Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Oct 2017
Melissa S
A victim becomes violated
Does not matter how
It feels like every room in their
house has been broken into
We pay too much attention to
Who did this or even why
Passing blame on this or that
We lose focus...
We forget about that person
Living inside the house
Don't lose focus of the victims!!! Sorry just something I feel very strongly about!!
They talked about him as the one
who none had ever seen smile.

You couldn't gauge
if he was happy or depressed
no emoji could describe
the repressed expression
but all said
he was dutiful.

Caring husband and father
responsible family head
silent bread earner.

His constant arrangement made sure
the home was neatly organized
not one object was out of place
and but for the children
it would have been hard to guess
if he ever met his wife privately
summing up him to be named
robot
and the belief in his name was strong.

When his wife died
he wailed so loud
it could be heard beyond town.

To the neighbors,
it was mechanical breakdown.
 Oct 2017
Pagan Paul
.
O' Widow of the Worlds, embrace thy darkest hours.
Breathe evenings cold perfume, recall woods and flowers.

Glide proud amongst thy memories and foggy dreams,
pause pensive, gently pick a black rose for thy hair.
Give tears, settle 'pon thy fate as destiny deems,
walk through the mist and dissolve into the air.

At peace 'pon thy darkest hours,
sigh alone, a door to close,
sadness sleeps for all eternity,
the silent death of a rose.



© Pagan Paul (10/10/17)
.
Final poem of 'Rose' trilogy
.
 Oct 2017
harlon rivers
Coyote’s mournful howl echoed
in the new moon’s enchanting sultry ether;
breathing the living harmony of the wilderness rhythm

He seemed to sense a soul reincarnation
      within a pervasive spirit light
      an oft misunderstood
      common thread shared
      this hallowed land’s night

An uncommon Zen stirring from within,
              stifling apathy ..,
. . . of rumble deep beneath
      a dormant volcano reawakening ;
      that which lies undiscovered
      just before the ruptured moment ..,
      liberation of release ―
      dust and ashes taking flight

Through open window              insomnia churns
                          fifty shades of blue ..,
      cast in shadowed hues of broken silence

Coyote stirred the stillness
      with a hauntingly familiar cry
      reading the ridge-top echoes
      like the book of my mind

" YIP YIP   A ―W O O H !!! " . . . the somber plea

For it is in these final hours chosen chore
      the recurring torn
      these chains and things

Coyote was going there ―
      to stand these watermark crossroads
      this hour of need

Accepting brother has always been lonely
      sometimes anything
      means something - -
and so it goes ..,

Coyote communes in pulse
      from ancient realms
      this sacred blood ..,
                Om
         the lost chord

      wounded healers ,
. . . one mutual spirit
      runs marrow deep
      where dogs run free

The moan of doves whisper to the impending dawn
. . . always known these days
      too soon do come and gone

What once was a life well lived ,
      s l o w l y     e v a n e s c i n g
      like the summer river’s flow

some say ..." you never miss the water
      'til the well runs dry "
. . . regrets a waste of time - -

Rumination, a loathsome silent reverie
      a taunting unsolved koan

      an unplanned oxymoron ,  
      beget of a deafening silence
. . . dust sleeps with indifference
      veiling a beautiful handmade
      unstrung guitar
      muted - - abandoned,
      tone poems, unsung

and so "re-begins" the task ...
      come what may rise up
      into the dark star's light ...

Coyote was going there - -
      a dawning metamorphosis
      under another nebulous sky

. . . refreshed by Luna's potent alchemy bestrewn
      in her spellbinding lambent moonlight elixir of life ...


harlon rivers  ... 5. 21. 2015
Notes: This poem is republished from my original
harlon rivers account for the friend that commented on October 5th:"I hope the maestro Coyote’s howls yet again"  
BTW my sage ol'  great grandpa, that passed at 99, always reminded me I was born under a Coyote Moon ― some things never change

sub-entry:

all roads lead to all roads..,
poetic pathways do cross
seeds of heart and soul sown ... nurtured
birth tendrils of a thousand flowers
nascent buds to blossoming fruition
do come to wilt like the last winter rose,
full circle in seasons ever changing light…

just because the blossom dgoes not last forever
does not pale the impassioned light of its poetry

be remembered by your life's poetry ..,
believe a poem can make a difference - - -

Thank you for reading of many rivers ―
peace on the shoreline ...

Written by:  h.a. rivers
======================
Tensions want to evaporate
In burst lightening of the crying sky
but anxieties are not floating cloud
nor miseries know how to fly
depression enters like a slow sunset
and mania intensifies on golden dawn

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
 Oct 2017
phil roberts
Those twin oppressors
Time and silence
Weigh heavy on my consciousness
Digging up the graves of the past
Memories thought to be dead and gone
Stalking my mind again
Reminding me of the fool I've been
The pain I've known
The wrongs I've done
And those done to me
All returned to destroy
What passes as my peace of mind

                                By Phil Roberts
 Oct 2017
L B
Odd color
of trifling light
Flitting petal
blue-purple-gray
emerged from asphalt's
heated slumber
to lead some airy way--

The road forgot
Sometimes there is a moment that deserves forever....
 Oct 2017
Valsa George
It rained on and on.
The fire in the hearth
Had long died out.
Hunger grew,
Frustration raged.

Vultures swooped down
to feed on flesh.
Half willing, half resenting,
Surrendered, rather subdued,
Desires spilled over,
Bristles pricking
From ***** to *****
Thrusting and tearing
Devouring in greedy gulp

Waves surging past the log

Passion spent,
Hunger appeased,
Purse strings loosened,
Silver coins tinkled.

Amply paid,
Her wages of shame……
The toil not wasted!

The reel of Time unwound itself,
And the scenes, constantly replayed.
‘Exploring hands encounter(ed) no defense’.
Each day closed in ****** h(r) ut,
When the h(r) ut turned a ****,
She started to rot.

Feeble she grew,
Languid she became,
Body thinned,
Energy waned,
Ailments plagued,
And
Immunity lost!

Now,
She lives an outcast.
A wild flower
wilted by the wind!
A luscious fruit
blighted by the worms!
My sympathies are always with the marginalized and the exploited ! We could have been one of them, but fortune favored us ! This thought ever rules me !
Next page