I'm aware that
They'll dare me to surrender when my burner's unkindled
And the barrel is empty
Since their whiskey is missing
But it's in our blood and baby it's trickling and
We're on a roll
I heard from her and her merciless curves
That the curse'll come first
Just 'fore the rebirth
It's a thought that gets lost when you pitch it with a cross
O'er a plate made of moss so
I'll name it Shell from Sawed-Off
As I paint Hell from Far-Off
Like the Seraphim cherishing the heart
Who can't turn from the art
Like embarrassing a perishing enemy
Yeah, one last taunt
When told to listen as though it'd fix it
Something went missing
Although I didn't miss it
A relation on a ship quite distant and
Where the ocean switched and the compass died instantly
Oh it's in our blood, baby we're tricky so now
Out that ship has sailed
Like the Seraphim cherishing the shark
Who can flip 'round the ark
Like embarrassing a perishing enemy
Yeah, one last taunt
And our sweat is slightly trickling
A whiskey business, the highest feeling
And the pressure is highly tricky
A risky business, a godly healing
Copyright © Criss Jami | Year Posted 2012
My knees were the things that
kept me up and my skin is my
cutting board my eyes are the
rain clouds to the fire running
down my arms and my heart is
the fire place that keeps me
burning so calm
Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013
I stand at the window and watch the snow fall
It's been two hours since Billy left
The wind has built, a blizzard set in
And I can't put my mind at rest.
The snow has drifted blocking the road he took
But he knows his job, the cattle must be watered and fed
And hay for the baby calves to bed.
"I'll be all right," he said.
There is no school it is Christmas vacation
The radio predicted conditions to worsen.
With his family save and warm
He then sets about caring for those out in the storm.
TV and presents keep the children entertained
While I my hair do pull.
Dinner is ready and still Billys not home
And with questions like "When's daddy coming home?
And "Can I go out and play in the snow?"
It is hard for them to understand
It isn't just a snow fall, the danger is far to grave
Wander to far and they could be lost
And in turn perhaps lose their lives.
Two o'clock, three o'clock, four o'clock came
Finally Billy comes through the door
Wet, exhausted and frozen to the bone
He removed his outer garments and collapsed on the chair.
As he ate the children came
Excited to have daddy home
Satisfied he was safe and sound
They went back to their TV and games.
Chore time came and the blizzard ruled
I offered to do my share
He smiled and said, "Everything's fine.
Just the cow to milk and the pigs to feed
And I'll be right back inside. "
I put on my coat took shovel in hand
And worked at clearing the path.
In an hour it would be covered again
But I needed to have some fresh air.
All were in bed, the Christmas tree bright
The Nativity set caught my eye
Tenderly I picked up the manger, bow my head and say
"Thank You Baby Jesus and Happy Birthday."
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2013
The summer sun was high. The heat was oppressive.
A whalebone corset dug into my body's tender parts.
Peering from the shop, my hand touches the pane
of dearly brought glass it vibrates with the hoof-beat of riders.
The weak, blue-sky pales, clouding over with the dust.
Children playing hoop, let it drop with an unheard clatter.
Inside Fort Laramie’s provisioner, Mrs. Dreary's dropped-plate clatters.
Outside, a thunder of hoofs race pell-mell through heat, oppressive.
“Indians!” Children run through the street's miasma of dust.
Folks in wagons and on horseback flee for other parts.
“Sioux,” I nod. Gunshots ring through the air savaging the riders.
The shopkeeper’s wife babe in arms runs up the stairs, baby screams in pain.
Arrow flights buzz by shattering the shop's window panes.
The Indians leap from horse back to tile roof raising a clatter.
Mr. Dreary reaches for his Sharp shooter and aims at the riders.
A cat’s eye marble falls from the toy display, a mundane oppression.
Dreary slams shut the door, shards of glass scatter, bullet parted.
“Mame, git away from that window! Gener’l Connor’ll kill me if y’ur dusted.”
My eyes, now black and hollow as a barn owl's, tear, full of dust.
“Damn heathens,” Mr. Dreary cusses as bullets fly through broken panes.
He pulls me behind him and opens the useless glass door. “Thop” an arrow parts
his scalp. He falls back, landing beside me,his spurs clattering.
The baby screams again. I turn to see Mrs. Dreary's oppressive
grip on the child. “He’s dead.” She says grabs the Sharp and kills the next rider.
The soldiers finally arrive and chase the mongrel band of riders.
Mrs. Dreary, babe in one arm, Sharp in the other, kicks the marble in the dust.
She walks through the door, out of one carnage into another type of oppression,
the soldiers are executing the Sioux braves. Children watch in pain.
Across the street a lone warrior perches. A roof tile clatters
to the dirt. His arrow flies and a soul is parted.
Falling with blind numbness, forward, down, parting
the water in the horse trough left for the riders.
My brass buttons and flint arrowhead scrape the tub clattering,
no one in the street notices my departing in the day's dust.
My open mouth fills with bile and the rancid taste of pain.
“How improper,” was my last lucid thought, truly oppressive.
A clatter of hoofs rocks my parting.
The oppression, of man against man leaves, with the riders.
Only dust and the pain of the living remain.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
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
Blood and soul.
And for stupid reason.
Red covers my sheets and my pillow.
Blood Saying We can be dead.
Fine We can play dead.
So long as you teach our soul
That we are a sponge until death. Then.
Squeeze until the point
Where e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g else ends
And every crater in me
Is too depraved of oxygen.
And my wager.
Is you simply find us a new place to live.
Lets say infinite.
Lets prove disobedience.
Lets give several billion people intricate.
So we would have a sphere to reboot.
To slay through
The judges and judges
And president. Supreme justice.
Racking our brains to understand
The retribution beyond the destruction.
I could be the most violent.
And I can be the most honest.
Say we may never be moved
Say F---orget erosion.
send our love under water.
Its a tickle torture.
A tickling before I go
A tickling before and after
A stupid shuffle of fingers
I begin to fall.
I would end my body if this tickle never stopped.
just want to build my nest
With no fool to stop it.
Copyright © connor and | Year Posted 2014
You're growing up so fast these days,
when will it ever stop?
I still remember your first day home,
Lil blue eyes and your golden locks.
You held my finger, with your whole hand,
So tiny you were in my arms
And right then and there, I stood and I swore,
To keep you from any and all harm.
Though that's impossible, I hear you say,
It doesn't keep me from trying.
I would take on and endure any pain,
Just to keep you from crying.
You'll never know the full and complete
Hold you have on my heart, it's God plan,
he has blessed us together,
Knowing one day he will take us apart.
So bare with me baby girl, I'm not any pro
I wasn't born a mother, like being a daughter,
We must learn as we go.
So slow down and enjoy this time,
God gave to you and me
I'll always try to steer you clear,
And aim your pain at me.
But sadly enough there will be days,
When you must carry your own,
But never think I am not there,
It's just part of learning as we go.
I love you baby girl, and rather
Or not you yet to see,
All my advice is filled with love,
Only trying to steer you free.
Copyright © Brandi Ketcherside | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
You can tell me that you love me
But…I know that it ain’t true
Because you left on Sunday
Said you were tired of feelin' blue
So now it’sTuesday afternoon
And you’re coming around again
Well it doesn’t really matter
Cuz, I ain’t lettin’ you back in
You said that you had changed
Told me you knew you’d done me wrong
Well baby I heard that old line before
Same ole’ story same ole’ song
Cuz’ you wouldn’t know good lovin'
If it came knockin’ at your door
You wouldn’t know it now
Darlin’- you never did before
I know you well enough by now
That you’d say most anything
To get right back into my heart
When it comes to good lovin’
You don’t even know where to start
So you think that I’d believe you
With that same ole’ dance and song
Well, baby there just ain’t no way
Now go on back where you belong
Cuz, you wouldn’t know good lovin'
If it stared you in your face
Once you had me, now you’ve lost me
Go find someone else to chase
Copyright © anne p. murray | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
He was a crusty old cowboy, that was all he knew
His home, living in an old cow camp shack
It was a cold December, with snow everywhere
An old wood burning stove, his coffee to brew
His saddle, bed roll, and hat on the hat rack
Getting ready for another cold night out there
They brought him his grub and supply
Once a month, if they could get in
Every morning he was up early to check the cattle
Chopping ice for the cattle to drink or die
Knowing the next morning, he would do it all over again
Freezing cold and his teeth would rattle
On Christmas Eve, he found a baby calf in the snow
The mother had died, giving birth to the little one
He carried him back on his saddle to the old cow damp
Built a fire on the wood burning stove, outside it was ten below
Knowing that is what a good shepherd would have done
Getting the baby calf back on track
Spring had sprung and in began to thaw
The two grew to become quite a pair
Everyday the calf was by his side, cowboy in the saddle
Always fight together, like a outlaw to a gun
The calf would follow him to God knows where
The old cowboy would say, "Come on Christmas, let's go check the cattle"
Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2009