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Garden of mum

Mum sat in her aromatic garden,
admiring its charm and grace.
It was a cold morning,
but mum never seemed to feel it any more.

Her eyes were tired, life's adversities had taken their toll,
yet the smallest things filled them with joy.
Like the perennial ivory lilies blossoming
among her loyal, royal forget-me-nots.
The tranquil scents of lilac lavender, 
blooming among radiant Jerusalem sage, 
always made her smile.

Her hands were wrinkly, but resilient,
despite years of hard work as a single mother.
Still strong enough to tend to her grandiose display
of ruby red, aureolin yellow and puce pink roses.
Mum always told me the thorns were like knights -
there to protect the rose's fragility. 
That a woman is a man's most precious flower, 
requiring tender care and appreciation.

Evergreen conifers parade along the perimeter of
my lovely mother's garden, like a colony of soldiers,
protecting a beautiful, yet delicate, 
Japanese cherry blossom tree.

Mum always told me it reminded her about life,
how everything was temporary, just like its fragile buds,
that only blossomed in the spring and 
how the lightest breeze blew them away.

Mum taught me so much and was my inspiration,
picked me up when I was defeated, 
taught me that only in defeat do we learn.
When the world tried to change me, 
taught me to accept myself,
to love myself before I could love others 
and be true to who I am.

As I sat with mum admiring the beauty of the seeds sown,
melancholic tones flooded my emotions, 
wondering how I would cope without her.

Was I selfish wishing to die before her, 
so I would not have to mourn for her,
but it would be so heartbreaking 
for her to mourn for me.

My contemplation was interrupted by an outbreak of rain.
Mother simply smiled and said: 

"Rain is mercy from God, my son." 

Written 26 February 2016

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018

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Stunning Revelations from Ancient Maps

Professor Hapgood’s studies on ancient maps were fixed
Einstein said his theories should be added to history’s mix
Perhaps it proved too big a leap for other minds to take
But his ancient culture findings, Hapgood would not forsake

6000 BC, before Egypt’s pyramids were built
Millennia before Pompeii’s lava had been spilled
Or small fishing boats hugged the Mediterranean Coast
And Columbus’s “daring” voyage was not even close

Ancient seafarers drew with astounding accuracy
Maps of the world they once knew, the fishermen’s legacy
Antarctica sans ice and closer to the equator
The Mid-Atlantic Ridge once an above-sea sky scraper

Siberia touching Alaska with no Bering Strait
(Palin could have seen Russia without snow from her back gate)
 Cuba, England, Sweden, too, on these maps appear clearly
But Sweden’s fully glacial; England’s blanket an ice sheet

If we believe Hapgood, a civilization once thrived
Thousands of years before language; maps keep memories alive
Technology to chart the seas was lost in ancient times
With latitude and longitude measurements quite refined

Sea kings’ cities may have succumbed during the last Ice Age
Surviving nations lost their skill when history turned a page
Geography to be found again when the Earth had healed
“Discoverers” reinvented the forgotten ship’s wheel

Magellan, perhaps not the first to sail around the globe
Admiral Byrd not the first man to visit the South Pole
Spirits from a colony of seafarers can be found
From deep beneath Antarctic ice, they try to spread the word

But laugh they must as scientists forecast global warming
And man attempts to alter life and heed their dire warning
Shifting poles?  Natural cycles!  Men would be well advised
To study the maps Hapgood found and open their closed minds 

To learn more about Professor Charles Hapgood’s map studies and the comments made by 
Albert Einstein, you can visit

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

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black and white landscape
a colony of penguins ~
standing and waddling

in the oceans depth  ~
lives a black and white giant
orca killer whale   ~

seal on an ice flow  ~
oblivious to danger  ~
head butting whale strikes

egg laid by female  ~
emperor penguin stands guard
female goes hunting  ~

not in Africa  ~
elephant and leopard seals
sea is their jungle ~

hourglass dolphins ~
smaller than a bottlenose
keen bow wave riders

home is in the air  ~
the wandering albatross
a ten foot wingspan

in the frozen south ~
a species of royal bird
the emperor penguin

the antarctic terns ~
fly over a silver dish
krill is on the menu

thick and warm white coat
a camouflaged artic fox
unseen in the snow ~

top of the food chain
carnivorous white giant
fearsome polar bear ~

Copyright © Tom Cunningham | Year Posted 2018

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Dinky Winky 11-22-17

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017

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The Whips Of History - 4

Injustice is just an inconvenience until it is proven...
When the sun hit their helmets it startled the very souls of the natives
a signal upon their eyes that spoke like a siren of ill prophecy to the bone,
the armaments of a hell that hushed any hope of mythical tribal ties,
steel and steeds struck and trampled stone age traditions
and the Cross and Crown crushed the crowds that gathered for the Conquistadors, 
arquebus bursts blew away bodies like brittle straw bundles
crossbows crippling the courage of Indians with crosscut arrows,
Spanish war dogs demonic in pursuit of pagan bowels 
tearing into Incan and Aztec flesh with furious fangs,
Virococha and Quetzalcoatl were not to be found in the battles
but in the temple plazas the hot blood did spill into a new calander of rites,
the mita of a hundred generations meted out for an ecomienda of ceaseless serfdom,
men and women converted, not to a new class of faith, but a new caste of animal kingdom,

Men and women converted, not to a new class of faith, but a new caste of animal kingdom, 
Captain we've lost three more this morning,  the flux fever has finished their fight,
that's thirteen total since we disembarked from the Ivory Coast ladden like a whale with 375 of them...
The Dahomey warlords do not believe in the blood of their captives, nor pity their plight
the Portuguese,  French and English store them like wet wood in the beach barracks
and here on the Sea Lion we lie them down like sweating corpses,
Toby, I've been shipping in this trade triangle for 18 years, pretending that its just business, 
the stink and screams of human cargo are spoiling my soul, forcing slow tears,
the ocean used to look so blue to me, now it's just a rolling swell of suffering, 
ring the bell three times for Neptune, before tossing them into the deep tide at twilight, 
tell Jenson that I value his sea smarts, but that if I see him torment another human being
I will burn a hole through his throat with a fire iron and hang him from the front mast,
my conscience won't allow me to be a courier of insanity anymore,
every voyage begins with innocence, and all must end with admitting who and what you are...

Every voyage begins with innocence,  and all must end with admitting who and what you are...
Today a man was freed who's back has the scars of a thousand cruelties, 
abolition freed his will to the labor of liberty yet his soul cannot escape the field master,
blood stains upon unrefined cotton he has not forgotten in his sleeping cries,
his great grandmother spoke of stars in an African sky
his grandfather revealed traditions told quietly about ancient spirits,
when his Mother died under the sun he didn't ask why
and as his Father fought the overseer he knew what honor is,
by 1810 Denmark, Britain, and the United States of America had banned transatlantic slave trading, 
Sierra Leone had become an industrious colony of former slaves,
by 1865 civil war in the United States dismantled slavery,
the 13th and 14th Amendments became the pillars of a new nation's days,
oh how fast the fields have grown,
so much more for our future to fathom,

I will beat you with it, choke you with it, and love you with it,
your beauty Avia, will survive in the legend of Goshen's price,
brutality is in the very bedrock here, within the law insanity kept,
yet it are the truly noble whom rise to death with confidence, 
slay the symbols of captivity and you'll be set free,
Gentlemen,  behold, the wild yet curious Laurentia, an unexplored beauty,
wonder not what good your purpose is, the soul knows what must be,
we will escape to the frontier where our love and independence have priority, 
We will be the trustees of life's passions...
the world has awoken to our march, to our lightning it will listen,
Captivity can be the catalyst for self empowering revelations...
Injustice is just an inconvenience until it is proven...
men and women converted, not to a new class of faith, but to a new caste of animal kingdom, 
Every voyage begins with innocence,  and all must end by admitting who and what you are...
so much more for our future to fathom,
this whip is a relic of war -

I began composing this epic on July 3rd,
and completed the work on August 7th,
investing approximately 135 hours of intellect. 
Also, I did not compose the 15th sonnet
prior to writing the preceeding 14 sonnets...Justin A. Bordner

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2016

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Creating a Negro

On the bank of the James River,
Virginia Colony, 
a proposal was conceived to constrain the African fire.
The ploy, a real achievement in the West-Indian settlements.
In Rome, bodies were paraded along the byways, 
to make a statement. 
My Massa used ropes.
We dangled by our necks like roosters in a slaughter house.
When the pining for liberty was stirred up in the marrows of our bones,
we set ablaze a few bungalows, 
and murder some dumb beasts.
The statement we made was called an uprising. 
The fields were abandoned, the livestock ran wild, 
and the slothful young mistress had to breast-feed her own child. 
The scheme had the ingredients of breaking a mule, 
and Virginia Colony was the first lab for creating fools.
A prophet’s blessing was given to the merchants, 
and black diamonds were shipped; 
they were purged of the soil of the mother land.
A new being was fashioned, dependent on Massa.
A man was set against his consort and his seeds,
and the whips wrote rules on our backs in their faces; 
our pride drained from the gorges in our hides,
and respect slowly seeped from their eyes. 
The bond was broken; 
a negro was concocted 
without the spirit of Ghana, the Warrior King, 
and the Ashanti, the pre-colonial backbone.
Should we not push as a woman in nativity for the renaissance?

Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010

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Crack Of The Moon

I joined a nudist colony,
Was that a big mistake!
Everyone's naked, in the buff,
Sippin' soda by a lake

A big ol' gal named Marsha,
Stepped on a banana peel;
Our feet got tangled together,
As we tumbled down a hill!

My life had flashed before me,
Flesh was crowdin' my space;
By the time we hit rock bottom,
Her moon was in my face!

I fought like hell for freedom,
Her butt was crushin' my skull;
I was feelin' rather groggy,
My vision was goin' dull!

Mounds of sweat overwhelmed me,
Six others came to assist,
Beneath that skin I was tastin',
The biggest butt I ever kissed!

With a heave and a ho, I was free,
My body was a mangled mess;
I spent a week on the sofa,
An ugly sight, I must confess!

You might say I'm stupid,
It'll roll right off my back;
I never used marijuana,
But I've had my share of crack!

Copyright © Milton Toran | Year Posted 2010

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Trump Shields The US From Becoming A Carcass Filled With Ants

Trump Shields The US From Becoming A Carcass Full With Ants 

Trumps draws a line in the sand
He's shaken all the trees in the land
Call him whatever, okay an ***
Yet keep in mind his motto USA first
From the civil war to now
No other's brought out the plow
Like how Trump has outlined in his model
In stomping his foot down full throttle
In Trump's twelve days in office
He's raining on the bureaucratic chorus 
Telling big business to fear
Of outsourcing jobs from here
He's taken on the pharmaceutical giants
To lower their prices, and be more compliant
He set a visa moratorium on 7 Muslim countries 
Prompting protester's chastises, so bluntly
He's opened dialogue for domestic oil exploration
Setting the country's future more self reliant of oil importation
He's befriended the Brits, and hired a cabinet of friends
Some of which are the richest, so one hopes it pays dividends
To this he silences his, what, ... critics? 
By calling them, okay, ... idiots !
Trump's IQ some say it's one of the tops
One hope pressure doesn't make it pop
Trump also seen as grandstanding his wall
For the Mexican President to take the fall
Yet he may be right on all of this
For it's a lot of walkovers from the border
That's soaking up the jobs, social and welfare
Taking up space for the ones already here
Trump may be xenophobic and not a tulip or rose
But he can't be accused of tiptoeing in
He needed to stem the colony of ants
Instead of letting them bred and expanse

connie pachecho



Copyright © connie pachecho | Year Posted 2017

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Birds at Sea

Adrift upon the ocean  
bob a bunch of resting birds.
What is it that they call themselves?
A flock or school or herd?

Could it be this feathered colony  
is a band or horde at best
No screeches, calls or gaggling,
they don’t brood or crowd or nest

Spread out like black freckles,
birds are shuffled by default.
Flavoring the ocean
dash of pepper to sea’s salt

Not gliding like mighty albatross
with wingspan strong and wide.
Or dancing with the currents
right by the dolphins side

Just floating in the middle
between the blue and green
Neither soaring in the heavens
or a coral dance routine  

And there, what’s that beneath them,
beyond their paddling feet
Just some strange attraction?
Or friends they’re yet to greet.

A sudden splash of water!
Could it be a pod of whales?  
Or the giggle of a baby seal,
nipping at their tails.

Will they look right through the jellyfish,
that flash and throb and group
to the gathering bunch of mackerel
congregating in the soup

But no, they’re not much bothered
by the party in full swing.
They just gossip amongst each other
While cleaning weathered wings

Waiting for the wind to change
On the ocean they sit tight
Regaining all that energy
needed to take flight

So what's its name, this party?
Of primp and craning necks.
In the skies they flock together
On the ocean, they’re a wreck!

Copyright © Grant Norwood | Year Posted 2016

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A spell by moonlight

I walked with people from another time,
They were beautiful and ghostly. 
I sleep now, and sit with the three of selves,
within a dreamly realm. 
Tripple Goddess in my soul, 
I consort with thee. 
Luscious Apple of Eve. 
We dance in my mind, with spirit. 
We sit and we talk and share tears. 
We meld into one being. 
Simple beings of light. 
Soul sisters. Pyramid of Isis. High crown.
I abide thee as, Lass of Moher. 
Maiden of new colony. 
Sister of Natives. 
Wanted of LA. 
Energy meet energy. 
Soul touch soul. 
By three laws do I fold. 
In perfect love, and perfect trust.

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2014

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Nomads of the Rising Sun

Nomads of the Rising Sun ~~a homeless home invasion~~ We are nomads of this earthly plain, dining with dust and riveting rain Dancing with demons dictating pain, making stronger our ball and chain Under siege upon night, undercover and cold, a blvd sign in city’s light A penal colony in punitive plight, the surreal scenery of a selective sight Our breaths keep us warm during the semiconscious soporific storm Weathering away a contorted form, slowly scared by a slaving swarm Hunger keeps us alive, descending decomposing death, will we survive Sleepless nights in overdrive extending hands as they reach to thrive Sadness creeps with the falling snow, tears drop in the moonlight glow Kept company by a lonely crow, eating crumbs discarded long time ago Depression dives in deeper, for I am your brother, are you my keeper Wounded soul sleepless sleeper, don’t want to be a wandering weeper. Nov.10.2017 Depression and Sadness Sponsored by: Craig Hawkins

Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2017

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Deadly Enchantress

You have the world at your feet
Men are crawling over you
they are hungry as a beast.
You rule the colony under your own law.
One by one...follow.
All was hitched unmindful.
Gracefully your lips utter a word
Your eyes glisten like a sparkling sword.
Long black hair...everyone longing to touch it.
A beauty that lured Samson and bewitched. 
They didnt know what's beneath
The beauty just with in reach...
oh sucks...its deadly but no one has ever see.
Tempting...that's what a deadly enchantress is.

Copyright © Eva Demate | Year Posted 2012

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Colony of One

Quaking Aspen trees
is an organism that is
way above us all

Copyright © Greg Gaul | Year Posted 2018

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Working Ants and Circumstance

An ant was digging in the dirt, he worked and toiled so long.
He looked upon the work he’d done and decided it was wrong.

He’d only made a little dent in a job that was too big,
so he decided to find some friends to help him with the dig.

He gathered up a couple mates and showed them all his plan,
to save their world from predators and that’s how it began.

Pretty soon the group he formed had made a giant stride,
in their quest to mine the earth and make a place to hide.

Other ants began to hear of what he planned to do,
each asked if they could lend a hand and be part of his crew.

More and more the ants joined in and worked with might and glee,
it wasn’t long before the group became a colony.

Ants with more experience helped share the things they learned,
the new guys did as they were taught, and respect is what they earned.

After all was said and done a mighty place they’d built,
they looked around to find that they’d moved lots of sand and silt.

More, in fact, than any single one of them could do,
the job was so big in fact it took more than a few.

And in this tale is wisdom that was drafted by the ants;
many hands make lighter work and help the circumstance.

Copyright © Cary Snowden | Year Posted 2018

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Slain without swords they are 
Though the airy wordly air 
They inhale yet in graceless lack

Behold in the colony of wretchedness
Naked children begging alms
From brothers-not brothers

See as flies soar above sores
On their broken soles pus to lick
From the leaking flesh of starving souls

Don't their ribs tell the origin of bones?
Aren't worms molesting their intestines? 
Don't they a place share in the supreme likeness?

Deserted cold gutter-side is their safe haven at night
And without meals they exit in multiple batches
To account for the trilemma of their ragged souls

Copyright © inya richard | Year Posted 2007

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Now And Then And Now Again

Though still within our infancy, 
we strive to thrive, but woefully 
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.
Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively. 
The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

The Masters make a mockery 
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy 
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in psycho-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey. 

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity 
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically 
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly 
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency 
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly 
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015

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The Melting Pot- a soup pot of giants-w


The United States is a vast country of immigrants
Each immigrant adds an ingredient and a flavor
“A melting pot”, visualizing a soup pot of giants
Each and every culture has some fine gifts to offer.

Immigration began in 1607 with Jamestown colony
Immigrants arriving called themselves pilgrims here
Where they could practice their own religion freely
Each and every culture has some fine gifts to offer. 

Self-reliance of New England in the north and in Boston
Almost for two centuries an economic-cultural centre
And south “southern drawl” the most colorful region 
Each and every culture has some fine gifts to offer.

The West, the last frontier, the move Westward impact
To find new opportunity, to live a new life in a way better
The Great Lakes Region, an auto industry stacked in fact
Each and every culture has some fine gifts to offer.

Now shifting toward multiculturalism, not assimilation
The old “melting pot” replaced by “salad bowl” metaphor 
Or still new “mosaic” not blending immigrant population
Each and every culture has some fine gifts to offer.


Dr. Ram Mehta

Eighth Place win 

Contest: America the melting pot for freedom by Dane Ann

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2011

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The day was fine and sunlit,
Decorated by several clouds 
drifting aimlessly in the radiant ocean-blue sky.
Chorused by gentle puffs of the morning breeze,
Sending leaves on the streets twirling like
ballerinas in a dazzling and mesmerising dance.
and the trees too,
waving their twigs like hands saluting people walking past,
Then the emergency siren suddenly shrieked,
Threatening of a descending storm,
Send us scurrying to safety,
As dark clouds stretched across the horizon
and its shadow slowly devours the daylight,
People around the village stormed like a colony of ants panicking
from the incoming storm,
Busy sand-bagging their houses and boarding up their windows with plywood
To keep them from falling apart.

I was inside my study room,
Huddled beneath the mountain of textbooks piling around me,
Terrified that I may not survive
from whatever’s happening outside,
From the storm clouds swarming over the school,
Unleashing sudden, violent bolts of lightning slashing across the skyline
As the deafening roar of thunder echoed through the village,
And then it came.
Cruel and merciless rain beating down upon us,
An untamed ocean of terror and destruction thrown from the unusually blackened sky
accompanied by the howling of immense hurricane-like wind,
Red blood-like sap spurted from the trees
moaning and groaning in agony
As their limbs were brutally ripped away by the monstrous downpour.
The winds were savage animals screaming at the children
While gnawing and clawing at our houses 
like a pack of hungry wolves
searching for their frightened prey.
Iced daggers stabbed at my feet
As the waterfall gushed through our roof
And knocked me to the floor.
Slowing the pressure eased,
as the rain gradually lessoned,
until finally fading into a charming melody,
Resembling the graceful chimes of bells.

The molten-gold rays peaked out over the mountain-tops
Emerging from behind a peaceful sheet of mist,
Casting slanted beams of light shining across the village.
Fluttering of wings could be heard
as birds erupted from their shelters
followed by an explosion of elegant song.
They sailed majestically over the schoolyard in unison,
Chirping and cheeping through the village’s moat of vast forest
as happy as a newborn penguin.
When I stared toward the golden coin glistening in the brilliant sky,
It appeared to me that the day was fine and sunlit,
Decorated by several clouds
drifting aimlessly in the radiant ocean-blue sky.


My poem Storm is an extended metaphor for the emotions around school exams. It is written in three parts: before, during and after the exam. The intended audience is teachers, and the purpose is to elicit sympathy towards students, especially ones who underperform in exams. This poem has a scary mood, featuring the themes of destruction and terror up to the climax when ‘Iced daggers stabbed at my feet/As the waterfall gushed through our roof’. The third stanza used ‘birds’ to metaphorically represent the joyful group of students after the examination. 

Sibilance was used when ‘the emergency siren suddenly shrieked’, with the sharp ‘s’ sound being uncomfortable and shocking to the reader. Sibilance was also used in the previous quote ‘Iced daggers stabbed at my feet’ allowing the reader to picture and feel the uncomfortable and painful scenario of rain ‘gushing’ through the roof like daggers made of ice. The mood intensified at critical points, with similes such as ‘leaves on the streets twirling like ballerinas’. Personification was used in the simile ‘gnawing and clawing at our houses like a pack of hungry wolves’, which exaggerated the wind’s animalistic brutality. An example of vivid auditory imagery is the personification and assonance of the trees that ‘moaned’ and ‘groaned’, which is an unpleasant and painful human sound, strongly appealing to the reader’s empathy. Furthermore, enjambment was used during the second stanza to create an interrupted rhythm. This changed the tone to a more panicked one, engaging the reader in the suspense of the storm. 

Anthropomorphism was used throughout the second stanza, where the storm clouds were accompanied by ‘the deafening roar of thunder’ and throws down upon the village ‘an untamed ocean of terror and destruction’. The use of lending a human element to a non-human subject (eg. Storm) allows the reader to emphasise with the feelings of the ‘villagers’, increases the relativity between the storm and the villagers, and also granting character to the subject (ie. Storm). 

Structurally, the shape of the text varied dramatically (not shown on the site, due to space availability) during the second stanza to represent the calamity and disorder brought by the storm, contrasted with the peace before and after the storm. The poem was also framed by repeating the same three lines at the beginning and end. This engages the reader in the message that no storm lasts forever just like exams. 


Copyright © Jamie Pan | Year Posted 2017

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ANOTHER YEAR WITH YOU Unto the night sky, I see a lace of stars twinkling bright and far beyond the moon with a grin of mystique light I welcome the thought that two nights from now, year 2015 will knock and greet upon my door... Father God, wow! I can't help to be thankful! All those bumps and struggles this 2014 whew! I am so thankful that You carried me through... I have no doubt that it has been always YOU who is there with me, guiding and listening to me. Through, people all around me... see... a child's smile that melts my heart.. my mama's strong voice that toughens me... my papa's jokes that drew a giggle in me... the greetings and hugs of friends all around to the challenging remarks from some reminds me always that You are just within my reach... How can I forget Your presence when each day I wake up... I behold and have the privilege to enjoy Your creation... from the serene puffy cotton clouds on blue skies, from the warmth sprayed by Mr. Sunshine even the pricking sweats falling unto my brows... from the colony of ants align to gather their food, to the sweet smell of flowers, to the dew kissing the leaves to the moving fishes I perceive on clear waters to the soaring flight of birds... these and others reminds me of Your dear presence... :)! I am so glad that You are within my life. Unseen but always felt within minutes of a heartfelt prayer. Unheard but always on time on answering every uttered appeal... Can't help to be teary eyed when I remember those daily miracles You let me experience; those revelations You letting me witness; those trials and storms in which by remaining in You, I won! Giving me further reason to thank You and give back to You all the things You are doing to me... Young at twenty-eight they say, but I thank You that despite what has been I can say I am blossoming better in every way because my earnest pursuit of Your will in my life. I am all challenged and being bent by Your living words. I am all being convicted too when I do falter but I am so grateful for Your gift of mercy. Hence, I make it a point to do more, more and more, for myself and above all to others to which You always said that indeed by loving and extending help to others, I am also loving You... It is not by merely praying, nor attending a daily mass or service nor lifting my hands to praise You nor singing and dancing in-front of Your altar nor handing my tithes or offering that I am indeed praising and worshiping You but... but... It is by sharing the experience of You loving me to others and so with Your creations is the best way. And even loving and praying that You will bless and touch those who persecutes me. I thank You Father God for a wonderful year and I am looking forward for another year with YOU. Forever grateful and forever in seek of You, God, more and more. ©O. E. Guillermo 08:50 am, December 30, 2014

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014

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Once night Gretta Foster sat in the backyard, 
building a rocket ship that ought to take her a-far, 
she had been working day and night - tirelessly, 
hammering, programming, all so dexterously. 
Then when the sun arose and sparkled in the sky, 
Gretta was still working, that too without a sigh, 
the ship was finally built, Gretta was on cloud nine, 
but going a bit farther up than that seemed rather fine. 
She sat inside the cockpit, tightened her seat belt, 
pushed a few buttons, with such admirable stealth, 
algorithms aplenty - all perfectly aligned, 
as the engine started roaring, boisterously alight. 
The rocket ascended at last, it set sail yonder, 
to the farthest frontier that this universe could conjure, 
and after it finally left the vivid atmosphere, 
Gretta was so happy, she let out a smiling tear. 
Days passed and she was put in catatonic sleep, 
immobile and still, immersed in lovely dreams, 
suddenly with a thud, the ship had landed still, 
She woke up instantly, with a newfound thrill. 
She wore the lunar suit, which she had stitched herself, 
opened up the bolted door and descended the metal steps, 
the moment she touched ground, she turned around, 
and got pleasantly surprised by what she found! 
A red-hatted impish elf, sat crossed leg, 
a large nosed fairy stood, munching on nutmeg, 
two rabbits bowed down to the rabbit goddess, 
and two more pressed her feet, in a soft caress. 
Gretta walked a step and heard the elf shout, 
"oh silly person, take that suit out!, 
we've got oxygen, plenty of em to breathe, 
that suits a waste o' time and energy!" 
Gretta obeyed, and unzipped the heavy suit, 
underneath she wore a dress - flowery and cute, 
"good going, young child, now lemme show you, 
this lovely wonderland which you dub the moon!" 
And the elf was right, they met unicorns, 
box-laden garden paths and joyous little fauns, 
walking and talking scarecrows, nursing little crows, 
small blue doll houses with chuckling gnomes. 
within a crater lived a colony of werewolves, 
but they were nice and fair - specially one named Ulf, 
he'd give her milk and tea with chocolate biscuits, 
and in order to keep her warm, red spotted mitts. 
The goddess too was nice, a wise and lovely soul, 
"be imaginative and create, but don't forget your goal", 
she'd also give her nutmeg of such abundant variety, 
her best friend was a Faun, so strong and mighty. 
and the Minotaurs build Gretta a lovely home, 
with a mushroom roof and walls build of foam, 
"stay here with us, Gretta, you'd have a great time", 
said the red-hatted elf while singing a rhyme. 
Gretta thought and thought, she came to a decision, 
she decided to stay for sure, she looked forward for her admission, 
and from thereon, life for her was perfected, 
all her dying wishes had suddenly been resurrected.

Copyright © manek kohli | Year Posted 2013

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Bird In A Tux

I do not fly but waddle far.
For fun I slide on my tummy.
And if I have my eye on a mate
I'll feed them fishes so yummy!

Singing a love song is common for me.
To attract a mate I'll croon.
And if I leave the colony sometime
I'll surely be back soon.

Under the water I really can't breathe.
But can hold my breath a short while.
I spend my time mostly at sea.
But when on shore I make humans smile.

You'll point at me and giggle out loud.
I know you think I'm cute!
But don't try to capture me I plead.
Just admire my black and white suit.

A little bit like you humans I am.
Sometimes I mate for life.
Yet other times I play the field.
Perhaps even cheat on my "wife"!

So here I go to dive and plunge
where the water is deep and cold.
Just some things you should know about me.
I'm amazing-if I may be so bold!

for Archaic Poet's animal personification contest

Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013

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He was baptized into slavery 
And submerged in the winter 
Of your hatred 
And was converted to poverty 
In the land of gold,

You taught him that GOD 
Was a white baas 
Who had invented the pass! 
And the police were 
The angels of death,

He learned to read 
Whites only 
Lest he fall into heresy 
And desecrate your piss-pots,

And as you crept 
Out of the garden 
Of your humanity 
And excommunicated 
Yourselves from justice 
And damned your generation 
Chained in gold 
To a leper colony, 

And as he stumbled 
Through his oppressive crucifixion 
You took him off your cross 
And sold him in the market place 
To mercenaries while you counted the rosaries 
Of your crimes to man,

Now he a victim 
Of your greed 
A witness to your crimes 
Is finally free.

Copyright © Dawood Gabru | Year Posted 2015

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Insects A to Z

A is for Ant, tiny but stout, they can lift fifty times their own weight,
B is for Bee, reaps nectar for honey; may opt to attack if made irate. 

C is for Cricket, chirps his best at night to attract stunning female, 
D is for Dragonfly, fast flier with two pairs of wings; strong not frail.  

E is for Earwig, type of beetle with a pair of pinchers on his belly,
F is for Fly; an ugly pest that invades picnics or anything smelly.

G is for Glow worm, lady of the night, turns on her light for her mate,
H is for Hornet; female ran colony, few males have right to date. 

I is for Inchworm, lack legs in body core causing a looping gait,
J is for June bug, beetle that swarms in June; starving toads seal their fate.  

K is for Kissing bug, sucks blood from the lips or face of unsuspected beasts,
L is for Lady bug, beauty to behold; tastes repulsive to say the least. 

M is for Mosquito, female pest that drinks blood, causes disease in return, 
N is for Nit, eggs of lice clinging to hair till hatched making itch a concern. 

O is for Owlfly, dragonfly-like but not related; with large bulging eyes,
P is for Praying mantis, takes praying pose before ensnaring lunch surprise. 

Q is for Queen Butterfly, close relative to Monarch, russet with black edge,
R is for Rice weevil, pest that lives inside grain; growing in the secured wedge. 

S is for Stink bug, releases foul smell from its thorax when alarmed,
T is for Tsetse fly, bloodsucking kin to house fly; a human host is harmed. 

U is for Underwing, heavy large moth that flies at night; hated garden pest,
V is for Vine borer, moth larva bore in squash vines; sweet insides they ingest. 

W is for Water bug, stores air in a void under his wings; walks on water,
X is for Xerces Blue Butterfly, first U.S. butterfly extinct by home slaughter.

Y is for Yellow plant bug; devastates plants by feeding on tasty plant sap,
Z is for Zebra butterfly, has striking stripes; creaks when he’s faced with a scrap.   

From A to Z there is a menagerie of insects sharing our lives,
some have become extinct but an infinite amount still survives.

Copyright © 2013  By Caryl S. Muzzey

Fifth Place Winner ~ "Z is for Zaria: An ABC Couplet" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Cyndi MacMillian
April 3, 2013

Footnote: I am a sixty-two year old woman who still loves writing poetry, whether I can or not…

Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2013

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A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...

(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

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SPRING OF SUBSTANCE Adorable word drawing a rainbow of substance-- SPRING Benumb snow-white cloak that drapes the earth, charmed by strips of golden spotlight above blue skies delicate cloak now being peeled to show emeralds of nature: daring to model life Footsteps ready to walk on warm green grassy ground guided by cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we to chiff chaffs hummed in chorus by swifts, mistrels and humble bees Idyllic scents of daffodils and scilla swirls on mid-air... Joyful Squirrels springing on loops of woods and rocks kindles energy burst after their winter sleep. Lodging everywhere the rising beauty of butterflies Miles and miles you will see valleys and hills smile. Nightingales: diva among birds share their lullabies. Ox huge and strong that home flies now in the stall lies; Painting bright is the seabird colony of puffins, shags and gulls quieting your despair and muse for a stare. Running cluster in the woodlands are bluebells, seen enough, be a phenologist if you like! taking notes when and where your first sight: unfolding flowers, frogs, spawns and others. Viral is the fun that leaps high during season of spring. Wildlife a phenomenal broadway to the eyes! Xanthic warm light will keep all acts alive yielding an amazing breathing ride to anyone. Zoom spring and delight in its zaftig view! _____________________________________________________________ TERMS: --xanthic--yellow or yellowish --zaftig--having full view or rounded figure ©O. E. Guillermo 10:12pm, February 25, 2015 Sponsor Shadow Hamilton Contest Name Abecedarian Placed 3rd

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015