The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
silently I lie
awaiting I await thee
a wry smirk greets me
sighted precision confirms
sporadic crimson now speaks
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015
your voice now silent
never to see you smile again
you left us heartbroken
shocked to silence
your laughter and your
“I can go on attitude”
just being you
even when fighting
we'll never know why
you had to leave us so soon
we'll always wonder
we'll always have questions
God knew your journey was complete
when He selected the perfect rose for His garden today---
IN LOVING MEMORY OF A FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE,
MICHELLE SCHULTZ 26092011
We, at BABS miss you already
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2011
Up into the sky
like an Angel
at Soupland, watching him as he soared
like an Angel;
a strong love he had, sharing it till the end, yet
could not resist the resounding call
and he left,
Leaving us his poetry, for
when great storms come in, his laughter
will dry our tears like rain.
for Tom Bell, a great poet who taught us all--
to laugh and to smile…to learn… and to give.
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2008
I wake-up to a sudden wail
probably, someone passed away
the whistles of the melancholic tune
of the passing winds made
a woman weep, as the angels trumpet
in no tune now chanting in unison
without reason in the midst of
forgotten tombstones, of marble
rubble, where in silence lies
the diary, in which the secret of growing
vines could be found, the gardening
ways of the ancient gods, yet
in flick of time the vineyard will not
be the same, as the rake stand
rusting as days go by, and his
epitaph, engraved from own sweat
and blood has revealed that the sweet
wine, the true essence of his spirit
the glory that he had kept
for years, is nothing, but me…
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2007
I do not know?
O strike thy wisdom
and thy freedom;
While picket signs aren't weapons,
they arouse violent hymns
and bayonet dreams;
Where authoritarian presidents,
governors and dictators
all think alike,
and strike thee common good.
with karma on their side,
where echoes fly like angels
and their halos shine so bright;
Where slavery's not an option
and poverty no life,
Where no act of violence,
aimed at stifling true justice
always voices it's complaints,
always finds some other means,
never ends with the moon
but starts with the sun,
Fore there's no future otherwise.
Copyright © Michael Benkhen | Year Posted 2011
Three pummels to the chest
abusive words wound the heart
slashes though sutured, never heal
daggers thrown without a second thought
Arrows fly to their target
three aimed to pierce the heart
a struggle that is far beyond measure
what pain do you feel; what tears you apart
What weapons do you use
when you strike a fragile heart
life lies in danger at the hands of men
three strokes of a brush, death is a work of art
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017
Dead puppies are no fun
Dead puppies rotting in the sun
Dead puppies have no soul?
Dead puppies it takes its toll
Dead puppies no fun at all
Dead puppies don't chase balls
Dead puppies stuck in walls
Dead puppies hit by cars
Dead puppies out side bars
Dead puppies succumb to Parvo
Dead puppies named Pete and Margo
Dead puppies Frozen cold
Dead puppies never old
Dead puppies never yap
Dead puppies in a little girls lap
dead Puppies euthanize
Dead puppies, Owners out side cry
Dead puppies missing eyes
Dead puppies covered in flies
Dead Puppies covered in feces
Dead puppies torn to pieces
Dead puppies with IV's
Dead puppies with broken knees
Dead puppies that where once sick
Dead puppies do no tricks
Dead puppies do not run
Dead puppies are no fun
***NOTE*** This is a bit morbid but it is the realities of an Animal hospital. I worked at one and unfortunately this is the dark side of the animal hospitals. We deal with a lot of dead puppies.
Copyright © eddee shaz | Year Posted 2011
They see strengths
Not the limitations
These are people who will make you proud of yourself
They will tell you why you’re special
Trust you to the point you have to answer their expectations
They make you better than you normally are
You can be proud of yourself
They respect you
For what you’ve done
Where you’ve come from
They see what you’ve experienced something real
Respect you for your courage
They live by their rules
They do not expect you to follow theirs
They are at peace to themselves
They are not proving anything to you
They are good listeners
Sincere in their interest in you
You feel important
They are available for honest
Makes you want to share yourself
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2013
It was in eighteen eighty-six in the streets of Chicago,
where the greatest miscarriage of justice people would know
transpired in an infamous labor-police rendezvous.
Albert Parsons led eighty thousand people on revue.
The strikers marched down Chicago’s Michigan Avenue.
The Knights of Labor were sponsors for the work stoppage venue.
Demands for shorter work hours and no child labor were made.
This would be regarded as the world’s first May Day parade.
Thousands nationwide would join in with the activities
In the next few days, the striking workers stopped whole industries.
On the third, some strikers and police engaged in melees.
These actions resulted in two ill-fated fatalities.
The struggles also caused some severe hideous injuries.
The fights took place at the McCormick Harvester Company.
Many held the police for murderous culpability.
Organizers from the Knights of Labor held a mass rally
at the Haymarket in Chicago’s West Loop vicinity.
They would assemble there in the early part of May.
Thousands crowded there peacefully on the month’s fourth day.
Leaflets were passed noting the police for murder to the crowd
as anarchists urged the mobs to join forces and shout aloud.
A bomb thrown at the police catalyzed an altercation.
One officer was killed and others hurt in the explosion.
Matthias Degan was the officer fallen in duty.
Seven other policemen died later from an injury.
The police opened fire on the people immediately.
At least eleven of the strikers were shot at fatally.
Eight men stood trial for the death of police officer Degan.
They were Parsons, August Spies, George Engel, Samuel Fielden,
Adolf Fischer, Louis Lingg, Michael Schwab, and Oscar Neebe.
All eight were tried and found guilty by a judge and jury.
Neebe got fifteen years; the others got the death penalty.
Schwab and Fielden were commuted to life; then got clemency.
Lingg took his own life before his scheduled execution.
The remaining four men were hanged in public exhibition.
Since then, there have been enacted many labor reform laws
The men who died are considered martyrs to a noble cause.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for the information I obtained to write this
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2012
Wangari Maathai is not dead
I roll back my tear
Peer from my window
Deep the grooming forest
Switch off my radio
Tear the headline
I refuse the epitaph
I write no word
Her monument must sprout
Beyond the canopy
She died to defend
Let Wangari not die
Mother of mother nature
Where she lives!
Copyright © peter Onyancha | Year Posted 2011
Our Ancestors fought to the death,
Just so we can live a brighter day,
So before you light up that blunt of meth,
Think about what you’re giving away,
It was a glad day in history when Obama rose to victory,
The first black president was all we knew,
Dark skin is in!
Haven’t you heard?
That even in our community,
You can get burned,
It’s a sad day when people would rather stay home and “Crank That Amber Cole”,
Than get up and run to a poll,
In our community,
Rockin’ Luis V is better than having a college degree,
And teen pregnancy is not only a trend,
But the single motherhood that follows should end,
Young girls learn of a wonderful prince to take them away,
Nothing should change thought their mothers prince didn’t stay,
And as the tears fade away,
She grows stronger every day,
In our community,
Fighting is no longer a word,
You argue with someone and shots are heard,
Girls showing places the sun don’t show,
So how do they expect the community to grow?
Where love is a figment of imagination,
Making a young child question her creation,
Young mothers would rather buy the iPhone 5,
Then satisfy her baby’s cries,
While her new man’s eye,
Wander up another girl’s thighs,
In our community,
Where #team dark skin vs #team light skin,
Makes others not love the skin they’re in,
Love, lust, hate, and trust,
Giving a rose on Valentine’s Day is no longer a must,
Where bad is good and good is bad,
Who would think to see their grandmother sad?
Her hurt and pain,
Shows how our community has lost everything her parents fought to gain.
Copyright © Nya Johnson | Year Posted 2013
Appears the strange Fella
On a stage of many fellows
But not doing “Mr Follow-follow”
Smoking it out the truth
Into the skulls of the VIP
Like no other fellow
Abami, thorning their flesh ceaselessly
Amidst them the Generals
The fella Fela shivers their spines
Telling peole to stop “Shuffering and Smiling”
But General Hog was not done
Decreed Republic’s demolition
“Zombie” swamp on our Jerusalem
His Mama’s life cut short in Kalakuta
Then came a “Coffin for Head of State”
Abami, gallowed with pant in gaol
Yet, he weeds on with vigour
Kalakuta People’s Replublic must stay
General Swine’s Zombies tortured him
His long skinned trousers appear ruffled
A Fela puffs his way out of the gaol
Yet, his mouth waxes stronger Afro-tune sax
To the great beyond the sky
“In no be Gentleman at all
But for once, he never betrayed the truth.
Alayade Stephen T.
29th, September, 2006
NB-Abami Eda means a strange fellow.
VIP in Fela’s parlance means Vagabond in Power,
And Mr Follow-Follow, Coffin For Head Of State, Zombie,
Shuffering and Smiling are all titles of popular tracks amidst his hit songs.
Copyright © Alayande Stephen | Year Posted 2007
Bike to Work day: escorting the funeral of Marine Albrak Omar
Loch David Crane
Patriot Guard Riders
No more classes now that I've been fired!
Patriotism is my job: I’m retired.
The Patriot Guard rides almost every day
to bring a flapping flag line on display.
We ride to work with combustion and chrome
to bring the bodies of our brave troops home.
In a strange twist for love of our country
This Arab Albrak was a volunteer
who gave America his youthful years
to make Iraqui people finally free.
He gave his life: I give my afternoon
remembering our heroes at high noon.
Packed in ice, he came home to his Mom;
his body was prepared by an Imam.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
The fire alarm went off
Water sprinklers came on
Near pups will not writeoff
Pups are my obsession
The floor and walls hotter
Dry hot air_no way out
Get faint start to totter
There's crash on door without
Master early today
He will care for me_pups
We can count on him to stay
His love grows in all ways
It's not him crash through door
He spots me; as I survey him
Shiver with pups on floor
He reaches_ touches rim
Container where pups lay
Places in pocket on coat
Fireman works swiftly this day
Concerned person take note
Who's here_need to be moved
Swiftly fireman moves now
To safety takes them improved
Flames leap; gone_ puppy chow
My life_pups was limited
Our time totally up
To be annihiliated
Fireman saved me _pups
My one_ only method
To say to him thanks_thanks
Is loving kiss slipshod
As he pets my scorched flank
(slipshod in this case:careless or messy)
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
the crowds taking the subways
enter the underground
below upon waking
to rise up
in the clouds above
only to go back in the evening
down through the underground
low upon leaving
to final rest
in the underground
or in the clouds above
Copyright © RUDOLPH RINALDI | Year Posted 2015
If death came to you day after day.
Followed you to bed and never went away.
Would I still be blamed?
If all I did,was what death asked of me today.
I could plead insanity,
I'm dying eitherway.
I could die a mad man,
Or pretend I'm insane.
But you're smarter than that, aren't you?
You like playing my game.
I bet you'd like what I do.
Maybe even garner some fame.
You know me better than that, dont you?
It was never about the fame.
I would do what I do,
Even without the name.
It's the thrill of the chase,
The trophies that remain.
The puzzles I leave for you,
The joy, every single time you fail.
You can try to catch me now
Or someother day.
There'll be another body waiting
Everytime you fail.
Copyright © Amanda Miller | Year Posted 2014
Picking up the shards of shattered you Each jagged reflection staring back too Anger turned from brokenness of heart Mirrors only amplified the tears dart As memories of togetherness flow A man in the presence of letting go She sobs in a patch work of memories Stitching the old love letters the hurt flees The smell of his shirts comforter of times Each block sown with care as love's healing binds In mosaic's or quilt's this will transcend Even after a death love has no end
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2013
TO MY MOM DADA ZOUWAIRATOU M YAUKI
THE TRUEST HAUSA-FULANI
The iron core of the whole family
She stands with the long rooster
First crow which tears up, praying, and
Goes on laboring till the owl grave hoots
Herald the veiling darkness and darkness
Is life, and might.
But also death and weakness.
The hoots made me feel so small when
A child, and think of mother to soothe me,
For I had fears, and my people's fears were
Forced upon me too.
The twain Angels
Of life after Death!
Dream of stars, my eyes fully open
Away from my tiny world full of fairy tales
With the spider as the hero as running
From the ghosts
Oh, Allah! Lost before standing on my feet!
I like my mom and she likes me too.
She prays Allah to grant me success
And I ask Him to forgive her, for
She’s always been my surest support
Of course she hadn’t been to school
But was a school herself. Proud
Greedy reader, my friend, be sure that
She’s as divine as your MOST perfect mother.
Copyright © Jaafar Sadig El Waad | Year Posted 2015
The pain I put in the ground.
For such a precious thing.
The family enjoys their meal.
They plant their leftover kernels.
And wait for me to tend to them.
An endless cycle in which happiness is born.
21 February 2013
Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013
(about the two wars)
I gave my life for you,
My grit was your prosperity,
So that you could do.
I swallowed at the task,
Girded myself bravely,
Prepared to have a mask.
When self-awareness engulfed,
And loneliness overcame,
Determination was loved.
I fought a man every time,
I faced the thwarting enemy,
No easy game of mine.
I strove to either succeed,
Or to sacrifice my everything,
But the opposition to impede.
I thought of family and you,
Freedom and liberty,
And the rightness of the two.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015
A Girl On A Mission
There once was a gal who sold china
Tested rockets in her vagina
She sat on one hard though
It made her a martyr
Blasting her & her china to China
6/24/14 Bawdy Limericks II Contest
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Ode To A Dead Apple
Oh poor Dan what can we say
He’s had such bad news delivered today
His Apple Mac that’s virus free
As expensive and speedy as can be.
To do your work is such a breeze
Bug free it does not catch a sneeze
But what the Apple people did not do
Was protect it from the likes of you
Your Apple Mac that you so love
Is put to rest and looks down from above.
The death of your Mac is hard to take
Don’t do anything stupid for goodness sake
It was tired with all the work you do
And sleepy just like De and you
But listen to some advice that’s free
Never give it any more coffee or tea.
To my poor Nephew that has spilled a mug of Coffee and Killed his Mac
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
We know her future could be bright
If not for death that snatched her dream
She was the queen among her mates
The few she left here said it all
If not for death that snatched her dream
While on earth she nurtured the best
The few she left here said it all
A jewel worth many to pens
While on earth she nurtured the best
She was the queen of her mates
The few she left here said it all
We know her future could be bright
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013
He seemed an ordinary boy
until he found the supreme joy
of snowboarding, made it an art
in which no one can take a part
without recalling Craig, and how
he was the start of all that’s now.
He is recognized by his peers
as one of a few pioneers
who brought snowboarding up to par,
esteemed as other snow sports are.
It now is an Olympic game,
bringing other young folks fame.
He attacked his sport with verve and vim.
World accolades belonged to him.
He made the loved sport his life’s work.
Craig Kelly was not one to shirk.
He took responsibility
for safety to the nth degree.
It’s such a sad, ironic touch
the mountains that he loved so much
would be the reason for his death.
Their treachery would steal his breath.
Craig well knew the danger there
and went about his work with care.
Craig had his followers and was
Idolized by them, because
He was the master of his game
Teaching them how to be the same.
Unassuming and understated,
Craig was simply, dedicated.
Dedicated to work and play,
And to his loved ones all the way.
How many long-lived men can say
When they have met their final day,
“My life too short when it was done,
But every year of it was fun.”
For Chris Matt's "Gone to Soon" contest
If you are a snowborder you know his name.
If not just google-- Craig Kelly Snowboarder
b. April 1966--died January 2003
He was my step-grandson
He died in an avalanche in the Canadian mountains in January of 2003
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011
ONLY THE STRONG WILL SURVIVE
God gives not peace, it's only dreamt by man,
in all the world ,brought from catastrophe,
all things are made, since time was first began
by things upheaved so new life comes to be.
The weak must fail, be eaten by the strong,
and losers die the death along the way,
so new life grows, even if it is wrong,
there is no time the poor will have to play.
The lion who will lay down with the lamb,
will have a feast before the day is done,
and all the world will never give a damn,
nor care about the giants and their fun.
The hunter takes his aim and fells the dove
the weak in life are only dreaming of.
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2011
Glenn Turner and Randall "Randy" Thompson were the best police officer and volunteer firefighter in all of Cobb County, Georgia, until March 1995 (WWF Monday Night Raw and WWF Wrestle-Mania XI) and January 2001 (Raw Is War, WWF SmackDown!, and the WWF Royal Rumble) when their lives were taken away from their loving families by Julia Lynn Womack: aka the "Black Poisoning Widow." It seems that it was these two guys in uniform who married the same woman, especially when she was after their money, totaling hundreds and thousands of dollars, even in life insurance. Glenn and Randy have been killed by a deadly liquid by the form of Etheline Glycol rich antifreeze; Lynn Turner used it to spike that of lime-flavored gelatin (green Jell-O), sweet iced tea, and chicken noodle soup. Now, how cold-blooded was that? But to be honest, Maurice G. Turner and Randy Thompson, God rest their souls, really never should've met this gold digging assassin named Julia Lynn Womack (who's now dead) to begin with. Their families, their colleagues, and the citizens of Cobb County, Georgia, they still don't understand why the lives of these two men have to end in a tragic manner. They've got a bunch of whole lives ahead of them. But now that Lynn Turner, who killed both her police officer husband and her firefighter boyfriend, is dead, she can't hurt anyone else ever again. Randall and Glenn are no longer with their friends and families (including their moms), but their spirits will live on forever and they'll see their loved ones in heaven one day. And as for Julia Lynn Womack-Turner, she got what was coming to her and may she burn in the giant pit of inferno for all eternity.
Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011
Marla was a friend of mine
I knew from working at UTMB
Over 10 years we worked together
In the department of pathology
Though we actually worked
In two different locations there
We still became pretty good friends
Leaving me memories of times we shared
Besides her friendship with me
To all, Marla was very helpful
She knew her job exceptionally well
And was always professional
Our department felt confident
As we knew Marla was the one
To work in an accurate manner
And get any task completely done
Marla attended a few SSP luncheons
We would both go there to meet
She came as my guest a few times
And we would save each other a seat
I’ll carry the memories of Marla
With me throughout my living years
I know that when it’s my time to go
She’ll be saving a good seat for me up there
Florence McMillian (Flo)
Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2011
The wind blew events all over the place.
Intense emotions and it gave chase.
Lightning lighting to show us the sky.
People try to sleep and not cry.
Wisping by the wind keeps us awake.
The time trying to sleep the storms take.
Chills in everyone gives all shiver.
The clouds surrounded by moonlight is silver.
Heavenly prayers that the rain will stop.
The flood stopped a car the person in it was a cop.
People have seen such devastation.
The road that people made was week in creation.
Rivers near by was over flowing.
Trees that were there was not showing.
By the hour it claimed many.
My father woke up and did not see any.
Floating by was a boat.
Keeping people above water and a float.
My father kept a canoe.
That some day we would use it, that he knew.
Time to paddle up and down the street.
The rain water kept getting on our seat.
It was so dark after the moon was behind the cloud.
Still the noise of thunder still covered the ears loud.
The smell of moist water never seem to go away.
My brothers seem to still sleep anyway.
My head was bobbing up and down.
I was so tired that I could not hear a sound.
The wind blew back and fourth.
It seems that my mom and dad paddle their worth.
Till all the people we saw with grace.
Help us out with embrace.
The time was so late at night.
Everyone was so sleepy and losing sight.
The fight with the weather was so hectic.
The feelings of energy was electric.
Losing to such natural disaster is hard to understand.
When people working hard to block the river with bags of sand.
With hard workers like my mom and dad.
They make things happen that is not bad.
Rough with weather they experience more than ever.
Leaders they are they are very clever.
From the night light of street lights to the morning glow.
The wind did not stop so.
Bringing in more clouds that ill.
The people who were still tired still had will.
The rush of water and waves blasting push the wall side.
Pushing and the force brought water inside.
The battle of our hour was getting long.
Backup people came to aid us was strong.
Rested they were to keep everyone with hope.
The people stopped the water with the strength of rope.
Heavy rain and loss of homes bring people together.
It is kind of sad that this was the only time to gather.
Chaos comes happiness how true.
This is why we are human that gives us a clue.
It is our nature to keep rain falling.
To know when it is time for our calling.
The winds bring such pain and sorrow.
That is why rain sometimes fallow.
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
The restless night had ended
abruptly. Caught between dreams and
consciousness, the town was arching towards
the sprinkled light of dawn. A perpetual regularity
reigned over the dusty path that led wayfarers and commuters
alike in and out of this forgotten cluster of humanity. Somewhere
out there, a man cursed, and, as if to answer, a woman laughed. A
repetitive metallic clang—the whines of an iron plate being hammered upon an anvil—
twisted with a dog's tedious, short barking to form a discordant ladder of dread, telling how the day might turn out. Punctuating that were the weary shouts of
the night guard. An advice. A message. “Awake! Morning is here.” “Awake!
Morning is here.” A woman walked beside countless others in a long, silent
procession. Steps measured and heavy, hardly disturbing the dirt, eyes ever
forward, locked at the sunrise. Life hadn't been kind to her. At forty-five she
looked sixty. It was just her luck that age had been frivolous enough to come
early, and sketch a crude lesson at cubism across the pages of her skin. The
grey streams on her hair had become a roaring river of high
monsoon. The frozen, dark pools of her eyes had given way
to the smokestack dullness. On that day, like the day prior,
she had woken up with honks of a garbage truck out on the
street and drunk the cheap, inky tea that she
had made for herself and her son.
Bathing under a valveless tap, she
had put on her helmet, and set out.
The siren from the jute mill had blared
with an obscene loudness and promise.
She had to answer. She squared her shoulders
and trudged on, reeling back into the open maw of her
her slow, almost languid death, like a cassette on rewind.
Date: 31 / 12 / 2016
Copyright © Tamal Kundu | Year Posted 2016