Isabelle: Favorites

Sep 2013 Isabelle

Tim Knight

Post Office:
Telegrams and Telephones

Tell me how the snow is where you are.

Traffic cones outside, must-be-done road works completed by no one nowhere men,
patched up walls clad in grit painted cream
shutters the same, shutting out the screams.

Graffiti bridges, restaurants on ridges-
river's rising fast, finish your entrée
let's leave.

Walk linking arms looking upon
glimpses of brick, of an old home,
lived in years ago by someone unknown.

facebook.com/coffeeshoppoems >>> for poetry to your facebook feed

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Jail

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Brody Thompson

Jail

They crush your dreams
To better themselves.
Given the credit
Of Santas elves.
They bar the windows,
And they lock all the doors.
They call the men deliquents,
And they label women ******.
Into this world we're thrown
In a direction without our choice.
Whats the point of speaking
When you havent got a voice.
They sit you row by row,
And they all pretend to care.
But as soon as they know your secret
All they can do is stare.
Art is for the artistans,
And the music is for the gifted.
Dont try, you'll never do it,
Anything but keep you lifted.
Before Im in the coffin
And they hammer the last nail.
I'll get out with good behavior,
And then I'll go back to jail.

Jul 2013 Isabelle

I Thought I Could Fly

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Wayne Gore

I Thought I Could Fly

There was a time I thought I could fly
I don't know how and I don't know why.
I touched the stars in a moonlit sky
and pinched the clouds as I flew by.
That was back then when I thought I could fly.

Lighthearted and wonderous I was in awe
to chase a comet across the sky.
Larks and eagles were my best friends
along with a hawk and an occasional wren.

I flew to Egypt then to Spain, to the great
China wall then home again. I raced along with thundering
storms , teasing the lighting and riding the wind.
When I thought I could fly, that was back then.

As all journeys must start all journeys must end
We can all travel about if only within.
I plunged thru the heavens end over end
never stopping to ask the why or the when.
That was way back, back when I was Ten.

Jul 2013 Isabelle

A moment of pure bliss

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Dawn

A moment of pure bliss

In September I experienced something that by all accounts of logic could not exist.
I awoke to this world truly seeing it for the first time.
I could hear the whispers of the trees and feel the richness of the Earth.
I reached my arms out to the sky and soaked up the beauty of the sun
And then I heard
~We are all ONE. We are all Connected. We are all joined by infinite LOVE~
In this moment everything made sense
I was complete
And there was nothing but unconditional love surrounding me
From then on, I knew life was meant to be a journey and not a destination
Oh, what joy this has brought to me

Jul 2013 Isabelle

A Moonless Night

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Abigail

A Moonless Night

The moon is lost forever;
the sky has swallowed the stars.
If the heavenly bodies retain no hope,
where may we mortals find ours?

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Loathing

Jul 2013 Isabelle

LJ Chaplin

Loathing

Swimming against a current so much stronger than I am,
Battling my way through the waves,
But it's becoming harder to breathe,
Harder to think,
And I find myself drowning,
Sinking further and further
Into the unknown,
Floating endlessly into the abyss,
My body slamming into
Shipwreck insecurities,
Fossilised memories,
Trapped pain in rotting chests.

All because of one tiny detail about myself that I loathe,
Loathing so much deeper than the seven seas stacked on top of one another.

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Handwriting

Jul 2013 Isabelle

Emelyne Serre

Handwriting

We are taught to write neatly
but how can I deny what you write so deeply?
With your scruff and ease,
that no one else sees
but me.
I feel honoured to decipher
what's laid before me.
A survivor
a desire
a provider
a divider
a whirlwind of fiction
all balanced in the depiction
your ink puts to pages
and pages of this contagious
frenzy we call "writing"
and now I'm squirming and writhing
in the itch to just
pick up a pen
and not care about handwriting.