They expected her to be the jolly fun one.
The one w e a r i n g a smile on her face.
So she became.....who they wanted her to be
She was quick with her wit, telling her practiced fat jokes.
It was a pre-emptive strike of sorts
her attempt to remove the target
from what some thought was her "considerable ass".
Never again wanting to be the "butt" of people's jokes!
She remembers the year she was "Chubby Checker"
the year her parents gave her that checkered jacket
she also remembers how hard she cried.
They laughed and one boy sang
"Big Girls Don't Cry----- they don't cry!"
She vowed to herself on that very day
"I will never ever cry again!"
There were the many diets
the yo yo effect..."Yo big girl, lookin good"
Friends asking her "have you lost weight?"
Those "good for you"s!!!!
The attention felt good in a way
but the weight she'd lose seemed to come back the next day.
Somehow the cursed food felt like her only true friend
the only one on whom she could depend.
The food never judged her
instead it filled the empty sad part
the part that weighed nothing
yet felt like it weighed a thousand pounds!
The part that felt lighter when she was full
it somehow felt like a hug from the inside.
She stopped eating in public
not wanting to hear comments like
"she could do without that ice cream."
There were also the buffet comments
"She's going to get her money's worth!"
Still what hurt even worse
were the nice people
the trying to be kind people
the ones who felt sorry for her people
Saying "all you need to do is lose a few pounds."
or "you have such a pretty face."
Some people would tell her "You're just big boned."
Then there was comment she hated the most
"You have such a great personality!"
For she knew it was all part of the "Fat Girl Show"
the persona she had gifted to them.
Then came the day
that epic day she stopped joking.
When she smiled when she wanted to smile
when she dressed in the ways she wanted to dress.
She embraced the form she was given
she celebrated all of her curves.
She decided to eat when she was hungry
nourishing and loving her body
she allowed colourful foods to occupy her plate.
Strangely, she started losing some weight
but it wasn't her goal
for inside she was becoming whole.
Skinny was not who she needed to be!
When tears came she allowed them to flow free
she was no longer her own enemy
The more she cried
the less she felt her empty.
She learned, everyone
y e s.... everyone,
has some kind of insecurity!
No one is completely who they wish to be
some have hidden bits
others are more obvious,
even if some are somewhat oblivious.
She now has learned to be a compassionate witness
one who is much kinder to herself
she doesn't keep her thoughts on a shelf
So when others make jokes
or give painful pokes...
She tells them "That's hurtful and it's not okay",
"I'm who I am and I'm perfect this way!"
Maybe next time they will consider what they say.
For today and tomorrow and every other day forward
she is more than some number on a scale that she weighs
or some joke in an insensitive phrase.
She now can be and see her true self in extrodinary ways
March 27th 2016
Any Poem 36
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
I wish to claim
My yesterday sillyness
My crinkled nose grininess
That hide and seekiness
Spin the bottle
kind of geekiness
My hand in the cookie jarness
That pushing too farness
Collecting comic charminess
Hidden playboy kinda business
Cop a feel inquisitiveness
Being a bit
A true life witness
Loving the mysterious
Laughing more than being serious
What it was all aboutness
Thinking that it lead to freeness
I'd know just how to be ness
Eating what I want
Staying up late kinda keeness
Now I wonder
What was the rushness
To reach adultness
Full of it's doubtiness
What's it all aboutness
I witness it's dreamlessness
It's no longer about me-ness
To much sane-ness
Routine and sameness
No one cares if you cameness
Less is less
And more is moreness
Can't see the trees
Through the dark forest
So grab onto your girliness
I'll bring my boyness
There will be more
No more boringness
We'll spin in circles
Enjoy our dizziness
Is a serious business!
I wrote this one in December 2014.
I am now proud to enter it into Shadow's contest.
I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing it.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
She sings in soft tones,
her magic exists beyond the obvious.
Listen closely to her wanting,
She is wrapped in a trancendent light.
chasing white rabbits.
Grasping for the infinite,
with delicate hands.
Dances within her luminosity.
Flying on yesterday's wings,
carrying smiles that are meant for tommorow.
Witness her as she waits to exhale.
A daisy chain,
tied around her wrist.
A future promise to be kept.
For within her spirit,
exists a burning passion!
She waits for one who is worthy,
of her consuming flame
Although she is unaware,
hers is a temporary sadness.
Happiness flirts at the edge of her dreaming,
waiting for an open window.
His shadow hidden behind frosted glass.
Shades of green,
turn brilliant yellow!
Buttercups dance around her feet.
Her laughter floats across the meadow,
as happiness runs to her open arms.
Together they skip, towards her apple tree.
For hers is a faith that trancends the temple.
Her spirit sought and found salvation.
He had been with her all along,
I can see it in her smile.
The rain has passed and sunshine now resides in her eyes!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
“Snake looks scary for us and
we look scary for the snake!
Always try to see yourself
from the eyes of others!”
~ Mehmet Murat ildan
lay in wait behind a scrub,
eager to jeer-on
the plan was to hunt me down
the streets of suburbia.
Four bushwhacked me,
flashed a two foot garter snake —
the game changed
as I reached out,
gentled that alarmed coil
of gilded black, then snatched it
like a charmer or sage river warrior
who knows no mere boy
will fully grasp
why some skin must eventually be shed,
the reason serpents
wizen pulled braids & how blood
can bless a thigh
when fangs finally unleash
the Medusa we truly are.
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2016
A small little word
And yet so hard to say
It tempts me to say
Maybe I can make it work
I so desperately want to say yes
To see you disappointed
Those times when I have no time
When I am stretched to the limit
One on top of the other
The important less important things in my life
When I have no energy
No extra to give
No way of knowing if I'm making a mistake
I say no to give myself a break
Some space to breathe
Is meant to protect
No you can't go
To that party
Spend time with that girl
Hang out with that guy
No I won't change my mind
Even though I have to be the bad guy
No is a declaration
That I care for you
I want only the best
I want no harm to come to you
No is a tool I use to strengthen you
No you can't quit
You must finish what you start
There is no better feeling
Than seeing you succeed
Those times I said
"No, you can do it on your own."
Even though I desperately wanted to help
No meant I trusted and believed in you
You can do more than you think you can
No one is more proud of you
I wish you to know
The power of no
When it comes to a girl
No really does mean no
When you are put in an awkward place
You don't have to say yes
Choose your no wisely
No I don't want to go
No I don't want another drink
No I have somewhere else to be
No I will not let you treat her that way
No you cannot cross that line
No I deserve better than that
Yes, no is a small little word
It can change your path
Give you time to breathe
No, opens up possibilities
That is right for you
Yes or no
I believe you will choose wisely
Even though no
Can be a hard word to say
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
She who sends waves touching beautiful warm and gracious words
Draws bright sunshine smiles in our hearts as they sing in her grace
Flowing from the heart her beauty held in her Quill ready to write
Pure diamond sparkling rainbows as a true friend is a friend in deed
The tidal wave raises fine soaked sand from the bottom of the ocean
And the waves curl out pearl white reflecting a most Picture Perfect
Image that is truly splendid and always sublime to behold and cherish
As Nature’s soft wind caresses your aura and inspires your next poem
She who sends these very waves touching beautiful personifies a Muse
So rare, so special—and brings her influence and talents to bear in
Masterfully supporting the efforts of fellow poets and dreamers as they
“Spill Ink” on blank pages late at night crafting their next poetic masterpiece
The very power and wonder of her good works and positive influence are
Always there magnificently arrayed like pure beams of sunshine touching
And dazzling all in her reach quite profoundly with the magic of her thoughts
And the quiet courage of her convictions as the simply wonderful poet she is
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem (Free Verse Poem),
November 26, 2014
NOTE: Written in Honor of Anne-Lise Andresen for Her Fine Poetry and For
Her Continued Professional Support and Encouragement of Other Fellow Poets.
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
I clasp your hand the moment I realise I will fall alone
You grit your teeth in anger holding me as I dangle there
Your jawline is rock hard, the veins on your head popping out,
You are breathing in and out in desperate fear of losing me
But your lightening, determined eyes shoot through me and say,
"Damn it all!
I love you
I will never let you go"
The mountain's edge falls around me and below us
But I will not look down
Gravity is pissed
With all of my strength I hurl my shoulder upwards so that my other hand clasps your arm
You pull me up to safety and draw me into your fiery embrace
Nothing will take us but each other...
I know this and sob in your arms
I have never fallen so in love with you
In that moment when death was so close
From here, we will rise
Kiss me relentlessly through all destruction,
You have taught me that
Every mountain will fall before us
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
Courage is understanding
and confronting reality...
Cowardliness wounds us with its lies,
courage binds us in its Grace...
The moral courage to share love is in and
of itself our most vigorous defense of fear...
Self-respect can be lost
in the cowardice of silence...
Bravery bears no chain of betrayal...
The pain of failure is
the most useful tool of courage...
God did not endow us with the will to die
but with the courage we bring to living...
Fear could be an extraordinary opportunity
that may never be presented to us again, seize it...
The purest form of bravery
lives in an artist's heart...
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2016
-Dr President Lady, please launch the nuclear war button-
I'm packing up my girdle; I'm heading up state
Where society thinks only men should run for president
Chill with Bill, on the side show Hill
Subsequently, he got tripped up with his hand in the biscuit jar
This poem is not about me... It's not about, Hilary
I'm here to cheer and throw off an early vote voluntarily
I'm numbering my days with the aces
Until the 2016 U.S. Presidential election
Only in a woman, you’ll find confidence and determination,
Someplace out there is our leading lady in disguise
A woman who sits down and pee's with pride
A woman Like Hilary, whose place was denied in the sun
I will vote for a woman who is not afraid to lead,
Grab up her crotch, and fight for all the right reasons
Repaint the town white and her fingernails red
Blue lipstick in the breeze, a tommy gun in her possession
A million dollar diamond ring,
A mink from all cultures of the globe
Sing hallelujah, Amen Praise the Lord!
Pink ribbons of freedom,
China can test all her might,
It's time to feel the empowerment of a woman's delight
There she’ll be’, sit down and enjoy,
When it’s time to hear her voice,
The bullet will miss her beautiful mind,
She'll Raid the Democratic Nomination moment of the blind
Her ego on the side; when it's time to reason with society
Feel the shattered glass feeling when sharks attack whitey
Cop Out the Republican Bully
Black Ops the Democratic Liar
For women can reach, preach, and teach,
Nursing a world, collaborating with every mind
A barrier to be breached, a blessed moment to come,
If you require a true hit, vote for a woman in the Oval Office
Who said Mrs. Wonderbra can’t launch the nuclear war button
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
You Are The One I think of the most.You know and carry unconditional love.You have experienced the pains of pains.When You're not in My presence to walk with Me;My mind carries You and holds You deep in thought.The pureness that grows from Good devours The Evil...The walls of Your Heart fall down and open into fields No One Else can possible reach,love,know,or roam.The Wisdom of Your Fields develop and rules Valleys.Valleys expand into Vast Kingdoms filled with Knowledge,Power,and Intelligence...Across The Horizon lies The Kingdom of Heaven in boundaries of grey only a Lion Heart can visualize.The Strength of a Castle is built by Your Own two hands held by Fate.Only a Lion Heart has the keys to open the doors and the ability to cross through the rooms furnished with Destiny untold.A candle is lit.You pace the rhythm with a steady beat.Your Heart restores The Eternal Light with-in.Truth becomes factual.The Greenness of Facts unfold into Beautiful Gardens. Among The Gardens indescribable Rays of Hope appear with Faith as Your Spirit.Your Spirit becomes excelled by love.... LOVE Blossoms into The Reality of Freedom. Freedom is enhanced by Courage...The Courage of A Lion Heart that holds Forgiveness for All. With-in Your Heart A Garden of desire is standing firm and grounded...Could it be possible that You have A Lion Heart? Respect,Understanding,Love;that is Everlasting Serenity... I often wonder where this comes from as an Orion of ringing appears undetectable in Ones Ears... The Lion roars and The Angels sing softly with an inner Peace.May Your Gift of Acceptance Shine-On...From A Creator;to an Angel,better yet A Lion Heart.Walk among The Winners just for Today...
By Charlene L. Wilcox 03-24-2014
Copyright © Charlene Wilcox | Year Posted 2014
oh, let me tell you a twisted tale . . .
of robin hood and a merry band of followers
but my story does not take place in folklore but in reality
todays story is of an archer, a person skilled with swords and words
skilled in disguise, taking many false faces
and like robin hood of ancient tales, draped in green but this green is jealousy
like the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together
blanketed in secrecy, having no moral compass to guide the evil
oh the hate is a cancer on my poems and beautiful words
my poetry a garden ravaged by this outlaw with a sharp arrow
devious, crafty, sly, calculating, deceitful, fake, scheming, shifty
we know each false disguise you hide behind
every fraudulent name and game
oh, back to the story . .
lets raise the curtain to this ancient tale
this robin hood and a merry band of followers
pretend to be good and kind but shoot arrows
trying to murder my words
from dark hidden places, mingling joyfully
shifty and crooked, shady but quite artful in ways of destruction
a shining star shaped shield of silliness
the way is dangerous in this spider web of lies
bloods seeps from my broken heart like red tears
leaf-strewn gales utter low wails like violins on my murdered poems
robin hood and the merry band of followers
spit them out like stones
and when I read their words, the words squirm like snakes
robin hood of ancient lore stole from the rich to give to the poor
this robin hood steals our poetic muse
not quite the hero of old
but be assured your swords and sharp arrows are nothing to me
because my poems will sail like swans on quiet waters long after you
are burning down below for your deceitful ways
January 21, 2016
For the contest, Twisted Robin Hood
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016
He fills his syringe with poisoned words
pulling the letters one by one from his rusted spoon
They rise up through the needle in perfect order
"Disgusting" "failure" "worthless" "loser"
There in the cylinder they mix together
until they are a perfect black ink
Although he no longer sees the words
their meanings are not lost on him
As he injects them into his arm
he feels the blackness
Ink travels slowly up his arm towards his heart
At first he enjoys the burning sensation
as capital letters make way for the smaller ones
In the moment he's convinced they are lies
When they reach his heart
he becomes a true believer
By choosing to be less than he is
he occupies his excuses
The I can'ts and never coulds
The poor me's
All the reasons
he's not good enough
The words stack one on top of the other
until his heart is filled with empty
Somehow this comforts him
He holds tightly to
It's not my fault
It's just the way it is
His is a waking dreamless slumber
only lies seem believable
So he injects another word
Then a question
"Why do others have all the luck?"
Someone who cares
Takes a silver spoon
Fills it up with better words
Feeds him nourishing words
Smart, tenacious, kind and happy
He starts with small sips
one letter at a time
in front of him a golden bowl
filled to the brim with phrases
"You are Lovable"
"Anything is possible"
"Your opinion is important"
At first he is convinced they are lies
Until they reach his gut
Until he becomes a true believer
Taking everything to heart
Satiating his empty
Now he can see beyond what he thought was impossible
His actions speak louder then words
His life is not a wasted gift
From this day forward
He's living his life to the fullest!
Inspired by Jai Bankson's poem "The Habit" check it out!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
REVISED with an additional last stanza:
He raises the rebel banner of courage high for the sake of his causes
Boldly, he takes a stance for the rights of others...
a modern day William Wallace...this rebel does have a brave heart.
Though his sword is raised over his head, his weapon of choice
is not one so deadly, but sharpened each day.
He has battle scars, but he wears them proudly, those visible
and the ones no one but he can see...and feel. None so deep to
prevent him from marching; always leading his army...
his fellow patriot rebels. They await the next attack. Surely it will
come, but from where...from whom? Enemies hide in the dark,
disguised...cloaked and masked. They try to rob people of their dignity
with insults, and innuendos. They slander the innocent... malign the
good name of the rebel; this modern day Robin Hood doesn't rob,
but he does help the poor and the persecuted.
He is an able leader... Admired by those who follow him..
A rebel fighting for his beliefs and those of his patriot band.
Fierce when need arises, but humble and kind... a modern day Sir
Galahad. Though peril awaits him each day, he presses on to meet his
challenges and his challengers. Defeat is a word he will never accept.
Perish that thought, for this rebel has a good heart. Courage in the face of
conflict; he rises to full height to face his defiant foes.
Victory will belong to him. His battle cries ring out!
I must amend my opinion of the Rebel as is befitting a coward
hiding behind the mask of humility. Courage is a quality you lack.
Able to lead the innocent astray, how shameful and deceptive.
If I take away your bow, how mighty will you be then?
No Galahad would ever stoop to calling people slanderous names.
William Wallace would turn his back on the likes of you.
I throw your banner into the mud and trounce upon it until it turns black.
Silent One - I expose you for the coward that you really are.
Lin Lane ~ November 19th, 2015 Revised May 27th, 2016
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015
I need to hide
to drown my sorrow
to not feel obligated to stay a secret
the darkness to blanket my self inflicted pain
the thunder to stifle my screams
the lightening to set me on fire
I need it to rain...
I need to be revitalized and invigorated
to feel serene and tranquil
to be calm and collected
the darkness to bring me peace
the thunder to direct my mind
the lightening to guide my heart
I need it to rain...
I need to escape
to feel the ground at my feet
to feel the wind in my hair
the darkness to blind my captor
the thunder to clap in approval
the lightening to sever my shackles
I need it to rain...
I need to grow
to heighten my potential
to cultivate and thrive
the darkness to shelter my fraility
the thunder to ward off any imminent danger
the lightening to strike as my weapon
I need it to rain...
I need to be laid to rest
for someone to cry for me
for someone to long for me
the darkness to resemble my abscence
the thunder to echo my voice through your ears
the lightening to flash visions of me before your eyes
I need it to rain...
Copyright © VALERIE THE HEAVY HEARTED POET | Year Posted 2013
I am in your arms tonight
Can you feel me there?
All I am is breaking,
And I need your heart to hold
Together let us search through the rubble
To find treasures others would be blind to
I know that if I search with you
We will find happiness
We will find that love is kind
Your strength...I need it now
My words are running cold
Please hold me now
I have lost a soul I cannot bear
I have lost a part of me in a tumultuous sea
Of anger, misunderstanding and sadness...
As all of reality fades into us,
I ask you to show me your deepest side,
Your most beauteous light
So when I close my eyes in this fantasy
I will see beyond the pain
And into flawless you
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
When time claims the earthly bonds of space
My heart will caress the vision of love's warmly face
Just remember.. I love you..in time you will see
We were meant to be adored..for all eternity
When heaven claims you as her own grace
It shall over flow and fill your heart with joy
Just remember..God loves you..in time you will see
We were meant to be loved..for all eternity
When love claims its tender wings to fly
Under love's canopy where Angels sigh
Just remember..my heart is yours..in time you will see
We were meant to be cherished..for all eternity
When we cross love's bridge ever warm
Like two sparrows small, in love's storm
Just remember..I love you..in time you will see
We were meant to be joined..for all eternity
Written by: Mystic Rose & Frederic Parker
December 23, 2015
Thank you Frederic for being such a light in my life....
Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015
Heart Washed Ashore
“The sun of my reason has set.
My thoughts have set sail and
My heart was washed ashore last night.
Take me to the bottom of the ocean.
There, I will build you a sandcastle.”
I asked you to bring me something from your memories.
You brought me all the stars in the Universe;
You brought me their gleam, their glimmer.
And I, I stood there consumed by their warmth.
In that moment, I realized that you will always love me more.
I waited for the dewdrop to come home;
But you painted for me dark blue skies and thunder.
The clouds brought me to you and I stayed; I stayed
Because there was no part of me that hadn't felt the rain.
In that moment, I realized you were my comfort; my ease.
I stretched out my hand to touch that petal.
And you flooded me with peaches and flowers,
You made me believe in Orange trees and destinies;
I watched our euphoria take over my dreams.
In that moment, I realized that you were my escape.
I let myself fall asleep on your lap and heard our time tick away.
I guessed correctly then, that Time would be our antagonist.
And I must say, she played it quite well.
I couldn’t feel the scent of your laughter anymore.
In that moment, I realized that I had already lost you.
I'm sorry I let my mind strike those words out;
I hadn't realized that they were stories from another world;
I hadn't realized that I was erasing your dream.
I'm sorry I didn't even feel the heat of your fire;
I was so consumed in mine.
Think of happy places, happy people; they said.
But in all my thoughts, I saw myself with you.
You are my happiness. The period I refused to place.
You are the ink-spot that refused to wash off.
Come be my snowfall again; I promise I won’t hurt the flakes.
Our yesterdays were so beautiful. Oh yes, they were!
They've held most of our smiles and best of our memories.
Frightened at the sight of our dreams coming true
I don't want our tomorrows to meet.
So hold my hand one last time and wish me a Good Life.
Let our destinies lay buried under the shade of our Orange Tree.
18 October 2016
Words Drowned In Tears Poetry Contest
Copyright © Neethu Roy | Year Posted 2015
When your world darkens
When your will gets shattered
When your fire becomes weak
when your strings get cut
When your heart gets broken
When your about to give in
Think of why you have come this far
Think of why your fire is still burning
Let it fuel you, let it ignite your soul
No matter what the world throws at you
No matter how bad you hurt, and want to give up
You must never give in and submit
Get up and take back control
Push yourself to the limits, never falter, never surrender
Pick up the pieces, get new strings, ignite yourself
Make the darkness fear your will of fire, for you pain is temporary
The darkness will burn, it will weaken
Your will of fire will guide you and others out of the dark and into a new dawn
Copyright © Unknown Unknown | Year Posted 2016
Come closer, just a little closer
break down the barriers and rise
over the blindness where one can see
your bits of beauty silently eluding me
Shade the penciled lines highlighting hues
of black and white with rainbow eyes
a kaleidoscope decorating nature's view
savoring every ounce of innocence true
Let your petals float in an essence of trust
leave lasting wafts of honey upon my lips
linger awhile letting our wanton ways exist
just come closer and I'll take the hurt away
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017
Eyes can feel the unseen
Before it is verbalized and organised in pain
They seize innocent criminals that abuse letters
Eyes of creativity don’t feel no pity
They endlessly seek traumatized emotions in numerous seasons
These eyes live in the back of every tongue rotation
These eyes pee tears like polluted rain drops
Urinating deceases polluting the already sick tears
They lecture life with pride
Eyelashes that endlessly spray hope in words with no doubt
Eyes on words prefer no sun glasses but stanzas
They speak darkness in all artistic graphics
They visualize visions in brain map fantasies
A place with more sins and judgments they visit
They speak non-rated missions
When the world is rude to you don’t be picky on dreams
Dreams are never on vacation
These eyes can sense
These eyes are like pens
They are fans of disappointments while contribution stepladders
It’s like a clan
They reproduce stomach cramps using fertile words
The family of giving and receiving
Eyes on words speak in mute expressions
They build towers of tomorrow’s errors
Buildings that look down on problems
Eyes on words are like cold visions with no ice
© Raymond Ngomane
Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014
I could care less about the four
corners of insults,
That intelligence invites;
It is always the first straw of
grass that’s grows,
which reveals the popular outcast;
As a youth, I found my image cut down
into this manufactured silhouette.
Drenched in social rain, my peers
had never found me more alienated,
Then when I spoke fluently of diverse
They did everything in their power to provide
a verbal umbrella,
However, the texture remains weak and
This stormy parade that remains’ dripping is
indeed an afterthought,
For within this cranial mansion resides
For the more abstract and surreal
elements of life;
It is that secluded gland which reveals
the renaissance of men, who wear
Now wearing the shoes of a young
A taste of charisma resides in my
However this slight addiction to external
Comes in second to my first drug of
Membership into this fraternity may take a lifetime;
So don’t be surprised when resistance
knocks at your door,
Intimidated by the lion that dwells within
Indeed intellect is the misunderstood
That blossoms sweeter when accepted.
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2013
R.I.P. William Dale Eubanks
d. July 1, 2012, aged 68 yrs., Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee
Death came as no surprise
the first Sunday in July;
it claimed you, on a ridge in Tennessee,
with kin who took you in and waited with you
through the last hard days.
You kept what fears you had well hid,
did not betray with loud complaint
the fate you could not but know awaited.
A smile, a joke, a hug – exotic meals –
And genuine interest greeted all you met.
And you were, certainly, never boring
but well-traveled and smart
beyond the telling.
We’ll miss your wit, your bright demeanor,
and will remember all you freely gave ---
and what you took from us
with your passing.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot
A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one
As green, as golden.
Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green of youth.
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013
...Apologies to Heraclitus and W. H. Auden...
We, defeated by the merest things,
in defeat, endure...for now.
No abiding truth in "faith":
origins and destinations
we cannot differentiate,
all random, unguided
by any prescient power;
but, not illogical (there is no illogic.)
We impose all "universal order,"
influence what subsequently occurs,
to learn, or not, through endless repetition,
endless failure...and we are
but a current iteration,
here for now -- like all,
in constant flux,
defeated by the merest things.
Courage and nobility derived
from continued confrontation,
continued endless struggle,
let us "show an affirming flame."
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2014
How long did it take her to be free?
How long did it take
For the wingless dragonfly to finally open her heart to the world
How long did it take for her to overcome Devil’s workshop
Slowly caressing her retinas
With silky daffodils and two-faced tulips
She dives into a glistening pool of complicated risk
Opening her atrium to the masses
Shedding incumbent teardrops
Just for that one standing ovation
It was then
Where pieces of plastic chains fell from demure stratosphere
Dented taps, similar to a shoeless dancer,
Setting off bass tones and low-key monotony
For she was
One cholesterol filled syllable short
To be genuine
One tearful, hyphenated lyric
To be embraced by their “god”
One dilapidated vowel shy
Of being honest
Her diary didn’t have enough pages torn
From emerald sanity
There were too many “Wows”,
Diluting into disingenuous shoulder pats
Her stanza pushed aside
A glorified booty call with no call back number
Leaving messages towards empty dial tones
How long will it take her to be free?
Until she looks up
Knowing she already holds the key
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
How many emotional tears have we so cried, us the unperfected,
The Barbie generational rejected, or Ken doll unrealistic Idol worship.
Cursed by society’s vision of ultimate beauty, wake up world
For are we all not human, and subject to fragilities faults of reality.
Oh to remove the textured veils of the masked disguised,
To reveal the inner face of grace hidden within the soul itself.
For true beauty lies inside the heart of innocence,
Or underneath the timeless wrinkles of ages experience,
One must just remove the blinders of ignorance, to see it
In clarities truth sight line of view.
Where are these mythical people of perfections achievement?
From where do they dwell, or come from these visions of
Illusionary beings, which we so strive to be like?
Nay do suffer the youth of the future to measure up,
To an irrational delusion, a mirages camouflage of lies
Dreaming child of occult fiction, this is deadly ground
From which you tread upon, for reality vision is obscured
By plastic surgeries faults hoods of realism.
Vintage are the mirrors in this fun house of lies,
Let us cover these soul suffocating devices,
Or shatter the glass of reflected illusions.
Then shall we embrace our differences, allowing the next
Generation to breathe a long sigh, of relief at last.
To accept and express their own individuality without
Social oppression, or misconceptions of beauty,
Then enriching the world with glorious infusions
Of unguarded inspirational promise.
What a wondrous planet of enlightment this would
Be if utopia really could exist, unfettered by mankind’s
Unclouded mind of perfection.
Forever after all is short time in the eyes of humanity,
Let us hold our children high and nurturing them with love
And respect, no matter what, not judging them by their
Beauty marks of imperfections,
Instead allowing them to shine in the glow of inspiration
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
Understanding Suicide Understanding Me
Awhile back I had a dear friend contact me to ask if I heard about the young mans suicide at a nearby towns school. I had not. After asking one time on face book if any one of my friends had heard of any such event. My wall began to fill up with details about his life and his personality. His struggles and even previous attempts to end or erase his existence.
He was described as having dreamy eyes by female classmates when he was younger. He was described as the most polite and well mannered but troubled child one person said they had ever met.
Memories of my own changing years flooded my soul as I thought about it all. I did a school report in what they called then Junior High. And my chosen topic was suicide. I've often asked myself why I chose that topic. Today will be one of the very few times I admit it was on my mind a lot during that period of my life. It wasn't because my home life was unbearable. It wasn't because I had no friends or because my young heart had been broken.
In fact I'm only just now realizing it had almost nothing at all to do with my surroundings. It was something within me. Fear certainly had a part to play. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of never really feeling like I fit in. Even though by all outward appearances I was adjusting as well as the majority of people my age.
There was then and sometimes even now this voice. This relentless cruel and demeaning voice always there to remind me. I'll never be good enough. I will always only get what I deserve and that's why I'll never have anything that lasts. Anything that is true. And truly mine.
I was only given a passing grade for my report on suicide because it was obvious the amount of time and effort I put into it. I was told the topic I chose was wrong for a jr high school project. I had failed again. All of that after listening with blood pumping that we could choose our own topic. Somehow my choice wasn't good enough.
I realize now that my very choice for a topic should have sent off bells and whistles throughout the school that one of their own was thinking thoughts of suicide. But they missed it. They didn't see me at all.
Today I don't know why I chose that topic. But I know that one result of it was the saving of my own life. The understanding I gained by being able to see inside the mind that is tormented by unanswerable questions all starting or ending with why? And the realization that to the troubled mind the ultimate answer to fix the most un fixable things.
Is to end it.
This is the point when discussing suicide where fools love to chime in un researched and selfish insensitive remarks revealing their opinions and the fact that they are a fool.
A wise man knows only what he knows.
And he does not pretend to have already been where he never hopes to go.
People often consider suicide to be a selfish act. Sometimes referring to it as a cowards way out.
I hate that. And I hate anything that tries to simplify something as complex as a human mind that has reached it's breaking point.
The fact is that to the person in the midst of that struggle. It is the most unselfish and heroic thing that they think they could do.
My point is, that it was my understanding of suicide. It's effects and it's consequences that kept me from crossing that line.
After all the details of this young life surfaced and several hours later my dear friend and I talked again. And without saying it I know she was asking about this path I'm on with my poetry. The tributes to loved ones that have died. The heartache and the heartbreak that I see every day sometimes all day long.
And she asked me. Does all the sadness ever get to you? I responded Absolutely.
There are times I struggle beneath its weight. Sometimes I fall. But somehow I manage to get up again and I keep writing and sometimes when I'm lucky I see someones reaction to a poem where all of a sudden they get it. A life changing revelation takes place in that moment in time. And for a minute.
I know the reason I'm alive is to help other people live.
And to find the fullness in their life that I may or may not ever find for myself. It's no longer about me. Because you see somewhere back there that part of me that wanted so badly just to die.
I let it die. And I moved on but not me as I was. A different me. Weaker in some ways and stronger in others. Less proud but more to be proud of. More easily overwhelmed but less breakable.
And so when you see me on the mountaintop and I'm strutting around acting like I belong there. Please. Just let me have that one moment. Because tomorrow I'll be back with the mountain on top of me. Trying to find another way to save someone from going where I have been and hoping to enrich other peoples lives even if it means I know I'm simply going to be passed up along the way.
My reward is you rising above my highest point. My fee for my services? That you never forget how valuable you are. And that you keep pushing forward and never give up.
If you forget me tomorrow. That's ok. But don't forget the things I said. And don't forget to help someone else along the way.
Heart Whisperer Ed Hofert @ facebook
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015
I cannot presume
To tell anyone
What a warrior is.
Nor do I claim
To embody any
Of his qualities.
All I offer here
Is a collection
A warrior is
A state of being;
Are mere props.
The only weapon
He might possess
Is implacable resolve
In the face of
A warrior's language
Or internal dialogue
Has no allowance
For the phrase,
All the same,
That are just and
Those that are not.
He determines the
Character, as well as
The time and place
Of his battles,
Investing himself utterly.
And he remains
For those who would
Bring their battles
Yet a warrior meets life
On its own terms
With no delusions
Of bending it
To his own will.
Self-pity is a
Yet he has compassion
For the weak; he never
Places himself above
Others, for how can he?
All this being said,
And human nature
Being what it is,
His greatest enemy
May yet be none other
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP
Anita’s eyes were brown.
She was the kindest of angels.
Her speech firm with authority
but reassuring with a glass- like
sensitivity; she seemed to know all.
Prompt as a rooster's first crow,
that's how she is.
She stands like a lioness
ever ready to act, a channel
to prolong the patient's life.
Her heart is a captive cog
of dedicated compassion:
as a wife, as a mother, as a Dean,
Professor, and as a nurse.
She stood always regal in white.
Bearing a sanction of life and death
with each shot made by her gentle hands.
She had Tiger eyes for signs and symptoms;
sponges to absorb order and pressures,
she was simply a lamp for a sick person.
Our batch, she handles with iron fist.
Labeled as "black sheep" – for some of us
are noisy cans but empty inside.
Black sheep but later turned into
the cream of the crop. She stood as
our Samson pillars then despite canyons of
doubts and critiques, our batch defies the odds.
Yet, one day a snapshot happened –
She fainted while teaching.
She was brought to the hospital,
scrutinized and observed like
the frog in my sophomore year.
I was one of the nurses who rendered care.
I watched, how the shining light in her eyes
turned to stormy sadness. I have heard
how her sturdy voice now sounded
a tattered tape only syllables and groans,
no more. Her before supple glowing skin
turned a wrinkled ash — all tautness gone.
Finally, she needs only bags of blood
in two days her life passed my Anita...
Sponsor Thomas Martin
Contest Name Show but Don't Tell
5:15 pm, May 19, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015