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Ashes to Ashes by McFerran, Rhona
Ashes to Ashes, a Hutinashro by Poteet, Reason A.
Ashes to ashes by Biggs, Chelci
Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust by Thayer, Vickie
Ashes To Ashes , Dust To Dust by Sarian, Aram
Ashes to ashes by Coates, Bruce
Ashes To Ashes by bruce, denis
Ashes To Ashes Dust To Dust by Loo, Lu
Ashes to Ashes and Rust to Rust by Pekrul, David
Ashes To Ashes by Konos, Judy

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The Best Ashes To Ashes Poems

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Held aloft

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

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After Life

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,

While you were alive,
Who did you trust,

Did you trust the One,
That did so much,

Or were you blinded,
By vanity,the evil touch,

The choice was yours,
Who did you choose,

God,you have won,
The devil ,you loose......

Copyright © Richard Palmer | Year Posted 2012

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_ _ _ _While walking one day in crisp autumn air, 
On the edge of the sidewalk,  I saw it so clearly_ _ _ _

                                                  a worn leather wallet....
                                              (at least, I had thought it)
                            But with C L O S E R   inspection, it took no detection, 
               see my mistake, in a quick double take  

It was a lone, shabby leaf,............ which I gladly retrieved
It makes my heart grieve...............when time turns the leaves
verdant green, into brown.............which we can't turn around....

Time is lost in a it too much to ask, 
that the seasons slow down,
or the reasons are sound?              
There was amber beneath............................... this worn crackling leaf
with some gold clinging too, if giving us clues
that our fleeting days dwindle, the flame of a candle
                                            g @
                                         n      @
                                       i    @
                                  i     @@        
I saw smoke, nearby, r     
from leaves left for burning,.. and no one was stirring, which seems quite surprising
             o     u                             @@                                        *   *     
This    m          n d  left to smolder,      on a day growing colder* *

In the palm of my hand, it    f" l "u "t" t" e "r "e" d   to please me,
                             then it   s" h" u "t" t"e" r "e "d  in breezes, with tangible FEAR!

Above in the trees, birds were singing in chorus...
While the branches were sync with the verses

         "Blossom to blossom.. Green leaves are sprouting",
         "Leaves turn to rust....Then to ash in one flash"    
         "Ashes to ashes...'Till dust turns to dust"...     
      .  .  .
My poor fragile keepsake, "q"u"a"k"e"d"  in the wake of s-h-a-t-t-e-r-i-n-g sadness :)

          into a million 
                         p    i     e          
                                               and  t-h-r-o-u-g-h  my fingers,


"Creative Layout" Contest

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust’

(No one is going to bust up MY insides,
sew my eyes and mouth shut,
drain my blood and pump me full of fluid
then seal me up in a concrete drawer)

Mama I was so young, so very young
So very young and so very curious
You were sitting in your favorite chair
I was sitting on the arm of your chair
”Mama what did they do to you in the hospital”
You parted your gown and I saw a flaming scar
Something was missing…

The lady with the bun on her head
came into the classroom with an apple
I was called out into the hall
The lady with the bun on her head
presented me with the apple
I said “Thank you for the apple”
She said, “You’re welcome son”
(Teacher had a grave look on her face,
shaking her head slightly and muttering)
The lady with the bun on her head said
“I need you to come with me son”
and escorted me outside
where our car was waiting;
grandma and grandpa in the front,
daddy in the back with my two brothers.
Daddy said with a wavering voice,
“Boys, your mother has gone to be with the Lord”
We rode home in silence…

They even had a dresser with a mirror
with plush carpet, end tables and lamps
in the room we were escorted to 
They had you laid out in a bed
with the covers folded neatly down
but it was not really you…
Someone had made a copy of you
A life sized, porcelain doll image of you
Grandpa went over and reached down 
“Look, she has her favorite earrings on
Doesn’t she look beautiful”
(Mama, I didn't think you looked beautiful at all)

I remember asking daddy, "Daddy, how come,
how come they gonna put mama in that drawer”

Mama I was so young, so very young
I was at the ideal age of six mama
Old enough to comprehend
but too young to understand
Old enough to hurt like hell
but too young to know why

I guess I miss you even now mama
Mama, I guess what I miss the most
is just growing up without you
and that you never said goodbye…

Oh mama... 
don’t let them bust up my insides,
sew my eyes and mouth shut,
drain my blood and pump me full of fluid,
then seal me up in a concrete drawer
like they did you…

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013

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Soul Transporter

What is Love?, but the transporter of the Spirit
Neither Fair or Foul the Truth of it is that we Fear It

When a woman of young age doth see what she desires
No heed nor helm in many a realm will cease her heart to conspire

When a  Boy of Mid-spring doth find his heart leaps
A sure depth charge will not sink his Spirit 
no matter how much of his life it will seep.

When a Lady of wisdom feels a warmth at her doors
With lean and eye she may search deeper for more
When at last convinced that the warmth is now welcome 
She opens the door to embrace the heat and finds herself well done.

The Man of peppered hair all but wound from steel wool
Has found an Affection a usefulness becoming what he once wield
a Tool
See fit to fend off folly by standing his home bound
to find himself a pushed over hoe and fallen to ground  

A Woman's desire I have been told is found in security 
But with so many tales of reckless Love I find that truth to be insanity
The Truth of Love is that it is a Transport of Spirit 
No matter the reason or treason of Flesh 
The Heart doth live wherever Love keeps it's Chest  

What is Death?, but a Transporter of the Soul
 A bookkeeper the grim reaper no bones just cold  
Created of same maker  for which we are composed

Why shiver at night except for the chill?
A stranger to warm blood? Doth cringe at the reel?
So willing to wrestle yet biting the bait,
bound to ebb and flow since when water did break

Although unknown we bemoan the truth 
After we die Death transports us while aloof
Nothing lost nor gained only a chapter of a book
shelved in the cosmos  I am a seeker so try I and look
It wakes me in sleep when I've overstepped the boundaries 
and sweeps like the wind and effects all things around me.

Down on Earth we look up above 
Afraid of everything we huddle up;
believing the stories of our peers
building our world on foundations of fear.
Wishing to pass in manifest destiny 
in our old age or in quiet sleep and revery
but our demise despite our clouded eyes 
is that we must live regardless, flesh will die.

So If I die while I'm awake 
the Soul Transporter walks me to Father Fate
I will not fight I will not fuss
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
No matter how I go my soul will bust!
Free of the Flesh like Ship out to Sea
Allows me grow into infinite possibilities

Copyright © Seth Malloy | Year Posted 2016

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What It's Like to Sing the Blues

I was borne to the winter
Carried into this world with the wind
The snowflakes were my mother
And my father was the hail that ushered in
I've never been a man of this earth
But I've always been one with it
Born to the tune of the sunrise
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
Carry me away with the sunset
When I'll pass away without a fuss

Yet for now, the fire burns forever inside me
It flickers to my AM radio
No one understands my perspective
They refuse to take my point of view
But if they ever walked a mile in my shoes
They might know what it's like to sing the blues

Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2015

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Test of Faith 1 with Retort /Conor Jordon/ *D. Guzzi

He's running out of Colour.
                   *eternity eternal mind over matter 
        *He forms combative images of daffodils and lilac hedges

The Grey Seeps From his Eyes.
           * His heart holds abundance, life close, close as a shield

Nature is Turning Black.
          * All of the mind intent melds a joyfull palette into  an encompassing black 

        - Can't You Smell Their bitter Entrails? 
                   * Retching he adds fodder to ripen the ground for rebirth.

He Could. He felt them weave
            *Balance sought to assert dominance over discord with the Fathers hand.

In and out of His Senses,
               *Mesmerizing optiforms presenting themselves

Alienating his Perceptions.
                                        * He strains to hold human concepts dear. 

        - Count the Bodies, Count the Women 
          and The New-Borns if You Want? 
                                                   * From Death, Life, from Life, Death 
	*the endless circle sustains his weakening heart.

It's Just Math. No longer
	*The count down, or up? continues…….

Did Time Stress Relevance.

The Sky was Red: and Empty.
	*Empty, yet, the promise of nature abhorrence of a vacuum ..screams.

         - If You Wait, They'll Come Back for You 
	*And you, son of God, child of the Mother will deal……-

He Walked Through Various Flesh
	*Seeing the shell for what it was …casing of soul…..

Obscenities, Traveling for Miles.
	*Caricatures of Man, insults only to ego long gone. 

But The Smell, The Smell Had Followed Him.

         - Where's Your God Now? 
*………………Now and forever, his soul answers, eternal in the heart of man
*……………………beating with the pulse of the Universe……..
*…………………………Ashes to ashes…..dust to God……….-

*I felt it necessary for my soul to reply, please forgive me Conor? A month of wicked was 
too much without a reply.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009

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each grain of sand, every molecule
has rested on Earth since time began
raindrops now fall and dampen my hair
once part of waves rushing through mom's hands
a universal tie binds us all
without exception, we are matter
comprised of resources long existing
our consciousness?  part of this batter
our self-destructive mannerisms
serve but to rearrange elements
ashes to ashes and dust to dust
will come to pass in a greater sense
every particle has its own place
in both our todays and tomorrows
for each bridge built, each new life born
from our world's past has something borrowed

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

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Monopoly - Fast Track Equations

“Monopoly - Fast Track Equations”

Razor sharp cut quite clear
He says Trust
She says Fear

Broken glass and hidden things
He says Respect
She says Trust 

Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust

Black Lies and Alibis
He says Truth
She says Respect

Innocence is shattered
All the children wept

Steel Cages, Monopoly and Chance Cards
He says Love
She says Lost

Flying Monkeys and Kangaroo Courts
He says Lost
You say, "Here’s the Road Map, I've got the Get Out Free Card"

You get behind the wheel
Take back your soul
Foot to the floor
Keep driving fast, not slow

Pass “GO”, Do not Look Back.
Girlfriend, little sis'ta, you are right on track.

(Lovejoy-Burton/March 2018)


Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018

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Ashes to Ashes

A Beckoning finger glides her flight
tasting the wind,
to gather insight

Lifting her arms tendril-ed to light
drifting in feeling,
is darkness and fright

Soaring to plains,knights had fought
in helmets and headstones
her passion is wrought

A Flaming phoenix,re-birthed no more
A splendor embers
to ash on the floor

Wizards are slain and witches dispelled
majestic they hung,
to final death knells

Screams of mercy,rip into heart
calling the magic,
dirt caged in part

Exquisite white witch dripping with love
trembling her spirit,
watched from above

Releasing her power A dragon breath pales
kaleidoscoped magic,
lifting dark veils

Four elements drawn earth,wind and fire
water poured forth,
soaking a pyre

Earth stamped evil beneath his sin
wind settled hell,
the flames did rescind

Dusted of tragedy,on hallowed ground
sucking black magic,
in gasps that resound

Echoing Demons,soaking with shame
anviled to stone,
now have no name

Fire burnt mercy back into heart
myths of history,
now live the past 

Drifting in peace,a witch found rest
laying her head,
is all she requests

Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2009

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Praying for a Quick Death


You spoke in search of light relief

And hearing your cries for Help

I cried myself to Sleep

On the rotten old couch upstairs 

While Mum Cradled you in your Marital Bed

I Prayed religiously 

Death come Quickly

To Shelter 

You from the Cancer Pain

A Milkshake Cocktail of Morphine 

To Aid Discomfort 

While thinking all the While

Show your Face God

Where is your Grace and Mercy 

When it comes to the Innocent 

I fear you have done not only my Family

But the entire World

A Discourtesy 

Ask anyone and they shall say

He was 1 of the Good One's 

Wouldn't hurt a Fly , Never told a Lie

And come December 28th 

Ashes to Ashes,  Dust to Dust

The Floor opened up the Gates of Hell

And ever since 

I Fall and Fall



A Pithy End 

My Father
My Friend
My Support 
My Sponsor 


Copyright © Christopher Flaherty | Year Posted 2018

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What do I say?
On this cherry day
At my own funeral
Where I execute and burry
The Burdon I once carried
Where I let go 
Of the life, I’ve faithfully married

Rest in peace woman of excuses
Who endured others abuses
That never demanded an apology
Or handed a lifeline to rescue me
I put you to rest

Ashes to ashes 
I bury the lashes
From the wombs of untruth

Beautiful Liar
Femininity…Of the enemy
I bid you goodbye

You coward
The regret, guilt, and remorse 
Has run its course

Bon voyage 
Weakened frailties
That reigned champion in the lifelong fight of
Me VS Me

Grim Reaper 
you can keeper
She was a stronghold
I never needed her

The sorrow of my soul
I am let you go
So that I can fly
						© 2018

Copyright © SHERRY BECK | Year Posted 2018

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God's Labyrinth

God's Labyrinth

A game I play in a race in a maze against no ordinary race.
Where my human mind begins to raise the thoughts in box of lost and 
In order to see I have to open my eyes and sweep the seas.
The passion within will never exposes to compare the picture of one's 
Water and fire are 2 simile only I choose to see.
Hot and cold no one knows the beauty that will never show.
The sun and moon are 2 buddies blinding us with beauty like bullies.

Pulverizing my pain darken the stain with nothing to gain.
look inside you won't see beauty on this side where I hide while I'm 
Love bought me time from the enemy at the gate of hate and crime.
Ashes to ashes a life with no trust a box of rust and dust to dust.
To find the tie that binds true beauty beyond the skies, I would truly 
have to die.
I hold my chest~ pass all pawns across the chess of God's land holding 
his hand.
A puzzled walk connecting~dots of faith, hope, and victory in God's 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011

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I saw: A scrawny, wrinkled, little thing with sallow, wrinkled skin, a head of fine white hair that looked like a dandelion gone to seed, and a pair of faded blue eyes that still managed to twinkle. 


There she sat in an old Lazy Boy Recliner, beneath a halo of floating blue smoke, lips stuck to the tail end of a Camel butt, as ashes fell onto her already pockmarked terrycloth bathrobe.   

With a toothless grin, she smiled at me, then coughed up what sounded like gravel as she thumped her chest with a balled up fist until the coughing finally ceased; whereupon she made another halo that rose high into the air…and fell apart.

So….this was what an EARTHBOUND AGNEL looked like…NOT AT ALL WHAT I EXPECTED.

From all accounts told to me, Vera had spent most of her life doing without so she could give to others less fortunate then herself, with the one exception: the money she spent on her CAMELS…Oh! How she loved them. She loved the feel of them, the smell of them and the sense of REWARD they gave her in exchange for all her good deeds.

EVERYONE including ME, tried to tell her the relationship she had with them was unhealthy, but she refused to listen, claiming she had been kissin their butts for over 50 years, and it gave her great pleasure...thank you very much! All this, she sputtered as I swept up their droppings from the floor.

For two more years I swept up their droppings as Vera advanced from a Lazy Boy Recliner to a wheelchair...still the Camel’s remained.  They were her loyal companions. Day in and day out, they were always by her side, especially on those lonely nights when there was no one else to keep her company.

 MANY, MANY TIMES over those two years,  I TRIED to convince her to let them go …BUT...she was addicted to that toxic relationship in MIND, BODY and SOUL.

Still, I PRAYED she would come to her senses, but all in vain.


It was a rainy morning in September when…THE CHARRED REMAINS of this once EARTH BOUND ANGEL, were found in the smoldering ashes, after she had finally let go of her last Camel while falling asleep.

Written: September 15, 2014
Author:  Elaine George

Author’s Note:  Every years in the US of A, over 1000 smokers and non-smokers
Die in home fires caused by smoking.

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014

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Board Games of our Youth B

Been about seven years
since iv'e seen them 
hanging like burnt grapes
deep in the throat of memory.
Black tie, black pants. black shoes
to go with the black smile of tomorrow's blues.

Close to a hundred years she lived take or give,
fifty people or so left to live in her wake...
funny little equation
get together over of buffet of death
blue words dance from ice blue faces
ancient hiccups to soothe the ages.

Ashes to ashes dust to dust
the grave digger leans into his spade
we've lingered much to long...
in the blackest of the blackest day

in the backwoods of the closet 
to frolick with the puzzle 
and board games 
of my youth.

Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2013

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My Man TS Eliot

Doth it not thrill thee, Poet, Dead and dust though thy art, To feel how I press thy singing Close to my heart? Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, my poems recite my plight. As two souls mix heart stashes, inspired of mastery might. A precept building ahead of time, TS Eliot dubbed the dark poet. Poems compare the heart and mind, T. was fearful human concepts blow it. Listen, I recite God’s prophet poet, the waste land be the human mind. Eliot recites death as concepts sow it. Valley shadows death, human kind. Branches, the parasites of human rubbish, as Eliot compares God’s precept dovish. Sorrow and blood slaughter is unleashed, as humans seek beasts’ minds for publish The human shall not cease of beast, mind-wilderness concept abominations, until he return to origin of flourish east. Hear wisdom of T’s dark connotations “TS near quotes Of roots that clutch of which branches grow, of its stony rubbish is only concepts of man. Broken images of rubbish, cannot flow, for of the red rock is the precept grand. “TS near quotes The blood drained of the eternal red stone. Fear is but a handful of flesh-turned dust. Death shadow dust is swallowed of throne, as the red stone shall bud of evergreen thrust. For Dear Heart And Contest The Passionate Reader Welcome back Dear Heart

Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2011

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mother earth,
When would you stop feasting on our bodies
Stop your children and relatives
From killing our children and relations.
Our heart bleed thousand times in horror
At the lost of our brothers and sisters
But, there you are happy and joyful.

Your body fresh and beautiful
Our relations bodies made it so.
Is death your brother or nephew?
Is sickness your sister in law?
They all work hand in hand with you
Causing mayham to human kind.

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust 
Soul to soul An eye for an eye
Life for life.
You give and take from us 
I understand, but spare us a little 
With  few minutes discussion 
With your brother, death
Perhaps we may cease to toll and mine on you
Or maybe we dance the atilogwu 
To appease your spirit for peace 
So that you eat no more.

feed once annually
twice biannually 
Each morning and night
We commit our people in tears to you 
When will you stop the unfinished festival beyond
May your speck of sunshine decrease.
Your people betrayed our emotions 
Torn apart by two feelings 
Yet we learn not from the past voice 
Dust to dust we all must go.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2014

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Cineres cineribus, pulverem pulveri

The end of a life
And the last of a line 
None there to mourn her
But the priest and the pallbearers
(and the crows in the trees)
No tears for her passing
Only rain and howling wind
Cineres cineribus, pulverem pulveri

For Deb’s Bilingual contest
*Ashes to ashes, dust to dust/Cineres cineribus, pulverem pulveri

Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2012

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Broken But Surviving

   ...." Broken But Surviving " .....

Inside a body that's broken and torn ,
Living a life that's empty and forlorn,
A daily  battle  of constant pain ,
Making my body take the strain ,

Arm hanging low,and barely walking ,
Tired and stuttering when ones talking , 
And each step makes me flinch , 
As I push myself inch by inch , 

There is no cure, no escape ,
No miracle, or a superheroes cape,
This broken body is all you got, 
It won't get better, that's your lot,

Not easy holding   on to every word,
Trying to take in what you've  heard ,
Not easy when it sounds like the end game ,
The words going round driving you insane ,

But you got to keep going to prove them wrong ,
Keeping it real, not asking how long ,
For no matter what surviving  is a  must ,
Until ashes to ashes and dust to dust ....


Copyright © Jim Smith | Year Posted 2016

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At my grandfathers wake in Mississippi the bereaved spoke in muffled tones.
Some dwelled on the fact he foiled a few family members’ extra curricular relationships.
Grandpa just didn’t cotton to that type of behavior.
The family patriarch was a good man and no one could deny that.
In the south it was customary for a family member to stay with the remains overnight.
I was chosen since my grandfather vested a great deal of his precious time to raise me.
I spent my younger days next to grandpa totally absorbed by his stories and wisdom.
Time flew by but my moving north and starting school changed everything.
I rarely saw grandpa thereafter, except in my heart.
This time would be good for us, alone and together once again.
Around 3am, I was sitting on the edge of my chair intently focused on grandpa.
Suddenly, I noticed movement in the silk draped over his open casket.
This gave me great pause and concern.
Was he really dead or was he breathing and trying to speak to me?
Slipping ever so quietly to the casket, I stared at his face covered by the veil.
Unexpectedly, a mouse bolted from under his pillow and out the backside of the casket.
I was mortified!
A mouse was invoking ashes to ashes, dust to dust on grandpa’s remains.
When the first shovel of dirt hit his casket, there wasn’t any mouse along for the ride.
I can personally guarantee that.

Draped, Slipping, Pause, Edge, Muffled, Foil, Wake, Deny, Dwell, Pillow.
This narrative is true and I’ve rarely told the story in 50 years.

Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2011

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I Was Built For This

They said my life is worthless, but my net worth is priceless. 
I'm one of the nicest. I've been bless to express my life on this. 

I was built for this, so they can miss me with that snuffed up "ish",
No need to curse on this, no disrespect needed, it's time that we be kind and courteous. 

What occurs to us could be a curse for us; but what occurred is a must and in god we should trust. 
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, consider yourself dead if we continue to live unjust. 

Cause there's no justification for your judgmental infatuation, 
In fact your situation is a declaration of your own character in question. 

Any questions?

In consideration, I'm trying to make sense of this verbal composition, 
But you're always in competition with your mental institution, while you're in a mindless and clueless position. 

I'm no illusion. But from all the confusions, I became a realest. 
I never said I'm the best, but I'm always at my best to the fullest. 

And somehow haters new about this and that's the reason why they started hating on this. 
Trying to convince me that I wasn't built for this. 

Instead, they became my photosynthesis I became photosensitive to there photo-negative emphasis. 
I had no choice but to put an end to this and considered it a life changing experiences. 

My fearfulness went into a metamorphosis. 
Went from more fear to less, that morphed into too bless to be stressed over some senseless mess. 

Therefore I rise. Like high risers in the sky I've arrived. 
The sky is the limit and I'm going to live in the sky till the day I die. 

Who am I? 

It's no question I'm a reflection of the most high; far from perfection, 
But His intentions are perfect, perfectly prophesied by my third eye.

Copyright © Ajalon Michael Zarate | Year Posted 2014

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a kiss from heaven

A kiss from heaven
A magical time
A true love is rare
But decidedly divine
My picture of love
Was carefully designed
Two parents and a home
That I could call mine
Shakespere and romance
Filled in some gaps
Passion and desires
Completed the map
But can we play 
With the cards we're delt
With time an enemy
And the beauty of someone else
How can I win love
With what I have
And the ideal of me loving
Makes people laugh
All the ledgends and stories
That I would use
To make myself something
Besides abused
Hope springs eternal
When it comes to love
As fools we dare to trust it
But it's love that we're made of
Love plays its game
Of hide and seek
And of all emotions
It's the most unique
Why we desire
This awesome power
When by it we are
Weakened by the hour
Upon inspection and
Deep reflection
Without it flesh
Is incomplete
The laws of attraction
Mixed with fashion
Or divide the strong
From the weak
Is love law or law love
While contenders ferociously 
Long and lonely
This part of lifes journey
That so often leads
To dispare
It's not just physical but it's also
Finding someone who cares
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Did we find that sacred trust
Or are our memories
Filled with lust
And like our bodies to decay
And rust
Was our destination 
Heaven or bust

Johnny Loving

Copyright © John Loving III | Year Posted 2013

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Speech not in poetry/ 
My mind I speak not in tones that follow newspaper 
echoes in tongue templates/ 
I applaud and give no tributes to gravestone poetry customs/
Forget its memorial service/
Dead still/
Lie on the side of its coffin assassinating 
any reincarnated lies with handiness habits/
Smoke truth/
As you sunroof your brain in speechless code spoofs/
Speech not in poetry/ 
Hidden sorrows written in poignant borrowed sorrows don't catch observant grief/ 


Poetry does misplace its sleepy days/
Messengers carry it to the next level/ 
Speak to save embarrassments in showery dreams/ 

Though speechless/

Unleash angels in multiple word stings/
Scientific metaphoric stings/
Aimed at hopeless Goose bumps/ 
With no crown/ 
Let them meet the emperor of word technician/
Ashes to ashes my speech/

My speech rotates in bleach/
Washing all racist skins/
Turning words into wine calories/
My expression’s temperature is too deep/
Tongues hangover over drinking bigoted tools/  
Poetic bandages tie broken hearts and brain lip tools/ 
Growing self mind-trade of ideas on paper’s ribs/
Coughing flavored slogans killing plagiarism hooligans/ 

Plagiarism shoulders get hanged on a washing line of thorns/
Drying up tongues/
Laundry revenge in liquid tongues/
Be the architecture as you design verbal mansions/ 

On essays dish up writing recipes on empty pages/
Preach the name of poetry bond in stages/
Dust off the bondage/ 
Capsize brains anticipating speech arrivals in language airports/

I don’t miss you i have an issue/    
Bind up wounds around spoken expressive rules/ 
Word and sound pronounced by pros of sound 
proud to word the sound above misty future endless slam rounds/
Blind eyes that speak wicked sounds/
Spray chilli words in their ears/
Let them scratch their intelligence/
Just don’t speech/
Absence of words is no threat/

Self advice/

Orders followed by orders/ 
Focused like grasshoppers/
Keep banging the 1st floor of your hairy brains/ 
Calculating numbers in footsteps of your real focus/ 
Glue gun your lips as you repair broken egos/ 
Speech not in poetic egos/ 
Beef egos served with memorable zeros/
Draw in
Anticipation pacing time o'clock ride in buses of speechless heroes/ 
Bouncers speaking like spoken heroes/  
The repetitive speechless heroes/

(c) Ray

Copyright © Young King sa | Year Posted 2014

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JCAHO makes an appearance marching their way through, making sure to be noticed by all who are there! They, being "JCAHO" must be respected and feared; yes even feared.

JCAHO has everyone scrambling to ensure everything is as perfect as possible. When JCAHO arrives it's announced overhead using code to prevent anyone from being caught off guard. Some stay out of sight; hide if you will, while others are prepared to handle these demons.

JCAHO being at the top of the food chain has nothing to fear and gets tremendous pleasure from making others squirm! You best take notice of "JCAHO" plan for and show them you understand just who and what they are capable of.

JCAHO can make things miserable for you, however; providing they like you, proper respect was shown with a dog and pony show so to speak, JCAHO may leave you alone after a little grumbling for show of course!

JCAHO demons awakened from the night, now free marching near and far. Be warned when they march through your door should you not fuss over them lie the great ones they think they are; things will be found wrong making life a nightmare for you.

The choice is yours to make and your alone. If you fail an inspection the demons come back. Not passing puts your head on the chopping block and it's known by all. So meet, greet and cater to, so JCAHO can be laid to rest. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; so to speak!

Debbie Knapp

Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2013

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Mama, oh Mama

Bleeding through my sinus
Experts say I have THE VIRUS

I try to smile but I can’t
My lips are numb (and)
My tongue is frozen
My eyes refuse to open
My mouth is ajar but I cannot speak
As this breath of mine gets weak
My dear life has become a mess
Sickness has robbed my happiness
The pills that I take are all in vain
Needles and pipes fail to erase my pain
I overheard the doctor conversing with a nurse
There is no vaccine or cure for my curse
I thank my folks for holding my hand
But mama, you better understand
Appreciate what my song is about
There is no denying, there is only one way out
Give unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes
The writing is on the wall
The mighty tree must fall
Mama I will never walk again
Mama we will never talk again
Mama you will never see me again
It is time for me to face my maker
All my good things you must remember
The not so good things you must forgive
Please forgive me, for I have to leave
I lived right so I’m not afraid to leave
Like a leaf detached from its tree I fall
Time has come to answer my call

Copyright © John Pen | Year Posted 2014