Bring him home
don't leave him

out in the cold
wrap him warm

clothe him
in his favourite

Man U
tee shirt

and blue
creased jeans

bring our son home
bring him back

from the far lands
the places

of failure
and disappointments

and flat lining heart
bring him

back home
let the bugler play

let him play alone
to reach

our broken hearts
and stir

our tired minds
lift up the blinds

let in the sun
let it warm

his cold hands
and ease

the closed lids
of his eyes

bring him back
bring back

our son
let him

be with us
once more

back
from the dark place

home
from the distant land

bring him home
as fast as you can

bring back our son
and special man.

Receive it, my impatient heart--
receive it as it comes.
Do not worry, pulsing thing,
straining against that chest
you inhabit.  Incubate;
let the body prepare you:
Beat calmly where you lie.
Be comfortable, my eager heart,
my vibrating, warm little heart.

Life always finds a way
by Ahmad ***
The green permeates
Gives life
Mixture of life and spirit
Rolling into one
Life propagates even in the harshest conditions
Life just want to be free
No matter what you do
Life always find a way
Even when it feels like everything has been burnt away
The green glow of life still flows on
Even in situations where there seems like life shouldn't be
In some of the harshest environments
Life still finds a way
Even in the darkness
Far away from the light
Life persists
It's a lot harder to extinguish life
Then we might think
Just as soon as we think we have a handle
When we start to feel like we have control over life
Life has a way of putting us back in our place
Life was never meant to be controlled
Life is meant to just be
If we allow life to persist
To grow
To flourish
We will find that life will do just fine
If we just let it be

you draw your self hatred out like a kid draws out small pictures
and play double dutch with the hands on a clock, knowing how
unsafe it is out there, flirting with death and flicking me off when
i wrote out the reasons why you should stay, that this autumn fallout
is only a misconstruction of your mind's witching hour, that dystopia
won't linger and utopia will be home soon, it will blossom into your lungs
and turn the simplicity of your broken soul into something completely
quintessential and complex, like an origami rabbit, i fold my sharp edges
and twist myself to be malleable and secure for you, maybe i'm not too certain
of myself or you, but i'm not too certain on a lot of subjects, i'm worried
of being thrown into the arsonist world you started, covering up the sky with
black dense fog, the type of fog that would happen only in dangerous wildfires
i'm a controlled wildfire, but i let my fire spread just to help control your fire

- kra

a liar once told me that i write good poetry
i laughed and continued drinking,
the sudden rush of despair, the wicked beast, the dry pages
the man had no credentials
but he persisted, declaring me an inspiration
like seeing a strand of hair attract a magnet
or amber jewels lolling in a dimly lit case

imagination is a felony, i wagered as i poured another
a combustion i know like the back of my hands
i told him i dreamt of a morgue where everyone i ever loved
sat upright as sunflowers, declaring their love for the sun
and of a newspaper rife with disease and the passion of a janitor

there is a raccoon near a river somewhere cleaning an apple
with a heart as big as an artist in drunken euphoria
taking better care of it than me when i sit down at a typewriter
it's wearing a cape just like edgar allen poe
and having better conversation with an oak tree than i've ever had at a party
about the sunday crossword puzzle he completed  

yesterday i drank myself into a masquerade ball
arriving in a limousine being driven by a bearded mickey mantle
i was the guest of honor, sword fighting on table tops
and lecturing the guests about shakespeare through a garbage disposal
while a horse played backgammon with my father's brother
and there was a girl there behind the facade of an owl
who danced like the wind and everlasting light
and no one could stop her or look her in the eye

i am the only connection between my mind and the paper
merely a vessel, a john boat clearly breaching it's depth
either drowning like a fish in a sand dune or
being bounced like a baby on the knee of god
slavery, i call it, and hand him a glass of warm bourbon
as the splashing of my journal pages slap my crushed trachea

the typewriter is padlocked and painted over with cement
the metamorphosis trapped inside a bullet, boiling with sheer fury

Jeanette sits
in the class
music's played

Beethoven
sonata
Miss Graham

the teacher
at a grand
piano

thin wire framed
spectacles
her grey hair

in a bun
aged fingers
touching keys

many kids
in the class
sit bemused

others bored
out of brains
smile or smirk

but to her
sitting there
beside blonde

Angela
is transfixed
a new world

opens up
pretty much
like that kiss

stolen quick
by that boy
Benedict

on the field
after lunch
as she sat

all alone
Angela
had gone to

the crapper
(the wrong week
to sort out)

no reasons
were given
just that kiss

on her cheek
soft and damp
then he'd gone

leaving her
as one stung
by a bee

and she watched
as he went
towards school

and she sat
between worlds
old and new

balancing
her hormones
steering clear

of all those
dangerous
hidden rocks

Jeanette moves
to music
around her

her fingers
on the desk
like keyboard

pushing thoughts
of the kiss
from her mind

closing eyes
matching up
Benedict

inwardly
with passion
like one blind.