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JGuberman Aug 2016
Tell me mother
as you kiss your baby
that no one died today,
that no one was a martyr
or a hero,
and that all who now sleep will awake,
and that the sirens that now sound
will be the only death recorded,
and that the drivers without cars,
and the cars without drivers,
will each find a partner
for as long as they need,
like the Palm Doves in the park.

Tell me mother,
that as long as you
love your baby
all mothers will love theirs
and no mother will again mourn
the foreheads without a kiss
and the kiss that has no forehead
to receive it.
written on a bus in Herzliya, Israel 22 April 1990 (Holocaust Memorial Day).  On this day air raid sirens ring out across Israel at which point all traffic comes to a halt for a couple minutes. Drivers exit and stand next to their cars and pedestrians stop in their tracks and stand at attention while the sirens wail.

It should be noted that this poem had originally been written as a piece for Holocaust Memorial Day, though as the 20th Century bled into the 21st, it is clear that mothers and children all over our world are suffering untold miseries be they refugees escaping tyranny or victims of civil strife or war. This therefore is dedicated to all mothers and children.
Icarus Falling Jul 2016
Perhaps comparisons to you, m’ love,
will be of such fluttering birds with their
silken pearl plumage; soft and fragile dove.
I would challenge those who with this compare.

To do so would create such metaphors with
something mild and predictable, delicate.
You are not breakable or dainty, keen scythe.
You are a graceful storm to not abate.

Mayhap I could liken you to a blade,
a dagger wrapped within smooth satin.
To a deathly flower; lethal nightshade.
For to a white swan you are akin.

Know that a dove is equal your beauty,
yet you are deadly elegance, truly.
Sweet tamarind pods stick to the warm black tarmac
where fortunate doves wander about in the shade,
trilling to themselves, and each other.

Either something strikes them as funny,
or they just love their easy lives.

Certainly, they sound so different from their
modest cousins, cooing sadly in colder places.

Born here in Paradise, these birds wear blue
eye shadow every day, and not just on weekends.

Late afternoon finds me in their lazy midst,
hair wet and curling, sand stuck to my bare, tanned feet.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Clear sun on the bedroom wall,
Doves cooing secrets outside.

Here in the kitchen,
bright scent of orange oil
as the skin gives way.

I'll open just one today.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Eve Estelle Feb 2016
Soar through the air on wings of white,
Fly over the towns, the cities, the Christmas lights,
Fly through the flurries of crystal flakes,
Fly over the glassy, frozen lakes;
Drift on wings of peaceful thoughts,
Deliver on wings of peaceful thoughts -
Give hope to those below,
You're their symbol of peace,
You're as white as snow.
This was written during the holidays. :)
Elizabeth Jan 2016
I had a friend whom I loved,
but she bedded with a beast.
The beast would beat her regularly,
twice daily at the least.

I begged her and I pleaded her,
“Please leave the beast today.”
No matter how I reasoned, though,
she said there was no way.

She said that she was happy there,
said she was in control,
said she wasn't being ****** into
the terrible black hole.

“Think about your kids,” I said,
“They need their mom to win
this battle with the pills that seem
to always draw you in.”

The sparkle in her eyes went dim,
her laughter sounded forced.
Every visit with her left my
worst fears reinforced.

Finally, I stood my ground,
said that she had to choose.
I thought I'd given her a path
that she could not refuse.

Alas, she chose the pills instead
of keeping me a friend,
this woman that I thought would be
my sister 'til the end.

She kicked me out, she carved me out,
she shut me out and then,
she denied me when I reached out for her
time and time again.

There was a time, however,
when she could not tell me no.
I was there to give her flowers
on her final trip solo.

I stood there at her graveside,
tears streaming down my face,
watching doves fly skyward
at her final resting place.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
The invasion of other countries
Has to come to a full stop.
You’re making us the Evil Empire
By playing at being traffic cop.
We are stuck in a sick cycle
Of meddling in the internal affairs
And financing revolutions and wars
In countries where nobody asked us there.

You’re evil
And even more so;
Pure evil
Because you don’t think so.
At least that’s what you claim
But you’re as phony as your fame.

You tell the voters one set of lies
And secretly agree on others.
Your backroom manipulations
Kills our sisters and brothers
While hiding behind patriotism
The overseas battles of duplicity
Are not about threats to us here,
But are about oil and ethnicity.

You’re evil
And even more so;
Pure evil
Because you don’t think so.
At least that’s what you claim
But you’re as phony as your fame.

You take advantage of the state
Of poverty out nation is suffering
That you politicians caused
By removing our safeguard buffering.
You are doing your best to remove
All the national checks and balances
So you can ***** our world at large
That has no recourse for grievances.

You’re evil
And even more so;
Pure evil
Because you don’t think so.
At least that’s what you claim
But you’re as phony as your fame.
Dreams of Sepia Sep 2015
Doves fly out above Fishponds
trying to bring peace to my heart

Above trying to fly out. Peace:
bring doves to my Fishponds heart

Peace doves fly out above, trying
to bring Fishponds to my heart


My heart above trying
to bring peace to Fishponds. Doves fly out.
A new kind of poetry form I ( think) I've invented when you use the same words over & again to form new lines & meaning.
I've no idea what to call it yet ( & not even sure if it's been done before, if so, please correct me) though so I'll keep you posted on that & suggestions welcome. I think it's sorta close to the Dadaist cut-up technique but nevertheless different to it.
Fishponds is a part of town where I live.
crackedheart Sep 2015
We both fell in love
Looking at the stars above
Our love flew like doves
another haiku
Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015
Listening to birds
our doves and all the wildlings
brightens my mornings
The sixth of nine short poems written before I got out of bed this morning.
c.2015 Cori MacNaughton
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