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 Jun 2016
Purplefox
Try
You are a child,
My teacher told me.
You can't write.

Well.. if you can shed  some light
Tell me,
"You can do this!"
And, tell me
"Don't make me wait for a while!"
             
 Just do it.
   Try.

I have written it.

I'll close my eyes
Before the malicious comments
Appear.
Press the back space button
Grab the eraser!
Enter!
Well I tried...
 Jun 2016
nivek
I saw you once, more a glimpse
before time began
we swam in the dark
and I felt the touch of your hand

you were a poet in love with words
and the words loved you back
you spoke us into light
and read our poet hearts.

When a creator creates
the echoes of love
eternally reverberate
sending waves upon many shores.
 Jun 2016
r
Like wild oats
the lonesome poets
grow in the ditches
alongside back roads
and when it rains
they drink too much
like the low cotton
in dry fields forgotten
by dirt poor farmers
whose wives run off
with the first stranger
who wipes his shoes
on the porch before
selling her a pretty pair
of green lace underwear
like a bird sick of its tree
dreaming of new leaves.
 Jun 2016
nivek
words trip, stream, flood off the tongue
a wiggling in the ear, drums
clicks clucks stops starts, clashing symbols
do you feel my language?
 Jun 2016
Valsa George
Sudden was the descent of poetry on me
I tottered under its weight
My body heated up like the sun
A frying egg yolk on the pan
My blood started burning…. burning
A strange madness crept across my senses
Intoxicated as by an excess dose of ale
Or drunk with the vintage wine
Or by some mystical disengagement
I started levitating
Wings sprouted up suddenly on my sides
I reeled round and round
Flew up and up
Meteors flashed past
Stars blinked
Larger celestial bodies stood still
Strange sounds fleeted past my ears
My heart palpitated,
Like the rumblings of thunder
My eyes glowed like fire *****

A shout I heard afar
Over the heavens’ mysterious rim
Muffled though, I could decipher it;
“Welcome to the clan of poets”!
Around me, I saw multitudes of poets
Young and old, their faces blazing
Like a thousand lanterns lit
In that blinding brilliance
My filmy wings burnt outright!

Like Icarus, from the heights
I flopped down to the chasm below
In the scattered heap of flesh and bones
A faint stir …..
…………………..
The feeble flutter of a poetic heart
Before it was finally stilled!!
This is how I feel now....... in the blinding brilliance of poetic talents I see here, my wings are burnt !
 Jun 2016
Richard Riddle
I have had two opportunites to meet Muhammad Ali, once in Oklahoma City(1972) while working for KWTV Channel-9, and the second time in 1975,working for WAVE-TV Channel-3, Louisville, Kentucky, which is his hometown. On each occasion he was in town for some type of benefit appearance. At Channel 3, the sports director was Ed Kallay, who was to do the interview, and who just happened to be Ali's mentor when Ali was much younger and involved with "Golden Gloves", a youth boxing organization. I was a 'director' in the production dept. and it was my job to set up and direct the cameras, etc., during the taping.
He was a fascinating man, eloquent, extremely intelligent, charismatic, approachable, with a great sense of humor. When I introduced myself, he looked at me and said,"I've met you before, in Oklahoma City." Needless to say, "I was stunned!"
During the 'pre-taping' conversation, the three of us were having a cup of coffee. I made a comment on the size of his hands. I placed my right hand flat against his left, thumb to thumb, finger to finger.. He curled his fingers over mine, nearly hiding them. I sure wouldn't want to get hit by him.
He was, admittingly, also a 'bit' of a 'self-promoter.' During that conversation, he made the following comment: "A few weeks before a fight, I start shooting my mouth off, make a lot of people mad, but come fight night they really lay it down, (then took his thumb and swiped it across the open palm of his other hand, simulating the money bets being placed with the Vegas bookies.) let the 'show' begin!" And, did it ever!!

He was also a great humanitarian, donating to various charities, youth organizations, and never forgetting his roots.

A remarkable man! God Bless You, Muhammad Ali!

richard riddle: 06-05-2016
 Jun 2016
Ja
THANK YOU HELLO POETRY
You filled my heart with joy
My words affirmed and praised
It truly is a humbling moment
To have such kindness raised

My heart is overflowing
From all the love I got
Such an outpouring of emotion
I never would have thought
BOEMS BY JA 454
 May 2016
Lazhar Bouazzi
Writing is
the frozen music
of an ellipsis,
the silent song
of a lonesome poet
who sings in the dark
among howling winds
crossing swords
in the white shades
of unseen things -
a winter on the Pole
on whose  obverse side
there's Rio,
and dancing
and mirth
and the sun's critique
of hegemony.

© Lazhar Bouazzi, May 31, 2016
 May 2016
David Ehrgott
Third grade rules. They sound simple and really, one does not
have to be a brainiac in order to understand them. Although one learns them in the third grade, they remain valid though the rest of one's life.

Rule#1:  Making something you want yours.
In order to make something you want yours, simply spit all over it. Trust me, no one else will want it. And it will be yours for the rest of your existence.  

Rule#2:  Making someone it.
In order to make someone it, simply take your index finger and poke the person you want to be it. Then say "You're it". Then, they will be it.

To do it with someone you want to be yours. First, spit all over them. Then make them it. Then you can do it with the one who is yours. Do you see now how simple life can be just by applying the rules of the third grade. I hope I have helped clarify things for the better of everyone. There is no need to thank me and have a great summer.

your poet
 May 2016
Ma Cherie
My poetry...
is like a rushing flood...that I..
just cannot stop
I don't know where it's coming from so I don't think I'm going to ask it to
Because it's like this...
turbulent and wonderful
....endless... spinning top.

It just pours out...
just like the hardest rain
And...sometimes...
it can be...
quite...
painful.. even...
Like I must have hit a vein ...
or something...
and.... it must have...
been a very deep one.

I must have raised it ..
from it's tulluric bed
And that vein... you know...
well,
it seems... like it's...
DEMANDING to be bled.

And..I think...
I'll try to take a sip....
to have a little drink of that water
and...
I think it will have a lot to teach me
this thing.

So..if I can take a moment
to even catch a breath of air...
While waiting for the next big wave
that is..
Then I will...
So I can share...this thing...
that is ever flowing..
from somewhere...unknown
.. right here, right now..
with you.

Whatever this thing is...
that is flooding from my lips
And not so much from my aging fingertips...
as I struggle to write this fast enough
because this deluge would soak the paper anyway...
and I think
the ink would just run.

I've been thinking about so many things
.. that I have not thought about in years
including many ...
real and... long but not quite forgotten
fears ..
but it's alright
because everyone and everything is beautiful... in the just...
the right light..too..
and well...I've tapped into things...
that I just didn't even realize were there...
or even...
possible.

It's a very beautiful thing
when you write a certain poem
Like an enchanting and haunting sound
I even hear it now...
and ... I am sounding...measuring the waters depth...
and dowsing ....if I need to.

This thing,
my poetry...your poetry... Our Poetry.

And..it kind of rings, in echoes through your mind
and you know...
that it's going to touch other people somehow
just something that you feel
from deep within.

That place...I'm talkin' 'bout..well it's
much deeper
than the surface
of our skin...
I just can't tell you- exactly...
where it is of course...
but I think if you look,
maybe check it like a pulse
maybe...then,
I believe
that you will find it too, keep looking...
don't give up.

And well..this unknown vein
it is beckoning
.... to bleed first...
and then the water comes
....then...finally the words...
I am literally gushing this here...
It demands this thing...
it's like...I think...
it must be heard.

Seems I can't....quite
get every word down
on my first attempt...
maybe the next time around
but it's...not... upset with me at all,
and ..I think it says try again
.... my Cherie.

So to me...it's like a song
and when it is written...
and it is finally  perfect
and you hear it....
for the very first time
It's like music to your ears
literally... and figuratively
And....
it doesn't have to rhyme...
you'll know it...
when your done.

Maybe because you hear that
lyrical sound in your head
it just keeps on coming....
like it's risen from the dead...from a place
some...
deep and earthly bed
And right now...
I'm just repeating what it said.

You know....it keeps me up at night
till the poem is just right..
..and..
sometimes I just can't sleep
and yes I even weep....
and when I do...eventually rest...
then I see it in my dreams,
this thing
so I don't get any time alone
these days
and well..
the company ...
is really pretty good.

That sound...it just doesn't stop coming
I can hear that sound...
everywhere...
like my Native American ancestors are drumming..
it calls me home.

You hear it in the other poetry
and so your poetry
is a Continuing Story
of their poetry and yours
is to their stories,
and you hear it in every other song
and in all conversations with people and things
A sound ..like the mellow, dark sound of a violin
Or maybe like the distant flapping my Guardian Angels wings...
It has my attention
and I am listening...
contentedly.

It halts my mind...and will not let me just pass by....
without..
at least..
saying hello.

This thing...this gift of poetry
is a blessing not a curse
I've known a lot of other things that
... could be...have been and are
a lot...
worse
So..for me
at least right now
it doesn't have to be well rehearsed
and you can always come back to visit it,
to see if it needs anything...
you know...like an old and lovely...very special...
and familiar friend.

And if someone thinks my poem
is...say...stunning,
then I am truly in awe -
of something that I don't even know where it came from
could touch somebody so deeply...
from a sound that just keeps on weeping my tears .... of beauty and truth,
I am grateful.

These things...this dialogue...
it could even be...
quite profound
So...I think....
that I'll just keep listening
to that distant sound,
That drum, the wings, all things ...
the violin strings...
So I can...and because I must
trust ...and ..
share...
this all
with you
right here
right now...
.....always....
& forever.

And perhaps, we can
together....
leave a legacy
to my family
To your family
and to all others,
and to future Generations of a like-minded people
For the positive growth of all humankind
Poetry in everything
can...
remind us.

This gift...might hopefully inspire others
in some way
to perhaps do certain things differently each day...
of our lives...
or to write poetry even...
to pay it forward
or just to heal...this poetry
this ...to me...is how we express
our...feelings.

  There are so many things to learn from poetry and songs
and conversations
like this one I'm having with myself
right here
right now too..

I wouldn't want to live life
any other way now...
because I've discovered
my
"Poetic License"...
to disclose ...
my thoughts ..
my poetic experience
to you.  

May peace be with everyone.-
All rights reserved * 2016 © Cherie Nolan
Wow - I finished this because it literally came to me in the dream-  and so maybe this is what I was supposed to do.  I hope this is good for you - it was...amazing to me, a true blessing.  I hope somebody understands what this means -  it just keeps coming....though it finally feels like this is done. Thank you
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