Much like my dream
Poetry sanction me
To be anyone
and
everyone
I want to be
To
explore the places
In my mind’s eye
And dwell from the
Most magical place
In all the world
My
imagination
I like that!
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
I know a man
who wakes up
every morning, goes out of
his way to preach love to others
and at the end of the night , he has
no one to hold , no one to love him
I know a man
Who goes out of his way
to preach peace to every child
in the neighborhood and at
the end of the night , he Cannot
find peace within himself
He lives in darkness
I know a man
who goes out of his way
to feed the beautiful birds
at his favorite park, and at the end
of the night he has nothing to eat
he goes to bed hungry
I know a man
who goes out of his way
to give his all to everyone
and at the end of the night
all he owns is the clothes
on his back
I know a man
Who served his country
Fought for freedom
For civil rights
So all of us can sleep well
At night , and at
the end of night
He has no home to go to
He sleeps on a bench
at his favorite park
I know a man
who goes out his way
to do everything right
even when nothing is
going right in his own life
I know that man
and I can only pray
that one day I can be
half of the man that he is
NOW
—————-
Who
saves the savers ?
Who
gives the givers ?
Who
heals the healers ?
Who
loves the Lover’s ?
Where
do you put your hurts
when your hands are full ?
TIME TO SAVE THE WORLD!
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
Victoria's feet soaked deep down
Shuffled, wrecked under the alcoholic trail of thoughts
As the crevice of pane pulled
A chariot, enthralled was she
The resplendent charioteer hailed
The chandelier, glowing and gorgeous
Embraced and embarrassed as were they
Victoria leashed the chariot
The magnificent chariot boarding chandelier
Departed from the crevice of the pane
Pulling a trail of thoughts and beaming
Victoria growled and dreamt in peace..
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Lazy Sundays on my porch.
A cup of lemon ginger tea on the table,
A novel in my left hand.
My legs lay crossed, up on the rail
While the birds sing their verses
And the flowers sway in the breeze,
Releasing their fragrance
For my nose to enjoy.
Two bumble bees hum
through the bushes.
My mind wanders,
Perhaps they are friends?
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
remember when i was a female jew in tudor england ?
i spoke to rabbi julia neuerberger recently and she said
i dress so much more flamboyantly now than i did then
we wondered if it wasn t because gibbets don t line the streets now like they did then
they re in government and civil service departments
but they do a PR job that could confuse you if you weren t already mad
with so many spilled lakes of blood ,angry faces ,painful intrusions ,violent assaults and verbal conflicts
and you just anticipate the rippling of a cold stream
and the contact of a cats' tongue on the nape of your neck
i wonder if we could diffuse like iodine in vituperative vapour
and perfect the hiding technique we acquired in tudor times but forgot to adopt last century
HIDE DON T SEEK
THERE ARE NO ANSWERS
c marie forte
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
ms paragraph choked back tears as she surveyed the turkey gravy and my critcal nature melted like goose fat as she disintegrated into lovelorn regret 'i dont know if Jacob will visit me this year
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
A broken light bulb.
A shattered dream.
A life wasted.
It's not what it seems.
A broken family.
Stressed and tired.
Chance after chance.
Will it ever expire?
Perpetual forgiveness.
Is it worth it?
The tears, the screams.
We are hypocrites.
Shaming you for breaking the bulb.
Yet, we cut ourselves trying to fix it.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 10:36 AM UTC
tummy turned queasy
fraught patterns carbonated
think it’s too much brains
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
Perhaps one day
the ink that I
d
r
i
p
Will form into a puddle
for you to jump into,
Only then will you know
Everything I write
is soaked in devotion
for you.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC