it.
If i said hello in the street would you holla back,
Or would you just throw a smack.
If i said have a nice day,
Would you stop and say hey,
Well it was nice to meet you,
But what a shame you don’t even know my name,
I'm an okay guy when given a chance,
I know some jokes but I don’t like to croak.
One day i found myself sitting by a shelf,
It had all these books that didn’t look all that good,
but i gave them a chance and read the pages,
Instead of just blazing at the cover,
It's not about what’s on the outside its all about the inside,
If someone was inside out would you still try to find how they looked before they spoke,
Or would you just poke at their thoughts to read and see if they are what you need,
Nobody wants to be lonely,
So don’t flip them off when they feel off,
Just give them a break and say hey take a seat why don’t you talk to me.
Thats just life someone would say,
But i say everything has a chance for a second glance,
I was talking to my brothers one day and one of them said hey that aint fair but then
another said lifes not fair,
But that aint true,
Life is as fair as a fifty fifty deal,
One way or another that is life but how i see it is just another illusion of confusion.
Long poem by
Troy Nelson | Details |
Should my city have been treated like a hotel?
should someone have checked for the vacancy or no vacancy
before we let a bunch of rich people move in
to jack up our rental rates before Christmas
and send five thousand people homeless?
Should we have said sorry but no vacancy?
we have jobs...and we'll start from the ground up
you wanna live here then start working in the construction field to help with
then go for the big time of oil?
because obviously we didn't
just opened the doors
thousands of rich and poor and desperate flooded in in the summer
too stupid to realise the curse of the winter
no one saw coming
boomed all summer
then all the sudden the oil industry came crashing down
blind leading the blind
or should i say greed leading the blind?
and desperate and poor and those who once had a home...
so the rich from other countries who wanted things like healthcare
now live in our nice homes
and those who worked in the oil industry are looking for other jobs or welfare
and its winter
beautiful silent frost and icicles of blue line everything
and silence of dissent of puffs of cold air are seen but not heard
Should this city have been like a hotel?
Should they have come to check in first?
see if we have residency?
and then maybe get a job building more homes for the winter like an ant,
or any other animal does in the winter?
We all went for the money
Greed greed greed
now there is a shortage of homes
oil industry slowed down
huge major crisis
5000 in one small city wandering -20 below weather homeless
because we let too many people into our backyard....
Were they refugees?
Were they business owners?
all the homeless people i see and know are Caucasian
some victoms of drug abuse
and meanwhile the people from around the world live like kings
driving nice cars
living in the nice houses
about to experience a beautiful Christmas with 3000
frozen corpses sprinkling the ground
What do i have to say to the mayor?
What do we have for a bride here?
who is the lawyer when things turn out?
what asylum understands a twelve paged poem that drove me crazy i'm waiting
for word of mouth inspire them to read?
Thank you world for an army of homelessness in my own backyard
of 5000 people
thank you for the mentally ill i know soo well
in political metaphors i'm about to lead
Thank you for the 700 people in jail cells praising me for my method of madness
Long poem by
Chris Boskovski | Details |
My love intended for the girl of my dreams,
she walks from side to side,
not knowing that I walk alone.
She is beautiful than any other thing in this simple world,
everything around her shakes and trembles
as she walks on by without a spare of a passing glance.
The wine is drunk
the last cigarette smoked,
the pain of heartache gone away.
It feels good to see her go my way,
to take the pain with her away from me,
as I sit in the wayward cafe on the river of ashes.
A beautiful girl she is mine,
but that course of life shall no surpass mine,
and my heart beats and takes me away
in hope of falling in love.
Irony of love and hate,
it is similar in many ways,
as I sit and think of her.
She angers me,
but when the vail of anger falls over my eyes,
the passion of love enters my mind.
Come now, take me away,
hold me in your beauty,
and love me with your gentle body.
Go into the gardens,
where the nightingales sing,
and sit at the patio's crossway.
Watch the artists paint pictures of the garden,
watch the writers write about the garden,
and watch us go and pick flowers in the garden.
The air smooth and wind breeze calms the nerves,
the pain of my sorrowed heart is soothed,
by her sweet intellegence and beauty.
Her eyes, orbs of blazing sunlight,
blind me with the beauty of her beauteous face,
her lips and skin smooth and pure.
She is glorious,
My love she is the dream girl,
who comes and takes my nightmares away from me.
As I sit on the park benches,
I light my last cigarette,
and reminicse on the days with my love.
I close my tired eyes only for a moment,
and the moment is gone,
my beauty is gone.
The tears are all gone,
the pain has gone,
the feelings of everlasting love are all gone.
Where did it all go?
Where did my beauty go?
Where did my love go?
All gone now, all gone now,
as I grow old,
the feeling of death takes me by surprise.
The park bench is cold,
the cigarette is burnt out,
I am longing for a drink.
I lay in a wayward cafe
drink a coffee and talk to myself
discussing a book of poetry.
Looking over to the right
I am blinded by beauty once again
this time this is no dream.
Alas, my dream girl came
that appeared in my sunny pleasure dome,
who has walked barefoot in the gardens of my mind.
She sat with me,
I looked at her
and we smiled together.
We held hands together,
and dreamed together,
forever and ever.
cigarettes smoked together.
A cloud over our heads
in the shape of a heart
Long poem by
Ph.d Volo Von Wolfenstein | Details |
What the ****,
I'll break your neck if you get at me,
tell me now,
that I can't paint pictures,
when I clearly see that
walking like a broken triangle
making a vertex on the ground with his cane,
his face looking like shit,It`s like
you take a dodge ball, stab it, let it sit there for 93 years in mud
and there you go, is it so nice to stare?
Is it so nice to paint pictures when you're dying?
And do you blame me? When I got on stage and lied to a bunch
of people thinking I might have snapped if given the conditions,
a twig under that same old man's cane,
their eyes in my ****ed up paranoid self
deprecating brain are tiringly insulting,
could you write under trauma? could you write under shame,
abuse?and when it surfaces from denial, it's the ****ing worst,
my poems should be censored,these windows to the soul-
do you see that barren atom landscape where the carcass folds
under consistent bubbling fester fermentation,I'm under the fold
of his sallow skin watching the trees burn, feuled by consumer propaganda
GOD, I sleep with writers and steal their style, new contemporary AIDS-
I lost my voice due to gingivitis, or was it due to years of being wrong:
my parents taught me that- and the room where you sat I brooded breeded sin,
you ****, so Dali Esque- you aren't competant enough to examine me,
not a single person knows the way my rot, bloomed, into a shard of intricately blown glass, cutting down friends in self-deprecating loathing, oh how can you love him? look at his faults, just don`t look at mine, what a load of- no story, too consciously thrown around, and now it's lost in the disverse,lol,no unity,it`s too fat,
I can`t handle it, who the **** breathes chaos, let it go, I`m choking, I see myself-
IN YOUR WORK
There are carefully placed rhymes,
and they make me feel alive,
I feel like words should be categorized,
and arranged in pretty little,
oh wow, he rhymed orange with
I forgot of such a word,
but when he stopped rhyming,
GOD ****ing JESSSUS,IT'S ABSURD
Silence as the madness bubbles down to a simmering sliver of excess extracted sediment, and I`m going to snort that *****and get high like all those times
the family pretended to be OK and I ate a vanilla icecream with a smile on,as we
watched a stupid movie in silence and the family room was never used,we preferred to watch t.v because we didn`t have to talk, and exchange BAGS OF GLASS as presents,
here you go dad!
Long poem by
Chris Boskovski | Details |
Am I crazy, or am I just talking to myself?
Look at yourself,
dacing through twilight suns
in sunshine colored dresses.
And you say I'm the crazy one.
Please, don't make me laugh,
I am too much annyoid with taught lessons,
of life and death and love is a magical thing
but I am not impressed till my Gypsy Queen
comes up from the shoreline of the Middle East
and comes and lays next to me, as we watch the ships sail
through the Golden horn of Old Istanbul
into the bay of Asia Minor.
You say I am crazy, Am I or am I just talking to myself.
I believe I am having a conversation that has no end about your beauty,
I talk to whomever has an open ear, and even if people listened,
Who would care about what I have to say?
Since I first laid eyes upon your beauty,
I melted and you took my sanity away from me,
you took my innocence away and turned me into a worried monster.
I love you, and you take me home with you
to meet your father and mother,
both poets who made love and created a beautiful poem called you.
I am in love with you, your songs you sing,
sounding better than a nightingale in the midst of the twilight.
Walking the seashores with your mother as I talk to your father.
He isn't listening, all though he is a good actor,
for he acts if he knows what I say to him.
I talk of you and marriage,
throwing of the rice, exchanging of the golden crowns,
the tolling of church bells, and a happy reception afterwards.
The honeymoon, meant for the first born to carry on the family crest.
As we grow old, I want to grow old with you
Nothing now, a few thousand miles of ocean and sea
seperates us from each other.
Do not worry, for I shall come one day
in the month of May, your mother's favorite month
and I shall bring along a golden ring, a pearl necklace and two roses.
We shall walk the streets together hand and hand,
and wait for the wedding guests to arrive and see us on our way
to new beginnings in holy mantrimony.
Care for me,
I ask you one question, Am I crazy, or am I just talking to myself?
Talking to white walls that don't responed with life.
I need you, too give me a straight answer, to love me
embrace me with your beauty and let me drink from your knowledge.
For my sweet Persian Bride, I shall love you for eternity.
Now, come off the beach and cross the crossing paths
of mortality and morality and join hands with me,
as we sing the nights away, along with the sweet nightingales.
As we look into each other's eyes
I ask you, am I crazy to love you?
Long poem by
greg bell | Details |
Use it against them. Im still in my, I can see the double dream happening. Everyone is happy because they want u to leave them alone. Yout inner soul is your GPS, but again it gets to the point where you want more so you are chasing a high a feeling of no problems and no worrying of anything. Chasing hi= utopia land of good feelings.
Everyone keeps saying, well i could have, i could have but i didnt do it. Quit talking about it. There is a war in my brain telling me to stop but continue its slow brute war continously fighting. I see from the outside now. This place is a large trap waiting to bring you inside. Night Brings Creature comforts, nice women nice weather, everyone is happy but it is a trap. You are stuck in this world or really not having it but oh so close. Tomorrow or the next day. It will happen, they continue to say but when no results come, it is always you know i could have if i wanted to but i didnt. Walking down an Endless road. Everday feels as if it was groundhog day. Ek is very confused on why Ek has a bruise. OPening a door at the house, fighting another guy,and football are the options. What is really the truth? Are you living a continous ground hog day and memory dump? It is just so weird, I want out or do I? Ek can not keep the words from flowing out of the mouth. Operation is compromised. It was done to make the appearance seem what it is not but it is killings in the long run. I have to stop it from leaking out. As my head reads the screen from left to right, my body becomes glued to the seat and I cant move. Time races and the meter runs up. Concentrating hard as the words begin to flow more and more, time continues to fly and I cant focus anymore. I can still see the sweat rolling down my face. EK turned on the faucet. Words pour out tlike water as people are left to die from thirst. Millions of gallons of water has not leaked out but with time a million will seem like 2 dollars. I am beginning to wonder why I can not move. My feet are submerged, my knees now. I keep reading. The Night Bringing Creature comforts begin to listen harder to Ek and everything that comes out quenches their thirst. Ek is blinded by the bright faces seen. What Ek cant see is the mirror held in front of the Night Bringing Creature comforts. mirrors hide their true identity and reflects something else. The water is up to my chest now. I see I can leave and I do. As I'm outside, I look in to see Ek has ran out of water. He knows. He prays.
Long poem by
Natalie The Rogue Rhymer | Details |
I’m really not a jealous person. I am happy for those who are fortunate in life. If I see a lady who has a beautiful family that loves her, I am happy for her. When a guy pull up in a fully restored ’57 Chevy convertible, complete w/ vanity license plates reading “AHH YEAH”, I’m happy for him. I have met two people in my life who have won large lottery jackpots, and I was very happy for them. Even when I see a drop-dead gorgeous exotic looking young woman wearing Chanel and four and a half inch Jimmy Choos, I am delighted for her. Seriously, I’m just not an envious person by nature.
Yesterday, my tire blew out. While I was waiting for my husband, I went into a local pub. A nice girl, Jenna, started a conversation with me. She was missing all four of her front teeth! We somehow started talking about dieting, and she told me that it is impossible for her to gain weight. She mentioned she weighed 102 lbs. and that she would love to gain at least 5 pounds but just couldn’t. She complained about how her metabolism was just “too high.” I’m sitting there with that old country song playing in my head...“A metabolism too high…What’s that mean? It’s like too much money, no such thing.”
Ironically, it happened to be karaoke evening. Once the festivities started, I clinged to the hope that my DVR was working and recording American Idol so I could watch it when I got home. “Big Matt” was up first singing George Straits. He was actually good. We all clapped. Next, it was Jenna.
I watched Jenna sing. In a world where if most of us had the misfortune to lose even one of our teeth, we would not leave the house unless it was to be fitted with our Davinci Veneers, this gal was poised and confident. She sang beautifully.
I found myself actually envious of this young woman. Not, however, for the reason you think. I found myself envious of her confidence. Despite her appearance, she sang with passion, poise and enthusiasm. Even missing all four of those front teeth, she could get up in front of that crowd and dazzle us all with her nice voice and pleasant demeanor.
As my husband came to my rescue, I left smiling.
I left smiling knowing that there are people like Jenna in this world.
I left smiling knowing that I do give people the benefit of the doubt.
I left smiling knowing that I do always look for the best others.
I left smiling knowing it is possible for me to be jealous of a young woman who is missing her front teeth.
Long poem by
jeremy fennell | Details |
Life can be full of happiness
With unconditional love and emotion
But let’s get real that’s not what life is
Life throws us on a rugged path at times
One of the rugged paths is finding that right mate
And we all can find in one way or another be able to relate
Most of you girls want something like this:
A guy who is cute, funny, outgoing, motivated, caring, unselfish, faithful, and understanding
The one who calls you at night so you’re the last one he talks to
The one who says good morning so he can be your first smile
One who calls you beautiful in your darkest hour
Damn do you girls not see the clock has been striking twelve
Girls you always talking about I want that right guy
But more than half the time you’re letting him pass you right by
And next thing you know you’re with someone who makes you cry
A guy who stripped you of your wings in which you can’t fly
And no longer able to touch the clouds in the sky
Then you hate your relationship because all he is known for is to cheat and lie
And you lie on your bed at night and ask why?
And sooner rather than later you end up saying goodbye
Tears falling down your face
As you try to erase
Erase all the memories you had of him
Erase the fact he did you wrong
And then the right guy whom you let pass you by
Sits right next to you gives you a hug and says “be strong”
That’s all he says and gets up and walks away
And the funny thing is you still don’t tell him to stay
Little do you know that guy is on his knees every night and begins to pray
That you will be able to open your eyes and see the light and stop pushing him away
He knows who he is but when you look at him you think he is the same way
It’s funny because girls always say then prove it and stop saying it
He then says I have been, “haven’t you seen I haven’t quit”
I’m just waiting for you to realize that and commit
But like they say nice guys always finish last
And you wonder why you don’t like your past
A nice guy is a cover up phrase in which the world given us
But our real title is the right guy in which I had to confess
We are around every dark corner watching your mistakes
But at the end of the day no matter who you’re with we comfort you and take away your
Maybe its time to open that message that you pushed in the cold dark corner and reply
Because inside God has BEEN sent you the right guy
© Jeremy Fennell