Best Literature Poems

between the plant pots and the trays
the cobwebs had seen better days
and for all the wood and damp and soil
the smell was one of paint and oil 
as flies and wasps lying in state
were curled up past their fly-by-date
and nails and screws and metal hooks
shared...

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Achilles, The Journey To Troy, 
(Part Two) of (Part One-titled, Achilles, His Heart and Soul Were Mortal)

Achilles, The Journey To Troy

Woe! wretched horrors Olympic gods sent that day
mighty king suffered, his treasure stolen away,
power of Troy against very strongest of Grecian might
testing magnificent force of...

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I feel a sense of déjà vu as I listen
to the cacophony of voices:
dilettantes discussing poetry 
under baroque chandeliers. Masquerading 
as avant-garde writers or bona fide critics 
(black turtlenecks; color is an anomaly and suspicious), 
they claim carte blanche to spew 
pompous platitudes,
pronounce entire oeuvres...

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Toddlers' Exploration: 

Cardboard drum and a thunderous beast
With playful roars in tiny fists and feasts.
Fleeting wings glide to dreams just out of reach
Soaring through tales of barnyard Waddles and Squeaks.
Moo! Quack! Giggles tumble and bump.
Flaps flapping, bright colors peek
"Brown Bear, Brown Bear," what do you...

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In the copper-clad cradle of time
where gears whir fugues to forgotten dreams.....
the fog—a somnolent specter—drifts.....
veiling the calculus of progress
a manuscript etched by steam and soot.

Hark The hiss of pistons proclaims
a triumph—or perhaps a dirge—
for we have harnessed Hephaestus’ fire
yet grasped not his wisdom.

Verne's visions chart...

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Achilles, Bloody Battles, Death's Black Hand As Was Fated
Part Three, (the Conclusion)

Dawn, bright rays fell upon Achilles and his band
exiting ship, Greek sandals felt soft Trojan sands
with mighty magnificent Greek pride in courageous hearts
each seeking greater fame they knew would come as battle starts.

Landing all...

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Herstory from Battlefields to Laboratories
-	Daniel Henry Rodgers

Beneath stardust's scattered gleam, 
Her-story, a comet’s tail, blazing across time.

Through seasons it molds
...Once hushed now bold
We rise like a chorus harmonizing 
...In this vast of an eternal fold.

For I am Harriet Tubman
...leading souls unseen.
A beacon blazing hope, through...

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Prelude to what…..

I see you,  /  you / yes, come into my…… 
laboratory of alchemist mystical languaging.
where arsenic spills into the whirlpool of thought 
and savage syntax shatter like glass on concrete.

Where Titans clash their pens
both spear and shield
signifier and signified in eternal...

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At awe by my mothers beautiful mind,
when it came to writing I always felt so blind.

Literature class advised us to write,
for the first time I did not feel bright.

Sneak a poem of my mothers i did,
boy did I feel like a little kid.

Praise my teacher...

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I was enthralled by each panel 
     a world in my grasp.
Comic books whisked me 
     beyond time's clasp.
Starlight's soft shimmer 
     on planets unknown,
Myths spun with heroes
     on...

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The lines
Inside my head
Spinning
Swirling, curling
Round my brain
Somehow
Find the path
Come winding
Down my arm into my hand
And pop upon the
Paper, canvas,
Glass…

I let them flow
They flow so fast
Words, images,
Visions
Take me down roads
And paths to where I have
Never been;

Create worlds
Within worlds
These lines release my pain;
Oh, such peace
These lines contain.
...

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I. The Hour of Approach

The poem I was writing refused to end—  
it kept writing me.  
Blood didn't ink these lines—  
the ink bled me.  
Each stanza a hidden-hematoma  
across the white of nothingness.

Somewhere, midnight faltered,  
and I was...

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I wanted to write
 The best slavery poem   ever written—
Perhaps win a Pulitzer or Faulkner. 

I had every intention of conforming 
To the standards 
Of modern verse and composition, 
Lyrics fluidly written, 
Perfect in frame, tempo and time, 
but a lot of my...

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Salutations to all the poets
That waters my ink,
Those whose words never
Make my heart shrink,
Of you always i ever will think,
Standing alone, i could sink
So i grasped on your knowledge
That is without stink. 
        *=~*~=*
Phyllis Babcock is a raining...

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In the dim-lit alley of the soul's bazaar,
Were jazz and jive spill from ajar,
We tap our feet, snap fingers, under stars,
And speak in verses, raw and without pause.

The city breathes, a living, pulsing beat,
Its heart a drum, its voice a saxophone,
We weave through streets, our...

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