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Quote LeftI would like to express my gratitude for your inspiring comments and for featuring my poem on the PoetrySoup homepage, thank you so much to all of you! I was so surprise and happy upon knowing it! May the Lord bless all our works that some how it can give inspiration and some enlightenment to our readers. More power to PoetrySoup!Quote Right

Comment By: J. A.

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 1      

Your Love Made The Difference

Jesus, Your love changed me
Your love made the difference
You loving me changed me
I’m not the same
I’ve been changed
I’m a new person
Changed from the inside out
Jesus, Your love changed me
Your love made the difference
You loving me changed me
I can pray for my enemies
I can turn the other cheek 
Jesus, Your love changed me
Your love made the difference
You loving me changed me
I can love, love unconditionally
I can bless those who curse me 
Although not always easy, I can do it
Yes, I can do it 
Jesus, Your love changed me
Your love made the difference
You loving me changed me
Changed me from the inside out


Copyright © Sonnier Williams | Year Posted 2017

YOUR FATHER'S EYES

I remember many years ago
when the distant siren told us all
the shift had ended.
Yet! Six pints to be drunk before
stumbling through the back door,
his sweat still clinging to his face
sealed there with in the grime of despair
swearing every night, never to go back
to that bloody pithead!
But our need was he and his was the beer
until that fateful day, when out of his misery
he was taken, leaving us all for another world,
his need of pain forgotten when distributed
to those of us left behind.
Yet every day I still see him
in your smile in your ways,
and when you are sad Dear Daughter
in those beautiful ‘Ice Blue Eyes’.



Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010

Walking My Tiger Home

when just a lad, in skinny pad
   the kids all picked on me
so hatched, I did, a brilliant plan
   to make those meanies flee;

at home, you’ll know, were two young gals
   both younger than your friend,
and younger means more gullible
   (and willing to pretend);

now sisters know that big brothers
   are very seldom wrong
so when I said I needed them
   they quickly went along;

in dad’s garage was orange spray paint
   and green weed-whacker string -
(this part would make all mothers faint
   except for those sleeping):

Belinda had the bigger bum
   so I made her the base
since Sara was the lighter one
   she got to be the face

both dressed in white and stacked like bread
   I tied them tight with rope
Then took my paint and turned them orange
   my artwork was so dope,

next with black tape I gave them stripes,
   and stuck to Bel’ the tail,
to Sara’s face I glued the string
   because I lacked a nail;

then with a leash I borrowed from
   my dog whose name was Chalk
like a wild cat, from the jungle
   I taught them how to walk;

the next afternoon when school was through,
   my sisters were prepared
to get costumed in my defense
   and make those meanies scared;

and scared they were, I have to say
   when we began to roam
for off they ran and left me be
   walking my tiger home. 

07/25/16
Entry for Walking My Tiger Home Contest
Sponsored by David Lindsay

Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016

Unwrapped

Gonna stop, and think a few
Expose what I'm committed to
Take a closer look, and see
What it is that's running me?

Let me introduce myself
Fun and friendly, hooked on health
Generous as you could wish
And considered quite a dish

Mostly happy, at times insane
Turn my back, so you can feel my pain
Hold you close when I hear thunder
Let you gaze, admire and wonder

Want me, just enough to know
You'll be there when I let go
Love being right, and, not to mention
Dammit, I adore attention!

Hopeful, sweetheart, up for fun
Tease me and I come undone
Dreamer, dancer, storyteller
Feeble, frantic, fearful fella

Peaceful, calm, warrior Prince
Get my way, judge and convince
Pretend to listen, so I can speak
Creative genius, attention freak

Worship, cherish and adore me
Scared, I let your love ignore me
Desperate, I hunt your heart down
Humiliated, foolish, clown!

Beat me up, make myself wrong
Sounds like a familiar song?
Stick in the knife, twist it around
Hold me under, gasp and drown

Soul sliced by every incision
Cuts with surgical precision
Charming, witty, eye for fashion
Stone-faced, steel eyes, no compassion 

Conniving, scheming, love control
The framework built around my soul
Open-minded, guarded heart
Made self-destruction in to art

Cunning mind, I grow, and know
To deal a devastating blow
Move mountains just to help you shine
Align your goals and thoughts to mine

Love, torment, enjoy the latter
Find fault, just so I can matter
Beam in like a crystal, bright
Scare the darkness from the night

So peek inside a little more
To see who lives behind the door
Lift my mask, I'll let you see
Needy, greedy, ego feedy, me!


Copyright © SCOTT HARRIS | Year Posted 2014

UMBRELLA

The birth of beautiful, beloved babes
Blazing love burning in mothers' heart
Flaming hot as sun above or hell below
Fierce, piercing passionate obsession
All engulfing, all consuming
Total control of every cell & vessel
And every second of every hour
Arouses feelings unknown before this arrival
Crazy, out of control love without caution
Now uncaring of limited sleep, or any
Nor thoughts of self entertained, none
Only for this magnificent miracle
She is all mine !!
How do I protect her in my absence
When my absence is required
Though unhappily entrusting in others care
An idea out of desperation occurs
Out of absolute addiction to this angel
An UMBRELLA of love !!
Whose size would be situational
And may require sudden adjustments
According to lifes' problems & plagues
Small like a parasol at first
In growing years & older years
Gigantic protection may be sought
Miles wide & long & deep, or more 
Glowing fiery, flaming, crimson red
Shield your eyes or you may go blind
Intensity to which nothing compares
Big, bold, blessed, bountiful, beaming
No barriers or obstacles or boundaries
No prevention of protection from harm
Shield & encase her forever & ever
With an umbrella of love from mother
An unlimited, lifetime guarantee
For this beautiful, beloved babe
She is all mine !!

Copyright © Jeanie Bennett | Year Posted 2017

Tribute To Mother On Mothers' Day 2015

E-ven though she's been gone lo these many years,
D-id I tell her I loved her enough as I fight back the tears.
I-often think I'm the most blessed of men upon this earth,
T-hat God in His wisdom chose her to give me birth!
H-ow I cherish the many happy memories we did share,
M-ost of all her beautiful smile and crown of silvery hair!
A-nd I know that God placed upon her head a star-studded crown.
E-xemplary was she as she served her family with great renown!

(26 March 2015)

(I was unable to type each first letter in bold type)

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2015

Totems

The Totem      ©

The totem speaks of the tribe’s history, lore, 
deeds of courage
Animals, fish and gods
 carved in reverence,
from a fallen tree hundreds of years old,
living wood, with a face, a fish,
a bear, a bird marching down it’s trunk,
a seemingly random sprinkle of 
obelisks in a circle,
tells of incredible faith true enough
 to move tons of stone

Totems today, statuary in the front garden,
wooden rooster atop the mail box,
the weather vane dressed in 
golden green patina.
Carvings of flowers,
frolicking baby squirrels and 
rabbits  on a sign at the front door,
A mural brushed upon a barn wall,
the flag of a beloved country,
 the lone star of a beloved state,
the wind chimes of dolphins, stars, frogs, and spoons
capturing the breeze, 
singing a song of welcome

Tribes  today paint their vehicles in much the same way
that the People painted their sturdy, brave little horses 
before a battle
Circles of paint about the eyes for truer vision,
hand prints on shoulder and flank to ward off the spear,
ornaments braided  into mane and tail 
to celebrate victory

Bumper stickers, magnetic ribbons,
 all totems to tell members
of other tribes what is believed in, 
what the tribe stands for;
support this, hate that, 
down with this, up with that
proud to be a redneck, 
 a woman,
 a boater, 
a parent,
a fisherman,
 a politician,
 a farmer,
 a dancer, 
a soldier,
an Aggie, 
a sailor, 
an Irishman, 
a lover of guns.

Trisha Sugarek
Butterflies and Bullets

									


Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is a promise made that was never meant to be
Tomorrow is a dream come true that only we can see
Tomorrow is the time we plan to spread our wings and fly
If we don't take those first steps now, our dreams will pass us by.

Tomorrow is the day  when we start our lives anew
Tomorrow is the time when all the skies turn blue
Tomorrow is the reason that we hang onto our dreams
We need to start today to reach those goals it seems.

Tomorrow is a fleeting moment when our world comes all apart
Tomorrow is a passing glance as we give away our heart
Tomorrow is a triumph as we begin to touch the sky
If we keep waiting for tomorrow we should hang our heads and cry.

Tomorrow is the horizon as the sun sinks into the sea
Tomorrow is the time when all our people will be free
Tomorrow is the day when we come charging from the gate
But tomorrow never comes for those who only sit and wait.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006

today 19Oct15

	“It’s a brown country, this. Our few, fleeting green months are now behind us. The sun has taken her rightful position in the sky, from where she brings crops to yield, and skin to flake. But not today. For today a layer of clouds, varying in shades from white to black, hang in the sky.  Though don’t be mistaken, it’s not cold; the temperature alone dries clothes. While still air weighs on every surface, trees and wheat pause, waiting. Waiting for rain.”

Precious cool droplets
Clear ants from beneath clothes line
And wash heat from sky

Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2015

Tiny Bird of Song and Flight

I noticed several tiny flutters upon the
grassy field today.
I gathered myself and went to see
what was underway.

I noticed it was a little bird with its wings all
folded and rain swarmed.
I opened up my hand to it and caressed
it with my hand's warmth.

It's tiny little eyes looked up at me in a look
of such distress that I took it and put in the deep
pocket of my dress.

I took it home and desperate to help it
I brought it in. From there a special bond 
between us did spiritually begin.

I took it near the fire, its little wings I
opened and began to dry. For almost a moment
there, I thought I seen it cry.

I fluffed up its feathers and feed it some
broth. Covered the bird in a warm, soft cotton
cloth.

Later on that very evening I heard a tiny
but significant shutter.
My heart was filled with laughter as I seen
it's wings begin to flutter.

I gathered the bird once more in my warm
and inviting hands, and at that very moment,
I learned what it meant to love more than man.

I released the tiny bird and watched it take
unhindered flight.
In time maybe it will return and sing, and
to my ears bring a welcomed delight.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2016

The unlikely alliance

The unlikely alliance

for me you need not be clothed
I understand your fragility
of which the edges are like krill
To you I disclose my being,
for only you I rehearse my songs.
From the truest vestiges of the heart,
where the rumbling of the soul
and electric current making multiple zeds as if ignition cannot be..
until it does..

Erupts this volcano inside of me, the magma of the heart cascading walls and gleam.
Steaming, hissing ,smoking at your feet  and there it halts, and there it cools and I deliver me.
Touch me I am warm
Feel me I am true.
Where us unlikely two shall meet, you the tulip, I the lava.
There your trusting brave will do what none would believe.

I give you that diamond of the earth, that stone that doesn’t melt,
under pressure it was formed.
Be sure to stand the allegations of my antagonist
How I need your alibi
Oh how  I yearn for truth

Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2016

The Scent Of Your Soul

The scent of your soul a caramelized breeze of fruit odours reverberating softly through my memory Throwing me right back into ninth grade where we sat side by side Your right arm reaching slightly for my back Your name resonates gently with my spirit as thoughts of you dwell in my mind Carrying me back to the shade of purple grape orchids in evergreen woods Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee beans and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind Such revoked moments of unknown danger and defiant fun Other moments,of beauty and snow angels Of freedom and moonlights,sunrise and life I can still recall the days,months,and years till our footprints marked separate paths Ah,those days,those last hours,How can I forget? Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice cream parlour Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup Fresh as the colour of your soul, which haunts me like an alluring glance of almond-shaped eyes This afternoon , like other afternoons I walk to the library which knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own That fragrance 's gone now.All that is left is the fading perfume of forgotten petals between old books and dust No one here except my silence,and a rotten sliced apple vacuum packed ,lacking its cinnamon and even its spice. Back home,the mildewed strings of a guitar await my fingertips to play once more upon the worn out chords of my heart What will I play,what will I sing ,a song which isn't ours ? Fermented wine I poured into my glass Yearning to taste its purple grape for what it was before all it was turned bitter,acidic and sour I wondered about where you might be ,distant or not as far Listening to my voice on once upon a record player Wishing on a star ?
Not for the contest But thanks for the inspiration Contest name-The Scent Of Your Soul

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

THE POME

                                           THE  POME

I wanted to be famous,
So I thought I`d write a pome,
Somethin`reely spiritchul,
With touching undertones.

Somethin`folks would reed about,
When I`m dead and gone,
And call me poet, artist, bard,
And put it in a tome.

Them great big heavy books folks buy,
And never reely reed;
But if yer in one of them books,
Then folks are all agreed,

That yer the best that ever was,
A reglar Willem Shakespear,
So I set down to write it,
And found that it has took near,

All my time and energy,
To come up with a title,
Let alone the pome itself,
For me this writing`s futile.

                                        Judy Ball

Fergive me Yàll.
I got writer`s block.

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2011

The Old House Beside the R oad

The Old House Beside the Road

There is an old, ramshackle house that stands there by the road.
This house once had a family, with many stories stowed
Within its crumbly walls, and it now stands there all alone,
With gardens dead, untended yard, and weeds much overgrown.

The broken windows, tilting shutters, steps that rotted down,
And paint that once was bright and white but now shows dingy brown,
Would cause most people to ignore this rundown old abode,
This old ramshackle house that stands just there beside the road.

An ancient giant willow oak looms o’er the dried-up well,
And just beyond, there hangs an old and rusty dinner bell,
A frazzled rope with rotted seat shows where a child had swung.
Around in back, a wagon stands with half a broken tongue.

I wish this house could talk to me
And tell me how things used to be,
How happy it was when love flowed
In this old house beside the road.

I think this house has heart and soul with many tales that lie untold.
So many things that it might say, if only it could speak today.
For now, I’ll just enjoy my thoughts of all the things that time has wrought.
In this dear old, rundown abode that stands beside the road.


Copyright © Yvonne Uzzell | Year Posted 2016

The Monster

He lets the monster, out to play;
He's killed so many, in different ways.
He likes to wrap them, up in sheets;
He likes to make them, realize their feats.
Not because the job was good;
But because their inner demons could.
The victims that fall, right by his hand;
They're the ones, who do what they can.
In order to fulfill, that inner need;
They'll go about, their dirty deed.
Never to suspect a final bet;
He injects m99, right into their neck.
As his victims fall unconscious;
Lifeless, Into his arms.
A small little voice echoes;
"Don't get caught".
The monster welcomes;
Their final embrace.
As he takes one small cut;
On the side of their face.
With one drop of blood,
And one glass slide;
His one sharp knife,
Takes their life as they die.
With knife buried deep,
Into their chest;
They close their eyes,
For their final rest.
As another body,
Gets cut into pieces;
Theres plenty of glad bags,
To go through the seasons.
As the monster takes,
Another victim;
He boards his boat,
While they come with him.
After alls said and done,
And a body drops to the sea;
He turns around smiling,
For he too fulfilled his need.
As he cracks a beer,
Relieved, it's on ice;
He raises his drink,
To one hell of a night.

Copyright © Criss Tripp | Year Posted 2016

The Mass

i hear a snap.  and somewhere another body goes limp.  i hear it all the time these days. It’s the times i think.  or maybe my youth.  i can’t tell.  

i hold tight as four chins poke into the small of my back.  three fists in my face.  a shoulder in my stomach.  it eases and i grab a tablespoon of air.  the breathing is hard now and I can’t scream anymore.  

i look at the man between the heads.  he cannot speak.  the Wires will not let him.  he smiles and pulls at his arms but there is no where to put them.  he cries.  and then he laughs.  and then he is awe-stricken.  it is what the Wires demand.  

i shift as a body beneath me twists.  a head and an arm and a belly and another arm and a shoulder roll over and twist my body like a mop.  my spine will break soon.   but it doesn’t matter.   i have nothing to do now but lay here and sink.   and watch the sky shrink a little more as the bodies pile up.  

but the man between the heads stays with me.  his scarred and bleeding face drifts into and out of scattered shafts of light.   his face moves as if to speak.  but the Wires will not let him. and now a frown and sulkiness because the Wires want it that way.  but the Wires can’t get to his eyes.  his mind and his face yes.  but not his eyes. how he resists.   the images forced on him are strong.  at least it’s what the dying ones say when i am lucky enough to hear them.  

yet he is there.  sinking.  and waiting.  for the platform he knows will come. he can not help it. i am all he sees now. another snap and a shadow.  the platform is near. and, too, the mechanics riding it.   to pull the limp body from the crowd.  there is momentary glee in his eyes.  his steady eyes.  hungry and waiting.  but it passes as the shadow moves away.  “you cannot escape for long.”  that’s what his eyes tell me. burrowing in through my naked face.  i can nearly hear him. the pressure eases and i take in a gulp of air and smell his rotting breath.  

another snap.  and a scream this time.  i treasure the dying screams.  the only Truth i know anymore.  i forgot all the rest.  the ones i was told.  the ones who told me even.   but not the man between the heads.   what would he say. or would he just die.  too many scars. and his skin bleeding in too many places.  from fighting the Wires all his life.  and the rapid twitching in his face.  the Wires forcing the muscles.  he cries.  he laughs.  he speaks too rapidly for me to hear.  not me.  not now.  not without the Wires.  i wonder if he envies me.  my avoidance.   “they never found me!”  i scream in a whisper to him -- to explain my uncovered face.  i wait for a reply.  but the Wires are too strong.  and his resistance too weak for the pain. he only smiles and then cries and then laughs.  it is what they do,  the Wires.  with everything in the face but the eyes.  and the fantasies take care of the eyes for most.  

but the mechanics eventually find me.  the platform floating in air and the two men leaning out.  searching.  “here,”  i whisper.  as best i can between the short choppy breaths.  one points.  “over there,” he says to the other.  they hover above me and place the Helmet on my head.  they leave.  “its my time, now,” i whisper to the air.  to the man between the heads.  as the Wires work into my skin.  the fantasies begin to creep into my brain. i look one last time at the man between the heads. his eyes smile in triumph, oblivious to my newly found conformity.  his shoulder assumes an odd shape as it dislocates. finally his arm is free. he raises it up over his head.  his eyes gleam in victory. he curls his arm around his scalp and wedges his elbow into the mass of people above him.  he grasps the side of his jaw and flicks his mighty torso.  i hear the snap of his broken neck.  and see the slow release of breath as his head flops over.  


Copyright © Sam Toil | Year Posted 2014

The Great Fa,cade

Not wanting to waste my life, I've learned to cut my seconds in half. When I explained this to a friend all he could do was laugh. Every second that you waste, gives your future self a second you wish to have back. By wasting away all those moments, you can get your life so far off track. So I split my seconds in half thinking every thought that can be found. Now years ahead I think in the future, amazed by the slow process all around. Do not be fooled by the great façade that has been cast before your eyes. Look further into the future, to see your surrounded by nothing but lies. Thoughts that are mentally implanted, within the sub consciousness of your minds. Though you rarely ever notice them, everywhere you look they are easy to find. This world is just a point in time to which you may never return. We all have a purpose in life, and that purpose is what we should learn.
Danny Boy: 11-27-13

Copyright © Dan Kearley | Year Posted 2013

The Gold 'Mind' Within

The Gold 'Mind' Within

Amidst life's drudgery and dins,
In this economic stranglehold,
Zero wastes and empty bins,
Hallmarks of every household.

Ability to extricate self,
From the pressures and momentarily seek relief,
In the comfort of your inner self,
To reflect and reaffirm self belief. 

Ability to explore the eerie dark silence,
Strangely heartening stillness,
Of your mind: a laboratory of science,
For self re-awakening and psychological wellness.

With ideas like tiny light flickers,
Inside black, form-less nothingness,
Flashing left and right like stickers,
Pasted on walls in the depths of emptiness.

Ability to listen, see and focus,
Tap from this 'ideas' gold mine,
Eliminating your mind's hocus-pocus,
Will ensure you drink of life's fine wine.

Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2016



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