The Reaper I know,
You respect no one.
When you decide to take one home,
Age, color, accomplishments mean nothing to you
In your court.
You harvest every soul
At your most convenience.
In life's prime and low, you strike hard
Without any consideration.
You cause unexplained weeping
And a void that will never be filled. You take when you want,
Without giving notice.
Who are we to question you?
You have control over all authorities.
Where fairness is not discussed
Oh, I don't expect you to be fair,
For your existence is not fair.
Unmet expectations strike hard,
hurting where they languish long.
Unkept promises are blows earned,
hitting where they find no resistance.
Unkind words are slashes harsh,
ripping through the calm conscience.
The dormant volcano within the soul
then gets the upsurge of melted psychic mantle
in the crust of brittle tolerance,
that collapses in the caldera cradling the vent,
reaching the magma chamber in the core.
The soul erupts the lava in the wild,
burns the gentle patience as it flows.
Uncontrolled, it blazes the heart,
undowsed, it singes the sane senses.
The smoke billows up thick and intense,
clouds the deranged essence.
Words rise like Sphinx from the toxic ashes,
perish the patient face of mental restraint.
The flame surges in the stream of neurons,
no longer the carrier of conformist signals.
From the volcanic inferno of the soul
the erupted fiery lava called anger flows
in the torrents of blistering words,
scalding whatever comes in the way,
blazing a furrow for the reticent life.
Out of a clear blue sky;
out of a smooth ripple-free pool -
stealing the light and air,
she stands with arms outstretched.
Your heart stops and your breath is caught,
and nothing else exists: She is your future.
You have to watch her eyes.
In dreams you might escape their pull,
but in the magnitude of the moment;
in that inescapable event,
you are bound by an ancient
and unspoken charter: Having looked, you are bound.
She wants you to hold her;
hold her slender wrinkle-free hand;
feel her cool triumphant grasp.
Captured. Taken … in the nick of time.
Escape is quite impossible.
There is no going back: Time cannot be replayed.
Some have waited so long
that this moment when it arrives
is nothing but a delightful celebration.
For them, she glows with promise;
a beauty without equal…
as, for certain, she is beyond comparison.
For me? Shall I avoid
her eyes, avoid her grasping touch?
Shall I struggle with my breath and strike hard
upon my breast and heart?
A vain refusal it would be…
For Madam De’Ath chooses her own time.
© Griffonner 2024
A man takes responsibility,
for things he may do.
There is nothing wrong,
with an apology or two.
The soup is a family,
no one needs to leave.
Take notice of your actions,
nobody's beyond reprieve.
Jesus loves us all,
may God be with thee.
Everybody has feelings,
open your eyes and see.
These days of insults,
are now in the past.
May we all find the truth,
let it strike hard and fast.
typewriter keys strike hard and fast
sharp black marks slightly moist
on crisp clean papers so snowy white
lines of symbols that have no form
black and white does colors show
golds and silvers and blues and greens
black darkness of night and golden light of day
snow capped peaks in sky’s of blue
sports cars quickly race and motorcycles curve
asphalt black and hard and auburn curls in the breeze
motors loudly roar and soft leaps flutter
wind it rushes by with a scent of flowers
sharp clean lines corners form
flowing curves both soft and firm
clean angles sharp and some obtuse
shows us things we cannot see
painting landscapes within the mind
tall green trees fluttering leaves
orchids roses and columbines
bees that hum and birds that fly
tell timeless stories of girls and boys
of young love and its joys
of picnics in the summer sun
harsh cold beaches when it’s done
sharp clean pictures in the mind
music sweet in all its forms
of each emotion known to man
from black letters on paper white
The journey begins with a single step,
It miles away but the choice is yours to take,
It's all about the movement,
Moment you realize you can crawl, walk, run and fly knowing there are possibilities in impossibility,
The world is yours for taking, only if you do more working and less talking,
The road is rough but grace plays a smooth role, sealing every pole hole,
So make your faith hold,
Your life hold and own by you,
Cause we all on the same journey on different path leading to one destination,
So we all have our given purpose with a target,
You have to strike hard to hit the goal post,
Don't live to die for the just curse,
Die to live with and for a just course,
Cause a short fulfilled life is better than a long a long wasted life.
So early discovery is advice, once you know the way you can advance.
Life is a journey,
Life is a tourney,
With a trophy,
Don't die a failure,
So I say don't DIE unfulfilled...
I take my pen, write words to paint,
With boldness, color lines.
My views reveal,
Some thoughts I feel,
With boldness, color lines.
When there’s a need, strong words define,
Strike hard, bear truth at will.
Hit the mighty
Powers that be,
Strike hard, bear truth at will.
Courage stands with a heart of steel,
Expressed in poetry.
It will not faint,
defy restraint,
Expressed in poetry.
To point out truth is writing free,
Though we may not be saints.
Threats can’t confine
What we incline,
Though we may not be saints.
All rights reserved—Cynthia Buhain-Baello—05.16.15
The Roundabout poem is a four stanza poem, with each stanza consisting of 5 lines. The poem is written in iambic and the lines have 4 feet, 3 feet, 2 feet, 2 feet and 3 feet respectively. The rhyme scheme is abccb/bcddc/cdaad/dabba. Roundabouts can be on any subject.
Shawaï!
Born struggling for bread and butter on the way to the barren land
Where Adama’s warriors settled like saviors with Fulani to spread the Nation
And implant Fulani’s mingled tradition burying indigenous cultures with the edge of
Their swords and the spade of convincing myths, with detriment to the creed.
Born to bear the burdens of his family, his name and awe-inspiring personality.
Of middle height, not light, a grave face oft-changing, tranquil in prayers
And meditation but on meeting all and sundry walking slowly, but lively
He neither cared about the foes howling like bees each striving to strike hard
Nor was he involved in the poor scratching of the stars to foretell the Unknown.
Keen on reading the Book he inspired fears and demanded reverence
Hardworking he chose to be a shepherd, a laborer, a teacher, a retired believer
Grinding his beads too, and working on the farm, and opposing
Injustice whenever need be, keeping the family tie and mending the nations
Patches refusing abuses of power and declining the rich men tendency to
Rule the laws, he stood firmly against the excesses and in working he passed
Away.
Be he perched atop of Everest
Or on the Forrest floor
Screaming out in agony
The mighty never fall
Send forth you army to dissipate
The spirits beckon call
Call on your creator if you must
For the mighty never fall
Hold high your sword or spear or bow
Like many have before
Strike hard through all your enemies for
The mighty never fall
Dig deep strike swift don't blink an eye
Until no one left at all
Battle on soldier of fear
The mighty never fall
Show no mercy it's for the weak
Let out a mighty roar
Toast the fools who've fallen short
For the mighty never fall
James Thomas Mahauariki
Copyright © 2009
Simple, elemental, essential, source of Life
Coursing this blue planet’s rivers and streams
Rush fast through the harbor burst out to sea
Sail open ocean, charge shore by Moon’s guide
Morph mass and matter, touch atmosphere
Return condensed, slightly cloaked vaporized
Creeping and crawling fog in to the Bay
Over land, pushing pass mountainous range
Pressurized band together, pouring rain, snow and sleet
Then temperature rises to a certain degree
Fluid get moody, puts on quite a show
Loud crashing thunder opens the scene
Live wires cross, strike hard down to earth
Birth new vegetation after the burn
Showering love and nurturing the grow
All creatures gain from the work water sows
Scarlett Critttenden
For Member Contest "Write Me a Rippling Stream"
6/3/11
Don’t spare the rod
Without remorse
Strike hard
For every child good there’s one bad
Take no chances
Strike hard
Education must come from above
A swinging stroke
Strike hard
Old decorum a twilight
Duty fading
Strike hard
World now bemused by little Jimmy
Take pleasure
Strike hard