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If You Weren't Such a Nut Meg

She had so many chances
     Yet she kept muffin it up
Butter intentions were good
     Just not much coffee in her cup

Couldn’t make a good decision
     Too much waffling back and forth
Always peppered with doubt
     Should she head south, no maybe north

Still, she was fun at a party
     I would say, hummus a tune
She’d say, Icing because I’m happy
     As the words began to croon

Maybe that’s what’s most important
     Omelet let her off the hook
So she’s always in a pickle
     Doesn’t do things by the book

Once again, I’m gonna help her
     Since she is such a good egg
I said, girl, you’d go much farther
     If you weren’t such a nut Meg

12/28/17
Contest: Food Fight
Sponsor: Viv Wigley


Copyright © Mike Gentile | Year Posted 2017


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The Book of Love - A Wedding Poem

See it there in virgin perfection. Open its pages. They are so white that they radiate light. See the magic pen sitting by the book meant just for two. Each of you - together - Reflect the pages’ light! Then with the pen, you may write your beautiful life, for this is the Book of Love. March 31, 2017 for the Book of Love Contest of Rick Parise


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017


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TATTOOS

A two-legged canvass
in crimsons and blues
dragons ginormous
and suchlike tattoos

Diamonds and rare gems 
that shimmer and shine
flowers on long stems 
with sleek strokes and lines

Exciting ones hid
in crannies and nooks
all that's forbid;
condemned by the Book

Exposed on the outside
pleasing to prudes
on out-of-sight hide
erotica and nudes

DELYSIA HENDRICKS


Copyright © delysia hendricks | Year Posted 2013


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How Much Longer Will It Go On


He was the child that did not smile, or live
or breath, towards his death he did not look
as though he had the time to duck and dive
he was taught to live or die by the book

Bruised and battered in a dishevelled state
hiding in corners wrapped only in tears
he, deprived of love, a child they did hate 
starved of food, under the stairs, hiding fears

Then justice stepped in and took him away
to a home full of love, fun and laughter
in that tormented life he could not stay
as one so young he could not look after

He grew into a man without a care
Adopted a child, saved them from despair.

©1/3/2014


Shackled

Deprived of freedom then held as a slave
mental torture, in every race and creed
trapped in a void, while trying to be brave
inside looking out, a broken heart bleeds

Tormented, abused, while home is their jail
shunned by a partner and tainted with lies
no contact with friends including no mail
then pushed to the brink each day they despise 

Whispered sweet nothings, then captured by love
charmed to the alter, their vows they both read
the cracks appear, as does a boxing glove 
sentenced to life for an innocent deed

With prayer and patience they will be released
A living hell at the hands of a beast.

1/3/2014



Note*  This is a double sonnet. I used the same title 
for both as these despicable crimes can happen to 
anyone of any age in any country and we should not 
close our eyes to the fact that it could be happening 
in our neighbourhood to people we know…


Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2014


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The Darfurian Girl


I enjoyed an almost idyllic childhood. This was marred only at the age of ten by my circumcision, a cruel and primitive custom among my otherwise enlightened people. In my grandmother’s hut, I was held down by women while one of them cut away all external genitalia with a razor blade.
I was the apple of my father’s eyes.  My father nicknamed me Rathebe, after South African singer Dolly Rathebe who sang about the oppression of black Africans.

I made my first mistake while working as a doctor in a Darfuri village. I looked after gunshot victims and also treated members of the Janjaweed  ‘devil horsemen’. While working round the clock, a visiting reporter asked me a few questions. One day, the Janjaweed attacked the village school and raped a woman teacher and 40 schoolgirls, some as young as seven. Those who resisted were beaten with rifle butts. It was my introduction to the Janjaweed policy of rape as a weapon of terror. Then “My Rathebe” side came to the surface and I made my second mistake of talking to a UN observer about the rapes. . The next week the soldiers came for me. I was taken to a bare brick hut with an ominously stained concrete floor. Three soldiers beat me mercilessly, kicking me all over, even in the head. Later, they took me to another hut, tied my arms tight behind my back, cut me with a razor and repeatedly raped me until I lost consciousness. The whole ordeal was repeated the next day. Then they let me go.

I returned to my family, and spent months recuperating. Although tribal custom considered a violated woman an object of shame, a damaged goods and not marriage material, my father arranged marriage to a dissident who had fled to London. I was married to the man in his absence. Is this not surprising?.

The village was destroyed and many people, including my father, slaughtered. On a wanted list, I fled to London to seek asylum and was reunited with my husband. Whenever a police helicopter hovers above the London streets, sends me diving for cover. I feel as if my head will burst and I am close to screaming out loud. I do admit and dream of revenge. I will never forget the faces of the men who raped me and if I saw one of them again I really don’t know whether I would kill him.

I have become world famous but the Darfurian girl in me has become infamous. 

                                                       +++

Inspired by the Book “Tears of Desert” written by Halima Bashir (Under pseudonym)

October 15, 2014
Form: Poetic Prose
First Place Win
Contest by Cyndi Mcmillan

**I have chosen " Darfurian" Devil horsemen**


Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014


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The Old Worn Out Poet

By the light of a window sits an old man, his pennies he does count.
His hair is gray, his eyes are old, and there’s little in his bank account.
He has lived his life by the book of what is good, kind and just.
He had some fun when he was young, was a man you could trust.
He’s done all the things you have, he worked his whole life thru.
And now he sits, by the window of life, wondering what he will do.
As his health went away, his life went away, he never doubted it would.
He saved and was frugal his whole life long, he did the best he could. 
But the way of money is often misunderstood, and it often slips away.
Now he wonders how he will keep all those predators at bay.
The economy went bad; his job went away, his medical insurance, too.
He’d already been sick, medicines were high, and he lost his house to boot.
The new medical insurance is high, so much he can’t afford any treats.
Air conditioning’s a dream, heat may be soon, but he’s not on the streets.
Now in an apartment he will rest his head, and sparingly he does eat.
Gloom and doom are not his way, so a new life he will greet.
He can’t write, he shakes too much, but with a computer he gets it done.
He has trouble traveling. Finding work is hard. None his way will come.
His mind’s not sharp, but he’s seen so much, he’ll find a way to get along.
And he still has a passion for words, the world, and of course for song.
So with that in mind, as a poet he was born. And as a poet, he has grown.
He’ll never be Shakespeare, Milton, or Poe…but a poet all his own.
From his work, great poems will come, as his foundation is solid as stone.
He’ll write about people and places, and in time his light will be shone.
Some poems will be up, and others down, and a few of dreams he knew.
His thoughts and work gave him a passion for life, to which he will be true.
So tell a friend, and buy his book, have them use it in their school.
It’s the history of people, places, and things, a beautiful history jewel.
His life went to dust but now thrives, and he’ll gladly continue to work. 
The rest of his life he’ll be a great poet, it’s a responsibility he’ll never shirk.
In his poems, his hope, bright soul, and heart will continue to shine.
It’s something that again calls to his heart, that he can say is truly mine.

Impress Me4 Epic Carol Eastman Written 2009... for all poets...


Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014


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Ephemeral

Ephemeral
 
Tis not mystifying, though disheartening, 
that we are simply passing shadows
…. a mere breath exhaled…. transitory
 Sunrises numbered at first drawn breath
 though each stand of hair is lovingly counted
 
A lone flower in a field of waving grass
 will pass unnoticed, once flourished.
 The wind becoming the only witness, 
to its existence, as its scent is carried
 across the meadow....fragrance dissipating
 
Swift waters of life slowly-- but surely--
 wear away our most precious of stones
 their features gently altered with time
 until the final last grain deteriorates 
finding rest, peacefully, on a distant shore


NOTE:  This poem was inspired by the book of Psalms as well as Nature and MY FAITH.


Copyright © Debra Squyres | Year Posted 2012


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HYPERTHYROIDISM

As I walked, one morning, alone, by the sea,
Thinking of nothing but myself and me,
I noticed, above the roar of the ocean,
A splashing, and thrashing, and foaming commotion.
My heart pounded madly, and adrenaline surged,
When a great, scaly beast, from the water emerged.
                                                                     
The creature stood glistening wet in the sun.
I  didn't  know whether to stand there, or run.
It turned its great head and looked all around.
Its red eyes like beacons, ten feet from the ground.
As it stepped slowly forward, the damp beach sand crunched,
And I wondered if I would be breakfast, or lunch.
                                      
Although the sea monster was at least ten-feet tall,
The look in its eyes was not threatening at all.
The creature seemed friendly, and curious too--
Wondering and waiting to see what I 'd do.
At  last I remembered what feet were made for,
So I slowly turned, and walked back down the shore.
                                       
Now, strange as it seems, the thing followed me home.
It lay down on the porch, and I  ran to the phone.
I called up some scientists, and they rolled on the floor,
When I said I'd discovered a live dinosaur.
But, to prove that they know how to play by the book,
They said, "Bring it on in, and we'll take a look." 

Well, they probed, and they prodded, and they analyzed.
They studied its throat, its ears, and its eyes.
Then the great men of science, at last, made their call:
"Why, this isn't a dinosaur at all!
Marine iguana is the correct definition--
With a somewhat serious thyroid condition."


Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005


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My Battle Rap Rhyme That'll Actually Rattle The Cattle

Sticks and stones can break bones
while bullets kill, but my words are prone
to crack you from head to toe as they fracture
in a way only seen when a snail's crushed by a tractor.
My trigger finger is the middle,
with the thumb and index it twiddles
away as I think allowing the ink 
to glide beside the ring and pinky with power,
my words are my bullets and my gun.
If I said it, I'll bring it, it doesn't matter,
I'll walk the words I talk, I'll even run,
I'm no cliché layer, 
I've stood tall since I was young.
So listen when I say you're just awful,
and harsh words aren't uncalled for.

Am I racking your mind yet with impact
as I pack full your laptop or tablet screen
with this quickly written sample rhyme act,
which I've just seen is actually ample and lean.
I guess I can't help but climb up any setup,
I'll crawl my way all the way to the top of any pyramid,
I'll even dance up the vertical drop over Hell all stupid,
'cus I'm phenomenal and virtually, 
no, literally formidable
when I formulate great rhymes 
that from the tell tell signs tell me I do it well.
Start, middle, end or syllable I don't fail.
I'm the majestic multiple  
skilled prototype ripe 
with rifle aim wordsmith,
reigning and placing 
as quick as those on the Cocaine they sniff.

So if you want to keep up with my natural speed,
I suggest you roll up a note and snort a G.
Then maybe to aid your quest go and invest in a voice recorder,
'cus no novice will be able to sort the words they think into order
at a thousand miles per nanosecond,
so can I recommend you hope and send prayers asking the speed dial
to smile back while that cocaine in your brain fires out the unfiled
phrases that'll make you look wild but courageous.
I've the ultimate ability and can overstimulate with ease,
to you it's hurried like a hurricane but to me it's just a breeze.
I see competitors express their flawed pettiness,
my flaw is that my paw struggles and has trouble 
keeping up with thoughts that erupt abruptly 
leaking plenty of resentment towards my mind, never empty.

I have to switch to the right when I write
'cus I'm a lefty but I have to let it rest,
you see, I can use both hands on demand,
do you understand how both my brains hemispheres appear 
to be equally flexible when I squiggle this pen without fear.
I'm an unusual man that can use both hands,
if I couldn't, 
I wouldn't 
be able to fathom ideas,
or follow what my thoughts gift
as they are short lived 
before aborted or sieved
from the port to sea for relief,
I have to harbour with the sleeve
as what leaves pours, 
it doesn't rain it soars, 
much faster than I can clutch straws,
like arrows at the medieval Battle of Agincourt,
and without both paws, 
raw important thoughts 
would be no more and I'd fall short.
So you might as well pedal your bike, 
instead of try to fight me on the mic, 
'cus you're unlikely
to upstage my slickly written lickety split
thermonuclear lit quick wit with whatever you pick
to pull out of your bag of tricks,
'cus I'll make it unstick.

I can sail the sea of hell as well as scale trees without pain as I sneak
on tip toe all the way with tip top rhymes to the mountain peaks.
I'm on top of the world and you're led dead on the seabed,
and I ridicule at a ridiculous rate 
as you shout "Nicholas, mate, please
release me and let me go free, you're great, there's no doubt", through dread.
It makes me upset 
'cus I forget that others are invalids and never yet
to stake a valid claim that makes me look minimal,
I'm not by the book, I'm clever and clinical.
So will you risk a brisk disco dance 
so I can make you wet your pants
and remove you like France at Waterloo in an instant.
I swiftly trip triers and wear them down to be bold tires
with my devine desire, and one day maybe I'll find
a mind that out does mine, but I'm hesitant to shine 
the light down that line for less than 10,000 years into the future. 
Try and dispute that it's not I that communicates 
my rhyme fate, it's I that instigates it 'cus I'm sublime,
so make a beeline in time for my fierce stride, 
I'm the best and walk with piercing pride,
and expect all to adhere and move aside.

I rattle the cattle and that's actual,
you're fools that to me are Neanderthals,
and I'll be brutal, and that's because, 
while I shouldn't have to say it twice,
without nasty there would be no nice.
I'm the holocaust and that fact is not false,
big man, big balls he's acting like a right...... 


Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018


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Born Again for contest

Born Again (For Contest)
Y’all come and  join me while I set a spell
I’ll tell a tale that stirred in yonder dell
I reckon I might miss a word or two
But this happened here as I say to you
There lived a man here who was so nasty
His soul was so cussed that we all could see
Ornery and riled up as he could be
Then one day he met a cute little lass
She lived by the Book with plenty of sass
In time she wooed him and taught him the Word
Anger left him like a wee little bird
Now he’s in church with a dumb looking grin
 I still wish he was the way he had been
July 9, 2015



Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2015


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And I was Caught Up In the Spirit

.... And I was walking in a field of golden wheat and just then, 
I was caught up in the spirit, that is the holy ghost of God,
and it carried me through the clouds, up high,
and it said to me, without voice,
 "Look down through the seven years that are the last."
And I looked down toward the earth, and coming upon it were the four horsemen.
And I saw seven years of hell on the earth that had been my temporary home.
Rivers ran vast with blood of martyrs, delivered by the great destroyer.
And the mountains did shake apart and fall into the sea.
And there rose great fires and black smoke,
and bursting through the black smoke and fires were tiny lights.
And the spirit again spoke without words, saying, "These are the last of the souls to be delivered up, for the rest will be locked up in the pit."
And when no more lights came up, 
again, the rivers flowed with blood of the wicked, by the one that sat on the pale horse.

And I was carried up higher, past the atmosphere with no need of air, for I was in the spirit, and I saw a great mushroom cloud and the first earth was no more.
And I was taken further, through all that man has ever imagined, to the edge of creation, and all the heavens were passed away.
And I looked to the left of me and to the right and great was the number of those who had been caught up; that is to say, they had not known earthly death, but were changed.
And all was dark, and I heard a loud voice say, "Behold!" "This is the new earth."
And as he spoke it appeared there by his word, being much greater than the first;
the whole of it being a paradise of gardens and orchards of every kind. Flowers of every color were strewn about as jewels, rising up from jaded grasses, and the air was sweet. Blue seas, crystaline rivers and every good thing, for it was untouched by sin of man, or deed of demon.
And all the sounds were of singing birds and moving of the waters,
and there was no need of sun, for it was lighted by the glory of the lamb.

And I saw Jesus sitting high on a mountain and he said to us,"Come and dine."
And we that had been caught up in the spirit and all who, since time began, that had believed on him were set upon the new earth.
The animals of every kind did graze and lay together, and the people loved one another with love that is of God.
And we did sup, and walk, and talk with him,
and he reigned over us for a thousand years.




This is, of course, inspired by the book of Revelations, in the King James Bible.
Having received an email of brotherly concern regarding this writing, I feel compelled to say a word to my brothers and sisters in Christ.... This is in no way meant to be an attempt of translation of the revelation of John.. It is simply my thoughts of the "rapture" (man's word, not God's). 
Having said that, if even one person who does not know the word, be made curious and open the book and read and understand, I would be joyful and give glory to God for words passed through my pen..
Thank you to my Christian brother for your thoughts. For what are we as brothers and sisters, if not to care and show concern for one another.....


Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014


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The Five People You Meet In Heaven

Heaven isn’t full of angels and clouds
There are five people that will meet you
They could’ve been close, or among the crowds
They’ll help you construct your life, like glue


The first person died because of you
And the mistake you had committed
Just because of the ball you threw
The man’s life was prematurely pitted

The second person was your superior
The searing flames remain
He made your leg inferior
To keep you from your bane

The third person you never knew of
But she knew of your father
She saw him yelling out of love
He didn’t care if he bothered

The fourth person was the love of your life
In halls and ballrooms of white she rests
Teenagers took the spirit from this woman, your wife
People from all over the world make up the guests

The fifth person was a little girl
Her life was full and pure
Her life was ended in a flaming swirl
Not saving her forced you from the way you were

The hands you took hold of
We’re not the hands you thought
Another girl would bring you up above
For a good life you did wrought


-Inspired by the book "The Five People You Meet In Heaven"-


Copyright © Kyle Perkins | Year Posted 2008


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There once was a lawyer

.



There once was a lawyer on the hook
For being in cahoots with the crook
The crook was set free
By making a plea
But the lawyer was hit by the book




.


Copyright © Virginia Mitchell | Year Posted 2010


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A Warrior for Christ


In deep thoughts of unity.

It’s always a world, for someone else to please.

Along with pleasure there is always hard earned pain.

Sometimes death for someone else’s easy gain.



Look what we have, by the winners they lose.

They only win, upon the kill they choose.

So what we have since the beginning of time, my friends.

That Evil only wins, is when God is in not in, our presence,



I still hold my mighty shield, I always carry my great sword.

I never take off my armor, I live by the book of the lord.

A warrior for Christ I am, the devils works shall pay.

Am a warrior for my Lord, I serve God then do what he says.



To much going wrong, why do I only see what is right.

I will keep fighting for every soul that needs a Life.

Someday this will be over, that is what I always hear.

Then I realized, that was the Devil talking in my ears.


Copyright © Jack Reed | Year Posted 2011


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me myself and i

Me myself and i

For I myself, 
Believe in myself.
For I love to stand by the book shelf.
In order to read some nice stuff.

Yoruba is my lineage.
I’m seen by my image.
And am called by my real name.
Buying things, I buy not fake.

I aim to be among the greats.
For one of my saying, says,
“Pays to be popular than being famous’’
Cos, famous people could be no-torious.

People say am pretty shy
That a time, I wish to cry.
Cos, I know I do try
To hide that, am really shy. 

I’m a Muslim,
For my religion is, Islam.
So, pock meat is an haraam.
But I’m free to dine on ram.

I wish to be a doctor 
So that youngsters can see me as a mentor.
I love teaching as a Professor.
For all that are great, are my mentor.

People don’t really know me,
So, this is to tell who I be.
For I prefer being a Lewis’ base,
Than to be a bronsted’s base.

Ridwan is my real name. 
Olyrid is just a nick name.
You better know before it’s too late,
For I involve not in a criminal case.

My advice for you in life is this:
Serve you GOD, when not in pains
For in good health a person fails,
But calling unto him when soaked in pains.

Olyrid4real,
Is my yahoo mail.
I’m dark, friendly and a little tall.
And all I love is winning soul.

For all I hate, is the “big boys” style.
Cos “sagging” is what they like.
For all I do, it’s my own style.
So if you like, you can be my type!


Copyright © adelaja olayiwola | Year Posted 2011


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Goddess Acquae or Acqua Sulis



I am the native of interface between this world and the other Living presently in my shrine at the Roman baths at Bath in UK People used to throw coins into me because of my sanctity But no more they do it but have still faith in my medicinal utility. People used to throw curse tablets requesting my intervention I was known as Goddess Solis till the Romans arrived here And they saw in me the image of their Goddess Minerva Now Medical Minerva-Solis because of my healing power. Known for curse and cure, now I cure but curse nobody Pilgrims come from Europe to bathe in my therapeutic body And get healed of their rheumatic and gout diseases and ills Many Homeopaths come for inspiration for their clinics. Women worship me as a Goddess of childbirth and lactation A hot beauty, men come for warming their body and heart.
** Inspired by the Book Waters of the Gap: Mythology of Aquae Sulis Paperback – by R. J. Stewart (Author) +++ April 11, 2014 Form: Free Verse Dr. Ram Mehta Second Place Win Contest by Girogio V


Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014


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Samson

Samson

I dream of the summer, when
We slept soundly and so did the city
Like a doll, you never changed
The scissors mocked me;
“Never to cut, never to cut”, they chant

We were tethered by the book we read
My bookmark was always ahead of yours,
On the night side table, hiding the bible
We took glasses of milk and went to bed
You woke up once for a slice of toast

Your whisper in my ear, 
“don’t call me love, you’ll make me melt”
Like that, we swore affinity
The night the mice crept out from their holes
For the brie you left on your plate

We wore caps to sleep in;
The stars were falling on our heads
I heard you dream one night of the mice:
They nibbled on our ears and sang softly of the wind;
No one had responded to our ‘lost cat’ poster

Mid-July, we awoke with cold sweats
To the fear of miserable failure rotting our dreams
Our anxieties wore us down to the bone
I, pulling my beauty and worries with every strand
You, taking each plucked hair back off my pillow

September made me bitter;
August made me love more
Under white light, your hair looked red
The dull scissors under lucent bulbs
And Samson, 
You cut my hair to give me strength, not take it away


Copyright © J. L. Noonan | Year Posted 2015


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Planned Obsolescence



You must have heard of “planned obsolescence” But manufacturers say it ain't so A devious mind surely thought this one up Must be absolutely rolling in dough! An automobile could be made to last forever If these guys would play by the book But once they discovered the money involved They're decidedly hopelessly hooked And what about toner for your printing machine Imagine if it lasted a lifetime You could buy a yacht with the money you save You don't have to be an Einstein To figure out what these shysters are doing Their bottom line is all that's important So what if they have to be a wee bit underhanded It's disgusting and absolutely abhorrent Well hello, great masters of devious deceit We're on to your tricks and games But we carry on with our thumb up our bum We've only ourselves to blame! © Jack Ellison 2013


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013


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Twilight

"Twillight"*

A 'Swan' in town
can be found on
school ground --that's me

bored and off qi
rain daunts me --'till
I see him there...

can't help but stare
his eyes glare --so
aware...I thirst!


©deborah burch
4/10/2012

_________________________________________
*inspired by the book/movie: "Twilight"
Form: than-bauk 


Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012


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Drowning in a pool of emotions

looking puzzled in a daze, watching as the sky turns grey!
Trying to figure out exactly what to say, wondering why things have to be this way!
Millions of emotions running deep, overwhelming thoughts make it hard to sleep!
Fears beccoming nightmares, dreams feeling out of reach!
I can see happiness in the distance and i'm reaching out to grab ahold, 
but its too far away! Trying to cope, waiting for the feeling of self worth to 
overcome my feelings of worthlessness but with all the chaos and catastrophes 
its like it isnt meant to be! Tons of anxiety makes it hard to breathe! 
Thoughts of ignorance makes anger hard to hide! 
Through visions of red and bloodshot eyes, I ask myself why God why? 
Why can't we all just be at peace? Why can't we live without pain? 
Why must we live our lives this way? Why cant we get rid hate of and fear? 
Thats just it though, stop and think! It doesn't have to be this way! 
You and me can change the world, look to God and say a prayer! 
Ask for forgivness and pray for help, for a better world live by the Book!


Copyright © Jessica Swackhamer | Year Posted 2010


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Die Hard Smokers

Die Hard Smokers And Taxes


Die hard smokers, by the thousands countrywide, they rightly feel a bit abused…
Ouch! A latest 40% hike in price for a ciggie pack, they  are definitely not amused…

Now is the time, they should be encouraged to rethink over their preference …
With rising costs, each ciggie stick costs a bomb,  and financially makes a difference..

Some might swallow their pride and make e cigarettes their latest passion….
Others just might take one last long pull, called it quits as they exhale their pollution…

Those die hards who swagger on with their now expensive habits as a form of rebellion…
Are mistaken in their perception that this habit is identified with resilient and successful people..

Here in Malaysia, we are going through pretty hard times, with a new service tax and a weak ringgit..
To a man, everyone tries to hold fast to each lifestyle by stretching  the buying power of the ringgit..

It makes little sense for any sane man to be literally burning the ringgit with each lighted cigarette…
During these days of weakened ringgit, it is the prudent man who does away with his cigarettes…

While the poor spouse who nags with impatience, puts up with all the tobacco scent and smoke…
Imagine the anguish and frustration amidst the coughing fits and the perpectual swirling smoke…

Horrific images on ciggie packs are not a good deterrent, those who smoke hardly spare a look…
All types of campaigns, written articles detailing a plethoria of illnesses and  diseases by the book…

What else is there to portray and highlight as we try convincing our smoke belching brothers…
Reduce smoking, refresh the environment and we all get to live longer together as brothers…


Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015


Details | By The Book Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Under Cover Cop

He is a special breed, for a special deed
You would never know by the way that he looks
He has nerves of steel. heart becomes cold
But his goal is a special deed
A renegade, can't always do it by the book'
His life is always on hold

He dress he dresses like a out law, still inside the law
He has to blend in and not be found out
No matter what kind of crime, he has to talk the talk
Make them think that he is out law
No room for any doubt
He is dead if he can't walk the walk

Gets down in their cesspool
Smells the same smell that they do
Walking a tight rope all the time
No room for any kind of fool
Not the regular man in blue
But he knows how to get the slime

The thing that they hate the most is a :snitch"
If found out he could get blown away
In my book they are the cream of the crop
He loves to tell a criminal in cuffs,"Yeah life is a b...tch
You could not get me to do that on his pay
Thank God for the under cover cop


Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2010


Details | By The Book Poem | Create an image from this poem.

So Busy

I have pinched, pruned, planted, fertilized and even mowed...
I have dug, dressed, divided, harvested and hoed.

Then I thinned, trimmed, transplanted, sprayed, sowed and staked...
Then I wheeled, watered, weeded, rototilled and raked.

I loosened, limed and layered, that's me; gardening by the book...
But there was one thing I neglected, I was so busy I forgot to look.

My flowers were as beautiful as could be...
And I was so busy I didn't see.

                        TK<><


Copyright © tom kesting | Year Posted 2015


Details | By The Book Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Book

The Book

When my visions and sounds escape
To that quiet place

And all the collisions of the day
Stray away

My body can consume the every word
For, nothing is blurred

Purporting into another adventure and land
And my mind is placed in anothers hand

The teller is my guide
With the nightlight by my side

Seeking quests to only be told
By the book that lies under my nose....








Copyright © Tammy Flanagan | Year Posted 2012


Details | By The Book Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Game of Life

The world can be so cold,
The truth to one to hold.
Look far beyond what is near,
Use every thought to guide; to steer.

In the direction of fame,
Each word you use; bring game,
Never giving up in time,
Some paths have sticky grime.

Pull yourself out,
Choosing the new route,
Don't get cauth behind,
Any thought about the bind.
For life has all to give,
Your mind is where you start to live.

Bright thoughts; bright future,
The way you look; be sure.
Fate comes fast,
Never turn back to look at the past.

Call it playing by the book,
But it's a game so take a look,
The monopoly of Life,
Can stab you in the back; a knife.
The way is straight with few turns,
The way is from experience; one learns.
Keep the head up everyday,
The game of life is now at play.


Copyright © Stacey Behal | Year Posted 2012