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Deborah Brooks Langford
Someone once said today will be yesterday and tomorrow will never come... so love today with all your heart, tomorrow might be too late... Friendship …
Deborah Sweetsilverbird Birch
67/F/Vancouver    ..a Canadian writer and published poet for many years; my poetry sometimes says much with just a few words. On the internet I have been …
Deborah Lin
Austin, TX    I am a collection of scars and bruises. This is me healing.

Poems

Mike Hauser  Jun 2015
~ Deborah~
Mike Hauser Jun 2015
If you want to get some reads
Include Deborah in your write
Poets will be stopping in
Like the dropping in of flies
The place will be all abuzz
With the clicking of the likes
If you want to get some reads
Include Deborah in your write

If your wanting to be known
Throw Deborah into the poem
Doesn't much matter what you say
It'll still have it going on
Whether you feel that this is right
Or know that it is wrong
If your wanting to be known
Throw Deborah into the poem

Sir, have you no shame
In the use of Deborah's name
This is supposed to be serious poetry
Not some popularity game
So think about this truthfully
As I ask you once again
Sir, have you no shame
In the use of Deborah's name

Mmmmmmm......not really.
After all the reads I received from my
"I Miss Deborah" poem and still am. I figure I'm going to ride this gravy train all the way to the top! Woo!!! Woo!!!
Thanks Deborah! All aboard!
Left Foot Poet Feb 2015
one foot in every world
one foot in every word

prophetess of yore,
foreseeing farseeing,
recoding recording
mundane supermarket voyages,
become paradoxical
holy lover spats

for all of us
become her
become her poems,
travelogues, snippets
of marvel at the DNA
each thinking
wanting to think
tween us and no other

she does not know me
but she has felt my
foolishness here

connecting like no other
in a long time,
have listened to each record
in the Queen-bee's collection,
she unknowing, mine,
her favor returned

verbal scientist
she uncovered discovered
a small gate on the edge
of the map of her brain,
that led here her her here where
t her e

am amazed
she sees me

like no other
voyageur ******

but I cannot
Write like Deborah
no but I can
Write of Deborah
Glenn Sentes Mar 2013
She saw the face of Judas in him.
The bearded kiss festered no truth
and the metallic breath
exhaled putrid faithfulness.
The trampled petals spoor no lusting stares,
redolent no more
even as the tongue creeps by the shoulders.

The razors have summoned from the stinking room!
A slit in the neck
could rhythmically go by the thrusts unnoticed
But the chorus of the beasts
as shrill as the gongs of hell
maiming vengeance yet
not in the loss of blood will you die.
Not in my hands.

His demonic pleasures went on as the voodoo doll
resurrected in the beat of my own gongs.
Keep stirring as this spindle rouses my anathema!
his chest hairs
pint of blood
vulture’s beak
stallion’s tails
bobcat’s eye
dead evergreen
Deborah’s tears.
Stir and stir and stir!
Murmur satan’s prayer
mana mana mana boo!
ruba ruba ruba hoo!
Count the sands of the transient hourglass
expiring ‘fore tic tac sound.
Now her man froze,
bulging eyes, blackened pulse!


‘tis freedom, Deborah!

Free.

Doomed.




© Glenn Sentes
03-06-13