One by one
yellow-fins are gathering.
Their salty hearts gently filling
with the indigo currents
of struggle -of living.
Tide treading the present...
back-stroking(grimacing) the past.
Front-crawling into future's moaning crag.
Dorsal fin topped dreams and crimson cream
never seem to last...
or do they?
The wicked wield wicked nets... squeezing tighter.
Calloused gaffs move in-greedily.
The joy of yellow fins is flayed...
One by one,
as foul minded sea lice gobble down
a million future suns...
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2014
Why….sarcastic ,snide remarks
To dictate and criticise
Pointing that “crooked finger of judgement”
Expecting all others to view through your eyes!
You voice, “that should not be”
Though when it comes your way
You bask in all the glory
Of the niceties others say
Somewhat hypocritical
Though I think it’s quite clear
When it is not directed at you
Your insecurities appear
Each one of us are different
We each give and receive what we desire
As long as dealt with respectfully
That’s all that is actually required
Your sarcastic innuendos are not masked
By your clever, deliberate words
Your real intentions are obvious
So condescendingly inferred
Since when did encouraging others
Become a negative
Kindness and positivity
Words best left unsaid?
So obsessed about others
In what they say and do
Perhaps it’s time to focus inward
Make some positive changes within you?
Get down from your high horse
You are the only player in this “word war”
Simply, “just be nicer”
There are no points here to be scored!
Copyright © Deb M | Year Posted 2021
Born alone,
A lonely life,
Perhaps
Lonely at death
despite the family.
Cost of living is so high
That you are loved
For what you can give
Not for what
you might take.
My wish list
Does not include
Items of physical
pleasures,
but such things
As love, laughter
and affection.
I wipe the mist
On the window
Bare hand
To see outside.
Waiting alone,
For my children
To come home
for christmas!
Copyright © Krish Radhakrishna | Year Posted 2019
That the waves and rocks
find voice here
in the howl of winter,
is because I have come
to listen and to be
in the loneliness of this place.
Only the seagulls are here with me
and hang in the tumult,
taunting the wind.
Deep in this solitude
is the thought
of a drowned youth,
swept away and lost
to the silence sunk far below
the furious sounds that headstone
his name. I am the last
to remember him and reach down,
but he is now beyond my grasp.
I have let him go.
I feel the sting of the salty air
on my face, the cold leaching
through this old coat
and my unsteady feet stumbling
to find balance
on this rubbly ground.
The air shudders with the crash
of nearby breakers.
I cling desperately to the sound.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
White days
White nights
White alabaster arms and legs
White, crimson lights-
Oh, what seamless nights-
White moments in time
White memories - yours and mine,
White love, white hate
White demise-
of an inkling of what's left
of our white/fiery passion
upon white silken sheets...
Only that is not what made our love complete-
Copyright © Gwendolyn Cloyd | Year Posted 2014
Where the Cleaner Never Passes Through the Door
Locked safely in a corner of my mind
Where the cleaner never passes through the door
A room I enter now and then to find
A thought that will, my innocence restore
Not a cobweb or a speck of dust
No disorder where the records lay
All appears as though I just
Closed that little door the other day
I take my time to browse the shelves
As they from slumber slowly wake
Then each in turn present themselves
In always pleasing forms they take
In never ending streams they pour
Onward to the party held
To celebrate they came before
That age of innocence was felled
Dancing still as they did then
Faultless in their ignorance
Laughing as they will again
Till I have run the full distance
Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
When Winter comes, remember me
beside you on those ivory sands
If frozen fingers reach for thee,
arise and fling aside her hands
As you awake on shortening days,
when Winter comes, remember me
We'll pray that Frost forsake his grays
and set arrays of color free
Light snow may fall so subtly,
bright notes on parchment sheer as sleet,
when Winter comes. Remember me,
that I might play each shimmering sheet
Short interlope of Summer gone,
I'm owed no scope of reverie
but hope you will, from this day on,
when Winter comes, remember me....
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015
Like a book that has been read time and time again,
Those who understand, bear outer markings of their pain within.
For total understanding is not something we gain,
But rather something we accept, and choose not to explain.
For when you attempt to explain what you do not know,
You often picture the past, and miss where the future is set to go.
Like a book, tattered and worn,
Most will move to toss it aside.
Yet some will know that though the pages are torn,
There is something special that lay inside.
Copyright © Landin Willis | Year Posted 2023
The aging street mourns its faded splendor.
It remembers having red tulips and roses
in manicured, fertilized, emerald lawns
in community yards lining its borders.
But neighborhoods gradually decayed,
and nobody’s planted flowers in years.
The asphalt’s once-black fresh-tar patina
is now gray and chockfull of countless cracks.
In those rifts grow rows of feral weeds
that no person planted or wanted.
Rooted in forgotten fissures of the world,
weeds lift their hearts and heads toward the sky.
Survivors of severe environments,
baked by blazing sun, infrequently watered,
deprived of easy access to nourishing soil,
and squashed by droves of mutilating tires.
Yet, still the stalwart weeds survive,
paragons of beautiful resilience.
Glamorous, fragile flowers are transient.
Plain, ordinary weeds are forever.
For humans who feel our messy lives
are more like run-over weeds than roses,
weeds’ wild fortitude foreshadows
an unexpected, untamed eternity.
Copyright © Mark Stucky | Year Posted 2024
the noose around my neck only a little colorful scarf on my last day as a slave
to the chefs always screaming their short comings as it's never the fault of the pressure cooker of the kitchen
to managers revolving the doors and telling you are call waiter as you have to wait for the couple that forgot to get a room as they gross you out with their display
an hour or more for the worst tip of the night as they are here to push your buttons
the maitre D as I told them to change their tune if to collect a percentage of your earning and to be sued ask you to finish his job as he is leaving to catch his train on clockwork schedule every night
the next day the computer was fixed with a new tittle and not a thanks from general management to save their ass from a lawsuit as I heard rumors of protest
the bartender an other story as drug dealers you have to bow to them or they will make your life difficult and suck as otherwise your customers will have to wait for their needs
the owners mostly absent only showing their faces to collect do not know the ordeal
as in the past they forgot to declare you and their earnings everything under the table but them protected you are the one suffering the consequence of retirement as you show zero on your social security number for years and never paid hourly toil dusting the chairs and the what not if only mouse shit I though I had a deal with them to pay my taxes and I will be all right
took me two years to amend their lies as they though I was a wet back with fake identity
but still those years show as zero as they didn't pay their due to the government for the welfare of old age but their own
to the clients as they are the redemption of many fun night
with the exchange of words to make a meal memorable
that is what made my job worthwhile as I had a chance to meet many stars enjoying my back serve
black pants white shirt I could tell you so many stories of encounter
Copyright © Catherine Labeau | Year Posted 2015
They cry for your vote,
So go in your underwear,
forty percent won't.
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2018
We gave Johnny a gun and a uniform
Trained him to kill, in a regiment conform
Sent him deep into Vietnam jungles warm
With little regard to how we did him harm
So certain we knew what we joined to fight for
We were shipped off to fight an unwinnable war
A war of "containment," unlike those before
Mothers screamed, fathers wept, siblings ached to the core
By parachute dropped to a ghastly death scene
Johnny ached for the life left behind, so serene
His family, fiance did not know what war means
Especially the haunting of lost children's screams
Those of us who survived thought we'd just done our jobs
We returned and were shamed by violent gobs
Of silver-spoon white kids in hate-spewing mobs
Spat-on and welcomed as baby-killer slobs
No heroes welcome would await these young men
No ticker-tape parades were staged for them
Just jeers from crowds, uncaring government
Greeted the lonely Vietnam Veteran
Too classy and noble to demand our fair share
We lay in that shabby old hospital there
In a closet-sized room with no visitors' chair
Understaffed, underfunded, with short-handed care
The "benefits" they found would astound all now
And it leaves one to wonder how our hallowed ground
Would be filled with unnamed graves of men once proud
Before the rows of white crosses we should bow
Our Wailing-Wall stands now in Washington, D.C.
So shiny but black, a telling-tale of the fee
We have paid for our nation, our land of the free
Will you come pay respects? Will you not at last see?
Some veterans still suffer disgraceful neglect
So please explain who more deserves our respect
Let us pause with angelic choirs and genuflect
To show gratitude as on this Wall we reflect
Friends, Dane Ann is among those who served in the army during the Vietnam war and is
now recovering from long-overdue hip surgery performed at an old VA hospital in
Gainesville, Florida. Thank you for your prayers on her behalf. Many thanks
to Tim Ryerson, another Vietnam veteran, for joining me in this write.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
Candy-cane colors swirl;
a twister of confection can
sweep through my dreams, anytime.
The sweeter the dreams,
the sweeter is the nightly intermission;
making the anticipation of the play’s end,
a tastier treat.
The dinner theatre of the dreaming mind has,
many plays and many actors.
Time spend in peridot fields, turquoise rivers and agate deserts can, produce myriads of scripts
for, actors familiar and a good meal that,
no king or queen would turn away.
Attendance is mandatory, though the actors volunteer;
the script writers remain anonymous; it’s the actors that get the story across to the guests, anyway.
In the light of day, play scenarios are relived but,
well-prepared theatre goers overcome easily,
all of the day-mares.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014
I.
Among twenty different brightly colored toys,
The only moving thing
Was the beak of a noisy parrot.
II.
I was of three family members,
Like a family tree
In which there is a noisy parrot.
III.
The noisy parrot screeched relentlessly piercing the silent black night.
Smothering all sounds with her beaky plight.
IV.
Three shrill family members together
Are one.
Three shrill family members and a noisy parrot
Are one.
V.
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of ear - splitting noise
Or the beauty of deafening silence,
The noisy parrot shrieks
Or just after.
VI.
Lime greenish and red orange feathers fall to the bottom of the cage
With sway and rhythm.
The color of the noisy parrot
Shines bright with eminence.
The halo forms an aura
With images of great splendor.
VII.
O thin men of beauty
Why do you dream of hooting owls?
Do you not see how the noisy parrot
Makes his presence known
Amongst the women around you?
IX.
When the noisy parrot began playing with her toys,
It rang a bell
Of one of many chimes.
X.
At the sight of the noisy parrot
Screaming at the moon high above
Even the bands of crickets
Had their own orchestra.
XI.
She opened the cage
With a thick black glove
Once, she felt pain, when her beak sank in,
From that she now understood
The radiant power with within her
Of all noisy parrots.
XII.
The sound of nuts cracking.
The noisy parrot must be munching.
XIII.
It was still and quiet throughout the blackness of the night.
It was raining
And it was going to rain.
The noisy parrot sat
On the chipped wooden perch.
Copyright © Rukhsana Afridi | Year Posted 2024
The old seemingly lifeless blackboard,
No one thinks that he really feels,
Made of tarnished slate and black in color,
Finds no one to value his true appeal.
A daily slave to the teachers fingers,
He knows more than he’ll ever show.
Is really such a very lonely fellow,
Though many eyes he has come to know.
Never does he ever complain or speak,
And yet cries tears that we cannot see.
For so much knowledge does he keep,
As he alone really does hold the key.
Only to be forgotten as yesterdays lessons,
That could have set young minds so free.
But never by most was he rightly used,
Because each day many do fail to see.
Yet, still the open minds of a few acknowledge,
The richness he shares which is theirs to keep.
If only they consume their daily meal from him,
Storing his knowledge in their minds so deep.
So that one day in the future while looking back,
Remembering well spent time where degrees were earned.
They’ll treasure his chest of sweet succulent knowledge,
Thanking the teachers blackboard for all they learned.
Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2013
The Splendid Tulip
No other flower has been the cause of savor
There are 16th century tulips beds of every flavor
Oriental pigments suited for an exotic bouquet
Garden visitors buy tulips with pots made of clay
The sparkling tulip arranged in a basket
A layout of tulips found by a love one’s casket
A wish for variety of tulips never gets loss
Beautiful composition at the right cost
Red, yellow, white tulips of splendor
Tulips in the window not associated with gender
European vases for tulips with a long stalk
Splendid tulip scenery in the forest to take a long walk
Copyright © Cynthia Russell | Year Posted 2023
The Homeless Man
When the wind blows off the water
With it’s icy reminder that it’s growing late
He puts his head down, pulls his scarf tighter
And once again pondered his fate.
It seems he thinks more clearly
When out where the elements rule
They have no respect for his trials
They know how daily life can be cruel.
The leaves are dancing beside him
The dust swirls in some modern dance
He wants to take part in the movement
Consider giving life one more chance.
He’s had constant daily rejections
But some how he’s coped with defeat
He still clings to a hope for tomorrow
This new dawn he reluctantly greets.
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2008
A gentle wave from curling leaf watches in weakness.
Green slips from shore, a purchased release.
Tender roots wash with shuttered sounds.
Steals foundation to a diminished, poison grip.
Inundate with modern gift's inevitable disguise.
The last of life, extinction blazes black.
Down slips the rocky skirts beneath the liquid lip.
A mist of remembrance where stone nuture once lay.
Shriveled trunk, bloated limb, a silent fiasco
We were infinity, now the singularity
Last of our kind, the jewel of what was fading.
As humans watch with insufferable
Copyright © Lea Tonin | Year Posted 2024
My veil falls to my feet
I am at my most vulnerable
yet I lose my shyness easily in front of you
as your eyes acceptingly savor me.
I am in awe
of my ease of presence
and of your hunger of my being
in spite of my perceived flaws.
What do you see in me?
The intelligent loving being
you are
I have held my love for so long
waited....
for one who longs for me
just as I am
and that being is you,
my love
A weight is lifted from my soul
as I allow you to partake
of my very essence.
I feel a freedom
that I have never known.
I feel like an eagle
soaring free and unburdened
from expectations.
My joy is boundless
as another has seen both
body and mind
but loves
the reality of each,
not the perceived wish.
I discern the peals of you laughter
and your concern
long before I share
the tales of my day.
I do not conceal myself
nor do I want to.
My entire body longs
to meld into you.
My despair is lifted to the heavens.
I want for nothing
when I am in your arms.
I will not hide.
I have been extricated
from the complexities of my mind.
My personal reality is shattered.
My breath and vision are absconded
as I am lifted into your acceptance.
I was taught that I was not enough
contemptible and unbefitting.
I thought that I would die
lonely and bereft of love,
unworthy.
I seek your face, your smell, your essence.
I long to love you
demonstrate the depth of my ardor
Will I be sufficient for your needs?
My needs now become second.
Yours are primary
as I seek to plenish your temple.
My lips savor
every part of your being
and now contain the memory of you
when you are not in my presence.
No one else can consume me.
Others can perform
but 'tis not the same as love.
I am an eagle coasting
on the breath of our ecstasy
in love's fair union.
No matter what the future holds
I know that I can never
be
ONE
again.
I'll always remember you, my love.
Copyright © Robin Harville | Year Posted 2020
I heard the bang bang sound
and i knew mama you were no more
just like many of our kind
hunted and slaughtered like worthless creatures
and when your value is taken
you are left to rot and your kid to suffer
Who's fault is it mama
that we carry a treasure they so much desire?
that we must continue to die
so that they can get it?
and when one of us falls
their thirst for us becomes even more?
Mama they are now coming for me
to take me through the same route as you
though i run as much as i can
i know they will eventually get at me
and though against my wish
i will soon join you mama
but perhaps together we can find a way
to rescue our remaining few.
Copyright © Cyrus Theuri | Year Posted 2016