Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor,
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.
In bloodied mud and shattered wood, fight legions of the brave,
Unwitting youth, you’ll do your duty until you’re in the grave.
A sergeant greets a fresh-faced boy, “welcome to the slaughter!”
Here you die from three diseases, bullet, gas or mortar.
In arms we fight together and in leaden hails we pass,
We die amongst the filth and stench that once was verdant grass.
“In the morning we will remember them” we hear the leaders call,
Those fickle words of history, will not remember us all.
Copyright © Howard Bull | Year Posted 2009
A view of the ragged woodland from
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Imposing upon with demands and
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
Each draped aside of the cold
Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2017
This is a very long poem and I will understand if you choose not to spend the time reading it.
It is something I wrote a long time ago and I thought I’d just put it out here in case anyone cared to read it.
Thank you, Chris
So Soft is the Sonnet of Willows
Such is the heart of a dreamer
Sought after deep in the mist
Seeking the quest of a thirsting desire
Falling to moments like this
Peering the distant endeavor
Calling the places I’ve known
Sending out visions so endless in wonder
Standing this ledge all alone
Come to my heart always steady
Shape it as how it should be
Teach me the ways of your unending song
Lyrics of comfort to me
Lift me with phrases now spoken
Take from my words on the page
Collections of feelings I wear on my sleeve
Shine me the light of your ways
I am of clay so unmolded
Bend me and shape me to form
Open my heart with the keys of your love
While dying I wish to be born
Caverns so wide as I forage
The depth of their history deep
Shadows that follow the pathways I walk
Stairways my soul it does keep
Yours is my desperate reason
Clinging to every fold
Challenges lie in wake of the storm
Northerly winds flowing cold
I shan’t recoil destinations
My mind it is set on the prize
Temptingly so it does fan every flame
Come I shall soon realize
Time for the moment a danger
Season’s of past now I fear
As I declare my unending longing
Wishing you ever so near
Trapped as I traverse the mountain
Chains of my pain garner tight
Reaching for avenues lost in the fog
Blinded by darkness of night
Soon I will relive the mornings
Joined by a perfect content
Welcoming sunrise as everywhere glows
Finding the hours we’ve spent
Trusting that no one is watching
Holding your hand on the street
Wrapping my arms ‘round your waist for a while
Kissing your lips soft and sweet
Words that will require actions
Motions in spite of the sky
Threatening these clouds overhead as I walk
Waving the past a good bye
Now as my life is beginning
Fortunate flags sure to wave
Sending a secret embedded in stone
Caution for this I do crave
Asking this long winded journey
Steps in the grass for to find
Destiny praises my unfettered wishes
Spent as the heart does unwind
Yours is the hand that I reach for
Save me in spite of my tears
Love me for many more wars shall invade
Filling the future with years
Run with me out to the fields
Keep me in sight at all turns
Paint me with colors so vibrant and true
Teach me for I want to learn
I will not be so untrusting
Pressures no longer to hide
Truth is my shield as it shines ever gold
Honesty I shall confide
Come to my heart it is waiting
Here in this darkened abyss
Shining so bright for your eyes now to see
Reaching for you that I miss
I promise you shall not be sorry
Taking this chance is the key
Found in the corners of thoughts so inspired
True as my covenant be
I whisper my truth through the mountains
Breathless I run to the shore
Hopeful I patiently wait your reaction
Searching for you evermore
Soft is the sonnet of willows
Wavering winds form the streams
Blowing so that you may welcome my peace
Singing the songs of your dreams
Mine is a tiresome journey
Treasures all cast to the bay
Every dollar I’ve owned as a man
Spent in a fortunate way
For this is my precious possession
A heart that does beat from above
Carefully showing the face of the plan
Showering you with my love
Rain on the valley of passion
Rose petal scent brings the breeze
Take from this night the joys of affection
Lingered in fresh memories
This I do pledge, my heart crossing
No longer wishing to die
Rivers of hope that do wash on your feet
Sent forth attempting to try
Cherishing love I am finding
Wanting forever to be
Everything that you do see in your soul
All that’s expected of me
I am but only one person
Doing just what I will do
Being myself in the face of the storm
Sending my love up to you
There is no mask I am wearing
The smile you see is for real
I can not be something that I am not
All of my life I reveal
Hoping that you understand this
Praying my words written of
Things that my heart wants to tell you my dear
Penned now with only my love
Such is the heart of a dreamer
Seeking not silver and gold
My only goalis that you love me true
Just as my dreams have foretold
So soft is the sonnet of willows
Wind through their branches blows free
Whispering dreams evermore shall come true
When you are standing with me
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
We will walk then, you and I
When daylight shuts her weary eye;
Down the streets where beggars sleep
And drug crazed addicts spend their keep.
On streets that wind through thick and thin
Past monuments of broken sin
The painted whores who smile a lot
A rejected child that time forgot.
The evening hymn that sorrows sing
The call to prayer that church bells ring;
The sounds and smells that rape a city
The calls for help that won't find pity.
Do we have time to heal the curse
That captures all the universe
Or would it really be worthwhile
To quell the question with a smile?
But we have walked these streets before
And hoped our ears could dim the roar
Of silence gripping cold nightmares
That come unbidden up the stairs.
We share the night with lesser fools
Who stake their plight without sound rules
For each new challenge finds old pain
That lives to give then comes again.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012
Upon the stage of life
there are many puppets of hell.
Their bright costumes conceal sin and strife
and beneath them deception does dwell.
Their lines are a demon inspired script.
They put on a convincing act.
Many souls over their lies have tripped.
It truly is a sad fact.
They call good, evil and evil, good.
Their footwear is the hypocrite’s shoe.
If it’s possible they really would
like to slip that charlatan sandal on you.
Masters are they of façade and guise,
sometimes robed as angels of light.
They prey upon both simple and wise.
To turn men from truth is their delight.
Perhaps it’s a hand puppet or a marionette
dancing to the beat of a diabolical drum.
Their deceptive doctrines some never vet,
and to fabrication they thus succumb.
If their mantras you cannot tolerate,
if you don’t embrace them fully,
puppet voices they’ll raise while they are irate.
They’ll call you a bigot or bully.
There is one sure cure that we have today
to keep ourselves from being shook.
Check out the lines that they boldly say
‘gainst God’s Holy, infallible Book.
If you see through those serpentine soliloquies now,
and things aren’t as they have supposed,
don’t allow the moppets their final bow.
Let the curtain on their drama be closed.
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair
and cauterized with utmost care
A cold coyote fled her lair,
left trapped behind... a torpid bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped and hackled...
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere...
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
I have seen fair lady April
Dance with daffodils;
I have seen the misty dawn
Light moors and windy hills.
Painted in dark shadows
Of a sunlit afternoon
I have smelled the heady scent
Where blue hyacinths commune.
I have heard the curlew's call
As she sailed the wild dark sea;
And seen the sailor guide his ship
In the dream that used to be.
I have known precious moments
In the echoes of a song;
But I never knew the comfort of
A place where I belong.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012
I called to the winds of autumn
As they wrapped up the dying year;
"Oh stay for a moment and tell me
Of answers I need to hear".
Who is the rival of prudence
Who is the merchant of crime
Who closes the eyes of beauty
And steals the hours of time?
Who brings the winter to age
From the springs of the fountain of youth
Who is the companion of sorrow
And destroys the justice of truth?
Who's the apprentice of Satan
The Prince of the Power of Air
Whose appetite is transgression
With more than enough to share?
Who weakens the power of the great
Who slaughters the wisdom of wise
Who brings the honest and gracious
To depths that others despise?
The winds of autumn now answered
With a voice like a phantom call
"It's an evil afflicting so many
Who drown in the drink alcohol."
This is the spell of the devil
Who casts his net from hell
An addiction with power to destroy
Gathering all who are caught in its spell
For his net will gather the unwary
To beguile lost souls with his breath;
This is the destruction of lost dreams
That perish in the arms of death
Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012
the waning moonlight thinly enveloped
the dusky canvas obscurely sprawling
across the way from the window I looked,
I knew a park was there with slides and swing
but for the moment dark revealed nothing,
for the moment I didn’t care, either
because in darkness I felt even darker;
I was lying in bed embraced by regret
of decisions of love and time wasted,
spooning the layered sheets of doubt and fret
all thawed out from my heart into my head;
The memories of hurtful comments said
by and to me were chastising voices
of ghostly choices purposed to depress;
As dusk became the night I became lost
in whimsically strewn wishes and pleas
to gods and stars and genies alike, crossed
as eyes crying for mother drowned in seas,
I spoke to nobody but begged for keys
to unlock another time, another place
to start all over again with new space,
To unseen gods I had long since quit on
I prayed, bargained even, another chance
and I’d do everything right this season
- A jobless man needing a pay advance,
But for thirty three years nary a glance
had alpha or omega set on me
and this night I expected no divine decree;
several hours elapsed as I collapsed
in smoldering thoughts of suicide fanned,
- I had outlasted night’s concealing grasp,
and as the morning sun began its planned
ascent, I gave into Hades’ command
through my tenth floor window whispered to me
of hellish suggestions to jump and flee;
on ledge I stood and looked across the way
for one last glimpse of earth and pastel sky,
- a small souvenir of my final day,
My eyes settled on last night’s park from high
above, and that’s when I saw God’s reply,
- an unspoken answer for eyes turned blind,
His deafening promise to all mankind;
by his heavenly brushes came colors
where none had been, transforming lonely space
into one of vibrance and life renewed,
- and it was a different space,
I watched as birds celebrated morning
with songs of praise and thankfulness,
- and I felt a quick waning emptiness,
I heard the children below lining up
for the school bus all on time and ready
to live and learn in this new day granted,
- and I felt like I knew nothing at all;
but then I knew everything all at once,
and I stepped off the ledge ready to live,
ready to embrace
ready to seize life found…
in another time.
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
Daddy never did understand.
That violence doesnt bring comfort.
A lost soul seeking acceptance from a unwelcome hand.
She was silent no one ever knew.
The secrets behind her bruised eyes.
A shocking victem none but all had a clue.
She cried to empty walls never speaking aloud from fear.
A confession of pain and shattred trust.
this is only what angles hear.
Scars selfinflicted are better than that
As she lays a broken shell gazing at the celling.
She questions if others know what will they say.
Doing whatever it takes to stay numb.
Innocence lost a parent should never betray.
The guilt was placed apon the wrong head.
Void of all emotion.
No child should yern to be dead.
At times it gets to uncomfortable so in
another direction we steer.
For at times it's just to painful to stomach.
What only angles hear.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
Cruel life that goes in diurnal circles,
Never a rest from the inexorable
Events that are flung onto our souls,
No one is ready to defy the unacceptable.
Still we bear the jabs, the tests, the surgery
Hoping to live a better and easy life,
Till better days arrive and we will sweat
As summer heats scorch and wish an end to strife.
A year I spent bedridden full of pain
And saw the sturdy maple tree change
Spring brings out its leaves, summer its fruit,
As seeds disperse in quite a long range
New saplings grow but the tree begins its death
Leaves take new color, an exquisite exchange,
But in the end death is inevitable as it is to all.
So I stay in my bed till time takes its fall.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017
I fell asleep one dreary day
I lost my will, I lost my way
I ran from all I ever knew
And feared the call I was supposed to pursue.
I drank from wells set on fire
And filled my voids with unholy desires.
I dressed the part to play the role
And slowly began to lose my soul.
But, when your down and
And you finally have nowhere else to go
The only way to rise again
Is from the power of an eternal friend.
Many leave when you’re at your worst
When your hearts so heavy, it’s about to burst
Many claim so many titles
Their efforts are futile and their time is idle
Their promises bleed through the incisions
For they can’t possibly understand the mission.
Battles have been the hardest at times
And memories have played with my mind
But, I keep marching like any good solider would
Even though most of the time I am misunderstood.
I keep on fighting the forces and the fears,
Knowing one day he will wipe away every tear.
I keep on giving it my best even when it’s not enough
For only one holds my heart when the waves get too rough.
I keep on believing that one magnificent day
I will see true glory wash away my yesterdays
I keep on believing that one marvelous day,
I will see the gates of my destiny enrapture my today.
By: Sabina Nicole
Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2016
You are the light of my world my precious son
filled my days with happiness and fun.
Always smiling, never blue
how quickly you grew.
shine so bright.
Strive in all you do
now, and for your whole life through.
Spread your wings and fly; my job is done.
You are the light of my world my precious son
Contest – An Invented Form – Andrea Dietrich
syllables checked 11,9,7,5,3,1,3,5,7,9,11
name of new form - mission almost impossible!
Entered in any poem written in 2015 contest sponsored by Laura Loo
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
It seems that all my life I’ve seen some darker times
Now and then the times I knew were more than I could stand.
But, learn we must, from all hard times and soon we come to know
It’s trying times that we go through that makes a boy a man.
When we feel weak at heart and think we’ll never make it
Our spirit strengthens us to somehow carry on.
It’s then we learn that just at midnight things could get no worse
And soon we see the darkness fade and midnight brings the dawn.
Every midnight has a dawning
Every dawning has a day
Where daylight shines on things remembered
And some things lost along the way.
And every passing daylight
Brings evening into play
Where we’ll face another midnight
That brings, yet, one more dawning day.
It seems a pattern thus emerges,
Monotonous as it may seem,
Every midnight brings a dawning,
Filled with all our daylight dreams.
Dreams are meant to bring survival
To those who may have lost their way.
Who found the darkness of the midnight
Kept the dawning light at bay.
So, as near as I can figure,
There’s this we can rely on
However bleak the darkest midnight,
After midnight comes the dawn.
Written by John Posey
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013
Memories Of Bygone Days
O' yes, how well I remember her still
giant black oak atop big wooded hill
Those treasured days now long flown by
our free spirits flying so very high
Summer days within Nature's fine realm
majestic views that did so overwhelm
Cloudy days in the meadow far below
flowers galore, O' what a great show
My lady and I went up there to park
glorious scene set our hearts to spark
Under canopy of that old massive oak
she sweet words of undying love spoke
Our tree saw our love start to bloom
picture of that oak in our bedroom
Two years it watched our love grow
how was it to ever see or dare know
Life came and flew on us so fast
love came deeply but failed to last
Fate sent us onto far different treks
love destroyed, both lives were wrecks
Now I pass that massive tree on the hill
memory recalls her beauty , what a thrill
Time destroyed the scene it ruled then
O' the love of what should, could have been
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
As my spirit look down on the flesh,
Will it be angry or happy at death,
Will the life that I have lived be an inspiration,
Or will the whispers be negative conversations,
Will the church be full or will it be empty,
Will the tributes be 2,or will it be plenty,
Will the few that knew me laugh at me,
Or will children and elders cry for me,
Killed violently,would someone die for me,
Would my over-seas friends,really fly for me,
When "Across the Bridge"is sung,and the dust thrown in,
Will I be spotless or filled with sin,
Will the pastor preach that the Lord I had found,
When I am burnt or put under the ground,
Will my kids be comforted,I prepared for death,
Or will they be angry,I left them in debt,
One thing is for sure,death for the living,
So live your life to the the fullest,from the beginning....
Copyright © Richard Palmer | Year Posted 2012
God is all colours
And He is no colour,
For He lives in the black
And He lives in the white.
He lives in the mixed,red
Olive, brown and yellow,
For He lives in the heart
Where colours out of sight.
God is all creeds
And he is no creed.
He lives in the Muslim
And He lives in the Jew.
He's there in the Hindu,
The Christian, the Buddhist.
In all true believers
And the doubters too-
So why all this predjudice
Because of colour?
Why all this thinking
There's a chosen race?
Why are we fighting
In the name of religion?
When surely God wears
Every human face.
Man has differences
Man has opinions.
That is the way
The human race is run.
God is only ONE GOD
However we see him.
He's one for all,
So that all can be ONE.
Copyright © SYLVIA Coulstock | Year Posted 2010
The heartaches of living are many
The comforts of living are few;
The truths we are told are not many
And the lies we were told have come true.
Anxiety's anguish and burnings
That trust, now frustrated brings
The endless sorrows and yearnings
Are lost in the exhaustion of things.
We're done with the frivolous fancies
They sufficed in times of the past;
When we gathered the poppies and pansies
We knew the dream couldn't last.
When all who are weary are sleeping
Collecting their joys and their cares;
Their planting now ends in the reaping
Of thistles and thorns and the tares.
What happens when dreams are all scattered
As leaves are tossed in the storm;
When our faith has been hopelessly shattered
And hopes and our dreams won't conform?
What we had should have been and therefore
It might and perhaps it will be;
And if not, we should prepare for
A flight from reality.
We speak of the worst and the wiser
But the wiser and worst are as one;
Philosophy is the despiser
Of all that lives under the sun.
There is nothing concrete but confusion
There is nothing decisive but death
We imagine our lives an illusion
For life is an ephemeral breath.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012
Beyond the hills of Auburn
Past the river, through the trees
I found a secret garden
Pretty as you please
A field of red corn poppies
Cosmos and blue bell
Candytuft and blazing star
Bedecked a wishing well
Scarlet sage and tidy tips
Covered a distant knoll
A quiet little gopher
Lies sleeping in his hole
Resting beside a trickling brook
Beneath the weeping willow
I have a bed of scarlet flax
With yarrow for a pillow
Today, I was truly blessed
When a robin dropped me here
You see in any other place
A gardener I would fear
For I am but a lowly weed
That most would only shun
But in this secret garden
I am loved by everyone
Copyright © Dawn Drickman | Year Posted 2005
That tiny pause to skirt the truth, half-reals you'd paraphrase,
The subtle softly spinning gyre of cunning in your gaze,
Vague reflections from your skin - a shedding, sheltering plaque,
All concerned syllables sent swiftly bouncing off your back.
Ever adrift on fiction's lost sea, never blown to shore,
Too late I saw your hidden thirst - too easy to ignore
Evasion and avoidance - thus was piloted your ship,
You'd dance around, not run aground - you gave us both the slip.
I failed your buried, rooted pain, I missed the reddened tracks,
All facts would step aside your rime of displaced parallax,
I slighted each secluded wound, the false-trod thoroughfare,
So ends a life of wary silence, cloaked mutely in despair.
No one knew you as I did, my reward there sadly sure,
I'd like to think away now, yet the hard truths are too pure,
Blinded, perhaps, by my own fear, I let out line for years,
And all my stock of forward time now fills with bloody tears.
Upon my closing sight of you, muzzled words within your eyes,
Your final hour released you not - you'd walked too long on lies.
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2017
What might you find there
down deep in my soul
Within the darkness
of that expansive hole
Will there be substance
Will there be diamonds or coal
Step down the stairs quickly
at the door pay your toll
If you wish to be a voyeur
there will be plenty to see
Unclothed and oh so gorgeous
beautiful women are plenty
Yet the guilt from these carnal thoughts
makes me feel a strange empty
I long for their pleasure
yet I yearn to be set free
Walk a bit further
see deeper to my core
You have just scratched the surface
do you really want to see more
My soul is a vast ocean
no ceiling and no floor
Liquid and expansive
molton lava shore to shore
There is plenty of love there
tremendous courage it's true
I have known my share of pain
there is much that I've been through
Roads I've traveled are many
dark alleys quite a few
I've found the way to the light
my heart is forged a steel blue
If you travel far enough
you will bathe within light
The darkness a shield
to protect this soul with might
Beyond the locked door
my soul rises like a kite
Only those who have courage
can fly to such great height!
For Frank's Contest
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
Life and cigarettes burn to fast.
We waste are time.
So within the moment you bask.
A pretty face has to age.
Every story meets it's final page.
When life breaks you over its cost.
Then you'll sing a lullaby to the lost.
The lights in the street hide all but the truth my
You can act.
But you can never mask your fear.
In dark rooms you sell all but your soul.
A wicked moment a stolen encounter.
All things take there toll.
That sweet face has tuirned hard your so warm
to be cold.
A secret that the bitter have already told.
Can you wash away there stench as from
the past you are tossed.
In dark corners blood stained angles
sing a lullaby to the lost.
Is this hell or a nightmare that knows no end.
A cell to most.
To others the only refuge inwhich they
she falls to the floor a lost look needle
Most will rememeber a doomed fool.
Others her wreckless charm.
She was a junkie and a easy lay.
More bones are broken.
Over words others say.
She sold flesh but payed the ultimate
In a dingy corner of th world.
Were the angles sing a lullaby to the lost.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
Love is a rainbow mirrored in the sky
Its free, its beautiful and tells no lies
A gleaming reflection
Upon the still of a pond
The dewy mist on a freshly cut lawn
Love is a sanctuary for our innermost fears
A tiny capsule to hold all of our tears
A symbol of beauty, rare to be found
Its strength and convictions
Knows no bounds
Love is the touch of our first newborn
So soft, so delicate, so easy to adore
An unconditional consenting of souls
An awareness, a spirit, unique to its own
Love soothes and heals though cannot be bought
An eternal commitment so widely sought
Love is a truth and blossoms for few
A necessity of life, a uniting of hearts
A palette so stunning, so beautiful and new
Love is how I feel for you.
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006
When I first surrendered all to You
it wasn’t clear to me,
that You became the author;
my life, Your poetry.
The pages of my life were dark.
You made them snowy white.
And then with mastery and skill
You began to write.
Each day a different style and form
something fresh and new
always timely and spot on
and never overdue.
So Lord, what will it be today
that flows from Your ready pen
across this chapter of my life
that will be read by men?
Will it be a monorhyme
of how You came through for me just in time?
Perhaps it’s an ottava rima
in perfect pentameter
that tells how my love for You
has grown deeper and much sweeter.
It just might be a ballad
with a tender and touching refrain
of how I stumbled and faltered
but You picked me back up again.
Could there be a principle
that I really need to learn
which You’ll write upon my life
as a repetitive quatern?
Since the furtherance of Your kingdom
is Your holy and noble tactic
perhaps You’ll craft in me
a revelatory didactic.
Diamante, tanka, limerick, haiku,
Lord, the choice is up to You.
Of all poetic forms that be
You know what to engrave on me.
Free verse or even hexaverse diminished
Dear God, please write on until my story is finished.
I learned several years ago from a minister that preached at our church that the Greek word for workmanship in the verse below is “poiema”, from which our English word “poem” is derived. This was my inspiration for this poem.
Ephesians 2:10(KJV) For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.
For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].Ephesians 2:10(Amplified Bible)
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
A Slow Hand, Deep Thoughts And True Pen
Each time I write of my crashed hopes and dreams
mind falls into black-depths, sends cold shivers.
Tempted to falsely praise my misdeeds and schemes
I return to my vow, embracing realm of true givers.
Such leaning towards positive and the good
once was abhorrent, not in my prideful style.
When lightning bolts struck me as they should
I found my life was a massive rubbish pile.
With pen and paper I then sought truth to tell
of life, love, loss and darkness once embraced.
O' yes, I did not hide my parades in hell
nor innocent young life I once so disgraced.
Years flew by and age gave its usual aches
far too oft, I swore to give my poetry up.
Darkness whispered, take well deserved breaks
porch lounge sit, empty thy hot coffee cup.
Ah, but my muse, she heard and was not amused
up she bolted, screaming like a raving banshee.
Reminded me of my past, my life I had so abused
what a coward I would be if I now sought to flee.
Pen in hand and regretful of my wasted past
I write to send some light and truth boldly tell.
Praying some good comes, a few words may last
redeem myself from youthful days dancing in hell.
( Seek to do good and watch as darkness flees )
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
Truth Found, Recovery Of A Broken Soul
In nightmarish dreams he found such great dread
Of lost hope, life's decay, eyes of the dead.
Day's clear lights his damaged mind repaired
Deep traps from which his heart had been ensnared.
In sunshine he felt life's returning glows
Erase night pains and darkest of its blows.
As sun waned and shadows of dark arrived
He felt again, joy vanquished, love deprived.
What of this devilish, persistent foe
With such powers, its broken claws regrow.
Hope alone, can evil be defeated
Or must Fate decree, his life be cheated.
In sun's bright shining hours his heart grew bold
Oft from tales of warriors of old.
On such bright days his thoughts returned to her
Destroyed dark powers that made life a blur.
Where deepest love passions reign, hope survives
For in man's inner soul, true love revives.
Times and cherished moments serve to remind
With love's great truth, one can never go blind.
Standing firm with knowledge of man's powers
One can face even darkest of dark-hours.
Faith, love and hope are the right paths to take
All the rest are results of blind mistakes.
Armed with newfound wisdom and clearer path
He had weapons to overcome Fate's wrath.
Every night before falling fast asleep
Head bowed, he recited prayers true and deep.
As new dawn's brighter lights came, his heart knew
Torments were over, as joys in life grew.
Found true, cursed Fate can be defeated
If one but lives, each day truth is greeted.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
Their lives begin, that special day
Your hardest job, is on the way.
Walking and pacing, all night long
Knowing that one day, they’ll be strong.
Watching them crawl, then walk and run
Treasure each moment, share their fun.
They grow so fast, enjoy each day
For sometime soon, they’ll move away.
Years of school, sometimes they will drag
We’re filled with pride, we parents brag.
Teaching our kids, always be kind
Lasting friendships, many will find.
Do as I say, not as I do
We all have said, our parents too.
The truth comes out, don’t cheat or lie
Don’t try and skimp, to just get by.
Take the right path, we try to guide
Sometimes they don’t, we let it slide.
Knowing they must, find their own way
Life is tough, on track they must stay.
Bumps in the road, many will hit
We as parents, just have to sit.
Learn from mistakes, it takes its’ toll
Their independence, that’s our goal.
The hardest part, is yet to come
When high school years, are said and done.
We’ve done our jobs, as best we could
We must let go, or so we should.
Give them their wings, and let them fly
As we sit back, and often cry.
Turning the page, is hard to do
Wondering if, they listened to you.
Reach for the stars, follow your dreams
It takes time, forever it seems.
Your heart will break, can’t let it show
It’s so difficult, letting go.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski | Year Posted 2009
The saddest eyes I have ever seen, were green
Filled with broken promises and broken dreams
And looking closely in them I could see
Every horror and trauma she had ever seen
And the tortured past… that her life had been
And I cried the tears she could not cry
As she hid behind her broken eyes
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010
THE POET’S PANEGYRIC
“There’s someone I knew with talent unleashed
and a heart that had for so many relentlessly reached
This poet sought inspiration from the living and the dead
But I can tell you this about the poet who has moved me by what this poet had ever said
I read the words from a comfort zone
which this poet created, surrounded by friends or by foes or simply alone”
His essence of soul sweeps down deserted dead streets
where the thunder still crackles, the burial bell bleats
He laughed at himself as a Royal Rhymester Clown
but bore the black pains of those all aroun’,
He echoed regrets but never a grudge
... of this I’ll say little... let his lines be the judge
THE POET’S PEN
Blind shots cry out beneath the night,
a car is cruising by.
A stripling’s blood streams words to write
... Wry rhymes to ask us why
A silly girl with child, unwed...
to many, but a slut.
The baby at her breast is dead
... Cruel couplets meant to cut
A drifter, broken, cast aside,
lies lifeless in the cold.
Tap tattoos on a tattered hide
... Some scarlet stanzas scold
Two lovers clutch a turtledove,
enraptured by her coo,
impaled on pangs of Ladylove
... A sultry song for two
A drone of drums in distant wars
beguiling bold dragoons
who sell their souls like wanton whores
... Raw rhythms writ in runes
The stars ablaze, like tiger-eyes
’lume angels singing Lullabies
... A sonnet stuns the night
The soulless eyes of shackled slaves
bleed tears that burn and blur.
Their ash, like dust, set free in graves
... Emblazing ballads stir
A hurricane, foretold, unfurled,
unravels mystic signs
as Demons dance, destroy the World
... Limned lurid lyric lines
Some die a death neath hangmen’s hands
where tainted justice reigns
for ‘thou shalt kill’, Revenge commands
... A quiet quatrain pains
While well-to-dos amass and flaunt
And follow fashion’s trends,
pale children starve and die of want
... And so an epic ends
THE POET’S EPITAPH
His words lie strewn along the sand
While breakers wash ashore
The ripples weave designs unplanned
... a verse forevermore
His tales, entwined in cryptic airs
where freedom seeds are blown,
warn Guarders of the Realm ‘beware’
... his heresy is sown
His life outlined a chronicle
along a lonesome road
It started out as doggerel
... and ended as an ode
With a little help from my extremely talented, but somewhat modest, friend “ANON” AKA JC...
Thanks JC, for the depth of your support and your breath of inspiration...
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013