Darkness, thick that feels like water
People’s scream’s as if great slaughter
Choking you at the back of your throat
Yearning for light to write a poetry note
Eyes, ears, taste, smell, touch, no longer in use
Blackness disables them in its destructive pursuit
Fires light as they crave for the light
Darkness quenches it with an ever black night
Some drive making accidents panicking on their way
Searching for the part where there’s light in the day
They look up in a hope that the stars may break through
But they chock, they gasp they fall and they spew
They crawl, they hungry, they start to eat each other
Brother eats brother, father eats son, daughter eats mother
Looking where they think heaven is, crippled and bent
Cursing God in the hope that their torment will end
They think through the insanity that this must be hell
Their bodies begin to blister, pain and swell
Just another day in 2012 they must face
For the love of God is no longer as he removed his grace
They should consider this heaven and not hell
For after this hell is worse and for eternity they shall dwell
The bright dawn drives away the last of dark.
Applause suspended, I watch with delight.
Mount Baker in the distance, veiled in fog,
Majestic Queen awaiting the new day.
Her white clad image steaming from the cold.
As firs pay homage to her from below.
The smaller hills are dressed in vibrant green,
Our little valley now waits for the play.
The streaks of dawn emit the morning light,
Reflecting off a flock of flying geese.
Now all is hushed and waiting for the show,
With God providing stage for the first scene.
They are in place, the action will begin,
Commuters first to enter on their cue,
Then farmers in their fields, no lines to speak
And busses with their children now appear.
They speak their lines without a written page,
Some near their final acts, others fill in.
In seeming mad confusion, all parts fit
And unrehearsed, each actor plays his part.
The night brings down the curtain on the show,
As God is writing scripts for a new day.
Tomorrow all must play their parts anew
And wait for Judgment Day to know how well.
won 6th place
Hey Jesus Christ is our Quarterback,
He's MVP and never gets sacked,
Twelve Apostles are the rest of the team,
The Bible is their rule and Jesus is their steam.
They always win and never lose,
Cheering for souls for God to use,
With Father God as the Heavenly Coach,
The Holy Spirit now will approach.
God's Angels are the team to try,
Wearing their jerseys all will fly,
Across the goal line happily,
Scoring touchdowns for Eternity.
Some are not fans of this great sport,
Wait till you join this Heavenly Court,
And be a player on a winning streak,
God's Angels team is quite unique.
Teresa Skyles
Co-written Linda-Marie Bariana one of the best poets on soup.
Entered in Chris D.Aechter"2nd.chance"contest
And God said let there be light
And butterflies appeared
Sensuous as a moon
On a fragranted night
With jasmines in her hair.
And God said in the beginning was the word
And the cataract thundered
In a kaleidoscope of white
Wings like water sundered
Dancing on the belly of a stream
Rolling on the breast of the sea.
And God said let there be love
And moon came naked through the curtain
And poet sighed
Willing but still uncertain
Where she will go when day has come
And passions are mute as a stickless drum.
Sometimes I feel like I'm all alone
Wondering through this place
But then I look around
Just to see
Your beautiful, smiling face
Sometimes I question if God is real
If he really created me
But then I feel stupid
For quetioning in
The marvelous God that we can't see
Sometimes I want my troubles to disappear
Off the face of this planet
But then I realize
That I wouldn't be human
So I shutup and can it
Sometimes I think that I'm "In Love"
With the person I want to spend my life with
But I'm not even
Thirteen years old
So I know right now love is just a myth
Sometimes I believe that I have a magical friend
That is always by my side
But then I remember
That that would be love
And love I remember has lied
Sometimes I feel as if I don't have friends
That really care about me
But then I remember
Those good ol' times
That they couldn't have had without me
Sometimes I think that poems are finished
At the very last line
But then I think
That all those "finished" poems
Will never be finished in my mind
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