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Edinburgh (the poem that this post used to be)
Sweeping through your scotch broom,
weeping over your cobblestones,
lilting around the columns of Calton Hill,
is an Age of Reason so brilliantly brooding,
some nights I am kept awake
listening to Pendragon's breath caress Arthur's Seat,
and whispers drip from sills on St. Giles Street.
Though roots may drink from a sleepless night,
when morning light creeps through the curtains,
my love for you is renewed.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013
The sky resembles the robin's eggshells
scattered across the ground,
a blue so seemingly infinite yet fragile,
cracks running between understanding and madness
complementing each other
as divine truths in their own right
to conquer my mind,
to unhinge the doors,
making it unnecessary to pick rusted locks
letting thoughts fly free,
releasing love out into the horizon.
If frozen within caged snapshots of mildewed expectations,
it will surely die,
but even so,
I was willing to strangle it by holding on too tightly.
Until I saw the sky and eggshells today
Peppered clouds reflected on the water,
paralleling speckles on the eggshells,
remind me of the freckles on your face.
We need to be wide-open-free,
we need to fly,
without focusing too hard on shells of yesterdays.
We need to unclench our fists,
unclench our tongues,
explore the vast blue peppered sky
on wings of letting go....
so that we can once again feel with purity,
so that we can hold each other ever closer.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
Long before Horus' exposure on its trunk
and the nailing of Jesus upon its grain,
rings have been added within the Tree
while people proclaim to hold the key
of salvation: a continually borrowed mythology
swallowed; an extra-strength sleeping pill
pulling the masses into slumber,
and away from the awakened truth
that such supposed salvation
is an illusory ticket far too easy to obtain
for it to be real—
a discriminatory, fairy tale-damnation
that multiplies the division
of "Us and Them."
Too many people hand out the easy tickets,
then cut and light the tree:
a hypodermic injection of selfish memories
mixed into the mortar of temples designated as sacred,
while dogmatic shears amputate roots from the sky.
Too many people preach
about a cheap, polystyrene heaven,
while only a few walk the narrow path
that leads towards the kingdom within,
and live the sacrifice because it feels right.
Again and again,
the ticket isn't so easy.
We must put aside our slumber-crutches,
stop watching the few carry the rest
upon their backs, until bones creak and groan
from the weight of people waiting for salvation
to be handed to them.
For 27 years, 46664 was etched into the bark
of a branch in the road.
When forked doors opened,
a living, breathing gospel
brought down fences,
and even then, the wood was made into crutches
for people to say,
"M will fix it; M will do this, M will do that;
M will save us, just wait and see."
M is finally free. Yes, he is free!
Free, but not lost to us;
he survives as spirit-seeds.
We must cease to lean upon crutches;
we must purge the pill from our blood,
and awaken into gardeners who water the seeds
within the soil of our hearts,
before the vision withers completely,
and we remain only as husks
waiting to be hydrated by watering cans;
weakened hands and arms unable to lift their weight
held in our own hands all along,
held in our hands all along.
December 7th/8th, 2013
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013
* ~Dark Silver Haze~ *
(side#1) (side #2)
come taste life ---------- Heart-warming wine
old and stale, ---------- Jot down a line
unflavored, unpolished, --------- Mood changes hue
A sour, dim shade --------- To sweet silver blue
the lowest feeling ---------- How high the cost
eternal gray sky ---------- How much is lost
hollow memories ---------- Back payment due
A sour, dim shade --------- To sweet silver blue
weak limbs, overpower ------- Head shake and sigh
moments of lights -------- None left to deny
everything ends -------- Insight in view
A sour, dim shade -------- To sweet silver blue
torn from reality -------- Somehow I gain
low spirits of sorrow -------- Beauty from pain
bitter and dull, --------- As thoughts turn to you
A sour, dim shade -------- To sweet silver blue
**A deep Look Into The eyes of the Poet Destroyer**
~A Tim Ryerson Collaboration~
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
When did a bed become your prison
I see your strength absorbed
Absorbed by the mattress
I turn you
Trying to prevent sores
Who would have thought soft sheets
Could cut like glass
I hold on to you
The younger you
Remembering your smile
I had thought you to be
The most beautiful woman in the world
It is said that boys fall in love with their mothers
What I miss most
Yes most of all is laughter
Those times no one else existed
The moments when we were the best of us
Before life became real
Chasing of dreams
I thank you for my humor
These were not accidents
They sprouted from the ground you nurtured
The time you spent
The cheering I heard as I lived my journey
I knew I could always come home
Now you are home
Let me read to you my stories
We still have smiles to share
You who I love
Who cared for me
I will not abandon you to a strangers care
I will usher you to your beginning
This bed can't hold one as strong as you
One day soon
You will skip into paradise
You will pick daisies
You will place them in your long flowing hair
When the time is right I will join you
When I have accomplished all that I need to do
I will miss you
I will cry for myself
Not for you
Because I know
You live beyond this room
I will once again
You are the most beautiful
Woman in the world!
Dedicated to my Friend Armand.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
(For my friend Aisling: da'iman 'amal)
In the night that runs on fear, smile at me.
When nightmares haunt, laugh at me.
When demons show their ugly masks, beam at me.
And always, ever have hope.
When your head is so full it cascades, stare at stars.
As thoughts spill ferociously, softly seek them.
Forget thousands of misplaced words, see glimmers
Of hope, always have hope.
Days where you can't hear your thoughts, listen to music.
Minutes failing to making sense, immerse in singing.
'Seconds' a word without meaning, tune in harmony.
Believe in hope, there always is hope.
When nothing rhymes, you almost lose it,
In darker days, you cannot meet it,
In doubt, despair, or anger, it will elope,
But it will return, not ever lose hope!
January 21, 2017
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
Living amid the blurred lines of my reflections
Stark cold fears snow me blanket my resolve
Nestled my leafless core begging for rebirth
Patches of life clumped to the reality of what is what was
Soul penetrating every doubt of self worth
Raw exposure of glory days forgone
Dreams engulf the rapture of greener pastures
Revealed in roots embedded firmly in my foundation
Seeds flourish branches extend and trunks stand firm
Copyright © Carol B. | Year Posted 2016
Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
I shall meet thee in the summer of thy heart,
where we once walked head to each
elegant upon the world....
And had not a care but for little winds of love
winking there in the dreams of trees,
laying upon me to so delicately,
tickle with your autumn hair,
always so soap-scented you
Touch me where I had not known
the ease of such wonder in your eyes,
splendor only for a great king ----
but I a hopeless romantic muse,
with little empty pockets blessed
with thy precious petal,
am richer than any lord!
I shall wait for thee in our golden glade,
the heart which flows the waterfall....
by the dawn of your sweet embrace,
in the summer of thy heart,
I shall wait....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
Soft wind, warm and weightless
That brushes my cheeks in cool of day
And on warm moonlit nights of summer
Let me lay upon your expansive wings
Let me breathe deeply of your spirit
Carry me o’er God’s beautiful earth
Carry me across the turquoise seas
Where silence lies supreme as dolphins play
Listen as their bodies slice the oceans deep
As the sun seems to linger enjoying the view
Let me down for a while to walk bare feet upon warm sands
Let me frolic with gentle white crested waves, then
Carry me far beyond blue heaven’s dome
Carry me to my Fathers’ home
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2011
through a tiny lens
held firmly with hands
eyes gaze in awe..
with a simple twist
colours explode harmoniously
the colours are stunning
so vivid, so alive
with truth as in life..
this ever changing vision
is but broken glass shards
not whole, not complete..
simple, plain, tiny pieces
they don't fit, they don't belong
different shades, different sizes..
fragmented, swirling on command
no direction,they stop; at one's touch
and through this seemingly disconnect..
therin lies their beauty
for these tiny glistening pieces
imperfect jewel tone shades, dance; together..
revealing the essence of life,
humanity and all who breathe
for they gloriously join; naturally..
to inspire joy, excitement, wonderment
the green piece could be a used wine bottle
tiny violet piece from a castaway vase..
regardless of their origin
these magnificant, illuminating pieces
unite as one and magically dance..
with truth as in life
beauty is as beauty does
fusing together, naturally, effortlessly..
broken shards now glistening jewels
the spirit of every man, woman and child
is part of this most magical creation..
for every size, shape and gorgeous hue
is us; in every race, age & size
coming together, to create, to inspire..
tunnel vision seamlessly vanishes
as eyes are opened; captivated
at the wonderment, joy and harmony of..
becoming one; beautifully and with faith..
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
Authored by Chuck Keys
It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.
There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically
It wasn't here or there and it was.
With no distinction,
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.
It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.
In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.
The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."
Differences exist for differences,
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
In tune with this familiar vibe, let’s wonder how it might be
Across the room our eyes will meet, a set of four
In a place setting reserved for two, captivated
Our everyday routines and thoughts will speak
Through the eyes, uninhibited, grooving in the same skin
Once upon a raging fire we’ll celebrate
The memory of that zing thing, we'll watch as it
Circles slowly into softer flames, flickering
Well-suited as old comfortable shoes
And continue enveloped in life's mystical sound
More sensible, aware of the need to be inward
Or outward at different times, we'll find pleasure
In being tired wild things, slowing down in our swings
If it breaks and cracks we’ll pledge not to notice
So, just for the sake of thinking that it might not last
Before it’s even begun, let’s just wish upon hope
Until we meet, and vow to be good to each other
In this moment, tonight
Copyright © Karen Anglesey | Year Posted 2013
I write each letter by hand in careful cursive.
I want every sentence to be pretty,
to look feminine and delicate -
to soften the ugliness you face everyday.
After each line, I let the ink dry.
You don't deserve smudges.
You don't deserve any of this.
My words are foolish,
full of meaningless descriptions
of meaningless events.
But I can't sit here at this polished desk -
in this cozy room in this quiet house
on this peaceful street
and write what I'm really thinking.
I can't be selfish.
So I keep writing my careful cursive
on my pretty stationary.
I keep sending my meaningless letters
into the ugly world - to wherever you are.
And no matter how many times
I open the mailbox, I'm never prepared
for that hideous stamp,
that heartless phrase:
"Return to Sender."
For Michael's "Boomerang" contest
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013
In my field of dreams I see you
Walking towards me
With that smile on your face
With promise and hope in your eyes
Somehow your reflection has gone dim
My hope at times too
Then I remember the life you lived
It was all about hope
All about not giving up
Never forgetting to smile
That will always remain –
A bittersweet memory
Times like tonight you are so close by
But I can feel your breathe against my skin
I can feel the warmth of your touch
It’s not in the things you said,
It’s in the way you did them
Even when I miss you
Still, I am thankful
I was blessed with you
Even if just for a little while
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2012
The Celtic dreams come forth through auric visions of an all-seeing eye.
An ancient calling where the mystic rivers flow down a rugged mountain
while Angels bathe in the springs of an everlasting and radiant beauty.
The Soul grasps at memories enfolding within fields of emerald green,
where the sun kisses the golden barley as it dances softly to a warm,
I see my blessed star once more awaiting me upon the great golden plain,
enchanting the beautiful songbirds’ sweet melodies, and holding the air
one breathes. I come on the breath of a sigh, as the haunting Celtic pipes
are calling breathlessly to your adoring beauty, with true angelic music
playing wondrous tunes to you over the mountains forever more.
From the Kingdom of Arrach, I stand looking out over a magical mountain
river from which mighty waters roar, and find deep ethereal senses pure
where the inner eye sees through murky depths, on the edge of a dark
mysterious voyage toward the dreams of my past. Stars twinkle in an
azure sky, and within these stars my Diamond Queen is shining, as liquid
gold melts blending gently with radiant colors of a misted celestial light.
I stand as the true power of an ancient time, and the past lives live on
within my warrior heart. High above the mountain an eagle spreads its
wings, evoking the horizon, and sounding soft echoes as an affectionate
calling. My beloved, this Celtic heart beats only for you. Come to me from
your star, and we shall join once more, uniting dreams under the sleeping
eyelids, and later awaken the whispers in the seed and pollen floating in
the enchanted night air.
The eagle circling ever so slowly in descending circles, with a halo vision,
falling to the spirit of Celtic beauty. A flaming heart burns once more, you
come as promised, eclipsing upon this earth. I kneel before you my gracious
one to softly kiss your breathless petals. A thousand dreams take flight. The
lonely wolf on the highest pinnacle of Arrach awaits his love as the eagle flies
in search of a new Celtic dream to be reborn into this life.
Lighting moonbeams dance with the shadows of sparkling starlight glistening
silver, born into an existence from a black void of nothingness. The wolf and
the eagle shall now join as one in human shape and form. It’s at this moment
that new legends arise in the sunsets, holding your slender fingers to my heart
with a deepest joy that skips inside a chain that kisses your every command.
And now behold the glory of the coming, as light explodes in such colored hues.
If I could blow onto your hair a gentle whisper where a Soul floats, breathing
warm treasure sparkles, with one very special gleam. Once more King Aird Righ
and his Diamond Queen come forth to redeem again the mantle of Celtic glory
and storied greatness.
A gift gem of a thousand lifetimes, beyond dreams of sweet honey, awakening
in the morning I bask in your very light and mythical presence. On the breath
of a sigh you come from your peaceful sleep, called by our Love speaking from
our ancient time, and with each passing moon, I sense while gazing at the stars
ineluctable feelings and emotions as the divine dewdrops of the morning speak.
You are the greatest jewel these blue eyes shall ever see—a diamond shining
bright in my darkest hours—you are my love Supreme. This Soul calls over the
ocean waves, as each echo in your voice ripples like a tiny humming bird with
its heart beating so rapidly and flowering kisses on your soft and sweet dreams.
Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (August 25, 2015) (Free Verse)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
They said he couldn't play
"It's a white man's game, boy"
Until he swung that bat
- Jackie Robinson
They said her place was in the back
"You're in my seat, darkie"
She was comfortable where she was
- Rosa Parks
They said she'd never learn
"Blind, deaf and dumb wretch"
Love and patience yielded a scholar
- Helen Keller
They said her scribblings were nonsense
"The only use for this drivel is kindling"
Harry Potter rose from the ashes
- J.K. Rowling
They said her place was in the home
"A bullet to the head will silence her"
She survived... and leads the way
- Malala Yousafzai
They said she'd never be a star
"Looks like someone's crazy aunt"
And then she opened her mouth to sing
- Susan Boyle
They said he was nothing but a rebel
"Kill him and watch his cult fade away"
He arose from the dead and conquered
- Jesus Christ
They said his poetry was lame
"Block the pesky troublemaker"
His words shoot arrows through the heart
I wish I wish I wish I had a thousand years to heal
For if I had this wish I wished they'd know just how I feel
If only they would sit a spell and share some tea with me
This wish I have just might come true, my heart could then be free
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
This morning I wrote a poem
about a yellow heart
pining for red fusion,
in a desperate attempt
to shake the fruit
And tonight I am alone
without tangerine lips
or the temptation of apple,
carefully watching familiar verses
and fanatically dance around
like a final punctuation mark
or an overused cliche,
while my hands whittle metaphors
into a quick-witted instrument
sharp enough to scrape
the smeared imagery
off the sidewalk of poem,
Still I am not sorry
the fruit has not
to kiss my weary head,
it takes an overly cautious yellow
to see the perfect shade of red
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2006
Green - I have seen you somewhere within my evergreen soul
Where the Omniscient plays his flute
To rejuvenate the tired ones - scattered by the humdrum of daily chores
His idiosyncratic tune soothes my heart
Green - I have seen you somewhere within the desolated dry lands
Where you assure us of a definite return
Spiralling with the next rain to come - with the seeds of new love
Sprouting with our endless hopes - in the hands of caressing farmers
Farmers of life too
Green - I have seen you somewhere within the falling leaves
Burnt by the desires of their own - dejected souls
Still they fall on the ground from where they got nourishment
Mix them with their mother to make her fertile
To maintain the perpetual flow of love
To the next progeny
An evergreen dream
Green - I have seen you somewhere within ...
My desperate hopes
Copyright © Anindya Mohan Tagore | Year Posted 2016
I do have purpose
that stays near
a constant reminder
of my inner child
As my conscienceness
shines through to create
a new perspective
I break out of my cocoon
Only to discover that
I find places where
the sanctity of my being
does not flow as it should
My intuition is what
guides me though
there is no longer the
desire for the constant
upheaval of tragedy to strike
On my journey I have
discovered that there
are many hidden truths
So as my spirit ascends
I am inspired by my bravery...
If I am frightened
by the visibility that
standing proud does to me
then I shall stand even taller
No longer will I fear
the degradation that
once was my shadow
there is no home here
for the shame any longer
And I will no longer be
swayed by the fragments of defeat
When I become sorely tempted by
And I think I can't
make it on my own
I will remember that
I am walking this
road of life for me...
Copyright © Christine Wessels | Year Posted 2007
Like a shaft I fly,
a beam of inflorescence,
I travel right into your bedroom
at the break of dawn.
"Wake up my friend,
my brothers are coming
to illuminate your day."
Minute follows minute
my duties I perform,
I peep through gaps
of a Venetian blind,
as someone on a bed
lies lazily supine.
I am his wake up call,
into his heavy sleepy eyes.
"Get up my friend,
'T is busy at the crèche
Where babies bare their hearts.
I breathe some warmth
upon their frail frames,
paint rosy their cheeks
in the faint hope
that some kind beings
these poor unsettled souls.
Through a window pane,
glass stained with holy men,
I filter lonely and in stealth,
on a cold spotlight on a marble slab
of someone long forgotten
in an unfrequented church.
Would you consider night
as my immortal enemy?
Oh no, my friend, oh no,
for in the darkness of the gloom,
over choppy and rough seas
I travel happily over peril
and show the way to safety
to mariners lost at sea,
I am a beacon of hope.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016
The light is muted,
glowing ever so faintly
and I cup my hands
to shelter it from
the harsh wind...
and my heart
does a triple dive
then beats back to normal
as I see that flame
fight, become steady,
and stand up against that wind.
I've seen this happen before,
but it always tries to shine forth
with a ferocity
that can only be fueled
by love and faith...
A different gust,
yet still it tries to beam...
This light amazes me
with its tenacity.
I go through life with
only a mere spark of it
in my heart
But how proud I am
to have been borne from it,
to have it with me,
burning in my soul.
This light is awe-inspiring...
with just a kiss from it
and warmth abounds,
never burning out,
rather, sharing that glow
to brighten lives.
I fear though,
for the light is muted,
glowing ever so faintly
and I cup my hands
to shelter it from
the harsh wind...
Taking deep breaths,
we search for ways
to make that flame
glow strong again,
burning as bright as before
A strike of a match
for a candle,
with its smoke weaving
its way to heaven,
to say a prayer
for that light
to keep on glowing
The wick may be short,
the wax melting faster
than we would want it to...
But the light is still there,
and that gives me hope.
Ilaw --pronounced 'ee-lao' as in 'how'; meaning "light"
"Ilaw ng tahanan" is a Filipino idiomatic expression
that refers to mothers;
This phrase can translate to "light of the home"
Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2011
We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)
Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.
Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
The stones settle,
Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.
We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner, for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:
"Honey, are you alright?"
(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)
There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-
boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...
And then serenity.
The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.
"I'm here now... and you're ok."
We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.
No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,
but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006
Tell me that this fear is just paranoia in my mind,
we're not straining, we're not struggling,
we're not sinking, we're just fine.
I'm not perfect my dearest, but damn have I tried,
and I'll try harder but I know I'll have the same results every time.
Do you want me all the ways that I am?
With all the struggles and the tears and the clinging to your hand.
I fear your getting further and Im left on the shore to stand,
watching you in the distance with a bullet in my hand.
Tell me all this worry, its just clutter in my mind,
tell me not to worry that we're doing just fine.
Cause Im scared to run you off and I feel Im falling deep.
And Im so frightened of these thoughts that its getting hard to sleep.
All I know is that the heart wants what it desires,
because of you the match inside has turned into a fire.
And I feel the broken glass thats sticking from my skin,
Wondering if you'll remove the pain or push it back in.
My hearts frantic wondering if you feel the same,
pleading and begging for more than just a saying,
but to feel and to see that im not alone,
with being in this love thats overwhelming.
Once I told you that we didnt have a spark,
but you were lighting up and I was sitting in the dark.
And this fire, this blaze its wrapped in desire.
Im terrified to lose you, I think I might die or,
maybe disappear from all the pieces falling out,
im going crazy but when i open my mouth, nothing comes out,
and I cant explain to you why I just need to hold you close,
why every time you leave Im scared to let you go,
why these tears are building up behind my eyes,
all I know is that the heart wants what it desires
and it desires to be your wife.
So tell me in my panic, that your words are true,
tell my my dearest what I mean to you,
tell me that this paranoia is all within my mind
we're not struggling, we're not sinking tell me we're just fine
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2013
Grief is not something we “get through”…
you “get through” a bad day
Grief is not something we “get over”,
“you ”get over” a cold”
Grief is not something we “move on from”
you “move on from” a bad relationship”
But Grief is… a companion we “move forward with”,
learning from and growing, with each agonizing step.
Grief is… a heart-wrenching process, not bound by time,
But sets us on a “lifelong journey” of finding truth and meaning…
Grief is not a crutch we hold onto for pity
It is not a lack in character
It is not a weakness that needs to be strengthened
Or a problem that needs fixing
It is not an enemy to be slain
Or like a wild animal, to be caged
Grief is… “A METAMORPHOSIS OF HUMAN LIFE”
YES! that needs “time”… “A LIFETIME”
Grief is… an acknowledgement of true love shared
and true love lost
Grief is… a love we hold so deep within our souls
That our tears fall to caress the pain…
“God given tears”, full of purpose and meaning
For each one carries with it a piece of our heart
grief hugs us and holds us close
to a great love we can no longer touch…
grief is… our friend for without it
our lives would have been a lie.
Grief is…purely and simply a journey of love
It is a friend, to those of us who mourn
A friend who sees what we need and allows us to be us
Grief is a release of unimaginable pain…
a release of a great indescribable loss…
Grief is… the bridge that crosses repentant oceans,
spans desolate canyons, and fear filled mountain tops.
that we may cross over this tragedy to a renewed heart
by means of the love we shared and continue to share
through the love of our Almighty God
A pain we can use, to broaden our hearts
and the hearts of all those around us
it is… a road we must travel to gain wisdom.
A level of wisdom you will never achieve by playing strong.
For only when we sink to the bottomless pit of grief
Will we be awakened by the light of truth.
Do not judge it… for it contains Gods secrets
Secrets you can only hear by listening
through the blare of the pain.
It is a sacred contract to be in awe of and inspired by
To learn from and grow from
To gain compassion and understanding from
It is a journey that holds a sacred contract
That will be signed by each and every one of us
Who has the strength… and the courage…
to love with all your heart and all your soul.
It is not a journey I would wish on anyone
But now that I am here I will walk it with honor
And purpose, with my head held high and my feet in stride
For at the end of this road there you’ll be,
waiting to take me home.
Copyright © Bernard Colasurdo | Year Posted 2013
(a conversational collaboration with Christine Ueri)
"remember the dream I had when we were 10?
(waves and waves of cornflowers everywhere)
about the boy and the closet?
(sunflowers, circle, glass house?....closet, yes)
(the closet was cornflower blue?)
the light in that dream was cornflower blue
(the air, the atmospheric light?)
yes, especially in the closet
I had that dream for so long
I'll never forget
little boy blue and the kingfishers --
the blue and white china plates
with the bridge and the lovers; the two doves in the willow tree,
that made me look for japanese letters....horse.
the funny things we do as children
(you are writing a poem....)
catch the words, my love
(you already wrote a poem up there; bridge it together --
I dried cornflowers with dandelions in a blue and white book; but it wasn't a dream.
Well, in a way it was, because at the time, I was floating in the clouds)
he wore a blue and white striped top in my dream
and I remember him
when I look at the sky,
the clouds and the golden sun --
I caught the words!
(yes! did you string them all together?)
August 29th, 2012
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
Through thickening haze,
I hear your voice call my name,
encouraging me, words beating
with my heart, guiding me home
as I stumble and crawl…
lost in a winding maze,
blinded by a smokescreen haze.
My life falls off-course; a sudden struggle,
I am suffocated by my own thoughts,
by perfectly manicured hedges,
by a world of betrayal…a world of deceit.
Yet, I live every moment with hope –
I see filtered rays of light,
feel their warmth on my skin,
a reminder of Heaven when I shiver within.
As I climb my leafy-green, prison walls,
my courage creates new heightened paths.
Like English Ivy weaving
through a garden lattice,
I grow taller, plan my escape,
hear your unwavering voice
drape over me with love and strength…
Your hand, outstretched,
seems just within my reach.
I focus on a life without walls,
a place I can learn and teach,
an open field of tomorrows…
vibrant, full, free.
Every singular cell, every breath I draw,
every soulful feeling…all of me,
with all of my flaws,
reaches out to all of you.
With a touch, I am saved…
I am found.
A new dawn breaks just within my reach.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
(it's cliché to admonish clichés in their entirety)
We are meant to live the clichés;
we are meant to resuscitate the words,
and rehabilitate their wounds
into a fertile viewpoint
where we build respirators from clichés
to filter the virulent dust kicked up
by the marching pigs.
(re-invented clichés offer back breath
in an exchange of circular breathing)
The swine contort love
into armaments of antipathy;
they push buttons,
and aim where it causes the most damage.
Even though we are natural born hypocrites,
we don't have to let that knowledge corner us
into using love as a weapon.
The pen is mightier than the sword,
and I wield both;
I sharpen the quill on the blade's edge.
If need be, use the pen for a counter-strike,
but only channel love in defence.
The pigs march to a beat
of nuclear blasts
that bring poetry's flag
nearer to half-mast.
Poetry should stand on its own merit,
instead of leaning on shanks that hide behind smiles
constructed with aspirations of popularity
that churn out lazy, aspartame-laced lines
devoid of accountability and integrity,
or leaning upon smiles filled with slivers
from far too much fence-sitting,
too worried about the trending majority,
to see the complexity within simplicity
propped-up against degrees
while writing poems that are drier than the Sahara:
husks of lines tumbling across dunes,
only to be imploded
by atomic-pork mushroom clouds,
their fallout marring parchment
into a poisonous terrain.
(revive, twist, and switch)
We must not fear saying "never".
Surrender to love, but never surrender
to the jealous captains who attempt
to hook and net the defenders of Neverland.
With compasses of conscience
beating in hearts kept young,
navigate through the smoke and mirror-smog
emitted by the marching pigs.
(we must never give up on our dreams)
Dream about the courage needed
to love everyone and everything,
including our enemies
who conduct genocide
on the language of a purer intent.
Dream about word-seedlings
pushing through the arid rind
of dying poetry,
in hope for a more organic fruition
to grow in our hearts and minds,
so that poetry gains back its strength and vitality
to once again stand on its own merit.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013
The thing about today is that:
It will be different than any other day
Many different factors will share in the reasons
That today will be completely original
The people we encounter can play a huge role
In the way that our day plays out
We have no control over how these people may act
No control over what they may say or do
We can however control the way we allow it to affect us
I have met and been friends with
About every type of person that there is
From healers to killers I have met them all
Shared meals and how we feel;the pressure of it all
I used to allow outside influences
Like these people
To play a role in how my day would go
Then one day I realized that if you remove the water from the falls
All that you have left is a cliff
And of course a hole at the bottom
All the breathtaking beauty of the waterfall is gone
All because some fool decided to build a dam to divert the water
The River had no choice in how its day would go
It had no choice in allowing an outside force
To change its course
Of where it would end today
We have a choice, no matter what anyone does
We can stay on course and maintain the original beauty of our day
As long as we always remember
That this day belongs to us
The only thing that can change that is God, for it is his gift to us all
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009