Read Poem: BITTER BRAINSTORM, by Tommie Brown

SHE’S BITTER; SHE’S EXTREMELY BROKEN; THE RESULTS FROM BEING VULNERABLE AND THE HEART WIDE OPEN. SHE WANTS LOVE BUT CONSTANTLY CHOOSES THE WRONG KIND OF GUYS; HER KIDS WORRY FROM HEARING THE LATE NIGHT CRIES. IF YOU LOOK INTO HER EYES YOU’LL SEE NOTHING BUT BEAUTY; IT’S EASY TO COVER UP PAIN; BUT HER INSIDES ARE LIKE A EULOGY. INSTEAD OF PUTTING HER FOCUS ON SELF; SHE PUT HER PAIN ON THE SHELF; CHOOSE ANOTHER PAIN INFLICTER TIL THE HEART HAS NOTHING LEFT. ONLY TO GET THE SAME OUTCOME; COMMON MISTAKE BY MANY; BEAUTIFUL HEARTS ARE NUMB WHO BLANKET ALL MEN AS DOGS AND SCUMB. THAT’S FAR FROM THE TRUTH. IF YOU ALL WANT A HAPPY MARRIAGE; ALLOW GOD TO MOLD YOU IN TO A RUTH. YOU WILL THEN LEARN THE TRUE MEANING OF BEING LOST AND FOUND; YOU WILL THEN LEARN THAT BEING MALE DOESN’T MAKE HIM A KING WITH THE CROWN. LIKEWISE FOR YOU ALL TOO; YOUR THINKING WAS CLOUDY; YOU ALL SUFFERED FROM POOR DECISION MAKING TOO. ONLY A LOST MIND DEPENDS ON A LOST SOUL; GOD SHOULD BE YOUR NUMBER ONE PRIORITY; DON’T WAIT UNTIL YOU GET OLD. A LOT OF WOMEN PREACH THE GOSPEL; BUT ARE STILL IN A BITTER AND BROKEN STATE; THEY DON’T LEAD BY EXAMPLE; THEY STILL HAVE A FULL PLATE. DON’T BE LIKE THEM; GIVE YOUR ENTIRE HEART AND SOULS TO GOD; HE WILL MAKE YOU BRAND NEW; USE YOUR PAST AS LEARNING EXPERIENCES; GOD IS WITH YOU. TAKING CHANCES IN LIFE PROVES OUR FAITH; STAY IN THE RACE; IF NOTHING CHANGES; NOTHING CHANGES; YOU’LL CONTINUE TO BE IN THE VERY SAME BITTER PLACE. #THECHOICEISYOURS #BRAINSTORMING #GLORYBETOGOD

Read Poem: DON’T GO BEYOND, by Mantri Mark

(POETRY-cum-SONG Lyrics)

Yeh! What is this, my lovely dear?
What happened to you today?
You’re with me, don’t be in haste
The day is yours, I endorse you ǁ

The time is running, but, you aren’t
A lovely night never ends fast
Night and day, rolls and rolls
Plenty of time to roll and roll ǁ

You’re here to kiss me too
Our gigantic moods, rolling well
Night long program can’t go fast
Slow and slow, justify the night ǁ

End and ends, there is no end
Where we land, night only tell
We are there to understand well
The night is lost, love has a brake ǁ

Don’t go beyond to reach the heart
Fast and fast makes me hurt
Slow and steady, our love live long
Great days ahead, don’t be in hurry ǁ

I follow code of life behavior
I use minimum ethics in life
I can’t allow people to go beyond
It’s just a life with code of discipline ǁ

I can’t understand where beyond stands
Where one can see the beyond halts
Can anybody give the beyond specification
As I feel that there is no end to beyond ǁ

Don’t Go Beyond
As one can see no reason to go beyond
Likes and dislikes are within the beyond
One should know the signals of beyond ǁ

Worth and not worth are within the beyond
Hopes and deals are within the beyond
Never go beyond as things may go wrong
One within the limits can’t go beyond ǁ

Read Poem: DARK SKY, by Frederick Anderson

The sky this morn is black with crows,
The rising sun an angry rose
Casts blood in petals on the land.
And I sing, to remember all I was
In another age, in another time,
Beneath a sweeter, brighter sky
When all the world was you and I.

White horses walked in sylvan glades
In days when Knights could honour maids
And seek their favours in return.
And nought I sought in recompense
But ever fought in your defence
Long after honour was all gone
And long before I lost the dawn.

The twilight now, in softened hue
Fades all my memories of you.
Evening mist now veils your face
Treasured thoughts of so long ago
Will soon lie cold beneath the snow
In shelter from the wind’s embrace
To be awakened never more.

Night clouds gather, my day is past
I will take you to my bed at last
That part of you forever young
Though undefined within my heart
Shall be the verse of my last song.
And when I lose my final fight
Your wraith will guide me into night.

END

Read Poem: Why can’t I see God?, by Sparky McLaughlin:

it is dependent upon how and whose eyes are being used;

the power and faith involved in vision clarity,

to being blind, or just having astigmatism,

the prognosis and corrective treatment,

necessary for the ocular adjustment,

as to what form seeing God,

can, and may be defined,

and by whom.

Read Poem: Butterfly flies away, by Oriada Dajko

Butterfly as a whisper comes around
for a little child happiness is found,
he sees a colorful art of life.
She stays near the child
not afraid of being burnt
by the desire.
Is it a candle or a child?
Secondly, she will be burned.
Firstly, she will be admired.
She makes him feel the magic
and then she wants to fly away.
A child can’t wait
that hours become days
and butterfly returns again.
He will love only for today!
Once she will fly away,
the beauty in his eyes will be lost.
Soon he will learn that
beautiful creatures can’t be admired
when they stay under chains.

Oriada Dajko

Genre-Kids, nature

Read Poem: AFTER THE HIGHWAYMAN, by Cleveland W. Gibson

Later by 200 years or more
I heard the bold robber’s call,
beneath my daughter’s window
as if no time had passed at all.

“I seek ‘ee out at midnight,
in moonlight shining clear,
no Devil from Hell will stop me,
damned, but how else to show I care.”

At that I stepped out of the shadows,
tried to look the ghost in the eye,
alas I smelt fresh blood, then heard,
my God, his deep anguished sigh.

Above my head shone the stars,
twinkling, giving out a little light,
and the pale moon did its best,
as on that first fateful night.

The rogue tossed me the leather reins,
I quivered as he landed on the ground,
his face and chest shot to pieces. Lord?
Was his blood that dripping sound?

Then the ghostly Highwayman stared,
a rattle, a hacking cough first he gave,
as loud came one crazy laugh,
that still haunts me from his grave.

I froze as I heard a strange sound,
deep from the stables, that awful creak.
But the clever spirit found a jug of ale,
so he drank with no need to speak.

Then a nod, his head fixed on the moor,
toward the grim drama of the night,
as I heard the sound of steady marching,
of Dead red-coats into the pale moonlight.

King George’s men all swaggering,
muskets sloped as grim as any grave
They marched to the Inn door to enter,
Blind or dead? No look at me they gave.

From the Inn came surreal music, voices
and poor Bess at a window, candle in hand,
trying to warn her endangered lover.
I thought now wasn’t that kinda grand?

I stood still like a statue, moved not one step,
made no noise at all or even tried to speak.
But come the tiny crack of first dawn light,
my legs filled with terror, I felt so very weak.

No landlord stays long in this cursed Inn place,
but me, as I’ve worked out all that before.
It’s because at night gallops the Highwayman,
as red-faced soldiers march across the moor.

Another rhythm of another time will see his
timeless face astride his phantom steed,
bringing to his beloved lover a bag of gold,
the coins forever tucked up his sleeve indeed.

The end

Read Poem: Living The Dream, by Michael Cleaves

Got up from the Woolworth’s lunch counter, messy with condiments;

Used prints to create a dashiki

Marched all over the southern land, sight-saw strange fruit;

created jazz

Mixed in my education, like a Benetton ad;

uplifted my community

Wore black boots, with black caps, called myself a Panther;

hypnotised a world with Black Power

Unleashed my abundant hair, called myself Beautiful;

introduced a ‘fro

Police stomped my face, sent shepards called German after me;

mainstreamed Rap

Threw my fist in the air like an Olympian, receiving gold;

started profiling

Remembering that dream hasn’t been easy, changing a klan cherished history;

Rap got gangsta’

Beaten even when one couldn’t breathe, now black lives matter;

Confused as to whether we are beginning anew, causes we forgot to remember?

Read Poem: Murder By Appointment, by Morgan Evans

Come inside the waiting room
Young girls aggregate
Some come early, some on time
Now all of them are late

Apprehensive women showing
Carry their victims inside
Arms fold, legs double cross
Over facts of life they cannot hide

Inside each womb a being sleeps
Not to ever learn of waking
Inside each woman conscience creeps
Around whose life it is their taking

Away in the waiting room
A face turns inside out
Indecision, guilt, remorse,
Are what they turn about

Time, limping slowly around this room
Calls out names of mothers not to be
Killing time as well
They await their turns impatiently

A cascade of ill-appropriate pop tunes
Falls from the reception radio
Soul awakes! I’ve changed my mind
And turn around to go

Read Poem: Off The Wall, by L.R.Johnson

Losing REM on the TV, coffee table plus toast
All day telephones ringing, bells and drums
In one, out the other, cyber cabled contacts with
Southern Aztec eagles flying on runways built for
Aliens seen before the carrot behind the donkey.
Across Abbey Road painted images of
Hits and runs over pedantic types
Who have never been satisfied with the proof.
Micro-cosmic lights being darkened
By flashing red and white endless seas
of rippling waves never ceasing to crash.
Erasing lighthouse messages going nowhere
In circles, Schopenhauer reads Kant reads
“Denial of the nothing,” is all that exists
Are born again images of handicapped
Persons not winning, but losing confronted with
Climbing the greasy pole, and always slipping back,
never progressing beyond the oblivious search
for paths lost, past X-filed Ink injected
Eyeballs crawling inwards, outwards pulsating
Movement is ice cold ready to burn left over
East winds blowing west causing Californian
Eruptions of subtle proportions, enticing
Thought controlled alcoholics on immoral
Park benches at 8 o clock, timeless, endless
Cans thrown in over filled trash bins, an overspill
Of mindless thoughts from unshaven
Blades of fresh mown grass in shapes and
Angles casting shadows, black and white
Subterranean Homesick Blues.
Dylan’s verses cause a catalyst
Idea of Stalin, Hitler leftovers banging their
Heads on Jerusalem walls beyond the supernatural
Rebounding off barbed wire fences, over and
Out of misunderstanding the Creation, Exodus.
Or reactions to answers without questions.
Closed door exits into black holes that cause
Teardrops to drop on a sandy oasis of Gulf like
Waves create repetitive, borderless frontiers
Adopted by, Warhol called it “Art for Art’s sake,”
Finding limitations of intellect within books
Preaching lager lout behaviour of the
Right to right, left radical beliefs rotating
Between the Spectrum crossed
Only be decisions, dictated by emotions.
On the Street Car called Destiny twixt
A church and Pie and Mash shop.
Reliance on the mobile phone to order sanity
Or a Kentucky Fried Chicken at McDonalds
Where Hitler ordered Burger and Chips before
His troops decided to go east, not west
Preferring Chekhov to Dylan Thomas
Then he gassed 12 million Jews.
Within walls that ears and eyes
That tell the story of God’s children
Leading us back to anthropological ancestors.
Painting pictures sold for millions at Christies,
Or was it Harrods Egyptian Pharaohs, British
Imperial history, where queens lost their heads
As Henry sung the National Anthem praising
Our heritage, as long as it’s ours, not theirs
In incommunicado at Wembley, whistles and boo’s
Muddy Waters singing the Blues, beyond the
Final frontier in cyberspace forever.
Beam me up Scotty, on my knees
In the direction of Allah beyond the sun.
Outer limits, a distant dimension
Giving proof of Aliens, but denying Millet’s
The Miller, only seen in Vincent van Gogh.
Visited by a spaceship, which landed on
Runways designed by our ancestors, and
Engraved in the sands of time that drip slowly
Through the egg-times cavity, reaching
Stonehenge, the end of the beginning
To Druid visions of Velvet Underground
The walked on the wild side with
Heidegger, Freud, and the rest go
Into your minds, and the Niagara Falls
No return, no end, just a spinning ball
Ultimately it is very; OFF THE WALL!

Read Poem: VISIONS WITHIN DREAMS, by Mike Maynard

we experience visions within dreams
nothing is what it seems
life is but a delusion
as we work our way to a conclusion

as we walk this lonely path
through life’s debris and aftermath
we rely on medicine and strange therapy
this would seem to be our destiny

our struggle in all is hopeless
our lives are so atrocious
we strive for recognition
but need regular visits, to a physician

aches and pains we endure
life just seems so obscure
why is it all not easy
do we have to endure, that which is sleazy?

beyond the lies and deceit
life can be quite neat
we just have to be resolute
in navigating our convoluted route

we will get there eventually
our dreams, growing exponentially
where will it all end?
I suppose that will depend

I expect it to be unreal
like the end of a satisfying meal
A triumph, not a humiliating defeat
the end, so delightfully sweet

Mike Maynard