Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Dec 2013 jalalium
 Dec 2013 jalalium
Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
Sometimes the world closes in on your lungs like the
mountains need your breath and the ocean wants your soul.
Moonbeams of indefinite prosperity gleam down upon your skin like
a bridge made of children’s dreams.
They dance along your goosebumps, trying to calm your racing heart.
You cannot see,
you cannot hear.
All you know is the deceptively comforting pale, white walls of your world,
but you do not live in a world,
you live in a cage.
You have never closed your eyes and let yourself be
guided by the wind,
an everlasting pool of transparent anger trying to rule the world,
but never getting farther than vice president.
You will never know the deep blue waves crashing methodically onto the shore,
howling and groaning their way through a job that they will never finish.

Oceans can be selfish, you know.
They own 70% of the world and they’re still not satisfied.
Their deep blue rivers of fear snake their way under our skin and into our veins,
never content until we define ourselves by anxiety and pain.
Cages may hide us from the waves, but they also shield us from our own hidden hearts,
wallowing in the loneliness of pale, white walls with a transparent roof that yields
only to prosperity that is no longer indefinite.
 Dec 2013 jalalium
O Madiba
 Dec 2013 jalalium
O Madiba! Madiba your ship has finally come to rest
Rest now, now rest, for peace was your bequest.
Humiliated, disgraced, yet in captivity you chose
By embracing your enemy, you learnt and rose.
Insulted, assaulted, assaulting, at fault,
Lover, Soldier, for Justice, for God’s sake!
Stop work, break bread, water and salt
And follow in his wake. 

O Madiba! Tata Madiba you who have overcome
A true mandala spun, a Nelson who has won
Overcoming loneliness, cowardice and fear.
Bravery but a blindness brought on by all held dear.
Shame, defeated, blame, defeated, fame -
Let all come, let all shake,
Same blood, same, all the same,
And follow in his wake.
My homage to my hero, Nelson Mandela by way of homage to Walt Whitman's to his hero Abraham Lincoln
 Dec 2013 jalalium
Scot Powers
The professor was mad
it was clear to us all
fantastic ideas
right off the wall
seeing the world
through his crooked way
gave all of us students
laughter for days

We reported for class
on the 15th of May
I must now confess
a memorable day
his topic that day
was a paradise lost
deep in the jungles
he'd go at all cost's

An expedition he'd mount
would I like to go ?
adventure soon seemed
to grip my soul
I talked with my parents
I talked with my girl
they all encouraged
this voyage from home

We gathered supplies
that we thought we'd need
but not knowing for sure
a gamble indeed
we then secured passage
on a ***** steamer
destined for the island
where the valley lay hidden

The day soon arrived
when we bid goodbye
to friends and our family
my girl she cried
she begged me be safe
and stay far from harm
I turned to leave
and she grabbed my arm

The look in her eyes
I'll never forget
searching and longing
full of regret
I may never return
or if I can
I may not remain
the very same man

I gently reassured her
we will be safe
upon our arrival
we will celebrate
The professor will lecture
to very large crowds
we will get married
and then settle down

Two weeks at sea
torture to me
rolling and bobbing
like a cork in the sea
the professor would not
let this deter him
stolidly he put on
a very brave grin

Over the horizon
the island took form
soon we were being
rowed into shore
the coxswain advised
they'd be back at slack tide
we'd better be there
or they'd leave us behind

We gathered our goods
right there on the beach
took a read of our bearings
and set on our way
we climbed through the mist
that clung to the hills
marveling at all
the sights and the smells

Finally we reached
the valley we sought
the professor's composure
was completely lost
he laughed and he jumped
screaming "I was Right!"
I fell to my knees
after my very first sight

Paradise was before us
I could scarcely believe
we sat and drew sketches
and took photographs
wrote in our journals
observations we made
The professor was planning
a brilliant display

We descended into
the valley beneath
and then set up camp
to stay for the eve
we talked of our discovery
and of impending fame
the magic was broken
as if all at once
a terrifying roar
emerged from the brush

The Lizard it lunged
staring straight at me
the professor let out
an ear piercing shriek
another had grabbed
him from behind
he struck it with a stick
picked up from the ground

We ran for our lives
and left everything
scrambling back
out of the valley
lucky we were
lucky indeed
over the crest
we ran for the beach

We would be early
where could we hide
staying out there
would be suicide
the lizards were coming
out of the hills
tounges sniffing the air
searching for us
intent on the ****

We climbed up an out crop
just out of reach
and hoped that our perch
would really be safe
we stayed there for hours
until the next day
when a flare did signal
help on the way

Back on the steamer
we would then relate
our strange experience
narrowly escaped fate
we thanked the captain
for his returning
to that strange island
a little early

We arrived back at home
there was much hurrah
family and friends
and a very warm bed
my girl then asked me
just what we saw
I related the story
as she stared in awe

The professor retained
a place where to teach
to my girl I was married
we moved by the beach
often at night
we look out to sea
paradise lost
we'll never again seek
 Dec 2013 jalalium
F Alexis
Isn't it ironic, lovely ones,
How so many pretty faces
Can hide a demon's soul?

How the same eyes which bat their lashes
In flirty beckoning,
Offer a window into wickedness,
An entrance to an evil place,
That harbors evil things....

How the same lips which speak such pretty words,
And lovely falsities,
In pleasant company
Drip poison behind the safety of closed doors,
Without the courage to speak so
In the outer realm...

How the same mind which seems so wise
Can foster such horrid operations,
An assembly line of treachery
Which twists and warps that
Which really is
Into what is isn't,
For its own selfish, devilish purposes...

Isn't it odd how the world's
Cruel jokes
Have remained so timeless,
Doomed, like history,
To be repeated,
Over and over again?

"Do not judge a book by its cover," they say.

And isn't it funny how this phrase
Aims to promise some unknown good
Behind that cover,
But never entertains the possibility
Of evil behind it,

Yet it still holds true.

It is far more dangerous
To trust a pretty face not supported
By pretty words and actions,
To have faith in a glittery exterior
Without pondering the worms
Which breed underneath,
Than it is to doubt
A far less attractive cover,
Beaten, threadbare, its title worn off
By the winds of the world,
May guard a mine of diamonds within.

How foolish of us all
To take at face value
That which we see, hear, and touch.

How irresponsible
To abandon the idea and support of proof,
And let our judgment laze around,
About as useful as if it we hadn't had it at all.

I find it hard to pity those moths
Which do not examine the light
Before letting themselves fly into it.
When the static crackles,
And the glimmer flickers,
And the wings are burnt and injured,
It is too late for a second thought, then.

And as a bystander,
I cannot reach out and pull them from it.
I can call out my warnings,
My cautionary tales,
And even my proof that the light,
In all its beauty,
Harbors a special kind of evil
That they clearly cannot see,
But I must let them learn.

As much as it hurts.

I truly believe that what we put out
Into the world
Will come back to us.
Perhaps not today,
Or tomorrow,
Or anywhere
In the forseeable future ahead.
But it will return.

And though my human nature
Demands I bring order to the wicked,
Expose their evils for the world
To shudder at,
And cower away from,
It is not my job.

These forces which surround us
Bear that burden.

I, a small and staggering presence
Among billions,
Can only perform what I know it right,
And good,
And kind,
And hope that my fellow man,
Instead of drooling at the sight
Of fool's gold,
Will find a true beauty in this instead,
And choose to abandon all that deceives.

On a day which has no date,
No time,
No existence until it is ready,
Justice will come to the evil ones,
And those foolish enough to follow them.

How gloriously the wicked will fall,
Their cries ringing in ears
Which heard their sneers and cruel remarks,
Underhanded jabs and petty,
Childish words,
So many times.

Ears which will hear the music
Of that which was sown,
Being reaped
In the rays of a glorious sun.

Those untrained minds,
Which sought the disappointments
Of easy friendships
And sparkling facades,
Will fall, as well,
Regretting their decision to
Believe in the unreal,
And abandon their sense.

And I, at the end of it all,
May stand with fewer than I started with.

But, with those solid few,
Apart from the unstable masses,
I will still stand stronger
And better than I was,
And with minds like mine,
Rooted in goodness, kindness,
And grateful for the difficult journey
Which brought forth the lesson that
Examining a person's cover
Is well worth discovering what lies beneath.

 Dec 2013 jalalium
 Dec 2013 jalalium
Its not that I am lazy
or even qualify as depressed, it is just
that everything tastes like cardboard
and I have forgotten how to cry.

Maybe you can forget to see in color,
and resign to politically correct,
where grey is the new black and white
and contrast was killed in the womb.

Society does have a thing
against the dead coming back to life,
or do they despise those they've buried reaching toward the light
I never got the story straight.

Even if its weird, I wish I had an outside
with a sun just of my own
so I can fight to give it's light to people that I like
instead of  having to pretend that everyone is perfect.

Maybe its that humans tend to go crazy
if there is no hero to their villain,
and the survival instinct could just disappear
if nothing tries to **** you.

I wouldn't say I am tired of living,
but I may be bored of being dead.
 Dec 2013 jalalium
night child
 Dec 2013 jalalium
night child
I like crying
Because I'm not allowed to
But since I'm not allowed

Since you said
That crying isn't good
I physically can't do it
Even when  need to
Even when I have to
Even when I want to

And when I do
I burst
Every feeling that was trapped
Explodes in rage
And they come out all at once

I don't try to hide the pain
Trust me
I want to let it out
I like the feeling
Of drowning in my own thoughts

When I was a child
I sat in my closet
And wrote in the diary
As each word was written
I flew farther and farther away

At that point
I only wrote when I cried
So I could let my tears
Fall on the pages
To 'prove' my sadness

I liked-
I like being sad
It could be because
It reminds me that I'm still alive

I still picture her
When she came in
She dragged me out of the closet
And sat me on my bed
My uncomfortable bed

She snatched my book
Skimmed through the pages
And pointed at the smudges
They messed up the words
Plus they were circled with black ink

So I gave a simple answer
"Those are my tears"
I glanced at my book
In her clammy hands
"I circled them to remember the pain"

Are supposed to be nice, right?
Well I hated her hugs
They were rare
But I didn't miss them anyway

She softly said
Then walked out
So I went back into my closet
Where I can sit in darkness

She left my diary on a shelf
And I haven't touched it since
But I always remember the circled tears
And when she sat in awe
Adoring my sadness

She made me believe,
That sadness is loved.
Next page