-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
Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.
I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.
I needed it.
Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.
And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.
Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!
But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.
Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.
“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.
As she held me,
with puppy love warmth.
Even the rainbows fell to its knees.
She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.
But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.
It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!
As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.
My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.
“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.
Boys will fear her.
And I couldn’t be more proud.
After two moments of silence,
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.
“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.
10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”
I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.
And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”
But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.
For it was my inner child,
© Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011
(For My Younger Self)
You have forgotten your muse.
You neglected her, in the hustle and bustle
of city life, in trying to carve a niche,
driving yourself too hard -
thinking it could make you rich.
Don’t you see her? She grieves.
How she longs to reunite with you
but you are far too busy, with everything new.
Too unmindful, too steeped in the practical
your change was so radical;
Too pragmatic, everything has become automatic.
You have lost touch with your muse,
no matter how she pleads you have become obtuse.
When will you reach into the softer,
more introspective part of yourself?
Please do not say, never.
Remember how you would write through the night
and people around you would wonder why…
Those moments were priceless,
the times you communed with words so ageless
as you poured onto paper all your emotions -
In the night, you would write of happiness and pain,
of a young love, and of your simple dreams.
Go back to those simple dreams.
Do not allow yourself to be lost
in the conundrum that is Life.
Step back, take stock, be still.
Find time for meditation, there is no condemnation
for those who acknowledge the need for salvation.
And as you find that inner peace,
write once more.
Write, and write some more.
Set free all those words that have long been kept
within your heart…the happy words, the sad words,
words both simple and intricate
that a reader will enjoy as he masticates
the meaning, the lesson, the joy and young wisdom.
Let your words dance…let your words s o a r !
31 October 2015
Poem of the Day 01 November 2015
Awarded 1st Place - What Would You Say Contest
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.
That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store
That was your appraised value.
But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.
Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood
“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards
I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter
We scream in misguided nerd joy
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session
Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!
But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!
It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap
My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.
To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”
I chose to be a human this night.
Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall
A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table
Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums
In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form
It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose
At the TOP of my LUNGS,
“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could.
You never responded to my open-hearted palm.
You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man.
But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say!
You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows.
Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday.
So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband,
Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line
Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face
Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall,
With children pointing & laughing hysterically,
“Security” enters the room
As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder,
“Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me.
The Best Man that you will never hold again.”
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
A Bridge Over Silent Waters
Never judge your fellow man
Before seeking your own reflection
Not the one that shines in a glass mirror
Seek it in the eyes of your fellow man
His eyes shall reflect your compassion or lack there of
When a pond has no ripples
Look for the lies, underneath
When you see the waves upon the water
Know that the winds are singing to you
Truth will always seek you out
Never close your heart to a strangers smile
His smile may bring you serenity or deception
Trust in your inner being to know
It shall open up towards the rainbows or seek refuge
To protect your soul
When you see a human suffering
Flea not inside your reflection
Instead reflect upon his suffering
Share the waters of your pond with him
This shall promise you both more rainfall
This was inspired by a poem written by Charmaine, she was kind enough to let me use a few of her lines in the first verse of this poem. Its amazing how when you read something it can open your mind to think of things you otherwise would not have. For some reason, maybe more because of his messages than his style I find myself thinking of Richards’s poetry as well. This for me is the beauty of the site, the inspiration one gets from fellow poets, it’s a great honor to have met so many, and to have shared so many ideas and views and opinions. More important than any poem is the laughter and smiles, this among friends is like giving away gold bars. (Although I do accept the occasional gold bar now and then)
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Your love touched me. . .
As a butterfly softly alights on a flower.
I didn't notice until you flew away.
*Note: This poem is about not realizing you love someone until it is too late.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2010
When I first surrendered all to You
it wasn’t clear to me,
that You became the author;
my life, Your poetry.
The pages of my life were dark.
You made them snowy white.
And then with mastery and skill
You began to write.
Each day a different style and form
something fresh and new
always timely and spot on
and never overdue.
So Lord, what will it be today
that flows from Your ready pen
across this chapter of my life
that will be read by men?
Will it be a monorhyme
of how You came through for me just in time?
Perhaps it’s an ottava rima
in perfect pentameter
that tells how my love for You
has grown deeper and much sweeter.
It just might be a ballad
with a tender and touching refrain
of how I stumbled and faltered
but You picked me back up again.
Could there be a principle
that I really need to learn
which You’ll write upon my life
as a repetitive quatern?
Since the furtherance of Your kingdom
is Your holy and noble tactic
perhaps You’ll craft in me
a revelatory didactic.
Diamante, tanka, limerick, haiku,
Lord, the choice is up to You.
Of all poetic forms that be
You know what to engrave on me.
Free verse or even hexaverse diminished
Dear God, please write on until my story is finished.
I learned several years ago from a minister that preached at our church that the Greek word for workmanship in the verse below is “poiema”, from which our English word “poem” is derived. This was my inspiration for this poem.
Ephesians 2:10(KJV) For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.
For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].Ephesians 2:10(Amplified Bible)
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
Clouds passing away swiftly.
Like the desert sand.
Laying peaceful on the ground.
Seeing the worlds silent stand.
Breathing faintly with no sound.
While my life slips back into Gods hands.
Counting each beat from my heart.
Leaving behind this shallow land.
Taking one last glimpse in my eye.
Something came to carry me away.
Without giving me a chance to say goodbye.
Not wanting a reason to stay.
Gliding away into the blue sky.
Fully departed from my body where I lay.
My life in front of me revealed.
Blessing all those days I would pray.
God protecting me with his shield.
Kept his promise to take me back one day.
Now I am back where I belong.
Pass the horizon of the ocean sky.
Living among the butterflies.
Reunited with my love ones.
Who where also carried by butterflies.
For you I will wait beyond the sun.
Somewhere deep inside the skies.
When your life on earth is done.
You will also be carried by butterflies.
If for some reason you are carried of by bats.
It is your own fault.
You will be put in a dark cave with the rats.
All alone locked in your own vault.
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.
As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.
This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.
Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left.
So, now, I had plans!
But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.
A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.
She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.
Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Cause I never did like clowns.
After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.
She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.
So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout.
There she is.
Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.
Now it’s my turn.
With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.
She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.
As if she read my mind,
“Are you feeling warm now?”
“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.
But, “Now I am”, is uttered.
As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.
As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.
These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.
I locked myself out of my heart.
I turned around to go back inside.
Only to discover,
she didn’t have the key.
© Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010
Like the UNICORN
At times I fear I am the mysterious of all animals
Like the Unicorn, I myself do not feel real
My inner beauty is the only thing to conceal
I am my own mythological creature
Roaming souls with a little will power to heal
Ages of my forgotten tear
Like the Unicorns a prophecy so unclear
I compare your beauty to be the eyes of stare
I am a magical power so rare
Absorbing the energy of the sun into a spear
I appear like the wild horse
I have no feelings of real existence, my life with no compare
Embracing all memories to disappear
Wasting away absorbing nature's life
Haunted down by a hunters knife
Thousands of wolves hungry to eat me alive
Fallen legends and myth
Pondering in a past life who I am
I feel a touch upon my bones
Am I he the Unicorn
A horse with one horn
Unlike the Unicorn who fell to exist
My suffering really does exist
How I wish everything was fake
To be like you hiding upon the mist
Like the Unicorn who is a horse with no horn
Like a nobody when my life slips into the abyss
A depth of wishing to have never been born
With the vision of Heaven’s Realm with a Unicorn twist
Like the Unicorn who only exist in Legends and Myth.
I come and go like a blown kiss
Shedding tears feeling all alone
I want to be like the Unicorn who are bound to roam
Take me away from this wonders of thorns
Give me a magic Medallion to free myself from the pits
Infatuated with the gorgeous Unicorn
A passion among beauty is where I exist
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
I asked to my father
Baba, What is life ?
He politely said to me, " Life is Duty . "
I asked to my mother
Maa, What is life ?
She said to me with smile, " Life is Responsibility . "
I asked to my teacher
Sir, What is life ?
He said to me with love, " Life is Education . "
I asked to my spiritual master
Gurujee, What is life ?
He said to me with confidence, " Life is Devotion . "
Today my son who reads in class nine
Babai, What is life ?
I have said to him, " Dear, You are my life . "
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
( Father means BABA, BABAI and Mother means MAA in Bengali language . Gurujjee means spiritual master in Indian society )
Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014
There is a bridge, it crosses over deserts
It cements oceans, binds the icy seas
Flies over fiery vulcans, sings melodious
Breathes over you a cooling welcome song
A bridge that binds where first was separation
Oblivious to race, beliefs, or sex.
Does not care for timidity, bravado
And all it sees is sheer humanity
This bridge is art, its splendor shines in silence
Its poetry is love, its words seduce
This bridges arms wrap tightly 'round who needs it
And on this bridge we feast in harmony
Let's fill a glass, cheers to fraternization
To poetry as art that builds this bridge
'Tween worlds and people, far away and near
To friendship, love, and friends so very dear.
Blank Verse Iambic Pentameter
8th place in contest: Blank Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Janice Canerdi
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
Before my flowing, poetic pen is hushed in Quietus,
And I have reached my journey's end with folded hands;
Departed into my dreamless sleep beneath violets,
Let me write one everlasting, eternal, immortal verse;
Of the ravaged garden of my life.
I want to hear a bird song when I quietly glide away,
With a sigh, I will lay my pale form down peacefully;
I have willed my Keepsakes and my musing poems,
The Angel of death, will take my hand into another realm;
And the drums of time will cease.
Oh, it has been a life full of happiness entwined with sad,
I have travelled many different roads to get to Tranquillity;
The chapters of my life are full of the dead and undead,
Memories of childhood, family, friends and pets I loved;
The scars of life stab my soul.
I do not fear death and I am ready to go through the gate,
But I will miss nature, the woods and the waters moving;
And as I walk the silent passage alone to my eternal night,
Think of me as being set free and soaring high up above;
I lived a life weather-stained with tears.
Leaving life is something we all must do; it is written,
I was held by a thread in this earthly realm until that last gasp;
Now, all I know is the peacefulness of a leafy tree above,
Drifting blue clouds and rain falling gently on my resting place;
I was a shadow on the wall of time.
Do not weep over my eternal grave heartbroken my dears,
I have followed the beautiful Angels footsteps to heaven;
My poetry is timeless, ageless, and will always remain,
I have shed this earth bound life and I am a butterfly set free;
I drank from the deep blue cup of life.
So come, dear hearts and plant some pretty flowers in Spring,
I am at last united with all my beloved who have gone before;
Touch my name and remember me for my beauty,
And although my life was but a whisper, I loved every moment;
Now, I exist in another realm.
August 26, 2015
Submitted to the Premiere Contest Number Five
Sponsor, A Skat
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
A Slow Hand, Deep Thoughts And True Pen
Each time I write of my crashed hopes and dreams
mind falls into black-depths, sends cold shivers.
Tempted to falsely praise my misdeeds and schemes
I return to my vow, embracing realm of true givers.
Such leaning towards positive and the good
once was abhorrent, not in my prideful style.
When lightning bolts struck me as they should
I found my life was a massive rubbish pile.
With pen and paper I then sought truth to tell
of life, love, loss and darkness once embraced.
O' yes, I did not hide my parades in hell
nor innocent young life I once so disgraced.
Years flew by and age gave its usual aches
far too oft, I swore to give my poetry up.
Darkness whispered, take well deserved breaks
porch lounge sit, empty thy hot coffee cup.
Ah, but my muse, she heard and was not amused
up she bolted, screaming like a raving banshee.
Reminded me of my past, my life I had so abused
what a coward I would be if I now sought to flee.
Pen in hand and regretful of my wasted past
I write to send some light and truth boldly tell.
Praying some good comes, a few words may last
redeem myself from youthful days dancing in hell.
( Seek to do good and watch as darkness flees )
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,
at least not all of it,
but the emotion pouring past her lips,
the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists
enunciated more clearly,
than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,
and grabbed me, held me still.
…In that moment, her soul was in my arms.
In that finite, tender breath of our lives,
she was my mother, my best friend…
but I could not console her.
I didn’t have the words;
and my heart sank into the
concrete between us,
wet with the pain of God’s rain
and her tears.
…Were my tears
So, I simply opened my palms
toward her crouched form and
spoke the only words I could
fathom, that would be accepted
by a stranger on a dangerous street.
"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."
I knew she did not understand…
“que va a estar bien”
“Dios te bendecira’ “
the words were as messy as the overturned
duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly
from my lips, as my knees hit the street.
Two strangers, cried in the rain,
knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,
and yet we shared the weight,
together, for those few moments;
the barrier of language was broken.
Love spoke for us.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
…Love transcends any language
Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2014
You know me as a poet, and writer of poems rhythmic,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
telling a story using figurative language to share,
my life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
Few beyond this safe harbour have read my poems,
I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
my poems are my treasures that I keep hidden,
fathomless is the pain.
My view on life is somewhat sadly fatalism,
my destiny foretold, it is already written;
there are many facets to me that I share with few,
oh, classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
I love Chopin, poet of the piano, Mozart, oh that lyrical charmer.
And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on,
I am fascinated in the architecture in my city.
Often, I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
admiring gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
and I love the Victorian building where I reside,
with my cats.
I have a small garden, created with a love for nature,
a tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers;
the things you may not imagine about me are many, for example
I adore vintage jewellery and clothes, and antique anything;
and I am a collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
and death haunts me- I am quite happy, although quite internal,
and I do love and need my silence.
July 30, 2015
Submitted to Contest 260, Brian Strand, Fifth Place
Submitted to contest, 100 In A Row #1, PD, Fifth Place
Submitted to contests, All That I Am, C. Puddifoot, Seventh Place
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
fallen fruit exists
earthen harvest and ground meet
jars in the pantry
Robert J. Lindley ,07-24-2014
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014
Under 65 degree starry, onyx blanket
Containment of quarter moon identity
A whimsically soothing song exuded
In muffled taps & Prohibition era lyric
In the distance,
Snow-capped mountains reflecting lunar clarity
Off its tips of freedom
As we lay on recycled steel hood,
Made in 1950s USA, when it mattered,
Her silhouetted fingertips released from my right arm
While insistently looking towards stratosphere’s vocal chord
“Can’t it be like this forever?
Oh, how I want to just make love to the stars.
Become one with Orion while riding
On Sagittarius’s arrow”
“What about our stars?”, he softly questioned.
“I’d like to be your never-ending shooting star.
To ride on blue moon’s comet, by your side”
Cricket whispers manhandled his romantic clef
Mother Nature’s afterglow, upon her ears, fallen deaf
Inherent waxy build-up from illicit tongue,
She pat his shoulders like a dog
Being taught his first lesson
Her eyes, still sky high.
“Sigh, I like how you think.
You’re such a nice friend.
You’re going to make a woman so happy one day.
I hope to meet a guy just like you.”
As her eyes sighed with a powerful lack of substance
Into the arms of Leo,
A slammed car door supplants the reverberation of the car’s V8 engine.
He confidently turns back the hands of time.
Reversal gears become his new tune
“If you get lost going home, follow the stars.”
As he pulls away with majestic, amplified lyrics
Of Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again”
Going down the only road he’s ever known
While she stands in fraudulent gasps of shock,
Looking back up to the stars in blank wonder
As he accelerates into a new page in his book
Closing his chapter with wondrous questions
“Why would I taste your starlight?
When you never believed in our constellation?”
©Drake J. Eszes
It’s good to gaze at the stars and make wishes. But, be careful what you wish for. For Earth has its own gifts…
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
Like a knockout blow
In the final round
The challenges comes
All at once
How you cope will depend on how you see them
It's not always black and white
Are all abound
You can get through this
Even if you have to tick
Them off one by one
Needs to be resolved today
Deal with what you can
Lighter they will become
They say "Rome wasn't build in a day"
Neither was your character
It might look flawed to you
But in you might be
That single trait your foe wish they had
Test your resilience
And surprise yourself
You might see what I see
One day, hopefully some day
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2015
Buries me in memories
I long for times
When a kiss was truly an exotic marvel
I hug the sorrows of treasured losses
I, a man weep, silently and alone
If only you, the lady in red knew
The feelings stirred inside this hardened man
I toss the guns aside, fighting a fool’s game
There is no true fame for a dead hero
I knelt too often at the graves of my comrades
My sword defends not even honor, no more
I am, but a simple man
As I gaze into my childhood
I long for a world
Where a child is never a soldier
Where no heart goes unheard
All roads lead to happiness
No more highways to evil deeds
No more Isis
No more hate
No more bombs from the skies
I gaze upon a park bench
There she is below the raven
My lady in red
No where to go
No legs to carry her dreams away
She leaves in her wake
A trail of blackness
The darkness of horrors
The darkness of infinite pain
Yet there she sits
Elegant and beautiful
Facing down the terror
Nightmares that attack ones essence
An inspiration overtakes me
I pick her up
She has a curious look upon her
What prey tell are you doing?
I look her in the eyes
I whisper to her
I am saving my heart, not you
I am redeeming my soul
She has but a worried look upon her face
I say fear not, I see inside of you
It shall be you who saves me
As we encounter loves journey
As they say
It’s a walk in the park
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Here in the heavy depths of insolent woes,
We gesture and talk and waste our time,
Staking claim to each minute of our earthly life,
Running the hours through a clock by the day,
Never sated, not content to find even love,
Buried deep inside the petals of a perfect rose.
So was a metaphor created from the rose,
Then plagiarized and used for all of time,
Simply here to represent the beauty of love,
A perfection to which we cannot aspire to in life,
Or even death, in the darkest of all those woes,
Great though they may seem by the passing day.
It's a fragile, soulful kind of love,
In the pressing presence of the breaking day,
Where your back breaks beneath ample woes,
And there just simply isn’t ever enough time,
To do what you plan to do with your life.
Then you start to resemble that rose.
Soft and delicate, with easy loss of life,
Mournful of the passage of time,
Counting down, day by dreary day,
Ever seeking out to find dear love,
The theoretical banishment of woes.
Such is the way of the deep red rose.
Has it ever occurred to us not to mark time?
Just to ignore it, along with any such woes,
Just to leap forth and enjoy life,
To live to the absolute fullest everyday,
And just as chosen by the poet's rose,
To find and hold on to, that one true love.
For I find, that it's mostly true these days,
That people don't make enough time,
For laughter and fullness in life,
So preoccupied with petty woes,
That they forget about the beauty of love,
And in doing that, they forget about the rose,
I know what the rose represents in my life,
And I work hard to expel my woes every day,
So that soon I will have time for true love.
*****Written in Sestina for Constance's Poetry 101 contest.*****
******* 5th Place winner*******
******Sarah Blake August 2010******
A sestina is a highly structured form of poetry consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-
line envoy (thirty-nine lines). The end words of the first stanza are repeated in varied order
as end words in the other stanzas and also recur in the envoy.
Copyright © Lorrie Scheider | Year Posted 2010
This year I turned the big ‘5-0’
And my body is acting strange
So I went to see the doctor who said
Not to worry, as I was going through ‘the change.’
“Is there anything I can take?” I asked
He replied, “There’s HRT
But I don’t believe in prescribing it,
Let’s try to deal with this naturally!”
You could have knocked me backwards
And I thought, all well and good for him
It wasn’t his raging hormones
Making him feel like a stranger within
He doesn’t get narked, by the little things
That before would go over his head
Or wake up at night, in a lather of sweat
And have to get up to change his bed
It isn’t him having palpitations
Which make you feel like you’re going to die
It’s not him, who feels angry one moment
And the next as if he could cry
He’s not lapsing in concentration
Or feels like he’s his losing his mind,
Because he put the milk in the washing machine
And it took him an hour to find!
It isn’t he who keeps feeling so crap
When a ‘monthly’ is missed or comes late
And I bet he never just has to look at food
In order for him to gain weight!
He’s not always taking medicine for thrush
Or constantly needing to pee
So I bet he’d be first to pop the pills
If it was him going through this, not me
So I looked at him and said “I’ll give it a go
But I don’t really hold much hope”
And walked out of his surgery, feeling as though
I could have hung him with some rope!
But off I went and months have gone past
Of getting worse doing - ‘naturally,’
So I’ve made an appointment with a lady doc
Who might take pity, and prescribe ‘HRT.’
Copyright © Janette Fisher | Year Posted 2009
The sun and moon conceived a star
shooting through time and space
born within the ocean
delivered upon its waves
while Beethoven's sonatas softly played
nightly gales whispered those tunes to all the seashells
beach sand passed through coral reefs
as soles of lovers feet tread buried in beach fires deep
begging the earth most humbly to draw a breath
but over the cliff the hurricane's wind blew until death
from those turbulent ocean waters came a sailor's truth
watching a passing ship with broken sails and ghostly crew
waiting as death cast it's ending shadow old, yet new
sending those born in ocean waves back to the waters blue
in birth and death none shall overcome casting us away to where
everything was once created in it's hidden depths
and there began an understanding between birth and death, a truce
Inspired by: John F. Kennedy." We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came."
Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012
O ever changing sky, blue-gray and maudlin
your mood and unsettled ways, meld with mine.
Clouds seem but blemishes upon horizons
as weary as the soot smudged cheeks of urchins.
Bruised in hues at once fresh with pain and longing,
not yet healed by the riper rise of next day’s bloom.
O ever changing sky, the nascent forest’s buds.
Its lashes linger in the purple poignancy of dusk
and whip thy brow with thrashing maple limbs.
Eyeless vault of heaven cry for me, release my plight
erase with thy wonders this tattered visage so forlorn.
The sky of night holds many jewels of delight.
O ever changing sky, clear to crisper shades of sapphire,
ping with shooting stars and glowing diadems of light.
Let lavender blue soften my sorrows for I like Merope*
need Orion’s might to lift my heartache, to point the way.
May thy constant rebirth give hope which melds with mine
and brings a beauty brighter than your Venus** to the day.
*Merope was Orion’s star crossed lover.
**Venus is the Goddess of Love and the Morning Star
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
There comes a time in our life
when we simply "must let go"
hoping that encouragement
has been our chance to show
That childhood must not remain
embedded in your mind
You are so much older now
and in this chance you'll find
A new life does await you
in the days of warmth and night
for by your coming home
That makes everything so "write"!
Edwin seems to have disappeared again
I pray he is not lost in depression
Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2015
Got home awound twee (I was dwunk as a wouse)
Awose pwomptly at six wit' dwy cotton-mouth
I knew wather soon my day was gonna' bwow
When I stwuggled outta' bed and stubbed my wight toe
Fwopped back on the mattwess cwying and twitchin'
Staggoid back up and wimped to the kitchen
Stumbled to the counter to bwew Folger's bwend
Spiwwed it down my Hanes and boint my widdle fwend
Hobbled to the bathwoom to wustle up some Tums
Twipped on my fwip-fwop and bwuised my weft bun
Should not have cawoused wit' owe Bugsey wast night
Now my head hoits and de wight is too bwight
If I had not dwunk gin for my mowale booster
I coulda' swept in trew 'dat wascally wooster
(Don't feel wike wunning dat siwwy wat-wace
Tink I might caw in sick at the Woony-Tune pwace)
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012
His poems created melodies
Of angel's wings and restless seas,
Of crisp blue mornings and cloudless skies,
And pearls of wisdom that help souls rise.
This all was written from the heart;
No less pure than Raphael's art.
He stroked the canvas of our mind,
And helped the searching soul to find;
That we can learn life's melodies,
And fly above the restless seas;
Into the cloudless morning skies,
Until at last we realize.
We all are artist in a way.
We mold our lives with heaven's clay.
Though many brushes stroke our mind;
The final picture, we've designed.
Copyright © Robert Nehls | Year Posted 2014
Like water that flows in a river
Time will not stop and wait
It comes and then it goes
And now will soon be late
The sun will not rise
And forget to set
Today will not stay here forever
Time was born and passed away
While I was chasing dreams
I never dreamt of
Dreaming of things that were
Not for me to dream about
I didn’t know at first
That in my inside
There is a seed germinating
Deep in the roots of my heart
Where veins and arteries
Carry blood in and out
The eyes of my eyes
Could not see
The ears of my ears
Could not hear
The tongue of my tongue
Could not taste
The nose of my nose
Could not smell
The mind of my mind
As this seed
Was patiently growing
It was watered by tears
That couldn’t fall off my eyes
When I cried
It was fertilized by my deep thoughts
That denied me time to rest
The pain I felt within
Was manure to it
And now it has grown
It has grown into a tree
it has grown into a green looking tree
A tree that sprouts colorful flowers
And I am hopeful
Hopeful to reap tasty fruits
Of this seed of poetry
Sown in me by God
Copyright © Bojosi Ditshwele | Year Posted 2010
My heart can bear no more
The evil torments of black widows
Who wish to kiss you once
Then to devour your very soul
Beware these ones, who wish you buried
Who among you has an open heart?
I shall invite you to wipe a tear
Would cure the hardships, we all endure
Alas the deceptions, make love so unsure
If you wish my heart, as a sacrifice
What have you, to offer in return?
Other than sweet dates & Palms, and silly words?
Go away, ride into the night
Fairy tales I myself can write
The mirage of promises never kept
False images have turned smiles to ice
So if you seek to share your soul
Have in hand, your heart to sleep
So passions will make our bond so deep
If you see not wisdom within these words
Then I must say don’t be so absurd
Silence has killed many a dream
Stay away from my heart
I'll have my coffee, no sugar no cream
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
We start out this life all the same-
Looking for happiness while playing life’s game;
We search for another to help us get through-
For we think that’s the easiest thing to do;
We hope that someone else will make us feel whole-
But then what happens if they decide to go;
Do you turn to someone else or try something new?-
Where else can you look? What else can you do;
You can have another drink or pop another pill-
But that kind of happiness just isn’t real;
To life you feel like you don’t belong-
And you wonder to yourself where you went wrong;
Then, you look in the mirror and what do you see?-
A glimpse of yourself saying, “Look inside me”;
For happiness is purely a state of mind-
Something you must look inside to find…
Copyright © Sue Phillips | Year Posted 2014