Clouds hang low, muffling the maple-covered mountainside.
Fog rises from a saturated earth, weakly wetting a soft breeze.
Mist maintains the connection 'tween earth and eternity.
Within the gloom, where barren treetops scrap the sky, twigs green.
Hope springs with random bits of color to the opened mortal eye.
Soon, soon, a brighter pallet will appear, light will live.
A gray day lies upon the wane and weary eye of morn.
Soon, wind-born blossoms wipe the cinders from the pale eye of sol,
melting the chill of fog and mist, warming the home of man.
First Published by Mused: BellaOnLine Literary Review 2015
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016
Sitting alone again, wondering if you're okay.
being alone, i remembered how i wanted you to stay.
looking for something I can hold on to.
It's the pillow that reminds me of you.
Every time the clock ticks,
I would always find a way to entertain myself &
hoping i can do some magic tricks.
before i close my eyes & go to sleep,
every night , i hope, i can be w/ you for just a glimpse.
every time it rains, i would always go outside,
but i guess no one would like to hold my hand & be by my side
I touched my face & i was already crying under the rain.
will there be someone willing to cast away all this pain?
until now, no one would risk,to wipe off these tears.
The shadow of my past, well those are my fears.
i always want to hide myself from this world's madness.
I often feel that I'm inside a bubble or in a dark sanctuary,
where there is sadness.
I hope there will be a wishing star that will pass by.
I'll make another wish,to find the guy who cant make me cry.
i sat at the corner of my room, and in my hand, was a ring,
a question that even i cant answer,
"will i forever be waiting like an Angel w/ a broken Wing"?
Copyright © Marianne Nolido | Year Posted 2011
Burning so bright
With new found life
Released from his ball and chain
Out of the dark
And into the light
Flying… on wings of freedom again.
As he writes his life
His soul ignites
In flames of wisdom and sight
His God given right
As his truth kills the evil ‘Black Knight’.
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2006
DECEMBER 2015 - "For what is our hope, our joy, or the crown, in which we glory in the presence of our Lord Jesus when He comes?" 1 Thessalonians 2:19
This year America waits,
With great anticipation.
For peace, love and joy,
Throughout the nation.
Christians are under attack,
For what is in their heart.
Hatred fills the air,
Our nation torn apart.
Death in our schools,
Murder on the streets.
Hurry, Jesus, we pray,
Before their goal is complete.
A promise written true.
Not it's only if you follow theirs,
Christians know not what tio do.
We read more every day,
How we must suffer for His Cause.
Evil ones in control,
they pass the laws.
There was a time in history,
It was so long ago.
God sent His Only Son,
To teach us how to go.
In a humble stable He was born,
Written Word said it would be.
People given a reason to believe,
Praised Him in songs of victory.
We are lost without His son,
The Bright Star for all to see.
Please give us another sign,
To set Your People free.
RAYMOND V. MORGAN
Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015
When I’ve gone
to the place
where my fathers’
have gone before me
and the last tribute
has been paid to my memory,
may my singing words
crack the silence with clanging echoes.
May the clanging echoes
excite starving eyes
and taut wrinkled eardrums—
both to awareness—
to actions of liberation
yet to come.
May clanging echoes
wake-up sleeping souls suffering
uncertainties of tyrannical rule,
slobbering from political absurdities,
drooling from mouths of misguided evil
diagnostic odysseys—peddling false hope
to precariously lost wanderers.
May my clanging echoes echo ringing
bells of freedom that can’t be unrung:
“Oh death where is thy sting?”
“Oh grave, where is thy victory?”
Poets will die;
but the ringing chords
of their words will live long lives:
Echoing clanging echoes…
Copyright © millard lowe | 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
as if they were a life line
Thinly hanging on
Hoping they go
If not Preaching
Giving meaning to
Always becoming a path
To our feet
Defying mere physics
Like walking on water.
Inking my way past
Adversity, while attempting to hold onto
Sanity in the midst of human travesty
Man made catastrophes by ego's
Let it be so and so
Than dreams do allow
Spilling soul and fire
Flaming paths of
Prayer into the
Catching the nostrils
Of God Himself or Herself
Raising attention to
Angels and Demons
Hear I am
Here we are
Racing time, in attempts
To move mountains from here to there
On Ledges where
Death no longer Stands,
But stanza and sonnet command
Life is Eternal from mouth to
Affirming Our Generation
As a Genesis without Nemesis.
Reflecting in the
Mirror dimly is
The world has known
Thee a time or two
In rhyme and form
Where logos fluidly
Speaks to Universe
And Word, Faithfully
The poet's verses
Thus the word is done
With the power
Of Divine Expectations
Mystical ,but clear to
Piercing bone and marrow
Awakening what was once feeble
May we now speak
With the tongues of Gods
Into unknown tomorrows
Beautiful Order Words
Into a world filled
With The Hope of Love
A solid fruition
Into never ending Light
As plain as sight beyond sight.
The Power of Words
Copyright © Kevin Mitchell | Year Posted 2017
I Saw A Light
Enlightenment Hope & Harmony advanced to help
reuniting our warm bodies disregarded the period
of our aloneness when far apart we were over
Harmony enables us love each other having
everything to gain allowing our hope not to fail
notice how deeply in touch our instincts are,
those endless years of being separated,
will succeed to enlighten our nights, not to
abandon each others arms.
Hope will never sense the feeling of being senseless,
we will generate great power to recuperate
time lost by exhaling our passions breathing while
watching an illusion of one big red heart appearing on top
of a humble humming wave,
Forever In Love.
Destiny suddenly turned its way when realizing
a greater force does exist, although she never yelled
or called for help when being in distress, now he is
here spending the night undisturbed to enjoy the
happenings that awaits in that panoramic refuge.
Their arising love will be demonstrated while flying
half naked towards the oceans crashing waves to
harmonize parts of their bodies, feel the depth of yearning
to excel in their coming life, desire to love and make
love on the shore while listening to the melody of the
waves splashing with tremendous power to wash away
anyone who will dare break them apart, belonging
to long for each other, a promise will keep them
The evening ended prepared to engrave those
three words on our chests,
Enlightenment Hope and Harmony
trusting our bodies never to be separated ever again.
Therese Bacha (Win No. 2)
For the contest of Russel Sivey. Harmony Hope , and Enlightenment
Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013
Day by day my body decays
And my soul waits
For the warmth of your embrace
The meaning I cannot trace
The time is now to receive your grace
I remember much
Yet memories past have no bearing
I can see much
The meaning almost clear
The dust settles and chaos vanquished
Peace and love echoed again and again through the halls of time
Bear no weight until the final moments
A single frame as I lay
Time will no longer wait and I can no longer stay
Harmony engulfs me
Symphonies escort me
And angels guide me
My loving Father waits for me
I can almost see Him
I certainly feel Him
The old world fades to grey
A brilliant glow not of this world fills me
A love not felt by mortals
It is the beginning of the end
My breath shallow
My thoughts clear
My soul readies
Do not weep
He is waiting for me
This is exactly where I am supposed to be
Copyright © Sean Taylor | Year Posted 2012
The love of life is a very beautiful and splendid thing. Regretfully, it’s something many
fail to ever recognize. One day, I stopped to contemplate the beauty of compassion and
forgiveness. This is where the true beauty of life is found. When we stop to recognize
that personal feelings are less important than the feelings we are able to create in
others, then we have started to embrace the true beauty of life. To our lives poetry is a
beautiful gift from God. It enables us to step out of our external surroundings and into a
beautiful place, which of course, is the place known as our soul. From its depths we start
to realize the true power that is found in words. Words have the ability to create
feelings in others. Words can open eyes to see the beauty that has not yet been seen.
Words can take us on journeys to places unknown. Open our minds to philosophical
views,which had previously never been contemplated. Thus, leading us into a world, which
has never been seen through our eyes.
We are poets, children of God, creators of feelings, and scholars of life. It is
only from the bottom of the well that we learn to truly embrace and understand the warmth
and brightness of the sun. It is only from the top of the mountain that we are able to
understand the darkness that lie in the back of the cave. Until our soul has been emptied
we never fully appreciate what it means for it to be full. Words are no less than the
knife we can use to slice open the cake of life. Thus, enabling us to share pieces of
ourselves. What truly matters in this life is the fact that we are able to share and give
a little piece of ourselves. True success can only be measured in our ability to share our
experiences in life. Thus, enabling
others to feel and experience the depths of our knowledge. This is our gift and we should
understand the depth of its responsibility. We should all vow to enhance our gift to the
best of our abilities. We all have so much to learn and such little time with which to
At the end of the play, as the stage dims and the curtains fall, I leave the
theater. Outside, alone at the corner I realize; sometimes I feel like a blind man
standing at a crossroad in the fog. Shuddering at the thought, I tighten my coat and walk
quietly down the dimly lit street of remorse.
I have no idea if this is correct but I did enjoy myself.
For Constance's contest. ps. I have reset these lines
many times but they keep moving when I save the
poem. I guess its a poem anyhow. If it happens
again I apologize.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010
Love Has No Reply
Love has no reply it just waits-
love has no reply - it just prays-
Love understands- as it hopes
that rage will be quelled-
That the core of your heart will
of the venial mind-are allowable
If you never intend to exhale-
then inhalation is inevitable.
Demons seek company -
Presenting illusions to keep misery
side tracked' in sorrowful elegies
The cardinal mentation-
tick, when your tocking and;
Tock when you are ticking.
You came here with no instructions--
Love requires no action
Does not have to reply
No matter the jargon
the meaning of "no “is the same.
Whether you wax or wane,
with wagers parlayed
invest in the" WAIT" like the yellow light
"Spread your bet-green light- keep moving
Not always smart- to bet on a sure thing.
Red light stop wait -think about
what you're thinking of doing-
win, win situation.
Prior truth is not necessary for
what is "yet to be believed"
should never be applied to a
The efficaciousness of the syringe as a method in seeking answers to concepts is horribly ineffective.
Love has no reply--- No outside stimuli -
No do's or don'ts ... from the I ...
Strictly and inside Job.
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
Your time has come like the rising sun. Stand up for life created by God’s love as
the dove descends from above. He has a plan for you to be one with Him as He
is with you thus making you brand new. Your life should be more than just the
ordinary existence, let Him strengthen you as your soul runs the distance. Be
filled with His spirit and let your light shine. Manifest His joyful glory and
overcome obstacles in His name while unto Him you render an acclaim. Move
ahead and be the lighthouse of strength without relenting; thus ascending from
the bottomless pit into His eternal light of creation. Experience the fullness of
your destiny with God in the middle of your future. Build your foundation in His
word and spirit. Empower your soul with His tenacity; He will determine your
capacity. Be anointed by His grace and experience the reality of not just a
dream. A light lit for living liturgy. He has you covered with His Holy Spirit. Now
step out—your time has come!
Comments: A prose poem is written in prose form. It does not have line breaks
or varying topography as a regular poem. During the mid-nineteenth century,
Charles Baudelaire published Petis poemes en prose. Oscar Wilde, T.S Eliot
and others have written in this genre. The genre started in France and is now
worldwide. The use of concrete language and figurative speech such as
imagery, rhymes, personification, contrast, simile, metaphor, alliteration,
metonymy, synecdoche, abstraction and the like should be incorporated based
on the desire of the poet. The piece may focus on language, a story, or
something similar based on the choice of the poet.
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2007
Tomorrow Is Another Day
‘been no crystal stairway’;
rather, more of a steep
with veiled challenges
rivaling the trials of old Job;
and making a mockery
of the efforts of old Sisyphus.
over troubled waters
proved too weak
to bear me over—
falling under the weight
of my burdens
as if a grasshopper
bridled to haul bales of hay.
So stop whining child—
‘bout no desert with supper:
the pre-paid pizza
an error in house address.
is another day.
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2016
Me: Since Samhain I have been chatting with Satan on Skype..On this date he celebrates his fall from grace..
Satan: Thank you Ken..You look marvelous today..What is your routine? You haven't aged in years...Is it diet and gym, the ladies and your erotic poetry?
Me: You are way too kind..(blushing)
Satan: Really, I enjoy your sense of eroticism, you have a fondness for the ladies I see..You should read "Justine" by my friend the Marquis de Sade..In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice...
Me: Are you saying it is only through pain one can arrive at pleasure?
Satan: I'm saying you are unhappy because you desire things that cannot be..That's what desire IS, the need for what we cannot have..It's called greed...
Me: I have nothing to fear here..
Satan: Well Ken, there's always the truth..Maybe peace is acquired by the currency of loss..You are in love with perception..I have many friends here in hell with me you may have heard of, Anton Lavey, Aleister Crowley, Adolf Hitler among others..You should meet them..
Me: No thank you, I prefer to "Fear and Tremble" like Kierkegaard..I was taught your greatest truth was convincing the world there was only only one of you..
Satan: You know God loves you..
Me: Is that why you take interest?
Satan: You seek a measure of comfort from Women..Don't you know that love is the laziest theory for the meaning of life?
Me: But was not Faust saved in the end by the love of a woman?
Satan: I will not elaborate on your misconceptions..
Me: I'm just an ordinary human being with flesh, blood and bones..Nothing hard to decipher.. I wish for women and have needs..
Satan: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions..Charming saying really..I say it is paved with intriguing questions...
Me: It is late, I have to go Mr. Satan...What time is it?
Satan: How much time do you need?
Me: No thanks..lol I have to go....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2014
Friday had been the saddest day
That my young life had ever known
The loneliness that my heart felt
Just would not leave me alone
The clouds that filled the afternoon
With their darkness and their dread
Left remorseful feelings alive inside
Along with feelings that seemed so dead
On Saturday when I did awaken
My world was much worse it seemed
For the gloom and darkness it embraced
Left my mind aloof in sad daydreams
Of what my eyes had seen to transpire
On that dark, cold Friday afternoon
I only prayed and hope what was written
Would come to fruition so very soon
As the last twenty four hours ticked away
The hope in my heart did begin to rise
For it began to beat so steady again
Waiting for the prophesied moment to arrive
But many in the room praying around me
Saw their faith begin to slip and fade
Not believing that what was happening
Would be much more than just another day
My heart awaiting the time to come closer
Anticipating the joy it would soon receive
Felt the rhythms of the approaching moment
For deep within it never failed to believe
I heard the most beautiful enchanting melodies
Embracing me from deep within His tomb
And upon hearing the hearty voices of angels
I sensed He would be rising so very soon
And the last twenty four hours did finally end
Sweeping my sadness and loneliness away
Replacing it with pure joy, and happiness
For He rose from the grave on a perfect day.
Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2013
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
It's only the start now
...a road yet unknown
At times the whisper of other steps
...sometimes we walk alone
The best start of our lives
May at times cry in sorrow
But even on our deadliest days
The sun will shine tomorrow.
So we must do our best
Whatever time may bring
And look beyond the winter chill
To taste the breath of spring.
Into each life will come
A time to start anew
A new start for each heart
As lively as morning dew.
Though the responsibilities of life are great
And palms are bowed so low
The cyclone of time will leave behind
The beauty of a rainbow.
Time will never take away
Our chance to start anew
It's only the start now
So the beautiful dreams can still come true.
Copyright © Nikhil Chandwani | Year Posted 2013
In a burst of color and animal choruses
Sovereign sun heralds in a golden morning –
The air was delicate with the perfume of cherry blossom
Blown in from the hem of pink rows that lined the
driveway on Grandpa’s farm
I looked across at hay stacked verdant hills that were
Tossed with yellow daffodils, purple crocus and white snowdrops
They danced to the baton of the breeze and the
Hidden orchestra of lilting bird song of that fragrant spring morn
Grandma sang to me her songs of childhood
As we walked arm in arm amongst beds of fragrant roses
and budding fruit trees that whispered promises of full baskets
that would soon be heavy laden with the Summer fruits, preserves,
Pies and jam of a bountiful harvest, a few months from now
Summer came rich with its harvest, merry hearts
and long hazy, lazy summer days and nights scented
with wisteria, frogs and cicada, chirping and croaking
their melodious summer anthem of ‘All is well with the world’
as we toasted to our full and wonderful life
Autumn brought in a more somber note and amber tones
though warm and restful, they soon told me - life is changing again
time quickly moves on - it prepared me for the winter and
the chill mirrored in the face of the full moon as it lit a silvery path
to my next season’s change
The cherry trees glowed white against the dark night sky like iridescent bones along
the snow covered driveway - they waved their bony fingers goodbye
as I crunched solemnly down the long white corridor with slow steps and a heavy heart that was beating to the mournful dirge of hoot owls and creaking limbs – I blinked back tears under that star kissed sky and full moon that lit my path
The moon reminded me- each season has its bounty that I can treasure -I held those memories close to my well seasoned but thankful heart.
Brenda V Northeast
Copyright © Brenda Victoria Northeast | Year Posted 2012
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
Copyright © Bhavna khemlani | Year Posted 2012
A single daisy grew along the fence
Standing tall and happy
Among the weeds and scattered yard waste
In the strong sun not yet of summer
And I offered a silent salute
As I sauntered by
Because I daresay
I envied its resolve
Copyright © Brandi Elizabeth Brown | Year Posted 2014
Life’s tortures seem a part of my biological design
absorbing pain, a phenotype
and solutions, seemingly advancing in a slow motion
ten hands all over, tearing my blouse
hundred long nails
shredding my skin down to the dermis
The waters have turned salty
and all edibles-decayed with maggots
I’m roasted by hunger and fried with thirst
pressed by two rocks
and the valley of escape filled with thorns and reptiles
I’ve been tied to the Earth for even animals to trample upon
escaping from a dangerous path
lands me on a slippery ground
sliding down, having a free fall with no help
The same life which once passes urine on me
has now provided a fresh stream for a deep bath
the same sky, once filled with pregnant dark clouds
shines the light of hope and freedom
I’ve been hit but not crushed, bruised but not bleeding
heated but not burnt and swallowed but not chewed
I’m out! I’ve overcomed and now I’m free!
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014
He is the sinking of the final red orange sun of the glowing summer
Warmth no longer oozing and seeping into the pores as I lie bare under the skies
Jeweled dewdrops on the morning grass to dampen bare feet all softness under
And the shimmer on the surface of the lakes like the diamonds in your eyes
He is the golden cusp pf Autumn's Fertility
The ritual dance of the scarecrow in the breezes
(Straw coming loose and flying towards you, most certainly
will brush up against you and tickle before he ceases)
And this thinner less lumpy all seeing scarecrow
Seems to be in no remorse: his knowing face will always grin
And his arms will always be raised in a wave to show
He will protect the yellow brown stalks that bend before him
He is the crisp wind that caresses the crinkled foliage
Their rustling like long flowing skirts on a 1940s ballroom floor
These winds chill the fingers and toes and your face with the stinging red roses
Yet when winter beckons the retreating light, we will be frozen at its core
He is silent snowfalls and many winter moons
And the brown earth beginning to expose itself
The uncoiling of green and mud beginning to ooze
And all new life breaking free from its fragile shell
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2012
And the westerly wind,
Will blow a sea of waving grass
And the sea's fine mist
Will breathe drops like dew
And the sinking suns
Will cloak the sky's horizon
And the moons of Autumn
Will beckon the golden fertililty of the harvest
And the violet tinged edge of night
Will cry for the white bursting of the stars
And the carved thrust of the mountain range
Will challenge the forever yielding blue
And the hovering tunes of the dawn's awakening
Will mimic the lullaby of my dreams
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2011
Close your eyes for awhile my friend, I heard there lies a moon far behind the black sky, I heard lovers were dancing beneath, can you hear them singing? I can feel their tipsy steps making rhymes on floor, and smell of perfumes filling the air, I heard a sun rises to brighten up their world, and birds do sing them charming melodies at morning, they say they have roses in colors and beautiful trees in the streets, and have they told you about the sea yet? They say it smells so wonderful and the delicate air of seas caresses their cheeks with soft wet breezes, oh my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the fragile ghosts that we are!
“Hush” whispered to me, “I lighted up a moon inside my heart and I smell lilies and jasmine in my nose, my dreams play tunes my heart dance on, they speak to me all night and there I see a starry night floats above, I feel the warmth of a sun in my soul as it hugs tight, whispering to me hymns of love and joy, lightening candles for hopes which had accompanied me amongst the dark, why have you closed your eyes my friend? Look through the colorful roses I painted for you with eyes wide open, let the lights off so you would see clearer, let the lights off so you can brighten up the world that hides with you, for my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the free spirits that we have become!
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Copyright © Samar Saleh | Year Posted 2013
These forgotten badlands are arid and parched. It’s felt the blistering, desert hot winds.
Turbulent gritty sand storms have crossed these lands. What was once lively, thriving is
now only a desolate, thirsty terrain. After being drought-ridden for so long, the ground is
hard, unyielding even to the smallest root. Even vultures have stopped flying overhead
for how can something die if everything is already dead?Day after desiccated day, the sun
beams down, relentless. Although the night is somewhat welcoming, it is still so thick and
humid that it doesn’t provide much comfort. But there’s a scent in the air….something
somewhat familiar but from ages ago. There’s a change in the atmosphere…and an eerie
silence that stretches for miles, like time has stood still. Splat! There…a scattered, dark
circle on the ground…disappearing almost instantly. Suddenly, the scorching sky breaks
open. Rain…cool, wet liquid…it does exist. Looking across the horizon, you can see it. Like
a silky veil draping over the lands in a steady, fluid motion. There is no other sound
around…just the sound of this drumming rain landing, making everything it touches glisten
and gleam like diamonds. Giving drink to a once thought unquenchable territory, it opens
up wide and soaks it all in. The water running, dripping into the trenches that were only
once small cracks…..reaching depths unknown to bring forth life of what was once dead. If
there were such a smell as years of dehydration and depravity finally receiving
sustenance, this smell would be it. Such a beauty to behold…so much water that it stands
in pools until this hardened ground can learn what it’s like to soften in order to accept it.
It’s everywhere, can you see it? Abundant, unwavering water. Everything has been so
barren, you can see for miles…but…wait..what’s this? Something so small that you would
almost miss it. Emerald green, a majestic inch…a sprout….a sprout of hope….a sprout of
Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley | Year Posted 2011
Oh Great Woman of all Nature
Mother of our Divinely blessed, sacred Earth
Your beauty has kissed my lips
with the splendor of your clear, sapphire skies
The golden, moon bathed Sands
that are gently caressed
by your crystal blue clear flowing rivers
Your gentle rain that ascends from the Heavens above
to delicately soothe and blend
with tears that flow from the broken hearted
Your moist, emerald green hills
filled with enchanting, lovely flowers
of every elegant shade and hue
I have beheld the splendid beauty…
of your green weeping willow's gracious bows and limbs
of iridescent greens and golds
that whisper gently in your swaying, languid winds
I have witnessed golden eagles fly so gracious and free
in your pictorial, periwinkle blue skies
I've feasted my eyes on the sublime splendor
of your enchanting, golden harvest moon
as its elegant beauty paints a rose, gold, splendid image
so deep within my mind
All your violet-blue endless horizons
Your smoky, gray mountains so grand
in the rose blue cool light of dawn
Your chattering bird songs in skies of azure blue
The fragrant scent of amber gold pinecones
in the sparkle of the crystal clear early morning dew
I pay Ode’ to you Great Mother Nature
for every golden ray of sun that warmed my skin
that hangs brilliant and dazzling...
in your glorious skies of cerulean blue
Copyright © anne p. murray | Year Posted 2012
STORMS DON’T ALWAYS LAST
Shipwrecked, my ship destined for destruction
As I sailed across the ocean, storm waves beat against me
Destined for destruction, destined for disaster
Moments of despair, silenced with fear, I tremble
My heart raced with beat of uncertainty
Never would I imagine that this day would come
Waters surrounds , and engulfed me
My ship continued on a course I have never experienced before
This time for sure I thought I would die
While I sat there praying that the storm would soon be over
Tears streams down my eyes as I battled to reach the seashore
I was lost and afraid ,sure to sink, lost my anchor
Then in wink of a moment everything felt quiet
I rush hastily to the deck just to make sure ,it was then i realized
Suddenly the rain stopped, the thunder stop rolling
The wind was calmed, the sea was silent
As I gazed across I could see land for sure
It was then I recognized that even though I go through the storms of life
Storms clouds always pass.
Copyright © NANCY KNIGHT | Year Posted 2012
Twinkling eyes that sparks, funny how emotions can takes over the heart
Impossible words that is hard to find, thinking one movement and he might cross
the line. He wore his pride like a badge, but the wounds in his heart is deep,
and for him to love again is just a broken dream.
Even through loneliness scream when he’s under his sheet,
He rather succumb to its sting, other than listened to the silence song his
Heart had to sing. Known his heart is a self made wall,
And he’s not the type of man she should tell how much she loved afterall.
Thoughts kept running through his mind when he recall
how profound he looked her in the eyes. Making him feelings so awkward that
he could not control all he knew is having her besides him daily, his love will grows.
He realize that her tender care is the only thing that keeps him alive, yet he
Settled with routine and afraid go beyond the boundaries.
She reaches out to feel his touch, but somehow had not get enough
Thinking of going her way, but she knew her mind will suffer in everyway
He took her in his arms, where she found security. Hands in hands
She looked in her lover eyes and saw the love inside and
Made him show the feelings, he always had to hide
Tears fell down his face as emotions takes over
his body language says everything and there things became clear.
Copyright © kelleyana junique | Year Posted 2011
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 Tanjang | Year Posted 2014