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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 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 Christine Phillips | Details |

Upsurge

Far beyond the horizon we gazed at sunlit skies 
glowing from gigantic mountains, thick blue clouds
hang peacefully over our heads, painting hopes and 
aspirations as we journey relentlessly to recapture
our dreams.

We have been climbing this mountain for years,
clinging desperately to our dreams, with nothing 
in our hands, our faith and determination propel us along.
But the days seem longer, nights become shorter
our hopes grew stronger and life gets tougher.

We journeyed through thorns and thistles, 
we stumbled upon closed doors, brick walls,
giant rocks and numerous road blocks. 
Left only with rags on our backs, we were 
determined to reclaim our dreams.

The struggle seems endless as we journey 
night and day on a path that binds us for years.
Hunger paralyze us, fear dehydrates us ,
we endured sleepless nights but we held on to our
conviction, embrace one another and console ourselves.

Sun scorched our tired backs, winter snow froze 
our blistered feet, tornados compassed us too,
and the relentless hurricane could not rip us apart.
We all stuck together and supported one another.
Despite the chilling cold penetrating our skins, 
we were destined to win.

The expectation of a new life inflamed our hearts,
and each day we hoped for a better tomorrow,
ignoring life’s un-bearing demands we advance
towards the finishing line believing wholeheartedly, 
and holding steadfast to conquer our dreams.

It is true that life can be overbearing, and it is also true 
that we have wishful promises, and when our promises 
fail to materialize, driven by a lack of faith from the other side,
the journey become harder and murmuring breeds sorrows 
in our aching heart.

Sometimes we fight among ourselves
and toss hurtful words to and fro but 
we quickly come to our senses 
and make amends of unacceptable ways.

We know that we are in this together,
and we must embrace one another’s dreams,
so we wedge together like brothers and sisters
mending the broken pieces as we progress along the way.

The power of unity kept us alive, 
our dreams grew bigger than our stomach,
and jingled heavier than money in our pockets,
Our faith grew stronger, our hopes strapped together, 
and death itself could not shatter our dreams.

We endured winter freezes; one winter fades into another, 
ice covers ice, but we were determined to surpass  
 discouragements, negative highlights
and continue  climbing  until we reach the top.

We climbed the mountain day and night,
but everything seems far out of sight.
All we could see was clear blue clouds smiling above
us and multitude of  stars blinking in the skies.

We passed foxes digging shallow holes in foaming ditches,
we saw them tearing and chewing rabbits and rodents,
and chasing timid squirrels off the edges.

Tormenting sound echoes beyond thick bushy forest,
intimidating us on our hopeful journey.
Suddenly a ferocious fox leaped out of the bushes, 
and stared at us, grinding its gigantic teeth.
But a tiger sneaked from the tree top and
cornered the terrifying fox into its vulnerable hole
wounding its feet and pulling at its filthy mouth.

The lame fox lay on the ground grasping for breath,
and the forest animals drag it slowly into a hole.
We clench tightly to each other and hurried quickly
 towards the mountain to complete the final leg of the journey.
Amidst these strange happening, we progressed faster 
holding our precious dreams carefully in our hands. 

We could hear the drum beats resonating from a distance, 
sealing our hopes and filling our hearts with aspirations. 
We could feel the bubbling rhythm from afar, and as we 
 got closer the sounds gets louder, the cheering grew stronger
 and we felt happier.

We climbed and climbed, we slip and we glide, 
We stood firm and plant our feet securely into the ground.
We removed obstacles, overturned road blocks
sailed through red lights,  skipped  through barricade
and persevered until we finally made it to the top.

Millions with similar dreams had made it too,
and we join them singing and dancing,
the sun shines once again with a daring glow 
and our long awaited dream finally came true.
We could breathe fresh air, 
thus feeling the rhythm in life again.


                                                  ©2014 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Karl Nkecha Safindah | Details |

The A to Z of Girls I've Met II



I had gotten to that stage,
Where true love was but a mirage.
When one is hurt too many times
By these daughters of Eve,
The heart must surely cease to give
Until such a time as right
To smile again and see the light.
Miranda, fairest of them all
Adored our trips to the mall.
I could tell from her charming eyes
That her love would be my demise,
So I fled with what coins I had left,
For her love was akin to theft.
That was when I met my Nora.
By all that’s sweet, she had an aura!
Pretty young thing, genteel with her voice,
Of many boys she was the choice.
Flawless, petite, her looks were fine.
I swore by love to make her mine.
Lovely were those nights we shared.
But like I’m sure you must have heard,
The flawless ones are just as marred within.
She had a love affair with gin.
Then came the age of Olivia,
The sight of whom did make me shiver.
Kind with words, light on her feet,
The kind of girl you’d love to meet.
Many were those that saw the sight
Of our love, both day and night.
Looks of envy, of jealousy
I mistook them all to be,
For they were looks of pity,
 As it turned out my Olivia
Was liberal with her Banana.
Pauline rescued me from distress,
Mended me like a seamstress.
I gave my heart, to her my all,
I felt so bad she fled with Paul.
 Was at the base, looking up,
When I saw a damsel stop.
Lovely, round, Quinta was her name.
Her looks were calm, her manners tame
I really wished she’d stay the same,
 But to when she left, from when she came,
Deception was her only game.
 My path to love had been so rough,
So hard, rugged, it made me tough.
It wasn’t long ‘fore I met Rose,
Pretty, sweeter by the dose.
To her I took an instant liking.
But once we went bike riding,
She met a long lost cousin,
T’wards whom she showed uncanny liking.
Well, that was fair, or so I thought,
Till the day in bed, them both I caught.
Like I said, I’d become tough
And her little act was not enough
To get this old stallion
Weep from pain and feel alone.
I marched right on.
The wind brought in Sylvia,
So pious, in love with prayer.
Nearly was I fooled
By her style, the way she schooled. 
Saintly demon she proved to be,
Sworn to stay the same eternally.
Thelma just didn’t get it right.
She lit a quarrel, then a fight.
Her seasoning too was prone to loiter.
It’s thanks to her I’m free from goiter!
Ursula, a foreign girl I met,
 Was close to base and thickly set.
Many were the times her mind was set
On losing all my savings in a bet.
She saw no bars,
She kept no laws.
The time we shared was but a loss.
Why all this fuss?
Why all this pain?
I held them all in such disdain,
And swore by life I would detain
My heart with bonds of chain
Till came that time when girls be sane.
At last it came, or so I thought,
As Vanessa, misfortune brought.
Her looks were fine,
Her smile was nice, 
But all she knew to make was rice.
Winifred too followed the cue,
And like you know I wish I knew,
She was a night rider,
A hidden foe, a crouching tiger.
Many were the nights
My phone will ring,
And I’d hear the same song sing: 
“Winnie got drunk and hit the gutter,
By all that’s holy, please come get her.”
Xena was one like none I’d met.
She broke a lie without a sweat.
I recall one time I heard
Her on the phone, caught every word.
“Who was that?” I had to ask.
It proved to be no sweating task!
“It was my dad”, I think she said,
 But she forgot her dad was dead!
I had to go, I could not stand
The way her stories sank in sand.
Yvonne, this girl I met in school,
Had eyes that made you drool.
I did her bid, I played her fool,
It’s sad to know I was her tool.
Zenobia, legs that wouldn’t stop,
Passed by and made my molars drop!
Scantily clad, she caught my eye,
That’s how it works, don’t ask me why!
I loved her gold and blue hair dye.
This was it, I’d found my love
Sent to me from up above.
But she was a business woman
Out to sell to the richest man.
“Does love exist?” I asked myself.
I should just shove it on a shelf.
Please don’t conclude, don’t get me wrong,
I love the ladies, mind not my song.
Just an art, nothing negative,
So please let’s not get sensitive.
This is fun, it’s all a joke. 
That was me just being a bloke!


Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details |

The Best of Edutainment

As one who grew up in a different era, Pre-Brangeline and Californication - When shows like Laugh-in or the Dating Game, Bewitched or Dick Van Dyke were just about The naughtiest you’d find on your TV - I'm now chillaxin' with some shows much better! Despite the violence and the sexploitation, There’s education everywhere you look. The singers I once listened to and loved Are now discussed in rockumentaries! And if you like your information spicy, Try faction on the channels like I.D. My father used to hog our TV set, And Wild Kingdom we’d all have to watch. But how much funner now to click on channels That show the strangest creatures in the world Like tigons, zedonks, geeps and beefalo! And if your labradoodle can’t be trained, You’ll find a whisperer to show you how. The woolaroc of nature can be viewed In brilliant colors, sometimes in 3-D! You’re not confined to black and white, 3 channels! Today they’re watching on ginormous screens Or tiny cell phones held inside your hand. The workout shows like those of Jack LaLanne Have been replaced by countless infomericals With hints fantabulous for keeping young. From jazzercise to tips of Dr. Oz, You’ll learn to make yourself be bootylicious. Your mental health is not neglected either, With folks like Dr. Phil to fill you in! Whether you’re a hasbian or shemale, A fugly guy, a horder, or a crackhead, There’s someone on TV to speak to YOU. Reality TV may not be smart, But it can come in handy if you need To learn some Splanglish or pick up a blaccent. The shows on cable redefine our world, Teach tolerance and much improve one’s gaydar. You learn that metrosexuals use manbags And guys like Blake and Adam on the Voice Give hugs because they simply have a bromance. To people saying that TV today Has gone to pot, I say, “Well, that’s ok!” My DVR is working day and night, So I can get the best of edutainment!
Examples of Portmanteaus Used in My Poem: Brangeline: Brad Pit and Angelina Jolie Californication: California and fornication Chillaxin: chilling and relaxing Sexploitation: exploitation of sex Rockumentaries: Documentaries about Rock music Faction: fact mixed with fiction (exaggeration) Tigons: a tiger/lion zedonk: a zebra donkey Geep: a goat sheep Beefalo: A cow buffalo Labradoodle: Labrador poodle Woolaroc: woods, lakes and rocks Ginormous: gigantic and enormous Infomericals: informational commercials Fantabulous: Fantastic plus fabulous Jazzercise: jazz exercise Bootylicious: delicious booty(behind) Hasbian: temporary (has been) lesbian She-man: just what you think! Fugly: F-ing ugly Crackhead: someone on crack cocaine Spanglish: Spanish-English Blaccent: black accent Gaydar: gay radar Metrosexuals: metropolitan heterosexuals Manbags: purses used by men Bromance: romance between Bro’s (male friends) Edutainment: education that is entertaining!


Long poem by Chris D. Aechtner | Details |

The Gospel of Lucifer - Chapter 11: 1 - 8


There was so much time to ponder
in the celery jungles of Canuckistan.

1  Creation is without beginning and without end.
There are intervals and cycles;
the Great Cycles follow each other,
while smaller ones spin within the greater.
These intervals and cycles exist within periods.

2  At the end of a period, 
the universe is destroyed and re-created --
creation, construction, chaos and destruction
existing in a seamless infinity.
Many universes breathe beside each other,
each with its own Brahma;
this is the wheel -- immense,
beyond the grasp of mortal conception.

3  And along the spokes of this wheel,
exist even smaller wheels within wheels;
pockets of mortal consciousness.
In this consciousness, is a perception of order:
I and you, us and them, I am this and not that,
true and untrue, good and evil, white and black.
It took eons for this perception
to begin dabbling in shades of gray.

4  This new perception was born
in lonely forest meditations
and the heightened awareness of the hunt:
The universe is one,
there is a unity of this and not of this --
this great harmony, this oneness, this Brahma,
bursts into being as differentiation.

5  IT is visible only by an invisible non-unity.
Unity is diversity, diversity is unity.
And this diversity, every single particle of it,
is absolutely sacred,
because in the end, it is all One.
Matter and anti-matter.
Nothing from something,
something from nothing.
Life feeding on life -
everything is both the eater and the eaten.

6  Centuries upon centuries passed by,
and this perception became more refined.
Destroyed civilizations left an invisible imprint
in the minds of the next set of destroyers and constructors.
The words of the ancient seers,
those discoveries made in silent solitude,
were compiled into Vedas:
verses of formulas that reveal little
to the ignorant, but nevertheless
stirs the human heart and soul,
because the power of verse
is an immeasurable communication and conduit.

7  The Vedas show little,
but can tell a lot.
Those with the potential to see,
will eventually be granted sight.
But there is a downfall to collecting sacred knowledge,
and it is this: sacred knowledge held in the hands of fools,
leads to utter destruction.

8  Of course, destruction leads to construction,
but this specific wheel of perception was slightly varied,
causing the Greater Wheel to spin off-balance.
After watching this cycle in boredom,
I nearly lost my mind with frustration.
It had come time for me to leave the forest's canopy,
it was time for the emerald-eyed tiger 
to be released into the streets of golden cities --
to slink around, giving the pillars of salt an occasional lick,
and enter into the very lines of sacred knowledge itself.









+/-


Long poem by Loch David Crane | Details |

Siegfried and the Uniq-Horn

Siegfried and the Uniq-Horn
by Loch David Crane, "The Magic Santa Claus" 
October 10, 2003       

This is the story of the Unicorn,	
of Siegfried and his friend Roy Horn.
These immigrants first met on a cruise ship 
and formed the bond of a lifetime trip.

Magicians, not stewards, would they be
inspiring audiences like you and me.
One was with animals always kind;
and the other could fool the human mind.

Siegfried grew a golden mane,
but never a cat or dog could tame;
his talent lay in illusion grand
with mystical SARMOTI hand.

While Roy would blossom on the stage
'cause he could train anything from a cage.
When Roy's cats would poop out on the front lawn,
Siegfried could clean up with a wave of his wand.

Roy's love was so great he would cuddle the cats,	
ride 'em and kiss 'em and pet 'em like that--
but even in play a Unicorn
can accidentally slash you with his horn.

The two were a beacon of onstage intensity
who altered Las Vegas in the Twentieth Century.
They saved Bengals and lions and preserved the pride
and respect for performing cats worldwide.

Brave Roy and Siegfried illuminated a hall	
riding tigers in circles on a great mirrored ball.
An army of soldiers would march 'round their stage
and tame down a dragon from spitting his rage.

Six thousand performances with hardly a scratch
as the people in anticipation would watch:
the way they watch racing and boxing and sports
to see which brave performer gets his in the shorts.

The morbidly well-dressed are a curious thing,
and for decades they've made Vegas registers ring.
But now the World's best trainer must pay
for teaching his big cats to sit up and play.

The cyclical nature of the Unicorn	
 is that it was here--and now it is gone.
So cherish your friends and family each day,
'cause you'll never know when they'll be taken away.

The dangerous nature of a live show
is what makes it exciting for people to go.  
The Coliseum was built on a thirst for blood
but the Mirage made millions on treating cats good.

So why the surprise a White Tiger will bite?
You can train them by day. . .but they still hunt at 	night.
‘Tis the nature of cats and the Unicorn:
Handle with love but beware the horn.

So the legend of the Unicorn became a memory:
like the lions, tigers, and dragons we'd see.
And brave Roy the trainer showed all the World how
to love and reinforce them to be in a show.

There's only one question to ask of the cat:
Why didn't you bite Yasser Arafat?
Camelot won't see another Unicorn
nor such great Magicians as Fischbach and Horn.

"The act's on hiatus" as show people say
awaiting new costumes on some sunny day.
And somewhere on the planet an immigrant dreams
of taming his Unicorns as the audience screams.


Long poem by Beverly Crespo | Details |

Tink

I'm dying, but if you clap for me, I'll live.
That's how you keep a fairy alive.....


I'm just an ordinary fairy,
I don't pretend to be anything more---
No special powers, no special tricks.
There'll be no fairy heaven for me when I'm gone.
I can fix a few things, but that's about it.

The only real gift I have is the gift of love
And I use most of that up on Peter.
My entire life has been dedicated to his care.
I work my fingers down to the bone for that boy.
I protect him from the Captain day and night.

I told him not to cut off the Cap's hand, but he did.
"Don't do it Peter, don't do it!" I pleaded.
Then he had the gall to feed it to the Croc!
Now I have to think up ways to protect Peter,
Even when I'm sleeping,
And that's not easy with those Lost Boys around.
They're so loud and rowdy!
And if you think that the Captain is the only danger 
That Peter faces, you'd be wrong.

There is someone even more dangerous to Peter than him,
Though he doesn't know it.
It's that crazy Wendy- Bird.
Yes, she's beautiful, but she's trouble.
I told him,
"Pete, don't go to the mainland tonight.
I have a bad feeling," but we went.
And he brings back that crazy Wendy-Bird 
And those other Darling brats.
More work for me.
I'm not even sorry that
I shot a few arrows in Wendy-Birds direction.
Maybe one or two did hit her, I can't recall.
If Peter isn't careful,
She'll take him back to the mainland
And he'll grow up and get old and tired.
Then he'll be sorry.

I have to constantly save him---
From the Captain, from the Wendy-Bird,
(oh yeah, and I almost forgot about Tiger Lily---what a princess!)
And from himself.
And I don't even mind that.
It's the thanks I get, or better still, don't get.
That's what's killing me.  Yes, killing me!
The other night while Peter slept,
I peeked inside his brain( I do that sometimes),
And I could hardly see myself anymore.
There I was--- shoved in the back, in a corner, in the dark!

I'm not a vain person.
It's not me that I care for---it's Pete.
It's always been all about Pete.
If Pete forgets about me,
I will fade away in a puff of smoke,
And he will be left with no one to watch over him
(You can't count on that fickle Wendy-Bird).
But there is something that you can do to to help.
Like I said,
You can save a fairy's life by putting your hands together and clapping.
That's all there is to it.
If just one person claps, I will live.
And maybe I will be able to save Peter again.....
Yeah, and Wendy...and Tiger Lily...and Wendy...Wendy...Wendy!!!

On second thought, let me think about it for a while longer.



This poem, as was my previous poem "Snow", was inspired by, Saving Mr. Banks, a movie about the trials and tribulations of making Mary Poppins.


Long poem by KJ Hooten | Details |

I Am Not a Victim


I had a dream the other night
Of  walking in a field of cornbread
Golden brown
Baked just right
One solid
Unbroken field

As I softly crunched my way
I looked up
Coming toward me
Was a line of tigers
With a man in the middle
No one was tethered
Just walking together
Enjoying the day

There was no fear
No predator
No prey

I woke up laughing
This was so silly!

I went to the Fair today
And during a break
I asked if anyone
Could interpret my dream

They came up with 
Corn bread = The South
And perfectly baked gold = Coming into riches;
Or at least, no money worries

The tigers = Strength; overcoming fears

Hunh!

As I thought about it,
I remembered a childhood dream/nightmare
When I went to bed angry
A big tiger showed up
I would point to everyone who had angered me
He looked at them and proceeded to eat them up
At the end,
With everyone dead,
He turned and looked at me
That’s when I woke up

And a true story (or from this side of dreaming):
A friend and I went to an outdoor zoo
Somewhere south of Kalamazoo
We stood on a wooden walkway
Looking at an open field through a thick glass window
In the stone wall
We spotted several tigers

Later, as I walked a trail to the next exhibit
I looked up to see a tiger
Strolling through the tall grasses toward me
A mere thin wire fence
Separated us

I gulped and walked steadily onward
As I left the area
I could feel his thoughts:
“Ha!  I freaked out another one!”
Tiger humor

As one grows and hopefully gains wisdom
One learns to handle fear
FDR stated during the Great Depression,
“The only thing we have to fear, is Fear itself”

Recently I’ve been angry
About my ex-husband’s condition
He is slowly and bumpily improving from a near fatal stroke
My/our son flew to help

And I’ve been without him since Spring

They are in the South
Corn bread was a staple in our family

Many things around the house have broken
And wait to be repaired by said son

He says that every time he thinks about returning home
His dad suffers a setback
After months of “I’ll be home in two weeks…”
I gave up
Got the garage door repaired
And am making do with things I cannot fix

The working garage door makes all the difference
I finally have access to rakes, the lawn mower
And snow shovels
The car has a safe haven from the weather
And I feel calm

Turns out I could afford the door
-  With only one person’s groceries
Money lasts longer than it did

God keeps telling  me that I will be OK
Financially and otherwise;
It’s up to me to lighten up
To let Fear walk away
Without licking another notch in his paw

I am not a victim


Long poem by Terry O'Leary | Details |

The Poet

THE POET’S PANEGYRIC “There’s someone I knew with talent unleashed and a heart that had for so many relentlessly reached This poet sought inspiration from the living and the dead But I can tell you this about the poet who has moved me by what this poet had ever said I read the words from a comfort zone which this poet created, surrounded by friends or by foes or simply alone” His essence of soul sweeps down deserted dead streets where the thunder still crackles, the burial bell bleats He laughed at himself as a Royal Rhymester Clown but bore the black pains of those all aroun’, He echoed regrets but never a grudge ... of this I’ll say little... let his lines be the judge THE POET’S PEN Blind shots cry out beneath the night, a car is cruising by. A stripling’s blood streams words to write ... Wry rhymes to ask us why A silly girl with child, unwed... to many, but a slut. The baby at her breast is dead ... Cruel couplets meant to cut A drifter, broken, cast aside, lies lifeless in the cold. Tap tattoos on a tattered hide ... Some scarlet stanzas scold Two lovers clutch a turtledove, enraptured by her coo, impaled on pangs of Ladylove ... A sultry song for two A drone of drums in distant wars beguiling bold dragoons who sell their souls like wanton whores ... Raw rhythms writ in runes The stars ablaze, like tiger-eyes reflecting candlelight, ’lume angels singing Lullabys ... A sonnet stuns the night The soulless eyes of shackled slaves drip tears that burn and blur. Their ash, like dust, set free in graves ... Emblazing ballads stir A hurricane, foretold, unfurled, unravels mystic signs as Demons dance, destroy the World ... Limned lurid lyric lines Some die a death neath hangmen’s hands where tainted justice reigns for ‘thou shalt kill’, Revenge commands ... A quiet quatrain pains While well-to-dos amass and flaunt And follow fashion’s trends, pale children starve and die of want ... And so an epic ends THE POET’S EPITAPH His words lie strewn along the sand While breakers wash ashore The ripples weave designs unplanned ... a verse forevermore His tales, entwined in cryptic airs where freedom seeds are blown, warn Guarders of the Realm ‘beware’ ... his heresy is sown His life outlined a chronicle along a lonesome road It started out as doggerel ... and ended as an ode
With a little help from my extremely talented, but somewhat modest, friend “ANON” AKA JC... Thanks JC, for the depth of your support and your breath of inspiration...


Long Poems