Soft notes of a clarinet playing
‘You are so beautiful’, stirs memories
of holding hands and making plans
in the dimly lit atmosphere, so close,
the scent of your after shave
left me breathless for a moment.
My long locks softly wrapped themselves
around the scarlet lei you bestowed around
my neck with a tender kiss to each cheek.
Lighting and music melded into magic.
When you cupped my face
in your masculine hands I could feel
the current flowing between us in
unknown wattage that swept through my body
like bolts of lightning as my entire being
tingled in the nearness of your aura.
They say ‘warm hands, cold heart’, but
I found this to be intrinsically untrue.
I will never forget the passion exuding from
your warm heart, with those warm hands!
Our first kiss spoke to me assuredly as
the material world vanished and
we were alone, alone in the darkness,
alone in our world.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015
Wooden Whispers
Harsh winds have shaped the hollows of my cheeks
artistic rains ingrained life’s ruddy smile
wise owls tutored students from my peak
young lover’s etched their passing – single file.
Time and sun have added creaking to my joints
I bore high water marks yet stood my ground
a moose once spent the night in snowdrift maze
lone visitor in months of Winter’s white.
I rest under clear sky and budding trees
while strangers pose for “selfies” ‘neath my eaves
long for the hum of saw and hard heeled boots
childhood play before they fled their roots.
I serve a distant melancholy need
of simpler times and every dream a steed.
©8/18/2017
submitted to – Covered Bridge – Poetry contest
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2017
I wish for you
warm happy thoughts
soft peaceful nights
kind lessons taught.
I hope that love
runs straight and true
but if it curves
you’ll walk it through.
Hold to your breast
fond memories
tranquil bonds of bliss
serenity.
When if your eyes
cloud up with tears
know that the Lord
will chase your fears.
Don’t let your smile
be doused by hate
throw it behind
won’t cross the Gate.
My wish for you
is that you see
a cherished life
is yours to be.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
Under Winter sky
Love-Curried-soup lets me try
Hurry home to fly.
Fengleishanren.
Copyright © Makoto Ogino | Year Posted 2015
For anyone who wants in business to succeed,
The wise man gives this advice which you should heed.
The first point you should smile, smile, smile.
A smile is the simple way to help you your customers to beguile.
Your smile costs nothing to give, be sincere and never stop.
Never appear moody, or down, encourage and you will remain on top.
Learn to praise and encourage as quickly as you can,
Do this with sincerity to every woman and man.
Show the world you are happy and want them to be happy too
The world will respond, will buy your product if it is good and true.
In every business whether high or low all must think “Customer is King”
Without them your business or your job is worth NOTHING.
Copyright © Terry Godwin | Year Posted 2016
When I am up, every sky is a boundless, cloudless expanse of brilliantly blinding blue.
When I am up, I am William the Conqueror and William Shakespeare and William Jennings Bryan all in one.
When I am up, life is an eternity of perfect days punctuated by soul-shaking truths at every turn.
When I am up, every person I meet is a fount of infinite expectations.
When I am up, my momentous happiness is so moment-to-moment that if I look away for but an instant I might miss it all.
When I am up, I cannot turn away. I am a moth to the flame. I am Icarus. I am entranced by my own fire’s burning ballet. I am ablaze.
When I am up, I feel the gravity of every instant, weighing me down with the weight of it all as I struggle not to fall back to reality.
When I am up, I am alone. I am adrift on my sea of ideas?—?in search of my white whale, trying to stay within the white lines, staring into the glaring white light?—?without hope of rescue.
When I am up, I must come down…
"just something I wrote to better explain my bipolar poles"
Copyright © ThoughtsFrom B4 | Year Posted 2024
There she is again! That great big spider.
Show her the door. Don't spoil this insider.
Yet now on the ceiling, she rests up high.
My broom swipes hard though I fail in my try.
She's hoping to stay and spin a big net.
I grab some bug spray but it's the wrong kind.
"Once I got bitten", my friends I remind.
Nightfall comes, spider looks to be asleep.
My promise to win is one I can't keep.
Last seen, she's bigger and hasn't moved yet.
Copyright © Hilda Greenhough | Year Posted 2023
Temps of the Morn
Jeannie Flinn Furlong
Frozen in time, brrr isn’t it chilling! But, thinking what a cool way to go!
Red that color starts at the tip of the head moves slowly to meet a really fat toe.
Out barnstorming each ‘cool of the morning’; yes, remembering time to go soon will arrive. We know
Missing friendship during other times of the day, chores provide distraction as we go, though…
Taking time on arrival in the ‘cool of the morn’, my ghost-heart friend will say
“Home sweet home,” then snuggles down to take off the chill in the warm, warm sweet smelling hay.
Time is so short, as the ‘cool of the morn’ ends on a high note of camaraderie, my friend wants to stay,
“Have a ghostly day,” before hurriedly escaping far, far on down the way…
Only feigning happiness and forcing a cheerful, heart bumping, great smile,
Using the next moments, we pray for more time in the ‘cool of the morn’ stretching a mile.
Shyly making a quick exit, prevents spectators seeing those heart tears flow like the Nile
Each end of the morn’s coolness seems to always present a new trial…
One more minute or hour will do; more learning to ‘ghost talk’ with this shadowy friend
Flip a coin, ‘Heads or Tails’, more my time I’ll win time in a joyful trend
Tails it is! More Time runs past the ‘cool of the morn’. My heart jumps madly, I’m first to commend
Heaven or Hell, they’ll grant many surprises to warm my heart, I’ll pretend
Deciding.. I’ll pray for my red wrapped request, “please”! It’s granted, more happiness forms in my heart
Extending our time past the ‘cool of the morn’ does brighten my spark
Allowing our friendship to flourish past our humble, so true, and not a bit stark…
Beginning…ah yes, slowly stepping ahead…headed toward sunlight..racing out of the dark…
Days fly by, after our heartfelt announcement “time not torn”!
More FRIENDSHIP! Stronger bonds bind past that ‘cool of the morn’
Happily celebrating til light of the moon! Congrats dear heart, no scorn!
Sunning in time! Hmm! Hear the soft sizzling! Time ends when it’s a ‘warm past the morn'. Newly born!
Copyright © Jeannie Flinn Furlong | Year Posted 2021
Victoria, so long away,
The streets of London,
Still today,
Remember how, the dimmer sun,
Is brighter by the day.
And though your plight,
Was dark ahead,
The stars at night,
Above your bed,
Were lullabies of light.
The stories that you told so well,
Became for me,
The dinner bell,
That happily,
Grew kinder with each tell.
The city boy, named Oliver,
The one you freed,
And loved, for sure,
Became the need,
That finally won the cure.
The child whom we still adore,
The very one,
That Mary bore,
Was never done,
By how you loved us more.
The victory, from certain hate,
Became the fight,
We celebrate,
To win the right,
And thus, to prove our fate.
Copyright © Bryan Norton | Year Posted 2020
Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord
A statement I'm sure we've all heard at one time
Also a very tough one to deal with
Vengeance is not ours according to the Bible
It's left to faith
It's left to the belief that the horrific crimes of others will be dealt with
I, myself have a hard time with it
I have no choice but to follow it
Even if I don't agree with it
I would like to believe that evil will be dealt with
Or is currently being dealt with on some spiritual level
I would feel better If I knew the outcome of the vengeance
If I could see the result
See the "check" being paid as it were
I am having trouble not seeing murderers get what is coming to them
I can live without killing them
I can deal with them being locked up for life
But I want something more than that...........................
Say..........
Hard labor?
Daily torture?
Public caning?
Castration?
All of the above?
Prison is no longer a viable deterrent for the horrific crimes that occur
Every year we as a species seem to find new and more grisly ways to murder each other
What will this year bring?
What will be this year’s most shocking death?
And who will bring it?
The kids?
They seem to be the latest thing in absolute shocking carnage
Or maybe this will be the year of the female
They have been lacking in the body count of 2009
Maybe this will be their year
I wonder
Do you even really care?
Thou shalt not kill
It seems that statement has fallen upon deaf ears for quite a long time
You know.............
If we as a people didn't have religion
Evil wouldn't stand a chance
The sense of right and wrong
Would destroy the evil of man without a thought
If you knew you could destroy an evil person and not pay religious consequences would you?
Of course you would
As most of us would
There is no remorse for doing good deeds
And taking vengeance upon evil
Is noble and just
But the rules of religion say we must not
The rules say we must rise above it
And trust it will be dealt with
Keeping the faith it will be done
To try and hold this commitment
Is in itself God like
Which is why most of us fail
And fail miserably
We want vengeance
We want their death
We want them to feel our pain
Our suffering
Our loss
Our sorrow
Our anger
Our hatred
Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord
And it is because of this statement
That we have faith
Eric (and sometimes not)
Copyright © Eric Nolan | Year Posted 2009
TRAPPED
I run through life wounded with a steel trap ensnared onto my
foot restricting my life’s essence. Day in and out I’m never able to
shake it off, in relentless movements so no new pain touches me.
I fight for sustenance; I fight to inhabit this life damaged and
wearied, from taking life’s persecutions. The torment of my
afflictions you cannot see.
I hold close that God is always watching and will pull me from
the muddied roads I run. He hears my tormented cries; he
feels my tortured spirit; he sees I can’t stop this path I’m on.
You say I’m not getting free but the running is critical to me,
I’ll run as long as I can, let me be free from what haunts me,
it’s not something you'll ever comprehend.
You say the war is over but the hurt remains. I keep a mask on
in good times and bad. They think that my life doesn’t count
but God sees the merit of my existence.
Every day, it’s my struggle; no one can imagine the heartbreak,
as the sorrow cuts my soul as deeply as the rapt foot, it won’t
come off it’s always mine alone.
I’m still fighting, as the battle rages on in my mind, if you haven't
experienced this anguish, you can run with me or without me.
I've accepted the aloneness in this fight.
This trap keeps me from fending off life’s predators. I’m a
solitary being with a broken spirit. My desperate expression
is evidence enough.
I know God watches this burden I carry. I pray when
my time is up he gives me warning so I remain still as
I’m risen up out of this hell.
My Angels in Heaven see me; so I’m okay to die this way;
it’s not for you to say. I’m done defending this. I pray
for you without any prayers in return.
Copyright © Diane Perna | Year Posted 2021
Reading a book or watching a movie
We get imaginatively engaged-
Putting ourselves into the protagonists-
A wishful desire- it happens in one’s life.
We desire what another like us has,
Or what a pair appears to share and enjoy.
It gives birth to dual desires-
A possessive feeling for the beloved
An ardent wish to win over a rival.
What makes a wife or a husband rational?
Is the threat of husband-rival or wife-rival
The desire intensifies thro’ a spouse,
One desires what another like him or her has.
Once one gets it, it is a soiled thing,
Not getting it, is the most precious.
Oh! Jealousy, thy name is desire.
What makes us human is our
Universal Feeling of a lack in our lives
To be alive is to feel something
That ultimately is missing from it.
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2005
I will dig the sand
the wet sand of this shore
I will bury my fingers
deep
and my soul will descend,
descend slowly,
and in silence
the warmth will rise
beneath the skin
I will dig deeper
and I will dig
this shore, which I know
like the palms of my hands.
Here, I have built spacious houses,
apportioned rooms
and accumulated towers of sand
till the tide buries them
and I return
the next day
and build.
Here, I know
I can play
Here, I realize dreams can be buried
and also
grief.
Copyright © Khalid Albudoor | Year Posted 2017
the kids are going nuts
one almost keeled over
one inquires about the whereabouts
of the large-caliber pipe pistol
one gives the spheroid
a handshake and hug
the arm like an tartarean
eclipse with a surreptitious
star-nosed mourning
mole on the end of it
one gives the projectile
a high five, invented by a
basketball player with
four fingers
but what about him?
who is he under the
cycloidal velvet? how did
he get this gig?
did he expect models
draped over vintage tanks?
rubenesque ladies straddling
the missiles?
can he take the costume home?
who is responsible for it's wash?
does he put a cancer stick
in his touch hole in the car park?
does his lady-indoors
own a rammer?
he wishes the day would end
go home for a grapeshot
that he could be elevated
at forty-five degrees
and sent airborne towards
the automatic doors
Copyright © Christopher Allen | Year Posted 2021
THE UNHOLY TERROR OF LITTLE TOM
The bashing sounds of thunder echo in reverberation
to the electrifying bolts of lightning that illuminated
every single room from dark to light just seconds earlier.
Sheets of rabid rain torpedo upon a leaky roof.
Broken limbs of trees tossed away by raucous sheets of sleet
ram hard against the battered frame of the small cottage.
Little Tom holds close in a fetal position
immobilized in fear and bowed down as a non person
waiting stupefied quivering and frozen in spaceless
timeless obedience to all his emotions.
The vibrations of the shaken windows
push and pull in harmonic rhythms
accelerating into a persistent succession
of unrelenting pounding pistons
upon the naked wooden structure.
Little Tom awaits in terror for the moment
when the storm gates will crash in
allowing the blizzard to surge the void
and tear obliquely at his tender
weakened shivering flesh.
He ties to hide by pressing deeper into the blackness of the night.
But the sparks of the fireplace dancing in rapid cadence
against the wall reveal the shadow of his huddled form.
Wet and convulsing in unbecoming behavior
Little Tom yells out DADDY, DADDY!
.
His father, lays dormant and unconscious
in a drunken stupor passed out and vacant
on an unmade bed.
Worn and withered forlorn and terrified Little Tom
in one last whimper, cries himself to sleep
CAK 5-16-2013
Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013
There once lived a man named Dean
Who said he had a psychic gene
But to one they knew
That it wasn't true
Cause he repeated the same routine!
Copyright © Justin Abdool | Year Posted 2022