A fleeting still small voice tries to warn me
A sudden overwhelming desire to run
The tell tale taste of metallic flakes
Means my nightmare has begun
Everything around takes on a ghostly pallor
A landscape of anguish and corrosion
A moment of silence before the violence
The flash of light, the brilliant explosion
The sound of the Sun fills my ears
Fear, my throat, though none escapes me
And paralyzed I clench my eyes
As my tormentor prepares to rape me
And it's endeavor is absolute
Consumption is its ultimate goal
It exists to chase me so it can erase me
Whilst feasting on my soul
And then that familiar salty smell
The sudden rush of warmth so stings
Engaging me relentlessly
In vile unspeakable things
Over and over and over again
My limbs stretched and wrought
As it's teeth tear my bones bare
It's mind defiles my thoughts
And still wounds beget wounds beget wounds
As in the mouth of madness I suffer
And with every injury he just seems to be
Rougher and rougher and rougher
Then just as suddenly as it began it ceases
And for a moment I am clearer
And then the true horror of it all
Is revealed in a darkly lit mirror
There in front of me stands my destroyer
Face flush with it's fill of my pain
And I find that it's eyes and mine
My God, they’re one in the same
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2011
I stare at my mirror
So shocked by what I see
There is a strange woman
Staring right back at me
I must’ve been abducted
This must be a crazy trick
For the reflection that I see
Is making me quite sick
Are those horrid wrinkles?
Is that a double chin?
The neck that was my joy
Is pillar like- not thin!
My eyes have no sparkle
They look listless and glazed
It gets so hard to focus
When all I feel is dazed
Maybe it’s just a dream
From which I will awake
For how could that be me?
I’m sure it’s just a fake
I pinch myself real hard
The mirror woman screams
Oh no, it must be true
Now both of us cry streams
Mirror, you’re a traitor!!!
Mirror, this is a crime!!!
I order you to hide!!!
The tell-tale signs of time!!!
Do me a small favor
Tell me a little lie
Reflect a younger me…
Oh please, give it a try!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
Has the convenience of technology
inoculated us from reality?
Do androids dream of electric sheep?
I pray the code my soul to keep?
Does your universe live within 4G
Or megapixel infinity?
Which memory lies within
The one that was
Or the one that's been
Or how much gig how much ram?
Which reality is true?
Or cyber you?
Or cyber brief?
Who is the real identity thief?
Hours spent glaring into the screen
Choosing an alternate username.
Status updates and trending tweets
Fill your mind and rob your sleep.
Clever hashtags and Instagram
Will shape your image and gain more friends.
Is the you you've shaped in cyberspace
The same you I'd see face to face?
We hide behind our computer screens
And criticize with brutal ease.
Is buying souls of men you see
And robbing the ability to dream real dreams.
I want to conquer something real
That I can grab that I can feel.
I want to touch life and hold on tight
I want to unblock true friends
And "like" real sights.
I want conversation face to face
In real world time
In a real world place.
Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2014
It's a nightmare down on Elm Street. Satan's waiting here at home.
Where's that little Freddy Krueger with his nails of sharpened chrome?
And that dearest Michael Myers, as he's always sure to call?
Halloween won't be so keen without some slashers in the hall.
They're all meeting up with Jason and the other demon spawn
to pay Old Scratch a visit, so I'll leave the porch light on.
I'm your sugar devil daddy and I'll tempt you if I can,
so now open up those goody bags, cause I'm your candy man.
Welcome, all you little zombies. Here, I've got some flesh for you!
It's in a candy wrapper and so much easier to chew.
Just hold out your plastic treat bag, and hold off eating me.
The junk I'm gonna give you tastes much better than my knee.
It's so loaded up with sugar, you'll be bouncing off the walls.
So go ahead and gorge yourselves and fill the bathroom stalls.
Kneel before the porcelain god or use the toilet sink.
You can always use the practice now, for later when you drink.
You can't take a piece of healthy fruit or any home-made treat.
The media have made damn sure it's only junk food that you'll eat.
So celebrate my holiday and consume till it's obscene.
Welcome into my domain... and Happy Halloween!
October 15, 2014
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2014
Captive damsel of creative-writing programs,
Personalized, eulogized job of small groups,
The frenetic activities handy to very few,
Poetry now belongs to a subculture hew.
We have accredited professional poets,
Creative writing teachers at all levels,
Composing computer- created poetry,
Creating illusion of the Golden Age artistry.
These professional poets have secured
Their own niches in the academic world,
They cry over the spilt milk like jackals
Snarling over a dried-up well with no aims.
Quantitative work is guaranteed success,
Accuracy, meaning, technique matters less.
Fourth place winner
Contest: Poetry for poetry's sake of Paula Swanson
Quo Vadis is a Latin phrase meaning "Where going"
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2010
My butt crack
Is quite a split
It supports the rest of me
when I sit
you thought I was gonna say something else didn't you ?
My butt crack
Is a marvel to behold
It was cute when I was young
but now offensive since I'm old
My butt crack
Is pretty darn straight
can you imagine if it was crooked
pretty weird sight I would rate
My butt crack
Is funny to me
when I bend over in my jeans
It peeks out
for you to see
My butt crack
wanted me to write this today
for no other reason
then just to say......................
I gotta split
Eric (and sometimes not)
Copyright © Eric Nolan | Year Posted 2010
Lemme tell ya' about a
I met her one night
under disco lights
up at Candies
starin' at me
grittin' her teeth
aimin' ta' see
if I wanted a piece
by way of flashin' granny panties
actin' a fool
took a shot
and one tiny glance
but got caught
lit up a smoke
and tried to play it off cool
but it was too late
she had pulled up a stool
"Hey young felluh, where ya' been all my life!"
"Sorry to burst yir' bubble, but I got a wife!"
"That don't matter kid, what she don't know won't hurt the girl"
as she fisted my collar and yelled, "I'LL ROCK YIR' WORLD! Annie the Tranny is what they call me. Bet you been wanted ta' bone me since you first saw me!"
Fear and frustration danced on my face
I begged the bouncer to
"Get this he/she outta the place!"
My pleas were to no avail,
and that sea donkey lurked hot on my trail
flailin' it's arms and grindin' bar stools with it's tail
Speakin' of tails...
a shiny blue wale tail crept up her back
Her jeans were mean, but couldn't hold her underwear's elastic slack
but at least it beat feastin' eyes upon her crack
wrapped her grimy hands around my neck and asked,
"You n' me, boy, what the heck!?!"
"Look here lady, you seem real nice for a tranny;
to hit the bricks,
and yir' Granny Panties!"
At that point the joint started to really heat up
people were glarin' like they really wanted me beat up
I can't recall how the hell I got out of there
alive and free
it was like a big manly freight train
headin' dead at me
I'm pretty sure I owe the good Lord a big favor
that beast was the devil
and Jesus was my Savior!
It's a night I thought would never end...
the night at Candies Bar n' Grill
Granny Panty Annie got a thrill
tryin' to make me her sexy friend!!!
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012
I shook my head
Knew the day’d be messy
Some poor sap
Was marrying my Aunt Bessie
She’d slept with half of Brooklyn
Flaunting her exploits all through town
The mayor, the banker, the deli clerk
Even the birthday party clown
A wedding gown, so fitted
Her bellybutton showed
Boobs shoved up high enough
To violate building code
Minutes before the shindig
She pulled me on the roof
Snatched a flask from her garter belt
Downing one hundred ninety proof
She wanted to call it off
No way she could comply
To promise for all her life
To only screw one guy
I told her she could do it
Like many other people do
She finally calmed down
And made her wedding day debut
She stumbled down the aisle
Tripping on her gown
Her daddy kept her steady
‘til the pastor stared her down
She blushed but pulled together
Long enough to give her vows
After the ceremonial kiss
Everyone went to carouse
Letting loose at the reception
She danced with all the boys
Twirling, flashing, grinning
Making all kinds of noise
I’d like to say things ended well
That monogamy she would master
But before the night was over
She got naked with the pastor
For Andrea's "Show Me the Funny" Contest
Copyright © Natalie The Rogue Rhymer | Year Posted 2012
Math, physics, English, and so on--
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A stuffy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I do dread
as each semester ends;
the pressure's on me to study
as the semester wends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to take up a new post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS;
degrees from the home of “The Tribe”
are crap that obsolesce.
I'll do rhymes as “Poet's Delight”
as poems are my forté--
not tomes or stuffy scholastics:
ballads are my métier!
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
So many people complain when they lose
To gain better rankings, judges they schmooze
And if they don’t place, their egos are bruised
They even use blogs simply to recuse
To some extent, these attacks may amuse
But their true intent is to light a fuse
Comments from favor seekers surely ooze
Superlatives they always overuse
They don’t know how to give honest reviews
“Luv” is a word they quite often misuse
Seeking to have their poems perused
But tell them the truth and they’ll sing the blues
It’s a game of getting comments and views
If you don’t play, they will transfuse
Words of anger from an inadequate muse
Copyright © Diane Locksley | Year Posted 2011
Have you read a poem lately; they're all written in ‘free verse’.
Like the murmurs of a hippy high on drugs or something worse,
They're a dangling meander through the tulips of their time,
Where the last thing that they care about comes on the second line.
Seems the weirder that you make them, the more you are adored;
Proving anyone can write them, stringing words of scant accord.
Like a drug-induced arrangement, spewing text because you can,
And as I've yet to try and read them out‘s a clue - I'm not a fan.
At first I thought it must be me; I've been so out of touch,
So I searched for poems said to rhyme, and not found very much,
Just a few odd bits of free stuff with a rhyming paragraph
Bereft of lines to make you think or even make you laugh.
Then next I read that publishers look down on rhyming bards,
And say their work’s just fit for kids or lines in birthday cards.
These leaders of the literary world are steering us to ruin;
Poem’s fate is in their hands, and they don’t know what they’re doing.
Try this: give new poems to a regular chap and bid him read to you,
And he'll be in 'free verse freefall' before he’s half way through.
I further bet he’ll raise his head and ask you, “What’s the plot?
I can't go on; this makes no sense - is this a joke or what?”
Oh no, old son, you’re doing well; it's from a leading poet.
It’s top class stuff, renowned by all - but you wouldn’t frigging know it.
I've written poems fifty years and never planned to cash them;
Just my damn luck I go to try – to find they're out of fashion.
Copyright © Dennis East | Year Posted 2015
Looked at the outside of steel window
Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air
What the news was brought in the feelings!
Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor.
Waiting for the light in the window
Dark vision comes down into my eyes by cycle-weariness
Down from one circle to another circle in time-blindness
Who stands here, the Islamic old man!
History of terrorism was carved on his burnt body
He wants to say something!
A white-complexioned Christian young man stands into the neighbor circle,
White-skinned history was printed on his blood-stained body
He wants to know something!
A dark-colored Hindu boy stands into the third circle,
History of third world is awakened on his envenomed body
He wants a little smile!
The old man, young man and boy are coming forward from the circles
Great distance... Near ...in front the room...
Who are you? No reply
They disappear into the tuberose equipped black and white photo of my father
Dad is smiling, I am senseless!
Tears are dropping from the eyes of our cat on the corridor.
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014
In here ..
"Don't care "..
" MUST DRILL
THEN FILL " ..
" Less speed
I'll bleed " ..
Your nerve ..
Jaw dead ..
" RINSE PLEASE"
Weak knees ..
Plus pill ..
No teeth ..
Soft food ..
Soiled pants ?..
The author would like to confirm that no deaths occured , during the creation of this piece. All
suffering was kept to a minimum,as the surgery was sound-proofed .Pain and suffering ,
caused to waiting patients , was due to being forced to read 3yr old mags. Seemingly the
news was less dire back then.All enamel&blood stained swabs were dumped in the
appropriate utensils,as per Geneva Convention(section ix, site xxxiv).The cleansing of soiled
underwear took place ,under supervision, with enviroment friendly detrgents & all offending
materials disposed of , in accordance with the KyotoAgreement(section mlx11).
Must dash !! , as I have to visit that other sadist, the vet ,with our cat.He is due for the snips!
( the cat , not the vet ).. Here Tom..Pshhhwshhh ..
Copyright © Sean Kelly | Year Posted 2009
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Goodness gracious prater comes.
Writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopping, never to go.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, clawing, I cower.
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Goodness gracious prater comes.
Envy those not thus engaged.
Envy the prattle on the page;
Stroked, petted, tilled and hoed;
Fields ‘pon fields, rows ‘pon row.
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Frantic fretting, fear comes.
Wading through the endless nights;
Waiting, waiting for the light.
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Writing, writing, writing on;
‘Till the coming of the dawn.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2008
They crawl out of the woodwork
Shedding lots of crocodile tears
Grieving for an ancient relative
They’ve not visited for many years
‘Auntie Annie’ is barely warm
But now you see the relations swarm
Waiting for the will to be read
They rub their hands with glee
Hoping they will be left
Lots of lovely money
‘Grieving relatives’ is rubbish!! Some are taking the mick ….
These mercenary vultures simply make me sick!
28th January 2017
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
There’s endless miles of golden sandy beaches
Sparkling aqua waters as far as the eye can see
Gods and Goddesses frolic au naturel down under
Here’s where Heaven shines her light down on me
If you foolishly swim between the danger red line zones
See a shark coming ‘HELP ME’! - You wildly scream
Well worth the SAVE in those bronzed muscly arms
Spunky Aussie life guards straight out of your dream
Women glow and men become fit- lean and taut
Any wonder that all thoughts get thrown asunder
Rippling muscles flex- bronzed bodies like gods
I come from the ‘green and gold land down under’
Spoiled for choice - Raw possibilities endless
No need to lust silently pining after one
Pick yourself up look around broken sparrow
This must surely be Gods place in the sun
Nothing comes close to the beer down under
Accompanied by a vegemite sandwich or two
Looking for something more gourmet and exotic?
There’s crocodile and kangaroo to name but a few
A land where every man resides like a King
And women are fawned over - treated like Queens
We don’t let sneezes and hay fever spoil things
If you have the sniffles - Hey! there’s Claratyne
This land where millionaires are made in a day
If you push the limits to achieve lofty goals
So don’t keep waiting to come on down under
Where our worth is what defines our roles
* ‘Living in a land Down Under
Where women glow and men plunder
Can’t you hear, can’t you hear the thunder,
You better run you better take cover’
Oops!! that verse sounds like it may be lines from the song 'Land Down Under' by 'Men at Work'. Might be seen as plagiarism. Sorry!! Couldn’t help myself!!
Instrumental of ‘Men at Work’ - by Joh Ph
Published on Jul 31, 2016 You Tube
* Quoted reference and citation of original lyrics of above verse from 'Land Down Under' belongs to 'Men At Work' first released October 1981 -
Songwriters: Colin James Hay / Ronald Graham Strykert.
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feather prides himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam Mcdaid
Copyright © Donna Loughman | Year Posted 2017
The Las Vegas shootings were Horrific.
The people running as the rapid fire was
sounding off in the background!
The wild fires in California, fifteen people
dead, and it is not controlled yet!
Hurricanes Maria, Irma, Jose, southern
coast is devastated, Puerto Rico is in need
Pizza Gate Pedophile rings in America!
Players kneeling and disrespecting our flag
for which Men and Women have sacrificed
their lives for.
Enough is Enough!
You will Not Steal My Joy, I reach for the remote
and turn off the "Joy Stealer" the TV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Michael Tor Inspired by Andrea Dietrich
Copyright © michael tor | Year Posted 2017
A Plate of Disorder
Are you ready to Disorder Sir?
What can I tempt you for a starter,
May I recommend the Turmoil Soup?
Garnished with Havoc Green Tartar.
For the main, perhaps our house speciality,
Goujons of Chaos and Sweet Bedlam.
With a Medley of Confusion and Mess,
Served on a bed of Smoked Mayhem.
On the Dessert Trolley tonight,
We have a Disarray of Cheese Cake,
A delicious Rhubarb Anarchy,
Or Sticky Turbulent Plum Bake.
Please enjoy your hearty and Riotous feast,
May it temper and fulfil the agitated beast.
Copyright © Kevin Shaw | Year Posted 2017
On the state of American Poetry- A Non-Poem Poem
I'm Poet Laureate Of Main Street!
They voted. I won.
' came down to me and the kid whose
dog shits on everyone's
His poem was about a missing red
crayon. Mine- the stop sign someone
stole from the corner of Elm and Main.
(I think I know who did it too.)
Is it coincidence
both poems are about loss?
Probably not. Poetry is at
its best when expressing
He'll probably win the position
back next year with a weepy
poem about not having been
chosen Poet Laureate Of Main
Street. That's fine with me...
as long as he keeps that damn
dog in his own yard!
Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2016
Life's a One Way, Uphill.
Every Wrinkle on your Face
Marks a Step of Maturity.
You go Up not Looking
At the Peak but Dreaming
Of Sliding Down, Trying to
Look Younger than You Are.
Copyright © Harshath Vidheya | Year Posted 2017
They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.
And I saw the duo on the road,
Together on a journey in a tussle,
Behold! The powerfool and the powerful.
The powerfool: a powered fool, the power-fooled:
Tooth and nail he fought,
Burgled the mandate, picked a race,
Unwary was he that
Power-fool-ness is not powerfulness.
They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.
I was fated to behold it all:
How the powerfool took the hold by force,
The power bought he, with the blood of the innocent and the guiltless,
Who in allegiance went, their duty to do.
How the powerful came calm with query;
And chased after the powerfool
In a slow steady struggle sealed
In patience, persistence, perseverance…
They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.
I was fated to know it all:
How at the first three junction of the road
Which was destined for four,
The auctioneer’s label was hung on the truth;
Our trust betrayed for a trifle;
And our lynchpins victimized with riffle.
They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.
But the fool cannot but fool a fool.
At the fourth junction I saw it:
As the powerfool in a derisive confidence
Met his dreaded waterloo in a corner,
Where stubbornness is stupidity,
And where all help is no help;
Caught unawares; the end of the road in sight.
And the powerful in a gallant gesture,
Given the power that to him belonged,
Sighed VICTORY AT LAST!
He that laughs last laughs longer;
He that laments last laments longer.
Copyright © OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Year Posted 2011
Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade,
we're cruising in the Lone Star state.
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat,
was sitting up close to your date.
One hand on the wheel of daddy’s Oldsmobile,
my arm around my brown-eyed girl,
feeling pretty sporty, radio on Top Forty,
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl.
The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes;
her bobby socks were turned down twice.
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer,
too much and it wouldn't be nice.
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats;
she’d never go all the way...
just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
practiced in the mirror all day.
Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
for the fly-boys waiting on the bus,
to take them to the base where they don't feel out of place,
not cruising like the rest of us.
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
and we saw the lights along the riverside.
We'd had quite a lark there at Neff's amusement park,
playing Putt-Putt and going on a ride.
The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
with a spinner on every rim,
a perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat,
courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim.
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead;
it was a drop-top Pontiac.
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
posing up on the back.
Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
were followed by their biggest fan.
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses
was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man.
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces;
they iced him with a haughty air.
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
when he became a multi-millionaire.
A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy
were riding west on Sherwood Way,
four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind,
all ready to make their play.
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists,
but those gals were pretty astute.
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies,
the chicks started putting on the cute.
We turned the car around and headed back downtown,
cruising down the boulevard.
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio,
and take it down Beauregard.
There were lots of pleated skirts and those button-down shirts.
The flattops were everywhere galore.
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental,
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”.
We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s
announcement of the next hit song.
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours,
two hoods were playing Mr. Wrong.
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
and did their best at looking mean.
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis.
The other did a fine James Dean.
Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein
was entwined around the Marlboro man.
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout
and opted for a bigger floor plan.
With her black beehive hair and his fancy western wear,
they were putting on quite an awesome scene.
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle,
but those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen.
I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu,
and I put us back onto the street.
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
to get ourselves a bite to eat.
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school,
in those days they came right out to you.
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth,
they’d check your oil and clean your window too.
The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
with people mingling car to car.
Everyone was caring; the drinks were all for sharing,
(especially when in a mason jar).
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
to comfort an old friend not feeling right.
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger,
then I took her home and called that one a night.
That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow,
and I think back to when I was a teen.
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked,
unchaperoned at night on Halloween.
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright,
and I’m deep in a Texas state of mind,
I think of that lass who was in my high school class,
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind.
August 10, 2012
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2012
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Fifty-year class reunions are stricken with sadness:
Former classmates falling apart before my eyes.
Jane uses a walker, and Stan exhibits madness.
Wages of age foreshadow classmates’ demise.
In youth’s green age I could not fathom this,
A time when peers would be withered and worn.
How I wonder could life have gone so amiss?
Surveying the scene, my heart is heavy, torn.
I give proud thanks that I’m not like the others,
Having been spared of time’s toxic touches.
“But what has befallen my sisters and brothers?”
I ponder the question as I reach for my crutches.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2014