Writing Tribute Poems

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Details | Free verse |
   Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails

This part of you 
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking  words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"

You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions 
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet:  "Ink Never Lies."

Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

~*~

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013




Details | Quatrain |
Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.

As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.

Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.

Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.






A Word Collage For Chan Hurst



(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014




Details | Rhyme |
I write of a man named Edgar Allan Poe,
Whose dark, tortured soul could not rest,
His work is something every poet should know,
These stories are among some of the best.

"The Raven" was never more ghastly and grim,
"The Pit And The Pendulum" which tortured him,
"The Valley Of Unrest" was such a quiet place,
Where "The Sleeper" dreams in peaceful grace,
"The Murders In The Rue Morgue" were a mystery,
"The Fall Of The House Of Usher" had a gloomy history,
"The Black Cat" was dead, but suffered no pain,
"The Tell-Tale Heart" is what drove him insane,
"The Masque Of The Red Death" did conceal,
While "The Purloined Letter" did reveal,
"The Premature Burial" meant for the dead,
"Annabel Lee" was the corpse bride he wed,
"Spirits Of The Dead" found themselves alone,
"The Conqueror Worm" that fed on human bone,
"The Haunted Palace" was wandered by ghosts,
"Tamerlane" written for one he loved the most.

As the poetry flowed from his heart,
One tragic day, death came to his door,
Finally his tortured soul could depart,
He would then pick up his pen, nevermore.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
His talent as a Bard explodes
From an exquisite mind it flows 
Through an instrument of script
Flooding parchment reverberating
Through the psyche creating waves  
Reaching the far ends of the universe 

Words of truth deep sentiment flourish
Propelling legitimate personal emotions 
Giving due praise to brave loyal and true
To God nature his love and fellow Bards and
The magnificent highlands he loves so well
Always uplifting inspiring and sharing 

Accept this tribute from an amateur a friend
With gratitude for reading commenting for 
Being just who you are, The Highlander

Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
I'm only allowed the names of three
so I will write of those that would be for me.
There are so many that this is unfair
but, since that is the rule I must list there:

Carolyn Devonshire who gave me the courage to write
with her words of encouragement on this site.
She always found a "silver lining" in my work,
and never told me that I write like a jerk.

Tho it has been years since I've been around
her help and inspiration never set me aground.
She never left me twisting in the wind alone
as she helped my poorest works to hone.

There is also a Poet Destroyer for whom I have praise
I wish my words to her level I could raise.
Why her "Poet Destroyer" pen name I could never see
unless, of course, you compare mine to her poetry.

Mine is crushed by the words she can write
but I am ever grateful to her for wanting to put mine to flight.
When you have a writer who can put you to shame,
it's only natural that you want to do the same.

CayCay Jennings is my third choice
as she has helped me to "refind" my voice.
I appreciate her critiques of the work I do
all I can give is a big "THANK YOU".

She was one of the first to welcome me back here
and always gave me words of good cheer.
Her suggestions have been given with such grace
sometimes they put a smile on my face.

There is her writing which is also so stellar
as compared to mine, some of which belong in a cellar.
Some of the things she has written down
Have with me, a deeper meaning found.

So these are the three heroes that I must name
but so many more have done the same.
Not only are there poets whose names I could not call
to give them the honors they should have one and all.

Yes, I have heroes here unnamed
because my pen had to be tamed.
But know that I appreciate each and all that you do
Whenever I write, I'm thinking of you. 


written:  10/30/15



Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |


The morn's alive with skylarks singing

o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,

the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.

A sudden shower would see me running

fancy free between the rain drops,

I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;

I skittered, happy, crisp and clear, 

like God's first measure of a holy hymn.



The air alive with songs of praise, 

the gentle winds a sacred message,

His grand prescription like a dream

that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.

I liked to wander by the sea shore

skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,

as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,

'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.



The halcyon days of youth came true,

when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,

bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame

a blend of hues the likes of which 

would make a young boy doubly blind,

and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields

would blister scarlet, happy times

that made me see my childhood clearly.



The weather turned again, and shanties

high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting

in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,

their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.

From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,

the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,

her hair a daydream falling soft,

O fanciful imagination!



I thought to when my mother took my hand. 

We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,

toys which we could ill-afford;

a Batman cape, a red fire engine.

The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,

haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,

loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,

and then we wandered home exhausted.



I never lost my youthfulness, 

my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating

high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;

hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.

I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,

thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,

I count my blessings, feel content

that tribulation never came to bother me.



A birthday cake is waiting for me,

candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;

my wish the same, for peace on earth

to all men, greetings and goodwill!

I lie down in the close and holy quiet 

while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,

safe in His keeping, perfect day

with promise of a bright tomorrow!








Last Modified: October 12, 2015 at 02:58 pm
© bickerstaffe - all rights reserved 

Author Notes


...an homage to Dylan Thomas.

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother 
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her 
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths 
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job 
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

Details | Limerick |
A Lyrical Chef we'll call 'Dre',
whips up Writes for her Poem buffet.
She bakes Words into Rhyme
and roasts Prose in the time
it takes most just to cook a Cliché!



************************
This limerick was written for 
my Soup buddy Andrea Dietrich. 
Thank you for your positive 
input and excellent support - 
you are appreciated!. xoxo

Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Here’s to all the negative people
You know how the story goes
If brains were freakin’ dynamite
You couldn’t blow your nose
When people make rude comments
They act without common sense
If you’re negative and reading this
I hope you take offense
When I hear about my friends put down
Every bone in my body cries
If you rub yourself with Preparation H
You’ll probably shrink in size
So if this makes you  pout and cry
I didn’t mean to put you down
Besides someone already wrote a song
About the tears of a clown
I’ve changed my ways in recent days
And try to act with class
If I had run into you twenty years ago
You would have been laying on your @ss
So take your sarcasm somewhere else
And leave our poets alone
And try to find your self-esteem
In a place called the twilight zone.


	Dedicated to those who need to 
Make negative comments.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |

broken people-
for in the end    we are all broken
stumbling and choking
disguising hurt

thinker    poet    storyteller
Richard Lamoureux

a deep insight into
suffering and life
the homeless and the outcast
with compassion

no matter creed color rich or poor

seeing
beneath the surface to the soul
thinker    poet    storyteller
makes us stop and ponder our life

in his own words
  GOD is a source of 
all our creativity
we are radios
   of a sort
      and if we
         tune in
    to the right channel
we can access the message

his poems   well expressed  powerful
thinker
poet
storyteller

fights
against    racism
he has a message to tell
GOD is good
in poetry
tough themes   broken lifes
straight from     the heart

be yourself
write with depth
be unique and genuine
capture life
he inspires us to write

and in the end
                  we are all broken
                                           people
stumbling
and choking and disguising
                      our hurts            Richard 
thanks for the compassion
with which
                your share your thoughts with us

___________________________
September 2, 2015


Free Verse

Inspiration - Broken People written by Richard Lamoureux
and the line - for in the end we are all broken stumbling and choking disguising hurt

For the contest, Who Do You Think I Am, sponsor, Richard Lamoureux

First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Acrostic |
Poetess she is, whose magic is cast with great ease
Opulent in words, charming to the utmost degrees, 
Engraving hisses, silhouettes, images of natures surreal
Trespassing horizons never stretched out to an ideal 

Destroyer as known for, although she's here to compose
Enchating poems and songs her beautiful soul bestows
Such a fusion encourages poets to hold their inks and quills
To write 'bout nymphs in seas or orchards filled with daffodils 
Rampantly defeated by her as what often happens, except
Of all practiced skilled writers she's definitely the most adept
Yielded in a words-battle having a single acknowledged end
Efficacious "She" is by far a star who can simply transcend,
Reproductions of literary stylistic forms in her magnificent way

A lady I know as Linda with a pseudonym Poet Destroyer A!  

© Guru Jad 2013


Dedicated with Admiration! :)

Copyright © Guru Jad | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Extraordinary, I am 
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding  the gift I shouldn't fought
 
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
 
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
 
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
 
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When  my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
 
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart

Copyright © Katrina Salem | Year Posted 2012

Details | Couplet |
As I read the words my heart started to sing
For you had gave emotion to a non living thing

I can't ever remember feeling quite that way
I could hear the music that she used to play

I could feel her heart through the tears I cried
As I read the part where her Maestro had died

I imagined her there in her Rosewood Bed
Reading the most beautiful poem I’ve read

Velvet to her back with her bow at her side
Remembering the joy before Maestro died

She loved how his bow manipulated her strings
Together they were the most beautiful of things

What’s the only poem to ever hang in my den?
Elaine’s beautiful masterpiece titled, "Violin"



Inspired by Tracy's wonderful idea for
a contest and Elaine's beautiful Poem.

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008

Details | Verse |
...a tribute to those who gave
   their lives in the Battle Of Britain

               ********

On high in blue and saffron flight,
a swoop, then upward soar again,
all through the day and into night,
the guardian of my fellow men.
I'm unaware of whom I kill,
nor sentient of the souls below
who scramble 'neath outcrop or hill,
and huddle, be I friend or foe?
No order, nor the call to arms
compelled my journey to the skies,
an instant urge, bereft of qualms,
drove me to question truth from lies
and challenge my mortality.
To vie for human brotherhood, 
the measure of eternity,
the struggle for the greater good.

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |

...for Ted Kooser

A reminder of my father; 
more antique than useful it was tucked 
inside my tool box ever ready to be used.
Soaped and sharpened many times 
the blade was keen and hungry.
I took it with me everywhere 
'til pure gave way to power,
and through the years it waited,
I could never give it up. 
The skilsaw superseded; a cold, 
efficient implement that did as it was told,
never a slip. As my effectiveness 
fell short, my eyes became unsure,
my hands bore witness to the times
I slipped and sliced until I bled 
when choosing my old friend. 
Museum pieces, he and I, 
both worn and put away; 
I still recall the touch, the feel, 
the smell of yesterday.

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
Dear Edgar,

I could not endure the tragedies of your short life,
suffering through the death of your young wife.
Orphaned at the tender age of three years,
is it any wonder that you cried unending tears.
You were only forty when death came to your door,
such a talented hand was now stilled, forevermore.

It is because of you that I write these days,
you have been an inspiration in so many ways.
I remember the day when I first discovered Poe,
such deep words of torment, sadness, and woe.
Which is exactly how I was feeling at that time,
to me, your poems of darkness are truly sublime.

You wrote of haunted pasts and a premature fate,
with such agony and loneliness, I can truly relate.
You also wrote of many a romantic endeavor,
and your humorous stories were really quite clever.
Time has condemned you with a "gothic" label,
but, much like my writings, it is all just a fable.
No one made you apologize for writing "The Raven",
so, why should I hide like some cowardly craven?
Your rhymes and your poetry continue to inspire,
how did you ever master it, might I inquire?


Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Ode to Miss Charlotte

I read about some verbal wars
That brew among some poets.
It’s fought between the ‘know-it-alls’
And those who just don’t know it.

I came upon your essay
On this sacred hallowed site
And after reading what you said
I am convinced you’re right.

Man, in his poetry must apply
 Some elementary rules
Lest those who seek our legacy
Will think we all were fools.

Who makes the rules by which we write
May always tease our minds
But poets’ hearts will always be
The source of all we leave behind.

Haikus are a special breed
But we’ve known all along
That Japanese write differently
Yet sing their haunting songs.

So, let life stand and judge me 
As I travel the poets’ road
While I’ve not only butchered haikus,
I have devastated odes.

Author’s note: Listed below are some of my posts that will clarify some confusion.. Jake
On Raisin’ Haikus, Haiku Hell, Haiku Shoppe, Haiku Town Dog, Haikuville, Haiku Hash, Haiku Omelet (1 and 2), Haiku Hound


Written by: John Posey 10/05/13
Inspired by: Haiku Fanatics, a poem by Charlotte Puddifoot

Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Dare I now close my eyes and visualize
what kind of childhood memories you hide
inside a mind that churns out a surprise;
Each write, the genius cannot be denied.
As I read each and every poem I try
to understand the heart behind each word.
The lines which may have led someone to sigh
have left this ardent reader pleased and stirred.
      Dare I disclose that I have fantasized,
      with simple lines I hoped to tributize?








Kim Patrice Nunez
18 August 2015

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Frantic searching for my sanity as the odor of explosives and burning flesh assault my soul.  Longing for the boredom of stuffy barracks my eyes my friends constantly search for your return I hide all but fear.

We know the death of friends but in our life embrace we conceal all that is deferred for recollection in our final days.  For now bravado, lots of scotch, and a Thai stick sets the pattern for our only security.

Lost are the joys of spirit we envisioned as children; gone is the clarity and respect for lives easily expended in the most secret of a nation’s honor, generalities served in a bitter beer.

I know you friend, your dreams your plans you say them softly in your sleep.  Our  prayers to will keep you safe.

We dare to plan in-country encouraged by being too short not to let our minds drift at the possibilities.  

We hope that God is truly on our side and confess only in our eyes the sins we speak to no one.

The blood of those we do not know anoints the heads of those we do and love for now, until our final taps brings us home.  

With this kiss of honor I embrace what remains of you my friend and your courage.  I curse your departure and salute the honor of our time together.

Copyright © Violetta Antonia Sorcini | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

POETRYSOUP HEROES Heartstrings of poems, I post and post, I wonder who will ever be engrossed. I, like a seed blown to a fertile land, hoping as days roll by, I will also glow... --------------------------------------- No longer a baby or a child, I, a beginner to PoetrySoup, smiled to his short verses, gentle rhythmic words my imagination and wisdom was spurred. --Paul Callus-- From Malta with heartfelt care, a busy honey beau to his work and family but he a care bear, his time he shared, hence agonies I have many a time atrophies... Popped from the blue, here comes a Belle, She is dropped by heaven and onto my pages she dwell. To her sponsored contests, my hunger to poetry swelled. Bit by bit, my writing began to sweet-yell. --Debbie Guzzi-- From the country where the Liberty stands, her writing prowess, I forever say roses grand-- rich of fragrance, flowing humbly with grace... Her lace hurricane flair often leave me amaze. I do not have a magic. I don't hypnotize but He said to me, I have one unique style to each and every poems he reads from mine plus an irresistible smile he was magnetized... --James Fraser-- He has more than an Eilean Donan Castle lure, his heart and mind a brave survivor couture. When our paths crossed, our lives take one detour-- thousand miles apart yet our hearts sing songs so pure. Dear readers, I so want to enumerate more for truly in PoetrySoup heroes roar... I hope you didn't snore or I didn't bore, but I swear in this site so much is in store. ________________________________________________________ ***Paul Callus, Debbie Guzzi, James Fraser 5:57pm, November 11, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |
Braving stormy seas
Lone helmsman-up to the task 
Old Leviathan 

Copyright © Richard Thistle | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |
I have an addiction...
It dont matter what time of day it is my addiction is there...
Not always in the literall since...
But it is always on my mind...
I lay my head down to sleep at night thinking about you...
I sleep dreaming about you...
I wake up thinking about you...
Your always on my mind...
No matter what I do my addiction is always on my mind...
Even if your not the last one I talk to before I lay my head down to sleep...
I still lay my head down thinking of you...
I just cant get enought of you...
No matter what my addiction is there...
My addiction has a name...
Her name is Shelby Nestle...
No matter how much we text or talk on the phone...
Its never enough...
I cant get enough of your beautiful eyes...
I cant get enough of that beautiful smile...
I cant get enough of kissing your soft lips...
That feeling I get inside when our lips touch...
Or holding you in my arms...
This is a new addiction to me...
Never have I been this addicted this quick...
It scares the shyt outta me...
But then I love it...
You are my new addiction baby... 
You are my...
My heroin...
My ecstacy... 
My cocaine...
You are my own personal drug...
I cant imagine and addiction stronger...
You are my addiction...
I wouldnt even think about trying to break this addiction...
I wouldnt go to rehab for this addiction...
I like it to much...
YOU ARE PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

Copyright © jaremy mount Jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
Take This Stinking Keyboard And Shove It
(Tribute to Johnny Paycheck)


Take this stinking keyboard and shove it
I ain't awritin' here no damn more.
Gone is my inspiration, O' how I loved it
damn it flew right out the back door!

My muse, she done left me in a hard pinch
with another unfinished score.
Wicked her anger and she don't give an inch
no matter how hard I implore.

Last night her fleeing with my heartaches
she dared called me "poetic bore".
I write and rewrite, no matter how many takes
my poems still hit the damn floor!

So take this damn old pen and just shove it
I ain't penning here no more.
Gone is the ardor, O' how I dearly loved it
down so very deep in my core.

My muse, she done ran away all ascreamin'
raced away to a foreign shore.
This is a damn nightmare, I ain't adreamin'
never been this damn bad before!

Take this stinking keyboard and shove it
I ain't awritin' here no damn more.
Gone is my inspiration, O' how I loved it
damn it flew right out the back door!

Robert J. Lindley, 10-25-2015

Note : Tribute given to Johnny Paycheck, for his version 
of , "Take This Job and Shove It" , with additional tribute
to the musical genius , singer/songwriter David Allan Coe .. 

(1.)- Johnny Paycheck
Donald Eugene Lytle (May 31, 1938 – February 19, 2003),
better known by his stage name Johnny Paycheck,[1] was
an American country music singer, multi-instrumentalist
and Grand Ole Opry member most famous for recording the 
David Allan Coe song "Take This Job and Shove It". He 
achieved his greatest success in the 1970s as a major 
force in country music's "Outlaw Movement" popularized 
by artists such as David Allan Coe, Waylon Jennings,
Willie Nelson, Billy Joe Shaver, and Merle Haggard. 
In the 1980s, his music career slowed for drug, alcohol
and legal problems. He served a prison sentence in the 
early 1990s and his declining health effectively ended 
his career in early 2000.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |


CARL G. JUNG

visionary dreams
alchemy magic red book
history's image

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode |
There've been times in my life
 where I've just had to say,
 "I must, give it all up,
 for, it's that kind of day"!
 
I must, really say this
 I really, just must;
 if I didn't say it,
 then, it wouldn't be, "just".
 
There's this crazy, old man
 we'll just call him, "Doc";
 who fills up blank pages
 with, "poetical talk".
 
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
 'til way, past bed-time,
 trying to finish each poem
 and, complete every rhyme.
 
If he hadn't done this
 he'd surely gone, "mad",
 his nonsensical nature
 was, all that he had!
 
No hidden agenda
 when first, he wrote down,
 each poem of nonsense
 to erase a childs' frown.
 
And, Doc always did this
 manipulate, "clues"...
 ..so that , all of his poems
 were merely geared, to amuse.
 
He loved to let nonsense
 be the order of the day,
 and, with every poem
 we all smiled, the same way.
 
His only intention
 was to set our minds, "free",
 his style, just did it
 so, poetically.
 
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!




The volumes of topics
 that Doc's written of,
 included all that could be
 written.....below, and above.
 
He's written of magic,
 puzzles, and games...
 ..with, strange little creatures,
 with, strange little, "names".
 
The, crazier his story,
 the saner he'd feel,
 and, the more that we heard
 convinced us they were, "real"!
 
His poems, were genius
 as he weaved us, a tale;
 with, nonsensical rhymes
 that did so, without..."fail".
 
"Old Doc", has quit writing
 he's up in heaven,
 this year, his birthday'd ...
 make him, a hundred, and seven!
 
He's given advice,
 taught what we must do,
 he said, "Be who you are...
 ..no-one's youer, than....you!"
 
He's maybe still writing
 in, heaven....you see,
 that'd be just like him
 as, that's who he must, be!
 
That, silly old doctor...
 ..as silly, as a goose;
 we all loved his poems,
 for, we loved Dr. Seuss!
 

Copyright © david goodwin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Nonet |
            Nonet meets sonnet    
       "  The 1st women inspired art "

              Sofonisba Italian artist known   
              inspired women to paint free
              Internationally acclaimed 
              her use of light woven
              with detail precise
              Michelangelo
              asking for
              advice
              clear

               come to me with love and passion Michelangelo
               for as the day falls to night bring to me your song;    
               thou come seeking say you to me but say what is in thine heart ?
               In quiet fields of tall grass under olive trees,  Cremona I think of thee
               bearing all gifts of love's hidden secrets questioning my only virtue
               Remember me as if I ,your breath, desires no other  remember thine fire !

              In great respect of the Art, nonet meets free verse  ~

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
MUM ...

WHERE DO I START? I DON'T THINK THERE IS WORDS , TO EXPLAIN HOW I AM 


FEELING ABOUT THE LOSS OF YOU... BUT I WILL USE ALL THE STRENGTH YOU HAVE 


GIVEN TO ME , SO I CAN GET THESE FINAL WORDS OUT THE GUILT , SADNESS AND 

REGRET  FROM NOT SEEING YOU LIKE I WANTED TO  SO ****ING MUCH ,

 THEN THE PAIN OF NOT HAVING  A CHANCE TO SAY "GOODBYE" TO THE MOST 

BEAUTIFUL MOTHER COULD WANT, AND YES MUM I'M TALKING ABOUT YOUTO HOLD 

YOUR HAND, TO SEE YOU SMILE , TO HEAR YOUR VOICE, WOULD MAKE MY LIFE MORE 

WORTHWHILE. YOU TAUGHT ME HOW TO LIVE, BUT YOU NEVER TAUGHT ME HOW TO 

LIVE WITHOUT YOU I MISS YOU SO SO MUCH MUM, BUT THE LOVE IN MY HEART FOR YOU , WILL MAKE SURE 

YOUR LIFE , LOVE , WARMTH AND TOUCH , WILL LIVE ON FOREVER , 

IN ME I KNOW THAT YOU CHANGED ME , JUST FROM YOUR 

PRESENCE...THATS'S HOW STRONG YOU WERE MUM I KNOW YOU HAVEN'T LEFT ME , 

FOR THE LOVE IN MY HEART REMAINS , YOU WILL NEVER HAVE TO SUFFER AND YOUR 

BODY WILL FEEL NO PAIN...... GOD TOOK YOUR HAND , AND MADE US PART , HE CLOSED 

YOUR EYES , AND BROKE MY HEART ....FOR ALL THE TIMES WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER,

I WILL NEVER FORGET YOUR FACE.

THERE IS NO MOTHER ANYWHERE LIKE YOU,

NO ONE COULD TAKE YOUR PLACE.

IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN YOU WERE LEAVING,

I GUESS I EXPECTED YOU TO FOREVER LAST,

ALL OF THE DREAMS OF US IN THE FUTURE,

ARE NOW BUT MEMORIES OF THE PAST.

GOD TAPPED YOU ON THE SHOULDER,

HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW,

THAT YOU WERE GOING WITH HIM,

TO THE SKY SO BEAUTIFUL BLUE.

ALTHOUGH I MAY NEVER SEE YOU MUM,

ARJAY WILL BE BY YOUR SIDE,

HE'S GONNA HOLD YOUR HAND,

AND LEAD THE WAY,

FOR HE WILL BE YOUR GUIDE.....

I LOVE YOU MY MOTHER.....
DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU UNDERSTAND, 
DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU KNOW,
DON'T TELL ME THAT I WILL SURVIVE,
HOW I WILL SURELY GROW.
DON'T TELL ME THIS IS JUST A TEST,
THAT I AM TRULY BLESSED,
THAT I AM CHOSEN FOR THIS TASK,
APART FROM ALL THE REST.
DON'T COME AT ME WITH  ANSWERS THAT CAN ONLY COME FROM ME,
DON'T TELL ME HOW MY GRIEF WILL PASS,
THAT I WILL SOON BE FREE.
DON'T STAND IN PIOUS JUDGMENT OF THE BONDS I MUST UNTIE,
DON'T TELL ME HOW TO SUFFER,
DON'T TELL ME HOW TO CRY.
MY LIFE IS FILLED WITH SELFISHNESS,
MY PAIN IS ALL I SEE,
BUT I  NEED YOU,
I NEED YOU YOUR LOVE UNCONDITONALLY.
ACCEPCT ME IN MY UPS AND DOWNS,
I NEED SOMEONE TO SHARE,
JUST TO HOLD MY HAND AND LET ME CRY,
AND SAY, MY FRIEND I REALLY DO CARE
Mom you mean the world to me
It’s hard to live without you ,You were always by my side
Through thick and thin you helped me

Copyright © MIKAYLA BROWN | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013