Best Humanity Poems | Poetry

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WHEN YOU OPPOSE HUMANITY by musore, reagan
Humanity by Shekhawat, Vasudha
Humanity-love you by Rudiger, Augustina
'Womanity' Needs Humanity by udarwar, amolkumar
I LOVE ALL HUMANITY by Lee Sr., James Edward
Humanity by Black, Robert
Humanity by Shahab, Muqudus

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The Best Humanity Poems

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A Poetry Collection


Sand falls
Through the glass
Love falls
Within the past
Memories dance
They never last
Head in my hands
As I stare overhead
At the hourglass

Falling Down Stairs

Stairs broken
Wheels unspoken
I fell
Grasping for air
Are you there?

Piano Keys

Playing me
Rhythms dancing free
Clouds in air
Notes tossed in despair
Are you there?


Broken wings
Wounded sparrows sing
Clinging to clouds high in sky
Chirping symphonies
Knowing not at all the why
Never loved…
Never loved…
Never hugged
In solitude wonders fly
No one
No one is there

In the Key of Despair

Tap tap
Music in the ear
Flowing freely in the salty air
Beethoven, are you there?
In the breeze, I hear the notes
My mind runs away, it floats
Pain drowned in the river
Limbs frolic on shores of hope
Keys somber in black and white
As I touch them
It conveys the fright


Choking, not me, but the air
Credenzas and waves
Washing away the realities
Of all your trivialities
Whilst I whither and fade away
Inside a musical symphony
Strangled on lusty desires
Are you
Are you there?


Notes hither and floating in the breeze
I look up
The moon
My last breath
My last hope
My last wish
A kiss from the one I never met
The moon hides under cloud
My eyes in tranquility close
The beat no longer in time
No longer there
Where ever I am going
My last thought
Are you there?

Violins and Other Things

Deformed from loves inaction
Teardrops falling on time
Rolling down passages
Where darkness does dine
Notes high, notes low
Treble as I grasp the clef
The conductor knows all that is refined
In the end
He shall consume the wine
As I, was consumed by time


The piano full of dust
Brushes dipped in paints
Now turn to dust
There is a poem over there
In the corner
By the naked painting
Of my Caribbean liver
That cried and wept
Day and night
Night and day
When willows swayed
And the raven landed
On the sill
Of the empty room
For I am no more

Silence whispers
Are you there?

Guitar Strings and Clouds

I caress the strings of discord
Melodies shouting
Credenza’s and interludes
Wine intrudes
The senses squished like sour grapes
Emotions boxed in crates
I caress philosophy
As my garden sadistically does undress
Taunting the desires of my illusions unrest
The rose and the rain drop
I cry

Last Act

Once was life
One…… tear…   one tear…… drop
One gasp of fear
Fate licking……………………… deaths ear

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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Playing Human

Introducing: Nate & Linda

The smile on my lips
is forced and coerced
I pretend to pay attention
give the best possible advice
everyone praises me
I'm so kind, polite and nice
It's all just automation
I rarely actually listen
certainly don't care
all I'm doing
is playing human
blending in
fitting in
I'm so perfectly hidden
you'll never even
see a curtain, 
   from where I stand
   Majoring in social events
   Put on a pedestal
   for computing with you
   I'm so perfectly hidden 
   smiling from time to time
   Labeling those 
   with all sincerity
   open soldiery  
   Passing along an appeal
   continuing to fit in
   blend in
   force program 
   Is it just me or
   am I the perfect human?

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Listen to poem:

It's a very important box one we will be passing on. bombs pollutionglobalwarming warslotsofwarshate racismbullyingguns narcissismfakefood liesisolationismvirus badrolemodelssugar tonprescriptiondrugs It's our children's future what will we fill it with?

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016

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Seb's I Love You Eyes

Seb's young fertile face beamed African royalty
even in the penury of this Nigerian refugee camp.
Her mother's downcast eyes shunned the camera's querying lens,
while Seb's, "I-love-you", eyes were welcoming. 

Seb's eyes were as blossom-petaled obsidian pools,
each pierced by the light of a distant star.
Her blackness did not succumb to woeful displacement,
but shone with the promise of an overcoming spirit;
for a Mother's prayers were writ in the marrow of her bones.

Born with a tenacity to love,
her young heart leaped out through trusting inquisitive eyes.
Her tongue, budding out of rich dark faced soil, seemed eager
to taste the sweet juices that her spirited-eyes promised;
smiling, "l love you", behind barbed wired love-me-nots.

Seb was a child . . . full of joyful expectations.
A child who did not choose this world;
'tho born of a Spirit conceived to love . . . 
to love the . . . hell . . . out from her world.

gv 4.2015


(Note: This piece came out of seeing this fascinating photograph
by Sebastian Rich,  of Seb clinging to her Mother in a camp for displaced Nigerians.)

Caption  :  A Nigerian child in a UNICEF clinic, who was finally on the road to a full recovery after suffering from severe acute malnutrition. Her unprompted smile filled my lens.

I would encourage everyone to visit the website of Sebastian Rich.  His heart-gripping photography is incredibly moving and of great importance. 

Copyright © Word Hobo | Year Posted 2017

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You see hope when two kids share marbles between a volatile border.

Date: 16/06/2017

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2017

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Door to Nowhere

Door to Nowhere

Royalty have Chateau’s
With moats and drawbridges

Artists have colors
Paints and brushes and dreams

The poor have soup
And Marie's gateau’s

The lonely have open doors
To nowhere

I let my baguette go hard and stale
So I could stab myself with nourishment

As my blood flows slowly
Through that door with no hope

I with no rope, fade away

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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What Might They Find There

What might you find there
down deep in my soul
Within the darkness
of that expansive hole
Will there be substance 
Will there be diamonds or coal
Step down the stairs quickly
at the door pay your toll

If you wish to be a voyeur 
there will be plenty to see
Unclothed and oh so gorgeous
beautiful women are plenty
Yet the guilt from these carnal thoughts
makes me feel a strange empty
I long for their pleasure 
yet I yearn to be set free

Walk a bit further
see deeper to my core
You have just scratched the surface
do you really want to see more
My soul is a vast ocean
no ceiling and no floor
Liquid and expansive
molton lava shore to shore

There is plenty of love there
tremendous courage it's true
I have known my share of pain
there is much that I've been through
Roads I've traveled are many
dark alleys quite a few
I've found the way to the light
my heart is forged a steel blue

If you travel far enough
you will bathe within light
The darkness a shield
to protect this soul with might
Beyond the locked door
my soul rises like a kite
Only those who have courage
can fly to such great height!

For Frank's Contest

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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Dear Gustav

Oh ...

Gustav, how you pique the senses
Captured passion's plural tenses

Lovers twined in percale folds
Caught supine with spattered golds

Porcelain dolls in fetal slumbers
Brushed, sublime, in tans and umbers

Bold, the bleeds of Burnt Sienna
Stippling portraits of fair Vienna

Yellow Ochre, Prussian Green
Cadmium Yellow, Blue Indanthrene

Trees like soldiers, lilting boughs
Abstractions spun of silken vows

Ceilings meant to thus adorn
Gilded graces, Heaven-borne

Waters, tranquil - tresses, bare
A world composing textures, rare

You struggled, long, to e'er refine
Your critics and uncommon line

Subjects some then found appalling
Yet, remained, your faithful calling

Imbibing absinthe, sans a chaser
A life you sketched with no eraser

And while we mortals can but dream
You left behind your gauzy gleam

So death would not define the worth
Of genius meant to shake ...

The earth.

* FIFTH PLACE in the "Klimt" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Sponsor. *

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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That Was a Human

Allow me to be disgusted at the jest
and your halfway happy surprise at the end result
of the missile timed precisely:

Did he just splatter?

And allow me to feel the brunt of the bruising
upon my saddened heart, where for others was felt,
from laughing hard.

Yes, all lives matter

Even the ones who don't bear
our national colors
our political expectations    no matter how wrong or right
For just this occasion let us get back to basics:

That was a human

ten fingers and ten toes
perhaps a wife and family to call his own
but do you even know?

            Or even care to think
beyond the face of it?

Getting kicks at watching the Live Leaks
of people being blown to smithereens      It bothers me
That one should find it amusing
Does it bother      You?

---a single tear of blue
is all I'm asking---

Who he was or what he did
what difference does it make?
When life closes the lid
all we have is the acknowledgement:

That was a human      A human

What if those pixels on the screen
were all that was left of that man's memory

would you still find it funny?

And yet still we turn to Facebook Enlightenment
with quotations that decorate a sniper in a holy moment ---

"And oh God. One more thing.
Ignore my enemies heathen prayers
and help me send those bastards
straight to hell.


(The amount of "likes" are disheartening
and should be a sin.
Where's the "vomit button" ... ?)

Reading through the comment's section,
like poetry for the juvenile,
and the criminally insane.
No Alka Seltzer      No pills
I'm riding this crazy train unprotected
as if I'm dying for a thrill.

Dying ... at the very least.
Queasy at the vertigo of a nation
acting to love and loving to act

(Nineteen-Eighty-Four called,
they want their plot back)

And have you read empathy such as this?

ROFL, mate! That's classic!

(you have a doggie bag on ya, by chance?
I think I'm gonna be sick)

That was a human


And you call yourself a Man of God?
Yet still feel compelled
to pull back His Grace to your own ends

... that slippery tide
between your fingers

As if infinity could only be stretched so far;
it won't last long my friend,
before you look into that celestial mirror
scared at what you see

 Is that            me?

Yet still you wear that outpouring of love
on your neck like a trophy
as if you even deserved it.

a single tear of blue     just one
can you give it to me, son?

t h a t w a s a h u m a n

And do you even care?
Does it phase you in the slightest?
Or does a coat of arms
give you further reason to divide?

Jesus died for all      For all

All that upheld the American flag
      as equal to His words.
All who marched to the beat of the drums
      drowning out the birds.
All who bravely proclaimed: We are Heading to War!
                                       We are Heading to War!
And all those who never asked: And what for? What for?

Do you feel its beating on your soul?
S h  o   u    l     d
      I       t        a        l         k
          s           l            o             w?

(the unwritten verses
you added long ago)

It doesn't even matter now,
because all that remains
is what's been left on the page.

All that remains...

Just four sad words
like hopeless sand
slipping through my fingers

That was a human      (or at least it was)
Before Man forgot what he had,
Believing he could do better,
Egging the Almighty to play his game

... back to the drawing board, smirked the Creation

And what about you, Dear Reader?
What will the eulogizer speak
in your honor
when the lights out?

That was a monster
He won't bother you now

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

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Call Of The Wild

I envy those living as part of the wild For I too, once heeded its call A smoldering ember since I was a child Urge, and belonging all part of the thrall. I’ve enjoyed the fresh taste of a sparkling stream Felt the tremble as you push through your fear Stood high on a peak admiring Gods scheme Felt both delight and remorse for taking a deer. I’ve walked for weeks through valleys and trees Traversed mountains with lush native grass Felt the warmth and the cold of high country breeze Navigated tussock, forests and high country pass. I’ve smelt autumn rain as it mingles with dirt Enjoyed the isolation of me and my views Valued crude shelter while nature unleashes its hurt Watched forest birds doing their best to amuse But I’m now destined to be one of societies slaves In a world where worth is measured by cash Where worry and stress are delivered in waves Where those without are regarded as trash. I felt most alive in the middle of nowhere Now dead when hemmed by city and streets Nothing compares with fresh mountain air Living free, no money, bills, or receipts.

Copyright © Mark Woods | Year Posted 2015

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Everyday is Beautiful

Everyday is beautiful, son,
and no that's not being optimistic.
You're here - you're alive - with one more day on your plate.
That's just being realistic.

Tuesdays are for Tenderness, for the little things found beneath the rubble:
a flower peeking or a new-dream seeking, even though its subtle.

Wednesdays are for Wishes --- like hoping on that pretty, pretty star,
for something just around the corner is never all that far.

And Thursdays are for Thoughtfulness, on those reflective afternoons,
where all of life hangs between your ears, as your heart struggles to make room
for all the love that's bursting inside of you ...

            (I know it's there!
                        hiding somewhere ... perhaps beneath the dirt and muck)

Fridays are for Friendship --- to the ones who you know true,
and hold you oh so close, despite all of life's various hues.

Saturdays are for Sanctification from all of distraction's clutter;
an occasion to make small your piece of toast, for there's too much of time's butter,
spreading oh so thin on Little You.

And Sundays are for Sunflowers, and the smile that ensues on even the coldest soul.
Treasure it child, if you ever see it bloom, for she's a fragile beauty that makes you whole.

Yes, my son ... EVERY day is beautiful, and Mondays especially,
for that's the day we praise our Mothers,
for giving birth to us at such a time as this      (God knows it wasn't easy)
And no, I don't need to see the Seven Wonders,
to know how beautiful life can be,
for I've got all the splendor I can handle ...

... seven days a week.

Image Used: The I Hate Mondays T-Shirt Picture

Written April 10th, 2016
For the Images Contest Hosted by Silent One

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

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Why I Walk

I walk and walk, without talking to anyone,
I walk here and there, to avoid their stares, 
their scowls, their “poor lady” pity -
Do they know I used to be pretty? 
Now I’m just a dirty nothing, dirty whore, 
I walk till I can’t walk anymore. 

I have no place to be, no place to go.
I sit for a moment when I find a spot,
a park bench, a doorway,
the outer corner of a parking lot
But someone always comes around
and looks at me with that disdainful frown,
I walk. I walk so I won’t get caught
I walk away looking down at the ground. 

I feel so ashamed. There’s nowhere I can hide.
I try, though, I try.  I stand in long lines
to find a decent place to sleep for the night,
but decent places are hard to find.
I’d rather lie in the dirt at the downtown park
than fear the rats that nibble in the dark 
in bug-infested rooms with urine-stained mattresses.

I eat my food real fast, then hurry on my way,
before some men come around
and try to pressure me to stay.
I live in fear for my life every night, 
It’s like a fist that hovers over me, constantly, 
Like the fist he used on me that day, 
my body beaten; the bruises have faded away. 
I walk. I walk, to get away from the pain. 

I sleep in a doorway, in an alley down the street.
I’ve nothing but these filthy clothes, 
and the shoes on my feet, 
and I’m ok with being dirty, let me stink,  
I hope I stink!
Maybe it will keep the stinking men away from me,
so I can try to get some sleep, rest my aching feet. 

And then, when daylight comes again,
in the sunshine or the rain
I’ll walk and walk ... 
to get away from the pain. 

Inspired by Tom's "Being Homeless" contest 

Domestic violence is a leading cause of homelessness for women and their children. (
According to, “Homeless women … are particularly vulnerable to multiple forms of victimization including forced, coerced, or manipulated sexual activity.”  

Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016

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Dear Humanity:

Dear Humanity:

You know I love you, right?
Stop calling me Mother Nature!
I hate that!
Genderless am I…
Oh, yeah, I get the ‘bring life forth’ bit,
creator of new life, pregnant with your desire
…yada, yada, yada,
my womb is your hope,
my anger your demise.
You have dominion over me?
Get over yourself!
Not the life-force, I wobble,
buoy in a black sea,
world in flux.
Some of your tribes cajole me
with Songs of the Good Earth,
their rhythms heal my rivers and plains,
my blue veins, renewing rains;
good vibrations make mountains grow.
Others try to dominate me,
defile, desecrate and destroy me.
Written in the Book they say,
patriarchal sons of kings.
Climate change deniers my enemies.
Poor, dear, naïve humanity,
my icecaps are melting, oceans swell,
water will consume the land.
My extremes test your resolve.
I can live without you,
is the opposite true?
Homeostasis, my cycles of life,
the seasons my command.
Are you so balanced?
Don’t fight against gravity,
there is no escape.
Eagles soar and lions roar,
your footprints on the shore,
all these shall pass away.
So if you seek immortality
then keep your home sacred.
Love all of me,
every rock is my child,
every grain of sand a seed,
everything you do to these,
you do to me.
I am Gaia. I am home.

Prayer for the Summer Solstice 2017

Copyright © Phil Capitano | Year Posted 2017

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Temptation Itches On All Living Things

Temptation Itches On All Living Things

Temptation itches on all living things
often nobody knows just how it stings,
not the icky-glues in its sticky pastes
nor the rotten fruits in its wasted wastes.

She the vixen nobody could resist
her vanishing pleasures - elusive mists,
long legs descend from heavenly skies
later, such dark pains in lamented cries.

Victim once thought to be heavenly bound
lost, voiceless, no understandable sound,
finds temptress, sexy wares designed to win
she that siren alluring to all men.

You scratch that itch, risking your own peril,
finding wounds that can never be sterile!

12-15- 2016

For Daniel Turner's , What Was I Thinking,  Contest
15 December 2016

Last verse inspiration, from his poem "Between the Lines

Couplet sonnet
Rhyme Scheme:  a a – b b – c c – d d – e e – f f – g g
10 syllables each line.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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Joining the Pieces

Sometimes we sit alone,
quiet, trying to figure
out who carried a piece
of us with them, as we try
to put ourselves together again...

Date: 24/02/2016

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016

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I Do Not Exist

I have been erased
no face
no name
Silence invades

I speak yet have no voice
no soul
no heart
Darkness I embrace

Invisible to the mirror
Into society I peer
no one sees
what does not exist

Asleep or awake
there is no existence to partake
Possessions collecting dust
While what does not exist rusts

Who am I, that never existed
That bleeds but never lived
Murdered by love
no matter

I do not exist

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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Bit Of Truth And Wisdom, Found In Old Age

Bit Of Truth And Wisdom, Found In Old Age

At that age wisdom says life is a joke
consider blindness of other poor folk.
Stop to ponder why on earth we exist
you may just find giving on that big list.

To live well, love hard and thus procreate
easy to see easier to relate.
Living life together with your soulmate
should be a part of everybody's Fate!

Finding life is not about what you got
should be holding solid, number one spot
Tis more about life lived well and deeper
with one you found, knew to be a keeper

If long life, happiness is your great aim
if reaching not for it, you are to blame!

Robert J. Lindley, 1-16-2017

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

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The Hand of Love

The night air flowed over my breath
The covers not quite keeping me warm
Dreams caressing my past
My lover whispers in my ear

Sweet words, with her loving touch
Times long ago, where tenderness would flow
Her perfume flys away with the wind
Happy days my only true possessions

ahhh but love is not as it once was
Age makes the windmill turn slower
My lover caressing my pain
Raindrops falling, aroused in the wet rain
She my life, now I live with thoughts inane

She releases me from both pleasure and pain
Dreams of her splatter all over on top
My cover only a cardboard box
Wet from the weather
in the alley where I sleep

At dawn, there is a sharp pain in my rib
"out your bum, get the hell away"
Kicked and bruised I grab what I can
All I can think of is to run run run

Limping, onwards to the park
I feel a firm hand take hold of me
Stop young man, its raining cant you see?
Shocked I try to escape, fear invades me

In a softer tone the man says
Come with me son, out of the rain
The shelter is over there, close to your park
A warm meal, and and fresh bath will do you good

Father O'Brien pats the new one Davey on the back
Welcome son, here's a book if you care to read
Davey still in skeptical mode, being treated as human
Father O'Brien see this in his heavy eyes
He looks at Davey and whispers
I was once you, you see

The hand of love
Can mend a thousand hearts
When like the seeds of blooming flowers
We spread the love we were handed

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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Bleed for Me

Bleed for me

	Why what she says?
Why do you cut, why do you bleed yourself?
	Why do birds fly, how the heck should I know?
Ah but you are so beautiful, soft and sweet
	You see only as you wish, no one looks closer
	At the inside of me
	No one sees the mirror I see
Tiss not true, I see through your eyes
	Come then take a good look, stare into my emptiness
	You see nothing ok?

I remain quiet, somewhat stunned at the rebuke
We both stare out the window, a broken neon sign
Singing with the wind

She whispers
	If I cut myself, to pieces
	I will slowly disappear and float away	
	Inside will be outside
	The emptiness in my eyes will be everywhere
	The Ferris-Wheel ride will end

I slowly gathered up some rather random thoughts
	My life was sunny
	Then one day it rained
	Then sunny
	Rain and sun, rain and sun
	Then the rain came again
	And again…
	Dark clouds hovered
	The days all became nights		
	Until there was daylight no more
	A ghost taunted… I no longer mattered
	Until I became the ghost
	So you see, I have nothing left to cut

She shyly looked over at me, confused it seemed
	You, you… you have money			
	You look handsome
	I dare say you seem well off
	You have it all, and want for nothing

The neon sign, the crickets, the bedside clock
A symphony of sound in a room of silence, tick tock. Tick tock.
Slowly, I discovered words, softly I dared repeat them

	You said I see nothing
	In this, is true, I did look into your eyes, I saw
	Inside of you nothing as you say
	I saw a poverty of wanton desire, lost to this world
	In this you are also wrong		
	For as I stared you refused to avert my curiosity		
	Our eyes locked
	The emptiness inside of you
	You see
	Is me

Time continued its journey
Tick Tock went the clock
Silence crept towards a comfort

Imperceptible, a few of their fingers interlaced

The neon sign stop flickering
And cried

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Hope and Mushrooms

This world needs more hope
Mushrooms that fly 
And swings with no rope
Under bright stars and night sky

Mushrooms sprout in the black forest of lore
Under which live dancing elves 
Who give hope by the score
Magical is laughter that fills young hearts

Hope and mushrooms
Now that's what we need
Hope gives happiness
And mushrooms our dreams

Inspired by Seren Roberts and her tablet! :)

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018

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Dark Earth Folds In The Heart's Red Bloom

Dark Earth Folds In The Heart's Red Bloom

You and I and all we do
Know not, til our hearts are through 
The press of life, what things we be
Root or leaves or shade of tree.
You and I and all we seem
May be but as a drift of dream
In the eyes of One who gave
Self to love and love to save,-
Yea, all the deeds that men have wrought
Mere flower of dream, flame of thought,
Break of waves on a drear shore,
Scent of the wild rose on the moor.
Yet we have seen, and hold it sure,
That out of shame come forth the pure;
Dark earth folds in the heart's red bloom;
In vain, we build the soul a tomb.

R.J. Lindley
1976 or 77 ?

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

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Neural Symphonies

Neural overtures
symphonies in sense-surround

Life's synaptic orchestra
firing stringed ensembles

Cosmic Concertos resound
pentatonic rhapsodies

Every man writes his own song
within time's metered signature

in peaceful chordal harmony
or embittered dissonant tritones 

geo.vuy 11.2014 Neural Symphonies 3 of 5

(Pentatonic is a five tone scale within one octave, 
used In the earliest forms of music. 
Used symbolically in this piece as man's five senses)

Copyright © Word Hobo | Year Posted 2017

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It is a horizon of dreams aloft in hope.
It is love, stirred with hate that drips need
to bleed us, heal us and force our tired cope.
It is a circle never ending, a line never bending,
and it holds questions with no answers, like keys
to kingdoms none can find to turn or master.

It is that door, the door, where dear ones come and go,
ones who carry joy, hold us, love us, then, in time
they lack reasons to feel or the want to know us, so, no, 
I mean, yes, it is not long-term, strongly rooted trust.
It is a strange, bewildering, momentous fuss
that boils in us until we bubble up our filthiest cuss.

It is same attempts in a familiar game of strange
ranging from old to presentations tweaked as new
that leave us standing without scent of a clue.
It is the reason creating all things we do and
the matter with our universal supply of glue.
It is your craziness fondling my insanity, too.

As a match, it does flame fan mankind’s fire
to rise in heat stroked red curls ever higher.
It is the silence that secrets our desires
and the stillness of hush-laced conspires. 
It causes human hands failed attempts to grab
sky-warm, star blankets, not to be human had.

It is a riddled fear maze forcing us to run,
to race by men with aimed happy guns,
to quick stride far from addicts selling sons
and slowly consider embracing those we have shun
as we forgive ourselves for all never seen done.
It is another day, and, say, here it does come.

... CayCay Jennings
December 2, 2017

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2017

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Paris the 13th

Paris the 13th

Tears, my tears fall to wine
As I can not comprehend this horrendous crime
Men filled with such spiteful hate
Islamic teachings seal their fate
Kill and slaughter love and smiles
How I pray tell does this bring about
Any compassion of heart, have they no guile?

I have walked along those Parisian streets
Filled with history and diversity, such a feat
Hand in hand, people from so many lands
Dressed in darkness, blacks and grays
The massacre dancing in premonitions sway
Crusaders never win, for love will take its stand

Hundreds taken from Jesus hands
For nothing more than celebrating their great lands
Food and drink and lovers smiles
Stolen this night by hateful bile
We shall rise again, defend and stand

Our blood may flow in the river seine
However in the end its you, who is insane
We shall defend our liberty
Even if we hang evil from the tree

Père Lachaise has brought me tears
Such history over all the years
Yet here I am faced to visit once again

Paying respect to those dying in vain
My heart is fraught, with you till eternity

Liberté, égalité, fraternité

Notes: Pere Lachaise is a famous cemetery in Paris
Liberté, égalité, fraternité is the motto of France

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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I walk with the crowd, all alone,
I look at the strained faces of strangers,
the dead emptiness of their eyes,
the weariness of their broken smiles
searching for hope of tomorrow…
I follow…I follow

I have no family, I have no country,
I have no past, I have no present,
only the emptiness of my heart’s memories
of a land, once my home, now ravished by war.
With images of my past left behind…
I cry…I cry

I follow the crowd to promises of lies,
In the passing forms I see silhouettes of pain,
hear the cries of despair, shouts of anger,
I feel the tears of nothingness.
With words of silent prayers of hope…
I pray…I pray

What is my sin to deserve a lesser life,
when all I want is freedom to exist.
What is our sin to be turned away,
when all we want is a place to rest.
What is my sin when all I want…
is to belong…to belong.

May 5th, 2016
T.J Grén

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016