He reads voraciously
to his young children,
beguiled, somewhat bewildered
by sweet progeny's relentless
leaching of his words, his hungry baby
birds, how their peeps teach.
He reads sporadically
to his father, articles from the paper,
headlines and bylines for his dad
has cataracts, now, and velum
hands shake newsprint, make a rattling
sound, too like the quiver of cloistered
skeletons, all those remains,
all those remains.
There is wisdom in comics, he's found,
bucolic rings so like old church bells,
tutoring fields through fog.
He still tries to read
shared history in eyes,
the geography of long sighs, that topography
of belly, yes, yes, a theology
that spills from parted lips;
bless each rumpled sheet, that chemistry
which repeats poetry, spoken
in a dialect, so rare.
He remembers reading an encyclopedia
in the face of a beggar, once,
prophetical sparks from high brows —
crossed currents; a lifetime recorded,
an unbound edition, A through Z
but when he carefully turned to C,
he'd found a full entry
on compassion and charity.
Soon, he'll no longer read music notes
through a soft blur, playing guitar
for one a thousand times more educated
then he, this twelve year old girl,
this preteen, dying, her heart
an open lecture hall, her smile,
pure academia. May she ever be
opus angelorum, that reaches,
will ever reach, far past
mere hospice walls.
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014
Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
didn't don't—didn't don't
They toll for me.
Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it.
Don't doubt it. Don't think. Don't ...
Somebody handcuffs my steps, determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will
there is a slap on my head
and phosphenes like stars
command my orbit.
Before I recognize differences
there is a slap on my hand
right hand, not left hand, never ambidextrous
Time out, isolation without trial to
learn fear of wrongdoing, to allow them to
remote-control my existence
conditional on demand. An aborted
freedom escaping into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat
attempting to prove an alibi
for being alive
No one cares, not even myself.
Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
didn't don't—didn't don't
They toll for me.
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.
Sometimes deception makes them ring in a low tone.
I do what they say, and not what they do
and not what I want
and not what I think
Through fragments of this duplicity
and this duplicity
I would be able to rebuild myself and Myself
into another hypocritical being;
intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth
the liar paradox reigns through tricks and cotton swabs
When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise
I would be happy of imaginary experiences
consistently depurated, consistently believed to be true.
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin, my flesh off of my bones?
How could I blame them?
How could I possibly judge them?
Social order and obedience
in confabulation, in conspiracy, in complicity
Somebody keep pulling on the rope to swing the bells
They toll for me
In my own cell
I'm the jailer and the convict and the crime.
Footnote: sooooo fictional! : D
Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012
The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
I thought I was coloured blind
free thinking and kind
with an evolved mind
Loving and accepting
of the ones I find
Yet my blindness
Is that of privilege
I'm just a visitor
in the Global village
From my narrow thin mind
there is too much spillage
Although so many
are forced from their homes
My life seems carefree
I am deaf to the groans
Brown women wearing veils
that can't protect them from stones
I live in a white washed place
No "Freedom Marches"
for men of a different race
Yet, if I look back and trace
there are darker stories to face
We all took part in shameful things
Yes, we share in the disgrace.
Highways of tears
Rivers of shame
someone else to blame
Each child got a new name
They were forced to forget
the place from where they came
with black and red skinned men
They can't forget
this now or that then
Promises and promises
but who how and when
Or will their children
have to live it all over again
No longer colour blind
With the opening of my mind
I let colour seep in
Starting somewhere different
today I begin
Because I know
it shouldn't be
just the privileged who win!
For SKAT's premiere contest.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
Mental stretching, the required sacrifice
Addition, subtraction, multiplication and division
To all exercises, these four are the basics
Hell on paper but sweet in its understanding
Equations and formula, serving as raw products
Mastering the existence of numbers to gain its wisdom
Arithmetics also in a graphical representation
Then its technicalities in shapes and planes
Into life's activities, these applications silently integrate
Calculation of numbers and expressions
Sum up all problems via solutions to an answer.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016
Authored by Chuck Keys
It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.
There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically
It wasn't here or there and it was.
With no distinction,
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.
It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.
In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.
The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."
Differences exist for differences,
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
dadgum doctors, heads up their butts
poking, prodding, pricking skin
neurologist a psychopath
gets pleasure as electric volts pass through my body
family doctor showed little concern
made me paranoid about irregular heartbeat
EKG failed to determine cause
left me more in doubt than at ease
dentist like a character from Dustin Hoffman’s “Marathon Man”
the more pain inflicted
the more he rejoiced
deep root cleaning caused severe infection
bloodwork done by Vampira clones
labs filled with tubes and needles
results not shared with me
yet I footed the bill
optometrist an Oriental who moved so fast
didn’t care if the prescribed glasses worked
boo on you, dang aristocrats
waving your credentials
nurses so slow to respond
MRI promised on CD, but couldn’t be obtained
just like the blood tests, needed a “report”
doctors driving me insane
each should share my mental hospital bills
*Based on ongoing health tests and written for PD’s contest. Assignment Free Verse, 25 lines, category slam, sad and educational, title: Mental Hospital Bills
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal
Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see
But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day
Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural
The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground
The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery, quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon
All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, two laggards and a lout
To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole
Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile
What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task
The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash
In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech
No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!
by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016
Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016
Copyright © Brian McClain | Year Posted 2016
Nowhere near a force of nature
Challenging a source of nature
Building with the will to survive
A small measurement for those who strive
Lessons when it comes to strength
Multiplying the time found in length
Stop and learn the sound of weakness
Hard to find when one is relentless
Improving in a mental task
The answers are found when we ask
Stamina mania, you and I
To perform bravely in all we do
pump for long
yet never strong
Learn when ideas seem to fail
The wrong action is to bail
Thinking, thinking what could it be
Will not solve the problem between you and me
Practice is the best energy
Memorize it-- stamina will come naturally
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
I Did It My Way
I did it my way, not for the applause but because,
failure was not an option and I became a rebel with a cause.
I wanted higher education and was told I couldn’t have it all,
so I had to prove them wrong even if I had to creep or crawl.
I was accused of having a stubborn streak,
just because I wasn’t mild and meek.
Challenging every obstacle placed in my way,
and all the negative things that people had to say.
In spite of all the “You can’t do that,” that I was told,
I stubbornly did it my way and confidently smashed the mold.
Marching to a different drummer and dancing to my own tunes,
I kept my eyes on the prize ignoring all the nay-saying buffoons.
To keep on track, I learned to juggle tasks knowing I wouldn’t be derailed.
To keep my ducks in a row, I learned to haggle knowing I wouldn’t fail.
With dedication and hard work, as sure as night follows day,
success was mine because I certainly did it my way!
6-7-2014 - Submitted to contest “I Did It My Way” sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014
Like many precious diamonds,
Good teachers are hard to find
Yet sometimes one can discover
A rare and priceless kind,
It’s not like all the others
For it out-shines the rest
You know as soon as you see it
That this stone is the best,
A good teacher is that special gem
They do far more than teach
They make you feel, through learning,
There’s no star you cannot reach
In Art, they help you see differently
From new angles, not straight up and down
They make Geography an adventure
As the world you travel around
In History, they make you feel
You’ve lived and breathed the times
And Math is not sums, but puzzles
To stretch and tone your mind
In English they encourage you
To not just write, but feel
So that each one of your stories
Will read as if it were real,
If you ever have a question
You call and they are there
With patience and understanding
Your problems are theirs, they care
There’s usually one in every school
Superior to the rest
For they’re the ‘Star of Education’
And as such are totally priceless!
Copyright © Janette Fisher | Year Posted 2009
line count and word number are equal in this selection....
"Make It Count"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Come to play
But if you say
Oh no baby, not today
Do you think he would stay
Or would he go so far away
In search of another lover he could lay
Doing everything associated with rolling in that infamous hay
And if push came to shove, maybe he would pay
To relieve all the stress stemming from your hips' distant sway
Because something must give, there are more than fifty shades of gray
That's common knowledge to the freaks and all those upon which they prey
And once you learn them all, I promise your lover will never ever stray
But if you miss just a single one, then you may experience that dreadful day
Where you lose it all so try to find True Love and remember to always Pray
Copyright © eric boddie | Year Posted 2015
The Simple Pen
I am but a simple man with pen in hand
To cut open a slice of universe with verse
And with the ink
Let it bleed not red
It flows instead with mortal colors
Over a life well spent
What is left over
We drink this in a cup
Pour more to fill it up
But little at a time
Too much reality can cloud your mind
Said the simple man with bleeding pen
Entered in Tyshawn Knight's - "Advice for New Writers: Words of Wisdom in Verse" Poetry Contest on 6/02/15
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
This beautiful journey begins
From a courtship routine
The male perch themselves on leaves
And create a glorious scene
Waiting for a female
Just to fly on by
Now he has his chance
But, she’ll be the one to decide
The male needs to find out
Whether she’s been fertilised
If she’s already pregnant
He’s soon going to realise
She’ll release a powerful chemical
Which is called ‘pheromone ‘
That tells him she’s unavailable
So he might have to fly and roam
Soon after they have mated
She looks for a place to lay
Laying her tiny eggs
Mostly oval in shape
She can lay two hundred or more
Just in a single day
But she needs to find a milkweed
On this beautiful sun spring day
The tiny little caterpillars
Start to grow inside
Eggs no bigger that a pin heads
And thats no word of a lie
They feed on the milkweed
And the enzymes in the egg
Until these little caterpillars
Start growing up really big
Now when they hatch
From their eggs
They will eat and eat and eat
Eating up everything
Of those milkweed leaves
They will start expanding
Getting bigger and bigger
Shedding their skin several times
Now that is really clever
Then they just stop eating
And know their time has come
For their stunning transformation
Four stages have begun
They’re find a special twig or leaf
And hang them-selves upside down
Then spin a silky cocoon
Where they won’t be found
It’s called metamorphosis
Turned into a shiny chrysalis
Inside the caterpillars’ changing
Into a beautiful butterfly
It dissolves itself into a soup
That’s truly organised
Inside a process is taking place
It’s forming disc’s, a body, a face
This wonder of nature you can see
When they emerge victoriously
This transition takes some time
For the birth of an exquisite butterfly
One of nature’s beautiful scenes
Celebrating new birth in spring
The reproduction of a butterfly
A remarkable cycle, that does not die
© Copyright KC.Leake
6th April 2015
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © kevin leake | Year Posted 2015
Feeling like a lodger
In my own home
Thankful for my music
And my new found roam
Families and communities
They are just so hard to find
But in April 2009
I found the most precious kind
I found the name amusing
So the button i clicked on to see
The layout was very inviting
Like an open door should be
For in a matter of minutes
On first uploading a poem
This Highlander was content
He had found a welcome home
So many lovely writers
Poets who share their bless
No longer this Scotsman is
The Man in the Wilderness
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Take me beat me and mold me
I am yours to do with what you wish
No matter what you do with me
I am still considered quite a dish.
I can modify your hardness
I can let you know when to boil
I can conduct a heat in you
And I will never let you spoil.
I don’t react harshly, if you get me moist and wet
You’ll still love me in the morning, on that I think I’ll bet
I will still be malleable, no matter what you do
You can beat me to transparency, and yes you see right through.
I am a bright yellow colour, with a lustre some would die for
Keeping me in good condition, would never become a chore
If you really wanted to, you can put me in your mouth
I can even adorn your body parts, North, West, East and South…
I don’t react to an acid tongue, except those that are vitriolic
But you can dissolve me with the acid, called nitro hydrochloric.
You can pour me when I’m so very hot too hot for you to play
Then you can finger me when I am cool, and play with me all day
You can eat off me, or with me, the choice will be yours
They say I came from outer space, in fact in meteors
But one thing I will say I don’t wear out or lose my lustre, it is told
So if you pick me up treat me well, I am you little nugget of gold.
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
There once was Castle just over the hill
That belonged to a King with an iron will
Nestled safely behind his Castle wall
With an army to insure they wouldn’t fall
It was clear for the entire world to see
Destiny would record him in history
The richest King in all of the land
A beautiful Queen at his right hand
He ruled the land from shore to shore
Tell me, “Could any man ask for more”?
Turns out this King had just one vice
He was so great he forgot to be nice
Against any force he was bound to win
So the devil attacked him from with-in
Such a great King skilled with the sword
Much too great a King to turn to the Lord
Watched his entire Kingdom crumble away
Because he was to great to kneel and pray
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008
I never wanted it to be this way, I never wanted to feel the pain. Bruises all over me.
Invisible but I can see them.
You hurt me everywhere. My heart is shattered and the blood has frozen. But I won't be
Stare at me like this all you want. Try and hurt me with your words just as long as you
don't use fists.
I don't ever want to be your victim. I refuse to be one of those few girls who end up
losing their whole world.
Love isn't supposed to hurt, but maybe I was just naive because the moment I loved you my
heart never stopped bleeding.
I won't be your victim, I won't run away. If you have something to say I won't avoid it.
I'm not scared I can take whatever you try to throw.
Don't hold back I promise you I will not cry. The moon is shining just like all the
diamonds that you called pretend love I can't even imagine why I fell so hard.
It's never clear until the glass of water is gone. But now that you've gulped me to the
last I want you to know I won't be your victim.
I kissed vulnerability goodbye the very last time I cried over you and I won't be your
victim your not even worth it.
If you feel like you must shove a door in my butt but don't make me afraid because I
don't want to be I don't want to be your victim.
Let go of my hand so I can peacefully drive away if you want me to I can drive over you
as well. But don't make it seem like i'm causing you pain because it's obvious to see
that I've been a victim and it's a shame.
But I don't want to be it anymore then you so just let me go and I won't have to run. I
promised you forever I laugh at this now you were never eternity love in my mind.
I kept counting until the madness in ourselves would corrupt. Tears flash down my eyes
as I speed down the lanes. Two bottles of Gin and I think i'm going insane.
It wasn't until I crashed into a tree that I realized I was never your victim I was
merely your suicide mission.
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005
I was a bright, outgoing boy, who sat at the front of the class.
Then, one day that all changed, i feared to even raise my hand for a pass.
I had many close friends, loved sports and school plays.
Then on that day fear beset me, and long gone were those days.
I remember my school, i knew it inside and out.
But now i have blank spots, certain things i've shut out.
Thanks to God and His mercy, i don't recall that foul act.
But i know that it happened, no doubt, that's a fact.
Now, to the person who did this, i have nothing to say.
But, my God will remember, and He'll get you someday!
Copyright © stanley copley | Year Posted 2006
Some people are voices
On the edge of rocks
With steep slopes and cliffs.
Some people are echoes
At the bottom of walls
Carved by rushing waters.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2007
don't know if human's will ever see
every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
there has to be a place for the poorest
The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
I am to believe all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story
The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
he learn's the treasures, of everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of richness
seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty as an illness
Love start's from the soul, and from there it is taught to grow
the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace defining the difference in richest and wealth
t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth
He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
for his wealth is humanly uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
I didn’t do my math homework!
I watched T.V instead!
I better come up with an excuse... and quick!
Or else I’m surely dead!
My brother tore it!
It’s in the garbage!
Mom says it causes brain damage!
My power was out!
I had the flu!
I was having trouble excreting my poo!
You know, why even bother?
My excuses are so lame!
I know! My dog ate my homework!
Now to find a dog I can blame...
Copyright © Jacob Cra | Year Posted 2012
Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
Eyes can feel the unseen
Before it is verbalized and organised in pain
They seize innocent criminals that abuse letters
Eyes of creativity don’t feel no pity
They endlessly seek traumatized emotions in numerous seasons
These eyes live in the back of every tongue rotation
These eyes pee tears like polluted rain drops
Urinating deceases polluting the already sick tears
They lecture life with pride
Eyelashes that endlessly spray hope in words with no doubt
Eyes on words prefer no sun glasses but stanzas
They speak darkness in all artistic graphics
They visualize visions in brain map fantasies
A place with more sins and judgments they visit
They speak non-rated missions
When the world is rude to you don’t be picky on dreams
Dreams are never on vacation
These eyes can sense
These eyes are like pens
They are fans of disappointments while contribution stepladders
It’s like a clan
They reproduce stomach cramps using fertile words
The family of giving and receiving
Eyes on words speak in mute expressions
They build towers of tomorrow’s errors
Buildings that look down on problems
Eyes on words are like cold visions with no ice
© Raymond Ngomane
Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014
I could care less about the four
corners of insults,
That intelligence invites;
It is always the first straw of
grass that’s grows,
which reveals the popular outcast;
As a youth, I found my image cut down
into this manufactured silhouette.
Drenched in social rain, my peers
had never found me more alienated,
Then when I spoke fluently of diverse
They did everything in their power to provide
a verbal umbrella,
However, the texture remains weak and
This stormy parade that remains’ dripping is
indeed an afterthought,
For within this cranial mansion resides
For the more abstract and surreal
elements of life;
It is that secluded gland which reveals
the renaissance of men, who wear
Now wearing the shoes of a young
A taste of charisma resides in my
However this slight addiction to external
Comes in second to my first drug of
Membership into this fraternity may take a lifetime;
So don’t be surprised when resistance
knocks at your door,
Intimidated by the lion that dwells within
Indeed intellect is the misunderstood
That blossoms sweeter when accepted.
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2013