Adieu my sweet…, Poetry by Dr. Pan Gabrielides

 Genre: Romance

 Adieu my sweet…

From: Moonless Nights…

A collection of romantic poems/songs…

Copyright by Dr Pan Gabriel, Ph.D.

Author’s note: The following anthology of poems/songs and essays center around the romantic fire/attraction between men and women. The male protagonist’s name is always going to be ‘Jason’ and the female’s ‘Julia’.

Love and light my friends!

Dr Pan Gabriel

The last few weeks Jason’s soul has been crossing the plain of desolation,

The type of place where you’re dead but alive,

The type of place where you’re human but you’re not,

The type of place where wraiths go that are beyond the grip of alcohol…

Jason began to wonder whether it’s worth going on,

And then, he remembered,

He remembers her name,

Julia…,

A little life colors Jason’s face,

Something very faint stirs in him,

He remembers being in her sweet arms,

Interest flickers in his glazed eyes…,

Memories, bittersweet memories,

Lying in each other’s arms,

Jason, the fool, her, the wise one,

Jason, fishing in troubled waters, too blind to see or care?

Her, hurting so much, clinging to what meager love she could find…,

What were those nights like?

Happy hours together,

Wooing, wanting, kissing, touching,

Talking, laughing, playing…

Jason spent time with her Mom, he spent time with her Dad, who were his own age,

Jason enjoyed her immensely,

Yet, yet beneath the surface,

Jason was nursing the huge hole in his soul,

Julia sensed the other woman between them,

Jason sensed the other man between them…

So, here they were, two kindred spirits,

Deeply in love with two other people,

Seeking solace in each other’s harbors’,

Like ghost ships, lost in some watery wilderness,

Like birds who have forgotten how to fly…

Yes, what were those nights like?

Can Jason lift the veil sufficiently to see?

He tries, he gives up, he gives up on the night, instead he writes her,

Julia responds, asks how he is,

She’s still hurting, her wound still there,

Jason senses her pain, it goes thru him like a javelin,

The healer in him responds,

He gives her what he can,

He sends her love and light and laughter…,

And crawls back to his memories…,

Pressing replay over and over again…

Fast-forward a couple of years,

They meet again, they’re still two emotional shreds,

Yes, like a drug addict, Jason is immensely enjoying his fix of her,

Julia’s emotionally wounded body, tight against his,

Her head buried in his bosom,

Her breath gentle on his chest,

Her smell calming to his nostrils,

Jason: “Oh, my love, oh, my sweet darling friend,

How differently I would do things now,

How different my words would be, how different my feelings,

How different my touch, how different my kisses,

How free I would be, how happy I would be…,

But, alas, it was just not meant to be…”

Adieu my sweet…

 

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I did it all for you, Poetry by James Stordy

 Genre: Romance, Relationship

 I wrote a song for you, High above the clouds
that only angels can sing.
and you can hear.

Let us wander in my dreams, and join you in yours.
Beyond the mundane of life, where we live for each other
and that is all.

I wrote these lines for you , high above the clouds.
that only you can read and I recite .

I speak these lines for you, high above the clouds
that i whisper and you feel

I did this all for you, high above the clouds
so we can do it all together
from now until the end of time.

 

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Disease S.U. , Poetry by Darrell Herbert

 Genre: Life, Society

 

When I was thirteen I was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer disease
It would make me lose a substantial amount of weight
And bleed
And bleed
And bleed

From my mouth
I vomited on my doubts

I lost my ability to feel anger, sadness, or nervous
If I did, the pain would attack
It would start from my chest, it would sometimes travel all the way to my back
It felt like a heart attack
An attack I was unable to counteract

I lost my ability to make friends
They would see me twitch my body over, and over, and over again
The pain caused them to leave
No cure for such a deadly disease
Yet, my heart and my weight loss never turned a new leaf

Hate feeling like someone is stabbing me from the inside out
Pissing me off, piss in your mouth
While you give blow jobs to call girls on the couch
Cash me outside, how bout that?
You put me on blast
Committing suicide with thumbtacks
Graduated at my funeral, no caps
I, I am frail
Color-blind, yet, so pail
And your cleavage is like the Holy Grail
Lord knows you fucking failed
Oh, is it lit?
All you want to do is be a boss ass bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch
But, your vagina stretches out like pogo sticks
Initials, A.K., reload the clip
Let it rip while he cums across your clit
Acid, having sex using no plastic in Phryne’s casket
Love, I need some
If two wrongs don’t make a right, what’s a threesome?

Stall a bitch before she calls it quits
Stall a bitch before she calls it quits
Stall a bitch before she calls it quits
And if she calls it quits, call the bitch
The number you have dialed is a bleeding wrist
Netflix or blockbusters
Cockblocker or cocksuckers
So what?
One nut
I’m an Einstein to these dumb-fucks
That’s nonsense
Two cents in deposits
Top bitch, topless
But, my insecurities sky rocketed like rockets
The impossible just became possible
But, her pussy is like pop tarts, popping off popsicles

 

 

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I AM FROM THE 20 CENTURY, Poetry by Miriam Beza

Genre: Society

 I am from the wars and destruction
I am from learning and creation
I am from reading and writing,
research and application
I am from neon white light,
from telephone, television and cinema delight
I am from the thick brush of Impressionists
the dreamy fine brush of Expressionists
I am from Cubists and Post War realists
The conceptual art and contraceptive pill
from rock & roll and punk in the mix
From tower blocks that look like a prison
from airy glass towers and steel
that pierce the sky, lit by neon
I am from laser, the beam that cures or kills
I am from uranium that kills or cures
I am from gluttonous self indulgence
I am from famine and war
I am from all of those and more

Miriam Beza

 

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Terminators, Poetry by David E. Gates

Genre: Sci-Fi or Dark.

The ground is bloody, with the scars of war.

God knows what we’re fighting for.

I can’t breathe, Air’s so thin,

Nothing to stop them closing in.

Hard to tell, what’s real, what’s not?

My memories are all I’ve got.

Guns don’t stop, the noise, so loud,

The tanks they come, standing proud.

This war started in a different place,

When we recognised its face,

Hard to detect, what’s real or fake,

HK’s fly above, earth starts to shake.

Hunter Killers terminating,

Cyborgs on the loose,

Can’t make deals with these machines,

Cannot make a truce.

Metal men, from future time,

Just one thing that’s on their mind,

Killing all that’s humankind.

Death is all that’s here to find.

Can’t make no bargains, can’t give reasons,

The years pass by, like broken seasons,

Winter here, here to stay,

Skynet has more games to play.

Running their programs, through a neural brain,

Firing their lasers. Lightning in rain.

Unstoppable, Unjust, and unforgiving,

They just want to kill what’s living.

They won’t ever stop, they’ll just keep coming,

How long can I keep on running?

So weak, so tired, no fight to give,

Come with me if you want to live.

Hunter Killers terminating,

Cyborgs on the loose,

Can’t make deals with these machines,

Cannot make a truce.

Metal men, from future time,

Just one thing that’s on their mind,

Killing all that’s humankind.

Death is all that’s here to find.

A hope from the past, shows us the way,

We might beat these fuckers someday,

We’ll crush them, until there’s nothing left,

And stop this killing. Stop this death.

David E. Gates

From the book – First Words by David E. Gates

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Both Sides Of The Fence, Poetry by Latonia Sears

 Genre: Family

 
Sitting on both sides of the fence
with every waking moment
While bringing home the same bacon
she had to prepare for us

My mother and my father were the same
One unit, one parent to hug
This one individual who filled our house with love

Never upset about the hand she had to play
Making sure me and my brothers had a roof
over our head every day

Never shirking her responsibilities
teaching us to have courage and face our challenges and stay together hand in hand
To always take care of each other in the end

 

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The Song of the Sword, Poetry by B R Peabody

Genre: Society, Life

In the pain of the furnace my body was forged,
Longer than life have I been;
The fury of battle is where I have gorged,
On kidney and liver and spleen;
You think me a trinket so prettily shown,
Yet many’s the life I have claimed;
Parting the sinew and hewing the bone,
My mercy is leaving you maimed;
In hope I was wrought and in anger unsheathed,
Blood flows like wine where I’ve played;
I’m promised to Death and to Chaos bequeathed,
For I am the Devil’s own blade.

******

Oh thou fool if only you could see the sights I’ve seen,
If only you’d experienced the places I have been;
I rode the Steppes of Russia on the horse of Genghis Khan,
And hacked and slew the peasants on the roads to Kazakhstan.
I’ve taken life of woman and I’ve taken life of child,
And watched them rape survivors ere their temples were defiled;
Then in the hands of Subotai I sang the reaper’s song,
To cross the frozen Volga drinking blood all winter long.

I swam the Sajo river to a feast of rended flesh,
And slashed the fleeing Magyars as they ran into our mesh;
I faced the hordes of China as the Kerulen they crossed,
To share the bitter anguish of my Mongols who were lost.
I passed in trade for silver to a Christian warrior’s child,
Who carried me across the sea of waves so fierce and wild;
The long years of his childhood I was idle save for show,
But lo – he grew to manhood so it’s off to war we go!

We crossed the heaving waters in a hundred years of war,
To visit our destruction on a place called Agincourt;
And when the French attacked our camp in vain malicious hope,
I slew three score of prisoners securely bound in rope.
I’ve hacked and stabbed the Scottish and the Welsh on mountains blue,
And paid in chinking golden coins I’ve killed some English too;
I’ve disembowelled the Irish at Drogheda and The Boyne,
And seen them staked and screaming as the knife cuts out the groin.

Across the Himalayas I’ve killed tribesmen by the score,
And marched them all upon my point to yield their winter store;
In lofty mountain passes countless thousands have I slain,
But still the fools come on that I may taste them yet again.
I’ve backed them into holes and caves and slaughtered every one,

And where I cleave no man may breathe that I have touched upon;
They’ve carried me in hatred and in dying laid me down,
Then placed me gleaming on his chest whilst bearing him through town.

I’ve razed the shining city and I’ve laid the temple low,
For none may see what I have seen or know what I may know;
My cutting edge has bitten deep in smashed and bloodied breasts,
And burst upon the banquet as the host has slain his guests.
I’ve cut the Sikh to ribbons in the pass at Kandahar,
And watched the rebels boiled in oil and dipped in molten tar;
I’ve fought and slain the Moguls and the Afghan in his turn,
And slew the Turk so often I believe he’ll never learn.

I’ve sacked and pillaged cities where the children called us names,
How often have I left their bodies burning in the flames;
I’ve been the pain of mothers and the hate of grieving wives,
And witnessed strong men beg for death beneath the red-hot knives.
I served the Lord Protector in his strong and steady hand,
How proudly did he raise me as his tool to tame the land;
Often I have revelled in the blood of countless foes,
Just to spite the mother’s pride I’ve hewed the daughter’s nose.
I’ve been the bane of bandits and at times the bane of law,
At times I’ve taken rich men and at times I took the poor;

I’ve spilled warm blood in virgin snow and drained it into sand,
I smashed Marsin at Blenheim and Sanjar at Samarkand.
Behind me there is weal and woe in front just naked dread,
On either side for mile on mile are piles of butchered dead;
To beat me into farmyard tools is often heard the threat,
But I’ve been here forever and I’m not a ploughshare yet!

Wherever there was ringing steel it’s there I’ve tasted blood,
For on the raging ramparts of Granada have I stood;
I’ve watched the blazing campfires of my enemies at night,
But come the morn when I am drawn I’m sharp and gleaming bright.
They’ve polished me with sharkskin and they’ve burnished me with care,
And cleaned the blood from cutting edge with locks of corpses hair;
I held the bridge at Pedu and the gates at Chandrapur,
And finished off the wounded in the streets of Bangalore.

I’ve hacked my way through living flesh and gloried in the stench,
Or watched on from my scabbard as my master raped a wench;
I charged the guns at Waterloo and smashed in many a head,
Upon the morning after I watched peasants loot the dead.
My path is strewn with corpses for my tally’s long and deep,
I’ve known the weak man lose his mind and seen the strong man weep;
I’ve watched the blue ranks break and run and rushed to hunt them down,
And seen their lifeblood cloak them in a sodden scarlet gown.

I’ve heard the keening grapeshot as it thunders through the air,
And when they charged the Russian guns my gleaming blade was there.
I’ve taken life in anger and I’ve taken life in fun,

And watched the bloodied grass glow red in many a morning sun;
From Omdurman to Crecy – from Kabul to Chandrapur,
I’ve seen them run like women or come on to take some more.
But always there is carnage on the sullied fields of death,
And often there is knowledge as they draw that final breath.

You dare to wear me casually for you are but a boy,
And show me off when on parade as though I were a toy.
You thrill the pretty ladies with the stories from your lips,
And little do you contemplate the killer at your hips.
Resplendent in your uniform you swagger to the mess,
To talk of fights and battles at which you can only guess.
You think to boast of slaying with your tales of blood and gore?
How little do you know, oh fool, speak not to me of war!
-oo0O0oo-

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Big Family, Poetry by Caiubi Maranho

 Genre: Family, Political

 Countries should be a large family

With more experiences help the younger ones

Each one respecting their space

Feeding on the immensity

That humans have

Since they are harvested

In the most noble of virtues

Pulling off

The best that each one holds

For the machines

Tell of themselves

Which is not necessary

Artificial intelligence

In a fruitful

Coming from peace

So that everyone

Have a home

 

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Soul Forsaken, Poetry by M. Arundel

Category/Genre – Death / Vampire

 
To tread death, eternal ages, forever lost the path of life,
Untouched by Heavens Angels, unscathed by Death’s dark scythe.
No welcome at the Gates of Hell, to walk alone, all hope forsaken,
No mercy given, a lifeless shell, suspended by damnation.
Complexion pale like driven snow, frozen touch as cold as ice,
Soulless wanderer full of woe, eyes fixed, in search of sacrifice.
Upon the lips a crimson stain, redder than the flowering rose,
A desolate heart filled with pain, where silence now forever flows.
Denied the new dawns rising sun, compelled to quench the burning thirst,
What’s done may never be undone, to walk the night forever cursed.
In solitude, fallen from grace, in death for century’s untold,
No comfort found, no resting place, no forgiveness to behold,
Powers of darkness diminish light, in a trance like state, no thought,
Damned into twilight by a curse bestowed, but rarely ever sought.
No escape, the soul is taken, no resistance, no redeem,
Never to awaken; ever trapped within this nightmare dream.
 

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Legendary, Poetry by Clara Pohlman

 Genre: Family, Love

 For my Brother Zachary

There he is
Mr president
Sitting in a wood stained chair with a coffee mug
From his trip to Colorado.
The tie he wears
Erupts with ivory, it is ironed
He too has ironed his thoughts into emails,
And the responses from philosophers
Cascade from the inbox of an envelope.

Aspiring to God’s plan he thinks,
His thoughts always turn
Into an examination of
Courage to stand up for his beliefs.

No feat
Is too scary for a legend.
Speed bumps are not
In his vocabulary.
New questions squirt answers
Into his K-cups
Every morning.

A girl he admires
Creeps her way
Into every loving gesture.
He puts faith
Into love and stocks love
In siblings and God.
Somehow God is always
Mentioned.

His prayers are sincere and words crunch of authenticity.

I want
To be my brother.
Someone who loves
Carelessly and acts
With humility
Winning is his
Hobby and losing
Is his strength.
To the future
President

This poem
Is dedicated.
Happy
Birthday Zachary,
I love
You!

 

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