Poetry was her best lover
Like no other
He loved her
She could be herself
Secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
He let her lie
As he slowly caressed her imagination
Making her flow
With the sweet essence of her soul
In waves of delirium
He let her be
Unworried of how to please
Or how to tease
Just simply to be
A woman in a prelude
Poetry was her best lover
Her escape from reality
In clandestine intimacy
He ravished her mind
Again and again
For all he wanted
Was for her to come
He had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
With firm truths
That burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
To reach supremacy
He never betrayed
In pleasing her
In giving her just what she wanted
In different ways and forms
His creativity endless
Poetry was her best lover
The only time in her day
When she had her way
And could be free
To be the woman she was mean to be
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
Not having to hide
Behind the guise
The veil of culture
Or misconstrued sexism
When she was fertile
Laden with passion
Poetry was her best lover
He adored her
For whom she was
And he gave and gave
Leading her in submission to his will
To live in the confines
Of his rules
For perfection to be reached
She had to follow his lead
To the pinnacle of pleasure
Where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
Tasted and lived and then to descend
To warm after glow
Basking in the satisfaction
Of a fruitful union
For beauty has been conceived
Waiting for delivery
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
Came looking for him
To take her
Again and again and again
To transport her to heaven from hell
Poetry was her best lover
Had no need of another
To help her discover
Her own entity….
But her best lover
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Paris the 13th
Tears, my tears fall to wine
As I can not comprehend this horrendous crime
Men filled with such spiteful hate
Islamic teachings seal their fate
Kill and slaughter love and smiles
How I pray tell does this bring about
Any compassion of heart, have they no guile?
I have walked along those Parisian streets
Filled with history and diversity, such a feat
Hand in hand, people from so many lands
Dressed in darkness, blacks and grays
The massacre dancing in premonitions sway
Crusaders never win, for love will take its stand
Hundreds taken from Jesus hands
For nothing more than celebrating their great lands
Food and drink and lovers smiles
Stolen this night by hateful bile
We shall rise again, defend and stand
Our blood may flow in the river seine
However in the end its you, who is insane
We shall defend our liberty
Even if we hang evil from the tree
Père Lachaise has brought me tears
Such history over all the years
Yet here I am faced to visit once again
Paying respect to those dying in vain
My heart is fraught, with you till eternity
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
Notes: Pere Lachaise is a famous cemetery in Paris
Liberté, égalité, fraternité is the motto of France
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
How much do I love thee
Let me tabulate all the ways
I bought you a new Mercedes
With gold plated tire rims
I bought you a humongous diamond ring
The size fit for all Royals and King
I bought you a store of the finest lingerie
Secrets still held at the door by decree
I bought you a garden of roses so red
My love was surely in bloom, or so they all said
I bought you a ticket to heavens pearly gates
So that in paradise you’d have not to even wait
I bought you your very own private Lear jet
To see the world through champagne eyes
My love was a vault and you emptied it dry
My heart has now learned to never cry
How much do you love me?
Your lawyer seems to know
You claimed mental duress
Suffering under such stress
The Mercedes was the wrong color so I am told
I should have known, pink, not gold
The diamond ring was too heavy to wear
Your back injuries caused you painful despair
The lingerie didn’t cover you just right
So medical ailments kept you up many a nights
The roses in bloom where not the right flower
Your allergies they caused, thus making you sour
The ticket to heaven you plain out refused
Said it was one way, and that just wouldn’t do!
You had no issues riding my Lear jet
You rode the pilot as well, a mile high kinda bet
My love you tossed into the bin out in back
The divorce lawyer smiles at me, saying she sure is great in the sack
The moral of the Story is this!
If you are sitting at the table, and
You see a few beetles scurrying about
Maybe even whistling a tune or two
Listen carefully to what they say
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
I have little tolerance for tolerant people.
Those that will endure the corruption of
the truth, the erosion of meaning. While at
the same time being intolerant of your
opinions, thoughts, and level of tolerance.
There is a quote attributed to Voltaire:
“I disapprove of what you say, but I will
defend to the death your right to say it.”
How many of the “tolerant” would be willing
to fight for our right to “disapprove of what
they say”? Hush the crowd so that we might
be heard? Unblock their ears and hearts and listen?
Does the present day “tolerance”
lack tolerance, lack understanding,
lack the ability to endure a voice that
is not in tune, does not sing the same
song, does not pray the same prayer?
Or do they tolerate, put up with, the “fool”,
while denying acceptance of his opinions,
his beliefs. Perhaps the fool is more tolerant than they.
Listening to what they say, watching how they
carry themselves, interact with those “different”
For they think him a “fool”, because they do
not know that he thinks, what he thinks,
and most sadly, they do not care to know.
They will tolerate his presence but not allow
him to be present, listen to his voice yet hear
nothing, speak of equality while lauding their
position, education, power over him.
For they are tolerant only of themselves,
of their ideas, their thoughts, their peers,
their alleged - equals.
They disapprove of us, and what we say,
and will defend their right to keep it so.
John G. Lawless – 6/9/2014
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014
I wish to
To all of my people the importance of sticking together as a
Because we have run
through the preliminary trials as selfish individual, goal seekers
we have barely made it to the finals,
winning our, “Race”
is undoable or un-triable
Have all but silenced the roaring power we gain from our people united cheering in the bleachers
from plodding along as the dauntingly misdirected at a
without holding ourselves accountable or reliable
Almost destroying the chances of the enslaves life-long
Will be considered, Earths Final Race
A Worldwide Event
A sport in which our
True Star Players are violently removed from the game by the officials
or made to disappear without a trace
Displaying our opponents, un-sportsmanlike conduct, their incapability for fair play
revealing foul play as their true intent
Winning Earths Final Race
will be determined by
How well we get along
How divided we will stay weak
How well when pushed down or held back we back down or turn the other cheek
How together we will stand
How well we hold on to our opponents arm in case we fall and something goes wrong
To which or how many of our opponents, charities we give to, or social groups we belong
what side of their political eagles shoulders we are flapping
This is not the event where one runner runs for glory
gains the gold medal
and one soloist gets an award for best artist singing Their National
This is a team effort
Greater enslaved men and women have killed and died for lesser
To run behind our people, in our “Race” for freedoms sake
holding the stick of ambition and determination
only to catch up with their own front runners
pass it on
This “Race” needs to relay
How well we pass the baton
If one runner falls, we pick him up and pass the Baton
If another runner falls we pick her up and pass the Baton
If another runner falls and so on we go on
But not until our race is done
We continue to pick our people up teaching each and every one of us how to, run’ our own “Race”
without falling or having to say we’ve “slipped’”
And so on we go on
Until the sound of the Starter pistol doesn’t have us scattering for shelter away from the tracks
in fear of a gunner’s bullet being lodged in our backs
And so on we go on
Until the sound of the officials whistle isn’t a call for more troops to gather around our runners
awaiting the signal to attack
And so on we go on
Until we have learned that to tie with those of whom have Beaten us
at every turn in fact
means we will never truly when our
So to run for equality means
we will always be running to meet the qualifications of another “Race”
at a much slower pace
Making the run for equality,
a stumbling block cast before our feet, blatant stupidity, and utterly wrong
Something of which we ignorantly insist on trying to accomplish or gaining the
Implying that the proficiencies needed to stand as winners in first
place of our own Race
Are that in which we
By no means should this race be run
Until the ability to act and respond as a unit is wholly and completely
We pass the baton
Until we have runners in place that will race to the finish-lined
Up to receive the baton
are capable of competing at the highest level of
every “Race” the world has ever
We pass the baton
until we are at the beginning of our renewed race and every one of us is running
We pass the baton
until we have a new Nation of our own
We pass the baton
until we all stand as a quire applauding each other for singing our
We pass the baton
Until we are all united to stand as one people
to race the finals and have
And can once again run our own “Race”
Proud free and strong
I wish to
To all of my people the importance of sticking together as a team
“Race” The Finals
Copyright © AC Benford | Year Posted 2016
Freedom of speech is a fundamental need
that is to be express and achieved
Yet it should not rape human rights
or violates others ' beliefs.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015
I wish I could concentrate my
Poetic writing to just one form,
But that just wouldn't be me.
I need to dip my toes into
Every body of water,
Every lake, stream or sea.
Haiku is beautiful and abstract,
Sensationally succinct with
Artful possibilities galore.
It conquers earthly seasons,
Delights our vivid views and
Trains the mind how less is more.
If you haven't tried a Sonnet,
You don't know the romance or
Splendor you have missed.
Of Italian origin Sonnets sing...
Pulling on our fervent heartstrings,
They conjure love in every tryst.
Whether I choose rhyme or free verse
Or Acrostic's strict letter form, or
Write in Etheree's nondescript shades,
I feel there is freedom in my choosing,
To express my very best, to leave my
Legacy before... my little light fades.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015
Does not the pen yield its ink unto the bare page,
For expressionism to spill forward expelling inspirations
Liberal curve, it’s the power of freedom of speech is
How many have died for what they believe in,
What weight in blood soils, have these brave
Individuals has cost in life’s causes of the justice
These voices sounding can be heard even though
The flesh flame has been extinguished, hope light
Flickers in the darkest corner of silence, and it’s mighty
Winds wave can still be felt amongst the living.
Know one stands alone in a justified cause, if the truth
In the written words is spoken out loud, and is proudly
Bared by the author.
The next generations seeks our kindling fire, to inspire
There small embers to burn more brightly let us encourage
Such raw fuel to ignite, not smother it by smug self righteousness.
Set ablaze the pages of the future generations, let their inspirational
Spark spread, setting the very heavens a fire with enlightenment's torrent.
In this world we are given the gift of speech, thought, and wisdom,
For what other reason but to share the best of ourselves with others,
It is the gleaming light that sizzles in the eyes of the human spirit,
And severs us from the beast of the fields, and it is called Intelligence,
Compassion, and the freedom of speech.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
Dragon fell asleep at his nappy time, and his dreams were so sublime.
He’d just heard the song, ‘Snoopy Vs The Red Baron’, one more time.
That Plus ‘Snoopy’s Christmas’, both were… very old… favorites of mine!
And, I swear to you… this is how his dreams… Really… did align…
Snoopy’s Dog House was in for repair. His little mechanic bird friends…
Were working feverishly making repairs for Snoopys’ next battle to begin.
But as the time drew near… Snoopy couldn’t wait… He couldn’t be late.
A Duel of honor had been struck, and it was time for the Red Baron’s fate.
He’d AGAIN appear! Snoopy had to be there at dawn, to fight for our team.
To save our beloved Life, Liberty, Freedom, and the great American Dream.
The Red Baron was never late, or missed, this duel! He yearly repeated…
It was the anniversary of his greatest loss. This, he wanted! No! He needed!
This was, once again, his chance to Win! So Snoopy did the amazing thing!
He called on Dragon to see him thru! Yes, Dragon would supply the wings.
He’d be in a dog fight with Snoopy, against the Red Baron, to the bitter end.
What the Red Baron didn’t know was… he didn’t stand a chance, my friend.
Not with these two Super heroes, together, and they did start out, so true!
At least, until Snoopy’s machine gun jammed! Oh! What would they do??!!
Freedom Simply Couldn’t Be Lost, when it didn’t go, as they had planned!
But never fear, with Dragon here, at Snoopy’s inventive, brilliant command!
Snoopy called on Dragon’s most wonderous, Top Secret Strength, acquired!
Yep, you guessed! He had Dragon spit out, Really, Great, Big Balls of Fire!
Naturally that couldn’t be beat! Better yet, as The Red Baron leaned in…
Diving from above! Dragon did the greatest Loop de Loop EVER SEEN!
Yep, He ended up, right behind the Red Baron’s illustrious, flying machine!
Then Snoopy let his Dragon of War loose, to do his special thing, so keen!
And as you guessed, the tail of the Red Barons’ plane, caught fire, so sweet!
Sending him home… in a massive, humbling, complete and utter DEFEAT!
The moral of this story is: Never Mess with our… American Super Heroes!
Dedicated to the True Heroes of 9/11, the First Responders, and our Amazing
Soldiers… They’re the best the World will ever see!
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015
I am a child in weaving poetry,
trying and trying my arms of bravery.
Hundreds, I posted to jail your eyes
to cease a moment; raise your vives!
Diving to swim in pools of poem challenges,
I plunge to learn and thread the verses
unafraid to anyone, competing from no one but myself!
A rainbow topics curve to tickle my brain
even sending triggers to unlock any gain.
Contests' title to the extent blow my peace
with the inspiration that afire my train.
It ignites me to ink water and blood masterpieces
though some of the rules crack my skull
but yes! YES, still, I am all enthralled!
A mile long smile I have if my poem
bags the top podium place
with my name only one on that rank
as if I have done a slam dunk.
This means I understood the rules
and satisfied the judges' muse
but if I plank and my name none at sight--
a little dismayed then later I'm alright
Those honorable mentions,
those N/A's, no place even,
that I don't really care!!! Bleh!
(smile with tongue out! lol!)
THOSE ENCOURAGED ME ANYWAY:
to write and write!
to inspire others!
to free my thoughts!
to soar on places!
to paint in words!
Never quitting 'til I gain some points,
adding and adding tons of vibrant hues
to slowly, slowly relish a life breathing write
with a hope that soon-- kindles again a good fight!
©O. E. Guillermo
01:00 pm, December 26, 2014
Sponsor: Jerry T Curtis
Contest Name: The Contest
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014
Impulsive or compulsive
Either way it's not conducive
Living with this disorder
Can't be good for my liver
Obsessions, when do they stop?
Compulsions, when do I stop?
Let me illustrate and reiterate
My demons make me infuriated
To the point, man, I really want to escape this
Live everyday like your last?
These hours go by fast
Trying to obliterate every ounce of the past
Always with the imagery and self coping insanity
That broke me and continues to break me.
Another day, no not another day
I just got out, please let me stay away.
Copyright © Stefan Cote | Year Posted 2016
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
Men sometimes put no value to sex and the sacred decision a woman might hold dear for the reason to
Submit options of letting you indulge in her essences. See some have had men all over the world and there is one thing for
Sure that pussy has a name never a face, Mumu , myse ,kisse, pepita, catellus, passera, mita it all mean
The same thing Pussy, pussy, pussy. And the truth of the matter is your sometimes not remembered or
Even thought about once you give the pussy up!
So guard and respect your pussy and you’ll be wiser for not giving it up, I thought of all the times I
Gave up my pussy and grieving the next day he was gone, nothing but a memory of the condom he either didn’t
Or did put on! I have disrespected my body for a moment of pleasure far too valuable to get rid of, and
The 15 minutes or less or if I’m lucky an hour of pleasure soon will be forgotten as he’s on to the next one
Or back with his main love or the one whose holding out, but she worth waiting for.
Pussy is abuse sometimes tainted with the smell of semen left inside you with your naïve ass, I’m not going
Anywhere imma be here for you, trust me so the pussy stinks reeks of disappointment!
As they get dressed to leave a delicate kiss on the forehead and a polite thanks for the pussy!
Don’t be this chick (hold out on giving up the Pussy, be known for your worth)
You’re so much more than ass or pussy! I now know my worth!
Written by Monica Chrisandtras Hines 9/16/2014
You have to be selective and or practice abstinence in order to be valued ,some women get lucky and he does come back the next day ,but for how long ? Men like to chase and if you give it up too easy its a waste of time ,hes no longer interested and will soon prowl for another ! Keep it to your self till the time is right ,if he won't wait then forget about him!
Copyright © Monica Chrisandtras Hines | Year Posted 2014
Patradoot or The Messenger29 /Many
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
These young boys and girls, were brought up,
By their parents, with great love and affection,
Now they are mad, in love for their motherland,
To show the splendors of their youthful energy.
They are ready even to sacrifice their heads,
What to say of body pains and tortures inflicted on them,
By seeing such fearlessness and energy of their youth,
Even the enemy gets ashamed of, dear letter.
Triloki was one of these young boys,
Who happily took bullets on his chest, dear letter,
And kept on moving ahead without withdrawing,
Keeping the dignity of our nation and Satyagraha.
DESCRIPTION OF MY CITY ALLAHABAD
You will find my beautiful city Allahabad,*
In an ecstasy and full of rapture, flowing in it’s air,
When you will move on its roads and streets,
Along with the Postman, dear letter.
Kanpur India 12th August 2010 to continue in 30
* Allahabad Also know as Prayag or Triveni is the most ancient city
of India, where river Ganga and Yamuna now meets at
the holy place called Sangam.
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on email@example.com
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010
In this tangled web of chaos
Trying to untangled my being
Of this spiders lacework
If my soul would just assend
To a haven of order
By eve roper 11/2/2014
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014
is it the wave kissing the sand
or is it the ocean
- deep from her heart
but always with passion?
is it the sand kissing back
or is it the land
- happily losing ground
with every kiss
to his eternal mistress,
the occupant of his soul?
is it this poem touching your heart
or is it our souls
- hugging each other
on a sandy beach,
wide and infinite,
day in and day out?
Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016
To fly free is what a poet wants to do
It’s possible that it is different
Probably not to the taste of a few
Quite different and many may dissent.
But the poet should continue his ascent.
But the battle should be won by the poet
People may expect this road to arrive at
But his guts and his muse find his own road
Flight is freedom in its pure form to poets
May dance with clouds and storm, it is his mode
Dr. Ram Mehta
For the Contest: Metrical Verse by Giorgio Veneto
8th Place win
***Dizain is Ten lines rhymed a b a b b c c d c d poem; usually (though not by definition) iambic pentameter. This is a Dizain chain. This is originally a French form and initially would have been made up of eight syllablelines, but later ten syllable lines were also used.****
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2013
What is poetry, I must ask? Writing poetry can be quite a task. Still I struggle and continue to write, Hmmm, for my delight, or do I write from insight? Although I get frustrated, very agitated, can"t bring myself to hate it because I"m also captivated. You see, poetry is something very new, something I thought I would never do, yes I thought nothing of the kind, poetry never even crossed my mind. Until Rehad. I was jotting down stuff that was really drab, while in my mind I was repeating a phraise while giving The Lord praise. Then a voice I heard, "you can do much more with those words" I didn't have a clue of what I could do.
So I started to think, I started to strain but the more I strained the further away they became. I was completely baffled, it had stopped me cold, so I stopped trying and behold poem's started to unfold. Now the tide has turned, no more free ride it's time to learn, so some candles I must burn, like everything else poetry too, you must earn. Instead I duck, I dodge, I hide, thinking of anything to put them aside. With all the great poets how can I compete, I feel as though I'm already beat. So I get afraid and into the back ground I fade, trying my best to evade. But that's not the case for every morning I awake they are right back in my face. I'm thinking, this is not the norm, should I grab the bull by the horns. My head started to spin, thinking how do I begin.
And from out of my heart, following the other poets is a great place to start, in order to proceed you must not only write, you must also read and reading is showing me it takes special people to write poetry. Which also keeps me in check and for all you poets I have the utmost respect. So whether good or bad, I will nether smudge nor carry a grudge for I am not here to judge. I just want to be a part of these wonderful works of art. But Poetry, I wonder, what will I aquire and what will transpire? I guess I must travel the unknown but it's good to know, I don't walk alone. So I say again my friend. What Is Poetry, I Must Ask, Writing Poetry Can Be Quite A Task?
Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2016
Once I saw a lovely frame
Rough and Tumble was its name
It was a captured moment of freedom
A moment of nature at its peak.
I saw the waves in this frame
It's frenzy, won the dancing game
Beautiful blue waters invading brown earth.
The water is like a child; free
Always expanding its width
Yet it is nothing like man
Because It's freedom cannot be restrained
And it has no responsibility to chaos.
It wrecks the beach
Swallows the trees.
It is excited at its freedom.
Freedom again is as the wind
That raises the dust into my eyes
And scatters the dirt at the market place.
Freedom is the black cloud that
Travels with the rain scaring sunshine
With rumbling sound.
I was pleased how my mind's eye
Read the captured moment of time;
Nature in its reign
But I was glad because it was
Rather Freedom, in a frame.
Copyright © Ingibo Benson | Year Posted 2011
THE ONLY THING I KNEW, BUT IT WASN'T SO NEW
TO THE WORLD BUT TO FEW, THOUGHT OF BRAND NEW
LITTLE I KNEW OF MY WEAKNESS, I THOUGHT IT WAS LIKE STEW
GOT ME TRAPPED AND INTO THE MOUTH IT GOT ME CHEWED
THOUGHT I OWNED IT, BUT IN REAL I HAD LOST IT
TO ONLY THOSE WHO'RE FOCUSED
THEM LIFE IS NOT LIKE MORNING DEW
DETERMINED AND WITH ONE AIM LIKE DORCAS
STICK TO ONE SINGLE AIM OF SUCCESS LIKE JEWS
TO WIN I THOUGHT I OWNED IT, BUT I REAL I HAD LOST IT
THE GENIUS IN EVERYTHING THOUGHT I WAS
SIMPLETON THE WORD I USED IN REFERENCE TO OTHERS
KEEPING TO MY SELF AND PRIDE AS CHARACTER I WAS
AND MINE TO THINK WAS ALL THE BEST TO HIT THE CRACKERS
PRIDE MADE ME OWN IT ,BUT IN REAL I HAD LOST IT.
NOW LEARNED IN FULL AND IN CAPACITY
REAP BEHAVIOUR AND EARNED A CHARACTER
HIT WITH THE ROD OF CHANGE AND REALITY
BACK TO TRACK FULLY LOADED LIKE A ROAD-STAR
AWAY WITH I OWNED IT,NOW WE OWN IT.
Copyright © LEE REUBENS | Year Posted 2013
AND ON THAT DAY…
(APROPOS MLK: PART 1)
And on that day we will rise
And raise the hued shades of ignorance
And let the light of truth shine on our souls
And purify our hearts with warm rays of hope.
And on that day we will rise
And see rumors of wars sucked into black holes of peace.
And the phoenix birds shall give birth to cooing doves.
And on that day we shall confront our humanity
And boldly say to it, you must become all we can be;
And seek forgiveness for the acts that trampled the will of God;
And hope for redemption for the shredded dreams deferred.
And on that day America shall awaken from her slumber
And stretch forth her weary arms yawning a Nicodemus yawn.
And that day shall be the dawning of new beginnings;
And the chameleon shall change its colors no more.
And each hued hope shall be woven into the fabric of common destiny.
And the wheels of time shall roll us over into the New Jerusalem…
And on that day America will sing a new song;
And it shall be: My country’s tears to thee…
And on that day God will say: Well Done!
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2014
Please do not take your
pomegranates for granted,
especially if you have the
last one on the planet,
a smart person would
take some seeds out
and plant it,
but couldn't if the
and banned it,
then someone who
was still a maverick,
would risk his life and
have to go on
the lam with it in
order to plant it,
and people everywhere
would uprise and not
stand for the banning
of the pomegranate,
and before you know
it there would be a
bumper crop of
that would surpass it,
letting people to
have the freedom
once again to
make their tasty
Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016
DECEMBER 2015 - "For what is our hope, our joy, or the crown, in which we glory in the presence of our Lord Jesus when He comes?" 1 Thessalonians 2:19
This year America waits,
With great anticipation.
For peace, love and joy,
Throughout the nation.
Christians are under attack,
For what is in their heart.
Hatred fills the air,
Our nation torn apart.
Death in our schools,
Murder on the streets.
Hurry, Jesus, we pray,
Before their goal is complete.
A promise written true.
Not it's only if you follow theirs,
Christians know not what tio do.
We read more every day,
How we must suffer for His Cause.
Evil ones in control,
they pass the laws.
There was a time in history,
It was so long ago.
God sent His Only Son,
To teach us how to go.
In a humble stable He was born,
Written Word said it would be.
People given a reason to believe,
Praised Him in songs of victory.
We are lost without His son,
The Bright Star for all to see.
Please give us another sign,
To set Your People free.
RAYMOND V. MORGAN
Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015
Creep the vines crawling the guarded walls
Peek the rays drawing into my restless mind
Breaking dawn burning off the morning mist
Submitting no longer to a life of trepidation
Living out daily dreams and forgotten fantasies,
letting go of pains and endless sufferings,
releasing thoughts and feelings
trying to make things seem
right in a world of all wrong
Generous soul pour out your torments
through my veins bring to light
in the freshness of a new day
a garden of bountiful harvests
in an untapped sea of love
where the butterflies come to play
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2016
Always have a book at hand,
In the parlor, bedroom and loo.
Condensed thought on paper,
This is the world for you.
My daughter loves to read,
Must have something to hold.
No cover or pages,
Not even a center fold.
Electronic books these days,
For the person on the go.
Flip it on for convenience,
Living color, like a show.
Reading can entertain,
Delight the lonely heart.
Those without education condemn it,
The learned ones tear it apart.
The many pieces of the written word,
Bring light to those in the dark.
Challenge the mind of the curious,
Give your life a spark.
No entertainment is so cheap,
No pleasure lasts as long.
Your mind flies o'er the pages,
The words are like a song.
The love of reading,
Challenges the soul.
Nothing else given to man,
Can make one whole.
There are those who read,
To know what the world has done.
Others to enhance their personal life,
To be the brightest one.
RAYMOND V. MORGAN
Master Sergeant, USAF - Retired
Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2016
this country has a stand
its for every man
it was part of the plan
to have a wall
that stands tall
FREEDOM FOR ALL
Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014
I often find myself reminiscent of
a time I've never known.
immersed in memories that
i've never lived.
my mind won't stop
I dream of wars, bullets, bombs and shells
I can smell the crisp, innocent blood from the ongoing massacre
I can hear the Aleppians cry
I can imagine the centuries of history on the crease of their hands
I don't know their names, but their eyes once glistened-
Ah, the beauty of Khalpe
I can't stop crying
I have forgotten how to breathe
I wonder if the people of Aleppo
have accepted what is happening.
What is the difference between
revolution and war?
and why won't it end?
I don't know what the Middle East looks like but I
imagine it smells of blood and prolonged terror
Cities that once smelled of jasmine
now reek of
fear and famine
I am sorry for the horrors.
I am sorry for turning your pain into poetry.
Copyright © Anais Sarah Aiache | Year Posted 2017
I was a good wife that kept a spotless house,
And cooked good food each day for my dear spouse.
When he mowed the lawn in the summer heat,
I would bring him a cool drink, just to be sweet.
After thirty years we have parted ways.
Now I have a new trail in which to blaze.
I’m finding out that being single has its perks.
I’m in charge now, and that’s how it works!
I don’t have to clean the house if I’m not inclined,
Or cook every day, working off my behind!
I can go out to dinner whenever I choose.
I don’t have to watch a man on the couch snooze!
I can run around the house naked as a jaybird,
And go without makeup, which in the heat is preferred.
Yes, the single life has given me a taste of freedom.
My new motto in life is “love ‘em and leave ‘em.”
Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2017
Fifty Shades of Gray
Fifty shades of gray. Today was not my best day. Lay broken from dusk to dawn. All cares, wishes, hopes and dreams are sprawled across the lawn. These skies are fifty shades of gray. Friends and families have gone away. What else is left to say, when this day has gone astray.
Who knows the wonder that you ponder. That wonder you hold, test the depths of what you console. Pushing on the brink of insanity. Desolate discovery of ones invisible self. Never to be seen or understood when such pain still lingers inside. Voices collide, denied lies of your demise. Now seek out your own confessions, when no one is left to listen to you confide. Hide within ones mind, what the truth holds. Exposed once again to those, whom wish to do you harm. For my skies are fifty shades of gray and this day is not my best. For my thoughts are put to rest and my stress has taking aim. Only to leave the same way it came, with fifty shades of gray. Just hoping for a brighter day.
Copyright © Darius Howard | Year Posted 2017
Writing poetry isn't easy, but a 2 year old can rhyme.
It's all about rhyming, I assume.
It's what everyone keeps telling me.
But then, I look at art.
And the comparison of both journeys.
What is it that binds those two ?
Maybe, it's the expressions, the feeling it gives.
Or maybe, the freedom in letting your mind take the sips.
We do both with our eyes close, we can do both with eyes close.
So the next time you feel like your mind needs to go on an adventure.
Go ahead, make that structure, make it rupture !
Spill your mind out on that paper, let it paint all your wonders.
And write all your desires. Don't bother with those deniers.
Copyright © SILLO ANDERSON | Year Posted 2017