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New Alive Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Alive poems are below this new poems list.

He is Dead-Alive by Krutsinger, Caren
Love Is Alive by BANGALEE, MAHTAB
stay alive and bring her to life by Hope, Clementine
Alive Wreath Hardy Laurels by harris, matthew
The Winds Are Alive by McGreavy, Maureen
God Alive and Well by sensele, john
Truly Alive by Krutsinger, Caren
You Are Alive Forever by BANGALEE, MAHTAB
She Was Apologetic For Being Alive by Krutsinger, Caren
BEING ALIVE by Datu, Leon

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The Best Alive Poems

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Where The Sycamore Grew

The sun-yellow house seems smaller somehow,
regarding it now,  with our time-worn eyes...

The street seems narrower, and the trees are taller..
Where once open fields spanned both sides of the road
there are new tract houses, and fences have bloomed
The neighboring orchards have all been removed

But somehow we knew the house would remain....
As if seen from a distance, ...yet, so much is the same

There's a rusty-red tricycle, and a skate left behind
from someone's small child, that tomorrow will find.
They wait near the pavers that wind to the door
It's a path that we laid on a hot summer day...
in front of this house that sits at the bend
near the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...

As suddenly as wind will spring from the dust
thirty years fell away, and flew into in the past
And quickly alive, all the memories rise, 
     like a whirlwind of leaves, in a springtime of lives.....
_____ 

...Our first Christmas trees,. and our first holidays...
    Anniversaries we spent with just pizza and wine

 The place where I cried long into the night, 
  as the child in me grieved for a mother who died...

 Long, starry nights, I was bathed by the moon
                    rocking my babes to a lullaby tune
_____

Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house
Our very first house, with the snow-white shutters

Strange, it may be, but I'm glad it's still yellow...
Still wearing the face of the warm summer sun 

The sun- yellow house, with a flagstone path
Where old slate stones bring the sun to the door
It's a path we laid on a warm summer day
in a place that we knew as our very first home
 
Just a small yellow house, with snow-white shutters...
that sits 'round the bend, where the sycamore grew...


                                       _________



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009


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Wind From The Sea




Inspired by Andrew Wyeth Watercolor Painting -- Wind From the Sea, 1947




Standing in the old house
A strange mixture of feelings erupt within me
My roommates Depression, Loneliness, and Hopelessness
Greet me with strangling arms and leering grins
I don’t fight them anymore – somehow they are a part me
So together, in this house, in this room
We endure the somber solitude of the day

A sudden chill fills the room
Death enters – its foul breath chokes me
My three companions prostrate themselves
Pressure builds in my bowels
Bile rises in my throat
A heavy weariness fills my bones
He’s calling – hissing my name
I can’t breath

Death surrounds my soul – crushing me 
I hear groaning  . . .
Strange guttural sound -- it’s coming from me
Deep painful darkness fills me
I beg Death to take me . . .

Through the open window
A gush of wind enters
A sheer curtain hanging comes to life
It’s spirit lifts inwards and up beckoning me to dance 

What is this wonder?
A limp ragged curtain – faded, stained, frail -- has life
Reaching toward me . . .  frayed fingers of thread motioning
Old friends rush to me – Joy, Hope, Love
Death’s grip slips – I gasp a breath
Looking up I see the open window
Boarded by old bare wood, hard with age

I realize it’s daylight now – soft shadows 
A curving road leading to the water
I can taste the saltiness in the wind
Trees in the distance
A calling from the sea
Seagulls, waves, laughter

Joy breaths into my nostrils 
Leave this place – Depression cannot hold you
Simple pleasures I will give you
   Cool breeze on a summer afternoon
   Laughter of friends
   A walk in the garden
   A book
   The Sea . . . 

Depression laughs in my ears
Through that window lies heartache, treachery, poverty, misery
It will chew your insides up – blood will pour from your lips
Pain and suffering awaits if you leave this house
Death waits to take you home 
An end to this constant noise – the peace of total emptiness 

Another breeze and Hope fills my eyes with light
I see colors – vibrant alive filling me with warmth
Leave this place, take a journey to the sea
Let light fill you and be your guide . . . see -- opportunities abound
For laughter, love, forgiveness . . . for life – abundant life
See the rainbow upon the Sea

Hopelessness rushes toward me
Kisses my lips and whispers
Light burns and blinds
Enslaves you
They will see clearly your secrets
Spotlight focus – ridicule scorn . . . ugly disgust . . .  self-hatred

Love rushes in and embraces me
Light, fresh, empowering
My heart leaps with pleasure
Arm and arm she leads me to the window
Much pain and sorrow – yes . . .  also Love
A powerful love that transforms, refreshes . . . frees
Breathe deeply of the Sea air – fill your lungs
Go – you are loved deeply and completely

Looking out Looking in




David Meade
01/07/2015


Live Generously


Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015


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The Ballad of the Poet

*The Dead Poet*

Many blocks along the road, 
Kicking down walls of heavy stones, 
Yet no one could draw through the walls of her lonely bones.
A poet who could not write what's inside. 
Her pen had gone ink dry. 
Her beady eyes lost the feel of an angelic realm.
She tried! 
She tried until she could no longer cry!
A poet who stuttered with the mind and out came no words.
This poet hangs on a mound with a picture that tells a sad tale.
A poem that broke verses in a Carpe diem dream.
She ruffled her arms once more as if she could fly.
Still nothing, 
Everything felt dead inside. 

Trap in a mental state that clots the willing vein.
Isolating her form in a room with no door.
She stays this away from the feel of the marvel pen.
To never go back, and feel again.

In the most ominous way,
She lets out a cry, 
A cry, never heard before. 
Running from this evil, that stain her world. 
 
Words buried deep and behind a new exterior box, 
Her insides grasp all the air of airs once alive. 
A talon drop into the next,
This troublesome poet gave up on everything. 
Had nothing left, but the empty space within. 

Next!
She curls herself into a fetal world.
At last, she closes her eyes, to feel no more.
A poet who died the day, joy wiped the glee from her face.

by;PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013


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SNOW GLOBE

Welcome to my ----- life
A beautiful broken aura
             Unsettled flakes
             The sound of yesterday
             Shattered winter glass
Transcend to the unconscious mind
Frozen, dead, yet alive
Hell, escapes my future of eternal suffering 
Tiny buttons of snow -fall to my feet
Firewood burns endlessly,
The hairs of her soft skin rise like wheat
Shadows by hand flip the hourglass
The possibility of change takes  --- need
She stands on the outside of my dreams
Looking in;
Quietly she summons the cold legion 
Confused, trying to cleanse her soul 
She wipes off old fingerprints 

White glitter, forgotten notes
Spiritual spells enhanced in a quiet villa
Shadows of hands toss the glow
Daydreaming inside another dream
Falling flakes in hopes of peace
A warm bedded cabin sits at ease
Observing, breathing, mind settling
Swirling into an earthy feel
Another long downward drift
 
Shadows of hands set the tide
She awakens, sharing the stars
She mocks the sun, her eyes sparkle
Covered in snow - aging peacefully
She fibers to soothe her soul
She reeks, neither heaven nor hell
Temporary punishment, rattling thoughts
Captured in a transparent globe
Passing through a purgatory world
No walls, no in between
Falling far from the echoes of life
Sacrificed by death before salvation 
Transcending to the unconscious mind
             Shattered winter glass
             The sound of yesterday
             Unsettled flakes
A beautiful broken aura
Depart from my ----- life             

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015


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Magic Beans





Our first awareness
      falling through time
      through blood-rain, pure white snow, green vegetation 
      down into deep earth
      warm sunshine
      cool wind
      soaking rain

Energy flowing-up through our pod
      each day we grew bigger
      snug together with brothers and sisters
      bursting our little cozy shell
      then one day
      a father and daughter
      plucked us from the vine
      stripped – we lay bare upon a tray
      disorientated and tender but alive  
      a life force deep inside us
      our skin soft but hardening 
      then sleep . . . waiting for the one

Daddy!!  Come see the beans
They changed colors
I see brown ones with white specks
      Yellow with black dots
      Orange with blue stripes 
But wait  . . .  there are three larger beans that seem to glow and vibrate
      one is blood-red
      another . . .  brilliant white
      the last . . .  forest green
What does this mean daddy?
Is it evil?

No my sweet darling
These are special beans
Descended from an ancient garden long ago . . . 
      no longer of this world
It was a place of love and light
No death but a deep communion between mother earth and us
The three beans are:  Peace, Purity, Prosperity 

These beans will feed a starving world 
      Bring healing to the hurting
      Laughter to the downtrodden   
      Hope to the desolate 
      Love to the unloved   
      Life to the dead
These beans hold deep magic

How do they work Daddy?
      a worthy woman is chosen
      who is humble of heart
      strong in spirit
      wise in love 

Who is this lady?
      the magic beans choose
      they only appear to the one female
      you, my darling . . .  you are the one

Me?  I am only a girl
I have none of these things . . . 
      the beans see deep within a soul
      they never lie
      they have chosen you 
      together you will change the world!

Daddy, I am scared . . .
I am shaking 
I am not worthy
      breathe deeply, close your eyes 
      put the beans in your mouth

Daddy, I taste sweetness
Molasses, ginger, caramel . . . now chocolate 
I see visions upon the wind
Blood, wars, rage, yelling . . . unbearable things
      yes, darling the evil is strong here
      let the blood from the red bean flow
      let it mingle with your love
      it will defeat this evil and bring
      healing and forgiveness . . . peace

The white bean is singing with my voice – Daddy!
Sweet is her song
I see merriment, laugher, dancing . . . 
People hugging and holding hands
My tears are falling
Filling rivers with waters of light, love and purity
Joy reverberates from mountains peaks

From my open lips runs rich green sap
Deep does the earth drink
Big drafts of life and love
I see fields flowing with
Cream, honey, and wine
Trees waving to the sun
The earth is rejoicing

I see beans being planted 
In a garden
A man and a little girl
      yes, my Little One, soar now
      fill the world with your love
      fill the wind with your song
      love generously 

Such is the magic of these colored beans







David Meade
1/26/2015

Love Generously


Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015


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Yesterday Love Was Such An Easy Game To Play


Yesterday, I went home for lunch, I never go home for lunch. When I got to our apartment  I don't know why but I didn't reach for my key.  Francine was at work and I always leave last in the morning.  I was sure I had locked the door but I didn't reach for my key. I reached for the door knob and turned. The door was open.  I don't know how I knew. The moment I entered I knew.  I froze. I could feel it, smell it, hell I could taste it. I started walking but my muscles wouldn't move,  my lungs were grasping for air  for some oxygen  some sweet, sweet oxygen but I could barely breathe. “Leave!” I told myself but I kept walking. Not really walking,  it was like moving through mud,  like a slow motion scene in a movie.  But this wasn't a movie.  This was my life and I could feel it slipping away  from my grasp. I heard noises! Francine.  I had heard those noises a hundred times before,  they were the sounds of an Angel  but this was no heaven  this was my own private nightmare. The moans traveled through the muck in the air  amplified like the hiss from a distorted speaker.  It mocked me over and over again. Climbing a mountain might have been easier  but I finally reached the bedroom, and there they were, and there she was. I knew, I knew the moment I entered the apartment.  Why hadn't I just turned back?  I could barely see, my eyes were blurry,  covered in layers of my own tears. I could see her  I knew I had never seen him before. They were naked and in our bed.  Naked in OUR BED! How do you that? How do you cross the line to that extreme? You'd think the green eyed monster  would control my actions from here on in.  I did see green! I was insanely jealous but I didn't want to end up the morning headline in the newspaper. That monster jealousy was by my side but I took charge.  I'd have to keep him at bay, at least for now. You'd think I would be mad, I wasn't. You'd think I'd curse and call her whore. I didn't! Being cut open alive must be lest painful than this.   This hacked away at my spirit,  tore away at my self worth. I felt like a pile of worthless shreds. I spoke I mean my lips moved and words came out... I think.  I think I said,  I'm not sure it all happened so fast, she never spoke. I could see the shame on her face  she didn't need to speak,  but, but I think I said 'Sorry... I said Sorry and I left. I wandered for what seemed hours,  it was minutes.  It wasn't like I was meandering to a different drummer;  there just wasn't any music anymore. I was moving to the rhythm of the beating of my own heart.  Like a broken record it was skipping, like a broken record it played  in a loop of repetitive monotony. I suffered in my circled steps  until I couldn't stand it any more. I found just enough strength  to return to the apartment. I knew she was gone  I already felt the emptiness in my whole. We'd never see each other again. We had been so much. She was a big part of my life. She was the love of my life. I would never love anyone like that again. So much of her was me. I thought she was my soul mate. We let go of all of it. There is a feeling of betrayal. A feeling of disgust. A jealousy that takes over. I'd never look at her the same again. Everything she ever did from that day on would always make me suspicious. Jealousy would rule me. Jealousy should never rule anyone. If you can't trust the people in your life, friend or lover, you need to remove that person from your life. You have to remove that person out of your life. Trust, is the only gift we can offer. Friend, lover or stranger! People can trust me. My word is my bond. I let her go,  I really didn't have a choice I would never be the same again. She was gone. She had left a note. It said Sorry! Sorry! We both were. Maurice Yvonne 11~30~2014 Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker Contest Name: The Green-Eyed Monster 
 


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


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Where Gladiators Fought

Part I

Where gladiators fought for life,
we meet to fight for love
The constellations in the Roman night sky,
celestial spectators, bathe the Colosseum
in the white blood of light
The night is throbbing with the heat of our battle,
our cries, more passionate than any that have gone before

Part II

A short while earlier
A well paid bribe found us in the remains of the Ludus Magnus,
the remains of the old Gladiator School in Rome
where lies buried
a hidden entrance to an underground tunnel 
You pull me with you into dark underground world of legend
By light of a flickering torch,
we travel into the entrails of the behemoth,
coming in time upon the holding rooms
My breath catches 
I hear the sounds of man and beast
carrying through the thin layers of time:
Slaves, criminals, debtors, all awaiting their fate…
Animals pawing, grunting, starved for food
Dying to kill to stave the gnawing pain
Waiting….
Waiting to be lifted up into the arena
Waiting to fight 
Waiting to live or die

Part III

We break into the hypogeum
The crispness of the night air stings us
The vastness of it all paralyzes all thought
Rome comes ALIVE
The resurrection of history enflames us,
and as we mount those final stairs up to the arena,
I feel your excitement blazing through me
Your grasp is almost painful in jubilee
“We are here…HERE!” Your voice is laced with the sacred.
Between those famed arches…XIX and XX
We stand 
You and I all and 50,000 ghost spectators
Here at the East Entrance
The Gate of Life Looms above us
True gladiators passed through these very gates 
Here the applause coursed through their veins
And thundered to the captives below…
Here I stand
Quivering with the knowledge of all this night means to me
That thunder reverberates through MY body
I can hardly breathe
Your eyes are looking up at tiered levels
while mine look ahead
There is the walkway connecting the east to west
At the far side is the Libitinarian, the Gate of Death,
through which dead gladiators were dragged,
their bodies dumped in the Spoliarium 
to be stripped of clothes and armor
Life and death
Here, they converged
Here, they fought
On this night
I know
I will strip myself of my clothing and armor
I will let down my defenses
and give in to your onslaught of passion
Here… I will die to all but your eyes

Part IV

I walk, quietly, with purpose
Here….in this place...
my virgin blood will be spilt
Halfway between life and death, I stop
I turn towards you
My voice reaches you on the night wind
“Come to me!”
I see you move towards me
My mighty gladiator
You who have fought my demons
You who have slain my nightmares
You who have held in check
A savage desire for possession
As you stand before me
I wonder if you know
Tonight is the night
You will plunder and ravage
to your heart's delight
your just reward

Part V

You find a place to keep the torch upright
You see the blanket I’ve spread on the ground
I answer the question in your eyes
With the curve of my lips
I steady my hands as they work to undress me
I feel my body burn in the warmth of your presence
Your eyes undress me faster than my hands can,
and yet... you are....immovable
You stand transfixed
You wait until my only covering
Is my flowing hair
"Make love to me
Here, now...be my gladiator
Come...claim your prize."
I reach out my hand to you
and in a moment
before my next intake of breath
you've come to life and crush me in your arms
Your mouth claims mine
like never before
seeking more
your tongue explores
demanding, commanding
it takes what it will
You pull me in to you 
Your hand in my hair,
my breath is raptured by your sheer strength
Your mouth travels along my neck
Hungry….like a famished animal finally set free to feast
You devour as you reach my cleavage 
I lean back to let you savor my breasts
For the first time
to taste 
You’re down on your knees
your tongue encircling my navel
going round and round and dipping inside
This prophetic dance of what is to come
washes over me
as you lower me to the ground
In a moment, I’m looking at the stars
The two brightest ones being your eyes
You are above me
You are everywhere
Kissing tasting touching feeling pleasing
Finding my voice, I pant...
“Don't...be gentle
not...now!"
I’m gasping with the effort
of all I need to say...
of the weight of feelings...
raging within me
"Don't...hold back anymore
Take me...
Take me...now."

Your hands reach for mine and pin them down
My breasts heave, my body rocks
as I feel you plunging into the moistness 
that your very presence always creates in me
But never...to this luxuriant degree
Pain mixes with pleasure again and again
As I hear your grunt and groan
Your ecstasy comes in manish moan
And I close my eyes to the Roman night sky

I sigh
I die
To the world
I am reborn in you
I hear your victory cry
And feel your jubilant release inside

Part VI

They fought for life
We fought for love
My fingers run through your hair
Your head is pillowed on my breast
My heart beat a reminder
Of what you have won
A gladiator’s reward...

LIFE
found
in the arms
of the woman
you
LOVE


For Justin Bordner’s Contest
Make Love to Me in that Ancient Place
November 16, 2014



Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014


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BUTTERFLY KISS

*BUTTERFLY KISS*

I'm still alive and I don't know why?
My heart survived falling from the butterfly sky

Caught by the hands of destiny
With visions only I can see!

My love I heard your call
Wings of a butterfly broke my fall

Love motion is in the air, a love no one can compare
Indulging a look-a-stare- that we both share

Reminiscing our love made out of stolen hope
Awe~:*! To  them butterfly kisses that felt so real

Flowing like Amazing Grace, 
A shining light upon my face.

I traveled fast and far, longing to be in your arms
I desire, the warm sensation of your charms

Your safe love will help me carry on,
With the strength and bond~the love you set upon

Nothing is better than a sensual butterfly kiss
Beyond the sensation of heaven's pure bliss

Fluttering in the clouds aiming for the moon
A dream of reality, out of my cocoon I bloom!

Valued by the art of true beauty and its rarity
True love flapping in the midst of clarity

I entwine that I am yours and you are mine
Bonded together till the end of time

With the vision, my heart is no longer blind
Two broken hearts at last combined

I glide below to touch your lip.
Our lashes touch from tip to tip.

Caressing each other as our wings expand
Two hearts- kisses collide and land

Holding your hand reaching to the rainbow sky.
Kisses:*kisses:* like the butterfly!


Dedicated to *My Babe*


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010


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New World Order

While Bureaucrats grow rich and fat
              in six-star luncheonettes, 
and Bankers beam Their self-esteem
              (bailed out of broker's debts),
the deep, devout and down and out
              sink, sallow silhouettes.

Tycoons hold reins (arrayed as chains)
              where words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we turn our cheek
              to worlds They’ve polarized,
and march to war, through Satan's door,
              watch cities vaporized.

The Lord of Lore tells tales of war,
              of victories far away,
where eyes stare stark within the dark 
              and death is painted gray
on faces cold, some young, some old,
              all lined with jaded clay.

We're taught at school the Golden Rule
              for all to live in bliss.
But in the wars on foreign shores
              the only rule is this:
'Yo! You and I must fight and die
              inside the black abyss!'

But well alive, the Merchants thrive
             on sales of armaments
that Barons built (with pride, not guilt)
             to quell the dissidents,
while Artisans are posing plans
              to conquer continents.

But back at home, the rumors roam
              'Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
              in weathers wet and numb.'
They fantasize with fleeting lies
              and pray we'll all succumb.

A Tabloid screams of phantom dreams
              to keep our minds at sea 
and TV skews the evening news,
              ensures we all agree:
'With dynamite we fight for right
              and not for tyranny.'

The brain aborts when drugged with sports
                and fashions of the day,
and sevenfold, men think as told
               and so are led astray;
and like some sheep (unless asleep)
              they baa when they obey.  

In search of sense in sounds intense
              of droning drum tattoos,
souls, thin and worn, file by forlorn,
              in tame and tattered shoes -
their tears of pain, like streaks of rain,
              have strewn the avenues.
	
Along the roads, the future bodes
              in legends made of dust,
and ashes gray the alleyway
              'neath lampposts scaled with rust.
While Divas dine with cakes and wine
              pale orphans share a crust.

Dead colonies of bumble bees,
              a ravaged hornet's hive,
rain forests, dales or minke whales
              soon nothing left alive…        
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
              as long as They survive. 

The Moguls wield a silver shield,
              wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
              boast brazen bayonets;
and unicorns sport ivory horns,
              defend the Martinets.

Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
             who watch you day and night
to track your trails and read you mails
              and say They have the right
to know your thoughts and thwart your plots
              to cease Their oversight.

Behind the scenes, behind the screens,
              the rules are fixed, arranged
(contorted smiles conceal Their wiles -
              Their goals have never changed).
When upside-down, a grin is frown
              and common sense deranged.

As sunlight wanes in winter rains 
              and sullen shadows crawl,
the evening ebbs, and spiders' webs
              seem tattooed on the wall.
And in the night the Masters write
              The Final Protocol.


Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015


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NULLARBOR

NULLARBOR

As darkness falls above the eastern skies,
with dawning shadows ending heartache’s woes.
Along the path wherein my future lies
behind the setting sun a light yet glows.
The barren earth divides a vast expanse
as shadows cast by dawn are left behind.
The glow of light in contrast to enhance
the darkness of my perished love unkind.
The sun sets over deserts reddish hues,
beyond the treeless plain, in hope I prance
with new direction my belief renews.
To west I head without a backward glance.

What lies ahead beyond the Nullarbor,
a dream of good to feel alive once more.


23rd August, 2016
T.J Gren


Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016


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Reconciliation

What is this “me within me”?
Mute masquerade?
Immortality of a self,
A puff of worthless air,
Or  feelings so pure?
Can I bear wings
And an angelic creature be
To soar away
Into the screaming wind
Where no one can find me?
Shall I in my ignorance
Play lip service to gods unknown?
A fancy-dress life
Where questions are left unanswered,
Camouflage realization
Obfuscate the truth,
Sigh a metaphysical inquiry
Or embark on a voyage of discovery?
 
Yes I can fly amongst the clouds,
A ray of sunlight breaks through dark clouds.
Your name emanates from my lips.
Your glow repels all ugly shadows.
I bow my naked head in shame
That this miserable me dared forget You.
Echoes utter beloved vibrations,
Celestial music softly penetrate my soul,
Your presence almost too much to bear.
 
Once more I feel alive,
Reconciled to Your divine mercy.
Emotions spread far and deep in my veins,
Oh, to feel the warmth and comfort
As I bless Your sacred name.
 
The “me in me” is complex true,
Shame, vice but tenderness too.
I strive to cleanse the “me in me”
I feel Your hand stretched out to me,
Dispelling anger and pride
Kindly substituting them with grace.
Together we shall walk again.


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2018


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A Wordless Sky

if i don't write i'm doomed to die
and lie beneath a wordless sky
a silent corpse, unseen, unheard
alive yet dead-  is that absurd?

if rhymes don't paint a rainbow hue
and lines don't tempt with taste of dew
if words can't clothe just what I feel
this thing called life must not be real

without a dose of poetry 
what will become of you and me?
just members of the walking dead
we march each one with empty head

a lifeless, joyless, hopeless mass
who try to make the hours pass
without the ecstasy of rhyme
to be alive is just a crime

for life without the words I write
is dull and drear, like starless night
like endless, tortured misery
is life without my poetry

Eileen Manassian


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2018


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My Melodious Muse

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                                       Sensitively
                                       I hold YOU
                               [ in my arms so very ]
                                       tenderly, as
                               [ if an extension from ]
                                       my very own
                               [ being the supple and ]
                                       lithe  form of
                                         your body,
                                          my muse.
                                          I am as a
                                          kid again-
                                          alive  with 
                                          the glows
                                          of being in
                                          the  midst
                                          of your so
                                          sweet and
                                          m elodious
                                          c om pa ny
                                          as free and
                                          com pletely
                                          joyous as I
                                          h a ve  ever
                                          been  in my
                                          whole entire
                                          existence 'til
                                          now - totally
                                          drenched  in
                                          plenitude. So
                                          whenever I'm
                                          joined in your
                                          aspect, all the
                                          soft  curves of
                                          your fine torso
                                          r e sonate with
                                          m y thoughtful
                                          intents and wild
                                          imaginings. You
                                          are naught with
                                       -out my deft caress,
                           and I, empty and incomplete without
                   you, yet together we create a harmony, pure, the
             articulation of sublime revelation ... an utterance of divine,
       inspired creativity, a dance                     of improvisation and revel
    -ry, melodic wonderment,                               unified and concise. We
   endeavor to find  our em                                -pyreal song, to  thus be-
  come one, stealing silence,                                 lulls. I  gently  caress your
  neck  with resolve, manipu-                               late you with my dutiful and
  competent hands,  each  fin-                           ger with its own very resolute
  course, attending your whispers                 with appreciation, and longing to
   hear the moans and sighs of your sweet voice and affect... the coy result of
      our purposeful, energetic joinings, are your soulful, rare and resonating
         arias - the final and fitting example of all we realize in each other.. all
             we create in our requisite energies. I remember back to the very
                first time that we met, you with your brightly colored trap-
                  pings and shiny baubles, the strength of your supple
                  shape rippling with lines of poetic perfection, you took
                 my very breath away! Oh, I had seen others of your ilk
              been with others who spoke with  similar lilt, but none that
         pulled the breath instantly from my lungs, none who made me qui
    -ver with anticipation, to touch you, run my hands over your ample con
  -tours, to hear you whisper a sultry voice to the tympans of my ears - such
 ecstasy I imagined ... and ecstasy it WAS! I had watched you from afar for so
long ... dreaming, never really expecting you'd ever be mine, but that day I fin-
ally knew - knew I'd hold you, touch you, love you, make YOU tremble, the way
you had me! I would finally get to inhale the sweet, earthy fragrance of your so-
smooth, unblemished flesh, finally know the completeness and exquisite joys of
cradling you in my arms! And oh the beautiful things we have realized and done
 together ...  what incredible music we have made! Our spirits always united as
  one, moving, sighing, creating every sublimated harmonic expression that we
   can imagine, and always together, always joined by a magic thus unequaled,
     always bound by the song of life, and the voice of the heavens! You shall
       be mine forever, my Sweet Lady, and I mean to hold you and love you
         until both of us can sing no more! Until the very skies no longer can
            vibrate with the musings of nature - until the weep of the even's
                clouds dries up and turns to dust ... until the roaring beat
                     of thunder no longer shakes the ground ... until the
                         gods themselves wipe the constellations from
                               the sky - this I pledge to you, my love
                                        and my agency of art, my
                                                      guitar.




August 24, 2018



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018


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Northern Slaves

In the silent breathing of night,
treading through 
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish. 
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes 
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.

The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men 
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh 
With endless stings of cruel misery.

The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass 
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.

The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)

I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day 
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!














 


Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2013


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Lonely Leaf in the Water

I watched it fall In spiralling flight This browned yellow leaf A saddened sight For not long ago It was alive and so green In a canopy of cover Above the stream I watched it meander Around rocks and through eddy's On the stream it continued Becoming more unsteady It's protective coating Now a shadow of it's past As the water moistens It's out on it's last It came to rest Between two rocks As the water cascaded To the bottom it dropped The end of it's life But it's journey goes on For nature will use This leaf that roamed .


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009


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I Slipped On A Tear Drop

I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her arms. She never knew how much I needed her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her soul. She never knew how much I needed her. Between yesterday’s old coffee and today's bright doom I broke in half. My heart slipped away into the hell of her death and my mind created LOST memories. So many moments of despair she held, and so many times of loneliness I lived. Beneath the darkness of the moon I drowned in a river created from her pain. It engulfed me into oblivion and I shall never be the same again. Sisters need each other and I needed her. Life seems over and death seems so FINAL. teardrops in her arms- woe brings rivers of d r o w n i n g DEATH by suicide I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her misery. She never knew how much I loved her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her heart. She never knew how much I loved her. After the downpour of anguish I fell asleep. Nightmares of our final hug GOODBYE. If only I had held on longer maybe she would have felt more love from me. Maybe enough love to keep her alive. For she never realized how much her pain caused me heartache. She bled in sadness and I bleed in regret. No time to heal because healing is no more. Life seems dark and death seems so BLEAK. one final goodbye- not enough pure love from me two dead souls bleeding I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her remorse. She never knew how much I longed for her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her essence. She never knew how much I longed for her. Before she was born she was already gone. A lifetime of sorrow and feeling different. It was hard for her to be a lesbian. Too hard. RIDICULED and damaged beyond repair. No more light at the end of her tunnel and the lessening of sunshine during her days. It’s depressing to think about what she felt her final moments of life. Her goodbye letter was awful. Full of pain and too much grief for me to read. I keep it in a journal tucked gently away. One day I will pull it out and read it again. Life seems wrong and death seems so BLACK. suffered from regret- too flawed and b r o k e n to heal sister’s forever ~She s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her grave~ I Slipped On A Tear Drop N/A The Creative Collective Anthology Series Date Judged: 7/9/2017 Date Written: June 21, 2017


Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016


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A Spark In Flight

My love, the world is ours,
its reflective sapphire oceans,
its turquoise pine tree forests,
its topaz colored days,
its moonstone lit evenings.
My love, I'm certain it's us.

The amethyst citrine painted sunset 
called our names right from its onset.

You are my never ending wide open sky
with a red orange coral moon up high.

So radiant is your glow, a sparkle in flight
how you shine - a spectrum of colors like light 
through a crystal clear white garnet.
Your hair like flowing strands of  pearls, crests
lightly to sit brightly on your opal shaded breasts
with their dark red inviting rubies set.

Your emerald green stare gentle with its powers
like diamond brilliant rays during sun showers.

Your divine allure
so true and pure
oft blinds me
and when I see
I see only you
like the jade dew
covers the morning lawn
on a sardonyx dawn.

You are the gem drives my joyous life,
the precious stone keeps my dreams alive.

You are indeed a jewel rare,
"who" I ask "could compare?"


11~15~2014
Maurice Yvonne 
Sponsor: Carol Eastman 
Contest Name: Your Favorite Poem Contest
 



Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


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The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven - A Tribute to Chan Hurst 1979-2014

A few poems written by Chan Hurst, (Just That Archaic Poet)

I hope that we can find some comfort in them at this sad time.


"A Rational Explanation"

What must I do to see this through-
Unlock the world I never knew?
For all I've seen hath been untrue,
As all I've felt hath plagued me, too!
I am no more, past Deaths before
I've reached the end of Living War-
(to see through eyes both blind and closed)
A life to touch, but never know...


"Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep"

Every day, to God I pray
For answers to Life's enigmas
Patience lays in wait to stay-
To cleanse our Social Stigmas
We pass the time in our idle Dreams:
Like fallen stars in singing streams


"A Happy Ending"

Remorse and regret, I mustn't forget
Remind me that Life is a process of Learning
Indeed for I sorrow'd; 'twas always upset
As the Truth was met with painful discerning

But now my eyes are open-wide,
Grew to love what I once despised
I am no longer sick inside-
I just feel happy to be alive


"A Master's Approval"

No happier could I ever be,
(Or feel a joy's enormity!)
Than to know a Soul as Poe-
Would say he likes my poetry!


"The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven"

I pray that in my Eternity,
I'll meet Shelley, Poe and Emily
That we'll all sit down at a table round,
And at length discuss our Poetry!

And Longfellow, lest we forget
Lord Byron, Shakespeare, and beloved Keats!
If I prove their favorite Poet,
I could accomplish no greater feat!

For all my many silly musings,
This one I covet above the rest
For my Soul's toil- finally proving
That the Masters love me best!





"Heaven For A Poet"  by Kelly Deschler

My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to bed nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.

My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.



This poem was one of mine that Chan had faved, so I thought it would be appropriate to share this now and dedicate it to him.

I will always miss you, BP, my brother in poetry, but I sense that you are smiling down on us now.

I know that Chan idolized Edgar Allan Poe. I remember him telling me that someday,
he wanted to share a table in heaven with that "good ol' E.A. Poe".

So, Chan, if that is what you're doing now, I envy you, my friend! 

And, you said that you would personally invite me to that little gathering, remember? :)








Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014


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Little Fire

I witness you fading away, The winds blow frantically They are against us, as all are Little fire, rise in my cupped hands Be it my life I shield from the elements so unfeeling? Little fire, brighten as I feed you This moisture receding from my pores must cease Before I drown this diminishing beauty I gasp, Surprised at the howls and retorts of this icy tempest Nature’s exhalations mean to end what must naturally end My hands shake Little fire—my life! —I must keep you alive! Grow against all odds Against the screaming whirlpools of bluster Against the torrential tears that mean to overcome you Against the ashes that can only watch the desolation around you, As you search for more fuel to masticate My flesh is no treasure to me, So lick me deep, my flame Devour these hands that shield you Rise hastily, as you burn Ascending up my arms, Lighting every goosebump, shriveling every hair Rise till I am all aflame in this wilderness Boil and evaporate every murderous tear— The fluids of sorrow that so pulverize purpose Eat through every sinew, and every tissue, Every muscle and every bone that has grown For this moment and this moment only I give you every piece of me, little fire! So that my spirit, finally free, shall rise to the heavens Past the shrieking winds, preceding through the jeers of thunder I give you my all, blessed fire! So that these eyes may witness every storm die And I may laugh at their futility!


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016


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- A One Way Ticket -



Hills come alive with sweet sounds of birds whistling tunes
Filled with harmonious peace, you sail within time
Gentle whispering winds through branches of trees call

When you dare to take the first step forward
Everything feels so easy embracing such beauty 
Mixing voices of nature talk deeply flowering 

Thrown into the unknown life is truly magical
A universe inside feelings explode in one gift
The soul eclipsing delight warmed with sunshine rays

Like a virgin being on guard of the tiger claws, lions, bears and snakes
Only when your starlight kisses clouds evaporate 
Time continues and the butterfly waltzes freely once more

Crossing paths in this journey new beginnings grow
Small wild strawberries threaded upon a stem beg to taste
Opening one gateway within thoughts 

Setting sail into another world beyond 
With you salt of the ocean waves rise and fall
Upon rocks kissing pillar of strength

A cool breeze says goodbye upon your cheek
Loving spices land this boat on paradise sands where gold sparkles warm beams
When we meet at Heaven's gate batting lashes close entering a doorway into a dream 





Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :)  05.09.2015 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015


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The Brave

The brave are more than ones who battle on
in fields of warfare, showing valor true
The brave are more than those that wars have won
There is a truth that must enlighten you:

the ones who fight the battles in their minds
who daily strive to keep their fears at bay
the ones who chose to draw away the blinds
and force themselves to face another day

the ones who have the courage to keep sane
are ones who need the medals to reveal
that they are striving hard to deal with pain
though they are taught their battles to conceal

The brave are those who struggle to survive
They are the ones who fight to stay alive!

Eileen Manassian





Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016


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Touched by Your Flame

I watched them gather round
The warmth of your flame
Like campers at campfire time
Huddling close to you
Pushing and jostling
For the best place
I saw your warmth
Dancing off their faces
Small cinders escaping into the night
I followed the sparks drifting up
On the chilly breeze
Riding high…disappearing into the stars

I was cold
I was alone
On the edge
And yet…I dared not go near you
Though your light invited me
And I wanted so much to be warmed
By you
Yet….how could I find a place
By those encircling you
Watching the mesmerizing display 
Of your orange and yellow flames
There was no place
Among the gathering of....
The strong, the beautiful, the insistent
So, on the outskirts I stayed
Tears trickling down my cheeks
Cold
Alone…

I waited…I held back
Until they all left
One by one
Some bumping into me
Not even aware that I was alive
I waited until you had almost died out
No longer on display
But a warm glow of embers
Still orange and glowing with desire
And I approached
Shyly…
Longingly…
Needing to see you dance
For me….only for me
And I coaxed you
In my clumsy way
My fingers cold
My heart ablaze

Suddenly....you burst into flame
A pillar of fire
Miracle of love
For I had not added any kindling
But my little heart
And yet it seems you had waited
Knowing I would come
And my slightest touch
Made the flames spring to life
Voracious flames
Flames reaching the high heavens 
Your heat overpowering
Consuming
I almost threw myself into you
Wanting to reach the center
Of the heat and warmth
Of your beauty…

I spent the night
Out under the stars
Lying naked
Yet not cold
Naked
Yet not ashamed
Naked
Yet not shy
For your glow was my covering

I let myself be touched
Time and again
By licking fingers of fire
By the burning flames of your desire
For….ME!

For Gail's Contest
Touched by Your Flame
May 27, 2013


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013


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Have a lovely day


Have a lovely day


Pushed now to the limit by a never ending whisper
Lost behind the meaning of a question I can’t hear
Dreaming of a day when life addresses me much deeper
Found within in a headline that is nothing close to clear

Led onto a dance floor with a blindfold and a promise
Following the jagged steps that shuffle once again
A slow collaboration to the music that was playing
Performed beneath a false pretense that never should have been   

Words in place of faces with a finger pointing outward
Fodder for the listeners who fall as one more prey
Stalking from the shadows on the unsuspecting gazers
Candy offered free to all of those who want to play

Jumping to conclusions as if age will change decisions
Casting off a friend without a compass in his hand
Sorry if this heart has run away from past deceptions
When its found the weight becomes much more than it can stand

Some can be so fickle filled with uninvited feelings
Blame is placed on others as their mind lives in a trance
In between the lines they find affection in a poem
Whirled about in cursive some accept as true romance

When did I become a man who listens to his echo
Caught outside the visions that can bring the scene alive
Wondering aloud if I can just afford an answer
Facts of that elusive mark which somehow I survive

No one understands me as the crowd now wanders backwards
Shocked that some old lunatic is running down the street
Screaming in a language sounding like a trolley whistle
There’s no need to fear me, why does everyone retreat

Just another body strewn about in some odd fashion
Move along, there’s nothing here you haven’t seen before
Hurry, call the coroner his pen is slowly dying
Look, a note he left behind all crumpled on the floor

I am just a poet who at times has penned emotions
Sending hope and happiness in fancy written charm
Not some steely daggers there in wait beyond the forest
Hopeful you’ll believe me that I never meant you harm

Those were not my wishes that are sorted out and tattered
Just a piece of fabric sewn around the fraying seams
Stitched together tightly in a thread of indecision
Cut by little pieces that are lost inside my dreams

Give me just a minute and I’ll pick up where I started
Then you’ll know the meaning of these very words I say
Far above the message found in hypothetic banter
Everyone, enjoy yourselves and have a lovely day
   


Thanks for everything Soupers. I will never forget the kindness all of you have shown me. 

Chris 




Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017


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kaleidoscope

through a tiny lens
held firmly with hands
eyes gaze in awe..

with a simple twist
colours explode harmoniously
bright, sparkling,blinding..

the colours are stunning
so vivid, so alive
with truth as in life..

this ever changing vision
is but broken glass shards
not whole, not complete..

simple, plain, tiny pieces
they don't fit, they don't belong
different shades, different sizes..

fragmented, swirling on command
no direction,they stop; at one's touch
and through this seemingly disconnect..

therin lies their beauty
for these tiny glistening pieces
imperfect jewel tone shades, dance; together..

revealing the essence of life,
humanity and all who breathe
for they gloriously join; naturally..

to inspire joy, excitement, wonderment
the green piece could be a used wine bottle
tiny violet piece from a castaway vase..

regardless of their origin
these magnificant, illuminating pieces
unite as one and magically dance..

with truth as in life
beauty is as beauty does
fusing together, naturally, effortlessly..

kaleidoscope..

broken shards now glistening jewels
the spirit of every man, woman and child
is part of this most magical creation..

for every size, shape and gorgeous hue
is us; in every race, age & size
coming together, to create, to inspire..

tunnel vision seamlessly vanishes
as eyes are opened; captivated
at the wonderment, joy and harmony of..

becoming one; beautifully and with faith..

kaleidoscope.


Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006


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A Near-to- death State Of Mind

He lies, warm and straight; unmoving.
Free from pain in his transitionary world;
safe within a love that shared his body and mind.
Without her altruistic and unyielding care
he'd float through the eternal abyss
of clouds and endless memories.

Images of her weeping pervade.
Her tears flow in viscous streams,
like lava flows that wrap him in
a final expression of love.
Hands, once inseparable, are slipping apart;
yielding to a final, fingertip touch of goodbye.

As they catch a rising breeze, 
closed curtains stroke a stirring caress
like the delicate sway of a grass skirt.
Tiny, impish faces appear then disappear
among the pattern, playing peep
then hiding in their secret, fantasy woodland.

The paintings on the walls become animated,
zooming and retreating like a camera lens.
Their inhabitants: alive and busy
like tiny repertory companies
in their framed microcosm,
creating scenes of a recognisable past.

Strange, vague faces of yesterday
hover in subjective silence as they
claim the gloomy corners of the room.
Some smiling, some scowling;
some turning away without reason.
Why would they turn away?
What secrets do they refuse to share?

Endless conversations with the dead,
yet only one audible participant.
Passed relatives visiting incessantly,
in forms that bring most comfort.
The vertical finger of silence touches the lips
when the living enter the room.
A shuushhh.....and they leave.
Returning to the mysteries
that exist beyond this 'mortal coil.'
But always they reappear:
a night-and-day procession
until exhaustion overwhelms.

Distant voices of children
travel the sky, certain to be heard.
That playground cacophany
amalgamated to a luring hubbub
of childhood communication.
The mind floats back with
the eye of a soaring eagle.
Back through the forest of life,
scanning images of existence past,
to a clearing where children
dance in happy, skipping circles.

Suddenly, the sky turns dark,
as leaves swirl in rustling tornadoes.
Ominous, churning clouds tumble
and roll in a thundering menace.
The children run, drenched,
in an expanding ripple of screams,
for the safety of the trees.

Then, a flash of lightning ignites
a wondrous, refulgent dawn.
He steps forward into the glow,
without fear, as he hears
the cry of a newborn baby,
held within its mother's arms.
He looks up into the eyes of the mother, 
and then.......all memories die.

A rising breeze blows the curtains open.
They unfurl: banners of respect, fluttering
in unison for his last, whispered words.
On whose release, a wistful wind
carries them to an infinite silence:

'I'm tired, my love, I'm so very, very tired.'






















Copyright © Jonathan French | Year Posted 2018