Start the day. In what way
was the cold spring, last wet summer a
global warning, indicator. Says
one commentator on the op-ed page, the
dislocations, wars, famines will tax humanity's
technology, philosophy, even religion's ability
to see past daily survival to
the music in the rock. I've doubted the taboos
one frog among many in the slow-heating beauty
of the world we knew. Aaron's coconut.
Peepers doing well in the heavy rains, wet
with joy. Hawks and crows thrive below the jet
stream, noise, perhaps our fears
are overdrawn, we'll get along, it'll all hold together 10,000 years more,
the Holocaust will never be repeated, lush mountain and sere
desert equally appreciated, baseball
lazily paced summer evenings, the harvest in the fall
a sure thing, and the dying back a blessing come to all.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2016
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010
Maelstrom, O thou devil
Slither past last March then unto April
Into the eves and ides of May
Thou cannot hide, but thou wilt try
To disguise thy age old blackness
Forsake what once were brighter skies
Stranglehold; sane extraction
And the spills of night
A new tone deafness
Burning oil; sentiment molasses
Bringing storms that cloud minds human and fragile
Spheres of moonlit halos
Become, no more than serpent spies
Peeking through faultlines of life
Dancing about to the madness limbo
One lost soul...
Shipwrecks against a sea
And there too does the twist of tango
Eyes of the deep; tentacles, touching me
Elsewhere, the raven flies repetition
Into glass windows
Blood stains upon a faceless mask
Drowns out the cries and the conscience
Of feathers blacker that lie strewn
Are the questions I have asked
And the answers I cannot have
Let slip feigned breath of man beneath
A gargle from the cold tunnel brine
What's left surrenders alter to its evil
And nothing is, to evermore survive
And the eves and ides of May
Are Saran gas upon a mass of land
Men of desparation hunger
Eating flesh of man much meeker
And thou wilst not again
Glimpse thy rival sun
Nor when it comes, goes
Or finality, when it finds its done
Inspired by the madness of Poe
That which is locked within us all
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013
Some years back we launched a war, (WMDs) our aim
obliterated half a Country, dictator to blame
Years went by no end in sight, the battle raging on
the only one that gained a thing, capturing Sadam
4,000 plus, our bravest troops, came home as heroes gone
can't leave them unprotected, the fight continued on
Then not too many years ago, (seven comes to mind)
a new direction not well received, pull them all out blind
Let them all fend for themselves, and shrink our mighty force
sit back and watch how evil grows, just shake your head of course
New names added every year, terrorists growing strong
don't worry they're just "J V teams", they won't last very long
City after city fell, like cancer in the sands
our finest Military Leaders, relieved of their Commands
It's his way or the highway, no compromise to date
Countries now in shattered ruins, the people see their fate
We fought a battle , a just cause, not true the record shows
careful not to pick a fight, don't step on any toes
Remembering our alliances, tolerate, let them be
helped to keep the rest in check, Middle East to Tripoli
Terror spread like wind storms, throughout the middle east
those "J V" Teams have now become, "the belly of the Beast"
He picked the wrong side to destroy, and side with Arab Spring
all hell broke loose in Libya, Obama felt the sting
The Americans we lost that day, Ambassador and Team
up and coming Election sights, can't spoil Obamas dream
Secretary of State may help, ignore their pleas for aid
bury reasons they were there, as militants parade
Not the only tragedy, his Legacy will hold
never were transparencies, we see the truth unfold
Working on new History Books, keep them "tarnish free"
lot of "Firsts come with his name", and most we'll never see.....
Copyright © Pete Yuhas | Year Posted 2015
Spring ! The clip shot out:
Empty now of rounds and clout
Waiting for the next, for
Me to load the killing rounds,
The equalizers, bullets shot
Spring! I sit in mud and
Dream of spring, that
Soother, that fragrant mist
That speeds through gardens
Flowers and young boys
Chests and brains Spring!
But rest your pretty head
Those who seek to rule by
Jest and paltry death: not
steal our heavenly flowers
Pulled from scented gardens
Return your combats and
Fatigues to roses spread
About your knees and
Love that’s true, upon the
Stones that writ the soldier’s
“Think not of gold or frosty
Frown but how the spring rose
Wears its crown”
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2016
May came and flowers of all colors and shapes declared their earthly glory;
their perfumed wafts mixed with the spring morning crisp breeze
entered my nostrils, but their strong aroma made me sneeze...
while cherry and apple blossoms smelled like the fair skin of young Mary!
Towards noon, Fields of Sasha Daisies waved under the wind's warm breath as a gift,
and with that beautiful image in mind, I sought the perfect flowers for a lovesick girl;
ah, they were very tempting, so I picked them with a gardener's precise craft!
Did I forget to ask her the real reason that made her bluer than a lonely bluebell?
I often spoke to her, but her unhappy smile hid a mystery I couldn't solve:
had Mary lost love or was forbidden to have one? But why cling to fears?
I had hoped that giving her my flowers would have made her believe in love...
someone who cared and was willing to listen sparing her useless tears!
Returning home, I heard two Marines telling Mary, " We're sorry, Brian fell to the foe! "
And seeing me holding Sasha Daisies, she ran and embraced me to express her woe!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2015
Moments to Reflect
Seed of Birth
After a summer shower I watch the wonders unfold Gods truth is being shown. His love for all shall be known to all who have eyes that can see. The miracle of life that is a delight to behold can be seen in a drop of rain on the end of a leaf. Sparkling like a diamond in the light, more precious than gold, a secret is told. The water of life, without it we cannot go on the earth would be has dry has a bone. A desert: a waste land as hot as Hades and not fit to be called home. The water of life He is known.
The air so sweet and clean the breath of life He has been called. A blessing from the father it is a Gift given to us all. When the air can been seen it is unclean and in this state I call it satans breathe, oh so foul and within it only death can be found.
Flower and trees, grass that is so green that there is not any artist in the world that could paint a more beautiful scene. Concrete streets and black top parking lots; progress is what it is called…maybe not. An eyesore, mans’ master piece his legacy, beauty it’s not.
Like a spring rain or after a summer shower; new life does salvation brings. Like the morning dew shining like tiny jewels, in the sunshine they do glow. Flowers blooming and life a renewing, with Jesus this is how salvation goes.
Rain can be seen as the world being baptized and cleansed, purifying it of mankind sins. This is a fresh beginning but it not at its end it only truth starts when you ask Jesus to come in.
After a gentle rain shower our God reminds humanity of His power and His promise: rainbow in the sky a wonderful, magical miracle, truly a delightful sight. His signature written in the sky, proof that He tells no lies; never again with water will He end the world that has bought to Him so much pain. His tears of sadness, never again will the world end with rain.
The evil one try his best with his temptation and his tests to cause us to die and never to rise; humanity he do hate want to take all with him into that fiery lake. These are the tools of his trade war and strife adding in a touch of worldly lust doing his best to kill our trust in the Lord who has given us so much. The spiritual war is what we are in do not fall for satan schemes. Heaven or hell which one will it be? Like the sun gives life to flower, the Son gives life to all who follows. He who is free is free in deed.
Christ the savior God did send, it shows us that satan cannot win. Like a summer day after a spring rain new life will begin. He will pardon us of all our sins but you must ask him to come in His forgiveness know no end. Open your heart and let Him in then and only then can you win. In Him salvation is guarantee and a new life can begin; so you must choose Heaven or hell where will you spend eternity in?
God our Father gave His Son to the world so that we would have a path to the truth a light to shine in the darkest of time. Allow His attributes to shine forth you do not would to lose your soul. Before time ever begin He love us, will you not trust in Him sight unseen, the One who gives all life meaning?
All it takes is faith to bypass that fiery lake, because tomorrow is not promise and another sunshine you may not see. Time is on no one side, so do not go chasing rainbows you cannot fly. Keep what real in your mind the reality is sin must die. God give His Son to pay a price that He did not owe, the cost was high, but gift that is given for those who believe; is to be by His side, salvation is free are you ready to receive?
Summer shower and gentle breeze,
Golden flower and dew drops of leaves.
Soft green grass beneath your feet.
The only thing sweeter is than life is living with Jesus for all eternity.
Copyright © randall graves | Year Posted 2013
It all began with a man who owns a cart,
And the Tunisian government took it away.
Now a martyr, having no idea what would start,
The Arab Spring began on that day,
Causing the Tunisian leader to give way.
The revolt then spread to neighboring Egypt.
Thousands gathering in Tahrir Square,
But President Mubarak refused to give up,
So more and more people protested there,
Until finally, was forced to leave his chair.
By now revolts in Yemen, Libya, and Bahrain
Spread like a forest fire, larger by the hour.
The electronic media is mostly to blame
To organize the revolt against those in power,
And cleanse all corruption like a rain shower.
In Libya, there’s Gadhafi trying to hold on,
With the thousands of people massed in forces,
But the rebels have just gotten too strong,
With the aid of NATO changing their courses,
And Gadhafi, the next to fall to the ashes.
Now in Syria, the government is fighting still
To hold on to power and deny human rights,
With the people trying to match their will,
And spread humanity through the Damascus’ lights.
What will be next… the Golan Heights?
By Greg Stanley
February 1, 2012
For Francine’s “Spring Day” Contest
Copyright © Greg Stanley | Year Posted 2012
Does your coat keep you warm and dry my dearest friend as you lay still and silent,
Did your metal helmet protect you on ruined fields as God called and took you away,
Did it hurt when you dropped to your knees and your blood soaked into already wet mud,
As you dropped from your knees face down forever, did you see your loved ones again.
I will stay by your side and keep you company, waiting until the angels come for you,
Do you know it's near spring the sun will soon have some warmth and dry our clothes,
In your last spite of sorrowful desolating memories, did you go back to your home and friends,
And if you went home , did you smell the thick cut grass along old lanes and hold your sweetheart.
Do you remember when we were young, just last year, can you remember that long ago,
And the different days with our sweethearts, walking in beautiful warm spring days,
We strolled many miles into distant dales, villages and across the wild brown moors,
We sat by a moorland stream talking important talk, of our future working the land.
Soon the bugles will sound, the same loud bugles that brought you to this last place,
If I ever go home I will see your father, and break his heart, you were his only son,
Like a brother I will always remember, we have seen much so quickly in these bad days,
Walking away my feet sink in churned mud and filth, I will tell his dad gallant lies.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
A wall, we could have built across our eyes,
and this, a fragile safety, would subdue
the throbbing pulse of fear that triggers cries
and lights the lamps that bring me back to you.
A trail of lanterns swaying like the feet
of innocence o'er castle walls of stone,
so sturdy in their girth they firmly greet
the wealth of swaying lamps that lights our home.
Copyright © Le Sony'r Ra | Year Posted 2010
A pockmarked plane atop the wooden box
tilts as it dips in the Syrian void,
its hollow compartment lining the faults like
a silver ball which never rests but always
rolls, always weary those worrisome holes
that chisel the quarry to calcified clumps.
Six years spent fighting, flushing freedom
from his nepotistic keep, have rendered al-Assad
a face full of age, nights free of sleep,
and lucid dreams of an Arab Spring
flooding the fields his brother plowed.
There he stands, slaying the wakened womb
that would bury its own for stable graves, aware
there’s a million more marching outside his door.
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2017