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 Jun 2016
South-by-Southwest
The boards creak and moan
from time and poor carpentry
The nails gripped by aged wood
have become crust collected and
shrunken to form

The bare walls once displayed
the smiling faces
of past eons but now
there are only the faded remnants
of square foundations
of lives that once
hung on the wall

The stairs complain
like an old man
from unsubstantiated fears
The second floor
seems solid only responding
to the remarks of my shoes

The old bedroom
once the center of attraction
overlooks the buckled sidewalks
and **** infested yards
of a street that now has no cars
or people passing by

I stand in silence for the moment
and the moment stands silent for me
And for that moment
I lay in time's eternal graveyard
in hopes of reviving dead dreams
 Jun 2016
Valsa George
The afternoon was excessively humid
The earth seemed a seething hot furnace
Dark clouds were gathering overhead
Lightning drew florescent patterns in the sky
Thunder boomed and rumbled
A few sparse drops of water hit the window pane
The air grew dark, leaves shivered
Soon the rain pelted down in torrents
Drumming on the corrugated tin roofs

Spreading a dark curtain between the eye and the sky
It poured down in full fury for about an hour
In no time it flooded the ditches and hollows
But its might slackened and it vanished as quickly
As it had come, like a messenger on an urgent errand

The day was dying and I witnessed another rain
The rain of insects into the sequestered freedom of the night
Termites and white ants, sleeping in the hollows
Suddenly emerged from their lairs in thousands
Out of every crack and cranny, every fissure and hole
From under every boulder and brick
Winged termites emerged, fluttering about dreamily
Never knowing they were on their first and last flight
They all flew towards the bright light in the porch
But striking against the concrete ceiling
They fell down one by one, some losing their wings
And creeping on the floor, like wounded warriors
A quivering swarm of insects, a clumsily moving mass

This was the harvesting time for the geckos
In one and two, the lizards emerged from their hide
Flicking their tail, they stood ready for the catch
With their darting sticky tongue, they began
Devouring the insects, hastily cramming their stomachs
Until they could hold no more

When the insects began invading the inner space
I switched off all the lights and went to bed
The cool air and the sonorous but rhythmic chants of the frogs
Put my sleepy eyes into sound slumber
Early morning as I woke up
I saw the porch strewn with filmy wings of the termites
They lay like scattered chaff after the corn has been stored
Also some weak survivors, staggering to their end

I thought, to what bleak fate, the exodus of insects
Had taken off on their wings for their maiden flight!
The other day when it had rained after a dry spell and soon after the rain had stopped, I witnessed winged ants in thousands taking into the sky..... another rain!!
 Jun 2016
Francie Lynch
A life built
With the finest materials
Needs a well-formed foundation;
A deep footing.
Your piles are now beneficial.
 Jun 2016
Roger Turner - Poet
The ten count is over
He's down for the count
The Greatest is gone from this world

But, we will remember
He will stay here forever
As we think of the quips that he hurled

As fast as his fists flew
His lip was much faster
He rhymed with the greatest of ease

Parkinson's slowed him
But, we will remember
The Greatest of All...ALI

Known by the masses
After his time in the ring
He was an angel sent to this earth

He had his convictions
Became a man of the people
He showed what a real life was worth

A true gentle giant
With the speed of a mongoose
The Louisville Lip...that was he

We all know his trademark
How he floated and stung
The Greatest...Muhammad Ali
 Jun 2016
Irving MacPherson
I'm going to go through with it
This just has to be done
It's all going to stop
Chasing our tail around
For The ****** Dollar
It's all the same in the end

Passionate and proud
At the burst of a cloud
Rain falls in whispers
All today and into the night

When the wild are on the verge
Of some kind of taming
Who cares who you are blaming
How much does it matter that some are unaccountable

Not that you can get away with ****** and wars

When it's time to take your artwork
And put it in a frame
The picture is yours
It's the painter who takes the claim

When it's time to die
What's in it for the stars
Maybe a big wake and
Miles of lined up long electric cars

The mountain's shadow
Keeps the place cool in the summer
Not 'till the volcano spews it's guts
Will you lay down and burn
Or vaporize just in time

It's over with the death of the Star
'What is and was will be  bleaker and bleaker
A place you'd turn your head away from

When we have this chance to change into living without borders
What does that mean a shot of the The New World Order
An evocation of imaginations of and for the somewhat rich and the richer  
A full and complete Police State, militia walk the street, Their bidding done

No way to travel but by foot
And the odd old bicycle  
Horse and mules being bred
To save the soles on your leather boots

All the waters contaminated all the crops hollow not fit for an animal

We go this way or we go that
Who will drag us down or
Who will bring us up
Vibrational  influences could save us all

We can't keep trying to tell ourselves that the Government
Has our best interests at heart because they don't
If there is war among the classes it's a way to distract us
But it needs to be done and I'm bringing my 'A' game
 Jun 2016
Roger Turner - Poet
Julie had never been one to partake in

Girly things, dollies and frills

Julie was one of those tomboy like girls

Who looked out for adventurous thrills

She loved riding bikes, down the hill at high speed

Screaming loud with her hands in the air

But Julie could not play in organized sports

Her mum said the cash wasn't there

She sat on the  sidelines and watched all the games

To not play the game was a sin

But Julie Macado would spend her whole life

On the outside of things looking in.

She knew all the players on all of the teams

She wanted so badly to play

But Julie Macado would learn pretty fast

She was one of the have-nots that day

In gym she was better than all of the guys

She sank every shot that she tried

But organized sports was just out of her league

She was still sitting on the outside

Her friends that she played with said

"Go see the coach", maybe he'll let you join up

When she told her poor mother that that's what's she'd do

Her mother told her to shut up

"I've done my best girl, to give you a life"

"And charity...I'll never take"

"If you're gonna play then you'll pay your own way

"For you learn more when somethings at stake"

So Julie went out, hustled, working part time

Doing all that she could to make bucks

But, when she had enough money to finally join in

The season was done...and that *****!

Even though she had shown she could be on the team

She was finished and did not begin

Poor Julie Macodo was still not on the team

She was still outside looking in

She worked all that summer making money galore

She'd be ready to sign up that fall

She had enough money to pay for herself

She was going to play basketball

Her mum lost her job in early July

The plant that she worked at had closed

Now she too was outside looking in at the others

They would move...that was what she supposed

Again Julie Macado would miss out again

All of her money she gave to her mom

She would be an outsider for all of her life

Never playing a game...'cept for fun

Even though she was better than all in her school

She would never be in looking out

Until that one day, when a man from Kentucky

Had come up to Freeling to scout

He'd heard of this girl, who could shoot from the floor

She had skills that he had seldom seen

He signed her on up to a four year free ride

It was all like a really good dream

He told her of how, he had gotten a letter

About a young girl ..that was her

It was written in crayon and a little bid blurry

And it stated out with a Dear Ser,

the spelling was bad, but he read it completely

It told of how Julie could play

But she had not school record, no history so

He set out to see the girl play

He contacted the school and he asked them for game films

They said she played only in gym

So he set out directly to see for himself

The decision would be up to him

Now, Julie Macado has realized her dream

Her life is all set to begin

She did it herself, with a note from her Mother

She was no longer out looking in.
 Jun 2016
SE Reimer
~

her wishes she guards,
like every beat of her heart;
and plans too far off
she easily discards.

they offer comfort, no cure,
t'is the best they can find;
she calls it quality assured,
takes it one day at a time.

tomorrow a hope,
next week is a prayer;
living forward with foresight,
she's had years to prepare.

unfettered by limits,
her mind now unchained;
free from constraints,
she's gained... far and away!

with joy she embraces
every hour she outlives,
with nothing to lose
she has everything to give!

each night gives her sleep,
rest reserved for the brave,
her future she's glimpsed,
she lives free...

unafraid!

~

*post script.

this one feels undone, and yet i have nothing more on the subject.  i suppose it just means the end, like life, remains unknown... unwritten.  

Memorial Day brings with it a somber hush; a reminder of sacrifices past... a realization of more to come.  as i have written here before, none of us gets out of here without any scars; and though we are living longer today than at any time previous in history, the mortality rate still stands firmly... almost resolutely... at one hundred percent!  this then begs a question- would i live differently, if i knew just how numbered my days were... and what keeps me from living that way today?
 May 2016
VS aka Jason Cole
on the brink of madness am i
to not want to live but die
rather this than live a lie

abstract is my mind's eye
but why?
i need to know from whence came these tears I cry

i've now lived but a score
the average of the flesh?
three score, maybe more
the thought of two score more is futile at most
"i'll **** you" to myself i boast

amazing that man has the power to free his own soul
but i know too well it would be freed into the depths of Hell
therefore, i must live
and hope to someday savor the fruits of sweet salvation!
REPOST - The first poem that I posted.
 May 2016
Roger Turner - Poet
If someone says that freedom's free
Then, they don't have a clue
Of the things they take for granted
And the cost to me and you

Freedom has a price tag
And it's measured out in lives
of sons and missing daughters
In husbands and in wives

The cost of freedom's heavy
No dollar value can be set
Think of those who gave their life
When you next go thank a vet

Freedom is expected
But, freedom isn't free
Sacrifices must be made
If freedom we will see

The choice to fight is simple
It's something someone has to do
A soldier is a hero
He made his choice for you

Next time you hear somebody
Say they deserve all that they get
Take them down to the town legion
And let them say thank you to a vet
 May 2016
Irving MacPherson
Sundown in the Paris of the prairies
Wheat kings have all treasures buried
And all you hear are rusty breezes
Pushing the weathervane Jesus

In his Zippo lighter he sees the killer's face
Maybe it's someone in the killers' place
Twenty years for nothing, well, that's nothing new
Besides, no one's interested in something you didn't do

Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings

There's a dream he dreams where his high school's dead and stark
It's a museum where we are locked in it after dark
Where the the halls are all lined all yellow, grey and sinister
Hung with pictures of our parent's Prime Ministers

Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings

Late breaking story on the CBC
A nation whispers, "We always knew he'd go free"
They add "You can't be fond of living in the past"
'Cause if you are then no way you're going to last"

Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings
Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings



Gord Downie
Just one of the many pieces written by The Tragically Hip's front man Gord Downie.
 May 2016
Ja
Our car, among the classics
Our things, became antique
We, turned into relics
And our friends, befit a clique

Our cottage, now the hermitage
Our home, is a relique
Our life, will be a heritage
And when we talk, it’s a critique

What we do, has grown archaic
Our habits, turned oblique
Our thinking, esoteric
But we’ve, become unique
WIZDUMBs BY JA 418
 May 2016
Hadrian Veska
The night is nearly come
Hush as the stars begin to fade
I will cover your head
Among the deepening shade


Lean into my arms
Let all cares float away
I will guide your feet
Lest the path gives way


Into the shifting smoke
Beyond the fluttering veil
Just close your tired eyes
Let the world turn pale
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