I’m riding your horse, no giddyap allowed,
simply plunge into the deepest unknown.
Your voice sets the pace, it whispers
into the ears of my ride, sometimes they twitch
sometimes they find water, sometimes
the waterfalls absorb all thought. I lean
over neck, sample horse blood like a vampire,
like a computer’s command mode
taking over my brain, allowing my heart
to beat in tune, my feet to turn to hooves
and kick up or canter, moving with the rhythm
and flow, feeling the sweat of the sun
overhead and the damp of shady pines
and raking the grasses until they rustle over skin.
This is how I know you: the whisper on the wind
the stroke along my frame, the bed stead
in which I dream, the places of unimagined
like a lure, a bait, overtaking me, leading
me down a road I’ve never found
until you lent the movement of ride forever.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
Ones who wage,
Ones who rage,
Ones who take,
Ones who pay,
Ones who craze,
Ones who rave,
Ones who crave…
Ones who fear,
Ones who breathe,
Ones who give,
Ones who need,
Ones who will,
Ones who weave…
Ones who plead,
Ones who beg,
Ones who beseech,
Ones who entreat,
Ones who appeal,
Ones who volunteer,
Ones who disappear…
The ones who follow,
The ones that don’t know about tomorrow,
The ones who don’t deserve the morrow…
The ones who sleep,
The ones who cry,
The ones who live,
The ones who die…
The ones who proclaim,
Those who say they create,
The ones who ache,
The ones who don’t wait,
The ones who hesitate,
The ones who don’t concentrate,
The ones who fornicate,
The ones who procrastinate…
Those who fall in temptation,
Those who get in frustration,
Those who sometimes feel desperation,
Those who keep going without caution,
Those in motion,
Those in tension,
Those losing notion,
Those being poisoned,
Those getting in distortion,
Those following the broken diction,
Those dying like the billions,
Those without unction,
Those washed in the oceans…
I might seem cold,
But it is you who is bold.
I might not express,
But it is you who doesn’t let me progress.
I might not seem like I seek,
But it is you who doesn’t know me…
I might seem like I need,
But it is you who might always be begging on your knees.
I might seem dull,
But it is the one that is fool.
I might not be alight,
But it is you who isn’t truly alive…
I will remain neutral,
I will remain silver,
I will remain gray,
I feel darkness,
I feel light,
I will remain hallowed…,
After all, it is you who deserves no life…
I am a metal hawk,
I am a mountain goat,
I am a silver bird,
I am a gray wolf,
I am a white tiger,
I am a mystic rose…,
I am I…
And I survive,
You are here,
However, it is you who deserves no life…
Being human does not imply that you have humanity…
Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
I once was like a catipiller young,naive,and new
Always living from my heart not knowing what
else to do.Easy to take advantage of, that is
just the case, people would walk over me
like I was their dirty used up suitcase.
Now I feel a newness coming, like a light
shining from the sky, colors fill my world
and I know I am blooming into a butterfly.
Purple,Pink, Blue and Green I can feel them
flowing through. Colors of the rainbow raising
me into full bloom. Wise and strong I am becoming
My faith leads me where I need to go giving me
insight and wiseness for only me to know.
I have not done this on my own you see
I have been guided by God and Angels
on this Earth. Wise words the wisdom at
it's best comes from a wise lady who
seems to know me best. Lucky, I am
to have her in my life, she always shoots
it straight and tells me like it is, knowing
her words touch my heart and gives me tons of faith..
I feel like flying through the sky or climbing
a tree way up high. I feel like observing the
world just like a brand new butterfly so as I
Bloom I become Anew something unlike the past
Smart and wise beautiful on the inside and outside
a touch of color here a touch of color there
makes me glow and become a beautiful blooming butterfly...
Written By: Christina A McCullouch
Copyright © Christina McCullouch | Year Posted 2013
Rereading the poems of others
and my own. Community across
time and graves. What's left
exceeds in significance
one's last moment. Yet
his last moment must have been
for the poet.
Nothing he did that day will seem meaningful.
While we prosecute the war
a pileated woodpecker and red squirrel
compete for sunflower seeds.
A winter slow
to assert itself.
I can still see my mother's father and his bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts
quiet weekday mornings.
Both grandfathers read sports
pages religiously. I don't know
if my grandmother who gave me the
anthology of, to date, dated
unreadable poems read poetry.
I remember my mother's mother spoke
rarely as an animal.
Writing but not knowing where I'm going
unlike Joan Didion justly
who didn't read the Constitution, Bill of Rights or
Federalist Papers. It's late,
I have not vacuumed or shopped for food.
Instead I reread
Phil Levine's Salami.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Appaloosa Horses ( Poem )
Bloodlines have influenced breeds
For beauty and performance needs
Native American horses on t.v.
Used decades in western movies
Identified mottled skin note
Colorful leopard spotted coat
Emphasis in the muscling thick
Strong physical characteristics
Defined vertical striped hooves
White sclera eyes have looks improve
Establish an easy cantering
Well behaved, high head holding
Ride with a floaty, pacing trot
Light, airy movements that can stop
Become a judge and see yourself
On my playlist all by itself
By: Doris Anne Beaulieu
Copyright © Doris Beaulieu | Year Posted 2014
The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
A little boy
Jumping stone to stone
On ones unforgotten path
He walks through the enchanted forest
That leads to his special little cabin
A dark figure emerges from the depths
Red stains of crimson
dribble and splat upon the gory scene
A little rabbit plastered in the dirt
A clump of meat simply embedded in mother natures earth
A new scent for the prowl
The little boy he stands completely still….
The air filled of ones enthrallment
Of ones killing intent only pure….
The little boy he walks to a creek
He only stares
He’s under the trance of ones transfixed state
His eyes dull
The face of a beast
Of only crimson blood of red
Along his cheek
He begins to smile
Aren’t I a beast
Copyright © Fullmoon Sway | Year Posted 2016
Rhinoceros can not spell its name
African beasts aren't made that way
No pen or paper on the savanna green
3 big toes get in the way of nature
Can't see to write with so much sun
Dust kicking up when rhino charges
They prefer large drinks by water holes
And leave thinking for smaller smarter beings
Monkeys cry; Rhinos can't count their toes
They make fun of them and the thick skin they come in
Laughing at them for their inability to climb trees
According to their logic and their delicate inclinations
Natural selection and as representatives of the wild nation
Swinging on trees should be easy for all species
They think the beast have no reasoning along these lines
An appraisal too cumbersome for rhinos to surmise
Their toes are too large to tap on keyboards
Never taught how to use the computer too
Rhinoceros prefers the chase and being naked
A savage thing from poor breeding and upbringing
Killing people is their pleasure
No formal invitation needed
Taking aim at those who ask about pedigree
And ones who would bring up reading
Rhinoceros may not know how to spell or write its name
Does it matter anyway
Or who is about to go extinct
When it barrels down on you with lowered horn
No warning… Here comes the storm!
Stand clear!…. It's charging!
Can you spell rhinoceros while fleeing
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2016
Let us accept this pain
and some fear
it will heighten autumn colours
crack of clean air
black crows in blue sky
Rather than fight pain, falling
asleep in front of tv,
understand the full
import of its situation
in the body. Blessed
once, cursed now
only fear prevents
full knowledge of experience.
The gray sky brings
winter, no blame.
The poet writes a few last poems
or continues to live with his pain.
In itself pain does not oppose
life, and may enhance it
or build character, create
wisdom. But too much fear
chokes the throat and burns
the eyes. It
destroys the last free
assessment of life.
* * *
Now I am going to live in my body
as it is, almost fearlessly
running in pain, working
to abandon immortality
as a hope, conceiving
sunset after sunset
feeling what I feel.
On the streets I meet
many beautiful young women
curious to a certain extent
what makes a man older.
I can only say ten years
and the hand that reaches through
the cloud. I can say
only the knowledge of mortality
which makes us brothers and sisters
with the animals. And only
the acceptance which gives us wisdom
to couple often and lovingly.
How am I going to live every day
as my last, hoping happiness
outgrows fear by an ounce
or enough? By running, writing
and loving. By moving uphill
and downhill like a bear.
By committing my last words
to a powerful lord. How
do the clouds accept my dead
self? A rock thrown, a crow.
* * *
When I am old
young girls will not be frightened anymore.
I will invite them
to my seat and tell
about the women I knew.
I will tell about
the clothes they wore
and how they earned a living.
I will try to remember
what was important to them
and if they had a favorite color
or knew how to divine.
Maybe I live and maybe I don't.
The smoke is white or black.
The winds are bright or dark.
The coins are heads or tails.
What have I been afraid of?
Death is most of all like sleep.
We spend so long apart
after briefly knowing ourselves.
I need you to know myself
and without you all I know
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
I arrive early for the meeting.
Row upon row of chairs
face forward, like a flock of sheep,
nose to tail, waiting for a shepherd.
My grandmother raised sheep,
cows, pigs, geese, and children.
Grandpa buckled under tuburcolosis,
leaving her seven kids to raise.
"Waste not, want not," served well
as a mantra over rugged paths,
and pastured her fleecy days.
With no aid from government,
church, neighbor, or relative,
she prevailed where others failed,
sharing the bounty garnered
from those wooly mammals
of endless grazing.
As these empty chairs fill,
what shepherd will lead us
into the fold of words;
power words for change,
wisdom words for growth,
magic words for dreams,
with teeth piercing to the core,
strong jaws for chewing,
and sensitive tongue
to taste those other words
floating around these chairs
of tail-wagging writers?
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
In recent daydreams, I bemused
trekking the wild African plain -
herds of hippoes and elephants
petrifying prey with their might.
Envisioning the behemoth
I recall a story about
behemoth’s strong powerful tail.
So my reverie is confused.
An elephant’s tail I see as
a bottle brush, skinny, floppy.
I had heard, read, or seen somewhere
“the behemoth’s tail sways like a
cedar” which immediately
brought to mind the elephant’s trunk.
This trance has the power to amuse
I ponder the thought of a writer
who mistook the front end for the
rear end of an elephant and
in typical dream fashion had
created a new fantasy -
the legendary behemoth.
At this point my head went on cruise
drifting to comic books of old,
where behemoth is a monster
set in the tales of Atlantis.
I recall a trip with puppets
electric eels, whirlwinds, quicksand
from the brilliant minds at Marvel.
For writers impelled by a muse
to pen our imaginations,
dreams make perfect sense while dreaming.
Sweats, rapid heart beats are the proof
when we awake in frantic haste
to get it all down on paper
before our mind reverts to truth.
Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013
about who does or not does in literature
we meet so many dogs
all kinds of dogs
some with pedigree and those collars
with shiny medallions
or stray dogs for which
leash is their salvation
and their freedom has the effect of a yelping…
for whom saw Hitchhiker's Guide intergalactic
rezistance is useless!
for others it can be a mouse literature.
sitting quietly in the closet
and nibbling on paper shelves.
what's behind the paper does not matter
it could be a trap
and literature not possibly be a rat
I do not know what is about with all the literature lately
But sure it's not the girl in the fourth grade
that girl who runs and
her panties always fall
or her teacher's fault?
rezistance is useless
could be hell on earth
Copyright © marinescu victor | Year Posted 2013
Never discuss moves with snakes,
talk sluggish with snail,
eat cheese with rat,
talk true-flight with bats
and neatness with cat.
Never talk bread with birds,
maize with hen,
prides with lion
and change with chameleon.
Never discuss poison with dart frog.
Drag bones with dogs,
talk street with tugs
and venue with vultures.
Never discuss agility with leopard ,
aggression with crocodile,
potency with tiger
and race with cheetah.
Never discuss sight with eagles,
milk with cows,
talk ugly to blob
and claim smart with crows.
Never discuss honey with bees,
banana with monkeys,
talk flightless to ostriches,
talk small to bumble bee,
and intelligence to dolphins.
Never discuss detriment with blackmamba,
Never stand tall with giraffe,
talk dirty with pigs
and treasures to man.
Copyright © adedayo samuel | Year Posted 2016
now i am awake inside and i have feeling
its been so long that i think I might be panicking
is this a truth or lie I hate to think.
I can't live this way in consent misery
and I know I've been loved in life
I'm sure I've had this feeling, I think once or twice
I've been god
I've been the devil
I've been the beacon of light
and the darkest part of the shadows
I have been the love
I have been the evil
I have been man every woman dreams they had at night
holding tight, I am there armor, destroying angel, self-sacrifice.
Life is cruel
life's a lier
life will trick into the fire.
Suffocation my desires
I don't kill flowers
I pick them for her darkness, I see her beauty
walk with me, fly with me upon broken wings
if you fall I am there catching you softly in the air
I could do anything for dedication,
walk into hell or heaven demanding a position
Right-hand man, I accept no less
with my light
and my darkness
the queen who all of
hell and heaven will respect
looking magnificent in her dress
made from angels wings, satans skin, spells and rituals
spells have been made to protect her soul within.
when I am gone, on my job,
dropping angels from heaven who have sinned
I peel there wings off throwing them,
i told you beautiful
there still is darkness in the heavens
Copyright © Hellbound Clandestine | Year Posted 2016
You know your culture is in decline, when the new Broadway show, "I gotta pee" is a smash-hit, or your friends encourage you to write the poem.
And just now, outside Mcdonalds ( Wifi - havin a smoke ), I named my ass-bag;
Smelleth thou thy fruity decay?
Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2017
The spider the first to deceive The untangled web in the tree A man, a beast, a spirit to teach A hero, an enemy or wisdom’s breach Just an elder’s story, to shape the youth shifting children’s minds to their view or a struggle between creator and the created A rabbit to chase or the raven’s stone berated The laughing coyote or wise as the fox they do change whisperers, skin walkers, wind talkers the stories remain wisdom coming from strange creatures, yet familiar visitors Be careful of what you have learned, that it is not a trick sir
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2015
His prickly quills were more than a few,
her black ink was seldom used,
octopus in sink,
porcupine got ink,
their writing poems making headline news.
Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016
Outside my window
I’m being hunted by a little black crow
He’s circling my house like I’m on death row.
He’s waiting to attack, but he doesn’t think I know,
I’m being hunted by a little black crow...
He’s driving me crazy,
so I turned on the gas stove.
As soon as he heard the switch,
he flew into a nearby cove.
Tic.. tic.. BOOM!
Was the sound of the gas stove,
my body was ripped like pulling on green cloves.
Looks like I was killed by a little black crow
-Shane P. 9/14/15
Copyright © Shane Pillay | Year Posted 2015
Stanley Russell Harris (ME)
The new Mad Author
When my books begin to sell.
From, ‘feedaread,’ where they dwell!
And I’m as rich as blinking well…
You know, rolling in that thing called money.
With figures in front of those zeros,
so the balance is not funny.
Do you know the first thing I must buy?
It’s a house by the sea for the wife and I!
Then, after helping the family and things like that.
Do you know what I would do?
Well read on and I will tell you.
I would look at charities.
That closed their doors, to those in need.
That helped the sick in mind or lame.
Those by themselves who have problems, within their life, it to maintain.
Help those homeless as well.
If only my bank account would swell.
Alas, until that I cannot do.
And that is all down to you!
As you have none of my books, you know.
Not one is in your bookcase so.
I will now tell you what to do.
Visit, ‘feedaread,’ that’s spelt right too.
Look for Stanley Russell Harris. That's me.
Then for. ‘Poems. Some happy, some sad, some to make you glad.’
Ten books of poetry there do be!
The adventures of, ‘Smarty a search and rescue dog.’
Many books his adventures do hog.
Then there is, ‘Smarty the Future 2061.’
His secrets here I cannot tell of one.
As that might ruin your enjoyable fun!
Anyway that's a trilogy
So you might have to buy books all three!
‘Short animal and bird tails (tales, Dragon tales.) Is what I said.’
Of course the first book I did write.
Was, ‘A patient from Papworth, yes that’s right.’
How the NHS saved my life no less.
Got me out of a hell of a mess.
So now you know the books I did write.
Spread the words to your friends tonight.
Okay, it can be in the day.
So please get your fingers clicking right away.
And let’s see who’s next, we’ll help one day.
And on this subject, that’s all for now I will say.
I’ll save the rest for another day, lol .
(The new mad Author)
PS. I know it is too long. Nicole Harris. I know!!
Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
Babylonia : Part One - Noah the Kangaroo
And so it was written:
The one who shall come.
The one who shall free all the animals!
And take them all home!
Babylonia was shown to a Kangaroo named Noah,
In a dream he had in the middle of his life.
His body shook and he kicked his love out of bed;
She jumped up and hit her head,
On the ceiling and then she began to cry.
As she stood there weeping,
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Noah raised to his feet, in the middle of his dream.
He walked outside and she followed him, but she could not see.
Noah was not alone, as he walked down to the sand.
For three days and nights, he wrote his words using his hands.
His family had thought he’d lost his mind,
For he never opened his eyes to write.
They thought he was sleep walking;
But somehow, his words in the sand began talking.
They spoke of a Heaven for all animals;
His wife brushed her tail through some of his work
And called him a fool.
But by the end of the story, Noah had gained an audience
And they all gave him a round of applause,
When he woke from his dream;
As they could see he was serious.
The Kangaroo named Noah,
Was going to show them the way.
Babylonia had sent them all a calling;
Noah had shown them all their fate.
Our destiny lies to the east;
A place of adventure and mystery.
Our new home to enjoy with heart,
Our destiny is calling for us to make a new start.
Let us all leave this place,
Let us all leave this human race;
To their man made apocalypse,
I will show you the way.
And so it began…
The journey of Noah
And every other animal;
‘The Journey to Babylonia.’
The Animal Paradise,
To escape the ruined jungle life.
A new jungle awaits us all,
At the end of the line.
Let me direct the Elephants and Rhinos,
To clear us all a path to Heaven, from this Hell.
Let us all feast!
Let us all mate!
Let us all sleep a slumber of the Gods themselves.
Let us all enjoy our Heaven.
Let me show you, it is worth the wait…
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © Aa Harvey | Year Posted 2016
HAUNTING ME ALL MY LIFE
You have been haunting me all my life
why must this go on? through endless
days and nights and years
you still find ways to bring on tears,
You always interrupt me while I sleep.
Countless hours running in a storm
like a little kid praying to not be found by you,
I could always hear the cries of that sad stormy night
where angels and demons where fighting
like lightning hitting the ground,
You Dark Angel haunt me like I was an animal,
you stripped my innocence from me.
you told me hurtful stories that cut me deep,
Oh, how you never seem to let me have a goodnight sleep,
you love to see me weep,
but when I needed you the most you was always out of reach,
long sad night you put in my life,
you scared all my friends away
just to keep me mute from telling on you,
I cried all the time because the pain was to hard for me to bare,
in my heart is flawed and marked,
you left your design but you will never change my mind,
I love what is right and I love the sunrise
it lets me know I'm still alive,
but some how you never give up
you keep telling me you are going to make me yours
you've haunted me down through out the years
giving me so much fears,
you told everyone I am your mistress soon to be your queen,
you must be thinking about Halloween ,
someone must had feed you a spoonful of sugar
to make you think like this,
fallen is the flaw of me I need to get some sleep.
Poetic Judy Emery (c) 2017 6.26.2017
Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017
Birds fly on high
deep into the sky
like they are so proud and free
the way love should be
Rain sends gentle mist
where hearts skips a beat
where animals run like summer breeze
and the birds are hight up in trees
chipping along to their lovers song.
Poetic Judy Emery
Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017
pierce the morning horizon:
bugle in the fall.
Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2017
from the hives
from the land
fall to the
By: Chicano Eddie
Copyright © CHICANO EDDIE | Year Posted 2016
Reliant on a songbird with minimal talents
One note, one song to showcase its voice
Auditions are lenient and brisk
Sing the song that I love to hear
Repetition is more than the mother to learning,
She is the key to my satisfaction
Temporarily, songbird, hit your high note
Dissonance to my ears and equilibrium,
But the rhythm behind the beat of my drum stick
Oh song bird, sing my song
Copyright © Jaquay Atkins | Year Posted 2017
Beware from alligators,
A notice board was hanged,
Outside the pond,
And water was very quiet.
I tried to look around,
I haven’t seen any alligator,
But suddenly an animal came,
And bend to drink water.
I have seen a giant alligator,
Attacked on an animal,
But a poor animal has lost his life,
But board was still hanging.
I have seen thousands alligators,
In white clothes but never seen,
Any notice board, is system so worst?
They are sucking bribery who noticed.
Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2005
Fresh morning breeze creeping
Through an open window
Carrying ideas along with
Zephyr of inspiration,
As i sit here still listenin’ to cats
Fighting screams – “MEOW!”
The chirp of a sparrow.
I atune myself to the nature’s melodies
And just “Let go…”, squashing
Limiting beliefs that now fade
Like grayed out leaves in the autumn.
Write as sun rays bring bliss
bursting through the glass
Of my window to my heart
and the will to carry on with it.
Just one look outside and i write.
Completely giving myself
To everything around
As i sit here still with
No worries of what is to come .
Copyright © dorian grubisic | Year Posted 2017