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
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
I hate shopping
but when I go shopping
I know what I’m looking for
I go to the right store
I go to the right floor
I grab it
they bag it
and I am out the door
Shopping is an awful chore
Copyright © Monty Newman | Year Posted 2010
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Black Skin
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
What do you
at me (?)
me - (?)
What is it
black skin (?)
copyright (c) 082014
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
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
Listen to the wind as it crashes into the towns and villages and downs mighty trees,
Stand still, let it blow until you nearly fall, face its anger and lean into the cold wind,
It brings snow so heavy, flakes will bite your face, freeze your wet golden pig tails
Stand in the blizzard then fall to the ground and stay there, this is your judgement day,
It's time to reflect darkest needs, and the moral ruin in that space, of your passing years.
Listen to the wind bending boughs, branches and the flow of a turbid stream of pollution,
A pollution that floats the wretched souls and bodies of all mankind to death and to hell,
You hear a sound of branches creaking under the strain of despicable wrongs in your life,
It's a mighty power that takes away the beat of the immoral pulse of your sorry humanity,
So now you are ready to listen, so listen hard, but then you know your own sorry story.
Listen to the wind and hail sweeping over dead leaves, throwing them into a black sky,
Do leaves shiver or do they shout out loud in rage as they are scooped up in a frenzy,
Will you pray to your god, ask him for forgiveness as this is your last day on earth,
Or will you beg in the tattered slops of your own righteousness just to save yourself,
Listen to the tolling of the old passing bell that swings in your black dome of vice.
You will feel the devils havoc amongst immortal souls, a hell fire dwelling in your heart,
A story of your progress a disease of lies which sucked away all goodness from your days,
Lies have plucked the red roses from childhood and set a brand of hate on your wet brow,
The story of lies which have stalked and spread up and down the earth for many centuries,
Lies that sweeps millions upon millions to destruction, for this disease there is no cure.
How many sighs have been noted down in your heaven and how many tears were for yourself,
Those too often troubled fountains flowing like April showers, your wolf's tears fallen,
How many hearts have you broken in loveless famine, all for a want of an act of kindness,
See how deep the dyes painted in your days, a selfish dense black cloud as the background,
So look behind you, see the old man carrying his scythe, he is waiting and he has patience.
Listen hard, listen well, do you hear trumpets blare over the crashing white landscapes,
Will you pray brimstone or treacle and tell the wind your sins the unacceptable truth's,
Did you sit and drink your wine murmuring everlasting hate in a rich full flavoured voice.
You are just a blank space in a world of nothingness a mere sour taste in the universe,
Your vicious wrongs telling the same old stories heard by thousands, thousands of times,
You close your mind and pretend to forget what cannot be forgotten, tell me are you bad,
Because I would like to know if you think you are a good example, I would like to know.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
Some are so insecure and afraid for me to receive any good measure.
To be complimented or gain anything.
Believe it or not these are females who dress for their best.
Rock all of their gold and flashy rings.
They carry themselves and present to the public their life is all about them.
Don't let me come in on the scene flashing a beautiful smile.
While watching the room glance at look at me from every direction.
Miss Drama Queen will drop whatever it is that she is doing.
Just to make sure that she stops me in my tracks.
She'll do all that she can to block any of my success.
To add insult to injury since you know that life is really a struggle for me.
Yet you ponder on trying to figure me out.
How I still present myself in a upstanding and put together way.
It drives you crazy trying to figure me out.
Just how it is that I have not fallen.
That I am still able to make it through.
You exemplify you got it going on.
That you have no cares in the world.
Claiming life's brass rings.
Yet you roll your eyes and buck your teeth.
At the hint of me gaining anything.
Copyright © Cheryl Chandler | Year Posted 2014
Wherein lies the great dividing moral distinction
between hate crimes of socioeconomic historic proportion
and multicultural perpetuation,
and the more mundane population of defiance crimes
of a more personal nature?
Why is society's right to aggressively imprison unto nutritional neglect,
to kill and maim in just vengeance of angry sociopathic retribution,
politically and economically correct,
yet not these smaller personal issues
LeftBrain exercising WinLose Competitions
for political and/or economic survival-thrival powers?
Which crimes are not self-enslaving,
hating crimes of calculating and emotive passions?
What crimes of aggressive terror
or malignant neglect of healthier options
wears no stink of hate?
Whether conducted as public retribution
or private rebuke of ego-supremacist behaviors,
lacking are self-esteem of WinWin
Both-And justice-option hunting
and gathering together.
Hate breeds further hate,
as love co-arises love.
Revenge is usually counter productive
where hypnotic addictions rooted in
an unholy internal constellation
of anger+fear=active distrust moving toward paranoid hate-panic
tyrannically pathological nightmares
bleeding back into silos of despair,
aloneness fog of white noise,
timeless absence of healthy hope.
What seems needed are ecotherapeutic self-nutritionists,
lovers and beautifiers of co-empathic trust
co-mentoring mutual invitations into deep ecology of learning
healthy nutritional life options
as compared and contrasted with ego-purgation
(0)-sum notnot life-giving,
restraints on right-now cooperative abundance.
Who dares continue throwing stones
when we might regenerate love's healthier WinWin Economics instead?
Criminalizing hatred itself
is like trying to fight fire with more fire;
it can work
but is best reserved as last extreme resort response
to wilder sweeping climatic conflagrations,
which would not have occurred
had we compulsory health education about love regeneration
rather than anger management removed from its wiser,
more ecosystemic home.
Perhaps it is fair revenge to imprison sociopathic haters
with other haters,
but who would that leave out,
and what shall we all do within our mutual imprisonment of fear and anger?
Provide Anger Management remediation,
yet not even discuss concomitant absence of love
as self-optimizing health,
never mention absorbing truths
of cooperative political and economic therapeutic beauty?
What do we feed our prisoners,
our self as other hating outlaws?
Do we serve up healthy relationships and environments,
or ever more toxic plastic degradations
that will continue to replenish pathological self-hate?
or even simply inviting to conjoin a more therapeutic life,
discovering potential lovers as co-mentors,
satisfies political lust for vengeance
in exchange for defiance
only if we are content to continue
on their future abuse and neglected generations,
future active distrusters
and criminally addicted self and other haters.
Which of your crimes against nature
are you so sure did not emerge
from co-arising nondual fears and angers?
conjoined to hate self-hating haters,
devolving away from WinWin regenerative exegesis,
plummeting terror-climatic norms of emotional despair
reduced toward pathological LoseLose
of not-really-so-much Grace.
Enslaving and imprisoning fractured hostile lives
while throwing away our deep listening key
is like intentionally placing an abused/neglected child
with an exhausted, starving, addicted sexual predator,
hoping they will teach each other further dramatic exploits
in what to never do.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Standing up tall holding my own leaning hard headlong into the wind yes I believe I have heard felt seen it all it seams.
Been down on the row held my hand up high up on the bush - but yes time tells me to not worry - Lord has been carrying me for some time now.
If I could write you a sonnet I would, but; I haven't the clue of that form.
Yeah all that I know, is to write in Joy and embrace the wind time and the realities as they are; and come.
Though broken, I feel it can bring one to be enlightened through time, if a prayer is given for this and the heart to remain open with no strings attached and so yes if this is achieved, the Sun so to say is sure to rise again in the morning, and the World will march on together in Peace and so this Hope will remain, "Love Mercy and Forgiveness - selflessness - will always be the keys to winning with God and one another - and the time it takes to share a kind word with the one who is down - well brilliant; it will always be a greater life - and in general the days will not be as tough as it is to live in a place Hell bent my friend depending solely on-Hate erroneously alluding to and believing that that alone will make all the difference ... and keep one safe.
"Yeah ha ha, I Laugh!"
Yes and having relied on Hate as a fix all answer all before myself well from bitter experience; I tell you it never did help - yeah and I tell you one more thing friend I know now Hate in all of its selfishness intended and ultimate suffering; it-never will ... . No no it never-will.
Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2016
I suppose there are no new problems in the world to be exterminated,
well, I mean, of course there are as many new problems
as there are creatures having a new day today,
but I mean I suppose there are no absolutely unprecedented types of power-struggles about comparative freedoms to and from
with short and/or long-term health and love's security implications,
just as there is no such thing as time flowing backward
except in our surprisingly 4D-equivalent visual imaginations.
What might it be like to be able to reverse time in our
so we could hear a song sung backward in our head,
a life lived backward from full Yang voiced maturity
back to Yang/Yin embryonic soup,
surfing in soft warm dualdark composting diastatic murmurs,
like the Earth turning back into a newer
speed-of-enlightenment BlackHole Sun,
evolution as revolution to our 4D listening minds.
Imagine today as the conclusion of your Creation Story,
and play yourself backward to our mutually-held DNA/RNA
political-economic loves lives
ecological (0)-sum embryonic beginning.
Exterminators of life's great and smaller problems
and more importantly,
become regenerators of solutions,
for if there are no new categories of Creation Story problems,
then there are no new categorical resolutions of chronic,
and more climatic,
issues and transitions and economic transactions and political relationships,
and personal loves and active distrusts,
implied within pathological screaming contests,
ReGenerators of Solutions
look for least effort compost piles of ideas, nutritional possibilities
repurposed from our still-evolving history of multicultural enculturation,
removing from the ground of trustful-truthful becoming
all monopolistic exterminating and terrorizing fantasy solutions;
problems perpetually unresolved with Others spelled IntendedLosers
in abject repressive compliance.
Such extermination through terror fantasies
for powering over life's little and great transitions
rather like swatting a fly
with a grenade,
a too-Yang dominant over-reactive response
which does indeed exterminate the fly-power problem for now,
by causing several newer and more costly challenges
for yet another day,
unless of course we manage to exterminate ourselves as well.
Then we merely pass along our carnage to our children.
Older chronically re-evolving, co-arising problems,
political and economic and ecological,
might healthier resolve with greater cooperative resonance,
with more investment in co-empathic trust
in mutually subsidiary and grateful deep listening
mindful of health/pathology problems nesting within their appositional solutions
inviting to raise grace
rather than more canes,
further pathological exterminations,
executions of mutual-immunity monochromatic intent,
with visions of socio-political grandeur
through naked robes of clown's multiculturing visionplays
and Anthro's Idolatry,
as Earth's Maniacally Fertile EgoWorshipers.
Supremacy of Anthro-ReGeneracy our internal monopolistic Selves,
as if that could co-arise RightBrain happiness,
rather than further LeftBrain suffering,
stressfully blocking terror and extermination fantasies,
pinging fears and spontaneously combusting angers,
and more actively steamy distrusts,
rupturing black pearls of ballistic hatred.
Old enslaving problems
regenerative Left/Right cooperative economic resolutions
point toward Beloved Internal Communication
and External Community.
making hay while sun shines just right
and rain falls just so
on the meadows of our co-empathic trust,
transgenderationally-applied Golden Rules
growing transpeciated-remembering evolving minds
with nutrition v pathology-empathic bodies,
fully co-conscious bilaterally-truthing-testing eco-healthlives,
rather than staying stuck within further dissonantly noisy and stinky decay,
disinclination to wake up and show up.
so that's an hour I'll never get back again,
irredeemably invested in old problems
in new cooperative-regenerative wineskins.
are you going to just keep repeating this same program
through your entire day?
Is that your plan for exterminating yet another day,
Cay is about investing in yet another healthier love-resolving day,
another polypathic resonant trust for radically extended family life,
another healthier Earth.
monoculturally-motivated ego-extermination fantasies;
more actively, and inclusive of oneself, pro-cay.
If you feel like we are falling apart
more than we might ever conceivably come together,
then it seems healthiest to hope
that breaking up our current monocultural fossils
is our way through great, and smaller, transitional regenerations
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Anger the bastard child of Hatred despised and rejected stands before his father
"What do me and my mother mean to you?"
With glowing red eyes Hatred answers
"I care nothing for you or your mother Lust. Lust your mother is nothing more than
a slut who I had sex with."
Looking Hatred in his fiery red eyes Anger said
"For someone who lurks in the shadows you hurl a lot of insults."
Stepping closer to Anger Hatred responds with another insult
"Your mother Lust is a slut plain and simple. How can you not know and who are you
to question me?"
With a bold Voice Anger said
"My mother is not a slut and I am your son."
With an evil smile Hatred said
"Her name tells you what she is. Don't blame me for the life you was dealt. If you're looking
for Love you'll find her with the rest of the virtues in Tranquility. Why can't you be more like
your sister Cruelty? Truly you are a waste of semen."
Turning his back to Hatred, Anger responded by saying
"These are my last words to you. You're a pillar of salt. No one wants to be around you."
As Anger walked into the night he heard Hatred say
"Like father like son."
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Copyright © Keith Baucum | Year Posted 2016
Is it wrong to end a life?
Even if it meant saving another.
Is it wrong to hate so much?
That your sight gets clouded
By pure rage 'till you see nothing but your crimson hued reflection
staring back at you
Is it wrong to plot someone's demise
So thoroughly, never flawed
That you may even wish to...
To play it out?
Anyone who's willing to make sacrifices
Should be honored for their heroic act of defending the weak.
But I am the weak...
Who will take the title of
Who will use it to mask
The true intentions of satisfying a cannibalistic blood lust...
The facade won't be kept up for long, though.
It's all in the mind
That is now twisted, and bent
seeking for the good in these actions of this 'hero'.
It’s like what they say;
"There is good in everything"
Do I still have good in me?...
It's too dark to tell...
Copyright © Jhade Dechert | Year Posted 2017
HE WAS asleep
Between space and time
The first light on the world
He was just born.
His folded hands
Glowed a pale pink
To keep the fire of life
He wondered if he was really awake.
Is it the true world?
Is it the true village?
Is it the true nest?
He kept kicking
And cried like a scared owl.
God trod to the next village.
Oh said the voice
Let me kiss you
Let me go in the fairy way
Let me love you earth
Overly cautious she crouched
Over a street strewn with splinters
S o confusing for a fairy
She approached a dark alley
Full of vermin and dead
So confusing for her noble nose
We call it miscarriage in our land
She said and picked up intruder’s naked smell
Leftover of yesterday’s predation
She did not move
She was crippled in an unknown fear
The emotion alien to a fairy
I want to love you
But you will kill me
That she said and flew all the way
Across hellhole and slammed into a tree
Still young, bright, full of promises
Though clawed by vampire birds
She moved in sense of rekindling
I’m glad, I’m sure I’m glad,
I am in the fairy way
Because I came down to love
Evening slipped out of the cave
Crossed the rock wall
And buried the city in soft kisses
Sun god‘s dripping soup
Gave her child a sunset glow
She went back to her cave
To sleep, to grow
Hates were slipping through my fingers
Little ones burning like midday sun
When they cooled made garnets for my sisters.
ANCIENT CAT GOD
An ancient cat god
Slammed down to my house
Went out with a sperm-whale
Harpooned by the mouse
A GRUFF FISH
Tara, I liked her so much
As a fish and as a friend
So in the Sunday night supper
She had made a double-end.
She was gruff fish after all
In night-supper it took its toll
Tara, I liked her so much
So I wrote this story on the bark of Birch
I gave a tabby cat one ounce of gold
That’s the way the story was told
Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014
Have you ever jumped in and out of your skin?
Found yourself on top of a hill with no shade to stand under, the skin around your lips and eyes starts to crack and peel. Don’t you wish for one moment you could simply have a hand to cover the glare and give you a screen, to sooth them for just one instant and feel a breath of relief.
Have you ever bled without pain?
You are soiled red but the gates of pain are simply numb. You simply watch the drops stain. If only a hand could compress the hurt and brake the flow of this rouge river game.
Have you ever spat words of scorn? Only to discover it was a feeble attempt that bounced the daggers back at your wall of ice. They simply echo back, the acid splatters in your face. You regret what you said; you wish you were dead.
Have you ever defied your own line of fire? You’ve broken down your walls of guard and allowed trespassers to rape your morals. If only a hand could pull you back and tug you in, the rules you made would still be in.
Copyright © Goldie Uttamchandani | Year Posted 2013
MOSQUITO AND MAN
Oh no! Why do men hate me so much? From incarnation even as I try to make my legs and hands and buttocks as small as anything! So they can’t say am competing with their colossal legs and hands and their protruding buttocks!
They say; we knew it! Right from the first sight, he was bent on evil with the ulterior motive that, whenever he perches on the sweet succulent, fresh, flesh - of ours, it won’t be noticed. Because he believes men are fools after all, big brains are not found in big bodies.
Men are evil. As I try to befriend, the more they inflict pains on me. Ok! I feel rejected and dejected by men, I considered it and thought it wise to detach myself from men by living in nearby bushes and rejected dumped waste and refuse.
They say; ah! Mosquito, you always make use of that little sense of yours. It is all pretence; you love men so much that you can’t live without them! Ok, if you say you want detachment, why must it be near men’s homes, or their dumped refuse and liquid waste? Why not very far at the desert so men won’t complain again. You love men! It is even clear as you lay your eggs where you feel you hate.
Men are ignorant. Ungrateful idiots! Their brains are stuffed with manure. Ok! If I hate men, why should I use the talent God gave me to make them comfortable? I use the best musical instrument; harp, flute with my wonderful composing way of singing, just to make them happy yet they detest me. Ok! How many men are musicians? How many even use the talent God gave them? Since God made me a musician from incarnation I will continue to use the talent, no matter how men feel.
Mosquito, Jackson of the age. You sing and even dance for men’s comfort! But the question is, if you love men as such, Why must the benevolent be a sort of boring? Why must it be at odd hours in the night made for resting? Even as we say stop! You still continue your singing. We don’t need it please! Your singing is a discomfort for men.
Ok! What of the affection I show to prove my love? I kiss your flesh and blood, just like any other man does by kissing the tongue and saliva of a female partner for love! Do you appreciate it at all? All I get from you are rancor and malice. Our judgment will be in heaven certainly.
The problem with you (mosquito) is that you don’t accept fault, very controversial and a very big threat to man. That is what you are! Accept your nature. You say you show affection, ok! Have heard of a man who kisses and inflicts pain on the partner? Perhaps by eating up the tongue or ejecting poisonous liquid in the partner’s mouth? But when you kiss, you disfigure our flesh and inject malaria into our bodies. Is that what you call love? We don’t want such affection, just know that; once you come around, we are at alert and always ready to strike! Let the worst happen in your so called heaven.
Copyright © Nnachetam Stanislaus | Year Posted 2013
You’re not one of a kind
You get drunk,
You like wars
But you told me
You smoke because you felt nervous when you’re with me
You get drunk ‘coz you think I don’t love you
You like wars ‘coz you’ll fight for me.
My eyes told me too
I hate your lips,
I hate your eyes,
I hate how it looks at me.
But you told me more
You wish to kiss my lips
You love my sparkling eyes
That makes you driving you crazy.
I almost hate everything about you
You’re not attractive, not at all
But what makes it wrong?
You make my heart beats strong.
But you almost love everything about me
I attract you like no one ever did
That’s all for you what makes it right
You’re my Mr. Wrong, but I’m you’re Mr. Right.
Now I hate myself even more
But my heart told me so
I love you more and more
I love my Mr. Wrong
Copyright © jaycel frances tamayao | Year Posted 2013
Whispers in the dark
Thoughts of you.
a meeting at the park,
A memory, a flash
Surrounded by pin-drop silence.
The saddest thing in the world,
I have lost all meanings of life.
My mind overflows with memories
Of those few green and fair days.
How do I mend my broken heart ?
I hate this idea of my heart
That you are the one thing,
Whom I want the most but can't have.
You tore my heart into two,
One part has lost all and
The other still thinking for you.
I hate this feeling of pain,
I'm not gonna let you say.....
Copyright © Chittaranjan Dey | Year Posted 2012
I stitched the names of
Onto the bleeding surface
Of my broken heart
To try to stop the steady stream
From flowing out
But the stitches
Did not hold
My heart together
And I finally found out
Through the fragile exterior
A bloody mess
Of torn up flesh
In their wake
They tore right through
Because they wanted to be free
Of the restrictive bounds
That held them in place
In my heart
So they ripped it apart
And found their freedom
While they left me behind
With my battered heart
Rotting on the floor
And I walked through
The rest of life
With a hole in my chest
So no one
Could hurt me
Copyright © Aisha Abdelfatah | Year Posted 2016
When judgement come what will you say can you tell the JESUS
what you done in just one day eye left some fish upon the way then left my bed to
gather more than eye can eat for eye am blessed my heart is full of love for
people eye have never met and strangers yell at me from van and make me cuss
and curse and hate yet the things eye found was blessed a cake a homemade
cake remember LORD when we ate the cake eye found it in the city park on that
SUNDAY when the man in the van rolled his window down he yelled screamed
growled at me so cartoon of a character so rubber legged he would not stop near
me for eye was mad at THEE for letting evil men get near me they rob me of my
grace more needed now on SUNDAY as eye sit and feed my face eye will not go
further with embellishments and lies intended just to sell a story to the men who
drive the van and bother men with hate for eye found some extra clothing and
added it to mind for there was no one there in the park today just laying on the
ground eye passed the beggars sides with full larder laid as eye did not even lay
it down eye hope they have an empty cup of alcoholic stop eye began this day
without a fish but now my bags is hard to carry a brand new hooded shirt upon
my belly my jacket getting heavy my cake and coffee is so nice please KISS mye
lambea wherever she is at a smile upon her face for eye and love and grace on
SUNDAY. This is CharlaXFabel number NINTEY.
Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008
When they love their children as much as they hate us the war will be over
Its doesn't matter which side your on
Whether your a viva viva palestina
Or an am yisrael chai
You know which side is evil, committed all
Wrongs, sometimes you meet people who
Extol the virtues of this treacherous,
Terrible oppressor /terrorist
With their shock and awe tactics and
Disregard for freedom or the right to life And the pursuit of happiness
And sometimes for a minute, particularly
When you talk to someone you think is
Intelligent it becomes harder to maintain the
View on this malignant party you tried hard
To campaign for and against and although
Peace (of mind) is all you want
All you could dream of
With this entity at the negotiating table
Independence is swapped for catastrophe And war
If you give them what they want you will
Have nothing except the need to a right of
Return to a better time
Copyright © Saskia Kurer | Year Posted 2012
DAGGER IN THE HEARTH
Each time I try to say, “The country isn’t good”
Even as a secondary school pupil
I can’t remember the last I obeyed the iota rule
Even dough I know my parents builds castles in the air
Yet I can’t redirect the wrong footsteps
And I have the got to say, “The country isn’t conducive”
Even as a medical practitioner-
That has taken an obligatory oath
Yet, when the language of money advance
I can prescribe the most unsafe drugs
I engross in the diciest abortion
Yet has the impetus to say, “The head of my nation is incompetent”.
Even as a legal practitioner
I am part of the judiciary
I am part of the legislature
I am a the core executive
But, the epitome culprit
Yet, rush head long to utter, “When shall things be cute”.
As a commercial executioner
I am submerged in fraud
I am a competent illegal
Seemingly things are likened to my name
But, in spite of the legislative injunctions
I am always the hall mark of every bad egg. But I still complain.
Even when I complain as a minority tutor
I can’t be prompted in my responsibility
Yet, complains of the recompense for the cute
But, the certainty remains
If I don’t redirect my erroneous footsteps
What is to be done, still remains stagnant!
Copyright © Nnachetam Stanislaus | Year Posted 2013
~ (~) "Because yes I believe as well-true abhorrence is the springboard for more pain, love
is the land of peace that lie between." "Denial the raging river running through it!" (~) ~
~ (~) "Who in the back row, maybe in the front or some where in the middle or between the
middle of the two... ?" (~) ~
~ (~) "Would it be for an honest peace I would myself, maybe for one of you as-well, but for
aggression I will not bow down!" (~) ~
~ (~) "I'd just-soon-parish, because I will never bow down." "Because yes I know love as
with hate offers more, but something far greater... !" (~) ~
~ (~) Because to know love I believe-is to cherish the-gift of allowance, to own the face
brimming with the pleasure of this delight, but to be certain also to oppose it as well, it's
always ones given right... hate will never know this delight. (~) ~
~ (~) Because I know mid toils and travels time ticks away yes hope advances pride waylays
to and fro, true peace consumes. (~) ~
~ (~) Golden nuggets turn mossy brown in the streams-time laughs promenades all things
are prosperous within the able hands of grace. (~) ~
~ (~) God's-tender tears-illuminated cascading-down-on-all-are-exemplified by-the-rains I
feel-as-they-fall, delighted divinity leaps as it sings-love devoted... it prances... . (~) ~
~ (~) Because I believe as well today loving moreover is prudent the struggle furthermore
the prize, death of hate the mighty reprise. (~) ~
~ (~) Tiny like a drop in a bucket hopeful is the soul who though longing still remains open.
~ (~) Humbled are the ones who want for nothing more, daring to go further offering all they-
can. (~) ~
~ (~) Exulted and merry are the ones who accept this, joining them, journeying along as they
would with them in the beauty of this. (~) ~
~ (~) Open to the willing peace once the quest of us all yes each our plight now the
opportunity presents itself again propels us all together to know, yes-come to-own-for-
ourselves-this-delight, the bucket full now sent-to-overflowing washing-the-dirt from our feet;
because-lowly is the cry-for-peace... love-the-ladder its-gracious-provision...
because though-partial to freedom and honor; cut down prematurely on-occasion surrounded-
by-doubt... rising in the effort-love-budding-expects nothing treasures everything is in one
way or the other always blooming;
its-joy-forevermore consuming... ! (~) ~
Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2010
How do I live without her?
How do I face the day?
How do I keep my sanity?
While my life slips away
How do I survive with out her?
Now my life is so cold
I can’t live without her
She no longer walks this world
Try so hard to understand
Because there’s no reasons why
She belongs beside me
Not with god in the sky
Want to say goodbye to tomorrow
But this life don’t belong to me
So until god really for me to join her
I must learn to live in misery
Love turns my mountain
In to a little stone
Love sends a knife inside me
Didn’t stop till it hit the bone
How do I tell my heart?
There’s nothing to live for
How do i say to my life?
I don’t need you no more
And oh how I hate love
For what it’s done to me
It turns my fairy tale
In to a horror mystery
Why did faith direct this?
And who wrote the script
Why did they turn my life?
Into a tales fro the crypt
Everyday I get older
My pain is getting worst
And when the grim reaper comes
This chapter will close
And in the green valley
Where the water flows
On the hill under a willow
Is where my soul will go
Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2012
Was thinking to move ahead
buT every time you come in my memories to take me back
back to the same era, of golden moments of mine
that I spent with you...
Was king of mine and dream boy of yours
when all the time, it was me and only me in you
your presence was attendance of mine
your hapiness was , religion of mine
My sun was you, the day with rhyme
evening , the moon of twilight ..
Wheatish skin , lyk cuban chocolate
everything of yours........ was
everything of mine
And now its just betrayal
..hate for you
Copyright © BIKRAM SINGH | Year Posted 2016
A song can be heard tonight
Swirling about me beating down my strength
Enfolding the whole of me with thick, terrifying captivation
That chokes a city with the roaring thunder of despair
Of the innocent obliterated in the unforgettable heartbeat
When we died with our friends and families
Slain from the once impossible that shattered our world
Tossed aside the veil of our innocence forever
I can stand no more and I fall
My weary gaze heavenward for I have no answers
With my heart weeping, my soul burning
My mind alive with a desperately hungry vengeance
I scream out all of my searing pain
I scream out with every fibre, every pore of my being!
I scream blinded by this maelstrom of emotion
I SCREAM AND I SCREAM . . !
Until my voice runs ragged
Until my anger simmers
And here amid a shattered ruin
I find inside the depths of my soul . . .
That which is fierce in us all
I stand and glare beyond the horizon
Where I know the object of my hatred hides
Feeling safe in his pit of woe
“No,” I seethe
“No,” I burn
“No!” I say through clenched teeth
“I will not falter!
I will not give up!
I will not give into the swallowing lament of night!
I WILL NOT LET YOU BREAK ME!
I will see you held accountable
I will and I do defy you!!
I DEFY YOU!
And everything you represent!”
I . . .
I like my people, believe in a merciful God
Our Lord forgives and loves us all
And this is the God I believe in . . .
But I am a man, just a man . . .
And I cannot forgive you for this, I will not
God may forgive you
But I do not
I . . .
I hate you!
For the lives you have destroyed!
For the fear in my heart!
I hate you for existing . . .
I hate you because now I cannot help but to hate something
It’s lonely where these towers have fallen
And in this solitude I pick up a stone
I move another stone and then another
For I know not what else to do
I find that this stone is not a part of the rubble
I understand that I am not really clearing debris
I am rebuilding
And this dust covered stone now within my hands
Is the first
In a new foundation of our lives
I see my friends
Doing as I do, lifting one stone after another
We are rebuilding our world
And I whisper to the horizon
Today we mourned as people grieving for our loved one
Tonight we mourn as a race having just lost our innocence
Tomorrow we will mourn as people defiled by atrocity one last time
But soon . . .
We will weep and mourn no more
And on that day
We will end terror.”
Copyright © Neal Freeland | Year Posted 2007
When the first murder was committed
The weapon was useless
Knowing that the soul is what animates people
He started stabbing arbitrarily at his victim’s body
With the logic that the soul dwells throughout the body, he thought that with one gash the soul might seep out
But he didn’t succeed
Until a stab wound reached the victim’s heart
And that was the end
War is random stab wounds throughout the body of the nation
The point of war is to get to the soul but it’s hard to find where the heart of the problem is
After all these years we still haven’t learnt from mankind’s first unforgivable sin
Copyright © Danita Windy | Year Posted 2015
WHEN I WAS WONDERING
IN THE GATE OF THE PARADISE IN THE EARTH…
SOMEBODY WAS SHOUT AT MY EAR....
" WHOM YOU ARE????" WITH A SHOCK I SAID
"I AM A HUMBLE HUMAN"
"WHAT YOU WANT?????" THERE THE SHOUTED AGAIN
I SAID " I WANNA LOVE...." AGAIN THE SHOUT IS THERE..
"WHAT KIND OF LOVE YOU WANNA????"
" THERE IS FATHER'S LOVE, THERE IS MOTHER'S LOVE..
THERE IS SON'S LOVE, THERE IS DAUGHTER'S LOVE...
THERE IS BROTHER'S LOVE, THERE IS SISTER'S LOVE...
THERE IS HUSBAND'S LOVE. THERE IS WIFE'S LOVE...
THERE IS LOVER'S LOVE, THERE IS MATE'S LOVE...
THERE IS FIANCE'S LOVE, THERE IS FRIEND'S LOVE...
THERE IS DOCTOR'S LOVE, THERE IS LAWYER'S LOVE..."
I SAID "I WANNA LOVE FOR ALL...."
" DO YOU HAVE ANY BUCKS FOR THE SAME????"
THE SHOUT IS AGAIN.. I SAID MY WALLET IS EMPTY...
"THEN YOU HAVE THE HATE WITH ME...AT FREE OF COST..."
" IF YOU TAKE HATE FOR ALL..
YOU WILL GET FREE ONE GRAM OF LOVE..."
“And you can use it your own way!”
In the paradise in the earth
The price of love going high and high..
And you can never afford the love..
In your life time, because the price will never comedown.... “
I look around to see the source of shout..
Then I see the devil of evil,
the emperor of the paradise in the earth..
the Saataan the great, laughing at me in loud….
Copyright © ABDUL RUB ELEDATH | Year Posted 2011
To bridge the gap
that is growing
between love and hate
let's lay a strong
foundation of trust
an impenetrable bridge
the lost trust and faith
between love and hate
the first ray of sun
(By Kishan Negi)
Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016
Why do we aim hot hate at each other
causing further cracks and craters in dried-up deserted skin,
when we could choose to heal and recreate
formerly fertile forested and grassland soils
to reform and rejuvenate subclimates of therapy?
ReCreating springs and filters of and for clean rich waters,
together restoring healthy air
to breath more deeply together
as we plan Earth's further fun and happier rejuvenation,
yet another year, and season,
decade and millennium.
We retain subclimates of good cooperative potential
so urgently needed.
We have no time left for guns and missiles.
We have so much labor-neglected waste and humane depreciation
for machetes and rakes and shovels.
No time left for any isms short of multiculturally rich Earthism.
For this we emerged
and to this center we each return
co-mentoring ecopolitical therapists.
Those who choose revenge and terrors
do not believe they have been given a choice;
that they have been born into a mess
out of which they can only compete to explode first and best.
And, who among us
has never known this victim of Earth's vast apathy despair
and darkly smoldered for revenge?
These are those most worthy of catching this compelling vision
for co-redemptive healing of their landscapes and nurturing rivers,
within as without,
purifying our formerly chaste seas and skies
revolving around and with one another
in hope of further resonant resolutions,
Pathologies of eviL
no more or less
than healthy Live as spelled-out
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
I’ve been made.
Not the way most people are made, with either a fateful mistake or long-lived intent. I
was not born the way people are born, or grown the way they were grown.
I am not real.
This needs saying. You have to understand that this is my reason. I am not a creature of
habit, or education, or coincidence. I am one of design.
They did not make in a factory or on an assembly line, but that doesn’t matter. I am no
more real than your average toaster.
I have thoughts. I have words. I have actions. None of them are mine.
I was made this way. I was made to think how I think, and do what I do, and see how I see.
I do not think they meant me to know.
I was not meant to see beyond the veil, to see the strings being pulled. But even so, I
hate who I was meant to hate and love who I was meant to love, and only sometimes do I
confuse the two. I love my maker and hate my maker. I thank the one who gave me life and
curse them for it.
It is something strange to live a paradox.
Copyright © Harry W. Holloway | Year Posted 2011