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Long poem by Darryl Ashton | Details |

THE RETURN OF PETER PAN 2014

THE RETURN OF PETER PAN…2014  

And Introducing 
The arch enemy:
((Political Correctness and Health and Safety))

Ladies and Gentlemen: boys and girls. Peter Pan is set to strike again.

 
A sequel to J.M. Barrie’s classic tale will be published in the very near future, in which Tinkerbell will be replaced by a male fairy named Firefly, the Darling little children are all grown up, Neverland is blighted by pollution and Nana the dog, is sadly dead. 

Darryl Ashton has obtained this exclusive interview with Peter Pan to find out what went wrong. Peter says: “What has the world come to when someone like me is no longer allowed in children’s bedrooms? OK, so at first inspection things don’t sound too great.
I am someone who climbs secretly through children’s  bedroom windows. I have a friend called Tinkerbell who is, yes, a ‘Fairy’. The two of us tell the little Darlings’ to forget about their parents and come away with us on a big adventure to Neverland. But relax, will you! 
Looking’ back I guess my problems really began when I started planning this return trip to Britain after some 100 years. Do you know how hard it is for a guy like me to get the paper work together? By the time Childcare Agencies, Social Services and The Criminal Records Bureau had vetted me, the magic was wearing pretty thin, I can tell you.

Was I self – employed? Or were Tinkerbell and I in a VAT – registered partnership? Did I have a pilot’s licence, which met all compliance standards? Did I have the relevant Visa for tourists from Non – EU countries? Questions, questions! Don’t all these regulations get you down? Anyway, as Tinks and I soon came to discover, Britain has changed beyond all recognition in the years we have been away.
Our first discovery, much to our horror, was Wendy, and her brothers John and Michael, were some time ago taken into foster care. We learnt that their parents, who were in the habit of leaving them in the care of Nana the dog, had been stripped of access to the children.

TV crews chased Mr and Mrs Darling down the street and a police guard had to be placed outside their door to prevent vigilante gangs from attacking them. Well, that was all too much for Nana the dog who was carted off to an RSPCA hospital, where she was soon being seen by a strange Australian man with a beard and a didgeridoo, who said he could make her a star, on, Animal Hospital.  

Nana said she’d rather be put down, so after a quick call to an assisted suicide group called Dognitas, the old dear’s now pushing up the daises next to Shep in Blue Peter’s garden. Such a waste, she’d been trained by Norland, you know. 
But I don’t suppose that means much these days.

Unsurprisingly, the Darling children went rapidly down hill from there. Shunted from one foster home to another, they fell in with the wrong crowd. Before long, Michael was wearing a hoodie and worse, hanging out with Prince Harry’s lot. As for little John, without any proper father figure to look after him, he found solace in a new faith, changed his name to Sinbad, and was last heard of heading for the Afghan hills for a spiritual vacation. Which is why Wendy got back in touch with yours truly.

So with no one else left to help her, Wendy closed her eyes tight and sent a wish to her old mate Peter Pan. I must confess, when her message first popped up on my Blackberry, I winced. Is there nowhere the office can’t reach me these days? Even Neverland? So I made a few calls, and whaddya know? Hookie agreed to help me out. Yes, I know he’s a rogue and bounder who has polluted the whole of Neverland, after swapping the Jolly Roger for a fleet of turbo charged jet skis. 

Big mistake. We’d scarcely set foot in London before the anti – terrorism squad and Hookie was carted off to Belmarsh. You should have heard him shouting when they took him away! “I am Hook, one time bosom to Blackbeard. The only man to send a shiver up the wooden stump of, Long John Silver. The only consolation for the poor Captain was that the crocodile never made it through the security checks at Neverland Airport”. The other passengers heard that clock ticking in its belly and said they would not travel unless the croc was chucked off the flight.

As for Tinkerbell, no sooner had she returned to her old haunts than a gay rights group called Stonewall said it was totally unacceptable for her old name to be retained. When asked for an explanation, they just threw their eyebrows to the ceiling, sucked in their lips like lemon quarters and gasped: Firely was so much more ‘now’. They even wanted Tinks to change her gender, but we’re still negotiating on that. The Elf’s trade union is pretty sticky on that sort of alteration.

The fairy costumes had to go too, something to do with stereotyping. But when I showed Tinks her new thong, her little pilot light went out altogether, and I’m afraid no amount of Polish plumbers can get it started again. So now I’m stranded and alone, with only my shadow for company. Even Wendy has cut off contact after getting a six – figure deal to appear on a Celebrity show---get me out of here! All of this I can tell you, is incredibly upsetting.

What has happened to Britain these days? I know Neverlands not perfect, but it’s a place where time stands still – and innocence is preserved and I like it that way. Today’s inspectors and officials all say that they’re only interested in protecting children. But by imagining the worst of people they are only wrecking the very innocence they presume to defend.

As I was telling the tooth fairy the other day: “You know Gums, sometimes I wonder if childhood itself is vanishing”. And do you know what she said in reply: “Sorry Pete, I’ve gone private. If you want a consultation, you’ll have to pay up front”.
How about ‘Pay – as – you – go? Sorry Pete, it’ll Neverland!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON                                                      

                                        


Long poem by Goutam Hazra | Details |

Scent of Paddy Flower

Scent Of Paddy Flower

                                   By Goutam Hazra

           1
Reminiscence

My father told me 
first time 
I was just a boy then,
“Follow the scent of paddy flower
move with the wind it carries,
surely you will go to heaven.”

I remember
he would catch 
fistful of wind
bring near to my face
and wonder,
“Isn’t it godly!”

Magically, opened his hand
but I never felt
what scent he meant.
            
             2
Days of kind rain

“Son, see the misty wind
rushing all over the paddy field
comes every year
to drink the scent of paddy flower.”

Mere as a boy
I could see only
tides of a green plane
touching my little finger
and racing far… too far.
I would ask  
“Where have they gone?”
Smiled my father 
and said
“Did not you listen,
they are going to heaven,
call the goddess then,
‘come goddess dear’
we all are ready with paddy flower.”




Curious was my face,
“Papa, then?”

“Goddess will arrive smiling
her feet will be here
there
everywhere.
Seeing a pot in her hand
all those paddy flowers
delighted, will open their mouth more wider
and life will be poured…”

“Where these flowers come from?”

Remained my father smiling
speaking all his mind
looking high at sky
asked me to see there
spoke he again.

“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
on the first day of its shower
kind rain would ask me to come here
with bagful of paddy seeds,
‘let seeds be spread all over,
let its eternal relation with soil
be the fertilizer’
when all said is done
waiting rain 
starts showering its kind
make visible hiding life in the abyss of seed.
Happy wind changes color
being green all around
waits for the day
when the wind would smell the scent of paddy flower.”

Days passed by,
kind rain was still in waiting
sometimes hidden beyond horizon
or simply making sun blind with its smoky face
and whenever wind said,
‘Dry I’m now’
quenched the thirst.

Someday wind played naughty with sun
asked kind rain to make it misty
and with brushes of sun rays 
painted a rainbow on the face of east sky.


Wait was over
green field blossomed with flowers
and wind said,
“Fill in my heart
with scent of flower
I shall bring life…”

Happy was my father’s voice
“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
said so
green wind brining life 
did so
scent of paddy flower
is made so.
Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
kind rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours 
beautiful
simple
with the scent of paddy flower.”
           
             3
Cruel entropy

How old was I then
nine or ten
my father looked up
up to the sky
again and again
for a month long
only to see 
change of sky’s color
from the color of a summer day to a long humid night.
Dry wind cried at last
over my father’s sweating body
“Rain, rain O kind rain, where have you gone.”

One day sudden
kind rain came again.
Cried to my father
“Why no green wind came this year
from ocean 
to bring me here.
Desert wind why
dry my breath
seeds you have sown
how could I then
enliven with my rain.”

Question 
many question
my father had asked the rain.

Short-lived, hurried rain could spell its last breath,
“I am not that rain 
as was your friend,
I am the curse of dying forest
I am the ghost of all pollution
I am born out of acid weather…”

Who knew, it left for where?

My father cried 
As kind rain left him alone
hiding in a dry wind’s bone.

My father was still
going every morning
asking the soil
in vain
if soil could alone
make the paddy flowers to be born.

Year passed by,
came back the time, 
for green wind to bring kind rain.

Rain came one day.

But why
as a cloudburst
treacherous
roaring always
pouring unwanted
like an unkind monster
flooded misery
in the life of a simple farmer?
           
            4
Relinquishment

Dumb remained my father
for days together
sad was his voice at last,
“Run away, son, run away from here,
sky rain wind
river village land;
thread of this garland
who cuts it
go, stop now there hand.”

Draught and flood,
uncertainty of life 
changed my mind 
as of a farmer’s son.
Books, studies and education
reasons, truth and compassion
might have had fulfilled my father’s mission.

But… 
Does not this civilization
converts us 
as the products to do more production.
Run, run and run 
run ahead of time
let be it, at the cost of inhaling killer tension,
stress taking  over your life.
Insomnia, cholesterol or cynicism
is our success’s companion? 
‘A’ is shaped as ‘B’
and ‘B’ is sold as ‘C’.
Modification
innovation
sophistication
but I found the basic
what it remain
as life’s supreme conviction 
‘simply a fist full of paddy
and its grain’.

             5
Scent of life

So here, I am again
standing in front of this green plane
searching for the shadow of my father.
Green wind surrounds my existence
I can see the dance of those bunches.
My mind whispers to my ear
echoes those words of my father, 
“Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours 
beautiful
simple
with the scent of paddy flower.”

I never felt so,
what I smell now 
is the scent of paddy flower.




















Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Pink Pink Pink


Pink- Pink- Pink- Every peak has its own attractions, Like the mountains, The mounts of a woman, Have always remained, Her pride possessions. 01 It has the charms, More intoxicating than wine, As it reveals the beauty, Of a woman's alluring binds. 02 These mounts gives, The wings of imagination and colors, In the mind of an artist, And they arise the passion, In lovers mind.03 Their rise and fall, Has shaken great empires, Under their cool and peaceful shade, The dreams of a child form shapes. 04 Its serenity has given birth, To most pious and holy figures on Earth, And their warmth have shaped the dreams, Of many powerful kingdoms on Earth.05 They feed life giving milk, To every new born light, Every time they laugh and cry, These lofty mounts, Help in forming shapes, When the child begins its story. 06 But these pride possessions, Of a woman, These lofty inspirations, Of Poets, Writers and Artists, These magical charms Which often become more attractive, Than the face of a woman, Are facing, A wide spread pollution,* Which is the unwanted gift of Modern living and They are also the gifts, Of worst living habits, Adopted by thousands, and millions of woman, As they fall prey, Before the charms, And shows of modern generation. 07 Many such wonderful women, Who are in the grip of this pollution,* Have brought this curse on them, Mostly because, Of their own follies and errors. 08 Many such suffering women, Can really get rid of, From the curse of this pollution,* If only they can show, The courage to adopt, The natural way, Of living and breathing, Possible under the boon like shade, Of real Yoga. 09 The reasons, Of the distortions,* Of their pink pink ribbons, Are mainly the results, Of their own creations, And these results, Are not something, For which, One should blame, The destiny or God every time. 10 Some of the serious reasons are, Not caring rightly, For one’s own pride possessions, And the lack of, Physical manipulations. Not keeping, A cool and calm mind, And eating, From morning till night, All the junk foods and wine. 11 And working, Beyond all time limits, While stressing, your peaceful mind. 12 Running and more running To catch others, So that you may not leg behind. 13 And madly crying, For more and more wealth, Even if you have sufficient, For your life time. 14 Are the reasons, Which invite the pollution,* To sow its rotten seeds, To spoil, The enchanting valley, Which exists, Amid the mounts of, Pink pink flowers. 15 The pollution,* Can still be derived out, With the little practice of Yoga, But it remains untouched, And unsung about, By most of the modern women. 16 These otherwise elegant women, Regularly face the problems, Of distress, Lack of peace, And sound sleep. Which ultimately take away, Their happiness, And coolness of mind, Resulting in strengthening more, The un sprouted seeds of pollution.* 17 Still it is not too late, If they can only change, Their life styles, Their eating and drinking habits, And adopt from today, The way of natural living, By adopting, The boon like Yoga. 18 As the practice of Yoga, Not only add years to your life, But life to your years, as well. 19 Ravindra Kanpur India 15th Nov. 2012 *Pollution- The other name of Cancer. Those who want to share their views on My above Poem may write to me on my yahoo mail id: kapoor_skk@yahoo.com I would welcome your brief comments and if possible I will reply you. Thanking you in anticipation. Ravindra K Kapoor Inspired by Poet Destroyer I am dedicating this Poem to all those women of the world, who are facing any such problem of Pollution* And to those also who are not facing it, so that their life my feel the joy of living under the blessings of Yoga. Ravindra
TO OVERCOME OR TO TAKE PRECAUTION ON THIS PROBLEM UP TO SOME EXTENT- ONE CAN START WITH ANY ONE OR TWO OR THREE OR ALL FIVE OF THE SIMPLE YOGA EXERCISES I HAVE GIVEN IN MY ‘YOGA IN POEM’ SERIES 1 TO 5 ON POETRY SOUP IT- SELF. YOUR COMMENTS WOULD BE HIGHLY APPRECIATED. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=490745 IMPORTANT NOTE: The best effects of Yoga can only be obtained if it includes the main exercises of essential ‘PRANAYAMA’ otherwise it wouldn’t yield the desired results and PRANYAM should be learn properly first. Ravindra K Kapoor


Long poem by Dylan Irvin | Details |

Waters And Skies

I.
You can always tell by the eyes
When they’re starting to go
You’ll fall for a few of their lies
Before you begin to know
And you will just defy it
(But they know you will never go)

They’ll glide through the waters and skies
The erratic behavior will soon begin to show
Above and away the storm dies
A cold, hollow feeling in a black and white glow
And they will justify it
(But you know it will take them slow)

You’ll slowly begin to realize
Static is policing their echo
The red stitching in their burnt Eye
That will probably never unsew
And they will just deny it
(But you know they will always go)

II.
The phantom’s days are aphotic
Ocean whispers deicide to Moon
The morning clouds aquatic
Reaching the waves with a bent spoon
Mind is lifted and neurotic
The Earth will come back to you soon
And you won’t feel so erotic
While alone in your hotel room
(Sex with the city sleepers)

Alive where Death lives
Gone where the waves go
Asleep where dreams wake
Dead where feelings die

…A light where the stars are burnt…

III.
Bid these feelings words
The machines of waters and skies
Embody the gliding emotions
Like clouds they shape themselves and go

Write this bidding to feel
Remember the thoughts that were
Like waves they flow and fade away

Rid these words of feeling
Feel anything at all, fall…
Like wind they take and they stray

Feel these words to rid
The masks and chains of oneself
And the dark feelings that boil within
Like trees they raise themselves and grow

IV.

Ocean dreams of phantom mechanisms
The world is cold and full of ghosts
They watch as their generation swims in murk
And the funeral of social segregation will never breathe
The night mirrors reflect the soul of a poet
Only one comprehends these idiosyncratic vowels
Like waves they flow and fade away

V.

Under the white and blue cloak
The clouds are my poet smoke
Rain is the cleansing of wicked nights
With venom pollution and spider bites
That flood my mind with a static tan
Vanished through the wire, I already am

VI. 
Her clouded eyes they lock to me
I, a sight she was not meant to see
My ghastly ripped soul exposed
Our deepest feelings transposed
And I know this one’s a lie
A worn exhausted sigh
Printed from the pressed death within
Those eyes seek Life all over again
(Her flawlessness the only flaw)
(His flaws make him flawless)

VII.
Phantom is high and dark as crow
Moon showers greetings below
Ocean mirrors it’s divine glow
Cloud attempts to steal the show
Earth is screaming, we ignore it though
Mind is planted and dying to grow
Life is tired and waiting to go
Static is torn and ready to sew
Death is late and killing slow
Eye is two and one doesn’t know(Shhh!)


VIII.

The flames scorching the depths of Eye
Splitting the reign of one into two
I met Satan at the gates of Hell (Phoenix)
Only to be spit back to Earth like scum
Half alive and crawling through the moor
Realization was the key to the shining door
Oh my god, I’m one. Eye am God.

IX.

The mountains between the waters and skies
Keeps dreams from reality and pulls reality from dreams
Mind faces fears of the night mirrors and reflections sleep
And the liquid light of the moon opens a gateway
Where dreams don’t sleep and strength never weakens
A world where control doesn’t slip between the seams
Of your sewn mind… 
(Free yourself from the shadows of life and death)


X. 

Through cataracts in the skies
A distant moan begins to rise
Through an uncharted cloud
Of a puddle yet to be in drops
The fruit sky shrieking aloud
In a garden of iridescent crops
With blooming pollution in clad soil
Entwined in a cumulonimbus coil
Morphing into a levitated brook
With a broken and faceless rook
In a receding horizon losing it’s form
Cackling out to the tempestuous storm

Flashes of embers in skies blink
Flooding the faintly seen brink
Of the distant washed away galaxies
Pygmy slowly galloping through
Rolling clouds in the skies of aquatic blue
A delicate touch of colored waves
Painting rainbows on sea graves
Where pirate ships set sail
Through a violent pour of hail
In a limitless sky of falling streams
And an icicle ocean of drying dreams
Through cataract jets in the skies
A static ambience calms and dies…


Long poem by Elly Wouterse | Details |

News Wall behind the anchorman

well preserved anchorman
with an ironed tight tie
matching to the color 
of his right eye
to me on the left

words well pronounced
stories seem not topical at all
overpowered by the screens
offering muted live-scenes
in the background

the real tragic story
the muted sound
of the silent screens
I counted 
the grand total of 24

another chain of fear
bullets causing pain
destructive rockets
killing hearts and souls
blood and tears 
on the streets
politicians did not
send in the clouds
didn't step aside
their ego's 
leaders send in their crowds
their soldiers fight the fight
populations suffer
st the moment
no solution in sight 

muted heartbreaking sound
of crying and dying people
so loud and so clear

human bodies
in cloths 
coffins 
or  on wood studs
surrounded by
teared loved ones
the living yelling loud

the almost dying fighting 
a way out of a shroud 

words I'm not familiar with
in languages I don't know
clearly show despair 
I am so sad
in particular
because of the dead kids
surrounded by
head scarves, yarmulkes 
garbs and tichels
veils and chadors, 
hats and umbrellas
niqabs or dupattas,
under the deadly rain 
of rockets and guns

24 little screens 
in the background
the mutual crying 
hurts the most

the anchor's mouth moves
the scene says it all
people on several screens
I can't touch
I can't help
I can't save
I can't heal

the worst
I  can't reveal
the solution
for this human pollution

things are not going well
in the swelling wounds
in the midst
of human pollution

more wounds swell
on the 24 screens
in the background
I'am paralyzed
but the sound
of so many more
crying and dying
children fathers and mothers
some places show
there are no others
any more

my tears speak volume
wishing my mind
any mind at all
could find
the healing tune
in a peaceful room

a commercial break
another take
breakings news

well preserved anchor
with an ironed tight tie
matching to the color 
of his right eye
to me on the left

reads words well pronounced
the story seems not topical at all
overpowered by new screens
offering  silent live-scenes
in the background

La triste histoire se répète
de l'humanité, 
et de la guerre et de la paix
encore et encore
La triste histoire se répète
il est de tous les temps 
pendant des siècles
La triste histoire se répète
C'est une histoire tristesse
à d'autres moments
dans un environnement différent
la triste histoire se répète

even powering down my TV
doesn't prevent
the empowered feeling'
paralyzing me
totally

(c) Elly Wouterse

Note: 
1st. 
I have close friends on both sides.
2nd.
In this poem I finally managed to describe my feelings on what I feel & saw and what seems an automatic act - zapping through all television channels automatic act - zapping through all television channel and a quick moment of checking the news..and yesterday "coincidentally" almost all our 20 news channels broadcasted the same 'pictures'.. randomized ... all accompanied with the story from their point of view... all are having their own channel(s) but all those real human people on both sides... 
If I could be a magician... I would please all.............. wouldn't we all?

La triste histoire se répète
de l'humanité, 
et de la guerre et de la paix
encore et encore
La triste histoire se répète
il est de tous les temps 
pendant des siècles
La triste histoire se répète
C'est une histoire tristesse
à d'autres moments
dans un environnement différent
la triste histoire se répète

I wrote (also the notes leading to) the French stanza about 41 years ago (found it in a precious diary) as a combined exam-assignment for the examination majors French (using the language in a poem) and History(giving a general review on HOW & WHY 'things' are or aren't happening or (dis)continue)........  
The direct reason for the History-part of this assignment: the Yom Kippur War from October 6 to 25, 1973............. 
I read  again - about my fears and feelings as a young girl for another threat of a possible war(building the Berlin Wall was an earlier 'threat' causing the same fear)


Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 5


Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 5

Anulom Vilom or The Science of Alternate Breathing


HOW TO DO IT

Take your right thumb on your right nostril and while pressing and closing it inhale a deep slow breath from your left nostril. Hold the breath for a second in the beginning and then open your right nostril so that you may exhale the air you have filled in your lungs. 
Now inhale deep and slow breath from the same nostril, where you have just exhaled (right nostril) and again hold it for a second and then exhale it from your left nostril. 
At the time of exhaling air from your right nostril press and stop your left nostril from the middle and ring fingers (Imp). Repeat this action from 1 minute in the beginning to 10 -15 minutes by doing it again and again as you had started earlier. Do this breathing practice from 1-3 minutes to 15 minutes to get the maximum benefits.



Step-5  How to do Anulom Vilom


Sit in Sukhasana or in Padmasana on a comfortable flat ground or on a Carpet or Durry. Start Anulom Vilom in the morning hours, when your  stomach is empty and clear . Close your eyes and sit as relaxed as possible for next 2-3 minutes, so that your muscles may get relaxed.


Anulom Vilom or (Alternate Breathing) Among all the breathing Exercises of Yoga Anulom Vilom shines Like a glittering jewel Where one sees The Astonishing results of Yoga Taking shapes like the Painting of an artist. Which only get appreciated The moment It began to show some Lines, figures and shapes And when the picture get filled with Colors You would only fall in love With the richness of Anulom Vilom’s Colors and shades Which remains The most precious gift of Yoga For all the human beings. It almost rejuvenates and transforms You Like the finished and colorful marvelous painting Of an artist From a dull and colorless shape. The wonderful effects of Anulom Vilom Will slowly purify your lungs Body and mind And many of human bodies Curse like ailments Like circulatory problems or Heart diseases Blood pressure problems and Blockages Depression and migraine pain Asthma, sinus and allergy. It is highly beneficial For those who suffers from stress and anxiety. Once you gain the time limit Or number of Anulom Vilom You will find yourself Blessed With a new personality Filled with energy and peace of mind And above all Love and kindness for all Which began to flow from your heart And helps you To accomplish your Tasks and talks With the grace of good health Endowed with the blessings of God. Regaining of good health By adopting Yoga Would become Your daily partner To Restore your love and confidence And your faith in Your God And it would make you More wanting and artful For you and your family and your life. Ravindra Kanpur India 28th July 2013
Important tips and precautions: -Anulom Vilom pranayama can be performed by any one of any age group. -Please perform this at calm and clean place either in a garden or at a place away from dust and pollution, and where there is a lot of oxygen. -The best time to practice this breathing exercise is considered to be early in the morning before having your breakfast. - However, performing Anulom Vilom should be avoided by pregnant women and during periods. -Persons having serious heart problems should not practice it without the guidance of a proper Guru or instructor. - Its benefits would be more visible, if you can practice it daily.
Gratitude- Although Anulom Vilom is the gift of ancient sages but it was brought to lime for the general good of the world by Swami Ram Deo of Patanjali Yog Peeth. Ravindra K Kapoor


Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

Judgement

Listen to the wind as it crashes into the towns and villages and downs mighty trees,
Stand still, let it blow until you nearly fall, face its anger and lean into the cold wind,
It brings snow so heavy, flakes will bite your face, freeze your wet golden pig tails
Stand in the blizzard then fall to the ground and stay there, this is your judgement day,

It's time to reflect darkest needs, and the moral ruin in that space, of your passing years.
Listen to the wind bending boughs, branches and the flow of a turbid stream of pollution,
A pollution that floats the wretched souls and bodies of all mankind to death and to hell,
You hear a sound of branches creaking under the strain of despicable wrongs in your life,

It's a mighty power that takes away the beat of the immoral pulse of your sorry humanity,
So now you are ready to listen, so listen hard, but then you know your own sorry story.
Listen to the wind and hail sweeping over dead leaves, throwing them into a black sky,
Do leaves shiver or do they shout out loud in rage as they are scooped up in a frenzy,

Will you pray to your god, ask him for forgiveness as this is your last day on earth,
Or will you beg in the tattered slops of your own righteousness just to save yourself,
Listen to the tolling of the old passing bell that swings in your black dome of vice.
You will feel the devils havoc amongst immortal souls, a hell fire dwelling in your heart,

A story of your progress a disease of lies which sucked away all goodness from your days,
Lies have plucked the red roses from childhood and set a brand of hate on your wet brow,
The story of lies which have stalked and spread up and down the earth for many centuries,
Lies that sweeps millions upon millions to destruction, for this disease there is no cure. 

How many sighs have been noted down in your heaven and how many tears were for yourself,
Those too often troubled fountains flowing like April showers, your wolf's tears fallen,
How many hearts have you broken in loveless famine, all for a want of an act of kindness,
See how deep the dyes painted in your days, a selfish dense black cloud as the background,

So look behind you, see the old man carrying his scythe, he is waiting and he has patience. 
Listen hard, listen well, do you hear trumpets blare over the crashing white landscapes,
Will you pray brimstone or treacle and tell the wind your sins the unacceptable truth's,
Did you sit and drink your wine murmuring everlasting hate in a rich full flavoured voice.

You are just a blank space in a world of nothingness a mere sour taste in the universe,
Your vicious wrongs telling the same old stories heard by thousands, thousands of times,
You close your mind and pretend to forget what cannot be forgotten, tell me are you bad, 
Because I would like to know if you think you are a good example, I would like to know.


Long poem by Poetryof Providence | Details |

Increments

A thousand myriad voices           scattered on the wind
decry the human suffering questions will it end
tents in desert dustbowls        waiting upon the rain
lives molded in emptiness     how long can they sustain
 
Pandemic the diseases          a viral biology
man himself constructed          in tubes technology
outpouring chemicals     no plant life can escape
pillaging our resources         our planets incumbent rape
 
The corporations interest    aim profits in their greed
a force it must maintain             your pocket book exceed
desires  that are mercenary    have plans to you expunge
trash outstrips the landfills     the poor in countries plunge
 
The maintenance of property     with empty homes in rot
homeless children hungry   sleep in a parking lot
media insinuates                     you need be owning more
earning of the dollar          the dream you're living for
 
I have seen starvation          exists a different kind
a famine of affection     to others needs be blind
hedonistic pleasures          force decisions to ignore
repercussions down the road     contaminates hardcore
 
The disappearing species          on land and in the sea
ones  we've not discovered   may know them never be
chem. caused deformities               in humans also plants
cancer causing agents    saturating our advance
 
Facilities  explosions            toxic substances are spread
how much can nature take                 before our planets dead
we all have mankind's mind     we know where this will end
to destruct this machine                on man we can't depend
 
Aspartame and PCB's     nitrites not a few
pollution of the food supply        detriments not new
the really scary thing           as this accumulates
greater will its impact be       if prevention waits
 
As mans wars continue        a plan for our demise
we barely see the surface        that our governments disguise
there's a conspiracy      our morality to drown
if you hold to virtue                  their aim to take you down
 
In streaming videos          what's immoral implant
willingly absorb them            its profession is extant
the onslaught overwhelming          the pressure to conform
if you don't run with them        you aren't considered norm
 
The barrage of information           to absorb your time
new gaming now is free        to keep your mind online
even I use this tool         to reach inside your thought
every truth you hear            is seeking to be caught
 
here little there little           every piece in place
to clean up our planet     must destructive thought replace
errors inclination       mans  programming like a map
where is the intervention        to spring us from this trap
 
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC


Long poem by John Trusty | Details |

TARENTINO at the PIGGLY WIGGLY

Two Young Checkers
(Rhonda)  I’m hearing you Louise.
Ya know my son is still suffering from a (Semester Meltdown) because the (Federal Budget) 
will no longer be funding a program for poets in residence. He said it felt just like they 
slammed the (Gym Locker) door on his (Unwritten Book) called (Toilet Training). If I’ve said 
it once, I’ve said it twice Louise, I saw him shed his (Last Teardrop) as he tried in vain to get 
(Beyond the Moment)…

(Louise)  OKAY, ALREADY! 
So like I was saying before and its’ never been (Far from the Truth), everything revolves 
around (Money Matters), don’t it honey?
Whaddya think Rhonda, am I right or what?

Two Old Baggers
(Ernie) You know when my wife asked me about this my nerves nearly got (Shattered) 
thanks to her putting me (Under Duress) with her questions. She wanted to roast me like a 
marshmallo in a (campfires blaze). Seems I had become the (Sensation on Second Street). 
Some (Doppelganger) was (Slow Strollin’) on a (quiet morning) during this (hot July). He was 
(in the Autumn) of his life as they say. I think he was in old (Dementia’s Grip) if you ask me. 
Anyway, he kept humming to himself like he was (Lost in the Music) of something that was 
made up (Of One Chord). I feel real sorry for the old fart, sometimes I can’t remember what 
was said or comes next mself.
Whaddya think Bert?  Bert, ya been there yet?  Bert!  Bert!

(Bert) Huh, Whaddya say, Ernie?

Musac Local News
In other news (Community Spirit)s were running high though many weren’t (Still Smiling) 
over recent developments (Down in the Coal Mines) after the shaft collapsed in the old 
polluted mine. Apparently no one was injured. For the long term a (black line) of coal was 
clearly visible from up high in the mountains where only (an eagle) could have seen them. 
Coal cars were spilling (Parallel Lines) of future pollution to be washed down the mountain 
side. The (Forest Retreat) a once famous (Oasis) and Mecca for travelers was notified by the 
EPA when the (river cascades), it rushes the polluted coal water into the ground water. We’ll 
be listening to the coal company (howling) (in the Dog House) for screwing this up.
 Just In
Father Gloom & Doom as we all know him, has just commented on this impending 
disaster. “The wings of (Ordinary Angels) will be blackened forever with soot from burning 
this polluted coal!” 
Call lines are lit up folks, He’s talking to the Angels again.
 “Whaddya think of that?”


Long poem by Lisa Geier | Details |

Just a bit of meditation

If greed had not been passed down by generation 
If love and peace had not been reduced to confiscation   
If the rules of government had not been trapped through the lamination 
of corruption
Destruction
Devastation 
Leaves no room for imagination
God forgot about creation
Hope is lost in legislation 
Money runs our formation
Not given enough consideration
Deliberation
Contemplation
Hold loved ones close in the gestation 
Of the clowns who run our nation
Don’t think about the population
Oil runs through my circulation
Cut me open to reduce inflation
Masses controlled by the spread of propagation 
Minds thinking about increasing production
Not wondering about the function
To create reconciliation 
That will erase all detestation
World becoming one at the disintegration
Of hate that causes annihilation  
But we’re wrapped up in materialization 
No one thinks about moderation 
Losing the point of our conception
Watching love burn by cremation
Cultures watching their own elimination
Taken over by globalisation
Not thinking about our obligation
To bring an end to this violation 
So we can all live without feeling exclusion
Wondering what caused our distraction
As we sit in front of the television
Open your minds to this jurisdiction 
That is causing devastating afflictions
Not enough vaccinations 
To cure the spreading contamination
Children suffering from starvation
Don’t tell us it’s a peace mission it’s an invasion
Millions face extermination
Treated like an insect infestation
Super powers don’t care about liberation 
Please understand that war is not a celebration
Just because it creates an augmentation
In the economic foundation 
It’s still a disgusting molestation
Of the purity in civilization
Weapons cause death not constructive conversation
Bombs exploding cause fragmentation
Of emotions such as adoration
Synonym for love respect and devotion
The cry for peace should not be answered with explosions
Raise your hand if you agree with this motion
Was this the point of evolution? 
Ever increasing pollution
Creates a growing irritation
In the system of respiration
Symptoms close to asphyxiation  
Don’t breath in its like suffocation
This is not an exaggeration
This is not a fabrication
This is just a demonstration
Of how we caused our own obliteration
Passing on a bit of education 
Through the form of communication
Hope there's been some concentration 
Thanks for your appreciation 




Long Poems