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Long Wedding Poems | Long Wedding Poetry

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Long poem by Terry O'Leary | Details |

The Stone

The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might



.                         Preface

Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied

Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone 
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown

Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale

“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn



.                         BETH’S TALE

1.              The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed

Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed

Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”



2.               The Quest

Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light

Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan 
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan 

While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry

For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew –
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou   
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou

The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled

The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled

A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned

I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died

The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him

Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail



3.              Contact

I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees

“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
	
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen

Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared



4.               Release

I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone



.                         Epilogue

That night the wayward winds were weird 
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared

At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled

The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red



.                         Epitaph

Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps



inspired by ~fc~

DEFINITIONS
Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land


Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

Highland Lassie

Highland Lassie - There Can Only Be One

Inspired by the painting "Highland Lassie" (1871) by Thomas Faed.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/paintings/highland-lassie-90027 

(Verse One; In introduction to Cailin)
Walkin' on the highways, searchin' down the byways,
Tromps a lonely figure on the Highland roads;
Peerin' from the Highdown, breezin' through the lake town,
Askin' of a question erry where he goes:
(Chorus; Cailin, followed by some villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round! for she hasna' yet been found;
I come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
I've a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea."
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Two; Cailin's thoughts)
Some of them were pouty, others even dowdy;
"These," he thought, "would never do in fifteen years:
Beauty on the outside, nothin' on the inside,
Leaves a girl with nothin' when it fades to tears."
(Chorus; Cailin's continuing journey)
Trav'lin' all around, for she hasna' yet been found;
He's come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
With a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea." 
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,"
But you canna' tell the fairest one except you see them all:
And the lassies sweetly smile, for this stranger to beguile,
As 'e treads throughout the Highlands from the winter to the fall.

(Verse Three; Cailin's travels and troubles)
From the banks of Lomon', up to Durness roamin',
How's a wight to judge betwixt a thousand score?
Steps were waxing weary, days were growing dreary,
'Till 'e saw a lass 'e hadna' met before.
(Chorus; Cailin, to a lass called Ellsie and her villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round, for the lassie here is found!
I 'ave searched and found the truest lass, as only one can be:
Here the letter I deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea. 
"Here's a lass," I proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Four; Ellsie's villagefolk reply in confusion)
Then they said, "Oh, please, Sir, don't you taunt and tease 'er,
Caint you tell she's plainer e'en than Skye down dell?
Caint you tell you've pained 'er? don't do that again, Sir,
Lest you 'ave a reason, and if so, pray tell."
(Chorus; Cailin's reply, followed by Ellsie reading the letter)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, I 'ave trode my walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet."
Then she opened up the scroll, and she read it to the full,
And for those who chance to wonder, I shall quote you what she read:
"When the fairest lass I find, if our wishes are aligned,
I should wish to know thee better, lass, and then, perhaps, to wed."

(Verse Five; Ellsie's reply to the letter)
Then she said, "Oh, come, Sir; don't be sad or glum, Sir;
Meet my father, mother, and my sisters small:
Soon the bells were ringin', people gladly singin'
"Here's the lad who worked to find the best of all."
(Chorus, which Ellsie's villagefolk sing at the wedding)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, 'e 'as trode 'is walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet. 
"Here's a lass," we proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."



Note: the verses are written using trochaic feet, meaning that they begin with a stressed syllable, followed by an unstressed, and so on repeatedly. The fifth foot (syllables nine and ten) in the second and fourth lines of the verses is a spondee, meaning two stressed syllables in one foot. I mention this for ease in correct reading. An example of this same device is "Since the Savior Found Me" by Edgar J. Haskins, (in last line of verses and refrain).


Long poem by Elaine George | Details |

Tea and Poetry in the Ides of March - PART ONE


Beneath a misty veil of ‘Euphoria’ by Calvin Klein, she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of wanna-be Literary Giants who are members of an elite writer’s group, as she drives along a winding road studded with potholes smaller than most of the ones that have rutted most of the roads she has traveled in the past—

Potholes created by a harsh environment that made it impossible for her to move in a straight line. Potholes so big, that at the age of 16, they forced her to detour from University Row to the foot of King in Saint John, New Brunswick, where at the end of the road, she found a way to earn a living working in a tea factory; where her ring finger was nearly severed as her dreams of a better life gushed red streams, high into the air with every beat of her heart.

Where through the eye of a needle, her life hung by a thread, a life-line that pulled her back from blackness as pain radiated in that pulsating flesh, as those rough edges were forced back together behind a fence of snipped, spiky, black barbs (remnants of that thread), left to remind her there was no escaping from the foot of King.

Yet she was grateful. 

Grateful she had survived.

Grateful she was able to return to work the following day to operate a machine that required using her feet instead of her hands.

Grateful  she still had a job and a roof over her head after the door to the place she once called home locked her out and left her to lie in a lumpy bed in the seediest part of the city in a dilapidated rooming house with all the luxuries a minimum wage could buy.

 It was winter and the room was cold. 

With her can of stove-oil having long-since gone up in smoke, she put her coat on and pulled the thin bed-covers over her. 

In the gloom,  she saw a ray of light (a small white slip of paper) lying on the rickety nightstand (a doctor’s prescription) yet unfilled that would have to wait until next payday. 

 Eventually those black barbs were pulled out, one by one, from their crusted, ***** pockets, by a doctor who told her not to be such a baby as her screams ran out into the waiting room. 

She relives these visions, as she has a thousand times before as she rounds the bend on Regional Road 45 that runs between soggy mud-clad fields covered in pig manure from where a willow weeps tiny green leaves in this record-breaking heat of March. And she wonders how something so beautiful can grow from something so ugly. 

And she knows why the willow weeps as she contemplates this strange phenomena in the Ides of March and chooses (like Caesar) to ignore the warning signs. And like the willow, she bends in order to follow the winding road; her hands gripping the steering wheel until…

The wide shank of her wedding band (designed to cover the past), catches on the thick, calloused scar tissue of her ring finger, reminding her again of who she really is. 

 And she asks herself, how she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of intellects, when the truth is she never even finished high school.

But she did graduate from a Bookkeeping program at Vancouver City College, when she was 22, and took all those night school courses while she worked during the day.  

What about all those correspondence Law courses she took when she was in her thirties (graduating with honours) and the night courses she took while  working in an insurance office to become a Licensed Insurance Broker? Surely they must count for something? 

 Yes! But you didn’t graduate from University; no prestigious initial follow your signature, and the only Master’s degree you can claim is ‘A Master’s degree in Disguise,’ says the little voice inside as sweat begins to leak through the foundation of the Revlon mask she wears today in an attempt to cover the thin skin these intellects will otherwise surely see through.

“But I have proof I am worthy of their acceptance,” she replies. Sitting there on the seat beside me, in my briefcase is my self-published book of poems; some of which have won International Poetry Awards and money, some that have been published in other books and magazines. Surely that is enough.

Up ahead, an enormous metal, hexagon-shaped, red flag wearing white letters says STOP. She stops and looks in all directions and, seeing no danger, crosses the point of no return to an afternoon of tea and poetry with what she hopes are birds of a feather.

***
CONTINUED IN PART TWO...


Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

The Weddng Ceremony of the Dead, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel s Les Noces de la Mort by T Wignesan

The Wedding Ceremony of the Dead, Part One, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Les Noces de la Mort by T. Wignesan

Orgy of stone !
I drank hate in your inferior parts
And bathed during a wild summer our green sepulchres
O ! death
and my animal mouth became distorted
on those decomposed lips which long ago turned
strange

Stricken by god for having loved you
during transfiguring summers O ! Madeleine
wholly naked breasts dried up by such severe beauty
and by such an impetuous sun between your legs
and upon your flanks two large smelly wounds

I loved you streaming and golden through fatigue
O ! grape of sin ripened by my gaze
I loved your heated mounting sucking in shadows
and the houses  your famous teeth and your gardens
all juicy the evening of the dream of whores

Nocturnal city whose walls of tears bitter crypt
the obscene litanies that I have sung that I have prayed
to your Madonnas of pleasure and those testing
the guilt-ridden ex-votos which I trimmed
during my wild years !
How I prayed  shed tears  sang
How I intoned in a tenebrous voice your praises
at the organ of winter’s rains in the tubas
vertiginous in the shade
and how I walked !

How I stalked Death for a long time under your arcades
with my blood I mixed the oil of cobbled paving
where I looked atrociously for pure crime
amongst discordant murders  the agonies
the love

And the svelte leaded-glass window I loved
so naked in the square of memory
that she was visible in the great heaps when her haïr
raving cascaded graminaceous over you  revealed
your proud marble  O ! speechless
that she was grave and sculpted by your labours
death which bathed you with her tender arms
that she was tall like down in the depths of the lakes
and that your rivers ran sweet on her ivory

How difficult was the offering of tears  where to be  
         crucified,
you appeared
to be betrayed down there in the darkness

How she was superbly black this heavy calice
raised by two hands of blood over your sin 

Which
             from the other being never useless
									is the tomb

					II

Lord ! You looked for me
in the vacuous waters of a woman
under the searing myrtles You stifled her
the youthful dead drenched in tears ! And you cried out
more desperately than the light
and You laughed at the earth   one could hear
Your heart beating ferociously amongst the stones
Father of my pain ! You tear apart my demise
but why destroy the cadaver since You want
the blood ? and why the emptiness ? and why
do You let me have this victim ?

Hands sullied by the night   Am I the murderer 	
am I the cursed priest of this death
have I eaten the bread over her and drunken the wine
have I shed Your blood over her
							 have I invented
her body  cross of voluptuousness  whereupon to have me 
                                                            nailed 


O ! jealous gods !  what is my crime ?
									I loved her
She was a sword of fury between us
in times gone by,
but dead what can she still retain of my likeness
this forgotten rock pounded by her kisses ?
Is this blasphemy
that these rites of a pious heart
serve as down  under the stone’s wing
a black sun in her hair
a sip of shadow at her lips
a portion of autumn in her hand
a herb

But O !
You aren’t at all deceived by these environs
of alleys  of tranquil slumber : and You require
that I were naked in the battle !
Here I am
made glorious, a great flag of adorable countryside
Death
at the highest tower of the impossible,
laid out for her !

I am the fort on which converge all vistas
raised on the naked ire of memory
hymn of stone and the resounding tomb
where adorable Easter rises protected in You
she who was death
						O ! Sacred One !

You Lord, march into crime !
							amidst
the detonations of the soul and the mammoth
explosions of the depths,
hurry up with the profanous dénouement or the darkness
or it hardly matters  the resurrection ! and don’t ever
lift eyes towards the curtain of the theatre.

(from the collection : Tombeau d’Orphée, 1941/1946/1967)
© T. Wignesan – Paris,  October 1, 2014


(from the collection : Tombeau d’Orphée, 1941/1946/1967)

© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 1, 2014




					I


Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

A To Z An Amazing Couple

                ~A To Z An Amazing Couple~

A is for Allow me to write a poem about my best friends 
love affair with an army man, she was 35 years old he was 
the same age living together for the past 5 years.

B is for Believing his love towards her as thee perpetual 
love of the century their love is amazing, their sharing is 
united, intelligence, its endearment, understanding 
everything for a wonderful happy life together.

C is for Creative in her work, she is a born philosopher
so much she has patience, she loves her job, she exists 
to give all her entity to her lover.

D is for Destiny for a unison hopefully to be able
to have a child of their own. They try each month
the tests come out negative. 

E is for Eloping one day when she gets pregnant
marry and settle down in a beautiful country side 
mansion that has been bought already.

F is for Forgetting to think about moving now to their 
new home until she becomes pregnant. This month her
hopes were high as a future mother would sense that.

G is for Great news was announced on the phone to her
husband she is pregnant. That evening was a unique
celebration champagne dinner for 2 in the most beautiful
restaurant by the ocean. Following that evening was their
love making an enormous pleasure together never happened
before she told me. 

H is for Happiness to the beyond, apart her work the buying
stuff for the baby, the babies room was a heavenly event for
both of them, they moved that month to their mansion by the 
ocean.

I is for Induced her delivery in the hospital that day, and her baby
son was born in 2 hours, so healthy and beautiful baby lying in
his mothers arms looking at her with yearning eyes.
 
J is for Joining close family and friends after a few days arrival
at their mansion. 

K is for Kissing the baby and his dream she's a mother & his
disbelief that he is actually a father.

L is for Living together when the wedding took place in a small
church only family and the bride holding her baby boy in her arms.

M is for Married an hour ago their entry to their mansion was an 
unforgettable event the house was decorated with roses everywhere.

N is for Never would they both forget how important their sons
career will be. Both vowed to stand by him grow together for the
utmost accomplishment of his success in studying as a lawyer.
 
O is for Ordering their breakfast after a sleepless night the baby
needing his mum every 3 hours to feed him the amazing sensation 
of a full house filled with babies soft cry.

P is for Presents that he had bought for his wife a Diamond ring
with a beautiful pearl necklace which she wore with pride.

Q is for Quitting her job after years of practice was so important
as her dreams for her son to become a senetor in her goverment.

R is for Running for PM after graduating from Harvard University
His parents mansion over the years was transformed into invitations 
huge gala for politicians finding him extremely adequate for this job. 

S is for Signing papers as her son started to get involved with the 
senators and sharing talks about her sons involvements with
politics. She was his right hand. 

T is for Turning over to the secretary all the confidential papers
and she was very happy with the choice his son made about the 
new secretary, his office was huge and employees everywhere.

U is for Unbelievable but true she was relieved at last and now
that her son is on the right track she will have all the time to be
again with her husband a normal life. 

V is for Very close to her husbands office she decided to stop by
and surprise him for lunch at her favorite restaurant. 

W is for Where is he the office was empty she has been so much 
involved with her son she had neglected her husband. 
She was told he went home already.

X is for Xmas was around the corner next month she went to buy 
the Christmas decorations to surprise her husband. 

Y is for Yelling for someone to come and help her instead she sees
her son in tears running towards her he hugged her and whispered
in her ear I have some news.
Mum dad I am already elected I will make you proud of me.

Z is for Zap will be my goal I promise you dad and mum 
he got married and was elected.The first youngest to gain that 
post.

Therese Bacha
21/3/2013
  











Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

Nature In Our Garden

                        

Today opening my door to descent the steps to visit my garden
makes my dreams come true, my green garden enlightens 
my heart most of the time i spend it there, whispering with 
my roses, watching the very old green trees, watering the 
green grass, i love it. 

Suddenly my heart starts beating just found an envelope with 
white roses sleeping at my doorsteps, anxious to discover the 
sender, with a huge smile my surprise, it was from my darling, 
he wrote:

You are the woman of my dreams, I am taking the liberty to 
announce, you are my reason to live, if you are not in my life 
I will not tolerate my existence one moment longer, I need to 
become stronger to carry you towards our love nest share our 
hot body, love the love that will slowly put off that burning fire 
between us under our green trees very soon.
                                 
Lay your roses down, free your hand to hold mine, together, 
we will walk towards our green garden and dream of that day 
when our eyes will meet to become bride and bridegroom 
surrounded by the green trees everywhere, friends clapping 
so hard for us to engage with that beautiful touch of our lips, 
a sign you belong to me forever. 

Will you marry me my woman with green eyes? Oh! yes yes 
I screamed not realizing he is not here but a letter in my 
hand, the invitation for my own wedding, how blessed we are.
                               
The weather was happy the full moon lighted up the outside 
view to watch my roses blossom and maybe tomorrow we will 
walk together not only to get married we will upgrade our 
thoughts to the highest peak,we will reach our goals by living 
as one, we will enjoy whenever we can and endure when we must, 
we will not anticipate trouble or unhappiness about what may 
or may not happen, but we will walk towards our green garden, 
soon as husband and wife. 

We will not allow any obstacle stop us from becoming what 
needed to be successful, in love always, my heart was 
instantly beating towards positive thoughts a husband to love 
to sleep with, to cook, to wash, to wake up in the morning have 
our cup of coffee in the fresh air, i will stand by my man, 
no matter what.
                                   
A beautiful marriage in my green garden, all surrounded by huge 
green trees ancient as this house belonged to my grandfather
and I inherited it.
I felt like getting married with all those greeneries surrounding 
our guests i will place 100 white chairs on each side on the green
grass, and the aisle in the middle with green ribbons on the chairs,
at the end will be the priest standing behind a white table on it 
a beautiful green table cloth the chalice and cross next to the bible  
between white roses and greeneries. 

I need to sleep to wake up early run to my garden and prepare
the roses to share and whisper to me how beautiful they will 
become on that unforgettable day, the green grass will emerge 
to beautify their existence for our guests, the huge green trees 
will wave endlessly with the wind, a flow of some breeze.

We will be married as soon as he walks through my door,maybe today, tomorrow or after tomorrow.
Now we became a family with my green garden it will live to shine and
share the amazing wedding of two lovers married at last with the green 
beauty of our garden.

At that moment my thoughts tried to trick me in a discrete 
conversation saying, how do you know you will be happy? 
can you guarantee that happiness will exist? those were my 
repulsive thoughts, disregarding them, i shook my head
with sophistication a vigorous reply we will become
Thee couple in love forever. 

Our unique marriage in our Green Garden Of Eden was televised that day
a huge surprise to us and our guests by a close friend as a wedding gift. 



Therese Bacha                                                                 
 20/5/2013
              Contest for PD. Nature.. Win N0. 8


Long poem by Stephen Kilmer | Details |

Pass the Mescaline

It is a cold road to my mother’s house.
I have driven it hundreds of times and each time it seems to get colder.
I have cranked up the heat, yet the cold is like a knife slicing through layers of stone
Until it finds a weak place and then it attacks with the furor of a wolverine
I have never been warm on that road even in the green apple days of spring
I guess that I always knew she was waiting and that waiting brought goose flesh to my soul.
She won’t be rude or cutting or even disrespectful; however, she will be aloof and inapproachable on any and every subject that might interest me.  Her interest is of a short list that only an evil woman would cultivate.
A list about the woman that I have known or perhaps will know and when she means known she means it in a Biblical sense for Christ sake.   
My indiscretions, affairs, and failures all bundled neatly into a package to be air mailed in a whim. 
And yes mostly the failures make her bubble like the cheap champagne she buys for such occasions. 
To know that I have not succeeded make her giddy with schoolgirl excitement, for I was always the enemy.  I was the one child that could see through her guise of proclivity for the prudent and call a ***** a *****.  I never said it out loud, but she knew that I knew.  They say the first son is the closest but the second son learns things about both of them that they don’t think they are sharing.  And If, just if he is smart enough he will find their weakness and teach them how to love him.  Sometimes that love takes threats and hidden innuendos but hey nobody every said it was going to be easy, right?
I am that second child the one left behind.  It wasn’t like the Marines; you know that whole no man left behind thing.  It was more like good luck your on your own and to that principle I live my life today.  No matter how many people I am surrounded by I always feel cold and alone.  There are people that love me, but somehow they don’t seem to be the right people.  I love them back as much as I can in my dysfunctional pathetic way but they always feel uncomfortable.  I have a better chance of intimacy with a slug than a human being.  No child left behind.  Where the **** was George W. Bush when I needed him.  Probably pulling that silver spoon out of his ass.

As I approach the house the temperature drops to a low that I have never felt before.  I knock and then enter without waiting.  I call out “Mother are you here?”  I get no response.  I know she has been ill so I walk down the hall to her bedroom.  It seems like an ice cave.  The closer I get to her door the colder it gets.  I swear there is smoke coming from my mouth.  When I finally reach the door I knock…. nothing.  I turn the frozen knob slowly and push the door open.  And there in the bed is my mother, dead, and dressed in her wedding gown.  I am taken aback by the spectacle but then I realize that she must be bigger in death than life.  She does not want anyone to forget what she was worth to the family.
I suddenly feel lonely and lost.  I never knew this person.  The one person that brought me into this world.  I look at faded pictures from time gone by and wonder who was that person that raised me.  That breast fed me and changed my diapers and made me the person I am today?  How did we end up here?  Devine intervention.  The path less travelled?  Suddenly I am for once without words.  The granddaddy of all hurt as laid his axe between my shoulder blades.  I go down and come back up gasping for air.  My mother is dead. 

And all I can think is “Praise the Lord and pass the Mescaline.”  I am at last free.


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

The Stricken Corridor

Fall tumbles relentlessly on our door steps
young winter birds inducing provoking sounds scamper in trees 
Watching winter crawling slowly under our feet.

The night rain wet the ground with sadness 
washing  away the environmental stench
purging the atmosphere of  its infectious dew
And  I could absorb fresh air in my lungs again. 

I fell into a deep sleep shortly after nine but woke up 
by my next door neighbor bustling activities.
Nice showers clean fresh air is the perfect night to
be drenched with sleep but instead I was on my knees.

An unknown burden overshadowed  me, disturbing my spirit
raising my curiosity, causing me to ponder over unknown mysteries
unexplainable matters that doesn't concern me, yet they troubled me.

I soaked myself in prayer seeking for a  plausible answer 
And after praying I fell asleep again; a sleep that 
I thought would be peaceful but here I am again
on an unannounced journey to the Far East.

I mysteriously found myself on a university campus in the Far East,
no paint, no color, everywhere was deserted, no one was around
except for dry leaves  spreading out on the troubled ground 
and dull trees astoundingly lingering in the autumn breeze.
I walked propitiously through the front door along a bare corridor 
in search of a toilet to ease my body pressure.

A desolated corridor whose hope seemed to be diminished with the passing of time
a million feet must have trodden upon it, feet in search of  freedom ,
feet looking for peace, proud feet, dirty feet, bloody feet, stubborn feet.
Feet looking for revenge and feet marching to the destiny of doom. 
I moved anxiously from door to door but every door that I opened I saw
Asian toilet embedded deeply in the ground and clean water flooding all around. 

I opened another door and found a western bath filled with clean water 
I kept walking along the corridor but all the Asian toilets were flood with water.
At the end of the corridor I found one that was completely  dry but there was no toilet inside except for PVC pipe fittings planted firmly in the ground.

I tread along the opposite side of the hallway still searching for  a toilet
but only rooms whose doors were removed  and leaning helplessly
in front of them occupy the other side of the stricken corridor.


I anxiously left the building and a slim young man in his early twenties 
wearing shaded glasses ran behind a reception area outside the campus ground
and pretended as if he was at work, but that was only a deception.

As I walked passed him he tried to reached out to me
He complained about someone who has treated him badly
and pointed to a friend who was instrumental in turning his life around.
A sizable crowd gather around him as he  illustrates his painful story.

He and his friend took me to the other side of the campus where 
a larger crowd of young people had gathered for a wedding
some were sitting under large beach umbrellas
While others congregate in groups all over the campus grounds.
I walked upon a platform  where the wedding ceremony
was about to  take place but daylight suddenly exploded in my face.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            ©2014 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Jan Allison | Details |

Girls Night Out - By Jan Allison and Jenny Brewer

Look out lads here we come
Couple of wild girls out for fun
Perfect hair and makeup's fine
Brand new perfume, we smell divine
Skin tight jeans, mini skirts and skimpy knickers
Can't wait for the party its theme is 'Tarts and Vicars'
It's Saturday night we're on the pull and we don't have a care
Gosh we look so gorgeous and make a stunning pair

Arrive at the party it is in full swing
Got my eye on a man without a wedding ring
Fella comes up to talk to me, he's an ancient bloke
What is it with the inflated ego of some men folk
'Where have you been all my life 
I'll take you home you can be my wife'
I consider my answer carefully and look at him with scorn
Look - for the first ten years mate I wasn't even born

We have a cocktail and then we have another
We are really ‘best mates’ I couldn’t wish for any other
Do some disco dancing we both wiggle and shake our tush
Men swarm like bees round a honey pot, boy they are in a rush
Talk dark and handsome man comes and chats to me
I fancy him so much for my breakfast, dinner then my tea
Sadly from his demeanor he bats for the other side
Such a pity about this I could have been his bride

My poor mate is so flat chested her boobs are like fried eggs
She makes up for it in other ways she’s got the most amazing legs
She was wearing her ‘chicken fillets’ stuffed right down her bra
But her wiggling dancing dislodged one oh boy it flew so far
Landed on this gorgeous guy’s lap I think his name was Dennis
By the end of the night they were having fun and playing tonsil tennis
He said he loved his fried eggs he had them every morning
Think my mates pulled I can see a new romance dawning

As my friend and I are propping up the bar,
What is it I spy shining from afar 
Something gleaming catches my eye,
Two glistening silver poles, oh we must have a try
Positioned over by the exit wall,
If we have a go we will have a ball
I grab her arm - we didn't need an invite,
Two pole dancing girls what a glorious site

Off come the jeans, of which I have to peel,
Revealing my flesh, so the lads can 'cop a feel'
Shame we didn’t know, we’d have worn our nipple tassels
They really liven up our act and give it razzle dazzle
So, up and down the poles we slide as if to win a prize,
Which to us is really easy because we 'Pole-Da-Cise'
In fact we don't just do it, it's something we both teach,
It has turned my wobbly bum into a well-toned peach.

As we grip around the poles with just our inner thighs,
All the men gather round and drool with staring eyes.
As we hang ourselves upside down and stretch out so far,
It's just pure luck that both of us kept our boobs in our bra,
Then we do the 'starfish' legs spread far and wide,
Definitely not a position if your modesty you wish to hide.
Glad I've got my thong on and my mate her skimpy knickers
Or we'd give an eyeful to the assembled tarts and vicars

The men who now surround us look at us with great surprise
They’re not staring at our bodies but looking at our eyes
Vying for our attention trying to get in on the action
Hoping between one of us is a physical attraction
Phone numbers are passed to us its like the yellow pages
Years since we had attention from men of all ages
You never would believe we were both in the over 60's club 
Better head off home for a cocoa and a long soak in the tub

Collaboration poem for 'Girls Night Out' Contest. -  Now the contest is closed I have added our names to the title as the contest was judged blind
Sponsored By Darren Watson
~Awarded 1st place~

31st May 2014


Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

The Devil Is In This Tale


Her insecurity would not let her see, I wanted her! I thought she knew, my heart was opened. I should've asked. She walked on a thread, fourteen stories high to cross from her building to mine. The devil at her side, he cut her angel wings, watched her drop, caught her in his wicked trap. She was weak from years of abuse. I heard her yell. "Promise me this, what I sign affects me and only me." The devil answered, "I promise!" No he did not lie. Still for he It was Goodbye. She signed his contract blind. It was me she had dealt for. Afraid to believe. Scared to accept, what she knew, what she felt. Her sense of trust for anyone long ago expired! The man with the black blood ignored me! I felt him; his chill was in the air. Punished to live forever cold. Even his pit of endless fire barely took the edge off. ”My misery of doubt is at an end!" she said. He lowered his head in shame. That too was his curse, he still felt remorse No matter how briefly. She had to have me unconditionally. If only she had known, she already owned me. Her depth and strength impresses me yet I know she could not stop what she had started. She signed in blood, signed to guarantee she would never again be alone, never again be without love! I knew he was at our wedding, I heard the chatter of his teeth. When I said I do it was Lucifer who stood there him who heard my truth. Without changing a thing, his contract he fulfilled. I could only smile. How cold he is, the pain he sustains for the decision he had made, when he left heaven's gate! She hugged him on his way out. I believe now, as I did then, as I always will for a brief moment, his teeth stopped. For just seconds while in her arms he felt warm. I wonder what he thought. Let the celebration begin she owns me, it's off to our room to be alone and in bed. In what we did, we felt as if we were walking innocently along a beach on the Caribbean Sea I am the town she grew up in, her friend her partner, and yes I am her lover. For that her soul she traded. She had her man. My soul she saved, my human form hers, her kindness I return in something I know though still in my youth my card would fall early from the deck. Yes he knew it too my time was short. I have only ten years left. I held my wife all that time, made with her children from paradise! He could not strike a deal in which he did not cheat. He thought, ten years was for him a good deal. The final laugh is mine, with my Angel on my side I strike a deal, trade my soul for my wife’s. The devil acts unattached. I beat him. He'll feel colder now, that's the deal. His warmth he seeks, in any soul he can deceive. Now her soul he'll never have. It is I who wins. I who is eternally damned. In my death my love, a woman of substance knows how dearly I worshiped her, knows her true worth. She will live into her nineties happy in the knowledge she was loved for who she was - we were always one. My Angel through my coffin explains to me no soul is damned, when an act is selfless. My wife and I will meet again! So our story ends, but not before we hear a sound, the echo of teeth that chatter. Chatter louder than ever. It is literally A Cold Day In Hell!
02~12~2014 Sponsor: Justin Bordner Contest Name: Death Shadow


Long Poems