It crawls upon cold paws
To clutch with talons and claws
Nearing its prey, it hunts
With opening eyes and jaws
To shove with power and thrust
Upon insatiable desire and lust
It thrashes again and throws
Ardor so unjust
It bursts in colors of mist
In crimson hue and amethyst
Its forces like fireworks rise
Within emotion, organs, and amidst
In body it lies, in surreal disguise
Leaving no chance for mind to coexist
Copyright © farah chamma | Year Posted 2009
I flew to Olympus, to find its heart
armor intact against Hades' dark wrath.
At birth the power of light made its start
as Homer's ghost sent me upon my path.
Yet there I found only an empty throne
where once Zeus in glory firmly reigned.
So sad! For no lighted wisdom was shown.
Such that grievous and blue, my heart was pained.
Thunder and lightning I didn’t yearn to find
Nor divine favors for eternal youth.
I wanted reassurance, peace of mind,
justice for all and no distorted truth.
At the foot of Olympus I sought love
but no compassion came down from above.
Robert Lindley & Paul Callus ~ 29TH November 2015
Note: It was a true pleasure collaborating with my friend
Paul Callus on this poem. His poetic advice and addition
both were top notch. And appreciated greatly was the
opportunity to learn from him.
You have my sincere thanks, my very talented poetic friend.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
I may slap you, curse you, smack you
Don’t get too serious honey, its monthly fun
I am PMS ing and my trauma is true
Be my gentleman and Pass My Shotgun
I may hate your friends and knock them down
Be any handsome man or cute chick
Don’t get them here when I am around
I am PMS ing, People Make me Sick
I may laugh out loud at your silly jokes
And the very next moment won’t find them funny
That catastrophic emotional trauma pokes
I am PMS ing, its Psychotic Mood Shift honey
Every month, within me I sense this ruinous storm
It’s not me honey, this phantom is Premenstrual Syndrome
Copyright © Neha Godambe | Year Posted 2012
Euphoria this morning, it hits me
now and then. A feeling of joy and peace.
A feeling of well being, sense of we
rather than I, quickening, a release,
knowledge that there is another world
so close that I can touch it if I choose,
a sense of all the others that I hold
at bay on ordinary days, let loose
in the room, the house, in the universe,
and I know I am invited to join
them where they are, here and in the reverse,
seen and unobserved, a flip of a coin
away. I hold the door open slightly,
at times for hours, then, close it gently.
Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2008
Born cold with a dark emptiness within
Seeking to understand the reasons why
Another life? A payment for its sin
Leaves a quiet quiver when the soul cries
Wanting eyes flow with a warm stream of tears
Struggling through distant worlds out of time
Lost among the confusion from the years
The lonely chime of my eternal rhyme
Perception fills the universe with lies
Tugging the long thread woven in its cloth
To mend life's fragile coat with blinded eyes
Feel it burn in death's flame another moth
I've tasted the waters of life's fountain
And have quenched my soul's old thirst once again
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014
I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.
Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit.
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.
Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.
® Registered: Ann Rich 2009
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2009
Hobo Walking Past Our House
He looked like man walking with rocks in his shoes,
a bit edgy, with shadows flitting about.
Dark clouds about him, sending the lonesome blues,
smiling alligator with a toothless snout.
Stopping to look back, time waving its hello's,
angry at not having what he left behind;
an old man, one of those queer little fellows
with nothing about him speaking as refined.
A frown formed upon his dark, withering face,
as his ragged, torn hat hung on him quite low.
Started again, he walked at a limp pace,
leaving questions, answers nobody can know.
Disappearing from our sight, one of his goals.
Like an ancient furnace, with no burning coals.
Note: Edited recently to meet the eleven syllable verse uniformly.
Syllables Per Line:
11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 154
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 111
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
The Mystique of Mars
Mars, fourth planet orbiting the sun,
was once a harbinger of hostility and aggression.
Aptly named after Roman god of war,
with sister Earth, it shares the same star.
Red, resplendent orb gracing the night sky,
like a whirling dervish, it artfully dances by.
Two moons captured in a strong gravitational grip,
Phobos and Deimos tag along on a wild cosmic trip.
From ancient times clouded in a veil of mystery,
we've tried to delve into its origins and history.
Is it home to an unfriendly alien race?
Or is it just a cold, devoid of life, kind of place?
While much about Mars is yet unknown,
perhaps, future generations will call it home.
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2015
(An invented ghost tale)
A tale was told how centuries ago
at one old wooden bridge, there had occurred
a tragedy, for led there by some foe,
three children, by his scythe, were massacred.
It plagued my mind what drove him to this act;
how evil could prevail and not atone!
So one dank night the path to death I tracked,
and on the bridge I found myself alone.
Then suddenly I shrank. There loomed ahead
a disembodied soul with horror’s face.
Then circling endlessly the bridge, he fled,
as smaller ghosts with bandied blades gave chase.
Three gravestones lie nearby - no less. . . no more.
And yet the spirits I had seen were four!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
My muse is veiled by clouds of mystery
She steals my thoughts and dreams both night and day
Allured yet vexed with curiosity
Frustrated by the wicked game she plays
My words are music, she begins to dance
With coyness, wiggles out of inquiries
Seducing me to take another chance
To once again explore her boundaries
But she has shown the beauty of her heart
And I have felt the pureness of her words
So heavenly, just like an angel's harp
I'll solve the mystery surrounding her
I think of all the wonders I've been shown
Such beauty lends itself to none I've known
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016
Define that fresh sensation once again
Thought to be missed while mellowing further
Define that shiver until one knows when
Tickled by touch as light as a feather.
Define that out of the blue expression
Brought as a smile amidst wonderstruck gaps
Define that itch to make an impression
Asked oneself if it may cause a collapse.
Define that strong desire to keep it close
Tried to hold off the longing within reach
Define that incessant praise as it shows
Felt the comfort to be part of such speech.
These feelings wished for more to discover
Though discouraged to be felt forever.
Define that jaundiced eye hidden deep down
Affected by delusions that must cease
Define that sleepless night tumbling around
Worried about its substance to decrease.
Define that gentle torture creeping in
Intoxicated by pleasure from pain
Define that risk taken for a good spin
Saw a dead end coming latched on a stain.
Define that sweet lemoning on the rocks
Denied the existence of falling out
Define that misfortune kept in a box
Considered as a sentiment no doubt.
These feelings wished for certainty to bite
Regardless, I still do not get it quite.
Copyright © Maria Rheza Mae Rubio | Year Posted 2015
To walk the cliffs of ancient trails
that speak of winds and loss laid bare
midst sounds to tell of all the tales
of lore and truths they beg to share
Taxila, Sanchi and Petra call
with voices rasping in their dust
tongues only whisper since their fall
of Gods who but betrayed their trust
More than hidden treasure left
is wisdom time holds in their stones
a quest to seek their dreams bereft
that repose within their poets bones
Trails that lead to gilded wings
oft will find more precious things
Where I Want To Go Contest
Sponsored by Nicola Byrne
First Place Contest Winner
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2017
Dancing around a cauldron fire
to the sounds of a golden lyre
and a bubbling brew
of bat and shrew
caught in the cobbled rain
they release their heat and pain
into the darkening world
while your senses become unfurled
to herbs and secret balms
and your beating heart calms
into a sensuous trance
as you join in the dance
of turning, swirling,
death defying twirling
seduced by flickering flames
you lose time and names
of bad or good
must and should
spiraling into a peace
to find your heart's release
through this dervish portal
ever after an immortal
in the dance.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007
I feel your soft musk fragrances
The moonglow bouncing through the trees;
We entwine as flamed cloud dances
When joy of borrowed time freezes:
And songbirds chant their heady drool
Enticing mild tunes while we flow...
I pulse, I weep upon heaven's pool
To feel your shadow all aglow.
A visit from above brings calm
On gentle that's sure to bring,
An afterlife's most sacred psalm
From love’s flight through your angel’s wing.
Till eternal star grants us bliss
On a midnight divine like this.
Best Rhyming poem July-September 2017
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Written 7/12/2017: Submitted 10/1/2017
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2017
For Sarah, who left the Plymouth Brethren, with love
The light is not a solemn thing, it shines
With merry glee and mirthful gentleness
Will not be held a hostage, in confines
Of darkened halls where little ones confess
The sins of fathers that they never chose
Nor be a slave to chapter, scripture, verse
Be boundaried, or fettered in its flows
It is the joy of blessing, not a curse
It isn’t how you said it was. You lied
I ran, and left your lies behind the door
And here I am, and oh, the light is wide
Mysterious, and infinite, and more
A wildly wilful, free, and feisty thing
I wear a ribbon in my hair, and sing
© Gail Foster 26th February 2017
Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2017
Others are born, the lost are burried
Life is a journey not to be hurried
But whats wit if the wise are mute
And who is beauty if she is not yet born
Mom said to not sugar
But if she is to be believed
Then pigs do fly, and wings lie
The plains, they speak of a time long gone
Dad said to not blow my horn.
But tomorrow took my horn, so why say he
The preacher said death is an illusion
Then where is grandpa?
The night is so dark and cold.
But i shall wait for another sunrise.
Copyright © Maurice Lamony | Year Posted 2017
I was jealous of her looks and splendor,
taking over my bed so gracefully.
To her strange charm, yes, men would surrender.
In thought, I wished her life, but secretly.
She climbed upon him as he was sleeping.
Perhaps she thought she'd found her next appeal.
Enchanted, I watched as she went creeping
upon my husband! What would they reveal?
Feeling her touch upon him would he wake
to see her there atop him face to face?
I wondered should I stay or silence break.
Wasn't long after, they in arm embrace,
that husband, half asleep, but with some charm
gently blew the spider from his arm.
Copyright © Celeste Butler-Mendez | Year Posted 2008
The hunter hunted; the past comes stalking,
breath now visible, I quicken my pace,
dusk has fallen, nature is now talking,
autumn's chill causes my heart to race.
My eyes scan dense forest from left to right,
I stop, gain my footing in the thicket,
only branch and crimson leaves in my sight,
owls call out, and prey upon the cricket.
Voices seem to speak from the babbling brook,
cold stones, worn smooth, waters of countless days,
eyes are everywhere, yet nowhere I look,
something is near, I cannot get away.
Struggling, my arrow kept at the ready,
my once stealthy hand, is now unsteady.
This was my original entry for Debbie Guzzi's contest - "A Crown of Sonnets"
(This is also the first sonnet that I had ever written.)
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
For Fiona Meyrick, poet and musician; a Petrarchan sonnet
Fiona, in the silence of the night
Sings songs of sorrow soft in minor key
That sigh above all formal melody
In cadences that dance like birds in flight
She rests within the dark, composing light
In subtle shades of sweet philosophy
Transposing on the stave a mystery
In spills of sound like ink on paper bright
Fiona; at the stroke of midnight blessed
Plays pianissimo the ocean’s rage
Transforming all the sins of man confessed
In gentle rhythms traced upon the page
A modern muse, an ancient truth expressed
In lullabies to sooth our restless age
© Gail Foster 2016
Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016
The voice, angelic, sings beyond the sealed door
Draws its tune from Prescences profound,
From Beings not in this world found;
A gift conferred to none before,
As treasures from the Deeps to shore.
Her notes align to build the sound
That enfolds the mystic all around,
That skywards lifts her eyes once more.
Given to God while yet a child,
Hildegard's world was made of faith;
He life a-crowd with visions.
She endured their incandescence wild
Within her head, and proved such wraiths
May make a Heaven of their prisons.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2011
A visionary wandered lost one night
inside a tempest thunderous and strong.
He looked for shelter in a canyon. Light
of moon poured down and bitter sweet of song. . .
For as the storm abated, he could hear
a tune that seemed to claim the palisade.
How haunting was that sound that filled his ear!
But no one was around. How was it made?
He sought, as one who thirsted for the truth,
illumination of this mystery.
He climbed on ancient rocks, an eager sleuth,
then came on what he knew to be the key. . .
He found a ghostly clue, a hieroglyph
of one lone flutist, on a smooth-walled cliff.
For Ghosts Contest/Sponsored by Carolyn & Jack
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
Two became one and there was one.
In your likeness one was made one.
Like the seed of a farmer,
I prospered as a tree by the water.
I see your light under the sun;
And sing for joy for all you've done.
I breathe your peace under the moon;
And hear of ur glory in the noon.
I think of your goodness and wonder;
And feel your love so tender.
I can only imagine the depth,
Of your love. Even to death,
You loved me. I can only imagine,
How you love me. I can only imagine.
Copyright © Ifunanya Anita Nwodigwe | Year Posted 2015
Across a flowered field, I gaze.
A daisy weeps through morning haze.
One lone petal departs her side -
a "love-me-not" is softly sighed.
Gazing away from love denied -
one more leaflet from thee is pried.
Another dream towards fate's romance;
a petal plucked lends second chance.
The daisy's hearth has met defeat.
Her children sob beneath her feet.
Deflowered by a lover's act -
one last petal remains in tact.
"Love-me-not or love me so true?"
I leave that answer up to you.
Copyright © John Heck | Year Posted 2008
THE B.T.N. (BETTER THAN NOTHING) LOVE
If I had faced then the lonely hall,
The black entrance into my own absence
If I had not lifted the phone to call
Each acquaintance, would I be so tense
But my urge to love and live is so immense
These cradling arms of plastic only stale
And I am ridiculous and intense
And all rejection like a ragman’s bale
With waves of pain beating on the wall
Crying to someone, somewhere, to speak sense -
My questionable right to love you all
Somehow in absence, seems that more intense,
Yet can be measured in this dying squall,
As I am waiting for your questioning call.
Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2015
This universe is constellation of wisdom
She is not there to give you a home
Depending on you she does not, any moment
Live or die, she neither smiles nor weeps
It will be there not bothered about you
You build or destroy she cares not
For she was there before you were
She will be there after you have gone
To her, man is a figment of existence
Those who shout only make noise
The masters are shameless dreamers
In this universe of incorporeal existence
In this universe of huge ignorance
Human knowledge is full of black holes
Where activities are driven by dark matter
Even the thorniest of minds shudder in awe
Copyright © Solomon Ochwo-Oburu | Year Posted 2016
It's twilight again, the time for magic.
transitions, changes, oh, I love them all.
Lightning in the air, shade induced panic,
something is burning, I just caught the smell!
Tree silhouettes in the late orange sky,
a cat making the last sweep of garden
before settling in, expectations fly,
what will the night bring, will it still frighten,
enlighten or just be dark as usual?
Day, night, we understand as their hours drag.
There is plenty of time to study all
their inhabitants habits. Try to bag
the elusive spirits of the twilight
or its opposite, those are hard to sight!
Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2008
Being an Aries woman, I enjoy freedom
To follow my hobbies, have little changes now
And again, let life get me down very seldom
Somehow through my birth date optimism endow
Could this Zodiac Astrology chart be right
It list enthusiastic as one of my strengths
Maybe really don't understand my inner light
Possibly something along way broke my wave length
Courageous is on list as one of my strengths
A person with mind or spirit to face danger
Or difficulty without fear, could this be right
Don't see myself as this but a cringer
Maybe one-half of the strenghts correct good
Work on the other half to line up I should
Contest: Zodiac Zones
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Written by: Sara Kendrick
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
Together they live happily forever
in a life filled with sorrows and sadness
they will be together, always never
excluded from reality for life
Forever or never they live to cry,
away they will be gone with but a knife
the choice to live happily or to just die
A knife or life, forever or never
a quarrel, a death, leaving one alone
he lies on the ground, a knife in his heart
a plan, a scheme, its never to be known
She says to herself "we must never part"
Now two dead hearts lie, killed with the same knife
Why? Was it love or just a wast of life?
Copyright © Deeana Valencia | Year Posted 2012
When it is darkening
And the clouds are gathering
In the heightening to start raining,
All you see is lightning brightening
Followed by loud bass hammering frightening
Not for threatening but for enlightening,
The source of an ink so inspiring
Charles melody is a lightning ink.
No need for disputing
Why wasting time debating?
For the lightning is captivating,
The ink makes you think
The melody is a remedy,
Charles melody is a lightning ink.
By: Charles Melody, (Lightning ink).
Copyright © Charles Melody Lightning Ink | Year Posted 2011
THE DEATH OF TUTANKHAMEN
The king is dead--and layed within his place,
and night has fallen as it did before,
within his tomb he hides his golden face
and waits to live and breath and love once more;
a grain of sand will last as long has he--
young man--did they not tell you in your youth
That time will fade away, and secretly,
while you await, to feel and know the truth?
And Tutankhamen, time will not reveal
the secrets of the past, they fade away--
and all the things you long to know and feel
are gone before they see the light of day.
How old are you, young man, four thousand years--
or just as old as all our hopes and fears?
You're just as old, I guess, as any dream
and just as far away as space permits,
improvident sometimes, and yet we seem
agglomerated to a life that fits--
We come and go--in circumspectful daze--
disgruntled in our youth, and growing old,
and never seem to see the proper ways
and disinclined to hear the things we're told--
exhonerating all that we have known,
who take until there's nothing left to give,
for life is just a path that we have flown,
from other dreams, where other dreamers live.
This mass we call "myself" will soon return
to heaven space, or maybe it will burn.
The power in us all is dominant--
just as the time of Tutankhamens womb,
from birth we go through life--intransigent
and hope the best will be beyond the tomb.
We hope that space is part of better things
just as belief--in Akhen Atens day,
we feel the same as did Egyptian kings
who looked at life as where they'd choose to stay;
exacerbated, as we live and grow,
to better space, than what we have and feel,
and though it's part of life we do not know--
it's just as dear--and just as harsh and real.
How old are we? Not one could estimate,
and if they did, they'd tilt the hands of fate.
The pylon gates that lead to peace of mind
are open to the ones who search at night,
but truth in life is sometimes hard to find
and pyramids block out the glow of light--
while deep below--mastabas hold the past
and keep it safe--from any mortal eyes--
with stores of grain--while sun gods gold and cast,
stare into space--where only darkness lies--
and Tutankhamens silence is a thing
to last five thousand years of growing old,
at best--his wish was but to be the king
within a life that's cast and locked in gold--
and Akhen Aten knows he is okay
that's why he will not lead his soul astray
but Akhen Aten hides his face at night--
and southern breezes cool the scorching air,
and any sound is whispered soft and light--
because there's no one list'ning anywhere;
nomadic tribes have perched upon his rock,
and never knew that Tutankhamen hears--
each sound of life--each key that could unlock
his mortal soul--if they would use their ears,
if they would see--the sun god is a friend,
and leads to light, where Tutankhamen sleeps,
how many minds would see his mortal end--
is not his death--though in our mind it creeps--
and takes away the youth of ev'ry man
and sends it to the time where time began;
How old are you--young man--why do you stare?
The world awaits for you to raise your soul--
though fettered to the wind--and ev'rywhere,
in time a dream will make you free and whole--
to walk again--the Valley of the Kings
and ride upon the waters of the Nile--
where spirits bathe, and Nephritite sings,
the secrets of the past--for yet a while,
the world is obdurate of any scheme,
that brings new life--once death has made its' call
though greater men than you--have known this dream,
not one still hides behind his secret wall--
and no remains--stay hidden to the past--
if golden chains are known to hold them fast.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016