If 2012 prophesies prove true
And Earth’s life cycles again renew
Mysteries of man will be more than a few
Challenges may await future life forms
With intellects far surpassing our norm
Created to live without doing harm
For if they decipher man’s history
What will they make of our great mystery
The one we refer to as bigotry
Black labs, gold retrievers live side by side
Wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
Both red ants and black, free to colonize
Man’s refusal to accept differences
To wiser beings may make no sense
What in man’s makeup can give it credence?
Earth’s subsequent creatures may reproduce
Not needing two sexes to call a truce
So mating rituals may be pursued
A single-sex species might not comprehend
Why women workers were paid less than men
And why “free speech” was not just a given
Questions would most certainly arise
How a believer in God denies
Rights to free worship without compromise
And how could so many wars be waged
Evoking God’s name in death-march crusades
With killing, torturing in every age
Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
Would leave a perplexing legacy
Sure to confound any new species
New cultures may thrive on diversity
Of religion and genealogy
And speak of our inferiority
Note: This is dedicated to Christopher Higgins whose poems about prejudice inspire readers
to do more than just think about one of the greatest ills in our society.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty
about what tomorrows
pain may bring
They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best
Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide
Ready to Receive
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers
For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine
Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010
Beneath the opal white moon, the crying doves shed their precious tears,
Causing the purple rain to fall, melting at the lavender notes of musical dreams,
Camelot’s illusionary ivory towers of brilliant colors, seemingly fades unto the
Violet shades of gray, as the minstrel’s music grows silent for the last time!
The pied piper’s fluted guitar, remains stilled in the silence of a generations
Mind, the world weeps in fuchsia stained technicolor for their slain prince
Of rock in roll, plays now within the heavenly band beyond, rocking the
Ages, lost amongst the spiritual stardust from which creations mystical
Legacies are born!
In reverences musical temple hall of fame, another name is added
Amongst the universal giants, that have crisscrossed humanities
Triumphant vast historical tides, rolling ever onwards within the waves
Of the timeless rebel, jamming with the beating rhyme of the
Human soul forever!
Gentleman’s coterie of lace and satin’s refinement, is this instrumental
Conductor strumming, at the inner finite strings vibrating within the
Harmonic orchestra of an eclectic mind, a whispering dreamer whom
Heard an expressionistic tempo hidden within the color purple,
And thus wept in the violet rain!
A flickering candle quivers within the moistures clouded wake,
The concert master stands alone at the center of the musical hurricane,
Untethered from his slave marked chains, the band leader strikes against
His podium of freedom at last, rock-n-rolls final creshando, echoes
Within the winds of destiny, carried upon the voices of his generation!
Legends burnt ashes rise above this fiery phoenixes’ resurrection,
For in truths resolve this singing firebird’s melody, shall play forever
Onwards, as the doves cry in flights eternal soaring!
Where has the musical voyager gone, the visionary fuchsia master,
The soul captain hailing the distant shores of rock nirvana,
By playing mystical notes of color illusions, on the blank canvas
Of the horizons musical sheets, beyond mortality’s everlasting
Window of social acceptance!
Let the elegant birds of peace fly forth, with their wings appendages
Extended upon the breezes of this artistic grand master, set blazing
In lavender flames, quenched only the falling of the purple rain!
But even then harken, listen my generations of rock fans,
Can you not hear the wailing guitar, of the musical force, known
As prince the visionary revolutionary!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Poetry is a highly personal endeavor for all who write
And answer the inspiration of Our Eternal Poetry Muse.
Why do we write poetry?
This a very important question for all of us who “spill ink.”
Poetry for me is a most wonderful magical medium and
An art and methodology which bespeaks the realm of the
Mysterious, Arcane, Uncanny, Mystical, Esoteric, and Divine.
Poetry is my personal endeavor to master the complexity of
Relating my deepest thoughts and connecting with the reader;
Developing a memorable and intriguing theme or subject;
Choosing the right words and composing meaningful verse;
Finding the best metaphors and the proper tone and balance;
Exploring key theme attributes (to name a few):
Feelings, passions, emotions, light, dark, happiness
Sadness, humor, good, evil, intelligence, stupidity,
Right, wrong, ethereal, ignorance, and indifference.
Our Poetry Muse touches each and every one of us at key times
When we least expect it: morning, noon, evening, after midnight.
Our Muse, for me, captivates my thoughts and illuminates my soul
While compelling me onward to communicate and share with others
What I see and perceive, sense and feel, think and understand about
A theme as it resonates in the depths of my innermost psyche.
I know that I have much to say now in my life . . .
Verse, meter, rhyme, tone, metaphors, metonymy, allegory, imagination—
All enliven my efforts and make easier my attempts to mirror my
Thoughts and views to the reading public.
I want my thoughts and doubts, as my passion abounds, to connect with
Those deepest elements of my human psyche and my emotions
In making my written message to be something that is:
Meaningful and significant, resolute and spirited;
Full of passion or compassion, humor or sadness, courage or fear,
Strength or weakness, Heaven or Hell, bliss or misery—or whatever
Motivates and inspires the Creative Process for me.
Our Muse is there with all of us, in reality, to inspire us and help us
To bring passion, meaning, certitude, and direction to our thoughts
As we attempt to infuse these very attributes into our poetic narrative.
Our Muse, in the end, leaves it up to each and every one of us
To go one further step beyond Her ethereal influence and inspiration:
To invest and infuse at the end of this process our own “Free Will”
In making the final decision pertaining to what our final verse or
Narrative product will look like To Our Reading Public.
This is my take, my view on what happens when Our Eternal Poetry Muse
Tantalizes us and awakens within each of us that undeniable Spirit of
Inspiration, and that giddy zest and irrepressible desire to “spill ink.”
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (October 3, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of
On judgment hill from on high,
Voices do echo downwards, as the
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
These gallows, of oaken branches, act as tethers,
Shackles, holding the forsaken, souls prisoner.
Ghost phantoms cling, to it's rotten limbs,
That break beneath times endless rampage.
Regrets fallen horsemen, of the old west,
Stand guard, sentinels on horse back,
Wearing a tarnished tin star.
God's law keepers, are branded, sworn,
By their honor, to protect even after death,
The gates of heaven, from this spawn of hell.
Beware evil desperadoes, no mercy will
This the lord's posses show unto you,
For these riders bare a different mark.
A silver cross of justice, given by
The Almighty’s hand himself.
Say thy prayers, all lawless men,
For on this day, does the rope tighten,
Around your neck, there is no reprieve,
No salvation for evils deceit.
Hell bound are thou, the devils breed.
But beware, there is no escape,
From this grave site.
At dawns first light, as it spreads
Across the western horizon.
Know that yee, are one of many spirits
Doomed, to be weaved within the
Tangled limbs, called the hang
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
Smooth as ebony silk, black aquatic waves the melting
Essence of liquid evil, stirring this lake placid of our
Eternal nightmares, deadened space in the fathoms
Deep, beneath the dreaming realm for which we sleep.
Translucent tears, left dripping in our unconscious mind,
Trick, trickling, encroaching, drowning us within the
Fear factor, heaving, and tugging at the reality of
Humanities thin realism.
Raw is this blackened well, of emotional plunging,
A pit bottomless, in suctions raw force of power.
Thy soul trying to cling against the porcelain sides,
Yet sliced by the roughed edge of illusions delirium.
Sheer glasses elliptical memorization, hypnotizing
The lucid mind, smacking hands blister at the panes,
Begging for this bad dream to end.
But your voices scream remain nothing except
Echoes refrains, that are lost amongst the complete
Darkness surrounding thee, in this murky abysses
Wake up, wake up, this is not real or is it,
The torn spiritualist grasps at faiths buoy, but
Instead sinks farther below the currents swift
Under currents, then light slits through the dark,
As lightening slashes at the blackest night, and
The dreamer shivers beneath his covers warmth.
Laying within his twisted sheets of sweat,
He wonders if any of it was real at all!
But whom can tell what lucks under the black
Waters of our nightmares, dare you to go swimming,
Into the rivers of the unconscious to find out, and survive.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
Melting tears of the moon is snow dust, frozen droplets
Turning into flakes of white icy lace, that cling to the baron
Limbs of the tree tops, for it is winters grace, a frozen
Kiss given unto autumns last sighs of farewell, until
The next seasons change takes place.
Softly floating wisps of thin frozen mists, shifting
Ever lightly, gracefully unto the winds, tenderly
Aloft, free falling paper thin crystals of ice,
Cascading downwards unto the frozen earth below.
Layers of delicate texturing of refineries elegance,
Transforms this landscape of falls color burst, into
A winter wonderland of frost and white icings
A kingdom of flickering diamonds is show cased
Beneath the lunar shine, of the light hanging within
The heavens above, a glittering field of gems
Illuminated by the elliptical sphere, Called the moon.
In this picturesque display, the writer ponders
Humbly, to the wonders of nature’s masterful
Hands of creation, to be able to create such
this frozen canvas, and the poet
Is left in awes wake of hushed expression.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
A radiant view lingers inside my eyes,
suspended in the unknown hemisphere
of eternity, of pure innocence
where its moons and dust alight. I sense
the rocks and craters of Mars as one drift.
Yet , upon creation's fathomless vortex,
there are certainties. While I, an observer
in this expanse break into a thrilled stun,
as the grandeur of matter and red kiln
recall the ways of genesis when chants
from gods prophesied, ‘ Star of Fire.’
And each motion of this orb knows its pull
before circling amidst outer space. I pause...
the novice in me sees all brethren worlds
vibrating in a rhythm of fluid continuity.
I pause…stirred by this lineage of oneness
borne from holy design, roaming to greet
friendly strangers in a journey to reach
a terminal carrying life’s original seeds.
Skat's Star Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015
Eve my dear, God's word to us you did not heed.
You ate of the tree then gave fruit to me we did not need.
I can't blame you my dear for it was really my fault.
I didn't have the balls to tell you no, so thus the serpents assault!
I ate the fruit too and my eyes were opened to view,
Things that I'd rather not had to deal with in this life so new.
The garden was so beautiful and we had to leave.
Now here we sit beside this fire with our memories and grieve.
I'll have to work by the sweat of my brow now,
And till the soil so we can grow food as God would allow.
And you'll bare children in very much pain.
And we'll learn to build houses to keep out of the rain!
Is there an "If only?" I couldn't tell you.
In God's great infinite plan the grand over all view.
I believe it was meant to happen like it did.
But being a man I still want to blame Eve and in this I DO NOT KID!!!!!!!!!
Dedicated to my wife Linda....my EVE!!!
Copyright © Marty Owens | Year Posted 2010
How ironic? Has God ever fallen in love?
I am sure the supreme power does have a clue about love.
Then why are many struggling with questions that have no answers.
If certain sensations are not meant to be then why does one have to go through it?
Or is it a good way to put a check list on Karmic activities.
One’s feeling doesn’t seem to make any sense and the restless notion only brings discomfort.
Even though some things seem so right and pulls one toward a make believe world,
Attempts and efforts don’t seem to fade away.
It is with the tornado of genuine feelings that keep the tingly feeling of love alive.
So does God understand this?
Even though modernization has struck onto the minds of many,
The devotion and willingness to surrender to that person develops a passionate and overpowering desire.
The sweet and sour, or bitter and sweet emotion creates fear or questions fate again and again.
Once the brave feeling has been awakened and humble efforts have been tried upon,
One cannot fight destiny, but can hopefully open a new change to Karmic policies.
As time goes by, one notices that it is no more days, weeks, months, but years that has shaken the foundation of a belief that finally love will conquer over the negativity,
Love is the feeling that has no answers but only a precious sensation is felt.
Again no answers, but more questions and experiences are shown and learnt in every way.
There must be something better stored for everyone that is why one walks through a chain of tests.
Happy living and sustain that positive attitude.
Copyright © Bhavna khemlani | Year Posted 2012
It's a creature of vapors mist, existing within a thin veil
Of nothingness, descending from the unknown pastures
A mystical spirit lingering in the sacred meadows of native,
Legends and folklore, a beast of good omens, proclaiming
Peace and tribal bliss.
It's very breath brings forth life itself, in nature's
Spiritual realm, where ever it's hoof's land, the evergreen
Thicket wild, sprouts renewals promise.
Routing it's horns, to a fine points sharpened edge,
The stag shakes the mystical forest free from the chill
Of winter's deadly embrace, and thus welcomes spring
No such a delicate of Doe appears, than she his mate,
Softest of the brown eyed kindred, gently she approaches
His grand majesty, ever so tenderly and loving.
With sheer grace of step the two merge as one,
Uniting beneath the lunar moon of twilight.
Behold the white light of brilliance's fire, blazing
As a thunder's storm of the eternal, these are creatures
Of God's everlasting flame, burning on the hearth
Of seasonal change.
Hushed is the woodland, as if frozen in a soft pause,
Ascendence illusionary beings transcend the ages,
Flashing in the shimmering glow from the stars
Of heaven itself.
Melting phantom's of illusions, drift amongst
The night sky, leaving their earthy bondage,
Released once more to feast, in the glens of paradise,
Grazing in the meadows most high.
In the wilderness wild life is renewed,
And the goddess of spring praises them, for their
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
When I am gone my dearest friends, please,
Linger for a while
You hear the sound, of my soul’s footsteps,
Entering the door of life!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 JANUARY 2015
* I am sorry to have caused concerns over my well being,
I am fine and I intend to stay here as long as the Good Lord allows
me to. I just write what I am inspired! Thank you!
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015
I am Reality’s angel
resting on the broad shoulders of discovery
the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target
ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you
there is a creator of all things
He is just and patient
many still have fallen into the masses of shadow
wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy
I have seen grown men fall like rose petals
and weaklings rise into unjust leaders
forever the follower of furtive evil
dominating only to remain inferior
the most important answers lie in the unseen regions
where no sense can fully give assurance
the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn
grows weary because of the distance it must take
and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates
it is knowing we are seeking something far
that could very possibly not exist,
that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense
it is knowing all we really think we know
and yes—even a lie
all that has been written thus far rests under my wings
under the warmth in which you refuse to feel
can you believe in me—
though I am completely unseen?
how much more difficult would it be to see
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012
I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.
Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit.
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.
Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.
® Registered: Ann Rich 2009
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2009
In inspirations meadow, the soul roams freely through imaginations
Timeless thoughts, here I’m a boundless spirit soaring in flights fantasy.
Kicking the stardust from the night’s eternal sky, a solar kindred
Dreaming the endless dream of freedom’s spiritualism without
Reservation’s containment barriers!
Lost amongst the universal tides of a vast divide, set adrift
A castaway seeking adventure beyond my earthly bondage,
A poetic surfer climbing upon the curved edge of inner spaces
Eternal ocean of the undiscovered!
In splendor’s paradise, I’ll sway in harmony’s breath taking brilliance,
Spell bound to the shine, bathing in the shimmering mists of beauty,
A spiritual voyager dangling without tethering’s anchor,
Sailing with my solar sails spread wide open, catching the winds
Of the sun, to the final joinery’s end, come what may beyond
The point of no return, fearlessly facing into the distant horizon!
Shall I not float, within the debris fields remints and ashes, just a flickering
Amber burning brightly asunder, a positive to the negative particle,
Shifting, swirling, pondering my own wealth to existence, nay
A spent solar flame, shattered by times lapsing riptides!
Behold I’m just a daydreamers lost child of thought, oblivious to the stresses
Of the conscious mind, a frozen sleepwalker whom refuses to awaken, for
Here the bard is set free, to ponder within inspirations meadow
I’ve become a futuristic sailor of fortune, floating on the musing
Surface of inspiration, gliding across the glittering waves, chasing after
The morning sun rays that blaze in the warmth of the light reflective!
At shores landing I’ll roam to the rambling beat, exploring this meadow
Of evergreen, dancing barefoot and fancy free, feeling the wet dew
Between mine exposed toes!
Call me the mistress castaway, for wild abandonment shall set this
Wayward soul free at last, to experience the fragrant mysteries of
Inspirations meadows, and gather the wild flowers within mine own
Bouquet of spiritualism forever in clarity’s vision, just to marvel
Amongst beauty’s natural essence of existence!
I’m the wonder lusting poetic heartbeat of a rambling spirit,
Always seeking, always searching, never settling for whatever
Others may say is the final journey’s end of the rainbow, no
I’m the slider explorer riding on the eternal light beam that
Cascades from the inspired heart, never to be captured, or locked
Away in chains of acceptance, for the human experience is just
To short a journey not to be lived, shared and enjoyed with
Every breath that one soul can inhale, and exhale with lives
Enduring spiritual flame burning brightly, within inspirations meadow
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO PAUL WHOM INSPIRED THIS PIECE
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Copyright © Katrina Salem | Year Posted 2012
early nightfall fondling skin
on glowing shafts from a world
so blind my body enters
cramps of memory
~ As early nightfall tousles my hair prism light,
the alchemy of a ceremonial parade begins
in this panel of a forest like a mystic scene
~ fondling my skin…jutting from nowhere,
a relay of tigers and flamingos swivel
on glowing shafts in the pale dark ... I freeze.
Some quick time frames away, the jungle rises
with raw stirrings of wildlife; an explosion
~ from a world curving a zebra's flowing movement
of unrehearsed art, of twilight spontaneity
~ oh so blind to human, mental gazes;
they slide away from such calculated moments as
.~ my body enters their changing symmetry
collapsing in mindless trance that nothing
from my eyes is ever hidden, not even the low
gushing in my breath… I shut my lids to memorize
the anatomy of their kind faces, those rising limbs
simply estranged from rehearsed gaiety.
And I seize their impressions defying the seeming
~ cramps of man’s robotic strides;
yet, i cannot hold them inside this head’s waves
~ of memory , consumed with the grace displayed
by creatures’ unbridled rites to its gods…
I become the humble slave of divine beasts.
`~ ~ ~ ~``
*from my journal about a night safari in Singapore
for Debbie Guzzi's Etcetera by nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012
In those unconscious moments
When midnight sweeps in on you
Surrounded by a sweet contempt
Offering the taste of cool dark water
With essences of serene moonlight
Desires fruit peaked and ripened
Hangs just over you waiting
You reach out only to realize
Within those few feet to desire
Eternity lies in wait for its prey
Leaving only a silvery and pallid
Reflection that undulates and drips
From the touch of your fingers
Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2007
As we sit around the fire
reminding ourselves of our ancestors' ways,
we should also remember the Great Spirit,
which has bestowed blessings on us,
in the form of rain, rich harvest,
and beautiful land.
The Cloud Warriors are drumming in the skies,
ushering in the rhythm of rebirth and prosperity
for our descendants,
and acting to the will of the Great Spirit,
who sees all, and is never seen....
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2013
Victorian white lace, ivory fair of face,
Lips as red, the rose bud does grow, and is
Cut's deeply by it's own thorns.
Graceful maiden, beauties sheer elegance,
Of olden years past, weep ye no more.
Within the golden looking glass, she dances,
To a yearling's lullaby forgotten.
A lone figure in a solitary waltz, gliding,
Stepping ever so lightly, no sound is made,
Except for the beating of ones own heart.
A ghostly image, held hostage in time,
Frozen within a glass prison of pain,
Is this the lady of white.
Clouds of powder, set against a blue hued,
Sky above, is heaven so far away, to her touch.
A faded Porcelain doll, is she with eyes
Devoid of life, yet alive.
Hands do smack against the glass, but it is
A jail cell, the intent purpose, to hold
Hostage, what remains within.
This door barred shut, has no key, or release,
Time's measurement, lies in rhythm, a ticking
Clock set, on perpetual motion.
Sorrow's tears melt into nothingness, her
Spirit bound to linger in a hollow image,
Emotions haunting loveliness, a broken
Soul of despair.
Will no guardian angel, wrap her beneath
Their wings of pity's warmth, nay even justices
Avenging, shall not dare to enter within.
Shattered crystal shards, burst forth, and memory
Fades to blackness, a white sheet covers the mirror,
And no light is shone, in this world of illusion.
Victorian white lace, ivory fare of face,
Lips as red, as the rose bud that grows,
And is cut deeply by it's own thorns.
Petals plucked by the forlorn, lead some
Down a path that should not be traveled,
Beware the lonely heart, follow nay the
Sweet voices echoing within the nights
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013
Only silence dresses her rigging now
To the call of the bosun’s whistle
Her hatches now stand locked and secure
Where long past sailors once lingered
She is the last of the old frigates
Moored in the shallows of Charlestown
Board her and hear her echoes of valor
Haughtily anchored her colors humbly fly
No blemishes on her hull show her battles
Her carronades still sit silently waiting
As she floats mythically at ease
For a moment I can hear the great moans
Her keel and sailors cresting Atlantic waves
To Captain Hulls orders to come about
And charge on the enemy ship Guerriere
On her decks I feel the plight of her dead
Hearing stories of centuries old bulkheads
Astounding feats of a morose pride
To have brought their foe to capitulate
Now she stands tacit though ever grand
And still on her decks and deep in the bowels
The mighty spirit of U.S.S. Constitution dwells
A monument of endurance softly whispering
“Lest we remember long forgotten sacrifices…”
Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2008
Noah’s ark was real not a fiction
It had a door to escape God’s affliction
Noah delivered a warning message
But the folks mock their own presage
Men grew in sin and matured in transgression
And ignored Noah’s loving confession
The Door stood open a long time
Until time begin to climb
The Lord finally shut the Door
And the rain begin to pour
120 years of grace finally came to a halt
God administered judgment by default
The Door was a glorious type of Christ
He was the Lamb of God who was price
Jesus said “I am the Door of the sheep”
He is the only Door of that Great ship
Jesus is our Door of salvation
Wherein we enter and float as new creation
Behold He stands at your door this day and knock
Let Him in, you’ll find pasture as a partaker of His Holy flock
Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep- John 10:7
Copyright © Gideon Foli | Year Posted 2013
He slowly opened the window sash
Deeply breathing the cool morning air
Feeling the warmth of the sunshine
Embracing the morning so completely
Bringing the spark of life to his face
Listening to the sonnets of Warblers
Inside the beauty of a summertime dawn…
Slowly wandering to the Lilac gardens
Resting on the soft greenery tufts
He leaned into the white purple blossoms
Inhaling deep the warm honeyed perfume
Feeling the silk tendrils upon his face
As the pure tiny droplets fell upon him
A baptism in a pergola of morning blooms…
The gentle whisper of Monarch’s in flight
Brought him to his feet in easy chase
Reaching out chasing the sound of flutter
He tumbled down the slope laughing
Laying in the flower bed he reached skyward
Decreeing the miracle of Mother Nature, he said
“I only wish I could see it”…
Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2008
I do not know?
My eyes can see
That the sand is like sea
And it stretches to the end of my mind
On a ship set to sail
with four legs and a tail
Tishmandu I set out to find
Now the wind is of sand
and can lend a hand
in tearing the flesh from your bone
So your head you keep wrapped
your snaps keep snapped
and you never travel alone
The heat at midday
is to kill and waylay
if the body and soul are not one
So you pray to the east
and prepare for slim feast
begging passage under full sun
Caravan of the seed
born on camels that breed
in an endless march between wells
Over lost count of dunes
under God and full moons
blessing passage with incense and bells
At the end of the day
when gold turns to grey
and the stars brighten the skies
A device is brought forth
to determine true north
and the path where Tishmandu lies
On the fortieth morn
pressing lips to the horn
a signal beckons us wake
Leaving water behind
on a course now refined
the final leagues we must take
Tishmandu is a place
where a white mans face
has never been seen or allowed
But the people have need
and my service agreed
in a land under sky without cloud
Like feathers of blue
in the distance I view
the flags on top of the walls
Though my limbs are worn
my very fabric is torn
I move towards Tishmandu halls
At last in the shade
a walled shelter is bade
I meet with the maker of rules
A service I bring
but to rules I must cling
or a tortures price must be paid
Twenty days and seven
in the passes of heaven
I treated the sick and the lame
With rules on my mind
the medicines I grind
The devil of Tish for to tame
As I washed the sick
and avoided blunt stick
the God of the desert did smile
For the people made well
in this fortified hell
where spirit is subject to trial
In the end I am paid
for the journey I made
and the healing and medicine new
On my camel back
salted meats in my pack
I Bid farewell to Tishmandu
Copyright © Ray Mattos | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
How can this be...
I not understand
I am waiting for the big bomb shell
to explode... or something
I mean... I am waiting for the floor
to slip out from under me...
I am sure tis man
cannot be all true...
he cannot be... true and honest
he cannot be.. so sweeet and kind
I am sure... there is something
I am positive I am just so blind...
because of his generosity
his kindness is more then
I have ever seen...
I not understand..
tis man tis never really mean
For tis man is a Man of Christ
for tis man has morals.. values
Honest and True...
For tis man.. is ever so kind..
I am sure... something.. I shall find..
Tis man is edifying...
never doubts what I say..
this man is different
in many... many ways...
I not understand
Why tis man is ever so nice to me
For tis he not know me...
I truly not know him...
but tis be..
He has bent over backwards
he understands and listens
gives great wisdom he so kind...
but tis I am sure...
I must be blind...
I mean.. Why???
Why tis this man ever so nice to me?
for tis No man ever has been
No man unless
they have a hidden motive
but tis man I see none...
Tis man... is so Amazing
tis man is sweeet as can be
tis man... is a True Treasure
tis man... tis hard to believe
tis man has Integrity..
he is Tender-hearted too
he tis ever so Caring..
Tis man.. God has placed into my life
Why??? I wonder...
for tis hard for me to believe
hard for me to trust..
to truly know...
But Now perhaps I see...
Tis man.. God has sent tis be
Copyright © Star Light | Year Posted 2012
She bounced right off the inkling
. . . . . . . . . golden rings and tinker bells winking
on tiny toes zzzzzzzzinging
through the galaxies spinning
. . . . . . . . . aglitter aflicker ~ her heart
atwist amidst anticipating ...
on Halley’s comet tail she flew
. . . . . . . . . in the genius of a snowflake parade
in search ... in search
. . . . . of something he once said
to the atmosphere on a cloudy
. . . . . . . . . day
over rooftops flurried in December snow
in a glance of her cosmic smile,
. . . . . . . . . she ... perched on the cusp of an eighth of a moon
sang songs of fields of poppies soon
budding beneath the snow,
. . . . . . . . . and she opened her tiny fists and let go her angel dust
upon the world
and the earth shimmered in many colors
and gave praise
. . . . . . . . . and the angels came and fetched her up ~
and He smiled.
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2006
I do not know?
The creation of dimensions
by the Dimension of Creations
happened in this wise:
The Fifth Dimension
created the Fourth Dimension,
which then created
the three dimensions
in which we live.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2006
Come on artists
lets play a game
its all different to me and i want you to see how i am different
and let me shine as you sign up another way
as i prove to you my leadership of this new age wave
give them new meanings
like you never knew you could
and lets make the psychics pine through our words to figure out
what they are reading and believing
I wanna see your hearts and spades
dressed in tall grass or lemonaide
i wanna see your cups and wands
inbetween whispering winds and songs lead me there
i know you can come on
come on be strong
like a suit of clubs or diamonds
show me something
and then sprinkle your writings
and we'll make collectors out of all those we invite here
as they read and ponder the meanings of our literature
whats in your hand?
a royal flush a pair?
and as we deal the cards they stumble upon at this endless game
of cribbage or poker
or war who is winning and getting points?
what card means what to who and why
tell me artist as you write with your style on low and high
what makes what suit smile and fade shine and slide?
inside outside sphere of influence
be their collective the object of the psychics to crave?
blind leading the blind
and something they are after for days and days
a few cards your favorite cards play smart or dumb
shuffle the cards pick a game deal a hand
reveal what your playing and one day i'll tell you what we're playing what your
to someone one day when the stumble your way
the mystery of nothing speaks something
and we rebuild the puzzle of cartomancy better and better this way
once you know you can't
blind leadin gthe blind
so after you read this you can't
play along your uninvited
strike it off your list of things to do
round one is over now go find all who wrote
all who write all who have wriitten the masterpieces
of cards and see what they mean today and collect them for that is something no
one else can do
until round two....
Copyright © Troy Nelson | Year Posted 2007