When General Meade met General Lee
At Gettysburg in 1863
Sons of the South battled Northern brothers
And neither side has ever recovered
Fifty-one thousand lives lost in three days
Of a summertime swelter, July haze
Souls rose not to heaven from bodies piled
On blood-soaked battlefields spanning 40 miles
An on-scene photographer moved fallen men
To snap better images with his lens
Hats off to Alex Gardner if you please
Today picture-takers’ cameras freeze
At a large bouldered site called Devil’s Den
Sharpshooter hid, killed unsuspecting men
Travelers at night on Pennsylvania roads
Claim they see soldiers, hear cannons explode
A century after the Revolution
United our states to wage war as one
Virginians were forced to choose blue or gray
Mason Dixon Line divided that way
If only Tom Jefferson’s wise notion
Had not been struck from the Declaration
Slavery, the impetus for war and hate
Would have been quashed before State versus State
Gettysburg might have been a peaceful farm
Where soldiers had never succumbed to harm
But restless spirits, faces pale and gaunt
Never retreat from their Gettysburg haunt
Our nation’s darkest hour plays out each night
And passersby still marvel at the sight
Where sons of the South battled Northern brothers
For neither side will ever recover
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
I saw him on the highway
Thought he was insane
Standing with his thumb out
In the pouring rain
I don't usually stop for hitchhikers
But something said I should
Besides, it was raining awful hard
And the wind was blowing good.
I said, "Hop in, it's cold out there.
Where you headed on this stormy night?"
He said, "Down the road, I really don't care
Just somewhere else will be all right.
I ain't got no license, so I'm travelling kind of slow
They just left me out of prison a few nights ago."
I might not have stopped had I known
Now we were on this dark road all alone.
I didn't know if I was in any danger
But as I drove, I listened to this stranger
He spoke of life and of acceptance
He spoke of sin and of repentance
A story of gratitude and saving grace
And I saw a smile come on his face.
He asked if I'd take him a little farther down
And drop him off in another town
I was already late but I said okay
And I listened to his stories along the way.
When he was getting out he said, "Thanks for the hand.
God will bless you. Soon, you'll understand."
There was a new feeling inside me that I found
And I began to turn my life around.
I stopped at the prison to find out about Jack
And tell him how I got my life on track.
The warden listened and he shook his head
Saying, "I have a hard time believing what you said.
It couldn't be Jack, I'm telling you so.
You see, Jack died this day, eighteen years ago."
Angels come in strange forms sometimes.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006
~Soup To Go~
This summer~ all I want is a bowl of soup
A secret flavor that combines every veggie group
An outcast taste of ancient granola herbs
All kinds of extracts that create different verbs
I will leave the table only to dance out in the rain
Round and round in wonder catering out my sweet refrain
I will visit mother and tell her I forgot her recipe
Brag about my soup and how I used and stole her ecstasy
Paint about the life she gives the grounded trees
Think about the sugar that makes me surrender to her sweet debris
I will order me a special~ with the right poetry breeze
Exchange my cookie dough with mothers pollen seeds
Hide behind her oak tree and listen to her endlessly
I can even cook myself a picture making nature my enemy
Close my eyes and smell the mist of self control
Hold on to my emotion and take a sip of my soup bowl
Add extra salt and pepper to every line I manipulate
Swirl my spoon around and smile at every thing I hate
Come sit down with me and collaborate
Lets cabbage out on mothers nature's plate
Wakening up to her blossoming sauce that drips with a certain flow
Driving by her White castle, and stare at another soup to go
Order me; a soup of all the things I see
Order me; a soup made out of mystery
Order me; a soup out of the things I wanna be
Order me; a soup made out of the sadness found inside of me
Order me; a coffee to go with my poetry soup
Type me a funny comment that will add a smile to my food group:-)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011
Some lives are like a stone quickly skipping over the ponds top, forever tossed.
My life is below the surface trying to reach upward with each breathe lost.
But there is still beauty, deep down here in the great depths below…
For the solitude holds me in its grip as I dwell with what I know.
My occasional trips to the surface leave me vastly wanting more…
Still, my life below the surface doesn’t scare me as it did, once before.
And the breaths will come when given, as my life continues to flow.
True it is dark but beauty lingers, everywhere the currents move below.
At times, the surface reflections seem surreal, as if it’s a place not to go.
Comfort comes more and more to my soul, as the deeper I glide below.
Here I dwell within myself, with words, and thoughts, that carry me along.
Perhaps I have found where I truly belong, as I sing my siren songs.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
POW confined in a cage
Through Viet Cong jungles bullets raged
No sweat from his pores in unrelenting sun
Dehydration, famine, yet his needs were none
A tepid river so foul with blood’s scent
But the outcome of torture was not as meant
He tasted cool ice as his spirit soared
Freedom came fast once the war was ignored
Hovering o’er killing fields his soul’s eyes
Saw not the wounded, heard not their cries
Though his weak body lay crumpled below
Pain free he reveled on clouds, heaven’s snow
Through astral projection he’d been set free
Each day he survived, taking this journey
When rescued at last many months gone by
The US militia did not know why
GI Joe felt no hate, seemed so serene
And not one of his rescuers could glean
Why this soldier survived, what kept him sane
For they’d not escaped inside this man’s brain
The awareness he’d achieved spared his life
So he could return to his son and wife
Who’d prayed everyday that he would come home
Only to say they’d never been alone
Their spirits communed on another plane
And life as they’d known it would never be the same
*Entry for Caties Out-of-Body Experience Contest.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
Inspired by the song "Last Kiss" by Pearl Jam
You had just gotten your first car, a 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air,
We were only seventeen years old and neither had a care,
You came over after school and asked me to go for a drive,
We longed for freedom of the road, we never felt so alive.
Always the gentleman, as you opened the powder blue door,
But, after tonight you would be doing this for me no more,
I remember how the moonlight shined off of the chrome,
When you picked me up and I would never return home.
I cannot ever stop thinking about and replaying our past,
I still remember your soft kiss, and it would be our last,
Because, this tender embrace would never happen again,
There was no way that either of us could've known it then.
The impact was so sudden that I felt almost no pain,
As the car swerved out of control into the other lane,
It all happened so fast, there was no time to scream,
Now my existence is a nightmare, just some bad dream.
My body grew cold fast, but I could still feel the heat,
Of the warm blood dripping down onto the leather seat,
I lay there silently, nearly lifeless, held against your shoulder,
It was then I realized that I would not be growing older.
The radio faded away as I closed my eyes for the last time,
What happened to me was an accident, and not a crime,
I will wait for you on this spot, by the very same tree,
Where most people don't notice, but some of them see.
It's an anniversary, it will be 58 years around midnight,
The misting rain and lingering fog will keep me from sight,
As the headlights go flying by, shining from modern cars,
I'm hoping one of them will be you to take me to the stars.
When I do leave this world, side by side we will stand,
And this bad dream will finally be over as you take my hand,
I am waiting to go to heaven, only you can bring me there,
In your brand new, powder blue 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015
My car is equipped with maps and a GPS
With a great fear of getting lost I am obsessed
Men seem to have a different navigation system
Asking for directions is too far beneath them
Tony and I embarked on a cross-country tour
Didn’t start out that way, just took multiple detours
Tony didn’t like the GPS talking voice
Rather than listen, he turned it off by choice
Each time we stopped for gas, I wanted to seek help
But if I approached someone, Tony’d let out a yelp
The White Mountains should have been a hundred-mile drive
With two days on the road, I thought I’d not survive
“Turn right now, make a left, heck just keep going straight”
Commands from the King of the Road did not abate
But it wasn’t until we saw the first palm tree
That I’d had my fill and let out an urgent plea
“Huh,” he replied, “guess YOU drove just a bit off course
Those Canadians will want to see our passports”
“That’s the Mexican border patrol up ahead!”
I screeched, turned around and away I quickly sped
*For Francine's "Whatever You Say, Dear" Contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
It is said that when she was alive
Marilyn Monroe wore Chanel Number five
Yet in death there is doubt
New information has now come out
She ordered 6 bottles of Floris Rose Geranium Scent
For Floris to find this in their records was heaven sent
It was delivered to her hotel when recording ‘Some Like It Hot’
Was this really her favourite scent or not?
Contest: the Scent of Your Soul
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014
The cult of the bone
Chalky and porous and white
as a stone
crushed in a cauldron
in flames in a fire
brewed as a potion
to cure my desire.
Inspired by Anthony Slauson
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
He smiles in my direction as he walks in the door
And laughs at my heart, now a puddle on the floor,
The people walking by turn, point and stare,
I repeat over and over, “there’s nothing there…”
Rains of passion, waves of homicidal angst,
You can’t look backwards and still walk straight,
A million signs are screaming out at you:
Stop-danger-watch out-you’re running too
Quickly, swiftly your friends all walk away,
I’d like to say something, but it’d be so cliché,
Silently you sit and watch them go,
Hoping inside that they don’t know,
Maybe they won’t know, but everybody knows…
I think of you and I think about stars,
Captured fireflies in marmalade jars,
Beautiful reminders of what may have been,
But the fire goes out, and they lay there dead...
He says, “The poison doesn’t do it for me anymore,
I need a pain to leave me lying gasping on the floor,”
My eyes go cloudy as he looks to yesterday,
I say, “I never meant to hurt you anyways...”
It broke my heart, I almost cried
To see you hurting, so broke inside,
Twist, plunge deeper, lemon and salt it so,
Some suffer in silence, I’ve come to know,
You’d rather be alone, you asked me to go...
The colors flew around the walls,
How I got here I don’t recall,
He handed me the bottle and I didn’t think twice,
"Just get rid of the pain, whatever the price..."
I think we danced, at least we may’ve,
Silly boy, to think I’d misbehave,
He said, “I bet I can change your mind,”
Slow down, stop, (learn to) rewind,
“Hold my hand,” I pleaded, to who?
I don’t think so, that’s not something I’d do,
Stop, not there, leave me alone,
I don’t want to be touched anymore…
A glance at the reflection as I pass a mirror,
I thought I saw a smile, but it disappeared,
Spin around and around, a crystal ball,
Reality’s a mist that surrounds us all…
Copyright © Meghan Ziegel | Year Posted 2011
On steamy summer days as warm waves lap the shore
The pelicans pass over in perfect V-form
Their silhouettes appear dark beneath yellow sun
An eerie reminder of a species thought gone
Pterodactyls, you see, first came to mind
When as a small child I looked up to find
Winged creatures with long beaks like dinosaurs
Angular features, pteradactyl norms
I knew nothing then of evolution
But marveled at this species' procession
Casting shadows on crystal sands below
Sparking a child's imaginative flow
Watch closely; can you see the resemblance
Might pterodactyls thrive in the present tense?
Friends, at Yoni's suggestion I am providing the following link (just one of many) regarding
modern-day pterodactyl sightings:
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
There was a little boy so blue.
Amongst the pain of life he grew.
He wondered where he'd be one day,
so, Satan helped to lead the way.
He longed to walk home in the sun,
but evil forces made him run.
The Fallen Angel's sick revenge
was to use children to avenge.
He made them bullies; very cruel.
"Persecute this child to - and - from school!"
No one to trust to teach him well,
so evil led his pride to swell.
There was a little girl as well.
Who grew up in a different hell.
She was abandoned by her Mom.
Her life was anything but calm.
She was adopted by a frigid pair,
but she longed for love and truth to share.
Nobody seemed to fit the mold,
Consumed with lies that she was told.
Satan also grabbed this chance.
She ran through life without a glance.
A player; she could not commit.
Her soul-mate had to be legit.
Now, he's my husband; I am his wife.
I finally took that chance in life.
For I was ready to forgive,
But he had never learned to live.
How ironic, that these two should meet.
I'm ready to ground; he runs in defeat. .
Now here I sit back at the start,
While my "soul-mate's" going to break my heart.
See, he's still a runner and I'm here to stay.
Two people can't grow if one is this way.
He promised to give his soul to me,
But I am still one in this unity.
We have since decided to compromise and things are much better.
Copyright © Astrid Ivy Gibbs | Year Posted 2008
She bounced right off of Saturn's rings
nnnnnnnnnnnnnweaving through the stars.
She had her fill of earthly things.
Like cantelopes and cars.
She only yearned to start anew,
she only meant to try,
to do the things she couldn't do,
Like look me in the eye.
She treads the silver surface,
twinxt Jupiter and Mars,
The Ether's cold but she grows bold
and relishes the scars.
She navigates the cosmos,
with glitter in her hair,
The stardust lands,
on all her hands,
but still she doesn't care .
She won't bring back a Moonstone,
she won't bring back a rock.
She flies alone
out on her own............
I think the girl's in Shock.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
Seeing God’s wonder
Six lovely swans they surf the lake
Oh, what a picture they do make
So graceful, and so handsome too
I sit here by the lake, I do
Watch the ripples made by breeze
I look at lovely waving trees
I marvel at these swans so black
As swamp hens wander down the track
What is the world we’re living in?
We humans make it oh so grim
Yet beauty it is everywhere
Showing that God is always there
Smiling down with his caring eyes
Even though we are not too wise wise
He showers us with so much joy
While all we do is just destroy
So I just sit here by the lake
Loving my life for loves own sake
Gaining wisdom from life’s sweet love
As falcon circles high above
Bringing to me his majesty
Introducing God’s mystery
I feel the joy of everything
As angels posed as birds, do sing
31 March 2016
Copyright © Lazy dog Smith | Year Posted 2016
The breath of mystery
To live on earth and never see
The breath of life’s sweet mystery
Is surely such a waste of life
It makes one sad, and filled with strife
Beauty is to be admired
Yet many things that be desired
They do not have this quality
Mundane things be not for me!
I walk for miles amidst the trees
And let sweet nature shine in me
I love lakes and rivers too
These through my words I give to you.
When I’m old and bound to die
Let me beneath the blue skies lie
Then let this body join the Earth
As soul will seek another birth
When I come back, I yearn to be
A creature filled with mystery
Don’t bring me back a mundane fellow
Give me a life all sweet, and Mellow.
Copyright © Lazy dog Smith | Year Posted 2017
Adoration grows tenfold, sublime serenity convenes
Above the starry skies I see legends meet
Cloaked in a whisper of a mist delighting the mind’s eye
Gently gliding towards my sight I draw a deep sigh
Contemplation of wispy memories long said
Succumbing to whimsical, perhaps unheeded shred
Great beauty insistent in its plight
Grips my very haphazard sight
Alas I cry but I look anew
Surrendering to wondrous view
Conjoining eves amid midsummer’s bathed conviviality
Intensely gorgeous plateaus encounter mystical assembly
Magnificent sceneries encompass still untouched milieu
Astonishment weathered by saturating the view
Stilled backdrops sprouting splendour inspired
Awed by intimate fervour the mind remains wired
When days have dawned and dusk has drawn
Pray hear me do not grow untimely forlorn
For the day may draw to a close but know
Another so splendid will surely grow
Copyright © FATHIMA DAWOOD | Year Posted 2008
from stranger eyes
than the ones who see you now
tip your hat and take a bow.
you have fooled the greater masses
with your cape and opera glasses,
know your name,
and the source of all your fame
try to keep your world in focus,
you have found us through the ages
wielding warlocks and their sages
you desire to see the ending
of the arc of time you're bending,
fades to black
you face the ending of the track,
can't hide the darkness
in your eyes,
angels tremble in suspense
to watch the last of grand events
the stage is set,
the players rise,
the Dragon faces
and you must face
your own disaster
if satan truly is your master.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
From his pocket
on the beach she knew so well,
In his eyes the moon
where had he been?
and not alone.........
on his skin an aura
from the sea....
scales of silver...
one two three.........
clutched there in his
the mermaid left him
on dry land.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
The taste of homemade Carmel so sweet/ everyone I know desires the treat.
After one night in the kitchen covered/ half the pan gone, next morning discovered.
Is it my beagle Lily whom loves any food? / she seems in a hyper beagle mood.
I know I heard a squeak in the night / a dream ? No, for low was the kitchen light.
T'was my husband, for he can't resist/ soft , buttered brown sugar , a Vanilla twist.
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
I saw a little button,
It was lying on the floor,
I wondered who had lost it
And looked around for more.
It hadn’t come from Donna
Or from Stuart’s nice new shirt,
And it wasn’t Kelly’s button
That was lying in the dirt.
I couldn’t find who lost it
I had a worried frown.
But now I know the answer,
My trousers just fell down.
Copyright © May Fenn | Year Posted 2015
Mysterious orb of silvery light
please shine down on me tonight.
Fill me with your wondrous light
whisper to me your secrets this night.
Do not seek the cover of clouds
I need your light with all its shrouds.
Paint the world with glorious light rays
and light up all the deeply hidden bays.
Moon, oh dear moon blessed you be
always light up the right way for me.
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
In the beginning thus Prometheus who loved mankind
Stealing fire from the Gods of Mt Olympus
Then to Earth he did resign
Man marveled at fire’s glowing light
Finding comfort from its warmth at night
Rocks which surrounded the campfire pit
Melted their metals into the ashy spit
Man’s observant brilliant idea dawned
A forge a hammer a chisel and a spear
Once ferocious King of the beast who roared death
Learned to tremble with fear
Bellows of goat skins did man blow across the red hot coals
The white hot warmth thus saturated the metal into hammer and fold
Pound the copper beat the tin-
So man did master the fire therein
Shields and weapons- tools and blades
Due the love of Prometheus made friend
We the man did gratefully accept
To Prometheus we are in his debt
And for his trouble did Zeus make plain
To steal from a God is unforgivable and disdain
Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2013
Walking alone in the middle of the night
Holding hands with the cold in the pale moon light
I hear more than my footsteps; look over my back
The shadows from the trees were on the attack
I walked a bit faster, my heart began to race
The mist from my breath teased the skin on my face
Should I make a right? But I look to the left
In between my imagination and reason sat a cleft
I began to panic, but what the heck for?
Because fear was of the essence and nothing more
Sounds ricocheted off of who knows where
Like a scene displaced from your worst nightmare
Something was watching or following me
I was just waiting for something to jump out of a tree
Or grab my shoulder or touch my back
Causing me to urinate before I have a heart attack
I took a deep breath and leaned against the next street light
It must be my mind playing tricks on me tonight
Copyright © Kristina Reid-Hansen | Year Posted 2011
Love is a mystery
with excellent archery
shoots at a stance
making the heart dance
when souls meet
creating memory sweet
days transpire at a pace
as if time is at race
when cupid strikes
who dare cross?
for it pricks
with a sharp dose.
© Nadiya (14 Jan '15)
Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015
< this poem is not about what is written, but what is not written
like the smile upon her face that looks nil and somewhat smitten
and lochs of hair hanging instead of with bows and lace
tell me my angelic angel have you fallen from God's good grace
has your garments of thread gone out of time
has your dance with the butterflies gotten out of rhyme
have you been cast from your lovers heart
or are you just looking to start over with brand new start
has clouds silver lining rained upon your dreams
has leafs dance gone frozen in crystal streams
time stands still amidst wondering thoughts
time stands still when lovers cant be sought
Written By Katherine Stella 7/4/11
Entry For A Rambling Poet's
The Unwritten Contest
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2011
He was young and attractive and quite debonair,
An upstanding young man who was going somewhere.
Or so it would seem if you knew not his history.
To we in the know he’s repulsive dark mystery.
When I think of it now I feel chills descending,
He went to same school my child was attending.
But as far as I know, he hadn’t yet killed.
At that art, with practice, he became very skilled.
In 1974 women were disappearing.
While Ted with his studies was still persevering.
He had way of asking for their sympathy
By pretending to have broken arm or bum knee.
By now the police knew their suspect was called Ted
Clued in by some girls who escaped being dead.
Many others who listened were not seen again
And parents were left with unbearable pain.
Not born in our state, had moved here at age five
So much better if he’d been born dead not alive.
Wherever he went there was death visitation.
The mysteries were a multi-state-wide sensation.
Nita Neary came home and found her door ajar.
She saw a man carry a log to his car.
What she found in her home were two roommates dead.
Each was bludgeoned to death in her very own bed.
He was stopped by police for traffic violation,
What they found in his car was a gross aberration.
There were handcuffs and ice-pick, crowbar, and mask.
He was questioned by those with right questions to ask.
He was arrested and tried for his various crimes
But somehow escaped from justice three times.
Wherever he went he was brutal and bold.
His last victim of all was just twelve years old.
Ted Bundy died in the electric chair
The most hated man that ever went there,
A hundred dead females at least was the count.
Other lives shattered, unrecorded amount.
Written May 26, 13 A true story.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2013
Some call it an aphrodisiac.
They say it gives a man a strong back.
Like a good woman, turtle soup makes no sense;
Can something so delicate be so intense?
Like a woman, the flesh has several delightful flavors.
Remember, each mouthwatering sensation should be savored.
When you taste her, bask freely in the sapidity,
Acquire the feel for this pure tortoise delicacy.
Don’t rush, familiarize your taste buds.
There is no such thing as a first sight love.
Recognize, there is a mystique behind that hard shell.
Did someone say turtle soup? That does not ring a bell.
Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010
I was wandering barefoot in the snow
What a journey I had to sow
I knew this wasn’t something I would normal indulge in
A strange kind of winter walk without a coat in the wind
But I continued my lonely trudging anyway
The skies where a dire dark gray
Somehow although it felt cold it didn’t feel wet or unbearable
Perhaps this was the end? Some kind of parable
I was somewhere I didn’t want to roam
My mission was clearly to find my way home
Every passageway I strove to push through came up empty
This was not the happy land of plenty
Why couldn’t I find the end?
Was there some impending trickery around the bend?
I felt a strong frustration descend over me
I saw the strange face of an unknown banshee
Screams and tears plumed out of loss and shame
I was repeatedly calling out my husband’s name
Distorted, destroyed no one spoke
Thank God it ended I woke
Inspired by the “I dreamed contest”
Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2010
We all saw the sunflowers turn their heads by day
But who saw the fairies turn them 'round the other way?
Copyright © Marco Bing | Year Posted 2014
Legends abound from society to society
But Norwegians have one that evokes great anxiety
A mythical sea monster of immense proportions
May be fifty-feet long, or its size has some distortions
With enormous tentacles it’s said to have grabbed sailors
Squeezing and consuming the bodies of Nordic whalers
Is the Kraken truly a product of Norwegian lore?
Perhaps its targeted vessels fell to the ocean floor
“Fish tales” are popular in many seas throughout the world
But the Kraken is a squid and many ships it has hurled
Since the concept originated in Norwegian tales
Giant squid sightings are reported wherever man sails
The Kraken is surely a most intriguing sailors’ yarn
But Norwegians take heed of the tall tales that warn
For none wish to test the near-impossible validity
Of a Nordic legend ripe with vivid morbidity
*Written July 18, 2014 for Anne-Lise’s contest
(I will not be able to respond to comments at this time)
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014