I like many others have lived in our dreams
In this world where I lived amongst forests and streams
Where the Great Plains stretched and our rivers flowed
If you could see through my eyes, how my tribe glowed
Born from my mother of Arikara descent
My father a Sioux warrior, his stature, augment
My growing up was no different than the others around
For the learnings that grew from our ancestors surround
Hunting and fishing, being told of the dangers in life
Cultural indifferences, to fearing tribal strife
But it's what my father taught me every single day
To learn from our lands for through the years they'd display
Tracking, seeking, searching, living from our lands
Every year more learned, growing in understand
From a boy to a man becoming a warrior through my years
Protecting what was ours, allaying modern fears
But the changes that we faced, suffocated our souls
There was only ever one outcome, other man's goals
I like many others, to live and eventually fall
Born from Arikara, Sioux, my name was 'Standing Tall'
A little story from my heart, where the Indigenous will always be.
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014
"When returning love, becomes to Late"
From her eyes
His name the name
She mumbles silently
3 rivers, 3 years, 2 many tears
She loves him endlessly
Sending her soul
A free feeling,
Finally, he fell
Engaging, equal to the spell
Morning, mountains and more
Move across a new age moon
His heart happily
Traveling towards hers
Dashing dandy, onto her dinner plate
Too long she waited,
She's not hungry, her heart self healed
3 rivers 3 years 2 late
Her tears faded his rusty name
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014
Fog settles on the tombstones. In the dark, an eerie blue,
the graveyard is a misty ocean Raven passes through.
She stops. The solitary site is grim, devoid of sound.
Her long black gown, a ruffled slip, is satin sweeping ground.
Her sable locks lie smooth and straight across her graceful back.
Stark contrast is her alabaster skin to hair pitch-black.
This woman - with a beauty that forever captivates -
now stands, a pistol in her hand, and there steadfastly waits.
Since told the man that she adores (who left some time ago)
lies buried here, the woman’s come, for Raven has to know!
She can’t believe that he could be here in this place of doom.
He’d left for war before they’d barely been a bride and groom.
As Raven looks out on the sea of mist, her eyes have teared
because those birds that bear her name have suddenly appeared.
A sign it has to be, she thinks. The ravens drawing near
are circling above one stone. Her heart is seized with fear.
Now Raven walks to where the birds are circling above.
She pales. . . The stone she’s reading bears the name of her true love.
The fog, a sea engulfing all, has swallowed Raven too.
Gun raised, she drops down to his grave; she knows what she must do.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
Let me tell you the story of Miss Jenny Prime,
who spent all of her days making everything rhyme.
It was thought she’d outgrow this strange childhood spell,
but her fetish just grew and made her parents’ life hell.
When Miss Prime was a baby, still sporting a bib,
each night she was cuddled, then placed in a crib
by her doting young parents, who thought it quite funny
to give her a pet name, “Sleep tight Hunny Bunny.”
And that was the start of poor Jenny’s plight,
forced to listen to vowel chimes night after night.
Before long she was making up rhymes for herself,
all her un-rhyming toys were just left on the shelf.
Even quenching her thirst could cause quite a stink,
no O.J for Jenny, her drink had to be pink.
They bought her some shoes, red, shiny and new,
“I’ve told you, I’m not wearing a shoe that’s not blue”
She demanded a dog so they went to the pound,
she picked the fattest one there, just to have a round hound.
Her bed had to be red, her jeans had to be green,
and a fish dish for dinner or she’d cause a right scene.
Stamping her feet she cried “I should be Jenna,
and for pocket money, I should be getting a tenner”
Each Friday brought tantrums, as she hardly had any,
reluctantly taking just a penny for Jenny.
Her increase in years simply brought more despair,
she bleached ebony locks for she needed fair hair.
The colours of clothes always caused her to cry,
so to get round the problem she learned to tie-dye.
Now I know it will come as some sort of surprise,
but Jenny had caught a young gentleman’s eyes.
He knew things would be tough, but he’d give it a try
so, with posies of roses, he dared to drop by.
The roses were great and he was kinda cute,
he’d even gone to the trouble of tie-dying his suit.
He was called Jack Kilkenny, his name did not rhyme,
so she told him to leave and stop wasting her time.
But Jack was his nickname, his real name was Lenny.
Alas, this information was not known to Jenny.
He was perfect for her, a match better than any,
for if they’d wed they’d be Lenny and Jenny Kilkenny.
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone.
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs
like dandelion seeds blown from
My wistful lips when I was
waiting for them to bring back my wish.
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from
your father’s funeral.
It was the only time I watched you cry.
There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through
their watery colored reflections.
for the way your skin repels from my
Touch, quivers as though my finger-
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss.
You left her waitng..always.
I have been special to you,
she replies to your
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.
My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.
We will divide our booty
Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.
for the morning
now knocking on my window.
I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
the tangle of these vacant sheets.
Copyright © Jennifer Brooks | Year Posted 2006
Big ripe Mcintosh apples found lying on the ground
Release sweet juiciness when their finders take a bite.
Ibises of scarlet stand elsewhere in the world without a sound
Gathered underneath a crimson sky awaiting night.
Hovering near bushes bursting ever rosily
Twin monarchs flutter; cardinals sit on a red-flamed tree.
Barns decorate the countryside always painted so
Easily to view in their typical bright red hue.
A patch of strawberries grows in summer row by row by row.
Utter deliciousness resides in raspberries grown there too.
Tempting are the garden's tomatoes, more treats colored red!
Inside an orchard, carrying a pail which holds small fruit
From a cherry tree, treads a freckled lad, hair like fire on his head.
Underneath a canopy of leaves, robin redbreast sings a tribute,
Lifting notes mellifluously in praise of nature’s grace.
Robust as chili peppers' flavor; radiant as a ruby gem,
Everywhere we see the passion in this color we embrace.
Delightful and dynamic too is this color most worthy of a poem!
May 30, 2017 for the Red Poetry Contest of Mystic Rose
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
Her words flow like glorious music
In perfect time.
Her sonnets gift us with special words
In lovely rhyme.
A lady with the kind of style that
Epitomizes the beauty and grace
With the countenance of
A glowing poet’s face.
Brilliant words filled with imagery and emotion
Her poetry cannot help but inspire
Other growing poets with
A yearning desire.
Andrea is always right there
As she sets the best example of poetry
With outstanding grammar,
She teaches endlessly.
Andrea is my finest friend and confidant.
We who are blessed to read her poetry
Are enlightened by her symbiotic words
In perfect harmony.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Tribute poem for Richard Lamoureux's Contest
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2013
Once in a forest, a long time ago,
there dwelt a young maiden, bright, sweet and fair.
Flowers she wore in her long wavy hair,
and each day she’d vanish into gloaming’s glow.
Alana Dulcita was this young maid’s name,
a name that fell sweetly from everyone’s tongue.
The townspeople loved her -both old and young,
yet nobody knew from where the girl came.
They only knew that, at the end of each day,
with sun dipping downward into the west
and sky splashed with colors Alana liked best,
was when, as if magically, she’d slip away!
“Where does she go?” all the villagers asked,
“And how does she leave us so quietly
that not even one of us ever can see?
Has some kind of spell on our dear girl been cast?”
Spell or no spell, the young maid had powers
as into the woodland she fled and then donned
a gossamer gown, hidden well near a pond
surrounded by beautiful flowers.
She peered into water after she’d kneel
as a lovely face gazed back at her.
In this perfect moment, what should occur
but, like magic, the girl became real!
Her filmy silk gown would blend with her skin,
shrinking into a stem, and her face
changed into petals till soon not a trace
remained of the form that a human lives in.
Alana Dulcita, her real self again,
breathing lilacs’ and lilies’ sweet scent,
would bow her fair face, a flower content,
to repose by the pond with her kin.
Awaking at dawn, renewed, she’d return
to the town where they loved her so well,
keeping the secret she never could tell
of youth’s beauty for which humans yearn.
She’d never grow old as long as she had
a place of seclusion where she might go
to water around which bright flowers could grow,
for this is what kept the soul of hers glad!
Never to marry and never to stay
too long in one place, she’d always move on.
Beloved she would be till the day she was gone.
This, for Alana, was the only way.
Alana Dulcita, where did she go
when forests grew small and lake beds grew dry?
Did the fair maid eventually die
or is she still sleeping where bright blossoms grow?
Note: The name Alana means "the bright fair one" in Gaelic
or "precious; awakening" in Hawaiian & "Beautiful dear child"
in Irish/ the name Dulcita is Latin for "sweet."
Written by Andrea Dietrich & Inspired by the "Reflections" Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
You wrap my name
In syllables of love
Passion tinged sound units
Caressed by the beauty of your voice
you leave me no choice
but to yield....
breathed into my ear
letter sojourners to travel
down the curve of my neck
to a cadence that captivates
and my heart capitulates
When you say my name....
When you say my name
saturated in n~e~e~d
wanting to be freed....
you make the appeal
your testosterone tempered tonality
it sets in motion
that rock ecstasy's epicenter...
my name comes again
riding your waves of want...
in the full knowledge
that my release of liquid love
will welcome you in
to the inner sanctum sanctuary
where your body is idolized
and your name chanted...immortalized
in the rhythm and rhyme
of passion sublime
When you say my name...
When you say my name
you evoke the spirit of eternity
to dance the dance of life
weaving through and around
two simple syllables
of romantic antics
dancing and swaying
your voice calming playing
the trace of romance
leaving nothing to chance
when you say my name....
when YOU say...MY...N*A*M*E*
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
Well guys I’m going to tell you a secret
You don’t really know me
I have not been honest
I am not who I say I am
Yesterday I discovered the real me…
I’m a ninja – yes honestly I’m a ninja
I have proof from www.anagrammer.com
Ninja Salol …………………….…..Jan Allison
So I thought I’d have fun with a few names here
Hope no one is offended.. but they are quite amusing!
Casual Pull …………………...... …… Paul Callus
Diarrhetic Ande ….…………….Andrea Dietrich
Archaean Cans …………… …….Casarah Nance
Ard Man ………………………….......……. Armand
Hmm is Tit ……………………....…….Tim Smith
Savour Hart ……………………...…. Arthur Vaso
ill can Jokes ……………………....….Jack Ellison
Hencoop Arse ………….….….…..Shane Cooper
Horny Rash Ram ……….………Harry Horsman
Lycra Nim ………………….…......……. Lyric Man
Go Mercurial Ire …………….….Maurice Rigoler
Peer over………………………......….….Eve Roper
Ramshackle Cure……………. Earl Schumacker
Salutes Sir…………………………....….Lei Strauss
Mercy Tis So ………….……....………Mystic Rose
Can Hear Microchip………Charmaine Chircop
Upgrade Gent…………………….….Peter Duggan
Warrants Done……………..….. Darren Watson
Sit Leprechaun................... Paul Schneiter
9th February 2015
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.
Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.
This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.
This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.
This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.
This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.
This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013
I did not mean to snatch your heart
Like with the claw of a vorocious bird of pray
You fell into my unset trap
Speared yourself upon my harpoon
Which had only been hanging on the wall
You threw yourself into my way
stole my arrows and brandishing them with cupids blood
Punctured your heart without a thought
Other than the whisper of my name
You claim that I'm a siren
I've led you to your death
But it was the birds i sang to
Your name did not leave my unforgiving lips
With swollen eyes from crying
Filled with swirling colors of obsession
You beg to me and plead with me
Blaming me and cursing me
Claiming that i drug you here
Forgetting it was you who snuck in through my balcony
To watch me in the fountains
And listen to my voice
To see how the animals follow me
And witness how the moon becomes my robes
And the stars become my eyes
How the setting sun remains all night
Within the silk of my hair
how roses color my cheeks
In the darkness of the cold
And the world surrounds me
And the beauty of the light i behold
Where in this story did i bewitch you
Where did i make you call my name
Did i once respond or invite you to play a game
you claim i did this to you
When you only did it to yourself
did you enjoy your gaze upon the child of Cerynian
Did you think I'd become your obediant wife
When did i claim i loved you
How quickly you think of these blasphemous lies
Your not in love you simpleminded mortal
Your infatuated and in lust and your lust is a lie
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012
if my good name means keeping face with those who are not so good
strip my flesh of my good name and let me be not misunderstood
if my good name means putting on a facade to indulge the higher ups
then lower me below the lowest and empty my deceitful cup
if my good name means being nice to appease your sensibilities
then strip me of my good name and arm me with accountability
if my good name means betrayal to soul, self and spirit
then silence my good name because i don't want to hear it
if my good name means i have to tell myself a lie
then to hell with my good name i'd rather tell the truth and die!!!!!!
Copyright © John Castro | Year Posted 2011
I prefer to be called Jan … only my mum calls me Janet
Makes me feel like a naughty child and I am never naughty!
Just started writing poetry last year
Aims to try and make you smile
Now I have the writing bug and I never want to stop
All I want to do is learn about writing
Loving my new found creativity
Life experiences recently have made me stronger
I don’t try to pretend to be anything I’m not
Self-confidence is at an all time high
Only those very close to me know what makes me tick
Now is my time to shine
The meaning of ‘Janet’ in Hebrew is Gift from God
So who am I to argue with that endorsement!!!!
Sponsored by CT
Contest – what’s in your name
2nd December 2015
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Say not to me,
that it will not matter a hundred years from now,
that I was here.
For surely I have touched one life in a positive way,
perhaps in daily prayer
I've called your name one day.
Having no profound accomplishments or delusions of fame,
and leaving no progeny
to perpetuate my name,
still, it will matter that I was here.
For I have quietly endeavored to sow, and I have watered.
I love and am loved--should one desire more?
Life is good and hopefully God is pleased.
The tracks I'll leave, it's true,
will not be so ingrained as to stand harsh winds of time
and they shall fade as the evening sun,
leaving somewhere, only a name and date chiseled in granite.
Perhaps, if only in thought,
one pausing o'er me should question, who was this man?
Let God simply whisper, that I am His.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2008
Find it in an anagram,its a name of French descent
It has four vowels in it,and is a long nine letter word.
The main noun starts with C , and ends up with an E.
Its beauty lies in sugar-coated charm,Its carefree as can be.
A melody of lyrics where graceful swans belong
If you'll get to know it, it means you found a Song.
It owns a friendly attitude like Blossoms of May
Pleasant yet stubborn, and does plenty in a day.
A bountiful orchard bestowing delightful gifts
Of kindness, calm serenity ,and truth upon the lips.
It empowers the one who owns it
with a will to change the world.Born to be
a hidden leader whose voiceless men defends.
Endowed by empathy.Spiritually insightful
Emotionally endearing ,with a tint of mystery.
By Shakespeare ,Cleopatra's attendant was called the same
but as the Bard penned , 'What's in a name'
Would you treat me differently if I just called myself
Madame,Mademoiselle or Dame?
Would my light shine brighter if I was called a star
Isn't it our heart which proclaims who we are?
Isn't it our soul which reveals identity
Isn't it our life-lines which prevail our destiny ?
For Silent One's Contest : What's in a name ?
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2017
The whisper of dawn calls my name
gliding like a softly-bathed air: tangy
and afloat with a spice of mint
in christened pools lithely buoyant.
A path of upturned twigs rip free
to sail along bobs of peppered dew;
dewy in a way new sunrise adorns
pastel fingers where wings of ray
become intricate as it is daring ; calling
forth, 'Daughter of Light'..."Light's Daughter"
till the fragrance of earth winds
huffs upon morn's sweet delicacy ,
bearing my mythical seal upon gracious earth.
What's In A Name Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2017
knock knock knock
on my front door
i get up to look
it's lonliness at the door
but quite and still
i would not let
lonliness in so peacefull i slept
and with the knocks once more
but i kept my temper
and evened the score
inside i sat quietly
wishing he'd go away
but he yelled from outside
he had something to say
i said "go away"
and i put a record on
something moving and grooving
i played it all day long
but when evening came
i put on a sweater
and decided to play
something much better
something with lyrics
that are very gentile
something with words
that don't dare remind
of terrible incidences
recently left behind
constantly reminding me
it should be a crime!
it should be a crime!!
it should be a crime!!!
anger was present
he had a key
i was glad to see him
and he was glad to see me
though being out side
made his presence known
in certian shadows
in certian rooms
"have a drink"
and handed me a bottle
"listen up. i know how to fix that flirt.
slap her in the face.
rub her name in the dirt!"
and with this
my imagination ran wild
drink after drink
we talked a while
but i remembered myself
this wasn't my style
and once again lonliness
knocked at the door
i let him in and fell
crying to the floor
why, oh why must you visit
he said "to try to give you wisdom
where you broke down before.
to try to give you knowledge
before you go through the door.
to try to make you stronger,
if you should do it again.
and to always let you know
that i am your constant friend.
i am with you in your solitude
i am with you while you sit
surrounded by friends.
i scream my name LONLINESS!
in your ears very loud.
never forget my power
or giving me my hours."
and with that
he sat his fat ass down
Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2009
My Only Flame
Love, like fire, is all-consuming,
And forever should be blooming.
Endless courtship is not a game.
As we watch each year’s seasons turn,
My torch for you will ever burn.
No regrets giving you my name.
You always will my soul inspire,
Forever be my one desire--
My first and last and only flame.
Originally posted in June 2014
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
~No Chain, No Charm~
United we own
Firm, full of finest goodies-
Our ground of freedom.
United we stand
Firm from failure and horror-
On the ground of strength.
United we pray
Faithfully with open mind-
Our bliss is assured.
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013
strange sounds hypnotize from an ARCADE
challenging me to a dual escapade
silver balls wait in line
for fingers to opine
female transforms to pinball wizard on parade.
STAR TREK is my machine of choice
listening to CAPTAIN KIRK'S commanding voice
ENTERPRISE flies at warp speed
as numbers calculate point feed
as a TREKKIE I win a la Royce.*
MORTAL COMBAT is a game of great skill
super bonus points mount as empty holes fill
in the end my name is on top of the hill.
STREET FIGHTER is quick, sharp and rough
knocking down opponents is so tough
when the flipper sinks the ball in
the bad dude shouts "a vul kin"*
aggravated, I cry out "had enough".
time to hang up my "wizard fingers" for another day
flashing lights show my name on display
leaving fantasy behind
know I'm "one of a kind"
pinball prima donna loves to play.
*Royce -haracter from older series
*A Vul Kin - foreign language meaning you're dead
*For Yasmin Khan's Video Games Contedt ..
Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart | Year Posted 2012
I have tasted war and it taste like hell
With the memory of all those who fell.
They said we won, placed medals on me
Fighting for the lady known as liberty.
At night the memories fill my dreams
I’ll never forget all the horrific screams.
My dreams are violence all covered in red
I often wish that I could be dead.
They say I’m a hero but all I can say
I wish the memory would just fade away.
In the name of freedom I went off to fight
in the name of God I pray I was right.
To the spoils of war all I can say
God there must be another way.
I survived the war but passed on the victory dance
Because war is something I shall never romance.
Written for Deborah's contest in honor
of my Son Cody and all the other brave
Souls who face the horrific memories of
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
my angel got her wings
and just like that
she flew away
way up in the sky
seeing the invisible
and praising the Lord
some may ask me
how i feel
because i lost something
my mind will wonder where to go
without her it just doesn't know
my eye's will miss her
they already do
and my ears that listened
they miss her too
and the chair next to me
will be empty for a while
and my words"I Love You"
won't make a sound
pictures will remind me
of your smile
i did get to love you
for a little while
but deep in my heart
that's where you'll stay
forever you'll be
forever and a day
Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2010