On the day
that John Lennon died,
people were just going
about their business
as they did every day.
Mark David Chapman
Catcher In The Rye
void of his holy self.
He would have had to
Imagine there’s no heaven.
John took the elevator
down from his room
at peace with his belief
that there was
no hell below us.
He stepped out
on that fateful day
above us only sky.
On the day that
John Lennon died,
people where just going
about their business
as they did every day.
Imagine, all the people
living for today.
Chapman talked to Lennon.
Just before he killed him.
He was singing "imagine
there’s no countries
because it isn’t hard to do."
Chapman shot his
hollow point bullets,
there was nothing
to kill or die for
and no religion too.
What a senseless killing,
how senseless killing is.
I imagine all the people
living life in peace.
John fell to the ground,
a pool of blood beneath him.
A preacher on a soap box
unaware of the horrific act
that had taken place
was spewing words
that never belonged
to his soul but filled
the tin cup he was holding.
He yelled loudly,
‘you may say that I'm a dreamer
but I'm not the only one’
a woman in the crowd hummed
‘I hope someday you'll join us.’
A teenage couple under
their breath followed with
‘and the world will be as one.’
They say when the police arrived
Chapman was reading his book.
Imagine no possessions,
I wonder if you can.
The Detectives did not wait
for an ambulance.
They rushed John Lennon
to the hospital.
They weren't looking for credit;
they had no need for greed.
The preacher had left
with his tin cup full,
no need for more or hunger.
At the hospital the air was
like most emergency departments,
people comforting people
who themselves needed comforting.
A brotherhood of man.
In a hospital with its tragedies
life is more than real
you don’t need to imagine
all the people sharing all the world.
It just is.
You can hear
beating in tune,
‘You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one.’
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: I Love Rock n Roll
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
No one ever told me that your heart could bleed without a drop that anyone could see. I didn't know your soul could lose weight that your shadow could get thin. I had no idea that there were dry tears that one could shed while sporting a joker’s smile for the crowd.
No one told me you could be naked, closed within yourself, folded and squatting in the black, as your pillow bled white against the dark but I have had those nights.
I know I have walked miles alone left a trail three miles deep in the cement on the street where I reside. I remember and still live moments where everyone talks as if we are in echo chambers and my ears catches every word and my mind never processed even one.
My mother never warned me that love could be so deep. She didn’t tell me that another could own so much of you. I still weep dry ice tears. I still scream in empty fields the wind against my back to mask my wail and hide my pain.
I know I still function perfectly. I still roll the dice , last week I bought Boardwalk and when I crossed Go I collected my two hundred dollars. As far as the board game world knows I’m just quieter than I use to be but fine otherwise maybe even improved.
So in these days of my haze as I function in a fog of loss I replay that moment over and over again. She is gone, she left me in a rage and frankly I was confused because she played the love game until the last moment, until that moment.
I admit I'm ashamed how the crows tear at my flesh just thinking of her with another man. How the sun burns when I see her smile or think of her laugh shared sincerely with another guy.
Apparently she never gave me that. In my blindness I accepted us as in love but she tells me now so many years later how she despised me but never said a word.
Me the fool I still want her I still yearn for her touch. I would chew on nails just to sit with her. Why is my love so deep, so singular? Other people move on. I’ve seen it. She is gone, she wasn't even here those twenty years plus. She wasn't around when she bred our child. Why won’t I move on?
No one ever told me that losing her would be like this. Told me that you could break every bone in your body and it would hurt less than this less than losing her. When I knew she was gone for good when I finally accepted it, I cried until I couldn't cry another tear and then I cried some more.
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
On a warm summer’s day, in the month of July,
in a town that’s as small as a grasshopper’s thigh,
walked a girl with a flower, her eyes looking down,
when she bumped into somebody wearing a frown.
Now this Someone was someone she’d met once before,
and the words that he’d said, she had tried to ignore;
so she turned on her heel and she headed away
but the Someone called after her, shouting out “HEY!”
He said, “Hey you, Missy, you know who I am?
I’m the Someone who will and the Someone who can!
I’m disliked in this town, but I know what I’ll do -
since they seem to hate me, then I’ll make them hate you!”
Now, the girl with the flower was starting to shake,
'cause she knew from before that this guy was a Grake!
And all Grakes are unstable, they’re mean and they lie,
and they like to cause trouble, and make girlies cry.
So the next day, she’s walking, her eyes are cast down,
when whom should appear but the Grake with the frown!
“See, I told you I’d be here, to maim and to crush!”
Then he shouted out words that would make a hog blush!
Well, the girl with the flower just stood there, confused,
'cause she didn't deserve to be hurt and abused,
just an unlucky victim of graking, it seemed,
from a Someone who’s vengeful, and grumpy, and mean.
So she just stood there silently, knowing she should,
'cause defending herself wouldn’t do any good,
and a crowd began forming, just gathering ‘round,
just to watch the poor girl, and the Grake with the frown.
And the Grake carried on for what seemed like an hour,
(for when Grakes have an audience, this gives them power).
He ranted and threatened, and made quite a shrill,
'cause he’s Someone who can and he’s Someone who will.
Now, the crowds that all came (and they stopped and they stared)
Well, they tried to speak up but they felt a bit scared
so they just stood there, watching, and shaking their heads
and they thought, “glad it’s HER there, and not me instead!”
Well, the next day it happened again just the same;
that Someone, that Grake, played his same awful game-
He attacked the poor girl and he caused such a scene,
and the crowd gathered round, just to watch him be mean.
And the girl with the flower just took it all in,
with a tear on her cheek and a trembling chin,
and she felt her whole world start to crash to the ground,
when suddenly, she heard such a beautiful sound:
“Stop it, you meanie! You’re nothing but bad!”
(‘twas the voice of a young girl named LuLu McMad.
“You’re nothing much more than a big awful Grake!
So stop it right now, You! Go jump in a lake!”
Now all eyes were on LuLu, but she held her ground;
she walked up to the girl and they both turned around
and they stood there with both of their backs to the Grake.
Such a simple, yet wonderful statement to make.
Then two people joined them, they stood with them, proud.
Then two more, then three, then the whole bloomin’ crowd,
until every last one had their back to the Grake,
and he finally realized, he’d made a mistake!
See, when someone is being harassed or put down,
it’s not nice to just stand there and not make a sound.
So don’t be afraid to stand up for what’s right!
And make all the Grakes of the world lose the fight.
If you're being bullied, don't engage - just walk away... and tell an adult.
If you see someone being bullied, speak up! It can be scary to stand up to a bully, because we’re afraid we might become the next victim. But sometimes all it takes is one person to break the power that a bully thinks he or she has; it also helps others to be bold enough to speak up too. Be the brave one ... and do the right thing.
Dedicated to the sweet and fearless Laura Loo.
Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016
Ignorance is definitely a description of bliss
Look at Washington if you don’t believe this
They are never on target, they always miss
Their biggest decision is whose butt to kiss
We were told we were getting change
It looks the same, now ain’t that strange
The positions of the rich just rearrange
Take care of their own, they prearrange
Maybe I was hoping for something new
But what I see is the same old doodoo
Filling their pockets, screwing me and you
Spitting on the Red White and Blue
Society brainwashed, a robotic crowd
Entitlement minded, crying out loud
Sorry boys, no thinking allowed
Socialism will make you proud
They say they will make the country strong
But I’m watching now and see the wrong
Change has been coming for oh so long
But you are still singing the same old song
Bliss isn’t living off a government check
Being a dependent, a financial wreck
Ready to sail but no one on deck
Living with a noose tied around your neck
Bliss is different for you and me
A pursuit of happiness and being free
Earning a living, the right to be
Productive members of a society.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009
Lips of sweat,
Igniting catalyst tune as they burn,
Crossed eyes, attention spreads
feeling the whiteness in the pure magic
Each memo confronts the other,
Soul cord of depth,
and for one short-lived moment.
Losing sight of reality in a stasis of oasis.
The passionate barb sticks note directly into the atmosphere
Each message is a flood of scheme,
singing the blues, this smooth criminal
angel of birth, in your hands
luring you to a road in heaven.
The lights are all you feel;
you can see the forgotten masterpiece.
Bathing in it, as the drums go on,
the mob gathers, to feel the whiteness of the trumpet.
He is rotating his saxophone,
making love to the crowd.
His horn comes with words that deepen the soul,
the crowd is mesmerized.
He extends his hands,
A standing ovation,
Slamming and whistling,
Louder than thunder,
Mr. Jazz man is done
With no condom at all……………………….
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
My dearest Claudia,
For eighteen months, I've been at this Jerusalem outpost.
"Tis you and young Julius that I miss the most.
This wasn't the adventure I set out to seek-
At least, not until this past week'
A local rabbi rode a donkey into town,
While people were throwing palm branches down.
Many proclaimed Him to be their "King."
The Jewish leaders vehemently denied such a thing'
They arrested Him and a riot ensued;
My squad was called in to get the masses subdued.
Back and forth, they sent Him- through several mock trials.
The prisoner maintained His silence all the while.
"He's a traitor to Rome," the priest and leaders cried.
And the crowd wanted Him crucified'
A "Royal robe" they made Him wear
Then His own cross He was forced to bear.
With a thorny crown jammed down upon His head,
It was off to Golgotha He was led.
Lifted up between two thieves,
The day turned black and I wanted to leave'
Then I heard my Centurion say something very odd:
"Truly this is the Son of God'"
Buried in a borrowed grave- as if in a womb-
I and my men guarded that tomb.
Then some time during the middle of the night,
The rock was rolled back 'midst a blinding light'
In the morning some woman came to that "prison,"
But two beings inside said "He has Risen'"
This week's events have so drastically changed my life.
That I was compelled to tell you of them, my beloved wife.
Your Husband Octavius
Arthur Ball (h.S.L.P.)
April 16, 2006
Copyright © Robert Ball | Year Posted 2009
Leaning against the ropes, eyes swollen half closed
Its been a long fight....
Blood dripping from a dislocated jaw
Body beaten and bruised; taking a few more blows
Crowd screaming; colourful figures; cloudy sight?!
Knocked down a few times but, not counted out yet
Not yet; still standing to catch a second wind.... ~
My foe is fierce and relentless, the best in the world
This worlds, undisputed heavyweight champ
At least over most of Humanity; never lost a fight to the faithless!?
Been the prince of his ring for thousands of years....
Almost had them carry me out; flat upon my back, in the early rounds
Until the undefeated “One,” showed up and volunteered to become
“My Corner ^Man.” ~
Been doing somewhat fair since yet, still, a tad bit fuzzy in my head....
Absorbing blows amid a fight like this but, I Am, still standing
And I get my punches in also; sometimes, I even win a round or two?!
My corner Man said; “The Real Champ.” ~
"Just wait for the right time, he'll open up, and when he does
Then, put him on his back; hit him with a left and a quick right
Another left another right and then, use your cut....
....I promise you, I shall gladly count him out, for you ~
Just hang on, we've got him, right, where, we want him!?"
....“The Title ^Fight”....
Copyright © John Rhinem | Year Posted 2011
They say it's a time to slip in the mud, and begin anew.
Kick off the dust of yester ...
and put on the dress of Yes Sir! and Thank You Ma'am
She sure is a joy This baby little season
And like moths to a flame we praise her name
(we don't need a reason)
And who can blame the helpless admirers
trigger happy on their Kodaks
drunk with Marigold Merriment.
No matter your profession, everyone's a poet,
when spring comes along, like a child, showing off her dandelion face,
believing in her curious way that death has been conquered.
But reality comes in firehouse red,
with silver sickle blades that say, No can do, Little Miss Spring,
not every bird, on every branch, has a song to sing.
The fact of the matter is ... you're just another three months
(Winter? Autumn? They're simply taking an overdue lunch,
but they'll be back with the same fire The same ice)
Hate to break it to you, Sweetie, but not everything nice
is destined to remain (it's a cyclical thing ... you understand)
You can bet your slender green stem
even Little Miss Spritely has her down days,
but like teenage hysteria it's just a phase
(we can just pretend those zits are poppies
they smell fragrant enough)
And yes of course It's a time of LOVE!
Young and Fresh --- Tongue and Flesh
like good ole Elmer Fudd would say
(bweeding like wabbits)
Oh Little Miss Spring, surely you can't have everything!
Green grass and blue sky --- it's halfway sickening
the way you steal the show with your sunny splendor.
And Poor Old December ... you left him in the cold,
bragging up your warmth and innocent demeanor
(I saw what you did to the snow)
It can all be forgiven though Truly it can!
I know it might feel like I'm freezing you out
(but all the cool months are doing it)
... 'tis no excuse you saw through my ruse
I'm just killing time before the Melancholy Mob
comes back into town.
Remember how they used to hang around Stick in the Mud Lane
poking holes into your joy?
(they annoyed me too)
And what became of the pessimists, the argument-ists,
the I-don't-believe-in-all-this kinda crowd?
Are they all hibernating somewhere like Mother Grizzly?
(If you ask me they can take all advice from this soda pop
fade and fizzly)
Written March 15th, 2016
For the Spring Contest Hosted by Catie Lindsey
Poem of the Day: March 18th, 2016
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
around the corner...just!
light brilliant...trees freshly brushed...
a breeze meandering through the grass...
a baby blue sky, an occasional cloud shaped and reshaped,
...a waterfall roars like a lion...its spray soft as a lamb.
around the corner...Just
a lovers breath against my neck...a lover's lies,
an ego lift...a seat on that pedestal men dream of...
a bold kiss...an us in a crowd...a lazy summer day
outdoor chairs...an overhead fan, an open door
around the corner...Just,
rollerblades...a mountain bike, a jaunt in the park,
a movie house...a why not...an invigorate,
a swim in a freezing cold lake...
a restaurant night...an evening walk, a club...
dancing...karaoke...being a little wild...
so many images paint my mind...
...my thoughts march one by one
to want something so bad
to fear it at the same time
Just around the corner
I get back my life,
Around the corner
the loss of a life,
just around the corner...
yes I need to do that now,
yes I can wait longer yet...
responsible for her...
consumes the life I knew
the actors, the stage, the lights, the set, the techs,
a play, my life flow...directing stage.
Just around the corner my life waits for me
Just...! Around that same corner, death waits for her
Be careful what you wish for...
Around the corner...just around the corner
two tears wait for me
one joyous...one mournful
Around the corner I want to be
Around the corner wait for me
not yet, caring for my mother...still she lives,
I can wait,
I can wait...
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
Contest Name: Around the Corner ...
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
Have a lovely day
Pushed now to the limit by a never ending whisper
Lost behind the meaning of a question I can’t hear
Dreaming of a day when life addresses me much deeper
Found within in a headline that is nothing close to clear
Led onto a dance floor with a blindfold and a promise
Following the jagged steps that shuffle once again
A slow collaboration to the music that was playing
Performed beneath a false pretense that never should have been
Words in place of faces with a finger pointing outward
Fodder for the listeners who fall as one more prey
Stalking from the shadows on the unsuspecting gazers
Candy offered free to all of those who want to play
Jumping to conclusions as if age will change decisions
Casting off a friend without a compass in his hand
Sorry if this heart has run away from past deceptions
When its found the weight becomes much more than it can stand
Some can be so fickle filled with uninvited feelings
Blame is placed on others as their mind lives in a trance
In between the lines they find affection in a poem
Whirled about in cursive some accept as true romance
When did I become a man who listens to his echo
Caught outside the visions that can bring the scene alive
Wondering aloud if I can just afford an answer
Facts of that elusive mark which somehow I survive
No one understands me as the crowd now wanders backwards
Shocked that some old lunatic is running down the street
Screaming in a language sounding like a trolley whistle
There’s no need to fear me, why does everyone retreat
Just another body strewn about in some odd fashion
Move along, there’s nothing here you haven’t seen before
Hurry, call the coroner his pen is slowly dying
Look, a note he left behind all crumpled on the floor
I am just a poet who at times has penned emotions
Sending hope and happiness in fancy written charm
Not some steely daggers there in wait beyond the forest
Hopeful you’ll believe me that I never meant you harm
Those were not my wishes that are sorted out and tattered
Just a piece of fabric sewn around the fraying seams
Stitched together tightly in a thread of indecision
Cut by little pieces that are lost inside my dreams
Give me just a minute and I’ll pick up where I started
Then you’ll know the meaning of these very words I say
Far above the message found in hypothetic banter
Everyone, enjoy yourselves and have a lovely day
Thanks for everything Soupers. I will never forget the kindness all of you have shown me.
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
Another Sunday evening at the street-corner
next to the coffee parlour, overlooking the ocean
The solo pianist with desert-lime eyes
sits once-again on the piano chair.
His hair,a Honeysuckle-brown
with a salt and pepper tint
sways in the summer breeze
under the old wrought iron street-lamp.
Passers-by gather in a crowd
and listen to symphonic sounds.
Like on those many yesterdays
when She sat down on the old oak wooden bench
to listen to his baritone voice and melodic tune
Close enough, to capture the glow upon his face
through the soft embrace of a cradle-moon.
His fatigued- hands wear early youth
which match the embers of his heart
His fingers bleed between the keys
of black and white, as crimson red
wakes up the passion-rose inside.
Before each note, within each pause
Its there He thinks of her ..
The one who turned his every page
The brown -eyed ,sun-kissed island girl.
All vibrant colours fill up his mind
Her somber soul He seeks to find
Her shadow still craves to belong
wrapped in his arms and every song.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2017
Old souls don't drift off and die
Sit there idle, or even care why
Achieving greatness takes time
Values and a certain state of mind
Realize, for once, it's not just what you see
Understand nuance, syntax, and hyperbole
Help yourself, don't get fooled by any old shroud
Though others are silent and lost in the crowd
Rise up, be courteous, let words show them wrong
As free as a whisper and the cardinal's sweet song
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017
The scent of blood provoked a fevered crowd
as death cavorted rousing pirouettes.
The scarlet cape, befit a mortal shroud,
would ploy in rhythm to her castanets.
The matador aligned his blade of steel
and gestured with a bow to toast his foe.
One glance from her, she offered no repeal.
With eloquence, he thrust a final blow.
In manic zeal, incited by the fight,
her passion flushed, infusing raging heat.
She danced in crimson spirals through the night
as devil winds arose beneath her feet.
She swans in trance as death is paid its price.
The victor celebrates the sacrifice.
Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2017
Four “Golden Girls” seated at a table
Grey streaks our hair, but minds remain stable
Convention is underway
Michael has something to say
He opens our meeting with a fable
It’s about a tortoise that beats a hare
Some of the “fast writers” begin to glare
Joyce, Francine and Barbara know
It takes time for verse to grow
We’re the queens of rewriting; this we swear
Iolanda’s introduced to read her book
“Lava of my Soul,” no gobbledygook
We’re mesmerized by each line
At the end we toast with wine
Joyce says, “Now those words took some time to cook.”
It’s Karen’s turn to read “Silent Whispers”
We see tears falling into John’s whiskers
“Tears of joy,” Francine exclaims
For Karen’s Best Seller fame
Applause rings out from grateful listeners
After the “meet and greet” it’s nearly dawn
The crowd starts to thin as our comrades yawn
Joyce, Francine call it a night
But Barbara still sits upright
We two remain when most others are gone
One poet called us “Late Night Cockroaches”
This indignity did not encroach us
We call ourselves “LNCs”
Awake in wee hours with ease
Waiting for our princes to approach us
That’s when the James Brothers draw near
Peranteau and Fraser, to make it clear
With two erotic writers
LNCs pull “all nighters”
Knowing that we can propose; it’s Leap Year!
*Entry for Michael’s “A Table of Four” contest
At my table: Carolyn Devonshire
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
Father’s bare feet left footprints in the sand
Young son followed, each step carefully planned
Tim wanted so much to be like his Dad
Always emulating, quite a sweet lad
So as you leave impressions on life’s shore
Remember your path will not be ignored
Tread gently, leave prints that make your kids proud
Step far away from the perilous crowd
Stop at times, build sandcastles, pick up shells
Memories can’t be erased by sea swells
Imprints on children’s hearts last forever
Keep this in mind through every endeavor
A child may be following your footsteps
Always make your marks with loving precepts
*Entry for Francine's "Barefoot" contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
The easel beholds a half finishing painting
The paints beside have all hardened
Pain reflected in the partial emptiness
Staring back at that gathered crowd
The sun melts on the canvas page
Creation explained in elapsed rage
Notions and pleas from dried paintbrushes
Strewn across the almost barren floor
One to the other in whispered voice
I wonder if this would have been his choice?
Empty wine bottles twirling in light
Beside the dead body, a painting just right
There lies Art
His final painting
His last prose
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
devining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
..............I could write you
...............that would make
............other women drool.
...............Speak of sunsets
............ ...to the rhythm of
.........your striking features
B............Build you a ladder
.............from light, that we
..............could climb to the
..............gates of euphoria.
..............Tell you that they
.............named it after you
............I could and I would
.........but I know you better
.......... ....than that. I know
.....................what you like.
.........................I can taste
..............it on my buds. You
....................want a man of
..................spun from truth.
A.........A man that will never
.........run out on you. A man
..............that when you hold
......................is steady and
.............rooted. I am steady
..............and rooted but also,
...........I am in love with you.
U............Not by the waterfall
.........or against the light of a
..........full moon. Not walking
...................along the beach
....................while the ocean
..............whispers in my ears.
............. I love you first thing
.......even on a dingy morning.
........................I love you on
...........evenings when it is so
.........cloudy there is not even
................one star in the sky.
........It is just dark. I love you
.........when we're on separate
.......couches reading different
.......books. When we're alone
...........or together in a crowd
.......I love you from the other
........side of the room. On the
.......first floor when you're on
....the twenty third. When you
.....have a cold and even more
........when you are sicker still.
T.....The simple truth is you're
.........stuck with me from now
Y.................because the best
............part about you is that
.........I know you love me too.
Contest: Hidden Beauty
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
Old and ugly and well married is the visage
that I carry, and yet, there is another world
that keeps opening up its magic door.
It sends me notes and emissaries
that I could be,
I should be much more than what I am.
The first message, that I was aware of
came to me in the high desert where
I sat Walden-like by a pool trying to
get back to the source, I'm told, is
within us all.
Suddenly I saw a flurry
a mile across the valley floor,
a point took flight and became
a mystic preying mantis
that picked my shoulder as a perch.
Mid day church bells rang
at that moment and I watched
the sound reverberate
shaking bushes and trees
down the valley, scattering
birds and small animals.
Yet the mantis on my shoulder
calmly sat, cocked its head,
and in its eyes there was a question.
I replied to the mantis' query that
"I was old and ugly and well married and
I am simply not quite ready,
but keep the offer open and
I will be ready soon."
After a month of worrying that
perhaps I had gone too far,
in refusing to go through an open door,
I summoned it again.
Right there in my backyard I heard
a flurry and found a grasshopper perched
where you had perched before.
The question in its eyes left no doubt
it again was you.
I replied that I just wanted to make sure
that the offer you had proffered still
was mine to take.
You flew away as I explained that
"I was old and ugly and well married and
simply still not quite ready but keep the offer open,
and I'll be ready soon."
Years went by and I forgot the magic,
indeed, avoided magic.
I went to a marriage yesterday,
I sat alone, away from the others,
on a bridge, by a pond,
amongst tall pines and redwoods.
I thought again of the mystic mantis.
Suddenly you were there.
You came out of a crowd of happy guests
and crossed into my solitary space.
You touched my shoulder and my hand
and kept it there for the fastest hour.
We talked about nature and
books we had both read,
the giant puppets you made,
and about things
I'd never tell a stranger.
I looked into your eyes
that we had met at least
twice before and saw the familiar offer.
In my mind I pleaded for more time because
I am old and ugly and well married,
but please, please keep the offer open
because I'll be ready soon.
Suddenly you were gone.
Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2011
The house was full
Of Gods and deities
The curtain call was soon
The water vasos were poured
And became the finest of wines
The bread multiplied
The baker you see
Was a part time magician
The fishermen all relaxed
As I saw fish fall from the skies
Ra was there
Oh my the tan on him, poor harif
Huitzilopochtli glared at his competition
Toth and Horus with godly grins
God himself was there
The door man didn’t check id's though
A few came with the same name
If they paid their gold coins at the doors
Of Godly entertainment
In they came
Thor arrived like a bolt of lightening
The Greek gods exposed as fakes
Trumpets of false prophecies
Sessions and courts left to fate
For dereference we let them in for a beer, ok two!
The other Gods chuckled as they sneered
Even Batman showed up!!!
He wasn’t a god, but he had good connections
Allah was there, 4 cows, Shiva and Ganesha
Rama and Agni were even holding hands
The house was full of Gods
Jesus Christ showed up late
Hippies do that you know
Funniest of all was the Holy Ghost
He tried to sneak in with Casper
Hashem and Galmi came, they got discounts on the tickets
You all get the point
Bacchus charming the ladies with his wine
As Thalia ecaaped the wrath of Pan
She smiled for she new Galileo a charming man
The house was full of Gods!
The Norse gods resilient in beauty
Freya as captivating as ever
She had an eye on me
As I, on her
In charge of the curtains indeed a blessing
When a Goddess requests a stage hand like moi
Drapes of passion conceal the lust of biblical ways
The curtains rose as the headliner appeared
The Gods all rose and clapped
As Galileo the Great comedian walked in
He shouts out! "Did you hear the sun that travels around the earth?"
Well the sun got tired, so last week the earth decided to spin around the sun!
The crowd roared, I mean that was so ridiculous as to be funny.
The he goes, 2 dummies and the pope walk in to a bar......
Well the gods may have loved him........
The Pope did not take kindly to be called a dummy
He was Urban and mundane but held to his heart his earthly disdain
For the comedian called Galileo
Banishment, the paradise of many a great
Arrested for using their intellectual credentials
The masses of the unread
Followers of the ones shouting hate at the mountain head
Rush , rush rush we must condemn
This comedian from earth’s very very dark end
The Comedy do you all see?
I am God
You are all the holy sea
From Galileo all the way to Galilee
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
A unicorn took flight with brilliant, rainbow wings
ascending from the heart of a joyous poet.
Dark eyes shined like jewels, smiling from high,
parting dark clouds and unwrapping gifts of
love and friendship. Words of light and purest
energy reached to heaven on a spiral staircase
where blessed angels extended hands of healing
to a poet's heart. They know her well, her hands are creators
of many a masterpiece - sharing, befriending, inspiring, encouraging -
soulful in words and action, passionate in her artistry,
selfless of her time...see how her admirers crowd around
as the unicorn descends once again from her rainbow flight?
All wait with feet on the ground, sharing prayers, asking the angels
to sing so she may feel and know she is not alone.
Never, ever alone in the fight. Too many of us have been
where she has been, felt the darkness pierce our hearts.
With hope and faith, the sun will shine again. The angels will sing.
She will ride that unicorn again and share her poetic heart again,
smile again, laugh again, teach and inspire.
She is more than just PD, she is Linda -
friend, daughter, mother, grandmother, nurturer -
The darkness cannot have her. She is needed in the light.
for Shadow Hamilton's Fighting Depression Contest, 12/1/14
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014
Her lips caress another cigarette
A fading belle looking for love
The smoke veils a creature of habit
Chasing a young girls dream
But this Genie found the palace doors locked
Her youth distilled into a bottle of gin
Diluted by these streets of sin
Now her makeup hides the bottles content
Silk fingernails deluding the smokers hand
Her wig of blonde hiding the soul beneath
The ladder in her stockings,
Torn like her Hollywood dreams
Her perfume sickly sweet,
Masking the odor from yesterday’s gin
The ashtray is full,
Cheap lipstick covers the tab ends
Her vigil to find happiness
But he never comes.
Only a stream of chancer’s
Wanting to spin lady luck one more time
Fuelled by the promise of paradise
A vacation from life
And a brag for Jack Daniels
Under neon lights
A Beautiful girl content in her gin bottle
Her saviour from this cruel world
An inner voice plays in her mind
“I could have been a movie star”
A role she can play all too well
But morning light never lies
Her beauty, has fled, left on the pillow
Like some Monet’s impression.
Regret lays sprawled out
Like yesterday’s salad,
Thrown out with the rubbish
For the slugs of corruption to eat
Her aging face revealing every rejection
Every turned down script, every broken dream
A lifetime of heart break.
But she still plays her part well
Play it again Sam
And another cigarette,
The same mistake, the same men,
From all the gin bars in the world
She had to choose this one
Another lottery ticket to litter her despair.
No winning numbers here
Her silent acceptance speech,
Laid bare in her blood shot eyes of regret
A mouthwash of gin
And the genie of love returns to her bottle
Her legs bruised and varicose,
Testament to waitress by day and genie by night.
He closes the door
His only thought to get away, not his finest hour
Jack Daniels his moral escape goat
Nosey neighbour’s his jury
They bare witness to his walk of shame
She opens the curtains,
And sees him fade into the faceless crowd
Alone again, a full ashtray and an empty gin bottle
Symbols of last night’s play
The mirror torments her image,
As she drinks coffee through smoke stained teeth
A wave of her head, a smile
And a daydream
Tonight, her prince will save her
This is her delusion, her reason to live
But time is running out
For she is part of life’s crap game.
The dice rolls once more
Will it be happiness? or loneliness?
But in the end, deep down she knows
The house always wins in tinsel town.
Copyright © steven cooke | Year Posted 2011
Rainbows of Balloons
(the friendship song)
You’ll find me down by the river
skipping stones in tune
to the great firs that hum
when the soft wind touches
their tops with its light strum.
You’ll find me lost far in the clouds
where smiling blossoms
gather up in a crowd
around their conductor
who’ll guide them in a sun dance
through spring showers.
Nature with you I will celebrate
we'll write songs ‘till late, open all the gates,
so come with me today, celebrate the day,
let us sing and dance in the light rains of May.
We’ll roll down in the fields
in the middle of June
send rainbows of balloons
that will sure reach the moon.
We’ll swim down the river
when July comes around
and we will not be found
until they think we’ve drowned.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I’ve matched the lyrics to Yiruma’s music (Springtime) in this piece.
After the musical interlude (1:30-1:58), the second musical part repeats itself
from the poem’s second stanza, not the first.
Copyright © Anne-Marie Coreggia | Year Posted 2017
Listen to poem:
Always alone, no matter where
never understanding the why
The question not answered,
there's no one to ask
passage of time appears endless
trying to fill an emptiness, struck at birth
Watching from afar
as others move through life with passion
seeking their chosen course
while I drift
struggling to find purpose or reason
in the dim light of days
My thoughts are only of yesterdays
when emptiness was smaller
and was covered by the coat of ignorance
If only I could find joy
for one minute
that minute would give a lifetime of memories
where I could live in content
Even now I'm a shadow passing through a crowd
a mist they're separated from
that will quickly disperse
If I scream would anyone hear?
If I spoke would anyone listen?
If I disappeared would anyone care?
How cold the world, how deep its pain
not understanding why
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2017
I saw Nazis march yesterday
upon the streets of Charlottesville.
And with swastikas on display
crazed members chanted blood will spill.
I saw Satan grinning with pride
at racial slurs shouted in hate.
And bigots standing by his side
help the violence escalate.
I saw torches light up the night
snaking through the black neighborhoods.
And skinheads looking for a fight,
all they were missing were white hoods.
I saw white supremacists proud
of drawing blood and spreading fear.
And a car plow into the crowd
its intentions perfectly clear.
I saw President Trump place blame
on both sides for this killing spree.
And a shocked nation reel in shame
at how callous he seemed to be.
I saw what might be the end of
tolerance and democracy.
For mantras of hate replaced love
with smugness and hypocrisy.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017