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You are the prophet
in your own poems don`t
be controlled by others
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02192012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Anne-Lise Andresen | Year Posted 2012
Listen to poem:
A Life Well Lived
by Robert J (Bob) Moore (©2015)
The old man sat at the window, staring into space
people could only wonder, at the smile upon his face
but they had not been where he had been, and behind that wrinkled brow
they could not see what he had seen, or what he was seeing now
He was back again in England, on a cold and frosty day
heading for the Pennines, where he would make his way
into the hills round Kinder Scout, or maybe up Scafell
following the wanderers tracks, and pathways he knew well
He may be back at Gorton Mount, or maybe Spurley Hey
reliving all his schooldays, the learning and the play
Rugby with Pete Hesketh, or football as fullback
but definitely not cricket, too dangerous playing that
Or perhaps he’s back in Gorton, round the Suttons Dwelling Trust
riding bikes out in the rain, till they fell apart with rust
there’s Jack and Cliff, and Keswick, the pals he hung round with
for friendship and companionship which only true friends give.
He’s camping on the Isle of Man, in the August holiday
trying to get a sunburn, to prove he’d been away
and drinking hard with Scottish lads, who congregated there
and we’ll come up and see you, in Glasgow he would swear.
Or again, he’s leaving England, heading for another land
a place where dad had told us, the living would be grand
with sun and sand and lots of work, we’d make our fortune there
and live life to the fullest, with fun, and little care
Now he’s landed in Australia, mam and dad are there
him and his three sisters, standing in the sun shine glare
not knowing how their life will be, or if it will turn out
as dad had promised to us all, but there really was no doubt
this was a cleaner, brighter land, than England had become
his dad had fought in 2 wars, and now he wanted some
place to raise his family, in prosperity and peace
a place where all the worry, and the arguing would cease.
He could not see all of the things that would happen in his life
how he would raise a family, with his Australian wife
they’d drift apart, the kids would grow, and start lives of their own
and now there are grandchildren, and the family has grown
Now he’s thinking of his second wife, who looks after him
he’s not easy to live with, he knows this deep within
she ignores him when he’s cranky, but he loves her more than gold
some say that he has mellowed, others say he just got old
Copyright © Robert J Moore | Year Posted 2016
Have I told you lately of a woman with no soul?
Have I made mention of her flaws, her regrets
Do you know of the secrets that she keeps?
Secrets, which question, her mentality
There is a war raging within.
Have I told of a woman who hates her soul?
Of the one who stands within herself,
secretly wishing she would die.
Have I told you of a woman who smiles so bright?
That her radiance ignites those around,
as stars do the black canvas that is stagnant above her withered souls
Haunted she has become by her demons that infiltrate, her veins
Stabbed her eyes are by the constant transgressions she’s made
Her demons cast out spells that somehow captured those relentless to her soul
Spells that rendered her worthless
Spells, that brought about those who wiped their hands on her pure beauty.
There is a war raging within
Have you heard of a woman who wishes she were dead
No one dared to save her from sinking sands
Have you taken a chance to see what lies beneath?
Vibrations, shook long ago.
With every inch, she holds on.
Have you heard of a woman who is without Family, though has family
Have I made mentioned of her fears,
her sorrows,
her heartaches,
her beliefs,
her disbeliefs.
Have I told of a woman who turned her collar to those who dampened her soul
Who made many restless nights an embrace to her damage soul?
Of the one who does not cease with trepidation
Neath the hallos of moonlight she walks alone in her damnation
There is a war raging within
Have you heard of the elongated beauty that stands out amongst crowds?
Have you seen her ebony skin, which forms the cracks in mirrors telling stories of her transgressions?
Have I told you of a woman whose basketball bottom is center of those who are relentless to her soul?
Reason for her unworthiness,
Like cancer her transgressions grow
Her sinful heart fractures.
There is a war raging within
Have I told you of the woman who reiterated repentance for her sins yet feel that servitude to her demonic self is what will bring her death?
Have I told you of a woman who doubts her place among those she loves?
Doubts her reason for existence
Doubts the perplexed concept of weathered changes
Have I told you of a woman who holds and holds on though in the end she will never see those that left before her?
Who dreads the empty void if she speaks of what she fights with
Forlorn, in a world, that is relentless to her soul.
Have I made mention of a black beauty, so rare in her own way
But deep within feels hideous
Did I mention that this woman is a giver?
Did I mention this woman is more than basketball bottom, more than that sweet smile?
You so hauntingly try to take advantage of
There is war raging within
Did I mention that this woman
IS PERHAPS ME
Just so, it could be you
Copyright © Debbie Walker | Year Posted 2018
As we grow older, our parents arrive first.
We pray for the best and plan for the worst.
Old photos, young faces we barely recognize,
save something familiar in their smiles and their eyes.
The pillars of strength we worshiped when small,
grow fragile and forgetful under sweaters and shawls.
We cling to their dignity more than they do themselves,
as their passage to heaven brushes too close to hell.
We’d gladly carry that burden, if only we could.
They say only “I love you, my life has been good.”
Copyright © Michael Mehrman | Year Posted 2018
ANCHORITE AT THE GATE OF HEAVEN
Not heeding brute reality, nor matter’s bane
I kneel at the door of heaven, a suppliant,
Transcribing words of wisdom, like the rain
On wild flowers; the garden’s hierophant:
Anointed, a habit on my body’s beauty
I lie in the threshold of my tryst with God -
The first flight from earth being my duty
Becoming His perfect mean and golden rod,
I cool my heels in a dank, dark cell
Where half-light becomes my element
God’s plenty in motes, with the music of the bell
A love feast of the penitent.
I rise on wings of thankfulness and praise,
Sing out in silence the glory of His ways.
from IN MEMORY OF HER 2008
Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2015
Andromeda Way
Planet 1Abxeami
Spaceship Ai
Copyright © Anthony Taylor | Year Posted 2019
Listen to poem:
Here we are fans this fine summer day,
to watch Trash Can Cats, versus Downtown Stray.
The field is grand in this deep wooded glen,
pitchers are warming up in the bull pen.
Pitching for the Cats is Crazy Legs Lynx,
his pitching fast and usually sinks.
Throwing for Strays is lefty Greyhound,
he’s tall and lanky but throws very sound.
Dogs take the field, Manx cat at the plate,
the balls streaking by, he’s swinging too late.
Three strikes he’s out, Greyhound’s having a day,
the Bobtail cat will be next up to play.
First pitch is low, ump calls it a ball,
the next one’s inside, a very close call.
Greyhound next pitches a ball with great speed,
Bobtail cat swings, bat up to the deed.
High into the air the baseball did soar,
Rocky Retriever swift ran to the chore.
Over the fence it finally had spun,
Cats have the early lead zero to one.
Sam Siamese next hit to first base,
Billy Beagle was right in his place.
Tagged Sam Siamese, out by a snout,
going to be a tough game without a doubt.
Black Bombay was next to at bat,
this was a dangerous black batting cat.
Greyhound threw three balls, speed lighting fast,
Black Bombay cat was not long to last.
Ok fans, Trash Can Cats take the field,
Downtown Stray, the bat skillfully to wield.
First up at bat will be Pauly the Pug,
he’s a bit short but oh boy can he slug.
Crazy Legs Lynx lets a ball go,
Pauly Pug drew back but was a bit slow.
The next ball was placed for Pauly just grand,
Pauly bunted, on first base he did land.
Freddy Fox Hound will next take at bat,
eyeing the pitcher he’ll cream that fast cat,
The next pitch did come blazing toward him,
curving left to right his chances were slim.
The crack of the bat and off the ball went,
into left field the ball, quickly, was sent.
Left fielder Maine Coon cat ran for the ball,
Pauly Pug on first base never did stall.
Pug rounded the bases, a cloud of dust,
running for home plate, as he knew he must.
Russian Blue cat was catching home plate,
Maine Coon cats throw just a bit late.
Pauly Pug crossed the plate, the score was tied,
Freddy Fox Hound gave that ball quite a ride.
The next two Stray batters went down in smoke,
an epic baseball game, this is no joke.
The afternoon wore on, battle royal,
both teams competing with highest moral.
Pitchers dueling in highest degree,
all of their skill for everyone to see.
We come at last to the bottom of nine,
Trash Can Cats now weren’t doing so fine.
The score in the ninth still tied one to one,
if Downtown dogs scored the game would be done.
Springer Spaniel up to take his turn,
three times passed Spaniel that fast ball would burn.
Dan Dachshund followed, next in the order,
three pitches all strikes, right on the border.
Bulldog next up, last hold out of hopes,
with slow confidence, to the plate he lopes.
Bulldog practices a swing, thunderous might,
set not to go home a loser tonight.
Stepped to the plate, gave the pitcher a glare,
planning a hit with no mercy to spare.
The first pitch a blur no chance for a swing,
went so fast, he didn’t see the darn thing.
Next pitch was low and they called it a ball,
he stepped off the plate, the pitcher to stall.
Here came a pitch it curved to inside,
Bulldog took a big swing, losing his pride.
Then two more balls were to follow that day,
three balls two strikes on the count they would say.
Next pitch coming, he could see the darn thing,
he reared back and gave his most vicious swing.
The crack of the bat shocked even him,
the Trash Can Cats future now looked dim.
Howe Himalayan cat ran at top speed,
so hoping to catch this game winning deed.
The crowd were all standing, waiting to see,
the out come this blast from Bulldog would be.
The ball flew so high, then began to fall,
finally landed way over the wall.
The crowd gave a cheer and shouted as one,
the Downtown Stray had successfully won.
Both teams met in the middle of the field,
shaking of hands, their friendship was sealed.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2016
What sort of homeless person would I be
Would I cart all these books everywhere with me
Would I scream and shout to keep the world at bay
Or would I nod and smile by my tin cup each day
Would I dress real well, try to look like a swell
Or would I let myself go, not put on a show
Would I turn to drugs or would I stick with booze
What would I have to lose
Would I rant and rave about equality
And how you look right through me
Or would I understand -
you need to keep what you’ve got
You don’t want to land in this spot
Would I have any hope, would there be any rope
Gone are the jobs that kept the unlucky on track
Now the squirrels are on crack, the humans on smack
The armpit of L.A. gets hairier by the day
Copyright © Sharon Keely | Year Posted 2020
Paulo was Brazil’s most popular journalist, but the left did pursue
He told an American interviewer that the left there "hates you"
I found this a puzzle, I asked why, what did we do?
But hate has odd wellsprings, and I still have no clue.
Brigitte Gabriel lived in a pretty Lebanon town with a hilltop breeze
There were school plays, and churches, gardens and fruit trees
It was Christian then, Moslems next, Holy war came as fate
She wrote a book about what she learned, called "Because They Hate"
You might wonder why the title isn't WHY they hate?
But hate has its own logic, and the reasoning isn't straight
I learned some of this logic too, it has its own rules
You don't learn them in Hollywood, or in the schools.
The first rule is that weakness invites attack
You get friends in odd places, others stab your back
Second, the more baddies hurt you, they want to hurt you more
If you've already hit bottom you might ask what for?
Third if you end up acting the way they force
They even punish you for that, though they were the source
The victim argument of "what did I do to you"
Doesn't work at all, even when its true.
All this seems irrational, but some people produce hate
The way waterfalls turn turbines, and power generate
I read of one U.S. woman kidnapped, led in chains by evil men
She asked why, was told "because we hate you", same puzzle again.
I do believe there's a reason for everything
In some people a distorted brain is the bubbling spring
In others perhaps an ideology some fool did start
Maybe a moral divide in every heart.
Copyright © Gem Stone | Year Posted 2024
Herself She Will Save
She Is Brave
Thrive Under Pressure
She Will Not Cave
Her Demons Faced Unafraid
SHE IS ME, I SHANT BE TAMED
Copyright © Julianne Williams | Year Posted 2024
Tracked as prey in this digital age,
Logging on and pounced upon every day,
Cookies anointed as algorithmic sage.
Tired, exhausted, spending the wage,
No where to hide as they all say,
Tracked as prey in this digital age.
Trapped in this computerized cage,
Releasing steam, all the games I play,
Cookies anointed as algorithmic sage.
An ad here, an ad there: products all the rage,
All of our pathways designed in such array,
Tracked as prey in this digital age.
Wanton appetite of desires assuaged,
Presented to all as an endless buffet,
Cookies anointed as algorithmic sage.
How is it we are all gauged?
Sitting upon scales to be weighed,
Tracked as prey in this digital age,
Cookies anointed as algorithmic sage.
Copyright © Michael Alexander | Year Posted 2023
It takes some courage to eat a legume's fruit
knowing what is known of each poisonous part
of the locust (although the flowers may be frittered).
What's pushing up through the leaf litter
before the canopy is out, past the stone fence?
Wild lily-of-the-valley is my guess.
Of 140,000 soldiers, less than 1% have considered
the fruit of the desert surprisingly good and varied.
They have stayed and married women who are crows.
My own land is a land of wetlands but we too
have crows. We have waited and waited for this election
and now we're divided into just two factions.
If everyone votes and every vote's counted there will be
nothing for either faction to crow about. All will be
well with the republic and in the world what will be will be.
What responsibility does a citizen bear
for participating in a war, blowing the roofs
off houses, exposing the beds and clean-swept floors?
Warriors at the gate, you will not run,
you will not bargain. Dig in deep, feet
overhanging the abyss, protect your children.
I poured water into the dry vase of garden cultivars -
snapdragon, phlox, begonia, bluebell, mint -
and have they not rewarded me with their collective scent?
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Does someone really know why am I me?
Could it be those in secret societies?
Can they bring answers to my awareness,
That's my consciousness that is not careless?
Or yet, can they control my destiny...
Designed-shots; forever eternity?
That is one liquid-needle power source,
'memories of a Hell or Heaven course?
This is well beyond if the world is flat,
But not as deep as the universe's trap.
All these secrets may be well known and held,
Though it's surely time to ring the 'truth' bell.
With billions of people on this round Earth,
Then why am I me and what am I worth?
01-September-2021
Copyright © Robert James Liguori | Year Posted 2021
A dragon fly follows
Between crystal glazed rocks
Rippling water flows
Copyright © Robert Bellam | Year Posted 2018
Gotta be something more to life
running blindly thru this maze
chasing days
around blind corners
during todays foggy haze
Too busy to be aware of dreams of light
Shrugging them off
Taking for granted life
Not realizing why I dream at night
Who’s choice is it to choose
my steps to take?
Who’s choice is it to choose
The dreams I make?
Who’s choice is it to choose
The dreams I make come true?
The darkness at night
Effects my eyes
Effects the light
Although I’m lost
And I may stumble around
I know there’s more to life
more to it
In the dreams I’ve found
In my bed vulnerable
Yet sleeping sound
Daylight hits and my eyes open
I chase pieces of paper
With emotion
I chase education and promotion
I chase the dreams of others
instead of my own dreams devoted
Every step I take
A second goes away
The hands on the clock never stop or stay
The dreams I found
During the darkness of night
are the dreams I chase
During todays bright light.
5/14/2018
Kale Brereton
Copyright © Kale Brereton | Year Posted 2018
Its wings were double fronds of gauzy green,
its fragile form a long and tapered flair—
this fallen dragonfly I had not seen
before, when I had walked out on my stair.
I bent and saw that it was not alive,
its body crushed, its wings ravaged and torn.
Yet something of its beauty still survived—
a remnant of the luster it had borne.
I marveled at such elegance in death,
a noble creature, still, upon my stair.
A wave of melancholy took my breath,
and eyes welled for a thing so fine and rare.
I put the grief away and dried my eyes.
Such is the way of tears and dragonflies.
Copyright © Katharine L. Sparrow | Year Posted 2024