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
Stranded in this place
I cannot recognize
Abandoned and lonely
No one hears my cries
AS i walk through this wasteland
Of wilderness and desolation
I am consumed with anguish
I walk this road with hesitation
On every turn that i come upon
The is more pain than at the last turn
Agony and torment spews from my pores
With every step i take more pain i earn
Until i am enveloped with grief
Buried alive on my feet
Dirt in my eyes,nose,mouth,and lungs
I throw up my flag of defeat
Each painful blow leaves behind a deep gash
That is constantly reopened never able to heal
Infection has now set into my heart
Slashes and scars on my body reveals the detail
Of the despair embedded deep in my soul
That tells a tale of a soul so lost
A soul wandering through this wilderness
A tale of what being born black cost
Copyright © April Mitchell | Year Posted 2013
I continue to feel
the searing pain.
Not the kind
that heals fast,
open wound that closes.
But, the kind that stays vulnerably
with the passing years.
and still counting.
Woe to this pain!
With laden anguish,
The heart's bemoaning.
Thinking it was born
without a name.
Only to find then
at a much later time;
that my bosom groans,
Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013
Where else do you want to mock me?
That my Sister is a Whore?
And she owns miserable men under her Lure?
Or is it that I have intense body Odour?
Maybe you will taunt the clothes I once wore
which you already tore.
So, what else is it? That I snore?
Or that a drunkard is my Family's Core?
Is there anything more?
Or something laughable you really saw?
Perhaps, you just realize I'm poor?
Please anymore flaw?
If you're bitter, it isn't my fault
don't use me as the Salt on your wounds.
I know, I stimulate the stretching of your Catapult
and my smile makes you want to join a Cult
Even with the Insult,
never forget that I'm mere Human
who can halt; despite not giving a damn
just to make you understand
that I'm simply a friend.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2012
I can't look...
I watch in disgust
As the scale goes up,
And my stomach drops.
The scale is both my best friend
And my darkest enemy.
It can either save me,
Or be my utter demise.
But either way,
It doesn't lie.
It always speaks the truth,
No matter the consequences,
No matter the circumstances.
That's what the voices whisper,
Quietly wreaking havoc in my mind.
Silently breaking me down,
From the inside out.
The mirror breaks
As my fist collides.
Hundreds of crystal pieces,
Stained red with crimson liquid.
The image of myself long gone.
They echo in my head,
Relentlessly breaking my dreams,
Until they're just like the mirror;
S H A T T E R E D
The ringing in my ears
A mere whisper,
Compared to the sound
Of my breaking heart.
Copyright © Aisha Abdelfatah | Year Posted 2015
wake up to serendipity
ignorant and unknown
shaken and not stirred
blond can be bond
Reality, metaphor and cliche
cheesy juvenile decay
Love, care and hate
past the use by date
of fights and torment
and well deserved lament
salute to the solitary reaper
with Metallica... I disappear
Copyright © Anwar Hussain | Year Posted 2009
Darkness falls over me all around..
It helps drown out the loud sound..
Of pain and heartache because I feel okay in the darkness..
And trying to pull me in to light just makes me feel less..
Because in darkness you don't have to talk, go any place or even look nice...
You just curl up and do your thing without needing advise..
I will take darkness over light anytime.
Just because you are in the darkness it is not a crime..
You can still meet me here if you feel the need..
And there is no dress code, subjects not welcome or language to watch indeed..
Darkness falls in my eyes and heart every single night..
Trying to stay out of the darkness has just become too much of a losing fight..
The battle is tiring so instead of continuing the battle every day and night and just..
Will let the darkness fall into me and let it take what it must..
Buffy Sammons 8/3/15
Copyright © Buffy Sammons | Year Posted 2015
What it is, this pain that kills my joints
This strange duvet of darkness while
I try to brush my teeth
What it is, the distance to my wheelchair
seems to have increased
in this small room
What it is, this self-inflicted isolation
This fear of seeing people
and of losing them
Swimming in a dark damp pool
Hearing people talking yet
Can't see them, here's the fool
That wants to dance but stays in bed
Splendid colours hurt instead
What is not the wish to block
While at the same time all is gone
And nothing stays in harmony
They speak and I hear their concern
It does not concern me, still it gnaws
My consciousness, my shame, my guilt
I better not be here, they better
off without me
Don't worry, I'm only showing you
The me I am when I'm depressed
But everyone is not going through
The same, we're different: at best
We share the overwhelming sadness
That has no words enough to describe
What it is. But this is what it always is:
Don't leave us please, for even at the
point of our deepest rejection of you,
it really is a cry to stay!
How contradictory we are
This is for me, it is for every person who
Is right now in dire need.....
Here are my hugging arms 'round you
Until you're back on your two feet.
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
I sit here twitching, shaking, in a panic
I don’t want to do this again, I hate feeling frantic
Don’t let this happen, don’t let me slip away
Into the darkest depths of my mind, nothing to say
At first these experiences seem inviting
But here there’s no such thing as deciding
The light is so bright and luminous at first
Until its’ quickly dimmed and the pain it causes hurts
The darkness creeps in like a predator
With the dim light as it’s’ competitor
Who’s going to win this time, this fight?
Who’s going to give the hardest bite?
Stuck between pure happiness and sadness
There is no explanation to this uncomfortable madness
Waiting, waiting; for this too shall pass
While the emotions in my head encompass
My heart surrounding the insufficiencies of my head
The feelings so heavy as if my heart is fashioned out of lead
Like I’ve got shackles on my hands and around my feet
In this state of mind everything seems obsolete
Copyright © Aubrey Brown | Year Posted 2014
The question so easy
So difficult to answer
I know why
It leaves me broken all over again
I know the answer, I know, no, no, no . . .
I don’t want this
This pain that’s not all mine . . . hardly mine
It rips and tears and cuts
My heart to pieces
It bleeds and drains my soul away
I wish I never had one
I know why
Why did I have to teach myself the answer?
I know why
I wish I was blind, deaf, numb and uncaring
I wish you never made me
Why did you put me here?!
What did we do to you?
I wish I knew what to say!
Every time life turns good and gets better
You smash it all to bits and pieces
You rip and tear and shred me apart
Again and again and again!!
I know why
God help me I know why
It leaves me beaten, battered, discarded and defeated
Alone . . .
Always alone in the end
I don’t want to know why anymore
Take it away
You can do it if you try
I cannot stop myself from know why
And these words sound hollow empty like me
Why not me and not other
It was I who stole and ripped asunder
A world, a life, ahhhhh I curse you!!!!!
Not them, not him, not her . .
Can’t you . . .
Just go away and leave us be
Why can’t I cry for anyone or anything
Would someone please tell me
What good is a heart and soul anyway?
You break and take them both away all the time
Ask me why I don’t believe in you!
Ask me again why I believe I live in hell!
Why . . ?
Just tell me why . . .
Copyright © Neal Freeland | Year Posted 2008
wildly flapping of wings unseen
around this crying head
where eyes are no more
and mouth a wide silence
where ears hear only madness
while mind is anywhere but sane
Violence throws me out of bed
every night on legs that collapse
forgotten they don't work
lugging, tug drag into
they fly around
Eyes unsee, ears unhear, mouth unscream
If I am insane
Why can I describe this
January 3, 2017
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you,
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad
Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008
TANGLEWOOD AS THERAPY
Tanglewood untangled me, took my breath away
each moment of Sibelius, Mahler, Rachmaninoff
sweet violins, trumpets, kettle drums, cellos, fire
mixed with wind, echoing within the shed, over
the lawn, concert goers sprawled on blankets,
seated on beach chairs attentive to every sound
those strains, my favorite classics, filled my blood
stream, inched me toward lovers, tugged me,
two spouses proposed, suitors hugged my body,
kissed me with gusto, whispered into my ears,
became surrogates for melting chocolate cream,
weakened my knees, laid bare my breasts, filled
my groin, all from the moment my father took
our family to the shed where I first heard Mahler’s
First “The Titan”, not on a scratchy 78 platter, not
from our wood cabinet radio in our Brooklyn house
the melodies of democracy, free radio, modern
media, fade, assaulted by the Kremlin loving
leader. Russian composers crowd the classical
repertoire, do not taint my delight, my passion,
for the memories of past affairs are Picasso art
filtered through Stravinsky, Prokofiev, and one
therapist treating me for TRUMPRESSION
Copyright © GINA VITOLO | Year Posted 2017
~~~ Naked Truth ~~~
We often feel
The society is filled with
Love, affection, adoration and romance.
But, the flabbergasting naked truth is something
It is not the apparent.
The world is full of turmoils,
Even a son parents spoil.
Conceit and complacency are everywhere.
Faith and trust are nowhere.
People treat their child as a 'wishing well',
In spite of intimate blood relations,
They are not wishing well!
Everybody is masked,
Full of false vanity and hypocrisy,
The world is the devil's place
Full of brutality,
At stake is the friendship,
In danger is the love,
In danger is the humanity!!
All rights reserved
Copyright © Arijit Bhattacharya | Year Posted 2017
Each field is barren white with snow,
around me blind, they know.
Darkness brings the haze of dawn,
how many must it show.
While many miles of web it's barb,
it tastes and grows.
Bringing home the wheat,
and powdered souls,
spread open far and wide.
Touching only youth,
Each gem from stone,
pours out and lost our seed it keeps.
Is It Poetry
Copyright © Poetry Is It | Year Posted 2009
All men (the loser boyfriends/husbands) think that it's their right to be physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward their female companions (girlfriends/wives), well they're wrong. Most guys are always beating their girlfriends/wives up every single day just because they didn't make their men dinner, do chores around the house, or whatever. It seems that these womanizing losers are way better than their women. Actually, they're not; they're idiots. Controlling these women and being physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward them don't make these Neanderthals men; they're like childish cowards. All guys think that they're the only breadwinners in their families and the women aren't. But guess what--they're not; some of them don't have jobs. And does anyone knows what gets on my nerves? Men always cheating on their girlfriends/wives with other women, getting them pregnant, and not taking care of the children they already have. And those controlling, abusive men, they're always telling their female spouses/lovers what to do, what to eat, where to look, and who to talk to. I mean, who are these womanizing losers to judge other men and to boss these women around? I mean, who does that? Everybody doesn't even know why they'd bother spending the rest of their lives with those abusive idiots. This whole saying by these controlling abusive men have been getting on everybody's nerves and my nerves, as well: "You're-not-to-speak-unless-spoken-to," this "You're-not-to-talk-to-your-family" ordeal, this whole "You're-not-to-have-guy-friends," and this whole "You need me! You're nothing without me! You have no money! You have no friends! Everything's in my name: the house, the cars, clothes, everything I own! You're useless! You're worthless! I own you for life! And you will respect me!" Where I come from, the rest of us nicer guys, we treat our women with the respect they rightfully deserve. The last time I checked, the mothers have raised their sons to treat women and other people with respect, but they now know where they've gone wrong with those womanizing clowns. My suggestion for the women is for them to leave their abusive husbands/boyfriends before it's too late because if they don't, they'll end up in the hospital or the morgue. To be honest, these women, they never should've met, let alone dated or married those abusive men to begin with. And if these abusive men think that they can control those women forever, they've got another coming.
Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2012
Do you sometimes wonder about your self identity
seen through your lens for suicidal risk as opportunity?
It interests me that this lens
evolves as we age.
In later adolescence,
we often look in the face of transition
from good nutritional outcomes on a small stage
about to enter more competitively sharkish waters
within a significantly larger landscape.
Or so I focused my lens in my younger lack-time of wonder.
Not sure why or how these same transitions did not also apply
to nearly all those nonsuicidal 18-24 year olds,
enjoying a more Positive Psychology.
But now, in later adulthood,
I more often look in the face of a potential suicide
as one with at best mediocre outcomes
on a too-small stage,
often familial, or lack thereof,
about to enter no stage at all,
thinking maybe why postpone this mortal inevitability
of decay and disappearance.
From younger suicides,
"What would be the point of continuing
this WinLose Game,
when we all feel RealTime drill,
you never clearly win
until you stop losing,
and you never stop losing,
until you stop playing.
Clearly I am about to lose
what I don't feel all that great about
ever having won
at others' expense."
From older suicides,
"What was the point
of taking so long
to end this rigged Lose to Lose
It feels like these despair and suffering questions
co-arise within exponentially more of us,
asking echoing silos
as our encultured Earth moves
into a new revolutionary millennium.
Given the now nearly inevitable demise
of our polyculturally and climatically climaxing
exterior and interior lenses
of healthy hope v. toxic pathological
and monocultural decline
and political balance,
how do we know
we are more than an overpopulating parasitic blight
riding Earth's mortuary-in-waiting
where Elders remind was once
a healthy regenerative place
to continue living?
Yet it is so important to notice
not only all despairing souls
jumping off roofs
but also healthfully repairing spirits
building polyculturally positive-deviant landscapes
of organic and synergetic opportunity,
cooperative networks of resonant resolve
sounding Time's dipolar appositional
issues of despair as opportunities to repair,
still seeking reasonable,
hope for shared regenerational vocations,
with WinWin reiterating integrity
between Earth's adaption and humane adoption,
within history's proposal and culture's co-evolving disposal.
No ego is autonomously responsible
for feelings or thoughts,
ideation or even beliefs.
So it is no one's right to judge feelings,
our own feelings,
the feelings-beliefs-ideas of others
as unacceptable or somehow cosmically dysfunctional,
condemning or worthy of global applause,
taking all we have been given
far too personally,
too unrealistically removed from comparative
and nuancing context
to discern how we might choose to carry on.
It is our responsibility and opportunity,
personally, and as a species,
to notice trends of suffering and despair,
compared to trends of multisystemic health diversity,
polycultural density of nutritional choices,
ranges of harmonic freedom and wealthy cultural balance,
as they appear to reflect
and not reflect
our shared experience to date.
Not to judge and condemn failures and despair,
but to praise our most regenerative successes
and love for equitably accessible hope
to include all Earth's cooperative economy
among our emerging synergetic Tribe
of curious interests.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
ANGELS AND DEMONS IN HER HEAD
and from this day and on,
no more us.
NO. MORE. US.!"
(These the earthshaking words she heard from him.)
This was the man that made her feel she's pretty.
She's nice. She's worth every care and touch,
but this time, he denied her.
He want her out from his life.
Blues skies he promised
flew fast like the wind,
so are the smiles, moon
and stars he vowed to share.
The light and shades,
they are painting nine months ago
turned fast in a minute
in an envelope-tinge of black.
a curtain flow from her eyes
as that one test.
Two red lines now change her life.
Sponge soft are her knees.
Gypsy are her shaking heels.
Chilly sweats cascade
to chaperon her tears.
Alone. Scared. Frightened. Torn.
is the athlete running
through her reverie for she knows...
She knows the world she's in may stop
and stare at her.
No lax brows
no smiling eyes
rather arched brows
and big eyes ready to claw.
Lightning fingers and tidal palms
may grace her face. Lashing
monstrous words she will hear.
All these plugs, churns...
regurgitating to her nerves.
Angels and demons knocking to her head--
they, she --all in a battle for life.
Should she tell her parents about this?
to her mama...
who didn't even care to stop
even for awhile just to ask how she is?
Her mom who prefers
going out with her friends
rather than with her?
To her papa,
who like more to watch a television?
who likes staying out 'til dawn
more than paying attention to her talks.
Yes,her phone is always new.
Her room as big as her school's classroom.
Her pocket like a walking bank.
Her parents taught her to speak
but when she wanted a talk no one there.
She walks so well.
They even tell her she could be a model.
Yet, her parents refuse her for a stroll.
Ah! She is hurting--
Her hurt is cutting deep
to her already broken soul...
like the leaning Tower of Pisa
even a collapsed castle;
a black hole
but lo! some voice within tells her:
"soon from your belly
a new life will begin..."
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name Tam Lin
11:49 pm, April 14, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015
Some days and nights
I am terrorized by death,
cold silo ache-echoing fear,
claustrophobic breathless dark
barking inevitable factness and finality
of my decomposing mortality,
and posthumous demise,
probably post-humorous as well,
should we discover any essential difference.
What good is death
if it cannot at least absorb timeless entertainment?
even some recreational opportunities
with their concomitant issues
soaring through our DNA-syntaxed CO-OPERATE tissues.
On better days and nights
I am merely fearful
that I am already dying
by not choosing to live fully.
For my terrorist days and nightmares,
a message from Yin Speaks her feminist Truth,
I have earned my sadness
my badness concomitants
gifts of Fear,
more primordial than mere anthrocentric Anger
about vanities of power.
I have earned my rights of anger
about this existential predicament,
this issue about our own inevitable mindbody mortality,
this opportunity to stretch my love of life cooperative muscles
for myself, just as I am,
incarnating all our sadness and depression
with all our competing terrors and climatic-dissonance repressions
of love-centric health
as LeftBrain deductive-only
Yang temporal-syntax dominant
regenerative DNA-monocultural-normative trend
when we could choose more sublime poli-eco-colored Times
and Gods and Goddesses
of choice as ecoconscious light
Right PolyNomial Sacred Space as Time Her DualSelf.
Outlined in NotNot = LoseLose EcoSystemic Devolution
WinWin CounterRevolution, EcoLogic,
YinYin PermaMythic Tao’s wu wei,
++/(-,-) prime fractal Yang OVER YinYin,
CoOperative-ReGenerating TransParent DualDark
SelfOptimizing Continuous Quality Improvement Trends
predicting tellus polyvegetasty-rhythms,
reiterating river-trees of bilateral-neural function.
more about that whole PostMillennial History of Time
of eco-evolution as reverse double-bound revolution
co-gravitating equivalent dipolarity,
later, or earlier,
depending on whether we are already looking
into my future bicameral time travels
with Yang’s pen and right hand dominant language,
or not so much feelin’ that in your (0)-centric sad and suffering heart
of perpetual loneliness
and loss of hopefilled purpose.
But, back to politically competitive oppression
and our economic dis-ecological cognitive dissonance
about our self and other and Earth repression
and yet surprisingly Trinitarian,
triple-bottom WinWin Line,
healthy economic/ecologic opportunities.
When I’m sad and depressed,
feeling repressed and or repressed,
that’s because I am not crazy
in a too-Yang dominant-deductive consciousness
now co-arising emergent political-economic global networks
of cooperative opportunities
co-echoing-conscious health and therapy vocations
bicamerally DNA with dipolar RNA syntax confluent
tipping our two eyes and ears
to hunt optimal mainframe WinWin Health
and Equity CQI Outcomes,
new notnot impossibilities of hope,
empowered by divesting, starving,
decomposing LoseLose Devolution
dissonantly, yet transparently, dipolar,
OverDrafting Earth’s EcoNormic Balance,
defined as love of health outcomes
equitable to full DNA/RNA spectrum of polycultured life.
It’s hard to hunt this bicameral balance
when my well-earned sadness
about self and other depression
stress of chronic dissonance
sparking global autistic-overpopulation
DNA-dissonating ecto/endo symbiotic
co-empathic political and economic feedback messages
It’s time to turn increasing DNA rabidity around
to find more cooperative and grace-filled
WinWin healthy gifts and eco-normic opportunities.
It’s time to find each other
and give full-voiced co-empathic hope.
Hearing voices may be less crazy
and more polypathically functional
than not listening to our own voices
of permacultural and ecological healthy-reasons
for our seasons
of sadness and gladness
as LoseLose AND WinWin
as losing to win ecosystemic “healthy” balance
for Earth, and therefore RNA,
and therefore DNA’s further,
and graceful kinda’ endosymbiotic
continuously reiterative positive Beloved
choosing both Internal with External
Speaking of ecocentric,
Richard Dawkins speaks in my dominant Left mindbody voice
investing systemic, bionic, robotic analogies
for our shared exegetical consciousness
of evolutionary survival
as anthro-logically required,
and, if not continuing evolution,
then how would a robot
trend climatic devolution?
should that become anything
to do with LoseLose hierarchical-monocultural,
so that each EgoPlayer must choose
either Win or Lose
and is prohibited by Ego’s bicamerally self-blinding restraint,
suffering LeftBrain dominant environmental nurture,
temporarily blind to double-binding regenerative resonant resolutions
ubiquitously copresent in fractal and double-octave functions and frequencies
of light as energy and sound and feeling and taste and touch…
to always prefer choosing Win-to-CoWin,
confluently double-bound (0)-soul centric
political with economic and rational
Left-Right bicameral balancing
love as synergetic life.
When my mindbody will let me choose
wu wei life,
that is choosing empathic love,
so it helps to always try to choose it,
one CoPresent Conscious Moment
within timelessly unfolding grace of Time.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
I know a girl more broken than the aftermath of a bull in a china shop. She knows that her pain wont stop, so instead of trying to fix that, she only ever tries to make others happy. She puts everyone above herself and if life was a shelf shed be the ground. The most common sound escaping her lips is sorry. She cries herself to sleep every night, she has cuts on her arms as if too tally up all the hate she receives daily and if she could pay the bills in blood she would be able to afford a living. Lately all she's been doing is forgiving.
I want you to know that it's always darkest before the dawn, so if you have to wait another hour for the sun to rise, I will sit beside you with a watch and a red bull the size that two people need to keep them up just long enough to fall asleep together. If the weather is on our side or not, I will stay just to make sure you know you stay up long enough for that sun to rise. It's not a surprise when it does, and if it means you've gone a day without painting in blood, I will do what it takes to keep you from it another day. I suppose what I mean to say is;
Put it down. Just pretend its not there; let it disappear into thin air without a hair of a trace, because all it ever does is hurt you. those cuts mark the scars of your pain that will never fade. Cut into your skin, you don't remember the beginning, but you can find the end. Send a message to all the people that made you start, you're a work of art that just has a splatter; it doesn't matter, you can paint over it. Just sit down and look around you. You've built so many walls. You're trapped in a labyrinth made to keep people out but in turn you've locked yourself in. You can't climb the walls, all you hear is the echoed calls of your pain.
If you search for a while, maybe you'll find another face trapped in their own maze and you'll both smile; because it's comforting to know that you're not alone. Maybe that person you meet can give you a boost over your wall so you land feet first in grass. You don't need to ask, they're still there; trapped in the maze. Its sad how the price of happiness is almost always someone else's pain.
Copyright © Will Ayling | 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
Arabic poem by: Adel Said*
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
At the end of the line I stand
As should a professional homeless do
Exactly at the end of the line
Before the committee on homelands distribution
Among those who fall in the overflow
Over the needs and capacity of time, place,
At the end of the line I stand
Hanging like a teardrop in a funeral
Collecting what have fallen of my years,
And my extinct dreams,
In the bundle of my childhood that missed her doll
And my deferred share of my mother’s tenderness.
I have a flavor the midwife failed to sever
With the umbilical cord
In my heart, there is still a nursery rhyme
About a duck swimming in a river
And a songs about a fair maiden’s tear dripped down with kohl
And my fingers are still trembling
In fear of the lesson and the swish of the teacher’s ruler.
I have in the piggy bank of my life
Volumes about hunger and wars of social classes
Burned by the fascists
Who also snuffed out the tears of forbidden love.
I have in the piggy bank of my life
Dates I saved of palm tree’s yearning for the land
And some palm pollen dust still traveling in my lungs.
I have no signs of prophecy on my forehead
And no halos of saints
But my homeland that’s sitting there
Amidst the committee on the homelands distribution
Will recognize me
And I'm in the queue
I will not compete with the homeless comrades
For their homelands
And will not accept that illustrious one on the right
And not that opulent one on the left
I’ll accept only that one,
That one whose head is a palm tree
And whose arms are two rivers.
- You , O Mister!
You who was at the end of the line,
You haven’t been recognized
By any of the homelands gathered in the committee,
The exiles snuffed out your flavor
And withered your songs;
Despite the high level of adoration in you
No homeland on earth
Understands your language.
- Even that one? !
- Even that one ..
And out of pity
We decided to grant you a berth,
A berth that will never come to an end
You will waste on it
All that’s left in your lifetime’s piggy bank
Of dreams loitering outside the fence of life
And of years flying, like neglected pieces of paper,
Out of the window of history!
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam al-Hashimi
* Adel Said is a poet from Iraq who resides in Norway
Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013
Reflections mirrored of memories past through the windows of the soul
The Sons of our Fathers gaze accusingly back, rarely timid more often bold
Darkly shadowed beneath hooded lids, broken loyalties and promises sold
On the wind hear the ancestors warning, the waters of River Styx ice cold
Charge recklessly the horizon, absent vision but not sight
Forgetful of where the sun dies, ever perilous the night
On the rim of the great abyss, rides Death on a horse pale white
Eternity is long, the grave is cold, and tomorrow is no mans right
Copyright © JD Caperton | Year Posted 2016
two more days before i get paid
the pantry is almost empty
4 slices of bread and a can of beans
if i'm careful this could be plenty
i have half a pint of milk and 3 bags of tea
and a little bit of sugar
things could be worse
i could have nothing
i'm really a lucky bugger
Copyright © John Scott | Year Posted 2012
As I am awakened by the dazzling rays of the star we call the sun,
I am appalled by that peculiar notion,
because as I peek out my blinds the day is so dull,
thunder rolling ever so treacherous,
howling like the night time winds,
the trees are usually green but now all I see is the origin,
pain in my cranium I begin to feel it spin,
as I try to cry out for help my jugular tightens up,
I can hardly get any wind,
as I lay there on the floor struggling to remember last night's events,
I begin to have flashbacks, then I get a glimpse..one sip, two sip, three sips, or four,
I see abandoned whiskey bottles and joint papers crumbled on the floor,
before you begin to judge, yes I know its a sin,
but this is the only way I know to cope,
after Losing My Best Friend....
Copyright © Jesse Pickens | Year Posted 2014
When mothers are delightful to deliver a male child
And fathers feel huge pressure to see a new born female child
The Almighty is hopeless !
When people are busy for more money
And children are growing to destroy their childhood
The Almighty is hopeless !
When political leaders leave to the king of policies
And democratic people are silent for personal interests
The Almighty is hopeless !
When Temples , mosques , churches are captured by communal forces
And religious people forget to their original religion which is humanity
The Almighty is hopeless !
When truth is defeated by untruth
The Almighty is silent and The Sun rises in the east .
I am hopeless !
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014
Storms above me, storms below,
Storms of violence, Storms of sadness,
Storms of anger
Storms of people laughing,
mocking my existence
Sorrow, and the joy of the few lights
of hope and friendship echoes
Through the storms
The storms surround me night and day
No land sight Poseidon’s rage is all I see
No mercy found, twix’t night and day
But for the brief repast
The gift night brings
To weather the storms
I travel unseen, unheard
Past those who give
the storm its powers
To the places in my dreams
Where night and day are side by side
And Wolves gather
below the moons
Midday and night, to sing
Their songs of peace
Of legends from long ago
Of loyalty to their pack
And the fight to survive.
To weather the storms
I look to the wolves
As a cub, to the mother
The strong live to be the hunters
Whilst the weak
become the prey
The storm takes all
Partial to none it hunts
One by one, boat by boat,
all fall to the storm
Human, Animal, Angel, Demon,
the storm resides in us all
waiting to take hold
to drag us to its depths
when hope is gone
until the Light is found
hope is gone
Copyright © Wolf Lief | Year Posted 2012
Everyone needs one
I come and go sick or healthy
I create beautiful pictures-Artist
I write stories-Writer
I use my voice all the time-Singer
I dramatize everything you see-Actor/Actress
I fix your computer-Computer Technician
I repair your vehicles-Mechanic
I heal your pets-Veterinarian
I educate you well-Teacher
I’m their when you’re dying-Doctor
I supply your medication-Pharmacist
I prevent forest fires-Ranger
I take care of your children-Babysitter
I hire the needed for jobs-Businessmen
I translate your words-Interpreter
I keep the people in town safe-Policemen
I solve unwanted crimes-FBI Agent
I make sure you stay in your cell-Prison Guard
I play mind games-Psychiatrist
I fight for your rights-Lawyer
I arbitrate your freedom-Judge
I make decisions that affect my country-President
I fight for this country-Soldier
I hardly rest-Congressmen
I entertain you and your family-Comedian
I make you choke on your words-Debater
Sometimes I rip you off-Telemarketers
I make you lose your house-Bill Collectors
I steal your money in a secretive way-Government
I destroy your country-Mobster
I’m after your president-Terrorists
I may be rich, average, or poor but at least I do my best
Until the end
Copyright © nastoshia siedlecki | Year Posted 2012
not speak,so wrecked
shy and meek,because idyllic
to any attack, vulnerable
always wrong,for long
no worry,there's money,
days are sunny!
no worry ! no worry !
never glad,things go bad
for strange mood
at zenith to watch
and outside stand
and scorching sun
to burn his brain
eventually diabolic !
A word dealer,,,,,
*The brainy one*
Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2015
What I care about
and what I am working
and even playing hard with
is better understanding what and how
we and Earth
communicate to and with each other,
regenerating mindbody health sometimes,
and yet degenerating pathological climates and subclimates,
ecopolitical chemistry puzzles and games,
systemic syndromes articulating wu wei
Tipping Points of MultiCultural ReGenerate Enthymemes.
Only up to half of effective human communication,
whether you talk or listen,
write or read,
or sing or dance or draw or sculpt or design or recreate,
or preferably all of the above,
is about word choice and language,
and successful transfer of accurately informing verbal messages
from a voice source to one or more ecosystemic receptors,
ears to linguistically and culturally hear
health v pathology of climatic autonomic feelings,
hopes and fears,
loves and angry-paranoid hates
and all complexities in-between these dipolarities of thinking/feeling.
The other half, or more, of communication and all that ecopolitical jazz
of dance and song,
is all about non-verbal context,
or/and natural climate,
or/and academic climate,
or/and political climate,
or/and economic climate,
or/and ecologically healthy historic-cultural climate,
or/and medium of nature's most regenerate messages
as positive over double-negative
In communications theory,
we often focus on sight,
on what we can see of speakers speaking
and listeners listening and watching and feeling and caring, or not;
smiles and frowns
ups and downs,
happy-health and pathological down messages,
positives and negatives,
and even humors of oxymoronic double-binding not-nots
within time's naturally unfolding logic
with analogical ego's aesthetic mindbody live-function/evil-dysfunction,
Evilive is when light-filled healthy
and dualdark equipoise equivalently balance co-arising Tipping Points
of bicamerally balanced ecoconsciousness
transforming into a deeper, more resonate, climate potential
of and for rich-dense-harmonic-octaved positives,
as physical/metaphysical long-term trending regenerate multicultural health.
as Thich Nhat Hanh observes,
is a function of nutrition and health,
and/or malnourishment and pathology,
so optimized messages
are not only redundantly heard and seen,
but also sometimes smelled and tasted and remembered
ecoconsciously and/or autonomically,
intuitively in reverse-deductive time's enthymematic reweaving deja vu,
back to matriarchal loving womb's non-paranoid DNA-inspired compost,
as portentious of good and bad to follow,
especially lensed-framed-calculated-climatized-hypnotized-actively hopeful for future anthro-bicameral
polypathic regenerations of peaceful multiculturing love.
As Earth's clouds of unknowing
predict rains of water and light's fertile nurturance,
predict trees with organically networking ecopolitical health-development roots,
predict an anthrocentric world of paper
predicting Earth cloud's most viral DNA-sympathetic, non-paranoid, messages,
predicting more loving health
and less hating pathologically trending climates of devolving change,
through lack of full-enthymematic octave-optimized timelessly classic communication on our Golden Rule Tribe's part,
especially as song and tribal 4-step danced
and hopefully as analogical/ecologically balanced nutritional poetry.
I so hope
you can and will write and sing and dance this enlightenment poem
back to me
in any polypathic dialect
we could all ecologically comprehend
as another great rich message out to fellow Earth Tribes,
We know we made this mess,
and feel really really bad about it,
but we sing and dance and ecopoliticize cooperatively
and hope to get better with this Golden Rule
of light's regenerative fertility
through stronger yet more flexible harmonic co-arising balance.
How do you follow your ecopolitical light,
and learn from our dualdark TippingPoint shadows?
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016