Icy cold rain floods the brutal cold air
forcing many to seek shelter in their homes
Inclement weather indicates the arrival of Winter
as people seek comfort in warm temperatures
Children watch in glee as snow falls elegantly
running outside to build snowmen and for snowball fights
Snow is like life, so beautiful - until people trample over it
comparable to the life of the homeless who have no where to go
Cruel judgement leads to them being shunned and alienated
but did you ever look into their eyes? They are human!
Complaints that they are drunk - but the alcohol keeps them warm
Do you think they choose to be destitute?
Why judge what you do not understand
They are displaced by life's hardships - searching for refuge
While you sleep in your warm comfortable beds
spare a thought for those freezing tonight
Defeated, depressed, hungry and freezing cold
they will sleep rough again - hoping not to wake up tomorrow
Winter contest by Broken Wings
The Silent One
14 November 2015
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed
This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace
With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base
These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews
One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar
The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die
In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail
Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction
Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died
The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind
Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
At internet dating sites secrets are hidden
On his roller coaster of lies, Pam had ridden
Though she agreed to meet Joe in a public park
The sun had already set; it was growing dark
No families or lovers were strolling around
When Jim came from behind and pushed Pam to the ground
Pam went home and was afraid to tell her parents
In four months there was a change in her appearance
Pam left home and started living on the streets
Turning away from every stranger she’d meet
‘Neath neon lights on a cardboard box she lay
Night after night, visiting soup kitchens by day
In her eighth month she found a home for pregnant teens
As her mom endured the torment of fearful dreams
Time neared and Pam called home crying, “Mom, I’ve done wrong!”
Grateful mom said, “Dear, I’d have been there all along"
Lifting Pam up from the grasp of dire poverty
Her parents welcomed the newborn to their family
If she hadn’t made that call, Pam would not have known
The comfort she’d receive in her parents’ fine home
* Entry for Gwendolen’s “Mom, I’m Pregnant” contest.
According to Douglas J. Besharov with the University of Maryland’s School of Public
Policy, almost half of all families headed by women under age 18 have incomes
below the poverty line. This is almost five times the poverty rate of two-parent
families with children.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011
I was laying on the beach
On a hot August morn
A sudden pain in my gut
I knew that something was wrong
It's Eddie. I felt it so strong
I Picked up my cell and I called
The emotional pain of it all
My body curled up in a ball
I sat up again to be sure,
the solar plexus was sore
Why to I question these signs
I know that there isn't a cure
For the feelings I want to ignore
He never answered the phone
I packed up my stuff and went home
I worried all day and all night
The sunrise brought more than just light
The loud banging began at the door
I peeked through the blinds to be sure
There were cops all over the street
Guns drawn made the picture complete
I opened the door full of fear
Oh my God! Why are they here?
My heart dropped, I wanted to hide
When he said "Sgt. White, homicide."
Is your son home he wanted to know
With his foot in the door I said no
Do you mind if we just have a look
And I backed up after biting the hook
They swarmed through the house
Guns up in the air
Upstairs to his room
They looked everywhere
My solar plexus was right
I'm glad I came home last night
But where did he go? I needed to know
His innocence still in my sight
The officer said have a seat
Let's talk about where he could be
A boy was found dead in the street
A witness put Ed at the scene
Don't worry he said as I pulled my robe tight
Your son was a victim of robbery last night
I know he's afraid to come out in the light
I didn't believe him. But I knew he was right.
My son was afraid and now I knew why
He took someone's life who's mother will cry
He was just seventeen a year younger than Ed
Why do these kids seem to be so misled?
What happened that night is a mom's biggest fear
A child was lost in the drug war I hear
The exchange in the alley of weed for the cash
Was a set up to rob him of all that he had
When the kid put a gun against my son's head
Said 'empty your pockets' or soon you'll be dead
He had no idea that the pocket was packed
With a 38 special protecting the cash
The rest of story is packed in a box
The panic, the fear, the action, the shock
He emptied the gun and ran for his life
While Nicholas bled on the pavement that night
My heart cries to God asking why must I be
The mom of the kid who killed her baby
I cry for her loss as if it were mine
I beg her forgiveness, and I offer her mine.
You don't want to be either one of these moms
Our children at risk, a sign of the times
God please shine Your light on this good Earth today
We're all human beings who've just lost our way.
Copyright © karen feist | Year Posted 2008
See the girl living on the streets? does anyone know she is there,
Do you see that girl down in the dumps? and does anyone care.
We don't know the reason that she left her home and do any of us want to know?
She's out in all weathers without any covers in rain, hail and snow.
Does anyone wonder if she's ever lonely when we're all tucked up in our beds,
when she's wet and cold, and we're warm and cosy does it ever enter our heads.
She might have been beaten when her home she left, she's sad and she's lonely and often bereft.
Does anyone see me alone on the streets? trying to smile at all that I meet,
asking for pennies for a warm cup of tea, we're not all on drugs, at least not me.
I'm trying to avoid going down that road I try to remember the things I've been told.
Stories of people lying in the gutter, and people passing by all of a mutter.
Do they care, what they see there? I suppose they think it's everywhere !
But I would like to say to all of you . I don't take drugs, I'm one of the few.
So to all of you sat home by your fires, spare a thought for me,
when you pass me by tomorrow, I'd love a cup of tea.
Copyright © jacque lee | Year Posted 2007
Nobody knows the pain she hides,
No one cares to look inside.
This little girl that’s only nine,
Has to fight to stay alive.
Her mom’s an alcoholic,
And her daddy does drugs.
She gets beaten and bruised,
Instead of kisses and hugs.
Nobody hears the little girl’s cries,
Nobody notices her wet swelled eyes.
When her mommy is drunk and her daddy is high,
So she doesn’t get beaten, she has to hide.
She’s sick of the pain,
That she suffers from every night.
She’s sick of getting punished,
For her mom and dad’s fights.
So, she went downstairs and grabbed a rope,
And hung it way up high.
She stood on a chair and put her head through the noose,
And jumped and hung there to die.
Her mom came home drunk that night,
Her daddy came home high.
To find her hanging by the rope,
To find out she had committed suicide.
Nobody knew the pain she hid,
Nobody cared to look inside.
The little girl that had wet swelled eyes,
Committed suicide and no longer has to fight to stay alive.
Copyright © Ashlee Vargon | Year Posted 2006
Do you know what its like to be
in absolute darkness?
And I want to be back
on a foggy night
where winter doesn't fall too far
the only thing you can see
is a distant street light
yellow and gold
glowing from the distance
the wet leaves that fell from the trees
fill the night
with a dewy smell
I turn the key
flood the road
one line, two lines,
they all combine
into a white blur keeping me
from crossing into the abyss
I could drive forever
I want to be gone again
back to my home.
Copyright © Amy Kramer | Year Posted 2013
The sky screams,
air is thick.
Seconds like days,
years 'tween each tick.
Tit for tat the raptors dance.
Each step wounds, talons like bayonets.
Earth below quakes at each traded blow.
Foundations shaken by spat of foes.
Frosted, frozen, clad in ice.
The world stands still, fear the vice.
The center may boil, but winter-wrapped still
She cannot reach out, no pow'r to stop the kill.
Alas, Earth stands back and wills done be the fray.
Final thundering shrill shrieks, 'tis gone for today.
The scars still remain,
Unbeknownst to they that tread.
Earth still feels the pain,
Still feels gelid winter's dread.
Copyright © Jonathan J. | Year Posted 2014
I am A shadow That lurks on The wall that has No Home None at all But to have no home a
Shadow would say is worst way to live out each day.
I am The shower cap covered in rust i do not work right but I am a must so you put up
with me for the time being until you used me all for your need.
I am an outcast who sits alone who is treated like I do not belong and goes off alone to
cry plotting his end as others laugh at me and spin wicked lies about things I've done
making me wish i ended it with a gun.
I am the friend you once had that moved away and made you sad but said good by and turned
away as you tried to stop me and make me stay but i smile and say the words you wished to
hear all those years.
I am me a young man with hope who ends his day trying to cope with the withdraws from
drugs like dope and cry's as he chokes on his own words when he looks at you and you spit
and curve away from me and all i did was say hi to ye but it wasn't you that made me cry
it was the feeling of wanting to die to hide away from the world from those who say
I Am a mess a nothing a no one.
Copyright © Jeff Smith | Year Posted 2009
Scatter me there where the winds are sweet
To the blue of the sky and the sun’s bright heat
On Oliver’s Camp where the dragon lines meet
Scatter me there on the hill
Scatter me there where the waters flow
Where the weeping mourners come and go
Down by The Wharf where the ducklings grow
Scatter me there on the bridge
Scatter me there where the earth sees all
When the pond is lit by a moonbeam’s fall
Where the children play and the drunkards brawl
Scatter me there on the green
Scatter me there where the griffons play
Where the waters pour the hours away
In the pool of the fountain on Market Day
Scatter me there in the stream
Scatter me there with the silent dead
Where ages of souls have been buried and wed
And the angels cavort among coffins of lead
Scatter me there by the church
Scatter me there where the townsfolk cried
And strew flowers on the steps when Diana died
On the stair where 'tis said that Ruth Pierce lied
Scatter me there on the cross
Scatter me here and leave me be
On every street, under every tree
Until I am dust and memory
Scatter me here where I’m free
Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016
Why did you hit Mommy?
You can't punish me,
You're not my daddy!
You say not to hit,
But your actions declare you a hypocrite.
You push Mommy down,
But you say not to tell unless I say she fell.
I try my darnedest to be good,
But you say I'm not action like I should.
You hurt my feelings,
But you say you're just teaching me something with meaning.
You come home with more than just Mommy,
But you say I saw nothing
The night you came home drunk,
You know the night you shot Mommy with a shotgun . . .
The night you left her beaten, bruised, scarred,
Bleeding on the ground. . .
The night she went to sleep and never woke up
That night I was left alone,
Nowhere to go.
Why did you do it
When you said you loved Mommy?
Why did you leave me stranded
When you said you cared about me?
Because of you
I am left here to die
Beside this dumpster where you told me to lye.
I've been waiting here like you said,
But you r face I have not seen
You have let me down, Mister,
But that is nothing new.
You always told me to be a good child,
So I will.
With what's left of me,
I will wait,
Calling your name . . .
Mister . . . ?
Mister . . . ?
Copyright © Amanda Gough | Year Posted 2007
I used to call Michigan my sweet home,
growing up used to camp by Lake Erie,
now this state has left me sad and alone,
honestly there’s nothing left there for me.
Jet’s Pizza was my most favorite food,
Jimmy’s Coney Island every Tuesday,
now all the loss and death has changed my mood,
and to leave this state is all I can pray.
Renaissance Festival in the summer,
used to be a place of laughter and fun,
but now Michigan is a big bummer,
and pleasurable moments I have none.
Michigan used to feel like home to me,
but maybe I should move to Tennessee.
December 29, 2016
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
perhaps memories linger,
with wisps of wafting moments,
aware, somehow, even of the now,
Though long forgotten by all others,
One wonders why, and surely how,
Such strong vibrations of the past,
Seem to time, to have taken a bow...
Gutted building, windows broken,
Creaking, leaking floor,
Last stepped on by the living,
So many, many years before...
Where lives were lived, and
deaths have come in their way,
To others, in a time gone by,
Who here saw their last sad day,
Tears were cried,hearts
Love withered, its flame
reduced to ash...
Is this a mysterious black hole of time??
A singularity, of now and here...
Where time is not so limpid...
And death is always near,
And fear can swim in the unknown,
The fear of time's mysterious cloud...
As ticks, as tocks, somehow go forever by,
so mysteriously, and seemingly, oh so loud...
What was the last calendar's year hung?
The last phone call received,
And who had been the one rung??
Secure in forgotten
And with time,
you've lost the race.
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007
It seems like just the other day
Our pup, Shadrack, did pass away;
And altho’ they never seemed like friends,
My old cat, Jorg, knew Shad had met
his untimely end.
He mourned his loss every day
And looked for Shadrack everywhere.
He’d mew and moan as if to say,
“We were friends. I do care.”
Then one night, an eerie howl
Awoke me from my sleep.
He’d found Shad’s toys and left no doubt
That his feelings did run deep.
So our tedious search began
To find another likely pup;
But while my poor wife still grieved,
Could another measure up?
We went to Second Chance and Free to Live.
She just could not make up her mind.
She loved them all; but, if she picked just one,
The rest would have to stay behind.
Then, quite by chance, there was a “pound pup”
Who’d been picked up from the streets.
He was a mutt, a “schnauza-pug”;
But he was awfully sweet.
He jumped up and kissed her frantically.
He seemed aware of his “iffy” situation.
He made the best of his opportunity.
Tears of joy told her elation.
“This is the one”, she smiled through tears,
As she held him... oh, so tight.
“I’m sure that Jorg will like him too.
Everything will be alright”.
And so it was, until one day
When old Jorg did pass away…
There was no hesitation on this sad occasion;
Come Saturday morning, we went straight
to the pound,
Open minded and hoping to be “saviors”,
Surely a nice cat was to be found.
“Sadly”, the lady said,” three kitties have only today.
There’s Andre and Panda and another one too”.
My wife smiled and said, “Jorg was your boy. You pick.
They’re both beautiful cats. It’s up to you”.
As I pondered this commitment
Another cat, a young one, caught my eye.
Like Jorg, he was a common gray tabby.
Fond memories were stirred. I almost cried.
On closer look, his name was Boris;
And, strangely, he was number three.
There was a small sign on his crate,
“I don’t like other cats and other cats don’t like me”.
But there was character in his eyes and he was cute.
He was rolling and purring and stretching.
He seemed to look deep into my heart
And did his best to be quite fetching.
But because he was just a common gray tabby,
And because of the little sign,
His chances were slim, his future quite dim
And one day is precious little time.
For a moment I was lost in his eyes
And I heard his desperate plea,
“I’m a swell cat and litter box trained.
Take me. Please, take me”.
“Well”, my wife urged, “is it Andre or Panda”?
“One of us will take the other kitty.”, two older ladies chimed.
“You can each have one ladies”, I said with a smile.
I want Boris and he wants to be mine”.
In just hours he was romping and rolling with Pepper,
Who had happily welcomed his new friend.
Boris was a perfect fit, an affirmation;
The Circle of Life never ends.
Much more Joy than Sadness in this Circle,
And there should never be regrets.
Honor their memories and all the love they share,
Never break the Circle, never be without a Pet.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change
People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.
People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names
The list could go on
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou,
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew
George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise
Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle,
But obviously greatness can be done.
We can rise above this stigma
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2011
Dizzied by the whirl of crowds
On sidewalks, seen through windows --
Reflected in mirrored, columned walls --
I drink, I eat, I mull and fret, I yearn,
Little lulled by homely music
Softly playing beneath sonorous
Strains of Spanish
(Beautiful tongue, not yet quite my own,
But now not strange to me --
Not wholly foreign.)
I sneak sidelong glances, I peek, I stare.
And I almost always feign indifference:
A pseudo-cosmopolitan air.
I am quiet and excessively polite,
Not yet knowing how to be rude
In this still stiff idiom.
And, I am ever intensely lonely --
Hungry for a caressing, offhand phrase,
Or only a stray familiar word, hardly heard,
Whispering all there is to say of home.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
He is a sad man, badly flawed, but hardworking
He believes he is beyond reproach, just like many proud men do
That face does not crack a smile; a sign of 'weakness' it is to him
His poor children starve for the affection of a busy and distant Father
But by now, they've learned to keep warm hugs only for Mother
With the mindset that he was the spindle of his fine home and firm
Delegation of tasks came easy, and was delivered with shouts and expleties
Like a dark cloud he'd hover over his staff as they worked
And with no qualms, he'd claim credit for successes
And no one would stand up to him; no one ever dared
Most important in his life was work; he had no genuine friend
His warped mind assured him that no one was his equal in anyway
At home, he planned the weekly meals and dictated where they'd shop
And when a drink at dinner was accidentally spilled
Unforgiveness ruled the home for days
Toys seized as punishment were never to be seen again
Whether a favorite doll or game, it mattered not; sobs wouldn't break his heart
Clueless was he that in the hours he was away
His submissive family and servants come alive
And during times when he was at home, it had the feel of a tomb
One Friday night he delayed the staff by working extra late
Then when he called down for his car only to find the driver asleep
His rage overtook his senses and he threw the driver out!
In that instant he sat in the driver's seat hurling insults out loud
In blinding rain, and fuming with anger, he took the exit ramp at high speed
He never saw the old, blown-out tire coming at him just ahead
Fate that night made a devastating decision... it was taking back control
In his bedroom today, he lies motionles and sadly, visitors never sit for very long
Though unable to speak, he's gracious to see, the frolicking birds through his tears
At times he stares at the lonely hour glass upon the shelf below the window sill
For Jeremy's "Objectify Me Free Verse" Contest
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2013
Children give me pitying stares, At least I'd at home,
Pointing and screaming, Home,Sweet Home,
Giving my cubs a scare. Home in my forest,
Deep in China.
Keepers poke around my space,
Making me uncomfortable, When I'm lost and feeling alone,
In my place. I'd like to think that I was at home,
Back In my Home,
Adults think me as a comic pet, In China
Laughing and cheering,
It's like putting me under a net. At least I'd be at home,
Home, Sweet Home,
Teenagers think nothing of me, Home in my forest,
The past, the present, the future to come Deep in China.
I'm stuck in captivity,
Why can't they see?
As if I'm a wolf,
I'm nothing from a story book.
If I was back in my home,
Back in China,
It would be dream come true.
My brothers and sisters,
Would be waiting for me,
We would play together,
Out in the trees.
I would still live in fear,
From gunners and destruction,
But I would be at home
Copyright © Laura Bucknall | Year Posted 2016
P aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Susan sits by an open window
Remembering her brother
It was during the sixties when it happened
The exact date was May 8, 1966
They called the Sixties liberating
A time when America accepted change
But it wasn’t like that for everyone
Her brother Stevie
Was two years younger than she was
The guys in school used to call him names
Like sissy boy and queer
Saying if he got into trouble his sister would have to stick up for him.
But Stevie was better
Way better than the bullies at school.
At home Susan and her brother
Would move the living room coffee table
Push the old couch back
And then sing the old favorites
In close harmony
Songs about teenage love
Like the sad love ballads by the Everly Brothers
Or the Righteous Brothers
The sadder the love song
The more they liked it
They would stand together
Moving ever so slowly
And sing those songs so loud
And so close
To each other’s face
Over and over
And then Stevie would whistle the ending
While their parents
Clapped and clapped
Then one late afternoon
When Stevie didn’t come home from school
The phone rang and rang
With a strange incessant kind of ringing
That jarred their mother
It was someone from the school saying
That horseplay got out of hand
Then the police came
A man in a suit spoke to father in the kitchen
Whispering over the clouds of cigarette smoke
Susan could barely hear his hoarse whisper
Only things like “We‘re going to investigate this”
And “I promise I’ll do what I can”
Her family never did find out what happened to the investigation.
Along the way
Away from home
Something peculiar happened to Susan
She lost something of herself
And would sit
Staring out of the window
Not seeing anything
Just thinking of her brother.
She still does it today
Out to nowhere
Every time she hears one of those old songs
She feels that Stevie is still with her.
Forgiveness is a long word
For what happened a long time ago
All Susan has are memories
If she could just absorb them
And put them in a little bottle
And carry them around
So whenever she started feeling down
She’d open the bottle
And all those good memories
Would remind her just how special life is
And Stevie would still be there
Their bodies entwined
She holding the last note
He snapping his fingers
Whistling the last sad tune.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2012
It's silly isn't it?
That I could fall for you so easily
And you not give two shits?
You spoke your drunken words
And admitted to always loving me
It was the best thing I had ever heard.
When we hung out soon after
And I left you with a kiss
I didn't think the feelings mattered.
But as we spent time apart
I realized it wasn't the same
You had won my heart.
I got drunk and spilled my words
And you said you still felt the same
I was happier than a bird.
We made plan after plan
You always fell through
I felt like a speck of sand.
You told me you were trying to get a girl
I smiled and bared the tears
I had hoped to be the girl.
You soon stopped replying
I started to break down
I was almost done trying.
But no not tonight
I got drunk and spilt more words
I hope I did what's right.
I thought we were the perfect fit
I fell for you so hard
But, that's silly, isn't it?
Copyright © Kimber Robinson | Year Posted 2013
When are you coming home, son?
I miss your smile,
you've been gone for quite some time now
we haven't talked for a while.
When are you coming home, son?
How are things, all right?
I still have that picture you gave me
I look at it every day and night.
When are you coming home, son?
I know this war's been hard on you,
I still remember the day you left
I said, I loved you.
When are you coming home, son?
I see the plane landing there,
but it's a coffin draped with the flag
'tis something I can not bare.
When are you coming home, son?
I remember days gone past,
I now stand, looking over your gravestone
you were taken from me, your life went fast.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Being a Canadian, writing this bothered me. Thinking about the American troops in Iraq and the Canadian troops in Afghanistan. When will our governments finally see what they are doing is wrong and send our troops home?
Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015
In my day we played outside, riding horses,
Playing hide and seek and on swings and slides.
And only on rainy days
Were we confined inside to play.
We played slap jack, crazy eight, go fish
And Lincoln logs was our dish.
Everyone drank coffee and tea
No caffeine worries did they see
All our houses were painted bright
And no one heard of the lead base plight
The new homes of the day had asbestos,
But what the hey!
This was during World War II
Where our fathers, brothers, uncles and aunts
Left our homes for foreign lands.
Here at home when sirens screamed
It was our Air Raid Warning Drill.
And companies that worked through the night
Were required to paint their windows black
Safety was our countries goal
Here at home and on foreign soil.
We played at the lake and tanned or fried
When we got home a little cow cream was applied.
Where I lived prohibition was still affirmed
And Bootleggers were the cops major concern.
The air we breathed was just air
Unless a corral or hog farm were near.
Transportation was car, bus or train
The only planes I ever saw
Were B 29’s heading for foreign soil.
I can’t help but wonder how we survived
Compared to the rules and laws we now abide.
I just heard a well known man say
“No more Santa Claus he is to fat”
“It’s bad for kids to honor a man like that.”
The Christmas tree has become “Happy Holiday”
No prayers in school, It breaks the rules they say.
Religion in government there is no place
“In God We Trust” is a disgrace.
When was the last time the Constitution was read
Were our Forefathers out of their heads?
“Merry Holidays too and you best take a stand
If you want to continue to have Peace in Our Land.”
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007
welcomes the sun
earthly beauty revealed
celebration in paradise
apple difficult to resist
one bite never enough
mourn the dying
This poem is not a true cinquain, but loosely follows the cinquain format. The fifth line is used as a transition or mirror for the two parts of the poem.
Copyright © Frank Polgar | Year Posted 2014
I did it again; I need forgiven.
Will He still forgive me even though I've fallen before?
I've fallen into these same sins countless times before;
I still haven't learned my lesson.
I am an ignorant hypocrite.
Am I still forgiven?
Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013
A summer love, so riant and so warm
Underneath the rays of gold
Though covered with sudor, I want to be around your arms
Forever is nothing but what I hold
And yes, it was but summer
Goodbyes are kept until we're home again
We spent the season out of the boundary
But it wasn't like what I remembered
And so I yearned for home, refrain
The way back home is my quandary
Copyright © Hansteven Selfa | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)
Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,
they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.
They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,
and white was right in South Africa back then,
but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,
you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.
You, my mother, would not, could not break,
You stood firm, you stood tall.
You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.
You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,
the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,
my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,
by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.
You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.
You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,
you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,
you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.
Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,
all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.
I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,
the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.
I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,
you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,
of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.
I salute you!
(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
It was a home on the river we lived .
It was the ghost of a young man whom had taken his own life.
I still remember the vision of him walking by me with a blank stare
We, as a Family of seven , moved into this river house
Panoramic views right out to the river , I should mention
I was home alone as a child , looking out at "The Julia Belle Swan " as she went by .
Upstairs in that room as I saw a figure walking by , with very nice features , auburn hair
I thought he was my older brother , a handsome young guy
Then I realized the young man was not my brother , a apparition he appeared .
He was not there to scare or frighten ,
the message I believe he wanted to shed light on, so clear.
He walked right by ,then disappeared through the window, out to the River .
The Ghost knew I could see him , a gift I have been given
when I was a younger child of five , I had once died for a short time. I was lifted by Jesus in Heaven . Death is not for us to decide .
Later in the years we moved from that home , every home we lived in had a story
or a presence of its own . My Mother had told me later , a young man took his life there .
Keep fighting your way through life and its despair ,
you are important to someone whom cares . If you feel alone and want life to end , Please pick up the phone , call anyone , call for help , call a Friend .
"This is not fiction , it truly is a gift I have been given "
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013