I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
we strive to make sure
each day enlightens us
and brightens us
even as light fades to gray
may we keep fighting
with two swollen feet
beneath the body and soul
and intense life lessons
meshed with stresses
may we persevere
turn off fear's song
may we stand firm
as we glide along
through shifty winds of change
that may cause things to sway
but we hold true
inside the values and morality
we stand for
fall for nothing
may stumble along the trip
may swerve at the wheel yet
do not lose our grip
because no one
can eclipse the sun
before they're done
Just when situations arise
flooding us with pain we despise
and just when it seems like
our tear ducts are dry
from ongoing cries
we may think
things are on the brink of ending
then God shows us the ways of faith
by way of love that he's sending
we make sure
every day enlightens us
and brightens us
as each day takes its turn.
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012
Walking alone past the reeds blowing lace,
Stroking the oak by the old wooden gate,
Guided by trust to my lovers embrace,
Pouring my heart into leaves as they bate
Wind into dancing as feet hesitate,
Just long enough to find rhythm, I trace
Patterns in air as the pollen creates -
Fair is the face of the Lords given grace...
Sky paints a picture for moon in dark space,
Vast driven oceans of life demonstrate
Love for the mountainous deserts displaced,
Each born anew, by the wind to its fate -
Seamless infinity’s natural state,
Is seeing your eyes on another’s kind face
And Finding forgiveness for those who breed hate,
Fair is the face of the Lords given grace
Out in the sun as light seeks out its place,
Faith comes to breathe as it encapsulates
Bodies of men where his truth is encased,
Dreamers whose dreams become true and innate,
Their journey is hard but rewarding and great
Where love can be found but cannot be replaced
And words that when written just right captivate,
Fair is the face of the Lords given grace...
Each breath I breathe makes me appreciate
How beautiful life is, how rich and how chaste -
Nature’s perfection is light incarnate,
Fair is the face of the Lords given grace...
copyright Kristin Reynolds 2008
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2008
I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007
The lake was still sleeping
a light mist rose above,
a weathered dock could be seen,
its aged wood; full of memories.
The air crisp, breeze light,
trees majestic; watching all.
Squirrels busy scampering,
as a flock of geese soared above.
Way over yonder
clear across the still lake,
shining brightly were yellow shutters,
on our cabin; our special place.
We had toiled the garden
planted yellow roses with great care,
we had painted the old wood shutters,
yellow paint; speckled our hair.
The roof we re-shingled,
one painstaking nail at a time,
we even counted the ouches;
when our hammers got out of line.
With nothing but smiles
on our weary, aching bodies,
we held hands, and went running,
into the still of the lake; giggling.
We swam out to the dock,
it was a race; he won,
my hand he took laughing;
as he quickly scooped me up.
Our toes dangled playfully
sending ripples in the lake,
as we gazed at our cabin;
yellow shutters; fresh with paint.
The trees swayed slightly
as if nodding with approval,
for our cabin by the lake,
was our private sacred jewel.
As we cuddled together
warmth filled our souls,
for our bright yellow shutters,
symbolized, our love's blossoming growth.
It was on this very dock,
air crisp, breeze light,
when he gave me a yellow rose;
and asked me to be his wife.
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006
Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak
Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept
Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity
Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!
Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.
Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011
Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head
Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much
I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care
I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…
who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
We bound down the stairs, out into the light-of-day, and into the blue of the
misty breezes, heavily laden with the smell of wild sea salt roses that grow in
perfusion along the winding road, that bends and turns in gentle lifts and dips to
the other side of the bay, where it crosses the bridge and rises up and winds
away, over the hill.
Overhead the seagulls screech and glide over the ocean spray that washes on
the rocks on the lower banks behind our house along the Fundy Bay, where we
run like the wind through the fields of fresh cut hay and make our way to the
rocky mantle below .
There in the volcanic plateau, worn smooth as glass by the constant rolling
weight of the ocean, is our pool, known by all in our village, as ‘Lizza’s Bathtub’,
created by the eruption of the earth’s inner core, millennia’s ago.
We slip into the still, salty water that has been warmed beneath the blazing sun,
and float with the perry winkles and tiny crabs and listen to the sound of the
ocean, that roars beneath us as it leaves in the receding tide, while we drift
away, in our minds, my little brother the ‘King’ and I, the ‘Queen’ for a day on
the ‘Fundy Bay’.
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2006
Into the mist which settles upon the waters
Tempered elements connect and clash
Each vying for dominance within their domain
Lightning chases Thunder throughout forlorn skies
The harder she cracks her brilliant, whip the further he runs
In pain he roars through pitch black skies
Man stands in awe of the battle displayed
And the heavens hang low and cry pouring rain
Note: Inspired by "The perfect Storm" Very sad ending, yet, one of my favs.
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2011
My door is open
I welcome you
To my Highland lands
Off heathers and hue
Cross the bridge
Of centuries old
To my castle of grey
In it's regal fold
Stand with me
In the great hall of my past
Us Fraser's will last
Climb spiral stairs
To a turreted tower
Look out on my lands
As the northern lights shower
Turn to the left
Look out to the fields
They stretch for miles
Many harvests they yield
The moat leads off
Into a river so pure
With it's salmon ladder
Caught to mature
Lets take to the horses
To forests of pine
They carpet the glens
In greenery fine
Camp fire and cheer
Chasing the deer
The welcome we received
When we reached home
Venison and pheasant
From our Highland roam
Off the great hall
To the room of the past
Where tartans and paintings
My ancestral past
Open great fireplace
Lights up the room
Claymores and armour
In past battles bloom
The evening draws
Arrival of guests
To feast on the roam
For the food we are blessed
Bedtime retire for all
As i look out my window
In awe at it all
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Listen to the jazz instrumentals of Masekela,
as you take red wine outside a thatched
shelter in a beach in the Western Cape.
Enjoy a hearty meal of bobotie (meatloaf),
chakalaka (a spicy vegetable relish),
tomato bredie (a lamb and tomato stew),
potbrood (pot bread),
melktert ( dessert)......
and other forms of cuisine;
have a siesta in the canvas tents,
then you visit the misty mountains
of the Magoebaskloof.
To feel at one with nature,
visit Limpopo, and get lost in the awesomeness
of sighting elephants, lions, rhinos.....
You'll see baobab trees stretching their branches
to the red, setting sun;
get dazzled by the Limpopo river's majestic
flow to the Indian Ocean.
Introduce yourself to all kinds of dialects and people;
Africans, Dutch, Indians, and Malaysians.
Watch their traditional dances,
and listen to their folklore - it will remind you
we are from the same Womb; Earth.
See Nelson Mandela in people's smiles and way
of doing things in the cities, streets, and towns.
Listen to South Africa's unifying anthem,
as you take a ship back home......
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2017
Some people are voices
On the edge of rocks
With steep slopes and cliffs.
Some people are echoes
At the bottom of walls
Carved by rushing waters.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2007
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Copyright © Vincent Rossi | Year Posted 2012
“There is a time for each season…
To everything made…
There is a divine reason.
A time for purpose under
the heavens above…
A time for meaning from a God of love.
A time to be born. A time to die…
A time to farm the ground
under the beautiful sky.
A time to kill. A time to heal...
A time to tear down and
to build up with a passion and zeal
A time for weeping. A time for laughing…
A time to mourn. A time for dancing.
A time to keep...
A time to throw away.
A time to tear. A time to make amends today.
A time to get. A time for losing…
A time to keep. And to give
away at our choosing.
A time for silence. A time to speak…
A time for each hour
and day of the week.
A time for love. A time for hate…
A time for war. A time for peace at your gate.
How will you spend the time
God has given to you?
What is your choice? What will you do???
May this be a time living in
God’s purpose and design.
He created you and made
everything beautiful in his time!
By Jim Pemberton 05/22/10
Read Eccl. 3:1-11
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2011
peel away layers
© Joseph, May 15, 2009
© All Rights Reserved
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2009
Lightning blazes across the sky,
Thunder rumbles in quick reply.
Gusty winds cause debris to fly,
While children cry, while children cry.
Torrential rains fall night to day.
Roads are flooded and washed away.
Nature's wrath causing much dismay,
While people pray, while people pray.
A rainbow arcs across the sky,
As stormy clouds go swiftly by.
The sun comes out the earth to dry.
Now comes a sigh, now comes a sigh.
for Shadow Hamilton's "Your Favourite Old Poem #3" contest
Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2013
Orphaned footsteps round the old place.
Pitch black soil, packed deep with bartered
coin and Indian heads – wood and otherwise,
coat her worn leather shoes, Hutterite chic.
The long land screams within its own silence.
Prairie sage burns somewhere, a ghostly smudge
for the undulating grass and, those it serves.
Its alive scent makes the dead turn towards
its head - and the barely living turn to listen.
The impossibly endless horizon holds its bright
blue at bay, begging acknowledgement for
its self-professed being and looming enormity.
She looks at the broken window glass and
through the tattered, delicate gray lace. “Those
were hers.” She whispers to the one who listens.
This great-great-granddaughter sees the curtains
as they once were – wistful in the hot Manitoba
wind; fresh and lowing with the honest elemental
scent of aspens, hope and bare-knuckle wash boards;
always fresh; shifting in the cry for solace in summer
shadows – never as still as this moments endlessness.
Blowing through the deep brown of splintered pine
front doors; cracking the announcement of cast iron,
rot and burnt wood comes the simple statement of –
I lived. This mother of five young does not cry,
just yearns to walk in the old ones footsteps;
to know them loved; hear the birdsong through
unbroken bedroom windows for a 5am waking;
feel the resistance of dough on fingers that beg
to be broken, and kiss the twisting undead, living.
The burning of the noonday sun taps her whole,
marking; branding her pale Swedish skin its own.
The red sting of burnt breaks her inward silence,
welcoming her familiar face home.
© Kristin Reynolds 3 29 2009
*Reposted for John's Summer Celebration Contest. This is a personal celebration;
celebrating and honoring my great grandparents who settled in Manitoba after leaving
Sweden and Denmark. This celebrates the summer of family, at least for me. We went there
every summer until it was gone...
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
She remains a partial gift
some have none, yet some have much
for her scales, sideways they tilt
yet we crave her soothing touch.
With jars of scents, ointments and creams
ourselves we paint seeking her face
fanciful, our grotesque masks seems
yet she stays mocking our ways.
But true beauty in these things lie;
the morning dew on thirsty leaves
the new-born sun that's up so high
even in Nature's smiles on lonesome cliffs!
Copyright © Edward Babatunde | Year Posted 2006
your absence leaves me
reaching for rainbows
Copyright © Black Eyed Susan | Year Posted 2012
So young myself, I was naive'
Without a doubt, I did believe
the babe, then latched inside my womb
was bound to me, and would always be
Latched on, was he, as he was fed
Then later on, our hands instead
Not tall enough to open gates
I'd reach the latch for his escape
In time he grew to need more space
The bond we had, would stretch in place
With loving smiles, I watched him play
He longed to grow, and threads grew long
He reached to climb, and fly the wind
Yet ties remained, still ever strong
Years would pass, too soon, a man
Old ties would change, yet carry on
Love came along, as it should be
My eyes, if wise, must let it be
This union blessed, was good to see
Her love for you, the world could see
It didn't mean my son was gone
Songs are sung when lovers part
But no song for a mother's heart
When new adventures come one day
Those new roads take him far away
The man he is, has been set free
To be the man he wants to be
The child he was is never gone
She's letting go, yet holding on
If once, one wish were mine to choose
So many do my thoughts pursue
But one within my heart still yearns
If just one day, the clocks would turn
Together you and I would be
Sitting here among the trees
I would hold you close, upon my knees
then turn you loose, to join the leaves...
First Poem Submitted To Poetry Soup
Written not long after the weddings of all three of my children
who were all married within 1-1/2 years of each other!
I must have been feeling the empty nest blues and all the changes that came along ! :)
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
Copyright © Elizabeth Nathaniel | Year Posted 2012
We smile, it's raining
Jovial in dancing joy
Soaked to the skin
Warm hearth welcomes us
Naked to bare, towelling
Pillows, rugs, two lie
Face to face, lips now caress
We, attraction flows
Undulating shadows grace
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014
“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and
“Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done.
It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.
It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space.
It was the only feeling that existed.
They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
This was her child –
And she was his mother.
(there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life;
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face;
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.”
She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at
your feet – they’re huge!”
And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you
The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.
*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother
who has graced this sacred room.
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
I am the
The emblem of my
proud country it has
been our valiant
pride for so
The thistle has been the national emblem of Scotland
since the reign of Alexander III (1249 - 1286) and was
used on silver coins issued by James III in 1470.
According to the legend, an invading Norse army was
attempting to sneak up at night upon a Scots army
encampment. During this operation one barefoot Norseman
had the misfortune to step upon a Scots Thistle,
causing him to cry out in pain, thus alerting Scots
to the presence of the Norse invaders.
My entry into Deborah Guzzi's " Oh, what a Shape I'm in! " contest.
Not easy doing the above, i nearly went cross eyed.
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
I have come to accept the possibility
that I, myself, may be partially to blame (my compost pile of shame)
that I may have stroked the very wheel (unable to feel)
that, set in motion, is the cause of
so much pain (unsheltered in the rain)
Silently suffering through endless winters (embers, cinders)
without anticipation of Spring (hope an ethereal thing)
blind to Mother Earth's gifts (tenuous unfelt shifts)
the colors, the scents of her blossoms (habitually playing possum)
deaf to the melodies of the birds (knowledge lost, language
as they sing
She calls to me but my barriers are thick (mentally stunted, physically sick)
densely scarred and wounded (as I am, to the quick)
As the sludge chokes the seabirds (screaming their lost words)
and the fishes (murdering Piscean wishes)
as Her forests are cleared by those
both greedy and vicious
I feel Mother Earth tremble (demons assemble)
beneath my feet
hear Her sigh as I place a hesitant finger (shaking, letting it linger)
on Her weakened pulse
thready and irregular
We are killing Her, Mother Earth,
mother of us all, matricide (no longer can we hide)
listen, listen to Her heartbeat...
I may have stroked the very wheel...
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2010
I am a rock; earth, air, fire and water;
a child of the elements.
I grow and erode;
my greatest strength is stillness;
my voice, the silence.
I am a tree, a child of the elements.
I grow and decay;
shedding leaves and bark.
My voice is a whisper;
my strength is the stillness;
though I bow to the winds.
Immobile am I; a conundrum of nature.
I am a mountain; a child of the elements.
I grow and erode, by layers.
my strength is the stillness;
My purpose is a home for rock, tree and beast.
I am a human, a child of the elements.
I grow and decay like everything else.
My voice is a gift;
my strength is the still silence,
where I rarely go.
Haphazardly, I run amok;
relying too much on things I create,
instead of my silent strength.
My greed crushes the rocks;
destroys the trees;.
My ego dynamites the mountains;
poisons the water and air.
Because of me, the earth and her children, suffer.
Wallowing in my greed and ignorance;
my siblings of the elements, are dispensable.
I am a human, a child of the elements.
I destroy because I ignore,
the still silence; my strength.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014