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Details | Can It Poem | Create an image from this poem.

and that comes from within


if I had all the money that I ever wanted,
                  I suppose that I could travel the world;

       live in a better home, buy designer clothes and stuff,

  if money was no object in my life . . . 

                     but you see money cannot help me,
each day my health is more delicate, slipping further away;

       and all the money in the universe will not change a thing,
                               this is my struggle and my daily reality . . . 

                                         the things I give myself are simple,

relaxing music to soothe this weary soul;
peace, tranquility and love to ease my pain,
and I ask the Lord for acceptance . . . 

             in meditation I try to fathom the why,
                                           
                      of course, with money I could go to a fancy retreat;
but a corner in my bedroom is set aside for meditation and relaxing,
and it is there I have placed peaceful things that cost very little . . . .

     perhaps with money I could get better drugs,
                but no drug is going to change this girl's destiny;

                                                this I know deep in my heart and soul, 
                       I have for a long, long time . . . 

I think a lot about my past and life so far,

                              the paths I took or did not take;
                              the things I said or did not say,
        could money have changed my journey in any way . . . 

                                     a warm bath, a cozy bed, a sweet purring cat,
                                                    paper and pen so I can write;
               my laptop within reach, a walk in nature listening to the birds,
      a loved one to hold my hand  . . . .

      these are my indulgences and they may not seem like much to you,

                              but I feel like the wealthiest person in this world;
              for money cannot buy happiness nor can it buy life,
                                      all I need is the indulgence of tranquility . . . 

                            ''and that comes from within''

____________________________
January 28, 2015

Poetry/Narrative/"and that comes from within"
Copyright Protected, ID 15-636-474-0
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.

Submitted to the Contest, No 259, 
Brian Strand, 

Seventh Place
_______________________________

Submitted to the contest, Poems That Are Soup Favorites, 
sponsor, Poet Destroyer, 

Tenth Place
_________________________________________
Submitted to the contest , Indulgences, 
sponsor,Shadow,

First Place


Copyright © Dear Heart | Year Posted 2015


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The Amorous Mystique



Can it be, into this world we are dropped from heavenly streams that have never stopped? With sweet hope gifted to our souls delight, oceans of love and its fiery desires; ladies so fair, we thank our keen eyesight and leap into romance hottest fires. Can it be, wonderment is our reward given for living in a world so hard? With love's soulmate waiting a heart to touch, deepest seas of hot sexual pleasures; daring to embrace and love very much this bountiful store, of life's great treasures. Can it be, that in life's short duration we go beyond mere infatuation? With deeper dreams that bless spirits in need, grant romantic nights of sweetest relief; birth greatest pleasures of harvested seeds fruited in soul's spiritual beliefs. Your questions asked with pulsing energy of lovers’ wonderland of synergy.. Gifts do flow from fountain to foundations of souls inspiring minds to understand; seductive passion’s yearning flirtations of red embers roused to lusty flames fanned. In awe you long to know love’s mysteries, untangling threads in tender reveries.. Of all the gold offered in sun’s rich rays Sol would be poor in the worth of our love; for never could there be more wealth of praise than for ambrosial taste from gods above. During this life as our lustrous hearts’ beat we can transcend mundane with love’s white heat.. Our physical plane of mortal being is heightened with intimate unity; body and soul in tantra foreseeing weaving love’s strands into eternity. Robert J. Lindley and Susan Ashley (a collaboration) July 31, 2018 ______________________________ *For the purpose of this collaboration, tantra represents the weaving of strands into a unified whole and liberation of energy and expansion of consciousness*


Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018


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The Amorous Mystique

The Amorous Mystique

Can it be, into this world we are dropped
from heavenly streams that have never stopped?

With sweet hope gifted to our souls delight,
oceans of love and its fiery desires;
ladies so fair, we thank our keen eyesight
and leap into romance hottest fires.

Can it be, wonderment is our reward
given for living in a world so hard?

With love's soulmate waiting a heart to touch,
deepest seas of hot sexual pleasures;
daring to embrace and love very much
this bountiful store, of life's great treasures.

Can it be, that in life's short duration
we go beyond mere infatuation?

With deeper dreams that bless spirits in need,
grant romantic nights of sweetest relief;
birth greatest pleasures of harvested seeds
fruited in soul's spiritual beliefs.

Your questions asked with pulsing energy
of lovers’ wonderland of synergy..

Gifts do flow from fountain to foundations
of souls inspiring minds to understand;
seductive passion’s yearning flirtations
of red embers roused to lusty flames fanned.

In awe you long to know love’s mysteries,
untangling threads in tender reveries..

Of all the gold offered in sun’s rich rays
Sol would be poor in the worth of our love;
for never could there be more wealth of praise
than for ambrosial taste from gods above.

During this life as our lustrous hearts’ beat
we can transcend mundane with love’s white heat..

Our physical plane of mortal being
is heightened with intimate unity;
body and soul in tantra foreseeing
weaving love’s strands into eternity.

Robert J. Lindley and Susan Ashley

(a collaboration)

July 31, 2018
______________________________

*For the purpose of this collaboration, tantra represents the weaving of strands into a unified whole and liberation of energy and expansion of consciousness*



Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018


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The Moth

A lone moth flits around my front porch light as wind blows through my window, luring me to step outside into black velvet’s night. I search the sky, but no moon can I see. It seems it’s disappeared, just like my love. The moaning wind plays havoc with my hair as that old bulb sways crazily above. In solitude, I simply stand and stare at the fool insect! How can it not know the falseness of the light that it’s drawn to? fluorescent doom replaces moon’s sweet glow. I know this well because in losing you I lost love’s gleam; I lost my everything, and still that silly moth is fluttering. . . written 11/6/2014 and won first place in Best Sad Poem EVER of Laura Loo. Now used for Your Best Poem From Any of Laura Loo's Contests


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


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Tangled Vines

I walk along the old familiar path in the wood of my childhood - the place that I willingly abandoned for the lure of new friends and activities that carried me ever farther from my simple carefree days. Nothing here is quite the same, and all that once was large to my child’s eyes has grown small. How can it be? The houses on the fringe of this old wood are the same houses we always came upon as children as we ran - exuberant wild Indians of our enchanted forest - away from our foes and into the safety of “clearings” - those back yards of neighbors whom we never really knew. Our small legs ran so quickly down that well-worn long-ago path in the days when we were soldiers hastening to secure our forts. Other times we searched for treasures in the wood's crevices, finding - one day - bed springs, metal pieces, and old mattresses and converting them into contraptions for jumping. I tread slowly, noticing how many spots along my way are now overrun with weeds and tangled vines. How did I ever not notice there were vines here at all? They must have been well hidden off our path. Perhaps a kindly neighbor kept the pathway clear of them out of consideration for all us kids. I cannot know. . . It was so long ago. I glimpse the raspberry bushes we used to happily discover each summer when fuzzy berries showed brightly red and plump. And there’s old man Miller’s house, whose fence we used to climb so we might quickly steal the juicy apples fallen from his tree. Sadness tugs at my heart. The tree has vanished, and in the place of old man Miller’s shed now sits a swing set looking barely used. I head toward the center of this miniature forest recalling how it used to hold such grandness in my young imagination. The pond where we used to skate in winter has disappeared as well. In its place is a broad high pile of dirt, and at the north outer edge in the distance I can see diverse machines used for excavation. Maybe soon the wood will be cut down. Though small, this place was once so wondrous! I think back to our Christmas vacations, looking for the perfect little hill to drag our sleds up- and the thrill of barely missing trees as we slid back down. Everything was magical, crisp and clean. Suddenly I trip on tangled vines I’ve failed to see. The vines are stumbling blocks that have blotted out the utter charm this locale once held for me. You’d think that being smaller to my grown-up eyes, the wood would seem even simpler now. But no, it’s lost the grace of my simple and easy childhood days; It’s become a labyrinth of too lush plant life. I think how - like my complicated life - this old familiar place is decaying and is overwhelmed with all these obnoxious vines and how one day - like the pond and Mr. Miller’s apple tree - this dear wood will have vanished. inspired by events of my childhood and the contest of Constance la France and now for Caleb Smith's In the Woods Poetry Contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013


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THE DOMINO EFFECT - SELFISH SELFIE

Please do not touch Just read the signs dotted around the gallery display So you take a selfie ... What harm can it do? Your camera shutter clicks clicks clicks as you take selfish selfie pics Teetering on your high heels you topple backwards like a destructive domino Art gallery display C R A S H E S to the floor Your picture won’t ever be placed in a photograph frame But hey You achieved your fifteen seconds of fame You took a selfie - How selfish! Inspired by newspaper article where a selfie goes wrong and causes around $200k damage to artwork by British artist Simon Birch I've never considered myself an arty or creative person and I went out of my comfort zone to write this free verse poem. 07-15-17


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017


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Too late for tears

Oh, my brother..
I can see storms causing havoc in your eyes.
All you can do is stare,
seeking comfort from a tombstone.

Beautiful marble cannot reach out to you,
nor can it hold your hand.
Tell me who will wipe away those sympathetic tears?

For I have no sympathy for you.
Because
I still remember happy tears
rolling down her face,
as the nurse placed you in her arms.
You were held so close,
as she kissed your tiny soft cheeks
to ease your cries.

Like every child,
before you called for God,
you called for your mother.

Yet, you abandoned her...

You won't remember, 
but, You slept so comfortably,
oblivious to her pain, as you found solace.

You won't recall the sleepless nights,
the pangs of hunger, nor her broken heart.
As your father, a coward, walked away.

Not once did she fail to attend your needs.
When you were sick, she sat by your side,
soothing your infant cries.
Instead of crumbling, her spirit remained strong,
in the hope for a beautiful future for her son.

I remember
how everyday, she awaited your return,
cooked your favourite meals
and bought you clothes, she could not afford.

Whilst, I became invisible..
You had everything a child could need.

Through the years,
you never noticed her fatigued eyes,
nor her wrinkled hands,
tired from working so hard to provide for you.

You lived your life, without a care.
For everything you needed
was provided.  Yet not once
did you listen to a word, she said.

You met a girl, became obsessed, 
and wasted all of mother's savings.
Running after materialistic needs.
Fancy restaurants, exotic holidays,
you thought you were 'living the life.'

Not once did you remember mum,
ignoring her calls, rarely coming home.
But, still she waited in anticipation.

You fool!
As you laughed, she cried;
as you danced, she sat worrying about you.

You got married. 
Where was her invitation?
Were you ashamed?
Or did she have no money for you?

Your ignorance became your curse,
as you lost all respect.
But still it broke her heart.

Now you stand here, 
staring at her name,
engraved on marble stone.
Your tears water flowers of regret.
No point
muttering mother's lullabies,
as you call her name,
disguised under deep sighs..

Who will ask now:
"Son when are you coming home?"
Who will replace her scent?
Never will you taste food cooked
by such compassionate hands.
Never will you be able to see the love in her eyes.
Never will you feel the warmth of her arms,
nor the love of a mother's kiss.

Turn your head in shame
and walk away.
Mum is in heaven now,
free from your torment..

Simple Musing
14 September 2017
Silent One

Example for Poems that paint a picture 2




Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017


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Truth - Collaboration with Chris Green

Truth is but an empty thing a word that twists and turns Where some people say it sings others claim it burns And when it seems it’s spoken so many will believe While some will take it as a lie in thoughts that they conceive "I speak the truth", "I speak the truth" You can hear all around but everyone speaks differently So where can it be found? Wherever you may find it there still will be a few Who do not like the truth you say and toss it back at you Catch it, bend and smash it then throw the word away Compassion, friendship, gentleness Those are the words that stay A true friend will believe you without the need for proof For friendship knows no boundaries when it is built on truth *** Augustus 11, 2017 Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


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Frozen Raindrops

My breath becomes visible when I exhale
into the chill of the still, winter air
but, I do not mind the cold.
I hear nothing, but the solemn sound of silence
as I stand in the middle of nowhere, with no one,
looking straight up into a gray sky
and seeing nothing, but a million snowflakes coming toward me.
Tumbling, dancing, drifting, and finding their way to the earth.

No, they are not just frozen raindrops.
Each one is a miniature ice sculpture
intricately carved by the hand of a master artist.
Can it be, within the billions of snowflakes that fall each year,
that no two are ever alike?
While I do not have the answer, I enjoy pondering the question.

I stand perfectly still, as if frozen in time,
as the snow falls down, and sticks onto my hair,
instantly aging me as my golden-brown locks turn white.
Yet, I feel much younger than I am.
I feel like I am inside a snow-globe that has just been shaken.
I can feel them gently landing on my face,
these delicate snowflakes tickle me
as they get caught by my eyelashes.
I just close my eyes and smile.


Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013


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Wishes and Dreams

I wish I could walk without feeling pain
I wish I could live my life again.

I dream of a time when I could run like a deer
I could jump like a gazelle with nothing to fear.

I could climb like cat and swim like fish
I can not do these things and yet I can wish.

I can dream of a day many years gone by
I could dream and pray for that bus to pass by.

I could dream my mum missed it and didn’t get on
I could dream she forgot my vaccination had not been done.

I can sit here and daydream day after day and wish that jab had gone right
I can dream I am fit, but I’m not, it went wrong, and now I have learned how 
to fight.

I can if not careful, wish and dream my whole life away
But there is no point in that, that’s what I say.

But the vaccine went wrong, and no wishes or dreams can it change
I just have to get on with my life, there is no sale or return or exchange.

Wishes are for kids and dreams are for bed
I wish I was a kid and could lay down my head.

I am tired and fed up and the wind is so cold
I wish I did not suddenly feel old.

I am reading this back and thinking boy, this isn’t me
I am going to get up and with a certainty

I am going to fix that toilet for once and for all
Even if I have to rip it off, that bloody bathroom wall.

Self Pity is over and I feel a bit of a nit
And my last dream is I am back in bed with Brad Pitt.




Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011


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Instincts of Innocence

Years have come and gone
and the woman in me has seen
the love of the ancients in a dream
the constancy of time...gleams
nothing is as it seems
as I stand before you

I am ripe with age
No longer in the blush of my prime
No longer....sublime
I stand before you
with all my womanly wiles
and all of seduction's sighs spent

Innocence washes over me
carrying me back
on the streams of longing
pouring over me from 
the depth of your eyes
birthing in me
the hidden instincts of innocence
as I stand before you

Transformed...
I am a girl again
not yet a woman
not having tasted
the pleasures of passion's gratification
I stand before you

In a voice of wispy wonder and wanton willingness
I whisper your name.....
You stand before me
stepping into the time of Before
both you and I
on the edge of discovery
with the shyness of virgin wants
we stand...

I look down at your hands
As you gently undress me
you peel away inner garments
of time and age
until I am....bare
A blooming beauty of blushing youth
I see it mirrored in your eyes
before I close mine
and venture into this dreamed reality
dressed.... 
in the instincts of innocence

I float on clouds of awakening need
sensations never felt
tingle a telling tale of sweet sensuality
I feel your fingers trace my lips
as one of them gently dips inside my mouth
I envelope it with a prophetic wetness wild
as it slides and it glides inside...
my innocence....hides

We no longer stand
you make me lie down
with guiding hand
You hove above me 
discovering, touching, and tasting
My love for you
in honeyed dew 
I come for you
you come in me
innocence now history
We intertwine the time
of before and now
Somehow
We're set free...
How can it be?
You have made....
a woman out of the girl in me

Eileen Manassian
Too late for Justin Bordner's Contest :(
Instincts of Innocence


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015


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A Wounded Heart

It’s like a room you sweep and can never get all the dirt out.
Like an important message you can never understand, no matter how loud they shout.
It’s like life that repeats itself over and over again,
When it’s wounded there is no cure.
So why would you want to see it through to the end.

Like a scar you can barely see but you know that it’s there. 
Like the memories you forgot yet scared to search elsewhere.
Some say it heals in time, I say no, for it never leaves the mind. 
We yearn for happiness and rob ourselves blind,
you compromise and displease yourself to give a peace of mind,
and the moment something arises they neglect all the signs.

It’s like a race you start and can never complete.
It’s like walking into fire but you can’t even see it.
Everyone has a different story or a different blend, 
but when something is broken, how can it be mend again?

 I should’ve seen that you were trouble right from the start. 
I’ve learned so many lessons. Like never to mess with a broken heart,
A future that bares the past requires much more than faith.
A heart that was once broken is fragile and is easier to break.


Copyright © Germaine Thompson | Year Posted 2012


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Refrain on the Sixth - A Tiny Crystal Ball

Before you lies a tiny crystal ball. Pick it up; feel it smooth and hard along your palm. Can it speak to you? Stare into its icy depth. Perhaps if you gaze long enough, you will see your future cascading like a beautiful waterfall of dreams . . . or a tiny crystal ball perhaps is all you’ll ever see. Based on picture #3 Written June 6, 2016 for THE BEST OF 6 Contest of nette onclaud


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016


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You

They say it's impossible to count the water drops in the ocean - well I say I can when I look at you..
They say that human beings  can't live without a beating heart - well I say I can as long as I have you...
They say that we can't touch heaven until we're dead - well I say they lie cause I can touch you...
Sky is clear but not clear as your heart nor as your soul...
Sun is too hot but it's an iceberg compared to you...
Universe is huge but how can it be so huge , when your heart holds the universe...
Is this the nature fragrance or it is your embrace ?
Does the beauty mean a thing against your face ?
Your so flawless and perfect....
But...
Do you exist......

    ???


Copyright © Dalia Shahein | Year Posted 2015


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BEING FRIENDLY

How hard can it be to say hello,
to a stranger on the street!
To smile and say " how are you”,
to anyone you meet?

It sure can't hurt to be polite,
or lend a helping hand,
to give a friendly word of cheer,
and respect your fellow man.

Be friendly toward your neighbor,
don’t try to shut him out!
Peaceful co-existence, 
that’s what life is all about.

You can turn a frown into a smile,
by just the words you say,
like “please” or “thank you very much”,
or “have a real nice day”!

Sometimes a friendly gesture,
or a little word of praise,
is all it takes to bring that smile,
it’s true -  you’d be amazed!

Remember the times you were off somewhere,
in an unfamiliar place,
how much better it made you feel,
when you saw a smiling face?

If you apply the Golden Rule,
to all you say and do,
you’ll talk to others just the way,
you’d have them talk to you.

We're in this world together
and will be till we die.
We can't make friends with everyone,
but it wouldn't hurt to try!



 


Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2010


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The Worry Dolls

There is a tiny box of dolls
On the shelf by my bed
Each doll is for one worry that
May swirl inside my head

The box was given to me by
A friend, whom I adore
It started me to wondering
Just what is Worry for?

Does it serve any function as 
I purpose through each day?
Will it relieve my deepest pain
Or guide me on my way?

Can it lesson my misery 
Would it minimize strife?
And, will it add one single hour
To the end of my life?

The answer to my question is
Of course, "NO", it cannot!
So, Worry has no place in me
No victory it's wrought

The dolls-- I'll keep them anyhow
And use them differently
I'm sure my good friend wouldn't mind
A new idea, you see:

I'll pluck each miniature doll
From its box every night
And thank the Lord for giving me
A more eternal sight

Yes, with each petite figure I
Shall count one blessing too
And pray before I sleep that He'll
Make anxious hearts like new!


Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2009


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Good Education for All Kids

Good education for all kids would be
my way to change the world for everyone
because without this opportunity,
the world can never change. Can it be done?
Can people see past sex and race to give
all children education? Without it,
we’ll keep declining! How can we all live
with ignorance? Our kids will take the hit!
If we teach care of our environment,
awareness of each problem, and its cure,
I think we’ll see our dollars wisely spent,
especially when we educate the poor.
To see the end of social ills on earth
we must give education greater worth.

Written April 11, 2016 
For the If You Could Change The World Poetry Contest of Dan Kearley


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016


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Sickness in my Soul

 I’m in such a state of confusion,
I don’t understand what I’m doing
I know your there
And I know you care
But I can’t see you
I can’t hear you
I just don’t know what to do
I know your there in the stillness,
Waiting to heal this illness
 
There is a deep hole
A sickness in my soul,
Disease in the depths of my heart
 But How to fix it
I wouldn't know where to start
How it came to be
Is a deep mystery to me
 
 I know that I am broken
We all are in some way
But rarely are these things spoken
Rarely do I have the courage to say
The secrets kept within
The depths of my sin
 
But if I hide it how can it be healed
 How can the healer heal?
If I keep my heart sealed
What if I let down my shield?
 
Will I be attacked or disgraced
Or will I be embraced
I’m too scared to find out
To be found out
So I hide my face
 
I only let people see part of me
I only let people get so close
I don’t want them to see
I don’t want them to know
And so I end up alone
 
I’ve been to the bar, the clubs,
All the social hubs
But no one cares about my hurts
 Life’s all about chasing skirts,
Fancy cars and nice shirts
 
Or is there something beyond drunken nights, and flashing lights
Is there something really worth living for, an open door to something more?
An invitation to a new destination
A path to peace, a sweet release
A new life to claim, an escape from the shame
I believe there is, some days I forget
But my life isn’t over yet
 
Tomorrow is a new day
I can live life your way
With love and peace
With guilt and shame released
With a new heart
And a new start
A reason to live
And something to give
To this broken earth
Of invaluable worth
 
At my very core
I know I was born for more
Than to live and to die
Without knowing why
I don’t have it all figured out
But I know without a doubt
That the world needs love
And that love comes from above
Because human love is not enough
 
That is why there is a deep hole
And a sickness in my soul
But to me has been revealed
The way to be healed
 
Now I have a mission
A reason for existence
To bring healing to the earth
To the unloved, the broken, the rejected
And tell them what they are worth
So that Jesus’ love will be reflected
And this love will give birth
To many people being resurrected,
Redirected and completely accepted
To a wonderful and glorious rebirth


Copyright © Roland Fleming | Year Posted 2013


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Poem From a Weary Heart

Decisions good, decisions bad
Either way it's happy or sad
Losing a job, or losing a friend
It's hidden but stays until the end.

Life's challenges are not really fair
Leaving our hearts in pieces, our minds in the air
Many find it true, to be extremely hard
Life's a game, choose your next card

Decisions that are like a two edged sword
Can leave you speechless, not saying a word
My heart has been shot, not one time, but eight
And still I have no remorse, anger or hate

How can it be? I be treated so bad
And not be angry at the cruelty I've been had
It's just a curse to many and a blessing to some
They say, "In the long-run, your happiness will come."

No matter stay high, just take every blow
Don't count back the days, weeks or years ago
That your heart was pieces and now it's been lost
No matter the feeling, it's not worth the cost

Many times you hear, "It happens to most."
But do they not understand, what matters to me most?
Just having an arm, wrap around me at night
Someone to cherish, in my heart so tight

At several times, I've turned to isolation
But all it brings is love deprivation
Sleeping at night, laying there all alone
It's a child at age 5, when no one's at home

I hold it together, and think of the past
And the friends from the Navy that will forever last
I think of the future and where I will be
On a ship or a boat, set sailing and free

But I can pretend it doesn't hurt and not show it at all
Only some people can read me, the signs, so small
They see pain in my eyes and no heart on my sleeve
They try to relax me, they do it with ease

So this is my story for so many ears
This is how my life's been for so many years
Not just with my heart, but with my mind and soul
After the Navy, the hurt doesn't get old.....


Copyright © Andrew Johnson | Year Posted 2009


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Around the Corner

Is something wonderful in store for me? I feel it near and almost hear the pulse of it! What’s around the corner? What can it be? So far, a butterfly, it only wants to flit. I feel it near and almost hear the pulse of it. It has to be so beautiful. It can’t be bad! So far, a butterfly, it only wants to flit! I race with time to find out something glad. It has to be so beautiful! It can’t be bad. . . Like Tony and Maria in the West Side Story, I race with time to find out something glad - to sparkle like a star that finds its glory! Like Tony and Maria in the West Side Story, I sing, “Tonight won’t be just any night.” To sparkle like a star that finds its glory! Surely round the corner cannot be plight! I sing, “Tonight won’t be just any night!” Aflutter with anticipation, I’ve found hope. Surely round the corner cannot be plight. Is destiny my friend, or am I just a dope? Aflutter with anticipation, I’ve found hope. What’s around the corner? What can it be? Is destiny my friend? Or am I just a dope? Is something wonderful in store for me? Written 10/16/14 for the Contest of Francine Roberts


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


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WHEN TEARS TOUCH - a collab with JA Fraser

WHEN TEARS TOUCH

The twelfth of November reminds me of the day            
when our paths  first crossed  then came to grow on  trail.             
Soon... all the days like waves rolled into years  
as we reminisce our pasts: joys and tears for fears.
         
A pad with pen I hold to write what pops by;                    
Each tint and curve a bell that says, you and I.                
The words are mere push and pull medley of thoughts            
shaping a circle melody of heart shots.
                    
Learning flower our way as our cultures shared;                 
gem writings topically crafted are compared.                   
Feelings flood colours to our world, closer we became--          
Creeping longing is "our meeting" as this both our aim         
 
Beep and peek are lace ladders to higher trust grounds,         
every tap and trade a thread fortifying our bond.           
The lasso tying our heartstrings to etch some rhymes,          
vital signs checked normal but awhile raise second hands  

Can it be that this a fruit of stardust's grand wand?     
Or a rose waiting to bloom and behold upon bosoms?

Now the day has arrived, suitcases packed, I smile        
a journey, I have dreamt about, many many miles.           
Nervousness cocoons but it's normal to feel this;         
for this my long wish as I enter the coming hours.

Distance and differences our silent enemies!              
But... It did not stop us from thinking sound strategies.
Interest and love gleams as our loyal company
enabling us to draw verses of harmony.

Broken bridges we cross by grace of felicity~  
yearning to meet eye-to-eye an intensity!
Along the wires we jibe to friendly deal
that as  crisp December sings we will make it real.

The cool December made our wanting a tip-top exhilarate..
and from somewhere, a song plays:

"When you feel in your skin in your bones and the hollow 
Of your heart, there's no way you can wait till tomorrow.
When there isn't any doubt about it once you come this close
Cos you know and you know that you know...."


_____________________________________________________________
*** the last stanza are lines taken from the song: "WHEN YOU KNOW" by Shawn Colvin from the movie Serendipity.

©J.A. Fraser and O.E. Guillermo
October 29, 2014; 10:05 pm



Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014


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The Rhythm of One

Love is not love if only in books and songs
In romantic movies and poems it belongs
It is life itself; an experience we share
A personal history of concern, commitment and care

Love is a voice that will soothe and caress
A heart that is uneasy, a mind in distress
It is a look that says, "I'm here, I know life isn't fair.
 Pour out your troubles, I'll listen, I'll always be there."

Love is a smile, on both the lips and the eye
A suggestive twinkle and a warm good-bye
It is a message that needs no gesture or voice
Yet, in that twinkle it says, "In your company, I rejoice."

Love is the soft touch of one hand in the other
The gentle massage of one heart by another
That occurs when those fingers do gently squeeze
And say, "As long as we are together, life will be a breeze."

Love is not love if only in an expensive jewel or gift
Can it offer us comforts, our flagging spirits lift
Love is life itself, the acts that are done
When two hearts celebrate with the rhythm of one.


Copyright © Alister Renaux | Year Posted 2009


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A World on Fire

We live today in a world of great tumult
And of rising uncertainty and anxiety 
Which pervade the world stage like a cancer

Despite soaring technological advances
Our environment and our home Earth
Are bearing an unimaginable burden

People are wondering what must be done
To right these wrongs and adjust our course
Before we turn the corner to “No Return”

Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, and War 
Are still with us today since the beginning
Of time and are mankind’s greatest shame

God may be with us intellectually
But mankind must be self-reliant
To survive an inattentive, distant deity

People see answers to these enigmas
Sounds are made, echoes are heard
But nothing comes back in response

Frustration reigns supreme for many 
Fear and anxiety multiple all concerns
There can never be easy answers

                      *******

Tyranny still reigns alive in many countries
As the actions of tin-eared dictators abound
And are on ample display for all to see 

Poverty is still a shameful, terrible curse
Which afflicts the most unfortunate
And is paid lip service by the wealthy

Disease is a scourge still in our world
And still felt by those most in need
And never enough is done to change this

War is the ultimate insult to mankind
And its wide-felt swath and affliction
Plagues yet our modern, enlightened world 

What to make of all these challenges
Is not easy for any of us to digest
And let alone understand why

Yet understand, comprehend we must
If we want a better world for all to live in
A Sisyphean task at its very best

Man still holds the key to make change
Positive and real for our troubled Earth
But can it ever be really so in the end

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
Schoeningen, Germany (October 16, 2014) 
(Tercet unrhymed poetic format)



Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014


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Modern Life

Modern Life
We are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
Except Monday mornings and Sunday nights.
What are they on about, at this place that I seek
That is supposed open 24/7 days a week.

The pub is open we have an unlimited license,
Let’s have a drink before we go to bed!
I’m sorry we are closed the doors shut at eleven
That’s what the snooty landlord then said.

The helpline is here no matter when 
Give us a call and we can help you then.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, the phone rings on
A tape recording says, “Sorry everyone has gone.”

My car has broken down the man came to fix it
“It doesn’t work” he said sratching his head.
“There a computer on board and I will need to record
All the things that are broken down” he said.

But I need my car; I looked at him hard, 
And he gave me a wizened up frown.
He plugged himself in, then said with a grin.
The computer says it’s fine, the engine is strong.

But the car doesn’t work you toothless little jerk, 
The computer plugged in must be wrong.
“How can it be wrong it says the engine is strong?” he gave me a shifty look
“To be honest missus if it ain’t on the pute, perhaps the answers in a book."

He could find nothing wrong, the onboard computer gave a bong,
But it still said all was okay.
The tow-truck they called out with its ramp and its chains
Now they have taken my poor car away.

Modern life is so frustrating; we have everything at our fingertips
There is 24/7 that does not mean that, and fury does exit my lips.
If its 24/7 and help lines constantly, a car that is run by computer.
Why doesn’t anything work, I feel like the jerk, can somebody lend me a shooter.

I want to blast and to break all technology of late
It’s driving me to drink and distraction
The open all hours pubs are now closed, 
And my car is still out of action.

The bank is closed, the computers just died, 
The telephones gone on the blink
The TV HD, it is fuzzy like me;
I think I’m going to put my head in the sink.

The oven would be better, but its electric not gas
So I don’t think it would work as well
I want to end it all, not practice for the day,
The Grim-Reaper points at me, and sends me to hell.

Therefore, I’ll fill up the sink and put my head in the drink, 
Oh, blast, who is that at the door?
It’s the water board here, we are just making it clear,your water is off for a week.
Typical, I have no car and it is too far
To walk out and jump in the creek.




Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011


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Tell Me

Can it truly be
That the existence of you and me
Will be as if it never were
With no him and with no her?

Tell me.

Can it truly be
That the formation of a family
Will be a thing of naught,
An entity that time forgot?

Tell me.

Can it truly be
That our sacrifices to live free
Will count for little worthwhile,
Except for pimps primping in their guile.

Tell me.

Can it truly be
That universes without end
Are the happenstances of luck and chance
An invitation to join a celestial dance.

Tell me.

Can it truly be
That Mother’s scored back and hands
Were hardly signs of ceaseless labor
Only barely more than rendering us a favor.

Tell me.

Can it truly be
That the growing number of empty chairs
Symbolize nothing that need give pause,
Many of their occupants were rife with flaws.

Tell me.

Can it truly be
That when dreamless sleep owns mine and me
The toil and the striving and the loving we knew
Won’t matter as much as a robin’s fall call
Mind not that in earnest we gave life our all.

Tell me.



Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2015