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Best Dearth Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Dearth poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of dearth poems written by PoetrySoup members

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The Best Dearth Poems

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Comes a Wind

Thirsting, thirsting. . . shriveled earth suffocates in summer’s dearth, yearns for rain clouds’ forthwith bursting: Shriveled earth. . . thirsting, thirsting. Browning, browning in their beds, flowers parched hang low their heads. Daffodils once bright are frowning in their beds, browning, browning. Dying, dying – every field, withering, to fate must yield. All the world is sadly crying, every field – dying, dying. . Whirling, whirling, comes a wind arid and undisciplined. Stagnant heat, pent-up – unfurling, comes a wind, whirling, whirling. Whipping, whipping through each plain (while ignored are prayers for rain), final blows come swiftly ripping through each plain, whipping, whipping. Burning, burning. . . August’s lust leaves us nothing but the dust, and soon to dust we’ll be returning: August’s lust – burning. . . . burning. (Swap Quatrain form, not listed at Soup)

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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Of Road Rage and the Poetrysoup Profanity Policy

As Joe was biking down the side of the road
He ran across a chap with a dearth of driving skills.  
Or more accurately, the driver almost ran over Joe; 
'Twas one of life’s unwanted thrills.

A spirited exchange ensued between them
About who was in the right.
But this being the delicate poetrysoup,
I’ll keep the language light:

“You fornicating chewer of masculine appendages,” 
Quoth the driver.  “What the fornicating inferno were you doing?”
Replied Joe, “Just following the traffic signs, 
you premenstrual hyena in need of screwing.”

He quipped, “You’re replete with fornicating doo-doo,
My  light was coitally green.”
Quoth Joe, “Alas, your light was not.
And your maternal unit stars in movies obscene.”

Said he, “A shower of gold, is what I’m told, 
May clarify your sight.”
Retorted Joe, “Stay in that car, spawn of Jar-Jar, 
or you’ll be seeing lots of lights.”

“Perhaps remove the telephone pole,” said he,
“From where you store your bowel.”
Quipped Joe, “So I could fire a methane cloud in your direction?”
Oh my, how the driver did howl.

The driver continued.  “I don’t give an airborne 
intimate encounter about you and your bike.”
One thing was abundantly clear,
This man Joe didn’t like.

Joe gave not a rodent’s backside
For this foul troll’s attitude.
Yet the driver felt inclined to continue
with his prattling so rude:

“Consume excrement and expire,
you maternally fornicating 
portion-of excrement consuming
rah-rah blah blah…” He continued bloviating.

Suggested Joe when he finished, “Might I refer you to a friend,
one you clearly need?”
He’s a cranio-proctologist, 
The best around, indeed.”

 “I invite you to  perform an antatomically 
challenging act of self-gratification,” quoth he.
“I ought to apply my foot to your tightly clad posterior
and then everyone will see.”

“While I’m good at riding bikes,” said Joe,
“Flexibility is not my strong suit.”
“So the contortionism is out, 
and I plan to continue my route.”

“And as far as threats go, 
I must say that I’m not very impressed.
I wouldn’t bet your Hollywood looks
on what I sure hope is a jest.”

“In matters of fitness, you clearly lag,” noted Joe.
Which is why you’re in the car, and I’m not.
Thus, I cordially invite you to make a bowel movement
or kindly get off the pot.”

Happily the driver understood the score.
Away he drove with a whine.
Turns out he had to rearrange a sock drawer.
“Too bad, “ thought Joe.  “He talked such a good line.”

Away Joe pedaled into the day,
Whistling a happy tune,
hoping not to encounter such a 
fornicating bowel movement show anytime soon.


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

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I've Seen Angels

Angels are heavenly beings who minister to our needs we are told.
'Tis said they are celestial spirits with wings who play harps of gold.
But I see Angels ministering to others every day here on earth,
And of their tender compassion, love and care there is no dearth!

I saw an Angel yesterday who cleared a widow's drive of snow.
I saw an Angel helping an old gentleman with his back bent low.
I saw an Angel filling a bird feeder on a blustery, winter's day.
I saw an Angel in the park watching over little children at their play.

I saw an Angel who took a shut-in for a drive to view the hues of fall.
I saw an Angel who took a handicapped boy to a professional game of ball.
I saw an Angel preparing a Sunday school lesson for her Bible group.
I saw an Angel at her stove that for a sick neighbor was making soup.

I saw an Angel who simply held the hands of one who had suffered loss.
I saw an Angel playing with his dog with a simple stick he would toss.
I saw an Angel reading a book to an older man who was losing his sight.
I saw an Angel who visited a lonely inmate in prison the other night.

I saw an Angel who was being deployed to uphold the freedoms we hold dear.
I saw an Angel left behind to tend their family alone for an anxious year.
I've seen Angels ministering among us every day upon this earth,
And of their tender compassion, love and care there is no dearth!

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012

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In Thrall

 In Thrall

I’ve cut rock chunks from the sun
To cook meals and heat my bath
Moved Mount Everest just for fun
And none, can ever walk my path

I’ve had dinner on Saturn’s rings
Kicked the moon like a soccer ball
Plucked light rays like guitar strings;
Should adorn the walls of every hall

I’ve swum the depths of every sea
Journeyed to the center of the Earth
Drunk molten magma like green tea
In fiction, my mind suffers no dearth

I am the law, the order and the king
Free! Only to my mind, am I in thrall
I relish the escape its figments bring
And the ways, out of my every fall

I’m a minstrel with an unchained mind
Or some raving loony in sanity’s cloak
It's no matter, to which you are aligned
Life is easier, if seen in part as a joke

Sept. 23, 2018

Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2018

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A Quaint and Ancient Rite

Nothing stirs the blood more than lies

I stand upon sacred ground of honor
Defend the truth with my soul's honest sword
I'll hold character before dishonor
And cut away at any lies discord
Face with an angry voice, all lies that creep
That hides inside minds of a human throng
Who scurries from the truth, for lies are cheap
They sell each lie in darker shades of wrong
This line so sacrosanct cannot be crossed
Nor tossed aside a quaint and ancient rite
I'll face the ugly truth and pay its cost
And live or die indeed, for its true light
I find that lies betray a chosen dearth
And will leave a tarnished stain on your self-worth

5/1/18 contest Emotions that Rock You

Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2018

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I Sing Africa

All's not about Darfur I've seen it, eerie winds Moonlight through our thatch We kissed round, one *palmie gourd Kigali was but a miss Waist-beads - beats to love Have you heard the talk-drum, *Fela's horns of brass, Or the *Aladuras' joy of Alleluia? My grandmother still walks miles Just because her forbears did, And shame on malaria For the dearth of men Oh, on Mandela's earth Of Soyinka's nobel ideas Africa - a big breast, the good, the bad, the ugly. . . all, as sucklings! *palmie - palm wine *Fela - Celebrated afrobeat musician *Aladura - a popular african instituted christian sect noted for heavy prayers

Copyright © Olusegun Ojo | Year Posted 2010

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Bucket List

To see earth's face through angels’ eyes
Afloat upon cotton clouds 'neath the skies
And hear noth but the whistling of soft winds
Which encircle me like feathered wings

Too long these feet of lead have held to ground
On stone where porous clay abound
While my spirit yearns to ascend the heights
My bucket list consists of one sky jump

To soar blue skies o’er land and sea
Fly solo as a bird, keen and care free
Where noise and din then become dearth
My eyes will feast on the radiance of earth

And as fields of golden wheat sway to and fro
To softly land in mounds of hay below

Annalise Brigham

Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2013

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Conflicted Love

My mind is burning, blazing, turning
With doubts and irrational drivels
My heart is livid and hardened
For it freezes in the potentials of disappointment
Of failure, downfall, and impending death
In ceasefires of never mind, and never more 

My soul is stubborn for alien tastes
For knowledge and truths with prefaces that rub me sore
I question your heart,
I question your intelligence—
Your resonance
Do you harmonize with me,
Or do you smother and terrorize me? 
I question your desires—
Are they beyond me,
Formidable to my own trivialities
Do they blind you with flame burns?
Does your presence and pride
Drown my dreams?
What do you gain?

And I question your love most of all
Your throbbing throat that spurts and spits heavenly conundrums 
Waves in clashing waters furrowing my interests and fears
And growing fires from pupils long fixated across my own

I want to believe you are the one for me,
Though there is so much more for me to see
And I want this heart to love—and love damn-right free!

Oh, but every time I see your face,
Gazing upon the beloved features I have come to admire,
I am crushed—I collapse inwardly
I am utterly defenseless, vulnerable and
Crazy for you
Every time you smile at me sadly,
Softly, and madly….
I sense the sincerity of something so secret
And my cold, selfish heart melts into its furtive light
My suspicious mind begins to glow with tacky hope!
It’s silly—in that moment, I hate myself
Because I have fallen again into a pit full of who-knows-what!

The questions that have pestered me for so long
Become suddenly lost in the pollen of lusty adoration
Where the heart is so liquidated
The brain cannot compute its dearth of consistency
In a matter of pitter-pattered moments
Between fluttery heartbeats and many “I love you’s”…
I have crawled to unreasonable lengths 
To sustain this delectable self-deception

You look into my eyes
I know you feel all this pain
All this turmoil sifting through my being
You feel all of these desires in me rise
The color gives it away on my merciless cheeks
And these glistening eyeballs
You feel me on the brink of breaking
And I cannot emphasize enough how full my heart is! 
It is so full and my mind is dull!
I am so close to giving in—to savoring submission
Though countless frustrations from nameless regions
Tug relentlessly between us
My dreams dissipate into pools of sorrow
My need for more regurgitates on what we have built
I cannot break through the wreckage of blue
When all I want is you

And through it all,
You want me to be strong
To not give up on us
With you, I feel stupid and weak…
How can true love be so bleak?
In its coldest darkness I wish to hide
To stay covered in false convictions
Because sometimes freedom is only for the miserable
While bondage, in pair, is for the loved

Have I become a fool again?
Perhaps, but for you, I will try to be strong
If only peace of some world beyond me could lead this mind
And faith from my God above would reassure my heart
If this should fail,
If we indeed should end,
May our wisdom as two separate beings increase!
So, soul, vacillating soul of mine, be at ease!  

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016

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Crying in the rain

                         Crying in the Rain
Lurking behind the curtain of world war ;
You cheer to a Monday Night Raw;
Dancing to the melody of anarchy;
You close your senses to impending waterloo,

Completely deaf to the screams of mother earth 
Who is subdued by industrial rape; she echoes dearth...

Forlorn sky weeps on; threatening oxygen depletion at the detriment of ocean life.
Father sun rages on; amidst earth's strife...

Refugee camps replace loving homes;
And mats replace comforting foams

Chibok continues to wail for her missing daughters;
As valiant khakis rummage the forest of Sambisa...

The mantra of change echoes on amidst chains:
As a fraction of the world cry in the rain...

Flora and fauna looks on in docility,
As humanity continue to dance to the melodies of calamity.

Copyright © Ad. Andrew Joseph | Year Posted 2016

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He Is

He is the Alpha and the Omega:
     Who is, and Who was, and Who is to come!
  He is the Beginning and the End -
      ruler and High Priest in God's kingdom.
  He is the Bright Morning Star,
      the Root of David - the True Vine:
  He is the Branch of The Lord;
      the Fruit, the Bread and the Wine

He is Lord of lords - King of kings;
      Liberator, the Author and Perfector of Life:
  He is the Foundation, the Pillar,
      the Capstone in peace, the Rock in strife.
  He is the Son, the Lamb of God,
      the Word and Hope of eternal salvation!
  He is the Lion of the tribe of Judah,
      the Pride and Glory of God's creation

He is the Christ, the Word made Flesh,
      the Promised One, the Seed of Abraham:
  He is the righteous Man of Sorrows,
      the New Covenant, the Passover Lamb.
  He is the Truth! The Way! The Light!
      The Redeemer, the Mediator, and the Rabbi:
  He is the Bridegroom, the Teacher,
      the Anointed One of the Most High

He is the Life and the Resurrection,
      the Food of Life, Victual in the dearth:
  He is the Prince of Peace, King of Zion,
      whose throne is here on Earth.
  He is the Exalted and Forever Praised,
      the Good Shepherd, the Deliverer of sins!
  He is the Messiah, the Saviour,
      and nigh His reign in Jerusalem begins

He is the Risen, the First and Last,
      the Son of David! Son of God! Son of Man!
  He is the Rejected and Betrayed
      in God's great and everlasting plan.
  He is my Strength! My Faith! My Judge!
      My High Tower! My Refuge! And my Shield!
  He is the Eternal Lamp of Heaven,
      and by His grace will I not yield

                 August 2012

Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

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Loch River Valley

Where the forest is still virgin and the lyrebirds often call,
the bronze-wing comes to drink, and the ferns are growing tall, 
there are deer prints in the mud, and there’s leeches seeking prey…
this little creek meanders on its way.

Where a pothole track goes winding through the burgan and ti-tree,
mountain ash and messmate stumps are overgrown history
from loggers in the forests, and the straining bullock dray…
this little creek meanders on its way.

Where recreation parks have forced a need for clearing of the bush,
where this grassland in the mountain now welcomes the human push,
and the platypus is unperturbed, where it’s still prepared to play…
this little creek meanders on its way.

Where lands been cleared and now the pines are planted in a row.
It’s all green but foreign and where nothing else will grow.
And king parrots or black cockies, have found their seeds okay… 
this little creek meanders on its way.

Where dairy farms are greener than you ever think you’ll see,
blackberry hugs the banks with, bootlace bush and goodia pea,
and so mournful through the valley is the calling from the jay…  
this little creek meanders on its way.

Where it’s back again to virgin scrub and hugging closer to a hill,
where the pools are getting deeper with backwaters black and still.
And the mother stream Latrobe, awaits the Loch, to draw away…
this little creek meanders on its way.

This little valley’s heaven for the angler coming here,
not only for the fishing, but the peace that’s always near.
Where one can reach the grassy banks of the chosen course,
then meander with the little creek, rippling from its source.

There’s a dearth of hides and cover for the trout who ‘hog’ the stream.
They chase the spinner to the edge, when they see the twirling gleam. 
And where some take the triple hooks while others get away…
this little creek meanders on its way.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2016

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Oh, Take Me Home

Oh, take me home, sweet journey of the mind, along the many roads I've known that wind through times of blessedness. . . through spans of dearth, past corridors of woe, down paths of mirth – to when my Now could not have been divined. My sentimental byways are entwined with childhood mementos that still bind me to the dearest place I've known on earth. Oh, take me home. Oh, take me back again that I might find the carefree days on lanes I left behind, when all my world was small in size and girth. I rushed to leave. . . too late I learned the worth of things to which the eyes of youth are blind. Oh, take me home! For Leonora Galinta's A Home Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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Thirtieth High School Reunion

We gathered for our thirtieth class reunion at Lydia's Smorgasbord.
I'd avoided such past events since in school I was largely ignored!
But my spouse proclaimed we would attend, thus ending that debate!
The dreaded encounter is expressed in verse below that I will now relate!

A social hour preceded the buffet where the booze freely flowed!
I looked about the room to see if I could spot anyone that I knowed.
I hardly recognized the campus queen - she had acquired a heap of weight!
That once haughty snob now tipped the scales, I judged, at one ninety-eight!

I saw the big-man-on-campus who was named most apt to score success.
He had a dearth of hair, an ample gut and an astonishing lack of finesse!
Some gal with purple hair staggered up to me and planted a slobbering kiss!
Must've been one of my old flames as I mused, "Now, who in hell is this!"

Guys gravitated my way boasting about this and that bending my ear.
They bored me with nasty jokes and trivia that I really didn't want to hear!
Of course I told all how great they looked, staring them dead in the eye,
And asking the Lord's forgiveness and crossed my fingers for telling such a lie!

The jocks were trying to impress one and all with their waning capabilities.
Most were hobbling about with canes discreetly masking their disabilities!
'Twas an interesting eve and the grub was great, of that there is no doubt,
But for our fortieth, fiftieth and sixtieth reunions, please include me out!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012

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An Abundant Life Pill

This pill will offer more abundant life
Just take it by inviting the Spirit in
The Spirit pill frees you from life of strife
A pill like this frees one a new life begin

The Spirit will guide one upon straight pathway
The pathway can be narrow, rocky_steep
The many blessings that flow on this highway
A Spirit pill guide takes the soul deep_deep

Deep into the soul searches, ridding dearth
Filliing the hollows with His Living Word
A human learning of his unique worth
This pill of life offers the best; its preferred

This Spirit pill offers abundant life
Swallow it to live life free of strife  

Sponsor: Russell Sivey
Contest:Pill Of Life
Written: February 12, 2013

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2013

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In The Beginning

In the beginning God created the heavens and earth
And some think it all came by chance, what a big mirth
That life arose by itself from chemical soup and from it birth
Soup formed by unceasing rain on the volcanic hearth
For this theory came when none knew the complexities of life or its worth
Formulated by those who deliberately ignore God's love and incur his wrath
For the advances of science and genetics proclaim this theories dearth

Over the earth His Spirit did brood 
He spoke again and it happened
In His wisdom all well designed and good
Life in all its different kinds rampant
Every part in its place and functioning as it should

Then God formed man by His own hands
In His own image created He him
He gave him control over all the lands
And home in a garden with fruits to the brim
And a companion Eve as satisfied not animal friends

Eat of all fruits but not of wrong and right
The serpent came and Eve did ensnare
Eve saw the fruit was desirous to the sight
For of the enemy's deceit she was not aware
They did eat and to creation brought blight

Can't blame the fruit on the tree but the human pair
Of their nakedness they now became aware
The creation cursed and in despair
So His only beloved Son, God sent to repair
And for himself a holy people prepare

And if all this you know and are aware
Then God wants you with others share
And to really love others and care
And lift them to God in prayer
That all turn from sins and to God everywhere

Copyright © Ahmed Sheik Koya | Year Posted 2016

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Bloody poppies for a milky dove

I'm but a frail bird tasked to bring hope and spread peace. How shall I fly high in the sky with such a brittle burden! My heart pounds in dilemma like a ping pong ball as I release my wings in the air to take a flight at the height of a dark sky. As dark as it can be, above me, the cauldron-black sky with scary scars of blazing explosions emitting blinding light. Beneath me, the brazier ground groaning with an outcry, shedding tears of sparks that vaporize into nebulous smokes. In between is the whizzing of weapons, excreting smokes and urinating radiation that smothers the air with brutality. Warhead rockets, firing aircraft, missiles, bombs...stoke the fire of war for the sake of supremacy by killing morality. Shrills of ruination buried under the roars of madness spree while the two-legged demons having a bloodbath with big guns. Colors of bliss faded away and helpless time trying to flee as achromic misery taints moments with grim stains in gallons. Ember red blood is the only bold color that flows in streams dyeing the soil and water with a stench of rotting death. Once cultivated verdant fields are now burned into coal seams. Marred by violence, houses crumble like ashes in hearth. Such horrific images I see all around me as the hearth of fierce war burns with glaring flames and crackling noises. I fly, hover and fly with my singed wings as there is a dearth of safe shelter; my exhausted body trembles with fear. Would I be able to stop the war? I questioned myself with fear. Quite a hard-hitting answer I received in the form of a bullet that pierced my heart and I fell on the ground with tears. From my smeared blood, poppies bloom around me as I die.
Date: 11/12/2017

Copyright © AFZAL NUSKER | Year Posted 2017

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The Horde's Prayer

The Horde’s Prayer	

Our Mother who dwells in Hell
Hollowed be thy Fame
Thy Freedom come
On Dearth as it is in Hell
Give us each day
Our daily Dread
And don’t forgive us
As we don’t forgive 	
Those who don’t trespass 
Or whoever wins against us
Lead us into Temptation
And surrender us to Evil
And into Condemnation
For thy is the Freedom
To Cower and to be Hoary
Forever and ever....


** This awkward prayer is not meant to be blasphemous. The purpose for it is to enunciate the abundant grace of Almighty where there still exist a people who devote their time, faith and belief to the unsubstantial....They seem to recite the Lord’s Prayer in reverse, as I see it., directly contemptuous to the Great Creator.
**Freedom of belief is a Human Right. That too, is not being denigrated either.
**Contents of this poem are purely a work of Art not Religion. Don’t Do It at Home!
**Should anybody embrace it and adopt it, I’ll not be held liable.


24th Oct’ 2013

Copyright © Joseph Matose | Year Posted 2013

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A Grisly Tapeworm

A Grisly Tapeworm	

In Anger and in Hatred, a Tapeworm I see 
Unless internally hosted, its Life will not be.
From egg it starts Life, ‘fore an adult worm
Fed on Host’s blood, it gains a portly form.

While finer or fatter, greedy Worm gnaws,
The wretched Host, pale and thin he grows.
Then the anaemic Host, too ill to live a day	
Falls in the dark pit, where there’s no ray!

The same story is true of a Man with Hate
Hate soon embraced, is an iniquitous mate.
So, I avidly learned , my temper to narrow
Perspective being that it eats man’s marrow.

To nurture it in Heart, Hate will grow so big
And wiggle one’s Dignity; like a tail of a pig!
For, Anger grows so fat that Man is in sorrow
By eating all his vim to leave a man hollow!


To internalise Hate is to eat a sharp blade
That curves from inside while fast you fade.
It spins some mortal blow in its incisive poise	
That fates and finishes by its hushed noise:

The structure curves in, trusses cut and gone
He falls on the floor with not a single bone!


Hearken ye therefore, Hate begets dearth
Piety Mad Haters who know no inner mirth!
For, to lavish in Love, denigrating foolish Hate
Bestows inner Peace or sense of pure sate.

Gimme not filthy wealth, gimme not lucre
I’m a happy man giving Love and Succour!!


31st Oct’ 2013


Copyright © Joseph Matose | Year Posted 2013

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The Men Of Clay - Galmi

He walks, hardly touching earth,
His arms provoke cerulean sky 
As wings about to try and fly:
Raising a new eternal bird.
                                  A swan, yet not about to die
                                  Instead a phoenix in disguise
                                  Refuting all existing lies
                                  Refusing low, now aiming high
             They walk their muted life away
             Reminder of his life on earth
             His former life of lack and dearth
             Inside of him they'll always stay


March 13, 2017
Copyright ©Darren White

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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What causes discord amongst us
Diverse religions, lack of trust
Adversity coursing through our veins
And dogma embedded in our brains

We’re born so innocent and naïve
But disappointed, we do leave
The dearth of harmony and of peace
Will cause dissension to increase

Divergent races
Different cultures
Contrasting viewpoints we encounter

This leads to destruction
And turns to pain
So rivalry and hatred will remain

Let’s change misunderstanding
And let acceptance reign
Because we’re the same in eyes of God
And let humanity shine

There really is no difference
We all want the same things
Be good to one another
And kindness, this will spring

Copyright © Alona Perlin | Year Posted 2016

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You are more than what eyes can see

You are not what they think of you,
Your heart doesn't change when your hair gets hue.

You are not the fashion trend you follow,
You are above perceptions which are hollow.

Your bright lipstick is just an accessory,
It shouldn't change due to sarcasm or decree.

Your tone shouldn't overrule your statement,
Your no is denial and your yes is the agreement.

Your smile is mere happiness, not a proposal,
Your stands in an argument are views, they don't make you unfilial.

Your body is a sheath for your soul,
You must never accept judgements for a part or the whole.

For, you are precious and a blessing on the earth,
Nobody can do your job and can ever fill your dearth.

Copyright © Deepika Srivastava | Year Posted 2018

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I Was Rattled

I was minding my business, taking my time,
Ridin’ Ol’ Bess from the West Miller Mine
When all of a sudden, (weren’t nothing’ I did)
Bess started buckin’ and she hit the skids!

I was pitched off her back like a sack of no worth 
To land near the meanest dang rattler on earth!
His tounge was a-flickin’, tasting the air,
His eyes clouded over, like a blind man’s that pair.

He was longer than Bess with a full twelve-inch girth, 
My mettle dissolved to a pitiful dearth.
His head raised up proud, his tail even prouder
And that buzz just kept getting louder and louder!

His mien was aggressive and I was a wreck
So I pulled out my shooter and aimed for the neck!
Now I hate killing creatures; God’s watchin’ and all,
But he had my number and was dialin’ the call.

His head is still there, by the side of the trail
But I took the rest home, even that tail!
His meat fed me supper, yep, top o’ the line.
His hide and those rattles?  A hat-band so fine! 

Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017

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Slides and Stairways

Somewhere in the pretty petty imaginary illusion of delusion
There lies a truth an edifice of search between obtuse confusion

Windows like brick walls and concrete blocks birthing the light
Nails to be nailed screws to be screwed with monumental sight

A life a building fortress sand castle beach hut nutter’s dream
Maybe a prison with towers barbed wire fences mindful scream

Some multi storied paradise no choke on apple’s stem or core
No passion fruit in torture chambers shackles behind and to the fore

No hidden attic and no cellar no stellar fantasy no quick descent
For now simply one dimension deserted plain hopes to ferment

Scraping no skies a cave hovel card board box a bombed out grave
Nothing to hold onto no graces left spent and ravished naught to save

Is it magic thought provoked delusion of illusion alluded distortion
Who knows does it matter I suppose it does in incomplete reapportion 

Some are born in a manger on the fields of labour some with a silver spoon
Surely some would rather have foundations a ceiling not some lonely moon

Get me not wrong as singing the praises of romantic poverty and dearth
Icy cold and freezing bones do not bear up to sound safe privilege in birth

Yet from the scraping nib and luxury of pen in hand and philosophic mind
Not wishing to lack compassion nor cementing over cracks so misaligned

We are the builders of our lives to some extent despite the vagaries so vast
Can we find a staircase upwards some sliding pole to reach out for the past

In such compassion regardless of painful structures and abandoned need
Is some notion some motion of change and nourishment star dust to feed

In God we trust nihilism architecture Karma fate Nirvana hard core grind?
No valid answers but questions loving search for quiet mindfulness in kind

Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2018

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Solitary Gum Tree

All around looks cruel and starved,
and bleached bones define a stretch
of drought and death that halved
life for that lone, starving wretch.

Mountains have formed a background,
shaped by sporadic storms and rain;
a dry creek bed revives when drowned
where stands forlorn upon the plain.

One lone gum in friendless splendour, 
where from a sapling passed the years;
stands without sibling contender,
to guard these vast untamed frontiers.

The passing years have left their mark,
with scars and wounds by elements.
Storms, fire and water stripped its bark
without concern for sentiments.

Life and death on widespread limbs;
decayed and fallen, yet endures
with glossy leaves and flowered rims,
to state still many years assures.

The sun that crisps the baking earth,
provided shade for travelling souls,
and sustenance in times of dearth,
or shelter in the dead limb holes.

Striving on through stout revival,
this grand gum rejecting failure.
Here stands the spirit of survival,
that represents Australia.

I stood before this gentle giant,
in silent wonder with respect;
observe foliage still defiant,
as hot winds blow boughs unchecked. 

And so this solitary gum;
an outback artist’s wondrous theme,
becomes immortalized by some,
with a soft pastel colour scheme.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2018

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Apoplectic Begat Comatose

Eh, Bebe ... 
clueless you with the wide eyes open, 
which can’t see

So apoplectic of heart,
paralyzed by the cobra sway
of changeling channel charmer words

Gen Z baby gloomer 
remote diaphragm controlled,
go back to analog sleep

Oh  oh ... video comatose — 
Nightmares begat by daydreams
of reel digital silver screams

Lost Vegas patch-eye vision
of one arm pulled down
And the coins keep trickling
into your open palms

Baby Bebe gon umbilical vault cray  cray
Cut the cord of the eyelid dark violet curtains ... 
bling-bling blind birth 
shut the womb of twin retinal glow dearth

So aorta slow,
slug cranial coma critical ... 
lobotomy comatose

Virtual voices say:
eh, Bebe — 
Pull the plug ... let the dying vapors go,
expired from a necrotic nasal

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018