-A poet in heat-
Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails
This part of you
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"
You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet: "Ink Never Lies."
Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
The powdery snow gloves the fingers
of maple forest, protecting barren bark
with the expectation of rose tipped bloom.
A meeting point between pristine
innocence and the veiled promise of spring
ripening. Each trunk and limb mirrors
the action of man. Reaching, arching,
swaying, creating aisles of church-like splendor,
a sacrament where the virginal may walk
toward communion with their God. Inward
toward the birth of faith and outward toward
the wedgwood sky in celestial sight.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
The Park Bench
I wish I was a poet
With magical words
To make people see all of the absurd
Tears fly, paintings in pastel die
When we look into our mirrors
We sometimes miss
What love dumps upon all of us
We shed tears, for we forgot to shed fears
I have no legs, nor any crutches
So my voyage has ended
I only observe
When goodness is confused
When gestures are refused
When the kiss that could have been
When a poets tear seems obscene
The one who hears is often deaf
The deaf sometimes have nothing left
If I could give a kiss away
I would give it to lovers with hearts that sway
Drawing love on paper in may
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Try to live
Try to feel pain with no tears
Try to remember years past and often lost
Try, oh try to know life need not be cold as frost
Ear not the words of those proclaiming silence
Listen to the rhythmic melody; give voice to a new start
The world will follow when you sing from your heart
Believing in things that some may only try
Try, to see, the truth is musical to you and all of thee
Telling histories with music, as soothing as can be
When you sing, and when you inspire our romance
Ones on crutches, they too shall rise and dance
Try, I beg
To see as eye
Even the ear is lost in the sky
Purest of hearts, they never die
Note: If you cant open the video, as sometimes different Countries have different copyrights, just search YOUTUBE for "Mandy Harvey: Deaf Singer With Original TRY"
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
I am the diamond
in your hands;
The fine lace to sway in
breezes through windows
as I crumble dedans la pirouette;
The cyclone, the earthquake,
implosion of power
in your arms.
Spin me a room,
Weave me a rainbow,
Pull me to you and
push me away.
Burn me, absorb me.
I tumble, trip, fall,
to be lifted by you,
Finest rags, softest fringe,
last evening light;
Raise me slowly
Rescue me, scream my name
Spin me your laughter,
Catch me, don't drop me,
Pull me to you,
never push me away.
Dance, don't stop.
May 10, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
DEDICATED TO EVERY PERSON WHO QUESTIONED THEIR SELF WORTH BECAUSE SOMEONE THEY LOVED LEFT THEM
Love grabbed me by the throat with both hands
Choked away the doubt and hatred of broken bands
Kicked me in the gut and flung me to the floor
Stripped my ego and jolted my awareness at its core
Cleared the cobwebs that once clouded my vision
with strokes of a master nature painted my mission
An oil based one of a kind classic
My life written like a movie an epic
Love lives in me again
like a revelation amen
Beauty, glows from every centimeter that is me
hope hip hops in every stride as I walk briskly
Music walks to my beat now I hear it everywhere
and the bluest of skies high fives me bare
A new love found
a trust abound.
for the first time in since I don’t know when
my senses breathe the fresh view of now and then
Blessed by the mother of all that lives
Nature smiles on a union that always gives
I love what I see
Finally I love me!
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
(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
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
-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet-
Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause
The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance,
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest,
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein
You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal,
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."
I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter,
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer
Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light,
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes,
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.
If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause
I do it for fun
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
Walls of silence hold,
The child held within,
Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts,
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
Shedding its outer skins,
Layer thus preserving its,
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
The fallen angel kneels in,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
Hardening to stone, the
Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
Small fragile hands reach out,
Hollow space grasping into,
Chained shackles twist,
Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
Displaced and damaged,
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have,
Cared for her the most.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013
A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes
His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed
Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind
When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home
You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut
Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
You loved the universe
Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.
Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.
No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness.
Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships.
Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.
Thank you, for helping building a better world!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
in silence, we connect through gazes
knitted by starlit eyes ablaze
like dusk's luster wafting by the sill ...
and we need not ramble in paraphrases
of night’s canticle, while folded hands
caress the rhythm of twilight's melody.
how deftly breaths and fireglow understand
our same tunes, our same wafting waves,
gentle as paper- thin buds jutting out
from your palms, my breasts… together,
we feel the stillness of love from the same face,
and if our flesh doesn’t chafe in the peeling
of autumn’s chill , it’s because…
we have been soul mates
before time was ever born.
SKAT's Contest: Your Best Love Poem
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
tapping on my windows' pain—
white blanket in tow
Hurting enough, I paid him no mind
so he kept tap, tap, tapping
‘til cobweb-like cracks appeared:
a final, gentle tap
shatters my windows
My rainbow world
now smothered, pallid,
forced into boredom and slumber,
sunlight chased away
and I am never the same again…
Soul gets plunged deep in the cold
blinded by whiteness, numbed with simplicity
there is an eerie stillness,
almost as if no one dared to breathe,
even the barren trees refused to quiver
brittle dendrites seem to claw the sky
futile though, for they are frozen,
grasping at nothingness,
clouds stubborn and stoic,
brooding in silent grayness
…and then from within, a filigreed whisper escapes
palpable and brave~
it weaves its way through the branches,
gathering strength wherever it went
it beckons to the sky, which in turn
gives in and celebrates ~
letting dainty confetti fall
white, yet amazingly graceful
each flake falls softly on the ground—
a fashionable brocade
trees softly sway now,
and dance to a winter song
the sky weeps with happiness
for seeing a glimpse of life—
they catch a bit of evasive sunlight,
of which I thought I’ve lost
and give birth to miniature rainbows…
all this time, Sunlight was there
an audio of me reciting this poem
Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2011
When Do We Start To Live
Collaboration poem: Space Cadet and Darren White
Voice: Wesley C.
How do I know we’ve lived?
If you’re certain then tell me when?
When? When have I lived?
Do I live now?
Is it the tap-tap of my hand against the window;
the drum played by my fingers on the chair?
Is it the slowed back-beat, or the snare drum speed,
under your hand at rest,
on my chest,
in this 2 AM discotheque.
How do we know we’ve lived?
Is it a faint notion, or
movement in my legs:
A lotus reed on my calves
I'd never felt until it tickled me?
How do I know I’m still alive?
Is it when the ice-blue swaddles
me in abyss, of
Or when I’m a borne flutter of this butterfly
crinkled away in my chest
Or as sun rays play
with light and words that tumble,
crumble, and fall to pieces,
in their own stubborn way,
on this paper?
Is it found in a friend’s voice
that pulls me from dark,
penetrates a radiance inward,
up from me, out,
to my face,
ablaze with why I'm here to exist?
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016
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
~It's a Beautiful Day~
Under every star,
A smile waltz-like no other
Once a simple cherry blossom girl,
enjoying puppets and lullabies.
Sitting in front of the screen
Anxiously waiting for him to come in
through the front door, whistling a song,
trading a suit jacket, for a zippered sweater;
made with love. ---My day just got better---
***It's a beautiful day***
In a charming little town square
A servant, serving a friendly atmosphere
Welcome to the land of make-believe,
where all my friends are real.
Here comes the speedy delivery
Mr. McFeely and his letters.
Prancing puppet skin in love with
Beautiful Lady Aberlin.
Henrietta, a mighty and feisty pussycat
My favorite strings are the king and queen
Before the show ends, Trolley's a friend
tooting around from make-believe to reality.
***It's was a beautiful day***
Oh the innocence of my childhood,
My neighborhood is gone
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
Madame Mistress, ebonies princess,
Southern comforts golden jewel,
A golden beauty down south does dwell.
She hides many secrets beneath her,
Glittering mask of mystery's mystic spells.
A dark priestess is this Cajun queen,
Black widows magic women,
Known as Ms. New Orleans.
In her crimson gown, trimmed by
Velvet's purple hues, she smiles
Behind her white lace fan.
A beguiling angel is she the devils
The voodoo queen of the swampy delta,
Ruling over the shadow demons,
Whom guard the everglades.
Underneath fancy face and social grace,
Lies the misbegotten heart of a
Here the trumpets sound at,
La Carnival as minstrels stroll,
Down Bourbon Street with rhythmic,
Precision's precise step.
Come join in celebrations grand parade,
The Maude Gra. Where anything goes,
Here things are forgotten as the sun rises,
This grand lady of beauty's legacy's charm.
Presses one finger to her redden lips,
Speaking not more than a hushed whispers
Sigh carried across bayou.
Thus does the Spanish moss weep, for
Those lost souls swallowed whole,
Beneath nights dark covenant of death.
Ghostly images walk the muddy side shores,
Phantom spectators existing as prisoners,
Trapped in limbos web, a thin fine line
Between the living and the dead.
Beware lone travelers, those for whom,
Seek mysteries glamor and mystic,
Of the southern by ways.
All are welcome to taste our spicy
Yet beware pay homages respect,
To Mz. New Orleans, she after all takes
Great care of her own.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
Disguise unknown sorrows
Leaving hearts full..
Not empty and hollow
Always send a rainbow smile
After dark clouds..
Have had their while
Leave room for dreams to grow
Even ones forgotten..
So long ago
Give all a second chance
Provide opportunity to say thank you
I love you..
And appreciate all you do
Give a chance to say
I'm sorry I acted that way..
I don't always mean everything I say
Are like life itself
Breathe in and out..
Just assuming the next one will come
Until the last one and then it's done..
So breathe deep and let it go..
If tomorrow doesn't come, you'll never know..
For God is love....
* I heard the phrase unborn tomorrow a long long time ago on an old western show when I was a kid..I thought it was beautiful and still do...
Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013
I still look for her.
In the middle of the typing and the traffic
and the deadlines and the bills,
I look for her–the girl, who believed
her bare feet could outrun the moon.
She ran like a boy. She wasn’t trying to.
Her strides were not intended for similes.
No, she ran the way she always did
When she wanted the wind to dance
With the ungraceful tangles of her hair.
Her gestures, careless,
Were not meant to fit in boxes.
She knew she was a girl; she had been told.
But she didn’t have to know that one word
Was the gravity that would keep her in line,
Inching from one label to another.
I still look for her.
In the dusk and the shadows
And the starless sky, I look for her–
The girl, who believed in magic and
Ghosts and faeries and monsters.
She didn’t have to know the shackles
That came with age, the chains
That would bind her to the reality
Where monsters don’t hide under the bed,
Sometimes the monster,
It’s in the daylight
With a sharp tongue and a sweet smile.
I still look for her.
In the sunlight and the mirror
And the eyes of strangers,
I look for her–the girl, who didn’t think poetry
Lived in the ink or the page or the vocal cords.
She held poetry in the tips of her fingers,
And she felt it each time she touched
The surface of water and made ripples,
Or when she traced the contours
Of her mother’s face.
She made poetry
Like it was meant to be–felt.
I catch a glimpse of her sometimes.
In the Goosebumps, in the butterflies,
In the sweaty palms, in the flutter of the heart,
In a daydream, in a shooting star.
But she’s fading, fading because
Now she knows the moon isn’t following her
And poetry made by hands, felt but unspoken,
Unwritten, can be forgotten.
Copyright © P.I. Alltraine | Year Posted 2015
Whispers of sunset
Carry on wings of evening birds
Rising moon awaits wolfs’ howls
Crickets chant their scratchy song
Hooting gallery comprised of owls
Stalkers prowl ‘neath opera stages
Graveyards welcome spectral spirits
Points of light
Stars glisten in darkening sky
Street lamps guide travelers home
Kindling ignites thick trunks of oak
Welcome warmth fills country homes
Toasts of wine
Lovers enjoy a fireside embrace
Candlelit shadows dance on walls
Old chair creaks on hardwood floors
Children gather for bedtime tales
Consciousness retreats to dreamland
Tooth fairies and sandmen emerge
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
In the midst of great turmoil and strife,
There is a force manifestly to be heard…seen….touched
A voice—ever so soft… yet loud enough to break mountains at their base
It can make a grown man cry—can distort the finest face
Lead the mother eagle back to its nest…
Run its hands against a tumultuous sea to rest…
Shedding tears of empathy when the woman,
With child, is seen- alone…sore. . . distressed
With mind enduring beyond mortal endurance
With arms stretching across the universe of opportunities and darkness
With eyes blossoming like those crazy sunflowers reaching to the sky…
Suddenly… you will feel its yellow fires
It is the very storm that knocks us down
To the depths of humility...patiently waiting for the perfect time to strike,
It comes like an earthquake and tremors the very soul into action...
It is the war of mercy that will devour to create and rejuvenate!
It tells the geese to fly south, whispering them in the right direction...
It is the soft growl of the lion that wakes its babe to safety...
Like music, it can soothe, or agitate,
Its rhythms changeable…forgivable…
When you take a wrong turn, a dissonant chord harsh as lightning will expel
Suspended in the air—colors more mysterious than hell
And when you love—oh how sweet love carries cherished lips cosmically….
A smile of the most precious melodies ring
New colors—see it, new colors shall spring
What this light truly means is to be revealed
Only for the precious few who listen and truly feel
Wrapped in the soft ribbons of love beyond all mortality
Beyond space and reality
Beyond the very tip of the mountain,
That never had to be touched to be brought to its knees…..
Not once did this force ever have to take the woman by the hand
And say with conviction… “everything will be okay….”
Because phenomenally… she would simply hear it in melody,
Inspired by the blazing sun of a newly dawned day-
Freshly caught tears of joy priding the lonely spider’s web
For Justin Bordner’s Divine Intervention Contest
Thank you, with love,
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
Of huge and white wings
Dream or delusion
Reality or make believe
Show me yourself
Spread for me your wings
Wrap me in your arms
Surround me in safety
Take me to the skies
Whisper in my ears
Things of heaven and earth
Share with me your dreams
Beautiful winged warrior
Your scars show your strength
They're your badges of honor
For the many battles you went
Brave angel of mercy
Come and take my hand
I can be the fighter for once
While you regain your strength
For I also have my wings
My scars are proof of my fights
I'm not as strong as you
But I can hold my ground
Rest your head on my lap
Let me be your balm
Share with me your burden
In the morning we can fly
March 15, 2017
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2017
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
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
If I cry
It must be the memory
Of a skirt unlifted by a gust
To still a boy's misery
And wipe my eyes dry
For the way time sears
Us like flowers
And reaped my mother
Before I was ready to let her go.
If I cry
I cry for days she sheltered me
From a child's web of fallacy
And put her spittle on my knee
Where bruised flesh
Was a boy's view of tragedy.
I would press my face
Against her dress
And feared no goliath
If I cry
I cry for evenings on the porch
When she gathered us
Our feet white with blowing dust
And hunger like a miner
We had so little to eat some days
But she with prayers picked fruits
Of heaven's mercy
And we thankful ate together
And heard her ancient anecdotes
Of ancestors' exploits that floats
Still upon a manhood sky.
If I cry
I cry that mothers' days are meaningless
When the sight of flowers
Are frail veils upon a grave
And the customized Christmas cards
Will not sparkle her eyes
Just before the kiss upon my cheek
Honoring me for faithfulness
And knowing her love measures more
More than a day
More than the years that sums earth's decay.
If I cry
I cry for the love of my mother
For the woman and life giver
For God to bring
Order to this unruly thing
That spoons our purpose to a cup
Before the dusk with each sup
Of time, diminishing us
I cry for faith to hold my trust
Against the agony of loss
Death is a demonic disgust
That makes me long
To substitute all tears for angels song.
If I cry
Preserved my hope with brine of eye
To live again
Without death or pain
And run with my mother
Through the clapping ovation of summer rain.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2009
Sunday morning coffee
attracted to this screen
soupland is my toffee
my java needs no cream
Where we all chew on our pencil's
our pen's no longer quill's
we hack this keyboard wonder
exciting mental thrill's
We read eachothers thought's
emotions never drought
constant rain,a train of verse
I find myself immersed
Sharing our complaints and want's
but never do we point or taunt
we may occasion disagree
but that's what makes you,you,me...me
Freedom of expression
with a touch of cool discretion
allows this site for us to write
feeling neither wrong nor right
I enjoy my time spent sharing
even if it might be much
but if I might be daring
on subject's lightly touched
So to all my friends at soupland
I say thank you,extended hand
a place where we grow together
and weather this world's whatever's......
Copyright © jay del fierro | Year Posted 2007
The rythme progresses through me
Reaching to depths unknown
Leading me to another realm
Only I have ever gone
A place of solitude
Where I can be free
For my soul is the melody
To which I shall dance alone
And the beat is my life walk
Opening the walls that have never been shown
Oh how I love to sing
Especially when I hear that old familiar
That takes me back to the day
That I could just proceed along
No cares, no worries, just me and the world
Being free...... to my song
How many memories are wrapped up within tones
That have touched our lives
How many people can we recall
With just one sharp# climb
Or with just one flat fall
The power of our melody is our own
No one can hum it
No one can take it
Because our life walk is our song
We can take this empowerment as high as we want
Or we can take it to the lows
No matter how we play it
It still grows
With each and every encounter
Down our blessed path
The music follows
With our every step
So embrace your sharps and flats
Knowing that it is helping you
Through this turbulent ride
Sing it loud and don't be ashamed
For your song knows you are doing your best
Don't let the bar line tell your ending
Keep the melody flowing
Continue your lines without cares
And when your curtain rides low
And the rythmes come to a sway
Just look at the pages before
To where you started from
And to how you have become so much more today
Keep the music alive....even with a hummm
Copyright © Tammy Flanagan | Year Posted 2012
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
Struggling through the Great Depression
Growing up fatherless in the care of a loving aunt
Losing her husband, his weary mother could not cope
Working for the Civilian Conservation Corps
Trying to support his family
Attending school at night to provide a better life
Playing his sax and clarinet
Resounding notes of joy cast blessings
Filling our home with happiness many children never know
Loving eyes and deep, gentle voice
Drawing admiration from all who came to know him
Speaking softly, never in harsh tones
Accepting life’s challenges
Forgiving when his children seemed ungrateful
Nurturing, caring, standing by our sides
Picking us up when we fell
Offering support in every endeavor
Being the kind of father he never had
Teaching us to work hard and achieve
Reminding us that life offers no guarantees
Encouraging us to rebound from challenges as “come-back kids”
Gathering at his hospital bedside New Year’s Day 2009
Astonishing nurses with the depth of our love
Never leaving his side, three grown children rested hands upon his
Lingering six days in a coma, perhaps his soul already in heaven
Speaking to him, hoping he could hear
Wanting him to feel our love one last time
Siblings who rarely agreed
Concurring just this once
Feeling blessed by our father, the brightest star we see in heaven
* Dedicated to my father, Arthur Schwarz, who died January 6, 2009
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
I am one
nation under God
I am many
ethnicities together in a melting pot
blending to encompass positive traits
Finding strength in diversity
I am all
to escape tyranny
immigrants sought my New World promises
I am few
times startled like a deer in headlights
blindfolded even after 9/11
but still carrying a torch
Lady Justice and Lady Liberty
the dreams of founding fathers
promises of yesterday and hopes for tomorrow
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010