Best Alive Poems | Poetry
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The Best Alive Poems
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
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
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
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
Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015
*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 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.
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.
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.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
Welcome to my ----- life
A beautiful broken aura
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
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
A beautiful broken aura
Depart from my ----- life
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
Our first awareness
falling through time
through blood-rain, pure white snow, green vegetation
down into deep earth
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
Such is the magic of these colored beans
Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015
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 could feel 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!
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 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
I'd have to keep him at bay, at least for now.
You'd think I would be mad,
You'd think I'd curse and call her whore.
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 mean my lips moved and words came out...
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 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!
We both were.
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Contest Name: The Green-Eyed Monster
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
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
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 to be lifted up into the arena
Waiting to fight
Waiting to live or die
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
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 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
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
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
your tongue explores
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
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...
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
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
To the world
I am reborn in you
I hear your victory cry
And feel your jubilant release inside
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...
in the arms
of the woman
For Justin Bordner’s Contest
Make Love to Me in that Ancient Place
November 16, 2014
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
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
The Rulers wield their silver shields,
wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
boast brazen bayonets
and unicorns flaunt ivory horns
While Bankers beam Their self-esteem
(bailed out of broker's debts),
and Bureaucrats grow rich and fat
in six-star luncheonettes,
the deep, devout and down and out
survive as silhouettes.
The Press take pains to wash our brains,
Their words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we fear to speak
in worlds They’ve polarized,
and rush 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,
in spectral disarray.
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 Partisans are posing plans
to conquer continents.
And back at home, the rumors roam
“Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
in weathers wet and numb.”
When we’re in need, They’ll intercede
with prayers if we 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
(the beat sustains the endless reigns
which swamp the avenues)
souls, thin and worn, traipse by, forlorn,
delayed by shackled shoes.
Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
who watch us day and night
to track our trails and read our mails
and say They have the right
to know our thoughts and thwart our 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.
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 humble bees,
a ravaged hornets' hive,
rain forests, dales and minke whales
soon nothing left alive…
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
as long as They survive.
As sunlight wanes in winter rains
and sullen shadows crawl,
the evening ebbs, and spider's webs
seem tattooed on the wall.
Upon the night the Masters write
The Final Protocol.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015
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
Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016
** I apologize, but if you're viewing this on a phone, it probably wont look right, as the browser page on a phone is not wide enough to indent the right edge properly. It was designed on a laptop and should appear correctly if viewed on your pc. Thanks!. **
I hold YOU
[ in my arms so very ]
[ if an extension from ]
my very own
[ being the supple and ]
lithe form of
I am as a
of being in
of your so
c om pa ny
as free and
joyous as I
h a ve ever
been in my
now - totally
joined in your
aspect, all the
soft curves of
your fine torso
r e sonate with
m y thoughtful
intents and wild
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
August 24, 2018
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018
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
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2018
In the silent breathing of night,
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
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
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
~She s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her grave~
I Slipped On A Tear Drop
The Creative Collective Anthology Series
Date Judged: 7/9/2017
Date Written: June 21, 2017
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2016
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?"
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Contest Name: Your Favorite Poem Contest
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 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
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
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
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
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!
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016
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
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
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
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
Flames reaching the high heavens
Your heat overpowering
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
Yet not cold
Yet not ashamed
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 Gail's Contest
Touched by Your Flame
May 27, 2013
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
through a tiny lens
held firmly with hands
eyes gaze in awe..
with a simple twist
colours explode harmoniously
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..
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..
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006
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
We'd laid old George to rest the week before,
at ninety-one he now rejoined his wife,
no heirs to his estate, so one thing more
to do, and that's clear where he'd spent his life.
Downstairs had been quite easy, George was neat,
his things all had a purpose, neatly stored,
for tidiness this home was hard to beat
all clean and dusted, nothing was ignored.
It seemed almost that since his wife passed on
his solemn duty was to keep a shrine,
no other purpose now that she had gone,
he spent each day just sat, biding his time.
A plain and simple man, a life lived long
but opening a hatch proved we were wrong.
Met with a cold shaft of descending air
and particles of dust caught in the light
I climbed up while my friend steadied the stairs
feet dangling then disappeared from sight.
The torchlight didn't lie, I'd been deceived,
expecting just to find an empty space,
instead I stared unable to believe
how much there was in such a tiny place.
Now, yes, I would expect a Christmas tree
and Golf clubs that had long since seen a round,
a failed attempt at home brewing, maybe
and pictures he thought lost but never found.
But hidden in a tired old briefcase
were things well hid that old George couldn't face.
Tied in a green silk ribbon, slightly frayed
letters to him from his loving Maureen
about over the years the plans they'd made,
a little odd, since his wife's name was Jean.
A small cardboard box held a simple note
with medal and a ribbon tucked inside
thanking him, someone's wife had briefly wrote,
for being with her husband when he died.
I sat and read, transfixed, beside the hatch
the commendation from his high command
for acts of courage, mentioned in dispatch
in battles fought across Tunisia's sands.
It seems for these few things George had no use,
the man who wouldn't say 'Boo' to a Goose.
No time to dwell on this, I carried on,
my eyes attracted to a wooden box
the thing that caught my eye as torchlight shone
was that the lid had far too many locks.
This was no safe, a simple wooden crate
that otherwise one wouldn't think about
easy to break but did such locks dictate
that what was in there wasn't coming out?
A screwdriver was all it took to break
the brass hinges and hasps around the lid,
this liberty I was about to take
I suddenly was sorry that I did.
I paused for breath and let some moments pass
my preconceptions shattering like glass.
Swaddled within a crocheted woollen shawl
doll-like but skin with a leathery feel
chin touching knees curled up into a ball
at first glance, just a toy- but this was real.
she looked maybe, oh, three months old, I guessed,
and judging by the romper suit, a girl,
in cheery pinks and white she lay there, dressed
with matching bonnet hiding wispy curls.
Horror and disbelief fought for control,
recoiling, heart rate now in overdrive,
a stark realisation gripped my soul
that George knew of this when he was alive.
This open box no longer could disguise
the George we thought we knew was built on lies.
Composure now regained, I reached inside
and gently pulled the card out from her hands
on which the feelings mother had to hide
were written for someone to understand.
“ I had my child in nineteen fifty two
but out of wedlock gave birth secretly
they would have taken her, what could I do?
She's all I had and was the world to me.
I moved away and found another place
a dingy hole, so damp, not very nice
one night I woke and saw her pallid face
and realised for this she'd paid the price.
In case folk find out she must stay unseen,
Please take care of her, George, my love- Maureen.
The loft now cleared is empty, hatch is closed,
Golf clubs and barrels gone to garage sales,
the picture frames, well, I hung on to those
and good dish cloths and towels still tied in bales.
The medals and dispatches soon will sit
within a glass case for the world to see
since they're a recollection truly fit
for such a hero no-one knew but me.
And what of the secret letters? They're all gone
ashes to ashes, as they surely must.
Child's memory will no longer live on,
returned now to the ground to turn to dust.
no trace left for the future, no more proof
that there were two Georges under one roof
For contest 'Photo story', sponsor Eve Roper. Picture number three.
15th November 2017
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2017