A lost guardian angel, sitting on the edge of everything
I push my shopping cart along the cracks of destiny
My house sits on the corner of every mission street
My tin coffee cup feeds on caring heartbeats
My possession is the icon of war, six missing buttons
Navy and white my grandfathers 70-yr-old military tunic.
My Jacket- My blanket
My Jacket from which I am inseparable
My Jacket - represents the mobility of life
This Jacket is my home.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.
I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.
I needed it.
Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.
And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.
Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!
But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.
Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.
“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.
As she held me,
with puppy love warmth.
Even the rainbows fell to its knees.
She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.
But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.
It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!
As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.
My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.
“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.
Boys will fear her.
And I couldn’t be more proud.
After two moments of silence,
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.
“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.
10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”
I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.
And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”
But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.
For it was my inner child,
© Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011
DEDICATED TO EVERY PERSON WHO QUESTIONED THEIR SELF WORTH BECAUSE SOMEONE THEY LOVED LEFT THEM
Love grabbed me by the throat with both hands
Choked away the doubt and hatred of broken bands
Kicked me in the gut and flung me to the floor
Stripped my ego and jolted my awareness at its core
Cleared the cobwebs that once clouded my vision
with strokes of a master nature painted my mission
An oil based one of a kind classic
My life written like a movie an epic
Love lives in me again
like a revelation amen
Beauty, glows from every centimeter that is me
hope hip hops in every stride as I walk briskly
Music walks to my beat now I hear it everywhere
and the bluest of skies high fives me bare
A new love found
a trust abound.
for the first time in since I don’t know when
my senses breathe the fresh view of now and then
Blessed by the mother of all that lives
Nature smiles on a union that always gives
I love what I see
Finally I love me!
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
I fell asleep one dreary day
I lost my will, I lost my way
I ran from all I ever knew
And feared the call I was supposed to pursue.
I drank from wells set on fire
And filled my voids with unholy desires.
I dressed the part to play the role
And slowly began to lose my soul.
But, when your down and
And you finally have nowhere else to go
The only way to rise again
Is from the power of an eternal friend.
Many leave when you’re at your worst
When your hearts so heavy, it’s about to burst
Many claim so many titles
Their efforts are futile and their time is idle
Their promises bleed through the incisions
For they can’t possibly understand the mission.
Battles have been the hardest at times
And memories have played with my mind
But, I keep marching like any good solider would
Even though most of the time I am misunderstood.
I keep on fighting the forces and the fears,
Knowing one day he will wipe away every tear.
I keep on giving it my best even when it’s not enough
For only one holds my heart when the waves get too rough.
I keep on believing that one magnificent day
I will see true glory wash away my yesterdays
I keep on believing that one marvelous day,
I will see the gates of my destiny enrapture my today.
By: Sabina Nicole
Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2016
You are the light of my world my precious son
filled my days with happiness and fun.
Always smiling, never blue
how quickly you grew.
shine so bright.
Strive in all you do
now, and for your whole life through.
Spread your wings and fly; my job is done.
You are the light of my world my precious son
Contest – An Invented Form – Andrea Dietrich
syllables checked 11,9,7,5,3,1,3,5,7,9,11
name of new form - mission almost impossible!
Entered in any poem written in 2015 contest sponsored by Laura Loo
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
“I am certain that I have been here as I am now a thousand times before and
I hope to return a thousand times after.” GOETHE
Once upon a time,
The Lord of spiritual consciousness was sitting peacefully on His blissful throne
Ceaselessly contemplating upon His equilibrium
T’ was the era of no moon, no sun, no stars, no earth, no oceans, no rivers
Just a motionless, timeless and deathless entity it was happy with His existence
Suddenly the thought of sacred motion was felt deep down in his essence
Seeking the chaos to be stirred from its core outwardly
Consequently separating the light from the darkness and all the other elements
That constitute the Cosmos
Thus giving birth immediately to old mighty time
When Time: This wizard of celestial art found himself alive
His expert hands stretched in advance, wanting to create
For that the plastic energy he took, that was everywhere around
And skillfully and patiently the Cosmos carved according to the Logos
Creating thus, the nebulae, the galaxies, the stars and all the other planets
Then God looked at times creation and marveled with its beauty
But as there was no life to be seen in all of this creation
The thought of desire was born in God to inhabit every place
For that out of himself he cut myriads blazing souls
Which like shooting stars he sent downwards to animate nature,
In this way, to manifestation’s cosmic sphere, the souls were beamed
Radiating their luminosity to reality’s lower planes
Bringing with them the sacred principles to denser forms of life
As they were passing from the spiritual, the mental and the astral
And finally materializing, themselves on the physical solid plane
Where life began on earth, with God’s will and grace!
Each soul an ambassador was and is of God’s will and grace
A ray of divinity, a guardian of the Holy Law
Each with a specific mission: to learn or rather to remember
How to find the way of return throughout space and time
And with the divine, again, to be seen in perfect equilibrium
The day I was born, as every man alive,
I found my immortal self bound to the wheel of time
That around eternity’s circumference took me, in very heavy chains
Asking to follow obediently the unswerving path of fate:
This endless trip of return where the only constant thing is change
Since then I have died once and many times after
But death's dark palaces to hold me were unable
As my soul’s perpetual desire to follow my destiny
Brought me back to this ephemeral world of fleeting dreams
With a new body, new hopes, new goals but always with the
Thus I journeyed back and forth the plains of oblivion
Choosing the best conditions I could, according to my karma
Trying to find endlessly the golden middle way
That unmistakably between the extremes is only to be found
But since from the river of forgetfulness each time I was drinking
I was obliged, unfortunately, to start over again
So, I was born once a king and another was I born a beggar
And in turns I was born a coward, a hero, a holy man, a vicious man,
A Christian, a Muslim, an atheist, an idolater a strong man and a woman
And healthy and sick I was born and intelligent and witless
And was I born to love so much the things I once detested
And to hate passionately the things I once held dear
And I was born once to laugh and another just to cry
And I drunk successively from joy’s cup and that of sorrow’s
And was born to make friends out of my enemies
And enemies out of my brothers
And was born to realize the impossible dreams and fail the very easy
And I was born to slay and to be slain alternatively for thousands of years
Thus I lived continuously the extremes of both good and evil
Striving to find endlessly the balance in my soul
Through the wisdom that was endowed upon me by the Great Spirit
That like a beacon, luminous, to guide me waits
To my supreme destiny that GOD for me has traced
So, as was passing from life unto death, from darkness unto light
With a speed determined by me, I don’t put on GOD the blame,
All my lessons have I learned through trial and error
Up to the very last reincarnation, in body’s mortal temple
Now free, AT LAST, from all earthly desires and every karmic blame
Radiating with holiness and glowing with grace
My immortal soul, HER divine wings unfolds and soars upwards the heavens
White light blazing in perfect equilibrium
And pure now to her glorious creator returns and with
11 DECEMBER 2013
“A little while and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind and another woman shall bear me”
* This poem because of its length I was unable to post it in one piece for I was not a
member for life at that time therefore I published it in two parts as: “CREATION” and as “REINCARNATION.” Here is the entire poem as it was originally written.
Now, my friends know that apart from my epigrams I write... long poems as well!
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013
If I had those pretentious brains which act faster than this heart
maybe then I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse
maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words
maybe then I would scrutinize my each and every coma,dot and exclamationmark!
But I would never let that happen,I'd rather go away.
Writing with my mind and not my heart leads only to asylum within the being of myself.
Poetry is my voice,my life,my escape,my each emotion stored,processed in a yesterday
breathing softly in fresh air,wanting to explode in death, love,passion and romance.
Each verse, a thought I'm able to scribe of yet unable to express through spoken words.
Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by ,tread your footstep on my verse
but maybe in a today,a broken-hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world
Maybe a prisoner, an insane man,a tramp ,or any outcast to society
would pick these shattered pieces and gather them as whole
and maybe through this scribbled cross-word puzzle finds God'love once again.
Maybe a little child who understands only little words
would turn the pages of silly rhymes i penned
rhymes which speak of moon and stars,angels,dreams and faries
and maybe He would smile, maybe He would laugh
Maybe he would dream ,the way i used to dream
and maybe He would write the most eloquent sonnet
or maybe just simple words about blossoming flowers
And maybe then,my mission is accomplished,and maybe I feel blessed.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2012
it began so innocently
we exchanged ideas on poetry
his art, the suffering he endured
he preyed upon my compassion
as he meticulously bided his time...
i felt safe as we expressed
our mutual love of words
i was excited, i was learning,
unbeknowst to me, i was his prey..
many months and thousands of hours,
talking, reaffirmed my trust; faith in him
he shared his life, triumps & tragedies
i supported all he desired for himself..
i understood, i felt his pain,
his drive i admired, he overcame tremedous odds,
became a doctor so others would not suffer as he had;
he baited me; the innocent and naieve one.
living life with no regret,
i chose to take a leap of faith,
he guided me, alleviated my fears,
of promises to cherish and adore me..
as a tiger waits patiently to pounce on his prey
i was oblivious to his hatred inside,
he was a master of manipulation
his mission - to destroy me..
i felt he was worth giving
up all i knew to build a life
he so lovingly described to me,
little did i know, his words - poison..
america bound i left everything i knew; i loved.
the terror of his drunken rages, his icy silence,
the cruelty of his words stung like red hot coals.
what he admired most about me,intensified his hatred.
the vacancy in his eyes was terrifying,
i was alone in a strange country,
knowing no one, in a house, not a home,
full of tension, rage, abuse; numb and in shock;
this was my reality..
with each painstaking day of living in terror
dreading his arrival, my fear reached new heights;
i had enough; i was leaving.
his rage increased, his words pure venom..
i was numb, shaking, fear drove me to action
he became desperate, i did not sleep
for fear of never waking, his actions so terrifying
i felt a strength within, empowering me..
planning my escape, fear became my ally,
i reached the airport and did not stop shaking
until safely on the plane, doors shut,
moving down the runway to take-off;
i wept, i crumbled, i collapsed.
jubilantly at home, i felt peace, safe,
and soaked in the beauty of my freedom; my home.
it has been six weeks; i have flashbacks,
terror still haunts me; i am determined
to not let another change me.
i am healing and am grateful for every
moment i smile, smell a flower, witness
the marvel of each sunrise and sunset.
i am a blessed girl.
~this was me~
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2007
On the south-western side of the old mission school,
on the corner of 1st, where the blackberries grew
a field claimed by children, was crosshatched with tracks
It was riddled by gophers and, nettled with foxtails
and youthful bare feet had constructed thin trails,
cupping deep paths that were littered with smiles,
deep in the amber of weeds and tall grass.
It wasn't far beyond a patched wire fence
that hemmed my Grandmother's russet old house.
Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed,
while seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes,
would race with the tumbleweeds, tossed into rows
like last winter's snowmen, worn to the bone
There were traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose
from Grandma's old arbor, that loomed in the distance
A rusty old weathervane, cruised 'round, and 'round
The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy old hound
would snooze by the clothesline, in shade he had found
But, deep in the field, was a land of our own
A place we called 'Neverland', a loft in the wind
In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad
was a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed.
And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands
While my brother's brewed brainstorms, and his black plastic hook,
assigned him the Captain, while I was the crew
of a ramshackle galleon, brought to life from our books
While I dangled in air, from a tired old swing
"Tinker", my name...in this masculine game..
I would push off, while he pulled me, right up to the sky
and into the branches, with leaves in my eyes......
I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky
I would grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........
for he was much older, much wiser than me
I would play like a tomboy,.....shove doll-drums away
Such sweet summer days,......while bright splintered rays
of hot summer sun, would spotlight our play.
We would stay until twilight, to watch the sun die
Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity
Tootsie Pops clung to the tip of our tongues
while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes
and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
We are the Children
Bombs fall from the sky
The little children wonder why?
The night is mixed with blood and tears
Screams that deafen the little ones ears
In the name of what God or religion?
Is this killing seen to serve a mission?
In the name of what Tribe or Country?
We the children ask you humbly
We used to play and run all day
Now we hide fearing bombs come our way
The days we wander in search of foods
Hiding from soldiers intent on blood feuds
Bombs still falling from the sky
The pain and terror, when shall we die?
There is a gun on top a dead soldier there
I myself ended this pain that I could not bear
The bullet saved me from more despair
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Prometheus had erred and caused great ire
when stealing in stealth secrets of fire.
But Zeus could not forgive this deed.
The chieftain of gods punished his greed.
The lightning zigzagged across the sky,
in anger he let thunderbolts fly.
Instructions he gave to mould from earth
a woman endowed to prove her worth,
all humans to touch their lives and shift
the balance with her seductive gift.
Hephaestus was told what to create;
Pandora came forth through heaven’s gate.
Athena supplied her silver gown,
her head she adorned with ornate crown.
She hastened to guile the human race
her nature refined to tempt by grace
alluring deceit that knew no shame
her mission withstood distrust or blame.
Pandora’s torment flowed wide and far.
She carried with her an earthen jar.
Instructions were laid to be obeyed
to keep it enclosed and so it stayed
till yearning became hard to resist
temptation knew well how to insist.
Alone by herself beside a brook
she lifted the lid, a glancing look
that opened the flood to evil force
unhindered it spread and took its course.
She panicked and pushed with all her might;
the damage was done – eternal plight.
A trickle of hope was left inside
but hardly enough to turn the tide.
When laws are defied they cause much grief;
the pleasure derived is false and brief.
Temptation is what destroys the weak;
redemption is there for all to seek.
Forever in life it’s hard to cope.
Pandora we chase in search of hope.*
* Pandora is chased for the only thing left in her jar – hope.
Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Men Only #2
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
Break the silence with a scream...they're coming...
and nothing can stop them now...oh God...
how did you allow this to happen?
So many had stayed for you, prayed to you...
how do you justify their destruction?
Innocent weeping creeping into the wind
brushed against the leaves and echoed back again.
And then...the agonizing yelps for help...
stretching far and wide, no one can hide
from the tainted air...it is everywhere now.
Tongues tasting the toxicity...hard to breathe
even plants curl inside themselves in disgusted misery.
Recon planes fly over head witnessing many dead.
Suffering arms wave in submission,
No one stops...it's not their mission.
The boot that stomps the ants...that is all they are.
Victims scar and they earn a star.
How could they think it is justified
when millions of civilians brutally died.
Atomic ashes in the dirt never let the soil heal,
and the ghosts walk the streets never able to feel.
we damage ourselves when we damage each other.
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2016
Ghosts of the Sun Dance
1. The Path
A quest dating back through our history
Surpassing the flesh, a spiritual path
Human endurance, road to mystery
Dark trail winding through the gardens of wrath
It echoes through me, this deep ambition
Half century of miles, lifetime compressed
Much more than a race, a sacred mission
With light of hardship I hope to be blessed
To outsiders, an act of madness pure
What motivations could compel this feat?
Past limits of human strength to endure
Pushing the body well beyond defeat
Mind and sinews outlasting the firestorm
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
2. Sun Dance
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
Once, Plains Indians embraced the Sun Dance
Sacred solstice ritual to perform
Life’s rebirth to the sound of drums and chants
Young braves fasting in their preparation
A stout pole connects the lodge to the sun
Days of reveling unite the nation
Dancers’ exhaustion, they seek to outrun
Animal spirits drawn in by the rhythm
Forked tree with bison’s skull, hooks in their chest
Buffalo, bringer of potent vision
Delirious dancers complete their quest
The Spirit Quest resounds through history
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
3.To Endure and Transcend
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
Japan's “Marathon Monks” of Mount Hiei
The key to their spirit quest victory
To walk a Marathon one hundred straight days
Famed spiritual leader Sri Chinmoy
Believed hearts and spirits could be mended
Through self-transcendence, and he did enjoy
Countless long quests before his time ended
Chinmoy’s best, a fifty day epic quest
A journey thirty-one hundred miles long
Few are those who have ever passed this test
His famous Self-Transcendence Marathon
Darkest night, the gateway to a new morn,
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn
4. The Spirit Is Willing
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn
Deepest pain kindling the soul’s ignition
Follow the path supplicants’ feet have worn
Transformation’s crux, soul transition
Our defenses and walls cannot let in
Sacred blessings of the gods and spirits
Impenetrable, much to your chagrin
They cannot touch your heart if you fear it
Mortification, a tribulation
Humble display of the supplicant’s worth
A spiritual emancipation,
Pain always accompanies any birth
These transitions in few modern nations
Our world, rare rites of initiation
5. The Fall
Our world, rare rites of initiation
Deconstructed, traditions have been burned
Soulless life breeds infantilization
Perpetuating the puer eterne
To make our lives easier is progress,
Yet soft life an inadequate mantle
We can also suffer when life lacks stress
True transformation is never gentle
Safety, the goal of civilization
Eliminate risk, its increasing role
Safety’s bitter fruit is stagnation
Comfort cannot forge a resilient soul
Building true human vitality starts
With substance to satisfy questing hearts
With substance to satisfy questing hearts
We dream to build greatness from the humble
Miseducation, meaninglessness start
Intrepid young souls questing for trouble
Drawn to drugs and gangs, tobacco and booze
No deep satisfaction do they contain
Oft mistaken for paying adult dues
But lead instead to spiritual chains
Youthful misadventures, trouble and blues
Sterile environment will generate
Tribal belonging they mark with tattoos
Clumsy efforts to self-initiate
Conquered world without initiations
Life’s road of genuine tribulations
7. Warrior’s Quest
Life’s road of genuine tribulations
Awaits our youth, whether they are prepared
Or not, we note with building frustrations
Future leaders, we see grow up impaired
The warrior within’s heartfelt yearning
A righteous cause in which to do battle
Meanwhile, the subway turnstiles are turning
Young champions doing time as cattle
Quests can be found for the searching young soul
Alas, the focus of education
Not on the development of the whole
But fashioning subjects of this nation
The challenge of living with one’s whole heart
Yielding to those who have mastered the art
Copyright by Author
For contest: Heroic Crown of Sonnets
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Syllables confirmed by howmanysyllables.com
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
~Woody Wood From the Hood~
Deep, inside yourself, you walk a sour way of life,
Carving my name, on every tree with a hunting knife
You log in, then log out
A Birdman So Fickle, he Stinks of doubt!
Blind today, bald tomorrow,
Big Bird, will be your only friend
I can't seem to forget the day, you shed your final skin
Revealing a darker snake, than the one in my garden
Leaving the word betrayal, up to the imagination
Trust not the fool, who thinks his halo is heaven sent
Using a fake ballpoint pen dietary supplement
Thinning out his wings, and losing the symbolic meaning
Aging in a way, that spreads crows feet from top to bottom
Sapsucker revolving yellow as if it was always autumn
Pecking Hard Wood, MR Pecker of all woodpeckers
Forgetting who's the real Home-wrecker
Your dragging pants are no bother, Mr Woodpecker!
I've gotten used to the tree talking and your creative vision
Let's just say, "Gangster to Gangster, I gave you a mission."
Keep rapping and tapping the same old street sign,
Woodstock, on demand, crap out the peanut punch
Whatever suits you for breakfast and lunch
Don't forget dinner's also about me
Peck away with deception, reveal your sullen evil feathers
A disease urine Birdman, doing it snoopy style
A flightless, lightless liar, nothing about him's worthwhile
Keep manipulating the weak, whatever turns you on
I'm not ready to shoot you down with my shotgun
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014
SPEECHLESS SPOKEN WORD ARTISTE
So if my vocal folds can’t collaborate to produce sounds to communicate loudly to your beautiful mind that I have an endless mission of loving you, can’t there be any mere articulation in my vocal tract to do that? What are my tongue, lips, alveolar ridge, hard palate and velum doing? I never knew that emotions could shut my speech tract. How I wish my speech tract could connect to my heart, so that I can give you a cord of love inserted into my heart, for you to put it into your ears and listen to the words my heart says because I am speechless. I had it in my mind to tell you that you are beautiful, eloquent, and charming. When I drew nigh, I decided to start with the word ‘lady’ to show some decorousness. But I realized my lungs couldn’t even initiate the airstream for my glottis to either widen or narrow to cause my vocal tract to produce the voiceless and voiced sounds in the two syllable word, let alone the nine. Should I comply with those who say action speaks louder than words, so that I can gesture for you to get the feelings better? I thought I was one who could speak like a parrot, but I am now slides before you like carrots. But what could make a spoken word artiste speechless apart from the abnormal? OK! Let’s try establishing causality. The moment I saw you, you blinked your eyes, so probably that muted me. So if you could do that again, it may set me free. Don’t wait for me to tell you that you can cause distraction. Don’t go near a podium mounted by a performer, lest, you will cause distraction. Because that image you carry isn’t what you think. Not even a mermaid, more than strange. Please set me free because you are gradually becoming ‘head of Medusa ‘ , rays from your eyes are communicating with mine and making me motionless like lot’s wife is Sodom and Gomorrah. I came out of volition but it is now at your discretion to let me go, so please take off your eyes and set me free.
Tension within me had converted into electrical energy and burnt my speech tract. So what I am going through is beyond dumb. From a distance, I was in haste to meet you, but the moment I set my eyes on you, as though there were a speed rump- I started moving like a tortoise. What broke the camel’s back was when your eyelids became a canon camera and gave me flash, I became static. I wonder why I am speechless. I wonder why I am speechless. Because I am this man who can stand before a lady and produce lyrics more than ‘sarkology’ album, so I wonder why I am speechless. I could make a lady swim deeper in the pool of sweet words, so I wonder why I am speechless. Movement of my negative lips could attract positive ladies, so I wonder why I am speechless. Perhaps we are both negatives, so we repel. How I wish my vocal folds will touch along their edges from my thyroid and open slightly at my arytenoids to create a creaky sound like ‘huuh’ for you at least get the air of love, but none is working. I have thin vocal folds that can produce nice sounds like the lead guitar, so I wonder why I can’t even stammer. My phonetics is not working, let alone deploy my syntax for you to use your morphology in breaking down the words to achieve semantics. How unfortunate it is that my speech tract couldn’t let out the words my mind has been saying since the beginning of this piece.
Copyright © CHRISDAD KOJO ARTHUR | Year Posted 2016
Kirk: ‘Lt. Uhura, come to my quarters at 1800 hours’
Uhura: ‘Yes captain, might I ask what’s up?’
Kirk: ‘Nothing now but something WILL be at 1800 hours’
Bones: ‘Jim, is this a medical issue?’
Kirk: ‘You bet your boner it is, Bones’
Sulu: ‘Captain, a Klingon ship is approaching’
Kirk: ‘Blast that sucker to smithereens, I got a date’
Chekov: ‘Captain, you’ll need protection on this mission’
Kirk: No problem Ensign, got a few here in my wallet’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘May the force be with you’
Kirk:’ Thanks Obi, but you’re in the wrong contest’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘This isn’t PD’s contest?’
Kirk: ‘HELL no, now SKAT will probably disqualify us’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘Well, may the force be with you anyway’
Kirk: ‘Look Kenobi, nobody’s forcing ANYBODY here’
Spock: ‘Captain, I’m receiving a message from SKATfleet Command’
Kirk: ‘What Mr. Spock? And why do you always talk like that?’
Spock: ‘To qualify for the contest, the writer has to command the ship’
Kirk: ‘Damn it all! What the…FRONT AND CENTER WRITER!’
Writer: ‘Um…All hands on deck?...Anchors away?’
Uhura: ‘Ohh Captain KIRRK, it’s 1800 hours’…
Kirk: ‘Not now Uhura, I’m not in the mood!’
Uhura: Ohh Captain WRITERRR, it’s 1800 hours’…
Writer: ‘Kirk, you have the helm. I’ll be in my quarters’
Kirk: ‘Shut-up Spock’…
Theme: Sexual harassment in the workplace
For SKAT’s contest
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013
curiously peering over a cloud
Angelica stepped a bit too far
wings fluttered and disappeared
stolen by jealous demons below
angel flying too close to the ground
leaving the harmony of heaven
sensing a need to save a ravaged planet
landing gracefully on soft soil
Angelica hears the bulldozers
weapons of environmental destruction
sauntering through Earth’s rainforests
curiosity beckons as water reflects her image
her lost wings still reflect in the pond
seen as ripples from her pink, silk gown
orchid floral tiara crowns her long auburn hair
even water lilies envy her beauty
captivated by this pool lit with filtered sun
immersed in an image of herself
in God’s light all angels appear the same
bright beams to welcome new souls
fly again she will
bubbles of hope spring forth
Earthbound for but a brief time
cherished cherub sent as nature’s guardian
halo of comfort surrounds
Angelica leans forth to feel the coolness
sparkling water caresses warm lips
her kiss renews Earth’s freshness
other angels transparent in sunlight
bestow a new set of wings
mission accomplished, they escort her home
once again she revels in heaven’s light
For the “Reflection” contest, sponsored by Constance La France ~ a Rambling Poet ~
By Carolyn Devonshire
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
The Medieval era
was filled with wars and strife
between the French and English
at cost of limb and life.
The French became disheartened;
their victories were rare,
a humbling situation
which was too hard to bear.
A peasant girl heard voices
and visions she could see.
A maid who had a mission,
young Joan from Domrémy.
The King and other nobles
put all their faith in her.
This maid of calm composure
had dreams which they could share.
Entrusted with an army
she rode the horse she had
with banner and sword wielding,
in shining armour clad.
The English looked in wonder;
there were bewildered scenes
as Joan and soldiers entered
the city of Orleans.
With rousing words and courage
her men to battle led.
The English were defeated;
in disarray they fled.
More victories then followed,
her fame spread far and wide,
but when the voices ended
she lost the gift to guide.
In battle she was captured,
for sorcery was tried.
Condemned to death by burning
to wooden stake was tied.
The hungry flames devoured
the maid’s unblemished skin.
She called the name of Jesus;
found strength from deep within.
She died. It was all over
this heroine’s ordeal.
She was proclaimed not guilty
years later, on appeal.
A martyr, now respected,
who paid a costly price.
A victim of politics;
a saint in people’s eyes.
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
*Joan of Arc admitted that she never used her sword to kill anyone.
To her, strategy was more important than the sword.
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
"LADY DEATH" ------Chaos!!!
Craving life was all of 'HOPE' desire.
Torturing her into the odyssey of Hells fire.
Ending her in heartbreak by her own insane,
cruel father Matthias.
A demon so obsessed with dark power.
Head demon to all hells devour.
Matthias allowing his beloved 'HOPE' to be burned.
In a hellish death as a witch.
Pleading for her life.
All 'HOPE' is lost,
in a pit of endless broken bones.
The supernatural appeared in front of 'HOPE'.
'HOPE' complied and renounce to give up humanity.
Tricked by demons who lied.
Manipulated that this would save her sanity.
A power bestowed with a creation so rare.
A Demi Goddess of destruction.
Chaos soon will inflict every hour.
With death in her place, she turns into,
a cold blooded Diva of Death.
Reliving in the plague of dark ages.
Angels and Demons flow through her blood.
With contradiction of many stages.
Many evil forces out to end her existence.
Betrayed by all she knew.
Now she is locked in a demonic resistance.
Defeating Lucifer herself.
Blading the neck of the prince
Death lusting for power in an epic battle.
Lost forever in the era of judgment.
Revenge she claims on her throne.
Making Lucifer's power her own.
A forever endless graveyard.
Restoring into the blood of her new home.
Making hell tremble, many slay to death's assault.
Death arising to all her faults.
Declaring the lost of 'HOPE'
A man's worst nightmare in the sweetest form.
Overthrowing her one time dream.
Obsessed with his Lady'''
Rides by her side.
A domino of all killers.
In a blood bath stream.
Killing everyone in his & her path.
Killing for her love, his Lady Death love.
Pondering about her lifeless soul.
"All HOPE is gone!"
all that is left is death.
Lord of hell
On a mission of Mega Death.
To conquer all of earth.
Men killing for her demonic way.
Evil Earnie matching to the depth of her Odyssey.
With the belief.
That behind every good man, (EVIL EARNIE)
is a good women.. (LADY DEATH)
((Lady Death is a character in her own CHAOS ))
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
~JSLambert does not (currently:) use, or encourage hallucinogenic drug use.
Telepathic psilocybin prescription erasing elastic depression. Competition
wanes, just when nocturnal emission drains. Lifted poetic wing clipping. This
party only makes sense to those encrypted with unconsciousness. Scalpel in
hand, methodical break and entering, break dancing meninges remove
portions of brain doin' the bitchin'. Ah, this immaculate incision!
Lucid dreams vacating turnstile vibrations, deteriorating horrific screams
douching eardrums. Ultraviolet eyes fortified by THREES---Mind-Body-Soul,
rolled up into one huge trinity.
I'm moving asses fantastic. Call me the "Proctologist of Poetry".
Electrify words, regurgitate, choke and vomit the crock of crap-ola. Venture
down butter slides until the sky goes red.
Still too uptight to listen? (don't pretend in comments that you read this
entire poem if ya' didn't) glisten, be kind, rewind, let liquid swords chop away
fat weighing upon your forces. Once doors of perception swing eyes wide
open. Devour the false to magnify hate. I love you the same. I love you, never
in vain. Hearing your verse lifts a heavy curse carried in shame.
As a child, I had no fear of apocalypse, or world hunger. No, phobia meant
running out of words to give, to receive, from lips. It haunts me to this day.
Tho' the bliss of poetic language's kiss, soothes the cries. Altruistic sighs! Now
we dance! Dancing Harmony times three equals harmonize! Tour your Third
Eye, yir' Karma-eyes!
To the heads that said, "NO CAN DO!"- We've weaved advice for you. File
illicit deeds away, for in dreams we are connected, Siamese twins, at the
wrist, spellbound paradise! Let go of doubt, negativity= below zero. Work it
out! Crash whiplash angles 'till friggin' rectangles dangle through
kaleidoscopes of style. Poet trees smear the cosmos. Let go! THREE will never
be alone. Bestow the glow, thorazine vapors escape secret tombs where
peroxide cleans wounds. Fusing two Toots in common with Nefertiti. THREES.
Elicit illicit lucid dreams gushing ejaculatory melodic screams. Orgasmic
spasms...vas deferens between actual sacks and Staff of Ra polluted sticky
streams. Peddle the bicycle high, annihilate attrition, like motivated Mormons,
door to door men, on a worldwide mission. I love you, I miss you...witness the
vision...alive in the schism!
*credit A.Horovitz, A.Yauch, M.Diamond, Billy Corgan
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014
I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home. I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.
I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay. Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual. He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being. Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies. He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination. It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.
Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home. Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work. When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims. In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.
Jimmy was not a promiscuous man. He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life. Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man. He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.
When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS. The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.
Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system. Jimmy and Afi
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.
It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away. I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010
Universal elegy grieves and yet embraces shifts of paradigm
New beginnings consciousness initiates comprehends and thus proceeds from
Illusion’s delusion collusions misconceptions in the irritating
Vortex whirlpool immanent void of false containment
Enlightenment modern postmodern retro visionary futuristic aspirations
Resound in dialectical rebirth rejuvenation germinate constructive
Sense meaning reflect serenity’s tentative confidence that the
Agony of climate change greed warfare ignorance destructive apathy
Liberates fusion confusion necessitates Aquarian communication of
Antagonism’s polar opposites contradictions complements
Cycles spheres of influence of grave repression gravitate
Revolve resolve with pushing pulling moons in metaphorical
Orbital mental psychological initiation shape incidences
Synchronicities collateral communal reason feeling responsibility
Transformation of the global madness inhumanity conjoins
Idealism and the darker side’s fallacies of fabrication
Conspiracy of muted spirit silence violation fade away transform to novel script
Communication courses discourses concur in co-operation
Obvious obscurity in the blip of human race’s evolution delimits
Limitations iron cages hopes for new time place of reason beyond
Laissez-faire and hippie psychedelic stream of consciousness afar from
Anarchy self-righteous slavery rebellion mindlessness
Big oppressive bangs big brother’s obliterating over-information with
Onslaught of technology fail and falter when simplicity and esoteric
Rationale comprise enhance encompass the necessary world view shifts
Ascent and ever changing climax revitalizes humanness thus gifts
Truth deriving comprehension from ‘objective’ communal subjectivity with
Intuition insight inclination outside from the rigid boxed conformity
Order may be found again in the chaos of our time of misrepresented bedlam
New Age Aquarius delivers acts upon fresh constellation contemplates the Universe
Celebrating the adventure of Advent this one is written very uniquely.
During this transition Oh, the ubiquity of perception, reception most gratefully
Each new day begins with one’s first thought, amazingly
Though, this thought did not require any forethought, excitingly,
I thought, what if I thought in forethought, demandingly
Boldly I choose, a path of understanding. Then Daringly,
Choosing to forgive myself, then choosing to forgive everyone else. I gratefully
wished upon distant star and my cry did travel far. Vega, amazingly
did answer my call, in a dream from My whispering old cemetery scene . Excitingly
I dashed out of my bed, outside looked to sky, then cried Eternal welcome to Aquarius demandingly.
The Joy of this revelation, thought and manifestation determining one’s destination. So, daringly
I choose to be enlightened by the universal code, which is downloaded to each individual uniquely.
Travel I have far and wide, and gone I have, from high to low. Amazingly
though, I realize know, that I had always been seeking to know. Excitingly
turning each new page, certain and determined to be my own sage. Daringly
I vied, nothing would make me swallow my pride. Demandingly
I had thought, When we get there that all would play fair. Thought I did, uniquely
as most should do. Now, A little Alliteration to say we too are gratefully
The stranger within me does no longer be because know I see. Life does have excitingly
creative individual versatility. Change it does for you, whom call upon it consistent and demandingly.
Remaining keenly observant in search for knowledge and do so daringly.
Questioning what dares seem query logic and reason itself. While never failing to truly uniquely
understand another for having their own uniqueness and being grateful
for be blessed with this, understanding of knowing each individual creation amazingly.
Target destination is fixed after course has been made demandingly.
Each individual soul being has chosen this mission daringly.
Having arrived in this Third dimensional reality to uniquely
instruct in the revolution of Love is a four letter word and do so very thankfully and gratefully
to each and every soul of light that exists. Uplifted into the light I call out amazingly.
Higher Power, The all High and Universal Father of All, whom is the one that is truly exciting.
Inviting all He does whom choosing a star path daringly.
His message has been sent to each and every one of you uniquely
in its own way. We should all give blessing and thanks, while being gratefully
for each and every new amazingly
fantastic and an Emphasis on an excitingly
creative Acrostic man day. After being both commanding humbly and so, demandingly.
Who is excitingly and amazingly, demandingly and
daringly to be uniquely and gratefully Different?
Copyright © Steven Henderson | Year Posted 2016
Suddenly it was alive. It did not know
for how many eons of time it had lain dormant,
nor did it really care. It just knew it existed.
It lay in a small hollow in a dark low cavern
on an unknown world. Its world! It did not dispute life,
nor query how it came to be there. It just belonged.
There was no light, nor did it need any.
It knew instantly and instinctively what it had to do.
It did just that, complete its mission.
It began its long voyage, moving slowly
in the tunnels ahead. It ate the dirt of the ground it moved on,
left behind it a sickly stench and in that slime was its spawn.
So it continued, eat, crawl, stench, spawn;
eat, crawl, stench, spawn,
over and over and over again.
Its purpose was to increase and multiply.
After eons of time, it sensed
that some of its spawn had come alive.
Its stench increased,
A sort of sickly, sweet, fetid-smelling stench.
Its mission was being accomplished.
It was populating the planet it was born on.
Then disaster struck. It fell into a river.
It did not care nor experience any fear.
It simply allowed the sticky liquid to carry it
wherever destiny had foretold.
It knew it was getting old, but never paused.
It felt no elation, nor satisfaction for work done.
It just wanted to be, to travel through the dark corridors
in the sub terrain of the planet it was born on.
It just went on and on and on, never questioning
its purpose, its why and wherefore.
It was oblivious of everything except to crawl,
leave its slime, its stench, and its spore,
to eat the dirt of the tunnels it traversed.
And so in this new place it began all over again.
Increase and multiply. Multiply what?
It did not even have a name. It did not care.
It knew that time might come when it would die.
then it might be told all. Or it maybe not. It did not care.
Time passed. Spores came into being.
Its world was being populated. Yet it knew not what light was.
Until one day, the tunnel opened. And light poured in.
And all those spores that lay unborn came into being.
And from far above, it heard a voice
booming and saying: “That's a terrible incurable cancer.”
Voted POTD on 9 January 2016
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016
I really have outdone myself this time!
My ‘God Machine’ is finally in place!
I’ll never have to fret about a rhyme,
Or stop for a red light that changed from green
As if it sought to put me in my place
A random hiccup clearly quite obscene.
I really am quite clever I must say
My ‘subtle knife’ (1) allowing me to splice
My ‘God Machine’ into time’s tawdry day
The true God left completely unaware
That He is now controlled by my device
And just another victim of malware.
It seems there’s quite a lot that ‘God’ screwed up
That I intend to change now I’m in charge
I think that its bad form to cover-up!
So what’s the deal with dying anyway?
Let no one die will be my countercharge
And life is just a breeze on my freeway!
All pain mere nuisance, manna heaven sent
And sin gives you enormous facial zits
While love and kindness clear up all your rent.
Though talents differ, jealousies dissolve
As differences bring none real benefits
And non-destructive social moves evolve.
All birth defects, parental wealth passé
Genetic weakness gone with dodo bird
No accident of birth gives worth per se
Sins of the parent cannot taint the child
That God might favor one is just absurd
The color of one’s skin no more reviled.
But now I find my plans have gone awry
My God Machine decided I’m a flaw
It seems that I’m outdated samurai
Humanity endangering MY plan
Just plankton in the future’s yawning maw
Machine judged only advocate for man! (2)
November 5, 2014
(1) subtle knife - A reference to a magical knife that can open windows in time in one of the 3 books in the Phillip Pullman trilogy 'His Dark Materials' including The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
(2) My poetic version of the lesson of the book and movie 2001 (written by Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke) where HAL, a computer so smart that it becomes sentient, decides that that only way to really protect a manned mission of a spaceship to the planet Jupiter is to kill all the humans on board the spaceship. The crew's humanity HAL decides is just too big a risk to the mission that HAL is charged (by its human programmers) to protect.
Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014
A fierce wind howls as dark clouds race across the horizon,
and beneath the hood draped over his face the man thinks;
of a vast land with wild clear waters, of streaking sunrises and sunsets,
and woodlands in a thousand glorious shades of greens.
This man from the past has heard her prayers calling him,
past time and destiny and beyond her tears have beckoned;
his mission to find her and together they will dwell in his ancient world,
she has waited for him all her life, never seeing his face.
Yet, she loves him with all her heart and soul, this she knows,
over mountain peaks and rivers wild, through jungles lush, he has come;
now, he stands in the shadows of her room, in the mist of dawn,
her long hair in tangles, her skin so pale, it takes his breath away.
He steps forward and reaches out a hand to touch her falling tears,
and in the moment he fades as if dust in the morning light;
a bird sings in the cool air and her room smells of the forests as she rises,
a soft touch has awakened her, a lover's caress so gentle.
All that day she is haunted with unknown feelings of loneliness,
wandering the garden, she silently walks, lost in dreamy thoughts;
he watches from the foliage, the hood still covers his face, the time soon,
she hesitates, moments pass and he fades in the dappled light.
That night candlelight flickers on the walls of her bedroom,
it casts shadows in the corners, a soft breeze fills the silence;
she sits at her dressing table brushing her hair until it is shining in waves,
suddenly a wind catches the long strands and billows them about.
He stands behind her watching and slowly he removes his hood,
she is not afraid as she stares into the mirror, she has been waiting;
waiting for his man, as he twines his fingers in her hair and whispers,
taking her by the hand to the bed, they finally kiss.
They find her in the morning, she is peaceful and deathly still,
her face pale against the white pillow, her lips lush and purple;
her eyes closed to this world, she looks asleep perhaps about to rise,
dark clouds drift in the sky and thunder rolls in the distance.
Raindrops begin to fall as the casket is lowered into the ground,
the small gathering bow their heads stepping forward to lay a flower;
and although, she had been old, she had been buried in a beautiful gown,
of ivory lace and beads, as she had requested in her Will.
July 21, 2013
Written by Broken Wings
Submitted to the contest, Epic Only, sponsor, Skat
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015