Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Aug 2016
Polar
There have been times in my life

Where I have been selfish, cruel

Wandered my own path

Heedlessly needlessly

Burning bridges

Now I am older

Slightly wiser

I choose to gather friends

Not enemies

Think of others

Sometimes before myself

Because honestly

I have found

Altruism is good for the soul

To give of oneself for no return

Or quid pro quo

Ultimately I've found

You reap what you sow.
 Aug 2016
Irving MacPherson
To live to love
inch by inch
metre by metre
mile by mile
I walk inside of
the straight and narrow.

My spiritual life
has me bopping
up and down
feeling like a child
bouncing away
while sitting in
a well worn Jolly-Jumper

I walk the streets
and the highways
trying to flag down
A ride away from the crossroad

I'd rather live
in a trailer
than be a cellar dweller.

Let a strong wind
******* over
before that basement
fills with mould.

If I could I would
Trap a moment
so I could live it out twice
no wait three times or four.

Two steps forward
three steps back.
According to the Universe
there is nothing I lack.
Only I'm left to think
instead of just
doing what I do.

Inch by inch
metre by metre
mile by mile
I learn to live in love.
 Aug 2016
Keith Wilson
He  stays  with  us  in  winter  storms
And  when  the  garden's  bleak
He  hops  around  in  sleet  and  hail
Appearing  pale  and  weak.

But  once  the  days  begin  to  lengthen
And  the  worst  of  winter's  gone
He  perches  high  up  in  a  tree
And  begins  his  joyful  song.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
 Aug 2016
phil roberts
When I was a young man
A heedless headlong consumer of life, was I
Above and beyond the norm or necessity
I wore paths deep and wide
To the pleasure centres of my brain
And I rode my soul like an easy *****
Oh happy daze of hedonism
How sweet life tasted then

If there was drink to drink
We drank it
If there were songs to sing
We sang them
If there were fights to fight
We fought them
We had fast feet and faster wits
If there was hell to raise
We raised it
Excess and adventure in equal parts
How fast, how high we flew back then

And then the magic playground
Became a bleak and dangerous place
Peopled by predators and prey
In an ever changing food chain
And I was only one step away
From the totally oblivious
One brain cell ahead of
The permanent reality challenged
Then friends began casually dying
Barely noticed in the rush to join them
Now the race is on
And I have grown old and slow

                                              By Phil Roberts
I have the very boulder that Sherman stepped over
on his way through Georgia
On my shelf is the stone that Mark Twain laid a ***** boot
upon , walking through Missouri one sunny afternoon
This table holds the rock that blew out the Gainesville town clock in the War of Northern Aggression
In my cupboard sets a brown bottle holding water from the River Jordan
Within the pages of this Bible you will find a leaf from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon , a lock of Lady Godiva's tresses , Betsy Ross's
favorite thimble and a button from the suit of Martin Luther King
himself
Copyright August 16 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Aug 2016
nivek
Through my 'rose tints' I search all horizons
and my red wine tongue searches my lips
for traces of love residue long savoured
leaping out the past and straddling my hips
like a wild tornado demanding ******* ***
this woman haunts a memory all her own
and I wonder what could have happened
if I had kept on wearing rose tinted glasses
and had the life of me ****** dry as a bone.
 Aug 2016
K Balachandran
An age old chair, in seasoned teak wood
carved, a perfect work of art, nothing less than
a masterpiece, and a  reminder of so much past,
sat regally before our wondering eyes, tempting
on the central court yard of my  ancestral home,
where generations lived.
                               Wanting to sit like my grandpas of yore
I found a carpenter, perhaps the last one for this work
who understands the air that surrounds the chair.
We discussed the concept,
design and the kind of wood
it has to be  made,to create a replica
to bring back the grandeur of times past.
But then, found  not an easy task  it is
"Do you deserve it ?" the bearded
carpenter, was so blunt in his skeptic stance!
He  puzzled me  with his questions
Yet we were keen to give it a try.

The adamant carpenter relented
after many sessions of questions
and answers, perhaps my passion
did the trick, his eyes made me believe.
He promised to make me a chair
(The kind none would dream in this age)
as if it's a mission divinely assigned,
"You need to change a lot to deserve it"
he insisted, suggests a series of
purification rights  "for your confused soul"

"To fit  in to a chair like this , fulfill
all it's  demands"in my ear he whispered
as if I am the chosen one for an ancient  throne.

An  antique chair shaped by the imagination
of my distant ancestors, now changes me
and without slightest  resistance I submit;
would I ever know what is happening?
 Aug 2016
Born
This world is a smoke, that refuses to ignite
constantly on a verger of damnation
a fate  bitter, even in thoughts 'it frightens  

Your father was once enticed in its  illusions
an aching experience
that he carries around  like his Shadow

Don't fall into traps of a fairytale
Indeed they allude the bare truth
That is forever hidden  in plain sight

if need be
Speak your truth, but quietly
with all its troubles
it is still a beautiful world
Next page