“Where They Bloom”
by Positive Mark
Phantoms are groomed where the black roses bloom.
Nights when you can’t find a dark enough room.
Feelings were hurt on all sides of the fence.
Thousands of wonderers left in suspense.
Masking true honesty.
Nurturing pride.
Luggage of falsehoods they pack for the ride.
Foreheads to eyelids to noses to chins.
Left handed hand shakes and satanic grins.
Gleaning from parables.
Chanting the psalms.
Jiggling the cheek ‘til it’s bruised by the palm.
Screeching of gospels surrounding a body that’s covered in flyers that reek of the party.
Black roses tossed out the window at night.
Dark enough room, now you search for the light.
Cyclical madness, but no one is taught.
Wars that are lost
when they’ve never been fought.
The remnant of dismantled world war history,
the concrete slabs frame the unleashed society’s canvas,
captures the contours of the off-the-grid lifestyle
where bohemian spirit thrives in the last lawless place.
A secluded haven with no borders and no rules to confine
the eccentrics and impoverished who want to get lost
as wanton wonderers like the migrating snowbirds,
weaving the fabric of life with new meaning in the desert.
The creative tenets of the free life force of the slab city,
vibrant on the façade of the avant-garde harsh beauty,
with resilience etched by the wild winds of desolation
for the secluded slabbers in the last free place.
I am a passerby
these things are facts of Life no lie
But as I pass I still wonder why
positive and negative thoughts cloud my mind without lies
We are all wonderers a thought that comes with smiles
The part to each destiny traveled by lone self
But the decision to bliss lies in the hands of the creator
A thought always good to remind oneself
As a passerby I might compromise
Since I am not guaranteed tomorrow
I live to adventure,make mistakes and improvise
Atleast I know this journey sometimes might be joy the other sorrow
Why does the rain pour and afterwards sunshine?
The day is also a passerby same too with the dark night
We think we are free but we can't choose to be happy everytime
This fact nature holds against us as reminder Torchlight
Our title here must always be the PASSERBY.
Where do we poets go?
Hiding in the shadows of small towns and big cities,
Where do we poets go?
Spilling our hearts out onto paper for the world to see,
Where do we poets go?
When we no longer hold the pen with pride,
I’d like to believe we live on,
in ripped page corners and whispers of ‘where should I start?’
I’d like to believe we live where our imagination is needed,
Creativity welcoming us with open arms,
a smile for his lucky few,
his creative wonderers and idealists;
us who question the very fabric mother nature sewed,
us who like to scribble on her walls,
us who pinned our work up on her fridge,
Wouldn't it be lovely,
to be remembered for the words we never spoke,
the names we never uttered or even went by,
the streets and shadows we hid in?
Where do we poets go?
Because we certainly don’t die.
Wednesday 25 November 2020
I sit and wonder in an expressionless state
Is everything in life really set by fate?
I have many things to be thankful for
But still so many things I hate
And if fate is truly what determines life
Can anyone explain the existence of wrong or right?
For now I’m lost drifting in the dark
Still searching for a brighter light
I’m constantly told to stay strong and keep faith
But sometimes I ponder, can I really trust
In a man I can never see face to face
I need clarity on life
And who or what really determines my flight
I’m starting to believe in myself
And just say I set my own path
But every time I begin to speak on the topic
There comes a subconscious relapse
Leaving me still bewildered on the concept of life
I guess because it’s meant for wonderers like me
To never understand what truly drives life
By: Quiayren D. Young
Sincerity is hardly in an abundant quantity in our world
the blunderers and wonderers are deserted the direction hurled
Lost aimless looking to be painless seared in their fragile state
by promise makers and mockers and takers until it is too late
They hope, cope, mope and feel roped while facing a reality
robbed of peace and tranquility
Searching and asking, yearning while acting out this game called life
with the scenes that repeat like a thundering heartbeat consumed with horrific strife
Puppets get tangled and wrangled and mangled by the puppeteer
who's careless and cares less. Verbose? Yes, but truth uncovers fears and tears
The haystack is monumental, yet the needle miniscule hidden under eternal straw sticks
The hay is rough and in irritating tufts. It blocks the gleam that's within. It's a glow like fire
on a burning wick.
Coal is a very dark stark mark of what exists if not burned
Ageless means stage less void of undiscovered value. Leave no stone unturned
Eloquent Whispers
Oh hear the WHISPERING wind telling truths.
Saying to souls remember Calvary.
While WAFTING breezes…to eternity,
And hope one day all wonderers ye shall see –
FRAGRANT scented flowers, LAVENDER blooms.
Shall hear the DULCET songs from distant lands.
Perfect ELOQUENCE carries natures’ tunes.
Where SPLENDOR that is given calls creatures…stands.
A heavenly BLISS that by God was sent.
To those whose hearts feel loved and give love back.
TRANQUILITY and peace do not relent.
We live to learn life’s ways upon God’s track.
Shall we, then, march upon one narrow road?
The perfect LILT through life to God’s abode –
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
April 9, 2010
One starry night lit up the skies
lighting the way for three wonderers
traveling where the snowy path lies.
Whistling winds howled fear to all.
Proudly a deer stood watching about
studying the travelers crying call.
Nowhere to go but forward
was the only answer for the trio.
Home appealed like a reward.
Far off one saw flashing rays
flickering in the night heavens
something not seen by day.
Oh holy night was calling a song
of peace on earth to all about
the wonderers gazed far and long.
A church stood in the faraway
with skylights shining ever bright
Carolers chanted in words of pray.
The echo of the music traveled away
one by one the trio joined the carol
singing Silent Night in a calm way.
When the hymn came to a pause,
all stood still in warmth of ecstasy
It is time for Christmas and Clause.
May the joy of the holiday night
bring happiness to all this season
and let all your wishes be right?
Mermaids
Sea wonderers
Revealing their desire
Drifting my mind in a sure-fire
Legend
I look out my window and what do I see
All kinds of birds sitting in a tree
They squawk and they chirp
Come out, come out, come out and play
You are missing such a beautiful day
Longing fills my heart so
Thinking and wishing that I could go
Fly through the air with not a care
Be a bird with them out there
But alas this is not to be
I can not fly like the birds in the trees
So I sit and I watch the birds at play
Dreaming that someday I just may
Go dancing in the wind, twirling in a spin
Soaring here and there going everywhere
The birds will laugh and chuckle
To see this wonderers sight
A human who can fly just like a kite
I answered their plea to come out to play
We all had such a wonderful day
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