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The Secret of the Mortician
Dead, but I got eyes
Prepares my body at the morgue
Opens the chest
Drains the blood from its nudity
Admires my body before it decays
After The process of embalming
His hands run all over
I'm still dead
He's satisfied
The next day
Writes an outstanding obituary
I sit on display
~SKAT~
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015
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Paris the 13th
Tears, my tears fall to wine
As I can not comprehend this horrendous crime
Men filled with such spiteful hate
Islamic teachings seal their fate
Kill and slaughter love and smiles
How I pray tell does this bring about
Any compassion of heart, have they no guile?
I have walked along those Parisian streets
Filled with history and diversity, such a feat
Hand in hand, people from so many lands
Dressed in darkness, blacks and grays
The massacre dancing in premonitions sway
Crusaders never win, for love will take its stand
Hundreds taken from Jesus hands
For nothing more than celebrating their great lands
Food and drink and lovers smiles
Stolen this night by hateful bile
We shall rise again, defend and stand
Our blood may flow in the river seine
However in the end its you, who is insane
We shall defend our liberty
Even if we hang evil from the tree
Père Lachaise has brought me tears
Such history over all the years
Yet here I am faced to visit once again
Paying respect to those dying in vain
My heart is fraught, with you till eternity
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
Notes: Pere Lachaise is a famous cemetery in Paris
Liberté, égalité, fraternité is the motto of France
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Koorosh the Great, Friend
All of my heart
One tear
Or one Monsoon
No amount, no grandeur
Can express the sorrow
Oh yes, I am sad, I am saddened
I am in sorrow
I am swimming in the darkness
I am missing something
That can not be said in words
Koorosh the great was a prophecy
For only now have we seen
The truth of greatness
Not by Victory, but by kindness
We are blessed to have seen
How simple life can be
Love your life
Your family
Your friends
Bring everyone laughter
Create, envision and dream
Everyone who knows you feels special
Your father taught you well
Kindness that transcended generations
In the end
A humble man
No god could make him bitter
He was as he always was and more
A kind man
Only when you remove a tree from the garden
Do you realize
The tree was the garden
The flowers bloomed for the tree
The people sought shade and comfort
Quietly, I weep
For him
For his family
For life
If all great leaders followed his path
What a beautiful world we would have
He inspired
He smiled
Corey, you are missed
Notes: Dedicated to my friend Corey Fazel who just recently passed away before his time. Corey, you will be missed by many many people. It is you with your friendly pertinence that got me to swim, and that alone has changed my life, I will remember the many evenings and dinners we talked about all things under the sun.
MSA is Multiple System Atrophy, a terrible and debilitating disease that attacks the nervous system. It has many of the symptoms of Parkinson, however from onset one has very few years of life left.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
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Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
as help?
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
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We have a mouse in the house.
Not an average mouse
But rather a mouse with some nous
That trips traps as it goes traipsing through the house.
A mouse whose downfall I am planning
Even while I am jotting.
A foolproof trap I will find,
Before I go out of my mind.
It will be one of a kind,
That will attest to my state of mind.
And show beyond doubt that I have more nous
Than a mouse.
It will send a message to all mouse kind
That it is time to leave this city behind
In case I lose my nous
And sacrifice the house to get rid of a mouse.
Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2016
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Took me the breath of all my life
A soul mate who could consume my heart wither a smile
I found that Gothic girl after dark
A little to late to consummate
I lie in waiting with a dead round smile
Empty eyes and a lot of guile
I found a girlfriend even if late
We lie together
Frigid is our state
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Words For Those With No Voice
For every pair of shoes
All the burnt bones and woes
In the millions, in the mud
All died alone
Starving of food and having lost our souls
Our god abandoned us so
Mother father
Sister brother
Fuel for the Reich, we lay slaughtered
Some of us were saved
By those whose honor made them brave
We must salute them all, the bold and the dead
Even if we have only skeletons to mark their stead
Now that time has passed
There will be contests, it will be a blast
Who wins first? Who wins third?
The holocaust deserves no prize
Why must we die twice, this is absurd?
Honor me with a prayer
A poem
A moment of silence
A heart felt thought about humanity
Prose and verse, to remember the atrocities
This is the honor of men of a higher velocity
Never make a circus of the horrific gas chambers
A contest of who makes the horrors more real or titillating
Its not you the writer or the reader that feels
It’s us gassed and burned and buried with our id numbers
Asleep in the fields in slumber
Yellow stars fading away in silence, in tears
No grave markers to shout out of atrocious fears
The subtly of honor is lost on the crass
Maybe it’s them who should be buried under this grass
Notes:
I realize this is a delicate issue, I wrote this poem only because is of my opinion, that having a contest on such issues unless for specific venues, causes, etc. is somewhat tasteless. There is no right or wrong, this is simply by view or take on things and thus have expressed so via this poem. A contest implies a prize or reward even be it praise, and so to profit from so many peoples suffering, well I have explained why. However that being said, any expression or illustration dedicated to honoring and bringing to the light such atrocities, is a different issue.
That being said good intentions are just that, no matter how misguided they may be. We should be grateful we live where we are free to express our sentiments, feelings and beliefs, without fear of repercussion, and that by its very nature will mean many have diverse opinions and views on any issue.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
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The sun is setting
As she prepares her for evening
After dusk dinner with her lover in gardens over there
Basket of love all wrapped with love and flair
She sets down the cutlery
Pours two glasses of red wine
A dozen roses she places on the tombstone
Candles flicker surrounding the grave
She clinks glasses, too you my love
I smile meekly, taking a sip
She whispers how she misses me so
She gently caresses me and sings our song
The moon is out, so full and bright
We dance entwined, both past and present held tight
She seductively sways, in the candle lit night
A lone tears appears upon her cheek
I am silent, intimately studying her face of sadness
She knows I love her, even from below
The wind and the sky both tell her so
Her tear stained scarf falls right where I lie
I smell her perfume, her passions my soul keeps
The night becomes chilly, for our tears so weep
She lays down beside me, holding me in stone
She whispers you shall never be alone
Before sunrise, up she is her basket packed to go
She places one black rose upon me as the clouds part way
She returns to her reality and me to my grave
Turning round she speaks these words
You can never leave me
You can never go
You are always beside my heart
For I love you so
In the morning sun
The grave keeper is mending and pruning things just right
As he walks over me, I am startled a wee bit with fright
You see I had a dream just this last of nights
That a lover came to whisper devotions and hold me tight
There was no woman, no lover, no visitor to my enclave
For even the dead and soulless, have dreams from underneath
My hell on earth is to be buried right here in earthy toils
Knowing no lover will place a flower at the foot of my grave
The wind blows
Leaves twirling up in the sky
The wind blows
A black rose falls upon my grave
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
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Obama drew his mighty line in the sand
Dare ye not to cross me
Assad replied in kind
Gassing thousands and laughing
A little Syrian boy has drowned
Siblings to weak to cross that mighty line
Salvation was the evasive dream
Father shall never escape the nightmares
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Is this a poem?
I will let poets decide
I read here, words and prose
How is it possible
Such ingenuity, over and over
Inspirations
Expressions of the heart
Kindness exposed
Bitterness sits in the cold
Storytellers
Poetic wisdom's
Lovers shedding words
Lost souls attacking verbs
Poets in mourning
Deep and emotional losses
Opening the gates of heaven
For the bereaved and forlorn
Poets dancing
Poets crying
Poets who dance and cry
Add some spiced rum and tears
Poets who ponder why?
Poets who offer comfort
Random words of the charitable order
Poets who cannot compose
Yet they are more poetic
Brutal exposure of the heart
Is poetic in its own right
Painters of poetic verse
Who disperse art like candy
I bow my head
In honor of you all
My last request
When that dark omen of death arrives
There shall be a poetic funeral
I shall write nor speak no more
Of lovers and poets
Drunk with words
You all, hoist some cheer
I wish to be surrounded
With poets
As all of you
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
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I used to be free
Acrobatics in the air
I would soar with flair
From here to way over there
Fly away
Into my dreams
Free as the air that brushes by me
Anywhere I could be
Whatever tickles my fancy
I could be the fly on the wall
Or the annoying one
Tickling life and all of you
Laughing as I fly so free
Oh how I could dance in the skies
Landing on buffets to delight my eyes
Feasting on gourmet of french cuisine
Life so joyous from high in the skies
So one day my life came crashing down
You imprisoned me to the flyers pound
I could not escape you have me well bound
Now I struggle my life is on ground
No more flying, no more freedom
I am now all tied up and
Stuck on you
To my death I will hate this fate
Regretting the day you and I made that date
Landing on you was death in black
You are the one to steal my last breath
You are……..
Flypaper
I, the Fly
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Death is not the end,
For love goes on
And you will find the evidence
Long after I have gone.
The flowers that we planted
Will blossom without end,
You’ll find me in their beauty
As to their needs you tend.
The books we read together,
The laughter in the pages,
Will continue to give pleasure
To you throughout the ages.
So do not mourn my passing
You are not left alone,
You’ll always find me waiting
In the places we have known.
The bond that grew between us
Will not abate with time,
It will go on for always,
I’m yours and you are mine.
Copyright © May Fenn | Year Posted 2015
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A good man's gone, loved by us all
on the screen both big and small.
The fire is cold, the lights are out.
His soul's moved on, without a doubt.
The laughter's gone that masked the pain.
The house is still and peace does reign.
He fought his battles on life's wild ride,
but lost his war with the demons inside.
How can one thrive on acclaim and wealth
without the love of one's own self?
I hope you found the peace you sought.
The life you lived won't be forgot.
July 5, 2015
Copyright © Janece Terry | Year Posted 2015
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Thousands living in fear
For they knew Hitler was growing near
In Poland her career would soon to be
As she helped scared persecuted to flee
Gas chambers were yet to come
For not all heeded the warnings of this young one
Compassion and determination
Made her the first in reporting the War of all Nations
A thousand horses and a thousand horsemen
A thousand tanks, her story found both ink and pen
Hollering of the invasion to be
Her worth all would soon well see
As German troops invaded Poland
Her report the first of World War number 2
The first female War correspondent so new
Setting the stage for all the brave lasses who followed through
Days long ago when a woman’s job just wasn’t so
She led the way, helping thousands begin a new pathway
She was the model for those who came after
She never quit, until death's battle
Her beauty had faded at the age of one hundred and five
Her moxy and determination they stayed vibrant and alive
She sipped champagne to the very end, one oh five
A tear for the lady, whose bravery defeated an evil campaign
Clare au Lune
For all tiss worth
You were and angel
Brave on the front lines of truth
Rest in peace, divine, for all time
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
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O Leader!, O Saviour! , O Braveheart!
Words went so sparse, in your praise
To Thank You, paint you an emblazon.
Galvanised is the nations skeleton now
We dare to fight, we dare to grapple.
There is no hawk on prowl, no one a maim
You kindled the fire, darkness burned
We enjoy the blue sky with dazzling sun
You were the Candle, you were the light
You were the ark, you swept the dark.
Courage is synonymous with your name
Voice to, dumb by the oppression
An ear to the deaf, whose ears fear.
Shadowy wings to the brood you gave
To outbrave the deserts of despondence
We learnt to crawl seeing you ahead.
Now I don’t dare to say, you left
You left us Dear Leader, they say
I feel all papers lie, all news is fake
I see, masses weep, wailing so deep
My hands shivered holding my pen
Crying for the lone cry in the wilderness
I, let not my tears roll out of eyeballs
Better seep in heart, nourish your love.
Your never died, and you never will
You live in the living of one and all.
© 30/09/2014
Malik Yaseen
In loving memory of my beloved Leader and religious scholar Molvi Iftikhar Hussain Ansari (Kashmir, India), who left this abode today for a divine and eternal journey.
Copyright © Malik Yaseen | Year Posted 2014
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Patriot Guard funeral Escort
Loch David Crane
August, 2008
Today is sunny: with three dozen bikes,
some decorated cars, a pair of trikes,
two dozen Marines: all of the family
and toddlers to set their Daddy free
into the Great Beyond beyond the sky
where loved ones send their veterans who die.
Below our feet the stones give way to grass
where they are neatly trimmed; and as we pass
the names of strangers stare into the air
and we look back, wondering who lies there.
I won't step on a grave--I'll walk around
so not to insult those within the ground.
We ride at funerals honoring those vets,
brave men and women we have never met.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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A gathering of whispers travel from breath to breath,
much like trains picking up chattering gossips along its
route. With breath held, they stand and wait to join the
last exhale of the wretch standing on the hanging platform.
Whilst a judge washes the atrocity from a hand that held
a vacillating gavel. Forced into a considered judgement,
his conscience is clear. Much as a whip of feathers
forces the killer into killing more. Whilst the birds
above scream a lurid act of contrition for the return of
such pathos, their miniature thoughts oscillating between
current events and the feeding of hungry chicks. And hubris
carries a last meal beneath distaining eye, lost to nature's
sight, as it nears a fading gaol door. And whisper's finger
crawls around the corner, ready to cosette a neck held within
a gallows noose; hanging bulged against the fibre of its hemp
curtain call. Like a veined muscle strains against the skin.
And so, black in thought from the final deed, whisper
reaches its sanctuary hole, shaped long in the ground.
And whisper's voice, watching the earth worms preparing
the way for the soft flesh to come, speaks one final time
'Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine'
And an earth-harried soul is finally released
Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2015
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He was in large life a force of nature
and in barbed death a martyr to the cause.
Leaping madly on some croc or gator
wrestling its mighty ancient tail and jaws!
A call to action lest all not conserve
that which is threatened and forever lost -
to champion, protect, cherish, and preserve,
and to end the animal holocaust!
There is in Beerwah a place I avouch
where The Hunter rests and grew as a child,
and returned a sick joey to its pouch
and learned to love the demon crocodile.
If ever I see a ghost in khaki
I shall muse of one man and yell..."CRIKEY!"
----------------
Dedicated to Steve Irwin
Note: Beerwah is where he lived at Australia Zoo
in Queensland, Australia.
A Joey is a baby kangaroo or other marsupial.
October 2006
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014
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Breathe, why
The sky, why
My heart, why
Living, why
The past, to die
I am not in sky
I am not at all
I am if at all
Underneath the leaf of fall
Seasons change
Why?
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
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Your blood it boils
with the curse of oil
The backs of black
Their curse to toil.
The legs you wear
Covered in blood forever
And covered in gold
that can never get old
as it stays forever in a trash heap
But as you sow so shall you reap
Look to the sky
See the black?
It is that which you are scared to lack
The snow pounding your face
You so obsessed with race
How is it? That wonderful taste.
The cold, hot, and extreme all due to you!
Your car is gone, buried in the snow.
The stock market, it has been laid low.
The beach town now under water town.
Lawns in phoenix disappeared with Thirst.
As the fake city goes back under Earth.
Look down, to the ground
See your desk? See the black?
It is that which you are scared to lack.
The Earth it eats your room
filled with toys of conquest.
How is it? To actually need?
Too bad, because this is all due to your greed!
Your world it boils
with the curse of oil
The backs of now
Their curse to pay
For what they took away.
Copyright © Sorin Marius | Year Posted 2014
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Life seemed rather bleak
The grey skies to him did speak
Of a better world
Somewhere, but not here
He was thought of with smiles
Always a good word
A Laugh or two
Who the hell thought, inside was all blue
He dressed up one day
As a gigantic peanut
Of to the circus he did go
Knowing his fate, he paid at the gate
An elephant’s eye lit up
A dessert finally of size
He ate the gigantic peanut
The skies have now turned gaily blue
They say committing suicide is nuts
This irony is that it turned out to be true
The coroner took care, waiting and waiting
At the elephants end, for suicides revenge
As the dark and despondent man quite frankly
Had such a shitty termination
The smell of sadness
Hangs in the air
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.
A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.
When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each,
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend.
An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station,
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet.
Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.
What greater honor, that when a man moves forward,
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was.
A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior,
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.
The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now.
Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember,
because he now resides forever in our hearts.
As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye,
as he draws upon his pipe,
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
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The Calling
I hear the calling
She is out there in the wind
The darkness though
Hides her inside my very thoughts
My dreams escape only at the light of day
Where I wonder
Was she there at all
My life has been this journey
Seeking the calling of the one in the wind
Her voice does sing, and the pain of loneliness
Is my very own chamber of horrors, that stings
I would fly away, if only, if only
My broken wings would mend
My heart is silent for it does not move
There is no beat, no flow of love or tear
No bonds to hold me to your breast so dear
I have given this world a million smiles and facades
I have cried for the pain of all the woeful stories untold
Burdened it seems, with angel duties
I am no longer with strength to hold or hope
I feel the dust inside my mouth
I hear the calling
The kiss comes too late
To wet my soul
Thus is I who must let you now go
To the depths of torment far deep and down below
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
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THE BUFFALO
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
THERE WAS A TIME I ROAMED THESE PLAINS
FAR BEYOND WHERE THE EYE CAN SEE
IF YOU LIVED ON THESE PLAINS
YOU HAD TO DEPEND AND FOLLOW ME
IF YOU WANTED QUALITY MEAT TO EAT
GRASS FED AND IN GREAT QUANTITY
IF YOU WANTED FURS AND PELTS TO WEAR
TO KEEP THE COLD FROM THEE
IF YOU WANTED FUEL FOR A COUNCIL FIRE
OR TO WARM A SIMPLE TIPI
IF YOU WANTED A SOLID PEACE PIPE
TO GAIN A FRIEND FROM AN OLD ENEMY
IF YOU WANTED THE SPIRITS TO SMILE
SPREAD BLESSINGS ON THE COMMUNITY
IF YOU WANTED BONES FOR TOOLS
YOU HAD TO DEPEND AND FOLLOW ME
I WAS ALWAYS WILLING TO OFFER FEED
YOU ONLY TOOK TO MEET YOUR NEED
A BALANCED EXISTENCE FOR ALL TO SHARE
YET OMINOUS FORCES WERE IN THE AIR
THE WESTWARD MOVEMENT IN FULL GEAR
COULD NOT COEXIST WITH THE TRIBESMEN HERE
AN DIABOLICAL PLAN WAS PUT INTO ACTION
CORRAL AND CONTROL THE INDIGENOUS FACTION
THE BUFFALO WAS THE MAIN SOURCE OF ALIMENTATION
ELIMINATE THE SOURCE CAUSE WIDESPREAD STARVATION
RAILROADS HIRED THE BEST SHOOTERS IN THE LAND
SLAUGHTER THE BUFFALOS WHERE EVER THEY STAND
BUFFALOS WERE SLAIN FROM A COWARDLY DISTANCE
THE TRIBES FOUGHT AND OFFERED FIERCE RESISTENCE
BUFFALO(2)
FINALLY DOMINATED BY AN OVERWHELMING FORCE
THE TRIBES WERE COERCED TO A PEACEFUL DISCOURSE
DEPRIVED OF FOOD AND MANY FACING STARVATION
TRIBES AGREED TO STAY AND LIVE ON A RESERVATION
THE RESERVATION SITES THE GOVERNMENT SELECTED
WERE HARSH AND BARREN THE TRIBES FULLY REJECTED
FOR NUMEROUS YEARS THE PLAINS LAY UNPROTECTED
BUT IN THE END THE TRIBES WERE SUBJECTED
THE SHAMANS INVOKED THE SPIRITS WANTING TO KNOW
IF THE TRIBES WOULD SEE A RETURN OF THE WHITE BUFFALO
THE BUFFALO WAS SACRED AND SPIRITUALLY POSSESSED
ITS VERY EXISTENCE KEPT THE VILLAGES BLESSED
THE BUFFALO VANISHED FROM THESE ENDLESS PLAINS
BUT AWAITING HIS RETURN IS THE HOPE THAT REMAINS
THERE WERE FIFTY MILLION BUFFALO NOT LONG AGO
AN IMMORAL SLAUGHTERING LEFT LESS A MILLION OR SO
THE TRIBESMEN AWAIT THE BIRTH OF THE WHITE CALF
TO BRIGHTEN THEIR LIVES CAUSE THE CHILDREN TO LAUGH
THE WHITE BUFFALO HAS RETURNED TO THE TRIBES OF THE EAST
THEIR LAND ONCE UNUSED IS A PLACE NOW WHERE MANY FEAST
MODERN STRUCTURES NOW OCCUPY TRIBAL LANDS
WHERE MILLIONS OF DOLLARS DAILY CHANGE HANDS
THE WHITE BUFFALO HAS RETURNED AS A GOLDEN PALOMINO
ENRICHING THE TRIBES WITH A GOLD MINE CASINO
THE TRIBES OF THE PLAINS WHERE THE BUFFALO ONCE ROAMED
MOST LIVE IN ABJECT POVERTY, THE SLAUGHTER HAD SOWN
ON THE PLAINS THE WINDS ARE SIGNALING UNREST
THE RETURN OF THE HERDS IS THE SIMPLE REQUEST
THOSE HERDS ARE GONE NEVER MORE TO OCCUPY THE LAND
THE HOUR GLASS IS EMPTY THERE IS NO MORE SAND
Copyright © John Arribas | Year Posted 2015
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Machiavelli s'been stewing
teardrops in the Soup
Stooping to new lows
for SYMPATHY
stirring chickens in the coop
Seems some folks will do anything
for what they think is fame
Swiss cheese stories for glory
Lordy! Whaddah' shame!
Reminds me of two classic movies...
"Freddie Lives" and the other is
"The Crying Game"...
but this one's very unbelievable, it ain't scary,
and it's much
MUCH more lame!~
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014
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