Best Perspective Poems | Poetry
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New Perspective Poems
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Perspective in Everything
by Smith, David
by Rowe, Jesse
by Brereton, Kale
How to survive PMS ,from a male's perspective
by Nairne, Paul
by Wright, Tom
by Popoola , Joshua
A beautiful perspective
by Chasara, Trinity
Clarify your Perspective
by Hitchcock, Kelly
Perspective Beyond Compare
by Asuncion, Bernard F.
Panglossian Perspective Pivoting Poze Pretentiously
by harris, matthew
View all new Perspective Poems
The Best Perspective Poems
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
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017
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
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016
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!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
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
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...
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2017
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.
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)
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
Embrace the miracle of Today's birth;
the beginning of everything.
Incapable of re-living
or pre-living its ownership,
our character bares definition
by the gratitude displayed
for every moment in its presence.
It is renewal,
joyful in its divinity.
May we be strong enough to engage it,
generous enough to share it
and wise enough not to waste its invitations...
Poem Of The Day 06/06/2018
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2018
For Linda, Freddie, Chan, & others that meant something true to us…
Another wistful teardrop
Embracing yesterday’s candid goodbye
No longer can we touch their physical soul.
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
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...
And always shall be
©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
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014
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
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015
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.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
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
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016
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
A Collaborated Poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017
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
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2017
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'
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016
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
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
And I think I can't
make it on my own
I will remember that
I am walking this
road of life for me...
Copyright © Christine Wessels | Year Posted 2007
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.
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2018
A golden coin flipped into the sky
One side is absolute truth
the other side is stamped with lies
Hope it lands right/wrong side up
so you can partially realize
the truth doesn’t always set you free
Sometimes deception leads to wise
Neither side exists
without the other
Truth and lies are Siamese brothers
Born of necessities
yet neither of them has a mother
Look up look down
all things can offend and bother
Absolute truth or filthy clean lies
there are so many things that they Father
We are temporary our purpose is significant fodder
so through our inequities we wander
Spin the coin
the image you will see
is the blending of who we think we might be
Witness our insanity
by looking back at lying throughout history
Yet there is truth hidden
flickering within the spin
start over finish
once more begin
Words alone can’t set us free
Centrifugal force thinking
trapped inside each possibility
Rooted in our impure paternity
Watch how friends become the enemy
Perspectives changing depending on adversity
Truthfully can anyone know
who they are meant to be
Rise up or see life on bended knee
What is it that words hope inspire
A coin can only be destroyed by fire
Live life find what you desire
We’re all tethered together
by a hidden wire
Truth or a lie
lower and higher
Kind or cruel
or self loathing despiser
We’re born of muck and mire
Aspire to be a flyer
or maybe just a consumed buyer
Still all energy will eventually expire
do it all before you tire
Tell the absolute truth
or if you choose be a liar!
Submitted to Brenda Chiri's Abandon Poetry Contest.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2018
I'm a grit teeth beginner breaking out the cage,
growing stronger and fitter with wit coming of age,
squeezing letters out of lemons got me in a rage,
but this bitter will get better and steal the stage.
I'm out to lay a new way suitable to a renegade,
angrily squashing this yellow fruit into lemonade,
using the skin to pave a golden route in the trade,
writes rooted in the age of this transitional upgrade.
No scourge can submerge the courage I preserve
under the surface, that purrs with an urge
to hand carve words with power and purpose,
this marvellous occurrence repeatedly emerges
and surges undoubtedly delivering superb verses.
Attempts to pull curtains on my spirit,
only teach knowledge that I inherit,
I react and catch before impact to my merit
and you can't collapse the soul of this poet.
Everyone falls but my core's impenetrable,
and my mental resilience is unbreakable,
they can't remove something unshakeable,
trying is a mistake that'll make you miserable.
I've learnt to benefit from attempted attacks
aimed to prevent the way that I vent and act,
catching the weaponry and adding to my stack,
I've a determination that I'll never let crack.
I'll elevate as I stimulate with flow,
and levitate the audience to show,
I'm able to continuously demonstrate
that my work is something to celebrate,
even though my opinion will make them hate.
Coming back is what I do,
don't make me come back for you!
Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018
“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. :)
Copyright © Chris Hagy | Year Posted 2017
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?
Copyright © Jim Slaughter | Year Posted 2018
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,
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
high in heaven
it produced a tear in the eye of god
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.
Copyright © Nathan D. | Year Posted 2015
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
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
It is there with them
Is where you should be
Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2008
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.
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2015
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 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
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
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
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
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.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
Listen to poem:
It’s around nine thirty
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,
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
might get in the way of their large swollen heads
They can destroy, destroy, destroy and destroy,
absolutely never serve
and less than protect
a lot less.
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
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016
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.
Copyright © Michael E. Harris | Year Posted 2016