Long poem by
J. W. Earnings | Details |
Fulfilled fantasies and legitimate realities…you do know how to please…
Are you listening to my voice of longing and yearning?
No, don’t backstab me with your broken promises…stop being a horrid tease…
Do not worry, Lord, I am still constantly…learning…
God is here…
I’m scared, so unprepared… my flames are flared…
I’m impaired by depression wars I have fought over the years
Just a hair, faced this nightmare and no one cared
Slayed by the mocking sanity of society…reduced me to tears…
Healing is near…
Exceedingly exasperated by your empty empathy
Vacant stares flood the room in despair and envy
I adore you, you’re my door of countless opportunities and yet, time flies
Play me on the radio again and again and you’ll find where your heart lies
Don’t worry, dear…
Rising in the moment of remarkable letdowns
I had a miscarriage of misery a long time ago
You blew up my cellphone with texts, calls and happy frowns
I can do this, I have done this before, I…know…
Cower away from sheer fear that veers the head…don’t let it appear…
Yank away from my dreams…
Turn me on with your musical talents and interests alike
Broken by the useless seams…
Ride me like your favorite, childhood bike…I let go of the mic
Therapeutic aftershocks draw near to me…honey, don’t shed a tear…
Get off of my chest, heart attacks of our love from below above
I’m chasing the water under the bridge over you, can’t you sea? No possibly…no possibility…
Can’t you just leave me be?
I swear without cussing, I was being sincere with my speech you knew not of
My flow is far from yours, so don’t intertwine with my flow of ecstatic me, in need of being free
Can’t you leave my side for now?
Just leave my presence somehow…
Jealousy is key to the gates of selfish ambition, so don’t have the spirit of jeer
You served as a distraction more or less
Sorry I got you in this hell-heaven of a mess
Everything can last a while, but not forever
It is impossible to say what is on my mind whatsoever
I’m a Positive Poe and a Silly Seuss all over again…so, cheers!
Raise up your wine cups and bubblin’ beers…
My request is to kiss your lips, so warm and lovely
In my tamest dreams, I’ve looked all over for you…you were lying on stones and stix
I am raptured in this love affair; barely breathing, baby...
Do it again…do it again – the verbal abuse is a bruise I fix…you are as hard as billion brix
Going Justin Beiber on you...disappointed, you scoot away from me…drove me to laughter tears…
Plastic reality can’t undo what has happened to me in the past…I’m the mast in Antarctica, left behind at last
It is the captive soul that needs some healing…I seek something more than what meets the eyes
You are Australia and I am America…opposite directions…we drifted our separate ways oh so vast and fast
Cast away this sorrow from my sullen cheeks and these eyes that are like mood rings daily…it’s best if you don’t ask your what’s and why’s
Instead, you go Lady Gaga on me – good one! At least I’m not going Demi Lovato on you, my wandering deer
Wipe away these lament drops from my cloudy eyes
Because they won’t even consider my cry for help, but hopeless like withered kelp
Ripen me with radiance and reveal to me no sly lies
No vulgar talk please…he speaks genuine words and hear my helpless, muffled yelp
If I was your man, I’d be the happiest man alive…like Rihanna that arrives in Los Angeles for the first time…I’m getting it on poetically and popically up in here
I got you in chains in my heart…you feeling it? Are you ready? Do I need to feed you regretti?
You ain’t coming out of my ribcage
Try to plan an escape route…just try and give up already…here’s a celebrated fail with confetti
You make me feel this painless rage
I bit my Cyrus Tongue…hold your tongue before the fire consumes all…or if you whisper it in my ears, you’ll reduce me to ashes...nowhere to roam it appears…
You shelter me with laughter and peace disaster
I don’t understand the words you utter, but I know it screams out those hear-me-out’s
I can’t make out how we made it through this hardship that has torn us asunder
My ears will listen to you acutely, so I’ll be your butter on warm toast when you let out your desire shouts
Killing me alive by your sensual and passionate nature that give me dream infatuationmares…my obsession towards you is dastardly, disturbingly serpentine to my evanescent heart of stone in a sight’s gleam
I need saving, for I am caving…fell victim to lustful, ugly craving
It takes me to levels of languishing hopes
I know I was unfaithful and misbehaving…force-fed your raving
My voice of angst anguish…it still mopes
I know my rights and wrongs…
Catastrophe connection lost its link and my positivity peace is in the brink of spring – so, in winter, I sing these sad, sad songs
I was the class clown…in pointless, humor town
Now, I’m the loner in class
Let’s not categorize others and put everyone down
I am lost in a multitude alas
Inside and out, I have the hearts for you… and you had no clue
Through silence and shouts, I’m blue without you… so true…
I freaked out suddenly…
It puzzled me and bewildered you too…I’m sorry for my cyber-outburst
Dating goes bad madly…
Needed you really badly, but you were…oblivious of it, it seemed at first
Whistling to myself in a blissful moment of musical, magical muse…
I speak mindlessly with my imaginary friends and it’s amusing because I have some good and bad news…
My Silly Seuss released from my writing of childish conniving
Emerge from the volcanic vanity, scorching…warped-up writhing…
After being verse-tracked, I have some good and bad news:
I passed for being the biggest loser on Earth
I failed on being a good leader…
Mirth gives birth to a rebirth of faith hearth
Okay, fine…I’ll be a follower…
Remember, I am titaniumb and I am Rated R for Recovery
December, the month in embers…January is a new discovery
Hang on the ceiling, chandelier fear
The spotlight is on me…once and for all…
After all I’ve said and done, I’m of cheer
Because I fear no more…996th poem, y’all…
Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Dorian Petersen Potter | Details |
Shhh...Be quiet! please...or you'll wake up everybody...
Did you see what that young man did all this evening at the table while taking some of his notes?
Yes, sure we did, and so what? a "Poetry for a Lifetime" replied quietly.
After all, we are all books and we are very important to mankind, everywhere.Yes, we are all very important, no matter who we are.
Yes, but did you see, that he was only going through those old, dog-eared magazines, that are piled at that left corner table?
I am telling you that most people are just browsing through all those computers.I think that they're kind of forgetting about us.I know I should be happy to take this dream vacation.No more prying eyes and hands touching and knowing my most privete thoughts.I should be in heaven!
The Gone with the wind" book, just frowned and started laughing.Look at me and remember my lines. Tomorrow is another day!
You should all be quiet, and go to sleep! Merrily a voice said in a whimsical manner.Everybody looked up at one of the highest shelves, where the voice seemed to have sounded from.
Yes, it is me, you knuckles heads! A "Grim"s Complete Fairy Tales Volume" book, spoke in a playful tone.He opened up one of his pages and showed one of his most beloved fairie tales.
Come all over here and pay me a visit.Which one you would wanted me to read you tonight?
What about me reading you, Little Red Riding Hood or perhaps you would prefer, The Sleeping Beauty" I am just telling you that I am a very important book indeed.All my stories make children all over the world very happy and parents love me since they find my services more than welcome every night at bedtime.I am very important, yes, Sireeeee.And aaying all this,he chuckled with a most contented sight of relief in his very merry and child-like voice of his.
The rest of all the books just fell silent for a moment.A "Pride and Prejudice" snorted loudly all of sudden, and retorted in his very conceited and masterful voice.Well, they all say that, they all think that they're important.One of my sisters " Wuthering Heights" thinks the same too, I am telling you.She's always scoffing me and thinking that she's better than me.But I tell her that she's wrong,because I am better than she is.That's for sure.I am a much better classical read than most of you here, just laying around gathering dust.
Wait a minute, hold it right there! A very thunderous voice just said that.Everybody book shuddered at the sound of that very ntimidated voice.I am very old, and I am very important too.I am much older than many of you, just gossiping around, wasting your time and mine.I can't fall sleep with all the racket you're making down here.Can you have some consideration for the ones that need a little more sleep everyday? A " Tale of Two Cities" volume, took a royal bow to everybody around, while paced back and forth in his most comfortable upper shelf.I am a very important book too.Iam considered a classical among book readers all over the world.So now please go to sleep! and let's end all this nonsense about who's more important or not.Saying this, he yawned so loudly, that he woke up some of his other books that were before dozing in either side of his shelf.
Who dare to do this and woke me up like this in such a rudely manner? A " Cronicles of Narnia" volume in a roaring voice moaned.How dared you to to do this and believe that you are more important than me.Well, let me tell you, mister, than you're not and never will, more important than me".A tale of Two Cities", let me tell you, that "Romeo and Juliet" think the same, and are spitting mad about your delussion of grandeur and self- pride.You know you got a coming anyway, even "Hamlet" thinks that is better than you are.Take that for a change! Now saying that, I can go back to sleep now.I bid you all good-night ladies and gentlemen!
I don't really care, if you are young or very old, perhaps you may be older and more experienced than me, in many ways, but still I believe I am the most important of all the books in this library, and elsewhere in the world too.A very comanding voice, and full of authority said.Everybody turned around to see the "Half Blooded Prince" lifting one of his fingers in self- importantance, and saying "I am the most important book in the world and all my brothers are too.Look up my ratings and my movies too.Everybody wants to know about me, from beggining to end.Everybody wants to read me and know all my most hidden secrets in every chapter I have and possessed.So you see, people of all ages like me a lot and bring me to their homes.So that settles everything now, be quiet and go to sleep and stop all your shouting and whispering about.I am the most important book ever! Is that understood? I guess it is...
Not so fast, you fat head! I am the most important, not you.No way! it can be you.I am the most important book in the whole wide world.I am the "Lord of the Rings" and I am very full of adventures,wars, death,heroism,magic,betrayals, self-sacrifice, love, and mistery too.I am the one that saves mankind and the whole world from darkness in the end.Remember that! One of my greatest citezens saves the world.His name is Frodo and is a Hobbit.So you see, I am the greatest among all the greatest here in this whole library and all the libraries in the whole wide world. So, please, go to sleep now! I see you tomorrow, my brothers and sisters.Saying that "The Lord Of The Rings" closed all his pages quietly and with a big smile went to sleep.
Meanwhile in one of the main upper shelves in the library, a very old and worn out "Holy Bible" just chuckled softly under his breath...
Dorian Petersen Potter
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Ian Howard | Details |
A Bluto is not that Disney dog
It was when a mewling
that I would scream
Should they wet my body
And then apply cream
Ablutophobia – fear of bathing, washing, or cleaning
Achluo the demon that lurks
In darkened corners
The long toothed life suckers realm
I am scared as the sun dims
It seems to bare my soul
Achluophobia – fear of darkness
Acro what did they do
They called me acrobat
This will not do
I get giddy standing on a matchbox
Please get a net to see me through
Acrophobia – fear of heights
Agora just shut that door
I am staying here forever more
Bring me food put it on the floor
The letter box is just for you
Don’t, Don’t, try to get through
Agoraphobia, Fear of open spaces or of being in public places. Fear of leaving a safe place
Agrap stole my feelings
He caught me unaware
I am now afraid of sex
don’t ask me anymore
It frightens me that’s for sure
Agraphobia – fear of sexual abuse
Agrizoo an angry gorilla I knew
Wild as hell was kept in a cell
As all his kind, even a timid Hind
They scare the crap out of me
Please let them run free
Agrizoophobia – fear of wild animals
A gyro is just what I need
I will fit it to my trusty stead
He will fly straight across that band
A tarmac nasty throughout the land
I cannot face the walk you see
Agyrophobia –fear of crossing the road
Aichmohe got in a hell of a fight
They killed him with a pointed knife
It will come for me just you see
I cannot even mend his cloth
Won’t touch a needle at any cost
Aichmophobia – fear of sharp or pointed objects (such as a needle or knife)
Ailuro he lived next door
The bastard sits on the fence
To me he snarls not a purr
A Persian he is supposed to be
Frightens the *****out of me
Ailurophobia – fear of cats
Algo, Away, I am pain free
This morphine is the best
First day of pain free rest
Been told that it will return
Got some gas, peace I yearn
Algophobia - fear of pain
Andro I’d rather be (android)
I am metal and plastic you see
Electric person not man or woman
That would be so sad
If just a man I would go mad
Androphobia – fear of men
Antho the pologist got the plan
He put concrete throughout the land.
Not one shrub or flower seen
Not one blade of grass green
A flower would make me scream
Anthophobia – fear of flowers
Anthropo was a lonely man
Wouldn’t mix with others so
He lived in a cave, well just a hole
You would see his eyes peeping out
A shaking frame if people were about
Anthropophobia – fear of people or the company of people, a form of social phobia.
Aqua marine or even the wet stuff
Is enough to drive me mad
I stay in when there is rain
Just wait for the sun to shine again
A damp tissue that’s quite enough
Aquaphobia – fear of water. Distinct from Hydrophobia, a scientific property that makes chemicals averse to interaction with water, as well as an archaic name for rabies
Arach no, and know the score
Those creepy creatures on the wall
Send shivers up and down my spine
Six legs and venom to drive you mad
I am running already it is sad.
Arachnophobia – fear of spiders
Astra my name you would think of the stars
My gaze goes up but not that far
To the first cloud there in the sky
If it’s the shape of an anvil I will fly
Fear grips me and I don’t know why
Astraphobia – fear of thunder and lightning
Atychi that was about the size of me
The others would just make fun
I was no good to anyone
A failure of the first degree
Nothing my goal, was all I could see
Atychiphobia – fear of failure
Auto matic I will seek people out
To touch to play as long as they are near
Don’t leave me in this place alone
A singularity is my biggest fear
I will hold anyone you see I care
Autophobia – fear of being alone or isolated
Automat o no it’s not true how could you
An advert that’s telling just lies
Don’t all the others realize
What you say is not true, put it right
It will drive me crazy I’ll keep out of sight
Automatonophobia – fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being
Aviat o if you think I am going in that
No I am not a scared ***** cat
If we were meant to go fly
Wings we would have from him on high
Fold your machine and put it just so.
Aviophobia, Aviatophobia – fear of flying
Chaeto he was a Greek of old
Bald as a badger so the story is told
But why you say is there no cure
For him to grow some lovely hair
For him it would give such a scare
Chaetophobia – fear of hair
Chemo therapy keep away from me
Chemicals scare me I know they are free
But to have them coursing through my veins
No matter how good they are, and that jar
The fear of everything for what they are
Chemophobia – fear of chemicals
Chirop to or not too so I am told
They stick in your hair best to be bald
Now I find that my nails are made of hair
Chirop is what I fear not chiropodist is that clear!!
Just shave my head and cut my nails dear
Chiroptophobia – fear of bats
Chromo shines bright in my eyes
The fear of all colours I realise
Now I am safe from a troubled day
Into my dark room, I have found my way
Knock when that sun has met its demise
Chromophobia - fear of bright colors
Copyright © Ian Howard | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Joel Lee | Details |
A Dark Identity
Days into nights... time without time
Normalities of everyday life beckons to remain
Shadows with lights.... to find to define
I am he who goes by without a name
The world is only up to date
And I’ve decided no more to follow
Bearing time to finally relate
Yet a self I’m to find to wallow
He who walks without an identity... walks alone
And he who walks alone needs be proud
Yet walking forever without finding a home
Have I that heaven beyond the clouds?
I cannot see either far or near
I cannot be to be neither nor
I’m listening... I cannot hear
I’m at peace... I’m at war
I did not know... am I suppose to?
I know I’m alive... is that enough?
Yet, rather not to know than knew
For knowledge shall never last
A mystery if not yet to be
That one mysterious hope to be searching for
I have dreams but what did I see?
I have no one... not one I can call
A darken need shall heed not words
For the dark shall rise as light
The fade will be a promise to be heard
For shadows are without night
And I started to listen distractedly
Hearing for what my eyes cannot see
A hallucinatory moment ever constantly
As I began to believe that of what cannot be
The instant my eyes close
My mind drew as suppose
Sketching a stand alone amid a world once seen
Of ranging fires to have had believed as a dream
And there I was... a lone figure enveloped in darkness
With crossing flames alight yet from a distance as useless
Left as I was before... I am to return as I am
Reliving once more this beginning with never the end
Thus did I continue my path away from the bloodshed
Carefully as one had hoped where a darker darkness be led
No more do I wonder what transported me here
To only know for certain I am riddled of constant fear
“Fear is a fire
To temper courage and resolve
Be it desire
To quench the thirst for one’s unfounded lost”
And there it was... words barely a whisper
Where it came from... no longer matters
For the intended vigor were already cast upon
Serving me with renewed purpose for a sense to belong
Before long, beyond doubts... my callings were clear
The source from where it first began was indeed here
Almost startled, I looked around knowing I’m blinded to see
Too dark as it was, had it not been a lighted green to be
And there it was... a single light beyond the almighty dark
That one greenish light to aid one’s lonesome heart
Rather peculiar for I haven’t notice it before
And naturally I am to walk towards the green grandeur
Flickering and wavy as I drew closer to my destination
Seeing finally for what appears to be the least of expectations
Astonishingly, it was a lantern where within was the sighted fire
And simply the fiery green alone ignites ever on in dire
Levitated in midair, it stands rigid with its haunting presence
With an aura more deserving then welcoming of essence
So mesmerized I was... I wanted to behold
That of warmth for perhaps deliverance from cold
A dare if not, if only, if I must
A flame to embrace, a curiosity to engulf
And surely... I lifted my hand with only a wanting touch
Surely but unknowingly... the flame itself is to parch
Sparkles of green eludes and transcends about
As well an aria, an ancient tune goes aloud
To only see to believe, perhaps my life to perceive
Yet the question being... what did I achieve?
Smoke arises... wavering, quivering, settling...
My time... misgiving, misguiding and misleading
And there he was... rather it be
A human?... isn’t to be I see
“A dark wanderer, perhaps a lone wanderer alone
Regardless... a stranger afar returning home
Have you the teachings bequeath upon you?
From a once being of a knight who knew
For he alone stands unnerve by another
Serving a purpose to hold true forever
The resemblance I see forth leaves me incertitude
Both as mortals... though only he remains in servitude
Yet... my appointment upon you is clear
I am to you drawn as you to me when you hear
Nevertheless, far too long were you of absence
And once more I am in honor to be in your presence
It never is clear what the heavens contrive
For this unsung war... humanities were birth to strive
Every one mortal given birth were forged for war
To ensure the survival of humanities and of peace to befall
For many years this bloodshed wages in dire
Almost as certainly, the spirits of men responsively tire
No more are there ideas nor hopes they are to see
Battling on for pure survival remains what leads them be
Your return however, will perhaps set the tides in our favor
Though I know not the intention, I do not disregard altogether
Do not let the reasons why you have returned cloud your mind
I ask of you rather to remember who you once were to define
The land of The Ancients is never a quest for truth to seek
Purely for good to triumph over evil is the only idea you will need
Prepare yourself well stranger, for good will always be in disguise
Treachery and deception as often will never in itself be a lie
The unforgiving way is still a long one I’m afraid
However well is Heaven to plan... evil as always will await
And until out time will once more cross between us
I assure you... your time in this world will outlast”
Copyright © Joel Lee | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Cyndi MacMillan | Details |
It is a terrible thing
To be so open: it is as if my heart
Put on a face and walked into the world.
Sylvia Plath, Three Women, 1962
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque,
an incongruity, a clever imbalance
that spins collections her hounds facilitate.
Failures and fractures she bravely lanced
with noncompliance. Reader, rebuff collars
labeled as forewords, smug introductions,
for Plath’s voice is tenfold more a scholar
than those receiving undue benedictions.
Lofty beggars seek to bookend her words
and that empty space she instinctively refills
with her universe, a mayhem that girds,
unapologetic. Mirror images spill
over margins, searching for identity,
negating preamble, snubbing apathy.
Negating preamble, snubbing apathy
with language that flickers, catches, combusts,
her volumes of wicks, her lit soliloquies,
glint behind the stained-glass of trust.
There are those who are not really here,
they wander fault lines then crisscross chasms,
lost pilgrims who easily commandeer
unwary emotions. Some hearts just spasm,
pulled by their own nature, their delicacy,
for poetry is a weakness; poets die
between verses. Odes can become elegies.
The thin-skinned hear a snared rabbit cry,
and pray for the moonflower, always closing,
while cursing that page, unmoved and dozing.
While cursing that page, unmoved and dozing,
she corners rigid guides, keeps fingers poised,
synchronicity goes, the flow of typing
disappears, mislaid, that perfect noise
of a carriage return, a sound exclamation.
Joy is inspiration making its way home,
her Olivetti forages like a raven,
gifting found nouns, verbs that glare like chrome,
but love still flits, turns from hoarse requests,
and she longs for more than any man can give
for what snags worn ribbons will not rest,
it emits a strong beat, throbs as it loves.
Bless the bitter of life, all wisdom owing,
curse the open heart, its shadows showing.
Curse the open heart, its shadows showing,
for worldly delights take full advantage
of the wounded, their brokenness growing.
Everyday beauty wrings arteries, dredges
chambers with barbs, a prompt disobedient.
Fact, there’s no folder large enough to hold
elation’s girth, no ink conveniently
on hand to black out depression. So, scold
the yew, its roots and branches reaching,
then poke at petals for being complacent,
when all the while a candle is preaching
of give and take, surrender, luminance,
So, carefully archive apprehension,
revealing blue veins to tender lesions.
Revealing blue veins to tender lesions
requires much more than a room of one's own,
hours do dissolve, days lack cohesion
when milk sours and tantrums are thrown.
Solitude is in short supply, loneliness,
however, is overstocked; her mind tugs
at busy hands for attention, such darkness
contrasts to jammy smiles and sleepy hugs.
Elusive titles whimper each morning,
and short stanzas steep, so desperately,
all the while a manuscript is scorning
her swipes at dry crumbs, cold pots of tea.
A life sheds its months, gallows take delight
as sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
As sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
the moon blanches tidepools, suckles sand,
even the face of the clock is pulled too tight
and the new calendar can not understand
that writing is sex, is fresh bread, is air,
that time is a brute, quick fisted, rough,
that weeks come and go without a care
that a marriage vow is never enough
to mend adoration, repossess bliss.
Words make better lovers, rarely stray,
upon her lips, the impression of a kiss
feels as cold as sheets then melts away.
Paper sops afterbirth, accepts her all:
fossil and seed, shackles and free falls.
Fossil and seed, shackles and free falls,
unlocking visions, defying any cage,
art resists validity, upsets stone walls
to scale the scarlet heights of a rampage,
to breach the barricades to euphoria.
She excavates id, bares teeth at ego,
plays the parts of illusion and phobia
then infuses rhyme with soft indigo.
Colossus begins to shrivel as Ariel
unmans him, riding hard upon metaphors,
and will remain strong, constant, ethereal.
but curtailed are epics that still implore
like the cusp of dream long after you wake
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque.
* For Craig Cornish
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
John Beam | Details |
I come from a family of high dots We did the same kind of things We look alike but they call me the underdot Then I was used like a common comma Like I could not make a statement Calling my brother the distinctio working with clauses He is their center but I think he is just an interpunct Do I have the right to question I think yes and that is the bottom line Invaluable to computers at .com everyone knows me I go on excelling in math They call me the radix but they use my real name in their rings and rows My point is without me there would be no decimal point and I also work at times with foreign languages They seem to understand me better than my own family who just belittle me I think I will confront them and make a full stop of this Tell ya the truth I think this will be a maturing point for me in around about way For I am used more than all the other marks Period
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Chris D. Aechtner | Details |
A Cardinal darts past, and I cannot quite discern if it chirps out of nervousness
towards the impending storm.
If so, the twittering of cell phones sound far more nerve-wracking --
portable typewriters encased in the soul-less facade of laissez faire;
of keeping track, of minding the flocks.
Yes, everyone is a poet these days, tapping away on miniature, plastic typewriters,
typing away the next narrative filled with prose pretending to be free verse.
Whether the majority is truly poetic or not, Frankenstorm surely is poetic;
named after Mary Shelley's, Frankenstein.
The poetic justice of it all amongst a tragedy of broken necks and drownings,
for the Shelleys were the epitome of Romanticism --
not of ritualistic bouquets bought from the florist who sells porn on the sly,
or of waxy chocolate made by children in clandestine factories built from the bricks
of Mao's dreams of anthills and selling short the power stemming from another poet
turned arms dealer.
No, the romance for life itself; to become poetry as poetry turns into us.
To find mystery in everyday moments; to distil this mystery, offer it to the reader,
so that the reader becomes drunken, swooning in a stupor towards worlds
that are 1,000,000 light years away.
Frankenstorm, the Haunting of Shelleys, lashes out at the dead poetry of today;
at the empty, listlessly inane, lazy poetry of today.
The brightest stars are falling into a void, turning away from the very essence
they so wish to express....only because they want to be unique, to be original,
to carve their own niche into the Jack O' Lanterns of a Hallowe'en quickly turning into cheap, dollar store decorations.
They still have hope. They still have hope, even if many further detach themselves
from their emotions with another dose of prescription pills meant to pacify;
meant to reign in the emotional beasts of imagination, until only zombies preserved in formaldehyde, remain.
I can literally feel the Haunting of Shelleys ask wot has become of us.
It used to be about work ethic and soul - one had to kick, tear, bite, simply to publish
a pamphlet that might be read by 10 people.
Nowadays, everyone is a supposed poet. A few clicks, 'submit', and people from all
over the world can read cotton-candy couplets, or a free verse rendition of another grocery list.
But we must embolster this with:
"They are only beginning; they need to express themselves;
they just don't care."
I don't want to be told about the pain, the tragedy, the beauty, the love.
I want to be shown.
I want to feel it.
I want to feel it squeeze my gray matter into a bitter-sweet drink;
I want to feel it go down.
I want to feel it warm up my heart, grip my stomach until the bottom falls out
and I am left careening down a shaft in an elevator with a broken pulley and rusted-through brakes, and just when I think the end has come, the elevator bursts through
a bottom which is actually the ceiling of a world now turned upside-down --
and by the time I right myself, have read the last line, there is still a remaining mysterious periphery of the cats that reside in the corner of my eyes;
purring, waiting until I come back to re-read that particular poem,
for it is so tantalizing, I want to come back to it over and over again
for the remainder of my years.
Storms will always come and go,
but I sensed the metaphorical message of the Frankenstorm very strongly.
Yet this doesn't mean that I will turn the message into fruition.
But I will certainly attempt to do so.
Within my delirium, I will continue to try distilling the intangible
into a drunken tangibility; even for the sake of simply trying.
And as I ponder, as I witness the present decay of humanity,
witness the state of today's poetry, I can only wonder how many more
Hauntings of Shelleys are possibly already brewing.
October 31st, 2012
My thoughts go out to those caught in the path of Frankenstorm 2012.
Such events move me very deeply.
*I have already posted this prose in a blog, because at the time,
the character-count exceeded the limit of poem posts.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
betty njie | Details |
This is not a perfect story, its a feeling that i just want to share with you. I need HELP
The love i show to everyone in my surrounding, its just rediculous the way have trained myself to become or should i just say its my character thats how i am. I hate it when i cry for nothing, its just that i cant get it, do i have to be perfect to earn something in life. Am a good dancer, a good writer as well as a good person, but what have i earned in these living nothing absolutly nothig. Have plied myself to be thee who loves all and never attempt to hate any even thoes who have shown me hatred. Deep in me i feel the agony something somewhere in my daily living is not satisfied have allow my instincts to believe that its just the human strategy we are never satisfied and can never truly and pratically be satisfied, but in my case its a bit different. I miss love, looking at the whole situation properly i cant tell who loves me and who really hates me devastating anomly. The history of my life carries untold stories within its path, i dont even know who truly i am. One thing that am very sure of is that i am always there for thoes whom i feel am bound to be there for although i could be somewhere else. In tears i sometimes sit to ask why, why do i have to be these way. Am so mean to myself as the ones am so hardly trying to be a help of, at a moment i hate myself so much that i dont want to exsist anymore, i wish to be another somebody of somewhere. Just because i couldnt once make it right to the ones i feel bound to help. I am a lost soul screaming loud for attention at some point i can explode if i could, there is such much going on in my head i have issues that i want to talk about things that i just cant keep to myself. Thanks to writing i can state it down. This is a rapid that have ever since search to write about about but i just could figure it out. I really cant tell weather my own mother loves to talk less of my dad or my boyfriend. My motto, never have up the fight for love, deep inside me am gone, empty and lost, but in my heart i know i can make things happen and watch myself work wonders i believe that. It might be hard to understand if you cant feel what am feeling in me but am completely lost. Do i even have talents? i dont know i have no idea, what i think is am just that loser that dont want to accept her destiny. There is nothing i repeat nothing in this world that cant be solved, my soul is longing for satisfaction love and nothing but the truth. The big thank you i always carry around in me goes to thee the almighty thee who created man from a thick clot of blood and gave hime life despite all what he know that would happen, who has given me the chance to live a life. Suddenly am starting to see life with a different eye than i normally used to as i am writing this,have just figured out life is me, i am my life its only me that can make myself feel just the right way i deserve to feel. Have made so many wrong dicisions, gone through so many hard ways that i could have actually safe myself from. Have given away my last penny to make another fellow feel happy and like me for thoes moments, have thrown my pride away to make a boy fall for my adventurious way, have hurt someones feeling to make another one like me, have done so many harm to myself and others. I just dont know where to head to sometimes i just feel like i should just kill myself and free my thoughts but then I always have this tiny voice in my head that always reminds me of Gods love and it works everytime, thats just what keeps me moving anytime i want to turn back. Have written a manuscript that carries living in it but its still in my laptop. At a certain point i thought putting down 28 pills in my tiny body could save by story, totally wrong thought am stronger than that. SAVE MY STORY.
What happens when you feel so lost, so devastated knowing that no one seems to be understanding your situation. When the whole world turns their backs on you, you feel empty, its a terrible feeling.
Wanting to become a somebody to make a certain person in your life happy, a wish that appears not to becoming true, wanting to publish your first book at the age of 20 but you almost 20 and nothing.
Copyright © betty njie | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
Sunrise, late winter
playful otter, too.
The white heron
a great blue,
in the abandoned beaver pond.
its long-awned achenes
in globose heads
spidery, fiery, extravagant fruit!
To identify or classify
the complexity or beauty
of their songs.
what is over that
ridge or hill
a sink-hole, a sand dune, a steep bluff.
What must I do. Organize
the heretofore unorganized. The rabble
of unemployed child abusers.
Molesters of their intimates.
Are there dysfunctional bird families?
Simply put, they do not survive.
We have hope
that everyone alive is essential,
consequential. We classify
The commonplace and everyday
What happens everyday?
Morning is quiet, everyone at work.
Home writing, watching birds.
Afternoon, kids come back from school.
Evening, watch tv.
Scotch and Star Trek.
Captain Picard's problems eclipse
ours who stayed behind.
Pray to Allah
and maybe he will spare you
when he sets the world
Where or with who
will I be on that day?
And how many people and adventures
will I find in the wind storm and rubble?
I may live, but will it matter
whether or not I help anyone else to live?
This is no Last Judgement.
Those who have learned or who still know how to live
Nobody will go to hell, they will just die.
There is no limbo either.
Anyone who didn't find a way to be immortal is just dead.
So, what am I trying to do.
Organize the unemployed, the welfare mothers
into a flying chevron of purposeful explorers?
The doctor's conscious, organized,
naive attempt to do good,
his legacy, versus the randomness
of the road and the war zone.
There his legacy is his rectitude and natural
rough compassion for the damaged people
he encounters. The difference
between planning a legacy
as if you knew enough to control events
and letting the legacy arise
from events themselves, controlling,
insofar as you are able, only
your own actions and reactions.
The doctor's leadership role such as it was
grew out of not his material possessions
like the car
but his mission, his personal quest
to find the young doctors he had naively trained
and sent into the war zone
where all died.
July-a cold city
not as great or as gritty
as I thought, summer theater left
the shoe shine bereft of customers
eyes cold as a bureaucrat's
except for our soles
and their leather. Sweat-soaked
girls, the beautiful ones left town.
Emotionless as a bus.
Sparrows, no chickadees.
All that's important happens indoors.
Exercise to philosophies.
You get what you see.
The panhandlers ask
just once, won't risk
No sale today
in the finite city
where, for the shoe shine,
pedestrians are infinite, times two shoes.
It's the great nonsense leaf I believe in.
The rum skunk, the back grove.
One cloudy day is bigger
than the whole war television to me.
If nuclear bombs were detonated over each city
in descending order of population
still the planet would be populated and peaceful
tropics to tundra by thousands of species
and nature still seeking an intelligent partner.
Man who almost knows all he doesn't know
allows passion to grow into impatience
with his fern allies.
I walk the crowded streets of every city
and every soul is a naked strip tease of ecstatic light.
They so excite me
I must consult my wisdom for guidance.
Each inch, square, or cube of Earth
brim with grasses and sedges, dragonflies and spiders, sparrows and eagles.
The tiger lily and the water lily and the lily of the valley, the calla lily.
When a girl on a bicycle smiles, that is a smile.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
J. W. Earnings | Details |
(Chant: You threw me out like a pen that ran out of ink
I’m no longer useful for writing…drawing…I’ll stop resisting & fighting
Though the tears run down my eyes…the tears were clouding my eyes – I somberly blink
You abandoned me, putting me in adoption, leaving me in the margins, howling…I’m sick of feeling like life has no meaning…my mind settles down when I start writing
I’m no longer willing to put up with your lying…
But, I’m still surviving…still crying!! I’ll keep on trying!!)
Let the good sensations flow and let the blessed breeze blow ~
I know…I know I gottah let go! Let it go, you know!
Remain sane…we’re trying not to appear insane
We’re actin’ like fools with an inadequate tool,
Runnin’ around in circles without a brain
Hey! Hey! All we need is God’s healing rain!
Let us both grow like golden grain
In the vibrant, tranquil terrain
The truth hurts really badly –
I’m a weak individual without a life, you see?
I’m in poverty…
Set me free from captivity!
Your Precious, Holy Spirit
Gives me love fuel to drive on the right lane…
I’m gaining back my sanity
Here’s something unusual and new (I feel no pain)
I saw God’s Healing Rain when I looked through my pane
He unchained me from the chain of calamity
(Chant: Feel the rhythm of my heart…
The moment you broke it apart
Feel the rhythm of my storm
The moment you shoved me in your deserted dorm x3)
Lonely days are over
A new day resembles a new start
No more doubting or pouting…
Have high hopes instead –
Let’s embrace each other
It’s time to explore a valley of virtuous vibes…
Promise me you won’t rip my heart apart
Writing…anticipation motivates me…helping me out with any circumstance!
Yeah – my writing skills are buff! But, I think I shall change the subject *cough cough*
Typing – gratefully, but reluctantly typing it out with confidence –
After I’m done with this, I’m going to dance with joy and laugh my pants off!
Let the blessed breeze blow away our sorrows of yesterday’s tomorrow!
Off you trot! Off you trot,
you miserable clowns that have frowns painted on your faces!
Wipe that off!
I didn’t mean to act gruff, but enough!
Wipe that off!
Let’s be happy,
for the lonely days are over!
Enough is enough – knock it off!
Knock it off –
Stop acting immature and insecure,
Though and you and I’s future’s a blur!
Still, be happy!
(Chant: Be still, sunshine’s near for sure!
Let the blessed breeze blow away our away our bittersweet sentiments and fear
The blessed breeze will make us feel secure –
Don’t break a sweat or shed another tear!
Have no fear, for God’s draws near!
He’ll wipe away every single tear
From your eyes
No need to wave your goodbyes
Let the Blessed Breeze blow away your grief
Let God’s miracles mend your wounds & stitch it up with relief!)
Let the good sensations grow and flow where ever it may go! ~
I know…I know I gottah let go! Let go! Let it go (Frozen reference hehe)
Remain sane…trying not to appear insane
I’m actin’ like a fool with an inadequate tool,
Runnin’ around in circles without a brain
Frankly, all we need is to refrain!
You are as sweet as sugar cane! I can't refrain from writing these verses - appearing insane! This poem is driving on another wacko lane!
Am I driving on another lane? Am I being a pain again?
Are you on the same page with me? Am I a pain in the bum or am I unique and incredible like God's healing rain? I wish I can be as gloriously grand and gracious evermore like golden grain in a peculiar, tranquil terrain!
Tell me if I am Insane to a certain degree!
Am I a pain? Probably so because I’m yearning for His rain!
Tell me if I’m taking this too far – do you long to be free?
Do you long to be truly, sincerely free?
Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2014