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Welcome Back From the Dead by Lanier, Bo
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Taunting The Dragon



My head against the doorframe, I love to watch him work
Almost jealous of his devotion, the motion of his hands
I am surprised at the green-eyed dragon, that lurks within my mind, 
as he rubs the pungent oil, into muscles of the pine.

With rolled up sleeves, a sweaty brow, and rough, sandpaper hands.
he hones a smile, along the aisle of every strand of wood
With even strokes, a time-worn cloak is peeled back and removed,
where the onion skin of years and wear
are entombed beneath the grain

He groans with satisfaction, (this  Frankenstein, of mine),
while something someone, once tossed away, 
is brought to life, back from the dead

Shimmering sheen of patina gleams, while the morning light slides in,
and preens through the window, simmering bright, and shines just like his eyes
I think I've seen a swirl of smoke flare up, and circle in the air
as the warmth of the wood has sizzled hot, and the crest of the sun gets high

No awareness of the passion, engrained upon his face, 
He sees me not, .... my jealous want,.......I need his warm embrace

My need aroused by greed and want,  ignored by linseed's taunt
I watch his arms move back and forth, a dance of his gyration,
while my hips keep rhythm and swivel too, to his radio's oldie station

There are swarming nests of sawdust , cart-wheeling in the air,
a strand of hair, falls out of place.......and I cannot tear my eyes from here 
The sensuality, taunting simple grace.......my eyes have begged to stay 

I stare and marvel, for awhile
A shiver up my spine, implores.....to let the man I face,
                           to release my trancelike state of mind,
                                          and let my fingers trace


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009


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Taunting the Dragon

My head against the doorframe, I love to watch him work
Almost jealous of his devotion, the motion of his hands
I am surprised at the green-eyed dragon, that lurks within my mind, 
as he rubs the pungent oil, into muscles of the pine.

With rolled up sleeves, a sweaty brow, and rough, sandpaper hands.
he hones a smile, along the aisle of every strand of wood
With even strokes, a time-worn cloak is peeled back and removed,
where the onion skin of years and wear
are entombed beneath the grain

He groans with satisfaction, (this  Frankenstein, of mine),
while something someone, tossed away, 
is brought to life, back from the dead

Shimmering sheen of patina gleams, while the morning light slides in,
and preens through the window, simmering bright, and shines just like his eyes
I think I've seen a swirl of smoke in air, that curls in air
as the warmth of the wood has sizzled hot, and the crest of the sun gets high

No awareness of the passion, engrained upon his face, 
He sees me not, .... my jealous want,.......I need his warm embrace

My need aroused by greed and want,  ignored by linseed's taunt
I watch his arms move back and forth, a dance of his gyration,
while my hips keep rhythm and swivel too, to his radio's oldie station

There are swarming nests of sawdust , cart-wheeling in the air,
a strand of hair, falls out of place.......and I cannot tear my eyes from here 
The sensual, taunting, simple grace.......my eyes have begged to stay 

I stare and marvel, for awhile
A shiver up my spine, implores.....to let the man I face,
                           to release my trancelike state of mind,
                                          and let my fingers trace



________________________________________



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014


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Beloved Femme Fatale


“Beloved Femme Fatale”


Musk and Neroli satin skin spoons
Naked feet ‘neath The Pillars of Petra
She towers majestic above you, colours your grey skies
You are worshipping her on your knees
What does it matter, anymore? Before your eyes, the story unfolds . . .

Such supplication suits the silence in her movement’s music,
There is a symphony in her slender fingers.
She reveals to you her story, simple, as they speak in hushed signs
That softly tease the air, not you. Like harp strings,
She plucks your heart, discards your thorny disguise.

Lapis Lazuli dripping her irridescent Blues
Between her breasts, around her knees,
Smokey Green Aventurine her windows 
Belie her different dimension’s aventurescence.

Mirror quartz bedazzled scrying, what is this phenomenon?
You dream you are in her eyes, you now see yourself 
Some other soothsayer soul gone Eagle Condor wild -
Like a Magi Djinn you are, soaring high, in her eyes you are flying.

Then, there you lie, in the reflection of her twin iris fires, you've alighted
both feet on ground, though you know you are no longer sound.
She’s a Lost City somewhere,
Buried underneath the dry desert sandstorms 
Of your mind.

Mysterious, dark and hidden, she waits to be discovered
And all her treasures, your five senses lay bare, so naked
Plundered, while she lies conquered splayed and love drugged 
on her throne - 
You find you are no longer speaking to an empty chair.

Your coal warm hands part the flaming fan of jet and there,
Just there, you know where
you witness her distant smile
She is nowhere near you yet, 
She is dreaming in Ancient Sanskrit…

She is casting her runes.
She opens the floodgate to the Secret Place, all in good time, where
Ruins of passion, ripe succulent Pomegranate dusted in Palm Sugar
Her fruits are all lying open and waiting to be tasted
this is her Temple of Subjugation.

Her kisses, deep raw Vanilla and soft essence of Blood Red Persian Roses
Crushed Velvet petals lie at the heart of her heated Shrine
Now blooming swollen exotic violet
Higher and higher she climbs.

You’re genuflecting
She worships your Sun rising
Where she lies in her Moonlit valley 
Running milky Rivers of Pearls.

A dusty blind sweet passage she transforms 
Echoing epiphanies of escalating ecstasies 
Au tres Sauvage, never sublime, 
Opalescent orbs swelling
Two Moons of The Goddess 
In twin reflective mirrors now feverishly shine.

She sings poems of Love in her sweet distress.
No destruction, no pain in this hidden city now fully undressed,
She transmutes from Woman into the Girl of her youth, again
You lay your crown in her beseeching arms 
While you trust her magic and bid farewell to peace, rest and all things sane.
For you see,  you’ve now entered her Kingdom, she resides on another elusive otherworldly plane.

An Ocean is rising
The Gift is delivered, delicious and dripping.
She is High Priestess
In the midst of your dreaming, you’re over the edge euphorically tripping.
You are the sacrificial offering and you go gladly
Lick the salt, pay your alms, you drink her up 
Drunk on her julip you wanted so badly.

Your ship is rocking
You have been cast in a spell
You dance in her storm, you think by now, you know her so very well.
You're Odysseus' charms break Circe’s gold chains, you think you have broken the spell that unlocks who she truly is, you connect - 
She’s The Electric Storm come to defibrillate your waning, lacklustre Tempest.

She is wrecked on the Shores of Femme Violent, 
behind her the Woods of Lost Love.
Calm waters you float towards her necromancy
A single silver silent Gondola sluicing Venetian Canal, 
you and your mortal sorcery.
What harm to again approach this Rasputin Romance,
You are Royal Romanov come back from the dead for last dance.

Her smile is low and bewitching
She calls only to you her Siren call, you can tell.
In the World of The Dreaming
You reach her Pillars of Petra,

Your Long Lost City
Your Beloved Femme Fatale

(Lovejoy-Burton/March 2018)



Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018


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Resurrection

Do you ever wish upon a star That he will find out where you are Come and find your hiding place Make your cold heart start to race Kiss your cold lips, turn them red Bring your soul back from the dead


Copyright © Amber Hurst | Year Posted 2011


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Resurrection

Cracked mirrors,
I stood alone in this blood soaked hell I created
I build this forsaken structure with my own two soiled hands 
Hid my tears behind my back 
My only escape was emptying a bottle,
Turning it into broken glass
They made a monster out of me 
A monster only you seem to want to fix
How do we do this?
I was a paper smeared with my own tears and ink 
I was a story to be forever left untold 
I buried myself in my own grave
You resurrected an empty girl
Brought me back from the dead and saved me 
Breath into me all that you are 
So I may know you are real 
The pain disappears along with my burning scars
You brought me back as I was fading 
You were everything I craved 
My only wish is that you might one day feel the same 
In my head, I whisper your name 
You said you cared and I believe you 
Now prove to me that together we can heal 
And be set free of the pain we have lived through


Copyright © Kearra Kramer | Year Posted 2015


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Dreams Beyond Dreams


There are places out in space
that beg the question of why,
abiding where dreams embrace
our infinite inner sky.

Stargazers pay attention
to sidereal pathways,
tracing every dimension,
some using astral math ways.

Scientists study each fact
and what their instruments find
of astronomic impact
in terms of matter and mind.

The poets wordily lithe
of celestial wonders sing
with lofty spirits and blithe
as upward their fancies wing.

Throughout human death and birth
we’ve gazed at the heavens awed
while creating hell on earth
through cause and effect that’s flawed.

We see not with precision
through mortal perceptions, but
with illusory vision
pretentiously say what’s what.

And yet, if the truth be told,
in our braggadocio
of verities we behold,
how little we truly know!

There are dreams beyond our dreams
that fly in the face of fear,
where all is more than it seems
to casual eye and ear.

In evolution stellar
a flash was observed in view
from dying cosmic dweller
that brought it to life anew…

If stars come back from the dead
reborn in a blaze of light,
who knows what might lie ahead
beyond our limited sight?



~ Harley White


* * * * * * * * *


Inspiration for poem ~ Astronomers observe star reborn in a flash…

http://www.spacetelescope.org/news/heic1618/

Evolution of SAO 244567 ~ Video…

http://www.spacetelescope.org/videos/heic1618a/



Copyright © Harley White | Year Posted 2016


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The Comeback King is Coming Back for You

The Come-back King is Coming Back for You [Lyrics of Song] (Written by inspiration of Singer, Wintley Phipps) Jesus is the come-back King— He came back from the dead; He’s coming back for you— For your eternity He’s plead. Your sins that were once scarlet; Covered by His righteousness; He lived a perfect life— To grant you holiness. Chorus Jesus is the come-back King— No greater king will reign; He’s coming in the clouds To collect His chosen who remain. The come-back King is coming— Coming back for you; It’s because He loves you; Your life, He will renew. Jesus is the come-back King— He came back from death’s sleep. He came back to be your Savior; To provide comfort should you weep. He sent you His Holy Spirit, So you can overcome; Reject Satan’s temptations— Your victory to be won. The come-back King is happy, As happy as can be; He knows He did not die in vain On Calvary’s, Roman tree. You took up His offer— Of freedom and of choice. He’s going to hold a party; In heaven, we’ll all rejoice. Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2010-2012 www.maureenlefanue.com


Copyright © MAUREEN LEFANUE | Year Posted 2012


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Back from the dead: Individuality

Individuality-noun, Total characterization peculiar to and distinguishing an individual from another.
In a word full of close minded ways and being yourself never stays. Change yourself for a peers embrace just to be accepted into a world of similarity. Why can’t anyone just be themselves? Give up your own ways to be seen differently from people who will never really see you the way you want to be seen. Everyone giving up what they believe in to have friends.

I think everyone should be themselves. Who should care what others think? You are yourself, always believe, no matter what you think, all they will do is deceive. Your life is your own, your time to see, no matter what you do the people around you will never act the way you think. Lie to you, stab you in the back.

I’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to see this personally. My whole life I had tried to be myself as much as I can, no matter how much of a reject, I spend my time around fake friends, who talk of nothing but girls, drugs or alcohol. All around everyone is associating themselves with fakes. Is it worth changing who you are for someone you don’t fit in with? High school is a complicated time, full of sociality instead of school. I believe finding yourself is what high school should be about, but in this time of judging people for who they are, how can someone decide who they want to be, when other people choose it for them?

I believe being yourself is the most important asset a person has. Being yourself means dressing the way you want to, talking the way you want to, acting however you want, without caring about the way other people judge you. If someone chooses to go out of their own way just to judge you for the way you are, then it just means someone has done the same thing to them. They are just treating you the way they are treated. Let people judge you just the way you are, because chances are they are the kind of person who just wants to be like you. Don’t let yourself be bullied over something as silly as your individuality.

In a world full of close minded ways; and being yourself never stays, why can’t we all just be ourselves? Instead of all one of the same? Don’t give up your own beliefs for someone else. Your life will be better off that way.


Copyright © Jarrod Denney | Year Posted 2013


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Warrior Bride

She left the country where she was raised,
To pursue her endeavors, no longer a slave,

She climbed mountains and swam through swamp lakes,
To be relieved from all the past hurts and mistakes,

She treaded upon scorpions,   demolished serpent skins,
To connect with a fire that burned deep within,

She ran from the flock only to be brought back again,
To teach this new remnant how to boldly fend,
For…
Everything and anything noble and true,
Break down the borders of doubt and ridicule,

All that aspire to conquer what is right,
Sinister smiles that feed on broken appetites,

Graves that are rolling and men who control
Chants in the night intended to steal someone’s soul

Laughter of failure,A spirit in tears
This warrior princess helped many in fear.

She ripped out the thorns that lagged in her side,
To humble her heart and swallow her pride,

She drank of the water that brings bones back from the dead,
To deepen her love and renew what was in her head,

She gave with a smile and listened to their pain,
To heal those in trouble with divinity rain,

She took on a role that others despised,
To enable the weak to look up and arise,

She knew it was time to fight with all her might,
To allow the Holy Spirit to make her destiny right,

She spoke to the masses and sang to the stacks
To a beautiful melody of  "I am never going back."

By: sabina Nicole
Written: To All The warriors


Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2012


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A GRUMPY GUIDE TO 2014

A GRUMPY GUIDE TO 2014 !


There’s too much change in life today,
But what’s improved – no one can say?
My memories, now, are just a haze,
But I prefer…the good old days!

It once was fun to own a car,
On roads today – you don’t get far!
You’re on your way to view the sights,
But all you’ll see is traffic lights!

There’s nothing for you on TV,
Just this and that celebrity,
The films are always blood and guts,
Enough to drive a sane man nuts!

You can’t find goods in any shops,
Your size or shade, they’ve not got stocks
The internet is where you try,
Good services – we’ve kissed goodbye!

I settle bills the old cash way,
It’s plastic now, that’s how you pay!
They offer cashback – is that true?
You buy something – then they pay you!

They keep us queuing at the bank,
You’d think good customers – they’d thank!
But when, up to the front, you’ve nosed,
They show a sign…position closed!

We live in this computer age,
You soon won’t need the written page,
Now what you see is what you get,
I’ve seen it all – and nothing yet!

Those mobile phones are everywhere,
You hear their gossip – they don’t care!
Some bury phones in graves, its said
So folk can phone back from the dead!

I moan about it but who cares?
I’m sure it will all end in tears.
Don’t try to change me, no one can
I’m just an old and grumpy man!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON   


Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2014


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Back From The Dead

As I sew up my heart
It starts..
The crises of love scorned 
Its torn..
The scars on my slain wrists..
The bruises on my broken fist..
The burn of an unsuccessful rope around my neck..
I race with death only to lose by an inch..
The harder I train..
The more in vein..
The lonely pain that sleeps with fish
I wish
I wish..
The more I cry in kindness she will die
The depth of bloodless sighs
I feel closer to the sky
I guess that's the same
As every pain 
I'm no different but all the same..
The race against my finish line of cocaine
I will win the race and cross the tape 
That death holds for my place
....


Copyright © Penn Kname | Year Posted 2010


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Sudden Death

Sudden Death By Rick Rucker Each time we part, It stills my beating Heart! It leaves me Crushed, Around me, the songbirds, their singing Hushed! Almost more than I can Stand, Having to release your delicate Hand! I can’t believe that we live apart, Though, as always, you live in my Heart! When I’m Alone, I need to talk with you, if even by Phone! If we can’t do that, because of constraints, Then perhaps by texting, with fewer restraints! Your Words, whether written, or Heard, Buoy my Spirit, I hang on each Word! We are meant to be together, Captivated, in Love forever, Like Lazarus, I come back from the Dead, When I hear your voice, and turn my Head, To view the most beautiful Creature, Graced, with every wonderful Feature, That Nature could bestow, Simply Everything, from head to toe! I want to hold you, without a Care, Unmindful of others, let them all stare! My Life, which had “gone South,” You bring back, by mouth-to-mouth! Together, like this I want to stay, Kissing you, like this, ‘til my Dying Day!


Copyright © Rick Rucker | Year Posted 2011


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THE NAG

Your conversation centers 'round,
Complaints of one kind or another.
I swear sometimes I think for sure,
You're someone's sainted mother;

Or more likely someone's maiden aunt,
Come back from the dead,
To punish me for all my sins,
And fill my life with dread.

You need me though, you know you do,
Without me who would listen,
To all the things you have to say,
All your pearls of wisdom.

You gripe about the world at large,
Politics, law, religion;
It seems to me that no one's safe,
From critical inspection.

You pick at me from morn to night,
About my faults and screw ups.
I'll never change, you know I won't,
So why don't you just shut up.


(In other words:
(If the meal ain't to your liking, don't shovel it in with both hands.)

Some people can't find anything good to say about anything but they won't leave.
They hang on for dear life with both hands and won't let go.


Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2012


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Cross my Heart

Run little sister find somewhere to hide
I'll take care of Dad I swear I'll be fine
Cross my heart and hope to die
I'll never leave you behind
Dad started drinking when I was seven
Ashley was two, now I'm eleven
Mom has been gone for about four years
I cried, Dad cried, there were so many tears
Almost every night right before bed
I'de pray for her to come back from the dead
Dad's drinking got worse and I couldn't watch
So one night I told him "Daddy just stop"
He turned and slapped me across the face
I fell to the floor and he said "Thats your place"
After that night it became a routine
He'd come home drunk and I would get beat
He turned on Ashley the night before last
I held her tight till the pain past
Mom if you hear me I'de like you to know
God came to us and said "Its time to go"


Copyright © Angela Ramirez | Year Posted 2010


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One Out of Six


Who among you is brave enough
(or dumb enough)
to take the challenge
Bet your life to beat the odds ...
One out of six
Load the chamber with one bullet,
spin the cylinder, 
spin it good
Place the wager with a reputable bookie
Everybody’s dying to see you lose,
so take your pick ...
One out of six
Click
The odds just got narrowed five fold
Are you still in,
how bad do you wanna win?
Up the ante,
you tell the gore seekers looking in ...
One out of five
Click
Again you made it out alive,
but the odds just got shaved that much more
Now the empty chambers are down past four
Any stout souls still wanna place another bet,
up the vig ... get the payoff set
You don’t care much about living or dying right now
The only thing you wanna see is the chambers spin,
you got a death wish to win ...
One out of four
Click
Everybody’s now getting spooked,
they think you got the devil on your side
They are so afraid of you:
after you slammed the gun down,
and said let the money ride
Wager board says the odds are now cut in half,
there’s so much cash in the pot
The whole crowd is wondering,
are you insane enough to take another shot
Thick suspense is suffocating them ...
One out of three
Click
You’re walking past the graveyard 
with a wicked smile now
Sheer luck that you still got 
your brains intact somehow
Now it’s a fifty fifty
hot spin of the chamber wheel
There are only two open holes,
two more chances to seal the deal
So many done cut their losses
and got out of the game
Russian roulette makes mice out of men,
thus it was given a most death-defying name
Somebody still wanna see you die,
and are willing to walk away flat broke
You raise the stakes so high,
as you take a final cigarette smoke
Light is the gun in your hand,
heavy is the tension in the room
The spinning cylinder seems to 
turn forever
When it stops, you press the gun to your head ...
One out of two
Bang!
Everybody thinks you’re dead
But there’s a fluke chamber backfire,
and you’re still alive instead
You can’t hear yourself think
from the raucous roar of the din
Everybody’s looking at you like you’re Lazarus 
coming back from the dead again
Quickly there’s a hush
as the house does an inspect reset
You gather your courage once more,
and greatly up the bet
Only one person wants to challenge you,
to put their money where their mouth is
You down a couple of whiskey shots,
and give a nod to a wide-eyed teenage kid
As the spinning chambers come to a revolving stop,
you see dark visions of your gamble plagued life
You see everything you ever did that wasn’t right,
as you squeeze the trigger, 
you look into the bright ceiling light ...
One out of two
Click
There’s one final spin left to take,
but nobody got enough money to make you quake
Nobody can make you put that gun to your head again,
nobody can force you to take that final, fatal spin
You breathe a sobering sigh of relief;
and collect your earnings,
giving an unaccustomed heavenly thank you 
While everyone leaves out,
some muttering: lucky bastard, who knew?
You start your new life on borrowed time,
vowing that your gambling days are through
It would appear the odds are now favoring you 



Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017


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Prodigal Son


He was born Joseph
Became better known as Box
He was a cool and clever guy,
he was crafty and cunning as a fox

Fell in love with the bouncing basketball,
and with the sound of the sneakers on the court
He had the talent to be a college star,
but in the classroom, his jumpers always came up short
Not that he couldn't do the school work,
not that he couldn't pass the tests
If it didn't swish to his way of thinking,
well, my brother really could care less

Brother started going down the wrong track,
when he wouldn't heed what our parents said
And since he no longer feared getting the strap,
the cruel, mean streets became his teacher instead

Prodigal son,
prodigal son
Traded away a peaceful life for an empty handgun
Prodigal son,
prodigal son
Became a wild wild west rebel always on the run

But life in the streets didn't treat him good,
dangerous friends, trip wire neighborhoods
Female booby traps, ghetto land mines everywhere
One wrong misstep, let the funeral songs blare

At the bewitching hour with the law closing in,
my brother finally saw the Light, saw the true face of sin
He finally rose up from the mire, all the filth that covered his soul
Calling on the name of Jesus, giving to Him total control

Prodigal son,
prodigal son
Traded away a lengthy jail sentence for quiet freedom
Prodigal son,
prodigal son
Returned back home and was embraced by everyone

He became a minister, an ambassador for Jesus Christ,
preaching against violence and hate as a way of life
He became a loving father, he became a loving son,
he became a best friend brother, no longer a rebel on the run

Box became Joseph again
He came back from the dead
and started witnessing

My lost brother became the prodigal son
We love the man he now is,
God loves the man he has become


A tribute to my beloved brother Joseph


Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016


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The Payback

I'm coming back
faster than a heart attack.
This is your only warning
I'll be there in the morning.
Your about to bear
the word,
unfair.
Don't be slow
or I'll make shore,
all of your babies don't grow,
catching my flow.
I will make it rain
the definition of the word, pain
all over this group
I'll make it continue in a loop.
Over and over
I'll make sure,
that every evil drop
will never stop.
I'm the pride
that comes from suicide.
You killed me
now I will kill thee.
watch out
your about to be
sold out.
Covered in red
I'm back from the dead
and I'm going to put a bullet in your heads.


Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2016


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ROOT BEER BELLY Missuer and an ode to all things 70's & 80's

I drink my root beer
with soggy fries
soiled buns
Hamburg runs
while watching the tube
in an unsightly nude
give me a Draft or an A&W glass
sitting in this position, it hurts my advancing Ass
AMERICAN IDOL:THE OLD FOSSIL REVUE
Plenty of Famous Farts dying to perform for you
Sir Mick and Madam Paul
they both did rocked in THE GREATEST SHOW OF THEM ALL
Madonna and Michael Jackson are Down
it is getting harder for their fannies to move around
Prince Geldof Boomtown Rat
surely realizing that his bulge is getting Fat
Sir Rocket and The Piano Man
were getting TOO FRIENDLY with a local Girl Scout fan
John Travolta the SWEATHOG guy
was making out his Will 'cause he knows he's going to die
One aero plane to his favorite charity
A gyro copter to the Dentist,who removed an unwanted cavity
The Old GREASE leather apparel
going to his TV buddy..The MASH's own B.J. Mike Farrell
Barry Williams,Knight, and Lookinland Too
trying on a fling with their Sitcom Sisters..YOU-KNOW-WHO
William Shatner on his couch
His enormous belly has only just begun to tire and slouch
Farrah and Lee Majors STUCK
trying(separately,of course) to get a Hard-On -UCK
Karl Malden..coming back from the Dead
To invite Zeter Jones than Michael Douglas Instead
The Streets of Sitcom Heaven, where youth is always On
Malden is serenading pretty Catherine with a Song
Now it's time to end this prose
I hope that you can touch both your toes
Don't watch the crap
exercise daily to avoid this trap
and YOU WILL BE A LIFE OVERACHIEVER,INDEED!!


Copyright © Brad Travers | Year Posted 2007


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THE NAG

Your conversation centers 'round,
Complaints of one kind or another.
I swear sometimes I think for sure,
You're someone's sainted mother.;

Or someone's maiden aunt, per chance,
Come back from the dead,
To punish me for all my sins,
And fill my life with dread.

You need me though, you know you do.
Without me who would listen,
To all the things you have to say,
All your pearls of wisdom.

You gripe about the world at large,
Politics, law, religion;
It seems to me that no one's safe,
From critical inspection.

You pick at me from morn to night,
About my faults and screw ups.
I'll never change, you know I won't,
So why don't you just shut up.


Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2017


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The Blue Rose

The little boy reclined in his bed.
Out of reach, by his foot, a blue rose lay.
His mom had been looking for quite a while
for something she thought would make his day.

Where did this come from mama?
She moved it to within his grasp.
When the little boy touched its stem
His mother’s computer recorded a gasp.

The rose, rather limp, in a sad sort of state,
stood straight and firm, back from the dead.
And as he and mom stared in wonder;
one by one by one, each petal turned red.

His short hair, mistaken at first glance
for a buzz cut, military style.
Revealed upon closer inspection,
radiation treatments for a long, long while. 

Fact is, this was his last night with mom,
with his cat and his parakeet.
His last night with this magic rose,
left, again wilting, on the sheet.

Later when she could bear the pain,
she went back and gathered his clothes.
All the things of his, she should keep,
but, she could not find the red, red rose.

As she made her way down the long hall,
she glanced from the elevator door,
at a frail little wisp of a girl in bed,
and a long stemmed blue rose on the floor.  

© Jun 15 2010  For Mac's "Blue Rose" contest














Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2010


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Sick Fantasies

Sitting silently from a corner in the room. Watching, plotting, waiting and craving. Demonic thoughts dancing around my head. Toying with my tempting thoughts of painfully making you wish you were dead. Teasing your blood to spill forth from your veins. Playfully enjoying your blood spilling out of that grousum gash I put in your head now exposing your brain. Torturing you by repeatedly bringing you back from the dead. Sickeningly so hot and bothered from lying naked in the bloody space I made my bed. So close to climax then, gone. My eyes were forced open bringing me to f***ing realize it's sadly just one of my sick fantasies playing out in my head. Temper flaring yet again thanks to that trap you wont keep shut in that empty space you call your head. But, mmm, sweetly I think I will help you, I do carry a needle and thread.


Copyright © jasmine raine | Year Posted 2013


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Mixed thoughts of 2012

The year 2012
Brought a lot, good and sad
My Tad died in January
Openheart surgery I had to have

But thats all  far behind me
Though memories never fade
I think about the better times
I know thats what he'd say

Had many happy times
On long weekend away
Have some fabulous friends
Whose help I cant repay

Then of course theres Tilly
A rescue Boxer who is old
Was given away like garbage
Her real story never told

But if I had to write about just one thing
It would have to be as  read
Me opening my eyes after surgery
Coming back from the dead.

Friendly faces looking down at me
Saying Seren open your eyes dear
Couldn't do so for a moment
Because tears were very near

Tears of joy and hope
That things will soon be okay
That life will get started again
Bright sunshine all the way.

I know I have a guardian angel
Making sure that i survive
From all that s thrown at me
Keeping me alive.
















Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2012


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My Muse

O my Muse. You've flown away.
 Please come back to me I pray.
 Please return and bring me back 
 back from the dead where I am lost.
 Let your words comfort me,
 and your beautiful voice set me free.
 I am lost without my cause,
 the war of words that must be won.
 Gentle thoughts and violent storms
 words of love that are warm.
 Lines of hate and lines of fear
 bound together in this sphere.
 But my Muse you must return
 so that I can begin to learn.
 Then will I be released
 from the grasp of that horrible beast.
 The wordless monster that holds my pen
 and keeps me bound from within.
 I will search until I find
 the lofty place where you hide.
 Then together we’ll set out
 for that place away from the dark.
 A place of sunlight
 and wonderful prose,
 a place where beautiful phrases grow.
 There we’ll make love as sonnets we write
 and share poetic pleasures 
 all through the night.
 When the morning
 finds us again,
 we’ll renew our passion
 in meter, rhythm, and rhyme.
 But first I must find you
 or else our passion is just fantasy.
 Sometimes we fuss 
 and sometimes we fight.
 But in the end
 the words come out right.
 So the next time you disappear 
 I will search for you everywhere.
 Then at last when you are found,
 and fresh words do abound,
 we’ll fall in love again.


Copyright © Bryan Griffin | Year Posted 2014


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My Mind's Not Squeaky Klean

My lady friend living far away  wrote a HOT poem about a sensual shower            ( Squeaky Clean) and I had to answer........


Having read a little ditty,
that really made me very giddy,
'bout a lady who relieves her tension
with a special shower wand extension.
T'was both erotic and quite witty
changed her shower into 'Fun City"
How I fantasized this bathing beauty
soaping down from head to booty.
My envy's drove by hedonism
of her super hand-held mechanism,
All on which she can explore
the buttons and controls galore.
Controls from softest to extreme,
to hit high C, or even scream.
In my mind's eye, I can see
her hit all the spots, from "A" to "G"

I'm getting older, long in tooth,
body crumbling, mind uncouth.
I've known the reaper, and sure that he
could shortly take a trip with me.
Although you feel that I'm obsessed
I'd like to make one last request......
To the Power that oversees
reincarnate me if you please.
Let me come back from the dead,
as this Lady's "Razzle-Dazzle" shower head.......


Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014


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Fallen Star 2 (Slam)

       


       A angels rebirth/ A fallen star crashing to earth/ Just a small dent in a huge planet/  Find 
the devil now!  He's the baby-bandit?  He snatched up the babe and ran./  He's out to train 
this child to be the Iceman!/
       The fallen star was released into the wild./ So much suffering for such a small child!/  
The pain was digested,/ even after he was molested./  Leaving him utterly confused./  He 
even swelled being physically abused!/  Whether or not it was fate,/ He's learned to hate./  It 
may be too late,/ to ever find his soulmate./
       We watch the fallen star arise./  He is definately streetwise./  Looking to fight and 
burglarize./  Don't you dare look him in the eyes./  He'll surely hypnotize/ and leave you 
paralized./  He does what he must/ to adjust/ and survive./  He's determined to stay alive!
       The fallen star/ looks afar./  A crime/ is time,/ and so he buries his grief,/ but to his 
relief,/ He begins to slowly heal!/  He allows God to take the wheel./  So he steals/ the 
batmobile and drives away!/  Never again to go astray./
       The fallen star/ uses a pen as his scimitar/ to destroy his enemies./  Each line puts a 
victim on their knees,/ leaving them to be amputees!/  He sets out/ with a shout/ to bring 
Audrey back from the dead./  A new life ahead,/ and so much more./  A fallen star causing a 
poetic war!/


* To Audrey with so much love...I want a part 3!  You and me will make a melody!


Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2009