Best In The Black Poems | Poetry

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In the Black of Night by Jenkins, Kenneth R.
The ticket drowned in the black and ground by JY, T.I.R.O.
Where's the color in the black and white by Mitchell, Zach
The Other Head in the Black Hills by Camp, Elton
Caught In The Black Rain by Johnson, Margaret

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The Best In The Black Poems

 
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Crying River

Crying River (The Untold Ballad) 

Undercover waters of rain dash
Cold children, no smiling splash
Tragic sobs, epic force of the mountain rain
Beautiful as it may seem -shallow basin 
---Dream---

She cries a tune, 
Mocking the Maple lands, a beautiful tune
Crooked Cornwall, she steams with the moon
Oceanic dreams, monsoon season, she swoon's
Frozen, dead, ice skating rink
Her wind, Pretty Chains O Lake 
Wet and Wild, the Elk drinks from her garden
Water falls from the lids of Jordan
Beautiful as it may seem with open curtain

When the ocean succeeds away from the sea
She's wide awake during winter's rain and breeze
Lost in the mud's of Bellaire's heartache,
River Blues, ice cold snap, bayou stirring up
Racing rivers crying by the western gutter
Silent, bells chime in the Black Mallard waters
Streams, blowing and drying dew droplets
Little rapid tears, everything spotless
Sugar, Swan waves down by Devils Creek
Listen to the thunder bay rolling deep
Beautiful as it may seem, she weeps

A northern world with streaks of falling rain
Pretty running white hair pane
A weather vane, snow dangles above her domain 
Beautiful crying winds
In the Eyes of Michigan

~3/5/14~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014

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When A Man Cries


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. 

29~12~2014
Armand






Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014




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Love Has Its Costs


THIS IS A FICTIONAL WRITE THAT EXPLORES THE QUESTION OF WHAT LOVE IS. IT DOES SO IN A DRAMATIC WAY, AFTER ALL THAT IS MY DNA. IT ALSO TAKES A UNIQUE AND CONTROVERSIAL APPROACH TO THE TOPIC. IT IS MEANT TO STIR THOUGHT NOTHING ELSE. IT POSES QUESTIONS AND SUGGESTS ANSWERS BUT MAKES NO CONCLUSIONS. SOMETIMES AS WRITERS WE HAVE TO MAKE WAVES. SOME WILL RIDE THOSE WAVES ON THEIR SURFBOARDS AND CONSIDER THEM INVITING. OTHERS WILL FEEL THE WAVES CRASHING AGAINST THEIR FLESH AND IT WILL BE PAINFUL.

Love is a streetwalker at the corner of Hooker Lane and Prostitute Crescent.

You wanted to pay. Do it and leave. That's the way it's suppose to happen. But it doesn't quite go like that. She is looking at your eyes and she sees something and it feels like love to her. She cries and her tears are real. She touches your face with her pretty little hand and goosebumps run up your spine and you lose your breath.

You kiss her and stroke her hair and you are staring into her eyes as her pain grabs you by the biceps and touches your heart. So you just hold her you hold her and you love her as if she is a beam sent for you to project sent for you to protect.

She opens up and says words you heard in her tears. You listen you hold her and you just listen as she peers into your subconscious to sit with the frightened child inside of you. You take each others hands and you roll in the softness of the innocence of your childhood. Your silly hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams that back then were anything but silly. 

She is beautiful. She is barely twenty. And you? Well you are going on thirty or is it forty.

You pray God will save her. Not pray you mumble it. Her smile tells you she knows. She feels like your responsibility and you don’t want her to die on the street working her corner. You don’t want to feel but you do. You are a weaved outer core of veins and you do. You feel everything. You are her. 

She looks in the White Knight eyes she pinned on your face and you know the pins are there and you see her with your Gladiator brights.

You make love to her and she loves you back and holds you in her dream of what might have been. She is your Queen and you have stripped your armor, stripped your flesh and your organs. You are naked in her shine. You are raw in her light.

Sex? Sex costs one hundred and fifty bucks! Sex? Sex is two dogs humping in the park. Sex is not love, it is empty. Empty because the person is a stranger and there is no emotional connection. 

At least that is what you thought.

But one day you are 53 years old and you think of your one hour bought woman. Did I say woman? She was a girl a vulnerable lost girl.

It is more than ten years later and you still remember her. That single hour in your life and it is engraved on your skull. Tattooed to your mind. Just one word. FOREVER. You can barely remember six year long relationships but you can still remember the touch of a woman, yes a woman you were with for just one hour in your life. You can still feel her skin. Her tears still burn like molten lava. 

She is still on your palette; you still feel every word that penetrated your hide and struck the part of you that was her. You remember it. Not as a single moment but as every tick of the clock, and the multitudes of emotions, of thoughts, of realizations, of questions that existed in each and every second and you wonder...

Maybe you can buy love. Or at least find it on the other end of a financial transaction, maybe once you did..

Maybe love doesn't last three hundred and sixty five pages like in a novel. Maybe love isn't roses from the first frame to the closing credits, with a beginning a middle and an end 

Maybe love is the memory of a 60 minute love affair with a working girl you met all those years ago. A memory safe and sound, written and produced, neatly tucked in the black vinyl grooves on the highway between your heart and your brain.

07~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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ONE FOR ALL

God is all colours
And He is no colour,
For He lives in the black
And He lives in the white.
He lives in the mixed,red
Olive, brown and yellow,
For He lives in the heart
Where colours out of sight.

God is all creeds
And he is no creed.
He lives in the Muslim
And He lives in the Jew.
He's there in the Hindu,
The Christian, the Buddhist.
In all true believers
And the doubters too-

So why all this predjudice
Because of colour?
Why all this thinking 
There's a chosen race?
Why are we fighting 
In the name of religion?
When surely God wears 
Every human face.

Man has differences
Man has opinions.
That is the way 
The human race is run.
God is only ONE GOD
However we see him.
He's one for all,
So that all can be ONE. 


Copyright © SYLVIA Coulstock | Year Posted 2010

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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


Note:
Inspired by Seren Roberts and her tablet! :)



Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018

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Make Love To Me In That Ancient Place

The Bedouins, bequeathed with the sacred beauty of paradise harsh,
trusted guardians of jealous gorges and gifted groves
lead me from the Wadi Musa to the humble ingress of Petra,
saying with thrill, the Jin of your Jihad awaits you White Lion,
we embrace as Brothers of Light and ancient dust,
their camels wise in soft steps
impart wide eyed, gentle blessing to me,
a shrill whisper of teasing wonderment 
whisks the sand of centuries strewn small
with a cobra's awakening whisp and hungry hiss,
evening enters the terrible terrain
glowing a cool blue dark and daring
along with it a blowing a zephyr unzips the zodiac of my ancestors,
stars of a billion years sympathize with this soul sojourn, 
alone I journey inward like a brave wish wafting
into a heart wanting to disgorge a secret need,
the smell of salt, sandstone and myrrh infiltrate
my mind with a mineral magic animating millenia of sovereign economics,
lamp light revealing the blush and rue of the the Siq's colossal rock hue,
shadows of caravan traffic bespeak exotic trade from distant industry,
narcotics from Kush, Persian rugs, spices and incense of Arabia, 
jewels and hides from India, the medicine and silk of China,
beasts and papyrus of Africa, wine, weapons and art of Rome,
slaves beautiful and strong carried from every known ethnic throng,
a river of precious merchandise replacing the might of carving waters,
at the egress of this artery's eternal enterprise
I behold with burgeoning awe the Nabataean Treasury, 
it's gladsome geometry a harmony of will, wealth and worship,
warm red cream stone become bone of a peoples' politic,
architecture for their angels and sanctuary for culture,
depository for dreams indebted to desert Deities,
I blow a kiss to the niche of Tyche, Goddess of fantastic fortune,
as I tighten my checkered turbin I hear a soft song
of Hellenic, Semitic and Arabic recipe, stringed hums with chime
and it moves me into the open, bleak basin towards the Monastary facade, 
in the black of it's errie entrance a spirit of evanescent education
escalates my enchantment as corners wake to pathways,
murals like waving reflections stream across the walls
I see Moses crack the water stone for salvation
as the Holy Arch spirals an avalanche of absolution from Earth to Heaven,
Solomon and Sheba secure a trade treaty with royal love,
I witness Jesus in the Jordan with John the Baptist
kindly laying him in the steady float of faith,
then the tragedy of John's demise
by the sour ambition of Herodias, the whore of defacto power,
I observe the affection of Joshua Ben Joseph 
with his woman of street sense as they endure trial after trial,
scenes of the Pax Romana and Judaen revolts parade 
by my eyes as terror, torture and triumph
wear masks of glory and glee,
the Essenes embarking for the Dead Sea defense,
Muslims and Crusaders found not the bounty of this land,
here remains the treasure of Pharaonic voyage,
exiting with renewed moral for love
I look to the top of Zibb Atuf
where I see the thunderbolt of Zeus Hadad and cornucopia of Atargatis
burn sweetly in the night, periwinkle smolder signals righteous passion,
I feel you, my Love, paramount in the depth of every sense I have,
turning entranced to the Roman Theater I proceed to the north east rendezvou,
you are lovely and glamorous on the stage of amplified ardor,
starbeams spotlight your coordinated curves and fertile instinct,
you begin to seduce with a dance, breathtaking, impulsive balance,
moving with the smooth heat and poise of a breath blown candle flame,
a crescent of torches beautifies your frame, crimson silk wings from you,
I stand for a moment on the outer upper rim
gazing, with great heat upsurging through every muscle,
knowing you are jubilant for me by the way you move
I descend the stairs undistracted from the language of your invitation,
your cinnamon skin skims my own as you go round and round
and the crave for your ravishing rub forces my pursuit,
I catch your tender waist as you spin into my hunting arms,
your fingertips feel so right in my hands,
we sway like romance on fire in the storm of desire,
your restive back nestled inbetween my shoulders
my obsessed lips move up your neck in search for innocent sensitivity
overtaking your naked earlobe with a hot mouth and firm pull,
your body, begging to be breeched brutely calms slowly
as I release spontaneous poetry into your ear saying...

When the moon was young
unbattered by stone and age
glowing bold upon Earth newly spun
the first man and sacred Woman
made love of flesh warmly woven
from they're erupting hearts came wild knowledge...

J.A.B.


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014

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Dearest

Dearest, why cry in vain in the black night 
fight its gentle intent to hold and rest. 
Why fear malcontent this absence of light? 
Put false ego upon the loom to test. 

What makes you conclude elation so found
from harsh light, will thus frame your hearts delight?
Reality so formed will oft be unbound,
allow grays to soften the fading light.

We are ripe stalks of Universal Eye.
Walk on courageous in the night time sky.



Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009

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Against the Raging Now

Finger in the hole in the dike
Holding back vast volumes
Of raging emotions
Surely to sweep me away
I try some comforting
Favored music from my past
Grab a book
To distract my fear
Linger in the Black Hole
of despair
Reach out to memories
Misty unrealities
Sweet and sour
I pass another hour
Only the peace of sleep
And ultimately death
Will bring craved relief.


Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

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Black Rain

~BLACK RAIN~

Another rainy stormy night,
nothing will ever feel the same.
Thunder makes me fear with fright,
Theirs no way to call your name.
To be alone is no delight,
here I am alone with shame.
It runs trough me like day and night,
lonesome here for playing my game.
I wish you were here to hold me real tight.
Forgive me for I am  the only one to blame.

A darken rainy stormy night!
Here I whither away in the BLACK RAIN!
In that selfish moment, I did not realize,
all I was doing was causing myself pain.
You took and shook me with a big surprise!
And, showed me that my cheating had nothing to gain.
With you in distance I lose myself,
sitting all alone in the BLACK RAIN.

BLACK RAIN, BLACK RAIN!
Please stop the pain, it's my love I want to gain.

Tears from me you wouldn't take.
It was my fault to take the fall.
It does not mean my love to you was fake.
Without you I feel real small.
The hurt runs deep~Deeper than a lake!
The hurt runs high~Higher than the tallest wall!
The hurt is heavy~something you can't shake!
The hurt is like a mystery~you can't solve at all! 
BLACK RAIN!
How this cloud passes my days,
I have no one to blame
If I knew exactly what to say,
I would not be feeling all this pain.
BLACK RAIN,
is here to stay!
I have lost what took long to gain.

BLACK RAIN, BLACK RAIN,
please go away!
I want my lover to come back my way.

  ~SKAT POETRY~
     Oct-1996

inspired by  Rain Rain Go Away.... :)


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

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How It Is

Here's How It Is:

The atoms dance
While Space expands
And shoals of galaxies race away
Towards every point of no return
And spin and spin
Like Catherine Wheels
And firework flashes
Brilliantly blazing dazzling sparks
Against a night so deep it swallows thought
A trillion times a second,
Everywhere and Nowhere
Things are starting
Things are ending
Things are becoming
Thoughts are groping
And in the spinning wheels and flashes
The sparks themselves are spinning
As are the sparks around those sparks
And so and so and so
Down again into the waiting atoms
Everything whirls
And because of this
There are worlds and worlds
Weaving themselves together.
Their billions of alien skies
Sliding over landscapes full of
Death and Life
Love and Hate
Fear and Hope
Beginnings and Endings -
Because of this
These lines are flowing.
A mind reads them,
And because of this
The whirling goes on 
Out and Out
In and In
Dancing down to and up from the atoms -

And All of it, All of it, All of it
Is happening RIGHT NOW
Has always been happening RIGHT NOW

Everything's awhirl, Snowflake:

So just go dance in the black Sacred Wind.

                                                        DANCE

                                                             !

'Cause that's How It Is.






Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2015

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THE DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES

Flickering in the night, a melting’s texture of regrets afterglow,
Candlelight’s waxed drippings staining the white laced table cloth,
Yet in the black and white photo album of the timeless, it is a
Pressed flower of remembrance, never to be forgotten,
In the days of wine and roses.

As champion kisses are exchanged between the
Youthful hearts of the innocent, another cork
Is popped, in this cozy interlude of memory’s repast,
Shattered lies this tempered fragile glass, smashed
Against the fireplaces inner mantel, leaving a frothy
Foams liquid behind, causing the crackles embers to
Burn higher with passions flame,
In the days of wine and roses.

Hand cut floral arrangements, plucked apart
Then tossed asunder, a petals trail to silken sheets
Of pleasure, sorrow’s bedding is lined with feathers
Down, angel wings tender sheathing to protect the
Wounded child of innocence, curled inside perfection’s
Illusionary dream, evolving into a flowering silhouette of
Womanhood.
In shad’s refection of repose, she weeps thus diamond
Tears that float away amongst the Lilley thorns, within the
Rippling pool of the timeless,
Oh those were the farewells for-get-me-knots,
To those days of wine and roses.

Valentines shaped boxes shredded into confections confetti,
Thrown into the air of clarity at the ticker tape parade
Of the broken heartbeat, as it explodes into a zillion pieces,
Tissues spent candy wrappers used to wipe away, moistures
Sorrows of regrets folly, thus the tender reed bends into
The winds of emotion,
Behold the tokens price of loves devotion,
Back in the days of wine and roses.

Vintage bouquets of elegance, tarnished with age,
Yet still retaining lusters shine of everlasting beauty,
The faithful clinging to the shadows of the past,
Hopes dreaming romantic, waltzing in rheum with
Memories of illusion, showered by petals of color,
From those days of wine and roses.

Flickering in the night, a melting’s texture of regrets afterglow,
Candlelight’s waxed drippings staining the white laced table cloth,
Yet in the black and white photo album of the timeless, it is a
Pressed flower of remembrance, never to be forgotten,
In the days of wine and roses.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUN




Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

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Orange Crush, the adventures of Soda Pop V

If you have not read my earlier ones, please check out the first in the series and see if you like the story. It will help this make more sense.

Ricky slowly sauntered up the stairs, as you know most little boys don't like going to bed. When Ricky got to his room I noticed the Bunk Bed against the wall and a dresser  on an adjacent wall. Why I knew what these things were is beyond me, perhaps it is a part of hearing Ricky's mind. Ricky walked over to the window and placed me on the sill. This was great because it was a clear night and I could see the twinkling stars in the black velvet sky. The street itself was dark except for a few lights in other windows and an occasional car driving by.

I turned my attention to the room, Ricky's brother Roy climbed a ladder to the top bunk and Ricky got into the lower bunk. I could tell Ricky was scared about what was under the bed. I have to admit I felt much safer being over here on the window sill. If it had not been for the giant stuffed St. Bernard that he took to bed with him, who knows what those monsters might have done to him. His companion's name was Bully and I could tell they had been friends a long time. As Ricky was begining to sleep I felt this falling sensation and he jerked awake. I can't express how that scared me, I thought I was falling and that would not be good, after all I am made of glass. Thankfully a few minutes later Ricky was fast asleep and I drifted along with him. It had been a very good day. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

If you are enjoying this tale let me know and I will continue on with it. Thanks for reading it.


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

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Haunted Orb

Luna's specter glows
   Gazing at her reflection
In the black night sea







Inspired by Raul's "Reflections" contest


Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2009

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Angels

An Angel

Lonesome in the black of night, I think of you, an angel,
there in a river of moonlight. Oh, to view an angel!

A cameo against the dark, face seen just in profile,
its texture gossamer; I'd gasp, then pursue an angel.

Would you come If I hung in the balance of life and death?
Come to me like those of whom there are so few, an angel!

I dream of you; a shelter you would be, to take me in.
You alone could lift me, dispel my gloom, you, an angel.

Here I am, mere Earth Girl, rooted by rationality,
longing for one glimpse of what I never knew - an angel.


April 18, 2010


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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Hear

Behind the black olives redianted*
the moon this night
is handing over a bloomed sign.
Why are you going to bed alone
in colorful bed sheets?
Hear! In Syracusae troubadours are singing
in one love,
about that while you burn into,
you burn endlessly.
But you are falling asleep.
A domestic bird, hidden
behind curtains of brocade
and pressed her lips on a golden spider.

A homeless night in the black olives
and a sound of our Beyond.

* ? neologism created by the author expressing that something is shined on by radiance


Copyright © Bozhidar Pangelov | Year Posted 2014

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Belva Berry 1889-1905

Belva Berry

1889 - 1905         


I truly never asked to be born.
I truly never wanted any of this.
But what choice did I have?
What choice does any one of us have?
With our first breath
We begin our long slow descent into the darkness.
With our last breath
We end this long steady slide 
From nothing to nothing
From dust to dust.
I was the girl who lived in the corner house
Over on Newlin and Broadway streets.
I was the shy freckled daughter
Of Lunetta and James Berry.
And I was the unknown silent witness
To the crushing tragic tumble
Of my secret esoteric friend, Elvin.
Elvin Allen.
Elvin and me walked hand in hand
To the eastern hills that day.
Elvin and me stared into each other’s eyes and smiled that day.
And Elvin and me dared to dance on the sweet oily dirt that day.
There in the midst of the black fields,
The land of the black oil machines
That rise high like chess pieces
The Bishops of industry and money!
We kissed that day
And it was our first kiss.
And then, he climbed up the ladder there.
I saw him fall,
Fall like a falcon from the heavens.
And I knew he was gone.
Please forgive me God for running away.
Please forgive me God for never telling anyone
Of the first kiss, our kiss,
That long ago day in the black fields
In the eastern hills
Of this Quaker town.                    


Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2015

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Famous Last Line

When He Kissed Me   (Original Poem)

What a good night kiss! I think I've fallen in love.

Each time you take my hand and pull me close to you, 
there's a trembling in my heart. I hope you feel it, too. 
Something in me responded to the warmth of that kiss.
So gentle; I felt like a flower caressed by morning mist. 

The touch of your lips on mine. Oh, the memory lingers. 
Love the way you hold my hand and entwine our fingers. 
It must be love! I want to sing words of passion's song. 
Stay wrapped in your arms and dance all night long. 

My dream tonight will be so sweet, for I will be with you. 
And by the time night is over and the sky has turned blue, 
I will have confessed my love with each whispered breath. 
A love to pale the brightest diamond; to last beyond death.
 
If love is meant to be, meet me in the black velvet sky. 
Close your eyes, take my hand, and away we will fly 
through the light of golden stars and silver moonbeams. 
Good night, Darling. I love you. I'll see you in my dream. 
              ..............................................

His Kisses Still Make Me Tremble   (Revisited)

"Good night, Darling. I love you. I'll see you in my dream."
Years ago I said those words; you still make my eyes gleam.
They sparkle with love for you that grows deeper every day.
No longer must I dream of you. You're in my arms to stay.

Each time you kiss me now I'm reminded of our first.
When you gently touch my lips you quench my thirst.
There's still a trembling in my heart when I look at you
from a bud in my dream, our love blossomed and grew.

I'm no longer alone when the morning sun begins to shine.
Waking next to you makes me grateful that you're mine.
I whisper in soft breath, "Good morning to you, my love,"
then we sing passion's song as tenderly as cooing doves.

That we were meant to be together, I knew from our first kiss,
and when we've both grown old, I will smile when I reminisce
about the sweet moment I found a love that will never die.
Darling, we will always soar together in the black velvet sky.


...............................................................................
 2.29.2016   <>  Famous Last Line Contest by Laura Loo


Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016

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Battle Of Evermore

When I was just a wee young thing 
I was taught life's lesson well    
Ere instead of childhood revelry 
mine would be a children's hell    
    
As a child I'd learned in life 
you choose to live or choose to die    
That for some are chosen happiness 
And for the rest to reason why    
    
I could weep and moan at life so cruel 
or lament in deep despair    
Would it help me if I wring my hands 
while pulling out my hair?    
    
Would it put me in a better place  
if I took it lying down?    
Nay, I think I would be just as dead 
if in self pity I did drown    
    
So I did, I think, the only thing my childish mind could do    
With the power of imagination  and a fantasy or two    
    
I did don a suit of honor,
I did guard o'er children's door    
And like any worthwhile soldier  
I would battle evermore    
    
While most children softly slumber
dreaming dreams that hold no fright    
As the children's chosen warrior
who had taken up their plight    
    
I did lay awake and listen 
in the darkness through the door      
For the sneaking sound his bare feet made 
down hall on linoleum floor    
    
As I pray to a god who was not there 
to help my battle plans go right    
Twas I alone in the dark with my Ball and Jax 
who would be waging war this night    
    
With my hands I stifled giggles 
my mind envisioning in the black    
Of the pain, glorious pain, to befall his feet 
as he stumbled on my Jax    
    
I laughed as I lay there pondering 
if the makers of this children's game    
had ever dreamed that their tiny Ball and Jax 
would one night save four girls from shame    
    
HUSH! I hear him coming!  
I have caught him unaware    
As his feet crossed o'er the battle lines 
I swear his scream could curl your hair    
    
I laughed till I cried, as he hopped while he tried    
to get away from my midnight attack    
Under the unscrewed hall light, he stood cursing the child      
who had left out her Jax in the night    
    
The beating was worth all the joy and the mirth    
that his dance down the hall gave that night    
    
After winning round one, I vowed I would fight on    
Evermore as a soldier, FIGHT ON.    
    
    
I'd decided as a very young child of abuse, that I would never go down without a fight.    
I spent my entire childhood and teenage years in a silent battle with my father.    
    
A battle never spoken of, but a battle none the less.


Copyright © shaunda lindsay | Year Posted 2016

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A Meeting of Minds

In the silence
 of this crystal night
 shimmering,
 entombed in light,
 we'll tippy toe on the stars 

Moving in a universe
 the tips of our fingers
 write poems in stardust
 as we shift
 the dust of time
 being graced in part,
 a poets Valhalla

Fishing in the black holes
 pulling the next dimension
 through, meeting minds
 from the center of the think
 they ripple with the solar winds
 ghosts of the eternal flame 

Lavender light shaves the moon
 sheets of light trickle in mirrors
 imagination is reborn
 again
 and again


Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2014

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Barefoot

Barefoot

Off to school and then go barefoot,
in the 50s running wild,
Elvis was singing blue suede shoes,
Used to listen all the time.

Bare foot out a playing football,
kicking, stinging poor old foot.
Bindi’s, Goatheads , sometimes stinging,
Ignore the pain an counter, boot.

Bare foot rolling in the black mud.
Parents couldn’t tell to call ,
were we black or whiter  kids. 
Mud covered as it did,
mud covered us all.


Francines' Barefoot


Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

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the art of persuasion.

She and the handsome gentleman finalized the contract, and he gently placed 
the antique pearl necklace into the palm of her tiny hand.  As he walked away,
she fantasized about making love with him, for he possessed both charm and 
exceptional good looks; he certainly was enchanting...thick, black wavy hair,grey-
green eyes...tall...muscular ~ oh, those muscles...all over his tanned body...head
to toe.

But she wondered about that limp as he walked away, depending on a heavy 
metal 
staff
for 
balance...

after all, an eternity of beauty and power in exchange for 
one
pathetic
soul.

The evening of the deed was a frigid six degrees, and there was a dead smell of
the sun.  She stayed late after work, waiting anxiously until everyone had gone.
Finally, he was alone in his office, so she placed the pearl necklace around her
fragile neck and unbuttoned her red, silk blouse so to reveal her sexy red
camisole.

She entered the office, and gently leaned over him from behind; he was aroused
by the scent of her "Red Door" cologne...his favorite, and his senses were even
more heightened as he turned around and observed her erect breasts speaking
in a language only he understood.  With his large hands, he slowly explored her
thighs, making his way up her black skirt.

"You have beautiful legs."
"You think so, huh?"

They kissed, and the necklace brushed his chest; he didn't feel well, at all.  He 
was hot...so hot, and his body began its metamorphosis, retaining a grayish
tinge....then blackish...

He
burst
into
flames;

then, disappeared along with all omens of the deed.

She walked over to the black wrought iron mirror and smiled; her wrinkles were
gone...vanished...just as promised; she was ten years younger.

The windows began sweating, and the handsome stranger appeared.

"I have one more assignment for you."
"But we made a deal, one soul."

She began to feel peculiar, and as she viewed herself in the black mirror, she 
began aging...ten years...twenty...thirty...she pulled out a large clump of thin, white
hair.

The room darkened from his moonly mind.



"My dear, the other soul...is yours."



Copyright © Tamiviolet Manchas | Year Posted 2007

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Rainbow Colored Camouflage

She rides on a carousel of madness
wearing rainbow colored camouflage
leaving a trail of fairy dust fantasies
in her wake. 

Like a twinkling, loopy star, she winks
knowingly, nodding to her
adoring audience, as she goes
up and down
up and down.

A brightly painted peacock
with graying hair and eyes
she sways blissfully to an
unheard tune, clutching a 
bouquet of plastic flowers.

She lives within a movie
of technicolor dreams
stuck in the black and white
world of reality.




Written on 3/9/2017


Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2017

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We Have A Problem


Communication has gotten erratic,
there's a lot of outside interference
Aluminum yawning creates constant static
I can't hear you ... can you hear me?
Stonewalls separate us,
frequent bathroom stalls
breaks the mood, flushes the trust
How did this happen to us?
I'd be the first to admit, we have a problem
Calling Houston, code red: Alpha, delta, sand, fox
Our love has become stale,
left unattended for too long in the marital breadbox
Inaction is squeezing the life out of us
Anaconda divorce sounds fatal
Alpha, delta, sand, fox ---
Our marriage is falling at terminal velocity,
time is speeding up on the self-destruct clock
We have a serious problem, dear
Do you hear me talking, tell me you can hear
We have us a critical problem,
and we both need to try and figure it out,
time is ticking down on the self-destruct clock
We have a big problem here
Calling Houston, code red:
Alpha, delta, sand, fox
Anaconda divorce sounds fatal
Alpha, delta, sand, fox
We're headed for a crash landing
Calling Houston, code red: 
Alpha, delta, sand, fox
This marriage is almost dead
Alpha, delta, sand, fox
Unless we find the missing answers in the black box


Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

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Caught In The Black Rain

She's caught in the black rain, emotions are swimming in darkness, as the
 acid rain impairs her vision; within the depth her soul she's unable to find goodness.

The falling black rain has her mind in a state of confusion, murder is no longer
 an ill illusion, actions has drawn it's fatal conclusion.

Upon her the black rain fell bringing misery with pain, living life in vain, constantly
 seeing loss with no gain, and her mental health is far from being sane.

Few have already seen the devastating effects of falling black rain, it's aftermath
 makes the sanest go insane, and those who survive the storm their lives will
  never go back to being simple nor plain.

Falling black rain is a storm formed from mental pain, financial strain, loss with
 no gain, and living life in vain.

Though, in my theory of goodness lies this conclusion," Things that we see as 
 being favorable unto living life is nothing more than our ill illusions," and there-
   fore it's causing us an in-depth state of confusion.


Copyright © Margaret Johnson | Year Posted 2008

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The Center's Footsteps

Thoust message rings,
But it is a wretched beauty.
Sew up thine tongue;
It forks in many directions,
Ensnaring, passing through the centers,
Weaving a thread gleaming, deceivingly white,
Yet drenched in the black goo,
The sticky gobs of our source, our blood.
Cast aside thine needle,
Let time make it blunt.
Wallow in thine sorrow,
But only for a moment.
Up, up with you!
The sticky gobs cannot protect thee.
See me, Hear me.
For I see thee...
Thou hast split thine tongue
To hide, to forget.
Thine forked words, black to all, clear to me.
Go on, go ahead,
Walk through its enveloping black.
And when you cannot run,
Crawl.
And when you can’t do that anymore, 
Find someone to carry you.
Thou art strong!
Let thine center give you new feet!
Yet,
If even thine center falls weary,
I shalt be thine legs.
I shalt carry you, my friend.


Copyright © Lauren Johnson | Year Posted 2013