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New Perspective Poems

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A PERSPECTIVE OF TIME by Harris, Michael E.
Perspective and Boundaries by Dykast, Olivia
Perspective by Ruiz, Michael
CHANGE OF PERSPECTIVE by onclaud, nette
A CHILDS PERSPECTIVE by Rodrigues, Kim
Perspective by Kingston , Wayne
Perspective by Millar, Jacob
Acquisition Of A Fresh Perspective by Evans, Richard
A migrant bird's perspective by Mahendran , Janaki
PERSPECTIVE by Gauthier, Line

View all new Perspective Poems

The Best Perspective Poems

Details | Perspective Poem |

Real Men Wear Pink

I stand about five feet eight
I'll admit, I'm a tad overweight
Drive an old pick up truck
Not one to pass the buck
At the moment have a dog for a mate

Dropped out of school at eighteen
Got married in a pair of old jeans
A father of four
When I sleep, I snore
When angered been known to get mean

I grew up huntin' and fishin'
Done more than my share of wishin'
Been in a few fights
Know I'm not always right
For my age, still in decent condition

In my life, I've worked many hard jobs
Its been said, "I'm rough as a cob"
I've smoked and drank
Spent time in the tank
And never, not once, did I sob

I also love being outside
My old skin is weathered and dried
Still play in the dirt
Cuss when I'm hurt
But I do have a softer side

Poetry, I read and I write
These days, prefer music to be lite
Love trees and flowers
Warm spring showers
And swinging on stars at night

I like women who like to hold hands
Take moonlight walks on the sand
Curves excite me
Whispers invite me
A good listener who tries to understand

I wash dishes, do laundry and floors
Clean bathrooms, wash walls and doors
I'm a pretty good cook
Without a cookbook
To be honest, don't mind household chores

Just so you're perfectly clear
I've traveled from there to here
Simple but complex
Know love's more than sex
And on occasion I cry manly tears

Yes sometimes I even wear pink
Wear cologne to make sure I don't stink
Write poems about birds
Use everyday words
And I don't give a damn what you think!



    by Daniel Turner

Details | Perspective Poem |

A to Z of Good Thinking




A - Appreciate what you already have. 
B - Believe in yourself, or no-one else will. 
C - Consider all options, wherever possible. 
D - Don't be quick to judge. No-one is perfect. 
E - Eat healthily to promote holistic well-being. 
F - Family and friends are important. Try not to alienate them. 
G - Good humour makes for a good atmosphere. 
H - Have confidence in your own abilities. 
I - Incessant criticism is demeaning. Be constructive where possible. 
J - Join forces with like-minded people to achieve greater goals. 
K - Kind words can be comforting and healing. 
L - Love is an invaluable commodity, worth more than any riches. 
M - Make each day count for something. 
N - No crime is ever victimless. Someone always has to pay. 
O - Open your heart and mind, to let love and knowledge enter. 
P - Patience may well be a virtue, but it takes practice. 
Q - Question everything. Take nothing for granted. 
R - Roll with the punches, and some of life's blows will be minimised. 
S - Stop procrastinating. If something needs doing, do it. 
T - Take wise counsel when life-changing decisions must be made. 
U - Unlimited access to something is not always good. 
V - Volunteering can be admirable, but think before you do it. 
W - Worrying never changed anything. Try not to worry. 
X - Xenophobia is never acceptable. 
Y - Your actions reveal who and what you are. 
Z - Zoom in on what you are good at, and become even better.

Details | Perspective Poem |

My Shoes

My shoes have traveled miles of roads
Their soles are worn quite thin
Struggling with this heavy load
I carry deep within
Beyond repair, no longer shine
Scuffed with many stains
It's mostly been an uphill climb
Some sunny days, some rain

A little big when they were new
With ample room to grow
This green stain here on my left shoe
Was puberty's first blow
Those salt stains there, that's sweat and tears
Still damp from being heartbroken
They've darkened some throughout the years
Old wounds that were reopened

There are no stains from happy tears
I finally understood
Obviously they disappeared
Right after parenthood
All these scuff marks 'long the sides
Well they're from clumsiness
From times I fell and hurt my pride
A reminding subsequence

They've danced and skated, loved and dated
Walked a few high wires
Death devastated, been mismated
Even walked through hell's hot fires
It's said that one can tell a lot
By looking at one's shoes
Until you've worn these shoes I've got
You really have no clue



  an original poem by Daniel Turner
   NOT FOR CONTEST

Details | Perspective Poem |

Revelation

They always said I was "special" or useless,
full of excuses, slow to learn but my wit had a quickness,
so I decided to embrace my uniqueness,
and look at me now leaving people speechless.

They challenge me and their ego decreases,
they think I'm an easy target all blonde and simple,
but I can tie laces and pull down bridges,
leaving red faces on all those people.

I'm just a nuisance that you cannot silence,
it's just the written word it's not acts of violence,
but offensive 'cus I've mastered the art of deliverance,
I went from special needs to the rank of brilliance.

I'm an example of how evolution is impossible to prevent,
I don't have a need for revolution, I don't give up and reinvent.
I'm this generations arrival of something different,
and what that means is anything but insignificant.

It's just the basic nature of our creature,
the arrival, the stay and the retreat,
a rotation of stature and main feature,
allowing the old to take their seat.

I've realised that being different is a gift
able to move you above the competition.
It's a rare dynamic thought process that lifts
out a unique idea missed by everyone.

It's a natural advantage to protect from sabotage,
that has an exceptional outcome way above average.
I don't need to hide out of sight wearing camouflage,
I have the right tools and ambition to build my own bridge.

I write rhymes but it was never predicted,
people thought my brain was restricted,
I always allowed their insults to inflict,
listening to put downs meant my mind was tricked.

Then I stopped listening and my confidence lifted,
and found that being unique also means gifted.
Many remembered by history were not deemed ordinary,
I guess "the odd kid" grows into the extraordinary.

Creating their very own original story,
billions lived but they stay in the memory.
So, I guess, with a self belief that could be me,
and if not at least the illusion makes me happy.


29/03/18
P.O.T.D 30/03/18

Details | Perspective Poem |

Slave

Like a herd of cattle, placed on a ship.
Upon my back, I felt their whip!
Ripping into my flesh, excruciating pain.
Forced across the big water on a trip.

Living in darkness with little to eat.
The feel of chains around my feet.
Amidst tortured cries, the ship did shake.
Waves pounded the hull with relentless beat.

Only once a day, would we see the sky.
Huge sails, caused the ship to fly.
Further and further away from my home.
Feeling confused not understanding why!

A white devil, steered the wooden ship.
All his mates evil with scabbed putrid lips.
Yet we, depended on them for our lives.
Without them, into the ocean we'd slip.

The journey long, felt like an eternity!
I longed to be anywhere but on the sea.
My mind occupied with thoughts of my home.
yet, I could not escape this horrible enemy!

Sick and dying were forced to walk the plank.
Then into the cold water they quickly sank.
The sailors laughed, as the last man was tossed!
Their spirits boistered with the rum they drank.

Many days later we finally made land.
A place of stone and wood, I could see no sand.
Crack of the whip, we rose to our feet.
"Off of my ship!"was the devil's final command!


For Verlena's "Writing in a black Perspective" Contest



Story continued for my own pleasure, not part of the entry.

Slave Part Two

Brought in chains, to a raised wooden stage.
Bids tallied carefully, sales written on a page.
That was when I witnessed, a most perfect girl.
Bought by a fat man, she was placed in a cage!

I was up next, I stood still as he bid on me.
"One dollar, gimme two, two dollars, sold for three!"
Then I was taken and locked up in the cage with her.
Together we both dreamt, of one day being free.

Brought to the plantation, in late September.
I worked in cotton fields, until November.
Then I would be purposed, to cutting fire wood.
For cold and snow came, by early December.

In the evening, we were left to be with our kind.
While in the big house, our master dined.
Later at dusk, my angel girl would come.
Her beauty so amazing, she made me blind!

The taste of her body, my rememberance of home.
We gave each other pleasure, when we were alone.
Even though the master, wanted her for only him.
I felt like a free man, when I would hear her moan!

Her pregnant, I wondered if the child was mine?
If I was the father, I would be bound in twine.
Still inside I prayed, that the child belonged to me.
In the end, that would be certainly be fine.

Nine months later, almost to the day.
The love of my life was taken away.
In death our child born, middle of September.
The master's anger, I could not sway.

I was awoken, ripped out of my bed!
He took out a musket loaded with lead.
Finally free, in spirit we both travel.
There are certainly worse things, than being dead!

Details | Perspective Poem |

Simple Musings From A Heterosexual Male with Unkempt Facial Hair



     Every discovery started with absolutely 
     no idea of where to start...
     
     There is not enough time in a lifetime
     to measure success...

     Just as there is pain in uncertainty,
     there is peace in faith...

     We thrive in our communal happiness,
     we parish in derisive pain...

     Death is much less reliable in peace.
     In war, we can put up a more 
     reasonable defense...

     We can waste a lifetime seeking happiness
     from someone else's approval...

     Our happiness should always be seen
     in the kindness of our eyes...

     With desires held in check,
     less becomes more...

     When a smile becomes a laugh,
     you've found happiness...

     Love is helping someone discover that they
     are better than what they thought they were...

     Unfathomable contentment is a poet
     finishing the last line of a poem...

Details | Perspective Poem |

Write My Life

When I first surrendered all to You
it wasn’t clear to me,
that You became the author;
my life, Your poetry.
The pages of my life were dark.
You made them snowy white.
And then with mastery and skill
You began to write.
Each day a different style and form
something fresh and new
always timely and spot on
and never overdue.

So Lord, what will it be today
that flows from Your ready pen
across this chapter of my life
that will be read by men?
Will it be a monorhyme
of how You came through for me just in time?
Perhaps it’s an ottava rima
in perfect pentameter
that tells how my love for You
has grown deeper and much sweeter.
It just might be a ballad
with a tender and touching refrain
of how I stumbled and faltered
but You picked me back up again.
Could there be a principle
that I really need to learn
which You’ll write upon my life
as a repetitive quatern?
Since the furtherance of Your kingdom
is Your holy and noble tactic
perhaps You’ll craft in me
a revelatory didactic.
Diamante, tanka, limerick, haiku,
Lord, the choice is up to You.
Of all poetic forms that be
You know what to engrave on me.
Free verse or even hexaverse diminished
Dear God, please write on until my story is finished.

4/26/17

I learned several years ago from a minister that preached at our church that the Greek word for workmanship in the verse below is “poiema”, from which our English word “poem” is derived. This was my inspiration for this poem.

Ephesians 2:10(KJV) For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.

For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].Ephesians 2:10(Amplified Bible)

Details | Perspective Poem |

Departed Friendships

For Linda, Freddie, Chan, & others that meant something true to us…

Another departure…

Another wistful teardrop
Embracing yesterday’s candid goodbye

No longer can we touch their physical soul. 

But, we
Can keep amnesia’s accented clef at bay

Holding their voice beyond new tomorrows

…

It is the triangle of life’s conundrum
When we slow dance with the arms of Why
The breaths of How
The misunderstood elegance of inevitabilities

We are taught the 2 guarantees of life: Death & Taxes

Yet, only one really means more to us
Within sunrise’s incipience

We hold convex reflections with incandescent sadness.

Yet, time allows opportunity to fly higher than God’s perspective
EVEN through our limited wisdoms
While we cherish
Remember
The Candles in our wind

…

I whisper silent prayers for our friends, family, & colleagues that now SOAR WITHIN!

For they may no longer be in front of you & I...

They are
And always shall be

By
Our 
Side

©Drake J. Eszes

 I was honored to have Chan on our Stand As 1 show back in March 2014. It was a deeply memorable show. You can listen to how it all went down here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/standas1/2014/03/16/stand-as-1-returns-wspecial-guest-that-archaic-poet

Details | Perspective Poem |

Tears from my Ancestors

I'll drink tears from my ancestors in silence
From history's cup of their defiance
I'll sit in darkness where my soul is torn
and quench my parched thirst of self reliance

To understand their hell and be reborn
Remembering iron shackles, blood stained, worn
My mind reveals stones from a slaver's wall
Crumbling through years from a past I mourn

I carry each stone to the master's wall
Pulled from stoney fields with blood as a shawl
I'll stand among ruins of an anguished time
With memories of tears, feeling them fall

I touch every scar as history is blind
Reach my hands upward, my spirit will climb
and free my caged soul so a healing comes
I'll drink tears from my ancestors so they remind


contest..Writing in a Black Perspective
2/25/15

Details | Perspective Poem |

Trying to Grasp The Magnificent

I sense the fullness 
in fleeting moments
At those rare times 
I'm able to let go of me
The ebbs and flows 
of non linear thinking
when I am part of the everything 
I was born to be

For within the simple
Magnificence is grasped
The beginning precedes an ending
that in the future will be passed
Over and under 
all the spaces in between
If we look only with our eyes
the answers won't be seen

Quiet is not time wasted
each moment we have has been lent
Some things don't require saying
Through actions we learn what is meant
Feel the power of pausing
Within a moment thoughts can crystallize 
By choosing to listen with intention 
We learn the wheres and whys

Observations is much more important 
then any of my (me)s or (I)s
I often get lost within my own talking
and hold onto my wordy lies
When I use a different kind of perspective
I hear the whispering of the Wise
Floating upon eternal verses
as within my being they steadily rise

Viewing the mosaic of all creation
The wonder of how all things interconnect
the order of God's magnificence 
creates inner peace and Holy respect
My thoughts are no longer singular
Like droplets of water ideas collect
The things in life most important
I see things I didn't expect
For no person is truly independent 
Through God's grace we draw every breath
Here within this total miracle 
I've witnessed God's width and His depth!


I believe our souls recognize our creator when we are in tune with God's Creation.

Details | Perspective Poem |

Moment of Truth


I was walking with two friends of mine,
when we saw a woman
who was tall, beautiful and black
They spoke lewd to her,
so she didn't speak back
In their rejected anger,
they cursed her in a cruel, mean tone
That's when I interceded,
and said leave the poor woman alone
My two friends looked at me
like I was some kinda traitor
That day we parted ways,
there would be no more days of see ya later

In a moment of truth,
will you stand up for the truth
Or will you back down,
and keep your mouth shut

It's moments like those
that reveal what manner of person you are
Will you be naked or clothed,
will your spirit be dark,
or will it shine like a star

Nobody ever said friendships are forever,
not when you have to compromise
your integrity in a matter

In a moment of truth,
don't keep your mouth closed
Let your voice roar
like a lion, strong and bold

Details | Perspective Poem |

- Fight With Dragons And Wolves -


Take me into the realm of your midnight dreams awakening sleep 
Bring us to a higher level far away from misery and despair
Where waves through oceans are kissed by a salted breeze blowing 

A place where mind can fly upon strong waves, straight lines on white sheets
Trembling currents grasp one breathless moment holding time 
No one will not lead us, even if it blows up to storm force gale 

Circle of twilight's halo under magic spells cast breathing fire starbursts 
Stars living on self produced energy under horizon's steps forward 
A mirror reflection of a faraway kingdom reflecting of the sun 

Faced with light internally stored faithful mercy yields 
We call life a mystery unforgettable the words of faith, hope and love
Crowning angels you came before me a queen 

Defeating the dragons and fighting wolves from preying sacrifice 
We find a personal point of common ground held in between world's 
Viewing life as the canvas we paint upon our memories 










29.04.2017
(Unrhymed tercets)
A Collaborated Poem 
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Details | Perspective Poem |

Warts and all

Warts and all

She made a mistake 
when she kissed  a toad
No castle or carriage 
She chose a rough road
He had a few warts
he wasn't debonair or cool
Others scoffed and they laughed
But our toad wasn't a fool

For love was a potion
He knew she believed
He tried so very hard
With his heart he achieved
For she was so lovely
So caring and serene
concerned only with his heart
Not the places he'd been

It wasn't very easy 
it was in fact it was tough
to be in love with a princess
and have less than enough
But she never complained
Not a whimper or cry
She said he was amazing
He was her special guy

So he worked night and day
from the inside he grew
he became all he could be
the Prince that she knew
Yes they found their happy
Him kind and never a jerk
Love indeed conquers all
with a smidgen of hard work

Together they built castles
chariots and other things
Traveled on positive thoughts
and the gifts that love brings
So if you see a toad smiling
know that that toad is just me
a kiss from my princess
thankfully set me free

Details | Perspective Poem |

Photos with Glitches on Invisible Wings

You're a camera obscura, a broken bell's rings,
You made me dance slowly on sad phantom strings.
You always had the slightly off-color touch,
Your insensitive skin never softened up much.

Our meals were quiet with subtle trespass,
Off like a mispronounced requiem mass.
I corrupted your files, threw you askew,
You knew my pictures weren't entirely true.

We never could see in each other's mirrors,
Our focus was broken, our lenses were tears
That clouded our vision, that shrouded the past,
Our statements were false, or if pure couldn't last.

I voided your interest, the chasm was steep,
You fell into boredom, I put you to sleep.
You woke up translucent, you dissolved in the air,
Did I ever see you, were you ever there?


December 17, 2016
For Daniel Turner's contest - 'What was I thinking'

Details | Perspective Poem |

An adequate vocal gesture

I do have purpose
that stays near
a constant reminder 
of my inner child

As my conscienceness
shines through to create 
a new perspective
I break out of my cocoon

Only to discover that 
I find places where
the sanctity of my being
does not flow as it should

My intuition is what 
guides me though
there is no longer the 
desire for the constant 
upheaval of tragedy to strike
upon me

On my journey I have 
discovered that there 
are many hidden truths

So as my spirit ascends 
I am inspired by my bravery...

If I am frightened 
by the visibility that 
standing proud does to me
then I shall stand even taller

No longer will I fear 
the degradation that
once was my shadow
there is no home here 
for the shame any longer

And I will no longer be 
swayed by the fragments of defeat
When I become sorely tempted by
sheer exhaustion

And I think I can't
make it on my own
I will remember that 
I am walking this
road of life for me...

Details | Perspective Poem |

About Time

Seconds lost on questioning,
why time's not left to chance?
Each moment is everlasting,
fate's no relentless circumstance.

We act as if time can be saved,
how pointless to believe.
Never has one debt been paid
from hours or days received.

A lifetime is a leaf of yesterday
with no relevance to tomorrow.
Reliving doubts will just betray
all claims once paid with sorrow.

There is no time for one to slay
with so many aspirations left in play.

Details | Perspective Poem |

Support Your Local Poet

“Support your local poet please”
Said the man with hand out and down on one knee
I’m down on my luck
And for only a buck
My humble verses will put you at ease

Whatever your pleasure
Whatever your mood
A simple rhyme is sure to soothe
Perhaps a Sonnet or Ballad will do
Or maybe a Limerick for a laugh or two

How about a Couplet or a fine Crystalline
Or is a simple Haiku more your scene?
I’ll sing you a Lyric if you have the time
Or spill out an Ode as sweet as wine

I’m a simple man’s poet
Just trying to get by
So hearken your ear and I’ll tell you no lies
I am what I am no less no more
The words of this soul are an open door
For my tongue is richly blessed though some think me poor

I assure you my friend this isn’t a scheme
Just give me a listen you’ll see what I mean
For words can be such a valuable thing
When they make one think… “perchance to dream”

- This write prompted by the above sticker. I received it from some fellow poets while attending an open poetry night at a coffee house in downtown Flint, Michigan several years ago. It now proudly adorns my guitar case. :)

Details | Perspective Poem |

Ordinary

The world is full of ordinary people
Doing ordinary things,
Living ordinary lives
On this tiny speck of floating rock
In a limitless sea of space.
How extraordinary is that?

Details | Perspective Poem |

Slamming The Super-Duper-Soupers

you want to know a secret
when I write a poem and it's perfect
i dont share it
i bury it 
deep inside of me 
where no one else can see
i mean its perfect
not like this shift 
it's elegant, poignant, 
simplistic, bueatful 
trucking perfect
its not erotic 
but i read it
mentally masterbate to it 
a euphoric chorus 
straight form thesaurus
its just that great
im not being egotistical 
if read, it would become universal 
a meter tethered in clasical measure 
a rythmic flow
with many metaphoric undertows
an iconic harmonic tonic 
to make you feel like an embryonic hedonic youth 
im not being napoleonic
its an actual truth 
factually accurate
high in heaven
it produced a tear in the eye of god
who proclaimed 
not a single flaw
not a single flaw 
and he only saw what i wrote
well, because hes god 
me being me i like to tease 
allow me to be inclined to share a few lines 
blow your mind 
redefine your collective defective perspective
realign your ineffective respective connective tisue

"all my cows milk is homogenized 
all my crows are well organized
all my sheep like to stare and creep 
like to stare and creep"

but you'll never see 
the rest of my secret poetry 
that only exsist inside of me 
cows will always moo
crows will always ka kah 
sheep will always go baah baah baah 
and the perfect elagance 
of my literary inteligence 
will die with me 
never being seen 
qouted, memorised or plagerized 
as i will say with my last gasp 
the next line being twice my last
all you super-duper-soupers can kiss my ***


ok all you super-duper-soupers have been slammed. if you want to slam me back just a few things. make it funny. make it a little nonsensical and definitly make it over the top
and if you do slam me back send me a soup mail or leave a comment so i can go read your slam.

Details | Perspective Poem |

Gold Fever

Gold Fever 

History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race 
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry

Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness 
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed

To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control 
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population

History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African Negro, 
Pray in silence to The Church

Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream

The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all

We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder

And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven

Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding

Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention

An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream 
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word

And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean 
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain

If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be

Details | Perspective Poem |

Gaining Perspective

Looking at the vast azure sky, one can't help, but feel small;
as crowds of ants run in terror of cathedral-sized Converse.
I left sugar cubes next to their hill, feeling purposefully big.

Details | Perspective Poem |

God's Kind of Poetry

I formed the poet to be my clay pen
To dance on the pin tip of my understanding
I delight in words
All things came into existance through my words
The planets
The stars
The moon
The sun
The universes beyond what you can see
They are tethered by my imagination
I am a God of order
I delight in repetition
My ways are perfect
What you see a chaos, fits perfectly into my plans
I occupy all the spaces
I exist within each breath
My energy flows from beginning to end and back again
I allow you to glimpse my shadow 
For my full Glory would consume your human form
I am beyond your comprehension
Yet I wish you to know me
Ponder me
Come into my loving arms
My words are written on ancient scrolls
Each verse contains my essence
My invitation to a wondorous feast
Taste the succulence of my bounty
The flavours my affection
My consummate Love
Do not be concerned with the temporary
Trust in my grace
For I know all your needs
This world will one day disappear 
Paradise will reside under your feet
I will be your completion 
Dancing will have new meaning
Rivers will sparkle like diamonds
The skies will no longer need the sun
For I will be your light
We will walk through a new Jerusalem
Streets of gold
Buildings encrusted in precious gems
Trees will be laden with fruit
No hunger
No tears
My children will know freedom
Strength will course through veins
Angels will walk in their midsts
Age will no longer be their enemy
Death will be a forgotten memory
For I am God
My words
My poetry
They can be your reality
Make use of your free will
I am bound by my own promises
You must choose my path
Be a vessel of my Love
You my clay pen
Can flow
With golden ink



For this contest I am asked to write from the perspective of God.
It is an insurmountable task for one as limited as myself. I humbly
submit this attempt and pray that it honors my heavenly Father.

Details | Perspective Poem |

Lego Narcs - Under The Cover Of Night

Listen to poem:



Night! 
It’s around nine thirty 
maybe ten. 

The phone rings. 
The voice is irritating, the words frightening.

Within minutes I’m in a car with my mate. 
Within minutes I arrive at my own ground zero. 
Exit the car. 
A body walking says you must be Courtney's Dad.

Yes I am. 
I don’t say those words, 
I don’t say anything.

I enter a strange house. 
My eyes go into a computerized scope mode. 
I assess the scene. 
Devour every image. 
There is talking. 
I can see that I am involved and in conversation. 
I am breathing the moment 
committing all the three dimensional images to memory.

That’s what I do, 
that’s what I always do, 
I pay attention to detail. 
I record it in the recessed region of my brain, 
the file I named celluloid.

This is one of those moments. 
You don’t just live it 
you also live outside of it. 
You adjust angles 
from the ceiling 
from the floor 
from every degree 
from one to three hundred and sixty. 

Your camera guys are working at a furious pace.
We only get one shot at this take 
anything we miss is gone for ever.

I'm looking at the undercover guys, 
three cops. 
There’s the linebacker in the middle 
the young basketball player on your left 
and Meatloaf standing on your right.

They are still talking to me, 
but they are one dimensional 
a cruel reality, 
so you send in your third string rookie quarterback to deal with them.

Meanwhile your sixteen year old is a part of all this. 
She just happened to be here. 
They know she is an innocent bystander, 
well at least they do now.

She is sitting on the end of one couch 
among the devastation created by ... I think they call them the law.

No hurricane could have caused this kind of disarray 
not a lifetime of hurricanes. 
This is what the good guys do 
they tear places apart 
stand with sanctimonious airs.

I think that my third string player is getting a lecture 
something about the friends his daughter keeps 
but I am barely paying attention to him.

I want to crawl in to my daughter’s skin 
absorb all the pain she is feeling. 
I want to hug her mind gentle 
supply her the exhale she so desperately needs right now. 

You don’t choose unconditional love 
it chooses you.
All that matters is how much my daughter is loved 
and can I trade it in for a magic sphere of protection.

For her part she is scared to death 
but I can also feel she is somewhat relieved that this has come to an end. 
Relieved I am here.
Relieved she will be coming home with me.
All this will just be a nasty memory. 
We look at each other.
We both think this 'too has passed.'

I don’t like to judge, 
but boy it sure seems 
like the bad is on the flip side of this vinyl forty-five.

That’s the law as it turns out. 
They can bust through your door with a battering ram. 
Ransack your home. 
Step on your soul. 
Hand out unwanted lectures 
leave with a pat on the back.

You want to scream you want to yell foul. 

To what avail?

Serve and protect 
for what, from what? 

They found two lousy marijuana plants, 
that’s right two lousy plants. 
They can get a search warrant 
destroy everything 
might get in the way of their large swollen heads 
and 
destroy lives, 
destroy people.

They can destroy, destroy, destroy and destroy, 
never serve, 
absolutely never serve 
and less than protect 
a lot less. 
In fact 
they can put a young sixteen year old girl in danger 
walk out laughing. 
They will even be commended for their acts against humanity.

Remember those laws. 
The right to be someone 
to not be looked down upon by the hired help. 

I guess in the end that is our only bonus in all of this, 
they are after all only the hired help. 
So let them worship their false Gods in their agnostic ways.

From my perspective they have acted like demons this evening. 
Only one angel walks out of this man made mess.

Thank God she’s my daughter.

Feb 26 2016
armand

Details | Perspective Poem |

THE STORM

I BUTTON THE SHUTTERS HIGH AND LOW,
AS HIGH STRONG WINDS BEGIN TO BLOW. 
A NIGHT OF TERROR BEFORE MY EYES,
AS DARK GRAY CLOUDS HAVE FILLED THE SKIES 

I MAKE READY THE FIREPLACE  TO PROVIDE SOME HEAT. 
TO WARM THE HOUSE AND MY FEET. 
I TAKE TO MY CHAIR WITH AN UNCORKED BRANDY. 
MY RAINCOAT AND BOOTS STAND BY HANDY. 

LIGHTNING STRIKES AS THE CLOCK STRIKES TEN. 
A NIGHT OF HORROR HAS YET TO END. 
I READ MY NOVEL TO PASS THE NIGHT. 
THIS STORM SHOULD SUBSIDE BY MORNING LIGHT. 

POURING RAIN KNOCKS AT THE DOOR. 
A DRAFT CREEPS IN AROUND THE FLOOR. 
FULL FIERCE WINDS NOW PREVAIL 
AND BRING WITH THEM BALLS OF HAIL. 

SWIRLING WINDS RIP THE SHUTTER FREE. 
A DEADLY STORM IN PURSUIT OF ME. 
THUNDEROUS ROARS COME AND GO. 
A FULL MOON LIT WITH A STRANGE DARK GLOW. 

HOWLING WINDS RATTLE THE GLASS. 
ICE COLD RAINS WATER THE GRASS. 
AT 4 AM I POUR A BRANDY. 
I GRAB MY FLASHLIGHT I KEEP HANDY. 

I CHECK THE HOUSE FOR SUDDEN LEAKS. 
THIS WICKED STORM HAS REACHED IT'S PEAK. 
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW A NICE SURPRISE. 
ON THE HORIZON A NEW SUNRISE.

LIGHTS ARE OUT, THROUGHOUT THE TOWN.
CLEARING SKIES SEEM INBOUND. 
THIS WICKED STORM LOOKS TO PASS. 
BUT NOT BEFORE LEAVING A TREE ON MY GRASS. 

ONE MORE BRANDY I SHALL POUR. 
BEFORE I OPEN MY FRONT DOOR.
NOW THAT THE STORM HAS GONE AWAY. 
I'LL ASSESS THE DAMAGE THROUGHOUT THE DAY.

Details | Perspective Poem |

Doctor Ram: The Soup's Golden Voice

our beloved brother from India
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold

board his magic carpet
woven with wit, intellect and insight

soar through sagas steeped in mythology
captivating revelations on cultural tradition
unique perspectives on historical events

clever concepts conveyed with humor
psychology, philosophy, behavior observations
materialize as “Mehtaisms”

stirring the soup
adding spice to the broth
supporting work of members new and old

our international melting pot
enriched by the work of a Literary Doctor

salute a special sage who graces us with gifts
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold



* Dedicated to Dr. Ram Mehta in honor of Joe Maverick’s “Better than Gold” contest