By Curtis Johnson
There once lived a very decent and brave man who was promised three keys.
“One of these three keys, said the key holder, will unlock the door to happiness”.
The man bowed his head and prayed silently, “Please Lord, allow me to pick the right key”.
As he raised his head from prayer, the key man said, “There is more that I must tell you”.
He proceeded to tell the brave man that there were also three roads from which he must choose. He was also informed that all the roads would lead to ‘a door’, and all the keys would open ‘a door’, but only one thing would lead to ‘the door’ that would bring him true happiness. That one thing would be understood when he arrives at the door. “One thing, one door, three keys, and three roads?”, the decent and brave man questioned to himself.
The man was still determined to find happiness; so he continued listening to the ‘key man’.
The key man then led him to the end of a Southbound roadway that broke off into three separate roads. One was a paved and winning road toward the West; another was a graveled uphill road pointing East; and the third road was a very rugged and dusty road heading Southwest. He was left with the task of choosing which thing, which key, and which road would lead him to the door that opened to true happiness.
He soon came to know all too well that his challenge was beyond any he had faced before.
Nevertheless, with ‘the one thing’ on his mind, three keys in his hand, three roads just ahead, and a locked door to happiness visualized in his heart, he bravely launched ahead with never a complaint.
His driving experience was equal to the task of either of the roads; but for reasons forever unknown, he chose the graveled uphill road going East. Mr. Bravery drove a path of gradual elevation for about six hours. The sun was beginning to set behind him as he noticed a building a couple of miles ahead. He was elated when he arrived, and without hesitation, he exited his vehicle. Slowly, and with eager anticipation, he approached the door. At the door he realized that he had yet another important task. He had to decide which key to pick.
Mr. Bravery then remembered his first prayer that God would allow him to pick the right key. He looked to the sky and took confidence. He chose a key, and bingo, the door opened! There was a large mirror right in the doorway, and all that he could see was an image of himself. In the mirror at the area of his heart was written these words: “True happiness is to be found, not with keys to a door at the end of a road, nor in or from another human being, but within yourself.”
Within minutes the key man arrived with a smile and commended Mr. Bravery for his courage and determination to complete the task. He informed Mr. Bravery that either key would have unlocked the door, and either road would have led him to the door to happiness. In an instant! In a flash!! Mr. Bravery realized that his personal relationship with God had already given him True and Eternal Happiness. His heart within him had made the choice to be happy.
07042016 cj PS
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016
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
I Shall Never Love Anyone Like You
My heart ache as I watch you fall for another.The pain hurt so much I felt sick.I didn't have the courage to tell you my feeling I din't have the courage to tell you what my hearts feels.But I can't refuse to watch you fall into he hand of another.May i blind myself may i break my own heart may i give relief to the feeling that I had when i could no longer hear your laugh no longer see your smile and no longer feel your touch.To me being alone and feeling nothing is worthless I shall miss what I have lost but this I have done to protect what little shard of my heart remains.You feel another never knowing my feeling for you.but it fine now for I shall never love another like I loved you.
Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012
Please dry your eyes, now don’t you cry...
Let me share with you a lullaby....
I used to tuck you into bed....
Back when you were young....and such a sleepy head....
Disappointments are many in this life we lead....
But I know you’re strong and will succeed....
Please trust in me for I have a message to send....
You will never back down or crack and bend....
It is your nature to love and be kind....
Negatives don’t linger in your mind....
You're still that little girl who once sat on my knee....
With those big blue eyes looking up at me....
So I would like to take this opportunity....
When there's not enough sun....and too much rain....
Lots of happiness, and very little pain....
Just like the moment, when my heart did sing....
With all the joy that you did bring....
To each, and every one of us....
Without any fret and not much fuss....
I am very proud of what you have become....
And all your accomplishments of what you’ve done....
Unconditional love will never go out of style....
When your tears can be replaced.....
With this Grandmothers’ smile....
Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014
Tickets are not easy to get at the Royal Circle.
A lady does not wish to get a seat by currying favor;
the flavor will eventually turn rancid and ruin her day.
The scent of expensive perfume pervades the warm air.
A packed house of coiffed women in evening frown
and men who wear success like a badge; she is here alone
in full regalia: pinned-up auburn hair, porcelain skin
in a buttoned-up dress. White opera gloves, her nod to
convention. Several eyebrows raise when she comes
unescorted. There is not much legroom and it cramps her style,
yet, she bears the discomfort one hundred feet above the ground.
She doesn’t get to see clearly the emotions on the actor’s face.
The rest of humanity looks like buzzing bees and butterflies
hiding gossiping lips on pale faces behind colorful fluttering fans.
She assumes the look; men have no monopoly on the stoic face.
An evening out unescorted teaches her the world will always
judge not just the melodrama she is watching onstage.
There is more to life than The Salon; a woman has a choice.
After: Theater by Mary Cassatte 1879
For Debbie Guzzi's Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 6
Kim Patrice Nunez
13 January 2016
* Published by Ekphrastic: Writing and Art on Art and Writing
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016
When I was young the stress clouds were more reliable, they came and went just like the light of day and the dark of night. As I got older, the stress clouds became more obstinate, seemed more serious, and stayed in my head as permanent residents. Then one day the clouds stopped moving. The dark foreboding clouds just sat there putting pressure on my body like an unattended pot of boiling water. That’s when I got the first message. One of the dark clouds spoke to me in my sleep and said, get your act together; there’s a difference between family and things.
After that, the stress clouds started moving again, changing their position in my head depending on the time of day. The pot of boiling water calmed down and the things got fixed and faded away into the light of day. But the family stress clouds were different. They had more energy and talked to me every day in the language of dying and the language of struggling and the language of trying. The pot of water continued to bubble around the edges making a painful clamor within my spirit.
That’s when I got the second message. It came from the bubbles and reminded me of an ensemble of singers. The music was warm and inviting and sounded like elegant thinking. Manage the stress clouds one day at a time they sang with an encouraging voice. Manage the stress clouds one day at a time.
Copyright © Howard Dion | Year Posted 2014
Closer to the clouds
Soaring through the soft misty flocks of vapour
Touching the overstretched never ending horizons
Closer to the clouds
Reaching for the elusive galaxy scattered with stars
Outside my window, birds perched on window panes
Breathing the hopes of life
Burying their worries, letting them go
Soaring away the pains of yesterday
The distance reassures me of the longer road I have
Waiting working of what might come
Relieving the old alleys
Streets that left me hanging, roaming
Stranded with loneliness
Break from the fast pace of life
Dive into total surrender
Break from our shallow life filled with plans
The never ending ambitious dreams
Capturing each moment, not giving any a miss
The small sentiments
The simple notions
The innocent thoughts
And the crazy bedlams
Thrive, we will.
Copyright © Eli Mahirah | Year Posted 2013
EYES SHUT TIGHT
Afraid to look, eyes shut tight
l am a child in the
DARK seeing shadows
in a room all alone.
I pray for a brother
or a sister,to laugh
in the dark with me.
We could play
until day break, and
then fall asleep.
Shadows bouncing off walls
lights from the passing cars causing
reflections to dance in my mirror.
The music is not sweet,
loudly it booms
scares me I cannot sleep.
No one to tell me stories
no one to chase away
the boogie man.
I hit the floor on my knees..
I pray to the lord."
"God please" I need a friend to be
here in the dark with me"
I am not picky a sister or
a brother will do,
I will be brave.
I shall shield them
from these shadows;
I will hold them and comfort them,
I will open my eyes for them..
and no longer be afraid.
I do not want to be,an
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
'' I love my country! I love my India! "
We hear slogans loud and clear,
On 15th August, on 26th January,
When the days of celebrations are near.
Where do these promises die?
Are these patriotic feelings a lie?
Or just to make an impression,
And snap pictures as tri-colors fly.
Apart from these days,do we see the need?
To apply these emotions, do we pay the heed?
Or just a way to celebrate something,
Like every other event and gathering.
Remember that ugly era,
Where days were like nights,
Where no one was allowed to dream,
And were suppressed when there were fights.
Remember the atrocities against which,
Our previous generations suffered,
The whips from the '' Outsiders''
When rejected '' Their '' rules offered,
From heinous crimes against goodwill,
" Jallian wala bagh" to "Simon go back!",
After so much struggle and so much pain,
To fight for freedom which we lacked!
Sacrifices which cannot be measured,
Patriotism where sky is the limit,
Refusing the injustice and opposing the system,
To free the country from the"foreign" hit.
Gandhi, Nehru, Patel or Bose,
Difference in name, feelings the same,
Salute everyone and the sky glows,
With only respect and not due to fame.
Why do we forget our history of freedom?
How can we not respect and honor its prestige?
And witness our nation in such a dirt?
Of politics, corruption, crime in fatigue?
Why not raise your voice?
Against these social evil deeds?
And give our patriotism meaning,
To the nation on which we feed.
Its October 2nd some days from now,
And no one would admire Gandhi's work,
A formality completed, a speech given,
While actual celebrations are somewhere in cirque,
Friday it is, the new film day,
And We ll watch movies in this holiday,
Give a thought to what you do,
Give a sense to what you say,
Slogans and tricolor turbans wont help,
If country's rising generation is watching movies in national holiday,
Be responsible and step up for the nation,
And make it a country, you can be proud of,
Where women are respected not only on women's day,
But with true sense of love in each and every way.
Copyright © Suraj Grover | Year Posted 2014
Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.
Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,
As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.
If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.
An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.
The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.
Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.
Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.
These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,
As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.
These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,
Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
I beseech thee to
Is there still
vows of chaste they
Fighting for power,
Their actions make
For they forget why
they put on the
Respect for God, our
clergies no longer
But so greedy with
the things they
They make not,
But go for the rich
Churches are now
business centers for
Clergies bless only
those who make the
offertory box full.
SO BROTHER, IS THERE
They stand as if
pious to duty
But pious are they,
They check not the
But go for “500frs”
which is their
They can be seen
standing with zeal
Hands stretch, they
First, they stamp
bribe, they champ
SO SISTER, IS THERE
The rich live
And enjoy themselves
While the poor live
And die because of
TO YOU, IS THERE
Cameroon is a virtue
It is practised in
Thieves go in broad
While the innocent
ones are caught and
they cant fight.
My country is said
to be democratic
But elections have
never been smooth
For a score and
ten, the president
has stayed in power
Using deceit and the
gun to rule.
IS THIS HOW IT
Virgins have now
They prefer being
Whores, they become
in quest for money;
My black girls don’t
like their colour
They strive to be
Thus, monsters they
become in a bid to
peel their skin
Very few believe in
“black is beauty.”
IS THERE STILL HOPE?
" 1st price, poetry
Copyright © temajung michael | Year Posted 2014
I heard laughter in a distance and wondered why this annoyed me. Then I realized that what they laughed about was what did not define humor. Therefore, who laughed twisted their senses.
This morning, as each, I awoke with a mood swing. Things were going as they should from what had previously occurred. Let me explain. I go through this twilight form. I am zone via income. You may go ridiculous but this is done via the government. Quite an annoyance...
What annoy are mediums that are formed from corruption.
In a storyteller form, I developed the imagination. To implement, I tell a tall tale through the lens of non-fiction. However, true accounts are hidden within the excitement. The tale goes, once upon a time, in the world of expression, lived a woman who was quite annoyed. If you spoke to her, she became annoyed. When you smile at her, you found that she was annoyed. This would annoy you; therefore, I begin to not speak to Maxine or smile at Maxine. Maxine had Graves’ disease, which caused bulging eyes. She was a refined woman but wanted you to see her otherwise. What annoys is that she made it seem as if you caused this negativity in her life.
Aggravation makes an annoying situation.
When your life is not as you want, whom do you blame? What annoys me the most when you blame me and I do not have any means to cause you any pessimism. Provocation of such states you have not done what you should. You are liable to you own self-identity, self-worth, and self-esteem. Do not accuse me.
Inasmuch, this is what annoys me!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
Wrapped in your arms
My soul awakened
From a long dark sleep
My heart is now alive
No more do I weep
My lover’s smile
So tender and true
A sweet ray of God’s sunshine
Lead me to you
Where once my heart
No more do I fear
Love is now all that I hear
So hold me close
My darling one
With you by my side
All fear is gone….
Copyright © Jennifer Turner | Year Posted 2013
The Big C
If I had cancer I would cry
Brother, mother, grandfather
Lost to this disease
Firsthand knowledge not a gift
Could it be a lie?
If I had cancer I would pray
To the only god I know
For courage, strength
For me and family
Could it be I'll die?
If I had cancer I would run
From pain and death
As far as fast as I could
Away from a cruel fate
Can anyone relate?
If I had cancer
Stand and fight--maybe
For a time a valiant effort
But in the end
I will fly away on angel's wings
If I had cancer
Copyright © Patricia Janke | Year Posted 2015
Blind senses of my soul
keep on protruding in my mind
inside my head
hot tears flow down my cheeks
as silent words shout unsung
silent hymns dominate my erect
Minds are blinded,
notches of heavy hearts misled
as the intellect produce Havoc,
Havoc of no purpose at all
And the young buds slip down
the slippery road
the road to destruction
taking with them our discordant
as sachetted whisky rule their
current affairs,poison to their
daylight snatching,songs that
entertain their null heads
as their mental intellect stays
when the royals on the hill
shambles their produce
while fake smiles swallow their
and a cough they produce not
though they are sick and ill
minds they have condensed
emotions they have frozen
and click,click, a lock
locking their naked hearts in
while letting their intellect rot
and their futures stuck
a deliberate conception of no
is it choice, fear or mere humility?
That they sniff a fathers dangling
snatching the innocence of
And zip their loud toilets?
That they see a brother in the
and fail to drop a coin, or even a
When will you take the wheel
youths of Malawi?
To steer the ship to other tides?
To take a sober leap of leadership
that will transform the poor land?
Melodies i sing- melodies of
Copyright © Madalitso mwaungulu | Year Posted 2014
Through her eyes-
a vision she seeks;
Over and over-
Her thoughts repeat;
Analyzing a future,
That may already be bleak.
Fearing the peak- So very often, She does not sleep; Her restless eyes grow weak.
A women so fierce and strong-
Though now she weeps;
Not aware that I'm watching-
So out it seeps.
The pain that she harbors inside- Intensified, By what her thoughts had verified.
I watch her giving heart-
And observe her habit of self sacrifice;
And I know on her its hard,
And I see that she's immobilized-
As the loneliness rots her insides.
A certain depth that lives within her;
An undiscovered truth;
I watch, as she pleads adventure-
Escape from a painful youth.
Copyright © Carly Larkin | Year Posted 2013
The rise and fall of a broken soul; the pressure was too much to bear
The letter S was too brave to wear. He was a symbol, a pure form of admiration. Yet his life was
not his own; full grown; denied the freedom of one’s true life journey
He could never fathom an opportunity of free will for he lived to will free others who hide in his
The darkest shadow brought an abundance of light to the needy. And greedy.
An unadorned model of self-less love dug him an early grave being a slave to aiding. Although
help was never offered to a man that had a sense of direction. Every step forward followed
echoing steps behind.
His feet became a carrier. The load was heavy
Regret was constant. Where was kryptonite when he needed it?
Copyright © Kira Price | Year Posted 2014
We're together in this, the fault is ours
withhold the explanation
we'll share the blame.
"Not in this life! my take is already on the billboard"
Now is the time to stick together
holding each other, sharing one umbrella
until this trying moment is over.
"No way! I'm definitely leaving the squad".
On the first sight of danger
and an unpleasant situation of horror.
'Forgive me! but I'm stepping backwards"
refined is the product coming through thick and thin
be a risk taker and have guts.
"Please, I don't need the award".
Now is the time let's seize the moment
a fool is the person who kicks opportunities away.
"You go ahead, I'll do that afterwards"
It's all about sacrifices
subject yourself to undue limitations
for the benefit of your next generation.
"hell No! I'm definitely going overboard"
The battle may seem bigger
but you're more than capable
examine the challenge, but focus on your strength.
"Thank you! But I'm dropping my sword"
Be unique, be different
don't follow the crowd
be a trail blazer and a pace setter.
"So that I stand odd?"
On the road to glory and a monster appears
despite the capability to overcome
he deviates from going goalwards.
His achievements make neighbours bored
his fury towards strain makes him seem awkward
and his strong will becoming flatter than an Apple Keyboard
What a being! His excellency, Mr. Coward.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014
I made up my mind to live or die by faith,
Not through faith, nor justice, nor second hope
My hope is that justice and happiness comes,
Not through fear or through blood aspirations
I hope Makelele will stay milky, not bloody
African cross, the wood of my ebony tears
African cross, the limitation of my ideas
African cross, the mortification of my past
African cross, the slaughter of my generation
Africa cross, I decided to carry it to the forest
I made up my mind to lead twelve disciples,
To knowledge than through ignorance,
My son said, Master, focus in sowing your seed
I said, as long as there will be rain and water,
Seed shall be planted and Lukunga will water me
African cross, the riot of the poor angry
African cross, the revolver of the weak
African cross, the massacre of the no name
African cross, the policies of the lost winner
African cross, the darkness of wisdom
I made up my mind to love and speak life,
Not lies, no, truth, no minutes, no report
Where most of our lonely desk, teach us to run
I believe in seeking and walking the lonely Calvary
Carry my wood heavy, black African cross
African cross, the helper that reached out to my king
African cross, the nurse that was near on my birthday
African cross, the editor of my prophetical papyrus
African cross, the politics of emotion motionless
African cross: football of goalkeeping not reaching
Copyright © ISAAC KINZAMBI | Year Posted 2015
My country, the U.S.A. is not for men only but for all Her children
and that’s why I joined the military to protect this beautiful country
from all the foes who surround us.
To defeat the enemies
who wanted to quench the ever-burning torch
that our Lady of Liberty holds high in the air
I joined the military with pride.
Whether they are visible or not,
I must keep my vigilant eyes on enemies
go and attack their fortress before they attack us,
make them fall to the ground before they harm our Lady
who stands tall by the eastern shore of this beautiful country.
As a woman,
I know there are many different ways to serve the country
with feminine trends, do good to the society, add something
to make better for the future generations to come,
I chose to wear a military uniform, nonetheless.
Because I heard the horrible story of Peal Harbor
from my grandpa when I was a little girl,
I witnessed the fall of the Twin Towers
and the death of many innocent lives
only because they were American,
only because this country is unbearably beautiful
to the eyes of those covetous enviers.
I understand that
from the beginning of the history of our nation
to this critical hour of war on terror,
many lives were sacrificed to keep America strong,
there were many men and women who fought to keep America
as the country with the spirit of unyielding,
and that’s why I joined the military.
I am a proud daughter of America
the most beautiful country in the world.
I am a uniformed service woman of America
the mightiest country on earth.
Let us keep America for the people of America,
let us make our Star-Spangled Banners flutter
on the top of our nation’s highest mountains forever.
*For International--exclusively for U.S., Women's Day
Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015
In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so.
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction.
“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea.
I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want.
And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch.
But I would like to…
I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door.
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.
Copyright © Molly McCarthy | Year Posted 2013
As all I’d ever termed wondrous bliss unexpectedly died -
As my fantasy of a reality with destruction did collide -
My hopes shattered around me like glass in countless pieces,
Fragments suspended in mocking beauty as time freezes…
The clock hand ticks forward and it all crashes to the floor
My knees hit rock-bottom when I could take no more
All I now see is blackness where once there was color
Gone appears the light from the sun and its fervor…
I begin to walk away from the pond of shattered dreams
But the glass is in my clothes and cutting through my heart, it seems
Perhaps I am too close, the smoke is clouding my full view-
Glance up at the tower, instinctively know what to do…
Run up the steps; one, two,three hundred endless stairs
And I barely catch my breath, or have time to fill lungs with air -
Before the ground beneath my feet crumbles into sand
Loud thunder above me rumbles as I fall back down on land…
And I hit rock-bottom again
Thinking this must be the end
For surely no human can go through this pain
And still see rainbows through the rain…
The whole world seems gray and black tonight
With not a speck of pure, identifiable white in sight
Nothing is untouched, gone is everything -
Then how do I glimpse in that crack a thin white string?
Among the dirt, surely this uncorrupted clean string is not real
But just to verify the hopeless doubts, I reach out a hand to feel
And to my electric surprise, it’s most tangible indeed
I yank it out attached to a note, uncrumple it and read:
“Verily, with every hardship comes ease” [Quran 94:6]
That white thread...
Copyright © Aya Salah | Year Posted 2013
Where my love goes
your mystery cannot fade.
Yet my curiosity can wilt without your active support,
never-ending flames of wonder
that this love
you could persist with me.
How could we possibly not share our lives,
mutually disinvest of mysteries
that would fade dampened?
Yet without active curiosity
mystery fails hopeless to know more,
even though love’s thirst for internal history
and self-creation stories
becomes too easily quenched
by cooperative post-climatic adjustments,
aging continental plates
earth-quaking our chronically mutual mysteries,
and their before and after shocks.
Where my love goes
your history could not fade,
yet dark fading curiosity of aging eyes and ears
can blend these my well-deserved contentment
feeding flame’s remorseless desire to continue this co-blind mystery
of love’s deep and blissful well-fed curiosity.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Am yearning for freedom,
A space of mine to thrive,
To have a decent and happy home,
And a swimming pool when hot I can dive
I wanna join the dots to form a straight line,
To establish a fine career path,
Avoid corrupt tenders to sign,
God gimme courage to calm the rage of the psychopath.
Lemmi break free from this love triangle,
Still deliberating on the escape angle,
Hey,Miley gimme that wrecking ball,
Finally decided to break this gable wall.
Hey problem,you’ve made me cry,
Endlessly agonizing me night and day,
It’s time I shout a bold “DIE”
Infact,in my opinion you are nay!!
Copyright © Moses Wanjama | Year Posted 2015
Dark night of my soul
Where fear and pain reside,
As rulers on their throne,
What courage cannot muster
To fight this battle within
And overcome its hold.
I seek to find resolve
To enter and seek a way to find
A way to remove its hold
In the dark night of my soul
And morning joy I seek
When it’s time does peak.
Dark nigh its lessons bring
If I seek to find them,
While morning waits to come.
Copyright © Cathi Spooner | Year Posted 2013
For years no one ever had a clue...
Of the secret she hid..no one knew..
The child inside her never shed a tear...
Although she lived everyday with fear...
She grew up never knowing what love was...
Till that fateful day, when he met him on the bus..
He was tall and handsome and had a great smile...
Knew all the words making her feel worthwhile...
They fell in love and soon were married...
And that’s when things changed...the love got buried..
The days were long and the nights were lonely...
They seldom spoke, and if only...
She hadn’t seen that ad...this never would have happened..
Join the Garden Club today and...
wipe all your cares away
There’s more to this story..I must conceive...
So please follow this sequel and I believe....
You will stop and think of the words I wrote...
And perhaps even take your own personal note....
Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013
What is this that makes me blossom with bliss
making every part of my body freeze
and the whole world and its occupants seize
when i glance at him i wish
that i was the only one he feels
but am wrong,oh!how i realy wish i was his!
I see him everyday,in my heart i pray
that one very day,he will have something to say,
that will make me stay ,
and hear me say,"i have waited for this day"
oh!how i wish i was his!
Copyright © Matilda Sila | Year Posted 2014
A tight fist of emotion sprouts flames in my chest
and I fan the flames with a chilled smile
chiseled like the block of ice
stored in the freezer for the party.
I have stood empty as a discarded seashell, perhaps a clam's shell,
whose pearl should sparkle like the sun spattered sea, that is its home.
But it gleams like the moonlight
castings its light across surfaces- changing them to white or silver,
like the tops of carved glaciers, drifting as they change the shape of the earth.
Too heavy am I to walk on these surfaces,
even if they are frozen.
Seabirds wind up and spin lazily,
calling the wind for their flight- or at least to float momentarily,
like my spirit, needing so much to be released.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2012
Opening the window for a breeze… Dogs are barking! My mind is only on me. Relaxing… As my story of the day unfolds, someone knocks. Startling me, I hurry to the front door. There stands an image of long-ago. We hug and I let him in. I begin to remember how deeply in love I was with this man. But our destinies had to part and I left with my heart. We talked for hours. No intimacy transpired between us because we knew our lives was not fair to us and therefore, we did not desire any closeness. Just reminiscence of tragedy we had went through for healing purposes on this three-year Anniversary.
What happen? You may ask. This is the tale as is.
His mother desired to be me. So she set out to steal my identity. In darkness she laid in our bed waiting on Ted. A man entered the room and she presumed her man had come home. Voicing that she was there, my stalker shot her three times in the head. The bullets were for me. In irony, she had really stolen my identity. He shot himself as well ending my dilemma.
The police came on the screen afraid that it was me. Ted and I played it off. He had told me his ordeal with his mother as a teenager. He was the star athlete at our high school. His mother was unstable and desired him for her sex tool. She will explain that this would keep them close but he could not tell anyone. His grandmother, on his father side, had filled Ted in on his mother family history of incest. Ted figured he did not want any part of that mess. So he asked his father could he live with him but he also keep in contact with his mother because of his sister and brother. His father said yes to Ted and asked his other kids did they want to live with him as well. It so happen that his sister was close to their mother and his brother was also. So they said no.
Ted graduated from high school as valedictorian of his class and his body was explosive. Ted was fine as he could be. He now could communicate with his mother without her approaching him for sex. He had not told his father of this instead he kept this to himself. Nevertheless, his mother, in secret, still desired her son.
Ted and I started dating in high school. I was familiar with his family through us living in the same metropolitan city; however, not in the same community. We end up going to the same university in the city we lived in and our relationship flourished.
We moved into our apartment while we were in college and his mother use to come over. And now, three years later, we remember the tragedy. Ted cries out to me and I answered. We are bonded by our relationship but not by marriage. He has successfully conquered his demons and mine's disappear on that night of my stalker death.
Ted mother was wealthy and I knew that she only was nice to me because of Ted. The police discovered she had paid my stalker to pursue me as his prey. Ted has been told this as well and he stated that is why his mother is dead in which he says quietly to himself, “This ends this horrid tale.”
[Queasy Queen Beings and they do not know anything of it. Ted is Queasy Queen’s son and he has her powers. He would have acquired his mother’s powers without help, which would have been through incest before forty (40). However, incest did not happen between Ted and his mother, Queasy Queen; therefore, he will acquire her powers at the age of forty (40) via other means. His sister and brother have theirs but did not divulge because there mother had explain theirs to them when she bestowed. Telling Ted’s sister, Harmony, at ten (10) years of age what she was doing as she assisted her in getting dressed. she kissed her neck. Telling Ted’s brother, Destine, at fifteen (15) years of age, when he was leaving why she kissed him. Incest was only for Ted because he was the oldest and her first born. His grandmother on his father side knew nothing of this because she was human and disagreed with incest openly. More so, this was unheard of through entities of the government.]
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
What was to begun,began
What was at hand needed a hand
On its own two feet it will stand
And all of the kings pawns and all the kings men
Couldn't get it back in order again
Where will we achieve
Where will we compensate
Where is relief
Where will we dominate
Well dominate in belief
Cause we shoot for the stars
How can we calculate if we don't know who we are
If we are who they perceive us to be
We should succeed naturally
Straight up organic
Making decisions in a panic
Will make all the difference
Our actions speak for them selves we don't need reference
One day at a time
Without rhythm or rhyme.
We chaulk up another day
And we accomplish it our own way
Copyright © Mark Brucato | Year Posted 2014