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Long poem by Ed Ebbs | Details |

LA Sewers

This is a draft, my computer is being weird, so I put this here...

There was a time to survive the streets of Los Angeles without bruises, cuts and possibly your life, you had to size up those approaching by carefully watching each and every move they make; are you a target. 

I'm watching to see if they take notice of me as I cross over the other side of the street. Sigh, they crossed over to the other side matching my movements. I'm in trouble, I can feel their penetrating eyes and everything inside is screaming. Remembering there was a storm sewer at the corner of the street I just passed a few moments ago, and without hesitation I turned to run for my life. Sliding into the street corner between the sidewalk above and the street below…a few more pounds and I would have been stuck. This storm sewer basin is a large concrete box with a large concrete pipe in the corner that goes somewhere. The gang members are all around outside of preventing any escape swinging their chains, sticks and blades. They're acting like a pack of dogs yelping and hollering as their prey is trapped in a corner. They are working on the manhole cover above with a crowbar which would give them access to me below. Fear is now getting the best of me so without much thought I quickly entered the large drain pipe and went deeper into a abyss.  This drain pipe connects to a tunnel large enough for a car to pass through. 

They must have opened that manhole because I hear their voices, they’re following me so I decide to run down the tunnel into the darkness so they would not see me and then stop to listen.  I hear no footsteps, but I ran so far I cannot see a thing, there is no light, just nothingness. I start to walk and I bump into a wall. I can’t go back the way I came because the fate that would await me going that direction, but there is nothingness is all around me so I am not sure what direction that would be. I remember running down the left side of the tunnel before stopping to listen. When I start to walk again and I run into a wall, so that must be the right side, I think? I decide to continue, and being right handed I'm more comfortable on the left side so I turn and walk towards the left side to have something to touch. It seems like an eternity until I finally reach a wall. This wall will become my security from the nothingness...I can’t see my hands or feet, or even hear a sound. There is no frame of reference, only the wall and the solid ground under my feet. Thank God this was a time before those vampire movies or Freddy Krueger; I have only the Alfred Hichcook movies to pull fears from. Continuing through this nothingness a beam of light begins to appear from above. It’s amazing how much light is coming from this little tiny whole in that manhole cover—it lights up the whole area. I stand there amazed and I take a deep breath in this light, it has been a long journey to this point.  Standing there I notice a ladder leading up to a possible escape. Listening carefully before pushing up on the cover, I push and push...I'm not strong enough. Many of the manhole covers are spot welded by the public works department to prevent an open manhole in the middle of a street. I climb down from the ladder and pause for a few moments in the light absorbing what I could before continuing on; this tunnel must lead somewhere, right? Another beam of light, another welded manhole cover. The fear of the gang has long past, my only thoughts now are those of being lost and I am starting to feel hopeless. I remember a verse I was taught about falling down, the faithful fall down seven times, but they get up again..at least that is how I remember it. They're words from a Sunday school teacher. I was terrible at remembering scriptures to get those stickers, but I remember what the verses meant. The nothingness continues as I walk, and it has been a long time since the last little beam of light and I have found the meaning of hopelessness.  The floor below is beginning to get damp, ick, what am I walking in? I can’t see a thing still and I'm too afraid to stop touching the wall or even to stoop down--the wall is my security.  My mind is pretty numb right now, my only thoughts are dragging my hand on the wall wall and walking. The dampness becomes wet, and from wet to splashing. A moment almost overcomes me fear, I pause to sense if the water is moving; am I going the wrong way and about to get swallowed up by a wall of water. The water seems to be static and the nothingness yields no sounds, so I continue. Finally, salvation from a beam of light shining from above reveals little fish in the water below. I'm headed to the ocean, I'm sure, confidence starts to be renewed. The movie Jaws was years away so there are no fears. The nothingness continues until again there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The wall is no longer my security, I follow the light.  The water is at my knees as I continue towards the light. I can smell the ocean and feel a breeze. I can see the ocean and the sand. Sigh, there is a bar screen blocking my exit—I'm feeling defeated, their is no way I can every go back. Looking closely at this bar screen in the way of my freedom, one corner has been pulled away, it’s bent outward under the high tide. There are no other choices really, so I take a deep breath and down I go. My shirt snags on something as I start to reach around to the other side and pull. I struggle, my shirt tears and I am free.  Freedom never felt so good. I look around at the beach, it’s rather windy, only a few people walking here and there, but it’s sunny! I turn in a circle to get my bearings, it’s sure great to be alive and free.  Months later they’re welding bars over these points of escape.  I am heavier now, and I would not fit anyway, but I ponder about my escape, what about others. I feel sad for them..
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Long poem by Jorn Kolding | Details |

The twins, Part 1

In the dark of night a wind took hold,
With powers charged to shake the sky,
By moody swings of gods up high,
Their breath alone enraged and bold.

In the dark of night history spoke,
Of a world alive with fury’s voice,
When life was full of fate and choice,
And death the augur in the smoke.

In the dark of night a man did dream,
Whose tale these words we now account,
Be brave my friend this chariot mount,
By nothing less shalt this vision redeem.

Struggling through the combative gales,
A sleepless figure tossed and rolled,
With wondering sight a story was told,
Of mysteries shrouded in ancient tales.

Upon this figure two more did glare,
Faces are but vessels for orbs to divine,
Not sufficient to be one through design,
Two alive but so unlike to us stare.

These twins that see by darkness alone,
Feel the truth in the shine of art,
Ending where the few dare start,
These bright globes make gold of stone.

With raging winds our story begins,
The battle set both within and out,
The world’s pictures thoughts about,
Action the habits, blindness the sins.

With Boreas alight wandering above,
A divine force teased with subtle math,
To follow the Phoenix on its path,
Or kneel in tears with a praying dove.

The tempest in all its mighty flight,
Decreed with a fist the obvious!
So proud, so proud, yet so oblivious,
The storm forgets his humble birthright.

The wild winds be but a paper tiger,
The hands that give it mighty thrust,
Wields no whip to allure its trust,
Holding a low cup, a cat just finds her.

Such be the crispy breeze in deed,
To roar, puff, blow things down,
Seeking doors to equilibrium’s town,
When heat in fact needs cold to feed.

Wind seeks the muse of inspiration,
A lull, then a rush to arms to end,
Her charms the air does commend,
She whispers with bated respiration.

Such my friend is the temperate truth,
The tempest being no storm cries,
For its maker with love sees its lies,
The swordsman’s tail swings uncouth.

With no further aside we now return
To one whose sleep our vision seeks,
Into this mind the devil now peeks,
Intellect put off so symbols could turn.

Seeking passage to dreamlands alter,
Further and further the eyes withdrew,
A fatherly vessel, twos sons the crew,
A ship who by one one would fault her.

The tides of reflection ebbed no more,
For the two in one the world was gone,
Sands of sleep their eyes set upon,
Dreams for obeying in days to store.

‘Saw the one, the troubled of the two,
Again vain Boreas with eyes asquint,
Forged to see not flowers but mere mint,
An ignoble man, through and through.’

‘His drifting eyes of warrior bent bow,
Blind to the combat of peaceful keys,
Gazed upon Orithyia ready to seize,
The light by which he would never know.’

‘In one fell swoop he swept upon her,
An immortal force not fit to engage,
Death by shock, a rose in a cage,
A sword can never a heart procure.’

Tailors we know make not the man,
Nor, to wit, does he who blow impress,
The finest garments fit best to undress,
The suitor, naked, conception’s plan.

The warrior’s blood once led the world,
What man wanted man merely took,
By far better ways the world was shook,
Now only fools let their swords unfurl.

Still within us sleeping reptiles wink,
Side by side the peace laying dove,
Whose golden egg sits on a glove,
Disarming the insults men might think.

Yet by tinted thoughts some still fall,
There walk among us wanting men,
Who touch stones instead of women,
Blind fools like statues they do install.

To such a fellow we now must return,
By unlucky choice he cast his dice,
Gambling rage would make life nice,
His heart of fire for ice would burn.
 
The I then of the one who took control,
With eye inclined to dote ambition,
In Boreas he saw worthy commission,
Jewels taken justly by godly parole.

‘Reading now the face of himself,
Pleased to see opportunity’s chance,
His office in life he wished to enhance,
His brother’s book push’d off the shelf.’

“This world is made for the taking,
By will alone my will will be done,
A wild beast untamed I roam alone,
But not for long my flight in staking.”

‘Fighting the angel by his side,
He saw in Boreas a better figure,
With sharp mirror set to disfigure,
The Abel eye, his far better guide’

‘Eager as a dog ready to surprise,
Our hero set off to execute his plan,
With canine teeth and on four he ran,
To she who soon would be his prize’

To think a surprise can live in a dog,
Is like seeing a rat for a filet mignon, 
So deluded a man can appear to one,
Whose rose is above all mist and fog.

‘With tongue wild about he grabbed,
The hand intended for him that night,
So sure his lust would disarm a fight,
So shocked to see her smile stabbed’

“Unsightly hair-chested beast you are,
Withdraw from here in haste and fast,
Better to drown alone in seas outcast,
Then with you fly off with fettered tar.”

“Listen little man, listen with your ears,
Give not violets your muscular arms,
Whispered fumes make better charms,
Graceful words for love sheds tears.”

“Fear most of all power’s delusion,
For the deluded become denuded,
Gaining nothing, nothing included,
Power wins only a life in seclusion.”

“Go to thy chamber, scream and yell,
Amend, however, by all smart means,
Your spiteful mean loveless routines,
Thou art but a mute, a soundless bell”

‘With reproof in hand he up and went,
To vent the gales in charge of him,
The dogfight over with outlook dim,
He saw his brother of different bent.’

‘Reaching for the floor the fallen book,
Whose pages spoke a turtle’s tongue,
The unread by thorny bees are stung,
So wiser he for counsel stole a look.’


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

Growing Up, La - Part 1 - Rev 4

- - - Chapter 1: Early Days - - - 

My father was a rich man, la, *
Though schooled in poverty, (1)  
As such he seldom raised his head, 
Displayed humility.
The center of the ‘Dust Bowl' years, 
Just thirty miles from home.
And children, seniors died from this
(Their lungs were clogged with loam) .

A huge tornado struck Woodward, (2)  
Destroying our downtown, 
It, cut a swath near one mile wide, 
Dad fought back, doubled down.(3)  
When storm had cleared, sky was fire red, 
Dad put me in the car, 
But roads were blocked in just three blocks, 
The world become bizarre! 
Barbed wire that penetrated trees, 
Homes cracked like eggs insides, 
Our home had grass blades drove like nails, 
Into its wooden sides.
The biggest storm in history, 
My dad was gone for days, 
Storm victims sleeping on our floor, 
The whole town in a daze.

Dad's rebuilt store, nicest in town, 
Our home ‘across the track, '(4)  
Attended too the poorest school, 
But did not suffer lack.
Appearance was Dad's calling card, 	
No pretense there to see, 
For ‘living too high on the hog, '(5)  
Caused bankers misery.
The school board melted to Mom's charm, 
(Or to her tongue of fire) , 
For with Dad's stature in the town, 
Few dared to risk her ire! 
Good teachers forced to leave rich schools, 
Complained it wasn't fair, 
Till they encountered Sis and I, 
And found that they could care.
That was my mother's legacy, 
And ‘ART' (6)   the air she breathed, 
Though slight she strongly stood her ground, 
Our future she bequeathed.
We did not know the difference, 
Just sometimes things were tough, 
Our clothing did set us apart, 
We always had enough.
There were some very poor kids there, 
The same clothes thru the week, 
Impoverished not just in clothes, 
But that which all men seek.		

I had a bike to ride around, 
Of course it was a Schwinn, 
And almost always home for lunch, 			
For Mom thought we were thin, 
With two desserts at every meal, 
(And Mom was quite a cook.)  
But if you didn't clean your plate, 
From Dad you got a look, 
The waste of food a mortal sin, 
A thump upon the ‘bean, '(7)  
Made every meal traumatic fare, 
And tears a daily scene.
My guess is Dad got worse than me, 
Depression's (8)   oldest child, 
I mourn the innocence he lost, 
That made his wrath seem mild.

Our parent's roles were well defined, 
My dad brought home the bread, 
My mom the joy of hearth and home, 
Dad's entrance met with dread.
My dad did most the punishments, 
But whippings weren't enough, 
We even weren't allowed to cry, 
To show we had the stuff! 
Small wonder romance frightened me, 
(So sure I'd be like him) , 
To challenge violence I feared, 
Chose music over gym.

Brian Johnston
August 20,2014

Poet's Notes: 
An auto-biographical look at family life impacted by both the American Great 
Depression  and the Dust Bowl years (1930-1950)   in the Mid-West, divided into 
Chapters. 
This is a work of love and homage to the courageous and desperate people who 
survived both. I hope that you enjoy it. New Chapters will be released as I complete 
them.

* When I was in the American Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa we had a group of 
7 surveying assistants that were always with us in the first year and that we became 
very close to. Their conversation was always sprinkled with 'la' and I thought it was 
kind of cute. Like they might say to me, 'Why don't we stop in this village for some 
food, la.' They used this word kind of like I use the word ‘OK' in casual conversation. 
'You've got food in your teeth, la.' I really enjoyed this idiosyncratic  affectation.

(1)   ‘poverty' - born in 1911, my father was just 19 years  old when ‘The Great 
Depression' hit the US economy. The Dust Bowl began shortly after.
(2)   Woodward, Oklahoma - the town that I grew up in.
(3)   ‘doubled down' - after Dad's business was destroyed completely by the tornado, 
he  doubled his efforts to be successful in Woodward, borrowing heavily from the 
local banks to do so.
(4)   'across the track' or 'wrong side of the tracks' referred to the part of town where 
poor people lived, frequently, but not always, meaning 'colored people' as well. In some 
towns no 'colored people' were allowed to live in the more prosperous 'white only' 
area. Some towns (like Woodward) had no Negros at all. I take that back. One black 
male did have a job shining shoes in the local 'Baker Hotel' but I think his home was 
in the country somewhere (He did not live in town).
(5)   'living too high on the hog' -  an idiom referring to people who have to have the 
most expensive things in life and buy them frequently on credit even though they 
can't really afford them.
(6)   ‘ART' - My mother was a gifted painter and wood carver, but even meals she 
prepared were done artistically. Art was always spelled with capital letters in her life! 
(7)   ‘thump on the bean' - to hit the offending child hard on the head with the 
knuckles of your closed fist.
(8)   'Depression' - Hard times, not mental issues. (Actually works both ways though 
I guess!)   Born the oldest of 3 brothers and one sister, my dad's father worked him 
hard and used a leather shaving strap to whip his boys when he was upset with them 
about anything. Grand Dad Johnston made my father seem like Florence Nightingale. 
I believe that he beat his wife as well (just a guess) .


Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Differences you say

Differences – you say !

I – me Lass – brave Helios, rides his golden chariot, 
drawn by fiery Steeds, into the vastness of this universe.

These mighty Titans, dispatched – brilliant, glowing -
ruled, controlled the blueness of this planet, the heavens.

Our bright Sun, sprinkles life giving particles, waves,
out in all directions – into the endless firmament.

Then there is the cold souled, silver shield that traverses 
that moth eaten, dark cloth, that hangs like lead 
in that dead laden space, blackness the place 
you choose to ride – your life to hide.

Oh !, if only we would climb down from the edge of fences.
Oh !, if only we would leave behind, walk away from defences.
Oh !, for us to, but if we only could, reach our dreams
Oh !, for us to, not have all those things, it seems,

that get in the way – life’s experiences, what it means, 
from time to time, - that should be left behind – long ago, 
that hang on so tightly, from fears that you won’t let go.
Oh !, for us two, to find the door, to see, understand, to know.

Oh !, for us to, for us to realize, that after the end, the winds will blow
it all away, into waves of rainbow colours that will show 
it all to have been a necessary, but unnecessary way to go.
No matter what is said and done, it all is the universes flow.

A straight line, towards your destination, is the obvious choice. 
Unfortunately, a jumble of thoughts, experiences, become the voice.

A trip – full of baggage – and around the world we go.
A carrousel ride, on each and every horse, the story doth show

A very dizzying ride it is, the point, to get to know 
is a journey, of many directions, on winds that blow  

Live and let live the life one so chooses.
Seldom is it necessary if one wins or one loses, 
not much concerned for – or where or why.
For in the end, it is all in the beholders eye.
 
Much too much involved !, much to obsessive, 
with others and the lives they made a mess – ive.
I can only wonder ?, make an educated guess, live
with my analysis and know, from the heart you give.

I cannot carry the weight of your life into today, 
for all that was, all that is, need not words to say, 
for nothing will change, not before, nor after, it’s your way, 
no matter what one chooses, or not, to express, it’s the game you play.

All has come into, become a part of, is constantly shared 
with, and no matter how it affects, it’s no longer cared 
for, for it all distracts, disrupts, disturbs the air 
that we are inhabiting - and not – it is unfair

I know that it is part and parcel of the lady fair. 
If only to the point, but you never seem to get there.
Hours and hours go by, I cannot help but cry 
as I listen and listen, understand, I do try.

Actions, activities, motion, play are the order of the day, 
board games to win, games to lose, but they cannot be had, 
for it is not in the cards – alone – one can have a say, 
only but for two, does it come though, to share and that’s not bad.

Vocalizing, expressing, gossiping, complaining are your way. 
Hours to exercise the body, the soul, the mind, it is so sad, 
for it leaves so little to share, so little time for making hay.
Not such a bad way to connect, what a great fad !

Just some of the differences that have come to be 
what is between you and me, yet there is much more to see 
that could come into you and me as we ride this rough sea 
of life, that at times you find joy in this old boy, so free.

Happy am I when you come near, when you are here.
A little hollow, a little empty, in the end, harbour fear 
that the sunshine will fade, be covered, will disappear.
Which way ?, - our ships passing in the night - will we steer.

A Mole

Will the Mole, leave her underground, black hole ?, 
to – with eagles fly – reach out and touch the sky ?
will this night hawk, this owl, venture into day light,
play in sight of shadows, created by a sun so bright 
and warm, where day creatures know the storm 
that rages throughout and within, who shout 
with voices searing, with knowledge clearing, 
with understanding of choices made by rending, 
choices made for, and by them, behind a closed door.
Living a life that has been over flowing with strife.
There is much to know, about what was laid upon her soul. 
Some can, some cannot let go, why ?, I do not know.

Can the bound, the nocturnal, the frightened ?, 
find freedom, find in the diurnal, find in fearlessness, 
a soul mate to travel with, upon day light roads, opened.
A soul mate to take into the darkness, the coldness. 
Can they be blended, one into the other, if the story be told.

Differences – are they few or are there so many ?
Are we able to live with them ?, or without any ?
There we are – two old birds on the wing, 
with different voices, different songs to sing
of any or all, to the table, want to bring.
Shed light, and let show, what is our thing 
which at times has put us into the ring.
Sparing in defence of our particular notions, 
beliefs, as we express – in animated motions, 
a light, who we truly are in the heat of the moment.
Yet the hurt, the pain created by wards, was not meant.
Yet they have lent a truth, some truth was sent 
out from the heart, the soul, life ancient 
that dictates - in the moment – what’s fates sentiment.

PS

And what are the differences you see ?
What are they ?, what is between you and me ?

B. J. “A ” 2
March 15th   2003 


Long poem by Terry O'Leary | Details |

I've Got To Go

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
the reasons why you’ll never know,
a’ whisked away in winter’s winds, your sleeping sighs remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Well, I’ve often made my way
within the dark before the day,
but it’s never that I’ve ever felt so lonely.
So I leave this parting note,
the first farewell I ever wrote,
though these lines embody more than farewell only

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll find you’ll never know,
concealed in clouds of untamed clover, tussled hair reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Alas, my love has grown too strong
for I’ve lain with you too long
with your every need perceived, though never spoken.
’n as I try to disengage,
I’m like a tiger in a cage,
hesitating ’fore a padlock hanging broken

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
across a bridge you’ll never know,
behind abandoned burning hills, your yearning lips remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Should you wake and shed a tear
finding me no longer here,
save your weeping for another, not so ghostly.
’n if you span the spangled sky,
as you ache when asking why,
realize ’twas really you I wanted mostly

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
reshuffling cards you’ll never know,
defying fate beneath the stars, your diamond eyes remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Shun the shadows in the late,
disappearing through your gate,
aghast and groping through their early morning sorrows –
like the echoes of my thought,
flitting, fleeting, overwrought,
as reflected in the realms of vague tomorrows

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll see you’ll never know,
pursuing pebbles on a beach, your freckled nose reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Should you glimpse a troubled form
within a restless ruby storm,
turn your collar to the wind and never try to follow.
For by then it’s much too late,
and the distance far too great
and you’d only find the feathers of a swallow

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
along a road you’ll never know,
adrift on half-forbidden paths, your slender back reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Should you yearn once more to tease,
release your breath upon the breeze
’n let the whispered winds of yesterday caress me – 
and perchance recall the time
(when our love was in its prime),
I relied upon your laughter to possess me

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n it’s so hard you’ll never know,
entwined in twirls of fortune’s wheel, embracing arms remind me. 
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Sipping pearls of purple wine
when I was yours and you were mine,
except these haunting hints, there’ll be no spectres chasing.
’n if the flashbacks run acute
I’ll strum the strings upon my lute
’n lull away the ancient ghosts, still standing, facing.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll hear you’ll never know,
though echoed in a thousand drums, your throbbing breasts remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Well, the candles at my side
now have melted down and died,
though their fire blazes on within the mirror.
And the clock behind the door
is pulsing, pounding with a roar,
as the moment to depart approaches nearer

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
along a shore you’ll never know,
engulfed in deep and distant tides, your restless thighs remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

But I’ll take along the ring,
the one you carved for me in spring,
though it journeyed as an orphan on my finger. 
And I’ll hang it from my neck
while I tramp a lonesome trek,
as a keepsake of your passion, while it lingers

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll see you’ll never know,
immersed in fields of flowers wild, your amber eyes remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me

Now I’ll kiss your sleeping eyes
as I mount the blushing skies
and I bid farewell, adieu, in morning’s splendour.
Then I’ll fade within the haze,
immured in miles of my own maze
as I wander, breaking chains of love’s surrender

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n when I ache you’ll never know,
erasing passions of the past and shadows that remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
till the phantoms start a’ fading far behind me


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

In the Arms of Peace-abiding Angels

I don’t know what I know
I fly like an eagle – just go with the flow!
I don’t know what I know
I don’t know what you’re thinking about 
But I can tell you’re puzzled in your own mind
Maybe I can find x2 
Peace in mind 
For you and I to cherish forever
Stop being so introverted!
Be converted
To bravery and put your doubts to bed

It’s strange really
I don’t know what I know seriously 
Storms are brewing in you as clouds lift you higher than where I am
The waves are crash beneath us
But, you’ll be safe and sound
In His hands, you’ll find relief and happiness
It’s quite hard to adjust to change
I don’t know your mind – 
I wish I can read your mind sometimes
It’s about time we rearrange
And fall into the arms of peace-abiding angels

Let’s go…let it go…
Let’s go…let it go…
Let’s embrace
The arms of peace-abiding angels tonight
Tonight, we’ll seek divine flight
We will make it in no time
Let yourself dance 
To the rhythm of my heart
Let’s go with the flow of the midnight breeze
Promise me you won’t tear this heart apart
You’re not alone, the sunrays will melt away the freezing anxiety 
And put your mind and heart at ease
The peace-abiding angels created the playful sunrays 
With God’s helping hand
You’re the butterflies that admire my presence
I know I might sound corny or dense!
I throw my hands sky-high
Happy-go-lucky parrots pass us by 
I wish I were them right now

I scream gallantly: 
“TAKE AWAY THE PAIN,
DRIPPING LIKE ACID RAIN!”
Lightning flashes and a storm tries to suck us in
But, we’re safe and sound
 In the arms of the peace-abiding angels
We’re above the ground
Overflowing with heavenly miracles
Grant us peace in mind…
Before we become blind
Just like the rest of the inhabitants in the World of Woe
I don’t know my selfish deeds
No more doubting or sinning, plant seeds
Of faith and erase your uncertainty
Fall into the arms of the peace-abiding angels
Spread your wings and trace ecstasy 

I don’t know you anymore! 
How come you’re the only one that I adore? 
Let the angels take us to cloud seven
Don’t you know that being with you is like rejoicing in heaven?

It’s funny that I noticed you in the near future
You’re caught in the whirling fantasies
I can see you, far off in the distance…is there any hope to nurture? 
You’re as puny as an ant 
It’s weird to admit, but I kissed the wicked lips of the abyss
Who said I can’t?

I don’t know my selfish deeds
No more doubting or sinning, plant seeds
Of faith and erase your uncertainty
Fall into the arms of the peace-abiding angels
Spread your wings and trace ecstasy 

I don’t know what I know
But, I know for certain that you’re walking on your own in victory
I don’t know what I know…
I don’t understand what I see…
Do I witness peace? Confusion? Catastrophe? 

I don’t know my selfish deeds
No more doubting or sinning, plant seeds
Of faith and erase your uncertainty
Fall into the arms of the peace-abiding angels
Spread your wings and trace ecstasy 

I don’t know your motives or intentions, but your purpose is shown, you see
In my eyes, they’re wicked and free
Stop being so insecure!
Be careful! Make sure
To say your little prayers tonight – it would act as a cure
To this dirty heart of mine, basking in sinful lust – it’s so impure

Dance freely…let go gaily
Dance freely… be filled with glee 
Let’s embrace
The arms of peace-abiding angels tonight
Tonight, we’ll seek divine flight
We are caught up in a trance
Do me a favor and depart
From the morbid nightfall, 
Hunting down our delightful light and innocence 
To the rhythm of my heart
Let’s go with the flow and ride on the back of a happy Hippogriff 
Promise me you won’t look down or behind you!
You’re not alone, the sunrays will melt away the freezing anxiety 
And put your mind and heart at ease
Accept your gifts and talents and 
Jump with joy!
You and I will jump into the arms of the peace-abiding angels
The peace-abiding angels created the playful sunrays 
With God’s helping hand
I throw my hands sky-high
Happy-go-lucky parrots pass us by 
Wave goodbye to our past and let’s fulfill our future as it gives us a natural high
It’ll boost us high and we’ll cry
Happy tears and we won’t know why!

I don’t know if we’re meant for each other
No more doubting or wasting time, plant seeds
Of faith and gain assurance
Fall into the arms of the peace-abiding angels
Go to them for any problem and they’ll help us in an instance!
Spread your wings in confidence and embrace ecstasy with me!

Kiss the doubt and darkness farewell
You’ll find another companion…oh well x2
Be converted
To bravery and put your doubts to bed
Soon enough, you’ll find your true love this splendid night
I know 100% that you’ll survive this dangerous plight
With the peace-abiding angels and I by your side
For the meantime, don’t cower away and hide – 
Fight the Good Fight!  


Long poem by Michael Ainsley | Details |

My Mind A Ship In Darkness

My mind a ship in darkness                                                                                                             How shall you carry me                                                                                                                   My heart cut off from loving                                                                                                                         Is longing to be free                                                                                                                                    To sail out in the morning                                                                                                                                             Upon the early tide                                                                                                                              And live with in the elements                                                                                                             Where truth and strength abide                                                                                                       My thoughts are done with islands                                                                                                  Where the golden memories play                                                                                                  For that vision seen was but a dream                                                                                                          Like fog that burns away                                                                                                                         And if the rocks should catch me up                                                                                                  How shall I greet the day                                                                                                                                            So many thoughts are anchored there                                                                                         From ships that passed this way                                                                                                             So many swells have come and gone                                                                                               And beaten on the shore                                                                                                                  You'd think the isle would brake away                                                                                               Be gone and be no more                                                                                                                But still the ancient cliffs are hung                                                                                               Like shadows in the sky                                                                                                             And still the Sirens songs are sung                                                                                              A lovers lullaby                                                                                                                               My soul my only compass now                                                                                                     What lessons shall you teach                                                                                                       As passion sets my course for me                                                                                                                                                Once more into the breach                                                                                                                               Yet calmly to and steady on                                                                                                         Though gale and storm draw near                                                                                                  My soul is this immortal thing                                                                                                           That strides beyond my fear                                                                                                            And gives my life an openness                                                                                                                        That does not measure cost                                                                                                                  For much I learned of beauty                                                                                                                         By what I loved and lost


Long poem by Amrapali Tendolkar | Details |

RAIN SHOWERS

The Earth dry and bare; waiting eagerly for the drops of care;
 


Caught in the hot, steaming summer’s snare;
 


The flowers and creepers decorating window sills; all look desolate and ill;
 


As the nature withers away in the sun’s merciless glare.
 


 
 


The men and the wives; the kids and the wild;
 


All are enduring the summer’s waterless exile;
 


They are waiting for the rain; to relieve them of the heat pain;
 


And of that life which has become a sweaty turmoil.
 


 
 


The wind strong and gusty; makes the roads yellow and dusty;
 


And the air around becomes suffocating and musty;
 


The birds forget to sing; their lilting, musical thing;
 


Even as the tree leaves wristle and make noise so husky.
 


 
 


Then come the Monsoon showers; falling first on boughs and flowers;
 


Making the trees and plants glisten and glower;
 


So the monsoon comes in grace; driving away summer’s trace;
 


Lashing at window-panes with its all-reigning power.
 


 
 


As the monsoon drives away the summer heat; with its raining rhythm off-beat;
 


And the flower buds open up to return it’s greet;
 


And as the water seeps in soil; a refreshing fragrance arise;
 


While the rain continuous to cool down hot gardens and streets.
 


 
 


The Earth grows green; and water droplets gleam;
 


On the smooth, waxy surfaces of the leaves;
 


Everywhere the flowers grow; in pink, red, white or yellow;
 


While buds make their way blushingly between tendrils.
 


 
 
 The wet and soft soil; now grows fertile;
 


And tender green plantlets push through the Earth in style;
 


Through soil the tiny saplings peep; as their sown seeds begin to reap;
 


And the plants and crops shake off the Earth’s temporary curse sterile.
 


 
 


As the raindrops go pitter-patter; water in puddles begins to gather;
 


And the little birds begin to chirp, twitter and chatter;
 


The insects begin to hum along; their irritating and happy song;
 


While due to rain and wind the roofs on houses begin to chatter.
 


 
 


As the showers for some moments cease; after giving Earth life’s new lease;
 


And the pitter-patter of rain is gently appeased;
 


The sun coyly shines; a cloud it half hides behind;
 


While the fluffy clouds move along with the cool breeze.
 


 
 


The fields now green and bright; are an artist’s sheer delight;
 


Pleasing to the senses of smell and sight;
 


The fresh air so sweet to breathe; that with pleasure the body writhes;
 


In the newly born rainy sunlight.
 


 
 


But this sunlight so quickly goes; as thunderstorms blow to and fro;
 


And Earth engulfs in darkness that now grows;
 


The wind rises and howls; with a voice that trembles all souls;
 


And day and night this gale roars.
 


 
 


The trees in fear tremble and shake; as leaves, twigs and branches break;
 


And the life of these trees is put up at stake;
 


Birds in nests cower with fright; and due to cold shiver with all their might;
 


And live in fearful anticipation of what else the storm may rake.
 


 
 
The monsoon now shows its ugly face; gone are its days of grace;
 


Rainy calamities take its place;
 


Cyclones and floods destruct worldwide; the raging sea throws up its tide;
 


“Nature reigns supreme”, we are forced to say.
 


 
 


Same is the life of man; may he do what he can;
 


But destiny will always play a hand;
 


What all will man control? So he should let destiny play its role;
 


And enjoy life and act as the situation will demand.
 


 
 


Somedays will shine the sun; those days life will be fun;
 


And work will be successful how much ever it’s done;
 


Somedays by the fun you will tire; and will long to get back into the attire;
 


Of normal life, however boring or glum.
 


 
 


Sometimes hope will come out; like a tiny plant sprouts;
 


And will remove from your mind every shade of doubt;
 


It will be a bright, hopeful ray; but for long it may not stay;
 


So we must make most of it when hope sprouts.
 


 
 


Just as the shower of joy; after summer comes out shy;
 


So shower of success will come when you have almost given up the try;
 


It will wash away your helpless sigh; and will give you a new will to try;
 


Which will help you succeed by-and-by.
 


 
 


Just as the sun goes behind the cloud; when thunder is heard aloud;
 


And darkness suddenly falls on Earth all around;
 


So also failure will touch you once; its upto you to prevent its repeated occurrence;
 


Or due to failure remain depression bound.
 


 
 


Sometimes through demotivation you will go; sometimes loads of success you'll know;
 


For we need all types of experience to make us grow;
 


Like some days it is wet; some days the sun for long doesn’t set;
 


But then it needs both the rain and the sun to make a RAINBOW…


Long poem by Justin Bordner | Details |

Make Love To Me In That Ancient Place

The Bedouins, bequeathed with the sacred beauty of paradise harsh,
trusted guardians of jealous gorges and gifted groves
lead me from the Wadi Musa to the humble ingress of Petra,
saying with thrill, the Jin of your Jihad awaits you White Lion,
we embrace as Brothers of Light and ancient dust,
their camels wise in soft steps
impart wide eyed, gentle blessing to me,
a shrill whisper of teasing wonderment 
whisks the sand of centuries strewn small
with a cobra's awakening whisp and hungry hiss,
evening enters the terrible terrain
glowing a cool blue dark and daring
along with it a blowing a zephyr unzips the zodiac of my ancestors,
stars of a billion years sympathize with this soul sojourn, 
alone I journey inward like a brave wish wafting
into a heart wanting to disgorge a secret need,
the smell of salt, sandstone and myrrh infiltrate
my mind with a mineral magic animating millenia of sovereign economics,
lamp light revealing the blush and rue of the the Siq's colossal rock hue,
shadows of caravan traffic bespeak exotic trade from distant industry,
narcotics from Kush, Persian rugs, spices and incense of Arabia, 
jewels and hides from India, the medicine and silk of China,
beasts and papyrus of Africa, wine, weapons and art of Rome,
slaves beautiful and strong carried from every known ethnic throng,
a river of precious merchandise replacing the might of carving waters,
at the egress of this artery's eternal enterprise
I behold with burgeoning awe the Nabataean Treasury, 
it's gladsome geometry a harmony of will, wealth and worship,
warm red cream stone become bone of a peoples' politic,
architecture for their angels and sanctuary for culture,
depository for dreams indebted to desert Deities,
I blow a kiss to the niche of Tyche, Goddess of fantastic fortune,
as I tighten my checkered turbin I hear a soft song
of Hellenic, Semitic and Arabic recipe, stringed hums with chime
and it moves me into the open, bleak basin towards the Monastary facade, 
in the black of it's errie entrance a spirit of evanescent education
escalates my enchantment as corners wake to pathways,
murals like waving reflections stream across the walls
I see Moses crack the water stone for salvation
as the Holy Arch spirals an avalanche of absolution from Earth to Heaven,
Solomon and Sheba secure a trade treaty with royal love,
I witness Jesus in the Jordan with John the Baptist
kindly laying him in the steady float of faith,
then the tragedy of John's demise
by the sour ambition of Herodias, the whore of defacto power,
I observe the affection of Joshua Ben Joseph 
with his woman of street sense as they endure trial after trial,
scenes of the Pax Romana and Judaen revolts parade 
by my eyes as terror, torture and triumph
wear masks of glory and glee,
the Essenes embarking for the Dead Sea defense,
Muslims and Crusaders found not the bounty of this land,
here remains the treasure of Pharaonic voyage,
exiting with renewed moral for love
I look to the top of Zibb Atuf
where I see the thunderbolt of Zeus Hadad and cornucopia of Atargatis
burn sweetly in the night, periwinkle smolder signals righteous passion,
I feel you, my Love, paramount in the depth of every sense I have,
turning entranced to the Roman Theater I proceed to the north east rendezvou,
you are lovely and glamorous on the stage of amplified ardor,
starbeams spotlight your coordinated curves and fertile instinct,
you begin to seduce with a dance, breathtaking, impulsive balance,
moving with the smooth heat and poise of a breath blown candle flame,
a crescent of torches beautifies your frame, crimson silk wings from you,
I stand for a moment on the outer upper rim
gazing, with great heat upsurging through every muscle,
knowing you are jubilant for me by the way you move
I descend the stairs undistracted from the language of your invitation,
your cinnamon skin skims my own as you go round and round
and the crave for your ravishing rub forces my pursuit,
I catch your tender waist as you spin into my hunting arms,
your fingertips feel so right in my hands,
we sway like romance on fire in the storm of desire,
your restive back nestled inbetween my shoulders
my obsessed lips move up your neck in search for innocent sensitivity
overtaking your naked earlobe with a hot mouth and firm pull,
your body, begging to be breeched brutely calms slowly
as I release spontaneous poetry into your ear saying...

When the moon was young
unbattered by stone and age
glowing bold upon Earth newly spun
the first man and sacred Woman
made love of flesh warmly woven
from they're erupting hearts came wild knowledge...

J.A.B.


Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

The Lily Maid of Astolat

The knight of knights, Sir Lancelot,
From far away in Camelot,
Went by a way that he knew not
And thus, by chance, spied Astolat
With sunset's gleam upon her tow'rs:
T'was there he met the maid Elaine,
With hair as golden fields of grain-
A lily in the springtime rain-
The fairest of the flow'rs.

With her he left his fearsome shield;
That of her brother, Torre did wield:
At last to her desire did yield
To wear her favour on the field-
A sleeve of red with pearls.
Then to the diamond joust away,
Lavaine and he rode to the fray,
Departing at the break of day
To fight with kings and earls.

She took the shield and lightly step't
Up where she watched as off they leapt,
And there the mighty emblem kept
Beside the bed in which she slept;
The mystic azure lions traced:
She never left it there, it seemed;
She watched by day, at night she dreamed;
She woke each morn as sunlight gleamed
From it to light her lovely face.

Sir Lancelot, wounded, won the prize-
His shield still mirrors her azure eyes;
Not knowing if he lives or dies,
Nor knows she yet the place he lies.
But lo! There comes the knight Gawain;
He bears the prize to he who won,
Not finding him, his quest is done;
The prize he leaves, both mount and run-
But she to find where he is lain.

Sir Torre and she their horses drave,
'Till long at last they found a cave,
The knight within, and near the grave:
Elaine her greatest efforts gave
To save him from death's gaping door.
Through dawn or twilight lightly glides
The lily maid to where he hides
And by his wasted form abides,
His olden glories to restore.

Some months had passed, and whole once more
He offered half his treasure store,
A kingdom's land, or three, or four,
But none of this she cared ought for-
She wanted him, and him alone:
But no, another held his heart.
E'en though it tore hers right apart
Without a glance did he depart;
He left her there to groan.

Without a parting kiss goodbye
She sulked about, but would not cry;
She sicker grew as days crawled by
Until she knew that she would die,
And of a heart that broke:
She sang "A Song of Love and Death"
With wondrous voice but halting breath;
Her heart in song she openeth-
Of never-dying love she spoke.

"My love undying e'er shall be
Though love has been the death of me:
Though sweet is love in company,
One cannot love, the other flee-
I now depart to sweetest bliss.
I wish I knew, but I cannot
If death is sweet as love is not,
When all my pain I have forgot-
As death bestows his frozen kiss."

Her final words of love she wrote
And sealed them in a little note
To place beside her in the boat
Which she desired her body float
To far away in Camelot:
Then with a pretty little sigh
Her soul to realms unknown did fly-
In such a manner chanced to die
The lily maid of Astolat.

Bathed in the misty morning light,
Arrayed in dress of purest white,
Boat decked about with black samite,
Her letter clasped to bosom tight,
A lily close beside it borne,
She drifted down the silent stream;
As if but lost in pleasant dreams,
For on her fairest face was seen
The faintest smile, bright as morn.

No sound of drip or rush or splash
Was heard within that samite sash,
Naught caused that bark to rock or dash;
The waves becalmed their muffled crash
As by them slipped the lily maid:
For all who saw were sore amazed
And soundlessly they paused and gazed
'Till Camelot's walls the boat had grazed,
At which it stopped and firmly stayed.

King Arthur saw her queenly bed,
The letter by her golden head;
To all the court her words he read,
And this is what the missive said:
"My noble lord, Sir Lancelot,
No parting kiss to me you gave,
Therefore I came from o'er the grave-
Bestow it now my soul to save.
The lily maid of Astolat."

Sir Lancelot, heartbroken too
Knelt by her side her will to do,
His arms about her shoulders threw
And to his own her lips he drew-
'Twas love by love at last returned.
But love, once lost cannot be found,
And life, once lost is claimed by ground
That wraps his heartless arms around
A heart that once with passion burned.

Above her grave a statue stands,
A note and lily in her hands
Which says to all of distant lands,
"Love, e'er your loved has loosed the bands
That tie them to this life and breath;
Love, e'er the storm has swept away
The pure, the good of yesterday,
And left in place but lifeless clay
When love is scorned and lost to death."



{Written by Isaiah Zerbst on the nineteenth of August, in the year of Our Lord, two thousand and fourteen;
Published on the twenty-first of the same.}


Long Poems