My curfew according to my mom is, “before the sun goes down!”
She never gives me the time to meet with friends and hang around
My dad on the other hand lectures me in Korean
He still doesn’t realize that I literally cannot understand him
He might as well be talking in Japanese and his english is ‘berry weak’
These are the reasons why we don’t really speak
Dinner’s always the same, no taco Tuesday or leftover Monday involved
Every meal is eaten with rice- but one time we had mashed pot- just kidding that’s never happened at all
Brown rice, white rice, skinny rice, fat rice, guess we got some variety there
Mom says, “Be grateful, there are starving children everywhere”
Come to think of it, a family meal at McDonald’s is something we’ve never had
Guess that means all my meals are very sad
Neither parent wants to give me the independence that I need
But I won’t complain for I’m afraid mother will hit me
Like a bird I want to explore the world
But my strict Korean parents clipped my wings- they might be disturbed
So I spend my time visualizing the world through the T.V.
Never had cable cause cable’s ‘not pree’
Netflix is what I got, a blessing I love having
Bob’s Burgers, Parks & Rec, and The Office keep me laughing
My mom finds it annoying, my dad doesn’t get the puns
He’s always asking me how people sitting in an office can make me laugh so much
On another note, high school parties, are wild and pretty cray
I wouldn’t know, I’ve never gotten an invite, but my parents would never let me go anyways
I check the snapchats of my friends, they’re out bowling at 1:35 am
If it weren’t for my parents, then I would be out with them
No matter what I do, my parents just can’t see
That they’re Kim Jong Un and I’m a helpless North Korean trying to break free
Copyright © Anna Lee | Year Posted 2016
The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2013
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
this flower bed,
is just for you.
Among the stone,
and in the mud,
a flower shone,
a beautiful bud.
It grew so tall,
proud and strong,
it learned all,
right and wrong.
Giving it water,
and warm sun,
your only daughter,
learned about fun.
Mommy come see,
look what I did,
now I can be,
a grownup kid.
This flower bed,
is just for you,
with roses, red,
and violets, blue.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Many times, I saw my spirit.
Many times, I felt my soul.
In life, I lived courageous.
Now it is time for me to journey home.
If you cry, that is fine.
If you laugh, that is better than a cry.
Rejoice in my life and shout praise.
For I am
Therefore, I shall be
In peace, I leave this world.
To my love ones, I am with the Lord.
Sure happy to have lived
Not sad that my time has come
The benevolence of the spiritual realm is a breeze from a waterfall.
The Lord is my keeper.
He called me home.
No more sadness let us all rejoice.
Ms. Carrie Mae Sexton is now reunited with Jehovah God Lord. A woman of statue...
A woman of worth... All that knew her will truly miss her.
Never a life lost but one done with the world and because she walked a virtuous path, her life is shown. The Lord knows best and we must know the same. Our mother sojourns and in peace, she lays.
[“Be assured that just as an hour is only part of a day so life on Earth is only part of eternity.” C.L. Allen]
User Name: Verlena
Psuedonym: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Motif: Grief and Bereavement
-Contest Enter: Space & Time - Metaphorically written... Eternity is space and time... February 2014
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
Let the Deicide commence.
You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.
I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways
Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own personal reality
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2013
smoother than most, all moving no boast, shooting a moon to toast, to our beautiful host
revolving no doors, just opportunities score marking the entrance ways pores
fracking a lack of communication crashing breaking backs and racking our foundation
till were screaming take it back
unpacked and all out, dig deep for the fall out, kettle blackened from potty mouths,
busted missing a tea spout
pour me a gallon of chandon the whole sip for your front lawn, till the bottles dry
like jokes from monty python
silly satans salivating sighing and spraying your favorite simon's saying cause piles of money and ego feed are waiting for the generating
nothing new under the sun but above clouds I found me some, cause ignant bliss still exists even if you wear a cummerbund
tell all your facts and try to catch my glazed eye, cause compromise can be the do or die, to where ever future lovers lie
this blueberry from space ferry might fit in a test tube in perspective
or we just miss the point why evolution was so selective
Copyright © Davin Payne | Year Posted 2013
Yamaha impressed me the first time I laid eyes on her glistening blond maple wood, her stylish body details, her long fretted mother-of-pearl inlay; lobed with golden keys. Her voice called to me the first time I held her in my arms. I strummed her six strings slowly in the key of G, then moved softly to D and C. All the while, I searched earnestly for her purity in sound quality and style. She was not the most beautiful in the showroom. But oh yes! She did flatter me with her musical presence. She was beautiful to me! I knew from that moment on she would be mine for eternity.
Within the hour, I took her home to meet the family. She was shy on the journey, not making a sound; perhaps due to this being her first automobile ride or simply wanting to see a world she was now a part of. Yamaha was cased in alligator leather, a brown dressing which was stylish for the day. We were both nervous as we arrived and got out of the car. My strong caressing grip on her handle assured her she wouldn’t fall and it would be alright. She knew it would be alright as I smiled at her.
I opened the door, allowing her to enter first. When in the living room, I called to everyone to come meet the newest member of the family. Dad was taken by her simple yet elegant beauty and style. Mom touched her first and she was most pleased. At that moment I realized the importance of first impressions as Mom marveled at how pretty she was. I sat down in the best chair in the living room while Mom listed to Yamaha talk and I sang a popular country love song. I was pleased with the family acquaintance to Yamaha. It was evident she had become a part of the family.
The first few weeks, I couldn’t keep Yamaha out of my arms. I longed to be with her every minute of the day. In my eye, she made me smile by just gazing upon her. I fumbled with her in those beginning days. She ignored my elementary attempts at refinery and permitted me the time to catch up to her mastery rather than bow down to my level. Like any two lovers, both must reach to the need of the other. Only then is love truly in harmony.
Today, Yamaha is not the young glistening blond I held in my arms some thirty years removed. Her wood has been scared by my love to play her. She has received countless face lifts which cover her tainted mother-of-pearl. Her brown leather case dress stands in need of a seamstress care. But as with all things having been learned through love, we now make beautiful music together. She is my treasure, a light into my soul's well. She amplifies my inner being. As I perform, she is glorified. We have grown old together,and gotten better in time. I still hold her in my arms day by day as this lover has risen to her grace and expectations. She is my treasure for a life time.
Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2012
(Dedicated to Folake)
Your eyes, woman
are like twilight rainbow
amorously bearing aloft passions of mine
toward androcytic ecstacy.
They tell of endless lights.
Night skies clarion the warmth of you
keep me balled-up till
i am tilted to your adorned essence.
May I call up words to adore you,
agglomerate them into a panoply of worshippers
unsandalled before you
like Moses at the burning bush.
And now you seem to fall asleep
but you tell me it's the heavy night
bidding toward a sunny dawn
wherein our love is lighted.
Slowly I let you fall asleep
impatient with the long night
waiting to gaze once more
into the eyes of my lovely love.
Then a lip is placed on yours
and you rouse up wide-eyed
smiling at my romantic move.
We enjoyed the night, cruising on.
Copyright © Onis Sampson | Year Posted 2013
This poem is dedicated to my mom.
A mama robin was granted a divine gift
And she began to form her new precious jewels,
The pain she was in while carrying these marbles,
Oh how burdensome they must have been.
She did not complain,
But instead rejoiced over her incubated prizes
Soon after conception she laid her bright blue eggs,
Fawning over the glorious miracle she birthed
She prepared for when they would wake
A busy fourteen days of enlarging her home and scouting for food.
She would spend most of those days plump on her prized possessions
Her children awoke from their slumber.
Tears filled her eyes as she saw their precious faces.
As the years went on her baby birds began to grow.
She knew they would all leave the nest someday,
But she never expected it to come so fast.
“Mama. Why do you love me?”
asked one of her little sons.
“Why? Well that’s a silly question.”
“Because hun, you give me a new reason every day.”
“I love you too, mama”
That feeling she got every time she looked at her kids
Was something so supernatural,
Her love for them was never ending
Never once did she complain.
Never once did she have regrets.
Yet she sacrificed so much.
That mama robin grew old,
And after bearing ten beautiful birds,
She never once left their side.
She sacrificed her dreams for her children,
And realized her true dream
Was becoming a mama,
A mama bird.
Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015
An omnipotent'd been ideated by militant clan,
Aeons tell how it put them through a social pace.
To set up abode or to relate races with astute plan,
God had its genesis;women-men needed it to seek solace.
As fact a woman conceives, is manifest
Man couldn't conceive of anything but God for law and lex.
Dyed-in-the-wool,they kept bending head for mending mind lest
They vex orders of war, worship and women for sex.
But missile killed gravid woman with faded hue,
Her baby survived in placenta of its mom of Gaza:
A whole race, policies, religion; yet nothing to rue,
As if all were busy computing to bring future bonanza.
No more sacred are our Temple and Church or Mosque and tomb.
Truth says:fetus Jesus'd been bestowed on Mary's womb!
Copyright © PRITHWISH MUKHERJEE | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
For Aung San Suu Kyi
you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
It was like she was tearing her away from my life;
An almost surgical destruction of a once beautiful embrace.
The picture looked like a piece of abstract art.
I'm sure if her dancing bones would have allowed,
her thumb would have rolled over and struck the
flint...letting the butane destroy the pain in front of her.
Instead the other half of my story
lay quietly at the foot of my mother's recliner
her eyes indifferent to the shattering world around her.
I wondered where she was,
if this torn piece of history burning through
my palms would be the last time I would hold her.
I couldn't help but plead with God for a moment,
not able to stand the bitter taste of fate's insult to
...my romanticism's hope.
My mother calls me to the next room,
begging ice water for a parched tongue.
As I walk to the foot of her bed,
"What a handsome man.
Any woman would be lucky to have you."
I can find strength for nothing but a nod,
and I bow my head to kiss the top of hers.
"You'll find the one son,
no one deserves it more than you."
I take her glass and hold it to my chest,
perhaps subconsciously hoping it will cool
my overworked heart.
I thank her for being the woman that she is,
and tell her she's the only one I need anyway.
I can feel her eyes follow me out of the room,
all the back into my seclusion.
I fill her cup and take a breath.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2013
I thought she was insane
I think my world is about to
I thought she was full of her self
I think the world insists
I thought she was villain
I think she was too hurt, so she rebelled
I thought she mumbled nonsense
I think she preserves her peace
I thought she was stubborn
I think she might be right
I thought I would never understand her
The fact I do
I thought she made reason and reasons
I think I made the same denial
I thought I would be nothing like her
I think I am wrong
She's what made her
What's hers resemble on me
We're just identical laces
Which jumbled in a massive and realistic slipknot
Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2015
Don't call me by Rudia or Entland !
The Nile , Amazon and Ganga are all
Are all my tears, that you see on your sand.
My Entlish! My Rudians ! To whom you call
"Mother"? . When 'twas I who did womb you both.
You are my lamb sons whom I love to sport.
Strick off your tiny indolent foul flags!
Don't breach your birth to create your new Mommy!
Don't ripple your kin's air to fly your rags!
Cast off my coincidence I fancy,
If you love what your narrow mind taught you.
And I'm here only to see what you do!
Isn't it a song if their tongue is foreign?
Or do they laugh when someone is no more?
How wise to sort out tears when their hearts rend?
How fool to mute your soul when their hearts sore?
Are not you born and raised on my same lap?
Ever had I failed on you for a nap?
Don't sing your premature foolish anthem.
Don't held high your head to prove your meanness.
Do go to woods, count thousand times your name
And be famed in whatever your way has.
But don't forget that you too are my son
And don't miss me when wounded by his bone.
1. Rudia - an imaginary country (for the fear of insult)
2.Entland - an imaginary country.
3. Rudians - people of Rudia
4. Entlish - people of Entland
(The presentation is only the expression of free thoughts of the poet. The insults whatsoever assumed by the reader are their risk of being pessimistic. No claim for insult shall be entertained)
Copyright © Isor Chand | Year Posted 2017