I wish to be with the broken people
the get in your face challenge me people
The sometimes hidden
sitting in a dark corner kinda people
The don't you love me
I wish you seen me sorta people
People just being real people
not having to have it all together people
Them doing their best to figure it out people
dancing and singing without the smooth moves people
I don't care about the color of their skin
or what others think of as their sin
They don't need to be perfect to win
seeing and listening is where I'll begin
Beyond appearance of fat or thin
I only know what I know
I've never been where they've been.
with our broken smiles
It's the best we've got
It might seem like so little
still I think it's a lot
Through life's struggles we've all fought
lessons needed learning
experienced not taught
real is real it couldn't be bought
So forget the fake people
the all about perfect hair and clothes people
The I live in the right neighborhood and drive the right car people
It's all about me, top of the hill people
They only hang out with the supremely cool people
those too important to talk to me people
thinking they're the best of the best kinda people
when all along they are merely Sheeple
ba ba baaing, thinking they are strong instead of feeble
I love characters
people who are unique
I look under exteriors to gain a peek
strength of lions disguised in meek
unconcearned with fab or being chic
Worth listening to if allowed to speak
the stories they tell will make your eyes leak
For in the end
we are all broken
stumbling and choking
Disguising hurt with our joking
victims of others and their poking
So look close maybe you'll see
eyes that aren't blank
hearts that aren't empty
Who we think of as complicated
in the end might not be
They might push when others come close
yet they are affectionate times three
Each just a bit afraid and broken
all the while wishing
and wanting to be
A part of something
If only we choose to see
those on the fringes
are a part of the we
All we have to do
is let them be!
Dedicated to our homeless population.
They teach us the unvarnished truth about ourselves.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.
I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
clichés, and repetition; I fall in love
with items that people throw to the wind,
kick around, and step upon.
I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn;
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.
The old man who sits in a rain-gorged gutter,
his fist raised to the sky in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly, beloved wife—
I fall in love with him too.
I fall in love with things that some people deem
as ugly, dirty, morose, and immoral.
The more I fall in love,
the more I love each moment,
including the pain, torture, and misery
that may unfold along the way.
Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I have already found.
If I write down treasonously teetering words,
the reader could assume such words
to be rooted in rage, or a cynical outlook,
when the words are actually birthed from love—
I love every word in existence.
I fall in love with the woman
who is too shy to have a sincere conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be grotesque,
when in fact, she is exquisitely gorgeous.
I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of seaweed
rotting on the shore, and the way her hair smells
baking in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
mesmerized by the essence that the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles, the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat, who, after she watched the moving truck
drive away, slunk around the alley in search of scraps—
over the years, she has proven to be a respectful
and loyal companion (so easy to fall in love with, again and again,
while maintaining the love I already have).
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms
when it shines through the cracked, antique windowpane
that I simply don't want to replace.
And as for the people who believe that it's impossible
for someone such as myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day,
well, I love them too.
2016 Pulse Remix, July 18th, 2016
(original version was written on April 6th, 2012)
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
and the porch light hums
the sound of another
Burnt up – crisp
aching new reaches
of the imagination turn
to the pungent shade
of dried blood on hands –
kissing corners of a mouth
Sweeping ‘cross in whispers
two thousand years
and more, come
words on the flat-line horizon,
like a red cat's eye marble
on a circular seesaw
that knows no bounds;
rolling infinitely back
and forth -
ringing through ears that were once
in that ago (can you hear it?)
hearing the coming of a storm
by another set of ears,
in some other when –
some other marble.
When, speaks the unspoken.
When, treads where none may tread.
When, grips the barren outcroppings of space –
playing the unending moments –
where no other question hence forth
Night sounds come in floods
and quiet apricot;
slicing through oceans,
where no ears hear.
The farm: echoing, lowing and fawning –
Trying to stay true
bleeds into the fibers of a dream
once lived –
recognizing its existence
through the act of a moment,
The girl turns to face
of all she has yet to hear upon
the brazen, blazing horizon;
she strips down to goose bumps
on the skin
that God gave her;
opening her mouth to hear all
that she is –
breathing in the dawn
as it breaks.
The farm notes this coming.
The sky knows;
The wind knows.
The earth knows - relaxing
at her feet
through her soles,
resounding through the mouth
of the un-kissed,
breathing through this land;
humming through porch lights,
spinning through atoms,
sifting though heavens,
recorded through lifetimes,
and through into another’s
© Kristin Reynolds 1/9/09
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone?
A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect world wide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day!
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today,
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it was cocaine,
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you
Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
This girl, she's crying inside,
But all everyone sees is smiles,
This girl, she's hurting inside,
She's lived like this for quite a while,
Always holding her pain inside,
She won't ruin everyone's time,
This girl, she's breaking down inside,
But all she does is smile,
Those deep eyes,
Hold a lot world of misery,
Playing pictures from her mind,
Showing her past, her history,
She doesn't want to remember,
But the memories continue to play,
Every night she prays,
Wishing them away,
But this girl lies with her laugh,
And hides behind a mask,
So that no-one can see her pain,
Her past, her denials,
This girl, she's dying inside,
Although no-one can see her pain,
She just continues to smile bright,
From day to everyday,
With beautiful lying eyes,
For everyone to see,
Everyone and anyone,
Everyone but me.
Copyright © Loretta Bailey | Year Posted 2011
If I had those pretentious brains which act faster than this heart
maybe then I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse
maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words
maybe then I would scrutinize my each and every coma,dot and exclamationmark!
But I would never let that happen,I'd rather go away.
Writing with my mind and not my heart leads only to asylum within the being of myself.
Poetry is my voice,my life,my escape,my each emotion stored,processed in a yesterday
breathing softly in fresh air,wanting to explode in death, love,passion and romance.
Each verse, a thought I'm able to scribe of yet unable to express through spoken words.
Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by ,tread your footstep on my verse
but maybe in a today,a broken-hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world
Maybe a prisoner, an insane man,a tramp ,or any outcast to society
would pick these shattered pieces and gather them as whole
and maybe through this scribbled cross-word puzzle finds God'love once again.
Maybe a little child who understands only little words
would turn the pages of silly rhymes i penned
rhymes which speak of moon and stars,angels,dreams and faries
and maybe He would smile, maybe He would laugh
Maybe he would dream ,the way i used to dream
and maybe He would write the most eloquent sonnet
or maybe just simple words about blossoming flowers
And maybe then,my mission is accomplished,and maybe I feel blessed.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2012
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
Color me white, or color me black. Color
me brown, or color me red. Color me
yellow, but color me to be just me.
Color me anyway you want. You are the
artist, you know what to do, just capture
my beauty and let it show through.
My beauty is not on the outside for everyone
to see. My beauty comes from within and
few people have seen.
Color me with the colors that you so much
love to use and when people see this painting,
they will see themselves in me.
The people will ask you - why did you put so
many colors on me and you will tell them - because
the beauty I did see.
The painting is now finished, the artist has done
his job. A painting of many colors, that he is very
The colors bring beauty to the painting on the
wall, but if we were all colored blind - we wouldn't
see any colors at all...
Copyright: written by
Lucilla M. Carrillo
I wrote this poem because through out life
I have seen a lot of injustice done, because
of who we are , or where we came from. We
did not choose to be who we are, or where
we came from. God chose that for us. I don't
think God made a mistake when He made us.
He had His reasons. We are who we are, that
can never be changed. We live in this world.
We are God's Race...
Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo | Year Posted 2012
"When humanity becomes louder than love, stay out of its way. At times, it's better to be the lion in the distance, rather than the sheep losing their way...again."
This was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Its impact mimicked abused parallelograms
Unto emptiness’ solution
I witness sliced wrists shedding bohemian smiles.
Latching onto anchors of invalid mo(u)rning
There was no sunrise to be found,
Because humanity kept making love to silhouetted blinders
I was surrounded by shovels
For the sake of digging louder messages’ trench
Caress incipient wings
And half-full Windex bottles
Just to keep perception from clouding my lyrics
Because nobody wants to see eye to eye…
…cataract-laced speeches permeate tainted whispers
Of an innocent breath
For B-rated serendipity
Oh, this was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Turning away from windowed afflictions
To step towards gratitude’s breath
No longer looking in
How good it feels.
Yet, I still miss my friends.
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014
You waited for this moment,
As if you were an incomplete salutation
You waited for confessional breaths to alleviate this finite evening
Missing its constellations
You wept for their sunflower touch.
A touch to engorge the gaps of your imprinted thumb
With honeysuckle madness
Another cashmere moistened parable
Hungering for ink-plated resolutions
You waited for their Haiku smile.
A smile condoning resilient waterfalls
Unto ocean’s distant memory
Aching for risky walks above coal-ridden tomorrows
No forest green pupils observing
The hindrance of time
You wished upon wishes
For blanketed convenance to warm aspiring, French kiss upon promised morn
You wrestled with downward spirals,
Uplifting loneliness from Heaven’s chasm
Regurgitated sobs reserved under no-name invitations
…I was h e r e.
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014
God , we are sorry,
we need you in this time of fury,
we are broken and blackened,
we are slaves of someone else all shackled.
the chains hurts our feet our legs
but we can take all that we deserve this toll
we just don't want them to take over our souls
we don't want to be mind controlled
our will is one thing You don't even interfere with
then why do You give them a space in our brains to sit
yes we are disobedient, drowned in our arrogance
but we never denied Your existence never denied your magnificence
we came to you with all our issues all problems
we ask you for help in every form of danger
yet You turn your back on us like we a stranger
You know they are evil, u know they are wrong
but why is it that You see us take the fall
my heart cries with the death of all your men
we sacrificed our kids our parents our country as a whole
God, i respectfully ask you, how much more?
how much blood, how many tears?
Is this the price we are paying for having a divine fear?
please forgive me God, i dare not complain
You have blessed me with so much that its hard to explain
You are the all kind all gracious
but why is your creation so ferocious?
why don't they know how to love why cant we be ever in peace?
have we been mislead from Your path and now are paying a fees?
my lord, my king please bring down mercy upon us
open our eyes,please keep us away from lust
let our kids breath the fresh air that you made away from all those drugs and meds
please don't let them put chip in our heads
please make us honest and make us love our friends
alleviate us from the differences of black and white no matter where we are born and bred
let us renew the beauty of freedom of speech
where everyone is allowed to let their minds speak
where we don't make fun of people who disagree and call them freaks.
please destroy all the evil that makes us fall apart
that brings hatred and greed in our hearts
Take us somewhere else ,oh lord
where you are proud of us and the world is not all fraud
where the people think before making a decision
where we are not lab rats put in horrible conditions
where the people are obedient to You and not the politician
where big fish eating weaker ones is not considered a tradition
I know You arelistening,You always do
please save us today, We all need you more than ever
and whether You help us or not,it doesnt matter
because I know You are the merciful we are in Your debts forever!
Copyright © mary abdali | Year Posted 2011
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
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
The sting of shattered trust
fills his veins with toxic spite,
contaminating his heart.
He finds solace in a bottle,
quenching his resentment,
slurring forth caustic fumes;
nauseating his liver.
Until he spits her treachery up
with a sickening heave,
in the shallow, murky gutter
of a jaded man's reprieve.
Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010
To see ourselves as others see us --
unmasked images, through others' eyes --
half-formed caricatures, perhaps --
or mere grotesqueries --
barely recognized, telling
what we thought to hide --
we'd label these as skewed
perceptions, not real truth...
But, no matter -- when once
I thought myself unfairly judged
and asked "How so?",
I was reminded of the obvious,
i.e.: all outcomes are determined
by perceived attitudes and actions.
Not truth, but clear perception,
pure appearance, guide others' thoughts
and so create the world we live in.
Thus, however harsh,
"Perception is reality."
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
Gary's Yard Sale, the story
Authored by Chuck Keys
Among the rustbelt cities of yesterday,
Along the edges of the Detroit River,
A short distance to the side,
Resides a slice of Victorian times,
Excesses exceeded needed,
Where age confronts time,
The day before meets the day of,
And greets tomorrow.
Those in the hood
Meet and greet among
The scraps of forgotten memories.
Lawns filled with bygones of size,
Tables filled with important somethings,
For important that evolved into history.
Where memories become linked,
Each to a stored thought,
Treasured, pleasured or disdained,
To a person,
Of late or present,
To a future of who knows what.
During the day,
The history-of and the future-of talk,
Of where they were,
And where they hope to be,
The dust is blown off with the wind,
From the east, west, north and south.
The yard sale, the graveyard of the past,
The arena of the present,
Life and death of the sale,
Dance together, coupled,
Where Mine, becomes Yours' while
Gary the Conductor, orchestrates to perfection,
The operatic enjoyment of history,
Buyer meets seller, exchanges
Are made. As is today.
*This poem is dedicated to Gary and Ann Harris of Northville MI USA – May they and
their Yard Sales age forever!
© Charles H Keys, 2010. All Rights Reserved. V1.4.09252010
Copyright © Chuck Keys | 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
This will be the last stanza
The last stanza
The final syllable
I commemorate these wounds
to my Agnostic dreams
Because God kept telling me to believe in her
He kept saying,
“Son, be her tissue when she collapses”
“Son, wipe away her sins with this blank slate I’ve given to you”
“Be that man for the woman she may never accept herself to be”
“Be the wings of that angel”
Until, one night, I said a prayer
I said to Him,
“She must go”
“I won’t give up on her, but I must let her go.”
“I leave it to You to save the pariah.”
I, can no longer be that man.
Because I exhaled insipid banter
from misery hollow
whisked me away to coalescent landscapes
under eclipsed moonshine,
sipping unto artificially incipient sunrises
Tasting drops, sour
Wiping them dry, with this flower
my sanctum holds close
And on this day,
this new day,
this last stanza,
soon, I will
no longer finish you with question marks and exclamation points
Soon, I will
withdraw from you,
with punctuated silence
I will walk while you crawl
I will smile while you cry
I will see while you’re blind
I will shout while you mumble
I will pray while you deny
I will climb while you trip
I will love while you hesitate
This will be my final kiss to you
No longer will we
For I now complete you,
my end poem
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2012
You say: Wrong place—wrong time,
Maybe: Wrong place—not right time,
Not right place—but wrong time?
I say: This's right place—right time,
In times and places,
What is the time?
Where is the place
For right not wrong?
Is this like signs
Tearing up the scenery;
What about my mind?
Don't what? I can read the sign!
Oh—Signs of the time?
What’s wrong is not right,
Lord, I will sing this song!
Fight for what’s right
Correct what's wrong!
In all times and places
Please, be alright,
And make it—
© Joseph, October 11, 2008
© 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 2008
Place your head on my shoulder,
let it stay there
and we'll just breathe
Pluck the sadness from the air,
unravel that ball of worry...
We'll find that knot
that started it all,
and wave ribbons
in the air
We'll let those colors swirl
around each other,
we'll blend them...
then weave them
into a tapestry
that comforts us
in the end
if it turns out
are full of tangles
a lot of thread
So place your hand in mine,
let it stay there,
and we'll weave
Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2011
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
You called me "baby"
When your eyes streaked
In nudist dialect
Upon my strength
You begged to engorge
With cinnamon scented lotion
Taking me into melancholic forest
To sacrifice your shedding, virgin silk
To have your way
It was imperative
That I brought you inches closer to God
As chastity’s ribbon
Slides down leagues below sea level truths
Refused to be a puppet pulled
By your G-strings
You implored with vehement thrusts
Of creamy, inner thigh
To turn my page
But, you never bothered to read
My table of contents
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014
If my mind be painted in colors borrowed, would it be red?
Rusted in brown, or maybe instead, an indigo streak?
Depending upon the source of inspiration,
and the song on the radio at the time of connection...
I keep coming back to sea green,
or the blue of underwater murals at 3ft tall of childhood,
eyes wide in fickle, transient hazel
absorbing each moment, be it safe or unstable
categorizing each scent and each color
each love and each valor
each crisp Autumn, Summer
in vats of brain paint to be later unlidded
and splashed with insignias
of every person and place and event
that ever touched corneas innocent, bent
If my mind be painted, I think it be green
like the moment I'm lucid before I dip dreams
and hang them to dry in the gallery
and push to wake up to connect, signify
every sensory path that I've traveled before
to traipse them again and still come back for more.
I'm a stickler for art and with your canvas blank
my sweet innocent dear, with each word that you hear
you will brush stroke your way to uniqueness.
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006
Since first I saw you, it was your eyes,
mesmerizing, your gaze transporting
me to a realm, not of fantasy, real,
where young men go when cupid’s
arrow takes root.
Since first I saw you, it was your lips,
captivating, holding me frozen
in anticipation of our lips brushing
for the first time.
Since first I saw you, it was your voice,
a crescendo, light, invigorating,
each word you speak intensifies
my hearing, enveloping each
note, time ceases as I hang motionless
Since first I saw you, it was your hair,
long, flowing, gently rising above
your shoulders as a slight breeze
passes through sending waves
of your essence my way.
The sun magnifying each strand,
highlighting the minute
variances of invigorating color,
creating a halo effect, a portrait of
your beauty forever imprinted.
Since first I saw you, It was you,
my love forever more for you,
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
Do I dare look at you when I walk these streets?
Chase your shadow as it crawls under my feet?
For I have walked my way through
These pleasant, summer nights
Trailing any trace of you in amber
Hearing the laughter of men and women
Drunken behind bars, their obliviousness
Billowing with the smoke of cigars
And once again I begin to wonder
In these thoughts that shatter, asunder
Of how unvoiced these nights have become.
The scent of scones melting in tea
The sugar, the beach, the creamed coffee
How foolish do I ought to be?
How much emotion becomes too much for me?
And the sun that strokes the clouds at sea
And hides its rays amongst them-
I watch… as all this beauty encircles me.
My eyes see not the glamorous dream
That has been haunting the lives of many it seems
The loveliness of love and its glimmering gleam
The word that is only word
That dream that is only dream.
For I have seen it on all these smiley faces,
Hurried looks, and warm embraces
Can’t you see?
How we all have been entangled in one giant
Web of emotion?
Is there ever a place between Wordsworth’s
Daffodils and Poe’s Raven?
I walk these streets listening to a busker
Play his harmonica-
As I flip a coin into his flipped hat,
How different we are, him and me
Or are we?
Restricted we are to language and time,
Enslaved in memory, engaged in rhyme
How much easier it is to think of you and me
Rather than the misleading amounts of
Separating land and sea –illusory-
I observe and am observed as I walk these
Streets, and I feel I know nothing of
Neither you nor me.
Copyright © farah chamma | Year Posted 2010
What are we but vibrant green leaves in the foliage of the tree of life, soon to be turned brown and fall before others take their place?
What are we but fast moving waves on the surface of the ocean of humanity, heading towards the shores of oblivion where they break up and die?
What are we but wandering clouds, chased across the sky of existence by the winds of necessity and consumed by the sun of voracious time?
Let us ponder for a while, my loving friends
Let us try to give an answer to this:
How sensible is it, to waste our ephemeral life by
Hurting one another?
Wouldn't it preferable be, more holy and more wise,
Only love to harbor in our hearts and
© Demetrios Trifiatis
20 OCTOBER 2014
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2014
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2016
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
When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...
I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky
The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn
I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe
The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul
Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through
Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost
I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art
As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow
Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place
The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost
Day was Life,Night is Death
And the latter has given counsel on my final steps
Copyright © Winter Wallace | 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