My Love wrote me a poem:
“I’ve had you in my life…
Five thousand days and more,
You’ve been a loving wife”
Genre: Love, Rhyme, Relationship
LOVE’S REALITY
by Jonell Kirby Cash
My Love wrote me a poem:
“I’ve had you in my life…
Five thousand days and more,
You’ve been a loving wife”
What more can I wish for…
Five thousand days with you;
“You made my life joyful;
The happy times I knew”
***
Those days flew by—I didn’t know—
I’d be alone –I never knew;
Five thousand days –were not enough
“Our time was short…our days too few”
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In bed i wait for darling to come home
Wondering if he is alright or alone
I stare at the cling with tears in my eyes
Wondering if i could make alone another night
My darling is still gone and i want to here his voice
Genre: Love, Rhyme
Baby come home
by Mike Hill
Baby come home
In bed i wait for darling to come home
Wondering if he is alright or alone
I stare at the cling with tears in my eyes
Wondering if i could make alone another night
My darling is still gone and i want to here his voice
Its been a long time since we both made a choice.
He left in the morning and never came home
I waited and watched and stared at the door
Hoping to here his foot steps once more.
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I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.
Genre: Dark, Horror
Infatuation
by Anna Sue Benson
I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.
One my way home
from work,
the grocery store,
running errands,
I drive by,
slowly.
I wonder
what the neighbors think
about my constant presence
on this quiet side-street.
This object of my desire,
this house,
is mine.
Mine in an unexplainable,
not of this world,
kind of way.
It’s perched up on a hill,
surrounded by trees,
vacant for years,
slowly succumbing to decay and neglect.
I peek in the windows,
see that a remodeling project
has been left unfinished,
building materials long untouched.
The pull this house has on me
is palpable.
I feel,
wholeheartedly feel,
like I should walk up those steps
and through the front door.
It’s my house.
The house makes me believe
the padlocks on the doors,
the deed in someone’s else’s name,
are irrelevant.
I want to,
I need to,
step foot in that house
feel its energy.
I’ve found out everything
I could possibly research.
Built in 1910,
changed hands 19 times
in 40 years,
owned by a company
in Bakersfield, CA
that has no business
owning a house in these parts,
a company
who hasn’t paid the taxes
on my house
in two years.
I imagine,
writing them,
offering to pay the back taxes,
take the house off their hands.
If only I had the means,
to restore it
to the way it deserves to exist,
I would.
I have asked around,
learned all the local history.
People are afraid
of my house.
The land around it,
encircled by many known
Native American burial mounds.
People wonder
if any other burial mounds
were disrespected
in the building of that home,
wonder if there is some curse,
some bad energy
for what might have been done
to a sacred resting place.
Local urban legends
revolve around this house,
the woods around it.
I am undeterred.
I pace the woods behind my house,
pondering a way
I could get inside.
I feel uneasy
the closer I get
to my house.
Maybe it’s that I’m a rule-follower,
I know, from a legal standpoint,
I’m trespassing.
Surely the uneasy feeling
couldn’t be that something is wrong,
off about the property.
I don’t understand
how something so right
could be out of my grasp.
I can’t accept that.
The house
pulls me in.
I don’t know how,
but I can make this happen.
It will be mine.
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There will always be a percentage
Of people who don’t agree with your message.
Some will love you and follow your profession;
They will chant “Tim is God,” and you’ll be their obsession.
Genre: inspirational/motivational
A Mention of Minchin
By Allison Welborn
There will always be a percentage
Of people who don’t agree with your message.
Some will love you and follow your profession;
They will chant “Tim is God,” and you’ll be their obsession.
Some will adore “White Wine in the Sun,” and agree with “The Fence,”
But will completely reject your religious stance.
And some will hate you and will never give you a chance.
Some will get out of their seat and on the toes of their feet
When I say, “What do you think of Minchin? Here, I’ll give you a beat.”
“He’s loud and obnoxious.
He’s rude and rambunctious.
He will never make it as a comedian.
He’s overly sarcastic and rudely bombastic.
He’s offensive and aggressive.
He will always be a fool, scum, a godless bohemian.
He’s racist and tasteless.
He’s ignorant and arrogant.
I’m sure he’s heard it all, that fumigant.
How dare he use the word nigger?
Whatever happened to tar and feather?
It’s shit on a page!
Get off the stage!”
To them I would say,
“Here are a few questions if I may,
Did he offend you? Are you mad?!
Did he come a little too close to home for you, lad?
If you’ve answered yes, it was probably rightly due;
Maybe you should change your hue, or get a clue.
If you heard the words that were applied,
You’d know that he was on the right side.”
They would see what they were missin’,
If they would just give it a listen.
Your music is the Xanax to my anxiety;
When I’m down, your lyrics pick me back up entirely.
Every time I wake, something emerges in my gourd.
Why, it’s you; whether it’s a line, a verse, or a chord.
Surely I haven’t been misconceived,
For this is what I have perceived . . .
“He’s articulate and accurate.
He’s crude but shampooed.
He will be a hit or miss for the religious clans.
He’s clever and a scholar.
He’s relatable and inspirational.
He will be a fucking legend to his biggest fans.
He’s considerate and elaborate.
He’s honest but modest.
He has changed some of my views, for that I am fondest.
He’s one of a kind, a true performer!
He give me chills, even if it’s summer!
Like cheddar, he only gets better with age.
For Tim Minchin will never be caged!”
They fall back in their seat, in what seems like defeat.
“I’ll give him another go, maybe there’s more to Tim than I know.”
If I’ve done my part, perhaps they’ll have a change of heart.
I may have created a brand new fixation,
All due to a mention of Minchin.
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Fathers build and mothers smile
Bear their fruit to drop their seeds
Within us all lives a child
In soil rich beneath the weeds
Genre: Life
GENERATIONS
by Thomas K. Hunt
Fathers build and mothers smile
Bear their fruit to drop their seeds
Within us all lives a child
In soil rich beneath the weeds
Years of changing faces
Given eyes tell the truth
Aged lines leave subtle traces
Still, blossom from just one root
The torch we pass is everlasting
Red embers of bloodline names
Many molds from just one casting
Each one different but yet the same
Still the foe of time fights against us
Always the victor in the field
Though we struggle with mighty vengeance
We suffer a wound that never heals
Faces change to granite markers
Fleeting memories of what we were
Photographs in old footlockers
Become unfocused, faded, and blurred
Like the horizon steals the sunset
The ages rob our life of time
Yet like the sunrise in the morning
Another life is born from mine
Immortality does exist
Survived with each new fertile womb
Natures own enduring seed
Again will flower, again will bloom
Copyright © 2015 Thomas K. Hunt
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I disappeared.
An exit in the other world
Walking for the tribute
Just another walk in the pain
This World is for you?
Genre: Rhyme, Love
JUST ANOTHER WALK
by Milena O. Laska
I disappeared.
An exit in the other world
Walking for the tribute
Just another walk in the pain
This World is for you?
Just another walk
On the other side
Give me your shoulder
And just another life
I need you
I want to be with you
Looking for the tribute.
I dry my tears
Armed by my fears
With their shields and spears
Killing me by loving you,
Tender Angel.
Come soon, again,
I need to be armed again,
You dont come in vain,
I need you, guarded by you,
Angel.
Mild and tender
Through this worlds thunder and rain.
Just another walk for the tribute.
Armed my fears and tears
I dream and dream and only you Angel must know
What I mean, calling you from the other side of love.
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You are the love
you are the fate
you are the soul and
its mate
Genre: Romance, Love, Relationship
so here is mine
by Ghada 20
You are the love
you are the fate
you are the soul and
its mate
you are a dream
and debate
you are the morning song
and relief
you are me… my very
special case.
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choose your phantom
wear it well
candy for your fears
Genre: Dark
Spooky
by Billy JnoHope
choose your phantom
wear it well
candy for your fears
as daylight ends
masks taunting every door
life tricks and death treats
in the hands of the beholder
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There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and every one all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny’s details by the devil.
Genre: War, Society, Political
After the War
by Stone Fox
There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and every one all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny’s details by the devil.
It continued breeding shadow as every flame,
owned by the light was savagely snuffed-out.
Murder was now on a most elegant hunt.
Each diminishing spark documented each kill,
becoming a growing list of victims.
Meanwhile the thick lingering Blackness
kept a informal score as the shadow grew in strength.
Secretly, far off in the distance, a melody of sweetly soft smothered shrieks
signaled and started a symphony of serenely sobering sobs.
Sobs that began shaping and shifting into
unarticulated sighs and cries that never faltered.
But still, it was met with one lone menacing Nightmare.
A over stayed it’s welcome Terror.
It circled any remaining flame of light like a bottom feeding vulture.
Pushing it’s poor neglected lies unto any and all close by ears.
It could be heard loudly whispering to your hopes and dreams:
“Fret not” it almost always began,
“For though you have truly lost it all-your lives included-
there is a promise to clothe you.”
There was no hiding the disdain from it’s voice or face at the last two words.
But as quickly as the emotion appeared, it was replaced
with a plastic sneer as it finished with,
“All things look good, even better, dressed in our monograms.”
I found it’s night terror or tall tale amusing,
meeting this Nightmare face to face
as my insistent smirk escaped my control,
unnoticed by all including me.
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They will lie and impale you
Throw your bones to the wolves.
They will castrate and frustrate you
Bound for damnation.
GENRE: Political, Social Commentary
T H E I N T E R N M E N T
by Melodic Rose
They will lie and impale you
Throw your bones to the wolves.
They will castrate and frustrate you
Bound for damnation.
They will toss you bits
Of mouldy bread
You will eat the shreds of
Flesh hanging over an open carcass.
Gorge your belly
with the repugnance
of rotting meat.
And they will tell you to be happy.
Be satisfied that your palace is made
Of dirt,
Your throne built from the bones
Of the dead.
The floor a sweltering dingy pile
Of crud.
Because it is still a palace,
After all.
They will offer you bare bits of change.
Dangle precious pearls before your eyes.
Taunt you with every sort of desire,
your flesh has longed for
They will beg you to dine at their table.
Make you an honoured guest,
If you will only sacrifice
And sacrifice you will.
For they will pour vials of poison
Into your veins.
Drive blades through your sockets,
Remove your tongue with the blade
of the knife
And toss the gun from hand to hand
Playing games with your very fate.
They will psychologically rape
The intellect out of you,
Shoot an arrow through your
Heart.
Plunge the dagger through your belly
and skewer you like a sunday roast.
You will be nothing but a pile of ash.
They will tell you to sit,
To laugh,
Be gentle
Be strong
Move like a semi automatic sliding door.
All gear clogged,
Created on a factory assembly line.
Until there is nothing left
Your body a host for spare electrical parts.
They will chain you up,
Beat you to submission.
Lead you like an animal to the slaughter.
Herding you into maximum security
For safe keeping.
Your ignorance, the only chain
Needed to keep you under captivity.
They have fed you fecal matter
And called it a gourmet meal.
Clothed you in burlap
And called it silk.
They will thread wires through your ears
pulse you with electrical currents.
They will radiate your very will to live.
Steal the words from the tip of your tongue
and tell you never to speak.
They will laugh at you,
puppet wire you
and pull you by the strings,
They have made you into the byproduct
of the their intention.
They will claim you were their i n v e n t i o n,
And you will dance on point
and learn to laugh.
Move like all the other droids.
They will remove the very breath from your lungs
one tear gas,
one vial of poison
one compromise
one deception
one war,
one institution
one moment
one historical m a n i p u l a t i o n
one vote
one protest
one force
one grand consummate scheme at a time.
They will call it a D e m o c r a c y
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